by Richard Purtill. Daw Books, 1979. 160 p.
Purtill is a Catholic philosopher and Tolkien scholar, and The Golden Gryphon Feather was his first published novel. It is the story of a girl named Chryseis, who is sent as tribute to M’nos of Kaphtu, along with 13 other young Athenians.
Blending mythology with what is known of Minoan civilization, Purtill spins a tale of the gods and heroes of the ancient world which is reminiscent of Lewis’ Till We Have Faces or Wolfe’s Soldier of the Mist. One exciting theme involves the acrobatic bull-leaping dance which the Minoans depicted in their art.
As with many first novels, the writing here is a little uneven. It’s the characters all tend to speak in a similarly crisp, matter-of-fact fashion which can make them a little hard to distinguish from one another. The main character is an interesting and competent girl, but she’s sometimes a little too competent. Exotic threats and life-threatening problems seem rather humdrum when Chryseis, Ariadne, and their friends are on the case.
The thought-world of the Greeks comes to life in a respectful and vivid manner. Purtill constructs an intriguing history and genealogy of the many pagan gods, demigods and monsters which is consistent with a belief in one supreme God, along the lines of Tolkien’s Silmarillion or Wolfe’s The Wizard Knight.
The Golden Gryphon Feather is the first book of a trilogy which continues in The Stolen Goddess and The Mirror of Helen.
3 out of 5
Monday, November 20, 2006
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Book Review - The Golden Age
by John C. Wright. Tor, 2002. 336 p.
The Golden Age is the first volume of a science fiction trilogy. Its title has two or possibly three meanings. It is the label given to a bright time in the far future, when humanity enjoys unprecedented peace, wealth and knowledge. It also refers to the Golden Age of science fiction, when authors like A.E. van Vogt and Isaac Asimov shaped the genre with epic, galaxy-spanning tales. Wright seeks to recapture that same sense of wonder in 21st century science fiction. It may also be a reference to the fabled Golden Age of Greek mythology, as Wright’s tale is heavily influenced by a classical sensibility.
Phaethon, the protagonist, lives in a hugely complex civilization which spans the entire densely populated solar system, from the surface of the sun to frozen Neptune. The denizens of this civilization are descended from humans, but have split into a great many different kinds of life. These are classified mainly by what style of brain they use, since they can change body types quite readily. There are mass-minds, disembodied intelligences, super-intuitive Warlocks, purely logical beings, and a whole host of others, most integrated with highly advanced computers to one degree or another. Wright imagines a dazzling array of technologies, but manages to keep them intelligible and interesting to primitive contemporary humans.
Phaethon finds himself at a year-long masquerade ball full of delights and wonders. But soon questions begin to surface as he stumbles into puzzling situations and realizes that something is wrong with his memories. He resolves to find the truth, a decision that leads him to encounters with a mysterious Neptunian, the last remaining soldier of his civilization, various powerful Peers, massively intelligent Sophotechs, and even the Earthmind Herself, the personification of all combined terrestrial computer intelligence.
Wright’s tale is a very old one – the story of a rebel who becomes disaffected with utopia. Nevertheless, he tells it with freshness, verve and style, pulling the reader into a fascinating society. We witness a high-stakes legal battle waged by brilliant computers, a theatrical eco-system performance, and philosophical debates between post-human leaders. And even a utopia can become the site of unimaginable danger.
Wright was an atheist when he wrote this novel (he has since converted to Christianity). However, his philosophical orientation was a conservative one, influenced by classical Stoicism. Therefore, unlike many contemporary atheists he was deeply concerned with truth, beauty and an objective standard of morality. This is clearly reflected in The Golden Age, and in his adventures Phaethon wrestles with many questions of ancient philosophy, which are given new meanings in an incredibly technologically-developed age. Religious readers will find much to reflect on and agree with here. On the other hand, there is also a theme of Romantic or Promethean defiance, the lone hero struggling against the restraints of convention, about which such readers will likely be more ambivalent.
Thus The Golden Age is enjoyable both as an exciting tale set in a mysterious future and also an intellectually stimulating work of scientific and philosophical extrapolation. I’m eagerly looking forward to reading the other volumes.
4 out of 5
The Golden Age is the first volume of a science fiction trilogy. Its title has two or possibly three meanings. It is the label given to a bright time in the far future, when humanity enjoys unprecedented peace, wealth and knowledge. It also refers to the Golden Age of science fiction, when authors like A.E. van Vogt and Isaac Asimov shaped the genre with epic, galaxy-spanning tales. Wright seeks to recapture that same sense of wonder in 21st century science fiction. It may also be a reference to the fabled Golden Age of Greek mythology, as Wright’s tale is heavily influenced by a classical sensibility.
Phaethon, the protagonist, lives in a hugely complex civilization which spans the entire densely populated solar system, from the surface of the sun to frozen Neptune. The denizens of this civilization are descended from humans, but have split into a great many different kinds of life. These are classified mainly by what style of brain they use, since they can change body types quite readily. There are mass-minds, disembodied intelligences, super-intuitive Warlocks, purely logical beings, and a whole host of others, most integrated with highly advanced computers to one degree or another. Wright imagines a dazzling array of technologies, but manages to keep them intelligible and interesting to primitive contemporary humans.
Phaethon finds himself at a year-long masquerade ball full of delights and wonders. But soon questions begin to surface as he stumbles into puzzling situations and realizes that something is wrong with his memories. He resolves to find the truth, a decision that leads him to encounters with a mysterious Neptunian, the last remaining soldier of his civilization, various powerful Peers, massively intelligent Sophotechs, and even the Earthmind Herself, the personification of all combined terrestrial computer intelligence.
Wright’s tale is a very old one – the story of a rebel who becomes disaffected with utopia. Nevertheless, he tells it with freshness, verve and style, pulling the reader into a fascinating society. We witness a high-stakes legal battle waged by brilliant computers, a theatrical eco-system performance, and philosophical debates between post-human leaders. And even a utopia can become the site of unimaginable danger.
Wright was an atheist when he wrote this novel (he has since converted to Christianity). However, his philosophical orientation was a conservative one, influenced by classical Stoicism. Therefore, unlike many contemporary atheists he was deeply concerned with truth, beauty and an objective standard of morality. This is clearly reflected in The Golden Age, and in his adventures Phaethon wrestles with many questions of ancient philosophy, which are given new meanings in an incredibly technologically-developed age. Religious readers will find much to reflect on and agree with here. On the other hand, there is also a theme of Romantic or Promethean defiance, the lone hero struggling against the restraints of convention, about which such readers will likely be more ambivalent.
Thus The Golden Age is enjoyable both as an exciting tale set in a mysterious future and also an intellectually stimulating work of scientific and philosophical extrapolation. I’m eagerly looking forward to reading the other volumes.
4 out of 5
Monday, September 25, 2006
Book Review - The Urth of the New Sun
The Urth of the New Sun, by Gene Wolfe. 1987.
Upon reading the completed Book of the New Sun, Gene Wolfe’s editor asked him if he could add a paragraph at the end explaining that Severian later went off into space and brought back a new sun. Wolfe replied that he would need a lot more than a paragraph. The Urth of the New Sun was the result of that conversation. While the first four volumes of Severian’s story can stand alone, they contain many hints and glimpses of the messianic Conciliator and the apocalyptic coming of the New Sun. Thus Urth expands, illuminates, and completes this epic tale.
Severian has been Autarch for ten years when we meet him again on the spaceship that is bearing him to Yesod, the universe higher than his own. He goes to be examined by the Hierogrammates, those exalted beings who seek to reshape humanity. On board he encounters any number of dangers and wonders, from intelligent suits of armor to mutant mutineers. One of the most interesting characters here is the furry creature Zak.
In Yesod, Severian is judged as the representative of all Urth in a strange trial which is only the completion of the examination that has gone on all throughout his journey. Here we meet Apheta, a woman who pulses with light, and the Hierogrammate Tzadkiel, who has great wings covered with eyes. His consciousness having been joined with a White Fountain that can renew the sun, Severian is returned to Urth, but at a time unfamiliar to him. He finds the people oppressed politically and fearful about the failing sun. Almost unintentionally he begins a journey of healing, teaching, and reconciliation which leads him to confrontations with a sorcerer and a tyrant.
Learning that he has the ability to travel through time as well as space, Severian moves to the point when the White Fountain arrives and resurrects the old sun. He finds himself caught up in scenes similar to those in Dr. Talos’ play Eschatology and Genesis, reunited with his wife Valeria, as well as Baldanders, Juturna, and a prophetess whom he healed long ago. Now he witnesses the destruction and renewal of Urth, both horrifying and glorious. But even this is not the end of his journey.
Wolfe’s prose is as rich and rewarding as ever, though the plot of Urth is less tightly constructed than that of the first New Sun books. At places it might be accused of meandering. On the other hand, as the barriers of time and space break down for him, it’s understandable that Severian’s narrative would also take some odd turns.
I’ve only scratched the surface in describing the many biblical and theological concepts that appear in this book – there are beautiful scenes of creation, ransom, discipleship, resurrection, and salvation. Wolfe has said that Severian is not so much a Christ-figure as a Christian figure. Be that as it may, I’ve found that this novel opens up fresh and inspiring perspectives on the New Testament for me. In this regard, Wolfe’s luminous work is comparable with the best from Christian masters like Tolkien and Lewis.
5 out of 5
Upon reading the completed Book of the New Sun, Gene Wolfe’s editor asked him if he could add a paragraph at the end explaining that Severian later went off into space and brought back a new sun. Wolfe replied that he would need a lot more than a paragraph. The Urth of the New Sun was the result of that conversation. While the first four volumes of Severian’s story can stand alone, they contain many hints and glimpses of the messianic Conciliator and the apocalyptic coming of the New Sun. Thus Urth expands, illuminates, and completes this epic tale.
Severian has been Autarch for ten years when we meet him again on the spaceship that is bearing him to Yesod, the universe higher than his own. He goes to be examined by the Hierogrammates, those exalted beings who seek to reshape humanity. On board he encounters any number of dangers and wonders, from intelligent suits of armor to mutant mutineers. One of the most interesting characters here is the furry creature Zak.
In Yesod, Severian is judged as the representative of all Urth in a strange trial which is only the completion of the examination that has gone on all throughout his journey. Here we meet Apheta, a woman who pulses with light, and the Hierogrammate Tzadkiel, who has great wings covered with eyes. His consciousness having been joined with a White Fountain that can renew the sun, Severian is returned to Urth, but at a time unfamiliar to him. He finds the people oppressed politically and fearful about the failing sun. Almost unintentionally he begins a journey of healing, teaching, and reconciliation which leads him to confrontations with a sorcerer and a tyrant.
Learning that he has the ability to travel through time as well as space, Severian moves to the point when the White Fountain arrives and resurrects the old sun. He finds himself caught up in scenes similar to those in Dr. Talos’ play Eschatology and Genesis, reunited with his wife Valeria, as well as Baldanders, Juturna, and a prophetess whom he healed long ago. Now he witnesses the destruction and renewal of Urth, both horrifying and glorious. But even this is not the end of his journey.
Wolfe’s prose is as rich and rewarding as ever, though the plot of Urth is less tightly constructed than that of the first New Sun books. At places it might be accused of meandering. On the other hand, as the barriers of time and space break down for him, it’s understandable that Severian’s narrative would also take some odd turns.
I’ve only scratched the surface in describing the many biblical and theological concepts that appear in this book – there are beautiful scenes of creation, ransom, discipleship, resurrection, and salvation. Wolfe has said that Severian is not so much a Christ-figure as a Christian figure. Be that as it may, I’ve found that this novel opens up fresh and inspiring perspectives on the New Testament for me. In this regard, Wolfe’s luminous work is comparable with the best from Christian masters like Tolkien and Lewis.
5 out of 5
Sunday, September 10, 2006
Book Review - The Citadel of the Autarch
by Gene Wolfe. Simon & Schuster, 1982.
This is the fourth volume of The Book of the New Sun. Having passed through the mountains, Severian now encounters the war that is being fought between his own Commonwealth and the Ascians of the northern continent. The Ascians come from a rigid, totalitarian society and speak only by quoting the approved writings of their rulers, the Group of Seventeen (though ultimately they are all slaves of the monstrous Erebus.)
Succumbing to illness and his wounds, Severian finds himself being nursed in a lazaret of the Pelerines, a female monastic order. Here he converses with Pelerines, their slaves, and a number of wounded soldiers. A female patient with several suitors has them engage in a story-telling contest (in which she herself participates), and asks Severian to judge which story is best. Among these interesting digressions is a version of the Parable of the Wicked Tenants. Once he has left the lazaret, Severian enlists with a unit of mercenary cavalry. He is soon embroiled in hair-raising battles fought between bizarre varieties of troops armed with weapons both futuristic and primitive. Wolfe drew on his own experiences in the Korean War to depict the boredom, excitement and horror of a soldier’s life.
It is on the battlefield that Severian again encounters the Autarch and learns the intriguing inner nature of his rule. All of the threads of The Book of the New Sun are drawn together as old haunts are revisited, debts repaid and conflicts come to their head. Vodalus, Agia, Dorcas, and Master Palaemon all make appearances as Severian’s ascension to the throne reaches culmination. Particularly memorable is a moving mystical insight that overtakes him at the edge of the sea.
The first part of Citadel feels like a digression from the direction the previous volume took (particularly the stories of the lazaret) though all these pieces do eventually come together. While Severian is still at times proud, lustful and violent, his travels and sufferings have changed him, and we see the beginning of wisdom, particularly as he takes up the power and responsibility of the Autarch. There are some beautiful scenes of grace and forgiveness.
Citadel completes The Book of the New Sun and the first stage of Severian’s story. Several years later, Wolfe wrote The Urth of the New Sun, which in expanding Severian’s journey depicts the numinous salvation history which the first part hints at– the story of the Conciliator and the New Sun.
5 out of 5
This is the fourth volume of The Book of the New Sun. Having passed through the mountains, Severian now encounters the war that is being fought between his own Commonwealth and the Ascians of the northern continent. The Ascians come from a rigid, totalitarian society and speak only by quoting the approved writings of their rulers, the Group of Seventeen (though ultimately they are all slaves of the monstrous Erebus.)
Succumbing to illness and his wounds, Severian finds himself being nursed in a lazaret of the Pelerines, a female monastic order. Here he converses with Pelerines, their slaves, and a number of wounded soldiers. A female patient with several suitors has them engage in a story-telling contest (in which she herself participates), and asks Severian to judge which story is best. Among these interesting digressions is a version of the Parable of the Wicked Tenants. Once he has left the lazaret, Severian enlists with a unit of mercenary cavalry. He is soon embroiled in hair-raising battles fought between bizarre varieties of troops armed with weapons both futuristic and primitive. Wolfe drew on his own experiences in the Korean War to depict the boredom, excitement and horror of a soldier’s life.
It is on the battlefield that Severian again encounters the Autarch and learns the intriguing inner nature of his rule. All of the threads of The Book of the New Sun are drawn together as old haunts are revisited, debts repaid and conflicts come to their head. Vodalus, Agia, Dorcas, and Master Palaemon all make appearances as Severian’s ascension to the throne reaches culmination. Particularly memorable is a moving mystical insight that overtakes him at the edge of the sea.
The first part of Citadel feels like a digression from the direction the previous volume took (particularly the stories of the lazaret) though all these pieces do eventually come together. While Severian is still at times proud, lustful and violent, his travels and sufferings have changed him, and we see the beginning of wisdom, particularly as he takes up the power and responsibility of the Autarch. There are some beautiful scenes of grace and forgiveness.
Citadel completes The Book of the New Sun and the first stage of Severian’s story. Several years later, Wolfe wrote The Urth of the New Sun, which in expanding Severian’s journey depicts the numinous salvation history which the first part hints at– the story of the Conciliator and the New Sun.
5 out of 5
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Book Review - Three Days to Never
by Tim Powers. William Morrow, 2006.
When Frank Marrity gets an enigmatic phone call from his grandmother, telling him that she’s burned down her garden shed, he and his twelve-year-old daughter Daphne head over to investigate. When they arrive, the shed, though decrepit, is still standing, while his grandmother has mysteriously vanished. Inside the shed they find a signed slab of concrete with Charlie Chaplin’s hand- and foot-prints on it, a box full of letters from Albert Einstein, and some strange gold wiring sticking out from under the floor. There’s also a TV and a VCR, and just before they are interrupted Daphne takes the videotape. Watching it later at home, she discovers that it contains a terrifying silent film that makes the room spin about her. And then things begin to burst into flame.
Oren Lepidopt is a devout Jew who works for a special branch of the Israeli secret services. Educated in the sacred texts of Judaism and the mystical Kabbalah, Lepidopt and his fellow ‘Halomot’ agents use both mundane and paranormal techniques in their work. They are tasked with tracking down the secret discoveries that Einstein considered more dangerous than the atom bomb – too dangerous to share with any government. Also on the trail is a ruthless occult order known as the Vespers, descended from the Albigenses of Languedoc. Their symbol is the two joined cones of the Grail, symbolizing the future and the past, both opening up and moving away from the present. It is their ambition to find a means of altering the past, and thus achieve godlike power.
As is his usual practice, Powers takes unusual events from the lives of historical figures and imagines a secret history that would explain them. He also links his story loosely to The Tempest and mixes in biblical references, the Six-Day War, quantum mechanics, dybbuks, and the paradoxes of time travel. The treatment of this last topic is in some ways reminiscent of Gene Wolfe’s Free Live Free, and Powers’ take on destiny (or Providence) has some interesting points in common with Connie Willis’ To Say Nothing of the Dog.
The story contains some truly chilling moments, interspersed with Powers’ usual brand of wry humour (Daphne is particularly charming.) He remains as deft as ever at keeping his readers guessing. While I thought Frank Marrity’s romantic involvement came together a little unrealistically, the decisions of certain other characters surprised me. I also felt that Powers did a great job of keeping up the tension by moving the story along at a compelling pace, a skill he’s honed through years of writing complicated novels. However, as with Declare, there are a few sections in which people explain the back story through weighty speeches that seem out of character.
There are, of course, plenty of religious references in this book, drawn mainly from Judaism and the Hebrew scriptures, and there is a resurrection of sorts. The moral journey of the characters is not as openly spiritual as in Declare, but their dilemmas and choices do mesh with Jewish and Christian beliefs. The question confronting them all is: Do the ends justify the means? Is it acceptable to override ‘common’ morality if the rewards are big enough? In this regard the Vespers occultists are like the demon worshippers of That Hideous Strength, attempting to attain perfect ‘objectivity’ by recasting good as cowardice and evil as efficiency, but turning themselves into monsters in the process.
Powers hasn’t lost his touch – this is a memorable and thought-provoking book.
4.5 out of 5
When Frank Marrity gets an enigmatic phone call from his grandmother, telling him that she’s burned down her garden shed, he and his twelve-year-old daughter Daphne head over to investigate. When they arrive, the shed, though decrepit, is still standing, while his grandmother has mysteriously vanished. Inside the shed they find a signed slab of concrete with Charlie Chaplin’s hand- and foot-prints on it, a box full of letters from Albert Einstein, and some strange gold wiring sticking out from under the floor. There’s also a TV and a VCR, and just before they are interrupted Daphne takes the videotape. Watching it later at home, she discovers that it contains a terrifying silent film that makes the room spin about her. And then things begin to burst into flame.
Oren Lepidopt is a devout Jew who works for a special branch of the Israeli secret services. Educated in the sacred texts of Judaism and the mystical Kabbalah, Lepidopt and his fellow ‘Halomot’ agents use both mundane and paranormal techniques in their work. They are tasked with tracking down the secret discoveries that Einstein considered more dangerous than the atom bomb – too dangerous to share with any government. Also on the trail is a ruthless occult order known as the Vespers, descended from the Albigenses of Languedoc. Their symbol is the two joined cones of the Grail, symbolizing the future and the past, both opening up and moving away from the present. It is their ambition to find a means of altering the past, and thus achieve godlike power.
As is his usual practice, Powers takes unusual events from the lives of historical figures and imagines a secret history that would explain them. He also links his story loosely to The Tempest and mixes in biblical references, the Six-Day War, quantum mechanics, dybbuks, and the paradoxes of time travel. The treatment of this last topic is in some ways reminiscent of Gene Wolfe’s Free Live Free, and Powers’ take on destiny (or Providence) has some interesting points in common with Connie Willis’ To Say Nothing of the Dog.
The story contains some truly chilling moments, interspersed with Powers’ usual brand of wry humour (Daphne is particularly charming.) He remains as deft as ever at keeping his readers guessing. While I thought Frank Marrity’s romantic involvement came together a little unrealistically, the decisions of certain other characters surprised me. I also felt that Powers did a great job of keeping up the tension by moving the story along at a compelling pace, a skill he’s honed through years of writing complicated novels. However, as with Declare, there are a few sections in which people explain the back story through weighty speeches that seem out of character.
There are, of course, plenty of religious references in this book, drawn mainly from Judaism and the Hebrew scriptures, and there is a resurrection of sorts. The moral journey of the characters is not as openly spiritual as in Declare, but their dilemmas and choices do mesh with Jewish and Christian beliefs. The question confronting them all is: Do the ends justify the means? Is it acceptable to override ‘common’ morality if the rewards are big enough? In this regard the Vespers occultists are like the demon worshippers of That Hideous Strength, attempting to attain perfect ‘objectivity’ by recasting good as cowardice and evil as efficiency, but turning themselves into monsters in the process.
Powers hasn’t lost his touch – this is a memorable and thought-provoking book.
4.5 out of 5
Monday, August 28, 2006
Book Review - The Anubis Gates
by Tim Powers. Ace, 1983.
After I was introduced to Tim Powers through his Cold War fantasy, Declare, I attempted to track down his earlier works at libraries and used bookstores. Several proved impossible to find. Among these was the novel that first made him famous: The Anubis Gates, so eventually I gave in and bought a new copy. Now, having read it, I understand the reason for its rarity: no one in their right mind would relinquish a copy of such a marvelous book!
Brendan Doyle, a second-rate Coleridge scholar, is hired by wealthy J. Cochran Darrow as part of a peculiar money-making scheme. Darrow has discovered a quasi-magical means of limited time travel, and to raise funds for other exploits, he has arranged to take ten customers back to 1810 to hear Coleridge give a lecture. Doyle’s job is to give the venture a bit of academic gravitas. The first part of the plan goes smoothly, but after the lecture Doyle is kidnapped by a huge bald-headed sorcerer who is intent on learning his magical secrets. Doyle escapes by the skin of his teeth, but finds himself stranded in the past, a friendless pauper.
I’m not sure I could describe the rest of the plot if I wanted to, because it would sound utterly insane. One of Powers’ gifts is the ability to take strange details of the past and knit them together into a convincing secret history, filling in the blanks with a bizarre but logically coherent framework. Suffice it to say that it involves an evil clown, Byron, Coleridge, Egyptian gods, gypsies, a body-switching killer, horrible medical experiments, magical homunculi, Napoleon, a depilatory salon, fire elementals, and a little wooden monkey. And, of course, the fate of the whole world hangs in the balance!
While the plot is complex, it keeps up a fast pace and never gets bogged down in its own twists and turns. For the most part Powers avoids the explanatory speeches which show up in his later works. There’s plenty of sly humour, and a lot of frights, but overall the story plays it straight and doesn’t veer off into the horror or comedy genres. I’ve read quite a few books that tried to follow a similar formula – a rollicking adventure spiced with weird ideas. Usually those works fell flat, were overly predictable, or came off as gimmicky and contrived. Not so with this book – all the pieces work together admirably. The Anubis Gates is the real thing, a classic which no doubt spawned many imitations.
What about religious elements? Early on we learn that the power of sorcery is fading thanks to the newer religions, in particular Christianity. Therefore, one of the main reasons the villains are plotting against England is because of its role in spreading this faith around the world. Coleridge, while a tormented man, was also a passionate and intellectually adventurous Christian, and this shows up in the book through a few of the remarks he makes, along with a brief conversation about the Logos. There’s a vivid resurrection sequence, and by the end of the book one gets the sense that Doyle has been an agent of Providence. Finally, I don’t think it’s too much of a stretch to see Powers’ Catholic faith reflected in the implicit moral dimension of the story. Several of his recurring themes make themselves felt: the importance of making reparations for past wrongs, of paying debts owed; and the wickedness of trying to extend one’s own life or power unnaturally by preying off the vulnerable.
All in all, a tour de force. Skip the used bookstores for this one - go out and buy a new copy today!
5 out of 5
After I was introduced to Tim Powers through his Cold War fantasy, Declare, I attempted to track down his earlier works at libraries and used bookstores. Several proved impossible to find. Among these was the novel that first made him famous: The Anubis Gates, so eventually I gave in and bought a new copy. Now, having read it, I understand the reason for its rarity: no one in their right mind would relinquish a copy of such a marvelous book!
Brendan Doyle, a second-rate Coleridge scholar, is hired by wealthy J. Cochran Darrow as part of a peculiar money-making scheme. Darrow has discovered a quasi-magical means of limited time travel, and to raise funds for other exploits, he has arranged to take ten customers back to 1810 to hear Coleridge give a lecture. Doyle’s job is to give the venture a bit of academic gravitas. The first part of the plan goes smoothly, but after the lecture Doyle is kidnapped by a huge bald-headed sorcerer who is intent on learning his magical secrets. Doyle escapes by the skin of his teeth, but finds himself stranded in the past, a friendless pauper.
I’m not sure I could describe the rest of the plot if I wanted to, because it would sound utterly insane. One of Powers’ gifts is the ability to take strange details of the past and knit them together into a convincing secret history, filling in the blanks with a bizarre but logically coherent framework. Suffice it to say that it involves an evil clown, Byron, Coleridge, Egyptian gods, gypsies, a body-switching killer, horrible medical experiments, magical homunculi, Napoleon, a depilatory salon, fire elementals, and a little wooden monkey. And, of course, the fate of the whole world hangs in the balance!
While the plot is complex, it keeps up a fast pace and never gets bogged down in its own twists and turns. For the most part Powers avoids the explanatory speeches which show up in his later works. There’s plenty of sly humour, and a lot of frights, but overall the story plays it straight and doesn’t veer off into the horror or comedy genres. I’ve read quite a few books that tried to follow a similar formula – a rollicking adventure spiced with weird ideas. Usually those works fell flat, were overly predictable, or came off as gimmicky and contrived. Not so with this book – all the pieces work together admirably. The Anubis Gates is the real thing, a classic which no doubt spawned many imitations.
What about religious elements? Early on we learn that the power of sorcery is fading thanks to the newer religions, in particular Christianity. Therefore, one of the main reasons the villains are plotting against England is because of its role in spreading this faith around the world. Coleridge, while a tormented man, was also a passionate and intellectually adventurous Christian, and this shows up in the book through a few of the remarks he makes, along with a brief conversation about the Logos. There’s a vivid resurrection sequence, and by the end of the book one gets the sense that Doyle has been an agent of Providence. Finally, I don’t think it’s too much of a stretch to see Powers’ Catholic faith reflected in the implicit moral dimension of the story. Several of his recurring themes make themselves felt: the importance of making reparations for past wrongs, of paying debts owed; and the wickedness of trying to extend one’s own life or power unnaturally by preying off the vulnerable.
All in all, a tour de force. Skip the used bookstores for this one - go out and buy a new copy today!
5 out of 5
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Book review - Crown of Fire
by Kathy Tyers. 2000. Bethany House.
The final volume of the Firebird trilogy, Crown of Fire brings the adventures of our heroine and her husband to a grand conclusion.
Having returned to Netaia to be confirmed an heiress, Firebird must find her way through a number of sticky political situations, while secretly playing a more dangerous game. She and Brennen must act as bait to trap the Shuhr. The Sentinels have a temporary edge over their ancient enemies, thanks both to new RIA technology and the powerful telepathic fusion ability which Brennen and Firebird have discovered. For the Shuhr to learn these secrets would be a catastrophe, in light of their horrific plans for the rest of humanity. The Federacy, desperate to prevent any further destruction, has given Brennen clear orders – interrogate one of the Shuhr, and then use the resulting information to lead a strike force against them.
I found the first half of the book to be rather unexciting, as various factions and personalities maneuver into position and the Sentinels wait for their enemies to commit themselves. After the terrors and thrills of Fusion Fire, it was hard to get too concerned with the machinations of Netaian politicians. But the Shuhr are as ruthless and frightening as ever, and when they finally do strike, the story explodes. I can think of few other authors who regularly put women and children in such hideous danger as Tyers does in this trilogy (particularly danger that the reader truly feels) and Firebird suffers some terrible damage.
I appreciate the way Tyers depicts unmistakably evil people while showing them in context. In their own minds, they have perfectly sane and moral reasons for the things they do, and the author emphasizes how easy it would be for any of us to go down that road. She also does a good job of portraying controversial social issues without descending into polemic. For example, she imagines what a society which regularly manipulated, killed and ‘harvested’ cloned embryos would look like, and lets her readers drawn their own conclusions. Despite the structural and entrenched nature of the Shuhr’s sins, however, Tyers does not deny them grace. Terza Shirak, a Shuhr geneticist, becomes an unexpectedly sympathetic character as she begins to wonder if a different life is possible.
Firebird always struggles with pride, and many occasions for it arise in Crown of Fire. She imagines becoming a triumphant Netaian queen who brings salvation to her people. Brennen, in turn, seeks to know God’s will for him in the war, and steels himself to make an awful sacrifice. Besides this spiritual growth there are some interesting theological insights, as when Firebird imagines the fulfillment of prophecies as being like “a series of mountain ranges, with nearby peaks obscuring the distant ones. Only when you arrived at the first summit could you see that the second range was still far off.” (p. 241) And I think Tyers handles the overlapping human and divine causes of the final cataclysm with appropriate subtlety.
Though it takes its time in picking up speed, Crown of Fire is a fine ending to this exciting series.
4 out of 5
The final volume of the Firebird trilogy, Crown of Fire brings the adventures of our heroine and her husband to a grand conclusion.
Having returned to Netaia to be confirmed an heiress, Firebird must find her way through a number of sticky political situations, while secretly playing a more dangerous game. She and Brennen must act as bait to trap the Shuhr. The Sentinels have a temporary edge over their ancient enemies, thanks both to new RIA technology and the powerful telepathic fusion ability which Brennen and Firebird have discovered. For the Shuhr to learn these secrets would be a catastrophe, in light of their horrific plans for the rest of humanity. The Federacy, desperate to prevent any further destruction, has given Brennen clear orders – interrogate one of the Shuhr, and then use the resulting information to lead a strike force against them.
I found the first half of the book to be rather unexciting, as various factions and personalities maneuver into position and the Sentinels wait for their enemies to commit themselves. After the terrors and thrills of Fusion Fire, it was hard to get too concerned with the machinations of Netaian politicians. But the Shuhr are as ruthless and frightening as ever, and when they finally do strike, the story explodes. I can think of few other authors who regularly put women and children in such hideous danger as Tyers does in this trilogy (particularly danger that the reader truly feels) and Firebird suffers some terrible damage.
I appreciate the way Tyers depicts unmistakably evil people while showing them in context. In their own minds, they have perfectly sane and moral reasons for the things they do, and the author emphasizes how easy it would be for any of us to go down that road. She also does a good job of portraying controversial social issues without descending into polemic. For example, she imagines what a society which regularly manipulated, killed and ‘harvested’ cloned embryos would look like, and lets her readers drawn their own conclusions. Despite the structural and entrenched nature of the Shuhr’s sins, however, Tyers does not deny them grace. Terza Shirak, a Shuhr geneticist, becomes an unexpectedly sympathetic character as she begins to wonder if a different life is possible.
Firebird always struggles with pride, and many occasions for it arise in Crown of Fire. She imagines becoming a triumphant Netaian queen who brings salvation to her people. Brennen, in turn, seeks to know God’s will for him in the war, and steels himself to make an awful sacrifice. Besides this spiritual growth there are some interesting theological insights, as when Firebird imagines the fulfillment of prophecies as being like “a series of mountain ranges, with nearby peaks obscuring the distant ones. Only when you arrived at the first summit could you see that the second range was still far off.” (p. 241) And I think Tyers handles the overlapping human and divine causes of the final cataclysm with appropriate subtlety.
Though it takes its time in picking up speed, Crown of Fire is a fine ending to this exciting series.
4 out of 5
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Book revew - Fusion Fire
by Kathy Tyers. Bethany House, 2000.
The second book in the Firebird trilogy, Fusion Fire defies the traditional wisdom about sequels being inferior creatures. In fact, it overshadows its predecessor, expanding the scale of the story and serving up a heady mix of fast-moving action and terrifying new threats.
Picking up the narrative eight or nine months after it left off, we find our heroes married and expecting twins. Pregnant though she is, Firebird is far from helpless when an assassin comes in the night. No sooner is that threat dealt with than worse ones arise, along with some fresh tragedies. It seems that someone is intent on wiping out Brennen’s family, due to ancient prophecies which indicate the Messiah will arise from his line.
While the devout Sentinels follow a strict code that prevents misuse of their special abilities, their equally gifted cousins care nothing for laws or the precepts of religion. Known as the Shuhr (pronounced ‘Sith’), they serve only themselves and seek to dominate the galaxy. Infiltrating both Netaia and the Federacy, they are intent on wiping out the Sentinels who stand in their way. Masters of the biosciences, equipped with an arsenal of horrific techniques, they have found ways to increase their lifespans and telepathic powers by preying off the vulnerable.
Firebird borrowed concepts from Star Wars, Star Trek, and other places, but in Fusion Fire Tyers demonstrates how deftly she has reworked these elements into an original story. Readers get to see more of interesting characters such as Carradee and Tel Tellai, and find themselves in the unlikely position of pitying Firebird’s malicious sister Phoena. They also observe the somewhat amusing fate of Ellet Kinsman, the manipulative woman who only had eyes for Brennen.
Firebird is relentlessly confronted by evil, both within and without. Seeking to uncover her own latent psychic talents, she must wrestle with darkness inside herself. The malevolent Shuhr are a truly hideous menace, particularly the masterminds Dru Polar and Eshdeth Shirak. Tyers inflicts a great deal of damage on her characters. Both they and her readers must ask how God can permit such evil, and what He is doing while His creatures suffer. As in our world, His purposes are often opaque to mortals, but eventually Firebird is permitted to see some of them come together as retribution strikes at the heart of the Shuhr’s arrogant schemes.
Fusion Fire also reveals more of the Sentinel’s religion. The ceremony of Firebird’s consecration includes a very striking vision of the Sentinel’s ancestors and a desperate midnight sacrifice that hints at a greater atonement. However, I felt there were places when the Sentinels’ language and beliefs corresponded a bit too obviously with contemporary evangelicalism. For example, the fiery darkness inside Firebird is already a potent symbol for original sin, without the characters meditating on it and explaining it in theological terms.
Overall, though, this is a highly enjoyable work. Moving from hand-to-hand combat and outer space dogfights to psychological disintegration and a nearly fatal childbirth, Fusion Fire is a very compelling ride.
4 out of 5.
The second book in the Firebird trilogy, Fusion Fire defies the traditional wisdom about sequels being inferior creatures. In fact, it overshadows its predecessor, expanding the scale of the story and serving up a heady mix of fast-moving action and terrifying new threats.
Picking up the narrative eight or nine months after it left off, we find our heroes married and expecting twins. Pregnant though she is, Firebird is far from helpless when an assassin comes in the night. No sooner is that threat dealt with than worse ones arise, along with some fresh tragedies. It seems that someone is intent on wiping out Brennen’s family, due to ancient prophecies which indicate the Messiah will arise from his line.
While the devout Sentinels follow a strict code that prevents misuse of their special abilities, their equally gifted cousins care nothing for laws or the precepts of religion. Known as the Shuhr (pronounced ‘Sith’), they serve only themselves and seek to dominate the galaxy. Infiltrating both Netaia and the Federacy, they are intent on wiping out the Sentinels who stand in their way. Masters of the biosciences, equipped with an arsenal of horrific techniques, they have found ways to increase their lifespans and telepathic powers by preying off the vulnerable.
Firebird borrowed concepts from Star Wars, Star Trek, and other places, but in Fusion Fire Tyers demonstrates how deftly she has reworked these elements into an original story. Readers get to see more of interesting characters such as Carradee and Tel Tellai, and find themselves in the unlikely position of pitying Firebird’s malicious sister Phoena. They also observe the somewhat amusing fate of Ellet Kinsman, the manipulative woman who only had eyes for Brennen.
Firebird is relentlessly confronted by evil, both within and without. Seeking to uncover her own latent psychic talents, she must wrestle with darkness inside herself. The malevolent Shuhr are a truly hideous menace, particularly the masterminds Dru Polar and Eshdeth Shirak. Tyers inflicts a great deal of damage on her characters. Both they and her readers must ask how God can permit such evil, and what He is doing while His creatures suffer. As in our world, His purposes are often opaque to mortals, but eventually Firebird is permitted to see some of them come together as retribution strikes at the heart of the Shuhr’s arrogant schemes.
Fusion Fire also reveals more of the Sentinel’s religion. The ceremony of Firebird’s consecration includes a very striking vision of the Sentinel’s ancestors and a desperate midnight sacrifice that hints at a greater atonement. However, I felt there were places when the Sentinels’ language and beliefs corresponded a bit too obviously with contemporary evangelicalism. For example, the fiery darkness inside Firebird is already a potent symbol for original sin, without the characters meditating on it and explaining it in theological terms.
Overall, though, this is a highly enjoyable work. Moving from hand-to-hand combat and outer space dogfights to psychological disintegration and a nearly fatal childbirth, Fusion Fire is a very compelling ride.
4 out of 5.
Monday, August 21, 2006
Book review - Firebird
by Kathy Tyers. 1999. Bethany House.
Firebird is a fast-paced space opera which was originally published in the mainstream SF market, and then rewritten for an evangelical audience. It centers around two characters: strong-willed Firebird Angelo, and the telepathic Brennen Caldwell.
Born into the ruling family of Netaia, Firebird is wealthy and educated, but she knows her life will not be long. The Netaian nobility eliminates excess heirs once they fall past a certain point in the succession, and Firebird has fallen to the point of no return. Thus she eschews romance and long-term plans, training as a fighter pilot and hoping to die in a blaze of glory. Her class lives in opulent luxury, repressing the common people through a state religion, a culture of obedience and brute force. Their vaguely Confucian religion preaches conformity and worships a set of deified attributes, such as Strength, Knowledge, and Excellence. Their culture is xenophobic, holding itself proudly aloof from the Federacy, an interstellar alliance which upholds human rights and freedoms.
When Netaia begins a war of expansion on nearby Veroh, Firebird eagerly goes off, seeking a glorious death. But Veroh is a Federacy protectorate and she soon finds herself a prisoner, captured and interrogated by Brennen, a Sentinel.
Descended from a nearly extinct people who genetically altered themselves to gain uncanny powers, the Sentinels who live in the Federacy follow a strict code of conduct which regulates use of their telepathic and telekinetic abilities. They also wield a special weapon - the crystace is a simple hilt from which, upon activation, emerges a long crystal blade that can deflect laser blasts and cut practically anything. (Sounds like the Jedi, huh?)
Ever since the Sentinel’s ancestors misused their powers and died in a catastrophic civil war, a small, exiled remnant has sought to atone by using their powers for good and remaining faithful to their religion. They worship one God, whom they hope one day will send a Messiah. They’re essentially Jews.
But not quite. These people have two testaments, and a Trinitarian concept of God. Nor do they seem to sacrifice animals. Their preoccupations and expectations are more Christian than Jewish. As might be expected, their emphases are evangelical. For example, only two aspects of their hoped-for Messiah are mentioned in this volume: he will perform an act of sin-cleansing substitionary atonement; and after he comes his people will again be allowed to proselytize. So perhaps it would be correct to say that the Sentinels are Jedi Jews for Jesus!
Does all this sound derivative? You bet. We’ve got the Star Trek Federation battling World War II Japan while Jewish Jedi rush about performing mind melds. But Tyers manages to spin it into an entertaining space opera. She accomplishes this by providing plenty of action, and by focusing on strong characters. Firebird is daring, driven and self-destructive. Brennen is powerful, conscientious and intense, and it’s not surprising that a romance soon sparks between them.
I felt that Tyers created so much excitement and tension with the military exploits of the first half of the story that the second half seemed rather tame and predictable. Firebird and Brennen go on to engage in dangerous James Bond-style adventures, but the shift in scale creates the impression we’ve switched genres, from military SF to romantic thriller. Much of the political intrigue will only be interesting if you go on to read the other sections of the trilogy, and I suspect Tyers reworked her books to flow best when read as one epic tale.
The spiritual elements work fairly well. Firebird rejects the graceless tradition she was raised in, but she is not immediately comfortable with Brennen’s unfamiliar religion. She struggles with her pride and selfishness while trying to understand his faith. I was particularly moved by her vision of God as an almighty singer, creating and conducting the music of the galaxies. It fits nicely with Firebird’s talent as a harpist, and the musically themed chapter headings.
Firebird is a worthy addition to the field of Christian SF, though it’s best read along with its sequels.
3.5 out of 5
Firebird is a fast-paced space opera which was originally published in the mainstream SF market, and then rewritten for an evangelical audience. It centers around two characters: strong-willed Firebird Angelo, and the telepathic Brennen Caldwell.
Born into the ruling family of Netaia, Firebird is wealthy and educated, but she knows her life will not be long. The Netaian nobility eliminates excess heirs once they fall past a certain point in the succession, and Firebird has fallen to the point of no return. Thus she eschews romance and long-term plans, training as a fighter pilot and hoping to die in a blaze of glory. Her class lives in opulent luxury, repressing the common people through a state religion, a culture of obedience and brute force. Their vaguely Confucian religion preaches conformity and worships a set of deified attributes, such as Strength, Knowledge, and Excellence. Their culture is xenophobic, holding itself proudly aloof from the Federacy, an interstellar alliance which upholds human rights and freedoms.
When Netaia begins a war of expansion on nearby Veroh, Firebird eagerly goes off, seeking a glorious death. But Veroh is a Federacy protectorate and she soon finds herself a prisoner, captured and interrogated by Brennen, a Sentinel.
Descended from a nearly extinct people who genetically altered themselves to gain uncanny powers, the Sentinels who live in the Federacy follow a strict code of conduct which regulates use of their telepathic and telekinetic abilities. They also wield a special weapon - the crystace is a simple hilt from which, upon activation, emerges a long crystal blade that can deflect laser blasts and cut practically anything. (Sounds like the Jedi, huh?)
Ever since the Sentinel’s ancestors misused their powers and died in a catastrophic civil war, a small, exiled remnant has sought to atone by using their powers for good and remaining faithful to their religion. They worship one God, whom they hope one day will send a Messiah. They’re essentially Jews.
But not quite. These people have two testaments, and a Trinitarian concept of God. Nor do they seem to sacrifice animals. Their preoccupations and expectations are more Christian than Jewish. As might be expected, their emphases are evangelical. For example, only two aspects of their hoped-for Messiah are mentioned in this volume: he will perform an act of sin-cleansing substitionary atonement; and after he comes his people will again be allowed to proselytize. So perhaps it would be correct to say that the Sentinels are Jedi Jews for Jesus!
Does all this sound derivative? You bet. We’ve got the Star Trek Federation battling World War II Japan while Jewish Jedi rush about performing mind melds. But Tyers manages to spin it into an entertaining space opera. She accomplishes this by providing plenty of action, and by focusing on strong characters. Firebird is daring, driven and self-destructive. Brennen is powerful, conscientious and intense, and it’s not surprising that a romance soon sparks between them.
I felt that Tyers created so much excitement and tension with the military exploits of the first half of the story that the second half seemed rather tame and predictable. Firebird and Brennen go on to engage in dangerous James Bond-style adventures, but the shift in scale creates the impression we’ve switched genres, from military SF to romantic thriller. Much of the political intrigue will only be interesting if you go on to read the other sections of the trilogy, and I suspect Tyers reworked her books to flow best when read as one epic tale.
The spiritual elements work fairly well. Firebird rejects the graceless tradition she was raised in, but she is not immediately comfortable with Brennen’s unfamiliar religion. She struggles with her pride and selfishness while trying to understand his faith. I was particularly moved by her vision of God as an almighty singer, creating and conducting the music of the galaxies. It fits nicely with Firebird’s talent as a harpist, and the musically themed chapter headings.
Firebird is a worthy addition to the field of Christian SF, though it’s best read along with its sequels.
3.5 out of 5
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Book Review - The Sword of the Lictor
The Sword of the Lictor, by Gene Wolfe. 1981.
This is the third volume of The Book of the New Sun. When we meet him again, Severian has taken up his post as lictor (executioner, torturer and prison warden) of the city of Thrax. It is not a position he occupies long, though, for a crisis of conscience causes him to disobey the local archon. He flees into the wild, a hunted outlaw.
This book shows us more of Wolfe’s glorious and eccentric future landscape. The mountains through which Severian travels were long ago carved into monumental statues depicting forgotten emperors. In the valleys he encounters the animalistic zoanthrops, people who have renounced their humanity. On Lake Diuturna he sees the traveling islands and the free fisherfolk who dwell on them.
While there are sections in which our narrator, wandering alone, muses eloquently on questions philosophical and theological, Wolfe still provides plenty of action. Severian’s twilight encounter with the alzabo, a creature which speaks with the voices of its victims, remains one of the most tense scenes I’ve ever read. Equally exciting are his confrontations with a fiery assassin, a cabal of jungle sorcerors, and the demonic ruler Typhon.
It is in this third volume that Wolfe begins to supply answers to some of his riddles. We learn who is behind the attacks on Severian, and where Dorcas came from. We again meet Dr. Talos and the giant Baldanders, but see them in a very different light. We learn why the Claw is so named. And we are permitted a glance beneath the double masks of the alien cacogens.
A number of these insights and encounters combine to indicate that something profound is going on beneath the adventures, something of great import for Urth and her peoples. While only reaching fulfillment in the four and fifth volumes, it is becoming apparent that Severian’s story is actually one of salvation history.
5 out of 5.
This is the third volume of The Book of the New Sun. When we meet him again, Severian has taken up his post as lictor (executioner, torturer and prison warden) of the city of Thrax. It is not a position he occupies long, though, for a crisis of conscience causes him to disobey the local archon. He flees into the wild, a hunted outlaw.
This book shows us more of Wolfe’s glorious and eccentric future landscape. The mountains through which Severian travels were long ago carved into monumental statues depicting forgotten emperors. In the valleys he encounters the animalistic zoanthrops, people who have renounced their humanity. On Lake Diuturna he sees the traveling islands and the free fisherfolk who dwell on them.
While there are sections in which our narrator, wandering alone, muses eloquently on questions philosophical and theological, Wolfe still provides plenty of action. Severian’s twilight encounter with the alzabo, a creature which speaks with the voices of its victims, remains one of the most tense scenes I’ve ever read. Equally exciting are his confrontations with a fiery assassin, a cabal of jungle sorcerors, and the demonic ruler Typhon.
It is in this third volume that Wolfe begins to supply answers to some of his riddles. We learn who is behind the attacks on Severian, and where Dorcas came from. We again meet Dr. Talos and the giant Baldanders, but see them in a very different light. We learn why the Claw is so named. And we are permitted a glance beneath the double masks of the alien cacogens.
A number of these insights and encounters combine to indicate that something profound is going on beneath the adventures, something of great import for Urth and her peoples. While only reaching fulfillment in the four and fifth volumes, it is becoming apparent that Severian’s story is actually one of salvation history.
5 out of 5.
Three Days To Never
Jimmy Akin's got a post about Tim Power's new Three Days To Never, which he's started to read.
My own copy has already been shipped by Chapters.ca!
My own copy has already been shipped by Chapters.ca!
Sunday, August 06, 2006
Book Review - Till We Have Faces
Till We Have Faces, by C.S. Lewis. Geoffrey Bles, 1956.
Lewis considered this, his last novel, to be his best, and many of his readers agree. It is the first-hand story of the ugly princess Orual’s love for her sister, and her complaint against the gods. Orual lives in Glome, a little barbarian kingdom of ancient times. Glome and its closest neighbours are fictional, but Lewis uses his considerable knowledge of classical history to imbue it with all the beauty and horror of pagan culture.
Orual’s kingdom lives under the distant influence of Greece, and her people worship local variations of the Greek gods. Their primary goddess is Ungit, elsewhere known as Aphrodite or Venus. Ungit is not the clean-limbed beauty of the Greeks, however. In Glome she is an almost shapeless black rock, spattered with the blood of sacrifices, crouching in the darkness of her temple.
The King, a violent and insecure man, is always seeking a male heir but gets daughters instead: Orual and Redival with his first wife, and Istra with his second. Istra is a stunningly beautiful child, and Orual, repulsively ugly, loves her whole-heartedly. It is from their foreign tutor, a slave know as The Fox, that Orual learns the Greek version of her sister’s name: Psyche.
Lewis is retelling the classical myth of Cupid and Psyche, refocusing the story on a mortal who has her heart broken by the deeds of the gods. Psyche is loved and worshipped by the people for her beauty, which incurs the jealous anger of Venus/Ungit. The goddess afflicts the lands with a curse, until the people turn on Psyche and send her away as a sacrifice. Cupid, known in Glome as the god of the Grey Mountain, is sent to destroy her, but upon seeing her, falls in love and bears her away to live with him. And thus Orual’s true problems begin.
If this all sounds very complicated and mythic, blame the reviewer. Till We Have Faces is in fact a straight-forward and grittily compelling book. The narrator is a very real woman, part of a dysfunctional royal family, and her story is frank about sex, politics and violence. Her book is, in part, a formal (if bitter) complaint against the gods, so she restricts herself as much as possible to the facts.
This emphasis on showing, rather than telling, may be what makes it Lewis’ greatest novel. It enabled him to bypass what Owen Barfield called his ‘expository demon,’ a temptation to explain everything and to freight his allegories with too much obvious meaning. Orual's story comes across as a simple report of things which happened, and as the self-portrait of a remarkable but talented woman.
It also has a depth that bespeaks Lewis’ spiritual maturity. Some of his earlier writings evince a kind of vehemence, a convert’s testiness. His interpretations of Christian ideas were always fresh and insightful, but there was occasionally a sense that anyone who disagreed with the Lewis version was a fool, and perhaps a damned fool. Till We Have Faces, though, displays a more confident, settled faith. Lewis is more at ease with showing the messiness of life, allowing a number of different voices to speak and waiting until the end to show which contains the greater truth.
It should be remembered that Lewis, while a formidable debater and logical thinker, was led into Christian faith less by rational debate than by story and song. It was, in large part, the unexpected joy and beauty found in pagan myths and epic poems which set him on the path to Christ. In this story he seeks to retrace that journey. Readers familiar with Lewis’ life will find a number of biographical elements and characters (Alan Jacob’s The Narnian does a wonderful job of explaining these.) In Orual's deeply moving story we see the grapplings of one who wrestled with divinity.
5 out of 5.
Lewis considered this, his last novel, to be his best, and many of his readers agree. It is the first-hand story of the ugly princess Orual’s love for her sister, and her complaint against the gods. Orual lives in Glome, a little barbarian kingdom of ancient times. Glome and its closest neighbours are fictional, but Lewis uses his considerable knowledge of classical history to imbue it with all the beauty and horror of pagan culture.
Orual’s kingdom lives under the distant influence of Greece, and her people worship local variations of the Greek gods. Their primary goddess is Ungit, elsewhere known as Aphrodite or Venus. Ungit is not the clean-limbed beauty of the Greeks, however. In Glome she is an almost shapeless black rock, spattered with the blood of sacrifices, crouching in the darkness of her temple.
The King, a violent and insecure man, is always seeking a male heir but gets daughters instead: Orual and Redival with his first wife, and Istra with his second. Istra is a stunningly beautiful child, and Orual, repulsively ugly, loves her whole-heartedly. It is from their foreign tutor, a slave know as The Fox, that Orual learns the Greek version of her sister’s name: Psyche.
Lewis is retelling the classical myth of Cupid and Psyche, refocusing the story on a mortal who has her heart broken by the deeds of the gods. Psyche is loved and worshipped by the people for her beauty, which incurs the jealous anger of Venus/Ungit. The goddess afflicts the lands with a curse, until the people turn on Psyche and send her away as a sacrifice. Cupid, known in Glome as the god of the Grey Mountain, is sent to destroy her, but upon seeing her, falls in love and bears her away to live with him. And thus Orual’s true problems begin.
If this all sounds very complicated and mythic, blame the reviewer. Till We Have Faces is in fact a straight-forward and grittily compelling book. The narrator is a very real woman, part of a dysfunctional royal family, and her story is frank about sex, politics and violence. Her book is, in part, a formal (if bitter) complaint against the gods, so she restricts herself as much as possible to the facts.
This emphasis on showing, rather than telling, may be what makes it Lewis’ greatest novel. It enabled him to bypass what Owen Barfield called his ‘expository demon,’ a temptation to explain everything and to freight his allegories with too much obvious meaning. Orual's story comes across as a simple report of things which happened, and as the self-portrait of a remarkable but talented woman.
It also has a depth that bespeaks Lewis’ spiritual maturity. Some of his earlier writings evince a kind of vehemence, a convert’s testiness. His interpretations of Christian ideas were always fresh and insightful, but there was occasionally a sense that anyone who disagreed with the Lewis version was a fool, and perhaps a damned fool. Till We Have Faces, though, displays a more confident, settled faith. Lewis is more at ease with showing the messiness of life, allowing a number of different voices to speak and waiting until the end to show which contains the greater truth.
It should be remembered that Lewis, while a formidable debater and logical thinker, was led into Christian faith less by rational debate than by story and song. It was, in large part, the unexpected joy and beauty found in pagan myths and epic poems which set him on the path to Christ. In this story he seeks to retrace that journey. Readers familiar with Lewis’ life will find a number of biographical elements and characters (Alan Jacob’s The Narnian does a wonderful job of explaining these.) In Orual's deeply moving story we see the grapplings of one who wrestled with divinity.
5 out of 5.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Book review - The Shadow Within
The Shadow Within, by Karen Hancock. Bethany House, 2004.
The second volume in Hancock’s Legends of the Guardian-King series, The Shadow Within continues the adventures of Abramm, prince of Kiriath. He returns to his homeland after six years, having been a galley slave and gladiator, as well as a guerrilla warrior and triumphant hero among the foreign Dorsaddi. Drawn back by a desire to protect his people in the service of his god, Eidon, Abramm sets out to rid the land of the evils plaguing it and to claim the crown which is rightfully his. The marauding armies of the Black Moon are coming, and his nation must be prepared. Of course, none of this is simple, and his path is fraught with peril. The obstacles range from foppish noblemen and difficult courtly graces to evil sorcerors, a sea monster, civil war, and a demon dog which is Hell’s own version of the Hound of the Baskervilles.
Though this book is slightly more predictable than the first one (the identity of the romantic interest is more obvious, for example) Hancock remains adept at subverting a reader’s expectations. Abramm’s destiny seems genuinely uncertain. At times he reminded me strongly of Rand al’Thor from Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time books (not to mention Harry Potter): heroic young leaders who struggle to establish themselves and to prepare their people to face great evils, while being plagued by politics, magical assaults, and the puzzling affairs of the heart.
The book begins with a quest to slay a monster, and the first third of the story continues on in this exciting vein as Abramm’s rollercoaster political career begins. However, I found the middle section of the story less compelling, as the plot gets tangled up in various complex intrigues. While some events are explored in detail, others with seeming significance are covered in a page, a paragraph, or only mentioned as a recollection, as if Hancock was forced to pare them down at some point. Happily, the pacing picks up again in the final third, and the writing becomes quite crisp, some of the best in the book.
The characters remain interesting, with the most detail lavished on Abramm and his family, though some members of the court are memorable. One major villain, a stereotypical religious monomaniac who mutters to himself, becomes humorously endearing as we see him interacting with his dog, the aforementioned hellhound. Of course, this doesn’t last too long as he soon gets on with his wicked plot.
I became more aware of the fact that this is a series written primarily for Christians. The language, assumptions and emphases are evangelical, and at times I thought it was all a bit too obvious. But most of those times Hancock didn’t go where I assumed she would. For example, in places I thought the story was turning triumphalist, towards a theology of glory as opposed to a theology of the cross (to borrow a line from the Lutherans.) Abramm is handsome, dashing, muscular, a skilled fighter, and he can dance too! All the women of the court want him, and his natural charisma attracts many followers. However, just as in the first book, he undergoes a great deal of self-doubt and suffering, and the story ends with a great act of self-sacrifice. Eidon makes a way for him (a phrase popular in the book) but it is a hard and narrow way that chisels away at his pride and makes him more sensitive to the sufferings of others.
I appreciated the realism in Hancock’s depiction of the faithful. While they undoubtedly belong to the correct religion, the Terstans are divided, confused and mistaken just as often as most people. There is a welcome conversion in this volume, but at the same time one of the most likable and sympathetic new characters is an atheist. It was also interesting to see religious persecution and its backlash given a realistic treatment.
Hancock continues to live up to her reputation as a leading evangelical fantasist.
3.5 out of 5.
The second volume in Hancock’s Legends of the Guardian-King series, The Shadow Within continues the adventures of Abramm, prince of Kiriath. He returns to his homeland after six years, having been a galley slave and gladiator, as well as a guerrilla warrior and triumphant hero among the foreign Dorsaddi. Drawn back by a desire to protect his people in the service of his god, Eidon, Abramm sets out to rid the land of the evils plaguing it and to claim the crown which is rightfully his. The marauding armies of the Black Moon are coming, and his nation must be prepared. Of course, none of this is simple, and his path is fraught with peril. The obstacles range from foppish noblemen and difficult courtly graces to evil sorcerors, a sea monster, civil war, and a demon dog which is Hell’s own version of the Hound of the Baskervilles.
Though this book is slightly more predictable than the first one (the identity of the romantic interest is more obvious, for example) Hancock remains adept at subverting a reader’s expectations. Abramm’s destiny seems genuinely uncertain. At times he reminded me strongly of Rand al’Thor from Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time books (not to mention Harry Potter): heroic young leaders who struggle to establish themselves and to prepare their people to face great evils, while being plagued by politics, magical assaults, and the puzzling affairs of the heart.
The book begins with a quest to slay a monster, and the first third of the story continues on in this exciting vein as Abramm’s rollercoaster political career begins. However, I found the middle section of the story less compelling, as the plot gets tangled up in various complex intrigues. While some events are explored in detail, others with seeming significance are covered in a page, a paragraph, or only mentioned as a recollection, as if Hancock was forced to pare them down at some point. Happily, the pacing picks up again in the final third, and the writing becomes quite crisp, some of the best in the book.
The characters remain interesting, with the most detail lavished on Abramm and his family, though some members of the court are memorable. One major villain, a stereotypical religious monomaniac who mutters to himself, becomes humorously endearing as we see him interacting with his dog, the aforementioned hellhound. Of course, this doesn’t last too long as he soon gets on with his wicked plot.
I became more aware of the fact that this is a series written primarily for Christians. The language, assumptions and emphases are evangelical, and at times I thought it was all a bit too obvious. But most of those times Hancock didn’t go where I assumed she would. For example, in places I thought the story was turning triumphalist, towards a theology of glory as opposed to a theology of the cross (to borrow a line from the Lutherans.) Abramm is handsome, dashing, muscular, a skilled fighter, and he can dance too! All the women of the court want him, and his natural charisma attracts many followers. However, just as in the first book, he undergoes a great deal of self-doubt and suffering, and the story ends with a great act of self-sacrifice. Eidon makes a way for him (a phrase popular in the book) but it is a hard and narrow way that chisels away at his pride and makes him more sensitive to the sufferings of others.
I appreciated the realism in Hancock’s depiction of the faithful. While they undoubtedly belong to the correct religion, the Terstans are divided, confused and mistaken just as often as most people. There is a welcome conversion in this volume, but at the same time one of the most likable and sympathetic new characters is an atheist. It was also interesting to see religious persecution and its backlash given a realistic treatment.
Hancock continues to live up to her reputation as a leading evangelical fantasist.
3.5 out of 5.
Monday, July 31, 2006
Book Review - Sacred Visions
Sacred Visions, edited by Andrew M. Greeley and Michael Cassutt. 1991.
This anthology of religiously-themed SF stories is the best work of its kind that I’ve yet encountered. The works included are all either by Catholic authors or on Catholic topics.
Included are three acknowledged classics of 50s SF: the original short story versions of “A Case of Conscience” and “A Canticle for Leibowitz,” and Anthony Boucher’s “The Quest for Saint Aquin.” These stories alone would make the collection worthwhile, but there are some more recent gems as well.
Robert Silverberg’s “The Pope of the Chimps” is a poignant and respectful exploration of the roots of religious experience. R. A. Lafferty’s “And Walk Now Gently Through The Fire” combines a post-apocalyptic tale about the apostles of a diminished Church with commentaries by Screwtape-like demons. It builds to a mystical epiphany of unparalled beauty. “Our Lady of the Endless Sky,” centred around Marian devotion, is about hard-working Moon colonists and the chaplain who serves them.
Several of the stories were commissioned specifically for this book. Jack McDevitt’s “Gus” is startlingly good. Gus is Augustine, or at least a computerized version of him, who spars with and then counsels a disillusioned seminary director. A story involving a (possibly) extinct race of alien converts to Christianity, “The Seraph From Its Sepulchre,” is vintage Gene Wolfe – mysterious, profound, and moving. Michael Cassutt’s “Curious Elation” reads like a Twilight Zone episode on guilt and regret healed by miraculous grace.
As with any anthology, there are a few works that seem out of place – the worst of these is Fr. Greeley’s contribution, “Xorinda the Witch.” A transparent clunker on the redemptive power of tolerance and sex magic over religious fanaticism, it might not seem too bad in a collection of New Age fantasy written by teenagers, but to find it wedged between ‘Conscience’ and ‘Canticle’ is almost painful. Nancy Kress’ long story “Trinity” isn’t bad but doesn’t fit, involving a technological version of sex magic that seeks contact with an oblivious divinity. And James Patrick Kelly’s “Saint Theresa of the Aliens” seems to see Catholicism as being primarily about fanaticism and anti-Communism.
This is certainly not a bad ratio, as anthologies go, and the excellence of the other works more than make up for it.
4.5 out of 5
This anthology of religiously-themed SF stories is the best work of its kind that I’ve yet encountered. The works included are all either by Catholic authors or on Catholic topics.
Included are three acknowledged classics of 50s SF: the original short story versions of “A Case of Conscience” and “A Canticle for Leibowitz,” and Anthony Boucher’s “The Quest for Saint Aquin.” These stories alone would make the collection worthwhile, but there are some more recent gems as well.
Robert Silverberg’s “The Pope of the Chimps” is a poignant and respectful exploration of the roots of religious experience. R. A. Lafferty’s “And Walk Now Gently Through The Fire” combines a post-apocalyptic tale about the apostles of a diminished Church with commentaries by Screwtape-like demons. It builds to a mystical epiphany of unparalled beauty. “Our Lady of the Endless Sky,” centred around Marian devotion, is about hard-working Moon colonists and the chaplain who serves them.
Several of the stories were commissioned specifically for this book. Jack McDevitt’s “Gus” is startlingly good. Gus is Augustine, or at least a computerized version of him, who spars with and then counsels a disillusioned seminary director. A story involving a (possibly) extinct race of alien converts to Christianity, “The Seraph From Its Sepulchre,” is vintage Gene Wolfe – mysterious, profound, and moving. Michael Cassutt’s “Curious Elation” reads like a Twilight Zone episode on guilt and regret healed by miraculous grace.
As with any anthology, there are a few works that seem out of place – the worst of these is Fr. Greeley’s contribution, “Xorinda the Witch.” A transparent clunker on the redemptive power of tolerance and sex magic over religious fanaticism, it might not seem too bad in a collection of New Age fantasy written by teenagers, but to find it wedged between ‘Conscience’ and ‘Canticle’ is almost painful. Nancy Kress’ long story “Trinity” isn’t bad but doesn’t fit, involving a technological version of sex magic that seeks contact with an oblivious divinity. And James Patrick Kelly’s “Saint Theresa of the Aliens” seems to see Catholicism as being primarily about fanaticism and anti-Communism.
This is certainly not a bad ratio, as anthologies go, and the excellence of the other works more than make up for it.
4.5 out of 5
Saturday, July 29, 2006
Book Review - Declare
Declare, by Tim Powers. 2001.
Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth?
Declare, if thou hast understanding.
Tim Power’s novels are in the supernatural tradition of Chesterton’s The Man Who Was Thursday and Charles Williams’ Descent Into Hell. A descendant of Williams’ The Greater Trumps, Last Call ventured into games of high-stakes Las Vegas poker played with Tarot cards and souls. Expiration Date journeyed through the haunts of ghost-eaters and spiritual warriors, guided by the shade of Thomas Edison. Power’s books describe unnoticed corners of life and discover there eerie hints of a world deeper than the one we see.
What better setting for this kind of tale than the already-shadowy realms of international subterfuge, of cryptography, assassination and suicide pills? Declare’s double agents are cousins to Thursday’s anarchists and secret police officers. Both novels affirm that when people go deep enough into the inner workings of the world, they encounter spiritual realities, active powers and principalities that force them to decide their basic loyalties.
Declare discovers the occult subtext for the long struggle between England and Russia, beginning with the 19th century Great Game and intensifying during the 20th century Cold War. Combining meticulous historical research with far-fetched speculation, Powers imagines agencies hidden within agencies, fighting a decades-long war in the shadows. What did Lawrence of Arabia discover in the desert that threatened his sanity and brought about his assassination? Why were there so many bizarre occurrences surrounding Kim Philby, the influential British spymaster and long-time Soviet traitor? And why did both sides pay so much covert attention to eastern Turkey – or more precisely, to Mount Ararat? Powers draws his answers from the Bible, the Thousand and One Nights, Armenian folk tales, and the complex biographies of real-life spies.
Declare moves back and forth through the life of its protagonist, Andrew Hale, a lapsed Catholic and professor of English literature. The reader learns that he was recruited by the British secret service and sent to infiltrate a Soviet network in wartime Paris. He soon found himself drawn into an even more secret body, known as Operation Declare, and was driven to the edges of life and sanity in postwar Berlin and in the deserts of Saudi Arabia. Defeated on the slopes of Mount Ararat in 1948, he is reactivated in 1963 in a last-ditch attempt to complete Declare’s mission.
Powers weaves fact and fiction together so skillfully that the reader is hard pressed to tell where one begins and the other ends. He chooses his historic settings and characters well – it does not strain credulity to imagine that bloodthirsty supernatural beings would have been right at home in the unspeakable horror of Stalin’s purges and in the massacres that were carried out by the NKVD. Nor is it hard to believe that already-unscrupulous leaders and backroom power brokers would seek to harness such beings. In this respect, Declare is also in the tradition of C.S. Lewis’ That Hideous Strength, with its pitiless and deluded demon-worshippers. When people ruthlessly seek hidden knowledge for the power which accompanies it, they encounter forces which in turn enslave them.
While Powers includes plenty of excitement and variety to keep things moving, he does tend to repeat himself at times, dropping the same clues more than once. Further, many characters are prone to giving long expository speeches, in which they sound almost indistinguishable from one another. Declare covers a lot of ground, so it’s hard to see how these explanatory sections could be avoided, but they do disrupt one’s immersion in the story to some extent. For the most part, though, the writing is tense and compelling.
While religious elements in the plot are plentiful, Powers also works in a more subtle spiritual journey. One notices that Hale’s Catholicism is perhaps not as lapsed as he likes to think. In the shifting and ambiguous world of espionage, he must determine where his loyalties lie. He is forced to learn the difference between magic and grace, and to choose between coercive power and sacrificial love.
All in all, a great book – creepy, convincing, and thought-provoking.
4.5 out of 5
Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth?
Declare, if thou hast understanding.
Tim Power’s novels are in the supernatural tradition of Chesterton’s The Man Who Was Thursday and Charles Williams’ Descent Into Hell. A descendant of Williams’ The Greater Trumps, Last Call ventured into games of high-stakes Las Vegas poker played with Tarot cards and souls. Expiration Date journeyed through the haunts of ghost-eaters and spiritual warriors, guided by the shade of Thomas Edison. Power’s books describe unnoticed corners of life and discover there eerie hints of a world deeper than the one we see.
What better setting for this kind of tale than the already-shadowy realms of international subterfuge, of cryptography, assassination and suicide pills? Declare’s double agents are cousins to Thursday’s anarchists and secret police officers. Both novels affirm that when people go deep enough into the inner workings of the world, they encounter spiritual realities, active powers and principalities that force them to decide their basic loyalties.
Declare discovers the occult subtext for the long struggle between England and Russia, beginning with the 19th century Great Game and intensifying during the 20th century Cold War. Combining meticulous historical research with far-fetched speculation, Powers imagines agencies hidden within agencies, fighting a decades-long war in the shadows. What did Lawrence of Arabia discover in the desert that threatened his sanity and brought about his assassination? Why were there so many bizarre occurrences surrounding Kim Philby, the influential British spymaster and long-time Soviet traitor? And why did both sides pay so much covert attention to eastern Turkey – or more precisely, to Mount Ararat? Powers draws his answers from the Bible, the Thousand and One Nights, Armenian folk tales, and the complex biographies of real-life spies.
Declare moves back and forth through the life of its protagonist, Andrew Hale, a lapsed Catholic and professor of English literature. The reader learns that he was recruited by the British secret service and sent to infiltrate a Soviet network in wartime Paris. He soon found himself drawn into an even more secret body, known as Operation Declare, and was driven to the edges of life and sanity in postwar Berlin and in the deserts of Saudi Arabia. Defeated on the slopes of Mount Ararat in 1948, he is reactivated in 1963 in a last-ditch attempt to complete Declare’s mission.
Powers weaves fact and fiction together so skillfully that the reader is hard pressed to tell where one begins and the other ends. He chooses his historic settings and characters well – it does not strain credulity to imagine that bloodthirsty supernatural beings would have been right at home in the unspeakable horror of Stalin’s purges and in the massacres that were carried out by the NKVD. Nor is it hard to believe that already-unscrupulous leaders and backroom power brokers would seek to harness such beings. In this respect, Declare is also in the tradition of C.S. Lewis’ That Hideous Strength, with its pitiless and deluded demon-worshippers. When people ruthlessly seek hidden knowledge for the power which accompanies it, they encounter forces which in turn enslave them.
While Powers includes plenty of excitement and variety to keep things moving, he does tend to repeat himself at times, dropping the same clues more than once. Further, many characters are prone to giving long expository speeches, in which they sound almost indistinguishable from one another. Declare covers a lot of ground, so it’s hard to see how these explanatory sections could be avoided, but they do disrupt one’s immersion in the story to some extent. For the most part, though, the writing is tense and compelling.
While religious elements in the plot are plentiful, Powers also works in a more subtle spiritual journey. One notices that Hale’s Catholicism is perhaps not as lapsed as he likes to think. In the shifting and ambiguous world of espionage, he must determine where his loyalties lie. He is forced to learn the difference between magic and grace, and to choose between coercive power and sacrificial love.
All in all, a great book – creepy, convincing, and thought-provoking.
4.5 out of 5
Sunday, July 23, 2006
Book Review - The Claw of the Conciliator
The Claw of the Conciliator, by Gene Wolfe.
This is the second volume of Wolfe’s The Book of the New Sun. When we rejoin the protagonist, Severian, he has left the sprawling metropolis of Nessus and is traveling north, headed for his assigned post as executioner in the mountain city of Thrax. Some time has elapsed since we saw him last, and the reader must be careful to pick up clues of how and why he was separated from his fellow travelers of the previous volume.
Severian’s world becomes ever more rich and vivid, as we see a rustic festival in the village of Saltus; the magnificent but dangerous haunts of the outlaw ‘Liege of Leaves;’ and the elaborate ceremonies and environs of The House Absolute, the home of the ruling Autarch. Severian’s gift of perfect memory begins to play a larger role in the story. As in the first volume, nothing is as it seems, and no detail in this byzantine mosaic is insignificant. Just what is the Claw? Who is Jolenta? Why does Jonas have a mechanical hand? What is the true political situation? Who keeps trying to kill Severian? Why is he sometimes two people? What is the meaning of the signs and miracles that have begun to proliferate around him? It may seem that Wolfe is tossing in strange happenings at random, but the persistent reader discovers that the unfolding plot is in fact meticulously constructed.
This is not to say that the story is boring or difficult – Wolfe includes lots of top-notch action and excitement. Severian finds himself in a terrifying underground battle, fights his way through several attempts on his life by assassins and alien creatures, and gets caught up in various quests, kidnappings, escapes and other hair-raising adventures. Wolfe's prose continues to be excellent, so even descriptions of sedate landscapes or meandering conversations are a delight.
Some readers, though, may be put off by Wolfe’s penchant for putting stories within stories. Claw includes at least two examples of this – one chapter is devoted to a story that may be a future version of the tale of Theseus and the Minotaur; another is given over to a play in which Severian is a performer. Some readers will find these diversions absorbing, while others will want to get back to the main plot.
The spiritual element of the work continues to deepen. C.S. Lewis said that certain stories can become part of our personal iconography. Wolfe’s images are uniquely suited to this, ranging as they do from walking statues and an otherworldly prophetess to a time-displaced Green Man hailing from some future Peaceable Kingdom. In particular, Dr. Talos’ play, described in the chapter entitled Eschatology and Genesis, contains much food for thought. It deals with the destruction of an old, exhausted world, and the creation of a new one, under a New Sun. Or is it instead about the redemption of both? Miracles, oblique and hidden in the first volume, become more noticeable now, though no less mysterious. Wolfe’s Catholic vision of suffering and mercy, of sign and sacrament, gradually emerges from this remarkable story.
5 out of 5.
This is the second volume of Wolfe’s The Book of the New Sun. When we rejoin the protagonist, Severian, he has left the sprawling metropolis of Nessus and is traveling north, headed for his assigned post as executioner in the mountain city of Thrax. Some time has elapsed since we saw him last, and the reader must be careful to pick up clues of how and why he was separated from his fellow travelers of the previous volume.
Severian’s world becomes ever more rich and vivid, as we see a rustic festival in the village of Saltus; the magnificent but dangerous haunts of the outlaw ‘Liege of Leaves;’ and the elaborate ceremonies and environs of The House Absolute, the home of the ruling Autarch. Severian’s gift of perfect memory begins to play a larger role in the story. As in the first volume, nothing is as it seems, and no detail in this byzantine mosaic is insignificant. Just what is the Claw? Who is Jolenta? Why does Jonas have a mechanical hand? What is the true political situation? Who keeps trying to kill Severian? Why is he sometimes two people? What is the meaning of the signs and miracles that have begun to proliferate around him? It may seem that Wolfe is tossing in strange happenings at random, but the persistent reader discovers that the unfolding plot is in fact meticulously constructed.
This is not to say that the story is boring or difficult – Wolfe includes lots of top-notch action and excitement. Severian finds himself in a terrifying underground battle, fights his way through several attempts on his life by assassins and alien creatures, and gets caught up in various quests, kidnappings, escapes and other hair-raising adventures. Wolfe's prose continues to be excellent, so even descriptions of sedate landscapes or meandering conversations are a delight.
Some readers, though, may be put off by Wolfe’s penchant for putting stories within stories. Claw includes at least two examples of this – one chapter is devoted to a story that may be a future version of the tale of Theseus and the Minotaur; another is given over to a play in which Severian is a performer. Some readers will find these diversions absorbing, while others will want to get back to the main plot.
The spiritual element of the work continues to deepen. C.S. Lewis said that certain stories can become part of our personal iconography. Wolfe’s images are uniquely suited to this, ranging as they do from walking statues and an otherworldly prophetess to a time-displaced Green Man hailing from some future Peaceable Kingdom. In particular, Dr. Talos’ play, described in the chapter entitled Eschatology and Genesis, contains much food for thought. It deals with the destruction of an old, exhausted world, and the creation of a new one, under a New Sun. Or is it instead about the redemption of both? Miracles, oblique and hidden in the first volume, become more noticeable now, though no less mysterious. Wolfe’s Catholic vision of suffering and mercy, of sign and sacrament, gradually emerges from this remarkable story.
5 out of 5.
Saturday, July 22, 2006
Book Review - The Shadow of the Torturer
The Shadow of the Torturer, by Gene Wolfe.
This is the first part of a four-volume work, collectively entitled The Book of the New Sun. The second volume, The Claw of the Conciliator, won the Nebula award in 1981. A fifth volume, entitled The Urth of the New Sun, came out several years later, and both extends and illuminates the original work. While The New Sun will likely never be as popular as, say, The Lord of the Rings, in terms of style, depth and originality Gene Wolfe is a worthy successor to Tolkien and Lewis as a Christian fantasist.
In this volume, Wolfe introduces his readers to a detailed, byzantine world of the far future. The sun is dim and red, and the moon was long ago planted with great forests. Severian, raised by the guild of torturers, relates the events of his life, as he explains how he has 'backed into the throne.' He describes his upbringing in the crumbling Citadel, the act of mercy which sees him cast out of his guild, and his picaresque wanderings through the vast city of Nessus. We encounter Ultan the librarian, the cunning Dr. Talos, Baldanders the giant, the waifish Dorcas, and a host of other unique characters.
Wolfe's prose is beautiful and rich, and the reader can be borne along by it without giving too much heed to the depths below. But depths there are, and every detail is vested with significance, though it takes several readings to grasp many of them. Rather than inventing new words, Wolfe employs archaisms and little-used names, adding to both the strangeness and familiarity of his world. Severian has been called a dishonest narrator. I don't believe he is, though he can be guarded and misleading at times. There are hints and clues scattered through the text, but they're generally only given once, in off-hand remarks or in double meanings.
Christians will find much to reflect on. Severian and other characters muse on philosophical and theological questions. People of this time remember an enigmatic figure called the Conciliator (Severian encounters a relic known as the Claw of the Conciliator), and hope for his coming again as The New Sun. Severian himself is not a particularly good nor pious man, being promiscuous, deceitful, and violent, but throughout there is sense that he is being reshaped by a dark and mysterious Providence.
5 out of 5.
(I originally wrote this for the Christian Fandom website - it will eventually appear there as well.)
This is the first part of a four-volume work, collectively entitled The Book of the New Sun. The second volume, The Claw of the Conciliator, won the Nebula award in 1981. A fifth volume, entitled The Urth of the New Sun, came out several years later, and both extends and illuminates the original work. While The New Sun will likely never be as popular as, say, The Lord of the Rings, in terms of style, depth and originality Gene Wolfe is a worthy successor to Tolkien and Lewis as a Christian fantasist.
In this volume, Wolfe introduces his readers to a detailed, byzantine world of the far future. The sun is dim and red, and the moon was long ago planted with great forests. Severian, raised by the guild of torturers, relates the events of his life, as he explains how he has 'backed into the throne.' He describes his upbringing in the crumbling Citadel, the act of mercy which sees him cast out of his guild, and his picaresque wanderings through the vast city of Nessus. We encounter Ultan the librarian, the cunning Dr. Talos, Baldanders the giant, the waifish Dorcas, and a host of other unique characters.
Wolfe's prose is beautiful and rich, and the reader can be borne along by it without giving too much heed to the depths below. But depths there are, and every detail is vested with significance, though it takes several readings to grasp many of them. Rather than inventing new words, Wolfe employs archaisms and little-used names, adding to both the strangeness and familiarity of his world. Severian has been called a dishonest narrator. I don't believe he is, though he can be guarded and misleading at times. There are hints and clues scattered through the text, but they're generally only given once, in off-hand remarks or in double meanings.
Christians will find much to reflect on. Severian and other characters muse on philosophical and theological questions. People of this time remember an enigmatic figure called the Conciliator (Severian encounters a relic known as the Claw of the Conciliator), and hope for his coming again as The New Sun. Severian himself is not a particularly good nor pious man, being promiscuous, deceitful, and violent, but throughout there is sense that he is being reshaped by a dark and mysterious Providence.
5 out of 5.
(I originally wrote this for the Christian Fandom website - it will eventually appear there as well.)
Friday, July 21, 2006
Book Review - The Speed of Dark
The Speed of Dark, by Elizabeth Moon. 2003. 340 p.
Do you like science fiction? If so, then this book belongs to that genre. If you don’t- it doesn’t matter. I think the genre is not very important because, essentially, this is an intimate, personal story – the story of a few months in one man’s life. While it is set in the (near) future, changes in technology or society are not really the point. Moon’s goal here is to get us to see the world through the eyes of her protagonist, Lou Arrendale, who happens to be autistic.
She does an excellent job of it. Moon’s son is autistic, to begin with, and she’s clearly done a lot of research into the lives of other autists. Lou becomes a very convincing and sympathetic character.
Having been given therapies somewhat more advanced than those used today, Lou is reasonably functional. He has a difficult time interpreting social interaction and is prone to sensory overload, but he lives on his own and has a good job. He takes fencing classes, goes to church, and copes well with the routines of everyday life. The reader is plunged into his rich (and to a non-autist, unusual) inner life.
But there are storm clouds on the horizon – the new manager of Lou’s division resents his autistic employees. At the same time, Lou is plagued with a threatening, mysterious stalker who seeks to make his private life difficult. On top of it all, there are rumors of an experimental cure for autism, involving nanotechnology and genetic modification, which Lou and his colleagues are being pressured to take. He must decide who he is and what he truly values in life.
It is in this process of existential questioning that a spiritual element makes itself felt. Moon, an Episcopalian, weaves Lou’s religious life into the story with subtlety and skill. In fact, it plays a pivotal role in his deliberations. Lou hears a sermon preached on the Gospel of John, the passage on the man who lies by the healing pool at Siloam and waits for someone to lower him in. Instead, Jesus approaches him, and asks him if he wants to be healed. The preacher meditates on this question, pointing out that many of us are so set in our prior expectations and attached to our grievances that we do not take healing when God sends it to us. He also explores the meaning of healing, and whether we know it when we see it.
Lou later discusses the sermon with the priest, and learns that his ideas about the message were something rather different than what Lou gleaned from it. The priest helps Lou with his ideas, but has no easy answers. Still, this is very much the Word Lou needs to fuel his thoughts, and he returns to it again and again as the story progresses, always finding new layers of meaning. I found this to be a very insightful and realistic depiction of the way the Word comes to us.
My only quibble with this novel is that the villains are rather stereotypical and one-dimensional. But this is a minor issue, and Moon has put so much careful characterization into this story that too much more might have made things overly complicated. All in all, it is an amazing book, well deserving of the Nebula Award it received.
4 out of 5.
Do you like science fiction? If so, then this book belongs to that genre. If you don’t- it doesn’t matter. I think the genre is not very important because, essentially, this is an intimate, personal story – the story of a few months in one man’s life. While it is set in the (near) future, changes in technology or society are not really the point. Moon’s goal here is to get us to see the world through the eyes of her protagonist, Lou Arrendale, who happens to be autistic.
She does an excellent job of it. Moon’s son is autistic, to begin with, and she’s clearly done a lot of research into the lives of other autists. Lou becomes a very convincing and sympathetic character.
Having been given therapies somewhat more advanced than those used today, Lou is reasonably functional. He has a difficult time interpreting social interaction and is prone to sensory overload, but he lives on his own and has a good job. He takes fencing classes, goes to church, and copes well with the routines of everyday life. The reader is plunged into his rich (and to a non-autist, unusual) inner life.
But there are storm clouds on the horizon – the new manager of Lou’s division resents his autistic employees. At the same time, Lou is plagued with a threatening, mysterious stalker who seeks to make his private life difficult. On top of it all, there are rumors of an experimental cure for autism, involving nanotechnology and genetic modification, which Lou and his colleagues are being pressured to take. He must decide who he is and what he truly values in life.
It is in this process of existential questioning that a spiritual element makes itself felt. Moon, an Episcopalian, weaves Lou’s religious life into the story with subtlety and skill. In fact, it plays a pivotal role in his deliberations. Lou hears a sermon preached on the Gospel of John, the passage on the man who lies by the healing pool at Siloam and waits for someone to lower him in. Instead, Jesus approaches him, and asks him if he wants to be healed. The preacher meditates on this question, pointing out that many of us are so set in our prior expectations and attached to our grievances that we do not take healing when God sends it to us. He also explores the meaning of healing, and whether we know it when we see it.
Lou later discusses the sermon with the priest, and learns that his ideas about the message were something rather different than what Lou gleaned from it. The priest helps Lou with his ideas, but has no easy answers. Still, this is very much the Word Lou needs to fuel his thoughts, and he returns to it again and again as the story progresses, always finding new layers of meaning. I found this to be a very insightful and realistic depiction of the way the Word comes to us.
My only quibble with this novel is that the villains are rather stereotypical and one-dimensional. But this is a minor issue, and Moon has put so much careful characterization into this story that too much more might have made things overly complicated. All in all, it is an amazing book, well deserving of the Nebula Award it received.
4 out of 5.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Book Review - The Parallel Man
The Parallel Man, by Richard Purtill. 1984. 158 p.
Purtill is a Catholic professor of philosophy, and a scholar of Tolkien and Lewis - you can learn more here.
This is a short book, but the story is not at all straightforward. Prince Casmir is a typical fantasy hero, and when we first meet him he is fighting to save a beautiful princess from a fire-breathing dragon. Before long, though, a hole opens in the sky. Several futuristic people haul Casmir into their world and we learn that this is in fact a work of science fiction. Casmir is a clone, who has been put into a historical simulation so he can be studied. He escapes from his rescuers and heads off into a puzzling high-tech world, using his wits and natural charisma to survive. Before too long we learn that he was not the only clone to be made of the original person, and the story starts to become even more complicated.
Casmir's adventures are entertaining and unpredictable, and Purtill explores issues of determinism, leadership, and morality. The religious elements are fairly minimal. The question of free will is hotly contested throughout the novel. Further, Casmir's original incarnation was well-known for his moral rectitude and Catholic piety, and Casmir tries to live up to this standard.
2.5 out of 5
Purtill is a Catholic professor of philosophy, and a scholar of Tolkien and Lewis - you can learn more here.
This is a short book, but the story is not at all straightforward. Prince Casmir is a typical fantasy hero, and when we first meet him he is fighting to save a beautiful princess from a fire-breathing dragon. Before long, though, a hole opens in the sky. Several futuristic people haul Casmir into their world and we learn that this is in fact a work of science fiction. Casmir is a clone, who has been put into a historical simulation so he can be studied. He escapes from his rescuers and heads off into a puzzling high-tech world, using his wits and natural charisma to survive. Before too long we learn that he was not the only clone to be made of the original person, and the story starts to become even more complicated.
Casmir's adventures are entertaining and unpredictable, and Purtill explores issues of determinism, leadership, and morality. The religious elements are fairly minimal. The question of free will is hotly contested throughout the novel. Further, Casmir's original incarnation was well-known for his moral rectitude and Catholic piety, and Casmir tries to live up to this standard.
2.5 out of 5
Saturday, July 15, 2006
Book review - Sheepfarmer's Daughter
Sheepfarmer's Daughter is the first volume of Elizabeth Moon's fantasy epic The Deed of Paksenarrion. It was published in 1988.
Paksenarrion, known as Paks to her friends, is the 'sheepfarmer's daughter' of the title. When her father tries to marry her off to the pig farmer down the road, she runs away from home and to join Duke Phelan's mercenary company. (In Moon's world, companies from the northern regions are equal opportunity outfits and thus accept female recruits.) Paks is tall, strong, determined and attractive to boot so she's quickly accepted and set to drilling.
Moon spent some time in the U.S. Marine Corps, so her portrayal of an ordinary soldier's life is convincing - Paks is no D&D-style vixen clad in a metal bikini, but a realistic young woman. She learns to march and fight in formation, as well as learning a code of honor. She soon makes friends and enemies and becomes a valued member of the company. After experiencing some routine operations, Paks and her comrades are drawn into a series of increasingly dangerous and exciting adventures. While the mercenaries are honorable, they are pragmatists who fight for the highest bidder - but they find themselves caught up in a struggle against evil powers. It gradually becomes apparent that there is something special about Paks - her destiny is to be much more than a mercenary.
Moon's world contains magic and most of the creatures on Tolkien's evolutionary tree (as Neal Stephenson calls it) - elves, orcs, dwarves and gnomes. However, these races do not play a large role in the story, which is focused on humans and their mundane struggles over power in a late medieval setting. In this way I found it reminiscent of Fletcher Pratt's The Well of the Unicorn, or Gene Wolfe's The Devil in a Forest.
Moon is a Episcopalian whose faith is important to her, and there are some interesting religious elements in the story. Paks lives in a polytheistic culture - she respects the very real power of the gods, but is not particularly dedicated to or knowledgeable about them. The reader slowly becomes aware that this is not entirely a pagan world - some people worship legendary warriors, such as Gird or Falk, who are not regarded as gods, but as saints, servants of 'the High Lord.' It is eventually evident that Paks has a special relationship with St. Gird, though she knows almost nothing about him. One of Paks' friends is a devout Girdian, but her clumsy and ignorant attempts at proselytizing alienate potential converts. On another occasion, Paks is called to transcend her warrior culture and learn the meaning of mercy.
In another review, I mentioned the genre of 'police procedurals' - workaday accounts of ordinary people doing their jobs. Much of this book is the fantasy equivalent to that: not too flashy, but interesting nonetheless. Moon's writing is competent, though not outstanding. Her story is oddly compelling - the book didn't seem particularly exciting, but it kept me turning pages. I just wanted to find out what came next, and on a number of occasions stayed up late to do so! I'm looking forward to reading the next book in the series.
3.5 out of 5.
Paksenarrion, known as Paks to her friends, is the 'sheepfarmer's daughter' of the title. When her father tries to marry her off to the pig farmer down the road, she runs away from home and to join Duke Phelan's mercenary company. (In Moon's world, companies from the northern regions are equal opportunity outfits and thus accept female recruits.) Paks is tall, strong, determined and attractive to boot so she's quickly accepted and set to drilling.
Moon spent some time in the U.S. Marine Corps, so her portrayal of an ordinary soldier's life is convincing - Paks is no D&D-style vixen clad in a metal bikini, but a realistic young woman. She learns to march and fight in formation, as well as learning a code of honor. She soon makes friends and enemies and becomes a valued member of the company. After experiencing some routine operations, Paks and her comrades are drawn into a series of increasingly dangerous and exciting adventures. While the mercenaries are honorable, they are pragmatists who fight for the highest bidder - but they find themselves caught up in a struggle against evil powers. It gradually becomes apparent that there is something special about Paks - her destiny is to be much more than a mercenary.
Moon's world contains magic and most of the creatures on Tolkien's evolutionary tree (as Neal Stephenson calls it) - elves, orcs, dwarves and gnomes. However, these races do not play a large role in the story, which is focused on humans and their mundane struggles over power in a late medieval setting. In this way I found it reminiscent of Fletcher Pratt's The Well of the Unicorn, or Gene Wolfe's The Devil in a Forest.
Moon is a Episcopalian whose faith is important to her, and there are some interesting religious elements in the story. Paks lives in a polytheistic culture - she respects the very real power of the gods, but is not particularly dedicated to or knowledgeable about them. The reader slowly becomes aware that this is not entirely a pagan world - some people worship legendary warriors, such as Gird or Falk, who are not regarded as gods, but as saints, servants of 'the High Lord.' It is eventually evident that Paks has a special relationship with St. Gird, though she knows almost nothing about him. One of Paks' friends is a devout Girdian, but her clumsy and ignorant attempts at proselytizing alienate potential converts. On another occasion, Paks is called to transcend her warrior culture and learn the meaning of mercy.
In another review, I mentioned the genre of 'police procedurals' - workaday accounts of ordinary people doing their jobs. Much of this book is the fantasy equivalent to that: not too flashy, but interesting nonetheless. Moon's writing is competent, though not outstanding. Her story is oddly compelling - the book didn't seem particularly exciting, but it kept me turning pages. I just wanted to find out what came next, and on a number of occasions stayed up late to do so! I'm looking forward to reading the next book in the series.
3.5 out of 5.
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