Iron Mosaic by Michael Cobley

Michael Cobley is best known as the author of the Shadowkings epic fantasy sequence; but this, his first short story collection, is more wide-ranging than that might lead you to expect. It contains stories from across (and beyond) the entire range of fantastic fiction, divided into fantasy and science fiction, with a bridging section of 'Scottish' stories. It certainly isn't possible to accuse Cobley of staying in a rut. Unfortunately, though, the stories in Iron Mosaic prove to be quite a mixed bag in terms of quality.

Let's start with the good stuff: the best story here is the non-genre 'Heartbreak (with Incidental Music)', a series of brief snapshots chronicling the life and death of a relationship. Beautifully told, I'm sure it will resonate with anyone who has been in love. 'Writing for a Dying' is the darkly humorous tale of a writer's ghost who wreaks revenge upon a paranormal investigator, with surprising (or perhaps inevitable) consequences. 'The Dance of Shiva' tells evocatively of a chase through alternate worlds to stop a criminal who brings disaster to the worlds he creates with a stolen artefact. These, and others, are all fine pieces of work.

However, I found much of the rest... not so much bad, as unengaging. For instance, in 'The Recondite Rebus', a king and his inner circle become trapped inside a deadly enchantment, and must solve a puzzle to escape. The story is told well enough, but, since the puzzle to be solved is pictorial, it's not really possible for the reader to join in, which would seem to be the point of this kind of story. I'm not going to list any more examples because, in all honesty, I can't pinpoint exact reasons for not liking particular stories. They just didn't 'click' with me, and it doesn't seem fair to criticize Cobley for that. Other people might like the very same stories for their own equally inexpressible reasons.

My comments so far might suggest that I am not interested in reading any more of Cobley's work. But that's not the case at all. Two of the pieces in Iron Mosaic are related to the author's other projects, and both make me want to know more 'Travelling in the Dark' is set in the world of Shadowkings, and does exactly what a good sword and sorcery tale should: the action sequences are gripping, and the atmosphere of a medieval world soaked in magic is brought effectively to life. If the trilogy is as well written as this, I am sure it is worth a read. 'A Turret in the Fury Eternal' is, Cobley hints, related to a planned future work. Again, its post-technological world is evoked superbly; and I look forward to exploring that world further in due course.

I can't deny that I found quite a lot in Iron Mosaic to feel indifferent about. Yet there is also quite a lot to enjoy, and nothing that I could fairly describe as bad. Those readers who are familiar with Shadowkings will discover many new sides to the author's work in this book. Those who (like me) aren't familiar with the trilogy may find themselves wishing to become so. All stand a good chance of finding something to like in Iron Mosaic. Read it: it's worth a try.

This review first appeared in The Alien Online.

Further links:

Michael Cobley

Immanion Press

Hell Cop by David C. Burton

A Hell Cop is someone who is hired to retrieve souls that have been mistakenly sent to the wrong destination from Purgatory. This novel is narrated by Getter, a Hell Cop of twelve years' standing, whose mission it is to rescue ten-year-old Brittany Hightower, wrongly sent to Hell for accidentally causing a car crash by distracting the driver, her mother. Of course, things don't quite go to plan, as Getter becomes caught up in a plot to take over Hell, and discovers that he may be destined to play a greater role in events than he imagined...

David Burton's Hell is a vast region of uncertain geography: souls undergo their punishments in one of its many discrete areas, and the only way to navigate the shifting paths between them is with a device called a Find, which Hell Cops carry. The different areas of Hell are populated by all sorts of nasties lying in wait for the unwary; and Getter spends a good deal of the book either fighting or escaping from some kind of monster. Burton has gone to town imagining all his monsters, and he comes up with some good ideas for the different areas of Hell - such as one section which is a giant tree; or the school that Brittany has been sent to, where the souls of bullies are tormented.

True, perhaps Burton's supporting cast - characters such as Sneaker, another Hell Cop, whom Getter takes a shine to; the Scotsman Gregory, whom he befriends; and the various demons that he falls foul of - are not drawn as sharply as one would like (they often seem to be there to drive the on plot more than anything). But the story fairly zips along, and it's great to see an author let his imagination run wild.

However, this is a book which could still be improved quite considerably. For one thing, Hell Cop's plot feels less like that of a novel, and more like that of an average computer game or role-playing adventure; too much of it seems to be taken up with running from one encounter to the next, which can become wearying. One reason for this, I fear, is built in to the very nature of the setting: by and large, Burton's Hell is not a place where people are living lives, as such; its locales are there to be travelled through; so perhaps any story set there would take on the same shape as this. Still, Burton is only introducing us to this setting here; if he writes more stories set in this Hell, he might explore the world more deeply.

It struck me that there is a strong moral dimension to the work of a Hell Cop, which Burton never really touches upon in this novel. Getter admits himself that he's not one for introspection (though he does open up a little), which is a shame, especially in a first-person narrative, and particularly so in the world of this story. Several times, Getter reminds himself not to interfere with or judge the meting out of punishments to the souls he observes, however much he'd like to. Yet, he does rescue Gregory from his predicament (for reasons he does explain eventually), and he does judge some souls as undeserving of their punishments. Even the very fact of being a Hell Cop can be seen as a sort of judgement. It would be pleasing to see more exploration of this.

The full mechanism of how misplaced souls are identified and retrieved is not fully explained in Hell Cop. It seems that the process is not infallible (there are hints that Brittany might have done something to deserve her place in Hell after all), and there is no mention of what happens to souls who are sent to Heaven by mistake. Both these areas would provide fertile ground for further stories, but it would have been nice to see something of them in this one.

I don't want to suggest that Hell Cop is a particularly bad book, because it isn't. But it is hard not to wish for it to be a little more ambitious. What we have here is an entertaining adventure story (though the typos are quite distracting), but nothing more than that. There is clearly potential here for a great story to be told in this world, and David Burton is surely capable of telling it; whether or not he will rise to the challenge of doing so remains to be seen.

This review first appeared in The Alien Online.

Further links:

David C. Burton

Silver Lake Publishing

Time Hunter: The Clockwork Woman by Claire Bott

This is the third in Telos Publishing's series of novellas relating the adventures of Honoré Lechasseur and Emily Blandish. Honoré is a 'time-sensitive', able to perceive a person's timeline (though he cannot fully control this ability). Emily, on the other hand, is a 'time channel', able to travel through time when she comes into contact with a time-sensitive. In The Clockwork Woman, the pair jump back to the 19th century, and the home of Sir Edward Fanshawe, the inventor of many fantastic devices, including the mechanical woman of the book's title.

One of the most striking things about The Clockwork Woman, when compared to the first two Time Hunter titles, is how Honoré and Emily are made members of the supporting cast. This first-person tale is narrated by - and is very much about - the 'clockwork woman' herself. Originally created as a servant and plaything for Sir Edward, she finds herself going against her programming when she helps the time travellers escape after they have been imprisoned by the master of the house. Fleeing with Honoré (Emily having flown off separately on a glider), the woman gives herself a name - Dove - and is tricked into going to London, where she is sold to a brothel - and finds Emily in the same predicament. But Honoré is not far behind...

'Shared world' enterprises can be maligned for being unimaginative, formulaic and not willing to take risks. Quite often, such criticisms are valid; but there are always exceptions - and what an exception we have here. Admittedly, Time Hunter isn't your average 'shared world' because its canvas is so large; and you would expect Telos to be a cut above the rest anyway. But, even so, Claire Bott has produced something special in this novella.

The Clockwork Woman explores such themes as being human, freedom, selfishness, gender and coming of age, as well as being a superbly written adventure story - and all in the space of a 74-page novella. Who needs doorstops when you can read something like this? The previous two entries in the Time Hunter series set a high standard; but this one surpasses them. If the series maintains this quality, it will become essential reading. Mind you, on the strength of The Clockwork Woman alone, I'd happily argue that it already is essential reading.

This review first appeared in The Alien Online.

Further links:
Telos

Somnambulists by Allen Ashley

Before Somnambulists, I was ambivalent about Allen Ashley's work: I thought some of the stories of his that I'd read were very good indeed, but others I wasn't keen on at all. So I was hoping this new collection would help make up my mind, which, I'm pleased to say, it has. In fact, at the risk of gushing, I have to say that this is great. Stop reading my review and buy a copy now.

What's that? You need to be convinced further?

Very well...

A lot of 'slipstream' fiction is vague about the reality (or otherwise) of its fantasy elements: it's left to the reader to decide whether events are real or just hallucinations. This is fair enough, but tends not to go far enough for my liking. More interesting, in my opinion, is to assume the fantasy is real, and just get on with the business of telling stories. Ashley does this many times, and it works magnificently, as in 'Sequel', for example, which makes entering a sci-fi B-movie seem the most natural thing in the world. And perhaps the most startling example of this is 'In Search of Guy Fawkes', where a scientific experiment gone wrong causes history to collapse, leaving behind an early modern world where some technology from our present day nevertheless survives. It's a credit to Ashley's skill that he makes this sort of thing seem utterly believable, rather than absurd.

Throwing us in at the deep end, however complex the background, is not an approach that makes things easy for the reader (nothing wrong with that, though!); but it does make for some fascinating stories. One very welcome consequence of the technique is that it brings the characters right to the foreground, when Ashley could easily concentrate on dazzling us with his fantasy ideas. The aforementioned 'Sequel' explores what might happen to a B-movie hero after he saves the world from alien invasion; it wouldn't work nearly so well if it dwelt on the fact of someone passing into the world of a film. Then there's 'Downsize', a story about a devoted employee, which treats its 'loyalty machine' as something relatively unremarkable, thus allowing the characters to take centre stage.

'Downsize' also illustrates another strength of Somnambulists: the way in which the fantastic elements and settings of the tales reflect the characters. This isn't always satisfying - 'Siberia' perhaps labours its point a little too much - but, most of the time, it works very well. An example would be 'The Twilight', where a permanent darkness mirrors the emotional disconnection of its protagonist.

There's a sharp vein of humour running through some of the stories, which comes to the fore especially in two satirical pieces. 'Pumpkin Coach' recasts Cinderella as a 'people's princess' who dies in a road accident in Paris. And in 'Matthew Saint', we meet a struggling author living in ancient Judea. Both these stories raise a good deal of wry laughter.

This review has deliberately tried to avoid evaluating any of the stories in Somnambulists in detail, because the overall quality is genuinely so high that it seemed inappropriate to single any out as being 'bad'. Nigh on everything about this collection is superb (and let's take a moment to praise Dean Harkness's gorgeous cover). It shows Allen Ashley to be a master storyteller and fantasist, and is yet another outstanding volume from Elastic Press. Put simply: if you like fiction, read this book. Go on, what are you waiting for?

This review first appeared in The Alien Online.

Further links:

Allen Ashley

Elastic Press

The Labyrinth Key by Howard V. Hendrix

Jaron Kwok works for the National Security Agency, researching historical mnemonic systems, in the hope of allowing the US to beat China in the race to build a quantum computer - a computer of enormous processing power, and hence the ultimate tool of encryption and decryption. One day, in a Hong Kong hotel room, Kwok plugs into a virtual world he has constructed which will enable him to explore the documents he is working on. He has an enigmatic encounter with some other entities in the virtuality, before his real-world body (apparently) bursts into flames, leaving behind a pile of (what seem to be) ashes.

Other characters enter the story. Ben Cho, who takes over Kwok's work. Lu Mei-Lin, the Chinese police detective who investigates his murder and remains. Don Sturm and Karuna Drang, who witness a holocast of Kwok's final moments in the virtuality, and try to make sense of the symbols embedded within. Jim Brescoll, Deputy Director of the NSA, who tries to keep track of everything that's going on. Conspiracies abound, as it becomes apparent that a quantum computer might do far more than make and break codes… And The Labyrinth Key turns out to be a frustratingly unsatisfying experience.

Howard Hendrix says more than once in the book that he has tried to ensure that his research intrudes as little as possible into the narrative; so much so, in fact, that he's included an appendix about the science and history underpinning the novel. But still, The Labyrinth Key suffers from too much exposition. Now, of course, infodumping is a perennial problem for science fiction writers; and it wouldn't be fair of me to blame Hendrix for not finding a solution. But there's just so much of it. At times, it's hard not to feel one is being lectured by the author, which is not a pleasant feeling to have when reading a novel. All the exposition slows the story right down - and, worse, impedes understanding. I feel sure that the science Hendrix draws on in The Labyrinth Key is readily comprehensible to non-scientists like me; but he buries the essentials in so many details that it's hard to be sure. Of course, it might be helpful to refer to the appendix - but if that's necessary, it should be at the front of the volume, not the back. And if Hendrix had better integrated his research with his story, an appendix might not have been needed at all.

Some genre authors really like The Labyrinth Key. Gregory Benford is quoted as saying, 'Hendrix's sentences have punch, his plots have points, and he knows his science - what more can one ask of cutting-edge science fiction?' Well, I'd like to think the genre is mature enough that we can add good characterization to that list, and it's another area where this book falls short. None of the characters really leaps off the page; and some - especially the NSA scientists - feel like nothing more than talking heads. And I'd dispute the point about Hendrix's prose as well. The action scenes do their job well enough, and there is some effective imagery; but there's nothing here to mark out Hendrix as one of the genre's great stylists.

I don't want to sound too harsh, but the truth is that I have very little good to say about The Labyrinth Key. There's probably a good book in there somewhere, but it has to contend with a great deal that's mediocre at best. Even the plot is a let-down: the ending is pure Hollywood. I suppose that any readers who enjoy raw scientific speculation might find it a satisfying read; but, not being such a reader, I can't say for sure. Howard V. Hendrix has four other novels under his belt, so The Labyrinth Key might be an exception in his oeuvre. But I'm not in a great hurry to find out.

This review first appeared in The Alien Online.

Further links:

Howard V. Hendrix

Del Rey

The Greenstone Grail by Amanda Hemingway

Let's make our introductions first. Amanda Hemingway wrote some science fiction novels in the 1980s, but has become better known in recent years as Jan Siegel, under which name she wrote the series of fantasies that began with Prospero's Children (which was the only one of her books I had read before this one). Now she has reverted to her real name for The Greenstone Grail, the first volume in her Sangreal Trilogy.

It actually does the book something of a disservice to describe it as the first in a trilogy (though to be fair, it's only labelled as such inside, and not on the cover), because it's quite unlike the stereotypical images that the words 'fantasy trilogy' almost inevitably conjure up. It's thematically similar to Prospero's Children, with its child protagonist and its firm anchoring of myth and magic in the present day; but be assured that it isn't the same book in different guise.

The action begins in 1991, when Annie Ward, pursued by something, arrives with her baby son Nathan at the door of Bartlemy Goodman, a fabulous cook who lives in the big house of Thornyhill. Fast-forward to the present day, and Nathan discovers a hidden underground chapel in the forest, where he has a vision of a green grail filled with blood. And that's just the start of a sequence of mysterious events that will change Nathan's and Annie's very conception of reality...

One of the things I really appreciated about this novel is how dense it is with fantasy elements. There are far too many 'fantasies' out there that barely even scratched the surface of what is possible in the genre; so it's immensely pleasing to see that Hemingway gives us at least six or seven mysterious events or characters. Besides Annie's unknown pursuers, there's the woodwose that Nathan befriends as a young child; his friend Hazel's great-grandmother Effie, who might just be a witch; a new star in the night sky; and Rianna Sardou, the beautiful but aloof actress who is more than she seems. Even Nathan himself appears to have been conceived supernaturally.

Most impressive, though, is the way Hemingway handles Nathan's dreams of a distant, futuristic world where the sunlight is poisonous and soldiers fly on the backs of giant lizards. It's the kind of setting that we find more often in Saturday morning cartoons than anywhere else these days; but the author's strong sense of place makes it thoroughly believeable. It is no mean feat to combine fantasy of the English wildwood with 'Dragon Riders from Outer Space', and Hemingway does it superbly.

Much of the pleasure of reading The Greenstone Grail comes from discovering how all the disparate elements fit together; and I don't wish to spoil that pleasure by giving too much away. But the cup of the title is the Grimthorn Grail, an artefact belonging to the Thorn family, whose ancestral home is the house where Bartlemy now lives; and whose current descendant, Rowena, wants the Grail back from the German graf who currently owns it. But the cup has far greater significance than anyone in the village of Eade can imagine... and that is as far as I go.

The Greenstone Grail is not entirely without fault. Some of the secondary places and characters aren't as vivid as one would wish; for instance, the monastic school that Nathan attends never really comes alive as a school, which is a shame when Hemingway's depiction of other places, such as the forest and the world of Nathan's dream, is so strong.

There are also unwelcome hints that the series may turn into a standard hunt for what fantasy critics sometimes term 'plot coupons'; the generic magical items that fantasy protagonists assemble in exchange for an ending. I hope that doesn't happen. I hope the story continues to expand into something extraordinary. But even if the trilogy does become generic, its first volume is a delight. The Greenstone Grail is the kind of book that makes you look in the corner of your eye, and wish there were something there. It is the kind of book that fantasy is all about.

This review first appeared in The Alien Online.

Further links:

Amanda Hemingway

Voyager

Angel Stations by Gary Gibson

Gary Gibson’s debut novel takes us several centuries into the future, when humankind has begun to explore the universe, thanks to the artificial wormholes of the title, left behind by an ancient super-civilization dubbed the Angels. One other intelligent species has been discovered, on the planet Kasper; but humanity has left the inhabitants alone, limiting activity on the world to a remote polar region, where the Angels have left a mysterious artefact known as the Citadel, in which the rules of physics become strangely distorted.

Against this background, we follow the intertwining stories of several protagonists. Elias Murray, a former soldier whose genetic alterations give him brief glimpses of the future and the ability to revive the dead, travels to the Kaspian Angel Station in search of his former mentor. Kim Amoto, a prospector of Angel technology, spends most of the time lost (literally) in the memories of her dead lover. And on the surface of Kasper, Ursu is ordered to steal the statue of his city’s god – by the voice of the god himself. Add in the manipulations of a religious cult leader; a plague of insects that’s tearing apart the very fabric of the Angel Station; and an approaching gamma-ray burst that threatens to destroy all life of Kasper; and you have, it would seem, all the ingredients for a rip-roaring space adventure. And yet...

And yet, I found Angel Stations to be lacking in something, though it’s hard to pinpoint exactly what that something is. It certainly isn’t Gibson’s prose style, nor is it his characters. The plot does seem a little disjointed, with some changes feeling too abrupt: for example, the section in which the Kaspian Angel Station is under siege from the aforementioned insects is not resolved satisfactorily before Elias and Kim make the journey to the surface of Kasper; we don’t discover what happens to other characters we have been following on the Angel Station until a brief scene in the final chapter. And there are other problems with the plot, but nothing terribly wrong.

No, the worst thing that could be said about Angel Stations is that it’s just a little too ordinary. It is entertaining enough whilst you’re reading it, but it’s not a book to treasure. Still, this is only Gary Gibson’s first novel, and it will be interesting to see how his career develops.

This review first appeared in The Alien Online.

Further links:
Gary Gibson
Tor UK

The Coyote Kings of the Space-Age Bachelor Pad by Minister Faust

The press release that came with my review copy of this book opines that The Coyote Kings of the Space-Age Bachelor Pad is 'possibly the funniest science fiction novel to come along in decades.' That's quite a claim. So, has the 'Afro-Canadian poet, playwright and political activist' Minister Faust (also known as Malcolm Azania) made an exciting an exciting and hilarious contribution to the genre with his debut novel? Almost...

Our heroes are Hamza Senesert and Yehat Gerbles, the Coyote Kings (the 'Space-Age Bachelor Pad' – or the 'Coyote Cave' – is the house they share): two educated, black sci-fi buffs stuck in dead-end jobs in Edmonton. Most of the novel is told in one of their first-person voices, and this is where the book stands out. Here, for instance, is Hamza seething at having to wash dishes for a living:

I get to both scrape AND wash the crud off of the shingles they slide in front of a bunch of rich kids' maws night after succulent night in this Tex-Mex-Cali-cocktail cesspit, before, during, and after they drain pitcher after pitcher of Can't Believe It's Not Urine!

The sheer energy of narration like this is undeniable, even though the narrators aren't always pleasant. But (and it's a big 'but'), this stuff is most effective in small doses; after 500 pages, it becomes wearying. To make matters worse, it is difficult to tell Hamza's and Yehat's voices apart. You notice certain mannerisms after a while (Yehat tends to use lists, for example), but the two never come alive as distinct characters, such that their voices seem to bleed into one. And that's not all: other characters take their turns at narrating the story. I lost count, but Coyote Kings must have something like ten separate first-person narrators – not all distinguishable, and some annoying (the cod-Victorian hoodlum Digaestus Caesar is especially so). It's not entirely clear what all these narrators bring to the novel, or why Faust couldn't have used the third person at least some of the time. As the saying (nearly) goes: too many narrators...

As we've seen, Coyote Kings is being marketed as a comedy; but it's quite an unusual one – and, sad to say, not a very successful one. For one thing, there are surprisingly few jokes, even of the kind that play with genre clichés (since the publishers compare the book to films like Galaxy Quest, I was expecting more humour of this kind). Indeed, the sci-fi references as a whole don't extend very far into the fabric of the story (unless I missed some, which is entirely possible). It is as though the writing style is expected to carry the weight of the humour, and it just doesn't work.

So, leaving aside any humour, how does Coyote Kings fare as a novel, in particular a fantasy? The plot is actually quite unclear, something about the search for an ancient artefact of immense power that Hamza and Yehat get caught up in when Hamza falls for a beautiful assassin who's trying to stop the artefact falling into the wrong hands (or are hers the wrong hands..?); it's not a highly original storyline and, although some of the action sequences are exciting, again there's a sense that the stylish narration is working hard to make up for deficiencies elsewhere.

It also seems that Faust has tried to cram too much in: he tries to get across a number of valid points that aren't often integrated into the text very well. Consider the following comment about music: 'There's no such thing as "Afrikan music", singular, any more than there's "European music", singular, or "Asian music", singular -' This is a point worth making, but since it comes during a conversation between two characters who already know as much, the impression left is that it has been placed there for the benefit of any eavesdroppers who don't; in other words, the reader. Done this way, such points become distracting sore thumbs that bring down the novel as a whole.

The Coyote Kings of the Space-Age Bachelor Pad is a book with plenty of flaws: it's too long (more than twice as long as it needs to be), and tries to do too much. But I don't wish to give the impression that it is all bad. There is clear talent on display here, but it needs to be distilled and focused. If that's done, Minister Faust will be a name to watch out for in the future.

This review first appeared in The Alien Online.

Further links:
Minister Faust
Del Rey books

Nylon Angel by Marianne de Pierres

At some (unspecified) point in the future, society (in Australia, at least - we aren't told about the rest of the world) has become stratified to the extent that the 'haves' live in gigantic conurbations like Vivacity, while everyone else is stuck in slums like the Tert (Tertiary Sector).

Parrish Plessis was born in the suburbs of Viva, but left for the Tert, ending up as a bodyguard for a crime-lord named Jamon Mondo. Having been abused at the hands of Mondo and his goons, Parrish wants out; easier said than done, however. But two opportunities become apparent: one, to trace the killers of newsreader Razz Retribution, who may have links with a rival gang that Parrish wishes to join; the other, to retrieve data for another gangster, Io Lang, that would bring Mondo down. Parrish takes her chances with both these possibilities - and there her troubles begin...

Nylon Angel is dedicated to an ancestor of the author's 'who loved adventure stories'. Presumably, then, that's what Marianne de Pierres intended her novel to be; so it's only fair to judge it as such. As you've probably gathered from the brief summary above, the setting is inspired by the worlds of cyberpunk, albeit slightly diluted. The language gives the game away: Nylon Angel is full of typical cyberpunk buzz words - biz, tek, stim - but the author makes everything crystal clear. There's no attempt to make the reader struggle to comprehend the world, as is the case in many cyberpunk stories. Nylon Angel is welcoming and familiar where so many cyberpunk texts are alienating, which is both a strength and a weakness. It's a strength because it puts the plot in the foreground, just where it should be in an adventure story. But it can also be distracting, when you notice that the setting has been built from a set of conventions, rather than hand-crafted. Not that it scuppers the story; it just impedes the flow.

Parrish Plessis herself is an example of the Feisty Series Heroine, an ideal kind of protagonist for this kind of story; especially since, at nearly two metres tall, she is not designed to fade into the background. The trouble is, the Feisty Series Heroine is a figure always in danger of lapsing into cliché, which does tend to happen in Nylon Angel, as on the occasion when she beats up a (male) character for calling her a 'girlie'.

And there are worse problems: there are far too many times when Parrish does fade into the background. De Pierres's prose is snappy enough, but Parrish's first-person narration lacks the vital spark that a story like this really needs. What's more, she spends much of the novel being tricked, rescued, or otherwise controlled by other characters; which is enough to make one question whether Parrish really is so streetwise after all. And that's a shame, because the best parts of Nylon Angel are those where Parrish takes control of the situation and finds her own solutions to problems. It is a pity that more of the novel isn't like that.

A good 80% of Nylon Angel is watered-down cyberpunk crossed with standard Feisty Series Heroine elements (gang rivalry, deceptions, a guy who can't be trusted but who's just so damn' sexy). The remaining 20%, however, is... still pretty much watered-down cyberpunk; but there are a few signs that there could eventually be more to this series than at first meets the eye. And, by the novel's end, Parrish is in a position to take charge of events herself. It seems that things may start to get interesting in book two.

But where does that leave book one? On finishing Nylon Angel, I was left with the feeling that I'd read what amounted to a 330-page prologue. There is certainly evidence here that Marianne de Pierres could go on to write an entertaining series of SF thrillers starring Parrish Plessis. Whether or not that makes Nylon Angel a worthwhile read is a matter of personal choice.

This review first appeared in The Alien Online.

Further links:

Marianne de Pierres

Orbit Books

The Alsiso Project, ed.Andrew Hook

Andrew Hook's Elastic Press has been making a name for itself with single-author story collections, and The Alsiso Project sees the publisher branching out into anthologies. And what an intriguing proposition this book is: an anthology of stories all titled 'Alsiso' (or slight typographical variations thereof). What's Alsiso? Whatever (or whoever, or wherever) the contributors decided it to be. So we have stories of many kinds and persuasions here; which is just as it should be. Let's take a tour of some of the notable landmarks...

K.J. Bishop opens proceedings with an account of how Alsiso, who begins as a legendary assassin-cum-bogeyman figure, falls in and out of favour with popular culture through the centuries. Serving as a commentary both on how historical reality becomes distorted over time by the popular imagination, and on the very concept of The Alsiso Project itself, Bishop's story is an ideal introduction to the anthology. Interestingly, it's also a story that wouldn't work nearly so well outside the context of this anthology, and even gains power from its position in the book. A fine example, then, of what a concept like The Alsiso Project's can allow writers to achieve.

Gary Couzens contributes one of the anthology's highlights with his dark tale of sexuality and fractured friendships. Here, Alsiso is a word formed form the names of its protagonists (Alex, Simon and Sophie). The story documents the course and break-up of the three characters' friendship at university. There are revelations along the way, and a highly ambiguous narrator. A compelling story.

Marion Arnott is the writer whose typing error sparked off the whole anthology (intending to type 'Alison' on the TTA Press message boards, she mistakenly typed 'Alsiso', which, Andrew Hook remarked, sounded like a good title for a story...), so it's fitting that she provides the volume's closing tale. It's a tragic love story set during a war in a place that falls somewhere between fantasy and history. Certainly, it feels more real than your average medieval fantasy world. I didn't see the final twist coming, but in hindsight it seems inevitable, which of course is, in itself, the hallmark of a good twist. There is more in this story's twenty pages than you'll find in 500 pages of many epic fantasies.

Many of the authors in The Alsiso Project are not widely known, and it's doubtful that any one reader will be familiar with all the names in the book. So the chances are that everyone will come away with a least one writer whose work they want to follow up. For me, such a writer is Matt Dinniman. His contribution starts with people exploding after they say the word 'alsiso', and continues in a similar vein. I enjoyed the story immensely, and I'll be keeping an eye out for Dinniman's work in future.

John Grant tells a tale of clashing realities where inhabitants of a dream world invade ours, threatening the existence of both. Our guide is the dream-figure (or 'alsis') struggling to return to her reality. The story gets a little too bogged down in metaphysics, but Grant keeps you reading, and the beautiful image at the destination makes up for any difficulties during the journey.

Nicholas Royle's piece is outstanding, a deceptively quiet story of a man who has returned to his home city of Manchester, only for his life to slowly fall apart. As we learn more of his past, we discover just why the protagonist is so troubled by such seemingly mundane activities as house-hunting. This is a subtle, understated tale that doesn't give up all its secrets readily. It is well worth your time.

Marie O'Regan gives us another of the anthology's finest entries. Her protagonist, Ben, begins to hear (or imagines) 'alsiso' in everyday sounds and speech, and finds himself becoming more and more violent, which seems to go against his natural tendencies. Events come to a head when he confronts his cheating wife at her lover's flat, and we finally understand what has been happening to Ben. The chilling final sentence ends the tale on a note of inescapable horror.

The stories discussed so far are all very good indeed, but Steve Savile's is exceptional. Whilst travelling in Italy, Owen Frost has been abducted, along with his girlfriend Sasha, and taken to a remote monastery. There, Frost is forced to play a part in the creation of the golem Alsiso, who will be sent to battle God. But Owen has other plans... Savile has written a beautiful, deeply moving story, truly one of the best of a very fine bunch.

But, for me, the absolute pick of the anthology is the story by Conrad Williams. A scrap-metal merchant is given sheets of a mysterious paper-thin metal by a woman from a nearby laboratory, leading to revelations that shake the very foundations of the protagonist's life. I admired this story not just for its striking use of language, but especially for the way it makes what might, in other hands, be far-fetched and hoary, seem entirely believable and startlingly new.

The Alsiso Project isn't an unqualified success: Lisa Pearson's inconsequential tale of a brief fling in Africa, and David Allen Lambert's story of possession that starts brilliantly but fails to live up to its initial promise, are two of the poorer entries. But there are many more stories here which are good or better than good (by no means have I covered them all in this review); and disliking a few of the stories is a small price to pay if it means anthologies this eclectic will be published. It's inevitable that not all the tales in this book will appeal to everyone, but that is all part of the game. In short, you owe it to yourself to read The Alsiso Project – if not for its individual stories (though they should provide reason enough!), then for the anthology's sheer spirit of adventure.

Finally, a note on the book's price. Small press publications are often (necessarily, though regrettably) priced out of the range of the casual buyer; so full marks to Elastic Press for pricing this volume at only £6.00. At that price, you can afford to take a chance on The Alsiso Project. It is a chance you won't regret taking.

This review first appeared in The Alien Online.

Further links:

Andrew Hook

K.J. Bishop

Matt Dinniman

John Grant

Nicholas Royle

Marie O'Regan

Steven Savile

Elastic Press