Best Read Worst Read ’23

Twenty-twenty-three was a year of new authors for me. Despite receiving recommendations for the works of Joe Abercrombie, I hadn’t yet delved into his grimdark world. The second trilogy in the First Law series had languished in my Kindle library for ages. I tried Kazuo Ishiguro for the first–and probably the last–time. Robert Jordan drove me to the brink of despair with his rambling Wheel of Time series–which I abandoned after book six, and I delved heavily into Brandon Sanderson’s works with mixed feelings. It was not all gloom, though. I enjoyed In Solitude’s Shadow by David Green (review to follow), and Annie of Ainsworth Mill by Katie Hutton.

I also returned to some old favourites, like Dean Koontz, John Le Carré, John Wyndham, and C. S. Lewis. Oh, and how could I forget Clive Barker’s Abarat series or Terry Pratchett’s Discworld?

Ironically, my best read of ’23 came from the same author as my worst. I’ve never been so excited and deflated by the same writer. Typically, I will get excited and then cool off over time. I suspect the fact that I read eight of his books one after another didn’t help—and they were big books. However, it goes much deeper than that. It was as if the author grew tired of writing and slapped together an offering to meet his contractual obligations. But I digress…

Best Read of ’23

The book I most enjoyed in ’23 was The Blade Itself by Joe Abercrombie.

I suspect Abercrombie’s books would have remained languishing in my Kindle library, except I found Half a King on the shelf in my local café and read it avidly. At about the same time, when a talented Irish author, John De Búrca, gifted me the original trilogy in the First Law series for a big zero birthday, it hooked me.

I found his form of grimdark refreshingly new, and I thoroughly enjoyed the exploits of Logen, Jezal, and Glotka. Creative Writing 101 instructs us authors to make our characters human and multi-faceted rather than one-dimensional, which Abercrombie achieves in spades: Glotka with his aching leg, Yarvi (Half a King) with a withered hand, Logen with nine fingers and psychopathic tendencies, First of the Magi Bayaz with temper tantrums. With the First Law world, he created a place with no angels or demons, just characters with a mixture of the angelic and demonic, mainly with the demonic in the ascendancy.

Worst Read of ’23

Okay, and now for the irony. The book I enjoyed the least in ’23 was Red Country by Joe Abercrombie.

In fairness, I did get a hint that the author’s works could vary when I read Half a World. A lack of research turned me off—such as Thorn and Skifr training with a ship’s oar. In my youth, I rowed skulls with an oar over nine feet long and weighing about 12 pounds (they are lighter today)—wholly unwieldy at that length and weight. As such, I knew training with a ship’s oar, at least thirty feet long and weighing considerably more, would be pointless. Moving it would take Herculean effort, and avoiding it would be child’s play. When I see that type of error in any work, I wonder whether anyone edited the writing or, if done, by whom. Any editor worth the name would have spotted such glaring issues.

This brings me to Red Country, the last book in the second First Law world trilogy. The book is a thinly veiled plagiarism of The Searchers. Even the title is an insult to Native Americans. In Red Country, we have Ghosts rather than the Apache scalping settlers, but apart from the name—there is no difference—so Abercrombie has adopted a misrepresentation by Cowboy and Indian movie script writers as the premise for a story, essentially taking Holywood’s attempts to excuse genocide and turning them into a grimdark fantasy?

This racist plagiarism was not the only issue.

The author revived characters like Nicomo Cosca and Caul Shivers—who worked well in earlier novels—and destroyed them. Bringing Nine Fingers back from the dead was also a mistake, in my opinion. He should have died as an anti-hero jumping into a freezing river.

It is a real shame that I went from avid fan to “not for me ta” so quickly, but I don’t think I will be reading any more books by the author.

Those In-Betweeners

If I hadn’t edited The Music of Swords by John De Búrca, I would probably have listed it as my favourite read of ’23. It is a fantastically gritty retelling of Irish Celtic mythology, including High Fantasy and Grimdark elements.

As I already mentioned, I enjoyed In Solitudes Shadow by David Green and have just started the second book in the series, Path of War. I will be posting a review of In Solitudes Shadow in Hughes Reviews on Friday.

Never Let Me Go — Kazuo Ishiguro

The author has a way with words, for want of a better cliché. He paints a vivid picture of a dystopian near future.

However, I got an immediate sense of The Midwich Cuckoos with this tale, as if Meat Loaf had remastered Bat Out of Hell and tweaked all the raw talent out of it. I found Kathy’s narrative voice so similar to Wyndham’s main character, Gayford, that it leached enjoyment out of the story. 

Would I have seen it differently if I had read it when it arrived on bookshelves?

I am not sure. The fear of cloning would indeed have been more prevalent when the book was first published early in 2005–Dolly the sheep had been successfully cloned in ‘96, less than a decade earlier. However, I found the whole premise of the story a little suspect. Why would they educate people destined to die at a very young age? What exactly were the children donating that meant they could donate four times before “completing?” Why were donors being cared for by other donors—unless the author was trying to make some statement with the act’s sheer cruelty? (If he were, this reader missed it completely.) Why did the donors blithely submit, especially as they were “educated?” Another area where the story fell was the whole gallery theme. The author fails to satisfactorily explain the point of forcing the children to produce art for the gallery or judging them on their creativity as if a creative streak will make their organs more desirable. We learn later that Madame kept them, but not why.

“Here, look, Kathy H. has eyes good enough to paint this masterpiece—would you like them?” — is all I can think, but why does Madame keep the work?

Aside from my misgivings about the premise, I found the foreshadowing clumsy at best: ‘…but I’ll tell you about that later…’ is an artifice the author uses throughout. There’s also an element of repetition, with Kathy often being reminded of Hailsham while driving and generally by inane objects like barns. Once would have been sufficient, I think.

Recommendation

Despite the author’s mastery of the written word, I’m not fond of Never Let Me Go.

I stopped reading Man Booker authors back around the time they cloned Dolly. Reading Never Let Me Go reminded me of why. I can’t recommend this book. The main reason is that I get the sense that the author rushed the production, perhaps because he wanted to comment on a contemporary topic. As such, the plot holes seem glaring.

A Bit About the Druids

Druids feature heavily in Micheál’s books. Here’s a little more about them.

Druids – who and what were they?

Druids are a contentious subject. Who were they? What was their role? How much of the sixteenth-century romanticists’ interpretation (take Merlin) is conjecture, and how much can be considered realistic? Aside from Archaeological evidence, all we know comes from Classical commentaries, specifically of Julius Caesar and Tacitus, but also of Strabo and Diodorus. The writings of Strabo and Diodorus so closely resemble those of Caesar it is likely there was some cross contamination between them. Caesar was the earliest to provide detail, so it is likely the others used him as a source.

Even the origin of the word itself is subject to disagreement. The modern term derives from the Latin druidae. However, ancient Classical writers said it came from a Gaulish word but were not specific. Some say it comes from the old Irish druí (sorcerer) or the old Welsh dryw (seer; wren). It could also derive from a proto-Celtic construct (hypothetical), druwides, meaning “oak-knower”.

We know little about their origins. Many believed druids existed throughout proto-Celtic Europe, from Ireland to Turkey (Anatolia), but modern archaeologists think it unlikely. Archaeological evidence points to them being native to Ireland, Britain, and Western France. Unlike popular belief that their religion revolved around stone circles, the Classical writers placed them in caves and sacred glades. That would tally with old ideas that the druids arrived with the Celts and were not associated with stone circles. However, there is evidence in the Paviland caves near Swansea that the druids were in Britain as many as twenty-six thousand years ago. Evidence in France (Lascaux) shows that druids might have existed seventeen thousand years ago.

None of these theories can be corroborated because very little has been written about druids. Although Caesar tells us of their literacy, they kept no written records of their practices because it would have contradicted their religious geis or taboos. Greeks referenced druids as early as the 4th century BCE. Still, the first detailed writings were from Caesar in the middle of the first century BCE.

What Caesar tells us in the Comentarii de Bello Gallico, his Gallic war history, is intriguing.

As well as philosophers, the druids were a powerful political force, but they also practised many professions, such as education, medicine, and law, and were advisers to kings and chieftains. Caesar tells us that they originated in Britain and hints that their influence continued to emanate from Britain into Gaul. Archaeological evidence suggests they had a power base in Anglesey, which would back Caesar’s theory.

He also touches on druidic centres of learning, telling us that they learnt their lore as a verbal tradition. Many believe the primary learning centre to have been on the island of Anglesey. Becoming a druid took as long as twenty years, so vast was the material they needed to learn.

“Magnum ibi numerum versuum ediscere dicuntur. Itaque annos nonnulli vicenos in disciplina permanent.”

– Comentarii De Bello Gallico by Julius Caesar

“They are said to learn a great number of verses, and therefore some remain under training for twenty years.” (Transliteration)

Caesar states that the primary religious doctrine of the druids was reincarnation. However, Tacitus also refers to the practice of sorcery during the first invasion of Anglesey, around 60 CE. The Fourteenth Legion crossing the Menai Straits were halted by witches and druidic spells.

“…while between the ranks dashed women, in black attire like the Furies, with hair dishevelled, waving brands. All around, the Druids, lifting up their hands to heaven, and pouring forth dreadful imprecations, scared our soldiers by the unfamiliar sight, so that, as if their limbs were paralysed, they stood motionless, and exposed to wounds.”

— The Annals of Imperial Rome by Cornelius Tacitus

As did others after him, Caesar claimed the druids performed human sacrifices, burning their victims while tied to wicker men. The victims were usually criminals, but when none were available, they would sacrifice ordinary citizens. He writes that because of their reincarnation beliefs, sacrifice would often be offering one soul in place of another at risk because of illness or battle. Modern historians think references to human sacrifice were nothing more than Roman propaganda. The reason is Romans often painted the conquered as savages. Romans thought themselves more civilised, considering sacrificing criminals to be barbaric but feeding them to lions, nothing more than entertainment for the masses. However, archaeological evidence shows that the druids did sacrifice humans, so it is difficult to know the truth.

Other Romans wrote about druids. For example, Pliny the Elder noted, “To murder a man was to do the act of highest devoutness and to eat his flesh was to secure the highest blessings of health.” These words, however, were obviously just embellishing what Caesar had already written.

That druids had a considerable influence over the Celtic clans is apparent. It was part of Roman imperialism to tolerate local laws and religions whenever possible. Not so the druids. After Romans suppressed them in Gaul under Tiberius, Claudius declared them outlaws in 54 CE, and Gaius Suetonius Paulinus invaded Anglesey to eradicate them. There can be only one reason why this persecution was considered necessary. Fear. The Boudiccan uprising meant that Suetonius failed. Agricola finally succeeded almost twenty years later, signalling the end of classical druidism.

Shortly after the advent of Christianity, the druids faded into obscurity, losing their priestly duties and becoming bards (filí). It is unclear if this obscurity is due to Roman persecution or Christianity’s spread. What is clear is that Christians assimilated many of the druid’s pagan rituals into Christian rites and festivals, such as moving Christ’s birth from spring to coincide with the Winter Solstice.

Modern desires have created much of druidism’s mythos, such as freemasonry is a direct descendant and that stone circles were central to druidic beliefs and making Myrddin (Merlin) a wizard with magical powers. There was a druidic revival in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries based more on that romantic conjecture than reality. Although we know little, Neo-Druidism takes inspiration from Classical accounts and romantic writers since the revival and archaeology and symbolism of proto-Druidic or pre-Druidic stone circles.

Hammer is available to read on #KindleUnlimited.

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Excerpt

Chapter One: A Demon Messenger

Balor’s throne room was not the sweetest-smelling place. The King knew, sitting on his black onyx throne staring at the monstrous demon standing at the base of the dais, that he shouldn’t expect the scent of roses when his dominion was the land of the Undead—the land of the grey skins. Indeed, Balor didn’t expect much of anything. He hoped for revenge and had waited for it to be not just cold but ice-like in the serving—a millennium of waiting. Ever since Etercel’s descendent, Ruirech of The Great Forest, united the clans and forced Balor and his Fomorii underground in what became known as Balor’s Canyon, into the labyrinthine tunnels and holes with rivers of fire and untold power seeping from the clay of the tunnels’ beds. The tunnels they’d been trying to escape ever since.

Not quite true.

No. At first, they waited for a chance to escape but Ruirech’s Horse Warriors were ever vigilant. There were skirmishes that always seemed to be narrowly lost. Eventually, their waiting morphed into a belief that their time would never come, and with that, the apathy set in.

Has our time finally come? After so long?

Balor was unsure.

The King’s memory of Ruirech mercilessly driving them into the caves often made him wonder if the brat knew what lay in the tunnels. Had he known what waited for them within the sulphurous stench? The power was not only untold but also unwelcome. It created the horror of dying but not dying. They’d not been undead when they entered the caves. However, they didn’t age and transitioned from alive to undead, one by one. Something in the Earth Power of the labyrinth kept them animated and—if not exactly fresh—not rotting away to dust either.

With time, they realised what had happened. But it was only because they lost their appetite and thirst for life and started to ask about their seemingly perpetual youth. Eventually, their skin began to grey, and their lives became dry. Even love lost its appeal: emotional love because anger would not allow it; physical love because undead skin, grey and dry, would not allow it either. The Undead Horde then started dreaming of revenge—at least until the Tuatha-forsaken apathy set in. Now, Balor hoped there was a way forward that was more than a dream—a messenger from Partholón promising their salvation and the fulfilment of earlier dreams.

Salvation and revenge. But can the giant be trusted?

Balor stared at the demon, which stared back with black, fathomless eyes as dead as the King’s were undead. The haft of the axe rested on its shoulder, and it was girt for war. Being undead, the Fomorii were difficult to destroy, but splitting them from crown to crotch or legs from torso would do it. He had no idea how many the monster would turn to dust before they destroyed it, but he knew it would be costly. Hundreds might cease to be, including Balor, who was only a long stride away from the enormous, black-headed axe.

Would it be so bad after all these summers? If I reach for my ancient blade, it will destroy me. I could rest but would forfeit my people’s greatest desire. Revenge.

Finding that he was fidgeting with his crown, Balor put his hands on the wolf pup on his lap to keep them occupied. He always kept a pup because it gave him a way to touch life. Adult wolves could not abide him or his people. The pups seemed uncaring as though they were untouched by the prejudices of adulthood.

Did you hear me, King?

“I could hardly not hear you, demon as you are speaking in my head. I am pondering what you’ve told me.”

Do not ponder for too long, Balor. My Master has other avenues to explore.

“You came to me, axe on your shoulder, girt in iron as though prepared to force our allegiance. But let me tell you, even with that weapon, you would fall in the end, and my people would fight on until that eventuality. A promise you should remember when you threaten me, demon.”

I offered no threat, merely stated a fact. My Master has other places he can turn to.

“Your axe is a threat.”

My axe is for my protection, King. I will not use it unless provoked.

The King studied the beast for signs of subterfuge. It was hopeless. He might as well examine the rocks of his domain in search of the history of the Five Kingdoms.

“You say Partholón is proposing a truce. So, what are you telling me? Precisely, I mean.”

Humans are weak. There is famine and war. Their armies are spread thin, and there is no one to occupy the walls of their lofty forts.

“Why do we need you if the clans are weak?”

The humans are weak, not so the Tuatha. If you were to channel Earth Power to Partholón and we attacked together, even Danu’s people could not withstand us. Both our goals would be fulfilled.

“Both our goals? What exactly would your giant achieve?”

Partholón has long dreamt of an age of darkness. He abhors being released and then herded back into Tartarus like so much cattle. Together, we would be strong enough to defeat the Whitehead and her Spear Maidens here in Middle Kingdom, and then we could bring war to the humans. All of the humans.

Together, we would rule the Five Kingdoms in eternal darkness.

The King nodded and smiled at the demon. He was not as much of a gaimbín as the monster seemed to think, having heard similar tales before. Politicians were the same throughout history. It was never so simple as together we would. One always climbed to the top and claimed the throne, usually on the backs of those promised equality. Otherwise, what use was there of having a throne?

“Where is the Whitehead now?”

The Tuatha is in her fastness on the eastern edge of the Great Forest. It is vast and strong. Together, we could take it.

That is the best news so far.

“What will it take to unite us?”

With your Earth Power, Partholón could release the scourge. An army of demons and your Undead Horde would wreak havoc.

Balor watched the demon while he thought about Partholón’s offer. He didn’t believe the message. The demon’s horned head and dead eyes showed no emotion; it gave no clue what it thought, but that told the King nought. The monster would never show emotion. It was quite possible that feeling didn’t exist in its world. It stood completely still while waiting for Balor to speak as though frozen in time.

There are no nuances here.

Bábdíbir served its master and nothing more—nothing at least that Balor might understand. There was no doubt in Balor’s mind that the giant would use the Fomorii and then discard them, as King Ochall had before; may he rot in the pit.

He didn’t blame Partholón.

If the roles were reversed, that is what Balor would do. Not believing the promises didn’t change his predicament. He could not afford to antagonise the monster standing at the base of his dais. It might be emotionless but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t attack and swings of that axe would be deadly, regardless of any emotion behind them.

“Tell your master I will consider his proposal. Return after five nights, and I will give you my answer.”

Available for pre-order.

After Gairech: Free for a limited time

For a limited time, the book the critics loved is free:

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David Gemmell meets Ellis Peters in this ancient murder mystery.

Hammer: Free for a Day

Award- winning book from Micheál Cladáin’s is free for the next 24 hours. Renowned Irish author, John De Burca called it “Hugely enjoyable.” Historical novelist, Cathie Dunn called it a “…riveting read.”

“A relic is all that stands between Rome and victory!”

United Kingdom
United States

Publication Day

Publication day is here. Book 1 of P. d. Londra’s quadrilogy The Last Summoner: Conquest.

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“…the author excels at immediately bringing you into a world primed for an epic adventure.”

Author’s Note: P. D. Londra

During the beta reading phase of The Last Summoner: Conquest, my readers raised several questions about aspects of the tale that they found confusing. Of course, some of the issues were editorial, and I fixed them for the release of the book by the Irish Indie publisher PerchedCrowPress on January 5, 2024 (available for pre-order at https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CM23F711). However, some were more fundamental, such as how I chose my character names.

It will be immediately apparent to some readers that I based The Last Summoner book series on Irish Celtic mythology. For those readers, most of the names will be familiar, if not all. However, Upthóg is Gaelic for witch or charm worker and not a heroine from Irish Celtic mythology. The same applies to The Four, whose names are Gaelic words that mean their position: Marbh means death, Concaire means conquest, Árchù means war, and Plasgorta is a construct of famine and pestilence. The other names come from Irish Celtic mythology.

So, that raises the question, “Why Irish Celtic mythology?”

It’s All About the Premise

The story’s basic premise comes from the speculation surrounding the origins of the Celts in general and the Irish Celts in particular. Many theories abound. According to the Irish pseudo-historical work the Lebor Gabála Érenn, The Book of Invasions, there were six invasions of Ireland (the Five Kingdoms) by different peoples: those of Cessair, those of Partholón, those of Nemed, the Fir Bolg, the Tuatha De Danaan, and the Milesians.

The Tuatha preceded the Milesians (The Celts). When the Milesians invaded, the Tuatha retreated into the mounds (Sídhe) to become the Gods of Irish mythology. The mounds represent a different plane, which implies more than one plane of existence.

So, what if the Milesians arrived not from a different place but from another plane? Wouldn’t that be an excellent premise for a fantastical story?

Note: Another question that arose was why I needed to steal the Tuatha from Jordan’s Wheel of Time series. I suppose, in many ways, the question was inevitable. It was also, of course, inaccurate because Robert Jordan stole the Tuatha from Irish mythology. The Tuatha De Danann were the people of the Goddess Danu, who occupied the island of Ireland before the arrival of the Milesians.