Book Review - I, Tarzan by Jean-Phillippe Soulé

I, Tarzan: Against All Odds by Jean-Philippe Soulé
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I got a copy of this book from Voracious Readers Only in exchange for an honest review.

Everybody has a story.

We all know this is true, but as readers we tend to stick to the tried and true biographies and autobiographies of famous people, those whose lives we already know at least a little something about.

When I picked up this book, I had no idea who Jean-Phillippe Soulé was. To be perfectly honest I was just looking to read something a little different, and the title and book description struck me as interesting. I had no idea how true that first inclination was until I started reading.

This is a man who has gone through a whole lot in his life. While he does tell the chronology of his life, it does not read as a verbiose list of "I did this, then I did this" talking points that so many autobiographies descend into. Rather, it is quite obvious that Soulé has done plenty of soul searching and analysis of his own life and experience, which of course makes the book a deep, fulfilling read.

I won't go into too much detail because Soulé's story is one best told in his own words. Suffice it to say, he has led an incredibly interesting life, from a troubled childhood in France, to becoming an elite member of the French mountain commando unit, to working for Microsoft in the late 1980s and early 1990s. Along the way he details his relationships with friends, family, and nature, and fills the pages with the restless energy and boundless spirit that drives him through his life.

Soulé ends the book in the early-mid 1990s, with a short epilogue describing what he has done since them ... which seems like more than enough material for two more books, and in fact in doing a little bit more research on the man I found out he has already written a book about a three year kayaking trip he undertook from Baja California to Panama, called "Dancing With Death". Can't wait to read that one.

In short, I can't recommend this book highly enough. Soulé describes his experiences with all the panache of a true storyteller. Not only is it an engaging read, it is truly a story about survival -- against nature, against humanity, and against the struggles the world and your ingrained mindset can put on you, and how to overcome them.

This is a beautiful read.

Ten existential explorers out of ten.

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Book review - The Unflinching Ash by Angela Armstrong

The Unflinching Ash by Angela Armstrong
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I received a copy of this book from Voracious Readers Only in exchange for an honest review.

I really quite enjoyed "The Unflinching Ash" by Angela Armstrong. The titular Ash is a Mystic whose parents, a famous magical act, were murdered crowds who deemed their trade witchcraft. Ash carries on the family tradition, in the hopes of attaining the prestigious Queen's Seal. Striking up a friendship with the mysterious fellow magician Besuto Ren, she must deal with prejudice, torture and attempted murder from the fanatically devout Mistress Odell Gregory and Archbishop Fulton, trying to stay two steps ahead of them in her attempts to meet Queen Valencia and not only win the Seal, but change the moral dynamic of the land.

This is one of those books that grabs you and doesn't let go. I've read a few fantasy type novels recently, and oftentimes I find them a little confusing because the world they create is just so vast and massive. The world Armstrong creates here, Morlough, seems real, lived in, and very much alive. I think it's because the majority (if not all) of the novel is set in Morlough, in and around the town of Seeburgh, that I really got a feel for the place.

A great setting is nothing without characters to care about, and Ash is so well defined she jumps off the page. We are privy to her many thoughts and feelings, though outwardly she expresses very little. It could be argued that some of the characters (the Archbishop and a character who earns the nickname Arsebeard) are one-dimensional, but I appreciated it in this context. Subtlety and moral reasoning are left to the characters of Odell and Queen Valencia and, of course, Ash herself. In fact, one of the wonderful things about this novel is that the women in it are so realistically portrayed, with all their complex thoughts and emotions. The men, on the other hand, are for the most part ciphers, with the exception of Besuto Ren. It's about time the roles were reversed!

Armstrong really gets you involved in the details of many of the magical acts. You can tell she is a fan of the art, if not a performer herself. Her descriptions - not just of "the mystical arts" but of everything in general really make this book stand out from the rest. It's incredibly cinematic.

If there is one negative I would point out, it's that perhaps the story takes a while to get going ... but then, there is so much character development and world-building that it's really not a big issue. My least favourite part of the book, to be honest, is when it ended!

Nine magical mystics out of ten.

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Book Review - A Leaf And Pebble by Andrew Monroe

A Leaf and Pebble by Andrew Monroe
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I received a copy of this book from Voracious Readers Only in exchange for an honest review.

"A Leaf and Pebble" is a for the most part engaging fantasy novel that follows the adventures of Nil and his friend Volant as they try to stay two steps ahead of the authorities who believe they have stolen a Toron stone which wields immense power.

The good: Nil and Volant are wonderfully drawn characters, and by the time I was finished reading, I felt like I was rejoining old friends every time I cracked open the book. The world of Balteris is huge and they seem to travel everywhere; for the most part each section of the world is clearly defined, although I did get a bit confused in some instances. Monroe has done a really good job creating this world out of his imagination, from the topography and geography to the different "tribes" as it were, to the monsters inhabiting it and the magical powers some yield. Great detail is given and all of it is appreciated.

The not so good: It doesn't work as a stand-alone book. I realise that it is the first part in what is probably a trilogy or multi-book series, but for me it ended very abruptly, and one of the main characters seems to fall off the face of the earth over the last couple of chapters. There were quite a few spelling and punctuation errors, but those are easily rectified.

Bottom line: "A Leaf and Pebble" is a long-ish book, at about 450 pages. Ignore the fact that it took me two months to read, as I've not been in the mood for reading much lately; something like this could easily be read in a week or two. Fantasy has always been difficult for me to get into, but when I did open this book I immediately was brought back into the new yet familiar world Monroe has created.

Seven Skills out of ten.

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Is this failure?

 Well, I have just logged in and seen that I haven't posted anything since December 8th - that's almost three whole weeks.  Have I failed in my mission to write daily?

I realize, of course, that I hadn't been writing daily as a matter of course, but I could usually get to the keyboard four or five times a week.  But to go almost three whole weeks without doing anything ...

Life happens, I know this.  Three birthdays, a funeral and Christmas within the space of a week, the usual massive seasonal rush at work ... I could give lots of excuses.  But at the end of the day, it was up to me to write.  I could have watched less football.  Played less Final Fantasy XIV.  And it completely slipped my mind.  I feel like I've let myself down.

I logged on today thinking, I haven't written in a bit, let's try and write something.  But I didn't realize it had been three whole weeks.  Now, in an admittedly defeatist way, I don't really feel like writing anything.  And the ironic thing is that by so voicing those thoughts, I am, point in fact, currently writing something!  Small victories?

I think I'll leave it there for now.  Perhaps I'll come back tomorrow when I'm in a better frame of mind.  As Scarlett O'Hara once put it, "after all ... tomorrow is another day!"

What the Dickens am I reading???

Since May I have been slowly going through the writings of Charles Dickens.  Interestingly, I had only read a couple of his books before, being more familiar with adaptations of his works in film and television.  It's always been one of my goals to read through his novels, but for whatever reason I've never gotten around to it.  

Last spring, I decided this would change.  I had just finished the entire compendium of Sherlock Holmes stories by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and was looking for some more works to go through.  I thought about the Bronte sisters and Jane Austen, before finally settling on Charlie D.  And because I never do anything by halves, I went and bought all of his works, because of course I did.  

Now, Dickens began his writing career turning out prose for periodicals, which means he got paid by the word.  This, in turn, ensures that the man's works are preternaturally verbose, even for myself -- and I've been devouring classic tomes for years.  Lord knows what the Twitter generation would think about his writing!  Dickens is the antithesis of Hemingway; he doesn't just say somebody entered a room and sat down at a table, he'll spend three pages outlining his clothes, his gait, the weather outside, the atmosphere, all the other people in the room, going on to describe the furniture and other assorted things such as cutlery, lighting, the history of the place, etc.  I've gotten used to it by now, having gone through six of his works so far (chronologically of course, because that's just how I am), but it took a little getting used to, that's for sure.

I'm pacing myself with the Dickens, following each hefty volume with a lighter read (or at least, perhaps not one so dense!).  Therefore I followed Sketches By Boz (1833-36), a collection of man-about-town views of 1830s London, with The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry (2014) by Gabrielle Zevin, which is a love song to how books can change one's life.  Dickens' first "novel" The Pickwick Papers (1836-37) (really a collection of sketches for the first little bit before he decided to tie everything together) was a smashing success for him, and is fairly humourous, if a little frothy at times; I followed that up with China: The Novel (2021) by Edward Rutherfurd, one of my long-time favourite authors, whose stories often follow family lines through centuries, if not millenia.  It was comparatively light reading, even at over 750 pages itself!

One of the pieces Dickens is most known for, of course, is Oliver Twist (1837-39).  It was shorter than I expected, and reading it after watching (and performing in) the musical Oliver! so many times was like a greatest hits compilation, interspersed with some secondary scenes and characters that I either wasn't quite familiar with or were not sketched out to such a degree in Lionel Bart's adaptation (the scenes with Oliver's stay at Mr. Brownlow's house especially).  After I took in Michelle Obama's autobiography Becoming (2018) (a great read), I dove straight into Nicholas Nickleby (1838-39), which I have to say is, at the moment, my favourite Dickens novel.  The characters are so clearly delineated - Uncle Ralph gets me so angry! - and every few chapters I was moved to tears by Nicholas' relationship with Smike.  And while it deals with dark themes, it's quite breezy in its presentation, and, dare I say, quite humourous.

I took a break for a couple of weeks, and decided to focus on Maya Angelou's multi-volume autobiography (1969-2013) - what a fantastic, difficult, ultimately triumphant life that lady filled her years with!  I'm not sure if it was because I had gotten used to her writing style, or whether the book itself just didn't move me as I thought it would, but I found The Old Curiosity Shop (1840-41) quite a slog to get through.  It was entertaining as a "road trip" sort of book, but I found Nell's grandfather to be just insufferable - not to mention Quilp, who while given perhaps a bit more heft than most villains of the time, ultimately was portrayed almost too cartoonishly.  It's as if Dickens decided to forgo any shades of grey that were in Nickleby and portray things in distinct black and white.  

I needed a bit of contrast, so I took up Carl Wilson's critique of music criticism and popular taste, Let's Talk About Love (2014), which is ostensibly a review of Celine Dion's 1997 album but is so, so much more.  Barnaby Rudge (1841), Dickens' first historical novel, is set during the Gordon Riots of 1870, and follows a Forrest Gump-like character who finds himself involved in all the political machinations.  It's one of his lesser-known novels, but I quite enjoyed it.  The first third took a while to find its footing, but I became quite engrossed after that.  This was followed by City of Tears (2020), the second book in the Burning Chambers trilogy by one of my favourite authors, Kate Mosse (her Languedoc trilogy - Labyrinth (2005), Sepulchre (2007), and Citadel (2012) - are absolute must-reads).

And now, for the Christmas season, I'm taking a bit of a break from the chronological Dickens!  Still staying with him, but in the spirit of the season, I am reading a collection of his Christmas themed short stories.  Starting with A Christmas Carol in 1843, he wrote one a year for the next five years (skipping 1847).  Finished A Christmas Carol and have just started The Chimes (1844), and I have to admit, Carol is quite funnier than I expected it to be.  His descriptions of the characters are quite descriptive, and I found myself casting roles despite myself - Bill Nighy as Scrooge, Jonathan Hyde as Jacob Marley, Tilda Swinton as the Ghost of Christmas Past, Nick Frost as the Ghost of Christmas Present, and Ben Whishaw as Bob Cratchit.  Perhaps Dan Stevens as nephew Fred?  At any rate, it's lighter Dickens (due to the short story form he decided to publish it in), but a nice Christmas treat.  

I may check back in after a few months to outline my views as I carry on through the rest of Dickens' novels, but I'm getting a little peckish, and shall end my blog post here (otherwise the post would itself turn into something quasi-Dickensian in length).  God bless you, everyone ... and I'll see you in the next post!

All That Glitters - Final Chapter & Epilogue

I've tackled a couple of short stories recently, and now I'm trying my hand at something a bit longer.  Every day this week I have dropped one chapter of a five-chapter story I have written.  Today is the final chapter - and epilogue - of "All That Glitters."

CHAPTER FIVE

“I still don’t understand why we’re here,” Karolina said as she pulled up beside the trailer.  “Because of you this site is in lockdown.  I don’t see how you can expect to fix any of this yourself.”

“I don’t intend to fix it,” Jan replied.  “I just want to see what kind of damage we’ve done.”  

Karolina stared at him, unamused.  “Your damage.  Not mine.  Wait, what are you doing?”

Jan, ignoring her, climbed into the backhoe.  “You’ll see.  Maxie, turn on the lights.”

“Sure thing, boss,” his stepfather sneered sarcastically as he flipped the switch on the generator, sending a sharp cracking sound out into the night.  “This better be good.”

Oh, it will be, thought Jan as he started digging up earth, piling it neatly in a mound.  After five minutes he heard a soft thud and turned off the engine, clambering out of the cockpit.  Jumping into the newly-created hole, he vanished momentarily, reappearing with a 33-carat square shaped diamond ring, gleaming with a brilliant intensity in the floodlights.

“This is for you, baby,” he declaimed to Karolina, as she stood there dumbfounded.  “For all of us.”  Max, Harald and Samantha beamed in delight as the two lovers embraced passionately.

“Karolina … oh, Karolina,” Jan whispered.

EPILOGUE

DALLAS (Reuters) – Elizabeth Taylor’s Diamond, valued at over $10 million by famed auction house Christie’s, was almost stolen on Thursday, Dallas police said.

Staff at Christie’s storage space heard noises in the room containing the ring.  Upon entering, they saw a young man attempting to drill through the safe using a commercial power drill.  

The disturbed young man became agitated and police were called. The youth stood up quickly, startling the officers, one of whom fired her gun, hitting him.

Despite attempts to save him, the young man bled out and died at the scene, apparently mumbling the word “Karolina” repeatedly.

The Diamond goes up for auction in Highland Park in December.

All That Glitters - Chapter Four

 I've tackled a couple of short stories recently, and now I'm trying my hand at something a bit longer.  Every day this week I will drop one chapter of a five-chapter story I have written.  It is a globetrotting crime caper in which a young dreamer finds it difficult to distinguish fantasy from reality.  Here is the fourth part of "All That Glitters."

CHAPTER FOUR

Jan wasn’t sure what startled him awake: the brief, sudden sense of weightlessness, or the cold tile flooring making contact with his face. 

He heard Harald laughing in the kitchen, followed by a shushing from Samantha and a pair of pink bunny slippers approaching his face horizontally.  Jan slowly rearranged his posture to an upright position, as Sam brought him a cup of coffee.  

“There’s eggs and bacon on the table if you care to join us, lovey,” she said, cheeks pinkening and trying but failing to suppress a smirk.  

Jan looked at her quizzically.  “Thanks, I think.  What’s with the face?”

“Hmmmmm … you may want to um … take the dog for a walk,” she said, pointing with her eyes in the direction of his boxers.  Raising her left eyebrow and giving half a smile, she headed back to the kitchen.  “Woof woof,” she snickered playfully as she left the room.

Jan chuckled and shook his head.  Thank God for Harald and Sam.  Whenever he and his mom, or he and Max, weren’t getting along – which was often – he always had a safe place to stay.  He had met Harald while studying gemology; they were in the same class.  Had it really been five years ago?  

While Jan had been expelled, Harald had graduated and set up shop as an appraiser; his services had since been used multiple times on behalf of the Dallas Museum of Art.  Harald had met Samantha in her native England, where she was a presenter at Christie’s and he was doing some reconnaissance work for the museum.  She still worked for Christie’s, now in charge of acquisitions and loans for the Dallas branch of the company.  

They lived in a wisteria-covered old bungalow from the 1950s, with a carport on the side and a huge front yard with a small but classy Roman-style fountain in the middle.  A far cry from Jan’s house, a drab, unkempt Depression-era shack on a corner lot, that hadn’t been renovated in over forty years and looked it.  Jan sighed wistfully; he deserved so much better.  Why couldn’t he live in style like Harald and Sam?  Or better yet, have a fancy villa on the Italian Riviera, with maids and butlers catering to his every narcissistic whim?  With a personal helipad and a landing dock for the yachts of all the billionaires he would pal around with?  Maybe a menagerie of exotic animals roaming the verdant gardens; a couple of elephants and a giraffe would be nice.  And what about – 

“Hello?  Earth to Jan!”  The smack of Harald’s newspaper on his hand awakened Jan from his daydreaming.  “Honestly, man.  Where do you disappear to?”

“Sorry,” Jan murmured, a little miffed that his trance had been so violently shattered.  He looked up in time to catch a look passing between Harald and Sam.  “What?”

Harald cleared his throat.  “Well, um.  Sam here tells me that you did quite a number on the warehouse yesterday.”

“Did a number?  On a warehouse?” Jan repeated, a little confused.

“The, uh … incident with the backhoe?” Harald offered.  “Max, your boss, stepfather, whatever you want to call him.  He came into Sam’s office afterwards.”

“He seemed pretty livid, but he was apologizing profusely for your, what did he call it?  Shitty manchild fuckup, I think were the words he used,” Samantha continued, grinning.  “He certainly does have a way with the English language.”

“Okay, first of all, it was a mistake.  All right?” Jan said defensively.  “Shit happens sometimes.  I’m sorry.  Secondly, I don’t understand what you mean?  The building I hit – it’s a warehouse?”

“Yes, Jan.”  Sam sighed.  “You punctured the outer wall of one of our warehouses.  It’s kind of an overflow where we keep some of our lots.  Think of it as the midway step between appraisal and being auctioned off.”

Unable to help himself, Harald blurted out, “In fact, you know Elizabeth Taylor, the actress?  Christie’s is going to be putting her engagement ring, the Krupp Diamond, up for auction here in a couple of months!  I’ve seen it.  It’s gorgeous!”

“Is that right?” Jan murmured, eyes narrowing.

To be continued ...