Mad Max: Fury Road.

Quick, spoiler-free, spiel:

You need to see this film, and you need to see it on a big screen. It is a work of art. It is a spectacle of action. You will have heard, I assume, that this film is visually stunning. It is. The aesthetic of the world is as relentless as the action within. You need only watch the trailers, or see the posters, as the one above, to know what this film offers visually.
The plot is simple, but in the sense of being clear and direct within a limited framework. This is a good thing. The stakes are clear from early on, and the majority of the film concerns itself with the relentless action of the chase at its heart. Our (anti-)heroes have a clear goal, our villains are direct in their efforts to disrupt this.
It is balls-to-the-wall insane, and gloriously so.
If you have not yet seen the film, do not read on, there are spoilers everywhere below the jump. Go see it, then come back. Have fun. Hope you enjoy it as much as I did!

Spoilers below:

The first sense you get of this film being something special is in the sheer scale of it. Miller is willing, often, to dwarf the convoy-chase which is at the heart of the narrative with shots of such vast emptiness that the vehicles, let alone the people within, are mere specks.
But the film is one of competing scales. So much of it is over-the-top, dialed to 11, grandiose and epic. Yet within this, Miller positions his characters in cramped and crowded spaces: the tunnels of Immortan Joe’s citadel, the can of the war-rig, the hidden passages within. The War-rig is at once too big to stop, and too small to hold its cargo: Furiosa, Max, the wives, Nux, and later the Vuvalini. Miller zooms in on the small-scale for moments of character too. Max’s tragically premature thumbs-up, Furiosa’s concerned gaze, Nux’s transitional moment with one of the wives (I think Capable). When Furiosa realises that her dream of a return to the green place is impossible, she is alone in the sand, as is Max when he realises that he cannot yet make his own way while Furiosa remains unredeemed.

In the beginning, though, there is little by way of establishing character or setting. Max is introduced with a monologue, alone, and is for reasons unknown and unimportant briefly pursued and captured.
Furiosa makes her entrance entering the war-rig to which her fate will be bound for the majority of the film. She turns off her allotted course abruptly, and we – like her war boys – are made to guess at her motives.
Quickly enough the chase is on, and nothing else really matters.
The vehicles are each a work of brutalist art, each amalgams of other vehicles, welded and bolted together, the demented dreams of mad mechanics. The fashions, likewise, stylised. The faces and bodies of the characters mis-sharpen, scarred, diseased, dirty. Furiosa’s amputation is much less disturbing than the misshapen bodies that follow her, these distended, swollen, broken, tumourous, inhumans.
The vehicular mayhem is impressive for the visceral reality Miller brings to the screen. The minimalist use of CGI gives real physicality to the action. The chase proceeds with the weight of careening steel and the roaring pace of fuel-injected V8s (often dual V8s, joined at the gearbox just as the lizard of the opening was a who headed beast with a single body). Cars and trucks go cartwheeling, crashing, crunching, colliding. Bodies leap, tumble, fall, are thrown to an unforgiving earth. Flames and explosions and always at full throttle.
There is power in the brutal physics which cartoonish CGI can never match, no matter the verisimilitude of its unreality.
It is undeniably a violent film, and yet Miller does not revel in gore, indeed he pans away from it several times, keeps it off screen. Max sees The Splendid Angharad go beneath Joe’s wheels, but we do not. The premature caesarean is not shown. Max returns from a distant explosion bathed in blood not his own, but we don’t see how he came to be wearing it. Immortan Joe’s torn face is briefly glimpsed, but mostly hidden. The film has an R rating in America (18+) but MA here in Australia (15+) and in the UK.
The film has been called a feminist action movie. In some ways this is reductive, in others it is explicitly so. It was hard not to think of the Bechdel test as Furiosa returns to the Vuvalini. While the two men (described merely as dependable/reliable – I can’t recall the exact quote on one viewing) wait in the war-rig, the screen is filled with women, 12 of them, multi-generational, discussing their world and their place in it, their history and their future.
But Bechdel is a limited metric to meet. Even more than leaping this low bar, in Fury Road it is the women who have agency, more so than the war boys such as Nux, certainly more so than the ‘blood-bag’ Max from the first part of the chase. Max’s destiny is shaped by his imprisonment, and by the decisions of others, especially Nux. In turn, Nux is manipulated by Joe’s deceit, his path chosen for him.
Not so Furiosa, nor the wives. They have re-shaped their destiny, have broken free of their imprisonments, and by their own power. No supernatural fortune. No rescuer come to their aid. It is revealed that The Splendid Angharad  had been agitating for escape and speaking against the objectification of herself and the other wives. The wives were not stolen or abducted by Furiosa, but that they begged her to take them with her.
Acquiescing was Furiosa’s decision, as was the moment she turned from the road between the Citadel and Gastown. She knew the risks and made the decision. She acted, and it was her act that initiated the chase and in cascading cause and effect drew Max and Nux into her story.
Later, when Max establishes his plan for return and redemption (which was always Furiosa’s goal, not his own, as the final shots of the film demonstrate), it is Furiosa’s agreement, on advice from the other women, which transforms the plan from thought to action.
More powerful even than the women’s screen presence and agency, is the respect they are afforded, both by Max, and by Miller.
The film also features a cast of scantily-clad supermodels, and at one point Megan Gale naked, yet Miller does not encourage the viewer to see them through a sexual lens. Even white-clad and wet in the desert, the wives are not objects of Max’s desire, and though Joe wants their return it is not framed in terms of his sexual desire for them. Undoubtedly he has impregnated them, or at least one of them, against their will. In this he is rapist, and they are survivors of rape, but the film clearly frames this as a battle for their reproductive powers, rather than revenge or retaliation. They do not wish to destroy Joe, only to escape him. They forgive his war-boy Nux, keeping him from being killed, despite Nux’s earlier attempts to return them to their prison. The wives are revolting against their objectification, against a life in which they are nothing more wombs. This is explicit in the graffiti they leave in the prison where Joe had kept them.
Likewise, Miller does not subject any of his female characters to rape, or threats of rape. They are not denigrated as bitches or whores or subjected to sexist degradation. It is not an assumed part of the world that rape is tolerated, or that it even occurs outside of the forced breeding by Immortan Joe. Even this is not presented as a sexual act, but as an act of control, literally an attempt to control resources, in the same way that he controls water. Women can reproduce, and that is their value to Joe, just as the women producing mothers’ milk (seen early in the film as a resource for Joe, at the end of the film it is these mothers who release the water for the people, freeing themselves and the water from Joe’s control).
It makes Joe undeniably the villain, but for the same reasons that his hoarding water and food while others starve make him villainous. It is a crime not only against the women, but against the whole community (as indeed rape is).
Miller has his women fighting in the front line, and in each case they hold their own. They fight without fear or favour. The Vuvalini, the wives, and especially Furiosa. Here is a character who could be so easily disempowered by the narrative, both as woman and as amputee, and especially when Max arrives. But Miller doesn’t have Max take her leadership from her. He becomes at times a tool at her disposal, eventually, at most, her trusted equal.
This is the respect Max shows. When he first approaches the women, he respects the threat they represent. He doesn’t allow Furiosa to come near him with the bolt-cutters, making one of the wives bring them instead. Even down the barrel of a shotgun (unloaded, in a beautiful nod to mad Max 2), and even without her bionic hand attached, Max marks her as a threat. And he is right to. Despite his precautions, she attacks. She does not hesitate to pull the trigger. The fight scene that follows was amazing in its choreography, and in how it managed the various pugilists. The interplay between Max and Furiosa, and between Nux and the wives and the combinations between, was magnificent.
Later, with one shot left and having missed twice already, Max knows that Furiosa should take the shot. She does, and she makes it where he could not. She was the superior marksman (pun intended). Max accepted this without comment or complaint. He did not see this as an insult or a challenge to his masculinity (unlike some of the MRA complaining in his behalf). He respected Furiosa’s skills. Just as they took turns driving or repairing the war-rig.
In short, I loved this film.

I loved it for the cars and the crashes, for the explosions, for the insane stunts and the sheer brutal reality of them.

I loved it for its epic sandstorm and fire tornadoes that could lift a car.

I loved the madness if it all, the doof warrior harnessed and blasting guitar riffs across the already blasted landscape.

I loved that it was a Mad Max film, like the final chase in Mad Max 2 (Road Warrior) dialed up and up until there was no scale for it to fit.
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I loved that in one split second, in Max’s flashbacks, we saw Toecutter’s bulging eyes again, just as we did near the end if the first Mad Max in 1979. (and because Immortan Joe and The Toecutter were both Hugh Keays-Byrne)I loved that Furiosa stood at the end, eye swollen closed (in another wonderful nod to Mad Max 2: Road Warrior).

I loved the mad war-boys screaming ‘Witness!’ and plunging to suicidal glory.
I loved Charlize Theron kicking arse, and Megan Gale too – briefly.
I loved the biker gang of septuagenarian women who hoarded seeds but weren’t above killing for the right cause.
I loved the brutal hand-to-hand.
What didn’t I love?
Not much.
Hardy was kind of in and out. His accent was sometimes pseudo-Australian, other times not even nearly. At one point he delivered a line (I’m not sure which, in the cab of the war-rig about 3/4 through the film) where he seemed to be doing his Bane voice.
Furiosa made a miraculous recovery from a stab wound and a collapsed lung. Another stab cured her. And a blood transfusion. I guess her and Max were the same blood type? Or something?
I’m quibbling. No one cared about that. We forgive our films those details for the sake of an heroic closing image.

‘Enfolded’ in Aurealis #78

Great news!

My short story, ‘Enfolded’, features in the latest (78th) edition of Australia’s longest running Fantasy and Science-Fiction magazine, Aurealis.

Aurealis-#78-cover-purple-sky-dragon_1

It’s a “bracing neo-noir” about a guy with a special power who thinks he has left his criminal past behind, only to find himself dragged back by fraternal loyalty.

It has been a goal of mine for some time to have my fiction grace these (electronic) pages. Aurealis has a great reputation for quality and is a well established part of the Australian spec-fic marketplace. In addition to new fiction, they provide great non-fiction material for readers and writers within the genre and beyond, and have thoughtful reviews of Australian and international work.

The 78th edition is available for download in a range of formats, including epub and mobi for ereaders. At only $3 Australian and less than $20 for a subscription, it’s great value.

https://aurealis.com.au/aurealis-78-is-here/

 


2014 reading: Short Stories.

I fell well short of my goal to read 100 short stories in 2014. Two stories a week, every week, sounded manageable. It wasn’t. This year I’m going for 52 shorts stories: One a week.

My reviews of (most of) the 2014 stories I read are here, with links to the stories where they’re available online.

January:

“A Letter from Your Mother” by Sylvia Spruck Wrigley in Daily Science Fiction (DSF) was a good little flash fiction in epistolary form that used one voice to develop two well realised characters and the relationship between them.

“The night my Dad became English” by Joseph O’Connor in the Irish Independent was a reflective piece from a son to his father, which touched on issues of family, identity, nation-hood and those decisions we make in our lives which shape who we are to be.

“In the Dying Light, We Saw a Shape” by Jeremiah Tolbert inLightspeed Magazine mixed a lot of stylistic and genre ingredients – some quite new, others a little cliched – into an interesting near-future sci-fi about our place in the universe.

“Apotheosis” by Rosamund Hodge in the Lightspeed Magazine was a Fantasy piece exploring the meaning of divinity and the role of the deity in societies. It had a number of imaginative elements in its world, and was stylistically like a parable or myth more so than a modern narrative.

“After the Trains Stopped” by J Kyle Turner in DSF was a great story about an Artificially Intelligent (and empathetic) factory.  It developed its central premise (and character) well, but for me its greatest strength was the creeping Horror element.

“The Next Generation” by Michael Adam Robson in DSF was a short sci-fi in the old-school sense of a scientist struggling with the moral implications of his invention. It runs along a relatively predictable path where the creation surpasses its creator, and the last line lays on the moral a little thick.

February:

“Baby Feet” by Rene Sears in DSF was a sci-fi invasion story told from an interesting perspective. I really engaged with the character and her circumstances. Unfortunately the ending came in thick lumps of expository dialogue.

“Saltcedars” by Shannon Peavey in DSF was an alternative world fantasy with an interesting central concept. The world was nicely built and the main character realised. It was well crafted and structured, right until the final sentence, which I think dropped with a clunk and robbed the ending of some of its power.

“Mermaid” by Jonathan Schneeweis in DSF was the second mermaid-related story I have read in the last few weeks, and I think the better of the two, despite – or perhaps because of – being less complex. There is some foreshadowing which is a little too obvious, but the turn in the narrative was good and the recurring motif of the counting of ribs was a nice way to tie it all together.

“The Seventeen Executions of Signore Don Vashta” by Peter M Ballin DSF was an excellent tale of an unlikely friendship between a man who would not stay dead and the man who was once his executioner. In the interests of full disclosure, I know Peter through a friend. The quality of this story though should speak for itself. The narrative voice is engaging and the development of the relationship between the characters very well handled.

“The Devil as a White Swan” by Jane Ormond in Machines Will Not Give Change (a print anthology produced by Cardigan Press) is a more Lit-fic flash fiction about a gift given by an insensitive man and the relationship break-up that precipitates. It’s a flash fiction piece, at about 500 words, and opens with a strong tone, but I found the first person subjective a little suffocating and the inner monologue was hard for me to relate to.

“21 Steps to Enlightenment (Minus One)” by LaShawn M. Wanak in Strange Horizons was a story about the ways we can change our lives. The central premise seemed initially to be quite limited, but Wanak took it into such interesting dimensions. The narrator, and the narrator’s mother, worked well together to give opposing perspectives on the phenomenon of the spiral staircases, and the style made palatable what might otherwise have been heavy-handed symbolism. It took me a few false starts, but I really enjoyed this one.

March:

“Inventory” by Carmen Maria Machado in Strange Horizons was amazing. The story is kinda NSFW, tracing the life of the narrator through her sexual encounters, but not graphic. Machado allows the back-story to come through gradually, seeping into the tale and growing – dare I say spreading – until it overwhelms. I sat a moment after reading this and just appreciated it. Really a great piece of writing.

“Walking Home” by Catherine Krahe in DSF had a well-realised protagonist whom it was easy to empathise with. The fantasy elements were minimal and had little direct influence on the plot, but there was a sense of the setting being second-world and the world building was revealed gradually to have depth and texture. It seemed to take a while to get going, and to end abruptly, but I enjoyed it.

“Litany of the Family Bean” by Gemma Files in Strange Horizons is not actually a short story, it being filed under poetry, but I include it here because it did feel as if it had narrative qualities and the setting and characters I found fascinating. The use of language early in the piece was evocative and drew me in. The shock value of the opening  fell away quickly, replaced by a curiosity which wasn’t quite sated. Always leave them wanting more, I suppose.

“How to Become a Robot” by A.Merc Rustad in Scigentasy used a variety of story-telling forms and techniques to assemble an interesting narrative which explored gender and identity and belonging. Strong characterization and surprisingly effective use of 1st and 2nd person shifts.
“Like Bread” by Patricia Russo in SQ Mag was character focused with a sense of otherworldliness. Interesting structure which allowed for foreshadowing and a building of tension/suspense.
“The Church of Asag” by Cameron Trost in SQ Ma was built on a good concept, with interesting use of setting. At times overly direct in exposition. Rushed/unsatisfying ending.
“Codename Delphi” by Linda Nagata in Lightspeed was Sci-Fi (ish). Near future with a focus on remote and drone warfare. Well structured and communicated the frenetic balancing act well. Simple, linear plot.
April :
“The Final Girl” by Shira Lipkin in Strange Horizons was a good meta-horror piece, reminiscent both of Freddy Kruger and Whedon’s Cabin.
A Very Old Man With Enormous Wings: A Tale For Childrenby Gabriel Garcia Marquez was just wonderful. Utterly wonderful.
“The Armies of Elfland” by Eileen Gunn and Michael Swanwick  inLightspeed has a really fascinating opening, but then let’s fall away some of its most original images and concepts and almost – thankfully never entirely – reverts to familiar tropes. Some cliche moments drop in with a thud, but engaging and interesting throughout.
“Select Mode” by Mark Lawrence and available for free on his websiteprovides a good example of Jorg’s voice and Lawrence’s style, and of the fusion of Fantasy and SciFi typical in his work.
“Alsiso” by KJ Bishop in Lightspeed was a narrative without a protagonist, unless a lexeme can be protagonist. Tracing the history of a word through elevation, deterioration, semantic shift and all manner of reclassifications and transmutations, the author gives an insight into an evolving culture that makes it’s way from foreign to familiar. Cleverly written and enjoyable to read.
May:
“Zombie” by Chuck Palahniuk in Playboy (link is sfw) was a thought provoking story of dissatisfaction and confusion. It wades full into the despair of modernity, lashes celebrity, consumerist culture, and yet finds some hope in modern hyper-connectivity. Written with a beautifully direct, conversationalist style.
“Abomination Rises of Filthy Wings” by Rachel Swirsky in Apex Magazine was a very difficult story to read. A trigger warning is given, with cause. Apparently written to show that a domestic/relationship revenge fantasy could be readable, the result is genuinely disturbing. The mix of sexual dominion and the domesticity of the violence was horrific, as was the brutality and contempt, unhidden behind a gossamer-thin veil of the supernatural. A compelling but difficult story: undeniably well-written but not enjoyable.
“A Tank Only Fears Four Things” by Seth Dickinson in Lightspeed was a good exploration of PTSD in some alt-history, alt-Earth that is disturbingly familiar and yet suffuses with novelty. The Russian ethnicity adds a sense of the other, but ultimately is tangential. The story never quite fulfills the promise of its title and opening line, undercutting the fantastic element for metaphor.
“Paperclips and Memories and Things That Won’t be Missed” by Caroline M Yoachim in Apex Magazine was a beautiful, touching story. At times almost horror, at times melancholy, at times strangely beatific. I keep wanting to use the word ‘haunting’, which would be accurate but rather trite.
“Schrödinger’s Outlaw” by Matthew W Baugh in DSF was a very short short. The opening paragraphs had a well set scene, conveyed economically and without the exposition seeming too lumpy. The protag’s voice was clear. From there it fell into a sadly predictable path. The most harmful thing, for me was that it fundamentally misunderstood its central premise. Schrödinger’s cat is not ‘dead or alive’, but ‘dead-and-alive’ – the whole paradox hinges on the superposition of two simultaneous, yet contradictory states. By then end this seemed a bad pun that went too far.
June:
“Mephisto” by Alan Baxter in DSF was a well-contained tale. Tight and lean.  Baxter uses the dichotomies well, the crowd’s adoration and the magician’s hatred in return. The showmanship and pretense serves well to orient and then disorient the reader. It’s a creeping horror, more apprehension than fear, really. Baxter shows his hand artfully at the end, the exposition delivered but not dropped upon the reader, revealed but not ruined.
“Days Like These” by Erica L Satifka in DSF was a good Sc-Fi concept well handled. The protagonist was vividly drawn, as was the world in which he lived. The uncertainty was maintained well throughout, and the reliability of the narrator gradually questioned.
It is more a back-handed compliment than a criticism to say that it left me wanting more, but the ending was a little dissatisfying.
“Anyway Angie” by Daniel Jose Older, published by Tor, was a case of a good character and great atmospheric prose. The first person worked, the characterization and exposition of back-story was smoothly given without chunks. I found my way to this via Kameron Hurley, whose novel I am reading. It shares a bug motif, which here is used effectively for horror. The story did feel dislocated though, perhaps I wanted it to be an excerpt of some larger work, or perhaps that balance of what the reader was given and what the reader had to infer was ever-so-slightly awry. A good story though. I’d read more.
“Trigger Warning Breakfast” was published in various places (I read ithere). This anonymous story is a punch in the guts. Perhaps a webcomic, perhaps an illustrated narrative, it is told with short, stark sentences, crudely but effectively illustrated. A very powerful and personal piece.
July
“Polynia” (available to read through Tor) is familiar in China Mieville’s oeuvre. Weird and fantastic, a London familiar and yet changed, the narrator slightly distant from their own narration, hints of politics, a cameo from a rail-road, clever wordplay, impressive prose. The vocabulary is accessible, the core concept visually arresting and ultimately unresolved. The changes in the world are accepted because there’s nothing else to do than to accept them.

August

“Selkie Stories are for Losers” appeared in Strange Horizons and was nominated for a Hugo Award. It is a mix of the modern working class domestic narrative and ancient myth/fairytale. It’s told cleverly, through narrative denial and breadcrumbs of exposition. At times the short segments felt a little too isolated from each other, and only in re-reading could they be more comfortably pieced together. That’s a minor quibble on a well told story though.

“The Turing Test” appeared in Lightspeed Magazine. I liked the subject matter, but to anyone with even a passing familiarity with the concept of the Turing Test the ‘twist’ was easily picked (perhaps at fault here is the title?), and the second part seemed unnecessary. The dialogue was very good, and the prose flowed smoothly. Didn’t seem to do very much with its length though.
“Resurrection Points” appeared in Strange Horizons and attracted deserved acclaim. It was beautifully written. An insight into my own world through a different lens. Terrifying in the banality of violence and death, and in the sense of hopelessness or inevitability. The ending was a touch bathetic, but that’s a minor quibble on an outstanding story.
“Stone Hunger” appeared in Clarkesworld. I struggled with this one early. It felt like I was flailing for meaning, no foundation to build on. The tense was a barrier for me. Once we were in the city though things got very good, very quickly. I loved many of the concepts, clashing powers as taste sensations, the stone-eater turned sentient statue, the city of monsters. Once into it, I really enjoyed it. Very descriptive and with a strong narrative voice.
September:
“The Lady Astronaut of Mars” by Mary Robinette Kowal was publishedby Tor.com. It’s a beautiful story. An alt-history retro-futurist Sci-Fi. A return to a more classical Sci-Fi, where space faring and punch-card programmes and the mystery of Mars loomed large. It’s a story infused with dying and departing, concerned with what legacy each generation leaves to the next. As mid20thC sci-fi has left its legacy on this generation. An atypical protagonist – past middle-aged and female – is drawn with tender realism, and the difficulty of her dilemmas is frankly, honestly drawn. The ending ties the threads together in a satisfying, if somewhat convenient, solution.
“Wikihistory” was also from Tor.com. A clever little story told as a series of forum posts and dealing with tropes of time travel and determinism. It tests out Godwin’s Law, and presents us with an alternative view of cultural assumptions. The plot-premise is familiar, but this is a fresh approach.
“Enemy States” by Karin Lowachee was published by Apex (and part of their Military Sci-Fi anthology) It was an epistolary narrative, and frequently told in the second person. I found that it shifted in time in curious ways, sometimes in ways hard to follow.
It did have moments of beauty, both in terms of its attention to detail and in its prose. The central relationship was finely drawn, a romantic-tragedy set against the backdrop of an interstellar war.
“We are the Cloud” was an excellent story by Sam J Miller, published in Lightspeed. I really enjoyed it. A near-future sci-fi. The technology is plausible and integral and its significance mounts as the story progresses. The wounded, vulnerable protagonist is taken down some dark paths, and us with him, but he never loses our sympathy.
“Ten Rules for Being an Intergalactic Smuggler (The Successful Kind) was a story by Holly Black that also appeared in Lightspeed. I almost didn’t read it all. What a mistake that would have been.
I don’t generally like the 2nd person. I don’t generally like lists as narrative scaffolds (and Rule 1 annoyed me from the start). The exposition on several occasions came in thick dumps. This had so much going against it that I nearly bailed before the end of the second ‘rule’.
But for all of that the story turned me fully around. The characterization, the rich and deep world-building, the twisting plot, the moments of genuine emotion. This packs a lot into a story that could have been so much less. Excellent. This is the sort of story for which I undertook this project. This taught me a lot about being a better story teller.
“As Good as New” was in Tor.com, a story by Charlie Jane Anders. It’s a mash-up of apocalypse, genie wish cliche, and post-modernist theatre.
I’m at a bit of a loss for this. I don’t know how it worked so well, but it worked really, really well.
Wonderfully relatable protag. The ennui of a western millennial middle class. Patient plotting that allowed the story to meander pleasantly without ever getting lost.
October:
“Tomorrow is waiting” by Holli Mintzer appeared in Strange Horizonsback in 2011. I only just found it and read it through some aggregator site (I forget which) listing good short stories about AI. This is a nice story about an AI muppet kind if accidentally achieving sentience. The writing is stark, quite bare of description, but it has warmth and a beating heart. Anji’s not a strong protag, but she’s relatable. The conflict leaks from the piece in the final third, but the effect of this is a positive ending note and a view of sentient AI which is optimistic, rather than fearful.
November:
“Brain, Brain, Brain” By Puneet Dutt appeared in Apex. It’s a very cool little poem, clearly aware of tropes and prepared to flirt with them before twisting to the zombie POV. The imploring insistence of ‘we’re not the bad guys.’ Some beautiful use of language.

‘Bound’ Review

Disclosure: I met Alan Baxter once, briefly, at Genrecon. He seemed like a great guy, and since then I’ve been following him on Twitter and FB and reading some of his short fiction. He’s a writer I admire, a local writer too. He’s always been generous with advice and with sharing his experiences of being a writer, and I’ve learnt a lot from him. He’s given me a very valuable perspective of what being a writer entails. I was really happy to hear that he got the book deal, and I was looking forward to reading about Alex Caine.

Review:

‘Bound’ drops us straight into the action. We’re in Caine’s head and he’s in a fight, an illegal MMA match somewhere in Sydney’s underworld. We are quickly introduced to Caine’s ability – to see the ‘shades’ of his opponent’s intent. It makes him a formidable fighter, so much so that he attracts the unwanted attention of an organised crime boss. When a mysterious Englishman arrives who recognises Caine’s powers, and offers to teach him more about himself, the fighter reluctantly follows his new mentor’s call. Thus begins a globe-trotting adventure of rapidly escalating magic and quests to find ancient objects of great power.

This is Urban Fantasy with a magical bent and lashings of sex and violence. If you like ancient prophecies and street fights and magic and shadowy organisations in the wainscoting of normal life, try this book.

There are possible spoilers from here on, but if you want to know more, and are prepared to risk spoilers, read on.

Photo courtesy of author's website

Photo courtesy of author’s website

There are some very cool concepts here. I haven’t read Baxter’s original – self-published – novels, but their titles echo here. Some characters sit meaningfully at the edges of Caine’s story and I suspect they’d be even more meaningful to readers familiar with Baxter’s earlier work. The magesign to which Caine is so perceptive is a great idea. Other elements are from more familiar tropes: elemental control, warlocks, grimoires, gargoyles, faeries, ancient demi-gods, shape-shifters. Baxter has thrown them all into a blender of his own design though, and they each come out with some new twist. It’s in combining these elements that Baxter is at his best.

I also really enjoyed the globe-trotting. Australia, England, Iceland, Canada, Italy, Scotland… it was like Bond, if Bond was a magically empowered brawler. Baxter evokes each location in his writing and the shifting geography, the litany of airports, adds a layer of the familiar and mundane over which the supernatural elements can rise.

As we become more familiar with Caine’s growing confidence in his own powers, we are shown the even greater forces opposing him. It’s a steep incline and Baxter drives us forward relentlessly, ever-changing, ever-escalating. The consequence of this is that the stakes quickly become very high indeed, perhaps too quickly. Caine’s transition from neophyte to dominance is even quicker. I found that he lost me a little somewhere on the climb. The Caine of the early chapters was a guy I could relate to. By the latter half of the book this was no longer the case. The previously engaging fight scenes lost their fizz when the outcome was no longer in doubt. A fighter out of his depth fighting for his life against two gargoyles is tense. An invincible superpower tearing through powerful opponents with ease, less so. I also struggled to maintain my sympathy for the character after his decision to take a life, even if that was a decision influenced by a force at that point uncontrolled. Another review I read suggested that Caine was an author-surrogate, and though I wouldn’t entirely agree with that assessment, I can see where it comes from.

The antagonists are varied. The sub-contractor was probably the most interesting, and I would have liked to have seen more of him. The Weird Sisters were also strong. Their introduction was one of the best scenes in the book, clearly the darkest and most horrific. I’m not easily put-off by horror, but that scene in a Scottish hotel required a pause for recovery. Again they were perhaps under-utilised. Other antagonists came and went.

Mr Hood and Miss Sparks are the most enduring, and ultimately the truest antagonists of the novel (other than the force behind the grimoire). I felt Miss Sparks was one of the more interesting POV characters. There seemed to be more to her than was revealed. Perhaps this waits for me in the second and third volumes of the series. Mr Hood was menacing and confident and a good counter-point to Caine. The Sparks/Hood relationship was repulsive and fascinating, even though the sexual elements of it sometimes dropped in with a thud. I have no qualms about the sexual content, and even as it is Baxter is never overly explicit with it, but there were some instances that felt gratuitous.

Which brings me to Silhouette. I didn’t like Silhouette. I understand how she was necessary to the narrative and how Caine couldn’t have achieved what he did without her. I understood why he went from Welby to Silhouette, why he came to depend on her, and then she on him. I didn’t feel that the emotional connection really evolved naturally, but that wasn’t really a problem – emotional connections can be unexpected and inexplicable. I just didn’t like her, as a character. She promised to become quite interesting, briefly, or to reveal a side of herself to which Caine was unaware, but it never really happened. As Caine’s power grew her independence and agency seemed to contract accordingly. A shame, because she entered with a certain sense of self that seemed by the end to have been diminished. Her (many) sex scenes with Caine were unsexy, probably deliberately so, and some of them deeply discomforting – for much the same reasons as with Hood/Sparks.

‘Bound’ kept me hooked throughout. I finished the whole thing in a week, and there’s plenty in it to keep you wanting to turn the next page (or swipe the screen in my case). It’s the novel of a writer who knows his craft and can deliver on a promise. I’ll read the others in the series too, at least because I’m interested in where Baxter goes from here. With such a powerful protagonist, and such powerful enemies already defeated, I’m sure there’ll be something even bigger to come.

***Alan Baxter will be in Melbourne this Friday (26th Sept) and will be signing books. Check out his website – http://www.alanbaxteronline.com – or follow him on twitter – @AlanBaxter – for details.***


‘Cormorant’ Review

I should out myself first as a fan of Chuck Wendig and of Miriam Black. I really enjoyed my introduction to her in Blackbirds (as much as one can enjoy being introduced to Miriam), and while I got a little lost in the murkier plot of Mockingbird I found Cormorant something of a return to form.
If you have read other of Wendig’s work you’ll know what to expect here: swearing, off-kilter metaphors, a morality of greys and blacks, frenetic pacing. It’s a strong hand and he plays it well. Miriam’s no cheerier. She remains wounded and brutal, abused and abrasive. Her ‘gift’ still feels more like a curse. An offer she can’t refuse tempts her to Florida where the consequences of her past come back to haunt her. If you have read Miriam’s earlier books you should definitely read this one too.
And now we enter (potential) spoiler territory. I haven’t deliberately included any specific spoilers, but there’s the potential that some detail below might spoil it for you, so turn back now if ye be weak of heart.

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Transplanting Miriam to Florida works well. As with Dexter the setting provides a bright contrast to the dark heart (and dark deeds) of the character, a kind of thematic chiaroscuro. In many ways Miriam is the same as she ever was, but the effects of the previous novels are telling. From the beginning we see her life spiralling further downward, this from a starting point already best described as doldrums.

The development of her character had a sense of natural progression, but I didn’t accept it easily. The ghoulish opportunist of the first novel – a woman prepared to wait like a vulture over those due to die – is replaced with a murderer (the blurb says ‘killer’. I don’t think that’s strong enough). Miriam takes an active hand in deciding who lives; who dies. She has done so before of course, but for nobler ends. Where before the difficult decision to end a life was made to protect someone she loved, here it seems little more than experimentation. The kid she shoots – point blank to the skull no less – is no saint, but nor is he the kind of arch-criminal who Miriam has killed in the past. It’s a difficult balance to paint a character from so dark a palate as Wendig has chosen and still keep her sympathetic, and her decision to kill here makes that even more difficult. Granted, the decision has lasting effects on her.

It’s a theme of these novels that Miriam causes such distress and damage to those about whom she most cares, and who care most about her. Louis is mentioned, but when she has the opportunity to reconnect with him she chooses not to do so. Instead it’s her mother she calls. Wendig handles this expertly. The image we have had of Miriam’s mother in previous novels – entirely presented through Miriam’s perspective – is shattered quickly. She is not the woman Miriam remembers. Gone is the oppressive influence of religion. She has been hurt by her daughter’s experiences, and by her daughter’s absence. Now that Miriam’s back, there’s more hurt to come. Preventing the foretold murder of her mother becomes Miriam’s driving motivation, and a far more compelling one than the MacGuffin that got her to Florida in the first place.

Miriam also learns more about her powers. She meets another with a similar gift, a genuine psychic with a talent for finding what has been lost. Like Miriam her power is born from trauma, and the link is explicitly drawn. There’s also an extension of her earlier affinity with birds, in this case the transferral of her consciousness is more complete, more deliberate. The titles of the trilogy have always hinted at this affinity, but never so directly or so obviously as in this case. Her antagonist here also has a power, seemingly drawn from the other side of the same coin. Wendig explores in more detail the concepts of predetermination, of free-will, and (in a somewhat meta sense) predictability.

Miriam is put through the wringer again. Fittingly, for the third volume of a trilogy, there is an escalation in her own suffering. Physically she is hurt like never before. Too hurt, I suspect. She suffers such violence that it strains the reader’s suspension of disbelief. Even in a story about a psychic who can become birds, there’s a limit to what a human body can endure. Emotionally this is perhaps Miriam’s toughest tale. She has lost many of the support structures, fragile as they were, which she had worked so hard to build. She blames herself for the damage done to those around her, and that her antagonist is in a sense of her own creation. She struggles to reconnect with her mother, to see past the caricature villain of her memory to the woman in front of her. By the time she does, that rediscovered woman is endangered and even the saving of her life brings unimaginable trauma. For all her best efforts Miriam can’t prevent the horrors of her life from affecting others, and the more she tries to contain them the more they burden her.

She’s a fascinating character, and Wendig’s prose brings her brilliantly to life, popping off the page in a barrage of blasphemy and profanity. She’s sour and sharp and sarcastic, always the pugilist. He writes Miriam’s world-view with confidence, presenting it for us to decipher from little asides, the attention to detail. Sometimes – not often but perhaps too often – his characters can take on the role of mouth-piece, as Miriam does in the early chapters when she talks about friend-zoning. Perhaps this is a consequence of my fandom. Perhaps following Chuck on Twitter and at Terribleminds have given me an insight into his politics and perspectives such that when I read those same views in his characters I ascribe them to him. I’m not even sure that this is a criticism – authors will of course have characters who share their views, just as they will have characters who oppose them – other than that it took me out of the narrative during those moments and I had the feeling that it was Chuck’s voice in my ear, not Miriam’s.

The plot here is less muddled than I found Mockingbird’s to be, which is an improvement, but I felt that the pendulum may have swung too far. As with previous novels Wendig has the opportunity to play with flash-forwards and flash-back. Miriam’s power is a perfect vehicle for a jump into the future; her reminiscences and her mother are opportunities to flesh out her past. Wendig also tempts the reader with chapters that take us away from the main narrative to a future-point, in which Miriam is being interviewed by the agents of some unknown (alleged) agency. Despite this, Cormorant is very linear. Not a straight line, exactly, but no real dead-ends either, no red herrings worth noting. There are a few moving pieces introduced, but they remain on the periphery, never really upsetting the central narrative track. As a reader you can see what’s coming in advance and the interest becomes in seeing how it will all come together, rather than the mystery and anticipation of wondering how it will end.

Cormorant grabs hold and keeps you reading. It’s an engaging time to spend, shackled to the unfolding train-wreck of Miriam’s life, hoping despite yourself, despite her, that this might end well. Being already invested in Miriam’s story I was hooked already and enjoyed reading about her time in Florida.

Wendig is due to return to her in Thunderbird I will not hesitate to return with him.


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