Very Short Book Reviews: Orphans and Swordswomen and Haunted Houses, Oh My!

The Orphans of Raspay, by Lois McMaster Bujold (Subterranean)

Another Penric adventure! With pirates! Calloo callay!

Our stalwart cleric, host to the chaos demon Desdemona, is returning from a routine (read: tedious) mission when his ship is taken over by pirates. He and the rest of the passengers are to be sold as slaves at the nearest port, once free but now ruled by aforementioned evil-doers. While captive, he encounters two young girls destined for the same fate. While he is confident that he’ll either be ransomed or able to negotiate his freedom through his (and Des’s) penchant for persuasion, the girls have no such resources. Of course, he takes them under his protection, which complicates and lends special urgency to escape efforts.

I loved seeing new aspects of Penric, who is as resourceful and determined as evr, as well as watching his relationship with Desdemona evolve yet further. And really, Captured by Pirates is a great way to begin any story.

 

Burning Roses, by S. L. Huang (Tor.com)

I loved S. L. Huang’s Null Set, which is science fiction (ish), with a heroine whose superpower is her genius at mathematics. Burning Roses takes us into the realm of fantasy with two aging women dragon hunters in a world in which humans can assume animal form, and distinguishing between them and true beasts poses critical moral questions. Each woman has her own tragic background, her own guilt, and her own path toward redemption. Rose, a European who came to this Asian-inspired land with her lover and daughter, has a long and tortured history through twisted fairy tales. The story pits the healing power of friendship against the crippling belief that one is beyond forgiveness. I loved the depth of the book, and also that the dragons are feathered, a bit like phoenixes. It’s not a long book, but one that should be read slowly, pondered over, and savored.

 

The House on Widows Hill, by Simon R. Green (Severn House)

Ishmael Jones, intrepid (and extraterrestrial) secret agent, takes on a haunted house, along with his charming companion, Penny. The story opens with a peek into Ishmael’s history, hints of the space ship crash that landed him on Earth and the existence of a second survivor. In return for help locating another of his kind, he agrees to investigate an old house with a nasty reputation. It’s the usual set-up, with Ishmael, Penny, and an assortment of psychics and ghost-hunters and such agreeing to spend an entire night in the house. Of course, spooky things happen. Of course, Ishmael and Penny don’t for a second believe these are due to supernatural apparitions.

Of course, things then take a seriously twisted turn, one even Ishmael can’t explain away.

The opening of the book felt comfortably familiar, with the legends and warnings about the house, the introduction and frictions between the guests, and the early, inexplicable events. But this is Ishmael Jones at work, and the story unfolds in the hands of a gifted writer who is much too savvy to follow expectations.

Marvelous fun, but with moments of reflection. I hope Ishmael gets his answers, but not too soon. The journey from here to there provides excellent entertainment.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Short Book Reviews: A Gothic Horror in Mexico

 Mexican Gothic, by Silvia Moreno-Garcia (Del Rey)

Slowly building but gripping from the start, this Gothic horror tale set in 1950s Mexico is just the sort of brilliantly executed, engaging tale you’d expect from the author of Gods of Jade and Shadow. It’s gorgeous, sensual, and incredibly creepy, at times reminding me of all the tales and movies in which fungus is the agent of evil or at least creepiness. (Remember Brian Lumley’s story, “Fruiting Bodies”? Or Molly Tanzer’s more recent novel, Creatures of Want and Ruin?) Here Moreno-Garcia has given these elements and the trope of the sinister Gothic mansion her own flair and flavor.

Noemí Taboada ventures to a big, spooky mansion after her newly married cousin sends a desperate, if incoherent, message. We know, of course, that all is not as it appears to be in this realm of shabby British expatriate gentility. There’s the ancient, decaying, bed-ridden patriarch, the cousin’s charismatic but sadistically manipulative husband, the hyper-controlling aunt, and the pale, poetic nephew who draws beautiful sketches of fungi. But Noemí is no ordinary Gothic heroine, she’s a modern (well, 1950s modern) woman with scholarly aspirations, a talent for controlling social situations through flirtation, the ability to drive a car, and an impetuous fearlessness that gets her out of trouble as often as it gets her in. Yet even her forthrightness and independence are not enough to render her immune from the slow intoxication of the mansion, High Place, and its inhabitants. Fungal spores are in the air she breathes, the food she eats, even the wallpaper of her bedroom, and it’s only a matter of time before she succumbs.

From the breezy opening scenes to the slowly building creepiness to the utterly horrific page-turner climax, Mexican Gothic delivers on its promise. It held my imagination in its fungal-laced grip.

This award-worthy novel is definitely not for reading late at night if you intend to get any sleep!

Short Book Reviews: A Middle Grade Heroine Takes on Gothic Horror

Rewritten (Unwritten series, book two), by Tara Gilboy (Jolly Fish Press)

Gracie, a preteen whose life has been spent in hiding, has come to terms with having been created as a villainous character in a book written by Gertrude Winters. Her life is marginally better after the adventures in Unwritten  (reviewed here), since she and her best friend, Thomas, along with various other people, are squashed into Gertrude’s house. Not only that, the archvillain, Cassandra, is still at large, armed with the magical book, the Vademecum, which allows her to travel between real and literary worlds. Cassandra is no less obsessed with Gracie as her heir and adopted daughter. And now she’s using the Vademecum to track Gracie’s every thought and movement.

Meanwhile, Gracie stumbles on a box of Gertrude’s unpublished stories, tales in which the writer worked out her troubled relationship with her own daughter. Some are benign, like the one set on a cruise ship, but one was so dark, so filled with danger and gloom, that Gertrude refused to allow Gracie to read it. And it is into this Gothic horror story that Gracie and Thomas flee, with Cassandra on their heels.

The world of The Beast of Blackwood Hall is a parade of Gothic tropes: the isolated manor house, the wintry forest, the mysterious disappearances and even more mysterious illness; the newly deceased mother; the family curse; the monster that lurks in the shadows. All of these are intensified by the limitations that the story itself places on Gracie and Thomas, for they cannot escape beyond the confines of the story, which is inexorably drawing to its fatal climax.

As with the first book, Unwritten, Gilboy’s tale offers much to the adult as well as the middle grade reader. The issues are not watered down or simplistic. She never condescends to her young audience. Rather, she trusts them to understand complex emotions, and that is perhaps the most compelling aspect of these books. Children become trustworthy by being trusted; they grow into emotionally mature adults by being presented with ambiguity and nuance.

Gracie . . . thought back to her conversations with Gertrude. “She said the monster was a metaphor for something, the dark parts of ourselves.” . . . She’d written the stories the way she had to avoid hurting real people, to put all her feelings onto the page, rather than lashing out at those she loved. 

“Every story we read becomes a part of who we are in a small way.”

Gilboy’s stories definitely fall into that category.

Very Short Book Reviews: A New "Wayward Children" Novella

Come Tumbling Down, by Seanan McGuire (Tor.com)

In this latest installment of the “Eleanor West’s School for Wayward Children” series (the first book of which was the stunning, award-winning Every Heart A Doorway), Jack (of Jack and Jill) returns from the world of the Moors, a lightning-ridden nightmare cross between Frankenstein and Dracula, with an occasional Lovecraftian Drowned God. Only Jack isn’t herself, she’s been placed into Jill’s body, and therein lies the problem, because although the two are identical twins, their personalities could not be more dissimilar. Faced with unacceptable, revolting differences, Jack’s OCD threatens to overwhelm her self-control. Now Jack’s on a mission back to the Moors to regain her own body and save her mentor, Dr. Bleak. Accompanying her are her lover, Alexis, the girl with lightning instead of a heart, and her friends from the school, Kade, Sumi, Christopher, and the mermaid girl, Cora.

Come Tumbling Down is a worthy, brilliant successor to the previous volumes, full of luscious prose, sentences that ring so emotionally true they stop your heart, and immense generosity.

Amazing Fantasy Round Table: 50 Shades of Fantasy

This month's Amazing Fantasy Round Table examines the question of whether modern fantasy comes in shades other than grim and gritty.

Warren Rochelle: Fantasy: How Many Shades of Grey?

All right.  I’ve been browsing in The Encyclopedia of Fantasy. I googled “different kinds of fantasy—and, for the most part, found similar lists and similar terms.  I doubt most of those who write for this blog would be surprised at the terms and definitions I found, such as:  

Ø  high fantasy: immersion, set wholly in the secondary world, “with its own set of rules and physical laws,” (no connections between here and there). Think Middle-earth.

Ø  low fantasy: “a sub-genre of fantasy fiction involving nonrational happenings that are without causality or rationality because they occur in the rational world where such things are not supposed to occur. Low fantasy stories are set either in the real world or a fictional but rational world, and are contrasted with high fantasy stories (see above)… The word "low" refers to the level of prominence of traditional fantasy elements within the work, and is not any sort of remark on the work's quality” (Wikipedia contributors. "Low fantasy." (Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia. Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, 27 Mar. 2013. Web. 2 May. 2013.)  Examples include The Borrowers, Tuck Everlasting, The Five Children and It, Edward Eager’s novels, and so on.

Ø  epic fantasy, which is centered on the quest, relies on a heroic main character, stresses the battle between good and evil, heroes, legendary battles—often called heroic fantasy.  A portal-quest or portal fantasy could be a variant, with a prime example that of the Chronicles of Narnia.

The lists go on to include contemporary/urban fantasy, anthropomorphic, historical, dark, science fantasy—you get the idea. Fantasy, all about good vs. evil, the light versus the dark, heroes and heroines, magic, dragons, and their ilk, comes in many shades of grey. (50? That’s another essay—see the blog on sexuality in fantasy, okay?)  Then, there is immersive vs. intrusive and liminal or estranged and … But instead of defining each and every one, and dredging up examples (which is something I like to do when I teach fantasy lit—English 379, this fall, 3:30-4:45 TTh, come on down), I want to talk about the shade of grey I write and why (and yes, grey, the British spelling, and not the American gray. Grey just looks …. well, grey, and it’s prettier… I digress).

So. What’s my shade of grey?  I have two published fantasy novels, Harvest of Changelings (Golden Gryphon, 2007) and its sequel, The Called (Golden Gryphon, 2010). A third is being edited, The Golden Boy, and a fourth in progress even as I write, The Werewolf and His Boy. They are all, I am thinking, low and intrusive fantasies. True, The Golden Boy is sort of pushing the above definition of low, as it is set in an alternate reality, that of the Columbian Empire. Magic is real, but it is illegal, and the Empire is definitely meant to be a rational country. Magic, does, however, intrude, according to the Columbian political and religious authorities. But, the others: this world (more or less), and then magic returns (thus intruding), or is disclosed in some fashion, voluntarily and otherwise. Harvest and The Called are set in North Carolina; Werewolf, in Virginia. Complications ensue—lots of complications. Bad things happen. The good guys are in serious trouble. Yes, there are forays into Faerie from time to time, but on the whole, things happen here, not there.

The question of the moment is why, to what end. Part of me has always wanted to believe in magic (oh, all right, part of me does believe in magic) and that it is real and if we just knew—the right people, the right words, where to look—we could find it. It’s always been here. There has to be a reason for all these stories. So, I create fictional worlds that satisfy this longing. In these worlds the magical and the mundane intersect, overlap, come into conflict—and I find these encounters fascinating. As do their real-world counterparts (encountering the unexplainable), such meetings pull back the veils and reveal us as who and what we really are. They are meetings in which we are forced to ask the question of what it means to be human. That some of these encounters are fraught with peril is also part of this question.  To be human is, sometimes, to be in danger, to be facing great evil, and to have to confront that evil, albeit the evil is a monster, another human, or a personal darkness. To be human is to undertake the quest. As Le Guin says in her essay, “The Child and the Shadow,” “fantasy is the natural, the appropriate language for the recounting of the spiritual journey and the struggle of good and evil in the soul”(Language of the Night 64).