Novel Review: On A Pale Horse

On a Pale Horse by Piers Anthony
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

The first time I read this book was during high school. At the time I really enjoyed it and went on the read the rest of Anthony's "Incarnations of Immortality" series and I have been a fan of that series ever since.

That was half a lifetime ago, and as the oldest of my children is rapidly approaching her own adolescence I find myself revisiting the literary highlights of my youth in order to provide her with suggestions for her own library.

On a Pale Horse explores some interesting viewpoints on life, death, and the nature of progresstion from one the former to the latter. It does so with a fun adventure, full of vibrant characters and a few moments of tongue-in-cheek satire. It does all this in a rather adolescent, heavy-handed sense of humor and a decidedly "naughty teenage boy" approach to romance and sexuality.

I liked the idea that good and evil are completely separate from wrong and right. And that much of the burden on the soul is put their because of the guilt a person takes on after doing what is right.

The mechanics of the world are interesting, and even though the author presents the ethical dilemma's of the characters a bit ham-fistedly, the overall product is enjoyable, and mostly appropriate for teenage readers, while being naughty enough to remain interesting in a "forbidden fruit" sort of way. His metaphor for cognition using the matchsticks seems a bit jarring throughout the book, and feels like it was forced in there after the fact to explain actions that really didn't need it.

I remember an interview with R. A. Salvatore in which he states (and I'm paraphrasing here) that he wasn't writing books to address all the subtle questions of right and wrong that we face in adulthood, but that his books are to address the bigger ideas that we try to grasp in our youth, and in such a way as to be understandable and interesting to someone of that age group. Anthony accomplishes this here, and my 14-year-old self would probably give On a Pale Horse a full five stars. My married, child-raising, adult self looks at the interactions and says, "Nobody acts like that".

I assign personalities based on the books of theirs I have read. I think Neal Stephenson would probably be condescending but also cool enough about it to be fun to hang out with. Patrick Rothfuss would be great to hang out with, but he's probably too busy today. Piers Anthony comes off as kind of pompous in a way that follows the artiste stereotype. Not that I've ever met the guy, but when his author's note is fully a tenth the size of the book, it comes off as a little full of one's self.

Overall, a good book for the right reader. And a fun series to revisit. Looking forward to joining up with Father Time in book 2.

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Novel Review: The Harsh Cry of the Heron

The Harsh Cry of the Heron by Lian Hearn
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I can see how some readers would be disappointed by this volume in the Tales of the Otori series. I thought that the system of "magic" in the original trilogy felt very organic and well done. When it was expanded and made more central to the plot of THCoTH, it felt heavy-handed and overdone. I did not like the cat spirit possession or the Ghostmaster power that were central to this books plot.

Fans of the Kaede character would also find this book disappointing. Characterized by her strength, leadership, and and devotion to Takeo in the original series, she spends most of THCoTH in the background. Her daughters, unborn at the completion of the original trilogy, are the major female characters here. Kaede emerges in the final act only to further disappoint her fans, and while her actions are central to the denouement of the plot, her actions feel wildly out of character.

However, I give this novel such a high rating for one reason and one reason alone: I am a tragedy junkie. I love tragedies. I love the feeling in the pit of my stomach as everything starts to go wrong for these characters. And this final book the the Tales of the Otori timeline is a tragedy on a grand scale.

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Novel Reviews: Fever Dream by Douglas Preston & Lincoln Child

As a child, I distinctly remember feeling mild sorrow whenever I finished a good book.  I loved the time that I spent with the characters and I wanted to know what happened to them after I had turned the last page.  I would create their new adventures from the whole cloth of my imagination, and live out those adventures with my friends amid the lush backdrop of the Black Hills of South Dakota.  Over time my desire for an ongoing story evolved into a deep love for serial fiction.

I was first introduced to the collaborative works of Preston and Child by my mother-in-law during the early days of my marriage.  I started by reading The Cabinet of Curiosities, which was printed in 2002.  I followed that up by finding the other works these authors have produced and reading as much of it as I could.  Thankfully, the two of them have been quite prolific since the late 90's, producing 15 novels in that time with two more announced.

By far the most captivating character the authors have created is FBI Special Agent Aloysius X. L. Pendergast.  He is very much the American answer to Sherlock Holmes.  He maintains the mannerisms and gentility of the Old-World aristocracy and handily steals every scene.  Imagine Hannibal Lecter was one of the good guys, you'd have a pretty good approximation of the character.  Paramount Pictures owns the character rights to Pendergast, which they included when they optioned Preston & Child's first Pendergast novel, Relic.  Then, in true Hollywood form, they created a terrible adaptation made even worse with the removal of Pendergast's character.

In Fever Dream, Preston and Child's most recent collaboration, Pendergast begins with a shocking realization.  His wife Helen, now dead for twelve years, was murdered.  He enlists the aid of his longtime friend NYPD Lieutenant Vincent D'Agosta and together they travel to Africa to begin compiling clues.  D'Agosta's girlfriend, Captain Laura Hayward, has never been a fan of Pendergast's tactics but gets swept into the investigation as well.

I enjoyed this book immensely.  While some of the details that the authors incorporate into their plots put a strain on my ability to suspend disbelief, I can forgive them due to the fact that the books are just plain fun.  The writing is unpretentious without being condescending.  The action is well paced and the dialogue feels natural. While the plot itself is far-fetched, it doesn't strain at reality as hard as a few of it's predecessors.  It is also the beginning of "The Helen Trilogy" named for Pendergast's wife.  The very idea of a trilogy within a series makes me want to do a little happy dance, and their first attempt at this literary feat ("The Diogenes Trilogy" after Pendergast's brother) was expertly executed.  I feel some very good vibes for the next two volumes along this storyline.

One of the reasons that I love these authors is that they show no signs of quitting.  They have produced a body of quality work with only one notable misfire as far as I'm concerned.  I have plans to read their latest work, Gideon's Sword, despite the fact that Michael Bay (hisss) has already optioned it for a film.  Although as far as Michael Bay (hisss) is concerned, whatever keeps him away from my beloved childhood franchises is fine by me.

Novel Reviews: The Road by Cormac McCarthy

Occasionally I find myself in a literary rut.  The problem is that I am always tempted to reread some of my old favorite novels again and again.  I've worn out copies of Ender's Game and Stranger in a Strange Land.  I love serial fiction and will reread an entire series when something new is released, refreshing what has never truly grown stale.

I know that I must occasionally bring myself to read something new, lest my tastes in literature become as fixed (and arguably stagnant) as my tastes in music.  Luckily I have a few very good friends who recommend authors on a regular basis.  One such friend has been entreating me to read McCarthy for awhile now.  He also compelled me to sample the works of Philip K. Dick and introduced me to the Steampunk genre with Gibson and Sterling's The Difference Engine.  The real irony of the situation is that this friend refers to me as his 'fiction pimp'.

So I set about reading The Road, which had received my friend's highest recommendation among McCarthy's works.  It has also received some lesser accolades, including the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction.  At one point it was named it the best book, fiction or non-fiction, of the past 25 years, albeit by Entertainment Weekly; which is sort of like the Jonas Brothers telling you that your band "really kicks ass."

I've always had a habit of assigning a personality to an author based on that author's works.  Stephen King is the type of fellow who makes interesting conversation but takes forever doing it and tends to drift off before coming to any sort of conclusion.  Neil Gaiman is a combination of Willy Wonka and The Mad Hatter.  Robert Heinlein is a daffy old lecher.  All this occurs in the great shindig of my imagination.  And under this modus operandi, Cormac McCarthy is an insufferable douchebag.

Even though reading his book left me with this unshakable opinion of the man himself, I still found it to be an excellent read, and there's the rub.  It isn't the story or the settings or the characters that I find unpalatable, but the style of writing and the voice of the author himself. He eschews quotation marks and other ordinary punctuation because he doesn't wish to "blot up the page with weird little marks."  And while in the case of The Road the bleak landscape of the page reflects that of the setting, his reason for doing so smacks of condescension.  While such haughtiness is common in successful authors, it made for a bad first impression with this reader.

That being said, the story itself was phenomenal.  It is simply magnificent in its understatement and heart.  The bleak sterility of the world through which "the man" and "the boy" must travel stands in stark contrast to the richness of the relationship between the two of them.  As a father I felt my own obligation to my children reflected in the duty felt by the father in the story.  While there were only a handful of encounters in the storyline itself, they were more than sufficient to complete a wholly satisfying story arc.  My only complaint with the plot was in the resolution, but I am willing to accept that the problem there may be mine.  I find many of my favorite stories have let me down on the last page, but I don't love them any less for it.

What it all boils down to is that this is definitely a worthwhile and challenging read.  Some authors can challenge their readers without appearing pompous, but that doesn't happen here.

On the Last Bastion of Original Storytelling

I'm going to start by talking a  little about my Mother-in-Law.  My M.I.L. and I get along quite well.  I find it sad that the relationship between a husband (or wife) and his in-laws is assumed to be one of conflict. One of the things I love about my mother in law is that, like me, she is a bibliophile.  Not only do we both love to read, but we both love many of the same genres and authors and have enjoyed several of the same titles.  It gives us another connection beyond that of our relationship by marriage.  Our interactions are made easier by the understanding that even if I hadn't married her daughter, we still could have been good friends.

This morning my M.I.L. and I were having breakfast and talking about some of the books we have read.  She asked me a very good question that I will relate to you.  Have you ever looked back and reread any of the books you enjoyed during you adolescence?  If you have then what did you think of them now that you've grown up?

It's been fourteen years since I graduated from high school, and I remember that I was not the bookworm that I am today.  It was during my college years that I was introduced to most of the books that have earned themselves a place in my mind.  A cursory perusal of my bookshelf offered a few titles that were representations of my youth.

I have a few volumes of Robert Aspirin's Myth Adventures series.  I remember first reading these during my salad days of the fifth grade.  I purchased them in recent years for some lighter fare to cleanse my palate between more adult offerings.  Even in my adulthood I found them to be very appealing with their good natured cons, tongue-in-cheek use of puns, and PG-13 prurience.  These books were written for a 10-year-old boy, and will always appeal to that Lost Boy inside me.  As my daughter (a voracious reader like her old man) approaches the same age it is my hope that she will find some amusement in the many dimensions explored by Aahz and Skeeve.

I also see two omnibuses from the fantasy world of Krynn: the annotated Chronicles and the Elven Nations Trilogy.  A good friend of mine suggested that the fantasy pulp novel was the male version of the female's Harlequin romance, which I found to be surprisingly astute.  I'm actually in the process of re-reading the E.N.T. for the first time since high school, and I am finding them to be far less satisfying this time around.  The storyline is more awkwardly paced, the character development more ham-fisted, and the use of deus ex machina more pronounced in resolving the problems.  I find it reminiscent of my own awkwardness during adolescence, and perhaps that is the reason that I connected with it at that time.  I remember rereading the Chronicles a year or so ago, and feeling similar sentiments to a greatly reduced degree, it could have been due to a better quality of writing, or the fact that my Chronicles volume contains notes from the author that provided some level of insight as to the process of creating the series.  Likely it was a combination of the two.

Finally there are a couple of Stephen King novels that I distinctly remember first picking up when I was fifteen or so.  Specifically It and The Stand.  I have reread both of these at least once since my daughter has been born.  What I find unique about King's work is that it elicits many of the same feelings that it did the first time around.  On one hand, there are no new disappointments when reading them as an adult.  There is something universal about his writing that speaks to both young adults and fully grown readers.  Furthermore, because I had read more of King's work when I reread both of these, I had gained a more understanding attitude toward some of the aspects of his writing that I found disappointing the first time around; specifically his difficulty in creating an ending as satisfying as the story that precedes it.  I had become accustomed to his foibles, and I still enjoyed his work in spite of them.

Strangely, none of the required reading of my youth has made it to my personal library, though there are many titles that would like to sample again.  I hope to once again have the chance to run with Cooper's Hawkeye.  I want to witness the struggle for power between Ralph and Jack Merridew.  I am even curious to see if my reading has matured enough to finally figure out what was the big deal about Catherine and Heathcliff's thwarted love.

I also find myself curious about some of the new generation of YA fiction writers that I see my daughter enjoying.  Those authors who are putting out a constant stream of the new order of serial fiction, who owe their entire livelihood to J.K. Rowling.  Some of the worlds they have put together are fascinating.  The Princess just finished the first volume in the 100 Cupboards series.  I hope to read it myself soon and perhaps use this medium to write a co-review that critiques the book from both an 8-year-old's and a 30-something's perspective.

So while some trips down memory lane have been far more rewarding than others, I still find myself with the occasional urge to revisit the worlds in which I once lost myself.  I must work to balance my literary palate and keep up a steady stream of new choices, there are too many great stories out there that I still have yet to read.