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Bullets for breakfast. Death for dinner, and a light salad for lunch.
Heathen city seeks to raise the bar for anthropomorphic publications, but does it deliver?

 Heathen City, by Alex Vance, could be considered a dark and gritty crime story featuring anti-heroes, and a generous helping of gay sex. While the intention of  raising the narrative bar is commendable, the problem here is that someone has gotten caught up in the very trendy idea that high quality means dark, gritty, depressing and violent. It's the same symptoms that you find in most science fiction productions nowadays--  I'll be very frank: The whole dystopic angle? Only works if you've got a darned good story to tell, otherwise it's just a gimmick amateur writers pull to say "See how mature I am? I am writing unhappiness!"   It's easier to pull of an unbalanced and mildly entertaining story set in a dystopic setting because the environment already comes with package-deal obstacles common to the genre.

The plot as it stands, trying to cut out any spoilers:  Owen is a hustler who decides to hang his... nevermind, he's decided to go out of business, quit the life of prostitution and stay out of trouble. Trouble soon finds him, however, and in the blink of an eye he is dragging his new beau, Ruy, with him while escaping from people who  don't exactly want to throw a tea party.  They seek the help of Malloy (a Seminarian-turned-boxer-turned-drug dealer), with whom Owen shared a past (and probably a toothbrush), and  then they're off on the road. I've heard Shanghai is lovely this time of year, provided you watch that left turn at Albuquerque.

Knuckles for Snacks.
What we've got here, in the core, is an emulation of Quentin Tarantino, and it doesn't really work because only Tarantino is Tarantino (whom I usually find overrated anyways).   It's very easy to pull all sorts of tricks with a dystopia, But quite frankly? I'm tired of the prevalent attitude that glorifying the gutter is "masterful storytelling." We have a plot that isn't  very well integrated, rather poor characterization, and some very awkward soliloquies that feel out of place- brevity is the soul of wit (as Polonius has the affrontery to observe, after talking your ear off for ten minutes), not excessive verbosity. This creates a certain stiffness about the delivery, and it can be rather awkward . The plot in itself is diaphanous enough that it is hardly there- it is not so much of a plot as things that keep happening, so we have more of a Naturalistic* approach over a Romantic** one.

One of the title's advertised features is "morally ambiguous characters," and on that I do have an opinion:  There's quite a bit of 'moral ambiguity' in Furry as it is- it's the whole 'non-judgmental' approach (through which a great deal of people get away with all sorts of things, from pirating to swindling others, with only very few saying anything about it).  A novel approach, instead, would be writing characters who aren't  morally ambiguous- granted, it isn't cool being morally unambiguous nowadays, but writers don't write to be cool, just to be good---- right?

Concerning the overall plot and the choice of background,  the author replied to a review with the following:  "I love romance, though perhaps HC #1 might lead you to think otherwise. I just think it's... rather precious, and use it sparingly, so it can be all the more powerful for its rarity. I find it too serious a subject to treat lightly, or to visit too often. Sex and arrogance and corruption and violence, however, are such crude metals that they don't lose their shine, and make a fine, fine background for a sparkle of romance, when the time's right for it." {link}


While this was a very enlightening post, as it allowed me to understand what the author sought to do, I am not entirely sure that this works. When your starting place is the gutter and your whole focus is looking down to glorify the gutter instead of looking up... well, what you end up with is a romance of the gutter, which happens between characters that belong there- and for whom you really don't care that much anyways (unless you belong in the gutter, too). Let me put it this way (and you'll excuse me if I get a little Rabelaisian): When you coat a beautiful mink stole with excrement, you don't have a beautiful mink stole anymore. You have sh_t on a dead rodent. A trip to the gutter, if necessary at all in a storyline, should have a purpose further than to serve as a shock device.


Pain for Teatime.
Then, we have the anti-heroes.  I'm not really in for the whole anti-hero worship. The infatuation with that particular archetype tends to be very juvenile. The core of the anti hero is that he does not have any real identity and determination, and are usually shaped and forced by the events that occur to him rather than the other way around: The anti-hero doesn't do what he knows is right because of his determination, but rather because circumstances (mysteriously) conspire against him to the point where he has no apparent choice but to do the right thing. Anti heroes are malleable and amorphous, and usually have their appeal during adolescence- that strange period when you're trying to figure out who you are (if you don't know already) and generally rebel against just about everything. After that, though, clinging to admiration for anti-heroes is rather telling about a person--- after all, we admire what we value.***

There are some very good furry storytellers out there who are publishing their books and comics from whom, I think, one could learn a lesson-- Kyell Gold writes some nice stuff, both erotica and non-erotica alike (although his erotica is more of a romantic nature than your usual share, and it never feels like the book was written around the sex... it seldom, if ever, feels forced or out of place, and there's usually a reason for it), and I am quite fond of "Volle". Vince Suzukawa, the creator of The Class Menagerie, is doing quite well with his new comic, I.S.O. which, although set in territory that some might say is over-used (Coming out story set in a college environment), it isn't Associated Student Bodies: Cody's tale of coming to grips with sexuality is very well told, with good characterization, and the whole concoction is very fresh, actually: no gratuitous sex (though plenty of shirtlessness, which doesn't detracts from anything ;) ) and the comic is very well balanced... balance is what ultimately can make a story truly memorable or a forgettable, uneven venture.

Does this plot make me look fat?
Heathen City isn't that balanced, I am afraid. The art is beautiful, but plot and delivery are weak, and the focus -as I said before- is constantly downwards. As a graphical endeavor, it deserves great kudos, but as a story I am afraid the first installment doesn't impress--- So far, the series gives me the impression of being that teenager consisting of twenty pounds of makeup and one pound of leather and lace, smoking cigarettes through his multi-pierced lips and trying to shock you with the unusual shape of his haircut. It's trying to be so edgy that it cuts itself, and bleeds all over the place. Number two may be different, I'm certainly hoping so, but I am not too optimistic.  The author admitted that Heathen City was an erotic work because eroticism in furry publications tends to sell twice as much as non-erotic work. Taking that into mind, I think the story tends to suffer because of the 'quota' element that needs to be met.

If you want something lovely to look at, go ahead and buy it. But if you come for the story, you might have better look looking somewhere else, or ride it out and hope the next issues become more balanced.

But that's just my two cents, after all.







* The naturalist approach concerns itself with the individual as a victim of circumstances, shaped and inconvenienced by them, without input upon his fate. It is usually Deterministic in approach, and its characters are usually 'shades of grey' without many (or any) convictions. The basic premise is one of helplessness, and the events depicted in its plotlines tend to be more accidental narrative than purposeful argument.

** The Romanticist approach concerns itself with the individual as the master of his own destiny, able to take events as they come and react according to his desires and goals, and to confront adversity without being consumed by it. It is Non-deterministic and its plot is driven by the character's decisions, not by their helplessness.

***  A sidenote: People often confuse the term 'anti-hero' for 'non-traditional hero,' where 'hero' is defined very narrowly by convention as someone who is physically and mentally strong as well as unwavering, etcetera, basically a Superman. As an example, Frodo the Hobbit is not an anti-hero, he's quite a hero, in fact: he is given the choice, and he takes the burden of the Ring by choice during the White Council. After his journey to Lorien, it has become very clear to him what a world with Sauron triumphant would be like, and he would rather risk the journey to Moria and certain death than live in a world like that- despite the fact that he is not a great fighter, nor strong and formidable, nor has any great power that sets him apart. Nevertheless, it is his choice, and his commitment to that choice [with understandable moments of weakness under his burden] that makes him a hero.

Bullets for breakfast. Death for dinner, and a light salad for lunch.
Heathen city seeks to raise the bar for anthropomorphic publications, but does it deliver?

 Heathen City, by Alex Vance, could be considered a dark and gritty crime story featuring anti-heroes, and a generous helping of gay sex. While the intention of  raising the narrative bar is commendable, the problem here is that someone has gotten caught up in the very trendy idea that high quality means dark, gritty, depressing and violent. It's the same symptoms that you find in most science fiction productions nowadays--  I'll be very frank: The whole dystopic angle? Only works if you've got a darned good story to tell, otherwise it's just a gimmick amateur writers pull to say "See how mature I am? I am writing unhappiness!"   It's easier to pull of an unbalanced and mildly entertaining story set in a dystopic setting because the environment already comes with package-deal obstacles common to the genre.

The plot as it stands, trying to cut out any spoilers:  Owen is a hustler who decides to hang his... nevermind, he's decided to go out of business, quit the life of prostitution and stay out of trouble. Trouble soon finds him, however, and in the blink of an eye he is dragging his new beau, Ruy, with him while escaping from people who  don't exactly want to throw a tea party.  They seek the help of Malloy (a Seminarian-turned-boxer-turned-drug dealer), with whom Owen shared a past (and probably a toothbrush), and  then they're off on the road. I've heard Shanghai is lovely this time of year, provided you watch that left turn at Albuquerque.

Knuckles for Snacks.
What we've got here, in the core, is an emulation of Quentin Tarantino, and it doesn't really work because only Tarantino is Tarantino (whom I usually find overrated anyways).   It's very easy to pull all sorts of tricks with a dystopia, But quite frankly? I'm tired of the prevalent attitude that glorifying the gutter is "masterful storytelling." We have a plot that isn't  very well integrated, rather poor characterization, and some very awkward soliloquies that feel out of place- brevity is the soul of wit (as Polonius has the affrontery to observe, after talking your ear off for ten minutes), not excessive verbosity. This creates a certain stiffness about the delivery, and it can be rather awkward . The plot in itself is diaphanous enough that it is hardly there- it is not so much of a plot as things that keep happening, so we have more of a Naturalistic* approach over a Romantic** one.

One of the title's advertised features is "morally ambiguous characters," and on that I do have an opinion:  There's quite a bit of 'moral ambiguity' in Furry as it is- it's the whole 'non-judgmental' approach (through which a great deal of people get away with all sorts of things, from pirating to swindling others, with only very few saying anything about it).  A novel approach, instead, would be writing characters who aren't  morally ambiguous- granted, it isn't cool being morally unambiguous nowadays, but writers don't write to be cool, just to be good---- right?

Concerning the overall plot and the choice of background,  the author replied to a review with the following:  "I love romance, though perhaps HC #1 might lead you to think otherwise. I just think it's... rather precious, and use it sparingly, so it can be all the more powerful for its rarity. I find it too serious a subject to treat lightly, or to visit too often. Sex and arrogance and corruption and violence, however, are such crude metals that they don't lose their shine, and make a fine, fine background for a sparkle of romance, when the time's right for it." {link}


While this was a very enlightening post, as it allowed me to understand what the author sought to do, I am not entirely sure that this works. When your starting place is the gutter and your whole focus is looking down to glorify the gutter instead of looking up... well, what you end up with is a romance of the gutter, which happens between characters that belong there- and for whom you really don't care that much anyways (unless you belong in the gutter, too). Let me put it this way (and you'll excuse me if I get a little Rabelaisian): When you coat a beautiful mink stole with excrement, you don't have a beautiful mink stole anymore. You have sh_t on a dead rodent. A trip to the gutter, if necessary at all in a storyline, should have a purpose further than to serve as a shock device.


Pain for Teatime.
Then, we have the anti-heroes.  I'm not really in for the whole anti-hero worship. The infatuation with that particular archetype tends to be very juvenile. The core of the anti hero is that he does not have any real identity and determination, and are usually shaped and forced by the events that occur to him rather than the other way around: The anti-hero doesn't do what he knows is right because of his determination, but rather because circumstances (mysteriously) conspire against him to the point where he has no apparent choice but to do the right thing. Anti heroes are malleable and amorphous, and usually have their appeal during adolescence- that strange period when you're trying to figure out who you are (if you don't know already) and generally rebel against just about everything. After that, though, clinging to admiration for anti-heroes is rather telling about a person--- after all, we admire what we value.***

There are some very good furry storytellers out there who are publishing their books and comics from whom, I think, one could learn a lesson-- Kyell Gold writes some nice stuff, both erotica and non-erotica alike (although his erotica is more of a romantic nature than your usual share, and it never feels like the book was written around the sex... it seldom, if ever, feels forced or out of place, and there's usually a reason for it), and I am quite fond of "Volle". Vince Suzukawa, the creator of The Class Menagerie, is doing quite well with his new comic, I.S.O. which, although set in territory that some might say is over-used (Coming out story set in a college environment), it isn't Associated Student Bodies: Cody's tale of coming to grips with sexuality is very well told, with good characterization, and the whole concoction is very fresh, actually: no gratuitous sex (though plenty of shirtlessness, which doesn't detracts from anything ;) ) and the comic is very well balanced... balance is what ultimately can make a story truly memorable or a forgettable, uneven venture.

Does this plot make me look fat?
Heathen City isn't that balanced, I am afraid. The art is beautiful, but plot and delivery are weak, and the focus -as I said before- is constantly downwards. As a graphical endeavor, it deserves great kudos, but as a story I am afraid the first installment doesn't impress--- So far, the series gives me the impression of being that teenager consisting of twenty pounds of makeup and one pound of leather and lace, smoking cigarettes through his multi-pierced lips and trying to shock you with the unusual shape of his haircut. It's trying to be so edgy that it cuts itself, and bleeds all over the place. Number two may be different, I'm certainly hoping so, but I am not too optimistic.  The author admitted that Heathen City was an erotic work because eroticism in furry publications tends to sell twice as much as non-erotic work. Taking that into mind, I think the story tends to suffer because of the 'quota' element that needs to be met.

If you want something lovely to look at, go ahead and buy it. But if you come for the story, you might have better look looking somewhere else, or ride it out and hope the next issues become more balanced.

But that's just my two cents, after all.







* The naturalist approach concerns itself with the individual as a victim of circumstances, shaped and inconvenienced by them, without input upon his fate. It is usually Deterministic in approach, and its characters are usually 'shades of grey' without many (or any) convictions. The basic premise is one of helplessness, and the events depicted in its plotlines tend to be more accidental narrative than purposeful argument.

** The Romanticist approach concerns itself with the individual as the master of his own destiny, able to take events as they come and react according to his desires and goals, and to confront adversity without being consumed by it. It is Non-deterministic and its plot is driven by the character's decisions, not by their helplessness.

***  A sidenote: People often confuse the term 'anti-hero' for 'non-traditional hero,' where 'hero' is defined very narrowly by convention as someone who is physically and mentally strong as well as unwavering, etcetera, basically a Superman. As an example, Frodo the Hobbit is not an anti-hero, he's quite a hero, in fact: he is given the choice, and he takes the burden of the Ring by choice during the White Council. After his journey to Lorien, it has become very clear to him what a world with Sauron triumphant would be like, and he would rather risk the journey to Moria and certain death than live in a world like that- despite the fact that he is not a great fighter, nor strong and formidable, nor has any great power that sets him apart. Nevertheless, it is his choice, and his commitment to that choice [with understandable moments of weakness under his burden] that makes him a hero.

Woyro talks about his Anthrocon expiriences. Also plays a naughty song about a woodpecker and does some animal news! Episode 71---Anthrocon Aftermath - Woyro talks about his Anthrocon expiriences. Also plays a naughty song about a woodpecker and does some animal news!

There's a fine line between "tried and true" and "overplayed." The Hero, by Teiran, skirts this line for most of its story, occasionally dipping more firmly into one category or the other before returning back to the more nebulous state in between, where it's more difficult to tell one from the other.

Set in a world very clearly inspired by Dungeons & Dragons (the author himself even cites as much in his opening notes and devotes the story, in part, to Gary Gygax), the fantasy tropes of the books setting won't be shocking or new to anyone familiar with the game, or indeed, anyone who's read much high fantasy. While this isn't inherently a bad thing—spending less time on fleshing out the setting could mean more time on fleshing out the characters and plot—unfortunately, the room and the opporunity that the author left himself to do something more unique go underutilized. Even the fact that the characters are 'furries' plays little, if any, part in either the story or the way that events play out, being more just a cosmetic veneer than anything else.

The story itself is simple enough: a young hyena named Flint, a lowly servant to a cruel innkeeper, falls in love with traveling wolf adventurer Aldain, a Knight of the Cross (think D&D paladin). Due to religious doctrine, male/male relationships are forbidden, but Flint and Aldain quickly end up having sex anyway, which kicks off the plot proper: Aldain must uphold his knightly duties and his faith, and the naive young Flint traipses along after him anyway, without seeing or realizing what the problem is with a man loving another man.

One big problem with Flint's character, though, is that it's stressed—rather repeatedly—that he's nineteen years old, when he clearly demonstrates the emotional maturity (and intellectual capacity) of a twelve- or thirteen-year-old. Were this the case, the story and the character would make a lot more sense, but as it is, especially given the vehemence with which it's stressed that Flint is, in fact, ninteen, it really feels like the author was trying a bit too hard to wash over any implications of underage sex. In a medieval setting, someone who's ninteen years old should be, for all intents and purposes, an adult, but Flint is so markedly oblivious to things like sex, social mores, and even his own land's cultural values and practices, that it's hard to believe his character (and, subsequently, his emotional responsibility to the story).


The other strange thing about Flint's character is that, despite the fact that his sole motivation in the story is to get back together with Aldain, he paradoxically sleeps with all of Aldain's friends in the process. While this is an erotic novel at its core, and it makes sense to spice up the sex scenes by making use of different characters, it feels kind of awkward and forced, especially given Flint's naïvely vulnerable nature. At one point, one of the other characters actually points out that it's weirdly unusual how the group of them all have this inexorable pull to want to lovingly protect (and sleep with) Flint, which had me hoping that it would turn out to be some kind of supernatural draw on the hyena's part; in the end, though, it just turns out that he's young and doable, which feels like a missed opportunity to do something more interesting with the motivations of the other characters (especially since one of the characters who ends up having sex with him nearly right after meeting him admits to having held no prior inclination towards males).

For a simple story (even the Bad Dog Books website claims that the book doesn't try to be "clever or unique"), there are times when the book tries to introduce more detailed subplots, but these never take off the ground. There are hints at political strife and behind-the-scenes plotting amongst religious higher-ups, which begin to show promise of something deeper, but they never really go anywhere, and the focus of the story remains on Flint's quest for Aldain's love. The church is quite vehement about its anti-gay stance, and yet aside from the clergy themselves, none of the other characters seem to regard homosexuality as being the least bit abhorrent or even unusual, despite the fact that the church is shown to have a pervasive influence in this land. There's the potential for a lot of intense sociopolitical drama and inner conflict for the characters, but it never really blossoms, since the love that Flint and Aldain share is shown to be nothing but this pure and beautiful thing from beginning to end.

The author also notes that the story was originally a shorter piece written for an anthology, but after being rejected, it was suggested as a candidate for a novel, with one of the criteria being that the length be doubled. Unfortunately, the result is that the plot itself isn't quite heavy enough to support a full book. Things like foreshadowing and long-term setup, which are essential for a proper, novel-length work, are missing, and there are several important plot points in the third act that come (sometimes literally) out of nowhere. It really does feel like this would have been better left as a novella or even just a short story.

To its credit, the book does still manage to incorporate erotic elements into the plot in a way that makes sense (even if Flint's naïveté sometimes doesn't). With the exception of the first sex scene (which goes on for 18 pages, in which the characters have sex three times), the sex never goes on for so long that it derails the story, and it never comes out of nowhere. It would help if the plot segments in between the erotic scenes carried more detail for the story, but on its own merits, at least the sex is what it is.

Lastly, one major thing that this book could have used was a serious editing pass, as it looks like the manuscript didn't quite get one. There are plentiful mistakes with comma use, dialogue attribution, and homophonic typos (and there's one embarrassing section that takes place in a desert, where roughly half the time, the word is given as 'dessert'). Combined with frequently awkward paragraph structure (possibly a result of needing to 'pad' the story to novel length), this reinforces the feeling that it may have been a bad idea to try to force what might have been a cute, tightly-woven story into a longer, book-length work.

All in all, The Hero does ultimately succeed at being a cute little love story with some erotic elements thrown in, but it perhaps tries a bit too hard to be a novel when it really could have been happy as a short story.

There's a fine line between "tried and true" and "overplayed." The Hero, by Teiran, skirts this line for most of its story, occasionally dipping more firmly into one category or the other before returning back to the more nebulous state in between, where it's more difficult to tell one from the other.

Set in a world very clearly inspired by Dungeons & Dragons (the author himself even cites as much in his opening notes and devotes the story, in part, to Gary Gygax), the fantasy tropes of the books setting won't be shocking or new to anyone familiar with the game, or indeed, anyone who's read much high fantasy. While this isn't inherently a bad thing—spending less time on fleshing out the setting could mean more time on fleshing out the characters and plot—unfortunately, the room and the opporunity that the author left himself to do something more unique go underutilized. Even the fact that the characters are 'furries' plays little, if any, part in either the story or the way that events play out, being more just a cosmetic veneer than anything else.

The story itself is simple enough: a young hyena named Flint, a lowly servant to a cruel innkeeper, falls in love with traveling wolf adventurer Aldain, a Knight of the Cross (think D&D paladin). Due to religious doctrine, male/male relationships are forbidden, but Flint and Aldain quickly end up having sex anyway, which kicks off the plot proper: Aldain must uphold his knightly duties and his faith, and the naive young Flint traipses along after him anyway, without seeing or realizing what the problem is with a man loving another man.

One big problem with Flint's character, though, is that it's stressed—rather repeatedly—that he's nineteen years old, when he clearly demonstrates the emotional maturity (and intellectual capacity) of a twelve- or thirteen-year-old. Were this the case, the story and the character would make a lot more sense, but as it is, especially given the vehemence with which it's stressed that Flint is, in fact, ninteen, it really feels like the author was trying a bit too hard to wash over any implications of underage sex. In a medieval setting, someone who's ninteen years old should be, for all intents and purposes, an adult, but Flint is so markedly oblivious to things like sex, social mores, and even his own land's cultural values and practices, that it's hard to believe his character (and, subsequently, his emotional responsibility to the story).


The other strange thing about Flint's character is that, despite the fact that his sole motivation in the story is to get back together with Aldain, he paradoxically sleeps with all of Aldain's friends in the process. While this is an erotic novel at its core, and it makes sense to spice up the sex scenes by making use of different characters, it feels kind of awkward and forced, especially given Flint's naïvely vulnerable nature. At one point, one of the other characters actually points out that it's weirdly unusual how the group of them all have this inexorable pull to want to lovingly protect (and sleep with) Flint, which had me hoping that it would turn out to be some kind of supernatural draw on the hyena's part; in the end, though, it just turns out that he's young and doable, which feels like a missed opportunity to do something more interesting with the motivations of the other characters (especially since one of the characters who ends up having sex with him nearly right after meeting him admits to having held no prior inclination towards males).

For a simple story (even the Bad Dog Books website claims that the book doesn't try to be "clever or unique"), there are times when the book tries to introduce more detailed subplots, but these never take off the ground. There are hints at political strife and behind-the-scenes plotting amongst religious higher-ups, which begin to show promise of something deeper, but they never really go anywhere, and the focus of the story remains on Flint's quest for Aldain's love. The church is quite vehement about its anti-gay stance, and yet aside from the clergy themselves, none of the other characters seem to regard homosexuality as being the least bit abhorrent or even unusual, despite the fact that the church is shown to have a pervasive influence in this land. There's the potential for a lot of intense sociopolitical drama and inner conflict for the characters, but it never really blossoms, since the love that Flint and Aldain share is shown to be nothing but this pure and beautiful thing from beginning to end.

The author also notes that the story was originally a shorter piece written for an anthology, but after being rejected, it was suggested as a candidate for a novel, with one of the criteria being that the length be doubled. Unfortunately, the result is that the plot itself isn't quite heavy enough to support a full book. Things like foreshadowing and long-term setup, which are essential for a proper, novel-length work, are missing, and there are several important plot points in the third act that come (sometimes literally) out of nowhere. It really does feel like this would have been better left as a novella or even just a short story.

To its credit, the book does still manage to incorporate erotic elements into the plot in a way that makes sense (even if Flint's naïveté sometimes doesn't). With the exception of the first sex scene (which goes on for 18 pages, in which the characters have sex three times), the sex never goes on for so long that it derails the story, and it never comes out of nowhere. It would help if the plot segments in between the erotic scenes carried more detail for the story, but on its own merits, at least the sex is what it is.

Lastly, one major thing that this book could have used was a serious editing pass, as it looks like the manuscript didn't quite get one. There are plentiful mistakes with comma use, dialogue attribution, and homophonic typos (and there's one embarrassing section that takes place in a desert, where roughly half the time, the word is given as 'dessert'). Combined with frequently awkward paragraph structure (possibly a result of needing to 'pad' the story to novel length), this reinforces the feeling that it may have been a bad idea to try to force what might have been a cute, tightly-woven story into a longer, book-length work.

All in all, The Hero does ultimately succeed at being a cute little love story with some erotic elements thrown in, but it perhaps tries a bit too hard to be a novel when it really could have been happy as a short story.

(cross-posted from my writing blog)



Disclaimer: Kevin is a friend of mine and I edited "Thousand Leaves" for Sofawolf, so I am admittedly somewhat biased. :) I read it a while ago, but because it's just been released, I can post this.

Furry fiction lends itself to one of two main types of story: one in which the characters cannot stop obsessing over their "furriness" (whether good or bad), and one in which the furriness barely plays a role. It's rare to find a world that is so internally consistent that the ramifications of a society composed of so many different species are apparent to the reader, but completely ordinary to the characters. It's even rarer to find a good story set in such a world.

The world of "Thousand Leaves" is a multi-species community, at a level of technology roughly contemporary to ours. The city itself is a marvel of architecture and class distinction, with three levels separated from each other physically as well as by class. Reeve, one of the heroes of the book, has just come off a relationship that propelled him into the higher class briefly. He misses both the higher class and the relationship, but more importantly, he's starting to feel that something is wrong with him. His ex, who has taken up with a new boyfriend, misinterprets Reeve's attempts to warn him, even when some of their other upper-class friends start to get sick. Reeve has to turn to their mutual friend Monique and, in a strange turn of events, his ex's new boyfriend, to get to the bottom of the disease.

To tell more about the plot would be to ruin the excitement of what is a tautly constructed thriller. The early part of the book starts slowly, introducing you to the ensemble cast and the spiderweb of relationships that connect them, while laying the groundwork for the medical thriller to come. Think of it as the clack-clack-clack of the roller coaster mounting the hill. Once you crest the hill--and you'll know just where that is--the book doesn't let you go.

Kevin has a terrific touch with character, which allows him to pull off the very tricky feat of having an ensemble cast with character arcs of their own. Each of the personalities in the book is distinct and well-realized, with marvelous dialogue between them. The real joy of "Thousand Leaves" is getting to know the characters, and that's what gives an extra dimension to the medical thriller: you've come to truly care about the characters whose lives are at stake. That's not to short-change his ability to describe the city or the pathos he plunges his cast into, nor the complex plot he has his characters navigate, nor the textured feeling of the world they live in. But the characters are the heart of this book, and a vibrant, engaging heart it is.

I don't usually review Sofawolf books because I'm so intimately involved in the selection, edition, and production. And of course I'm going to say good things about our titles. But I'm particularly proud of having been a part of the release of "Thousand Leaves," not only because it's good for Kevin and good for Sofawolf, but because it's such a great story and exemplar of what we look for in a furry novel. So take my review with a grain of salt, but give "Thousand Leaves" the benefit of the doubt. We wouldn't be printing it if it weren't a great book.

(cross-posted from my writing blog)



Disclaimer: Kevin is a friend of mine and I edited "Thousand Leaves" for Sofawolf, so I am admittedly somewhat biased. :) I read it a while ago, but because it's just been released, I can post this.

Furry fiction lends itself to one of two main types of story: one in which the characters cannot stop obsessing over their "furriness" (whether good or bad), and one in which the furriness barely plays a role. It's rare to find a world that is so internally consistent that the ramifications of a society composed of so many different species are apparent to the reader, but completely ordinary to the characters. It's even rarer to find a good story set in such a world.

The world of "Thousand Leaves" is a multi-species community, at a level of technology roughly contemporary to ours. The city itself is a marvel of architecture and class distinction, with three levels separated from each other physically as well as by class. Reeve, one of the heroes of the book, has just come off a relationship that propelled him into the higher class briefly. He misses both the higher class and the relationship, but more importantly, he's starting to feel that something is wrong with him. His ex, who has taken up with a new boyfriend, misinterprets Reeve's attempts to warn him, even when some of their other upper-class friends start to get sick. Reeve has to turn to their mutual friend Monique and, in a strange turn of events, his ex's new boyfriend, to get to the bottom of the disease.

To tell more about the plot would be to ruin the excitement of what is a tautly constructed thriller. The early part of the book starts slowly, introducing you to the ensemble cast and the spiderweb of relationships that connect them, while laying the groundwork for the medical thriller to come. Think of it as the clack-clack-clack of the roller coaster mounting the hill. Once you crest the hill--and you'll know just where that is--the book doesn't let you go.

Kevin has a terrific touch with character, which allows him to pull off the very tricky feat of having an ensemble cast with character arcs of their own. Each of the personalities in the book is distinct and well-realized, with marvelous dialogue between them. The real joy of "Thousand Leaves" is getting to know the characters, and that's what gives an extra dimension to the medical thriller: you've come to truly care about the characters whose lives are at stake. That's not to short-change his ability to describe the city or the pathos he plunges his cast into, nor the complex plot he has his characters navigate, nor the textured feeling of the world they live in. But the characters are the heart of this book, and a vibrant, engaging heart it is.

I don't usually review Sofawolf books because I'm so intimately involved in the selection, edition, and production. And of course I'm going to say good things about our titles. But I'm particularly proud of having been a part of the release of "Thousand Leaves," not only because it's good for Kevin and good for Sofawolf, but because it's such a great story and exemplar of what we look for in a furry novel. So take my review with a grain of salt, but give "Thousand Leaves" the benefit of the doubt. We wouldn't be printing it if it weren't a great book.

Dream-Carver is the third novel based on Sanguine Productions' pen-and-paper RPG system Ironclaw. For those unfamiliar with the setting, the world of Ironclaw is one populated by anthropomorphic animals, loosely based on Age of Enlightenment Europe, with a hefty dose of magic thrown in to keep things tricky. Unlike, say, D&D, where the conceit is a high-fantasy world, Ironclaw very much stresses things like social conflict, class interaction, and a world where a nobleman might well be more fearsome than a powerful wizard.

In this regard, Dream-Carver is quite successful in capturing the flair of the world and applying it to a story that's quite different from the previous two novels set there (Scars and Black Iron). The central character is Sister Annarisse, an equine priestess who also happens to be of minor noble stock as well. The story does a great job of highlighting just how much authority one person can have when both a member of the clergy and a member of a noble house. Most of this is shown in her interactions with the other two main characters, the vulpine Captain Salvatore (a commoner) and the rather brash Baron Treeden, son of a very powerful wolf noblewoman.

Most of the book takes place with the characters aboard a sailing vessel, which serves as a nice device to keep the characters in contact with one another, especially when their personalities might otherwise cause them to part ways rather swiftly (van Hiel does a great job of letting all of these larger-than-life personages abrade on each other with all the hauteur one would expect of three people who are all used to getting their own way in their respective avenues of life). On the other hand, this means that a good portion of the book is also dedicated to describing the ins and outs of a naval voyage, which will be a good thing if you're interested in that sort of thing, but which could probably be boring and tedious for those who are not.

Description is one area that van Hiel does quite a good job with, both when it comes to aspects of naval history as well as both the romantic and not-so-romantic aspects of the pre-industrial world. In an odd departure from a lot of books featuring animal-people characters, there's markedly less description for the characters themselves; perhaps there's an assumption that the reader will be familiar with what sort of two-legged critters they should be imagining, and it doesn't stand out that much, but it's worth noting. At any rate, as mentioned above, the characters' personalities are well-defined, which is more important than physical appearance, anyway.

The story itself is quite brisk; individual chapters are usually only around 3 to 5 pages long, with each chapter containing at least one point that moves the story forward. Were it not for the subject matter (there are subplots concerning alcoholism, crises of faith, and the ethics of slavery), it's almost structured like the sort of story you'd read a little bit at a time to a child before putting them to bed. As it is, for us grown-up readers, the pacing is nice and fast and the story itself doesn't ever 'drag,' despite the occasional brief stop to describe something in detail.

One complaint is that there are times when it's a bit too obvious that the story is based on a role-playing game setting. New characters join the voyage with little to no preamble, at points, and while they do all eventually find their purpose within the story itself, the method of introduction sometimes feels like, "and then the GM needed to bring this character into things." Similarly, there are one or two minor characters who just kind of drop out of the story without mention once their core purpose has been served. Considering the fast pace of the book, this is more forgivable than it otherwise might be, and if one were unaware of the setting's origins, it might almost go unnoticed.

All in all, this is a well-rendered book that fans of Ironclaw should definitely appreciate, and for those who aren't familiar with that setting, they should enjoy a look at a "furry fantasy world" that isn't too typical of the ones normally portrayed in fantasy novels. The climax and denouement are a bit too rushed, but as is probably appropriate for a story about a naval voyage, it's the journey that's important, and overall, the story itself doesn't disappoint.

Recommended For: fans of 'Ironclaw', low fantasy, and aficionados of naval history

Dream-Carver is the third novel based on Sanguine Productions' pen-and-paper RPG system Ironclaw. For those unfamiliar with the setting, the world of Ironclaw is one populated by anthropomorphic animals, loosely based on Age of Enlightenment Europe, with a hefty dose of magic thrown in to keep things tricky. Unlike, say, D&D, where the conceit is a high-fantasy world, Ironclaw very much stresses things like social conflict, class interaction, and a world where a nobleman might well be more fearsome than a powerful wizard.

In this regard, Dream-Carver is quite successful in capturing the flair of the world and applying it to a story that's quite different from the previous two novels set there (Scars and Black Iron). The central character is Sister Annarisse, an equine priestess who also happens to be of minor noble stock as well. The story does a great job of highlighting just how much authority one person can have when both a member of the clergy and a member of a noble house. Most of this is shown in her interactions with the other two main characters, the vulpine Captain Salvatore (a commoner) and the rather brash Baron Treeden, son of a very powerful wolf noblewoman.

Most of the book takes place with the characters aboard a sailing vessel, which serves as a nice device to keep the characters in contact with one another, especially when their personalities might otherwise cause them to part ways rather swiftly (van Hiel does a great job of letting all of these larger-than-life personages abrade on each other with all the hauteur one would expect of three people who are all used to getting their own way in their respective avenues of life). On the other hand, this means that a good portion of the book is also dedicated to describing the ins and outs of a naval voyage, which will be a good thing if you're interested in that sort of thing, but which could probably be boring and tedious for those who are not.

Description is one area that van Hiel does quite a good job with, both when it comes to aspects of naval history as well as both the romantic and not-so-romantic aspects of the pre-industrial world. In an odd departure from a lot of books featuring animal-people characters, there's markedly less description for the characters themselves; perhaps there's an assumption that the reader will be familiar with what sort of two-legged critters they should be imagining, and it doesn't stand out that much, but it's worth noting. At any rate, as mentioned above, the characters' personalities are well-defined, which is more important than physical appearance, anyway.

The story itself is quite brisk; individual chapters are usually only around 3 to 5 pages long, with each chapter containing at least one point that moves the story forward. Were it not for the subject matter (there are subplots concerning alcoholism, crises of faith, and the ethics of slavery), it's almost structured like the sort of story you'd read a little bit at a time to a child before putting them to bed. As it is, for us grown-up readers, the pacing is nice and fast and the story itself doesn't ever 'drag,' despite the occasional brief stop to describe something in detail.

One complaint is that there are times when it's a bit too obvious that the story is based on a role-playing game setting. New characters join the voyage with little to no preamble, at points, and while they do all eventually find their purpose within the story itself, the method of introduction sometimes feels like, "and then the GM needed to bring this character into things." Similarly, there are one or two minor characters who just kind of drop out of the story without mention once their core purpose has been served. Considering the fast pace of the book, this is more forgivable than it otherwise might be, and if one were unaware of the setting's origins, it might almost go unnoticed.

All in all, this is a well-rendered book that fans of Ironclaw should definitely appreciate, and for those who aren't familiar with that setting, they should enjoy a look at a "furry fantasy world" that isn't too typical of the ones normally portrayed in fantasy novels. The climax and denouement are a bit too rushed, but as is probably appropriate for a story about a naval voyage, it's the journey that's important, and overall, the story itself doesn't disappoint.

Recommended For: fans of 'Ironclaw', low fantasy, and aficionados of naval history

This episode is Woyro's trip diary as he travels to Anthrocon '09 in Pittsburgh. Episode 70---Off to Anthrocon! - This episode is Woyro's trip diary as he travels to Anthrocon '09 in Pittsburgh.

Woyro gives a preview of whats in store at Antrocon. Episode 69---Off to Anthrocon - Woyro gives a preview of whats in store at Antrocon.

Woyro travels down to Pennsylvania to talk with 2 crazies behind the PA Pawpets show...Wolfdog and Darkwolf. Episode 68--Interview with PA Pawpets - Woyro travels down to Pennsylvania to talk with 2 crazies behind the PA Pawpets show...Wolfdog and Darkwolf.

Woyro talks about his trip to Pennsylvania to visit the PA PETS, relates some breaking convention news and runs down the winners of the Ursa Major awards. Episode 67---Con news, PA trip & Ursa Major Awards - Woyro talks about his trip to Pennsylvania to visit the PA PETS, relates some breaking convention news and runs down the winners of the Ursa Major…

Update on some convention news and an interview with fellow skunkie podcaster Marcus Noble. Episode 66---Interview with Marcus Noble - Update on some convention news and an interview with fellow skunkie podcaster Marcus Noble.

Lots of furry news stories and a tune from funny filker Tom Smith. Episode 65---Furry News and Tom Smith - Lots of furry news stories and a tune from funny filker Tom Smith.

Woyro runs down the upcomming conventions and plays a tune by Sub Level 03 Episode 64---Con News and Sub Level 03 - Woyro runs down the upcomming conventions and plays a tune by Sub Level 03

Woyro talks a little more about All Fur Fun and plays some stuff from Matthew Ebel. Episode 63---Matthew Ebel and All Fur Fun - Woyro talks a little more about All Fur Fun and plays some stuff from Matthew Ebel.

Woyro talks about his flight out to Spokane, Washington for "All Fur Fun". also some comments about Megaplex. Episode 62---Live from "All Fur Fun" in Spokane - Woyro talks about his flight out to Spokane, Washington for "All Fur Fun". also some comments about Megaplex.

Woyro talks about his 15 minutes of fame at Megaplex. Onstage with 2 the Ranting Gryphon. Episode 61--On Stage With 2, the Ranting Gryphon - Woyro talks about his 15 minutes of fame at Megaplex. Onstage with 2 the Ranting Gryphon.

I would describe Michael Bergey's 2005 book New Coyote (Five Star, $25.95, ISBN 1594143226) as a must read for science fiction and furry fans alike. The Plains Indians and many of the southwestern tribes as well had an archetypal legend of Coyote, the Trickster. He was a demigod who had mystical powers of self-reincarnation and recreation and he loved to catch others in tricks that could be very nasty indeed for the victim. Of course, in our modern age, hardly anyone believes in the ancient spirits, and consequently they have declined in power until they are nearly forgotten.

Coyote doesn't accept this state of affairs, however. He always has a plan, and his new plan requires that he be born again into physical flesh, without memory or knowledge of who he is, so that he can study modern society and culture and perhaps find a way to restore himself and his fellow gods to their rightful places. His avatar, if we may borrow a term from Asian thought, looks like an ordinary coyote, but we quickly learn that he is both smarter than the average human, and can both understand and speak human language when he chooses.

So where does he set himself down to begin his study of human society? Why, in the middle of an illegal marijuana plantation in the western US, where he acts like an ordinary dog, herding goats for the human owner, Mooney. When Mooney narrowly escapes capture by narcotics agents and has to run, Coyote goes too. This is where the adventure really begins. He manages (mostly) to keep humans from trying to kill him, and pries into everything that is going on with a little help from some of his fellow demigods.

Unfortunately, Fox seems to have it in for him and begins to campaign for Coyote's death, claiming that it would be best all around, and Coyote must find a way to foil the Fox as well as the human villains. The story is largely told in first person, as seen through Coyote's own eyes. The author, a veterinarian by profession, has an excellent feel for the heightened awareness of the canine, and reminds us frequently of the things he smells or hears that mere humans would miss. He also has a magnificent feeling for the trickster tradition of the Native American demigod, which manifests itself repeatedly as Coyote evades capture and turns the schemes of humans back on themselves. I won't give away the outcome, other than to say you'll be hoping for more. As it happens, there is more to be had, as Bergey's second book, Coyote Season, was released in 2007.

As far as I know, these books have not been offered in paperback format. The hardcover editions are in print and available from online booksellers as well as large bookstores, but if the price seems too steep, try your library. Five Star is an imprint of Thorndike/Gale, a publisher that sells primarily to libraries so even if your local library doesn't have the book, they should be able to borrow it for you from somewhere else.

Rating: 5 of 5 possible apples