Tag: What I’ve read

Brill’s typographical disaster

I recently started reading an electronic copy of László Török’s Between Two Worlds: The Frontier Region between Ancient Nubia and Egypt, 3700 BC – 500 AD, and I was shocked at how shoddy it was. Letters and punctuation were missing on almost every page, and the letter f was frequently replaced with an ß! See, for example, this excerpt from page 179:

A signi cant process of change seems to have started in the second half of the Nineteenth Dynasty period. Merenptah s (1213 1203) rst viceroy, Mesui, was probably buried at Aniba (see above), discontinuing (at least for one generation) the traditional Theban burial of the viceroys.

 

The book wasn’t published by CreateSpace or Publish America. It was the work of Brill, a 300-year-old Dutch publisher that specializes in academic texts. I’m usually rather fond of Brill. A lot of their titles are available in digital form through Brill E-Books, and since UW-Madison subscribes to this service, I can access them for free.

I’m hopeful that the problems with Between Two Worlds are an aberration since I’ve downloaded other Brill e-books, and they’ve been fine. Still, a cockup of this magnitude is a huge embarrassment for such a prestigious publisher, and I hope they’ll fix it at some point.

Daily Life of the Egyptian Gods

If you’re looking for a good book about ancient Egyptian religion, you should pick up Daily Life of the Egyptian Gods by Dimitri Meeks and Christine Favard-Meeks. It’s not new, but I hadn’t gotten around to reading it until now. And I’m sure glad I did: it’s probably one of the best general reference books I’ve ever read.

Originally published in French, the book treats the Egyptian gods as if they were an ethnic group being studied by anthropologists. At first, I thought that sounded like a gimmick, but it’s a surprisingly effective approach. But where the book really shines is its use of primary sources. The authors draw upon some very obscure texts, which allows them to provide a level of detail that you rarely see in general reference works. Unfortunately, many of these texts are only available as hard-to-find French translations, so accessing them can be almost impossible unless you can consult a dedicated Egyptological collection and are reasonably proficient at reading French. But thanks to this book, the general English-speaking public can at least get a glimpse of them.

The Wise Man’s Fear by Patrick Rothfuss

I recently finished The Wise Man’s Fear by Patrick Rothfuss, which is rather shameful since it’s been out for almost a year now and Rothfuss is one of my favorite authors. What can I say? Life intervened, as she so often does.

TWMF continues the story of Kvothe, the music-loving arcanist first introduced in 2007’s The Name of the Wind (which I keep mistyping as The Name of the Rose!). The whole series is actually a story-within-a-story. Kvothe (now masquerading as a simple innkeeper named Kote) is telling his life’s story to an itinerant scholar known as Chronicler. And it’s quite the story: in TNOTW, Kvothe was orphaned at a young age when his parents were killed by the mysterious Chandrian. After spending years begging on the streets, Kvothe finally enters the Arcanum, a school for the study of the arcane arts. Although Kvothe soon shows himself to be a talented arcanist, his temper often lands him in trouble, and he makes a lasting enemy of a young nobleman named Ambrose.

In TWMF, Kvothe’s feud with Ambrose takes a sinister turn when it looks like Ambrose is using ‘sympathy’ to try to hurt him. Sympathy involves forging magical links between objects, and Kvothe believes that Ambrose has used some of his blood to create a sort of voodoo doll. Eventually, Kvothe triumphs over his rival, but he is then arrested on charges stemming from the events in the first book. Although Kvothe escapes punishment, it is clear that Ambrose and his family hold a deep grudge, so Kvothe’s friends and instructors convince him to take a break from his studies until things have cooled down.

During his ‘vacation,’ Kvothe heads to Severen to gain the patronage of the local Maer. Kvothe is ultimately unsuccessful in obtaining full patronage, but along the way he foils a plot against the Maer, hunts bandits, has copious amounts of sex with a Fae woman, and learns a nifty new set of combat moves from a mysterious warrior race. By the time he returns to the Arcanum, he’s a much different person. Kvothe the boy is now Kvothe the man, and he has finally begun to learn how to effectively control his powers.

TWMF has received the same near-universal acclaim as its predecessor, but I’m afraid I’m going to be one of the few dissenting voices. Don’t get me wrong: TWMF is a very good book. I think Rothfuss is one of the best world-builders in fantasy, and I really, really like his prose. Like N.K. Jemisin or Genevieve Valentine, he writes elegantly yet simply, without the ponderous prolixity that often mars fantasy novels. Rothfuss has also done a wonderful job developing Kvothe’s character. He could have very easily become a ‘Marty Stu,’ but his flaws help keep him believable.

My biggest problem with TWMF is that it the story often bogs down. The scenes with Felurian (the uber-sexy fae woman who has a reputation for humping men to death) drag on and on. Interesting things do happen (such as his encounter with the Cthaeh), but they’re obscured by the repetitive sex talk. Similarly, Kvothe’s time among the Adem felt a lot longer than it really was. The Lethani is a cool concept, but I sometimes felt like I was being beat over the head with it.

There were also a few WTF? moments. Kvothe’s trial came out of left-field, and it sort of felt like that whole episode had originally been intended for the first book. It seemed strange that Ambrose’s family would have waited so long to have Kvothe brought before a judge. Maybe it just took them a while to grease enough palms.

Kvothe’s sudden decision to run after Felurian also struck me as odd. Granted, Kvothe can be the King of Bad Decisions at times, but his eager pursuit of her made me scratch my head. He’s supposed to be returning to the Maer’s court, yet he drops everything to make time with some Fae harlot. I suppose one could argue that Felurian’s supernatural allure combined with Kvothe’s natural brashness to make him cast reason aside, but it still seemed weird. I did not get the sense that Felurian’s appeal was impossible to resist; the other male members of Kvothe’s group managed to keep their distance from her.

Ultimately, the entire book felt like one big digression from the main plot. I would have liked to have learned more about the Chandrian and the Amyr, which have lurked at the margins of the plot since the beginning of the series. Given Rothfuss’ talent, the side road is still an attractive proposition, but I sure was glad when Kvothe returned to the Arcanum (and the main plotline) at the end.

 

 

BOOK REVIEW: The Throne of Fire by Rick Riordan

I enjoyed The Red Pyramid so much that I immediately purchased its sequel, The Throne of Fire. Happily, the sophomore installment doesn’t disappoint.

ToF takes place several months after RP. Carter and Sadie Kane have turned their uncle’s Brooklyn mansion into a school for young magicians who wish to learn the ways of Egyptian magic. But the world is once again in danger, for Apophis (the serpent god of chaos) is on the verge of breaking out of his prison. In order to stop him, the siblings must awaken the sleeping sun god Ra. Their journey takes them across the world as they try to assemble the three fragments of the Book of Ra. Then, they must plunge into the depths of the Underworld as they seek Ra’s sleeping form.

Riordan continues to do a nice job of incorporating Egyptian mythology into the book, and he weaves a number of obscure legends into the story. I really like the fact that Riordan  tries to maintain a reasonable level of accuracy, though I did notice one small error: the tale of the magician who parts the Nile is set during the reign of Sneferu, not Khufu. But overall, he’s done a great job, and I think this series remains one of the best portrayals of ancient Egypt in fiction.

My major gripe with this book has to do with the romantic subplots. They continue to feel forced, and it seemed a bit jarring to have Carter and Sadie mooning over their respective crushes when the end of the world is nigh. Then again, they are teenagers…

The third (and final) book in the series is due out next May.

BOOK REVIEW: The Red Pyramid by Rick Riordan

I had been meaning to read this for a long time, but it wasn’t until an Amazon promotion let me purchase it for $1 that I finally downloaded it onto my Kindle. Many of you may already know Rick Riordan because of his hugely successful Percy Jackson series. I’ve never read any of those books; Greek mythology just isn’t my thing. But when I discovered that Riordan also has a series incorporating Egyptian mythology, I decided to give it a try.

The Red Pyramid is told from the perspective of siblings Carter and Sadie Kane. They are the children of Dr. Julius Kane, a famous Egyptologist. After their mother died in a mysterious accident, Carter traveled the world with his father while Sadie lived in England with her fusty grandparents. The two siblings didn’t spend much time together, so when their father suddenly brings them together at the start of the book, they’re practically strangers.

Unfortunately, the family reunion goes awry when Dr. Kane attempts a mysterious ritual in the British Museum. He shatters the Rosetta Stone, unleashing a terrifying supernatural entity. He vanishes in the process, leaving his frightened children to try to figure out what happened to him. With the help of their Uncle Amos, Carter and Sadie soon discover that, not only was their father part of a secret society of Egyptian magicians, but the Egyptian gods are real and one of their number is plotting to plunge the world into chaos. The siblings also learn that they have the potential to become quite powerful. But the other magicians don’t trust them, forcing them to puzzle out their powers while simultaneously running for their lives and trying to stop the impending apocalypse.

All in all, Red Pyramid is an entertaining read. It’s breezy in a way that reminds me of the first Harry Potter book. Both Carter and Sadie share narrator duties, but the fact that the book is ostensibly a transcript of an audio-recording that they produced makes it easier to accept the first-person narration.

But where the book really shines is in its treatment of Egyptian magic. As many of you know, I get annoyed when Egypt is used as a garnish, but Riordan does a nice job of remaining true to history. For example, his Egyptian magicians frequently use various types of animated figurines, some of which are taken directly from Egyptian mythology (such as a wax crocodile and litter-bearers that want to drag you off and beat you). Riordan also incorporates a large number of Egyptian myths into the story, ranging from the fairly well-known account of Isis and Osiris to the less familiar story of Sekhmet’s bloody rampage.

Riordan also gets brownie points for his portrayal of Set. In a lot of modern works, Set is portrayed as an evil being similar to Satan in Christianity. But that is an oversimplification. For much of Egyptian history, Set was a respected member of the pantheon (in fact, the Ramessides felt a special connection to him). True, he killed his brother and attempted to usurp the throne from his nephew, but he was also the sun god’s primary defender against Apophis. It isn’t until the Late Period that Set starts to be seen as a purely evil deity. Therefore, I was glad to see that Riordan chose to go with a much more ambivalent portrayal of Set.

I only have two real complaints about Red Pyramid. First, sometimes it gets a bit too cute. I could have done without the basketball-playing baboon, or the cat-goddess who eats Friskies. Second, the romantic elements seemed a bit hamfisted at times. But these are very minor gripes, and overall I really, really liked it.

A disappointing read

Few things are more frustrating than picking up a book by one of your favorite authors only to realize that it’s nowhere near as good as you were expecting. I experienced that very feeling when I finished House of Illusions by Pauline Gedge.

I’ve been a fan of Gedge ever since I read her Scroll of Saqqara, which is basically a retelling of the story of Prince Khaemwaset and the Book of Thoth. Her blend of history and fantasy made a huge impression on me, and it inspired me to write Evil in Thebes.

Unlike the Scroll of Saqqara, House of Illusions is a more traditional piece of historical fiction that is largely devoid of fantastic elements. Set during the reign of Ramesses III, it’s told from the perspective of three POV characters: Kamen, a young military officer; Kaha, a scribe who works for Kamen’s father; and Thu, a disgraced concubine living in exile.

Therein lies my biggest complaint about the book. As my regular readers know, I’m not a fan of multiple-POV characters to begin with, but the way it was handled here was particularly vexing. Even though the stories of Kamen, Kaha, and Thu do overlap, they seemed oddly isolated, despite the fact that they’re telling the same story. For example, in Kamen’s chapters, there’s a very interesting subplot wherein he starts to develop actual romantic feelings for Takhuru, the young lady to whom his father has betrothed him. She starts out as a spoiled little bitch, but she becomes much more sympathetic and interesting as the book proceeds. Unfortunately, once the narration switches to Kaha, she more or less vanishes from the story (though she continues to be mentioned in passing). The same thing happens to Kaha once it’s Thu’s turn to put on the narrator’s hat. I think it would have been a lot more satisfying if the reader had a chance to hear from each narrator throughout the course of the story instead of confining each one to a particular set of chapters.

The pacing also left something to be desired. There’s danger for the first 200 pages or so, but then it peters out and the last 200 pages are devoted to a long, drawn out resolution that’s more or less devoid of serious conflict. I also found that some of the ceremonial scenes dragged on and on, which is saying something since I usually have a high tolerance for such things!

Gedge excels, however, at bringing ancient Egypt to life. She does a great job of providing enough details to set the scene without deluging the reader with extraneous information. Even though Gedge uses first-person narrators, she manages to avoid having them give anachronistic descriptions of things that they wouldn’t have thought twice about in real life. For the most part, her depiction of Egypt is an accurate one, and she gets bonus points for using accurate names (though she does refer to the king by his modern name of ‘Ramesses the Third,’ which is slightly annoying). The only major research fail I saw was that she repeatedly mentions fountains. As far as I know, there’s no evidence for fountains of any kind in pharaonic Egypt.

Despite my disappointment, I’m still a fan of Pauline Gedge, and I’m still willing to read her other books. I just hope they’re more like Scroll of Saqqara!

Obsidian and Blood

I’m not going to beat around the bush: Aliette de Bodard’s “Obsidian and Blood” series is awesome, and you should read it.

There are currently two books in the series: Servant of the Underworld and Harbinger of the Storm. Set in the Aztec Empire several decades before the Spanish conquest, the books are told from the perspective of Acatl, the High Priest of the Dead. In Servant, Acatl’s estranged brother is implicated in the disappearance of a priestess, and Acatl must prove his innocence. In Harbinger, the political maneuvering that follows the death of the Revered Speaker (i.e. the Emperor) almost brings about the end of the world.

For me, the best part of the series is its historical accuracy. De Bodard clearly did her research, and it shows. At the same time, she’s skillful enough to make the world of the Aztecs come alive without resorting to a bunch of awkward info-dumps. There’s a fine line between “well-researched” and “pedantic,” and de Bodard walks it with grace.

Since this is fiction, a certain number of historical liberties were inevitable. To her credit, de Bodard discusses them in the Afterword instead of just sweeping them under the rug. I particularly liked how she dealt with the issue of names. Most of her characters are upper-class Aztecs, and upper-class Aztecs tended to have names that would strike a modern reader as terribly unwieldy. Instead of just making stuff up, de Bodard uses the shorter names borne by less-exalted Aztecs. For deities, she usually alternates between the Aztec name and its  English translation. All and all, she does an excellent job of finding the middle ground between accuracy and accessibility.

The third book in the series, Master of the House of Darts, will be released in October. I’m sure it’s going to be awesome. I’ll definitely be adding it to my Kindle the moment it becomes available.

De Bodard also has a nifty blog that’s worth a gander. In addition to fascinating reflections on the writing process, she also posts awesome-looking recipes. Someday, when I actually have a real kitchen, I might actually try them out.

The Man with the Golden Torc by Simon R. Green

This morning, I finished The Man with the Golden Torc by Simon R. Green.  It’s been on my To Read list for four years now, but it wasn’t until I got the Kindle that I finally got around to picking it up.  Oh well.  Better late than never, I suppose.

Edwin (“Eddie”) Drood is part of the Drood family.  Their family business is keeping the world safe from supernatural threats.  This is no rag-tag Scoobie Gang.  The Droods are equipped with the latest gadgetry (both scientific and magical) and they run their operation with all the slickness of the CIA or MI5.  Their greatest weapon is the golden torc that they wear around their necks.  When activated, the torc creates mystical golden armor that covers the entire body and makes the wearer well-nigh invulnerable.

Eddie is a reluctant participant in the family business and he prefers to keep his distance.  But when a special mission goes wrong, it emerges that Eddie has been declared rogue by the Drood Matriarch and he is forced to turn against his own family, who are now trying their best to kill him.  All kinds of hijinks ensue and Eddie ends up teaming up with former enemy Molly Metcalf (the wild witch of the woods) as he tries to bring his family down.  Along the way, he learns some pretty unpleasant things about the source of his family’s power, which leads him to question everything he’s been taught.

Although the book was enjoyable enough, I can’t say that it was an unqualified success.  My biggest gripe was that there were places where Green just went completely over the top.  Early on, Eddie is attacked by carnivorous automobiles, dragon-riding elves,  the ghosts of people who died on the motorway, and evil  techno-magicians with flying saucers.  All in the same scene.  Individually, there’s nothing wrong with these these foes, but it’s a bit much to have them all attack in the same scene.  That’s by far the most egregious example, but there are many other places where Green throws everything but the kitchen sink at the reader, making it harder and harder to suspend disbelief.

On the whole, the characters are dynamic and interesting (I especially liked Molly).  Sometimes, however, they behave in ways that defy common sense.  Toward the end of the book, when Eddie and Molly are infiltrating the Drood family home, she ends up “pouting rebelliously” because she’s not allowed to look at something in the house.  Rebellious pouting just doesn’t seem like a logical response when you’re behind enemy lines and could be killed at any moment.  There’s also a supernatural entity at the end of the book whose behavior just makes you scratch your head and go “huh?”

Green’s “Secret Histories” series is basically an homage to James Bond (Eddie’s secret agent moniker is actually “Shaman Bond”), so perhaps I would have appreciated this book more if I were a fan of 007.  I’ll probably read the other books in the series, but only when I have a gap in my To Read list.

 

Review of The Broken Kingdoms

Today I finished reading The Broken Kingdoms, the second book in N. K. Jemisin’s Inheritance Trilogy.  You can read my review of the first book in the series here.

Rather than simply pick up where The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms left off, Broken Kingdoms jumps ten years into the future to tell the story of Oree Shoth, a young blind woman living in the city of Shadow beneath the World Tree.  Freed from their servitude, godlings cavort around the city.  But when Oree finds a silent godling in her muckbin one day, she gets pulled into a dangerous conspiracy that threatens not only her life but the very fabric of the universe itself.

As I mentioned in my earlier review, one of the great things about Jemisin’s work is the rich mythology that underlies it.  Broken Kingdoms does an excellent job of elaborating on what we already know.  In particular, we learn a lot more about Itempas, a full god who was seen briefly at the end of Hundred Thousand Kingdoms.  Jemisin does a great job of humanizing her deities so that they actually have distinct personalities instead of just being insanely powerful cardboard cutouts.

Jemisin also continues to take risks with her writing and it continues to pay off.  Rather than play it safe and write a direct sequel, she chose to give top billing to a new set of characters (though some familiar faces do appear as ‘guest stars’).  In doing so, she emphasizes that her world doesn’t just revolve around one small group of people, which makes it seem that much more realistic.  And even though I’m not really a fan of first-person narrators, I have to admit that Jemisin is able to pull it off.   She’s also quite adept at the short scene: some of her scenes are only a paragraph long but she manages to pack a lot of power into a few lines of text.

The only thing that I didn’t like about Broken Kingdoms was the sex scenes.  The breast fondling and lady-part stroking veered a bit too close to romance novel territory for my tastes, but your mileage may vary.

The final book in the trilogy, The Kingdom of Gods, is due to come out later this year.

The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms

Recently, I finished reading N. K. Jemisin’s debut fantasy novel The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms.  This was a bit of a change for me since I don’t usually read fantasy books set wholly in other realms (I’m more of a contemporary fantasy guy).  But I’m glad I stepped out of my comfort zone and picked up Kingdoms.

Here’s the blurbage from the back of the book:

Yeine Darr is an outcast from the barbarian north. But when her mother dies under mysterious circumstances, she is summoned to the majestic city of Sky, seat of the ruling Arameri family. There, to her shock, Yeine is named an heiress to the king. But the throne of the Hundred Thousand Kingdoms is not easily won, and Yeine is thrust into a vicious power struggle with a pair of cousins she never knew she had. As she fights for her life, she draws ever closer to the secrets of her mother’s death and her family’s bloody history.

With the fate of the world hanging in the balance, Yeine will learn how perilous it can be when love and hate — and gods and mortals — are bound inseparably.

For me, one of the best parts of the book was the rich mythology that underlies it.  Jemisin has managed to come up with something vaguely reminiscent of real-world mythology without a]resorting to pastiche.  Her gods are striking too because of their humanity: they fight, make up, and have sex with each other just like mortals (according to the story, humans were literally made in the gods’ image, so mortals are basically the gods writ small).  Jemisin also makes her divinities memorable by turning them into slaves.  Bound in human form by another god, they are forced to serve the ruling Arameri family much like demons serve human magicians in Jonathan Stroud’s Bartimaeus Trilogy.  It’s an unusual approach and it ends up making the gods more believable since they’re forced to interact with other characters more often than your standard fantasy gods.

My enjoyment of Kingdoms was almost curtailed by the sex scene that appears toward the end of the book.  I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not a fan of sex scenes in literature.  More often than not, they tend to be poorly written.  But the scene in Kingdoms is both brief and relevant to the plot.  It’s also notable for being one of the few sex scenes I’ve read where the writer calls a penis a ‘penis’ rather than resorting to one of the many flowery euphemisms that abound.  Although it might seem overly clinical to some, I think Jemisin’s word chocie had the effect of making the sex scene seem less like a low-grade attempt at smut and more like basic narration.

I don’t want to spoil the book for anyone, but I’ll conclude by saying that Jemisin manages to produce a twist ending that doesn’t leave the reader feeling gypped.

Kingdoms is the first book in a trilogy.  According to Jemisin’s website, the second book will be coming out this Fall.

OVERALL GRADE: A