Quality 5.0 / 5.0 (highly recommended)
Gay Inclusive? Slightly – One mention of a minor gay character
Gay positive? Very – I love how the gay content is handled

Unusually, in this case I think the sequel outdoes the first book, though it’s close. The sheer creativity, wit and cleverness in this book combined with the engaging writing style make this a pleasure to read.

The novel is a mystery or crime drama, set in an alternate reality where Dodos have been re-created and people travel internationally by means of Gravitubes that go through the center of the earth. A branch of the government deals specifically in time-travel-related crimes.

And, most importantly, books have their own reality, and it’s possible for characters from, say, “Great Expectations” to enter the “real” world of the novel, and for the protagonist Thursday Next to travel into works like “Jane Eyre” or Poe’s “The Raven.” Hence Miss Havisham from “Great Expectations” is actually a major character in Fforde’s novel.

Someone is trying to kill protagonist Thursday Next by using coincidences. Yes, you read right. Death by coincidence. Fforde injects a lot of tongue-in-cheek humor into his work, and there are several laugh-out-loud moments along the way.

The main weakness to the novel is the pacing and plotting – what is ostensibly the main plot seems to take a backseat to the many subplots, so it sometimes feels like the story is just drifting. I enjoyed reading this novel, but I didn’t find myself reading it breakfast, lunch, and dinner as I do when a book is totally gripping. Still, this is a minor complaint on my part, given that the characters are likable, the humor agreeable, and the ideas engaging, and I award the novel high scores in the “Quality” category.

As to the gay stuff…. the author mentions once that the Thursday’s brother (named Joffy, a minister in the Global Standard Deity Church) is gay, including a reference to Joffy’s boyfriend. The scene is a delightful riff, as Joffy and his boyfriend must keep their relationship secret because the boyfriend’s employer looks down on its employees associating with… clergymen. This is the only gay content in the whole book (hence the very low rating in that category), but I love the way it’s handled, so I give it full marks on the positivity scale.

Overall Quality 4.5 / 5.0 (fun, engaging story)
Gay Inclusive? Moderately – two secondary (but important) gay characters
Gay Positive? Very – both characters are well-rounded and fully fleshed-out

A supernatural (or urban fantasy) mystery adventure. Mercy Thompson is a sassy, free-spirited, and no-nonsense walker – that is, a shapeshifter who can transform easily from human to coyote, thanks to her Native American heritage. She lives in a world shared by werewolves, vampires, witches, and the fae (fairy spirits, ranging from gremlins to ogres to mythological monsters).

She has an uneasy but generally congenial relationship with the werewolf pack next door. In fact, she finds herself torn between the pack’s Alpha (Adam), and a former werewolf flame (Samuel). The romantic triangle is not resolved in this book – in fact, it’s not resolved until the end of Book 3.

The romance takes second place to the main story – a mysterious attack on Adam’s pack that leaves Adam on the verge of death and his (human) daughter Jesse kidnapped. Who would perpetrate such an attack? And why?

Briggs brings a lot of strengths to the book, including great characterizaton and a well-conceived alternate universe in which magic and supernatural creatures are real. The world-building (seeing how the supernatural elements fit into the “real” world) was just as interesting to me as the main plot. Briggs even manages to work a little social commentary into her world-building. The fae, for example, have recently been outed to the public, and most of them have been moved onto reservations.

Gay-wise, Adam’s pack includes a gay werewolf named Warren (who was a cowboy before he was turned), and his boyfriend Kyle. They are close friends of mercy’s, and both of them are sensible and helpful fellows with meaty parts in all three books.

A brief explanation why I included the negative stereotypes of heterosexism and gay without agency. The werewolf world is apparently even less accepting of gays than the normal world, and apparently Warren had a hard time of it until he was finally welcomed by Adam. Well, a harder time of it, because some of Adam’s other werewolves still do not deal well with him. It’s great that Adam is not prejudiced, and it paints his characters nicely, but it’s frustrating to see a gay man requiring a popular straight man’s “approval” to be accepted by the rest of the group.

I don’t weight these factors heavily, however. Yeah, I would have preferred if gayness were no big deal in the werewolf world. But even so, Warren and Kyle are two great characters, and Briggs (through protagonist Mercy) clearly cares about them. Major kudos to Briggs for writing them into the story, making them such great characters, and giving them some substantive scenes.

Story-wise, a minor complaint: the story weakens near the end. In part to increase tension, and in part to conclude the novel’s central mystery, the plot becomes convoluted and twisted as it winds to a conclusion. It’s a little hard to follow, and it throws the novel’s pacing off. Still, the author manages to end the book with a bang, and how’s this for a recommendation: I finished the book and immediately went out and bought the next two.

“Swordspoint” is one of my favorite gay romances, despite the fact that the emphasis falls on 17th-century-esque political plots rather than the romance. Richard St. Vier is a dashing and unparalleled swordsman, and Alec Campion is a sarcastic ex-university student who’s not quite what he seems. In some ways, their romance is hard to understand: they’re SO different. On the other hand, the author – who has an amazing grasp of detail – paints their relationship with a visceral sense of longing and belonging. One reviewer comments,

“Alec’s cold and cruel humor is just what Richard needs to get out of his emotionless funk and feel a little. Alec arouses his protective instincts, and Richard’s slow loss of control over his feelings is one of the things that make their relationship so compelling. Richard’s only anchor in his life is his swordsman codex – he will live and he will die by swordspoint – and following how Alec makes his simple black-and-white principles turn topsy-turvy is fun” (1).

It helps that their relationship is the only genuine one in the book; every other relationship turns around money, power, and self-interest. Their romance also enjoys a certain equitability that I really liked. Richard saves and helps Alex, constantly protecting him and at one point avenging his honor: “[a professional killer] who brutally mutilates the man who [violently mistreats] Alec before running home to make tormented love to Alec (all the while covered with blood) – how can this not be sexy?” (2). And in return, Alec saves and helps Richard when the tables are turned, and Richard finds himself facing the gallows in a world of nobles and politics that the poor swordsman doesn’t know how to navigate.

Richard makes for an engaging romantic hero. He’s a trained killer: he does something we would, in real life, find distasteful; yet he practices his craft under a fairly rigid moral code that fits acceptably into the social milieu in which he lives. In fact, he values his honor and reputation above his craft, tending to turn away potential jobs if they don’t fit his moral system. Besides, who wouldn’t want to have a lover who, after someone abuses us, goes out and “gets” them? Well, okay, that’d be kind of psycho in the real world; but in an escapist fairy tale? The entire romance novel industry turns on that very ideal!

Yet even the appeal and strength of the romantic relationship wouldn’t be enough to make this one of my favorite novels if Kushner didn’t have the writing goods to back it up: an intricate and compelling plot, deep but subtle characterization, and a fantastic attention to detail saturated with a wonderful command of the English language. I should emphasize, though, the romance takes second place to the main plot: the machinations of a certain noble aiming at (what else?) self-aggrandizement at the expense of his rivals. It’s wonderful fun watching the convoluted plot unfold step-by-step, and then watching it unravel through counter-machinations by other parties. Until the very end, the reader is never quite sure how things are going to turn. Add in the atmosphere and colorful characters, and we have a winner!

One caveat, though: most of the book details Machiavellian plotting, interspersed with exciting but relatively brief fight sequences. The result is a book that may not appeal to fantasy fans who prefer more adventuring and more action.

Regarding the positivity score, I see this book as an early forerunner of a relatively new breed of gay-interest genre fiction in which gay content figures largely (though perhaps not centrally) but is treated as completely morally neutral. The word “gay” or “homosexual” never even occurs in this book; neither does anti-gay attitude figure in anywhere. There seems to be an understanding, especially among the nobility, that one must still marry even if one’s desires lie with the same sex in order to beget children. But otherwise, no one makes an issue of same-sex interest at all, one way or the other. It’s just there.

At the same time, the book manages to avoid falling into stereotypical traps. It’s not that bad things don’t happen to the gay characters, but they’re offset by (1) it’s obvious the bad things don’t happen because the characters are gay (which is a necessary but not sufficient condition for a high gay positivity score), and (2) the bad things tend to be tempered. For example, if the book didn’t have the ending it does, I wouldn’t score it as being nearly so positive, because it would just be another book reinforcing a stereotype. Instead, the bad things fit in perfectly with the scope and nature of the book’s plot, helping to flesh out the characters and build tension, suspense, and excitement.

The 2003 edition includes three short stories involving Alec and Richard. “The Swordsman Whose Name Was Not Death” makes a very nice epilogue to the novel. “Red-Cloak” is quirky: very brief, a sort of swordsman’s ghost story. “The Death of the Duke” is odd and sad, and the weakest of the three stories.

————————————————

(1). Anonymous. “Swordspoint by Ellen Kusher,” (no date provided), http://www.mrsgiggles.com/books/kushner_swordspoint.html (accessed 29 July 2007).
(2) Ibid.

Three books comprise the Riddle-Master trilogy (”The Riddle-Master of Hed,” “The Heir of Sea and Fire,” and “Harpist in the Wind”), now available in a single volume. McKillip wrote this story in the late 1970s, and in the foreword she remarks on Tolkien’s “The Lord of the Rings” trilogy as inspiration. While I can see echoes of his influence, McKillip has crafted a completely original classic fantasy.

The story follows the journey of Morgon, the Prince of rural and peace-loving Hed. He bears an unusual destiny he would just as soon avoid. He’s a likeable character, but the story starts slowly. Early on, Morgon is lost at sea during an attempt on his life, and he finds himself suffering from amnesia in the care of Astrin Ymris, land-heir to the land of Ymris. The story picks up substantially once Astrin takes Morgon to Astrin’s brother, Hereu. At that point, the reader first learns about the story’s major villains, the shape-shifters, who attack Morgon. Ultimately, Morgon’s quest for answers about his destiny takes him to the High One, who doesn’t turn out to be what Morgon expects.

The second book (”The Heir of Sea and Fire”) follows the trail of a different character: Morgon’s betrothed, Princess Raederle of An. She decides she is not going to sit quietly while Morgon has gone missing for a year in the High One’s Erlenstar Mountain. But as Raederle makes her own journey to the Mountain to ask the High One about Morgon’s fate, she must answer the riddles about her own life, and face the legacy she has inherited as the heir of sea and fire. “The Heir of Sea and Fire” surpasses the first and last books: McKillip’s prose is especially evocative and thought-provoking, and Raederle is a fascinating character who’s sympathetic in some ways Morgon is not. This book revolves around mostly female characters, a nice change of pace from most fantasy literature.

The final book unites the Prince of Hed with Raederle. While the focus is clearly on Morgon, the Princess of An plays a pivotal role. They again visit the same interesting, unique, and carefully written lords of the realm that he and Raederle met in the first and second books respectively, as the realm draws inevitably closer to an apocalyptic confrontation between the shape-shifters, the land-rulers, the High One, and Morgon and Raederle. The trilogy ends with a smashing and surprising conclusion.

The villains of the story (including but not limited to the shape-shifters) are given relatively short-shrift in the writing, unusual in the fantasy genre. They appear only intermittently and briefly. But in hindsight, Morgon and Raederle struggle more within themselves than against their antagonists, certainly a truism of life most people tend not to notice.

McKillip has written a beautifully imaginative and intensely metaphoric tale of self-discovery. Her story recalls Paulo Coelho’s “The Alchemist” as parable. Her prose is fluid and poetic, frequently yielding to lengthy description and extended metaphors. Her emphasis on riddles gives her characters’ lives a depth that fantasy readers often try to experience vicariously. Note that McKillip’s riddles aren’t brain-teasers but rather the deeper existential questions of life, such as “what is my purpose?” My own life – like everyone’s – is also a journey of self-discovery, but somehow reframing the adventure as a quest to answer riddles bearing the weight of destiny gives the story layers of meaning that I often miss in my own more prosaic journey.

The heritage of magic and power that Morgon and Raederle inherit, struggle against, make peace with, and ultimately use also give the book a sense of wonder. Taken as metaphor, everyday folks tend to get lost in their own ordinariness (hence they seek out escapist works like this), but we all have far more power to shape our lives than most people acknowledge, much less exercise. McKillip has created a world that resonates powerfully with the reader who believes there is a kind of magic in the possibilities of life.

That said, the plot grew a bit incomprehensible and convoluted as the story progressed. Morgon’s and Raederle’s powers made less and less sense. Theme sometimes eclipsed plot and character as the paramount element of McKillip’s writing. If you are a fan of the gritty realism and detail of, say, George R.R. Martin, the story may not appeal to you so much. But if you love deeply textured characters struggling in a multilayered tale riddled (ahem) with well-planned surprises, I highly recommend the Riddle-Master trilogy.

Don’t expect any gay content. In truth, there are only two or three romantic relationships of any substance in the story. It’s possible that she could have incorporated some gay background characters in some casual way, but in all honesty, this kind of story makes relationships of any sort secondary. In fact, even the main romance between Morgon and Raederle stretched credulity a bit. Raederle became engaged to Morgon simply because her father promised to marry her to whomever answered a certain riddle. The book suggests they knew each other previously, but not very well, and I found myself questioning Raederle’s passion and commitment to Morgon. While a super-romance makes for good drama, asking “what’s her motivation here?” distracts from the story.

Rowling has earned her place alongside such fantasy luminaries as J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, and Ursula K. LeGuin. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows shines as the best book of her seven book series: it’s exciting, engaging, surprising, and cathartic. She deftly combines action, adventure, comedy, suspense, horror, and romance into a lovely page-turner. But even this book alone would not earn her praise alongside the likes of Tolkien, had she not written the preceding six books. Taken as a whole, Rowling has created an epic series that will likely survive the test of time as a classic of fantasy literature. The genius she shares with those other authors is not so much the exceptional writing skills (others have already commented on Rowling’s writing weaknesses, so I will not belabor the point) but rather her soaring imagination and fantastic instincts for pure storytelling. People love a good story, and it’s obvious Rowling loves to tell one, and has the imagination to back it up.

The story proceeds with a fast-paced rhythm, an ebb-and-flow of slower, more thoughtful and emotive narrative followed by supremely exciting, tense, suspenseful action. The action sequences are completely absorbing. The chapter concerning the Ministry of Magic, for example, literally left my heart racing. The plot is fairly linear, from which a predictable pattern emerges. But the back-story – about Harry’s parents, Snape, and Dumbledore’s background – which Rowling has doled out in carefully controlled bits over the last six books finally comes together in surprising, and sometimes poetic, ways. The ending, in particular, left me impressed with her ability to weave disparate threads of information together.

Ah, the ending. Of course I’m not going to spoil it. I will comment that the conclusion satisfies but for one caveat: I was never that impressed with Voldemort as villain. I always found him somewhat pedestrian. The Dark Lord of Mordor from Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, now that’s one scary dude. And the nemesis in Le Guin’s classic A Wizard of Earthsea (1968) simply dazzles with its poetry, unexpectedness, and inventiveness. But Voldemort has always struck me as a bit too silly to take seriously. But I suppose Rowling was stuck with him in the grown-up Deathly Hallows after having created him in the children’s Sorcerer’s Stone (the first book). The ending is pleasing enough in its action and resolution; but it didn’t blow me away, and I largely blame that on Voldemort having underwhelmed me as Harry’s nemesis.

And I thought the epilogue was just plain dumb. It was kind of like having a delicious dinner, followed by an unfortunate dessert that left a bitter aftertaste. Still, I can see what Rowling was trying to do, and don’t let a handful of pages stop you from reading this wonderful story.

It’s a joy to journey with Harry, Ron, and Hermione on their final adventure opposing Lord Voldemort, as they try to piece together Dumbledore’s thin clues from the last volume to figure out how to stop Lord Voldemort permanently, so that he cannot return again. Rowling does a great job of incorporating characters, objects, and minor plot threads from previous books into a single, comprehensive, and conclusive volume. Deathly Hallows is easily the darkest, most mature, and most sophisticated of the series, and yet moments of humor and the same whimsy that made the early books so magical and appealing nicely counterbalance the tragedy and terror. Indeed, the darkness of the story – and yes, terrible things happen to the characters in Deathly Hallows – emphasizes the lighter moments all the more.

As for gay content, there is none. Before I started reading, I was still hopeful. If she were going to include any gay content, this would be the book. Because it’s the last, she doesn’t need to worry about sales for the next book in the series, and perhaps in the most mature book of the series she’d finally be willing to tackle gay characters and themes. I didn’t expect much (well, actually, I didn’t expect anything, but still) more than a mention of a minor male character reaching in a moment of terror to hold hands with his boyfriend, or a secondary female character rushing to the defense of her girlfriend during a battle sequence. In other words, inclusion that’s casual, simple, and little more than a sentence long.

Rowlings announced to an audience at New York City’s Carnegie Hall on October 12, 2007 that Dumbledore is gay. Furthermore, she’s since added, “It is in the book. It’s very clear in the book” (1).

Rebecca Traister, writing for Salon.com, argues that “a close reading would reveal that The Deathly Hallowswas shot through with intimations about the headmaster’s sexuality”(2).

Some of the pertinent quotes:

• Early in the book, Dumbledore is accused of taking “an unnatural interest in [Harry] Potter” (27).
• Midway through, Harry finds a picture of Dumbledore, laughing with a “handsome companion,” who turns out to be a nasty magician named Gellert Grindelwald (353).
• “[Dumbledore and Grindelwald, as seventeen-year-olds] took to each other at once” (356).
• In Dumbledore’s own words: “Grindelwald. You cannot imagine how his ideas caught me, Harry, inflamed me” (716).

Even in hindsight, I disagree that these passages make clear that Dumbledore and Grindelwald were anything more than friends. The first quote from the book is literally a scurrilous accusation, not a statement of fact. I am thrilled – how could I not be? – that Rowling has posthumously outed Dumbledore. I’m just puzzled why she didn’t do it in the book itself. She says the idea of Dumbledore being gay came early, “probably before the first book was published” (3).

So why not include an exchange such as the one suggested by Michael Jensen from AfterElton.com:

Harry: Have you ever been in love, Headmaster?
Dumbeldore: I was once, Harry. I loved Gellert Grindewald [sic], but it wasn’t meant to be.(4)

Alas, I was doomed to disappointment. As I first started reading, I was forgiving of the exclusion. She starts the book off with a bang, and I respect that in a story that’s down-to-business and go-go-go, she simply wouldn’t have time to divert from the main story, even for a minor mention. But as I delved deeper, I realized Rowlings includes a lot of relationship activity in this book, ranging from shy advances to developing romances to an outright wedding to pregnancy. The exclusion of gay characters is all the more glaring in comparison. In thousands of pages and well over 300 named characters, not a single gay character or theme merits existence (again, I emphasize, in the books themselves). I will always love the stories – and thank you, Jo, for outing Dumbledore! – but it nevertheless irritates me that the Wizarding World apparently belongs solely to straight people and a single apparently closeted wizard.

I write more extensively on this topic in my essay “The Gay of Harry Potter: Subtext and Omission.”

—————————-

(1) Philip Marchand, “Dumbledore Gay From the Start?” TheStar.com, 24 October 2007, http://www.thestar.com/entertainment/Books/article/269817 (retrieved 15 May 2008).

(2) Rebecca Traister, “Dumbledore? Gay. J.K. Rowling? Chatty.” Salon.com, 23 October 2007, http://www.salon.com/books/feature/2007/10/23/dumbledore/ (retrieved 15 May 2008).

(3) Philip Marchand, “Dumbledore Gay From the Start?” TheStar.com, 24 October 2007, http://www.thestar.com/entertainment/Books/article/269817 (retrieved 15 May 2008).

(4) Michael Jensen, “So Dumbledore Is Gay. What Does It All Mean?” AfterElton.com, 22 October 2007, http://www.afterelton.com/blog/michaeljensen/dumbledore-gay-what-does-it-mean (retrieved 14 May 2008).

The entire series is called “The Spellsong War series” and actually lasts five books. However, the focus in the last two books shifts from the principal character of Lady Anna, the Soprano Sorceress, to another character, so I consider that to be a separate series set in the same world. Therefore, this review and analysis covers only the first three books.

The first book (”The Soprano Sorceress”) details Anna’s arrival in Erde and the discovery and evolution of her powers. Anna is a singer and teacher from the Earth whose life is slow falling apart. Her marriage has broken up, she’s struggling financially, and her oldest child (out of three) has recently died in a car accidence. She wants nothing more than to leave all the difficulties behind. Be careful what you wish for. In a parallel universe, in which magic is real but requires skilled singing to execute, a young man named Daffyd wants to summon a powerful sorceress to help him find revenge against a sorcerer.

His and Anna’s desires collide, and Anna finds herself pulled from the Earth to Erde. Immediately, she finds herself embroiled in a mess of national politics and at risk from an invasion of a Nazi-like nation of “Dark Monks.” Throughout the book, she does not know whom she can trust, and must use wit, guile, and her formidable powers as a sorceress to survive constant dangers.

As part of Anna’s efforts against the Dark Monks, she allies herself with yet another invader, the Prophet Behlem (a delightfully calculating and self-absorbed character) from Neserea, who then becomes her enemy. Finally, she must travel to Ebra to defeat the Dark Monks once and for all.

The second book (”The Spellsong War”) follows Anna’s adventures as the exalted Regent of Defalk, until the underage heir from the first book is old enough to inherit. Defalk is composed of 33 principalities, each ruled by a short-sighted and self-interested Lord, and Anna is forced to weather the internal politics of Defalk in order to survive.

One of the Lords in the south threatens to start a civil war, supported by Defalk’s neighbor to the south, the nation of Dumar. Dumar, meanwhile, is being supported and manipulated by the Sea-Priests of Sturinn, who are so evil they keep all their women in chains. This book emphasizes politics and Machiavellian maneuvering as much or more than the action.

The final book of the trilogy (”Darksong Rising”) has Lady Anna, still serving as Regent of Defalk, facing dangerous enemies simultaneously on several fronts. First, bickering with several of the 33 Lords of Defalk is causing instability in the already fragile nation. Meanwhile, she must travel back to Ebra to settle a dispute there before it explodes, involving Defalk, and then hurry to the opposite side of the country to face down the Prophet Behlem’s evil son, the young Rabyn. And all the while she must also deal with internal uprisings from several Lords of Defalk who violently resist her rule, as well as a dangerous darksinger seeking revenge. Whew!

Characters

Welcome to one of my favorite fantasy trilogies! The Lady Anna is a favorite character from fantasy literature – a smart, tough woman pulled from a life of obscurity and difficulty in the “real” world and thrust into a position of greatness in a fantasy realm filled with magic. She’s powerful, intelligent, thoughtful, and moral, and she becomes an enchanting conduit through which the reader can experience the world of Erde. I greatly enjoyed watching her stay one step ahead of her enemies and gradually progress from confused stranger in a strange land to, well, let’s say I was well pleased with the ending of each book and also the trilogy as a whole.

I do have one minor complaint about Anna, however: I had a tough time believing her reaction to her arrival in Erde. She seemed to take it all in stride. Given her character, I don’t think she’d descend into hysterics, but I would have expected more resistance and difficulty in adjusting.

The characters closest to Anna, such as Lord Jecks or Overcaptain Hanfor, have the most distinct and fully developed personalities, but even they are shadows compared to Anna, who’s really the only fully developed character in the series.

And other characters, even seemingly important ones, are even more roughly sketched, two-dimension caricatures. In fact, many of the characters in certain roles are fully interchangeable. Modesitt almost needn’t have bothered naming them. Instead of Lord Dannel and Lord Tybel, he might have said Defalkan Lord One and Defalkan Lord Two. Such is the case with most, though not all, of the lords.

Similarly, among the pages and soldiers, few stand out and most are interchangeable. One character might have a distinctive attribute, quirk, or behavior – like Skent the page smiles at Anna, while Birke the page seems fearful of her – but otherwise one is little different from the other. And often that one distinctive quality is emphasized over and over again, so it becomes the only feature strongly associated with the character. That may help the reader remember different characters over the course of the epic, but it creates a one-dimensional person.

On a closely related note, with virtually each character, what you see is what you get. A few more character-related surprises would have added a lot to the novels.

As far as villains go, Behlem is by far the most interesting and complex. Too bad he doesn’t last longer. All of the others are clichés and caricatures. Behlem’s son Rabyn is probably the next best villain because Modesitt builds him up over a series of chapters, but his behaviors are all caricatured and stereotyped. In other words, Modesitt comes across heavy-handed in painting Rabyn as evil and perverted, creating more cartoon villain than real person.

Other enemies are not given enough time to fully develop, so they too come across in broad strokes, without nuance, such as the scheming Cyndyth or Anientta. Cyndyth, for example, schemes because that’s just what she does. Her character is Scheming, Jealous Consort. We never know her well enough to understand why, what woundedness gives rise to her hatefulness, or what fearfulness contributes to her aggression.

Modesitt’s series recalls “The Dragon Prince” trilogy by Melanie Rawn. However, Rawn’s work eclipses Modesitt’s in one important respect: virtually every character in Rawn’s world is carefully sculpted to come as close to living and breathing as a character on the page can.

Plot and Narrative

The story moves at a crisp pace, following the sensible, likeable Anna through her constant travails. The prose flows easily, and Modesitt never succumbs to over-writing, that all-too-common writing disease in the fantasy genre. The plot blends political intrigue with battle and action, giving the books a sustained momentum. “The Spellsong War” moves more slowly than either the first or third book but is still engaging and easily readable. The story is linear, particularly since Modesitt presents few unexpected twists (either plot- or character-wise). With plot, as with character, what you see is largely what you get.

Modesitt also innovates on the use of magic in his fantasy universe. A sorceress like Anna performs magic through song. The more skilled the singer, and the better the orchestral accompaniment, the more powerful the magic. As a highly trained, professional singer, Anna is unusually powerful for a sorceress in the world of Erde. I found the equation of song and magic to be elegant and poetic.

The effect on Anna was also interesting, requiring substantial amounts of energy. Repeatedly after performing some magical feat, Anna would think to herself that her blood sugar must be very low, and she would need to eat. In fantasy video games, a magical character typically has something called Magic Points or Mana Points (MP). Each spell costs a certain number of MP. When the character runs out of MP, they can no longer cast spells until they recover their Magic Points. Although it may be called by many different names, the use of MP to limit magical characters in games has become convention, and has always struck me as an artificial limitation on those characters. I have never before thought of this scheme in terms of blood sugar, which makes a lot more sense. Kudos to Modesitt for his creativity.

However, all three books suffer from a serious structural weakness, which detracts from the flow and drama of the story. Modesitt presents two or three chapters focused on Anna, followed by a brief chapter depicting an antagonist from one of several foreign countries. The cycle then repeats. The brief antagonist chapters are painfully predictable, regardless of which country they cover. The antagonists follow the developments surrounding Anna and usually conclude with something threatening, like “We may need to do away with her.” The reader quickly learns, however, that these antagonists almost never actually do anything except watch and threaten.

Clearly, Modesitt is trying to deep the drama and increase tension, but these episodes become repetitive and contribute little to the story other than to distract from the main storyline. They are insufficient to develop worthy, interesting adversaries. I found myself skimming them, and only rarely did I think they were worth the time away from the real story. Note, however, the final book improves on the use of these interludes to effectively to build the plot against Anna, as well as the diabolical characters arrayed against her.

Despite the structural flaws, I found myself fascinated by watching Anna – a modern woman from the “real” world – deal with medieval politics and warfare. And even though the villains were clichéd, their selfishness, cruelty, and unfairness still made me bristle. I wanted Anna to put them in their place. If nothing else, the books successfully allow the reader the vicarious thrill of putting a bad guy in his place. Furthermore, the juxtaposition of modern sensibilities with medieval misogyny and brutality absorbed my attention and fueled one of the strongest aspects of the novel: theme.

The Themes

Many fantasies gloss over a thoughtful examination of the societies they contain. They emphasize instead plot and character, and if the readers want to find deeper meaning, they’ll have to piece it together themselves. Modesitt, however, uses the device of outsider-as-protagonist to probe more deeply into some social issues: gender politics (the dominant theme), appearance versus substance, force and violence versus peace and diplomacy, the generation gap, and the domino effect of most major decisions.

• Gender politics. Modesitt’s exploration of gender roles comprises the dominant theme of the series. The theme of youth and beauty adds nuance to this theme. Anna is nearly 50, the mother of three grown children, but around the middle of the first book a youth spell grants her the appearance of a young woman. “She’d been given youth, and beauty back, and power – and it was getting more and more evident that the price was high – higher than she could have dreamed” (The Soprano Sorceress, 396). Therefore, not only is our protagonist thrust into a sexist, medieval society, she also gives the appearance of being very young and beautiful. In other words, she’s not taken seriously on several levels, which adds to her struggle. In fact, its interesting to watch her deal with this. She’s a ruthless character; she kills a lot of people using her power. And yet she’s almost forced to; she offers her enemies multiple chances at peace, but they don’t take her seriously. She then exercises her power, and everyone (including Anna herself) is horrified at what she does. Sometimes the enemies keep pushing, forcing Anna to destroy them, simply because it would be “dishonorable” to surrender or give in to a woman. Many of her enemies arise, in fact, simply because she’s a woman. On the other hand, her gender grants her an outsider status. People give her greater leeway than they might a man
• Politics. The gender politics dovetails nicely with the ordinary, everyday, age old politics. As Anna describes it: “What a miserable situation – the worst of university politics combined with magic and medieval court intrigue “ (The Soprano Sorceress, 331). Much of the drama revolves around Anna dealing with the political maneuverings of the 33 Lords of Defalk that rule under her.
• The interconnectedness of events. In Modesitt’s world, as in the real world, every choice is a domino which necessarily has tangible repercussions. Anna constantly discovers how one choice leads to an unexpected, often dire consequence. Anna’s rise to power as the Regent of Defalk puts her in a position of being able to choose her own course, as well the course of her nation, and yet her increasing understanding of how her choices impact everyone else becomes its own limitation. And because of her power and stature, her choices affect far more people. The consequences, therefore, are far greater. “For the first time in her life, she could direct at least some of her own destiny. And yet she could not, not without considering the destinies of others, not being who she still was.” (The Soprano Sorceress, 657).
• The interconnectedness of people. It’s interesting to watch the characters native to Defalk. They’re all so provincial, in the sense that they don’t see anything outside of their individual sphere. Anna sees the big picture, but the scheming Lords of Defalk see only what’s good for them. Very often, what’s good for them would be terrible for Defalk. In fact, it’s obvious to the reader, and to Anna, that if they succeeded in displacing Anna, it would only be a matter of time before a neighboring power invaded and conquered Defalk. The same trend occurs on a smaller scale. Anna describes the young man Daffyd as “the condescending undergraduate who hadn’t figured out how much he didn’t know” (The Soprano Sorceress, 404). The same can be said of most characters in the series: they just don’t get it. It’s frustrating (and contributes a lot of drama to the story), but it’s also true to life. If anything, many of the conflicts that occur in our world are the result of the inability (or unwillingness) to see past our immediate surroundings, the almost willful refusal to see the big picture.

However, the reader must also face the downside to a careful presentation of theme and politics: the action slows down. Similarly, the emphasis on politics slows the action down. Someone who likes reading thoughtful, philosophical dialogue will enjoy reading Anna’s thoughts or her exchanges with her principal advisors. A reader who prefers a fast-paced action-adventure novel may get bored with many parts of this trilogy.

Also, Modesitt sometimes goes a little bit overboard. For example, he gets a little heavy-handed with the “men are bad” shtick. Anna’s reactions to killing also got old. Although they contributed to her humanity, and made me appreciate her as a character more, I wanted to slap her and say, “What choice do you have!”

The Gay

I have to admit, it irritates me when novels like this exclude any form of gay content. Modesitt has written a fantasy epic and populated his world with literally dozens and dozens of characters – lords, heirs, retainers, advisors, soldiers, pages, fosterlings, sorcerers, etc. And not a single one is gay? Admittedly, Modesitt focuses the emphasis so solidly on Anna that more peripheral characters are little more than their names, and the Erde’s sexist society would doubtless force any gay character deep into the closet since homophobia closely follows sexism. So I can’t fault Modesitt too strongly. And yet, I reiterate that his emphasis on gender politics as a theme opens the door to a consideration of these issues, so I’m still irritated by it.

It is hard to judge an author’s intentions regarding gay themes when there are none. Usually I try to give them the benefit of the doubt, and if there’s no gay content, I simply don’t score the novel for Gay Positivity. However, when the series has so many characters, and they are all presumably straight, I see both heterosexism (the automatic assumption of heterosexuality) and defamation by omission. For sheer reading experience, I very much enjoy these books. But I’m still going to score them down for Gay Positivity.

Overall

“The Soprano Sorceress” was a rousing good adventure, with smart thematic subtext, and features one of my favorite characters from fantasy literature. It’s definitely a winner with only minor structural problems.

“The Spellsong War” is more of the same, but it tends to get bogged down: the author emphasizes the politics of Anna’s situation, the theme (although interesting) is sometimes heavy-handed, and the book slows down when wading through the minutia. The second volume also inherits the structural problems of the first.

Finally, “Darksong Rising” combines the best aspects of the first and second books: a deep, intelligent thematic story with a nice balance of politics and action carried out by a large cast of interesting personalities. “Darksong Rising” is the darkest of the three, almost reminiscent of George R.R. Martin, but also the most powerful.

I love McCaffrey’s Pern series. Unlike a lot of modern genre authors, McCaffrey follows the “Keep It Simple, Silly” guideline to fiction writing: a straightforward story (peppered with a few surprises here and there) written with crisp prose and tight editing, populated by a manageable number of engaging and marvelously unique characters. I clearly remember reading “Dragonflight” (another book in the Pern series) one day after school as an adolescent; the book had me utterly enraptured. It’s a rare sequence of books that yields memories OF READING that last for decades.

Chronologically, “Dragonsdawn” is the first book in the Pern series. It follows the human colonists arriving on Pern, establishing a settlement, discovering the deadly threat of Thread, and engineering dragons to combat the Thread. The author interweaves the personal dramas of the myriad characters throughout the story, giving it human interest and depth.

“Dragonsdawn” is easily one my favorites from the Pern series. It’s delightful to watch McCaffrey start with science fiction and end with a fantasy novel. The characters are among the sharpest and most well-rounded she’s created. The engaging story unfolds naturally and quickly; there’s no fluff in this fast-paced novel. What a welcome relief from the modern scourge of genre fiction: overwriting.

For an easy, enjoyable sci fi read, I highly recommend “Dragonsdawn.” You can read it before any of the other Pern books (since it predates them chronologically), after you’ve read the others (as a prequel showing how it all started), or on its own (it’s a completely self-contained story).

Gay Content is low, with a couple of brief references to homosexuality. Specifically, one important female character (Sallah Telgar) has romantic designs on a man who seems at best friendly with her; Sallah wonders if the object of her affection prefers men. McCaffrey also mentions that even those people who are in same-sex relationships have an obligation to reproduce, given that these people are trying to colonize a planet.

On the whole, the references suggest Pernese society accepts gay people (as long as they have kids), but I marked down a little on the Gay Positivity due to “defamation by invisibility.” All the references are abstract. As far as I can tell, none of the named characters (major or even minor) are gay. I appreciate McCaffrey throwing the gay community a bone, but it would have been nice to see an actual gay person, even if minor, in the story.

I adore this novel. It’s a short, easy read, and I read it whenever I feel sad, lonely, or somehow distressed.

It’s the tale of Menolly, who wants to be a Harper (like a bard) in a world where Harpers are all men. After the events of the first book in the series (“Dragonsong”), she finds herself at Harperhall. She must traverse the politics and her own naivete to find her place. Her nine Fire Lizards, which are like miniature dragons, complicate her adventure.

Menolly is a wonderfully engaging character, and the reader can easily relate to the trials and tribulations she endures. By the end, the reader is cheering for her!

The relatively brief novel benefits from precise and crisp prose. With a minimum of words, McCaffrey evokes vivid setting, character, and action. Perhaps because she is an old-school fantasy author, she does not succumb to the plague of over-writing so common in modern fantasy literature. A tone of hopefulness and adventure renders the book into an exciting and uplifting tale.

There is no gay content.

Overall Quality 4.5 / 5.0 (highly recommended)
Gay Content 1.0 / 5.0 (a couple of mentions)

Weir understandably points out that the Wars of the Roses, a period of English civil strife between 1455 and 1487, can easily be separated into two phases. Her previous book, “The Princes in the Tower,” details the second phase of the conflict, wherein the House of Tudor struggled against the House of York. This volume serves as a prequel describing the first phase, York versus Lancaster.

The tale comprises scads of players and events, making for an extremely convoluted and complicated story. Weir does a great job, through easily readable prose written for a lay audience. Even so, there are so many names, places, dates, and events that it would require more than one reading for it to really sink in.

“The Wars of the Roses” begins with a section describing medieval England, and then traces the conflict from its origins in the unfortunate reign of Richard II (Edward III’s grandson). She continues through various monarchs: Henry IV, Henry V, Henry VI, and ultimately culminating with Edward IV’s final defeat of the House of Lancaster. She also offers a brief summary of the phase of the conflict that follows (with the reigns of Richard III and Henry VII).

The condensation of the civil war, even parsed into two phases, becomes a little misleading. For example, the rule of England goes back and forth repeatedly. Henry VI and Edward IV actually trade places a couple of times before Edward finally defeats Henry. Similarly, the power-mongering court factions who took advantage of the weak and easily led Henry VI also change. Even Edward IV, a much stronger personality than Henry, suffers from certain weaknesses unfortunately plied by power-grabbing noble families. In the book, this back-and-forth occurs every few pages. But for the people living through this time, it would have be months or even years (although sometimes just weeks) between changes.

Politics in England during this period was truly a zero-sum game, where one family gained power only at another’s expense. Hence rivalries developed (such as between the Nevilles and the Percies, two powerful families) and factions took root at court. Henry VI’s weakness of character opened the door for power struggles, but fundamentally the conflict began with a class of magnates (landed, high-ranking nobles) who craved power for power’s sake with complete disdain for each other and the common people. Henry VI’s marriage to the unscrupulous and scheming Margaret of Anjou simply exacerbated the problem because Margaret simply chose a faction and favored it.

I actually would have enjoyed just a bit more analysis about the political and social dynamics going on. For example, in the absence of a zero-sum game, factions have a harder time taking root, and often tend to take the form of providing different perspectives rather than seizing power. What is it about the conditions of life in England, and the circumstances of the English monarchy and nobility at that time, that contributed to the zero-sum game being not only existent but embraced by the various players? Are the political and popular dynamics of Lancastrian, Yorkist, and Tudor England categorically different from modern England or, by extension, the United States? Or maybe not…? I can see arguments both ways. Alas, such an analysis really exceeds the scope of Weir’s history, which is largely a dramatic retelling of the Wars of the Roses based on extensive primary and secondary sources.

I was intrigued to learn how much the magnates apparently considered popular opinion. It makes sense, in a way: they were constantly trying to raise armies, and of course it’s the common folk who make up the bulk of cannon fodder. The supposed “rich and powerful” were also constantly borrowing money to finance their campaigns. At the same time, it’s painfully obvious that the magnates regarded commoners with sheer disdain. Heck, they regarded EACH OTHER with contempt!

But then, it’s sometimes shocking how much medieval English culture diverges from our own. Consider the parentage of Henry VII: at the time of their marriage, his father Richard was 25 years old. His mother Margaret was only 12. She gave birth to Henry at age 13. I’ll leave the math to you. I won’t even mention the excessive interpersonal, interfamilial, and international violence of the age.

Hm. Maybe it’s not that dissimilar, after all.

The appendix provides several much needed genealogical tables. Unfortunately, the font is so small and unusual (it looks hand-written) that it borders on useless. Nevertheless, I found myself referring back to the genealogies multiple times throughout the reading to remember who was who.

I also would have appreciated some kind of glossary, index, or table matching names with titles. Many magnates could be referred to by first name, family name, title, and in some cases nickname. For the most part Weir did a good job of picking one name and sticking to it. For example, we have Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, also called the Kingmaker. For the most part, Weir refers to him consistently as Warwick. Other times she would vary, and it could be very difficult to follow, especially considering how many Edwards, Richards, and Henrys show up.

On the whole, if you are a fan of English history, I readily recommend this highly readable and engaging retelling of the Wars of the Roses. Far from a dry history textbook, it succeeds in its aim to bring these characters and events to life.

Note, I did include a score for Gay Content thanks to a couple of mentions in the book. For instance, Weir mentions that Richard II had a couple of male “favorites,” who may well have been lovers. I debated whether to score the book for its Gay Positivity, considering how little content there is, but I can still comment on the nature of those comments. Weir herself is non-judgmental in her mentions, but the (possibly) gay figures involved are not exactly role models, and things never worked out well for them. So I would score the Gay Positivity fairly low. In other words, if a reader were looking for a gay role model or hero out of history, they wouldn’t find it here.