Swords Against Death is the second Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser book (I reviewed the first, Swords and Deviltry, last year). I was going to wait until I'd read the third book before writing another review, but I don't know when I'll get around to the next book. By the time I do, I'll probably have forgotten the details of this one.
Anyway, I liked Swords Against Death even better than the first book. I was surprised that the tone was so much lighter--much more what I'd expected when I first started reading the series. Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser do a lot of adventuring, sometimes for treasure, sometimes against their wills (or at least their better judgment). I liked that their personalities became more developed this time around, too. Fafhrd is a little bit happy-go-lucky, in a lugubrious way, while the Mouser is cautious and a little superstitious.
Some of the stories were more accessible than others, language-wise. The stories with a more arch, stilted tone interested me less than the slightly more modern ones. On the other hand, some stories (particularly "The Price of Pain-Ease" and "The Bazaar of the Bizarre") tipped a little too far toward modern and sometimes feel early-1970s dated. I also noticed a casual sexist and racist tone in some stories that I don't remember from the first book; it's not bad enough to put me off the books, but I was surprised and disappointed.
I'm still going to read the third one, of course.
Showing posts with label swords and sorcery. Show all posts
Showing posts with label swords and sorcery. Show all posts
Monday, June 14, 2010
Friday, January 22, 2010
Red Seas Under Red Skies by Scott Lynch
I was late discovering Scott Lynch's The Lies of Locke Lamora, which I read about a year ago. It's a brilliant book. I don't know why I took so long to read Red Seas Under Red Skies, its sequel. I liked it almost as much.
Red Seas Under Red Skies picks up a few years after the events from the first book, although the preceding time is filled in with flashbacks. Gentleman Bastards Locke and Jean have started a new game in Tal Verrar; they're intent on swindling everything they can from the Sinspire, an opulent gambling house. Their careful plans are coming along perfectly when the ruling Archon discovers them and decides he needs a couple of pawns. After that, as usual things go steeply downhill for Locke and Jean; Locke has to keep his considerable wit and Jean has to mop up with his brawn to keep them alive.
If these books were straightforward romps, they'd be good enough, but they're more than just that. The writing is excellent and the worldbuilding is among the best I've ever read. Some books you just want to step inside them and explore--but I must say, this is not one of them. The world Lynch has created is violent and casually cruel; Locke himself is a thief, a con artist, and sometimes (when he can't avoid it) a murderer. But somehow, it's fascinating rather than repellent, and Locke is a likable, very real, very flawed character. His relationship with Jean in this book is deeper and more nuanced. Really, every one of Lynch's characters--no matter how insignificant, no matter how brief a mention he or she gets on the page--seems surely to have a real existence independent of the plot's needs. And the plot--oh, gosh, the plot is sort of amazing.
I'll now stop gushing for a moment and point out a problem with Red Seas Under Red Skies. Its tone is distinctly uneven. The first half or so of the book feels very much like The Lies of Locke Lamora, but once Locke and Jean set out to sea, the tone changes considerably. It feels weird to say this because much of Lynch's plots hinge on people doing awful things to each other, which I read while cringing, but the second half of Red Seas feels, well, tame. They sail about. I mean, sure, a lot happens, none of which I can tell you without dropping massive spoilers, but the intensity of the portions of the book that take place on land just isn't there.
I also found the ending less than satisfying. The first book ends spectacularly, fiercely, and when I finished reading the last page I felt sort of cleansed after the hellish emotion I'd just gone through. This ending just doesn't pack the same punch (although I should point out that I went through a lot of Kleenex while reading it). When I finish a book I want to feel like I've finished, and this ending mostly just had me frantic to start the next book.
On the whole, though, I found Red Seas Under Red Skies brilliant and well worth reading. (Even if my cheap-ass paperback copy already has pages falling out from the crappy glue binding not holding, and some of the pages were printed wrong so that the words were almost cut off the page.) The next book comes out this year, and conveniently enough it's being released on my birthday. You know what I'm getting myself.
B&N link
Red Seas Under Red Skies picks up a few years after the events from the first book, although the preceding time is filled in with flashbacks. Gentleman Bastards Locke and Jean have started a new game in Tal Verrar; they're intent on swindling everything they can from the Sinspire, an opulent gambling house. Their careful plans are coming along perfectly when the ruling Archon discovers them and decides he needs a couple of pawns. After that, as usual things go steeply downhill for Locke and Jean; Locke has to keep his considerable wit and Jean has to mop up with his brawn to keep them alive.
If these books were straightforward romps, they'd be good enough, but they're more than just that. The writing is excellent and the worldbuilding is among the best I've ever read. Some books you just want to step inside them and explore--but I must say, this is not one of them. The world Lynch has created is violent and casually cruel; Locke himself is a thief, a con artist, and sometimes (when he can't avoid it) a murderer. But somehow, it's fascinating rather than repellent, and Locke is a likable, very real, very flawed character. His relationship with Jean in this book is deeper and more nuanced. Really, every one of Lynch's characters--no matter how insignificant, no matter how brief a mention he or she gets on the page--seems surely to have a real existence independent of the plot's needs. And the plot--oh, gosh, the plot is sort of amazing.
I'll now stop gushing for a moment and point out a problem with Red Seas Under Red Skies. Its tone is distinctly uneven. The first half or so of the book feels very much like The Lies of Locke Lamora, but once Locke and Jean set out to sea, the tone changes considerably. It feels weird to say this because much of Lynch's plots hinge on people doing awful things to each other, which I read while cringing, but the second half of Red Seas feels, well, tame. They sail about. I mean, sure, a lot happens, none of which I can tell you without dropping massive spoilers, but the intensity of the portions of the book that take place on land just isn't there.
I also found the ending less than satisfying. The first book ends spectacularly, fiercely, and when I finished reading the last page I felt sort of cleansed after the hellish emotion I'd just gone through. This ending just doesn't pack the same punch (although I should point out that I went through a lot of Kleenex while reading it). When I finish a book I want to feel like I've finished, and this ending mostly just had me frantic to start the next book.
On the whole, though, I found Red Seas Under Red Skies brilliant and well worth reading. (Even if my cheap-ass paperback copy already has pages falling out from the crappy glue binding not holding, and some of the pages were printed wrong so that the words were almost cut off the page.) The next book comes out this year, and conveniently enough it's being released on my birthday. You know what I'm getting myself.
B&N link
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
First Lord's Fury by Jim Butcher
Ah, book six and almost unquestionably the end of the series. To anyone who has been following along with Jim Butcher's Codex Alera, the long-delayed deluge of reveals in this sixth volume is likely to trigger a cascade of relieved sighs. Book six is also a slight departure from the first five--but I'll get there in a second. It's probably only fair to touch on the whole series first, seeing as it's done and all.
About two years ago, I didn't like urban fantasy at all--well, more to the point, I firmly and consciously considered myself to be someone who didn't like urban fantasy. I shunned all the UF books on the B&N shelves with a sniff of contempt. On the other hand, I've always enjoyed epic fantasy and like to read long series--so when Jim Butcher (who had something like 8 Dresden books out at the time) started putting out his fantasy-without-urban Codex Alera, I picked it up. That probably makes me the one person on Earth who heard about Butcher in such an unusual order: Codex Alera first, Dresden Files books second, and a Netflixed Dresden Files disc or two third.
I snarfed up the first three Alera books with such zeal that, while waiting for the fourth, I finally decided that if Butcher could write this well then I should try the Dresden series too. And I loved them (but that's a different review). My point is, in my opinion Butcher is simply a very, very good writer: he's able to string the reader along from scene to scene without letting his pace lag even when switching viewpoints frequently, he's definitive in his characters' definitions and he's a phenomenal world builder, making even the these magic-filled inexplicables seem surprisingly plausible.
I'm a sucker for watching a main character develop. (Consider the unrelated book The Still, perhaps the best example I've ever read of such development: the MC was such an ass in the first half that I almost threw the book away, and yet by the end I was rooting for him devotedly.) In the Codex Alera, Butcher has provided a whole host of MCs who all have their terrors to overcome: a mother who is in hiding after her royal husband was murdered, a bear of a man grieving for the loss of his wife, and most of all Tavi: a boy without magic, in a land where everyone else has it--and needs it to survive.
Butcher has stretched that MC development over six long volumes, sticking with the same characters and making them grow and grow as the plot twists and winds around an intricate, continents-wide world with no fewer than four species of humanoids--including some truly nasty baddies. He doles out little steps of character improvement at just a fast enough pace to keep you waiting for the next step: two characters that finally meet there, one who is able to come out of hiding here, another who meets a the right enemy right then so that they can resolve an issue together. The pacing isn't always perfect, but it's better than that of any other author I can remember--and it goes on that way, book after book.
Butcher's choice of world design is unusual. The white hats are the Aleran peoples, and their society and army are modeled strongly after our own Rome--something that bothered me as I read the first book (I didn't want the similarity to our own world!), but which I came to appreciate by the third. Here in the sixth book Butcher drops some very feint hints about how the Alerans came to be here and thereby suggests a tie to our own world; it's subtle but unexpected and I'm still not sure if I think it was necessary.
The Alerans wield magic through the use of Furies: semi-sentient elemental beings that bond with individuals and offer them remarkable powers. It's a neat premise and Butcher plays it out very well, from the living storms in the first book to the walking mountains in the sixth. Magic is pervasive in society, and it's intriguing to see how Butcher has mixed it in: the common-place uses (a little analogous to what we've done with electricity) keep it from being front-and-center in your attention except when he wants to showcase something special.
In this final book, Butcher has turned the action up a step: the plot zings along so quickly that there's never really a pause at all. It almost brings to mind the movie edition of the The Two Towers--you know, the middle of the three that's almost entirely one 180-minute battle at Helm's Deep? This book reads a little like that. I had expected the Big Conflict to appear towards the end, but in truth it starts at the beginning and never really lets up.
That change of pace is what I meant when I said book six is a bit of a departure. After five books of having reveals drop-fed to you, suddenly there's a firehose open and you're gulping them down as fast as you can. Oh, you were behind that plot twist? You were whose father? Butcher feels almost a little desperate to get things wrapped up, which is why I wrote "unquestionably the end of the series" above--and yet in the very last chapter he drops a hint that maybe things aren't over after all, which is why I added "almost" to "unquestionably." One wonders if the "To be continued...?" theme is just a habit he can't break.
Not that I would mind.
B&N link
About two years ago, I didn't like urban fantasy at all--well, more to the point, I firmly and consciously considered myself to be someone who didn't like urban fantasy. I shunned all the UF books on the B&N shelves with a sniff of contempt. On the other hand, I've always enjoyed epic fantasy and like to read long series--so when Jim Butcher (who had something like 8 Dresden books out at the time) started putting out his fantasy-without-urban Codex Alera, I picked it up. That probably makes me the one person on Earth who heard about Butcher in such an unusual order: Codex Alera first, Dresden Files books second, and a Netflixed Dresden Files disc or two third.
I snarfed up the first three Alera books with such zeal that, while waiting for the fourth, I finally decided that if Butcher could write this well then I should try the Dresden series too. And I loved them (but that's a different review). My point is, in my opinion Butcher is simply a very, very good writer: he's able to string the reader along from scene to scene without letting his pace lag even when switching viewpoints frequently, he's definitive in his characters' definitions and he's a phenomenal world builder, making even the these magic-filled inexplicables seem surprisingly plausible.
I'm a sucker for watching a main character develop. (Consider the unrelated book The Still, perhaps the best example I've ever read of such development: the MC was such an ass in the first half that I almost threw the book away, and yet by the end I was rooting for him devotedly.) In the Codex Alera, Butcher has provided a whole host of MCs who all have their terrors to overcome: a mother who is in hiding after her royal husband was murdered, a bear of a man grieving for the loss of his wife, and most of all Tavi: a boy without magic, in a land where everyone else has it--and needs it to survive.
Butcher has stretched that MC development over six long volumes, sticking with the same characters and making them grow and grow as the plot twists and winds around an intricate, continents-wide world with no fewer than four species of humanoids--including some truly nasty baddies. He doles out little steps of character improvement at just a fast enough pace to keep you waiting for the next step: two characters that finally meet there, one who is able to come out of hiding here, another who meets a the right enemy right then so that they can resolve an issue together. The pacing isn't always perfect, but it's better than that of any other author I can remember--and it goes on that way, book after book.
Butcher's choice of world design is unusual. The white hats are the Aleran peoples, and their society and army are modeled strongly after our own Rome--something that bothered me as I read the first book (I didn't want the similarity to our own world!), but which I came to appreciate by the third. Here in the sixth book Butcher drops some very feint hints about how the Alerans came to be here and thereby suggests a tie to our own world; it's subtle but unexpected and I'm still not sure if I think it was necessary.
The Alerans wield magic through the use of Furies: semi-sentient elemental beings that bond with individuals and offer them remarkable powers. It's a neat premise and Butcher plays it out very well, from the living storms in the first book to the walking mountains in the sixth. Magic is pervasive in society, and it's intriguing to see how Butcher has mixed it in: the common-place uses (a little analogous to what we've done with electricity) keep it from being front-and-center in your attention except when he wants to showcase something special.
In this final book, Butcher has turned the action up a step: the plot zings along so quickly that there's never really a pause at all. It almost brings to mind the movie edition of the The Two Towers--you know, the middle of the three that's almost entirely one 180-minute battle at Helm's Deep? This book reads a little like that. I had expected the Big Conflict to appear towards the end, but in truth it starts at the beginning and never really lets up.
That change of pace is what I meant when I said book six is a bit of a departure. After five books of having reveals drop-fed to you, suddenly there's a firehose open and you're gulping them down as fast as you can. Oh, you were behind that plot twist? You were whose father? Butcher feels almost a little desperate to get things wrapped up, which is why I wrote "unquestionably the end of the series" above--and yet in the very last chapter he drops a hint that maybe things aren't over after all, which is why I added "almost" to "unquestionably." One wonders if the "To be continued...?" theme is just a habit he can't break.
Not that I would mind.
B&N link
Thursday, December 24, 2009
The Crown Conspiracy by Michael J. Sullivan
I'm a real sucker for a good thief book. I was really hoping this book would be a romp--and it is, to some extent--with the main characters, Royce the thief and Hadrian the mercenary, swashbuckling through adventure after adventure. Instead the book turned high fantasy on me and the emphasis turned out to be saving the kingdom from a usurper, with the attendant battles, planning sessions, and meetings. I don't care about all that. Gimme thieving.
Actually, I'm being a little bit harsh. Royce and Hadrian do a lot of swashbuckling. The battles and so forth are important, but the main action focuses on a difficult rescue. Royce picks locks and things like that. Hadrian holds his own against master swordsmen. It's a lot of fun.
I never felt close to any of the characters, though. I liked them, and I was interested to see what they would do next, but if one of them had died I would have been "wait, what?" instead of "OMG NO!" I think that's why it was so easy for me to put the book down partway through after I started it a few months ago. I didn't have much emotional investment in the characters.
It's definitely a plot-driven work. Royce and Hadrian take what they think will be an easy job--steal a special sword on the eve of a duel--for high pay. Instead, they're framed for the king's murder. I would go on and give more details of the plot, but anything I write might give away some of the fun plot twists. I never knew what would happen next, which was awesome.
The Crown Conspiracy was published in 2008 from Aspirations Media, a small press. Like most small press works, this book desperately needed a final editing pass to fix awkward phrasing, misplaced commas, and homophone errors. It wasn't as bad as some, however--nothing that threw me out of the story too much. I'm picky about things like that anyway. [Edit: as you can see if you read the comments, a re-edited second edition of the book is available--or will be available soon--from Ridan Publishing.]
B&N link
Actually, I'm being a little bit harsh. Royce and Hadrian do a lot of swashbuckling. The battles and so forth are important, but the main action focuses on a difficult rescue. Royce picks locks and things like that. Hadrian holds his own against master swordsmen. It's a lot of fun.
I never felt close to any of the characters, though. I liked them, and I was interested to see what they would do next, but if one of them had died I would have been "wait, what?" instead of "OMG NO!" I think that's why it was so easy for me to put the book down partway through after I started it a few months ago. I didn't have much emotional investment in the characters.
It's definitely a plot-driven work. Royce and Hadrian take what they think will be an easy job--steal a special sword on the eve of a duel--for high pay. Instead, they're framed for the king's murder. I would go on and give more details of the plot, but anything I write might give away some of the fun plot twists. I never knew what would happen next, which was awesome.
The Crown Conspiracy was published in 2008 from Aspirations Media, a small press. Like most small press works, this book desperately needed a final editing pass to fix awkward phrasing, misplaced commas, and homophone errors. It wasn't as bad as some, however--nothing that threw me out of the story too much. I'm picky about things like that anyway. [Edit: as you can see if you read the comments, a re-edited second edition of the book is available--or will be available soon--from Ridan Publishing.]
B&N link
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Acacia by David Anthony Durham
I'm just going to jump right in and get this out of the way early since I know you're expecting it anyway: place this book on your shelf right next to George R. R. Martin's series A Song of Ice and Fire and let the best series win.
On the one hand, the comparison is almost inevitable. First consider the high-level view: if you built a graph with Size of Tome on one axis and Particular Variety of Fantasy on the other, both series' markers would be drawn on exactly the same spot. They're both massive works; they both focus heavily on the Swords aspect of swords-and-sorcery and trend into the Sorcery part only as the work progresses; they're both heavy on world- and character-building. Plus both authors demonstrate a propensity for killing off significant characters in almost haphazard fashions. Even the characters and events in the books are remarkably similar: both focus on the destruction of a powerful family and follow the orphaned children as they are left to their various fates in different parts of the world; both involve an unexpected invasion from the ice-covered, uncivilized lands; both wind back and forth between military adventures and political intrigue. So from a sheer construction point of view, the works are remarkably similar.
On the other hand, most fantasy readers would probably agree that Martin's Song of Ice and Fire is a landmark work, sitting head and shoulders above every other sword-and-sorcery series available today. So even after subtracting points from Durham for lack of originality, you have to be impressed that he's managed to produce something that can sit comfortably on the same shelf. Whether Acacia can stand on its own is almost irrelevant: it's standing in the company of giants, so even if it's favoring a gimp leg it's still in the right company.
With all that in mind, I waffled a lot as I tried to decide how to rate this one. Durham offers detail aplenty, taking his time and really trying to seat the reader firmly inside his world. His motion through the plot is excellent: he focuses on key scenes and plays them out well, then advances the plot quickly to the next significant event so that you're spending your time visiting only the important parts. But for all that, Acacia still manages to plod from time to time--as if there were too much detail, or maybe that it's invested in the wrong things. And even that's probably not a fair criticism: several times he returned late in the game to some previous event and made its importance suddenly obvious, even though at the time you might have found yourself skimming sentences because you weren't sure why you should pay attention for the next ten pages.
Durham also has trouble making his work feel as gritty and realistic as Martin's. When Martin describes being caught in a cold snap, with steel becoming brittle and fingers turning black with frostbite, you can almost feel the crunch of ice-crusted snow underfoot. When Durham puts us in a sweltering desert we understand that it's hot, but it's just never as visceral.
Ultimately, after reading this book and pondering my review, I made up my mind about two things. First: yes, I will probably buy the sequel and read it--which is after all the best compliment you can give an author. And second: I need to find A Game of Thrones and re-read it, because Acacia has whetted my appetite for Martin's masterpiece.
B&N link
On the one hand, the comparison is almost inevitable. First consider the high-level view: if you built a graph with Size of Tome on one axis and Particular Variety of Fantasy on the other, both series' markers would be drawn on exactly the same spot. They're both massive works; they both focus heavily on the Swords aspect of swords-and-sorcery and trend into the Sorcery part only as the work progresses; they're both heavy on world- and character-building. Plus both authors demonstrate a propensity for killing off significant characters in almost haphazard fashions. Even the characters and events in the books are remarkably similar: both focus on the destruction of a powerful family and follow the orphaned children as they are left to their various fates in different parts of the world; both involve an unexpected invasion from the ice-covered, uncivilized lands; both wind back and forth between military adventures and political intrigue. So from a sheer construction point of view, the works are remarkably similar.
On the other hand, most fantasy readers would probably agree that Martin's Song of Ice and Fire is a landmark work, sitting head and shoulders above every other sword-and-sorcery series available today. So even after subtracting points from Durham for lack of originality, you have to be impressed that he's managed to produce something that can sit comfortably on the same shelf. Whether Acacia can stand on its own is almost irrelevant: it's standing in the company of giants, so even if it's favoring a gimp leg it's still in the right company.
With all that in mind, I waffled a lot as I tried to decide how to rate this one. Durham offers detail aplenty, taking his time and really trying to seat the reader firmly inside his world. His motion through the plot is excellent: he focuses on key scenes and plays them out well, then advances the plot quickly to the next significant event so that you're spending your time visiting only the important parts. But for all that, Acacia still manages to plod from time to time--as if there were too much detail, or maybe that it's invested in the wrong things. And even that's probably not a fair criticism: several times he returned late in the game to some previous event and made its importance suddenly obvious, even though at the time you might have found yourself skimming sentences because you weren't sure why you should pay attention for the next ten pages.
Durham also has trouble making his work feel as gritty and realistic as Martin's. When Martin describes being caught in a cold snap, with steel becoming brittle and fingers turning black with frostbite, you can almost feel the crunch of ice-crusted snow underfoot. When Durham puts us in a sweltering desert we understand that it's hot, but it's just never as visceral.
Ultimately, after reading this book and pondering my review, I made up my mind about two things. First: yes, I will probably buy the sequel and read it--which is after all the best compliment you can give an author. And second: I need to find A Game of Thrones and re-read it, because Acacia has whetted my appetite for Martin's masterpiece.
B&N link
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Swords and Deviltry by Fritz Leiber
The Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser books are classics, but they're also out of print and out of fashion. I'd never read them, but recently I decided it was time to get my hands on the first book and try it.
Swords & Deviltry is really a collection of shorts: one novella about Fafhrd's origins, a short story about the Gray Mouser's origins, and a short story about how the two characters met. Because I knew that Terry Pratchett's earliest Discworld books are partly inspired by the Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser books (I kept recognizing bits of Lankhmar as having been appropriated into Ankh-Morpork, and every time it delighted me), I expected Swords & Deviltry to be light and fun. It is fun, but it's surprisingly dark too.
Most of the darkness is internal--subtle, even, which is surprising in a book that uses the word 'thews'*. Swords & Deviltry is a sort of parody of crappy swords & sorcery books of the 1960s, sort of a "stand back, this is how swords & sorcery should be." The characterizations are deft, the stories clever and interesting.
I can see why the books are neglected now, though. The trappings of oldschool swords & sorcery--the purposely archaic language in particular--are long out of style. Like me recognizing Ankh-Morpork in Lankhmar and not the other way round, most readers today just don't have the reading background to catch Leiber's sly nods to swords & sorcery tropes.
But I enjoyed the book a lot. I'm also really glad I had the foresight to toss the second book in the series into my cart when I ordered the first one.
*Actually, I don't think the word 'thews' is actually in this book, but it would have fit in perfectly well.
[Additional note: my 1970 paperback edition of the book spells Leiber's name "Lieber" on the cover. Apparently it's spelled Leiber. I think I'd be a bit pissed if someone spelled my name wrong on the cover of my own book.]
B&N link
Swords & Deviltry is really a collection of shorts: one novella about Fafhrd's origins, a short story about the Gray Mouser's origins, and a short story about how the two characters met. Because I knew that Terry Pratchett's earliest Discworld books are partly inspired by the Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser books (I kept recognizing bits of Lankhmar as having been appropriated into Ankh-Morpork, and every time it delighted me), I expected Swords & Deviltry to be light and fun. It is fun, but it's surprisingly dark too.
Most of the darkness is internal--subtle, even, which is surprising in a book that uses the word 'thews'*. Swords & Deviltry is a sort of parody of crappy swords & sorcery books of the 1960s, sort of a "stand back, this is how swords & sorcery should be." The characterizations are deft, the stories clever and interesting.
I can see why the books are neglected now, though. The trappings of oldschool swords & sorcery--the purposely archaic language in particular--are long out of style. Like me recognizing Ankh-Morpork in Lankhmar and not the other way round, most readers today just don't have the reading background to catch Leiber's sly nods to swords & sorcery tropes.
But I enjoyed the book a lot. I'm also really glad I had the foresight to toss the second book in the series into my cart when I ordered the first one.
*Actually, I don't think the word 'thews' is actually in this book, but it would have fit in perfectly well.
[Additional note: my 1970 paperback edition of the book spells Leiber's name "Lieber" on the cover. Apparently it's spelled Leiber. I think I'd be a bit pissed if someone spelled my name wrong on the cover of my own book.]
B&N link
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