Discount Miracles - Brand Gamblin

Around these parts I commit myself to (at least try) finishing everything I start. Why, you ask? Because I think it's important for me to help my readers make decisions about what they should buy and what they should avoid. If I only read things that I enjoy, how will I ever fulfill the second half of that commitment? I'm also loathe to spend 800 words eviscerating someone's baby. Thus, Cheryl was born. Cheryl is my imaginary personal assistant who helps me "review" novels I really did not like. Instead of just doggedly attacking a novel's failures, I try to have some fun with it and get some laughs. Hopefully it's taken the way I intend it.

This is my seventh installment of posts featuring Cheryl. If you enjoy this one, I suggest finding the Cheryl tag on the right sidebar for the others. This is the second time Cheryl has been deployed on a self published novel. While the previous incarnation was an abomination of fiction, Discount Miracles has some redeeming qualities. That said, it just isn't good enough for a wide audience.

***

I don't generally accept self-published titles for review. Seriously, I don't. Except sometimes I get an e-mail I can't say no to. Brand Gamblin's e-mail was one of those. He invoked the name of a mutual friend, happens to be a Washington DC Metro local, and didn't try to push a vampire werewolf paranormal romance on me. I also got a sick kick out of the author's last name as reading self-published work feels an awful like gambling.

I'm a sucker, aren't I?

Gamblin's novel, Discount Miracles, follows the crew of the space salvage ship JN3-0518 (or Jenny) that's crashed on a planet that's been out of touch with the rest of the galaxy for hundreds of years. In the midst of a superstitious dark age, the planet's denizens liken the Jenny's crew to witches, a fact they tend to reinforce by faking miracles. Things seem to be going swimmingly when they take a job to help a prince ascend to godhood. Easier said than done.

As I considered how I would write this review I went through several stages. First, I felt compelled to critique the novel as I would for someone asking me to look at an unpublished manuscript. There are a host of small changes I would suggest to Gamblin that would produce a better product. Of course, he didn't ask me to do that. Second, I felt like employing my fine assistant Cheryl to eviscerate the novel, but I couldn't find an angle worthy of Cheryl. Not to mention there aren't any typos or structural screw ups, which pretty much rules out my standard plan of attack for self-published work. Finally, I resolved to write what amounts to a pretty ho-hum piece that once again emphasizes the reason why many self-published authors self-publish. (Hint: Because they aren't very good writers.)

Before I get too far into the flaws in Gamblin's writing, let me say that I rather enjoy the novel's conceit. Motoring around a technologically backward planet in a spaceship that's incapable of leaving orbit, and leaving miracles behind, is fun to imagine. It opens up a host of questions, both in terms of science and morality, some of which Discount Miracles promises to address, but never really does.

Character wise the Jenny's crew behaves as crews have come to behave in the post Firefly era -- self interested, but ultimately honorable. Sadly, Gamblin never develops them much beyond their immediate interaction with the narrative. In a novel with such a simple plot, it's vital that the characters exist in three dimension. Unfortunately, Gamblin's crew is the science fictional equivalent of Flat Stanley....

Oh, who the hell am I kidding?

*buzz*

Cheryl: Mr. Landon, I can't believe you reviewed a self-published title before you'll even look at my manuscript.

Justin: No. Absolutely not. I'm not reviewing Tumescent Snake under any circumstances.

Cheryl: But, I've added magic and a space ship. It's slipstream paranormal romance!

Justin: Please don't say slipstream.

Cheryl: Why? Slipstream, slipstream, slipstream.

Justin: Argh! I just read Brand Gamblin's Discount Miracles. He calls it slipstream. I call it slipped and fell in a stream of uninspired writing.

Cheryl: Oh, here we go.

Justin: What? I could have easily made a urine joke there. I thought the final product showed a great deal of self restraint.

Cheryl: You're about as restrained as Katie Price at a melon smuggling convention. But, really... do tell. What makes Brand Gamblin... Jesus, is that his real name?

Justin: I'm assuming it's a pen name.

Cheryl: God, I hope so. Can you imagine meeting him in a bar? Hey beautiful, want to get Branded tonight? Place a wager, because it's time to start Gamblin. I can go on.

Justin: I think you've made your point. You were saying?

Cheryl: Right. *ahem* What makes his writing so... uninspired?

Justin: Would believe that in 200 pages of reading I don't recall a single metaphor? Gamblin writes clear prose, and he's obviously hired a copy editor to clean it up, but there's a complete lack of vitality. It's like reading the corpse of a novel. I have no idea what the Jenny looks like, or more importantly what it feels like, smells like, or evokes from the crew. I can tell you one of the crew members is short and stocky, one is female, one is a scrawny jerk, and the other is a stand-up captain dude. I don't know much more about them as people which is a complete failure of the author.

Cheryl: I bet the short guy is strong.

Justin: You guessed it. He's from a hi-G planet. How does he feel about being away from home? How did he end up on a ship in the middle of nowhere? Now that I mention it, why are any of these people on a ship together?

Cheryl: Sounds like a pretty shallow novel. Aren't most self published novels self indulgent rants that go on forever because the author can't parse it?

Justin: You know, that's a good point, Cheryl.

Cheryl: *beaming*

Justin: Don't let it go to your head. You're right though, Gamblin actually has what reads more like a bare bones first draft where he lays out the major plot points before laying down all the supports that make a novel. And truth be told if he had gone through and laid down that framework, my response to his work would be a great deal warmer.

Cheryl: Weird.

Justin: You're telling me.

Cheryl: So you're saying this the last time you're Gamblin on self-published work? God, I could use that pun until the cows come home.

Justin: Leave the comedy to me.

Redshirts: A Novel of Three Codas - John Scalzi

Around these parts I commit myself to (at least try) finishing everything I start. Why, you ask? Because I think it's important for me to help my readers make decisions about what they should buy and what they should avoid. If I only read things that I enjoy, how will I ever fulfill the second half of that commitment? I'm also loathe to spend 800 words eviscerating someone's baby. Thus, Cheryl was born. Cheryl is my imaginary personal assistant who helps me "review" novels I really did not like. Instead of just doggedly attacking a novel's failures, I try to have some fun with it and get some laughs. Hopefully it's taken the way I intend it.

This is my sixth installment of posts featuring Cheryl. If you enjoy this one, I suggest finding the Cheryl tag on the right sidebar for the others. Interestingly, in the case of John Scalzi's new novel Redshirts, I finished it because I found it legitimately intriguing. I'm a fan of his work historically and the writing was strong enough to keep me searching for the thread to tie it all together. Alas, that thread never came and this post was born.

***

Justin: Cheryl, I'm going to be working on my Redshirts review for the next few hours. Please hold all my calls.

Cheryl: Yes, Mr. Landon. Does that include Tor and/or Mr. Scalzi?

Justin: Tor does seem to have an eerie sense of timing. Yes, even them. And please, whatever you do, don't let that pain in the ass wizard show up.

Cheryl: You know I have no control over Fizbane. He's your blog wizard.

Justin: *impatient waving* Thank you, Cheryl. Now lets see... I'm going to need a snappy headline. Something like....

Spoof Trekkie Fiction: The Lowest Difficulty Setting There is

Gold.

*buzz*

Cheryl: Mr. Landon, Ricardo Montalbán is here to see you.

Justin: *bewildered* I said no interuptions and Montalbán has been dead for three years.

Cheryl: You said no calls.

Justin: I'm pretty sure no interruptions was implied and I shouldn't have to specifically mention no dead people.

Cheryl: Look, I don't tell you how to be a pretentious blogger cum literary [hack] critic. You don't tell me how to be a personal assistant. See how I broke the hack part out into brackets? That's called meta conversation.

Justin: Whatever. Get it? Because I'm writing about a John Scalzi book right now.

Cheryl: I'm unimpressed.

Justin: I'm really funny.

Cheryl: It's more sad funny, wouldn't you say?

Justin: *glare* Show him in.

corpse of Montalbán: SCAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALZI!!

Justin: Excuse me, Mr. Montalbán, are you a zombie searching for John Scalzi's brain?

corpse of Montalbán: Not at all, señor. I am just getting over my long standing grudge against Shatner for stealing the best line in my Oscar worthy performance of Khan in Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan. I find that Scalzi's name works nearly as well to express frustration and anger over an injustice.

Justin: You mean where he yells Khan?

corpse of Montalbán: Por favor, I cannot speak of it.

Justin: You are dead though right?

corpse of Montalbán: Sí.

Justin: You've got a rather well developed chest for a man... er... corpse(?) your age.

corpse of Montalbán: Gracias. Thankfully being one of the undead has done wonders for my skin elasticity.

Justin: Ok, so why are you here Ricardo? Can I call you Ricardo?

corpse of Montalbán: I prefer The Montalbán, if it's all the same to you.

Justin: It's not.

corpse of Montalbán: *ignoring Justin* I'm here because I too have read SCAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALZI's Redshirts and I have some concerns.

Justin: I'm getting pretty sick of prescient layabouts that appear whenever I'm writing a review.

corpse of Montalbán: More of a shuffle-about, aren't I?

Justin: Granted. I find myself oddly gratified that the corpse of Ricardo Montalbán agrees with me about Redshirts. But, given that you seem to have a bit of an inferiority complex, forgive me if I'm skeptical that you're just mad the plot highjacks Star Trek IV: The Return Home, and thus does not include a Khan simulacrum.

corpse of Montalbán: Uh.. no.. you're way off base.

Justin: It's ok if that's why, literature is subjective after all. I would hope that you could find a few other things to talk about though.

corpse of Montalbán: *blushing* Well, umm... I giggled a bit. Macho giggling of course. More of a guffaw really.

Justin: This is a safe placed, Ricardo. I can't disagree with you. It is an awfully funny first 80 pages or so. The prologue is particularly good. He riffs on the idea that a certain segment of the starship crew are increasingly likely to die in an away mission. It's a clever application of the old Star Trek plot device. I was immediately concerned about how he would turn it into a novel though. How does the conflict get resolved? What's the explanation for why the conflict exists?

corpse of Montalbán: Verdad! That's exactly what I meant.

Justin: Of course it was. You're the Montalbán. Since neither of those questions are adequately answered, I found the first two-thirds of the novel fairly uninspired, albeit initially intriguing. I dealt with it because it's the perfect playground for Scalzi's standard sarcastic back and forth.

corpse of Montalbán: Interesting you should mention that. I've read the entire SCAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALZI catalog...

Justin: Really?

corpse of Montalbán: I have lots of free time. Anyway, I was pleasantly surprised to find the same characters from Fuzzy Nation and The Android's Dream returning in Redshirts! I love series.

Justin: I can see how you would think that, but no. This is a stand alone novel; Scalzi just writes the same character over and over again with new names and places. In fact, I suspect he's writing himself over and over again. Sarcastic. Cynical. Player of small instruments.

corpse of Montalbán: *gasp* I am dismayed. I had not made the connection. If my little friend Hervé were alive today he would be saying , Da' plane da' plane, and I would look to the sky and instead see my opinion of SCAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALZI plummeting to the earth.

Justin: *head hanging* Indeed. What did you think about the last third of the novel, Ricardo?

*poof*

Justin: Mother f*cker.

Fizbane: It is I! Hello, Senor Montalbán, I'm a big fan. Would you mind signing my Kindle Fire, now available for a low introductory price of...

Justin: God, you're such a shill. Ignore him Ricardo, what do you want Fizbane?

Fizbane: *straightens his robe* Right, to the chase. I'm here representing the Science Fiction Writer's of America. I've been asked to inform you that criticizing President Scalzi is not appreciated. You are to cease and desist from writing a bad review due to President Scalzi's years of service in promoting the genre. Regardless of how incoherent the last third of his book may be, you are encouraged to praise his work because of his standing in the community. Also, even if he conveniently posts controversial things to his blog at convenient times before and after he launches a book, please disregard the timing and instead focus on his dry wit.

Justin: You've got more clients than Heidi Fleiss. I think you're making things up at this point. Have you even talked to someone at SFWA?

Fizbane: *sputtering*

Justin: I might have known. You just want to be in Scalzi's good graces don't you?

Fizbane: *ashamed* He gets a lot more traffic than you do. And I've heard he's looking for a new blog wizard.

corpse of Montalbán: It seems that SCAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALZI has quite the following.

Justin: You're not kidding. And you know what, Ricardo? His fans are going to eat this book up. It's John Scalzi to the nth. I do wonder how even his hardcore fans will react to the literary device he tries to use to tie the novel together. It didn't work for me really at all, although I suppose I applaud the attempt.

corpse of Montalbán: Oh, I thought that whole section was a preview of his next book.

Justin: Sadly, same book.

corpse of Montalbán: Well, ok then. I'm going to be getting back to my box. Glad we got this straightened out together. Adios!

*buzz*

Justin: Cheryl, can you get security to escort Ricardo and Fizbane out of the building?

Cheryl: We don't have security, as you well know, but if you'd like you could get off your pontificating ass and walk them out yourself.

Justin: *sigh* I have to do everything around here.

Jade Dreams - Wakefield Mahon

I held a drawing earlier this month to randomly select a self published title to read and review. Jade Dreams by Wakefield Mahon was the winner of that drawing. By the time I'm done with this review, he may regret entering.

The truth is I strongly considered not writing a review, despite my promises to do so. There's so little meat to the book, that I struggled with how to critique it. That felt like a cop out.

Additionally, although not relevant to my "review", the notion that this novella is being sold for $5.99 (it was $2.99 when I bought it) on Kindle is offensive to me as a consumer. As far as I'm concerned Jade Dreams is a classic example of why self-published has become a pejorative in some circles.

###

This is my fifth installment of posts featuring Cheryl (and Fizbane). If you enjoy this one, I suggest finding the Cheryl tag on the right sidebar for the others.

While I absolutely did not enjoy this book on any level, I have every intention of running another 'contest' like this in the future. I want to find good self published work and publicize it. Stay tuned for that.

###

*type* *type* *type*

Justin: Cheryl, could you please stop all the typing? It's making me crazy.

Cheryl: Sorry Mr. Landon, but your review of Pillars of Hercules a few weeks ago really inspired me to start writing my novel!

Justin: Seriously?

Cheryl: I think it's magical.

Justin: I'm sure you do.

Cheryl: You know, it's not OK for you to talk down to me like a four year old?

Justin: *sputtering*

Cheryl: Just because you pay me doesn't mean you can be rude.

Justin: I'm sorry Cheryl. What's the title of your book?

Cheryl: It's called Throbbing Python. It's about...

Justin: I'm quite sure that's all I need to know. Have you talked to an agent yet?

Cheryl: Oh no, I'm going to self publish it.

Justin: ... You really shouldn't. I review these things for a living...

Cheryl: No, you don't.

Justin: Yes, I do.

Cheryl: You don't make a dime. Most people call that a hobby.

Justin: What I do is important!!

Cheryl: Whatever.

Justin: But seriously, Cheryl. I just finished a self published novel. It's bad... really bad. I don't want that for you.

Cheryl: *gasp* You just don't want me to embarrass you.

Justin: Oh come on *cough*. You don't seriously think I could be that shallow? I really do have your best interests at heart. Look here, I just finished Jade Dreams by Wakefield Mahon. He won that drawing I did a few weeks ago to review a self published novel.

Cheryl: Oh it can't be all that bad. I read the blurb. It sounded like a lovely story of siblings who are destined to battle an ancient evil using a mystical sword!

Justin: Something like that. God, you make it sound even worse than it is... I worry for Throbbing Pythons.

Cheryl: It's singular... there's only one.. erm.. python.

Justin: Right. Anyway, see the story starts with Karen and Timmy learning of their parent's deaths. They're victims of a car accident on Breakneck Road near Storm King Mountain (I scoffed too, but those are real places in New York!). As they grieve, the siblings grow closer, bonding over their love of all things Japanese (manga, video games, anime, martial arts). Every night Timmy asks his sister to tell him a story and oftentimes she tells him of her vivid dreams that feel more like memories. In these dreams Karen goes into the past, living moments from the lives of famous heroes like Mulan and Joan of Arc. She never thinks much of them until she meets a Kendo master who begins to lead her down the path to destiny.

Cheryl: Oh Kendo! Sword fighting! Hi-ya!

Justin: That's a little racially insensitive don't you think?

Cheryl: You're calling ME insensitive?

Justin: Point taken.

Cheryl: It really doesn't sound bad!

Justin: You're right. The idea isn't terrible. I enjoyed the tie in with the historical figures and for a middle-grade fantasy the notion of a young woman fulfilling her destiny as the savior of the world is something I can get behind. It's trite, but there's still a place for it. Of course, Mahon never really runs with the historical flashbacks. He fails to make them at all relevant to the plot, nor does he adequately build Karen's character (and don't get me started on Timmy, or the other ancillary characters) into anything resembling believable.

Cheryl: I swear, it's like you think you Vladimir Nabokov.

Justin: And it's like you're my mom. You need to learn to appreciate the value of criticism! If you're going to release Turgid Viper into the world, you best prepared for this and worse.

Cheryl: Turgid Viper? Now you're just belittling me.

*poof*

Fizbane: I'm sorry to interrupt, Cheryl. But as a representative of Amazon Digital Services, I'd like to show you the wide range of services we offer. Here's a pamphlet.

Justin: Amazon Digital Services?! I thought you worked for Google!

Fizbane: I'm a consultant. I have several clients. Wizards have to make a living too, you know?

Cheryl: *paging through the pamphlet*

Justin: Huh, well look here you hack, Cheryl isn't going to be self publishing anything.

Cheryl: *closing pamphlet* You know, Fizbane, this doesn't seem like a very good deal you're offering. In fact, it looks like you can change my price willy nilly. I'm going to hear Mr. Landon out.

Justin: Here's the thing. Once you put something out there with Cheryl Hufflepuff on the byline, you can't take it back. You're telling consumers, this is what I have to offer. Look at Jade Dreams. The author uses the first person point of view, riding inside Karen's head for most of the novel. Karen thinks mostly in simple sentences, never engages in introspection, and reveals herself as wholly motivated to do life threatening things to cheer up her brother. She also rarely, if ever observes much about the world around her. Although occasionally she seems particularly observant about things. Look at this quote:

Across from them sat two men that I assumed were Jewish. One wore a little skull cap, the other one wore a black hat and wore a long beard and payot. They seemed to be having a heated debate about Jacob and Israel and the 32nd chapter of the first book of the Torah.

Interesting that a Chinese-American teenager would be so interested in two Jewish men having a theological debate. Even more curious is that she could identify what they're talking about, and further the chapter and book of the text to which they are referring. And how in God's name does she know what payot is, but not a yarmulke?

And then, toward the novel's conclusion Mahon decides to switch POVs and goes into the head of two other characters, one of which is little brother Timmy who has this encounter while being held prisoner:

She leaned forward, whispered into my ear, and told me not to tell until it was time.

The use of these kinds of devices is just lazy. Not to tell who? The reader? Did Mahon just break the fourth wall? Why would Timmy hide this little fact from himself? While these are only two quoteable examples, I think they illustrate a major deficiency in understanding how to use the first person point of view. That's something a professional editor, or any responsible crit group would have pointed out.

Cheryl: That doesn't mean he's not telling a good story!

Justin: I'm sorry to say the story telling isn't very good either. The early parts of the novel move pretty well, engaging the reader in the family's grief coming to terms with loss of their parents. Once the main narrative gets going things get very random and  murky. Everything is told, not shown. No character is given proper motivation. The prose is painfully pedestrian. Things happen with absolutely no underpinning. And seriously... this:

"The one you call Raven controls the key. In order to return, you must make your way to the Dark Castle." 

Cheryl: *gulp*

Justin: Maybe he explains all this away by calling it "middle-grade" fantasy. I've read plenty of novels for young people... they still have to be engaging and they still have to make sense.

Cheryl: So you're saying no one should self publish?

Justin: Not at all! I think self-publishing is a perfectly legitimate path to make a living as a writer. As a test ground for someone's self indulgent and amateurish attempts at writing? No. Please no. It insults the reader, but also belittles the product. For every self published work like Jade Dreams the overall image of self publishing declines, making it more and more likely that no one will take a chance on something. It  also forces down the price at which people will buy them. Before you know it, no one will buy a self published novel for more than $0.99. Who wins in that scenario? Hell, not even Fizbane the corporate blood sucker can turn that into a net gain.

Look, I'm not saying Mahon shouldn't write. I applaud him for writing the book, it's more than I've ever done. But, why... why... why would you show this to the world and charge them for it? Hone your craft!

Cheryl: I can't believe I'm saying this... you're making sense.

Fizbane: *flummoxed* Am I in an alternate universe? Did I take the wrong gate? Should I be going by Zifenab?

Justin: I'm going to migrate to Wordpress if you don't take a hike, Wizard.

Fizbane: Eek. *poof*

Cheryl: Thanks for talking to me about this Mr. Landon.

Justin: No problem Cheryl. Let me know if you need any more help with Engorged Cobra.

Cheryl: It's Throbbing Pyt... *sigh* Nevermind.

The Pillars of Hercules - David Constantine

Around these parts I commit myself to finishing everything I start. Why, you ask? Because I think it's important for me to help my reader make decisions about what they should buy and what they should avoid. If I only read things that I enjoy, how will I ever fulfill the second half of that commitment? I'm also loathe to spend 800 words eviscerating someone's baby. Thus, Cheryl was born. Cheryl is my imaginary personal assistent who helps me "review" novels I really did not like. Instead of just doggedly attacking a novel's failures, I try to have some fun with it and get some laughs. Hopefully it's taken the way I intend it.

This is my fourth installment of posts featuring Cheryl. If you enjoy this one, I suggest finding the Cheryl tag on the right sidebar for the others.

Oh and there's a new reoccurring character joining the blog today...

###

Here's the blurb:

Alexander, Prince of Macedon, is the terror of the world. Persia, Egypt, Athens . . . one after another, mighty nations are falling before the fearsome conqueror. Some say Alexander is actually the son of Zeus, king of the gods, and the living incarnation of Hercules himself. Worse yet, some say Alexander believes this . . . . 

The ambitious prince is aided in his conquest by unstoppable war-machines based on the forbidden knowledge of his former tutor, the legendary scientist-mage known as Aristotle. Greek fire, mechanical golems, and gigantic siege-engines lay waste to Alexander''s enemies as his armies march relentlessly west--toward the very edge of the world. Beyond the Pillars of Hercules, past the gateway to the outer ocean, lies the rumored remnants of Atlantis: ancient artifacts of such tremendous power that they may be all that stands between Alexander and conquest of the entire world. Alexander desires that power for himself, but an unlikely band of fugitives-including a Gaulish barbarian, a cynical Greek archer, a cunning Persian princess, and a sorcerer''s daughter-must find it first . . . before Alexander unleashes godlike forces that will shatter civilization. 

The Pillars of Hercules is an epic adventure that captures the grandeur and mystery of the ancient world as it might have been, where science and magic are one and the same

###

Justin: *buzz* Cheryl! Get me The List.

Cheryl: Yes sir. I'll bring it right in.

Justin: *impatient foot tapping*

Cheryl: Here you go, sir.

Justin: *sigh* What the hell?

Cheryl: I'm sure I don't know what you mean.

Justin: I've been trying to come up with an original idea for a novel for the past decade. Every time I think I've hit on just the right niche someone comes along and beats me to it.

Cheryl: Humm...

Justin: What?

Cheryl: Oh nothing.

Justin: Cheryl...

Cheryl: Well, maybe it's because you spend more time talking about writing a novel than you do writing one.

Justin: What did you just say, Cheryl?!

Cheryl: I said you're lazy.

Justin: That's what I... wait, what?! I should fire you!

*poof*

Mysterious Wizard: Calm yourself, Justin.  It isn't Cheryl whom you should be mad at...

Justin: Who the hell are you?

Mysterious Wizard: I'm Fizbane, the Wizard who inhabits your blog.

Justin: *boggled*

Fizbane: Perhaps, who you're truly mad at is David Constantine, author of The Pillars of Hercules.

Justin: Um, I'm pretty sure I'm pissed at Cheryl. She's supposed to do what I say, it's in her contract which I have here, written in her blood and notarized by Cthulu.

Fizbane: As the Google representative in charge of this blog, I regret to inform you that Cthulu is not a licensed notary.

Cheryl: Face.

Justin: Shut it, Cheryl! You're telling me you work for Google?

Fizbane: I am your blog wizard. We come standard with every blog. For the most part we lurk in the background, but given your wholesale attack on fair Cheryl today, I felt it was time to assert myself.

Justin: Oh my God, this is why Google opposed SOPA. I mean you're clearly a rip-off of Fizban.

Not a notary... apparently.

Fizbane: *wizardly chortle* Come now, I clearly bear no resemblance to that fictional charlatan of the floppy hat and grandfatherly humor. Any similarities are purely coincidental, I assure you.

Justin: Uh-huh.

Fizbane: Now, back to the topic at hand. Pillars of Hercules. It sure sounds like a great idea. Advanced technology set during Alexander's conquest of Europe and Asia.

Justin: Damn good idea, you're right. Although, I have to admit, it didn't really come together. Constantine asks, "What if Alexander didn't die in Persia and instead, went west?" But he does nothing beyond that to explain this vastly advanced technology. Submarines, steam engines, explosives, etc. As though by Alexander's mere survival all the technology that Plato and Aristotle theorized became a reality. It's a stretch and never made much sense.

Fizbane: So you're a bully and a nitpicker. *stern stare*

Justin: Jesus, Fizbane. What are you my dad?

Fizbane: And a blasphemer.

Justin: Really?

Fizbane: I call 'em like I see 'em.

Justin: Anyway, it's not just that. I mean the whole book has a boatload of modern affectations. All the language is super modern with high-fives and current day idioms. There's also no concept of Greek/Roman/Carthaginian cultural mores. All the PoV characters are progressive thinkers. One of the major plot points is that Alexander believes he's the son of Zeus. No one really believes him though. I mean, even those who think he might be telling the truth don't seem to find any particular sense of reverence associated with it. It's almost like every character is in on the joke that the gods aren't real.

Fizbane: *aghast* The gods aren't real? Who does Constantine think he is?

Justin: Now who's the grouchy one?

Fizbane: The opinions expressed by your blog wizard do not reflect those of Google corporate.

Justin: Right. Well, despite these problems, it might have worked if the book was put together right. Unfortunately, it really wasn't. From a craft perspective, the book is just one long frustration.

Fizbane: *back under control* How so?

Justin: Constantine has about eight different PoVs that he uses. Only one of them has a distinct voice, making it difficult to become immersed in the characters. He switches PoVs every 3-5 pages on average and sometimes as often as every page.

Fizbane: That seems overly frequent, like the number of times you badger poor Cheryl.

Justin: Ok ok, I get it. I'll be nicer to Cheryl. I'll treat her like Flint treats Tasslehoff in Dragon's of Autumn Twilight.

Fizbane: Don't you dare!

Justin: Ah ha! I knew it! I caught you Fizban the Wanna-be.

Fizbane: Any similarities between your blog wizard and fictional characters protected by copyright law is purely coin...

Justin: Coincidental, whatever. Back to Pillars of Hercules. By the novels conclusion I realized Constantine was switching PoVs primarily to hide things from the reader he wasn't ready to reveal and to build tension. It felt cheap. All of this shifting around totally sucked the pace right out of an absolutely action packed novel. I was so busy keeping track of whose head I was inside that I lost all track of the action and plot moving around it.

Fizbane: I'm beginning to see your point despite my Google programming that requires me to be as unassuming as possible as to not upset any government entities that may consider invoking anti-trust laws.

Justin: That seems to be an unnecessary level of personal detail for you to share, Fizbane.

Fizbane: *pats Justin on the head* I like you. Call me Fizzy.

Justin: It's not just craft, inexplicable world building, and odd language choices, but the plot really isn't very interesting. It just crawls along without sense of context. The characters all feel like little miniatures in a massive game of Risk. Constantine just pushes them around the board from one conflict to another with no sense of ramification.

Fizbane: It seems that perhaps your anger in Constantine is misplaced. His execution was poor, the idea is still worth exploring.

Justin: You make a good point... Fizzy. I could start my version of the novel tomorrow. Yes.

Cheryl: Oh give me a break. I can't listen to this any longer. You'll actually take the time to sit down and write a novel around the same time I get up out of this digital space and smack you on the back of the head. Constantine is twice the writer you can ever hope to be!

Justin: Do you see what I have to deal with here Fizzy?!

But the wizard was already gone, a white... turkey... feather all that remained of his benevolent presence.

Seven Princes - John Fultz

Around these parts I commit myself to finishing everything I start.  Why, you ask?  Because I think it's important for me to help my reader make decisions about what they should buy and what they should avoid.  If I only read things that I enjoy, how will I ever fulfill the second half of that commitment?  I'm also loathe to spend 800 words eviscerating someone's baby.  Thus, Cheryl was born.  Cheryl is my imaginary personal assistent who helps me "review" novels I really did not like.  Instead of just doggedly attacking a novel's failures, I try to have some fun with it and get some laughs.  Hopefully it's taken the way I intend it.

What follows is the conversation I had with some figures of legend about John Fultz's debut novel, Seven Princes.  It's a novel I really wanted to like, but didn't.  Cheryl urged me hold the post until after Christmas, I agreed.  This is my third installment of posts featuring Cheryl.  If you enjoy this one, I suggest finding the Cheryl tag on the right sidebar for the others.

                             

Best fake personal assistant that

fake money can fake buy.

Justin: *buzz* Cheryl, what's on today's agenda?

Cheryl: It's Christmas, Mr. Landon.

Justin: Right.  So it is.

Cheryl: You're doing it again, aren't you?

Justin: Huh?  What do you mean -- "it"?

Cheryl: You're going to make fun of someone's book.

Justin: I'm a reviewer Cheryl.  My intellectual integrity demands that I represent things as I see them!

Cheryl: It's Christmas, Mr. Landon!  Christmas!  Do you want your little blogger friends to call you the Grinch?  They will.  In fact, I heard Larry from OF Blog of the Fallen call you an abecedarian!

Justin: A what?

Cheryl: I had to look it up.  That guy's a real windbag.

Justin: Oh who cares what he thinks.  I need to get this review for Seven Princes written.

Cheryl: Oh poor John Fultz... I really should send him a fruit basket or something....

Justin: *hanging up on Cheryl* John Fultz's Seven Princes is an attempt to write a modern myth in the spirit of....

*buzz*

Justin: Jesus Chri... er... Yes, Cheryl?

Cheryl: Mr. Landon, Gilgamesh is on the line.

Justin: I'm sorry, did you say Gilgamesh?  Like the ancient hero of Mesopatamia who's been dead for 4,000 years?

Cheryl: How am I supposed to know?  He just said Gilgamesh.  He said you'd know what it's about.

Justin:  Better put him through...

Cheryl: Mr. Gilgamesh, I have Mr. Landon on the line.

Justin: Uh, Merry Christmas?

Gilgamesh and Enkidu kill some baddies

Gilgamesh: *grunt* Me English not so good.  Have Beowulf here, too.

Beowulf: Greetings peasant.

Justin: I'm actually a professional, King of the Geats.  Not som...

Gilgamesh: I not care.  We talk about book.

Justin: Uh, Seven Princes?

Beowulf: My grunting compatriot and I have heard that someone has tried to write a modern novel in the style of the ancient epic.

Justin: You could say that.

Beowulf: I did say that.

Justin: It's an expression.

Gilgamesh: Argh! Enough wordplay. Enkidu smart, but no here.  Gilgamesh smash.

Beowulf: Calm yourself my ancient friend.  We called yon' Professional to ensure our legacies as kings of the ancient epic are intact!

Justin: Right.  Well, as I said, Fultz certainly tried to interpret the ancient epic into a modern story.  All of his characters are infallible.  Super-strong, full of magic, seemingly invulnerable, and entirely unchangeable.  Incredibly convenient things happen time and again in a contrived manner that benefits these heroes...

Gilgamesh: What wrong with that?

Beowulf: Seems like my kind of tale, yon' Professional.

Justin: Hmm, I suppose it would.  Fultz never pays any attention to non-heroes because, well, just about everyone in the novel is a full blown hero.  Additionally, the consequences of their actions on the wider world are ignored.

Beowulf: Stories make legends!  My deeds are known throughout the centuries!  Why should anyone care about the man who cleans my mail?!

Justin: Yes, right.  That's the thing... modern readers are looking for deeper, more intimate, stories.

Gilgamesh: Ah, deeper and intimate... Gilgamesh see.  Like when Enkidu and me turn off the lights...

Justin: Oh good lord, no... bad Gilgamesh, bad!

Beowulf: I must agree with yon' Professional, friend Gilgamesh.  For the nonce, please refrain from further mentions of lights.

Justin: What I meant is that telling a story about supermen running around bashing things without any conception for cause and effect or character building just isn't something that I want to read these days.  The only reason your epics hold a place in the pantheon is because of what they tell us about the past.  Fultz's epic of a made up world with uninteresting made up characters doesn't tell us anything about the past, and because it's a shallow story about killing monsters it doesn't really tell us anything about anything.

Gilgamesh: Beowulf, did puny 'modern reader' call Gilgamesh story bad?

Beowulf: .... yon' Professional begins to resemble Grendel, methinks.

Justin: Uh.. ahem.. c'mon guys... what I meant was Fultz's novel is no threat to the stories of old.  While his sentences are well formed and he describes all the action superbly, he lacks the same gravitas of your epics which occupy a vital place in cultural history.  Furthermore, because the novel lacks any modern sensibilities when it comes to character or plot it falls flat.  Maybe this would be a big hit in the 80's, when fantasy was still nascent, but today?  I say resoundingly.... meh.

Gilgamesh: That better. *crashing noises*

This movie sucked. Don't

tell Beowulf!

Justin: Uh, did you just drop a rock?  You know we're on the phone right?  You can't actually hit me with a rock.

Gilgamesh: Heh, Beowulf... this guy no understand metaphysics, do he?

Justin: *grumble* Everyone's a critic.

Beowulf: Good bye, yon' Professional.  We'll be in touch if there are more threats to our legacy.

Gilgamesh: *grunt* Now, where Enkidu and tent?

An Interview with a Legend of Literary Fiction (Not Really)

This is my response to one of the more ignorant and inflammatory comments I've read with regard to genre fiction. In last Sunday's New York Times, Glen Duncan reviewed Colson Whitehead's Zone One. The review led off with this: "A literary novelist writing a genre novel is like an intellectual dating a porn star." Believe it or not, the rest of the review is even more demeaning.  After reading Duncan's review, a NY Times review of Duncan's novel The Last Werewolf, and several interviews with Duncan himself, I felt prepared to discuss the subject with him. Below is the account of that conversation which may or may not have actually happened.

[For the uninitiated Cheryl is my imaginary personal assistant.  She makes a mean latte and has a limitless Rolodex of industry contacts.  Additionally, this is a fictional account of a conversation that never took place.  I did however read every interview I could find to best capture the voice of the interviewee.]

Me: Cheryl, get me Duncan on the phone - stat.

Cheryl: Yes, Mr. Landon.  That's Hal Duncan, right?

Me: No, no.  Hal's the smart one.  The other one.

Cheryl: Dave Duncan?

Me: Good lord woman, he's eighty!  Do you expect me to do a hard hitting piece on a man old enough to be my grand father?  What kind of monster am I?  No, no.  I want the other one.

Cheryl: Glen Duncan?

Cheryl is a real professional.

Me: Obviously.

Cheryl: One moment please.

[intermittent secretarial pause]

*ring*

Cheryl: I have Glen Duncan on the line.

Me: Thank you, Cheryl.  That'll be all.  Good morning Mr. Duncan.

Duncan: What the bloody hell do you want?

Me: I was hoping to take a few minutes of your time to talk about your recent New York Times book review of Colson Whitehead's Zone One.

Duncan: That was quite a cock up, wasn't it?

Me: The novel or your review?

Duncan: ....

Me: Right.  Well, do you have a minute?

Duncan: I might have one or two moments to belittle my readers and aggrandize myself.  I've an Arcade Fire concert to get to though, so make it snappy.

Me: Sure. I'll be as short and to the point as a Glen Duncan novel.  Do you know Charlie Sheen?

Duncan: Who?

Me: You know, American actor, Twitter sensation, drug addict, owner of #TigerBlood.

Duncan: I don't know anything about #TigerBlood.

Glen Duncan, sitting.

Me: You're sure? I think the two of you share a passion for porn stars.

Duncan: Are you referencing my comparison of genre fiction to a porn star?

Me: Am I that transparent?

Duncan: *snort*

Me: So you pretty well slated Whitehead's novel..  But while you did it you took a blatant shot at your readers.

Duncan: Well, my readers aren't very bright are they?  Yes, I wrote genre fiction, but there are literary conceits in there, man.  I used big words, and all people can focus on is that I have werewolves.  Bloody hell, I wanted to be the next Don DeLillo, now I'm a literate Stephanie Meyers, do you have any idea how badly I want to shoot myself?  Go read my interviews, I end them all by saying, 'if I don't put a silver bullet in my brain first.'  Seriously, I'm not joking.

Me: Huh.  Justin Cronin, another intellectual turned porn star to use your terminology, wrote a review of The Last Werewolf for the NY Times and took a far more professional approach.  How do you respond to that?

Duncan: Justin Cronin is bollocks.  His books are readable.  Not to mention he used vampires, how tired is that? 

Me: If you have such contempt for genre fiction, why did you write it?

Duncan: Daddy has to pay the bills.

Me: Please God, you haven't procreated have you?

Duncan: Daddy as in someone who has sex a lot.  God I have to spell out everything for you philistines.  Anyway, I wrote the book because no one bought my literary works and they didn't win anything.  I seek validation despite my exterior that would lead you to believe I'm above such things.  Once I got into it though, the hooker found herself turned on by her trick so to speak.

Me: So if you got into it, why denigrate the genre so much?

Duncan: Because it's not hip to care.  In case you didn't notice I've put a lot of work into cultivating this 'fuck the world' mentality.  I did drugs.  I get drunk.  I traveled the world after dropping out of college.  I believe in the States you call it, emo.  If I'm going to write something 'marketable', I can't be happy about it or they'll take my skinny jeans and knit cap away.

Me: Well, thanks for being so candid, Mr. Duncan.  I'll look forward to watching you self destruct.

Duncan: Sod off.

Shadow Prowler - Alexey Pehov

What a novel!  This is the most entertaining piece of SFF comedy writing I've seen since The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams.  Alexey Pehov had me absolutely laughing out loud for page after page.  He cleverly poked fun at the genre by including every cliche built up over the past 70 years.  I might even go so far as to say that NBC should consider a Shadow Prowler sitcom for a midsea....

*ring*

What the..?

*ring*

[What follows is a complete fabrication.  There is no Cheryl.  She is a figment of my imagination.  Furthermore the purpose of this review is to have fun with reviewing a book I really did not like.  It should by no means be viewed as an attack on Tor Books who I think, for the most part, does a tremendous job.  They're the industry leader for a reason.  Any failure here is with the material itself, not with the work done by the publisher to bring it to market.  Obviously, Tor Books has never contacted me about a review I was writing, have written, or will write in the future.]

Me: Yes, Cheryl?

Cheryl: Mr. Landon, Tor is on the line...

Me: Ok, I'll pick it up.  This is Justin.

Tor: Mr. Landon, it's come to our attention that you're writing a review of Shadow Prowler.

Me: I'm actually writing it as we speak, how did you know?

Tor: We're Tor.

Me: Oh... right.

Tor: It seems you think Shadow Prowler is a comedy.

Me: It had occurred to me.

Tor: It's not.

Me: You mean Pehov was being serious?

Tor: Yes.

Me: Are you fucking with me?

Tor: We'd appreciate it if you'd take this a bit more seriously, Mr. Landon.

Me: You've read this thing right?

Tor: Not me exactly.  It sold millions of copies in Russia.

Me: We've certainly seen eye to eye with them in the past.

Tor: Are you being droll?

Me: Who me? Come on, you're Tor.  You're the Politburo of fantasy.

Tor: You're being droll.

Me: Maybe a little.

Tor: In any case, I've been asked to see if I can help you understand Pehov's vision a little more clearly.

Me: Vision?  This is going to take some adjustment of perspective.  I have a hard time figuring out how 'vision' can include pages of exposition every time a new term is mentioned.  Or how using every fantasy trope possible is 'subversion of tropes'.  It's only subversion if you use it to set up expectations and then knock them down.

Tor: The elves have fangs, Mr. Landon, and they're swarthy.  Fangs!

Me: .......

Tor: You clearly weren't able to keep up with Pehov's wonderful prose.

Me: Good Lord man!  The first person narrator frequently refers to himself in the third person.  The narrative switches tense for no clear reason!  And this is just the low hanging fruit!  I'm not even going into my notes here! (!!!!)  See, I thought this was comedy.  You know, like Deadpool comics where he's such a nutbar he thinks he's got people reading about his exploits.  But now you're telling me this is a serious novel...

Tor: There are moments of levity along with heart wrenching emot...

Me: Harold calls his home a "SECRET LAIR!"  I was laughing on every page until the last 50.  I'm not going to tell you the last 50 pages weren't good.  I rather enjoyed them although there isn't anything even remotely resembling an 'end point'.  It's just the first 350 were a constant stream of consciousness that provided absolutely no movement to the plot.  I felt like I was sitting on the toilet with a pendulous turd just waiting to fall into the bowl, but no matter how much I wiggled it just wouldn't let go!  You can imagine what a relief those last 50 pages were, can't you?

Tor: I'm speechless.

Me:  Good.  I'm not done.  When I thought Pehov was being a smart ass like Lev Grossman's The Magician I got quite a kick out of it in a 'I'm not going to pay attention to this ridiculous section on nothing because Pehov is just making a point that epic fantasy is full of crap' way.  But it's not.  I was supposed to be worried about the characters, fearing impending doom.  Emphasis on supposed to.

Tor: There may be some translation issu...

Me: Oh probably, but Andrew Bromfield is a pretty widely recognized translator.  I find it hard to believe that he decided that 'The Nameless One' was a particularly choice name for the villain or that Harold should spend an entire chapter buying weapons and magic items from a dwarf shopkeeper.  Not to mention discussing them all in fantastic detail.  Did I mention that there's another chapter where Harold is introduced to every member of the 15 members of his adventuring party?  I don't mean, hey-how-you-doing. I mean full biographies on all 15.

Tor: *pursed lips* I never.  Is there anything you liked about this book, Mr. Landon?

Me: I'm so glad you asked.  The goblin jester - Kli-Kli - is absolutely brilliant.  He's like a mash-up of Tasslehoff Burrfoot from The Dragonlance Chronicles and the Fool from The Farseer Trilogy.  Frankly, he's almost worth the price of admission.

Tor: Well, see, there we are... something to build off of.

Me: Oh, yes.  If I were you I'd absolutely build off him.  In fact, I'd write an entire series with him as the protagonist.  As far as I'm concerned Pehov has a real talent for writing comedy.  Maybe you should think about changing your marketing strategy, do a few re-writes, make Harold the straight man...

Tor: *fuming*

Me: Look, it was just a suggestion.  So, I'll be looking for the review copy of the sequel Shadow Chaser in my mailbox then, ok?

Tor: ......

Me: No? Uh... right.  Bye now.

[Again, this was merely for fun.  I admit wholeheartedly that it is snarky and a little mean.  But I hope it made someone laugh.]