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/

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." 

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."