The novel has a classic feel, created by its instantly iconic characters and imaginative world-building. Bardugo goes well beneath those surface pleasures, to excavate deeper layers of class differences in the society, as well as the themes of freedom and slavery – both possible with the Grisha magic and the Darkling’s mastery of it. Ravka is a world with plenty of territory left to explore, and despite a truly satisfying conclusion that feels like a conclusion (a welcome trait for the first of a trilogy), readers will be eager to meet these characters again in the sequels that lie ahead. With this enchanting debut, Bardugo has established herself as a riveting new voice in high fantasy.
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The Raven Boys, Maggie Stiefvater (Scholastic 978-0-545-42492-9, $18.99, 416pp, hc) September 2012.
Maggie Stiefvater is turning out to be the best kind of unpredictable. With a voice that comes through no matter what she’s writing, Stiefvater has offered readers lyrical modern faerie novels with Ballad and Lament, bestselling and beloved paranormal romance with the Shiver series, and thrilling fantasy with Printz Honor book The Scorpio Races. Now she kicks off a new fantasy quartet with The Raven Boys, a novel that proves to be her best and most ambitious work to date.
A prologue introduces us to one of the main characters who isn’t a ‘‘raven boy’’: sixteen-year-old Blue Sargent, a smart, self-styled misfit who lives with a houseful of psychics in small-town Henrietta VA. Notably, Blue isn’t a psychic, but she does amplify the powers of others. And there’s something else notable about her, revealed in the very first line: ‘‘Blue Sargent had forgotten how many times she’d been told that she would kill her true love.’’ Every psychic who’s gotten a chance – which is a lot of them, giving her family – has told her that if she ever kisses her true love, he’ll die. The specificity is unusual; the Sargent women’s predictions are usually ‘‘unspecific, but undeniably true.’’ But it’s not the only specific she’s been given – her mother’s half-sister Neeve has shown up in town recently and told Blue that this is the year she’s going to fall in love.
Accompanying Neeve to the old churchyard on St. Mark’s Eve to see the parade of those walking the Corpse Road, meaning they’ll die that year, Blue – who can’t see spirits – sees a spirit. The boy, wearing a sweater from the town’s exclusive private school Anglionby Academy, a raven-breasted sweater, gives his name as only Gansey. Her distress only grows when Neeve explains that the only reasons a ‘‘non-seer’’ like Blue would have encountered the boy Gansey is because she either kills him or is his true love. And if there’s one thing Blue has sworn never to be interested in, it’s the rich, entitled raven boys of Henrietta.
But if Blue saw Gansey, he didn’t see her. As we learn when his vintage Camaro breaks down the next day, he was parked at another church, trying to record spiritual activity. Playing back the digital recording, he has heard his own voice, speaking faintly, saying his name – something he has no memory of doing. Gansey – more properly Richard ‘‘Dick’’ Campbell Gansey, III, from an old money family – summons two of his fellow raven boys to a roadside rescue: Ronan Lynch, a surly wealthy boy bent on self-destruction since his father’s death, and Adam Parrish, a sharp local scholarship student with trouble at home. The friendship between the boys, and Gansey’s role as their leader, becomes quickly clear. They – and their other friend, the quiet, shadowy Noah – have all been drawn into the quest that lured Gansey to town in the first place. Henrietta is on a ley line, and Gansey is looking for the sleeping Welsh king Glendower, whom he believes rests nearby. As the story goes, Glendower will grant a wish to the one who wakes him. Gansey’s devotion to being that person is an obsession that runs his deep as his clear feeling for his friends.
Despite her long-held distrust of all raven boys, Blue inevitably becomes a part of Gansey’s search – she and her family are the only ones who know he may be marked for death and soon, after all. She can’t stand by and do nothing. Her nature won’t allow it. And as her ties to the boys grow stronger, her presence finally allows them to make progress in their search – but they are not the only ones searching, and the dangers of the ley line are not the only dangers, as Blue well knows. Attracted to Adam, the most like her, she can’t help but be drawn to Gansey’s charismatic presence as well, especially when she’s able to see past its facade. But he can’t be her true love, can he? And she can’t be the one who kills him? To reveal too much about this remarkable novel would be a crime. Its secrets should be uncovered by turning the pages.
The Raven Boys explores issues of class deeply and straightforwardly, features some of the most hair-raising scenes of magic and potent mythology in recent memory, and creates characters so vibrant and complex they might walk right off the page. The novel is also decidedly, wonderfully odd. It feels completely relevant and modern, but unlike anything else currently haunting the bestseller list. The only novel I can compare it to this year (a strong year for YA overall) is a vastly different one – Libba Bray’s masterful historical novel The Diviners. It’s notable that both novels employ an omniscient voice that never feels old-fashioned, intrusive, or distancing, and which becomes an inextricable part of the pleasure and power of the story being told. With its blend of the mythic and the modern, The Raven Boys is undoubtedly one of the year’s finest novels.
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The Crown of Embers, Rae Carson (Greenwillow 978-0062026514, $17.99, 416pp, hc) September 2012.
In the follow-up to her first novel, William C. Morris Debut Award finalist The Girl of Fire and Thorns, Rae Carson again resists the familiar, telling a story fully in service to her singular heroine, the Godstone-bearing Elisa. Now a queen, it turns out Elisa’s rise to power has not gone easily. With a restless people still dealing with the aftermath of the violent attack on the city at the conclusion of that first novel, Elisa acutely feels the need to solidify her authority. Popular among the people, she sets out for a birthday celebration – which is promptly interrupted by an animagus who burns himself up inside the city walls. Not long after, Elisa herself is attacked within her own palace and seriously injured, and it becomes quickly clear that her victory will be short-lived if she can’t find those who plot against her before it is too late.
As she recovers, she explores the hidden catacombs beneath the palace and finds a tucked away part of her city, the unexpected home of a former Invierno ambassador hiding there, Storm, and sees him for what he is: a valuable source of intelligence. It is his revelation of a legendary place, the zafira – her Godstone warms at the very word – that gives Elisa a new option. If she can find it, she will have more than enough power to defend her people. Trusting the head of the royal guard, Hector – and falling in love with him even though she knows her match must be part of her duty as queen and not made for emotion – she embarks with him and a few other trusted allies to find the zafira. The journey takes her into yet more dangerous territory and life-threatening circumstances, testing her in the way any quest for power must. The novel ably explores the nature of leadership, of the responsibilities inherent in it, and of what makes one a good leader, rather than just a strong one.
With The Crown of Embers, Carson has delivered a sequel just as gripping as its predecessor, and one which pulls off the hard task of making as satisfying an adventure of Elisa’s emotional journey as of the external one. With an ending that will have fans clamoring for the final installment, this is one second book that avoids any hint of the dreaded sophomore slump.
–Gwenda Bond
Return to In This Issue listing.
LOCUS LOOKS AT ART BOOKS: KAREN HABER
Brian Froud’s Trolls, Brian & Wendy Froud (Abrams 978-1419704383, $35.00, 144pp, hc) September 2012. Cover by Brian Froud.
Exposé 10: Finest Digital Art in the Known Universe, Ronnie Gramazio, ed. (Ballistic Publishing 978-1921828195, $79.00, 240pp, tp) October 2012. Cover by Daniela Uhlig,
In Wonderland: The Surrealist Adventures of Women Artists in Mexico and the United States, Il
ene Susan Fort & Tere Arcq with Terri Geis, eds. (Prestel USA 978-3791351414, $60.00, 256pp, hc) January 2012. Cover by Rosa Rolanda.
SHORT TAKES
Frank Reade: Adventures in the Age of Invention, Paul Guinan & Anina Bennett (Abrams Image 978-0810996618, $24.95, 176pp, hc) February 2012.
The Arctic Marauder, Jacques Tardi (Fantagraphics 978-1606994351, $16.99, 64pp, hc) April 2012. Cover by Jacques Tardi.
Six Fairy Tales from the Brothers Grimm with Illustrations by David Hockney, David Hockney (Royal Academy Publications/Royal Academy of Arts 978-1-907533-24-2, $25.00, 70pp, hc) January 2012. Cover by David Hockney.
Brian & Wendy Froud, experts on all things faerie, now turn their fecund imaginations upon the less fetching denizens of the fantasy forest. The result is humorous and affectionate, if a bit oversized. Trolls is a charming, large picture book featuring detailed sketches, paintings, and doll sculptures celebrating not only trolls and trollish ways, but also the art of storytelling.
According to Brian Froud’s introduction, this book began life as an idea for a movie about trolls to be directed by the late Jim Henson, a sequel to the acclaimed films The Dark Crystal and Labyrinth, for which the Frouds had contributed concept art and puppets.
Having thoroughly explored faerie realms – and even pushed the envelope a bit with books like Lady Cottlesloe’s Pressed Fairy Book, the Frouds have taken this former movie concept and run with it, creating a rich and lovely volume that stands on its own as a specific vision of some of the darker residents of Faerie. Will it spawn a new series of books and calendars as did Faeries? Time will tell
The central concept of Trolls is that of a troll child charged with collecting tales from other trolls. Each story is accompanied by illustrations by the Frouds, some with digital details and elements that are occasionally less than seamlessly integrated.
For the most part, the images are well conceived and engaging, deeply rooted – perhaps literally – in landscape and wood. The sepia tonality enhances that notion, as do the richly textured paintings. As Trolls contains both new and ‘‘classic’’ work by the Frouds, some of the images may be familiar to fans of earlier books. In this volume, the faces that previously peeked out of the forest or materialized in marginalia now take center stage.
The mood here may be a touch darker than that found in the earlier Faerie books There is very little traditional ‘‘prettiness’’ of the sort associated with fairies, but consider the subject and then ask yourself when the last time was that you saw a pretty troll? Nevertheless, there’s a sort of earthy beauty to these images. The Frouds have taken an approach that emphasizes organic references, concentrating on natural objects: rocks, trees, stone. The Froud’s trademark texture and details fill the page with interest and intrigue. The richly detailed drawings deserve careful attention. Like puzzles, they often contain hidden treasure: critters and magical shapes. Notable among these are the illustrations for the tale of ‘‘The Knight’s Folly’’ (with a tip of the paintbrush to Kay Nielsen’s romantic images of the age of heraldry); the opening image from ‘‘The Tale of Bone: The Red-Haired Boy’’; and the half-page spread for ‘‘The Weary Knight Stumbled On’’.
Wendy Froud’s sculptures and three-dimensional details – artifacts of the Troll culture – are an interesting variation on the painted and drawn themes here. They are mostly well integrated, occasionally jarring in the mix of image, texture, and story. The digital designs sometimes lack the three-dimensional illusion of the images with which they are paired, making for a bit of dissonance for the viewer.
The earth-toned colors may occasionally register as drab, but my biggest complaint is that the book is simply too large for a child to hold comfortably. Quibbles aside, lovers of faerie art will enjoy this book thoroughly. The Frouds prove, with Trolls, that there’s room in the faerie realm for many different kinds of beauty.
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Exposé 10 celebrates ten years of excellence in pulling together fantastic digital artwork from around the globe. Every year Ballistic Press publishes a bigger annual, and with the tenth anniversary of the Exposé series, the publishers have outdone themselves.
This year’s edition contains a map showing the global reach of the book over the past decade. As proudly noted, with close to 2,000 artists the Exposé Honor Roll is an international Who’s Who of the digital arts community. Ten pages have been given over to list every artist that has appeared in an Exposé annual since 2002.
This year’s coverage includes first-time artists from Qatar, Uzbekistan, Bolivia, El Salvador, and Georgia. Exposé 10 honors Jim Burns as this year’s Exposé Grand Master. Burns, a virtuoso of both traditional and digital art, receives fine and respectful treatment in a six-page retrospective that reminds us how singular and compelling his work is.
The art categories change with each annual depending upon the nature of the submissions. The tenth Exposé includes the categories of science fiction, fantasy femmes, robotic/cyborg, comic/manga, surreal, whimsical, and steampunk. While not every image in this book qualifies as science fiction or fantasy art, the majority of pictures certainly fit comfortably within the genre. As in previous Exposé annuals, there seems to be bit of overlap in portrait and fantasy femme categories: how to decide where the image truly belongs? It was probably a bit of a puzzle for the editor.
Each category is fronted by at least one Master award winner, occasionally two, and several Excellence award winners, each of whom’s work is featured in a full page. After that the image size diminishes. It’s always a challenge for designers of art annuals to fit the work of all the artists into the book at a size which allows the best appreciation by the viewer. Here, in the science fiction section, certain images suffer from their reduced size when three or four images share a page. However, the designers of Exposé 10 should receive kudos doing their best to feature the work at best size possible given the space constraints. In fact, it’s impressive that this book contains so many full-page images. The black framing of each page is especially helpful, really making the colors pop.
Each image in the book is individually color-corrected, making for unbeatable color reproduction. The glossy paper and first-rate production values sets Exposé above the crowd. Twelve pages are dedicated to the 20 Master Award winners, presenting their photos en masse followed by thumbnail profiles.
It’s difficult to truly stand out in a book crowded with such excellence, but among some of the most noteworthy work in Exposé 10 is: ‘‘Picture Book: The Past Life’’ by Mona He, China (Excellence, Abstract & Design); ‘‘Ragnarok’’ by Marga Donaire, Spain (Master, Comic/Manga); ‘‘Mobile Sentry’’ by Jim Moore, USA (Excellence, Robotic/Cyborg); ‘‘Intimacy’’ by Jianhua He, China (Mater, Robotic/Cyborg); ‘‘Kami Wukong’’ by Hoi Mun Tham, Malaysia (Excellence, Robotic/Cyborg); ‘‘Moon Palace’’ by Te Hu, US (Master, Concept Art); ‘‘The Naiads’’ by Clint Cerley, (Master, Fantasy Femmes); and ‘‘Locked Away’’ by Anna Dittmann, US (Portrait Illustration). This big, handsome hardcover book should delight anyone interested in the latest developments in digital art. (Note: Exposé 10 is also available in paperback.)
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In Wonderland was originally published to accompany a 2012 exhibition of the work of women surrealists that traveled to the L.A. County Museum, the Musee National des Beaux-Arts Quebec, and the Museo de Arte Moderno in Mexico City. Post-exhibition, the book enjoys a life of its own as a long overdue survey of women surreal artists working in North America – primarily Mexico and the United States – between 1930 and 1970.
In point of fact, the Boys Club of Surrealism did actually open its doors to a few members of the loyal opposition. This book is a needed step in correcting their omission from art history. And, since much SF/fantasy art qualifies as a branch of surrealism, this book should be on the must-read list of fantastic art fans and young artists. Any doubters should take a look at Leonora Carrington’s ‘‘Green Tea (La dame ovale)’’ (1942), Gerri Gutmann’s ‘‘The Th
eft’’ (1952), Dorothea Tanning’s ‘‘Birthday’’ (1942), or Remedios Varo’s ‘‘Creacion de las Aves’’ (‘‘Creation of the Birds’’) (1958). Fantasy, yes.
Some of the names and faces among the 48 artists here are familiar. For example: Frida Kahlo, the commodified go-to girl for surrealism, receives obligatory notice, as does Louise Bourgeois. Dorothea Tanning – who received recent press upon her death this past year – and Remedios Varo have some of the most interesting artwork in the book. Leonora Carrington, another impressive talent, is fairly well known not only for her art but for her fantasy stories as well. Sculptor Adaline Kent, although obscure, has a following on the West Coast. But there are many other names and visions worthy of attention who have languished in the shadows, and in this book, they finally get the spotlight, if only for a moment.
Mexico is a link between them: many of these artists spent time in Mexico. Some were born there, while several others fled there from Europe during WWII. It was undeniably a place where fantastic art flourished, although the native artists – Kahlo in particular – did not always welcome the refugee Europeans with open arms. The essays in In Wonderland touch upon the impact of the indigenous cultures and environment of both Mexico and the southwest U.S. on these artists.
Some of the art is erotic, some of it eccentric, spooky, and even visionary. Some is obviously influenced by gender concerns, and by the relationship of some of the artists to male surrealists, either as lovers or wives.
Particularly interesting is the comparison of one artists’s treatment of a subject with another’s. For example, there is Rosa Rolanda’s cover image, the self portrait (1945) with a scorpion-like orchid on her head, Frida Kahlo’s politically weighted ‘‘Self-portrait on the Borderline Between Mexico and the United States’’ (1932), Francesca Woodman’s unsettling photograph ‘‘Self-portrait Talking to Vince, Providence, Rhode Island’’ (1975-1978), and Alice Rahon’s spidery abstract ‘‘Self Portrait and Autobiography’’ (1948).
Locus, January 2013 Page 12
