Another year in the books, another year of successes and setbacks. Highlights!
Publications
This year I had two pieces that went the distance. The first was a dream pub in F(r)iction Magazine. Echoes from the Abyss was based on a character from a novel idea I had, and when I saw they had an oceans themed issue I had to submit. And it’s a good thing I did.
The other piece I had published was my first ever poem. By that I mean the first one I ever wrote with the intent to send out. Usually poetry and I don’t get along well, but inspiration strikes whenever it wants. Unanimous was about Ichiro Suzuki and how he should have been unanimously elected into the Baseball Hall of Fame.
I actually heard from one of Under Review’s editors the other day with feedback he’d recently received. He said that someone reached out to him unsolicited just to say how much they liked the poem. Noice. 🙂
Milestones
Aside from F(r)iction, which I consider a milestone as it was my first professional pay publication, I also finished my MFA in Creative Writing this year. I defended my thesis—the first third of a fantasy/mystery novel—and the feedback I received was overwhelmingly positive. One of the comments was that it read like an edited, published novel. I’ll take that any day.
Setbacks
So this is more of a writing inconvenience than a setback, but in the fall I went back to work. The prior year I’d been a stay at home dad with the baby, and I’d been able to write during nap time or if the grandparents wanted a turn with the baby.
Now I’m a middle school special ed math teacher. I’d been hopeful that I could write during prep periods, but those ended up being mostly non-existent. And working at a low-income school… let’s just say that the kids can be draining. By the end of the day, after a full day of school and an evening of my own kids, believe me when I say I’m in no condition to write. What started as 200 pages written over 6 months before work became 6 pages written over 4 months once I started.
I won’t blame everything on the job though. I get distracted with new ideas often. Sometimes it’s a good thing. Just today I finished the first draft of a middle grade novel I’m tentatively calling The Fart Heist. This summer I wrote a two short stories that I really need to get back to as well as an essay that I’m almost ready to go back to.
The essay was about my dad. He died in August and it still is strange whenever I remember he’s gone. It was especially in my mind around the holidays since he used to host Thanksgiving every year and just now at Christmas too. Eventually I’ll get back to it. I don’t know that I’ll ever try and publish it, but it’s something for me at the very least.
Looking Forward
I’m no longer hopeful I can get any real writing done during the school year. Breaks will be nice (most of that middle grade novel was written during winter break), but to finish the novel that was my thesis, I’ll probably have to wait until summer. The toddler will be in day care and the soon-to-be third grader will be able to mostly occupy himself when I need writing time.
I haven’t sent anything short out for a while, so I don’t expect any more lit mag publications anytime soon. Unless something crazy convenient comes up, of course. But I think over the next few days I’ll work on The Fart Heist, hopefully have it ready to send out by the end of spring break, and then I can get back to the novel once school’s out.
Thank to all who visit this site. The numbers aren’t spectacular, but they’re consistent. I appreciate it. I hope you all have a wonderful 2026.
It’s that time of year again. Time to look back at all the things I’ve read, think about all the time I spent not playing video games or writing or Lego or doing things with my family. If I manage to finish my current read I’ll be at 36 for the year. Not as much as last year, but I’ve had considerably less free time this year.
Here’s a breakdown (in roughly the order in which they were read) with a quick snippet of my thoughts:
The Brightness Between Us by Eliot Schrefer.
The sequel to The Darkness Outside Us provides a before and after of the events of the first book. It’s tragic in that you can (intentionally) see downfall and heartbreak coming, and hopeful in that love will always find a way.
Berserk, Volumes 2-11, by Kentaro Miura
I watched the animated movies a few years back and when I saw these giant tomes on my library’s shelves, I had to see what it was about. If you enjoyed the world of Berserk, it was nice to see the larger story. But oh dang is it gory and rapey and it does nothing to romanticize either of those traits. At points I wanted to be done with it, but as with many stories, I wanted to see how it played out (though I have stalled out at Vol 11).
Wind and Truth by Brandon Sanderson
Probably my top book of the year, this did a better job than its predecessors in its integration of characters’ physical and mental impairments. Prior books seemed to err on over explanation when the risk of overlooking aspects was present. This book relied more on connotative readings than denotative explanations, which I very much appreciated.
The Wild Robot by Peter Brown
I started reading this to my kid before bedtime and it was refreshing to experience the innocent experiences of the robot and its understanding of the new world around it. Heartbreak was real and natural, and it never felt like it was trying to teach a lesson even though it very much was.
Tripwire by Lee Child
At this point in my life it’s hard to truly surprise me with an earned plot twist. Tripwire toed the line between earned and unearned, but the resolution was satisfying enough that I didn’t care. This felt like the third in a trilogy as opposed to number three of many, so I’m curious as to how number four presents itself.
The Memory of Souls by Jenn Lyons
I’ve said before that Jenn Lyons is a fantastic world-builder, and this book only further reinforces that opinion. Hints and offhand comments from prior books become important and narratively impactful in ways that continually impressed me. While this series (like Sanderson’s Stormlight) falls victim to heavy-handed ethics explanations, this book did a good job of presenting issues in a more natural manner.
The Broken Eye by Brent Weeks
As with the prior two Lightbringer books, Brent Weeks once again makes me want to hate him. The last two books each introduced a concept that I’d already been planning on using in stories of my own. So did this one. But my hatred is a joking hate. I really enjoy the books, and The Broken Eye was a great stepping stone into wider stakes for Kip’s world.
The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon by Stephen King
Many years ago I bought a pop-up version of this book. It was adapted from the original by another writer, though King’s name was still on it. I wanted to give the actual book a go and, as always, I’m super impressed by and envious of Stephen King. This is a great personal stakes story which blurs the line between reality and psychosis/terror, and I will always be drawn into a story with a good baseball hook.
The Blood Mirror by Brent Weeks
Finally, a Brent Weeks book that doesn’t preemptively steal my ideas 🙂 I’m writing this after finishing the whole series, and it’s safe to say this was the book that struggled the most, but as with any book that advances weeks or months between chapters, there’s a lot of room for lost investment. It wasn’t a bad book, but I was definitely ready for the next one (which was as good as the previous ones).
Lincoln in the Bardo by George Saunders
Weird. Just… weird. I love the idea of working real history into a story, and Saunders does a great job presenting the history—both the actual accounts and his fictionalized ones—so that I couldn’t always tell which were real and which weren’t. I listened to the audiobook for this one, and Nick Offerman really brought some fun life into all the death.
Amulet, books 1-4, by Kazu Kibuishi
Another before bedtime read with my kid. I can see why these are so popular and are in so many classrooms I visit. The story and stakes are both serious and heavy, but not so oppressive that my second-grader is dissuaded from reading it. These books made me want to write graphic novels.
The Lightning Thief by Rick Riodan
I’d never read this growing up, though I’d watched the movies (where my crush on Alexandra Daddario started) and the new TV show. My wife kept saying how funny the books were so this was another bedtime read with the kid. I think watching it first made some of the twists less surprising. But I also think it’s written as early YA for a reason. What’s predictable and tropey for me will be novel for younger readers.
White Sand by Brandon Sanderson
As with all Sanderson, fun concept and fun magic. I think the medium of graphic novel missed the mark though. Even taking into the account that I can’t picture things in my mind and that visual mediums are super intriguing to me, there were so many times reading this that I thought it’d work better as a traditional novel.
A Court of Silver Flames by Sarah J Maas
The worst of the ACOTAR books by far. The only reason I continued to read was because Cassian needed a better ending and I really wanted it to happen. Nesta’s whole arc was forced and she was a terrible character. Any by that I don’t just mean her character was a terrible person (which she was) but that the presentation was done terribly (which it definitely was). The massive increase in explicit sexy times wasn’t enough to make up for Nesta being Nesta.
Billy Summers by Stephen King
I have a friend who is convinced that everything Stephen King writes is straight horror. Or, he was and now only claims that to bug me. This is a great King story that shows how great of a character writer King is. There’s only the barest hint of the supernatural toward the end, and it was more of a nod than real story integration. Billy Summers is a good bad guy and a bad good guy and the whole book is him figuring out which one of those he is.
The Silent Patient by Alex Michaelides
I want to praise the book without spoiling the ending. I only figured it out about halfway through, which is high praise from me. And as someone who primarily reads sci-fi and fantasy, the fact that a story set entirely in mundane reality was able to engage me says a lot about its effectiveness.
The Burning White by Brent Weeks
The Lightbringer finale. As with most fantasy books, there’s an epic battle. I feel like the one battle was a third of the book. And that’s not a bad thing. At this point there are so many characters the reader has become invested in that each of their roles in that battle are equally emotionally important and so instead of one long tiresome battle, it feels like a whole bunch of smaller arc climaxes all climaxing together. Yeah, I know how that sounds. I said what I said.
Isles of the Emberdark by Brandon Sanderson
This was a fun journey back to a great Sanderson short story. Unfortunately, the book seemed like a vessel to introduce a character/set of characters into the greater Cosmere as opposed to a solid narrative of its own. There are two main POVs, and I don’t think either got the time they deserved or that we needed.
The House of Always by Jenn Lyons
The fourth in the Chorus of Dragons series, the narrative is presented much like the others, in real-time as well as personal accounts of past events. In this book Lyons really starts to weave together many of the until now disparate characters, especially since most of them are forced to be in the same physical space for a majority of the real-time narrative. This was less world-building heavy than the prior books, and more character driven.
The Book Thief by Mark Zusak
I read this because of a recommendation pertaining to the book’s narrator: Death. A YA WWII book following the life of a young German girl, it was a presentation of events I’d not seen before. There are tons of books from the Jewish perspective or an American perspective, but this was the first I seen about a young German. There were some fun narrative tricks and strategies that paid off well by the end.
The Dragonbone Chair by Tad Williams
Given that this book is almost as old as I am, it’s hard to know what was innovative and what is just trope regurgitation. I’ll give the benefit of the doubt and say that some of the concepts were novel. With that assumption, my biggest criticism is that it took forever to get going. It’s a long book, and the first half felt like exposition forced into a narrative. It was early mainstream fantasy though, and the genre was still trying to figure things out.
The Lathe of Heaven by Ursula K. Le Guin
If you’ve ever come across the idea of making a wish from a genie but not being specific enough and things go horribly awry, this is that story but without magic. Well, without that label. It was a fun, quick read that was fueled by a concept and the ethics surrounding it. My kind of story. 🙂
A Day of Fallen Night by Samantha Shannon
I criticized Dragonbone Chair of starting too slow and gave it a pass because of when it came out. This book doesn’t have that excuse. There’s fantastic world-building and eventually it paid off, but it took a little bit to get there.
That’s 2025. In 2024 I noticed a reading trend: time-travel stories. Very straightforward and blatant. This year was less straightforward. But if there’s any sort of through line it’s that I read books that focused on how their worlds worked—ethically, structurally, emotionally—and that I had little patience for stories that confused explanation with depth.
My current read is Kindred by Octavia E. Butler and waiting in the wings is How to Live Safely in a Science Fictional Universe by Charles Yu, so we’ll see how those influence what’s to come in 2026.
I ended 2023 with over 50 books read. I decided that if I was reading that much I’d be able to write a fair amount of regular reviews. That didn’t play out as I’d hoped. Between welcoming a new baby, becoming a stay at home dad, and starting thesis for my MFA, I’ve had not nearly enough time. That being said, I did manage to read 41 books this year, a bit shy of my 50 book goal. Here are my thoughts on those I’ve read since my last update.
Of all the books on this list, this was by far my favorite. I was a little apprehensive at first as the protagonist begins with amnesia, which is a trope I hate. But as soon as the reason for the amnesia was revealed I was all on board. It’s a crazy time travel mystery that I’ve been recommending to everyone, no matter what they normally read. It’s that good.
Every night I do a half hour of reading with my kid before bedtime. We grabbed this at the library since he likes video games and Choose Your Own Adventures. For a six-year-old, it was engaging, especially the puzzles where you have actual worksheets to fill out and keep track of your progress. For adults, there’s a fair amount of nerdy humor thrown in there to keep things entertaining for you as well.
Another bedtime book, I also picked it because I’m a huge Miyazaki fan. It’s a graphic novel, so it’s a pretty quick read, and while the concepts were understandable for my son, I think the gravity of the situation won’t be appreciated until he’s a few years older. I wasn’t a huge fan of the ending, but if you like Nausicaa you’ll probably like this.
My kid likes this one enough that he got the whole series for Christmas. Some of the social situations are more appropriate for a middle grader, but the humor and the stakes are fairly universally understood. There’s a good amount of humor, and I particularly enjoyed the footnotes and the idea that multiple kids came together to make this case file.
The third in the series, this one felt a little lesser than the first two, but still engaging (enough that number four is later on this list). As with most fantasy series, the stakes here get bigger and broader. Relationships get strained and people die. The charm of the story will always be Paige and how she navigates all the worlds (social, political, literal) she has been thrust into. And of course, wondering if she and Warden are ever going to hook up.
This was a bit of a let down. The premise is good, and the art is fun, but it came off more as a proof of concept than a successful application. It’s no secret I’m a huge Sanderson fan, and maybe I had some high expectations going into this having just finished a children’s book focused intensive two week class. Definitely one to check out from the library as opposed to adding to your collection.
Moira. Dang. I have a very broad, encompassing knowledge of most comics. I’ve got a few hundred in boxes in my attic and I read X-men novels as a teen. But I had no idea about Moira and what she can do and did do, over and over and over. This was a super fun read, especially if you like time manipulation stories, as I very much do. It’s incredibly satisfying to see different characters take different paths and to see them succeed or fail depending on choices. It’s like those What If scenarios playing out in front of you.
The third in King’s Dark Tower series, this follows Roland and his friends (not giving away any spoilers) as they navigate Roland’s expanding world in their search for the Dark Tower. As with his others in the series, time plays a huge role in the narrative, and how things may be different, but still somehow always stay the same. Technically, that can be said about any story since we can only write what we know, but there’s intentionality here. Also, riddles are fun. 🙂
As part of the research for my thesis (I’m writing a fantasy mystery), I grabbed a few established examples to see how writers have approached the genre. Jim Butcher is probably the most well known, with the Dresden Files being the most well read. I really enjoyed his Cinder Spires books, and while this was a fun read, it didn’t have the same draw. Granted, Storm Front came out almost twenty-five years ago and was his first book. His writing has progressed since then. To me, Harry Dresden felt kind of like Gandalf. He occasionally did some neat stuff, but he often relied on others to solve his problems or answer his questions. I’m hoping as the series goes on he becomes more of a self-reliant protagonist.
This was the Christmas themed mini book that came out after the trilogy. And I say mini comparatively. It’s normal length compared to most books. It was nice to take a break from the heaviness of the series, and while there were some cute things going on, I felt that a lot of the relationship tensions that were front and center never got resolved. They just became more build up for the next book. They only resolution came from Feyre’s art, which was nice, yes, but there’s more’s the just Feyre here. Hopefully the last book gives the satisfaction I’m looking for.
The next of my research reads, this was the one I enjoyed the most. The protagonist is a probability wizard, meaning he can sort of see into the future. I’d already given my own protagonist a somewhat similar ability, so it was interesting to see how Jacka utilized it in a narrative. The characters were smart, unique, and the world was fun to read about. Never did I feel like I was slogging or floundering, and I kept wanting to turn those pages. Of the fantasy mysteries, this series is the one I most want to continue.
This was recommended to me as I was in the middle of working with an editor on an epistolary short story (which is being published this summer!) as a great example of epistolary prose. Plus, time travel! It was a relatively quick read, but there were sections that were fairly dense and required a bit more attention as I read through it. My favorite part, not being shy about my Shakespeare fandom, was when I thought, oh, they’re totally going to do a Romeo and Juliet thing here. Then Romeo and Juliet was referenced by name, followed by other key moments I won’t spoil. Then science was fun, the relationship was fun, and the form was fun. Just fun all around.
Book four in the series, this one benefited by giving us a new setting as well as time to sit with Paige and Warden for more than a minute without someone trying to kill them. There was a reveal that I’d figured out in the first book, so that was a bit anti-climatic, but it’s still refreshing to see Scion through a different lens, and somewhat further away. As always, I’m in awe of Shannon’s breadth of knowledge of language and culture and history.
You always hear people say you need a strong opening sentence, or opening paragraph. Well, this book had one of the best opening pages I’ve read in a long time. Enough that I took a picture and sent it to my MFA peeps. Aaronovitch has a fun, witty voice that never appears to be trying too hard. My only complaint about the book what that it fell victim to one of the suckier detective tropes of misogyny. I don’t mean to imply the author is, but for once I’d like to read a straight male detective protagonist who doesn’t see all women as pieces of meat.
Dark. Depressing. And literally dark. Post-apocalyptic nuclear winter dark. It won a Pulitzer, with good reason. The whole story focuses on the relationship between father and son as they try to survive in the wasteland they now live in. Hope and love are the drivers of survival, both of which are tested in very real, relatable ways, even if they exist in a very different reality. Also, not being able to picture things in my mind, I have a very high tolerance for gore and grossness. There was one paragraph in this book that was the most disturbing thing I’ve ever read. Ever.
Book two in the Reacher series, we see Reacher caught up in something again because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. No improbable family connections this time, but still a lot of the calm, collected, violent Reacher we expect. I felt like this was almost two books in one, with two very distinct sections that each start and end abruptly. It works, and makes sense, but still very abrupt. I mentioned earlier I wanted to see a detective who sees women as more than a piece of meat, and to his credit, Reacher does that. But I also wonder if he’s going to hook up with every hot lady he ends up working with. If hook ups happen authentically, no big deal. But if this happens every book it’s going to get awfully boring.
Last on the list is this massive tome, a manga collection from the series Berserk. I happened upon it randomly at the library, where they had all fourteen of them in a row begging to be inspected. I knew a little of the premise from seeing some of the anime, but I was not prepared for the level of gore. It was stylized, almost comical at times, but it was a lot. And Guts is a bonafide A-hole. But I tore through the whole thing in one evening, so it was definitely engaging. I think I kept burning through it wondering what could possibly happen next, given the ridiculous images I was seeing. I’ve got Vol. 2 on hold at the library, so we’ll see how it progresses. If it’s stays as engaging, it seems I’ll have quite a bit to get through.
That about wraps it up. I don’t think my goal will be quite so high in 2025 as I have to finish thesis on top of another class, and my daughter is now crawling so a lot of my day will be chasing her around and making sure she doesn’t break/kill herself, which is all a parent really needs to do the first two years 🙂
And the next books on the list, each of which I’m partially through, are Wind and Truth by Brandon Sanderson, Lincoln in the Bardo by George Saunders, and Wizard and Glass by Stephen King. Happy reading, and let me know if you found any of this helpful, or if you agree or disagree about any of these.
My MFA thesis starts up this fall and I’ve decided to write a fantasy mystery (Mystasy?), because those are two genres I don’t see paired up too often. And whereas I’ve had the idea for this book/series for quite a while, I haven’t had the time to devote to it. Once I made my decision, it begged the question, what is a fantasy mystery?
As luck would have it, I was walking out of my local library and a cover on the staff recommendation shelf jumped out at me. The gold on navy with green accents pulled my eye and I found myself hushing my kid so I could read the back. I needed to know what a fantasy mystery was. The back read “A Holmes and Watson-style detective duo take the stage in this fantasy with a mystery twist, from the Edgar-winning, multiple Hugo-nominated Robert Jackson Bennett.”
I was ready to ask the question “where have you been all my life?” to both the book and the staff recommender (thanks Mao), simply from holding it in my hand. I’d instantaneously set The Tainted Cup on a pedestal without even realizing it. And it didn’t disappoint.
The story starts with our main protagonist, Din, as he investigates his first murder. He’s partnered with brilliant eccentric recluse Ana, who never steps foot on the crime scene (or out of her house for that matter). This grisly and disturbing murder is only the beginning, because as with any mystery (and transformer), there’s more than meets the eye.
I never want to give away spoilers, so here’s my brief rundown of what I liked and why you should read it:
The magic system is neat. Botanical and just vague enough to be mysterious in its own right.
Din’s flaws make his resourcefulness impressive. Plus he’s not too shabby with a sword. 🙂
Ana’s logic is never Deus Ex Machina. There’s never any logical leaps stemming from withheld information. Everything is presented, ready for you to figure it out.
Also: kaiju. Because why not.
Obviously there’s more going for it than what’s listed, but no sense giving anything away. Oh, and did I mention it’s the first in a series? The Tainted Cup just came out this year, so we’ll have some waiting to do (2025 according to google), but with the character, world, and story setup that happens in these pages, we’ll before too long be able to return to this world and continue sleuthing with Din and Ana.
One surprising aspect for me was the amount of violence in the book. And by that, I mean there was much less than I expected. Most fantasy has crazy action scenes with swords and magic and mythical beasts. Mysteries often have chases and, of course, murders. You’d think that crossing the two genres would ratchet that up a bit. Not really. And that’s not a bad thing. It wasn’t even until after I’d finished that I’d had this realization. Personal preference: I’d have loved some more fights. But it worked just fine without them.
I very much appreciated how the information was doled out to the reader. Sometimes we got the info and made the connection along with the characters. Sometimes the detail was mentioned chapters earlier and only became relevant at a later time and it was on us to remember it. And other times we were given hints at known information that wasn’t pertinent in the moment, but became a promise of a meaningful reveal later.
But how, as a writer, do you determine what information to give and when? That’s a good question, and one that applies to more than just mysteries. You might have guessed it, our craft subject of the day is:
Information Rationing.
Let’s start with characters who have information. When it comes to non-perspective characters, information rationing isn’t too difficult. People lie. Or they’re ignorant. Or they tell half-truths, intentional or not. You can pick any number of reasons why a non-perspective character will omit information, assuming it works with the story and their character of course. Bilbo doesn’t tell Frodo the details of his ring. The Dursleys tell Harry his parents died in a car crash. The International Fleet doesn’t tell Ender those aren’t just games. They’ve got reasons, and those reasons make sense for the characters and the plot.
Perspective characters are trickier. When Katniss has that flashback about Peeta giving her bread, we learn something about the both of them that impacts the story later on. That memory is triggered and she conveys that information to us. But what if we she withheld that memory? The characters’ connection later on wouldn’t make as much sense.
Even more to the point, take when Penelope is truly shocked about something Lady Whistledown said. It doesn’t make any sense. She is Lady Whistledown. The character’s knowledge of her secret role is hidden, even in her POV. Unless there’s a Fight Club situation going on, she would reasonably have thought once or twice about the fact that she is the one writing gossip.
An effective way around this is for the character to be cognizant of the fact that they have information, and then move on. Everyone has secrets, but let’s say we’re in your head, and your secret comes up. You’re not going to not think about it. That’s silly. And unrealistic. And it loses the reader’s trust.
In The Tainted Cup, there’s a situation just like that. Din (and this isn’t really a spoiler since he thinks about it right away in chapter one) has somewhat regular thoughts about not wanting Ana to find out what he did, or what his limitations are. We eventually learn the truth, and all his actions make perfect sense because of it. But we don’t feel cheated as the reader, because Din was honest with us about what he knew, and we knew why he wasn’t going into specifics.
And beyond character information, there’s story information. One way story information is distributed is via the plot. For the longest time, those two terms were synonymous in my head. The way I like to think about it now is the story is what happens. The plot is the order in which we see it happen. In Edward P. Jones’ The Known World, we see the story of this fictional county through the lives of its many inhabitants. The stories are given to us in bits and pieces, from character to character and back again. If all those characters’ stories were told chronologically, one at a time, we’d still get the whole story, but we’d lose so much context and interconnection as we experienced each one. The rationing of information, the order in which the story is told, is was makes that story great. One of the many reasons, actually.
And of course we have to talk about mysteries. Finding clues, finding information, is what those books are all about. There are probably a ton of different ways to go about it, but I like to look at a mystery’s disbursement of information like a family tree. A likely incestuous family tree, but you get the idea. At the bottom is, for the sake of the analogy, you, the inciting incident, the moment that kicks the story off. From there we branch up to the parents, the clues we find. Some people only have one parent, some have two or four or even more. And those parents don’t exist in a vacuum. They have parents and cousins and aunts and uncles and secret lovers and all that.
But how do you know just how many parents your story needs? How many different people is your grandpa going to make kids with? For that, I start at the other end of the family tree. Your great great great great grandparent, for example. The bad guy. I need to figure out what they did, who they did it with, and why they did it. Each of those is one of their kids. Each of those kids will have their own motivations and actions and relationships, making kids of their own. Sometimes those kids will meet, sometimes they’ll get a little incestuous. But before long there’ll be this massive family tree of plot, all leading to the bad guy. You just need to find one of the bottom descendants and start your story there.
As with any incestuous relationship, the goal of the participants is to keep it hidden. Your protagonist needs to figure out which cousins did which cousins, and why. Surely it wasn’t just because of a pair of big brown eyes. Right? Right? Treat each step of the family tree as a new secret. Some won’t be hidden, they’ll just need to be traced. “Ohhhh, that’s who my great-grandma was.” Others will definitely be hidden and will take a bit more work. “Aunt Peggy did what?!” But once all the tree has been revealed, each clue, each relationship, will make sense and support the structure of the entire tree.
Wow. I had not planned on that analogy, especially not as much lover from the same mother. But I think it works. And you know what else works? The Tainted Cup. Without further ado, here’s how The Tainted Cup fares with The Author’s Arsenal.
For excellent character creation and portrayal, I award The Seal. Ana definitely is set up to be a big player in future books, but Din especially shines. For phenomenal world-building, I award The Scroll. The ecology of the world alone is astounding, but add in the politics and history and classism… very nice. And for brilliant storytelling, I award The Quill Pen. In order for a mystery to work, the storytelling has to be on point. And it very much is.
If you you’re a fan of either fantasy or mystery, and especially if you’re both, I highly recommend picking up The Tainted Cup. I don’t think I’ve read anything quite like it, and I’m certainly glad I did.
As always, feel free to let me know if there’s a book you want reviewed.
I want to start this review off with a disclaimer: I am in no way professing to be a Shakespeare expert. Am I smarter than the average bear regarding The Bard? Yes. Evidence: I subbed a high school English class a few months back and they were studying Romeo and Juliet. A couple of kids said they were shocked by the ending, and I was like, what? He literally told you it was going to happen. At the beginning. Like a bad movie trailer. Then I recited the prologue from memory.
While not an expert, after majoring in English and Theatre Arts, I’ve got a healthy bit of Shakespeare under my belt. And of all his plays, my favorite is The Tempest. I, for kicks and giggles, rewatched my Blu-ray copy of Helen Mirren’s Tempest a few weeks ago. I have a fairly detailed character work-up and world-building done for a Tempest retelling of my own I’d like to write. L. Jagi Lamplighter’s Prospero’s Daughter trilogy is on my shelf, patiently waiting its turn. So you can imagine my excitement when I heard about Jacqueline Carey’s Miranda and Caliban.
My first exposure to Jacqueline Carey came back in high school when Kushiel’s Dart was published. It’s an alternate history set in France, with fantasy elements. It was steamy. And BDSM-y. 2001 me definitely was not expecting what I’d stumbled across. Kushiel’s Dart was Romantasy before that was even a term. So when I picked up Miranda and Caliban and saw their physical closeness on the cover, you can imagine the expectations that bloomed in my mind.
Those expectations immediately ran into a brick wall. For those who haven’t read The Tempest, let me give you a very truncated version: Prospero, the rightful Duke of Milan, and his daughter Miranda are marooned on an island, having been nefariously exiled by his brother Antonio with the help of the King of Naples. On the island with them are Caliban, a monstrous-looking native, and Ariel, a powerful sprite, both of whom serve Prospero against their will.
With Ariel’s help, Prospero conjures a storm that shipwrecks his usurping brother, the King of Naples, and the King’s son Ferdinand. Prospero orchestrates events to lead Ferdinand to fall in love with Miranda. Meanwhile, he confronts the conspirators, leading them to repentance, avoids an assassination plot by Caliban, and ultimately forgives his enemies. He renounces his magical powers, frees Ariel, and prepares to return to Milan to reclaim his dukedom.
All’s well that ends well.
The problem I had at the get-go was this line from The Tempest:
Filth as thou art, with humane care, and lodged thee
In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate
The honor of my child.
Act 1, Scene 2, Lines 349-351
Basically, we learn that Caliban at one point tried to rape Miranda. And that he’s not sorry about it. So with this line in mind—with Miranda and Caliban being a love story—Ricky Ricardo started shouting in my head: “Carey, you got some ‘splainin’ to do!”
I never want to give spoilers, so I’ll just say what my expectation was for how this could work out. Prospero is the one who says Caliban tried to rape her, and Caliban (who is said to not have the greatest command of English) says he wishes it had happened. Miranda does not corroborate Prospero’s claim. The only way I could see this working was that they were in love and were just about to do the dirty, when Prospero walks in. He assumes it’s rape, when in actuality it was consensual.
That was my guess. I won’t say how it played out, except that Carey’s story makes sense regarding that line. There was another sticky part that I hadn’t thought about initially, though its problematic nature became very clear. Prospero and Miranda have been stranded on the island for twelve years. She was three when they arrived. That means she’s currently fifteen years old. Caliban was already there and living on his own, and he’s now nineteen years old. For them to have a relationship, especially a physical one… that’s a bit dicey.
With Carey’s retelling focusing on everything leading up to The Tempest, we’re able to see Miranda and Caliban’s relationship grow and bloom into something almost beautiful, contrasting well with the island and the demands of Prospero. What I enjoyed the most was the integration of magic into the story. In the play, Prospero does *hand wave* MAGIC. No explanation, nothing beyond the play telling us so. In this novel, we learn how the magic works, and what all the characters go through as a result of this magic.
It’s also fun to get internal monologues, character reactions, and thoughts to give deeper meaning to their relationships. Yes, actors can convey much on stage, but the text of Tempest, as with plays in general, is limiting. It’s the nature of the medium. But here, instead of actors conveying the story, Carey does so via the novel.
The only quibble I have with the novel is regarding the relationship logistics and my modern sensibilities. When they’re younger, we know there’s an age gap, but all their interactions are innocent. Friendly. As they get older, we learn the exact gap: four years. Of course, there can be the arguments of being historically accurate, or accurate based on the source material, but with adaptations, there’s always room for leeway. Creative liberties. Every reader’s sensibilities vary, but for me, the age gap might have been a good area to fudge.
And that brings us to the topic of the day: adaptations.
We’ve all seen direct adaptations of books: Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, Gone Girl, etc. You’ve likely even seen direct adaptations of Shakespeare, like the Leonardo DiCaprio Romeo and Juliet, or the Keanu Reeves Much Ado about Nothing. I want to talk about adaptations that use the source material as a springboard as opposed to a script.
Version 1.0.0
An interesting adaptation that comes to mind is Wicked. Gregory Maguire’s novel was adapted from the original Wizard of Oz novel. Specifically, the story of how Elphaba came to be the Wicked Witch of the West. Wicked was then adapted into a musical. That musical is now being adapted into film. But if we’re talking about Shakespeare, look at Lion King. Or 10 Things I Hate About You. Those are adaptations of Hamlet and Taming of the Shrew.
But what’s the point of adaptations? Why do we have them? It’s hard to speak on the motivations for others, but for me, it’s about the love of the story and characters. I doubt Christopher Moore woke up one morning saying, “Man, I hate that King Lear garbage. I should do it better. And raunchier.” More likely, given the sequels, he has a love for Shakespeare and wanted to share that love with an audience that may not have been as open to The Bard.
That’s another reason right there. Audience. This can work two ways. First, it can tap into a fan base that already exists. Had I picked up A Thousand Acres and read about a dying farmer and the drama revolving around what’d happen to his farmland, I’d have chucked that across the room and not looked back. But when I was given it and told it was King Lear, I was all, “Ooooh, interesting…”
The flip side is introducing readers to Shakespeare who have zero interest in him. You wouldn’t believe how much groaning and complaining I hear during the Romeo and Juliet sections in high school classes. But If I gave the kids who like dick jokes a copy of Fool, and the ones interested in modern fiction Shylock is My Name, all of a sudden you’ve got people invested in the stories of Shakespeare.
What makes an adaptation though? In Miranda and Caliban, Carey created a whole narrative to give context to the relationship between the titular characters, something portrayed in the original text as him lusting after her. Moore’s Fool takes us through the events of King Lear, but through the eyes of Pocket, and takes great liberties with the fool’s relationship with the other characters. Smiley’s A Thousand Acres’ setting is completely separate from King Lear’s, but runs through the same plot and character concerns. Each is an adaptation, and each is done differently.
As someone who has plans to write a Shakespearean adaptation, I can say that my goal is to introduce new readers. There’s not a ton of overlap with sci-fi and Shakespeare, so that could be a fun demographic to tap into. Also, as I said at the beginning, The Tempest is my favorite of his plays, so a love of the source material goes a long way.
So, with this broad understanding of the purpose of adaptations, how does Miranda and Caliban hold up? How does it fare with the Author’s Arsenal?
For exceptional character development, giving new depth to established characters, I award The Seal. For world-building and setting, giving life to an island and magic almost entirely unspecified in the play, I award The Scroll.
For non-Tempest readers, Miranda and Caliban is an engaging introduction to the world of the Tempest. For Tempest fans, it adds much more depth to the characters, Prospero and Ariel included. Jacqueline Carey has done a fantastic job of creating a narrative that will satisfy those familiar and unfamiliar with Shakespeare alike.
That’s all for now. As always, let me know if you have a book I should review.
Eric Taveren 