Month: May 2003

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Pratchett, Terry: (30) The Wee Free Men

I know I said I was going to read the sequel to Goblin Moon next, but when I said that, I didn’t know that there was a new Terry Pratchett novel out, namely The Wee Free Men—and I drop everything for a new Pratchett book.

I hadn’t realized this had already been published, and came across it by accident while browsing the YA section of my local Borders. (It was running a “buy two, get a third for 50% off” sale. New Westlake, new Pratchett, Teresa Edgerton’s latest, present for someone else, Michael Chabon-edited anthology, and a relatively non-offensive edition of I Capture the Castle. And elsewhere, Sherwood Smith’s Crown Duel. Yay, books.) It didn’t appear in the SF section at all, so if you have trouble finding this, check the YA section. (And then buy Sorcery and Cecilia while you’re there—but that’s another post.)

As I’ve said before, Pratchett’s YAs are basically the same as his adult novels except that they’re shorter, darker, and have chapters. I think of The Wee Free Men as Lords and Ladies II: The Next Generation. The Queen of Faerie is still trying to push her way into reality, because, well, that’s what she does; this time the witch facing her down is not Granny Weatherwax of Lancre, but nine-year-old Tiffany Aching of the Chalk. The title refers to her allies, a clan of the Nac Mac Feegle (pictsies; they’re six inches high, paint themselves blue, and spent all their time drinking, swearing, stealing, or fighting).

One of the things I particularly like about this book is Tiffany’s relationship with her grandmother, recently deceased and one of the two former witches of the Chalk. (The other is dying as the book opens, which is why the Chalk is vulnerable to the Queen’s incursions.) The book uses flashbacks heavily to portray this relationship, which is comforting, loving, and yet filled with awkward moments and unspoken regrets; I found the portrayal realistic and refreshing.

It’s that relationship, and the sense of place and history that are bound up in it, that keep this book from being just a rehash of Lords and Ladies. Yes, much of the action takes place in Fairyland, which is a first for the Discworld, and the Nac Mac Feegle have a somewhat more prominent role—but the natures of witchcraft and the Queen are themes that have already been done in the Discworld books, and without this additional dimension, I think I would find this book somewhat stale.

Okay, except for the Nac Mac Feegle, who I can’t help but find amusing no matter what the context (even if they’d run away from me because I’m a lawyer).

[Tiffany and the clan are going after the Queen, who has stolen Tiffany’s brother.]

“Why’re we stopping? Why’re we stopping here? We’ve got to catch her!”

“Got to wait for Hamish, mistress,” said Rob Anybody.

“Why? Who’s Hamish?”

“He might have the knowin’ of where the Quin went with your wee laddie,” said Rob Anybody soothingly. “We canna just rush in, ye ken.”

A big, bearded Feegle raised his hand. “Point ‘o order, Big Man. Ye can just rush in. We always just rush in.”

“Aye, Big Yan, point well made. But ye gotta know where ye’re just gonna rush in. Ye canna just rush in anywhere. It looks bad, havin’ to rush oout again straight awa’.”

Words of wisdom, indeed.

If you like prior Pratchett novels, I recommend picking up this one as well.

[ Also posted to rec.arts.sf.written; the post should show up here in a few hours. ]

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Edgerton, Teresa: (01) Goblin Moon

Look, a book I liked!

I went looking for Goblin Moon, by Teresa Edgerton, after a positive review of the sequel by Rich Boyé (whose booklog has vanished into 404 oblivion). This is a fantasy of the Regency-with-magic sort, though unlike Patricia Wrede’s Mairelon the Magician and Magician’s Ward, this is set in an imaginary world rather than in an alternate history, if that makes sense.

I really enjoyed this, not the least for its setting. I can’t possibly have liked every fantasy with either a courtly or a city setting, but at the moment, I’m not thinking of a strong counterexample. This book has both, one for each plot thread: on the courtly side, there’s something strange about the afflictions of a sickly society girl; on the city side, a sorceror’s coffin washes up, leading a pair of old friends back into dangerous experiments.

Therein lies the major flaw of the book: it suffers from the “A Plot, B Plot” problem. There are some connections between the two plots, but the main one seems to be that their convergence forces our protagnoists to flee the country at the end of the book, setting up the sequel. It’s possible that this book and its sequel, The Gnome’s Engine, are actually tightly woven together and thus the A and B plots end up being part of the same plot; I don’t know, because I haven’t read the sequel yet. I should add that except for the minor fact of fleeing the country, the book is reasonably well-contained.

The two plots are enjoyable, revealing their information and world-building at a good pace. And the characters populating those plots are good too: not stunningly original, but solidly drawn and engaging. This book is also further proof that I really do have a weakness for Lymond-types (in fiction only, I hasten to add); this one gets off most of the best lines, like

“Lord Skelbrooke . . . what a turn you gave me,” said the little apothecary, but a mischievous twinkle indicated that she had seen through his disguise immediately. “Might one ask what this . . . astounding costume . . . is supposed to portend?”

“Bad men, ill deeds, and (if I am successful) vengeance of no mean order,” said Skelbrooke.

Actually, when I typed that, I heard the Dread Pirate Roberts in my head, but it’s still a great line. There’s also:

“I have killed scores of men,” said Skelbrooke. “And there used to be a practice, among wild young men of good family, to ride the Imbrian countryside in the guise of highwaymen, and rob carriages and mail coaches . . . merely for the thrill of the thing.”

The Duchess was smiling now, a warm intimate smile. He was not certain whether she believed him or not, but at least he was keeping her amused.

“Heavens above!” said the Duchess. “I believe that I have fallen into the hands of a rascal. And tell me this . . . among your other vices, have you perhaps experimented with . . . the more intricate forms of sexual dalliance?”

Skelbrooke shook his head. “You see, I am not yet five and twenty,” he said apologetically. “I thought it wise to save something for later in life, lest I grow too soon bored.”

I just had fun reading this book. I look forward to seeing Skelbrooke, and the rest of our protagonists, in the sequel.

[ And then I will re-read Sorcery and Cecilia in honor of its being reprinted and because it’s also Regency-with-magic; and then I’ll read the Sector General omnibus with the only Sector General novel I haven’t read yet; and then I finally found a copy of The Element of Fire at a reasonable price (yay! But Patrick, if you’re reading this, I still think Tor should re-print it), so I’ll re-read that in celebration; and then there’s the sequel to Deep Secret and the new Bill Bryson; and at the pace I’ve been reading lately, I won’t be through these before the new Harry Potter comes out . . . I’ve pretty well got my reading planned out through the summer. *wists for the days when this list would be two weeks’ worth of reading* ]

[ Also, prompted by certain discussions, I’ve finally got around to trying an RSS feed with just the title of the post. Let’s see if it works. ]

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Bertin, Joanne: Last Dragonlord, The

I’ve been feeling guilty about the number of unread books on my shelves. In particular, I have a bunch of books I picked up cheap at used bookstores, on the theory that they looked vaguely interesting and why not? Since these are even more prone to sitting unread that others, I made a vague resolution to start trying some of them. I started with Joanne Bertin’s The Last Dragonlord mostly because it was on a shelf that I looked at every day.

I believe I bought this because 1) it was a Tor book, and 2) it had a cover blurb by Judith Tarr, who was not on my mental list of “overly blurby.” I discovered when I read the Acknowledgments that Bertin was apparently a participant in a writing workshop that Tarr ran or taught at. (This is not a suggestion that Tarr wasn’t serious in her blurb, but a possible explanation why I don’t recall seeing her blurb a lot of books.)

Anyway, I suspect that one’s opinion of this book will be determined by one’s opinion of the central worldbuilding conceit—which is not revealed fully until about halfway through, as I recall, so it suppose this could be considered a spoiler. You’ve been warned.

Okay. There are truedragons, which are just what you think they are, truehumans, which are just what you think they are, and Dragonlords, which are weredragons that can change at will. Dragonlords get made when somehow a truedragon soul and a truehuman soul get stuck together and then split in two before birth: each Dragonlord has a “soultwin,” someone who literally has half of their (human) soul. (The dragon bits usually sleep most of the time, apparently, and when the human bits tire of life, they take over.) I don’t recall anything as to whether all soultwins are of opposite genders, or whether they have the same birthdates. The book does state that not all soultwins live happily ever after, at least.

Also, Dragonlords function as sort of super-arbitrators and judges; in this case, they’re asked to settle a regency. Some characters ask, essentially, “hey, what gives them the right?” I could tell that these were supposed to be the Bad Guys, but I rather sympathized with the question: “the gods destined us to be the arbiters between nations” is not really what I consider a good answer. Neither is the longer creation story, which tells how Dragonlords were created by Eeeevil people and decided they would atone for that Eeeevil by seeking to avert war instead. (Yes, the theory is that they’re invited in for dispute-solving. It still strikes me as a dubious setup.)

There was probably a time in my life when I would have thought the Dragonlord concept was really cool. Now, it doesn’t do anything for me, and as a result, I wasn’t that enthused by the book.

This book did keep me up reading one night, but it was more the combination of a massively uncomfortable hotel bed and the realization that, every time I thought I knew where the plot was going, I was right—so I kept reading to see if it kept holding. And it did.

I don’t really regret the hour or two of my life I spent on this, but as you might have guessed, I’m not going to read the sequel.

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Lee, Sharon, and Steve Miller: Tomorrow Log, The

I dithered for a long while at Boskone about whether to buy Sharon Lee and Steve Miller’s latest, The Tomorrow Log. This is a non-Liaden novel, first in an apparent series. I was getting lukewarm on the Liad books anyway, and flipping through this at the dealer’s table gave me the impression that it was a novel in the angsty mode, à la Local Custom, when I prefer the calmer mode of Scout’s Progress.

I read the sample chapters online (which turn out to be a full third of the novel [!]), and decided to buy it at Amazon’s discount. Yes, it looked a little angsty, and there were hints of Foreordained Destiny, but I’m a sucker for cool caper bits, and I can generally count on Lee and Miller to make me care about their characters.

I read this when puppy-sitting, and then re-read it after to make sure I was giving it a fair chance.

It was okay.

To be fair, it seems quite likely that I’m not the right reader for this. I’m not as fond of Foreordained Destiny plots as I once was, and here we have not one but two of the things working on our protagonist. More specifically, our protagonist is an involuntary exile from a multi-generation colony ship, which picks its captains from a prophecy, the eponymous Tomorrow Log. At the same time that a cousin from the ship shows up to tell him that he’s next on the list, he comes into possession of a mysterious artifact that appears to have a mind of its own, and plans for our protagonist. Happily for plot purposes, the two end up heading in the same direction. (Speaking of plot, it also depends on an absolutely mind-boggling, suspension-of-disbelief-blowing coincidence about halfway through. That may have been the straw, actually.)

I am curious as to how the protagonists are going to get out of the plot hole they’re in at the end of this—but there’s the rub, I can’t say I have any confidence that they’ll get out of it in a believable way, after the end of I Dare and the aforementioned enormous coincidence in this book. Maybe I’ll just beg for spoilers online.

[ That’s what I did, by the way, with the latest Robert Jordan book, in the unlikely event that someone was wondering why it hadn’t appeared here yet. I asked Chad to spoil it thoroughly for me, listened carefully, and said, “Nope, I don’t need to read any of that.” It was remarkably freeing. To be fair, there is one plot thread that sounded interesting, but I think I would have found it distressing to read. ]

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Collodi, Carlo: Pinocchio (illustrated by Gris Grimly)

Pinocchio, written by Carlo Collodi and illustrated by Gris Grimly, came to my attention at the Tor party at Boskone. Many of the pages were scattered around (along with the more usual book covers), and I found the illustrations very striking. Bookstores seemed strangely baffled when I inquired about this edition, so here’s a link to Amazon (ISBN 0765344580); click on “more pictures” for some of the illustrations.

I’d never read Pinocchio before, and saw the Disney movie years ago. The book is certainly stranger and more complex than my recollection of the movie. For instance, Pinocchio’s primary character flaw in the book is his utter fecklessness, rather than lying. The translator is not listed, for some reason, but the prose is sprightly and engaging, and it has the sort of chapter headings that I’m a sucker for: “Pinocchio is hungry and searches for an egg to make himself an omelet; but just at the most interesting moment the omelet flies out the window.”

I can’t say I’m confident that Pinocchio has truly, permanently reformed by the end, but that’s Geppetto’s lookout, not mine. And his antics provided a quick, amusing read and the platform for some great illustrations. I quite enjoyed this edition.

(There was some discussion at Boskone about whether this edition was abridged. Since I don’t read Italian, I can’t say for sure, but this web site has a side-by-side translation, which looks like about the same amount of text as in my copy.)

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