Perry Lake's Blog: REVIEWS by Perry Lake

The Calculating Stars by Mary Robinette Kowal

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


What if a meteorite—the size of the one that brought about the extinction of the dinosaurs—struck the Earth in 1952? Kowal answers that with an accelerated space race, in which the world unites to build a colony on Mars. First, they must put a man into space.

But what about the first woman in space? And, keeping in mind that this is the 1950s, will the government include anyone of color? Those themes are the foci of this exciting, fast-moving, and historically-accurate novel, the first of a trilogy, I believe.

Just over a year ago, I survived a disaster that leveled an entire city. So I can vouch that the evacuation and rebuilding aspects of this book are realistic.

The heroine and narrator of the book is Elma York. She's a brilliant computer—one who computes, before the word computer was applied only to machines. She's a veteran pilot and the wife of the chief engineer of the new space program. She's the perfect candidate to be the first woman in space. But she also has a secret.

Elma is afraid of crowds, of speaking in public. A small thing? An astronaut is the focus of the world's attention and she has a bad habit of throwing up when her phobia hits. The only solution, it seems, comes in the form of a mind-deadening tranquilizer.

At the midway point of the book, a revelation shows us just how severe her problem is.

With any alternate history tale, the real question is believability. If you accept the premise—which, after all, did occur sixty-five million years ago—the actions taken by the characters only make sense. The book is well researched. Kowal not only knows a great deal about space technology, but life in the 1950s. References to food rationing, Brylcreem (which is still around, but nowhere near as de rigueur as it once was), poofy skirts and gloves, newspapers introducing the first women of the space program as “beauties”, all ring true to the time. And the kid saying, “Golly, that's keen” was priceless.

I spotted very few anachronisms, the phrase “game-changer” being the worst. Really, it's a small criticism.

Cleared for launch. “The Calculating Stars” is a Go.



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“FRANKENSTEIN THE FIRST TWO HUNDRED YEARS’
by Christopher Frayling

At first, I thought this would be a pretty coffee table book, but without much depth. Oh, was I wrong.
True, this is a lavishly illustrated book; in fact, the last half is all pictures and captions, showing the various adaptations and derivations of “Frankenstein”. I, who have spent a lifetime in the study of horror, still found quite a number of pictures I had not seen before.

Much of the early part of the book goes into the origin of the novel. Naturally, I had read a great deal about the events of June 17th at Villa Diodati and its famous cast of characters: Mary Godwin, Percy Bysshe Shelley, Claire Clairmont, Lord Byron, and Dr. Polidori. But never have I seen the events so carefully described. Numerous quotes are given from the journals and letters of the participants, in chronological order, and with Frayling’s enlightening analysis. Reading it, one can find themselves alongside Mary Godwin (later, Mary Shelley) as that spark of life creates a vignette in her mind and how it went forth to become the most famous monster novel the world has ever known.

And this book doesn’t stop there. Frayling goes on to tell of the aftermath of “Frankenstein”, including Mary’s publishing woes, the public’s response, and an excellent account of the earliest plays to carry on the tale. This book is highly recommended.

5 stars.

After the release of mega-hits like “Rosemary’s Baby” and “The Exorcist”, it was inevitable that a twenty year glut of horror novels would follow. This is the subject of Hendricks’ lavishly-illustrated book.

And the author clearly loves his subject, even when he has little reverence for it. Hendricks knows that much of this material is trash and he makes that clear in his descriptions. He takes us on a romp through the plots of several dozen books, but also includes recurring themes, mini-biographies of authors and cover artists, and the stories of the publishing houses. Towards the end, the book becomes particularly insightful, showing us how this horror glut petered out.

Despite my love of horror, I’ve only read a few of the books listed here. After reading this entertaining and informative book, I don’t think I’ve missed much. I usually say that I would rather read the books under review than to read books about books. That’s not true with “Paperbacks From Hell”.

As a fellow writer of scary stories, I am convinced that Nuzo Onoh cheats. Oh sure, she writes terrific horror stories. But instead of straining her imagination and making up the scary bits, she just copies down what goes on in West Africa today.

For instance, Onoh makes use of the West African belief that albinos are imbued with magical power. Real life witch doctors often use of albinos in their rituals. Or parts of albinos.

The first part tells of an albino witch-woman, Xikora, and her clash with a brace of African deities. At the end of this chapter, her daughter, Ọwa, is given a mission in life.

Surprisingly, the next part of the book focuses not on Ọwa, but her daughter, Aku. Aku is far less pagan than her mother or grandmother, and goes to a Catholic school. You can't help but like her, although she is mostly shunned by her community.

There's a nice bit of explanation and insight given into the concepts of human sacrifice, reincarnation, and the gods. As it is explained, all these factors tie together quite terrifyingly.

As in earlier books, very nasty things happen to the heroines in Nuzo Onoh's books. Along with witchcraft and curses, blatant government and police corruption is also shown, giving us a well-rounded view of modern Africa. But there's also a scene where a man ponders which of his children he will sacrifice to the gods to obtain his goals—and it's actually funny.

“Dead Corpse” is a wild, nightmarish ride in places and it reaches a surprising, yet appropriate ending. The depth of the spirituality lifts the book from the usual crop of horror stories.

In her fourth fiction book, Nuzo Onoh has again proved to be a very talented writer. Her characters' sentence structure and the occasional Nigerian word dropped in does not distract, but only adds to the authenticity of the setting. The writing is good and straight forward. A few lines could be tightened here and there, but that’s a small quibble.

A few centuries ago, women were persecuted for witchcraft in America and Europe. Bigotry and superstition still exist; even flourish, to this day. But by setting her stories in her native Nigeria, Onoh weaves a unique world, juxtaposing the jungle witchdoctor casting spells in their huts with corrupt politicians driving Peugeots while talking on mobile phones. Those images, and many others in this book, show how today's Nigeria is a hodge-podge of modern technology and spiritual communion with nature, rural villages and opulent palaces, government corruption and savage customs. This is real horror, rooted in the real-life horrors of today in a world many of us have never experienced.

Thanks to Nuzo Ono, Nigeria is the new Transylvania.

Like the first book in the series, “Traitor’s War” starts with a jumble of names and organizations and sub-organizations and their relationships. Having read the first book some months before, I managed to recall most of the characters and magic artifacts but I still had to literally sit down and make out a list with three headings for the three main organizations.

Anyone not having read the first book would be utterly lost.

This time, our hero Anton is less of the focus than in the previous book, but he is present for some long training sessions early on. Traditionally, training sessions are the most boring scenes in any book or movie. While not the worst I have read, those scenes are not nearly as interesting as what follows.

There is a double agent, code-named the Raven within Anton’s group and we are not supposed to know who it is. That’s a clever idea. Some scenes are told from the Raven’s POV, and that’s great. But to hide the character’s gender from the reader, the author refers to the Raven in the plural. Using “they” and “their” every time the character is referenced is excruciating to the reader.

The big action scene features a pitched battle with helicopter gunships and rocket launchers with nary a wooden stake or crucifix in sight! If that doesn’t get your blood rushing, you must be undead.

The writing is good, but I did find a few misspellings and a couple confusing lines, but nothing very bad. Having American character’s say “bloody” in the sense an Englishman might, is a bit jarring but mostly amusing. Oh, and there’s no such thing as a “rusty Coke can”.

This was a hard book to give a rating, as I wafted between three stars and four. The writing is good, the action is great, and the plot—with all the double-dealing and backstabbing—is clever. All that pushes for a four, possibly a five.

On the other hand, I literally had to sit down and make up a chart to keep track of the characters and their connections. There is an unnamed character referred to in the plural—even in scenes where THEY interact with groups of other characters. Confusing, but mostly irritating.

But I ultimately dropped the score for two simple reasons: this book had no beginning and it had no ending. The reader is thrown into the meanderings of twenty-six characters in the first chapter. Without memorizing the previous book in the series, no one will know who these people are or what the hell is going on. And the “ending” is a cliffhanger. If you want any resolution, you must read the next book.

I’m hoping that book can stand on its own. Graeme Rodaughan is a talented writer and I really want to see where he’s going with all this.

Catholics believe in more crap than any savage living in a jungle. They believe in saints kissing their own severed heads (think about it) and they believe in all kinds of curses and charms. And guilt. I’ve heard Catholics say their greatest fear is to be possessed by a demon.

I, on the other hand, thought “The Exorcist” was hilarious.

OK, so I have trouble taking demonic possession seriously. But I can appreciate a good story about such an event, especially if the characters in the story are well-rounded, unique, and portrayed with nuance and insight.

Like Blatty’s “The Exorcist”, which Janz admits is an inspiration for this story, a pair of priests, one older and more experienced, the other younger and less sure of himself, are called in to deal with a possessed teenager. But there are differences, too. This fourteen-year-old demoniac claims to be a serial killer who has butchered half a dozen girls. And there’s a volatile cop and a belligerent father thrown into the mix. Janz has given us a powder keg in a 10’ by 8’ bedroom.

There’s a sudden jump, after all the violence with the cops and the jerk of a father, to a scene where we see the victim, Casey, clearly becoming supernaturally demonic. The episodes with the demon become increasingly violent and yet progressively insightful.

Like a good Zombie Apocalypse story, it’s important to make the human characters interesting since the zombie—or demon—is innately uninteresting. They’re a one-note monster, and attempts at making variations often become silly. But Janz does give us a range of interesting characters. With eight people in one house, it’s impossible that someone doesn’t have a secret.

And the demon knows your secrets. His greatest power is not the possession or his violent acts, but his ability to see the truth. And he likes to share your hidden truths with everyone. I think this is the reason the demon possessed Casey in the first place—to do as much damage as he can, simply by revealing all the dark secrets of those he touches.

Just as Stephen King’s “Salem’s Lot” is a redo of “Dracula”, the plot of “Exorcist Road” has many of the same events and situations as “The Exorcist” yet it is ultimately its own story. It is very intense, almost claustrophobic, and there’s a great mystery to be solved.

The writing was good but not exceptional. Really, this book is about the plot and characters, not any flowery words. At times, the demon seems the least of the evils in the house.

“The Days of Chivalry; Or, The Legend of Croquemitaine”
written by Ernst L'Epine, 1863
translated by Tom Hood, 1866
illustrated by Gustave Doré

Rarely has a book had so much history, so much mythology, so much mirth, so much tragedy, and so much controversy as “The Legend of Croquemitaine”. The book I read was online, available via the wonderful folks at Gutenberg. The original was written in France in 1863, and represented the mores of the time. It was illustrated with absolute relish by the incomparable Gustave Doré, and like many of his works, they've gained a life of their own. The book was soon translated into English and quickly became immensely popular on both sides of the Channel.

And today it is largely forgotten.

But it's influences are not forgotten. Images and ideas in Croquemitaine have been recreated in everything from Bram Stoker's “Dracula” to the works of HP Lovecraft and other authors of the fantastic.

In “Rogues in the House”, Robert E. Howard's Conan of Cimmeria sneaks into a tower in the fictional nation of Zamora (but named for a real city in Spain) and battles a giant spider. Our heroine Mitaine sneaks into a castle in Spain and does not kill a giant spider... but Doré illustrates her doing just that. Cimmerians, by the way, are mentioned in L'Epine's text.

But above all, Croquemitaine was a major inspiration for JRR Tolkien's “Lord of the Rings”. His shield maiden Eowyn, decked out in chain mail and hauberk, with sword in hand and blond tresses billowing in the wind, is the mirror image of Mitaine herself. Mitaine laughs in the face of the King of Fear as Eowyn laughs in the face of the King of the Nazgul. The mysterious assassin in black who kills Mitaine's brother and almost kills her as a babe is a prelude to the black-hooded Nazgul who seek to slay Frodo and the Hobbits with their daggers. Just before dying at Roncevalles, Roland blows his horn and it is heard miles away. Boromir does the same just before dying in battle.

Aside from the many authors who found inspiration in the pages of the Croquemitaine, the book stands on its own for its wry humor and delightful illustrations. Reading it, I could not help thinking it would make a terrific movie.

But it won't happen in our era. In this book, Muslims are described as devious cutthroats, liars, cheats, thieves, and braggards. They are often referred to as heathens and idolators. In one scene, Roland is wisked away to Heaven where he meets Mahomet (Muhammad) and he slaps the Prophet in the face! Try doing that in a book or movie today and you'll be camping out with Salman Rushdie.

The name Croque-mitaine refers to a French bogeyman—literally it means mitten-eater, or even hand-eater, implying a monster that eats a child's hands if they don't stop sucking their thumbs. But here the term is given a different origin by Mitaine as a child. She invents the term for the nameless assassin who, as she sees it, wants to eat up the little Mitaine.

5 stars.

“Absinthe”
by Tony-Paul de Vissage, 2016

The Absinthe of the title is not the famous liquor, but a character. And here the Green Fairy is male, a green-eyed addiction summoned by Voodoo. Perhaps here de Vissage is interpreting the word fairy in the modern vernacular.
But this is a tale of passions in the sultry swamps of Louisiana two hundred years ago. It's a tale of white gentry and black slaves and red Indians, all coming together in lust and magic.
Everyone in the book is getting into somebody's pants and if this book is any indication, it would appear that almost every man in New France and Old was gay or at least bi. One exception is the old witch woman, Maman Lusa. But then, clearly she's the wisest character in the story, because all this lust and longing produces unwanted children, suicide, blackmail, and even murder.
After the randy Étienne abandons his unloved wife in the French colonies, he returns to his homeland, hoping to see Louisiana never again. Unknown to him, his wife made sure she was pregnant with their. She gave birth to a son but gave him up for adoption.
Twenty years later, the son, nicknamed Absinthe, is employed in a brothel, servicing men and the woman who owns the place. He also takes a lover, Rouge.
Then Étienne returns to New Orleans upon hearing of the death of his wife. He's hoping to make a new life once he disposes of the plantation. But first he decides to have a little fun at his old haunts on the bad side of town.
At about Chapter 5 I suddenly had a vision of where the plot was going. And I must say it made me laugh and cringe at the same time. I think many a reader will just cringe because the especially-forbidden act is... Oh, read it for yourself. If you dare.
But this big scene—which would be the climax (so to speak) of most books—occurs only about a quarter of the way in. And while the almost-act is interrupted, there are plenty more to follow.
I began reading this book knowing it would be about Voodoo and would have a same-sex relationship. Indeed, almost every man in this book is gay. “...Absinthe realized there might exist a few men he couldn’t cajole through use of his body.” Well, I've always said I don't care what other people do in bed.
Well, that sentiment was put to the test with “Absinthe”.
I admit I was not prepared for the several close brushes with incest and seeing the 'heroes' committing rape and blackmail because they can get away with it. Seeing father and son performing sexual acts side by side (admittedly, with separate partners), is not comfortable reading. And worst of all, they smoke tobacco! These are not likeable characters.
But the plot is still interesting, containing many romantic twists and turns. Absinthe brings the Voodoo of Louisiana to old France but this is an unusually sexualized brand of Voodoo. When he gets caught with his pants down (literally), his father is startlingly complacent about the whole thing.
Relationships get amusingly complicated towards the end as Absinthe manages to bed almost everyone. The ending is very dramatic, unexpected, and suitably intense.
The writing is good, and sometimes it shines. Consider this line: “... she braved the swamp's gator-filled waters to reach the hut where the old obeah-woman lived. It was deep in the bayou's interior, with trees huddled together on the water-logged banks, stretching their moss-laden branches over the water. Mosquitoes swarmed the river's surface in seething clouds, loud hums warning of their malaria-ridden bites.” If that doesn't take you to the backwaters of the Deep South, I don't know what will.
The book has wonderful historical details that take the reader to the New Orleans of 1725 and shows us the world of that time. We see the wooden ships and elaborate fashions of the day. We hear the clatter of horseshoes on cobblestones and we smell the stank of dead fish. This is a world of great excesses and great poverty side by side. It is a world where men know their place and serve, however resentfully, their masters. Slavery is shown accurately, as is the role of women. Modern readers may not enjoy seeing such things but we need to know how life was in the past if we are to appreciate the present.
In New France, where the story begins, there's a brothel named The White Swallow. So that's where that old gag came from.
While not containing the supernatural elements we come to expect from Tony-Paul de Vissage, (at least until chapter 30, and then it's appropriately subdued) “Absinthe” is nonetheless an enjoyable read. Skim over the m/m scenes if you must, but give it a read.
Quibble: “The cabin was small, surely not more than eight feet square.” So... it measures like four feet by two feet? Yes, that's small.

5 stars.

“ESPER FILES—A Steampunk Superhero Series”
by Egan Brass

The book starts with a prolog, set in something resembling Victorian times, in which a grandstanding professor creates a machine that blows up. The resulting explosion alters… something. And as a result, twenty percent of Earth’s population become Espers—mutants whose abilities are based on their personalities. So an easily-enraged individual can suddenly shoot fire from his hands and melt metal. Or a timid girl can do the same with ice. They’re called superheroes for a good reason: the Espers have powers commonly seen in the pages of comic books, especially Marvel’s X-Men.

Firebrand has a fiery touch like Pyro. James teleports like Kitty Pride. Shadow can take on anyone’s form, just like Mystique. Aria manipulates air like Wind Dancer. Freya has the same power as Iceman. And Nathan? Like Rogue, he can absorb and replicate any other mutant, er, Esper ability. They even have an Institute and a Professor leading them!

Only they’re set in Victorian England.

If that’s what you’re looking for, this is your (comic) book. And like a comic book, “Espers” is charged with nonstop action. Right from the start we have Nathan and James battling Firebrand and the Shadow. And the bits with the vampiric trio of Carla, Marla, and Darla, channeling Huey, Dewey, and Louie, are funny.

The characters are likeable and appealing. The writing is sharp and fast-paced. Clearly, Brass has a lot of enthusiasm for the subject and it shows. If you like high fantasy without any plausibility, check out this book.

But it didn’t work for me.

Fiction is based on the willing suspension of disbelief. Readers of this series will need to suspend disbelief by the truckload. Not only is there nothing provided like a scientific explanation of why people can suddenly teleport or catch on fire but their abilities fly in the face of physics and common sense.
We expect that of superheroes, but not Steampunk.

3 stars

“Road of Bones”
by John Huber, 2016

Love is not always a good thing. Sometimes it is a horrific thing. There's the new mom who loves her baby so much that she squeezes it to death. There's possessive love that leads to insane jealousy.

There's the love that makes you protect your loved one at all costs, even murdering anyone you perceive as a threat to your beloved.

And now, there is the all-encompassing desire for love—even if you know that the relationship must end in savage murder.

“Road of Bones” is the story of a serial killer, a man named Xander who kills for love. He deeply loves every woman he kills and he kills her to keep his greatest love, that of the demoness who demands these sacrifices.

OK, that's freaky. But it gets freakier. This is also the story of each of his victims, as they die.

These vignettes of pain and suffering are sometimes presented like poetry, with broken lines with curious formatting, reminiscent of portions of Danielewski's “House of Leaves”. In other places, we have bits of narrative set off from regular text. We also get photographs of scenes from the book (at least in the edition I read).

There are some painful truths about serial killers here, but even more painful are the truths about victims. Xander targets women who are already the broken victims of other men. For the first time in a long time, he makes them happy. Then, like sheep to slaughter, he leads them to their doom.

Xander kills these women brutally. The other men, those who came first, broke them but left them alive. Who's to say which man is the cruelest?

Xander's victims suffer and he is made to suffer along side them, inside their minds and bodies as they die. The reader will suffer as well, let there be no doubt.

John Huber, already known for his quirky writing style, is at his quirkiest here. Consider this: “I broke, the black at my throat, the end and how I knew my skies would fall.” Does that line make any sense? Not a sliver. But, taken in context, it evokes the madness and horror and despair of a lost soul.

But consider this: “She faced me, turned both hands upward, palms out, and rolled her fingers toward her, calling me like a siren breaking sailors against the rocks at her shore, all men drunk and stupid and powerless like me. I followed.”

And this: “Like the scourge and agony of a funeral pyre, (sorrow) purged the blackness across my bones and brought me back to the road, the longest one I had ever known. I stared down the final walk and my greatest ache was that I would walk it alone.”

Around the 75% mark, the book becomes a medical, police, and legal procedural, and ultimately a theological debate. The writing in this part is perhaps more approachable but frankly the story loses energy. But this only shows how the insanity in Xander's life contrasts with any kind of normalcy.

Even so, Huber's writing is powerful, always thoughtful and evocative. His characters are always real, no matter how depraved. And his stories are always like a car crash, fascinating but unpleasant. This book is not an easy read but it is unforgettable.

Quibbles: During the climactic battle towards the end, a character is able to inflict physical pain on a corpse possessed by a ghost. This gives me pause but other readers may not be so picky.

There's an utterly unnecessary preface to the book, unnecessary primarily because it's better for the reader to just drop into the book and accept it as-is. The preface also raises questions about the author's motivations which are more than we need to know. At the least, this same material, placed at the end of the book, would be less intrusive to the reading experience.

Note: This may be one of the few times you'll get to see photographs of a book's author, shirtless, covered in blood, and clutching a murder weapon, used as the front cover and interior art. Then again, it might become the next fad.

5 stars