Jekyll2021-07-20T14:41:46+00:00https://aaronhayman.com/feed/reviews.xmlAaron Hayman | ReviewsAspiring WriterThe Wandering Inn2021-07-19T10:11:43+00:002021-07-19T10:11:43+00:00https://aaronhayman.com/the-wandering-inn<p><img src="https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/41zGUBv9XHL.jpg" alt="The Wandering Inn Cover" /></p>
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<p>This “book” cost me months.</p>
<p>But, of course, it’s not a book; it’s a web series. It’s an important distinction, because if you approach this like you might a book or even a standard book series, you just may find yourself sucked into a world far larger than you anticipated.</p>
<p>Good luck with that.</p>
<p>I came across the series from the recommendation of several different authors I follow: Will Wight, I think, and Andrew Rowe? I don’t fully recall, but it was enough for me to Google the term, find the website, and immediately discover I could start reading the series on the web, now, for free, no strings attached.</p>
<p>Bleh. Who actually wants to read a book on a website? Seriously. I bought a kindle for a reason <sup id="fnref:1" role="doc-noteref"><a href="#fn:1" class="footnote" rel="footnote">1</a></sup> that’s not purely due to eye strain.</p>
<p>It turns out there <em>are</em> kindle books, three of them, that almost encompass three of the… eight volumes? Huh. And these are not small books; I believe one of them clocks in at around twelve hundred pages.</p>
<p>Still, I read the ebooks, and discovered I wanted more. I just had to sacrifice my soul on the alter of inconvenient web text and manual syncing.</p>
<p>It was not pleasant.</p>
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<p>I can’t count how many times I lost my place, then spent untold eterneties scrolling first scrolling through innovative chapter names like 5.42 and 5.43, then scrolling through ten to twenty thousand word chapters. At least once I accidentally skipped a chapter, which led to great confusion until I’d figured it out.</p>
<p>I like this series a lot, so let’s first get out of the way things I <em>don’t</em> like. There’s not a whole lot to the list, but there is some, and they mostly revolves around the prose itself. I should point out the writing itself improves greatly as the series progresses.</p>
<p>Actually, let me repeat that, dwell on it a bit: the writing <em>really</em> improves throughout the series. Turns out, writing two chapters a day for years will cause one to learn a few things. It’s rather delightful to see.</p>
<p>However, that still means you’ve gotta get through some of the early “janky” writing, and therein comes both the warning and the encouragement. Yes, some of it may be annoying or frustrating (or it is if you’re me), but it gets better and the story is well worth that price of admission.</p>
<h2 id="a-minor-list-of-issues">A Minor list of Issues</h2>
<h3 id="dialog">Dialog</h3>
<p>I <em>hate</em> the way they write dialog. This is probably my biggest issue, and one that never fades away. Pirateaba seems to subscribe to the belief that all dialog should always be on its own line. There is never other text. Never. Beats are placed on the prior or following paragraphs and often are… buried? That’s not the right word. The beat is always adjacent to the dialog, but it’s hard to identify as a beat when it’s part of an overall paragraph. It’s sometimes before and sometimes after the dialog, and sometimes there’s no beat at all.</p>
<p>There’s a school of thought that posits dialog should stand up on its own. If it doesn’t, then the dialog needs to be rewritten. Some authors will strip out their “he saids, she saids” and even remove the beats <sup id="fnref:3" role="doc-noteref"><a href="#fn:3" class="footnote" rel="footnote">2</a></sup> with this idea in mind. This sort of thing isn’t a bad idea <em>if</em> you’re practicing your writing; it’s a fantastic way to tell if the dialog is flat and relies too much on beats for character. Thing is, beats and tags are important to the reader, cause guess what?</p>
<p><em>It doesn’t matter if you don’t know who’s talking!</em></p>
<p>It doesn’t take long for me to look back (or ahead) and figure out from context who’s speaking; I’ve never actually not figured it out. It does, however, rip me out of the story each and every time. If this happened only once or twice? Okay, I can deal; nobody’s perfect. But there comes a point when I realize I’m doing this for the third time in a single chapter, and that’s just downright frustrating.</p>
<h3 id="foreshadowing">Foreshadowing</h3>
<p>So, there’s foreshadowing and then there’s <strong>FORESHADOWING</strong>. What’s the difference? With foreshadowing, an event or scene is written in such a way as to to imply or suggest something to come. It could be obtuse, such as a character experiencing some ominous feeling; it could be subtle, such that the way the scene is described suggests something to come.</p>
<p>Or, it could be <strong>FORESHADOWING</strong>, which often comes across like a bag of bricks to the head:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>“And little did Erin know that this day was to be the worst day of her life…”
<sup id="fnref:4" role="doc-noteref"><a href="#fn:4" class="footnote" rel="footnote">3</a></sup></p>
</blockquote>
<p><em>Oh no! What ever will happen to my favorite character!</em></p>
<p>Does anybody actually think that? I despise this sort of thing. It feels as though the author could not be bothered to actually write a cliff hanger. When I’m reading, I want to read about what’s happening now. I want to be drawn in to it. What I don’t want, is for the author to rip me out and jab their finger into the future with impatient words about how great it’s going to be.</p>
<p>Stop trying to draw me into the future. I’ll get there in my own time.</p>
<p>To be clear, The Wandering Inn is great. The story’s been more than enough to keep me turning the page <sup id="fnref:5" role="doc-noteref"><a href="#fn:5" class="footnote" rel="footnote">4</a></sup> even after five volumes, which is what, like fifteen books at least? Also, this issue mostly goes away somewhere around volume six.</p>
<h3 id="periods">Periods</h3>
<p>This is a minor issue that could be easily be written off as stylistic choice. It doesn’t affect reading or the story or even detract much. It’s a missed opportunity is all.</p>
<p>Pirateaba has a tendency to break up perfectly good sentences into incomplete fragments using a period. It’s… fine. Fiction writers often feel free to break the rules of grammar; I have no problem with that. Personally, I think breaking the rules can be used to great effect. However, when it’s done too much, one of two things happen:</p>
<ol>
<li>The prose becomes garbled and difficult to read.</li>
<li>The violations fade away into the background and the effect is lost.</li>
</ol>
<p>Centuries of reading and writing have conditioned us to expect certain patterns in prose. Sentence structure, punctuation, and even word order are like a conductor’s baton, taking disparate noises and elevating it to harmonic symphony. <em>Breaking</em> those rules is a sour note. It draws attention, like a poem that rhymes until the very last word <sup id="fnref:6" role="doc-noteref"><a href="#fn:6" class="footnote" rel="footnote">5</a></sup>. The dissonance drives home that word like a hammer.</p>
<p>Breaking the rule of grammars is like that.</p>
<p>Pirateaba does it too much, but at no point does the prose become difficult to read. It just fades away. Given how our author uses the periods, I suspect they do it for pacing. The words are cadence in their mind, and the periods are an attempt to replicate that.</p>
<p>But here’s the thing: the English language has plenty of other punctuations marks that can do this. Take the humble comma, for instance. Yes, it is probably one of the most overused punctuations marks in any language, but perhaps that’s only because it’s really good at what it does. But if you don’t like the comma, it’s not like there aren’t other punctuation marks. We have a semicolon; we have a colon; we have an ellipses— we even have a dash or [gasp] a <em>long</em> dash. And, of course, there’s all sorts of brackets that can be employed.</p>
<p>There’s so many ways to structure language, so many tools available, and the author eschews all but one: a period.</p>
<p>As I said, it doesn’t exactly detract, but it’s a missed opportunity. It makes me sad, cause sometimes I stop to reread a paragraph and realize while it’s decent, it’s just a few punctuation marks away from being great.</p>
<p>A huge but: this issue <em>also</em> goes away. The writing progressively gets better as the series progresses. So please, don’t throw away perfectly good stories because the writing starts out a little rough.</p>
<h3 id="save-the-edits-please">Save the edits, please</h3>
<p>You can roughly divide all authors into two main camps <sup id="fnref:7" role="doc-noteref"><a href="#fn:7" class="footnote" rel="footnote">6</a></sup>: those who edit, and those who don’t. There’s pros and cons to each: It’s easy for the “editors” to become bogged down in the pursuit of perfection and take years between their releases. On the other hand, those who don’t edit can often embed their mistakes with each new word they write.</p>
<p>Pirataba is not an editor, and they’ve said as much. Not only are they not inclined, but their very schedule doesn’t allow for it— two chapters a week are <em>a lot</em> to write.</p>
<p>This is not a complaint, but I feel it should be mentioned: The Wandering Inn is unapologetically what it is, errors and all. While there are three books on the Kindle Store that <em>have</em> gone through an editing process, it’s telling how far behind they are to what’s on the website. It’s also telling that most grammar and structural issues remain in those books as well.</p>
<p>If you want to enjoy it (and I highly recommend you do), you best get used to the issues. Ignore them, complain, roll your eyes, or whatever, but then move on and keep reading. Cause at the end of the day, what really matters is the story, and pirateaba has a great one to tell.</p>
<h2 id="the-story">The Story</h2>
<p>A great one? That’s wrong; it’s more like a plethora of great stories. Yes, there’s a main one and spoilers, it’s Erin, the one you start with. But to pay attention to just the “primary” story is wrong, simply because just about <em>every</em> story told in The Wandering Inn universe is equally good.</p>
<p>I would go even further and claim there’s a hidden character plot within (or constituting) all the others: the world itself. This is the benefit of writing the way Pirateaba does. They have space, room to flesh out the world in ways no novel or even series ever could. Each arc doesn’t just tell the story of a character, but also reveals more about a culture, nation, kingdom, species, etc in the world. That, of course, doesn’t guarantee good writing, and while not all of the stories are equally good, they are all good. More importantly, they’re unique so that very rarely do I feel like I’m reading the same story in a different character.</p>
<p>This would be good as it is, but I would be remiss to not point out that’s it’s not just one world, but ours as well. We never see ours directly, but most stories follow someone from our world trying to survive in a deadly medieval culture filled with magic and monsters. It’s equally fun and horrifying, yet always interesting to watch how our culture, ideas, and values not only translate into a reality not designed for them, but also not <em>prepared</em> for them either.</p>
<p>Where else can you find a story of a dragon addicted to an iPhone game?</p>
<h3 id="our-kind-of-story">Our Kind of Story</h3>
<p>First, let’s talk about what <em>kind</em> of story is being told:</p>
<ul>
<li>Massive world building: check.</li>
<li>Epic with lot’s of story lines: check.</li>
<li>Fleshed out characters that feel real and undergo authentic transformations: double-check… maybe even triple check.</li>
<li>Deep and consistent magic system: well, it’s broad. Not sure how consistent it is (literally, I’m unsure and I’m disinclined to research it), and there are hints of depth or deeper truths kinda thing, but so far it’s mostly just broad. Think: a lot of different spells broken up into tiers but with only very vague guiding principles.</li>
<li>LitRPG: sort of? There are levels and they’re really important to the world/people/plot. But the levelling system itself is simplistic (also a bit random) and there is a distinct lack of the character sheets common to the genre. Personally, I consider this a plus; I do not like skimming character sheets. Either way, let’s call it very, very lite LitRPG.</li>
<li>The classic Herione’s Journey: check.</li>
</ul>
<blockquote>
<p>Oh, I know this one! That’s like the Hero’s Journey, but with a bad ass beautiful female kicking everyone’s ass in skin-tight leather! <sup id="fnref:8" role="doc-noteref"><a href="#fn:8" class="footnote" rel="footnote">7</a></sup></p>
</blockquote>
<p>Ah… no.</p>
<p>First off, some clarification: The Hero’s/Heroine’s Journey has nothing to do with a character’s sex or gender.</p>
<p>Ack! Even that’s not right. The <em>name</em> certainly does lean into stereotypes. Men are prone to go at it alone, women are supposed to be cooperative, ladedadeda, whatever. It’s disturbing. Our stereotypes are so deeply ingrained into our culture such that the best way to title our story types is to use them. I can’t help but feel like something went wrong there.</p>
<p>The definition, though, has nothing to do with gender. A Hero’s Journey could easily be taken by any gender, just as a Heroine’s Journey could. In truth, even the structure of the story could remain largely the same between them— hell, even the basic stages of a Hero’s Journey can apply <sup id="fnref:9" role="doc-noteref"><a href="#fn:9" class="footnote" rel="footnote">8</a></sup>. What’s different is <em>how</em> they take that journey, how they overcome their obstacles, and what the resulting tension and victory looks like. The result is a very different book, even if the plot lines are largely the same.</p>
<p>Take what I like to call the ‘isolation’ stage. In this stage, our intrepid hero is stripped of their companions. In the Hero’s journey, this would result in the hero turning inward, finding (or developing) their inner strength, coming to some kind of deep realization or self-actualization, and emerging stronger for it. Isolation ends when our hero finds the strength to overcome the external circumstances causing it or changes enough internally to leave it.</p>
<p>The Heroine’s Journey inverts this. Instead of becoming stronger, isolation makes our protagonist weaker (or at the very least stays the same). As they progress through this stage, they are met with failure after failure until they are forced to realize that they can’t do it alone; they need others to succeed. A good writer will force the protagonist to deal with their inner demons in order to accept this truth. Isolation ends when the protagonist overcomes the inner demons keeping them from accepting help.</p>
<p>The stage is the same but the form of it could not be different. Whereas the Hero’s Journey focuses on personal achievement, the Heroine’s Journey focuses on interpersonal relationships. This shift in focus changes not only the meaning of the struggles, but of the underlying tension and drama within the story. Within the Hero’s Journey, personal loss is often used an impetus for growth, whereas in the Heroine’s Journey, loss is just… loss. There’s no justifying it with personal growth. It causes damage and it hurts and it didn’t need to happen. That’s the point.</p>
<p>The Wandering Inn is a large epic plot of heroine stories. Yes, there are heroes; yes, there are battles, magic, and intrigue. But the bulk of the drama lies in the relationships and how they evolve. Pirateaba is a master at fleshing out characters, drawing you in, and then setting up plot lines that pit them against each other in a way that sets up war as a tragedy instead of some glorious self-masturbatory monument to violence and the unending quest for power.</p>
<p>This is, for me, an important aspect of The Wandering Inn. War is cast as the prisoner’s dilemma. Tension is created in conflict by getting us to invest in both sides first. We the reader are made to understand why it’s happening; both sides have believable rationale, but it’s based on imperfect information. We know, deep in our hearts, that if we could just get the two sides to sit down and talk, there would be no war.</p>
<h3 id="an-interconnected-mess">An Interconnected Mess</h3>
<p>A big draw of The Wandering Inn universe is the feel of it, a real, interconnected yet disjointed, messy world. Stuff is constantly happening, and not just around our main protagonists, but everywhere. Major events propel the world forward, and nowhere near most of our main characters, who often only hear rumors of world events too distant to concern them. It feels real in the way our world is.</p>
<p>A major reason for this is simple: Pirateaba is not constrained by the limitations of a book, or even of a book series. Their web series is open ended, freeing them to interject innumerable side characters all over the world without fear of blowing through some constraining word limit. It allows them to not simply conjure world events, but actually tell those stories at leisure. The patient reader is rewarded with an intimate perspective of a messy reality that conspires to move forward events in a progression that feels natural.</p>
<p>People are messy. They make the wrong decisions; they are naive or cynical; they’re prejudiced; they’re selfish and selfless; they betray each other and are betrayed and, sometimes, they perform incredible acts of loyalty and love. Sometimes this shakes the world. Sometimes, it shakes only the person affected. I cannot help but think our author either has a prodigious memory or else some incredible outlines. There’s so many interpersonal interactions, and they’re not incidental. When major events happen, they are because of the choices individuals make. Those events, in turn, drive personal motivations.</p>
<p>It’s… life, and not just a slice but all of it. It’s all woven together in a masterful tapestry of all colors and shades. I just can’t say this enough: it <em>feels</em> real.</p>
<p>It’s also… life. It’s long and sometimes boring. Whole chapters can move at an excruciatingly slow pace. Some chapters seem to have no point at all except the author wanted to write about a character, and so they did, and so we get to read about a walk through town to buy stuff. It takes a patient reader to slog through one of the slice of life chapters or when yet another character perspective is introduced.</p>
<p>And that’s a whole other issue: each new character perspective delays the stories you’ve already invested in. Every time one is introduced, I seriously start wondering whether it’s worth it. Likely, the story will be good enough to draw me in after a few chapters, but it’s still distance between other arcs I care about. This can lead to frustration, especially if the author isn’t as invested in “my” character. As more and more arcs are introduced, this frustration can only increase.</p>
<p>Of course, there’s nothing to be done about it. I would not ask Pirateaba to write differently. They interweave countless storylines together, they’re masterful at it, and whatever weaknesses or frustrations that come from it are simple part of the package.</p>
<p>Is it worth it? Well, I’m half way through the sixth volume <sup id="fnref:10" role="doc-noteref"><a href="#fn:10" class="footnote" rel="footnote">9</a></sup> and I’ve yet to switch out for another book. Apparently, I think it quite worth it. Whether for you that is true will depend on what you’re looking for.</p>
<h3 id="them-themes">Them Themes</h3>
<p>Pirateaba is not afraid to take on difficult themes, and with a with a world so big, they have plenty of room to address them. I’ve been particularly pleased at the way they’ve taken on subjects such a rape and violence, omitting the gratuitous while showing how dehumanizing such acts can be.</p>
<p>But it’s more than that. It’s not uncommon for fan/sci-fi authors to have philosophical and/or idealogical viewpoints. In fact, I would argue this genre in particular is well suited toward expressing such things— it’s a part of my attraction to it at least. Yet I’ve been particularly pleased at the way Pirateaba addresses such issues. They almost certainly have an opinion — as all people inevitably do — but they’re not afraid of expressing the complexities of reality and — how can I say this? — of the valid pluralities of individual, yet limited perspectives.</p>
<p>I’m so tired of simplistic philosophy reduced to absurd ideology. Because, in the end, humanity — <em>people</em> and <em>individuals</em> — are not so easily reduced. We’re complex beings imbued with limited perspective. This is not a thing that can be changed. No matter how good, how <em>right</em> our hero is, at their core, fallible, if only due to their limited understanding of reality.</p>
<p>It’s this kind of thoughtful address of the human condition that I find a huge draw to The Wandering Inn. Take for instance Flo, the King of Destruction. He’s viewed by others as a tyrant bent on world domination. Yet Pirateaba spends a lot of time exploring why a tyrant might justify this in such a way that, somehow, you begin to understand and relate. He’s a good person trying to rectify gross injustice, and perhaps it is not the he who was wrong in his conquests, but the world who is wrong in its label.</p>
<p>Ah, but I love the doubt Pirateaba bleeds into their themes. It is never so cut and dried as our many ideologies would have us believe. Sometimes the tyrant is a good person; sometimes they’re not. Sometimes our monsters are self made; sometimes they’re just monsters. Sometimes evil is clearly cut and dried; sometimes it’s a murky bog of bad options. Of all the things they’ve done in their writing, this is possibly what I respect the most.</p>
<p>I’ve touched on some of the other themes interwoven into the series in my discussion of the Heroine’s Path, war, interpersonal relationships, etc. But there’s one main theme I want to explore:</p>
<h3 id="monsters-inc">Monsters, Inc.</h3>
<p>Perhaps the biggest theme interwoven throughout the series is the idea of what makes a monster, a monster. As in most fantasy, there are monsters and they are established from the very beginning. What Pirateaba does, though, is immediately blur the line. Goblins, for instance, are monsters, and as the series progresses they shown to be… monsters.</p>
<p>But they shift the definition right out from under you.</p>
<p>Monster are monsters: they’re a kind of mindless evil, a danger that threatens civilization. When confronted with a monster, you either attack or run, for it will always try to kill you. What you don’t do is invite it in for dinner and try to talk to it.</p>
<p>Which is exactly what one of the protagonists does.</p>
<p>Monsters are a word we use to excuse our violence. One doesn’t need to consider the morality of attacking a monster: by definition, they deserve it because of what they are. It’s obvious when something is a monster, yet over the course of the book we see this label applied over and over to anything alien to us, different from the civilization we’ve created. And what happens when an entire race is called “monster”?</p>
<p>What happens when we create our monsters by the simple virtue of naming them?</p>
<p>What happens when we become a monster simply because we believe it?</p>
<p>This power of naming and our abuses of it are, in my opinion, a central theme to The Wandering Inn. As our protagonists either descend into or reject the stereotypes of the realm, we the reader get to see the power of our labels: monster, person, individual, other, <em>them</em>. They can blind or reveal, trap or set free. Throughout the series, we see people do just that, not only of others but of of themselves. It’s a strong theme, and a poignant one, and it is explored well.</p>
<p>In the end, this one question endlessly repeats itself beneath all their writing: what if all the time we’ve been creating our own monsters, simply by labelling them as such?</p>
<p>It’s a question our world desperately needs to ask.</p>
<h3 id="take-aways">Take Aways</h3>
<p>I’ve spent the last couple months reading The Wandering Inn. Honestly, I haven’t written much during this time. There’s something here for me to learn, and until I do I’ve put my own story on pause. Instead, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about the kind of book I want to write or, more accurately, how I want it to end.</p>
<p>I started writing with an ambiguous desire to subvert the tropes I’d grown tired of reading. To call my motivation ill-defined is to understate it; it was more a simmering discontent than any true goal. I was annoyed so I started writing with the intent to explore my own irritation.</p>
<p>I’ve largely been writing the antithesis to the Hero’s Journey. Mine is story where the Hero’s Journey <em>doesn’t</em> work, where it goes wrong, and how it can create the evil we seek to destroy. But I’ve always felt it was missing something. The book is tragedy, but I’ve never wanted my series to end as tragedy. I’ve wanted an alternative, an answer to the question I pose: if not the Hero, then who?</p>
<p>In The Wandering Inn I’ve found something of an answer: the Heroine’s Journey. I resonate with this idea of cooperation over rugged individualism, and of the cost we accrue in trying to do it ourselves. In my book the hero has immense power, but he’ll learn that it cannot solve the problems he wants to solve. He’ll learn that in trying to become the Hero, he will have made himself a monster. But that can’t be the end <sup id="fnref:11" role="doc-noteref"><a href="#fn:11" class="footnote" rel="footnote">10</a></sup>, and I’ve learned it no longer does it need to be.</p>
<p>I’ve also been quite impressed by the way Pirateaba has been able to create believable conflict between perfectly rational characters as they live their lives as people do. It’s something to which I aspire. It is, perhaps, harder to do when you can’t introduce new character perspectives at will, but the result is important. Characters need to have lives outside of the protagonist and it’s important the conflict between them is a believable, natural byproduct of living their lives. The “ominous evil” is just lazy writing. It’s easy to forget that when writing.</p>
<h3 id="conclusion">Conclusion</h3>
<p>It’s a great series, well written, and extremely long— at latest count, over eight million words. The prose is a little janky but the stories more than make up for it and the prose improves greatly over time. The biggest downside is also it’s greatest strength: it’s just very long. Much like its title, it wanders, and for that you can loose yourself, knowing that you’ll always have something more to come back to. Or you’ll become sick of the endless segues and move on to something more… curated. That’s okay; The Wandering Inn isn’t for everyone.</p>
<p>If you’re looking for a good “book”, a story you can read and be done with, this series is not for you. Instead, The Wandering Inn is a place you can stop in to visit whenever you want, read what you want, and move on if you need. You can always come back, knowing there’s always another story to be told.</p>
<hr />
<h2 id="info">Info</h2>
<p><a href="https://wanderinginn.com">The Wandering Inn Website</a><br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07YH9X7V7">Amazon Kindle Series</a><br />
<a href="https://www.patreon.com/user?u=4240617">Patreon Page</a></p>
<p><em>I don’t usually do this, but since The Wandering Inn is free to read (on their website), I would ask you to consider supporting Pirateaba on Patreon if you enjoy their series. You can support them by buying their ebooks but if you continue beyond that, I would urge you to support them on Patreon.</em></p>
<div class="footnotes" role="doc-endnotes">
<ol>
<li id="fn:1" role="doc-endnote">
<p>Which I don’t use nearly as much as I’d thought because I always have my phone in hand whereas I must actually remove my ass from my seat to go get my kindle. But hey, still, kindle apps sync, and the website does not. I really wish it would, though. I’ve had some thought to manually copy each chapter from each volume of the series into a doc I can convert into an ebook using Calibri or something. It just that it <em>sounds</em> like a lot of work. Still… <a href="#fnref:1" class="reversefootnote" role="doc-backlink">↩</a></p>
</li>
<li id="fn:3" role="doc-endnote">
<p>FYI, A ‘beat’ is a short scene set alongside the dialog. It almost always (and probably should always) feature the person speaking. As such, it’s a way to avoid the “he/she said” tags by replacing them with (usually) more visual action. <a href="#fnref:3" class="reversefootnote" role="doc-backlink">↩</a></p>
</li>
<li id="fn:4" role="doc-endnote">
<p>I made this up; it’s not a line from the book. It <em>could</em> be, though. Really. Some of the foreshadowing is almost that bad. <a href="#fnref:4" class="reversefootnote" role="doc-backlink">↩</a></p>
</li>
<li id="fn:5" role="doc-endnote">
<p>Or click into the next chapter? [Sigh] I really hate not having this on the kindle. <a href="#fnref:5" class="reversefootnote" role="doc-backlink">↩</a></p>
</li>
<li id="fn:6" role="doc-endnote">
<p>Oh god, I’m mixing metaphors. I’m so sorry. Someone, please help! Stop me! <a href="#fnref:6" class="reversefootnote" role="doc-backlink">↩</a></p>
</li>
<li id="fn:7" role="doc-endnote">
<p>No, no you can’t. That’s just stupid, as though any group of people can so easily slot into our nicely pre-packaged categories. At best, there’s spectrum, but most likely, the truth reflects categories we’ve never even thought of. Of course, while this is all true, it conflicts with my desire to make a point, and so thus will I ignore the pesky mess of reality and pretend everything is neatly packaged. <a href="#fnref:7" class="reversefootnote" role="doc-backlink">↩</a></p>
</li>
<li id="fn:8" role="doc-endnote">
<p>Okay, okay. Let’s not be sexist. They could <em>also</em> be wearing a metal bikini. <a href="#fnref:8" class="reversefootnote" role="doc-backlink">↩</a></p>
</li>
<li id="fn:9" role="doc-endnote">
<p>Which isn’t really surprising given just how broad and flexible the Hero’s Journey is defined. <a href="#fnref:9" class="reversefootnote" role="doc-backlink">↩</a></p>
</li>
<li id="fn:10" role="doc-endnote">
<p>Yes, sixth. This review is taking <em>forever</em> to write. <a href="#fnref:10" class="reversefootnote" role="doc-backlink">↩</a></p>
</li>
<li id="fn:11" role="doc-endnote">
<p>Or I suppose it can— lot’s of books do it —I just don’t want to. <a href="#fnref:11" class="reversefootnote" role="doc-backlink">↩</a></p>
</li>
</ol>
</div>This “book” cost me months. But, of course, it’s not a book; it’s a web series. It’s an important distinction, because if you approach this like you might a book or even a standard book series, you just may find yourself sucked into a world far larger than you anticipated. Good luck with that. I came across the series from the recommendation of several different authors I follow: Will Wight, I think, and Andrew Rowe? I don’t fully recall, but it was enough for me to Google the term, find the website, and immediately discover I could start reading the series on the web, now, for free, no strings attached. Bleh. Who actually wants to read a book on a website? Seriously. I bought a kindle for a reason 1 that’s not purely due to eye strain. It turns out there are kindle books, three of them, that almost encompass three of the… eight volumes? Huh. And these are not small books; I believe one of them clocks in at around twelve hundred pages. Still, I read the ebooks, and discovered I wanted more. I just had to sacrifice my soul on the alter of inconvenient web text and manual syncing. It was not pleasant. Which I don’t use nearly as much as I’d thought because I always have my phone in hand whereas I must actually remove my ass from my seat to go get my kindle. But hey, still, kindle apps sync, and the website does not. I really wish it would, though. I’ve had some thought to manually copy each chapter from each volume of the series into a doc I can convert into an ebook using Calibri or something. It just that it sounds like a lot of work. Still… ↩Instrument of Omens2021-04-14T10:04:37+00:002021-04-14T10:04:37+00:00https://aaronhayman.com/instrument-of-omens<p><img class="sm-img" alt="A Testament of Steel" src="https://davisashura.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/06/A-Testiment-of-Steel_Davis-Ashura.png" />
<img class="sm-img" alt="Memories of Prophecies" src="https://davisashura.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/03/Memories-of-prophecies_Davis-Ashura.jpg" /></p>
<p><em>by: David Ashura</em></p>
<!--start-->
<p>Somewhere in the preface to the first book, David mentions that his source of inspiration revolves around greats like Tolkien and Jordan. I usually roll my eyes when I read something like this, not because Tolkien and Jordan didn’t write great books, but that naming them as inspiration is so often done it’s become something of a trope at this point. They practically defined entire genres of fiction. <em>Of course</em> you took inspiration from these source, who hasn’t?</p>
<p>But it did get me thinking. The Lord of the Rings and The Wheel of Time are both massive works, and in this way they are something like the Bible: two different people can take very different, if not diametrically opposed, interpretations of it. It is no surprise that many books inspired by these greats can so often look nothing like each other.</p>
<p>So what does David Ashura think makes those works great? How did he weave those elements into his books?</p>
<p>More importantly, what can I learn from this?</p>
<p>Note: Spoilers, maybe? I’m gonna discuss some plot elements I do not really consider spoilers, but some might. There will be serious spoilers for TLOTR and WOT, though. Reader beware.</p>
<!--more-->
<p>Cinder Shade wakes up face down in a well. No, scratch that. Cinder Shade dies, <em>then</em> he wakes up face down in a well. This all happens in the prologue and first chapter, setting the stage for the book. And already we have our first element:</p>
<h3 id="the-chosen-one">The Chosen One</h3>
<p>It’s a really common trope, but it’s an attractive one. Who doesn’t want to have a destiny, to discover themselves the hero in some grand story <sup id="fnref:1" role="doc-noteref"><a href="#fn:1" class="footnote" rel="footnote">1</a></sup>? In this case, David starts the story with a mysterious protagonist that doesn’t remember their past and is so obviously someone else. We’re immediately drawn in to the mystery of who might this character be as he demonstrates powers and skills <sup id="fnref:2" role="doc-noteref"><a href="#fn:2" class="footnote" rel="footnote">2</a></sup> and knowledge and wisdom far beyond his years.</p>
<p>At least until chapter 4, maybe, when someone whispers to someone else about some sacred hero who’s destined to return <sup id="fnref:3" role="doc-noteref"><a href="#fn:3" class="footnote" rel="footnote">3</a></sup> and oh but dear, whatever could that mean?</p>
<p>And yes, Rand al’Thor is the Dragon Reborn and Frodo will deliver the ring to the flames of Mount Doom and save the world. It’s the same story, recycled over and over, and yet we <em>still</em> read it because we’re all addicted to the idea of being the chosen one.</p>
<p>David Ashura does not disappoint in this. Our protagonist is indeed the chosen one, and he will save the world <sup id="fnref:4" role="doc-noteref"><a href="#fn:4" class="footnote" rel="footnote">4</a></sup>, and if you’ve read David Ashura’s <a href="https://davisashura.com/the-castes-and-the-outcastes/a-warriors-path/">other</a> series, you do, in fact, know <em>exactly</em> who our character really is.</p>
<p>There is nothing new here. There’s no real twist or even a re-imagining of the trope. It’s just the trope, thank you very much, and please hold the spice. Does this sound like a criticism? Cause it’s not. It takes real talent and skill to understand a trope well enough to distill it down to its essence and manage to write a story with it that is <em>still</em> interesting and enjoyable.</p>
<p>This will become a theme with David’s writing: There’s nothing new here, but what is here is good, and enjoyable, and we still read it because David is a good writer and knows what he’s doing.</p>
<h3 id="power-progression">Power Progression</h3>
<p>I’ve mentioned power progression before so I won’t belabor the point here. We like seeing our protagonist overcome odds and gain power. The “what will he do/learn next” is a powerful addictive, enough to keep the pages turning as our protagonist moves from school to school, always starting at the very bottom and yet somehow ending up first in class against all odds while he acquires powers “his kind” should never have.</p>
<p>And now I’ve ruined almost the entire first book.</p>
<p>You’ll still read it though, cause if you like power progression you already knew how the story ends. You’re not reading it to find out anything you don’t already know. You’re reading it for the fantasy of the journey itself and, probably, you close your eyes with dreams of yourself in our protagonist’s proverbial shoes.</p>
<h3 id="the-underdog-that-isnt-really">The underdog that isn’t really</h3>
<p>It’s usually tied to power progression, but I think it deserves it’s own element. We like underdogs, we like seeing them succeed, and we like seeing arrogance brought low and our bullies wallowing in the mud. And so the protagonist is cast as the underdog even though he’s the chosen one, while the book brings on the stereotypical, two-dimensional bullies that are really only there to reaffirm that bad people are only bad because they are bad people.</p>
<p>Sigh.</p>
<p>I will give David this: while every bully starts out pretty much the same, he does try to flesh them out over time. I will be honest, though, in that it felt like little more than sleight of hand. While the bullies do end up seeing the error of their ways, so often what really happens is they come to accept our protagonist’s actual greatness cause what else could they do when he’s showing them up so damn thoroughly?</p>
<p>But the only reason the bully is a bully is because they believe their superiority entitles them to be so. And so the only possible solution is to “put them in their place.” Show them they’re not superior, you are.</p>
<p>There’s no exploration of the human side of being a bully and that is always a disappointment to me.</p>
<h3 id="our-world-threatening-evil">Our world-threatening evil</h3>
<p>It’s evil, and it threatens to destroy the world, maybe even all of reality.</p>
<p>And that’s all you need to know. Just like the bully, evil is because it is evil. All you really need to know is that it must be destroyed and it’s only weakness is in its propensity to monologue its plans to anyone willing to listen. Perhaps there’s a reason; perhaps the evil had been offended by someone; perhaps someone died ten thousand years ago and the evil is still trying to burn the world down over the injustice; perhaps the evil is just insane. Does it really matter, though? It’s evil, and any other justification for its deeds are merely side dressings.</p>
<p>In this, the endless slog of paper bullies provide a more meaningful dread.</p>
<h3 id="the-prince--princess-trap">The Prince | Princess Trap</h3>
<p>I… don’t think Tolkien or Jordan ever really integrated this element into their stories. Frodo, certainly, had no forbidden love with royalty and Rand sort of did, but then that was more like a harem and so does it really count?</p>
<p>Either way, forbidden love is a common trope and when that love is a forbidden princess (and foreordained on top), there’s plenty of tension for the author to play with. And he does, and it’s good writing. It also breaks up all the school scenes in a satisfying build up.</p>
<p>A trope it may be, but it’s one I wish more authors would use. I hate harems and too often true love comes across as little more than hormone-ridden teenage angst, which I admit is not something I find pleasant reading.</p>
<p>My biggest issue is when the entire point of the princess is the hero, like, that’s her reason for existing at all. It’s subtly but deeply misogynistic (or misandristic… <sup id="fnref:5" role="doc-noteref"><a href="#fn:5" class="footnote" rel="footnote">5</a></sup>), and David tries to avoid it by fleshing out the princess as a person the best he can. The subtlety creeps in during those fleshing-out scenes, when you realize the entire point of them is <em>still</em> our hero.</p>
<p>To be fair, this isn’t just the princess problem. She’s not the only one who’s only thinking about our hero; everyone else is too. All of reality, it seems, watches eagerly for what they will do next. This is to be expected to a certain degree; the book is about our hero, after all. The problem arises when you never catch a glimpse of people living their lives outside of our hero’s warm glow.</p>
<p>David does not veer to egregiously into this, and he does do a lot to try to flesh out some of the other characters, but there did come a point where I started to feel as though I’d arrived in an uncanny valley where everyone’s attention was trained solely on the hero.</p>
<h3 id="racial-tension">Racial Tension</h3>
<p>David has a history of trying to address racism, although he tends to depict it in a decidedly un-American way <sup id="fnref:6" role="doc-noteref"><a href="#fn:6" class="footnote" rel="footnote">6</a></sup>. His “Uncastes” series literally has it in the title. In the “Instrument” series, the overt castes has been replaced by actual races: Elves, Dwarves, and Human, mostly. This sets the stage for most of the bullying seen in the book. The Elves are superior, and they have an unhealthy obsession with bullying the weakling human race because… they can? I never quite figured out why.</p>
<p>The tension between the races drives a whole lot of the plot, and it feeds right into the underdog/bullying element.</p>
<p>It also felt thin.</p>
<p>Does all racism boil down into a type of bullying? Is it racist to take a whole race and depict them as racist bullies?</p>
<p>David doesn’t quite go there as much as he <em>starts</em> there, and then works to flesh out individual characters. He first paints the broad strokes of a society dominated by their own chauvinistic tendencies, then pulls individual characters out of that culture and gives them depth as they begin to realize their mistakes.</p>
<p>On one hand, I like seeing characters change; I like seeing depth. On the other, the culture he paints feels flat to the point that the only thing any character can do to gain depth is to abandon the painting into which they were born.</p>
<h3 id="a-greater-whole">A Greater Whole</h3>
<p>David has, indeed, absconded with all sorts of primary elements from his inspired classics and used them wholesale in his stories. He’s done very little, if anything at all, to change them. There’s almost no twist or gotcha; there’s no reinventing the wheel; there’s no surprise here. They’re all rather ordinary, really.</p>
<p>What he does do, though, is weave together a bunch of common elements into a very good story. He doesn’t need to be original when he can turn standard parts into a greater whole. And despite my criticism of each element, I cannot criticize how he’s put them together.</p>
<p>I really enjoyed the books, and I’m quite looking forward to the next one in the series.</p>
<p>Just because something is common or ordinary doesn’t mean it isn’t good. It doesn’t mean it’s lost its draw. More importantly, you can tell David loves this stuff; he enjoys writing it. That comes out in his writing. He’s retelling a story you already know, but he loves this story and so do you, and you don’t care if you know it already, you just want to hear him tell it all over again.</p>
<hr />
<h2 id="info">Info</h2>
<p><a href="https://davisashura.com">Author Website</a><br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Davis-Ashura/e/B00HTNYM8C">Amazon Author Page</a></p>
<p><a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B087F44LSV">A Testament of Steel (Amazon)</a><br />
<a href="https://davisashura.com/a-testament-of-steel/">A Testament of Steel (Author)</a></p>
<p><a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08XMRLQ12">Memories of Prophecies (Amazon)</a><br />
<a href="https://davisashura.com/memories-of-prophecies/">Memories of Prophecies (Author)</a></p>
<p>###</p>
<div class="footnotes" role="doc-endnotes">
<ol>
<li id="fn:1" role="doc-endnote">
<p>Me. I don’t. Really. Have you really thought about what it takes to be a hero, how miserable and absurd your life would be? Strip away the special effects and really look at the hero’s life. It’s shit. Who cares if you have all this power and saved the world, if in the end you’re miserable and possibly insane? The wisest thing Frodo could have done was to say “Fuck you,” to Gandalf and stayed in his happy valley. Let someone else throw a stupid ring into lava. I’m gonna grow some grapes, ferment them, and enjoy the view from here. <a href="#fnref:1" class="reversefootnote" role="doc-backlink">↩</a></p>
</li>
<li id="fn:2" role="doc-endnote">
<p>or skillz. <a href="#fnref:2" class="reversefootnote" role="doc-backlink">↩</a></p>
</li>
<li id="fn:3" role="doc-endnote">
<p>Nod nod. Wink wink. <a href="#fnref:3" class="reversefootnote" role="doc-backlink">↩</a></p>
</li>
<li id="fn:4" role="doc-endnote">
<p>I presume. The series isn’t finished. I might like to see the hero fail, the world to end, and the multiverse to shrug and move on. <a href="#fnref:4" class="reversefootnote" role="doc-backlink">↩</a></p>
</li>
<li id="fn:5" role="doc-endnote">
<p>So, misogynistic describes someone deeply prejudiced against women, misandry (misandristic?) is someone who’s prejudiced against men, but what is a gender neutral word that describes someone who is prejudiced against anyone not of their sex (including orientation)? You could use sexist, but that term is heavily loaded, frequently used as an insult or curse, and tends to be used to describe men (if someone is sexist, you almost always assume they’re male). I am annoyed there isn’t a more neutral term that can apply equally to anyone. <a href="#fnref:5" class="reversefootnote" role="doc-backlink">↩</a></p>
</li>
<li id="fn:6" role="doc-endnote">
<p>We don’t have a caste system in America, and it’s deeply offensive to even suggest something so obtuse. No, we prefer to dress up our racism in the practicality of law so that we don’t have to notice it’s there. That way we can pretend equal opportunity and quickly lay blame on those who don’t rise to the top on their own laziness and/or inherently inferior culture. <a href="#fnref:6" class="reversefootnote" role="doc-backlink">↩</a></p>
</li>
</ol>
</div>by: David Ashura Somewhere in the preface to the first book, David mentions that his source of inspiration revolves around greats like Tolkien and Jordan. I usually roll my eyes when I read something like this, not because Tolkien and Jordan didn’t write great books, but that naming them as inspiration is so often done it’s become something of a trope at this point. They practically defined entire genres of fiction. Of course you took inspiration from these source, who hasn’t? But it did get me thinking. The Lord of the Rings and The Wheel of Time are both massive works, and in this way they are something like the Bible: two different people can take very different, if not diametrically opposed, interpretations of it. It is no surprise that many books inspired by these greats can so often look nothing like each other. So what does David Ashura think makes those works great? How did he weave those elements into his books? More importantly, what can I learn from this? Note: Spoilers, maybe? I’m gonna discuss some plot elements I do not really consider spoilers, but some might. There will be serious spoilers for TLOTR and WOT, though. Reader beware.Spinning Silver2021-03-22T09:47:28+00:002021-03-22T09:47:28+00:00https://aaronhayman.com/spinning-silver<p><img src="https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/516KQqmKjzL._SY346_.jpg" alt="Spinning Silver Book Cover" /></p>
<p><em>by Naomi Novik</em></p>
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<p>Okay, so having read “A Deadly Education”, I decided to finally go back and read “Spinning Silver”, a book I kept seeing recommended but never read because I just <em>knew</em> it was a stupid retelling of a story I already knew <sup id="fnref:1" role="doc-noteref"><a href="#fn:1" class="footnote" rel="footnote">1</a></sup>.</p>
<p>And I hate stupid retelling of stories I already know. I really do.</p>
<p>Except this was not that. Novik more takes the bones of the original story and rearranges them into something almost entirely different. Perhaps it would be better to say she took the original as a kind of inspiration, but there’s no doubt it is her own creation.</p>
<p>And here’s the thing: this was a great story. Really. I loved the <em>story</em>. It kept me reading as a story should.</p>
<p>But, oh my god did it do it in such a painfully laborious way.</p>
<!--more-->
<p>Okay, let’s just get this out of the way cause it’s clearly on my mind. Naomi loves, and by ‘loves’ I mean she absolutely adores with unadulterated passion, endless segues into her character’s minds as they opine over their past in exquisite detail.</p>
<p>Instead of “Rachael [not her name] looked at the farm with longing,” we are instead treated to a six page recitation of just <em>why</em> she looked on the farm with longing.</p>
<p>…and, I kinda of get it.</p>
<p>I currently have… well, not pages, but perhaps many paragraphs of exactly the same kind of thing, where I recite to the reader the character’s past so that <em>they can understand them</em>. I mean, I’ve spent who-knows-how-long coming up with their past and how can the reader expect to understand them if I don’t expound on how and what exactly brought them here and why they’re doing what they do and every little causality inherent in their decision process, and oh but look at how real my characters are!</p>
<p>Except, in the end, “Rachael looked at the farm with longing,” is exactly all that we, as the writer, need to use convey the longing the character is experiencing. Why not leave it to the reader’s imagination? Having learned about so-and-so for half the book, our readers can very easily understand why she would want a farm of her own. In fact, I would argue the reader’s imagination just— <em>just</em>— might be better than our own. More to the point, all this explaining distracts from the actual story, forcing the reader to either skim for the good parts, postpone the plot and possibly loose interest, or slog through the details with glazed eyes..</p>
<p>And I do not mean to imply that all such exposition is inexcusable. There are certainly times when a character’s past must be understood in order to grasp the current situation. But that situation is, I believe, quite a bit rarer than most authors might believe, and there’s a lot of other ways to expose the past without detailing it out in our character’s head.</p>
<p>Let’s move on to my second complaint.</p>
<p>I can’t quite say the same thing about her choice to use multiple first person perspectives. The problem with the first person is the narrator very rarely refers to themself. This isn’t a problem when there’s only one point of view, but multiple view points force the reader to divine the person speaking through context. You can’t just say “Joe woke up”; it’s always “I woke up”. Problem is, who is the ‘I’ speaking?</p>
<p>Dialog, location, and circumstances are natural places for the reader to look, but it can take time to figure those out. In meantime, the reader has potentially consumed paragraphs without actually knowing who’s doing the talking. In the case of Spinning Silver, more than once I read an entire section believing it was of one person, only to come across something later that made me realize I’d actually read a completely different character. They’d been travelling together, so almost all the clues were the same.</p>
<p>I am of the opinion that the best way to deal with this is to create a unique tone for each character by imbuing the character’s personality and emotional state into the narrative writing style. Done right, the reader will know who’s speaking almost immediately, sometimes without any context at all, merely by virtue of the words used. In other words, each character perspective should <em>feel</em> like it was written by a different author.</p>
<p>For instance, I’m writing a character <sup id="fnref:2" role="doc-noteref"><a href="#fn:2" class="footnote" rel="footnote">2</a></sup> who’s very particular, somewhat neurotic about their clothes, and has an impeccable, almost unnatural sense of time and space. Nothing ever takes only a few seconds; nothing is ever close or far. That character would never admit to such vague terms. Instead, it took four seconds, and the door was eight paces away (and there were twelve boards between them and the door). No other character does this, so the moment we see “four seconds” instead of a “few seconds”, we know of whom we’re reading.</p>
<p>And that leads right into the ‘show don’t tell’ mantra so often repeated to newly budding writers. How do you give to the reader a sense of who their character is? As writers, we often (and should) have a clear image in our head of our character; we know them intimately. We want the reader to know our character as well as we do, and so there is strong temptation to tell them who our character is, what they’re thinking, what they’re feeling, their past, and why that character does what they do. While this tells the reader who their character is, it reads more like something you might read in the news; it’s distant, like gossip, and the reader doesn’t really know the character intimately as much as they know facts <em>about</em> the character.</p>
<p>This difference between knowing about a character and knowing a character intimately, is the difference between having your characters come alive on the page and reading a vaguely interesting story about other people.</p>
<p>This is where I felt disappointed by “Spinning Silver”, for while I thought the story was great, I never truly connected to any of the characters even though I knew so many things about each of them. I even began to confuse them, mistaking one for the other until it almost didn’t matter who was who.</p>
<p>None of this is to say it was not a good story. The actual plot lines were very tight and well integrated. The story itself was interesting and managed to keep me engaged even through what seemed like an endless retelling of ruminations of recited backstories. And while the narrative perspective for each character all sounded the same, they still acted with their own, believable motivations. They really <em>were</em> different; it’s just their differences were painted over with the same tones.</p>
<p>A final thought: “Spinning Silver” was written several years before “A Deadly Education” and, having read them back to back, it’s very clear Novik has improved her writing considerably, especially when it comes to creating unique first-person tones. If you’ve read <a href="https://aaronhayman.com/2021-03-15-a-deadly-education/">my review of “A Deadly Education”</a>, then you will have noticed a theme: I <em>still</em> think she spends too much time in her character’s head reciting the past, but it’s a lot better than here and her improved master over tone goes a long way toward making those segues palatable.</p>
<p>In fact, I would say that while I’m clearly not a big fan of reciting a character’s past in their own head, the more entertaining the author can make those trips down memory lane, the less I seem to mind.</p>
<p>But would I recommend “Spinner Silver”? Yes, I would, just so long as you know what you’re getting into. Behind the bland tones is a story well worth reading.</p>
<hr />
<h2 id="info">Info</h2>
<p><a href="https://www.naominovik.com">Author Website</a><br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Naomi-Novik/e/B001IGNGVK">Amazon Author Page</a></p>
<p><a href="https://www.naominovik.com/spinning-silver/">Spinning Silver (Author)</a><br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Spinning-Silver-Novel-Naomi-Novik-ebook/dp/B077WXP3KG">A Deadly Education (Amazon)</a></p>
<div class="footnotes" role="doc-endnotes">
<ol>
<li id="fn:1" role="doc-endnote">
<p>I really don’t. I looked into and realized my entire understanding of Rumpelstiltskin comes from the TV show “Once Upon a Time”. Yes, I am ashamed. I should rectify this some day. <a href="#fnref:1" class="reversefootnote" role="doc-backlink">↩</a></p>
</li>
<li id="fn:2" role="doc-endnote">
<p>In a book that may actually someday be finished. <a href="#fnref:2" class="reversefootnote" role="doc-backlink">↩</a></p>
</li>
</ol>
</div>by Naomi Novik Okay, so having read “A Deadly Education”, I decided to finally go back and read “Spinning Silver”, a book I kept seeing recommended but never read because I just knew it was a stupid retelling of a story I already knew 1. And I hate stupid retelling of stories I already know. I really do. Except this was not that. Novik more takes the bones of the original story and rearranges them into something almost entirely different. Perhaps it would be better to say she took the original as a kind of inspiration, but there’s no doubt it is her own creation. And here’s the thing: this was a great story. Really. I loved the story. It kept me reading as a story should. But, oh my god did it do it in such a painfully laborious way. I really don’t. I looked into and realized my entire understanding of Rumpelstiltskin comes from the TV show “Once Upon a Time”. Yes, I am ashamed. I should rectify this some day. ↩A Deadly Education2021-03-15T11:15:58+00:002021-03-15T11:15:58+00:00https://aaronhayman.com/a-deadly-education<p><img src="https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/41hU2U1muhL.jpg" alt="A Deadly Education Book Cover" /></p>
<p><em>by Naomi Novik</em></p>
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<p>This was a delightful book, and the problem with delightful books is they’re hard to critique. Instead of making mental notes, I find myself enjoying the story. As a reader, this is great; it’s exactly what I want out of a book. As a writer looking to learn from other people’s writing, this is kind of the worst type of book to read. I’m left with ‘wow, that was a good book’ and not with lessons I can apply to my own craft.</p>
<p>First, of course, is why I bought the book in the first place. Naomi Novik isn’t an author I’ve read before, though I’ve been aware of her for a while now. She’s shown up in recommendation engines, but always the premise of her books hasn’t been strong enough for me to purchase them. The one I see most frequently, Spinning Silver, is a retelling of Rumplestiltskin. It’s highly recommended with lots of good reviews and I just haven’t wanted to read a retelling of an old story, so I didn’t. A Deadly Education, though, was something new, and this time when I came across the recommendation, I picked it up.</p>
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<h3 id="what-worked">What Worked</h3>
<p>The biggest thing that comes to mind is the author’s tone. The story is written in the first person, and the tone of the protagonist is unique, witty, engaging and, perhaps most importantly, <em>unreliable</em>. This isn’t a first person account of what happened, it’s a first person account of what the protagonist <em>thinks</em> happened.</p>
<p>I personally think first person perspectives should be unreliable; they’re a perspective, after all. In practice, though, I’ve found most authors don’t do this, and I can understand why. It’s hard. As an author, you know what happened because you made it up. But then you have to write it in a way that is not only a valid interpretation of the event, but is also one that aligns with the character’s personality. Worse, if you’re main character can misinterpret the event, so can everyone else; and they should if you want the story to feel real. You’re basically writing multiple stories at once. Worse, you’ve gotta keep them consistent. If a character is prone to a certain type of misunderstanding, the next time an event of that type happens, they need to misunderstand it or the character will feel fake to the reader. Keeping all that in your head as you write is hard. Most authors just tell you what happened and use the first person to go a little deeper into their head.</p>
<p>More impressively, Novik does this in a way you don’t realize at first. I was a good way through the book before I realized the narrator was unreliable, that her version of events didn’t always align with what other people said or thought. Once I realized what was happening, though, my understanding and empathy for the character deepened considerably. I would say Novik’s greatest strength as a writer is her ability to do this.</p>
<p>The rest of it was good. The world itself was very small and constrained, but well fleshed out. They’re stuck in a school that exists in a pocket dimension, cut off from the world until graduation. The rest of the world is experienced through conversation or first-person explanations of the protagonist’s past. I’m not sure if Novik intends to take this series out of the school (the next book is senior year), but if so, she’s sketched out enough detail to make it interesting.</p>
<p>The magic system is messy and, I think, intended less as a system and more to evoke a kind of Harry Potter-ish mystery. I think it does a reasonable job at this. In particular, I liked the ‘malicious’ aspect, where taking magic from another creature yields power, but also corrupts. It provides some excellent plot mechanics, tension, etc. The good aspect of magic, though, was a little weird. The rest of it, though, will need to be explained in the “what didn’t work” section.</p>
<p>The plot mostly revolves around the teenage drama of fitting in, with a bit of the apocalyptic thrown in for ramifications. Teenage drama can easily turn me off, especially when it’s done wrong <sup id="fnref:1" role="doc-noteref"><a href="#fn:1" class="footnote" rel="footnote">1</a></sup>, but in this case I really enjoyed it. For one, she starts out with the stereotypical roles (even the main character is basically anti-social goth), but then immediately starts tearing them down. In the process, we get to know the real people behind those facades. The rest of the actual plot was somewhat predictable but still enjoyable. I did expect a kind of big-reveal which didn’t happen, though in retrospect I think that was the better choice.</p>
<h3 id="what-didnt-work">What didn’t work</h3>
<p>The author’s greatest strength is, in this case I think, her greatest weakness. She’s very good at getting in her character’s head. At the same time, I think she spends far too much time in her character’s head, especially as a mean to relay information to the user. Vast swaths of the book are taken up with the character explaining their past to the reader. I can accept this at the start of a book if it’s necessary to setup a premise to the plot, but I start to feel the author is just being lazy once it continues too far. There are other ways to expose the past to the reader: dialog, flashbacks, user’s actions, etc. I think there’s a lot of missed opportunities by having the character tell instead of showing the past.</p>
<p>In a similar vein, too many of the character’s actions are over explained to the reader. I don’t need to know why a character does every little thing. As long as it’s consistent, I’m smart enough to figure out their motivation and it helps me invest in the character. Worse, all that exposition gets in the way of the plot, which can be frustrating when you just want to know what happens next. It practically invites the reader to skim.</p>
<p>The magic system, while interesting, was also a bit random. As I mentioned, the malicious aspect was well done, but the good side, the <em>mana</em>, is a little weird and inconsistent. Mana is generated by living beings doing things. So we often find our characters doing push ups to generate mana… or crocheting, apparently, because it’s creative? I’m unsure. Why then doesn’t writing create mana, or studying, or why don’t people do laps? None of that is explained, and in a book that really wants to explain everything, it comes across as an omission. I hope the next book goes deeper into the system.</p>
<h3 id="conclusion">Conclusion</h3>
<p>With well written, relatable characters struggling in an interesting setting, the book deserves the praise it’s received. While I found some things to gripe at, especially the amount of exposition, I also recognize a bit of that comes down to preference.</p>
<p>All said, though, if you’re looking for a interesting Harry-Potterish-like-but-not-really world with some teenage drama, a well written fitting-in story, and some excellent character development, this book is probably for you. As for me, I’m looking forward to reading the next book in the series when it comes out.</p>
<hr />
<h2 id="info">Info</h2>
<p><a href="https://www.naominovik.com">Author Website</a><br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Naomi-Novik/e/B001IGNGVK">Amazon Author Page</a></p>
<p><a href="https://www.naominovik.com/a-deadly-education/">A Deadly Education (Author)</a><br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B083RZC8KQ">A Deadly Education (Amazon)</a></p>
<div class="footnotes" role="doc-endnotes">
<ol>
<li id="fn:1" role="doc-endnote">
<p>Wrong means too much: he said she said, filling roles with stereotypes, wish fulfilment, idealizing scenarios, etc. It’s usually pretty easy to tell when the author has painted over their past with a sheen of nostalgia. <a href="#fnref:1" class="reversefootnote" role="doc-backlink">↩</a></p>
</li>
</ol>
</div>by Naomi Novik This was a delightful book, and the problem with delightful books is they’re hard to critique. Instead of making mental notes, I find myself enjoying the story. As a reader, this is great; it’s exactly what I want out of a book. As a writer looking to learn from other people’s writing, this is kind of the worst type of book to read. I’m left with ‘wow, that was a good book’ and not with lessons I can apply to my own craft. First, of course, is why I bought the book in the first place. Naomi Novik isn’t an author I’ve read before, though I’ve been aware of her for a while now. She’s shown up in recommendation engines, but always the premise of her books hasn’t been strong enough for me to purchase them. The one I see most frequently, Spinning Silver, is a retelling of Rumplestiltskin. It’s highly recommended with lots of good reviews and I just haven’t wanted to read a retelling of an old story, so I didn’t. A Deadly Education, though, was something new, and this time when I came across the recommendation, I picked it up.Shadow and Bone2021-03-09T08:28:03+00:002021-03-09T08:28:03+00:00https://aaronhayman.com/shadow-and-bone<p><img src="https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/61ps8PnWnNL.jpg" alt="Shadow and Bone Complete Trilogy Book Cover" /></p>
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<p>This book— oops sorry, these <em>books</em> are well written.</p>
<p>Actually, let’s start there first: in my head, they’re a single book. This is, perhaps, an artifact of buying an entire trilogy packaged into a single Kindle Edition racking up a page count equivalent to many epic installments. So while I speak of this work as a single piece, it might help to realize my view is a little skewed. Were there cliffhangers? I’m not sure. If there were, I didn’t really notice as I simply turned the page.</p>
<p>I picked up the book after watching a Netflix trailer for a cool looking new fantasy series with the same title. A few minutes later, I’d downloaded the trilogy <sup id="fnref:1" role="doc-noteref"><a href="#fn:1" class="footnote" rel="footnote">1</a></sup>. My general assumption is a series must be at least somewhat good if people are willing to throw millions into turning it into a TV/Movie series.</p>
<p>And it was. Good, that is. I’m sure a lot of people really liked it and I can see why Netflix took it up. It just… wasn’t great. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing.</p>
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<p>I would be thrilled to produce something this good. It’s hard to make something good, as can be attested by the flood of mediocrity saturating ebook stores today <sup id="fnref:2" role="doc-noteref"><a href="#fn:2" class="footnote" rel="footnote">2</a></sup>. Making something great is even harder (of course) and risky. To make something great, the author generally has to break the established rules and patterns that make for good books, and do it in such a way that it doesn’t ruin the whole thing.</p>
<p>And this is how a lot of great authors fall flat on their face.</p>
<h3 id="the-plot">The Plot</h3>
<p>Leigh Bardugo does not fall on her face. The whole series is well written with a good plot, interesting characters, and a magic system in a world that was… well, a little flat, to be honest, but it was a good story at least.</p>
<p>It was also very predictable. By the end of the first chapter I’d predicted the end of the book, and correctly. To be fair, there were a few times I thought Bardugo was going to buck the standard and do something different but no, she didn’t, and I admit to some disappointment at that. That being said, I rather suspect something different would have alienated much of her readership— this is a specific type of story, and readers <em>want</em> that ending where [spoilers].</p>
<p>But I have to reiterate: it was a good story. I can’t recall a point where I wanted to skim the pages. I was interested in what was happening, even if I knew where it would lead.</p>
<h3 id="the-magic">The Magic</h3>
<p>It’s called the “Small Science” in the book and I have to agree: the magic system is very small. Magic users are called gisha, and they’re slotted into only a few categories: healers, heart-renders (anti-healing), inferno (fire), squallers (wind), tidemakers (water), and finally a tinker class for making things (sorry, can’t remember the name). Then there’s the darkling who controls darkness and the sun summoner who controls light.</p>
<p>I think that’s it; it’s all I can remember at least.</p>
<p>There is a deeper magic that revolves around creation instead of manipulating energy, but there was precious little actual detail behind it and to me it came across as more of a plot device.</p>
<p>Actually, on second thought, the whole magic system really did feel more like a plot device than a living, breathing part of the world. That’s fine if it’s what the author intended. If the story itself was the point of this book and not delving into a deep, complicated magic system, then that goal was accomplished quite well.</p>
<h3 id="the-world">The World</h3>
<p>The world was only barely more fleshed out than the magic. Despite the whole “save the world” motif running throughout the book, it all takes place in what feels like a very tiny part of said world. Even the nation of Revka, where the majority of the book takes place, felt small and almost claustrophobic to me. There seems to be only one or two cities combined with a smattering of small, forgettable towns. The politics are essentially non-existent. You’ve got a shallow and capricious king and queen, both of whom are mostly just figureheads behind the real power of the darkling. I think there are other royalty, but they come across a little more than bodies meant to fill ballrooms.</p>
<p>In a similar vein, religion was shallow. There are saints whom may or may not have been gisha (probably were), and people pray to them. Without spoilers, a new religion is born in the book, but it’s not any different than what I just described. And while it plays a somewhat large role in the plot, there was very little depth, where adherents do little more than mindless hero-worship and the only real leadership are little more than cynical, ambitious power mongers.</p>
<p>The other nations of the world — all three of them? — came across a little more than cardboard cutouts of ill-defined stereotypes. At one point, a native of one of the other nations responds to an offhand comment about her country with, (paraphrasing here) “There is more than sand in our nation.” I couldn’t help but think, “Are you <em>sure</em>?”</p>
<p>This lack of depth to the world undercuts the whole “save the world” imperative the author was attempting to drive home. The world was just too small to feel consequential in that way.</p>
<h3 id="the-characters">The Characters</h3>
<p>The character development is where the author truly shines. The main characters in the book feel real, with their own motivations and actions that don’t feel like they’re there to simply drive the plot. Relationships are fleshed out and interpersonal to an impressive degree. They’re complex and ever changing in the natural, messy way relationships tend to be.</p>
<p>This alone makes the world feel real. It draws you in and distracts you from the props that comprise so much of the rest of the book. The shallow magic system and the flat, constrained world don’t really matter. They’re not the point. The <em>people</em> are the point, and the author invites you to take part of their struggles. Forget everything else, people are what matter, and here is where the author nailed it.</p>
<p>There’s only one small problem, and I didn’t even realize it until the end: move just a little outside the protagonists circle, and the characters become quite flat. Yet so good was the central character development that you don’t quite realize this at first, and maybe not at all.</p>
<p>There’s a few scenes where one character visits another… in spirit? Not sure; doesn’t matter. In those scenes, everything but the two characters is fuzzy and nondescript. So long as they focused on each other, it didn’t matter. The fuzzy rest wasn’t the point. The book is like this. Everything within the bubble of the main character is so well thought out and feels so real, you don’t notice that everyone else isn’t.</p>
<p>This came to light when I realized that too many characters were too focused on the main character. She had become all the world in a sense, and while the relationships feel real, this fact that she’s become the center of everything most decidedly does not. There is a plot reason for this, but even that isn’t enough to justify it.</p>
<p>Once I realized that, I started looking more closely at the distant characters, the ones not central to the plot. Once again, I found cardboard cutouts.</p>
<p>Now, there’s only room for so much. Each of the book’s trilogies totalled maybe three hundred pages each. That’s not a lot of room to develop out other characters. But the author got really close to me not noticing this. Her slight of hand was really good. I think if she’d just hinted of more plot/relationships/stuff-happening outside of the realm of our main character, stuff interesting but not exactly related to her specifically, I probably would never have noticed.</p>
<p>Either way, character development in general is clearly a strength of hers. Just a little more effort into non-critical characters, and I can see her work becoming great pieces, at least so far as characters go.</p>
<h3 id="conclusion">Conclusion</h3>
<p>I liked these books. They were good. I can’t say they were great, but I didn’t need them to be. I was entertained, I felt stuff, and even toward the end she may have pulled out a tear or two. These books will never be a favorite of mine, but I wouldn’t hesitate to recommend them.</p>
<p>As for the TV series? Well, all those cardboard cutouts? Those are great places for a show to elaborate. The sketches provided by the author could easily be filled in and made to feel real. I hope they do.</p>
<hr />
<h3 id="info">Info</h3>
<p><a href="https://www.leighbardugo.com">Author Website</a><br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Leigh-Bardugo/e/B005ZZ8XQS">Amazon Author Page</a></p>
<p><em>Book Series</em><br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B007NKMQGQ">Shadow and Bone</a><br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00AAYF8TY">Seige and Storm</a><br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00GVRVEG0">Ruin and Rising</a></p>
<p><a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0176VPIFW">Combined Trilogy</a></p>
<div class="footnotes" role="doc-endnotes">
<ol>
<li id="fn:1" role="doc-endnote">
<p>This is common for me. I came across Game of Thrones the same way. <a href="#fnref:1" class="reversefootnote" role="doc-backlink">↩</a></p>
</li>
<li id="fn:2" role="doc-endnote">
<p>And again, if this sounds like a judgement of those authors, it’s not. I like a lot of that “mediocrity”. And while I pick apart these novels, cringing at recycled plot lines and hacked together prose, I still read them; I still <em>like</em> them. They’re not great, but they’re good enough, and they’re entertaining, and I don’t always want to read “great” books. Sometimes (often), I just want to be entertained. <a href="#fnref:2" class="reversefootnote" role="doc-backlink">↩</a></p>
</li>
</ol>
</div>This book— oops sorry, these books are well written. Actually, let’s start there first: in my head, they’re a single book. This is, perhaps, an artifact of buying an entire trilogy packaged into a single Kindle Edition racking up a page count equivalent to many epic installments. So while I speak of this work as a single piece, it might help to realize my view is a little skewed. Were there cliffhangers? I’m not sure. If there were, I didn’t really notice as I simply turned the page. I picked up the book after watching a Netflix trailer for a cool looking new fantasy series with the same title. A few minutes later, I’d downloaded the trilogy 1. My general assumption is a series must be at least somewhat good if people are willing to throw millions into turning it into a TV/Movie series. And it was. Good, that is. I’m sure a lot of people really liked it and I can see why Netflix took it up. It just… wasn’t great. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing. This is common for me. I came across Game of Thrones the same way. ↩A Magician’s Guide to Defensive Baking2021-02-12T08:09:15+00:002021-02-12T08:09:15+00:00https://aaronhayman.com/defensive-baking<p><img src="https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/51ADdpWrU5L.jpg" alt="Book Cover for A Magician's Guide to Defensive Baking" /></p>
<p><em>by T. Kingfisher</em></p>
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<p>So I picked this one up off a Kindle recommendation. It was fantasy, it looked entertaining, it had a ton of good reviews, and it was on sale for a dollar. It wasn’t even an impulse buy— my impulse to purchase it arrived after I’d pressed the button. It was also going to be a quick read, so I didn’t feel like I needed to finish any of my other books before starting this one, a nice interlude before I return to whatever ongoing epic fantasy I’m currently consuming.</p>
<p>A Magician’s Guide to Defensive Baking (henceforth referred to as Defensive Baking for the sake of sanity) is a Story, capital S. In the fantasy/sci-fi world, writers will often try to bring a strong sense of realism to their worlds. They are, after all, already assuming an unrealistic premise of magic and/or technology that might as well be magic. But there’s also a segment of authors that lean in to the unrealistic, practically turning their story into it’s own metaphor.</p>
<p>Defensive Baking is one of those books. It leans in toward the ridiculous, humorous, and the fantastical. It reads more like a fairy tale and a delightful one at that. It was a thoroughly enjoyable book, easy to read, and inviting to pick up. Kind of like a warm chocolate cookie, I found myself enjoying the simple process of reading a good simple story.</p>
<p>Defensive Baking is also a children’s book.</p>
<p>It’s telling that I did not realize this until after I’d finished the book.</p>
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<p>I probably should have. About halfway through the book, the behavior of the adults, specifically one of the rulers of the city, started to feel off, perhaps even a little childish. Without the context of actually knowing this was a children’s book (albeit, for older children) my mental model shifted from “fantasy” book to “fairy tale” book.</p>
<p>I didn’t mind. Already, I’d come across some ridiculous, but entertaining scenes. The book was entertaining enough that I shrugged and wrote it off as necessary to the plot mechanics. Perhaps there was a way to make a more realistic plot, but I’m not sure it could be done <em>and</em> keep it as short and entertaining as it was.</p>
<p>And so instead of realizing it was a children’s book, I attributed to the author a certain amount of cleverness and craft.</p>
<p>It’s not unearned. Perhaps this sort of thing is endemic to children’s books <sup id="fnref:1" role="doc-noteref"><a href="#fn:1" class="footnote" rel="footnote">1</a></sup> <sup id="fnref:2" role="doc-noteref"><a href="#fn:2" class="footnote" rel="footnote">2</a></sup> but if so, that only proves how hard it is to write children’s books.</p>
<p>Let’s pick it apart.</p>
<h2 id="the-hook">The Hook</h2>
<p>The book starts with a murdered dead girl lying in the bakery. I would put in a spoiler warning but it’s literally the first sentence. In fact, we know this long before we learn our protagonist’s name, or age, or sex.</p>
<p>In other words, it’s a hook, and an excellent one at that.</p>
<p>The author immediately pulls back, of course, introducing us to the bakery and what our protagonist does there in a rambling first-person tone, then moves on to the actual process of getting around the body. We don’t learn her name til the end of the chapter; I don’t recall when we learned her age. But the intro takes all of a chapter and most of it is explanation (tell, not show), yet it’s also quite succinct and, once out of the way, we’re quickly ushered into the story’s events.</p>
<p>The hook is a common but important technique that is often ignored by fantasy authors, including me. A big part of the reasoning for this is simple: most fantasy worlds need a lead in; they’ve got a learning curve. Putting the reader directly in the action could easily end up confusing the reader more than hooking them, especially if the scene depends on a base knowledge of the world.</p>
<p>So the author introduces the world slowly, letting you learn of the world and grow comfortable with the characters. There may be (and probably should be) some hints of whats to come, some tension built, some minor events to reveal characters and grow attached to them, but often the opening event occurs several chapters into the book. The author is, in effect, banking on the reader’s trust.</p>
<p>My book currently takes five chapters to get to any real hook. That’s a whole lot to ask of the reader, especially from a debuting author. The chapters aren’t bad and those who’ve read it even tell me they’re entertaining, but is it enough? Do I need a hook?</p>
<p>I don’t know, but I’m giving a lot of thought to rearranging my first chapters. I’m already using flashbacks, and several of the opening chapters <em>could</em> be folded into those. But it’ll also require I rewrite some of those chapter and compress the “tutorial”. This may not be a bad idea but it’ll take a lot of thought.</p>
<p>I’m worried a little that I’ll set unrealistic expectations. I do spend time with the characters, building tension slowly instead of driving the character from scene to scene; I’m not writing a suspense or thriller; this <em>is</em> a fantasy epic. Or is that just an excuse? I’m not sure… and yet I can’t help but think that it’s worth a try.</p>
<h2 id="a-lot-with-a-little-progression">A lot with a little progression</h2>
<p>Power progression books are very popular. It’s satisfying to see the underdog work hard and overcome impossible odds. This can come about is a whole lot of ways as the protagonist gathers magic, skills, tech, or even just experience points. However it’s done, readers find it satisfying to watch a character grow and overcome. We identify with the main character; it’s wish fulfilment, escapism. It sells.</p>
<p>Yet too often authors confuse the underlying attraction and substitute genuine power progression with what I like to call “candied badassery”. They substitute genuine progression with flashy action scenes, often overpowering their own character and undermining the very draw they want to convey.</p>
<p>Defensive Baking is one of the best kinds of power progression. It does, for the most part, do away with any “candied badassery” <sup id="fnref:3" role="doc-noteref"><a href="#fn:3" class="footnote" rel="footnote">3</a></sup> and replaces it with knowledge progression combined with the engineering dilemmas in magic form. And even when the author does ramp up the visual effects, it veers more into the fantastical and even comedic.</p>
<p>It works, and the reason it works is the author gets it: it’s not about flash; it’s about overcoming the obstacle (whatever it is); it’s about the way they overcome the obstacle; it’s about the growth in the character. It is not about action scenes; it’s not about beating the opposition to a pulp.</p>
<p>In retrospect, the protagonist isn’t anymore or less powerful than she started out. She just grew as a person and learned more about herself and the power she always had. That is, in my opinion, one of the most compelling kinds of power progression.</p>
<h2 id="a-standard-suite-of-plot-devices-well-done">A standard suite of plot devices well done</h2>
<p>The story is a classic hero’s journey, condensed. All the elements are there: leaving home, discovering oneself, coming home as something more, and using what you’ve gained to save your home.</p>
<p>All I can really say is they were all well done. There’s nothing revolutionary here, or even innovative. The author executed it flawlessly and injected a dose of the fantastical and comedic. It’s a reminder that you don’t need to reinvent things to make a good story.</p>
<p>In the end, this isn’t an author I’d go to for epics or drama or unique style, it’s an author I’d go to because she knows her craft and executes it well <sup id="fnref:4" role="doc-noteref"><a href="#fn:4" class="footnote" rel="footnote">4</a></sup>. For that reason alone, I tap the follow button.</p>
<h4 id="author-info">Author Info</h4>
<p><em>Amazon</em><br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/T-Kingfisher/e/B00LBKVU3E/">Author Page</a></p>
<p><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Wizards-Guide-Defensive-Baking-ebook/dp/B08CJ86Y1W">Book Page</a></p>
<div class="footnotes" role="doc-endnotes">
<ol>
<li id="fn:1" role="doc-endnote">
<p>And I wouldn’t know cause the last children’s book I read was when I was a child. <a href="#fnref:1" class="reversefootnote" role="doc-backlink">↩</a></p>
</li>
<li id="fn:2" role="doc-endnote">
<p>Perhaps I should change that habit. <a href="#fnref:2" class="reversefootnote" role="doc-backlink">↩</a></p>
</li>
<li id="fn:3" role="doc-endnote">
<p>Not that most of that stuff would work well in a children’s book anyway. <a href="#fnref:3" class="reversefootnote" role="doc-backlink">↩</a></p>
</li>
<li id="fn:4" role="doc-endnote">
<p>It’s not fair to judge an author by a single book unless, of course, they’ve only written that single book. I will likely try to read some of her other stuff. <a href="#fnref:4" class="reversefootnote" role="doc-backlink">↩</a></p>
</li>
</ol>
</div>by T. Kingfisher So I picked this one up off a Kindle recommendation. It was fantasy, it looked entertaining, it had a ton of good reviews, and it was on sale for a dollar. It wasn’t even an impulse buy— my impulse to purchase it arrived after I’d pressed the button. It was also going to be a quick read, so I didn’t feel like I needed to finish any of my other books before starting this one, a nice interlude before I return to whatever ongoing epic fantasy I’m currently consuming. A Magician’s Guide to Defensive Baking (henceforth referred to as Defensive Baking for the sake of sanity) is a Story, capital S. In the fantasy/sci-fi world, writers will often try to bring a strong sense of realism to their worlds. They are, after all, already assuming an unrealistic premise of magic and/or technology that might as well be magic. But there’s also a segment of authors that lean in to the unrealistic, practically turning their story into it’s own metaphor. Defensive Baking is one of those books. It leans in toward the ridiculous, humorous, and the fantastical. It reads more like a fairy tale and a delightful one at that. It was a thoroughly enjoyable book, easy to read, and inviting to pick up. Kind of like a warm chocolate cookie, I found myself enjoying the simple process of reading a good simple story. Defensive Baking is also a children’s book. It’s telling that I did not realize this until after I’d finished the book.Heaven’s River2021-02-01T13:18:37+00:002021-02-01T13:18:37+00:00https://aaronhayman.com/heavens-river<p><img src="https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/41S-0lqypRL.jpg" alt="Heaven's River Book Cover" /></p>
<p><em>by Dennis E. Taylor</em></p>
<!--start-->
<p>Okay. Sci-fi, clearly, if the book cover didn’t clue you in. Heaven’s River is the fourth book of a series written by Dennis E Taylor. Given I haven’t written any reviews of his previous series, this’ll be a bit of an overall review of the series that’ll dive into a more detailed review of the later book.</p>
<p>Note: [MILD SPOILERS!]</p>
<p>I can’t really talk about the series without giving away mild spoilers for the first book. To be fair, I think the very title of the first book is about the level of spoilers I’ll reveal <sup id="fnref:1" role="doc-noteref"><a href="#fn:1" class="footnote" rel="footnote">1</a></sup>. But still, they are plot points, and it’s almost impossible to talk about the series without them. If you’re sensitive to that sort of thing, I suggest you just go ahead and pick up the first book.</p>
<p>Clearly, I like the books; I’ve read the whole series to date. If you like Sci-fi and ships, and some weird premises, this a good book to read.</p>
<p>I usual, I spent time trying to figure out why I like this series. As an aspiring writer, I want to be able to identify the core elements that draw me in and, I hope, will draw others in in my own writing. So as I read this latest installment, I paid close attention to what areas I found myself engaged in. What I discovered is something I’m tempted to call it’s own kind of sub-genre:</p>
<p>The Engineer’s Dilemma.</p>
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<p>The engineer’s dilemma is a deceptively simple draw: there is a problem and it needs to be solved. Describe the problem in absurd detail, attach some stakes, insert a clever protagonist, and you have a recipe that will…</p>
<p>Wait, does this sound boring? Cause even as I type it, I feel like this would be boring. People don’t want to read about other people solving technical problems, do they? I wouldn’t think so. Even though I happen to <em>know</em> I like this kind of book, I have found it best not to assume everyone is like me.</p>
<p>And yet, there is this, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Martian-Novel-Andy-Weir-ebook/dp/B00EMXBDMA">The Martian</a>, with over 42 <em>thousand</em> reviews <sup id="fnref:2" role="doc-noteref"><a href="#fn:2" class="footnote" rel="footnote">2</a></sup>. And that book is almost entirely made up of engineering dilemmas.</p>
<p>This isn’t a review of The Martian, clearly, but it does represent a kind of gold standard for these kinds of book, or it does in my mind, at least. Stakes in The Martian are high, like, “will I be alive in the next ten minutes” high, and I’m tempted to say this is the most important factor, but no, I won’t cause I don’t believe it. Essential, yes, and high stakes <em>do</em> draw me in, but in the end, the sheer delight in seeing a problem solved with cleverness, wit, and good old-fashioned knowledge is really what kept those pages turning. Even when there was no current problem, I knew there would be and just beyond the horizon would be an interesting solution I hadn’t thought of.</p>
<p>And here’s a thing contrary to most writing advice: the more detail, the better. Don’t just show, don’t just tell, explain the ever-living-shit out that problem. Make it <em>feel</em> real, intractable, impossible to overcome. And now, make it so the protagonist must solve it within ten minutes or they die.</p>
<p>The Bobiverse is very much a series of engineering dilemmas. But unlike The Martian, Bobiverse starts off with a very… out-there premise.</p>
<p>Bob, our protagonist, wakes up in a rocket, his mind uploaded to be the core software of a von Neumann probe <sup id="fnref:3" role="doc-noteref"><a href="#fn:3" class="footnote" rel="footnote">3</a></sup>. Humanity hasn’t figured out an AI sophisticated enough to handle the task, but they can scan a brain and upload <em>that</em> instead. Add in a future where humanity is at war (far-fetched, I know) and on the brink of killing each other off and… well, what could go wrong?</p>
<p>Needless to say, there are many dilemmas to be solved, which I won’t go into because spoilers, but on the whole I found them satisfying enough to keep reading. The sci-fi premise also practically invites discussion of post-humanism, metaphysics, and philosophy, and Dennis has no quarrels exploring them. Again, also stuff I like.</p>
<p>The stakes are not high in these books, which I know seems counter to the premise I literally just detailed. Or, perhaps I should say there are high stakes, but not <em>immediate</em> stakes. There’s very little sense that the problem needs to be solved right this instant.</p>
<p>This is what almost convinced me that stakes aren’t important to engineering dilemmas. They need to be there — the protagonist can’t be able to just “walk away” — but you don’t <em>have</em> to make it so the protagonist dies in the next five minutes or else.</p>
<p>I could almost say any stake would work. It took me all the way to the fourth book to realize why that’s wrong. The Bobiverse doesn’t have much tension, but the problems and how the protagonist overcomes them were interesting enough to draw me through three books. About half way through the fourth book, though, I began to wish for more.</p>
<p>Heaven’s River is a long book. Were the other books this long? I dunno. They never struck me as long, but that could easily be attributed to how engrossed I was. I could check page counts but honestly, I don’t really care and I’m too lazy to look it up.</p>
<p>What matters is how the book felt. When it starts to feel long, I suspect something went wrong <sup id="fnref:4" role="doc-noteref"><a href="#fn:4" class="footnote" rel="footnote">4</a></sup>. In this case, I believe (just a theory) that the author was trying to add tension: there’s trouble brewing in the Bobiverse, a friend is danger, [redacted] must be be infiltrated, and there’s hints that it’s all connected.</p>
<p>Aaaand, I struggled to care. The individual elements of the story should have worked — he’d certainly thrown in all the right ingredients — and yet there was this disconnect in my interest. By far, the most tension was generated in the troubled Bobiverse. At the same time, the most interesting <em>problems</em> (and story in general) was to be found in the infiltration story line. Yet those two were so distant from each other that for most of the story they might was well been two different books. Even where they intersected, the problems it caused were post-facto. Never did the issues of the Bobiverse create additional tension in the infiltration story and, indeed, they actually removed an aspect of the infiltration I was really enjoying: (spoiler) <sup id="fnref:5" role="doc-noteref"><a href="#fn:5" class="footnote" rel="footnote">5</a></sup>.</p>
<p>And finally, I couldn’t remember who the “friend” in trouble actually was. The name sounded familiar and I garnered from context the initial situation, but I couldn’t actually recall him. Also, I wasn’t about to back and read the other books just to find out because… I didn’t care.</p>
<p>This brings me to a particular thorny problem inherent in the very plot devices the author is using:</p>
<ol>
<li>The book is told from the first person perspective.</li>
<li>The story shifts perspective between the “Bawbs”.</li>
</ol>
<p>The results in a story that feels like it has only one character in it, even if that character essentially interacts with multiple versions of himself.</p>
<p>Part of the problem is reader expectation. The vast majority of first-person books maintain a single perspective. If the perspective shifts, the author inevitably switches to the third, making the transition very obvious. This is so consistent I’m tempted to view it as one of those rules writer’s like to make for themselves.</p>
<p>This expectation of a single first-person perspective naturally colors how we consume a first person novel. Ergo, no matter how you name your varied protagonists, they’ll all end up feeling like the same person unless the author expends the extra effort needed to distinguish them.</p>
<p>Dennis does not expend that effort.</p>
<p>It’s possible, maybe even likely, he didn’t want to. Perhaps he wished for them to all feel the same. If so, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. After all, it gives even more opportunities to put our protagonist(s?) in situations that needs to be resolved, and so far as engineering dilemmas go, they don’t need to have heavy character arcs.</p>
<p>But this plot device makes it very hard to create real tension in the individual character. Do we care if Bob or Bill or Will or Howard or [insert generic name here] actually makes it? They might care, sure, but if catastrophe occurs, the reader will only experience a shift in perspective to another character that feels absolutely the same to the reader.</p>
<p>This de-fangs a large number of plot devices traditionally used to racket up the tension. This is made worse when the protagonist is often not in any real danger at all due to the magics of subspace-like instant communication over long distances. Wise for the Bawbs, not so much for scene tension.</p>
<p>It’s not impossible, though. One of the reasons the “threat” inside the Bobiverse worked so well in Heaven’s River is precisely because the Bobiverse felt like it’s own character. I’m tempted to say that the Bobiverse is a better and more fleshed out character than even the individual Bawbs.</p>
<p>I felt that tension. It just didn’t tie back to the individual Bob arcs in a way that mattered. When it came to the individual characters, the Bobiverse tension felt like little more than a plot device even though it was generating an overall tension that felt critical and important.</p>
<p>For me personally, this disconnect between immediate character tension, and the overall story tension is an important lesson in my own writing. I have something of a similar problem. I have two characters that don’t interact for much of the book, but over time tension is built between them as they become each other’s antagonists. This arcing character development is important and, arguably, the bigger part of the story. However, I’m realizing that I can’t use it to carry each individual story. Those individual threads must be compelling enough to carry themselves. If not, then I’ve failed my goal, no matter how epic the arching plot may be.</p>
<p>Do I recommend this book? Yes. All books have hole and issues, even if it just came down to personal preference. But while the Bobiverse is starting to feel a bit thin for me, it’s not yet to that place where I don’t want to read the next book in the series.</p>
<h4 id="author-info">Author Info</h4>
<p><em>Author Website</em><br />
<a href="http://dennisetaylor.org">http://dennisetaylor.org</a></p>
<p><em>Amazon</em><br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Dennis-E-Taylor/e/B07K1VJL8K/">Author Page</a></p>
<p><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Heavens-River-Dennis-Taylor-ebook/dp/B08P3NTSSR/">Book Page</a></p>
<p><a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0753LBFQ7">Series Page (Bobiverse)</a></p>
<div class="footnotes" role="doc-endnotes">
<ol>
<li id="fn:1" role="doc-endnote">
<p>“We are Bob” can only have so many explanations, and this is not a book on psychosis. <a href="#fnref:1" class="reversefootnote" role="doc-backlink">↩</a></p>
</li>
<li id="fn:2" role="doc-endnote">
<p>Yes, yes. Okay, and a movie that may or may not have had a famous actor in it. <a href="#fnref:2" class="reversefootnote" role="doc-backlink">↩</a></p>
</li>
<li id="fn:3" role="doc-endnote">
<p>A space-faring vehicle designed to replicate itself over and over in order to accomplish far-fetched tasks like, for instance, terraforming a planet. <a href="#fnref:3" class="reversefootnote" role="doc-backlink">↩</a></p>
</li>
<li id="fn:4" role="doc-endnote">
<p>Badum bum. <a href="#fnref:4" class="reversefootnote" role="doc-backlink">↩</a></p>
</li>
<li id="fn:5" role="doc-endnote">
<p>The group dynamics. Initially, there are four people involved in the infiltration, but the Bobiverse problem removed all but one. Thing is, I was really enjoying the group dynamics. In one sense, removing the other three made the problems harder, but I also felt a bit of disappointment as the other three characters were suddenly demoted into the background. <a href="#fnref:5" class="reversefootnote" role="doc-backlink">↩</a></p>
</li>
</ol>
</div>by Dennis E. Taylor Okay. Sci-fi, clearly, if the book cover didn’t clue you in. Heaven’s River is the fourth book of a series written by Dennis E Taylor. Given I haven’t written any reviews of his previous series, this’ll be a bit of an overall review of the series that’ll dive into a more detailed review of the later book. Note: [MILD SPOILERS!] I can’t really talk about the series without giving away mild spoilers for the first book. To be fair, I think the very title of the first book is about the level of spoilers I’ll reveal 1. But still, they are plot points, and it’s almost impossible to talk about the series without them. If you’re sensitive to that sort of thing, I suggest you just go ahead and pick up the first book. Clearly, I like the books; I’ve read the whole series to date. If you like Sci-fi and ships, and some weird premises, this a good book to read. I usual, I spent time trying to figure out why I like this series. As an aspiring writer, I want to be able to identify the core elements that draw me in and, I hope, will draw others in in my own writing. So as I read this latest installment, I paid close attention to what areas I found myself engaged in. What I discovered is something I’m tempted to call it’s own kind of sub-genre: The Engineer’s Dilemma. “We are Bob” can only have so many explanations, and this is not a book on psychosis. ↩The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet2021-01-19T00:00:00+00:002021-01-19T00:00:00+00:00https://aaronhayman.com/long-way-angry-planet<p><img src="https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/5190ee+L4OL.jpg" alt="Book Cover" /></p>
<p><em>by <a href="https://www.otherscribbles.com">Becky Chambers</a></em></p>
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<p>I came across this book from a recommendation list published by… The Verge, I think? Or somewhere. It was recommended, had a lot of good reviews on Amazon, and I was itching for some sci-fi after going on a bit of a fantasy binge of late. Also, it was maybe $7, just within my impulse book-buy range <sup id="fnref:1" role="doc-noteref"><a href="#fn:1" class="footnote" rel="footnote">1</a></sup>.</p>
<p>So the question of why I bought it has a fairly clear answer. But why did I finish it? And… I’m not completely sure.</p>
<p>This is not an adventure book. It’s somewhat marketed as one <sup id="fnref:2" role="doc-noteref"><a href="#fn:2" class="footnote" rel="footnote">2</a></sup>, hinting at a kind of Firefly style of serial adventures. It’s good marketing; I bought it, and likely because I was craving that kind of adventure, even if somewhat subconsciously. But this book ain’t that. The best way I can think of it is as tour of a somewhat interesting place by fairly interesting characters. Yes, there is <em>some</em> action involved in a “will they or won’t they make it” scenario <sup id="fnref:3" role="doc-noteref"><a href="#fn:3" class="footnote" rel="footnote">3</a></sup>, but those scenes last at most a single chapter. Honestly, though, even within those chapters (they are, maybe, two of them?) the tension is resolved fairly quickly.</p>
<p>This author is, at least in this book, simply not interested in “action” part of action adventures.</p>
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<p>But she <em>is</em> interested in the wreckage. Where the action might take only a few paragraphs, she’ll spend chapters worth of prose exploring just how the violence of the scene has effected everyone. She explores the sense of violation and vulnerability the characters feel, how they cope with it, how they lean on each other, how they rationalize, and how it affects all their decisions.</p>
<p>And this is probably why I finished the book. She got rid of all those flashy action scenes acted out by cardboard cutouts <sup id="fnref:4" role="doc-noteref"><a href="#fn:4" class="footnote" rel="footnote">4</a></sup> and replaced all that prose with real people.</p>
<p>There was no real suspense for me, but I liked the characters and they felt real to me. The book wasn’t a page turner in the way so many are; I didn’t stay up at night unable to put the book down; yet I kept picking it back up.</p>
<p>So if you decide to pick up this book, beware: you will spend a lot of time with people (no matter what alien visage they present). You’ll spend time learning about weird cultures and how they view the world. You’ll spend time touring this universe Becky has dreamt up.</p>
<p>What you will not be doing is turning pages frantically wondering what’s next.</p>
<p>In some ways, that might be disappointing. But if I had to choose between well fleshed out characters with little action, or a lot of action with cardboard cutouts, I’ll choose real people, thank you. And so far as that goes, I think Becky has made the right choice.</p>
<p>But I can’t help but feel there’s missed opportunity here. While action books are so often filled with shallow characters, it doesn’t mean that action itself should be discarded. There’s a lot of opportunity to reveal a character’s depth while they are in the middle of a stressful situation. It’s possible to deliver those heart-pounding scenes <em>while</em> revealing more of a character’s depth.</p>
<p>And I should really point out that in at least one chapter toward the end, she tries. I won’t spoil anything, but the crew is placed in a difficult situation after an incident. She follows some of the characters as they work through it and you see at least one character truly struggle to deal with it. It still fell flat for me. It wasn’t bad; I just didn’t see any key inflection points in any of the character’s arcs. Toward the end of that chapter, I was wanting the crew to resolve it about as much as they did.</p>
<p>I believe this was her début novel, which is exciting. Yes, some parts fell flat, and there were segments I found rather boring. I also kept picking up the book, and that in itself is worthy praise. I look forward to reading some of her later works to see how she’s developed as an author.</p>
<h4 id="author-info">Author Info</h4>
<p><em>Author Website</em><br />
<a href="https://www.otherscribbles.com">https://www.otherscribbles.com</a></p>
<p><em>Amazon</em><br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Becky-Chambers/e/B00LUQWGAU">Author Page</a></p>
<p><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Long-Small-Angry-Planet-Wayfarers-ebook/dp/B00ZP64F28/">Book Page</a></p>
<p><a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0753KPS6X">Series Page (Wayfarers)</a></p>
<div class="footnotes" role="doc-endnotes">
<ol>
<li id="fn:1" role="doc-endnote">
<p>But $9… whew, I dunno. I gotta really think about it then. :-/ <a href="#fnref:1" class="reversefootnote" role="doc-backlink">↩</a></p>
</li>
<li id="fn:2" role="doc-endnote">
<p>“Follow a motley crew on an exciting journey through space” is how it reads on Amazon. <a href="#fnref:2" class="reversefootnote" role="doc-backlink">↩</a></p>
</li>
<li id="fn:3" role="doc-endnote">
<p>But we know they will because there’s at least twenty chapters left. <a href="#fnref:3" class="reversefootnote" role="doc-backlink">↩</a></p>
</li>
<li id="fn:4" role="doc-endnote">
<p>I do like action scenes, but not when their done by cardboard cutouts. <a href="#fnref:4" class="reversefootnote" role="doc-backlink">↩</a></p>
</li>
</ol>
</div>by Becky Chambers I came across this book from a recommendation list published by… The Verge, I think? Or somewhere. It was recommended, had a lot of good reviews on Amazon, and I was itching for some sci-fi after going on a bit of a fantasy binge of late. Also, it was maybe $7, just within my impulse book-buy range 1. So the question of why I bought it has a fairly clear answer. But why did I finish it? And… I’m not completely sure. This is not an adventure book. It’s somewhat marketed as one 2, hinting at a kind of Firefly style of serial adventures. It’s good marketing; I bought it, and likely because I was craving that kind of adventure, even if somewhat subconsciously. But this book ain’t that. The best way I can think of it is as tour of a somewhat interesting place by fairly interesting characters. Yes, there is some action involved in a “will they or won’t they make it” scenario 3, but those scenes last at most a single chapter. Honestly, though, even within those chapters (they are, maybe, two of them?) the tension is resolved fairly quickly. This author is, at least in this book, simply not interested in “action” part of action adventures. But $9… whew, I dunno. I gotta really think about it then. :-/ ↩ “Follow a motley crew on an exciting journey through space” is how it reads on Amazon. ↩ But we know they will because there’s at least twenty chapters left. ↩A Pattern of Light and Shadow2019-05-17T00:00:00+00:002019-05-17T00:00:00+00:00https://aaronhayman.com/light-and-shadow<p><img class="extra-sm-img" alt="Book Cover" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51Hnwpwb9vL.jpg" />
<img class="extra-sm-img" alt="Book Cover" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51V6d86bN1L._SY346_.jpg" />
<img class="extra-sm-img" alt="Book Cover" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51b4tNZQeeL.jpg" />
<img class="extra-sm-img" alt="Book Cover" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/5140fuc%2B8iL.jpg" /></p>
<p><em>by Melissa McPhail</em></p>
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<p>I started reading these books about the time my eldest son fell ill, trapping me on the couch while he watched kid shows. He kindly passed the virus to me, giving me both time and motivation to dive into a good series. I ended up reading all four of her books (the fifth one comes out in June) within a week, which makes it easy to review them all at once.</p>
<p>On the whole, I enjoyed the books and I’m looking forward to reading the next one in the series, but I have to admit there are a few weakness in the plot and structure I feel could have been done better. This means a lot of this review will be spent looking at those weaknesses, and yet I don’t want to give the impression that the series is bad. It’s not. In fact, I rather suspect that any series this large must inevitably contain weaknesses, even if those faults are due only to preference (and some of what I mention certainly is). I loved reading the Wheel of Time and those books had some serious issues. McPhail’s books are of similar scope, so it’s not unreasonable to expect similar issues. And so while I will expound them, I must reiderate: I really enjoyed these books.</p>
<p>Let’s dive in.</p>
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<p>To start out, the series aims at being epic and does a reasonably good job. McPhail juggles probably a dozen separate storylines and I’d guess that maybe half of these are the main protagonists. This shifts somewhat throughout the series as ‘side’ characters come to the fore and even antagonists switch sides but on the whole, you’re following quite a few different interrelated stories all at once.</p>
<p>Truth is, I’m not a huge fan of switching characters every one to two chapters. I get <em>why</em> it’s done, especially when the ’story’ consists of multiple characters that must be told in this way or else ruin part of the suspense. And yet I can’t help but feel frustrated when a character arc stops abruptly to jump to another story I don’t care about at the time. It creates a disjointed experience to me that works to push me out of the series. I have to consciously force myself to keep reading.</p>
<p>It also creates books littered with semi cliff-hangers that only encourage me to skim the uninteresting characters in order to get back to the story I want to be reading. Want to know what happens to John? You gotta read through Sally and George and some random side story about June before the book will return to John. By then, maybe you actually got caught up in Sally and want to know what happens to her, but now John’s story is being told and you have to wait… or skim.</p>
<p>And yes, I found myself skimming more than once.</p>
<p>Epics do <em>not</em> need to be told like this (sigh… caveat but sometimes they do). It’s certainly possible weave character arcs without creating cliff hangers, and when authors structure their books like this I can’t help but feel they’re using a cheap gimmick to pull the reader through the book rather than by the quality of story or prose. It is further irritating when the author doesn’t need to do this. On the whole, I think McPhail has a good story with interesting characters. In my opinion, she didn’t need to structure the book this way.</p>
<p>She used cliff-hangers as a literary trick to keep people in her book. Bleh.</p>
<p>Yet, on the whole, this is a minor, albeit repeated annoyance that is quickly forgotten once I’m drawn back into the world and story. It’s also a fairly common format, so either some people like it, or the industry as a whole has become inured to its drawbacks. And yes, some people do like this format so… ok.</p>
<h4 id="world-building">World Building</h4>
<p>The world McPhail has created is one of the better examples of world-building I’ve come across. She’s done a lot of work to create distinct cultures, languages, and geography and it really shows. She does just enough mixing of ‘fake’ languages to distinctive cultural mores to create depth to each culture. Everything from the description of clothing, forms of language, geographical considerations, and political outlook work to create a world that feels real.</p>
<p>I really appreciated this aspect of her writing. It’s obvious she thought through the world. It feels alive, it’s own personality, a character even. And while there are some small complaints I had, it amounted to little more than nitpicking.</p>
<h4 id="magic">Magic</h4>
<p>Magic can be usually is a complicated literary device in fiction in that it’s possible for it to fill multiple purposes. Special effects, character progression, philosophy, world-building, and plot-driving conflicts are some of the main ones. Using magic effectively in writing requires the author to know what <em>role</em> it’s filling at any given moment, and then consciously use the magic to fill that role appropriately. More importantly, care must be taken to ensure that applying a particular use out of magic, doesn’t then undermine its other roles.</p>
<p>So while McPhail applies the same level of attention to the magic system, which is layered, interrelated, interesting, and mostly consistent, I felt there were many weak points in <em>how</em> she applied that magic to particular scenes, and especially to characters.</p>
<p>I think my biggest complaint was that the magic in the series too often felt like little more than special effects. Add to that so many characters that are practically gifted with god-level magic, and several of the other roles magic is supposed to fill get undermined.</p>
<p>This created, for me at least, the feeling that a lot of these ‘special-affects’ were simply back-filling in a foregone conclusion based on a plot directive with pretty explosions. Magic was playing a central role in the plot, yet I’d begun to feel like it was all contrived, and as soon as the magic feels contrived, the plot also starts to feel hollow.</p>
<p>Ugh… I almost ended this section there. But I really need to say that the magic system <em>is</em> good, no matter how I feel about its application in certain places. A big part of what kept me in these books is my desire to see how the magic system fits into the larger picture, or reality itself (philosophical application of magic).</p>
<h4 id="plot">Plot</h4>
<p>I have really mixed feeling about the plot. On the whole, the overarching plot is very good. I can’t really go into much detail without spoiling the story, but I will say it was a big draw for me to keep reading. At the end of the fourth book, the plot spans at least three worlds, two realities, and manages to tie together a lot of separate mysteries and character arcs. Nice.</p>
<p>My problem comes down to the individual character arcs. Each one, taken in isolation, is pretty good. The challenge for me comes from the repetitive nature of the plot between each character’s arc. It got the point where I was starting to predict what would happen to individual characters, even if I didn’t know how it would relate to the overarching storyline. Several times I was tempted to put the book down, especially once some character gets kidnapped, again. Now, to be fair, these kidnappings don’t always end the same way, so there is some variability there, but not a whole lot.</p>
<p>The other plot mechanic she overuses is the mysterious past, where a character has some unknown past, either to themselves, someone else, or perhaps to everyone except the reader. She uses several mechanics to facilitate this including amnesia, reincarnation (which plays a big role in these books), or even parentage. There’s a lot of fun watching someone try to figure out a past or identity you already know, especially in those moments when they or someone else realizes who they really are. It gets a little old when it’s done four or five times.</p>
<p>Also, so many villains, most of whom have an obscene disregard for life, seem oddly reluctant to spill blood when a protagonist enters the scene. Instead, they almost invariably choose to put the protagonist into some kind of challenge, prison, torture, or another dimension when simply slitting their enemy’s throat would be more in line with their character and a hell of a lot more convenient. To this end, several of the villains felt less like people and more like plot generators (often via kidnapping).</p>
<p>And yet, for all that, despite the repetitive nature of the character arcs, each plot is still very well written. I may have been annoyed a bit at the repetition, but I kept reading.</p>
<h4 id="themes">Themes</h4>
<p>One of the constant themes throughout the series regards that of romantic relationships, of which almost all of the protagonists have at least one. I like the idea of integrating these relationships into the primary plot, as opposed to a side-kick. For the most part, these relationships are <em>important</em> and integral to what’s going on. I’ve read a lot of fantasy that completely ignores this aspect of existence and I’m happy to read a series that actually includes the concept of relationships as foundational to the story itself.</p>
<p>I do have a problem with the execution, though, in that the relationships are almost too perfect. Many of the characters fall in love almost instantly, being swept up into grand emotions, perfect sex, and endless moments of love. Faults are forgiven too easily, mistakes are glossed over, and the lover is idolized on every possible aspect. I personally found it hard to identify with this, and in my mind, the characters turned into caricatures of themselves whenever they interacted with their lover. It made it hard for me to care when they become, in turn, star-crossed, navigating the dark waters with naught but their absent lover’s light to guide them. Having trouble believing in their love I, in turn, had difficulty caring for their plight.</p>
<p>This isn’t true of every relationship, though, and a few of them carry a bit more depth to them. One of my favorites so far is between one of the antagonists (maybe… he seems to have turned) and a gay relationship of someone he fell in love with, but who hated(s?) with every fiber of his being. There’s a neat interplay in that relationship which adds depth the others lack.</p>
<p>There are other themes McPhail tries to address that I found hit or miss but don’t have time to go into. Honor, where one character is almost obsessed with honor and yet you see that almost nowhere else in the book, which kind of undermines the point. Torture is well portrayed in its act, but I felt was undermined when the good characters somehow seem to ‘get over it all’ far too quickly.</p>
<h4 id="conclusion">Conclusion</h4>
<p>It may seem like I’m harping on the author and the series, but the truth is I liked the books a lot. There are flaws, yes, and I point them out for my own benefit, to learn from what I consider the author’s mistakes. Of course, not all may even be considered a mistake. It could be personal preference or intentional by the author. But the series itself is well written, with a deep and complex plot, engaging characters, well-built world, and a solid magic system.</p>
<p>In the end, McPhail set out to create a new epic series and she succeeded. Moreover, she created something <em>unique</em>, engaging, and interesting. That is no small feat. She’s done something remarkable and I think she’s earned a great recommendation for her books.</p>
<hr />
<hr />
<h4 id="info">Info</h4>
<p><em>Website</em><br />
<a href="https://melissamcphail.com/">https://melissamcphail.com/</a></p>
<p><em>Amazon Author’s Page</em><br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Melissa-McPhail/e/B00479YNYE">https://www.amazon.com/Melissa-McPhail/e/B00479YNYE</a></p>
<p><em>Books</em><br />
<a href="https://melissamcphail.com/cephraels-hand/">Cephrael’s Hand</a></p>
<p><a href="https://melissamcphail.com/the-dagger-of-adendigaeth/">The Dagger of Adendigaeth</a></p>
<p><a href="https://melissamcphail.com/paths-of-alir/">Paths of Alir</a></p>
<p><a href="https://melissamcphail.com/kingdom-blades/">Kingdom Blades</a></p>by Melissa McPhail I started reading these books about the time my eldest son fell ill, trapping me on the couch while he watched kid shows. He kindly passed the virus to me, giving me both time and motivation to dive into a good series. I ended up reading all four of her books (the fifth one comes out in June) within a week, which makes it easy to review them all at once. On the whole, I enjoyed the books and I’m looking forward to reading the next one in the series, but I have to admit there are a few weakness in the plot and structure I feel could have been done better. This means a lot of this review will be spent looking at those weaknesses, and yet I don’t want to give the impression that the series is bad. It’s not. In fact, I rather suspect that any series this large must inevitably contain weaknesses, even if those faults are due only to preference (and some of what I mention certainly is). I loved reading the Wheel of Time and those books had some serious issues. McPhail’s books are of similar scope, so it’s not unreasonable to expect similar issues. And so while I will expound them, I must reiderate: I really enjoyed these books. Let’s dive in.Magic Bitter Magic Sweet2019-04-03T00:00:00+00:002019-04-03T00:00:00+00:00https://aaronhayman.com/magic-bitter-magic-sweet<p><img src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51odUtgGCTL.jpg" alt="Magic Bitter Magic Sweet Cover" /></p>
<p><em>by Charlie N. Holmberg</em></p>
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<p>First, I’m a pretty big fan of Holmberg. I read her <em>Paper Magician</em> series a while back and found it to be a delightfully new kind of writing. Now, as a quick aside, I am one of those that believe there should be more female fantasy/sci-fi writers. This is not an opinion on social equality (although I do firmly believe women are equal in all regards), but an opinion on the necessity of diversity. There is only so much variety you can have from a male perspective, and much of that variety has been explored already. I don’t know why fantasy and sci-fi have been so male-dominated for so long, except perhaps that we claimed it for some reason, and kind of turned it into a boys club. In doing so, we cheated ourselves. Yes, lots of men try to write from the female perspective, but it’s often limited or skewed into caricatures. So as more female writers come into the fantasy/sci-fi genre’s, I expect to see an explosion of diversity of styles and perspective in the genre itself, something I think is sorely needed. I expect this because of, well, Holmberg.</p>
<p>It’s not just that she’s a female fantasy writer because, of course, she is. She’s a fantasy writer writing from a female perspective and that in itself will make it a different perspective from most of the stuff out there. More importantly, though, is that her ideas are utterly unique. While so many authors are out there crafting complex magic systems (myself included), she comes in from the side with a woman who <em>bakes</em> her magic into her food using her emotions. I’m reasonably certain I would never have thought of something like that.</p>
<p>And that is only the least interesting part of the story.</p>
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<p>I will admit I hesitated to pick up the book. While the idea sounded different, it didn’t actually sound like a story. It was a neat idea, but I wasn’t sure why I would want to read it. I read it anyway because I trust Holmberg to do something great with it. She did.</p>
<p>Whenever I read her writing, I am tempted to think I’m reading an old fairy tale that was long forgotten to time. I think it’s that all the pieces fit so well together, I’m tricked into believing they’d always been there. Nothing feels contrived or unneeded, nor do I find the plot strained or stretched. When I come across some element or thread in the story, I can be sure it’s there for a reason, even if I don’t know what that reason is until the end. It’s dense writing, and I like it a lot.</p>
<p>In <em>Magic Bitter Magic Sweet</em> (without spoilers) she takes a question of identity, uses magic to turn it into a mystery, and then transforms it into a love story, and not the one you think is happening. As the book progressed, I kept expecting a twist. She led me there with hints, forewarnings, and flashbacks, all expertly done. So, of course, I’m trying to figure out how this will end. I kept expecting a reversal, where the good guy turns out bad or something similar. What I got was something that came at me from the side. It was the wrong love story. She led me to believe I was watching one story while unfolding the other right before my eyes without me noticing. <em>That</em> is good writing.</p>
<p>I finished the book last night. I had only a couple of chapters left when my wife turned out the light. So I lay in bed, quietly consuming the end of the book in the dark, and only the dark witnessed my tears. The book lived up to its name, Bitter Sweet, and I still find myself struggling with the bitter aftertaste. The magic, though, came in how she tied everything together.</p>
<hr />
<h4 id="author-info">Author Info</h4>
<p><em>Website</em><br />
<a href="https://charlienholmberg.com">https://charlienholmberg.com</a></p>
<p><em>Amazon Author’s Page</em><br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Charlie-N.-Holmberg/e/B00KQQXYGK/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1">https://www.amazon.com/Charlie-N.-Holmberg</a></p>
<p><em>Magic Bitter, Magic Sweet</em><br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B019IL7R20/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i3">Amazon</a>
|
<a href="https://charlienholmberg.com/book/magic-bitter-magic-sweet/">Book Page</a></p>by Charlie N. Holmberg First, I’m a pretty big fan of Holmberg. I read her Paper Magician series a while back and found it to be a delightfully new kind of writing. Now, as a quick aside, I am one of those that believe there should be more female fantasy/sci-fi writers. This is not an opinion on social equality (although I do firmly believe women are equal in all regards), but an opinion on the necessity of diversity. There is only so much variety you can have from a male perspective, and much of that variety has been explored already. I don’t know why fantasy and sci-fi have been so male-dominated for so long, except perhaps that we claimed it for some reason, and kind of turned it into a boys club. In doing so, we cheated ourselves. Yes, lots of men try to write from the female perspective, but it’s often limited or skewed into caricatures. So as more female writers come into the fantasy/sci-fi genre’s, I expect to see an explosion of diversity of styles and perspective in the genre itself, something I think is sorely needed. I expect this because of, well, Holmberg. It’s not just that she’s a female fantasy writer because, of course, she is. She’s a fantasy writer writing from a female perspective and that in itself will make it a different perspective from most of the stuff out there. More importantly, though, is that her ideas are utterly unique. While so many authors are out there crafting complex magic systems (myself included), she comes in from the side with a woman who bakes her magic into her food using her emotions. I’m reasonably certain I would never have thought of something like that. And that is only the least interesting part of the story.Kingkiller Chronicles2019-03-29T00:00:00+00:002019-03-29T00:00:00+00:00https://aaronhayman.com/Kingkiller-chronicles<p><img class="sm-img" alt="Name of the Wind Book Cover" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51MUF7bj-lL._SY346_.jpg" />
<img class="sm-img" alt="The Wise Man's Fear Book Cover" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51qKDJ8lPeL._SY346_.jpg" /></p>
<h3 id="name-of-the-wind--wise-mans-fear">Name of the Wind & Wise Man’s Fear</h3>
<p><em>by Patrick Rothfuss</em></p>
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<p>If I had to point out one defining aspect to Rothfuss’ writing it would be that the man can <em>linger</em>. I had never considered this might be a strength before reading his books, nor would I have called the ability to linger a skill. On the contrary, most of what I’ve read about writing novels, even epic ones, is that you should only put in the book what is necessary. Too much detail, too much prose, too much exposition, and you’ll quickly lose the reader. Show, don’t tell, and only show enough to draw the reader in and drive them into the next scene. The pages should turn themselves.</p>
<p>So many books do this. They pack their story with action, witty dialog, humor, romance, and mystery. Most fantasy novels now days include a path to power, so the reader is constantly anticipating the next ‘level’. They use clever techniques like this to draw the reader in, and a quick pace to keep them there. If done well, the pages will indeed turn themselves until the very last one, leaving the reader desperate for more.</p>
<p>That style also leaves me vaguely dissatisfied, as though I’d eaten a meal that looked like one but was missing much of what makes it nutritious. My stomach might be full, but the sugar rush quickly runs out and I can’t help but wish there were <em>more</em> to the story. Not more action, not more dialog, not more humor, just more… depth, I think.</p>
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<p>When we’re being drawn along in a story as a reader, we grasp onto the things that draw us in. When we’re led through action, romance, etc., from scene to scene, we often ignore the book’s depth or lack of it. We forget that the stage is but a prop, and the characters themselves little more than cardboard cutouts. It’s a magician’s gambit. Distract us so that we don’t notice the sleight of hand. It usually works, but while the pages turn we, or at least I, find myself increasingly malnourished.</p>
<p>To be clear, Rothfuss’ work has most of those things I mentioned. A mystery to solve. Action and suspense. Romance, as dysfunctional as it is. Humor, and some great dialog. There’s even a sense of power progression as he learns magic, though its a very slow progression. These things are all in there, but they’re almost in there in the same way that the plot is in Moby Dick. It’s important, and you can’t have the book without it, but the plot of Moby Dick could have been written as a novella, possibly even a short story, without losing any of its essence. Of course, you wouldn’t have Moby Dick anymore because that book was never just about its plot. Moby Dick, at least to me, has always been an invitation to stop and consider, to slow down and really <em>see</em> what’s around you. It’s an invitation to truly see the world around, and consider what it all means.</p>
<p>Rothfuss does the same thing, perhaps if not in the same way (Melville could wax on a bit too long, in my opinion). Rothfuss pays attention to the world he created. It’s not just a backdrop, not just a scene in which the plot can drive its characters. It is just as much a point of the story as the characters themselves, and Rothfuss pays just as much attention to it.</p>
<p>What’s remarkable to me is his ability to draw the reader in using detail. He cares and because of that, you find yourself caring as well. What’s more, is that he cares about <em>moments</em>, choosing to linger in them long enough for you to feel it. This invitation to lose yourself in the world is essential because as you do, you find yourself invested in it, in characters that are more than cookie cutouts living in a world that more than just a backdrop.</p>
<p>One of the more poignant scenes in his first book is the loss of Kvothe’s lute after Ambrose throws it. As action scenes go, it’s kinda pitiful. Ambrose throws the lute, it breaks, Kvothe gets angry, and then does something that would be a spoiler if you’ve not read the book. It’s not the kind of hyper-action scene that would immediately draw a person in. But it’s probably one of the more impactful scenes I’ve read in a book.</p>
<p>Why?</p>
<p>Because of the moments. By this point in the book, you’ve spent time with Kvothe. You’ve seen and felt what the lute means to him. You’ve spent time with him as he’s played it, and you understand just how it’s been a linchpin to his sanity. You see the loss of his lute played out from before, and know that it’ll break Kvothe. Then, in the aftermath, Kvothe does something spoilery that he’s been seeking since he was a child. At that moment, you’re left with the kind of bittersweet taste that comes only from victory following a crushing defeat. And all this over a lute.</p>
<p>That scene could not have possibly been so impactful had Rothfuss not lingered in all the past moments in the book. The moments matter, and the people matter, and you care because you spent time.</p>
<p>Rothfuss could have written a much smaller, action-packed book(s) with the same plot. There’s enough there, and it’s a good plot. But like Moby Dick, stripping everything else would strip it of almost everything that it is. Lingering in the moments and getting to know the characters is nearly as important as the plot, perhaps even more so.</p>
<hr />
<h4 id="author-info">Author Info</h4>
<p><em>Website</em><br />
<a href="https://www.patrickrothfuss.com">https://www.patrickrothfuss.com</a></p>
<p><em>Amazon Author’s Page</em><br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Patrick-Rothfuss/e/B001DAHXZQ/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1">https://www.amazon.com/Patrick-Rothfuss</a></p>
<p><em>Name of the Wind</em><br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0010SKUYM/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i0">Amazon</a></p>
<p><em>The Wise Man’s Fear</em><br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00475AYJQ/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i1">Amazon</a></p>Name of the Wind & Wise Man’s Fear by Patrick Rothfuss If I had to point out one defining aspect to Rothfuss’ writing it would be that the man can linger. I had never considered this might be a strength before reading his books, nor would I have called the ability to linger a skill. On the contrary, most of what I’ve read about writing novels, even epic ones, is that you should only put in the book what is necessary. Too much detail, too much prose, too much exposition, and you’ll quickly lose the reader. Show, don’t tell, and only show enough to draw the reader in and drive them into the next scene. The pages should turn themselves. So many books do this. They pack their story with action, witty dialog, humor, romance, and mystery. Most fantasy novels now days include a path to power, so the reader is constantly anticipating the next ‘level’. They use clever techniques like this to draw the reader in, and a quick pace to keep them there. If done well, the pages will indeed turn themselves until the very last one, leaving the reader desperate for more. That style also leaves me vaguely dissatisfied, as though I’d eaten a meal that looked like one but was missing much of what makes it nutritious. My stomach might be full, but the sugar rush quickly runs out and I can’t help but wish there were more to the story. Not more action, not more dialog, not more humor, just more… depth, I think.Six Sacred Swords2019-03-27T00:00:00+00:002019-03-27T00:00:00+00:00https://aaronhayman.com/Six-Sacred-Swords<p><img src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51OQVuWWSIL.jpg" alt="Six Sacred Swords Book Cover" /></p>
<p><em>by Andrew Rowe</em></p>
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<p>I think the biggest surprise to me in this book was that I had unwittingly read other books about the main character. So, the main character, Keras, is a significant side character in Rowe’s Arcane Ascension series — something I already knew. This book, though, starts its own series by using the latest events in Arcane Ascension as an excuse for Keras to tell his story as a flashback in the first person. It’s a neat plot mechanic that I found cleverly implemented.</p>
<p>The surprise for me came in the interlude, where Keras was recounting an event even further back in his past than Six Sacred Swords, mostly his background. It was then I realized that Keras was a main character in Rowe’s <em>other</em> Broken Mirror series. I’ll admit that for a few minutes (prior to a quick Google search), I actually wondered if Rowe was ripping off someone else’s story. I’d gotten my authors confused and didn’t realize Rowe had actually written Broken Mirrors. Eh, fun times. I will say that I like it when an author connects their works together like this. It makes the world feel more fleshed out and real. I was delighted to find a character woven into now three separate series.</p>
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<p>Six Sacred Swords seemed to be an attempt at a different kind of writing than Rowe’s other works. So I read Broken Mirrors long enough ago that I can’t really comment on his style then (I have no intention to reread the books either). Arcane Ascension, however, gears much more toward a detailed power progression of the magic system, inviting you to join Corin as he struggles to overcome inherent limitations. Much of the joy in those books involves the delightfully unusual ways in which he overcomes his challenges. In a lot of ways, it’s power-progression done right, and it’s one of my favorite series.</p>
<p>Power progression (aka, Path to Power) series can be tricky to write, and I think not for the reason one might suspect. Yes, the writer generally has to keep track of a large number of variables and account for all of them in each scene. It can take a lot of work to account for everything, but rewarding as well. More than once, I’ve been delighted when a character has utilized some obscure use of a technique I’d forgotten they ever learned.</p>
<p>No, power progression series are tricky precisely because readers like them. It’s pretty much why litRPG is a thing, with detailed character sheets and all. The tricky part for the writer comes in resisting the temptation to substitute character progression with power progression. They’re not the same. Too often, I’ve seen great power progression, with innovative magic and skill trees, etc., but on a character that never changes. Yes, they get powerful, but that’s pretty much it. A lot of times the reader may not even notice, so caught up in the progression with an ache to see the next level, they don’t really see the character at all. The story is little more than accouterment to the ever-progressing character sheet, and that’s alright for many, I suppose.</p>
<p>I hate it. Personally, while I like power progression, that like sours into disappointment whenever it overrides good writing, good characters, and a meaningful plot.</p>
<p>Six Sacred Swords <em>is</em> a power progression series, but only kind of. While it does have progression elements, I felt they were actually quite minimal. Yes, he gains a new sword, but in truth, the sword felt less like power progression and more like the addition of a new, chatty character to the story… because it was. Keras does improve by the end, but really, it’s barely a progression of power for him, especially since he was already over powered to begin with.</p>
<p>So instead of a path to power, I felt like the book veered more into the witty, fun adventuring I see in standard sword and magic novels. This is not a bad thing. For instance, I’ve long enjoyed Lindsay Buroker’s various adventure series. They’re fun and exciting, providing a quick read with memorable characters. Six Sacred Swords felt a lot like that to me.</p>
<p>At multiple points throughout the book, I found myself chuckling at some well-written humor or wrapped into the adventure aspects of the novel. And to be clear, Rowe’s other books have these elements as well. I simply felt they were more condensed in Six Sacred Swords. It’s not a bad thing, and its a good part of the reason I feel it’s barely a power progression book (maybe even series, once he writes them).</p>
<p>Strip away the power progression and what do you have? You have humor and adventure… and well, that’s kind of it. And here is where I think removing the progression elements highlighted some of the flaws of Rowe’s writing. Keras felt a bit flat to me, especially if you set aside his humor (which I did enjoy). Rei was marginally better as she dealt with some father issues, but even those felt more like plot drivers than real issues.</p>
<p>What makes this difficult for me is that Rowe tried to put that stuff in. Keras has a past, and it has helped define who he is today. He’s reticent to use his power because he almost killed his adoptive parents with it, and then he did cut off his friend’s arm. That’s a lot of tragedy to deal with. The problem I had was his reticence <em>felt</em> to me more like plot mechanics than real, deep issues Keras struggles with. In truth, Keras has enormous power, and it is his unwillingness to embrace that power which leaves him struggling to overcome obstacles. That might make sense if he weren’t so flippant all the time.</p>
<p>Humor can be a salve, a coping mechanism. When you have such terrible power combined with a tragic past from its use, then I would expect to see the hero to struggle, using coping mechanisms to manage. But Keras’ humor didn’t feel like that to me. It felt more like his personality in general than it did something he used to cope with the guilt of a past. His desire to not kill felt similar, more like an honor code than something seared into him from past mistakes. It feels more like something he <em>chooses</em> to do than something he’s <em>driven</em> to do, and this creates a disconnect with his past because I could very much see why he’d be driven by his past mistakes.</p>
<p>I think Rowe tries to invite us to sympathize with Keras’ tragic past. But when Keras himself doesn’t seem to feel it, it makes it hard for me as a reader to as well. When Keras then makes choices, hard choices that make his life difficult based on that past, I as a reader start feeling it’s all a little too contrived. I’m not feeling Keras feel the tragedy, but Keras is making decisions like he does, laughing and joking the whole while.</p>
<p>As a reader, I need to see Keras really struggle with his past, not just make rational decisions. It doesn’t take much. Maybe a scene where Keras breaks down for real after using his power. So suddenly, I’m sucked into his tragedy because now I see and feel his pain. Or maybe he makes a bad decision because of his past that actually has a bad outcome (someone good actually dies). But he didn’t, not really, and so neither did I.</p>
<p>So for me, it was a fun read with lots of laughs and some decent adventure, but with characters that felt flat and who’s only real struggle was to make it to the next adventure in time for us to forget they’re not really progressing as characters themselves.</p>
<p>But this is just the first of what I’m sure are many books in this series. Rowe has a lot of room here to flesh out and deepen his characters. I hope he does because, on the whole, I’ve gotten to enjoy this world he created and look forward to reading the next in the series.</p>
<hr />
<h4 id="author-info">Author Info</h4>
<p><em>Blog</em><br />
<a href="https://andrewkrowe.wordpress.com/">https://andrewkrowe.wordpress.com/</a></p>
<p><em>Author Amazon Page</em><br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Andrew-Rowe/e/B00TKVOI3A/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1">https://www.amazon.com/Andrew-Rowe</a></p>
<p><em>Six Sacred Swords</em><br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Sacred-Swords-Weapons-Wielders-Book-ebook/dp/B07NKBSZGF">Amazon</a></p>by Andrew Rowe I think the biggest surprise to me in this book was that I had unwittingly read other books about the main character. So, the main character, Keras, is a significant side character in Rowe’s Arcane Ascension series — something I already knew. This book, though, starts its own series by using the latest events in Arcane Ascension as an excuse for Keras to tell his story as a flashback in the first person. It’s a neat plot mechanic that I found cleverly implemented. The surprise for me came in the interlude, where Keras was recounting an event even further back in his past than Six Sacred Swords, mostly his background. It was then I realized that Keras was a main character in Rowe’s other Broken Mirror series. I’ll admit that for a few minutes (prior to a quick Google search), I actually wondered if Rowe was ripping off someone else’s story. I’d gotten my authors confused and didn’t realize Rowe had actually written Broken Mirrors. Eh, fun times. I will say that I like it when an author connects their works together like this. It makes the world feel more fleshed out and real. I was delighted to find a character woven into now three separate series.