Night and Day

The Queen of Blood, Book One of the Queens of Renthia, by Sarah Beth Durst (2016). Although a graduate of Princeton University and an author of over a dozen novels, Mrs. Durst wouldn’t know a character from a hologram. Children’s stick figure drawings have more personality than Mrs. Durst’s own cast of characters. Hell. I’ve played video games whose pixelated protagonist evoked more emotion in its audience. In fact, I haven’t met a more superficial group of characters since my high school days among the drama department. Clearly, Mrs. Durst doesn’t deign to dwell on substance.

In her defense, every reader is different, and some readers seem fine reading stories whose actors are as flat as cardboard cutouts, or with a plotline that steamrolls the cast. In fact, who knows? Maybe this novel is ideal for you, provided the last thing you want is living, breathing characters reflecting the human condition.  

As to the magic in this world, I’ve said it before elsewhere. I can generally spot the agnostics writing fantasy fiction. Their stuff best translates into satire. No consequence for wielding such power applies. Magic is never a metaphor for anything, and certainly never associated with the subtle, the mysterious, or the supernatural. The magic in any number of classic legends of antiquity would steal this novel’s lunch money on the bus ride to school.  

I don’t mean to harp on this, but magic in most modern fantasy fiction novels, including Mrs. Durst’s affair, is reduced to props purchased at a novelty shop. Trick cards, holed quarters, ropes with false knots, and stage knives have little to no bearing on the plot or its cast. Only its world-building element. Which is just as indifferent to solid prose and memorable characters as the author is to her craft.

Years ago, I read a forward to one of Stephen R. Donaldson’s books of short stories in which he wrote about his characters, “I’m the only god they’ve got.” If you’ve read Donaldson, you know he takes this responsibility seriously. If every fiction writer assumed this attitude, characters in novels would stand a better chance of advancing the primary purpose of fiction – to evoke emotion in the audience. Regrettably, such a concept is as foreign to Mrs. Durst as her alternate world is to us. One out of five stars. Rated PG-13      

The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood, Howard Pyle (1883). Set aside all animated, abridged, annotated, and otherwise corrupted versions of this classic. Film adaptations, picture book imitations – it’s all the equivalent of a man in a gorilla costume. This is the original tale by the original author, and it was a blast to read. A novel of sheer pleasure. I grinned throughout, and I laughed with abandon. I even cared about the cast.

Pyle does everything right. The writing is superb. The narrative practically frolics along the page. The archaic dialogue is both stellar and character driven, as archaic dialogue should be. Each chapter is full of adventure, as well as insight into human nature and universal truths. My only regret is having waited this long to finally read it. A literary treat. Rated PG. Five out of five stars.