Lucifer's Shadow, edited by Philippe Boule (White Wolf, 2002)

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As Los Angeles burns, a most ancient enemy makes his presence known once more. The Gates of Hell have cracked wide open, releasing fallen angels twisted by millennia of torment and anguish into demons. Now the world shudders, as conflicts new and old are ignited, sparked by the fires of a city and the darkest depths of our souls.

Lucifer’s Shadow is an anthology of short stories based on White Wolf Games’ upcoming release, Demon: The Fallen, a role-playing game in which players actually take on the personas of demons inhabiting mortal bodies. The only way these demons can remain on Earth is by drawing from the spiritual energy of the humans, and by stealing the bodies of those people whose souls have become too weak to resist. Thus, clad in mortal flesh, but gifted with divine/profane powers, the demons go about their business. Some seek redemption, hoping to be allowed back into Heaven. Some wish to create a paradise on Earth. Some wish to rule the mortals, and some want to resume the Great War and defeat the hosts of Heaven once and for all. They almost all have one thing in common: the desire to find Lucifer, the Morningstar, their former leader and inspiration, who has been missing for ten thousand years. For Lucifer never appeared in Hell, its gates shut to him as well, and only he knows why. But in a moment of anger, he has manifested himself in Los Angeles, and changed the world forever.

White Wolf has created a name for itself as one of the major game studios, primarily focused upon the role of the monster in modern society and its influence through history. So far, its core game systems have focused upon vampires, werewolves, magicians, ghosts, fairies, and even monster hunters. Demon: The Fallen appears to be one of its most audacious attempts to date, as it brings the mythos of Heaven and Hell, and the Morningstar himself, into what the creators call the World of Darkness. In short: The World of Darkness is just like ours. That is, if supernatural creatures stalked the night, and everything was just a bit nastier, more hopeless, and bleaker than it is for real. However, for all that, White Wolf has generally shied away from any direct involvement with the Christian belief system; they’ve established the existence of various deities and spirits in a hierarchal otherworldly sense, but the closest they’ve come to handling something as “mainstream” as God has been to portray the very first vampire as Caine, the first murderer. So it’ll be interesting to see how well this goes over with the public. But I digress.

Lucifer’s Shadow, due to be released several weeks after the actual core rulebook, contains ten stories that help to flesh out the world of Demon: The Fallen, examining the motives and lives and conflicts of these beings in some detail. Tightly-written so as to mesh with the game, the anthology has done something relatively rare for me: it’s made me excited about game-inspired fiction.

Let me elaborate, briefly. There’s no shortage of fiction based on role-playing games. TSR and its inheritor, Wizards of the Coast, have churned out hundreds of books based on the various Dragonlance, Forgotten Realms, and AD&D settings. Warhammer has enjoyed a new fictional popularity of late. And White Wolf has always encouraged a strong relationship between its fiction lines and its game metaplots (the overarching plotlines that run through entire series, or across game systems). But the results can sometimes be … mixed. If the book leans too far to one side, it loses that familiarity with the system. An earlier White Wolf anthology, Splendour Falls (the anthology for their Changeling: The Dreaming system) featured some lovely stories, but many bore little resemblance to the game they represented. If the book leans too far to the other side, it becomes little more than a transcribed gaming session, complete with dice rolls and “kewl powerz.” The trick is to make it a full-fledged story set in the gaming system without losing the flavor.

Thankfully, Lucifer’s Shadow has hit the nail on the head. The stories manage to achieve that delicate blend of game and fiction. I suppose it helps that one author is the primary developer for the game, another is the copy editor, another is a developer for a different White Wolf game line, and four of the remaining either write for White Wolf or have worked with gaming fiction in the past. Keeping things in-house has apparently resulted in a much tighter, better-planned vision. I’d say “Thank God” if I didn’t think some of the protagonists in these stories would object.

The stories themselves are a mixed bunch, but I can honestly say none disappointed. On the contrary, they left me with an appetite for more of the same, wanting a greater insight into this setting, and eagerly anticipating the release of the game so I can see for myself how close they came to invoking the right atmosphere.

Michael B. Lee, developer for Demon: The Fallen, turns in the opening story, “Midnight In The Garden,” notable for lighting the match which sets the whole thing off. It’s the literary equivalent of smashing the champagne bottle against the hull to launch a ship. The other stories focus upon various demons as they go about their lives in the wake of the changes wrought in Los Angeles. Some are seeking their former leader, either to gain answers regarding his long absence, or to use him as a figurehead to resume their age-old war. Some have more personal goals in mind. For instance, the demon inhabiting the body of a German policeman, who’s asked to investigate the mysterious identity of the body one of his brethren is wearing. Or the one who has to decide between the love of a mortal man, or her own rediscovered destiny. Or the one doing a favor and searching for a missing teen in the chaos of the city. Or the one who wants only to protect “his” neighborhood.

These demons aren’t all evil. Rather, they’re presented as what they really are: angels, fallen or expelled from Heaven, twisted and changed over the millennia. Some have managed to overcome their base instincts, trying to redeem themselves. None are solely good or solely bad; rather, they’ve been tainted and influenced by the shells of mortality they wear, and by the emotions they experience. They plot and scheme, fight and kill, but they also protect and defend, help and champion the mortals they once went to war over. They bring a fascinating gray morality and a complex sense of ethics to what very well could have been an over-the-top setting. In short, Demon: The Fallen could have been a train wreck, but instead, it’s revealed to be something much more interesting and worthwhile. It’s impossible to look at Lucifer’s Shadow without considering the game it’s based on, but based on what I’ve seen, I think the game may do very well (assuming, of course, the militant religious elements don’t freak out like they’ve done over Vampire: The Masquerade in the past).

I went into this expecting a mixture of good and bad, and the results were a pleasant surprise. It certainly won’t be for everyone, but Lucifer’s Shadow has managed to overcome some significant odds to be an anthology worth reading on its own, whether you play the game or not. And certainly, the subject matter is no worse or extreme than Mike Resnick’s anthology Deals With The Devil or Peter Crowther’s anthology Heaven Sent (both of which I recommend, by the way). For those familiar with the White Wolf games, I think that the complex moralities and struggle of humanity over beast will interest fans of Vampire, while the concept of age-old beings hiding in mortal bodies and taking or inspiring faith to survive may interest fans of Changeling.

Living Dead In Dallas, by Charlaine Harris (Ace, 2002)

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Telepathic barmaid Sookie Stackhouse is back, and as usual, she’s up to her neck in problems, worries, catastrophes, disasters, and relationship problems. It’s hard enough having a disability like telepathy in the small-minded small town of Bon Temps, Louisiana, without throwing in all the other random stuff: her boss is a shapeshifter, and her boyfriend is a vampire by the name of Bill, who last saw mortality sometime around the Civil War.

Last time out, Sookie, sweet and sometimes baffled thing that she is, got in a whole mess of trouble, what with beginning to date a bloodsucking undead fiend of the night (a vaguely protected, out-of-the-coffin-and-drinking-the-synthetic-stuff-developed-by-the-Japanese-if-they-know-what’s-good-for-them minority) and generally scandalizing the good folks of her hometown by taking up with the wrong element. It damn near cost her some good friendships, not to mention her life. After all that, things had to quiet down, right?

Wrong. It all starts close to home, when a flamboyantly gay coworker of Sookie’s is found dead. In a police car. And the suspicion all comes back to a supposedly nonexistent sex club operating right there in cozy Bon Temps, about the last place one would expect sexual deviancy and -that- sort of behavior. Before Sookie can really come to terms with this, however, she gets sidetracked by a mythical wild woman and her giant boar, who poison Sookie in order to send a message to the locals. Those pesky maenads.

So Sookie gets herself healed at no little risk or pain, by the vampires of Shreveport, who immediately call in a favor. Next thing our mind-reading heroine knows, she’s on her way to Dallas with Bill, loaned out to help find a missing vampire. And this being Sookie Stackhouse’s life, one thing snowballs into another. There’re the vampires of Shreveport, and the vampires of Dallas, and a very annoying human organization called The Fellowship of the Sun, which is to vampires what the KKK is to normal people.

Big Trouble.

Before Sookie’s done, she’ll have been kidnapped, attacked, chased, rescued, encountered vampires and shapeshifters, and uncovered a variety of nasty little plots involving ritual burning of vampires, both willing and unwilling, by sunlight. Even if she survives Dallas, she’ll go home just to risk her fool neck trying to uncover the mystery of her murdered coworker and the sex club of Bon Temps. Can she do all this, and still keep a relationship with Bill? Or will something break first?

Living Dead in Dallas is that rarest of mixed genres: Southern romantic vampire mystery. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, there’s no way these elements should work at all, much less as well as they do. But Charlaine Harris pulls it off with style and wit, keeping it from veering towards campy humor and slash-and-gore. Sookie’s telepathy is both blessing and curse, and she plays out both angles of this throughout the course of the book. The vampires are nothing terribly new; even the idea of ‘outed’ vampires has been done before. However, Harris still injects them with a feeling of freshness, adding details like fangbangers (mortal groupies), clubs where mortals go to ogle vampires like they might celebrities in Hollywood, and the various competing brands of synthetic blood, sold over the counter in all the best bars. Also, the supernatural elements — vampires, shapeshifters, and the occasional anomaly — contain comfortable ratios of sensuality, alienness, power and tragedy.

All of this is wrapped together with a pair of mysteries that keep it from getting dull. Harris, already an accomplished mystery author with several books to her credit, is in fine form here. The book neither dwells overmuch on the fantastic concepts that create the underlying principle, or meanders too far into the realm of straight mystery or offbeat romance. Somehow, it all comes together in the end. This is more than Laurell K. Hamilton with a small-town or bayou feel; this is an entirely new creature, and a welcome addition to the genre. (Don’t ask me -which- genre, as it straddles the fence between mystery, horror, and fantasy, daring the reader to make up their mind.) Give Living Dead In Dallas and the first book in the series, Dead Until Dark a chance.

Lady Cottington's Pressed Fairy Journal, by Brian Froud and Terry Jones (Stewart, Tabori and Chang, 1999)

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Not to be confused with Lady Cottington’s Pressed Fairy Book, the Journal was inspired by the same material. Written by Terry Jones (of Monty Python and Labyrinth fame), and illustrated by Brian Froud, the Journal gives us a year’s worth of fairy fun, frolics, festivals, holidays, celebrations, parties, and history.

Worry not, for no fairies were harmed in the production of this book, even though a great many of them appear flattened and squished on the pages. See, what they’ve left are -psychic- impressions, and the whole thing is actually something of a fairy sport. So you don’t have to feel sorry for them.

The Journal is a lovely little book, filled to bursting with the same whimsy and artistic genius that has marked all of Froud’s fairy paintings, as well as the same humor that’s marked each collaboration between Jones and Froud. More days than not have been noted as holidays. January 26th, for instance, is the End of the Fifth Quarter of the Ninth Dozen of the Thirteenth Set. February 2nd is Wand Dedication Day. April 13th is Squashing of Moonhopper Day. April 19th is the Bandages and Lozenge-Sucking Competition (though Bandage-Sucking is banned, for obvious reasons of taste).

August 24th is Rumpleskunkskin’s Wedding (a goblin celebration), and August 25th is the fairy celebration of Rumpleskunkskin’s Bride Escaping To Heerwigoland.

And so forth, for the better part of the year. Silly, playful, tongue-in-cheek, and so very fun. Between the humorously-named holidays, and the frequent footnotes explaining the origins of said holidays, and the lovely Froud artwork, this is a nice little treat for any fairy or Froud fan.

Best of all, if you were so minded, you really could use it like a real journal, to write in. The days of the week aren’t included, so it can be used for any year you like. So whether you want to celebrate Sunbeam Sliding Sunday, First Fiddle of the Month, Welsh Fairies Bonnet-Hurling Competition, or even Distribution of Charity Monkeys (strictly Imps only!), they’re all here for you. Now see if you can get your boss to let you have August 10th off for the Day of Wandering. No Froud fan should be without a copy or three of the Journal.

Kushiel's Chosen, by Jacqueline Carey (Tor, 2002)

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In Kushiel’s Chosen, the sequel to Kushiel’s Dart, Jacqueline Carey once again drops us into the intriguing, fantastic world of Phedre no Delauney de Montreve, courtesan, anguisette, spy and inadvertent heroine. Since the events of the first book, in which we followed the progress and life of Phedre, who indeed seems cursed to live in interesting times, she has truly come into her own. A free woman now, having bought her way clear of the Thirteen Houses of the Night-Blooming Flowers, and having properly assumed the title of Comtesse de Montreve, left to her by her former master and mentor, Phedre finally has the time and money to pursue a matter close to her heart. She will try to find and bring to justice that most exquisite of manipulators, that mistress among traitors, Melisande Shahrizai, whose last games brought the kingdom of Terre d’Ange to war and sold Phedre into slavery in the harsh northern land of Skaldia.

Phedre is no normal person. Not only does she possess the divine-descended blood shared by all d’Angelines, but she furthermore swears fealty to Naamah, deity of love, passion, and desire in all its many forms. And the thing which makes her rare above that is the scarlet fleck in her left eye, which brands her to all who would know as the Chosen of the fallen angel Kushiel. Hers is a special gift: to find pleasure in her own pain, to find strength in her own submission, to heal quickly and cleanly of any wounds suffered in fulfilling Kushiel’s duty. She is the rarest creature of all in a society dedicated to intrigues and passion: an anguisette, and more importantly, one free to choose what patrons she will serve.

Phedre does not pursue her life alone. The young queen of Terre d’Ange, Ysandre, is a close friend, as is the queen’s foreign husband, Drustan, the Cruarch of Alba. A trio of ex-sailors turned chevaliers attend her as bodyguards, friends, and intelligence agents. And Joscelin Verreuil, cast out from the order of monastic warriors known as the Cassilines, protects her out of duty and love. But all of these friends and allies can’t protect Phedre from her worst enemy: her own curiosity.

To pursue the escaped traitor Melisande Shahrizai, Phedre embarks upon a dangerous game in her own homeland, casting forth her nets for information and clues on all levels. She moves amongst the nobility, taking some as her patrons in the hopes of catching a word here, or a trust there. She sends her “boys” out to gamble and drink and seek out the missing guardsmen who were on duty the day Melisande escaped from the clutches of justice. And Joscelin, forever chafing at the bonds of love and duty that force him to defy one oath to fulfill another, strays ever-further afield, coming to find a sort of fellowship and understanding among the nomadic Yeshuites.

One thing is for certain. Wherever Melisande has gone, she remains in Terre d’Ange no longer. And the longer she remains free, the longer she has to play her games and plot against the throne once more. Who can Phedre trust? Who does she dare trust? This question haunts her, until finally she understands what she must do. She must leave Terre d’Ange to fulfill her destiny. And therein lies the tale.

Her journeys will take her far. To the canals and intrigues of La Serenissima, where people will seek her hand in marriage and she may lose Joscelin forever, where she will discover something she never expected, and pay a horrible price. To the dreadful prison of La Dolorosa, the Black Isle, where she will risk losing her sanity and freedom forever. To the isle of Dobrek, home to outcasts and pirates. To the ancient mysteries of Kriti, where her deepest, darkest truths will haunt her. Finally, back to La Serenissima to challenge man and god alike, and home to the city of Elua to try and prevent the collapse of all she holds dear.

Everything rests upon her efforts: the survival of her queen, the stability of her land, the freedom of a people. Phedre will be tested again and again, pushed to the very brink, using mind and body alike to stop a conspiracy that threatens more than one country. She’ll use whatever she must, -whoever- she must, in the only ways she knows how. In the end, though, what will it cost her?

Kushiel’s Chosen is an elegant, sweeping book that I find nigh-impossible to easily describe in conversation. As I put it, it’s “an epic alternate historical fantasy with minimal magic and high intrigue.” Truly, it’s an ambitious, artistic, sensual tale that takes the best of everything and puts it together. There’s the land of Terre d’Ange, an idealized France descended from angels and dedicated to passion and beauty. There’s La Serenissima, with the canals of a magical Venice, and all the deadly political intrigues of the Borgias. There’s the ancient, mythical beauty and mysteries of Hellas, a Greece where the gods never completely went away. There’s the swashbuckling danger and lure of pirates in the classic Douglas Fairbanks or Errol Flynn manner. There’s the political drama of a Dumas novel, right down to an inescapable hellish prison straight from the Count of Monte Cristo. And in the middle of this all is Phedre, who’s easily one of the strongest, most complex, most intriguing female characters I’ve seen in a long time.

This is a book about epic conspiracies, passions that move nations, beauty that drives men mad, and a dark erotic undertone that tempts the reader into accepting the socially questionable. For in our world, things like masochism and sadism, bondage and dominance, are distinctly alternative sexuality and considered distasteful or awkward. In this world, Phedre is an anguisette, and she has embraced her calling as an art form. She is exotic, unique, truly special. She accepts what she is, and fulfills her nature with pride and elegance. Her encounters are passionate, lusty, and disturbing, but presented in a positive light for all that.

Kushiel’s Chosen is a book where the gods themselves influence actions, where their worship is never in doubt, and where magic exists, but 99% of the time, it’s so subtle and well-woven into the story, it’s not intrusive at all. When the magic does come out in full force, it’s in grand gestures, showstopping scenes that reinforce the danger and mystery of it all.

In short, this is a truly excellent book. It’s an idealized, magical cracked-mirror view of Renaissance-era Europe, with a few centuries of drift here and there to accommodate the blue-painted barbarians of Alba, or the fierce warriors of Skaldia, managing to make the best of each era blend in seamlessly with the others. Each country is distinctly different, the threshold between one and the next obvious but not jarring. The language used is powerful, elegant, and evocative. Frankly, I love the term “anguisette.” It’s beautiful, and yet speaks volumes about what it means. This is typical of all of Carey’s takes on the real world. The Yeshuites are obviously a variant on the Jews of the 15th or so century, and the Tsingano people are clearly the Romany, or Gypsies. (It’s also telling of the complexity of this book that I could forget to mention Phedre’s studies with the Yeshuite scholars, or her quest to free her childhood friend Hyacinthe, one of the Tsingano, from the clutches of the cursed Master of the Straits…) Basically, she takes the everyday things, and twists them ever so slightly, without losing their essential feel or power.

I can’t recommend Kushiel’s Chosen or Kushiel’s Dart highly enough. My only warning is that the erotic parts, and they are decent in number, may be a bit explicit or unusual for some sensibilities. If you object to BDSM, you may have a problem. This story is not for the weak of heart. Your mileage may vary. Enjoy.

Illumination, by Terry McGarry (Tor, 2001)

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Change is coming to the island land of Eiden Myr, and one young woman is caught directly in its heart ….

“The end came to her in images, in shapes.

Torrin Wordsmith at the precipice, head flung back, arms spread, leaning into the wind with hair and cloak streaming behind him. The sky a rage of chartreuse and charcoal and the angry purple of a bruise; the sea boiling white below. Heff on one knee, three fingertips on the first stirrings of sowmid in the hard ground, eye shut. Their triad, a tight ring within the ring of reckoners inside the ring of fighters. Local mages who had arrived during the night, huddling by their mounts, well back — Ailanna and her triad, the phlegmatic mage who claimed he could talk to haunts, the prenticemonger with melting smile and emerald eyes. Beyond them, up the slope, at the edge of bare trees just fuzzing green, the splindly figures of bonefolf, waiting. The wind whipped their tatters; the storm sky in their parchment flesh a glaucous white.

Someone would die here.

She had traveled the length and breadth of Eiden Myr in her journey year, traveling backward into the past. History had been illuminated, as by a torch carried ever deeper into a cave. Her own past. Graefel and Hanla’s. Her mother’s. The past of Eiden Myr itself. Every motion had a consequence, every life was a world. The past settled like yeast; you drank the ale, but what you tasted was the story of its making.

How bitter to die with so much only just discovered.” – From Illumination

That is how it might end. It all starts, however, with a celebration. Liath, apprentice mage, is about to undergo the last of her tests before becoming a full-fledged illuminator. Once acknowledged as such, she’d then journey the land, partnering with binders and wordsmiths to form temporary triads, working magic for the protection and benefit of the people of Eiden Myr. No triad can exist without the three distinctions of mages; no one mage can work alone. This is the best night of Liath’s life. Until it all goes wrong. At the moment of her greatest joy, the light within her fails, her magic refusing to answer to her call. She has failed. She is not a mage, save in spirit.

It’s in that spirit that she refuses to accept this turn of events. It’s in that spirit that she journeys to the Holding of the Ennead, home of the nine most powerful mages, the three triads which govern the ways of magic and protect Eiden Myr from the fierce storms that threaten it every so often. It’s in that spirit that she wins past the Holding’s defenses, past its people, and into the very chamber of the Ennead. And it’s in the spirit of a mage that she accepts the task they lay out for her, before they can help Liath and restore her magic: to find the legendary Dark Mage, Torrin Wordsmith, and to either force him to return to the Holding, or help them to defeat him from afar.

It’s a journey that will take Liath to the very limits of her strength and resources, as she seeks out a man she knows only by the style of his magic. She’ll leave no town unexplored, experience every style of magic there is, and exist one step ahead of those who would use or destroy her. She’ll travel deep into the heart of Eiden Myr, to its furthest reaches, to its most secretive corners. She’ll discover more about herself than she ever thought possible, find new levels of will and resolve, and discover just how deep-rooted the treachery that threatens the land can be. She’s caught between Torrin Wordsmith and the Ennead in a deadly game to which there may not be any winners. And only her own magic and the help of a few loyal friends can save her. But when even friends and family stand in her way, can she survive?

Illumination is more than a coming-of-age story, it’s an intriguing tale of a land where magic reigns and chaos threatens. It’s a tale of morality, of black and white and shades of grey, and the light which can obscure the lines of differentiation. The characters are complex and believable, each with their own motivations and goals, each as flawed as any real person. No one is wholly evil; there are no cackling paper cut-out villains here, just men and women willing to do what it takes to achieve their goals. Liath herself is forced to choose between the perceived good and the perceived evil, and to cloak herself in shades of dubious morality in order to survive and succeed.

The magical system that forms the very backbone and basis for the novel is new, and different, speaking much of the need to work with others to achieve a common goal, but also pointing out the folly in following traditions without question. As the book progresses, we see the evolution not just of Liath, but of the land of Eiden Myr, as it comes out of the happy, carefree childhood born of peace and ignorance of the past, and into the harsh realities that have been warded against for so long.

Illumination is not a quick read, or an easy book. Rather, it’s dense and multilayered, with revelations being sprinkled throughout the text, each one building to the next. What seems at first to be straightforward is ultimately revealed as keen misdirection, but a sort that enlightens, rather than surprises. All in all, this book was highly satisfying, and as a first novel, it bodes quite well for Terry McGarry’s future efforts at novel-length works. With any luck, she’ll return to the world of Eiden Myr, either to shed light upon some of its past mysteries, or to expand upon its future after the end of this story.

To say much more would be to give away any of the myriad twists, turns, and detours this book thrives upon. But between the intricate system of proxies, warders, reckoners and triads that make up the magical society, the philosophical seekers, and the fully-realized world in which the action takes place, this is without a doubt one of those fantasy novels which finds something new to say, and a worthy way of saying it. Give this one a shot if you like fantasy, but are tired of the same old same old.

History's Last Stand, by Gerard and Patricia Del Re (Dorset Press, 2001)

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Quick! Name the last marriage or last day of life of King Henry VIII! Or the last day of the Spanish-American War! Bugsy Seigel’s last crime? Glenn Miller’s last appearance? The last monarch of Egypt? Ronald Reagan’s last film?

The last place anyone ever saw Jimmy Hoffa?

Chances are good the average person can’t answer more than one or two of these questions. Fear not, for now there’s History’s Last Stand, billed as “The Last Gasps, Fatal Falls, and Final Gambles of Heroes, Despots, and Civilizations.” Arranged in roughly chronological order from 404 B.C. (the last day of the Peloponnesian Wars) to January 20, 2001 (Bill Clinton’s last day in office as an American president), this book covers hundreds of famous lasts throughout history.

Last marriages. Last monarchs. Final words. Final meals. Last days in prison. Last crimes. The last American soldier executed for desertion (Eddie Slovak, in 1945). Last voyages. Last confirmed homicides. Last state to secede from the Union (North Carolina, May 20, 1861). The answers are all here, touching upon world leaders, world events, wars, heroes, villains, and so many ways of dying or being killed it’s not even funny.

Each entry is arranged in a useful, informative fashion, giving the name of the person, place, war, event, or otherwise that it deals with (Knute Rockne), followed by the specific last in question (last defeat), which contains a brief summary, and then a longer background to put it all into perspective (in this case, a paragraph detailing Knute Rockne’s career leading up to the final defeat).

There’s not much that I can say about this book except that it’s entertaining, and chock-full of the trivia I love to read about. Whether it’s the story about the last monarch of France (King Louis Philippe, reigned 1830-1848) or the background concerning the last day the U.S. used the gold standard (April 4, 1933), this book has information galore. It’s fun, and like potato chips, you can’t read just one at a time. A convenient index makes it all the easier to find what you’re looking for, and a bibliography allows you to go hunting for the original sources on many of these matters.

I greatly enjoyed History’s Last Gasp. It’s the ideal shelf book for any writer, history buff, trivia lover, scholar of society, or “them what just likes it weird.” Check it out.

Hidden Truth, by Dawn Cook (Ace, 2002)

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Having been convinced that magic does, in fact, exist, and that she’s inherited no small portion of her father’s talent for it, Alissa has run into a small problem. The only place where such talents may be nurtured and explored is the mysterious Hold. In this Hold, the ancient Masters pursue inscrutable goals, while both teaching and being served by the Keepers. But the Keepers are all dead, and the Masters gone, and the Hold is ruled by the megalomaniacal, ruthless Bailic, the man who murdered Alissa’s father. He alone controls the Hold, and in doing so, he controls the key to Alissa’s destiny, the mystic tome known as the First Truth. He also holds her piper friend Strell hostage, giving her no choice but to play along with his evil schemes.

This, then, is the setup for Hidden Truth, the sequel to First Truth. Strell and Alissa must maintain a deadly masquerade, hiding Alissa’s true identity and talents from Bailic while trying to steal the First Truth away from him … before Bailic can wake the dead and conquer the known world. All they have is surprise, and the last of the Masters, a being called Useless who has sworn not to harm Bailic. No problem, right?

Wrong. The dead will wake, the First Truth will be opened, and Alissa will discover far more about her true potential and her destiny than she ever imagined. And she may just lose the one thing she treasures most of all in the process.

What amazes me about Hidden Truth is how effective a novel Dawn Cook has created with such a minimal cast. On screen, we encounter a mere five characters: Bailic, Strell, Alissa, Useless, and a stranger named Lodesh. That’s all. Despite a setting that could easily encompass hundreds of people, and a threat which could endanger entire lands, Cook manages to boil things down to a mere five characters, without sacrificing urgency or scale. It feels so much bigger than it really is, with the ghosts of offscreen characters affecting the plot and movement, and never actually interacting with the main characters.

It conjures up a claustrophoic effect as well, much like The Shining, keeping the characters cooped up for the most part in the one sprawling, empty building, and suggesting the howling devils of winter’s winds outside. Until we reach the beginning of the end, there’s always a cramped, uncomfortable, somewhat paranoid feel, with trouble lurking just around the corner. Cook’s use of mood and atmosphere really shines here.

In general, Hidden Truth completes an intriguing “coming of age” fantasy, one started in First Truth. Alissa and Strell are both fascinating, three dimensional characters, and their interactions, as antagonistic as an episode of Moonlighting, are always fun to watch. I look forward to seeing more from Cook, now that she’s proven she can tell a darn good story. Read First Truth before this one, though, if you want the full experience. The pair will appeal to fantasy readers, as Cook manages to utilize traditional trappings and still tell a new story.

Three Heather Alexander Albums

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Wanderlust (Sea Fire Productions, 1994)
Life’s Flame (Sea Fire Productions, 1996)
Midsummer (Sea Fire Productions, 1997)

This isn’t an easy set of reviews to write. You see, though Ms. Alexander doesn’t know it, her music and I have something of a history. It all dates back to high school, I’d say. I was young, foolish, and going mad with boredom. I was still discovering just what sorts of literature truly appealed to me, and as an indirect result, what kinds of music. Through sheer random chance, I stumbled across Mercedes Lackey’s first book, Arrows of the Queen. That in turn lead me to discover the musical paradise that is Firebird Arts and Music, who at the time distributed a lot of Mercedes-related books, music, art, and god-knows-what-else. Somehow, I forget exactly how, I found myself with this driving thirst for all things Celtic, especially music. And for the next few years, Christmas and birthdays were easy: just circle desired items in the Firebird Arts catalogue, give to mother, sit back and wait.

In such a fashion was I introduced to the phenomenal talent of Heather Alexander, then working with an absolutely to-die-for group led Phoenyx. They were a Celtic fusion group, and their one and only release, Keepers of the Flame, knocked me over and blew me away. For years, that tape was my single favorite piece of music, and I still possess it around here somewhere, which is good since it’s been out of print for a sadly long time. The tape was released in 1990, and the group broke up in 1991, just to give you a sense of chronology. Ever since, Heather Alexander has been entertaining primarily as a solo performer.

In the meantime, I had this one tape, which kept me company through the end of high school, and into college. Such was my regard for it, that I played it for a certain lady friend… and clearly, she didn’t appreciate it, breaking up with me a month later. Ah well. Some people just don’t appreciate quality.

Time passed, and I grew away from my Celtic music obsessions, and stopped ordering from Firebird as regularly. But I never forgot, in the back of my mind, the music that had set my imagination on fire. When I was offered the chance to review not one, but all three of Heather Alexander’s solo albums, I leapt at the chance. And was then so intimidated at trying to find words to describe someone I admired and enjoyed so much, that I hid under a rock with the three CDs, hoping no one would remember I had them. Well, someone did, and so here I am, and here are the CDs, and it’s time to put my thoughts to words.

What’s Heather Alexander’s style like? It’s unashamedly Celtic, unabashedly energetic, unstoppably powerful. Alone and with friends, her music is apt to bowl the listener over if they’re not prepared. Her voice ranges from sultry to slamming, from seductive to stunning, hypnotic and sizzling all in one. She’s the sort of performer who throws herself completely into every song, adopting a new identity for every occasion. Trying to capture the range of her voice is like bottling the wind. It’s haunting, the kind of voice that sticks with you. Years after the fact, I could still call up a mental picture of Heather singing “The March of Cambreadth” in all its glory.

Heather is a musician of many talents. In her various albums, she’s listed as performing vocals, guitar, fiddle, mandolin, bodhran, generic percussion, electric fiddle, faerie bells, and violin. Whew! I can barely tap out “Shave and a Haircut” with two fingers! Heather is a performer with many friends. Even after leaving Phoenyx behind, she’s still worked with any number of musicians. For Midsummer, she’s backed by Brett Barnett (keyboards), Rob Wullenjohn (bass), Warren Casey (Macedonian Tapan), John MacAdams (snare drum), Aaron Shaw (Highland pipes) and the vocals of the “Cambreadth Chorus”. On Wanderlust she reels in Rob Wullenjohn (bass), Tempest’s Lief Sorbye (flute) and Jenny Lindner (harp). She’s worked with, or opened for, Tempest, Tommy Makem, The Clancy Brothers, Tom May, Darby O’Gill, and the Wicked Tinkers.

Heather is a creative genius, having blended traditional Celtic, modern instruments, rock and roll, and original compositions to create something that’s mercurial and chimerical, old and new. She’s whimsical and powerful, playful and serious. While at one point she seemed to be more of a filker than a folker (filk music is often inspired by science fiction or fantasy, and parodies more established tunes. See the incomparable Tom Smith for a classic example of this), she has outright stated that she is first and foremost a musician, and a Celtic musician in specific. However, I’m not sure -anything- on Earth can truly explain “Faerie Queen,” which is essentially Tam Lin meets “The Devil Went Down To Georgia.” (My comment: Oh my GOD! Can she DO that?) This song inspired a truly terrifying filk of its own, “The Faerie Queen Went Down To Georgia,” written by a crazy filker who in turn is an evil friend of an insane blonde I know, and thus do we play the twisted Six Degrees Of My World, thank you for playing, Jane, stop this crazy thing!

Digressions aside, what we have then is a truly fantastic musician, who could give the Devil a run for his money where fiddling is concerned, and voice lessons to the Fae. (Having compared her thus, she’d better watch out for mysterious strangers offering challenges…) I’m not sure if I can even distinguish between Life’s Flame, Midsummer, and Wanderlust, but I’ll try.

Wanderlust is notable for having the aforementioned “Faerie Queen,” which is over seven minutes of ass kicking, foot stomping, mind blowing fiddle, defiant vocals, pounding bodhran, and pedal-to-the-metal music at its best. It exemplifies everything I look for in the Faster, Harder, Louder style of music. Turn it up and watch the cats flee. It took me three repetitions before I could tear myself away for the rest of the album. Then there’s “Storyteller,” which is a beautiful tribute to one of the greatest storytellers of all time, Jim Henson. For this, Heather switches from defiant and challenging, to haunting and atmospheric. It’s alternately a plea for magic, and a celebration of everything Jim Henson meant to generations of people.

“Stolen Child,” by comparison, is a straight adaptation of the William Butler Yeats work of the same name, put to music once again. This is one of the quintessential, perfect Faerie poems, and Heather captures that fey, mysterious, otherworldly, yearning quality dead-on, invoking moonlight and mists, and magically alien creatures.

“John Barleycorn-Drowsy Maggie-Unfortunate Rake” is that best of all songs: one you can drink, sing, and dance to. So raise your ale, and do a few steps, and honor John Barleycorn, whose travels and travails gave us that drink of the gods. If that’s too tame for you, try “Pour Your Brother,” a drinking song Heather whipped up “for when things got really silly and rowdy.” I suspect our esteemed editor listens to this one regularly, judging by the revels he often describes. It’s certainly one to make you move and get a bit wild.

“An Sceal” and “ContrariDance” are a linked pair of performances. The first is a spoken word tale spun by Heather in true storyteller fashion. She changes voice, switches inflections, and weaves a tale of goblins wanting to dance with the faeries so smoothly and beautifully that it pops right into the mind. It’s very evocative of “The Dark Crystal,” and I fear the day when Brian Froud gets inspired by this tale. “ContrariDance” is the musical version of the tale, retelling it in pure instrumental terms.

“Neverland” is the rallying cry of a certain insane Californian blonde I know. If it’s not, it should be. It’s a challenge against the real world, a defiance against all that’s grown-up and normal and dull and banal. It’s a declaration of war between the imagination and the everyday world, and it’s easy to picture Heather Alexander spearheading a campaign to free us all from those nasty mind numbing 9-5 jobs. “Raise A Glass” is one of those ideal parting shots, raising both drink and song to good company and new friends.

It’s the mark of a good album when you’re reluctant to switch it out for another, and indeed, I had to make myself get up to switch out Wanderlust for Midsummer. However, I managed to do so, with no trauma induced. And I’m all the better for it, for Heather maintains every ounce of skill and range of performance. This album is most notable for having the song that stuck with me all through the years, from Keepers of the Flame and onward, “The March of Cambreadth.” With the recurring line of “How Many of Them Can We Make Die!” it’s nothing short of an all out rally to fight. It’s a war song, plain and simple, bagpipes and drums and defiance all the way. Powerful, loud, and strong, it’s the kind of song you turn up to annoy the neighbors and declare war on neighboring countries.

Pardon me while I go regain my hearing. I think I heard the windows rattle. Sadly, Midsummer doesn’t have the same expansive liner notes that Wanderlust did, so I can’t tell you as much about the songs. I can, however, assure you that they are every bit as magical, protean, and enjoyable. “The Hunt Is On” is triumphant and bold, full of fanfares. “Brannigan’s Special Ale” is another one of those lively, irreverent drinking songs, full of laughter and joy. “Midsummer” is playful and jaunty, the theme song for Puck from “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” in all his impish, capricious glory. (I’m listening to this, and damned if I’m not seeing Puck in a tuxedo, backed up by a trio of very slinky faeries in even slinkier dresses in one of those Vegas numbers… sort of a faerie bump and grind…) (Word of warning: it worries the cats when I try to dance…)

Finally, last but by no means least is Life’s Flame which I’ve saved for last only because it’s a bit different from the other two. This is more of a live album, done with an audience in the background for that immediate reaction effect. It opens up with Heather telling the story behind “Eggs and Crumbs,” before moving into the song itself. It’s the traditional tale of finding a changeling in place of a baby, and the unorthodox method in which one woman must force the changeling to reveal its true nature and return her child. This showcases Heather’s storytelling skills, and her playful side. The glee she takes in the voices and the comedic value of the story is tangible, and thoroughly delightful. “Cat and the Fiddle” is, you guessed it, kind of about the cat and the fiddle, but also about a musician on a corner, and the magic they bring to their listeners. Very lively, self aware, and wry.

Then we have the introduction to, and the song of “Black Jack’s Lady.” It’s the mirror song to the tale of Black Jack Davy, a popular traditional tune in its own right. This, though, is the big question of “what happens when Black Jack Davy leaves the lady behind, the cad?” The answer: The lady, a redhead, is rightfully pissed and out for revenge… Ooops. Hell hath no fury like that of a redhead scorned. This is entirely typical of Heather’s ability to take old songs and turn them on their ear for an entirely different result.

“Samhain” tears away the veils between one world and the next on the most mystical day of the year, when ghosts and things best left unspoken come closest to the world of the living. Spectral, haunting, and chilling in turn, it’s another example of Heather’s amazing versatility.

The title track, “Life’s Flame,” is the anthem of a phoenix, all about life and death and life again. When a falconer finds a wounded bird, he learns quickly that his destiny involves fire, and the bird is much more than it seems. “Hap’n’ Frog” is another one of those playful, impish songs that bespeaks of wry humor and not-so-subtle irreverence. Heather goes all-put with the silly voices and laughter in her voice for this one, defiantly changing the mood after the previous songs.

“Creature of the Wood,” on the other hand, is dark and mysterious, dangerous and seductive. It’s the satyr in the woods, the temptation of the Pan, the secret thrill of the unknown and the shadows. It’s every unsuitable man, every forbidden joy, and every dangerous liaison, rolled into one cloven-hoofed bad boy.

“Lifetime of Song” wraps up the album in true Heather Alexander style, dedicated to her listeners. It’s a quiet celebration of music and magic, and the musician’s craft, and the storyteller’s art. It leaves things on a high note.

What more can I say about Heather Alexander and her work? It’s some of the best music, Celtic or otherwise, I’ve ever come across. If you have any appreciation for Celtic music, this is for you. If you must pick just one, start with Wanderlust, but otherwise, any of the three are equally superb.

(Note: This review was written long before Heather Alexander transitioned from female to male, and became Alexander James Adams. For the sake of historical accuracy in these archives, I’ve chosen to leave the review as it originally appeared, with all due respect to the artist, past, present and future.)

Harry Potter Schoolbooks

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Quidditch Through The Ages, by J. K. Rowling (as Kennilworthy Whisp) (Scholastic, 2001)
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, by J. K. Rowling (as Newt Scamander) (Scholastic, 2001)

What a brilliant idea. Riding on the intense popularity and energy of the first four books in her much-acclaimed Harry Potter series, author J. K. Rowling decided to do something a little different, feeding our Harry Potter addictions, and doing something good with her current cult status. So she wrote this pair of books, whose premise is that they’re actual replicas of books found in the series. Magical Beasts is supposedly one of Harry’s schoolbooks, while Quidditch is the Hogwarts library copy. All proceeds from the sales of these books go directly to a charity designed to help children around the world.

It’s a safe bet that if you’re at all familiar with Harry Potter (and the way its popularity is spreading, it’s hard not to have at least a passing familiarity with its existence), you’re familiar with the concept behind these books. Fantastic Beasts is a compendium of many of the fantastical, dangerous, and unusual creatures that inhabit the world of Harry Potter. It includes things as commonplace as dragons and unicorns, and gets as downright obscure and esoteric as Acromantulas, Knarls, and Streelers. The entries are informative, entertaining, and capture the spirit of the Potter books perfectly, with whimsical drawings, and bizarre names and incidents that fit right into the unpredictable wizarding world. The true bonus, however, has to be the snarky comments scrawled in the margins by Harry and his friends, in-jokes which will make perfect sense to anyone who’s read the novels. A quirky little book, it’s worth the price just for the sheer whimsy and childlike glee of its existence.

While it’s not exactly a primer to understanding Harry’s world, it’s the perfect addition or stocking stuffer.Quidditch Through The Ages is written in the same vein, as though it were an actual artifact from the wizarding world, complete to the faux fading and scuff marks on the cover. It’s a thorough history of the wizarding world’s most popular and impossible sport, an activity noted for its fourteen players on broomsticks, two hoops, and four balls, two of which are decidedly aggressive to the point of unhealthiness. With everything from how the sport evolved, to some of the many fancy moves used in the game, to the major teams of Britain and Ireland, to notable fouls, it’s everything you’ve ever wanted to know, and then some.

Frankly, if you like Harry Potter, you should have these two books, and they do go together best as a set. If you’re not a fan, shame on you. There’s little excuse not to check these books out as they transcend labels like “fantasy” or “children’s literature,” and have something to appeal to just about anyone. Well, anyone except for fundamentalists, people without imagination, people who don’t read … but you get the point. I’m a dyed -in-the-wool, converted-my-own-wife fan, and I have to say, these books are a delight, through and through. And it doesn’t hurt that the proceeds go to Harry’s Fund, which is associated with Britain’s Comic Relief charity.

So go get a few copies. One for yourself, one for a friend, and one to give to someone at random. That’s what I did.

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone (2001)

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One of the most highly-anticipated cinematic events of the year, rivaling Star Wars Episode I in terms of pre-release hype and ready-made fan base, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone has been a constant in the public consciousness for months.We’ve seen trailer after trailer, offering up magical glimpses and tantalizing snippets of the phenomenally popular book made a reality.We’ve seen the turrets of Hogwarts looming over a dark lake, lantern-lit boats sailing towards their destination.We’ve seen a young man, “the boy who lived” discover his true nature.We’ve seen Hagrid, the gentle giant with a heart of gold and a fondness for large and dangerous creatures make a most impressive entrance.We’ve been told “There’s no such thing as magic!” and known it for the falsehood it is, for what is this movie but pure magic? We’ve been saturated with a marketing blitz that’s put the name and image of Harry Potter everywhere we look. Books, posters, stickers, keychains, magnets, stuffed animals, Legos, board games, Christmas ornaments…

And at long last, the movie itself is out. My wife and I caught a 1:00 PM showing on Friday, the second showing of the day.We were lucky; it wasn’t anywhere near as crowded as later shows would be.We had our tickets, our drinks, and our popcorn, and we settled in to see just how well director Chris Columbus would translate J. K. Rowling’s book onto the big screen.What would they keep, what would they change, what would be different, and would the characters on screen resemble the ones in our heads?

Without a doubt, the answer is yes.Yes, yes, and yes. The movie is, I’d say, 99% faithful to the source material. Several minor characters were left out, and one particular plotline condensed into about five minutes. Bits and pieces of dialogue were left out, and occasionally it did feel like someone had put the story into fast-forward.But considering the density and complexity of the book, it was the only way to trim five hours down into two and a half. Looking back, I can see how and why they’d alter what they did, and be assured, it doesn’t hurt the story in the least.

All our favorites are there. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Draco, Neville, Hagrid, Dumbledore, McGonagall, Madame Hooch, Nearly Headless Nick, the Dursleys, and of course, Lord Voldemort in all his terrifying, disturbing glory. I have to say that not a character looked wrong or out of place. The casting director deserves major kudoes for putting everyone together with their part so smoothly. Daniel Radcliffe -is- Harry Potter. Awkward, inexperienced, sad in his heart, but constantly rejoicing with wide-eyed wonder at the magic and beauty surrounding him. Emma Watson is the perfect Hermione, all brains and bossiness and hiding her vulnerability behind a know-it-all confidence. Rupert Grint portrays Ron Weasley with a streak of mischievousness that never goes awry. Robbie Coltrane is the living incarnation of Hagrid, larger than life, loud and blunt, but with an amazing range of emotion and subtle, self-depreciating humor that comes out whenever the Hogwarts’ Groundskeeper screws up. Alan Rickman is slimy and nasty and despicable, menacing without crossing into true villainy, as befits Professor Snape. Richard Harris is wise, fatherly, all-knowing, and at the same time someone you can confide in or share a Chocolate Frog with, every inch Professor Dumbledore. And Maggie Smith, who at first didn’t strike me as the right choice for Professor McGonagall, turned out to play the part with absolute perfection. John Cleese cameos as the ghostly Nearly Headless Nick, a role that suits him well. And Tom Felton is as nasty and unctuous as Draco Malfoy ever was. And this says nothing of the many other fine and entirely satisfying performances turned in by the rest of the cast. All I can say is that they’ve all lucked into some spectacular roles, and I hope they stay on board for as many movies as the series produces.

What else can I say? The music is classic John Williams, haunting and lyrical and evocative of the spirit of the books with every note.Whether it’s the unforgettable melodies that mark the beginning, the energetic tones wrapped around the Quidditch match, or the martial tones that accompany a climatic chess game later on, they’re always right on target. The only person who could have come close, or done nearly as well might have been Danny Elfman. But as it is, John Williams shows that he’s as good as ever.

The visual aspects of the movie range from satisfyingly accurate (such as Private Drive) to the impressive (Hogwarts, inside and out) to the spooky (the Dark Forest) to the breath-takingly cool (the Quidditch field). I swear, I saw things in this movie that I never would have been able to imagine on my own, where Hogwarts was concerned, or Gringotts, or Diagon Alley. (I had to nudge my wife when she accused the designers of raiding the set of the Dark Crystal, though…)

I’ll be blunt. See this movie. If you like Harry Potter at all, see this movie. It is, in my opinion, one of the best adapations from book to big screen I’ve ever seen, and probably the best movie I’ve seen all year. Even if you haven’t read the books, this is still a good, fun, thoroughly enjoyable film with a wonderful story, spectacular visuals, and an attention to details that puts Episode I to shame. I’ll pit the Quidditch Match against the Pod Race any day of the week, and put my money down heavily on Harry.

The only flaws I could even begin to mention all revolve around the fact that it wasn’t long enough, and I’m familiar enough with the book to know when they cut something out or altered a subplot. I hope the DVD, when they release it, comes with all of the scenes they filmed and left out.I see mass lynchings in the future if it doesn’t. So my objections aren’t anything to do with what the movie has, but rather, with what it had to leave out for time considerations. (Not that I would have minded a four hour movie…)

Oh, and I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention that Fluffy, the three-headed dog of doom, is one of the coolest cinematic creatures to come along in quite some time. If my cats wouldn’t object, I’d get a dog like that.

In the words of Ron Weasley, this was “bloody brilliant.” If anyone needs me, I’ll be standing in line to get tickets to another showing.