This review originally appeared at Grimdark Magazine on December 28, 2024.

Contra Amatores Mundi: A Gothic Fantasy

By Graham Thomas Wilcox – Old Moon Publishing – October 31, 2024

Review by Robin Marx

Contra Amatores Mundi: A Gothic Fantasy is a medieval grimdark novella by Graham Thomas Wilcox, one of the editors behind the “Soulsborne” dark fantasy fiction showcase Old Moon Quarterly. The title is Latin for “against the lovers of the world,” quoted from a sermon by 14th century religious writer Richard Rolle, and true to the name, the novella features a pair of lovers separated by epic circumstances.

Contra Amatores Mundi begins with Hieronymus of Tsorn and Prospero of Luchetti, two knights of the chivalric Order of the Dragon, at sea. As they dispatch their enemy, the Knight of Foxes, he drags both knights overboard as his dying act. The last thing Hieronymus sees as he is claimed by the depths is Walpurga, his beloved nun (who has one flesh hand and one skeletal hand for unexplained—but undeniably metal—reasons). When Hieronymus and Prospero awaken, they find themselves in a strange world beneath the sea. With only each other to rely upon in a bizarre land swarming with hostile monsters, the two knights set out across the wilderness, searching for a way home. Through the use of a relic claimed from the corpse of their first opponent, Hieronymus witnesses visions of his distant love Walpurga. Alternately comforting and distressing, on some occasions he sees Walpurga doing her utmost to be reunited with Hieronymus, at other times he sees her committing infidelities or moving on with her life. Just as the vicissitudes of their journey tests his body, the visions challenge his resolve and love for his woman.

Contra Amatores Mundi bears some kinship with an earlier work by Wilcox, sharing the setting and some characters from “The Feast of Saint Ottmer,” my favorite of the stories published in Old Moon Quarterly Volume 3. In my review of “The Feast of Saint Ottmer,” I wrote that “It overshoots Arthurian romance, ending up closer to the opening scenes of Vlad Dracula as armored warrior in the Francis Ford Coppola film Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1992).” To my amusement, Wilcox later admitted that he was indeed a big fan of that particular Coppola sequence, and the same bombastic, operatic feel is captured in Contra Amatores Mundi as well.

Wilcox cites Cormac McCarthy, Gene Wolfe, and Chretien de Troyes as influences on Contra Amatores Mundi. While I lack firsthand experience with Chretien, I can say that the novella does pair the brutality of something like McCarthy’s The Road with the ornate prose and archaic diction of Wolfe’s The Book of the New Sun. Intriguing vocabulary choices abound, and the style of passages like the following effectively evoke an atmosphere where flowery, cultured speech collides with the grim butchery of the knights’ trade.

“…violence never authored its writ upon a man more firmly than it did upon dread Prospero. Blood, fire and death had scrawled him all over, such that by the very ink of his eye and curl of his mouth, one branded him at once a son of Cain.”

Hieronymus and Prospero’s odyssey is a bloody, arduous one. At every turn they are confronted by giants, animate skeletons, serpent-headed creatures and worse. Their nightmarish journey is accompanied by frequent meditations upon the nature of their vocation. These knights fight in the name of the Christian God (presented here as a more martial and bloodthirsty icon than some might expect), and Hieronymus is simultaneously devoted to the darkly alluring Walpurga. But the reader is also given the impression that these two warriors relish the taking and giving of blood. They are compatible with no other lifestyle; killing is their business and business is good. And trapped as they are in another realm with only a faint glimmer of hope, they have effectively become suicide commandos.

While readers may trip over the occasional unfamiliar word (likely armor-related jargon) or pause to reread a particularly florid turn of phrase, the pace of the novella is brisk and propulsive. The ending arrives abruptly. So sudden, in fact, that I wondered if my copy was missing a page or two. Upon further reflection, however, Wilcox gives us enough indication of the two knights’ ultimate fate, allowing readers to fill in the final moments themselves.

The McCarthy and Wolfe influences are clearly present, but this novella is also recommended for fans of Christopher Buehlman’s Between Two Fires, Matt Holder’s Hurled Headlong Flaming, and the Games Workshop Warhammer tie-in fiction published by Black Library. (Indeed, one of Wilcox’s previous releases is the Warhammer: Age of Sigmar short story “Grimnirsson.”) Contra Amatores Mundi: A Gothic Fantasy is a gory grimdark opera with style and spectacle.

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This review originally appeared on Goodreads on December 16, 2021.

Lady of the Lake

By Andrzej Sapkowski, David French (Translator) – Orbit – March 14, 2017

Review by Robin Marx

A satisfying and epic conclusion to one of the best fantasy series I’ve read in quite some time. The climax comes fairly early and the last third of the book is denouement, but it feels earned rather than indulgent. Sad to see it end.

★★★★☆

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This review originally appeared on Goodreads on November 19, 2021.

The Tower of Swallows

By Andrzej Sapkowski, David French (Translator) – Orbit – May 17, 2016

Review by Robin Marx

To be honest, much of this book felt like it was treading water. The main characters are still all separated and on their various drawn-out journeys. There are interminable flashbacks and more minor characters than seem entirely necessary. But the excitement really ramps up in the last quarter of the book, and that ended up salvaging it for me. I usually like to space out entries in a series by reading books from other authors, but the finale to this intrigued me enough that I plan to head directly into the next volume.

★★★☆☆

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This review originally appeared on Goodreads on September 13, 2021.

Baptism of Fire

By Andrzej Sapkowski, David French (Translator) – Orbit – June 24, 2014

Review by Robin Marx

Ciri is still missing and Geralt is still searching for her. He meets people along the way and things happen. The sorceresses are Up to Something.

Fun characters, fun setting, but this book suffers from being the middle book in the series. I imagine the next book will be more eventful.

★★★☆☆

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This review originally appeared on Goodreads on February 18, 2016.

Deadhouse Gates

By Steven Erikson – Tor Books – September 1, 2000

Review by Robin Marx

I...think I give up.

This is not a bad book. Parts of it are pretty great, actually, especially everything dealing with Coltaine's Chain of Dogs. There are fascinating characters and some of the scenes are truly epic and vividly drawn. The problem is that Erikson makes very little effort to engage the reader. He's made an amazing, intricate world with fleshed-out societies, novel magic, numerous human and non-human peoples, but the author is so frustratingly obtuse and opaque about everything, to an extent that is completely counterproductive from a storytelling standpoint. His biggest fans gleefully celebrate this: “Erikson doesn't spoon-feed the reader!” I hate tedious exposition, info dumps, and “As you know, Bob” tactics as much as the next guy, but there's a difference between trusting in the audience's intelligence and pushing them into the deep end and flooding the pool with more water.

Erikson loves scenes where mysterious characters do cryptic things for unexplained reasons. Many times this pays off 100 pages down the line with some kind of revelation: “Ah ha! That guy was laying the groundwork for this to happen!” Just as often, however, there is no payoff. At least not in the current volume. Perhaps in a future book, who knows? Fans of the series say that Malazan Book of the Fallen benefits from repeated readings, but with 10 main books and an estimated 9,000 pages, that's an investment of time that many people—myself included—are unwilling to make.

It would be different if Erikson made more of an effort to lampshade the numerous little seeds he's planting, or if this was a slim, tightly plotted volume. But very often there's no real hint or foreshadowing that something will turn out to be important, it's just a line or two.

Inserted in the middle of a thick paragraph.

In a 600+ page book.

As a result, there were many intended revelations that just fell flat for me, the dummy unable to retain a minor, mostly inconspicuous detail encountered weeks ago and a couple hundred pages back. “Huzzah! Minor Character has come to the rescue!” the book proclaims, while I'm trying to puzzle out who in the cast of thousands this fellow happens to be, and where he was last seen. (And don't forget, Minor Character might not have even showed up in THIS book, it could have been the previous one.)

Among Malazan fans, Gardens of the Moon is widely recognized as a slog, but “Deadhouse Gates is where things get good.” I really wanted to like this series, but after two books and more than 1,200 pages I think I'm going to have to give the following volumes a miss. If you love both doorstopper fantasy AND books that demand (and REWARD, to be fair) constant and studious attention to detail, this is the series for you. If, like me, you're a less assiduous reader, you're going to have a tough time. Maybe I'm not hardcore enough, or lack the attention span. I would note that Glen Cook's Black Company series, one of the primary influences on the Malazan Book of the Fallen, manages a similar tale of epic fantasy war without presenting it in a package that's so irrationally indifferent to the reader.

★★★☆☆

#CapsuleReviewArchive #BookReview #Fantasy #EpicFantasy #StevenErikson #DeadhouseGates #MalazanBookOfTheFallen

This review originally appeared on Goodreads on November 29, 2011.

Night's Master

By Tanith Lee – DAW – November 1, 1978

Review by Robin Marx

First in the Tales of the Flat Earth series, this book is often compared to the 1001 Arabian Nights. While a collection of exotic stories, each linked to its predecessor, the stories are not nested and don't have a particularly Arabian flavor. I was reminded more of classical mythology and Grimm's fairy tales than the Middle East. This is a minor quibble, however, as the stories are enchanting and lush.

“Lush” has always been the best word to describe Tanith Lee's melancholic and erotically-tinged fantasy. While her style isn't particularly ornate, it still evokes as much gorgeous imagery as more verbose writers such as Clark Ashton Smith and Jack Vance. In the field of darkly romantic fantasy, newcomer Jacqueline Carey seems to be getting much of the publicity, but those familiar with both are likely to recognize that Carey is merely rearranging furniture in the house that Tanith Lee built. The Flat Earth was the most compelling fantasy world I've encountered in some time, and I look forward to visiting it again in the next book.

★★★★☆

#CapsuleReviewArchive #BookReview #SwordAndSorcery #Fantasy #DarkFantasy #TanithLee #NightsMaster #TalesOfTheFlatEarth

This review originally appeared on Goodreads on January 22, 2012.

Battle in the Dawn: The Complete Hok the Mighty

By Manly Wade Wellman – Paizo Publishing – November 17, 2010

Review by Robin Marx

The premise of the Hok the Mighty stories is simple, yet compelling. Hok is a Cro-Magnon, the strongest and cleverest of his kind. Possessed of a more daring nature than his clan-mates, he ranges further than anyone, coming into contact with a variety of interesting peoples (frequently hostile Neanderthals, but also rival tribes and even Atlanteans) and prehistoric monsters.

Hok is repeatedly referred to as “humanity's first hero”, and the fact that everything he does is a first (building the first bow, inadvertently forging the first sword) adds to the excitement. Another fun twist is that Manly Wade Wellman subscribed to the belief that every fable has a hint of truth to it. He alludes to the fact that Hok's mighty deeds are the origin of the Hercules myth by placing him in a desperate struggle with some primitive beast, and then pointing out through a footnote how, distorted and exaggerated by retelling, that battle came to be known as one of Hercules' Labors. It's a minor storytelling trick, but it adds mythic resonance.

The Hok stories are solid entries in the pulp fantasy canon. While not quite as visceral as Robert E. Howard's Conan stories, his adventures compare favorably with the Tarzan tales.

★★★☆☆

#CapsuleReviewArchive #BookReview #SwordAndSorcery #Fantasy #ManlyWadeWellman #BattleInTheDawn #HokTheMighty

This review originally appeared on Goodreads on September 23, 2012.

Dogs and Demons: Tales from the Dark Side of Japan

By Alex Kerr – Hill and Wang – January 1, 2001

Review by Robin Marx

As someone living long-term in Japan, this was, hands-down, the most depressing book I've read all year. Kerr's argument is that Japan is in the midst of “cultural malaise,” with no real end in sight. The book is an impassioned laundry list of the (mainly structural) problems facing modern Japan.

Kerr raises the following as the foremost issues at the heart of Japan's perceived decline: – pointless pork-barrel construction projects – garish, misguided architectural design that ignores local flavor – an educational system that focuses on mindless obedience and rote memorization – an economy on the brink of collapse, plagued by creative accounting and fraud – infantile pop culture (the cult of kawaii and the prominence of anime and manga) – a monolithic bureaucratic juggernaut unconcerned with public need – skepticism and resistance of internationalism

The list goes on, and it paints a very bleak picture. (I regret reading the bulk of this book on a gloomy, rainy Sunday.)

While the issues Kerr cites are—to some extent—visible to this longtime resident, his argument is far from ironclad. He presents a civilization circling the drain, while frequently using the United States as a counterpoint. However, since this book's publication in 2001, America has undergone a dramatic decline while Japan has more or less muddled through.

Kerr is careful to cite specifics to support his arguments, but he has a tendency to resort to a pretty broad brush when drawing conclusions. The Japanese educational system has some pretty glaring flaws, for example, but my experience with public education in the US certainly didn't leave me with any fond memories of freedom and acceptance of diversity.

The biggest turnoff about this book comes from Kerr citing the Edo period (1603-1868) as some sort of ideal for modern Japan to aspire to. Kerr must not be a student of history. The Edo period brought stability, popular culture, and the initial rise of a middle class, yes, but it's arguable that most of the positive aspects of Edo society developed despite the government, not because of it. It's simply bizarre to me that Kerr can spend much of a book bemoaning self-perpetuating bureaucracy, the rejection of internationalization, social “ossification,” and mindless obedience to authority, only to get misty-eyed about a military dictatorship with an inflexible class system.

In the end I'm forced to conclude that, like many disillusioned foreigners, Kerr yearns for a Japan that never really existed. The problems he cites with Japan's society and government are certainly present (all the things that get me down about this country), but he offers no satisfying solutions, and his platonic ideal for Japan (Edo feudalism!) is only appealing when viewed through rose-tinted welding goggles.

★★☆☆☆

#CapsuleReviewArchive #BookReview #Nonfiction #Sociology #History #Japan #DogsAndDemons #AlexKerr

This review originally appeared on Goodreads on April 5, 2012.

The Leopard Mask

By Kurimoto Kaoru – Hayakawa Bunko – September 30, 1979

Review by Robin Marx

(I read this book in the original Japanese, so I can't speak to the quality of the English translation.)

This is the first volume in a 130+ volume series of Japanese heroic fantasy. The series began in 1979, ending prematurely with the author's death of pancreatic cancer in 2009. Although Kurimoto herself was influenced by classic English-language sword & sorcery writers (Robert E. Howard, Henry Kuttner, and Clark Ashton Smith are some of the mentioned in the book's afterword), her own long-running series went on to have a considerable impact on Japan's fantasy fiction. The creator of the Berserk manga, Miura Kentarou, cites Guin Saga as a primary source of inspiration, for example.

I'm a dedicated fan of English sword & sorcery, and I picked up this book because I wanted to see what the Japanese variety was like. Heroic fantasy (as opposed to Tolkien-style epic or high fantasy) gained popularity in Japan in the 70s and early 80s, just as the US was undergoing its own sword & sorcery revival with paperback Conan pastiches, Karl Edward Wagner's Kane series, etc. Although it seems like there were a number of Japanese writers active in the field at the time (mainly established SF writers trying their hand at S&S, apparently), to my knowledge Guin Saga was the only one with any sort of long-term longevity. Unlike its contemporaries, Guin Saga remains in print. Even with the death of its creator, it continues to grow, with new Guin Saga World anthologies released seasonally.

Reading through the first volume, I found it to be a bit of a mixed bag. True to the sword & sorcery genre it features an exciting main character, an intriguing villain, and a fair amount of violent action (there's even an arena fight with a giant gray ape). However, the story is hindered by some pacing problems, weak supporting characters, and prose that tends towards the bland side of things.

The main character is a leopard-headed man named Guin. He wakes up half-dead in a haunted forest with no memories other than his name and the word “Aula,” which could refer to either a person or a place. He's powerfully built, and discovers that he's an expert fighter. He doesn't seem to be from any of the neighboring countries, and nobody has seen a creature like him. He's not a leopard-man—he doesn't have a furry body, claws, etc.—he's just a human with a bestial head. There are suggestions that he didn't always used to be this way, and that it may be the result of some curse. Rock on. Guin captured my interest right away. We don't learn any more about his past through the course of this book, that's likely hinted at in subsequent books, but we know enough.

In the other corner we have the Black Count Varnon. He rules a small keep in the wilderness, leading a group of knights who are both loyal and terrified of their lord. Varnon is afflicted with a rotting disease—a curse resulting from previous misdeeds—and must always wear bandages and a completely sealed suit of black armor. He's ominous, reclusive, and—should his armor be breached—very contagious.

Unfortunately, the book's other characters are less appealing. No sooner has Guin woken up in the forest when he's immediately saddled with Rinda and Remus, twin siblings and the fleeing teenage heirs to a recently conquered country. Sister Rinda is haughty and overbearing, while secretly insecure. Her brother Remus is a weak, simpering waste of skin. Both characters seem to exist to cower behind Guin, shrieking in fear whenever something spooky occurs. They're a burden, both on Guin and the plot. Throughout the book I hoped Guin would resolve their problems and send them on their way, but alas, it seems that the Wonder Twins are to be recurring characters and a major part of subsequent volumes. (Incidentally, useless child companions have become a regrettably big part of the Berserk manga, too.)

The pacing of the book has issues as well. There are large portions of the book where the focus is taken away from both Guin's derring-do and the Black Count's villainy, instead dwelling on Rinda (acting imperious) or Remus (crying and/or being afraid). These are the parts of the story that drag.

Despite a meandering second act, however, the climax recovers every bit of the excitement found in the first part of the story. While I can't recommend it unreservedly, I saw enough potential in the series that I've gone ahead and purchased the second and third volumes. I'm not sure I'll want to stick with it for all 130 volumes (and the additional 22 gaiden side-stories and anthologies), but we'll see how it goes. Lots of great series have shaky first installments, and (judging from its place of honor in Japan's fantasy fiction canon) I suspect the Guin Saga may be one of them.

★★★☆☆

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This review originally appeared on Goodreads on June 25, 2018.

Swords Against Death

By Fritz Leiber – Ace Books – 1970

Review by Robin Marx

Another indispensable installment in one of the most important sword & sorcery series ever.

Interestingly, most of the stories contained in this volume take place far from the city of Lankhmar. Instead we're given a wide-ranging tour of many distant locales scattered across Nehwon. While it was written much later than most of the stories contained here, “The Circle Curse” provides an interesting justification for Fafhrd and The Gray Mouser to quit Lankhmar (to free themselves of ghosts from their past) while promising that they'll inevitably return. It also introduces the pair's wizardly patrons, Ningauble of the Seven Eyes and Sheelba of the Eyeless Face. The two wizards are absent from most stories that follow, which I found interesting. My—apparently spotty—recollection had them providing the impetus for a much higher percentage of Fafhrd and The Gray Mouser's adventures.

The stories included herein are all entertaining, but some are better than others. Leiber exhibits a frustrating tendency to step back into a vague, impressionistic style at the climax of the story. “The Bleak Shore” is one example of this. Most of the story (involving a curse driving the heroes to the titular Bleak Shore, where death awaits) is presented with a great deal of detail, but when it becomes time for the heroes to dispatch the cause of the curse, the narrative suddenly becomes much more fuzzy and indistinct.

Most of the stories are incredibly fun, however. “The Seven Black Priests” involves religious hermits' incredibly dogged pursuit of the heroes' mostly inadvertent theft of their sacred artifact. “Claws from the Night,” a story about jewel-filching birds, benefits from unlikely schemes, humorous characterization, and some vivid Lankhmarese worldbuilding.

This volume concludes with two of the strongest stories in the entire Lankhmar canon: “The Price of Pain-Ease” and “Bazaar of the Bizarre.” “The Price of Pain-Ease” begins with one of the most audacious and memorable heists in the series—our heroes steal a house—and concludes with their journey into the underworld in an effort to literally rid themselves of ghosts from their past.

“Bazaar of the Bizarre” is, for my money, one of the best sword & sorcery stories of all time. It has a deliciously intriguing and baroque setting in Lankhmar's Plaza of Dark Delights, a unique threat in the form of the extra-dimensional merchant Devourers (with a bit of pointed commentary about consumerism), a memorable battle between Fafhrd and the Iron Statue, snappy prose, and grin-inspiring characterization. If a friend wanted an introduction to the sword & sorcery subgenre, this single story is what I'd hand them, passing over even Conan and Elric.

All fantasy fans owe it to themselves to read these stories.

★★★★★

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