Category Archives: Fiction

The Ale Boy’s Feast, by Jeffrey Overstreet

Puzzle, puzzle. What to say about The Ale Boy’s Feast, the final book in Jeffrey Overstreet’s remarkable fantasy tetralogy, The Auralia Thread?

I have highly praised the author’s writing skill and creative imagination, and I stand by those evaluations. Overstreet is a writer of rare ability, and he has created an unforgettable world, familiar enough to be recognizable but different enough to be exotic and evocative.

Yet the whole thing works out to a resolution that leaves me… troubled.

Maybe I’m just not smart enough to get the point.

Or maybe leaving me troubled was the point. Continue reading The Ale Boy’s Feast, by Jeffrey Overstreet

On the Notion Club Papers

This is a remarkable way of writing. Most writers know roughly what they mean in their first draft, and in the process of revising and re-drafting they try to get closer to that known meaning. But Tolkien did the reverse: he generated the first draft, then looked at it as if that draft had been written by someone else, and he was trying to understand what it meant – and in this case eventually deciding that it meant something pretty close to the opposite of the original meaning.

I am a Tolkien fan, but not a Tolkien acolyte. Aside from the standard texts, The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, I’ve read The Silmarillion and a few other writings, but I never made it through The Book of Lost Tales, and I’ve never even tried The History of Middle Earth.

Prof. Bruce Charlton is hard core. I was directed to his blog, Tolkien’s The Notion Club Papers, by our friend Dale Nelson, who has been in correspondence with him. Dale sent me a file of Prof. Charlton’s long blog post, A Companion to JRR Tolkien’s The Notion Club Papers, which I read with some interest. You can find it at the blog right here and judge for yourself. Continue reading On the Notion Club Papers

And now, a little Culture

Mike Hall, over at The American Culture (where I am also known to post now and then) offers a flattering review of my novel, Troll Valley.

In all of his novels, Lars Walker has managed to combine realism with wild fantasy, producing a fascinating hybrid genre that makes for compelling reading. As an artist, he has arrived, and he just keeps getting better and better.

Odd Apocalypse, by Dean Koontz


Guys who wear porkpie hats are always, in my experience, up to no good—and pleased about it. Whether that style of headwear turns previously benign men into sociopaths or whether men who are already sociopaths are drawn to that style is one of those mysteries that will never be solved, though the Department of Justice has probably funded a score of scientific studies of the issue.

Another Odd Thomas novel from Dean Koontz, another home run. I won’t say Odd Apocalypse is my favorite in the series—I won’t even say I’m sure I liked it better than the previous novella, Odd Interlude, which I reviewed recently. But all these books are so far superior to anything else being done in the genre (assuming I know what the genre is) that you know going in that you’re in for a delight. And you are not disappointed.

Odd Thomas is the simplest of men, with the simplest of desires. All he wants is a quiet life, and to love a girl who is gone. But he’s been entrusted with gifts—the ability to see the “undeparted dead,” and a sort of psychic GPS that helps him find people he’s looking for. Because he’s faithful to God, he employs these gifts for the good of others, which leads him into great danger time and time again. Continue reading Odd Apocalypse, by Dean Koontz

Raven’s Ladder, by Jeffrey Overstreet

What to say about the third book in Jeffrey Overstreet’s The Auralia Thread fantasy series, Raven’s Ladder? It’s difficult to decide, really, because these books are in a class by themselves, unlike anything you’ve ever read. Most fantasies are derivative to one degree or another. The Auralia Thread is a thing unto itself. It reminds me a little of Mervyn Peake’s Titus Groan books, but the resemblances are remote, and very few of you will have read them anyway.

Although the story isn’t locked into one location, the bulk of Raven’s Ladder takes place in the city-state of Bel Amica, which we’ve known only by reputation in the previous books. Since most of the Bel Amicans we’ve met already were favorable characters, one is inclined to think well of the place. But the rottenness in sophisticated, luxurious Bel Amica is as serious as was the rottenness in the ruined kingdom of Abascar. It’s just a decay of a different kind. Continue reading Raven’s Ladder, by Jeffrey Overstreet

The Woman in White, by Wilkie Collins

You can generally tell when my budget situation is getting tight by the way I start reviewing “classic” books, downloaded for free to my Kindle. And so we come to one of the first English mystery novels, Wilkie Collins’s 1859 book, The Woman in White.

I enjoyed The Woman in White, but found it frustrating at the same time. The story’s compelling, the characters wonderful, but (although I think I’m better suited to handle old fiction than most readers today) I found the Victorian conventions aggravating. Also, like any pioneering work in a genre, the author isn’t entirely sure how to handle his material, and does things which later writers, working in an established tradition, would never waste time on.

The Woman in White centers on two women who physically resemble each other, leading to tragic consequences. The first is Anne Catherick, who, when the hero, artist Walter Hartright, first encounters her, has recently escaped from an insane asylum. Hartright, unaware of this, chivalrously helps her find her way in London. The second woman is Laura Fairlie, a prospective heiress for whom Walter is soon hired to be drawing tutor. He falls in love with her without delay. But Laura is betrothed to a man of “her own class,” who eventually turns out to be an utter scoundrel. And so the foundation is laid for a diabolical plot to deprive her of her fortune and (perhaps) her life. Continue reading The Woman in White, by Wilkie Collins

I sing of Beowulf’s cousins

From the pulse-pounding world of statistical research, we have a story that says the Iliad and Beowulf and the Irish epic Tain Bo Cualinge are all literally true in every detail.

Ha, ha. No, they’re not saying that. What they’re saying, as best I understand it, is that the social relationships portrayed in those ancient epics are more realistic than those in modern fiction.

“Of the three myths, the network of characters in the Iliad has properties most similar to those of real social networks,” they write in the journal EPL (Europhysics Letters). “This similarity perhaps reflects the archaeological evidence supporting the historicity of some of the events (the tale describes).”

Similarly, the way the characters of Beowulf are linked together “has some properties similar to real social networks,” they write. This confirms the archaeological evidence that a number of the characters are based on real people, “although the events of the story often contain elements of fantasy.”

Because, apparently, even though modern fiction is considered more realistic in terms of how people really relate to each other, modern fiction also oversimplifies enormously.

Or maybe it’s just that ancient people had big families and were proud of it, while we today have small families and generally try to keep them out of sight.

I know that I oversimplify in my Viking novels. One of the things you can’t miss in the Icelandic sagas is all the genealogies (I made some jokes about it in West Oversea). These things mattered to the original audiences. They knew those farms and those families, and the affiliations mattered. I keep the relatives pretty much to a bare minimum in my stories, and even so I have to add character lists so the readers can keep their score cards straight.

In general, I don’t like novels with large casts. I lose track. “There will be fewer, and better Russians,” said Stalin, and I can only wish Tolstoy had said the same.

Tip: Threedonia

Cyndere’s Midnight, by Jeffrey Overstreet

I took longer than I intended getting to the second volume of Jeffrey Overstreet’s Auralia Thread, Cyndere’s Midnight. I need to make sure I don’t do that again. I enjoyed it immensely.

In the first book of the series, Auralia’s Colors, Overstreet told the story of the law-bound land of Abascar, whose queen had forbidden the people to wear any colorful clothes or own any colorful objects. This led to the persecution of the strange girl Auralia, who wove and painted colorful things out in the wilderness. Eventually Abascar was destroyed, and now, as this book begins, a few refugees of Abascar eke out a perilous existence in caves.

Now the focus turns to the kingdom of Bel Amica, whose religion is more sensitive and feelings-oriented than Abascar’s. The heiress to the Bel Amican throne, Cyndere, mourns the death of her consort, Deuneroi, at the hands of the inhuman beastmen. The loss is made more poignant by the fact that she and Deuneroi had dreamed of finding a way to heal the beastmen and free them from their addiction to the Essence, a potion that alters their shapes and their natures. Cyndere’s plan now is to add to a traditional widow’s rite of sacrifice her own act of suicide.

But other characters interfere with her plan. One is the beastman Jordam, who fell under the spell of Auralia’s colors and through the power of their memory is struggling with his need for Essence—as well as with the murderous plans of his brother beastmen. And the Ale Boy, Auralia’s friend, who follows a path laid out by the mysterious, almost forgotten Keeper—a dragon-like creature which protects him and guides him as well.

The center of the story is Jordam’s struggles—with his own devolved nature, with his brothers, and even with the humans who do not trust him when he tries to help. He takes up Cyndere’s cause for Auralia’s sake, and must protect her not only from his brothers but from some of her own people.

Jeffrey Overstreet’s prose is a pleasure to read. It’s deft and light. His fantasy world is the most original I’ve encountered, post-Tolkien. I don’t recommend the book for children, solely because of the vocabulary required, but any reader who can handle this book will come away inspired. Highly recommended.

Back on Murder by J. Mark Bertrand



Lars has already reviewed Mark Bertrand’s detective novel, Back on Murder, so it may already be on your To-Read list. I finished it Friday and loved it. At the start of the novel, Roland March is “a suicide cop,” the officer in the homicide department who does the legwork no one wants to do after a fellow officer kills himself. Though March made a name for himself years ago and had the respect of whole department, his one famous case killed a part of him and has been dragging him down ever since. When a house full of gang members is found shot up, March notices a detail that sticks with him, irritating him into taking risks that only further distance him his teammates. But will those risks pay off?

Layer onto the murder case the disappearance of a beautiful blond teenager, one who looks like the other good-looking teenagers you’ve seen on national news, but this one is the daughter of godly widow, a pillar of her Houston mega-church. Is it possible the two are related, or is March just hoping for another high-profile case to put his career back on track?

The novel’s title sums up the detective’s ambition, that is, to be fully restored in the Homicide department, no longer a burn-out and convenient scapegoat for odd police jobs. He wants respect. He wants to be trusted as the lead on another murder case, not just suicide clean-up work.

As the story develops, we see the great pain March carries and shares with his wife, Charlotte. He’s continually dropping hints about it, and the narrative gradually reveals without telling too much. It’s impressive really. Bertrand has a strong novel here, and I look forward to the next two. March definitely has staying power.

The 24th Letter, by Tom Lowe

I reviewed Tom Lowe’s first Sean O’Brien mystery, A False Dawn, a while back. I liked the writing (though a copy editor might have been profitably employed) as well as the characters, but felt the story was weakly constructed and fell apart toward the end. My report on the second book in the series, The 24th Letter, is that the storytelling has improved, but I still wonder that St. Martin’s Press would have purchased the manuscript. Author Lowe shows substantial progress in his craftsmanship, but he’s still writing at a high amateur level, in my opinion.

This time out, retired Miami police detective Sean O’Brien is contacted by an old friend, a Catholic priest. The priest tells him he has been told by a prisoner—who was recently wounded by a sniper while on the way to testify in a drug trial—that a man O’Brien himself put on death row for the murder of his girlfriend is in fact innocent. The prisoner will soon give the priest a written confession, detailing where vital evidence is hidden.

But soon both the prisoner and the priest have been murdered, and O’Brien, conscience-stricken that he might bear responsibility for the execution of an innocent man—works against the clock to unravel a convoluted mystery before the date of execution. Continue reading The 24th Letter, by Tom Lowe