Mini-Review: Long Black Curl by Alex Bledsoe

Long Black Curl by Alex Bledsoe is the third Tufa book which is a ‘series’ of interconnected novels that all really stand on their own with independent stories. Of course the reader familiar with the other books in the series will experience things at a deeper level.

Anyway, as evident from my reviews of other Tufa books, I really, really enjoy them, and Long Black Curl is no exception to this trend. It always surprises me that I don’t read more Mythic Fiction – books that loosely fall into category of Mythic Fiction seem to connect with me at a deeper level, bringing me a much more holistic and satisfied reading experience. Not merely entertaining or escapist and not really the sort of book that makes me feel like I’m a better person for having read it, but books that truly connect, books that awaken deeper awareness of myself.

Bledsoe’s Tufa books are about an exiled faerie clan who settled in the Appalachian Mountains long before humans came along. These stories tell how the Tufa people interact with the modern world around them and show how they are connected to their land and their music at deeper levels than the people around them. While set within the modern world, they bring the reader back in time, reminding us of the deeper connections to nature and the land around us. For the Tufa, music is the vehicle that this connection is founded within.

Long Black Curl is specifically about two exiled Tufa who have lost their ability to sing. These exiled exiles are cursed in a fundamentally horrific form of suffering for their people, further complicated by their means of surviving in the modern world – both work in the music industry. This forms the back bone for a story of revenge, loss, and redemption. A large part of the success of this story works because of duality of the modern world and the ‘other’, timeless world of the Tufa, and it’s an approach that I am especially fond of.

I love the Tufa books because they really embody Mythic Fiction in a way few books achieve. The emotions invoked are full of mystery, darkness, fear, love, and a whole host of other primal emotions for us all. While I believe that it’s the connection to nature that leads me to back to Mythic Fiction, the vehicle of music to form this connection is fully realized in these books. This is a very tough balance to achieve as it’s quite easy to nerd out on the music without ever creating the deep emotional connection that is really necessary¹. Charles de Lint is another author I who can achieve this balance and I rank him and Bledsoe at the top of a short list of authors who do.

Long Black Curl is another wonderful addition to the collection of Tufa novels by Bledsoe and another reminder of how much I enjoy these books.

The Tufa Novels

The Hum and the Shiver: My Review, Amazon

Wisp of a Thing: My Review, Amazon

Long Black Curl: Amazon

Chapel of Ease: Amazon

Gather Her Round: Amazon (Forthcoming)

¹For an example of a Mythic Fiction book where the bridge of music between the modern world and something other never quite works out an fails to achieve the emotional connection needed, see The Crow of Connemara by Stephen Leigh (I’ll eventually get to writing a full review for it).

Review: Uprooted by Naomi Novik

There are thousands of ways I could begin this review of Uprooted by Naomi Novik and many ways in which to present it, but to start it must be simple.

I love this book – it is a wondrous read with a surprise around every page. As I read, I could never get enough – I lost sleep, reading ‘just one more chapter’ five or six times a night. I guessed at what would come next and was always surprised…until I simply stopped and just let the story flow. It’s timeless, evocative and every bit the modern fairy tale others proclaim it to be. It is a must read.

But of course Uprooted isn’t only simple as it’s as deeply layered as the best fairy tales always are. And so must my review be more than a statement or two about how much I love the book.

Voice. It can so often be overlooked in its importance, but particularly for first person, it dominates a story’s ultimate success. For Uprooted this voice is Agnieszka (Nieshka to her friends), a young woman who will find who she is and her place in the world through the growth of Uprooted. She is ignorant to the world yet rooted to her past, devoted to her loved ones, and contains a will strong enough to endure and shatter convention. Uprooted is certainly the fairy tale it’s proclaimed to be, though more so, it’s the story at the root of that timeless tale – the origin and the seed from which a magnificent collection of truths will descend. It is the tale of Nieshka and how she saves her homeland, a kingdom, a wizard, and a friend. And so much more.

One aspect of Uprooted that made it an absolute joy to read is that I began reading it with very few expectations, and the few I did have mostly turned out to be wrong. The jacket description of the book is all over and done with in a just a few pages. Afterwards is a blank slate. First one path forward emerges, then another, then another, and eventually the journey is simply enjoyed.

It took some help for me to see it*, but the ultimate theme guiding Uprooted is friendship. Every single significant moment in this book is rooted in Nieshka’s friendship with Kasia. Yes, there is a beautifully drawn out romance, and there is the ever present corruption of the Wood and the evil it brings, and politics of kingdoms and such as well. But it’s the simple, mundane (yet clearly so much more than mundane) value of friendship that Uprooted grows from.

For this reason (among others), I would propose that Uprooted should be thought of as an ideal ‘entry-level’ fantasy. Typically when that term is thrown about there are spaceships, aliens, battles, or dragons, swords and other battles. Probably an orphan or a soldier, likely magic or faster-than-light travel. But of course that view is from one (particularly loud) tradition, and Uprooted nurtures another tradition.

Fear not, if you feel that your fantasy needs swords and bravery, evil beasts to be defeated, battle and betrayal, you will find this. But let’s move on.

As with the best fairy tales, Uprooted has many layers, and many conversations that can sprout forth. Be it friendship as I indicate above, or the blooming of a love and the opening of a dead heart, or even the mundane conversations of genre.

Yes, for those of us who have delved into the ‘community’ of fandom, there is conversation to be had. In fact, one could choose their own metaphor if they were so inclined. There is the prescriptive, rigid magic of the Dragon, complete with its long history and devote adherents. The precise requirements of diction, pronunciation and the corresponding expectations of courtly sorcerers. Nieshka’s corresponding magic of intuition and song, containing no prescription or predictive path is a foil to whatever establishment you choose. The corruption of the Wood, its pure evil and malice and the resulting lack of hope presents another opportunity for conversation. For all the overwhelming evil and corruptive power, there is redemption. Hope prevails though the indomitable spirit of Nieshka. The conversation is changed and the future rewritten**. And hell, I just know there’s a good ‘can’t see the forest for all the trees’ message wandering the Wood somewhere.

Of course it can be any community that takes a lesson from Uprooted, I merely chose the one closest to me as I write.

As many a review that I write grows from a beginning into a wild bramble of mixed thoughts and metaphor, eventually it comes back to the beginning. And so it ends in the simplicity of earned embellishment.

Uprooted is the seed that spawns a thousand generations of a tale and Novik has cultivated a magnificent, timeless beauty to enjoy***.

Uprooted: Indiebound, Book Depository, Amazon

* The reasons why are probably several essays worth of material.

**Leaving grimdark for dead in ditch? This reviewer can only hope.

***Over and over again.

Mini-Review: The Hum and the Shiver by Alex Bledsoe

As I sit down to write this review of The Hum and the Shiver by Alex Bledsoe, I’ve come to realize that it’s hard. Not because I don’t have a lot to say about the book – I do. Not because I didn’t love the book – I did love it. But, really it comes down to that I’ve said it all before, most likely better than I could again. So, go read the review I wrote for Wisp of a Thing. Everything in that review applies to The Hum and the Shiver. Bledsoe’s Tufa books are probably the books I’m enjoying most right now, and that earlier review really says all I need to say.

Still here? OK, again, go read that earlier review if didn’t already, because this is where I simply get nit-picky. The Hum and the Shiver is the first Tufa book – in sequence of writing, publishing, and occurrence in ‘book world’. It tells – The Hum and the Shiver has a few bumpy spots that weren’t present in Wisp of a Thing. Most notably is the relatively slow start. This is because this is not an action book, and all the conflict is truly personal conflict that comes from within. This is tricky ground to cover in a society (and genre for that matter) that craves action and real, in-your-face conflict. Related to that, some of the subplots never quite melt into the full story. It’s just a little rough around the edges.

But for all of that, by about halfway through the book, it’s all gone. I was completely immersed into the story and couldn’t even come up for air. With these books it’s just best to let it all go and lose yourself in the music of the story.

The Hum and Shiver (Indiebound, Book Depository, Amazon)

Wisp of a Thing (My Review, Indiebound, Book Depository, Amazon)

Long Black Curl (Indiebound, Book Depository, Amazon)

Review: Wisp of a Thing by Alex Bledsoe

I find that some of the books I enjoy most are basically a form of modern mythic – sometimes this is called mythic fiction, and what feels like a long-lost time ago, many of these books were considered urban fantasy. However you choose to define them, these are books that are set in a modern(ish) world and contain a deep connection to some mythic past, often through or including nature, though not necessarily so, often through some form of spirit or mythic race, and music often plays a very important role. The books of Charles de Lint immediately come across like this and other names like Robert Holdstock fit just as easily. And now I’ve found another name to add to this list – Alex Bledsoe and his Tufa novels. Two are currently available, The Hum and Shiver and Wisp of a Thing, with a forthcoming book titled Long Black Curl.

The Tufa are a people in small area in Appalachia that have a mysterious past and deep connection to music and the land they live on – they mistrust outsiders and many rumors swirl about them – often dark, tragic rumors that are only whispered.

When I first came across the description of these books – something like that paraphrased discussion above – I knew these books were for me. I had the second, Wisp of a Thing and was very hesitant to jump in – once I was informed that while related, each book stands on its own, I could no longer resist the call and plunged into the deep, old forests of Appalachia and the Tufa.

I’ve often wondered why these mythic books appeal so much to me and I believe it begins with my love of the outdoors. But it’s way more than that, because these mythic books can succeed without ever stepping out of the concrete jungle of a city. I think it must be the combination of what is often a love and respect for the world that is beyond what is found in modern life, with a deep connection to the past in combination with an otherworld-ness that feels just out of reach. It’s that ‘irrational’ fear of that dark place, the ‘unnatural’ feeling of an old forest at night, the unexplainable connection of hugging a tree, the transcendence of music.

When stories achieve this place, they lose that common focus of an external goal – be it a quest, or vengeance, or whatever. It becomes a journey internal to those who experience it. The pace slows and the story takes over like a song while escape is an unwanted dream.

Wisp of a Thing does all of these. There is a deep, personal journey, not a hero’s journey, not one where the end is known, but a journey none-the-less. The old world music of Appalachia plays a big part, along with weathered epitaphs in lost, overgrown cemeteries. It’s tragic and hopeful. Love is lost and found. Old wrongs are righted. Blood runs deep.  

I loved Wisp of a Thing – now I crave a journey into the mountains of Appalachia, a hike down my favorite trail to visit that giant old-growth Ponderosa Pine, to look out over the beauty of the land around and listen to the music of the wind. For whatever reason, my love of mythic fiction doesn’t end, but it does fade to the back only to seemingly leap up out of nowhere. Through Bledsoe and the Tufa, I now have another ever-present beginning of a journey waiting for me. I will be back again…and again…and again…

The Hum and Shiver (Indiebound, Book Depository, Amazon)

Wisp of a Thing (Indiebound, Book Depository, Amazon)

Long Black Curl (Indiebound, Book Depository, Amazon)

Mini-Review: And Blue Skies from Pain by Stina Leicht

I’m always terrible at picking a best of pretty much anything, but if I had to pick the best book that I read in 2012, it was Of Blood and Honey by Stina Leicht (My Review, Indiebound, Book Depository, Amazon). Therefore, it should be no surprise that its sequel, And Blue Skies from Pain (Indiebound, Book Depository, Amazon), was a very high priority for me to read. I feel that these books are powerful examples of what urban fantasy can and should be – a mix of old and new, history and contemporary, mythic and modern. Her tales of a war between the Catholic Church, Fallen Angels, and Irish Fey set against the backdrop of The Troubles in Northern Ireland is a great balance.

 

The powerful tragedy of Liam’s life and continued struggles with who he is drives And Blue Skies from Pain. The conflict Liam has with those in his life comes to forefront – his only real friend and partner, a priest who betrayed him the past, his long absent father and his clan of Fey warriors, his dead wife, and those who seek to use or kill him. Leicht’s books are more tragic than anything else – victories feel pyrrhic rather than victorious, and a melancholic hopelessness seems to dominate through Liam. In this Leicht’s writing feels more real and less formulaic as it distinguishes itself from the rest of urban fantasy.

 

However, I must point out that I am an American reading these, an American who has not ever been to Northern Ireland and only has the vaguest idea of what The Troubles were truly like. So, I think that this criticism/deconstruction of Leicht’s The Fey and The Fallen series (so far) is a valuable perspective. And while it is highly critical of Leicht’s writing, I found that it didn’t impact my enjoyment of the series at all, even though I read And Blue Skies from Pain after I had read that deconstruction.

 

While I can’t claim that And Blue Skies from Pain had the same impact that Of Blood and Honey did, it is a powerful sequel in its own right. Unfortunately, the exact fate of the series is a bit uncertain with all the happenings around Night Shade Books, but I’m confident that there will be a conclusion, and it will be a conclusion that I very much look forward to reading.

 

Mini-Review: Someplace to be Flying by Charles de Lint

I’ve said it often and I’ll say it again – I really like the writing of Charles de Lint and I think it’s a shame that he’s not discussed more in the online circles I follow. I find his prose to be an ideal expression of mythical feeling in the modern world as it verges on poetry at times. De Lint’s form of Urban Fantasy is to me the standard that all should be reaching for, and I love how it doesn’t fall into the trap of some ‘badass’ supernatural person violently realizing their dominance over some other supernatural entity (good or evil).

 

Someplace to be Flying (Indiebound, Book Depository, Amazon) is set in de Lint’s made up city of Newford and features the interaction of Native American types of mythos interacting with the modern world. De Lint’s approach is great – the writing at the beginning of the book feels rather mundane and uninspired. Everything changes when the two main protagonists come into contact with something strange and otherworldly that literally transforms everything about their lives. De Lint’s writing shifts at this point to a more magical, mythical and poetic prose that follows the characters’ journey into a deeper part of world around them that they had no idea about.

 

 
Someplace to be Flying really is a journey on many fronts, possibly even an epic journey, though it will always fall squarely in the urban/mythic fantasy classification (for good or ill). The two main protags, one a young man from the streets with an atypical nice side and the other a reporter who finds herself in the wrong place at the wrong time, journey into the unknown mythic world around them as they predictably fall in love. There are several parallel journeys – two sisters seeking freedom and reunion, a storyteller looking to his past and future, a trickster god seeking a power to remake the world, and others. Through this all is the powerful theme of family and belonging, though not in a traditional sense.

 

Someplace to be Flying is set in the early 1990s and it will likely feel dated in some places, though it does have the underpinnings of modern urban life – email and even mention of cell phones. However, most of the book takes place with a timeless, if distinctly modern feel of the old interacting with the new.

 

Every time I read a de Lint book I think that I need to read more of them. And that is the case again here.

 

Review: Of Blood and Honey by Stina Leicht

If asked I wouldn’t consider myself a big fan of urban fantasy. Sure, there are plenty of urban fantasy books that I like, and the last 5 books I’ve read could be considered urban fantasy, but generally speaking I’m not a huge fan of urban fantasy as it’s generally defined at this time. However, I tend to love ‘old-school’ urban fantasy – the stuff Emma Bull, Neil Gaiman, Charles de Lint and others. As often as not, you’ll hear that sort of urban fantasy called mythic fiction or something similar.

 

Of Blood and Honey by Stina Leicht (Indiebound, Book Depository, Amazon) is urban fantasy in the style of old-school urban fantasy that leans toward mythic fiction. It’s also has a strong historic feel to it being set in the early 1970s Northern Ireland. Unlike much of the urban fantasy of today, Of Blood and Honey is not some mixture of up-beat, gritty, humorous ass-kicking protagonist discovering dark supernatural powers with cardboard characters. Of Blood and Honey is a deep, moody, truly dark, melancholy, tragic tale. Characters are constructed with depth, realistically flawed and realistically heroic. There is pain and despair with fleeting hope. This is not a book to lift up, entertain, or escape – at least in the most common thought of context. It is the story of humanity, the cruelty of humanity, love in the face of adversity, the horrors of war and oppressive government and resiliency when most of us would have rolled over and died.

 

Of Blood and Honey takes place at the height of the Troubles in Northern Ireland during the early 1970s. Liam is a young man who gets caught up in things beyond his control and ends up in the IRA. He’s also the son of shape-shifting fey right out of Irish myth, though he doesn’t know it. Throughout the book he’s a son, husband, prisoner, wheel man for the IRA, and drug addict. 
 

Of Blood and Honey is an unusually strong debut. The prose simply excels – at times it’s poetic, at times it captures a feel consistent with contemporary urban fantasy, and it always maintains the tone of Northern Ireland. The time isn’t happy, some truly horrific things happen to Liam and any decent tale of Irish fey must invoke melancholy and tragedy. Throughout Leicht seamlessly weaves the supernatural threads of her tale into the real world of Northern Ireland. 

 

Liam is the perfect character for Leicht’s story. He’s strong – but not strong in the ‘I kick your ass while making witty remarks’ of most urban fantasy. Perhaps strong is not the correct word – resilient fits better. Liam is that typical older teen/young adult looking to step out and find his place in the world – only he has no clue. He has a girlfriend that he thinks he loves, he has a loving mother, but an abusive stepfather. He longs to know who he is, but with his ongoing confusion and frustration comes anger. And there isn’t much that a young Irish Catholic man could do in 1970s Londonderry. He gets caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, he spends time in prison, while unknown to him supernatural forces are making his life harder and the Catholic Church is watching. Betrayal hits him from the closest quarters and everything he thinks he knows is turned inside out. As Liam struggles, it’s the strong arm of government that turns someone with no political aspirations towards the IRA.

 

It’s really a fascinating thing to watch Liam evolve through this book. We literally see him grow up – of course it’s aging through tragedy. At the end I can’t say Liam is left with hope, but it is at least acceptance of a sort.

 

This is a book set in violent, political time that many still alive experienced first-hand. This book focuses on one side of the story – that of repressed Irish Catholics in Northern Ireland. The IRA is shown in a somewhat positive light and in a basic sense, the Loyalists and British Government are bad guys. The horror of the times is well expressed. The violence and loss on both sides is shown. But, this is one side of the issue. Inevitably those who experienced the other side will have issues with this. But, on the whole this book does not glorify any position and shows the horrific, unjust nature of the times, regardless of positions.

 

Of Blood and Honey is powerfully good book – easily one of the best I’ve read in the past several years. It strikes the right balance as a work of urban fantasy, (recent) historical fiction and mythic fiction as it invokes an ‘old-school’ feel while holding on to a contemporary relativity. Liecht shows the horrors of humanity alongside its resiliency in way that we can all relate to in one way or another. The sequel to Of Blood and Honey  and next Book of the Fey and the Fallen is available and from what I’ve heard, just as good – And Blue Skies from Pain (Indiebound, Book Depository, Amazon).

Review: The Wood Wife by Terri Windling

In my own experience, I find it very easy to see just how our ancestors came up with some pretty crazy ideas to put in the myths and legends they passed down. Just spend some time out in the wild – some real time in real wild. No electronic gizmos, no motorized vehicles, no electric lights, no walls. Then do it alone. Even being the rational, modern creatures that we are with science and connectivity to the entire world at our disposal, being alone in wilderness quickly conjures up some really crazy (and often terrifying) ideas. For me, if you are looking for real magic in the world, this is it. In a genre that is, after you strip away all the extraneous, simply about magic, I’m amazed that there are not more books that capture this magic.

Writers like Terri Windling and Charles de Lint call this flavor of SFF mythic fiction, where it was once lumped in with urban fantasy and now is somewhat orphaned and forgotten as urban fantasy has moved in a different direction. Most often it seems people think of deep woodlands, faerie and Celtic lore when presented with mythic fiction. But in The Wood Wife by Terri Winding (Book Depository, Powell’s Books, Indiebound) it’s the Sonoran Desert of Southern Arizona.

It’s easy to fall in love with the desert. The land is wide-open, the flora is unique with a tendency to be strangely aggressive and the fauna is terrifyingly wondrous when you actually see it. I’ve lived in Arizona for 14 years and I originally moved here because I had fallen for the desert on a previous visit. Being a geologist only adds to my appreciation while providing me with even more excuses to spend time in the wild and alien world that is the desert. And it’s this sort of personal connection that mythic fiction makes special – because the best of it does connect. Only it’s rarely surficially evident, it’s a deep, nearly subconscious connection that lingers, dwells and rises unexpectedly.

In The Wood Wife a struggling poet colloquially known as Black Maggie inherits the house of a pier that she has only corresponded with through letters. Shocked and surprised, she visits her new house in the desert east of Tucson, Arizona with thoughts of writing a biography only to discover that the land she now owns comes with other houses and the tenants that live there. It’s an eclectic bunch – artists, animal rescuers, a mechanic and gardener and a handyman musician who live in their little patch of desert just out of reach of the city below. A place in the heart of the Sonoran desert where the spirits of the desert take shape, come indoors and play their games with humans. A place that Maggie isn’t prepared for, and perhaps a place that isn’t prepared for Maggie.

The Wood Wife captures the magic of the desert I love. It showcases myths rooted in Native American traditions that are so often and so sadly unknown to those of us who now live on lands they once inhabited. It hints at the tragic destruction that urbanization and a fast-growing population has wrought on Arizona, a tragic destruction that lies close to my own heart due to the many ways it works into my own life. The Wood Wife is a love story – in more ways than the traditional. But mostly it’s the journey of Maggie as she discovers the past and finally settles on a future for herself. And the desert dominates it all.

Before I even started The Wood Wife I knew I’d like it. And it was everything I hoped for. But it’s not perfect. As magical as it is, the simple truth is that I’ve seen it done better. Charles de Lint wrote a similar book, Medicine Road (Book Depository, Powell’s Books, Indiebound, myreview) that captures the magic of the region just a bit better, if in a different way. The similarity and comparison is unfortunate since both are great books and should be judged on their own. I’m not quite sure what it is that created a deeper connection with Medicine Road, though I think it may be music versus poetry. In Medicine Road, the magic of the desert is revealed in many ways, though music is most often at the heart of it. In The Wood Wife, the magic of the desert is revealed in many ways, though most often through poetry and to a slightly lesser degree, painting. I suppose I have a deeper connection to music than poetry, which doesn’t surprise me since I’ve never been very into poetry.

The Wood Wife is unfortunately a book that has been left behind, like much of mythic fiction. It’s often hard for this sort of book to work in the modern world of the internet, science, urbanization and the lost of wonder and magic that comes with such things. Some of us are lucky enough to recognize the deep connection it can make and I encourage all to try – whether it’s Charles de Lint, Robert Holdstock, TerriWinding or another¹. The Wood Wife is the desert come alive – it is the fictional magic that can help you see the real magic alive in the world. 

¹ I find the use of links in this part of the review terribly ironic, and I use the word terribly for its many potential interpretations. I wanted to find a clever or at least intelligent way to say as much in the review, and this is the best I could come up with.

Review: Medicine Road by Charles de Lint

On a recent morning I found myself in the desert outside of Phoenix, Arizona – a place where development meets the desert with a view most would consider desolate. I enjoyed the temporary solitude, the cactus wren, scurrying lizards, and the covey of Gambel’s Quail with the adorable babies in tow before I turned back to the construction site I was inspecting. Over the weekend my son and I enjoyed a quite hike into a canyon outside of Flagstaff that defies the stereotype of an arid Arizona where I respectfully patted the biggest of the ancient trees I passed (so did my 2-year old son). The outdoors has always called to me, and the desert-mountain lands of Arizona could rightly be described as my church.

As someone who has always found magic in wilderness, particularly places that haven’t experienced such a heavy hand from modern man, I find that remarkably few books I read capture this feeling. Not only does Medicine Road by Charles de Lint capture this magic (US, UK, Canada, Indiebound), but its Arizona setting includes places I’m familiar with, bringing it even closer to heart.

The faeries of the world all seem to live in English moors, Scottish highlands, or Irish bogs – at least they do if you read a lot of ‘traditional’ fantasy. In Medicine Road de Lint reveals a distinctly American faerie land, a spirit world just beyond reach, and shape shifters living among us. This feels both fresh and genuine while broadening the often limited scope of fantastic literature, and intimately connecting with me.

At its heart, Medicine Road is a love story – a mythic love story featuring a shape shifter with a deadline seeking love to avoid the fate of returning permanently to his animal form. Along for the ride are is a long-time friend who will share his fate, even more ancient shape shifters with their own agendas and a pair of twin sisters, traveling folk musicians, with their own past experiences with the spirit world.

de Lint executes the story with his trademark mystical feel of a world where the magical lies around every corner, just out of reach of the majority of people, but easily sensed by those who take the time. In this Medicine Road feels like a modern telling of ancient folk tale – a folk tale that is largely unknown due to its origins in Native American lore. At this level it connects deeply – who hasn’t struggled with love? Who hasn’t seen vindictive and pointless feuding affect that love? Who hasn’t struggled with accepting the person they love as the person that they are (though admittedly, most guys aren’t literally dogs which shows just how sly de Lint’s humor can be).

This new edition of Medicine Road gives fans and readers alike a chance at reading a great novel that was previously only available as a pricey limited edition. Included are some wonderful illustrations by Charles Vess. At 186 pages, it’s also a wonderfully short novel – quick, enjoyable, and touching in a way that few books attain. Not all good novels need to be downers, and I don’t feel I’m revealing too much to say that the warm and fuzzy ending of Medicine Road just feels right.

In short, I cannot recommend Medicine Road highly enough – though please take note that due to the place I am in the world, it reached me at an exceptionally personal level. I’ve been awed by the writing of de Lint in the past and haven’t read him in some time, and now I feel that it would be a terrible shame to go as long before I read him again. 9.5/10

Review: Mythago Wood by Robert Holdstock

World Fantasy Award (1985) winning Mythago Wood by Robert Holdstock represents a departure from the traditional epic fantasy of its day with elements of science fiction and historical fiction while imbuing an atmosphere all its own. Defying easy categorization, it explores the mythos of humanity in a setting eerily recognizable and reminiscent of something more primal in origin.

Steve Huxley returns from the Second World War to his home in rural England, located at the edge of an untouched, wild wood that has long fascinated his family. His father, a source of familial strife due to his obsession with the wood, has died while Steve was away at war. Christian, Steve’s older brother, has since explored his father’s research into the wood and become more like his father than Steve could have imagined.

The Rhyope Wood is the source of a mysterious energy that creates people and creatures out of the myths of humankind (called mythagos) – particularly myths of British soil like Robin Hood, King Arthur and others long lost from modern memory. Through the proximity of the family home to the Rhyope, the wood’s influence brings obsession, love, pain and death, and ultimately inspires a journey into its ancient, haunted heart where the mythagos have myths of their own.

From the start of Mythago Wood Holdstock reaches into the primal heart of the reader, drawing them into his imagined ghost wood filled with myths remembered and not. The wood itself becomes a dominating character bringing about the realization of just how powerful of a force primeval forests were in ancient times. As someone who traces the majority of their ancestry to that part of the world, there is a sense of this coming being of my past – these mythagos are my own.

Having inspired such a deep connection remarkably early in the book, Holdstock proceeds to tell an inspired tale – a modern myth all its own. Solitary Steve reflects often and subtly on the familial rivalry dominating his past and present while he is seemingly destined to love one of the forest’s mythagos, as did his father and brother before him. The resulting modern sibling rivalry follows the path of myth, as ancient as the myth they both pursue.

Much can be taken from the many of the aspects of Mythago Wood – in some ways it reads as a series of myths, tales, and parables framed by more myths, tales, and parables. Questions are presented, rather than asked and reflected upon more than answered. Contemplation is the result – hopefully lacking the compulsive quality of the book’s characters.

The haunting beauty of Mythago Wood is wonderfully realized as it penetrates to primeval heart of the Britain. The World Fantasy Award it won is well deserved and this timeless tale is as relevant today as it was 20 years ago. 8/10