For a number of years now, lots and lots of people have been bugging me with RSS feeds, or the lack thereof. If you scroll down, there's been a subscribing button ever since I've changed the layout of the Hotlist about two years ago. But I guess that perhaps it only works with Google Reader. . . I have no idea. . .
So in order to satisfy everyone interested in RSS Feeds, I've opened a FeedBurner account. Which means that you can now subscribe to the Hotlist via the button under the Contributors section on your right. Apparently, you'll be able to read the blog via basically any news aggregator, so that's that.
Hope it makes everyone who asked for it happy! ;-)
Don't expect to see me on Twitter, though. . .
New York Comic Con panel
NYCC Panel Video: Fantasy Authors from Suvudu on Vimeo.
NYCC Panel Video: Fantasy Authors Part II from Suvudu on Vimeo.
SFF authors Jim Butcher, Joe Abercrombie, Peter V. Brett, Naomi Novik, Deborah Harkness, and Brandon Sanderson talk about fantasy and more, courtesy of Suvudu.
Enjoy!
The Horus Heresy contest winner!
This lucky winner will get his hands on a full set of The Horus Heresy, compliments of the nice folks at Black Library! The prize pack includes:- Horus Rising by Dan Abnett (Canada, USA, Europe)
- False Gods by Graham McNeill (Canada, USA, Europe)
- Galaxy in Flames by Ben Counter (Canada, USA, Europe)
- The Flight of the Eisenstein by James Swallow (Canada, USA, Europe)
- Fulgrim by Graham McNeill (Canada, USA, Europe)
- Descent of Angels by Mitchel Scanlon (Canada, USA, Europe)
- Legion by Dan Abnett (Canada, USA, Europe)
- Battle for the Abyss by Ben Counter (Canada, USA, Europe)
- Mechanicum by Graham McNeill (Canada, USA, Europe)
- Tales of Heresy by Kyme & Priestley (Canada, USA, Europe)
- Fallen Angels by Mike Lee (Canada, USA, Europe)
- A Thousand Sons by Graham McNeill (Canada, USA, Europe)
- Nemesis by James Swallow (Canada, USA, Europe)
- The First Heretic by Aaron Dembski-Bowden (Canada, USA, Europe)
The winner is:
- Nicolas Dehorter, from Vincennes, France
Many thanks to all the participants! ;-)
Cover art and blurb for Daniel Abraham's THE DRAGON'S PATH
Another book/series which you should keep an eye on. Which reminds me that I have to get my shit together and read The Long Price quartet. . .
Here's the blurb:
Summer is the season of war in the Free Cities.
Marcus wants to get out before the fighting starts. His hero days are behind him and simple caravan duty is better than getting pressed into service by the local gentry. Even a small war can get you killed. But a captain needs men to lead — and his have been summarily arrested and recruited for their swords.
Cithrin has a job to do — move the wealth of a nation across a war zone. An orphan raised by the bank, she is their last hope of keeping the bank’s wealth out of the hands of the invaders. But she’s just a girl and knows little of caravans, war, and danger. She knows money and she knows secrets, but will that be enough to save her in the coming months?
Geder, the only son of a noble house is more interested in philosophy than swordplay. He is a poor excuse for a soldier and little more than a pawn in these games of war. But not even he knows what he will become of the fires of battle. Hero or villain? Small men have achieved greater things and Geder is no small man.
Falling pebbles can start a landslide. What should have been a small summer spat between gentlemen is spiraling out of control. Dark forces are at work, fanning the flames that will sweep the entire region onto The Dragon’s Path — the path of war.
For more info about this title: Canada, USA, Europe
Here's the blurb:
Summer is the season of war in the Free Cities.
Marcus wants to get out before the fighting starts. His hero days are behind him and simple caravan duty is better than getting pressed into service by the local gentry. Even a small war can get you killed. But a captain needs men to lead — and his have been summarily arrested and recruited for their swords.
Cithrin has a job to do — move the wealth of a nation across a war zone. An orphan raised by the bank, she is their last hope of keeping the bank’s wealth out of the hands of the invaders. But she’s just a girl and knows little of caravans, war, and danger. She knows money and she knows secrets, but will that be enough to save her in the coming months?
Geder, the only son of a noble house is more interested in philosophy than swordplay. He is a poor excuse for a soldier and little more than a pawn in these games of war. But not even he knows what he will become of the fires of battle. Hero or villain? Small men have achieved greater things and Geder is no small man.
Falling pebbles can start a landslide. What should have been a small summer spat between gentlemen is spiraling out of control. Dark forces are at work, fanning the flames that will sweep the entire region onto The Dragon’s Path — the path of war.
For more info about this title: Canada, USA, Europe
Cover art and blurb for Brian Ruckley's THE EDINBURGH DEAD
This one will hit the bookstores next summer, and I'm quite curious about it. A world away from The Godless World, it will be interesting to see Ruckley writing something totally different. . .
Here's the blurb:
The year is 1827. For Adam Quire, an officer of the recently formed City Police, Edinburgh is a terrifying place. It is a city populated by mad alchemists and a criminal underclass prepared to treat with the darkest of powers. But nothing can prepare him for the trail of undead hounds, emptied graves, brutal murders and mob violence that will take him into the darkest corners of the underworld and to the highest reaches of elegant Edinburgh society.
For more info about this title: Canada, Europe
Here's the blurb:
The year is 1827. For Adam Quire, an officer of the recently formed City Police, Edinburgh is a terrifying place. It is a city populated by mad alchemists and a criminal underclass prepared to treat with the darkest of powers. But nothing can prepare him for the trail of undead hounds, emptied graves, brutal murders and mob violence that will take him into the darkest corners of the underworld and to the highest reaches of elegant Edinburgh society.
For more info about this title: Canada, Europe
This week's New York Times Bestsellers (October 5th)
In hardcover:Guillero del Toro & Chuck Hogan's The Fall debuts at number 8. For more info about this title: Canada, USA, Europe.
Sherrilyn Kenyon's No Mercy is down eight spots, finishing the week at number 16.
William Gibson's Zero History is down two positions, ending the week at number 17. For more info about this title: Canada, USA, Europe.
Charlaine Harris' Dead in the Family is up two spots, finishing the week at number 23. For more info about this title: Canada, USA, Europe.
Brandon Sanderson's The Way of Kings is down five spots, finishing the week at number 25. For more info about this title: Canada, USA, Europe, AbeBooks.
Terry Brooks' Bearers of the Black Staff maintains its position at number 29. For more info about this title: Canada, USA, Europe.
S. M. Stirling's The High King of Montival is down four positions, ending the week at number 31. For more info about this title: Canada, USA, Europe.
In paperback:
Charlaine Harris' Dead and Gone maintains its position at number 16.
Stephen King's Under the Dome is down three positions, ending the week at number 21 (trade paperback).
Guillero del Toro & Chuck Hogan's The Strain returns at number 22.
For pirate plumbers, Terry Goodkind's The Law of Nines is down four spots, finishing the week at number 29.
Look what the cat dragged in. . .
Unlike other blogs and message boards, I'm not really into book porn. But messing with the minds of the folks on http://www.malazanempire.com/ is an opportunity too good to pass up!
So yes, I just received my set of page proofs for Ian Cameron Esslemont's Stonewielder. Guess I'll skip the gym this afternoon. . . ;-)
That should help me deal with my Malazan fix!
For more info about this title: Canada, USA, Europe.
So yes, I just received my set of page proofs for Ian Cameron Esslemont's Stonewielder. Guess I'll skip the gym this afternoon. . . ;-)
That should help me deal with my Malazan fix!
For more info about this title: Canada, USA, Europe.
Win a copy of the limited edition of Joe Abercrombie's THE BLADE ITSELF
I have a copy of the limited edition of Joe Abercrombie's debut, The Blade Itself, for you to win, compliments of the cool folks at Subterranean Press. For more info about this title: Subpress.
The rules are the same as usual. You need to send an email at reviews@(no-spam)gryphonwood.net with the header "BLADE." 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.
Good luck to all the participants!
The rules are the same as usual. You need to send an email at reviews@(no-spam)gryphonwood.net with the header "BLADE." 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.
Good luck to all the participants!
Musical Interlude
Amazing song that anyone outside of Canada has probably never heard. . .
The celtic influence is awesome and the lyrics so touching.
To all you guys out there, please never let the boy inside of you die. I pity those who have let that happen. . .
There is a video for this song, but I couldn't find a good quality version of it.
Kate Elliott contest winners!
These three winners will receive a complimentary copy of Kate Elliott's Cold Magic, courtesy of the folks at Orbit. For more info about this title: Canada, USA, Europe, AbeBooks.The winners are:
- Adam Gould, from Rowley Regis, West Midlands, England
- Elisabeth Wielander, from Aston Triangle, Birmingham, England
- Ruby Gallacher, from Saltcoats, Ayrshire, Scotland
Many thanks to all the participants!
Peter V. Brett's Homemade Heroes contest
Fancy a chance to win worldwide 1st editions of all three books released by Peter V. Brett, signed by the author? Add to that an Advance Reading Copy of Brayan's Gold. Interested?Since I'm a dedicated slacker, with me all you need to do is send out an email with your contact details. But Peter is a bit more demanding than I am, I'm afraid.
All you have to do to win these prizes is create your own Demon Cycle action figure. Follow this link for all the details.
Goof luck!
Lesbian Vampire Killers
It's been a while since I've laughed this much! Just when you think that you're totally blasé with the whole vampire fad, something like this movie comes along!
Lesbian Vampire Killers is a pseudo-horror flick that doesn't take itself very seriously. This movie does to vampires what Shawn of the Dead did to zombies.
Check it out!
Here's the trailer:
Lesbian Vampire Killers - BANDE-ANNONCE VO
envoyé par baryla. - Regardez des web séries et des films.
Against All Things Ending
Although they're not for everyone, I've always been a huge fan of the Thomas Covenant books. Returning to the Land always makes for an exceptional reading experience. Which is why I couldn't wait to read Against All Things Ending. By summoning Thomas Covenant back from the dead as Fatal Revenant was brought to a close, the cliffhanger ending meant that this third volume in The Last Chronicles of Thomas Covenant was one of the most eagerly anticipated SFF titles of 2010 for me.
Here's the blurb:
Thomas Covenant is alive again, restored to his mortal body by the unimaginable combined force of his own white gold ring, Linden Avery's Staff of Law, and the ancient dagger called High Loric's krill. His resurrection is Linden's defiant act of love, despite warnings from mortals and immortals that unleashing this much power would destroy the world. She brought his spirit back from its prison in the Arch of Time, and revived his slain body, so that Covenant lies whole on the cool grass, and the world seems at peace. But the truth is inescapable: The thunderclap of power has awakened the Worm of the World's End, and all of them, and the Land itself, are forfeit to its devouring. If they have any chance to save the Land, it will come from unlikely sources- including the mysterious boy Jeremiah, Linden's adopted son, whose secrets are only beginning to come to light.
If you've read anything by Stephen R. Donaldson, then you know that nothing is ever easy with this author. Hence, the beloved character Thomas Covenant may be back, but his mind is broken. When Linden brought him back to life, being torn away from the Arch of Time nearly destroyed his mind. So don't expect Covenant to become the Land's savior or messiah figure. . .
As was the case with the second installment, Against All Things Ending begins right where Fatal Revenant ended. If any readers were hoping for a happy reunion between Linden Avery and Thomas Covenant, well they have another think coming. At this point, anyone familiar with Donaldson's work should be aware that the author just doesn't write that sort of thing.
Donaldson's narrative in every Covenant novel always conjures up vivid and magical images, and Against All Things Ending is no exception. Few speculative fiction authors can match Donaldson when it comes to creating an imagery that literally leaps off the page. Vast in scope and vision, this third volume answers many of the questions raised by its predecessors. Expect revelations about Lord Foul, Esmer, the Worm of the World, the Insequent, the Elohim, and much, much more.
So one would think that we are in for another terrific reading experience, right? Sadly, that's not the case. This novel doesn't deliver the way the first two volumes did. Indeed, it is probably the weakest Thomas Covenant book out there. It's not bad, mind you. But it fails to live up to the expectations generated by both The Runes of the Earth and Fatal Revenant.
The book's greatest shortcoming is its snail pace. Granted, past Thomas Covenant installments have never been known for their crisp and fast-moving rhythm. Every Covenant book has suffered from a more sluggigh pace once in a while, so Donaldson fans know what to expect. As a matter of course, readers were aware that Linden's attemps to rescue her son Jeremiah from the croyel would be one of the major storylines in Against All Things Ending. So it was no surprise to discover that the early portion of the novel focused on that particular story arc. And for a while, that plotline is just awesome. I don't want to spoil anything, so I'll just say that it is reminiscent of the sequence underneath Melenkurion Skyweir in Fatal Revenant. But then comes a decidedly anti-climactic resolution, and there follows a travelogue of about 350 to 400 pages that bored me in such a way that I wanted to open my own veins and end it. This very nearly killed the entire book for me.
The characterization is another facet that leaves a lot to be desired in this one. Once more, revelations are made that will break Linden's heart, and she must find the strength within herself to persevere. But even though Covenant fans have come to expect such a thing, Against All Things Ending takes an emo turn for the worst. Linden Avery has always been a flawed protagonist. In the past, though it doesn't make for the most likeable of character, it always made her genuine. And yet, this time Donaldson clearly went overboard with the guilt, the self-loathing, and the painful emotions. Those who had problems with Linden in the past will likely despise this incarnation even more. Another aspect of the characterization which might put off some readers would be Covenant's passiveness. It's all due to the fact that is mind is broken, true, but for the better part of the novel Thomas Covenant is little more than a plot device giving the rest of the cast something to react to.
After such a wonderful start, I was shocked that Stephen R. Donaldson could have fallen so low. I should have known better. The last hundred pages or so deliver a two-prong emotionally charged ending that packs a powerful punch. Don't want to give anything away, but it is very touching.
It is now evident that Donaldson had four powerful endings planned, which is why he structured this series into four distinct volumes. But I fear that he lacked the material to truly come up with four fully satisfying installments. This one may have worked better as a trilogy. Only time will tell. . .
So does such a great ending redeem Against All Things Ending? To a certain extent, it does. Yet there is no question that, taken as a whole, this book remains the weakest of all nine Covenant volumes published to date. And as such, this is a major disappoitnment. Still, a so-so Covenant book is better than many good fantasy novels out there. And the ending sets the stage for what should be an incredible finale in the forthcoming The Last Dark.
The final verdict: 7/10
For more info about this title: Canada, USA, Europe
As I write these words, you can get Against All Things Ending at 40% off on Amazon.com and 50% on Amazon.co.uk. Simply click on the links above to pre-order your copy!
Here's the blurb:
Thomas Covenant is alive again, restored to his mortal body by the unimaginable combined force of his own white gold ring, Linden Avery's Staff of Law, and the ancient dagger called High Loric's krill. His resurrection is Linden's defiant act of love, despite warnings from mortals and immortals that unleashing this much power would destroy the world. She brought his spirit back from its prison in the Arch of Time, and revived his slain body, so that Covenant lies whole on the cool grass, and the world seems at peace. But the truth is inescapable: The thunderclap of power has awakened the Worm of the World's End, and all of them, and the Land itself, are forfeit to its devouring. If they have any chance to save the Land, it will come from unlikely sources- including the mysterious boy Jeremiah, Linden's adopted son, whose secrets are only beginning to come to light.
If you've read anything by Stephen R. Donaldson, then you know that nothing is ever easy with this author. Hence, the beloved character Thomas Covenant may be back, but his mind is broken. When Linden brought him back to life, being torn away from the Arch of Time nearly destroyed his mind. So don't expect Covenant to become the Land's savior or messiah figure. . .
As was the case with the second installment, Against All Things Ending begins right where Fatal Revenant ended. If any readers were hoping for a happy reunion between Linden Avery and Thomas Covenant, well they have another think coming. At this point, anyone familiar with Donaldson's work should be aware that the author just doesn't write that sort of thing.
Donaldson's narrative in every Covenant novel always conjures up vivid and magical images, and Against All Things Ending is no exception. Few speculative fiction authors can match Donaldson when it comes to creating an imagery that literally leaps off the page. Vast in scope and vision, this third volume answers many of the questions raised by its predecessors. Expect revelations about Lord Foul, Esmer, the Worm of the World, the Insequent, the Elohim, and much, much more.
So one would think that we are in for another terrific reading experience, right? Sadly, that's not the case. This novel doesn't deliver the way the first two volumes did. Indeed, it is probably the weakest Thomas Covenant book out there. It's not bad, mind you. But it fails to live up to the expectations generated by both The Runes of the Earth and Fatal Revenant.
The book's greatest shortcoming is its snail pace. Granted, past Thomas Covenant installments have never been known for their crisp and fast-moving rhythm. Every Covenant book has suffered from a more sluggigh pace once in a while, so Donaldson fans know what to expect. As a matter of course, readers were aware that Linden's attemps to rescue her son Jeremiah from the croyel would be one of the major storylines in Against All Things Ending. So it was no surprise to discover that the early portion of the novel focused on that particular story arc. And for a while, that plotline is just awesome. I don't want to spoil anything, so I'll just say that it is reminiscent of the sequence underneath Melenkurion Skyweir in Fatal Revenant. But then comes a decidedly anti-climactic resolution, and there follows a travelogue of about 350 to 400 pages that bored me in such a way that I wanted to open my own veins and end it. This very nearly killed the entire book for me.
The characterization is another facet that leaves a lot to be desired in this one. Once more, revelations are made that will break Linden's heart, and she must find the strength within herself to persevere. But even though Covenant fans have come to expect such a thing, Against All Things Ending takes an emo turn for the worst. Linden Avery has always been a flawed protagonist. In the past, though it doesn't make for the most likeable of character, it always made her genuine. And yet, this time Donaldson clearly went overboard with the guilt, the self-loathing, and the painful emotions. Those who had problems with Linden in the past will likely despise this incarnation even more. Another aspect of the characterization which might put off some readers would be Covenant's passiveness. It's all due to the fact that is mind is broken, true, but for the better part of the novel Thomas Covenant is little more than a plot device giving the rest of the cast something to react to.
After such a wonderful start, I was shocked that Stephen R. Donaldson could have fallen so low. I should have known better. The last hundred pages or so deliver a two-prong emotionally charged ending that packs a powerful punch. Don't want to give anything away, but it is very touching.
It is now evident that Donaldson had four powerful endings planned, which is why he structured this series into four distinct volumes. But I fear that he lacked the material to truly come up with four fully satisfying installments. This one may have worked better as a trilogy. Only time will tell. . .
So does such a great ending redeem Against All Things Ending? To a certain extent, it does. Yet there is no question that, taken as a whole, this book remains the weakest of all nine Covenant volumes published to date. And as such, this is a major disappoitnment. Still, a so-so Covenant book is better than many good fantasy novels out there. And the ending sets the stage for what should be an incredible finale in the forthcoming The Last Dark.
The final verdict: 7/10
For more info about this title: Canada, USA, Europe
As I write these words, you can get Against All Things Ending at 40% off on Amazon.com and 50% on Amazon.co.uk. Simply click on the links above to pre-order your copy!
Excerpt from Paul Kearney's HAWKWOOD AND THE KINGS
Now that both Hawkwood and the Kings (Canada, USA, Europe, AbeBooks) and Century of the Soldier (Canada, USA, Europe, AbeBooks) are available on both sides of the Atlantic, here's an extract to whet your appetite and give you a taste of The Monarchies of God.
As an added bonus, follow this link to read an interview with Paul Kearney on the Solaris Editors' Blog.
Enjoy!
----------------------
YEAR OF THE SAINT 422
A Ship of the dead, it coasted in on the northwest breeze, topsails still set but the yards braced for a long-lost wind on the open ocean. The yawlsmen sighted it first, on the eve of St. Beynac’s Day. It was heeling heavily, even on the slight swell, and what was left of its canvas shuddered and flapped when the breeze fell.
It was a day of perfect blueness-sea and sky vast, even reflections of one another. A few gulls flapped expectantly round the silver-filled nets the yawl crews were hauling in hand over fist, and a school of gleaming oyvips were sporting off to port: an unlucky omen. Within each, it was said, howled the soul of a drowned man. But the wind was kind, and the shoal was large-it could be seen as a broad shadow under the hull, twinkling now and then with the bright flank of a twisting fish-and the fishermen had been here since the forenoon watch, filling their nets with the sea’s uncertain bounty, the dark line of the Hebrionese coast a mere guess off behind their right shoulders.
The skipper of one yawl shaded his eyes, paused and peered out to sea, blue stone glinting out from rippled leather, his chin bristling with hairs as pale as those on the stem of a nettle.
Water shadow writhed luminously in the hollows of his eye-sockets.
“There’s a sight,” he muttered. “What is it, Fader?”
“A carrack, lad, a high-seas ship by the looks of her. But the canvas is hanging in strips off her yards-there’s a brace flying free. And she’s made a ton of water, if I’m any judge. She’s taken a pounding, all right. And what of the crew? Un-handy lubbers.”
“Maybe they’re dead, or wore out,” his son said eagerly. “Maybe. Or maybe sick of the plague as I hears ravages them eastern lands. The curse o’ God on unbelievers.”
The other men in the yawl paused at that, staring darkly out at the oncoming vessel. The wind veered a point-they felt it shift out of one eye-and the strange ship lost way. She was hull up, her battered masts black against that uncertain band of horizon that is either sea or sky. Water dripped from the men’s hands; the fish flapped feebly in the nets, forgotten and dying. Droplets of sweat gathered on noses and stung their eyes: salt in everything, even the body’s own water. They looked at their skipper.
“It’s salvage, if the crew’s all dead,” one man said.
“It’s an unlucky ship that coasts in from the empty west and no sign of life aboard,” another muttered. “There’s naught out there but a thousand score leagues of unsailed sea, and beyond that the very rim of the earth.”
“There may be men alive aboard her in need of help,” the skipper said sternly. His son gazed at him with round eyes. For a moment, the stares of all his crew were fixed on his face. He felt them like he did the warmth of the sun, but his seamed visage revealed nothing as he made his decision.
“We’ll close with her. Jakob, set the forecourse, brace her round. Gorm, get these nets in and hail the other boats. They should stay. There’s a good shoal here, too good to let by.”
The crew leapt to their tasks, some sullen, some excited.
The yawl was two-masted, the mizzen stepped abaft the rudder head. She would have to beat into the landward breeze to board the carrack. Men on the other boats paused in the hauling of their catch to watch as the yawl closed on her goal. The bigger vessel was broadside on to the swell, listing to starboard as the waves broke on her windward side. As the yawl drew close, her crew broke out sweeps and strained at the heavy oars whilst the skipper and a few others stood poised on the gunwale, ready to make the perilous leap on to the side of the carrack.
She towered darkly above them now, a looming giant, her running rigging flying free, the lateen yard on her mizzen a mere stump and the thick wales that lined her side smashed and splintered as though she had squeezed through a narrow place. There was no sign of life, no reply to the skipper’s hail. Surreptitiously, men at the sweeps paused in their labour to make the Sign of the Saint at their breasts.
The skipper leapt, grunted at the impact as he hit the carrack’s side, hauled himself over her rail and stood panting. The others followed, two with their dirks in their teeth as if they expected to fight their way aboard. And then the yawl drew off, her mate putting her about on the port tack. She would heave to, keep the wind on her weather bow and ride out the breeze. The skipper waved at her as she eased away.
The carrack was wallowing low in the water and the wind was working on her high fore- and sterncastles. There was no sound but the hiss and lap of the sea, the creak of wood and rigging, the thump of a staved cask that rolled back and forth in the scuppers. The skipper raised his head as he caught the whiff of corruption. He met the knowing gaze of old Jakob. They nodded at each other. There was death aboard, corpses rotting somewhere.
“The Blessed Ramusio preserve us, let it not be the plague,” one man said hoarsely, and the skipper scowled.
“Hold your tongue, Kresten. You and Daniel see what you can do to put her before the wind. It’s my belief her seams are working in this swell. We’ll see if we can’t get her into Abrusio before she spews her oakum and sinks her bow.”
“You’re going to bring her in?” Jakob asked.
“If I can. We’ll have to look below though, see if she’s anywhere near settling.” The roll of the ship made him lurch a little. “Wind’s picking up. That’s all to the good if we can get her head round. Come, Jakob.”
He pushed open one of the doors in the sterncastle and entered the darkness beyond. The bright blue day was cut off. He could hear Jakob padding barefoot and breathing heavily behind him in the sudden gloom. He stopped. The ship heaved like a dying thing under his feet – that smell of putrefaction, stronger now, rising even over the familiar sea smells of salt and tar and hemp. He gagged as his hands, groping, found another door.
“Sweet Saint!” he breathed, and pushed it open.
Sunlight, bright and blazing, flooding through shattered stem windows. A wide cabin, a long table, the gleam of falchions crossed on a bulkhead, and a dead man sitting watching him.
The skipper made himself move forward.
There was water underfoot, sloshing about with the heave of the ship. It looked as though a following sea had swamped the windows; at the forward end of the cabin was a tangle of clothing, weapons, charts, and a small brassbound chest, much battered. But the dead man sat upright in his chair with his back to the stem windows and the brown skin stretched tight as parchment over the lines of his skull. His hands were shrunken claws. The rats had gnawed him. His chair was fixed in wooden runners to the deck, and he was tied into the chair by line after line of sodden cordage. It looked as though he had bound himself; the arms were free. A tattered scrap of paper was clenched in one decaying fist.
“Jakob, what is this we see?”
“I know not, Captain. There has been devilry at work in this ship. This man was the master – see the charts? – and there is a broken cross-staff here too. But what happened to him that he did this?”
“There is no explaining it-not yet. We must go below. See if you can find a lantern here, or a candle. I must have a look at her hold.”
“The hold?” The old man sounded doubtful.
“Yes, Jakob. We must see how fast she is making water, and what her cargo is.”
The light left the windows and the motion of the ship grew easier as the men on deck put her before the wind. Jakob and his captain gave a last look at the dead master and his skull face, and left. Neither told the other what he was thinking: the dead man had ended his tenure of the world with his face distorted by terror.
* * *
Bright sunlight again, the clean spray of the sea. The other boarders were busy with the lifts and braces, moving yards far heavier than they were used to. The skipper barked a few orders. They would need canvas and fresh cordage. The mainmast shrouds were ripped to shreds on the port side; a wonder she had not rolled out the mast.
“No storm ever did this to a ship,” Jakob said, and ran his horny hands along the ship’s rail. The wood was tom, punctured. Bitten, the skipper thought, and he felt a cold worm of fear coil in his stomach.
But he shut his face to Jakob’s look of enquiry.
“We are mariners, not philosophers. Our task is to make the ship swim. Now are you coming with me or shall I ask one of the youngsters?”
They had sailed the Hebrionese coast for more than two-score years together, weathered more storms than they could remember, hauled in a million fish. Jakob nodded mutely, anger burning away his fear.
The tarpaulins over the hatchways were flapping and tom.
It was dark there, in the very bowels of the ship, and they lowered themselves down with care. One of the others had found and lit a lantern. It was passed down into the dark and by its beam they found themselves surrounded by crates, casks and sacks. There was a musty smell in the air, and again the faint stink of corruption. They could hear the swirl and gurgle of water deeper in the hold, the rolling rumble of loose cargo, the creak of the ship’s overworked hull. The stink of the bilge, usually overpowering in a large ship, had been overwhelmed by incoming seawater.
They made their slow way along an avenue between the cargo, the lantern beam swinging shadows in chaotic directions. They found the remains of rats half eaten, but none alive. And there was no sign of the crew. The master in his cabin above might have been piloting the ship alone and unaided until his death.
Another hatch, and a companion ladder leading down, deep into utter blackness. The ship creaked and groaned under their feet. They could no longer hear the voices of their shipmates above, in that other world of salt air and spray. There was only this hole opening on nothingness, and beyond the wooden walls that surrounded them nothing but the drowning sea.
“Water down there, deep enough too,” Jakob said, lowering the lantern through the hatch. “I see it moving, but there’s no spume. If it’s a leak, it’s slow.”
They paused, peering down into a place neither of them wanted to see. But they were mariners, as the skipper had said, and no man bred to the sea could stand idle and watch a ship die.
The skipper made as if to start down, but Jakob stopped him with an odd smile and went first, the breath rattling audibly in his throat. The skipper saw the light break and splinter on multifaceted water, things bobbing in it, a splash amid the chiaroscuro of shadow and flame.
“Bodies here.” Jakob’s voice came up, distorted, far away.
“I think I’ve found the crew. Oh sweet God, his blessed Saints –“
There was a snarling, and Jakob screamed. The lantern went out and in the blackness something thrashed the water into a fury. The skipper glimpsed the yellow gleam of an eye, like a ravening fire far off on a pitch-dark night. His lips formed Jakob’s name but no sound came out; his tongue had turned to sand. He backed away and bumped into the sharp corner of a crate. Run, some part of his mind shrieked at him, but his marrow had become like granite within his very bones.
Then the thing was swarming up the companion towards him, and he had not even the time to mouth a prayer before it was rending his flesh, and the yellow eyes were witness to his soul’s flight.
As an added bonus, follow this link to read an interview with Paul Kearney on the Solaris Editors' Blog.
Enjoy!
----------------------
YEAR OF THE SAINT 422
A Ship of the dead, it coasted in on the northwest breeze, topsails still set but the yards braced for a long-lost wind on the open ocean. The yawlsmen sighted it first, on the eve of St. Beynac’s Day. It was heeling heavily, even on the slight swell, and what was left of its canvas shuddered and flapped when the breeze fell.
It was a day of perfect blueness-sea and sky vast, even reflections of one another. A few gulls flapped expectantly round the silver-filled nets the yawl crews were hauling in hand over fist, and a school of gleaming oyvips were sporting off to port: an unlucky omen. Within each, it was said, howled the soul of a drowned man. But the wind was kind, and the shoal was large-it could be seen as a broad shadow under the hull, twinkling now and then with the bright flank of a twisting fish-and the fishermen had been here since the forenoon watch, filling their nets with the sea’s uncertain bounty, the dark line of the Hebrionese coast a mere guess off behind their right shoulders.
The skipper of one yawl shaded his eyes, paused and peered out to sea, blue stone glinting out from rippled leather, his chin bristling with hairs as pale as those on the stem of a nettle.
Water shadow writhed luminously in the hollows of his eye-sockets.
“There’s a sight,” he muttered. “What is it, Fader?”
“A carrack, lad, a high-seas ship by the looks of her. But the canvas is hanging in strips off her yards-there’s a brace flying free. And she’s made a ton of water, if I’m any judge. She’s taken a pounding, all right. And what of the crew? Un-handy lubbers.”
“Maybe they’re dead, or wore out,” his son said eagerly. “Maybe. Or maybe sick of the plague as I hears ravages them eastern lands. The curse o’ God on unbelievers.”
The other men in the yawl paused at that, staring darkly out at the oncoming vessel. The wind veered a point-they felt it shift out of one eye-and the strange ship lost way. She was hull up, her battered masts black against that uncertain band of horizon that is either sea or sky. Water dripped from the men’s hands; the fish flapped feebly in the nets, forgotten and dying. Droplets of sweat gathered on noses and stung their eyes: salt in everything, even the body’s own water. They looked at their skipper.
“It’s salvage, if the crew’s all dead,” one man said.
“It’s an unlucky ship that coasts in from the empty west and no sign of life aboard,” another muttered. “There’s naught out there but a thousand score leagues of unsailed sea, and beyond that the very rim of the earth.”
“There may be men alive aboard her in need of help,” the skipper said sternly. His son gazed at him with round eyes. For a moment, the stares of all his crew were fixed on his face. He felt them like he did the warmth of the sun, but his seamed visage revealed nothing as he made his decision.
“We’ll close with her. Jakob, set the forecourse, brace her round. Gorm, get these nets in and hail the other boats. They should stay. There’s a good shoal here, too good to let by.”
The crew leapt to their tasks, some sullen, some excited.
The yawl was two-masted, the mizzen stepped abaft the rudder head. She would have to beat into the landward breeze to board the carrack. Men on the other boats paused in the hauling of their catch to watch as the yawl closed on her goal. The bigger vessel was broadside on to the swell, listing to starboard as the waves broke on her windward side. As the yawl drew close, her crew broke out sweeps and strained at the heavy oars whilst the skipper and a few others stood poised on the gunwale, ready to make the perilous leap on to the side of the carrack.
She towered darkly above them now, a looming giant, her running rigging flying free, the lateen yard on her mizzen a mere stump and the thick wales that lined her side smashed and splintered as though she had squeezed through a narrow place. There was no sign of life, no reply to the skipper’s hail. Surreptitiously, men at the sweeps paused in their labour to make the Sign of the Saint at their breasts.
The skipper leapt, grunted at the impact as he hit the carrack’s side, hauled himself over her rail and stood panting. The others followed, two with their dirks in their teeth as if they expected to fight their way aboard. And then the yawl drew off, her mate putting her about on the port tack. She would heave to, keep the wind on her weather bow and ride out the breeze. The skipper waved at her as she eased away.
The carrack was wallowing low in the water and the wind was working on her high fore- and sterncastles. There was no sound but the hiss and lap of the sea, the creak of wood and rigging, the thump of a staved cask that rolled back and forth in the scuppers. The skipper raised his head as he caught the whiff of corruption. He met the knowing gaze of old Jakob. They nodded at each other. There was death aboard, corpses rotting somewhere.
“The Blessed Ramusio preserve us, let it not be the plague,” one man said hoarsely, and the skipper scowled.
“Hold your tongue, Kresten. You and Daniel see what you can do to put her before the wind. It’s my belief her seams are working in this swell. We’ll see if we can’t get her into Abrusio before she spews her oakum and sinks her bow.”
“You’re going to bring her in?” Jakob asked.
“If I can. We’ll have to look below though, see if she’s anywhere near settling.” The roll of the ship made him lurch a little. “Wind’s picking up. That’s all to the good if we can get her head round. Come, Jakob.”
He pushed open one of the doors in the sterncastle and entered the darkness beyond. The bright blue day was cut off. He could hear Jakob padding barefoot and breathing heavily behind him in the sudden gloom. He stopped. The ship heaved like a dying thing under his feet – that smell of putrefaction, stronger now, rising even over the familiar sea smells of salt and tar and hemp. He gagged as his hands, groping, found another door.
“Sweet Saint!” he breathed, and pushed it open.
Sunlight, bright and blazing, flooding through shattered stem windows. A wide cabin, a long table, the gleam of falchions crossed on a bulkhead, and a dead man sitting watching him.
The skipper made himself move forward.
There was water underfoot, sloshing about with the heave of the ship. It looked as though a following sea had swamped the windows; at the forward end of the cabin was a tangle of clothing, weapons, charts, and a small brassbound chest, much battered. But the dead man sat upright in his chair with his back to the stem windows and the brown skin stretched tight as parchment over the lines of his skull. His hands were shrunken claws. The rats had gnawed him. His chair was fixed in wooden runners to the deck, and he was tied into the chair by line after line of sodden cordage. It looked as though he had bound himself; the arms were free. A tattered scrap of paper was clenched in one decaying fist.
“Jakob, what is this we see?”
“I know not, Captain. There has been devilry at work in this ship. This man was the master – see the charts? – and there is a broken cross-staff here too. But what happened to him that he did this?”
“There is no explaining it-not yet. We must go below. See if you can find a lantern here, or a candle. I must have a look at her hold.”
“The hold?” The old man sounded doubtful.
“Yes, Jakob. We must see how fast she is making water, and what her cargo is.”
The light left the windows and the motion of the ship grew easier as the men on deck put her before the wind. Jakob and his captain gave a last look at the dead master and his skull face, and left. Neither told the other what he was thinking: the dead man had ended his tenure of the world with his face distorted by terror.
* * *
Bright sunlight again, the clean spray of the sea. The other boarders were busy with the lifts and braces, moving yards far heavier than they were used to. The skipper barked a few orders. They would need canvas and fresh cordage. The mainmast shrouds were ripped to shreds on the port side; a wonder she had not rolled out the mast.
“No storm ever did this to a ship,” Jakob said, and ran his horny hands along the ship’s rail. The wood was tom, punctured. Bitten, the skipper thought, and he felt a cold worm of fear coil in his stomach.
But he shut his face to Jakob’s look of enquiry.
“We are mariners, not philosophers. Our task is to make the ship swim. Now are you coming with me or shall I ask one of the youngsters?”
They had sailed the Hebrionese coast for more than two-score years together, weathered more storms than they could remember, hauled in a million fish. Jakob nodded mutely, anger burning away his fear.
The tarpaulins over the hatchways were flapping and tom.
It was dark there, in the very bowels of the ship, and they lowered themselves down with care. One of the others had found and lit a lantern. It was passed down into the dark and by its beam they found themselves surrounded by crates, casks and sacks. There was a musty smell in the air, and again the faint stink of corruption. They could hear the swirl and gurgle of water deeper in the hold, the rolling rumble of loose cargo, the creak of the ship’s overworked hull. The stink of the bilge, usually overpowering in a large ship, had been overwhelmed by incoming seawater.
They made their slow way along an avenue between the cargo, the lantern beam swinging shadows in chaotic directions. They found the remains of rats half eaten, but none alive. And there was no sign of the crew. The master in his cabin above might have been piloting the ship alone and unaided until his death.
Another hatch, and a companion ladder leading down, deep into utter blackness. The ship creaked and groaned under their feet. They could no longer hear the voices of their shipmates above, in that other world of salt air and spray. There was only this hole opening on nothingness, and beyond the wooden walls that surrounded them nothing but the drowning sea.
“Water down there, deep enough too,” Jakob said, lowering the lantern through the hatch. “I see it moving, but there’s no spume. If it’s a leak, it’s slow.”
They paused, peering down into a place neither of them wanted to see. But they were mariners, as the skipper had said, and no man bred to the sea could stand idle and watch a ship die.
The skipper made as if to start down, but Jakob stopped him with an odd smile and went first, the breath rattling audibly in his throat. The skipper saw the light break and splinter on multifaceted water, things bobbing in it, a splash amid the chiaroscuro of shadow and flame.
“Bodies here.” Jakob’s voice came up, distorted, far away.
“I think I’ve found the crew. Oh sweet God, his blessed Saints –“
There was a snarling, and Jakob screamed. The lantern went out and in the blackness something thrashed the water into a fury. The skipper glimpsed the yellow gleam of an eye, like a ravening fire far off on a pitch-dark night. His lips formed Jakob’s name but no sound came out; his tongue had turned to sand. He backed away and bumped into the sharp corner of a crate. Run, some part of his mind shrieked at him, but his marrow had become like granite within his very bones.
Then the thing was swarming up the companion towards him, and he had not even the time to mouth a prayer before it was rending his flesh, and the yellow eyes were witness to his soul’s flight.
Win a copy of WILD CARDS 1 edited by George R. R. Martin
I have three copies of Wild Cards 1, edited by George R. R. Martin, up for grabs, courtesy of the cool folks at Tor Books. For more info about this title: Canada, USA, Europe.
Here's the blurb:
Back in print after a decade, expanded with new original material, this is the first volume of George R. R. Martin’s Wild cards shared-world series.
There is a secret history of the world—a history in which an alien virus struck the Earth in the aftermath of World War II, endowing a handful of survivors with extraordinary powers. Some were called Aces—those with superhuman mental and physical abilities. Others were termed Jokers—cursed with bizarre mental or physical disabilities. Some turned their talents to the service of humanity. Others used their powers for evil. Wild Cards is their story.
Originally published in 1987, Wild Cards I includes powerful tales by Roger Zelazny, Walter Jon Williams, Howard Waldrop, Lewis Shiner, and George R. R. Martin himself. And this new, expanded edition contains further original tales set at the beginning of the Wild Cards universe, by eminent new writers like Hugo–winner David Levine, noted screenwriter and novelist Michael Cassutt, and New York Times bestseller Carrie Vaughn.
The rules are the same as usual. You need to send an email at reviews@(no-spam)gryphonwood.net with the header "JETBOY." 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.
Good luck to all the participants!
For a taste, click on this link to read an extract.
Here's the blurb:
Back in print after a decade, expanded with new original material, this is the first volume of George R. R. Martin’s Wild cards shared-world series.
There is a secret history of the world—a history in which an alien virus struck the Earth in the aftermath of World War II, endowing a handful of survivors with extraordinary powers. Some were called Aces—those with superhuman mental and physical abilities. Others were termed Jokers—cursed with bizarre mental or physical disabilities. Some turned their talents to the service of humanity. Others used their powers for evil. Wild Cards is their story.
Originally published in 1987, Wild Cards I includes powerful tales by Roger Zelazny, Walter Jon Williams, Howard Waldrop, Lewis Shiner, and George R. R. Martin himself. And this new, expanded edition contains further original tales set at the beginning of the Wild Cards universe, by eminent new writers like Hugo–winner David Levine, noted screenwriter and novelist Michael Cassutt, and New York Times bestseller Carrie Vaughn.
The rules are the same as usual. You need to send an email at reviews@(no-spam)gryphonwood.net with the header "JETBOY." 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.
Good luck to all the participants!
For a taste, click on this link to read an extract.
Katherine Kurtz's Deryni Saga: Highly Recommended
Every week I receive emails from random SFF fans asking me for recommendations. And I'm always amazed by the fact that none of them has read Katherine Kurtz's signature series. Since it's not the first time I go out of my way to promote this saga, I have to assume that many of you haven't been paying attention!
So let me spell it out for you: Read these books! :P Though the story doesn't kick into high gear until the second trilogy, I still recommend that potential readers begin with the first one. But that's just me. . .
You can get many of these Deryni books for pennies via the Amazon links. So what are you waiting for!?!
- The Deryni Saga by Katherine Kurtz
The Chronicles of the Deryni
- Deryni Rising (Canada, USA, Europe)
- Deryni Checkmate (Canada, USA, Europe)
- High Deryni (Canada, USA, Europe)
The Legends of Camber of Culdi
- Camber of Culdi (Canada, USA, Europe)
- Saint Camber (Canada, USA, Europe)
- Camber the Heretic (Canada, USA, Europe)
The Histories of King Kelson
- The Bishop's Heir (Canada, USA, Europe)
- The King's Justice (Canada, USA, Europe)
- The Quest for Saint Camber (Canada, USA, Europe)
The Heirs of Saint Camber
- The Harrowing of Gwynedd (Canada, USA, Europe)
- King Javan's Year (Canada, USA, Europe)
- The Bastard Prince (Canada, USA, Europe)
King Kelson's Bride (Canada, USA, Europe)
In the King's Service (Canada, USA, Europe)
Childe Morgan (Canada, USA, Europe)
Deryni Anthologies
- The Deryni Archives (Canada, USA, Europe)
- Deryni Magic (Canada, USA, Europe)
- Deryni Tales (Canada, USA, Europe)
So let me spell it out for you: Read these books! :P Though the story doesn't kick into high gear until the second trilogy, I still recommend that potential readers begin with the first one. But that's just me. . .
You can get many of these Deryni books for pennies via the Amazon links. So what are you waiting for!?!
- The Deryni Saga by Katherine Kurtz
The Chronicles of the Deryni
- Deryni Rising (Canada, USA, Europe)
- Deryni Checkmate (Canada, USA, Europe)
- High Deryni (Canada, USA, Europe)
The Legends of Camber of Culdi
- Camber of Culdi (Canada, USA, Europe)
- Saint Camber (Canada, USA, Europe)
- Camber the Heretic (Canada, USA, Europe)
The Histories of King Kelson
- The Bishop's Heir (Canada, USA, Europe)
- The King's Justice (Canada, USA, Europe)
- The Quest for Saint Camber (Canada, USA, Europe)
The Heirs of Saint Camber
- The Harrowing of Gwynedd (Canada, USA, Europe)
- King Javan's Year (Canada, USA, Europe)
- The Bastard Prince (Canada, USA, Europe)
King Kelson's Bride (Canada, USA, Europe)
In the King's Service (Canada, USA, Europe)
Childe Morgan (Canada, USA, Europe)
Deryni Anthologies
- The Deryni Archives (Canada, USA, Europe)
- Deryni Magic (Canada, USA, Europe)
- Deryni Tales (Canada, USA, Europe)
Peter V. Brett contest winner!
This lucky winner will receive an Advance Reading Copy of Peter V. Brett's Brayan's Gold, compliments of the good people at Subterranean Press. For more info about this title, check out the Subpress website.The winner is:
- Sudha Setty, from Saint Paul, Minnesota, USA
Many thanks to all the participants!
Dinner with Tad Williams and Deborah Beale
Yes, there are perks associated with running Pat's Fantasy Hotlist.
I get most speculative fiction books before anyone else, even my fellow bloggers sometimes! :P I host some of the best giveaways in the business. I get to interview some of the biggest names in the industry. I get scoops for SFF-related matters all the time. I'll get myself butchered in George R. R. Martin's A Dance with Dragons. And so much more. . .
Yet the nicest thing about running the Hotlist is that I get to be in contact with most of my favorite authors. And that, more than any other perks, is what kept me going for nearly six years now.
When I recently found out that Tad Williams would be the Guest of Honor at Con*Cept Montréal this weekend, I wasted no time and emailed him and his wife Deborah to arrange a meeting while they were in town. Interestingly enough, it was my review of Shadowmarch back in 2005 which allowed me to get discovered by the Matt Bialer, who would later ask me to be the first reviewer to give a certain Patrick Rothfuss a shot, and who would later become my own agent. Tad Williams was also the second author I ever interview. With a Q&A with David B. Coe and less than 10 reviews under my belt, against all odds he accepted to do an interview with me.
Over the subsequent years, I've worked with both Tad and Deborah on interviews, giveaways, extracts, etc. But we never got the chance to meet in person. So it was with great pleasure that I finally had the opportunity to hook up with them on Saturday evening.
Good food, a bottle of Chilean wine, and a fun and interesting conversation ensued. If you ever meet them at a convention, don't be shy and have a chat with both. They're extremely friendly, down-to-earth, and funny people. And be sure to ask Tad to tell you about his first meeting with Greg Bear, as the two were about to embark on a promo tour that took them around Australia and New Zealand!
Time flew by, and if we didn't have to vacate our table at a certain time (that's the downside of showing up at a popular restaurant in Downtown MTL without a reservation on a Saturday night) we could have talked for hours.
So thanks to both Tad Williams and Deborah Beale for a very pleasant evening in their company! =) I will endeavor to return the favor and accept their open invite for whenever I show up in the Bay Area next!
I get most speculative fiction books before anyone else, even my fellow bloggers sometimes! :P I host some of the best giveaways in the business. I get to interview some of the biggest names in the industry. I get scoops for SFF-related matters all the time. I'll get myself butchered in George R. R. Martin's A Dance with Dragons. And so much more. . .
Yet the nicest thing about running the Hotlist is that I get to be in contact with most of my favorite authors. And that, more than any other perks, is what kept me going for nearly six years now.
When I recently found out that Tad Williams would be the Guest of Honor at Con*Cept Montréal this weekend, I wasted no time and emailed him and his wife Deborah to arrange a meeting while they were in town. Interestingly enough, it was my review of Shadowmarch back in 2005 which allowed me to get discovered by the Matt Bialer, who would later ask me to be the first reviewer to give a certain Patrick Rothfuss a shot, and who would later become my own agent. Tad Williams was also the second author I ever interview. With a Q&A with David B. Coe and less than 10 reviews under my belt, against all odds he accepted to do an interview with me.
Over the subsequent years, I've worked with both Tad and Deborah on interviews, giveaways, extracts, etc. But we never got the chance to meet in person. So it was with great pleasure that I finally had the opportunity to hook up with them on Saturday evening.
Good food, a bottle of Chilean wine, and a fun and interesting conversation ensued. If you ever meet them at a convention, don't be shy and have a chat with both. They're extremely friendly, down-to-earth, and funny people. And be sure to ask Tad to tell you about his first meeting with Greg Bear, as the two were about to embark on a promo tour that took them around Australia and New Zealand!
Time flew by, and if we didn't have to vacate our table at a certain time (that's the downside of showing up at a popular restaurant in Downtown MTL without a reservation on a Saturday night) we could have talked for hours.
So thanks to both Tad Williams and Deborah Beale for a very pleasant evening in their company! =) I will endeavor to return the favor and accept their open invite for whenever I show up in the Bay Area next!
A starred review from Publishers Weekly for SPECULATIVE HORIZONS!!!
This from the Subterranean Press website:Patrick St.-Denis’s novella length anthology, Speculative Horizons, containing new tales by L. E. Modesitt, Jr. (a new Recluce Saga story), C. S. Friedman, Brian Ruckley, Tobias S. Buckell, and Hal Duncan is now safely ensconced at our printer, undergoing the transmogrification that will take it from a set of files into those lovely bits of paper and cloth we call books.
Meanwhile, coverage has just started sprouting. In their current issue, Publishers Weekly gave it a starred review, saying “This impressive anthology proves that good things come in small packages…The thoughts provoked by these stories will linger long after the reading is over, as will the book’s real-world effects: a portion of the profits will be donated to fund research into a cure for breast cancer.”
The website Fantasy Literature reviewed Speculative Horizons as well, touching on each of the tales in detail, and summing the book up thusly: “And there you have it: five short stories ranging from good to stunning…”
One final note: The print run for Speculative Horizons is not robust, just 200 signed limited copies and 1000 trade copies. The last anthology we did with a similar print run, A Fantasy Medley edited by Yanni Kuznia, now goes for hundreds of dollars on the secondary market, when you can even locate a copy.
----------------
A starred review in Publishers Weekly!?! Now that's very cool!
I'm told that haters on Twitter were more than a little shocked when the anthology started getting positive reviews. They opined that with an idiot like me at the helm, it was surely a stroke of dumb luck that Speculative Horizons didn't turn out to be crap.
Well, seems like my luck is holding up. . . ;-)
Quote of the Day
And just remember, you ain't sayin' anything if you ain't pissin' at least a few people off. This one thing I know!- R. SCOTT BAKKER, author of Disciple of the Dog (Canada, USA, Europe) and the forthcoming The White-Luck Warrior (Canada, USA, Europe), in an email encouraging me not to quit blogging.
That one made me laugh! He sure knows! :P
A bit of humor
I have a feeling that most passengers would pay a lot more attention to the safety instructions if every airline did this!!!
This week's New York Times Bestsellers (September 28th)
In hardcover:Sherrilyn Kenyon's No Mercy is down five spots, finishing the week at number 8.
William Gibson's Zero History is down six positions, ending the week at number 15. For more info about this title: Canada, USA, Europe.
Brandon Sanderson's The Way of Kings is down nine spots, finishing the week at number 20. For more info about this title: Canada, USA, Europe, AbeBooks.
Charlaine Harris' Dead in the Family is down four spots, finishing the week at number 25. For more info about this title: Canada, USA, Europe.
S. M. Stirling's The High King of Montival is down fifteen positions, ending the week at number 27. For more info about this title: Canada, USA, Europe.
Terry Brooks' Bearers of the Black Staff is down nine positions, ending the week at number 29. For more info about this title: Canada, USA, Europe.
In paperback:
Charlaine Harris' Dead and Gone is up thirteen spots, finishing the week at number 13.
Stephen King's Under the Dome is down two positions, ending the week at number 18 (trade paperback).
If you need your fix of pirate plumbers (I kid you not), Terry Goodkind's The Law of Nines debuts at number 25.
Another positive review!
Speculative Horizons will be released in about two months, and the anthology garnered another positive review! This time, it's the folks from http://www.fantasyliterature.com/ who loved it.Here's a brief excerpt:
And there you have it: five short stories ranging from good to stunning, and the chance to help support breast cancer research.
You can read Stefan's full review, in which he analyzes every short story, here.
In case you've missed it, there is an extract from C. S. Friedman's "Soul Mate" available, and a new teaser from Hal Duncan's "The Death of a Love" is coming soon.
If you want to help raise funds for cancer research, or if you are just curious and wish to give the anthology a shot, it's now available for pre-order via the Subterranean Press website. Otherwise, if you want to get it at a discount, it's also available on various Amazon sites: Canada, USA, Europe.
New extract from Jordan/Sanderson's TOWERS OF MIDNIGHT
Tor.com just announced that you can now read the first chapter from Robert Jordan and Brandon Sanderson's Towers of Midnight (Canada, USA, Europe) on their website.Here's a teaser:
The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rose above the misty peaks of Imfaral. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning.
Crisp and light, the wind danced across fields of new mountain grass stiff with frost. That frost lingered past first light, sheltered by the omnipresent clouds that hung like a death mask high above. It had been weeks since those clouds had budged, and the wan, yellowed grass showed it.
The wind churned morning mist, moving southward, chilling a small pride of torm. They reclined on a flat, lichen-stained granite shelf, waiting to bask in morning sunlight that would not arrive. The wind poured over the shelf, racing down a hillside of scraggly mura trees, with ropelike bark and green tufts of thick, needlelike leaves atop them.
At the base of the foothills, the wind turned eastward, passing an open plain kept free of trees and scrub by the soldier’s axe. The killing field surrounded thirteen fortresses, tall and cut entirely from unpolished black marble, their blocks left rough-hewn to give them a primal feeling of unformed strength. These were towers meant for war. By tradition they were unoccupied. How long that would last—how long tradition itself would be remembered in a continent in chaos—remained to be seen.
The wind continued eastward, and soon it was playing with the masts of half-burned ships at the docks of Takisrom. Out into the Sleeping Bay, it passed the attackers: enormous greatships with sails painted blood red. They sailed southward, their grisly work done.
The wind blew onto land again, past smoldering towns and villages, open plains filled with troops and docks fat with warships. Smoke, war calls and banners fl ew above dying grass and beneath a dockmaster’s gloomy sky.
Men did not whisper that this might be the end of times. They yelled it. The Fields of Peace were aflame, the Tower of Ravens was broken as prophesied and a murderer openly ruled in Seandar. This was a time to lift one’s sword and choose a side, then spill blood to give a final color to the dying land.
The wind howled eastward over the famed Emerald Cliffs and coursed out over the ocean. Behind, smoke seemed to rise from the entire continent of Seanchan.
Follow this link to read the full chapter.
How to make vampires scary again
From the Guardian's books blog: Stephen King explains how to make vampires scary again:Here's what vampires shouldn't be: pallid detectives who drink Bloody Marys and work only at night; lovelorn southern gentlemen; anorexic teenage girls; boy-toys with big dewy eyes," writes Stephen King in the introduction to his move into original comic book writing, American Vampire. "What should they be? Killers, honey. Stone killers who never get enough of that tasty Type-A. Bad boys and girls. Hunters. In other words, Midnight America. Red, white and blue, accent on the red. Those vamps got hijacked by a lot of soft-focus romance.
You can read the entire article here.
Win an autographed copy of Robert Jordan and Brandon Sanderson's TOWERS OF MIDNIGHT
I have three signed copies of Robert Jordan and Brandon Sanderson's Towers of Midnight up for grabs, courtesy of the nice folks at Tor Books. For more info about this title: Canada, USA, Europe.
Here's the blurb:
The Last Battle has started. The seals on the Dark One’s prison are crumbling. The Pattern itself is unraveling, and the armies of the Shadow have begun to boil out of the Blight.
The sun has begun to set upon the Third Age.
Perrin Aybara is now hunted by specters from his past: Whitecloaks, a slayer of wolves, and the responsibilities of leadership. All the while, an unseen foe is slowly pulling a noose tight around his neck. To prevail, he must seek answers in Tel’aran’rhiod and find a way—at long last—to master the wolf within him or lose himself to it forever.
Meanwhile, Matrim Cauthon prepares for the most difficult challenge of his life. The creatures beyond the stone gateways—the Aelfinn and the Eelfinn—have confused him, taunted him, and left him hanged, his memory stuffed with bits and pieces of other men’s lives. He had hoped that his last confrontation with them would be the end of it, but the Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills. The time is coming when he will again have to dance with the Snakes and the Foxes, playing a game that cannot be won. The Tower of Ghenjei awaits, and its secrets will reveal the fate of a friend long lost.
The rules are the same as usual. You need to send an email at reviews@(no-spam)gryphonwood.net with the header "MIDNIGHT." 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.
Good luck to all the participants!
Here's the blurb:
The Last Battle has started. The seals on the Dark One’s prison are crumbling. The Pattern itself is unraveling, and the armies of the Shadow have begun to boil out of the Blight.
The sun has begun to set upon the Third Age.
Perrin Aybara is now hunted by specters from his past: Whitecloaks, a slayer of wolves, and the responsibilities of leadership. All the while, an unseen foe is slowly pulling a noose tight around his neck. To prevail, he must seek answers in Tel’aran’rhiod and find a way—at long last—to master the wolf within him or lose himself to it forever.
Meanwhile, Matrim Cauthon prepares for the most difficult challenge of his life. The creatures beyond the stone gateways—the Aelfinn and the Eelfinn—have confused him, taunted him, and left him hanged, his memory stuffed with bits and pieces of other men’s lives. He had hoped that his last confrontation with them would be the end of it, but the Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills. The time is coming when he will again have to dance with the Snakes and the Foxes, playing a game that cannot be won. The Tower of Ghenjei awaits, and its secrets will reveal the fate of a friend long lost.
The rules are the same as usual. You need to send an email at reviews@(no-spam)gryphonwood.net with the header "MIDNIGHT." 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.
Good luck to all the participants!
