Browsed by
Category: Reviews

A review of The Door Into Fire by Diane Duane

A review of The Door Into Fire by Diane Duane

door-into-fire2aThe Door Into Fire, by Diane Duane
Dell Fantasy (304 pages, $1.95, 1979)

Prince Herewiss of the Brightwood has two major problems.

First, he’s the first man in generations to have the Flame, a form of energy that’s much more potent than ordinary sorcery — but he can’t use it at all if he can’t make a physical focus with which to channel it.

His other problem is his lover Freelorn, exiled Prince of Arlen and trouble magnet. The summary on the back of The Door Into Fire refers to Freelorn as Herewiss’s “dearest friend” — which, in my opinion, does the book a disservice.

The Door Into Fire is about magic power, overcoming old tragedies, and the beginning of an epic kingdom-changing quest. It’s about a very hands-on Goddess and how she deals with her creation.

But it’s also about sex. Sex and love, sex and jealousy, sex in a culture where bisexuality and polyamory seem to be the default — sex that starts from a different set of assumptions than the average American reader carries around.

Read More Read More

The Return of the Sorcerer: Falling under Clark Ashton Smith’s potent spell for the first time

The Return of the Sorcerer: Falling under Clark Ashton Smith’s potent spell for the first time

the-return-of-the-sorcerer-casConfession: I am a fan of pulp fantasy who has, until recently, read very little Clark Ashton Smith. Yes, the man who comprises one of the equilateral sides of the immortal Weird Tales triangle has largely eluded me, save for a few scattered tales and poems I’ve encountered in sundry anthologies and websites.

This past week that all I changed when I cracked the cover of The Return of the Sorcerer: The Best of Clark Ashton Smith (2009, Prime Books). As I read the introduction by legendary fantasy author Gene Wolfe I knew I was in for something special: Not only was Wolfe singing Clarke’s praises (“No one imitates Smith: There could be only one writer of Clark Ashton Smith stories, and we have had him”), but he ended with this declaration:

“Earlier I wrote that Smith had come—and gone. That he had been ours only briefly, and now was ours no longer. That is so for me and for many others. If you have yet to read him, it is not so for you. For you solely he is about to live again, whispering of the road between the atoms and the path into far stars.”

The stories that followed did just that. Smith came alive for me, and I find myself a changed man. I have trekked on distant planets, seen alien beings beyond my conception, and peered wide-eyed over the shoulders of reckless sorcerers reading from musty tomes of lore that should not be opened. I have witnessed wonders and horrors beyond the knowledge of mankind. It was a wonderful experience. Though they comprise only a small part of his body of work, the stories of The Return of the Sorcerer reveal Smith as a man of staggering imagination, considerable poetic skill, and surprising literary depth.

Read More Read More

Goth Chick News: Do You Like Fish? Well He Likes You Too…

Goth Chick News: Do You Like Fish? Well He Likes You Too…

jaws“You’re gonna need a bigger boat.”

Back in March I wrote about quotable movie lines and at least in my circles, Chief Brody’s ironic statement to Captain Sam Quint ranks near the top. If you’re under the age of twenty-five you truly may not recognize it, but if you’ve made it through life this far without having seen most of Jaws, then I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to step away from your computer screen and go out for some fresh air.

And once you’ve done that, immediately put Jaws in the number one spot in your Netflix queue.

Thirty-five years ago, on fourth-of-July weekend, movies and the movie-going public were changed forever by a hot-shot young director and his mechanical shark.

That’s right kids, no CGI, no green-screen magic, not even a little forced-perspective puppetry. The shark was a life-sized monster, tooling around in the ocean instead of a water tank, and the actors really got wet.

Back in 1975 no one had really heard of Steven Spielberg. Besides a string of television episodes, he had only one movie under his belt: Sugarland Express, which he both wrote and directed.

However, that movie did well enough for him to be taken seriously when he asked to direct the movie adaptation of Peter Benchley’s number one best seller, Jaws.

Read More Read More

Goth Chick News: Boo To You Too!

Goth Chick News: Boo To You Too!

boo2“Clowns, without a doubt.”

A few days ago I walked into a lunch conversation between my co-workers, who apparently started out discussing irrational fears their young children had.

This topic then morphed into the seemingly ridiculous fears that had followed these seemingly rational grown-ups into adulthood; not phobias per se, but “gives-me-nightmares” terrors.

The guy talking was a 30-something software engineer, and I could tell by the look on his face that he was in no way joking.

“Ronald McDonald and Pennywise are the absolute worst.”

Now, I totally get the whole “fear of clowns” thing, because clowns show up in quite a few horror movies such as IT and Poltergeist, and though the Pennywise reference did remind me that the best scenes of the otherwise fairly cheesey movie IT were indeed the ones with the murderous clown, I’m not particularly freaked out by them on the whole.

Read More Read More

A review of Under Heaven by Guy Gavriel Kay

A review of Under Heaven by Guy Gavriel Kay

underheaven2

Under Heaven, by Guy Gavriel Kay
Roc (592 pages, $26.95, April 2010)

We don’t have that many rituals in our home. One is the creeping countdown to Guy Gavriel Kay’s newest novel. I am always a little sad when it finally comes, though, because it means years before I will see his next one.

If you liked Tigana or The Sarantine Mosaic, you will like Under Heaven. If you have not read Kay before, then do. But don’t start with Under Heaven. It’s one of his best, but you’ll want to save it for last.

Start with Tigana, then maybe A Song for Arbonne and The Lions of Al-Rassan. Jump to The Last Light of the Sun (or skip it entirely) and then go back for the two volume The Sarantine Mosaic (his second best). Then, and only then, should you read Under Heaven*.

Kay’s efforts have definitely improved with time.  A big part of that is no two stories are  in the same place, or use the same characters. I recently whipped through Jim Butchers’ twelfth Dresden installment, and am eager to read the upcoming sixth Temeraire dragon novel by Naomi Novik. Both series are fun, likely lucrative, and the authors pump out new adventures every year or two. But I sometimes wonder if they and other fantasy series novelists are a little jealous of GGK’s apparent freedom to always work on new ideas.

Read More Read More

Classic Horror Games of the 1980s: Alma Mater

Classic Horror Games of the 1980s: Alma Mater

alma-mater2Over at Grognardia, James Maliszewski has posted a retrospective review of one of my favorite RPG relics, Oracle Game’s Alma Mater, the role playing game of high school life in the 1970s.

And I do mean relic. I collect role playing games and, after nearly two decades of fruitless searching, I finally gave up and paid an outrageous sum for an unused copy on eBay a few years ago. It was the last significant RPG title from the era I didn’t own.

It was worth it.  Alma Mater was notorious when it was released in 1982, and it retained much of that notoriety through the years.  It was banned from Gencon by TSR, and well-known artist and editor Liz Danforth wrote a famously scathing editorial in Sorcerers Apprentice magazine attacking the game.

Today though, Alma Mater is chiefly remembered for its artwork, by old-school TSR artist Erol Otus (who did the classic cover for Deities & Demigods, and interior artwork for the AD&D Monster Manual, among many others).  The content of the game itself, as you’d doubtless expect, is fairly tame by modern standards, but the artwork can still raise eyebrows. You can see much of it collected at the Cyclopeatron blog.

I’ve never played the game. Not a lot of people did, as a matter of fact — it quickly vanished, despite (or perhaps because of) all the publicity. Hence its relatively scarcity today, and the delight it still brings to bloodless eBay vulture sellers, may they suffer a thousand deaths.

I’m not sure why more game companies didn’t stumble on this idea — it seems completely natural to me now.  Let’s be honest; not much scares me any more.  My senior biology teacher, Ms. Bray?  She still scares me.

Read More Read More

A review of Swords & Dark Magic: The New Sword & Sorcery

A review of Swords & Dark Magic: The New Sword & Sorcery

swordssorcery1It isn’t often we see a new Sword & Sorcery anthology, especially one from a major publisher.

Swords & Dark Magic: The New Sword & Sorcery, edited by Jonathan Strahan & Lou Anders (Eos Books/Subterranean Press) is the first one to cross my desk in years and, with a new Elric tale by Michael Moorcock, a Black Company story by Glen Cook, a Majipoor piece from Robert Silverberg, a Cugel the Clever tale by Michael Shea, and contributions from Steven Erikson,  James Enge, Joe Abercrombie, Tanith Lee, Garth Nix, C.J. Cherryh, Greg Keyes, Gene Wolfe, Tim Lebbon, Caitlín R. Kiernan, and many others, it looks like the real deal.

But do Strahan and Anders deliver real Sword & Sorcery, or just a close approximation?

To answer that we recruited Jason M. Waltz, publisher of Rogue Blades Entertainment, editor of the acclaimed anthologies Rage of the Behemoth and Return of the Sword, and true expert in heroic adventure.

His 6,000-word analysis, liberally spiced with his own thoughts on the state of the genre, begins after the jump.

Read More Read More

The Art of Storytelling and The Temple of Elemental Evil

The Art of Storytelling and The Temple of Elemental Evil

toee2Role-playing games have always interested me because, at heart, they’re about stories. They’re ways to tell stories that you don’t know in advance, ways to bring people together to create something unpredictable but still structured in a narrative form. Now, that said, the question is: how do you go about doing that? If you’re writing a module, an adventure, that referees are going to pick up off a store shelf (or download from a web site), what do you give them to help create that story with their players?

The traditional first edition Dungeons & Dragons answer to this was: you give them a dungeon. You give them a sandbox, an area to explore filled with monsters and treasure, and maybe a few adventure hooks. What will the players do with it? Who knows?

For a long time, probably starting in the mid-80s at about the point where I started seriously playing D&D, this approach was in disrepute. A dungeon with a bunch of monsters isn’t a story, the argument ran. A story should have a structure, and ideally different moods, maybe even different settings. It should end in a different place than it began. You could see this philosophy settle in at TSR with the Dragonlance series of modules, taking firmer hold with second edition D&D.

Nowadays, though, at least a few people are beginning to swing back to the first approach. Structuring stories out ahead of time kills the spontaneity of the game, one might argue. Let the players and referee develop the story at the table, not by going through the motions worked out ahead of time by some designer. Don’t railroad the players; give them the situation, and see what they do on their own. (I’m vastly simplifying all these positions, and only presenting some of the arguments. I think I’m getting at the essence, though.)

I’ve come around to that last argument. I want to explain why, because I’ve recently wrapped up a First Edition game in which I was fascinated to see a story I never anticipated arise out of a module that features little in the way of pre-structured narrative: The Temple of Elemental Evil by Gary Gygax and Frank Mentzer (TSR, 1985).

Read More Read More

A review of Patricia A. McKillip’s The Sorceress and the Cygnet

A review of Patricia A. McKillip’s The Sorceress and the Cygnet

sorceress-and-the-cygnetCorleu is an oddity, a white-haired youth in a black-haired tribe of wanderers.  His family has a talent for foresight, but all he has is a knack for stories.  And then one year the tribe goes south for the winter and finds itself in a marsh where time seems to stand still, where the flowers are perfect but the skies are invisible behind the mists — and no one knows how long they’ve been there. No one but Corleu notices anything wrong.

Then things get really surreal.

If you like your magic as a form of exotic science, with clearly delineated cause and effect — the sort of worldbuilding Brandon Sanderson does, for instance — The Sorceress and the Cygnet is probably not the book for you.  Little is explained, least of all the magic system.

The plot revolves around five beings whose nature is never entirely defined.  They could be gods, although they’re never worshipped.  They could be stories come to life.  They have titles rather than names.  They’re represented in the heraldry and the constellations.

They seem extremely powerful, but four of them have apparently been trapped by the fifth, the being called the Cygnet.  One of those four — the Gold King, who reads like a sun god or a death god or both — tricks Corleu into a quest to find the Cygnet’s heart.

Read More Read More

Short Fiction Review #29: Realms of Fantasy June 2010

Short Fiction Review #29: Realms of Fantasy June 2010

094-june20101While rumors of its demise appear to be greatly exaggerated, I thought I should perhaps not wait too long to review Realms of Fantasy for this month. Just in case.

The proverbial “worth the price of the issue” story is “The Hearts of  Men” by T.L. Morganfield, who seems to specialize in a subgenre of her own devising, Aztec mythology.  I reviewed a previous story of hers, “The Place that Makes You Happiest,” that appeared in the final issue of Paradox, which postulates that colonizing Spain had not destroyed the Aztec culture and comes to predominate modern society in the Americas.  This time around, Morganfield transposes Aztec notions of the role of the gods and blood sacrifice (which Joseph Campbell devotees will note shares common themes with the central conceit of Christianity)  into the wild, wild West to ask the equally archetypical question of “Who are you, and why are you here?”

“You’re really him, aren’t you?” the boy asked, shuffling a bit closer.

“Who?” I asked

“Huitzilopochtli”

I considered a moment before answering. “Maybe.” I really didn’t know who I was; I wore six-shooters at my hips and my battered felt hat smelled of sweat and rot, but when I checked it for a name, I didn’t find one.”

p.43

Morganfield suggests that, unlike the Greek conception of inevitable and immutable  destiny, things can sometimes change for the better, even for the gods, who sometimes are as clueless as the rest of us. You just have to have heart (a joke you won’t get unless you read the story, which I recommend).

Read More Read More