The European Review of Speculative Fiction

Book Review: Peacefire

European Review of Speculative Fiction

Andor Bochenkov


Title: Peacefire

Author: Amber Bird


Peacefire opens with a bang and never lets go. Amber Bird’s skewed take on cyberpunk drags the reader through a queered up, near future landscape of one potential dystopia waiting for us around the corner. Breezy and light in tone, it could be read as young adult or adult fiction; but Bird takes the themes of cyberpunk – high tech, low life – to a new and sometimes enlightening place. She focuses on the roots of dystopia: the disintegration of family, the loss of identity and privacy, the erosion of moral choice in a consumer culture.

Written from a female hacker’s point of view, Bird stays realistic about her character’s limitations both social and physical. Much of the book takes place on a couch, with the narrator focused on the arduous and, at times pointless, process of information gathering, coding and security intrusion. Forget what you know about tough men with electrodes stapled to their foreheads making instant cyberchoices which condemn the world. This book shines light on the demented concept of cyberpunk’s iconic macho loner. Bird shows instead a family struggling with slow motion disaster and tasting every repercussion of choices they’ve made or having lost agency, that were made for them by prior generations.

She dwells on moral agency, the thrill of the long hunt and the necessary interconnectedness of being a real person, making her cyberpunk as much a genre criticism as an adventure story.  One part morality tale, one part queer re-vision of the universe, three dashes of crazy plot twists and some romance, this book could well have been Pride, Prejudice and Global Conspiracy if Lizzie had a genderless sibling, way too much computer hardware and access to unlimited cat videos. If you aren’t queer, neuro-atypical, versed in fighting the Man or otherwise used to the weird wild universe of everyone who isn’t walking around with lots of power and privilege, then this novel might be a soft entry into the critical rejection of what starts as mansplaining and ends with the deaths of continents.

Featured post

Book Review: Space Academy Dropouts

European Review of Speculative Fiction

Andor Bochenkov

Title: Space Academy Dropouts

Author: CT Phipps

 The Germans call all-encompassing worldbuilding “gestalt.” While we may intellectually cling to the notions of plot, characters, and setting, what most science fiction readers want gestalt above all else. Luckily, we have CT Phipps who writes the same damned book over and over, only with completely different details, characters, plot, outcomes, etc. But always he delivers the exact same bat-shit bonkers over the top mix of irony, meta-awareness, post modern wit, social critique, satire, trope inversion, and did I mention sarcasm? Think Moorcock and the Eternal Champion only with 16,427% more snark, less swords but probably an equal amount of sex and violence.

With Space Academy Dropouts Phipps brings us more of the same but also better than the same. Because his Eternal Champion is the Eternal Chaos of Utopian Hypocrisy merged with the Eternal Irony of Modern Existence in a Post-Capitalist Dystopia. Bottom Line: this could be a train wreck of horrendous whiney screeds that make PETA and the Vegan/Crossfit/MLM crusaders you loathe seem nice. But nooooo. CT Phipps once again proves himself the Grandmaster of Fun-filled Disaster by adding more sex, sarcasm, wicked jokes, violence, cruelty, well timed awkwardness, and just enough social awareness to make this more Deadpool than Dead Poets Society, but with Dead or Alive playing in the backdrop 24/7.

Probably there’s a plot but why do you care? Really, you read CT Phipps for ambience and immersion, to be dragged like a dead horse across the hallucinatory terrain of his weirdo worlds filled with the most offensive yet logical yet meta-awarely incomprehensible examples of cognitive dissonance characters doing screwball things in a screwball way when not screwing or balling or otherwise (wink, wink) yet again making us think of sex. Also, there’s some obvious point to the pointlessly hilarious text pointing out all things we point to as both pointless and poignant. Point taken?

Will I continue to rad and review the novels in Phipps’ Eternal Snark of the Spotless Metanarrative Series? Yes and also yes. But probably yes. Because how can you resist anyone or anything that made the Smurfs Jewish mind reading paramours? Now multiply that by chapter after chapter and verse or plot reversals, trope inversions, sexual perversions, mental diversions, intellectual discursions, and likely somewhere not yet seen, a talking sturgeon. Bottom line: the guy’s got game. TL;DR – f&^%ing read this already.

Book Review: Rainbringer

European Review of Speculative Fiction

Andor Bochenkov

Title: Rainbringer: Zora Neale Hurston against the Lovecraftian mythos

Author: Edward M Erdelac

What more accurately portrays the monsters who bomb harbors, experiment on the poor, rape and torture their slaves, and generally view the entirety of the world as resources to be strip mined with locust-like alacrity than an amorphous group of hideous abominations standing beyond all sanity, lurking in the shadows of human decency? Rainbringer: Zora Neale Hurston against the Lovecraftian mythos sings with vibrant courage and invention. This alternate universe Hurston calls the Outer Gods “motherfuckers” and sees them as just one more inconvenience in a long line of outrages and obstacles placed in her way by the white world. By placing his Zora into the fight and showcasing her love of African culture’s influence upon American life, Erdelac sends forth a whole new way to see Lovecraft: as the prophet of American racism.

There’s a rumbling ugly culture war going on in academia started in many ways by the kinds of trailblazing ethnologists and folklorists like Hurston who challenged the pedantic and openly racist worldview of white academia. Ed knows white people and uses his intimacy of experience to transmit that unsettling and at times truly horrifying ways bigotry has stained the world. It makes sense then that the author could fill the gaps in Hurston’s academic and literary biography with a cohesive lacing of Cthulhu mythos between the real-life interstices of her studies of African syncretism, Voodon, and the Black American experience.

Here Rainbringer, servant of Yig, moves through a world where the derided underclass have viable solutions to the various grotesque and cosmically dangerous threats that oblivious whites continue to engender in the world. By embracing Lovecraft’s trope of the Other as threat, Erdelac manages to show that for the former slaves and freedom fighters who became the African American diaspora, Whiteness defines Otherness, a horror that pervades every crack in the edifice of their civilization from broken pavement to shattered souls. The mythic nature of these gods and demons demonstrates without a word spent making the analogy that there’s something far more terrifying than the cosmic indifference of loathsome gods: racism.

Book Review: Esoterrorism

European Review of Speculative Fiction

Andor Bochenkov

Title: Esoterrorism

Author: C.T.Phipps 

Somewhere, at some convention, writers sit around at three am, daring one another to write the impossible book. It’s The Night Watch, but starring Vin Diesel, filmed Bourne style by Paul Greengrass – in a book. Yeah, and the plot comes from a fanfic mash-up of NCIS and James Bond. Gasps and chuckles. With a demonic sex vampire. And an angry super powerful ex-wife. Ooh, savage. Yeah, but it’s grimdark and the fan writing it is Alan F$%ing Moore. At which point, C.T. Phipps cracked his knuckles, scoffed at danger, and produced Esoterrorism.

Still, being C.T.Phipps, he couldn’t resist sticking a giant literary fork in the eye of several prominent urban fantasy authors famous for their iconic and at times kitschy characters. You want kitschy? Esoterrorism will fill the bathtub with kitsch, then toss a toaster in while you’re soaking up the nostalgic vibes. At times rhapsodic homage to spy thrillers, at times a savage bite out of the trendiest BS served up by urban fantasy and action-adventures, the novel barrels ahead tossing its antiheros into a series of escalating disasters which embrace mind control, destiny, the nature of madness and revenge, and the burning question of what makes a person free. But, you know, with explosions and sex vampires.

As a motivated but rebellious senior agent of the Red Room, Derek Hawthorne –half dragon secret agent / seducer extraordinaire – has been slacking his way through a long career involving equal parts misery, betrayal, negotiating naked, and shooting things when something awful happens in an Ohio shopping mall. Which being a slacker seducer gunfighter killer negotiator desperado antihero he needs to overcome in classic yet eye twanging style. With sex vampires and explosions. If that doesn’t convince you to read this, what will?

The skewed universe of the Red Room submerges Derek in a world drowning with anguish, false choices, triple crosses, and well justified paranoia. But with sexy banter, explosive action, and a whole lot of spiraling chaos that tosses out a dozen Chekhov’s guns and then fires each of them into the epicenter of wherever poor Derek happens to be. Just when you’re sure Phipps has been screwing with you, he reels back the action to toss in an emotional grenade full of impossible decisions, coercion and cruelty, as well as the constant specter of the Real World’s more obvious sins of human trafficking, war profiteering, sociopaths running governments, and maybe, just maybe, our own joyful complacence in the face of monumental (and screamingly obvious) evil.

And he does it while Saving the Worldä with, yes indeed, explosions and sex vampires.

Book Review: The Rules of Supervillainy

European Review of Speculative Fiction

Andor Bochenkov

Title: The Rules of Supervillainy

Author: C.T.Phipps 

Imagine Sophocles and Voltaire got fall down drunk and bet one another they could rewrite the superhero genre using only cliches, tropes, and snark. Enter C.T Phipps’ inaugural novel in the Supervillainy Series, The Rules of Supervillainy. It’s good dumb fun with a razor blade snuck inside. Good satire distracts its audience with laughter then stabs them the sharp edge of social commentary. Phipps doesn’t bother distracting you, he just starts the fireworks and laser show, then whips out a machete and starts tearing apart cherished notions of modern mythology.

Written from the viewpoint of man conflicted by his world’s inane laissez faire attitude towards alien invasions, superhuman powers, clones and evil robots and, of course, supercriminals wearing costumes, the novel follows the antics of Merciless, who ends up being full of mercy. #irony. Phipps takes the Robot Chicken episode reimagining Harry Potter as a horny porn addled teenager and goes for it. What exactly would a realistic world look like if we accepted the insipid and spoof worthy antics of DC/Marvel/Valiant as both acceptable and normal? It would create Gary, a regular guy with a hot babe bisexual pagan wife and dead-end job, aspiring one day to rob a few banks, crush a few serial killer skulls, and wear a really bitchin’ cape.

Also Superman / Shazam is African American, the main character is Jewish, the bad guys are nazis and rapists, and all the hot babes are stronger, smarter, and more decent than the weird morally compromised menfolk. Phipps cannot resist screwing with the rules of comic plotting and the results are utterly predictable, which is the point, and utterly subversive, which is the stabby stab part. #metanarrative. The novel gets so meta the references become metareferential within the plot as well as across genres and with the trope database itself.

There’s a plot and characters and all that jazz, quite good and worth noting, but don’t let that distract you from Phipps’ main aim: to skewer every possible meme and ideal you ever had about heroics and morality. At times so dumb it’s smart and so smart it’s just dumb fun all over again, this rollercoaster has neither brakes nor safety features. The Rules turn out to be rather negotiable and probably wrong, as well as accidentally and easily broken by Merciless who manages to kill, plunder, and posture his way into a lunar supermax, meet the scary brainiac evil dude, wax poetic about sex, sexual politics, and the transient nature of love versus commitment, probably do both Kant and Hegel proud, and then while fighting zombies and serial killers, qualify pretty much half what Rosa Luxembourg and Gramsci had to say in that translation of an anthology of a synopsis you skimmed in grad school.

Will you like it? Yes. Will it make you question your easy moral stance on any number of complex and questionable things society paints as on/off black/white? Phipps hopes so.

Book Review: Monstrumfuhrer

European Review of Speculative Fiction

Andor Bochenkov


Title: Monstrumfuhrer

Author: Edward M Erdelac


Sometimes there’s a literary conceit that seems obvious but has never been done before: Pride, Prejudice, and Zombies or Iron Sky, the Nazis hiding on the moon. Edward M Erdelac takes the Frankenstein myth and imagines the Nazis under Joseph Mengele gained access to reanimating the dead. A novel about Nazi undead supersoldiers could have been a rousing B movie style pulp adventure. This is not that book. This is a soul rending Holocaust narrative meticulously researched where the body horror and desecration of Frankenstein are echoed and amplified by the reality of Nazi atrocities at Auschwitz. Monstrumfuhrer uses the justifiably grotesque process of violently raising the unwilling dead to play out the visceral cruelty and unthinkable debasement of real-life death camps.

Erdelac raises Auschwitz from the lonely bones of its present state to the living breathing circus of horrors it once was. Using the famous Mengele twin experiments as a starting place to explore man’s inhumanity to man and then extrapolates from the tangible horrors of known experiments to the suddenly plausible violations that resulted in The Creature. Just as the original novel exposed Doctor Frankenstein as the real monster, Erdelac exposes Mengele as an abomination, a perversion of both pride and intellectual pursuit. In effect he puts the notion of science for science’s sake on trial.

This reviewer happens to have an advanced degree in history with a focus on genocide. As such, Erdelac faced a much more discerning reader: the willing suspension of disbelief is that much harder when you know how the Krema worked and how ghastly the camps were. To his credit and to our horror, Monstrumfuhrer captures the sinister malice of camp life, heaping brutality upon brutality. Mindnumbing would be a good description of the text precisely because it properly catches the essence of ghetto life, camp life, the fickle fate of partisans behind enemy lines and the ultimate chaos that comes at war’s end. You can taste the ash of human flesh as it rises on the stale wind.

Nor does Erdelac spare his characters: The Creature is a thing of menace and hatred, a self-interested and amoral creature whose might give shim the right to violate others as he pleases. In his broken hero Jotham we find a child old before he was young, disfigured by the needs of survival and murdered in soul while his body remains. Around him are children less fortunate and less sane. The Romani and Sinti called the Holocaust the Porajmos, the Great Devouring. Erdelac pays them apt tribute as well as tipping his hat to gothic literature and winking at Dracula in how he manages the gypsy camp and the tensions between ethnic victims at Auschwitz.

As a horror story this novel excels. As a way to tackle the Holocaust with enough mental distance to handle the unspeakable dread of human truth, this book surprises with its intimacy and accuracy. It serves the same purpose as Jane Yolen’s The Devil’s Arithmetic, allowing the reader to step into the shocking unthinkable world of a death camp without losing a sense of self. There’s a story there too, a plot and its trappings that keep the tale going. These are almost irrelevant to what it achieves by simply taking a supernatural tale of desecration and turning it on its head.

Mary Shelly was supposedly challenged to tell the scariest story possible and she came up with Frankenstein and his creature. What Erdelac honours her memory by showing readers that we created something Nth times more terrifying through hatred, nationalism and an unwillingness to get along with our fellow humans. This could have been set in Kampuchea (Cambodia) or Rwanda or even Ancient Melos which fell to Athenian genocide. The story remains the same. By linking it to Mengele, the hideous butcher of so many innocents, he couples one sociopathic physician with another, linking Shelly to her future Europe and asking the reader to consider how we arrived at the Nazis in the 1930s. In 1818, when her manuscript saw print, already there were inklings of what a modern age might do to persons bent on evil. Monstrumfuhrer then meditates on that evil showing that while humanity had jumped forward a century in technology, it had learned no more of compassion or justice.

Book Review: Redemptor

European Review of Speculative Fiction

Andor Bochenkov


Title: Valducan Series – Redemptor

Author: Seth Skorkowsky


Seth Skorkowsky’s fourth outing with the Valducan knights promises to be a lighter more action-oriented adventure. Redemptorintroduces Vatican demon hunters aptly named Paladins who run a collision course with the disfigured corpus of the emotionally maimed Valducans. All seems clear: the Valducans and their professional rivals have demons meddling with human affairs in South America and as they give chase inevitable mayhem will result. But Redemptorraises the stakes, taking the Valducan universe to a Lovecraftian level of divine indifference. If the prior books explored the soul breaking hunger of demons and angels, of the slow corruption that both hunters and prey experience, this novel provides a breezy cheerful trapdoor to existential hell itself.

At the open, the reader staggers from grotesque corruption of human life to the next, stalking behind the hunters as they seek to prevent a major demon incursion. It takes all they have to simply fight this agent of perversion to a standstill. It’s an enduring theme of Skorkowsky’s work that in the pursuit of free will for the innocent, the tainted and the blessed alike lose themselves to forces both divine and amoral. The weapon Redemptoritself proves to be a conceit one step beyond this, a cosmic horror that eclipses that battle. In a heartbeat the book’s primary antagonist subsumes that cluster of evil almost effortlessly.

What hope do a group of hunters have against something so inexorable and vast? It’s the question to punches holes in the moral floor, putting the book into freefall. Suddenly Skorkowsky’s heart-warming inclusion of families and children, mentors and students, mutates into a sinister race against dread fate. All those vulnerable souls, all that innocent flesh amply exposed to the unloving unreasoning force of an extinction event personified. That little adventure story so full of pulp and pace becomes a kind of farce where strength of arms, even purity of soul, mean almost nothing.

Do the Valducans prevail? It’s worth a read to find out. To suffer through the bruises, broken bones and deaths to get something akin to closure. Readers won’t get a satisfying end because Redemptorhas obliterated that option. In a universe capable of such casual negation and cruelty there can be no end on a human scale. We begin to question the threads of human existence, to wonder if all this struggle has value. One could argue that’s the point of horror as a literary form: to present our struggles and question what matters. The Valducans have an answer that may surprise the innocent and jaded alike.

Book Review: Bound

European Review of Speculative Fiction

Andor Bochenkov


Title: Bound

Author: Alan Baxter


Anyone reading Bound by Alan Baxter would recognize it as an Aussie book five paragraphs in. Oz goes full throttle from the moment you arrive – the animals are there to kill you, the beaches boast waves big enough to drown the Prime Minister and the sun will roast you alive (they have monuments for the hapless many who succumbed – usually water fountains for added irony). That’s Australia and that’s Bound. It starts with a punch and never lets up. Every character is there to kill you, every scene will drown you in tragedy and suspense and the world itself has enough cruelty to burn you down to your skeleton.

Plotwise the book takes the reader down the rabbit hole to a world where magic not only exists but subverts humanity in various ways – we are not only low on the food chain but the use of magic itself tends to remove us from our humanity. It’s an almost Lovecraftian conceit which combined with the Australian landscape which comes alive and tries to murder you translates into a grimdark plunge into sex, madness, combat, betrayal and the occasional murder / snacking on a human. It gets dark from there and then darker still until we’ve got old gods fighting new ones and an incarnation of the Narns that should curdle your blood walking free in the suddenly less kind world.

In a way the actual character and plot are secondary to the world Baxter paints. What he’s introduced us to is a very brutal universe where humanity lives in dangerous ignorance while corrupt powers collide in a bid for power and control. In that world any character can be explored and one suspects Baxter will do so in subsequent books. In such a universe the only sane men are those who fight and whose violent demarcation of their boundaries and limits define their humanity. Bound serves up several examples of that struggle. Both villain and hero alike claw their way through Baxter’s cruel cosmos – failure leads to extinction, survival leads to evolution and perhaps to extinction of a different sort. No one exits the book unscathed neither in body nor soul. Read it at your peril, because the novel has bite and it will like its plagued world, leave some proper scars.

Book Review: Valducan Series

European Review of Speculative Fiction

Andor Bochenkov


Title: Valducan Series – Dämoren, Hounacier, Ibenus

Author: Seth Skorkowsky


If there’s a difference between Urban Fantasy and Horror, it’s in the intimacy of the violence. Seth Skorkowsky will make you cringe in all the right ways. Disguised as a supernatural adventure, his Valducan series will keep you up late into the night long after the adrenaline gives way to terror. I tried reading the whole series in one go and made it halfway through Ibenus before my lizard brain called a timeout. Why? Because Skorkowsky crafts the details finely enough to make your skin crawl and his central conceit, that demons have invaded our world and live among us feels almost true. That verisimilitude accompanied by lots of obviously well researched details relies on a fine hand attuned to swap the slow and fast, the intimate and epic. As a result, the pace for each book drives mood and tone as much as they deliver plot. The Valducan series creates an atmosphere of existential dread that proves both unrelenting and untenable: you read to be rid of the shadows lurking behind you, to find some comfort in what you pray will be closure and safety, if not a happy ending.

The series starts with Dämoren which should read like a gunfighter meets monsters adventure. It starts out with the right kinds of clichés – the gruff hero, the mysterious past that worries the supporting cast, monstrous monsters and danger with an exclamation point. If the book had sound effects, there’d be a 90s style record scratch as Skorkowsky runs the whole narrative off the rails and plunges the reader into the heart of hell. The clichés evolve into living breathing characters who befuddle one another make painful mistakes and get people killed. The demons of Valducan should sicken the strong of heart and for folks who nauseate easily, read this with ginger ale by your side table. The heroes might not be much better and this takes a simple premise, hunter vs hunted and becomes a moral passion play that pits obsessed, perhaps even mad modern paladins against beings of ageless hunger and rage. Dämoren dares us to question whether we should tolerate evil to prevent evil and to what degree we can address moral or ethical questions under duress. Skorkowsky showcases every imaginable form of physical and emotional coercion leaving the reader to supply moral context. There are protagonists here, but they might murder one another before book’s end. There are villains too, some antagonists, others plot drivers and such. But the world itself, the physics of demonic possession and the nature of the Valducan’s spiritual bond with their weapons delivers the most visceral impact. In a world where malign spirits seek to worm their ravenous way into our reality through innocent flesh, is there any price we should not pay to prevent this? Dämoren both asks and answers that question.

Hounacier picks up where the last book left us – emotionally crippled and wishing we never knew the truth. Skorkowsky then shows us the next level of Hell, when he pits his most intelligent, successful and one intuits powerful hunter against the brutal truths of a pitiless universe. Readers experience first-hand what it means to be powerless before the horror of invasion and possession. Here’s a hero or rare self understanding and control, one whose only weaknesses are love and perhaps regret for not exploring it more in a world that punishes such extravagances. He’s traveled everywhere but cannot avoid the reckoning at home. Nor can we, because Hounacier drags us kicking and screaming past the vault of sanity into the monsters’ worlds. It shows us what we have most feared, that it’s so much worse than we expected. These things from beyond know us, are the worst of us and they shape our lives, have crafted and molded our world to be a playground for their pleasures. They love and breed – they make children who covet our world and bodies. In a fittingly Lovecraftian sense of powers beyond human scope toying with our flesh, the novel tears apart any comfortable assurances you might have had about luck, fate and safety in the Valducan world. Only the stained knights whose brutal, often sociopathic existence makes their own messes stand between you and the End. Skorkowsky shows proper understanding of indigenous spirituality and Voodon, bringing the colorful and dangerous world of the Crossroads and its menagerie of Powers to vivid and, at times, painful life.

Ibenus seems like a nice distraction from the Valducan series’ prior descents into betrayal, torture, madness and hard won redemption. Don’t be fooled, Skorkowsky only wants you to relax long enough to gut punch you with a whole new level of angst. Ibenus ups the game for the series by giving readers a front row seat to watch the dance between would be knights and their weapons. This time the horror creeps up slowly, masked by break neck pacing and an international cast of scary hooligans and beasts. The main villain turns out to be human frailty – whether in trusting the wrong person, loving the wrong woman or simply choosing emotions over the strict protocols of the knighthood. Not to worry, Skorkowsky provides another set of spiritual no-win situations as characters have to choose between what’s mandated and what’s right. In this world saturated with the prospects of looming assassination, the hunters always hunted, no choice matters except locally. Every path leads to death or madness, perhaps delayed by the stalwart efforts of the Valducan knights. Ibenus delineates how large a price each knight must pay to stand between the world and its demons. That’s what the Valducan series delivers: a horrific landscape of deeply flawed choices that cannot set the scales right. There is only survival and regrouping, a waging of battle between epic forces, some ruthless in the extreme, others malicious beyond reason. All the good comes from humanity whose sacrifices and compromises transform the series from a cracking good set of reads into a moral tempest. For it is by human light that ancient beings find meaning and while we are led to believe some presences, alien and monstrous, have found a way to battle demons in the material plane, it’s the steadfast courage of the knights who dare love and trust in a world devoid of both that we draw hope.

Book Review: Grayshade

European Review of Speculative Fiction

Andor Bochenkov


Title: Grayshade

Author: Gregory Wilson

Sometimes a book turns out better than it has any right to. Somehow Grayshade, which starts as a genre comforting spin on gritty fantasy and feels like a shared world built by gamers, turns into something more, something intriguing and seductive. Titled after the narrator, a religiously driven killer, author Gregory Wilson takes his unreliable narrator through the wringer and out to a new place beyond the reader’s expectations. When you forget the author and fully give in to the verisimilitude of the worldbuilding, you know you’ve got a winner.

Wilson paints his wider world with spare references to places beyond the ken of Grayshade, the fanatic assassin who begins to question his purpose and more impotently begins to suffer. Wilson’s an English professor and it shows – his allusions to classical literature are many and well placed. Shades of the blind Tiresias who finally sees echo as Grayshade goes from murder to doubt to potential protector. More than anything else, this fast paced adventure evolves in its finessed transformation of the narrator. “Like Flowers for Algernon” or “Time Considered as a Helix of Semi-precious Stones” Wilson wraps the revelatory and morally important nature of his main character’s journey in a great story.

We ache for Grayshade as he learns about the world outside him, not just geographically beyond the little city where his cult reigns supreme but beyond his mental walls. Wilson keeps the hints spare and action flowing; he does not ever sacrifice a scene for exposition. So there’s a mystery here for the reader to solve, a set of breadcrumbs set out like tiny clues and embedded Easter Eggs that make the process of getting to the denouement much sweeter. Plus, it’s just plain fun. What should be a shady guy (literary pun intended by Wilson?) who “learns his lesson” and becomes one of the good / not so shady guys becomes a timely study in the price of fanaticism and the burden of violent faith. Look for the book and be prepared to wait for the sequel. Grayshade will get under your skin.

Blog at

Up ↑