BOOK REVIEW: The Wild Machines by Mary Gentle

You know the ancient adage: don't judge a book by its cover. This especially applies to The Wild Machines. Its attractive cover depicts the bold and beautiful warrior-woman, Ash, silvery tresses streaming as she drives a chariot across the pyramid-studded Egyptian sands. 
 
While the Ferae Natura Machinae, "the Wild Machines," wield their influence across Europe from this exotic locale, Ash never travels there in this book. Her mercenary company would have been forced to eat the horses long before leaving France. For the armies of the Visigoth Empire have smashed Europe's resistance, plunging the conquered lands into unnatural night. Famine, pestilence and despair abound.

Only Burgundy, cultural and military diadem of Europe, struggles to stand fast, battered but unbeaten, still basking in the sun's warmth. The beleaguered duchy's fate lies in the hands of its ruler, Duke Charles, critically wounded and trapped behind the walls of Dijon while the Visigoth legions blight the surrounding countryside under the leadership of the Faris, Ash's twin sister. Like Ash, the Faris hears the Ferae Natura Machinae, the mysterious and dreaded machinery that seeks the extermination of humankind. Unlike Ash, she heeds them.

Fresh from the horrors of Carthage, and the apocalyptic seductions of the Wild Machines, Ash must decide whether to lead her men to near-certain doom in an attempt to lift Dijon's siege. For if the great city falls, and Duke Charles dies, humanity will descend into eternal darkness.

Don't judge this book by its grandiose back-cover synopsis, either. The cover, front and back, functions as a tapestry thrown over the filth. And I'm not just referring to the profanity, which averages one word in every hundred. War's gruesome details explode across almost every page.

But never let it be said that I don't give credit where it's due. The constant bloody barrage makes Gentle's work unique in the fantasy genre. Usually, the hero's quest can be described as a series of conversations, punctuated at two or three critical junctures by a battle. The Wild Machines presents the exact opposite: a couple of key conversations interspersed among the battles as Ash quests for the answer to why Burgundy remains the only region still blessed by the sun. In my opinion, this inverted structure weakens the plot.

"Why Burgundy?" Ash repeatedly asks. "Who cares?" I respond, my mind's eye glazed from the imagined carnage. But if endless blood and guts and vulgarity float your literary boat, then my opinion won't stop you from reading this installment -- and I'd be too battle-fatigued to argue with you, anyway.

(Originally published in Crescent Blues. Reprinted with permission.)

BOOK REVIEW: Voice of the Goddess by Judith Hand

What's black and white and red all over? Remember, this is a family site; no sick answers, please.
 
An embarrassed zebra, you say? BZZZT, wrong -- thank you for playing!
In this case, the colors describe the remains of the Minoan civilization on Crete after being obliterated by a neighboring island-volcano, Kalliste.

No, I didn't give away the ending of Voice of the Goddess. After reading the back-cover copy and author's preface, wherein Judith Hand documents the theorized link between the Minoans and the legend of Atlantis, the astute reader will expect this violent geological event from page one. And Hand portrays it in imaginatively graphic detail.

To get there, however, one must put up with a female protagonist first introduced as a bratty preteen who, alas, doesn't grow up during the ensuing decade covered in the novel's chronology.

Fate blessed Leesandra -- or perhaps cursed her -- with a direct line of communication to a deity her people worship as the Mother of All. Leesandra must choose between her spiritual destiny and her emotional one as the virile warrior Alektrion lays claim to her heart. External conflict abounds, at times keeping the lovers apart, as worshippers of a rival male deity, Poseidon, seek to spread their religion through bloody conquest.

Can you spell "Crusades?" I thought so.

Obviously, the author spent much energy incorporating her prodigious research and spiritual agenda into this book. The setting comes alive as in few historical works I've ever read, and feminist readers of a New Age bent may appreciate its goddess emphasis.

The element that elevates any story beyond mediocre, however, lies not in its setting or theme but its characters. In Voice of the Goddess, the characters too often seem unsympathetic and illogically motivated. Some key characters, such as best-friend-turned-enemy Galatea, disappear without a follow-up regarding their fates -- and without much of a response from the protagonist herself. Even the "consummation" scene between Leesandra and Alektrion comes across as emotionally uninspired. The platonic relationship between Leesandra and her Nubian mentor, Zuliya, gets my vote as the most believable. In the final pages, Zuliya deals Leesandra a long-overdue comeuppance. I doubtless surprised everyone in the commuter train car with my cheer.

What else is black and white and red all over? Sometimes people answer "a book." But at 26 bucks for a hardcover, you can bet that Voice of the Goddess won't be read all over.

(Originally published in Crescent Blues. Reprinted with permission.)

BOOK REVIEW: Ransom at the Opera by Fred Hunter

I love being proven right as much as the next person. While reading a murder mystery, however, much of the fun for me lies in harboring doubts about my guesses as to the killer's method, motive and opportunity. I simply couldn't believe how quickly I nailed two of the elements in Fred Hunter's latest Jeremy Ransom mystery -- before the murder occurred. Hoping I guessed wrong became my only impetus to finish Ransom at the Opera, thus leeching the pleasure from my reading experience.
 
Elderly Emily Charters attends the opening night of a highly hyped production of Carmen at Chicago's new performing arts center only to watch the actor playing Don José die onstage. When Detective Jeremy Ransom takes over the case, he quickly surmises Riccardo Nuevo was murdered. Ransom must ferret out the murderer from the dozens of suspects in the cast, crew and other offices involved in the production.

Detective Ransom follows a tortured path to unravel the internal relationships of the fledgling opera company to determine whether Nuevo was even the intended victim. Nuevo's colleagues' over-the-top off-stage "performances" make Ransom's job that much harder. The clunky prose, inundation of sight and sound details to the exclusion of all other senses, and lack of character identification sap the reader's enjoyment.

Successful series mysteries devote as much attention to the sleuth and his or her partner as to the murder plot itself. Who can recall a Sherlock Holmes plot without fondly bringing to mind his legendary banter with Dr. Watson? And yet, memorable character interaction seems curiously absent from Ransom at the Opera. Miss Emily appears in only three or four scenes, hardly enough for a reader unfamiliar with the series to become properly acquainted with her. And of Ransom's badgered partner, Detective Gerald White, only his copious note-taking made a lasting impression upon me. Even Ransom himself, who doesn't come upon the scene until halfway into the book, eludes reader identification.

"I was a fool," Ransom laments to Miss Emily at the end of the novel. He feels personally responsible for what happened in the aftermath of the denouement. The motive "was right in front of me." Yes, it was. And since Detective Ransom's performance scarcely brought the house down, I won't be sleuthing out any more of his adventures.

(Originally published in Crescent Blues. Reprinted with permission.)

BOOK REVIEW: Carthage Ascendant by Mary Gentle

Carthage Ascendant by Mary Gentle
My rating: 2 of 5 stars

Charlie Brown of "Peanuts" (tm) fame will never get to kick Lucy's football, but for pithy profundity he remains unsurpassed by his pen-and-ink peers. Charlie Brown once lamented that there's no heavier burden than having great potential, an astute observation that proves too often true. Carthage Ascendant all but collapses under the weight of unrealized potential.

In a brutal age of bloodshed and miracles, in which sorcery extinguished the sun, the fate of Europe, Africa and perhaps the entire world rests in the hands of a female mercenary captain named Ash. The undefeated army of Carthage rampages across the kingdoms of Europe. Burgundy alone defies the Visigoth horde and their legendary slave general, the Faris. In the center of enemy territory lies a living stone idol that whispers in Ash's soul to guide her through every military campaign, a being of frightening power that must be destroyed if the world hopes to survive.

But an even greater evil lurks at Carthage, one that created the idol and shaped Ash's existence. It plots the final annihilation that will feed its own lust for power and wipe Burgundy from the face of the earth. For Burgundy lies at the heart of it all, the richest prize in Europe and the key to the world, the jewel of the Carthaginian campaign.

So much for the book's back-cover teaser.

Don't look for the defeat of this "greater evil" in Carthage Ascendant. I suspect it won't even be resolved in the forthcoming Ash novel, The Wild Machines, since Avon advertises the series as a tetrology. Oh, Ash gives it the old college try, so to speak, as she slashes and cusses her way into the enemy's lair and back out again, but the plot follows a predictable if brutally realistic parabolic curve.

The literary device of presenting the story within the framework of a newly discovered historical document, which I admired in its predecessor, A Secret History, fails to reach its potential in Carthage Ascendant, too. The second installment of Ash's story ends like so many mega-fantasies, with nothing resolved, as if printed on a wad of bathroom tissue and torn off to a convenient length for packaging purposes.

But, hey, if you want something to pass the time while sitting on your throne, then go for this novel. If I were you, I wouldn't waste time reading it anywhere else.

(Originally published in Crescent Blues. Reprinted with permission.)

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BOOK REVIEW: Valley of the Shadow by Peter Tremayne

Valley of the Shadow by Peter Tremayne
My rating: 2 of 5 stars

Quick, ladies, name three male authors who can write convincingly from a woman's viewpoint. Gentlemen, feel free to vote all you wish, but your votes won't be counted for this unofficial poll.

Stumped? Me, too. And Peter Tremayne with his emotionless, sexless Sister Fidelma certainly doesn't deserve a place on the list. In fact, the viewpoint in Valley of the Shadow wanders erratically between the Irish nun, her besotted Saxon priest sidekick, secondary characters and even the random goat on the hillside, making it nigh unto impossible to develop a bond with any of them. Except, maybe, the goat.

In A.D. 666 -- pun intended, no doubt -- Fidelma travels to the secluded Gleann Geis at her brother the king's bequest to negotiate the establishment of a Christian church in this notorious Druidic and vigorously anti-Christian stronghold. Near the end of the journey, she and her companion discover the grisly remains of 33 monks, slaughtered identically and arranged in a circle like points on a sundial. The whys and wherefores of this ritualistic murder, interpreted as a particularly nasty "Christian, go home" statement, consume Fidelma's energies for the remainder of the book.

Never mind the fact that the deeply spiritual Celts embraced Christianity because its evangelists, like Patrick and Columba, cleverly assimilated the tenets of older religions rather than coming into conflict with them. Never mind the fact that, by the 7th century, Druidic philosophy lived only in folk memory, as in the phrase "knock on wood" and the practice of kissing under mistletoe. Despite heavy reliance upon these common misconceptions, Valley of the Shadow promises an exciting setup but delivers a frightfully boring resolution.

Sorry, Fidelma fans, but any novel wherein the major plot point in the first half of the book is the sidekick's hangover holds no interest for me. By the time anything serious befalls Our Heroes (about two-thirds of the way into the story) I ceased to care about their fates. I do give Tremayne a point for not falling into the "all Christians are evil, all non-Christians are good" trap, or its converse -- although this book does contain a few irritating religious caricatures.

In case you simply must rush out and buy this one to complete your set, I won't divulge any spoilers. But I do strongly advise that you save your hard-won cash and wait for the inevitable paperback release.

(Originally published in Crescent Blues. Reprinted with permission.)

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