Black Gate

My name is Mary Katherine Blackwood. I am eighteen years old, and I live with my sister Constance. I have often thought that with any luck at all I could have been born a werewolf, because the two middle fingers on both my hands are of the same length, but I have to be content with what I had. I dislike washing myself, and dogs, and noise. I like my sister Constance, and Richard Plantagenet, and Amanita phalloides, the death-cap mushroom. Everyone else in my family is dead.

So opens Shirley Jackson’s final novel, We Have Always Lived in the Castle (1962). Published three years before her death, this introduction to the book’s narrator, better known as Merricat, seems to promise readers they are in for the story of a quirky young woman. It is indeed beguiling but bears only the slightest hint of what’s to come in this short novel. It is a book built of dark and deep shadows, pierced at times by shimmering passages, before becoming darker and more claustrophobic.

Merricat lives with her sister and their crippled and addle-minded Uncle Julian in the great mansion that the Blackwoods have always lived in. Six years ago something terrible happened for which all the townsfolk hate, and perhaps even fear, the Blackwoods. One evening, arsenic found its way into the sugar bowl and the sisters’ parents, younger brother, and aunt died. Their uncle took less sugar and survived, though irreparably broken. Constance, who cooked, who never took sugar — and who cleaned the sugar bowl before the police arrived — was accused and tried. No motive could be found and she was acquitted, but she has never since left the property. Only Merricat braves the village — twice a week — to buy food, take out books from the library, and suffer the staring and unpleasant treatment of the villagers.

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I’ve finally read A Hungering of Wolves, the last published volume of T.C. Rypel’s dimension-spanning swords & sorcery epic series about Gonji, the half Japanese, half Norwegian samurai, fighting his way across Renaissance Europe in hopes of discovering his destiny. It shouldn’t be the last book, but as of now, sadly, it is. While there is a collection of shorter tales scheduled for the near future, the sequel to this book is not.

It was orginally published as Knights of Wonder by Zebra Books way back in 1986. Rypel and his books fell victim to the whims of the publishing industry and an agent who wasn’t a big heroic fantasy fan. My earlier review of the first three Gonji books, collectively called the The Deathwind Trilogy, contains a more detailed account of Gonji’s publishing history.

I tend to avoid series that haven’t been finished because I fear they never will be. My dad went to his grave never seeing the end of Roland Green’s Wandor series. I dread the screams that will pierce the heavens if A Song of Ice and Fire doesn’t reach its end. So when I tell you that I read A Hungering of Wolves knowing it sets up a story that remains unfinished, that should tell you something about how much I like Rypel’s books.

If you have any love for swords & sorcery then you should read the Gonji books. Though thirty years old, Rypel’s books don’t feel dated and avoid the cliches that infect the worst heroic fantasy. Gonji, his associates, and opponents react like real humans, not puppet characters moved about in service to some pre-ordained plot.

While the books have more blood and thunder than even I can handle at times, they also have detailed and nuanced character development contemporary readers expect. For every loud and explosive scene the books have calmer moments that create atmosphere and a believable world. Just enough time is spent with secondary characters to make you care when something happens to them or buy their motives when they act.

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