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“Like deep-burrowing, mythological worms, power lines, pipelines and pneumatic tubes stretch themselves across the continent. Pulsing, peristalsis-like they drink of the Earth and the thunderbolt. They take oil and electricity and water and coal-wash and small parcels and large packages and letters into themselves. Passing through them, underneath the Earth, these things are excreted at the proper destinations, and the machines who work in these places take over from there.

Blind, they sprawl far away from the sun, without taste, the Earth and the thunderbolts go undigested; without smell or hearing, the Earth is their rock-filled prison. They only know what they touch, and touching is their constant function.

Such is the deep-buried joy of the worm.” –-Roger Zelazny, The Dream Master

Every now and again, in the bookish circles of Twitter, I’ll see this tweet referenced:

This is an exaggeration for comic effect, but sometimes it is true. It is especially true with a book like The Dream Master, which I picked up after enjoying Zelazny’s A Night in the Lonesome October.

This book is absolutely nuts. There is a plot, to a degree, involving a man who helps shape and understand people’s dreams by means of a simulation machine. But that part of the story is only loosely threaded through bizarre and surreal images like that in the passage quoted above. I already forget, if indeed I ever knew, what that has to do with the story proper. But when you write something that good, it hardly matters.

It took me a while to figure out, but the book is actually structured like a dream. You know how dreams are: you’ll be at the office Christmas party, only your boss doesn’t look like your boss, and then suddenly you’re trying to break into a haunted house with the aid of Mitt Romney. It all makes sense when you’re dreaming it, and sounds insane when you remember it later. (And yes, I have had this exact dream.)

This book is like that; full of symbolism and weird changes of voice and perspective that call to mind simultaneously The Waste Land, the works of C.S. Lewis, and the more esoteric elements of the Dune universe. It is, in other words, a complete fever-dream acid-trip of a book.

Which is not to suggest that it is bad! Not at all. Indeed, I often think the best books, or at least the most memorable ones, are those that make you feel like you are teetering on the edge of madness. What fun is a book that merely describes the humdrum and everyday? If we accept the description of reading quoted above, then by golly, when I stare at my tree-slices and hallucinate, I want it to be something extraordinary.

And throughout The Dream Master, there are fragments like that; haunting, prescient, visionary glimpses into concepts that seem less dream-like now than they must have in 1966. Why, why is it, I ask you, that so many of these sci-fi dystopias of past literature seem to feel so uncomfortably close to our present-day reality? I am again reminded of Clarke’s Childhood’s End, and the idea that the appearance of the aliens in ancient human folklore meant that they “became identified with [humanity’s] death. Yes, even while it was ten thousand years in the future! It was as if a distorted echo had reverberated round the closed circle of time, from the future to the past.”

The idea of the future coming back to haunt us in the past–now there’s an idea that would be not at all out of place in Zelazny’s nightmare-world! No, no; this book, despite being in many ways exceptionally strange, is also endlessly fascinating, deeply unsettling and even, in some places, rather funny. I recommend it; just don’t go in expecting a linear narrative.

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Imagine a series about a school for sorcerers. Imagine that it involves an evil sorcerer, returned from a death-like state by his cult of followers. Now imagine that this sorcerer takes over the sorcerer school, and starts using it to instruct young magically-inclined persons in the ways of dark magic.

But! All is not lost. For there is a hero, chosen by prophecy, to fight back against the evil wizard and his minions.

This is of course a perfectly screwball premise for a zany comedy, and who better than Zachary Shatzer to do such a silly concept justice?  This is the third book in Shatzer’s Sorcerers series, and perhaps the craziest one yet. By this point, the Incompetent Hero’s penchant for triumphing through his own stupidity has become so well-known that various factions actively try to to harness it for their own ends. And he rarely disappoints; bumbling his way through multiple assassination attempts, barracuda attacks, and other assorted misfortunes that will come as no surprise to readers of the first two books.

Last year, I reviewed the book The Stench of Honolulu by Jack Handey, which Shatzer considers the funniest book he has ever read. I realize now that his Sorcerers series is very much in the same vein, with much of the comedy coming from the self-absorbed and careless main character spreading chaos wherever he goes.

I don’t know if Shatzer plans to write more in this series, but if he plans to keep it to a convenient trilogy form, then I must say that I think this one ends in a way that seems entirely appropriate for the buffoonish protagonist. After his more ambitious The Hero and The Tyrant, this volume is like a light-hearted satyr play. The premise I outlined above might not work as (for example) the culmination of a serious and sprawling story, but as a wacky comedy, it is just the ticket.

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Most of you know I hold P.G. Wodehouse in high regard. He is perhaps the greatest English comic novelist of the 20th century, and I never tire of rereading his classic Jeeves & Wooster novels. He had a gift for humorous prose that defies imitation.

And yet, you will notice I’ve never reviewed a book by him. Mostly, this is because the prospect of doing so is almost intimidating. What can I, a mere blogger, say about such a titan of literature? Better people than your humble reviewer have found themselves in awe of Wodehouse.

But, I’m going to review this short story because (a) despite being a Wodehouse fan since the age of 11, I hadn’t heard of it until last year, which means it’s pretty obscure and (b) because Wodehouse himself considered it one of the funniest things he had ever written. Which is really saying something, coming from the man who wrote Right Ho, Jeeves.

And finally, (c) it’s a bit offbeat by Wodehouse standards. You know me, I love anything that’s weird, different, out-of-the-ordinary, outré… you get the idea. And this book is certainly different than typical Wodehouse. For starters, it’s a ghost story!

Well, kind of. The protagonist is a novelist named James Rodman, who writes hardboiled thrillers. He is living at the home of his late aunt, Leila J. Pinckney, who wrote light romance novels. Rodman regards his aunt’s genre with contempt, considering it full of sappy clichés and cloying sentimentality.

But, in the cozy atmosphere of Honeysuckle Cottage, Rodman slowly begins to feel as if something is casting a spell over him. It starts with him writing a love interest into his latest novel; something which he abhors. And then, a young woman shows up on the doorstep, and he and she experience a “meet cute” right out of a Leila J. Pinckney novel!

As time goes by, Rodman starts saying and doing things that a Pinckney hero would do: picking flowers for the woman, and even reading her poetry. And here, I must quote verbatim:

“James had to read to her—and poetry, at that; and not the jolly, wholesome sort of poetry the boys are turning out nowadays, either—good, honest stuff about sin and gas-works and decaying corpses—but the old-fashioned kind with rhymes in it, dealing almost exclusively with love.”

I’m pretty sure that’s a T.S. Eliot reference. You love to see it.

Speaking of references, Wodehouse apparently intended the story as an homage to Henry James, who is mentioned briefly in the text, and whose brand of psychological mystery is very much in line with the kind of strange experience that Rodman finds himself undergoing.

So, what happens? Does Rodman succumb entirely to the mysterious power of Honeysuckle Cottage? Well, even though it’s almost a hundred years old, I can’t bring myself to spoil this one. The ending is simply too good; you have to read it for yourself. You can find it in the collection “Meet Mr. Mulliner,” which is in the public domain.

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If you don’t know by now that I’m a fan of Adam Bertocci’s fiction… well, I guess you’ll just have to read this review, and then you will.

Crappy Valentine’s Day is about a young woman in New York City who just wants to have a nice day. Not a romance or anything; just a pleasant day at home. But those hopes are dashed when her boss calls and asks her to come into the office to run a focus group session. As fate would have it, it’s for a dating service.

What follows is an interesting discussion of the different expectations men and women have for each other, as well as Bertocci’s hallmark, the emptiness of the careers most millennials find themselves in.

But Becca’s day doesn’t end there; not by a long shot. Valentine’s Day still has some surprises in store for her, and not just because of her cat, Boots, either.

This story is like a companion piece to Bertocci’s wonderful Samantha, 25, on October 31. That one is a more in-depth treatment of a young millennial adrift in the city, (as well as a cat with an attitude) but this book also has plenty of his trademark wit and charm.

If you haven’t read any Bertocci, despite my prior exhortations, then this is a good introduction to his style. And if you are a devoted Bertocci-head like me, this feels like a visit from an old friend. Either way, I recommend it.

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I have fallen into a rut lately. Every book I’ve reviewed in January was sci-fi, and while all of them are worthwhile, the last thing I want to be is predictable. As Natalie Portman says in the great romantic short film True, “There are times when life calls out for a change. A transition. Like the seasons.”

And, what better time than the beastly month of February to turn my attention to romance books? This one caught my eye because of its title, and when I read the sample and found the author defines post-modern using a quote from The Simpsons, (“post-modern is weird for the sake of being weird.”) I knew I must read it.

The book is narrated by one Nick Ryder, who, you will note, is also listed as the author. More about this later. The Nick Ryder we meet in these pages is a lonely divorced father of two, whose only joy in life seems to come from running a film club that screens obscure movies once a week. He is desperate to find a woman–or more precisely, The Woman. You know, The One; the Soulmate. But it never seems to work out with any of the women he knows.

Part of the trouble is that Nick is kind of shallow. I mean, really, he uses a numerical ranking system to evaluate all potential mates. And he finds almost all of them wanting in one area or another. Also, with literally every woman he meets, the first thing he describes is the size of her breasts. (Again, assuming this is a character, he’s not supposed to be admirable, not even by his own lights.)

And yet, at the same time, perhaps Nick’s problem is that he is not shallow enough. That, at least, is the opinion of his neighbor Stephane, a tall, good-looking Frenchman who is a regular Casanova and treats women as light diversions. His view is that Nick needs to quit trying to find an emotional connection and “just have fun.” This does not come easily to Nick.

But when he meets an intriguing woman who calls herself Goldie at the film club, he falls under her spell, and soon they begin dating. Or something like dating. Well, they go places together, and share meals, and talk, and have sex. Whether any of this constitutes dating is something they debate.

Their relationship is not exactly a smooth one. Goldie certainly behaves quite irrationally a lot of the time, as our narrator is quick to point out. Then again, the narrator himself is not exactly well-acquainted with rationality either.

Of course, love is not rational. Human beings are not rational creatures, and if we were, it is entirely possible the whole species would go extinct. Perhaps our irrationality even provides an evolutionary advantage; did you ever think of that?

Still, not in this case, because Nick and Goldie’s relationship is just too insanely volatile to last. Also, there are too many secrets they keep from each other. Indeed, the deception and self-deception are so thick there are times that I couldn’t be sure whether something was a continuity error or just the characters not being honest with each other.

Which is not really a criticism of the book. Affairs of the heart are some of the hardest to explain, and the author accurately captures the whirlwind of confusing emotions that come into a play in a romance. The book conveys this well, maybe even too well, as the emotional whiplash can be almost as exhausting to read as it would be to experience.

This book is listed under “Humorous Fiction” on Amazon, but I have serious questions about that categorization. True, parts are very funny, especially early on; but the second half is almost harrowing in how it depicts a failing relationship, and the laughs are few and far between at that point.

And then there are the extremely explicit sex scenes. Personally, I prefer the good old-fashioned “they headed to the bedroom” and leaving it at that. I don’t really need the full play-by-play and color analysis treatment. Others may feel differently, of course.

So, all in all, I’d say it’s more of an erotic dramedy than humorous romantic fiction. Then again, those categories only showed up once a book has been purchased. They weren’t displaying until I bought a copy.

That’s right: I might actually be the only person who has ever read this book. Seriously, there are no reviews on Amazon. Nor on Goodreads. Nothing about the author, either; and seemingly no attempt whatsoever was made to market this. And, given that the author’s name is also the protagonist’s name, I kind of suspect it’s a pseudonym. (If it’s not a pseudonym, then, well I’m not sure what to think…)

In short, it is about as unknown as it gets; seemingly having lain undiscovered for over eight years, waiting for some lunatic looking for offbeat romance books to come along. I tell you, it’s things like this that make it all worthwhile!

Seriously, though: this book is quite good. Especially now, in a time when I think anyone who is single must be experiencing a sense that all romance is post-modern, by definition. Relationships in the modern world are one of the things that technology has made more difficult, rather than less.

I do recommend the book. Even with all its issues, from the unlikable protagonist to the uncomfortably graphic sex scenes, from the odd quirks of continuity (or are they quirks?) to the strange problems with chapter formatting. No, even with all that, it’s still worth reading for those who like literary fiction.

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Over on Twitter, I asked for recommendations of little-known books that deserve more attention. Richard Pastore answered the call by recommending this one, a post-apocalyptic tale from the 1950s.

While reading it, I thought to myself that there is an easy way to summarize this book: “Catholic Fallout.” This describes it remarkably well, in my opinion, but since I’m guessing few of my readers have played any of those classic RPGs, more elaboration will be necessary.

The story begins with a young monk, Francis, holding a vigil in the desert. When a mysterious wanderer passes by his outpost, Francis uncovers a fallout shelter from the past nuclear war, which holds artifacts which appear to belong to “the Blessed Leibowitz”–an engineer from the pre-war era who, after surviving the nuclear holocaust, joined the church and strove to preserve knowledge during a Dark Age called “The Simplification.”

Francis’s discovery of the relics paves the way for the beatification of Leibowitz, and ultimately, after many years, the young monk makes his way to New Rome for an audience with the Pope himself.

Time–measured in centuries–passes. Technological progress begins, and with it comes a kind of renaissance, as well as feuding tribes and political machinations and scientific progress. All the while the Order of Saint Leibowitz carries on.

More time passes, until society has developed computers and off-world colonies. And, most significantly, nuclear weapons have returned, and the Order is once again faced with preserving their traditions and teachings in the face of horrific devastation.

The book, in short, is not really a feel-good tale. But it does include two of the hallmarks of 1950s and ’60s zeitgeist: space travel and nuclear war. In that sense, it’s very much a work of its time, and that, of course, is one of the great things about Vintage Sci-Fi Month: the opportunity to look back on what people of the past thought were the burning issues of the day.

Ah… perhaps that was an unfortunate choice of words. But, never mind! The techno-optimists of the era were enthralled by space travel, the techno-pessimists obsessed with nuclear armageddon. It’s clear enough that Miller, in addition to being a Catholic, was definitely in the pessimist category. And this is rather understandable when you learn he fought in World War II, and was present at the destruction of a Benedictine Abbey at Monte Cassino. It haunted him, and that comes through clearly in the text, as the cyclical destruction of all efforts to build civilization is perhaps the central theme of the book.

Usually, I don’t like generational epics. Stories that span huge swaths of time tend to leave me feeling distanced from the characters. Call me simple if you like, but I generally prefer my stories to follow one character, or group of characters.

However, while this book spans centuries, it definitely worked for me. Each set of characters was so carefully-drawn that I could relate to all of them, and get involved in their struggles. Which in turn made it all the more poignant when their time came, as it always does.

All right, I’ve tap-danced around the issue long enough; I can’t put it off any longer. This book involves some very weighty moral and religious ideas, and does not shy away from taking a stance on certain issues. How one feels about this may color one’s perception of the entire story.

I, however, am in no position to pontificate about such matters. I have my opinions, as everyone does, but in the grand scheme of things, I am just a thirty-something blogger who has probably consoomed more Content than is really healthy. It is not for me to sit in judgment of the philosophy of a man who led the life that Miller did, and saw the things he saw, as though I am somehow “above” him. Nothing is more obnoxious than to judge the past without at least being willing to ask how the past would judge the present.

So, yes; the last third especially might be off-putting to some readers. Nevertheless, I encourage approaching it with an open mind and an understanding of the author’s experiences. Seen in that light, it is an especially haunting and gloomy story, but one which I recommend to all sci-fi fans.

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After the rather depressing tale that was Childhood’s End, I needed something lighter to lift my spirits during this über-bleak month of January. I needed a cozy mystery. But, not just any cozy mystery; so I searched Amazon for cozy sci-fi mysteries and this came up.

It’s about a pair of twins, Milly and Tilly, who run a restaurant on a space station. But when the competitor who runs the diner across the way is found dead after having an argument with the twins, it’s up to them to find the real killer, with the help of their cybernetically-modified cat.

Is this deep, like Asimov and Clarke? Not even remotely. Is it goofy and amusing? Absolutely yes. It’s a breezy, funny, quick read with a lot of standard tropes of both sci-fi and cozy mysteries. And this reflects one of the great dichotomies in literature. As Chuck Litka reminded me on last week’s post, not everyone wants their sci-fi drenched in philosophy and intellectualism. Sometimes you just want to sit back and read a fun story.

And is there anything wrong with that? Nope, not a bit! Stories are meant to be primarily used as entertainment, and that is exactly what this is. Sure, it’s kind of unbelievable and the mystery in question is not especially tough to solve. That’s not the point. The point is to have fun. Otherwise, what are we even doing?

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I first read this book more than 20 years ago, when I was only a 12-year-old lad.  I remember enjoying it immensely, especially a certain plot twist about 1/3 of the way in. For years after that, I felt no hesitation about listing it as one of my favorite science-fiction books.

But, a curious thing happened as the years went by. When I would hear Clarke’s name or the book mentioned, I would think back and remember it fondly, but I realized I had only the vaguest memory of what actually happened in it. There were aliens, of course; and I remembered the revelation regarding their physical appearance very well, but what happened after that? I found I couldn’t recall.

I started to wonder what the book was actually about. After all, my 12-year-old self’s judgment is not always to be trusted, and the fact that I had forgotten huge swaths of the book made me wonder if it peaked at the Big Reveal scene, and perhaps the rest was mere twaddle.

So, what better excuse to go back and reread it than Vintage Science Fiction Month, during which we all revisit and review the classics of the genre? Vintage Sci-Fi Month was made for things like this, and you should be sure and check out all the posts related to it.

Now then, Childhood’s End. Again, as a boy, I thought it was a pretty cool story. But now, upon re-reading it with a mature eye…

…I think it is perhaps the greatest science-fiction novel of the 20th century, and it’s holding its own well into the 21st, as well.

The plot twist that blew my mind as a kid still works, sort of like a Twilight Zone punchline. The difference is, that’s only the beginning of the story, not the end. It’s only the end of Part I, after all. From there, it gets much more interesting.

In broad outlines, the story of Childhood’s End is that aliens come to Earth, demonstrate that they have vastly superior technology, and quickly begin to reign as benevolent overlords, so much so that they are actually called “the Overlords.” Under their firm but peaceful rule, humanity is shepherded into a new Golden Age of Peace and Plenty.

And yet… there is a strange sense of something not quite right about it all. The Overlords seem to have some greater purpose, yet no one can tell what it might be. Early on in Part II, we learn that the old customs have been shattered:

“…by two inventions, which were, ironically enough, of purely human origin and owed nothing to the Overlords. The first was a completely reliable oral contraceptive: the second was an equally infallible method—as certain as fingerprinting, and based on a very detailed analysis of the blood—of identifying the father of any child. The effect of these two inventions upon human society could only be described as devastating, and they had swept away the last remnants of the Puritan aberration.”

Clarke wrote this in 1953. The birth control pill was introduced in 1960. DNA testing came along in the 1980s. How’s that for some prescience?

Still, here we are in 2024. This is 40 -to-60 year old tech at this point. So what if a dude in the 1950s predicted the next 30 years? That’s like reading somebody in the 1800s predicted the existence of the airplane; a mere minor curiosity.

This middle part of the story dragged a little; although there is a scene with a Ouija board. Personally, I’ve always been suspicious of Ouija boards, largely because Art Bell, a man known for his openness and willingness to be exposed to the strange and surreal, unequivocally cautioned his listeners against using them, for reasons he refused to explain. When a man like that tells me not to do something, I listen.

In any case, the Ouija board in this story reveals key information to several characters, although exactly what it is does not immediately become clear. Instead, Part II ends on this haunting note:

“They would never know how lucky they had been. For a lifetime, mankind had achieved as much happiness as any race can ever know. It had been the Golden Age. But gold was also the color of sunset, of autumn…”

And then we come to Part III, which begins innocuously enough on an island colony of artists, called New Athens, created by a man who wanted to give humanity a chance to excel at something on their own merits, apart from the watchful eye of the Overlords.

As one of the residents of the island explains:

“There’s nothing left to struggle for, and there are too many distractions and entertainments. Do you realize that every day something like five hundred hours of radio and TV pour out over the various channels? If you went without sleep and did nothing else, you could follow less than a twentieth of the entertainment that’s available at the turn of a switch! No wonder that people are becoming passive sponges—absorbing but never creating. Did you know that the average viewing time per person is now three hours a day? Soon people won’t be living their own lives any more. It will be a full-time job keeping up with the various family serials on TV!”

Again, this was written in 1953, people. Nineteen Fifty-Three.

We can’t write this off like we did the stuff about the pill and the DNA testing; this is getting into the realm of eerie prophecy. Which is particularly disturbing considering where we’re about to go from here.

Gradually, it becomes apparent that human children are mutating into… something else. Some kind of inhuman psychic hive-mind consciousness that no longer recognizes their own parents. The Overlords ship them off to a sequestered colony, and people just… stop having children. That’s right, the human race ends.

Well, except for one guy who stowed away aboard an Overlord ship to visit their homeworld. They send him back, and thanks to relativity, he has only aged a little while everyone else is dead. Lucky him, he wins the special prize of getting to witness the psychic collective consciousness gang annihilate the Earth and ascend to the heavens.

The Overlords, who explain that they have witnessed this same phenomenon occur many times with many species, simply move on to their next assignment.

Here’s the weird thing about this book: the Overlords are practically as irrelevant to the plot as Indiana Jones is to Raiders of the Lost Ark. They really are neutral observers.

Which leads us to another realization: so many of Clarke’s other predictions came true, without the intervention of the Overlords. Should we feel a bit unsettled about what this means for the future?

Words fail me, reader; they really do. When I finished reading this book I was left with a haunting disquietude that was frankly rather hard to shake. The Overlords, and the implication that due to the non-linear nature of time, their appearance heralds the end of humanity, wasn’t even the most disturbing thing in the tale.

If you enjoy science-fiction at all, and given that you are reading this I presume that you do, then this book is a must-read.

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This is a collection of Christmas-themed science-fiction/fantasy short stories. You may be asking, “Why are you reviewing a Christmas book in early January?” Well, I could try to be clever and point out that Eastern Orthodox Christmas is on January 7. But, the actual truth of the matter is that I started reading it December 25, so I couldn’t very well review it before then, now could I?

The book includes five stories by five different authors. I’ll give very brief reviews of each, though the nature of short stories is such that I can’t say too much without spoiling them.

“Workshop Rebellion” by T.J. Marquis, which is a sort of dark fantasy re-imagining of Santa Claus as some one who does battle with ancient demons after they cast a spell over his elves. Very Robert E. Howard-esque.

“Grandpa Got Run Over by a Bane Deer” by Kaylena Radcliff. Also a dark fantasy with some unsettling monsters and hints of parallel universes, all uncovered by a very tired man on Christmas Eve. The image of the Bane Deer really stuck with me.

“Julinesse Pays A Visit: A Reversed Black Maria Story” by Jeff Stoner. This is a sci-fi tale, about Christmas on another planet where the controlled climate suddenly goes haywire and brings snow for the first time. Cozier and more light-hearted than the first two.

“The Fairy Tree” by William Jeffrey Rankin. This is a dream-like magical realism story about (what else?) Christmas fairies. Very ethereal, a bit like one of Lovecraft’s more mystical Randolph Carter stories in a way.

“Christmas Spirits” by Alexander Hellene. A fun adventure about a roguish Han Solo-type on a quest to get a bottle of wine for his grandmother as a Christmas gift. Sci-Fi action and banter; probably my personal favorite story in this collection.

The foreword by Katie Roome, who edited the collection, explains that it is intended to “provide you with a little holiday escape,” and indeed that’s exactly what it did for me. Obviously, it’s too late for you to read it at Christmas (unless you are Eastern Orthodox) but I’d say if you’re into speculative seasonal fiction at all, it’s a good one to bookmark for next year.

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In my undergraduate poli sci classes, they told us that Aristotle defined three forms of government: rule by the one, rule by the few, and rule by the many. Of these, each came in good and bad flavors, so the good version of rule by the one is “monarchy” and the bad version is “tyranny.”

As the title suggests, Zachary Shatzer’s latest comic novel concerns itself with the latter, and we are quickly introduced to the land of Kragolia, which is ruled with an iron fist by the Grimheart family.

But within a few pages, the reigning Dictator and his eldest son perish in the course of terrorizing the population, and the role of dictator falls to Trin, the younger son, who is a mild lad with no appetite for cruelty. However, he is quickly urged on to more tyrannical acts by the senior advisor to the dictator, Mysborn.

Ah, Mysborn! One of the most interesting characters in the story, because he is a classic archetype from history. From Michael Psellus to Talleyrand, the figure of the clever, manipulative advisor is a familiar one. For fictional equivalents, see Grima Wormtongue or Sir Humphrey Appleby.  Mysborn is a man who uses deceit and manipulation to get his way.

At first, he thinks he’ll easily have his way with the soft-hearted Trin, but the reluctant dictator refuses to oppress the people. Eventually, he decides to sneak out of the castle, along with his faithful manservant Malcolm, and see the kingdom for himself.

Meanwhile, the people of Kragolia, led by a woman named Gail, are contemplating rebellion against the oppressive regime. But they’re not very optimistic about their chances, since the military might of the Empire seems overwhelming. That is, until a mysterious hero named Eric Strongbow appears, and rallies the resistance with his bravery, not to mention his good looks. He looks like “a conquering hero, but not the kind of conquering hero who had let his victories go to his head. No, his appearance was that of an easygoing sort of conquering hero. The kind you could make a mild joke about without fear that he would be obliged to slice open your torso to restore his sense of honor.”

I have to say it: men, what’s stopping you from looking like this?

As with all his books, Shatzer’s humorous prose sparkles throughout, and I love the style of the narration. It’s a sort of distant third-person tale, with occasional reminders that we are, in fact, being told a story, as the omniscient narrator makes frequent parenthetical asides. This style of storytelling has fallen out of favor lately, and I think it’s high time it made a comeback.

The thing that makes this book great, right up there with Shatzer’s wonderful Beach Wizard, is that it has a real emotional core to it. The scenes with Trin and his mother are perhaps the most poignant, although there are several others. While the book has a jolly tone, Shatzer is never afraid to shy away from moments of true emotion, and that gives it a certain weight that so many humorous stories lack.

For this is more than just a silly comedic adventure. It is also a commentary on government. Dare I say, it’s a kind of mirror for princes, meant to instruct on the virtues that make a hero and warn against the vices that make a tyrant. The contrast between the cruelty of Mysborn and the Grimheart regime vs. the heroism of Eric Strongbow is the distillation of the difference between Aristotle’s good and bad forms of government.

This is a wonderful story. On Twitter, I said it was “like if P.G. Wodehouse wrote fantasy,” and I’m hard-pressed to think of higher praise. Shatzer is a national treasure. (Admittedly, I don’t know what nation he resides in, but whichever one it is, he’s a treasure of it.) And I wish like anything I could persuade more people to read his books.