Even though I tend to find humorous fantasy . . . well, not hit-or-miss, but perhaps middling-or-miss, I had high hopes for this because I enjoyed theEven though I tend to find humorous fantasy . . . well, not hit-or-miss, but perhaps middling-or-miss, I had high hopes for this because I enjoyed the Burningblade & Silvereye trilogy. I mean, who doesn’t want to read about an oft-defeated hero of legend basically saying “screw it, if you can’t beat him, become them” and switching sides from good to evil.
The problem is that without all the prophecies and chosen-one tropes, moral injustices to rail against, social or political betrayals to avenge, or any of the other staples of the genre, this just feels selfish and insignificant. It’s a fun read, equal parts silly and sordid, crass and clever, but it’s hardly the kind of fantasy you find yourself getting lost in. It relies heavily on the novelty of the premise to carry the story, but that novelty wears thin before the fantasy pays off.
Perhaps the biggest stumbling block for me was that there’s always an ‘out’ or a narrative ‘reset’ to the story, where death doesn’t mean the end of the story, just a chance at a do-over. That robs the story of any tension, and while it lends itself to an air of mystery, wondering when the next reset might occur, the resulting lack of stakes is what kept me at more of a distance than I’d like.
Just not for me, I'm afraid. I actually quite like cozy fantasy, but I'm realizing that humorous fantasy and I rarely connect. It doesn't help that meJust not for me, I'm afraid. I actually quite like cozy fantasy, but I'm realizing that humorous fantasy and I rarely connect. It doesn't help that memory loss is a tired old trope that I only dislike slightly less than a hero's loss of powers, and that it seems to be the catalyst for the whole story. I gave it 50 pages, but this is a DNF for me....more
Somehow weirder than I expected and yet more down-to-earth at the same time, Trans Wizard Harriet Porber and The Bad Boy Parasaurolophus was a fabulouSomehow weirder than I expected and yet more down-to-earth at the same time, Trans Wizard Harriet Porber and The Bad Boy Parasaurolophus was a fabulous introduction to the Tingleverse.
While I love the fact that Chuck Tingle declared his support for trans rights and made a donation to the Transgender Law Center, I bought this purely out of spite, a literary “screw you” to a certain Muggle Minister of TERFs . . . and I regret nothing!
The plot here is something of a grown-up romantic sequel to the HP fantasies, but with a contemporary awareness of things like social media. Harriet Porber is still a wizard, a transgender woman who is struggling to craft a follow up spell her viral hit. Her agent, Minerma, sends her to an island off the coast of England to relax and find some inspiration, which is where she meets up with Snabe, who is still an infuriating wizard of unknown loyalties, a transgender parasaurolophus who is struggling to record new bardic magic for this band Seven Inch Nails. Tagging along with Snabe is Dellatrix and Braco, who are still cruel and crazy, but also a pair of sentient motorcycles in this reality. Yeah, it’s weird. There’s a unicorn sheriff too, and an emergency room doc who prescribes rest and motor oil. Just go with it, it’s worth it.
While I was expecting slapstick parody, especially with the sentient motorcycles, this is actually a sincere homage to the other HP (and the characters surrounding him), who we are reminded should not be judged by the words or actions of their authors. In fact, in a very meta book where Snabe is fully aware of having been written as the bad boy in a romance novel, we get comments like this:
“So I’m well aware this is a bad boy romance novel, and I’ve got a job to do,” he explains. “Trust me, I don’t love acting this way, either. I guess it’s just important to remember just because a fictional character is a jerk, it doesn’t mean the author is, too. Likewise, if a fictional character is sweet and awesome, their author could still be really awful and bigoted.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I question.
“I’m not telling you, I’m telling the reader,” the dinosaur informs me.
In another lovely little JRK dig later in the book, Bumbleborn – who is a woolly mammoth, but still an old wizard with scraggly white hair and a wizard’s hat – gets the following introduction to Harriet:
“I’m gay,” Bumbleborn says.
“Uh… what?” I stammer, a little confused. “That’s cool.”
“I just wanted to say that clearly in this story instead of claiming years later it was there in the subtext the whole time,” the woolly mammoth continues.
The romance between Harriet and Snabe is actually a lot of fun, a total enemies-to-lovers transformation, complete with bickering, misunderstandings, hurt feelings, romantic frustrations, hot sex, and (eventually) tender, honest love. There’s not a lot of sex to the book, just a few scattered scenes, but there’s something charming about the way Tingle goes all-in with setting expectations and establishing terminology:
SNABE: “Before we go any farther, this is my cock,” the dinosaur informs me. “Don’t call it a strap-on, don’t even think of it as a strap-on. This is my dick. Understood?”
HARRIET: “You can touch it,” I explain, “and you can suck it, but call it what it is: not a dick. That’s my clit.”
What really surprised me was how the individual creative struggles, the blossoming romance, and attempted sabotage all came together in the end to create what is genuinely a thrilling, suspenseful final few chapters full of triumphs and tears. Yes, parts of Trans Wizard Harriet Porber and The Bad Boy Parasaurolophus are very silly, the whole meta aspect is completely odd (albeit with a purpose), and the scattered erotic scenes are a curious mix of amusement and arousal, but Harriet and Snabe are fully developed, lovable characters in a romance that works, and there’s an actual story holding all the parts together.
I’d give this 4 stars for the story itself, rounded up to 5 stars for taking what could have been something spiteful and turning it into something so positive. On that note, I’ll leave you with this:
“So the songspell is finished,” I observe. “It’s really beautiful.”
“It’s almost done,” Snabe informs me. “Very close. It’s effecting characters within the book, but I want it to do more than that. I want the reader to know they’re beautiful and strong and important in whatever body they inhabit.”
Who Killed John F. Kennedy? is the first Lose Your Own Adventure from Justin Sewell and the gang at Despair, Inc. If you have absolutely no idea what Who Killed John F. Kennedy? is the first Lose Your Own Adventure from Justin Sewell and the gang at Despair, Inc. If you have absolutely no idea what a Choose Your Own Adventure novel is, then you either grew up in the wrong decade, or the wrong kind of school. They were a staple for me back in elementary school. I remember one teacher who had a basket of them sitting at the back of the class, just waiting for somebody to brave the Journey to Stonehenge, face off against the Space Vampire, or risk their lives on the Planet of the Dragons.
They were incredibly fun, but it wasn't long before you learned to hold several places in the book, dog-ear others, and cheat your way through to the only 'successful' ending. It also became something of a challenge to find the fewest number of bad choices it took to finish a book, and a badge of honor to be the first to experience the 'worst' end.
That's brings us to Who Killed John F. Kennedy? . . . where there are no 'successful' choices, and a whole host of challengers for the 'worst' end. It's a fun concept, and one that I expected to wear thin as soon as the novelty wore off, but I have to admit this has kept me entertained. In fact, I've left it on the table behind the couch, and have dusted it off to play the game on a regular basis over the past couple of months.
Part of what makes it so fun is just how perfectly Justin and team have captured that sense of nostalgia. This looks, feels, and reads like a Choose Your Own Adventure novel of old. The language, the writing style, and the illustrations are bang-on. As for the characters, they're perfect parodies of the heroes and villains we remember, pushing things to the limit, and embodying our childhood opinions as to just how 'cool' we were and just how 'stupid' some adults could be. The other part of the fun is the wackiness of the various JFK conspiracy theories themselves, which hardly need to be parodied, but which still make for some great dead-ends.
It's not great literature, and it's not the next great American novel, but it is nostalgic fun. Give it a read, and if you have half as much fun as I did, consider supporting the kickstarter for book #2, The Glass Ceiling, next month.
You know, "Monty Python meets Gladiator" certainly has a nice ring to it, and there's no denying that it has definite cover appeal, but in my humble oYou know, "Monty Python meets Gladiator" certainly has a nice ring to it, and there's no denying that it has definite cover appeal, but in my humble opinion it's not quite right for War God Rising.
If I were in charge of marketing Tim Marquitz's latest, I'd have to go with "Monty Python and the Holy Grail A**hole Sword meets A Knight's Tale (minus the foot-tapping musical numbers) by way of a medieval Fish Called Wanda." Sure, it doesn't quite roll off the tongue as nicely, but I can't think of a better way to sum it up.
This was one hell of a fun read, full of groans, moans, and even a few belly laughs. It's so stupid at times that it approaches brilliant, and even the jokes you see coming from pages away somehow land perfectly. Comedic timing is tough, especially when it comes to the written word, but Tim has it nailed. Whether he's making excuses for sheep molestation,
having a pair of wannabe War Gods engaged in a lively philosophical discussion,
“Yeah?” “Yeah!” “Yeah?” “I already said yeah!” “Well, yeah to you too!” “You!” “No, you!”
or making little penis jokes,
“You have a plan?” “I have an inkling of one,” she answered, holding her hand up, thumb and forefinger separated by about a half inch. “So your plan involves Sand’s penis?”
it all works.
Surprisingly, though, it also works as legitimate heist/con fantasy novel, complete with some solid characters to carry it along. Bess and Kaede make for a fantastic pair of protagonists, playing off one another like the best mismatched, odd couple, road trip buddies imaginable; Mother Calliope and Alvernon are two very different, but very amusing, magical scoundrels with secrets; Sand is absolutely perfect as the dumb-as-dirt sheep boy turned insane-swordsman (with a flatulence issue); and Whineblade may just be the funniest sentient sword in fantasy. There are no heroes here, no paragons of virtue, just a parade of idiots, scoundrels, jerks, and sarcastic jerks who pull the story together.
If you're in the mood for a little sophomoric dark humor, over-the-top brutality, sheep jokes, rather imaginative monsters, and a gladiator tournament that actually pays off, then War God Rising is well worth the read. If you don't laugh out loud at least once while reading it, then there's something seriously wrong with you.
Disclaimer: I received a complimentary ARC of this title from the author in exchange for review consideration. This does not in any way affect the honesty or sincerity of my review.
When C.T. Phipps first offered me a review copy of The Rules of Supervillainy, I was hesitant - despite having previously enjoyed his Esoterrorism. NoWhen C.T. Phipps first offered me a review copy of The Rules of Supervillainy, I was hesitant - despite having previously enjoyed his Esoterrorism. Not only did Amazon have it listed in their dreaded Teen & Young Adult category, but I've found superhero novels to be more miss than hit. Fortunately, we've gotten to know one another fairly well over social media, so I trusted his judgement in offering me a copy.
I'm exceptionally glad he did.
This is a novel written for those of us who grew up on superhero comic books, and who still have a nostalgic connection to their unabashed pulp sensibilities. Unlike so many authors who have tried (and failed) to make these kinds of stories serious and respectable, Phipps remains true to the spirit of the comics. This really does read like an 80s/90s indie comic (The Tick), crossed with a cartoon homage (Darkwing Duck), with a nod to TV both classic (Batman) and retro (Greatest American Hero), and updated for contemporary R-rated cinematic sensibilities (Deadpool).
The Rules of Supervillainy is as funny as it is violent, and as clever as it is imaginative. All the superhero tropes are here, and the characters are only too aware of them. What makes it work, of course, is how Phipps twists some of those tropes and throws other ones entirely out the window. Gary is an ordinary man who has always dreamed of being a supervillain. He's not necessarily a bad guy. In fact, he's a doting husband, a good friend, and a reasonable villain as Merciless - the Supervillain Without Mercy! All he wants to do is get rich, rule the world, and punish those who get in his way. Really, is that too much to ask? Sure, his methods might be a bit suspect, and he really needs to learn not to have awkward conversations with his sentient cloak, but in his defense he's only had his powers for a few days . . . and even then, only by accident.
The supporting cast of characters are fantastic here as well, heroes and villains both. I loved the relationships with his wife (who was previously involved in a kinky lesbian relationship with The Black Witch), and his two ex-girlfriends (one of whom is his sexy new hench-wench), and his Nightwalker cloak is one of the funniest consciences I've ever come across. Even better, however, is Phipps' willingness to go where comic books have never gone, and to take superpowers to the extreme. Free of the restraints of the Comics Code Authority (or concerned parents), he can kill people (permanently, I might add) with impunity, through some rather ingenious methods. I don't want to spoil it, but there's a scene involving Gary's car keys that's sure to both amuse and disgust.
If you're a fan of comic books and are up for something a bit more mature, then give The Rules of Supervillainy a read. There actually is a solid story behind it all, one that ultimately brings Gary to the superprison on the moon, and some decent character development. It has it's serious moments as well, and some legitimate conversations about ethics and morality interspersed among the jokes about rules. Overall, it's execution just about perfect, and has me excited to dive into The Games of Supervillainy next.
Disclaimer: I received a complimentary ARC of this title from the publisher in exchange for review consideration. This does not in any way affect the honesty or sincerity of my review.
As Star Trek homages/parodies go, Willful Child was a lot of fun. It doesn't come close to approaching the comic genius of a Bauchelain and Korbal BroAs Star Trek homages/parodies go, Willful Child was a lot of fun. It doesn't come close to approaching the comic genius of a Bauchelain and Korbal Broach tale, but Steven Erikson is clearly a fan, and knows precisely where to best tweak, twist, and torture the original series. Overall, it's a bit edgier and more mature than I expected, especially in regards to Captain Hadrian Sawback's sexual harassment issues, but I think Erikson did a fine job of walking the line between good-natured insult and outright offense.
If you ever thought Captain Kirk was a little too restrained, or a little too hesitant, than you are going to love Captain Sawback. This is a man who crewed his entire ship based on how attractive the women are, who can't speak to a woman without commenting on her appearance or inviting her into bed, and who believes it's just a matter of time before even the most reluctant give in to his charms. Sawback is a man who loves risks and embraces danger, constantly putting himself in harm's way. He knows he shouldn't be leading away parties, but he doesn't give a damn. He wants to get out there, to be at the front, and to charge head-long into the unknown, and to hell with the risks. , His torn-shirts and broken hands are not only a long-running joke, but a badge of honor. He's arrogant and condescending, but saved from being a monster by the fact that he is so oblivious to any offense his behavior might cause.
In terms of story, there is one (rather thin) plotline that drives the whole novel, but really this is a series of episodic adventures that hit on all the classic elements of Trek. We've got first contact, Prime (and Secondary) Directives, time travel, antagonistic aliens, a sort of neutral zone, artificial intelligence, mysterious portals, ill-equipped landing parties, and more. His aliens are one of the best aspects of the novel, pushing their appearance and behavior far beyond the limits of anything that would have made it passed TV censors. Alliances, treaties, intergalactic war, and stunningly stupid double-crosses are all specter that haunt the tale, and the ways in which Erikson turns bullies into cowards is exceptionally funny.
It's all very well done, with just the right sort of pokes and jabs to maximize the humor in each situation. Much of that humor is sophomoric, pun-laden, and slapstick in nature, but you have to give Erikson credit for working so hard to set-up his jokes - there's one in particular that takes 200+ pages to pay off, all in the name of a good chuckle. The one tired old joke that he does stay away from is that of the red shirts in every landing party, but he balances that with his security teams always choosing the worst possible weapon for the situation, giving Sawback yet another chance to play hero.
While it's primarily a Star Trek parody, Erikson does also poke fun at some very 21st century entertainment obsessions as well. Social media and popular music have a key role to play, and I promise you will never look at another cute kitten meme the same way ever again. He even plays with the oft-abused trope of how the future will remember us, with some genuinely funny bits surrounding our obsession with professional athletes. On top of that, he gets in some not very subtle jabs at the production values of J.J. Abrams and the like, with some genuinely funny observations on what space looks like and sound like, and how style so often trumps substance (the bit about the 80s Windows starfield screensaver is a lot funnier than it really should be).
If I had to describe Willful Child, I'd call it a novel that wants to be Galaxy Quest, but which settles for a compromise between Spaceballs and Futurama, as interpreted through some bad-taste Saturday Night Live sketches. If any of that turns you off, then much of this will largely fall flat. If you can appreciate that eclectic mix, however, then give it a read. It's not exactly a compulsive page-turner, but it is a lot of fun, and the kind of book that you'll look forward to diving into again.
It was almost a year ago that Lee Battersby completely blew me away with The Corpse-Rat King, an extremely funny, extraordinarily imaginative tale thaIt was almost a year ago that Lee Battersby completely blew me away with The Corpse-Rat King, an extremely funny, extraordinarily imaginative tale that I thoroughly enjoyed, and have gleefully recommended over and over again. I've been waiting for the follow-up almost from the moment I turned the last page, and I'm pleased to say The Marching Dead was definitely worth the wait.
In a slightly more mature sequel, Battersby eases up a bit on the slapstick and reigns in the bizarre sense of adventure, but still maintains the same imaginative literary sense of the macabre that made the first book such a success. We pick up the story of Marius dos Helles a few years later, with our reluctant hero relaxing at home with the love of his life - except, of course, for when he's shifting back into dead flesh and stealing into town for a drink. Before long, however, that boringly idyllic life is brought to a screeching halt when Keth is dragged kicking and screaming into the realm of the dead, and Marius finds himself on the wrong end of Drenthe's sword . . . again.
Cue the return of Gerd, who is given a chance to rise above his minor sidekick role to become a main character, and his Granny, who is very much dead, but still looking after her favourite boy. As Gerd explains to Marius, "We buried Granny in the village graveyard. After a week, she dug herself out and came to me for answers." I thought Gerd was underused in the first book, so it was nice to see him have a chance to shine here. Not only does he stand up to Marius and hold his own, but he sticks with the man who led him to his death, browbeating him into doing the right thing more than once. As for Granny, her sharp-witted nastiness serves as a welcome foil for both men.
Whereas the first book was all about Marius trying to find new ways to duck his responsibilities, and new (dead) people to thrust those responsibilities upon, this book is very much about him confronting his past and claiming the destiny he escape first time around - albeit reluctantly. Battersby reveals the man behind the corpse, introducing us to his parents, and providing some insight into why his life of privilege ended with him robbing corpses on a battlefield. It makes for a more sombre and serious tale, at least in parts, but the added depth is very much appreciated.
There are more than a few new characters here to love, including Brys (the sexy Pirate with the ample bosom), Fellipan (the dead sexy bordello Mistress with the ample bosom), and Arnobew (the madman with a cardboard sword). It's definitely a more well-rounded cast than in the first book, and four-sided love triangle between Marius, Keth, Brys, and Fellipan is both a lot of fun and source of surprising sorrow by the end. The visual depiction of Fellipan is about as over-the-top erotic as they come, and her personality delivers on that dangerous premise, even as she assures Marius that it's not necrophilia if they're both dead.
Once again, Battersby absolutely nails the narrative style, balancing humour and horror, fantasy and felony. It's another quick-moving, well-written story that amuses, excites, and concludes with some rather deep, and remarkably heavy musings on the subjects of life, death, and the afterlife - or the lack thereof. Some readers may be a tad offended by the nunnery to which Marius' mother has retired, having been home to "celebrated healers, whores, and the occasional holy woman," but the practicality of hedging their bets against shifts in mythology is to be admired. I wasn't quite sure where the story was headed, and I appreciated the way it kept me guessing, and managed to surprise me, without making me feel cheated.
I suspect - or maybe just desperately hope - that is not the end for Marius and Gerd but, if it is, then I can walk away with no complaints. The Corpse-Rat King and The Marching Dead make for an entirely satisfying duology, firmly establishing Marius dos Helles as one of the finest - and funniest - reluctant heroes in the history of fantasy. If you enjoyed the first one, you'll love this one too, and if you have yet to enjoy the first one . . . well, what the heck are you waiting for?
Douglas Adams. Grant Morrison. Dr. Seus. Terry Pratchett. Those four names right there, found in the cover blurb for The Forty First Wink, are what inDouglas Adams. Grant Morrison. Dr. Seus. Terry Pratchett. Those four names right there, found in the cover blurb for The Forty First Wink, are what initially caught my interest . . . and what had me so cautious about diving into James Walley's world. If he could live up to that literary legacy, then Walley would have a sure-fire winner on his hands, but were he to stumble even a little . . . well, those are some lofty expectations under which to be crushed.
As it turns out, they are all fair comparisons. This was a fun, imaginative, laugh-out-loud novel that lagged a bit in the middle, as the initial novelty wore off, but which redeemed itself with a madcap climax.
What could possibly be worse that waking up with the worst hangover of your life? Try finding out that you haven't really woken up, but that you are instead destined to suffer with that hangover through a sort of waking dream, one populated by a greedy mirror doppelganger, childhood toys come to life, a Giggletastic carnival, and a very demonic clown. Don't worry, it'll all be okay, so long as you can maintain your sense of humor.
What makes this work so well is the contrast of the slapstick elements in the plot, and the subtle humor of the narration. Walley knows what he's writing is funny, and he trusts the reader to laugh along, without trying to force the issue or nudge-nudge, wink-wink his way into your head. The opening chapters are, in fact, very Prachett-esque, leaving you both amused and confused. The story twists and turns a few times throughout, but even when it hits its darkest moments, there's still a throbbing vein of macabre humor to keep it going.
Whether or not The Forty First Wink every achieves the distinction of a true classic remains to be seen, but I suspect Walley is an author we're going to be seeing a lot more of in the future, and I'm looking forward to it. Humorous fantasy is so very difficult to pull off, but I think he's mastered it here.
As the cover blurb says, it's time to wake up and smell the carnage! Like Forty First Wink, The Fathom Flies Again was fun, imaginative, and even moreAs the cover blurb says, it's time to wake up and smell the carnage! Like Forty First Wink, The Fathom Flies Again was fun, imaginative, and even more over-the-top. Marty and Kate return to once again save the world from Peepers, the evil clown, this time with the assistance of a pint-sized koala who steals every scene he's in.
Whereas the first book felt very much like one man's personal quest through dreamland, the stakes feel higher here. Maybe it's because we already know the characters and the concept, but the story feels fuller, and the threats more significant. That's not to say it's lost any of its madcap madness, but there's more to it that just out-loud laughs.
Half of the story here is in the narration, half in the dialogue, and half in the characters. Yeah, I know that doesn't add up for us mortals, but when you're in dreamland with booze monkeys, it all makes sense. I won't say much to spoil the conclusion to this madcap adventure, but I will say this - thirty story leprechaun, baby!
Disclaimer: I received a complimentary ARC of this title from the publisher in exchange for review consideration. This does not in any way affect the honesty or sincerity of my review.
I find humor, more than any other genre, to be dangerously subjective. While fantasy, horror, and urban fantasy can afford to have hit-or-miss elementI find humor, more than any other genre, to be dangerously subjective. While fantasy, horror, and urban fantasy can afford to have hit-or-miss elements, humor tends to be all or nothing. Fortunately, C.T. Phipps already struck my funny bone with The Rules of Supervillainy, so I was more than willing to give Straight Outta Fangton a read.
Not only is it a funny book, but it's a creepy vampire story, a kick-ass action novel, and an intriguing urban fantasy at the same time. There's a lot going on here, Phipps keeps it all under control and ties it all together in an entirely satisfying read.
First, let's talk funny. The humor here is subtle and clever, more knowing nods and amused chuckles than laugh-out-loud slapstick, and it works. Most of that humor comes from the dialogue, but there's some genuine laughs in the narrative as well. Peter and David are at the heart of most of that humor, with their master-servant interplay as awkward as it is entertaining.
As for the vampires, these are your vintage bloodsuckers, scary and powerful, with dark legacies and internal politics. Most of the humor comes from their integration into society, with the youngest of the breed struggling to juggle day jobs with nocturnal hungers. There are so many pop culture nods, from Buffy to Necroscope, it's almost hard to keep up, but it adds an air of authenticity to the story.
The action novel and urban fantasy are tied together, especially with the epic battle that closes out the novel, pitting vampires against vampire hunters, religious fanatics, and other vampires. We're talking equal parts Underworld and The Matrix. That's also where the world building comes in, explaining how and why the vampires came to own/control so much of the world, and exploring the racism, bigotry, and religious intolerance that comes along with the new world order. There are elements of terrorism and vigilantism here, all combining in a pay-off that delivers all on the promise.
Like I said, humor is subjective, and as a hardcore vampire fan, I tend to be rather unforgiving of books that betray the classic ideal for sexy and sparkly. Straight Outta Fangton was everything I could have asked for, a novel that delivers on its promises.
Disclaimer: I received a complimentary ARC of this title from the author in exchange for review consideration. This does not in any way affect the honesty or sincerity of my review.
As someone who grew up on Star Trek reruns, watching Captain Kirk get it on with green-skinned alien women or overwhelm beautiful androids with the poAs someone who grew up on Star Trek reruns, watching Captain Kirk get it on with green-skinned alien women or overwhelm beautiful androids with the power of his sexual charisma, I have a definite fondness for sci-fi cheese that’s dripping with inappropriate sexual innuendo.
Dick Softly gives the formula a gender-swap in Pussy Ninja vs. the Space Wizard, introducing us to Col. Aurora, a sexy, aggressive, dominant woman, as seen through the eyes of Spaceman Limp, a horny, hapless crewmember. With his cheesy, over-the-top, adolescent observations, It is Limo who makes the first half of this story.
…her breasts straining against the fabric of her uniform like two bathing balls in an inadequately sized sack of white cloth and gliding into his field of vision like twin death stars about to get into position to blow up a planet. (This is how Limp narrated it in his head, as he had a habit of doing.)
That first half sees Limp infected by an alien atmosphere when his erection rips his suit, requiring the (ahem) unique application of (ahem) alien gas in order to flush his system. It’s a comical scene of facesitting and smothering that is more lighthearted than erotic, with details kept on the R-rated side of X.
WIth Limp back in action, Col. Aurora leads the crew into one of those bizarre, single-purpose, elaborate alien traps that soon turns into an all-out, no-holds-barred orgy. Again, more R-rated than X, with everybody getting more sex than they can handle . . . while poor Limp looks on.
…covered by writing bodies engaging in every sex act imaginable, including some that Limp suspected were unimaginable…that he had not suspected were possible, involving people he had not thought capable of it…
That, of course, leads to a confrontation with the alien mastermind behind the trap, which is where Col. Aurora gets to show what she’s capable of in one of the most sexually-charged, perversely-humorous fights you’re likely to read. The (ahem) turbo-charged fire hose maneuver alone is worth the price of admission!
Pussy Ninja vs. the Space Wizard is hardly high literature, but it’s a hell of a lot of perverse fun, and I hope we get a second episode soon.
The Dark Lord by Jack Heckel is what I would call conceptual humor. There's some very funny turns-of-phrase and some laugh-out-loud dialogue throughouThe Dark Lord by Jack Heckel is what I would call conceptual humor. There's some very funny turns-of-phrase and some laugh-out-loud dialogue throughout, but the humor here is more in the idea of it all than in the telling itself. What Heckel has constructed here is actually a very clever premise that's surprisingly complicated and deep for such a humorous novel.
Basically, the story is set in a world where both magic and science are real, and where it is possible to shape the very reality of other worlds or dimensions. Avery, a student at Mysterium University, has just returned from playing The Dark Lord in the world of Trelari, having allowed the heroes to defeat him as part of his experiment in proving that these other worlds can be self-sustaining. Unfortunately, one bad choice, one cute girl, and one evening of boasting threatens to see all his work undone, and he must return to Trelari, gather his heroes, and defeat the new Dark Queen.
Heavy stuff, I know, and it gets even heavier. You really have to keep in mind how these worlds work, and just how much control Avery has over Trelari's reality, to appreciate the way the story develops. While he's built all the fantasy tropes and clichés into this world, the arrival of the Dark Queen challenges them all, while reality itself fights to 'right' itself according to the rules. That justifies characters acting entirely out of character, bizarre coincidences, and entirely silly developments. It's all very meta and self-aware, kind of like a drunken role playing session where the DM is so drunk on his own power, he really has become something of a god.
Like I said, this is conceptual humor, and very hard to convey in a review. It's less about silly quotes and funny moments, and more about how well the concept of the world, along with the roles of Dark Lord, Dark Queen, and Heroes, all combine to drive both the story and the amusement. If you're in the mood for a smart, self-aware sort of humorous fantasy, then The Dark Lord is a must-read.
Disclaimer: I received a complimentary ARC of this title from the publisher in exchange for review consideration. This does not in any way affect the honesty or sincerity of my review.
What an odd, and yet oddly entertaining, read I Was a Teenage Weredeer proved to be. Not that I am entirely surprised. I’ve been reading C.T. Phipps fWhat an odd, and yet oddly entertaining, read I Was a Teenage Weredeer proved to be. Not that I am entirely surprised. I’ve been reading C.T. Phipps for about 4 1/2 years now, following him from the urban fantasy of The Red Room through the superhero humor of The Supervillainy Saga, the post-apocalyptic Lovecraftian horror of Cthulhu Armageddon, the epic fantasy of Wraith Knight, and so much more, and he has never once failed to entertain. He has an imagination to match his wit, and while he plays to the familiar tropes, he does so in ways that are always surprising.
This is a book that plays very much in the Buffy the Vampire Slayer realm of storytelling, as told by way of an Agent Cooper/Agent Pendergast sort of hybrid. It’s a weird, eccentric, quirky tale that often manages to be funny and horrifying at the same time – and completely pulls it off. Seriously, there are scenes here that will give you emotional whiplash, especially when dealing the Jane and Emily’s respective families and their dark, violent, sometimes abusive histories. The whole subplot about dealing vampire blood as the latest illicit drug was particularly creepy and inventive.
There were at least three points in the opening chapters where I figured I had my finger on what kind of story this was going to be, only to have some thematic twist thrown at me a few pages later. At its heart, I Was a Teenage Weredeer is a mystery but it’s one with so many facets, suspects, and storytelling tangents that it really becomes something of a soap opera where you are more inclined to settle in and enjoy the drama than you are to obsess over solving the murders.
Personally, what tickled my fancy right from the get-go is the fact that Phipps & Suttkus drape this in puns as much as they do blood – and that’s not just narrative license. The entire shifter community is rather pun-obsessed, leading to things like Jane Doe of the Deerlightful Diner, who, despite her distaste for puns, ends up wearing a Got Deer t-shirt with a horny buck, all while fending off threats of “bleating some answers” out of people, some of whom get “more bang for their buck“, and others who are not “fawn” of such puns. It’s self-aware punning, which somehow makes it even more amusing.
In a world where vampires and shifters are recognized and legally accepted, you might think there wouldn’t be a lot of tension to explore, but racism abounds both within and outside the community. It’s nothing heavy-handed, but it is prevalent, and it does have a bearing on so much of the story. Some of that is humorous (like doing a find/replace on the Narnia books to make Aslan into a stag), some of it is kinda of faery tale meta (such as the racist jackasses who killed the Red Wolf’s family), but even more of it is Jane calling out casual racism and institutionalized persecution, especially when she’s at fault.
As for the characters, Jane Doe is a fantastic heroine, a strong young woman full of wit and empathy. Her narration is really what moves the story along, and her power to pick up on visions or psychic impressions from others is what reveals so much of the backstory. Emma, her best friend, was a little bit all over the map, and I had trouble deciding whether I liked her or not, but she has her moment. Lucien Lyons, the beautiful tattooed crime lord, is an interesting character who plays against the usual tropes, and his connection to Special Agent Alexander Timmons (my favorite character next to Jane) makes them both that much more interesting.
If I were to have one complaint about I Was a Teenage Weredeer, it would be that the pacing and balance felt a bit off in the middle of the story, but that’s the critic in me talking and not the fanboy. I feel kind of guilty about it, but even as I knew the story had stalled, I was enjoying the characters and the humor so much that I was willing to give it a pass – especially since the climax, with all the spiritualism and revelations about loved ones was so unexpected and so well done that it really caps a strong story.
If you're even a casual fan of Colin Mochrie, then you already know that he is a funny, funny man. He has a peculiar sort of humor, blending Canadian If you're even a casual fan of Colin Mochrie, then you already know that he is a funny, funny man. He has a peculiar sort of humor, blending Canadian stereotypical politeness with an often surprising edge, but he is as clever as he is frantic. When I first hear he was taking the Whose Line is it Anyway approach to a short story collection with Not Quite the Classics, I knew I was going to have to read it.
A Study in Ha Ha opens the collection with a Sherlock Holmes homage so absurd, so inconceivable, it works astoundingly well. In it, Holmes decides to make a study of jokes, with the intention of becoming the world's first stand-up comic. Moby: Toupee or Not Toupee is a tale of a different sort, a blackly comic horror story about a bald man who lacks confidence, and the living toupee that does far more than just boost his self-esteem.
One of the early highlights of the collection is Casey at the Bar, a straight up homage of Casey at the bat, with Colin's version being the story of a washed up Leaf's goalie. Funny stuff, and as it enjoys a few wildly humorous tangents. My favorite entry, however, has to be A Tale of Two Critters. It's written as a very stuffy Dickensian tale, capturing the narrative essence of the original, which actually suits the story of poor old Wile E. Coyote very well. Without spoiling it, let's just say that anybody who's ever wanted to see the roadrunner get his due won't be disappointed!
The Cat and My Dad is another rhyming tale, this time putting a very Seussian spin on the post-apocalyptic zombie story. It's a fun story, surprisingly dark given the singsong verse, and it reminds us precisely why polite, law-abiding, poorly-armed Canadians would have a hard time with zombies. Along the same lines, Twas Not Right Before Christmas continues the rhyming lyrical theme, offering up a Twilight Zone mash-up of all the holiday standards, coming together under one man's roof. If there's any justice in the world, this will be the next animated holiday special . . . just please don't let Tim Allen or Adam Sandler be involved.
While I had hopes that Not Quite the Classics would be funny, I honestly did not expect it to be as clever and as well-written as it is. Clearly, Mochrie put a lot of thought and imagination into his story choices, and while a few missed my funny bone, others had me laughing out loud (and driving my wife crazy with my insistence on reading passages aloud). How each story will hit you depends as much on your sense of humor as your familiarity with the source material, but it's an entertaining bunch of tales.
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