Wednesday 7 August 2002

Pic of the day: Pretty, irrelevant picture of a pine tree. Because, quite frankly, it is hard to photograph an e-book, much less the thoughts in my head. (Though these seem indeed to be more active when I'm walking around outdoors.)

Literature

The last few days I have enjoyed to fantasy novels by D. J. Duncan, The Reluctant Swordsman and The Coming of Wisdom, in a series called the seventh sword. (Almost needless to say, these are e-books, from Fictionwise.com.) I am not yet finished with book two, so I don't know whether there are more books in this series. I hope so. But anyway I am likely to look for more books by this author. They're not groundbreaking or remarkable, but they're well written and entertaining. The core of the story is that a rather common guy from our world is dying, but then his soul is transferred to another world and given a new body. The body formerly belonged to that world's best swordsman, who had failed to serve the local goddess (who also happens to be a river). With a new Conan like body and elite sword skills, the poor engineer is let loose on a world of swords and sorcery. Old clichés are explored from new angles. And Duncan definitely gets along with the English language.

Magic fantasy novels tend to fall into one of two categories. Either they are "light fantasy" or "sword and sorcery". Light fantasy tends to be humorous, filled with puns and either erotic or juvenile; in extreme cases all of the above (Piers Anthony comes to mind here). Sword and sorcery, on the other hand, tends towards the tragic and self-important. The humor is subdued, dark and bitter. Grisly death abounds, and the fate of the world hangs in the balance.

Duncan's books fall in the "sword and sorcery" category, but they have an undertone of humor and optimism. At the very least there is the fact that the big dangerous swordsman doesn't feel like a swordsman at all. He constantly acts out of character, confusing people and setting up unusual situations. Recommended.

***

I still haven't come around to writing my own fiction again. This doesn't mean that the voices in my head aren't trying. OK, they'll not exactly voices in my head, more like distinct thoughts. This particular type of thought is what I refer to as Muses. They often show up with an outline or the beginning of a story which they want me to write. My best guess is that these are processes in my own subconscious. I could just as rightly take credit for them myself, they are certainly part of me rather than some outside influence. But by the time I become aware of them, they have already done some of the groundwork for me. There was one today again.

In principle this story was about a vigilante with supernatural powers, a man known as "The Witness". His powers are basically psionic in nature. Most notably he is able to see into the past in great detail. Because he can describe a crime committed with no one else around, he is nicknamed The Witness. But he can also not only see through walls but also jump through them – in one moment he is inside, in the next outside. It seems he can also read minds. But by far the most creepy aspect is his ability to kill people just by saying so. Exactly what he does is unclear, but on several occasions he has killed remorseless criminals simply by condemning them to death.

In the concept, this is just a rather trite superhero / supervillain story. Depending on the eyes of the beholder, The Witness is a superhero or a supervillain or just some guy with superpowers of sorts. The thing that got me interested was that the story did not start with the main character at all. I actually had to ask the Muse later to get the details on The Witness. Instead the story starts like this:

"I'll be damned!"
"Quite possibly. You have not accepted the Lord Jesus as your personal Savior?"
"No, and neither have you, unless you did so during to lunch break!"
"But I'm not the one complaining."
"You would if you had to lead this department!"
"I am willing to try anytime."
"Listen, Johansen, we've got a message from the German embassy!"
"What about?"
"There has been some atrocity. Lots of horrible, gruesome murders..."
"I've heard about that! It was called something like Hollywood. Holly sea? Holly coast? Something like that."
"Not that! Holocaust was generations ago. This happened just recently."
"The Germans are still doing that kind of stuff? I guess my grandpa was right about them. Never trust the Germans, he used to say. Grandpa used to fight them during the war, I think."
"That was 75 years ago! These are not the same Germans. Those Germans are dead, and so is your grandfather."
"I fail to see what my grandpa's death has to do with the German embassy. He died from cancer."
"They don't want your grandfather, they want us to send The Witness!"
"Send The Witness? We can't even find The Witness!"
"Now do you see the problem?"

It was kind of strange to listen to my Muse happily babbling away ... there was quite a bit more. Evidently I had been thinking about this for a while without knowing it. Always nice to have my head with me wherever I go... even though it's not quite great literature. I guess I am easily amused - at least by myself.