A Dark Winter by Dave Luckett

In hindsight, he probably shouldn't
have laughed at the Prince. 

A Dark Winter by Dave Luckett is one I've mentioned before. It was a young adult novel released in 1998 that won an Aurelis award and was nominated for another. It distinguished itself from its peers with a business-like approach to swords-and-sorcery.

Take its approach to characters for example. The typical hero is usually someone that initially appears unimportant (like Frodo, Rand Al'Thor, or Harry Potter), but is eventually revealed to be "the most talented, most interesting and most extraordinary person in the universe", to borrow a phrase. And there's a reason for that; being special is a powerful fantasy. People (especially teenagers) want to identify with Captain America kicking ass, not the Shield agents cleaning up after him.

But the protagonist of A Dark Winter starts out ordinary and stays ordinary. Noble blood is never revealed, nor is a gift for magic, nor a convenient prophecy. Willan is just a guardsman who insulted the wrong noble and was sent on a dangerous journey to the frontlines of a magical war.

This could have easily backfired into boring, but Willan's very ordinariness is what injects tension into the story. It feels like here's a real chance he might die. Add in his cynicism and crisp outlines of violence, and we have a swift-moving story about ordinary people existing in a world of magic. If they're skilled, careful and lucky, they might survive the monsters and zombies long enough to reach the hordes of goblin soldiers.

Willan's not the only one either. All the characters feel as if they're at sea in a world beyond their control. Silvus is haunted by a gift he doesn't want, Ruane is tangled in the schemes of his political rival, and Hrudis is caught in a cruel struggle where even her enemies are brainwashed victims. In a very real way it's a deconstruction of high fantasy's obsession with magic and war. They're not glorious or awe-worthy. They're a pain in the ass at best, and ugly death at worst.

A Dark Winter is a grounded, surprisingly logical story set in a fantastical world. Ultimately perhaps that's why it wasn't as popular as it deserved; it's a little too grounded in reality while being constrained by its target audience (Think Game of Thrones without the carnage and sex). However it's still a great book for teenagers and won't shame an adult to read. I'm certainly going to read the sequels.

Silver Brumby by Elyne Mitchell

I just had a revelation. Specifically, about The Silver Brumby books that were a childhood obsession of mine. (And an adulthood obsession, going by my Ebay history.)

They were written between 1958 and 1979 by Elyne Mitchell, who was frustrated by her ten year old daughter's lack of interest in books. Taking inspiration from her daughter's interest in horses and her own love of the native landscape, she wrote a series of short novels around a lineage of wild horses in the Snowy Mountains.

The initial book follows the birth and early life of Thowra, a rare wild "creamy" brumby whose colouring is a disadvantage in the bush. He has to be smarter and faster than any other horse to survive and remain free. The sequels follow his descendants and later adventures.

These were some of the earliest Australian literature to really strike a cord with me, for reasons I struggled to articulate. It wasn't the narrative, as the plots were either simplistic or meandering. Nor was it the characters, as there's a limit to what you can do with non-anthropomorphic animal characters.

Then on the weekend while I was driving, thinking about nothing in particular, it suddenly hit me. The Silvery Brumby books aren't about the characters. Sure, the characters are there, but they're not the focus. The real soul and center of the books is the landscape. Or more specifically, the characters' relationship with the landscape.

For them the mountains are an enemy that can kill with flood, fire, starvation and a hundred other awful ways. But they are also a wondrous home, offering beauty, shelter and freedom. The flowing prose is almost worshipful, detailing sunsets, bird cries, and storms with almost poetic terms. The reader exists within the characters' reaction in a place where goals and motivations are almost superfluous. Everything is at the mercy of the world around them.

These aren't perfect books by any means. My housemate called Thowra a Mary Sue for entirely justified reasons and the female characters exist mostly as objectives to be obtained (based on real life horse behaviour). Not to mention, the series is very inconsistent on whether the horses can actually 'talk' with one another or not.

However it's one of those rare instances where the flaws are part of the magic. Like the mountains, their imperfection is what makes the books beautiful.

"Through the bush he went, a proud-stepping beautiful stallion, in the prime of his life, cream and silver, dappled by light and shade as pale shafts of sunlight from the cloudy sky fell on to him through the grey-green gum leaves." 

The Sea and Summer by George Turner

One of the things I love about this blog project is that I keep discovering all these obscure, wonderful Aussie writers that have been forgotten or overlooked by the mainstream.

George Turner's The Sea and Summer (published in the US as The Drowning Towers) is a perfect example. This novel centers around a family during a time of social turmoil and uses this very personal setting to explore the consequences of climate change. It's a fascinatingly melancholy tale that richly deserves it's status of science fiction classic, and yet I'd never heard of it before now.

Despite being written by the seventies by a successful mainstream novelist and being one of the few Australian-written books on Gollancz's SF Masterworks, it seems almost unknown by my generation. Considering that I did a creative writing degree at an Australian university and all my friends are book-nerds or librarians, I'm bewildered that I haven't even heard of it before. Not even a passing mention
                                                            or a website review.

What I enjoyed about The Sea and Summer was the lack of an antagonist. Most dystopian books are stories of resistance, of little people against oppressive regimes like 1984 or the Hunger Games. For them there are terrible external enemies that must be vanquished for the world to right itself. 

But for George Turner's characters, the enemy is far more subtle than that. It comes from within. The family's downfall from 'Sweet' (financially self-sufficient) to 'Swill' (living on government subsidies) begins with the loss of the father's job. And as the burdens of poverty and social class press in on them, the entire family makes choices on how to deal with it; some selfish, some tragic. 

In a way their family is a metaphor for modern attitudes to environmental and economic disaster. That sense of "this problem's too big, I can't fix it, I can only save myself". That sense of abdicated responsibility as they make their own individual grabs for solvency. Yet - and this is very important - none of the family ever manage to escape the Swill. They each pay dearly for an illusion of freedom, but they all end up in the Swill one way or another. The problem is too big to be escaped, as is the inevitable creeping cultural shift. The only way to survive it (not stop it, there's no stopping what's been put into motion) is together.

It's the most oddly depressing and yet hopeful book I've ever read, with a pensive attitude towards climate change. It matter-of-factly dismisses the notion of  the end of the world, pointing out humanity's ability to adapt to much worse disasters with far less technology. But it also is very clear that adaptation will come with painful, difficult change. We don't get away without consequences.

Perhaps the subject matter is why this book isn't well known. With climate change and economic strife in the news, the last thing that readers want is reality tainting their escapism. Which is a shame, because of all the books on the subject, this is probably the most realistic and least hysterical. 

The Crucible by Sara Douglass

For some readers, the Axis and Wayfarer Trilogies were the peak of Sara Douglass' career. And more power to them; there's a special place in my heart for epic adventures viewed through a twisted lens, where the heroes' hands aren't clean and even the happiest of endings is bittersweet.

For me, however,  Sara Douglass' magnum opus was The Crucible.

This three-book trilogy is set in the Middle-Ages with a bitter, self-righteous monk chosen by Heaven and Hell to cast the deciding vote in their never-ending conflict. All Thomas has to do is choose who will get his soul; Heaven or a faithless prostitute. It seems like a no-brainer, which of course means it's not that simple. And to make matters worse, demons are strewing all sorts of temptations in Thomas' path...surely it won't matter if his soul is just a little tarnished...

Not many people have heard of this series, probably because it sounds like Christian propaganda. I'd have steered clear if I didn't trust Sara Douglass (replace 'trust' with 'addict looking for her next fix') and found it well worth the price of admission. Like Thomas' apparently simple choice, there's a lot more going on than is immediately apparent.

The first book The Nameless Day is the hardest to get through, because Thomas has his head firmly lodged up his arse for most of it. He's thoroughly unlikable character, utterly convinced of the sinful nature of mankind (especially women) and his own special status as God's Chosen One. It takes several gut-punches before he starts un-clenching and realises it's not a sin to give a damn about other people.

The Wounded Hawk is where everything really takes off, and Thomas (and the readers) start getting answers about what's really going on. It seems everyone has a secret and an agenda, even Thomas' closest friends. Whether they're scheming for England's throne or a heavenly one (or both), people are doing awful things to fulfill their goals. Yet he also finds grace in the most unlikely places.

Matters rockets to a conclusion in The Crippled Angel which is historical fiction on crack, including

Image by ChristinZakh.
This is not fanart - but it's an
accurate summation of how
everyone's day is going. 

Joan of Arc, sleazy angels, a scheming demon prince, Jesus breaking out of heaven, and an inanimate landmass that takes an extreme dislike to its would-be king. Thomas has done a complete one-eighty from his previous self and is a likable guy who just wants to save mankind. Unfortunately, his enemies have had thousands of years to prepare and have multiple layers of entrapment to ensure he chooses correctly.

This is Sara Douglass at the top of her game. It toys with expectations and there's as much squalor and brutality as there is sex and glory. Anyone with strong feelings about Christianity will definitely be offended by it's take on God and organised religion while historians will be tickled pink by its use of historical figures (though I'm told some events and dates were played fast and loose).

For me, it was a fantastic deconstruction of the politics of religion and helped articulate my own uneasiness about Christianity. The ideas and principles might be sound, just be wary of the people building a power base on them because they'll always have an agenda.

And it was just really nice to see Jesus get a happy ending for once. After two thousand years the guy deserves it.

Liquid Gold by Tansy Rayner Roberts

It's not often sequels can live up to the original. Fortunately for Tansy Rayner Roberts, Liquid Gold is one of them.

Her original novel Splashdance Silver gleefully embraced high fantasy tropes. Liquid Gold does the same, but starts to move ever so slightly into science fiction territory, adding a splash of time travel into the mix. I personally prefer the original, but it's like the difference between Tim-Tams and Maltesers - they're both chocolate so I'm hardly going to bitch about it.

The novel begins with the accidental (or not) death of Kassa Daggersharp. Her motley crew split off in separate directions, Aragorn to contemplate life not magically bound to a crazy pirate wench, Tippet to pursue his career as a bard, and Daggar to follow a scary blonde mercenary that has stolen something of world-destroying significance.

The real backbone of this story is Daggar and his blonde mercenary. She feels like she should be the main character of her own novel (Roberts, if you ever read this, yes that is a request) and has great chemistry with Daggar. As always, snark and banter is where Roberts' characters shine and there's a vast cast of quirky personas to love.

Where the story sags, unexpectedly, is Kassa and Aragorn. Aragorn's storyline has a touch too much angst and Kassa's is a touch too ridiculous. While both elements were always present in Splashdance Silver, Liquid Gold doesn't quite balance them properly. More importantly, the main villain doesn't quite live up to Talle's level of stylish evil, although to be scrupulously fair, no one could match that conniving glossy-haired gem of villainy.

I guess I was just hoping to learn more about Kassa and Talle's mutual grudge, so I can finish my smutty slash fanfic - I mean, um, get answers, about the mysterious grudge between these two fascinating characters. Still, despite the lack of Talle, Liquid Gold is still a fun romp through crazy world I love very much.

"The gods can cope with individual atheists, but they take it personally when they start forming committees."

Daughter of the Forest by Juliet Marillier

So are we still putting women on pedestals now?

I really thought we were past the Madonna/Whore complex, but apparently not. According to Daughter of the Forest, the perfect woman is... well, perfect. She never makes a mistake, never says the wrong thing, she's an accomplished healer by twelve years old, always obeys her moral code to the letter, and suffers in silent martyrdom for the good of her brothers/husband.

And the really, really annoying this is that otherwise, this was a very good book. It was a lovely adaptation of the fairy-tale 'The Seven Swans' with a dreamy sort of mood that conjured up misty, romantic images of pre-Christian Britain. (or possibly Ireland - I was a little unclear on where it was set). The main character, Sorcha, has seven brothers who are cursed by their stepmother to become wild swans and Sorcha must complete a long, painful task to free them. If Sorcha hadn't been so damn perfect, it would have been one of the best books I'd ever read.

In case you're thinking I'm being too hard on Sorcha, think back on all the other books you've read. The most compelling characters were the ones like FitzChivalry of the Farseer Trilogy, who reacted to his social shunning with surliness and anger, and caused as many of his own problems as he solved. Or, if we're going with Australian fantasy, the ones like Axis from Battleaxe, who was an absolute prick but got the job done, usually in a way that ended with bodies on the ground.

In comparison, Sorcha is just boring. She's porridge while Fitz is a rich tender steak and Axis is a spicy curry. And she could have been so very interesting with just a little bit of tweaking. Her brothers all adore her? Okay, make her a little spoiled. She's a prodigy healer? Fine, give her a bit of an ego. Or if she has to have that romance with the foreign leader, then make her kind of a bigot - everyone else is, so it's not like she'll stand out. Otherwise we're just watching someone go through a series of trials from which she learns absolutely nothing because she was perfect to begin with.

Unfortunately, this book was still good enough that I've already read one of the sequels, which has exactly the same problem so I can't excuse it as the author having an off book. Damn her. I'm so confused; I don't know whether to enjoy her books or be furiously annoyed by them. This must be what people who like Twilight feel like.

"I had once told Simon he could make his tale end any way he liked. But this was not strictly true. I set my path straight ahead; but there were others that influenced its course, that diverted and changed and confused it."

The Last T'en by Cory Daniells

I've finally forced myself to start digging into the Bookfest pile next to my bed. Bookfest is a great place to find series that are no longer as popular as they used to be but it's a bit like fossicking for gold (see what I did there?). You can get some real stinkers and some real gems.

The Last T'en is somewhere in between.

I don't like to say 'meh' because that implies the book was bad, and it wasn't. It was just average. It's one of Cory Daniells early series, so as a starting place for a new author it was pretty good. It was easy to read, had some interesting world-building, and presented thorny obstacles for the characters.

The premise is that the cultured island of the T'en has been conquered by General Tulkhan of the brutal Ghebites. The last surviving member of the royal family, Imoshen, must use every tool at her disposal to preserve her people's way of life. She will bind the General to her or die trying.

To be clear; this was a romance. Which means there was a lot of the characters going back and forth on how wildly attractive they found each other, but how inappropriate that attraction was. So if that's your thing you'll enjoy this, but if it's not you won't. For a romance novel, it was positively thoughtful, breaking down the political situation with a surprisingly heard-headed female protagonist who has no issue manipulating the male for survival or political gain. It was no Game of Thrones, but it didn't embarrass itself either.

However, if it's going to be judged as a romance, I have one major criticism. It came dangerously close to having the female protagonist raped by the male, not once, but twice. One of these instances was somewhat justified by him coming from a patriarchal culture in which that behavior was the norm and represented the ultimate gap between their ideologies. One could even say it was inevitable; the brutally logical outcome of these two cultures and these two people with that kind of power imbalance. However the other instance was not necessary to the plot or character development, and came off as a somewhat distasteful attempt to build sexual tension (FYI: rape is not sexy).

That aside, it's an addictive read. I found myself halfway through without realizing it and was annoyed I had to put it down to do something else. Yes, it's kind of trashy, but it's enjoyable and it will keep you entertained for the length of the book. The only major quibble I had with the writing was Daniells' habit of switching point of view without a break in the text. I'd recommend it for older teens and up because it deals fairly explicitly with sex.

Just bear in mind this isn't political fantasy with romantic elements; it's romance fantasy with political elements. How much you enjoy it depends on which end of the scale your preferences lie.

Medalon by Jennifer Fallon

I'm going to say this once, and hope it doesn't get quoted out of context.

There's a right way and a wrong to do incest.

(In fiction, obviously.  I'm pretty certain there's no good way to do it real life.)

The fantasy genre is no stranger to this particular theme, and not just since Game of Thrones. Sara Douglass is infamous for it, Terry Pratchett pulled an ambiguous did-they-or-didn't they in Pryamids, and Glenda Larke tackled it head-on in Heart of the Mirage. They approached it from different angles and different perspectives, but they did so with an awareness that it's a sensitive issue and a controversial topic.

Medalon... I'm going to be really mean here... Medalon was just weird about it.

To give some context, Medalon is based in a world where a corrupt church is in power and oppresses different races and faiths. Two of the main characters, R'shiel and Tarja, are the son and daughter of a high-standing church official. Plot happens, and they discover that R'shiel is not actually the official's daughter, she was just adopted for boring reasons I won't get into. Anyway, what with one thing and another, they run away and start a rebellion because that's how adults handle problems. And during this rebellion, they get cursed by the shittiest love goddess in the multi-verse and decide that despite being raised as siblings they are wildly attracted to one another.

To be fair, this is not entirely different to what happens in the Axis Trilogy or the Mirage Makers. Both trilogies exist in worlds where the ruling class are blessed/cursed (mostly cursed) to only find fulfilling relationships within their own bloodlines. The difference is that these trilogies addressed the inherent issues within this. Characters like Axis and Ligea, who were raised in separate cultures, were revolted by the practice and compromised by finding lovers who were distantly related enough not to freak them out. Characters like Caelum and Zenith played out the full horror of the premise, showing the logical outcome, and it's not awesome.

In comparison, while Medalon attempts to do something similar with the love goddess, it just comes off as a cheap attempt to explain why the two characters suddenly violated such a strong taboo. And don't tell me just because they're not blood-related they're not siblings - there's a lot of adopted people who'd violently disagree. If Medalon was going to go there, particularly in a culture where incest is forbidden, it needed either to show either how screwed up these two characters were that they were okay with it (think Jamie and Cersei Lannister) or the horrible implications of being entrapped into these feelings by a power outside your control (as per Zenith and StarDrifter SunSoar).

As it is, Medalon treats incest as a disposable barrier in it's will-they-or-won't-they romance, and that's not okay. I'm going to hope that the sequels address this issue with more nuance. Otherwise I'm going to be coming back here and ranting some more.

"She had long ago stopped thinking of him as her brother and was envious enough of Mandah to recognise jealousy when she felt it." 

Enchanter by Sara Douglas

And so continues my Sara Douglass obsession. Today I'll be reviewing the second book in the Axis trilogy (or Wayfarer Redemption if you're in America) Enchanter. Note this is the second book in the Axis Trilogy, so there will be SPOILERS.

In my Battleaxe review, I remarked that book was all about subverting expectations. Success depended on the heroine marrying the wrong man, the hero was a first class dick, and the forbidden army had a legitimate grudge. In comparison, Enchanter is easier to predict; its foundations were already set up in the previous book so it takes that traction and goes with it.

Axis, the main character, has finally been reunited with his people and is learning the ways of an Enchanter. However war is swiftly coming to Tencendor, and he will need to act quickly to forge humans and Forbidden into an alliance against the horrific Gorgrael. Meanwhile, Faraday suffers in her marriage, her only joy the secret worship of a pagan goddess. Azhure becomes a warrior, but there are things that don't add up about her, and there will be a bloody reckoning before the end. 

The fun in this book is watching the characters grow into their own. All the potential that was hinted at in the first book is now fulfilled tenfold. If Battleaxe was about them tentatively accepting their role in the Prophecy, then Enchanter is about actively embracing it. It's also where we see them start to sow the seeds of their downfall (some of which won't come to fruition until several books down the line). Many of these are easily foreseeable problems, and are even called out by other characters, but this book functions like the first half of the tragedy, in which the characters' fatal flaws are set up that will be their doom. Axis' arrogance and Faraday's self-sacrifice for example will cost them heavily, but their mistakes makes sense for who they are and how they perceive themselves.

Also enjoyable was the in-depth exploration of the culture of the Avar and the Icarri, which is one of the most fun examples of world-building I've ever encountered. No, they're not perfect; all three races are deeply flawed and secretly convinced they're superior. Some of them have traditions that the others find repellent (I'm not even going to get into the Icarri incest) or bitter history that makes co-existence difficult. But all of it makes their relationships way more interesting than the stagnant perfection of Tolkien's elves or similar.

Readers should keep in mind this book doesn't shy away from the gore - Faraday's husband gets perhaps the worst of it, though other characters don't do so well either. There are also some seriously questionable actions taken to achieve the protagonists' goals. Lets just say that George R. Martin didn't invent morally flexible characters and leave it at that. The characters' taste for the melodramatic can also get tiring at times, but what the heck, it's all part of Douglass' style.

Ultimately this is a good read and a very worthy installation in one of Australia's fantasy classics. It's easy to find, just head to your local bookshop.

"They were both so young and both so sure life would work out exactly as they hoped. Well, already plans and vows lay shattered across the floor. Could they not see that?"

The Art of Arrow Cutting by Stephen Dedman (or six degrees of separation from awesome writers!)

They say everyone in the world is connected to everyone else by six degrees of separation. I discovered how true this was when my mum casually mentioned she'd gone to primary school with a writer, Stephen Dedman.

So I got curious and went hunting on the internet, where I found he'd written quite a bit. I only bought one, The Art of Arrow Cutting, but it was a good read. Well done, mum's school friend. Well done.

The premise is that the main character 'Mage' (yeah, not joking) screws himself over by performing a good deed. He buys a bus ticket for a girl in need and she, in true fairy tale fashion, returns the favor with the gift of a magic key. Not that she tells him it's magic, but he figures it out once people start trying to kill him for it. (Thus the screwing over part.  You'd think a gift card would probably have sufficed.) He sets out to find her and hopefully figure out what the hell is going on.

I was puzzled a bit by it being set in America, as it was the kind of story that could really be set anywhere. Probably trying to expand the target audience. But the contrived coincidence of fantasy that usually annoys me - the right people showing up at the right moment with the right abilities - doesn't apply here. Yes, Mage conveniently gets exactly what he needs at any given time, but it's justified in a way that ties it into the larger plot.

Mage himself is a chivalrous pervert with an extremely slashy vibe with his stuntman friend Takumo, who is the most competent, badass sidekick anyone could ever ask for. Batman would kick Robin to the curb if he saw this guy's moves. Their ally, the down-to-earth lawyer Kelly, is a perfect example of how to include female characters in a male-dominated narrative. She didn't get involved because she couldn't resist Mage's magic dick (although technically, I suppose his dick could be magic) but because of spoilery reasons I won't get into. Basically she had a motivation and a useful role that wasn't love interest. Other writers take note.

The narrative is fast-paced, the action clear and to the point. Lets say I never got bored with this story. Occasionally the characters would blurt out a lot of exposition about mythology that even I couldn't spit out at a moment's notice (and I spent a lot of my childhood in libraries memorising mythology books) but it was always relevant to the plot, with later pay-off. I particularly liked that Mage thought outside the box to come up with surprising but logical ways to utilise his new powers.

I'd recommend this to urban-fantasy readers who want a supernatural mystery. If you like Harry Dresden, you'll enjoy this as well. There is violence and sex, but nothing too gory, so I think it would be appropriate for older teenagers and above. It can be found on Amazon in paperback and the Australian Amazon in electronic form.

And just to be different this week, I'll finish with a great and wise quote from the book:

"Most of us aren't equipped to handle miracles, man. I'm not sure that I am, not without being seriously stoned." - Takumo

Battleaxe by Sara Douglas

Battleaxe is the first book of Sara Douglas' Axis trilogy. It also is - or was - a brilliant innovation in high fantasy.

Prior to this book, my experience of the swords and sorcery genre was very black and white; David Eddings, Robert Jordon, Tolkien. They were all innovative in their own ways, but otherwise stayed true to a certain formula. A great evil looms, idealistic innocent rises to the challenge, and princesses are in need of saving and/or marrying.

In Battleaxe, the characters certainly start off believing they are in this kind of story. Axis, the unacknowledged prince, is charged with escorting his hated half-brother's fiance to her wedding, while rumors spread of the return of the horrifying Forbidden. Very quickly though, appearances prove deceptive. Axis is no innocent idealist but an arrogant, ambitious jerk. The fair maiden, Faraday, cannot avoid disaster by marrying the right man, but the wrong one. The Forbidden turn out to be very different from myth and harboring a very legitimate grudge against humankind.

These types of twists are a dime a dozen nowadays, but back then - at least to me - it was a game changer. The hero doesn't have to be a good guy, grand quests don't always turn out how you want them to, and authority figures that are supposedly good and trustworthy can be lying through their teeth. Add in a sensual immediacy and a dash of gruesome horror, and you have Sara Douglas at her finest.

Battleaxe is definitely for older teens and above. I'm not exaggerating the horror aspect; there's some fairly disturbing violence in this book. The protagonists' extremely questionable morality might also be difficult for children to deal with; adultery and fratricide are discussed in a positive light, while a good deal of the plot revolves around religious and racial genocide.

However, it contains some of the most imaginative world-building I've ever encountered, with the most interesting racial tensions since Legolas and Gimli started sniping at one another. The characters' moral gray makes for intriguing reading, and even when the antagonists slip into two-dimensional villainy, there's a tragically pathetic edge to them that keeps them sympathetic.

Battleaxe can be found on Booktopia, Amazon.com, Book Depository, and just about any bookstore in Australia.

Picnic at Hanging Rock by Joan Lindsay

Funny story - a lot of people think Picnic at Hanging Rock is based on a true story.

I had a horrible moment when I recounted this little fact to a workmate, who was all 'wtf are you on about, of course it is, I'm going to go to Macedon oneday and research it'. Me, being me, was insulted that she would doubt my awesome powers of being right and tried to explain that no, it wasn't. Then she got upset and it occurred to me that I was destroying her power of belief, which all the Christmas specials say never to do, and did some really hasty back-peddling. No, of course it's real. You're absolutely right. Just kidding.

Whew. That was a close one. Now as long as she never goes to Macedon...

This misconception can be squarely blamed on the diabolical genius of Joan Lindsay, who played up the mystery of the novel, refusing to admit one way or another whether it was true. She even wrote a final chapter that resolved the mystery but arranged for it only to be published after her death. That magnificent bitch,

In all seriousness though, Picnic at Hanging Rock's ambiguity is what makes it brilliant. There's a sense of the unfinished about it, of answers frustratingly out of reach. The lack of resolution is haunting, both for the readers and the characters. I'd argue that inability to deal with this was the villain's fatal flaw; they were so used to being absolutely in control, that the sudden lack of control was what sent them sliding down the slippery slope.

Even reality itself is on uncertain footing in this novel. As with Wuthering Heights, the supernatural keeps intruding, the border between life and death uncertain. There's a constant sense of unease, the characters suspecting on some level that the rules and logic they adhere to are an illusion. The final chapter - which can be found on Amazon but also lurks around dark corners of the internet - would elevate it to Lovecraft-style horror if weren't for the sense of wonder. In this book, chaos is beautiful and wondrous, and it's loss is crushing.

Picnic at Hanging Rock is a classic for a reason. In my mind it's the Australian Wuthering Heights, ditching the romance and raising the permeability of its reality to an art form. Its writing is gorgeous and unsettling, and everyone ever should read it. No doubt somewhere in the afterlife Joan Lindsay is smirking at having the best marketing campaign prior the Blair Witch Project.

Threshold by Sara Douglass

If you're reading this blog, you'll work this out sooner rather than later - I am a huge Sara Douglass fan. 

Threshold is a good place to start for newcomers to her work. It's not part of a larger series and gives you an indication of what you can expect, being strong in the elements that Douglass is typically good at, and weak in the areas she typically isn't. 

It's set in Ashbod, a world similar to Egypt about three thousand years ago. The protagonist, Tirzah, is a glassmaker sold into slavery to cover her father's debts. Her talent with 'caging' glass sees her bought by the brutally oppressive Magi who are completing construction on a pyramid called Threshold. This creation demonstrates a terrifying intelligence and only Tirzah's charged relationship with the Magus Boaz may be able to stop it. 

What I love abut this book is the mix of genres. On the one hand you have an epic romance. On the other you have an Eldritch Abomination. And over there is an oppressed culture forced into hiding, social revolution, and a rollicking adventure story with plenty of action. It all weaves together into a riveting tale that doesn't leaving anything feeling forced or tagged on. 

That said, it does amply demonstrate one of my biggest criticisms of Sara Douglass' work. 

While Douglass has created female characters who take a strong hand in determining their own future (Azhure from the Axis Trilogy comes to mind, as does the surprisingly resourceful Ravenna from Darkglass Mountain), many more are simply passive recipients of their fate.( Margaret from The Crucible, Zenith from The Wayfarer Redemption and Maeb from the Devil's Diadem are all indecisive women who rarely fight as their choices are stripped from them.)

This is perhaps an oversimplification - these women all had different circumstances and cultures that rendered them powerless - but they are examples of a trend in Douglass' work which I don't enjoy. 

In Threshold, Tirzah is initially horrified and repulsed by Boaz's interest in her. However, their relationship quickly develops into something uncomfortably close to that old cliche; a bad man turned good by the love of a woman. While I get the feeling that Douglass is attempting to navigate around this trope, she doesn't quite succeed. Whenever Boaz lashes out at Tirzah, it doesn't feel like a deconstruction of 'maybe I can save him!' but another logical step in a horrific relationship where lying, manipulation, death threats and physical abuse are the norm. 

Which, if tackled head on, would actually be pretty interesting. But played as a forbidden romance, it comes off as disturbing. 

Worldbuilding is where Douglass really shines, and her work here is phenomenal. She has captured the dry, oppressive atmosphere of Ashadod and the looming threat of Threshold. Even the places we only catch glimpses of, like Tirzah's homeland Viland and the mysterious Place Beyond, have their own flavour and imagery. The two competing cultures - that of the imposing Magi and the secretive Elementals - are very interesting in their opposing ideologies, and I was only sorry we didn't get to see their clash more thoroughly explored. The source of the Elemental's magic and the 'talking to glass' is very original and though it doesn't have many clearly defined rules or limitations like most magic systems in high fantasy, it fits well into the overall theme of the book, of the organic and natural versus the impersonal and technological. 

Regarding the characters themselves, nearly everyone apart from Boaz and Tirzah, feels slightly two-dimensional. You know immediately upon meeting them what role they are going to play, but they play them so well you just don't care. No one is walking through the motions here; they're deeply passionate in their goals and even when they're making horrible (so horrible!) mistakes they keep you glued to the page. The antagonist, the One, is absolutely terrifying. Very little is known about it, but that is part of the horror. It is a malevolent force that can't be predicted or stopped, and it's own desires and goals are utterly opaque, possibly incomprehensible. It makes the more human villains, the Magi, appear utterly petty in comparison and considering what the Magus Ta'uz does in his first appearance, that takes effort. 

Speaking of Ta'uz, I should warn that Threshold, like all Sara Douglass' work, contains a lot of violence. It is not explicit - there is no blow by blow description of each drop of blood - but a lot of what goes on is very nasty and even children aren't spared. In all honesty this is part of the draw for me, but not everyone will enjoy it. 

Threshold is by no means a perfect book, but it is a hugely entertaining one and the positives outweigh the negatives. It's memorable and it makes me want to re-read it, which I think is a good measure of success. Most bookstores don't keep it in stock, but they can order it in and a Kindle version is available online at Amazon.com. 

Sabriel by Garth Nix

Welcome to Fossick Book Reviews!

To celebrate my first post - and to prepare myself for Garth Nix's new book coming out on the 24th of September - I've decided to review an old favorite of mine; the classic young adult novel Sabriel. Adult readers, don't be frightened off by the 'young adult' label. Sabriel is one of those rare novels that is accessible to teenagers and adults alike.

The story takes place in the Old Kingdom where the outlaw of necromancy is enforced by the Abhorsen, the guardian between life and death. Sabriel, the daughter and heir to the current Abhorsen, is summoned home to assist her father who has become trapped by an ancient evil. She is guided by the ambiguous Moggett and the mysterious Touchstone, each of whom with their own agendas that may or may not align with her own.

In many ways this book is the classic hero's quest; the protagonist is summoned out of the safe non-magical land she grew up in and must journey through a dangerous world to reach her father, developing her skills and knowledge as she goes. However, this relatively simple storyline works perfectly, giving Nix room to expand on the other story elements. He fleshes out a grim world that has its own bleak beauty, with an oppressive atmosphere of ever-present danger. You'll really believe this is a world where the dead can rise and kill you in your sleep.

The character Sabriel is an engaging heroine; uncertain in her experience, but determined to follow through regardless. Her mistakes, when she does make them, are usually based on lack of knowledge and she doesn't waste time angsting over them, just jumps straight to fixing them. This may be a deliberate contrast to Touchstone, who is haunted by a terrible past mistake, and Moggett, who is hinted to have negligible knowledge of regret, if any. The repulsive villain, Kerrigor, is slightly one-dimensional in his drive for power, but this is explitely attributed to the effect of Free Magic and actually works as a reminder of why the Abhorsen's role is necessary.

Teenagers will love this book and adults will enjoy it as well. As it does involve what are essentially zombies there is some violence but it's not over the top gore. Sex is discussed but not explicitly so. While the central theme could be best described as dealing with loss and growing up, this is not a depressing story. It's a thoroughly enjoyable read and ends on quite a hopeful note.

This is still a fairly popular book, so most bookstores should stock it in the young adult section. It's also available online, including Amazon, Booktopia, and Book Depository.