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Here’s three more speculative fiction titles I found with favorable reviews.
Author: <span>Carrie</span>
As soon as I finished reading Chris Evans’ novel Of Bone and Thunder, I immediately went to Roger Ebert’s website and reread his review of Platoon. Publishers Weekly characterizes Evans’ novel as “Apocalypse Now meets Lord of the Rings,” but I think the book’s themes channel Oliver Stone more than Coppola. But don’t let me stray too far discussing American movies about Vietnam. I bring up Ebert because he was a brilliant, compassionate observer – of both film and the human condition. And I am a child of the 80’s, whose first glimpse into the horrors of the Vietnam War came not from history class, but from a Charlie Sheen flick.
Ebert’s Platoon review ends with a grave piece of advice: Before you can make any vast, sweeping statements about Vietnam, you have to begin by understanding the bottom line, which is that a lot of people went over there and got killed, dead, and that is what the war meant for them.
Chris Evans understands, and he makes his statements with crossbowmen as infantrymen, dragons instead of Hueys, M.A.S.H. wizards and mage radio operators. Red Shield is the platoon on the ground, fighting the Kingdom’s war against the Forest Collective, deep in the mountain jungles of Western Luitox. The Forest Collective resemble elves or goblins, are characterized as “disgruntled peasants” and given the derogatory nickname slyts by the troops. The FC’s guerilla tactics are more than a match for Crossbowman Carnin “Carny” Qillibrin and his fellow soldiers, enduring wicked heat rash, relentless insects, haphazard training, and each other.
In the air, Flock Commander Vorly Astol captains his beloved dragon Carduus and learns to get along with a newly assigned RAT, Breeze, a mage from the Royal Academy of Thaumology who operates a communications crystal that’s totally new magic-tech and resembles a cross between an iPad and a magic mirror. This device, and the fact that Breeze is a woman, irritate and terrify Vorly – at first. Breeze’s skills, and the even stronger abilities of her fellow mage Jawn Rathim, will have great impact on the battles in the Valley of Bone and Thunder.
Let’s not ignore the dragons, though. The rags, as they’re nicknamed, aren’t simply tossed into the story as a handy fantasy trope. We see them from all perspectives – in the fearful troops’ last-minute training on how to avoid being eaten or crushed; from in the saddle as Jawn pukes his way through his first dragon landing, and through the respectful eyes of the dragonsmiths. There’s a lot to be learned about dragon husbandry here, but I won’t spoil it.
The lexicon of slang in the novel is colorful and spot-on, and as can be expected in a military novel, not always politically correct. Evans calls up all the war tropes and gives them new dimensions: the raw recruits (fawns), the racial tension (freed dwarf slaves are denigrated as mules); embedded journalists (criers). He doesn’t leave out the delusions of battlefield glory; drug abuse; war propaganda; disinformation campaigns; the killing of women and children.
I kept asking myself while I read Of Bone and Thunder – is this book necessary? Do we need another book that riffs on Vietnam, regardless of genre? Science fiction and fantasy stories are fertile ground for social commentary. Sometimes – not always – the focus is more on the glory of battle, though, rather than the reality that war is hell. Props to Evans for focusing on the latter. And yet – I had expectations for this novel, which in hindsight weren’t fair, but which still hover in my head. I wanted a novel from both perspectives – the one portrayed and that of the Forest Collective. I wanted a book that incorporated the struggles and suffering of The Other – TheEnemy – too. I kind of expected Carny or Wraith to go full Natty Bumppo, but maybe that’s coming in the next books? Maybe I’m the only one who hopes for that.
There’s a lot of death in this novel – like, Game of Thrones level body count. Maybe that’s the takeaway – people get killed, dead, and that’s war. We shouldn’t ever stop reminding ourselves of this.
I received this book as an ARC from Netgalley.
It may not be fair to say that the sci fi, fantasy and horror genres aren’t taken seriously, no matter what the medium. Well, actually it is fair to say that – but maybe the playing field is changing. I’ve never been more aware of this than I am when I’m watching some of the brilliant speculative TV of the last five years. Still, I wish the women who carry the shows would receive MORE recognition. Here’s my list of seven incredible actresses who are so fantastic, they should have awards not simply bestowed upon them, but created in their honor.
Tatiana Maslany
What rock are you living under, that you haven’t seen this amazing and versatile actress portray multiple clones so well, you’ll forget she’s only one woman.
Jaime Murray
I loved Ms. Murray as HG Wells on Warehouse 13, but on Defiance, she is like no creature on earth – literally. Her fierce portrayal of Stahma Tarr is breathtaking in its otherworldliness – frightening and poignant all at once.
Nicole Beharie
You can’t watch this show without falling for Lt. Abbie Mills – kickass cop with a troubled childhood ready to battle demons – I love her resilience and sly humor, and Beharie’s fantastically controlled facial expressions.
Carrie Coon
Nora Durst – wow, what a role, and Coon really chews it up. Every scene she’s in is a revelation – pun intended.
Keeley Hawes
Keeley Hawes can do anything better than anybody, and with a stellar Brit accent. It doesn’t get much better than watching Bolly Kecks square off against Gene Hunt.
Anna Silk and Ksenia Solo
These two ladies are so inseparable and so wonderful as BFF’s that I had to nominate them as a pair. Sure, Lost Girl is thrilling and funny and all about the fey underground, but at its heart, the real story is the friendship between Kenzi and Bo.
Rebecca Alexander’s The Secrets of Life and Death reminded me of Phil Rickman’s Merrily Watkins novels – and that’s a compliment. Alexander’s novel isn’t a doorstopper like a Rickman book, but it’s a suspenseful supernatural mystery with charming yet flawed characters, and even an old cottage in the country (here, it’s Devon). I wanted to put on a wool sweater, brew a pot of black tea, and tuck my feet up next to a cozy fire. And then start looking over my shoulder!
It’s difficult to pin down a genre though, for The Secrets of Life and Death. The title is somewhat generic – it doesn’t tell you at all that inside these pages you’ll find a fictionalized account of real life alleged serial killer Countess Elizabeth Bathory, who may have murdered hundreds of young women and girls in Eastern Europe from 1585 to the date of her imprisonment in 1610.
In this novel, it’s the occultist Edward Kelley who, within the harrowing pages of his journals, recounts the story of how he and his mentor Dr. John Dee saved the young Countess from a deadly sickness, only to make her into an immortal monster – a vampire who derives superhuman strength from human blood. Kelley and Dee were real historical figures, both of whom studied the full gamut of metaphysical and alchemical lore in the late sixteenth century. These men were equally at home discussing algebra and astronomy or magic and divination, and saw no division between magic and science. Edward was said to have the ability to channel angels, a talent – or self-deception – evident in this novel.
Edward Kelley’s story parallels the present-day events in the lives of Jackdaw Hammond and Professor Felix Guichard. Jack too, is undead, but far from a monster. She and her friend Maggie use their knowledge of magic and Enochian sigils to save young women from tragic deaths, in the same way Jack herself was saved years ago. The price the women pay for life is to be metaphysically chained to the power of the protective symbols they must wear on their skin; they become revenants, and their blood carries the power to extend life.
When a disbelieving young girl in Jack and Maggie’s care runs away, only to suffer the fate from which she’d been rescued (an overdose of drugs), her body is found on a train, her skin covered in strange symbols that the police believe must be satanic or black magic. Professor Felix Guichard, an expert in belief systems outside the mainstream – his degree is in West African sorcery – is called in to evaluate the scene. In this, the book reminded me too of Michael Gruber’s excellent Jimmy Paz novels, though Gruber is more adept at weaving his research into a narrative. Nonetheless, Felix, intrigued by the symbols, seeks out Jackdaw, who has recently found a new young girl to save, Sadie. But something else is hunting Jack, too. And in 1585, Edward and John are about to make a terrible mistake that will have consequences far in the future – Jack’s future.
It’s the characters that carry this book. Tormented Edward; fierce Jackdaw, kindhearted Felix, feisty Sadie. As Jack and Felix’s relationship deepens in the midst of chaos, as Sadie accepts her reality with dignity, and as Edward understands the consequences of his actions, we can reflect on not so much the secrets of life and death, but the ideas of good and evil. It’s never been completely undisputed that Elizabeth Bathory committed all the atrocities of which she was accused – she was a powerful woman with enemies. In the novel, she chooses to become cursed. Jack is given the same choice, but she is not the same kind of person as Bathory. I wondered why Alexander gave her female character a man’s name, but I think the point is more that she bears the name of a bird – the small black crows – daws – of England and Europe. Jack means ‘small,’ yet this woman is anything but. Alexander is currently penning the third book in this trilogy; I can’t wait for Jackdaw to carry more light through darkness.
I received this book as a free ARC from Netgalley.
Beth Bernobich’s The Time Roads is Steampunk Lite with a twist of Time Travel. That might sound less enjoyable than the actual reading experience, which is mostly a mild disappointment; flat but still somewhat entertaining. The prose is crisp and the vocabulary appropriately antique; the worldbuilding is thoughtful, but not spectacular. It’s plausible that more research went into Irish names than almost everything else here, except possibly prime numbers.
So, there’s this alternate-history Ireland, see, in 1897. Éire. And in this reality, Éire is an empire with a savvy new Queen and civil unrest brewing in the world. Intriguing premise! Sadly, other than that, there’s nothing truly wowza here. Even thrilling subplots (a love triangle; a string of violent and bizarre murders; even the dire quest for time travel itself) don’t live up to their potential and left this reader unsatisfied. If the main point of the novel had been to focus on the scientific pursuit of the time roads, that would be understandable, but even the method of traveling through time is confusing and unbelievable. The political intrigue, time slippage and interpersonal relations that slowly unspool the plot are too tangled, and no amount of cool steampunk hot air balloons, strong tea drinking, or alternate history lessons can knot it all together quite well enough (though I do love reading about a good cuppa).
The elaborate description of scientist Brendan Ó Cuilinn’s strange time machine – an octopus-like brass and silver contraption with wires and glass tubes – opens the first section of the novel, with a focus on mystical mathematics, as Ó Cuilinn uses his machine to make an iron-chromium bar “disappear,” claiming he has sent the bar into the future. But despite much emphasis on insanity, prime numbers and lots of philosophical name-dropping, it seems as if the reader is expected to accept the book’s time travel premise based mostly on magical descriptions of the time roads themselves, and the characters’ sudden encounters with inexplicable nausea and fugue states – or being dead one minute, and alive the next – with the ability to remember different realities. Why bother with science or pseudoscience at all? There is no concern with paradox. The most pressing issues for the main characters are that of overlapping timelines, the resulting confusion, and possible war among nations, but the narrative is itself so switchbacky that I began to doubt everything, and not in ways that I think were intentional.
The Time Roads is divided into four books, each taking place in a year between 1897 and 1914 (althought at one point, we’re in the 1940’s), and in multiple time streams. The division of the book unfortunately breaks up the narrative flow into a collected of disjointed novellas, further scattered by the use of different points of view. Disjointedness and multiple viewpoints are techniques that really work in time travel stories – hey, they’re often key to the plot. I didn’t feel that applied here, which may have been the point, but if it was, I don’t actually see the point of that.
The first and last books are told in first person by Queen Áine, while the second and third books are told in third person and focus on two other characters. The Queen’s chapter introduces Ó Cuilinn’s machine, Queen Áine (our sharpwitted and independent heroine), and her trusted agent Aidrean Ó Deághaidh – the love triangle that goes in circles. The second book follows Síomón Madoc and his sister Gwen, student prodigies and future (past?) discoverers of the time roads and how to travel them. Gwen is literally two split people in the book – tragically mad and scientifically gifted – but the two personas are neither fleshed out nor threaded together to make either one, let alone two, solid characters. The third chapter involves Ó Deághaidh investigating reports of unrest in the country of Montenegro. Oddly, this section of the book – “Ars Memoriae” – is the strongest, because it is completely unlike the other sections. “Ars Memoriae” is Jason Bourne meets HG Wells, a spy novella with trust issues, reality issues, and thriller-level suspense. If the whole novel could have been like this – BOOM, yes!! It really seems like it tried to be. Alas, no.
The character of Queen Áine is the book’s strong, smart heroine – yes, but more like a box to be checkmarked than a woman to care about – which is too bad. In Montenegro, Ó Deághaidh meets Valerija Delchev, who definitely has the most charisma of the female players, and then she’s promptly dropped from the storyline and footnoted.
For a novel about time travel, The Time Roads is two-dimensional. Is it because the characters are developed only enough to simply suffice for the plot and general reader interest? Is it because the book’s concept of time travel requires advanced degrees in mathematics and physics (does it – really?)? This is a book that could have been. Could have been more. Kind of calls for someone to go back in time and add what’s missing. I would read that alternate-reality version of this book.
I received this book as a free ARC from Netgalley.
I was in Yosemite the week of September 22nd, which happened to be the 11th annual Facelift event, sponsored by the Yosemite Climbing Association. Volunteers sign up for trash pick up duty and then scour the Park for litter. Last year volunteers picked up 9,000 pounds of trash. That’s actually down from the previous years – either people are littering less, or the cleanup is finally catching up on years and years of littering. So with the Facelift event, there’s a contest by bag-o-trash weight for the winning participant, a raffle, and that general feeling of accomplishment that makes you smile and reach for the hand sanitizer.
I signed up mainly out of guilt. I’d been wandering around Yosemite Valley and bicycling its pathways for a day and a half, watching the day-glo vested volunteers with their bags of trash and gripper sticks. I had plenty of time, so I volunteered for an hour, and ended up doing two. I signed a waiver, got an orange vest, a grabby stick, a trash bag, a free mini-ClifBar, and a pretty nice stainless steel souvenir water bottle. Then I got the mini-lecture on trash (pick it up) versus archaeology (leave it alone!) and I was ready to go.
Picking up trash is not what I expected. I definitely knew there’d be grossities- chewed bubblegum for starters (though the main items tended to be either popsicle sticks or fruit barcode stickers). I didn’t count on the difficulty of trying to drop trash into my bag during the most blustery day of the week without the bag blowing open and all my carefully gleaned trashy bits spilling out everywhere. I definitely think the gripper sticks could be more ergonomic – how hard it is to make a handle with finger grips and angle the stick just a little differently so a person doesn’t get carpal tunnel. Whine, whine. The grippy end was amazing, though – I could pick up a tiny bit of paper in one try, and that is not due to any skill that I possess other than decent hand-eye coordination.
The two hours went by pretty fast, and I began to notice that people noticed me more often. Walking around alone in a crowded National Park is a great way to get ignored or get weird stares. When I was walking around alone with my Bag of Nasty and my grippy stick, I got smiles and sometimes chitchat. What a hero! I also discovered that, after my two hours and my 0.6 pounds of trash (not a great haul, but honestly the place had really been cleaned up by the time I stepped up), I couldn’t stop looking down at the ground for more trash. Afterward, I sat on a bench in front of the Ansel Adams Gallery and immediately counted 4 cigarette butts on the ground. I didn’t pick them up. I’d already picked up 47 butts on my trash duty. Yes, I counted the butts I picked up, and I think 47 is actually a very low number based on what I saw in other people’s bags. Anyone out there who doesn’t put his or her cigarette butts in a trashcan – you are not cool. The earth is not your ashtray.
I say all this, Miss High and Mighty, but there was one bit of trash I didn’t pick up. I saw it – a dried out buttwipe behind a tree – and I hesitated. And then, no. No no no. Not even with my three-foot grippy stick. Not a hero. But I tried.
Some more free goodies on Kindle Unlimited.
Supernatural mystery with Detective Chen – this is probably the find that I’m most excited about. There are more books in the series.
More gritty supernatural noir, starring shapeshifter detective Jeremy Stake.
Ghosty literary suspense.
Short fiction from smarter-than-you Peter Watts’ giant sci fi brain.
Who isn’t always looking for good time travel fiction?
The Introvert’s Guide to a Residency at Hypatia-in-the-Woods
Your Arrival:
You will see trees. There will be many, many trees and long gravel roads leading deeper and deeper into a new realm. Sunlight will filter down through feathery cedar branches while you hear the distant rumble of barges on Hammersley Inlet. Walk through the labyrinth. Do not step on the banana slugs.
The Unpacking:
You will see Holly House with its mossy roof, and you will marvel that it appears to be bigger on the inside, like Doctor Who’s Tardis. Note: Holly House does not travel through space or time…maybe. You will find a cozy porch with falling leaves, deck chairs, and birdsong. You might enjoy working out there, or at the kichen table, or on the couch, or possibly the floor. Change it up. Get crazy. In the living room, you will see two large teddy bears wearing outfits knitted by Elspeth. Don’t be nervous. The bears are not watching you. Read through the joyous guest book entries of former residents. The teddy bears are not watching you.
The People:
You will encounter gracious and spirited women who will welcome you. They like to knit and drink wine and converse over dinner, but they understand if you are busy working or if you are not the social type. If you are lucky and it’s summer, Carolyn may give you bounty from her garden, or Maitri will share plums.
If you are a writer, enjoy attending one of the writer’s group sessions on Wednesdays. The gang will be kind and ruthlessly insightful if you allow them to critique your work, and you will enjoy reading theirs.
Hypatia herself will probably not show up in person. She died in 415 AD. However, meditate on this wise, uppity, heroic woman as you create your wise, uppity art, you heroine you.
Nights in the Woods:
It is dark. You are alone with the maples and the firs. There will be the ticktock of moths flinging themselves into the windowpanes. You will hear skitterings. Do not be afraid, the earth is your home too. The teddy bears are not watching you. You may hear barred owls partying in the tree branches outside. They love to party, and also to gab about it with each other. Loudly. I merely eavesdropped, and did not try to join any owl conversations. You will work late into the night, writing poems or essays or making art or music.
Out on the town:
You will need exercise. You may do a 3.7 mile run on the Huff n Puff Trail (if you go around all the loops twice, as I did). The wide, well maintained forest trail loops and swirls through a conifer forest that is so shady you will not need sunscreen.
You will spend many, many days writing at Urraco Coffee Co, Sage Bookstore, and the Library.
You may dine at various Shelton restaurants, like Xinh’s and Smoking Mo’s. Smoking’ Mo’s is now one of my favorite restaurants anywhere. But I like meat.
You will go to the Olympia Farmer’s Market. It is in a covered pavilion and there is a big free parking lot. Lovely people, gorgeous produce. I bought some coconut lime roasted almonds and a big bag of vegetables.
Your Departure:
You will take some time to clean up after yourself, of course. You will take a moment to enter your own musings into the Holly House Guest Book. You will realize that you won’t ever come back here, but that you will take this place with you.
Have you been thinking about signing up for Kindle Unlimited, but $9.99 a month seems kinda pricey? It’s true that you can only “check out” 10 books at a time. That’s probably plenty for the average reader, but you have to count on a few Did Not Finish’ers. You can return books and exchange them for others any time. I signed up for the 30 day free trial and went on a hunt for good speculative fiction. So far I’ve found some pretty great stuff, but the trick is to go after what you really want (I used my goodreads list), instead of relying on Amazon’s genre lists to spoonfeed you. They don’t seem to be doing a good job of curating these lists at all. Example – even though there’s a paranormal/urban fantasy list, there’s nothing for horror or supernatural. And the sci fi list seems to rely on Wool and Fluency.
So, here’s what I’ve found so far. If I stay signed on, I’ll update this monthly with whatever I find. Either way, the book prices are on the low side even if you don’t do Kindle Unlimited.
Click on the covers to link to Amazon.
One of the best vampire series out there kicks off with this book.
Phil Rickman (aka Will Kingdom) is a Welsh author who writes extremely good supernatural mysteries with wonderful characters.
Laird Barron is one of the spookiest dudes writing horror fiction today.
More people need to read Melissa Scott.
Tentacles on the cover! Feel the Lovecraft.
Banana Slugs are so-named because they look like overripe bananas – bright yellow with brown spots. Up to 25 centimeter long, they’re almost as big as bananas – maybe petite bananas – and that makes them the second biggest slugs in the world. The first one I ever saw, scooching its way across an uneven terrain of grass, pine duff, and leaves, looked like a dog turd. A really sick, sloppy, olive-green don’t-step-on-that dog turd. I couldn’t figure out where the dog might be, way out here miles from anywhere in the woods along Washington’s Hammersley Inlet. And then the poop moved. I took pictures with my phone.
Everybody loves Banana Slugs. No – they do. UC Santa Cruz chose the Banana Slug as its mascot. Without looking, I’m sure there’s more than one Twitter account with a Banana Slug tweeting away about how awesome it is to be slimy and hermaphroditic. I for one wouldn’t mind being able to breathe through my skin. Banana Slugs move pretty slowly though – like, six inches a minute – so there’s that. And it begs to be told (if you don’t already know, you hipster Banana Slug fan, you) that they’re known to engage in some pretty gruesome post-coital behavior: ahem, a Banana Slug will gnaw off its own penis once the deed is done. Don’t judge.
Terrestrial gastropods like Banana Slugs also have tongues with teeth (called radulas – toothy rasps used for scraping up the good bits to eat), two pairs of tentacles for seeing and smelling, and a lung that opens up to the air for breathing.
The Banana Slug that I almost stepped on was Ariolimax columbianus, quite at home as a native of the Pacific Northwest’s coastal rainforests. Apparently one of the best ways to differentiate the three different species of Ariolimax is by comparing penises (pre-chewed, one would assume). I did not, however, have any basis for comparison in that regard, so my best guess is columbianus.
They like to creep along the forest floor, munching on dead leaves, animal scat, and other goodies. This is when that radula comes in handy. Banana Slugs are the detritivores, the ones who clean up after the rest of us like organic street sweepers, spreading seeds and spores around and making new soil, new life, out of death and decay. Also they love mushrooms, which makes them gourmands.
Raccoons, snakes, and ducks love to gulp slugs, which isn’t too surprising when you consider that human beings love mollusks too, like mussels and oysters. The Yurok ate Banana Slugs, and today there’s even a Banana Slug Festival every year along California’s Russian River, where the principal goal of the culinary contest seems to be trying to make slugs at most palatable. The challenge continues, as does the animal rights controversy. Raccoons have solved this problem – the icky taste of Banana Slug slime – by tossing the slugs around in dirt and duff, possibly like rolling a chocolate truffle in powdered cocoa. But different.
Nothing wrong with different, when you’re essential to an ecosystem. We need slugs. And they’re not pests – the garden slugs that eat vegetable crops are actually an invasive species called European Black Slugs. I know why everybody thinks Banana Slugs are cool. They’re not beautiful, but…they are. They’re part of everything else, just like us.