Although I wasn't thrilled with the last two Mistborn novels, I was keen to read Brandon Sanderson's The Alloy of Law. Set three hundred years following the events of The Hero of Ages, the author takes his tale to a future, more modern era. Which makes it something quite different from basically everything else on the market today.
Here's the blurb:
Fresh from the success of The Way of Kings, Brandon Sanderson, best known for completing Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time®, takes a break to return to the world of the bestselling Mistborn series.
Three hundred years after the events of the Mistborn trilogy, Scadrial is now on the verge of modernity, with railroads to supplement the canals, electric lighting in the streets and the homes of the wealthy, and the first steel-framed skyscrapers racing for the clouds.
Kelsier, Vin, Elend, Sazed, Spook, and the rest are now part of history—or religion. Yet even as science and technology are reaching new heights, the old magics of Allomancy and Feruchemy continue to play a role in this reborn world. Out in the frontier lands known as the Roughs, they are crucial tools for the brave men and women attempting to establish order and justice.
One such is Waxillium Ladrian, a rare Twinborn, who can Push on metals with his Allomancy and use Feruchemy to become lighter or heavier at will. After twenty years in the Roughs, Wax has been forced by family tragedy to return to the metropolis of Elendel. Now he must reluctantly put away his guns and assume the duties and dignity incumbent upon the head of a noble house. Or so he thinks, until he learns the hard way that the mansions and elegant tree-lined streets of the city can be even more dangerous than the dusty plains of the Roughs.
As was the case with the original trilogy, the worldbuilding remains the most fascinating aspect of this book. But Sanderson takes it up a notch in The Alloy of Law by setting the story a few centuries in the future, in an industrial world now on the cusp of modernity. As such, the setting takes readers out of their comfort zone and makes for a number of surprises. The magic system continues to be awesome, even more so in a more modern environment. Think magical cowboy shootouts and you begin to get an idea of what I'm alluding to! As is habitually his wont, Brandon Sanderson's action sequences are incredible.
Unfortunately, the characterization is the weakest facet of this work. The original trilogy, especially the last two volumes, suffered from the same shortcoming. Sanderson's books have always been plagued by black and white characters, and the same can be said of The Alloy of Law. The good guys always look good, are too clever, never seem to make mistakes or get out of them without much trouble when they do. There is no true gray area. Juvenile humor and a general YA feel abound. Waxillium may be a better balanced protagonist than most of Sanderson's characters, yet he is no Roland of Gilead. Not by a longshot. Wayne is an often annoying sidekick and a poor man's Mat. Marasi is pretty much a carbon copy of Shallan from The Way of Kings. Didn't care much for any of the characters, and with Sanderson you just know that all the good guys will live to see another day.
Another problem is Sanderson's utter refusal to use profanities, even when the story demands a swear word or two. Even worst is the author's use of made-up expressions instead. Harmony's forearms??? Are you kidding me??? It's okay for a character to blow someone else's head up with his firearm, but it's a major foul for one of them to say "shit."
The pace is good and the action keeps you turning those pages. The plot is pretty linear and predictable. Still, Sanderson has a few unexpected surprises up his sleeves before the end is reached.
In the end, though different The Alloy of Law is no better or worse than the Mistborn trilogy. Sanderson fans -- there are legions of them -- will eat it up with a spoon. The author's detractors will find nothing to make them change their minds regarding Brandon Sanderson, however. It's no improvement and it suffers from practically the same shortcomings as the original series. But if only for the magical cowboy shootouts, you might want to give it a shot!
Winner: Who Fears Death, Nnedi Okorafor (DAW) - Zoo City, Lauren Beukes (Jacana South Africa; Angry Robot) - The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms, N.K. Jemisin (Orbit) - The Silent Land, Graham Joyce (Gollancz; Doubleday) - Under Heaven, Guy Gavriel Kay (Viking Canada; Roc; Harper Voyager UK) - Redemption In Indigo, Karen Lord (Small Beer)
BEST NOVELLA
Winner: “The Maiden Flight of McCauley’s Bellerophon,” Elizabeth Hand (Stories: All-New Tales) - Bone and Jewel Creatures, Elizabeth Bear (Subterranean) - The Broken Man, Michael Byers (PS) - The Thief of Broken Toys, Tim Lebbon (ChiZine) - “The Mystery Knight,” George R.R. Martin (Warriors) - “The Lady Who Plucked Red Flowers beneath the Queen’s Window,” Rachel Swirsky (Subterranean Summer 2010)
BEST SHORT FICTION
Winner: “Fossil-Figures,” Joyce Carol Oates (Stories: All-New Tales) - “Beautiful Men,” Christopher Fowler (Visitants: Stories of Fallen Angels and Heavenly Hosts) - “Booth’s Ghost,” Karen Joy Fowler (What I Didn’t See and Other Stories) - “Ponies,” Kij Johnson (Tor.com 11/17/10) - “Tu Sufrimiento Shall Protect Us,” Mercurio D. Rivera (Black Static 8-9/10)
BEST ANTHOLOGY
Winner: My Mother She Killed Me, My Father He Ate Me, Kate Bernheimer, ed. (Penguin) - The Way of the Wizard, John Joseph Adams, ed. (Prime) - Haunted Legends, Ellen Datlow & Nick Mamatas, eds. (Tor) - Stories: All-New Tales, Neil Gaiman & Al Sarrantonio, eds. (Morrow; Headline Review) - Black Wings: New Tales of Lovecraftian Horror, S.T. Joshi, ed. (PS) - Swords & Dark Magic, Jonathan Strahan & Lou Anders, eds. (Eos)
BEST COLLECTION
Winner: What I Didn’t See and Other Stories, Karen Joy Fowler (Small Beer) - The Ammonite Violin & Others, Caitlín R. Kiernan (Subterranean) - Holiday, M. Rickert (Golden Gryphon) - Sourdough and Other Stories, Angela Slatter (Tartarus) - The Third Bear, Jeff VanderMeer (Tachyon)
BEST ARTIST
Winner: Kinuko Y. Craft - Vincent Chong - Richard A. Kirk - John Picacio - Shaun Tan
SPECIAL AWARD, PROFESSIONAL
Winner: Marc Gascoigne, for Angry Robot - John Joseph Adams, for editing and anthologies - Lou Anders, for editing at Pyr - Stéphane Marsan & Alain Névant, for Bragelonne - Brett Alexander Savory & Sandra Kasturi, for ChiZine
SPECIAL AWARD, NON-PROFESSIONAL
Winner: Alisa Krasnostein, for Twelfth Planet Press - Stephen Jones, Michael Marshall Smith, & Amanda Foubister, for Brighton Shock!: The Souvenir Book Of The World Horror Convention 2010 - Matthew Kressel, for Sybil’s Garage and Senses Five Press - Charles Tan, for Bibliophile Stalker - Lavie Tidhar, for The World SF Blog
Sick of staring at the calming natural stylings of Apple or Microsoft’s default wallpapers?
Need a backdrop in more of a bloody yet humorous action fantasy mold?
Then today is your lucky day, because I note that Lauren Panepinto, art-meister general at my US publisher, Orbit, has produced some wallpapers using the new cover art from The Heroes. What self-respecting fan of the works of Joe Abercrombie could be without?
You can download wallpapers of various dimensions here.
With author George R.R. Martin's HBO fantasy series Game of Thrones one of the hottest things on TV right now, it's fitting that another Martin-penned project has caught Hollywood's eye.
Syfy Films, the theatrical division created in December 2010 as a joint venture between Syfy and Universal Pictures, has acquired the screen rights to Wild Cards, a superhero anthology edited, co-created and co-written by Martin.
Melinda Snodgrass, one of the co-creators and co-writers, has been tapped to pen the screenplay for the project, which marks Syfy Films' first acquisition. Martin and Snodgrass will executive produce.
Wild Cards is a series of books and stories set in a shared universe where an alien virus has been unleashed over New York City. Those who survived were turned into either a class of beings named Jokers, mostly deformed creatures, (or more rarely) Aces, who have special powers.
The first book was published in 1987, around the same time as such work as Frank Miller's The Dark Knight Returns and Alan Moore's The Watchmen were being hailed as revolutionizing the comics scene.
Thanks to the generosity of the folks at Tor Books, I have three copies of Carrie Vaughn's Kitty's Greatest Hits for you to win! For more info about this title: Canada, USA, Europe.
Here's the blurb:
The first-ever story collection from the New York Times bestselling author, including two all-new works!
Kitty Norville, star of a New York Times bestselling series, is everybody’s favorite werewolf DJ and out-of-the-closet supernatural creature. Over the course of eight books she’s fought evil vampires, were-creatures, and some serious black magic. She’s done it all with a sharp wit and the help of a memorable cast of werewolf hunters, psychics, and if-notgood- then-neutral vampires by her side. Kitty’s Greatest Hits not only gives readers some of Kitty’s further adventures, it offers longtime fans a window into the origins of some of their favorite characters.
In “Conquistador de la Noche,” we learn the origin story of Denver’s Master vampire, Rick; with “Wild Ride,” we find out how Kitty’s friend T.J. became a werewolf; and in “Life is the Teacher,” we revisit Emma, the human-turned-unwilling-vampire who serves the aloof vampire Master of Washington, D.C.
This entertaining collection includes two brand-new works: “You’re On the Air,” about one of Kitty’s callers after he hangs up the phone; and the eagerly awaited “Long Time Waiting,” the novella that finally reveals just what happened to Cormac in prison, something every Kitty fan wants to know.
The rules are the same as usual. You need to send an email at reviews@(no-spam)gryphonwood.net with the header "KITTY." Remember to remove the "no spam" thingy.
Second, your email must contain your full mailing address (that's snail mail!), otherwise your message will be deleted.
Lastly, multiple entries will disqualify whoever sends them. And please include your screen name and the message boards that you frequent using it, if you do hang out on a particular MB.
Our winners will receive a copy of Bradley P. Beaulieu's The Winds of Khalakovo, courtesy of the folks at Night Shade Books. For more info about this title: Canada, USA, Europe.
Bestselling author Peter F. Hamilton is best known for his doorstopper space opera yarns such as The Reality Disfunction, The Neutronium Alchemist, The Naked God, and other books heavy enough to be used as weapons.
Though he is not a prolific short fiction writer, Hamilton does come up with short stories from time to time. His first short story collection, A Second Chance at Eden, was released in 1998. And it's taken him this long to produce enough material for a second collection, Manhattan in Reverse.
All the short stories comprising this newest collection have appeared in various anthologies and magazines throughout the years. The only exception is "Manhattan in Reverse." This one was written specifically for this collection of short fiction.
A bit like Tad Williams, although he is renowned for huge novels, Peter F. Hamilton can nevertheless write very compelling works in short form. Sadly, the size of his novel-length projects prevents him from writing more than one short story per year. And that, only if he is lucky. Still, Manhattan in Reverse made for a very intriguing, thought-provoking, and entertaining reading experience.
Here's the blurb:
A collection of short stories from the master of space opera. Peter F. Hamilton takes us on a journey from a murder mystery in an alternative Oxford in the 1800s to a brand new story featuring Paula Mayo, Deputy Director of the Intersolar Commonwealth's Serious Crimes Directorate. Dealing with intricate themes and topical subjects, this top ten bestselling author is at the top of his game.
The first short story in this collection is "Watching Trees Grow." It's starts as a somewhat innocent murder mystery tale set in an alternative history Oxford in the 1800s, but grows far beyond that premise very quickly. It was quite interesting to see Hamilton's take on a setting in which the Roman Empire has never fallen. Following this investigation through the centuries as new technology made it possible to unveil new clues that brought the authorities closer to the murderer's identity was engrossing.
"Footvote" recounts the tale of Jannette and Colin, an estranged couple. A wormhole has been created to the planet New Suffolk. Jannette, a social and political activist, wants to prevent people from leaving Earth behind to start new lives beyond the wormhole. But little does she know that Colin plans to take their two children away so they can make a fresh start on this new planet.
"If at First. . ." recounts the tale of David Lanson of the Metropolitan Police. When he was handed the investigation for the Jenson case, nothing could prepare him for what was about to happen. Time travel and alternate realities are only just the beginning of a case that will change his life forever.
"The Forever Kitten" was written for Nature magazine. What so special about it is that it's less than a thousand words long. Yes, Peter F. Hamilton can do it! It's a thought-provoking short story of human rejuvenation with a surprising ending.
"Blessed by an Angel" is another intriguing piece. It's set in a world that wants no part of the contamination and corruption of the Higher civilization of the Central Commonwealth. Two ideologies clash and have repercussions on the lives of two innocent people.
In "The Demon Trap," detective Paula Mayo must uncover those responsible for the death of a party of young Dynasty members. A political movement pushing for Merioneth's Isolation is behind the assassinations. Yet nothing, not even that world's isolation, will prevent Paula Mayo from getting to the bottom of her investigation.
"Manhattan in Reverse" also feature Paula Mayo. After another successful case, the detective is asked to travel to the world of Menard, where indigeneous life has begun to attack settlers. No one can explain why the native creatures have suddenly become hostile. As an uncanny puzzle-solver, Admiral Wilson Kime asks her to find out what happened.
Though Peter F. Hamilton's long-form works have made him a bestselling author on both sides of the Atlantic, this collection demonstrates that he can also excel when working on a much smaller scale.
I have three copies of Brandon Sanderson's The Alloy of Law up for grabs, courtesy of the folks at Tor Books! For more info about this title: Canada, USA, Europe.
Here's the blurb:
Fresh from the success of The Way of Kings, Brandon Sanderson, best known for completing Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time®, takes a break to return to the world of the bestselling Mistborn series.
Three hundred years after the events of the Mistborn trilogy, Scadrial is now on the verge of modernity, with railroads to supplement the canals, electric lighting in the streets and the homes of the wealthy, and the first steel-framed skyscrapers racing for the clouds.
Kelsier, Vin, Elend, Sazed, Spook, and the rest are now part of history—or religion. Yet even as science and technology are reaching new heights, the old magics of Allomancy and Feruchemy continue to play a role in this reborn world. Out in the frontier lands known as the Roughs, they are crucial tools for the brave men and women attempting to establish order and justice.
One such is Waxillium Ladrian, a rare Twinborn, who can Push on metals with his Allomancy and use Feruchemy to become lighter or heavier at will. After twenty years in the Roughs, Wax has been forced by family tragedy to return to the metropolis of Elendel. Now he must reluctantly put away his guns and assume the duties and dignity incumbent upon the head of a noble house. Or so he thinks, until he learns the hard way that the mansions and elegant tree-lined streets of the city can be even more dangerous than the dusty plains of the Roughs.
The rules are the same as usual. You need to send an email at reviews@(no-spam)gryphonwood.net with the header "ALLOY." Remember to remove the "no spam" thingy.
Second, your email must contain your full mailing address (that's snail mail!), otherwise your message will be deleted.
Lastly, multiple entries will disqualify whoever sends them. And please include your screen name and the message boards that you frequent using it, if you do hang out on a particular MB.
Once again this year, I've decided to be part of Gail Z. Martin's Days of the Dead tour. Here's an extract from the forthcoming The Dread. For more info about this title: Canada, USA, Europe.
War has come to the Winter Kingdoms. The Dread will rise. Kings will fall.
Summoner-King Tris Drayke takes what remains of his army north to fight a war he is ill-prepared to fight, as reports from spies confirm Tris's worst fear. A new threat rises across the sea: a dark summoner who intends to make the most of the Winter Kingdoms's weakness.
And in Isencroft, Kiara's father is assassinated and she will now have no choice except to return and claim the crown. But she must leave behind her husband Tris and their infant son and face the dark power that threatens her rule.
THE DREAD is the epic conclusion to the Fallen Kings Cycle.
And here's the book trailer:
Enjoy! -----------------
A candlemark later, Jonmarc was seated at a large council table. As Queen’s Champion, he sat at Berry’s right hand. Berry had dressed for the occasion, attending the council in full formal regalia, to reinforce the authority of the crown.
At Berry’s left was Jencin, the seneschal. Around the table, Jonmarc saw several familiar faces. General Valjan, the former leader of the War Dogs mercenaries, Jonmarc knew and trusted. Laisren and Serg, the emissaries of the vayash moru and vyrkin, had fought alongside Jonmarc. Hant, the palace spy master, had thrown his considerable abilities toward helping Tris Drayke take back the throne of Margolan. Exeter, the head of the Mercenary Guild, was an unknown, as was Lord Alarek, the representative from the Council of Nobles.
“We’ve sent advance troops to the coast, and what ships could be mustered are in place,” Valjan reported. “Thanks to the mercenaries,” he added with a nod toward Exeter. “The Principality troops are split three ways: most went to the coast with the mercs. Some will patrol the river, to make sure none of the enemy ships slip inland. The rest will guard the palace.”
“What of the mercs?” Berry asked. “How many troops can we count on?”
Jonmarc looked to Exeter. For other kingdoms, mercenaries were usually just extra hired muscle. But Principality had a long, complex relationship with the multitude of merc groups that called the small kingdom home. A few hundred years ago, Principality had been created by the surrounding powers as a way to keep the peace over its wealth of gem mines, mines that had been a near constant source of war as the neighboring kingdoms fought for control. Battered by fruitless and expensive fighting, the other kingdoms had created Principality as its own sovereign state, but it was too small to marshal a full army from its population.
The first king of Principality, in a stroke of genius, had made it known that all mercenary groups were welcome to winter within the kingdom’s borders, provided that those merc companies swore that they would never sell their swords against Principality. Over the years, the best and most fearsome merc companies in the Winter Kingdoms found their way to Principality, as did the fastest privateers and some fleets that were probably more pirate than privateer. The kings of Principality had welcomed them all, along with their oath of fealty. As a result, Principality was heavily protected from within, and rested in the assurance that no legitimate mercenary group would agree to attack them. Now, Jonmarc hoped that the age-old agreement would be enough.
“We’ve rallied the merc troops,” Exeter reported. “Those that were traveling have been recalled, except for the ones that had already been recruited to serve the other kingdoms against the Northern threat. As for ships, we’re still counting as they come in.” Exeter grinned, showing a row of mottled teeth and a wolfish grin. “It’s been a long time since there’s been a war like this is shaping up to be. Any fighter worth his price is itching for a piece of it. And of course,” he added with a calculating look toward Berry, “for a piece of the spoils.”
“You’ll receive your customary percentage, and a bonus if my commanders say it’s been earned,” Berry replied.
“Thank you, m’lady.”
Berry looked to Laisren and Serg. “Were you able to recruit from among the vayash moru and vyrkin?”
Laisren was Dark Haven’s weapons master, and Jonmarc knew exactly how dangerous Laisren could be on the battlefield. Although he was several hundred years old, he looked to be in his early thirties, with an angular face and dark blond hair fell loose to his shoulders. The charcoal jacket that he wore made his pallor the more visible.
“Our numbers are fewer than they were at the beginning of the year due to the war with the rogues of our kind,” Laisren said. “And we are always fewer in numbers than mortals believe. Some remain in Dark Haven to protect the manor. But four of the Blood Council broods have pledged themselves to support you, m’lady. They’re still arriving, but we should have several dozen, at the least.”
Berry frowned. “And the fifth Blood Council brood?”
Laisren exchanged a glance with Jonmarc. “Astasia and her people have gone missing. We believe she’s thrown her support to the other side. The other houses are bloodsworn against her. We’ll handle that matter ourselves, if it arises.” Jonmarc could see the tips of Laisren’s elongated eye teeth in the other’s cold smile.
Berry looked to Serg. “And the vyrkin?”
Serg was a stocky man of medium build with brown hair and a close trimmed beard. His violet eyes were the mark of the shapeshifting vyrkin. “As with the vayash moru, the uprising in Dark Haven cost us many lives. But the plague brought many more vyrkin for sanctuary in Dark Haven, and these new wolf-brothers and sisters are ready to fight in your service. There are fifty of us, and we expect more to come.”
Berry nodded. “Very good.”
“Your Majesty.” Hant’s quiet voice made the room fall silent. The late King Staden had once introduced Hant to Jonmarc as his “best rat-catcher.” Hant was a small man with dark eyes that did not miss any motion. He said little, but knew everything that went on anywhere in Principality. Hant might not be a warrior like most of the others at the table, but Jonmarc knew the spy master was equally dangerous in his own way.
“You have news, Hant?”
“Not as good as what the others have reported, but important nonetheless.” Hant looked at the group seated around the table. “My sources in the city have continued to investigate the attack at the Feast of the Departed. The serroquette’s information was correct. More than a few of the Durim were active before and after the attack.”
“Were?” Jonmarc met Hant’s eyes, and the spy master gave a cold smile.
“Were. My associates are very effective in rooting out vermin.”
Jonmarc’s smile mirrored the chill in Hant’s expression. He’d gone up against the Durim himself, in that battle and before, in Dark Haven. The Durim were the fanatical devotees of a long-renounced goddess, Shanthadura, the Destroyer. Long ago, Shanthadura had demanded blood offerings and human sacrifice. Peyhta, the Soul Eater, Konost, the Guide of Dead Souls, and Shanthadura, the Destroyer had been worshiped as the Shrouded Ones, and their reign of bloody devotion had held sway in the Winter Kingdoms for centuries. Four hundred years ago King Hadenrul had displaced the worship of the Shrouded Ones with devotion to the Eight Aspects of the Sacred Lady, exiling or destroying those who would not abandon their murderous rites.
“I’d like to tell you that the problem is solved, but unfortunately, although we’ve captured quite a few of the Durim, someone or something is still causing problems. Buka, for one.”
“Is Buka one of the Durim?” Berry leaned forward. “He seems to share their love of cutting up victims and leaving a bloodbath behind.”
Hant frowned. “I don’t think so. The Durim we interrogated seemed to be truly ignorant of his crimes.” He shook his head. “Unfortunately, I think we have a separate problem with Buka. And it’s getting worse.”
Jonmarc moved to see Hant better. “How many people can one man kill?”
Hant grimaced. “Apparently, this one has a talent for killing, and for not getting caught. That’s bad enough. But there’ve been reports of other problems near the sites of the killings.”
“What kind of problems?”
“Ghost attacks.” Hant met Jonmarc’s eyes. “You traveled with Martris Drayke. I believe you and the Queen both saw, first hand, just how dangerous angered ghosts can be.”
Despite herself, Berry shivered at the memory. To escape the slavers that had imprisoned them two years ago, Tris Drayke had used his power, then mostly wild, raw and uncontrolled magic, to set the wronged ghosts of a haunted forest on their captors. It had been more terrifying than any battlefield horror Jonmarc had ever experienced. The ghosts had been merciless taking long-overdue vengeance, so much so that only bloody bits of the slavers remained after the fighting was over.
“I remember,” Berry murmured.
“Now imagine ghosts like that in a tightly packed city, bound to the place where the body was found. We’ve tried all the normal ways to set spirits to rest, even called on the mages we could find, but nothing’s worked yet.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, we’re short on summoners, and Tris Drayke has his own problems in Margolan.” He met Jonmarc’s eyes. “Do you think that the serroquette you brought with you could help? What was her name?”
“Aidane.” Jonmarc replied. “As I understand it, Aidane’s gift lies more in being possessed by spirits than in dispelling them. If this Buka favors young women victims, then we could end up with a bigger problem if the ghosts were to take her over.”
Hant nodded. “I thought of that. And I agree, it’s too risky to take her near the places that are being haunted. But perhaps, with her skills, she’s heard something from the spirits? I don’t pretend to know how these things work, but I’d like to talk with her.”
“Agreed.” Berry gave her consent, but with a glance to Jonmarc that made him sure Berry would expect him to be present to watch out for Aidane’s safety.
“I’m placing General Valjan and General Gregor in charge of establishing a line of defense along the coast,” Berry said. “They’ll be leaving with their troops within a few days. As Queen’s Champion, Jonmarc will serve as my proxy. He and Prince Gethin will lead another division north as soon as we’re sure that the situation in the city can spare them.”
Jencin frowned. “Prince Gethin is a guest, m’lady. Is it wise…?”
“Gethin petitioned the crown in person, accompanied by his ambassador, asking for the privilege of representing Principality in the conflict,” Berry replied shortly. “I understand the sensitive nature of his position, which is why I’ve assigned him to Jonmarc.”
Jonmarc kept his face neutral, even as his fingers began to drum against his chair under the table. First I’ve heard this. Gethin had to know when we were in the salle, and he didn’t tell me. He’d better expect a good pounding the next round I go with him.
Berry gave him a slight, knowing smile. “Your presence is required at dinner tonight. Our guests will be the prince and his ambassadors.”
Jonmarc gave her a look that he knew she would read correctly. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”
Berry regained her solemn expression and returned her attention to the seated group. “Gentlemen, you know what we’re facing. The Winter Kingdoms hasn’t seen an invader from beyond the Northern Sea in generations. You and your forces are the only thing standing between Principality and invasion. I pray to the Lady for your success.” With that, Berry rose and swept out of the room, followed closely by Jencin and surrounded by the palace guards. The rest filed from their places without conversation, and scattered in different directions as they left the war room.
Jonmarc headed down the corridor toward the stairs that would take him to Aidane’s rooms. After the briefing, he’d come up with quite a few questions for the serroquette.
“Vahanian! I’d like a word with you.”
Jonmarc’s hand was on the pommel of his sword as he turned. He recognized the voice even before the figure of a man strode into the torch light. Gregor.
“You went over my head to Valjan and Hant. Why?” Gregor was a dark-haired man with intelligent, brown eyes and a hard line to his mouth. Years ago, Carina had been unable to save Gregor’s brother. Gregor had never forgiven that, and the few times he and Jonmarc had crossed paths had not been pleasant.
Jonmarc stood his ground, hand firmly on his sword. “Because I knew they’d listen. And you wouldn’t.”
“You brought that damned ghost whore into the palace.”
Jonmarc clenched his jaw. “Aidane carried essential intelligence information to the queen at great personal risk, and she put herself further at risk to identify the traitors at the coronation. She saved the queen’s life.”
Gregor’s lip twisted. “You’d know all about whores and that ilk. You shame the queen with your presence and with the vermin you bring with you.”
A killing glint came into Jonmarc’s eyes. “And what “vermin” would that be?”
Gregor spat to one side. “Whores. Biters. Shifters. You probably had something to do with the fact that we’re coddling that Eastmark prince, didn’t you?”
“Gethin is here at the invitation of King Staden. I had nothing to do with it.” Jonmarc paused. “And he hardly needs coddling. He’s much better in a fight than you are.”
Gregor reddened, and Jonmarc thought the general might swing at him. Veins stood out on Gregor’s neck, and Jonmarc guessed that it was taking great effort for Gregor to control himself. “I’ve heard the stories about you. My brother and I were mercs, too. We fought for those bloody Eastmark bastards who thought they were too good for us, for sathirinim. You should know that. They betrayed you worse than anyone.”
Jonmarc was losing his fight to keep his temper. “So one minute I’m vermin, and the next I’m a martyr?”
“You leave a trail of dead men in your wake, Vahanian. I don’t trust you, your biter friends or the Eastmark bastards. They threw our mercs into the front lines first, to draw fire before they risked their own precious skins. And now they send one of theirs to marry the queen, and you, of all people, you’re going to stand for it?”
Jonmarc saw the glint of Gregor’s drawn blade and parried fast and hard. Practice against vayash moru opponents gave him an edge in strength and speed. He sent Gregor’s sword scuttling down the corridor, and body slammed the general against the corridor wall.
“Take your opinions about Eastmark and shove them up your ass.” Jonmarc’s voice was a hiss, close to Gregor’s ear. Gregor struggled, but Jonmarc kept him pinned with a blade at the general’s throat. “I’ve been betrayed by too many people to blame it on anything more than old fashioned greed.”
He twitched the blade slightly under Gregor’s chin, raising a thin line of blood. “This is the second time I’ve let you off without breaking some bones or running you through. So you say one more word to anyone about “vermin” and I’ll slit that tongue of yours and pin it to the wall for a trophy. I’m expecting you to do your duty and keep your opinions to yourself.” He poked the tip of his blade into the soft skin beneath Gregor’s chin. “Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
Jonmarc pushed away hard from Gregor, giving himself space and slamming his opponent into the wall again for good measure. He kept his sword in hand as Gregor straightened his uniform and recovered his sword.
“Is it your doing that my men and I are in the first wave, while the Queen’s Champion takes his time to reach the battlefield?”
“Thank the queen for that decision, not me. Perhaps you didn’t notice that so far, there’ve been more casualties here in Principality City than on the coast?” Jonmarc sheathed his weapon in disgust. “I don’t have time for this. Now get out of my way or, by the Dark Lady, I’ll cut a door right through your hide.”
“I’m leaving.” Gregor turned and strode away. Jonmarc did not relax from a ready stance until he was certain that Gregor was truly gone.
Thanks to the generosity of the folks at Ace, our winner will receive a complimentary copy of Down These Strange Streets, the latest urban fantasy anthology edited by George R. R. Martin and Gardner Dozois. For more info about this title: Canada, USA, Europe.
There is a new Q&A with GRRM on nymag.com. Here's a teaser:
Some of your hard-core readers, myself included, have spent a lot of time speculating about how many different kinds of magic there are in your world. Or is it all the manifestation of the same mysterious supernatural forces?
That's something I like to reveal little by little.
I can tell you generally that when treating with magic in fantasy, you have to keep it magical. Many fantasy writers work out these detailed systems, and rules, and I think that's a mistake.
For magic to be effective in a literary sense, it has to be unknowable and strange and dangerous, with forces that can't be predicted or controlled. That makes it, I think, much more interesting and evocative. It functions as a symbol or metaphor of all the forces in the universe we don't understand and maybe never will.
John C. Wright's wrote a piece titled "The Watchtowers of Atlantis Tremble" in which he responds to Terry Pratchett's pro-euthanasia documentary which was recently aired on BBC.
Say one thing about Wright, say the man doesn't shy away from controversy. Here's an extract from his article:
What if Hitler had been happy?
What if he had told a few jokes and smiled a few smiles? The world would have let him kill far more than he killed, and to this day we would be using some less judgmental word than ‘genocide’ to describe the horror.
We are accustomed to viewing evil, the pure, desperate, hellish evil that kills countless innocents and corrupts whatever it touches, as something angry and vile and violent. An angry man is easy to spot.
But most evil is more subtle, more seductive, and comes along as gentle as a sheep. I had occasion to hear speak in public a writer whom I admire if not adore. The man is witty and wise, genial and gentle, and has the knack to raise a laugh. And what a charming accent! With merely a word or a lift of his eyebrow, he can raise a smile from an audience, or a robust laugh, or bring a tear to the eye. I have never met anyone more likable.
And he is a man without God, who takes a very practical view of euthanasia.
[...]
The genial writer did not bother to defend his deed. He did not think it necessary. He acted as if his evil were unremarkable or perhaps mildly admirable, and the audience merely nodded, lulled by his voice, led by their love for him and his works to give him the benefit of the doubt. Or, being prone to pity or open to pragmatic considerations, perhaps they did not think the question worthy of dispute. It would have been rude to disagree, a sour note in the choir of self-congratulation.
The genial writer did not bother to defend his deed. He merely told a joke or two instead, and the crowd laughed and applauded, and their hearts were moved toward him, and they nodded.
He did not call it suicide, of course. That would have been politically inconvenient and incorrect, which is another way of saying, it would have been honest.
He said we should use a different word. I forget what foolish Orwellian euphemism he used. The point is to make the nature of the deed less obvious, and to aid the already titanic human capacity for self-deception to reach super-titanic magnitude. Not all evils are obvious. Not all sins seem sinister. Some rest on appeals to pity, or practicality, or are defended not with a syllogism but with a witticism.
[...]
He talked a soul into Hell. And the room gave him a standing ovation.
Not all civilizations are created equal. Civilization is not made of wheels and gears and tricks of technology, or the cunning of roads and coined money and elegance in art. Civilization is spirit. The spirit of the West respects and reveres human life, and our laws are designed to respect the rights of those lives because we respect those lives. The Culture of Death has no respect for life, none for man, none for the individual. The weak baby in the womb or the suffering crone in the wheelchair they seek efficiently to expunge from life, even while seeking to remove from the public view that cross of the God who protects the weak and infirm, and gives the hopeless hope to live, both now and in eternity to come.
Civilization is Christianity. Christianity is civilization.
Examine carefully, O zealous agnostic, what you are throwing on the smoldering ashheap when you tell yourself all you are casting away is the hypocrisy and judgmentalism and intolerance of the Christian superstition. Some things are nailed to the crucifix which you must and will trample when you trample the crucifix underfoot to prove to the great Sultan of the underworld your loyalty to his creed of correctness, non-judgment, and toleration of abomination.
In addition to abstractions like democracy and scientific progress, very concrete things like legal protection of your rights and your right to life are nailed to the Cross of God, and came into the history of the West, and the history of the World, because of that Cross and they grew like seeds from the life-giving blood shed there.
[...]
So I felt, listening to the sweet applause my fellow men gave to a vile crime, adoring it: and they saluted suicide and called it a civil right, and called brave the procurer pimping for the cause of suicide.
On the day I heard the genial writer speak, and urge the earth toward euthanasia, and heard the room applaud, on that day I felt the world slide downward an inch toward the eager fires below. One more inch.
I've been a Carrie Vaughn fan ever since I read Kitty and the Midnight Hour a few years back. At the time, no one really knew the author and her endearing protagonist, Kitty Norville, the werewolf talk radio host. Fast forward a couple of years and Vaughn is now a New York Times bestselling author and Kitty is more popular than ever.
It's no secret that I'm not too keen on urban fantasy, but I have a sweet spot for Jim Butcher's Harry Dresden and Carrie Vaughn's Kitty Norville. Both series are written in first-person POVs, which is one of the main reasons why they're so interesting and entertaining. And yet, what made this collection of short fiction so appealing was the fact that Carrie Vaughn uses short stories to explore Kitty's world via different POVs. Hence, readers would finally get the opportunity to learn more about popular characters such as Cormac and Rick the vampire. Needless to say, I relished the chance to read more about Kitty's misadventures, but also experience various narrative voices as the author allows us to witness events through the eyes of those who habitually comprise the supporting cast of the novels.
Here's the blurb:
The first-ever story collection from the New York Times bestselling author, including two all-new works!
Kitty Norville, star of a New York Times bestselling series, is everybody’s favorite werewolf DJ and out-of-the-closet supernatural creature. Over the course of eight books she’s fought evil vampires, were-creatures, and some serious black magic. She’s done it all with a sharp wit and the help of a memorable cast of werewolf hunters, psychics, and if-notgood- then-neutral vampires by her side. Kitty’s Greatest Hits not only gives readers some of Kitty’s further adventures, it offers longtime fans a window into the origins of some of their favorite characters.
In “Conquistador de la Noche,” we learn the origin story of Denver’s Master vampire, Rick; with “Wild Ride,” we find out how Kitty’s friend T.J. became a werewolf; and in “Life is the Teacher,” we revisit Emma, the human-turned-unwilling-vampire who serves the aloof vampire Master of Washington, D.C.
This entertaining collection includes two brand-new works: “You’re On the Air,” about one of Kitty’s callers after he hangs up the phone; and the eagerly awaited “Long Time Waiting,” the novella that finally reveals just what happened to Cormac in prison, something every Kitty fan wants to know.
I made short work of Kitty's Greatest Hits. Carrie Vaughn's books are always fast-paced affairs, but that's not what makes this one a page-turner. It has more to do with the vast array of points of view, which allow Vaughn to flesh out both her world and its protagonists. Disparate in style and tone, I'd say that each and everyone one of the pieces of short fiction contained in this collection has something to offer.
You would think that being stuck at a Waffle House for Christmas would sort of prevent Kitty from getting into supernatural trouble, right? Wrong. In "Il Est Né", she demonstrates yet again how she has the uncanny ability to find trouble anywhere.
"A Princess of Spain" is a paranormal historical piece featuring Catherine of Aragon.
"Conquistador de la Noche" reveals Rick's past and how he became a vampire. As one of the most fascinating secondary characters in the series, it was a pleasure to discover how it all began for him.
"The Book of Daniel" is Vaughn's own twist on the Biblical tale of Daniel and Lion's Den.
An older Rick shows up in "The Temptation of Robin Green." The short story features a lab studying supernatural creatures. One of the best pieces in this collection.
"Looking After Family" fills in a lot of blanks regarding Ben and Cormac's past.
It's just another day on the job for Cormac in "God's Creatures."
Another origin story, this time T. J.'s, is "Wild Ride." We haven't seen much of T. J., but his impact on Kitty early on is undisputed. So it was nice to learn how he became what he became prior to meeting Kitty.
"Winnowing the Herd" is a funny piece about Kitty's inner monologue as she attends a KNOB staff party.
"Kitty and the Mosh Pit of the Damned" features a new intriguing character named Jax. It's all about selling your soul to the devil. All in the name of rock and roll, of course!
"Kitty's Zombie New Year." The title says it all!
In "Life is a Teacher" Carrie Vaughn explores how vampires approach sex and survival by following the first steps of newly-created vampire Emma.
Ever wondered what kind of life Kitty's callers actually lived? "You're on the Air" features a down-on-his-luck vampire working the night shift at Speedy Mart.
And the collection's pièce de résistance is "Long Time Waiting." The novella tells the tale of what happened to Cormac while he was doing time and how it changed him. With our favorite supernatural bounty hunter in the slammer for a number of novels, most Carrie Vaughn fans were wondering what he was doing and when he'd be returning. Turns out Cormac did a bit more than fashion license plates. . .
Simply put, Kitty's Greatest Hits is the perfect Kitty Norville companion book. A must for all Carrie Vaughn fans.
There was a series called Game of Thrones which was very popular here in the United States, a post-Tolkien kind of thing. It was garbage, yet very addictive garbage—because there's lots of violence, all the women take their clothes off all the time, and it's kind of fun. In the end, it's well-produced trash, but there's room for that, too.
io9 just came up with an interesting articles titled "10 Words You Might Think Came from Science (But Are Really From Science Fiction ):
Last week it came to our attention that the phrase "blast off" was coined—not in a purely scientific context, but a science fictional one—by E. E. Smith, an early science fiction author often referred to as "the father of space opera." The term appeared in Smith's 1937 story Galactic Patrol, when one character inquires of another, "How long do you figure it'll be before it's safe for us to blast off?"
And it turns out blast off isn't the only scientific word or phrase with science fictional origins; here is a list of nine more, originally composed by Jeff Prucher—editor for the Oxford English Dictionary's Science Fiction Project and author of the Hugo Award—winning Brave New Words: The Oxford Dictionary of Science Fiction—for the Oxford University Press Blog.
Follow this link to find out which words made it on the list! I was a bit taken aback by some of them. . .
This lucky winner will get his hands on my extra copy of Richard Morgan's The Cold Commands. For more information about this title: Canada, USA, Europe.
Just finished Carrie Vaughn's collection of short fiction, Kitty's Greatest Hits. As you know, I'm a Kitty fan and this collection was a great read! For more info about this title: Canada, USA, Europe.
And thanks to the folks at Tor Books, here's an excerpt from the short story titled "Il Est Né."
Enjoy! -------------------
Hugging himself, shivering, David curled up under the reaching bows of a pine tree. A moonlit drift of snow glowed silver just a few feet away, outside his shelter. More snow was falling, and he was naked. If he simply relaxed, he wouldn't be that cold. But he was afraid. More afraid every time this happened.
He didn't know where he was, but that didn't bother him so much anymore. And how strange it was, that something like that didn't bother him. That was what bothered him. Not knowing, not remembering, had become normal. He didn't know where he was, but he knew exactly how he got here. It was getting harder to claw his way out of this space, to keep this from happening. He was losing himself.
The fire had taken him again. Blood rose and changed him. In a helpless surge, another body of fur and teeth, claw and sinew overcame him. The hunter, the wolf. He couldn't stop the Change. He could flee, stumbling into a wild place where no one would see him, where he wouldn't hurt anyone. Better that he stay here, because the pull was getting harder to resist. Easy to say that this was where he belonged, now.
Sometime in the last year, since this curse had landed on him, his thinking had switched. He wasn't a human who turned into a wolf. Instead, he was a wolf trapped in human skin. The wolf wanted to run away forever. Might be easier, if he just never returned to human. But he did.
At some point, he drifted back to sleep and woke to bright sunlight gleaming off the snow. Blinding, almost. It would be a beautiful day, with a searing blue Colorado sky, crisp snow, chilled air. And he couldn't really sit here under a tree, bare-ass naked, confused and depressed, all day.
Ultimately, that was what drew him back to civilization. He was still human, and the human grew bored. He'd walk, find a road, a town, steal some clothes. Figure out the date and how long he'd been out of it this time. Wander in the company of people, until the fire took him again.
* * *
Just because Kitty couldn't go home for Christmas didn't mean she had to be alone.
At least, that was the reasoning behind forcing herself to spend part of the day at a Waffle House off the interstate. It was the holidays, you were supposed to spend them with family, with voices raised in celebration, toasting each other and eating too much food.
Not that any of that was happening here. It was her, a couple of truckers, the waitress, the cook, a glass of middling non-alcoholic eggnog and Bing Crosby on the radio. All in all this was one of the most depressing scenes she'd ever witnessed.
She was reading Dickens while sipping her egg nog. Not the obvious one, which hadn't lasted long, but Bleak House. The title seemed appropriate, and at three inches thick would last her a good long while.
Just a couple more hours, she thought. Long enough to have supper in the company of other people--no matter that no one had said a word to each other in half an hour. Then she'd go to her rented room, call her family to wish them happy holidays, and go to bed.
The music cut off, and Kitty looked up, ready to complain. The Christmas carols had been the only thing making this place bearable. How pathetic was that, clinging to old-school carols piped through the speakers of a cut-rate stereo? Behind the counter, the waitress pulled over a footstool and used it to reach the TV, sitting on a shelf high on the wall. She popped a VHS tape into the built-in slot.
As if she felt Kitty watching her, she--Jane, according to her name tag--looked over her shoulder and smiled.
"It's a Wonderful Life," Jane said. "I play it every year."
Oh, this was going to make Kitty cry.
The fact that Jane had spent enough years here to make it a tradition, not to mention she had the movie on videotape rather than DVD, somehow added to the depressing state of the situation. That could have been a lot of Christmases. Jane wasn't young: wrinkles formed around her eyes and lips, and her curling hair was dyed a gray-masking brown. Waitressing at Waffle House didn't seem like much of a career. A stop-gap maybe, a pay the bills kind of job on the way to somewhere else. It wasn't supposed to become your life. No one should have to work at Waffle House on Christmas every damn year.
Kitty set her book aside and leaned back in the booth to get a better view. There were worse ways to kill time. She'd watch the movie, then blow this popsicle stand.
