The winner is:
Alex Hoff, fromCalgary, Alberta, Canada
Many thanks to all the participants!
George R. R. Martin contest winner!
The winner is:
Alex Hoff, fromCalgary, Alberta, Canada
Many thanks to all the participants!
Extract from Ian Tregillis' THE COLDEST WAR
Ian Tregillis' The Coldest War is one of my most eagerly anticipated speculative fiction titles of 2012! I started reading it during my flight to Istanbul and it's very good thus far! And thanks to the folks at Tor Books and the author, here's an exclusive excerpt for you to enjoy! For more info about this title: Canada, USA, Europe.
Here's the blurb:
In Ian Tregillis' The Coldest War, a precarious balance of power maintains the peace between Britain and the USSR. For decades, Britain's warlocks have been all that stands between the British Empire and the Soviet Union—a vast domain stretching from the Pacific Ocean to the shores of the English Channel. Now each wizard's death is another blow to Britain's national security.
Meanwhile, a brother and sister escape from a top-secret facility deep behind the Iron Curtain. Once subjects of a twisted Nazi experiment to imbue ordinary people with superhuman abilities, then prisoners of war in the immense Soviet research effort to reverse-engineer the Nazi technology, they head for England.
Because that's where former spy Raybould Marsh lives. And Gretel, the mad seer, has plans for him.
As Marsh is once again drawn into the world of Milkweed, he discovers that Britain's darkest acts didn't end with the war. And while he strives to protect queen and country, he is forced to confront his own willingness to accept victory at any cost.
Enjoy!
-----------------
1 May 1963
Arzamas-16, Nizhny Novgorod Oblast, USSR
Gretel laid a fingertip on Klaus’s arm.
“Wait,” she whispered.
Several seconds passed while she consulted some private time line that existed only in her head. He recognized the look on her face: she was remembering the future, peering a few seconds ahead.
Then she said, “Now, brother.”
Klaus pulled the merest trickle of current from his stolen battery, just enough of the Götterelektron to dematerialize his hand. It was a gamble, one Gretel had assured him would work. But he’d practiced for weeks.
His hand ghosted through ferro-concrete. He wrapped his fingers around one of the bolts that sealed the vault. Klaus concentrated, focusing his Willenskräfte like a scalpel, and pulled a finger’s width of steel through the wall. Gretel caught the slug before it clattered to the floor and gave them away.
They repeated the process twice. Klaus severed all three bolts, and the alarm circuit, in fifteen seconds. But the damage to the door was strictly internal; a passing guard would see nothing but pristine, unblemished steel.
It would have been easier for Klaus to walk straight through the wall with his sister in tow. But that would have tripped sensors and triggered their captors’ fail-safes before he was halfway through. The entire facility, this secret city the locals called Sarov, bristled with antennae and circuitry attuned to the telltale whisper of the Götterelektron. Unauthorized expression of the Willenskräfte instantly triggered the electromagnetic equivalent of a shaped charge. The British had developed a crude precursor to this technology back during the war; they’d called their devices “pixies,” and they had a range of a few hundred meters. The Soviet fail-safes could knock out a battery at six kilometers. Klaus knew the specs because he’d helped them test the system. He’d had no choice.
Gretel never worried about the fail-safes. Klaus stood on the cusp of fifty (according to his best estimate; he and his sister had been war orphans) and yet he still didn’t know how or when Gretel called upon the Götterelektron to see the future. He suspected she relied upon batteries far less than she let their captors believe, and not when they thought she was using them. It had been that way back home in Germany, too.
They eased the vault door closed after slipping inside. Klaus groped for the light switch. Sickly yellow light cascaded from the naked bulb overhead, chasing shadows past rows of cabinets and shelves. A musty smell permeated the vault; their footsteps kicked up swirls of dust. The Soviets still referred to this place, almost reverently, as ALPHA. But they came here rarely these days.
The cabinets contained papers the Soviets had obtained during their lightning-fast occupation of the old REGP, the Reichsbehörde für die Erweiterung germanischen Potenzials; the shelves held physical artifacts from Doctor von Westarp’s farm, where the Reichsbehörde had lived and died.
Gretel and Klaus sought the batteries their captors had confiscated at the end of the war. He had managed, after months of preparation, to sneak a single battery past the Soviets’ stringent inventory controls. But if his sister had foreseen things correctly (of which, of course, he had no doubt), they would need every millivolt they could muster on their long trek to the Paris Wall.
The rechargeable lithium-ion packs had been cutting-edge technology, decades ahead of their time in 1939. But they were blocky, bulky things, and hopelessly outdated compared to the sleek modules the Soviets had developed. Gretel’s prescience aside, it was difficult to believe the Reichsbehörde batteries had retained any charge after twenty-two years. Klaus wiped away the layer of dust and grime coating the gauges. The batteries were degraded but still serviceable. If the gauges could be trusted.
Although Klaus had suffered tremendous misgivings about Doctor von Westarp’s research, and had lost his unswerving faith in the Götterelektrongruppe long before the Communists’ master stroke, he now felt a frisson of relief and pride. German engineering. A reminder of those golden days when the world had been so much simpler, their shared destiny so much grander. Even degraded, these old batteries represented a wealth of power and opportunity. More than Klaus had known in decades.
They also found a few of the old double harnesses. Klaus and Gretel stripped to the waist. It was awkward, but they both managed to don two harnesses, one in front and one in back. When they had finished, they both carried four batteries beneath their clothes. It was very uncomfortable.
“Let’s go,” he said, taking her hand.
But Gretel said, “Wait. We need something else, too.” She led him down one aisle and up another, to a shelf holding a pair of jars filled with sepia-colored solution. Beside them lay an empty rucksack.
“What are those for?”
The corner of Gretel’s mouth quirked up in a private little smile. “Don’t worry. I’ve packed for you, too.”
Something in the way she said it dislodged a forgotten moment from the recesses of Klaus’s memory. It was the day of their capture, minutes before. He’d been away, and had rushed back to the farm to retrieve Gretel before the Communists overran the facility. He’d taken her hand, preparing to pull her through the wall, desperate to get back to the truck and drive ahead of the advancing Red Army:
“Wait,” she said. She pointed at the rucksack. “We’ll need that.”
The sack clattered like ceramic or glass when he lifted it. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ve packed for you, too.”
Klaus took one of the jars. A pallid, shriveled mass floated in the murk. The jar had a wide opening, and the lid had been sealed and re-sealed with wax. The yellowed label listed a set of dates and other annotations printed in Cyrillic, in a variety of hands and a variety of inks. The jar had last been studied six years ago. It was dusty.
He blew away some of the dust, then lifted the jar to the light, trying to peer inside. The contents settled against the glass like a dead fish.
Klaus frowned. “Is this . . . is this Heike’s brain?”
“Part of it.”
Heike. The invisible woman. Another of Doctor von Westarp’s children, one of that small handful to survive the procedures and learn how to embrace the Willenskräfte. They had grown up together, lived together, trained together back at the Reichsbehörde. Until poor, fragile Heike had spent a long afternoon in private conversation with Gretel, and killed herself the next day.
The doctor didn’t mourn his dead daughter. He dissected her. It was, after all, a perfect opportunity to study the physiological effects of channeling the Götterelektron. Since Heike had done that via the electrodes in her skull—like Klaus, Gretel, Reinhardt, and the others—the doctor had paid particular attention to her brain.
Gretel took the jar from his hands. She crumpled the label and tossed it aside, then picked at the wax with her fingernails. It flaked away in long clumps. Klaus caught a strong whiff of formaldehyde when she cracked the seal.
“Why . . .” Klaus trailed off. He tried again. “How will Heike’s brain help us to escape?”
“It won’t,” said Gretel, as though explaining something obvious. She dumped out the contents. Formaldehyde and brain matter splattered on the floor. And then she added: “But we need a jar.”
“What? I don’t—”
Comprehension dawned, and something icy slithered down Klaus’s spine. It became an oily nausea when it reached his gut. He put a hand over his mouth and swallowed. Oh my God.
Back during the war he had seen Gretel do strange things. Inexplicable things. Terrible things. Perhaps none more so than what she had done to Heike. Now he understood the why of it, but that only made things worse: Heike’s suicide was a tiny cog in a vast machine. Gretel had prepared their escape long before they were captured. She had caused an innocent woman to kill herself, just to ensure one perfectly normal jar would be there twenty years later, exactly when and where they needed it. The sheer callousness rivaled anything ever done at the Reichsbehörde or Arzamas. But the scope of Gretel’s machinations . . . It was a wonder Klaus’s blood didn’t crystallize in his veins. Gretel was weaving cause and effect across decades. The farm had fallen because Gretel wanted it to happen. Why? It had gnawed at him since before their arrival at Arzamas. He’d asked, of course, but Gretel never answered his questions. Just smiled as she weaved her plans.
And here he was. A ghost along for the ride.
Klaus sighed. He feared this insight into his sister, but he hated Arzamas more. “What now?”
“Now you go to the bathroom.”
Gott. This is getting worse and worse. “In the jar?”
Gretel frowned. Her braids—long raven-black locks streaked with gray—danced past her shoulders as she shook her head. She’d always worn her hair long, except in the early days here, when the Soviets had shaved their heads.
“No. You go,” she said, pushing him toward the vault door, “to the bathroom.” Another nudge toward the door, and this time she put the glassware in his hand. It was slippery. “Clean this. Leave it on the sink.”
He started to talk, to ensure he understood what she said, but she interrupted him. “Go. And don’t linger.”
Klaus ran the water as quietly as possible, so that he could listen for footsteps in the corridor. He half suspected that part of Gretel’s escape plan involved him getting caught outside the dormitory after curfew.
The jar made his hands stink, and a layer of gunk had accumulated around the rim. He scrubbed it away as best he could with a towel. Working quickly, he managed to get the jar looking like it was mostly clean. And then, because the incriminating towel stank of formaldehyde (like his hands), he hid it behind one of the toilets. He balanced the jar on the narrow ledge of the sink, where a water-stained wall joined rust-stained ceramic.
When he returned to the vault, Gretel was slipping something into her blouse. “All done, brother? Time to go.” She led him into the corridor.
Before it became a secret city, Arzamas-16 had been known as Sarov: a dozen churches built around the Sarova monastery, home of St. Seraphim. Everything was closed by order of the state when Sarov became a research facility. It grew quickly.
But inside and out, the architecture here was unlike most Soviet towns of comparable size: most of Arzamas-16 had been built by POW labor from Axis troops captured during the Red Army’s sweep across Europe in the final months of the war. Arzamas-16 had a distinctly European, distinctly German, feel. It could have been a Thuringian village. The early days had been profoundly disorienting, when Klaus had watched the buildings going up and felt he was witnessing the destruction of the Reichsbehörde in reverse.
Arzamas-16 was a large and heavily guarded facility, ringed with walls, fences, and aggressive perimeter defenses. Including the fail-safes. This building, number three, sat near the center of town. Klaus suppressed the urge to keep looking over his shoulder while his sister led him toward the guard station.
Gretel pulled him to a stop at the base of a stairwell. They backed up a few stairs, until they perched in the shadows around the corner from the guard desk.
Klaus whispered, “The patrols—”
“There won’t be any tonight.” Gretel put a finger to her lips.
As Klaus’s breathing slowed, he started to make out sounds from around the corner. He recognized the sound of liquid sloshing inside glass. It reminded him of poor Heike, and her ignominious end. Nothing happened for several minutes.
Then footsteps echoed up the corridor. Klaus braced for a fight he hoped to avoid. At best, he’d get a few seconds of complete insubstantiality before tripping the fail-safes, barely enough time for him and Gretel to escape through the wall.
A voice said, “What the hell are you doing?”
Another answered, “Drink with me, Sacha.”
“Are you drunk?”
“I am not drunk. I am celebrating! It is, as I say this to you, not twenty minutes after midnight. Do you know what that makes today?”
The sound of glass on metal, like a bottle pulled across a desk. “Where did you get this?” That was Sacha’s voice again. Klaus didn’t know the guards by name, but he might have recognized their faces.
“It makes today,” continued the first guard, “International Workers’ Day. And so I am celebrating my hardworking brothers and sisters. To them!” A moment later, the sound of smacked lips.
“You’re disgraceful, Kostya. Have you done the rounds, or must I do your job for you?”
Gretel patted Klaus on the knee when he tensed. Trust me, she mouthed.
“Disgraceful? I am a patriot, I’ll have you know.”
“You would drink jet fuel, if you could find it. What is that?”
“I distilled it myself.” Again, the sound of a bottle being pushed across the desk. “One drink. To the workers.”
A gasp. “I’m not putting that thing to my lips. Don’t you ever brush your teeth? Your breath smells like shit.”
“Suit yourself, Sacha.”
“Not getting shot for dereliction of duty, that’s what suits me.”
“They don’t shoot people here. They give them to the troops. Comrade Lysenko’s special troops. For practice.”
“I’d rather be shot.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
A minute passed. Then: “One of us has to do the rounds. I suppose that’s me, since you’re hell-bent on getting shit-faced.” “No, no, I’ll do the rounds. It’s my service to the great Soviet Union.”
A wooden chair squeaked across pitted concrete. “But first I must piss. Patriotism is the only drink that stays in your blood. Vodka comes back out again. Watch the boards while I’m out.”
The other guard—Sacha—sighed. “I’ll watch.”
Kostya’s unsteady footsteps sounded louder and louder until he appeared around the corner. Klaus held his breath because he and Gretel were sitting in shadow but still easily visible to anybody who looked in their direction. His sloe-eyed sister watched the guard with something akin to dark amusement playing across her face. The guard shuffled past them without a glance.
From the direction of the bathroom, Klaus heard banging, flushing, belching, and running water.
Kostya shuffled past them again a few minutes later, jar in hand. He waved it triumphantly overhead. “Good news, Sacha!” he announced, disappearing around the corner. “I found this in the bathroom. Now you can have a drink with me.”
Klaus turned to stare at his sister. She winked.
From the guard station, Sascha’s voice said, “You found a jar in the bathroom? It’s probably a sample jar. I’ll bet somebody pissed in it.”
“Nonsense. Look. Clean.”
“Did you piss in it?”
“One drink. On Workers’ Day.”
Glass clinked against glass as somebody, probably Kostya, poured into the jar.
“Not so much. I don’t want to go blind.”
All Klaus could think of was formaldehyde and poor Heike’s brain; the thought of imbibing from that jar nauseated him.
“To the Great Soviet.” More clinking of glass.
Several moments passed in silence. And then Sacha said, “This isn’t half bad.”
After that there was more pouring, more toasts, and more clinking. Time passed. Gretel nudged Klaus with her elbow at one point, jerking him back to alertness. “You were going to snore,” she whispered.
Klaus asked, “Do we rush them? They’re both drunk.”
Gretel rolled her eyes, but didn’t say anything.
Not long after that, Sacha said (sounding more relaxed than he had before), “You smell like a wet dog, but you make a fine drink.”
“Thank you.”
“Is this really your own?”
“Yes.” Kostya sounded blurry, subdued.
“How?”
Klaus understood the question. This was the most sensitive facility in the entire Soviet Union: an empire that stretched from the Atlantic to the Pacific. Even the guards were subject to scrutiny here. Klaus imagined the guards’ quarters were searched almost as frequently as his own. So how did Kostya manage to distill his own vodka?
“I do it where they never look.”
“They look everywhere.”
“No.” Kostya paused, possibly for another sip. He smacked his lips. “They never search the fail-safe chamber. Nobody likes to go down there . . .”
Klaus filled in the rest: . . . because it’s full of high explosives.
The Götterelektron was the key to the superhuman feats of Doctor von Westarp’s children, and their Soviet successors. But it was also their Achilles’ heel. The circuitry was susceptible to a suitably crafted electromagnetic pulse. The British had designed their pixies after reverse engineering Gretel’s battery, and used them with middling success during an ill-fated raid on the Reichsbehörde. Later, when the tide of war turned against the Reich, the Communists had unveiled a more potent version of the same technology.
The Arzamas fail-safe devices dwarfed the original pixies, but they worked on the same principle. They used chemical explosives to crush an electromagnet, blanketing the facility with a crippling EMP.
The bottom line being that nobody in his right mind willingly spent time near the fail-safes. An unannounced drill, a malfunction, even an escape attempt might come at any time. Death would be quick, and it would be certain.
Nobody searched the fail-safe chambers.
Sacha said, “Genius. To you.”
“To me.” Clink.
“Maintenance . . . they do that, time to time. What then? Pay them in vodka?”
“Some I could. Others would take my vodka and still sell me out. Pigs.” Kostya spat. “Come. I’ll show you.”
Sascha belched before responding. “Into the chamber? Not going down there.”
“It’s safe. I’ve done it many times.”
“You’re a drunken madman.” It sounded as though Sacha was making an effort not to slur his words. “I am smarter and more responsible.”
“Then we’ll disarm the fail-safe before we go down.”
“Yes. That’s a much better idea.”
And then, after some discussion of whether they’d take the remainder of the bottle with them, they stumbled off to visit Kostya’s still. Gretel stood, stretched. “Well,” she said. “Off we go.”
Incredible, thought Klaus.
After half an hour of sneaking, hiding, dodging, and sprinting—each move dictated by the time line in Gretel’s head—they stole a car. And, because the fail-safes had been disarmed, there was nothing to stop Klaus from dematerializing the car and everything in it when they reached the perimeter.
They escaped Arzamas-16 without incident, just two more ghosts in the gulag.
Spellbound
In 2010, Blake Charlton released an original debut titled Spellwright, a throwback book reminiscent of epic fantasy and sword & sorcery novels from the 80s. In a day and age in which genre authors attempt to subvert traditional fantasy tropes and clichés, Charlton embraced them, making Spellwright some kind of homage to a different era.
Although the author elevates his game in basically every aspect of his craft in this sequel, Spellbound remains the same in style and tone.
Here's the blurb:
In a world where one’s magical prowess is determined by one’s skill with words and ability to spell, Nicodemus is a wizardly apprentice afflicted by a curse that causes him to misspell magical texts. Now, the demon who cursed him has hatched a conspiracy to force Nicodemus to change language and ultimately use it to destroy all human life. As Nico tries to thwart the demon’s plan, he faces challenges from all sides. But his biggest challenge is his own disability, which causes him to create chaos wherever he goes. And the chaos surrounding Nico is affecting the world so profoundly that the kingdom to which he has fled to gather strength is on the brink of civil war, and he suspects that his closest allies—even Francesca, whom he loves more than life itself—may be subject to the demon’s vast powers. As Nico tries to forestall the apocalypse, he realizes that he doesn’t know if he can fully trust anyone, not even the woman he loves. And if he makes one wrong move, not only will his life be forfeit, he may end up destroying all mortal life as well.
Charlton is a world away from the "New Grit" movement spearheaded by authors such as George R. R. Martin, Richard Morgan, Joe Abercrombie, R. Scott Bakker, Steven Erikson, etc. In Spellwright, pretty much everything was black and white. The heroes were good, the villains were evil. The forces of good always beat the odds and somehow managed to come out on top, with secret knowledge or power falling into their lap in the nick of time. The good guys were all handsome and beautiful, while the bad guys weren't. In a nutshell, it was the whole good vs evil shebang. Even though it's more or less the same with Spellbound, the author added a few shades of gray to the plot. Yet in the end, the novel remains a work that will appeal more to fans of more traditional fantasy series written by the all-stars of the 80s and early 90s such as David Eddings, Terry Brooks, Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman, and Raymond E. Feist.
One facet in which Blake Charlton managed to up his game significantly is the worldbuilding. The structure of a debut is such that Charlton couldn't offer readers more than a glimpse of his universe in Spellwright. I was pleased to learn more about Language Prime, the Chthonic race, the Disjunction, the dragons, and so much more. Readers will also discover more about the world at large, as the action occurs in a variety of localities. Overall, the worldbuilding added quite a few layers to this work.
Once again, the imaginative magical system that Charlton created is a highlight of Spellbound. As was the case in the first book, it can take a while for you to understand how it works. But it remains fascinating and unique.
One aspect which leaves a lot to be desired, I felt, was the characterization. Ten years have passed since the events chronicled in Spellwright, a decade that hardened Nicodemus. The young dyslexic spellwright suffering from cacography wasn't always the sharpest tool in the shed, but the man he became commands respect. What nearly killed the book for me was Francesca DeVega, the novel's main protagonist. Oh my God. . . Where to begin? Think of a strange hybrid between Polgara the Sorceress and Dr. House with a dose of Faile. She is insufferable and I wanted to open my veins every time she appeared in the book. Another thing that readers will either love or despise, with all the bantering and back-and-forth between the characters (most of which often getting in the way of the plot), with Spellbound Blake Charlton firmly established himself as the David Eddings of the 21st century. The supporting cast doesn't play such an important role in the bigger scheme of things, which means that there is an uneven balance between Francesca and Nico's POVs.
You may or may not know that Black Charlton attends the Stanford University School of Medicine. Which explains why there are a few bits of medical porn here and there throughout the book. It's not off-putting in any way, not even the unexpected brain surgery, but it doesn't always have much to do with the storylines. There is also a love story that you can see coming from a mile away. . .
The pace can be a problem in certain portions of the book. Spellbound begins with a bang and the rhythm is fluid for about half of the novel. Then it becomes extremely sluggish at times, before resuming again for the finale. Charlton brings this one to a satisfying close, setting the stage for what should be an interesting final volume.
Spellwright seemed too have a lot of potential and Spellbound demonstrates that there is a lot more to Charlton's creation than meets the eye. If not for the intolerable Francesca, this book would get a much better score. As I mentioned, she nearly killed this one for me. Because in every aspect but the characterization, Spellbound is a much superior tale than Spellwright turned out to be. Which means that if you can put up with Francesca, you might love it.
The final verdict: 7/10
For more information about this title: Canada, USA, Europe.
This week's New York Times Bestsellers (May 21st)
Charlaine Harris' Deadlocked is down one spot, finishing the week at number 2.
Stephen King's The Dark Tower: The Wind Through the Keyhole is down six positions, ending the week at number 8. For more info about this title: Canada, USA, Europe.
George R. R. Martin's A Dance With Dragons is down seven positions, ending the week at number 18. For more info about this title: Canada, USA, Europe.
Christopher Moore’s Sacré Bleu: A Comedy d'Art is down nine spots, finishing the week at number 21.
Stephen King's 11/22/63 is down nine positions, ending the week at number 31. For more info about this title: Canada, USA, Europe.
In paperback:
George R. R. Martin's A Game of Thrones is up two positions, ending the week at number 3.
George R. R. Martin's A Clash of Kings is up two positions, finishing the week at number 7.
Seth Grahame-Smith's Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter is down two positions, ending the week at number 8 (trade paperback).
Seth Grahame-Smith's Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter is up four positions, ending the week at number 8.
George R. R. Martin's A Storms of Swords is up five positions, ending the week at number 9.
George R. R. Martin's A Game of Thrones maintains its position at number 12 (trade paperback).
George R. R. Martin's A Feast for Crows is up three positions, ending the week at number 15.
Charlaine Harris' Dead Reckoning is up ten spots, finishing the week at number 16.
Orson Scott Card's Ender's Game returns at number 29.
Guy Gavriel Kay announces new novel!
Kay's newest title, River of Stars, should be published in early 2013.
Hell yeah!!
Cirque du Soleil: Amaluna
I saw Amaluna last night, the newest Cirque du Soleil creation which is premiering in Montréal.
Although the interludes are boring, every single act was special. With about 80% of the cast being female performers, it gives this show a much different vibe. Overall, it's a much better show than Totem was, and I daresay it's probably one of the very best Cirque du Soleil touring shows of the last decade or so.
Amaluna remains in Montréal till the end of June, after which the tour will continue in Québec City and Toronto. After that, starting this fall, Amaluna will begin its world tour.
Don't miss it!
Win a copy of Daniel Abraham's THE KING'S BLOOD
I have two copies of Daniel Abraham's The King's Blood up for grabs, compliments of the folks at Orbit! For more info about this title: Canada, USA, Europe.
Here's the blurb:
War casts its shadow over the lands that the dragons once ruled.
When an act of harrowing betrayal threatens to set the cities afire, all certainties are called into question. Only the courage of a young woman with the mind of a gambler and loyalty to no one stands between hope and universal darkness.
The high and powerful will fall, the despised and broken shall rise up, and everything will be remade. And quietly, almost beneath the notice of anyone, an old, broken-hearted warrior and an apostate priest will begin a terrible journey with an impossible goal: destroy a Goddess before she eats the world.
THE KING'S BLOOD is the second chapter in the thrilling fantasy series The Dagger and the Coin.
The rules are the same as usual. You need to send an email at reviews@(no-spam)gryphonwood.net with the header "KING." 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!
New cover art for Steven Erikson's FORGE OF DARKNESS
Looks like Bantam decided to go for a different look!
Here's the blurb:
Forge of Darkness: Now is the time to tell the story of an ancient realm, a tragic tale that sets the stage for all the tales yet to come and all those already told...
It's a conflicted time in Kurald Galain, the realm of Darkness, where Mother Dark reigns. But this ancient land was once home to many a power… and even death is not quite eternal. The commoners' great hero, Vatha Urusander, is being promoted by his followers to take Mother Dark's hand in marriage, but her Consort, Lord Draconus, stands in the way of such ambitions. The impending clash sends fissures throughout the realm, and as the rumors of civil war burn through the masses, an ancient power emerges from the long dead seas. Caught in the middle of it all are the First Sons of Darkness, Anomander, Andarist, and Silchas Ruin of the Purake Hold...
Steven Erikson entered the pantheon of great fantasy writers with his debut Gardens of the Moon. Now he returns with the first novel in a trilogy that takes place millennia before the events of the Malazan Book of the Fallen and introduces readers to Kurald Galain, the warren of Darkness. It is the epic story of a realm whose fate plays a crucial role in shaping the world of the Malazan Empire.
For more info about this title: Canada, USA, Europe.
More inexpensive ebook goodies!
You can now download Robert McCammon's Mystery Walk for only 1.99$ here.
Here's the blurb:
Two young psychics do battle with an ancient evil.
Billy Creekmore was born to be a psychic. His mother, a Choctaw Indian schooled in her tribe’s ancient mysticism, understood that the barrier between life and death is permeable. She knew how to cross it, and used that knowledge to help the dead rest easier. She passed that power on to her son, and he has spent his whole life learning how to communicate with the dead to prevent them from meddling with the living.
Though his powers are the same, Wayne Falconer’s background could not be more different. The son of a prominent preacher, he would be disowned if his father learned he was using supernatural powers in service of the church. Though they don’t know each other, Billy and Wayne share a recurring dream—and a common enemy. When a nightmarish monster descends on their community in Alabama, mankind’s fate will rest in their hands.
UK cover art for Robert Jordan and Brandon Sanderson's A MEMORY OF LIGHT
Nothing special, but it follows the same style as the rest of the series.
Excerpt from Ian Tregillis' THE COLDEST WAR
Tor.com has posted the prologue from Ian Tregillis' sequel to the excellent Bitter Seeds, The Coldest War (Canada, USA, Europe).
Here's the blurb:
In Ian Tregillis' The Coldest War, a precarious balance of power maintains the peace between Britain and the USSR. For decades, Britain's warlocks have been all that stands between the British Empire and the Soviet Union—a vast domain stretching from the Pacific Ocean to the shores of the English Channel. Now each wizard's death is another blow to Britain's national security.
Meanwhile, a brother and sister escape from a top-secret facility deep behind the Iron Curtain. Once subjects of a twisted Nazi experiment to imbue ordinary people with superhuman abilities, then prisoners of war in the immense Soviet research effort to reverse-engineer the Nazi technology, they head for England.
Because that's where former spy Raybould Marsh lives. And Gretel, the mad seer, has plans for him.
As Marsh is once again drawn into the world of Milkweed, he discovers that Britain's darkest acts didn't end with the war. And while he strives to protect queen and country, he is forced to confront his own willingness to accept victory at any cost.
Follow this link to read the extract.
More inexpensive ebook goodies!
You can now download The Mongoliad, a collaborative effort from Neal Stephenson, Greg Bear, Mark Teppo, and a few other authors, for only 0.99$ here.
Here's the blurb:
The first novel to be released in The Foreworld Saga, The Mongoliad: Book One, is an epic-within-an-epic, taking place in 13th century. In it, a small band of warriors and mystics raise their swords to save Europe from a bloodthirsty Mongol invasion. Inspired by their leader (an elder of an order of warrior monks), they embark on a perilous journey and uncover the history of hidden knowledge and conflict among powerful secret societies that had been shaping world events for millennia.
But the saga reaches the modern world via a circuitous route. In the late 19th century, Sir Richard F. Burton, an expert on exotic languages and historical swordsmanship, is approached by a mysterious group of English martial arts aficionados about translating a collection of long-lost manuscripts. Burton dies before his work is finished, and his efforts were thought lost until recently rediscovered by a team of amateur archaeologists in the ruins of a mansion in Trieste, Italy. From this collection of arcana, the incredible tale of The Mongoliad was recreated.
Full of high adventure, unforgettable characters, and unflinching battle scenes, The Mongoliad ignites a dangerous quest where willpower and blades are tested and the scope of world-building is redefined.
More inexpensive ebook goodies!
You can now download Gail Carriger's Soulless for only 0.99$ here.
Here's the blurb:
Alexia Tarabotti is laboring under a great many social tribulations. First, she has no soul. Second, she's a spinster whose father is both Italian and dead. Third, she was rudely attacked by a vampire, breaking all standards of social etiquette.
Where to go from there? From bad to worse apparently, for Alexia accidentally kills the vampire -- and then the appalling Lord Maccon (loud, messy, gorgeous, and werewolf) is sent by Queen Victoria to investigate.
With unexpected vampires appearing and expected vampires disappearing, everyone seems to believe Alexia responsible. Can she figure out what is actually happening to London's high society? Will her soulless ability to negate supernatural powers prove useful or just plain embarrassing? Finally, who is the real enemy, and do they have treacle tart?
SOULLESS is a comedy of manners set in Victorian London: full of werewolves, vampires, dirigibles, and tea-drinking.
Win a copy of the limited edition of Glen Cook's WINTER'S DREAM
Thanks to the cool folks at Subterranean Press, I have a copy of the limited edition of Glen Cook's Winter's Dream for you to win! For more info about this title: Canada, USA, Europe, and Subpress.
Here's the blurb:
Glen Cook is, of course, best known for his enormously popular series fiction, which includes the Garrett P.I. and Dread Empire sequences, as well as the internationally acclaimed Chronicles of the Black Company. Readers familiar only with this aspect of Cook’s career will find a great many pleasures—and an equal number of surprises—in his vibrant new collection, Winter’s Dreams.
The fourteen standalone stories in Winter’s Dreams range in length from vignettes (“Appointment in Samarkand”) to novellas (“In the Wind”). Together, they encompass an astonishing variety of themes, tones, styles, and settings. Not one of these stories bears the slightest resemblance to the others. Each one manages to enchant, illuminate, and entertain in its own distinctive fashion.
In the near future America of “Song from a Forgotten Hill,” the nations’ tragic racial history replays itself in an all too familiar form.
“The Seventh Fool” recounts the comic misadventures of a charming con man who outsmarts both his gullible target—and himself.
“The Waiting Sea” encapsulates the entire life history of a navy veteran haunted by the sea -- and by the faceless voices only he can hear.
In “Ponce,” a poverty stricken St. Louis family encounters a mysterious blue-eyed dog—a dog that serves as a conduit to the undisclosed secrets of the universe.
“The Recruiter” presents a powerfully disturbing portrait of an ultra-violent future and asks the question: How far will a man go in order to survive?
Equally suitable both for newcomers and for long-time Glen Cook fans, Winter’s Dreams is something special, a consistently enthralling volume that claims new imaginative territory at every turn.
The rules are the same as usual. You need to send an email at reviews@(no-spam)gryphonwood.net with the header "DREAM." 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 Pat's Fantasy Hotlist World Tour hits the road again!!!
That's right, folks!
Next Sunday, I'll be flying away overseas to spend a month in Turkey, Georgia, and Armenia! Can't wait!!! =)
This time, my traveling reading list will look like this:
- The Coldest War by Ian Tregillis (Canada, USA, Europe)
Here's the blurb:
In Ian Tregillis' The Coldest War, a precarious balance of power maintains the peace between Britain and the USSR. For decades, Britain's warlocks have been all that stands between the British Empire and the Soviet Union—a vast domain stretching from the Pacific Ocean to the shores of the English Channel. Now each wizard's death is another blow to Britain's national security.
Meanwhile, a brother and sister escape from a top-secret facility deep behind the Iron Curtain. Once subjects of a twisted Nazi experiment to imbue ordinary people with superhuman abilities, then prisoners of war in the immense Soviet research effort to reverse-engineer the Nazi technology, they head for England.
Because that's where former spy Raybould Marsh lives. And Gretel, the mad seer, has plans for him.
As Marsh is once again drawn into the world of Milkweed, he discovers that Britain's darkest acts didn't end with the war. And while he strives to protect queen and country, he is forced to confront his own willingness to accept victory at any cost.
- Shogun by James Clavell (Canada, USA, Europe)
Here's the blurb:
A bold English adventurer. An invincible Japanese warlord. A beautiful woman torn between two ways of life, two ways of love. All brought together in an extraordinary saga of a time and a place aflame with conflict, passion, ambition, lust, and the struggle for power...
- Fevre Dream by George R. R. Martin (Canada, USA, Europe)
Here's the blurb:
Abner Marsh, a struggling riverboat captain, suspects that something’s amiss when he is approached by a wealthy aristocrat with a lucrative offer. The hauntingly pale, steely-eyed Joshua York doesn’t care that the icy winter of 1857 has wiped out all but one of Marsh’s dilapidated fleet; nor does he care that he won’t earn back his investment in a decade. York’s reasons for traversing the powerful Mississippi are to be none of Marsh’s concern—no matter how bizarre, arbitrary, or capricious York’s actions may prove. Not until the maiden voyage of Fevre Dream does Marsh realize that he has joined a mission both more sinister, and perhaps more noble, than his most fantastic nightmare—and humankind’s most impossible dream.
- Snow Crash by Neal Stephenson (Canada, USA, Europe)
Here's the blurb:
One of Time magazine's 100 all-time best English-language novels.
Only once in a great while does a writer come along who defies comparison—a writer so original he redefines the way we look at the world. Neal Stephenson is such a writer and Snow Crash is such a novel, weaving virtual reality, Sumerian myth, and just about everything in between with a cool, hip cybersensibility to bring us the gigathriller of the information age.
In reality, Hiro Protagonist delivers pizza for Uncle Enzo’s CosoNostra Pizza Inc., but in the Metaverse he’s a warrior prince. Plunging headlong into the enigma of a new computer virus that’s striking down hackers everywhere, he races along the neon-lit streets on a search-and-destroy mission for the shadowy virtual villain threatening to bring about infocalypse. Snow Crash is a mind-altering romp through a future America so bizarre, so outrageous…you’ll recognize it immediately.
- One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez (Canada, USA, Europe)
Here's the blurb:
One of the 20th century's enduring works, One Hundred Years of Solitude is a widely beloved and acclaimed novel known throughout the world, and the ultimate achievement in a Nobel Prize–winning career.
The novel tells the story of the rise and fall of the mythical town of Macondo through the history of the Buendía family. It is a rich and brilliant chronicle of life and death, and the tragicomedy of humankind. In the noble, ridiculous, beautiful, and tawdry story of the Buendía family, one sees all of humanity, just as in the history, myths, growth, and decay of Macondo, one sees all of Latin America.
Love and lust, war and revolution, riches and poverty, youth and senility -- the variety of life, the endlessness of death, the search for peace and truth -- these universal themes dominate the novel. Whether he is describing an affair of passion or the voracity of capitalism and the corruption of government, Gabriel García Márquez always writes with the simplicity, ease, and purity that are the mark of a master.
Alternately reverential and comical, One Hundred Years of Solitude weaves the political, personal, and spiritual to bring a new consciousness to storytelling. Translated into dozens of languages, this stunning work is no less than an accounting of the history of the human race.
New R. Scott Bakker forums
So if Bakker's blog, Three Pound Brain, is not enough, you can now discuss the author and his books at The Second Apocalypse.
Bakker fans should follow this link. . .
The Night Sessions
It's more than a little deplorable that such a quality and thought-provoking read took so many years to become available on this side of the Atlantic. Indeed, Ken MacLeod's The Night Sessions originally came out in 2008 in the UK. I'm aware that science fiction doesn't quite sell the way it used to. But considering the amount of genre crap on the market today, one would think that a novel as good as this one would get an American publisher more rapidly.
I wonder if it has anything to do with the fact that the more devout American Christians are portrayed in a negative light. . .
Here's the blurb:
A bishop is dead. As Detective Inspector Adam Ferguson picks through the rubble of the tiny church, he discovers that it was deliberately bombed. That it’s a terrorist act is soon beyond doubt. It’s been a long time since anyone saw anything like this. Terrorism is history.
After the Middle East wars and the rising sea levels, after Armageddon and the Flood, came the Great Rejection. The first Enlightenment separated church from state. The Second Enlightenment has separated religion from politics. In this enlightened age there’s no persecution, but the millions who still believe and worship are a marginal and mistrusted minority. Now someone is killing them.
At first, suspicion falls on atheists more militant than the secular authorities. But when the target list expands to include the godless, it becomes evident that something very old has risen from the ashes. Old and very, very dangerous. . .
I found the premise of the work to be fascinating. In a future in which the Faith Wars resolved the Middle East problem and rid the world of the fundamentalist islamic issue, if at a terrible price, and which led to the First and Second Enlightenment that separated religion from everything else, I feel that Ken MacLeod created a very believable post-war world. The worldbuilding is intelligent, thoughtful, and daring. Add to that a storyline in which self-aware robots find God and you end up with a book that's impossible to put down!
There are no lies in religion. There are apparent facts that are illusions. There are words to be taken figuratively. There are ideas that are symbols of deeper truths. There are no lies. The people who sent me to the Middle East told us we would destroy an evil empire. They didn't lie, either.
For the most part, the characterization is pretty solid. Detective Inspector Adam Ferguson and his robot partner Skulk are at the heart of this investigation, yet the supporting cast of disparate characters gives this work many more layers. One thing that I found off-putting, however, is the author's habit to jump from one POV to the next without any apparent break in the narrative. Still, the plot captures you in such a way that the POV shifts don't take anything away from the overall reading experience.
The pace is great and there is never a dull moment from beginning to end. The Night Sessions is as smart as it is entertaining. MacLeod challenges readers with thought-provoking ideas and never takes the path of least resistance. My only complaint would be that we don't learn enough about the Faith Wars and their aftermath. And yet, that would probably have required a number of info-dumps that would have killed the rhythm of the novel. As things stand, this book is a page-turner.
Considering the social, political, and religious issues the West is currently dealing with, Ken MacLeod offers a look at a potential near future in which mankind realized how different belief systems can corrupt societies.
Highly recommended!
The final verdict: 8.25/10
For more information about this title: Canada, USA, Europe
More inexpensive ebook goodies!
You can now download Robin Hobb's novella "Words Like Coins" for 3.99$ here.
Here's the blurb:
Robin Hobb revisits her Farseer world in the 10,000 word tale, “Words Like Coins,” featuring five new illustrations by Tom Kidd.
Mirrifen, a failed hedge-witch's apprentice who has married to find security finds that threatened by a severe drought and the appearance of a pregnant female pecksie.
