Category Archives: Review

Review of T.D. Thomas’s “Hera, Queen of Gods”

1 Reply

Nerds are creatures born, not formed. Some of my earliest memories are of burying my nose in a book for hours, or flipping through the dictionary to learn new words. I was an English nerd until I discovered the world of computers and started geeking out to ones and zeros instead of well-turned phrases.

There are nerds of all shapes, sizes, and persuasions, of course–all kids who entered this world with a predisposition to narrow, passionate interests no one but other nerds of the same genotype would ever care about. And as I look back on my strange kin from elementary school, I see two subjects which held dominance over all others. Two subjects which, I’m convinced, are the undisputed rulers of pre-pubescent nerddom.

Dinosaurs and Greek mythology.

Hera, Queen of Gods is the first book of T.D. Thomas’s Goddess Unbound trilogy, a contemporary fantasy series with characters deeply rooted in myth. At least, I think they are. I mean, I recognize the names being tossed around but what I know of Greek mythology can fit comfortably on the back of a postage stamp. Either way, T.D. Thomas does a good job of selling me on the characters from the get-go.

The novel follows the adventures of a handful of Olympians who have come down to Earth and taken on the bodies of mortal teenagers to solve a mystery. Someone or something has kidnapped the Fates and all of existence is jeopardized by their absence. Hera naturally makes an appearance–being the main character and all–as does Zeus, Athena, Hermes, and others.

The merry band of myths joins forces with several mortals along the way, most notably a boy named Justin who turns out to be somewhat other than mortal himself. Together they battle monsters, perform magical rituals, and uncover a plot that could destroy everyone and everything in all the worlds.

It was a fun read with an interesting story and a cast characters I wouldn’t mind getting drunk with. If you’ve read any of my other reviews, you know that’s about all I ask for in a novel.

Also, don’t think you have to be a mythology nerd to get into it. It would probably help justify the long, lonely days you spent carting around all those three-inch-thick books, but I never felt lost for lack of knowing the canon.

Of course, there are nits I can pick. There are times when the dialog didn’t sound quite right, and a few of the characters have a habit of lecturing which threw off the conversational flow. There were also several points in the story where the characters appeared to figure things out a little too quickly.

When confronted with a mysterious mystery, and hardly a clue to be found, conclusions seemed to come out of nowhere. Perhaps a deeper understanding of the myths would have helped me fill in the blanks, but I suspect it was simply the author already having the whole picture in his head an accidentally assuming facts not in evidence for the reader.

There’s also the matter of a relatively large number of typos and occasional mistakes, such as Justin’s name switching to Aaron at one point. I think Hera, Queen of Gods could have used another pass through the editing mill, but it’s still worth a look if you’re searching for an entertaining read this weekend.

Also? Hera is a hilarious drunk.

Review of Annika Howells’s “How to Disappear Completely”

Leave a reply

To me, the “what if” of a novel is often more important than the genre. It’s the central thought around which a story is built. What if there really is a monster hiding in the closet? What if even the nicest, most well-adjusted person is just one phenomenally bad day away from becoming a psychopath?

In the same way specific genres might appeal to us, I find myself especially drawn to the same “what ifs” over and over again. If I crack open a novel and find the author exploring a question on my short list, he or she is already half-way to offering me a great read. One of my favorites?

What if reality isn’t even close to being the objective common ground we think it is?

That question ranks high on my list, so it’s little wonder I raced through Annika Howells‘s novel How to Disappear Completely and loved nearly every word of it.

Howells’s novel begins with a seventeen-year-old girl named Lycia waking up in the town of Greenwood. It’s a place like no other: dark, twisted and cursed with the kind of weather that makes Seattle seem downright arid. Her mother is comatose and the only other inhabitants of the town are children–all identical Barbie and Ken doll lookalikes–capable of hideous cruelty. As Lycia explores the town further, she finds only two other children like her and learns Greenwood exists in its own inescapable dimension, completely cut off from a “real” world she only half-remembers.

Howells dives into Greenwood on page one and leaves the reader feeling as off-balance as the main character, a delicious device if the author can pull it off and Howells uses it well. It’s a novel that’s equal parts action and mystery, which keeps the story moving even as it explores human nature and the nature of reality itself. And as the violence escalates to horrific levels, we’re made to experience all the dread and terror that birthed the town of Greenwood in the first place.

Overall I found the story exciting and the world thought-provoking. The characters themselves are also interesting, though there were a few times when I thought the characters’ actions weren’t entirely realistic.

For example, and maybe it’s just me, but if I woke up trapped in a town filled with unpredictable and violent teenagers, I’m pretty sure my first order of business would be to find a weapon more effective than a snide remark.

But even though the characters acted a little off from time to time, their motivations and emotions were complex enough for them to rise well above the level of cardboard cutouts. I’ve written many times about how a great character or cast of characters is what makes or breaks a story for me, and in How to Disappear Completely, Howells had me caring about them early on.

Even if they should have armed themselves to the teeth by page thirty.

Review of Mary C. Moore’s “Angelus”

2 Replies

Angels and demons are prominent figures in modern entertainment. So prominent I’ve begun to consider them a bit stale. I mean, if you’ve read one novel featuring angels and demons as the main characters, you know pretty much what to expect from most of the others.

That is, of course, unless that novel happens to Angelus by Mary C. Moore. In that case, you’ll read the most original and entertaining take on angels and demons I’ve ever seen.

In Angelus, Moore offers a version of angels and demons rooted in anthropology instead of the supernatural, spinning a tale that’s not only a fun read but also poses real questions about tolerance, prejudice and what it means to be human. And she does it in a natural, not at all heavy-handed way.

In Moore’s novel, homo sapiens, homo daemonis and homo angelus are all branches on the human family tree, living next door to each other for thousands of years. As a result, demons and angels have appeared in our mythology since the dawn of human civilization, and have influenced our culture in countless ways. And while angels and demons have kept a low profile over the last few centuries, members of all three species still interact frequently enough to warrant the existence of SITO, a secret organization dedicated to keeping the peace between them.

As interesting as the world of Angelus is, though, Moore excels at keeping the story front and center; a story I was eager to devour page after page, right up until an ending that delivered on all it promised.

Angelus is experienced through the eyes of Sarah Connelly, a half-daemon SITO agent. When the story begins, she’s assigned to the Child Protection Unit, helping to track down runaway non-sapiens children among other things. She’s good at what she does, and she’s great with children, but Connelly dreams of working on criminal cases.

As the story unfolds, Connelly gets her wish and ends up racing across the globe to save the life of a half-breed child. A child destined to be sacrificed by a group of angelus fanatics devoted to the idea of racial purity.

It’s a good story and Moore tells it very well. That said, there are a few minor nits I should pick.

First, I’d be hard-pressed to name a book with more adverbs per page. Characters rub their necks “tiredly” and grin “sheepishly” whenever they get a chance. And it’s almost never “he said” or “she said,” when the dialog tag could be “she said nervously” or “he said softly.” It never quite rose to the level of distraction, but it came close a few times.

There’s also the matter of the main character’s boss, Starks. He falls firmly in that “Angry Chief” cliche anyone reading bad detective fiction will be familiar with, and spends a lot of his screen time shouting and pounding on his desk. Still, criticizing a novel for one less-than-stellar character is like hating the Beatles because of Ringo Starr.

Angelus is a novel where it’s issues are far outweighed by the compelling story, great cast of characters and a world that feels as real as this one. It’s one of the best indie books I’ve read this year and I suggest you check it out.

Review of Joseph J. Schwartz’s “The Crossover Test”

Leave a reply

Most people I know have a set of rules by which they live. I’m not talking about society’s rules and laws, but rules like never go out with a musician. Or never date a girl who has more than half her age in stuffed animals on her bed. Rules like these are the result of lessons we at least believe the Universe taught us at one point or another.

I have my own codes to follow, of course. Like “Rule #36: Never conduct a chemical experiment on a loved one.” I take my rules as seriously the next person and do my very best not the bend them. So it’s with not a little hesitation that I break this one now…

Rule #68: Never review a book you couldn’t finish.

I have this rule because I like to talk about specifics in my reviews. If you can’t stick through a book to the end, it’s hard to express an opinion more nuanced than “I hated it.” However, in the case of The Crossover Test, I think I can do more than that.

The Crossover Test is Joseph J. Schwartz‘s supernatural thriller and it follows the adventures of two brothers named James and Rory as they ride across the country to pay tribute to their late father. There’s mystery and mysticism going around, a demonic assassin is killing off people in the brothers’ peer group, and the brothers themselves have a unique heritage which puts them at the center of a growing storm.

There’s an intriguing setup, an interesting premise and there might be a fantastic story lurking within. Unfortunately, there’s no way to know, and after three days of reading I’ve only just hit the half-way mark at page one thirty.

The problem? This book needed a skilled editor to work his or her magic on every level.

There are an alarming number of typos and grammatical problems in this book, but those mechanical errors aside, the content itself needed a trained eye.

For example, Rory is a recovering alcoholic one day shy of his one year anniversary. Saying this sort of thing is an important milestone is like saying Death Valley gets a little hot. There’s a scene in a hotel room where the two brothers are arguing because Rory wants a small sip of whiskey to celebrate. The scene is handled well enough and it concludes without Rory slipping.

Great! But then, less than a page later, we learn he drank half the bottle right after James goes to sleep–and we learn it at the hands of two sentences that seem downright casual.

You never gloss over something this important to one of your main characters. Period. There’s no way you can see this and not believe the author dropped the ball. Experiencing situations like these are why people read in the first place. Sure, no one bats a thousand, but you cannot miss a scene like this in the final product. A good editor, or even a decent beta reader, would have pointed out this omission.

And the list goes on. James and Rory appear to have had a childhood filled with supernatural things, but the substance and extent is left as an exercise for the reader. There’s even a point when their mother talks to them through the truck’s AM/FM radio and the brothers don’t think much of it. Maybe stuff like this happens to them all the time, but it would have been nice if the author clued us in.

Then there’s the mysterious Apache woman who keeps showing up to say cryptic things, the inexplicable scenes where Rory’s personality appears to revert to that of a twelve year old boy, and the fact that of all the characters in the book, only the assassin is more than a cardboard cutout.

In fact, several scenes with the assassin border on brilliant. As it kills its victims, it takes on a part of them. Their memory? Their soul? Either way, it’s haunted by their thoughts and voices. By the time we catch up to it in the book, the assassin has taken so many lives it’s lost most of its own identity and is in a kind of crisis. It’s interesting, and even invokes something approaching sympathy from time to time, but can’t carry the novel alone.

Maybe things get better in the last half of the book. And maybe the story Joseph Schwartz is trying to tell has an ending so great you can forgive the poor craftsmanship of the work. I’ll never know, though, because three days has only gotten me to the half-way point and a week is too long to spend reading a book that feels like it was written and published in less time.

Review of Donna Burgess’s “Solstice”

Leave a reply

Now that my dental horrors are safely behind me and things in general are more or less on track, I once again have time to dive into the stacks of books in my To-Read pile and report on what I find. As I mentioned last week, not all books deliver the goods, but those have been few and far between lately. In fact, I feel positively inundated with good stuff and can’t wait to share some of the gems with you.

In case my other reviews haven’t clued you in by now, a novel needs relatively little for me to eat it up. Give me a cast of believable characters, a writer just competent enough to not completely butcher the English language, and a good story. Great fiction needs more, but if a book is rocking the Big Three above, I’ll stick around to the end and love every minute of it.

Of course, if I get to the end and nothing much happens, we might have an issue. Which brings me to Solstice.

Donna Burgess‘s novel of the zombie apocalypse starts out well enough. There’s a diverse cast of characters, just enough description to let the reader get into the novel and meet the author half-way on the mental picture, and the suddenness of the Big Event is appropriately unfair. There’s a bright flash from the sun, the day star goes dark and everyone touched by the last rays of light turns into a flesh-eating monster.

Thus begins the quest for survival as the characters are faced with everything from the rampaging undead to uninfected humans living out their Road Warrior fantasies. Along the way we’re confronted with the realities of human psychology, the depth of our darkest nature and what we’ll do when push comes to shove and survival once again dominates our daily routine.

It’s all fairly typical of the genre, but then that’s not what matters in these kinds of tales. The fun is in watching the characters, following their relationships and seeing how they’ll tackle the challenges and choices before them. Let’s face it, if you’ve read even one novel about the zombie apocalypse, you pretty much know what the challenges and choices are going to be.

Good zombie apocalypse stories are character-driven through and through, and when it comes to the characters, Solstice hooked me from page five. And shortly after, I’d grown so attached to them I dreaded turning the page. It’s a rare book that has me desperate to know what happens next, but it’s almost unheard of for a book to have me afraid to find out. If it was only about the characters and the writing, Solstice would get a perfect score. At least, it would if I believed in giving scores in my reviews.

Sure, there is the occasional scene that feels a bit too thin, like I’m reading a Cliff’s Notes summary, and there are one or two places where the deus ex machina clanks a bit, but those flaws are easily overlooked by the quality surrounding them.

The only real disappointment comes at the end, because nothing happens.

Throughout the book, the characters are trying to get to a location where they believe the last uninfected, sane human beings are gathering. Only by the time they get there, no one’s left. It’s anti-climactic and the story just sort of whimpers away soon after. There’s also a sub-plot near the end where it looked like things were leading up to a confrontation with a group of nasty humans, but then that fizzled out too, leaving me wondering what the point of it all was.

With the near-constant dread, building page after page, the author drew me into the novel in a way few are able to pull off. But dread like that needs an appropriate release, and in the case of Solstice, it didn’t get one. Reading a horror story without a climax is sort of like ordering a pizza and having it show up without any cheese. Sure, the sauce, crust and other toppings might be delicious, but you’re still disappointed.

That said, I’ll probably pick up another of Donna Burgess’s novels at some point in the future. When an author can sink her claws into you that deeply (and that quickly), they’re always worth a second date, even if the first ends a little flat.