DRAGONMOUNT

Wylla Sotain is a scavenger, living day by day, and searching for the elusive big score that will allow her to finally repair her ship and drag herself out of poverty in an uncaring galaxy. In this particular future, people wear AI-powered masks to enhance their abilities. Wylla has a battered old MARK I RABBIT, which means her senses are heightened, like the prey animal she is.   It seems like her fortunes are about to change when she finds the MARK I HAWK mask—an expensive prototype that should not exist—lying on the face of a dead woman called Sable Veonya. When she puts the mask on, Sable talks to her and remembers being murdered. Now everybody is looking for them, including VisorForge, the corporation that is responsible for the masks, and the other scavengers who want a piece of the action.   The book is told in second person perspective, with Sable talking to you, the reader, as if you were Wylla. Harrow the Ninth readers will be quite familiar with this format. Wylla is trans and has been fighting the system her whole life. Sable, on the other hand, now has no body at all. They both accept each other quickly, and a relationship develops between the two of them while they try to track down Sable’s killer, and avoid the authorities.   There are so many enjoyable and unique ideas here, and the plot moves very quickly. I do wish this was a full length novel, so the story had a bit more time to breathe, and the romance could develop slightly more naturally over time. As it is though, you can probably read this in one sitting, and get the whole thing downloaded into your brain near-instantaneously. Which, honestly, seems quite fitting.   Recommended!   Don't forget, you can pick this up in our ebook store!

The Prestige by Christopher Priest (originally published in 1995) Reviewed for Dragonmount by Michael   When Tor approached Dragonmount and asked if anyone would be available to read and review The Prestige by Christopher Priest, I jumped at the chance. Well, after my mind went through the inevitable jumps of “wait, like the movie?” and “ok, but that book came out in 1995!” Those are all correct thoughts: the Christopher Nolan film starring Christian Bale and Hugh Jackman is based upon this book, which was released in 1995. But Tor is re-releasing the book as part of the Tor Essentials collection, and if that is not good enough reason to revisit it, the fact that Christopher Priest passed away in 2024 is.   Despite having seen the movie two or three times, I had not read the book before (a reversal of the order I usually prefer to do things). As soon as I had the advance copy in my hands and started reading, I understood why Christopher Nolan had been drawn to this story. The text plays with timing and narrative in the same way that has become a hallmark of Nolan’s films, but with varied elements that are available in the written vs. the visual form. At times, I was stylistically reminded of the way Grey Men are handled in the Wheel of Time—right there on the page, but hidden in plain sight until their presence is revealed and you can revisit that paragraph with knowing eyes.   The Prestige is divided into five parts, told from the first-person perspective of four different characters: the two magicians, Alfred Borden and Rupert Angier; two modern-day (or at least, modern as of 1995) descendents of those men, Andrew Wesley (Borden) and Kate Angiers; and, finally, a brief look at the title character. Each perspective is written in a different voice and style, to great effect. The modern contemporaries are presented as a standard first person narratives, as those characters work together to try to understand the overlapping family histories and the dramatic obsession that existed between their great-grandfathers. The accounts of the magicians are as written journals, Borden’s as an adult journal of his work and Angier’s as a diary (begun on his ninth birthday) of his life. Neither are entirely reliable narrators, for reasons that will become more clear upon finishing the book.   Beginning as a sort of mystery and becoming a tale of obsession and competition with tragic results, The Prestige ends as a horror. Indeed, the final lines of The Prestige strongly evoke the final lines of another Victorian science-fiction horror: Frankenstein by Mary Shelley. I found the slow build toward both science-fiction and horror to be highly effective. At the beginning, we are with a modern human, with cell phones and CDs, and with a casual interest in understanding more about his family history. As we learn about the lives of the two magicians, we begin to appreciate the terrible toll that their obsessions—with magic, with each other, with revenge—takes on themselves and their families. By the end, the sins of the past have manifested in the present, and the truly sinister nature of The Prestige is revealed.   SPOILERS AHEAD   Because the film adaptation was successful, I suspect that I may not be alone in having come to this book having some idea of the plot and foreknowledge of the surprising twists. While the plot is more or less the same, and those twists are still present, the treatment and the nuances of the book The Prestige are significantly different.    I do not need to unpack every difference, but there are a few elements of the book that I especially want to make note of, and in many cases these are also instances that diverge from the film. The double life of Borden is handled superbly, as even the character never explicitly admits to the existence of an identical twin. Both contribute to “his” journal as the same person, and only occasionally reference “The Pact” which prevents them from sharing particular details. Only after Angiers discovers their secret, after our time with Borden’s journal has ended, do the final pieces of how his Transported Man illusion is able to work, and why his personal life was conflicted, as if between two personalities. Likewise, Angier is equally cagey about the specifics of his Transported Man. He alludes only vaguely to the unpleasantness of dealing with “the prestige materials” that are generated by his use of the apparatus designed by Tesla. It is left to the descendents of the magicians to truly uncover and understand the terrible price that Angier paid for his magic trick.    It is the connection to modern times that produces the most horrifying effect. The movie ends tragically with the deaths of one and a half of the rival magicians, but with a final happy ending scene of “Alfred Borden” being reunited with his daughter and (as per Christopher Nolan’s usual) Michael Caine looking on approvingly. The book ends rather differently, and with a much more menacing emphasis on the title.   Ultimately, I highly recommend reading The Prestige by Christopher Priest. Fans of the film will find plenty new and different to appreciate here, and if you have not seen the movie, I am truly jealous that you may get to experience the twists and turns of this story from the page for the first time.   And, anyone who has ever driven to Denver by way of Iowa and Nebraska will find some relatably amusing lines on page 232 of this new Tor Essentials edition! Thank you, as always, to Tor Publishing for the advance access to this book.  

A Far Better Thing by H.G. Parry Reviewed for Dragonmount by Michael eBook available    It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. It was the summer of brat, it was the winter of despair. It is a gilded age of desperation as the wealthy enrich themselves at the expense of the everyperson. . .   It feels appropriate to revisit A Tale of Two Cities in the Year of our Lady 2025. Charles Dickens’ classic story set during the French Revolution against the towering backdrop of Le Guillotine, examines the lengths that people will go to for both love and revenge.   A Far Better Thing, by H. G. Parry, puts a Fae twist on the story, asking “what if Sydney Carton was Charles Darnay’s fairy changeling?”   Now, if either of those names, or the names of the Defarges; Miss Pross; Messers Cruncher, Stryver, Lorry, or Barsad, are unfamiliar to you—even if you have read A Tale of Two Cities at some point in your life—I'm going to suggest that you do what I did, and begin by reading or rereading the original work. (If you're into audiobooks, it's free to listen to on THAT app…)   I know that I read the Wishbone version, and the Great Illustrated Classics version, and I think that I also read the full text at one point in my youth. However, it has been a while and I remembered only the broadest strokes: Sydney Carton is a brilliant but troubled lawyer, Madame Defarge is a quietly terrifying menace with her knitting, and the story ends with Carton going to the Guillotine in place of the innocent Charles Darnay. Spoiler alert for the 1859 book, A Tale of Two Cities…   Rereading the original was a powerful experience. Dickens is one of the greats for a reason and his prose absolutely flows, barely slowed by the linguistic differences in the style that 150+ years will do. Even though I knew the ending was coming, the last several pages had me in tears as Sydney Carton holds the young girl’s hand and comforts her as they approach their final moments.   The machinations of the Defarges as their, and especially Madame’s, need for vengeance cannot be sated and goes from righteous to monstrous; the quiet strength of Lucie Manette as she bears the love of so many; the bottomless self-loathing and destruction of the brilliant Carton all explore complex dimensions of humanity in timeless fashion.   The introduction to the audiobook by actor Simon Callow claims that Dickens sacrificed some of his famous character building for the sake of telling a larger story of, well, two cities. Hearing that, I questioned it a bit—Madame Defarge? And Sydney Carton? Iconic characters, at the best and worst of times!    While it is true that the characters in A Tale of Two Cities are complex, they are presented essentially as is. We especially do not get a satisfactory explanation as to why Sydney Carton is so miserable in his life. A Far Better Thing fleshes out these characters, exploring motivations and subtleties that are indeed missing from the original text.   A Far Better Thing is told from Carton’s perspective, and we quickly discover that he was taken from his cradle as an infant and raised in the Faerie realm to be a servant of the Fae. Returned to the mortal realms, his servitude consists primarily of having to help the Faeries abduct other infants. There are some additional details which are better explored in the pages of the book, but this despicable task alone is sufficient to understand why Carton may have a bit of self-loathing.   Reading the premise of A Far Better Thing, which is described as “Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell meets A Tale of Two Cities,” I was curious to see what a fantasy retelling of a classic novel looked like. Would this book replace the events of the original? Was it a close retelling or an “inspired by” situation? The actuality is that the two books can exist as canon simultaneously, for we quickly learn that most mortals—including most of Dickens’ characters—are not aware of the Fae presence. Essentially, A Tale of Two Cities is the “Muggle” telling of the story and A Far Better Thing is the magical side of the story. Our narrator, being intimately connected to both the Faerie and mortal realms, can guide us readers through the intricacies of the overlap. Dickens, for all of the magic behind his pen, did not have these insights and could only relay the mortal version of the story.   Reading the two tales back-to-back generated the effect of a detective explaining howandwhodunnit at the end of a good mystery. All of the events that we saw with one set of eyes are now explored with a second set, revealing details that we missed or could not have known. The depth of pain and love in Sydney Carton’s heart is explored in wrenching detail, and his sacrifice at the end strikes the reader even harder as the full scope of his redemption is revealed.   The events of A Tale of Two Cities appear almost exactly as they do in the original, but because we are in Carton’s POV, and he is not featured on every page of Dickens’ work, we are treated to some original action and characters that allow Parry’s storytelling and prose to shine. The prose pays homage to Dickens’ writing style, and Parry’s expert familiarity (her PhD is in English literature) with the source material is evident.    If I am to find criticism—and I truly have to plumb the depths to do so—I will say that the final moments, the final sentence even, left me wanting to read the titular line. Although I understand that a retelling should be just that, I finished the book wanting to read that iconic last sentence of A Tale of Two Cities: “It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to, than I have ever known.” I think it would have hit the same, powerful mark but far deeper after spending so much time with the deeds and misrest of Sydney Carton. There is, also, a slight timeline issue which I only raise as a persnickety editorial type, but at one point Carton’s vision is blurring and he describes the world as looking “like an Impressionist painting.” Beautiful imagery, especially in the setting of Paris, but the Impressionist movement did not begin until the 1860s, and the events surrounding the French Revolution took place in the late 1700s.   Overall, A Far Better Thing is a beautiful, fun, and creative read. I enjoyed that it led me to rediscover A Tale of Two Cities (I cannot recommend enough reading the original first), and it more than succeeds in the ambitious undertaking of improving upon a certified classic.  

“Bury my bones in the midnight soil. Plant them shallow and water them deep. And in my place will grow a feral rose.”   This book is told from the perspectives of María in 1532, Charlotte in 1827, and Alice in a much more familiar 2019. All three are swept away from their mundane lives by equally enigmatic women, and find themselves with no pulse, an unquenchable thirst, and remarkably less patience with the ways of men. Three feral roses with rather sharp thorns.   We see the most of María through the years, learning how to be a vampire without any form of instruction, and constantly reinventing herself as she travels across the world and the centuries. Some of her victims deserve it. Some. Alice at least has the benefit of already knowing what a vampire is from pop culture, as well as having ready access to the internet, but even she is entirely unprepared for what is happening to her.   As the reader, we become increasingly complicit in the crimes of our vampire trio, urging them on at first, until we realise perhaps too late that things are getting a bit out of hand. Even Alice, who is the closest to still being a good person here, is still ripping out throats with gay abandon. So, varying degrees of villainy all round, but they are always entertaining. Eventually, the stories begin to overlap, and there is a very satisfying payoff for all the backstory.   This is a wonderfully written modern take on the vampire genre, and along with “Hungerstone” by Kat Dunn, we’re definitely having a great year for sapphic exsanguination.   Highly recommended for all blood types! Don't forget, you can pick this up in our ebook store!

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CW: violence, cursing, blasphemy, werewolves, effusive praise   Who better to lead us through the darkest timeline than Lord Grimdark himself, Joe Abercrombie? Like a trusted friend who would help you bury a body, Abercrombie doesn’t hesitate to get his hands dirty and do whatever it takes to steer you through a hellish reality.    With Abercrombie, nothing is sugar-coated or laced with sunshine-and-rainbows optimism. You can rely on him to portray people at their nastiest, the world at its bleakest, and violence in all its dirty, smelly, bodily fluid-filled detail. No one ever wins or is truly happy, but it’s OK once you accept that, and more often than not, it’s kind of funny.   Grimdark is not for the faint of heart, maybe, but as a reader with a heart prone to fainting, I’ve been pleasantly surprised to find that Abercrombie’s writing brings me joy in a way no other author can. His prose is sharp, funny, refreshingly real, and strangely hopeful. No one can make me laugh out loud, snort with cynical agreement, or cry at the smallest act of kindness like Abercrombie can.   But when your favorite author releases something completely new and different, you worry a little. Other than a quick detour to publish the YA Shattered Sea trilogy, The Devils is Abercrombie’s first book in 19 years to deviate from the world of The First Law, which consists of two trilogies, three standalone novels, and two sets of short stories. Turns out, when Abercrombie pivots, he just finds new ways to be awesome.   The Devils is the first of three in a set of interconnected but self-contained novels. Departing from the fictional “Circle of the World” setting of The First Law, The Devils takes place in a reimagined version of historical Europe, with one dominant religion worshipping a female Savior (but divided over which gender the clergy should be), leading Crusades against elves, and forming secret societies to do their dirty work for them.   It’s within this “real world” setting that Abercrombie introduces more fantastical elements than ever before. The First Law books are mostly character-driven political intrigue with some magic. The Devils is a character-driven adventure with a lot of magic. It’s the perfect recipe for a twisted fairytale in which the scary monsters are the heroes saving the princess from a handsome prince—or multiple evil cousin princes, in this case.    The Devils brings to mind William Goldman’s classic twisted tale, The Princess Bride, in which a giant, a pirate, and a vengeful swordsman fight corrupt noblemen to rescue the princess. And with a young female protagonist completely out of her depth but surrounded by quirky friends, and with a good chunk of the action taking place on a boat, it’s almost like a warped version of Brandon Sanderson's Tress of the Emerald Sea (also inspired, of course, by The Princess Bride).   Perhaps it’s a case of a talented author making it look easy, but The Devils seems like it must have been so much fun to write. Released from the bindings of his own First Law (“It is forbidden…to summon demons, and forbidden to open gates to hell”), Abercrombie is now free to wreak bloody havoc. It’s only with that level of reckless abandon that someone would decide to write a 560-page answer to the question of what would happen if a necromancer, a vampire, a werewolf, an elf, a boastful pirate, a lying thief, and a cursed soldier walked into a bar…and a monk was their designated driver.   And so our heroes are not exactly a found family, but a Congregation of sinners forced together into the “Chapel of the Holy Expediency” by clergy with questionable motives. A traditional found family trope might have heroes bonding over personal stories shared by the campfire. The Devils’ devils bond by harassing each other, lying to each other, throwing up on each other, f***ing each other, and trying to kill each other. It’s really very sweet. No, really.   Together, the devils face some of the most disgusting creatures you could imagine—think failed science experiments—doing the most appalling, horrific things, and yet this somehow manages to be the most heartwarming book Abercrombie has written. The Devils, ironically, has a lot to teach about friendship, loyalty, humility, honor, courage, and sacrifice. It poses the question of who are truly the monsters in the story (short answer: it’s Abercrombie, so everyone is bad).     And, as is so often the case, we find that those who proclaim themselves to be good are the ones to distrust the most, while those who seem evil on the surface may be hiding a heart of gold—or at least bronze. It’s no wonder then that the “worst” of the bunch, Vigga, the savage and bloodthirsty Swedish Viking werewolf, is easily the most lovable character.    Even then, it’s not that simple in The Devils. No preconception of any character is safe—no one is exactly who they seem, and there’s always another layer of complexity to uncover. And the twists (there are multiple) are brilliantly executed.   Make no mistake, you should never expect a happy ending from Abercrombie. The world is still under threat of war, the people in power are still corrupt, and not much changes for those deemed to be outcasts. But it’s only in a setting so bleak that readers can actually find courage to face the truths Abercrombie never shies away from: people do bad things, you rarely get what you want, life is painful, and sometimes the most you can hope for is not being dead.  In a surprisingly philosophical moment, Vigga the werewolf advises us to “clutch with both hands at any flicker of warmth that can be clawed from the uncaring darkness of existence.” Being in the dark is what makes those moments of light—from the smallest gesture of kindness to the greatest sacrifice—all the more meaningful. That’s why The Devils is so unexpectedly sweet, and it’s why we can turn to Lord Grimdark and his monsters to help us find hope and humor in the darkest of times.     Grace is a licensed mental health counselor who believes in the healing power of found family in fantasy novels and IRL. Also known as Bain & Chiad, Grace has been reading The Wheel of Time since 1998, when she and her high school sweetheart dressed up as Elayne and Rand for Halloween. She fell in love with present-day WoT fandom and was inducted into Far Dareis Mai in 2019. She is the writer of Maidens’ List and a cohost of The Light’s Work.