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Vandarei #1
Red Moon and Black Mountain
Three children are drawn into another world where a fierce conflict for power is waging.
268 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1970
18 people are currently reading
1417 people want to read
About the author
Joy Chant
8 books24 followersJoy Chant is the pen name of Eileen Joyce Rutter. She is a British fantasy writer, best known for the three House of Kendreth novels, published 1970 to 1983. Born in London, she started writing in her early teens. She began publishing her writing while working as a Schools Librarian in London. She attended college in Wales, where her father had been stationed during World War II. Later, she lived with her husband and children in Leigh-on-Sea, Essex.
Red Moon and Black Mountain won the Mythopoeic Fantasy Award in 1972. The Grey Mane of Morning was a runner for the same award in 1981, with tenth place in the Locus Poll Award the same year. When Voiha Wakes won the Mythopoeic Fantasy Award in 1984. The High Kings, which took second place in the Locus Poll Award, won the 1984 World Fantasy Special Award for Professional Work. lieutenant was also a nominee of the Hugo Award for Best Non-Fiction Book.
Red Moon and Black Mountain won the Mythopoeic Fantasy Award in 1972. The Grey Mane of Morning was a runner for the same award in 1981, with tenth place in the Locus Poll Award the same year. When Voiha Wakes won the Mythopoeic Fantasy Award in 1984. The High Kings, which took second place in the Locus Poll Award, won the 1984 World Fantasy Special Award for Professional Work. lieutenant was also a nominee of the Hugo Award for Best Non-Fiction Book.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 96 reviews
May 20, 2020
the children are transported to a different world, not a Narnia but an adult world, a LOTR world writ small, a world of battles and magic and a dark menace threatening all. the children take separate journeys, of course, the eldest experiencing time in a different way. he becomes of the land, forgetting his past. a war is won, of course, but the journey is not over, not for him. a sacrifice must be made.
the book itself is a transporting experience. not simple, not quick; an immersion. there are scenes of a poetic kind of power: a battle between eagles, a horse choosing its rider, a whole life in our world slowly erased from memory, wood-folk dropping silently from trees, sea-folk coming ashore and dancing on a beach, a terrible earth goddess come from below, a terrible ritual underground to appease her.
Joy Chant was aptly named. the wildness of "joy" and a strange, rhythmic "chant" that calls out, a summons. she writes as she was named. the prose is masterful and the story is resonant, rich with myth, hinting at and sometimes plunging into unknowable depths. this fantasy for teens can be read by teens and adults alike, but perhaps better appreciated by those with a lifetime of experience behind them. and that terrible-wonderful ending! such a surprise and yet somehow inevitable.
the book itself is a transporting experience. not simple, not quick; an immersion. there are scenes of a poetic kind of power: a battle between eagles, a horse choosing its rider, a whole life in our world slowly erased from memory, wood-folk dropping silently from trees, sea-folk coming ashore and dancing on a beach, a terrible earth goddess come from below, a terrible ritual underground to appease her.
Joy Chant was aptly named. the wildness of "joy" and a strange, rhythmic "chant" that calls out, a summons. she writes as she was named. the prose is masterful and the story is resonant, rich with myth, hinting at and sometimes plunging into unknowable depths. this fantasy for teens can be read by teens and adults alike, but perhaps better appreciated by those with a lifetime of experience behind them. and that terrible-wonderful ending! such a surprise and yet somehow inevitable.
March 31, 2015
3.75; while at times coming dangerously close to becoming a generic 'epic quest' a la Tolkien, the passages of lyrical visionary power (such as the battle of the eagles) and the solemn introspection it brings to standard fantasy tropes raise it above the rote conventions of the sword & sorcery genre and place it somewhere near the same unique territory Alan Garner explored in his fictions.
May 23, 2020
I took a literature class in college that was supposed to be science fiction, but they changed it to fantasy the week it started, due to whining from kids who signed up for it not knowing what SF was.
Oh, lord! Stuck in a classroom full of Tolkien fanatics. We got to read "The Hobbit," which I was done with in 6 th grade. For these innocents, it opened up a whole new world. I should have introduced them to Lovecraft, who was not so well known in our backwater university.
Anyway, if it hadn't been for "The Forgotten Beasts of Eld" and this book I would have gone mad.
Forward 8 years, I am loose in the world, a failure at the dating game, when I notice this gem on the bookshelf of a young man I am seeing. I mention my love for the book, and six months later we are husband and wife.
Well, it was a bit more involved than that. He also owned The Forgotten Beasts of Eld, " played "Dungeons and Dragons" (actually wrote modules for them!), bought me a home computer instead of an engagement ring (1982!). I'm other words, perfect.
I re-read this book a couple of years ago. It is still worth falling in love over.
Oh, lord! Stuck in a classroom full of Tolkien fanatics. We got to read "The Hobbit," which I was done with in 6 th grade. For these innocents, it opened up a whole new world. I should have introduced them to Lovecraft, who was not so well known in our backwater university.
Anyway, if it hadn't been for "The Forgotten Beasts of Eld" and this book I would have gone mad.
Forward 8 years, I am loose in the world, a failure at the dating game, when I notice this gem on the bookshelf of a young man I am seeing. I mention my love for the book, and six months later we are husband and wife.
Well, it was a bit more involved than that. He also owned The Forgotten Beasts of Eld, " played "Dungeons and Dragons" (actually wrote modules for them!), bought me a home computer instead of an engagement ring (1982!). I'm other words, perfect.
I re-read this book a couple of years ago. It is still worth falling in love over.
September 17, 2019
When I was a young girl Joy Chant was part of the triarchy from whom I bought and read everything I could get my hands on (the other two being Joan D. Vinge and Elizabeth A. Lynn). So I thought it was about time after all those years to get re-acquainted with my childhood dreams.
As things turned out I could not remember a single character, scene or bit of the worldbuilding from this book here. I remembered that I loved it, but the rest completely had vanished into the mists of times lost. So it was with great anticipation that I started this book, reminded myself that it is from the 1970ies, that it is a book for young readers, that I should be lenient with my nostalgia …
Thankfully those reminders weren't necessary. Yes, it feels a bit dated in the way it emulates in parts Lord of the Rings (like so many Fantasy books from those times did), but for a book for children it has surprising depth and wonderful feeling for worldbuilding.
Three children are transported into a fantastical world in a kind of Narnia meets Tolkien way (but of the good sort). Each one of them has to fulfill her/his own quest in events leading to your typical good vs evil battle. The emphasis is on the elder brother and his chosen-one fate. Here is the strength of Joy Chant's writing in so far that she portrays the young man not only as the coming-of-age hero, but with so much self awareness, doubts about warfare and musings about the relationship to nature, that it stood out for me. I'm not sure young me got all those layers, all the more nowadays me enjoyed the dive into these depths.
A children's book with thoughfulness. A wonderful second acquaintance with my nostalgia.
I'm immensely looking forward to the second Vandarei book.
As things turned out I could not remember a single character, scene or bit of the worldbuilding from this book here. I remembered that I loved it, but the rest completely had vanished into the mists of times lost. So it was with great anticipation that I started this book, reminded myself that it is from the 1970ies, that it is a book for young readers, that I should be lenient with my nostalgia …
Thankfully those reminders weren't necessary. Yes, it feels a bit dated in the way it emulates in parts Lord of the Rings (like so many Fantasy books from those times did), but for a book for children it has surprising depth and wonderful feeling for worldbuilding.
Three children are transported into a fantastical world in a kind of Narnia meets Tolkien way (but of the good sort). Each one of them has to fulfill her/his own quest in events leading to your typical good vs evil battle. The emphasis is on the elder brother and his chosen-one fate. Here is the strength of Joy Chant's writing in so far that she portrays the young man not only as the coming-of-age hero, but with so much self awareness, doubts about warfare and musings about the relationship to nature, that it stood out for me. I'm not sure young me got all those layers, all the more nowadays me enjoyed the dive into these depths.
A children's book with thoughfulness. A wonderful second acquaintance with my nostalgia.
I'm immensely looking forward to the second Vandarei book.
November 4, 2021
So: siblings fall into a fantasy world and have separate adventures, to rejoin at the story's climax and bittersweet ending. This gives the story the requisite YA elevator pitch and "if you wish Narnia and Lord of the Rings had a love-baby" tagline*, but it's clear that this was just to get the book in the door.
Chant is working from her own playbook, and while the observant can see the Narnia influences in the early sections and the deeper more satisfying Middle Earth worldbuilding through the ending stretch, the core is wholly original in the way that _The Riddle-Master of Hed_ or _Mustapha and His Wise Dog_ are.
Despite this, I did struggle through its early and middle, where it did feel like a YA story that was taking too long to get going. Chant takes her time to line up circumstances so that the battle can occur, and it is the lead up to this and its denouement that resonate. Not just in terms of "the battle is the whole reason we are here" but there is an emotional and spiritual payload: what happens to the hero after he spends himself on this horrible task? How does he find purpose afterwards? This is not the pat "and now the Earth children return home in a puff of logic" but the tail end of their journey that they must complete themselves, even if it requires hard decisions and one more near-impossible task.
Having finished, I'm curious about the remainder of the series, if they carry forward the nooks and crannies of worldbuilding and the respect that Chant gives the reader, where events and places are mentioned without explanation, as part of this world's long battle with the evil of a Judeo-Christian fallen angel figure and the long decline of divine magic.
*(God I hope nobody ever uses that tagline)
Chant is working from her own playbook, and while the observant can see the Narnia influences in the early sections and the deeper more satisfying Middle Earth worldbuilding through the ending stretch, the core is wholly original in the way that _The Riddle-Master of Hed_ or _Mustapha and His Wise Dog_ are.
Despite this, I did struggle through its early and middle, where it did feel like a YA story that was taking too long to get going. Chant takes her time to line up circumstances so that the battle can occur, and it is the lead up to this and its denouement that resonate. Not just in terms of "the battle is the whole reason we are here" but there is an emotional and spiritual payload: what happens to the hero after he spends himself on this horrible task? How does he find purpose afterwards? This is not the pat "and now the Earth children return home in a puff of logic" but the tail end of their journey that they must complete themselves, even if it requires hard decisions and one more near-impossible task.
Having finished, I'm curious about the remainder of the series, if they carry forward the nooks and crannies of worldbuilding and the respect that Chant gives the reader, where events and places are mentioned without explanation, as part of this world's long battle with the evil of a Judeo-Christian fallen angel figure and the long decline of divine magic.
*(God I hope nobody ever uses that tagline)
Read
April 15, 2011I read very few children's books as a child (my tastes ran to mythology). Reading this as an adult, I noticed a lot more about the everyday lives of the people of Vandarei than I probably would've as a child. I also noticed the philosophical complexity. The childhood fantasies Chant records as an adult might always have been philosophically complex, and they surely are now-- there's no doubt that this is not a simple 'good vs evil' story, if read with attention to the discussions, rather than just the pageantry.
For example, this may be the first book where I read the flat statement that 'the end does NOT justify the means'. But it's an equivocal statement. The Vandarin don't intend not to kill people: they just refuse to meddle with their minds. It's also probably the first book I've encountered where the fear of a 'warrior' is broadened to include not only the fear of dying, but also the fear of killing. We're told in our society that nobody who's sanctioned to kill has any right to be hesitant to use that sanction. 'That's different' people say about 'authorized' killings. But it's not, of course. Still, the 'enemy army' are killed without apparent remorse--nobody seems to care about the suffering and griefs of THEIR families. And Li'vanh somehow sees himself as uniquely guilty because he CAN'T commit murder dispassionately.
Then there's the retort of the Earth Witch, who points out that the others scorn them because their religion involves the shedding of blood--but that in this battle, those who despise the Earth Witches have shed more blood in a night than the Earth Witches do in a century.
It's not sensible to expect answers to these questions in one book--but at least they've been raised, instead of ignored as in far too many other books.
For example, this may be the first book where I read the flat statement that 'the end does NOT justify the means'. But it's an equivocal statement. The Vandarin don't intend not to kill people: they just refuse to meddle with their minds. It's also probably the first book I've encountered where the fear of a 'warrior' is broadened to include not only the fear of dying, but also the fear of killing. We're told in our society that nobody who's sanctioned to kill has any right to be hesitant to use that sanction. 'That's different' people say about 'authorized' killings. But it's not, of course. Still, the 'enemy army' are killed without apparent remorse--nobody seems to care about the suffering and griefs of THEIR families. And Li'vanh somehow sees himself as uniquely guilty because he CAN'T commit murder dispassionately.
Then there's the retort of the Earth Witch, who points out that the others scorn them because their religion involves the shedding of blood--but that in this battle, those who despise the Earth Witches have shed more blood in a night than the Earth Witches do in a century.
It's not sensible to expect answers to these questions in one book--but at least they've been raised, instead of ignored as in far too many other books.
January 14, 2010
This was one of the first fantasy novels I found, after Lord of the Rings was finally published in the US, that was not a cheap knock-off of LOTR. Chant was as skilled at world-building as Tolkien and she too confronted the not-so-happily-ever-after that makes her characters psychologically true. And I think her Dark Lord may be a superior evocation of evil. But, aside from all that, it is a great story with wonderful individuals, glorious landscapes, breathless suspense, and deep emotion. And that's what I want from a fantasy.
August 12, 2009
She wrote like a poet.
October 18, 2024
I read this when it first came out in the old Ballantine paperback series (ca. 1971). I remember liking it then. Chant's books are not the easiest to track down now. I still like it, which is not always the case on rereading things long afterward.
The overarching genre is clearly fantasy. It is sometimes described as young adult, although I think the writing is a bit elevated and challenging for that classification. Chant seems to draw on multiple influences. The three children are plucked from the the everyday world to another world to take part in a conflict of good and evil (Lewis, Narnia). Fendarl is something like Sauron, Kunil-Bannoth something like Saruman. There is not really a quest, so not that tradition. The Khentors are something like the Golden Horde. In the final conflict with Fendarl there is much reminiscent of the Iliad: the individual combats; the catalog of troops on the march is similar to the catalog of ships in Iliad 2; Li'vanh's vision of the gods and immortals in the battle is like the appearance of the gods in the battles of the Iliad. So let's just call it eclectic.
It is a good story, with interesting characters. We watch the children grow, especially Oliver, although it is not a Bildungsroman. Chant is especially good at bringing out the sense of loss and tragedy that afflicts the victors, the ambiguity of war even in a good cause. A few quotes from many passages:
"He was much more than weary: in very truth he was exhausted; or utterly spent, worn-out, empty. He had conquered, but his victory had the taste of failure. He was filled with a corroding disappointment, and a bitter sense of loss. He felt bereft, although of what he did not know."
"All our lives we strive against evil with all our strength; yet what does our victory come to? That today we are the conquerors, because yesterday we did more harm to our enemies than they could do to us."
"But the thing which he had lost he never did regain, though what it was he could never have said."
What I like most is Chant's style, which ranges from straightforward storytelling to rhetorical flourishes. A few of many passages that struck me, stopped me, demanded rereading:
"A long walk it was, up along winding mountain paths, the air glittering with cold, the ground treacherous with ice, and the wind tugging at them all the way."
"It was darker, certainly; the sky was a thicker grey, and the mountains' shadow chilled them."
"The smoke, the smoke smelling of more than burning wood, the smoke whose smell Li'vanh could never forget, was everywhere." (a great classical ascending tricolon!)
Her images are striking; she often takes an a basic idea or image, expands it through multiple clauses with repetitions as in the tricolon above. It is sometimes like watching a painter add stroke on stroke to the canvas.
As I noted, she draws from many sources and traditions, but ends with her own thing: an adventure story with a keen sense of the tragic that underlies life, mundane or heroic.
The overarching genre is clearly fantasy. It is sometimes described as young adult, although I think the writing is a bit elevated and challenging for that classification. Chant seems to draw on multiple influences. The three children are plucked from the the everyday world to another world to take part in a conflict of good and evil (Lewis, Narnia). Fendarl is something like Sauron, Kunil-Bannoth something like Saruman. There is not really a quest, so not that tradition. The Khentors are something like the Golden Horde. In the final conflict with Fendarl there is much reminiscent of the Iliad: the individual combats; the catalog of troops on the march is similar to the catalog of ships in Iliad 2; Li'vanh's vision of the gods and immortals in the battle is like the appearance of the gods in the battles of the Iliad. So let's just call it eclectic.
It is a good story, with interesting characters. We watch the children grow, especially Oliver, although it is not a Bildungsroman. Chant is especially good at bringing out the sense of loss and tragedy that afflicts the victors, the ambiguity of war even in a good cause. A few quotes from many passages:
"He was much more than weary: in very truth he was exhausted; or utterly spent, worn-out, empty. He had conquered, but his victory had the taste of failure. He was filled with a corroding disappointment, and a bitter sense of loss. He felt bereft, although of what he did not know."
"All our lives we strive against evil with all our strength; yet what does our victory come to? That today we are the conquerors, because yesterday we did more harm to our enemies than they could do to us."
"But the thing which he had lost he never did regain, though what it was he could never have said."
What I like most is Chant's style, which ranges from straightforward storytelling to rhetorical flourishes. A few of many passages that struck me, stopped me, demanded rereading:
"A long walk it was, up along winding mountain paths, the air glittering with cold, the ground treacherous with ice, and the wind tugging at them all the way."
"It was darker, certainly; the sky was a thicker grey, and the mountains' shadow chilled them."
"The smoke, the smoke smelling of more than burning wood, the smoke whose smell Li'vanh could never forget, was everywhere." (a great classical ascending tricolon!)
Her images are striking; she often takes an a basic idea or image, expands it through multiple clauses with repetitions as in the tricolon above. It is sometimes like watching a painter add stroke on stroke to the canvas.
As I noted, she draws from many sources and traditions, but ends with her own thing: an adventure story with a keen sense of the tragic that underlies life, mundane or heroic.
January 20, 2016
Epic high fantasy needn’t be epic in length. What matters is the story: creation — or at least the world — is at stake, the outcome will be settled between the forces of good and evil, and the tale is told from multiple viewpoints. Red Moon and Black Mountain shows how it can be done in under three hundred pages.
July 1, 2019
A lost classic of the genre that draws inspiration from Narnia and Tolkien. The basic formula: three kids find themselves snatched out of our reality into a fantastic one, where forces of good and evil vie for dominion. Some exceptional world building is here, and elegant use of language, but I just wish I had read it when I was fourteen: it would have made a much stronger impression.
October 18, 2014
This book was one of the first epic fantasies to come out of Ballentine's adult fantasy line back in the 1970’s, yet it seems that few readers are familiar with either the book or the author today. Despite multiple award nominations and enthusiastic reviews, Miss Chant went on to publish only three more novels before she disappeared from the fantasy scene.
The premise of is familiar, although back in the 70s not yet a cliché: Three children are unexpectedly whisked out of modern-day England and dropped into the fantasy land of Kedrinh. There, they become pivotal figures in an epic battle between forces of good and evil. This, however, is no Lord of the Rings rip-off, like another fantasy written about the same time that I might mention. The world of Khendiol (of which Kedrinh is only a part) existed in Chant's imagination long before she wrote about it. Chant draws on familiar legends, Christian symbolism, and pagan mthology, and gives it all her own slant.
While the younger children, Nicholas and Penelope, are magically transported to the windy slopes of Black Mountain and a fateful meeting with the Princess In’serinna, their teenage brother, Oliver, is sent elsewhere, and fated to play a far more important role among the nomadic Khentor.
In’serrina and her entourage are climbing the mountain in order to watch a battle between the white eagles and the black -- a bloody combat, eerily lit by the red moon, which is also a preliminary test of strength between the powers of the Starborn enchanters, represented by the Princess, and their exiled kinsman, the magician Fendarl. Through long years of exile, Fendarl has grown in power, and now war seems inevitable, so even if the White Eagles are able to win this skirmish -- which is described powerfully and in detail -- there is no guarantee that the Starborn will prevail in the greater battle ahead.
Some confusion arises because Chant has a tendency to make too many of the names sound alike, but otherwise one of the delights of this book is the elegantly clear but beautiful prose, as here the Princess encourages the White Eagles to fight on, even though outnumbered:
She spread her arms and held out her hands to the White Eagles, and called out to them in a language Nicholas did not understand. It was a language of cold pure sounds; a language of words harsh and sad. It brought visions of bare shining rockscapes, or high lonely peaks of wintry solitudes through nights of splintering cold and days of piercing light. Every word seemed to come acriss vast gulfs, gulfs wider than space and deeper than time; one soul speaking to another across a schism made in the very beginning of the world. Nicholas' whole body shuddered as he listened.
The battle between the eagles ends with the rising of the white moon.
Separated from their party on the mountain In’serrina and Penny are captured by enemy forces. The Princess is weakened by her need to protect the children; otherwise her power would have been too great for her captors to overcome. Fortunately, Nick escapes to summon assistance.
After several days of defiant and anxious imprisonment, the Princess and Penny are rescued by Lord Vahn, grandson of a king allied with the Starborn. As they journey toward Rennath, her father's realm, it soon becomes evident that In’serrina and Vahn have a history, and this part of the story is particularly engaging as a Penny tries to decipher the romantic tensions between the adults.
The Lord was merely proud and silent; but the Princess was troubled and miserable, and Penelope grew unhappy watching her. She would sit on the horse with her head drooping, arguing endlessly within herself; and then suddenly fling her hair back and laugh defiantly, and start talking with fierce gaiety. But that was always the signal for Vahn to fall silent or to give curt answers. Once or twice her temper flashed, and they almost quarreled. On the whole Penelope preferred the Princess to be silent.
Though many readers will be reminded of the story of Aragorn and Arwen, at least Chant treats In’serinna’s dilemma -- in having to choose between her magical heritage and her deep love for Vahn -- as the wrenching and difficult decision it would undoubtedly be.
Chant’s ability to bring people, places, and cultures to life are truly impressive. She is at her best recounting Oliver’s experiences with the Khentor, whose society has been described elsewhere as a cross between Native American and Cossack steppe culture.
Whenever they just said 'the God', they meant Kem'nanh, Kem'nanh was theirs; they were Kem'nanh's. He was the king of the wind, the plains, the sea, horses, men -- anything fierce and free, anything Khentor. It was he whome, hailing him as Lord of the herds, they would thank in song and dance for their good hunting, for the game driven towards their spears. Then after the thanksgiving the hunters would stand forth , and act the story of the hunt. It surprised him the first time, that they told little about their own part; their praise they lavished on their quarry, telling how cunningly it had evaded them, how cleverly it kept watch, how only with the help of Kem'nanh the Hunter had it been killed.
and
Someone began beating softly on a drum, and the girls sang and clapped, and then came slowly winding out of the crowd in a chain, a dancing skein. Around the fire they danced, stepping delicately, their skirts swaying, their dark hair tossing, their high clear voices rising and falling together. Then the men began to sway and stamp, and to sing quietly; and more drums joined the first. Now the men too stepped out and began to dance, casting their own circle around the wreath of girls, and their deep voices joined the song. And the voices of the men were the dark sea, while the voices of the girls were the flying white foam; or the vast dark plain, and the silver light that ran rippling over it; or the wind-brought rumour of thunder,and the shimmering levin-light."
Adopted by the Hurnei tribe, Oliver is quickly absorbed into their society.
Never seeing his own face, never seeing any face that was not slant eyes dark beneath a cap of dark hair, high cheeked and small nosed, with a proud sombre mouth, he forgot that he did not look like them.
For Oliver, time passes at a different pace than it does for his young siblings, and it soon becomes evident that Oliver’s sojourn in Vanderei is of much greater duration than that of Nick and Penny, as he grows from adolescence to maturity within the tribal culture. By the time they meet again he has become so acclimatized to Khentor customs, language and ways of thinking, he barely recognizes the younger children, can’t even properly pronounce their names, and finds himself quite unable to slip back into his expected role as their older brother. From his viewpoint, Oliver Powell no longer even exists, there is only Li’vanh of the Hurnei -- and while some of Oliver’s memories still linger, they are distant and painful, challenging his new sense of identity. The undeniable love he feels for Nick and Penny only makes him feel guility and uncomfortable.
In addition to growing from boy to man, Oliver/Li’vanh has been training as a warrior. Portents that accompanied his first mysterious appearance among them have convinced the Hurnei (staunch allies of In’serrina’s people -- in fact, Prince Vahn is half-Khentor) that he will be their gods-chosen champion against Fendarl when war finally breaks out.
In the event, more will be expected of Li’vahn than simply courage in battle. For war has battered the land itself and sown the fields with dead. In the land of the Khentor, the goddess Vir'Vachal has been roused. Where she comes the people and the animals run mad and die. Unless she is under the earth it will not bear fruit, and they cannot bind her. Only a sacrifice will appease her. It is then that it falls on the Chosen One to pay the ultimate price.
November 4, 2019
This book has a decent enough premise, of a set of siblings being transported from our world into a realm of warfare and sorcery, where they must fight the forces of darkness. It follows through well enough - in theory, at least - with the children being forcibly separated and tackling the world in their own different ways, one being stuck with a princess, the other going native among some local tribes. Each character has their own personalities, experiences a fair bit of growth, and the harships they face are real.
Shame that it's all completely marred by the writing.
The author has an awful grasp of the way of words and prose and how to put it all together. The narrative meanders, the descriptions are dry and shallow, the dialogue wooden and unbelievable, and on the whole none of it fits with the story that is told. It doesn't just not grab me - it's actively pushing me away. It's like plodding through tar or quicksand. I struggled halfway through that field, then figuring that it would not get any better than this, gave up and picked up something else.
Maybe it's just me, though. Several other reviews have praised the prose and the narrative style. The book was apparently quite well-regarded in its time. Certainly it's not just another pile of bland Tolkienian cliches. It tried its own new thing. So it could be that I just missed something big about it, too stuck with technical stuff, peering at individual cogs and never seeing the entire machinery.
It just felt like the book was grabbing my head and shoving my face right into those cogs.
So, yeah. Not a book for me.
Shame that it's all completely marred by the writing.
The author has an awful grasp of the way of words and prose and how to put it all together. The narrative meanders, the descriptions are dry and shallow, the dialogue wooden and unbelievable, and on the whole none of it fits with the story that is told. It doesn't just not grab me - it's actively pushing me away. It's like plodding through tar or quicksand. I struggled halfway through that field, then figuring that it would not get any better than this, gave up and picked up something else.
Maybe it's just me, though. Several other reviews have praised the prose and the narrative style. The book was apparently quite well-regarded in its time. Certainly it's not just another pile of bland Tolkienian cliches. It tried its own new thing. So it could be that I just missed something big about it, too stuck with technical stuff, peering at individual cogs and never seeing the entire machinery.
It just felt like the book was grabbing my head and shoving my face right into those cogs.
So, yeah. Not a book for me.
June 4, 2024
Hace mucho tiempo, en foros ya extintos, me enteré sobre la existencia de esta novela, promocionada como el cruce perfecto entre Narnia y la Tierra Media. Y algo de razón tenían, ya que la historia comienza con tres niños que se ven transportados a un mundo fantástico, vibrante de magia entre fuerzas del Bien y del Mal, donde jugarán un rol fundamental en el destino de este universo. Hasta ahí, muy parecido. No obstante de a poco toma un camino distinto, con una mayor carga emotiva, imprime una atmósfera onírica a una trama más bien simple, junto a un despliegue soberbio de imágenes, mezcla que curiosamente entretiene, e imagino hubiera disfrutado mucho más si lo hubiera leído de joven.
Claramente una fantasía en desuso hoy en día, pero para nada prescindible.
Que bien que ya subieron la única edición en español a Goodreads, bello y exótico ejemplar de Ediciones Andrómeda, editorial fantástica argentina de los 70. Merece una reedición seguro.
Claramente una fantasía en desuso hoy en día, pero para nada prescindible.
Que bien que ya subieron la única edición en español a Goodreads, bello y exótico ejemplar de Ediciones Andrómeda, editorial fantástica argentina de los 70. Merece una reedición seguro.
April 12, 2019
Simple, straight forward classical fantasy. Almost beautiful.
An hybrid of Tolkien and CS Lewis's Chronicles of Narnia. Chant tries to emulate Tolkien's writing as well and partially succeeds.
Loved Penelope and Nicholas, pity there was not enough of them. Penelope charms as an innocent 8 year old (). Nicholas was fitting as the balance between the careless Penelope and the brooding Oliver.
The only reason I withhold the 5th star is Van'h. ()
The names are too similar, not everything is tied up, but I am willing to overlook all that in this case and think that the author succeeded in what she was going for.
An hybrid of Tolkien and CS Lewis's Chronicles of Narnia. Chant tries to emulate Tolkien's writing as well and partially succeeds.
Loved Penelope and Nicholas, pity there was not enough of them. Penelope charms as an innocent 8 year old (). Nicholas was fitting as the balance between the careless Penelope and the brooding Oliver.
The only reason I withhold the 5th star is Van'h. ()
The names are too similar, not everything is tied up, but I am willing to overlook all that in this case and think that the author succeeded in what she was going for.
August 17, 2025
A fantasy story with a compelling plot, though somewhat anticlimactic (intentionally so I think), as well as mature themes around religion and what it means to be human in a world with evil.
October 2, 2020
Unfortunately it's not the sort of thing that grabs me anymore. At age 55 now I'm becoming a lot fussier. I see other reviewers have compared it (mostly unfavourably, though they enjoyed it) to The Lord of the Rings. When I read LOTR, it was captivating—and unlike many, I loved the Shire, the hobbits, and the fuss about the birthday party. By the time Frodo and friends went out on the road, I knew what they were like, and I cared about them and was concerned about upcoming events.
The characters in this book are introduced with what they look like, and almost immediately stumble into a fantasy world, where (of course) despite being in what seems like rural surroundings, they immediately bump into helpful characters (including a princess--what are the chances) who accept them without question and speak English, despite their moon being a different colour.
I mean, that's just annoying.
So three people I don't care about, for no apparent reason, are plunged into an unlikely situation that stays unlikely. There's nothing appealling about it, though I likely would have gobbled this up in 1975 through being starved for fantasy.
I also don't particularly love the tone of the actual sentences, sort of a cross between dry and poetic, but missing the point of what engages a reader (like me). On page 11, by which point I still don't know anything particular about the characters, we get a detailed description of rocks and snow. Maybe they figure later in the story and are important, but I doubt it:
"The path seemed to wind along a mountainside, with the precipice on one hand, and on the other the rockface against which they sat. It was all the same smooth, shiny black rock, streaked thinly with white where the snow had found somewhere to lodge. Mostly the rock was too smooth for it to settle, and it floated in whorls along the ground as the wind blew it."
So there's time for that.
Once they do meet up with the Fantasyland inhabitants, then we get hit with Name-itis, which is a huge pet peeve of mine. I know, I know, LOTR is riddled with names, place names, elven names, historical names, etc., but because of its scale, and because Tolkein was a linguist, it never bothered me in the slightest. But when I read Fantasy now, and the authors lead early on with sentences like "There is neither wall nor gate in the Khentor lands. You are on the Northern Plains, O'li-vanh, in the Realm of Kedrinh, in the land of Vandarei," well, I want to toss the book away (and usually do).
I'm learning Japanese now--that's enough to keep me busy--I don't need to keep track of that much entirely-made-up Geography in what's supposed to be pleasure reading.
So, not for me. On to the next book!
(Note: 5 stars = amazing, wonderful, 4 = very good book, 3 = decent read, 2 = disappointing, 1 = awful, just awful. I'm fairly good at picking for myself so end up with a lot of 4s). I feel a lot of readers automatically render any book they enjoy 5, but I grade on a curve!
The characters in this book are introduced with what they look like, and almost immediately stumble into a fantasy world, where (of course) despite being in what seems like rural surroundings, they immediately bump into helpful characters (including a princess--what are the chances) who accept them without question and speak English, despite their moon being a different colour.
I mean, that's just annoying.
So three people I don't care about, for no apparent reason, are plunged into an unlikely situation that stays unlikely. There's nothing appealling about it, though I likely would have gobbled this up in 1975 through being starved for fantasy.
I also don't particularly love the tone of the actual sentences, sort of a cross between dry and poetic, but missing the point of what engages a reader (like me). On page 11, by which point I still don't know anything particular about the characters, we get a detailed description of rocks and snow. Maybe they figure later in the story and are important, but I doubt it:
"The path seemed to wind along a mountainside, with the precipice on one hand, and on the other the rockface against which they sat. It was all the same smooth, shiny black rock, streaked thinly with white where the snow had found somewhere to lodge. Mostly the rock was too smooth for it to settle, and it floated in whorls along the ground as the wind blew it."
So there's time for that.
Once they do meet up with the Fantasyland inhabitants, then we get hit with Name-itis, which is a huge pet peeve of mine. I know, I know, LOTR is riddled with names, place names, elven names, historical names, etc., but because of its scale, and because Tolkein was a linguist, it never bothered me in the slightest. But when I read Fantasy now, and the authors lead early on with sentences like "There is neither wall nor gate in the Khentor lands. You are on the Northern Plains, O'li-vanh, in the Realm of Kedrinh, in the land of Vandarei," well, I want to toss the book away (and usually do).
I'm learning Japanese now--that's enough to keep me busy--I don't need to keep track of that much entirely-made-up Geography in what's supposed to be pleasure reading.
So, not for me. On to the next book!
(Note: 5 stars = amazing, wonderful, 4 = very good book, 3 = decent read, 2 = disappointing, 1 = awful, just awful. I'm fairly good at picking for myself so end up with a lot of 4s). I feel a lot of readers automatically render any book they enjoy 5, but I grade on a curve!
November 28, 2017
4.5 overall, but in the end this was really satisfying for me. I wasn't expecting that much when I hit the half of the book, but the conclusion was really added value.
This is High Fantasy because, as stated by Fletcher Vredenburgh, what is at stake is Creation, or in other words the Metaphysics of the secondary world. Any such story is high fantasy, for me, regardless of its length.
Ok, so many complained that there is a strong Tolkienesque (cum-Narnian) strain here. And actually it is hard to deny: the style, part of the worldbuilding, and some scenes suspiciously match analogues element of The Lord of the Rings. However, when this was written, The Silmarillion (and The Sword of Shannara) were still 7 years to come. It was probably more inventive then, than it looks now.
Even so, there is much to appreciate: the nomadic culture joined by Oliver, the sinister power of the Wild Magic, the reflections over victory and loss. More of this in 270 pages here than in the 5000 I read of The Wheel of Time.
Curiously, and not often remarked, many of the most inventive bits of this book have been reused by Guy Gavriel Kay in the Fionavar Tapestry: the evil guy banished in/under a mountain, the blood magic and the sacrifice (compare the two scenes!!), a modern day boy joining a nomadic tribe and being accepted as one of them (again here the similarities are in the details). There are so many analogies, that it seems the debt of Kay to Chant is higher of the debt of Chant to Tolkien. Anyway, everybody is free to reuse someone else's ideas, so no complaint here, just an observation. But I find this short book much better crafted than Kay's underwhelming trilogy.
There are various flaws as well: many characters feels cardboard-like and just here to push the plot forward; some ad hoc prophecies are used for the very same goal; the evil dark lord is affected by a bad case of Orcus on his Throne. He never does anything until the final fight: he does not kill anyone, and he's there just for the hero to show his courage.
Still, the good outweighs the bad.
If you like old school high fantasy - this is very far removed from sword'n'sorcery - then this is for you!
This is High Fantasy because, as stated by Fletcher Vredenburgh, what is at stake is Creation, or in other words the Metaphysics of the secondary world. Any such story is high fantasy, for me, regardless of its length.
Ok, so many complained that there is a strong Tolkienesque (cum-Narnian) strain here. And actually it is hard to deny: the style, part of the worldbuilding, and some scenes suspiciously match analogues element of The Lord of the Rings. However, when this was written, The Silmarillion (and The Sword of Shannara) were still 7 years to come. It was probably more inventive then, than it looks now.
Even so, there is much to appreciate: the nomadic culture joined by Oliver, the sinister power of the Wild Magic, the reflections over victory and loss. More of this in 270 pages here than in the 5000 I read of The Wheel of Time.
Curiously, and not often remarked, many of the most inventive bits of this book have been reused by Guy Gavriel Kay in the Fionavar Tapestry: the evil guy banished in/under a mountain, the blood magic and the sacrifice (compare the two scenes!!), a modern day boy joining a nomadic tribe and being accepted as one of them (again here the similarities are in the details). There are so many analogies, that it seems the debt of Kay to Chant is higher of the debt of Chant to Tolkien. Anyway, everybody is free to reuse someone else's ideas, so no complaint here, just an observation. But I find this short book much better crafted than Kay's underwhelming trilogy.
There are various flaws as well: many characters feels cardboard-like and just here to push the plot forward; some ad hoc prophecies are used for the very same goal; the evil dark lord is affected by a bad case of Orcus on his Throne. He never does anything until the final fight: he does not kill anyone, and he's there just for the hero to show his courage.
Still, the good outweighs the bad.
If you like old school high fantasy - this is very far removed from sword'n'sorcery - then this is for you!
January 24, 2010
First, this book is lovingly written and I really enjoyed the prose. It would get more than 3 stars for style and prose quality. I thought the plot and the detail of the story were weaker, which is why it doesn't get a higher rating.
In the story, three children from our world get transported to another world where they have roles to play in a great war of good against evil. It has quite a few Lord of the Rings elements, but because the book is pretty short it didn't really develop the evil enough for me. I also would have liked to have seen more about the evil army. We got virtually no description of that other than generic description. I also felt the evil force was defeated perhaps too easily.
I did enjoy the book and thought the ending was just right. Unexpected but good. And I definitely enjoyed the characters.
In the story, three children from our world get transported to another world where they have roles to play in a great war of good against evil. It has quite a few Lord of the Rings elements, but because the book is pretty short it didn't really develop the evil enough for me. I also would have liked to have seen more about the evil army. We got virtually no description of that other than generic description. I also felt the evil force was defeated perhaps too easily.
I did enjoy the book and thought the ending was just right. Unexpected but good. And I definitely enjoyed the characters.
January 1, 2018
I have to admit it took me a while to get into this story of three kids transported to a magic land, but by the end I was enthralled. It's not really a children's book, and the religious roots are quite clear. Atheist as I am, that doesn't really bother me - it's just another mythological tradition - for legend and myth are the lifeblood of this story, running close under the surface. In many ways it reminds me a little of Narnia (especially The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe) but there's no denying that Chant's work is far kinder, subtler, and more intelligent than Lewis' - more affecting as well. That's not a knock against Lewis, as I'm extremely fond of Narnia, but the two worlds are really written on two very different moral levels.
I'm going to have to find myself a copy.
I'm going to have to find myself a copy.
July 28, 2012
This was an adult fantasy when first marketed/released. I think it would be one for teens as well now -- even mature YA. I remember I liked it a great deal on first reading, but have not re-read it in a few years. Still have it, though! This is a portal fantasy. Some lovely images in it, nice use of traditional fantasy tropes. A couple things I'd question now, thinking back, but only in plot choices. They might work great for others.
October 3, 2010
An enjoyable read for "young and old alike" as they say. I believe it will draw you in and give you insights into "people" while telling you a story.
Sometimes compared to the work of Tolkien and C.S.Lewis (and sometimes criticized as an imitation) the story of children from "our" world going to and adventuring in Vandarei stands up well and is still worth reading and enjoying.
Sometimes compared to the work of Tolkien and C.S.Lewis (and sometimes criticized as an imitation) the story of children from "our" world going to and adventuring in Vandarei stands up well and is still worth reading and enjoying.
Read
April 6, 20134.5 stars
I found Chant’s prose enthralling, her worldbuilding transcendent and her characterization enlightened. For more of my thoughts on this forgotten fantasy classic, please visit this blog posting: http://bit.ly/16AOLi6
I found Chant’s prose enthralling, her worldbuilding transcendent and her characterization enlightened. For more of my thoughts on this forgotten fantasy classic, please visit this blog posting: http://bit.ly/16AOLi6
April 23, 2019
Beautifully crafted epic fantasy in the vein of J.R.R. Tolkien/C.S. Lewis - Chant seems a wonderful prose writer yet despite this it became a little dry at times hence my 3 star rating.
April 4, 2016
Red moon and Black Mountain is a work of great power and beauty, carrying embodied in its symbols and incidents and characters a deep moral and spiritual meaning.
The crux of the novel is Oliver’s commitment to the cause of Good; “But the oracle said only ‘by the young tiger shall your death come’. So more enchantments he made, with more hard-won power, and armoured himself against all that is under sun or moon, against every creature of Khendiol, and went again to the oracle – but this time it was silent. So he can be slain by no creature of Khendiol. None of you could face him; do not try. It would be useless.”
And Li’vanh [Oliver] was taken from the world, and for him all grew still. The talk went on, but he no longer heard. He felt himself to be the pivot of a vast wheel, the focus of the attention of the universe. He stood alone, face to face with a knowledge he did not want, hearing the beginning of a call he wished to flee.
“The young tiger. No creature of Khendiol.” And then another voice. “A warrior in ten thousand”.
No, he thought. No. No!
But he had heard, and he knew, and was alone in a moment grown deep and ringing, as if echoing to a great gong-note. He did not see the Council; he did not hear the voices. He saw only the choice before him and heard only the unmistakeable summons.
He stood up.
“Kiron!” he said loudly, interrupting in a voice hardly his own.
“I am no creature of Khendiol, and men call me the Young Tiger. I think”, he said, his throat grown tight and dry, “that this fight is mine”.
Here, the outer pressure of society’s need, the mere existence of a task that must be done, evokes the sense of identity, the realisation of one’s power to make moral choices, the realisation of one's Self.
The adventures that befall Oliver embody in symbolic form and on a contracted time-scale the progress of an adolescent through a crucial period in the development of self-awareness and self-confidence. His being snatched away from Earth into Khendiol stands for his departure from the secure conditions of childhood, his entry into an unknown region where he can scarcely remember his parents or his home or any of the familiar features of his life. His training in weapons and warfare stands for the internal re-equipping of the self to cope with the demands of adulthood. The combat with Fendarl symbolises his coming to terms with weaknesses and with negative or potentially evil impulses within himself. The return to our world, preceded by a clear recalling of his parents on the night before the battle, signifies a re-emergence into normal life, but on new terms. Bettelheim shows that this pattern is common in folk-tales that are concerned with the adolescent experience;
“…… this development is fraught with dangers; an adolescent must leave the security of childhood, which is represented by getting lost in the dangerous forest; learnt to face up to his violent tendencies and anxieties, symbolised by encounters with wild animals or dragons; get to know himself, which is implied in meeting strange figures and experiences.”
Having passed through all these stages, Oliver is oppressed with a sense of loss, of failure mingled with the success. He feels cheated and despairing; “The ache of loss became a pain and tears burned his eyes. Yet in his shame and grief there was a seed of anger, for it seemed to him that in some way he could not understand he had been cheated. He had been ready to make an offering of his fear, and maybe even of his life; but something had been taken which he had not offered, something which could not be regained and would be missed forever. He felt an oppression, as if part of his life had ended. So he went at last to his rest, wherein lay the only healing for him. But the thing which he had lost he never did regain, though what it was he never would have said. Perhaps it was his youth. For Li-vanh was one who had looked upon the darkness in his own heart, and he must henceforth live his life in the knowledge of that darkness and in the fear of himself.”
This seems a pessimistic conclusion, contrasting markedly with, for example, Ursula LeGuin’s triumphant celebration of Ged’s achievement in facing “the darkness in his own heart” and thereby reaching the fullness of his strength and self-awareness. As Neumann says, each emergence into a new stage of life is characterised by a sense of loss, even of abandonment and betrayal, for the growing individual. At this stage in the story it seems that Oliver has suffered for others but has gained little for himself that is worth the suffering and loss.
Chant, however, allows relief and transcendence to enter the story in a coda in which the Christian ideology behind it comes more clearly to the fore and through which one is made forcefully aware that there is a deep significance in the fact that the novel begins with the word “Easter”. Oliver goes on to take a step which only his mature, tempered self would have the strength to take, and the Christian story of death and rebirth is acted out within a context of the worship of the Mother Goddess.
Vir’Vachel, Earth-Goddess daughter of The Mother, is angered by the destruction of the natural world that results from the war of the Star-Born and their allies, against Fendarl. She demands reparation in the form of the sacrifice of a young man from each of the wandering tribes of the Khentorei, Oliver’s adopted people. This means that fifty youths will die, and one likely candidate is Oliver’s foster-brother Mnorh, an especially gifted and beautiful boy.
Oliver, meanwhile, is tormented by his sense of no longer belonging in Khendiol, now that his task is fulfilled, and puzzled as to how he is to get home. His brother and sister have already been returned by the God Iranani who called them into Khendiol; he is told he must find his own way back. The shock of realising how the pattern of events is shaping, is even greater for him than the original realisation that it was his Quest to meet Fendarl in battle. “…… someone had to go, and he could not stay.” “He knew that he was not being called to this; that even the High Lords did not ask it of him. But it was there to be done by someone.” On the surface this is still rather fatalistic, as if Oliver is being manipulated into the right position to solve the problem as he was in the case of Fendarl. Then Chant makes it clear that this is a conscious act of a mature individual; Oliver, having decided to offer himself as the required sacrifice, reflects;
“He would do it. Whether from defiance, or love of his people, he did not know, but he would do it. He would do more than had been required of him; and spent and weary though he was, somehow that made him the winner.”
This is not fear of the self, but mastery of the self and triumph over the fear of death. The echoes are of the Christian original that inspires Chant here. The three most relevant quotations from the words of Christ are probably these;
“Whoever tries to gain his own life will lose it; but whoever loses his life for my sake will gain it.”
“The greatest love a person can have for his friends is to give his life for them.”
“The Father loves me, because I am willing to give up my life, in order that I may receive it back again. No-one takes my life away from me. I give it up of my own free will. I have the right to give it up, and I have the right to take it back.”
Here Chant asserts the paradoxical sense in which the commitment of the self to something outside the self is at once the means of achieving self-knowledge and control; and a sign that this step into maturity has taken place. Autonomy is linked with duty and responsibility; on his way to death, Oliver thinks – “No one was compelling him to do this. He could go back, and let the other die. The choice was his.” In fact there is no real choice for the newly matured, caring, self-denying Oliver; he “cannot” allow the others to suffer. Yet his own strength of will is what has brought him to this deliberate renunciation of his will.
Oliver is clearly here a Christ-like figure, and also recalls the Young King, the Corn-King sacrificed for the people. And in some systems of belief, there have also been rituals which have consciously embodied the subconscious parallels between the emergence into adulthood, and the dying into rebirth and new life. Young people on the brink of adulthood undergo ritual seclusion and re-emergence in token that the old self has died and the new, mature person has been born. The final scenes of the book bring out the significance for Oliver himself of all that he has undergone to win self-knowledge and strength.
In a brief time spent with the God Iranani, before returning to his own world, Oliver learns what he has gained as well as what he has lost; “All that you have lost shall be restored, and all that you have gained remain untouched.”
Then Oliver met his eyes steadfastly, and said “Young Lord, your words are gracious. But I have gained knowledge that will not leave me, and I know that you speak your truths too easily. There is something I have lost which you cannot restore, and that is innocence.”
There was an appreciative leap of laughter in the young one’s eyes, but he answer gravely, ‘And have men sunk so far, that the best they can hope for is innocence? Do they no longer strive for virtue? For virtue lies not in ignorance of evil, but in resistance to it.’
Oliver bowed his head. ‘And what have I gained?’ he asked.
‘What does silver gain in the fire, and iron in the forging?’
Oliver’s Quest and achievement have essentially changed him. The God’s words proclaim that he has changed, by growing into greater strength and knowledge. Insofar as a fictional character may be said to have a “future” when the end of the work is at hand, Oliver has a bright one. Chant implies that he goes back into the world especially blessed and prepared for the adult life he is entering upon. Iranani promises him “…… new life, and heart to enjoy it.” So confident is Oliver that he refuses the drink that will bring forgetfulness, realising that the pain of loss is outweighed by the joy of gain. He walks clear-eyed back into his own world; “There was no return. He had come through a door which only opened one way.” This is the door out of childhood. Chant shows what a triumph the passage through this door can be. A Christian hymn appropriately exhorts its hearers to; “Lay hold on life, and it shall be/Thy joy and crown eternally.” Chant has shown Oliver growing up to the point where he can do so. Beneath the exciting adventure story that lies on the surface of this subtle and complex work, are levels of encouragement for the adolescent reader that may well help more than a little; for Joy Chant has the power to inspire and uplift, without overt preaching or moralising. She has presented in action Bettelheim’s statement; “The only way to come into one’s own is through one’s own doing.”
The crux of the novel is Oliver’s commitment to the cause of Good; “But the oracle said only ‘by the young tiger shall your death come’. So more enchantments he made, with more hard-won power, and armoured himself against all that is under sun or moon, against every creature of Khendiol, and went again to the oracle – but this time it was silent. So he can be slain by no creature of Khendiol. None of you could face him; do not try. It would be useless.”
And Li’vanh [Oliver] was taken from the world, and for him all grew still. The talk went on, but he no longer heard. He felt himself to be the pivot of a vast wheel, the focus of the attention of the universe. He stood alone, face to face with a knowledge he did not want, hearing the beginning of a call he wished to flee.
“The young tiger. No creature of Khendiol.” And then another voice. “A warrior in ten thousand”.
No, he thought. No. No!
But he had heard, and he knew, and was alone in a moment grown deep and ringing, as if echoing to a great gong-note. He did not see the Council; he did not hear the voices. He saw only the choice before him and heard only the unmistakeable summons.
He stood up.
“Kiron!” he said loudly, interrupting in a voice hardly his own.
“I am no creature of Khendiol, and men call me the Young Tiger. I think”, he said, his throat grown tight and dry, “that this fight is mine”.
Here, the outer pressure of society’s need, the mere existence of a task that must be done, evokes the sense of identity, the realisation of one’s power to make moral choices, the realisation of one's Self.
The adventures that befall Oliver embody in symbolic form and on a contracted time-scale the progress of an adolescent through a crucial period in the development of self-awareness and self-confidence. His being snatched away from Earth into Khendiol stands for his departure from the secure conditions of childhood, his entry into an unknown region where he can scarcely remember his parents or his home or any of the familiar features of his life. His training in weapons and warfare stands for the internal re-equipping of the self to cope with the demands of adulthood. The combat with Fendarl symbolises his coming to terms with weaknesses and with negative or potentially evil impulses within himself. The return to our world, preceded by a clear recalling of his parents on the night before the battle, signifies a re-emergence into normal life, but on new terms. Bettelheim shows that this pattern is common in folk-tales that are concerned with the adolescent experience;
“…… this development is fraught with dangers; an adolescent must leave the security of childhood, which is represented by getting lost in the dangerous forest; learnt to face up to his violent tendencies and anxieties, symbolised by encounters with wild animals or dragons; get to know himself, which is implied in meeting strange figures and experiences.”
Having passed through all these stages, Oliver is oppressed with a sense of loss, of failure mingled with the success. He feels cheated and despairing; “The ache of loss became a pain and tears burned his eyes. Yet in his shame and grief there was a seed of anger, for it seemed to him that in some way he could not understand he had been cheated. He had been ready to make an offering of his fear, and maybe even of his life; but something had been taken which he had not offered, something which could not be regained and would be missed forever. He felt an oppression, as if part of his life had ended. So he went at last to his rest, wherein lay the only healing for him. But the thing which he had lost he never did regain, though what it was he never would have said. Perhaps it was his youth. For Li-vanh was one who had looked upon the darkness in his own heart, and he must henceforth live his life in the knowledge of that darkness and in the fear of himself.”
This seems a pessimistic conclusion, contrasting markedly with, for example, Ursula LeGuin’s triumphant celebration of Ged’s achievement in facing “the darkness in his own heart” and thereby reaching the fullness of his strength and self-awareness. As Neumann says, each emergence into a new stage of life is characterised by a sense of loss, even of abandonment and betrayal, for the growing individual. At this stage in the story it seems that Oliver has suffered for others but has gained little for himself that is worth the suffering and loss.
Chant, however, allows relief and transcendence to enter the story in a coda in which the Christian ideology behind it comes more clearly to the fore and through which one is made forcefully aware that there is a deep significance in the fact that the novel begins with the word “Easter”. Oliver goes on to take a step which only his mature, tempered self would have the strength to take, and the Christian story of death and rebirth is acted out within a context of the worship of the Mother Goddess.
Vir’Vachel, Earth-Goddess daughter of The Mother, is angered by the destruction of the natural world that results from the war of the Star-Born and their allies, against Fendarl. She demands reparation in the form of the sacrifice of a young man from each of the wandering tribes of the Khentorei, Oliver’s adopted people. This means that fifty youths will die, and one likely candidate is Oliver’s foster-brother Mnorh, an especially gifted and beautiful boy.
Oliver, meanwhile, is tormented by his sense of no longer belonging in Khendiol, now that his task is fulfilled, and puzzled as to how he is to get home. His brother and sister have already been returned by the God Iranani who called them into Khendiol; he is told he must find his own way back. The shock of realising how the pattern of events is shaping, is even greater for him than the original realisation that it was his Quest to meet Fendarl in battle. “…… someone had to go, and he could not stay.” “He knew that he was not being called to this; that even the High Lords did not ask it of him. But it was there to be done by someone.” On the surface this is still rather fatalistic, as if Oliver is being manipulated into the right position to solve the problem as he was in the case of Fendarl. Then Chant makes it clear that this is a conscious act of a mature individual; Oliver, having decided to offer himself as the required sacrifice, reflects;
“He would do it. Whether from defiance, or love of his people, he did not know, but he would do it. He would do more than had been required of him; and spent and weary though he was, somehow that made him the winner.”
This is not fear of the self, but mastery of the self and triumph over the fear of death. The echoes are of the Christian original that inspires Chant here. The three most relevant quotations from the words of Christ are probably these;
“Whoever tries to gain his own life will lose it; but whoever loses his life for my sake will gain it.”
“The greatest love a person can have for his friends is to give his life for them.”
“The Father loves me, because I am willing to give up my life, in order that I may receive it back again. No-one takes my life away from me. I give it up of my own free will. I have the right to give it up, and I have the right to take it back.”
Here Chant asserts the paradoxical sense in which the commitment of the self to something outside the self is at once the means of achieving self-knowledge and control; and a sign that this step into maturity has taken place. Autonomy is linked with duty and responsibility; on his way to death, Oliver thinks – “No one was compelling him to do this. He could go back, and let the other die. The choice was his.” In fact there is no real choice for the newly matured, caring, self-denying Oliver; he “cannot” allow the others to suffer. Yet his own strength of will is what has brought him to this deliberate renunciation of his will.
Oliver is clearly here a Christ-like figure, and also recalls the Young King, the Corn-King sacrificed for the people. And in some systems of belief, there have also been rituals which have consciously embodied the subconscious parallels between the emergence into adulthood, and the dying into rebirth and new life. Young people on the brink of adulthood undergo ritual seclusion and re-emergence in token that the old self has died and the new, mature person has been born. The final scenes of the book bring out the significance for Oliver himself of all that he has undergone to win self-knowledge and strength.
In a brief time spent with the God Iranani, before returning to his own world, Oliver learns what he has gained as well as what he has lost; “All that you have lost shall be restored, and all that you have gained remain untouched.”
Then Oliver met his eyes steadfastly, and said “Young Lord, your words are gracious. But I have gained knowledge that will not leave me, and I know that you speak your truths too easily. There is something I have lost which you cannot restore, and that is innocence.”
There was an appreciative leap of laughter in the young one’s eyes, but he answer gravely, ‘And have men sunk so far, that the best they can hope for is innocence? Do they no longer strive for virtue? For virtue lies not in ignorance of evil, but in resistance to it.’
Oliver bowed his head. ‘And what have I gained?’ he asked.
‘What does silver gain in the fire, and iron in the forging?’
Oliver’s Quest and achievement have essentially changed him. The God’s words proclaim that he has changed, by growing into greater strength and knowledge. Insofar as a fictional character may be said to have a “future” when the end of the work is at hand, Oliver has a bright one. Chant implies that he goes back into the world especially blessed and prepared for the adult life he is entering upon. Iranani promises him “…… new life, and heart to enjoy it.” So confident is Oliver that he refuses the drink that will bring forgetfulness, realising that the pain of loss is outweighed by the joy of gain. He walks clear-eyed back into his own world; “There was no return. He had come through a door which only opened one way.” This is the door out of childhood. Chant shows what a triumph the passage through this door can be. A Christian hymn appropriately exhorts its hearers to; “Lay hold on life, and it shall be/Thy joy and crown eternally.” Chant has shown Oliver growing up to the point where he can do so. Beneath the exciting adventure story that lies on the surface of this subtle and complex work, are levels of encouragement for the adolescent reader that may well help more than a little; for Joy Chant has the power to inspire and uplift, without overt preaching or moralising. She has presented in action Bettelheim’s statement; “The only way to come into one’s own is through one’s own doing.”
January 3, 2021
Old-fashioned in its meandering pace and tendency toward info-dumping, but it still shines when it comes to set pieces and character moments, particularly Oliver's peculiar plight of balancing two conflicting identities.
October 2, 2018
3 STARS
The premise of this book sounded so interesting, but it fell flat for me.
The premise of this book sounded so interesting, but it fell flat for me.
June 4, 2025
Very much the vibe of dark 80’s fantasies with David Bowie and nothing really makes sense in a fun way
November 15, 2015
Joy Chant's Red Moon and Black Mountain has often been accused of being derivative of Tolkien. There are certainly some scenes and situations that are reminiscent of Lord Of The Rings but honestly you can say that about a lot of Fantasy books. I did also notice some similarities with C.S. Lewis's Narnian Chronicles. Most noticeably right from the start when three English children, two brothers and one sister, are whisked away to another world, the world of Vandarei. There they help the forces of Good in the battle against ultimate Evil. One of the children, Oliver is separated from his siblings becomes the chosen one to be the main warrior in the fight against evil. He forgets his past and oddly seems to grow at a much faster pace, becoming a young man whereas his siblings don’t seem to age at all. Penny and Nicholas, in contrast to their brother's central role, are mere observers to events.
Chant is a talented wordsmith, but the plot failed to have to have much drama at all. The world-building was a little undercooked. Lots of names mentioned but the narrative was so short, there was no depth to the backstory. Similarly the map shows a large world, but it is almost completely useless to the reader, as all the action takes place in one little corner. I understand the fondness by readers who read Red Moon and Black Mountain when it first came out, when there just wasn’t that much High Fantasy in print. Forty years later when there is so much great High Fantasy being published, it is not surprising that is somewhat overlooked by modern readers.
Chant is a talented wordsmith, but the plot failed to have to have much drama at all. The world-building was a little undercooked. Lots of names mentioned but the narrative was so short, there was no depth to the backstory. Similarly the map shows a large world, but it is almost completely useless to the reader, as all the action takes place in one little corner. I understand the fondness by readers who read Red Moon and Black Mountain when it first came out, when there just wasn’t that much High Fantasy in print. Forty years later when there is so much great High Fantasy being published, it is not surprising that is somewhat overlooked by modern readers.
December 6, 2015
Three children, two boys and their young sister, are transported to a fantasy land, each to play their part in the fight against an evil invader. The elder boy is 'chosen' and goes native, becoming a plains warrior and forgetting his old life for a time, but it all turns out to be a grand plan by spiritual powers. Reminiscent of Narnia, especially The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe in some respects, but with a more mature and philosophical aspect with regard to the personal journey of the oldest boy, who comes to question whether killing is right and has to face the reality of sacrifice.
There is some violence and a token questioning of the subservient role of women, though this is 'answered' by the fact that the plains women drive the wagons and so are 'helpless' though I don't see why this would prevent them from at least fighting in self defence. Even among the town and city dwellers, where women of the hereditary star magic wielders appear to enjoy more equality, there is the idea that women must marry for fulfilment, even though the Princess In'serinna loses her powers by marrying an outsider, and condemns her linked star to blowing up!
The best aspects are the vivid description of a battle between eagles representing the good and bad powers, and the touching end section where the oldest boy, Oliver, has to face his true position, but quite a bit of the story is fairly humdrum. There are a lot of different cultures with difficult to pronounce or too similar names and it is easy to lose track. This is first in a trilogy, and was not interesting enough for me to want to track down the other volumes which are probably long out of print.
There is some violence and a token questioning of the subservient role of women, though this is 'answered' by the fact that the plains women drive the wagons and so are 'helpless' though I don't see why this would prevent them from at least fighting in self defence. Even among the town and city dwellers, where women of the hereditary star magic wielders appear to enjoy more equality, there is the idea that women must marry for fulfilment, even though the Princess In'serinna loses her powers by marrying an outsider, and condemns her linked star to blowing up!
The best aspects are the vivid description of a battle between eagles representing the good and bad powers, and the touching end section where the oldest boy, Oliver, has to face his true position, but quite a bit of the story is fairly humdrum. There are a lot of different cultures with difficult to pronounce or too similar names and it is easy to lose track. This is first in a trilogy, and was not interesting enough for me to want to track down the other volumes which are probably long out of print.
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