The Wheel of Time I: The Eye of the World by Robert Jordan

The Spiel of Grime: The Eye of the Turd

For a genre called “fantasy”, it’s amazing how much of it is the exact fucking same.

An orphaned child who’s the chosen one. A mystical mentor who always knows exactly what’s going on. An evil lord unironically called “The Dark One”. Villains capable of talking only in clichés. A magical plot device called the Capitalized Noun of X. The Eye of the World has all of them and then some. 

I hardly even need to recap the premise for the sake of this review, because you’ve all heard it before. But still, for the sake of coherency:

Rand Al’Thor and three of his friends have their village attacked by non-copyright infringing orcs called Trollocs. A mysterious witch named Moiraine and her gruff ranger sidekick Lan announce that one of them is naturally the Dragon Reborn, the chosen one who will bring goodness back yadda yadda yadda.

The vast majority of the book is then this group trying to get to Tar Valon, hunted by more utterly disposable trollocs. Along the way, Rand and his friends Mat and Perrin are visited by a strange figure in their dreams who spews out the most laughably pathetic threats that make Captain Planet’s villains look like MacBeth in comparison.

What’s worse than Jordan telling a story we’ve all heard a million times before is that he can’t even tell it particularly well. The pacing and structure are abysmal. We never even learn what the villain’s plan is until 600 pages in; it reads like Jordan forgot to give his book a plot more developed than gormless twats running around the countryside bumping into random people, so just stapled a climax onto the end. Characters espouse pages of boring exposition that has little to no relevance to the story; the second act is littered with disposable subplots about our heroes meeting random goons, learning some of their history, and then leaving, never to mention or see them again. We meet a man who can possess wolves, the queen, not-Gypsies (who alternate from being loved by everyone to being hated by everyone within a chapter), and about thirty million inane pubs and taverns filled with unreasonable bell-ends who seemingly have no purpose in life except to drink and start fights.

A common criticism of Robert Jordan’s writing is that he can’t write women. I would like to amend that; he can’t write ANYBODY! Perrin and Rand are about as engaging and dynamic as wet cardboard; they’re both dragged along on a journey they don’t seem to care about at all, always letting someone else seize the initiative. Mat and Egwene, on the other hand, both have some semblance of personality, it’s just that Jordan makes it the most unlikeable personality ever. Egwene is pretty much the epitome of “strong independent women” characters written in the nineties by middle-aged men; all she does is complain about men. This is actually a welcome break from Mat, as he complains about fucking everything.

Moiraine is clearly a pastiche of Gandalf, except vacuum-sealed of all personality or weakness. Lan doesn’t seem to have any real personality until we’re suddenly told halfway through the final act that he’s actually a rip-off of Aragorn. And no, this has absolutely no impact on his character or the plot. He slots nicely into the “gruff and cynical mentor with a heart of gold”, an archetype Jordan shamelessly uses three more times.

There are a few specks of vaguely interesting worldbuilding here and there. But Jordan never bothers integrating this into the story, it’s just dropped on us in boring unreadable infodumps.

I had already long consigned the rest of the series into my “do not read” pile, but even if I hadn’t, the moment I found out a later book features a female villain defeated through public spanking would have sent the sequels straight to the crematorium. Without wishing to kinkshame, the author’s spanking fetish apparently pops up throughout the series enough times to rival the ubiquity of feet in a Tarantino flick. 

Absolutely not worth anyone’s time. I’m astonished as to how anyone could slog through fourteen books of this bland, derivative, boring mess.

2/10

Buy The Eye of the World 

Recommended Instead: A Game of Thrones by George R. R. Martin. It’s just as long, except Martin remembers to include things like “plot” and “character”.

Star Wars: From a Certain Point of View

Star Bores: From a Certain Point of Poo (Or, The Force-Kin Awakens)

I've never met anyone who doesn't hate at least one Star Wars film. The dialogue from Clones, the mind-numbing pace of Menace, the blatant retreading of Awakens, the stupid teddy-bear things from Return, whatever the fuck Rise was about…

The only film that isn't someone's greatest disappointment since their son is A New Hope, so naturally, as the fortieth anniversary of its release approached, Disney graced us with From A Certain Point of View. Even I, a person whose sole experience with the expanded universe was reading the back of The Unseen Queen and deciding it sounded excruciating to the point of genuine illness, was engaged by the premise of FACPOV; it's A New Hope told from the perspective of forty-odd background characters, each chapter written by a different author and from the view of a different person. Or, as the case may be, scrotum-chinned alien.

The flaws inherent to such a venture become obvious after ten or so stories. Take your pick: either a scene ripped directly from the film with the odd original thought from whoever's POV it is that comes across as a glorified DVD commentary; an original story with elements of a New Hope shoehorned in, usually as trite and desperate as "Luke Skywalker walks through one scene, saying or doing nothing"; or reapplying context to a scene already in the film. The last option sounds superior at first, but once you've seen Han Solo shoot Greedo for the fourth time you'll be begging for a change of pace.

I'm highlighting the flaws inherent in the system not to criticize but to alleviate; yes, most of the stories are pretty mediocre, but given how difficult these restraints were "mediocre" could have been a lot worse.

The "retelling of a scene we already saw" stories end up being the weakest; about the strongest element introduced in any of them is "Greedo was an incel". I never found myself looking at a character in a new light or understanding their perspective more. The worst offender is the very first story in the anthology, Raymus. It's from the perspective of Captain Antillies, the poor guy Vader strangles at the very start after he refuses to reveal where the Death Star plans are. The story manages to make Antilles the most generic "brave military leader" archetype possible, and it had me worried most of the other stories would be this drab.

The lack of collaboration between authors is also obvious at times; Greedo is depicted as a known idiot in one story, then as a Rodian with a dangerous reputation in the next one. Towards the end we're hit with four retellings of the Death Star fight with so little variation you'll probably have memorized all of Luke's dialogue by the end.

Only three stories managed to enhance the original film while also being strong standalone pieces: The Sith of Datawork by Ken Liu, a blisteringly original take on the Empire as a beauracratic mess collapsing under its own weight; An Incident Report by Daniel Lavery, a darkly humorous look at the mind of Motti, the poor sap Vader force chokes; and by Alexander Freed, a brilliant character piece on Mon Mothma. A lot of stories are painfully close to joining them but screw up on a single issue; Not for Nothing and Stories in the Sand both have fantastic premises and openings but are let down by unsatisfying ending, primarily because they're forced to fit into the film's narrative. The Baptist is a brilliantly claustrophobic tale about the trash compactor monster of all things, but it tries to do far too much in too short a time. There’s a trite attempted rape scene early on, and it adds so little to the narrative it honestly comes across as crass and offensive. Please, sexual assault is so far from the tone of Star Wars it should be limited to scenes that have aged about as well as Jim’ll Fix It.  

Overall, From A Certain Point of View is a flawed if decent anthology for anyone interested in Star Wars. If the premise alone interests you it's at least worth checking out.

6/10

Buy Star Wars: From a Certain Point of View

Next week: Lincoln in the Bardo by George Saunders

Breakfast of Champions

I didn't laugh once. 

Is there really anything else to say? Yes, there's "characterization" and "themes", of course, but for a book that's trying very, very hard to be funny, that's quite the damning statement. 

There feels an utter lack of wit about the jokes Vonnegut uses. Whether it's "mention every male character's penis dimensions for no reason" or "repeating the phrase "wide-open beavers" over and over again in the hopes it becomes funny through sheer absurdity", all of the humor resembles something Jay Cartwright would come up with age thirteen. 

And it's a shame, because the protagonists Kilgore Trout and Dwayne Hoover are well-realized and entertaining to follow. The sheer juxtaposition between a cynical sci-fi writer who can articulate virtually every flaw in American society and yet is too apathetic to do anything about it and a bombastic car salesman nominally living the American Dream slowly going insane as he comprehends how utterly empty consumerism makes for a fantastic dynamic, even if they barely share a single scene between them. 

I honestly don't have too much to say about this one; it's a satire of just about everything you can think of, and while its irrevanant tone keeps it well away from "we live in a society!" territory, it does eventually reach a point where the cynicism overwhelms and the point it's making feels no greater than "America SUCKS!" Yes, the depiction of crossdressers and homosexuals is probably about as good as you possibly hope for from the early seventies but all I honestly felt by the very end was a vague antipathy for everything. When black humor doesn't land it's merely depressing, and while I wouldn't say Breakfast of Champions ever got to the point where I didn't care what happened, it remains something that won't really stick with me for very long. 

6/10

Amazon Link

Book Rankings:

21 Salem’s Lot by Stephen King

22 Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring by J. R. R. Tolkien

23 Breakfast of Champions by Kurt Vonnegut 

24 I Am Behind You by John Ajvide Lindqvist

25 Before the Fall by Noah Hawley

(PS: I got this as an audiobook before I knew there would be a lot of doodles Amazon Link by Vonnegut in it; strongly recommend anyone interested get the print version!)

Can I Have a Lick of Your Cornetto?

New feature! Having an impenetrable backlog of old shit that's about as unpublishable as Hannibal Rising, I've decided to just slap it up on the internet in the vague hope at least someone will find enjoyment out of it.

The following piece was written mere moments ago in a pathetic attempt to finish it before a deadline that had in fact expired four days earlier. Oh well.

Can I Have a Lick of Your Cornetto?

He sat on the sunbed, a mediocre crime novel in his hands.

 “Hey, Eddie?”

He spun his head, just in time to see Bella press an ice cream gently against his nose.

“Got ya!” she said, giving her own cone a lick.

Eddie wiped the lump of pink off his nose and licked it from his fingers. “Was that strictly needed?”

She shrugged. “Not really. Fun, though.”

He shrugged back. “Fair enough.”

“I’ll do you a trade. Half your sunbed for an ice cream.”

“Depends. What flavour?”

“Vanilla.”

“Did you get me vanilla solely because I might not like it and therefore you could have it?”

“…maybe.”

“Too bad. You could have gotten me dog poo flavour and I’d still eat it solely to spite you.” He shuffled over. “You got enough room there?”

“Obviously not. Now move over more or I’ll bloody sit on you.”

Eddie surrendered another millimetre of space. Bella responded maturely by sitting down and pushing until they shared the bed.

“Suppose that works too,” he said, snatching the vanilla cone from her hands. “How much was that?”

“Too bloody much, you know what these places are like.” She eyed his pulpy crime novel. “Any good?”

“Nah, not really. The premise is better than the actual execution.”

“You sound like a bloody English teacher.”

He mimed putting on an imaginary tie. “I would to you, working class scum.”

She gave him a dig in the arm. “Well if you’re so old money you can pay for the next round of ice creams, can’t you?”

“I’m afraid we’ve fallen on hard times.” He took another lick of his cornetto. “And as for earlier-“ he shoved it right onto her nose.

“Oi!” she said, brandishing her own strawberry like it was a dagger. “Have at you, foul villain!”

She struck towards him, and he grabbed her by the wrist, and thus commenced a fight that to an outside Eddie reckoned would look like two old people dancing unenthusiastically at a party.

This concluded with them both toppling onto the floor amidst gales of laughter, both with an ice cream cone jammed onto their noses.

Bella sighed. “This has been great, you know. All of it.” She licked a melting stream of strawberry from his cheek.

“You’re heading home tomorrow, aren’t you?” he asked, with a softness he didn’t know he had.

“Yeah. We’ll stay in touch, right?”

“Oh, of course, if you consider getting a ton of annoying YouTube videos that only I find funny sent at you every day staying in touch.”

She laughed. “Mate, I still laugh at pixelly videos of people falling over to royalty free music. Try your worst.”

“I’m gonna miss you, you know.”

She cuddled up to him; Eddie had never felt more safe, more at home, than he did now.

It would end, as all things did. But they had one last night together, and he would make it the best of both their lives.

Check back next Friday for the first part of Blizzard, a tale of a pioneer lost in the most desolate land in the world...

Stud Poker by John Francome

A fairly decent thriller, all in all. It suffers from having too many characters- the Italians and the Czech agent added so little that their inclusion simply wasn't worth the paper it was printed on- and having sex scenes that read like the author's fetish roleplay, but it's a solid book nonetheless that's fast-paced enough for most of these issues to be of no major consequence. The main cast is honestly pretty good for a thriller, my personal favourite being Gavin Holmes the cynical journalist with an affinity for drink. They're nothing amazingly deep or unique but they're engaging enough to keep the story going. The biggest flaw is a structural one, really, and it's that the protagonist Paul Raven is entirely in the dark for the majority of the book as to what's happening, while we get multiple subplots starring various antagonists who know exactly what's going on. The result is Paul has perhaps the least agency out of anyone. The depiction of the sole lesbian character honestly isn't too bad, especially for the early nineties, up until all that is thrown away when she suddenly becomes mentally unhinged and tries to rape the female lead. It's not only homophobic but completely out of character and ruins a decently written villain. Overall, though, it's a solid thriller let down by moments of convolution and author self-indulgence. 5/10  Stud Poker on Amazon Yearly rankings:    25   Before the Fall by Noah Hawley 26        The Loney by Andrew Michael Hurley 27      Stud Poker by John Francome 28         Force of Nature by Jane Harper 29       Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? by Philip K. Dick

The Power by Naomi Alderman

The Power seems to say more about gender relations than it actually does. The point it seems to make goes very little further than “the gender with the physical strength advantage will also have the advantage in society in general and thusly treat the other gender(s) like utter crap”. Its story simply does the whole “persecution flip” thing and makes women the dominant gender but seems to make no further commentary about this or the dynamic between man and woman. It just shows sexism and changes the target. At times it feels no better than a deranged redditor hurling his way onto any online discussion regarding essentially anything and shrieking “BUT WHAT IF YOU REVERSED THE GENDERS THEN IT WOULDN’T BE OKAY?!?” before collapsing into some vaguely sexist rant that involves the word “SJW” half a million times. 

In its favour, The Power simply does not have time for bullshit, as quite a lot of other books that are trying to “say something” end up doing. It’s clearly written with a story in mind first, and that for the most part it succeeds in. It’s entirely possible to avoid the hackneyed and puddle-deep commentary on gender relations and simply enjoy it for what it is. There are no long pretentious scenes of “symbolism”, no elongated discussions that serve no purpose except to reinforce the book’s themes that are immensely obvious to anyone with half a braincell, no long drawn-out scenes were absolutely nothing happens. Roxy’s story is a well-constructed gangster flick, complete with a genuinely unexpected betrayal need the end. The worldbuilding is, for the most part, consistently good. The last of the book’s chapters is fantastic, a great culmination of everything the book had worked up until that point that ends with a brilliant climax. A rape scene near the end remains one of the most disturbing scenes I’ve read in years.

But even as a story, The Power still has its flaws. Staggering the book out over a decade utterly ruins any momentum. Margot just abruptly seems to leave the narrative near the end. Despite all the constant allegations of Jos’s power being “different”, I was still utterly confused as to what the difference was actually meant to be.

For all the Power’s faults, I ultimately enjoyed reading it.

7/10

Amazon Link

The Loney by Andrew Michael Hurley

The Loney is the best part of The Loney. A bleak stretch of beach between the mainland and an island, the atmosphere Hurley creates is incredibly vivid and haunting. I can think of no place more desolate to spend your Easter Holidays. The unnamed protagonist and his mute brother Hanny’s attempts to entertain themselves by pretending to be World War Two soldiers and running about aimlessly on the tide is enough for anyone to wish for even Pontin’s.

However, for all the bleak and effective imagery, The Loney suffers primarily in terms of structure and theme. It reads almost like two novels mashed together- much like American Gods last week. To The Loney’s credit, the utter disjunction only becomes apparent in retrospective, and both plots are fairly decent novels on their own anyway.

The first novel is about the death of faith, of the all-consuming desolation that comes with the knowledge that we are alone, that there is no God, that we are born and live and die all without meaning.

The second is about magic powers.

Okay, it’s not as if Harry Potter appears from beneath the waves, does a massive shit on the floor, and promptly vanishes it; the supernatural we see is both perfectly shrouded in mystery and suitably dark for the tone. But the fact remains it completely defeats the purpose of having “magic is dead” as a theme if magic is an explicit plot point. Indeed, towards the end Father Bernard essentially sits down and tries to give the vaguest of justifications as to how the two themes can be reconciled. During which, the priest looks at absolute solid evidence that someone has literally cured their life-long disability and declares that “God didn’t do it,” and everybody who believes so is deluding themselves. Any point on the nature of the religious is lost, because there legitimately aren’t any rational explanations to this and there’s no possible way Father Bernard knew what really happened.

Father Bernard in general seems to function as both the priest and as the reasonable mentor figure who always knows what’s right, which is fairly problematic when you remember “God isn’t real” is perhaps the primary theme of the book. He hardly even bothers with the pretence he believes in God anymore, which might had been an interesting angle to explore his character if anyone except the protagonist’s mother cared at all. Her role is simply the one note crazy religious person.

Everyone else feels vaguely distinct but lacks any real depth. The Belderboss couple have several deep conversations with Father Bernard about the previous priest, the brother of Mr. Belderboss, who died recently, which skirt around being interesting but ultimately go nowhere. Miss Bunce and David are somehow even more pointless, the former there only as a cheap source of conflict with the mother and the latter…I honestly can’t fathom why he’s here, to be honest. The father character is essentially just an non-entity, and there were several times when I honestly wondered if “Father” was actually referring to the priest at times.

The antagonists get the worst of this. Towards the end they terrorise Hanny and the narrator for seemingly no reason, only for them to inexplicably help them while still acting as menacingly as possible.Clement Parry, the odd farmer who eventually turned out to have depths I didn’t expect for such a minor character, is perhaps the only secondary player whose inclusion felt justified.

The atmosphere Hurley creates in The Loney is genuinely fantastic, but almost every other element of the story lets it down. 

Rating: 5/10

Next Week: The Power by Naomi Alderman