Craymer vs. Craymer: A Podcast about Politics, Pop Culture and Philosophy

Hey everyone, hold on to your butts! If you just can’t get enough of my musings, you can head over to and check out my new-ish podcast, Craymer vs. Craymer! It’s a discussion show I run with my cohost, White Locke, It’s generally half-comedy (we make fun of stupid startups and listicles) and serious topics–things like moral colonialism and the drug war.

You can check it out at the website above, or via iTunes! If you do use the latter, please leave us a review, and if you enjoy it, tell your friends! If you have a topic suggestion or comment, you can also contact us at

That’s it for me this week. Have a good Monday!

Retro Review: Legend of Dragoon

I’m something of a retro game connoisseur, especially when it comes to role-playing games. But even I have blind spots. For the past month or so, I’ve been working though Legend of Dragoon, a game with the reputation of being a me-too copycat of other, better RPGs of the era, but which nonetheless has a huge cult following. To this day, you can find people on message boards asking for a sequel that will likely never come.

I played this game nearly to completion back when it was released. But given that it’s been so long, and that I never finished it, I thought it’d be fun to go back through and see how it had aged. The answer was evident pretty quickly.

The game is a mess.


Let’s start with the best first. The graphics in Dragoon are top notch and easily stand toe-to-toe with their contemporaries (your Final Fantasies and such). The field sprites are surprisingly detailed, though it’s still a PS1 game, so don’t expect to be blown away. The battle animations are likewise decent, and technically more impressive than Final Fantasy VII, though they lack the flair to be infinitely rewatchable. Most of the backgrounds are pre-rendered, and while this technique is decidedly passé in the modern era, I still enjoy it quite a bit. 
Where the game stumbles is in its Full-Motion Video. These were basically a requirement for PSX RPGs, but the Sony studio had nowhere near the CGI aptitude of golden age Squaresoft. The cutscenes are choppy, busy and ugly, and the addition of horrible voice acting is incredibly distracting. 
At the end of the day, the visuals are Legend of Dragoon’s best feature. But even for all its technical achievement, the graphics lack the soul that made other games of this era shine.


Legend of Dragoon sports a fairly bog-standard PS1-era combat system. Three characters on your side, one to three on the other. Characters take turns attacking, using items, defending or running. That’s about it. In fact, as far as available options go, Legend of Dragoon actually pales in comparison to many of its peers. Any magic available to characters is locked behind limited Dragoon transformations, and the vast majority of these skills are simply elemental damage, with a few exceptions that heal or provide protection to your party.
Now, let’s be fair. Even in Final Fantasies where your spell list is stuffed full of options, a good 50-75% of them are rarely or never used. But even so, there’s a distinct shallowness to the battles in LoD.
The most talked-about feature is still the most fun, and that’s the presence of “additions,” damage-boosting rhythm mini-games that pop up every time a character attacks. While it does incentivize (some might say force) the player to pay attention to even the most straightforward battles, even these became fairly rote when you perform the exact same maneuver for the hundredth time.
There are a few other interesting twists, such as the ability for the Defend action to heal characters. Even this provides little tactical depth, though. In the early game, it’s absurdly overpowered, as it allows you to simply Defend each turn to fully heal your characters even in the toughest of boss battles. Later on, enemy attacks become far too fast and powerful for Defend to be effective, which makes it essentially useless.
Annoyances abound. The UI is lackluster, the absurdly small item limit constantly gets in the way, especially as you begin to collect non-consumable “repeatable” items which are useful enough in some battles not to discard, but generally just take up space. The game loves to force you to return to lower level areas, seemingly for no reason other than to pad the run time. Several long, unskippable story sections consist of running back and forth in wide areas, seeking out NPCs.
There are some silver linings. The level design is strong and the developers have included some interesting Quality of Life enhancements such as a random battle indicator. But even at its best moment, the game is never really a joy–it’s mostly just tolerable.


Abysmal. The music was composed primarily by a western composer I’ve never heard of, with no prior experience in video game composition, and it shows. Here’s the menu music, an example of a song you’ll be hearing a LOT of:
It’s lazy, boring and tonally mismatched with the rest of the game, which describes most of the other songs as well. At best, I’ll say that a couple of the town themes are catchy. But aside from that, the music is so unmemorable that I fail to have anything meaningful to say about it. Put on literally any other PSX RPG soundtrack while playing this and you’ll have a better experience.


Bad, bad, bad. It’s trite from the get-go: the big, bad empire is burning villages, imprisoning people, yadda yadda yadda. Though it’s even worse than standard RPG fare, because there’s no political cohesiveness. No one in the world seems to care the the Empire exists, so there’s no rebellion; it’s literally just a handful of people roaming around getting into fights with the government.
And those people–the game’s cast–are no saving grace. The game is incredibly earnest about them, convinced that you’ll absolutely fall in love with them. You won’t. Part of it is just the horrific dialogue, but the design itself is nothing you haven’t seen before. Old (kinda perverted) Martial Arts Master. Slow-Witted Big Strong Guy. Boring, No-Personality Protagonist. Annoying Anime Girl.
And it’s worth talking about Shanna, the main female protagonist. The game’s treatment of Shanna is sexist as fuck, even for Y2K. Even beyond sexism, the game has no idea what to do with her characterization. Half of her lines imply some sort of weird will-they-won’t-they thing with Dart, the main character. The other half assume that the two are basically already married. It means that Shanna comes off as an insufferable nag with extreme memory loss. She has no other traits.
Dart, for his part, has no chemistry with Shanna. His only relationship with her is to scream “I WILL PROTECT YOU!!!” at random intervals. To say Shanna is objectified is an understatement; she might as well be Dart’s priceless family heirloom for all the interaction they have.
None of the rest of the script is any better. The dialogue is written like poorly translated anime from the 80s, complete with multiple exclamation points!!! After every single sentence!!! I haven’t created a full concordance, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there are more lines of dialogue ending in a bang than a period. Menu entries and item descriptions are often written in arcane Engrish better suited to Zero Wing than a big-budget, AAA role-playing game.

Shana: Ahh… ahhh… Ah…?
Diaz (Zieg): It’s been a while. Rose? Dart?
Dart: Father?
Rose (Dragon Campaign): Ahh! Zieg! Zieg!!
Rose: Oh, it cannot be!!

The story itself is completely incomprehensible. It is full of incredible twists, though, such as the main villain secretely being the protagonist’s father. Real innovative stuff. Oh, at one point you team up with the guy you’ve thought of as the villain up until that point. Pretty standard trope, until you remember that he outright murdered one of your party members earlier in the game. None of the other characters seems to mind that, though.


I never finished Legend of Dragoon as a kid, and as an adult I had fairly mixed memories of it. I remember laughing at the music, while thinking the battle system was novel. I had no idea, starting it up again, that it would have aged so poorly. There’s very little redeemable about the game. The idea that it warranted a sequel is silly, even with its small but vocal fanbase, given how slapdash and nonsensical the story is. If you, like me, are on a mystical quest to revisit the games of your youth, buckle yourself in for a slog. If not, skip Legend of Dragoon entirely.

Star Wars and Fanservice

IT’S THIS WEEK, YOU GUYS! Yes, this Friday (even earlier for some of you lucky ducklings!) we’re finally going to be watching a new installment of the Star Wars saga. I couldn’t be more excited, even while trying to temper that with the knowledge that, even if it’s good, it likely won’t be as monumental or life-changing as the original films.

But God, let’s hope it is at least good. There’s no need to rehash the drama about the prequels, though I will say that they are in some respects both underrated and overrated, aside from Episode II which is borderline unwatchable. We’ve gotten some hints as to whether The Force Awakens is going to join them as critical anathema, or whether it’ll be seen as a resurgence for the series. Several acclaimed filmmakers, from Kevin Smith to Steven Spielberg, have claimed that Episode VII is powerful, emotional and easily worthy of standing among the original trilogy.

But of course, The Phantom Menace got similar praise. Smith is known for heaping accolades on just about everything (which is a fine attitude, but not useful for gauging quality), and Spielberg is close friends with George Lucas — he’s not about to criticize something of this magnitude.

So let’s talk a little bit about Lucas. He recently saw the movie, and from most news reports, enjoyed it. However, one line sounded particularly worrisome to fans:

“I think the fans are going to love it,” he said. “It’s very much the kind of movie they’ve been looking for.”

To an outsider, it sounds like a boring, polite compliment from a mostly-uninterested old man. To those in the know, though, it brings up old memories of a director with a complicated relationship to the fans he created. The subtext is, “I’m an artist. I make films for the artistry, for the story, not to please fans. This film is a hackjob.”

On Fanservice 

I’m going to use the term fanservice throughout the article, so it’s helpful to define what I’m talking about. In general, fanservice is a piece of an artistic work that isn’t there to serve the story or characters, but instead to make fans already familiar with the artist or series squeal with glee. It’s often invoked in terms of anime, where it’s defined as something like a panty shot or jiggling boobies. Fanservice doesn’t have to be strictly sexual, but it is always gratuitous.
Are there moments like this in The Force Awakens? Surely. Here’s an easy one: the second trailer ends with a shot of Han and Chewie on the Falcon.
To longtime fans, this was a moment to cheer. I got the shivers. To those who have never seen the film, though? This shot added absolutely nothing to the trailer. It was a half-second shot of an old man and a weird dog creature on a nondescript background.
You can find a worse example in Star Trek: Into Darkness, when “John Harrison,” the character played by Benedict Cumberbatch, reveals himself to be Khan. Star Trek fans immediately recognize the significance of this. The characters, however, have absolutely no idea why this would matter. He might as well have said “You thought my name was FooBoo. But actually, it’s BooFoo!”
This is the definition of fanservice. Something that fails to add, or actively detracts, from the plot, and is meant to make followers of the universe grin.

The Problem

Fanservice is not necessarily a bad thing if used in moderation. Having Bones mutter “Dammit, Jim,” in the new Star Trek movie is hardly a sin. But we start to recognize a problem when a film gets so burdened by the past that it’s incapable of telling a new story. This was the defining failure of Star Trek: Into Darkness. The director of that film? J.J. Abrams. Who, incidentally, is also directing The Force Awakens.
So perhaps there is reason to be worried. Maybe Lucas correctly identified a film in need of a voice, too afraid to strike out on its own. However! It’s hard to fully buy into this narrative for a few reasons (beyond simply hoping that Lucas is wrong). The first is that Abrams and Lucasfilm’s Kathleen Kennedy have gone out of their way to say that Episode VII strives very hard to tread new ground and tell new stories. The original trilogy characters, it seems, are cameos, handing off the universe to new characters. The fact that the trailers and merchandising have featured Daisy Ridley and John Boyega as opposed to Mark Hamill and Harrison Ford supports this.
But a bigger issue is that George Lucas is hardly blameless when it comes to valuing fanservice over story, regardless of his words. To put it another way — he’s one to talk.

Nostalgia, Moichendising and Winking

Let’s be honest, here. Star Wars, especially the original film, is hardly a bastion of original storytelling. It’s well-made, imaginative in many ways and a breathtaking accomplishment of visual effects, but it’s basically just the hero’s journey, and it’s not even particularly camouflaged. Lucas conceived of the film in reverence to the old Flash Gordon serials of his youth. It was designed specifically for the fans of that genre.
And it didn’t change as Star Wars grew up. Lucas made the wise decision to trade much of his film profits for the merchandising rights, and as the series progressed, the need to sell toys drove much of the writing (too many, Ewok-haters might say). I don’t necessarily want to throw Lucas under the bus for this; he was responsible for a massive corporation at this point, and those gears require a fair amount of grease to keep turning. But all of the Ewoks and Gungans do make me raise an eyebrow at his insistence that Episode VII is some sort of banal fan tribute, whereas his films — especially the prequels — were high art with nary a thought about the fanatics. Do you really think the reaction to Boba Fett, who was originally just a henchman, didn’t drive Lucas’s decision to make him a crucial character in the prequels? Do you think fan squealing had nothing to do with the absurd Yoda lightsaber battle in Attack of the Clones?

We’ll Know Soon!

Can we draw any real conclusions from Lucas’s reaction? Probably not. He’s not an idiot–he knows his words are being parsed by fans and media alike. But he’s also not unbiased. He’s struggled to deal with the monster franchise he created, and he’s surely a little bitter about how he exited. His refrain has always been that the prequels were unappreciated because they lacked fanservice, though as noted above, it’s hard to buy that. 
My prediction? His “the fans will like it” line refers more to the continuation of the central Skywalker storyline. Several sources, including the fantastic Secret History of Star Wars, imply that Lucas had several ideas for characters and plots that had nothing to do with Luke or Anakin. In addition, the scuttlebutt about the newest movies suggests that Lucas’s treatments dealt with much younger characters, which would indeed have provoked a negative reaction from fandom. Perhaps dealing with young adults like Finn and Rey, just like the original trilogy did, is the form of ‘fanservice’ Lucas disagreed with.

We Are Not the Favored Children

This piece originally appeared in Dark Tales of Lost Civilizations, edited by Eric Guignard. The anthology was nominated for the 2013 Bram Stoker Award by the Horror Writers Association.

“One of those dwellings, high, high in the rocks, is bigger than all the others. Utes never go there. It is a sacred place.”

—Acowitz, preceding the discovery of the Ancient Pueblo Cliff Palace, 1885

I found him under the ground, at the bottom of my kiva, curled up in a ball. He had carved the words into his own arm, the knife still clutched in his lifeless fingers. Now that Tawa had risen into the morning sky and spread his light across my home, I could make out the message clearly: “We are not their favored children.”

This man was Honovi. I did not know him well,
only that he had married Sira not long ago, and they had recently produced a child. I had never once seen him here, in this kiva. He may have worshipped in his own—I could not say. But this kiva was mine and I had never seen him here.

“He must be buried immediately,” said Honovi’s mother, blotting her tears with a frayed cloth. It was a reasonable thing to ask. He had not disturbed anything, but I could not help but feel uneasy about the message. And why had he bled himself here, of all places, when he could have just as easily returned his water to the earth in his own house?

“Not yet,” I replied.

Honovi’s mother and sister broke into loud weeping at this. My own family looked at me with questioning eyes, but I did not care. This man had defiled my home and I wanted to know why.

I had requested that one of the cacique’s assistants come to investigate the scene. I did not expect for the cacique himself to appear in my doorway, alone, with none of his usual sycophants. I would have thought Cacique Koa’ki had more important matters to attend to, but I suppose Honovi’s message caught his attention as vividly as it did mine.

“I wish to speak to you alone, Kala,” he said, using my childhood name. Anyone else, even my family, would have gotten a tongue lashing for speaking to me in such a manner. But he was the Cacique, so I ignored the disrespect.

“Of course, Cacique. If you wish, we may speak in the kiva.”

He gave me a slight nod and we descended the ladder into the prayer chamber. The paintings of the kachina spirits eyed us as we entered. At the bottom, Koa’ki touched one knee to the ground and brushed his fingers against Honovi’s arm. I peered over his shoulder. Even though the dried blood blurred the edges of the symbols, Honovi had carved into his flesh deep enough to retain the meaning.

“It is as you said.” Koa’ki placed his hand over Honovi’s face and lowered his eyelids.

“Did you think I had lied?”

Koa’ki stood, brushing the dirt from his robes. “No. Of course not. I apologize. You should not have been involved in this. The gods have used Honovi to send me a message.”

“To send you a message? Then why did Honovi choose my kiva, Cacique?”

“Impossible to say.” Koa’ki stepped past me to the ladder, placing a hand on one of rungs. “I suggest you put it out of your mind. We have more important worries.”

“More important? What is more important than a dead man in my home?”

Koa’ki turned his head halfway around, presenting me with the side of his face. “Kala, you should pack your things. Prepare your family to travel.”

“Travel? Travel where?”

The cacique ascended the ladder back the to surface, leaving me without an answer, but only for a short time. Later in the day, when Tawa watched us from straight above, Koa’ki addressed the village. We gathered in front of the festival altar, which hadn’t seen use in months; there was little to celebrate. I brought my entire family: my older sister, Hwara, her husband, two young children, and one infant, cradled against her breast; my younger sister, Terala, not yet old enough to be wed; and my widowed mother, whose frail utterances of “what’s happening?” I answered only with “wait and see.”

Koa’ki climbed up the steps and onto the stone plateau, followed by a few solemn assistants in ornate robes. Most of them were old men, accompanied by a few women, just as old. When I was younger, I had asked the cacique—Koa’ki’s predecessor—for permission to study with him. I was denied, not because I was a woman, or even because of my age, but because I had not rejected the old gods as they did.

“My people,” said Koa’ki, spreading his arms out in front of him. “For many years, we have suffered through famine and disease. War and drought. We have looked to the spirits for an omen, a sign for us to follow. This morning, we were given one.”

A murmur rose up from the crowd. I saw Hwara’s husband, a short, timid man, whisper something in her ear, which she then relayed to me. “Is this about Honovi?”

I hadn’t told any of them about Koa’ki’s warning in the kiva; what good would it do? I shook my head and pursed my lips. “I don’t know.”

Koa’ki’s booming voice drowned out mine. “Our friend Honovi took his own life to send us a message. The spirits no longer want us here. We were once blessed, but no longer. We must seek out a new home.”

I expected my people to cry out in anguish. I expected them to fight back—violently, perhaps. I was too optimistic. I saw relief wash over the faces of those nearby, disgusting smiles spreading across their faces. My own family, who I hoped would feel betrayed as I did, joined the rest in excited chattering.

Terala tugged on my dress and sidled up behind me. “Where are we going?”

I could not answer her. My throat tightened, and I began to worry that my anger would suffocate me. I worked hard—sewing garments all day, firing pots instead of sleeping at night—to afford a home in the High Palace for my family. It had taken even longer to obtain our own kiva, so that I could pray to the old gods without any disapproving glares. The cacique wanted to take it all from us. I forced myself to breathe.

The people quieted, and Koa’ka continued. “We have no reason to stay here any longer. We have heard of the bounty in the south. Our ancestors have showed us our path. We leave with the dawn, tomorrow.”

I spat on the ground. How dare he invoke our ancestors, the ones who built our homes and blessed us with rain and harvest? It was only when we turned from them that they revoked their gifts.

“We must get started,” my mother said, limping back toward our home. “Only a single day… not much time…”

“Mother, stop.” I placed my hand on her shoulder. “We’re not going. We can’t. You won’t make the journey, you’ll die.”

My mother’s lips parted, revealing the few stubs of remaining teeth left in her mouth. “If we don’t leave, I’ll die just as surely. There’s no food left and Lowlanders will only leave us be for so long.” She patted my cheek, the same as when I was a child. “You must trust the kachina. If it is meant to be, they will protect me. If it is my time, they will take me into the sky with your father.”

I glanced at my sisters, who nodded in agreement. Hwara’s girl-child clutched her spirit doll to her chest and turned her eyes away. I often voiced my disapproval of the kachina figures and the children had learned not to flaunt them in front of me. It wasn’t as though I disbelieved in the spirits, but to me, the dolls represented a desertion of the old gods. Wasn’t there room for both? But now was not the time to reopen those wounds, so I gave the girl a smile, knelt down and kissed the top of her head.

“Hwara,” I said, standing. “Take them to our home. Begin gathering our things. I shall be along shortly.”

Hwara shifted the infant from her right side to her left and clucked her tongue at me. “What are you planning?”

“I just want to speak with the cacique. Perhaps I can change his mind, or at least get more time.”

Hwara snapped her fingers at the two older children and pointed them toward our home. Her husband, Terala, and Mother followed after them.

“Have you considered,” said Hwara, “that none of us want you to change his mind?”

I did not answer her, so she turned from me and walked away.

Koa’ka was still conversing with some of our people. I hoped that a few of them possessed the same concerns as me, but instead, they seemed only to be praising the cacique’s holiness and begging for blessings to keep their families safe. I waited for my turn, as I did not desire to speak to Koa’ka amidst all the adoration. I approached him when he was at last alone. He pretended not to see me, so I spoke first.

“Cacique Koa’ka. May I speak with you?”

He took a deep breath. “We have already spoken, Kala.”

I had bitten my tongue long enough. “My name is Mansi’kala, Cacique.” It was a name I’d earned in my consecration, and with all the things he wished to take from me, I would not allow him to have this one.

“Of course,” he replied. “I apologize. I prefer Kala. It is an elegant name.”

“But it is not mine.”

Koa’ka snorted and waved his hand at the ground. “What did you want to say to me?”

“You should reconsider your plan. We cannot leave our home.”

Koa’ka reached out to touch my arm, so I took a step back. He frowned and rubbed his chapped lips. “Our home is where the spirits watch over us, and they no longer watch over us here. Our people have seen it. Your family has seen it. Your cacique has seen it, Mansi’kala. It is time to move on. The spirits demand it.”

“You say the spirits wish this of us, but you refuse to speak to all of them!”

Koa’ka’s nostrils flared. “I will never understand why you insist on clinging to the old gods. You are like a wild horse; stubborn, unwilling to accept change when it is demanded of you. This is why you haven’t found a husband, I think.”

I felt the tips of my nails cutting into the palm of my hand. Were this anyone but the cacique, I would have struck him down with a single fist. “I have not found a husband because I do not want a husband. I have a family, Koa’ka. I work hard for them, and for my people.” I thrust my hand forward and Koa’ka flinched, but instead of striking him, I flicked one of the leather strips hanging from his ceremonial headband.

“I made this, Cacique, because your wife cannot tan skins or sew. I taught your nephew to use a bow after the rest of your family decided he was no good.” Koa’ka began to protest, but I raised my voice and continued. “I have plenty of work to do and people to support without a husband.”

The face on Koa’ka’s skin tightened and a bulging vein appeared above his left eye. “Do what you want, woman! For all the responsibility you think you have, I have more! It is my duty to ensure our people’s survival! If you believe the old gods have a better way, then go to your kiva and speak to them!”

He was goading me. He knew his words would infuriate me.

“The old gods do not visit the High Palace anymore!” I said.

“Precisely,” said Koa’ka. “They do not speak to us any longer.”

“If you would only send a few men to the Low Temple…”

“Out of the question!” Koa’ka raised a finger to my eyes. “The Lowlanders hunt at the Temple now. I will not send what few able men we have left to die on a quest to tell us what we already know. We are not wanted here.”

I folded my arms across my chest. “If you will not send them, I will go alone.” The Lowlanders did not frighten me. If I was right, the old gods would protect me. If I was not, then I was already lost.

“You wish to abandon your family and your people for this?” Koa’ka mumbled a curse to himself. “If you are so selfish, perhaps you are not as deserving of your name as you think. Perhaps you are a child after all.”

I watched Koa’ka leave. I was filled with such blinding rage that I could do nothing except stand in the courtyard and feel Tawa’s rays burning my skin. Tawa. The god of light. The god that my people no longer believed in. I watched the sky for hours, hoping for some sort of sign. But Tawa simply fell toward the horizon, as he did every day, lighting the heavens on fire. Dusk drew near, and I had no answer. If there was to be any chance of saving my home, it would be in the Lowlands.

The High Palace was unusually quiet tonight. Normally the children would be taking advantage of the last of the daylight, but a malaise seemed to have possessed the village. My people should have been making the most of their last night here but, instead, they were cowering in their houses. If this is what had become of us, perhaps we no longer deserved our home.

Inside my own house, my family had arranged our possessions in a pile. Put together, they looked so small and meaningless. A few sets of clothing, some utensils, some kachinas, a pair of bows and accompanying arrows. Water. A few sacks of vegetables, nuts and grains. This is what my life was worth.

I thanked my sisters for their help, and Hwara’s husband as well, though he only grimaced in response. He had never liked living with me, though he never voiced displeasure with eating my food or sleeping under my shelter.

“Mother’s already gone to bed,” said Hwara. “And the children as well.”

“Good,” I replied. “You should sleep too. If Koa’ka wants you to leave at dawn, you should be well rested.”

Hwara glanced at her husband, who nodded. It was a common gesture between the two. It meant that Hwara wanted to speak with me alone.

“What about you?” she asked. “You’re coming with us.”

“I don’t know. I will try to come back, but I don’t know.”

“Come back? Come back from where?” Hwara straightened her back. She liked to flaunt her height when she was angry with me.

“I am going to the Low Temple.”

Hwara’s eyes widened. “Why would you do such a thing?”

“I must speak with the old gods before I leave. I cannot walk away from our home without knowing the truth.”

“The truth?” Hwara stood on her toes, towering over me. “The truth is that we don’t have enough food to feed our people. What other truth matters?”

I needed to find for myself the meaning of the words Honovi carved into his skin, but I could not tell Hwara that. She accepted things too easily. If the cacique said the sky was brown, then it was brown.

“I don’t know. But I have to go.” I started to gather what I would need for the night. Nuts to quiet my stomach, a waterskin to quench my thirst, and one of the two bows to fend off any of the Lowlanders I might find.

“No,” said Hwara. Her eyes started to water. “I forbid this. Mother forbids it.”

“You cannot forbid me to do anything,” I said, strapping a bag of arrows over my shoulder.

“I am your elder!”

“In age only, sister.” I tied the food and water to my belt, then looked into Hwara’s face. Tear streaks cut into the dirt caked onto her skin. “I am sorry, Hwara. But I must do this.”

Hwara moved quickly toward me and I raised my arms for fear that she would strike me. Instead, my sister wrapped her arms around me and squeezed me into her chest. “Please, Kala. Please don’t leave us. What would we do without you?”

I stood paralyzed by Hwara’s sudden affection. She sobbed into my shoulder, pleading for me not to leave. At last, I circled an arm around my sister and kissed the side of her face.

“If I don’t come back, you will do what you’ve always done. You’ll be a better daughter to Mother than I ever was. You’ll be a better wife and mother than I could ever be.” Though I’d always considered myself more capable than my older sister, I still looked up to her, in a certain way. I had never told her.

“Momma,” came a voice from the room behind us. Hwara released me and turned. Behind her, I could see her girl-child, Ankti.

“Child, you should be asleep,” Hwara said, turning from me to kneel in front of the girl. “What’s wrong?”

“Is Aunt Kala leaving?” The child looked at me with puffy red eyes.

“Just for the night,” I told her. “I will be back in the morning.”

She sniffled and walked past her mother to hug my leg. “Do you promise?”

“I promise, little one.”

Ankti placed a finger in her mouth, and with her other hand, she held her kachina doll up to my face. This one had black skin, elaborate clothing, and a small cloth facsimile of a bow attached to its hand. “Will you take Cha’kwaina?” Ankti asked me. “He’ll protect you.”

Cha’kwaina was a spirit of exploration, not a protector at all. I felt no kinship to the doll; the grinning face and careless posture reminded me, more than anything, of our cacique. But I felt kinship to my niece, and so I took the doll and tied it to my dress. “Thank you, Ankti. I’m sure he’ll keep me safe.”

Hwara took her child back to the sleeping den then returned. Her melancholy gave way to a dull, emotionless expression. “When will you leave?”

“Now,” I said, checking the knots on my belt one last time.

“Be safe, sister.”

“And you.” I stepped close to her, forcing her to look into my eyes. “If I do not return in the morning, you must leave without me. Do you understand? You cannot wait for me. You must go with our people.”

“But you’re coming back,” she said simply.

“Yes. But if I don’t, you must promise.”

“If you insist,” said Hwara, crossing her arms. “I promise.”

“Thank you.” I took my sister’s hand in mine, squeezed it, and walked out into the night.

My eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness, and I was thankful to be blessed with a cool breeze. Most of the paths in the Lowlands had been erased years ago, but the faint few that remained were enough to guide my way. I encountered little in the way of wildlife, which was to be expected. It was hard enough to find game even when looking. At one point, I heard a rustling in the grass. Afraid that the Lowlanders had spotted me, I stuck my back to one of the large, wilted spruce trees and peered from over my shoulder. After a few terse minutes, I spotted the culprit: a famished weasel, no doubt hunting for his dinner. I tried to offer him a few of my nuts, but he dashed off as soon as he saw me. Poor creature. The gods had been as cruel to the animals as they had to us.

I continued on, treading for hours through the water-starved grasslands until I reached the village of our ancestors. My grandfather’s generation had left it behind when the Lowlanders began their war and worn bricks that had once been buildings were all the remained. The Lowlanders hadn’t taken it for their own, or if they did, it had been a brief occupation, as there was no reason to stay after the creeks dried up and the herds moved on.

The village itself sat in the shadow on a large hill. This, I knew, was my destination. I had only been here a few times, as a girl. My father brought me and my sisters here to show us the place where our ancestors worshipped. It was my father who told me never to forget the old gods.

The entrance to the Low Temple, a cave in the side of the hill, had been sealed with several large boulders to stop the Lowlanders from getting inside the sanctified chamber. As my father told it, the plan didn’t work; the Lowlanders simply moved the boulders to their current resting place beside the entrance and looted the few offerings my people left behind.

As I stepped over one of the large rocks, I again heard movement among the nearby grass. At first, I assumed it was the weasel, back to take me up on my offer, but then I heard the voices barking into the wind.


As quickly and silently as possible, I ducked into the Temple. I held my breath but kept my eyes open. The voices grew louder and soon I saw a faint light creep into the cave. A moment longer and I saw them—five Lowlanders with torches and spears, a hunting party by the look of it. I could not say why they would be out at this time, other than to guess that they were as starved as we were. They didn’t notice me and they didn’t pay any attention to the Temple. They passed by and soon the light of their torches faded into the distance. I exhaled and rolled onto my back, letting my nerves calm before progressing any further.

The Temple, if it could still be called that, was dusty and overgrown. Near the back, I could make out the faint outline of a small, cylindrical stone pedestal. I put my hands to its surface and found several large cracks running throughout. Any more force and I would have broken it entirely. From one of the pouches on my dress, I took a handful of seeds and placed them on the top of the altar. Then, using the tip of my finger to sort them, I picked the largest of them and placed it between my teeth. I sat, closed my eyes, and waited.

I focused on the image of Honovi. I focused on the message in his arm. I focused on the memory of my father, which had grown fainter and fainter as the years went by. My body tensed and my muscles relaxed as the breath of the gods filled my veins.

I saw Honovi. He sat, legs crossed, in front of me, a serene smile on his face. I reached out to touch his arm. The message was gone, and his skin was as smooth as mine.

“Why?” I asked. “What did you see that frightened you?”

Honovi’s smiled widened, but he did not answer me.

“Show me,” I said, to the spirits as much as to Honovi. “Help me see the way.”

And suddenly, the wind left my lungs. I coughed, grasped my throat, and fell to my knees. My vision blurred. I reached out toward Honovi, but he made no movement to help me. My eyelids fell and the world went black.

In the darkness, I felt a powerful hatred fill me. I heard otherworldly voices in my head, though I could not make out their words. These were not the kachina spirits that visited us in the High Palace. These were the old gods: frightful, commanding.

“Show me the way,” I repeated, gasping to try to regain my breath. “Help us.”

There is no path.

I panted and flailed in the darkness.

There is no way.

I held my arms against myself and shivered. A chilled despair overwhelmed me.

You are not our favored children.

My blood ran cold. This is what Honovi had seen. The old gods had visited the High Palace, but they had not brought a message of peace. I was filled with such devastating anguish at that moment that I wanted nothing more than to lay on my back and die. It felt as though all that was good had left the world.

The voice only laughed at me. It taunted me with images of the High Palace in ruins. I saw bodies, hundreds of them, and many more sick and dying. I saw our lands, dried out and desolate.

You are not our favored children.

I cried out for the voice to stop. As my screams grew louder, the visions faded. The voice dissipated, repeating its warning again and again. The old gods had abandoned us, just as we had abandoned them.

When I opened my eyes, the Low Temple had returned just as I had left it. I found myself on the ground, shivering like a frightened animal. I lay there for a long while, reflecting on the message the old gods had sent me. I understood now why Honovi acted as he did. There was no right path for me to take. Nothing I could do to help my people.

As I rolled onto my side, I felt Cha’kwaina, my niece’s kachina, roll with me. It landed on the ground next to me, still attached to my dress. I picked it up and stared into the slits that acted as eyes.

“And what about you?” I asked the doll. “What do you have to offer? Do you hate us as well?”

The kachina didn’t answer. He simply continued to smile, taking pleasure in my pain. I gripped him hard, tore him from my dress, and tossed him against the rock wall. He hit less forcefully than I’d imagined, landing on the ground with nothing more than a faint stirring of dust.

I turned my head from it and began to hear a strange laughter. I felt my pulse quicken, afraid that the gods had returned to torture me. But this wasn’t the same vile laughter from before. Instead, it was the high-pitched, mischievous laughter of a child.

Behind me, I saw Cha’kwaina float up from where I’d discarded him. A peculiar jade glow surrounded the doll, illuminating the cave and forcing me to shield my eyes. I had seen the kachina spirits appear before, in the kiva of the High Palace. But not like this. Never like this.

With his stubby, fingerless arms, Cha’kwaina raised his bow. At once, a green arrow of light appeared against the string. The doll pulled it back and fired it into the wall behind him. The light from the arrow splattered against the rock like spilled dye and began to spread out to all corners of the cave. The light enveloped me, and when my eyes adjusted, I was no longer in the temple. This vision did not fill me with dread, but with confusion. I saw layers of grey bricks piled up to create massive structures that stretched into the sky. I saw the ground layered with black rock. I saw great beasts of shining colored stone moving past me with daunting speed. I saw many people, but they were not like me. They had pale skin and wore strange clothes. Above me, I saw Tawa rising into a shimmering blue sky.

“What is this?” I asked Cha’kwaina.

He only tittered in response. This vision seemed no more useful than the one the old gods had sent me.

I pointed to the pale people walking beside us. “Are these your chosen people? Are these the ones you discarded us for?”

Cha’kwaina raised a single stubbed arm and pointed behind me. I turned, following the doll’s gesture, and saw a pair of figures behind me.

My heart pounded. Though they were dressed in the same strange clothes as the pale men, I would have recognized them anywhere: Hwara and Ankti.

No, not quite. The faces were different—a lowered eyebrow, a wider lip—but I still knew them. They were family. They were my people. My legacy.

“Is this real?” I asked the kachina. “The old gods showed me a different path. Which is true?”

And the answer came to me. Both. My blood flowed in my sisters. They would survive, even without the favor of the old gods. If they no longer needed us, then we no longer needed them.

“Thank you,” I said, tears falling from my eyes. “Thank you for showing me.”

Somewhere behind me, I heard more voices crying out. I did not let them distract me. I kept my eyes on the child, watching as she stepped past me and walked, hand-in-hand with her mother, into one of the large buildings. I wanted to follow her, but I found that my feet would not move me forward. The voices grew louder. One last laugh from the kachina and it fell to the ground, extinguishing the vision around us.

I was back in the Temple now. The Lowlander hunters stood in the mouth of the cave, balancing their spears deftly in their hands. The front one shouted a curse at me. I had nothing to say in reply.

In my head, I saw the spear flying through the air even before it left his hand. I slithered backward and the spearhead missed my thigh by only a hair. I pulled an arrow from the quiver on my back, nocked it into my bow, and fired. I was not the best archer, especially at night, but from this distance I did not need to be. The arrow pierced his neck and he fell to the ground.

I did not have time to savor the kill. Before I could reach for another arrow, two of the other hunters flung their weapons toward me. One missed, clanging uselessly against the wall. The other sailed into my shoulder.

I screamed. A haze fell over my vision, and the pain in my arm prevented it from reaching for my quiver. With my other hand, I retrieved an arrow and fired it. This one entered the leg of one of the hunters, but it seemed like a shallow wound. One of the remaining men stepped forward, appraised me for a moment, and threw his spear. To my surprise, I hardly felt it impale my chest.

As I slumped against the Temple’s altar, I felt a jostling on my legs. Cha’kwaina had appeared in my lap. I picked him up and squeezed his soft wool skin against my face. The warmth left my body, and I took comfort in his.

#GamerGate is harassment. Its members just don’t realize it.

I don’t want to spend a lot of time recapping GamerGate. Wikipedia has a fairly good summary, with citations. Suffice it to say, supporters of GamerGate see the movement as a call for ethics in video game journalism. Detractors, which generally includes me, say it began as a misogynistic hate movement directed toward Anita Sarkeesian, a feminist game critic, and Zoe Quinn, a game developer, and has never really progressed past that.

One of the responses I see often to this claim is that calling GamerGate sexist is blaming the entire movement for the actions of a few trolls. After all, anyone can jump on Twitter, throw some horrific abuse at a female game developer and tack on the #GamerGate hashtag. There’s no central leadership, no registration. And certainly, the vast majority of GamerGate supporters aren’t sending death threats.
I won’t dispute that. The issue is that harassment goes way beyond death threats. Condemning death threats is not condemning harassment; that’s basic human decency. In fact, far from condemning harassment, many #GamerGaters — based on Twitter/Reddit responses to me an others, I’d say at least a majority — are participating in it.
Here’s how: “I’m against harassment, but…”

It’s a line I hear multiple times a day on the hashtag. Notice how similar it is to “I’m not a racist, but…”
What comes after this line? Here are some of the most common followups.
  • “…she deserves what she gets because [reasons].”
  • “…she’s a professional victim. She likes the attention.”
  • “…the threats aren’t real.”
  • “…not only are the threats not real, she herself faked them.”
  • “…she just needs to grow a thicker skin. Death threats are a part of being on the Internet.”
  • “…she is meaningless, stop talking about her, she has nothing to do with us and neither does her harassment.” (Add to this, the popular dehumanizing GamerGater epithet ‘Literally Who,’ or LW, used to point out how worthless and meaningless these women are*)
And this is where I state unequivocally: Even if you aren’t sending death threats, if you’ve voiced one of the above or similar, you are engaging in harassment.

This is why I, and many others, have called GamerGate a movement based around harassment. Not because the majority of GamerGaters have sent death threats, but because the majority of them have excused it. Excused it with their actions, even when prefacing it with “I don’t condone harassment.” Saying “I don’t condone harassment” is exactly as meaningful as saying “I would never lie.” Words are cheap.
How would GamerGate prove they’re a movement that’s about ethics, and not about misogyny and harassment? They would say “The attacks against Anita Sarkeesian are inexcusable and abhorrent. Full stop.” Because what’s the downside? What if the attacks are fake? If it’s never revealed, you look like a tolerant, supportive, ethical movement. And if it is revealed, then so what, you were fooled by being too empathetic. That’s going to engender a lot of sympathy for your group.

But nope. GamerGaters insist on continuing their victim-blaming, victim-doubting harassment. And until that stops, they’re little more than a hate group.

Harassment From The Other Side

GamerGaters like to point out that there’s harassment coming from the anti-GG side as well. They’ve collected it in a tumblr. Let me say without reservation: This is unacceptable. Completely. Anyone I see in my mentions who engages in threats, or in the minimization of threats on either side, will get a fucking table flip response and then a block/mute. 
* A slight aside: ‘LW’ is very similar to the term “Who™?” used to refer to Sarah Palin by the progressive blogosphere, a practice I vocally condemned when it was being used.

A Couple’a Recommendations

Hey all! I just got back from ArmadilloCon, and boy are my arms tired. Seriously, they’re pretty tired. Anyway, I had a great time at the writer’s workshop and convention proper, met a lot of cool people and attended a lot of cool panels. I’ll have a writeup for that soon.

Today, though, I wanted to spread the love and highlight some cool books that you can totally buy RIGHT NOW LIKE RIGHT THIS MINUTE.  As a literary hipster, I’ve read both of these in early-draft form, and it’s amazing both to see them go from conception to perfection, and to see them shoved out in the wider world, available for everyone to enjoy.

But don’t take my word for it! Uh, actually … do take my word for it, I guess.

First up is Grey Matters, a short story anthology from A.C. Blackhall. I’ve highlighted his work on this blog before, and I continue to love it. This anthology gets you a MASSIVE chunk of his stories in one easy-to-digest package. Seriously, it’s sort of ridiculous how many stories are in here — 14 by my count, which is substantially more than you get from most single-author collections.

There are a lot of great tales in here, but my favorite is probably Human Seagulls. It’s hard to go into too much detail, as the ending revolves around one of those perfect twists, the kind that you don’t see coming but you absolutely should have because it’s not at all surprising in retrospect. The high-level concept, though, is a world where nanomachines keep everyone (moderately) healthy, but the economy itself is pretty much in shambles. Anyone who isn’t working on nanotechnology is out of a job, leading to the question of whether simply having our basic biological needs met is enough for a fulfilling life. It’s got some great parallels with our modern world, which is a theme you’ll notice in pretty much all of Blackhall’s SF-tinged work.

Oh, and, psst. A little birdie told me that it’s free on July 30th and a couple of days afterward. So grab it while it’s hot! It’s available on Kindle, and while you’re at it, check out Blackhall’s Amazon bio, which is probably the best thing I’ve ever read. Just an excerpt:

He used those talents to join a traveling circus, which is where most of his science fiction stories originate. He became so famous under the name “The Pale Pouncer” that his life was in constant danger from fanatical fans. After an assassination attempt involving three dwarves disguised as the tallest man in the world, he was forced to leave his three wives and two mistresses behind in Munich and run away to America.

Moving right along, we’ve got the fabulous debut novel from friend-of-the-blog Arianne ‘Tex’ Thompson. One Night in Sixes is a fantasy-western (western-fantasy?) that draws some comparisons to The Dark Tower, but mainly because that’s the only western-fantasy (fantasy-western?) anyone can think of. It’s a remarkably original celebration and condemnation of American history, which is not something you hear said about a fantasy novel all that often.

I got to hear Tex talk about this some at ArmadilloCon. A lot of the audience seemed to be commenting about pre-Columbian history, which isn’t so much what this is about, but native/invader interactions are absolutely at the heart of this novel (funny enough, sort of on topic for the work-in-progress I’m currently hacking at, though with a vastly different milieu).

The narrative revolves around Sil, a purebred lord’s son and right little shit, and Elim, a loyal half-breed who’s scorned by just about everyone except those who want him to lift something heavy. It sort of reminds me of Of Mice and Men, if Lenny and George hated each other, and Lenny’s mental disability was a false perception. The two get into some shit when they cross over into native land still reeling from war. Oh, and there are fishmen. Men who are fish.

You can and should grab One Night in Sixes from Amazon and Barnes & Noble. Tex also has a fantastic blog and Twitter (I even hear tell she’s runnin’ a contest right now), and if you can check out the novel’s prologue right here. You can also check out a longer dissection of the novel’s themes on John Scalzi’s blog, as Tex has written up a Big Idea for you to peruse.

Legacy of the Force: A Postmortem

Since Disney has jettisoned the Star Wars EU, I’ve been recently motivated to read all the stuff I’ve missed now that it doesn’t feel like I’m paddling against a neverending current of releases. Since I finished NJO a while back, I figured I’d start with Legacy of the Force, even though it doesn’t have the best reputation with fans. Due to a weeklong vacation, I finished it pretty quickly. My verdict? It was all right. It probably could have been trimmed a little bit, but it felt tighter than New Jedi Order, even if it wasn’t quite as creative a storyline. There were good parts and bad parts. I’ve summed up my reaction below.
Just as a heads up, there will be spoilers.
The Good
  • Jacen/Caedus’s characterization. Seriously? Yeah, really! Once you can get past the handwavery that leads him to becoming a Sith (“…he went on some five year journey that completely changed his character. We don’t know what happened, don’t worry about it, stop asking.”), his thought process is very interesting, and I found myself more intrigued by his point-of-view than any other character. He’s clearly misguided and often amoral, but unlike many of the Sith we see in this series, he’s hardly deranged. I love complex villains, and Jacen is one of the best examples.
  • I like … Karen Traviss? It’s even more a surprise to me than the previous bullet point. I’ve always thought she came off extraordinarily bristly in her interactions online, and her novelization of The Clone Wars film is possibly the worst Star Wars novel I’ve read. To be fair, that might be the fault of the script, though it has to be said that R.A. Salvatore took the worst Star Wars film, Attack of the Clones, and made a perfectly enjoyable novel out of it. Add to that the poor reputation Traviss’s books have in the EU community, and I expected to loathe her entries. I did not. In fact, I found her novels to be the most compelling. She’s given a lot of shit for “anti-Jedi” viewpoints, but really, I only found a single scene to be overly preachy, and even then only because Jaina seemed unwilling to defend her entire family and ideology to the Mando badmouthing them.
  • Interesting side characters. The Mon Calamari admiral Niathal was a great addition, as were some of Ben Skywalker’s spy buddies. I also liked Lumiya, though I’m glad she wasn’t allowed to wear out her welcome, as she was becoming a little bit repetitive near the end.
  • The space battles. I’m normally not a huge fan of space battles in prose — I skimmed through many of the NJO examples. But the Legacy battles seemed short and interesting enough to hold my attention. I particularly loved the Second Battle of Fondor from the novel Revelations (my favorite book in the series). Beautifully complex and personal.
  • I can’t forget Lando Calrissian piloting The Love Commander, complete with what I imagine to be shag carpet and rotating bed.
The Bad
  • Mara Jade’s actions make no sense, and are clearly there solely for the sake of plot and stretching out the series. There is no world in which an experienced assassin would go after a secret Sith Lord alone, without telling anyone or even leaving a Dead Man’s Switch so that in the event of her (more than probable) death, someone other than her will know what happened. It’s ludicrous and almost inexcusable.
  • Jaina’s character is handled poorly. In the last two books the series, she’s billed a Big Fuckin’ Deal, what with being the Sword of the Jedi, destined to take out Darth Caedus before he can wrap his hands around the galaxy, and being trained in combat by the Madalorians in a way no other Jedi has even attempted. The problem, though, is that she’s barely even present in the rest of the series. For the most part, she’s sent on pointless sidequests and given an awful romantic subplot that goes nowhere (which is just more of the same of her awful development from the New Jedi Order series). Even worse, her Mando training amounts to nothing. More on that below.
  • The finale is just bad. Especially the climactic battle. As I said, Jaina’s Mando training means nothing. You’d think the final climactic battle would be influenced by it, somehow. Maybe a more intense version of the Jag vs. Alema fight where he takes her out using brains, brawn and some neat gadgets? Nope. Jaina happens on Jacen in a hallway, he’s surprised and she cuts him in half. There’s a tiny bit of sadness because he’s focused on saving his daughter at the time, though this is hardly a revelation. That’s it. The only thing Jaina learns from the Mandalorians is that when you fight, you should really go all-out and show no mercy. Wow. What an amazing insight. That absolutely required months of training and preparation, as well as two full novels of build up.
  • Troy Denning’s point-of-view shifts are unforgivable. There’s no other way to say this. He arbitrarily shifts POV inside chapters, jumping into other characters heads without warning, without indication and irreparably muddling the narrative. He does it in battle scenes. He does it in dialogue scenes. I can’t believe this got past an editor. Even for licensed fiction, it’s just awful.
  • The author’s pet characters can get pretty annoying. Alema Rar especially, but the sprawling, mostly unnecessary Boba Fett and Wedge Antilles subplots aren’t much better. 

Two Companies Diverge

It’s not too difficult to name the two video game developers that had the most influence on my childhood. The first is Square-Enix, formerly Squaresoft and Enix, creators of such games as Final Fantasy, Secret of Mana, Illusion of Gaia, etc. There is no other developer that even comes close.

The second, though, has to be Nintendo. It probably doesn’t need to be said that games like Zelda and Metroid are some of the best in creation, but even more than that, Nintendo created much of the hardware that facilitated Squaresoft’s game development. So, you know, there’s that.

It’s sad but interesting that both companies have fallen on somewhat hard times. Huge losses, wayward philosophies and lots of Internet jokes at their expense. It’s also interesting that the cause of these problems are actually blamed on opposite factors. For Square-Enix, it’s said that they’ve ignored their old school fans and design ethos and focused too much on the mobile, social future of games. For Nintendo, they’re said to be stuck in the past, refusing to create a robust online system and creating hardware that’s at least a generation out of date.

I’m not sure what to say about that disparity other than to point of the humor in it. But this week did bring some new revelations for both companies. The first is good news: Square-Enix is revising its profit estimates upward because of strong sales, especially of its flagship MMORPG, Final Fantasy XIV. It’s impossible to see this as anything but proof of the power of focusing on your core games; notice that the story isn’t “Square-Enix Forecast Bolstered By Success Of Facebook Games.” I expect this is good news for fans of SE’s classic games. I expect continued support of the Final Fantasy brand because of this, and maybe even some revivals of some old favorites (I want more SaGa!)

Now for the bad news. Nintendo posted a half-billion dollar loss for their most recent fiscal year, mainly because of poor Wii U sales. Unlike the SE example, it’s hard to pinpoint this on an exact cause. I mean, yeah, the Wii U isn’t selling. But why isn’t it selling? And more to the point, why is Nintendo refusing to do anything about it? Thusfar, any changes have been minor to say the least. I like my Wii U, and I’m not one of those who think they need to release a brand new uber system ASAP. But they need to do something, and like many conservative Japanese companies, they’re resisting that.

Yes, more games would be nice. But more than that, we need some surprises. We’ve got Mario, and yeah, it was good, but Mario games are expected to be good at this point. Mario Kart 8 is on its way, and it looks … like Mario Kart. Fun, of course, but not something that will make Wii U’s fly off the shelf. E3 is coming up, and if Nintendo wants any chance of turning this ship around, they need a “wow” moment. Something wholly unexpected that gets people’s attention. I don’t know what it is, but I’m really hoping for it.

What I’ve Been Reading

Just wanted to give some shout-outs to some recent reads, so without further ado!

First up, Vessel of Kali, the debut novel from Richard Milner! A story I’d describe as dark and ponderous, full of intrigue and strange cultish philosophies that might seem a little bit familiar to us Earthians (which is a good thing!)

Who would I recommend it to? Well, fans of competent, highly literary fantasy. If you like China Miéville, I suspect you’ll fall in love with Milner’s writing. Like Miéville, Milner has a fantastic ear for description (there’s nary a chapter without a few evocative lines that make me incredibly jealous). But unlike a few of Miéville’s more plodding moments, Milner’s descriptions never get in the way of the story. The words are there to reveal the story, not obscure it.

Next, I have to highlight the latest in Barbara Ann Wright’s Starbride and Katya series. What began in The Pyramid Waltz and continued in For Want of a Fiend reaches epic new heights in A Kingdom Lost. I had the privilege of reading this before release, and have no qualms about saying it’s the best yet in the series. Starbride and Katya are separated, the wicked Roland’s suddenly got all kinds of power, and for once our heroines are forced to navigate the world as underdogs. Highly enjoyable, and I recommend it highly to fans of the series, or romantic and adventure fantasy in general.

And what else? Well, I’ve got a huge backlog to catch up on because of the last Humble eBook Bundle. I started with John Scalzi’s novella “The God Engines,” and it didn’t quite grab me, so I’m putting it aside. I’ve also read the first few chapters of Yahtzee Croshaw (of Zero Punctuation fame). I’m not a fan of his highly cynical video game “reviews,” so I was totally prepared to hate this in the ultimate show of justice/irony/obstinacy. To my surprise, I’ve actually been enjoying it. It’s Discworld Meets HHG2G Meets Warcraft, and while so far it’s not gut-bustingly hilarious or brain-meltingly challenging, it’s enjoyable enough for me to keep reading.

I’m also reading some more Star Wars pulp fiction. Now that Disney has officially announced that the old EU (now called Legends) is finished, and it’s very unlikely we’ll see any more stories in that universe, I’m actually optimistic that I can catch up. So, silver linings?

Have a good week!

Just a quick nostalgia trip

I don’t have much to say today, but I did want to share a trailer that proves that even after a lot of disappointments and cynicism, I can still get a bit misty-eyed. Have a good weekend!