The Onion Girl, by Charles de Lint (Tor, 2001)

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THE ONION GIRL

Anyone who’s ever visited Charles de Lint’s mythical North American city of Newford knows Jilly Coppercorn. Artist, visionary, friend, described by de Lint as “the heart and soul of Newford.” She moves from story to story, book to book, the sort of person who knows and is known by just about everyone. From her first cameo appearance in the short story “Uncle Dobbin’s Parrot Fair” (reprinted in de Lint’s short story collection Dreams Underfoot), all the way to his most recent book, she’s been a constant intertwining thread, a shining beacon of belief and friendship. For she sees magic, and believes, and in doing so, makes it just a little more real for the rest of us. For years, she’s existed on the periphery of the stories, aiding and advising her friends, often acting as a witness to events the rest of us would never believe in. Thus far, we’ve only been allowed the occasional glimpse into the danger-fraught life that made her the woman we know, as in the story “In The House Of My Enemy” (originally published in Dreams Underfoot, reprinted in The Armless Maiden and Other Tales for Childhood’s Survivors, edited by Terri Windling). Until now, we’ve never been close enough to truly know her, for all that she is known. But at long last, Jilly Coppercorn’s starring in her own story.

THE BROKEN GIRL

It all changes in the blink of an eye, on a tragic night in April. The flash of headlights. The screech of tires. The sound of flesh and metal. Jilly Coppercorn wakes up in the hospital, the victim of a hit-and-run accident that’s left her partially paralyzed, badly wounded, unable to move or draw as once she did. Her friends rally around her, and for the first time, it’s made evident just how many of the characters in the Newford stories consider her a friend.

Sophie Etoile, the fae-blooded daughter of the moon, who spends half her life in the dream city of Mabon. Wendy St Clair, who once grew a Tree of Tales from a magical acorn. Christy Riddell, the modern-day collector of urban fairy tales, and his girlfriend Saskia, incarnation of the Wordwood. Professor Dapple, whose manservant Goon is a goblin. Geordie Riddell, Newford’s favorite busker, who once lost a woman to an accident of time. Angela Marceau, the Angel of Grassi Street. Lou Fucceri, the policeman who helped Jilly off the streets and into a new life. Cerin and Meran Kelledy, fae spirits from the past. Joe Crazy Dog, the visionary with a coyote’s spirit, and his own girlfriend, Cassie. Mona, a cartoonist who’s had her own supernatural experiences.

If this sounds like the all-star reunion of Charles de Lint’s vast and fascinating repertoire of characters, that’s because it, quite simply, is. No one’s touched as many lives or stories as Jilly Coppercorn, and thus, when the brightest among them is struck down, they all come to her side.

And she’ll need all the help she can get. For while her body lies broken and discouraged in this world, Jilly’s spirit soars as she sleeps in the otherworld of Mabon and elsewhere. Before she can begin to truly heal, she’s going to have to face her past, and deal with some heavy baggage. We’ve seen before that her life wasn’t a happy or pleasant one, until she reinvented herself as Jilly Coppercorn. But before she was Jilly, she was someone else altogether, and it’s that person’s life with which she must now come to terms.

THE DESERTED SISTER

Jilly’s not the only one with a story to be told. For after she left home, to begin her journey into the woman she is today, she left behind a family, a dangerous and ill-starred clan of white trash. Abusive brother. Alcoholic mother. Neglectful father. And worst of all, a younger sister suddenly deprived of the only person she could look up to. A sister, Raylene, who has to grow up the hard way, becoming hard and clever and fast with a knife, taking her due from the world when it won’t give her a break. When she and her friend Pinky leave home for the last time, it’s to undergo their own growth and trial by fire. Until the day, decades later, when paths cross, and it’s time for family to once again reunite. Only Raylene’s bitterness could destroy Jilly and all she cares for.

THE WORLD AS IT IS/MABON

The story continues to flip-flop between the worlds, between the Broken Girl of the World As It Is and the unhurt Jilly Coppercorn of the otherworld. Her friends on both sides of the barrier must continue to aid her, to grant her strength, and to protect her against the threat gradually closing in. We meet again the Crow Girls, Mister Truepenny, Jeck, Whiskey Jack, and some all-new characters and places of the otherworld. Jilly’s journey of self-discovery will force her to look deep into her heart and history before it’s over.

CHILDREN OF THE SECRET

When all’s said and done, the characters of Newford will have changed, and grown. Nothing is easy, magic demands a price, and blood will be shed. This will be a test for all of them: for Wendy and Sophie, for Joe and Cassie, for Maylene and Pinky, and most of all, for Jilly. This is the story of the Onion Girl, so called for she is made of layers, and every time you strip one away, another is revealed, and what’s at the core will make all the difference.

In many ways, this could easily be regarded as the capstone to the Newford stories, the final act of the play, the last chapter of the book. De Lint has stated that he put off writing Jilly’s story for years because it would have felt too much like closure. And in that, he’s right. The Onion Girl takes all those other Newford stories, references them, weaves them together, and proudly unfurls the grand tapestry that they all make. By bringing together all these characters, and showing how they all relate, both to each other and through Jilly, de Lint has told perhaps the best Newford story to date. If he never wrote another one, this would stand as the culmination of dozens of stories and years of writing. In that regard, this is closure, for of all the characters, Jilly was the one without a story, without an ending, and in the most need.

But it’s just the end of the first act. The close of the first book in the series. As the author says, “…closure doesn’t necessarily mean the end of a thing. It can also be a beginning.” The beginning of new stories. New friendships. New loves. New paths. New books. Because you can always plant an onion and from it grow more. And that’s what Charles de Lint has done with The Onion Girl. He’s pulled away all these layers of story and background and relationships, until what’s left is Jilly herself, the center of the onion, and now he can plant the seeds for the next onion’s worth of Newford. Whether Jilly will continue to play as large a part is anyone’s guess. But one thing is for certain, and that is that Newford’s stories are nowhere near played out.

If I haven’t made it clear yet, this isn’t just his best work to date, it’s his most satisfying, filled with tragedy and magic, reminding us that while we are what the world makes of us, we’re also what we make of ourselves. It’s about hope, love, family, growth, change, journeying, and redemption. It’s about being the light in the darkness, and never letting that light go out. It’s about being alive, and being free, and how living with friends means you’re not living in a vacuum. What happens to Jilly affects the far-flung cast of characters just as much as it does her. This is de Lint at his finest, blending the real and magical seamlessly, so that it’s impossible to tell where one leaves off and the other begins, and making it clear that the true magic always starts within us.

Part of The Onion Girl was originally seen as the short story “In The House Of My Enemy”, which has been added in full because, as de Lint says, “I didn’t have the heart to recast the events for this book simply to say it in new words. Jilly goes through enough already with what happens to her in this novel.”

For fans of the author, this is a must read. For those who love urban fantasy, magical realism, fantasy with a trace of spiritualism, or just a good read, this is a don’t miss. And for those who have ever suffered through some of life’s crueler slings and barbs, it’s a message that happy endings can and do still exist, even when it’s a near-impossible task to overcome the obstacles. Don’t just get this book for yourself; share it with those who need the reassurance. Magical cures are no substitute for the process of surviving and overcoming the hardships of the world and still remembering how to live, but believing in magic can sometimes make all the difference.

And last-minute kudos to Green Man’s own Cat Eldridge, who receives an acknowledgement from de Lint for the packets of music he sent during the writing of this book. You know who to blame, folks.

The Last Hot Time, by John M. Ford (Tor 2000)

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Listen close, for I’m about to tell you a story that sounds familiar, yet is as different from what you know as rain is from snow. It’s a story of magic, and love, power, and loss, life, and death. In a world not far removed from ours, the world of Faery has returned, in all its cold, terribly, majestic glory, and it has brought change. It has brought the Shadow, a borderworld between the world of man, and the world of myth. A world where science and magic both work, but never so reliably as good old-fashioned cunning and drive. Men and elves coexist in a curious, odd blend of culture, partially stolen from what we know, and partially taken from what they give us. It’s a world for the lost, the ambitious, the ones with nothing left to lose and everything to gain.

I told you it sounded familiar. The more astute among you, the ones who’ve been around for my other reviews, will undoubtedly begin to nod knowingly, mutter amongst yourselves, think you know where I’m going with this. The Bordertown series, edited by Terri Windling and Mark Alan Arnold, right? Wrong. I told you it was different.

For all its familiarity, The Last Hot Time by John M. Ford is -not- Bordertown. It’s Bordertown with the serial numbers scraped off and placed in the Witness Protection Program. But it’s also its own creature, and it’s on those merits that we’ll judge it.

Danny Holman, paramedic at large, has taken to traveling across the country, leaving behind the comfortable familiarity of Iowa for the uncertainty of the future. A chance encounter places his service and his aid at the need of the enigmatic Mr. Patrise, who serves as a shadowy sort of vigilante justice and power in the borderland called the Levee. Before he quite knows what’s happened, Danny has a new identity -the dashing young Doc Hallownight- and a job serving Mr. Patrise as resident medic and aide. Joining a crew of colorful, mysterious people, he helps Mr. Patrise pursue a series of oft-nebulus goals for the betterment of their society, all the while foiling the equally shadowy plans of the man known only as “Whisper Who Dares.”

It’s a good life, if occasionally dangerous. There’s places to explore, culture to experience, and women to be courted, and people to be healed. And Doc will soon have to deal with the power growing within him, a power that could be used to help others … or to control and destroy them. In the Levee, things can go either way.

The Last Hot Time projects an interesting theme: elves and humans mingling in a world clearly born from the Twenties and Thirties, with a Prohibition-age, jazz music, flappers and Tommy guns, strange deals in the back room along with illicit games of cards, sort of feel to it. It’s cultured and sophisticated, glamorous and fantastic, luxuriant and mysterious, and all the while coming off as more than a bit decadent. This is a far step removed from the down and dirty music-punk youth culture atmosphere of the Bordertown series, delivering an entirely different story and tone altogether. Frankly, Ford comes off as making this all sound -cool-. Men in nice suits dancing with women in flapper dresses to jazz and torch songs. People racing around in roadsters, firing Tommy guns. Mysterious plots in the darkness.

The Last Hot Time is a good, fun, powerful read, that blends the worlds together and tells a sharp-edged, crisp story. It’s got a good pulp feel to it, evocative of Doc Savage and his companions, but with the added bonus of throwing in some fantasy trappings, which in turn reminds me of Aaron Allston’s Doc Sidhe and Sidhe-Devil novels. I greatly enjoyed this book, but found its resemblance to the Bordertown books to be a little distracting, and a certain brief anecdote told by one character only serves to strengthen that uneasiness. This book could have been stronger if it had felt entirely original. That aside, this book should appeal to any urban fantasy fan, as well as those who enjoy a pulp feel. Give this one a look-through.

Summon The Keeper, and The Second Summoning, by Tanya Huff (DAW, 1998/2001)

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Most people don’t realize it, but the veil separating our world from the countless, unimaginable horrors of Hell is a thin one, often frayed almost to the point of breaking, and very little stands between us and horrible, messy deaths, or worse. Thin holes are perpetually opening between here and there, evil leaking out anywhere where people’s actions or words or thoughts encourage evil over good, selfishness over selflessness, greed over generosity, hate over love. Very little stands between us and that horrible fate. But not nothing. No, we have the untiring efforts of the enigmatic people known as Keepers to thank for our continued, Hell-free existence. Scattered across the world, constantly on the move from trouble spot to trouble spot, relying on the support network of family and other lesser talents known as Cousins, the Keepers are the first line of defense against the evils of the dark.

Claire Hansen is one such Keeper. With her aging black-and-white, opinionated, too-intelligent, too-snarky, and too-vocal cat Austin as her companion and voice of feline reason, she deals with some of the nastiest stuff imaginable, with very little personal reward. A Keeper’s life tends towards the unpredictable, messy, and not always long. Claire’s life is about to fulfill the first two attributes, with more than enough to go around.

Her latest Summons has brought her to the quaint little bed-and-breakfast known as the Elysian Fields Guesthouse. Much like the Hotel California, it’s a lovely place, but not so easy to leave once you arrive. For in the middle of the night the old owner, Mr. Smythe, one of the aforementioned Cousins, buggers off to parts unknown, leaving Claire as the new owner. Neither she nor Austin are terribly thrilled, especially when they find out that the Elysian Fields has a few small drawbacks:

1) The incredibly handsome, if somewhat naive handyman, Dean MacIsaac, who sets all of Claire’s hormones ringing.

2) The incredibly lecherous ghost, Jacques, whose hormones would be all over Claire, if he had a body.

3) The woman in room six, who’s been asleep for decades, and mustn’t be disturbed under any circumstances.

4) The portal to Hell in the basement.

All in a day’s work, right? Deal with Sleeping Beauty. Close the portal to Hell before anything bigger than a gremlin escapes. Fend off Jacques, fall in love with Dean. Sounds like a plan?

Wrong. Poor Claire has to deal with her younger sister’s accidental ‘help’ which could upset everything. And then there are the guests. Vampires, werewolves, and Greek gods on vacation are only some of the hazards of the trade.

That’s all in Summon the Keeper. Now, we can safely assume that Claire survives the inevitable and near-explosive mess, because she, Dean, and Austin return for the sequel, The Second Summoning, which finds the trio on the road in Dean’s truck, having left the Elysian Fields far behind in the barely capable hands of its previous owner, Augustus Smythe.

With nothing better to do but follow the Summons that drag her from crisis to crisis, Claire finds herself struggling to cope with her growing, problematic attraction/relationship with Dean, and Austin’s own self-centered feline nature. She can’t keep Dean, and she finds that it’s even worse to her health, mental and otherwise, to try and get rid of him. Her family, loving sorts that they are, aren’t much help either. Her sister Diana, the most powerful and youngest Keeper alive, is getting in more trouble than she knows what to do with, and wants none of Claire’s help.

It gets worse. A night of passion is all it takes to tear some disturbing rips in the fabric of reality, with the end result of depositing an angel and a demon, both cursed with teenage bodies and teenage hormones, in our world. If they meet? Just don’t ask how bad it would be. Trust me. Angel. Demon. Teenagers. Bad.

Once more, it’s up to Claire, Austin, Dean, and Diana to save the day, and they’re not even all on the same page with whom to help, and how. Can they stop the two supernatural entities from making things irreversibly bad? What’s more superior, an angel or a cat? Are hormones any match for pure evil? And will Dean and Claire ever get their relationship right? And will Austin ever get fed anything better than generic cat food, which he despises?

From the strengths of these first two novels, it’s clear that Tanya Huff has here a series that rivals her Vicky Nelson Blood books. Claire and Austin are the perfect odd couple team, bickering and arguing their way to victory, with Dean acting as an anchor to reality for them both. The premise is along the same vein as Mercedes Lackey’s Diana Tregarde books, but with the Canadian tone that Huff is so good at.

Entertaining and often riveting, the Keeper’s Chronicles are good examples of urban fantasy, from one of Canada’s best fantasy authors, and well worth the read. I can only hope to see more in this series, following the main characters, or exploring any of the other many intriguing aspects of the Keepers and Cousins, and the world they move in. There’s plenty of material left to cover. (And speaking as a cat owner, I love Austin, and I’m deathly afraid of my cats learning to talk!) So go check these books out if you like urban fantasy or Tanya Huff.

Spindle's End, by Robin McKinley (Ace, 2000)

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Once upon a time, as the story goes, there was a princess. As an infant, she was blessed by some of the mightiest fairies in all the land, save one. That one, the most powerful and malevolent of creatures, resentful that she wasn’t invited to the christening, instead cursed the princess, that one day she would prick her finger upon a spindle, and die immediately. Only the timely arrival of one last good fairy godmother saved the princess, as the last fairy was able to blunt the curse into a deep sleep, instead of death.

Time passed, and the curse unfolded. One day, the princess did indeed prick her finger, despite the complete banning of all spindles, and she did indeed fall into a sleep, and with her the entire castle. As the years passed, a mighty hedge grew up around the castle of the sleeping princess and her friends and family, and they became a legend. One day, a hundred years gone by, a prince came at last to the castle, fought his way through the hedge, defeated the evil fairy, awoke the sleeping princess with a kiss, and they all lived happily ever after.

Sound familiar? It should. The tale of the Sleeping Beauty has long been a favorite fairy tale, and who hasn’t seen the Disney version with sweet, bumbling fairies Flora, Fauna, and Merriweather, the evil Maleficent, and of course, Prince Charming? Who’s not familiar with at least one, if not three or five variations on the tale? And need it be said that in some darker versions, the first prince to come along did more than -kiss- the sleeping beauty, but that’s an adult tale, one sanitized by Victorian sensitivities until what we have left is the bare bones. A princess. A curse. A spindle. A kiss. A happily ever after. That much stays true, no matter how far we’re removed from its origins.

Robin McKinley, who’s made something of a mark with her reinterpretations of fairy tales ( Beauty and Rose Daughter both telling “Beauty and the Beast” again, and Deerskin retelling “Donkeyskin”) has turned her attentions upon this favorite of stories, and in doing so, completely reinterprets and reimagines it as never before, keeping all of the classic elements, but giving it her own spin.

In Spindle’s End , the action is transferred to an unnamed country so rich and thick with magic that it hangs like dust in the air, subjecting innocent creatures to unexpected transformations, a land where fairies run in the family, babies inevitably go through phases of “baby magic,” and even the least superstitious of people believe in curses and spells. This is a land where words have power, fairies and sorcerers are respected, iron has influence against magics, and the animals seem rather more aware than usual. Into this land, a princess is born. Granted a whopping twenty-one names at birth, the least of which is Briar-Rose, she’s the subject of everyone’s attention and adoration. For her name-day, representatives from all the villages in the lands are invited, and twenty-one fairies are asked to attend as a sign of respect. From the tiny village of Foggy Bottom, in the swampy part of the country known as the Gig, the representative is a young woman, Katriona, who’s only just coming into her fairy powers. Her journey is uneventful; it’s what happens after she arrives that changes the land forever.

Upon the occasion of the princess’ nameday ceremony, with hundreds of people gathered, the fairies begin to bestow their gifts, granting such things as golden hair, milky skin, ruby-red lips, pearly teeth, unbeatable embroidery, dancing without peer, and so forth. In the literal fashion of such gifts, as will ultimately be found out, that doesn’t necessarily mean she’ll be pretty, or able to hold a tune no matter how birdlike her voice or bell-like her laughter. But all that’s in the future. As the twentieth gift, something about the quality of her spinning, is bestowed, a long-awaited curse comes to pass, as the evil fairy Pernicia returns to give her own gift of spindle-inflicted death upon the princess’s twenty-first birthday.

In the commotion and confusion that follows, Katriona finds herself in custody of the infant, obliged to flee under the cover of mystery and charm back to her home village, aided along the way by the animals of the land, who sense something special about the fairy and her infant charge, and something evil about what will befall the kingdom should Pernicia get her way. Once home, it’s up to Kat and her Aunt (as everyone calls her) to raise the young Rosie, to hide her from the curse, and to bring her up as best they can, as safe as ordinariness can bestow.

And thus does Rosie grow, in a family full of magic and love, finding her true nature as a tomboy, her own innate magical abilities which bring her close to the animals she adores, protected by all who know her, though they do not know her true nature. And the kingdom mourns the curse, believing the fiction of a princess hidden away by her parents in a series of heavily-protected fortresses, while the true princess grows up free, proud, and unknowing. She’s got plenty to do, what with growing up, finding love, and finding a true friend in the form of Peony, the wainwright’s niece.

As the day of her twenty-first birthday approaches, no more than a few months off, it seems as though the curse may indeed be broken. And when at long last it’s declared safe for the princess to come out of hiding … well, she’s not too keen on the idea. And with the possibility of Pernicia’s revenge still all too real for those who know it best, a cunning plan of deception, misdirection, and magic is hatched. One which may be no match for the power of a centuries-old fairy bent on destruction, chaos, and mayhem.

Though the story is indeed about a sleeping beauty, it’s also true that the fate of the kingdom and everyone in it rests squarely upon Rosie, her blacksmith friend Narl, and a motley assortment of brave animals. By the time it’s all over, the kingdom will be forever changed, as will Rosie, Katriona, Narl, and Peony.

This has to be one of the best retellings of Sleeping Beauty I’ve ever encountered. The core story is as predictable as it is old, but McKinley throws enough twists, turns, and surprises into it to give even the most experienced reader of fairy tales a new experience. The characters are believable, likable, and all too real, for all that they live in a magical world. It certainly had me reading avidly until the end, eager to find out whether or not there was, as there should be in fairy tales, a measure of Happily Ever After.

I heartily recommend this one to all fairy tale enthusiasts.

Sir Apropos of Nothing, by Peter David (Pocket Books, 2001)

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We all know what a Hero is like. Though born of ignoble birth, he overcomes great odds and adversity to accomplish noble quests, gain the aid of mysterious allies and ancient artifacts, and show up to save the day in the nick of time, winning the love of the beautiful (and virtuous) princess, and probably the throne in the process. Right?

Wrong. Prepare yourself for the heroic fantasy novel that laughs at convention, scoffs at tradition, and overturns the apple cart of expectations. Peter David, noted “Writer of Stuff,” is at it again with Sir Apropos of Nothing, the book that Tolkien is glad he didn’t write, the story Eddings shut the door on, the tale too unpredictable for Jordan.

Let’s review the facts: Apropos is a coward and a thief, a craven, conniving, selfish, self-centered, egotistical, bitter young man He’s about as much hero material as a half-eaten jelly donut. He’s lame, walking with the aid of a staff. His mother was a whore, and his father could have been one of six “noble” knights who forcibly had their way with her. All his life, Apropos has been betrayed, spit upon, mocked, reviled, picked on, and used. After his mother is killed, he has but two goals in life. Avenge her death, and get enough money to live happily ever after.

The princess in question, Entipy (short for Natalia Thomasina Penelope) might just very well be a pyromaniac, as well as a sociopath.

The hero is Tacit One-Eye, who claims he was raised by unicorns, and who used to be Apropos’ best friend, once upon a time.

The knight is Sir Umbrage of the Flaming Nether Regions, a useless, addled, broken-down mockery of a once-mighty warrior who can’t even remember his own name from day to day, and who goes through squires like Clinton through interns.

Despite his best efforts, Apropos actually ends up squired to Sir Umbrage. And despite his even better efforts, he and Sir Umbrage are sent on a routine mission, to escort Princess Entipy home from the Holy Retreat of the Faith Women.

Wouldn’t you know it, things go wrong. Very wrong. Extremely wrong. We’re talking disastrous. On a large scale bad. As they used to say, this was ‘moose bad.’ (Long story.)

The unicorns are out to kill them. The Evil Warlord Shank is out to kill them. The Harpers Bizarre are out to kill them. The mobile army of the Vagabond King, Meander, are (you guessed it) out to kill them. Hell, at the rate Apropos collects people out to kill him, it’s a wonder he manages to survive from day to day. And you’ll never guess what part the jester plays in all this.

I promise you, if you’re not rendered speechless at least twice by the end of the book, you’re not reading it properly. I read some of the worst puns out loud to my wife, and she wondered if Peter David had been bitten by a radioactive Spider Robinson (of the Callahans series). The cats were less amused.

Sir Apropos of Nothing is both an excellently told fantasy novel and a brilliant metatextual commentary upon the heroic fantasy genre. It’s self-aware, but not embarrassed in the least. In this regard, it ranks right up there with Eve Forward’s Villains By Necessity and Simon R. Green’s Blue Moon Rising for taking the traditional trappings of epic fantasy, and not just twisting them into knots, but giving them a good sucker punch to the groin for good measure.

Apropos is by no means a hero, not in the least, save for the few times enlightened self-interest gets in the way. Frankly, it’s nothing short of amazing how well he can fast-talk his way out of danger, and even more amazing how he ends up back in those same situations against his better judgment. He’s an anti-hero, a lazy scoundrel who’s concerned about himself first, himself second, and himself third, and to Hell with the king, the kingdom, the princess, and everyone else. But he’s the sort of character we can identify with nonetheless, for in the end, he’s wholly believable. And his reaction upon learning his true role in the world is nothing short of priceless. I can’t give it away, but I can say that it’s been a long time coming for a character to gain such self-knowledge.

I can only pray there’s a sequel, because Peter David’s only scratched the surface of the genre with this offering, a fairly hefty tome in its own right. He’s given us a believable, if amusing, world to play in, with place names like Flaming Nether Regions, and The Tragic Waste, with fully-realized characters, and with a magic system that defies description. (Well, it could be described, but I just like saying something defies description. Ha! I defy you! I defy you again!) (Forgive the digressions. I blame the book.)

If you like fantasy, and you’re tired of the same old epic quests, noble knights, unpronounceable names, and recycled elves, you’ll enjoy Sir Apropos of Nothing. Now, if you don’t have a sense of humor, you’re probably better off sticking with the elves. All in all, this is one of the best books I’ve read in quite a while.

And its only fault was daring to come out at the same time as Neil Gaiman’s new novel, thus making me choose which to read first.

I’ll be looking forward to Peter David’s next offering, and if it’s even half as enjoyable as this one, I’ll enjoy it at least half as much.

Two Shakespeare-related Books

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A Shakespeare Sketchbook, by Renwick St. James and James C. Christensen (Greenwich Workshop Press, 2001)
Shakespeare on Fairies and Magic, by Benjamin Darling (Prentice Hall Press, 2001)

There’s no doubt that Shakespeare, whether he was a playwright from Avon-on-Stratford, Sir Francis Bacon, Queen Elizabeth I, or a conspiracy of time-traveling aliens, has had a tremendous impact upon Western culture for hundreds of years. Long after his death, his plays continue to be produced by the hundreds and thousands each year, with interpretations ranging from the distant past to the far future, from the feudal society of historical Japan to Manhattan in the 1990’s, from the West Side to distant planets, from grade-school productions of Midsummer Night’s Tale to experimental off-off-off-off-Broadway versions of As You Like It with full frontal hermaphroditic nudity. Perhaps I exaggerate just a little, but the truth is, it’s hard to find a milieu or genre which Shakespeare can’t be translated for. In that spirit, I’d like to offer up a pair of books which reimagine Shakespeare through art and drawing, through the visual mediums while leaving the text to speak for itself.

First up is the absolutely wonderful little volume, Shakespeare on Fairies and Magic, compiled by Benjamin Darling. What Darling has done is to extract those elements of Shakespeare’s plays which deal with the occult, supernatural, fairies, myth, or magic, and find suitable illustrations, drawing upon four hundred years worth of artistic renditions. So while you’ll quite naturally see extensive selections from “Midsummer Night’s Dream” and “The Tempest,” Darling also throws in selections from “Macbeth,” “Julius Ceasar,” “Hamlet,” “Romeo and Juliet,” and “The Merry Wives of Windsor.”

Each of the several dozen selections is laid out in the same fashion, with the quotation and its source laid out on the left-hand page, with a small drawing, painting, or piece of artwork to fill the page if the quote itself doesn’t take up the whole space. Then the right-hand page is home to a full-size illustration, representing the very best of Shakespearian-related art. That way, you get at least two renditions of the same material, reimagining and representing the subject matter from two points of view. In one, Puck might be a full-grown fairy, lecherous and lusty, while on the opposite page he’s more like an infant, albeit one with a most mischievous gleam in his eyes. Titania and Oberon are depicted in various manners by Joseph Noel Paton (1849), Francis Danby (1832), and of course by one of the greatest painters of fairies and the supernatural of his time, Arthur Rackham (1908). In fact, Rackham’s work makes up a significant minority of the collected art to be found in this book, accompanied by Johann Fuseli, William Heath Robinson, H.M. Paget, John Simmons, Charles Altamont Doyle, P. Konekawa, and dozens more.

Combining the classical appeal of Shakespeare’s work, with the primarily (though not exclusively) Victorian charm of the art, this is a book suitable for a wide range of people. Whether you appreciate the words of the Bard, or the work of the artists within, this is recommended. Benjamin Darling has done an exemplary job of putting together this book, producing a work of art in all ways. He truly proves that he’s earned his reputation as an expert on illustrated Shakespeare.

Next on the list is something different, but not too far removed: A Shakespeare Sketchbook, written by Renwick St. James (Voyage of the Bassett, A Journey of the Imagination) and illustrated by James C. Christensen (award-winning artist also known for Voyage of the Bassett and numerous other works).

Quite simply, this is an artistic and introspective romp through Shakespeare’s many works, from the best-known and most-loved like Romeo and Juliet or Hamlet, to the downright obscure or near-forgotten, such as Pericles or Two Noble Kinsman. Every play has its moment on stage in this pageantry dedicated to exploring Shakespeare’s works. There are synopses of each play, grouped into categories like Histories, Romances, Comedies, Tragedies, The Roman Plays, and The Problem Plays. There are amusing sidebars on a number of subjects: men playing women on the stage, famous lines we still use today, the unfortunate incident of Mr. Thomas Bowdler and his insistence upon rewriting the plays to make them family-friendly (Disneyfied), useful Shakespearian insults (would thou wert clean enough to spit upon), witches, the superstitions surrounding Macbeth, the role of the fool, and so on.

Interspersed between these, on every page, are sketches and full-blown drawings from Christensen, depicting scenes and characters and incidents in all their glory. They’re beautiful, noble, sly, wry, whimsical, knowing, cunning, sober, dramatic, romantic, accidental, incidental, and unearthly. The ultimate telling piece would have to be “All The World’s A Stage,” the frontispiece which puts together some three dozen and more characters all onto one stage for the ultimate cast party, with their creator and storyteller, Shakespeare himself, in the center.

Again, this is designed to highly appeal both to lovers of theatre and literature, and to lovers of art. The author and artist, noteworthy collaborators for their previous endeavors as mentioned above, have outdone themselves with this offering, which is both intelligent and accessible. Its mixture of entry-level Shakespeare education and entertaining trivia should make this useful for anyone with even the slightest interest in the material.

While these are but two of the many, many Shakespearian-related books and items available on the market today, there’s no doubt but that they’re both high-quality, and worth picking up. Join me next time, for a look at several more books along these lines.

Seven Nations, The Pictou Sessions (Seven Nations, Inc, 2000) and Seven Nations, Seven Nations (Q Records, 2000)

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Some months back, I raved about Seven Nations’ 1999 release, The Factory. Now I’m back with a pair of releases from one of the best Celtic rock bands out there. The Pictou Sessions, released in 2000 on their own label, is what happens when a talented group of musicians travels to the town of Pictou, Nova Scotia, Canada, to endure a hectic five-day period, producing an acoustic album, “aided and abetted by several of their friends, who also happen to be some of the finest pickers and players from the region.” The second album, simply called Seven Nations, contains many of the same songs as The Pictou Sessions, a compilation of most of their crowd-pleasing hits, and was released in October, 2000, by Q Records in association with Atlantic Records. And although the two have almost the same cover, it’s important not to confuse them.

As before, Seven Nations consists of Kirk LcLeod (vocals, twelve-string acoustic guitar, piano), Struby (fretless bass, vocals), Ashton Geoghagan (drums, vocals), Scott Long (highland bagpipes, electric bagpipes, vocals), and Dan Stacey (fiddle, vocals). For The Pictou Sessions, they were joined by guest musicians Dave MacIsaac (acoustic guitar, mandolin), Dave Gunning (guitar, background vocals), Randy MacDonald (bodhran, jembe, tambourine, shakers, vocals), and Nigel Poirier (piano, vocals).

There’s a reason that Seven Nations has fast become so popular, with seven independent albums under their belt and a nation wide fan following. It’s not just the fact that they spend over 2/3rds of the year touring and playing. It’s because they’ve thrown rock, pop, traditional Celtic and more into a blender and hit “puree” to create something wholly unique. I cheered them for their FHL (Faster, Harder, Louder) factor last time, and they haven’t let down one bit since. Their lyrics are powerful, the vocals strong, the instruments energetic. They’re the musical equivalent of a force of nature, slamming into a song with all guns blazing, and leaving the listener reeling as quickly as they came. But then they’ll switch tactics from toe-tapping fiddling (such as “The Surprise Ceilidh Band Set”, as strong a tune as any I’ve heard) to the sombre and reflective (such as “God”, which is deceptively quiet, lulling one almost into a state of melancholy.)

Vocal, versatile, and unpredictable, Seven Nations is a hard act to match. They’re even harder to describe, being as multifaceted as they are talented. I’ve mentioned how they can switch styles like some people change clothes. Well, it’s true. From celebratory to inflammatory to melancholy to pure piano (of note, “Skyezinha/The Egret” on The Pictou Sessions), they’ve got something for every listener and every season. They can make bagpipes do things I swear bagpipes weren’t meant to do (the true purpose of the bagpipes being to shatter the moral of the listener, I’m told…). They’ve got good old drinking songs, like “A Rare Auld Time,” and pipe songs (“Pipe Set”), and songs that defy definition.

So, what am I saying? I’m saying that Seven Nations is as good as ever, if not better, and if you like Celtic of any sort, you owe it to yourself to pick up The Pictou Sessions and/or Seven Nations.

They have a Web site that contains all the 7N information you could ever want. From a band history and timeline to a discography, from news articles and releases to photos, sound clips, tour dates and a chat forum, there’s even online ordering for Seven Nations music, hats, artwork and other merchandise. So, become a citizen of the Seven Nations today.

Flash Girls, Play Each Morning Wild Queen (Fabulous Records, 2001)

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“They talk about the Islands and they have been called Wild Queens. I wonder if they were not really Anne Bonney and Mary Read, those piratical dames, those buccaneer broads, those sword-and-knife wielding beauties of the Bounding Main. After all, did anyone actually see Pansy and Violet in the same room with Anne and Mary? I think not. I remain among their greatest fans, especially now that I know their secret.” – Jane Yolen, on the back page of the liner notes for Play Each Morning Wild Queen

The Flash Girls were the musical equivalent of Thelma and Louise, a pair of wild women musicians who’d taken their songs on the road, spreading chaos behind them merrily. They’re what happens when you throw in the Celtic rock talent of Cats Laughing or Boiled in Lead, the peculiar English sentiments of Neil Gaiman, the urban phantasms of one “Colonel” Emma Bull, and the genius of “The Fabulous” Lorraine Garland, self-styled Duchess of Hazard, into a blender and serve chilled with a twist of lime. Or, to put it another way, it’s what happens when some really creative, talented people got together and decided to have some serious fun.

Play Each Morning Wild Queen marked the third adventure of Emma Bull and Lorraine Garland in their alter(ed) egos of Pansy Smith and Violet Jones, aka The Flash Girls. In her previous tenure with a musical group, the much-renowned Cats Laughing, Emma Bull demonstrated that her talents were as much instrumental and vocal as they were literary, leaping from the Fae-haunted streets of Minneapolis to the stage, as though invoking one of her own characters. And while like the Flash Girls, Cats Laughingis no more, its legacy also lives on.

In The Return of Pansy Smith and Violet Jones, they introduced us to characters so real that they ultimately took on a life of their own in Chris Claremont’s short-lived comic book, Sovereign Seven. In Maurice and I, they continued to expand their horizons, mixing traditional songs with ones penned by Neil Gaiman and Jane Yolen, among others. And now they were back again for their final CD.

Play Each Morning Wild Queen was as different from its predecessors as they were from Cats Laughing. With Emma on vocals, guitar, washboard and spoons, and Lorraine on vocals and violin, they demonstrated the full range of their abilities, while assuring us that, yes, they were having fun.

And they had brought friends: Robin Anders joins in on the drums, and another Boiled in Lead colleague, Adam Stemple, helped out on bass and keyboards. Lojo Russo, formerly of Cats Laughing, brought her bass into the mix, and Steven Brust contributed dumbek as well as lyrical assistance.

The traditional songs of the mix (“Nottingham Ale”, “Lily of the West”) were joined by songs written by Neil Gaiman, Steven Brust, Dorothy Parker, A.A. Milne, Todd Menton, Jimmy McCarthy, and of course, Emma and Lorraine.

Looking at the above list, it’s no wonder that the offerings that were put forth in this album ranged from the unusual to the unexpected.

So, were they any good? You bet. I’ll admit up front, their style wasn’t for everyone. The Flash Girls seemed to occupy a certain, oft-unused portion of the consciousness, taking up residence when you were not looking and refusing to pay rent on time, if at all. They started out with a nice, almost subtle instrumental, the darkly atmospheric “Driving With Noel,” a heavily bass-accented tune that had my walls shivering and my cats eying me suspiciously. It’s immediately my favorite song of the batch, without having heard the others, the sort of song that should be turned up louder, if only I wasn’t afraid of causing an earthquake in Virginia. It’s vaguely Celtic, vaguely folk, with a healthy dose of violin and drums, the afore-mentioned bass, and an erupting volcano for good measure.

It’s almost a relief to go from the moody dark autumn night of “Driving” to the Dorothy Parker inspired “Threnody,” which presents us Our Heroines on vocals, the usual suspects on backup instruments, and one of Parker’s own poems as the basis for the lyrics. What can I say, except that Mrs. Parker would undoubtedly be pleased with the treatment of her work.

“Lily of the West” proves that the Girls could handle traditional as well as they did other sources, throwing us into the story of the man who met, loved, was betrayed by, and lost, Flory, Lily of the West. Cheerful? Only if you like the sort of love that can survive betrayal and death, to the very end. I hear some people were big into that intensity of faithfulness.

Then it’s to A.A. Milne, whose words, taken from When We Were Very Young give us the core of “Buckingham Palace/Dunford’s Fancy.” After the previous song, it’s a very welcome change of pace and atmosphere. Fast-paced, witty, light-hearted in tone, catchy, it’s Christopher Robin and Alice going down to the Buckingham Palace, and it doesn’t let up in its energy levels until the end.

“A Meaningful Dialogue” starts off with a sort of ’50s girl group vocalization but rapidly degenerates into the aftermath of a bad relationship: “I’ve got my fingers in my ears I’m going lalalalalalalalala/I can’t hear you/I’ve got my fingers in my ears I’m going lalalalalalalala/Going la la la”. Admit it. Haven’t you ever wanted to do that? It works when the boss gets mad, it’s the solution to the worst day you’ve ever had, and sometimes it’s the best response available. Childish, yet meaningful, and all too entertaining on some levels.

“Race to the Moon” was the result of a collaboration between Emma, Lorraine, Steven Brust and Adam Stemple, blending nursery rhymes like “Little Bo Peep” and “Ring around the Rosy” to create a whole new way of looking at things. Then it’s time for another instrumental, “The Wine With The Stars In It/Mr. and Mrs. O’Mara,” a fine traditional tune written by Lorraine, backed up by Adam Stemple and Steven Brust.

“All Purpose Folk Song (Child Ballad #1)” was another one of those songs that had to be heard to be believed. Words by Neil Gaiman, inspiration by all those Child Ballads that were the meat and potatoes of any folklorist or folk musician. This one’s an a capella tune, but you’ll hardly miss the music. “Sure of Me” speaks to all those doubts a lover has ever had to assuage in his or her partner, with just the slightest hint of wryness.

As the song says, “Even with an explanation/How will you be sure of me?”

Back to the traditionals for “Ride On/Reverend Guiness” for another haunting tale that might or might not have once been called “The Right Reverend Guilderness’ Jig,” and then it’s next door for a Neil Gaiman creation, “Personal Thing,” which is as much of a love song as we may ever expect to get from the man most famous for Sandman and American Gods, that is to say, it’s full of gorgeous imagery and magical suggestion.

Finally, we wind up our tour of that ill-used part of your consciousness with “Nottingham Ale,” a traditional song about drinking, without which no proper folk(ish)album would be complete. Drink up your Nottingham Ale, boys! (And I won’t mention the ‘bonus track’ that you’ll get if you let the CD play on past the last track. Let’s just say it’s… interesting.)

So yes. Play Each Morning Wild Queen was good. It’s unique, fascinating, esoteric, and just plain fun. I haven’t decided if I like it more than the other Flash Girls offerings, but then again, does that matter? Take this one on its own, or with the others, or on faith, and enjoy it fully.

Of Darkness, Light, and Fire, by Tanya Huff (Daw, 2001)

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The newest book by Tanya Huff is actually an omnibus of two of her oldest books. The first, Gate of Darkness, Circle of Light, is an urban fantasy originally released in 1989, while The Fire’s Stone is a more traditional fantasy story released in 1990. Each book is a stand-alone; they represent the two sub-genres she’s best known for (although arguably her Blood Price vampire-and-monsters series is more dark fantasy bordering on horror than it is urban fantasy (see this review). Out of print for some time, these two books have been brought back in one handsome volume to reintroduce readers to some of her earliest, and favorite, works.

The Darkness and Light exist in a precarious balance, each opposed directly by the other, each remaining apart from the mundane world except when called by our own hopes, wishes, dreams, or darker desires. When an Adept of the Darkness slips through the barriers into Toronto, he threatens to upset the balance and bring down horrors unimaginable. He leaves a grisly trail of death and despair behind him, twisting minds and souls to fit his needs and his unhealthy appetites. The only people capable of standing against him are inexperienced, untrained, and, in some cases, way out of their league.

Roland is a simple street musician, a guitar-playing busker who’s never followed anything through properly in his twenty-eight years. Daru is an overworked, dedicated social worker who fights a losing war against the darkness of man’s nature on a daily basis. Mrs. Ruth is a bag lady who knows more than she lets on, but that knowledge has driven her mad … or has it? Tom is a cat with uncanny instincts and the courage to do what he has to. And Rebecca, for all her charm and good nature, is simple, unable to grasp the complexities of modern society, considered incompetent by so many. With Evantarim, an Adept of the Light, to aid them, they have to track down this Adept of the Darkness and stop him before all Hell breaks loose.

Roland will undergo a personal quest that will either break him, or forge him into the man he’s always been destined to become. Rebecca will tap into her true nature and discover the magic both within and without. And Evan will embrace humanity, helping them to unite and call upon the power of the Goddess. But someone will die to save the world, and no one will remain unchanged by the events leading up to Midsummer.

Gate of Darkness, Circle of Light is a fun book, that doesn’t require any previous knowledge of a series. Well-told, with exceptionally well-crafted characters and an increasingly tense plot, it only stumbles once in a while, such as when Roland is thrown into otherworldly realms that seem to have little to do with the ongoing plot. The trio of Roland, Rebecca, and Evan are a treat to behold, as they struggle with the tasks at hand, and with increasing attractions to one another. These characters are realistic, first and foremost, as they cope with things many of them couldn’t even dream of.

The Fire’s Stone is much like Gate of Darkness, Circle of Light, in that it too features a trio of protagonists out to save the world. However, this is much more a story of personal choice, defying roles, and making one’s own destiny.

Chandra, only daughter to a powerful lord, has defied him, insistent upon following her destiny as a Wizard of the Nine, one of the all-too-rare people capable of channeling not just one, but all nine disciplines of magic. Where most choose one or the other, becoming wizards of the First, or Fourth, or Seventh, she can transcend them all with her power and skill. But she’s been promised in marriage. Gambling desperately, she sets off to try and thwart this plan, but instead gets caught up in a far more immediate concern.

Darvish, third son of the king of Ischia, is a hopeless cause. An alcoholic, fond of women, men, wine, beer, song, and general misbehavior, his only redeeming skills are his superb swordplay and his charming demeanor. He’ll never amount to anything, and he knows it. But when a thief falls into his life, he finds responsibility, just in time to be sent on a dangerous quest. Is he the only man for the job because he’s got the qualifications, or is he the only man because he’s expendable?

Aaron, self-exiled heir to a far-northern Clan, has assumed a life as a thief, choosing a slow path of self-destruction to bury the memories of the love his father had killed. When his mentor dies, he looks for a way to honor her, but betrayal lands him in the hands of justice, and ultimately bonded to Darvish.

Together, Aaron, Darvish, and Chandra will go forth. For the Fire’s Stone, a magical artifact that’s the only thing keeping Ischia from being destroyed by the volcano it was built on, has been stolen. Without it, the city will perish in fire and smoke, horribly. The trio must go forth as warrior, thief, and wizard, to reclaim the Stone, expose a traitor, defeat a wizard, prevent a war, and save Ischia. In the process, Chandra will find her path, Darvish will find his destiny, and Aaron will find his love. Together they can do what no one else can. But if they don’t stand together, they’ll be the first to fall.

Again, the characterization is the standout element of this book. The three main characters are believable, and one can sympathize with their choices and motivations. The feelings they exhibit are as complex as any real person, going against social conditioning and even religious indoctrination to follow the heart. The storyline is fast-paced and gripping, with plenty of dramatic rooftop chases, intrigue, skullduggery, and sharp fight scenes to keep it moving.

Compared to Tanya Huff’s later works, these might lack experience and polish, but they still hold up as wonderful stories in their own right. Because each book represents a different sub-genre, the collection offers something for varied tastes. Of Darkness, Light, And Fire is recommended, with the only real downside being the somewhat clunky title, meant to represent both books and instead dropping like a stone.

Narcissus in Chains, by Laurell K. Hamilton (Berkley, October 2001)

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The next time someone I know has relationship problems, I’ll point out that no matter what, they have to have it better and less complicated than Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter. In Narcissus In Chains, the tenth novel to feature the popular character, things have reached an all-time level of complexity. SNAFU: Situation Normal, All Fouled Up.

For starters, Anita’s not the nice, innocent little necromancer/vampire hunter she was back in her first outing, Guilty Pleasures. She’s dating, at the same time, the Ulfric (King) of the local werewolves, and the vampiric Master of the City, respectively Richard and Jean-Claude. She shares in their power, but only in an incomplete sense, and if she doesn’t do something about it, who knows what’ll happen? Furthermore, she’s the Nimir-Ra (pack leader, more of less) of a small group of wereleopards. Makes the single life look good, doesn’t it? Between her dating life and her permanent houseguests, Anita’s about ready to scream, even after six months of self-inflicted celibacy and ‘alone time’ to try and get herself back in order.

Guess what? Things can always get worse.

For instance, when Nathaniel, one of her wereleopards, gets in some serious trouble with Narcissus, the werehyena owner of the popular club Narcissus in Chains (most of the Anita Blake books seem to be named for the club or hotspot they feature … Circus of the Damned, Guilty Pleasures, Lunatic Cafe … ) Anita goes rushing in, and finds herself up against some very nasty snakemen. After rescuing her wayward ward, and a few other innocent victims, the true fun begins. Let’s summarize, shall we?

A) After being potentially infected by her own wereleopards, Anita’s in danger of actually becoming one with the next full moon.

B) After merging her supernatural side with Richard and Jean-Claude, she also has to worry about taking on -their- aspects. Namely, Richard’s rage and Jean-Claude’s “ardeur,” the need to emotionally or sexually feed from people.

C) One of her wereleopards is to be judged and executed by the local werewolves, in response to a conniving new enemy among their ranks. Richard, in his role as Ulfric, can do nothing to help her anymore.

D) The snakemen, and their enigmatic leader, Chimera, want Anita dead.

E) There’s a second wereleopard pack in town, and their Nimir-Raj, Micah Callahan, could either be Anita’s best ally, or another enemy.

F) A deadly conspiracy is preying upon the local werecreatures. No one is safe, be they rat, wolf, leopard, hyena, cobra, fox, bear, swan, or hamster. (Okay, I made up the hamster … )

If Anita can’t rally her allies and master her own abilities, innocents will die, and Saint Louis will never be the same again. Nor will her poor love life.

If you think I’ve given away too much, think again. Narcissus In Chains is densely plotted, reeling and turning from plotline to plotline with exhausting complexity, interweaving the various strands until they all come together in one final explanation and showdown. It doesn’t let up one bit, offering no relief or reprieve to Anita and her friends, or the reader. With some books you read until you find a good place to stop. Be warned. There’s not much of a good place to stop once you get started. The book may take place over the course of days, even weeks, but it doesn’t feel like time’s really passing. From one thing to the next, it’s a nonstop ride of erotic dark fantasy.

That’s right, I said erotic. From the boudoir to the back alleys, Laurell K. Hamilton continues to redefine the image of vampires, werewolves, and other things that go bump in the night as creatures of dark passions, sensual desires, and dangerous temptations. The book doesn’t just steam, it fogs up the windows. The pages drip with the same sort of erotic imagery and romantic entanglements and outright lust that have popularized the vampire of late, stopping just sort of explicit with the same grace and style of the best softcore Cinemax offerings. And yes, this is a good thing. Narcissus In Chains knows full well what it is, and isn’t embarrassed in the least. It combines dark fantasy/horror and eroticism in a way that would make Anne Rice stop to take notes.

On the flip side, I’d have to label the book with a big old “R” rating. Most definitely not for children, people with weak hearts, prudes, or those who find shapeshifters ‘icky’. Mature, consenting adults, this one’s for you. If you’re not familiar with the Anita Blake series, I do recommend starting with Guilty Pleasures and reading in order. They’ve all been recently released in paperback with a series of gorgeous covers that would look great unencumbered by cover copy, either as posters or prints. You can’t miss them.