The book: "Master Harold" ...and the Boys
The author: Athol Fugard
The rating: 2 stars
Master Harold shares a few similarities with Streetcar: it's not what I typically read; it's a play, not a novel; I was assigned to read it for English class... It's also one of those 'literary merit'-type of books, full of sophisticated themes and poignant social commentary, and unbearably dry. As I mentioned in my Streetcar review, I love a large number of works of classic fiction, but I always prefer genre pieces to literary ones. Plays like Master Harold feel more like a thinly-veiled essay than a story, and I've never been a fan of that.
While others are frequently referenced and hold great importance to the plot, only three characters appear in the 60-page play: seventeen-year-old Hally (the titular Master Harold), and older black men Willie and Sam (the boys) who work for Hally's mother at her tea house. I have noticed that one of the biggest differences between adult and YA/children's fiction is the role of the protagonist. In stories for the younger crowd, protagonist = hero, almost without exception. In works for adults, this equivalency does not exist, as is the case in Master Harold. From the beginning, Hally made me want to scratch out my eyeballs. The play may be set in 1950, but Hally was eerily like some insufferable seventeen-year-olds I know. You'd recognize the type: almost a hipster, pretentious and condescending; an atheist not because of well-considered philosophical beliefs, but because believing in things is for stupid people. The world revolves around them and their struggles are paramount; nobody could possibly understand what they are going through, and nobody has ever suffered anything worse. Add in some intense racism towards the boys and a disgust towards his father, not due to his unsavoury personality, but because he is a cripple, and suffice to say Hally's not the type of boy I'd want to ask to Senior Prom.
As I mentioned, the play often reads more like an essay than anything else. Hally and Sam debate about men of greatness; the impact of racism in South Africa is explored; Hally is a complete and utter asshat to every person in his life. And yeah. That's it. That's the play. It's definitely not my cup of tea, but for what it is--a statement about the South African apartheid--it is interesting enough.
Next week: Back to our regularly scheduled programming.
Friday 28 February 2014
Monday 24 February 2014
8. Identity Crisis
The book: The Lost Girl
The author: Sangu Mandanna
The rating: 4 stars
"Come on," I say, "let's go be star-crossed lovers and court disaster."
Premise, setting, characters. These are the three things I loved about The Lost Girl, a book that is refreshingly unique in all three ways. Mandanna's writing is very tongue-in-cheek, poking fun at the cliches of the genre (the phrase 'make like a tortured vampire' is used), while spinning a thoughtful, intriguing world. Mandanna's Weavers, Loom, and echoes strongly reminded me of Joss Whedon's Dollhouse, and like that series, The Lost Girl is a fascinating exploration of what makes someone human and the meaning of identity.
A sense of adventure stirs in my chest. I imagine sailing into open seas, seizing my fate in both hands. I imagine swashbuckling battles, swords and cutlasses and battle scars. I imagine desire, the raw passion of falling into bed after a long reckless day and kissing somebody.
The Lost Girl is split between two settings: small-town England and big-city India. For a reader like me, following Eva on her journey from a world on the opposite side of the Atlantic ocean, both of the settings are filled with a novelty and colour that most American-set novels of the genre lack. I've never been to India (or England, for that matter), so I can't say how accurate The Lost Girl is in its depictions, but the same adventure was stirred in me as was stirred in Eva. Tastes, sights, smells... the description in The Lost Girl is glorious, creating a world that seems almost fantastical.
He can see what move I'm planning to make in chess and counters before I can do it. He always knows who the killer is in a detective story. I think he could make a career out of detecting, but he wants to write plays for theater. Maybe he could be a Shakespeare instead of a Sherlock. He could be anything. Anything he wants to be.
That description pretty much sums up Sean, Eva's principal love interest. Suffice to say, I was head over heels by chapter three. Agency in novels is a balancing act, and their relationship had the perfect balance; neither was ever a puppet on a string, bowing meekly to the whims of the plot, despite the restraints and expectations of the lives they lead. I think I've made my views on love triangles abundantly clear in the past, and The Lost Girl did not disappoint in that regard. There is a second boy in the picture, Ray, but it's not what you'd think; he was Amarra's boyfriend, the girl that Eva was born to replace, and the choice he represents is not whether he is the one Eva loves more. Rather, he is symbolic of identity, duty, free will... the central themes of the novel. It is always clear that Sean is the one Eva loves, and this makes Ray's presence not tawdry, but poignant.
"I am not kind. Handsome, certainly. And undoubtedly brilliant. But not kind."
A good novel needs good antagonists, and The Lost Girl has the Weavers. Again, their presence sets the novel a cut above most stories you see in this genre. Their evilness is ambiguous; the Loom seems dark and twisted, particular as we follow the story from Eva's perspective. A sinister underground organization... corrupt people with the power over life and death. But the Loom is more than your typical Evil Inc., and that depth kept me interested, what with the juxtaposition of Ophelia's loving viewpoint, Elsa's gentleness, the flashes of the green nursery... With regards to the above quote in particular, Matthew very much reminded me of the BBC version of Sherlock Holmes. Throughout the novel, I was constantly struck by the thought that the Weavers could be the antihero of another story (a la Dollhouse), and given that authors tend to force the reader into the myopic perspective of their hero or heroine, I found this presentation to be quite enjoyable. Frankenstein is a constant motif, and its pertinence is relayed through the antagonists as well: what makes a monster, and what makes a monster maker?
"I'll give in gracefully when the time's right. But until then, I'm not going gently into any good night, thank you very much."
And finally, Eva. Our protagonist. In terms of characters, I would actually dub her the weak link. She's your typical "doesn't-play-by-the-rules" protagonist, the one with the temper, the sharp tongue, and the tendency to start whining. She's not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed, making some really jarring blunders in service to the plot. She's the type that sends her friends away at the climax to face the Big Bad alone so that she doesn't hurt the ones she loves, but ends up doing so anyway... in a book that bucks cliches, she is a surprisingly textbook archetype. I didn't exactly hate her, but I can't say I was particularly fond of the girl (other than her impeccable taste in poetry and prose).
Overall, I'd have to say The Lost Girl was a pretty solid book. It was intriguing; it was thrilling; it made me think and it made me feel. Still, it's not the kind of book that pulls you in and doesn't let you go until the last page has been flipped. The Lost Girl is more of a reflective type of novel, the kind best suited for reading a chapter or two on a train or waiting at the dentist's office. It also makes for a wonderful stand-alone story; I have the utmost respect for authors who can tell a tale from start to finish in one tome without the need to stretch it out over a trilogy or a saga. Whenever Mandanna pens her next novel, I will without a doubt be eager to delve into whatever new world or new idea she has concocted.
The author: Sangu Mandanna
The rating: 4 stars
"Come on," I say, "let's go be star-crossed lovers and court disaster."
Premise, setting, characters. These are the three things I loved about The Lost Girl, a book that is refreshingly unique in all three ways. Mandanna's writing is very tongue-in-cheek, poking fun at the cliches of the genre (the phrase 'make like a tortured vampire' is used), while spinning a thoughtful, intriguing world. Mandanna's Weavers, Loom, and echoes strongly reminded me of Joss Whedon's Dollhouse, and like that series, The Lost Girl is a fascinating exploration of what makes someone human and the meaning of identity.
A sense of adventure stirs in my chest. I imagine sailing into open seas, seizing my fate in both hands. I imagine swashbuckling battles, swords and cutlasses and battle scars. I imagine desire, the raw passion of falling into bed after a long reckless day and kissing somebody.
The Lost Girl is split between two settings: small-town England and big-city India. For a reader like me, following Eva on her journey from a world on the opposite side of the Atlantic ocean, both of the settings are filled with a novelty and colour that most American-set novels of the genre lack. I've never been to India (or England, for that matter), so I can't say how accurate The Lost Girl is in its depictions, but the same adventure was stirred in me as was stirred in Eva. Tastes, sights, smells... the description in The Lost Girl is glorious, creating a world that seems almost fantastical.
He can see what move I'm planning to make in chess and counters before I can do it. He always knows who the killer is in a detective story. I think he could make a career out of detecting, but he wants to write plays for theater. Maybe he could be a Shakespeare instead of a Sherlock. He could be anything. Anything he wants to be.
That description pretty much sums up Sean, Eva's principal love interest. Suffice to say, I was head over heels by chapter three. Agency in novels is a balancing act, and their relationship had the perfect balance; neither was ever a puppet on a string, bowing meekly to the whims of the plot, despite the restraints and expectations of the lives they lead. I think I've made my views on love triangles abundantly clear in the past, and The Lost Girl did not disappoint in that regard. There is a second boy in the picture, Ray, but it's not what you'd think; he was Amarra's boyfriend, the girl that Eva was born to replace, and the choice he represents is not whether he is the one Eva loves more. Rather, he is symbolic of identity, duty, free will... the central themes of the novel. It is always clear that Sean is the one Eva loves, and this makes Ray's presence not tawdry, but poignant.
"I am not kind. Handsome, certainly. And undoubtedly brilliant. But not kind."
A good novel needs good antagonists, and The Lost Girl has the Weavers. Again, their presence sets the novel a cut above most stories you see in this genre. Their evilness is ambiguous; the Loom seems dark and twisted, particular as we follow the story from Eva's perspective. A sinister underground organization... corrupt people with the power over life and death. But the Loom is more than your typical Evil Inc., and that depth kept me interested, what with the juxtaposition of Ophelia's loving viewpoint, Elsa's gentleness, the flashes of the green nursery... With regards to the above quote in particular, Matthew very much reminded me of the BBC version of Sherlock Holmes. Throughout the novel, I was constantly struck by the thought that the Weavers could be the antihero of another story (a la Dollhouse), and given that authors tend to force the reader into the myopic perspective of their hero or heroine, I found this presentation to be quite enjoyable. Frankenstein is a constant motif, and its pertinence is relayed through the antagonists as well: what makes a monster, and what makes a monster maker?
"I'll give in gracefully when the time's right. But until then, I'm not going gently into any good night, thank you very much."
And finally, Eva. Our protagonist. In terms of characters, I would actually dub her the weak link. She's your typical "doesn't-play-by-the-rules" protagonist, the one with the temper, the sharp tongue, and the tendency to start whining. She's not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed, making some really jarring blunders in service to the plot. She's the type that sends her friends away at the climax to face the Big Bad alone so that she doesn't hurt the ones she loves, but ends up doing so anyway... in a book that bucks cliches, she is a surprisingly textbook archetype. I didn't exactly hate her, but I can't say I was particularly fond of the girl (other than her impeccable taste in poetry and prose).
Overall, I'd have to say The Lost Girl was a pretty solid book. It was intriguing; it was thrilling; it made me think and it made me feel. Still, it's not the kind of book that pulls you in and doesn't let you go until the last page has been flipped. The Lost Girl is more of a reflective type of novel, the kind best suited for reading a chapter or two on a train or waiting at the dentist's office. It also makes for a wonderful stand-alone story; I have the utmost respect for authors who can tell a tale from start to finish in one tome without the need to stretch it out over a trilogy or a saga. Whenever Mandanna pens her next novel, I will without a doubt be eager to delve into whatever new world or new idea she has concocted.
Monday 10 February 2014
7. Fighting 'Til the End
The book: Champion (Legend #3)
The author: Marie Lu
The rating: 3.5 stars
"Billions of people will come and go in this world," he says softly, "but there will never be another like you."
So, here we are. The end of an era, the conclusion of a trilogy, the final page in the story of Day and June. I chose that epigraph with a touch of irony; as has been the problem for the entire series, my biggest issue with Champion is that there will always be plenty more like it. It's not that I'm expecting the Earth and the stars, but in every novel, I hope to find something fresh. A unique idea. A unique voice. A twist. A spark. Champion and the Legend series as a whole are everything you expect from the dystopian genre; they follow all the steps, but they're missing the breath of life to take them from cookie-cutter story to true adventure.
More so than either of its predecessors, Champion feels like it is just going through the motions. I was constantly struck by how little had happened in such a large number of pages; the premise may be the invasion of the Republic, but aside from that frame, there is little-to-no plot. We get to visit another country in Lu's futuristic world, Antarctic, itself replete with a ridiculous government system heavy-handedly engineered to give readers their daily dose of Diet Theme. We see the continuation of Day's soap-opera storyline, and... I'm at a loss to list much else that happened until we reach the 3/4 mark. June goes to a senate meeting. We spend copious amounts of time in a hospital setting. There's a sex scene. I'm actually kind of impressed by how much space Lu manages to fill with so little. The plot coasts off the events of the previous two books; there's no wild adventures, no intriguing ideas, no exciting premises. Lu's just killing time until we get to the conclusion.
The conclusion. Based upon what I've written thus far, it seems a bit weird for me to be giving the novel a higher rating than Prodigy. I'm still not entirely sure how I feel about the conclusion, but it's Champion's saving grace. It's fresh. It's well-written. More happens in the epilogue than in the novel's entirety. For once, Lu brings something fresh to the table, something beyond the cliched happy ever after or textbook bittersweet ending. Upon inspection, the ending did have some considerable flaws: I'm not a neuroscientist, but I don't think people work that way; that relocation seems to go against our daily theme injection; does the future-Internet magically disappear or something? These sort of flaws don't bother me much, though. This may seem hard to believe, especially considering the ratings I've been doling out, but I'm not really a harsh critic. If a book's enjoyable, so what if there are a few plot holes along the way? It's a story, an adventure; if you're too caught up in the hard science of it, you're not going to enjoy the ride.
While Champion was not all that it could have been, the ending was. It was distinct, mature... it had that sense of both realism and magic that had enchanted me in Legend but had been missing from the series since. Plus, Day gets a haircut; it's everything I'd wanted all along. I'm not sure if I'll be willing to pick up any of Lu's future efforts, but all in all I'm glad to have taken the chance on the Legend series.
The author: Marie Lu
The rating: 3.5 stars
"Billions of people will come and go in this world," he says softly, "but there will never be another like you."
So, here we are. The end of an era, the conclusion of a trilogy, the final page in the story of Day and June. I chose that epigraph with a touch of irony; as has been the problem for the entire series, my biggest issue with Champion is that there will always be plenty more like it. It's not that I'm expecting the Earth and the stars, but in every novel, I hope to find something fresh. A unique idea. A unique voice. A twist. A spark. Champion and the Legend series as a whole are everything you expect from the dystopian genre; they follow all the steps, but they're missing the breath of life to take them from cookie-cutter story to true adventure.
More so than either of its predecessors, Champion feels like it is just going through the motions. I was constantly struck by how little had happened in such a large number of pages; the premise may be the invasion of the Republic, but aside from that frame, there is little-to-no plot. We get to visit another country in Lu's futuristic world, Antarctic, itself replete with a ridiculous government system heavy-handedly engineered to give readers their daily dose of Diet Theme. We see the continuation of Day's soap-opera storyline, and... I'm at a loss to list much else that happened until we reach the 3/4 mark. June goes to a senate meeting. We spend copious amounts of time in a hospital setting. There's a sex scene. I'm actually kind of impressed by how much space Lu manages to fill with so little. The plot coasts off the events of the previous two books; there's no wild adventures, no intriguing ideas, no exciting premises. Lu's just killing time until we get to the conclusion.
The conclusion. Based upon what I've written thus far, it seems a bit weird for me to be giving the novel a higher rating than Prodigy. I'm still not entirely sure how I feel about the conclusion, but it's Champion's saving grace. It's fresh. It's well-written. More happens in the epilogue than in the novel's entirety. For once, Lu brings something fresh to the table, something beyond the cliched happy ever after or textbook bittersweet ending. Upon inspection, the ending did have some considerable flaws: I'm not a neuroscientist, but I don't think people work that way; that relocation seems to go against our daily theme injection; does the future-Internet magically disappear or something? These sort of flaws don't bother me much, though. This may seem hard to believe, especially considering the ratings I've been doling out, but I'm not really a harsh critic. If a book's enjoyable, so what if there are a few plot holes along the way? It's a story, an adventure; if you're too caught up in the hard science of it, you're not going to enjoy the ride.
While Champion was not all that it could have been, the ending was. It was distinct, mature... it had that sense of both realism and magic that had enchanted me in Legend but had been missing from the series since. Plus, Day gets a haircut; it's everything I'd wanted all along. I'm not sure if I'll be willing to pick up any of Lu's future efforts, but all in all I'm glad to have taken the chance on the Legend series.
Monday 3 February 2014
6. Heart and Soul
The book: Infinite (Newsoul #3)
The author: Jodi Meadows
The rating: 4 stars
Infinite marks the conclusion to the Newsoul trilogy, bringing the adventures of Ana and Sam that began in Incarnate and Asunder to a perhaps rocky conclusion, but we'll get to that later. I don't typically spend much of my reviews going over plot summary (that's why they put a blurb on the back, isn't it?) but considering that Infinite is a series conclusion, it seems wise to make an exception to that rule.
The land of Range is plagued by all sorts of mythical beasts: dragons roam the north, spewing acid and wreaking havoc; sylphs dance in the shadows, their lightest touch a burn; rocs dive from the skies; centaurs roam the forests; trolls lumber along ragged paths; phoenixes reincarnate, shedding their past selves in rebirth. And in this wild, mystical land, there is a glistening, white-stone city of a million human souls: Heart. For five millennia, the people of Heart have reincarnated like phoenixes; when they die, their souls are soon born again and they continue their lives' adventures. Sometimes they're tall, sometimes short, sometimes dark, sometimes fair, sometimes female, sometimes male, but there's always another life. Everything is constant. That is, until Ana. The citizens of Heart had been expecting Ciana's rebirth, but instead of their old friend, their soul scanners fail to find a match. The baby is a newsoul, or, as many call her, a nosoul.
Throughout Incarnate and Asunder, we follow the newsoul, Ana, in her coming-of-age story, unraveling the mysteries that led to her birth. She is hated by many, considered a precursor to more nosouls replacing oldsouls; fear of ending up like Ciana leads Ana to be shunned by society, raised by Li, an abusive, vitriolic mother in the countryside surrounding Range, banned from ever entering the glistening city of Heart. At the beginning of Incarnate, Li gives Ana a faulty compass and sends her off on her quest to find her way in the world, hoping she'll become hopelessly lost and die. However, after a run-in with wild sylph that ends with Ana almost drowning in a lake, she is rescued by a boy named Sam, someone who, over the course of the series, manages to convince Ana that she is not a nosoul, but a newsoul.
Two paragraphs of plot summary already, and I don't think I'm even out of chapter four of the first novel... see, there's a reason why I don't do this often. Throughout the series, Ana struggles to find answers to the mystery surrounding her birth - why was she born instead of Ciana? Will she reincarnate? As her mystery begins to unravel, we discover that reincarnation is caused by a being called Janan, someone who many consider to be a god, but who actually is tied to the truth of what really happened five millennia ago. I don't want to get too into the overall plot so as not to spoil the series; truly, the premise is the most delightful part, and I would hate to ruin it for a prospective reader.
Now, onto my views of Infinite. As I mentioned, the premise of this series is one of my all-time favourites. The writing can be a bit threadbare at times, but Meadows' unique and well-executed concept more than compensates; the world of Range is terrifying, magical... filled with echoes of ideas all dreamers must have dreamed about. I know they're thoughts I've had before, at least. Would it be ethical to be immortal, seeing as immortality would only be practical if nobody else could be born? It's this type of lofty question that Infinite addresses, but in nowhere near the clunky way with which novels like Prodigy handle their themes. Meadows takes an intriguing question and builds a remarkable, breathtaking world around it; her message is intrinsically tied to the horrible splendour of her world, never tacked on. Furthermore, her view is never forced down the reader's throat; both the bad and the good are explored, as are the bad and good in human nature, ultimately leaving the reader to decide their own verdict. There are some potential readings of the work that might suggest Meadows is making a more forceful societal commentary... some choice lines in particular might allude to the novel taking a stance on the abortion debate, but the door of ambiguity is left open for the reader to interpret the author's true intentions.
Adding to the wonderful world and plot is the mystery with which the tale is imbued. The reader is unraveling the terrible secrets of the ancient past along with Ana and her oldsoul friends, and that mystique definitely keeps the pacing steady and the reader engaged. The romance is a little less enthralling... Ana and Sam make a wonderful, musical couple, but when the pacing falters, it's the romantic side of Infinite that is usually to blame.
I did promise to get back to my comment about the trilogy's rocky conclusion, and I suppose I'm running out of time to do so. I immensely enjoyed the first 70% or so of Infinite, but by the time our supporting characters start dropping like flies and we reach what is supposedly the climax, Infinite seems to stumble a bit, losing its polished, pensive sheen. Obviously everything can't go according to plan (since when in fiction has the big plan ever gone off without a hitch?) but the last minute mood shift screamed Deus Ex Machina, coupled with a second twist I think it's safe to say every reader would have seen coming (as soon as we're told Deborl has sent warriors away to find something, there was only one thing it could have been). The end of the end perked back up, though... hopefully it's not too much of a spoiler to say that amongst all the Pyrrhic victories in fiction today, it's nice to get a truly happy ending.
The author: Jodi Meadows
The rating: 4 stars
Infinite marks the conclusion to the Newsoul trilogy, bringing the adventures of Ana and Sam that began in Incarnate and Asunder to a perhaps rocky conclusion, but we'll get to that later. I don't typically spend much of my reviews going over plot summary (that's why they put a blurb on the back, isn't it?) but considering that Infinite is a series conclusion, it seems wise to make an exception to that rule.
The land of Range is plagued by all sorts of mythical beasts: dragons roam the north, spewing acid and wreaking havoc; sylphs dance in the shadows, their lightest touch a burn; rocs dive from the skies; centaurs roam the forests; trolls lumber along ragged paths; phoenixes reincarnate, shedding their past selves in rebirth. And in this wild, mystical land, there is a glistening, white-stone city of a million human souls: Heart. For five millennia, the people of Heart have reincarnated like phoenixes; when they die, their souls are soon born again and they continue their lives' adventures. Sometimes they're tall, sometimes short, sometimes dark, sometimes fair, sometimes female, sometimes male, but there's always another life. Everything is constant. That is, until Ana. The citizens of Heart had been expecting Ciana's rebirth, but instead of their old friend, their soul scanners fail to find a match. The baby is a newsoul, or, as many call her, a nosoul.
Throughout Incarnate and Asunder, we follow the newsoul, Ana, in her coming-of-age story, unraveling the mysteries that led to her birth. She is hated by many, considered a precursor to more nosouls replacing oldsouls; fear of ending up like Ciana leads Ana to be shunned by society, raised by Li, an abusive, vitriolic mother in the countryside surrounding Range, banned from ever entering the glistening city of Heart. At the beginning of Incarnate, Li gives Ana a faulty compass and sends her off on her quest to find her way in the world, hoping she'll become hopelessly lost and die. However, after a run-in with wild sylph that ends with Ana almost drowning in a lake, she is rescued by a boy named Sam, someone who, over the course of the series, manages to convince Ana that she is not a nosoul, but a newsoul.
Two paragraphs of plot summary already, and I don't think I'm even out of chapter four of the first novel... see, there's a reason why I don't do this often. Throughout the series, Ana struggles to find answers to the mystery surrounding her birth - why was she born instead of Ciana? Will she reincarnate? As her mystery begins to unravel, we discover that reincarnation is caused by a being called Janan, someone who many consider to be a god, but who actually is tied to the truth of what really happened five millennia ago. I don't want to get too into the overall plot so as not to spoil the series; truly, the premise is the most delightful part, and I would hate to ruin it for a prospective reader.
Now, onto my views of Infinite. As I mentioned, the premise of this series is one of my all-time favourites. The writing can be a bit threadbare at times, but Meadows' unique and well-executed concept more than compensates; the world of Range is terrifying, magical... filled with echoes of ideas all dreamers must have dreamed about. I know they're thoughts I've had before, at least. Would it be ethical to be immortal, seeing as immortality would only be practical if nobody else could be born? It's this type of lofty question that Infinite addresses, but in nowhere near the clunky way with which novels like Prodigy handle their themes. Meadows takes an intriguing question and builds a remarkable, breathtaking world around it; her message is intrinsically tied to the horrible splendour of her world, never tacked on. Furthermore, her view is never forced down the reader's throat; both the bad and the good are explored, as are the bad and good in human nature, ultimately leaving the reader to decide their own verdict. There are some potential readings of the work that might suggest Meadows is making a more forceful societal commentary... some choice lines in particular might allude to the novel taking a stance on the abortion debate, but the door of ambiguity is left open for the reader to interpret the author's true intentions.
Adding to the wonderful world and plot is the mystery with which the tale is imbued. The reader is unraveling the terrible secrets of the ancient past along with Ana and her oldsoul friends, and that mystique definitely keeps the pacing steady and the reader engaged. The romance is a little less enthralling... Ana and Sam make a wonderful, musical couple, but when the pacing falters, it's the romantic side of Infinite that is usually to blame.
I did promise to get back to my comment about the trilogy's rocky conclusion, and I suppose I'm running out of time to do so. I immensely enjoyed the first 70% or so of Infinite, but by the time our supporting characters start dropping like flies and we reach what is supposedly the climax, Infinite seems to stumble a bit, losing its polished, pensive sheen. Obviously everything can't go according to plan (since when in fiction has the big plan ever gone off without a hitch?) but the last minute mood shift screamed Deus Ex Machina, coupled with a second twist I think it's safe to say every reader would have seen coming (as soon as we're told Deborl has sent warriors away to find something, there was only one thing it could have been). The end of the end perked back up, though... hopefully it's not too much of a spoiler to say that amongst all the Pyrrhic victories in fiction today, it's nice to get a truly happy ending.
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