The Dragon sits on the fence about this one, my good Wild Things. I simply do not know, so I will render the tale as impartially as I can and let you decide:

Set in 1364, The Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart follows the adventures of Manfried and Hegel Grossbart, two German grave robbers of dubious morals. They are as physically ugly as their dispositions and leave everyone worse for their passing. They have decided, these Grossbart Brothers, to journey to Gyptland where their grandfather allegedly disappeared while plundering the graves of Egypt’s kings.

In need of supplies for this great undertaking, Manfried and Hegel descend on the home of the turnip farmer Heinrich, who once injured both the Grossbarts when they were young. By page seven, the Brothers Grossbart have attacked Heinrich, murdered his wife and daughter with an ax, burned his two young children alive, and sliced the son’s throat.

This is but the beginning.

One quarter of the way through the novel, the I was hoping someone would come along and kill the Brothers, because I found them so vile. Eventually, I started giggling and glancing over my shoulder to make sure no one saw. Midway through the book, I realized that even should someone come along and kill the Brothers, the Grossbarts would be too stupid to comprehend the meaning of their deaths. Three quarters of the way through the tale, I felt as bludgeoned as one of the Grossbarts’ victims. At page 400, I rediscovered religion and started praying for the end.

That the Dragon didn’t stop reading is a testament to Bullington’s prose, which is as dark as a fairy tale and suits the overall grim mood of the Grossbart story. The journey through the mountains and the encounters with the witches and demons were excellent. Bullington’s characters were well rendered, but there is no humanity in this novel. The world Bullington shows us is so ugly, it’s practically a caricature.

Only in one scene does Bullington give us a brief glimpse into Hegel when the Grossbart kills a young girl, who is mourning another dead child in the street. In a barely perceptible flash, Hegel hesitates as if he regrets the action he must take. Yet he finishes his gruesome task and justifies it as the Virgin’s will.

Neither brother has the least difficulty justifying their acts of violence or hate in this amoral fable. Religion is mocked and manipulated by cardinal, serf, and noble; violence permeates every aspect of life; and no bodily fluids are sacred. The Brothers cruise through Europe wrecking havoc, yet they always emerge emotionally unscathed.

The Brothers’ ability to rationalize their every act to themselves is why I believe the ending wasn’t as satisfying to me as it could have been. There was no catharsis when I was done. However, when I evaluate Bullington’s tale, I’m hard put to find an alternative ending that would have been satisfying to me. Hence my ambivalence about the novel as a whole.

Bullington’s research is impeccable, and his pacing keeps the reader engaged. Be forewarned, The Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart lives up to the disclaimer on the back of the novel, which cautions that the book contains strong language and scenes of graphic violence. The fight scenes (and there are many) are extremely graphic, and the retching references become so numerous, they’re almost comical by the end.

So I will give my subjective rating; however, I would be most interested to hear what others may have to say about The Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart.

My rating:

Lil lives a quiet life, working each day in a dusty used book shop in Manhatten,  then returning home to her lonely apartment each night.  We soon realize, however, that Lil is not just any old woman.  Home after a long day of work, she draws a warm bath, undresses and sinks into the welcoming warmth.  “I was alone, finally, completely free.  I leaned forward and unclenched my back.  A pure feeling of bliss moved through me.  My wings unfurled.  White feather by white feather, curving out and up toward the ceiling, spreading to their full span, like two halves to one heart, until they tapped the walls.”

You see Lil is a fairy.  A very famous fairy.  Imagine a Cinderella story where the fairy godmother botches the big night with tragic consequences.  Banished in disgrace  from the fairy world, Lil finds herself living amongst the humans in New York City, old and lonely and longing to return to her world.   One day in the book store she sees a book  with photos of the Cottingley fairies  and becomes convinced that the familiar fairy faces she sees in the photos are a sign that if she can just complete the assignment that she botched hundreds of years before, she can return to her world.  One day beautiful, quirky Veronica walks into the bookstore and soon Lil is on a mission to match her with the “prince” who owns the bookstore and send them to a  charity ball at the Pierre Hotel. 

Turgeon gives us a darker take on the familiar Cinderella fairy tale with some unexpected surprises.  Moving back and forth in time between the Cinderella story and the modern day story, we grow to love Lil and feel her sadness, loneliness and isolation.  We root for her to successfully accomplish her mission and find redemption and a way back to her world.  The story ends with a twist that may leave you feeling a bit disappointed, or maybe even a little bit cheated if you expected the typical “happily ever after” ending, but overall I found the whole story quite enchanting.

My Rating: 

     After Frank McCourt’s Angela’s Ashes, one of the bleakest books I’ve ever read, I wasn’t sure what to expect from ’Tis. Frank McCourt was born in New York City, but moved back to Ireland with his family as a small child. The fact that young Frank, at the age of 19, was able to escape extreme poverty in Ireland and move back to New York City is an accomplishment by itself. Within several days of arriving, he receives the first of many warnings about the evils of drink and is urged to become acquainted with the New York Public Library – by a bartender. After a period of time working as a janitor at the Biltmore Hotel, the Korean War begins, and within weeks McCourt receives his Army draft notice. After basic training in New Jersey, McCourt is sent to a dog training unit in Germany and avoids combat. Within several weeks, he is selected for Company Clerk training. After his military obligation ends, McCourt returns to New York City and labor in the warehouses on the New York City waterfront.

     McCourt’s descriptions of Army life are hilarious, but throughout the first half of the book there are several somber themes that surface again and again. McCourt is extremely naïve about women, wants to break free of the stifling variety of Catholicism that he grew up with in Ireland, and early on after arriving in New York realizes that education is his only way out of a life of manual labor. McCourt also learns very quickly that in the United States, extreme racial divisions have replaced the class divisions of Ireland.

     This reviewer thought it remarkable that from the time of his arrival in New York City onward, McCourt repeatedly encounters individuals (sometimes rank strangers) who recommend works of literature and encourage his initial ambivalence about pursuing education. I guess you could call them literary angels.

     McCourt eventually overcomes his ambivalence about education and starts a college degree at New York University – without a high school diploma. After graduation, McCourt lands his first teaching position at a Vocational High School on Staten Island. Over the next decade or so there’s an interesting contrast in the book between Frank, pursuing a career in education, and younger brother Malachy McCourt, who has purchased a bar, is still deeply immersed in Irish culture, and has a drinking problem. McCourt earns a Masters degree from Brooklyn College and better jobs follow, but throughout the book he effectively describes the pull of Irish immigrant culture – where he doesn’t really fit anymore – versus his ambition to live a “normal” middle-class American life.

    McCourt has a great eye for detail, society, and the randomness of life, and describes a journey out of poverty that is hard for most readers to imagine.

My rating: 

*****SPOILER ALERT:  If you have not yet read The Hunger Games this review contains spoilers of that book.*****

  This is the second book in a  planned trilogy by Suzanne Collins centered on The Hunger Games.  The Games have ended and Katniss and Peeta have returned to District 12 as heroes, being the first tributes to ever defy the Capitol and figure out a way for more than one participant to survive the Games.  As they travel around the country to promote their victory, it becomes evident that they have sparked dissent amongst the downtrodden citizens of the 12 Districts of Panem.  Through their defiance, they have inspired others to stand up against the repression and cruelty of  the Capitol.  As the unrest spreads, Katniss and Peeta become unwitting symbols of the rebellion and the Capitol must scramble to come up with an even more twisted way to keep the districts under their control and quell the uprisings that threaten to erupt.

This being the “middle child” in the trilogy you might not expect much.  But though this installment starts out a bit slowly, it gathers steam and becomes almost as gripping as the first installment even though we know much more about what to expect this time around.  The love triangle centered around Katniss, Peeta and Gale is a bit disappointing since Gale is such a peripheral character this time, but most likely it will all play out in the third and final book which will follow our characters into the mysterious District 13 and the inferno of rebellion that is “Catching Fire” in this segment.

Can’t wait for the third book and also the movie which is due out in 2011.  Word is that Suzanne Collins is writing the screenplay and if you read The Hunger Games it no doubt crossed your mind what a fantastic movie it would make. 

My Rating: 

The Dragon loves horror and things that bump the night, but the greatest horror is often revealed in our souls. Gillian Flynn pries into those Dark Places with finesse in this black mystery surrounding a family’s destruction.

When she was seven-years-old, Libby Day survived “The Satan Sacrifice of Kinnakee, Kansas” by fleeing the carnage in her house to hide in the January snow. Her mother and two sisters were brutally murdered, and Libby, as the sole witness, testified that her brother, Ben, was the killer.

Twenty-five years later, Libby is approached by members of the Kill Club, a secret society obsessed with solving notorious crimes. Members of the Kill Club believe Ben is innocent, but Libby isn’t interested in her brother’s exoneration until she finds herself out of money. For a fee, she offers to be the Club’s liaison and talk with persons of interest who might have been motivated to kill her family.

Gillian Flynn has a direct line to a woman’s black heart and she exhibits great skill as she plunges you into Libby’s tale. There is little that is likable about Libby Day, but somewhere though the pages, she starts to change. Flynn makes the transition so gradual, no word or sentence triggers the moment, but Libby becomes less despicable as she progresses from the destruction of her past toward the truth she once shunned.

Flynn strips away the veneer of polite society to show the people who live beneath everyone’s notice. Here are the farmers and families who were sucked beneath the undertow of predatory bank lending during the 1980’s farm crisis. Flynn shows us that sensationalist headlines often obscure ordinary events surrounding people whose lives simply skid out of control. This is middle America where a good beginning doesn’t equate a happy ending, and a bad beginning can sometimes bloom into a new life.

Dark Places is a riveting tale told with Flynn’s talent for the macabre and caustic wit and is the perfect read for a cold October night.

My rating:

Dorrit Weger has reached her 50th birthday and is about to embark on a new life.  She’s moving to a place where she’ll have her own apartment in a beautiful community with every recreational opportunity you could imagine, beautiful gardens, great restaurants and trendy boutiques all at her fingertips.  The best part is that none of it will cost her a dime.  It’s all being taken care of by the government.  There’s just one catch.  There are surveillance cameras everywhere, even in the bathroom, and once you become a resident of  “the unit” you never leave.  Your world is literally under a huge glass dome where even the dew on the grass is artificial and the seasons never change.

“The unit” is the Second Reserve Bank Unit for biological material.  Women who reach the age of 50, or men who reach the age of 60, and are single and childless with jobs in areas that don’t support economic growth become classified as quite literally ”dispensable” and are sent to the unit.  Once there, they participate in various scientific experiments and become walking organ donors, providing a kidney, cornea, or whatever else is required to keep the “needed” citizens healthy.  Most last 4 or 5 years before making their “final donation”. 

The creepy thing (well one of the creepy things) about the unit is the way people, even dispensable people, accept it as a normal part of society.  In fact, the unit was established after a referendum was voted on and passed by the citizens.  Everything is done in such a humane and downright cheerful manner.   Dorrit arrives feeling slightly nervous, but the lavish welcome party thrown by the staff soon has her making new friends, dancing and feeling a part of the community.  It’s not long before Dorrit finds something that eluded her in the outside world — love.  As the experiments and organ donations continue,  obedience and compliance  turn to helpless horror at the inevitable ending.

Holmqvist draws you in from the first page and keeps you moving  forward with short chapters that make it impossible not to want to read just one more (or two or three)  before you put it down.  Creepy good read.

My Rating:

If you pick up this novel expecting a story along the lines of the 2006 film Tristan and Isolde, or the Wagner opera by the same name, you may be surprised to find that this one is nothing like a courtly medieval romance despite the cover blurb that mentions friendship turning to love.  Elliott returns to the earliest versions of the Arthurian legends and weaves a story that is part legend and part original fiction.  Isolde is mourning the death of her husband, King Constantine, who was King Arthur’s heir to the throne of Britain.  The petty kings are scrambling for position, eager to fill the empty throne of the High King.  Isolde suspects that Con was murdered by Lord Marche, a character so obviously the “bad guy”  that he might as well be wearing a black hat.  Isolde, known for her healing skills, meets up with  wounded mercenary Trystan in the prison cells of  castle Tintagel and they team up to try and save Britain from both the evil Marche and the invading Saxons.

I appreciate the research that went into the writing of this novel and the fact that Elliott put a new twist on an old story.  Where it fell down for me was in the writing and editing.  In this world “tightness around the mouth” represents every emotion from anger to pain to alarm.  Faces are “tight with weariness”.  Isolde must tend to the wounds of literally every character in this book with mind numbing repetitiveness.  Castle walls “stand out black and jagged as broken teeth against the black of the sky.”  Huh?  Black stands out against black?  Where was the editor when the word “trail” was used for “trial” twice in the space of two pages?  There were quite a few of these mistakes throughout the book and once I started noticing them it was hard not to start actually looking for them.  Unfortunately they weren’t that hard to find.

This is the first in a planned trilogy of books, the next being Dark Moon of Avalon due out in the spring of 2010.

My Rating: 

The Dragon was so enthralled by The Sword-Edged Blonde, she couldn’t resist another trip to Neceda, and it was a journey well worth taking.

So come with me, my Wild Things, for here there be dragons.

Eddie LaCrosse is a sword jockey for hire. For a fee he investigates missing persons, domestic indiscretions, and murder most foul. A good thing, because the case Eddie takes on in Burn Me Deadly is personal.

Eddie is returning from a routine job late one night when a beautiful woman begs him to help her. Against his better judgment, he agrees to escort her safely to Neceda, but before they reach the city, they are waylaid by unknown assailants. Eddie is left for dead beside the girl’s mutilated body in a secluded ravine.

Of course, Eddie isn’t going to let this slide. With no other clue than the intricate dragon design on his assailant’s boots, Eddie is soon searching Neceda’s wild streets to find the girl’s killers. Legends are involved, tales of dragons that burned through the skies and were worshipped as gods, but this is Neceda where nothing is ever as it seems.

Alex Bledsoe treats us to another adventure where he blends hardboiled detective fiction with heroic fantasy and somehow makes it all come together. Here there be dragons and their worshippers, gangsters, and murder for hire, yet Bledsoe infuses his world with a sense of realism through Eddie’s pragmatic observations.

Bledsoe ups the ante by bringing much needed adult observations and maturity to the fantasy genre. Yet Burn Me Deadly is neither stodgy nor plodding; this novel is a breathless run through the violent streets of Neceda. Younger readers will enjoy the fast-paced action while enthusiasts such as the Dragon will pleasure in Bledsoe’s nuanced story-telling.

With a deserved starred review from Publishers Weekly, Burn Me Deadly will be released on November 10, 2009. While you’re waiting, Alex Bledsoe shares what he learned about dragons and dragon cults with his research At the Fiery Altar: The Dragon Cult of Burn Me Deadly.

Go on, my Wild Things, go back to Neceda. You can tell them the Dragon sent you.

My rating:

Oh my dear, Wild Things, this novel made the old Dragon dance for joy. Yes indeedy, that was a sight. Long has she loved the mystery and fantasy genres, so she salutes Alex Bledsoe, who has combined two great genres and entertains us with a story that is simultaneously wicked funny and dark as a devil’s soul.

Gather close . . .

Eddie LaCrosse is a sword jockey, a sword for hire, who understands the need for discretion. A routine case becomes extraordinary when Eddie is summoned by the King of Arentia to solve the murder of the royal heir. Queen Rhiannon has been accused of an unspeakable crime, and King Philip wants Eddie to find the truth, but the truth follows a winding path into an underworld of gangsters and corruption.

This is Philip Marlowe meets Thieves World, and Alex Bledsoe mixes the mystery/fantasy genres with savage grace. Bledsoe segues from Eddie’s past to his present so two tales intertwine with style, and while the plot is labyrinthine, Bledsoe’s clear prose and dynamic pacing keeps the story moving.

The characters are real with heartbreaking betrayals, and the dialogue snaps. While there were light moments that made me laugh out loud, there is nothing frivolous about this dark tale. Eddie’s encounter with the goddess, Epona, was written with a nightmare quality worthy of any horror novel, and a macabre limerick that forms a clue never leaves your mind. Bledsoe ties his clues together neatly at the end without being trite, treating the reader to one ah-ha moment after another.

Finally, I am delighted to find a fantasy for adults who seek substance over fluff! I’ll be watching for more of Alex Bledsoe and so should you.

My rating:

Come close, Wild Things – not too close, the Dragon has been known to bite – but do venture in, because she has a treat for you today. The Dragon never would have found this exquisite collection of Robert Dunbar’s short stories had this book not been recommended to her. Now the Dragon recommends it to you, because we all love to be frightened and we all love to love.

Robert Dunbar gives you the best of both worlds by bringing together fourteen stories with the unified themes of love and loss intertwined with the macabre. Relationships have many realities, and Dunbar manipulates those realities with skill to explore the darkest regions of love. The result is a collection of stories that you will want to savor again and again.

Reviewing any anthology is difficult, because I have to pick and choose which stories to highlight. If I had to choose my favorite example of Dunbar’s talent for distorting reality, I would tell you to read “Like a Story.” Young Kurt and his hero-worshipping follower, Max, are off to kill a monster. This is Bradbury gone terribly, terribly wrong. Dunbar’s prose pulled me so deep into these boys’ adventure that my heart was pounding by the end.

“Gray Soil” is vampires done right, gritty and dark, as a mother protects and nourishes her children even unto death. “Red Soil” continues the theme of familial love with the story of a young man who valiantly tries to save his sister’s life. Yet the crown jewel in this collection (for the Dragon, anyway) was “Mal de Mer.” Here is the tale of a woman slowly becoming unraveled, helpless before the loneliness ravaging her life.

Yet in all this Lovecraftian madness, Dunbar never loses sight of his characters’ humanity. This is dark fiction with a soul that will make you think about the characters and their moral dilemmas long after you put these tales aside.  Sometimes funny, more often poignant, and ever haunting, the Dragon found the stories in Martyrs & Monsters are worth reading again and again.

And so shall you.

My rating: