Tag: novel

The Doxies Penalty, by Madeleine E. Robins

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Literary rating: ★★★★★
Kick-butt quotient: ☆

One of my favorite mystery series by a contemporary author is Madeleine E. Robins’ Sarah Tolerance series. I’ve read and reviewed all three of the earlier books (Point of Honour, Petty Treason and The Sleeping Partner), the most recent of those published in 2011 (seven years after the second one). The long gap between books had convinced me that the series was to be a trilogy, so I was delighted when this continuation was published in 2025! It didn’t disappoint.

This series should definitely be read in order; but for the benefit of readers who may be starting it here, the author provides a couple of paragraphs of essential backstory to introduce our heroine, and precedes the text itself with the short notation “October 1811. Another London.” That cryptic note is meant to clue us to the fact that this is a slightly alternate Regency England, in which Queen Charlotte, rather than Prince George, was initially named regent for her husband. But in the third book, her ill-health required the naming of a new regent, so Prince George got the job belatedly; and this book really has no noticeable alternate-world features.

So, for the benefit of readers who haven’t read, or don’t remember, the earlier books or my earlier reviews, Miss Tolerance (born Sarah Brereton) is a scion of a lower-nobility family, which disowned her as a teen when she ran off with her brother’s fencing master. (The pair were in love, and would have married if her father hadn’t forbade it.) After her man died young, Sarah took shelter with the one relative who’d have her, an also-disowned aunt who owns a high-end brothel (fortunately, there’s a small cottage out back); and rather than resort to prostitution like many young women in her situation, she’s created a profession for herself as an “Agent of [discreet] Inquiry.” (She’s smart, inquisitive, able to blend in a variety of social settings and pass as a man if she has to; and since she packs pistols and learned how to fence from her late life-partner, she can handle rough stuff if it’s thrown at her.)

Our tale here begins about six months after the preceding one. My general comments about the previous books in terms of style, writing quality, literary vision, etc. would apply here as well. There’s no bad language as such here (Sarah can cuss at times, when trying circumstances evoke it, but Robins doesn’t quote her), and no explicit sex; but there’s definitely reference to prostitution and other illicit sex –Sarah behaves with a sense of honor, but her aunt’s a madame, her best female friend is a sex worker, and her two clients in this book are retired prostitutes.

One only appears in the first chapter, where Sarah’s recovered some stolen jewelry for her. But the case brought to her by the second one will be more knotty. Elderly Annie Pouter (who used to work for Sarah’s aunt) has invested her life savings in a mysteriously-managed “Fund” that apparently caters to former “ladies of the evening” who have some money put by, and which promised a generous rate of return; but the payments ceased after the first few. But what starts as an investigation into possible financial malfeasance will soon turn much darker….

There will be some bloody violence in this book before the last page is turned; though it’s not made any more grisly than it needs to be, and we get a ghastly look at the ugliest faces of the Regency flesh trade (which may involve pre-teen kids!), opium addiction, the ravages of pre-antibiotic era STDs, and the general depths of moral perversion that fallen humans are capable of. This is definitely not simply a time-marking book; it advances the series narrative in significant ways (and it’s clear by the end that there will be at least one more book). We’re introduced here to greater London’s Roma community (referred to here as “Travelers”), with a couple of characters who I’m sure we’ll be meeting again. More importantly, there are a couple of MAJOR developments in Sarah’s personal life. And at the end, she’s presented with a serious moral decision.

Do I recommend that you read his book, if you like the genre and setting, and aren’t put off by some gritty elements? Absolutely; but I strongly recommend that you read the other three books first!

Author: Madeleine E. Robins
Publisher: Faery Cat Press; available from Amazon, both for Kindle and as a printed book.
Book 4 of 4 in the Sarah Tolerance series. A version of this review previously appeared on Goodreads.

Snakebite, by Heather Ramsay

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Literary rating: ★★
Kick-butt quotient: ☆☆

I believe I have previously written disparagingly about “cinematic amnesia”, where a plot revolves around the lead character’s loss of memory. Inevitably, it comes back at exactly the points required for the plot, and to maximize drama. Unless the maker is very skilled, it always seems highly contrived, and I tend to find it distracting. This may be the first time I’ve read a case of such blatant literary amnesia, and much the same problems result.  As soon as “the A word” cropped up – page 37 – I was bracing myself for what was to come. The book did not disappoint in this area. 

The heroine is “Phoenix” – not her real name, since she can’t remember her real one. She was picked up out of a burnt-out grocery store, and taken to become a member of an elite military unit run by the United Nations (there’s another clue, since the UN cannot actually organize the proverbial piss-up in a brewery). They roam the world, with their mission being to “track, contain or terminate threats to global safety”, under General Cobra. No, really: that’s what he’s called. He’s a former Colombian government operative, who left the country after his hardcore tactics made him too many enemies. But he’s now going back, with Phoenix as his undercover wife, to take out weapons dealer Li Julong and his associate, Dr. Max Devereaux.

You will no doubt be shocked – SHOCKED! – to hear that the pair have a previous connection to Phoenix and, indeed, might perhaps have something to do with how she ended up in the grocery store. Before we get there though, we have to grind our way through so much Unresolved Sexual Tension between Phoenix and Cobra. Initially, she hates him, but as soon as they start having to play house, her thoughts immediately become hot ‘n’ sweaty. A sample: “I didn’t want to admit it, but I had it bad for him… Only a few days ago I hated the sight of him; now I wanted to rub up against him like a cat in heat. I had to do something about it.” Yeah. It’s like that. 

Then the switch in her head gets flicked, all of her memories come back, and Cobra is all but forgotten. I’m not sure this is how amnesia works, though to be fair, this isn’t your usual “bang on the head” flavour of that. After a brisk opening, this is more or less downhill all the way, and there’s not even particularly much in the way of action. Between first her UST, and then discovering the truth about her pre-amnesia life, there isn’t much room for anything else, and consequently, this becomes an increasing drag. About the only bit to stick in my mind is an extended near-death experience, which is well-written, yet doesn’t add much. Preferable to more UST or amnesia, however. 

Author: Heather Ramsay
Publisher: Titan Inkorp, though it appears weirdly unavailable on Amazon at this point/
Book 1 of 3 in the Alpha Squad series.

The Warslayer, by Rosemary Edghill

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Literary rating: ★★★★½
Kick-butt quotient: ☆☆

This review requires a sad preface: “Rosemary Edghill” (there’s some uncertainty about her actual name) died of sepsis on April 7 of this year, at the age of only 69. But on a positive note, with 91 distinct works listed on Goodreads, she left behind a considerable body of speculative fiction; and judging by what I’ve read of it so far, it’s a legacy in which she could take genuine pride.

Published in 2002, this stand-alone novel draws significant inspiration from the popular TV series Xena: Warrior Princess, which ran from 1995-2001. (I was a fan myself back in the day –or as much of a fan as my work schedule allowed for TV viewing– and I’d surmise that Edghill was as well.) Our protagonist here, Glory McArdle, plays Vixen the Slayer, star of a wildly popular (fictional) TV show now wrapping up its first season, which has a lot in common with Xena, including a fervent international cult fan base, and a six-foot-tall heroine hailing from Down Under. (Lucy Lawless, who played Xena, was from New Zealand.) There are some differences; for instance, The Incredible True Adventures of Vixen the Slayer (“TITAoVtS,” for short) is set in Elizabethan England, and incorporates some qualities of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and unlike Lawless, Glory –who got her role after going to an audition as an extra in the shooting of a pilot for a different series– was a former Phys Ed teacher, and before that a member of the Aussie Olympic gymnastics team. But the Xena parallels are significant; and just as real-life author Greg Cox wrote the real book Battle On! An Unauthorized, Irreverant Look at Xena: Warrior Princess, here he’s said to have also written the (imaginary) book Vixen the Slayer: The Unofficial Journeys.

In our first chapter, Glory (who’s in Hollywood taping a short MTV promotional for her series) gets an unexpected knock on her trailer door, while she’s waiting in costume for another take. Her visitors are three rather short people in fantasy-world costume. But they’re not, as she initially thinks, actors, or fanatical fans dressed up and acting out a fantasy. They really are mages from another dimension. You see, in their world, 1,000 years ago the great mage Cinnas the Warslayer chained an evil entity called the Warmother; but now she’s been loosed, and is wreaking havoc. To save their people, they’ve scoured all the other worlds they can reach for a “hero” (like the writers of the Xena series teaser, they don’t grasp the grammatical distinction of hero/heroine, but I digress), and been turned down by all the prospects. Having read Cox’s book, their last hope is Vixen the Slayer. Sensing that these poor deluded people genuinely believe what they’re saying, Glory’s trying to explain that the book is fiction; but when a sudden burst of uncontrolled magic sends all four of them back into her visitors’ world, that attempt might be a bit moot….

The cover blurb/Goodreads description creates the impression that this is a light exercise in humorous fantasy; and it actually does have a lot of humor (I read it to my wife, and she laughed out loud in several places). Both TITAoVtS and Xena are shows that offer mostly action-oriented entertainment without a lot of serious content, which might also lead readers to expect the same here. However, The Warslayer has its unexpectedly deep and serious side. Glory can deliver a fair amount of wry humor; but we’ll also see her bleed, vomit, and cry. While there’s some intense physical combat going on here at times, the battles aren’t all going to be physical, and the author has some really important things to say. (I’m not going to try to summarize them, because the story is the message, and you need to experience it the way she wrote it.) Her plotting here is not at all predictable. (But it’s deeply satisfying!)

There’s no sexual content here, and no obscenity (and no use of the f-word; Glory started to say it on one occasion, but stopped herself). There is, though, a certain amount of vulgar and profane language, used by Earth natives (it’s not a feature of native culture in the fantasy world). While she’s a likable young woman with a kind heart and good instincts, Glory tends to have an earthy and irreverent speaking style; she was raised on her dad’s Outback sheep station, a milieu where speech isn’t very refined (and some of the Aussie slang here that I’m not familiar with might be expressions I’d rather not have translated!). The worldview here is not Christian per se, but like Glory herself, though she’s basically secular-minded and God-shy, it’s not anti-Christian or anti-theistic either. Trigger warnings are in order for brief descriptions of the ravaged corpses of a pony and a dog (the Warmother and her playmates aren’t nice entities!); but the biggest problem here is the improbability that all of the non-Earth natives converse in fluent English. (I deducted a half-star for this in my rating, but rounded up.)

As an added feature, the opening few pages of Greg Cox’s imaginary book on Vixen are “quoted” as a kind of prologue here, and as an appendix, we’re given his supposed “Episode Guide” to the 17 episodes of TITAoVtS. (I’d guess that none of this is written by him, but that he gave his permission for the use of his name.) The deadpan humor of this material is a hoot; and as a suggestion to any TV producers who may read this, if anybody actually ever tried to make a real-life incarnation of this series, I’d be interested in checking it out. :-)

Author: Rosemary Edghill
Publisher: Baen, available through Amazon, only as a physical book
A stand-alone novel.

The Red Peri, by Stanley G. Weinbaum

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Literary rating: ★★★★
Kick-butt quotient: ☆☆

This 1935 novella is only the second work I’ve read by pulp-era American SF author Stanley G. Weinbaum (the other is his first and best-known short story, A Martian Odyssey, which is included in The Science Fiction Hall of Fame, Volume One, 1929-1964). But despite dying at the age of 33, in his meteoric writing career (which spanned only about 18 months), he produced dozens of short stories and two posthumously published novels. (A number of the stories were published posthumously as well.) He earned a place in Sam Moskowitz’s Explorers of the Infinite: Shapers of Science Fiction (1974), and his stature in the genre’s history remains high more than 50 years later.

Though born in Louisville, Kentucky, as a child Weinbaum moved with his parents and sister (the family was ethnically Jewish, but to my knowledge there’s no indication that he was ever religiously observant) to Milwaukee, and lived there for the rest of his short life, except for study at the Univ. of Wisconsin at Madison from 1920-23, where he first majored in chemical engineering and then switched to English literature. (He left without graduating, after being caught taking an exam for a friend on a dare.) After his marriage in 1926, he worked at a variety of odd jobs, but began writing seriously in the late 1920s and submitting his work to magazines. A Martian Odyssey, published in July 1934, was his first sale, and brought him immediate acclaim in the small SF fandom of that day.

American SF between the World Wars was a sort of literary ghetto, disdained by critics, and found mainly in a handful of small-circulation niche magazines, dominated by editors committed to the genre’s “hard” tradition, in which the speculative element is strictly based on extrapolation from known science and scientific accuracy is a paramount concern. (Literary matters like character development, well-crafted prose, and original plotting, in that era, was sometimes of less concern.) Weinbaum, like many of the genre’s writers in his generation, had the scientific background and interest to write hard SF, but his English literature education/interest also gave him stylistic skills superior to those of a lot of his contemporaries. Both qualities are evidenced in this short work.

The Red Peri is set partly in space but mainly on Pluto (which had been discovered relatively recently, in 1930), in a future era in which humans use rocketry to travel to the planets of the solar system, but mostly to Venus and Mars; a small town on the Jovian moon Titan is as far out as their settlement goes, and the outer planets are rarely visited at all. (No date is actually given in the text, though the cover copy gives 2080; I’m not sure where that’s derived from.) Trade between these three middle planets is lucrative, but bedeviled by space pirates; and none of the latter are more feared than those of the pirate ship Red Peri. (Peri is Persian for imp or elf.)

25-year-old Frank Keene, our American viewpoint character and co-protagonist, a radiologist and physicist, has a brief run-in with a red-haired pirate (you can’t see much through a space-suit visor, but he did see that) when the freighter he’s traveling on is robbed by the Peri. A year later, he and an elderly fellow scientist, researching cosmic radiation in deep space, have to make an emergency landing on Pluto. That very cold world proves to hold a couple of secrets, one of which being that it’s the lair of the Peri –and it’s no real spoiler to reveal that “The Red Peri” is also the moniker of the pirate captain, who happens to be a very attractive young lady.

A Dr. Mike Goldsmith provides a reasonably spoiler-free page-and-1/2 Introduction and about five and a half pages of footnotes to this Grammaticus Books re-print. As this added matter reveals, despite Weinbaum’s determination to write “hard” SF, this book has its share of scientific inaccuracies (though it also exhibits some solid science as well in places). Some of these are simply the result of the limited scientific knowledge available in 1935: for instance, not much was known then about Pluto (and Weinbaum’s depiction of it was plausible at the time), and nobody back then realized that the range of radio signals is practically infinite. But (though Goldsmith doesn’t pick up on it), the author makes a MAJOR scientific error which his entire plot depends on, and which was clear to me even with my weak background in science. There’s also an “insta-love” factor going on here that’s not really credible (at least, to me). But on the plus side, our main characters are vital, nuanced and well-drawn, and Weinbaum creates a thought-provoking, morally complex situation which engages both the reason and the emotions of these characters, and of the readers.

While the ending of the tale wraps up the immediate plot here effectively, readers will probably want a continuation to the narrative; and Weinbaum in fact intended to write more about these characters. Sadly, that wasn’t to be. Less than a month after the story was published, he was dead of lung/throat cancer, brought on by his heavy smoking (and initially misdiagnosed as tonsilitis, resulting in a misguided tonsillectomy that just added uselessly to his pain). So readers will have to use their own imaginations to project future developments!

Author: Stanley G. Weinbaum
Publisher: Grammaticus Books; available from Amazon, both for Kindle and as a printed book.
A version of this review previously appeared on Goodreads.

Ferromancer, by Becca Andre

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Literary rating: ★★★
Kick-butt quotient: ☆½

Bridget ‘Briar’ Rose is a rarity: a woman who runs a canal boat, transporting cargo along the waterways which form the Ohio & Erie canal network. However, her livelihood is under threat. The increasing growth of the railway as an alternative method of transportation is increasingly a rival for the jobs she takes, and her cousin, Andrew, is looking to see her barge out from under Briar, so he can invest in the railways instead. However, she suspects he is working with an outlaw: a ferromancer, one of the mages who revolutionized industry in Europe, but who had supposedly been wiped out two decades ago due to the threat they posed. 

If she can prove that, it will discredit Andrew, and allow Briar to keep plying her trade. She steals the plans from Andrew’s house, and kidnaps his apparent business partner, Grayson, after he finds her and demands the return of the plans. Doing so creates a whole new set of issues, bringing Briar and her crew into contact with some very dangerous people. In particular, Mr. Solon, a ferromancer whose can use the darker magical arts to turn people into soulless automatons under his control. I think the world building here is likely the strongest suit. Though it’s lightly drawn – I’m really curious about what must have been a war between the mages and The Scourge, the organization set up to destroy them. 

The sense of period is also nicely done. For some reason, I kept forgetting it was taking place in America, maybe because I associate canals more with England. But it’s another aspect of the world which I enjoyed, a slightly alternate history where a brief dalliance with magic was ruthlessly crushed. On the other hand, I was rather confused by the motives of a number of characters. Both Grayson’s and Solon’s motivations are murky at the best of times. The former’s fondness for dribbling out both significant and relevant information, which might have helped, annoyed me – considerably more than it did Briar, who just seems to (metaphorically) roll her eyes briefly and keep on hanging out with him. 

Given the era, it’s not surprising that most of the physical action is left to the men-folk. However, Briar does get involved in a brawl with another “canal chick”, for want of a better time. She’s also not averse to a great leveller in the battle between the sexes, which is a kick to the groin! The further we go on, the clearer it becomes that ferromancers are very different to normal people – to a degree where they may not even technically be human. Andre does leave a lot of things open at the conclusion of this, although at least has the courtesy to avoid a direct cliffhanger. Was there enough to get me to buy into further volumes? Likely not immediately, though it’s not entirely off the table. 

Author: Becca Andre
Publisher: Independently published, available through Amazon, both as a paperback and an e-book
Book 1 of 5 in the Iron Souls series.

Cutthroat Island, by John Gregory Betancourt

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Literary rating: ★★½
Kick-butt quotient: ☆☆☆☆

Made in 1995, Cutthroat Island was a pirate-themed historical action-adventure movie starring Geena Davis and Matthew Modine. (Before starting my read of this novelization of it, I’d never seen the movie, though I’d long been curious about it; but about 3/4 of the way through the book, after learning that the film could be watched for free on Tubi, I made time to view it so that I could compare it with the book.) The filmmakers didn’t strive for great cinematic art; they didn’t intend to offer anything but undemanding escapist entertainment. But even considering that fact, the widespread negative reaction by both fans and critics, which endures to this day, is remarkable (the film made it into the Guiness Book of World Records — as the worst box office flop in movie history!). I was aware of that going in, but was resolved to make my own assessment. As is sometimes the case, I landed in the minority; I like the movie well enough for what it is

Unlike some people, I don’t view movie novelization as inherently a trashy and illegitimate abuse of the fictional art. To my mind, it can be a perfectly legitimate artistic enterprise, adapting a story told in one medium to the possibilities afforded by a different one, with the intention of producing a retelling that offers genuine rewards to readers. Because it’s an adaptation, I think the adaptor should strive for as much fidelity to the original as possible, just as in the converse situation of novel to film. The novel format, however, offers the possibility of providing more explanation and clarification of areas that may be murky in the film because of the latter’s time (and other) constraints. Unfortunately, I’d have to say that Betancourt didn’t do as well as he could have on either of these points (and this novel generally suffers as a result). Some of its literary flaws and improbabilities, though, are already inherent in the original movie itself.

The tale opens in 1688. In the movie, the opening scenes are on, or just off, the coast of Jamaica; in the book, they’re moved inexplicably to Tortuga, off the northern coast of Haiti, and we then move to Jamaica in one day (which I doubt is actually possible for a wind-driven sailing ship). But we soon learn some crucial backstory. In 1619, a pirate captain named “Fingers” Adams captured a Spanish treasure ship loaded with “the richest cargo ever to leave the Americas;” but his ship was subsequently wrecked on the uncharted titular Cutthroat Island, with Adams as the lone survivor. He secreted the treasure there; but after returning to civilization, instead of mounting a retrieval expedition, he contented himself with making a map to the treasure’s location. (Apparently, pirates didn’t steal their booty to do anything like selfishly spend it; they just liked to leave it for posterity.) He divided the map into three parts, bequeathing one piece each to his three in-wedlock sons, all pirate captains in their own right. A fourth son, pirate captain Douglas Brown, nicknamed Dog or Mad Dog (Betancourt always affects the spelling “Dawg,” though that wouldn’t be pronounced any differently) was left out because he was born out of wedlock.

Brown didn’t appreciate this slight, so when our story begins, he’s embarked on a campaign of tracking down and murdering his half-brothers to get their pieces of the map. (This isn’t a close family.) Why he waited until 1688 is never explained. By now, he’s got one piece, and he’s making captured Adams sibling Black Harry “walk the plank” while simultaneously demanding that he reveal the location of the second piece. (Okay, nobody ever said Brown was intelligent.) But Harry’s 20-something daughter Morgan (her exact age is never given), herself raised as a member of his pirate crew, comes to his rescue amid a slew of murky unexplained details and convenient improbabilities, though he’s mortally wounded in the process. Before he dies, he reveals that he had a copy of his part of the map tattooed to his scalp (where he couldn’t possibly refer to it; so no, intelligence doesn’t run in this clan). Morgan’s mission (whether she chooses to accept it or not) is to get herself elected captain in his stead, join up with her surviving uncle, and beat Brown to the treasure, while staying alive in the process. Oh, and find somebody literate in Latin, since that’s the language used on the map. Swashbuckling action-adventure ensues.

There are some significant historical errors here, one already in the movie script itself: in the 17th century, in English law (which applied in Jamaica the same as in England), the punishment for any theft worth more than 12 pence wasn’t being sold into slavery; it was a mandatory sentence to death by hanging. (And it has to be said that main male character William Shaw’s idea of crashing the governor of Jamaica’s ball uninvited, claiming to be a physician when he’s not, swiping jewels off of his dance partners while they’re distracted by his flattery, and transparently lying about what ship brought him to the colony, while having no exit strategy except trying to casually walk out of the building, puts him in the running for the title of most stupid character here, though the competition is fierce.)

And governors of Jamaica did not serve without pay; they were actually paid quite handsomely by 17th-century standards (though the expenses of their station were also steep, and they generally did resort to wangling extra fees and cuts, and sometimes outright corruption). Betancourt also introduces significantly more bad language, nudity and sexual innuendo into this version; the original movie doesn’t have much of any of these, and no real nudity. (It also doesn’t have any reference to Brown having sexually molested Morgan when she was a child, though that claim is made here.) He drops a character arc for one character that’s in the movie, but rather improbable; but he invents two others that are just as improbable compared to their previous behavior.

On the more positive side, the author does develop Morgan’s character better than the filmmakers do, and shows a bit more growth on her part, and more believable development of romantic feelings on the part of the two main characters, than what’s brought out in the movie. He also inserts a short dialogue between Shaw and teenage pirate Bowen (who’s said here to be an orphan taken in by Harry after his parents died) that offers some explanation for how the pirates view their lifestyle; when Shaw points out that Bowen’s a criminal, the latter replies, “We don’t see it that way, since the whole world is crooked, and we’re making the best of it we can.” Morgan’s an interesting, nuanced character, a strong and athletic woman who’s been raised in a rough, kill-or-be-killed milieu (her mother’s never mentioned, in either the movie or the book), who has no qualms about taking human life in combat or in rescuing endangered shipmates, and doesn’t consider reforming and adopting a different career as an attractive possibility. But she’s also capable of kindness and a protective stance, and has a well-developed sense of duty, courage, loyalty, and fairness. (Unlike Brown, she’s not a murderous psychopath; and when she’s pitted against him, she’s not hard to root for.) This read has a lot of action, and there’s never a dull moment.

In terms of content issues, as noted above, there’s more occasional bad language here (in the form of profanity, cuss words and vulgarisms, though not obscenity) than in the movie, but probably far less than we’d have been apt to hear on an actual pirate ship. Violence is pervasive, and Brown is a sadist, but for the most part, neither the movie nor the book make it more graphic than it has to be. (The book is the more graphic of the two, but that’s mostly just in one place, and stops short of being “pornography of violence.”) No sex acts take place in the book itself, though it’s clear that one took place just before it begins. In order to rescue Harry, Morgan’s rousted out of a bed she’s been sharing with a French naval officer who was planning to arrest her after using her; but she’s way ahead of him, and his subsequent discomfiture doesn’t earn him much pity. (She also later poses briefly as a prostitute.) We can infer that she’s honestly been raised with no conception that sex is anything but casual recreation, and she acts accordingly; though there’s an indication at the end of the tale that she might be on the cusp of discovering what it’s actually intended for.)

I actually did like this yarn (though the enjoyment might be characterized as something of a guilty pleasure). It can be recommended to readers who like action-oriented historical adventure, especially with a pirate mystique, and who aren’t put off by the very real flaws noted above.

Author: John Gregory Betancourt
Publisher: Tor Forge; used copy available through Amazon, but only as a printed book. It is available to borrow through the Internet Archive. 
A version of this review previously appeared on Goodreads. 

The Ghosts Omnibus 1, by Jonathan Moeller

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Literary rating: ★★★★
Kick-butt quotient: ☆☆☆☆

I previously reviewed an entry from the middle of this series, Ghost in the Cowl, and – probably unsurprisingly – a major complaint was the sensation of being dropped into the middle of the series. This was to some extent due to the book not being clear about it being the tenth (or eleventh, depending on source) entry, since the cover said “Ghost Exile #1”. But I’m not one to hold a grudge, and accepted the chance to pick up the actual first three parts for less than a dollar. It definitely helps, following the story from the beginning. Though at 1,134 pages, you’ll understand why it took four years from purchase to review publication. 

When it begins, the young heroine Caina Amalas is living a somewhat unhappy life, mostly due to her mother being borderline abusive. Eventually, there’s nothing “borderline”, as Mom uses dark magic to turn her husband into a vegetable, and sells his daughter off to sorcerer Maglarion. Caina’s virgin blood is very powerful for his arts, and she is “milked” for all she can provide, kept just this side of death. Fortunately, while the wizard is out, an attack on the facility frees Caina, and she is recruited and trained by the near-mythical group responsible, the Ghosts. These are the Emperor’s spies and assassins, who swear an oath to counter his enemies, by any means necessary.

In particular over these three books, the enemies are those who practice necromancy, beginning in Child of the Ghosts with Maglarion. Now an adult, Caina is very keen to see him receive his just deserts, although in that time, he has become much more powerful. He’s now working towards a ritual which will render him immortal – albeit at the cost of a city-wide human sacrifice. The second book, Ghost in the Flames, sees Caina investigate an increasingly disturbing trend of pyromancy in the city of Rasadda. Finally, in Ghost in the Blood, she has to stop a plot to open a pit under Marsis, which has been sealed for thousands of years – for very good reason. All of these require her to use her talents, both in combat and disguise.

It actually might be a case where reading them one after the other works against them, because they might be a little too similar. I get it is Caina’s specialty, due to her heritage. Yet is there no other threat to the Empire except for power-obsessed magicians? That minor quibble aside, this was a very enjoyable trilogy. The characters on both sides are particularly well-done, with Caina and her allies very likeable: she may not be the biggest bad-ass in the group, an honour likely reserved for Ark. The villains are also suitably terrible people, and there’s almost a Lovecraftian bent to some of the horrors which are unleashed. More will likely follow. Let’s just hope some other adversaries are found for Caina. 

Author: Jonathan Moeller
Publisher: Azure Flame Media, available through Amazon, as an e-book only.
Books 1-3 of 19 in the Ghosts series, plus a bonus short story.

Take the Shot, by J.T. Skye

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Literary rating: ★★½
Kick-butt quotient: ☆☆☆

To a certain extent, this feels like two separate novels joined at the hip, albeit sharing the same protagonist. The first half takes place on the planet of  Hoganth, which is a gritty urban dystopia, with teenage heroine Rishi Tremayne trying desperately to survive, as she is ruthlessly hunted by a powerful family with ambitious aspirations. The second, however, largely takes place in outer space, as she becomes the weapons operator on a ship piloted by Earthman Derek Hamilton, as they try to shutdown the plot. There are a lot of space battles, and I have to say, I found it rather more generic, and consequently less interesting. But let’s rewind.

With her mother and brother too sick to work, Rishi is the family sole provider, and even that is on shaky grounds. However, she has found work as a data processor, looking for space junk which could potentially be recycled. She finds what appears to be a giant asteroid, and dutifully files a report. Except, it’s actually a two-kilo long spaceship, secretly being built by House Forsythe in preparation for a coup attempt against the Empress. They’re not happy about its discovery, and send forces to wipe out everyone who knows about it, which includes a drone bombing Rishi’s apartment. Fortunately, a retired warrioress, Aun Twil, lives nearby and comes to Rishi’s rescue – except, this puts her on the Forsythe radar too.

It’s this section which is the most entertaining, Aun using her skills to help Rishi avoid meeting the same fate as her employers. This initially involves trying to get out of town, avoiding or defeating the Forsythe agents sent, with increasing aggression, to finish the job. It takes a while before Rishi is able to figure out why she’s being targeted for elimination. When she does, the goal becomes to get Rishi to someone who can act on what she knows, and Aum is able to use her contacts to get the young woman into the Empress’s inner circle. It’s a little implausible a street rat like Rishi would be accepted, rather than (at best!) thanked for the information and sent on her way, while the adults solve the problem. 

She does manage to hang around, and weirdly, the assassination attempts continue: seems a bit pointless by this point, and although there’s the death of a significant character, it has weirdly little emotional weight. Still, Rishi has to stick around, for her role in a climax which might well remind you of a certain well-known SF movie, also requiring an “impossible” shot to destroy a massive superweapon… It certainly did me. On the positive side, the lack of much romance beyond an odd passing attraction is appreciated, and the world-building here is decent. But by the end, I was getting rather bored of dogfights in space, where I felt I needed a chart to keep track of proceedings.

Author: J.T. Skye
Publisher: Self-published, available through Amazon, both as a paperback and an e-book
Stand-alone novel, though part of the Trigellian Universe.

Gate of Ivrel, by C.J. Cherryh

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Literary rating: ★★★★★
Kick-butt quotient: ☆☆☆☆½

Once upon an unspecified time, somewhere in the cosmos, a human-like, space-faring race called the qhal (or Qujal, in a later dialect) stumbled upon, and subsequently greatly extended, a system of high-tech Gates, a relic of a vanished civilization, which permitted instantaneous travel to other planets and other times. Fearing that travel into the past would prove dangerous, the qhal forbade it; but they used the Gates to travel extensively in space and future time, building up an empire that oppressed and exploited the various despised other races they encountered. This gave them much wealth and power (and universal detestation from others) –until somebody eventually tried past time-travel. The resulting cataclysm (only dimly surmised in the theories of the subsequent scientists) reached as far as the Gates themselves reached, and proved to be an apocalyptic warping of space-time that destroyed civilizations and worlds in its path. But the Gates themselves survived. We learn all of this from an omniscient narrator in the first part of the Prologue.

The other parts of the Prologue are excerpts of various (fictional) documents. In the Journal of the “Union Science Bureau,” we learn of the formation of a team charged with traveling through the Gates, for the sole purpose of closing or destroying them permanently on the far side, to prevent a repeat catastrophe. (Since nobody knows how many Gates there are, this may be a multi-generational task until the last one is reached; and it’s surely going to be a lethally dangerous mission.) Written on a low-tech, medieval-like world, a short text in the Book of Embry tells us that on “the height of Ivrel” still stand ill-regarded, rune-marked “Staines” [stones] of Qujalish origin and still imbued with their “sorceries,” which if touched produce “sich fires of witcherie as taken soul and bodie withal.” This place and others such are sought by those with Qujal blood, recognizable by gray eyes and tall stature, who are thought to lack souls, but “by sorceries liven faire and younge more yeares than Men.”

Finally, a longer passage from the Annals of Baien-an recounts how, “In the year 1431 of the Common Reckoning,” five strangers supposedly from the distant south came to the northern realms, one of them a tall, light-colored young woman named Morgaine (who was thought to be Oujal). They persuaded the northern kings to make war on “…the witch-lord Thiye… lord of Ivrel of the Fires;” but near Ivrel, the great northern army of 10,000 men was unaccountably nearly annihilated, and the five were blamed for the disaster. All of them but Morgaine vanished without trace; pursued, she fled south and supposedly died at another place of Qujalish “Stones,” afterwards called Morgaine’s Tomb. “Here it is said she sleeps, waiting until the great Curse be broken and free her.”

Our story proper begins about 98 years after the disaster at Ivrel, when we meet young (about 20, from later clues) Nhi Vanye –the first name is the clan name, the second the personal one. He’s the out-of-wedlock son of a clan chief, grudgingly taken into the latter’s citadel because his mother, a lady from a hostile clan taken in a raid, died giving birth to him; but (as we learn later) he’s been persecuted and bullied by his two half-brothers from childhood on. By the second page, he’s in serious hot water with his father after a sword-practice bout turned deadly, leaving one half-brother dead and the other badly injured. Outlawed, disowned, dishonored and cast out, he no longer has a clan or a livelihood. His one hope is to try to work his way southward (through the territory of his half-brothers’ mother’s clan, whose members will want to kill him on sight) to an area where he has kin.

We skip over the details of that slow trip, but by the second winter of his outlawhood, surviving by hunting (and stealing what he has to) he’s close to the border –but also close to the unchancey vicinity of Morgaine’s Tomb. And when he wounds a deer, and the fleeing animal blunders through the Gate, it opens on the other side. A century before, Morgaine desperately rode into the Gate, and horse and rider have been held in suspended animation, but now, as she rides out from legend into Vanye’s reality, for her it’s as if she’s been gone just for a moment. And (being, as we can guess, part of the Union Science Bureau’s afore-mentioned team) she still has the same goal on her mind. By the following morning (long story, but sex doesn’t play any part in it; there’s no sexual content in the book), due to the complicated mores of his people, Vanye finds himself oath-bound to service as her vassal for a year. (The old kings had given her “lord-right.”) So this is to be a “quest narrative,” and hers is to close however many Gates there are, starting with taking out the Gate of Ivrel. (On this world, that’s the main Gate; the other two depend on it, and can’t survive without it.) The latter goal is now, perforce, Vanye’s as well. And Morgaine’s grimly committed to seeing it through, if it kills them both (which it very well may).

This is a tale of action and adventure, hardship and danger in a rugged land, with escapes, betrayals and subterfuge. Vanye’s a trained warrior, and Morgaine packs some high-tech weapons that she knows very well how to use; that’s fortunate, because there will be plenty of enemies in their path. Thiye’s still alive, and still ruling in the Ivrel area (and with power and domains greatly increased since the debacle a century ago). But there’s also the problem of clan chieftains who hate and fear Morgaine, or who would like to get their own hands on Qujal “magic” (or both); and a surprise enemy waits in the shadows…. It’s also a powerful tale of complex, nuanced characters, facing very high-stakes moral choices as they struggle with conflicting values, obligations and emotions. While Vanye is our viewpoint character and maker of the most significant choices, and it’s his head we’re inside, it’s Morgaine who’s the center of the tale, and her determination that drives it. (We can fairly say that she’s the protagonist; and she makes decisions too, or bears the pain of decisions made.) Cherryh’s world-building is superb, her plotting impeccable, her prose deft and evocative, and she delivers an emotional impact that’s almost breath-taking. I wasn’t even remotely prepared for how rich and rewarding this novel is!

Though this is the opener of a four-book series, there’s no cliff-hanger; the immediate situation here is brought to closure. But though I intended at first to read this as a stand-alone, I’m now in it for the long haul.

Note: Andre Norton’s two-page Introduction to this DAW printing is spoiler-free, and basically just an eloquent appreciation of the author’s literary achievement here. But though the accompanying map was made by Cherryh herself, it’s crudely-drawn, with hard-to-read place names, and hard to refer to due to its small size. And while Michael Whelan is a leading cover artist in the field of speculative fiction, his work here doesn’t reflect any actual scene in the book, and gives the wrong idea about Morgaine’s character; she doesn’t dress at all revealingly under her fur cloak, and doesn’t act like a sex object!

Author: C.J. Cherryh
Publisher: DAW, available through Amazon, only as a paperback. There is an e-book available of the whole series. 
Book 1 of 4 in The Morgaine Cycle.

We Already Have a Woman We Like: My Life in the CIA, by Lucy Kirk

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Literary rating: ★★
Kick-butt quotient: ½

I suspect the issue here is partly my own expectations. When I read a memoir of somebody who spent more than three decades working for the Central Intelligence Agency, I was half-expecting a life somewhere between Salt and Atomic Blonde (ok, the latter was technically MI-5, but the concept remains valid). This is… not that. It is, of course, perfectly understandable that real life would not be as exciting as a Hollywood film. But given how long the author worked there, I would have expected more entertaining, amusing or even interesting anecdotes. The peak is probably right at the end, with her struggles to pass a lie-detector test when she tried to go back into the Company after 9/11.

It is an an eye-opener, in a couple of ways. Firstly, I kinda thought the CIA simply were not allowed to operate on American soil – that was the territory of the FBI. But based on this book, it appears that’s not the case, with Kirk being based domestically for a number of positions. These mostly involve gathering intelligence from friendly American assets who had foreign connections, and seem to involve being up-front about this being on behalf of the CIA. However, it’s hard to be sure, because a lot of specifics are omitted. This isn’t the author’s fault: an introductory note says, “As a retired CIA employee, I am obligated to present any writing I do to the Prepublication Classification Review Board… Places I served and lengths of time are notably absent per PCRB guidelines.”

This means you’re left with no real sense of place and time, whether she’s serving at home or abroad, and the specific details of what she was working on, are also very limited. In lieu of that you get a lot of complaints about chauvinism and flat-out sexism in the profession. What can I say? It was the sixties. I’m not sure what she thought life would be like, but a degree from Wellesley College might perhaps create certain, unrealistic expectations of life in the outside world. Some of her criticisms do appear justified: there’s no real reason why women couldn’t operate as case officers, just as well as men. But there’s a certain point beyond which I found myself rolling my eyes and quietly mouthing, “We get it”. I mean, she stayed there for thirty years. How bad could it be?

The other thing I took away is how banal and humdrum most intelligence work is – in sharp contrast to every depiction of it in fictional books, movies and television shows. It feels as if Kirk spent more time fighting with bureaucracy than Communism. In this way, it’s no different from any other big business, with the bosses at the top severely disconnected from those on the front lines. I certainly will admit to having learned things here. Those things, however, are just not particularly interesting. I’ll be sticking with the fiction, thank you very much.

Author: Lucy Kirk
Publisher: BookBaby, available through Amazon, both as a paperback and an e-book
Stand-alone memoir