August 2011

Finally we have an urban fantasy author writing about something other than werewolves and vampires devoid of their mythological undercurrents.  Kevin Hearne’s Hexed takes us back to the roots of all the mythological creatures which have dominated much of fantasy for hundreds of years, but with a welcome change of scenery. Hexed follows Atticus O’Sullivan, one of the last remaining Druids in a world in which all of our myths and religions are “true.”  Gods roam the Earth, the Virgin Mary sometimes shows up to help the homeless, and witches wreak havoc.  It’s that last group which has caused Atticus a lot of grief.  He and a local coven of witches have crossed paths before, and people have died as a result — mostly the witches.  But all that is over with now, because a new threat, the Bacchants, has shown up in Arizona to take the city of Tempe for themselves by crashing it deep into the worst of human selfishness and debauchery.  And the best allies are sometimes you most recent enemies… I keep saying that I am not an urban fantasy fan, and then I read a really good urban fantasy book like Hexed and have to eat my words.  Hearne’s novel is simply a great deal of fun, and it’s also quite refreshing. While many of the stock urban fantasy “creatures” are present here, the novel itself avoids doing the same old nonsense, perhaps because the main character is an Irish Druid instead of a tramp-stamped clone.  Atticus as a character is not only “new” — in the sense that his character “type” hasn’t been seen very often — but also fascinating.  Hearne writes him with a modest sense of self-confidence, which I found rather endearing.  Here is a character who has an extraordinary amount of power, who occasionally gets a little cocky about it, but knows when he’s been outmatched (though he wouldn’t tell his enemies as much, seeing how that would be stupid).  Since we’re in his head, however, we get to learn who Atticus is in a very intimate way, a feature that gives Hexed an extra edge.  First person is hard to do, too, but Hearne manages it with flare.  (One example of “flare” I can’t help bringing up, even if it’s not the best written of Hearne’s near-nerdfests, is when Atticus and Oberon, his canine companion, have a brief discussion pertaining to why a local road is suspiciously like Mos Eisley; if you don’t get the joke, then something is wrong with you.) One of the other interesting aspects of Hexed is how Hearne has taken most, if not all, of the major or memorable forms of religion and inserted them firmly into the real.  While Atticus “worships” (though that’s the wrong word) the Celtic gods of his origin, others adhere to a strictly Abrahamic faith (Christianity primarily), while still others stick to their Native American or “dead religion” roots.  I couldn’t help finding it endlessly amusing, especially when traditional figures of the various faiths make an appearance in Hearne’s book (such as the Virgin Mary, various Celtic gods, and plenty of mentions of the Norse varieties).  Most interesting is what the book suggests about the various human myths:  that co-existence is not that far from possible, so long as you accept that a world which takes the supernatural at face value would inevitably present the supernatural as strangely less-than-powerful than our ancestors seem to remember them.  Hearne’s world is one in which gods can die, albeit with great difficulty.  They all have weaknesses, and many of the gods, true to their mythological nature, play power games to off one another (just as humans do, which perhaps explains why so many of our various versions of mythological faith are about gods and creatures that are suspiciously human in personality).  Placing Atticus in the middle of this, in the field of the mortals as opposed to the realms of the gods, lets us imagine (and see) what surviving in a world of vindictive and egotistical deities is really like — granted, with a heavy dose of humor and snark. The only things that presented problems for me as a reader were:  a) the way Atticus sometimes presented information; and b) the distinct feeling that there was supposed to be a book prior to this that I hadn’t read yet.  The former is a result of the first person narration, which occasionally falls prey to matter-of-fact telling in chapters.  Atticus reminds us too often of details we need to know, without attempting to find other ways to convey the same information; these moments sometimes pulled me out of the story, but they also bothered me because they reflect the fundamental flaw of the first person narrator:  namely, that presenting information in FP is uniquely challenging if one intends to avoid the pitfalls of telling. The latter is a problem that the publishers should have fixed from the start.  Hounded, which precedes Hexed chronologically, should be read first, something which I could only find by comparing publication dates.  Some of the events that happen in that book are at play, at least peripherally, in Hexed, and most of those events shape Atticus in ways which become important to later volumes.  While jumping into the middle doesn’t detract from the strength of Hearne’s story, I would still avoid doing so in exchange for a better reading experience. But don’t take the previous two paragraphs as a reason for avoiding this book.  Unless you dislike first person narration, Hexed‘s main character is a joy to read.  Perhaps the only thing lacking for Atticus is character development (in terms of “growth” as opposed to “presentation”).  But what I learned about him by the end of the book allowed me to see Hexed for what it is:  a darkly humorous game of fiddling with the encyclopedia of myths that have and continue to dominate our modern world.  Atticus comes through as a strong character with a fun personality; the

Erin Hoffman’s debut novel is a traditional high fantasy romp formed from the ashes of a collaborative project.  It’s origins are a bit unusual in a field of secondary world fantasies created by individuals with Tolkien on the mind, and the effort to move beyond the collaboration shows in the development of the world’s magic system, mechanics and all.  As a novel, Sword of Fire and Sea leaves something to be desired, but as a fantasy adventure, it hits all the right marks. Vidarian, a reputable ship captain, gets caught up in a complex web of magic-wielding priestesses when he reluctantly agrees to ferry fire priestess Ariadel to a safe haven.  There, the priestesses hope, the Vkortha, their mortal enemies, will not be able to find Ariadel, whose abilities might threaten Vkorthan power.  But the journey takes Vidarian and his crew through dangerous waters, where pirates and sorceresses await.  Yet more shockingly, the journey reveals a destiny that Vidarian never knew he had, one which puts the fate of the world in his hands:  in the end, he will have to choose between one future and another, digging through centuries of myth and legends to find the right “choice.” One the interesting things about Hoffman’s novel is its bipolar adherence to the traditional forms of fantasy.  While at the heart of the narrative can be found a cliche “chosen one” story in the form of Vidarian, the narrative also takes away the security of knowing what is the “right choice” for the mythical figure.  Vidarian not only must choose which future is the right one for his world, but he must also do so without knowing for sure which choice is the right one, all while fending off Imperial soldiers who want to prevent him from making any choice whatsoever and others who want him to choose one path or another.  The novel never betrays its answers in this regard, which might help boost it above other high fantasy novels floating out there. But beyond that, Sword of Fire and Sea is essentially an adventure fantasy akin to the adventure novels of the romantic period.  There isn’t anything wrong with this, but it is important to recognize.  A great deal of the novel is occupied with action:  ships in combat, the heroes fighting back enemies of various shapes and sizes, heavy uses of magic, searching for enormous mystical creatures and combating unknowns.  Thankfully, the novel avoids the pitfalls of D&D dungeon crawlers.  While the characters do have to “collect things” in order to succeed in their mission, Hoffman avoids making such collecting about fighting back nameless, faceless monsters in “secret places” (a.k.a. a dungeon or magical forest).  The people involved in stopping Vidarian and Ariadel are the very people one wouldn’t expect to turn their backs, which adds some depth to a novel which doesn’t show itself as particularly “deep” (as most adventure novels don’t, even when “depth” does exist). In many respects, Hoffman’s balance between adventure, manipulated cliche, and character make for a compelling novel that is a lot of fun to read.  Personally, I am not an adventure fantasy fan, and I have a very short leash for the trappings of the fantasy genre.  But Sword of Fire and Sea navigated those trappings in a way that allowed me to get lost in the excitement.  If not for all of the characters being adults, you might expect this story to show up on your young adult shelves, enticing teenagers (and the adults like me who sometimes pretend to be teenagers) with its magic and wonder.  There’s something to be said about the way we read YA fantasy, as opposed to fantasy marketed for an adult audience (in which teenagers undoubtedly implant themselves, because they like Tolkien and GRRM too).  But that’s something to think about later. The adventurous nature of Sword of Fire and Sea, however, is also where a some of Hoffman’s flaws can be found.  While enjoyable, the novel often moves too swiftly, jumping through significant moments of conflict to get the characters to the next “level.”  The result is a lack of tension for many important aspects of the novel.  Yes, Vidarian often must fight against unusual things, sometimes at overwhelming odds, but his success in these ventures sometimes feels too easy; he rarely sheds blood, or Hoffman allows her characters to escape.  One examples involves the fire priestesses, in which Vidarian and his companions learn and ugly truth and are trapped by the Vkortha.  Without much in the way of physical conflict, they manage to escape, taking flight in a gryphon-pulled basket that conveniently lay in wait.  There are other instances like this; each of them detracts from the worry we should have as readers that something might actually happen to Vidarian or his friends.  Of course, things do happen to them, but I would have liked some of the physical conflicts to take part in those “happenings.”  Largely speaking, the physical conflicts in Sword of Fire and Sea serve to maintain the adventure narrative. One other aspect of the novel which is given weak treatment is the growing romance between Vidarian and Ariadel.  Their relationship develops far too swiftly, the result of which is a strain on our ability to suspend disbelief.  Hoffman skips a lot of time early in the novel in order to avoid pages and pages of people walking on the deck of a ship, but more scenes between Vidarian and Ariadel might have helped show how they went from mere acquaintances to close friends to lovers.  Without such scenes, the romance comes out of nowhere and Vidarian’s motives for much of the last half of the book lack the power needed to justify his actions. Despite this, however, the book is a load of fun, and it does leave a lot of interesting questions to be answered in future volumes.  Unlike some traditional fantasy narratives, Vidarian’s stint as a “chosen one” ends in the first book, hinting that what will occupy