Book review: Perdido Street Station

Perdido Street Station

By China Miéville

(Pan Macmillan, 2000)

China Miéville has been winning numerous awards for his novel The City and the City, but his ability to attract awards like a magnet attracts iron filings is nothing new: his second novel, the sprawling Perdido Street Station, also won plenty of plaudits, including the Arthur C. Clarke award and British Fantasy August Derleth award (among others; it was also nominated for the Nebula and Hugo). Aside from the hugely positive critical response it received, Perdido Street Station is notable for being both the first book in Miéville's Bas-Lag sequence of novels, and also one of the major works of the 'stillborn' New Weird genre. The second Bas-Lag novel, The Scar, totally redefined the landscape of secondary world fantasy for me; it really opened my eyes, and I've never looked at the genre quite the same ever since. I figured therefore that it was time I delved into Perdido Street Station, to see whether it would have a similar effect on me.

I mentioned that Perdido is a sprawling novel, however I don't mean that purely in terms of size (although at 867 pages it certainly is that too). No, I mean more in terms of subject matter: there's a lot going on in this book, with the story merging romance, action and tragedy together in a heady mix, whilst also riffing on politics, science and artificial intelligence. All of this plays out against the industrial backdrop of New Crobuzon, a teeming industrial metropolis where trains shudder along skyrails above the sluggish Tar river, and where numerous bizarre races co-exist with humans in the crumbling buildings that cower beneath smog-tinged skies.

New Crobuzon will probably go down as Miéville's greatest creation, and rightly so: it's a stunningly well-realised setting, and can comfortably stand alongside other great cities and urban settings of secondary world fantasy such as Viriconium and Gormenghast (tellingly, Miéville name checks both Harrison and Peake in the acknowledgements). Miéville really does imbue New Crobuzon with a character all of its own; it feels more like a sentient creature than a mere passive setting - though it works perfectly well as the latter. It really is a fascinating place, and often evokes interest just as easily as the unfolding story does.

Speaking of the story, it intrigues from the very first few words:

Veldt to scrub to fields to farms to these first tumbling houses that rise from the earth. It has been night for a long time. The hovels that encrust the river's edge have grown like mushrooms around me in the dark. 

We pitch. We rock in a deep current. 

Behind me the man tugs uneasily at his rudder and the barge corrects. Light lurches as the lantern swings. The man is afraid of me. 

I'll gladly go on record and say that I've read few more effective opening lines than those above. The bulk of the novel is written in third person, however the prologue and occasional interludes are written in first person from the perspective of one of the major characters. It's a neat ploy that enables Miéville to really get under the skin of the city and its people in these first person segments, demonstrating what an alien place it is to an outsider.

The outsider in this case is Yagharek, a garuda who has come to New Crobuzon with an impossible request, and it's this request that inadvertently sets into motion a terrifying chain of events that have dire implications for the entire city.

Except that before these events unfold, we have a couple of hundred pages of build-up. We're introduced to the gruff, affable character of  Isaac Dan der Grimnebulin and his lover Lin, an insect-like Khepri, as well as a host of other colourful characters, such as the shady Lemuel Pigeon and the horrifying gangster Mr Motley. Miéville takes his time to develop the complex relationship between Isaac and Lin, as well as the setting of New Crobuzon, while simultaneously laying the foundations for the story to come. He manages this balance extremely well, though at the cost of pacing: it's only after 200 pages that the story really kicks into gear and momentum starts to build. And then after a series of events that crank up the tension and excitement, the electric pace suddenly winds down again and the story meanders along for another 100 pages before once again sparking into life. Such unpredictable pacing may prove a negative point for many readers, though for others - and I include myself here - it gives the novel a more organic, lifelike feel. Because life, of course, doesn't happen at a steady pace.

The story itself is equally unpredictable. As mentioned above, Miéville spends a lot of time laying a lot of foundations: there's the romance between Isaac and Lin, played out while Isaac undertakes a demanding research project and Lin takes on the artistic commission of her career, there's the underground newspaper that's trying to take on the government, and this is before we even get on to the political strikes or the strands being woven by the mysterious, enigmatic Weaver. Yet just when you think these various strands are being merged into some deep, multi-faceted story, they're all suddenly condensed into one major storyline: that of a hunt for some terrifying creatures that pose a threat to the entire city. It's a strange transformation, one that perhaps indicates that Miéville didn't quite know what he was initially shooting for with this novel. It could be argued that the simplicity of the novel's eventual premise isn't deserving of the pages of careful build-up that precede it, but ultimately it doesn't matter - the simple fact is that this is one exhilarating monster hunt.

The subjects of said hunt - the slake moths - are a wonderful creation: terrifying, yet strangely beguiling at the same time. The menace they exude dominates every scene they appear in, and fortunately there are plenty of those. But the moths are not the only strange creatures to make an appearance - the Weaver is another intriguing creation who lends a degree of unpredictability to proceedings, while the Construct Council is quite simply a brilliant idea that I will say nothing more about for fear of spoiling it. Of course, this being Miéville, there's some utterly bizarre stuff in here - not all of which works, yet there's rarely a dull moment.

Despite the weird and wonderful creations that Miéville cooks up in Perdido, the novel remains human-centric. The overriding premise may be that of the monster hunt and the bid to save the city, yet the love story between Isaac and Lin plays a huge role, and it is this element that really ignites the novel's emotional fires. Miéville really nails the characterisation of these two figures, and carefully builds their complex relationship before giving it a firm shunt in the direction of tragedy. The end result is emotionally powerful and leaves a lingering impression long after you've put the book down.

Verdict: Having already read The Scar, I had a rough idea of what to expect from Perdido Street Station, so the fact that it still managed to surprise and enthrall me speaks volumes. It undoubtedly has issues, most clearly with pacing and length (caused largely by Miéville's tendency to sometimes get too self-absorbed in his own world) but this is forgivable when you take into account what Miéville has achieved here. He's created a striking, memorable setting, and has then told a story worthy of this grim, industrial city: a story that combines love, beauty, horror and tragedy, told in the wonderfully evocative, baroque prose that Miéville has become famous for. In short, it's an excellent novel that showcases both the New Weird genre and Miéville's own individual talents. Compulsory reading for those who wish to see what secondary world fantasy can do when the pseudo-medieval shackles are well and truly cast off.

Book review: The Heroes

The Heroes

By Joe Abercrombie

(Gollancz, 27 January 2011)

Joe Abercrombie has undoubtedly been one of the fantasy genre's success stories in recent years. His debut, The Blade Itself, may not have generated the pre-release buzz that accompanied The Lies of Locke Lamora - another notable Gollancz debut - but word eventually filtered through the fledgling blogosphere and soon rave reviews were sprouting up all over the place. Fast forward a few years, and The Blade Itself has allegedly sold more than 100,000 copies in the UK alone. The other two books in The First Law trilogy - Before They are Hanged and Last Argument of Kings - met with similar acclaim and cemented Abercrombie's status as a big hitter in the epic fantasy genre.

Then the much-anticipated Best Served Cold arrived, and seemingly split opinion right down the middle: some readers loved it, others less so. I fell in the latter category, feeling that the book was ponderous, over-long and often lacking the wit that made the earlier novels such a success. There were good aspects of course, but for the first time it did raise a question in my mind, as I imagine it did in those of others: had Abercrombie peaked too early? Would all of his subsequent books gradually decline in quality, as happens with so many authors? Unfair questions perhaps, on the basis of one book, but questions that needed to be answered nonetheless. Questions that could only be answered when The Heroes arrived.

While Best Served Cold whisked the action away to Styria, marking a distinct change in setting compared to The First Law, with The Heroes Abercrombie turns the focus back on the wilds of the north where plenty of blood was previously spilled during the earlier books. This simple geographical change immediately made the novel more appealing to me; aside from the chapters featuring Glokta, it was the story strands that featured the northmen that I enjoyed the most when reading The First Law. Those readers that felt the same should be more than satisfied with The Heroes then, since the novel has more northmen than you can shake a stick (or a huge, bloodstained axe) at.

The novel focuses on a battle fought in the shadow of the Heroes, a ring of stones atop a hill near the town of Osrung. Black Dow, self-installed leader of the northmen, gathers his forces on one side, while the Union forces - led by Marshal Kroy, a familiar face from the past - prepare themselves on the other. Over the course of three days, the future of the north will be decided. There will be blood. And, as with any Abercrombie novel, a healthy dose of treachery.

For the first time, we're given a map inside the book (the closest we've come previously were the artistic flourishes that adorned the cover and certain title pages in Best Served Cold), and a very nice map it is too. In a nice touch, the map is repeated at the start of each section of the book, with markers showing the positioning of the various forces. It's probably not strictly necessary, yet it certainly adds a bit of depth and helps the reader get some flavour for the locales involved.

The main complaint I had with Best Served Cold was that I didn't care for any of the characters - they were, as far as I was concerned, a bunch of scumbags so totally lacking in anything vaguely resembling morals, that I found it extremely hard to care one way or another what happened to them. Abercrombie made his name by inverting various tropes and painting his world in varying shades of grey, but for me he took it too far in Best Served Cold. Don't get me wrong; I enjoy reading about ruthless, uncompromising figures...but I also like to have one or two characters that I can empathise with and root for, and the latter were distinctly absent in Best Served Cold.

Thankfully, this is not the case with The Heroes. There are a lot of characters in this novel (in another first for an Abercrombie novel, we're given a cast list - and it's needed) and while there are plenty of figures for whom morals are an alien concept, there are a fair few who readers can root for and - perhaps surprisingly - even find sympathy with. Craw is one such figure; the leader of a band of northmen, he's tired of war and just wants to abandon it all for a quieter life. He's also a figure that believes in doing 'the right thing' (whatever that might be), and the weariness he shows towards violence and treachery is something that the reader can easily appreciate and identify with. Bremer dan Gorst - a minor character from the earlier trilogy - is another figure who is easy to empathise with; once the king's most trusted guard, he's fallen from grace and must go against his king's orders (by taking part in the fighting, rather than just observing) to win his former glory back. Worse, he lusts after a young lady that he has no chance of wooing. And just to top things off, he has an embarrassingly squeaky voice. Gorst's personal story, as the novel progresses, is an interesting one, mixing humour with bleakness and violence, and he serves as a good example of Abercrombie's unquestionable talent for bringing his characters to life.

Of course, there are plenty of less desirable types too: 'Prince' Calder being one of them. He's another character that Abercrombie portrays very well, somehow making him curiously likable despite the fact that he's as slippery as a snake. Beck, too, is a character with a strong - if predictable - character arc, while there are numerous other interesting figures - Whirrun of Blythe, with his apparent death-wish and huge sword, and Corporal Tunny, with his uncanny ability to avoid actually doing anything resembling professional soldiering, to name but two. If I have any complaints, it's that due to the extensive cast-list, certain people had a habit of blending together (the generals Meed and Mitterick, for example, I repeatedly struggled to tell apart). In addition, the female element is arguably rather lacking as well. Now of course, this is a war novel, so given this fact - and the structure of society in Abercrombie's world - it was inevitable that there would be a lack of female characters. Yet I still feel something more could have been done here. It has been remarked on before that Abercrombie's female characters have, to date, consisted mostly of pyschopaths and alcoholics. The main female interest in the The Heroes doesn't fit in either of those categories, yet her undiluted ambition and the coldness she often displays to her husband don't exactly make her an endearing figure. That said, another female character on the northern side, Wonderful, perhaps redresses this by establishing herself in a position of power solely on the basis of her martial and leadership qualities. Yet Wonderful's a character we regrettably don't see often enough.

The story itself is something of a slow burner - the first 100 pages are more or less used to move all the characters - and troops - into the places that they need to be in. Yet once the action gets going, The Heroes makes for an absorbing read. One aspect particularly worthy of mention is the technique that Abercrombie employs of jumping from one POV to another, often using several different perspectives in the course of a single chapter. We'll see events unfold, for example, from the viewpoint of a Union soldier. That soldier then meets a sticky end on the edge of an axeblade...and the action immediately switches to the viewpoint of the northman that swung the axe. This technique makes for a fluid portrayal of war, lending a very personal aspect to the action. Abercrombie has always been good at battle scenes, and he shows that ability again here with some violent, graphic sequences, that importantly always keep a close focus on the characters involved. It's not all just blood and guts though, as there's plenty of behind-the-scenes maneuvering going on: power-struggles on the northern side and petty politics on the Union side. And invariably there's treachery, and the odd surprise. Nothing comparable to the shocks that Abercrombie served up in Last Argument of Kings, but these twists nonetheless keep the story compelling. My only real criticism here is that I felt the novel could have done with a bit more mysticism - the background struggle between Bayaz and his opponents is hinted at, but doesn't really solidify into anything substantial. A touch more magical chutzpah would perhaps have been a pleasing counterpoint to all the gritty, physical violence.

As always, everything is delivered and bound up in Abercrombie's distinctive style. You know when you're reading an Abercrombie book, and that instant recognition is a very useful thing for any author to have in their locker. There's the dark wit that was often lacking in Best Served Cold, and this humour provides a nice counterpoint to the bleakness and violence. Furthermore, The Heroes is primarily a war novel, and is full of wry details and observations about the nature of war and how it affects people in different ways. The story arc of Beck, in particular, is a good example of this (even if it feels a little contrived and predictable). Subsequently, the use of the word 'heroes' in the title has various meanings: a reference to the physical stones, an ironic play on the nature of the men involved in the struggle, and so on. War, as The Heroes ably demonstrates, is a confusing, messy business.

Verdict: A well-constructed, absorbing war novel that returns to a familiar stamping ground and improves on the flaws of Best Served Cold. Abercrombie appears to have taken the criticism flung his way from some quarters, and has this time produced a more dynamic set of characters that mostly manage to be appealing despite their clear moralistic differences. Though the novel starts slowly, the momentum gradually builds into something unstoppable. There's satisfying character development, exploration of the ironies of war, and of course plenty of blood and treachery, all delivered with Abercrombie's trademark wry humour. The supernatural elements that do feature are handled very well, but it would have been nice to see a little more of them. Still, this doesn't stop The Heroes from being an enjoyable, absorbing read.

Book review: The Price of Spring

The Price of Spring

By Daniel Abraham

(Orbit omnibus edition, 2010)

A Shadow in Summer review
A Betrayal in Winter review
An Autumn War review

With the first two books in The Long Price quartet - A Shadow in Summer and A Betrayal in Winter - Daniel Abraham introduced his intriguing world where poets turn thoughts into human form, and laid the complex foundations for the later events that had such devastating consequences in An Autumn War. The third book in the sequence took a different direction to its predecessors, and the same is true of The Price of Spring: whereas the first three novels were primarily based around conflict, the final book of The Long Price is concerned with the rehabilitation of a world that has been torn apart.

Some fifteen years or so after the events of An Autumn War, Otah - now bearing the title of Emperor - faces his greatest challenge yet: repairing the political and social divisions that have taken hold of the world following the war with Galt. Otah's task is utterly thankless - to build for the new world's future, he needs the support of his former enemies, the Galts, but unsurprisingly such support is not willingly given. With pirates raiding the fringes of the fledgling empire, and friction at court, it seems the old powers of the world will fall. As if this wasn't enough, an old adversary is plotting to overthrow Otah's vision for the future, by seeking redemption from the very thing that ruined the world in the first place. As the world descends once more into chaos, Otah must ally with a former enemy in his attempt to prevent the new empire's fall.

The focus of The Price of Spring differs from the previous books in the sequence: whereas they were largely based around conspiracy and conflict, the final instalment in The Long Price quartet focuses on serious social and political issues, and Otah's attempts to resolve them as he fights for his future vision. Much like the first novel in the sequence, A Shadow in Summer, there are no epic battles or particularly dramatic sequences, yet Abraham still manages to deliver a novel that shocks and enthralls in equal measure.

The characters are the driving force of this novel, as has been the case with each book in the series. Maati is at the heart of events; he's very much the tragic figure of the story. The once fresh-faced poet is now an ill old man, his conscience crushed by guilt. His attempts to seek redemption for the failures of his past proves a moving, emotional journey. Otah's own struggles are no less troublesome - he pivots between his role as emperor and father, and struggles with the conflicting loyalties this inspires within him. The emergence of an old foe lends an interesting dynamic to the proceedings, as do the actions of Vanjit, whose background and emotional fragility make her both a complex character and a major catalyst for the shocking events that unfold. Vanjit is an excellent demonstration of Abraham's ability to create utterly believable characters that have a profound impact on the story he is telling; as I've said before, The Long Price quartet is a very human story. The world may be very different from our own, but the emotions and complex psychologies of its inhabitants mirror our own reality.

While the underlying premise of The Price of Spring may differ from the earlier novels, the characteristics that made the earlier books such a rewarding experience are present and correct. Abraham's skill at plotting remains as strong as ever, and once more he demonstrates his ability to generate surprise - often without warning, and via subtle details. His prose remains evocative, combining with the touching introspections of his characters to leave a streak of melancholy throughout the novel. There's a real sense of nostalgia at times, a haunting sadness left by the passing of time, yet this is countered by a genuine hope for the future that the characters strive towards.

The Price of Spring does have more noticeable flaws than its predecessors. The pacing of the last third is rather slow, with a touch of monotony settling over proceedings as Abraham lines all his characters up for the final scenes. And while the outcome of the novel - and indeed the series - is superbly handled, there's an element of frustration as Abraham felt the need to add a largely pointless epilogue. Not only does this obscure what would have been a far more moving, natural ending to the novel, but it feels more like the start of a new novel than a true ending, and as such feels uncomfortably bolted on. It's a shame that the series ends on what feels like a weaker note than it could have done otherwise, but this doesn't detract from the overall brilliance of The Long Price quartet.

Verdict: The Price of Spring is an excellent conclusion to what is one of the best epic fantasy series ever written. It combines everything that made the earlier novels - and the series itself - such a joy to read: convincing characters, atmospheric prose, the ability to shock, and an emotional punch that stays with you long after you've put the book down. Like the very best fantasy, The Price of Spring invokes a sense of wonder, yet has its roots firmly in the sort of personal emotional struggles that readers will be able to empathise with. The result is an absorbing story of love and loss, loyalty and betrayal, shot through with streaks of both sadness and hope, and it must surely elevate Daniel Abraham to the pantheon of epic fantasy's best writers. The Long Price quartet is not to be missed. 

Book review: An Autumn War

An Autumn War 

By Daniel Abraham

(Orbit omnibus edition, 2010)

While the first two books in The Long Price quartet - A Shadow in Summer and A Betrayal in Winter - are excellent, their underlying premises are perhaps a little too similar at times and there is a sense that the scene is being set for something larger and even more significant. The third instalment, An Autumn War, is therefore arguably the pivotal book in the sequence. With this novel, Daniel Abraham needed to build on the foundations he'd constructed and take the series in a new direction, without compromising the human element that has made his story so remarkable. Success would propel the series to the very heights of the genre, failure would mean that the The Long Price quartet would never quite achieve its true potential.

I had little doubt Abraham would succeed; soon after starting The Long Price quartet I realised I was reading something special, by a very gifted author. It therefore came as no surprise that An Autumn War surpasses its predecessors in every aspect. Yet what did surprise me was how effortlessly Abraham tore apart my expectations and delivered a novel that instantly goes down as one of the finest epic fantasy novels I've ever read.

Fourteen years have passed since the events of A Betrayal in Winter. The Galts, having seen their previous attempts at influencing the politics of the Khaiem meet with mixed success, have decided to take a more direct route: invasion. Such brute force was never previously viable; the Khaiem had the andat to protect them, and their wrath would be devastating. Yet a Galtic general by the name of Balazar Gice thinks he has found a way to nullify the andats' threat. If he is right, an ambitious military campaign could see the defenseless cities of the Khaiem conquered within a few months. If he is wrong, Galt will be erased from the map. Either way, the world will be changed forever.

In the first two novels the Galts were little more than a vague menace, yet with Balasar Gice taking centre stage they become a far more definitive threat. While most readers will view the Galts as the antagonists, Abraham is very careful not to paint them, or Gice, as blackhearted villains. Gice is simply doing what he thinks is best for his country: he sees the andat as a threat that needs to be removed from the world. He doesn't want to build an empire; he just wants to preserve the future of his own people by eradicating the threat that poses the most danger to them. He's an interesting character: likable, dedicated and tactically brilliant. Yet the ghosts of men that have died under his command haunt him, and the fear of failure - and what it would mean - constantly gnaws at him. His future, at least, is black and white: if he succeeds, he'll be the greatest hero in his country's history. Fail, and he'll be known as the man that brought destruction upon his own people. It is a predicament that lies heavily across his shoulders, and Abraham convincingly explores the psychological implications.

I realised while reading A Betrayal in Winter that what Abraham was trying to do was to tell the life stories of a select few people, and to show how their decisions and relationships affected the state of the world. It was no surprise then to find that many familiar faces return, although as before Abraham develops their characters and takes their lives in new directions. As always, they find themselves in a variety of difficult and demanding situations: Otah must lead a ragtag, amateur army against the finest fighting force in the world, knowing that defeat will cost him everything he holds dear; Maati must finally confront the failures of his past and attempt to perform an act that he was never intended for; Sinja - previously just a minor character - finds himself with conflicting loyalties, and trying to guess which way he will lean is one of the most intriguing aspects of the novel. As before, Abraham's characterisation is bone-deep; it's impossible not to engage with these figures and their various struggles.

The Long Price has always been driven by the characters, but it's only in An Autumn War that the subtleties and intricacies of their relationships - carefully developed over the course of the two previous books - really come to the fore, affecting the unfolding events in dramatic style. The plot pivots on such small details that originally appeared almost inconsequential, yet are now revealed to have far wider consequences. It's a rewarding experience watching these various elements slot into place, and is a testament to Abraham's plotting skills and grasp of characterisation. While An Autumn War loses none of the intimacy of the previous novels, it is nonetheless more epic in scope and the results of the unfolding events are even more profound than those of the previous novels.

Verdict: An Autumn War retains all of the elements that made the earlier novels in The Long Price quartet so impressive, yet takes the story in a fresh direction and raises the emotional stakes to dramatic levels. This is a truly remarkable story about love and sacrifice, with an ending that is both stunning and heartbreaking. A Shadow in Summer and A Betrayal in Winter marked Daniel Abraham out as a talent worth watching, but An Autumn War cements his transformation into one of the genre's most gifted authors. Make no mistake, this novel is amongst the best the genre has to offer.

Book review: A Betrayal in Winter

A Betrayal in Winter

By Daniel Abraham

(Orbit omnibus edition, 2010)

I mentioned in my review of A Shadow in Summer that the novel, despite being epic fantasy, had a small cast and that by focusing on this small handful of characters and their relationships, the story had an intimate feel to it. The same is true of A Betrayal in Winter, the second novel in Daniel Abraham's The Long Price quartet. Yet only now have I realised what Abraham set out to do with this series: to tell the life stories of a few key players, and demonstrate how their actions affect the world around them.

The events of this novel take place over a decade after the struggles depicted in A Shadow in Summer, with the scene shifting from the summer city of Saraykeht to the winter city of Machi: a city famed for its imposing towers and winters so brutal that the city's population is driven into subterranean tunnels to escape the cold. A world away from the warmth of Saraykeht then, but Machi's political jostling and courtly intrigue are very reminiscent of the more illustrious southern city. As it happens, political machinations are very much at the heart of this novel.

A lot has happened in the intervening twelve years, yet much has also remained the same. Otah is still trying to escape his past - the past that came back to haunt him during his time in Saraykeht, and which continues to haunt him still. When he is assigned a task that requires him to travel north to Machi - the city of his birth - he finds himself in a desperate situation: returning to Machi may well bring him into contact with the old life he has tried to leave behind. And yet it's something he feels he needs to do; there is an urge within him to face his demons and see if the memories he holds are anything like the truth. Yet it's a dangerous time to be in Machi, as the reigning Khai's health is failing, and the bloodletting to see who will succeed him has already begun. And inevitably, Otah finds himself having to confront his past in order to build a new future, both for himself and for the city...

From a technical perspective, A Betrayal in Winter is an interesting novel. The actual plot - a political struggle in which a foreign power is secretly involved - bears more than a passing resemblance to the plot of A Shadow in Summer. Furthermore, while the novel is essentially a murder mystery, one of the main POV characters is one of the antagonists (if they can truly be called that), so we are presented with the perspectives from both sides. The enjoyment comes not from the gradual deducing of who the murderer is (we find that out very early on), but more from seeing how the plans of both sides fall into place, and subsequently fall apart. At times I did find myself wondering whether the novel would have been more absorbing if the reader wasn't aware of who the murderer was, yet it must also be said that it works very well the way it is. Abraham's plotting is both subtle and immaculate.

As with A Shadow in Summer, this novel is driven entirely by its characters. Otah and Maati are the familiar faces that return from the first book, and once again their relationship is at the heart of the novel. Their relationship is a complex one: they are both friends and enemies, their shared history tarnished by betrayal and unfaithfulness, yet they find they need each other more than ever as the political situation in Machi hots up.

Like the first book, the cast list is small, yet there are some new faces. Idaan in particular is an interesting figure: the khai's only daughter, she has broken free of the mould that high society has forced on her, only to find that the alternative existence she has fought so hard for isn't everything she expected. She's similar to Liat in the previous novel, in that her steely exterior hides a more fragile centre, yet she possesses a cold, unflinching streak that Liat never had. Abraham develops her character superbly over the course of the novel, and rightfully she plays a crucial role in the unfolding events. Cehmai the poet is another convincing figure, and like Otah in the first book he is forced into a situation where he has to choose between his heart's desire and the city's future.

One slight disappointment is the absence of Seedless, the star of the show in the first book. The andat had no reason to appear in this novel, but sadly he is missed. Stone-Made-Soft, the andat that does feature - while giving rise to one or two interesting moments - is bland in comparison. Yet such is Abraham's skill at manipulating his characters' relationships and placing individuals in difficult situations, this absence doesn't undermine the book.

Worldbuilding is once again kept to a minimum; Abraham only gives the reader what information is required to lend context to the story, and that's very welcome.  As before his excellent prose is vibrant and atmospheric. Like A Shadow in Summer, this novel is quite short (286 pages in this edition) and the events unfold at a steady pace that builds to a satisfying - if slightly predictable - conclusion.

Verdict: A Betrayal in Winter is an enjoyable continuation of the story that started with A Shadow in Summer. The underlying premise may be a little too similar to its predecessor at times, but this hardly matters as Abraham delivers the same excellent characterisation and subtle plotting that made the first book such a joy to read. Once again we have a tale of passion and friendship, lust and betrayal - the consequences of which will affect an entire city, and perhaps even a continent. A Betrayal in Winter is an intelligent and entertaining read, though I hope that in An Autumn War Abraham takes the story in a different direction. 

Book review: A Shadow in Summer

A Shadow in Summer

By Daniel Abraham

(Orbit omnibus edition, 21 January 2010)

There are a number of aspects that can help one fantasy novel stand out. Excellent prose. Deft, inventive worldbuilding. Believable characters that possess genuine human qualities the reader can relate to. A new take on a classic theme that lends freshness to the story. Fluid, realistic dialogue.

Most novels achieve a couple of the above, others maybe more.

A Shadow in Summer possesses all five. The fact that it is American author Daniel Abraham's debut novel makes this feat all the more impressive. Yet what pleased me the most is that Abraham deliberately set out to write something different:

"I wanted to do something to reset people's expectations. I wasn't trying for a traditional epic fantasy, and I thought that would be one way to alert readers that this one might be a little different."

"A little different" being something of an understatement. There are no dark lords, epic battles, magic swords or commoners discovering they have royal blood. In fact, many of the obvious trappings of the fantasy genre are conspicuous by their absence.

And A Shadow in Summer is all the better for it. Don't misunderstand me; there's nothing at all wrong with any of the above elements. It's just nice to read a fantasy book that doesn't immediately feel like two-dozen other ones you've already read. What we have instead is a character-driven story that delves into both the light and dark sides of the human psyche.

The city of Saraykeht is the greatest of the cities of the Khaiem: one of the world's great trading hubs, whose ruler commands a power to rival the gods. This power is the andat Seedless - a captive spirit, formed from thought - who is controlled by the poet Heshai. Seedless is crucial to both the city's cotton trade, and to protecting it from the threat of external enemies.

Yet a plan is in motion that could destroy Saraykeht's influence, and leave it at the mercy of foreign powers. A plan that will cause the collapse of old friendships, betrayals of trust and abuses of power. A plan that will send shockwaves around the world.

And all that is required is the death of one child...

Despite the large-scale repercussions of the secretive machinations in A Shadow in Summer, the cast - unlike many epic fantasies - remains reassuringly small, and each and every character is fleshed out and developed very well. Liat possesses an outward confidence that hides a fragile sense of self-belief, Maati struggles to balance his desires and loyalties, while Otah discovers that you cannot raise barriers against the past. Heshai the poet convincingly flits between wry humour and bleak depression, while Amat and Marchat - two old friends - struggle to understand the changes in their lives as they find themselves on opposing sides in a confrontation that is both political and ideological. The relationships that Abraham builds between these various figures, and the way those relationships grow (or collapse) is utterly convincing, and often touching.

The star of the show, however, is the andat Seedless. Quite simply, he's a wonderful creation, and steals pretty much every scene he appears in. Secretive one moment and painfully honest the next, he's utterly unpredictable - and this is what makes him such an absorbing character. This unpredictability, coupled with a sly wit, means that he oozes menace. Yet the flaws in his binding - the fault of Heshai - are largely to blame for his mindset, so he's far from a simple black-hearted villain. Like everyone else, he has his motivations and reasons to explain them.

Abraham has developed a colourful, vibrant world for his story to unfold in. The land of the Summer Cities possesses a distinct Eastern flavour that provides a refreshing break from the Western European-esque setting of so many fantasies. There's little exposition, as the story doesn't really call for it. Instead, Abraham prefers to breathe life into his world through little touches and flourishes. The use of poses is a good example (characters adopt various physical poses when conversing, almost like a second language). This feature - so easily implemented - adds texture to the world and society.

Another element that makes A Shadow in Summer stand out from other epic fantasies is the speed at which the story unfolds. The plot develops well and at a steady pace, with no unnecessary fluff: the book itself is only 304 pages long. Abraham's prose is also worthy of praise, as it's sharp and precise, yet very evocative:

"To his left, dawn was breaking, rose and gold and pale blue of robin's egg. To his right, the land was still dark. And before him, snow-covered mountains - dark stone showing the bones of the land. He smelled something - a perfume or a musk that made him think of women. He couldn't say if the vision was dream or memory or something of both, but a powerful sorrow flowed through him that lingered after the images had gone." 

Perhaps the most striking aspect of A Shadow in Summer is the lack of large-scale set-pieces (as mentioned earlier, there are no battles or epic confrontations). In fact, there's very little physical violence at all - and I found this rather refreshing. This is a novel that - despite the large-scale consequences of the conspiracy at its heart - is very much about the emotions of a select few people, and their respective struggles to maintain their identities and relationships as they try to resolve their own problems. I'll draw a parallel with George R. R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire here, another epic fantasy series that is inherently driven almost entirely by its characters (Martin himself acknowledges Abraham's very "human tale" in his cover quote). And, based solely on this evidence, I don't think mentioning Abraham in the same sentence as Martin flatters him at all.

Verdict: A Shadow in Summer is the sort of novel that we need to see more of if the fantasy genre is truly going to thrive. It's fresh and intelligent, beautifully written and introduces some wonderfully believable characters. In essence, it's a convincing demonstration that you don't need to fall back on the same old familiar tropes in order to write a good fantasy novel. Abraham may not get the exposure that many other more prominent authors in the genre receive, but he certainly blows many of them out of the water in terms of ability. I'll definitely be reading the rest of The Long Price quartet - of which all four books have been released, and recommend that if you're hungering for something a little different, you give A Shadow in Summer a try. 

Book review: Veteran

Veteran

By Gavin Smith

(Gollancz, 17 June 2010)

SF is dying, apparently. Yet it's difficult to agree with this statement when publishers like Gollancz are clearly committed to publishing debut novels from new talent in the genre. Especially when they're as good as Gavin Smith's Veteran. 

The novel is written in first-person, from the perspective of ex-special forces veteran Jakob Douglas. He's seen a lot of terrible things in his time. Done a lot of terrible things as well. And he's spent years fighting Them; the alien threat to humanity. Yet that's in the past now; these days he's his own man, and is only interested in drinking and smoking his life away, ensconced in his shack in what passes for Dundee in this bleak future-Earth.

Except that other people have plans for him. Recalled to service by his former commander - forced might be a better word - Douglas is given the task of tracking down and eliminating an alien infiltrator that has somehow slipped past Earth's defences. Yet what starts out as a relatively straightforward - if highly dangerous - job suddenly turns into something very different. For the infiltrator isn't quite what Douglas expects, and almost without realising it he's suddenly disobeying his orders - bringing down the considerable wrath of his superiors. He becomes a hunted man, on the run with a bunch of assorted misfits that all share the same goal: to reveal a terrible truth that may end the war with Them...or start a new human conflict that may be the final nail in humanity's coffin.

Veteran doesn't read like a debut novel; Smith's prose is accomplished and possesses a very cinematic quality; I could very clearly picture the characters and environments described in his writing. His prose is evocative without being overwhelming, and he strikes a fine balance between description and action - not something that first-time authors always get right in their debut novels. The pacing is also worthy of praise; the story unfolds swiftly, and there's no unnecessary flab; this is a lean novel, with a tight and relentless focus on its story. Exposition is handled very well - again, not something debutants often get right - and flashbacks serve to fill in the gaps in Douglas's background and add some depth to the conflict that provides the backdrop - and mitigating factor - for the story. Despite the bleakness of Smith's vision of a future Earth, and the brutality of the war against Them, Veteran is shot through with a wry, black humour that acts as a counterweight against the fear and anxiety that blights the lives of most of Smith's characters.

Much of that humour stems from Douglas himself, who makes for a strong POV - just as well, since as mentioned above the novel is entirely written from his perspective. He's a person that is easy to sympathise with, since he just wants to be left alone and instead is forced into action against his wishes. He's an intriguing character, since his physical prowess contrasts strongly with his emotional uncertainty. Fighting isn't a problem for him; he's a veteran, he knows how to handle himself. He's at home when he's surrounded by gunfire. Yet as his relationship develops with Morag - the prostitute-turned-hacker that he finds himself protecting - he struggles to understand his own emotions or deal with them effectively, meaning that he often finds himself out of his depth in this regard. It's an interesting contrast that lends his character depth and resonance.

Douglas's allies (and enemies) are also well-defined and developed. Morag in particular has an interesting progression arc; despite her increasing power and authority she remains a vulnerable figure. Her relationship with Douglas is believably handled by Smith, and aids the development and exploration of both characters. Mudge is memorable for his distinct humour, though on occasion it grates (I suspect this might be deliberate, given how Douglas often comments on this very point). Pagan, Gregor and Balor bring their own distinctive characters and complexities to the mix. Similarly, Rolleston makes for a cold, intimidating antagonist, as does the Grey Lady. In all, Smith's grasp of characterisation is impressive; he's created a dynamic bunch of personalities that really drive the story, and interact convincingly with each other.

Smith employs a good method of keeping the story feeling fresh: he ensures the action takes place in a variety of very different locations, from the bleak slums of Dundee to outer space, via a submerged New York and what once passed for the eastern states of the USA. Douglas's band never outstay their welcome in any of these locations, and this rapid transition from place to place assists the pace of the story as well as providing some evocative settings. The submerged New York is particularly striking, as is the roof-top commune that was once Hull. Smith's vision of a future Earth is grim, and life is cheap. Yet mankind - despite the advanced technology that means some humans have more in common with machines than other people - has not yet lost its humanity; that's a very important point that becomes apparent towards the end of the story. Yes, the world is dark - but there's real hope of a better future.

There's some intriguing ideas here too, many centering around the regulation of the global information network and political structure. Perhaps the most poignant question is what sacrifices are worth making for freedom. And is that freedom - from manipulative governments - truly desirable, or will it only promote chaos? Smith uses both his characters and their circumstances to explore these ideas, adding further depth to the story. It's far from just being an action-packed romp, though there's plenty of gunfights too.

Drawbacks are very minor. I felt the novel perhaps started a little too quickly for its own good, and that I'd have liked to have got a little more feel for both Douglas and the setting of Dundee before being launched into the action. Still, on the other hand this is better than being faced with a dull, drawn-out opening. On occasions some conversations between the characters do drag on a little, and perhaps could have been shortened. The ending is also a little abrupt; not a true cliffhanger, but still slightly dissatisfying as it doesn't bring the story to a true close. Presumably the next book will pick up exactly from where this one ends. Finally, I didn't feel the Grey Lady was enough of a threat; she's clearly a terrifying opponent, but her fleeting appearances don't lend her the aura of fear she ought to have.

Verdict: Veteran is an impressive debut, marking Gavin Smith as a talent worth watching in the SF field. It mixes action, intrigue and black humour very well indeed, resulting in an enjoyable read that - like the best SF - manages to be thought-provoking as well. Believable characters, vivid settings, prose that possesses a cinematic-esque quality, and plenty of frantic gunfights: you can't really ask for much more. As for SF supposedly being a dying genre; that's hard to accept when SF debuts of this quality are being published. Highly recommended.

Book review: Tome of the Undergates

Tome of the Undergates

By Sam Sykes

(Gollancz, 15 April 2010)

Tome of the Undergates does not open with a 200-page battle scene - let's get that clear right from the start. It's a criticism and accusation I've seen levelled at the novel in various reviews, and it's misleading. Yes, the book opens with a pretty huge brawl that only gets bigger as it progresses. Yes, the duration of the battle does last for around 200 or so pages. But it's not 200 pages of pure carnage; the battle ebbs and flows, with various breaks where other events unfold, and at times the battle rages in the background while scenes of rather different natures play out.

It might seem strange to start this review by making the above distinction, but I feel it's important the point is made - debut authors have a tough enough time as it is without having to sit there and helplessly watch as inaccurate statements about their novel are bandied around the interwebs.

The other primary criticism I've seen levelled at Tome of the Undergates - that its characters bicker and snipe at each other incessantly, to the point that it becomes tiresome - is much harder to face down, mainly because it's largely true. The first part at least: whether the constant arguing becomes tiresome is down to personal opinion.

There's no doubt that Sykes has created quite a colourful bunch of misfits - and misfits is exactly what they are: a small, silver-haired swordsman that hears voices; a snarling, wild Shict (think a female elf pumped full of steroids and you're halfway there), a red-skinned dragonman with a hedonistic lust for violence; a wise-talking rogue of dubious loyalty and even more dubious courage; a scrawny wizard with an alarming habit of setting people on fire (accidentally, much of the time), and a pious, slightly snobbish healer who can't help feel she should drop her bandages, pick up a sword and kick some ass like the rest of her companions.

Such a diverse group of individuals, with their various prejudices, beliefs and abilities, should be the driving force of the novel - and for much of the time they are. There's no doubt that when they're fighting (the enemy, as opposed to each other) they're capable of dealing out some serious damage, and their diverse natures create plenty of scope for the sniping and bickering that constantly breaks out between them, allowing for a number of amusing moments.

Yet the problem is that their backgrounds just aren't explored nearly enough to engage the reader's interest and empathy. There are hints here and there - flashes of traumatic events in their respective pasts that have set them on this adventuring road - but it's just not enough to build them into the three-dimensional figures they need to be. Fortunately the last fifty or so pages of the book goes some way towards rectifying this, but by then it's a little too late. The result is that - for all their dynamism and distinctiveness - for much of the book some of the characters feel a little hollow. Of course, Tome is the first novel in a series, so we can't expect every single revelation to be spilled. But a lot more was needed in this first installment. And with more regularity as well: having one brief glimpse at a backstory in the first third, then having a more significant one at the end isn't enough, and detracts from the desired emotional effect.

That's not to say that Sykes' charactersation is bad, as it's not. As mentioned, the protagonists are distinctive individuals, and he builds some believable relationships between them: the dynamic that exists between Lenk and Kataria is particularly well-wrought. But in the same way their backstories are reduced to unsatisfying glimpses, the same is often true of the characters' traits. Denaos has a lovely wit about him - and, you sense, a hint of self-loathing - but we don't see either of them often enough. Likewise, Gariath - who spends most of the novel rampaging about and cracking skulls - displays a quite poignant sense of anguish in the book's closing chapters, that adds a totally different dimension to his character. It's just a shame we didn't see a bit more of this facet to his personality throughout the book. An attempt is made to explore Asper's sense of inadequacy, and proves mostly unsuccessful until a major revelation is revealed without much prior warning - the result being pleasingly enlightening, if rather clumsily handled. Other characters however - Dreadaleon being the chief culprit - feel rather underdeveloped.

Another problem is the setting: the first 450 pages of the novel take place on a ship and then an island. With many novels, the scene changes with the POV character. But as Sykes' POV characters are all in the same place, it means there's no variety in the scenery. Subsequently, no matter how hot the action gets, it starts to feel rather stale at times - too much exposure to the same environment.

This problem isn't helped by the rather linear plot, which sees the adventurers setting off to retrieve an artifact that was stolen from their employer. It's a storyline that goes from A to B to C without much deviation, and the lack of a subplot is at times rather glaringly obvious. There's no shortage of action, yet this in itself is often a problem: the lack of intrigue and depth sometimes makes it a bit of a slog at times, a problem made worse by some rather protracted dialogue and the regular backbiting between the companions (which for the most part I didn't have an issue with, and actually found amusing at times, though admittedly it did grate eventually). The novel's pace also sags in the middle third, which doesn't help matters.

The element that surprised me the most was the humour - or rather, the way it often didn't hit the target. I follow Sam Sykes on Twitter, and he's funny. Very funny. And this sense of humour certainly manifests itself in Tome of the Undergates - there are some very amusing one-liners, and some entertaining scenes. But like the characterisation and plot, it's just too inconsistent. Too often the attempts at humour fall flat, which is a real shame.

Yet despite all the above, there's something likable about Tome of the Undergates, and plenty of reasons why this is so.

For a start, Sykes can write good battle scenes - he has an eye for detail and a penchant for the dramatic, and uses both to admirable effect. His prose is perfect for the type of story he's telling, being both swift and precise. While worldbuilding as a whole is on the light side, the elements that Sykes does focus on are handled well, and are very intriguing in their oceanic nature. There's plenty of cool monsters too - most notably the Abysmyths, for which Sykes researched marine life and biology. His efforts paid off.

The most pleasing aspect of the novel is easily the final third, when a new faction enters the fray and the action really hots up. These newcomers add some vital depth to the story; it's the first indication that Sykes has clearly got something much bigger in mind than the linear story that dominates much of the first two-thirds of this book. The netherlings are a striking race with a curious hierarchy, and their involvement in events bodes well for the next installment in the Aeons' Gate series.

Verdict: Tome of the Undergates is a flawed diamond. A very flawed diamond. There are numerous issues with characterisation, pacing and plotting. At times it feels hollow, at others it feels uncomfortable bloated. Yet there are enough signs to confirm that Sykes has potential. The battles are handled well, the mythology and creatures of his world are intriguing, and the more positive elements of his characterisation - the dynamics that define the relationship between Lenk and Kataria, and the flashes of depth in many of his protagonists that we see towards the end - are very promising. As is the ending, which hints that there's a lot more to come from Sykes. If he can refine his characters (lessen the backbiting, sharpen the humour, and develop their backstories) and conjure up a more dynamic plot with more depth, then he  could well be on to a winner. 

Book review: Shadow Prowler

Shadow Prowler

By Alexey Pehov

(Simon and Schuster, 1 April 2010)

Alexey Pehov, by all accounts, is something of a genre superstar in his Russian homeland. His books - which have sold over a million copies - have won various awards, and are among the most popular fantasy novels in Russia. His first book Shadow Prowler - known as Stealth in the Shadows in his native Russia - has been heralded (rather bizarrely) by X-Men creator Chris Claremont as "an exciting take on classical themes." According to Pehov's website, Shadow Prowler was sold to both Tor in the USA and Simon and Schuster in the UK, both in six-figure deals.

Not bad going for a book that allegedly began life as a piece of fanfiction based on the popular Thief video games series.

Then again, perhaps 'began life' is a spurious phrase - by all accounts Stealth in the Shadows was still fanfiction when it was published in Russia; the main character - a thief - was even called Garrett, which is the name of the protagonist from the Thief games. The protagonist's name was changed to 'Harold' when the book was picked up for US/UK publication (presumably for fear of a lawsuit), though amusingly they didn't quite manage to eradicate all the references to his former name: on page 374 of Shadow Prowler, Harold is referred to by another character as 'Garrett' - a jarring reminder of the novel's dubious origins.

Still, to judge any book based on its background is to do it a disservice; as we all know, you have to review the book itself, not the noise that comes with it.

So, Shadow Prowler. A book in which the RELUCTANT HERO™ - a thief by the name of Garrett Shadow Harold - must embark on a DANGEROUS QUEST™ to retrieve the MAGICAL ARTIFACT™ in order to defeat the EVIL DARK LORD™ known as THE NAMELESS ONE™ who wants to DESTROY THE WORLD™.

You think I'm joking? I wish. I try not to be too sarcastic in reviews, but in this case I think I'm justified. It's no exaggeration to say that Shadow Prowler is probably the most derivative, clichéd fantasy novel I think I've ever read - and given some of the rubbish I've read in my time, that's saying something.

Honestly, the extent to which Pehov has just trotted out the same old tropes - not to mention ripped off other sources - is staggering.

Don't get me wrong; clichés are not necessarily a bad thing - they're clichés because they've been overused, and they've been overused because they're popular. There's nothing wrong with using them - so long as you do something different with them. You don't have to reinvent the wheel, just riff on a familiar trope and try and spin it in a different direction.

In Shadow Prowler, Pehov makes no such attempt to freshen up these overfamiliar tropes. And that's easily the novel's greatest failing: it just regurgitates the same old storyline that you've seen hundreds of times before and brings nothing new whatsoever. Oh sure, Pehov's dwarves don't have beards and his elves have fangs, but so what? These are merely token gestures that serve no purpose whatsoever and are classic examples of "change for change's sake" which is never a good thing. Regardless of their appearances, the dwarves and elves still act much as you'd expect them to.

As if this reliance on such a tired premise wasn't bad enough, Shadow Prowler is further undermined by what appears to be sheer laziness on Pehov's part when it comes to the history of his world, and the novel's backstory.

For example, we're told that the Nameless One (who was once called Grok, so he's not actually nameless at all) refused to aid his noble brother (who, bizarrely, is also called Grok) during a battle, and so was executed for treason. Except that we're not told why he failed to aid his brother. Apparently, "history is silent on that question." Indeed. Nor is a valid explanation offered for why the one artifact that can stop the Nameless One (who has somehow survived his execution, though that's not explained either) was hidden for 'safekeeping' in one of the most dangerous, hostile locations in the kingdom. Perhaps it's just me, but taking the one thing that can help you against your enemy and hiding it in a location that will be extremely difficult to recover it from, just strikes me as unbelievably stupid. Yet this is one of the fundamental problems with Shadow Prowler - so much of the backstory has clearly been devised to support the plot, leaving gaping holes in the novel's internal logic.

The laziness doesn't end there. Not content with falling back on the most clichéd premise in the epic fantasy genre, Pehov has also ripped much of his world's magic straight out of D&D: we have fireballs, we have one-use scrolls, we have fire- and cold-imbued crossbow bolts, and we have wizards that have to memorise spells before they can cast them. All lifted straight from the annals of D&D. It's brazen to the point of being appalling. Embarrassing, even.

The writing is no better. Admittedly, given that Shadow Prowler has been translated from Russian, it's hard to know how much of the prose's fluency has been lost in translation. The answer is either a hell of a lot, or that the writing was just poor in the first place. The actual prose is not that bad; it's rather stiff at times, but ultimately it's serviceable. Unfortunately Pehov has no idea how to handle exposition, with the result that the first few chapters of Shadow Prowler descend into a truly terrifying mess of info-dumps that completely ruin the flow of the narrative. Worse, Pehov feels the need to tell the reader everything about a particular creature when we meet it for the first time. So, Harold will find himself in a confrontation with a peculiar creature, but before the action can commence, we have to put up with several paragraphs giving us a brief run-down of the creature's habits and characteristics (get used to it, as this trait appears as early as the second page). It's painfully amateurish and only serves to suck whatever tension there is straight out of the scenes.

Shadow Prowler's plot offers little in the way of excitement. The first half of the book is set-the-scene stuff (quite literally; we have pages and pages of endless exposition) and also sees a rather odd sub-plot play out (which seems to have no apparent relevance to anything important). The second half witnesses Harold and his bunch of companions setting out on their venture, with a distinct lack of twists and turns on the way. There's a few incidents here and there, but for the most part it's all rather pedestrian and almost entirely lacking in excitement or tension. There's nothing interesting to be found in Pehov's world either. It's a depressingly bog-standard world of kings, wizards, orcs and elves. There's even a place called the 'Desolate Lands'. Well, the dark lord has got to live somewhere, right?

Characterisation is perhaps the one aspect where Pehov shows a glimmer of ability, and the likability of his characters was the only thing that kept me reading. Harold, as a protagonist, lacks depth and possesses no intriguing quirks or flaws. Yet he does possess a certain wry humour, and as the story is told in the first person, his narrative does inject a bit of lighthearted humour to the proceedings. The goblin jester Kli-Kli brings further humour; he's a genuinely amusing little fellow that is good fun to read about. The gnome and dwarf duo of Hallas and Deler, and their constant sniping, provides further entertainment.

There are other isolated flashes of Pehov's ability. The chapters of the novel set in the city's 'Forbidden Territory' are handled well and are vastly more interesting than anything else in the novel; Pehov can do tension and intrigue when he really tries. Furthermore, the 'flashback' chapters (depicting incidents that often happened hundreds of years before) are arguably the strongest in the book, and are written in third-person, which seems to suit Pehov much better. They're the only moments when the novel seems to get anywhere near to the quality you'd expect from a book that was sold for such high sums.

Speaking of the sums involved, I'm bemused by Simon and Schuster's decision to take this novel on. To my knowledge, they've not had a fantasy imprint since they closed down Earthlight, and this apparent lack of expertise appears painfully obvious with this particular deal. They've shown no understanding of the current state of the genre, and have offered a huge amount of money for the kind of novel that peddles a brand of fantasy that the genre has more or less left behind. Sure, no doubt some readers still go for this sort of thing, but if you look at the popular authors in the genre these days, none of them are writing this sort of book anymore.

Verdict: For the most part, Shadow Prowler is a mess of lazily-used clichés, uninspired worldbuilding, amateurish writing and linear plotting. Some relief is provided by a few of the more amusing characters, and now and again Pehov shows hints of genuine ability. Yet this isn't enough to save a novel that represents the end of the fantasy spectrum that the genre has thankfully been moving away from (in other words, sub-par, unimaginative Tolkien rip-offs). There's nothing new here. To some readers, that might be an attraction in itself. But even so, this is a story that has been told a million times - and far better than it is here. 

Book review: Shadow's Son

Shadow's Son

By Jon Sprunk

(Gollancz, 8 July 2010)

Assassins seem to be becoming the dominant figures in epic fantasy these days. While they don't yet have a stranglehold over the subgenre the way vampires do in the paranormal romance sector, they certainly appear to be in the ascendency. Brent Weeks' popular Night Angel trilogy arguably started the recent trend, which has been carried on by new authors Col Buchanan, in his debut novel Farlander, and now US debutant Jon Sprunk in his novel Shadow's Son.

The novel's protagonist is Caim, a freelance assassin working out of the city of Othir. After one particular assignment goes wrong, Caim realises he's been set up - and the only person who might be able to offer an explanation as to who is behind it all is the daughter of the man he was meant to kill. Unfortunately for Caim, this unknown enemy also want to get their hands on the daughter - Josie - for their own sinister reasons. Before long, Caim finds himself embroiled in a sinister game of conspiracy, with Othir's future as the stakes. If he is to stand any chance of survival, Caim is going to have to look inside himself and unleash the darkness that he has been holding back all these years...

The greatest asset of Shadow's Son is the sheer pace at which the story unfolds. The story rips along at speed, aided by short chapters and a pleasing lack of unnecessary detail or exposition. Furthermore, the plot is crafted well and enough hints are dropped throughout to keep the reader guessing, with the pay-off coming further down the line as various revelations come to light. Sprunk also manages to engineer one or two twists that keep things interesting.

The other elements of the novel are much more of a mixed bag.

Caim is a solid protagonist and - despite his profession - is easy to empathise with. His motivations are believable and partly drive both the plot and his personal development, while his background - and unnerving ability to control shadows - creates an air of mystery about him. His companion Kit - an ethereal, spirit-like young woman - is another intriguing figure, at least in terms of what her possible origins are.

Josie on the other hand, is a walking stereotype - a whinging adolescent who quickly grows up and matures into a headstrong, independent young woman over the space of a couple of weeks. Needless to say she's also beautiful, and the way her relationship develops with Caim can be seen coming from a mile off. While generally this relationship is handled well, there are unrealistic moments (such as when she and Caim are falling from a pier towards the sea, yet Josie is strangely preoccupied with marveling at how taught Caim's muscles are beneath his clothes).

The rest of the characterisation is uneven: Levictus is a brooding, sinister menace, though his backstory is a little rushed and would have benefited from more exploration to fully flesh his motives out. In truth, this is true of many of the major players in the novel: Ral and Vassili are defined well enough, but lack sufficient depth to truly explain their motives and smooth their rough edges. They're engaging enough, just a little superficial at times. The worst culprit though is Markus, who rarely rises above the level of pantomime villain.

Perhaps the most disappointing aspect of the characterisation though is the lack of strong female characters, with the arguable exception of Kit. Josie is little more than a damsel in (very frequent) distress and constantly requires rescuing, while the rest of the females in the novel are either tavern 'wenches' (a terribly clichéd word that I would be happy never to see used again) or prostitutes. I suppose you could argue that this merely reflects the male-dominated nature of Sprunk's world, though personally I prefer to see some strong females challenging such gender conventions.

Speaking of Sprunk's world, it's portrayed well enough but ultimately it's nothing you've not seen before numerous times. It's a feudal medieval world, with all the usual trappings. While not inherently a problem - and to be fair it serves its purpose - it nonetheless lacks the depth you find from those of other authors working in the genre. Sprunk does deserve credit though for placing the focus firmly on the story and characters, and not the world (which is the way it should be).

Sprunk's prose, on the whole, is a positive point: while he won't be winning plaudits for style, his writing    is sharp and flows well. As mentioned above, he doesn't allow unnecessary details to bog down his narrative, and he handles exposition well. The only flaw in his prose is his insistence on using similes in his descriptive writing - this is a reliance Sprunk needs to overcome in future books, mainly because many of the similes he uses in Shadow's Son simply aren't that good, and add nothing to the descriptive quality of his prose.

Other details niggle as well. The surfacing of a major cliché halfway through the book isn't particularly welcome, Kit seems to vanish on a whim when it suits the plot and for no other discernible purpose, while the book's climax is marred by over-dramatic dialogue and an encroaching sense of predictability. The ascendency of one character to a position of power, despite apparently having no evidence at all to support their right to that position, was also rather hard to swallow.

Verdict: Shadow's Son undoubtedly has its flaws, namely its uneven characterisation, a reliance on cliché and stereotype, and a rather generic world. Yet its story is constructed well (save for perhaps the predictable final act) and unfolds at great pace, with plenty of action and intrigue along the way. Caim is a decent protagonist, and his development and relationship with Josie are handled well. A flawed novel then, but a reasonably entertaining one. Hopefully the next instalment in the trilogy will tread less familiar ground. 

Book review: The Black Lung Captain

The Black Lung Captain

By Chris Wooding

(Gollancz, 29 July 2010)

The first novel in Chris Wooding's Ketty Jay series, Retribution Falls, was one of my top five reads of 2009. A thrilling yarn of dastardly rogues, dogfights and double-crossings, it was a novel that succeeded on every level: the plot was finely crafted, the characters were well developed, and the world was vivid and intriguing. Of course, it helped that the novel resonated with wry humour and that the fun factor was well and truly cranked up to eleven.

Needless to say, my expectations when I picked up The Black Lung Captain were rather high - and that's rarely a good thing. When you pick up the sequel to a personal favourite, it's impossible not to compare the new novel to everything that went before. And more often than not, the latest effort struggles to emerge from the shadow of its illustrious predecessor, and you end up feeling disappointed.

Was this the case with The Black Lung Captain?

Yes. And no.

Fortunately, most of the factors that made Retribution Falls such a triumph remain intact. As before, the characters drive the story. Wooding explores some of their background details that were only hinted at previously, and pleasingly makes these details relevant (even crucial) to the unfolding events. These are all people that battle personal demons, and their individual struggles are convincingly portrayed. Their various relationships are also deftly handled - Frey's and Trinica's in particular is very well rendered, and their evolving emotions make for some genuinely touching moments. Wooding has a strong understanding for relationship dynamics, and this lends a very believable edge to those in The Black Lung Captain.

As for the characters themselves, most of the principle figures from Retribution Falls make a welcome return - including Slag the cat, who takes his personal battle with the nervy Harkins to amusing new levels (their entertaining escapades aren't just for comic relief - at one point they have a vital impact on the story, which is a nice touch). Wooding also throws some new folk into the mix as well, most notably the fearsome Captain Grist, whose gruff, almost affable exterior hides something altogether darker. The whispermonger Osric Smult is another new addition, and his unsettling appearance and personality leaves a lasting impression that belies his solitary appearance in the novel. Most of the characters that appear however are familiar faces, and with good reason - they're such an eclectic bunch that there's simply no need for a lot of new faces. This is borne out by the fact that arguably the most intriguing character is Trinica - charting her psychological journey throughout the book is extremely satisfying. 

As mentioned above, Wooding explores various facets that were only glimpsed in the previous novel, and as the story progresses a number of revelations come to light that develop both the story and the world itself, adding a welcome sheen of intrigue to proceedings. The pacing is good, and as with the first novel there are double-crossings and some frantic (and quite epic) aerial battles, while the familiar sense of wry humour is present and correct.

Unfortunately, all these positives are undone to an extent by the plot, which is limited and makes for a rather linear storyline (it effectively boils down to Frey and his gang chasing from A to B to C, pursuing a nemesis that is always one step ahead of them). The odd well-judged twists that proved so delightful in the first book are this time conspicuous by their absence, and while the story does allow for some exciting sequences and satisfying character development, it's just not as gripping as its predecessor was (see, I told you the comparison was unavoidable). Perhaps more to the point, it's not quite as much fun either, though it's hard to identify the exact reason for this. It will have to suffice to say that The Black Lung Captain didn't enthrall me nearly as much as Retribution Falls, though that's not to say that it's a bad book - it's not by any means.

Verdict: Perhaps predictably, The Black Lung Captain doesn't match the brilliance of its predecessor. The characters are as strong as before, but the sense of excitement just isn't quite there. Perhaps this is merely because of expectations heightened by Retribution Falls, but it's equally likely to be due to the plot, which doesn't allow for the surprises that the first novel managed to fling the reader's way. That said, aside from the good characterisation, the events are supplemented by some interesting revelations about certain people and other aspects of the world, while the humour - again, as before - is well observed, with plenty of amusing moments to lighten the tone (which is perhaps a little darker this time around). In all, an enjoyable read - it just lacks the panache that made Retribution Falls exceptional. 

Book review: City of Ruin

City of Ruin

By Mark Charan Newton

(Tor, 4 June 2010)

It's one thing to write a critically-acclaimed novel and make a name for yourself. It's another thing entirely to follow up this success by writing another book that meets everyone's heightened expectations.

Mark Charan Newton has already achieved the first part: his novel Nights of Villjamur received widespread praise, with reviewers impressed by its brooding atmosphere, the scope of its ambition, and its accomplished prose. This excellent critical reaction was backed up by very strong sales figures, heralding Newton as a rising star of the genre. At the recent book signing event at Forbidden Planet in London, Newton barely had a moment to himself as he was besieged by eager fans.

But ultimately a question had to be answered: could he do it again? No, more than that: could he surpass his earlier effort and deliver another epic fantasy that would - like its predecessor - feature heavily on everyone's 'best books of the year' lists?

Personally, I was confident that Newton would deliver. A year ago I read the first few chapters of City of Ruin in draft form, before they were even professionally edited. Even at that early stage, their quality was evident. I therefore expected City of Ruin to be a good book. My expectations - already high after reading Nights of Villjamur - were raised even further.

The fact that City of Ruin still managed to blow me away therefore speaks volumes.

Following on directly from the events of the previous book, the bulk of the story takes place in the city of  Villiren - a very different environment from the often elegant Villjamur, Villiren is an urban sprawl of sin and corruption: a city bloated from black market economies and shady business dealings, where gangs rule the streets and nightmarish creatures lurk in the shadows.

Yet a shadow has fallen over Villiren: the unknown enemy responsible for committing genocide on the fringes of the Jamur Empire's territories now has the city in its sights, and is determined to raze it to the ground for reasons that remain incomprehensible.

It falls to Brynd Lathraea - commander of the empire's troops - to formulate a strategy to defend the city: a thankless task, given its fractured and impoverished society. Brynd's troubles are compounded when an elite soldier goes missing, and he calls on the exiled inquisitor, Rumex Jeryd, to lead the search. Jeryd's investigations take him into the vile underbelly of Villiren, where he uncovers a horrifying truth. As the battle for Villiren's future commences, one question arises: how do you save a city that is already a ruin?

Newton readily admitted that with Nights of Villjamur his creative wings, to an extent, were clipped. He spoke of the need to make his innovations and beloved weirdness accessible. This time around, he faced no such restrictions. Subsequently, his potent imagination has been given free reign in City of Ruin. The little touches and flourishes that gave his first book such a dark, rich texture are all present and correct, but are ratcheted up several notches. The results are beguiling, exciting, and often spectacular. Make no mistake, Newton has a vivid and fertile imagination.

More impressive still is the extent to which Newton has developed as a writer: with City of Ruin, he has improved on practically every aspect that made Nights of Villjamur such a success.

Once again, he weaves several story strands together, though this time there is a much greater sense of urgency and relevance, and the end result is far tighter and much more cohesive. This in turn benefits the pacing, which pleasingly increases throughout the novel until it explodes in an exhilarating climax.

Characters are more clearly defined this time around, particularly so in the case of Brynd who really takes centre stage after being a rather peripheral figure at times in the first book. Some of his personal preferences - touched upon previously - are this time explored in far greater depth, and actually play a more relevant role in the unfolding events. Jeryd is the same affable, nostalgia-tinged character who is still enjoyable to spend time with, while Randur transcends his playboy trappings to become something harder and colder. There are a host of new characters as well, of whom Malum is the most noteworthy: a superbly-crafted figure whose aggressive, impregnable exterior hides a softer centre. The relationships Newton builds between these characters are eminently believable and often extremely touching; once again, he shows he has a real understanding of how human emotions play out.

Newton has always been a confident writer; his noir-tinged style infused his previous novel, and with City of Ruin he has really refined and honed his prose. Few writers can imbue their work with such atmosphere - this is an aspect of Newton's work where the influence of China Miéville really shines through, and the comparison does not flatter Newton at all (a notion shared by Miéville, whose positive words adorn the back of City of Ruin).

Newton doesn't just tell a good story though; he also deftly explores a number of themes, touching on racism, sexuality and masculinity. In fact, he doesn't just explore these themes: he often uses them to drive the plot, lending the story a contemporary edge that resonates throughout the book, and in many ways defines it. Via subtle means, he also reveals more of the history of his world, lending it further depth and vitality.

There are flaws of course, but they're minor and their effect is negligible. One or two events seemed a little contrived, and in one particular scene a certain character's reaction doesn't quite ring true. Some language is recycled a little too frequently, but this is ultimately just nit-picking. None of these perceived flaws detract from the book's excellence.

Verdict: City of Ruin is the kind of book you'd expect an established author to turn out whilst writing at the top of their game, perhaps as their career-defining moment. You wouldn't expect a twenty-something, fledgling novelist to deliver a novel of such quality - and for that Newton deserves special credit. This is an enthralling tale of bizarre technology, lost civilisations and the various facets of human nature. Masterfully constructed, potent with meaning and wrapped up in wonderfully evocative prose, City of Ruin has propelled Newton into the ranks of epic fantasy's finest writers.