‘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 Great Moby Dick

R.C. Sproul recommends again the novel he calls the greatest ever written, Moby Dick.

In a personal letter to Nathaniel Hawthorne upon completing this novel, Melville said, “I have written an evil book.” What is it about the book that Melville considered evil? I think the answer to that question lies in the meaning of the central symbolic character of the novel, Moby Dick, the great white whale.

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‘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.

Whovians, Coffee Before You Demonstrate?

 

Looks like a Dalek
Ovente Espresso Maker

The Ovente Steam Espresso Maker may be a great gift for someone you love this summer, especially if they would enjoy getting their coffee from a Dalek. With a cup of joe from this baby, you’ll have the strength to fight back against the footless foes who point at you and say, “Procrastinate!”

Flannery O’Connor on Spiritualizing American Life

Nowhere did this spiritualizing of the material become more evident to Flannery O’Connor than in the civic boosterism of the 1950s. An editorial in Henry Luce’s Life magazine angered her because it charged that the nation’s novelists, in their existentialist angst, were failing to celebrate their prosperous and optimistic country. Luce’s editorialists thus summoned American writers to exhibit “the joy of life” and “the redemptive quality of spiritual purpose.” Where was such joyful purpose to be found? For Luce and his barkers, it lay in the nation’s remarkable decade of success: its unprecedented wealth, its world-dominating military power, its virtual achievement of a classless society, at least in comparison with other nations. For Flannery O’Connor, joy and purpose found in such places are gossamer and ephemeral things indeed.

This is not to say that O’Connor was an ingrate concerning her American freedoms. She was critical of her country because she loved it. She regarded the threat of Soviet communism as serious, for instance, even constructing a bomb shelter on her Georgia property. The family of refugees from post-war Poland whom she and her mother welcomed as workers on their dairy farm became the occasion for one of her best stories, “The Displaced Person.” O’Connor also refused, in 1956, to sell her work to Czech and Polish publishers, lest they use it for anti-American propaganda, as they had done with Jack London’s fiction. O’Connor also admired Reinhold Niebuhr for his principled opposition to Stalin’s desire to remake the whole of humanity into homo Sovieticus. For all the limits of American self-congratulation, it was infinitely preferable to the mind-body-soul destroying politics of the Gulag Archipelago.

From Ralph C. Wood’s “Flannery O’Connor: Stamped But Not Cancelled” (via Prufrock)

‘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

On Doubt, Piper Says Just the Right Thing

Scholar John Frame reviews Barnabas Piper’s latest, Help My Unbelief: Why Doubt Is Not the Enemy of Faith, saying a book on doubt is suited for “the work of a sophisticated theologian.”

“Searches on Google and Amazon reveal that a number of books have been written on this subject by mature writers like Alister McGrath and Lesslie Newbigin. What does Piper bring to the table?”

“I think Piper often says exactly what needs to be said.”

Elliot on the Purpose of Suffering

“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;
when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,
and the flame shall not consume you” (Isaiah 43:2).

Suffering is never for nothing.

Author and teacher Elisabeth Elliot, 88, died yesterday in her sleep. Her legacy will never die.

Book Reviews, Creative Culture