Lotus Blue by Cat Sparks

Confession time: I've read a lot of teen fiction. I'm pretty sure by now I could identify it blind-folded and spun in a circle.

And I still have no idea if Lotus Blue is teen fiction or not.

It's a dystopian sci-fi novel by Cat Sparks, which combines the advanced tech and rich world-building of Dune with the post-apocalyptic nightmare of the Max Max movies. It's set in futuristic Australia, after world-wide war has broken civilisation down to chaotic remnants. The main character Star and her sister Nene live as nomadic traders, scraping a dangerous living on the Sand Road. But after a disastrous event, Star discovers a terrible secret and is forced into confrontation with the forces that once shattered humanity.

This is one of those books that straddles the boundary of target audiences. In some ways it's geared toward the teenage girl readership, as as it follows a young woman's voyage of self-discovery.  And while there's a lot death, it never crosses the line into sensationalizing it.

However I'd hesitate to call it teen fiction due to the nasty edge of realism. Decisions have dire consequences and there's no brooding bad boy lurking conveniently in the background to swoop in and save Star. Love triangles are also mercifully lacking. In fact -  interestingly - sexuality is barely alluded to, possibly because the characters have so many other urgent priorities, like not dying. Not-dying is very important to them.

I should also note that Star is much less annoying than your average teen protagonist. Yes, she makes foolish decisions the reader can see coming a mile away. No, she never gets away with it. In fact, her entire character arc is about learning practicality. Bad things happen, some dreams won't come true, not all friends can be relied on, and denial won't change anything.

This development is contrasted with her enemies, who don't grow at all and are arguably responsible for nearly everything that goes wrong due to their inability to perceive anything except what they want to see. The most destructive thing in this world apparently isn't the pure unrelenting malice of rogue AI but the foolishness and willful ignorance of humanity. You don't have to be a moustache-twirling villain to end the world. You just need to be the dumbass that presses the button labelled 'don't press this'.

It's a melancholy outlook, but I liked it. Maybe Star was never going to reach for the sky or be saved by a white knight on a mighty steed, but by the end she could damn well survive whatever horrible trauma life threw at her and keep on trucking (Heh, trucking. That's a little black comedy joke you'll only get after Chapter Two).

Final Verdict: Good. If you're looking for something in the vein of Paolo Bacigalupi's Ship Breaker, I'd definitely recommend this.

"No matter what the Road threw at them, Nene was always

steadfast in her hope. Nene's hope was wearing Star to the bone."

The Osiris Child - Review

Ever watch a movie where you spend most of the runtime bitching about it with your friend? It's not that good, but it's not quite bad enough to walk away from.

And then the last five minutes hit you over the head, and you think; why is this not the start of the movie?! I'd watch the crap out of that movie.

That was my experience of the futuristic 2016 Australian film The Osiris Child, which follows the efforts of military man Kane (Daniel MacPherson) to rescue his daughter during a break-out of genetically engineered monsters.

Now, to be scrupulously fair, there was a lot that this movie did right. It had Temuera Morrison as a depraved prison warden, Isabel Lucas and Luke Ford playing an insane pair of hillbilly siblings, and the practical-effect monsters were a breath of fresh air in Hollywood's sea of CGI creatures. And while I didn't particularly care for Kellan Lutz's character at first, he grew on me and eventually delivered the signature performance of the film.

It was these short bursts of brilliance that kept me watching, even when the confusing time-jumps had me scratching my head.  Particularly when so many of these issues could have been fixed with smoother transition between scenes; for example, having Kane be told about the company's real plans while walking to the hanger deck would have made a neat segway into that mid-air ship-to-ship fight, rather than jumping randomly into the middle of it and leaving the audience to play catch up.

I'm also undecided about the movie's choice to play coy on who the true protagonist was until the very end. On the one hand it was a relief to see a deconstruction of the standard "father on a mission to save his estranged daughter" plot. On the other, a single viewpoint would have streamlined the movie, padding it out where it was needed and trimming the fat where it wasn't. Some scenes, like the opening of Kane teaching Indi to shoot, felt entirely superfluous, as they introduced nothing that couldn't be easily inserted elsewhere.

On reflection, I'm curious to know if this was originally shot as a web-series. It's divided into six chapters or volumes that could be accepted as self-contained stories, and would make some of the transitions easier to accept. However, I can't find anything that confirms this.

All practical effects. 

All of this said... I didn't hate it.

It had the practical effects and twisted thinking that I love about Australian science fiction. Gyp and Bill could have jumped out of Farscape's cast of loony characters and while not perfect, the monsters felt real. Like the titular creatures of Alien or Predator, they were physically present for the actors to interact with. Despite losing some scare factor at the end (you'll see why) my biggest complaint is that we didn't see more of their murderous rampage across planet.

That and why the hell does everyone apart from Temuera Morrison have American accents?!

Final Verdict: Okay. Has some moments of brilliants and a great ending, but confusing transitions and loses points for trying to cater to the overseas market. Australian and Kiwi accents are awesome, people. Own it.

The New Legends of Monkey - Review

If you were an Australian kid in the nineties, chances are you'll know exactly what I mean by Monkey Magic.

The cast of the fondly remembered

1978 original. 

It meant running home from school and parking i
n front of the TV to tune into a weird and wonderful show of magical clouds, women playing men, and lines that never quite synced with the actors' lips. Granted some of the translation decisions were questionable and most of the philosophical concepts went over our heads, but this campy Chinese production remains a warmly nostalgic memory among a certain age group in Australia and New Zealand.

So it was with great trepidation that I tuned into the 2018 Netflix-produced remake The New Legends of Monkey.

It already had a lot to live up to and the accusations of white-washing didn't fill me with confidence. I braced myself for disaster, crushed my expectations and kept one hand on the remote ready to abort.

Luciane Buchanan as Tripitaka.

Episode One was...fine. The CGI was rough in places, but it did a solid job of setting up Tripitaka (Luciane Buchanan) as our point-of-view character. It tipped a nod to the original series' gender-bender casting by telling the story of a young girl posing as a monk. One could even consider it a clever microcosm of the conundrum the modern show faces; having to step in and take the place of a more worthy predecessor (if so, they probably should have skipped that rather crushing "you're no one", but I digress).

Tripitaka is never more lovable than she is in this first episode. While later instalments often force her into the role of joyless moral heart, I adore the clever, resourceful young woman we're initially introduced to. As an orphan alone in the world she's frequently forced into demeaning roles, whether it's being treated as a servant in her own home or forced to work as a browbeaten waitress. Yet she survives where greater heroes fall. She thwarts the demons using guile, quick-thinking and whatever tools happen to fall into her grasp. And no, she's not above deceipt, theft or identity fraud.

Unfortunately, after this episode we meet the rest of the gang, and pretty much everything that's interesting about Tripitaka gets jettisoned in favor of "too good for this sinful Earth".

Chai Hansen as Monkey.

Still, what the writers take away with one hand, they give back with the other, because Episode Two is where we get to know Monkey and Sandy.

Monkey (Chai Hansen) is delightful; a young arrogant goofball of a god who doesn't know half as much as he thinks he does and is none-too-happy at the idea of taking orders from a "little boy monk". Much like the 1978 version, his main flaw is his ego. Yet this version has a vulnerability that the original didn't; less eternal jokester and more playful youth that never had to grow up. Between the self-centered boasting and instant-karma pratfalls, there are fleeting glimpses of a hurt, angry boy unable to understand what went wrong. It's a subtle difference that lends a more sympathetic context to the circumstances of his imprisonment.

Emilie Cocquerel as Sandy.

Sandy (Emilie Cocquerel) also manages to be much more likable this time round, being an entertainingly batty god rather than a former cannibal. And a woman, which could have gone badly if they'd turned her into a manic pixy dream girl (an outdated sexist trope we're all a little tired of), but fortunately they manage to sidestep it with a combination of good writing, acting and direction. If anything, her erratic mannerisms come off as unsettling and a troubling sign of the tragic backstory we'll learn more of down the road.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. I should note that Episode Three was when I realised my hand had moved away from the remote control and I was really getting into the show. My worst fears were proving unfounded. The white-washing I'd dreaded wasn't there (or at least wasn't as bad as I'd been told), the show being set in a world with a richly varied population. Nor was there that sense of confusion that dragged down remakes like Being Human (USA) or Bionic Woman (2007). This was a show that knew exactly what it wanted to be and what to take from the source material to pay homage without being enslaved to it.

Josh Thompson as Pigsy.

Case in point; Pigsy. In the original show, he was a greedy lustful character who saw the error of his ways and joined Monkey on his holy quest. They got a lot of comedy mileage out of his creep-tastic pursuit of women, which was apparently funny back in the seventies. The new show focuses on the same idea of earthly pleasure, only rather having Pigsy (Josh Thompson) chasing after random hapless women, they explore it through his relationship with the powerful Princess Locke. In exchange for him working as her enforcer, she protected him from demons and kept him in a luxurious lifestyle. It's the same idea of personal temptation, except the desire it's coded in is for self-preservation and the simple pleasures to make such a bleak existence bearable. And it's effective. I'm not ashamed to say that Pigsy was far and away my favorite of the new cast. This is a softer, more nuanced version of the character; a closet romantic that hides his marsh-mellow heart beneath a sarcastic, much-needed voice of reason.

My only disappointment was that the show didn't delve deeper with the contrast between him and Sandy. Both of them are gods that suffered under the reign of demons, who made different decisions in order to survive. While Pigsy chose to collaborate, working with the regime in order to avoid the fate of his brethren, Sandy hid herself away and is implied to have gone a little bit (okay a lot) insane in her isolation. That could have made for some very interesting tension, so hopefully that's something they're saving for next season.

(*sigh*) I guess it's time to address my main gripe with the series. Episode Four. I'm going into detail so consider this a general spoiler warning for the next few paragraphs. If you want to avoid spoilers, you can skip down to my thoughts on Episode Five, which start beneath the picture of Milo Cawthorne. (Just as a sidenote: this show is like Power Rangers bingo! I've spotted two already and if I find three, I feel like I should get a prize or something).

Ready? Here we go. *SPOILERS AHEAD*

So just like in the original, Monkey isn't on this quest entirely of his own free will. He's bound to Tripitaka by a magical crown that she can use to cause him pain. Episode Four reminds us of this power imbalance early on with a truly unsettling scene where she uses it during a disagreement over how to fight the demons. Hansen's performance is painfully convincing, displaying various shades of shock, humiliation and betrayal, while Buchanan salvages her character from complete disaster with a subtle flash of horrified remorse.

Admittedly, Tripitaka has used the crown once before, but you could argue that time was a last-ditch, panicked effort to save someone's life. Here, she doesn't have that excuse and it throws an ugly light on their relationship. Can they truly friends if one is holding a whip over the other? How much agency does Monkey truly have? Even if she chooses not to use it, that implied threat is always going to be hovering over his head every time he makes a decision that might contradict hers.

The episode takes these interesting questions and... ignores them completely, buries the issue and coughs up some conclusion about it all being okay because Tripitaka is "pure of heart".

I... I really don't know where to start with that.

At least the actress is of Tongan descent so we avoid the racially charged imagery of a white person benevolently enslaving a man of colour for his own good. Instead we have the uncomfortable sight of one hero inflicting pain on another. Baby steps, right?

I think what we have here is an example of remake missfire. The writers have re-used concepts from the source material, but failed to consider the context. See, this worked in the original because Monkey unambiguously earned his imprisonment. Here, it fails because it's hinted right from the beginning that Monkey wasn't entirely at fault for what he was imprisoned for. There's conflicting versions of what happened and even Tripitaka herself seems undecided on what she believes.

Monkey's way of saying thank you.

Even worse, the show spent a lot of effort setting up the friendship between the two. Practically their first interaction was Monkey laying an exuberant kiss on Tripitaka while she stared in starry-eyed wonder at the culmination of her hopes and dreams. We were encouraged to care about this friendship, so it's distressing beyond words to see one of them hurt the other this way. And even more disgusting to see the show bend over backwards to portray Monkey as in the wrong.

The sad part is it would only take a few minor tweaks to turn this problem into an springboard for character development. For example, Tripitaka is already pretty remorseful at her actions, so don't try to validate her. Let the episode end on an ambiguous note, leaving an open question mark about her ability to live up to the wise monk she replaced. Which would add further dramatic tension down the track and add more personal pressure on her to step up.

The bright light in an otherwise uncomfortable episode:
Milo Cawthorne as Affe. 

But alas. Because the writers went with the easy, feel-good ending, we end up with a deeply uncomfortable aesop that not even the comic genius of Milo Cawthorne can cover up. Fortunately, this episode can be easily skipped, as it's relatively self-contained and contributes very little to the overall storyline.

*END SPOILERS*

Phew! Glad I got that out of my system.

Anyway, If I was having doubts (my hand certainly started to creep back toward that remote control) the show made it up to me in Episode Five, where events takes a deliciously dark turn and we learn where the special effects budget from Episode One went. We meet some fantastic villains, including the menacing Shaman (Daniel Watterson) who has his own plans for our heroes. Some might prefer the idiosyncratic Big Bad revealed toward the end of the season, but for me the stand-out villain was the Shaman who managed to be absurdly charismatic and make my skin want to crawl away and hide in a corner. Add the return of Rachel House and macabre hints about what happened to the other gods, and you've got the best episode of the series.

Daniel Watterson as the Shaman.

This all leads directly into Episode Six, where the hints of Monkey's backstory are expanded on and we learn the events that led to his imprisonment. It's a sordid tale of pride before a fall and personal betrayal, and in any other series would present a chance for personal contemplation and growth.

This is Monkey however, and he's not about to learn a lesson lying down. Which is why we love him. Never change, Monkey!

Sadly, just as Monkey reaffirms his purpose, in Episode Seven Tripitaka starts to seriously doubt her place on the quest. I can't blame her either. Lets face it, if you're being chased through a terrifying forest by faceless monsters, you'd start wondering where you went wrong too.

The real question of the series:

who is Tripitaka?

In all seriousness though, it's cleverly done. Until this point, the audience has known who Tripitaka is. We've gone on this journey with her, we've caught the sly winks at the fourth wall, we've been in on the joke. But here, we start to catch on that we may have been hoodwinked too, that there might be more to her than a wholesome bit of cross-dressing. And so we share her awakening curiosity about her past, and start wondering the same question that haunts her. Who is Tripitaka? I have a few ideas, but I'll save that for another post. (Because apparently I have so much to talk about, I need another post.)

Episode Eight starts with the team breaking up, Tripitaka following her past and Sandy following her, while Monkey and Pigsy continue (rather ineptly) on their quest. It's a nice way to build the connections between team-members other than Tripitaka and Monkey, and gives the slightly neglected Sandy the chance to shine. While Monkey and Pigsy's efforts are comedy gold, they're contrasted and complemented by the gentle melancholy of Tripitaka and Sandy's tentative confidences. Sandy quietly telling the tale of how she came to be alone is the most powerful performance of the series and I'd have thrown the remote away if I hadn't already done it two episodes ago. (What are you looking at? I'm not crying; you're crying.)

"No, no, no. You were a boy monk!"

It all kicks into high gear in Episode Nine, where Tripitaka desperately tries to keep knowledge out of the hands of demons while Monkey and Pigsy plan a rescue. Of course, because this is Monkey and Pigsy, someone else comes up with the plan and they try (mostly) not to screw it up. On the bright side, Monkey finally gets a clue that the monk he's been cozying up to is a girl and breaks his brain trying to figure out how that works.

...Aaand right about here is where I threw in the towel and said "Fine, you win. I ship it. They're adorable and I ship it so hard."

Episode Ten is the finale. I liked that Tripitaka doesn't magically overnight become a fighter, still using her wits and guile to defeat the villain. Monkey contributed less than I expected from the guy whose name is in the title, though it does make a sort of sense, as the most important lesson he's had to learn is that it's not all about him. The only let-down was that Pigsy and Sandy didn't get much to do. Yes, Pigsy got to defeat his ex, but she was never that intimidating a villain to begin with, and Sandy barely got to do anything except sneak around trying to figure out what the others were up to.

However, overall I was satisfied with the conclusion I got. I certainly went back and re-watched it more times than I needed to, and not just to get the screen-captures for this article.

Does it live up to the old series?

No. Absolutely not. The old series had a unique (forgive me I cannot resist the pun) magic. There can never be anything like it again.

But judged on its own merits, this is a pretty good show for adults and a fantastic show for kids. Stylistically and conceptually it has the most in common with the anachronistic ham-and-cheese of Hercules: The Legendary Journeys (1995) and Xena: Warrior Princess (1995). The characters are a delight, bringing their own elements of tragedy and comedy to the table. Even Tripitaka, who the writers forced to suffer as the straight man to the others' antics, proved a resourceful and endearing hero when she was alone. The voice-over could be annoying, but unlike Star Trek Discovery (2017) they had the sense to use it sparingly. And even the less than stellar episodes had something to recommend them. For example, as hard as I bitched about Episode Four, it offered some great slapstick comedy and a cartoonishly entertaining villain.

I would definitely watch a second season and hopefully Netlix supplies us with one soon. The first season is available in Australia for free on ABC iview until the 29th of March 2018, after which I assume it will start running on Netflix.

Final Verdict:  Awesome, with only one serious instance of remake misfire. Kids will adore it, adults will enjoy it. My only regret is that I can't time-travel and make my kid-self watch it.

Quote:

"I'll do as I please, not what others tell me to do.
I only take orders from gods and even then, only if I think it's a good idea."

The Dark Griffin by KJ Taylor

The theme of racism has been around a long time in fantasy. It was there when Lord of the Rings set the stage for the genre and has been explored again and again by its successors in various guises.

Few, however, tackle it with such depressing accuracy as KJ Taylor's The Dark Griffin.

The main character Arren is what's called a blackrobe; a derogatory term for a race of enslaved humans. He's unusually lucky because he's also the chosen companion of a Griffin, which makes him aristocracy despite his origins. For someone like him, he's at the best place he could possibly be. So naturally, after a terrible accident, there is nowhere to go but down.

I'll be honest - this was a tough read for me. It holds no punches, exploring  how poisonous internalized racism is and how bigotry becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. Several times I had to put the book down and go look at a sunset or watch cat videos.

I think what made it worse is that there's no traditional villain. Everyone is simply doing what they believe is best. It's like a Greek tragedy, except that the fatal flaw doesn't lie within the protagonists but the culture around them. Nor are these problems treated as a purely human failing, which would have been an easy out for the author to take. The Griffins are entirely complicit in this system.

It's a different twist on Mercedes Lackey's Valdemar series, where rulership is restricted to partnerships with mystical bond animals. But unlike the Heralds' Companions, the Griffins do not come with an omniscient morality licence and choose their partners for reasons just as noble or petty or biased as any human. Which works out exactly as well as you'd expect in the long run.

If you don't mind bleak tragedy, The Dark Griffin makes for a pretty interesting read. Taylor dives head-first into a heavy topic and for the most part she handles it well. Her Achilles heel is characterization, particularly in regards to Arren who remains something of a cipher despite him being the main protagonist. We never get much of a sense of his personality or disposition, outside his desperation to reclaim his old status.

Of course, as the first book in a trilogy, there's still plenty of room for growth.

Final Verdict: Good. With a better developed protagonist I'd have said Awesome.

"And places like this are shrinking. Humans always want more land. Soon there will be nowhere left for you or your kind."

Treason Keep by Jennifer Fallon

I've been pretty harsh to Medalon in the past. Mostly due to the handling of the incest plotline (I don't care if you're not genetically related, if you're raised together you're still siblings and it's still weird).

However, I have misjudged other authors on one bad book, so this year I decided to give Fallon a second chance and picked up the sequel Treason Keep at Bookfest. 

And I'm glad I did. While Treason Keep won't ever be in my top-ten list, I was absolutely smitten with one new character.

Princess Arina.

She's royalty from an oceanic culture reluctantly married off to a foreign zealot prince. Finding herself trapped in a very delicate political position, she must fight to maintain her autonomy during a time of war and murderous politics. Unfortunately there's no shortage of interested parties who wish to exploit her. 

What I like about Arina is that she's filled with contradictions: she's a spoilt brat, but sharply intelligent. She's sheltered, but politically astute. Manipulative, but emotionally vulnerable. All of these things describe her, yet none of them encompasses her fully. She's that rare gem; a well rounded character. If you ever read Liveship Traders and was even passingly fond of Malta, you will love Arina.

The other characters and storylines, I could take or leave. I'm not even remotely invested in R'shiel, and I keep mixing up Tarja and Brak. Every time they're onscreen (onpage?) I found myself desperately bored until Arina came back.

While I still can't recommend Meladon on its own merits, I will recommend it as backstory to Treason Keep which I do recommend wholeheartedly. If I don't see more of Arina in the next book, I will be severely disappointed.

Final Verdict: Good. Has a way to go before I'd call it awesome, but Arina represents a big step in the right direction.

"I know the gods exist, whether I believe them 
worth worshiping is an entirely different matter."

Nevernight by Jay Kristoff

If you like amoral assassins, boarding schools from hell and more snark than you can poke a stick at, oh boy do I have the book for you.

Nevernight by Jay Kristoff is that rare, perfect blend of genres. It's as if someone lifted the School for Assassins out of Discworld, added a generous scoop of Locke Lamora, and just a sprinkling of David Eddings. (Look, there's a reason I don't write recipe books.)

The main protagonist is new initiate Mia Corvere at an infamous school for assassins. Not only are the lessons actively trying to kill her, but there's a limited number of graduate positions, meaning competition between students is insanely (read: fatally) high. On the plus side, if she survives, she's got steady career prospects in a high growth industry.

With Pratchett-style footnotes and snide undercuts of dramatic moments, Nightshade is a thoroughly entertaining read. However - and all credit to Jay Kristoff here - he never crosses the line into parody. The stakes remain high and the threats remain real. Rather than downplaying the danger, the humour serves to humanise the characters and stave off darkness-induced-apathy.

In fact, it's the characters who can't laugh at themselves who are the least sympathetic. Mia might be a budding killer with demonic powers and an ax to grind, but her bodycount is a drop in the ocean compared to the respectable citizens who run her world. They consider themselves perfectly righteous and will defend their dignity to the death, which makes them more dangerous than any number of poisons, blades or magic spells.

It's hard work making a murder-school look morally superior, but Kristoff pulls it off. He balances the pathos and laughs beautifully, and Mia comes off as fairly sympathetic despite her proclivity for stabbing people. If you're missing Arya Stark something chronic, Mia will fill the void nicely until the next episode of Game of Thrones.

Final Verdict: Awesome. Can't wait for the sequel.

"Whether any of this is true, of course, remains a matter of drunken speculation on the decks of various pork ships. What is true, is that after learning from Mercutio what exactly went on at the Porkery at age thirteen, a young Mia Corvere swore off eating ham for the rest of her life." 

Who's Afraid by Maria Lewis

Maria Lewis has a new book out, which makes it a good time to go back to her first urban fantasy novel Who's Afraid.

The protagonist Tommi is a young woman seeking out her birth family in New Zealand, only to stumble across a world-shattering secret. (Spoiler alert: she's a werewolf). Said family reunion does not go well and now she must fight to defend herself and her loved ones.

There's a lot that's good about this book. Its premise is similar to Kelly Armstrong's Otherworld series - young woman undergoes traumatic initiation to the supernatural community - but it approaches the subject matter in its own unique way. Sometimes I'd argue a better way. For example, when your family knocks you out and locks you in a cage, it's not for your own good. They're just assholes.

However the book is undermined by its jarring tones. Tommi's light breezy narrative clashes with the trauma she undergoes, and not in a 'bad things happen to good people' kind of way. More as if it can't decide what kind of story it wants to tell. Halfway through a riveting tale of abduction and escape, the book takes a sharp  turn into paranormal romance.

To be clear, there's nothing wrong with paranormal romance. Nor is there anything wrong with dark and deconstructive. In this instance, the combination just doesn't work well together.

It's hard to care about Tommi's forbidden relationship with the mysterious Lorcan when the first half of the book worked so hard to set up her conflict with her family. Lorcan works perfectly well as a mentor figure and exposition-giver. But as a love interest, he offers nothing I haven't see a hundred times already and - if I'm being completely honest - comes off as kind of skeevy, given what Tommi just went through.

Finally, I found the presentation of Maori culture problematic, similar to Stephanie Meyer's appropriation of Quileute beliefs. For a more indepth outline, see this article which articulates it far better than I ever could.

There's a good story in Who's Afraid, about a vicious fight for survival and families of choice versus blood. Unfortunately it focuses on the least interesting aspect, making it a rather frustrating read. I may get round to the sequel eventually, but I'm not exactly panting for it.

Final Verdict: Okay. Has good stuff, but I'd like it better if it could follow through on the grittiness of its premise.

"I screamed, and not with fear this time, with pure exhileration. It took me a second to realise I wasn't screaming at all. Following me down into the unknown was a piercing howl."

The Changeling Detective by Phillip Berrie

If you're looking for something short and sweet in urban fantasy, The Changeling Detective by Phillip Berrie might be just up your alley.

It starts off seemingly grounded in science fiction, with a private detective John who is a shapeshifter and - as far as he knows - the only one of his kind. When a seemingly harmless job takes a murderous turn, he must use all his abilities to survive.

This novella bolts out of the gate and never slows down. Whether it's an overzealous bodyguard or corrupt cops, there always seems to be someone in John's face. It reminded me of Harry Dresden how the character keeps ricocheting from disaster to disaster, accumulating a truly astounding number of damage points. This kept the pages turning even when the characters weren't particularly deep or complex.

Which, unfortunately, leads into the story's biggest weakness for me. Despite being an interesting premise, John is a rather blandly heroic character, never giving the reader any real sense of what he wants beyond the short-term. Events happen, he responds, and by the end of the book he hasn't grown or changed in any significant way. Even his female love interest/sidekick Ruth is more developed because she at least has a goal she works toward.

It's a shame, because there's several interesting directions he could have gone. Had his amoral traits been more emphasized and his goal been to return to his life as he likes it (drinking, spying on people, sleeping with hot bartenders...) that would have given him a place to grow from. In fact, the horror of his potential future could have been a real wake-up call as he was confronted what he could become.

Or if the entire point is that his moral code is not changed by his origins, Berrie could have pushed the tragedy and isolation of John's life a lot more. The material is there already. There's no one John can be truly honest with and his identification with X-Men comics suggests that he too feels like an outcast. And that in turn would have given more weight to his attachment to Ruth.

On a more positive note, the villain was excellent. Newman is a disturbingly unpredictable antagonist. Swinging between wanton cruelty and cold practicality, his goals remain opaquely inhuman for most of the book. I was utterly invested in the characters' efforts to escape him, as I'd be running like hell if he were after me too.

There wasn't much in the way of world-building, but that worked in this instance as half the tension comes from not understanding is going on. The book ends on a cautiously optimistic note, leaving just enough threads dangling for a sequel.

Final Score: Good. I'd have liked it to be longer, but as a tasty introduction to a series it does exactly what it's supposed to. You can also check out the author's website here for free samples of his other work.

"I felt like an actor who'd missed an important rehearsal; 

someone had definitely changed the script on me."

The Broken Well Trilogy by Sam Bowring

What's there to say about Sam Bowring's Broken Well trilogy?

'Go and read it!' is a start. However, since that would make a pretty short review, I'll try and go into more detail.

Think of the Broken Well like "reverse Star Wars".

At first glance, these two works appear to follow the same rules - and not just because Star Wars is high fantasy set in space. Both have a literal black-and-white religion where you're either following the pretty gods of light (the 'light' side) and are good, or you're following the dark creepy gods (ie, the dark side) and are unrepentantly evil. No backsies, no do-overs, do not pass go or collect $200.

If you didn't know this was high

fantasy, clearly you need to go 
back and watch again.

They also revolve around a prophesied Chosen One that will decide the battle between light and dark... blah blah savior... blah blah destiny. You know the drill. Literally fifty percent of fantasy has this premise.

The Anakin Skywalker stand-in of Bowring's universe is a blue-haired infant born on neutral ground. Upon discovering this, the light side does the obvious ethical thing and sends agents to protect the family from the machinations of the-

- Holy crap, did they just steal a baby?! 

Yep, they totally just stole a baby. While fighting darksiders with the same idea. And just to rub in that light emphatically does NOT equal good, they also had a magical tug of war. Using the baby.

Fortunately, this being a magical tug of war, instead of a splatter of gooey insides we get two whole infants, each with a separate aspect of the original kid's personality. Losara is stolen by the "bad guys" while Bel is stolen by the "good guys". So within the first chapter, we have a protagonist literally torn between light and dark.

And more importantly, we learn that everything I just told you is a lie. Nothing in this world is as
simple as it looks. Dark and light have nothing to do with morality, faith is a poor replacement for strategy, and no one's hands are clean in war.

Sadly, the old 'beard or no-beard' test has proved unreliable.

Remember this because it's the overarching theme of the trilogy.

That's great, you may be thinking, but what does that have to do with Star Wars? This isn't the first fantasy novel to challenge black-and-white coded morality (Sara Douglass and Ann Bishop are two of a few million examples). So lets look at the protagonists.

Our light-sided warrior Bel has a lot in common with Anakin Skywalker. He's a magnificent fighter, ruled by his passions, and romantically devoted to a woman he has nothing in common with. And just as Anakin has a bad habit of dismissing any opposition as "evil", Bel blindly assumes that everything dark is an abomination.

Yet this is just a symptom of a deeper problem. Bel, by his own admission, possesses no higher convictions or ideals. He couldn't tell you specifically why the light is better, because deep down, he doesn't care what side he fights on. The only reason he fights for the light is sheer chance. Had he been stolen by the dark, he'd have fought just as passionately for them.

The one on the left has blue hair.

That's how you tell them apart.

Anakin also had a dim understanding of what he was fighting for (recall his arguments for dictatorship during that schmaltzy romance scene in the meadow) and was only committed to the Jedi insofar as they didn't stand in the way of getting what he wanted. He had zero problems lying to them or violating their rules, and the moment they became an obstacle, he turned on them.

So what does this mean? Aside from Bel's idiocies being a bit more justified than Anakin's?

Well... maybe it's a pointed commentary on what happens when you demonise your enemies.

See, both Anakin and Bel were born balanced between light and dark. Bel was initially unified with Losara. Anakin was told his purpose was not to fight for either side, but to keep both sides in check (see the brilliant Mortis arc of The Clone Wars cartoon series). However, they were both recognised as Chosen Ones and taken to be raised by the light, which is where things go wrong.

Both children were taught a very simple life philosophy: light is good, dark is bad. Losara was a "dark worm" that Bel is better off without, and Anakin's ordinary human emotions (fear, anger, love) must be purged. Understandable when you're raising the Chosen One, and you don't want him having doubts at a critical juncture. Yet utterly inadequate when dealing with real-world situations.

And predictably enough, when dealing with the complexities of adulthood, these simple codes completely fail them. Neither youth has any idea how to deal with a situation that's not black and white. Bel throws a tantrum when his girlfriend and father are (justifiably) arrested for committing crimes, while Anakin falls to pieces when he believes his wife is going to die and the Jedi either can't or won't help. And before you say anything, Vader isn't any better. He's simply Anakin adjusting his moral code to suit himself; if the Sith can help him, then the Sith are good and the Jedi are bad. He just swings from one kind of extremism to another.

It's only in Losara that we see any kind of balance, and that's only because he has an advantage the others don't. Unclouded, unbiased logic.

The dark sorcerer who performs human sacrifice and
political assassination...and is the only guy 
who seems to know what he's doing. 

See, because Bel got all the passion, Losara is physically incapable of reacting with strong emotion. This lack means he immediately sees the contradiction between what he's told and what he's observed. He can't hate or fear, so he alone can see both sides for what they truly are. And while that doesn't stop him from doing what he must (seriously he does some scary shit), he's also the only person who makes any effort to avoid the war.

Perhaps the scene that best encapsulates Losara is his meeting with the dark gods. They demand that he serves them first, over and above even his people. He considers this - bearing in mind he is physically in front of the gods at this time - and replies "I'll serve you as well". Not an outright rejection, but an offer of compromise. Later he even suggests to Bel that they withdraw to their respective lands and ignore the prophecy.

That's Losara in a nutshell. Balance. Compromise. Coexistence.

Of course he'll murder your allies in an unholy ceremony and unleash an unkillable monster on your army if you insist on war. But the point is, he gave you an out. It's not his fault you didn't take it.

On the one hand this could imply the Jedi were right - lack of emotion is the way to go - but actually shows how wrong they were. Rejecting and demonising an entire aspect of one's self, religion, or country leads to ruin. The Jedi and Sith have been fighting the same war for millennia, in the same vicious cycle of retribution and counter-retribution. Bel and Losara's gods didn't do themselves any favours when they parted ways; they just made it possible to destroy each other.

Losara and Bel eventually both acknowledge this, that neither of them are whole and that a great wrong was done to them. Whatever you think of the ending (which I won't go into detail on) it's at least suggested that the cycle of violence has been broken. Whereas Luke Skywalker, who won by utterly rejecting the dark side, saw the same cycle start up again a few years down the road in Force Awakens.... Man, this article gone in a depressing direction.

Anyway, this leaves just one last question.

Is there a second version of Anakin Skywalker running around the Star Wars universe, maybe trying to fix everything his double broke?

Someone who encapsulates everything Anakin is not. Someone utterly brilliant, devious and genre savvy. Someone immune to manipulation and strategically unparalleled -

Holy crap. It's Admiral Thrawn.

Admit it. It's all starting to make sense now.

Goldenhand by Garth Nix

The Superman of the Old Kingdom. 
Awesome powers. Maybe a little bland?

Garth Nix's latest book Goldenhand is difficult to review.

On the one hand, it has well-rounded characters, expands on the world-building of the Old Kingdom series, and ties up loose ends from previous books. I feel comfortable recommending it, both as a book and as appropriate reading material for teenagers.

However because its predecessors were so incredible, it suffers by comparison. Sabriel was a brilliant immersion into a dark world, Lirael was about living up to the demands of legacy, and Clariel was the tragedy of a young woman crushed by an unsympathetic culture. Whereas it's hard to say with Goldenhand because it never settles on any particular theme.

It has two storylines running side by side; Nick and Lirael's quest to understand Nick's abnormal magic, and new character Ferin's desperate journey to deliver a message to the Abhorsen. Both are good stories in their own right. Nick and Lirael's awkward romance was an entertaining exploration of two cultures while Ferin's quest was an intense race for time. But their different themes never quite form a coherent whole, leaving the book with a haphazard feeling. As much as I hate to say it, Lirael's storyline should have been shelved for a later installation and the focus shifted entirely to newcomer Ferin.

Why Ferin you ask? Because she has two things Lirael doesn't.

No powers. Totally kickass.
Basically the Batman
of the Old Kingdom Series.

First, she offers a perspective we've never seen before. Her culture uses Free Magic rather than Charter and Ferin herself is not magical in any way. She's not a Seer or Builder or Abhorsen, just superbly well-trained in survival. Which makes her job that much harder when she's trying to deliver a message to her sworn enemy...in a land where the dead walk...while wounded...being pursued by a relentless enemy...and she does it all without a single solitary second of angst! That's a thousand times more exciting than Lirael and Nick's stilted courtship.

Secondly, Ferin is a foil to the villain. Like Clorr's former self, she was forced into a role she didn't want and that would ultimately have destroyed her. Given Clorr's hand in her suffering, there's also an underlying theme of cyclical abuse just waiting to be tapped. A showdown between the two of them would have carried so much emotional weight - far more than Lireal's vague, well-meaning sympathy.

As much as I love Lirael, this story should have belonged to Ferin. It would just be admitting what's already apparent, because Ferin completely steals the show. She's a fantastic character that could easily carry her own book and hopefully will get the chance oneday.

Regarding the villain Clorr, I don't entirely approve of the series' handling of her (making the only asexual a tragic villain is supremely dodgy) but I'm saving it for another day because I only have so much time to commit to this post. Suffice to say, I appreciate that she was such a well-rounded character, but felt Nix unintentionally fell back on unpleasant storytelling tropes.

I guess my feelings for Goldenhand are the same; I'm of two minds. While its various elements never quite gel together satisfactorily, each element on its own is excellent. Had the book focused on a single story-line and character, I'd be rating it much higher. As is, I recommend Goldenhand purely for fans of the original series. Which is everyone, right?

Shattered Court by MJ Scott

The light, fluffy book somehow more
pessimistic about gender roles than the high
octane nightmare fuel that is Dark Jewels. 

My latest library jaunt brought me Shattered Court, a high fantasy love story by Melbourne writer MJ Scott. This book was a pleasant surprise for me. Despite being heavy on the romance - and you know my feelings on romance - it had some interesting ideas.

It follows the adventures of Lady Sophia Kendall, a royal witch on the verge of inheriting the hereditary magic that will determine her future. However an unforeseen calamity sends her life off-course and her unnatural power makes her an unwilling pawn in court politics. With the help of royal guard Cameron Mackenzie she must navigate the dangerous undercurrents of royalty and religion.

Although much lighter and fluffier, Shattered Court has a lot in common with Anne Bishop's Dark Jewels series. Both depict cultures centred around women whose magic performs a vital function. In Dark Jewels a female-only caste called queens have the ability to rejuvenate the land, while in Shattered Court royal witches commit their magic to the protection of the land. But the conclusions each writer reaches are different.

Where queens enjoy nearly unchallenged dominance, royal witches can't even decide who they marry. In fact their magic makes them akin to valuable livestock, traded off to increase the status of whatever noble is currently in favor. Given the fact they once were very powerful, you can make a pretty good case for MJ Scott depicting the logical outcome of a society like Dark Jewels.

However, on closer inspection a key difference between the two roles emerges: the element of choice.

Given Anglion's situation, maybe this is why 
the Blood are so gung-ho about preserving 
female power?

Whatever other issues I may have with the Dark Jewels, it's fair to say that the characters have a fair range of options. Being born into a queen doesn't mean you have to perform the duties of one. There's even some leeway with gender roles, as women can serve in courts and men can rule in certain circumstances.

Contrast that to Shattered Court, where royal witches have no choice at all in their duties. They undergo a ritual to bind their magic the minute they turn eighteen, information is edited to hide the ritual's true significance, and the binding itself is permanent. Unlike queens, who are only temporarily inconvenienced by rejuvenating the land, it's implied that royal witches never regain their full strength.

Given this difference, Shattered Court isn't so much a deconstruction of Dark Jewels as a 'for want of a nail'. The point is that while the abilities of a certain class might be valuable, that alone won't ensure they're valued as people. You also have to ensure informed consent in the performance of those abilities. To go for the obvious real-life connection, childbirth is an essential female-specific role but women haven't always had control over the process.

Maybe I'm over-analyzing (fine, definitely over-analyzing), but the world-building kept me reading long past my usual threshold for romance. It was a very easy read and the characters were likable. I was particularly intrigued by the Princess Eloisa who played her cards very close to the chest, making it impossible to tell if she was an ally or an enemy. Personally I hope she arranged everything, because that would make her a master manipulator on the level of Nick Fury.

Shattered Court might appear like harmless fluff, but it's smarter than it seems, and doesn't outstay its welcome. It ends on the perfect note to leave you hungry for more.

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.

Spin Out - movie review

It's not fantasy - at least no more than your standard romantic comedy :-) - but here is my review of

the recent Aussie release Spin Out. 

http://www.thereelword.net/spin-out-movie-review/

Sisters of Fire by Kim Wilkins

Last year I reviewed Daughters of the Storm, a compelling fusion of high fantasy and high tragedy by Kim Wilkins where there were no clear-cut heroes or villains. (I may or may not have been gushing like a giddy schoolgirl.)

So I'm very happy to report that Sisters of Fire is a worthy sequel, following the fallout of the characters' choices. Bluebell hunts down a magic sword rumored to bring about her death, Ivy takes desperate measures in an unhappy marriage, Rose struggles to save her daughter from an insidious threat, Willow follows the path of her religion, and Ash seeks to prevent a terrible future.

Given Ash's adventures it would be easy to argue the book is about the inevitability of fate and being doomed by our inherent failings. However that overlooks the characters' growth (or lack thereof) and how they respond to the consequences of their actions. At least one sister has learned from her mistakes, takes care not to repeat them, and earns a reasonably happy outcome. Another sister seems intent on repeating her past on an even more disastrous scale, and another seems tragically incapable of change.

Apparently the moral of the story is that fate can be challenged so long as we learn from our past and don't go repeating the same cycle. (Which was why a lot of of my time was spent going "Oh Ivy, no".)

Bluebell isn't quite as bad as her sister, but still isn't much better. She remains the same fascinatingly complex character that's a mix of both selfish and selfless. On the one hand, everything she does is with the good of the kingdom in mind. On the other, she demands sacrifices from others that she herself refuses to make, such as selling her sisters into unhappy marriages while ignoring her father's request she marry to produce an heir. This contradiction makes her the most compelling character of the series.

She's also one of the best written female warriors I've ever encountered in high fantasy. Many similar characters occupy a position of resistance, where they must earn the respect of the men around them (Eowyn, Brienne of Tarth, Alanna of Trebond, Princess Cassandra...I could go on) but Bluebell doesn't earn respect, she expects it. In fact, she encompasses many traits traditionally associated with men, including brutal practicality, single mindedness and a certain lack of empathy toward others. And none of this makes her a villain, just a person with flaws.

Speaking of villains, I won't name any names, but I found their evolution equally interesting. The lengths of their self-deception was a little frightening, as was their expanding influence. It was difficult, however, not to sympathise with someone so clearly insane. A lot of pain and death could have been averted by access to a good counselor and prescription medication.

Unless of course their delusions aren't delusions, in which case I'm terrified for the next book.

"Bluebell didn't like the idea of magic; she didn't like anything she couldn't see and smash."