by Tim Powers. William Morrow, 2006.
When Frank Marrity gets an enigmatic phone call from his grandmother, telling him that she’s burned down her garden shed, he and his twelve-year-old daughter Daphne head over to investigate. When they arrive, the shed, though decrepit, is still standing, while his grandmother has mysteriously vanished. Inside the shed they find a signed slab of concrete with Charlie Chaplin’s hand- and foot-prints on it, a box full of letters from Albert Einstein, and some strange gold wiring sticking out from under the floor. There’s also a TV and a VCR, and just before they are interrupted Daphne takes the videotape. Watching it later at home, she discovers that it contains a terrifying silent film that makes the room spin about her. And then things begin to burst into flame.
Oren Lepidopt is a devout Jew who works for a special branch of the Israeli secret services. Educated in the sacred texts of Judaism and the mystical Kabbalah, Lepidopt and his fellow ‘Halomot’ agents use both mundane and paranormal techniques in their work. They are tasked with tracking down the secret discoveries that Einstein considered more dangerous than the atom bomb – too dangerous to share with any government. Also on the trail is a ruthless occult order known as the Vespers, descended from the Albigenses of Languedoc. Their symbol is the two joined cones of the Grail, symbolizing the future and the past, both opening up and moving away from the present. It is their ambition to find a means of altering the past, and thus achieve godlike power.
As is his usual practice, Powers takes unusual events from the lives of historical figures and imagines a secret history that would explain them. He also links his story loosely to The Tempest and mixes in biblical references, the Six-Day War, quantum mechanics, dybbuks, and the paradoxes of time travel. The treatment of this last topic is in some ways reminiscent of Gene Wolfe’s Free Live Free, and Powers’ take on destiny (or Providence) has some interesting points in common with Connie Willis’ To Say Nothing of the Dog.
The story contains some truly chilling moments, interspersed with Powers’ usual brand of wry humour (Daphne is particularly charming.) He remains as deft as ever at keeping his readers guessing. While I thought Frank Marrity’s romantic involvement came together a little unrealistically, the decisions of certain other characters surprised me. I also felt that Powers did a great job of keeping up the tension by moving the story along at a compelling pace, a skill he’s honed through years of writing complicated novels. However, as with Declare, there are a few sections in which people explain the back story through weighty speeches that seem out of character.
There are, of course, plenty of religious references in this book, drawn mainly from Judaism and the Hebrew scriptures, and there is a resurrection of sorts. The moral journey of the characters is not as openly spiritual as in Declare, but their dilemmas and choices do mesh with Jewish and Christian beliefs. The question confronting them all is: Do the ends justify the means? Is it acceptable to override ‘common’ morality if the rewards are big enough? In this regard the Vespers occultists are like the demon worshippers of That Hideous Strength, attempting to attain perfect ‘objectivity’ by recasting good as cowardice and evil as efficiency, but turning themselves into monsters in the process.
Powers hasn’t lost his touch – this is a memorable and thought-provoking book.
4.5 out of 5
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Monday, August 28, 2006
Book Review - The Anubis Gates
by Tim Powers. Ace, 1983.
After I was introduced to Tim Powers through his Cold War fantasy, Declare, I attempted to track down his earlier works at libraries and used bookstores. Several proved impossible to find. Among these was the novel that first made him famous: The Anubis Gates, so eventually I gave in and bought a new copy. Now, having read it, I understand the reason for its rarity: no one in their right mind would relinquish a copy of such a marvelous book!
Brendan Doyle, a second-rate Coleridge scholar, is hired by wealthy J. Cochran Darrow as part of a peculiar money-making scheme. Darrow has discovered a quasi-magical means of limited time travel, and to raise funds for other exploits, he has arranged to take ten customers back to 1810 to hear Coleridge give a lecture. Doyle’s job is to give the venture a bit of academic gravitas. The first part of the plan goes smoothly, but after the lecture Doyle is kidnapped by a huge bald-headed sorcerer who is intent on learning his magical secrets. Doyle escapes by the skin of his teeth, but finds himself stranded in the past, a friendless pauper.
I’m not sure I could describe the rest of the plot if I wanted to, because it would sound utterly insane. One of Powers’ gifts is the ability to take strange details of the past and knit them together into a convincing secret history, filling in the blanks with a bizarre but logically coherent framework. Suffice it to say that it involves an evil clown, Byron, Coleridge, Egyptian gods, gypsies, a body-switching killer, horrible medical experiments, magical homunculi, Napoleon, a depilatory salon, fire elementals, and a little wooden monkey. And, of course, the fate of the whole world hangs in the balance!
While the plot is complex, it keeps up a fast pace and never gets bogged down in its own twists and turns. For the most part Powers avoids the explanatory speeches which show up in his later works. There’s plenty of sly humour, and a lot of frights, but overall the story plays it straight and doesn’t veer off into the horror or comedy genres. I’ve read quite a few books that tried to follow a similar formula – a rollicking adventure spiced with weird ideas. Usually those works fell flat, were overly predictable, or came off as gimmicky and contrived. Not so with this book – all the pieces work together admirably. The Anubis Gates is the real thing, a classic which no doubt spawned many imitations.
What about religious elements? Early on we learn that the power of sorcery is fading thanks to the newer religions, in particular Christianity. Therefore, one of the main reasons the villains are plotting against England is because of its role in spreading this faith around the world. Coleridge, while a tormented man, was also a passionate and intellectually adventurous Christian, and this shows up in the book through a few of the remarks he makes, along with a brief conversation about the Logos. There’s a vivid resurrection sequence, and by the end of the book one gets the sense that Doyle has been an agent of Providence. Finally, I don’t think it’s too much of a stretch to see Powers’ Catholic faith reflected in the implicit moral dimension of the story. Several of his recurring themes make themselves felt: the importance of making reparations for past wrongs, of paying debts owed; and the wickedness of trying to extend one’s own life or power unnaturally by preying off the vulnerable.
All in all, a tour de force. Skip the used bookstores for this one - go out and buy a new copy today!
5 out of 5
After I was introduced to Tim Powers through his Cold War fantasy, Declare, I attempted to track down his earlier works at libraries and used bookstores. Several proved impossible to find. Among these was the novel that first made him famous: The Anubis Gates, so eventually I gave in and bought a new copy. Now, having read it, I understand the reason for its rarity: no one in their right mind would relinquish a copy of such a marvelous book!
Brendan Doyle, a second-rate Coleridge scholar, is hired by wealthy J. Cochran Darrow as part of a peculiar money-making scheme. Darrow has discovered a quasi-magical means of limited time travel, and to raise funds for other exploits, he has arranged to take ten customers back to 1810 to hear Coleridge give a lecture. Doyle’s job is to give the venture a bit of academic gravitas. The first part of the plan goes smoothly, but after the lecture Doyle is kidnapped by a huge bald-headed sorcerer who is intent on learning his magical secrets. Doyle escapes by the skin of his teeth, but finds himself stranded in the past, a friendless pauper.
I’m not sure I could describe the rest of the plot if I wanted to, because it would sound utterly insane. One of Powers’ gifts is the ability to take strange details of the past and knit them together into a convincing secret history, filling in the blanks with a bizarre but logically coherent framework. Suffice it to say that it involves an evil clown, Byron, Coleridge, Egyptian gods, gypsies, a body-switching killer, horrible medical experiments, magical homunculi, Napoleon, a depilatory salon, fire elementals, and a little wooden monkey. And, of course, the fate of the whole world hangs in the balance!
While the plot is complex, it keeps up a fast pace and never gets bogged down in its own twists and turns. For the most part Powers avoids the explanatory speeches which show up in his later works. There’s plenty of sly humour, and a lot of frights, but overall the story plays it straight and doesn’t veer off into the horror or comedy genres. I’ve read quite a few books that tried to follow a similar formula – a rollicking adventure spiced with weird ideas. Usually those works fell flat, were overly predictable, or came off as gimmicky and contrived. Not so with this book – all the pieces work together admirably. The Anubis Gates is the real thing, a classic which no doubt spawned many imitations.
What about religious elements? Early on we learn that the power of sorcery is fading thanks to the newer religions, in particular Christianity. Therefore, one of the main reasons the villains are plotting against England is because of its role in spreading this faith around the world. Coleridge, while a tormented man, was also a passionate and intellectually adventurous Christian, and this shows up in the book through a few of the remarks he makes, along with a brief conversation about the Logos. There’s a vivid resurrection sequence, and by the end of the book one gets the sense that Doyle has been an agent of Providence. Finally, I don’t think it’s too much of a stretch to see Powers’ Catholic faith reflected in the implicit moral dimension of the story. Several of his recurring themes make themselves felt: the importance of making reparations for past wrongs, of paying debts owed; and the wickedness of trying to extend one’s own life or power unnaturally by preying off the vulnerable.
All in all, a tour de force. Skip the used bookstores for this one - go out and buy a new copy today!
5 out of 5
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Book review - Crown of Fire
by Kathy Tyers. 2000. Bethany House.
The final volume of the Firebird trilogy, Crown of Fire brings the adventures of our heroine and her husband to a grand conclusion.
Having returned to Netaia to be confirmed an heiress, Firebird must find her way through a number of sticky political situations, while secretly playing a more dangerous game. She and Brennen must act as bait to trap the Shuhr. The Sentinels have a temporary edge over their ancient enemies, thanks both to new RIA technology and the powerful telepathic fusion ability which Brennen and Firebird have discovered. For the Shuhr to learn these secrets would be a catastrophe, in light of their horrific plans for the rest of humanity. The Federacy, desperate to prevent any further destruction, has given Brennen clear orders – interrogate one of the Shuhr, and then use the resulting information to lead a strike force against them.
I found the first half of the book to be rather unexciting, as various factions and personalities maneuver into position and the Sentinels wait for their enemies to commit themselves. After the terrors and thrills of Fusion Fire, it was hard to get too concerned with the machinations of Netaian politicians. But the Shuhr are as ruthless and frightening as ever, and when they finally do strike, the story explodes. I can think of few other authors who regularly put women and children in such hideous danger as Tyers does in this trilogy (particularly danger that the reader truly feels) and Firebird suffers some terrible damage.
I appreciate the way Tyers depicts unmistakably evil people while showing them in context. In their own minds, they have perfectly sane and moral reasons for the things they do, and the author emphasizes how easy it would be for any of us to go down that road. She also does a good job of portraying controversial social issues without descending into polemic. For example, she imagines what a society which regularly manipulated, killed and ‘harvested’ cloned embryos would look like, and lets her readers drawn their own conclusions. Despite the structural and entrenched nature of the Shuhr’s sins, however, Tyers does not deny them grace. Terza Shirak, a Shuhr geneticist, becomes an unexpectedly sympathetic character as she begins to wonder if a different life is possible.
Firebird always struggles with pride, and many occasions for it arise in Crown of Fire. She imagines becoming a triumphant Netaian queen who brings salvation to her people. Brennen, in turn, seeks to know God’s will for him in the war, and steels himself to make an awful sacrifice. Besides this spiritual growth there are some interesting theological insights, as when Firebird imagines the fulfillment of prophecies as being like “a series of mountain ranges, with nearby peaks obscuring the distant ones. Only when you arrived at the first summit could you see that the second range was still far off.” (p. 241) And I think Tyers handles the overlapping human and divine causes of the final cataclysm with appropriate subtlety.
Though it takes its time in picking up speed, Crown of Fire is a fine ending to this exciting series.
4 out of 5
The final volume of the Firebird trilogy, Crown of Fire brings the adventures of our heroine and her husband to a grand conclusion.
Having returned to Netaia to be confirmed an heiress, Firebird must find her way through a number of sticky political situations, while secretly playing a more dangerous game. She and Brennen must act as bait to trap the Shuhr. The Sentinels have a temporary edge over their ancient enemies, thanks both to new RIA technology and the powerful telepathic fusion ability which Brennen and Firebird have discovered. For the Shuhr to learn these secrets would be a catastrophe, in light of their horrific plans for the rest of humanity. The Federacy, desperate to prevent any further destruction, has given Brennen clear orders – interrogate one of the Shuhr, and then use the resulting information to lead a strike force against them.
I found the first half of the book to be rather unexciting, as various factions and personalities maneuver into position and the Sentinels wait for their enemies to commit themselves. After the terrors and thrills of Fusion Fire, it was hard to get too concerned with the machinations of Netaian politicians. But the Shuhr are as ruthless and frightening as ever, and when they finally do strike, the story explodes. I can think of few other authors who regularly put women and children in such hideous danger as Tyers does in this trilogy (particularly danger that the reader truly feels) and Firebird suffers some terrible damage.
I appreciate the way Tyers depicts unmistakably evil people while showing them in context. In their own minds, they have perfectly sane and moral reasons for the things they do, and the author emphasizes how easy it would be for any of us to go down that road. She also does a good job of portraying controversial social issues without descending into polemic. For example, she imagines what a society which regularly manipulated, killed and ‘harvested’ cloned embryos would look like, and lets her readers drawn their own conclusions. Despite the structural and entrenched nature of the Shuhr’s sins, however, Tyers does not deny them grace. Terza Shirak, a Shuhr geneticist, becomes an unexpectedly sympathetic character as she begins to wonder if a different life is possible.
Firebird always struggles with pride, and many occasions for it arise in Crown of Fire. She imagines becoming a triumphant Netaian queen who brings salvation to her people. Brennen, in turn, seeks to know God’s will for him in the war, and steels himself to make an awful sacrifice. Besides this spiritual growth there are some interesting theological insights, as when Firebird imagines the fulfillment of prophecies as being like “a series of mountain ranges, with nearby peaks obscuring the distant ones. Only when you arrived at the first summit could you see that the second range was still far off.” (p. 241) And I think Tyers handles the overlapping human and divine causes of the final cataclysm with appropriate subtlety.
Though it takes its time in picking up speed, Crown of Fire is a fine ending to this exciting series.
4 out of 5
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Book revew - Fusion Fire
by Kathy Tyers. Bethany House, 2000.
The second book in the Firebird trilogy, Fusion Fire defies the traditional wisdom about sequels being inferior creatures. In fact, it overshadows its predecessor, expanding the scale of the story and serving up a heady mix of fast-moving action and terrifying new threats.
Picking up the narrative eight or nine months after it left off, we find our heroes married and expecting twins. Pregnant though she is, Firebird is far from helpless when an assassin comes in the night. No sooner is that threat dealt with than worse ones arise, along with some fresh tragedies. It seems that someone is intent on wiping out Brennen’s family, due to ancient prophecies which indicate the Messiah will arise from his line.
While the devout Sentinels follow a strict code that prevents misuse of their special abilities, their equally gifted cousins care nothing for laws or the precepts of religion. Known as the Shuhr (pronounced ‘Sith’), they serve only themselves and seek to dominate the galaxy. Infiltrating both Netaia and the Federacy, they are intent on wiping out the Sentinels who stand in their way. Masters of the biosciences, equipped with an arsenal of horrific techniques, they have found ways to increase their lifespans and telepathic powers by preying off the vulnerable.
Firebird borrowed concepts from Star Wars, Star Trek, and other places, but in Fusion Fire Tyers demonstrates how deftly she has reworked these elements into an original story. Readers get to see more of interesting characters such as Carradee and Tel Tellai, and find themselves in the unlikely position of pitying Firebird’s malicious sister Phoena. They also observe the somewhat amusing fate of Ellet Kinsman, the manipulative woman who only had eyes for Brennen.
Firebird is relentlessly confronted by evil, both within and without. Seeking to uncover her own latent psychic talents, she must wrestle with darkness inside herself. The malevolent Shuhr are a truly hideous menace, particularly the masterminds Dru Polar and Eshdeth Shirak. Tyers inflicts a great deal of damage on her characters. Both they and her readers must ask how God can permit such evil, and what He is doing while His creatures suffer. As in our world, His purposes are often opaque to mortals, but eventually Firebird is permitted to see some of them come together as retribution strikes at the heart of the Shuhr’s arrogant schemes.
Fusion Fire also reveals more of the Sentinel’s religion. The ceremony of Firebird’s consecration includes a very striking vision of the Sentinel’s ancestors and a desperate midnight sacrifice that hints at a greater atonement. However, I felt there were places when the Sentinels’ language and beliefs corresponded a bit too obviously with contemporary evangelicalism. For example, the fiery darkness inside Firebird is already a potent symbol for original sin, without the characters meditating on it and explaining it in theological terms.
Overall, though, this is a highly enjoyable work. Moving from hand-to-hand combat and outer space dogfights to psychological disintegration and a nearly fatal childbirth, Fusion Fire is a very compelling ride.
4 out of 5.
The second book in the Firebird trilogy, Fusion Fire defies the traditional wisdom about sequels being inferior creatures. In fact, it overshadows its predecessor, expanding the scale of the story and serving up a heady mix of fast-moving action and terrifying new threats.
Picking up the narrative eight or nine months after it left off, we find our heroes married and expecting twins. Pregnant though she is, Firebird is far from helpless when an assassin comes in the night. No sooner is that threat dealt with than worse ones arise, along with some fresh tragedies. It seems that someone is intent on wiping out Brennen’s family, due to ancient prophecies which indicate the Messiah will arise from his line.
While the devout Sentinels follow a strict code that prevents misuse of their special abilities, their equally gifted cousins care nothing for laws or the precepts of religion. Known as the Shuhr (pronounced ‘Sith’), they serve only themselves and seek to dominate the galaxy. Infiltrating both Netaia and the Federacy, they are intent on wiping out the Sentinels who stand in their way. Masters of the biosciences, equipped with an arsenal of horrific techniques, they have found ways to increase their lifespans and telepathic powers by preying off the vulnerable.
Firebird borrowed concepts from Star Wars, Star Trek, and other places, but in Fusion Fire Tyers demonstrates how deftly she has reworked these elements into an original story. Readers get to see more of interesting characters such as Carradee and Tel Tellai, and find themselves in the unlikely position of pitying Firebird’s malicious sister Phoena. They also observe the somewhat amusing fate of Ellet Kinsman, the manipulative woman who only had eyes for Brennen.
Firebird is relentlessly confronted by evil, both within and without. Seeking to uncover her own latent psychic talents, she must wrestle with darkness inside herself. The malevolent Shuhr are a truly hideous menace, particularly the masterminds Dru Polar and Eshdeth Shirak. Tyers inflicts a great deal of damage on her characters. Both they and her readers must ask how God can permit such evil, and what He is doing while His creatures suffer. As in our world, His purposes are often opaque to mortals, but eventually Firebird is permitted to see some of them come together as retribution strikes at the heart of the Shuhr’s arrogant schemes.
Fusion Fire also reveals more of the Sentinel’s religion. The ceremony of Firebird’s consecration includes a very striking vision of the Sentinel’s ancestors and a desperate midnight sacrifice that hints at a greater atonement. However, I felt there were places when the Sentinels’ language and beliefs corresponded a bit too obviously with contemporary evangelicalism. For example, the fiery darkness inside Firebird is already a potent symbol for original sin, without the characters meditating on it and explaining it in theological terms.
Overall, though, this is a highly enjoyable work. Moving from hand-to-hand combat and outer space dogfights to psychological disintegration and a nearly fatal childbirth, Fusion Fire is a very compelling ride.
4 out of 5.
Monday, August 21, 2006
Book review - Firebird
by Kathy Tyers. 1999. Bethany House.
Firebird is a fast-paced space opera which was originally published in the mainstream SF market, and then rewritten for an evangelical audience. It centers around two characters: strong-willed Firebird Angelo, and the telepathic Brennen Caldwell.
Born into the ruling family of Netaia, Firebird is wealthy and educated, but she knows her life will not be long. The Netaian nobility eliminates excess heirs once they fall past a certain point in the succession, and Firebird has fallen to the point of no return. Thus she eschews romance and long-term plans, training as a fighter pilot and hoping to die in a blaze of glory. Her class lives in opulent luxury, repressing the common people through a state religion, a culture of obedience and brute force. Their vaguely Confucian religion preaches conformity and worships a set of deified attributes, such as Strength, Knowledge, and Excellence. Their culture is xenophobic, holding itself proudly aloof from the Federacy, an interstellar alliance which upholds human rights and freedoms.
When Netaia begins a war of expansion on nearby Veroh, Firebird eagerly goes off, seeking a glorious death. But Veroh is a Federacy protectorate and she soon finds herself a prisoner, captured and interrogated by Brennen, a Sentinel.
Descended from a nearly extinct people who genetically altered themselves to gain uncanny powers, the Sentinels who live in the Federacy follow a strict code of conduct which regulates use of their telepathic and telekinetic abilities. They also wield a special weapon - the crystace is a simple hilt from which, upon activation, emerges a long crystal blade that can deflect laser blasts and cut practically anything. (Sounds like the Jedi, huh?)
Ever since the Sentinel’s ancestors misused their powers and died in a catastrophic civil war, a small, exiled remnant has sought to atone by using their powers for good and remaining faithful to their religion. They worship one God, whom they hope one day will send a Messiah. They’re essentially Jews.
But not quite. These people have two testaments, and a Trinitarian concept of God. Nor do they seem to sacrifice animals. Their preoccupations and expectations are more Christian than Jewish. As might be expected, their emphases are evangelical. For example, only two aspects of their hoped-for Messiah are mentioned in this volume: he will perform an act of sin-cleansing substitionary atonement; and after he comes his people will again be allowed to proselytize. So perhaps it would be correct to say that the Sentinels are Jedi Jews for Jesus!
Does all this sound derivative? You bet. We’ve got the Star Trek Federation battling World War II Japan while Jewish Jedi rush about performing mind melds. But Tyers manages to spin it into an entertaining space opera. She accomplishes this by providing plenty of action, and by focusing on strong characters. Firebird is daring, driven and self-destructive. Brennen is powerful, conscientious and intense, and it’s not surprising that a romance soon sparks between them.
I felt that Tyers created so much excitement and tension with the military exploits of the first half of the story that the second half seemed rather tame and predictable. Firebird and Brennen go on to engage in dangerous James Bond-style adventures, but the shift in scale creates the impression we’ve switched genres, from military SF to romantic thriller. Much of the political intrigue will only be interesting if you go on to read the other sections of the trilogy, and I suspect Tyers reworked her books to flow best when read as one epic tale.
The spiritual elements work fairly well. Firebird rejects the graceless tradition she was raised in, but she is not immediately comfortable with Brennen’s unfamiliar religion. She struggles with her pride and selfishness while trying to understand his faith. I was particularly moved by her vision of God as an almighty singer, creating and conducting the music of the galaxies. It fits nicely with Firebird’s talent as a harpist, and the musically themed chapter headings.
Firebird is a worthy addition to the field of Christian SF, though it’s best read along with its sequels.
3.5 out of 5
Firebird is a fast-paced space opera which was originally published in the mainstream SF market, and then rewritten for an evangelical audience. It centers around two characters: strong-willed Firebird Angelo, and the telepathic Brennen Caldwell.
Born into the ruling family of Netaia, Firebird is wealthy and educated, but she knows her life will not be long. The Netaian nobility eliminates excess heirs once they fall past a certain point in the succession, and Firebird has fallen to the point of no return. Thus she eschews romance and long-term plans, training as a fighter pilot and hoping to die in a blaze of glory. Her class lives in opulent luxury, repressing the common people through a state religion, a culture of obedience and brute force. Their vaguely Confucian religion preaches conformity and worships a set of deified attributes, such as Strength, Knowledge, and Excellence. Their culture is xenophobic, holding itself proudly aloof from the Federacy, an interstellar alliance which upholds human rights and freedoms.
When Netaia begins a war of expansion on nearby Veroh, Firebird eagerly goes off, seeking a glorious death. But Veroh is a Federacy protectorate and she soon finds herself a prisoner, captured and interrogated by Brennen, a Sentinel.
Descended from a nearly extinct people who genetically altered themselves to gain uncanny powers, the Sentinels who live in the Federacy follow a strict code of conduct which regulates use of their telepathic and telekinetic abilities. They also wield a special weapon - the crystace is a simple hilt from which, upon activation, emerges a long crystal blade that can deflect laser blasts and cut practically anything. (Sounds like the Jedi, huh?)
Ever since the Sentinel’s ancestors misused their powers and died in a catastrophic civil war, a small, exiled remnant has sought to atone by using their powers for good and remaining faithful to their religion. They worship one God, whom they hope one day will send a Messiah. They’re essentially Jews.
But not quite. These people have two testaments, and a Trinitarian concept of God. Nor do they seem to sacrifice animals. Their preoccupations and expectations are more Christian than Jewish. As might be expected, their emphases are evangelical. For example, only two aspects of their hoped-for Messiah are mentioned in this volume: he will perform an act of sin-cleansing substitionary atonement; and after he comes his people will again be allowed to proselytize. So perhaps it would be correct to say that the Sentinels are Jedi Jews for Jesus!
Does all this sound derivative? You bet. We’ve got the Star Trek Federation battling World War II Japan while Jewish Jedi rush about performing mind melds. But Tyers manages to spin it into an entertaining space opera. She accomplishes this by providing plenty of action, and by focusing on strong characters. Firebird is daring, driven and self-destructive. Brennen is powerful, conscientious and intense, and it’s not surprising that a romance soon sparks between them.
I felt that Tyers created so much excitement and tension with the military exploits of the first half of the story that the second half seemed rather tame and predictable. Firebird and Brennen go on to engage in dangerous James Bond-style adventures, but the shift in scale creates the impression we’ve switched genres, from military SF to romantic thriller. Much of the political intrigue will only be interesting if you go on to read the other sections of the trilogy, and I suspect Tyers reworked her books to flow best when read as one epic tale.
The spiritual elements work fairly well. Firebird rejects the graceless tradition she was raised in, but she is not immediately comfortable with Brennen’s unfamiliar religion. She struggles with her pride and selfishness while trying to understand his faith. I was particularly moved by her vision of God as an almighty singer, creating and conducting the music of the galaxies. It fits nicely with Firebird’s talent as a harpist, and the musically themed chapter headings.
Firebird is a worthy addition to the field of Christian SF, though it’s best read along with its sequels.
3.5 out of 5
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Book Review - The Sword of the Lictor
The Sword of the Lictor, by Gene Wolfe. 1981.
This is the third volume of The Book of the New Sun. When we meet him again, Severian has taken up his post as lictor (executioner, torturer and prison warden) of the city of Thrax. It is not a position he occupies long, though, for a crisis of conscience causes him to disobey the local archon. He flees into the wild, a hunted outlaw.
This book shows us more of Wolfe’s glorious and eccentric future landscape. The mountains through which Severian travels were long ago carved into monumental statues depicting forgotten emperors. In the valleys he encounters the animalistic zoanthrops, people who have renounced their humanity. On Lake Diuturna he sees the traveling islands and the free fisherfolk who dwell on them.
While there are sections in which our narrator, wandering alone, muses eloquently on questions philosophical and theological, Wolfe still provides plenty of action. Severian’s twilight encounter with the alzabo, a creature which speaks with the voices of its victims, remains one of the most tense scenes I’ve ever read. Equally exciting are his confrontations with a fiery assassin, a cabal of jungle sorcerors, and the demonic ruler Typhon.
It is in this third volume that Wolfe begins to supply answers to some of his riddles. We learn who is behind the attacks on Severian, and where Dorcas came from. We again meet Dr. Talos and the giant Baldanders, but see them in a very different light. We learn why the Claw is so named. And we are permitted a glance beneath the double masks of the alien cacogens.
A number of these insights and encounters combine to indicate that something profound is going on beneath the adventures, something of great import for Urth and her peoples. While only reaching fulfillment in the four and fifth volumes, it is becoming apparent that Severian’s story is actually one of salvation history.
5 out of 5.
This is the third volume of The Book of the New Sun. When we meet him again, Severian has taken up his post as lictor (executioner, torturer and prison warden) of the city of Thrax. It is not a position he occupies long, though, for a crisis of conscience causes him to disobey the local archon. He flees into the wild, a hunted outlaw.
This book shows us more of Wolfe’s glorious and eccentric future landscape. The mountains through which Severian travels were long ago carved into monumental statues depicting forgotten emperors. In the valleys he encounters the animalistic zoanthrops, people who have renounced their humanity. On Lake Diuturna he sees the traveling islands and the free fisherfolk who dwell on them.
While there are sections in which our narrator, wandering alone, muses eloquently on questions philosophical and theological, Wolfe still provides plenty of action. Severian’s twilight encounter with the alzabo, a creature which speaks with the voices of its victims, remains one of the most tense scenes I’ve ever read. Equally exciting are his confrontations with a fiery assassin, a cabal of jungle sorcerors, and the demonic ruler Typhon.
It is in this third volume that Wolfe begins to supply answers to some of his riddles. We learn who is behind the attacks on Severian, and where Dorcas came from. We again meet Dr. Talos and the giant Baldanders, but see them in a very different light. We learn why the Claw is so named. And we are permitted a glance beneath the double masks of the alien cacogens.
A number of these insights and encounters combine to indicate that something profound is going on beneath the adventures, something of great import for Urth and her peoples. While only reaching fulfillment in the four and fifth volumes, it is becoming apparent that Severian’s story is actually one of salvation history.
5 out of 5.
Three Days To Never
Jimmy Akin's got a post about Tim Power's new Three Days To Never, which he's started to read.
My own copy has already been shipped by Chapters.ca!
My own copy has already been shipped by Chapters.ca!
Sunday, August 06, 2006
Book Review - Till We Have Faces
Till We Have Faces, by C.S. Lewis. Geoffrey Bles, 1956.
Lewis considered this, his last novel, to be his best, and many of his readers agree. It is the first-hand story of the ugly princess Orual’s love for her sister, and her complaint against the gods. Orual lives in Glome, a little barbarian kingdom of ancient times. Glome and its closest neighbours are fictional, but Lewis uses his considerable knowledge of classical history to imbue it with all the beauty and horror of pagan culture.
Orual’s kingdom lives under the distant influence of Greece, and her people worship local variations of the Greek gods. Their primary goddess is Ungit, elsewhere known as Aphrodite or Venus. Ungit is not the clean-limbed beauty of the Greeks, however. In Glome she is an almost shapeless black rock, spattered with the blood of sacrifices, crouching in the darkness of her temple.
The King, a violent and insecure man, is always seeking a male heir but gets daughters instead: Orual and Redival with his first wife, and Istra with his second. Istra is a stunningly beautiful child, and Orual, repulsively ugly, loves her whole-heartedly. It is from their foreign tutor, a slave know as The Fox, that Orual learns the Greek version of her sister’s name: Psyche.
Lewis is retelling the classical myth of Cupid and Psyche, refocusing the story on a mortal who has her heart broken by the deeds of the gods. Psyche is loved and worshipped by the people for her beauty, which incurs the jealous anger of Venus/Ungit. The goddess afflicts the lands with a curse, until the people turn on Psyche and send her away as a sacrifice. Cupid, known in Glome as the god of the Grey Mountain, is sent to destroy her, but upon seeing her, falls in love and bears her away to live with him. And thus Orual’s true problems begin.
If this all sounds very complicated and mythic, blame the reviewer. Till We Have Faces is in fact a straight-forward and grittily compelling book. The narrator is a very real woman, part of a dysfunctional royal family, and her story is frank about sex, politics and violence. Her book is, in part, a formal (if bitter) complaint against the gods, so she restricts herself as much as possible to the facts.
This emphasis on showing, rather than telling, may be what makes it Lewis’ greatest novel. It enabled him to bypass what Owen Barfield called his ‘expository demon,’ a temptation to explain everything and to freight his allegories with too much obvious meaning. Orual's story comes across as a simple report of things which happened, and as the self-portrait of a remarkable but talented woman.
It also has a depth that bespeaks Lewis’ spiritual maturity. Some of his earlier writings evince a kind of vehemence, a convert’s testiness. His interpretations of Christian ideas were always fresh and insightful, but there was occasionally a sense that anyone who disagreed with the Lewis version was a fool, and perhaps a damned fool. Till We Have Faces, though, displays a more confident, settled faith. Lewis is more at ease with showing the messiness of life, allowing a number of different voices to speak and waiting until the end to show which contains the greater truth.
It should be remembered that Lewis, while a formidable debater and logical thinker, was led into Christian faith less by rational debate than by story and song. It was, in large part, the unexpected joy and beauty found in pagan myths and epic poems which set him on the path to Christ. In this story he seeks to retrace that journey. Readers familiar with Lewis’ life will find a number of biographical elements and characters (Alan Jacob’s The Narnian does a wonderful job of explaining these.) In Orual's deeply moving story we see the grapplings of one who wrestled with divinity.
5 out of 5.
Lewis considered this, his last novel, to be his best, and many of his readers agree. It is the first-hand story of the ugly princess Orual’s love for her sister, and her complaint against the gods. Orual lives in Glome, a little barbarian kingdom of ancient times. Glome and its closest neighbours are fictional, but Lewis uses his considerable knowledge of classical history to imbue it with all the beauty and horror of pagan culture.
Orual’s kingdom lives under the distant influence of Greece, and her people worship local variations of the Greek gods. Their primary goddess is Ungit, elsewhere known as Aphrodite or Venus. Ungit is not the clean-limbed beauty of the Greeks, however. In Glome she is an almost shapeless black rock, spattered with the blood of sacrifices, crouching in the darkness of her temple.
The King, a violent and insecure man, is always seeking a male heir but gets daughters instead: Orual and Redival with his first wife, and Istra with his second. Istra is a stunningly beautiful child, and Orual, repulsively ugly, loves her whole-heartedly. It is from their foreign tutor, a slave know as The Fox, that Orual learns the Greek version of her sister’s name: Psyche.
Lewis is retelling the classical myth of Cupid and Psyche, refocusing the story on a mortal who has her heart broken by the deeds of the gods. Psyche is loved and worshipped by the people for her beauty, which incurs the jealous anger of Venus/Ungit. The goddess afflicts the lands with a curse, until the people turn on Psyche and send her away as a sacrifice. Cupid, known in Glome as the god of the Grey Mountain, is sent to destroy her, but upon seeing her, falls in love and bears her away to live with him. And thus Orual’s true problems begin.
If this all sounds very complicated and mythic, blame the reviewer. Till We Have Faces is in fact a straight-forward and grittily compelling book. The narrator is a very real woman, part of a dysfunctional royal family, and her story is frank about sex, politics and violence. Her book is, in part, a formal (if bitter) complaint against the gods, so she restricts herself as much as possible to the facts.
This emphasis on showing, rather than telling, may be what makes it Lewis’ greatest novel. It enabled him to bypass what Owen Barfield called his ‘expository demon,’ a temptation to explain everything and to freight his allegories with too much obvious meaning. Orual's story comes across as a simple report of things which happened, and as the self-portrait of a remarkable but talented woman.
It also has a depth that bespeaks Lewis’ spiritual maturity. Some of his earlier writings evince a kind of vehemence, a convert’s testiness. His interpretations of Christian ideas were always fresh and insightful, but there was occasionally a sense that anyone who disagreed with the Lewis version was a fool, and perhaps a damned fool. Till We Have Faces, though, displays a more confident, settled faith. Lewis is more at ease with showing the messiness of life, allowing a number of different voices to speak and waiting until the end to show which contains the greater truth.
It should be remembered that Lewis, while a formidable debater and logical thinker, was led into Christian faith less by rational debate than by story and song. It was, in large part, the unexpected joy and beauty found in pagan myths and epic poems which set him on the path to Christ. In this story he seeks to retrace that journey. Readers familiar with Lewis’ life will find a number of biographical elements and characters (Alan Jacob’s The Narnian does a wonderful job of explaining these.) In Orual's deeply moving story we see the grapplings of one who wrestled with divinity.
5 out of 5.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Book review - The Shadow Within
The Shadow Within, by Karen Hancock. Bethany House, 2004.
The second volume in Hancock’s Legends of the Guardian-King series, The Shadow Within continues the adventures of Abramm, prince of Kiriath. He returns to his homeland after six years, having been a galley slave and gladiator, as well as a guerrilla warrior and triumphant hero among the foreign Dorsaddi. Drawn back by a desire to protect his people in the service of his god, Eidon, Abramm sets out to rid the land of the evils plaguing it and to claim the crown which is rightfully his. The marauding armies of the Black Moon are coming, and his nation must be prepared. Of course, none of this is simple, and his path is fraught with peril. The obstacles range from foppish noblemen and difficult courtly graces to evil sorcerors, a sea monster, civil war, and a demon dog which is Hell’s own version of the Hound of the Baskervilles.
Though this book is slightly more predictable than the first one (the identity of the romantic interest is more obvious, for example) Hancock remains adept at subverting a reader’s expectations. Abramm’s destiny seems genuinely uncertain. At times he reminded me strongly of Rand al’Thor from Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time books (not to mention Harry Potter): heroic young leaders who struggle to establish themselves and to prepare their people to face great evils, while being plagued by politics, magical assaults, and the puzzling affairs of the heart.
The book begins with a quest to slay a monster, and the first third of the story continues on in this exciting vein as Abramm’s rollercoaster political career begins. However, I found the middle section of the story less compelling, as the plot gets tangled up in various complex intrigues. While some events are explored in detail, others with seeming significance are covered in a page, a paragraph, or only mentioned as a recollection, as if Hancock was forced to pare them down at some point. Happily, the pacing picks up again in the final third, and the writing becomes quite crisp, some of the best in the book.
The characters remain interesting, with the most detail lavished on Abramm and his family, though some members of the court are memorable. One major villain, a stereotypical religious monomaniac who mutters to himself, becomes humorously endearing as we see him interacting with his dog, the aforementioned hellhound. Of course, this doesn’t last too long as he soon gets on with his wicked plot.
I became more aware of the fact that this is a series written primarily for Christians. The language, assumptions and emphases are evangelical, and at times I thought it was all a bit too obvious. But most of those times Hancock didn’t go where I assumed she would. For example, in places I thought the story was turning triumphalist, towards a theology of glory as opposed to a theology of the cross (to borrow a line from the Lutherans.) Abramm is handsome, dashing, muscular, a skilled fighter, and he can dance too! All the women of the court want him, and his natural charisma attracts many followers. However, just as in the first book, he undergoes a great deal of self-doubt and suffering, and the story ends with a great act of self-sacrifice. Eidon makes a way for him (a phrase popular in the book) but it is a hard and narrow way that chisels away at his pride and makes him more sensitive to the sufferings of others.
I appreciated the realism in Hancock’s depiction of the faithful. While they undoubtedly belong to the correct religion, the Terstans are divided, confused and mistaken just as often as most people. There is a welcome conversion in this volume, but at the same time one of the most likable and sympathetic new characters is an atheist. It was also interesting to see religious persecution and its backlash given a realistic treatment.
Hancock continues to live up to her reputation as a leading evangelical fantasist.
3.5 out of 5.
The second volume in Hancock’s Legends of the Guardian-King series, The Shadow Within continues the adventures of Abramm, prince of Kiriath. He returns to his homeland after six years, having been a galley slave and gladiator, as well as a guerrilla warrior and triumphant hero among the foreign Dorsaddi. Drawn back by a desire to protect his people in the service of his god, Eidon, Abramm sets out to rid the land of the evils plaguing it and to claim the crown which is rightfully his. The marauding armies of the Black Moon are coming, and his nation must be prepared. Of course, none of this is simple, and his path is fraught with peril. The obstacles range from foppish noblemen and difficult courtly graces to evil sorcerors, a sea monster, civil war, and a demon dog which is Hell’s own version of the Hound of the Baskervilles.
Though this book is slightly more predictable than the first one (the identity of the romantic interest is more obvious, for example) Hancock remains adept at subverting a reader’s expectations. Abramm’s destiny seems genuinely uncertain. At times he reminded me strongly of Rand al’Thor from Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time books (not to mention Harry Potter): heroic young leaders who struggle to establish themselves and to prepare their people to face great evils, while being plagued by politics, magical assaults, and the puzzling affairs of the heart.
The book begins with a quest to slay a monster, and the first third of the story continues on in this exciting vein as Abramm’s rollercoaster political career begins. However, I found the middle section of the story less compelling, as the plot gets tangled up in various complex intrigues. While some events are explored in detail, others with seeming significance are covered in a page, a paragraph, or only mentioned as a recollection, as if Hancock was forced to pare them down at some point. Happily, the pacing picks up again in the final third, and the writing becomes quite crisp, some of the best in the book.
The characters remain interesting, with the most detail lavished on Abramm and his family, though some members of the court are memorable. One major villain, a stereotypical religious monomaniac who mutters to himself, becomes humorously endearing as we see him interacting with his dog, the aforementioned hellhound. Of course, this doesn’t last too long as he soon gets on with his wicked plot.
I became more aware of the fact that this is a series written primarily for Christians. The language, assumptions and emphases are evangelical, and at times I thought it was all a bit too obvious. But most of those times Hancock didn’t go where I assumed she would. For example, in places I thought the story was turning triumphalist, towards a theology of glory as opposed to a theology of the cross (to borrow a line from the Lutherans.) Abramm is handsome, dashing, muscular, a skilled fighter, and he can dance too! All the women of the court want him, and his natural charisma attracts many followers. However, just as in the first book, he undergoes a great deal of self-doubt and suffering, and the story ends with a great act of self-sacrifice. Eidon makes a way for him (a phrase popular in the book) but it is a hard and narrow way that chisels away at his pride and makes him more sensitive to the sufferings of others.
I appreciated the realism in Hancock’s depiction of the faithful. While they undoubtedly belong to the correct religion, the Terstans are divided, confused and mistaken just as often as most people. There is a welcome conversion in this volume, but at the same time one of the most likable and sympathetic new characters is an atheist. It was also interesting to see religious persecution and its backlash given a realistic treatment.
Hancock continues to live up to her reputation as a leading evangelical fantasist.
3.5 out of 5.
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