H.L.Tinsley's Blog

Sundered Souls is the follow-up to Tim Hardie’s fantasy debut Hall of Bones. I was kindly given a copy by the author – in exchange for a fair and honest review. Readers should note the copy I received was an early version. Editing changes may mean the final product differs from the one I received. Now the disclaimers are out of the way, onto the good stuff!

When offered a copy of Sundered Souls, fair to say I was a little excited. I probably would have bitten the author’s hand off for it, to be honest. Hall of Bones was by far one of my favourite reads of the last few months, and I was intrigued to see what was in store for Rothgar and his friends. The story opens with Rothgar – along with his companions now joined with Johan Jokellsward, leader of the newly formed Brotherhood of the Eagle.

A short time has passed since the end of the first book, and Johan’s forces have since been reinforced by the arrival of several allies from various clans. Some are welcome, some not so much – owing to old feuds and blood debts. 

Readers get an overview of the surviving characters and the challenges they face, both political and supernatural. Hardie manages to encapsulate the story so far and what has happened since very well, without it sounding like a word-for-word recap, something I do see in follow-ups a lot. The main characters each have a clear identity, and I found it relatively easy to slip back into understanding who was who. Given the sheer number of supporting and minor characters, readers should note they will find a handy reference to clans at the back of the book.

I’ve never been shy about admitting I am an extremely fussy reader. 

Reading is a funny thing – everything is subjective. One person’s favourite is another reader’s DNF. Admittedly, there are quite a few things that can put me off early in a book. For example, I’m not a fan of large amounts of dialogue. The first several chapters of this book are massively dialogue-focused. There are pages with vast swathes of nothing but precisely that. So, it says a lot about the story and writing that the author did keep me hooked. 

There were two reasons for this – firstly, I already know that Hardie crafts a good tale. Secondly, the camaraderie between the warriors is very immersive. The characters are presented with just the right touch of humour and good-natured banter to offset the heavy political focus. I felt connected with the brotherhood and invested in their cause very early on. Some jokes made me smile, and little moments of honesty and vulnerability gave a sense of depth to the characters.

The first half of the book centres more on the politics of what is occurring than the supernatural events, though reference is made several times to the fact their enemies are not all that they seem. There is a lot of focus on Johan and his story and much less on Rothgar – something which, if I am honest, I found a strange choice.

Rothgar was a fantastic protagonist for the first book. At the start of this one, it felt a little like he had taken on more of a narrator role. He felt more like an observer of events, and it took a little while for me to feel his character presence again. I will say now that while this was confusing for the first few chapters, as the story progressed, the reasons for this become more apparent, and I was left feeling that this was actually a smart move by the author. 

Well played, Mr. Hardie.

This book does move fast – and I mean fast. You need to pay attention to what is happening, and there is certainly no shortage of action. This is violent, bloody stuff. As mentioned, there are many characters, and I found it easier to get more attached to some than others. It is the kind of book where everyone will have their favourites (Rothgar, Gautar, Patrick, Thengill, and Nuna). Sinarr the Cold One makes for a fantastic antagonist – a stone-cold badass of epic proportions (pun intended). One thing I did appreciate was seeing more from the female characters. While remaining still, almost entirely presented in ‘traditional’ female roles, Hardie gives the women in this instalment more agency and growth – something I would love to see continued in subsequent follow-ups. Nuna remains an excellent and reliable character who shows maturity and depth much beyond her years. The introduction of Jolinn also gives us a character outside the typical traditional female archetype favoured in the first book.

Something of a mash-up of genres, I did find myself at times wishing that the author would have leaned more into the fantastical rather than the political elements in the earlier chapters. Mostly because I think this is something in which Hardie excels. I would rate the first half of this book as being a good, solid read if a little too pacey in places. 

However, the last 30-40% of this story is SPECTACULAR. Gruesome, bloody, thrilling – from the scene at the Palisade to revelations about Rothgar’s abilities – the author packed everything I had been waiting to see into each beautifully crafted chapter. 

One of my favourite things is well-written prose – and this is where Hardie shines. His world-building and scene crafting is almost poetic, with my favourite parts of the story being the presentation of the dream worlds created around Rothgar. Dark, beautiful, and utterly immersive. Hardie does make you wait for the pay-off, almost to the point of frustration but then delivers with such finesse that it almost feels like the story implodes around you. There were points where I nearly jumped out of my seat, punching the air.

Frankly, it would be hard to read this book without making comparisons to Game of Thrones. You can feel GRRM’s influence, and there are many similar themes and aesthetics. However, this story feels more like homage to the genre than anything else. Hardie has his own style, and while I certainly felt this was very GOT-Esque, it still feels unique and individual. 

Intrigued to see where Rothgar ends up next, I think this series will continue to grow, and I would certainly give the next instalment a read. Sundered Souls – 4/5

Well, it’s that time of year again for the writing community. Nerves are jangling, coffee pots are on overdrive, and imposter syndromes have become full-on imposter supernovas. SPFBO 7 is in full swing. This year I’ve decided to dip my toes into the water as an entrant. At some point, I may write a little piece about my experience.

For now, I’m turning my attention to some of the other competitors, presumably currently biting their nails down to jagged splinters. The last two or three books I’ve read are all entrants in this year’s competition, and I have to say, given my ongoing struggle with starting and stopping books, I’m happy to report not a single DNF hath graced my TBR in recent months.

The latest of said reads is A Drowned Kingdom by PL Stuart – an epic fantasy story that tells the tale of a second prince, his people, his lands, and his faith. Before I get on to the review, I want it known that A Drowned Kingdom is so far out of my usual wheelhouse that I’m almost struggling to write a review.

I’m a fan of the short, the sharp, and the quippy book. I don’t have much experience reading epic or high fantasy. So the conclusions I have drawn about this book are based solely on my understanding of the genre. In short, I have minimal knowledge of these sorts of books and, therefore, no frame of reference. Disclaimer made, on with the review –

A Drowned Kingdom by PL Stuart

Within the first few pages of this story, PL Stuart had my attention. This book starts with such a sense of gravitas that I was immediately drawn into the main character’s thoughts, making the opening pages feel almost like a soliloquy as Othrun, Second Prince, pulls us into his mind. This was fascinating as from the outset, you’re not discovering Othrun’s world as it is – you’re discovering Othrun’s world the way that he sees it. 

Othrun’s story splits into three parts and, to be honest, the first part was my favourite. A Drowned Kingdom is a book so hard to define but so cleverly executed. As I was drawn deeper into Othrun’s character, his narration turned from saga to sonnet to sermon at various points, depending on what he was doing or experiencing at the time.

Stuart plays with repetition, sentence structures, and phrasing, and his writing is, at times, more like poetry than prose. The first few chapters of the book have very little dialogue, but it still feels like someone is speaking to you. And do you know what? A lot of it is rather beautiful.

‘I wept because no one lived that might cut off my head anymore.’

What is even more impressive is that Othrun is a totally detestable character. As previous reviews have mentioned, this is not a nice guy. After a life of privilege in the royal family, Othrun’s views are about as toxic as they come. He’s a misogynist, sexist, racist, classist zealot bordering on fundamentalism.

It is difficult to present a character of this nature in the right way – and even more difficult to combine such an abhorrent worldview with such eloquent and beautiful prose. Here is where PL Stuart shows his intelligence and ability as a writer. Othrun, though deeply unpleasant, is presented as a guy with a superiority complex, delusions of his self-importance, and a dangerous naivety about the world and people around him.

He has lived in a bubble of opulence, prince of his tiny world, and quite frankly, at times feels almost like a brain-washed fanatic. What I really loved was the sense of creeping corruption as Othrun became increasingly more powerful and more fanatical. 

‘Grandfather added that Father should take his time wanting the responsibility of kingship, and he, Grandfather would accordingly take his time dying,’

I could wax lyrical about this book for hours; even now my thoughts about it are running wild. Compelling, difficult, clever, dark – it is certainly rare for me to pick up and finish anything that serves such a gamut of emotions and reactions. I will say that for anyone looking for a lighter read, this is anything but that. Woven into Othrun’s interpretations of the world around him is some heavy subject matter. What impressed me was the sensitivity with which PL Stuart tackles these subjects while having the reader experience them through the eyes of someone so utterly insensitive.

‘With funerals and baptisms for ladies and infants of royal lineage, one often followed the other. The first question asked when a child of the blood was born was not, “what shall it be named?” It was not “how much does it weigh?”Rather, it was “does the mother live?”

Truthfully, I don’t think that this book will be for everyone. Female readers, in particular, may struggle. It reads like a tribute to old-school fantasy epics, so don’t expect any empowering female representation. The women in Othrun’s world are reduced to the roles of whores or Madonna’s, and in either case, are little more than walking uteri. That being said I wish to make it abundantly clear that this book never felt offensive to me as a woman. Rather, Stuart makes it clear that Othrun and the society around him devalue, belittle, and vilify women (and many others) through bigotry and ignorance. 

On the whole, I found this to be, more than anything, a fascinating character study. I did find that towards the middle I was skimming parts of the story – this is heavy prose and the addition of multiple new characters in the latter third of the book did make my head spin a little. Is it an enjoyable read? I honestly don’t know how to answer that question. All I can say is that I didn’t want to stop reading – I had to dig deeper. I wanted to find something redeemable about Othrun, or for him to get his comeuppance. 

I would give this story a 4-star rating based on Stuart’s approach, voice, skill, and intricacy. There were elements of the prose I felt worthy of a 5-star rating. But the introduction of too many characters at once in the final third and some of the story being a little overwrought did detract from the journey a little for me. That being said, in the first two sections the secondary characters were well crafted, likeable and reliable. The world building is vast, artful and extensive and reflects the overall tone of the writing – ambitious and uncompromising.

I’ll certainly be picking up PL Stuart’s next book, and look forward to seeing the future of Othrun and his people unfolding. 

All hail book bloggers and reviewers.

If you know a book blogger, I suggest you immediately sing their praises to the hills and perhaps arrange for a small offering of fruit, cookies, or gold. Seriously. I know there are some fantastic bloggers out there doing wonders for indie books, but not until I started writing the odd review on my own blog did I come to realise just what tremendous time and effort go into supporting the indie author community.

You see, despite my previous confessions regarding my habit of perpetually not finishing books, and never once to the best of my knowledge having eluded to any plans of becoming a book blogger, after my last post (see Sean Crow’s Valhalla Steel) my inbox was besieged by offers* from authors offering me books to read. 

*OK, so there were about nine of them, so it was a very small besieging. 

I did feel honoured to get those requests. As a writer, I know how hard it is to get reviews and how much they mean. Constraints on my time, however, meant I had to (politely) decline most of the requests. How bloggers do this with hundreds of queries is beyond me. Replying to the emails alone takes a lot of time, and that’s without actually reading the books or writing any reviews. So, to anyone that does this on a regular or full-time basis – I salute you.

However, amongst the books brought to my attention was ‘Hall of Bones’ – the Norse-inspired epic fantasy debut by Tim Hardie.

At the time, I was beta reading another book and didn’t have time to start anything new though I was intrigued by the premise. So with an unexpected hour or so to spare this week, I picked up a copy to idly flick through the first chapter in my usual non-committal manner with the aim of getting back to it later in the month. And then I kept on reading. 

‘Hall of Bones’ is a thoroughly entertaining and enjoyable book that seems to have flown undeservedly under the radar since its release. 

So, without further ado, I present to you my review**

‘HALL OF BONES’

‘Hall of Bones’ is a book that follows many a well-worn path. Comfortable in its styling and following similar themes and threads as other Norse-inspired tales that bring to mind ‘The Saxon Stories’ and similar works, albeit with a bit of magic and a touch of grimdark measured in with good effect. 

While some stories might come off as carbon copies of others in the genre, ‘Hall of Bones’ delivers a well-balanced mix of familiar fantasy staples and enough refreshing newness to make it stand on its own two feet. Much like spending an evening at your local pub, ‘Hall of Bones’ gives you something somewhat familiar yet entertaining, enjoyable, and with a compelling cast of intriguing characters and enough surprises to keep the pages turning.

Protagonist Rothgar is a good narrator for the story. I enjoyed Hardie’s choice to split the time spent with him between Rothgar’s childhood experiences and his later torments to allow the character room to grow with the reader. What we see is not a fully formed, battle-worn warrior, nor a ‘special child’ with inexplicable talents, but more a normal boy born into a life of high expectation, learning, and growing as he traverses a dangerous path from early adolescence to young adulthood. His journey is believable and hard-wearing. Admittedly in the latter part of the book, I did find Rothgar creeping ever so gently towards being too self-pitying (before some staunch supporting characters take him to task not a moment too soon). 

Surrounding Rothgar and his family is a complex network of various clans with allegiances that can shift and change on a misplaced comment or dirty look from across the feasting hall. With so many clans to keep track of, it can be a little confusing who is who in the greater scheme of things. However, enough time and attention is given over to each of the main characters to make it easy to define the key players – if not all of their minions and followers. 

The author has placed a handy guide in the back pages that refers to each clan and their respective members. This was a nice touch and served to cement the intricate ties and bonds that keep the world turning.

Hardie builds a world easy to envision and grimly reminiscent of true historical events in its portrayal of the hardships suffered by characters at both the top and bottom of the pile. The plight of child-bride Nuna had me drawing parallels to that of Matilda, (daughter of Henry I, whose life story is quite fascinating). 

On a related note, gender roles in ‘Hall of Bones’ are decidedly that of traditional fantasy. With an emphasis on strength and physicality being the cornerstones of manhood, while the women (the ones in power at least) play their hand more subtly. Otherwise, the women are largely assigned to the roles of home-makers, spell-binding temptresses, and lovers.

That being said, the author gives time and attention to ensuring he offers much more than cut-and-paste characters. Glimpses into the fears and vulnerabilities of his male warriors make the ragged, burly brotherhood more human. Glances of the resolve and wits of the female characters give them a welcome sense of autonomy. There are certainly some kick-ass matriarchal characters that quite honestly I wouldn’t bet against in a fight. It is also refreshing to see that Hardie does not rely on rape and sexual violence tropes as seen so frequently in these kinds of stories (though the themes are referenced). 

The plot itself is thoroughly absorbing, setting a good pace in the first half of the book with political intrigue, arranged marriages, and betrayed loyalties abound. The second half is given over to more action and magic and takes on a decidedly grimmer tone that will likely resonate with fans of Game of Thrones. The move from scene to scene can be a little quick and at times I felt a little hurried towards the end, however, Hardie builds his story to a rousing and tension-driven final act, with a semi-conclusion that lends itself well to set up for the sequel and leaves plenty of opportunity for further growth. 

Overall, ‘Hall of Bones’ is an enjoyable story for anyone wanting a quick escape into an easy, satisfying read. It’s the kind of book you could read sitting by a fireplace on a winter night. 

I found there were occasional places where sentences did require a quick second read, and a few places where an out-of-place turn of phrase did take me out of the story, however, the good qualities of this book far outweigh any criticisms.

‘Hall of Bones’ deserves much more attention than it has garnered so far and I’ll happily read the sequel when it comes out.

**I’m still not a book blogger. If you have a book coming out and you’d like me to review it feel free to ask, however, I have no intentions of starting a ‘review site’. I may pick up your book. I may not. I may say I won’t, but then change my mind. I’m flighty like that. Also, for a full list of reviewers/bloggers that you really ought to be following, I’ll be posting a non-exhaustive list of suggestions in the comments. Feel free to comment and add to it. Please do read their blogs/sites, always check for current statuses with regards to accepting review requests before contacting, and for the love of all the thundering gods, never forget how awesome these folks are.

You know those restaurants that offer a twelve-course sample menu designed to give you just a little taste of all the varied and marvellous flavours they have to offer? Well with Valhalla Steel, author Sean Crow has managed to create the literary equivalent of just that.

A wild, energetic story that mixes Norse fantasy, dystopian futures, sci-fi, action, folklore and just about everything else you can think of to create a melting pot of exciting characters in a vastly different and intriguing setting.

Admittedly I’m not normally a fan of future-set fiction, so Valhalla Steel was an unusual choice for me. My experience of sci-fi particularly is limited; however, Crow’s book is a great option for those looking to bridge the gap between fantasy and science. Did I know what was going on all the time? No, I did not, but I sure-as-hell enjoyed the ride.

You see, what the author has done is create a world so vivid and enjoyable that it didn’t matter if I didn’t always understand it. To be clear the fact that, at times, I had no idea what was happening is in no way the fault of the writer. Sean builds every scene and interaction well, and any time I got a little lost was purely due to my own lack of experience in the genre. That being said, I might not have recognised or known what some of the weapons used in the epic fight scenes were – but I do know they were awesome.

And herein lies the foundation upon which Valhalla Steel is built.

It is utterly, unapologetically awesome.

In all the places Crow could have settled for going big, he goes massive – bigger characters, bigger weapons, and bigger action. Despite a unique concept, Valhalla Steel also manages to give the reader a real sense of nostalgia. The vibe is one of 80’s action films, of Mad Max and Highlander – to the point where I wouldn’t have been surprised to see the Kurgan make a cameo in the background.

Crow twists his multiple story lines together in a way that, while still structured with care, presents a sense of chaos to his world.

This could have easily left the book a little messy but instead takes the reader on a fast-paced, full-throttle journey akin to hitching a ride on a vehicle going hell for leather through a dystopian city. Constantly throwing out sharp turns, unexpected detours but always en route to something exciting.

Character-wise, Crow instils a welcome touch of heart in the deftly built bond between Jarl Angus and his brotherhood of Huscarls. The dynamic between them is believable, touching, and funny.

Nowhere is this more evident than in Yuri.

Ah, Yuri – sage, pragmatic, and effortlessly compelling. Trudging about like a battle-worn old berserker, if Valhalla Steel were ever to be a TV series, I would request – nay demand – Yuri receives his own spin-off.

In summation, this book presents readers with everything you love about action movies, video games and quite frankly, ought to have its own thrashing guitar solo intro. You know the sort, with pyrotechnics and a riff so catchy you could call it a cold. Throwing you right into the action, Crow provides something fresh, exciting, and unashamedly fun.

Highly recommended. 5/5.

After something of a small break, I return to this blog to kick off the year (fashionably late, naturally) having started work on the sequel to my debut novel ‘We Men of Ash and Shadow’ (inserts deeply unsubtle plug).

Something I have pledged to do in 2021 is read more. You may remember my post last year in which I confessed my struggles with reading full length novels (see: confessions of a DNF’r) and my love of short stories and non-fiction. So, with this in mind I will now be posting the occasional review focusing on indie and small press publications.

Hopefully this will serve not only as motivation for me to dive into and splash around in the deep, warm waters of fantasy fiction, but also bring some much needed attention to some of the brilliant indie authors out there.

And it seemed there would be no better place to start than with the sequel to Jacob Sannox’s ‘Dark Oak’.

The continuing story of Morrick the Wood Cutter (aka Dark Oak) is in equal parts fascinating, frustrating and entertaining. With a relatively slow-burning start, ‘Age of the Dryad’ pulls you along at a leisurely pace until about a third of the way through the book, when Sannox immediately drops all pretences and goes for the jugular.

The immensely enjoyable Dark Oak served as an introduction to the Dryads, Naiads, Sylphs and other characters that populate Sannox’s detailed and intricately crafted world. ‘Age of the Dryad’ significantly ups the ante, with the author not only expanding the world already created, but giving it layer after layer of new depth, intrigue, and, in some cases, horror. Sannox presents his world with such a clear vision you could almost imagine seeing an advert for walking tours of the Butterly Isle and other points of interest included in the back pages of this novel.

The introduction of newcomers such as Tolucan work well, for the most part, giving a freshness to the story. However, I can’t help but wish that given the sheer volume of new characters and with so many threads woven throughout, Sannox had opted to split the story into two books rather than one. There is certainly enough compelling material there, so it is in no way a criticism. Merely, ‘Age of the Dryad’ offers a lot to unpack. BUT, much like peeling the skin from a fruit, the effort is well rewarded once you get to the juicy middle.

You may have noticed the use of the word ‘frustrating’ in my opening sentence. Again this is not a criticism, and in fact, Sannox shows his talent in the ability to surprise and shock the reader. If you think you know what’s coming, trust me, you don’t.

Just when you think you have a handle on things, Sannox pulls the rug from under your feet and leaves you wondering what could possibly be coming next. In short, be prepared to periodically yell ‘what? How? No, surely not!’ as you move through the book. Warning, doing this whilst reading with a cat on your lap can result in startled-pet-related scratching injuries. Trust me, I speak from experience.

Speaking of imminent danger, nowhere are the author’s strengths more evident than in the scenes within ‘Age of the Dryad’ where the reader is thrust into the more grimdark elements of the story.

Dark Oak had a few pivotal dark moments which were crafted well. Again, in its sequel, Sannox pushes further. When they come, the darker aspects of this book are swift, harsh, and brutal, often leaving you feeling as though the air just got sucked out of the room. Sannox delivers gut-punches seemingly from out of nowhere.

At the same time, however, there are delicate moments of emotional honesty and rawness that give some characters a chance to reveal their more vulnerable sides.

‘Age of the Dryad’ is a powerful follow up yet scoring this book has proven something of a challenge. The story is enjoyable and entertaining throughout, however, there are some issues (mostly a matter of personal taste) which meant the score often changed from chapter to chapter.

The first quarter of the book suffers from repetition, with a lot of emphasis being put onto recaps or reminders of events from the first story in the series. While this may work for some readers, I found that after a while the reminders of who was who and certain previous plot points unnecessary and a little disruptive.

The vast majority of the characters are rounded, interesting, and used well. Even characters with a small part to play often provided much needed differing perspectives. That being said, as within Dark Oak, the speed and severity with which some character’s moods or emotional reactions – Rowan, for example – change are at times a little overplayed with them going from joyful to rage-filled too quickly to be comfortable.

Other characters, such as Aldywn and Lachlan for example, remain steadfastly brilliant in their portrayal, with deftly woven arcs that make them stand out as personal favourites within the story.

‘Age of the Dryad’ is a clever book, in that it is one of those you walk away from unsure what to think. Indeed, it is the kind of story you’re going to want to talk about, analyze and go over in your head for days after finishing the last page.

This in itself should be seen as a credit to Jacob Sannox’s writing skills, as he has created something that not only entertains but provokes. For this reason, ‘Age of the Dryad’ warrants a 4/5 score from me and I await the next instalment in the series with eager anticipation.

Compelling, complex, and unpredictable, Age of the Dryad is – to coin an apt phrase – ‘well met’.

Consider a flowing body of water – where it begins and ends. The places where it narrows and widens, curves and ebbs, the tranquility of the shallows giving way at times to deep, dark, surging waters that crash around rocks before quieting once more to a peaceful slow. I can think of no better analogy for Dark Oak.

Appropriate, being as how one of the mainstay features of this dark fantasy is the use of anthropomorphic wood, water, earth and wind, to tell a story conveyed by the sort of richly imagined characters that make it near impossible to put down.

Before I delve too deep (pun intended) into reviewing, I feel I should lay down some facts. Over the last six months, I have started nine different books. Dark Oak is the only novel that I have read completely, cover to cover, and it took me less than four days to finish. Previously I have spoken of my inability to focus long enough to make it through anything longer than a novella. Though I do try not to be, I am exceptionally picky when it comes to books, and I find it near impossible to continue if I find within one something that irks me. Not so with Dark Oak.

There are moments in this story that are wonderful, with sections and chapters being more than worthy of a five-star rating. Some – that I will explain further down – warrant a solid four stars. Nowhere, however, does it ever slip below this. Sannox weaves his plot, for the most part, with masterful artistry.

The story is intricate and complex almost to the point where, like a good TV show, it left me feeling that if I were to start it again from the beginning, I’d no doubt spot something I missed (in the best sort of way). Dark Oak is the sort of book you can enjoy reading again and again.

The worlds within are somewhat typical of this sort of fantasy. Yet, are described in such detail and with such breadth of imagination as to breathe something fresh and new into what could have been quite trope-y and repetitive. Sannox jumps from the grim, stark reality of mud strewn battlefields to the almost ethereal glades of the forest effortlessly. At times taking you from scene to scene with gentle ease and at other times ripping the reader brutally from one to the other, but always done to good effect.

The majority of the characters are extremely well drawn. Morrick, Riark, Lynch, Aldwyn, and Lachlan in particular shine as rich, earthy, sometimes humorous, and sometimes desperate characters. The human element is ever apparent and even when at times the characters surprised me, I ever felt their drives, passions, and conflicts.

But it is not the humans within this story that shine brightest. It is the Dryads. Sweeping, magnificent, dark, and glorious. Sannox breathes life into branches and vines and stone and water, creating something akin to poetry in motion.

If ever a character was calling out, aching to be reimagined onto the canvas it is Riark. The scene in which the council of dryads first appears is nothing short of breathtaking, conjuring up images that would not seem out of place in the works of Tolkien or similar.

Even in the places where Dark Oak falls ever so slightly short – for me at least – Sannox quickly snatches back the helm and sweeps you along once more. Where other stories might fail to pull me back into the fold, Dark Oak did so quickly and quietly until I was once again rapidly and completely absorbed.

My only bugbears were that of fleeting inconsistency with a few of the characters. For example, Habit, an interesting and welcome addition to the cast at times jumped from her portrayal as an intelligent and articulate woman to spitting out dialogue more akin to ye olde serving wenches. One style or another would have been fine, but it was slightly jarring when the change occurred.

Similarly, Cathryn and Rowan fell ever so slightly short of the mark – very nearly making it, but not quite ever becoming the completely rounded characters I wished them to be. Without wanting to give anything away I found that in places, their propensity for outwardly physical emotions at times where they were maybe less warranted did marginally dampen the effects of the emotions where they would have made the greatest impact.

That being said, all of the above had moments of brilliance and for the most part, added much to the overall storyline. Rowan’s reaction to her husband’s return from war, for example, was beautifully crafted with real, raw, and believable emotion.

All being said and done, I picked up Dark Oak on a whim, with little expectation of getting past the first four chapters. Not because I anticipated it to be badly written, but simply because it is rare that a book of this length holds my attention further than that.

Now I find myself brimming with joy at an exciting possibility. That, after so long, I might have found my love of full-length novels rekindled and that is nothing short of miraculous. Jacob Sannox deserves an accolade for this if nothing else.

Dark Oak is a great read, that’s really the long and short of it. A solid four out of five, with moments of five-star-worthy brilliance. I shall cross my fingers and hope that when Christmas morning dawns, I find a copy of the upcoming sequel ‘Age of the Dryad’ nestled beneath my (very artificial) Christmas tree.

I have a confession to make. An admission made cautiously in full knowledge of the shock and revulsion it may cause, and wary of the irreversible damage it may do to my reputation* within the literary community.

Prepare yourselves.

I am a serial DNF’er.

It would probably be more accurate to say that I’m a prolific non-finisher. I am the scourge of the first chapter, a voracious consumer of excerpts and free samples. The sort of reader that bolts out of the pen, but invariably falls at the ninth gate. Rarely do I manage to get more than halfway through a book. It’s not that I don’t love them, or that I wantonly abandon them. I just find it inexplicably difficult to get to the last page.

It does happen; I feel I need to clarify that before going any further. Please don’t assemble the mob quite yet. I’ve finished quite a lot of books in my life – just not so much recently. And I have put together a detailed and compelling case for my defence. Which is as so;

I love words. I love stories – love them passionately down to the very marrow of my bones. The world is stories. History. All events. Everything. Reading is the most vital skill we have. There is nothing better than a beautifully bound book. Come to me, you sexy thing, and sit upon my shelf for all eternity looking pretty. And I do read. I’m just rather terrible at finishing novels.

To be clear, this is nothing to do with the skill or ability of the authors in question. Some of the books I’ve started have been works of sheer genius. It’s not them. It’s me. You see, I have a problem with focus. Perhaps there is a term for it that would make me feel rather official, but I don’t like to assume that this is anything more than something I’m simply not very good at.

My maximum capacity for sitting still and not fiddling with things is about fifteen minutes. You know those cats that chase laser pointers around the house, crashing into walls and scratching up the curtains? I have the brain equivalent of that. Have you ever tried to persuade a cat in that sort of mood to sit down and read a book? I am perpetually that cat. My attention span is the shredded curtain. 

Years ago, I was a voracious reader. A good, thick paperback could last me all of two days. Less, if I had some fancy bubble bath and ample supply of my local shops most low-budget-y wine. I was also a speed-reader – so much so that at school they had to put me in an accelerated class for people whose brains moved too fast, with a teacher who taught us college-level literature and told us stories about her cat. We read and talked and debated time travel and politics and the fragility of human nature. It was wonderful.

But somehow, at some point between then and now, I lost something. I changed. My mind changed. At some point, my brain proclaimed there to be ‘no more room at the inn’ and shut the doors. Much to my frustration. Because I want to finish a book. I’ve got theories about why this happened – but they’re probably all wrong. Maybe it is just me, but I digress. I’m stalling for time before judgement is cast.

You see, I wanted to write this post because although it pains me to admit that I struggle to finish books, I also wanted it to be noted that ‘you can’t write if you don’t read’ does not apply exclusively to the excessive consumption of novels.

And I’m done with feeling like a fraud. Writers have enough trouble with imposter syndrome and feelings of inadequacy. Perhaps I’m not a particularly well-known (or even vaguely known) writer but I have now reached the point where people occasionally ask my opinion on things.

And each time they do, I feel this gnawing shame in my stomach, the terrible fear that my secret is about to be revealed. They’re going to realise that I have no idea what they’re talking about. I have favourite authors whose novels I’ve yet to complete. I’m not lying when I say I admire them. It’s possible to marvel at talent, their creativity. I struggle to finish a novel, but I read essays and excerpts. Give me a report on market fluctuations in the cobbling industry in 12th century Europe and I’ll devour it like a snake unhinging its jaw. Nom, nom, words.

I’m an article surfer, subject hopper, and the kind of person that can leave no link left un-clicked. All subjects, any subjects – especially ones I find interesting or that might later help me win an argument. 

I’ll never stop trying to finish a book. But I won’t feel bad if it takes me a month, or a year or a decade. And in the meantime, I’ll read a thousand articles and all the snack-sized stories I want. Bring me a buffet of prose. If I’m following you on Twitter, I might not have read your novel but I’ve probably read your blog. Your poetry. Your short stories. If books are like good wine, I’m over at the bar doing shots.

And I don’t think that makes me a bad writer, nor should it make me feel like one. I simply have a different method of consumption. 

So, if my confession helps someone else feel a little less ashamed of the fact that they don’t read often or at length, when they’re constantly being told that they must read all the books, all the time then I’m happy to do it. 

Just don’t put me in the stocks. 

For those that might like to know, here is a list of some of the books I am currently reading. Some of which I have been reading since January and all of which are utterly brilliant –

The Court of Broken Knives – Anna Smith Spark

In an Absent Dream – Seanan Maguire

Reave the Just and Other Tales – Stephen Donaldson

Always Look on the Bright Side of Life – Eric Idle

The Name of the Wind – Patrick Rothfuss

My 2021 goal is to finish one of these. Wish me luck.

*This is a lie. I have no reputation in the literary community. Unless you count my dad who read my book at least twice and thought it was quite good both times.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As the song lyrics go ‘these are a few of my favourite things’.

There was some lively debate in the household earlier this week as both my other half and I are currently playing two different installments of Assassin’s Creed at the same time. For those of you with inquiring minds, he’s playing ‘Black Flag’ and I’ve returned to my perennial favourite ‘Unity’. With only one usable console in the house, we have fallen into a semi-peaceful agreement over who gets to play when.

Naturally, this means that whoever isn’t playing takes on the role of (in my case) helpful spectator or (in his case) incessant back-seat driver.

Just kidding, of course, his interjection is very helpful if somewhat non-specific.

What I cannot make peace with, however, is our conflicting views on cut scenes. I watch them. Intently and obsessively. He’ll watch the first time, but after that, it’s skipping time. I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve seen a Skyrim character manage to spit out the first word of a sentence only to be brutally cut off before revealing anything. I get it. When you know what’s coming you don’t particularly feel the need to watch it again. Unless you’re me.

I love how cinematic video games can be. For me, it’s a part of the world-building. It’s just as important in games as it is in books or films. Especially as I will always choose story arc over game features.

I could spend hours watching Jacob Frye run around London with nothing but a potato in a sack for a weapon because, oh those beautiful 19th-century church spires. Do I want to level up my stealth points? Yes, but not as much as I want to shimmy up those viewpoints to get a good look at Constantinople.

In non-gaming related news, work is underway on book two of the Vanguard series. My days have become filled with a combination of caffeine, wanton keyboard destruction, and not sleeping. Second book stress is real.

So, as many writers do, I use music to soothe my chaotic mind. When I wrote ‘We Men of Ash and Shadow’ I created a Spotify playlist that I shared on Twitter (the link should still be there if you care to find it, and contains some excellent tracks in my opinion).

Since I started writing I’ve been on something of a musical journey, searching for artists whose work helps me get into the right frame of mind to create the sort of world I want to build. I’ve included a few honorable mentions below, who I would highly recommend if you’re looking for an evocative soundtrack to set your own writing sessions to.

Ivan Torrent – @IvanTorrent on Twitter, ‘Afterlife Extended’. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e5g6ps3H1-UUrsine Vulpine – @UrsineVulpine on Twitter, ‘Arcanine’. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tV0kbqtOE802WEI – @2WEIMUSIC on Twitter, ‘Survivor’ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TUq4F95e4HEDamned Anthem – @DamnedAnthem on Twitter, ‘Uprising’. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_w48-1IQxnM

Lastly, I made a promise to myself a few weeks ago that I would try to reduce my caffeine intake. For someone with an undeniably low tolerance for stimulants, I do consume an inadvisable amount of coffee/diet coke. It’s not big. It’s not clever.

If you’re wondering how that’s going I’m currently on my fourth caffeinated drink of the day and it’s only 11:30 am. So it’s going about as well as Vanguard’s efforts to stop making terrible decisions (if you’ve read my book, you’ll get it). Some might say that would go some way to explaining why I’m generally awake until 3 am writing. I’d argue that it’s not the caffeine. It’s just inspiration. Cool, refreshing, inspiration.

‘We Men of Ash and Shadow’ is available now on Amazon and Kindle Unlimited. https://www.amazon.co.uk/Men-Shadow-Vanguard-Chronicles-Book-ebook/dp/B08FJ6PY9M

I recently posted on Twitter and the tweet got more likes and interactions than almost all of my other tweets in the month combined. That’s 94 likes, 21 comments, and 4 retweets for anyone that’s counting. In it, I commented on book marketing by way of newsletter subscriptions. Here it is, in all its glory.

[image error]

Now just to be clear, this tweet was in no way a comment on whether or not I think that email subscriber lists work. It was more of a humorous observation of the fact that I don’t have one, having abandoned my previous attempt when I failed to amass more than one or two interested parties. I can see entirely how they would work and be a prominent, productive marketing tool. If you’ve got the sorts of things to say that people want to hear.

What the reaction to my tweet did do, however, was make it clear that there was one subject that I have not yet covered that most, if not all, writers (nay humans) want to learn more about. No, not marketing. Fluff.

So this blog post is an unashamed attempt to bring more readers to my website, through what is indisputably the most effective way to lure people into any particular corner of the ‘net (OK, maybe the second most effective).

That’s right; this post is all about my dog.

Meet Gunner the Grimdark Dog.

[image error]Trust me, beneath that joyful looking exterior beats the heart of a dark and pensive poet.

Gunner was brought to England from Romania, where he had been saved from euthanasia at a renowned kill shelter by a wonderful one-woman rescue operation. He spent a few months in a UK shelter where myself and my husband used to volunteer before we adopted him in 2017. The shelter didn’t know anything about his past, and so far he’s not been able to tell us much either.

A perfectly imperfect oddball who doesn’t know how to dog, Gunner doesn’t respond particularly well to training, couldn’t scare off an intruder if we gave him a flick knife and a set of instructions, never learnt to play, and can’t be trusted off lead not to run directly into traffic.

During our first week with him he broke a large and expensive flat-screen TV by trying to perch on the window sill like some kind of clumsy giant bird. An unscrupulous thief, we’ve also had to learn where it is and isn’t safe to leave food lying around the house.

One week he stole (on consecutive days, not all at once – he’s smart like that) a French baguette, a tub of butter, a bottle of mustard, and a packet of bacon. We’re not sure, but we think he was trying to make a sandwich.

He isn’t keen on strangers or squirrels but loves cats. We think he may be trying to start a collection because we keep finding them in the garden with him, much to the dismay of our two cats whom (we think) he believes are tiny, angry dogs.

[image error]You should always colour coordinate your furniture with your pets.

But despite his many quirks, he is quite simply a brilliant dog. Sweet, gentle, and (mostly unintentionally) funny – Gunner makes the perfect companion for a writer. He keeps strange hours, likes snacks, and shows very little interest in going outside now that it seems to be perpetually raining. So we have a lot in common. More importantly, he loves my work, or at least, he’s never told me otherwise.

Don’t worry. I’m not going to start blogging endlessly about my dog and the hilariously ridiculous things he does, although I may mention them from time to time. But I’ve been searching for something I can blog about that feels a little more personal and, after all, his constant companionship through the last few years has been a big part of my writing journey.

Plus he’d really like you to buy my book. Or bring him snacks.

Mostly the snacks.

[image error]Stealer of condiments, re-arranger of cushions, scourge of squirrels

Since my debut novel launched a few days ago, I’ve been reflecting on my journey as a writer and especially how it is that I came to be so fascinated by the world of Grimdark. As a relatively new sub-genre, there is still no absolute defining characteristic for what makes a book ‘grimdark’ – although a quick Google search will offer up several suggestions.

There are, of course, many books that set the standard for the genre, but looking back over the various books that I’ve read since childhood, I’ve come to realise that my path to grimdark started many years before I even became aware of it’s existence. I’ve always leaned more towards fantasy and particularly dark fantasy.

One book in particular, however, can be held responsible for setting both me and my writing in this specific direction. This post is not a review of said book, but more an homage. It’s been over twenty-five years since I first read it, and yet it still echoes in my mind today. The impact that it (and in particular one specific character) had on me still influences the way I look at fantasy writing, if not all writing decades later.

That book is ‘The Alchymist’s Cat’ by Robin Jarvis (published in 1991).

Before reading this particular book, a lot of my exploration into fantasy had been traditional, swords, and sorcery (albeit for a younger audience) style stories. For the first time, I found a book that was not only gloriously macabre and dark but simultaneously also incredibly moving and (in some parts) heartbreaking.

The characters of Jupiter and Leech (particularly the latter) resonated with me for years, not only because of their complexity (that’s right, cats are complicated) but because of the fragility of their relationships with everyone around them and themselves.

What Jarvis did was create a bleak and terrifying world (plague, fire, murder, betrayal) in which two brothers could enact unspeakable horrors on each other, and yet, I still felt enormous sympathy for both of them. I felt their sadness. I felt the bitterness that comes from knowing the world has rejected you.

I’ve seen reviews of this book in which people have argued that it is far too dark for the age group it is aimed at. Speaking as someone who read it at possibly an even younger age than intended, I can say that, whilst some children may find it too upsetting, I personally found it honestly (and often brutally) opened up my eyes to a world that was far more complicated than simple good versus evil, light versus dark. It was refreshing, intriguing. It is a book that stays with you.

It was one of the very first I read in which I felt there were no real heroes – there are villains – after all, this is a book in which animals get brutally beaten to death. The protagonist, Will, is more of an unfortunate victim than a hero, although his actions invariably are borne of good intention. There are no noble causes. For many of the characters, the goal is to survive rather than thrive.

It is a book in which the pursuit of power causes the innocent bystanders (in this case, the tragically fated Imelza’s family of cats) to become caught up in the devastation of collateral damage. It was also the first book to truly make me consider the age-old debate of ‘Nature versus Nurture.’

Especially in the case of Leech – bullied, maligned, and rejected since birth, I find that the emotion I identify with most strongly when thinking of this particular character is one of hopelessness. Not evil, not malevolence despite ample evidence of both. Leech became, for me, the archetypal example of a villain created by the world around them.

‘The Alchymist’s Cat’ is a book that I will never forget. I’ve read a lot of books, including many of the great Grimdark standards (Joe Abercrombie, Scott Lynch, etc.), and the more of them I find; the more I lean further towards a grittier and darker tale. As for where it all started, well, that is undeniably with Leech, or as he may prefer to be known – ‘Jupiter, Lord of All’.