Books of 2017: Quarter 4

Finally, to finish up last year's reading list, here's a quick review of the 4 books I managed to get through in the last 3 months of the year (spoilers):

The Wheel of Osheim by Mark Lawrence

"The Wheel of Osheim" is the third book of Mark Lawrence's "Red Queen's War" trilogy (I think earlier in the year I wrote about book two, "The Liar's Key"). The story takes place within the same Broken Empire as his previous trilogy: a world that reads like typical "sword and sorcery" genre but is actually post-apocalyptic as the civilization that came before broke the world with their creation of "magic" and sending civilization back to the Dark Ages. In the final part of the trilogy, Prince Jalan Kendeth and Snorri ver Snagason, having retrieved Loki's Key and escaped Hell, must make their way to the Wheel of Osheim, the source of magic, and stop it from turning or risk the entire world coming to an end.

What I most enjoy about Lawrence's writing style is that while it could fall into the typical High Fantasy genre, he doesn't get as bogged down in description and world building as most of the others in his field. The story flows quickly from place to place, spending just enough time on the detail for you to get an idea of what the area might look like before jumping into the action.




Urban Enemies (Anthology)

"Urban Enemies" is an anthology of short stories from a bunch of different urban fantasy writers starring the antagonists ("Bad Guys") of those series. And since one of those featured writers was Jim Butcher (starring Gentleman John Marcone, no less!), I was definitely going to buy it. As with most collections of this sort, there's always going to be stories I like more than others, and stories that I disliked entirely, and even more in the middle. As I always say when buying collections, there's no way you're going to like every single story, so I at least tend to make sure there's at least one or two writer's who I like enough to justify spending the money (for this one, almost twice what I would normally pay for a regular paperback). The main appeal of this particular collection was getting stories in which the main characters were not good guys, in fact, in the context of their particular series they are the enemies of the protagonists. If you're familiar with a book series, seeing the world as a known enemy can provide an interesting point of view, and if the series is new, well, at least you get a story featuring a protagonist with a completely different set of values and motivations than you're used to reading about.

While some writer's used this opportunity to provide more back story and insight into their villains, my favorites (being unfamiliar with most of the series featured in this book) were the ones that told standalone stories from the point of view of these villains. Some of my favorites include:

"Even Hand" by Jim Butcher. Starring "Gentleman" John Marcone, a notorious gangster in a world of supernatural creatures, Marcone is one of Harry Dresden's most formidable adversaries. Throughout the series Marcone is presented as a cunning Chicagoan gangster with rules he ruthlessly enforces. In this story, Marcone protects his turf, and one of Dresden's allies, from an attack by the Fomor, creatures that have risen from the ocean to prey on humanity.

"Balance" by Sean McGuire. Being unfamiliar with the world inhabited by monsters and men, I enjoyed this story as I didn't need to know much besides that to jump right into the story. The story is told from the point of view of a Cuckoo, a race of psychic creatures which implant themselves into their victims memories and prey off of them until it is time to discard their target for greener pastures. For this cuckoo though, on this one particular day of self-amusement, a former victim returns to wreck his plans.

"Alter Boy" by Jonathan Maberry. From the synopsis, the main story is usually focused upon a special ops team tasked with taking down terrorists with futuristic technology (more in the realm of sci-fi). In this story though, the main character is one of the series "reformed villains," Toys and his encounter with temptation back to the man he used to be.


The Internet is a Playground by David Thorne

First off, thanks to Kristian for the recommendation, this is one of the funniest things I've read in a long time. Probably not since reading "I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell" have I needed to stifle a laugh when reading in public. In true Internet fashion, "the one who cares less is the winner," Thorne taunts co-workers, lawyers, teachers, and the police in email transcripts. The Email transcripts are pretty straight forward, someone will contact him by email on a subject that seems to annoy him, and he will respond with an even more ridiculous fashion, always taking things one step further and further. Some of my favorites include: 1) Informing a teacher that he authorizes the use of physical punishment against his child after he is informed that his child will no longer be allowed to use the school computers; 2) After being harassed for tardiness, creating an unbelievable story about why he was late; 3) After receiving an email from the Australian police regarding a humorous post he wrote soliciting drugs requesting that he take down the story or amend it (while still acknowledging that they understand it is all a joke), he makes the necessary changes a minute before their deadline.


A Conjuring of Light by V.E Schwab
 

I was really planning to wait until next year to buy the paperback version but it turns out I couldn't wait, so I ended up breaking down and picking up the last part to Schwab's Shades of Magic trilogy. So far, there's only been one book I've bought the hardcover version for and that was "The Magician's Land" by Lev Grossman. As book 2 of this series ended on a cliffhanger, I really couldn't wait any longer for the next part.

As I covered a lot of the background early last year when I finished "A Gathering of Shadows," I'll try to skip over that stuff. Book three picks up immediately where Book 2's cliffhanger leaves off and the reader is immediately pushed into the danger of magic gone sentient. In the previous books, magic is described as an almost living thing, and each "London" represents that relationship. The harmony of mankind and magic in "Red London" is broken when the creature from "Black London" attacks, magic which consumes and overpowers man. The protagonists set out to find a way to destroy this new monster and save all 4 Londons from its power.

One thing I really liked about Schwab's writing was the constant perspective shifts as the story is told from many different viewpoints. As each character sees the world a little differently, Schwab is able to choose which character acts as the narrator for each section to give the reader the best point of view for the situation. Each section stays true to the character that you could probably figure out who is narrating the section just based on how they see the world and the things they do, the things they react to.

Resurrection

I pressed the barrel hard to the back of his head. I switched the safety off. I pulled back the slide. I cocked back the hammer. Then, I took a breath. The stench of death filled my nostrils as the corpses around us began to enter the first stages of decay. The buzz of millions, maybe billions of flies began to fill the empty air, an unusual quiet for a city of just over a million people.

He laughed. "I was wondering how this would end, old friend?" he said, his arms spread wide, hands empty. On his knees and his back to me, he looked as harmless as a child. I just needed to remember that he was one of the most dangerous men on the planet. Just pull the trigger and be done with it, I thought to myself as my heart pounded with anticipation, that was the plan after all.

I took a glance around the battlefield: buildings destroyed, vehicles burning, and countless dead at our feet - monsters and civilians lying lifeless. They'd struck so quick, so precise, we were completely unprepared. So many heroes fell in the first moments, we had no time to formulate a plan, no time to regroup. Even now, I'm not sure what they were: aliens from another world; monsters from The Dark Beyond; an invading army from an alternate dimension. Whatever they were, I knew there was only one option for us to survive.

"It doesn't have to be this way," he said with his arms still spread, "after all, you're the one that asked for my help." I imagined the murderous smile on his face, not a drop of sweat despite the battle we'd just survived and my gun currently pressed to his head, all while wearing a long black trenchcoat he must've picked off of one of these unfortunate dead. Out of spite, I kicked at the top hat and the wand that lay at my feet. "After all, Saint Lazarus, you're the one that brought me back"

I thought back to that moment, with the world outside turning to hell as the creatures killed everything in their path. Back then, it wasn't silence, but screams that filled the air. Desperate I ran from the battle back to the office, past the reception area, past the meeting rooms, past the rows of desks and cubicles, to the very back of the office. To the mail room. I found Marty cowering behind a cabinet, shaking, though I couldn't tell if it was from fear or from the war just outside.

I stared at the man, nearly fifty years old, hair starting to thin, an old mustard stain on the blue polo shirt he wore untucked, though not from the lack of trying. This was insane, I thought as I started to walk away.

"Blaine, what the hell is going on?" said Marty as I heard him start to move behind me, "and what happened to your clothes?"

Turning, I saw that Marty had pulled himself off the ground and was staring that the holes, rips, and tears in my jacket, shirt, and pants. My clothes in tatters, I walked back to my desk and pulled out my suit from a locked cabinet, the suit of Saint Lazarus, the Immortal Man. "Marty, what if I told you I was a superhero. And what if I told you that out there me and all of the other heroes were fighting an enemy the likes we've never seen before. And what if I told you that you were our last hope?"

Marty stared at me. I could see on his face as his brain tried to process everything I just said and what was going on outside. "Blaine," he said finally, "you're a reporter."

"Yes, Marty," I said as I began to take off the remains of my business clothes and change into my costume, "I'm a reporter. And just like every reporter here at The Daily Post, I'm also a superhero. We're all superheroes. And though no one else wants to admit it, we need your help."

He stared again. "Am I a superhero?" he asked, a faint smile spreading on his face.

Geez, I thought, those psychics sure did a number on you, Marty. "No, Marty you're not a superhero. You're a mistake. My mistake," I said, hanging my head as I said those words. "You were powerful, you were dangerous, but we were friends."

"We are friends," Marty said with a smile. I smiled too, thinking about the years we'd spent at the Post, lunch in the breakroom, beers after work, watching football on the weekends with the boys.

"Yeah, we're friends, Marty," I said, "but a long, long time ago, we weren't. In fact, we were enemies. Mortal enemies. And when I finally caught you, I convinced them to wipe your memory instead of killing you. I said we could change you as long as you didn't remember. But now I need you back. Now we need you back. The thing is, I'm not sure if I can trust you."

"We are friends," Marty said, putting his arm on my shoulder. I shivered as the touch of his hand on my costume brought back memories, old memories. "You can trust me," he said, and looking into his face, I believed I could.

I nodded. "Okay, let's do this," I said and then began the password to unlock the prison our psychics had placed on his mind. Just as I finished the last word though, something smashed through the wall and exploded in our office, sending Marty deeper into the building and me tumbling twenty floors to the pavement.

It took a minute to pull myself back together. The chaos around me now consumed the entire city as just a few heroes remained and the invaders ranks grew ever larger. I picked up as many weapons as I could carry and started to make my way into the carnage when I heard the whistling. I stopped in my tracks, as did a number of the other heroes. The enemy paused too, briefly, confused as to why the enemy they'd been viciously fighting for the past half hour would suddenly be consumed by a fear they'd never seen before.

"It's the Murder Magician!" shouted Eagle-man as he flew as fast as he could out of the city, "Everyone get the fuck out of here, the Murder Magician's back!" And so they all ran: flyers, speedsters, teleporters, some of them even jumped into whatever working vehicles still remained and drove off. The enemy, however, focused their attention on the man striding out of The Daily Post, a man wearing a blue polo shirt with a mustard stain and the biggest smile I'd ever seen.

"It's going to be glorious," was all Marty said as he snapped his fingers and one of the enemy fell to the ground, dead. Pulling a finger out of his nose, he flicked away the booger and another enemy died. He pointed at another, and it died too. He motioned at one of those things hovering in the air, as if he was merely trying to shoo away a pigeon, and it fell out of the sky.

Finally figuring out what was happening, the enemy began their assault, but it was too late. The Murder Magician was back. I watched briefly as he dodged enemy attacks as if he were in his twenties again, his hands and fingers moving like a conductor, directing the demise of his enemies. It wasn't until one the enemy blasts tore a hole in my side that I remembered I was also part of the fight. I healed and launched my own attack, calmly walking amongst their ranks and putting bullets into anything that attacked me. And, as quickly as it had begun, we'd managed to kill them all.

With his back to me, I put one final bullet into Marty's leg, then ran as fast as I could before he could turn. His top hat hit the ground as he fell to his knees. Line of sight and a hand-motion, that's what we had determined his weaknesses to be. If I could control that, then he'd be vulnerable.

"So, was this really the plan?" Marty said, "Wake me up, have me clean up this mess and save the day, then kill me?"

"I can't risk you free again, Magician," I said, "this is the only solution." I looked at the dead and imagined them as the bodies he left in his wake the last time he walked these streets. Thousands dead in a month for no reason other than one man's amusement.

"I could've killed you at anytime, Blaine. I'm trusting you that you'll do the right thing. That we're still friends. But I still can still change my mind."

As if on cue, one of the creatures stirred and began to rise, the bullet I'd put in it not having found a lethal target. Before I could turn my gun on it though, it slumped forward, dead.

"My hands were always just for showmanship," Marty said, standing and turning despite my gun trained on his head. He shrugged off the coat, and I saw the mustard stain on his shirt, the murderous smile gone, replaced by the familiar one that used to laugh at my horrible jokes as we ate lunch together. I saw Marty. I dropped the gun. After all, we're friends.



 So this is something I haven't done in a while, write a story on the fly without any real preparation. As I was going through Reddit Writing Prompts last night, I saw one that caught my attention: "You have a choice. Pull the trigger, or walk away" and just decided to see if I could write a story out without any of the typical planning I do. It's one of the reasons I usually never have a story done on the same day a prompt comes out. Obviously, if you scrolled to the bottom already, you'd see that I cheated as this is based (sort of) in the same universe as "The Sovereignty" superhero universe. I didn't have a healer character (and I wouldn't name him "Saint Lazarus" but I was tired and when I Googled 'resurrection' his was one of the first to pop up), but I did have "The Murder Magician," a supervillain who could kill by just willing a person dead. And yes, I realized later that I'd actually stolen the same from Gerard Way's "Umbrella Academy" comic books (seriously, it took me forever to remember where I'd heard that name before to the point that I almost thought I'd come up with it on my own). As I was busy writing this before I went to sleep, I didn't have a lot of time, so I think the one part I definitely skipped on was the enemy. Without a lot of time, I just tried to pass it off as an enemy as vague as possible and hope no one would notice I provided absolutely no details regarding them. For the most part though, this is kind of how I imagined introducing this character. Letting him live, though, that I hadn't decided upon.

Play Time!

Opportunity knocked and I at least cracked the door open a bit to see what the hell it wanted. But first, I'm assuming you want some context. On days when I have things to do after work, I'll usually end up eating dinner alone someplace, preferably someplace where no one will bother me so I can get some writing done while I eat. It is literally one of the few things in life that I look forward to when I've got free time. One of my favorite spots to do this is the Ala Moana Food Court as there's a lot of seating, a variety of foods, and the constant drone of people talking amongst themselves provides some good background noise. And so, with a philly cheesesteak, fries, coke, and my notebook, I took a seat and started eating and writing as I planned. However, instead of having a short story about the first humans (or at least part of it ... honestly, I wasn't going to get it done until the end of the week anyways), well, instead I've got this chance encounter (disclaimer: definitely not exactly how it happened, but very, very close to what I can remember from last night):

"Hi, you're handwriting is so tiny, I can barely read it," she said as she sat down across from me. A woman wearing a purple sweater with a half-finished Starbucks cup and a smile like she was selling something, or she was trying to flirt with me (I'm still really bad at reading people).

Naturally, I responded with a smile (as people respond better to a smile, plus it's my natural response to unfamiliar situations by mimicking the other person), "Someone told me that I have the handwriting of a serial killer."

Seriously, do you approach someone who writes like this?

"Well, that's not something you hear very often, not what I was expecting," she responded. "Is this a journal that you write down your day-to-day feelings in?"

Still smiling, "Nope, just stories, mostly fantasy stuff" I said while taking a bite of my sandwich. Even if it was a diary, what kind of weirdo keeps a diary out in the open? And who needs to write down their feelings in the middle of a crowded mall?

She asks about what I do for a living. Not wanting to explain my job, and not wanting to be part of this questionable conversation anymore (probably more due to my natural mistrust of other people than the feeling that maybe this is some sort of scam) I tell her I'm a telemarketer. "I sell magazines over the phone." People hate telemarketers, maybe this will get her to leave.

She doesn't leave. "Wow, I didn't know people still bought magazines. With everything on their phones why would they need to buy magazines?"


I finish chewing my sandwich, the bread has started to get soggy at the bottom and falling apart. I'm annoyed. Maybe this is how my old co-worker used to feel when guys approached her at the gym when all she wants to do is work out. "Sometimes magazines will offer special access to online stuff if you buy a yearly subscription." Before she can ask, I add, "Not sure which ones though, I just sell the magazines."

"You must get hung up on a lot?"

I shrug my shoulders, "It gives me time to read."

"Do you work on commission then, if you get hung up on a lot?"

Is she a prostitute? That's the only person I could think of that would ask anyone up front how much money they make? "Yeah, though we do get a slight base pay for getting hung up on a lot." I've also just realized that she didn't take the bait when I mentioned I write Fantasy stories. Every other time I've mentioned it to anyone, they at least ask something about what I'm writing. I'm a little suspicious now.

"Oh, have you had any other jobs besides this one?"


"I worked at an auto shop for a while."

"You must've made good money there?"

Back to money, what is going on? "Not really. More like Mechanic apprentice, one of those 'will train' kind of jobs. I mostly just got in the way."

"Well, you must've gone to school."

"Yeah," I say, pointing to the open notebook that I was clearly writing in before she came over, "English degree."

"Right, you write stories. Are you a good at it? They say the only way to make money is by getting published."

"Not really, but thanks for that."


This goes on for a while, her asking questions, me giving short replies, everything seeming to always go back to money. Finally we get to the point -

"Well, the reason I came over here was about a year ago, I met this group of people and they introduced me to this 28 year old woman who managed to make enough money that she is basically retired now. And she took me under her wing and taught me how to become financially free. And I was wondering if you'd like me to introduce you to her. She's got a house in Kahala, you know where the upper class live."

Well, final-fucking-ly, we've gotten to the point of this scam. And not only that, but a vaguely familiar sounding scam, like I've heard it before, but I'm not quite certain. My imagination quickly runs off several scenarios: 1) This is a scam to steal my money/ pyramid scheme shit; 2) This is a scam to lure me into a mugging; 3) This is a scam to lure me into The Sharing and they're going to drop a Yeerk into my brain (highly improbable, but I read a lot of Animorphs as a kid). "No, that's okay. I'm fine for now," I say, hoping I'm polite enough that she'll realize she's made her pitch and will go away now that I've turned down her offer.

She doesn't go away. Instead she stays to continue to try to sell me on this idea that her prophet can change my life. What this also gives me is an opportunity I have few and far between, the chance to talk without consequence: 1) I don't care who she is; 2) she has no connection to the rest of my life; but, most of all, 3) she can leave whenever she wants, she sat next to me after all, I've no responsibility as a host to make her feel comfortable, this isn't the bus or the train where she can't run away. I'll admit, more than likely a lot of my replies were more nonsensical than witty retorts as I tend to argue the same way I play FPS games: I'm definitely not the sniper, more like the guy that decides to just fill the air with bullets and hope some of them find a target. But I do like to think I got at least a couple good one-liners in there:


Her (H): "Well, she is teaching me about gaining financial freedom to achieve your full potential. Wouldn't you like to live up to your full potential?"
Me (M): She's still trying to get you into The Sharing. Don't go with her. And don't mention Yeerks or she'll know and they'll get you. "I'm okay with striving to be in the middle 2/3 of people."
H: "If you were to achieve your full potential, think of all the good you could do."
M: "Or the terrible things."
H: "You can't do bad things if you're seeking your full potential."
M: I struggle not to blurt out the names Adolf Hitler, Dylan Roof, or Stephen Paddock. "Well, you never know," I say instead.
H: "So you're okay with not trying on the off chance you might hurt someone?"
M: I'm telling you, don't mention Hitler, it's going to take this conversation someplace you don't want it to go, yet. You might scare her away. "It's working so far."
H: "Don't your parents want you to achieve your full potential?"
M: "Don't know, I've never asked."
H: "What do you mean, I'm sure they do."
M: "Like I said, I never asked. Maybe they're happy with having me around to do chores and stuff."

H: "Are you really okay with just being average?"
M: "Yeah, you should try it sometime."
H: She turns slightly, staring off to the side. "No, now that I'm on this path, I can't be average."
M: "Sure you can. It's so easy to go back."
H: "Maybe we could get you a badge, "Average" and you could wear it."
M: "Yeah, a big, red A" really hoping she got the "The Scarlett Letter" reference, though probably not.
H: "Well maybe you're okay with being part of the 98% of other people."
M: "99%"
H: "Well I'm not going to be average."
M: say it, say, "No, you're just going to run a scam on the average people." Say it! No, don't do it or you'll scare her away. I say nothing as I would probably just repeat the "you could try" line. Instead I wait for her to take another angle with her pitch.

H: "You know, I used to be like you, living for the weekend, just to watch a bunch of movies, living vicariously through their lives"
M: "Yeah, now is actually a great time for television, there's so many good shows."
H: "Are you really okay with that, TV is a drug, making you into a zombie."
M: "There's some really good zombie shows on TV too."

H: "You don't want to be that person who wakes up 30, 40, 50 years in the future with just regrets."
M: "You never know, maybe I'll be dead before then."
H: she stares at me, mouth agape as if she's never heard any talk about dying like that.
M: "Seems better than living with all that regret."
H: "But if you do live that long?"
M: "Well, the trick is to just not think about those regrets."
H: "So you're just going to lie to yourself for the rest of your life?"
M: "Now you've got it."
H: "Well, unless you do something about your situation, it's not going to change overnight."
M: "Unless I win the lottery. Oh, except we don't have a lottery here. So I'd have to move to the mainland to win."
H: "You have a better chance of getting struck by lightning than winning the lottery."
M: "So the dead thing is looking more and more like the better option."
H: "That's not what I meant."

Eventually, as all things do, she got fed up and moved along

H: "You know, I can't tell if anything you've been saying is real or not. Is Alan even your real name?"
M: "That's the fun with words. It's what I have a degree in, remember."
H: "Well, words are just words unless you have action behind them."
M: "Yeah, that's why I said this is fun, it's just words."


And then she was gone. I finished up my now cold fries and tried to write more on the story I was originally working on, but couldn't, I was still on a rush from this last conversation, trying to replay it in my head as best as I could, to hold onto it. It isn't often I get a chance to play with words in a setting where I don't give a fuck.
As I drove home, my thoughts went in the opposite direction: Shit, what if she was on the level, what if she really was following a prophet, what if I just turned down Jesus? What if I was a dick to one of Jesus' new apostles? Then I started thinking about Yeerks again and it scared me back to reality. I really wanted to ask if the group she was with was "The Sharing" where they take you in, gain your trust, then put a mind-controlling brain slug in your head. But the first rule when dealing with Body Snatchers is you don't mention Body Snatchers, you know, just in case one of the Body Snatchers overhears and then they can get you.

Also, I told my family this story when I got home and both my sisters also mentioned that they were approached by someone at the mall who gave basically the same story, and apparently I was there at one of those times (though I don't really remember talking to the person). So, I'm not sure if my instincts were right on this one, or just my need to finally be an asshole to a complete stranger got the better of me. Anyways, I'm working on that other story so hopefully sometime next week ... who am I kidding, you don't care, like I said, I'm not that good a writer anyway, but it's still fun with words. And that's how I spent the second day of the New Year.