The Legend of Drizzt (audiobook)

They're not lying about the cast.

So, this takes me way, way back into my early teenage years, when R.A. Salvatore's adventures of Drizzt Do'urden were a staple of my reading alongside the Davids Eddings and Gemmell and whatever other authors of heroic fantasy fiction (many now sadly deceased) received the honour of representation in the Fleet public library. Drizzt was one of my formative experiences of the Forgotten Realms setting for Dungeons & Dragons, and one of the only D&D spin-off series I ever gave much time to (the other was the Dragonlance series; please don't judge me.)

I'd not given the books much thought in recent years, but then a friend pointed out on G+ that a ten hour collection of Drizzt short stories was available in audiobook format, for free*, read by the likes of Tom Felton, Felicia Day and Ice-T; if indeed those can be be said to be alike. Ice-T reads D&D? For nothing? Sign me up!

'The First Notch'

Read by Felicia Day

We open with a tale of rugged young dwarfs and snarling giants, read by elfin, soft-voiced celebrity nerd Day, which is a left-field choice if ever I saw one; like casting Tom Cruise as a 6'6" ex-military policeman or Denzel Washington as a stocky, white Englishman. In another unexpected jack move, the first story in the Collected short stories of the Legend of Drizzt doesn't have Drizzt in it; in fact, he's not even mentioned. Instead, the story concerns the young Bruenor Battlehammer, future dwarf king and friend of the eponymous elf, and how his battleaxe got its first notch.

'The First Notch' really sets the scene for the collection, not least in priming the listener for the fact that more than half of the stories don't include Drizzt at all, and several don't even mention him. It's not high art, but I have to admit it's better than I remember finding Salvatore's work in what I shall call my 'snobby, post-high fantasy' period, and for all that she is not the obvious dwarf-voicer, Day puts in a game effort with the bizarre dwarf accent (described as a brogue, I think it's meant to be kind of Scots-y Irish - Scoirish? - but here comes out more Cockney, which seems to work), and makes a fine squeaky goblin. The action scene is one of the better ones in the set, managing to find a rare variation where other become repetitive (there are, in fairness, only so many ways to rephrase arm, torso, sword or eviscerate without becoming dangerously florid).

'Dark Mirror' 

Read by Dan Harmon

Drizzt makes his first appearance in a story of racial hatred and slavery, narrated by Community creator Harmon. Again, not an obvious choice. Travelling to visit an elven city for the first time, Drizzt is delayed helping a group of villagers rescue their captive kin from orc raiders, and stumbles on something that greatly complicates his view of the world.

The first half of the story is a pretty by-the-numbers hostage rescue, with Drizzt and his allies managing a win in spite of the Leeroy Jenkins tendencies of a local hero unwilling to be outdone. It's the second half that is more interesting, as Drizzt retrieves an escaped goblin 'for trial', only to learn that he is actually a slave, and that his intellect and nature cast doubts on Drizzt's certainties regarding the irredeemable evil of goblins. It's interesting not least because it is so at odds with the game's original setting, and because the goblin Nojheim makes the point that Drizzt is accepted as an exception because he is considered sexy, while a goblin isn't, which is almost a criticism of the very sensibilities that made Drizzt such a popular character.

Harmon's reading is good, and he works particularly well in portraying the tragic stoicism of Nojheim.

'The Third Level'

Read by Greg Grunberg

Once more banishing Drizzt from his own book, 'The Third Level' is an origin piece for the Drow's long-time nemesis-turned-antivillain, Artemis Entreri, read by Greg Grunberg of Heroes fame. As a boy, Artemis embarks on the beginning of his career as a thief and assassin, and makes his first steps into the thieves' guilds of Calimport.

I think the most interesting thing here is the depiction of the thieves guilds not as the monolithic organisation common in heroic fantasy, but as a number of rival gangs with no particular code of honour between them. The rules are the rules because a bigger thief will kick your teeth in if you break them. It's also a bizarrely gritty prelude to a big ol' fantasy saga set in the magic-heavy Forgotten Realms.

Grunberg approaches the story as the straightforward tale of gang violence that it is.

'Guenhwyvar'
Read by Tom Felton

Another origin story, this time for Drizzt's constant companion, the magical panther who lives in a statuette, Guenhwyvar (whose name is explained as the high elven for 'shadow', although it is actually taken from the Welsh version of Guinevere, which means 'white ghost'.) The reader is Tom 'Draco Malfoy' Felton.

This story is mostly a curiosity, existing to explain a discrepancy in early descriptions of Guenhwyvar. The official line was that a) figurines of wondrous power transformed into the animals that they represent, and b) magical items don't have gender (although after being pressed to refer to her as 'it', editorial meddling at one point led to Guenhwyvar being referred to as 'he' instead of 'she' in some of the early books). This story is a long-winded account of how Guenhwyvar came to be separate from the statue with her sex intact.

Felton does well with a lot of arcane description and a significant fight scene, and manages to keep a straight face through the wizard-ranger's showboating, which is impressive.

'That Curious Sword' read by Danny Pudi and 'Wickless in the Nether' read by Sean Astin

A couple of adventures for Artemis Entreri, this time focusing on his doomed bromance with sardonic Drow mage Jarlaxle. The first is read by Community's resident chameleon Danny Pudi, the second by noted hobbit Sean Astin.

The stories are solid adventure fare and the readings are top notch, although having only read the earlier books as a boy it is odd to see the degree to which Entreri has been de-villained.

'The Dowery' 
Read by Melissa Rauch

This one does have Drizzt in, on an adventure with his love interest Catti Brie, who as read by The Big Bang Theory's Melissa Rauch sounds kind of like the goblins in 'The First Notch'.

For me, this is the weakest story of the bunch. Its most remarkable features are the utter pointlessness of the adventure itself - Catti Brie basically suggests busting a pirate crew to kill some time - and the utter inability of the absurdly powerful pair to kill even one of their opponents in the protracted fight scene which makes up the core of the book. This bizarre attack of uselessness is not merely baffling, it actually makes it obvious that the enemy are not what they seem, giving away the twist to anyone remotely genre savvy.

'Comrades at Odds'
Read by Ice-T

Yes, Ice-T. You weren't imagining it earlier, and I wasn't bullshitting you.

This is a Drizzt story, and one filled with a great deal of intospection. Set around the formation of an orc kingdom, it again questions the stock fantasy assumption that orcs and goblins are mere monsters, without hope of redemption or evolution. It offers no simple answers, and being pretty out of the loop on Forgotten Realms I wonder to what degree these thoughts were ever taken up in the broader canon.

And it's read by Ice-T.

'If Ever They Happened Upon My Lair'
Read by Wil Wheaton

This is a prequel story which is removed enough from the main action of the Drizzt tale that you actually need to have some pretty advanced knowledge to see how it fits in at all. It's basically a dragon hunt tale, and not a bad one, but don't get attached to the hunters.

Wil Wheaton is an excellent reader.

'Bones and Stones'
Read by Al Yankovic

Talking about those left-handed casting choices again, this is an introspective tale of loss and mourning, read by 'Weird' Al Yankovic. He does a good job.

'Iruladoon'
Read by Michael Chiklis

And for this tale of mystery and ephemeral magic, the gravel tones of Michael Chiklis; why not?

'To Legend He Goes' 
Read by David Duchovny

We finish then with the death song of the barbarian Wulfgar, as fitting a tribute to Conan as to anything Forgotten Realms-y, as the aged chief throws off his shackles for one last battle to save a band of his hunters from angry yeti. David Duchovny is surprisingly good.

Overall, this is an excellent selection and kept me entertained for more than 10 hours. I'm not sure I'd have paid full whack for it, since I'm way out of the loop on all things Drizzt, but for the most part it stands on its own. If you're a fan of fantasy adventure in the Forgotten Realms style, its well worth a go just for the quality of the reading.

* To avoid disappointment, this was a limited offer and you'd have to pay for it now.

Ark Royal

When first contact becomes a shooting match, the divided forces of humanity's many national space navies are hastily united to face the alien aggressor. After the first full-scale engagement turns out a slaughter, Earth's only hope may be a handful of ageing and outdated vessels, led by the Royal Navy's oldest carrier, the Ark Royal.

Ark Royal is the first book in a series by Christopher G Nuttall, of which three are now published. It's a nuts and bolts interstellar war story, with a conveniently predictable means of FTL travel and insanely fast intra-system transit to get around the problem of depicting a defensive fight in space. There are some nice conceits, especially those used to centre the action around the oldest ship in the fleet, and in fact those conceits are the best part of the book.

Unfortunately, the technological conceits (which, by the by, are plain bad physics, so let's just accept that and move on) are surrounded by a story full of stock characters and poorly edited drama. No character transcends his or her TFC summary (he's a stubborn, recovering alcoholic navy captain struggling to retain his command; she's a plucky junior officer caught between duty and loyalty: they fight crime aliens.) The female characters are particularly egregious, consisting primarily of said plucky junior officer, a sexy young pilot, a marginally shrewish wife and a reporter whose sole defining characteristics are blondness, stupidity and an 'inhuman' thinness'.

It is, however, only when it comes to relationships the book really takes a nosedive. The sole sexual relationship of the book is between the CAG (Chief of Air Group, for those not either aux fait with military parlance or just following Battlestar Galactica, as Nuttall would appear to be doing) and a much younger squadron leader (said sexy hotshot pilot). It is not noticeably worse than any one of a hundred other literary sexual relationships, except that every encounter is prefaced or followed by the CAG musing that he shouldn't be cheating on his wife, and anyway the squadron leader is young enough to be his daughter/he is old enough to be her father.

Which brings me to the editing, and the fact that there isn't any. There aren't many spelling errors, but repetition is the book's greatest flaw; occasionally just within sentences, but also both repetition of information several times in a given passage, or repetition of the same phrasing every time a similar situation comes up. The squick-making reuse of 'old enough to be her father... almost' before every poorly-written sex scene* is one example, but also the aliens noses were so bloodied by the end of it it's a wonder they weren't all anaemic, and I think if one more ship had opted to 'rig for silent running' and 'lie doggo', I would have screamed.

The next book in the series will not be making an appearance on my Kindle; not unless I get desperate.

* If I genuinely held poorly written sex against an author, I'd never read anything past the 12-14 age bracket.

God Emperor of Didcot

I've actually not read the others, but cover shots are few
and far between.

For the Empire to thrive, the tea must flow. Tea, lifeblood of the British Space Empire, is almost exclusively grown on the planet Urn in the Didcot system. When an invasion threatens to cut off the tea and rob the troops of their vital moral fibre, the Empire sends in Space Captain Isambard Smith, the best man who happens to be in the area, to sort the problem out.

I read Space Captain Smith s few years back; I recall it being pretty decent, but having got around to the sequel, God Emperor of Didcot, I find myself underwhelmed. It's not that it's terrible, there's just very little to expand on the first book; only the same gumbo of SF references and dick jokes. It also lacks proper satirical bite. SF in which the good guys work for a fascist super-state tend to work by painting the super-state as terrible, and the enemy as worse (c.f. Warhammer 40K or Judge Dredd), but Frost's narrative basically buys into the glory of Empire with very little irony*, leaving the Ghasts and the Edenites almost pointlessly vile.

I wanted to like this too. I like steampunky space opera, at least in theory.

Oh well; onwards and upwards.

* I'm sure there is some element of parody, and it is conceivable that I have just been too tired to get it, but I wasn't feeling it.

The Hundred-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out of the Window and Disappeared

This cover is shamelessly misleading;
the only suitcase in the book is much
larger.

"Things are what they are, and whatever will be will be."

Allan Karlsson is turning one-hundred, a minor cause celebre in the quiet town where he lives in the old people's home. Then Karlsson climbs out of the window, walks slowly to the bus stop, impulsively steals a suitcase and catches a bus for any-old-where. It seems an odd time of life to start adventuring, but as the reader learns in parallel to the centenarian Karlsson's Odyssey, it's hardly the first time that he has traveled.

Jonas Jonasson's debut novel*, The Hundred-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out of the Window and Disappeared is the story - or perhaps two stories - of one Swede's journeys, first across the world and later across his home country. The modern-day story is a comedy of errors, as Karsson and a growing band of friends find adventure, love, and even God through a series of misunderstandings and in defiance of dogged lawmen and criminals alike.

The story of how Karlsson came to be in the old people's home in the first place is more like a globe-trotting, intellectual Scandinavian Forrest Gump, but with much more vodka and dynamite, as Karlsson rubs shoulders with Franco, Oppenheimer, Truman, Stalin, Mao and Albert Einstein's affably dim half-brother Herbert - among others - accidentally gives the world nuclear weapons, acts as spy and counter-spy, inadvertently burns down a major city and twice blows up his own house. Karlsson's anarchic trail leads across continents in fair weather and foul, with and without proper transportation and official documentation, as if to demonstrate the damage and good that one free spirit can bring about armed only with a keen mind, a moral compass uninformed by the slightest political stirrings, and a lifetime's experience of vodka and dynamite.

The whole thing is recounted with a dry wit and a prescient narrative voice that reminds me a little of Anthony Trollope, although again with much more vodka and dynamite (and elephants). It is defiantly lighthearted in the face of danger and age, and presents the great and the good of the twentieth century as a mixture of good and bad clowns for whom deploying an aging Swedish explosives technician is as good a medium of action as any in response to international communism or the rampant running dogs of capitalism.

The Hundred-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out of the Window and Disappeared is a real feelgood novel, and a wonderful palate cleanser after a few months of post-apocalyptic shenanigans and bloody murder (although not without a certain amount of murder itself).

* For completeness, the translation from Jonas Jonasson's original Swedish was by Rod Bradbury for my Kindle edition.

Super, Hero

What makes a hero into a superhero?

Okay, so there are basically four takes on this, with a fair bit of nuance in between:

1. A superhero has definitively superhuman traits, resulting from mutation, technological intervention, non-human origin or magic. There is a certain amount of debate as to how intrinsic the changes caused by a technological intervention have to be for the character to count as a super hero rather than a regular hero using tech.
2. A superhero is someone who wears a costume to fight evil/crime, usually including - if not exclusively - costumed supervillains.
3. A hero whose heroics are themselves 'super'; larger than life.
4. A comic book character published by DC or Marvel, the co-owners of the trademark 'Super Hero'.

The last is the easiest to deal with, because it's beautifully definite. A Super Hero is whatever DC and Marvel decide it is. Yay!

Logo for the 'super hero' trademark defence legal team.

What about the rest of us? For my money (and this really is just for my money), the thing to do is not to try to establish terms from the ground up, but to look at those who are clearly superheroes and see what they have in common. Perhaps we should start with the big three(s). DC and Marvel each have their heavy hitters, the 'big three' who stand head and shoulders above the rest in terms of image and exposure. Who exactly Marvel's big three are is open to question, however. 

As part of the drive towards inclusion, Thor will be replaced
by a female character, and Iron Man by Usain Bolt.

The canonical big three seem to be the core Avengers: Iron Man, Captain America and Thor (hence the bigness of the news that one of the big three, Thor, will be replaced by a new, female incarnation). On the other hand, fan opinion is that the big three are more accurately the characters with the longest record of exceptional popularity: Hulk, Spider-Man and the soon-to-be late Wolverine, who significantly outsell any of the formal three's solo titles, thanks in large part to highly-successful adaptations. Of course, the MCU has seen a significant resurgence for Iron Man, Cap and Thor in the larger world; after all, Hulk didn't get another solo film and the non-canon Spider-Man and X-Men titles are struggling, but in comic terms, the balance is unchanged.

Hulk, Spider-Man and Wolverine are of course the easier three to categorise, as all three are superheroes by every definition. They each have superhuman traits which have become completely intrinsic to their beings, and fight evil in a larger than life fashion. The one stumbler is Hulk, who doesn't have a uniform, but 2012's The Avengers clearly established that the Hulk form is Bruce Banner's 'suit', and that works for me.

"First to punch the cameraman is in the 'big
three'!"

The other big three are more troublesome. Thor fits pretty much the whole package. Even on Asgard his power is exceptional, and on Earth clearly superhuman. He has an iconic costume and weapon, battles evil (his power is actually dependent on his virtue) and if a character who speaks in quasi-Shakespearean declamations isn't larger-than-life, I don't know who is. Captain America also has few questions; boosted beyond human limits by the supersoldier serum, he dresses in a flag and fights for right.

It's Iron Man who slows things down. His 'powers' are technical brilliance (prodigal and prodigious, but not beyond human levels) and a suit of armour. He has no intrinsic power that goes beyond human ability, although he does have an iconic uniform and battles villains in a super fashion. It could be said, however, that Iron Man is not a superhero.

The DC Big Three: If we go by powers,
that gives us Superman, Wonder
Woman, and Ambush Bug.

And yet, people speak of 'the big three' not because of Marvel, but because of DC, whose big three are pretty much beyond question: Superman, Wonder Woman, and Batman. They are all costumed, all iconic and larger-than-life, all dedicated to the fight against crime and evil, but the odd man out is Batman. In Batman: the Brave and the Bold, Captain Atom describes Batman as a c-lister, pointing out that he has no powers at all, and yet Captain Atom doesn't come close to making the big three. 

Batman is the poster child for the 'super-normal', the characters whose superpower is that they are ludicrously good at a wide range of perfectly mundane things. Batman is a master martial artist, Olympic-level athlete, scientific and technical genius (even when he has help creating his gadgets, he is usually shown to possess excellent analytical and mechanical chops), and of course, the world's greatest detective. There is no one trait that is beyond human potential (although in practice he is usually shown to possess physical abilities on a par with more overtly powered characters), but the sheer range of his excellence could be characterised as superhuman.

It's depressing how hard it is to get a pic of these three in
which Wonder Woman isn't pushing her chest out.

More to the point, a definition of superhero that doesn't include Batman is almost intrinsically flawed. Batman is a critical part of the DC big three, and of the Justice League, one of the top-flight superhero teams. To say that Batman isn't a superhero borders on the disingenuous. If you ask the man or woman in the street to name five superheroes... well, they'd probably look at you funny, but if they gave you five names then they'd either name the Avengers (and include Iron Man, Black Widow and maybe even Hawkeye), or one of them would be Batman.

What does the man on the street know? Well, with a title like 'super hero', popular perception is important. Batman is a superhero, not because of any intrinsic ability, but simply because that is what the world calls him, and in a fictional character, that's really what counts.

This rules out actual super powers as a defining trait of the superhero, and leaves us with a combination of 2 and 3: A superhero wears a costume and fights evil/crime in a larger than life fashion.

The term I've been using for that fashion, iconic, is not mere happenstance. DC characters in particular are self-consciously iconic, and none more so than the trinity. Batman is vengeance and the night; iconically, he stands for 'justice', and the fact that in his world justice must be served by someone outside of a corrupt authority (see Watchmen for a hell of a lot of commentary on this). Wonder Woman is the Spirit of Truth, standing both for truth and for compassion. Superman is the big, blue boy scout; he stands above all else for an enduring hope in a better world.

He's a man with serious mental health issues who found the
last item of clothing from a doomed planet and gained the
power to teleport and recognise his own fictional nature.

Marvel is a lot less straightforward. To quote Alan Moore: "Stan Lee had this huge break through of two-dimensional characters."

Still and all, you can sum up most Marvel superheroes pretty quickly, and that's important. 

A superhero can be a complicated character, but never complex. Any apparent superhero who takes more than a paragraph to explain in their basic essence is probably a deconstruction.

Pure

Fifteen years ago, the Detonations ended the world as it was. What remains is ruin, and the Dome. Who remains are the wretches, scarred and starved, fused to whatever they were holding or touching when the end came, and the Pure, untouched, improved, watching over the wastes from safety. Pressia is a wretch, her fist wrapped in a doll's head. Partridge is a Pure, genetically modified for speed and strength. Yet they are connected.

Pure is the titular first volume of a trilogy by Julianna Baggott, establishing the world of the wretches and the Pure, who between them occupy the ruins of America; or perhaps I should say Gilead, as the descriptions of the old world and its 'return to civility' under the Red Revolution are not dissimilar to the neo-conservative state of Margaret Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale. The primary distinction is that reproduction in Pure is a right, not a duty, to be stripped from women deemed unfit, who can then safely be altered like the men.

Although in places derivative, the book's setting is interesting, but it falls down a little on its characters, especially in the first half. Pressia in particular is almost exclusively reactive in the first half of the book, making no attempt to control her world that is not in response to direct stimulus. Perhaps this is from a life lived in fear, but Baggott seems determined that we know that Pressia is strong and smart and able from the get-go, and as a result she doesn't really kick in as a character until halfway through the book.

A lot of things don't really kick in until the halfway mark, not least the secondary viewpoint characters El Capitan and Lyda, whose first inclusion is actually quite baffling - rather than mysterious - and remains so until their roles are expanded after a significant span. The latter part of the book does show significant promise, once the story puts its cards on the table. It is still done no favours by publicity comparing it to The Hunger Games, but on its own terms is an interesting piece of dystopian fiction.

Super, Hero: The background

About a month ago a friend, whom I shall refer to as Dragnet, posted on G+ on the subject of what makes a hero into a superhero.

Actually, to get the story in its entirety, Dragnet's post was: "What's the first thing to pop into your head when I say "female super hero"? Be honest! "

Some names were floated and the nature of the female superhero discussed, and then this happened:

The story you are about to hear 14 Aug 2014
High leg leotards and ridiculous proportions. :(

The first superheroes I think of are probably Spider-Girl, Elektra, Black Widow & Mockingbird - though actually I think the only one of those that's actually a super is Spider-Girl. +Only the names - you know Elektra better than me - does she count as one? I'm assuming she doesn't. 

This sparked a new debate, which brought up the following opinions:

Only the names 14 Aug 2014
+The story you are about to hear - I wouldn't call her a "super" hero, no; in the same way as Black Widow or Hawkeye, she's just well trained.

To protect the innocent 14 Aug 2014
+The story you are about to hear <Elektra> can psychically poses people and communicate telepathically. if she doesn't count as super, because they are learnt skills, then neither does Doctor Strange.

Only the names 14 Aug 2014
But [Iron Man's] arc reactor is technology he built - it's not the intervention of some magical, mystical* or alien force.
*or supernatural, mutation-based etc

Gangbusters Presents 14 Aug 2014
+The story you are about to hear So, technological intervention doesn't count, but alien does? How does Superman (a perfectly ordinary Kryptonian) compare then to, say, Rocket Raccoon (altered by alien technology)?
Does the "super" in "superhero" not refer to their heroics? The exaggerated nature of their actions?

This then proceeded to a more general debate on another thread, launched by another friend, whom we shall call Fargo:

"What changes a character from a hero to a superhero?"

Which brought out opinions like these:

The events depicted 14 Aug 2014
Having capabilities that more normal people do not have.
Its why heroes are so much cooler ;)

Only the Names 14 Aug 2014
In my opinion, a "super" hero is one that has been somehow changed from the "normal" to give them extra capabilities. So, being a mutant, being bitten by a radioactive spider, super solider serum, that sort of thing.
...
Dr Strange is probably the weirdest one - I haven't really read him much, so I don't know if he really is just a normal human who has learnt magic (thus hero), or if something gave him that ability, like a pact or something (thus superhero)

Minnesota 1987 14 Aug 2014
Hero: ordinary person doing extraordinary things - fireman, policeman etc.
Superhero: protagonist appearing in the comic genre which is the primary output of Marvel & DC, commonly known as 'superhero comics'. There's no difference in my mind between Superman & Black Widow, as they both are protagonists in the same genre.

Request of the survivors 14 Aug 2014
A definition of "superhero" that excludes Batman, one of the five pillars of the form, must needs be inaccurate. Obviously, there isn't a completely accurate definition, but I think a superhero is an iconic, costumed character who fights evil (usually but not solely crime), usually but not always iconic, costumed crime.
...
it has nothing at all to do with the personal intention of the individual. A cop who goes above and beyond for a moment doesn't become a superhero. A superhero wears a costume or is otherwise visually iconic (like the Hulk, who is obviously recognisable even though he doesn't wear a costume) and usually fights some kind of equally iconic opponent. A superhero also typically possesses some kind of exceptional ability, even if that is explained in mundane terms (like Ted Kord Blue Beetle, who has a bunch of Bond-like gadgets).

Now, clearly a lot of people - not least my main man James 'Gonzo History' Holloway have said a great deal on the subject, but Dragnet did ask me to give my take when I was taking requests for an RPGaDAY topic on a day when I didn't have anything to say about the prompt. I said I'd look at that later, so here I go.

However, having set the scene with other people's thoughts, I'm going to go into this in detail in another post.