#CBR 5 Review #9: Steampunk! An Anthology of Fantastically Rich and Strange Stories, edited by Kelly Link and Gavin J. Grant

I love anthologies.

I live alone, and my house has two bedrooms. The extra bedroom could have been a guest room, but instead it’s full of bookshelves. An entire bookshelf is filled with nothing but anthologies, and I’ve read every one of them.

They’re easy to enjoy–after all, if a story really is terrible (and I don’t know if my luck is good, my standards are low, or what, but stories I’ve considered irredeemable have been few and far in between), it’s not much of a time commitment to finish, and the next will probably be better. That can make them rather hard to review, too.

Steampunk! is…surprisingly…filled with steampunk stories. I kind of hate to delve into definitions, if for no other reason than that steampunk has gotten notoriously difficult to pin down, but for the uninitiated, steampunk is basically a kind of Victorian retro-futurism. Science fiction by way of the age of steam. There are dozens of blurred edges with other subgenres that often fall under the same heading if for no other reason than that steampunk is just easier to say, but there’s gearpunk and clockpunk and dieselpunk and mannerspunk and gaslamp fantasy and…yeah. Jules Vern and HG Wells are frequently cited as inspirations, along with Shelley and Lewis and others. There’s a lot of crossover with Lovecraft and weird fiction.

I could go on, but I’m here about one anthology, not about an entire culture.

One point very much in this anthology’s favor is its central conceit: it promised an entire collection of steampunk stories in which not a one took place in Victorian England. Since one story took place in London that was, to all appearances, quite Victorian but for the typical technology of the genre, I’m not sure if I misread or was mislead. All of the other stories took place elsewhere, however, and in a variety of times: Victorian Canada, modern and post-apocalyptic America, ancient Rome, and other worlds altogether.  Two of them graphic rather than straight written word. Some of them stretched the definition of steampunk so far as to border on unrecognizable, but I think the ability to do just that is both a strength and weakness of the genre.

I didn’t dislike a single one of these stories, and when I looked through the table of contents, I found I could recall details of each, too. That’s very good: it can’t be a sign of a strong story when you forget about it almost as soon as you’ve finished it.

The Summer People by Kelly Link was a standout, set in modern America and one that I felt stretched the definition of steampunk but that has also managed to stick with me and probably will for some time. Steam Girl by Dylan Horrocks, again set in the modern world, is another favorite of mine. Two outcasts in school are drawn together and bond over one’s stories of Steam Girl. I was honestly reminded of what Spaceman Spiff from Calvin and Hobbes might become if Calvin hangs onto his rich fantasies as he grows.  The Last Ride of the Glory Girls by Libba Bray was both set in another world and in an Old West that felt familiar, and the story left me breathless. Cory Doctorow’s Clockwork Fagin was a lot of fun and left me with a far better impression of him than his story in Welcome to Bordertown.

I find I can keep going. Those are a few of my favorites, but it was hard to stand out in this collection. If you’re entirely unfamiliar with steampunk, I can’t decide if I’d recommend this or not. I’m inclined to say it’s a perfect collection to introduce someone new to the whole thing, but at the same time, I’d deliberately departing from the earlier roots, so maybe it’s a better second place after some familiarity has been established?

If I step back from questions of genre, the answer is far easier: these are great stories. If you dig science fiction and fantasy, it would be hard to go wrong picking this one up.

#CBR 5 Review #8: Abhorsen, by Garth Nix

Abhorsen picks up so immediately following the end of Lirael that they may as well be read as a single book.

It makes reviewing it really hard because saying anything at all about what happens in the book is pretty much a big spoiler for what happened in the previous book.

If you’re interested in reading these books and haven’t read up to this one yet, then I’ll leave it at this: do pick these books up. Do read them. Whether you’re an adult or a teenager, this is a rich, fascinating world full of characters that have stayed with me for more than a decade and a half. There’s a short list of books I’ve read more than once, and a very, very short list of books I’ve read more than twice. All three of the Old Kingdom books are on that very, very short list.

If you have read the others, if you don’t care about spoilers, or you have no intention of reading these books, but you’re mildly curious anyway, read on.

At the conclusion of Lirael, we learned that Lirael never received her Sight because she’s a daughter not only of the Clayr, but of the Abhorsen. She learned earlier in the story that she’s a Remembrancer: she can see into the past instead of the future, and to do so, she must step into Death. Since she went in so readily after learning about Death and since she voluntarily read the Book of the Dead when it was presented to her, this revelation wasn’t much of a surprise to anyone but Lirael and Sameth.

At the same time, Sam learned that he’s not the Abhorsen-in-waiting: he’s a Wallmaker, the first in many, many generations. He greets the news that he can pass the mantle of Abhorsen to another and that his calling really is building the wonderful things he’s always loved, he’s relieved and content.

Lirael, who spent her life eagerly waiting her Sight, is somewhat less thrilled. It’s hard to learn that a life’s dream will never, ever be yours. But she’s discovered that she has a family she never knew about: she’s got a sister in Sabriel, a brother in law, and a niece and nephew.

Nicholas is in deep with Hedge, the necromancer, and the thing he’s digging up that never should have been bothered. Of course, nothing buried and warded and left to never see the light of day will always find its way back.

Ready to take on their new roles or not, Lirael and Sam have to set out to save Nicholas and maybe the whole world.

Abhorsen continues with the themes of duty and fate, but also adds in a lot more about family and bravery. The first time I read this book, I tore through it as fast as I could, completely absorbed in the story and eager to devour every last word. When I reread it, I often fell into the same trance.

I am so, so glad I came back to read these books. They’re brilliant, and I missed a great deal of the brilliance by not paying enough attention before. For example, we’re finally told who the Disreputable Dog really is. The first time I read the book, when the truth was revealed, I literally dropped the book. I was shocked. On rereading more carefully, there was a hint the moment the Dog appeared. There were many more hints, and some of them were so clear they bordered on spelling it out. Same with Mogget.

The craft that went into the world and the characters is a joy in and of itself. The story built on the details laid out each step of the way. Even the little things, like Sabriel’s friend Ellimere who died at the end of the first book and Sabriel’s daughter Ellimere who was born about a year after the events of that book.

I said it before, but I’ll say it again: I recommend these books. They’re worth reading not just once, but multiple times.

#CBR 5 Review #7: Lirael, by Garth Nix

After discovering and loving Sabriel while I was in high school, I sort of kept Garth Nix in mind as an author I’d like to follow. I think I found Shade’s Children long before I discovered there were two more books set in the Old Kingdom: Lirael and Abhorsen. I don’t know how long I might have gone without discovering them if I hadn’t walked right into a big display with all three in a book store.

I don’t honestly remember if I bought one or both of them on the spot or if I had to wait, but either way, they both still reside on a shelf in my library.

These are books I’ve recommended to friends many times, and I know at least one person actually picked them up and read them and loved them as much as I did. When trying to get other people to read them, I’ve said that they’re young adult novels only in the age of the protagonists and the lack of graphic sex. The world building, the quality of the story, even the levels of violence and horror hold up against an awful lot of epic fantasy out there.

So, following after revisiting Sabriel, how did Lirael hold up?

Beautifully.

I stand by my old assessment. While I do see a little more youth in the story than I did when I first read it, I would still absolutely recommend that teenagers and adults alike pick up these books.

These books take place in the years following the events in Sabriel, picking up 14 or so years after and moving forward to 18 or 20 years after. (Spoilers follow for Sabriel, maybe. I mean, knowing only the title and the genre, you should probably walk in knowing this is more or less where the story was leading).

Sabriel is Abhorsen, Touchstone is king, and they’ve gone on to have children. They’re rebuilding the Old Kingdom and winning it back from the free magic, the dead, and the chaos that ate at the kingdom in the two hundred years leading up to the story in Sabriel. Sameth, younger child of Sabriel and Touchstone, is set to become Abhorsen-in-waiting, and he steps into the story as one of our main characters.

Lirael, at the outset of our story, is a daughter of the Clayr. We were introduced to two of the Clayr in Sabriel. They see the future, and they are the descendants of one of the founders of the Charter–along with the Abhorsen and the king. On Lirael’s 14th birthday, she still hasn’t gotten her Sight, and she’s the oldest child in the glacier–the Clayr become adults on receiving their Sight, but no one has Seen Lirael. She stands out in other ways, too, since the Clayr tend to be blond and dark skinned, while Lirael is pale with dark hair. Since the Clayr are so concerned with the future, they’ve all managed to miss Lirael’s increasing isolation and depression, so there’s no one to step in before Lirael decides her 14th birthday is the perfect time to throw herself from the mountain.

Good timing (and a little hesitation when reality comes to greet her from the top of the mountain) brings Lirael face-to-face with some of the most powerful Clayr in the glacier. To give her a little direction to keep her from dwelling too much on her perceived faults, Lirael is given a job in the Library of the Clayr–a library that is absolutely on my list of fictional libraries I would totally visit if it were possible.

Prince Sameth, meanwhile, is finishing off his last year in school on the other side of the Wall. When he and his cricket team are attacked by a necromancer named Hedge, Sam bravely plunges into Death to save his friends. He learns the hard way that bravery and good intentions don’t do a lot more than set you up to get your ass kicked. In addition to some physical injuries, Sam is left with some wounds to his soul and a severe phobia of Death. Not really a healthy fear in an Abhorsen-in-waiting.

During that same attack, Sam’s best friend Nicholas Sayre runs headlong into the necromancer. When he’s mistaken for the prince, he has a fragment of something dangerous implanted in him. At first Hedge is furious that he didn’t get his intended victim, but since Nicholas is the nephew of the Prime Minister, he isn’t precisely useless, either.

Years go by in the Glacier, and during which Lirael creates a dog sending for company that ends up being far more than she intended. But the Disreputable Dog proves to be a good friend, and the two of them pass the years in adventures in the library while Lirael quietly uses the books at her disposal to become a formidable Charter mage in her own right.

When the Clayr finally See Lirael, they don’t come to her with the news she’d been expecting all her life: instead of getting her Sight and becoming a true Daughter of the Clayr, Lirael is allowed to view a single vision, then she is sent away from the Glacier to do something everyone is very certain is extremely important.

Meanwhile, Sam has been doing his very best to avoid touching the Book of the Dead, even though he knows he’ll have to pick up his mantle as Abhorsen-in-waiting. When his friend Nicholas sends a letter to tell him he’s crossing into the Old Kingdom for a visit, and he’s going to the very place that has been the center of a lot of trouble for years. Sam sees the perfect opportunity to put off his duties as Abhorsen-in-waiting while hopefully saving his friend, and who could blame him for doing that?

This book continues the ideas and themes of duty that were so prominent in the first book. It brings us somewhat more fragile characters, and also explores destiny and dreams, and whether or not it’s right to follow the path you’ve been given or the one your find for yourself.

I feel like this book earned its place on my shelf all over again.

#CBR 5 Review #6: Finder, by Emma Bull

I cannot be objective about this book. I cannot be objective about anything to do with Bordertown.

The thing is, I don’t know if I should be.

If you enjoy urban fantasy, you owe a debt to Bordertown, to Terry Windling and to all of the authors who breathed life into this amazing, heartbreaking, dirty, beautiful, terrible, dream-soaked town. When the first books, Borderland and Bordertown, were printed in 1986, they were unique. These weren’t once upon a time, far, far away. No, in the 80’s, what the humans knew as elfland (don’t call it that to the elves’ faces) reappeared. A regular American city got caught right on the border. Which city isn’t known–maybe it’s a little bit of every city. It became this place that doesn’t belong anywhere, where the magic and the tech work only sporadically, and it didn’t take long before it filled up with kids from both sides of the border, all either running from or running to something.

I came to Bordertown a little backwards, which is guess is the only way to find it. While looking at filk, I discovered Banshee Blues, by Maureen S. O’Brien. I went looking for that book, Life on the Border. Funny enough, it was the last one I found.

It was the 90s, and I was in high school. I was this lost, stupid kid, just like the kids in the stories. I always felt a little lonely, even when I was with my friends, and I had felt like I didn’t belong as long as I could remember. When I went to summer camp, we were shown the ‘wishing tree’ on the grounds, and I snuck away from my camp and to the wishing tree to ask it to send me home. I didn’t know where home was, I just didn’t know it was here.

Bordertown gave me a home.

I’ve got all of the anthologies. First editions. I consider them the crown of my collection, and even though I would desperately love to know someone else who has read these books and who has loved them, I can’t bring myself to lend them out. I can’t risk them not finding their way home.

What I hadn’t read was the associated novels. I don’t yet have copies of them, either. But they were released on kindle not long after the most recent anthology, Welcome to Bordertown, was released. The very last was Finder, by Emma Bull.

Orient, who got his name for his ability to find anything, and his partner, Tick-Tick, have been in short stories in the previous anthologies, so picking up this story was like coming home and being greeted by old, dear friends.

Orient is fey, a kid from the World who went a little different when the Realm came crashing back into our reality. Ask him where something is–something that either you or he definitely know exists–and he’ll know where it is. Not like he can tell you its exact location, but like there’s a string drawn between it and him–tug, tug, tug, it’s over this way.

Everyone coming to the Border has a reason to leave behind their old life. Get to the Border and you shed the past. A few weeks and you’ll have a new name, a new look, a new life. So it doesn’t seem like she’s playing by the rules when cop Sunny Rico shows up to threaten Orient with the life he left behind in the World.

The thing is, there’s a new drug in town. Someone’s feeding runaways something that’s supposed to turn them into real elves, and then they’ll be able to cross the Border and enter the Realm, which has so far been completely barred from humans. The problem is, the kids who take it are changing, and then they’re dying ugly.

No matter how angry Orient is about how he’s been dragged into it, it’s not the kind of thing he can leave alone.

If you love urban fantasy, I cannot recommend Bordertown highly enough. If you’re thinking about dipping your toes in urban fantasy, this is a good place to start. If you’ve never been to Bordertown, is this particular book where I’d recommend you’d start?

Not necessarily. I think if you’re new, a better place would be The Essential Guide to Bordertown, which has beautiful stories perfectly framed by a travel guide to Bordertown written by the kids who ran away and made a home there. I don’t know anyone who’s read the books, but most of the people I know have heard portions of the Guide that I read out loud. There’s also Welcome to Bordertown, which brings Bordertown into today.

And once you’ve read those, if you’ve got a kindle, absolutely pick up Finder (end Elsewhere and NeverNever). They’re amazing, and at their prices as of my writing this, they’re an absolute steal.

#CBR 5 Review #5: Sabriel, by Garth Nix

There can be something a little frightening about revisiting a childhood favorite. Sometimes you’re rewarded with warm memories and a deeper enjoyment that can come with more years behind you. Sometimes you stumble across classic episodes of ThunderCats late at night on the Cartoon Network and find yourself questioning your childhood.

I don’t remember exactly how old I was, but I do remember exactly when I discovered Sabriel. My family frequented different libraries all around town, and sometimes picked one to visit based on how long since we’d been there. The closest one to my house at the time (so I can venture a guess that I was in 9th grade? Maybe I was 13?) was very small. I can say with confidence that my sci-fi and fantasy book collection now outnumbers theirs, at least at the time. That’s not so much a boast about the size of my collection as sympathy over their limited shelf space.

In any case, I was browsing through the young adult section and finally found something new. Although I was pleased to discover some years later that the book and its sequels eventually enjoyed a certain amount of fame, this was shortly after it was first available in the US. I don’t know how it found its way to such a tiny library in such an unlikely town, but based on my memories of that library, I’d say one or more of the librarians had fabulous taste.

Once I got the book home, I devoured it. I was in love, and bought a copy for myself. That same copy sits on my shelf today. I’ve recommended it to friends, and the one who actually read it ended up buying her own copy. That was years ago, though.

When I spotted the book in my library’s kindle selection, I immediately checked it out.

So, how’d it hold up after all these years?

Extremely well.

Sabriel is in her final year in boarding school across the wall from the Kingdom when she receives a message from her father in the form of a Dead sending that brings her his bells, sword, and the Book of the Dead. Her father is Abhorsen, the one man in the Kingdom tasked with returning the Dead to Death. Now his spirit is trapped in Death, his body is somewhere inside the Kingdom, and Sabriel needs to find him. Though she sets out with a great deal of confidence, she starts realizing just how unprepared for this she may be. Among many other things, she learns that her father’s name wasn’t Abhorsen–that was his title. One she has (or if her quest to find and restore her father is successful, will) inherited. What’s more, an old enemy of her family and of the kingdom as a whole is moving, and something has to be done.

I was in love with the world Nix created in high school, and I still love it now. I keep trying to describe it, and it doesn’t work as well when I try to sum it up. But I love the bells used by the necromancers to control the dead, and the beautiful and elaborate charter that brings order into the world. I greatly enjoyed the history built into the Kingdom. I was especially taken by the portrayal of Death and of the Dead–to call them magical zombies would be technically accurate, but extremely reductive.

When I read the book the first time, I flew through it. Details blurred, so I was left with the impression of this world I wanted to sink into. I read it several  more time, but the years softened the details quite a bit. I actually feel like reading this book again really enriched the experience. I thought it was well-plotted and enjoyable before, but reading it one more time knowing what was coming, I got to see all of the elements line up and come together.

I can’t think of many higher compliments for a book than that it’s worth the time to read more than once.

Oh, and the absolutely perfect fan art by Rinian, found on Deviant Art.

#CBR 5 Review #4: The Princess Bride, by William Goldman

I’m having an incredibly hard time writing this review, because I suspect it’s going to be one of those extremely unpopular opinions that makes me a totally uncool geek, like not liking Star Wars or Neil Gaiman.

I grew up with The Princess Bride…the movie. I loved it. I still love it. I have both a VHS and a DVD copy, and I still watch it every single time I come across it showing on TV, no matter how much of it I might have missed.

As a matter of fact, there are a few movies and books that I use as a litmus test for friendship–it’s ok if you haven’t seen or read them, but if you have and you didn’t like or actively hated them, I think that reveals some basic level on which we’ll never get along. Friendship was just not meant to be if we don’t agree on this short list. The Princess Bride is on that list.

It’s taken me a long time to get around to reading this book. When there’s a movie coming out or already out based on a book I decide I want to read, I try to watch the movie first. The reason is simple: the book will be better. If I go into the movie blind, I’ll enjoy it (or hate it) on its own merits. Besides, a great movie won’t ruin a good book, but a good book will easily ruin all but the best of movies. However, that hardly seems fair when you’re talking about the book on which some childhood favorite was based. Still, I felt like my failure to read this particular book was a regrettable oversight. There’s even a copy of it sitting on my bookshelf, making me feel guilty. And the screenplay was written by the author, so there’d have to be plenty to love, right?

That makes it so, so much harder to admit that I kind of hated the book, and I only finished it out of the desperate belief that it would grow on me.

Since this is a 40 year old book, and a 26 year old movie, I’m not going to be extremely careful about spoilers. If you really need a warning, consider this to be it. This is a case where it feels impossible to separate one from the other.

If you’ve seen the movie but haven’t read the book, the format of the book will be familiar. In the movie, a grandfather reads the book to his sick grandson. In the book, the author’s father reads the book to him while he’s sick. As an adult, he discovered his father had skipped over all of the boring parts, reading just the good parts of the story. Now he is presenting an abridged, all good parts version of the original classic by S. Morgenstern.

In high school, a friend of mine who had read the book mentioned the author’s asides–including notes about what he’d cut from the ‘original’ story. She actually wanted to read the many deleted pages about a character’s hats, because that really had to be something. A little research shows that she was hardly the only one taken in by the conceit, and I can’t blame her. I was already vaguely aware of it, but still put the book down at one point to look it up to be sure.

Since a considerable amount of the author’s inserts into the story concern being rather cruel to both his wife and fat son (you get to read a great deal about how fat his son is), I was very relieved to learn that this was all fiction, too. He apparently has daughters, no sons. Here’s hoping none of them are fat.

I get exactly what he was doing. Just because I understand it doesn’t mean I have to appreciate it. For example, the full title is The Princess Bride: S. Morgenstern’s Classic Tale of True Love and High Adventure. During one of his asides, he pokes fun at Morgenstern for having the gall to call his own story a classic before it had even been published. Of course, Morgenstern is as much a work of fiction as the story he supposedly wrote. It didn’t make me laugh, it just gave me the vague urge to kick the author in the teeth.

The “good parts version” conceit feels unnecessary instead of clever. The author interrupting his own story frequently grated on my nerves, and knowing there really wasn’t an original he was cutting down made me grit my teeth while reading him complaining about his imaginary author going on and on for pages that had never existed about trees. I think I’d have rather read about the trees.

Interrupting the story to tell what was coming next in order to deliberately break any tension has never felt like a good idea. It was one thing I disliked in the movie and hated even more in the book.

So much of the story suffers in comparison to the movie, too. I hate, hate, hated that Buttercup was stupid and that most of the time Westley was talking to her, he was condescending. Everyone sort of let her get away with being really dumb because she was super pretty, so that makes it all cool, right?

The ending was infuriating in and of itself, particularly since the author spent a while complaining about the ending, himself. He made his point and again, I get it. I just don’t appreciate it.

Actually, what bothered me the most was that the whole story, including the author’s asides, felt like Westley talking to Buttercup: the tone grated because it constantly felt like he was talking down to his audience. I’m not misunderstanding writing intended for children: there is a difference between talking at a child’s level and talking down to a child, and even children are good at spotting it.

I can’t guess how I would have felt about this book if I had read it years and years ago, or if I had somehow managed to read it before being exposed to the movie. I usually work hard to separate my feelings about a book from my feelings about a related movie, but it’s just about impossible in this case.

I’m going to have to go watch The Princess Bride soon, to get the taste of the book out of my head.

#CBR 5 Review #3: Soul Music, by Terry Pratchett

I swear that one of the best things to ever happen to me was kindle books available through my library. It’s fantastic. I’ve been calling it library service for shut-ins, which is pretty much what I’d be if I could work from home and get groceries delivered.

One of the wonderful things available in my library’s kindle collection is the entire Discworld series. Starting last year, I’ve been working my way through all of the books, in order. I’m up to number 16, Soul Music.

One of Discworld’s strengths is that you can pick up any book in the series and enjoy the story in isolation. Some are stronger than others, and they are loosely connected–some more than others–but you aren’t missing anything vital. I am finding that reading the stories in order does enrich them. I also tend to read several books in between, and will sometimes find myself looking forward to picking up the series again. I think there will be an empty place in my life when I run out of new Discworld books to pick up.

Within Discworld’s catalog there are several subseries, each focusing on a different cast of characters and sometimes a different part of the world. Soul Music is the third of the Death-related books. I don’t know what it says about me, but when Death receives an anthropomorphic personification in almost any work, he (or she, or it) tends to be my favorite. Really, if I could have my pick of who could greet me when my time is done, I really wouldn’t mind if it were the Death of Discworld.

Rock and roll–or music with rocks in–has found its way to Discworld by way of a mysterious shop that appeared just across from the Unseen University. The music has possessed a young musician, and in a magic-saturated world that runs on the theory of narrative causality, the music and the story take on a life of their own.

We meet Susan Sto Helit, daughter of the child Death adopted and his former apprentice. She’s just learning about her grandfather and how inheritance isn’t all about genes. I don’t know if I’d have loved Susan as deeply as I do if I met her first as this teenager, but all in all, I can’t say she’s portrayed unfairly. Quoth, the raven, also makes his appearance, and the Death of Rats plays a part.

Some of the humor does feel forced, but humor is so person that I can’t say what I found forced won’t be natural or hilarious to someone else. For every joke that made me roll my eyes, there were also several that at least made me snort out loud or grin while I was reading. If I were handing someone a Discworld novel in order to convince them to read the rest of the series, I don’t know if this would be the one I’d hand over, but if it were the one they found, I also wouldn’t encourage them to drop it and try another instead.

What I love about the Discworld is that you have the story on the surface, and it’s often familiar and well-trod. We’ve seen it in real life, and we’ve seen it in our fiction. We know it, and we know how it will turn out. But there’s more at play here, including having to come to grips with being unable to ultimately change fate even when time and space mean nothing to you and you remember the past like it happened tomorrow. There’s learning to let go and learning when to refuse to accept the story fate has laid out before you.