Kam

London: one of the most cosmopolitan cities in the world, a reputation it has held since it rose in status from a backwater town on the Roman frontier to the capital of one of the greatest countries in Europe. An economic, historical, and cultural center, it has been at the heart of or been involved in some of the greatest events of Western history.

In other words, it is a city with character: an indefinable something that shapes the feel of a city and of the people who are born and live in it. It also means that, as the setting for writers to use in their stories, it is one that provides endless possibilities for variation, to the point that London itself becomes a character in its own right. In the hands of a writer like Charles Dickens, for instance, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, London becomes not just a mere backdrop for Miss Havisham or Sherlock Holmes: it takes on a life of its own, and is as vitally important to the work as the characters and the plot.

In Ben Aaronovitch's Peter Grant books, this is most certainly the case. Rivers of London, the first book in the series, introduced Aaronovitch's London of magic, wizards, genii locorum and so much more, as seen through the eyes of Peter Grant, a cop and apprentice wizard who must ensure that the Queen's Peace is maintained not only in the mundane world, but also - or most especially - in the supernatural world as well. Apprenticed to Thomas Nightingale, Grant becomes the first apprentice wizard since the end of World War II. Rivers of London details how Grant became Nightingale's apprentice, and how he solves two very big, and very important cases: one is a turf war between the genii locorum of London's rivers (hence the title); and the other the exorcism of Mr. Punch, the embodiment of the spirit of mayhem and chaos particular to London. However, not everyone emerged unscathed: Nightingale was nearly killed, and Lesley May, Grant's partner, nearly had her face destroyed by Mr. Punch.

Moon Over Soho picks up where Rivers of London left off. It has been a few months since the end of events in the first book, and everything seems to be going relatively smoothly so far. For instance, Lesley and Nightingale seem to both be recovering fairly well from their injuries (devastating though Lesley's may have been), and the truce between the rivers of London still holds. However, a new pair of cases has emerged that Grant needs to solve: one is a rash of mysterious deaths of jazz musicians, and the other concerns a young woman who has been killing men by cutting their penises off - a character that made an appearance towards the end of the previous novel, but whose identity will finally be resolved in Moon Over Soho.

This novel has certain interesting aspects to it that were not seen in the previous novel. First would definitely have to be Grant's family. It is mentioned in Rivers of London that Grant's father is a jazz musician, but it is only in Moon Over Soho that the reader truly gets to see him and Grant's mother. As it turns out, Grant's father is more than just an average musician: he is known in the jazz circles of Soho as “Lord Grant,” a nickname he gained while still a young man, and the nickname by which he is still known - and respected. It turns out that Lord Grant's jazz career was cut short primarily because of mouth or lip cancer, which has left him unable to play his favorite instrument, the trumpet. However, he is attempting to revive his flagging career by shifting to another instrument, the keyboard. Lord Grant also provides one of the crucial clues that helps Grant solve the mystery regarding the death of several jazz musicians.

And speaking of jazz, I rather enjoyed how important it is in this novel. Many jazz aficionados would approve of the idea that jazz is magical, and it is quite obvious that Aaronovitch tries to make that as true as possible in Moon Over Soho without going overboard - mostly by making Grant have neutral feelings about the genre. He might be the son of a jazz legend, but Grant does not have very strong feelings about it as a whole. He likes it, but is not totally devoted to it. I would have appreciated a playlist of sorts, actually, of the songs that appear in the story, as well as a few more that are in the spirit of the music in the novel. Such a playlist is not necessary to the enjoyment of the novel, of course, but it would have been a nice touch for readers who want to explore the genre.

Another interesting idea put forward in the novel is the idea that it is the force of will that creates magic. If one wishes for something hard enough, for instance, or simply thinks about something hard enough, whatever it is one wishes for or thinks about comes true or comes into being. It is this strength of willpower over the universe that creates the jazz vampires: the entities that are killing the jazz musicians in Soho. They (for there are three of them) are survivors of the bombing of a jazz club during the Blitz, and from that time onwards have been feeding on the energies of jazz musicians, something which keeps them young and beautiful into the twenty-first century. Through the force of their will, they have created themselves into supernatural creatures, and moreover, do not seem to be aware of it - either that, or are capable of ignoring it most of the time. Grant isn't quite sure which it is. The notion is an intriguing one, and one which will hopefully be explored in later novels.

Moon Over Soho also introduces “the greater enemy”: a coterie of evil wizards, one of whose members is known as the Faceless Man. He is in charge of the Pale Lady, the mysterious young woman whose victims have been left behind without their penises - because, as it turns out, the Pale Lady has what is known as vagina dentata, and she removes her victims' penises by literally biting them off. The introduction of evil wizards and a “greater enemy” at this point in the series is certainly necessary, because Grant and Nightingale will need a more definite opponent in the coming books, but I cannot help but think it is all a bit too contrived at this stage. It is as if the author is aware that there will be more books forthcoming, and the introduction of the Faceless Man and the mystery of who is behind him seems like a deliberate setup instead of a natural outgrowth of the progress of the story.

I cannot help but wonder: is London experiencing some kind of dearth of supernatural mayhem ever since Mr. Punch was eliminated that the introduction of the evil wizards is necessary? Can there not be some other kind of evil coming Grant and Nightingale's way, like maybe some mysterious goings-on at Westminster Abbey, for instance? Or what about the Tower? And Oxford seems like a prime setting for trouble of the supernatural kind.

I am also a bit leery about what happens to Lesley at the end of the novel. The novel concludes with Grant paying Lesley a visit, and finding out that she can work magic. He is not quite certain what could have given her that talent, though he speculates it is a result of her possession by Mr. Punch. I found the introduction of that element towards the end a bit contrived as well. Was it truly necessary for Lesley to have magic? Could she not have been another mundane working in the magical world, like Dr. Walid, for instance? I think it would have been better if Lesley's discovery of her talent came about slowly, while working alongside Grant and Nightingale.

Moon Over Soho is, simply put, not as jaw-dropping as Rivers of London, for reasons I have mentioned above. But despite being weaker than the first novel, it is still a great read. Grant's voice is still fun, and the narration still has that wry sense of humor that I find endlessly funny and entertaining. Recurring characters are still as interesting as they were in Rivers of London (Nightingale is more human in this one) and new characters are just as intriguing (look out for the “Muslim ninja”). And London, as Aaronovitch depicts it, is still as wonderfully insane as it was in the first book.

For a sequel, it's not bad at all.

One of the very first martial arts I developed an interest in was fencing. I remember watching the 1993 Disney version The Three Musketeers, starring a very young Chris O'Donnell and Kiefer Sutherland, and absolutely adoring the action depicted onscreen: sword-blades flashing quicksilver-bright as thrusts and counter-thrusts were delivered, all mingled with witty retorts and daring escapes. To be sure, a lot of the action wasn't entirely period-accurate (the movie owes a lot to Hong Kong action movies in terms of visuals), but it was enough to lead me to Dumas' original text, which I read over and over again throughout high school - usually when I ought to have been reading things like The Catcher in the Rye (I cannot count the number of times I've imagined Athos slapping Holden across the mouth for being too whiny). I still go back to read the novel every so often, revisiting my favorite moments and scenes when I need some quick mental decompression.

Perhaps as a result of the prevalence of The Three Musketeers in all its forms, it's been difficult not to think of it when one reads about fencing in books, or sees it in movies. It's also very likely that a lot of writers have Dumas' book at some point in time, and so find themselves influenced by it. However, a good writer who writes about fencing will do his or her level best to avoid copying Dumas' work or characters. Not all succeed, of course, but those who do are incredibly fun to read. A personal favorite of mine is Arturo P??rez-Reverte, who wrote (and is still writing) the Captain Alatriste series of novels, set in Spain at more or less the same time as The Three Musketeers. Captain Alatriste is not, however, merely a copy of The Three Musketeers set in Spain, mostly because it is a far darker, far grittier rendering of the period - a testament to the fact that P??rez-Reverte was a war correspondent for a while before settling down to become a novelist.

Since I discovered P??rez-Reverte's books, however, I stopped finding interesting fencing novels. I suspect that it mostly had to do with the increase in popularity of wuxia films and the increased interest in Eastern martial arts. I suspect this has to do with the seeming “impracticality” of fencing, which, given how it's portrayed in the movies, comes as no surprise, albeit unfortunate.

When I stumbled across K.J. Parker's novel Sharps, however, I was more than happy to pick it up. Parker has quite the reputation as a capital novelist, and though I hadn't read any of her/his books (no one knows Parker's gender; s/he is pulling something of a Salinger at the moment), I viewed Sharps as an opportunity to experience her/his writing before dedicating myself to her/his longer works like The Fencer Trilogy (more fencing, yay!) and The Engineer Trilogy.

Fortunately, Sharps has proven to be quite the fun read, and as unlike The Three Musketeers as a fencing novel can get. This, it must be said, is a very, very good thing.

One thing one must remember about The Three Musketeers is that it's a rather light-hearted story - in particular if one hasn't quite read the novel and has focused only on the first half of the novel, dealing with the theft and recovery of Queen Anne's necklace. I suppose the reason why this part get portrayed in film so often is because it has romance, action, intrigue, and, to a degree, a happy ending that separates it from the darker, more depressing content of the second half of the novel.

This is not the case in Sharps. To be sure, there are certain parallels, but a lot of Sharps - an overwhelming lot of it - is very different from The Three Musketeers, beginning with the characters. At the core of the novel is a group of five characters: Suidas Deutzel, a three-time fencing champion; Aduluscentulus “Addo” Carnufex, the son of an important military general; Iseutz Bringas, the daughter of minor nobility; Giraut Bryennius, a banker's son; and Jilem Phrantzes, a former fencing champion and long since retired from the scene. They form the “national team” of their home country, Scheria, and are being sent on to the neighboring country of Permia (which was once at war with Scheria) as part of a “peace mission” involving matches between Scheria's best fencers and Permia's best, since everyone in Permia is crazy about Scherian fencing.

On the surface, all of this makes sense, and doesn't seem suspicious in the least. But as the story progresses, it becomes very obvious that something's going on underfoot, and nothing - and no one - is quite what it seems, or who he or she says they are.

That's one of the interesting things about this novel: the characters are all unreliable narrators. The narrative style of the novel is mostly in third-person limited, and it does a lot of jumping around amongst the characters, giving the protagonists, and a few of the supporting characters, a chance to speak up. Despite this, however, it's difficult to figure out who is telling the truth and who isn't, because for the most part they're lying not only to the reader, but to themselves, as well. There are also a lot of moments wherein the reader is aware of the narrator's gender, but cannot identify who the narrator is, precisely, until at some later point in the novel when everything begins to come together and all the clues finally begin to make sense.

The characters themselves are interesting, for the most part - especially since none of them want to be on the team in the first place, except for Iseutz. The beginning of the novel primarily concerns itself with explaining how certain members got onto the team in the first place: Suidas was extremely broke and needed the money; Giraut killed a Senator and joined in order to avoid jail and execution; and Phrantzes was blackmailed into it by having his properties and his wife seized, with the former going to the bank, and the latter to a convent.

Another interesting thing is that the characters are far from the most normal. Right from the get-go, the reader will be drawn to Suidas: a former soldier and extremely talented fencer, who has been given the dubious honor of being team captain. The thing about Suidas, though, is that he isn't quite right in the head: a spectacularly traumatic incident during the previous war against Permia has left him with some very deep emotional scars that result in him going into berserker-like rage during which he is capable of decimating an entire military unit and emerging from the encounter almost unscathed. For the most part he comes off as capable, if impatient and rude at times, but with undercurrents of cunning that don't really come out until much later - and it's those undercurrents of cunning that I appreciate the most about him. The rest of it seems a little contrived, particularly the berserker bit, but it works in the context of the story so it's not so bad.

Giraut is also interesting, if only because he feels like a regular person caught up in extraordinary circumstances. His initial portrayal as the spoiled son of a wealthy banker eventually comes apart, revealing him to be a coward and something of an idiot, incapable of truly understanding what's going on around him, but it's those flaws that make him interesting - to me, anyway. He's actually refreshingly normal as a character: neither heroic nor extremely intelligent, more prone to scratching his head in confusion than actually comprehending what he's just done or what's going on. The only thing he has really going for him is his extraordinary luck: pretty much everyone gets really badly hurt in the course of the novel, but Giraut makes it through with minimal injuries. That luck, of course, can be a little irritating at times, because it feels a little too much like deus ex machina, but it's really the only way a guy like Giraut can make it through this entire story to the very end. In a slasher flick, he would be the character the audience thinks will be the first one dead, but turns out to be the sole survivor.

Iseutz is confusing, to say the least. The “sob story” that lands her in this team of misfits is pretty typical: she's trying to dodge an arranged marriage because she doesn't want to be the "perfect society lady" her parents want her to be. Upon first encountering her, it's possible that the reader would want nothing more than to gag her, or stab her so she finally shuts up: she's the whiniest, most irritating female character I've ever come across in a long while. There are times when the reader may be tempted to run her through the mouth with her own sword (which does happen, kind of, towards the latter third of the novel), but it becomes clear later on that, while Iseutz's whining is incredibly irritating to both the characters and the reader, her complaints have a point; it's just that the way she voices them makes it difficult to like her. In truth, she's the least easiest of the characters to really like, and this can be rather troubling for readers - such as myself - who like reading about female characters who do not fall into that pit of “whining nagger.” Some of that feeling may be cleared up towards the middle of the novel, or it may not. Either way, Iseutz is not likely to win many fans, which is unfortunate for a novel like this and for a character with so much potential.

And then there is Addo. At first he seems quite colorless, very much like his reason for being there: he was ordered to by his father, but he becomes a bit more interesting as the novel progresses - especially once he takes everything in hand himself, because Phrantzes is proving to be a bit useless as a coach, and Suidas can be quite undiplomatic. During the very first part of the story he doesn't stand out much, but later on he comes into his own, and he makes for a pretty good character - especially since he's the reluctant villain in all of this, sent by his father to kill the Permian leaders and begin war again. He can be easy to glance over at times, but that's part of what makes him an enjoyable character to read about: so much about him is unexpected. He does, however, suffer from some deus ex machina as well: all of his talents are commonly brushed off as being expected, because he's his father's son. There is a particular scene in the first third of the novel, wherein Addo mentions he has photographic memory, and it does come in handy in some subsequent events, but it's never mentioned or seemingly used afterwards. It's interesting, make no mistake, but it seems a bit like a throwaway thing that was useful only for that brief moment in the story and then forgotten because it served no other purpose.

Finally, there's Phranztes: the sorriest character in this entire novel. It's easy to pity him: at his age he ought to be settling down to a quiet life with his new wife, but is unable to do so because he has to deal with this fiasco. It's also rather hard to see the point of his being there, at all: he feels more like a red herring for the other characters, an attempt to distract the reader by putting him forward as the possible cause of all the insanity in Permia when in truth it's actually Addo and Suidas who are the agents involved in this elaborate game. He does, however, have the advantage of being a character the reader can immediately like: it's easy to sympathize with his plight, and his characterization isn't as polarizing as Iseutz's or maybe Giraut's. In many ways he draws the reader into the misfit team, acting as a center upon which the reader may rest when all the other characters drive one up the wall.

As for the plot, well, that's where the real fun of this novel lies. It's pretty clear to the reader early on in the novel that something's going on, and whatever it is, it's not going to be pleasant. There's discontent and mysterious machinations going on in the high circles of politics in both Permia and Scheria, because someone wants the war to start all over again. Certain factions - the same ones that sent the team to Permia in the first place - are trying their hardest to prevent the war, but they can only sit on their hands, and hope that all goes well. The unraveling of the mystery is incredibly well done: there were quite a few unexpected twists, particularly towards the end. There are hints and clues scattered throughout the first two-thirds of the novel, and it's really up to the reader to figure out how they fit together. It's been a while since I encountered a plot as thick with intrigue as this, and I'm very pleased to have found it - I certainly didn't find it in The Three Musketeers, that's for sure.

And now that I mention The Three Musketeers, there's one other thing that this novel does better than Dumas' work: describing fencing. This can be a point of frustration or a point of fascination for the reader, but it must be said that Parker is to be congratulated for using proper fencing terms in this novel. It will likely take some research to get all the terms right (I know I did), but there's a sense of satisfaction to be had when one knows what “demi-volte” means, or what measures have to do with stabbing one's opponent.

Overall, Sharps is a ridiculously fun story, at least in terms of its plot: the twists and turns can be unexpected, and the fencing is impeccably described. The characters are pretty interesting, too, but do have some flaws that might be deal-breakers for some readers, or which might not matter if the reader is willing to ignore them. Iseutz, in particular, is problematic, but this may be because I myself prefer a particular type of female character, and Iseutz does not fit into that mold as perfectly as I want her to. This appears to be the type of novel that a reader can enjoy, nor not enjoy, according to his or her own preferences, and it really does take reading it to figure that out.

I am one of those people who can be skeptical of hype. I don???t think too negatively of it, and in fact hype will usually make me curious, but I do tend to raise my eyebrows at anything that has a lot of hype attached to it. There have been enough times when I???ve believed in the hype, and been disappointed to find that whatever is being hyped doesn???t quite live up to the expectations generated by the hype.

But sometimes, there are books that live up to the hype - and, even more rarely, exceed it. They don???t happen often, but when they do, I tend to find books that make me scream and shriek with delight, that force me to resist the urge to cry in the middle of my workplace, that have me reaching for my cellphone so I can send a text to Hope because I have no one else to talk to about the book in question (because she???s usually the one who gets me into the book in the first place). When such a book comes into my life, I hold it in high regard, and hold it very dear, because they happen only so very rarely.

So when I first started seeing Katherine Addison???s The Goblin Emperor floating up at the usual places I haunt on the Internet, and saw the praise that was being heaped upon it, I was curious, but not entirely ready to jump on that bandwagon just yet. I was the same with Ann Leckie???s Ancillary Justice earlier this year: there was so much praise being heaped on it that I didn???t know if I wanted to get into it right away. It???s not because the people praising the book are questionable: the praise was coming from authors that I loved to read, and whom I respected. I guess I just didn???t want to jump onto the bandwagon when everyone else was on it because it would influence my opinion of the book.

But Hope? I trust Hope, and she is free to influence me any way she wishes. So, hot on the heels of my finishing Jeff VanderMeer???s Authority, and while I was in the middle of writing a review for Annihilation, she called me to tell me that she???d read The Goblin Emperor, and that I should read it too, because the hype was real, and she needed someone to talk to about it so could I please read it already?

And that night, I picked it up, and found it very, very hard to stop, practically inhaling it over the course of perhaps three days during the long downtimes I have at my new job. And she was, as always, very right: The Goblin Emperor lives up to the hype, and more, at least for me, because in a way, I feel like it was perfectly crafted specifically for me.

Set in a fantasy world inhabited by elves and goblins, The Goblin Emperor is the story of Maia, the youngest, half-goblin son of the Emperor of the Elflands. Cast aside almost from his birth, Maia never once thought that he would sit upon the throne his father currently ruled from. After all, he had a handful of older half-brothers, all of whom were more favoured by his father and therefore in a better position to inherit the throne. But when his father and his brothers all suddenly die, he is the last legitimate heir to Empire - and he has almost no choice except to take the throne, lest the entire country descend into civil war.

And so Maia, who has no experience of court politics, and no desire to play them if he can, must now find a way to hold onto his newfound position, threading his way through this labyrinth of a world that he???d never expected to be caught up in, and hope that he can keep his throne - and his life.

I mentioned earlier that this book felt like it was crafted specifically for me. To understand why I say that, it helps to know that I absolutely adore any book that deals with court intrigue. I enjoy more action-oriented books, of course, but I have an enormous soft spot in my heart for books that devote time to the deadly games played in throne rooms and court councils and in more private, secret moments: scenes wherein a well-placed word, or even a smile, can bring immense change. Writing action scenes presents its own unique challenge, but I am a mite more appreciative of scenes that depict court intrigue well.

The Goblin Emperor is practically ninety percent court intrigue. Once Maia enters the Imperial Palace, he very rarely leaves its confines and immediate vicinity, and almost all the action has to do with how he interacts with the denizens of the court. Maia himself is not the violent sort, and so most of the fighting back that he does (such as it is, given his personality) has to do with what he does (or does not) do and/or say, and how he says and/or does it. The other characters comment upon (and react to) his words and his actions, for better or for worse, and Maia has to respond to those actions and words in his own way. Most moments of tension involve, not actual physical violence, but the threat of it, or questions of etiquette or law or some other point of statecraft that Maia is trying to grasp. Those moments of tension are also very personal to Maia, as he tries to figure out who means him harm, and who does not.

This sort of thing absolutely, utterly delights me. I love reading about how Maia learns to play the court game, but doing so on his own terms. To be sure, Maia???s not very good at it at first, but he does have people behind him who are quite good at playing the game, and reading about how they manoeuvre and manipulate things behind the scenes (from Maia???s, and thus the reader???s, perspective) is also ridiculously fun. While swords are drawn, eventually, a wonderful majority of the novel deals with using the pen, the word, manners, and good intentions as weapons, both for good and for ill.

Speaking of words and language, both play a central role in the story. Addison doesn???t go quite so far as Tolkien did in creating a new language, but she plays with the concepts of ???polite??? and ???familiar??? language in order to create more nuanced dialogue. Understanding that kind of concept is easier for a bilingual reader, but even monolingual English readers will be able to pick up on the nuances eventually, as Addison is careful to leave and build on clues that are scattered - subtly, I might add - throughout the novel, though most heavily in the first third.

She also uses language to build the world itself: as Maia speaks, and as other characters speak, the reader comes to construct the world of The Goblin Emperor in their head, and it is a rich, and very deep, world indeed. One doesn???t see a great deal of it, but Addison is great at implying that though we are only seeing a part of it, the world is vast, and goes far, far beyond the scope of what one reads in the novel. It???s rather sad, actually, that the reader doesn???t get the chance to explore the world more fully, especially since it seems so fascinating and beautiful. This is a complaint that Hope and I share, because while we are certainly happy that Th Goblin Emperor is a one-shot, we do wish that there would be more stories forthcoming set in the same world. If Ms. Addison comes across this review, I hope she decides to go go back and write another story in the same world. It doesn???t have to be a sequel to The Goblin Emperor (though I wouldn???t complain, and neither would Hope, who expressed this desire first), but it would be lovely to explore the world a bit more, because any stories set in it are bound to be marvellous.

But none of this would really matter if it weren???t for the fact that Maia, and the characters around him, are easy to love. The novel is told through third-person limited perspective, and entirely from Maia???s point of view, so the reader really gets to know him, and through him, the other people at the court. In such cases, it???s vital that the primary narrator be, at the very least, a tolerable character, but Maia is not merely tolerable: he is absolutely wonderful, albeit there is a core of shadow and sadness to that, as well. The way he views the world comes from a specific, and (sadly) common perspective: that of someone who has been abused and neglected for most of their life. Maia could have easily become vengeful and hateful the moment he came to the throne, but the circumstances of his life before that - and the way he views those circumstances - prevent him from going on an all-out vengeance spree against those who have hurt him. This just makes him even more loveable, in my opinion, and lends weight to the things he does and does not do as emperor. This leads him to make decisions and do things that startle many of the veterans at court, but what I love the most is that he continues to do as his heart tells him to do. True, he doubts himself over and over and over again (creating some very heartbreaking moments), but in the end, he does what he thinks is right - even if it flies in the face of what an emperor would ???typically??? do.

Assisting him in his attempts to do the right thing is his???well, I suppose ???privy council??? would be a good term for the people closest to Maia throughout the course of the novel. I don???t quite remember if if they were known by a specific term, collectively, but they essentially served Maia in a way a privy council would any other monarch, so I???ll stick with that term. At any rate, these people have been at court long enough to know what is and isn???t done, but they also admire, and love, Maia, and find ways and means of letting Maia do as he pleases - creating some of the best personal moments in the novel. While there are certainly a lot of scenes that have to do with Maia thinking (and occasionally talking) to himself, there are also plenty of others wherein Maia comes to grips with what it means to be emperor, and manages to get through the day thanks to the people around him.

(I must also confess to having an enormous, enormous soft spot for a character named Csevet. I can???t explain why, because that would be revealing too much, but suffice to say that he is, in essence, ???my type,??? and I adore him very much. I do love Maia, of course, but Csevet occupies a space slightly bigger than Maia???s in my heart.)

One more thing about characters, but about Maia, in particular: I am very much puzzled by some of the reactions I???ve seen online. Some reviewers don???t like the novel because they find Maia ???too soft??? or ???too nice.??? These kinds of reactions make me scratch my head, because really, the whole point of this novel is that Maia is kind, that Maia is a good person, with very little ruthlessness to him and even less cruelty - all this, despite his background. The Goblin Emperor is not Game of Thrones or some other grimdark piece. I think it???s meant to be something higher, nobler, something brighter than something by George R.R. Martin or Joe Abercrombie - proof that though fantasy has been walking in the shadows a lot lately, it???s still capable of telling a story about good people doing the right thing without becoming broody and jaded.

I???ve also come across some complaints regarding the language: how it seems so strange, and is difficult for some readers, to the point that they are completely turned off by it. While others are free to express their dislike for any aspect of a novel that does not suit them, I, for one, absolutely adore the way Addison appears to have created an entire new language for her world, but chooses not to force it down readers??? throats wholesale by using it only in proper names. It???s part of why this world seems so rich, and so deep: every name has a history, after all, and the names suggest so much without making Addison go into long lecture-like explanations. It takes some work, of course, to put names to places and faces and such, but it???s work worth doing. I suspect that some readers are merely lazy and expect everything to be easy, for the writer to spoon-feed them all the information they want, but that???s merely my opinion. I, for one, enjoy being made to do some work for the sake of comprehension, and am very grateful that the author has chosen to believe the best of her readers??? intelligence and written her novel accordingly.

Overall, The Goblin Emperor is a near-perfect gem of a novel. On the surface, it???s about court intrigue, but dig deeper and one sees that it???s not just about court intrigue, but about how a person from difficult circumstances overcomes their own fears to become a genuinely good person - and a truly wonderful leader. It is also very bright and hopeful: sad things happen, and death happens too, but it???s not without reason, and not without some ray of sunshine somewhere in the midst of all the sadness. The language is exquisite, and helps to build a world that I wish I could go back to in another story, just to see its other facets, to explore the corners hinted at but never really shown. There are also deeper, richer themes buried in the novel, but never once do they overshadow the plot or the characters - instead, they are an integral part of the novel itself, and are explored and tackled in a manner that doesn???t get in the way of the story. The only problem with it is that there isn???t more of it, but hopefully the author will do something about that eventually, even if it???s not a direct sequel.

One of the many gifts I bemoan not having, including the talent for drawing and painting and a gift for singing, is the lack of a green thumb. This has not, of course, been for want of any attempts to cultivate it. My grandmother raised prize orchids in her garden when I was a very little girl, and she encouraged an interest in this (very fiddly) aspect of horticulture. Later on there were many attempts to grow vegetables and kitchen herbs in pots - none of which worked out. My mother often tells me: “Mainit ang kamay mo sa halaman.” The literal translation of this is that I have “hot hands” when it comes to plants, but the actual meaning is that I simply do not have a green thumb.

But despite having no green thumb, I have a great appreciation for plants and gardens, and the people who have the gift of raising them. Fresh flowers are a joy, if a bit expensive in the tropical climate of the Philippines, and if I had a kitchen garden (or at least access to one) I think I would eat more fresh fruits and vegetables more often.

And there is no denying that plants are just interesting. Aside from the obvious aesthetic and culinary value many of them possess, there is no denying that they are important for more than just food and decoration. Many plants are the source of important medicinal compounds - aspirin, one of the most important over-the-counter painkillers, is derived from a compound found in willow bark, which itself was used as a painkiller in the form of willow bark tea. Digitalis is a compound derived from plants commonly called foxgloves, and helps in the treatment of irregular heart rate. And there are probably thousands more plant-derived compounds that have yet to be discovered, and which will undoubtedly play a role in the treatment of various diseases, chronic or otherwise, in the future.

But for all their potentially useful properties, there is also no denying that plants also kill. Digitalis, though helpful in controlling irregular heart rate, is a dangerous poison if ingested without supervision. Plants from the genus Colchicum, which include a variety of plants commonly known as crocuses (such as the autumn crocus) produce an alkaloid called colchicine, useful as a treatment for gout. However, that same alkaloid is a deadly poison: Catherine Wilson, a notorious 19th century murderer, used colchicine in just such a capacity to kill seven people - but not before getting those people to change their wills so that she would stand to benefit from their deaths.

It was because of these strange, and exceedingly interesting, connections between medicine, science, history, and plain out-and-out weirdness that I chose to pick up Amy Stewart's Wicked Plants: The Weed that Killed Lincoln's Mother and Other Botanical Atrocities. I will also admit that the spectacular, over-the-top title was part of the appeal: it's hard to think of an “atrocity” being “botanical,” but Stewart is quick to prove that there are sometimes, the most innocuous-looking plants might also be the deadliest.

Wicked Plants is, in essence, an encyclopedia: an organized collection of information about some of the deadliest plants Stewart thought would be worth mentioning. In the introduction ominously titled “Consider Yourself Warned,” Stewart clarifies that her book is not meant to scare people out of enjoying the outdoors or gardening, but is meant to act as a field guide for those who do enjoy such pursuits. This bears itself out in the entries: while Stewart is always quick to point out the obvious dangers of such plants as poison ivy (which isn't really a species of ivy) and deadly nightshade, she also includes some less notable (but no less deadly) examples, such as the castor bean and the habanero chili. Also included as “deadly” are the plants that have given humanity some of the most addictive drugs currently known, such as tobacco (though it is included for reasons other than just smoking) and the opium poppy, as well as invasive species such as the kudzu vine and the water hyacinth.

Supplementing the wealth of information that Stewart provides are the lovely etchings by Briony Morrow-Cribbs and illustrations by Jonathan Rosen. They give Wicked Plants a vastly different feel compared to some of the other plant encyclopedias currently available, hearkening back to the old-fashioned botanical illustrations that dominated similar texts from the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. But the etchings and illustrations are so well done, with great attention paid to detail, that it doesn't really matter that these are hand-drawn illustrations and not glossy photographs. Morrow-Cribbs' etchings, in particular, are simply a joy to look at: a clear illustration of how science and art are really kin to each other, a reminder that for science to advance, it must look upon the world with the wonder of an artist's eye, and for art to advance, it must approach the craft with the discipline of a scientist.

This book was as informative and enjoyable as I had hoped it would be, despite its focus on plants in temperate climes. This is only natural, as this book was obviously intended for readers in temperate climes, and in that sense it functions just fine as a field guide. A few exotic tropical species are included, but it is apparent these made the book only because they are particularly grotesque or particularly lethal. The inclusion of invasive species as dangerous plants is a fine idea, in my opinion, especially considering what invasive species are doing to native species, both in North America and elsewhere.

As a whole, this was a very enjoyable, educational read. The illustrations are lovely, and the text informative without being overly technical or mind-numbingly boring. While it is fun enough to read it for its own sake as a popular-science text, it also functions quite well for the purpose Stewart intended it: a guide to poisonous plants, a means of gaining knowledge to protect oneself and those one cares for. That it educates while entertaining is merely the icing on the cake.

In recent years, ???grimdark??? has become a popular buzzword when describing certain kinds of fantasy and science fiction. The term originated in the Warhammer 40,000 science fiction setting, and has since come to mean any story (but particularly fantasy stories) wherein there is no clear right or wrong; where the protagonists do not fit neatly into the traditional heroic role; and where doing ???the right thing??? or being ???a good person??? does not necessarily lead to a ???happy ending??? - indeed, the notion of a ???happy ending??? does not exist. Grimdark fantasy does not often centre around an Epic Quest or a Chosen Hero: it is specifically built to reject or invert such tropes as a response to the Tolkien-inspired narratives that dominated fantasy prior to grimdark???s appearance as a genre. Instead, grimdark fantasy places heavier emphasis on political manoeuvring and a notion of ???realistically portraying??? a world in the midst of war or any kind of socio-political crisis.

Currently, the most famous and most popular writer of grimdark fantasy is George R.R. Martin, whose A Song of Ice and Fire pretty much encompasses all the above qualities ascribed to grimdark: none of the protagonists might be called a truly good person; there are enough political games to go around and then some; and readers are universally certain that, whatever the endgame, it is not going to be happy. In the wake of Martin???s series other writers have come to the fore: Joe Abercrombie (The First Law trilogy and other associated books) and Mark Lawrence (The Broken Empire and The Red Queen???s War trilogies) both enjoy enormous popularity, as do the tag-team of Steven Erikson and Ian Esslemont (the Malazan books).

However, it is fairly easy to note that not a lot of women have been associated with the genre. Fortunately, that is changing, as more female writers are entering the field. One of the most notable writers is Kameron Hurley, who first showed her skill at writing grimdark in her science fiction trilogy The Bel Dame Apocrypha, otherwise known as the God???s War trilogy. Then, in 2014, she turned her hand to fantasy, and published The Mirror Empire, the first in the Worldbreaker Saga series. Set in a world where the plant-life is carnivorous and magical power is determined by the rising and setting of particular satellites, The Mirror Empire laid down the groundwork for what promised to be a harsher, harder, and more heartbreaking story in the future books - and the sequel, Empire Ascendant, has definitely delivered.

Empire Ascendant is set almost immediately after the events of The Mirror Empire. As the Tai Mora push their largest force yet through the gates between the worlds, the other characters must deal with the consequences of their previous actions. Lilia must now take responsibility for playing Faith Ahya in order to force Liona Stronghold to accept the refugees she led out of Dorinah. Ahkio and Maralah must lead their people through the coming war against the Tai Mora, while struggling to hold whatever power they???ve managed to wield and consolidate up until this point. Rohinmey struggles to fight the idyllic fate predicted for him at his birth, only to find that doing so might not be what he wanted after all. Zezili must find a new way of dealing with her knowledge regarding the Tai Mora. Finally, Anavha wants to go back to Zezili, but in doing so he finds himself learning truths he would much rather not have known - and making choices he did not realise he ever could.

In many ways, the real plot begins with this book, not the first. Though The Mirror Empire had an enjoyable storyline all its own, most of it served to introduce the primary characters, and then position them properly for the events of Empire Ascendant. This is not, of course, a bad thing: The Mirror Empire serves to get the reader settled into Hurley???s (admittedly) rather confusing world, so that by the time things start to really get moving in Empire Ascendant, the reader will not be overly confused by the number of characters and places that start cropping up.

Despite this, though, the reader can still potentially be confused by what???s going on. Hurley is a member of what I like to call the ???sink or swim??? school of world-building: writers who build the world through plot events, and through the characters themselves via their experiences and the decisions they make (or do not make, as the case may be). This minimises the need for long exposition, which ensures that the pace of the novel doesn???t slow down too much, and the plot keeps moving. However, this does mean that the reader must do their best to keep up, which can mean going back to reread a chapter or a section of a chapter if they are confused by something in the story. I myself had to do this by rereading The Mirror Empire when I started getting lost eight chapters in. I personally do not think this is a bad thing - in fact, I thoroughly enjoy it, so long as the writer is capable of managing it well, and I truly believe Hurley can and does manage her world-building well - but some readers have complained that the sheer number of new characters and plot movements introduced in Empire Ascendant was too confusing for their tastes.

This is an understandable, and in a way justifiable complaint: though Hurley has already selected a handful of point-of-view characters who do most of the narrating, there are times when characters switch midstream in a chapter, or disappear for vast lengths of time before coming back again. This is not much of a problem if the reader is coming straight from The Mirror Empire into Empire Ascendant because many of the characters and plotlines will still be fresh in their memory, but it can be difficult for readers who read The Mirror Empire some time ago and are only picking up Empire Ascendant now.

Now that I mention the characters, Empire Ascendant is all about fleshing them out and developing them into well-rounded, realistic characters. In my review of The Mirror Empire I mentioned that Ahkio got the most development while everyone got a little less; that has changed in Empire Ascendant. Lilia, in particular, grows significantly in this novel, with emphasis on what she needs to do versus what she wants to do, given her newfound influence amongst the Dhai. To start with, she is very conscious of her newfound influence and power, and what could happen if she were to make some grave misstep in the exercise of either:

Lilia did not believe in miracles outside of history books, but she was beginning to believe in her own power, and that was a more frightening thing to believe in.

This thread of doubt, of realisation that she could be a fraud, continues throughout her storyline, but what is interesting about it is that she uses her influence even if she, herself, does not believe in it. However, this has the consequence of leading her into a dark, downward spiral as she begins to lose control of who and what she is. As Lilia???s storyline progresses she begins to realise that, despite all the heroic and noble stories about Faith Ahya, she must sacrifice her own humanity in order to do what must be done - to do as Faith Ahya would probably have done:

Now it was too late. There was no turning back. Someone had to fight the monsters.Who better than a monster?

Lilia is not the only one who enters a downward spiral in the course of this novel: all the characters do so, in their own ways. Rohinmey???s journey, in particular, is heartbreaking. Throughout The Mirror Empire he remains mostly as he was: a ray of light as the darkness settles in, and he remains so through most of Empire Ascendant. However, even he is finally broken, which happens when the reader encounters the following quote:

He had learned something of hierarchy now, and power. There were many kinds of power.

I won???t go into the specific circumstances of Roh???s storyline, because doing so would spoil a good chunk of the novel, but suffice to say that he is perfect proof that no one is going to come out of this series intact. All the characters will either be dead by the end, or so thoroughly broken that they might as well be. This is one of the reasons why this series might be reasonably called ???grimdark???: there are no happy endings for anyone, even the ones who thought they were fated to have one.

As for the plot itself, it is a real treat to read because of how it seems to spring out of the actions and decisions of the primary characters, and not so much from any sort of deus ex machina. Certainly, there are some coincidences and occasional ???right place, right time??? moments, but they are few and far between, and occur for minor (or at least, seemingly minor) plot points. Most of the time, the reader can trace a plot event to a decision a character made at an earlier point in the novel, or even to one made all the way back in The Mirror Empire. This ensures that both novels are tied together, and no action or decision, no matter how thoughtless or minor it might seem at first, goes without consequences. This shows how carefully Hurley has plotted her story, and I am extremely appreciative of such care. It means that, no matter what happens going forward, everything important will happen because something else led up to it. This applies even to plot twists: in particular, one that happens at the end of Chapter 37, which I shall not describe due to spoilers, but one which I enjoyed thoroughly, and suspect other readers might enjoy, too.

Overall, Empire Ascendant is a worthy sequel to The Mirror Empire, one that really gets the overall plot of the series well and truly moving, while at the same time developing the characters even further - especially if they were somewhat shortchanged in the first novel. However, it must be noted that their development is not necessarily for the better, or the sort of development that will make the reader feel happy inside: this is, after all, very much a grimdark series, and the only thing the reader can be certain of is that, no matter what happens, all the characters will come out broken, or dead. Some readers might also experience some confusion going in, and might find that rereading the first novel is necessary before embarking on this one, particularly if it has been a while since their last reading of The Mirror Empire. Regardless, that reread will certainly pay off, because Hurley is extremely careful with the construction of her plot, and ensures that decisions made in the first novel continue to affect the characters and the direction of the story in Empire Ascendant.

Whatever the case may be, though, the reader may be certain that there is nothing but death and bloodshed ahead, and it is only a matter of time until everything well and truly breaks. I am looking forward to reading of that breaking, and getting my heart broken too.