All posts by Lars Walker

‘Black,’ and ‘Black is Back,’ by Russell Blake

When I started reading the first book in Russell Blake’s detective series, Black, I was frankly not much impressed. The main character and his situation seemed hackneyed and glib. But I gave it a chance, and soon decided that there’s a whole lot more going on with these books than was initially apparent, and now I’m a fan.

Artemus Black (he tries to avoid his first name) is a low rent PI in the stereotypical shabby Los Angeles office. He has an office assistant, Roxie, a hot goth chick with superior research and hacking skills, who is reliably insolent to him. He also has an obese, rescued “office cat,” who hates him. He’s seeing a psychologist to help him work through his anger issues – anger at his hippie parents who, although stoned most of the time, keep turning their arts and crafts into wildly profitable businesses, and at his ex-wife who, back when he was a rock musician, recorded an album of songs he wrote and then left him to become an international star, taking all the song rights with her. He drives a classic Cadillac El Dorado convertible, and wears 1940s suits and fedoras. He drinks too much and is trying to quit smoking.

The first book is simply called Black, and involves Black being hired by an aging action movie star with a particular hatred for the paparazzi. Now paparazzi are getting murdered wherever the star goes, and suspicion is being directed at him.

The second book, Black is Back, deals with murder in the rap music scene.

What’s best about the Black books is the characters and the dialogue. Black’s arguments with Roxie are masterpieces of emotional manipulation and veiled sexual tension. His dialogues with his cop friend, Stan Colt, are just hilarious guy talk – cross-chat that’s never been done better in print.

There are some surprisingly beautiful descriptive passages. Russell Blake is an excellent writer. Also some moments when Black exhibits some pretty solid moral sense.

Highly recommended. Cautions for violence, language, and adult stuff, but not really very heavy.

That “piece of paper”

I offer the song above, dredged from my college years, as documentary evidence of the facts I’m about to tell you. Because you won’t hear about this much of anywhere else. This is Lost History, things that happened but are now officially non-things, like Stalin’s old revolutionary comrades and Hillary Clinton’s emails.

“A piece of paper.” “Just a piece of paper.” It’s a phrase I first recall encountering in an article about an actress in a magazine (Life, perhaps), back when I was a kid. “Why haven’t we gotten married?” she replied to a question about her love life. “What’s a marriage license? Just a vulgar piece of paper.”

I’m sure she wasn’t the first to put it that way, but after that I noticed that I encountered it again and again. Actors said it. Writers. Rock musicians. Poets. Intellectuals. “What’s a marriage license? Just a vulgar piece of paper. What does such an object have to do with real love?”

This form of expression stopped appearing, I think, sometime in the 1980s. It’s clear now what happened. The Big Heads of the left realized that the promotion of homosexual marriage would be a splendid hammer with which to bash traditional Christian sexual morality.

And suddenly the cry was no longer, “It’s just a piece of paper!” but “It’s the Most Important Piece of Paper in the universe! Anyone prevented from having this wonderful, transcendent piece of paper has been denied their deepest human right!”

This sudden dialectical U-turn was not accompanied by any admission that they might have been wrong in their old position. No, the old slogan just went down the memory hole, along with Pres. Obama’s college records and Che Guevara’s murders. “Oceania has always been at war with Eastasia, and progressives have always revered marriage.”

Because it’s all about the political narrative. And the narrative runs in whatever channel will best serve the Cause.

‘The Buried,’ by Brett Battles

Among my recently read books is Brett Battles latest Jonathan Quinn novel, The Buried.

I’ve been enjoying this series through the previous eight books, and this one was just as good, or better, than its predecessors.

As I’ve explained before, Jonathan Quinn, the hero, is a “cleaner.” He works for a private contractor that works with intelligence agencies, removing bodies and cleaning up sites where somebody has been liquidated. He’s not supposed to get into the action himself, but of course he often does, or there’d be no novels.

In The Buried, he comes to remove a body from a suburban American home, but about the time he shows up, the government assassin he’s supposed to clean up for discovers a secret chamber underneath the late target’s house. In the chamber they find cells containing four women, one of them dead.

Calling his boss for instructions, Quinn is instructed to call the police and leave, but to take one of the prisoners with him. It turns out this woman possesses a very important secret, and ruthless agents from around the world are competing to find her and extract that secret, by any means necessary. The rest of the story is strong on chases, one way and the other.

The Buried is great fun, especially because of a sort of running joke in the plot. Quinn’s partner (and wife) Orlando is extremely pregnant during this story, but can’t resist trying to participate in the action as if she were not. It’s her nature, as regular readers will recognize. Her continuing denial is not only funny, but contributes to the rising plot tension.

Recommended. Not too much objectionable stuff.

Death of an Avenger

Yesterday was notable, aside from a Supreme Court decision with which I strongly disagree, in seeing the death of a man who has been a major influence on my life (and who probably wouldn’t have been at all pleased to know it, from what I know of his social views).

Patrick Macnee (1922-2015) is best remembered as the only permanent star of what I consider one of the greatest TV series ever produced, the BBC series The Avengers (not to be confused with the Marvel Comics books and movies). The Avengers appeared on American TV just as I was entering an uncomfortable adolescence, and left me with an enduring love for slender, auburn-haired women (Diana Rigg), and three-piece suits (Macnee).

Yes, it was a breakthrough show for a trope I’m now thoroughly sick of – the delicate little woman who beats up 200-lb men in groups – but it was new and interesting back then, and hey, it was Diana Rigg. I was desperately in love with her.

The show was not intended to be what it eventually became, the spritely, half-comic show we remember. It started in 1961 as a gritty, realistic program. It was a spin-off of a series called Police Surgeon, starring actor Ian Hendry. In the first episode of The Avengers, his character, Dr. David Keel, loses his fiancée, murdered by drug dealers. He is recruited by a shadowy semi-official character named John Steed (Macnee) to help him apprehend the criminals. Keel signs on enthusiastically (it’s his way to “avenge” the woman he loved), but is often put off by the ruthless methods of Steed, who at this stage was as much a thug as a charmer, and had no distinctive style of dress. Continue reading Death of an Avenger →

‘Monster Hunter International,’ by Larry Correia

I hadn’t noticed until tonight, but our friend Loren Eaton reviewed Larry Correia’s Monster Hunter International over at I Saw Lightning Fall, just the other day.

And here I am, reviewing it now.

I recently reviewed Correia’s Grimnoir Chronicles books, so I thought I’d try the Monster Hunter series too.

In brief, not bad. But I think it’s not for me.

Owen Z. Pitt is the hero of the series. When we meet him he’s an accountant, albeit a large and vigorous variety of the breed. One night he’s attacked in his office by a werewolf, and manages to throw the monster out of a window to its death. He’s badly injured, though.

During his recovery, he learns that such attacks are more common than the public is permitted to know. A whole government agency is devoted to dealing with the threat – secretly – and there’s a secret government bounty for each monster killed. The agency has competition – the private Monster Hunter International group, which recruits Owen, who realizes his heart wasn’t really in accountancy after all. Fortunately his soldier father raised him with fighting skills and arms proficiency.

Also there’s a beautiful monster hunter, a member of the group’s founding family, with whom Owen falls promptly in love.

What follows is basically a written version of a CGI-intense Hollywood summer movie. With very short hiatuses in between, one monster attack follows another, each one involving more terrible – and numerous – monsters.

And Owen, it seems, is the key to the destruction or salvation of the space-time universe, because of a series of visions he’s been having.

It’s all pretty overwhelming. I can see why the Monster Hunter books have acquired such a large, loyal following. Many of you are probably among them, and many others of you will enjoy the books if you try them.

But it’s frankly too much for me. I’ve decided I like my books a little quieter, a little more introspective.

There are occasional references to religion, and it’s stated as a fact that faith has efficacy against monsters. Any faith will do, however – the faith itself, not its object, is what counts.

Cautions for violence, language, and not very explicit sexual situations.

If I smell strangely of herring today…

It’s because I got a mention at Tony Sacramone’s Strange Herring blog.

Needless to say, I bought it, along with a pristine copy of Wolf Time, as mine is a mess from frequent use. I announced proudly that I “knew” the author, Lars Walker. Gary seemed impressed, and added that the books were now long out of print, betokening some knowledge of Lars’s work.

Read the rest here.

‘The Slow Regard of Silent Things,’ by Patrick Rothfuss

She sat down on the floor again beside her bed. She closed her eyes. She almost stayed there, too, all cut-string and tangle-haired and lonely as a button.

Patrick Rothfuss, author of the Kingkiller Chronicles, consisting so far of The Name of the Wind (which I reviewed here) and The Wise Man’s Fear (which I reviewed here), has us waiting for the third novel in the series. But he’s given us a shorter work to fill in the time, a novella called The Slow Regard of Silent Things, about a minor character in the novels.

The minor character is Auri, a little girl who lives in what she calls “the Underthing,” a complex of crumbling utility tunnels and archaeological ruins buried under the University. The hero of the novels, Kvothe, visits her from time to time, bringing her food. She is tiny and beautiful, shy as a deer, and quite mad.

The Slow Regard of Silent Things takes us through several days in Auri’s life, in which she carries on the routines that are so important to her, continues her explorations of her environment, and prepares for an anticipated visit from “him” (who is, we assume, Kvothe).

This is a strange story, in which nothing of significant happens, except in Auri’s mind. It’s deathly important to her that everything in her world be “right.” Every object must be placed where it “wants to be.” She is strict about how things must be done, even at the cost of great discomfort to herself. She suffers, very obviously, from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, but hers is a humble lunacy. There is no trace of selfishness in it. Auri sees herself as a servant to all, small and unnoticeable. It’s terribly, terribly important to her not to be noticed. A hint is given, at one point, about the trauma that made her what she is.

Author Rothfuss makes, both at the beginning and the end of the book, personal “apologies” for the kind of story he has provided. “You might not want to buy this book,” he writes in his foreword. He explains that it contains no action, and only one character, so it’s not everybody’s cup of tea.

What it is, of course, is a literary story within the fantasy genre. And it’s a splendid one. Auri is tragic, glorious, and adorable, and the language is lapidary.

Highly recommended though (as Rothfuss tells us) you may have trouble understanding it if you haven’t read the Kingkiller books yet.

‘Trulbert!’ by Mitch Berg

“Oh, how did a modest little Presbyterian congregation in South Minneapolis turn into a cohesive guerilla force fighting against the Methodists, the Sharks, the Jets and the Speed Racers? …Well, Presbyterian churches – well, not the ones affiliated with the Presbyterian Church USA, but the more traditional ones – always keep a cache of firearms, ammo, pipes and drums in a locker in a secret room in the basement. The secret scroll kept under the altar of all Presbyterian Churches says they are kept against the day when Edward Longshanks rises from the dead to oppress the people. We figured this was close enough.”

First of all, full disclosure. Mitch Berg, author of Trulbert! A Comic Novella About the End of the World As We Know It, is an acquaintance of mine. He writes the Shot in the Dark blog, and hosts the Saturday Northern Alliance radio program on a Twin Cities talk station – where I’ve been a guest.

But I paid for my copy.

“Trulbert” is not, as you might think, the name of a character in the book (which is not a novella, in my opinion, but long enough to be considered a full novel), but of a Facebook page – “TRU LBRT NOW” – which one of the characters, an anarcho-Libertarian, sets up at the beginning of the story.

Shortly after that, his fondest dreams come true. Due to an error by a Chinese government broker, US bonds are suddenly devalued to zero, and the dollar becomes instantly worthless. All government in America and around the world collapses (with surprisingly little bureaucratic resistance, but we’re dealing with comedy here), and anarchism reigns. The libertarians are very happy for a while, as people quickly figure out ways to provide their own goods and services, and even set up new forms of currency (even the electricity never goes off, conveniently). It looks like Ayn Rand’s dream has come true.

Until a nebbishy, hen-pecked minor state bureaucrat named Myron Ilktost discovers his inner Mussolini and takes control of a progressive Methodist church in Minneapolis, which he soon turns into the baddest street gang in the metropolitan area. And before long he has made himself the dictator of the city and several suburbs. Our protagonist, Paul Hendrickson, an employee of a medical claims company, becomes a leader of the resistance, which takes shape against the backdrop of Vikings-Packers game that turns into a riot.

Trulbert! is a weird comic opera of a book, heavy with satire (it helps to know Minnesota politics, but it’s not necessary), in which author Berg (who once ran for state office on the Libertarian Party ticket, but grew disillusioned with the party’s naivety about human nature) pokes fun at anarchism, statism, public schools, and professional football among other things. I got some genuine guffaws out of it, and I thought it made some excellent points. Mitch isn’t a polished writer, but he shows good promise.

(My main quibble was with a scene where the story flashes back to 13th Century Norway, and a farmer worries about the potatoes. That’s about 500 years too early for potatoes.)

Recommended. Mild cautions for language. Good fun.

‘The Wise Man’s Fear,’ by Patrick Rothfuss

Let me say this. It was worth the whole awful, irritating time spent searching the Archives just to watch that moment happen. It was worth blood and the fear of death to see her fall in love with him. Just a little. Just the first faint breath of love so light she probably didn’t notice it herself. It wasn’t dramatic, like some bolt of lightning with a crack of thunder following. It was more like when flint strikes steel and the spark fades almost too fast for you to see. But still, you know it’s there, down where you can’t see it, kindling.

I have already reviewed Patrick Rothfuss’s first novel in the Kingkiller Chronicles, The Name of the Wind. I liked it very much, especially for the masterful writing, but was worried about where the author might take the story.

My fears (wise man that I am) were validated in The Wise Man’s Fear, the second book in the series. The author went some places I didn’t want him to go. And yet he didn’t drive me away, and I want to read more.

Each book in this trilogy involves a single day in which Kote the Innkeeper tells his life story to a character known as the Chronicler. Kote is in actuality Kvothe the Kingkiller, a figure of legend in his own world and time. A poet, a singer, a warrior, a magician. Now he has retired from the world, but he will tell his story for these three days. No more.

The first book told us how Kvothe, born to a family of traveling performers, lost his parents, survived for a time homeless, and finally found entrance to the place he dreamed of – the great institution known as the University.

In The Wise Man’s Fear we follow him as he struggles with poverty, the regulations of the school, and the enmity of a fellow student who uses magic against him. He hones his powers, slowly mastering magic, but eventually finds himself in a place where taking a hiatus from his studies is a good idea. Continue reading ‘The Wise Man’s Fear,’ by Patrick Rothfuss →

‘Spellbound,’ and ‘Warbound,’ by Larry Correia

More than a year ago I reviewed Larry Correia’s fantasy novel, Hard Magic, set in the 1930s in an alternate world where real magicians have appeared in the human population, making the world rather different than the one we know. Germany was defeated magically in World War I, and has ceased to be a serious power; Berlin is a quarantined dead city, full of zombies. Japan decisively defeated Russia in the Russo-Japanese War, and is now the dominant power in the east, under the rule of a ruthless magician.

Meanwhile in the USA, there’s controversy over how magicians (called “Actives”) ought to be treated. There’s a strong movement to round them up and mobilize them for government purposes. In Hard Magic we met the Grimnoir Knights, an international organization of benevolent Actives, devoted to fighting the evil Japanese Imperium, but forced to work underground due to public hostility.

The central characters in the trilogy are two recently recruited Knights. One is Jake Sullivan, a Heavy (he can manipulate gravity) who has proved to be unusually intelligent and is emerging as the effective fighting leader of the Grimnoir. The other is Faye Vierra, a poor “Okie” girl whose gift is Traveling (teleportation). At the end of Hard Magic, it began to be clear that she is perhaps the most powerful Active in the world. And not everyone’s happy about that, because the last time someone like her showed up, it didn’t turn out well.

Spellbound, the next book in the series, involves the arrest of a couple of the Grimnoir leaders by a secretive government agency, and a plot to commit an act of terrorism in Washington, DC, and to blame it on the Grimnoir. An unlikely ally appears in the form of a Japanese Iron Guard, a highly disciplined and arrogant fighter who has come to realize that the Imperium has fallen under the control of evil forces (it’s an interesting complexity in these stories that the main enemy, the Japanese Imperium, exists for the purpose of fighting a cosmic evil even worse than itself).

Warbound, the third novel, involves a journey by Faye into dead Berlin (where she learns things about her own power that terrify her), and a couple of suicide missions (by airship) by Jake and his knights to secure a lost weapon and to use it to prevent a Cthulhu-like evil from outer space from turning the power of the Imperium against human life itself.

Lots of fun. Interesting characters, and pretty good values (author Correia is a Mormon). There’s some mild rough language, and off-stage sex, but nothing very offensive by contemporary standards. I enjoyed the books and recommend them.