Aetheric Research, Ltd.

Andy Remic, Angry Robot Books

If you’re a fan of old-school pulp fiction barbarian heroes with excessive hyphenation and Incredible Numbers of Significant Initial Capitals, then you’ll doubtless love this book.

I’m not, however, so the excessively purple prose conjoined with abrupt diversion into crude cursing was somewhat distracting; the oddly detailed rape scenes were slightly unpleasant (why Mr. Remic felt the need to inform me as to the exact qualities of the villain’s equipment is a mystery I feel no wish to investigate); and the characterization was somewhat erratic.

The titular Kell (whose legend is helpfully related at the back of the book) appears to be a faux-scots barbarian who, once he gets over his angst (which takes the better part of a page at the front of each battle), is spectacularly effective at cleaving villainous types–nearly always “albino” in nature; I think that, despite the vast numbers of ways that he has found to describe a villain ravishing a female protagonist, Mr. Remic’s thesaurus contains no synonyms for “colorless” or “lacking melanin”–with his sentient and apparently invariably butterfly-bladed battleaxe.

The plot appears driven by the invasion of the subtitular “clockwork vampires;” creatures of grafted flesh and machine–and to Mr. Remic’s credit, the concept is rather interesting; in some respects it’s reminiscent of the plague victims in S. M. Peters’ “Whitechapel Gods.”  These creatures require “blood-oil” (if you wish to read this book, please get acquainted with that phrase; it appears on more pages than the protagonist) to sustain their functions, and live in oppressive symbiosis with the aformentioned “albino” warriors and some rather nightmare-fuelish “Harvesters.”

The female characters come out rather badly treated; one, in particular, is given a rather promising backstory only to fall victim to a random act of violence late in the book.  It’s rather discouraging, on the whole.

The world-building is accomplished fairly well; the setting seems to have been carefully thought out, with plenty of room for expansion for future books in the series.  Individual parts, though, are of varying quality; I half-suspect that some venues were chosen more for atmosphere than for any sort of effective urban planning.

The plot, sadly, is full of missed opportunities; there are many promising threads that are quickly snuffed out or cut off just as they begin to show promise in favor of an apparent desire to keep strictly to  a single narrative, that of an irresistable invading army with a few epic heroes who are destined to deus-ex-machina their way into history. 

The best that I can say is that Mr. Remic is very aware of his fantasy tropes, and uses them appropriately for his intended venue.  There’s the obvious Epic Hero, his Beautiful (grand-)Daughter, the Atoning Sidekick, the Evil Villain at the head of the Ominously Named Army…etc.  If you happen to be a fan of this sort of ten-cents-a-page writing, then you’ll probably enjoy Kell’s Legend–if not, find something else with fewer hyphens.

Dan Abnett, Angry Robot Books

Triumff–properly, Sir Rupert Triumff–swashes his buckles in an alternate-history reimagining of Elizabetheian England.

Or at least, that’s how TV Guide would describe it.

The alternate history that Abnett creates is one where Elizabeth I, the famous ‘virgin queen’, decided to marry Phillip II of Spain and unite the two great sea powers of the Age of Discovery.  At the same time, Leonardo da Vinci rediscovers and popularizes magic, rather than engineering, which then becomes the dominant force. 

This has some interesting effects on both the Age of Discovery and history in general; it appears that this focus on “the Arte” has held back the progress of the world enough so that Sir Triumff can be the first discoverer of Australia, in a sailing vessel, in the year 2009.

Perhaps extending the rule of Elizabeth through 29 same-named heirs was not the ideal form of governance.

Four-hundred years of Elizabethan England aside, the novel’s conceit does lend itself to ersatz-present-day storytelling rather well, provided that the reader does not expect a “serious” adventure story.  Abnett does not rise to the level of a hurricane of puns, but the careful reader will perceive that the story is intended to be read with tongue firmly planted in cheek.  Puns are not the only symptom of the irreverence with which the book is laced; the creative spelling of the dialogue, the swiss-army rapier, and the creatively malapropist street thug all serve to set the tone.

This effect is not nearly as obvious as, say, the Xanth novels; hence, it is likely that some readers will begin reading it and then, not picking up on the intended tone, start complaining about the anachronisms, the patchy “Ye Olde Myddle-Englishe Spelling” that shows up in dialogue, and the strange mutilations of the shout-outs to both popular culture and to real-world Elizabethan culture.

Needless to say, it helps to be conversant with Shakespeare.

Triumff himself is an interesting character; he has the appearance of a gentleman-adventurer in the best traditions of Cook, Drake, or Bond (which point is reinforced by the Bond-pastiche segment with obligatory Spy-Gadget Review) but is more fleshed-out than a mere homage to the archetype would suggest.  The subtitle, “Her Majesty’s Hero,” is not the whole of his character; he is no Miles Gloriosus who vaingloriously craves glory, nor any other overuse of said word.  Abnett states in his afterword that Sir Triumff has been developing in the back of his mind for many years, and it shows–not only with how he behaves as himself, but in his interaction with other characters and flesh them out by contrast.

Neither is he the only memorable character; the apparent author-avatar (Wm. Beaver, a tabloid reporter) and certain secondary characters (Mother Grundy comes to mind) more than carry their own weight, even if they do not hold as much spotlight-time in their story threads as Triumff does in his.

Unusually, despite her name being dropped, Elizabeth XXX (Vivat Regina!) never speaks directly, and is only implied to take certain actions–thus giving her a distance from the plot which, given some tantalizing clues related second-hand, may be required to prevent her from overpowering the other characters.

A short read, but a merry one; I willingly recommend this book to anyone who enjoys Shakespeare, Pratchett, or Python.