Among evangelical Christian fantasy writers today, I consider Stephen Lawhead perhaps the best. When he hit his stride, with the Song of Albion trilogy and his Arthur books, I thought he might be poised to produce genuine classics.

And yet, like a swimmer poised on the edge of a pond, hesitating, afraid that the water’s too cold or too shallow, he never seems to make that perfect dive.

Tuck is another very good book from his pen, head and shoulders above the rank and file of CBA fiction.

But I can’t help feeling it could—and should—have been better.

Tuck finishes off Lawhead’s King Raven trilogy, his version of the Robin Hood story. In Lawhead’s imagining, Robin Hood was not a Yorkshireman, but a Welsh petty king, in the days of King William Rufus, the son of William the Conqueror. When his father was murdered and their kingdom taken by Normans, young prince Bran fled and became Rhi Bran y Hud, King Raven, the fearful and magical forest outlaw.

In this book, Bran has once again been cheated by the Normans. He has saved the king from a conspiracy, but once again all he’s gotten in return is a slap in the face. He makes the decision then to drive the Normans out of his lands by main force, calling on his kinsman kings for help. But although victorious in the field, he is frustrated at every turn. His heroics go for naught, and those he looks to for help give him none, even after (in one case) he rescues a king from captivity.

And yet, where he looks for it least, forces are moving to help him.

The story is told from the point of view of Friar Tuck, a decent, brave and unassuming monk (if you like my Father Ailill, you’ll very probably like Tuck). Tuck serves as a check on Bran’s rashness, and a spiritual guide (though the spiritual leader of Robin’s band is actually Angharad, a Celtic wise woman, an element that doesn’t please me particularly). Tuck is an engaging narrator and an attractive character.

It should be noted that, in spite of Lawhead’s reputation as a fantasist, the King Raven books are essentially historical fiction. There’s a minor mystical element, but not enough for these books to be classified as fantasy. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

I won’t say the ending is a disappointment. It’s satisfying and in keeping with story, and harmonious with Christian morality. It surprised me personally, because the true story of King William Rufus offers an obvious climax that, I would have thought, would be too good to resist. But resist it Lawhead did, which shows (I guess) a certain narrative self-control.

But the book didn’t soar. I was looking for a climax that carried me away, that sent a Tolkienesque shiver up my spine, and that wasn’t on offer here.

I can recommend the book without reservation, for teens and up.

But I can’t deny a small degree of disappointment.

A friend lent me his copies of Expecting Someone Taller and Who’s Afraid of Beowulf? I’m glad he did. I enjoyed reading them very much.

English writer Tom Holt has mastered (perhaps invented; I’m not sure) a form of contemporary, humorous fantasy in which mythical or historical characters mix with the modern world (kind of like some of my works, or Neil Gaiman’s, but funny). A critical blurb on the cover of EST says the book “recalls Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings and Twain’s Connecticut Yankee….” I’d say the writing is more reminiscent of Wodehouse’s, at least some of the time (which is high praise indeed).

Take this passage from EST:

[Alberich] was a businessman, and businessmen have to travel on aircraft. Since there seemed to be no prospect of progress in his quest for the Ring, he had thought it would be as well if he went back to Germany for a week to see what sort of a mess his partners were making of his mining consultancy. He had no interest in the work itself, but it provided his bread and butter; if it did not exactly keep the wolf from the door, it had enabled him to have a wolf-flap fitted so that the beast could come in and out without disturbing people.

Continue reading Expecting Someone Taller and Who’s Afraid of Beowulf? by Tom Holt →

The fact that I haven’t read the previous books in this series (created by Larry Niven) probably disqualifies me from making intelligent comments on Man-Kzin Wars X: The Wunder War, but I picked it up because Hal Colebatch is an e-mail friend, and a wise and perceptive writer over at the American Spectator (also a lawyer and sometime government functionary in Australia).

Full disclosure: I did not get my copy for free as a reviewer. I sprung for it out of my own money.

The premise of the Man-Kzin Wars series, as I understand it, begins with the assumption that space-traveling cultures are generally peaceful cultures. Warfare is too much of a scientific and economic drain for warlike civilizations to get far in interstellar exploration and commerce.

However, there is an exception—the Kzin, a race of tiger-like (but larger and stronger) bipeds who sweep across the galaxy like Romans on the march, conquering and enslaving (often devouring) peaceful civilizations as they go. When they first approach a human colony, the paradisaical planet called Wunderland, it looks like more of the same. The humans there have put warfare so far behind them that the study of it is next to illegal, and curious scholars are at a loss to understand the functions of weapons, or what military ranks indicate. Continue reading The Man-Kzin Wars X: The Wunder War, by Hal Colebatch →