I cannot fathom how I had never heard of this book until it showed up in the used bookstore. Blaggard's Moon is an intricate puzzle-box that locks into just the right places at just the right time to cause the maximum intrigue, a far-ranging and high-flying adventure story, and a purgative plumb into the depths of the human heart. I'd never even heard of it from Superversive Press, for crying out loud, and of all the books I've read in my life, only Till We Have Faces has been more superversive than this. Is it that no one can remember a name like “Polivka”? Is it that no one expects a fantasy masterwork from Harvest House Publishers? Whatever the case, it's a crying injustice and I implore everyone reading to buy the book if they must borrow money to get it.
Most of the mystery is in seeing how the major characters intertwine, so I'd better review them as individually as I possibly can.
SMITH DELANEY, a man of tremendous recall but very little imagination, is condemned to die a gruesome death at nightfall for the one truly good deed he has done in years. In waiting for his death, he recalls the whole sweeping story as told to him by his old shipmate Ham Drumbone, and reflects on it as it shines lights on his own sorry history and humanity as a whole. That reflection, though. Never has a man who spends a three-hundred-page book sitting on a post been so compelling. (A post in a lake set up by witch doctors and filled with starving piranhas, I'll grant, but that's not the heart of the drama.)
JENTA STILLMITHERS, a lowborn young woman who has learned deceit from the cradle so that she may escape her mother's menial lot, is the epitome of silk hiding steel. She is also the focal point of a question that, for perhaps the first time in my life, grabbed me straight by the throat: “Who gets the girl?” The very fact that Delaney and shipmates don't KNOW the answer to that question becomes wrapped up into the mystery of the book, and the resolution of it does not in any way disappoint.
DAMRICK FELLOWS' first fight with a pirate vessel exposes to him how deep the whole world is sunk in the pockets of piracy. From then on, a navy man no more, blazing his own trail, he brings every ounce of firepower and brainpower he has to bear against pirates and all their foul trade. He is, in many respects, the epitome of the swashbuckling hero, and far more considerate of the innocent than most of the breed, but his bloody-handed ruthlessness when on a mission shows an undeniable dark side to him.
CONCH IMBRY, de facto lord of the pirates, is to the likes of Barbossa as Sherlock Holmes is to Encyclopedia Brown. He is the archetype at its highest. This is a story of the nature of good in a corrupt world, and the Conch owns the seas, with all that implies. His every scene is poised on a knife-edge between the rough, genial courtliness of a man at ease with his power and an ice-cold undertow that is at its least perilous when it draws its victims to a mere grave.
RUNSFORD RYLAND is a shipping magnate who makes it his life's work to be deep in the mutual pockets of anyone who counts, that he may rest above all shifting waves like the scum he is. The running theme of men doing evil things to get by in this hard world, seeming (but only seeming) to have no choice, finds its most powerful spokesman in him. He is also a fine specimen of an argument against the idea that, if the deed is good, the intent doesn't really matter. The best deed he accomplishes in the novel, because it was done with evil intent, ends by filling me with a flavor of rage heretofore reserved only for Light Yagami. Now, this is NOT what Delaney thinks of Runsford. Delaney offers not an ounce more support toward his behavior, but he does manage to pity the man all the same, and in this Delaney is a better soul than I can be.
WENTWORTH RYLAND, his son, is a no-account carouser and all else that comes of lots of money and no ambition. A character like that in a story like this is usually a speed bump on the way to the main action, but not Wentworth. Wentworth is central, and deeply sympathetic, and his story, as it touches on all the others, encapsulates both the best and worst of humanity.
How may that be, you ask yourself. If you read the book, you'll soon also be racking your brains about the significance of “a lang true la”, and the whole nature of the chronology where Delaney comes into the story, and, for pity's sake, who lives and who dies and who gets the girl and why don't the pirates hearing the story seem to know the answers to these questions? And if my experience is any judge, you'll be brought to purgative tears before you're a hundred pages in.