Author Archives: Keith West

Back From the Dead

Locus Online, quoiting SF Scope, is reporting tonight that Realms of Fantasy has been sold to Damnation Books, which will bring out the December issue in print as well as electronic form.  Any editorial policy or staff changes have yet to be announced, but the magazine is open for submissions effective immediately.  Let’s hope they up the sword and sorcery content.  One way to do that is to send them some.

The new mailing address is
Realms of Fantasy
P.O. Box 1208
Santa Rosa, California 95402 USA

While I’m not familiar with Damnation Books and quick perusal of their website makes me think they won’t be my cup of tea, I’m willing to give the new incarnation of RoF a chance and wish the new publishers the best with the magazine.

Kuttner’s Elak of Atlantis: Beyond the Phoenix

“Beyond the Phoenix” from Elak of Atlantis
Henry Kuttner
Planet Stories – Paizo Publishing
Trade Paperback, $12.95, 2007

Kuttner’s version of Atlantis seems to be a rather large place, with a number of kingdoms on the continent.  When this story opens, we find Elak and Lycon working as sell-swords for Phrygior, ruler of the small kingdom of Sarhaddon in western Atlantis.  All is not well in Sarhaddon, for the high priest Xandar is plotting againt Phrygion, and has arranged for Elak and Lycon to be sent on a diversionary errand to the kitchen while his henchmen do away with Phrygion.

Elak figures out they’ve been duped in time to return to the king’s chambers, but not before the king is mortally wounded.  When Elak kills the guards who are assassinating the king, a battle ensues between Elak and Xandar, with Elak driving Xandar off but not defeating him.  The dying monarch warns Elad that Xandar is in the service of Baal-Yagoth, a god of evil.  He also charges Elak with protecting his daughter Esarra and places a bracelet about Elak’s arm that can only be removed by the Phoenix.

The rulers of Sarhaddon claim to be descended from the phoenix and to have come from another realm, one not of this world.  Upon their deaths, all monarchs and their children are sent on a bier along the river and through the Phoenix Gate to be returned to their homeworld.

Fleeing Xandar and his forces, Elak, Lycon, and Esarra take Phrygion’s body to the underground cavern where the funeral barge lies waiting.  They manage to evade their pursuers when the Phoenix Gate opens, but it’s a case of from the frying pan into the fire.  There are factions beyond the Phoenix Gate, some of whom are in league with Xandar.

This is the second shortest story in the Elak series, just slightly longer than “The Spawn of Dagon.”  But of the ones we’ve examined so far, this is in many ways the best.  None of the characters have much depth, but that’s not surprising, considering the length of the tale; neither are they completely cardboard cutouts, either.  Esarra is not the warrior Velia becomes in “Thunder in the Dawn,” but without her aid Elak and Lycon would have died before leaving the castle.  The final battle, in which Elak has to use sorcery as well as sword to win was a departure from the stock ending of hero trouncing villain by means of the hero’s brawn.

Once the adventurers find themselves on the far side of the Gate, things get decidedly weird.  I’m not sure what it is about fantasy written by certain of the Weird Tales writers, but some of the descriptions they wrote were just flat out bizarre in ways that most authors of the past couple of generations don’t come close to.  Kuttner’s descriptions in “Thunder in the Dawn” and here in “Beyond the Phoenix” where he’s describing what Elak encounters upon leaving this world are of that type.  Maybe we’ve had too much of a diet of generic quest fantasy and aren’t seeing that sort of thing written anymore.  Or maybe I just haven’t found it. 

The thing I noticed most, though, was the writing itself.  When a reader notices the writing, it’s often a sign that the writer is failing in some way to draw the reader into the story, or else the writer is doing something experimental in the way he or she is using words.  In this case, I noticed the writing because I wasn’t able to finish the story in one sitting due to interruptions.  When I returned to it, what struck was how much better written this story was than “Thunder in the Dawn.”  Kuttner is one of those writers you can see evolve (and in a few examples later in his career, devolve) as an artist from one work to the next.  The prose in “Thunder” had a purple tint to it.  In “Phoenix” the prose is leaner and crisper than in the two earlier Elak installments.

Overall, this was a good, entertaining piece of sword and sorcery adventure.  While it will never be considered one of the great classics of the field, it’s definitely worth investing the time to read.

Short Fantasy Fiction: Too Much of a Good Thing?

When I began this blog, I intended it to be more than just a collection of reviews of books I’d read and films I’d seen.  It was my intention to practice my essay writing by inflicting it on whoever happened to be reading my words.  Until this post, that really hasn’t happened.  Dayjobbery, family commitments, parttimesecondjobbery, and my own fiction writing have prevented that from happening.  (Not nearly enough of my own fiction writing, and far too much of the other.)  I considered weighing in on the brouhaha surrounding Elizabeth Moon being uninvited as Guest of Honor at Wiscon, but haven’t had the time to craft a well thought out essay.  Which is not to say I won’t sometime soon.  That would be something I would want to spend some time on, and time is in short supply at the moment.

Then Friday I read a couple of postings that I felt I had to respond to, which is not the same as taking issue with, something I would have done regarding Elizabeth Moon’s treatment.  The first posting appeared on Black Gate, and the second on the Cyclopeatron blog.  In order to do that, we need to look at the subject of those posts.

Most people who have more than a passing interest in fantasy as a genre of fiction, especially short fiction, have probably heard by now the tragic news that the magazine Realms of Fantasy has ceased publication for the second and possibly final time.  The magazine was purchased last year by Warren Lapine after the original publisher, Sovereign Media, pulled the plug.  Sovereign, you may remember, was also the publisher of Science Fiction Age from 1994 until about 2002, when they decided to shut it down to publish a professional wrestling magazine.  It wasn’t that SF Age wasn’t making a profit, but that the company felt it could make a better profit if resources were diverted in that direction.  From a business perspective that made sense, but I didn’t (and still don’t) have to like it.  Science Fiction Age was one of the best, if not the best, new magazine devoted exclusively to science fiction in the last couple of decades.

Realms managed to hang on with Sovereign Media until last year, when it got the axe.  Enter Warren Lapine of Tir Na Nog Press, who valiantly tried to continue it.  At the time it started it was the only magazine I’m aware of devoted entirely to fantasy that had a wide circulation with distribution in most of the major chains.  Realms did its best to cover a wide range of fantasy topics, from movies and television to art and folklore.  In this endeavor it should be applauded.  At least to a point.  I felt there were too many covers with photos of Harry Potter and other media stars.  Again, from a business perspective that perhaps makes sense.

But ultimately, the fiction content was why people read it.  The magazine was edited by Shawna McCarthy for its entire run.  Ms. McCarthy started her career editing Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine from 1983-1985 before moving on the a couple of publishing houses.  She eventually ended up running her own literary agency, in addition to editing the magazine.  (Can someone please explain to me how being a literary agent and a fiction editor at a major genre-magazine does not constitute a potential conflict of interest?)

The bloggers essentially took the stand that one of the main reasons RoF died was because there is too much short fiction on the market.  Now we’ve been hearing for years about the death of the short fiction magazines, the large formats as well as the digests.  Amazing Stories has died more than once, only to be resurrected, although the most recent death (2005) seems like it might be permanent at this point.  Circulation of all the print fiction outlets has fallen steadily for years, something anyone who reads the Annual Review issue of Locus or the summations in Gardner Dozois’ annual The Year’s Best Science Fiction is painfully aware of.  The one bright light is that with the advent of Kindle and Nook and other ebook readers offering subscriptions at a lower rate than print subscriptions, circulation may be going up again.  Time will tell.

Anyway, there are a number of culprits who are routinely blamed for short fiction markets dying:  the internet, media tie-in novels, falling literacy rates, competition from video games, etc.  The argument that we lost a major magazine devotedly solely to fantasy because there is too much fantasy takes a little getting used to.  The authors of the above posts have good, well-reasoned arguments, which go as follows.  There’s too much competition in the form of new and especially used books: anthologies, single author collections, and novels.  And furthermore, when a reader picks up a collection of stories by Robert E. Howard (and you should), or Fritz Leiber (what are you waiting for?) or Poul Anderson (you mean you haven’t read him yet?) or whomever, the reader has a pretty good idea what she or he is in for.  Whereas with a magazine, it’s a crap shoot.  Their argument basically goes that, with a few exceptions in the case of an established author, you don’t know what type of story to expect from most writers in a magazine because the author has yet to establish a strong track record, and furthermore isn’t likely to be as good as the established names.

On the other hand, many of the comments posted in response to the two blogs above took the position that, rather than too much fantasy, there isn’t enough.  At least of the right kind.  The right kind being action-adventure oriented.  Several people went so far to say that RoF failed because it printed stuff people weren’t willing to read.  Directly or indirectly, some of the respondents blamed the editorial decisions behind the content.

I’m not sure that either of these arguments doesn’t oversimplify things (and the bloggers did acknowledge other factors may have played a role), but if I had to choose a position, I’m inclined to lean towards the latter.  I quit reading Asimov’s back in the 80s for a couple of years primarily because of the type of story Shawna McCarthy was publishing and didn’t resume reading the magazine until Gardner Dozois took over.  I was not really impressed with much of what I read in RoF either, at least as far as the fiction went.  I can’t recall the details of a single story I read over the years.  The art feature was by far the best thing of its kind I’d seen, as was the Folkroots column.  I almost dropped RoF in the early 00s after McCarthy published a few editorials essentially bitching about why she and the magazine hadn’t gotten any nominations for one of the major awards, the Hugo if memory serves, that she felt were deserved.  I found the editorials to be in poor taste.  However, out of a sense of loyalty to the field, and because at the time I was enjoying at least some of the stories, I kept buying and reading it as I could find the time.  (I tend to buy from the newsstand rather than subscribe; I’ve found the savings from a subscription aren’t enough to compensate for the number of copies that arrive tattered and ripped through the mail.)

In the interests of full disclosure, I have to admit I haven’t read much of the fiction in recent years.  The last couple of years of my life have been interesting, in a Chinese curse sort of way, and two major job searches (one currently going) haven’t left me with a lot of time to read.  In spite of that I continued to pick up the magazine.  I have to say I wasn’t impressed with what I saw, in terms of fiction as well as the other content. I remember reading some of the stories, but have no memory of them.  Most of the ads in the last few years seemed to be from small presses that specialize in erotic fantasy, if not outright porn, with full color one and two page spreads.  This was not the sort of thing I wanted either my wife or more importantly my son to walk in and see, the former because I didn’t want to have to explain I wasn’t reading porn and those were just ads, and the latter because I don’t want my son exposed to that sort of material at his age.  Since I wasn’t reading the magazine much, I decided to stop buying it just before its first death.  I picked it up again after Lapine took over, but sadly not much had changed except for the price, which went up by three bucks, a 75% increase, with no increase in page count.

Now please don’t misunderstand me.  I take no joy in the loss of RoF.  None whatsoever.  The loss of a major outlet is a major loss to the field regardless of whether that outlet aligned with my tastes.  It affects all of us, and in a negative way.  But the discussions, which have continued since the original postings at both Black Gate and Cyclopeatron, bring up some interesting points that merit further consideration, beyond just the fate of RoF.

Is there too much fantasy available today?  I’m inclined to think not, although I certainly understand and can agree with the arguments made, at least to a point.  There’s certainly more than any single person can read in a short period of time without limiting said reading to certain subgenres.  But if you as a reader prefer one of the subgenres that’s not a current hot area, then the fantasy and/or science fiction landscape tends to resemble a wasteland.

I can buy the idea that the contents of any single issue of any magazine probably isn’t as good as the stuff already available.  That’s always been the case, at least as long as reprints have been available cheaply and readily.  Ballantine’s Adult Fantasy series in the early 70s, Del Rey’s, as well as Pocket’s, Best of… series in the mid to late 70s, DAW’s Asimov Presents the Great SF of the early and middle 80s. All of these and others did change the landscape permanently by preserving a number of great stories in affordable editions.  At least they were then.  If you can find any of the Ballantine Adult Fantasy volumes today, be prepared to fork over the moola.  And I can’t remember the last time I saw a Best of or Asimov Presents in a second hand bookstore.  (And I’m of the opinion that when cetrain titles or types of books can no longer be found second hand with little difficulty at reasonable prices, there’s a potential market going untapped.) Other publishers, many of them small presses, have continued the practice of classic reprints, though, so most of these stories and books are still available in some form.

But my argument here is that except for Astounding from the late 30s to early 40s, the brief run of Unknown, and Galaxy in the early 50s, plus some of the Weird Tales from the late 20s to mid 30s, most magazines don’t publish consistently at the level of quality that’s available in reprints.  There’s a reason those books and stories are in reprints.  They have not only stood the test of time, but they were groundbreaking tales in the field, and important to the history of the genre.  Look at any single issue from any magazine over the 20th century to the present, and most likely much of the contents will be forgettable and the contributors unfamiliar to most readers.  Sturgeon’s Law has never been repealed.  Ninety percent of everything is crud, always has been, always will be.  Even magazines that consistently print stories nominated for the Hugo, Nebula, and World Fantasy Awards also print stories you won’t remember next month.  The editors have to fill the magazines with content, even if that content isn’t always of the highest possible quality.  So while I agree that there is more competition for a fantasy or science fiction reader’s time and money, I don’t agree that this is the only, or even the main, reason why RoF folded.

I don’t think there’s enough fantasy published at short lengths.  At least not the kind many people want to read.  Particularly heroic fantasy/sword and sorcery/call it what you will.  If there were, would there be as many smaller outlets of the stuff starting up.  Now I’ve heard it said that the average fantasy reader wants a thick book they can get lost in for hours, if not days, at a time.  They just aren’t interested in short fiction.  I can see how this might be the case for a portion of the fantasy buying public.  But I also think that the people who responded to the blog posts bring up an interesting point.  And that’s that there is not enough pulp in today’s fantasy. 

I would extend that to say the same about science fiction as well.  The reason I say this is that there are people within the field, editors, writers, and pundits, who almost act like they’re ashamed of traditional fantasy and science fiction and want to distance themselves (and by extension through whatever influence they have, everyone else) from the lifeblood of the genre.  They give the impression sometimes that they’re trying to apologize for the field, like the rest of us are the inbred cousin locked in the basement.  They seem to think that the field needs the respect of the literary establishment or something.  (I won’t name names because I don’t know who they all are, and it’s not my purpose at this point to attack any particular individual, particularly someone I don’t know.  And that includes Shawna McCarthy, to whom I extend my sympathies for the cancellation of RoF along with my best wishes for her future endeavors.Just because our tastes differ doesn’t mean I wish her ill.)  The attitude is that if a certain piece of fiction doesn’t have certain qualities, or if it does have certain other qualities, it isn’t worthy of serious consideration.  And heroic fantasy seems to be a favorite target of these people.

Like any genre that undergoes a boom and bust cycle, sword and sorcery has had a lot of dreck published over the years that has been more than subpar.  And much of what Hollywood puts out doesn’t help the gente’s standing in the eyes of the general public.  I do want to see the genres of fantasy and science fiction have high literary standards.  I think those standards are not negotiable, and neither are well rounded characters and original plots and settings.  But the main reason I read, and I think probably most other people as well, is that I want to read a good, entertaining story.  I don’t read fiction for the pretty words or dense sentence structure.  Nor do I read to be enlightened about The Human Condition, converted to or from a particular political position or philosophy, or have my consciousness raised about an author’s pet social issue.  If I want that, I’ll read nonfiction.  (And I do.) 

Good fiction can accomplish all of those things, of course, and should attempt to.  But not at the expense of entertainment and telling a riveting story.  As an example, look at the parables of Jesus.  He taught truth in the form of a short story that his audience could relate to, about people they could care about because those people in the parables could be the listener’s mother, or son, or self.  The Sermon on the Mount is one of history’s greatest discourses, but it’s the exception to Jesus’ teaching approach.  Jesus interested his audience with stories because He knew how much people value a good story.  Aesop did the same thing with his fables.  Scheherazade, if the legend is true, saved her own life by being able to tell a riveting tale.  Too many writers today have failed to learn this lesson:  story comes first.

People like stories with character and plot and excitement, suspense and mystery and romance.  They want action, adventure, and escape from day to day drudgery.  Tastes differ, but the bottom line is, when reading fiction for pleasure, people don’t give a rip about the literary establishment’s opinion.  They just want to be entertained.  And when a magazine fails to do that, that magazine is doomed to fail.  (I’m speaking in general terms here now, not specifically about RoF.)  No matter how high the ideals an editor or publisher has about the literary quality of the magazine, the political correctness of the contents, or the diversity of the contributors, if story is not the top priority, the magazine will not be worth the time and money.

Call it literary survival of the fittest, if you will.  The reading public knows what it wants.  It wants good a good story.  What it considers a good story, not what someone with an agenda thinks it should be reading.  How many of you read can remember the name of the novel that was the talk of the literary establishment 10 years ago?  How about 5 years ago?  Last year?  My point is that much, if not most, of what endures as literature starts out as popular fiction.  Consider these names:  Raymond Chandler, Dashiell Hammett, H. P. Lovecraft, Philip K. Dick.  What do they all have in common, besides being genre writers who started out in the pulps or digests?  They’re all in the Library of America, one of the premier publishers of literature today, along with Mark Twain, Flannery O’Connor, Walt Whitman, William Faulkner, H. L. Mencken, the list goes on.  While not all of these writers are to every one’s taste, anyone who has read these four authors knows they could tell a gripping tale and provide exciting reading for a large portion of the readers in their genres.

The reasons for the second failure of Realms of Fantasy are almost certainly more complicated than too many markets for short fiction.  The economy, the changing state of publishing, and competition for the reader’s time and money all probably contributed to a greater or lesser degree.  It’s not my purpose here to answer the question of why RoF went under.  What I do hope to have accomplished is to have made the point that there is a market for short adventure fiction, especially sword and sorcery, sword and planet, sword and sandal, that hasn’t been tapped.  Space opera underwent a resurgence a few years ago that seems to still be going.  There are some indications that sword and sorcery might be in the early stages of its resurgence, along with straight histroical fiction.  I certainly hope so.  In the weeks to come, I’ll take a closer look at some of the publishers we do have and the role they’re playing in the resurgence.

In the meantime, maybe someone will resurrect Realms of Fantasy and try again with a different slant.  Lapine has said, although I’m not sure how serious he is, that he will sell the magazine for a dollar.  Any takers?

Congratulations to the World Fantasy Award Winners

Announced this afternoon were the winners of the 2010 World Fantasy Awards:

Novel: 
     The City and the City by China Mie’ville

Novella:
     “Sea Hearts” by Margo Lanagan

Short Story
     “The Pelican Brief” by Karen Joy Fowler

Anthology:
     American Fantastic Tales:  Terror and the Uncanny: From Poe to the Pulps/From the 1940’s to Now,
          Peter Straub, ed.

Collection (tie):
     There Once Lived a Woman Who Tried to Kill Her Neighbor’s Baby: Scary Fairy Tales by Ludmilla
          Petrushevskaya
     The Very Best of Gene Wolf/eThe Best of Gene Wolfe by Gene Wolfe

Artist
     Charles Vess

Special Award – Professional
     Jonathan Strahan for editing anthologies

Special Award – Non -Professional
     Susan Marie Groppi for Strange Horizons

Life Achievement (previously announced)
     Brian Lumley
     Terry Prachett
     Peter Straub

Adventures Fantastic would like to congratulate all the winners.  I’ve read “The Pelican Brief” but not any of the others.  Seems like I’ve got some catching up to do.  Again, congratulations to all the nominees, and especially to the winners.

A Cab Ride to Murder

Nobody’s Angel
Jack Clark
Hardcase Crime
paperback, June 2010, 220 pg

At first glance a crime novel about a cab driver, while possibly adventurous, may not sound all that fantastic.  But keep in mind, one person’s mundane is another person’s fantastic. 

When cab drivers are presented in fiction, whether in film or in literature, they often serve merely as chauffeurs or as comic foils.  When they’re the central characters, too many times they’re romanticized.  (I have never seen the show Taxi, so the applicability of any comments I make in this post to that show is purely coincidental.)  At least that’s been my observation, although I’ve not done any scientific study.  The only cab driver stories I know of in which the cabbie was played straight, and not for laughs, was in the Steve Midnight tales by John K. Butler.  These ran mostly in Dime DetectiveAdventure House has reprinted them in At the Stroke of Midnight, which I read a few years back and quite enjoyed.  Other than this volume, Butler is pretty much out of print except for a story in the odd anthology, a mistake that someone will hopefully correct.  And soon.

Anyway, Nobody’s Angel tells the story of Eddie Miles, a Chicago cabbie who happens to become involved in two different series of killings while working the night shift.  In one, someone is mutilating and murdering prostitutes.  Eddie stumbles on one of the killings, causing the killer to drive away before completing his task, and the result is the intended victim ends up being the only survivor.  In the other, someone is knocking off cab drivers.  Eddie is a friend of the latest victim as well as the last person to see him alive.  You can imagine how this makes the police take an interest in him, although they don’t take the expected approach and hassle Eddie or even suspect him.  Instead they ask him to keep his eyes and ears open.

Clark does an excellent job of showing us the world of the night shift through Eddie’s eyes.  It’s a world most of us probably wouldn’t want to see on a daily basis.  While there is certainly room for humor and camaraderie, especially among the cabbies, it’s a world that is often sordid and profane.  And at times out right deadly.

Clark opens each chapter with one of the ordinances governing cab drivers in the city of Chicago.  This technique gives insight into the lives of the cabbies.  All good fantasy and science fiction, at least at novel length, will take the reader and transport him or her into the life of someone in another world, hopefully one that is different enough to be exotic while at the same time having enough touchstones of the familiar to allow the reader to relate.  Clark proves that sometimes some of the most exotic settings can literally be right around the corner.  While reading the book, he made the world of the Chicago cab driver real to me, even though I’d never been to that city or was even very familiar with its geography.  This is something the urban detective tale does when the author is working at the top of the form:  give the detective’s city an identity so that the city transcends place and setting and becomes a character in its own right.  It’s a hard trick to pull off, but Clark does it.  When I learned on his website that Jack Clark drives a cab himself, I wasn’t surprised.  If I were a betting man, I would bet that some of the fares Eddie picks up are based on those of Jack himself.  One or two are so out there, they had to be true.

There is action and violence in the book, but that’s not what the plot revolves around.  Instead it’s the threat of violence, coming when unexpected, and the sense of danger permeating the city.  Lennie, Eddie’s friend who is murdered, is an old and experienced cabbie, with plenty of street smarts.  The fact that someone is able to get past his guard rattles the drivers.  The second killer carving up streetwalkers only adds to the tension, as do Eddie’s attempts to locate the killer’s van again.  We learn how Eddie thinks, the mistakes he’s made, the regrets he has.  Yet deep inside, he’s a hero.  He does the right thing, more than once, when there’s a very real possibility the right thing could get him hurt, robbed, killed, or any combination of the above.  More than that, he’s ready when he has to fight.  While his weapon of choice may not be a sword or a blaster, he wields it with skill, and he’s not afraid to risk his life in a tight situation.

Nobody’s Angel is more than just a study in character and place.  There is a mystery in the book.  The clues are there.  I’m annoyed I missed them, because when I got to the end, it was obvious what I’d overlooked.  And the more I think about it, the more obvious it is.

Overall, this was one of the better noir crime novels I’ve read in a while, and I tend to read a lot of them in between the fantasy, science fiction, and historical adventure.  While I may have been put off by some of the things Eddie encountered, I’d ride along with him again any time.

Finally, I want to say a word about Hard Case Crime.  For something like six years or so now, publisher Charles Ardai has been bringing out some of the best old and new noir-style crime novels by established Grandmasters (can you say Lawrence Block and Donald E. Westlake?), forgotten pros whose names should be better known, such as Cornell Woolrich (it pains me to put him in this category) and Charles Williams, to nwer writers who are worth keeping an eye on (think Dominic Stansberry for one).  And the cover art is something to behold.  You can see all of them here.

Their printer and distributor has been Dorchester Books, which earlier this year announced they were switching to ebooks.  What that means is that volume 66, Brett Halliday’s Mike Shayne novel Murder is My Business is the last Hard Case book you’ll see in mass market paperback for a while, maybe ever.  Volume 67 is scheduled to be released in hardcover through Subterranean Books, and there are plans to continue the line, although details are sketchy.  Also the Gabriel Hunt mens’ adventure series (an offshoot of Hard Case), the Cosmos collections of the weird fiction of Robert E. Howard, and the Leisure line of horror are now gone.  As in off the shelves.  At least in the chain box stores like Barnes and Noble.  And they’ve probably been pulped, which means copies will become more and more collectible as the years pass.

I had to order the Hard Case and Gabriel Hunt volumes I was missing from two different independent booksellers who specialize in mysteries.  I have all the Hard Case and the first five of the Gabriel Hunt.  I don’t know if the sixth Hunt will be published on schedule this month or not.  I tend to doubt it.  Hopefully it will see print someday soon.  I’ll take a look at the Hunt books here in the future as I can fit them in.  But I do want to thank Charles Ardai and his team for bringing me so many hours of reading pleasure throughout the last few years.

Long Looks at Short Fiction: The Killing Ground by Paul Finch

The Killing Ground
by Paul Finch
collected in Ghost Realm
Ash-Tree Press,
hardcover, 247 pg., 2008, Cndn $49/ US $49/ L28

When I was in second or third grade, I don’t recall which, I checked out a volume from the school library called A Book of Ghosts and Goblins by, so the internet tells me, Ruth Manning-Sanders.  The internet also tells me it was a collection of folktales from around the world.  I don’t remember that part of it, nor do I remember many particulars about most of the stories.  This was, after all, about [CENSORED] years ago.  I remember a few things.  There was one where a little girl got lost or something and ended up in a castle with a talking skull.  The skull had her fix a pancake for supper.  When the girl cut the pancake in half, the skull’s half turned black.  I don’t remember what else happened, but that scene made an indelible impression on me.

The other story I remember, and I remember it quite well to this day, was the final story, “The Leg of Gold.”  You’ve probably heard or read at least one version of it.  The wife of a rich man trips on the stairs, falls, and breaks her leg so badly it needs to be amputated.  He replaces it with a leg of gold.  Some time passes, and once again she trips (on the hem of her dress, as I recall) and falls, this time breaking her neck.  Her husband has her buried with the leg, but the valet sneaks back to the graveyard and steals it.  Or something to that effect.  Anyway, this is where the action takes place.  The wife starts calling out from the grave day and night for her leg of gold.  The husband goes to the grave to console her, telling her she was buried with it.  She ignores him (probably just like she did in life) and continues to call for the leg.  Finally, the husband gets tired of hearing her calling day and night, night and day, and sends the valet, who by this time is on the verge of a nervous breakdown, to the grave to find out what she wants.  When he asks, she cries, “It is you that I want,” rises up from the grave, and drags him back down with her where she devours him.

That story scared the living crap out of me.  I woke up in the middle of the night every night for the next seven nights, terrified that there were ghosts in the room.  I know it was seven nights, because I counted them. I was afraid I would never get another peaceful night’s sleep.  There was a whole series of books by this author, and I remember the library having some of them.  I don’t recall if I read any of the others, though.  Probably learned my lesson with this one.  On the other hand, knowing me, naah, probably not.  I think I checked out at least one other book in the series, although I didn’t have as extreme a reaction to the contents. Continue reading

Long Looks at Short Fiction: The Natural History of Calamity by Robert J. Howe

The Natural History of Calamity
Robert J. Howe
Black Gater 14, $15.95

The current issue of Black Gate is so thick, and has so many stories in it, that I want to look at another one before moving on to other venues to examine short fiction.  Next up in this series of posts will be something seasonal (a ghost story), probably followed by something science fictional.

Anyway, on to the story at hand.  This one concerns a female private investigator, one Debbie Colavito, who works as a karmic detective.  She has the ability to detect a person’s karma, and, although it’s not exactly explained how, she can make changes in that karma.

Now the whole concept of karma is one I’ve never bought into.  At all.  So right off the bat, I had a hard time getting into the story because I couldn’t accept its basic premise.  However, since I had made up my mind to examine the story here in my Long Looks at Short Fiction series of posts, I decided I would try to put my prejudices aside and give the story a try.  Fortunately, that wasn’t as hard to do as I thought. 

The story opens with Debbie being visited by a prospective client, Will Charbonneau.  Seems Will’s lady love, Becky, has suddenly up and dumped him for a car salesman.  Will and Becky met in the Peace Corps, moved in together after they both returned stateside, and are working as high school teachers.  Will is clearly heartbroken and confused over Becky’s sudden change of heart.  They were talking about getting married, after all.  Can Debbie check into things and help him understand why this has happened?  He’s seen a feature about her in the paper, so he knows she’s a karmic detective.

Debbie takes the case, albeit with a little reluctance, since she’s sure that Becky’s decision to move out was made without any influence from the car salesman.  That is until she discovers the car salesman is Micheal, someone she dated in high school until he raped her on a date.  She hasn’t seen or heard from him in years.  As they used to say, from this point on, the plot thickens.

Howe gives Debbie Colavito a distinctive voice, one that’s part wise-cracking PI, part single woman making ends meet on her own.  Now I’m a huge fan of traditional PI stories, especially those told in first-person.  I don’t care how cliched some people consider the trope to be, it’s always been one of my favorites.  And Howe does a good job with this one.  There’s a genuine mystery here.  Not all the people or situations are as they appear.  Even if I did have trouble buying into the whole karmic detective angle, Howe develops Debbie’s character well and made her someone I cared about. 

He does a good job of writing a woman’s perspective.  Conventional wisdom is that many men can’t write from a woman’s viewpoint effectively.  While I don’t completely buy that I idea either, (people are people no matter what their gender) I don’t completely diasgree with it.  Men and women are wired differently mentally and emotionally.  Debbie is not simply a male detective in drag.  She is able to bond with Becky, whereas a male detective in a more traditional PI story would probably end up in bed with her.  Which is not to say Debbie is completely sexless.  She finds Will attractive.  She just doesn’t try to manipulate his emotions to get in bed with him.  In fact, when a situation arises in which she could, she deliberately doesn’t.

The writing is in the story is smooth, and the action flows.  The characters are individuals.  Howe has an easy to read style, probably due to his journalism background.  I don’t know if Howe has written any other stories about this character.  The author bio doesn’t mention any, and Black Gate does a good job of listing previous installments in a series.  While it wasn’t what I would consider exactly my cup of tea, I would certainly consider reading more about this character.

Shadow’s Son

Shadow’s Son
Jon Sprunk
Pyr Books
Trade paperback, $16

I liked this book a lot, and for a number of reasons, not the least of which it was short.  I realize that sounds like a slam, but it’s not.  In an age of Book Bloat; four, five, or more volume “trilogies”; and series where readers are literally kept waiting years for the next installment (Are you listening George R. R. Martin?), it is refreshing to find a fantasy that can be told in one volume.  That this fantasy not only ties up all the loose ends, which is not the same as answering all the questions, and does so with style, characcterization, multiple viewpoints, and plenty of action, is very much a breath of fresh air. Continue reading

Nomad The Warrior: Addendum

It’s been over a week since I last posted, which is longer than I would prefer.  To make up for it I’m going to post two reviews over the weekend, plus this post.  I guess that makes 2.5 posts, since this one is going to be brief.

Part of the reason I’ve not posted has to do with travel.  I’ve been trying to a get a former residence fixed up (anybody wanna buy a house?), and that took me to the other side of the state.  Texas is a big state.

Anyway, since I posted the review about Nomad The Warrior, I’ve done some further thinking (six hour drives are good for that).  Specifically about how religion is portrayed in the movie.  There’s some ancester worship and shamanistic beliefs shown on the part of the Jungar.  The Kazakhs refer to the Almighty, and this is what intrigues me.  Whether they mean Allah, Jehovah, or someone else is never made clear.  I may be wrong, but I’m fairly certain by this time that the Kazakhs were Muslim.  Much of the story takes place in Turkestan.  The photo I posted from my visit there was of the Kodzha Achmed Yosavi Mausoleum, which dates to the 14th century, well before the events of the movie, and is considered to be the Mecca of the East in the Islamic world.  In other words, the hero of the movie should have been muslim.

I’m not sure why the movie referred to the deity of the Kazakhs as the Almighty.  Maybe this was a holdover from the Soviet days, but I don’t think so.  It could have been a result of translating the movie into English.  On the other hand, it could have been done to make the movie more palatable to American audiences by omitting any overt references to Islam and thus making the hero more sympathetic to US movie-goers.

I haven’t had time to watch the Kazakh version of the movie, but I understand in places there are some significant differences in the dialogue from the English version.  I need to make time to watch the Kazakh version and see who the Kazakhs pray to.

Long Looks at Short Fiction: Destroyer by James Enge

Destroyer
by James Enge
Black Gate 14, 384 pp., $15.95

If you’re a fan of heroic fantasy, adventure fantasy, or just plain good ol’ fashioned storytelling, and you haven’t checked out Black Gate, then you owe it to yourself to do so.  Some of the best writing being done in the fantasy field right now is published here.  While the publication schedule is frustratingly slow, currently at two issues a year, this magazine is still worth waiting for.  John O’Neill brings the highest production and editorial values to his magazine, which is clearly a labor of love.  Since I haven’t seen it on the newsstand in quite a while, your best bet of scoring a copy is directly from the publisher.  All back issues are available in both print and PDF format.  If you’re thinking of subscribing, be sure and check out the special with Rogue Blades Entertainment.  A subscription to a great magazine plus an outstanding anthology is a hard deal to beat.  I’ll be talking about Rogue Blades in a future installment.

Now, lest anyone thinks I’m on the payroll for either Black Gate or Rogue Blades, let’s look at the story in question.  I envision these Long Looks at Short Fiction columns to be just what the name implies, a more detailed look at one or two pieces of short fiction in current publications, both print and electronic.  My definition of short fiction is anything from short story to novella length.

In fact, that’s one of the things I think sets Black Gate apart from the major short fiction periodicals.  They’re willling to publish novellas.  Now I can hear some of you saying, “Wait a minute, West.  Asimov’s, Analog, and F&SF all regularly publish novellas”, and indeed they do.  What separates Black Gate from the pro markets is that the Big Three (as well as Alfred Hitchcock and Ellery Queen) aren’t willing to publish novellas from writers who aren’t household names (yet).

A perfect of example of this is James Enge, who published his first Morlock Ambrosious story in BG 8, and has had stories of Morlock in almost every issue since.  Morlock is a hunchbacked wizard with a somewhat bleak outlook and not inconsiderable skill with a sword.  These days, Enge is hardly unknown.  He had two books about Morlock published last year, Blood of Ambrose and This Crooked Way, with a third, The Wolf Age, scheduled for publication sometime this month, meaning copies should be hitting  the shelves any day now.  And to top it off, he has gotten a World Fantasy Award nomination for Blood of Ambrose.  Good luck, James!

Anyway, on to the story.  “Destroyer” finds Morlock in the company of Roble, his sister Naeli, and her children, who were introduced in “The Lawless Hours” in BG 11, but you needn’t have read that one to enjoy this one.  This time the story is (mostly) told from the viewpoint of one of the older kids, Thend.  I say mostly because occasionally the viewpoint seems to shift to Morlock, for example when he’s conversing with a dragon guarding him, Thend, a werewolf, and a disgraced Khroi, a race of insect-like creatures.  The conversation takes place in the dragon language, which Enge tells us Thend does not speak.  Aside from the minor quibble of apparent view-point shift, the story moves briskly.

Now I don’t normally care for action adventure stories told from a child’s point of view because the children tend to be passive rather than active participants.  In this case, Thend (who seems to be in early adolescence, although I don’t recall his age being given) is involved from the beginning.  The story opens with Morlock leading the party between two mountain ranges.  He takes Thend with him to investigate something he’s seen that concerns him.  It turns out to be a Khroi warrior trapped in a web built by the spider people. 

A number of people have been attributed as saying some variation of “If you’re not a liberal at [insert age] you have no heart; if you’re not a conservative at [insert greater age] you have no brain”, and that sentiment applies here to both Thend and Morlock as far as their ages are concerned.  Thend initially condemns Morlock for what he views as a penchant for killing everything and displays pacifist tendencies from time to time.  Morlock, on the other hand, says that his law is blood for blood.  But to apply that quoted adage strictly would be to oversimplify their characters.  Both men display actions that lead from the heart and actions that originated in the head. 

Morlock has no interest in rescuing the Khroi, who is still alive.  Thend cuts him down from the web.  The Khroi marks Thend by wounding him, wounds himself, then escapes.  Morlock informs Thend the Khroi did this so they could identify each other later.  As it turns out later on, this particular Khroi shows Thend an especially harsh form of mercy.

The pace of the story is swift, and the nonhuman characters intriguing as Morlock attempts to guide the party between Khroi and spider people without detection.  You can probably guess how sucessful he is in this.  Hint::  If he were successful, there would be no story.  And don’t assume the ending is an entirely happy one.  The title Enge chose was “Destroyer,” after all.  To find out just who the destroyer turns out to be, well, I’ll never tell.

The real character development in the tale occurs with Thend.  It seems he has a touch of the sight but doesn’t know how to use it when the story opens.  By the conclusion, he’s gained both knowledge and experience, as well as discovering some heroic character traits and an ability to endure hardship, both of which he’s lacking in the opening.  Initially Thend wants to be like his uncle Roble and not be treated like a child by his mother Naeli.  By being forced to work with Morlock, and not just in the opening scene but in an attempt to rescue his family, Thend’s relationships with both his mother and his uncle undergo a transformation as he develops an independent identity as his own man.  The exact nature of that tranformation, I’ll let you see for yourself when you read the story.  It’s worse investing the time.

If it sounds like this is a coming of age story, it is.  Thend grows up through the course of events he has no choice in living through, much like real life.  It’s what we allow our experiences to make us that determine who and what we become.  Without being heavy handed or preaching, Enge shows us this process in a boy who isn’t really all that likable when we first meet him, although he is sympathetic to a point.

Of course, all the usual sardonic wit and cleverness we’ve come to expect from Morlock are on display here.  Morlock has been described as a thinking man’s Conan, a comparison I think short changes the Cimmerian somewhat, but I have to agree with the sentiment.  Morlock uses his brain at least as much as he uses his magic or his sword.  The situation here isn’t one he can simply get out of by either magic or swordsmanship (although both are necessary) because other lives are at stake, and the characters aren’t all at the same location for part of the story. 

If you’re not familiar with Morlock, this is as good a place as any to make his acquaintance.  If you’ve met the man, and haven’t read “Destroyer,” then what are you waiting for?