Single Handed Part 2

***

I was brought out of my thoughts by yet another bump in the road, accompanied by a high-pitched giggle from the man across from me. It was hard to decide which was more irritating. I didn’t bother guessing though, and instead turned my attention back to the small gold band wrapped snugly around my pinky. It was the only finger the ring fit comfortable on.

“Isn’t it odd,” the man across from me asked, his tone overly cheerful, “for the chief of Asgard police to escort a prisoner to a court hearing?”

I looked up. The man across from me was Elias Fenton, one of the gang leaders controlling the central Asgard areas. You wouldn’t know it to look at him, though, chained up hand to foot and sitting casually on the other side of the transport van. He was as tall as I was, at six-foot-four, but wiry and lean. His hair, once spiked and ragged, laid flat against his skull in uneven clumps. In his orange jump suit, he reeked of sweat and some kind of cheap aftershave they’d let him wear for his arraignment. It had helped a little, but the man stank and he refused to shower.

I lowered my eyes back to the ring and debated answering him. It was dumb not to. I had questions, but the one I had to ask myself, was whether or not the little psychopath would answer them. Fenton’s gang, the Wolves, was one of the most vicious in the city. Fenton’s rap sheet alone was as long as he was tall, and even that failed to really show what a nut job the man really was.

In the end I decided it couldn’t hurt to talk. “Not odd…just rare,” I growled, looking him in the eye, “Lt. Locke wanted to escort you, but I had other things for him to do.”

For a second, I thought I saw a subtle twitch of Fenton’s jaw, but it disappeared the moment he grinned. While Fenton’s childlike giggle was irritating, it was the grin that unnerved me the most. Rather than looking pleased, the grin made him look predatory…feral. It was the look a rabid dog gave before it bit your fingers off. “Good,” Fenton said, “I hate that fucker.”

“Oh?” I said, trying to seem casual, all the while my heart racing. I tried not to let too much of my thoughts show on my face as I wondered how I could get what I needed without tipping him off. “You know Lt. Locke? Alexander Locke?”

Fenton’s smile faltered a little, but he blustered through, “That’s his first name?
 Yeah, Lt. Locke. He runs the gang unit, right? I’ve had a few close calls with him. Finally caught me though, right?”

“Nope, that was me,” I said, and it was true enough. A few weeks back I’d been brought in on a case involving a local private detective and a family of scumbags. Three murders, all of them brutal, especially the sister who’d died worse than any of them. The best part had been the evidence: a single ring implicating a dirty cop. After that, I’d known I had to bring in Fenton. It had taken a lot of work, and a lot of palms had needed greasing, but in the end the net had finally caught Fenton. Now I just needed answers.

Once again, Fenton seemed to falter, but recovered quickly. “You’re an idiot, Tyler.”

“Excuse me?”

“You come off like some kinda peacock, strutting your stuff: moving officers around, claiming credit for an operation you probably only had a small part in, and for what? So I can be impressed? You’re nothing. You’re less than nothing. A glorified desk jockey in a shiny uniform.”

“I got you, though,” I said, smiling at him.

“Yippee!” Fenton said, twirling his hand in the cuffs. It was a little disturbing to watch. Fenton’s hand was viciously mangled: his ring and middle finger were missing, and the middle of his palm was gutted and hollow in the center so that you could see all the way through it. “You must feel so clever, Tyler. Well, don’t: I won’t stay locked up.”

“You’ve got at least three dozen murders on your record,” I said, “at least four of those were cops, one of them died during your arrest. You’re going into a cell so deep, you may forget what fresh air smells like.” I took a pointed sniff in his direction. “Not that you ever knew what that smelled like.”

Fenton just kept grinning, “If it were anyone but you, I might think I was, and maybe for a good reason. But I’ve had too many close calls to get caught now. I think you’re being played.”

“What do you mean, played? By who?”

“I mean that somebody probably wanted you, me and that ring you keep flashing in my face in this cage together, so -”

Fenton never finished his sentence. There was a crash of screaming metal behind me that sent me flying just as the whole world went sideways…then, black.

Review: The Daylight War by Peter V. Brett

First off, I'd like to thank everyone for their patience in waiting for my new review. We had a lot of tragedies this month, and it's good to step aside sometime and give notice to the things that matter. Books are important, but it's important to look aside sometime and branch out and do new things. That said, I thought that I would ease back into my normal, catty, snarky routine with a book that I really enjoyed, rather than going full blast on a book that has taken me more than a month to get through. That said, here we go.

Long ago, so long ago that it has long passed into legend, there was a war between man and a power much stronger than themselves. In that battle, this man, this chosen one, if you will, used the power of his enemies against them, changing the course of battle. After his death, it was fortold that there would be another chosen who would bring victory to the humans and one day drive their enemies back for good. Now man has fallen into subservience once more, becoming both food and sport for the enemy, until a chosen one stood up once again, forming a group of resistance, using the very weapons their enemies have used against them for centuries. This...is the Matrix.

Wait, no, sorry, got confused, this is The Demon Cycle series by Peter V. Brett, starting with The Warded/Painted Man, depending on what country you live in, continuing with The Desert Spear and now with the third book, The Daylight War. The book chronicles a world where every night, demons come out of the core of the earth and rampage, held at bay only by wards, a kind of cuneiform/mandarin script that sometimes fails them. In the story, four people, now 5 in the newest book, take control of their destinies and fight back the demons.

First of all, I know it doesn't seem like it by the catty introduction, but I have nothing but the utmost respect for this book. The fact that the book series reminds me of a fantasy version of the Matrix doesn't detract for the series. If anything, it only adds to it for me, because I actually liked the Matrix. Christopher Paolini did a similar thing with his first book, Eragon (honestly, just give it a real clinical look and you'll see it too,) but his books just dived after the second book anyway.

I liked the series so much in fact, that after I bought the first book, it only took me a day to read and I immediately bought the second one and have been waiting on pins and needles anticipating the next which only came out recently. What's so great about this book? The characters are realistic and sympathetic, unique and free thinking in such a regard that I can actually believe in them. The action sequences are fun and spine-tingling, but not too long, so as not to detract from the story.

The part that really gets me, in a bad way, is the race called the Krasians. The Krasians are a desert living people, they hold fast to an almost fanatical religion that has them fight the demons in a losing battle each night. The interesting thing about them, is what I learned after taking a Western Civilization course in college last year.While I was taking the course, I was reading Desert Spear, and it was impossible not to notice the increadible similarities between the cultures of Muslims and Krasians. Now, there's nothing wrong with this in general, people do this all the time, drawing from stereotypes and cultures to make world developement flow easier, but the funny thing is there is a disclaimer at the beginning of the book stating that "any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental."

...Really, Brett? It was too hard to just let people think you got them from Muslim culture. Do me a favor, readers, look up the history of the Muslim culture with their introduction to Western Civilization and how they spread across Europe. It's always good to learn something useful, if you get anything else out of it.

A broad overview of The Daylight War is that the main characters have realized that there are smarter demons out there than the ones that they have been fighting since they first learned they could do so, and that they are preparing to start an all out assault on them to snuff out human resistance before it can really take hold. These demons are so sensitive to light, being from the darkest part of the core of the earth, that they can only come out on the new moon, giving the characters time to better prepare and have some good character developing points, which is more or less what the book is actually about. I'm not going to say there wasn't some good storyline and battle scenes, but in actuality, the story had very little to do with the demons or the "Daylight War" which I'll get to later on, and more to do with how the characters are drifting from each other and really making themselves individuals.

That said, it's really important to know that I really like this kind of storytelling. Battles don't always translate very well to print, and I think that Brett does an excellent job of keeping them short and sweet. What matters is the characters, how they work together, and how they are unique. The characters started out very well in the first two books, but they were kind of joined at the hip. Now that they are forced to kind of branch out, it's interesting to see how they are growing and developing on their own.

The first book, which I started before I really got to reviewing, was primarily about the main characters (at least the primary ones, in my opinion since they are more centralized to the story.) Arlen, the painted man who has wards tattooed onto his flesh to battle the demons and has developed a certain god-like quality to him literature-wise. Leesha, the herb-gatherer of Cutter/Deliverer's Hollow, a kind of medicine woman/doctor of her village who has taken to creating inventive ways to protect her people. And Rojer, a Jongleur or traveling bard who can repel demons and even control them a little, with his fiddle music. With the advent of the second book, a second set of characters were introduced, Jardir and Abban, and in the third, Inevera, Jardir's wife was given segments.

A lot of people complained that Jardir's storyline was too invasive in the second book, since much of the book was dedicated to background to his and Abban's life. I just have to roll my eyes about that, because the first book was DOMINATED by backstory as to how the main characters became how they needed to be. It was only fair that Jardir should get the same right. What people need to understand is that Jardir, and by extension, his people, are not the antagonists in the story, at least not major ones. They have a reason for doing what they are doing, and for them it's every bit as important as everyone else's. What I don't like, though, is that Brett seems to have taken everyone’s complaints to heart in his development of The Daylight War.

The main cover shows Inevera, Jardir's wife, a powerful mystic in her culture called a Dama'ting. Inevera has shown herself to be ruthless and powerful as well as jealous and vengeful, making her a bit more fun in the previous books. Her back-story in The Daylight War has shown her to have developed that way, and actually didn't reveal any startling developments in her character. I get the feeling that Brett was trying to humanize her like he did Jardir in The Desert Spear, but it kind of fell short. It didn't make me like her any less, but I certainly didn't like her justifications any better afterwards. This could have been because her sections were stunted. Rather than have her character dominate the book like Jardir's did, hers were shorter and less impressive, only spanning a few chapters worth of information, almost like filler episodes in a series when they are waiting for the real episodes to air.

Arlen's sections were similarly stunted, to the point that we didn't actually get to see his perspective until almost half-way through the book, instead being replaced by Renna Tanner, a blip on the first book and a secondary character in The Desert Spear, her main purpose mostly explaining what happened after Arlen ran away from home and really justifying Arlen's return home to Tibbet's Brook. Renna is Arlen's promised bride and takes a similar route as he does. At the end of The Desert Spear Arlen seems to have attained a new level of power making him again stronger than any of the normal demons and many of the people who were finally beginning to get to his level of power. I really feel that the reason that Arlen is so downplayed in the new book is because of that whole ultimate power thing.

It's not until later on in the story when he comes head to head with the Mind Demons, a demon general if you will, that Arlen's perspective is really brought back into play, and it mostly seems like its done to smack him down a few pegs when he's found wanting. This is both good and bad in my opinion. On one hand, it led to some good character growth for other characters, and the new ones that were brought in, but on the other hand Arlen is a major player in the series, and just having him be seen to change doesn't bring as much to the table as when he realizes he is changing. So I guess it's kind of a neutral point for me.

That brings me to the other characters, who are not really secondary protagonists, but are less omnipotent than Arlen and Jardir get to be at times. Rojer has always been important in my opinion, but that's mostly just because I have a feeling he's being downplayed for a very important reason that I think was hinted at in the first book but not fully explored. I don't know if that's because Brett wants to leave it as a surprise in the next or last book, or if I'm reading too much into the Deliverer mythos, so in any case, I'll leave that for later. He's a fun character, but at the same time, I think that he really gets downplayed when the more serious events come up, or when he's not playing music.

By comparison, Leesha has been played up a lot, making her seem a little more important than she really is. On one hand she's attracted the attention of some important men, and I think that that makes her feel a little like a chess piece in the book, but on the other hand, she has some real importance to her if only because she is one of the more practiced Herb Gatherers in the area, and because she's been doing research on the demons, discovering weaknesses and ways to battle them. On the opposite side of things her jealousy of Renna seemed a little bit forced considering Renna is an unknown quality to her and that she's already developed feelings for other people. I felt it was a little forced in the end, and with all of the triangles being introduced it's turning into some kind of weird pachinko game where characters keep bouncing off pegs and who know where they're going to wind up.

The writing for The Daylight War is solid, and the pacing was nice. The book was set up in four different quadrants: the return home and things being worked out with Jardir's people, then the battle at Deliverer's Hollow, then the battle at Everams Bounty, then the conclusion which was intermixed with the demons planning things out and Inevera's back-story. Mostly I just thought that the battle at Everams Bounty took too little time and Deliverer's Hollow took too much, but considering the people in Deliverer's Hollow all worked together and had unique stories that was expected, whereas there were only really two perspectives being shared at Everams Bounty and Jardir is more of a lone-wolf leader.

All of this just leads me to one thing, because I know that this review has been particularly long, but like I said, I really do like this book. The one thing I have to wonder is: Where is the "Daylight War" in The Daylight War? I know that this is really anal of me to mention, but the book is all about the battle with the demons during the New Moon. I know we couldn't really call it that, damn you Stephanie Meyers, but the title is incredibly misleading. In the book series, the Daylight War is the war with humanity where the Deliverer, the chosen one, unites all of the people under his banner and prepares his people for the final battle with the demons. I get that, that's very important, but at the same time, no part of that is in the book, it's hardly even mentioned at all, except in passing. It might have been important in the first part when the Hollowers are returning home through the occupied land, but it's not central to the storyline of the book at all, so why even name it that, out of anything that could have taken place.

The Warded Man was all about the three characters converging with Arlen and the new battle starting. The Desert Spear was primarily about Jardir's rise to power and attaining the Spear of Kaji, a relic proclaiming him as the new Deliverer. The Daylight War is about fighting mind demons and a very interesting conclusion that just shouts out "CLIFFHANGER", though I should say it's a bit ironic to say so. All in all, my few gripes are tiny, I would definitely suggest The Demon Cycle books to real lovers of fantasy, and remember to keep your wards clear, because Waning is on its way again...

Harry Potter Vs. Percy Jackson: The Readers

I want to challenge you for a moment. Take your mouse and move it to the search option and type in, "Harry Potter vs. Percy Jackson". Don't worry; I'll still be here when you get back. Finished? What did you find? A lot of junk, right? An Epic Rap Battle, (gag,) and some fan-fiction? When I typed it up, the only actual article I found was on Sparknote and the section was barely large enough to cover with three fingers, when the only finger I would have covered it with was...well, I digress. I think it's kind of sad, because these are two fantastically similar books with devastatingly different approaches to Young Adult Fantasy. Just thinking about it the other night filled the better part of an eight hour work shift, and that's just with the things I could come up with right then and there.

I want to start out with this by saying that this is not a critique. My normal reviews will begin in May, because, once again, with everything that's going on, I think that it's a good thing to take, if not a moment of silence, a break from being catty. This is just a comparison, but that does not mean that I don't have a very firm idea of who is the winner in Harry Potter VS Percy Jackson, and it's not just because I'm terrified the Harry Potter fan-club will somehow divine where I live and leave dead frogs in my bed. Harry Potter was being written when I was growing up, so I have a particular predisposition for it, which is something I'll go over later. That is not to say that Percy Jackson and the Olympians isn't good, I just find more faults with it than favors. But anyway, let's just get to the brass tacks, shall we.

The Readers

Harry Potter

Harry Potter first came out when I was still in the end of middle school, and to be honest, I wasn't too interested in it. At the time, it didn't have as big a following in America, at least not in my school, and I was more interested in the Dragonlance books at the time to give it much notice. It wasn't until the movie came out in 1999 that I gave the series any interest, because let’s face it, I'm a big Urban Fantasy nerd, and Harry Potter is kind of the epitome of Urban Fantasy: a young boy, seemingly ordinary, gets to go to magic school. What's interesting enough, though, is that even though it was a year after its release, almost two in fact, because my book budget was significantly smaller in those days, I still read them with the same interest as I would have if I had read them when they first came out.

This may seem like an odd thing to say: in 1999/2000 I was fourteen/fifteen years old, but I have a very set formula for YA books. It's actually very simple and easy to follow, because I hate math with a passion. Take the age of the protagonist of the story, in this case, 11 at the beginning of the series, and add or subtract 2. That, to me, means that the average reading age at the beginning of the series was about nine to thirteen years old, a year or two younger than how old I was when they started.

The reason this is fascinating to me, is that by the time the second book had come out, the average reading age for the Harry Potter books had gone up to ten-fourteen at least, because Harry Potter himself had aged! With a lot of fiction out there, you get a character that never seems to age, or at least, his aging is never made apparent. Sometimes you get the complete opposite, in which the author makes a big show about the reader getting older, in which case how are you supposed to identify with them unless you are Robin Williams in Jack?

The wonderful thing about the Harry Potter books is that as the characters aged, the writing style, the length of the books, even the content of the book, ages as well. While I'm sure the seventeen year old Harry Potter was still identifiable to younger readers, it was equally fascinating to older readers up to nineteen, which is well into the reading categories of adult readers. And here's the kicker, since the final books were accessible to older readers, that made the earlier books just as acceptable to read because 1) who wants to read the last book in a series and not know what’s going on? and 2) the progressive age by age journey of a hero is something that is archetype to all reading levels and age groups.

As an English Major, I find this fascinating because if you look at it through an analytical lens, death is not actually brought to the forefront until book four when Harry Potter was fourteen years of age. While it's talked about, Harry's parents dying to save him, the "execution of buckbeak", Professor Quirrel and even a Basilisk, these things are all very far removed from Harry, and with the exception of the Basilisk, which was "evil", the deaths are never really seen. It's not until Harry reaches an age where his readers, somewhere between the ages of twelve and sixteen, are old enough to really appreciate the solid weight of Cedric's death and how it effects Harry as a person.

The wonderful thing about the readers and Harry Potter's effect on them is that readers were basically able to grow up with Harry. Not in a sense where we were able to go to Hogwarts or anything, which would have been fantastical, in anything but imagination. No, but in a sense, Harry grew up as we did. He went through all of those awkward stages of development, not including his little emo phase in the movies, such as dating and growing up and having to make decisions. People identified with him as a person because it was basically like watching that neighbor down the street getting taller and growing a beard when you were going through the same thing...or something like that. And let's not ignore the rabid way his fans flock to just about anything even remotely related to it, I mean just look at J. K. Rowling's newest book, which has nothing to do with Harry Potter.

Percy Jackson

Now the case could be made that Percy Jackson has every bit the appeal of Harry Potter with its readers, but in this case, I just don't see it. It might be because I didn't actually get into the series until just last year, making me too old for my own self-imposed reading limit. I became interested in the series after the ill fated first movie came out, hold your boos because I'll get to the movies at a later date, but didn't actually try reading the books until a year or two later. Unfortunately, I just couldn't: the writing was just too juvenile for me.

Now I should clarify. I don't mean that the writer wrote in crayon, or that he used a lot of 1 cent words. I simply mean that the book was juvenile and the writing exemplified it. I got within about a chapter worth of story before I had to put the book down because I could feel my brain cells liquefying and dribbling out my ears...I still have the stains to prove it. A lot of books write in a style where you have to go up to their level, War and Peace, Shakespears works, anything by Terry Goodkind, but with Rick Riordan's books, you actually have to go down a peg to get what he's going at. And that's why the Percy Jackson books have such a limited shelf life: the books never really evolve and grow, so they really are meant to be read when you are at the same age level, which is a shame because the books aren't really finished.

Percy and his friends also grow, in a similar, though less consistent manner in comparison to Harry Potter and friends, but the problem is that they never quite grow up, and their emotions are severly stunted. Take for instance death, in the third book, a character is killed less than halfway through the book. The character was brand new and barely served a purpose except as literary manslaughter, (the creation and murder of an interestingly developed character for the sole purpose of advancing the plot,) but the worse thing about her death is her compatriots reactions. They are sad, and mourn her passing...for about five minutes before they start making Dam/Damn jokes for an obscene amount of time, and then they don't really mention her until the end of the book. Does not compute! In fact that's the only comparison I can make for that, robot logic. It has all the feel of a person who understands death, but not really the significance it holds in the emotional spectrum.

Now that’s not to say that all of the books take this route. The first book in the second series, The Lost Heroes actually took a great leap into more adult themes. It took a look at how things were going in the Greek camp, and how they could be under new leadership by the new heroes brought into the camp. It took a look at emotional issues between two of the main characters and asked if they were real or not, and if not, could they ever be. Unfortunately this was ruined in the next book, The Son of Neptune, when Percy was brought back into the picture and everything went back to one-liners and indulgent humor.

So I think that's where the Percy Jackson books really fall apart with readers. They had all the makings of a truly in depth emotional book: abandonment issues, destiny and fate, love, and epic battles, but the emotional range of it is stunted like a robot or someone who's been in a coma since they were five and don't really know how to react to things.

How They Compare

Harry Potter definitely wins out as far as readers go. The books just reach out to a better range of people, they are emotionally realistic and approachable to their audience, and they hold as great an appeal to adults and readers who just want to re-read the books as they get older. Percy Jackson by comparison doesn't really try to reach readers on an emotional level and has very little depth as far as character development, almost as if Rick Riordan said to himself, "I have the perfect idea for these characters," and then just decided never to change them as they went through some really deep events.

And of course, just look at the fanaticism of the Harry Potter fans. Even years after the end of the series, people are still dressing up as Hogwarts wizards and death eaters for events: birthday parties, Halloween, etc. People get tattoos with the Hogwarts' crests, I even saw an adult with a death eaters mark on his arm. What would a Percy Jackson party look like? A bunch of kids in orange or purple t-shirts? Or Greek or Roman armor? How would you even know what they were going for?

 

Bias

So the other day I was giving a thesis on a certain book that shall remain unnamed, but shall simply be referred to as PT. The thesis was on how the book doesn't really give anything to the reader except death and violence, and therefore has a substandard quality to it as far as character development, setting, plot, etc. After reading the thesis, someone in the room made a comment that I was biased in my opinion about the book. Now I had to do a double take on that, because to me, I don't think I've ever been biased against anything...well except for paranormal romance, but I think that one is warranted. So I actually looked up the definition of bias, and you know what? It is the most ridiculous and one sided definition I have ever encountered.

The definition read something like: an unfair preference for or dislike of something? Dear god you could write a thesis paper just on that! First off, in this day and age, who say something is unfair? If someone doesn’t like what you have to say does that make it unfair? or does that person need to rethink what fair really is? Fair for who? Fair to preserve their feelings? Life isn't fair people. Spending money on an ebook only to find 120 pages of it are missing isn't fair, but do you go cry about it? Or do you go out and buy the hard copy because you really want to read the book? And what constitutes an "Unfair Preference". I can understand if it's children you are talking about, saying which one you like more. That is an unfair preference. But really, does liking something better than another make it unfair to the one left behind? I like pepsi better than coke? Does that make it unfair to coke? Is that bias? and if so, who cares? Other people like coke, let them drink it.

And what about disliking something? You know about a year ago, a friend of mine asked me why I never went to go hang out with them when they hung out with a friend of his. Not wanting to split hairs or lie, I told him: It's because I don't like your friend. He was very upset and kept asking me why I didn't like him. And to be honest, I couldn't tell him because I didn't have an answer. The guy was perfectly nice, very polite, always had a conversation to carry on. I didn't hate him, or anything silly like that, it's just that he wasn't MY friend, and I didn't like him. And to be honest, I don't regret it. I'd rather be honest about not liking something or someone, even if I don't have a reason to, than to pander to someone just for the sake of preserving the feelings of those around me.

To be honest, this definition sucks. It's pretty much the equivalent of saying that anyone with a name that starts with "S" is a devil worshiper because Satan starts with "S". It's a broad definition taking a lot of words that hurt someone’s feelings a long time ago, and so they created a word to keep people from doing it again. It actually brings to mind two different excerpts from two different books. In the Codex Alera by Jim Butcher series, the Marat people are often confused when the Alerans use a word that has multiple meanings, like lie for instance. At one point, either Kitai or her father asks, and I'm paraphrasing, "Why do you people have words that have more than one meaning, don't you have enough trouble understanding each other already?" The second one is from the recently read The Daylight War by Peter V. Brett. In the book, the character Abban gives an inner monologue as to why his people forbid the eating of pork: once, their great leader in the past was poisoned with a piece of pork, and spent hours on the pot afterwards, and therefore banned the eating of it in the future. Take what you will from this, but I refuse to be held down by the definition of a word that just makes people feel better about hearing something they don't like. It's called an opinion, and if it wasn't warranted, I wouldn't be writing it.

Single Handed Part 1

I know that with everything I write I sometimes ruffle a few feathers. I think criticism, and the ability to use criticism to make your work better, is the sign of an excellent writer. That being the case, I'm going to take things one step further and put a piece up that I've been working on for a while. This is actually part two of a four part project that I'm putting together. So any comments, critiques or criticisms are appreciated. So, without further ado, this is "Single Handed"

Single Handed: A Noir Mythology

With a shout of panic I fell out of bed, limbs tangled in the comforter, and crashed onto the tiled floor. Eyes streaming in pain, I glared up at the ceiling, trying to divine some hidden meaning in the cracks, which stubbornly refused to give any answers.

Looking up at the clock on the side of the bed, I groaned as I saw that it was only 4:22 AM. The bank wouldn’t be open for several hours, and after the dreams I’d just thrashed out of, I wasn’t eager to go back to sleep. Grumbling at the bed, my sore wrist, and the general unfairness of the universe, I disentangled myself from the covers and threw them back on the bed.

The apartment I was living in at the moment was a small efficiency. All of it was one room: living room, bedroom, and kitchen. The only other room in the apartment was a bathroom the size of a urinal cubicle, and made me feel claustrophobic just thinking about going in there. It was a piece of shit, in a bad part of town, but it had two things going for it. It was right next to a bank and grocery store, and it was cheap enough that I didn’t go broke on rent with my retirement check.

I walked across the room to the kitchen and turned the coffee maker on. Refried coffee grounds bubbled in the maker and I swore when I went in today to cash my check I would get some fresh grounds.

I looked out the small, dirty picture window above the sink. Today was the kind of day Asgard saw so rarely: the snow was falling in gentle powdery drifts on the street with little wind to speak of. It almost made the hellhole look picturesque. It was the perfect weather for a quick stroll down the street and back.

The coffee machine let out a sad, almost despondent beep, and I was going over with a clean-ish mug from the rack when the answering machine across the room went off. The first thing I’d done when I’d retired was take the ringer out of the phone. I didn’t have any close friends who would drop by if I didn’t answer. I was reaching for the coffee pot when the voice came out of the machine and I stopped dead in my tracks.

“Hey Tyler, it’s the Chief…Chief Locke,” the voice paused, and I felt my hand grip down hard on the pots handle. Locke sounded like he always did, as if he were grinning from ear to ear at some private joke and I could just imagine the smug look on his pointed face.

“I’m calling to remind you that the Mayor is still trying to set up a time to deliver your commendation. He’s been very patient since your retirement, but he seems to think he’s waited long enough, and I’m beginning to agree. It’s time to get off your ass, stop lounging around, and accept thanks for all your hard work. Call me back, you know the number.” There was a genial laugh, and the line went dead with another sad beep.

It was the last beep the answering machine ever made. With a shout, I twisted around, throwing the coffee pot. It spun in the air, flinging sludge-like coffee around the room, making angry little Rorschach inkblots on the floor and accumulated clothes. With a blast of coffee, the pot hit the answering machine and exploded in a million pieces.

I glared across the room at the mess for a few minutes before slamming my arm down on the counter, bruising my already sore wrist, and cursed bitterly.

The Aging Reader and the Dying Series

With everything that's been happening out East in Boston this week, I decided to postpone my snarky comments about The Daylight War by Peter V. Brett, or any other book for that matter, and speak about something a little more sober, if not somber. This being something that's close to my heart, and therefor at least moderately more serious. First of course, I would like to say that my heart goes out to the people of Boston, and to any people who know people out there. This is a trying time for everyone, and you are in my thoughts.

When I was little, I think around 8-12 years old, I found a book in a Walden Book Store, (If that doesn't tell you how young I was, I don't know.) The book was the first in a series called the Diadem Series and was called The Book of Names. In it, three kids were transported from their own individual world to another, where they find out that they can do magic. In the books world, the galaxy was set up in concentric rings, and the closer you got to the center rings, the more powerful you got, but the downside being that if you weren't powerful enough to handle the magic, it would kill you. The book was exciting, I couldn't put it down for days. I also, unfortunately, could never find book two.

Or three.

I found book four a few months later, but honestly, what kind of person actually enjoys reading books out of order like that? There was so much missing from the plot that I didn't know about that it was like coming home to find someone's rearanged all of your furniture, broken all of the lights, and left lego booby traps all over your carpet. I never found the other books when I was younger, and I always felt disappointed at that, because I felt it was a wonderful series and would I have loved to continue it. I used to wonder if the book was only available in other countries and hadn't been translated over, or if possibly the author or publishing company had gone under, and the two copies I had found were all that was left. Very post-apocalyptic, but hey, I have an active imagination

Well wonder of wonders, now that I'm an adult, I found that the books did continue, and that there are a bunch of them out there that I never knew about. On Amazon I found a ton of them just ripe for the picking. But I find myself wondering: am I a bit old to be reading these books. I'd buy them in a heartbeat, knowing that they have a special place in my heart from my childhood, but would they still hold up as an adult.

That's a problem with a lot of these longer book series. I remember the Animorph books, and Everworld by K.A. Applegate. The books went on for so long that, by the time they finished, I was already on to bigger books and I was always left to wonder at what happened to those old friends I left behind. I imagine it must be worse from those older than myself. I remember reading something about a woman who was upset she might not live to see the last Dark Tower book by Stephen King, and I know it was five and six years between the last two George R. R. Martin books.

So I sit here at my computer, glaring between this blog and Amazon and my bank acount, wondering at the time that I missed in Diadem and wondering what happened to the people I once knew so well. Are you well friends? Did you get what you were looking for, and would I even recognize you if I saw you again? I might buy them, just to test the murky waters again, and if I find them somewhat tepid now that I've had time to grow, I may give them to my younger sister, so that she can start a journey of her own that I can foster.

Review: Cold Days by Jim Butcher

Let's play a game, shall we, loyal readers big and small? Well, big at least, because it's a drinking game and I in no way condone underage drinking. The game is simple, pick up the latest Jim Butcher book, Cold Days, and take a drink or a shot every time a character makes a pop-culture reference. As a bonus round for all those hard-core readers/drinking game players, take two drinks or shots every time a character makes a reference to Star Wars. Keep in mind this is a buddy game: because I guarantee that after about fifty pages or so into the book, you're going to need a buddy to call 911 and report a case of massive alcohol poisoning.

That little bit of fun aside I can tell you with the utmost sincerity that I was super excited to read the new Jim Butcher book. I've been a big fan of his since I first got his book as a gift from a friend I no longer remember their name. I've read every book in the Dresden Files except his short stories (I have a massive distrust of short stories in a series of novels, but that's for another time) and even read his Alera Codex novels, which were supremely well done. I even watched the short lived TV series on Scify staring Paul Blackthorn.

I love Jim Butcher's books so much, that it was actually disappointing to read the newest book. I think in a way I was just ready for the books to be finished when Changes came around. Butcher spent so much time mutilating his characters life that I kind of want Harry Dresden to get a break and maybe relax in Cancun for a few days to recover. Ghost stories, the book before this one, also had a very final feeling to it, it being the book where Harry Dresden solves his own murder and in a sense gets closure over his death, only to be brought back in the new book. After everything that Dresden has been through, I think it's kind of reached a downward slope and it can only get worse from there.

Cold Days has reached a certain point of plot that makes it really hard to single one point out among the clutter. The book jacket makes a bit point of Dresden working for Mab, Fae Queen of air and darkness, and how he has to kill an immortal, but honestly, it's only a passing fad that lasts the first fifty pages or so and the last four or five chapters. The middle is a cluster of past enemies I don't remember and never gave much thought about, a lot of story about his destiny and fate as a Wizard, and a lot of back story into what's been happening to three of the main characters since the bullet first hit.

On the whole, the writing was excellent, and Jim Butcher remains a terrific storyteller, but I think as far as the Dresden Files go, they have already climaxed and are just waiting for a cigarette before they can quietly put their clothes on and sneak out before anyone realizes they are gone.