Bob Milne

Next to perhaps River of Stars and The Marching Dead, both of which I went into with high expectations, I don't think I've enjoyed a book this year as much as I did Gideon Smith and the Mechanical Girl. From the concept to the characters, I enjoyed every aspect of it and came away wanting more . . . much more. David Barnett's novel has been called "the ultimate Victoriana / steampunk mash-up" but that doesn't begin to describe it. It's also an old-fashioned horror story, a penny dreadful romp around the world, and an adventure worthy of Indiana Jones. Barnett takes us from the streets of London to the sands of Egypt, and from the dizzying heights of battling dirigibles to the claustrophobic depths of ancient pyramids, all with vampires, mummies, devil dogs, and monstrous frogs along for the ride. More than anything, however, this is a tale of heroes. It's a story about heroes lost and found, made and unmade. It's a story about what makes a hero, why we worship them, and why the world needs them. It's also a story about how heroes can be found in the unlikeliest of places. Gideon Smith starts the novel as a shy young man in search of a hero to delve into the mystery hidden below the cliffs; a mystery that he is certain claimed the life of his father's crew. It's a search that brings him into contact with the likes of Bram Stoker and Elizabeth Bathory, as well as the mechanical girl who captures his heart. Ultimately, it's also a journey that brings him to the realization of his own innocent brand of heroism. As for the mechanical girl who makes up the other half of the title, Maria is a fascinating creation who doesn't get nearly the page time she deserves. She's a fully fledged character, as likable as she is sympathetic, but she's more of a catalyst than a character. It's a search for answers and a desire for vengeance that takes Gideon Smith through the first half of the novel, and a love for Maria that carries him through to the end. She does have a pivotal role to play in the story, both as a peril and a power in the climactic showdown. I won't spoil the adventure with details, but it's safe to say a mechanical girl pales in comparison to what rises from the depths of the pyramid at the end. In the end, there's not just room for a sequel here, but a cliffhanger that demands it. That's not to say Gideon Smith and the Mechanical Girl isn't a complete story on its own, because it is, but like the best of the penny dreadfuls it leaves us with us with the start of a whole other adventure. Exciting, adventurous, and exceptionally well-told, filled with equal parts amusement and astonishment, this is sure to be a fixture of best-of lists come the end of the year.

It's been a very long time since I last read a Drizzt Do'Urden novel, much less anything set in the Forgotten Realms, so I was excited about the opportunity to reacquaint myself with R.A. Salvatore's heroic dark elf and find out how his companions fared. Sadly, I should have either saved myself the trouble, or taken the time to investigate what The Sundering is all about. Basically, The Sundering is the story of giant reboot, designed to shoehorn existing characters and settings into a 'simplified' set of 5th edition rules, to be dubbed D&D Next. The Companions is the first book of that reboot. I don't like reboots. As the story begins, Drizzt's friends (all of whom are deceased), find themselves reincarnated, with all of their memories intact, and a shared purpose to meet again and resume their companionship. Um, yeah. Silliness aside, the resurrection of Wulfgar is probably the last thing I remember of Forgotten Realms, and that mistake is a large part of what caused me to drift away. So, to multiply that mistake with the likes of Regis, Cattie-brie, and Bruenor, is to ensure the series gets off to a rocky start. It felt like a Terry Goodkind-like attempt to artifically extend a series, except he does it by taking away powers and memories, whereas Salvatore does it by giving them back. As for Drizzt, he's more of a framing device and less of a character here, which is a shame because he's always been the most interesting of the lot. So, basically, what we get here are three heroes, trapped in the bodies of children, forced to pretend they don't know or remember things that should be impossible. It's an awkward kind of coming-of-age story, and while it does have its interesting moments, it all feels very scattered - which is not surprising when you're following multiple characters across two decades. There are some snippets of battle scenes, and some other adventures that evoked memories of earlier books like The Crystal Shard, but it somehow all feels artificial. What's more, there was no doubt, no tension, and no real suspense as to whether they would all make it to their eventual rendezvous . . . not to mention a climax that just falls flat. I could be wrong, and my reading may be colored by the end-goal of The Sundering, but it all felt like a story Salvatore was told he had to provide, not an adventure he wanted to write. It's not necessarily a bad book - die-hard readers of Forgotten Realms will likely enjoy it - but, for me, it lacked the magic and the mystery I remembered from my original adventures with Drizzt. Knowing what I know now about The Sundering, I doubt I'll continue with the series.

A contemporary battleship being sent back to prehistoric times would have been interesting enough, but making the ship a WWI destroyer that is already failing when pressed into WWII service is a nice touch, and making that prehistoric world an alternate one, populated by a cat-like race at war with a reptilian one, is fantastic. As sea-fairing military thrillers go, this a solid read. I tend to gravitate more towards submarines than destroyers when looking for a naval adventure, but the historical aspect was more than enough to pique my interest. The characters were all nicely developed, with a few standouts that I hope get more page time as the series continues. In terms of world-building, this is more establishing a concept than truly executing on it, but Anderson lays out enough detail to make the story work, and to make you want to keep reading. The clear delineation between the 'good' race and the 'bad' one is a bit simplistic, so I hope he blurs that line a bit in subsequent volumes. I'm really interested to see how the tentative American/Japanese true develops, and would be disappointed if Anderson didn't blur some lines there as well, particularly in terms of alliances with the new races. There's a lot of potential here, and while I'm not sure it can sustain eight books (which is where the series stands today), I'm more than willing to go along for the ride and see how long the fun lasts. It's a book full of ideas that have been done before, but never quite in this manner. As for the writing, it's a bit cold and simplistic to start, but I could feel Anderson becoming more and more comfortable as the book progressed, with bodes well for future volumes.

Remember that spam email you received promising to share millions of dollars if you'd just share your bank account with the spouse of some crooked African dictator? How about the one where some 'gorgeous' Russian girl with a vocabulary south of the bimbo mark begs you for the pleasure of calling her 900 number? Or what about the one threatening absolute catastrophe if you don't immediately forward the message to 20 of your closest friends? If you've ever had even a passing thought of opening one of those ticking e-bombs, Steve Lowe has a word of caution for you: "Why you are sloth? Because fuck you is why! HAHAHAHAHA!!1!" It is with that pithy, English-as-a-third-language, taunt that everything begins going wrong for the reader - because, as the title suggests, YOU are the protagonist. Magically transformed into an honest-to-gosh sloth, complete with yellow claws, a furry back, and an extraordinary long tongue, you're left to play everything from cute wingman, to furry target of gay men's affections, to vengeance-seeking superhero. This is one rude, crude, and lewd adventure, filled with ridiculous toilet humor, the worst kind of gay stereotypes, and a rather piss-poor opinion of humanity. It's also wildly imaginative, very funny, and even pithy and insightful, provided you can allow yourself to see through the Bizarro spectacle. Lowe is definitely one of the more accessible authors of the genre, somebody who gives as much attention to telling a story as to exploring the surreal. His narrative is simple and free-flowing, without playing any sort of literary tricks to confuse or amuse. In addition, his characters actually have a personality, and develop through the course of the story. His story is deliberately offensive in many ways, but as a caricature or over-the-top parody, never as a mean-spirited attack. There are some Bizarro titles I skim through for scenes that catch my eye, and others that I read cover-to-cover . . . Lowe is definitely one of the latter, and a gentleman I need to read more of.

In this first book of his Morlock Ambrosius origin story, James Enge provides us with a 'classic' epic fantasy tale, centered around the clash between dwarves and dragons, augmented with a little alternative history, a story of parallel worlds, and a really interesting take on the Arthurian legends. It's an odd mix of storytelling elements, but A Guile of Dragons works quite well, despite a few awkward passages. The opening chapters certainly felt a bit rushed, as if Enge were impatient to have Ambrosius grow up, without getting into the whole coming-of-age storytelling mess. Don't get me wrong, there are some authors who have done the coming-of-age thing well (Tad Williams immediately comes to mind), but all too often it feels like padding, so I'm not disappointed that Enge passed it by. Fortunately, once we get outside the city and meet back up with Earno, the man responsible for Merlin's exile, the story really begins to pick up. There's a subtle antagonism between the two men that you can feel, and enough conflicted loyalties on both sides to really add some tension to the tale. Neither are particularly likable as protagonists, which does present a bit of a challenge - especially when the dwarves so often steal the show - but they're interesting, and admirable in their own way. It's with the first appearance of the dragons, however, that Enge completely won me over. The dragons broke through the clouds in groups of three, casting distorted shadows behind them by their own light. There were perhaps a dozen groups. Most of them soared steeply out of the range of sight, but three dragons flew directly to the windows of the High Hall of the East. One roosted directly before the windows (the mountain shook beneath them) and peered within: smoke and fire trailing from his jaws, his bright scales shedding red light at their edges, his slotted eyes as red and gold as molten metal. It seems as if dragons have become somewhat passé in recent years, as gritty realism and militaristic tales have come to dominate much of the market, so it was refreshing to encounter real dragons again - intelligent, greedy, treasure-seeking, malevolent creatures, full of magic and fire. Add to that the idea of a guile, of a collared dragon claiming mastery over a group of its kin, herding them and marshaling them into a sort of army, and you've got one hell of a great story. The writing is crisp, and flows well; the battle scenes are played out beautifully; and the characters are both complex and engaging. A Guile of Dragons isn't a particularly deep fantasy tale, although I can sense a great story waiting to be told. Perhaps readers already familiar with the character will find more nuances to the tale than I, but it's still more than adequate as an introduction to Ambrosius' world, and strong enough to make me want to read Wrath-Bearing Tree, the second book of A Tournament of Shadows.

What would happen if Mad Max were to step into the world of The Dark Tower, aided and abetted on his journey by the likes of William Gibson and Richard Matheson? Well, you'd get something very much like Jay Posey's post-apocalyptic cyberpunk thriller, simply titled Three. This is a book that demands a lot of the reader - a lot of patience, a lot of imagination, and a lot of faith that Posey knows where he's going with it all. He simply drops us into the middle of his world and expects us to catch up. Not only isn't there a lot of narrative exposition, there's not a lot of background or explanation provided. Terms and concepts are casually tossed around by characters who clearly know what they're talking about, but we're expected to read between the lines and pay attention to the snippets of information to figure out the larger picture. It's likely to be frustrating for some readers, especially since we never do get all the answers, but it really immerses you in Posey's world, with the mystery and the suspense a large part of the book's appeal. In terms of characters, Three, Cass, and Wren make for a solid trio to guide us on our journey through this barren landscape. Equal parts Mad Max and Roland Deschain, Three is the mysterious loner who stands apart from everyone and everything around him. He's as coldly arrogant as he is fiercely independent, but he's also unshakably loyal, morally grounded, and altogether human beneath that harsh exterior. Cass is a complex character - damaged, addicted, and on the run. She sacrificed her own future long ago, but is desperate to preserve that of her son, while she still can. Wren is somewhat problematic, a little too perfect and precocious, but he has potential. Here is a young boy, on the cusp of something amazing, who holds a mysterious power that certain people would kill to understand. As for the primary villains - Asher and his villainous gang of henchmen - they don't seem like much more than thugs originally, but as we learn more about who and what they are, they take on a life of their own. By the end of the story, they're not just a serviceable threat, but legitimate foils. More importantly, they're developed as characters with drives and motivations, as unsavory as those may be, and even deserving of some small dose of sympathy. Actually, they probably develop a bit better than the protagonists in that their changes are more gradual, and far less remarkable, than of Three in particular. The world of Three is largely your typical post-apocalyptic landscape, a barren wasteland broken here and there by remnants of civilization. Much of what's left is literally underground (sewers, bunkers, tunnels, etc.), and the only safe refuge from the Weir once the sun goes down. Despite all that's been lost or destroyed, however, there remains a complex cyberpunk-type element to the world, with characters 'wired' into some sort of network that allows them to do everything from check the time to map their GPS coordinates, and others mechanically augmented with varying degrees of technology. As for the Weir, some readers will definitely be left frustrated by the lack of information regarding their true nature, but Posey seems to understand that monsters are at their most frightening when left with a little mystery. Think fast zombies with a sort of collective cyberpunk consciousness, and you get enough of an idea to truly fear when darkness falls. It's not a perfect book, but it's damn-near. Yes, we'd all like more information and more answers, but so long as Posey delves deeper into how and why the world works in subsequent volumes, I'm quite fine with that. There's definitely a little emotional manipulation going on here that may strike some readers as a cheap ploy, particularly with Cass and Wren, but it worked for me because their relationship seemed natural/normal, and served to ground the story. The pacing is excellent and the narrative sharp, and even if the conclusion leaves us a little frustrated, it also leaves us demanding more.

In what feels like a much older novel than it is, Conjure House offers up a solid, old-fashioned horror novel story, the kind where the real horror always seems to be just off the margins of the page. Gary Fry establishes each scene beautifully, engaging the reader's imagination so well that it's often a surprise to look back and realize just how sparse the details are upon the page, when they're so vivid and vibrant in the mind's eye. It's a neat narrative trick, and one that's not easy to pull off, but it really serves to draw you deeper into the story. Horror novels are often a bit odd, requiring a kind of patience that we, as readers, don't extend to other genres. We're generally willing to sit back and let the author establish the scene, foreshadow the real horror, and build up the suspense before finally allowing our fears to escape. Here, however, we get two of the strongest opening chapters I've read in a horror novel in quite some time. By the time we're through them, we already have the background we need to appreciate the horror, some sympathy for the protagonist, and a burning desire to find out what's really going on behind the doors of the Conjure House. Fry makes use of a lot of the standard elements of the genre here, including a haunted house; the tormented, secretive father; the sensitive, somewhat prescient mother; the child who is surprisingly mature for his age; and the small circle of childhood friends who have scattered over the years, but who immediately return home to put the past to rest. Anybody who has ever read a Stephen King or Dean Koontz novel knows the formula, and also knows that formula can work very well, with enough inspiration and talent behind it. Even if Fry doesn't quite pull it off, there's enough imagination and ingenuity here to justify the attempt. The pacing lags a bit in the middle of the book, as old friends are brought back together, but there are enough eerie, creepy, unsettling glimpses of the true horror embedded in their journeys to keep the reader close. Unfortunately, Anthony and his family dynamic is the weakest part of the story, and the lack of likability/sympathy does keep the novel from achieving the full impact of its potential. As for the mystical mumbo-jumbo of the Conjure House, the philosophical concepts of folding time, and the Lovecraft inspiration behind it all . . . well, it's a big heavy-handed for such a short novel, and probably a bit too intangible for some readers. I didn't particularly buy it, and didn't find it lived up to the atmosphere Fry created, but I did find it a nice alternative to the typical religious/spiritual conflict of good and evil. Overall, it's a good book . . . a solid read . . . and a nice addition to the genre. I doubt I'll have any strong memories of it a few weeks or months from now, but I am curious to give Fry another read, and have no hesitation in recommending this to fans of the genre.

What's so remarkable about the stories contained within Staring Into the Abyss is not that they're often so short, but that they often work so well. Word count and issues of quantity aside, the shorter a piece is, the harder it often is to imbue it with any sort of quality. Fortunately, Richard Thomas knows precisely what he is trying to convey with each piece, and he does so without so much as a wasted word. I know it's a bit of a cliché, but what he's written here is really quite poetic. The collection begins with a trio of tales that really serve to set both the stage, and our expectations. 'Maker of Flight' is a tale of dreams, freedom, and subtle acts of rebellion; 'Steel-Toed Boots' is about fears, secrets, and the need to understand; and 'Freedom' is a tale of sorrow, loss, and the cathartic release of artificial solace. In those three tale we see the darkest, the saddest, and the loneliest aspects of the human condition, with the emotions laid bare for us to taste. Deeper into the collection, 'Splintered' is a fantastic sort of choose-your-own-adventure tale that forces us to assume responsibility for the protagonist's self-esteem; 'Fringe' is an ironic sort of tale that explores both sides of the coin that some call suspicion, and others call vigilance; 'Underground Wonder Bound' is an almost light-hearted tale of a withering relationship, complete with a twist ending; 'Interview' is an eerily banal tale of murderous plans couched in casually creepy conversation; 'Stephen King Ate My Brain' is a surprisingly straightforward tale of claiming your dreams, only to find they're too much for you to handle; and 'Rudy Jenkins Buries His Fears' is a perfect tale of adolescent fear, shame, and bravery in the face of abuse. Of the rest, some stories didn't quite work for me, with a few just too much tease, and not enough satisfaction. I would be remiss, however, if I didn't call out 'Victimized' as the standout entry in the collection. It's a dark and violent tale that explores the cycle of abuse, the hatred it breeds, and the difficulty involved in breaking that cycle . . . along with the responsibility that follows. It's almost post-apocalyptic in its idea of social justice the criminals among us, and could very well be considered a revenge fantasy, were it not for the consequences. These are dark stories, full of dark themes, that feed of dark emotions. They're sad and they're painful, but they're also a part of the human condition. The magic here is that, no matter how short the story, Thomas manages to make us care for - and often sympathize with - the characters, even if only for a brief moment. There is a lot of suffering in these stories, the kind that drags people down, detaches them from reality, and leaves them with nothing to do but lie there, Staring Into the Abyss. There are no easy escapes in Thomas' tales but there are a few happy endings, claimed by those who are strong enough to stare beyond the abyss, to create their own light on the other side, and to march (or crawl) fearlessly towards it.

If you've ever watched one of those really twisted episodes of Criminal Minds and wondered what an extended, uncensored, feature film version might look like, then this is the book for you. If you've ever enjoyed Silence of the Lambs and came away from either the book or the movie wishing it had been less about Hannibal Lector, and more about Buffalo Bill, then this is the book for you. If you've ever found that you actually prefer the original book over the movie version of Psycho, precisely because it dragged you deeper inside Norman Bates' psychosis, then this is the book for you. Just don't expect a happy ending. Hell's Door may very well be the best, the darkest, and the most perverse serial killer tale or police procedural that I have read in a very long time. What Sandy DeLuca has crafted here is a short novella that works exceedingly well in both genres, taking the first to extremes, while nicely subverting the second, and tying them both together with a twist that I honestly never saw coming. Let's start with the second of the two - the police procedural. On the surface, this is the most straightforward (almost clichéd) element of the story. Detectives Lacy Powers and John Demmings are tired, jaded, overworked, and overwhelmed by their dogged pursuit of one of the worst serial killers in history. There's the obligatory will-they-won't-they sexual tension between them, with John coming off a failed marriage, and Lacy seemingly married to her job. There's also standard narrative isolation that suggests, no matter how big the case, they're really the only cops in town on the job. Behind all that, however, there's a whole other layer that DeLuca has deftly subverted. She takes the cliché of the maverick cops who know better than everyone else, who don't need to inconvenience themselves with evidence to solve a case, and almost gleefully demonstrates how wrong they are. We know from the start that they're harassing the wrong suspect, and we're increasingly aware of the fact that more innocent women are dying because of their shared obsession. She also strips both characters to the bone, revealing them to be something other than we'd expect, particularly in the way Lacy presented seems to enjoys the inappropriate attention of their suspect, the devil-worshiping dominatrix, Ramsay Wolfe. Now, as for the second of the two - the serial killer tale - DeLuca pushes that to the limits and rides the razor's edge of almost-too-extreme. She puts us right inside the mind of her killer, exposing us to thoughts, feeling, fears, and fantasies that are clearly the product of a deeply disturbed mind. Whether it's rape with a broken chair leg, removing a victim's skin, or cutting off heads with a knife, she doesn't hesitate to describe the ugliest details, but she's careful not to sadistically glorify the acts. It's very clear what's being done to the women of Providence, but the focus is clearly on the killer's justification for suffering, not on the suffering itself. As for the serial killer in question, to say too much would be to spoil the slow reveal of the story, as well as the final twist. There is absolutely a little Buffalo Bill and Norman Bates in our killer, but not necessarily in the ways you would expect. We get glimpses of history, of past events, that help to illuminate the killer's motives and methods, but DeLuca wisely steers clear of revealing too much, or of trying to transform her monster into a sympathetic victim. One thing I will say, however, is that no matter how creepy or unsettling you find the killer to be while reading, nothing can compare to what you'll think after the final twist. It takes a brave - or possibly troubled - reader to step confidently through Hell's Door, but you won't be disappointed by what you find on the other side. This was a stellar tale, entirely suitable to being read in a single sitting, but I suggest breaking it up over a couple of days, just to give your mind time to process what's going on. Trust me, it's worth it.

Science fiction is an incredibly diverse genre, both in terms of content and in terms of storytelling. At one end of the spectrum you have your pulp sci-fi, rollicking adventure stories that often skirt the boundaries of science to tell their fantastic tales. Further along the line, at the middle of the spectrum, you find space opera, which generally uses (and often abuses) the more outlandish possibilities in science to tell a tale. Finally, at the other end of the spectrum you have hard science-fiction, which more often than not uses the techniques of the tale to convey the intricacies of its science. That, of course, is a gross simplification, but if we think of the spectrum in those terms, then Beyond the Rift is the kind of collection that often peers back towards the centre, but which is very firmly grounded in the hard. Peter Watts is an interesting guy, a scientist, an author, and something of a political philosopher. He's been described as "too dark" by some, and as both "exhilarating" and "deeply paranoid" by others. To dismiss him as just another depressing, pessimistic hard science fiction author, however, is to do him a huge disservice. Personally, I would lean more towards terms like deep, daring, and deliberately thoughtful. He's an author who isn't afraid to stare off into the bleakness of space and ponder our own insignificance, but one who also isn't afraid to look inward and question the very core of what makes us human. I won't attempt to tackle everything in the collection, but instead look at the highlights. "The Things" kicks off the anthology with, as he describes it himself, a bit of fan fiction. Watts takes the story of The Thing and turns it inside out, exploring the shapeshifting monster as not the aggressor, but the victim. He stares back at humanity from an evolutionary distance, expressing not the horror of the monster lurking inside, but the emptiness it inhabits. "The Island" is a bleak, creepy sort of tale, one that tackles the subjects of first contact, artificial intelligence, genetic manipulation, and extended lifespans. It's absolutely stunning in its ingenuity and scope, but rather cold in its long-term prognosis. "The Second Coming of Jasmine Fitzgerald" is one of my favorites, a simple story about sanity and the war between the psyche and the soul, which dares you to accept the fact that it may also be about resurrection and restoration as well. "The Eyes of God" is absolutely brilliant in its exploration of free will, of human privacy, and of the question between intent and action. It takes a bold, almost frightening twist at the end, when you find out what heinous sin the computer deemed the protagonist to be capable of, but Watts asks some crucial questions here that force the reader to come to a difficult conclusion. "Nimbus" is probably the simplest, most straightforward of all the tales, but I liked its idea of an antagonistic sky almost as much as I appreciated its exploration of a father's conflicting emotions. "Mayfly" continues with the parental theme, but takes a hard look at what happens when we dare to mess with the natural order of conception, birth, and nurturing. "Ambassador" takes another stab at the first contact story, but perverts the assumption that any race intelligent enough to make first contact must be benevolent. It's a tale with some rather chilling implications, not the least of which is how far the instinct for self-preservation can push someone. "Hillcrest vs. Velikovsky" is a short, straightforward tale that almost seems out of place in the collection, but which is still intriguing. Watts asks whether faith can really overcome human illness, and then asks whether it's a crime to reveal that placebo for what it is. It's almost a cruel sort of courtroom drama, but fascinating on an intellectual (and even spiritual) level. The collection ends with "A Niche" that, quite literally, takes us into the rift itself. It's probably the most complex narrative in the collection, one in which a woman is altered to live underwater. It's a very psychological tale, one which forces a confrontation between the scientist and the experiment. Watts baits us early and takes his time reeling us in, waiting for the very end to reveal precisely what's going on, but the payoff is worth it. Like I said, Beyond the Rift is deep, daring, and deliberately thoughtful. It's not a collection to be breezed through in a few sittings, but one which demands we pause after each story to let it settle, and to see what our imagination can make of it. It is definitely hard in the sense of where it falls in the genre spectrum, but easier reading than most tales claiming to share that same space.

There are some books you devour, consuming page after page after page in a race to the end. Then there are others that you savor . . . that you take your time to digest . . . that linger on the literary palate long after the past page is turned. Joseph D'Lacey debut novel, Meat, is definitely the latter - and after being off the menu for years it's now back for a second helping. With Black Feathers being my only experience with D'Lacey, I wasn't sure what to expect. I had a good idea of the concept, but really expected more of a Twilight Zone type novel with the true nature of the meat reserved for a big, final chapter reveal. Instead, the cannibalism is front and center right from the start, with the altered livestock as blatant as it is chilling. Imagine a future dystopia where all that's left of the world is the people in it, and whatever they can grow. It's a world divided by class, with the people living under the corporate choke-hold of the Magnus Meat Processing, and guided by the religious tyranny of the Parsons of the Welfare. The most fortunate live in white-picket homes, enjoying their daily ration of meat, with just a touch of vegetables to provide a little color. The less fortunate have their vocal cords cut, their fingers and toes removed, and their freedom stripped away, leaving them - literally and figuratively - nothing more than cattle to be milked, bred, and butchered. It's a really disturbing world that D'Lacey presents here, but one that gets worse the more you think about it. When I first put the book down, I came away appreciating it, but not enjoying is as much as I did Black Feathers. While the WTF nature of Meat was fascinating, and the central conflict an interesting one, I didn't find the characters nearly as engaging or sympathetic. Richard Shanti is an interesting lead, but too bland and cold to really rouse the reader's emotions. When I started thinking about it a few days later, though, with an eye towards writing a review, I realized just how deep, how profound, and how seriously messed up the story is. It's the way D'Lacey contrasts the horror with the humanity that makes the story so effective. He takes us from scenes of human cattle being endlessly processed through a slaughterhouse, to scenes of cows and bulls enjoying a sliver of intimacy. He shows us a pair of young men cruelly torturing a human dairy cow with a high presssure hose, to a man tenderly worshiping the same dairy cow with a hose of his own. We watch a mother prostitute herself to a company man to get a little meat for her children, and then see those very same children slicing up a Barbie doll to serve, in pieces, to the toys at their tea party. Chilling stuff indeed. Like a great steak, this is not a book that can really be described. Instead, it has to be experienced to be understood. If you have an appetite for something unique, a clever mind, and a strong stomach, then give it a shot. Meat shares many of the same themes as Black Feathers, including the social conscience, but it lacks the narrative subtlety. Be prepared to think about what you're reading, and to come away from it with a newfound appreciation for life . . . and death.

Halloween: Magic, Mystery, and the Macabre wasn't a wholly successful anthology for me, with stories definitely heavy on the skip-it (as opposed to read-it) side, but still worth reading for the favorite author high-points. I think Paula Guran strayed a bit too far from the traditional exploration of Halloween for my tastes, but I can't fault her for trying to do something different. The first four stories in the anthology did nothing for me - although The Mummy's Heart by Norman Partridge had its moments - and had me seriously considering whether to keep reading, or just skim ahead to the authors that interested me. Fortunately, Lesser Fires by Steve Rasnic Tem & Melanie Tem was solid, and pretty much what I had hoped to see from them. As for Long Way Home: A Pine Deep Story by Jonathan Maberry, it's been a while since I've read any Maberry - the last Pine Deep novel, in fact - so it was nice to reconnect with a story that perfectly captured the thrills and chills of that trilogy . . . and which convinced me to keep reading. After another skip-it that had me doubting that decision, The Halloween Men by Maria V. Snyder turned out to be the only story in the collection that genuinely surprised me with its approach to the season. Having Halloween be the one day of the year were we don't wear masks was a neat idea, but it's Snyder's execution that makes the story work so well. Pumpkin Head Escapes by Lawrence Connolly was a great follow-up, a surprisingly strong tale that didn't play out quite as I expected, but was followed by several more stories of the skip-it variety before getting to Quadruple Whammy by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro, which was not at all what I expected from her, but thoroughly enjoyable and a story that convinced me, once again, to keep reading. We, the Fortunate Bereaved by Brian Hodge and Trick or Treat by Nancy Kilpatrick were two stories I had high hopes for going into the anthology, and I'm glad to say they delivered, while All Souls Day by Barbara Roden was an interesting enough tale, but a little weak for the penultimate tale. Fortunately, And When You Called Us We Came To You by John Shirley proved to be a fantastic end to the anthology. If it doesn't have you humming the Silver Shamrock song from Halloween III under your breath as the spirits of the ancestors wreak havoc upon a slave labor Halloween mask mask factory . . . well, you're just not my kind of trick-or-treat partner. All-in-all, not nearly as creepy or as scary as I had hoped, with a few too many stories trying to be 'cute' or 'clever' in tying themselves to the holiday, but Halloween: Magic, Mystery, and the Macabre still had its moments.

Books are strange and wonderful things. On the surface, they are nothing more than tiny stacks of aging pages, each defaced by a perplexing pattern of black marks. Hold them the right way, however, and those black marks not only begin to take on meaning, but reveal entire worlds that cannot physically exist between pages. What's more, while the black marks themselves are fixed, their structure is fluid, revealing a new, subtly different world for each and every reader. It really is a sort of magic, and that's what Pasi Ilmari Jääskeläinen has attempted to capture with The Rabbit Back Literature Society. This is a story about stories . . . about experiences . . . and about the memories that connect them. On the surface, it appears to be nothing more than a quirky little mystery, prompted by the disappearance of a beloved author. Look a little deeper, however, and it soon reveals itself to be a story about the people behind the stories, and a story about where the stories come from. It's a story which is almost solely concerned with spilling the truth behind those stories, the reality behind those memories, but one which spills no truths of its own, leaving the reader to decide what the stories mean. While I think the story could have been a bit tighter, and I found the premise of 'The Game' a bit artificial, I can't deny that the story hooked me early on, and kept me reading right through to the end. What happened to Laura White? What's up with the 'plague' of altered library books? Who was the mysterious tenth member? What's with all the mythological statues? Some mysteries are solved outright, while other solutions are merely hinted at, but it all makes for a satisfying read. In terms of characters, Ella is a bit cold and distant to serve as a truly engaging narrator, but her distance does serve its purpose. As for Martti, Ingrid, Aura, and the other Society members, their eccentricities are their personalities, and even if they're really just pieces of a human jigsaw puzzle, it's thoroughly entertaining to see how those pieces fit together. I didn't necessarily buy some of the relationships, particularly that of Ella and Martti, but that discomfort of a part of the overall story experience. As for Laura White herself, she's both the most enigmatic and most fascinating character in the whole tale, and the more we learn about her past, the more we almost want her to remain missing . . . lest her return somehow damage the memories we've created on her behalf. Go into The Rabbit Back Literature Society looking for a straightforward bit of narrative prose, and you're likely to be disappointed. Prepare yourself instead for a multi-layered character study, and a sort of imaginative treatise on the act of writing (and remembering), and you'll find a lot to appreciate here. It's quirky and odd, as likely to make you raise your eyebrows as curl your lips, but it really does work. The ending is just about perfect, tying up some loose ends I was sure had been forgotten, but never forgetting that, for each reader, it must end just a little bit differently. http://beauty-in-ruins.blogspot.ca/2014/01/fiction-review-rabbit-back-literature.html

Holy crap, but The Iron Wolves was a hell of a lot of fun! It's as if Robert E. Howard and Fritz Leiber reached out from beyond the grave to collaborate on the kind pulp fantasy they perfected, decided to take Stallone's The Expendables as their inspiration, recruited Sam Raimi to direct the medieval mayhem, and then demanded that nothing short of the explicit, unrated director's cut make it into print. What Andy Remic has pulled together here is absolutely genius. If you've read the cover blurb then you have some idea of what to expect but, like me, you probably wondered if he really could pull it off. Well, I am here to tell you to wonder no longer - pull it off he does . . . and then some! Let's start with the heroes . . . such as they are. Thirty years ago, the Iron Wolves became the stuff of legends, holding back the hordes of monstrous mud-orcs at the Pass of Splintered Bones, and banishing Morkagoth, the evil sorcerer, from their world. That victory did not come without a price, however, and the curse they carry has left them broken and battered . . . tortured and twisted beyond measure - murderous brothers, a whoremaster, a drunken gambler, a drug addict with a cancer in her heart, a serial killer, and a torturer. They've become ugly heroes, scarred both inside and out, but they are the world's only help. If that sounds like a little much for your tastes, then all I can do is urge you to have patience. Remic puts a lot of effort into developing these characters, and there is no denying how darkly fascinating they become, or how carefully they elicit our sympathy. Seriously, you might expect to be cold and jaded by the time you meet up with Trista, the last of the Wolves to make a return, but there's such sorrow there, and such beautifully tortured motives behind her serial murder of newlyweds, that you can't help but feel for her. While much of the allure of these heroes is in just how far they've fallen, it's their camaraderie, their banter, and the core of heroism within each of them that really draws the reader in. As for the villainess, Orlana the Changer, she is a stunningly beautiful sorceress, weirdly bizarre and perverse, the kind who really evokes memories of Howard and Leiber. She's cold, cruel, and cunning, with absolutely no regard for anything but her own motivations. Not content to have the hordes of resurrected mud-orcs at her command (monstrous creatures she summons from the pits with the sacrifice of tens of thousands of men, women, and children), she is also the mistress of the splice - even more monstrous creatures formed by the imperfect, deliberately tortured splicing together of men and beasts. In terms of world-building, there's a lot hinted at and suggested here, but Remic never weighs down the story with too much extraneous detail. What settings he does indulge in, however, are exquisitely described. Rokroth is a city where you can feel the cobblestones and smell the smoke in the air; the Tower of the Moon will leave you with a feeling of vertigo, and a nauseous terror of its insane king; Skell Fortress is a haunted ruin that will chill your bones; the Splintered Pass and Desekra Fortress are as epic as any castle, wall, or final siege you can imagine, and the Suicide Forest is . . .well . . . chilling. The story moves along at an almost frantic pace, introducing the Iron Wolves, reuniting them, and seeing them into battle by the end. Along the way we see Orlana overwhelm, overpower, and overcome every obstacle in her path, with the seduction of one man possibly her darkest act. We watch as a insane king refuses to protect his realm, gleefully murdering anybody who dares speak out against him, all the while indulging himself in the most decadent vices. Most importantly, perhaps, we bear witness to the kind of brutal, poetic violence that only epic fantasy seems to manage so well. Remic weaves the dance of blades better than most, delivering on some very well-choreographed confrontations, both intimate and on a grand scale. There's a lot of blood and filth in his tale, and more than a few deaths along the way that come as something of a surprise. By the time it all comes to an end, we realize that only a fraction of the tale has been told, and that motivations and end-games have yet to be revealed . . . but we're also left wondering what might possibly be next, with an ominous cliffhanger that works precisely because there are no guarantees in his world. All-in-all, one of the most enjoyable reads I've had all year. If you don't mind your epic fantasy with a little pulp and a little profanity, and can appreciate the redemption of deeply flawed heroes, then I strongly urge you to give it a read. It is dark and grim, muddy and bloody, but it's also permeated by a very dark sort of humour that pulls it all together, making the read a raucous one. My only complaint about The Iron Wolves is that the sequel, The White Towers, is more than seven months away . . . http://beauty-in-ruins.blogspot.ca/2013/12/fantasy-review-iron-wolves-by-andy-remic.html

If the idea of a steampunk-tinged alternate history of the wild west doesn't catch your attention; if a band of heroes that includes Doc Holliday, Buffalo Bill, and Theodore Roosevelt doesn't make you curious; and if the idea of the infamous Cope and Marsh coming face-to-face with living, breathing, man-eating dinosaurs doesn't already have you reading . . . well, I don't know what the heck is wrong with you, but maybe you should just mosey on down that there lonely path and don't you even think of looking back. Yes, boys and girls, that is The Doctor and the Dinosaurs in a nut shell. Actually, toss in a little a Geronimo's medicine man magic, and one of of Buntline & Edison's scientific marvels, and you've pretty much got the whole story. It's not particularly deep, and there's no significant character development, but that's okay because it's got Doc, it's got Dinosaurs, and it's a heck of a lot of fun. As a huge dinosaur fan, I loved the scenes with Edward Drinker Cope and Othniel Charles Marsh. Theirs is probably one of the most famous rivalries in all of science, and Mike Resnick absolutely nails both their professional passion and personal antagonism. It's a ridiculous rivalry, make no bones about it (pun intended), but one that drove the field further and faster than any sort of cooperative friendship ever could. Resnick recognizes that, and even has characters comment on it once or twice, but he certainly does enjoy exploring that passionate hatred. Doc Holliday is great, with his fatalistic sarcasm making for some of the best moments in the book, especially when he's paired with an early, pre-Presidential Teddy Roosevelt. The banter between characters is laugh-out-loud funny at times, and the moments of action are just as exciting as if there'd been any real sort of danger involved. Let's face it, we all know Doc and Teddy are going to walk away from the T-Rex unscathed, but seeing how they do it is all the fun. If you haven't read any of Mike Resnick's previous Weird West Tales, then don't let that stop you. This is my first as well, and I don't think I could have enjoyed it any more for having the experience of the back story. The Doctor and the Dinosaurs an over-the-top sort of dime-store adventure that never tries to be anything more. Sit back, suspend your disbelief, and strap in for one heck of a wild ride. http://beauty-in-ruins.blogspot.ca/2013/12/sci-fi-review-doctor-and-dinosaurs-by.html

I was originally attracted to Seven Forges by the novelty or the uniqueness of its setting. It seems like the fantasy genre has taken a swing from forests to deserts over the past few years, but rarely does it do frozen wastes. Cover art to to the contrary, however, this really isn't an icebound tale. Despite that, I'm going to stick with the theme and declare that I never quite warmed up to this one. Being that it's an Angry Robot title, and they've rarely disappointed, I kept going back to it, hoping to find that 'hook' to keep me reading, but we never quite connected. Don't get me wrong, this is by no means a bad book. It's imaginative, well-detailed, and full of action. Suitably epic in terms of both world-building and mythology, it has a lot to offer fans of the genre. I found myself admiring James A. Moore a great deal, and desperately wanting to like it. The opening chapters were extraordinarily slow, requiring a great deal of dedication to get through, but I found it did get better, before ultimately exploding in a wild and frantic race to the finish. In terms of narrative, however, I found the telling a bit impersonal. I never really settled into an easy flow with it, and found myself fighting through some passages. Similarly, I didn't really find a character to latch onto as a comfortable point-of-view. The men were strong, the women gorgeous, and the monsters . . . well, monstrous. Some of the characters were interesting, particularly Merros, whom I liked a lot more than Andover, and Desh, who has some great confrontations with the likes of the Emperor, but there was nobody with whom I found myself so deeply invested in their fate that I was anxious to get back to reading. With all of that being said, the final few chapters were absolutely fantastic, with several twists and revelations that had me nodding my head and wondering where that narrative flair was early on. Like Jeff Salyard's Scourge of the Betrayer, it's not a book that is likely to make my top list for the year, but one with enough promise to make me genuinely excited about what's coming next. Despite its flaws, Seven Forges definitely showed promise, and had enough glimpses of breakthrough potential to make me wish there was a second book readily at hand to see whether that potential is developed.

You know, sometimes horror really tries to do too much. There was a time when horror stories were simple . . . when they were fun and frightening . . . when they focused on actually being horrifying, rather than on trying to build some sort of thematic, allegorical commentary on the human condition. That's not to say a good horror story can't have a deeper meaning, just that I prefer it when that message doesn't get in the way of the chills. Toby Tate smartly plays with that understanding in the early chapters of The Black Church, laying the foundations for what initially seems destined to be a tale of faith and redemption. I say initially, because there comes a point where you realize he's messing with you, that all the talk of God and faith is just a smokescreen. Clear away the smoke, stare into the flames, and you find an old-fashioned horror story that delivers thrills and chills in equal measure. Take one cursed prayer rug, a family with a dark history, a series of unfortunate 'accidents', and a sort of serialized nightmare connecting them, and you've got a great little story. Tate just keeps piling on the horror, building a very effective psychological thriller that is driven by some very dark, very supernatural forces. It's a fantastic read, right up to the twist sort of ending that you can't help but see coming, even if you can't believe he actually took it there. If I were to have one minor complaint it would be that the story races along too quickly, without giving us time to really get to know any of the characters. It feels like a short story where the body count forced it to outgrow the page count. In the end, though, I'd much rather have that adrenaline rush than a novel full of fluff and padding, so let's call that a comment rather than a complaint. The contemporary story is very well told, with some real dread, and some real horror. The dream flashbacks are a nice touch, and really help to not only add some mystery, but provide a solid background for the supernatural element. All in all, a truly horrifying read. http://beauty-in-ruins.blogspot.ca/2013/12/beware-black-churches-and-cursed-prayer.html

With a title like Mars, Inc. and the name Ben Bova attached to it, you would think you'd know what to expect. Personally, I was excited to get my hands on an ARC,and went into this with high hopes. As much as I tried to hold onto those hopes, though, the 'real' story I expected to find beginning in the next chapter never materialized. This was so very much not what I was expecting from a master like Ben Bova. It felt like a throwback to 60s and 70s pulp sci-fi, but not in a good way. It was cheap, sexist, and almost as lazy in respect to its business and it politics as it was smart in respect to its science - and we don't get nearly enough of that. What's more, there's no payoff, no grand spectacle, just the fact of a launch to end the book that we don't even get to see, much less experience. Disappointing in just about every respect. I do wonder if there's a sequel to come, but I have neither the patience nor the interest for that. http://beauty-in-ruins.blogspot.ca/2013/12/from-alderaan-to-mars-disappointing.html

Okay, so we all know that stories within the Star Wars expanded universe can be hit or miss. In fact, Timothy Zahn is about the only author I've found to be consistently entertaining, which is why I was excited to see some big name authors stepping in to explore the universe. First up for the Empire and Rebellion saga is Martha Wells, with her Princess Leia focused novel, Razor's Edge. As a vehicle for exploring Leia's character, it works rather well. We really get to see her as a leader, as a political force to be reckoned with, and as somebody suffering under a lot of pressure. Wells bravely tackles the guilt that comes with the death of Alderaan, and even more bravely wades into the awkward quagmire that is her romance with Han Solo. Beyond that, though, I didn't feel the book really offered anything new or significant. As nice as it is to revisit old friends, there are only so many stories to be told in the gaps between movies, especially since its hard to generate any real drama when you know everybody makes through the next move alive. There are some great action scenes, and some fun moments, but it felt like Wells tried too hard to maintain the frantic pacing of the movies. It's just one climax on top of another, until you're numb to it all. This was by no means the worst Star Wars adventure I've ever read - there's a flair to Wells' writing not commonly found in tie-ins, and I am still eager to read more of her work. I can certainly appreciate Leia getting her chance in the spotlight, but if Hayden Christensen and Natalie Portman taught us anything, it's that Star Wars needs move beyond the story we already know, and start contributing to a new one. http://beauty-in-ruins.blogspot.ca/2013/12/from-alderaan-to-mars-disappointing.html

While we may only be a month into 2014, I'm going to go out on a limb and suggest that Brian Staveley may just have the debut of the year with The Emperor's Blades. This was a book that reminded me, in different ways, of my first encounters with the likes of Brandon Sanderson and Patrick Rothfuss. It managed to feel fresh and original, yet familiar at the same time. I knew, before the first chapter was over, that I'd be reading this one cover to cover. Why? Well, for me, a really great fantasy novel must possess 4 things in order to succeed, and I'm pleased to say this covered them all. First, it has to have a strong narrative voice, one that's both intriguing and entertaining. I don't want to be educated, talked-down to, or dazzled with unnecessarily embellished language. When I read a fantasy novel I want to feel as if the author is sitting in the chair across from me, spinning a story that he or she is enjoying just as much as me - and that's exactly how I felt with Staveley. That's not to say this is a casual or conversational sort of novel, just that it flows well and naturally, driven by a man who loves the telling as much as the tale. Second, it must have compelling characters with either a slowly unveiled back story, or who grow and evolve through the story. With The Emperor's Blade we get a bit of both. Kaden, Valyn, and Adare, provide our entry into the story, with each chapter focusing on one of the Emperor's three children. Even though they are on the cusp of adulthood, there's still something of a coming-of-age story here, with the siblings growing significantly by the time the final page is turned. They're all strong characters, as admirable as they are likable. Each has been placed into a difficult situation, trapped there by duty and obligation, but even if there's some longing and resentment, there's no whining or endless complaining about their plight. Adare gets the least amount of page time here, and I'm sure some readers may frown at her role, I quite liked the way she was able to command a situation in which she's powerless to do more than watch and wait. As for the slowly unveiled back story, that belongs to their leaders and their teachers, to their friends and their foes. Staveley doesn't weight the story down with too many characters, but he invests his time in making each of them complex and well-rounded. You may hate some of them with a passion - particularly some of Valyn's fellow cadets- but you'll still find yourself anxious to learn their secrets. Third, a really great fantasy novel has to imbue me with that sense of awe or wonder. In some cases that's done with dragons or other mythical beasts, and in others it's done with acts magic or faith. There's a fine line between imbuing and overwhelming, however, and that's where so many authors miss their mark. Rather than putting the wondrous at the forefront, Staveley weaves it carefully into his story, keeping it secondary to the characters. There's the soaring birds that the Kettral ride into battle, and the ferocious slarn that live deep underground; there are leaches who can drawn on elemental and emotional elements for their power, and the monks who seem to have a very different power of their own; and then there's the old gods and the new gods, embracing different aspects of the realm in a really interesting dual mythology. Finally, above all else, I need a story that's as deeply layered as it is compelling. If there's anywhere Staveley stumbles a bit, it's here, but only because I suspect so much of the story is yet to be revealed. We see the world through the eyes of Kaden, Valyn, and Adare, so we don't have the opportunity to ferret out plots and conspiracies of which they're not aware. Having said that, I thoroughly enjoyed what Staveley did here, particularly with the plots and counter-plots revolving around all three characters. The plotting and backstabbing amongst the Kettral was exceptionally well-played, and it's been a while since I've cheered quite as strongly as I did for Adare against Uinian IV, Chief Priest of Intarra. As if it weren't enough that the Emperor has been assassinated, there are some very personal vendettas to be survived here, in addition to the royal ones, and the way in which they all cross in the end is as rewarding as it is surprising. Like I said, if this isn't the debut of 2014, then I'd really be surprised. This is epic fantasy for a new generation, gritty and grim at times, but never losing sight of the awe and the wonder. I'm honestly not sure where Staveley intends to take the Chronicle of the Unhewn Throne next, but The Emperor's Blades has guaranteed a space on my shelf for subsequent volumes. Take a chance, pick it up, and read a few chapters - enough to meet all three offspring - and I guarantee you'll find yourself putting off other things to read 'just one more chapter' well into the night.