Cover illustration by Raymond Swanland (trust me, it’s an even more amazing cover when you can hold it in your hands)
In a land where gods walk on the hills and goddesses rise from the river, lake, and spring, the caravan-guard Holla-Sayan, escaping the bloody conquest of a lakeside town, stops to help an abandoned child and a dying dog. The girl, though, is the incarnation of Attalissa, goddess of Lissavakail, and the dog a shape-changing guardian spirit whose origins have been forgotten. Possessed and nearly driven mad by the Blackdog, Holla-Sayan flees to the desert road, taking the powerless avatar with him.
Necromancy, treachery, massacres, rebellions, and gods dead or lost or mad, follow hard on their heels. But it is Attalissa herself who may be the Blackdog’s—and Holla-Sayan’s—doom.
I picked up Blackdog because Lou Anders from Pyr raved about it at WorldCon. I couldn’t help myself after hearing how excited he was about it. I even sent my husband to Barnes & Noble without me so he could pick it up because the week after WorldCon I was too swamped with deadlines to do anything but edit. (P.S. Giving ourselves a book budget was perhaps the smartest money decision Mr. S and I ever made.)
So I guess that leaves the question: Did it live up to the hype?
Overall, I’d have to say yes. I immensely enjoyed the journey Johansen took me on (I also very, very, very much appreciated that the book’s storyline is complete and won’t require six more books to complete). In the beginning I was a bit hesitant, but I got over it and I’m grateful that I did.
Not So Great Bits
First, the not-my-favorite experiences I had with the book: The book opens from the perspective of Otokas, the man possessed by the Blackdog spirit and the protector of the lake goddess Attalissa (do note that deities in Blackdog are local deities—Attalissa is goddess of a particular lake, Narva has a mountain, Sera a stream, Kinsai a river, Sayan a portion of the Western Grass, etc.). Attalissa is, at this point, a young girl of 8 or 9 and she is powerless until she reaches womanhood. This beginning initially bothered me, because I was emotionally attaching myself to Otokas, who I knew was going to die and be replaced as Blackdog by Holla-Sayan—the back of the book told me so. So why was I spending multiple chapters in a soon-to-be dead man’s head? (I needn’t have feared: Otokas’s memories are relevant to the plot and [slight spoiler] Holla-Sayan receives them when he is possessed.) The first chapters are also full of action (i.e. the sacking of Attalissa’s town and temple), and some of the prose has a syntactic style that made it difficult for me to grasp what was going on or appreciate it. This syntactic quirk either died in later chapters or I learned to understand it, because it wasn’t a problem as the book progressed.
Very Great Bits
Worldbuilding. Now for the good. The worldbuilding was fun and diverse. I loved it. There were lots of different cultures within the book, and they’re fairly well differentiated. Most (if not all) have some sort of parallel with the real world—Nabban is like China, the Northrons are Scandinavian-esque, etc. Holla-Sayan’s caravan is very culturally diverse, and you get a taste of each culture from spending time with the caravaneers. Everyone has a sense of place, of connection to their people, their land, and their gods. Even magic comes in widely varying cultural styles, from the cats-cradle woven spells of the Western Grass to rune-based Northron spells and Nabbani divination based on the Sun–Moon dichotomy. The theme of place wanders throughout the book, even while you’re following people in a caravan.
Year-spanning plot and age-spanning backstory. I was immensely impressed with how Johansen handled the fact that the book spans several years and that the world and the characters all have complex backstories. There was a bit of an infodump when Holla-Sayan was introduced, but overall the character and world backstories are revealed elegantly in piecemeal, partially because different pieces are introduced from various viewpoint characters and cultural perspectives. The histories of the seven devils and the seven wizards that rocked the world with their war on the Old Great Gods is shared in storyteller-type epitaphs in the first portion of the book as well as through the character’s eyes. Spanning years and eons in one book is a feat I rarely see done to my satisfaction, buy Johansen excelled.
Viewpoint-character diversity. The diversity in the viewpoint characters was the highlight of the book for me. Each character has things that motivate them and drive them to action, and they’re all pretty sympathetic (the person I sympathized the least with was, incidentally, the Villain). Even though two characters may view the same event in completely different terms (for example, Attalissa and Moth view things very differently but remember a lot of the same time span), both viewpoints are validated and neither is necessarily marked as any worse than the other.
(Side note: I loved Moth’s character. She added a lot to the depth and diversity of the book, and she granted a level of humanity and sympathy to Tamghat—the Villain—that I don’t think I would have gotten otherwise.)
(Other side note: Attalissa—or Pakdhala, as she is called while she is with the caravan—was probably the character it took me the longest to appreciate since she doesn’t really come into her own as a person for a long time.)
Conclusion and Disclaimer
Overall, I found the book immensely enjoyable, and I was very annoyed when I had to put it down to do something silly, like go to work. While I had my quibbles with this and that, those quibbles never marred my enjoyment of the story or of the characters. The plot is very multi-dimensional—far more so than I’ve communicated in this review, or is even hinted at in the back-cover copy. There is a grand scope to the novel even though it is isolated to location-specific characters and plot points. It has such a grand scope that I feared the loose ends wouldn’t be tied up by the final chapter and I’d have to wait for another book to come out, but Johansen neatly concludes Blackdog’s story. While there are certainly threads that could continue further (Moth’s quest is far from over, for example), the book is completely satisfying as a standalone.
I should also note that I’ve read a review or two that complain that it’s difficult to keep track of characters because each character has a name, a nickname, and possibly another name or two. I didn’t have a problem with this, but that’s probably because I was forewarned. So be aware: Attalissa is also ’Lissa, Pakdhala, and ’Dhala; other people also have a large variety of names. Go in prepared and it won’t be an issue.
Today I’ll be reviewing Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell, but before I make any comments I have to preface them with a sad, awful fact: I’ve been reading this book since January.
Yeah, it’s a bit of a beastie when it comes to length. My mass market paperback runs to 1,006 pages. But the length was no reason to take so long. Life happened, and my leisure reading suffered for it. As a result, my impressions of this novel are spread over nine months, so take pretty much anything I say about it with a hearty grain of salt.
Especially this first comment: The plot was pretty disjointed and full of vignette-style stories and incidents. That isn’t to say it wasn’t enjoyable, just that it was very, very hard to come back to when I was short on time, especially since I new section and chapter breaks were few and far between (I hardly ever stop mid-scene, but while reading this novel I had to on more than one occasion).
To somewhat support my point, please note that the book is called Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell and you don’t meet Jonathan Strange until page 243. In fact, I think he is only obliquely mentioned once or twice before then (excluding footnote references), and you only notice the mentions because his name is on the cover.
However, the book is full of delightful descriptions and immersive prose and circumstances (everything about the book is geared to immerse you in the alternate history—even the spelling). If read in a more sustained manner, it would probably be rich with an atmosphere that lingered when you had to put it down. Clarke’s descriptions of fairy things are full of synesthesia and mixed metaphors, and it works perfectly because the fairies are not quite human and live in a place that is just a sidestep shy of our reality. An example: “[The fairy box] was a beautiful shade of blue, but then again not exactly blue, it was more like lilac. But then again, not exactly lilac either, since it had a tinge of grey in it. To be more precise, it was the color of heartache. But fortunately neither Miss Greysteel nor Aunt Greysteel had ever been much troubled by heartache and so they did not recognize it.” The descriptions are brilliant and they’re done with precision and deliberation.
Overall, the plotting was not my favorite (probably a symptom of the nine-month read). I think it could have done with more focus and some quicker pacing. Even so, the novel definitely has texture. The worldbuilding is deep and full, complete with folktales (which of course made me happy). The characters are hardly stereotypes, and even when they don’t act exactly as you thought they would, they are still acting perfectly (or perhaps brokenly) human. Mr. Norrell is someone I didn’t like, but I couldn’t help but empathize with him on many occasions.
My final note will be somewhat redemptive for the plot: After I picked the book up for the homestretch sprint of reading I started close to a chapter called “A little box, the color of heartache.” From that chapter on I quite enjoyed the pacing and the conflict up to the finish. The end relied on a bit of what felt like deus ex machina, but what with a prophecy being in the book from the beginning, it isn’t so bad and probably wouldn’t have stung so much if I could actually remember any of the prophecy by the time I got to the end.
Bottom line: I dropped the ball as a reader on this one. Sorry, Susanna Clarke. I’m perfectly willing to give it another try if you put out another book (short story collection excluded for the moment due to the stack of to-read books next to my desk).
Covers have a certain appeal for me. Judging books by them makes it very, very easy to determine what I will read when faced with a tide of new books and stories. With covers doing a good bit of the legwork for me, I don’t have to read nearly as many back covers or first pages to find what I want to read. (I know, you’re not supposed to judge a book by its cover. But it’s darn helpful to have such an easy first gate of judgment.)
This year’s Hugo nominees boasted several good covers that appealed to me. The one I found most intriguing, from a creator’s standpoint, was Feed by Mira Grant.
Feed’s cover is not necessarily an intricate piece of artwork that I could spend hours staring at (A Hundred Thousand Kingdom’s cover is much better suited to that). But as a cover, I don’t know what more you could ask for. It’s so amazingly clever. Part of the cleverness stems from Grant’s genius in titling the book: if you don’t already know, Feed is a novel about a group of bloggers in a post–zombie apocalypse world. So it’s got zombies, who are always trying to feed, and bloggers, who want everyone to subscribe to their feed.
The cover captures this by focusing on only two elements: the title and the RSS feed icon painted in blood. The grungy gray wall in the background communicates the setting—semi–post-apocalyptic and definitely not pretty—and makes the word and icon etched in bright blood a high contrast. They pop, bringing the pun to the forefront. The blood and the grunge, when added to the word feed, evoke zombies in the minds of those in tune with the current cultural obsession with zombies. Adding the RSS icon gives a dash of the unexpected, and the pun becomes relatively sophisticated by virtue of being visual instead of vocal.
Because the cover taps into and combines two current cultural phenomena (zombies and blogs), it catches an audience’s eye and forces them to, at bare minimum, read the back cover to figure out what’s up. It achieves what a cover is meant to achieve: it gets people to want to know about the book. It makes readers stop for a moment before moving on to the next of their plethora of options. Feed stands out on the smorgasbord, and that’s the first thing a book needs when it is released into the market.
As far as the book goes, I greatly enjoyed Feed. It was a blast, and Mira Grant’s zombie-ridden world is detailed and exquisitely thought out. I loved that the zombies were not the story: they were a plot point but they were not the plot itself. Beautiful worldbuilding. My one gripe is that I could never quite believe that the main character had a reputation as a hard-fact news reporter. For a while I thought maybe the character could keep her strong opinions out of her writing, but the blog snippets that were at the end of each section never showed me that. So on that point, my disbelief never really got suspended, but it was a wonderful read in spite of that. It also has what is now one of my favorite sibling relationships in fiction. The main character and her brother are perfect.
This is a lamentably crappy scan of the paperback cover.
Over the past few weeks I finally read The Prestige by Christopher Priest. (I have, of course, seen the movie, but that’s kind of irrelevant.) For those of you who haven’t seen the movie (and thus can’t puzzle out what The Prestige is about), I provide the back-cover copy from my paperback edition:
In 1878, two young stage magicians clash in the dark during the course of a fraudulent séance. From this moment on, their lives become webs of deceit and revelation as they vie to outwit and expose each other.
Their rivalry will take them to the peaks of their careers, but with terrible consequences. In the course of pursuing each other’s ruin, they will deploy all the deception their magician’s craft can command—the highest misdirection and the darkest science.
Blood will be spilled, but it will not be enough. In the end, their legacy will pass on for generations … to descendants who must, for their sanity’s sake, untangle the puzzle left to them.
The book is told through a series of first-person accounts that are scattered throughout time: some are in the present (from the descendants whose sanity is at stake) and some are from the past (the dueling stage magicians, i.e. the portion the movie covers). The accounts are mostly written in personal journals, most notably from Alfred Borden (the first past-based viewpoint character) and Rupert Angier (the last past-based viewpoint character).
Narrators with Secrets
The narrators are obviously unreliable. In Borden’s journal he confesses this up front: “The very act of describing my secrets might indeed be construed as a betrayal of myself, except of course that as I am an illusionist I can make sure you only see what I wish you to see. A puzzle is implicitly involved.” Because Borden so obviously hangs a lantern on the fact that he can’t be trusted, it becomes apparent that trusting Angier is risky business as well.
Having seen the movie, I already knew some of the secrets and illusions Borden and Angier would put out there (though Angier’s secret is notably different from what it was in the movie). In many ways, I wished I hadn’t already seen the movie—I wish, for example, that I could regain the initial effect of reading Borden’s contradictory prose without knowing the reason behind it. However, I relished the more intimate look into the minds of characters I already knew (in their essentials). The film does a wonderful job of focusing on the outward relationships the two magicians have and the effects of their secrets on those relationships, but the book brings you closer to the individuals.
Characterization & Fragmented Effects
The prose was interesting, and the characters’ voices and mannerisms were quite distinct. Angier is a penny counter; Borden is an idealist and theorist. Andy Westley/Nicholas Borden (he was adopted, and the Westley name is his adopted name and how he thinks of himself) shows a realistically confused young man; Kate Angier (great-granddaughter of Rupert) delicately captures her childhood experiences from an adult perspective.
Having so many narrators fragments the storyline—which is only more fragmented by the fact that many times you can’t trust what you’re being told. However, except for Andy’s account, each individual gets to go through his or her story, beginning to end, without interruption. I loved this. Each character was engaging enough alone to draw me into the story, and there were secrets and details enough to discover that repeated plot points weren’t redundant. Andy’s account bookends and separates the others’ accounts: because he comes into the Borden–Angier feud as an outsider, it’s almost as though the reader is discovering the family secrets as he does, so his bookending is appropriate.
I immensely enjoyed the book. The characters change, develop, and evolve over the many years of their lives documented within its pages. The story essentially comes down to one of obsessions, whims, and deep-seated aspirations. (It reminds me of English-language Romanticism, Gothic elements and all.) The Prestige, in the end, is a ghost story: the ghosts of whims, the ghost of obsession, the ghost of aspirations of immortality, whether through fame and glory or other means. The ghostly prestiges—the lingering effects of the novel—are the ghosts of human frailty and desire. As such, the book is chilling and fascinating, and it echoes painfully with reality—as nearly all good fantasy does.
Small Gripe
My only complaint would be that there were occasions when I didn’t believe that the words Angier were using were native to his time period and experience. Not to say that they couldn’t have been, but they didn’t ring true in my ear and jerked me out of the illusion of reading for a while.
Book–Film Comparison
As a side note, I couldn’t help comparing the novel and the film, if only to decide if I still liked the film adaptation after reading the book (I’ve watched the movie many, many times because I like it so much). I can’t say that I disagree with any of the choices the adaptation made. Focusing only on two characters made it easier to fit in the time, and focusing on the external effects of their decisions translates better to film and analyzes another side of obsession (as well as answering questions that Angier himself raises in his account). I even agree with how they changed Angier’s secret because it made it easier to get the strong impact without the luxury of time that a novel affords. I’d say I appreciate the film even more now that I’ve read the book (though, as I said before, I wish I could have had an untainted reading of the book—alas, it is not to be).
Christopher Priest’s The Prestige won the World Fantasy Award in 1996.
Something writers often hear is that they should submit their novels and sotires to editors and literary agents who will be a “good fit” for their work. The reasons for this are twofold: “good fit” editors are more likely to offer you a contract and they’re more likely to “get” your novel and share a vision of your work.
A concern I’ve often heard is that authors are afraid big, scary, corporate editors will overhaul their stories. That fear is greatly diminished when you know the editor gets your book—which is why you want a good fit editor. This is something most authors understand.
The trouble some writers on the traditional publishing road run into is that it’s sometimes tricky to figure out what individual editors like because they work behind the curtain. Yeah, you know the book came from Tor, but who inside of Tor worked on it? A lot of times you can find that information by looking in the acknowledgements in published books similar to yours. Pub Rants, a blog from Kristin Nelson of the Nelson Literary Agency, often has her impressions of what editors in general are looking for during a given season or year. There are also small contributions like the one I’m about to give you: my specific observations from speaking with four editors at WorldCon.*
Jim is looking for “really good books,” which isn’t very helpful for most people who are already pretty sure they have one of those. But if you’ve already got a really good book on your hands, Jim is pretty open in terms of genre. He’s edited science fiction, fantasy, mysteries, thrillers, historical fiction, and engaging science-related nonfiction. He’s hardly picky.
Right now a book he was excited to talk about is Lady Lazarus by Michele Lang. If you don’t know already, it’s a historical urban fantasy set at the beginning of World War II in an alternate universe where the main character is the last in a long line of Jewish witches who help keep demons from meddling in human affairs.
Jim also mentioned that he does agenting on the side and works a lot in foreign rights, so I would be inclined to believe (though he never actually said this) that he thinks at least somewhat on a global scale.
Liz was one of this year’s Hugo nominees for Best Editor, Long Form. She has a background in comics (and she’s starting to get her fingers into more of those again), and she prefers more literary-style fiction. (Since “literary” is such a non-descriptive word: She recently edited Shades of Milk and Honey by Mary Robinette Kowal, if that helps you peg one aspect of what she considers literary.)
Moshe was also a Best Editor, Long Form, Hugo nominee. He’s the editor for Brandon Sanderson and Dan Wells (to give you some reference points for his taste). Moshe has a background in science fiction, so he appreciates magic and worldbuilding that make sense (which explains why Sanderson’s almost scientific magic systems appeal to him so much).
One thing Moshe stressed while I was speaking with him was how he strives for empathy and understanding in the author–editor relationship, even with authors whose books he passes on. That isn’t to say that other editors don’t strive for it too—both Jim and Liz said that they want authors to have authority over their books—but it was a point of emphasis for Moshe in our particular conversation.
Lou has been nominated for Best Editor, Long Form, five times, and this year he took the Hugo home. When one of my friends (the lovely Charlie Holmberg) asked him what he was looking for in a book, initially he answered with an abstract measuring stick. If his wife has to ask him what a manuscript is like and he just meanders through a list of its merits, she’ll let him know he needs to put it down; if instead she has to force him to sit down and finish reading the manuscript because he’s so excited to tell her about it, he knows it’s something he needs to buy. (So essentially, he wants writers to be brilliant.)
After the more abstract description he was able to give some definite genres he’s looking for, though. He digs sword and sorcery (he even edited an anthology of short stories in the genre) and epic fantasy. He watches ebbs and flows of interest and developing ideas carefully. He knows the history of speculative fiction genres and he has it in mind when he’s looking at fiction. If you’re a writer who flourishes in the “anxiety of influence,” try running your stuff through Pyr’s open submissions pile.
I mentioned more about Lou’s preferences when I posted about publisher’s styles, so you can find those there if you want more information about what he’s looking for right now.
There are, of course, many more editors than these four—but these are the ones I’ve met and spoken with recently, so that’s all I’ve got for you right now.
*Please remember to take my observations with a grain of salt. I’m hardly perfect.
Thursday I attended the presentations for two publishers: Pyr and Angry Robot. They talked about their upcoming titles, what they have planned for their readers, and did some promo for their authors. Listening to them gives you a good idea of the kind of vibe they like from their books and what is important to them (i.e. stuff that can help you pick the right publishing house to send your manuscript to).
Angry Robot Loves Cross-Genre Titles
Angry Robot is a pretty new publisher in the science fiction and fantasy space. Lee Harris, one of their editors, started the presentation by giving a quick rundown of their history since starting in 2008. They launched in the UK and in Australia in 2009 and they came out in America last year. They publish a lot of debut novelists because they know what they like and they don’t care who is giving it to them. Some of the books they’ve put out are getting a lot of critical acclaim and attention—I’m particularly interested in Lauren Buekes’s novel Zoo City, which is shortlisted for the World Fantasy Best Novel award this year (I picked up a copy from their free book giveaway and I’ll see how it goes).
The folks at Angry Robot are very big on making books available fairly to readers worldwide, so they always buy world rights. They absolutely love cross-genre work. If you’ve got a sci-fi book with mystery elements and a dash of the fantastic—or any other cross-genre speculative fiction—you should be looking at Angry Robot. They also have a strong horror line if you’re looking into that.
Angry Robot engages in a lot of reader/fan interaction. They have an ebook subscription model, so if you’re a fan of their editorial selections and taste, you can buy a year’s worth of ebooks for a discount price: $97 for a guaranteed 24+ (DRM-free) ebooks over the course of the upcoming year. If you buy a subscription, you also get a promo code that lets you buy backlist titles from their online bookstore at 33% off (just in case one of the 24 books you’ll get during the year is the second in a series).
Given their focus on audience, readership, and fans, the “special project” they announced here at WorldCon is pretty natural. They’re starting a program called WorldBuilder, which is essentially an encouraged and nourished fan fiction/fan art/fan music/fan creation community. Fans will be able to take part in building the periphery of a story’s world, and the “best of” will be published in a quarterly anthology (which will be headlined by a story or piece that is commissioned professionally).
If you’re interested in submitting to Angry Robots, know that they are not currently open to unagented submissions, but occasionally they are. This March they opened their doors for 30 days and invited anyone and everyone to submit. Lee said that ended up being a little crazy for them (they just got through the last of the submissions from that batch), but they want to do the same thing on a smaller scale in the future. They’ll probably open for a week or so when they’re looking for a specific sort of book. So keep an eye on the Angry Robot blog and don’t miss a perfect opportunity for your book.
Pyr Loves Gorgeous Books
This heading for Pyr may be somewhat misleading, but Lou Anders, the editorial director at Pyr, is also the art director there, so he certainly loves a beautiful cover or a well-designed map, so he tends to rave about them.
Lou is a really approachable guy—I ran into him more on Friday than I did Thursday at the Pyr presentation. Friday at a small group he chatted with eight or so WorldCon attendees and gave us an inside peek at what he’s looking for: adult science fiction isn’t working so well for them right now (though he’s hoping Hollywood’s forays into sci-fi will drive interest in, say, a space opera), he doesn’t want cyberpunk, but he digs sword and sorcery. What he really wants to find is an author that can write an urban-fantasy–style cast of characters (specifically the lead female role) in a secondary, sword-and-sorcery setting. He firmly believes that sword and sorcery people would love urban fantasy if they could make themselves read it, so he wants something to cross that line.
In November Pyr will launch the first three titles of its new YA line. Right now Pyr is publishing about 30 books a year, and eventually Lou wants 10 of those books to be YA (next year about 6 of them will be). For YA, the subgenre doesn’t matter; just make it good.
What I’m excited about with Pyr is a book called Blackdog(by K.V. Johansen). It just came out and it sounds amazing. Lou really, really, really wants Brandon Sanderson to read it and blurb it, because he’s convinced that Brandon will love it. I think I’ll love it, so I want to get my hands on a copy once I’m done with what I have on my plate right now.
If you’re considering submitting to Pyr, be sure to check their submission guidelines. They do accept unagented submissions, so even if you don’t have an agent yet, feel free to send your full manuscript.
I got a lot of insights from Lou, but I’ll share more of them in a special post about the editors I talked to while I was at WorldCon.
These Publishers Love Their Books
With both of these publishers, you can tell by speaking with Lee Harris and Lou Anders that they love their books. If they’re publishing your work, it’s because you got them very, very excited. They have different styles that they prefer, so your work may be better suited to one over the other, but being published by either one would mean you had some very invested advocates on your work’s side. All you have to do is hear Lou trying to convince everyone at every panel he spoke at to get Brandon Sanderson to read Blackdog to know that he absolutely loves the book—and he won’t rest until he knows other people love it too.
