Novel Idea

Darby O'Hanlon, Part I

2011-07-12T17:11:00.002-04:00

The story of Darby O'Hanlon has been in my head for the last eleven years, and through multiple rewrites his character has actually changed very little. I joked the other day that since Darby has been in my head for so long, either he's becoming more like me or I'm becoming more like him.

Anyway, the premise has always been the same: Darby knows the exact moment that the world will end, to the second, and the story has always started on the Monday of the week in which the world will end.

_________________

Monday morning. He hated Monday mornings. They were too cheery for the start of the week. He much preferred Thursdays, but there’s a darn good reason for that. But back to Monday mornings. He was convinced that the local radio stations were involved in a conspiracy to lull people into a false sense of complacency. Every song played on a Monday before lunch time was guaranteed to be happy. This was wrong, and probably evil. People weren’t meant to be lied to in such a way.

He fumbled for a moment in shutting off his alarm and sat up slowly in bed. The bed was about ten years old, but it was rapidly wearing out. Oh well, no point getting a new one now. This is an important week. He glanced at the alarm clock, its green numbers floating in the darkness. 5:00. Time to wake up and get ready.

He reached over and flicked on the lamp on his nightstand. His head swam for a moment, adjusting to the light. He had slept a solid two hours. That was pretty normal, actually. Sleep was harder and harder to come by lately. He had tried counting backward from 100, a trick his mother had taught him at the young age of 7. He had read from the dictionary, which had only fired up his brain even more. He had finally resorted to a half a Vicodin and a shot of vodka. That had done the trick, though. He got two hours of sleep for his troubles.

Turning back to the alarm clock, he saw that it was now 5:10, so he had to get moving. That sunrise wasn’t going to watch itself.

Darby O’Hanlon pushed himself up off the bed. This was a very important week. Especially to him. See, Darby O’Hanlon thought he was the most important creature in the universe. Why, you ask? Well, Darby knows for a certainty that the world will end at 2 hours, 14 minutes, and 13 seconds after noon on this upcoming Thursday.

Review #40: Dark Tower VI: Song of Susannah

2010-09-04T16:00:00.003-04:00

This story picks up where the fifth book in the Dark Tower cycle left off. Susannah has fled from the Calla after the victory over the Wolves. Roland, Eddie, Jake, and Pere Callahan (of Salem's Lot fame) decide to chase after her, using the Door in the Doorway Cave. The Manni, a group of mystics, agree to help. They hope to open the door to the last place that it went, so that Eddie and group can rush through.

Fate, though, has different things in mind. The door opens to where Susannah went, but forces pull Jake and Callahan through, along with Black Thirteen, the evil orb of the Wizard's Rainbow. They are taken to Susannah's destination: New York City, 1999. Eddie watches in horror as the door closes. It opens again and pulls Eddie and Roland through to Maine in 1977.

Jake and Pere Callahan search through New York, trying to find Susannah. Susannah, though, as a lead on them. She makes her way to The Dixie Pig restaurant, the entire time being helped by the demonic Mia, who is bent on birthing and raising the child Susannah is carrying, the child of the Crimson King.... and Roland.... and Susannah... and Mia. It's complicated. Along the way, Susannah comes to possess a scrimshaw turtle that will play a big part in the opening chapters of the final book of the series.

Jake and the Pere hide Black Thirteen in a locker under the World Trade Center, making a seemingly off-hand comment that perhaps it could be destroyed by a building falling on it.

Meanwhile, Eddie and Roland continue their journey in Maine in 1977. There, they meet a young writer named Stephen King. That's right, King is putting himself into these stories. This has been a point of contention among fans of this series since the release of these books. I'll withhold comment for the time being.

After a conversation with King, at which time Eddie and Roland realize that King is a conduit for their story, but is also essential for their continued existence, Eddie and Roland depart to try and reach Susannah in New York.

Final Grade: B+

Re-readability: 8.9

Review #39: Dark Tower V: Wolves of the Calla

2010-07-05T11:16:00.003-04:00

The fifth book of the Dark Tower series marks a major point in criticism. Some reviewers claim that this is the beginning of the end for the series, and that Stephen King basically gave up. Other reviewers claim that this is where King really hits his stride.

The story goes:

Immediately following the events of Wizard and Glass, Roland and the ka-tet arrive in Calla Bryn Sturgis, only to find that the town is beseiged by "Wolves" every generation, and it just so happens that the next run is only about a month away. Roland and the others are asked to help.

They meet Father Don Callahan (of Salem's Lot), who indirectly leads the Calla. Callahan had entered Mid-World (in possession of Black 13, part of the Wizard's Rainbow) after dying at the hands of the Crimson King's Low Men in 1983. They journey into the mountains, to the Doorway Cave.

Several trips to alternate realities lead the ka-tet back to the keystone world, where they find a vacant lot in New York City. Jake has been here before, and there saw a rose, that they soon determine is a doppleganger for the Dark Tower, which has a representation in the every dimension. The ka-tet learns that if they can protect the rose, it will limit the Crimson King's power over the real Dark Tower.

Throughout all of this, Roland and Jake note that Susannah is acting odd. Roland eventually puts together that Susan has a new personality, Mia, who is actually a demon. Susannah is actually pregnant, but the demon is carrying the child in another dimension.

While dealing with this new personality, the Wolves attack. Thankfully, the ka-tet is prepared, and so is the Calla. The wolves are defeated, though not without loss for the Calla. The ka-tet members realize after the battle that Susannah has run away.

Final Grade: A

Re-readability: 8.9

Review #38: Dark Tower IV: Wizard and Glass

2010-04-03T15:13:00.003-04:00

The fourth book of the Dark Tower is Wizard and Glass. This book introduces us to the Wizard's Rainbow, a group of glass balls that act like the palantirs in Lord of the Rings, allowing the user to see things far off, or things yet to happen, but these tools are far more sinister than the palantirs.

The ka-tet arrives in Topeka, Kansas, having defeated Blaine the Mono in a riddle contest. This version of Topeka is deserted, having been hit by the superlu detailed in The Stand. Roland leads the group out I-70, following the path of the beam.

As they walk, Roland recounts the story of his journey to Mejis, a barony on the outskirts of the alliance. He tells of meeting Susan Delgado and Sheemie Ruiz.

He also relates of his fight with the Big Coffin Hunters, servants of the Crimson King. Roland eventually captures Maerlyn's Grapefruit, a piece of the Wizard's Rainbow. He loses Susan, though.

At the end, he once more meets the Man in Black from The Gunslinger. It is also revealed that Roland killed his own mother after being tricked by the witch Rhea of the Coos.

Wizard and Glass is a big break from the story flow of the Dark Tower. The quest is halted for a while as Roland tells his story. That why I think this book deserves two grades. I sort of feel as though this book doesn't belong in this spot in the series, even though it is absolutely integral to the series. That said, the story within is one of my favorite Stephen King books out there.

Final Grade: A+

Final Grade (within series): B-

Re-readability: 9.2

Novel Idea Relaunched

2010-04-03T00:45:00.001-04:00

Well, the Right Wing got a bit of a face lift today, and so it seemed only fitting that Novel Idea follow suit. In both cases it is a rather drastic redesign from the old blog. Hopefully you'll all like the new format.

Review #37: Dark Tower III: The Waste Lands

2009-06-02T08:38:00.003-04:00

The third book in Stephen King's epic Dark Tower cycle is titled The Waste Lands. This book picks up the action a few months after the events of The Drawing of the Three and follows Roland, Eddie and Susannah as they journey inland from the ocean. Roland is now suffering from a mental paradox. Because he killed Jack Mort, Mort was never able to push Jake Chambers in front of a car. Since that never happened, in Roland's mind Jake is now both alive and dead. Jake Chambers, living in New York, is experiencing the same thing. In his journeys he comes across a vacant lot with a single rose growing in it. He also meets Calvin Tower and Aaron Deepneau, two fairly important figures in the later books of the series.

The trio is attacked by a giant bear called Mir, or Shardik, depending on the translation Roland gives. The bear is actually a cyborg/robot who is one of the Guardians of the Beam. The Beams, Roland explains, hold up the Dark Tower. They are not physical objects, but essentially currents or energy.

The group finds the Path of the Beam and they begin to follow it, knowing it will lead them to the Dark Tower. Eddie begins kind of absent-mindedly whittling a key out of wood. As they approach another speaking ring, Rolands comes to understand that the third has not truly been drawn yet, and that Jake Chambers is coming to them through the ring. Susannah is forced to have sex with the demon of the ring to distract it while Eddie and Roland pull Jake through.

Once Jake is through, the group is joined by Oy the Billy-Bumbler, a type of dog/racoon with the ability to mimic speech like a parrot. They journey to the town of River Crossing and receive the blessing of the town Matriarch before going on to the city of Lud.

The entrance to Lud is the George Washington Bridge, but before they reach it they find an old Nazi airplane crashed outside the city. While crossing the bridge Jake Chambers is abducted by Gasher, a street thug. Roland goes to rescue him while Eddie and Susannah find a way out of the city, a monorail train.

They eventually board the train, but in doing so they learn that the train has gone crazy and will crash and kill them all unless they can pose a riddle that the train, Blaine, does not know the answer to.

More than a few fans of the series were angered by the pseudo-cliffhanger ending of this book. The train is flying out over the Waste Lands towards its mysterious destination (Topeka, Kansas). The group begins seeking riddles. That's it.

Overall, though, this is a really good book. Unlike other long book series that seem to contain a lot of filler, everything in this book is important. For me, considering that this is a very enjoyable series, this book steps up a bit. I can't really say why.

Final Grade: A+
Re-readability: 9.8

Review #36: The Judas Strain

2009-05-11T11:11:00.004-04:00

The fourth entry in James Rollins's Sigma Force series is The Judas Strain. The book follows our regular heroes (Gray Pierce, Monk Kokkalis, Kat Bryant, Painter Crowe, Lisa Cummings) as they try to once again thwart the Guild and the Imperial Dragon Court. This time, the very existence of life on Earth is at stake.

The book begins with Marco Polo, who carried a dark secret with him to the grave. It is up to the heroes of Sigma Force to track down the clues he left behind and save the day.

Meanwhile, on a hospital ship in the south Pacific, Monk and Lisa are battling an unknown disease, which they learn is a Judas Strain, is virus or disease capable of causing mass extinction. The Guild is seeking to master the Judas Strain as a weapon.

The hospital ship is commandeered and taken deep into the Indonesian archipelago. Monk and Lisa unite a divided crew to escape and reclaim the ship, which is eventually sunk.

Gray and the others follow Marco Polo's clues to the Angkor Wat temple complex, where they find a room covered in "angelic script" or proto-Hebrew. Gray and the crew learn that Marco Polo had found a "vaccination" for the Judas Strain, and that one of the passengers on the doomed hospital ship carries the ability to negate the strain.

She is rushed to the temple complex, where she works her magic and saves the world. Unfortunately, Monk Kokkalis is lost. The only thing they find of him is his prosthetic hand (he lost his hand in Map of Bones). After the danger is quelled, Gray Pierce and the rest of Sigma Force meet for a funeral, where the plan to bury the hand, as it is all that is left of Monk. As Gray is leaving, one finger on the hand taps out S-O-S.

Rollins is quickly becoming the master of the spy-thriller-scifi genre. The Sigma Force series confirms such diagnosis.

Final Grade: A-
Re-readability: 8.9

Review #35: Dark Tower II: The Drawing of the Three

2009-05-09T12:40:00.003-04:00

When last we left the Dark Tower series, Roland of Gilead had ended his long palaver with Walter, the Man in Black, and he'd reached the Western Sea. The second book in the series, The Drawing of the Three, starts a mere eight hours later, as Roland is viciously attacked by "lobstrosities," a type of giant lobster-like sea monster. The creatures bite off Roland's middle and index finger on his right hand, as well as part of his big toe. He survives the ordeal, but begins to get sick from infection.

As he makes his way along the beach, Roland encounters three doors. He remembers what Walter said to him, that he would draw three to him. The first door (The PRISONER) leads Roland to Eddie Dean, a heroin junkie from New York in 1987. Eddie is smuggling heroin into the US, and Roland helps him get the stuff through customs, because he can't afford to lose Eddie. Eventually the two make it to Enrico Balazar, who is waiting for Eddie to bring him the heroin. Roland comes through into New York, a shoot-out occurs, and Roland and Eddie escape.

The second door (the LADY OF SHADOWS) leads Roland to Odetta Holmes, who is a mild-mannered civil rights activist in New York in 1964. She lost her legs below the knees after she was pushed in front of a subway train. Also, as a small child, she was hit in the head by a brick thrown from a high building. Both instances of violence against Odetta were perpetrated by Jack Mort. Odetta though, has a sadistic alternate personality, Detta Walker. Odetta is unaware of Detta's existence. Roland pulls her through to Mid-World.

The third door (The PUSHER) forces Roland to confront Jack Mort, who not only is responsible for Odetta/Detta, but is also the man who pushed Jake Chambers in front of a car in 1977. Roland eventually leads the man through a few misadventures before depositing him in front of the same subway train that he pushed Odetta under.

These events force Odetta and Detta, the split personalities, to fuse into one being (later to be called Susannah). Roland slowly recovers from the "lobstrosity" attack, thanks to astin (aspirin that Eddie brings him from our world). Invisotext

This second book in King's Dark Tower series is possibly one of the weaker outings, especially in my mind, but as we get further into the reviews I think it will become evident why.

Final Grade: B
Re-readability: 8.8

Review #34: Black Order

2009-05-09T12:17:00.004-04:00

James Rollins continues the amazingly fun Sigma Force series with Black Order, a book that traces clues out of the Darwin Family Bible as Sigma Force and a former Nazi face off against each other, seeking the answer to the origin of life on Earth. The book focuses heavily on the mystic nature of some Nazi beliefs, as well as a desire to control evolution.

Using Darwin's Bible, and other clues, the Sigma team traipses all over the globe, through the Himalayas, through Denmark, through Europe as a whole, all the way to South Africa.

Along the way they realize the implications of an old Nazi experiment called the Bell, which delivered results on a quantum level. I discussed this once in a post over on the Right Wing, as it was almost a scientific admittance that prayer does in some way work. The quantum theory that Rollins uses claims that observation of something effects the outcomes that the thing produces. It's all very science-like and I really don't want to discuss something that I've already posted.

The usual characters are back, Gray Pierce, Monk Kokkalis, Kat Bryant (now married to Monk), Director Painter Crowe, Sean McKinght, and some new characters appear, like Lisa Cummings. The enemies, a group of former Nazis and scientists, control the Bell, seeking to control evolution and create the "master race," although early attempts leave them with "leperkoenig" or leper king, which one of their creations is called, because he is immensely strong physically, yet lacking in many other areas.

The novel, much like the others in the series, contains a conclusion that leaves open the possibility for further adventures on the topic.

Final Grade: A-
Re-readability: 8.7

Why Do We Write What We Write?

2009-05-07T21:41:00.003-04:00

Say that title three times fast. Okay. Now, say it three times slow. Which one messed you up worse?

Anyway, that's not the point at all. Why? Why do we write the things we write? What influences style?

I've been thinking about that lately, and I decided that some self-examination was in order, especially considering my latest story involves a dystopic future world where a talking mouse in leading a man beside a river that flows uphill. So you see, self examination was rightly in order.

What exactly has brought me to this point? I think most writers will tell you that they are influenced by their surroundings, their situations, and their life in general. I'm poor, therefore most of my characters are poor. Darby O'Hanlon drove a piece of crap car. I'm slightly crazy, and so most of my characters are slightly crazy. Poor old Darby thought the world was going to end, and technically he's still right, he was just off on the timing. I'm single, and I usually create characters that are single. It avoids clutter... I have a talking mouse in Historia, and I talk to animals all the time, although I know that no spoken response will come, it's the whole affection of the animal thing.

But is that all? What part does my religion play in my writing? Darby dealt with this in a very roundabout way. In one version of the story he's confronted by a homeless man who tells him about religions. Clifford, in the expanded version I'm currently working on, deals in some minor ways with religion, and there's a new character, the Right Reverend Squire.

What about music? I almost always write to music, and I'm writing to music as I type this. Ludovico Einaudi has become one of my favorites. But I also go back to the old days, and dig up some good old fashioned rock. But classical is my wheelhouse, especially on Historia. In fact, if you go an look at the soundtrack I posted in January, you'll see a lot of classical on there. There's also Avantasia, a project from Edguy leadman Tobias Sammet, which is a rock opera that I highly suggest. Powerful stuff.

So that's it. I think. Not really. I never really self examined, I more self explained. Maybe that's why they call it introspection. I need to rethink my purpose for this blog entry...

Review #33: Dark Tower I: The Gunslinger

2009-05-07T10:16:00.002-04:00

Stephen King's sweeping Dark Tower series begins with The Gunslinger. First published in increments starting in 1978, the actual first book came out in 1982 (the year I was born, I'm telling you, this series means a lot to me). King himself refers to this series as his magnum opus, and one can hardly blame him.

The Gunslinger (subtitled RESUMPTION, more on that later) follows Roland as he crosses the Mohaine Desert, as he calls it, the apotheosis of all deserts, chasing the Man in Black. The book features one of the simplest, yet greatest, opening lines in literary history:

The man in black fled across the desert, and the Gunslinger followed.

Roland Deschain is a Gunslinger, a sort of knight-errant from the lost barony of Gilead. His quest is for the Dark Tower, the nexus of all time and space. Along the way in this book he meet Jake Chambers at a waystation. Jake had lived in New York in 1977 but had been pushed into the path of a car and killed. He awoke in the waystation where Roland found him, and he went with Roland afterward.

Roland takes a path through the mountain, but loses Jake along the way. (Jake's last words are "Go then, there are other worlds than these" and he falls.) Roland eventually catches the man in black, who reveals that he will draw three unto him, the PRISONER, the LADY OF SHADOWS, and DEATH (But not for you, Gunslinger.)

King's entry into the Dark Tower was revised in 2003 to streamline the original book, and thereby make it better fit the series. He removed certain aspects, and changed names, all to make the reader more comfortable. Having read both, I must say that the original was very good, but in terms of fitting the story, the revised copy makes more sense.

Final Grade: A
Re-readability: 9.0

Review #32: Map of Bones

2009-05-01T10:54:00.003-04:00

James Rollins is one of my favorite authors. His Sigma Force series is outstanding. Map of Bones, the second book in the series, could stand by itself and be good, but within the series it goes to the next level.

The story follows the bones of the Magi, the wisemen who visited the infant Christ. Their bones are stored in cathedrals in Europe, but it turns out they aren't bones at all, but a white gold powder amalgam with deadly electro-magnetic properties.

The book rages through the Vatican, various cathedral, the lighthouse at Alexandria (where our adventurers find the tomb of Alexander the Great, and even to France, where the exiled Papacy sat for years before returning to the Vatican.

Sigma Force, an elite branch of "killer scientists" founded under the American group DARPA, does battle with the Guild and the Imperial Dragon Court, trying to master the properties of the amalgam and create a new world order.

The characters, Grayson Pierce, Monk Kokkalis, Kat Bryant, and many others, are easily likeable. For me, these characters reach the same status as Stephen King's characters in the Dark Tower series. Rollins mixes science with adventure, and has been called the modern day Indiana Jones of writing.

Final Grade: A
Re-readability: 9.1

Note: Hopefully these book reviews will be making a bit of a comeback here on Novel Idea. I want to get around to the other books of the Sigma Force series ( 1. Sandstorm, 3. Black Order, 4. The Judas Strain, 5. The Last Oracle, and 6. The Doomsday Key (due out Summer 2009)) and the Dark Tower series (The Gunslinger, Drawing of the Three, The Waste Lands, Wizard and Glass, Wolves of the Calla, Song of Susannah, The Dark Tower). Hopefully.

Fiction on the Fly #2

2009-04-07T20:43:00.002-04:00

James rolled down the window as his beat-up Ford sputtered to a stop beside the McDonald's drive-thru speaker.

"Can I help you?"

"Yeah, I'd like a sausage biscuit and a sweet tea."

"Okay, that's a egg and cheese biscuit and a small coke."

"No. I said a sausage biscuit and a sweet tea."

"Sorry. So, you've got a sausage biscuit and a large coffee., right?"

"No, a sweet tea."

"Mountain Dew?"

"Sweet tea."

"Small coffee, two creams?"

"Forget it!"

"Alright, that's thirty-seven fifty, drive around please. Oh, would you like an apple pie with that?"

James tried to speed away from the drive-thru, but his truck stalled. He walked away.

Historia, Part XXVIII

2009-03-31T00:18:00.001-04:00

Perhaps believing that he could think away his problems was a premature notion. He’d slept in relative warmth through the night, but when he awoke the following morning the snowstorm had intensified and had blown into the fallen statue. His pathway up was now more precarious than ever.

Far below him, at the top of the statue, he heard a knocking sound. Immediately, though, he dismissed it as a most likely a dog seeking shelter from the storm.

He brushed the light amounts of snow from the steps and began climbing once more. As he neared the bottom of the statue, the top of his climb, the snow grew thicker. Each cleared step was wasted energy.

The eight-story climb was proving to be easy in much the same way moving the moon closer to earth is easy. Clifford was tiring out very quickly, such was the effort of moving the piled snow on each stair. By the time he had cleared off four of the eight remaining flights of stairs he was physically exhausted and mentally he had checked out three flights of stairs ago. His mind had occupied itself with creating new song combinations. He’d thought of playing “I Can See for Miles” while sings “Imagine” but he’d given up that game when he realized the lunacy of it all.

After what felt like days of climbing, but was truthfully only little more than an hour, Clifford Jenkins emerged from the top of the bottom of the statue. The snow continued to fall in the early morning light. The knocking sound in the statue seemed closer. He could actually feel it reverberate through the metal walls.

The statue had broken at its base and had fallen over face-first. Clifford emerged from what looked to have once been a big toe. The ragged edges of the statue base and the statue itself were truly one enormous jigsaw puzzle with only two pieces, something it would take a god or at least something bigger than Clifford to reassemble.

Clifford stepped out onto the top of the pyramid, ignoring the knock that grew closer. If it was a wild dog it could probably smell the food he carried. He toyed with the notion of tossing a single piece of dried meat back down the upside-down stairwell. And then he looked around. The whole of Historia stretched out in all directions from him. He could see all the things he’d passed on his journey, and he could even make out the path that he and Jamie Conner had taken coming off the mountain in the East.

Away to the north stood the gold-domed Vat-a-Can, while to the South was the cathedral-building of the wild dogs. The black marble wall with the engraved names and the seated-clown statue glistened in the scant flashes of morning sun. Clifford breathed a massive sigh of relief.

One day he’d been sitting in Timey’s bar in Nostalgia when the urge had feel on him to go to Historia. He had never been able to place why he’d knew that he had to go, but he had gone. His mission, especially since the flood in Lithe, had been to reach the pyramid. And now, not only had he reached the pyramid, but he stood atop it, victorious. He had conquered Historia.

And that’s when the floor gave way beneath him.

He tumbled into the dark, reaching out for anything to grab hold of and slow his descent. During the mad flailing for safety Clifford noted that the surface he slid along was smooth, which meant that either God or nature was smiling on him and giving him a comfortable death, or he’d been standing on a trapdoor on the roof. Of course, that last option seemed far too deus ex machina-ish for him, and with that thought it hit him that he had no idea what a deus ex machina was, and it would’ve surprised him beyond measure to learn that, essentially, his entire life was one big slaphappy deus ex machina playing out in the heart of old Nostalgia.

He pondered this as he slid, and he slid until he plopped unceremoniously down onto a very plush bed. He fought the urge to go back to sleep and forced himself to sit up and take in his surroundings.

The room was huge, but the ceiling had a rather large hole in it. The hole, Clifford surmised without much doubt, was the trapdoor he’d fallen through. The bed was huge, easily four times larger in all dimensions (including the fifth) than any bed Clifford had ever seen, much less slept in. And after the grueling exercise of sweeping snow off of upside-down steps that tilted at a better than twenty degree angle, Clifford’s body really wanted to sleep.

He continued to survey the room. It was decorated much like Clifford thought a king’s room would look. And slowly it dawned on him that he was in Father Time’s bed room.

To his right was a large purple chair near a window. The window was broken out, and Clifford realized that it was the window he’d seen smoking pouring from when he’d stood on the mountain to the East of Historia as Jamie Conner deserted him. At least now he knew what direction was East.

On the thickly carpeted floor near the chair was a pile of ashes and Clifford would say that the first thought to cross his mind was that Father Time had spontaneously combusted. It was quickly realized, though, that the pile of ash was just that. Apparently someone had decided on building a bon fire in Father Time’s bedroom. Possibly Father Time himself.

To Clifford’s left was a large cabinet, and through the open door of this cabinet Clifford could see a recklessly compiled wardrobe and more than a few empty bottle of alcohol. The floor in front of the cabinet was littered with paper and dirty clothes. Clifford listened, but he heard nothing. The room was empty, save for him. The knocking in the statue hadn’t followed him.

He rolled off the bed, and for the first time thought of his guitar. It was broken. Scratched, smashed, dented, dinged, ripped, torn, beaten. It was gone. All that remained was a broken wooden body and neck and six loose strings. He laid the guitar on the bed gently, almost as if it were a fallen comrade. He closed his eyes and rested his hand on the scratched neck one last time.

When he opened his eyes and turned around he was met by a man dressed in khaki slacks and a white T-shirt, with mussed up brown hair and a wild look in his eye. Father Time.

Clifford vocalized that thought. The Father Time part, not the physical description part.

“Right! I am! Name’s Ted.”

Clifford swore that Schrodinger had mentioned that at some point, that Father Time was named Ted. And that he was dying, but no one knew why. Also he was only a year or two older than Clifford, although Clifford would bet that, even though Father Ted Time looked like crap and death warmed over had had a love child, he probably looked far worse for wear.

Clifford cleared his throat, “I’m Clifford Jenkins, from Nostalgia.”

Father Ted Time grabbed him by the shoulders, “I know you are!”

Clifford leaned back. Ted’s breath reeked of whiskey, or vodka, or most likely both. He blinked for a moment as Father Time released his grip, “So...”

Father Time grabbed him by the shoulders again, “I only have one question for you, Cliff!”

“Okay, go ahead.” Clifford suddenly felt like something bad was about to happen.

“It’s the only question I got, and then we’ll talk for a while.”

Clifford nodded, “I’ll try my best to answer.”

“Okay, here goes. Golly, I’ve been waiting a while to ask this.”

Clifford shrugged Father Time’s hands off his shoulders and stepped back, “Will you just ask already!”

Father Time smiled, “Did you bring Granpappy’s will?”

Great Quotes

2009-03-27T15:29:00.000-04:00

"I'm so tired that I can't take anymore. Well, I probably could take more, but by the time I did I'd be so tired that it just wouldn't do."

-the greatest person in the world (not me)

Historia, Part XXVII

2009-03-23T23:54:00.001-04:00

Clifford’s laughter, though, was short-lived. As he looked around the depth of carnage unleashed by the collapsing statue-cannon became readily apparent. The ground was scorched black, turning a light gray in the rain/snow that was falling. The broken statue lay against the side of the pyramid, its greenish metal twisted and blackened. Some areas of it still smoked, as though the fire from the cannon still raged.

The black helmeted head of the statue had rolled off and now lay over to the side against a row of trees. Part of the faceplate was gone, likely blown away in the resulting fire, and underneath where it had once been was a genteel face sculpted of the same greenish metal as the rest of the statue.

Clifford, who had been standing in a bit of a ditch, stepped up to the same level as the pyramid and was greeted with a horrifying sight. The ground was covered with burned skeletons, many twisted in agony, some curled into fetal positions, some scattered over large areas. None alive.

The statue’s fall had done considerable damage, and had cost many lives. As Clifford surveyed the damage, he realized just how badly the pyramid itself had been compromised. The golden surface was dented and torn in many places, including the top, where Clifford knew he had to go.

He thought for a moment about looking for an entrance to the pyramid, but his attention kept returning to the downed statue. He walked toward it, careful not to disturb the remains scattered about. Once he had reached the statue, he quickly appreciated both its size, and the overall size of the pyramid. They were huge.

He stepped inside the now ripped open neck and saw stairs leading up. He knew immediately that he would actually be walking on the under-side of the stairs, but they accomplished his goal just the same. That is, if they were strong enough to take his weight. The fall might very well have jarred them loose.

He took the first tentative steps onto the upside down staircase and found them sturdy. He began to move with more speed, and since there was no give to cause him to hesitate, he began to take the stairs two at a time, and sometimes three at a time. The stairs zigzagged throughout the body of the immense statue, passing floors that now served as ceiling and ceilings that now served as floors, all running at about a 20-degree angle.

Every so often he would happen across a window that looked out on Historia. The higher he climbed the more expansive his view became, and when he was near the top he noticed something. The sentry station, the black wall with the names, and the fountain where he’d seen the body crash down were in perfect zyzygy, even though he knew, for a fact, that he’d taken many turns along the street going from one to the next.

The top of the statue... well, what was now the top, once the bottom, if that makes sense, was near. With it, Clifford knew, he would once more be exposed to the weather, which from the windows looked to be all snow now. And nightfall was nearing as well. He thought about the fire he had seen smoldering within the statue’s body, some eight stair-flights back. It would keep him warm and sheltered until the next day, and he would be able to get some sleep.

He had all he needed. Guitar, gun (guns, actually. He still carried the M-1 Garand as well as the sidearm he’d lifted off the dead soldier when he’d first reached Historia), food (there was still some dried meat in his bundle, along with the cheese-block in the leafy paper), and coat. He worked his way back down the stairs, which for some reason seemed a far more dangerous proposition than going up. The fire that was smoldering proved to be the remains of a desk, meaning that he was near what had been the bottom of the statue, where office would’ve been.

He stoked the fire back up a little bit so he could get warm. Nestling close to it he put his bundle and guitar over to the side. It was odd carrying the bundle and not have Schrodinger in it, but Clifford didn’t mind anymore. Not since Schrodinger’s deception had been revealed.

But why had Schrodinger acted the way he had? It struck Clifford as odd that the mouse would lie so blatantly just to keep him in the dark. The book had been blank all along, and Clifford doubted if he had ever had any sort of gift. Most likely the mouse had merely found him useful as a means of getting to Historia quicker.

But that didn’t explain what had happened in the King’s Valley. Or at the Farm of Pepperidge for that matter. For the first time, truly the first time, Clifford’s mind found itself occupied by what had actually happened at those places.

Maybe this world was just that different. Maybe, he thought, once you crossed the Mountains of Antiquity and entered the valley that is Historia, everything changed. The laws of nature seemed different. Clifford’s time-sense was definitely suffering some adverse effects. He had wondered a few times how his hair had grown so much during his first night away from Nostalgia, and yet he hadn’t grown a beard. Perhaps he did have some kind of gift, some power that was new to the world. Perhaps he had adapted to the world instead of making it adapt to him.

Schrodinger had once told him, just before they had bedded down for the night (along the road to the Farm of Pepperidge, just after the encounter with Israel Putnam), and again in the sentry station, that humans made the environment change to their needs. Clifford hadn’t thought much of the statement at the time, but now he understood it better. Human stupidity was, in essence, the mother of innovation and invention. If the climate was too cold, humans would make better coats, or build thicker walls instead of move to a warmer, more temperate area.

Maybe, just maybe, Clifford Jenkins was the first human in ages to adapt to the world, and his adaptation was a gift that allowed him to survive. He was able to avoid problems by thinking them away. He could remember the teacher at the University in Nostalgia telling the students once that they could not simply think their problems away; that they had to solve them. And now Clifford Jenkins sat on an un-numbered ceiling-floor in an upside down statue. And now Clifford Jenkins understood that he could actually think away his problems.

Historia, Part XXVI

2009-03-19T22:51:00.001-04:00

Clifford stared at the book for a long moment, each second that ticked by seeming to grow even more anger on his face. And then, at that precise moment, it hit him. He realized that he’d let a mouse get the better of him because he’d wanted to think of himself as special. And with that near-epiphany, he realized that he no longer needed Schrodinger.

He tossed the book lightly onto the cot and began walking toward the exit. The mouse was shouting something to him, but it no longer mattered. Only the pyramid remained before him.

“Clifford, you can’t leave us.” Schrodinger yelled, running behind him to keep up.

With a wave of his hand Clifford dismissed him, but then he stopped, “Oh wait. I need my stuff.”

“What stuff?” the mouse asked.

“You told me that you found my bundle and my guitar. I’d like them back.”

Schrodinger motioned for the cats to retrieve the items. As they brought them forward Clifford inspected each one, making sure that everything was in place. The bundle still contained a bit a cheese wrapped in leafy-paper and the extra guitar strings, as well as the Swedish Navy Knife. The envelope was still there as well.

Schrodinger sighed (hilarious) and asked, “Can you at least tell me what is in the envelope? You’ve carried it with you as long as I’ve known you.”

“Why not? It’s my granpappy’s last will and testament.”

Schrodinger leaned back a bit. For some reason, he seemed troubled by that news. But he let it pass and watched as Clifford Jenkins walked away. Clifford stopped long enough to gather up a hooded-coat that one of the Historians had worn and wrapped it around himself. The rain shower from earlier seemed to have brought winter’s chill with it.

Clifford left the Sentry station and walked in a general north-west direction. He could see the smoking top to the pyramid over some faraway buildings, and he knew that he could reach it with relative ease.

The rain shower that had passed returned moments later, bringing with it a fierce wind. Clifford pulled the coat’s hood up and kept walking. For a moment he hoped that he would never see Schrodinger or the any of the cats ever again. He regretted that thought, but he could not deny it. Schrodinger had brought him much pain and confusion, of that there was no doubt. More than any man should have to put up with in one day if you get right down to it.

The roads beyond the sentry station, those that led to the pyramid, were broken and in need of some rather serious repair work. Some places were sunken in, some were not even paved. More displaced train-track sections littered the area. There was a building with a dilapidated sign out front, missing quite a few letters, that Clifford could not name. The sign read S_AR_UC_S in extremely faded green letters.

He walked on. Something in his mind, perhaps during his dreams, had told him that the Pyramid was not far from the sentry station, that perhaps the Historians they had slaughtered to take the station were the last line of defense for Father Time. He passed a massive cathedral like structure with a large rounded dome and a smaller statue on top, nothing like the pyramid. Some of the windows of the cathedral-building were missing, and from inside Clifford could hear wild dogs barking and running. He walked on.

The street narrowed has he approached the intersection ahead. Small little shops and, what looked like restaurants, lined the way. Some he had heard of (like one featuring a large, rounded off golden M out front (I’m trying to avoid copyright laws, okay?)), and some he had never heard of. He hunkered down inside the coat and looked up to see that the rain had turned into a rain/snow mix. His guitar was suffering in silent agony.

As he rounded a corner into the intersection, Clifford was confronted by a scene he wasn’t expecting. Not a necessarily shocking scene, but still not one he was prepared for.

The statue of a man seated in a high-backed chair (like the one at the end of Timey’s bar-piano, but far more ornate) was leaning at about a 60-degree angle against the side of a black marble wall with names carved into it. The statue’s face had been painted over to resemble a clown.

Clifford walked by the marble wall, partly because he was drawn to it, mostly because it sheltered him from the wind. He ran his hand along the wall, feeling the deep cold of the marble. The names were almost familiar to him, and he felt for a moment that if he searched hard enough he would find Jaime Connor’s name on it somewhere, probably toward the end he was approaching. (He was right, Jaime’s name was on the wall, fourth from the last in the very last column. Clifford never saw it.)

As he passed the end of the wall he had to snug the hood tighter around his head to protect himself from the cold. A stray thought, possibly carried on the wind, entered his mind that perhaps Historia was colder near the middle. With his thoughts concerned with staying warm, and partly with the wall, Clifford never noticed that he’d reached the outer wall of the pyramid.

He stopped and stared for a moment. He was there. The end of his journey. Clifford Jenkins, as sensible as any man of forty years, stood on the precipice of his destiny. And he laughed.

Historia, Part XXV

2009-03-01T21:15:00.001-05:00

Schrodinger watched in horror. Well, horror is too strong of a word to use. He was definitely afraid of what would happen next, but horror conjures up images of Stephen King and TV shows where people sing and a British man makes fun of them. The particular sensation that Schrodinger experienced could be described as, perhaps, low-grade horror. Fear was a better word.

He spent so much time getting Clifford Jenkins to this point. He’d very nearly died during the flood in Lithe. And before that, during the battle of the Farm of Pepperidge, Schrodinger had feared for their safety before remembering, and utilizing, the strange gift that Clifford possessed. And even before reaching the Farm of Pepperidge, Schrodinger had started to wonder about Clifford. As they passed through the King’s Valley, and walked for what should have been days but was only hours alongside a river that flowed uphill Schrodinger had continually assessed Clifford Jenkins, trying to figure him out.

Who was this man? How had he come to be in the sleepy town of Nostalgia? He had grown up on the doorstep of Historia, and ever since Schrodinger had somehow joined up with him (Schrodinger knew exactly how he’d joined up with Clifford. It had required patience, timing, and the ability to act dumb and take cheese when the large man had offered it) he had known something was different. Then, as they had journeyed, Schrodinger had gained a rather hefty appreciation of Clifford’s gift. And with that he knew that Father Time could be replaced.

And now, it seemed, Clifford was poised to throw all of that away. All of the adventures they’d been through. The bond that existed between them from their long journey. And deep within the processes going on in Schrodinger’s mind, a rather large cudgel of fear grew even bigger and began battering the other thoughts aside, forcing the mouse to focus on the here-and-now, the great crashing down that was about to cascade from Clifford Jenkins and likely swallow up the entire sentry station, and then all of Historia.

The rainstorm that had started early ended very suddenly, with both mouse and man standing in gathering puddles as the water ran off of them. Schrodinger’s mind allowed him a brief moment of pseudo-levity as he realized his puddle was larger than it should be, and then he suddenly didn’t want to question why. And as that moment of levity passed, the mouse began trying to think like Clifford. He was doing all he could to stop the fear-cudgel from damaging him. How would Clifford assault the pyramid? How would he get in? What would he do once inside? And the fear-cudgel wouldn’t have it, as it smashed those thoughts and forced Schrodinger back into the moment.

Schrodinger watched in horror, unable to move. He grew more and more frightened with each passing moment that Clifford stared at the book. The fear-cudgel in his mind grew larger and stronger and more devastating with each and every page that Clifford flipped.

And Clifford did stare at the book for a moment. Then he frantically flipped page after page, scanning each one before moving on. Then he looked up, well, down, at the mouse.

“It’s blank!”

Historia, Part XXIV

2009-02-19T11:23:00.001-05:00

They just stared at each other for what seemed like ages. Clifford reached up to scratch his own chin and realized that he now sported a full beard. As this realization dawned on him, hunger pangs growled from his stomach, “What do we have to eat?”

Schrodinger looked around, trying to find one of the cats, “Mr. MeowMeow, did you find the stock room?”

The cat stopped running long enough to speak, “Yes, down the main hall on the left. There is food for humans there.”

Clifford used his head to point the way and he hobbled after Schrodinger down the main hall. Schrodinger continually glanced back at him as they walked, “I sent some of my people to get your belongings at the house of Shakespeare. We have your bundle and guitar. Any idea where your old travel bag is?”

Clifford shook his head, “I haven’t seen it since....” And he realized that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen it, even though he’d had it in Lithe, which he’d been in at most three days earlier, but his time-sense was so messed up that it might have been decades since he’d been in Lithe, and in his dreams he’d doubted if Lithe even existed.

“No matter,” Schrodinger continued, “We’ll get you some food and talk about your plans for the pyramid.”

They reached the stock room and found cans of food, as well as a running refrigerator, which, after Schrodinger explained to Clifford what it was, Clifford slowly opened it to find cold drinks and cold cheese.

As they sat down to meal at the small table a rumble of thunder echoed down the hall, followed by the soft pitter-patter of rain on the roof. Clifford continued eating.

“Well,” Schrodinger said between bites, “you really think you can get in alone?”

“Hmm-mmm,” was the best Clifford could muster with a mouth full of food. He swallowed and nearly choked, “Yeah, I think it’ll be easier that way.”

The mouse nodded, “I can understand that. My mission here with the cats actually has nothing to do with the pyramid.”

Clifford, for no real reason other than he had loads of pent-up frustration with Historia, found this statement extremely annoying, “So why did you drag me along? And be honest with me, mouse.”

Schrodinger wiped his hands off on the tablecloth, “Okay. Honestly, you were as you said you were. You were a means to an end. I hate to tell you that, because at first that’s all you were. Then I learned of your gift, and realized that you would be excellent for replacing Father Time.”

Clifford just sat there, “So that’s it? You admit then that I was a means to an end?”

The mouse nodded.

“So my being here really doesn’t effect what you guys are doing? You really didn’t need me to get into the sentry station?”

“Actually,” Schrodinger said, “I was testing a theory there. I’m sorry you got shot. My theory was that, since you are here to replace Father Time the sentries on duty would recognize that fact and let you pass. I mean, with the strange crap that has been going on around you, why not?”

Clifford took another bite of the cold cheese, “And so I was your theory?”

“In a way,” the mouse replied, “But not necessarily. My theory was more on the lines of...”

Clifford held up a hand to stop him, “I don’t need any more of your psychobabble. I just want to finish this bite in peace,“ Clifford then stood up and began walking away, “Then I have to go. Now.”

He started for the door and then began the slow walk down the main hall. Schrodinger sat at the table for a few seconds before Clifford’s possible plan dawned on him.

The mouse then leapt from the table, and in his haste stumbled over a crack in the floor. By the time he regained his footing to follow him, Clifford was well ahead, “I understand your desire to leave, Clifford.” Schrodinger half-yelled, “But I implore you to at least wait until the storm passes.”

Clifford continued walking toward the courtyard. Schrodinger went after him, but was far enough behind that Clifford beat him to the open area by nearly ten seconds, which was more than enough time for him to cross to the cot and the shelf and grab the book.

As he turned around he saw a look of fear cross the mouse’s face, “No, Clifford, don’t.”

Clifford returned Schrodinger’s semi-evil grin, “Oh yeah.”

His thought process was actually rather simple, especially when compared to the mind-churning mental arithmetic he did when sorting out who Sora Thii actually was. Schrodinger had told him that his life was contained in a History book, which was impossible. And even if it was, then the likely outcome of Clifford opening the book and looking inside would be that he would enter a continual loop of opening the book and looking inside and opening the book and looking inside and opening the book and looking inside. And let’s be honest, that’s a far less stressful life than the one he’s living now.

Schrodinger, though, knew the truth of the situation.

Clifford opened the book.

Historia, Part XXIII

2009-02-11T23:23:00.000-05:00

Personification is that attribution of human qualities to an inanimate object, roughly translated. English majors, especially those focused on poetry will tell you that the concept of personification cannot really be encapsulated in one sentence, and then they will go on to tell you all about personification and provide you with examples from every major literary period.

But in this case, just know that personification is the attribution of human qualities to an inanimate object. Therefore, the mere existence of doctor Sora Thii is reverse, or anti-, personification. She took on the qualities of an inanimate object, the city of Historia itself. Clifford would later learn that Sora Thii had been a real doctor. She was raised by her father after her mother had died in childbirth. Her father was strict military and he’d raised her to be as loyal as anyone to Historia.

She spent so much time around the military that she enlisted as a medic during one of the wars. No one really knows how she came to take on the attributes of the city, but she did. And as Historia faltered and failed, so did her body, until it became the thing that Clifford Jenkins killed.

Schrodinger had watched the entire conflict. There was no secret mission, and Slagthor was gone to scout out their next position. Everything Sora Thii had said to Clifford was a lie. And Clifford Jenkins was very good with guns.

“What do you mean, she didn’t love Father Time?” Clifford blurted, “If she’s the embodiment of Historia then she should basically worship him, shouldn’t she?”

Schrodinger leaned back on Clifford’s pillow, “Why? Ever since this current Father Time took power this city has crumbled. War has been everywhere, and it seems to have no end. That’s part of the reason why you’re here.”

“To replace Father Time, end the war, yada yada. I’m still trying to figure out how I live in a History book.”

The mouse sighed, “I really wish I could tell you, Clifford. But you know that I can’t. Now, why were you planning to go ahead? According to you I would’ve understood.”

Clifford limped over to the broken wall and sat down, “In my dreams I kept going to the pyramid alone. I think that I have to do just that. I’m sorry, but that’s why I came here. I realized it in my sleep. I left Nostalgia an came all this way, suffered what I suffered, lost you, lost Jamie, all so that I could go to that pyramid alone. I doubt the resistance will be too daunting. The statue toppled, the cannon exploded, and the top of the pyramid burned. I think I’ll be able to get in rather easily.”

Schrodinger rolled a bit to each side, wallowing out a deeper spot in the pillow, “You really think that you’ll be able to waltz into the pyramid without us? If it hadn’t been for us you wouldn’t have gotten this far. Honestly, Clifford, if I hadn’t led the way and Slagthor commanded his fellow cats to attack all who stood in our way...”

“Then I would never have gotten shot and I probably would’ve found my own way,” Clifford leaned forward, “I dreamed about that too. If I hadn’t met up with you after Jamie was killed I would’ve followed the streets to the pyramid, avoided the soldiers, and made it perfectly safely.”

Schrodinger stood up suddenly, “We’re both just conjecturing at this point. You and I both know that conjecturing does nothing but waste time. I’ve tried to protect you so far, Clifford Jenkins. From the moment we entered the King’s Valley I’ve been doing all I could to steer you in the right path.”

“And yet,” Clifford interjected, “when I lost you in Lithe I made it the rest of the way in relative safety and with a fair amount of haste. I probably could’ve done so without Jamie’s help.”

“Once again, conjecture.”

Clifford exhaled, frustrated, “Look, I just need to go on, okay? I shouldn’t have to explain myself.”

Schrodinger nodded, “Absolutely. Go on, then.”

Clifford just stared at him, “What?”

“Go. You’re set on it, I can tell.”

There was a moment, it felt to Clifford like years, that lasted only a few seconds, in which silence reigned over the courtyard of the sentry station. Clifford stared at Schrodinger, who returned the stare with equal, if not more fierce, intensity.

Then Clifford spoke, “I can’t do that.”

Schrodinger grinned, “I knew it. You need us.”

Clifford shook his head, “No, I don’t need you, Schrodinger. I haven’t needed you since Lithe.”

The mouse was, for the first time (Clifford noted it for the first time, and he was pretty sure that it indeed was the first time) confused. He looked down for a moment, then back up at Clifford, “I don’t understand.”

Clifford pointed to the shelf behind the cot, the place Schrodinger had watched the ordeal with Sora Thii from, “That book up there, the one you told me not to open...”

“Yeah?”

“I want to see how it ends.”

Historia, Part XXII

2009-02-07T20:28:00.000-05:00

There is an old adage that reads “Those who forget history are doomed to repeat it.” This adage has been attributed to many authors, philosophers, and even a stockbroker living in Trenton, New Jersey in the late 1960s, but they all had something wrong. Not a single one of the lot took into account the possibility that somewhere along the way history would be torn to shreds and pieced back together by a scholar, a monk, and a priest. What sounds like the start to a really funny joke actually set into motion a chain of events that echoed across time and space.

This group, commissioned by the first Father Time, had access to a library that had been ransacked and partially burned, and also to a history book in which every other page had been meticulously cut out. The aftermath was that history was pieced together using fiction to fill in the blanks. The Earth had been created by mice as an experiment (or created by God, Clifford‘s Teacher at the University had been a staunch supporter of this theory, if he‘d even existed, that is), after which time dinosaurs arose and dominated the landscape for some time, up until an ice age had forced a giant hairy elephant, a tiger, and a sloth to rescue a baby.

The baby, it was conjectured, had founded the University of Oxford, and then went on to rename himself Nobel. There was the first and second World Wars, and then there were five more world wars, each using the same weapons technology as the second. Once the wars were over it was realized that the planet’s population had been decimated.

The survivors huddled together in a large valley between two mountain ranges that eventually came to be known as the Mountains of Antiquity (Antique Mountains) to the east and the Mountains of Convenience to the west. The valley came to be called Historia, and a great city was devised on the models of cities found drawn in scrolls and books in the burned out library.

There have since been seventeen Father Time’s and, if a certain mouse General has his way, Clifford Jenkins will be replacing the current one. Of course, Clifford is passed out on a makeshift cot in a sentry station. He’s just been told that his life is bound by a history book that he used at the University in Nostalgia (or did he?) and that even though he once opened it every day (or did he?) he can no longer open it because he’s not allowed to know the ending.

The cot was very uncomfortable. Even in the fitful nightmares he was having while passed out, Clifford’s subconscious was standing in the corner of his skull complaining loudly about how uncomfortable the cot was.

He opened his eyes slowly, and the first thing he noticed was that it was nearing dawn in Historia. The second thing he noticed was that Schrodinger was not there. Doctor Sora Thii was standing a few feet away, looking out a window.

Clifford pushed himself into a sitting position and then moved his injured leg off the edge of the cot. He put a small amount of pressure on it, just to see if it could hold his weight. There was little pain, and so he stood up.

“Mr. Jenkins,” Sora Thii said, turning to face him, “You’re up.”

“Where’s Schrodinger?”

She stepped closer to him, “The General went on a secret mission with Slagthor.”

“Ah, Mittens.” Clifford grimaced as he took an awkward step, “Not so secret of a mission if you’re telling everyone, is it?”

She laughed, “You are part of the group. I figured it safe enough to tell you.”

Clifford straightened his shirt, “Well, I have to go on. Tell Schrodinger that I had to. He’ll understand.”

“No, you can’t. General’s orders. You are to remain here until he gets back.”

He looked at her puzzled, “I’m not a soldier. He’s not my General. I’m going on.”

She moved to block his path, “No!”

For a brief moment Clifford Jenkins could not understand why this doctor who had been so subdued and docile was suddenly stopping him. His brain began to whir, the synapses firing at about 8500 rpms. He would’ve thought that you could see smoke coming from his ears if he’d been able to think of anything other than Sora Thii.

She just stood there, blocking the door that would lead on toward the pyramid. He studied her, and then he blinked. In that moment, everything changed.

He once thought Sora Thii was beautiful, and she was to him. But now she was scary to say the least. Her skin was somewhat decayed, and seemed to decay more with each breath. Her clothes were tattered and her hair thinned. The eyes that had captivated more than one of his passed out dreams were now sunken pits on a marred face.

He drew back a bit, and did so suddenly. Sora Thii revealed a long dagger and began moving toward him in jerky motions. He stepped backward and found himself talking, “No no no no, you can’t. I need to move on. Schrodinger, your general, he knows that I need to. I’m not even supposed to be here. I shouldn’t even be talking to you. I mean, one day I’m sitting at home, the next day I’m walking toward...”

To explain what happened next in Clifford’s mind would require three blackboards, eighteen cases of chalk, a professor of theoretical physics from MIT, and a congressman to make you believe it all. I’ll try to explain it for you.

Clifford had been babbling nonsense from the moment Sora Thii produced the knife. He’d been backing up to draw her away from the door, hoping he could move past her quickly enough. He was also rather confused and terrified about her sudden change. As he tried to fit everything together in his head, a small gem of knowledge appeared. He simply rearranged the letters in her name. Let’s get back to the action...

“...Historia!”

The half-decaying doctor stopped. She tilted her head sideways, much like a puppy, “What?”

He just blinked, “Historia. You are Historia. Your name has the same number of letters, and is in fact a jumbled up version of Historia. You were never on our side.”

He was shocked to hear himself say “our side.”

Sora Thii gripped the knife even tighter, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Clifford smiled, “I think I do, actually. Father Time sent you to infiltrate Schrodinger’s army. You hid yourself as the doctor, taking on a rather pleasing form, I might add. Once you were positioned at the sentry station you were going to take out all the soldiers that Schrodinger brought and end whatever threat he posed to Father Time. Is that right?”

She grinned very evilly, “Not even close.”

He allowed himself to look disappointed, “Oh well.” He picked up the gun he’d been so deftly maneuvering to and fired once, shooting the good doctor squarely in the forehead.

“I never realized you were so good with guns, Clifford Jenkins.”

He spun around to see Schrodinger standing on a ledge behind him, “What was that?”

The mouse scampered down and jumped up onto the cot, “That was Historia, just as you said. I think you were right in saying that much, but I don’t think she had any love for Father Time. I’d say that she realized you could undo her, and she wanted to stop you.”

“So why was she all decayed?”

“This city is dying Clifford. I figured that you would’ve caught on to that by now.” Schrodinger said, once again grinning.

Review #31: Star Wars: Invincible

2009-01-31T09:00:00.003-05:00

Well, we made it. 31 Star Wars book reviews. I wasn't sure I could pull it off, but I made it.

I am a Star Wars fan, so please don't let this review fool you. I am also a fan of well written novels, especially those that provide the finale to a nine book series. Legacy of the Force was just that, a nine book series chronicling the fall of Jacen Solo from Jedi Knight and Master to Sith Lord, where he took on the name Darth Caedus.

Troy Denning was handed the proverbial pen for the last book in the series, Invincible. The first thing I noticed was that Invincible was less than 300 pages. I'm okay with short novels, but when it is the last novel in a series... well, let's just say I was hoping for a little more bang for my buck.

The novel consists of two big lightsaber fights, a car chase, and one major character death. Really, honestly, after reading this book I felt like Troy Denning was basically giving Star Wars fans the middle finger. Some of the stuff in this book, like the big fight between Jacen and Jaina, and then the fact that former Imperial Admiral Daala is appointed Chief of State, are so unbelieveable, even for Star Wars, that the reader just sits back and contemplates lighting the book on fire.

I personally was so disappointed by this book that I took it upon myself to write a 20+ page treatment to a novel I would've written to end the series. Maybe one day I'll put it up here on the blog.

I like Troy Denning, I consider him on the best Star Wars authors. But this book really didn't fit with his other work.

Re-readability: 6.9
Final Grade: C-

Historia, Part XXI

2009-01-30T23:52:00.001-05:00

The courtyard of the sentry station was very large, and their were a number of cots scattered about. It wasn’t until he inspected his on cot very closely that Clifford realized it was merely a park bench with the backing cut off. The ground was mostly grass, with some bits of broken asphalt here and there. The strangest thing was a length of what Clifford knew to be railroad track, about twenty feet long, just sitting in the middle of a pristine bit of grass. He had a hard time taking his eyes off it.

But right now, the railroad track wasn’t his concern. Only what Schrodinger had just said. Those words echoed in his mind until they snapped at a certain intersection between synapses and sent his thoughts into a rage-spiral.

Clifford just sat in shock for just a moment before unleashing a torrent of mutterings and curses. The mouse simply listened to all of it, blinking occasionally. Once Clifford’s momentary rage had subsided he leaned back on the cot and looked deep into Schrodinger’s eyes, “How am I supposed to replace Father Time?”

The mouse rocked forward and settled on all four legs, “I’m not sure, Clifford. All I know is that you are supposed to replace him. Now can you walk? We have to get moving.”

Clifford shook his head, “Oh no we don’t. I’m noticing something here, Schrodinger. I’m noticing that you need me to accomplish your goals. Remember when you whispered in my ear that there was untold wealth in the pyramid and it was mine if we could get there? I don’t care about the gold, or the jewels. I just want to know everything. Why are you using me?”

The mouse jumped down off the brick wall and made his way tot he foot of Clifford’s cot. Doctor Sora Thii offered him a hand and lifted him up onto the cot, “Clifford... I can see that you won’t be moved. Where do you want me to start?”

“How about from the beginning? That old thing in Carnacabidos was terrified of you, let’s start there.”

Schrodinger nodded, “It was a woman, by the way. Her name is Fate. She’s actually the last surviving of three sisters. They were once powerful members of the elite class, but they fell from grace. She knows me because she studied at the Book Place of Alex and Rhea.”

Clifford lifted a hand, “She said you were the progentater of the experiment. What is that?”

The mouse leaned back, resting against Clifford’s good foot, “The progenitor of the experiment, is what she said. Many, many years ago there was a book written that claimed that mice had ordered the construction of the Earth in order to solve a great question. The only thing I can assume is that, at some point, that book, which was a work of fiction, became accepted as reality, or at least the part about mice anyway. It’s actually kind of funny.”

Clifford exhaled loudly, “No, it’s not funny. Look, Schrodinger, I’m here in the middle of a war I don’t belong in, in the middle of a city I’ve only ever heard about in fairy tales, and I’m not even sure what’s going on anymore. My life really doesn’t make any sense.”

Schrodinger smiled, and for some reason Clifford thought it was the most evil smile the mouse could muster. Schrodinger spoke, “Then I guess it is time to explain you, Clifford Jenkins. It’s time to explain who you are, where you come from, and I suppose I should tell you about your gift.”

Clifford ran his hands through his hair, “Yeah, it’s about dad-blamed time you did!”

“Doctor Thii, please bring me the book.” Schrodinger waited until the doctor brought over a thick, dust-covered book and laid it on Clifford’s lap. “Do not open the book, Clifford, but just look at its cover.”

Clifford examined the front and back of the book, and gently ran his finger along the ends of the pages, a think patina of dust coming off with each touch, “I don’t get it. It’s the same History book I had at the University in Nostalgia.”

Schrodinger’s smile didn’t fade, “It is Nostalgia, Clifford Jenkins. It is everything you know. This will come as a big shock, and that is why I need the good doctor to take the book back from you.” Sora Thii reached over and took the book, but Clifford’s finger inexplicably clinched when she first touched the book, but he relented. Schrodinger nodded, “Clifford, that book is your life. You live within it. You are bound by it.”

“What!?!”

“Everything that you are, all that you do, is that book. In fact, everything around you is that book. At one point in the distant past all of history was... not so much erased as disjointed. There was a group of scholars who tried to piece everything together, but their template was fundamentally flawed, and they brought in bits and pieces of fiction to supplement their history. That’s why the Fate believed I was a progenitor of the experiment, even though I’m not.”

Clifford could feel his own mind reeling, “What does that mean?”

Schrodinger patted Clifford’s foot, “It means that history is not history, at least in the truest sense of the word. History has become a jumbled mess that needs someone to make sense of it. You are that one, Clifford Jenkins. Your gift is so rare that, I would wager, you are the only person ever to have it. You live this book, Clifford, but at the points where the scholars made mistakes you have the ability to correct their thinking. You can, in essence, change history to the correct path. Actually, I think your gift is more the ability to make history suit your needs, which is far more human than anything else. Humans change their environment to fit the needs they encounter, you merely have taken it to another level. You can change history to fit your needs.”

Clifford looked at the mouse blankly.

Schrodinger continued, “Think about it for a moment. In the King’s Valley, as we climbed down the wall, you saw buildings lining the river for as far as you could see, right? And yet, in the valley none of those buildings were there, although we followed the river’s course. And the river ran uphill, yes? Yet when you put the turkey’s entrails into the water they ran against the current back downhill. Is it possible that, because you believed the river to lead to Historia it flowed uphill to fit your mental image, even though ever bit of it’s fluid dynamic motion ran with gravity?”

Clifford shook his head, “I don’t know what you’re saying, Schrodinger. Are you telling me I can time travel or some crap?”

Schrodinger shook his head, but the grin remained, “No, Clifford Jenkins, I’m telling you that you can’t time travel. But you make time travel around you. The difference is so subtle that you never even knew you were doing it. Sometime long ago Nostalgia was deserted, but you remained behind, the only one living there. But you never realized it, because you forced history to bring people to you.”

Clifford closed his eyes, and he suddenly felt very faint. He could tell he was about to pass out, “No! That’s not possible!”

Schrodinger nodded, “It’s very possible, Clifford. That’s why you can’t open that book. You can’t look ahead. That book is your life. That book is all our lives. Destroy it and you destroy the world. But if you use it to replace Father Time, then you can set history aright.”

Clifford was shaking, and suddenly Doctor Sora Thii looked very nervous. She spoke softly to Schrodinger, “He’s not accepting this, General. He’s going to pass out.”

“Then let him rest,” the mouse said quietly. He then climbed up onto Clifford’s shoulder, “Rest for a while, Clifford. I know it is hard to believe, but you must believe it. The truth in this case is far stranger than the fiction could ever be.”

Review #30: Star Wars: Dark Lord: The Rise of Darth Vader

2009-01-30T09:00:00.001-05:00

James Luceno’s Dark Lord: The Rise of Darth Vader begins immediately after the events of Episode III: Revenge of the Sith. The story follows Darth Vader as he acclimates to his life in the black suit and breathing mask. We learned that Vader has to change his fighting style because of the suit’s regulator, the box on his chest.

Vader is tracking down the last surviving Jedi, per the Emperor’s orders. His mission takes him to several planets and back to Coruscant for repairs at least once. He finally ends up on Kashyyyk tracking down Roan Shryne, a surviving Jedi Master. As he delivers the death blow to Shryne, Vader reveals that he is Anakin Skywalker.

As the novel comes to a close Obi-Wan Kenobi, now living in exile on Tatooine, learns that Darth Vader is alive. Previously he had thought Anakin had died on Mustafar.

This is one of Luceno’s weaker outing in the Star Wars universe. He wrote the finale to the New Jedi Order series, The Unifying Force, and he wrote the prequel to Revenge of the Sith, a novel called Labyrinth of Evil.

Re-readability: 7.9
Final Grade: C

Review #29: Star Wars: X-Wing: Wraith Squadron

2009-01-29T14:08:00.001-05:00

Aaron Allston’s first X-wing book is Wraith Squadron. Set immediately after Michael Stackpole’s Rogue Squadron series, Allston’s story takes a slightly different path. Wedge Antilles is once again the star of the story. This time he decides to organize an X-wing squadron to hunt for Zsinj. His rationale for this squadron is quite simple. Rogue Squadron was a fighter unit that kept drawing commando assignments. This time Wedge wants to organize a commando squadron with flying experience.

The trick is, he wants washouts. Pilots that other units have rejected. Wedge thinks he can whip them into shape and make something very useful out of them. They begin training on Commenor, but shortly after starting, one of Zsinj’s commanders raids the base and forces the Republic forces to flee.

While running away, the Wraiths manage to take a Corellian blockade runner from Zsinj without him knowing. They pose as the crew and work their way closer to Zsinj from within.

The attrition rate is slightly higher than most Star Wars novels, but it keeps in line with Stackpole’s series. Allston, though, is by far funnier than Stackpole ever dreamed of being. Nothing against Michael stackpole, he is a very good author, but his inclination was more toward the technical side while Allston connects the reader to the character through humor.

I chose this book to be reviewed on my birthday because it is truly one of my favorite books. I’ve read it multiple times, and it never gets old. The characters are new, and by that I mean they aren’t retreads of old characters. Allston has truly created original characters within the confines of the Star Wars universe.

Re-readability: 9.99
Final Grade: A+

Review #28: Star Wars: Darksaber

2009-01-28T09:00:00.001-05:00

Kevin J. Anderson’s Darksaber was one of my favorite books the first time I read it. Then I waited a couple of years and went back to read it again, and realized that it really wasn’t as good as I thought it was.

Don’t get me wrong, Darksaber is one of the better stand-alone novels in the Star Wars universe. The shortcoming, in my opinion, is the same thing I originally regarding as the novel’s biggest strength: the short chapters. The longest chapter in Darksaber is maybe 20 pages. I realize, too, that I first read this book when I was 15 years old, and obviously my attention span as developed into something stronger than it was before I started driving. The short chapters give the reader a sense that Kevin J. Anderson didn’t want to spend too much time on any one part of the story for too long.

Set immediately after Children of the Jedi, or eight years after Return of the Jedi, Darksaber tells the story of Durga the Hutt, a Hutt crime lord with ambitions of galactic domination. He obtains audience with Leia Organa Solo, now President of the New Republic, and while talking to her, his “pets” sneak off and access the computer core, where they steal the plans to the Death Star. That’s right, it’s kind of like a really smart dog hacking into the DOD database and stealing the plans for the A-bomb.

Durga returns to the Hoth Asteroid Belt, where he is building the Darksaber, a superweapon that is only the Death Star’s superlaser with little to no external amenities. Durga’s chief scientist, Bevel Lemelisk, is the man responsible for the Death Star, and in the course of this book we learn that Emperor Palpatine killed him a couple of times when work either got behind schedule, or when the Rebellion blew up the first Death Star.

General Crix Madine has a prominent role in this novel. Madine is the bearded fellow who gave part of the attack plan speech in Return of the Jedi. Giving a minor movie character a starring role in a novel usually means only one thing: that character is about to die. Sure enough, no sooner does the reader actually start to like Madine as a character, Durga shoots him and kills him.

Meanwhile, Luke Skywalker is travelling the galaxy with Callista, who was rescued from the Eye of Palpatine. Callista lost her Force powers when she took over the body of Cray Mingla, which is a really long story that I don’t care to tell.

The pair journeys to some rather exotic locales in the galaxy far, far away, including a spa resort inside a comet, Dagobah, and back to the old Rebel base on Hoth, where Luke once again encounters the wampa that he de-armed in The Empire Strikes Back.

The grand climax of the story comes when Durga tries to fly the Darksaber out of the asteroid belt, fails to do so, and explodes.

Kevin J. Anderson has written many Star Wars books, including four adult novels, and a series of children’s novels. This is probably his best, because, well, the Jedi Academy Trilogy could use a little work. Sorry, Kevin.

Re-readability: 8.7
Final Grade: B+

Review #27: Star Wars: The Courtship of Princess Leia

2009-01-27T09:00:00.001-05:00

Dave Wolverton has one novel entry into the Star Wars universe, and it is The Courtship of Princess Leia. I have to say that, for a book with so many over-arching plot points, this is one of my least favorite Star Wars books. While some of the plot points are genuinely interesting, like Leia possibly marrying Prince Isolder of the Hapes Cluster as a means of political-alliance expediency or Luke finding the Chu’unthor, a Jedi training vessel that crashed on a planet 400 years earlier; other plot points are ravenously ludicrous. Han Solo is somehow able to get into a sabacc game (it’s like our poker) where the stakes are so high that Han eventually wins a planet. I will repeat that, Han Solo wins a planet.

The planet is Dathomir, which just so happens to be where Warlord Zsinj is currently hiding out. See, I told you some of the plot points are just a little too unbelievable. Prince Isolder arrives with the full might of the Hapan Consortium, hoping to marry Princess Leia.

Han, who is madly in love with Leia, snaps and kidnaps the Princess, running off to his newly won planet. Luke Skywalker follows them, and in the course of tracking them down locates the crashed Jedi training ship, where he finds a plethora of Jedi artifacts and data, all of which precursors him re-establishing the Jedi Order and a Jedi training facility.

Also, Luke dies in this story. That’s right, Luke Skywalker dies. Oh, don’t worry, the Force brings him back to life, because we can’t kill George Lucas’s cash cow, can we? Luke, in the process of reviving, actually sees the Force.

Eventually Han wins Leia over, Isolder marries a Jedi living on Dathomir, and Warlord Zsinj dies a fiery death.

Like I said, this story is one of my least favorites. I truly think that if Zahn or Matthew Stover had written it, the plot would’ve fit together far better than it did. I hope I am conveying the fact that I mean no disrespect to Dave Wolverton. I’m sure he’s a great writer, but Star Wars just doesn’t feel like his genre, if you know what I mean.

Re-readability: 6.8
Final Grade: D

Historia, Part XX

2009-01-26T21:53:00.001-05:00

Clifford awoke to the smell of acrid smoke. Above him, in fact, directly above in the nighttime sky, was the constellation Hendrix. Deep within his mind, Clifford considered the constellation an old friend. A reminder of life in Nostalgia. A life that he probably could never go back to.

He let his head loll from one side to the other. He was laying on a narrow cot with a soft pillow under his head. And he was in a courtyard. Memory came flooding back to him. He was in the courtyard of the sentry station that the cat’s had just taken. With memory came pain. He looked down to see his left leg bandaged, but some blood had seeped through. He heard meows and hisses and figured that the cats were finishing up their sweeps of the sentry station, making sure that the building was secure.

Clifford pushed himself up with his elbows. He needed to talk to someone.

“Ah, good, you’re awake.”

Clifford looked over to see a woman dressed in a lab coat. The front of her smock was splattered with blood (Clifford assumed it was his). Her hair was light blond, almost white, and was pulled back in a very tight ponytail, except for the few strands that hung loosely on the right side of her face, sometimes entangling in the glasses she wore. Clifford hadn’t seen anyone wearing glasses since his time in Nostaglia. His granpappy had worn glasses.

“I am awake,” he muttered, and at that moment a massive headache slammed hard into the front of his skull. “Ugh. Who are you?”

She leaned close to him, “I am your doctor. Sora Thii is my name, Clifford Jenkins. The mouse, General Schrodinger, has been telling me much about you. You’ve journeyed very far to get here.”

Clifford raised his eyebrows, the closest he could manage to a shrug, “Yeah, I guess. Sometimes I wonder just how far I’ve come and how long I’ve been gone. When I left Nostalgia it was full of people, but a man that died just a few hours ago said that it was a ghost town the last time he was there, which if my math is right was the day before I left. I am very confused and befuddled.”

Doctor Sora Thii smiled, and Clifford was struck by her beauty. She was the first woman he’d seen since Lithe, but that wasn’t the reason he found her so attractive. Something about her...

“Ah, Clifford.” Schrodinger scampered in along the top of a broken brick wall, “Glad to see you awake. You lost a lot of blood. I am truly sorry.”

Clifford nodded, “It’s okay. I had a feeling that something was going to happen to me. It could’ve been worse.”

Schrodinger nestled beside Dr. Sora Thii, “I see you’ve met the good doctor. She’s been with us for a long time. She was an operative that joined the Historian forces and infiltrated them, using her, shall we say “feminine” wiles to gain a post here at the sentry station.”

Clifford cocked an eyebrow, “You mean you knew we’d be coming here? So why did I have to get shot?”

The mouse shrugged (still funny if you’ve never seen it) and folded his hands across his mousy pot-belly, “You had to show your face tot he sentries, Clifford. It was how Doctor Sora Thii would know that it was us. By telling them that you knew Father Time, you were merely relating the password, if you will, to the good doctor.”

Clifford drew in a deep breath and slowly exhaled, “Is that all I am to you? A means to an end? I brought you across a desert. I got you through a war, all because of some gift you said I had. And now all you’re doing is using me to accomplish your goals.”

Sora Thii put a calming hand on Clifford’s chest, “Calm down. You’ve just been through a traumatic event.”

Clifford brushed her hand away, “I’m tired of the crap, Schrodinger. Be honest with me. Tell me, what is my purpose here? Why did I come to Historia? I know it wasn’t to be your gopher.”

Schrodinger’s hands dropped to his sides, “You want to know why you’re here?”

“Yes!”

“You really want to know?”

“Tell me!”

“It’ll ruin the surprise.”

Clifford threw his pillow in the general direction of the mouse, “Stop stalling and squeal!”

Schrodinger stood up to his full height, “Fine! Clifford Jenkins, you are here to replace Father Time.”

Review #26: Star Wars: X-Wing: The Bacta War

2009-01-26T09:00:00.001-05:00

Michael Stackpole’s fourth entry in the X-Wing series is The Bacta War. This novel breaks from the traditional X-Wing style, as Rogue Squadron has become just that, a rogue squadron. At then end of book three they collectively resigned their commission to continue the hunt for Ysanne Isard, an action that they were forbidden from doing as soldiers of the Republic.

The battle eventually reaches Thyferra (where Isard has set up her new base), the planet most famous for making Bacta. Bacta is the bluish liquid that Luke Skywalker was floating in during The Empire Strikes Back. Wedge and the other pilots battle Isard’s forces and finally wrest the planet out of her control.

Isard is believed killed by Tycho Celchu. But you know enemies in Star Wars, just because they die doesn’t mean they’re dead.

Stackpole’s style is rather impressive within the confines of the Star Wars universe. He manages to keep the reader in a very technical story, without allowing the technology to overwhelm the reader. He creates a new villain that brings a despotic dread back to the old Empire. And he takes a minor character from the movies, Wedge Antilles, and fleshes him out into a full-fledged hero.

Re-readability: 8.9
Final Grade: B+

Review #25: Star Wars: X-Wing: The Krytos Trap

2009-01-25T09:00:00.001-05:00

Book Three of the X-wing series by Michael Stackpole is The Krytos Trap. I know, we skipped book two, get over it. In the Krytos Trap Ysanne Isard has flees Coruscant, doing massive damage as her Super Star Destroyer, Lusankya, which was buried under part of the city, is raised it from its moorings, causing widespread devastation.

Tycho Celchu is on trial for the murder of Corran Horn, who’s fighter crashed while taking Coruscant. Celchu, it is thought, wired Horn’s ship crash.

Corran Horn, however, is a prisoner of Isard before she flees, and his escape is one of the main factors for her flight. Her secret prison, which Horn thought was on another planet, was hidden on Coruscant all along. Horn learns that fellow pilot Tycho Celchu is not the traitor that everyone thinks he is. Horn appears at Celchu’s trial and clears his name.

They are now dealing with a planet ravaged by plague, a plague that attacks only non-humans, stirring up anti-human sentiment all over Coruscant. Wedge and the rest discuss battle plans on how to take Isard out of the game. After clearing Celchu, the squadron resigns their commissions to carry out the war against Isard.

Re-readability: 9.6
Final Grade: A+

Review #24: Star Wars: X-Wing: Rogue Squadron

2009-01-24T09:00:00.001-05:00

Michael Stackpole’s X-Wing: Rogue Squadron, takes us back to a time a mere two-and-a-half years after Return of the Jedi. The books follow Wedge Antilles and the legendary X-wing squadron. None of the normal heroes are in this book.

Wedge builds the squadron on Commenor and they eventually move to another planet for staging purposes. The book centers around the assault on Borleias, a planet central to the Alliance’s plan to take Coruscant away from the Empire, now controlled by former Intelligence director Ysanne Isard, or “Iceheart.”

The only gripe with this book is the speed with which Stackpole introduces his characters. The reader is given about twenty characters in the space of about fifteen pages, all with the hope that you can sort out who is who. Thankfully these books hold true to the Star Wars name, and the attrition rate is rather high. Corran Horn is first introduced in this series, as is Gavin Darklighter, ousin of Biggs Darklighter, who was one of Luke Skywalker’s best friends on Tatooine.

The Alliance finally takes Borleias, setting the stage for the invasion of Coruscant.

Stackpole was quoted as saying he could complete an X-wing novel in about 400 hours, which is rather quick, all things considered. His writing is very much styled after a video game, or so it would seem.

Re-readability: 9.3
Final Grade: A-

Review #23: Star Wars: Vision of the Future

2009-01-23T09:00:00.001-05:00

The conclusion of the Hand of Thrawn duology is Vision of the Future. Once more Zahn showcases his mastery of the Star Wars universe. Although, this book is quite possibly the most annoying thing Zahn has written since The Icarus Hunt, which was an enjoyable story but after about 450 pages first-person becomes so annoying….

I digress. Vision of the Future is Timothy Zahn’s conclusion to the Thrawn story. The Caamas Document remains unfound at first, but eventually it turns up. Admiral Pellaeon reveals the deception of Flim and Disra, and tells Major Tierce that he is actually a clone of the original Major Tierce, who has been dead for nearly ten years.

Luke and Mara Jade infiltrate the actual Hand of Thrawn base on Nirauan, and in the process realize that they not only work well together, but that they actually love each other. They met the Qom Jha and the Qom Qua and eventually the reader just wants to shoot the book because these two races are so dad-blamed annoying. There are some rather sappy moments, and then the pair finds a clone of Thrawn himself, which they destroy.

The Civil War is averted and everything returns to normal for our heroes. Luke and Mara decide to get married; Han and Leia’s kids are slowly growing up. Chewbacca is still a walking carpet, and Lando is still selling Colt 45.

Re-readability: 8.7
Final Grade: B

Review #22: Star Wars: Specter of the Past

2009-01-22T09:00:00.001-05:00

Set roughly fifteen years or so after the original Thrawn Trilogy, Timothy Zahn’s Hand of Thrawn Duology kicks off with Specter of the Past, and honestly, it feels like Zahn is saying “NO!” to the other authors and pointing out how Star Wars should be written.

One of the remaining Moffs comes up with a plan to rally the Imperial Remnant and retake the galaxy. This moff, Disra, along with a conman named Flim and Major Tierce conspire to convince the Empire that Grand Admiral Thrawn is once again alive. Flim bears an uncanny resemblance to Thrawn, and with a little make-up and hair dye becomes an exact replica.

The faux Thrawn begins to gain support among the Empire, and our heroes soon find out what is going on, but they are in the same boat with those who believe it to be the real Thrawn. Meanwhile, Admiral Pellaeon, Thrawn’s former second-in-command, has convinced some of the moffs that a treaty with the Republic would be the best thing for the Empire, as it would ensure their continued survival.

One of the over-arching storylines in this duology is the discovery of the Caamas Document, which links the Bothans to the destruction of the planetary shields on Caamas, which allowed the Empire to decimate the planet. As a result of this new-found knowledge, other petty differences begin to take hold and the galaxy stands on the brink of Civil War.

Timothy Zahn is back to form once more, writing a better Star Wars novel than almost anyone else. His only competition in that department has been Matthew Stover and Troy Denning. Interesting note, at least for me, my copy of this book is actually signed by the man himself.

Re-readability: 9.1
Final Grade: A-

Review #21: Star Wars: The Last Command

2009-01-21T09:00:00.001-05:00

The third book in Zahn’s Thrawn Trilogy is The Last Command. The forces of the New Republic rally against Thrawn’s Imperial forces, and the battle is met.

Luke Skywalker and Mara Jade are able to finally put their differences aside after Mara kills the mad dark Jedi clone of Luke, called Luuke Skywalker. I know, it sounds horrible, and Zahn really could’ve just left it out, but in hindsight it harkens back to the campy space operas that George Lucas built Star Wars off of, so props to Tim Zahn for that one.

Leia gives birth to twins, Jaina and Jacen, and the reality of fatherhood slams hard into Han Solo. The New Republic finally wins the day and Thrawn perishes.

Critics of the book claim that, structurally, the only thing Zahn did wrong was make the Empire too powerful. Thrawn is so strong at the end of the book that the only way the Republic wins the day is by a lot of dumb luck and stupidity by some Imperial forces.

Overall, though, rather nice ending to the trilogy. Zahn wrote these books in the early 1990s, and as they near 20 years old, readers can look back and see how they established the path for other Star Wars authors to walk. Of course, some bad books came along the way, but some surprisingly good ones did as well.

Re-readability: 8.9
Final Grade: B+

Review #20: Star Wars: Dark Force Rising

2009-01-20T09:00:00.001-05:00

At the beginning of the month we reviewed Heir to the Empire, the first book in Timothy Zahn’s Thrawn Trilogy. Now, after a couple of weeks, we pick up once more with the Thrawn Trilogy and book two, Dark Force Rising.

The second book of the series maintains the Star Wars legacy of having as much bad crap as can happen to the good guys happen in as short a span of time as possible. No, no one dies, but Thrawn continues to gain power, the mad dark Jedi clone Joruus C’baoth goes a little more mad, and the final race to find the lost Katana Fleet goes to the Empire, as Thrawn beats the good guys to the punch and takes the fleet for himself, or at least part of it, thus boosting his power even more.

We get a little more insight into the character of Mara Jade, her past with the Empire, and her bloodlust to kill Luke Skywalker, who she blames for destroying the Empire as it was. We also meet General Bel Iblis, who was instrumental in creating the Rebellion against the Empire, but then had a falling out with Mon Mothma, who also helped establish the Rebellion. Bel Iblis now joins forces with the New Republic.

Zahn captures the pacing of a Star Wars story better than probably any other writer. Reviews of his work claim that you can actually hear John Williams’ soundtrack while reading. He excels at creating minor characters that are integral to the storyline, yet they don’t feel like they were created solely for that purpose. They feel like they belong in Star Wars.

Re-readability: 8.9
Final Grade: B+

Historia, Part XIX

2009-01-19T22:11:00.000-05:00

The first band of soldiers that they encountered were taken apart so quickly by the cats that Clifford just stared in dull amazement. Schrodinger maintained his perch on Slagthor’s head, commanding the cat army, which numbered over two hundred. Somewhere along the way Schrodinger and Slagthor had rallied more support than Clifford could’ve imagined. There were, after all, only eighteen cats at the Farm of Pepperidge.

They group suffered their first loss at the next intersection, when they were ambushed by three Historian soldiers wielding axes. One cat was cut cleanly in half, which enraged the other cats so that there was hardly anything left of the three Historians.

They had moved nineteen blocks closer to the pyramid. The genius of Historia was dawning on Clifford with each block they gained. The pyramid was nigh impossible to reach. They had just passed in front of another cut-off sky-scratcher with a placard out front reading Sears Tower, and just beyond it was an old stone archway.

“This is the old Ishtar Gate,” Schrodinger yelled back, “By passing this marker we’re entering old Historia. The pyramid draws closer, Clifford Jenkins!”

Clifford, still carrying the handgun and now carrying what Schrodinger called an M-1 Grand... or was it Gar-rand, Clifford really didn’t care, that he’d taken from one of the disemboweled troops a few streets back. He also wore the uniform of a slain soldier. He’d covered the bullet-hole in the right-breast with a patch off another uniform. Best to fit in, Schrodinger had argued. He instinctively ducked his head as he ran through the gate.

Schrodinger and Slagthor were now so far ahead that Clifford was struggling to keep up. Suddenly, the cat parade came to a halt. The stop was so sudden that Clifford kept going for a moment before realizing the stillness around him.

Schrodinger did a little mouse-run to get back to Clifford, “Up ahead is a sentry station. It’s staffed by probably fifty men. I’m sorry to do this, Clifford, but you’re our only hope in this situation.”

Clifford frowned, “What do you mean? I don’t even know...”

“I need you to walk up to them and act like you belong. If they ask you where you’ve been, or even who you are, just say that you know Father Time, and that you have to pass.”

Clifford raised a hand, “Won’t they just shoot me on sight? It’s fairly obvious I’m not from around here.”

Schrodinger drew in a deep breath, “You have to trust me, Clifford. I know that what I’ve done recently doesn’t exactly cast me as trustworthy in your mind, but I really need you to trust me right now.”

Clifford stood up, shouldered the M-1 Grand, and started walking toward the sentry station. He kept his eyes on the ground, knowing that the bullet that would end his life was coming at any moment, just like it had for Jaime Conner. The sentry station was quiet.

As Clifford reached the outer perimeter of the lights they had up, the first voice sounded through the night, “Who goes there?”

Clifford kept walking forward, his thumb lightly rubbing the handgun he now wore holstered on his right hip, “I know Father Time.”

From within the sentry station came the sound of multiple guns cocking. Clifford paused for a moment, and then continued forward. The same bitter nausea he’d felt entering the City of Lithe returned.

“How do you know Father Time, soldier?”

Clifford had no idea how to respond. He just kept walking forward. The small doors of the sentry station opened and Clifford surmised that the entire garrison of troops was coming out to greet him. He stood, still thumbing the holstered handgun. The soldiers formed a rugged circle around him.

“I said, how do you know Father Time, maggot?”

Clifford heard a small noise on the wind, and, for reasons he never understood, he dropped flat to the ground. At that precise moment the cat army, led by General Schrodinger tore through the soldiers. Blood and guts flew. Gunshots echoed. Clifford felt a sharp pain in his left leg, but his attention was on the fight going on above him.

The final soldier to fall took three cats with him, stabbing with a dagger. Schrodinger walked up to Clifford, who was still lying prone on the ground, “You can get up, Clifford. We’ve taken the station. You did well.”

Clifford went to get up, and realized he couldn’t. He rolled over and looked down, to find that his leg was bleeding badly. During the battle he’d been shot.

Review #19: Star Wars: Splinter of the Mind's Eye

2009-01-19T09:00:00.001-05:00

Splinter of the Mind’s Eye is the first expanded universe novel in Star Wars history, and it happens to be written by Alan Dean Foster, who ghostwrote the novelization of A New Hope, the first Star Wars movie.

The novel takes place shortly after the events of A New Hope and follows Luke and Leia to the planet Mimban, where they end up tracking down a mystical crystal. Leia’s original intention is to rally support for the Rebel Alliance. Han Solo and Chewbacca do not appear in this novel. Some fans speculate that this time period is the same time that Han is on Ord Mantell (an event he mentions in The Empire Strikes Back).

Foster’s writing style obviously follows the template laid out in A New Hope, and the book feels like it was aimed at a much younger audience. Luke struggles with his feeling for Leia, which just proves that this book was written before George Lucas decided what he was doing with Luke and Leia’s relationship.

The biggest sticking point for readers in this novel is the fact that Luke dies, but a combination of Force power and the crystal revive him, something that will be echoed in The Courtship of Princess Leia. Luke actually fights Darth Vader in this novel, but in a twist the spirit of Obi-Wan Kenobi takes control of Luke and fights the Dark Lord of the Sith.

The book is enjoyable, and even more so after reading more of the storyline. It feels like a true Star Wars novel.

Re-readability: 8.7
Final Grade: B+

Review #18: Star Wars: Sacrifice

2009-01-18T09:00:00.001-05:00

Our last review showcased the central book in the New Jedi Order, so today’s review will focus on Karen Traviss’s entry, Sacrifice, the central book in the Legacy of the Force series. The central, hardcover books in these long Star Wars series tend to revolve around the change in one character, and this one is no different. Only this time we get a bit of a twist. Jacen Solo murders Mara Jade Skywalker, an in so doing takes on the mantle of Dark Lord of the Sith and the title Darth Caedus.

The book isn’t very long, a recurring theme in the Legacy era. The books are keeping to around 400 pages or fewer. This could be construed as unfair, but the action in some of the newer books is a little more fast-paced, and therefore a shorter format is fitting.

The glaring spot in this book is Luke’s battle with Lumiya, the Dark Lady of the Sith who trained Jacen Solo. Luke and Lumiya’s history goes way back to the time just after the movies. Luke fights Lumiya atop a roof and knocks her off, but catches her hand, basically saying that he wasn’t going to let her fall. Then he takes her head off with his lightsaber. All because he’s been duped by Jacen into thinking Lumiya killed Mara.

I know, it sounds kinda soap opera like but it’s really good fun. In between all of this Ben Skywalker is falling under Jacen's sway, and he's learning shady Force techniques from the fallen Jedi. Jacen does a great job of keeping everyone around him oblivious to the fact that he's now a Sith Lord. There was once a time when the Jedi could sense evil. But apparently Jacen's light side training, in conjunction with his dark side training is a fantastic cloak.

Re-readability: 9.0
Final Grade: A-

Review #17: Star Wars: Star by Star

2009-01-17T09:00:00.001-05:00

Troy Denning’s Star by Star proved that Star Wars books could be over 400 pages long and still have an audience. I mean, if Harry Potter can have 800 pages, why can’t Star Wars have over 400? Well, Denning goes above and beyond, grossing over 600 pages in the central book of the New Jedi Order.

This book has it all. Action? Yep. Adventure? Yes, sir. Romance? Sure, why not? Scariest Star Wars cover ever? Oh, yes!

The Yuuzhan Vong make their move on Coruscant and take the capital planet, sending the New Republic into disarray. Meanwhile, Luke Skywalker authorizes a Jedi strike mission against a Vong worldship to kill the voxyn, a deadly beast created by the Vong to hunt Jedi, sending mostly younger Jedi in the hopes that the Vong will fall for the trap. Among the Jedi captives are the Solo children. In particular the Yuuzhan Vong have an odd sort of adoration for Jacen and Jaina, who they view as an embodiment of two of their gods.

The strike mission ends in disaster, however. Anakin Solo is killed, Jacen Solo is taken captive, Raynar Thul is kidnapped by two dark Jedi who steal the team’s shuttle and escape. Jaina Solo leads the others to safety. Luke Skywalker and Mara Jade Skywalker are hit with the reality that they are parents and have to now not only protect the galaxy, but also their own child, a son named Ben Skywalker.

Denning, as discussed previously, is one of the better Star Wars authors because he works so well with the continuity established by others. Sadly, the New Jedi Order was flawed by spoilers and info leaks that revealed the big secrets of the series, making the twists of this book a little less surprising. Still, the sheer number of main character deaths in this book, a whopping 2, lends a sense of vulnerability to our heroes.

Re-readability: 9.4
Final Grade: A

Historia, Part XVIII

2009-01-16T22:11:00.001-05:00

Clifford shook his head to clear any cobwebs. Yes. There was a mouse in full battle dress riding the lead cat in the pack. Clifford stood up and watched for a moment.

“Hey!” he shouted. The pack heeled back and turned to encircle him. He looked at the cats, “Can any of you talk?”

The lead cat made its way through the pack, and stopped just in front of Clifford, “I can, Clifford of Nostalgia. You know me, actually. I am Slagthor, from the Farm of Pepperidge.”

Clifford smiled, “Mittens.”

The cat bowed, “And I believe you know this guy.” He tossed his head toward the mouse, who was now standing on the ground.

Clifford swallowed. He couldn’t muster words. The mouse stood no more than four inches tall when on his haunches, but in the miniature battle dress he wore he was a giant. He walked forward slowly, and then bowed, “I thought I had lost you, Clifford Jenkins.”

Clifford dropped to his knees so suddenly that some of the cats drew back and hissed, but the mouse lifted a calming hand. Clifford wept, “Schrodinger?”

“The same. Although you never saw me like this. I imagine you’d like to know what happened after the flood in Lithe.”

Clifford nodded, “Yes. I would.” He was still awestruck.

Schrodinger spoke up, “The water carried me to the far end of the city, much farther to the south than you ever would’ve gone. I was able to tell Jaime Conner, the post-boy, to send you west. Your destiny couldn’t be stopped by my loss. I’d really like to thank Jaime. Have you seen him recently?”

Clifford shuddered, “He’s dead. The soldiers over there killed him. Nearly killed me.”

Schrodinger frowned, “I suspected so, in a way. This time the war is far more bitter than the last time.”

Clifford looked at the mouse, “Hey, it’s not like my journey’s been a walk in the park, you know? I lost you in Lithe. Followed a yokel into a land I had never seen. Lost him for a while, ran through some streets, found a gun, found Jaime, watched him die, ran from those who killed him, and then found you again.”

Schrodinger nodded, “I know, Clifford. Your road was never going to be an easy one. And I hate to tell you this, but it isn’t over yet. You still have a ways to go.”

Clifford cautiously bit his lower lip. Suddenly he didn’t think he could go on. Too many people had died. Only one person had actually died to get him here, but that was too many. Knowing that he was responsible for Jaime’s death was beginning to weigh heavier and heavier on him.

“Clifford,” the mouse stepped closer, “I know this is difficult. But I want you to know that Jaime would’ve died whether you were here or not. Fate had weaved that path for him.”

Shaking his head, Clifford fought back the sudden feeling of relief that came with Schrodinger’s words, “Why are you dressed like that?”

Schrodinger brushed off his armor, “I am in the General’s battle dress of my people.”

“Mice?”

“We are fierce warriors, Clifford Jenkins. My race is one of the oldest on Earth. You would’ve learned that at your University. I am a General. I know you think I am your mouse, but unfortunately I had to use you to speed my journey to Historia.”

Clifford shook his head, “Finish telling me about what happened to you in Lithe.”

The mouse cleared his throat, “I finally escaped the waters and took a day or so to recoup. I knew that Jaime would bring you west along the road, so I hurried back to the farm of Pepperidge and rallied the cats to our cause.”

Clifford snapped back to reality, “Our cause?”

Schrodinger nodded, “Yes, our cause. the reason you’ve come to Historia. The reason these cats are fighting.”

Clifford stood up, “You mean the cause you’ve used me for?”

“Yes,” Schrodinger said, a hint of reluctance in his voice.

Clifford turned away, “What is our cause, mouse?”

Schrodinger jumped up and landed on Clifford’s shoulder. He whispered into Clifford’s ear. The mouse then jumped down and started to walk away, the direction the cat’s were initially going. Clifford stood rooted in place, stunned.

Schrodinger stopped and looked back, “Well, are you coming or not?”

Historia Soundtrack

2009-01-16T15:51:00.005-05:00

The Songs do not necessarily reflect the action of the story, but they are what I was listening to when I wrote the scene. This probably gives you some insight into my screwed-up psyche.

Hopefully this gives you, the reader a better experience with Historia.

Leaving Nostalgia: Farewell by Avantasia (Tobias Sammet)

The Mountains of Antiquity: Faraway by Apocalyptica

New Constellations, Lucky Dice: Orion by Metallica

The King’s Valley: Rocks Tonic Juice Magic by Saves the Day

Schrodinger’s Tale, Visiting with Old Put: We are Winning by FloBots

The Farm of Pepperidge: The Parting Glass by The High Kings

Lithe, City of Hell: Chalice of Agony by Avantasia

The Market, The Flood: Overcome by Live

So Long, Schrodinger: Farewell by Apocalyptica

First Impressions of Historia: Giorni Dispari by Ludovico Einaudi

The Body and the Fountain: Raglan Road by Luke Kelly

Clifford treks through Historia: Fuori dal Mondo by Ludovico Einaudi -

Review #16: Star Wars: Shadows of the Empire

2009-01-16T09:00:00.001-05:00

Steve Perry’s first official entry into the Star Wars universe is Shadows of the Empire. The events of this book take place between The Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi, a time span that had previously remained untouched. But the release of this book came about with the release of Shadows of the Empire for the Nintendo 64.

The story begins with Darth Vader's conversation with the Emperor as seen in The Empire Strikes Back, but this time we are on Palpatine's end of the call, and we learn that Prince Xizor, lord of the crime syndicate Black Sun, is standing just out of range so that Vader cannot see him.

Xizor realizes that, in order to get closer to Palpatine he has to eliminate Vader, and to start the process he decides to kill Luke Skywalker. Luke and the others, meanwhile, are tracking Boba Fett in an effort to save Han Solo.

The story also introduces Dash Rendar, hero of the video game, and his ship, The Outrider, which he boasts is faster than the Millennium Falcon. Luke and the gang reluctantly work with the arrogant Rendar and track Fett, but lose out on catching him. They travel to Coruscant and meet Prince Xizor, who they think can help them get Han back from Jabba the Hutt.

Perry's writing style lends itself well to the feeling of the movies, but the book feels like it was aimed for a younger audience.

Re-readability: 8.8
Final Grade: B+

Historia, Part XVII

2009-01-15T22:46:00.001-05:00

Wars were not common in Nostalgia. In fact, weapons themselves were not common. Of course, knives were not considered weapon, but tools. Same for axes, cleavers, machetes, and clubs. So far as anyone in Nostalgia knew, there was no one around to make war with, and even if there was, what was the point. There were so few people in the world these days that killing more of them made no sense.

The elders could recall only one war. Truth be told, it wasn’t even a war. It was barely half a battle. The King’s Valley had spilled out toward Nostalgia and the elders, who were obviously younger at the time, had raised a defense against them, and just as the inhabitants of the King’s Valley had drawn near, as the first arrow had been loosed from the bow of one of their archers (it pierced Timey’s granpappy in the shoulder), a cloud of dust rose up and the inhabitants of the King’s Valley were suddenly gone.

Clifford had heard the story only once, from Timey’s granpappy about two months before he’d died. Timey had already set his own death watch though, ‘cause his granmammy had died nearly fifteen years earlier. Clifford was only seven when Timey’s granpappy had told the story, and somehow he could remember it all.

But now, crouched down beneath a fallen tree of some kind, (we know of it as a palm tree, but the Historians for some reason called them finger trees) Clifford suddenly understood the horror of war. He had yet to be seen by the soldiers of Historia, who stood a mere ten feet away. Clifford had to get past them to reach the pyramid.

As he watched the soldiers level their guns to fire at the unseen enemy, Clifford saw young men fall dead, gaping holes in their head or chest, blood pouring onto the street. He hadn’t signed up for this. He crawled further on, hoping that he could get far enough behind the front line the Historians had set up to cross the street and make his way toward the pyramid.

It struck him as he crawled under an exposed pipeline that he would likely need a gun. He watched as two Historian soldiers emotionlessly carried the body of a fallen comrade to a heap far behind the line. He shadowed the two as best he could. The dead soldier still had a handgun in his hip holster, and if the battle was pressing enough, as Clifford hoped it was, the two body-bearers would forget the sidearm and provide Clifford with the weapon he needed.

The two men casually tossed the body onto the pile and turned back for the front line. Clifford watched them carefully. He was so out of place that it wouldn’t take much to spot him. The men disappeared into a cloud of smoke. Clifford could only wonder how long they’d be gone. He had to make his move. He strode with purpose toward the heap, un-holstered the man’s gun, and kept walking, ducking into an alleyway across the street. Once inside the alley he fumbled with the clip for just a second before opening it to see what kind of ammunition he would have. Thanks be to the gods, it was full.

He crouched down and, for a moment, studied his surroundings. The alley was dark, well protected from the afternoon sunlight that was beating down just outside. From the direction he had come he could hear gunshots and screaming. He looked up, trying to gage the height of the two buildings, and he saw another body fly across the sky. Either the enemy or the Historians were catapulting either their own or their prisoners at the other side. Judging from the direction the body had flown Clifford surmised that it was the enemy doing the body-flinging.

He started to move down the alley, pushing his way through a pile of garbage when a flailing hand smacked him hard on the side of the head, “Stop it!” The owner of the hand shouted.

Clifford stumbled against the opposite wall. He looked over to see a very scared looking Jaime Conner crouched in the fetal position and rocking violently.

“Jaime!” Clifford said, “Jaime. It’s me. Clifford.”

The post-boy stopped rocking for a moment, and then realization dawned on his face, “Clifford. You’re alive! How’d you get through the town to this point?”

Clifford shrugged, “Dumb luck, I think.” He looked ahead, further down the alley, and over to the next street, “I think the pyramid is just ahead. I have to get there.”

Jaime drew back in horror, “Oh no. Nobody gets to the pyramid. No one. Especially with a war on. We’ll be fighting the Mongols for a while. You’ll not get within a hundred feet of the pyramid without getting shot. Unless Father Time summons you.”

Clifford lowered his gaze and a muttered curse escaped his lips. That couldn’t be it. Not after all this time. Not after so many miles. Not after all he’d lost. All he’d seen.

Clifford stood up. Jaime tried to pull him back down, “Don’t stand, they’ll see you and shoot you.”

Clifford walked back toward the street. He was going home. He was defeated. Clifford walked with his head lowered, staring at the ground. Jaime got up and moved after him, crouched low. He tackled Clifford from behind, just moments before Clifford would’ve reached the street.

“Clifford, the Historian army doesn’t take well to outsiders finding their way past the front line. I know, I served for over two years. Worst time of my life. Mongols, the warriors of King’s Valley, the V-yet-cong. I fought them all. That’s why I was hiding. Don’t you see, the war is too much.”

Clifford rolled over, “Jaime. I came here with one purpose. Reach the pyramid. My goal is out of reach now. I have nothing left but to go home. Home to a town you say is deserted.”

Jaime stood up, blocking the exit of the alley, the sound of gunshots and screams still echoing behind him, “I’m not gonna let you leave while they’re fight...”

Clifford looked up and saw a small hole in the front of Jaime’s shirt. A trickle of blood came out, and then a little more. Jaime dropped to his knees, the result of which splattered blood on Clifford’s face. He caught Jaime and the two men fell backward into the garbage pile.

“He’s over here!” Clifford heard shouted. He kept an eye open in the darkness and saw the two body-bearers running toward them, “I swear, Freddie, I just shot him. Lousy deserter.”

They reached the place where Jaime and Clifford lay. Clifford couldn’t tell if Jaime was dead or not, but he did his best to play dead himself. He quietly pushed the stolen gun further under the pile of garbage, which suddenly stank.

The lead body-bearer looked back at his cohort Freddie, “There! Told you I nailed the bastard.”

Clifford kept as still as possible as the men lifted Jaime’s body off his. Freddie gasped, “Look Ted! There’s another one. Looks like your bullet got him too, though. He ain’t movin’.”

Ted nodded, “Yeah. Let’s take this piece o’ trash and toss him and we’ll come back for this other ‘un.”

They walked off, carrying Jaime Conner, post-boy from Historia, and Clifford mentally checked off another name that had fallen in his search for Historia. He waited until they were out of sight before grabbing the gun and sprinting like never before for the end of the alley.

He quickly checked the street and found that it was empty, but not quiet. The gunshot echoes carried far in Historia. He bolted diagonally across the street and down another alley. Fred and Ted would surely be after him once they realized that he hadn’t been dead and they could probably track him very easily.

He stopped and ducked between a garbage can and the steps of another building for cover. For ten minutes he watched the alley he’d run from. No one ever came out. The gunshots continued on the other street, and the screams of dying soldiers rose almost as loudly.

Clifford dropped from his crouch and just sat against the stone steps of the building. He cried for a moment. It was his fault that Jaime Conner had died. No one else to blame for it.

Clifford just sat there. The sky above was starting to turn dusky-dark. The first thought across his mind had to do with the fact that it had been a bright, sunny afternoon only minutes before and he wondered what the Historians were up to, but then he realized that he was in Historia, and they were fighting a war.

He drew his legs in closer, curling up into a ball. As he did a light burst on from the pole just a few feet away from him. Clifford, of course, had no concept of a streetlight, and just as easily assumed that this devilish brightness was the soul of Jaime Conner come to haunt him until he died.

Clifford rocked to the side and lay still. He wasn’t sleepy, or even really tired, but after what had just happened, he needed rest. As he lay there, a parade of cats went by. Clifford bolted up. Riding atop the head of the lead cat was a mouse in full battle dress.

Historia, Part XVI

2009-01-15T09:36:00.000-05:00

Clifford’s path was littered with broken glass, toppled trees, and splintered wood-boards. He could only figure that a massive amount of fighting had taken place here. (He would’ve been right in that assumption, but it was also the same amount of damage that had once been done when a bakery had exploded as a result of too much yeast having been added to a simple muffin.) Clifford could hear muffled gunfire up ahead, probably no more than five blocks from where he stood.

Jaime Conner was long gone, possibly, Clifford thought sadly, already killed in the melee awaiting him. Clifford really couldn’t afford such thoughts. His destiny was sitting in the top of that pyramid. Each step closer somehow revealed more in his mind, letting him know exactly what he had to do and how he had to get it done. He dropped his bundle and guitar. They were no longer any use to him. Well, maybe some use. He took them and hid them in an alley beside the house of Shakespeare.

As he walked back around the corner he heard a sound much like a scream. He looked up just in time to see a body fly over the rooftop and crash into the fountain. Clifford ran toward the man, only to realize that there wasn’t much man left when he got there. The body was shattered and broken, the blood quickly overtaking the water.

“Oh my...” was all Clifford could gasp.

Then the body twitched and lifted a hand. Clifford leaned in close; he could tell the person was whispering.

“What?” Clifford said, “Tell your last and ease your passing.”

“Fight... fight the cats.” Then the person was gone. Clifford looked up to see if another body was coming his way, but the sky was clear.

He turned his back on the fountain and started walking once more, this time with a little more purpose than before. He was thinking about all those that had gone before him, and somehow, deep within his mind, he realized that everyone he had ever known was paving the path of destiny for him. No matter how little of long of a time they’d been in his life, each person was just another signpost toward Historia and this moment.

He stepped out to the middle of the street and began the final push to the statue-topped pyramid. As he walked determinedly toward it, a massive explosion rocked the top of the pyramid and the statue toppled forward. As it smashed into the side of the pyramid the cannon-arm went off and a long blast of fire shot forward. Clifford, even in his own mind, didn’t care to guess the number of dead from that.

Glancing back only once, Clifford could still see that arm of the broken person laying on the rim of the fountain. It occurred to him that the person he had spoken to as they lay broken and dying in the fountain could very well be Jaime Conner.

Fight the cats. It echoed with each muffled gunblast. Fight the cats. Clifford’s mind leapt back to the farm of Pepperidge, where he’d seen a cat army fighting against the warriors from the King’s Valley. But that seemed like so long ago. How long? Possibly years, but he was sure it was no more than a week or two at best. Then again, Jaime Conner had told him that Nostalgia was now a ghost town, so Clifford had given up on grasping reality.

Clifford slowly rounded a corner (there was no straight path to the pyramid, he had to follow the streets as best he could), crouching down, and entered the fray. Along both ends of a narrow street were embattlements, and Clifford could see the tops of the soldiers heads. He knelt down and crawled along the side, staying under cover as much as he could. The gunfire continued, each percussive blast ringing in his ears, and he suddenly wished he was back home in Nostalgia.

But he couldn’t go back. Not after all he’d come through. No. The pyramid was his to reach, or die in the trying. And he had to fight the cats.

Review #15: Star Wars: Vector Prime

2009-01-15T09:00:00.001-05:00

R. A. Salvatore’s Vector Prime is the first book in the New Jedi Order series, introducing a new villain, the Yuuzhan Vong. It is also the first Star Wars book to generate death threats for its author. Why? Because Salvatore does what so few Star Wars authors are given the chance to do. He kills off a main character. This book will not be remembered for the way it introduced the Vong to readers, or the way it revealed the Solo kids as they are growing up, but it will forever be known as the book in which a moon fell on Chewbacca.

That’s right, Chewie, the lovable eight-foot-tall Wookiee, dies trying to save other people from a moon that is falling in on its planet. Han Solo, sadly, has to watch the Wookiee perish as his son Anakin flies everyone to safety, having to leave Chewbacca behind. Han falls into a depression that will last for several books.

The new enemy, the extra-galactic Yuuzhan Vong, shows signs of promise as enemies go. They don’t have the limitations that the Empire had, and they are certainly far more brutal and vicious than Palpatine or Vader ever were.

Otherwise, Salvatore’s writing is very sound, but a little slow in places. He’s more a fantasy than sci-fi writer, and it shows. The early parts of the book, with Nom Anor controlling the Rhamomool-Osarian conflict and slowly poisoning Mara Jade feel like a swamp that the reader has to push through to get to the actual action.

The New Jedi Order series spans 19 novels and 13 authors. As opening books for a series go, this one does a good job of setting the tone. Finally, it seems, the heroes are no longer invincible.

Re-readability: 8.9
Final Grade: B+

Review #14: Star Wars: Shatterpoint

2009-01-14T09:00:00.001-05:00

Shatterpoint, a Clone Wars novel by Matthew Stover, displays Stover’s true ability to write Star Wars and make it something darker than George Lucas ever dreamed. The novel takes Jedi Master Mace Windu back to his home planet of Haruun Kal, where he is searching for missing Jedi Master Depa Bilaba. The story introduces a few minor characters, some that you can’t stand and others that you wish you could see more of. Kar Vastor, the insanely powerful warrior, is one you’d like to see more of. The incessant little soldier Nick Rostu should’ve gone by the wayside in this story, and yet, for years after the Clone Wars he’s still popping up in stories.

That annoying little tidbit aside, Stover’s story in this novel is one of the best Star Wars reads you’re going to find. The guerilla warfare is stark and far more gruesome than any Star Wars warfare we’ve seen to date. Stover actually talks about missing limbs and vaporized bodies, along with the blood and gore you’d expect in warfare.

Mace Windu, at one point, has a Force vision of Coruscant covered in the jungle terrain of Haruun Kal. Likely this is a nod to the New Jedi Order and the Yuuzhan Vong conquest of Coruscant in the soon-to-be-reviewed Star by Star by Troy Denning.

The novel takes its name from a special talent of Mace Windu. He can see shatterpoints, or the places on a Corsuca gem where he would have to chip away a bit to make it work optimally in a lightsaber. Windu can see shatterpoints in everyday life. If this novel had been written by a lesser Star Wars author, well, there’s no way anyone else who could have pulled this off.

Re-readability: 9.5

Final Grade: A+

Review #13: Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith

2009-01-13T09:00:00.001-05:00

I have read every single novelization of the Star Wars movies, and this one takes the cake. In talking to some of my friends, we came to the conclusion that Matthew Stover's novelization of Revenge of the Sith should've been used as the screenplay. I know that I usually say that a book is better than a movie, and usually I'm right (the lone exception so far being Steve Perry's novelization of Men in Black), and Stover doesn't disappoint in that regard.

From the opening page, containing a chillingly cryptic warning (paraphrased here to avoid legal entanglement: these events are over, they happened long ago, nothing can be done to change them), to the end of the book, and all throughout, as Stover gives the reader glimpses of what it's like to be Anakin Skywalker as he spirals toward his destiny as Darth Vader.

The fight between Anakin and Obi-Wan proves to be beautifully written. The little interludes between chapters, as the story dives into the psyche of different characters, provide the reader with new insight into the events surrounding Palpatine's rise to Emperor.

Stover is one of my favorite Star Wars authors. He now has 4 books out, Traitor, Revenge of the Sith, Shatterpoint, and Luke Skywalker and the Shadows of Mindor. Why they chose that title for the last book I'll never know, but it completely breaks the tradition of Stover's prowess with the galaxy far, far away. But if the writing within is anywhere near half as good as Revenge of the Sith, well, I'll probably forgive him.

Re-readability: 9.9
Final Grade: A++

Review #12: Star Wars: Darth Bane: Rule of Two

2009-01-12T09:00:00.001-05:00

The second installment in the Darth Bane series by Drew Karpyshyn is Rule of Two. The book picks up immediately after the end of Path of Destruction, and follows Darth Bane and his new apprentice, Darth Zannah, as they try to correct the past mistakes of the Sith. Star Wars fans, expecially those who follow the stories of the expanded universe, know that Bane reorganized the Sith, and in the course of this reorganization, he was covered in a parasite called orbalisks. These creature amplified his Force power, but were slowly killing him. So over the course of this book we see Bane gain the creatures, and then have them removed in very painful fashion.

Also, one of the most important events in this novel is Bane's attempt to make a Sith Holocron, a repository of Dark Side knowledge. He fails on more than one attempt.

Once again, though, Karpyshyn falls into the trap of trying to marry the old storyline with the new, and in so doing creates a character that is a Chiss, a species that is not discovered in the Star Wars chronology until about six years after the events of The Phantom Menace, in other words, nearly a thousand years after this story takes place.

It's hard to fault Karpyshyn for this, though, because he's trying to weave together a story between two established timelines, and he's trying his darnedest to keep everything in order. Naturally, some things will slip through the cracks. Overall, though, this story is more enjoyable than Path of Destruction, but I think that comes from now having an established character in Darth Bane.

Re-readability: 9.0
Final Grade: B+

Review #11: Star Wars: Darth Bane: Path of Destruction

2009-01-11T09:00:00.001-05:00

Darth Bane: Path of Destruction is Drew Karpyshyn's first entry into the Star Wars universe, and takes place nearly a thousand years before the prequel trilogy. As evidenced by the title, this novel reveals part of the backstory of Darth Bane, the Sith Lord who created the rule of two, a Sith teaching that stated that there could only be two Sith at one time, a Master and an Apprentice. That teaching isn't entirely established in this novel, but it's genesis certainly rests in the pages.

Karpyshyn weaves together a good tale, bringing Darth Bane to life from his time as an apprentice up until he takes on the mantle of Sith Lord, reviving the Darth title and destroying the Brotherhood of Darkness.

But Karpyshyn falls victim to an all-to-familiar trait among Star Wars authors. He tries to bring in elements of stories that take places many years later in the chronology. The most glaring example in this book is when Darth Bane uses a style of lightsaber combat that won't be developed for another thousand years.

Otherwise, Karpyshyn puts together a great story and really makes you want to see more of Darth Bane and find out just what exactly he's about.

Re-readability: 8.9
Final Grade: B

Review #10: Star Wars: Dark Nest III: The Swarm War

2009-01-10T09:00:00.001-05:00

Troy Denning's third outing in the Dark Nest Trilogy brings the storyline to a close with some shocking information. At least, it's shocking if you don't follow Star Wars.
The story ends with a brief war between the Killiks and the Chiss, and brings Raynar Thul, who had turned slightly evil, back into the fold... kind of. Luke basically realizes that he has to lock Raynar away to keep him from causing harm to himself or anyone else.

Jag Fel is lost on a distant planet, but is thought to be alive, and Leia's Jedi training continues. The cover art shows a dark looking Luke Skywalker using Force lightning, something I don't recall him doing in this book.

The shocking information is an encoded bit of memory from R2-D2, showing Anakin and Padme talking on Mustafar before the epic battle of Revenge of the Sith. The text isn't exactly the same as the lines from the movie, but then again, this book came out a little bit before the movie did. We also learn that Jacen would basically follow in Anakin's footsteps to protect those he loves. Everyone around Jacen has no idea that he has a daughter with fellow Jedi Tenel Ka.

The book is pretty good, and it is Denning writing, so it stays within the Star Wars continuity very well.

Re-readability: 7.9
Final Grade: B

Review #9: Star Wars: Dark Nest II: The Unseen Queen

2009-01-09T09:00:00.001-05:00

The Unseen Queen is the second outing in the Dark Nest Trilogy by Troy Denning. The story follows our heroes as they travel once more into the dark waters surrounding the Killik expansion. As part of a side story, Leia has been searching for a new planet that the Ithorians can call home, even since Ithor was destroyed by the Yuuzhan Vong. She finds a planet, but as she, Han and Luke explore it a bit, they find that their enemies are already there, and even worse, an nanobot-style destroyer thing is there as well, and it begins to rapidly decay anything metallic that touches the planet. Our heroes have to beat a hasty retreat.

Denning writes very well. He's created some very endearing characters, Jedi Master Saba Sebatyne being one of them. Saba begins training Leia, who finally finds enough time away from the government to handle her Jedi training, although she's about 60 years old now.

All that being said, I really didn't like this book. As second acts go, it falls a bit short of the Star Wars legacy.

Re-readability: 7.5
Final Grade: C-

Historia, Part XV

2009-01-08T20:22:00.000-05:00

Journeys were nothing new for men from Nostalgia. The unwritten rite of passage that each male youth of the town undertook forced them to journey far to the south, some people estimated the distance to be nearly five hundred miles one way, but others said it was a hundred miles at best. Of course, this journey could never be described as “best.”

The young man would walk south with nothing but the clothes he was wearing and a pocket knife. As Clifford thought back to his journey he realized that the pocket knife he’d taken was the same Swedish Navy Knife he carried now. The trek sent a young man south to the swamp-marshes and on farther, almost to the coast, or so it was said. Clifford sometimes doubted if there was even an ocean.

Once the young man had reached the land near to the coast, he was to find a certain tree, the elders called it a palm, but their understand of a palm tree was vastly different from any definition you likely know. Their idea of a palm tree is something we know of as a redwood, so you can see how they might be confused. The young man would scrape away a pocketful of the tree’s bark and bring it back to Nostalgia, where it would be burned during a ceremony recognizing that the young man had passed into full adulthood.

Clifford had passed into adulthood seventeen years ago and there were more than a few times that he’d had regrets about going on the journey. This was one of those times. He stood on a flat patch of rock about half-way down the hill, looking out over Historia, a city, capital of the land of the same name, and it was in ruins, burning, smoke billowing, screams rang out from various districts of the patchwork city.

Jaime Conner, post-boy, had already vanished into the smoky mire below and Clifford suspected that he should follow him, but for some reason he couldn’t move from the spot he stood on. He could see everything.

Smoke poured out of the upper windows of the massive pyramid topped with a green statue with an upraised cannon for an arm and a helmeted head, wrapping around the statue in an almost picturesque manner. Other buildings burned, some had already collapsed. Clifford looked down on the city (in more ways than one), and saw a small stream running along the northeast side, flowing down from the mountain and continuing northwest. For some reason this made him think of Schrodinger.

Away to the northwest was a tall building with a golden top. Clifford had the strange thought that this was the Vat-a-Can that the mouse had spoken of, and if he went there he could probably find just about any trinket that he wanted.

And then he took a step. He had to reach the pyramid, but as his foot hit the ground he heard a sound he hadn’t heard since leaving the Farm of Pepperidge: gunshots. He was entering a war zone. But he had to do it. He couldn’t say why, but he had to.

He basically ran down the hill, taking the same path that Jaime had taken. He wasn’t sure which way Jaime had gone once he’s reached the actual city, but the path down the mountain was clear. The streets of the city seemed to just start. No paths led into the city, but the roads just began. One step you’re on grass the next you’re on asphalt with no discernible change.

The first building Clifford passed was a large brick-face with the words BONA ALLEN painted on it. He glanced into the paned-glass windows of the structure, but he didn’t have the time to stop. The next building looked like a... well, at the University the Teacher had called them sky-scratchers, and this looked like one, only it had been cut off in a jagged line about four floor up. The sign out front read Hammarskjold Place. The building was black.

After crossing an oddly placed set of railroad tracks, Clifford stopped and looked out over a shining plaza with a large fountain in the middle. Beyond the fountain was a row of old looking buildings, some with banners above the doors. The only one Clifford could read stated it to be the house of Shakespeare, but Clifford didn’t know who that was, and really didn’t care.

Beyond that loomed the pyramid. The pyramid that Clifford had to reach. The pinnacle of his journey. It was the pinnacle, right? Clifford took another step.

Review #8: Star Wars: Dark Nest I: The Joiner King

2009-01-08T09:00:00.002-05:00

The Joiner King is Troy Denning first Dark Nest novel, chronicling the Killik expansion. The Killiks are an insectoid race that may be responsible for putting together the Corellian system and for much of the ancient architecture once found on Alderaan.

The book is admittedly slow, with one of the more interesting plot points coming fairly early on, as we learn that Jacen Solo has been away for nearly five years, learning from the Fallanassi, the Aing-Tii, and many other Force users, broadening his horizons from the Jedi point of view. The similarities between Jacen's desire to see beyond the Jedi dogma are eerily close to the machinations of Anakin Skywalker in Revenge of the Sith.

Luke Skywalker begins to fret about the sudden disappearance of many younger Jedi, including Jaina Solo, and eventually Jacen Solo. He soon learns that the Jedi have joined with the Killiks after answering "the call." After a little research, Luke finds out that they were summoned by Raynar Thul, who disappeared after the disastrous mission to Myrkr will fighting the Yuuzhan Vong, nearly seven years prior. Thul, who escaped on a stolen freight that eventually crashed and burned, is horribly scarred, but was "repaired" by the Killiks, and because of his Force connections he becomes a sort of ruler, or the title Joiner King.

The Dark Nest, a villainous faction of the Killik nation, is also revealed, and it is suspected that the Dark Nest is ruled over by two dark Jedi, the same who stole the freighter Raynar Thul escaped on.

In terms of readability, Denning is one of the better Star Wars writers. He is able to make his characters fit what other writers have done, and he works well within the continuity of the series. Han Solo in the Dark Nest is the same as Han Solo at the end of the New Jedi Order series. The only real difference in character is Jacen, and even then, the character feels like it belongs in this series.

Re-readability: 8.3
Final Grade: B+

Review #7: Star Wars: Children of the Jedi

2009-01-07T09:00:00.001-05:00

Well, this is it. My all time least favorite Star Wars novel. Not to say anything bad about Barbara Hambly, but this is just not a very strong story. It does tie into some novels in the New Jedi Order series, but it just doesn't fit very well into the mold that other authors have created.

The story follows Luke on the hunt for yet another of Emperor Palpatine's super-weapons. This time, it's a converted asteroid that has been made into a warship. The weapon, The Eye of Palpatine, is traveling the galaxy and gathering troops to wipeout a Jedi enclave where, supposedly, Jedi children live. The first question to be asked is how Jedi children could've remained hidden for 29 years after Darth Vader initiated the Jedi Purge. The second question to be asked is where the Imperial remnant keeps finding all of Palpatine's super-weapons.

Luke just doesn't feel like Luke in this story, and also, he sustains some pretty nasty injuries and he just gets up and keeps going, even after considerable loss of blood. Also, Hambly spends a lot of time telling the reader how Luke's Force focus is interrupted because of the pain. It feels like filler to me.

There is a nice surpirse at the end of the book. And Hambly does create a good, recurring character in Callista, a former Jedi who loses her connectiong to the Force.

Re-readability: 6.7
Final Grade: C-

Historia, Part XIV

2009-01-06T20:46:00.001-05:00

Clifford and Jaime Conner, post-boy of Historia, had been walking west for two days. The City of Lithe was now many miles behind them, and for that Clifford Jenkins was glad. He could live a thousand years and never see that city again and he wouldn’t regret it.

They’d left The City of Lithe and climbed over the mountain to the west and began their downward trek into the valley, realizing that they’d be climbing another mountain in no time flat. Jaime said it was the last mountain between them and Historia. Clifford walked in relative silence. He was still in a state of shock.

He glanced backwards at his bundle, which felt curiously light with Schrodinger inside. The talking mouse, his companion for many miles and more than a few adventures, was gone. Swept away in one of Lithe’s pseudo-regular floods.

Jaime Conner knew all about Lithe’s flooding. He had been telling Clifford about how things were in Historia. Father Time, Jaime said, was ill. He was the leader of Historia. When Clifford had asked about the Historian meddling with time and events Jaime had just looked at him blankly.

“I don’t know, Mr. Jenkins.”

“Call me Clifford. I’m forty years old. I don’t think of myself as a “Mister” just yet.”

Jaime nodded, “Sorry. Clifford. I don’t know of anything like that happening in Historia. Father Time just sits in his pyramid and everyone else goes about their day.”

“What about Guevara’s gorillas? Last I was in Nostalgia they said that Guevara’s gorillas were attacking the vikings. Or some such nonsense.”

Jaime nodded, “There are a group of people living in the north of Historia calls themselves Vikings. Guevara is a name from the south, so it’s likely some kind of blood feud. Probably dates back decades. Most likely thing is someone’s granpappy ticked off someone else’s granpappy somehow.”

Clifford had noticed some time back that they’d started uphill once more. This meant that a view of Historia was only minutes away. Jaime, as if hearing Clifford’s thoughts, spoke up, “You’ll be able to see Historia once we reach the top of this hill. I have to warn you, Historia is a lot different from Nostalgia.”

“How so?”

“More people, mostly. The last census put the population at about 45 thousand. Probably more, there’s a bunch of people who never respond to that thing, but use the paper as kindling.”

Clifford shrugged. He’d never heard of a census. For some reason, as they climbed higher on the hill, his thoughts went back to his time at the University. He’d been an average student; the teacher had released him to the real world at the age of eighteen. His classmates had been a little surprised that he’d made it out that early, but given that he had a thirty-two year old classmate at the time, no one seemed to argue with the teacher’s decision.

By the age of twenty he was working with his dad, building houses and other buildings in the town. At twenty-three, an odd age for most men in Nostalgia, he’d set off to the south. He came back six months later, twenty-fours years old, and having completed the unwritten rite of passage for Nostalgia males. He’d gone south and returned. Left with nothing, came back with a pocketful of tree bark.

Now the top of the hill neared. Nostalgia was far behind. Historia was just ahead. And as they topped the hill, they saw that much of Historia was on fire. The pyramid loomed over everything, and smoke billowed from the windows at the top.

Clifford looked at Jaime, who was terror-struck. Jaime screamed and began running down the hill. Clifford just stood there for a moment. He was okay with Jaime going away, he honestly didn’t like the guy. As he watched Historia burn, he thought of nothing but Schrodinger.

Then he began walking downhill. He still had to reach Historia. The actual town. The pyramid. Now that he saw it, he knew that he had to reach it. He had to reach it fast.

Review #6: Star Wars: Tyrant's Test

2009-01-06T09:00:00.000-05:00

The finale of Michael P. Kube-McDowell's Black Fleet Crisis is, unfortunately, the weakest outing of the series. The book heavily relies on a Wookiee counter-attack on the Yevetha, and the Wookiee storyline just isn't that strong. Although, to his credit, he avoided the Lassie-effect with Chewbacca and instead of having other characters basically repeat what the Wookiee says, he uses brackets and translates the Wookiee-speak into English. Nicely done.

Luke's search for the Fallanassi comes to a spectacularly disappointing end. He finds the adepts of the White Current, but learns that Akanah lied to him, that his mother was never truly a member, and that the Fallanassi basically reject him outright. Fortunately, as a means of tying up the storylines, the planet that the Fallanassi currently call home is in the direct path of the Yevethan conquest.

Chewbacca and his son mount a rescue operation to save Han Solo, and they pull it off. A member of the Fallanassi that the Yevetha had captured stays behind and creates a Force illusion that fools the Yevetha into thinking that all their prisoners are still in captivity, even though they've escaped.

The final battle between Republic and Yevethan forces is very nicely written, and probably one of the glaring bright spots of the novel. There's also a cameo by Cindel Towani, of Ewok movie fame.

Lando and the vagabond come around in somewhat of a letdown. The ship, it turns out, was a recovery vessel meant to restart life on a planet that had fallen into an Ice Age. The ship begins it's process after a little help from Luke Skywalker.

Overall, the Black Fleet Crisis is one of the best trilogies in the Star Wars expanded universe, but the finale falls just short of the mark set by the previous two novels.

Re-readability: 6.9
Final Grade: C+

Review #5: Star Wars: Shield of Lies

2009-01-05T09:00:00.000-05:00

The second installment of the Black Fleet Crisis trilogy is one of my all time favorite Star Wars books. I think what I like most about the book is the set-up. It is basically three novella in one novel, with each novella following a major character whose name starts with "L," Luke, Leia, and Lando. Yeah, it's different from other books. You're stuck with one major character for 5 straight chapters before jumping to another character, and you get no "ping-pong" effect of jumping from one character's story to another and then back.

Michael P. Kube-McDowell succeeds where other SW writers have failed, though, in that he can describe a planet better than most writers. The planets that Luke and Akanah visit actually feel real, and not so alien. Throughout this series, Kube-McDowell also makes Luke confront his past, like the fact that, by blowing up the first Death Star, Luke killed nearly a million people. That's not an angle you get from your run-of-the-mill Star Wars story.

Leia's troubles with Nil Spaar and the xenophobic Yevetha continue. The Yevetha actually wipe out all other life in the Star Cluster they live in. Leia is forced to react in an undiplomatic way when Nil Spaar reveals that he's captured Han Solo.

Luke's search for the Fallanasi continues, and Akanah begins to teach him about the White Current. We also get a little more Force insight from Luke, concerning differnt abilities that he has, such as casting Force illusions to fool weaker-minded individuals. This ability will come into play later on in future Star Wars novels.

Lando is still stuck on the vagabond, trying to unravel it's mysteries.

Re-readability: 9.1
Final Grade: A-

Review #4: Star Wars: Before the Storm

2009-01-04T09:30:00.000-05:00

Book One of the Black Fleet Crisis, Before the Storm is the first of Michael P. Kube-McDowell's three forays into the Star Wars universe. And let me say this: he makes a great impression. Set twelve years after the death of Darth Vader, the Black Fleet Crisis reveals a new enemy that has always been hidden in the galaxy far, far away: the xenophobic Yevetha.

Viceroy Nil Spaar comes to Coruscant to visit Leia Organa Solo, under the pretense of a peaceful union between the New Republic and the Yevethan Duskhan League. Spaar soon turns aggressive in his negotiations and then leaves Coruscant, blaming Leai for the failed treaty and essentially declaring war on the New Republic.

On other fronts, Luke Skywalker withdraws from the Jedi Academy and goes into a self-imposed exile, feeling that he has lost his way in the force. Kube-McDowell brings back a Luke that had been missing since the original movie trilogy, a whiny, angst-ridden Luke that we all know and love. Luke is later found by Akanah Norand Pell, a member of the Fallanasi and devotee of the White Current, a sub-sect of Force users. Akanah tells Luke that she knew his mother, and that she might still be alive, but Luke has to help her find the Fallanasi first.

Land Calrissian, who at this point is bored and hasn't had a starring role in a book for about ten years (in the SW chronology), confronts New Republic Intelligence seeking a project. He is directed to the Vagabond, a mysterious ship that has been tracked for some time by Intelligence. Lando gathers his old comrade Lobot from Cloud City, and gains use of C-3PO and R2-D2 from the Solos. They journey out to the vagabond, and Calrissian and his team quickly figure out how to access the ship. They gain entry and the ship jumps into hyperspace, leaving the Intelligence team far behind.

Kube-McDowell, like Aaron Allston, is able to maintain humor in his writing, but also a level of seriousness that was missing from the few novels in the timeline before this set. Black Fleet Crisis is perhaps, outside of Zahn's Thrawn Trilogy, one of the best three book sets in the Star Wars universe.

Re-readability: 8.9
Final Grade: B+

Review #3: Star Wars: Betrayal

2009-01-03T10:00:00.000-05:00

Betrayal is the first book in the Legacy of the Force series, set nearly 40 years after the events of Return of the Jedi. The Yuuzhan Vong threat has been defeated, and the Killik expansion seen in the Dark Nest Trilogy has been halted. Relative peace reigns over the galaxy far, far away. At least for a time.

Jacen Solo has taken Luke Skywalker's son, Ben, as his apprentice. Jacen's views on the Force are radical compared ot most Jedi, as he as essntially shunned the light and dark sides to believe in a unified Force that can be bent to the will of the user, but yet the Force also leads the user to his or her destiny. Luke is unsure about letting Jacen teach Ben, but he does so anyway, to show that he has faith in Jacen as a force for good.

Jacen and Ben and another Jedi travel around a bit, hunting down an unseen villain. They reach a subterranean base with the help of Brisha Syo, who is later revealed to be Lumiya, an old nemesis of Luke Skywalker. Lumiya is the Dark Lady of the Sith, and she tells Jacen that he has already received Sith training from Vergere. Jacen is at first hesitant, but then realizes that he can bring lasting peace to the galaxy by going down the path to becoming a Sith Lord.

Aaron Allston is one of my favorite Star Wars writers. He can weave together a serious story and maintain a level of humor that lets the reader know that these events involve normal people. His characters aren't always in the super serious mode we've seen from some Star Wars writers.

I liked the direction this book took the story in. Star Wars has always been kind of sappy, but Allston creates a new level of intrigue. Luke is on a constant watch for a unseen enemy, Jacen begins going down the dark path, and the galaxy is pulled right along with them.

Re-readability: 8.3
Final Grade: B+

Review #2: Star Wars: Traitor

2009-01-02T09:00:00.000-05:00

Traitor, by Matthew Stover, falls in the middle of the New Jedi Order series and is perhaps one of the most pivotal book in the entire Star Wars Saga. The central villain of the New Jedi Order, the Yuuzhan Vong species, has invaded our familiar galaxy far, far away, and done considerable damage, killing Han and Leia's youngest son Anakin and capturing their oldest son Jacen. The Jedi Order is essentially in ruins, and the Yuuzhan Vong have taken Coruscant, the capital of the Republic.

Stover, though, takes you away from the events of the series, and plants you in the middle of the Vong Fleet, where Jacen Solo is being held. He is captive of Vergere, a former Jedi turned, not ironically traitor. Or at least, that's what we think. Traitor is almost a guidebook to the Force as it is presented in the Star Wars series. Jacen progresses under the tutelage of Vergere and finds his mind opened to new understandings of the Force. Star Wars fans have debated before the use of the Force. Is there a light side? A dark side? Or is the Force just a tool, at which point the good or evil is based on the intents of the user?

Stover delves into these myriad thoughts. His journey takes Jacen from a Yuuzhan Vong ship to Coruscant itself, now overgrown with alien vegetation from the Vong takeover. Jacen, in the process, joins with a Yuuzhan Vong worldbrain, becoming its sole protector and friend, and causing the slow, gradual decay of Coruscant. He eventually escapes Coruscant, but his view of the Force is forever changed, and the change becomes increasingly apparent through the Dark Nest Trilogy and the Legacy of the Force series.

Stover brings a different style to Star Wars. Usually the heroes are invincible, but Stover's style makes you feel like anything can happen at any time. His writing is unpredictable, and that's a good thing.

Re-readability: 9.8
Final Grade: A+

Review #1: Star Wars: Heir to the Empire

2009-01-01T09:00:00.000-05:00

Star Wars: Heir to the Empire is the first book in Timothy Zahn's Thrawn Triolgy. Set five years after Return of the Jedi, Heir to the Empire reintroduces us to our heroes, Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa Solo, Han Solo (Han and Leia do get married), Chewie, and the droids. Darth Vader is gone, the Emperor is dead, and the remnants of the Imperial fleet have rallied around the last Grand Admiral, Thrawn (he's the blue-skinned alien on the book cover).

The pacing of the book is excellent. Zahn pulls no punches in his narrative, and interweaves so many plot lines that it is almost difficult to remember who is doing what in this book.

The book starts with Thrawn ordering information raids in order to strike the New Republic. Luke Skywalker receives a final vision of Obi-Wan Kenobi which prompts him to consider reforming the Jedi Order. Thrawn then attempts to capture our heroes in various ways.

Along the way we meet Talon Karrde, Mara Jade, and the insane Jedi clone Joruus C'Baoth.

If you read this book series and no others, you'd feel them a perfect fit in the Star Wars universe.

Re-readablitiy: 8.5
Grade: A+

Fiction on the Fly #1

2008-12-31T21:16:00.002-05:00

Fiction on the Fly is a new segment of Novel Idea. The premise is taken an idea and writing a short fiction narrative from it, without drafts. Just write it and post it. It is, in essence, what the writer wanted to accomplish, before they let themselves get in the way with editing and re-writing. I hope you enjoy.
*****

Title: Leader?
Inspiration: Handlebars by The FloBots
*****

It was bleak. That was the outlook of major economists, political advisers, pundits, news anchors, and pretty much everyone else in the country. Financial despair gripped the nation, causing panic in the streets and riots in most of the major cities. New York was under martial law for a time and, according to the last transmission from WGN, Chicago was powerless and ruled by street gangs, most of the people had fled.

Then he'd come along. He was once the CEO of a major corporation, marketing major from at least two college, multiple degrees, and a master of the microphone. His company had once dealt in computers and microtechnologies, now he headed into office. As much of the nation as could voted had essentially unanimously elected him. He had been handed unlimited power.

And somehow things got better. Financial institutions rose from the ashes of the old order, and the cities once again throve. The politicians that had been blamed for the previous depression were gone, and a new group had come to power. And they were loved nationwide.

The people once again had money. Jobs were more secure than they'd been for decades.
The leader stood in Chicago, looking over the rebuilding. The city had been retaken. The leader turned to the microphones in front of him, and to the gathered media standing in a rugged semi-circle around him. This broadcast was big. It was global.

"Look at me, nation. Look at me, world. My cause is noble. My power, that you gave to me, is pure. This nation, this tower of strength, is secure once more. We've handed out millions of vaccinations to combat the latest disease. We've overcome the power outages in the northeast and midwest. We've overcome."

At this even some of the media clapped. They loved him, and who wouldn't? He's assembled a team that had solved all of our problems. He'd almost single-handedly ended the economic depression. The violent street gangs had fallen into obscurity under his administration. He was all that was good in the world. And he kept talking.

"I can keep us safe, if you trust me. You all knew that our problems wouldn't be solved so easily. Some other things will have to happen to keep us safe." This isn't right, our problems are already solved. What's he talking about? "So I will cut to the chase with you, nation, world. To solve our problems some more changes will be made at the higher levels, and eventually at your level." Did he just insult us? Our level, what's that supposed to mean? "We will have to isolate. Our nation is no longer open to outsiders, and it will be so for sometime. The governt will be put under my control for at least two years. I'm doing this for you, nation. I'm doing it for the world. To solve our problems, we must keep our people at home. Unfortunately, the liberties you enjoy will be scaled back." What in God's name is he doing? We didn't vote for this...

"We need your help in this. If we are to survive this crisis, then we have to unite under one banner. You have to trust me that I have it all under my command. I can bring us back."

His image vanished from the TV screen, and at that moment I heard police sirens for the first time in over a year. They had stopped in my driveway, and were approaching my house with guns drawn.

A New Year of Reading

2008-12-31T15:26:00.003-05:00

2009 promises to be a decent year for reading, at least for me. Unless I go blind, or somehow lose brain function, I'll probably read more in 2009 than I did in 2008. And that's saying something. I'm fairly certain that I read at least forty or fifty novels in 2008, and that's not counting academic reading.

I could go down the list of books I read, but that would be boring to anyone who isn't me. Instead, I'll talk about what I want to read in 2009.

The list is actually shorter than I expected, only 14 so far, but it will likely grow exponentially as the year progresses.

James Rollins:
The Judas Strain (currently reading)

The Last Oracle

Sandstorm

Neil Gaiman:
Neverwhere

Good Omens

Anansi Boys (read it once)

JRR Tolkien:
Lord of the Rings

The Silmarillion (I try to read some of it every year)

CS Lewis:
The Chronicles of Narnia

The Screwtape Letters

Matthew Stover:
Star Wars: Luke Skywalker and the Shadows of Mindor (horrible title)

Stephen King:
Dark Tower V: Wolves of the Calla

Dark Tower VI: Song of Susannah

Dark Tower VII: The Dark Tower

(I just read these last year, but they are that good)

I'm hoping you have your own list of reading to do in the New Year.

The Book Reviews

2008-12-31T13:29:00.002-05:00

Starting tomorrow I'll be posting a new book review everyday for January. To celebrate the nerd that is me, and yeah, it's my blog, so I can do that, I'll be reviewing Star Wars books for the first month.

The breakdown is quite simple. Each book review will hopefully contain an image of the book cover, a synopsis of the book, and two different scores: Re-readability and Final Grade.

Re-readability scale:
1-3 : It was good for one read, but nothing more
4-6: It'll do in a pinch
7.0-7.9: Easily enjoyed the second time
8.0-8.9: even more enjoyable the second time
9.0-9.9: You almost want to read it again immediately after finishing it
10: You actually re-read sections of it while reading it the first time

Final Grade:
F or lower: I wouldn't even recommend it to people I don't like
D- to D+ : Not so great.
C- to C+ : Doing better, but still not amazing
B- to B+ : Could become a movie if the right people are used
A- : I would recommend it to anyone
A : It will become a movie someday
A+ : Why isn't it a movie already?

Historia Part X through Part XIII

2008-12-29T23:43:00.000-05:00

Clifford walked for three hours before deciding to stop for the night. According to the moon, there was about four hours of darkness left. He dug into his old travel bag and found a think blanket. Nestling against a fallen tree, he covered himself up and went to sleep. Schrodinger sat up as a watch against whatever animal or man might try to interfere in Clifford’s slumber.

Clifford stirred at first light. He brought out some of the remaining turkey meat he had, and ate that cold with some cheese, drinking water from the uphill-flowing river. He gathered his things, the guitar, old travel bag, and, with bundle shouldered, he started walking again. Schrodinger slept most of the time in the bundle.

Clifford walked, leaving Brigadier General Israel Putnam and the mysterious King’s Valley far behind. The land he traveled through gradually changed. The semi-desert-forest he’d encountered when he’d met Putnam (felt like days ago, was only the night before) gave way to a full-fledged forest. The Forest, after only an hour’s walk, became sparse and Clifford Jenkins, no longer sure if he was anywhere near as sensible as any man of 40 years, found himself in a meadow.

He crossed it at a brisk pace, wanting to reach Historia as soon as possible. Glancing behind him, toward the Mountains of Antiquity, he saw the snow-capped peaks rising above the forest. Somewhere back there was his family, wondering where he’d gone. Luckily he’d never married. Just never felt like it. He could see the sun glistening off the icy white tops of the mountains, and he was glad he’d come the way he had. The King’s Valley was infinitely easier to cross than the mountain pass would ever have been.

It was midday when Clifford tapped the bundle-stick and caused the mouse to scamper out, “What?”

“Look.”

They stood atop a high hill, and below them, in the dale, was a large farm, windmill turning slowly in the breeze, green grass turning to brown before their eyes. Schrodinger gasped. Clifford glanced at him, and then looked back at the farm.

The mouse jumped off the stick and onto Clifford’s shoulder, “This must be the farm of Pepperidge.”

Clifford unshouldered the bundle, dropped his old travel bag, and sat down in the grass, ready to play guitar for a bit and break the monotony of his journey, “You know, this land keeps getting stranger and stranger.”

Schrodinger settled onto his haunches next to Clifford and grinned (I know, I’ve told you that a sighing mouse is hilarious, a grinning mouse, though, is quite possibly the most serious thing ever seen. It’s anti-hilarity.) The mouse ran a fore-paw through his whiskers, “So what’re you going to play? Know anything Celtic?”

Clifford blinked, searching his own mind, “What’s Celtic?”

Schrodinger waved him off, “Nevermind. Play, my boy. Play.”

Clifford strummed once, a D-minor, and then began singing softly,
“Fill to me the parting glass,
And drink to health, what may befall,
Then gently rise, and softly call,
goodnight and joy be to you all.”

Schrodinger sat in silence until Clifford’s chorus was over, “You know that’s Celtic, right?”

Clifford leveled the guitar in his lap, “I know that it’s how we say goodbye to those we lose in Nostalgia. Tradition, I guess.”

Schrodinger laughed, “I think we should get going, Clifford. We can probably get some food at Pepperidge. Historia isn’t much farther.”

Clifford stood up, got up his things, and started walking again. His path took him to the farm, just as he knew it would. Somehow, he knew deep in his mind, he couldn’t avoid the farm. He could walk all the way around it, and over the next hill, and there the farm would be, waiting for him. Strange land.

On the porch of the farmhouse sat an older white man, “You need somethin’, boy?”

Clifford frowned, “Why does everyone keep calling me boy, I’m forty years old.”

The old man stood, grabbed a cane, and hobbled to him, “I’m Henry, but you can call me Hank if you want to. Some do, some don’t.”

“Clifford Jenkins, from Nostalgia.”

The old man grinned brightly, “Nostalgia, huh? Margaret, did you hear that? Nostalgia!”

A woman who looked to be in her late sixties came out on the porch, “You’re from Nostalgia? You have to eat with us tonight and tell us about it? Last I heard Nostalgia was a ghost town. That’s what Jamie said, and he’s a mail-boy from Historia, he wouldn’t lie.”

Clifford sat his travel bag on the porch, “The town isn’t deserted, trust me. I won’t say your mail-boy lied to you, though. He may have been told wrong.”

Henry looked at Margaret (Clifford assumed they were married) and said, “Go on and fix supper. I’m gonna show the boy around, then we’ll eat. Make some cookies too.”

She retreated back into the house. Clifford stepped back, leaving his travel bag and bundle on the porch, but keeping his guitar on his back. He looked up at the house, a two-story white building with little doghouses on the roof. Henry stepped off the porch and took Clifford by the elbow, “You didn’t run into Old Put, did you?”

“Who is Old Put?” Clifford, asked, realizing halfway through his question that Henry was referring to Israel Putnam, “Oh yes, I did.”

Henry stepped forward heavily, his cane sinking into the think grass, “He tried to recruit you for his war against the Valley, didn’t he? Took two of my boys out there. Said Historia needed them to fight back the outside, whatever that means.”

Clifford nodded, “We passed through the King’s Valley, and got no trouble while we were there.”

“Who’s we?” Henry asked.

Clifford suddenly thought of the bundle, and was about to move for it, when Schrodinger moved, revealing himself to be on Clifford’s shoulder. Clifford pointed up, “This is Schrodinger, the mouse.”

Henry offered a polite wave, then pointed to the guitar, “You play that thing, Cliff?”

Clifford nodded, “Yup. Been playing since I was nine.”

Henry smiled, “Great. That’s our after-supper music, then. Now, let me show you the rest of the farm. Oh, and you’re mouse may want to hide when we reach the barn. I got eighteen barn-cats would love him for dinner.”

Clifford chuckled and looked over at Schrodinger, who wore a horrified expression. Clifford lifted a finger and lightly poked the mouse on the side, “What’s wrong, Schrodinger? Cat got your tongue?”

Schrodinger’s expression went from horrified to downright offended, “That’s a horrible thing to say, Clifford Jenkins. A cat actually got my uncle’s tongue. It’s not a pretty sight. He can’t talk now.”

Henry was tapping his cane on the ground, “Did your mouse just talk?”

“He’s not exactly mine, if you take my meaning,” Clifford said, “And yeah, I was shocked when I found out. Turns out he’s pretty smart.”

Henry pointed to the barn, “Don’t I know it? All eighteen of my cats can talk.”
*****

The largest cat, a light-brown-dark-brown furred feline, stood on the hitch of a wagon, looking out over the other seventeen cats, “The Council is called to order. I am Slagthor the Great, hereby starting the meeting.”

Henry pushed open the barn door, “Mittens. Come here, Mittens.”

The cat on the hitch winced (not nearly as funny as a sighing mouse) and jumped down from the hitch, “I’ve told you, Mittens is my human name.”

Henry picked up the cat and stroked his back, unleashing a rather fierce purr, “Yeah, I know. But I called you Mittens before you talked, and I’ll call you Mittens till the day one of us dies.”

Mittens finally noticed Schrodinger sitting on Clifford’s shoulder, “You brought us a mouse, eh?”

Clifford spoke, “Actually, he’s with me, and no, you can’t have him.”

The cat glared at him, “I think you’ll find that we cats get what we want.”

Clifford shook his head, “I don’t think so.”

Mittens purred, “Okay, fine. He’s with you. Hear that, cats, no touching the mouse, no matter how delicious he looks.”

Henry motioned Clifford back to the barn door, sitting down Mittens, “They like to have ‘council’ meetings in here. I let ‘em, figure it can’t hurt.”

As they closed the door Schrodinger spoke up, “Actually, cats are rather devious. You might want to watch over them.”

Henry took up his cane and they started walking back to the house, “I’ll remember that, little mouse.”

They made their way back to the farm house just as Margaret was walking onto the porch to call them to dinner. The table spread was fantastic, by far the best food Clifford had seen since leaving Nostalgia, and probably better than most he’d had living in Nostalgia. Ham and Turkey, buttered rolls, carrots, peas, corn, and chocolate cake for dessert. After eating Clifford and Henry went back out onto the porch.

Clifford picked up his guitar and began playing “Old Man River” and singing “Yellow Submarine.” Henry was notably impressed.

As Clifford went to put his guitar down a gunshot rang out over the farmstead. Both men looked up immediately in the direction of the King’s Valley. Moments after hearing the first shot, a second shot rang out. Mere seconds after that Brigadier General Israel Putnam came running out of the forest and down the hill, followed shortly by his men.

“Hide! The King’s Valley charged us and we couldn’t hold them back! Hide!” Putnam yelled.

Henry was already up and moving toward the door. He walked past it, suddenly not needing his cane, but moving rather sprightly. Clifford remained seated, in awe of Henry’s change. Henry reached back, grabbed his cane, and then tapped it three times on the loose board on the porch, right at the base of the wall.

The wall parted, revealing a stash of guns and ammunition, “I’ve been waitin’ on this day,” he said, turning and tossing a gun to Clifford. “Margaret! Get out here! War’s a-coming!”

Margaret rushed onto the porch, tying a strip of cloth around her head to keep her hair back. Clifford looked at his gun, unsure of how to use it.

“Just point and pull that little trigger, the gun’ll do the rest.” Margaret said, tipping over one of the small tables that lined the porch and kneeling behind it, “Oh, and find some cover. You’ll need it.”

Clifford dove to the porch, and as he did an arrow pierced the wall where he was sitting. He tipped over his own table and leaned around, looking for the enemy. It luckily wasn’t dark enough yet to conceal the barbarians of the King’s Valley.
He heard gunfire erupt from the far end of the porch, and looking down, he saw Henry crouched behind a tipped table and blasting away at the oncoming enemy.

Israel Putnam reached the porch and began directing his men to take up positions around the farm, all guns pointed back toward the enemy. The men did as directed, and the hill west of the farmstead became a killing field.

Schrodinger reappeared on Clifford’s shoulder, “We shouldn’t be here.”

Clifford snorted, “You think I don’t realize that?”

“No,” the mouse said emphatically, “We really need to go. Bad things are about to happen here. I feel sorry for the cats.”

At the precise moment the barn door burst open and all eighteen cats charged out, Mittens, or as he called himself, Slagthor the Great, at their head, “Go, Cats! For the glory of Kittendom, our time has come.”

Clifford was mesmerized as the kitten brigade crashed into the oncoming enemy. Some cats were cut down almost immediately. Another arrow hit the table behind which Clifford knelt. He raised the gun and popped off three quick shots.

From what he could tell, Putnam’s men were holding back the charge, rather amiably. He moved as quickly as possible toward Henry, “What do we do?”

Henry pointed to the door, “Go inside, upstairs, and use one of the doghouses as cover. Try and take out as many as you can. They’ve never charged like this.”

Clifford did as he was told. He pushed open the upstairs window and looked out as the battlefield. Putnam was pinned down behind a water-trough, his men scattered across the field. The cats were down from eighteen to just five, Slagthor still leading them, directing them.

Schrodinger sniffled, “I feel sorry for them. This isn’t their war, and yet they’re dying.”

Clifford raised his gun, “I’m trying to keep us from dying.”

Schrodinger jumped down onto the windowsill, “I’m only going to say this once, Clifford. Don’t think about the enemy. Think about anything else, but not them.”

Clifford was so puzzled by Schrodinger that when he looked up it took him a moment to realize that the enemy was gone, as was Israel Putnam, “What happened?”

Schrodinger shrugged, “You’ve a gift, Clifford Jenkins. You never saw the enemy in the King’s Valley, and now, the moment your mind is taken off of them, they disappear. Interesting, eh?”

Clifford slumped down against the wall, “But what about the dead cats, the dead men? Are they still dead?”

Schodinger looked out the window, “From the looks of it, when you stopped thinking about them, everything went back to where it was before they charged, probably even before we got here. Meaning that Margaret and Henry don’t know we’re in their house.”

Clifford stood up and walked to the door, “So how do we get out?”

Schrodinger was ignoring him, “This could be a problem, you know? This gift you have.”

Clifford pointed to the closed door behind him, “Do you hear that? Footsteps. Someone’s coming.”

The mouse leapt out the window, “C’mon!”

Clifford followed him, diving out the window and stepping quickly around the doghouse to hide from view. Henry’s head appeared out the window, “Anyone there?”

When Clifford didn’t answer, Henry closed the window and walked out. Schrodinger climbed back onto Clifford’s shoulder, “There’s a haystack over that way,” he said, point to the south end of the house. “You’re stuff should still be on the porch. We can grab it and run. Oh, and you still have the gun. Good thing. We might need it.”
***********

The farm of Pepperidge was now a day’s walk behind them, the King’s Valley even farther. After retrieving his belongings from Henry’s porch Clifford had started once more along the westward path to Historia. Schrodinger had scarcely shut up about Clifford’s ‘gift,’ which at this point was causing Clifford a rather significant headache.

About two hours after leaving Henry’s farm, Clifford had found an old road, which made the walking that much easier. When night had fallen he’d camped out just off the road, under the low branches of a willow tree. Upon awakening Schrodinger began ranting once more about Clifford’s ‘gift.’

“Okay,” Clifford suddenly cried, “Now, I get it. I have a gift. Big deal. How much farther is it to Historia?”

Schrodinger had started back out the stick to the bundle, “Not too far. We just have to go through the City of Lithe.”

Clifford paused for a moment, “The City of Lithe?”

The mouse was suddenly back on his shoulder, “Yeah, have you heard of it?”

Clifford was walking again, “No, I don’t think so. But I’m scared of it for some reason.”

Schrodinger went back to his bundle. It was a matter of two hours walking before Clifford saw the city of Lithe.

It was a mountain, or at least part of it was. The city started low in a valley and worked it’s way up the mountain. Some of the buildings leaned at awkward angles, some seemed to have been built upside-down. Others looked like large trees that had been hollowed out and then splattered haphazardly with windows.

Smoke rose from chimneys all throughout the city, even though, as Clifford thought, it was rather warm for early winter. That is, if it was still winter, the Constellation Hendrix was in the sky the night before, so it was the winter months. Were the Historians up to something new?

Up ahead on the road Clifford could see a wooden sign, slightly dry-rotted, but still very legible. He maintained a rather leisurely pace to approach the sign, his own misgivings about going through Lithe growing stronger.

The sign read, in large, gothic print: LITHE, City of Hell
It had a skull a crossbones painted beneath it. On the ground was either a rock shaped like a skull or an actual skull.

“Schrodinger, is there any way around this town?”

The mouse spoke up, “You remember that feeling you had about the farm of Pepperidge? How that there was no way to avoid it?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s what this is. If you want to go to Historia, you have to pass through Lithe.”

The old road wound down the hillside toward the valley, and as Clifford could now see, toward the walls of the city of Lithe. The closer he got, the more the sense of dread began to weigh him down.

The leaves on the trees around him changed color as they walked toward the city. The gold-and-orange display that had dominated the hills around the farm of Pepperidge were replaced by dark browns and, in some cases, black leaves. The ground was harder, as well. Far to the north, though not so far as to not be heard, roared a waterfall. Clifford hazarded the guess that it was the uphill river from the King’s Valley. All things seemed to lead to Historia.

Schrodinger sat on his shoulder the whole time as the approached the city. The road narrowed as it pointed the way to the main gate of the city, a tall, barred gate with two sentries posted outside the wall and another six inside.

Clifford walked cautiously toward the wall, fearing the city (for some still unknown reason) and doing all he could to muster the courage to pass through the gate and not turn back and run away. He suddenly feared that his voice would crack when he answered the guards, and that just wouldn’t look right for a formerly sensible 40 year old man.

“Halt!” yelled the first guard, “Who are you?”

“Tell them your name,” Schrodinger said.

“Cliff... Clifford Jenkins, of Nostalgia.”

The guard looked to his fellow sentry, then back at Clifford, “And why, O Clifford Jenkins of Nostalgia, are you coming to the great City of Lithe?”

Clifford fought past the sudden urge to vomit, “I am seeking Historia.”

The guard flicked his hand high into the air and the massive steel gate began to swing open, “You may pass, Clifford Jenkins of Nostalgia, but beware! Few ever reach Historia from this point.”

Clifford maintained his poise as he walked through the gate. He even managed to turn the corner around a large building and begin walking away from the guards before he had to find an alleyway and purge his stomach.

He looked up and realized the industry of the city. What he’d thought were chimneys with fires going were actually smokestacks over factories. He walked on, looking around, and looking to the inhabitants like a tourist.

As he walked through a secondary city wall he found himself in what he could only figure to be a market. There were stalls throughout, each one selling various wares. Guns (which Clifford already had one, and no one had asked him where or how he got it, and frankly, he’d almost forgotten how he’d gotten it), knives, foods, drinks, women, men, all was for sale in the great market of the great city of Lithe.

In the middle of it all was a man wearing a small sign around his neck, crying out in a loud voice, “Repent! The end is nigh! Gods be praised, repent, ye sinners and ye saints alike!”

Clifford walked past the man and stopped at a stall selling knives. His Swedish Navy knife was getting dull and he needed a sharpening stone. He pointed to a medium sized stone, “How much?”

“Forty-five, no less. But I’ll haggle if you must.” The old woman working the stall said. She reminded Clifford of the ancient thing that had confronted him at Carnacabidos.

Clifford picked up a smaller stone, “And this one?”

“Forty-five, no less. But I’ll haggle if you must.”

Clifford leaned forward, “You realize that’s the same price right? How much is everything on the table?”

“Forty-five, no less. But I’ll haggle if you must.”

Clifford moved on, and it took him a moment to realize that he still had the small sharpening stone in his hand. He turned to give it back and the stall was gone. He was fast growing weary of this land. But thankfully his sense of dread over the city of Lithe was diminished by the ambience of the market.

“Flood!” Someone shouted, “The river’s overfilled. Get to a high place, quick!”

Clifford went to move, but he was knocked back and forth by scurrying patrons. He reached for the central pole, which looked rather well founded, and began to climb. He could now hear the rushing water, but he couldn’t remember which direction the waterfall was in.

It was at the moment that a wall of water crested the nearest building, slightly behind him and to the right, and slammed hared into Clifford, pressing him against the pole. He clutched tightly, riding out the torrent. Then it was over. The flood had lasted a mere moment. It was devastating to the market. Stalls were overturned, patrons were digging themselves out from under rubble and flotsam.

“Well, that as something, wasn’t it, Schrodinger?”

No answer.

“Schrodinger?”
************

The City of Lithe is an impossible dream. It has been flooded more times than the engine of a silly 1970s British Leyland automobile (preferably the Dolomite Sprint, 1976 version), and yet the inhabitants refuse to move. The ground is so soft that most buildings in Lithe sink on average six inches a year, and because of this the city council orders the roads and streets dug lower. The city was actually built atop a mountain, but because of this sinking and digging out process, they’ve gradually, over the course of a couple of hundred years, dug their very own valley, which directed the river even more so at them.

As the valley grew deeper, the people of Lithe came to depend more and more on the talking Beavers to dam the river and maintain the water flow. Even then, though, the water was still too much for a group of Beavers to control.

The floods came irregularly, and there was always a moments warning from watchtowers built along the north end, river facing, part of the city. Because of this warning, Clifford Jenkins survived the eighty-fifth flood to hit Lithe that year. The previous record for most flood in a year had been a paltry sixty-seven, but that had been before the Great Drought had decimated the lands around Historia and had brought ruin nigh to Lithe itself.

Now, a drenched Clifford Jenkins was busily searching through the desolation that had once been a market. Some vendors were out once again restoring their stalls. Some were talking. He was piecing together bits of news about the city without even realizing it.

“They said that the bank just sank eight inches with that flood. We’ll be digging it out soon.”

“I heard that the north wall was damaged this time. They said that the Rigger may fall.”

Clifford kept searching, but asked in the general direction of those talking, “What’s the Rigger?”

The man tapped him on the shoulder, “Look here, mate.” He pointed to the north wall where, framed against a graying sky stood four massive towers, “Starting from the left there’s The Garrison, The Helmstaad, The Rigger, and The Morii. The watchtowers of the city north, named for the gods of Lithe itself. No watchtower has fallen in five hundred years. Now The Rigger might.”

Clifford turned back to the fallen stalls, “Sorry to hear that.”

The other man, the one who hadn’t pointed out the watchtowers, walked up, “What are you looking for?”

Clifford continued moving things, pushing back pieces of wood, flaps of cloth, “I lost my friend in the flood.”

The man knelt down and began moving things around, mostly stuff that Clifford had already pushed aside, “The talking mouse?”

Clifford stopped, “How did you know?”

“I don’t know. I just know that in all that water, in all that chaos, I saw a talking mouse. It screamed out something as it rushed past me.”

Clifford grabbed the man’s shoulders, “What did he say?”

“Go west.”

Clifford sat back, “Go west? I’ve been going west. It’s the only way to Historia.”

“You’re going to Historia?”

“Yes.”

The man offered his hand to help Clifford up, “I am as well. Jaime Conner, post-boy, although I am twenty-seven years old.”

Clifford couldn’t stop thinking about Schrodinger, “You were the one who told the people at the farm of Pepperidge that Nostalgia was a ghost town.”

Jaime looked confused, “Well, I do go to the Pepperidge farm at least once a fortnight, and the last time I was in Nostalgia it was nearly deserted. Only about fifteen left there.”

“I just left Nostalgia about...” Then Clifford realized that he had no idea how long he’d been gone. He stood there looking at Jaime rather stupidly.

“I was in Nostalgia one week ago,” Jaime said, “That’s when I found out that Nostalgia was a ghost town.”

Clifford tried to reconcile the time difference in his head and found that he was completely unable to. He’d either been gone for far longer than he thought, or his “gift” as Schrodinger called it had conjured up an entire town.

Schrodinger. Poor Schrodinger.
**************

Historia Part I through Part IX

2008-12-29T23:40:00.001-05:00

Clifford Jenkins, like any sensible man of 40 years, knew for a certainty that the world had been flat until the moment Columbus had jumped on board the HMS Beagle and set sail from Plymouth. Columbus, of course, could be blamed for pretty much every problem that plagued mankind. He’d introduced disease, war, and nihilistic Euro-fashion to the Japanese.

But Clifford Jenkins also knew that every ounce of that history was, well, just that: history. That was life, living in the small town of Nostalgia, a border province of Historia. Everything was over, and nothing could be done to change it. At least, that’s how it was in Nostalgia.

Over the mountains, in Historia, it was said, history was a living thing that constantly changed. Word had reached Nostalgia just that morning that the Vikings had launched an assault on Guevara’s guerillas. Of course, Clifford, like any sensible man of 40 years, doubted if Columbus or Europe had ever existed to begin with. Sometimes, when the world was crashing down the crapper, the people needed a scapegoat. Just so happens they made up Columbus.

And we all know that any good scapegoat needs a land to come from. The mythical Plymouth, smack in the heart of Germanic Europe (don’t ask me how a ship set sail from the heart of a continent, much less how the people knew that Europe was Germanic at the time, or even how they knew Europe was a continent) was created in turn, and had been home port to the HMS Beagle, the HMS standing, of course, for Huge, Massive Ship.

Clifford leaned against the high-backed chair that sat at the corner of the piano. He was playing guitar, strumming out the chorus to Auld Lang Syne, but singing the words to Silent Night, a local favorite. Timey’s Bar was crowded for a Wednesday night. Or maybe it was Friday, one could never tell what those idiots in Historia had done to the week.

“Cliff, play Old Man River!” That was Timey himself, of course he was more than intoxicated (a condition the locals called kershnockered).

“And what should I sing, oh great Timey?” Clifford Jenkins called back.

“Try Yellow Submarine...” Timey trailed off, a tendency among the kershnockered, especially at this late hour (4:15 p.m.) of the night.

Clifford began an upbeat “Old Man River” and threw in Yellow Submarine, with a short chorus of Lucy in the Sky, just to please the patrons. He looked outside and watched the sun setting over the mountains that separated Historia from the everything else. And it was at that moment that Clifford Jenkins, sensible as any man of 40 years, realized that he had to leave Nostalgia behind and journey to Historia.
***

The next morning, or night, again, you never knew what those idiots in Historia were doing, Clifford Jenkins gathered up his things. He packed the old travel bag (it had Samsonite imprinted on the latch, but that word had long since left the language) with a few changes of clothes, the necessary toiletries, and some assorted canned foods and dried meats. Like any traveler on the road in these days, he bundled a towel onto the end of a stick (he’d seen pictures of what the old timers called hobos carrying them, and then he noticed every traveler through Nostalgia had one, so he made himself one). In this bundle he stuffed a few extra guitar strings, a block of cheese wrapped in leafy-paper, and a pocket knife that had all kinds of extra do-dads on it. The elders called it a Swedish Navy Knife, or something to that effect.

He thought more than once about carrying the knife in his pocket, as it’s description would imply should be done, but then he wouldn’t have had room for Schrodinger, his mouse.

And so, with travel bag in one hand, stick-and-bundle across one shoulder, and guitar strapped to one back, Clifford Jenkins began walking toward the Mountain Pass that led from Nostalgia, through the Antique Mountains, and into the land of Historia.

So it’s here that you, the reader, should be told about Historia.

Historia rests between two mountain ranges, the Antiques to the East, and the Conveniences to the West. It is an arid rain forest whose capital is a pyramid crowned with what we know of as the Statue of Liberty. Of course, the Statue’s upheld arm was replaced with a cannon long ago, and it’s head no longer looks like a woman, but more like a fictional villain of some science fiction story (a black helmet, I think that gives it away with breaking copyright laws).

Around this pyramid is a city that looks like someone from our time chopped up a map of London, New York City, Washington DC, the Vatican, Ancient Nineveh, New Nineveh, and the small town of Buford, Georgia, United States (circa 2008), and then spliced bits and pieces of them together, radiating out from the statue-topped structure.

Historia was founded sometime before Europe realized that they had feet, or so said the Historians, as they called themselves. Their ruler called himself Father Time, but everyone knew his real name was Ted. Of that everyone, only a select few knew that Father Time was dying. Old age was ruled out immediately, as Father Time is only 42 years old.

But I’ve drifted away from telling you about Historia. The land of Historia is bordered on the south by a great Ocean (some say it was once the Gulf of Mexico, but no one knows if Mexico was a real place or not) and to the north by the glaciers. Historia is the name of the land, but also of the city itself.

Clifford Jenkins will eventually find himself in the city. And yeah, I know that takes away a lot of the suspense of his journey, and I could probably skip over that part in the telling now, but it would cause you, the reader, to miss out on a few fun and interesting people that Clifford meets along the way. And, I never said if Schrodinger the mouse reaches Historia safely or not. You’ll have to read on to find out.
*****

Clifford Jenkins slumped against the stump of a felled tree. The gnarled stump was dead, and would make good tender, but Clifford had built his fire from the dying grasses and weeds. Autumn was closing and becoming winter, making him rethink his decision to strike out for Historia when he did.

As he looked at the smoldering remnants of his fire, and began plucking Auld Lang Syne on his guitar, Clifford found his mind wandering back to when he was ten years old, and he pulled his first “death watch.”

In Nostalgia, it was tradition for a child to face a familial “death watch” as early as possible. The old timers said that it ‘toughened’ a child, and readied him for the world. And with Historia at their doorstep, the children of Nostalgia has to be toughened as soon as possible.

And so it was, that at the tender age of ten, Clifford’s granpappy had fallen ill of ‘the cough.’ Timey the Bar Owner had been an intermittent figure during that awful week, coming in and going out while Granpappy had grown steadily worse.

Clifford, looking at the smoldering fire, could see it as the fire in the small furnace in his granpappy’s death chamber, a small room on the back of every house in Nostalgia, furnished much the same, each with a mirror in it, most with a word inlaid into the mirror-sheen surface, usually Budweiser, a talisman of the old days used to ward off the evil encroaching from Historia like a disease. Like granpappy’s cough.

The bed was nothing more than a cot built up with a light mattress and pillows to make the dying as comfortable as possible. The old timers of Nostalgia had found chairs at some time in the distant past, each with a brightly colored emblem on it, most now sun-faded to the point of obscurity, but some could still be made out. Atlanta Falcons, Chicago Bears, Detroit Tigers. Clifford’s own granpappy, before ‘the cough’ had ravaged him, said that these were once great cities, and that the animals were the spiritual protectors of these thriving metropolises.

Granpappy coughed, a hacking, wheezing cough that brought a light spittle of blood to his lips. Clifford knew that the time was soon. Timey had returned with a pail of cool water and some dried meat.

“’Twont be long, Cliff,” he had said, putting a weather-worn hand on the boy’s shoulder.

From the kitchen of the house, Clifford heard his mother yelling at his father, “No boy should have to do this! He’s watching his granpap, your dad, die, and you’re sitting in here staring at the fireplace!” (Staring at fires was a habit of the Jenkins family.)

Clifford didn’t think twice about it. He had to ‘death watch.’ It was proper for a boy his age. It was the essence of Nostalgia, to strengthen against the blight of the Historians.

Clifford realized he’d long since stopped plucking the guitar and he had to almost physically remove himself from the twilight reverie. He reached for the bundle and pulled the block of cheese from it. With the Swedish Navy knife he cut off a chunk for himself and a sliver for Schrodinger the Mouse.

He pulled his collar up tight around his neck and scrunched as low as he could to protect against the cool of the night. He made it to the foothills on the first day. No small feat, considering that, with those idiots in Historia constantly futzing with the natural order, time was a lost concept.

He waited for Schrodinger to finish the cheese sliver, and while he waited he returned everything to its proper place in the bundle. Once the mouse was finished eating, Clifford lifted it up by the tail (he could sware that made the mouse giggle) and dropped it onto the stick-and-bundle. Schrodinger scurried up into the bundle and nestled between the cheese block and an envelope that Clifford carried at all times.

Clifford Jenkins, sensible as any man of 40 years, leaned further against the old, dead tree, and curled over for some sleep. He wanted to make it to the city of Historia by Boxing Day, which would be no easy task, as snow was already falling in the Antique Mountains overhead.
*****

Clifford awoke about an hour before sunrise, but it felt like a much longer night. As he shook his head to ward of sleep, he felt strands of matted hair hit the sides of his face. Perhaps the night had been years long, dang the Historians!

Time was when the people of Nostalgia never had to worry about Father Time and his minions causing trouble. They were, so the elders said, once a group of monks who just stared at clocks all day. The higher level masters of the order, it was said, could cause a clock to run backward just by looking at it.

Clifford had once caused a clock to run backward, but it was more the result of playing catch in the house with his older brother. And dang had his granpappy been mad about that. This was, obviously, before ‘the cough’ ever claimed Granpappy and forced Clifford into his ‘death watch.’

Clifford Jenkins pushed himself up off the dead tree stump and walked over to a small row of bushes. It was there that he did his business, as any man would in the wild. He walked back to his makeshift camp and sat close to the remnants of the fire. A little stoking and prodding brought forth a small flame, and Clifford warmed his hands over it before deciding what route to take that day. The mountain pass would be difficult, as the snows were already falling. The King’s Valley would be the easiest way, but Clifford really didn’t like the people who lived there. They walked funny, or at least that’s how is Granpappy had put it.

He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and brought out two dice. He looked over that the fire again, “Alright, little flame, you’re my witness. Evens and I go to the mountain pass, odds and I take the King’s Valley.” He blew on the dice three times for luck and blessing, then cast them over against the dead tree stump.

Nine. King’s Valley it was.

Clifford stood and brushed off his pants. He pulled the jacket tighter around himself, forcefully thinking away the cool morning air.

He looked off to the west and saw the constellation Hendrix dipping to the horizon. Of course, in our time we didn’t call it Hendrix, we called it Orion, but mythology had been rewritten, lost, written, and then replaced by the people many times over from the time we first chronicled it to the time Clifford Jenkins awoke from a long slumber against a dead tree stump. The night couldn’t have been too long, because as he stirred Schrodinger the mouse scurried out of the bundle and looked on, anticipating a cheesy breakfast.

“Dang, you’re hungry, mouse,” Clifford mused, using the Swedish Navy knife to cut small slivers from the cheese block.

“Of course,” Schrodinger replied.

Clifford froze.
*****

“What’s the matter with you?” Schrodinger said.

“You can talk?” Clifford stammered, the Swedish Navy knife shaking clumsily in his hand.

“Yeah, well imagine our surprise at finding out humans could talk...” the mouse trailed of and turned his attention back to the cheese sliver before him.

Clifford stared off toward where the constellation Hendrix was crashing into the horizon, “A talking mouse,” he repeated several times, each in a slightly higher pitch of voice than the last.

Schrodinger scampered up onto Clifford’s knee after finishing his cheese, “Look, Cliff, we both know you’re shocked. But the King’s Valley isn’t getting any closer with us sitting here.”

Clifford swallowed and looked down at the mouse, “Yeah... you’re right... so, let’s... oh, for Pete’s sake! For a gall-dang talkin’ mouse!”

Schrodinger sighed (ad let me just say that if you’ve never heard a mouse sigh, you have no idea how funny it actually is) and jumped off Clifford’s knee, “Look, I’m getting back in the bundle, mostly ‘cause it’s warm. Now get up! We’ve got ground to cover.”

Clifford Jenkins, sensible as any man of 40 years, forced himself up from his sitting position and gathered his goods. The King’s Valley was a day’s walk if he maintained a reasonable pace.

* * * *

Clifford kept a less-than-reasonable pace, mostly because he was still reeling from the talking mouse episode, but he reached the entrance to the King’s Valley by mid-afternoon. Maybe those Historians were helping him out.

But as he looked out across the valley entrance, and the city of Carnacabidos (Anyone familiar with Egyptian history will know the names Karnak and Abydos, but let’s not kid ourselves, when the crapper-crashing world needed to scapegoat Columbus, they probably invented Egypt out of spite. Honestly, who in their right mind builds an empire in the desert?) Clifford Jenkins realized that it was likely that the Historians were rushing him toward his doom.

The valley wasn’t so much the lush oasis he’d envisioned from the stories of the old timers, of which only his Granpappy had been leery of the inhabitants thereof. The King’s Valley was a desert. Oddly enough, a dark blue ribbon ran through the desert. That’s the river, Clifford thought, Granpappy always said that the river lead to Historia.

Small cubes dotted the valley floor along both sides of the river, and it took Clifford’s brain a moment to work out the scale and realize that these small cubes were actually buildings. Some glittering in the mid-afternoon sun, gold plated if the ancient tales were true. (Who knew if any tales were true in these days.)

Clifford began to climb down the sidewall of the valley entrance. He could see the city of Carnacabidos, or rather what looked like the ruins of the city, below him probably three hundred feet, that would at least get him to the valley floor and further along his journey.

He stopped on a ledge, and just stood admiring the ancient craftsmanship that had built the city of Carnacabidos, and after a moment Clifford realized something that had yet to occur to him: there was no sound.

No people. No animals. No boats on the river. No birds. The King’s Valley was dead.

That’s when he heard the first explosion.
*****

The plume of smoke rose from a few miles down river from where Clifford stood on a rocky ledge. Schrodinger poked his head out of the bundle, “What was that?”

“An explosion.”

Schrodinger gave a puzzled sigh, “Right, you people haven’t been able to blow anything up for the last three hundred years.”

Clifford looked over at his furry companion, “And you know that how?”

The mouse withdrew into the bundle and Clifford began the slow, somewhat agonizing climb to the valley floor. They reached the bottom fairly quickly, and when Clifford looked back up the way they had come, he saw a rock wall far steeper than what they had climbed down. Just what were those Historians up to?

The sandy floor of the King’s Valley was, as Clifford noted upon reaching it, was a gradual incline, which surprise him, because the river ran uphill. He reshouldered his bundle and began trudging through the sand. The heat on the valley floor was oppressive, and the sun glare from the crystalline sand-grain was blinding.

It was quiet also, so quiet that Clifford thought he could hear his guitar strings contracting under the burdensome heat.

Ahead stood the ruins of Carnacabidos, once great city of the King’s Valley. Once ruled by the Historians, but free from their tyranny by a rebel leader the elders called Pharaoh. No other name was given for this ruler. Well, that’s how Clifford had leaned it at the only school in Nostalgia, The University.

Trick with the University was that there were no grade-levels. The youngest classmate Clifford had while attending had been four years old, the eldest thirty-two. You left the University when the teacher declared you ready to enter the real world.

Clifford Jenkins stopped on the outskirts of Carnacabidos, kneeling beneath a palm tree. He pulled some of the dried meat, the jerky, from his old travel bag and chewed on it vigorously. He drank water from the river, and sliced off some cheese for Schrodinger, who at least had the sheltering shade of the bundle to stay cool.

After this brief respite, Clifford began moving again, this time into the heart of the old ruins. He thought back to his life in Nostalgia, a life he’d left for no reason other than a sudden desire to go to Historia. He thought of his home. His mother and father, both still living, and probably wondering just where on God’s green earth their son had gone.

“I probably should’ve left a note, or something,” Clifford thought aloud. His statement responded to by none.

From far away, far beyond where Clifford Jenkins could see, another explosion echoed across the valley.

“What was that?” Schrodinger cried, emerging from the bundle and scampering to Clifford’s shoulder.

“Another explosion.”

“I’m telling you, Cliff, that’s impossible. Explosives are gone, dried up, kapoof under the sun.”

Clifford paused and examined the mouse out of the corner of his eye, “And I’m telling you that no mouse can talk, so what are you?”

Schrodinger snickered, “I... I am going back to the bundle. Have fun with your walk.”

Clifford waited patiently as the mouse clambered back into the bundle, “How did I end up with you? Little furry freak.”

“I heard that!”
*****

The most surprising aspect of the sandstorm was the suddenness of its arrival. Clifford took shelter in one of the ruined buildings. He could see nothing beyond the old glass windows except a sand-colored wall. For all he knew, the sand had completely covered the ruined city.

Schrodinger had left the bundle, and Clifford’s presence, presumably to handle his business, as Clifford knew a mouse would have to do. He decided, while waiting, to explore the building.

The first floor was empty, and the creaking wooden stairs that led to the second floor gave Clifford an incredibly uncomfortable feeling. He reached the top, and realized he could smell smoke, something that he hadn’t smelled since the campfire that... well, it seemed like a long time ago, but it was just last night. Come to think of it, the day hadn’t changed since he’d reached the King’s Valley. What were those Historians up to this time?

The smoke had to be investigated. One couldn’t stay in a burning building. He found a small fire burning in a fireplace, and before wondering who had built it, he wondered what fuel they had used. The only wood he’d seen was the stairs, wooden in a stone building, and they were intact.

“Hey!” The voice came from behind him. “What’re you doing here? The Valley’s closed. No one should be here!”

Clifford had spun upon hearing the voice, “I’m going to Historia.”

The voice belonged to a wretched old being, aged beyond the ability to distinguish male or female features. It pointed a fragile finger at Clifford, “You have to leave! The Valley is closed.”

Clifford scoffed, “It’s not a shop, old one. I can come and go as I please. How do you know my name?”

The old thing laughed, “I know much, Clifford Jenkins. Much that you cannot comprehend. I know that once great wars were fought across the entire world. I know that science once understood that everything came from nothing in one moment of pure explosive exquisiteness.”

Clifford shook his head, “Yeah, I learned those things at University. World Wars One through Eight, Creation. I know it all. Now I need to get back downstairs, get my things, and get ready to leave.”

“And go where, Clifford Jenkins?”

Clifford, who had already turned to leave, spun back around, “I told you, I’m going to Historia.”

The elder raised both hands, trying to scare Clifford into retreat, “No! Historia is closed to you. You must run away, Clifford Jenkins. You cannot stay here. The Valley is not yours.”

“Right, and who exactly is going to stop me from passing through the valley?”

The ancient thing moved closer, “You have no weapon to threaten me, Clifford Jenkins. Your Swedish Navy Knife is naught but a trinket.”

“He has me!” Schrodinger shouted, (again, a mouse vocalizing anything is funny, a mouse shouting, darned hilarious) leaping up onto Clifford’s shoulder.

The thing withdrew in abject terror, “A mouse. Progenitor of the Experiment.”

Clifford tilted his head like he’d once seen his pet dog Scruffy do. He was puzzled.

The ancient being continued talking, “I’ve read of you, demon mouse. In the Book Place of Alex and Rhea. One wrote of you, the genesis of the great experiment. You’re to blame, demon!”

Clifford left the thing to writhe in its own fear. He walked back down the steps, trying to figure out how to ask Schrodinger about that last exchange.

“Before you ask,” Schrodinger said, saving him the trouble of asking, “I know what that person was talking about. Years upon untold years ago, a fiction was writ about mice, stating that we had created all things as an experiment.”

Clifford nodded, “Makes sense.”

Schrodinger gave him the most puzzled look a mouse could muster, “Seriously?”

“No, not seriously! You’re a mouse, a gall-danged mouse! How is that supposed to make any sense?”

Schrodinger shrugged a little mousy shrug, “The Book Place of Alex and Rhea. Must be local gods, and the Book Place is what you would call a Library. But no book has been written for centuries.”

Clifford sighed, and looked outside. The sandstorm had passed. But the river still flowed uphill, he was still traveling with a talking mouse, and he still, for some ungodly reason, had to reach Historia.
*****

Clifford gathered his things, hoisted the guitar and strapped it to his back, and then shouldered the bundle, complete with Schrodinger inside. As they started once again walking toward Historia, Schrodinger scurried down the bundle-stick and landed on Clifford’s shoulder, near his ear.

“What now?” Clifford asked, a trifle annoyed.

“I just want you to think about something that just happened.”

“What? The old guy... er, woman... crone... thing? The fireplace? The sandstorm?”

Schrodinger gave an exasperated sigh (I’m telling you, a mouse sighing, funniest thing on the planet), “You asked the person how they knew your name before they had said it.”

Clifford paused, then kept walking, “What about it?”

Schrodinger tapped on his shoulder with a rapidly moving paw, and for a moment Clifford couldn’t tell if the mouse was annoyed or it was scratching, “Clifford, how could he or she have known your name? And how could you know that they knew your name?”

Clifford Jenkins, probably a little less sensible now than most men of 40 years, tapped a finger on the bundle-stick, “I’m more concerned with you, my friend. Why was that person so afraid?”

Schrodinger started back up the bundle-stick and toward his makeshift home, “Stop under the tree over this next sand dune. We’ll talk in the shade.”

Clifford shook his head and began the climb up the fairly imposing sand dune. As he crested it, he saw the tree Schrodinger was referring to, a monstrous Evergreen, the sand around it littered with pine cones and needles.

He sat his belongings down and made his way to the river. He gathered some water in a canteen he’d brought along. Looking slightly up river (or is it down river... river’s aren’t supposed to run uphill, how the crap is one supposed to know where to go?) Clifford saw a bird drinking water. Clifford’s first thought was a brief thanks to whatever god or gods had seen fit to put a bird in his path.

It took a moment for him to catch the bird, which he realized was a turkey. (Let me say here that if you’ve never seen a 40-year-old man wrestle a turkey to the death, well, it’s on par funny with a sighing mouse.) It took him the better part of two hours to de-feather and clean the bird, before using the dried pine-needles to start a fire. He took the feathers and entrails (I know, ick!) and tossed them in the river, where they flowed downhill while the water continued flowing uphill. He thought this odd for only a second until his hunger got the better of his curiosity. He cooked the turkey and, using the block of cheese and the dried meat jerky he’d brought, prepared himself a small feast.

“What?” Schrodinger said, scampering from the bundle, “You’re not going to share?”

Clifford cocked his head to the side, more puzzled than ever, “If I know anything, I know that mice don’t eat meat.”

“And I can talk, something else mice can’t do. What does that tell you about me?”

Clifford nodded and slid some of the cooked meat over to his mousy friend, “So let’s talk?”

Schrodinger swallowed a bite of the turkey meat and rested back on his haunches, “Look around you, Clifford Jenkins. You are from the town of Nostalgia, which is in a mountainous area, trees like this, right? So how is it that a desert valley is less than a day’s walk away from you? How is a pine tree in the desert? How does a river run uphill?”

Clifford had stopped eating when Schrodinger started talking, “I don’t know. I mean, I’m trying to figure out what the gall-dang crap I’m doing out here. One night I’m sitting in Timey’s bar, playing guitar like usual, the next morning I’ve decided that I have to reach Historia come Hell or high water. I packed a bunch of crap that’ll run out in about two days.”

Schrodinger laughed (again, hilarious), “Have you not also noticed that this is still the same day as when you entered the King’s Valley? We’ve traveled probably eighty miles, three days walking, carrying the amount you’re carrying, and yet it’s only taken us a day and a half. We entered the King’s Valley only three hours ago, as the Sun reckons.”

Clifford looked up for the first time since entering the Valley and saw rain clouds overhead, “It feels like we’ve been here for days.”

Schrodinger quickly swallowed another bite of turkey meat, “Historia is in chaos. The parts of the city are rebelling against themselves. The Vikings keep pushing Guevara’s guerillas even farther back, the Inquisition has actually reached the Smithsonian, and the Vatican has been turned into a giant gift shop. Father Time is ill, he’ll probably die soon.”

Clifford finally broke from his thoughtful reverie (he didn’t know who the Vikings or the Guevara’s gorilla’s were, nor did he have any idea about an Inquisition, a Smith’s On Yan, or the Vat-a-Can, but he did know what a gift shop was) and grabbed another bite of the turkey before Schrodinger ate it all, “And that has what to do with me?”

Schrodinger popped another bit of cheese into his mouth, and after seconds of chewing, spoke around the bits still in his mouth, “Clifford, I have no idea. But if I had my guess, I’d say you’re not the only one making a journey to Historia for no apparent reason.”

Clifford leaned back against the tree and instantly regretted it, the sap momentarily gluing him to the trunk, “So let’s get back to you. What are you?”

Schrodinger had already started withdrawing to the bundle, “Me? I’m a mouse. Just a mouse. Oh, and I can talk. Big whoop. Let’s go. We’ll be out of the King’s Valley soon. Don’t be surprised if time goes all wibbly-wobbly on you.”

Clifford took the pseudo-warning in stride and began cleaning up his temporary campsite. The rainclouds finally broke into a torrential downpour that made walking along the sandy valley floor even harder. Clifford stopped at a rocky outcropping and rummaged through his old travel bag for a moment. He pulled out a hat with the letters NY on it, something his granpappy had given him years ago. Another talisman.

He trudged on through the mud. After hours of walking, he finally saw the high rock wall that made up the west end of the King’s Valley.
*****

The fact that he hadn’t heard an explosion since leaving Carnacabidos didn’t cross Clifford’s mind until an explosion went off about five hundred feet to his left. He was nearly to the high rock wall that marked the western end of the King’s Valley. (It also never crossed his mind that he had followed the river then entire way and had yet to come across any of the buildings he’d seen upon entering the Valley. He would remember this one afternoon sitting on a park bench in Historia, facing a thirty foot section of railroad track that was in the middle of a grassy field, unconnected to any other track.)

He rushed for the wall and found cover under it as another explosion went off near where he’d been standing moments before. Schrodinger scampered out of the bundle, “Was that more explosions?”

Clifford glanced sideways at the mouse, “I thought you said that humans couldn’t blow stuff up anymore?”

The mouse looked to be in deep thought for a brief moment, “Well, obviously I was wrong.”

Clifford waited for the explosions to stop, and then began looking for a way to climb the rock wall. He found what looked like rough-hewn steps leading in a haphazard way up the cliff face and a bit on an angle. The climb didn’t take as long as Clifford had figured it would, and he credited that to the Historians, whatever the crap they were doing.

At the top he found himself confronted by four men carrying guns. At least, Clifford thought they were guns. He’d seen pictures at the University of guns from different time periods, but these were either older or newer, Clifford couldn’t tell which.

“Stop! Who are you?”

Clifford looked at the man who spoke. His uniform differed a bit from the others. (I forgot to mention, they’re all in uniforms. We would instantly recognize them as the ragtag uniforms of soldiers in General Washington’s Continental Army, but Clifford didn’t know what the Continental Army was, or who General Washington was.)

“I’m Clifford Jenkins, and I’m going to Historia. Who are you?”

The man drew himself up into a regality that Clifford knew he did not possess, but was merely able to replicate by imitation, “I am Brigadier General Israel Putnam. I am tasked with war.”

Clifford pulled himself the rest of the way up off the stairs, hands raised to show he was not a threat. He took a quick inventory of his situation. It was suddenly night, when three feet below him it was bright as mid-afternoon. He looked at the tired-looking, rugged soldiers of Putnam’s camp. “And who are you at war with?”

Putnam looked indignant, “That Valley, obviously.”

“Well, I’d say you’re winning. The sand won’t put up much of a fight.”

A tiny voice sounded in Clifford’s ear, and he realized that Schrodinger was once again on his shoulder, “Um, Clifford, look behind you.”

Clifford turned and saw that the Valley below was lined with encampments. The soldier below wielded clubs, spears and swords, and were dressed in simple skirts and what looked like elaborate headdresses.

“Oh,” Clifford muttered, “That’s who you’re fighting.” He maintained his gaze at the valley, but spoke only loud enough for Schrodinger to hear him, “How did we not see any of that?”

The mouse replied, “I wish I could tell you.”

As Clifford turned around, he heard Brigadier General Putnam begin to bellow orders, “Alright boys! Load up another IckBem, let’s give those sandies what they deserve!”

Clifford watched as a cylinder was loaded onto a catapult. Along the side, in bright blue letters, was written ICBM. The catapult released and flung the cylinder far out into the Valley. When it struck the ground a plume of dust and sand shot up, but nothing else happened.

“Crap!” Putnam screamed, “Another dud.”

Then the explosion hit. The IckBem went off with terrifying brightness. Bodies flew into the air and sand went in all directions. Clifford even noticed the Evergreen tree he’d been sitting under earlier eating the turkey fly off into the night.

Schrodinger spoke, “I think we need to leave, Clifford. This is not a place we need to be.”

“I agree.”

Putnam spun on his heels, “You agree with who, Jenkins? Don’t think you’re leaving. You’re not a sandie, that means you fight with us.”

Clifford shook his head, “Oh, no! I’m not a sandie, but I’m not one of you either. I’m from Nostalgia, on the eastern side of the King’s Valley, unaffiliated with any but their own.”

Putnam picked up a gun and shoved it into Clifford’s hands, “I’d like to believe you, Jenkins, I really would. But we can’t let those sandies get out of the Valley.”

Clifford deftly avoided the gun, “But they can just leave out of the Eastern side, can’t they?”

Brigadier General Israel Putnam paused for a moment, “By golly, you’re right. We’ll need to form an expeditionary force to go to the east side and give those sandies the whuppin’ they deserve.”

Clifford blinked, “What did they do to deserve such a beating?”

The General laughed, “You don’t know? They walk funny, son. They walk funny.”

Clifford turned and walked away. The General’s face turned bright red, “Hey! No one walks away from Brigadier General Israel Putnam! No one!”

Clifford offered a genteel wave, which further incensed the General.

Putnam screamed, “I’ll see you again, Jenkins!”

Clifford kept walking, “And when you do I’ll be the one with the talking mouse.”

Putnam turned back to his battle, “Talking mouse? Gall-dang, that is one stupid boy.”

Groundwork

2008-12-29T23:29:00.002-05:00

Welcome to Novel Idea.

This blog exists for the sole purpose of books and literature, and things pertaining to books and literature. It exists so that I can talk about the books I like, so yes, it is essentially an ego-booster.

But I hope it becomes more than that. I hope that, through this blog, I can foster in you the reader the same love of books that I have. I've seen these new electronic books that have come out on the market, where you can download a book and, when finished, erase it from the memory and put a new book on the hard drive. While I applaud the technology, I am saddened at the attempt to take the textile feel of books away from a generation.

The smell of a musty old library can never be replaced by a downloaded copy of War and Peace. The feel of an old, crinkly page cannot be overcome by a mere flick of a stylus.

And yes, I realize that an internet blog essentially does just that, but my sincere hope is that you'll read the books that are talked about here. You'll research the authors and see what you think. And maybe, just maybe, you'll comment on your own favorite authors.

The rules for commenting are simple:
1. Limited profanity. If you must swear, please remember that this blog aims to be a family site, so let's be as genteel as possible.
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Enjoy.