City of Ruin

Author – Mark Charan Newton

Hardcover
Pages: 400
Publisher: Tor (UK)
Release Date: June 4, 2010
ISBN-10: 0230712592
ISBN-13: 978-0230712591

The New Weird. It’s that strange little literary movement that, according to Mark Charan Newton, is dead. And yet, he’s flying that mantle high, telling anyone who’ll listen that City of Ruin, the second volume of his Legends of the Red Sun series, has been let of its leash by virtue of a four book publishing deal; it’s going to be weirder, more true to Newton’s original vision of the sun-deprived Boreal Archipelago. Nights of Villjamur, Newton’s first novel (REVIEW), dabbled in the New Weird, but City of Ruin is meant as a love letter to two ailing genres (it’s also very much in the vein of Jack Vance’s Dying Earth novels and Gene Wolfe’s Book of the New Sun), and promises to be the unrestrained novel Newton wanted to write in the first place (it’s not easy to sell giant spiders, floating spaceship islands and geriatric cultists to publishers, I guess.)

The New Weird movement is one I’ve only watched with vague disinterest from the sidelines. It just wasn’t for me. I’m too traditional, too happy to read novels I recognize. Why would I need weird for weirdness sake? At least, that’s what I thought. I was worried that the New Weird would take too much to wrap my head around, would be more trouble than it was worth. But, if City of Ruin is such an example of the genre then, well… the New Weird just isn’t as weird as the reputation that precedes it. Rather, it’s Fantasy with an open mind, Fantasy that steps away from Elves and Dragons and replaces them with smoking, male banshees and corpse golems. My early perceptions of New Weird were that I’d constantly be forced to reevaluate how I approached the place and setting of the novel, to push aside preconceptions and learn again how to listen to a story; but, really, in the end, a hulking, angry coin golem is just a fresh coat of paint on a troll, and a city-stomping cephalopod is just a dragon in disguise.
Read More »

Imagine Beowulf, but replace the titular character with a drunk lesbian, the verse with beautiful prose and a myth-like lilt and you’ve an idea of what to expect from The Sea Troll’s Daughter, Caitlin R. Kiernan‘s contribution to Swords & Dark Magic, an collection of short fiction compiled by Jonathan Strahan and Lou Anders. In an anthology stuffed with Scott Lynch, Joe Abercrombie and Greg Keyes, it comes as a bit of a surprise that, a few weeks since putting the novel down, the story that has lingered longest was written by an author I’d not had any encounter with in the past, that I’d not been intending to read at all. I’ve since learned that Caitlin R. Kiernan, beyond her novels, is a multiple awarding-winning, and very prolific writer of short fiction. It’s easy to see why.

The Sea Troll’s Daughter tells the tale of an (at first) unnamed warrior – a drunkard woman who claims to have slain the Sea Troll, a nefarious monster that has threatened the livelihood of the village. Weaved on top of this overall narrative are the woes of a downtrodden, but greedy village, doomed romance and the dangers of misconception. Kiernan plays with the ideas of repercussions, of greed and its inexorable hold on our race, and, ultimately, of that ever present search for redemption and self-worth.

The connections and allusions to Beowulf are obvious, but doubly interesting when one considers that Kiernan wrote the novelization of the 2007 film version of Beowulf. The Sea Trolls Daugher seems to be Kiernan’s rebuttal to the famous poem, a challenge to the stereotypes and plot structure that has been stolen so many times in modern and ancient literature. Replacing the archetypical Beowulf with a cynical, well-realized female lends a weight to the classic tale that I’ve not run across before.

Told much like a fireside tale, rather than a more typical narrative style, Kiernan’s work is reminiscent of myth and legend, like a story passed by word of mouth and subverted by each tongue it touches. The story there is compelling, but there’s also the melancholy feeling that the truth has been lost in the telling. It’s an unusual road for the narrative to travel, but one that gives the story a timeless quality, and it’s lingered with me far longer than the other stories in the volume. Rather than just setting out to tell a story that entertains, Kiernan attemps, and succeeds, in showing that cliches and familiarity can be strengths, as much as weaknesses.

Stories with this much perspicacity are rare, and doubly so when they have the courage to retell and refine one of the defining works of our civilization’s literature. If The Sea Troll’s Daughter, one of the standout stories in an exceptional collation, is an indication of the quality and life of Kiernan’s work, I’ve got a new trove of wonderful fiction to explore.

Bearers of the Black Staff

by Terry Brooks
Hardcover
Pages: 368 pages
Publisher: Del Rey
Release Date: August 24, 2010
ISBN-10: 0345484177
ISBN-13: 978-0345484178

In the interest of full disclosure, I’m a moderator at the Official Terry Brooks Forums, a role which I take seriously, but which has not coloured the following review

Reviewing a new Terry Brooks book is always a taxing experience for me. On the one hand, I’m a longtime fan of his work and have trouble separating my critic sensibilities from my fanboy sensibilities. As a fan, it’s often easy to overlook shortcomings by focussing on the elements of the novels that appeal to my deeply engrained fanboyisms – those small, easter egg elements that would mean little to a new reader, but send shivers up the spine of longtime fans. On the other hand, as a critic, Brooks’ reliance on these cyclical, repeating themes, plot elements and character archetypes is something that can’t be ignored.

Bearers of the Black Staff is the opening volume of a duology (in name only, which I’ll get to later), The Legends of Shannara, that further attempts to connect his Word & Void series (a wonderfully original and darkly satisfying Contemporary Fantasy trilogy) with his decades-running Shannara series. As promised. Brooks continues to explore how our war-ravaged Earth was transformed into the sweeping magical world of the Four Lands, and fans of the series will love some of the surprises and revelations in store.
Read More »

Prior to releasing A Game of Thrones, and subsequently becoming one of the brightest and most respected authors in the Fantasy field, George R.R. Martin was perhaps best known for his short fiction, much of it in the Science Fiction genre, and a far cry from his current bread and butter. Foremost among those is Sandkings.

Set in the far future city of Asgard, Sandkings tells the lamentable story of playboy Simon Kress, a man ruled by passions, but lacking in wit. Kress is a purveyor of exotic (and dangerous) animals, which he uses to entertain his guests at parties. A lonely attention whore. To this end, he acquires four sets of Sandkings – rare, insect-like hiveminds drawn to tribal warfare and worshipping their owner, all within the confines of a large aquarium. Just imagine being a kid and watching your pet turtles, or the ants in your ant-farm, war with each other over land and food. They promised to be the crown jewel of Kress’ collection.

Martin’s strength of creating characters you hate, yet understand at the same time, a hallmark of A Song of Ice and Fire is evident even in his early short fiction. Sandkings follows Kress’s travails as he raises the sandkings, cruelly using them to his amusement, wading into an addiction to the popularity they bring him. In a remarkably short space, Martin manages to make Kress both despicable, but interesting and likable at the same time. As the reader, we can see all the mistakes the man makes, but, equally, we understand his reasoning for making them. It all comes back to that loneliness, that cry for attention.

Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire is known for its uncompromising twists and turns, for setting up plot twists hundreds of pages in advance, but only clear to the reader upon reflection. Sandkings is no different, and shows the roots of the storytelling that would go on to make Martin famous and rewards the reader with a cruel twist ending, that leaves several juicy questions to gnaw on.

Equally viable as a horror story and a psychological profile of the downfall of a greedy, lonely man, SandKings is an absolute pleasure to read, and justifies those that claim Martin’s true strength lies not in his Epic Fantasy but in short fiction. Speaking also to its quality is the fact that despite being published 30+ years ago, the story holds up to every one of its contemporaries, with not a wrinkle or liver spot to be seen. If you’ve only read Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire, or haven’t read anything by Martin at all, do yourself a favour and pick up Dreamsongs Volume I & II, and discover Sandkings, and the other roots of one of the most compelling storytellers of our generation.