Series Saturday: THE ATOMIC KNIGHTS

This is a blog series about … well, series. I love stories that continue across volumes, in whatever form: linked short stories, novels, novellas, television, movies, comics.

Cover art by Murphy Anderson

The Atomic Knights, published by DC Comics, (hardcover collected edition: 2010)

Writers: John Broome

Art: Murphy Anderson

Editor: Julius Schwartz

 

I could write a whole post (and perhaps someday I will) on how I have DC’s 100-Page Spectaculars of the 1970s (and to a lesser extent, their digest-sized reprints in the 80s) to thank for my love of most of the company’s non-super-hero content, and in particular DC’s science fiction, adventure team, and historical characters of the early Silver Age (not to mention my love of their Golden Age superheroes). On the science fiction side of things, those oversized issues were rife with reprints of the exploits of (among others) Tommy Tomorrow, Adam Strange, the Star Rovers, Space Cabby, and the Atomic Knights.

Written by John Broome, with art by Murphy Anderson, and under the editorship of Julie Schwartz, the Knights debuted in Strange Adventures #117 (June 1960) and ran intermittently in the title under #160 (January 1964), a mere 15 adventures in three-and-a-half years. But what adventures they were – and what an effect they had on pre-teen and early-teen me when they were reprinted a decade or so later. I no longer own most of the various issues those reprints appeared in, nor do I know if every single Atomic Knights story was reprinted at the time. But in 2010, DC published a hardcover collection of all 15 original stories. I recently re-read it, hence this post.

For those who may not be familiar with the Atomic Knights, here’s the set-up: it is 1986 and World War III, the Great Atomic War, is over after a scant 20 days. Amnesiac soldier Gardner Grayle finds his way to a ruined city whose citizens are desperate for food and medicine, both of which are being hoarded by a warlord calling himself the Black Baron. Grayle teams up with some of the locals (Douglas Herald, a teacher; Marene, Douglas’s sister; redheaded twin brothers Hollis and Wayne Hobard; and a scientist named Bryndon) to take down the Baron wearing ancient armor that is impervious to the Baron’s radioactive weapons. Hence, the group name. The Baron is, unsurprisingly, defeated and run off in the first episode, whereafter the Knights alternate between protecting their small city of Durvale from a variety of menaces and traveling out to explore what’s left of the United States of America.

As was typical of comics of the period, the characterizations are rather flat, with each team member designed to fill a particular role. Gardner is the square-jawed, death-defying, motivational-speech-giving, “do what’s right no matter how dangerous” leader. Douglas is the practical-minded, thoughtful second-in-command and provider of much exposition. Marene is the requisite damsel-in-distress love interest. Wayne and Hollis are the loyal, do-as-told, muscle of the group. Bryndon is the scientist, the gadget man, and the not-so-subtle reminder that science without conscience is usually not a good thing. There are moments where some of these molds are broken (Wayne and Hollis get to build gliders for the team to use, something that usually would be Bryndon’s role; Marene finally gets to go undercover and save the day in the series’ final installment, “Here Come the Wild Ones,” although Broome still can’t resist having the story end with her thinking that as happy as she is that her mission was a success, she’d be happier if she and Gardner could finally get married and start a family.) but for the most part, each character plays his/her assigned role.

The stories started out very episodic, rarely mentioning what had come before other than the team’s origin. In the early adventures, the team visits other small enclaves of surviving humans as well as the remains of New York City and Los Angeles (in later stories, they also get to New Orleans, Detroit, and Washington DC), each time facing radiation-created monsters or greedy humans who need to be defeated. With the introduction of a revived Atlantean civilization as a threat, the stories develop stronger internal continuity, and it becomes clearer that the stories are progressing in something close to real time. While the stories were published between 1960 and 1964, the characters progress from 1986 to 1992, with some amazing advances in recovery from an atomic war (or “the hydrogen war,” as it’s called in some stories). The Atlantean threat is a 3-parter which also introduces the giant dalmatians (the first giant irradiated creatures that do not pose a threat) that will serve as the Knights’ steeds for the rest of the run.

Actual aliens visit the radiation-devastated Earth in “Menace of the Metal-Looters,” one of the series’ weaker entries, but they are the only extra-terrestrial threat the Knights face – the exception that proves the series’ rule: we humans are our own worst enemies, whether through misused technology, hubris and greed, or both. Okay, that’s not 100% true. “When The Earth Blacked Out” reveals that World War III / the Nuclear War / The Hydrogen War started not because of any one nation, but because of an energy pulse sent out by an underground civilization of mole people! (It was the 1960s, and lost underground civilizations were all the rage in SF and comics.) Douglas’ declaration that “we humans still cannot escape responsibility” (because we created the bombs in the first place) feels a little tacked on, almost insincere. I get what Broome was going for, but I think it would have been better for the series overall if the actual start of the war had just been left unexplored.

Throughout the run, Murphy Anderson’s art is consistently excellent. His characters have distinct facial features and body language, his action sequences are dynamic, and even the silliest monsters (I say again: mole people!) are threatening. There’s a reason he’s one of the most highly regarded and revered artists of the late Golden and Silver Age.

The 2010 hardcover collection does not include the Atomic Knights’ later appearances in DC Comics’ Kamandi and Hercules Unbound, wherein it was revealed that all three series shared the same future world, nor their appearance in DC Comics Presents. The Kamandi and Hercules Unbound appearances are included in a black-and-white paperback collection called Showcase Presents the Great Disaster Starring the Atomic Knights (whew!), which I recently ordered a copy of. I look forward to revisiting those stories. I do own a copy of the DC Comics Presents issue where Superman “teams up” with the Atomic Knights. I’ve always been conflicted about it. On the one hand, it relegates the original Strange Adventures stories to being the dreams of a soldier (Gardner Grayle) in suspended animation, in an unnecessary attempt to explain why the series’ 1986 and the real world 1986 look different – which I think does a disservice to Broome and Anderson. On the other hand, it did pave the way for a “modern times” Gardner Grayle to join The Outsiders (one of my then-favorite titles and teams) as The Atomic Knight, which I really liked.

Overall, my reread of the hardcover collection cemented why the sometimes-silly post-apocalyptic Atomic Knights series was, and remains, one of my favorite non-superhero DC runs.

 

 

If you enjoyed this post, check out some of my previous DC comics-related Series Saturday posts:

Silverblade, First Issue Special, Nathaniel Dusk, Young Heroes in Love

Series Saturday: CHEFS OF THE FIVE GODS

This is a blog series about … well, series. I love stories that continue across volumes, in whatever form: linked short stories, novels, novellas, television, movies, comics.

cover designs by Philip Pascuzzo

Chefs of the Five Gods duology

Written by Beth Cato

published by 47 North (2023 – 2024)

Titles:

·       A Thousand Recipes for Revenge (2023)

·       A Feast for Starving Stone (2024)

 

“Chefs of the Five Gods,” Beth Cato’s recent fantasy duology, features intriguing world-building, complicated characters, and strong commentary on how something being a cultural norm or tradition doesn’t necessarily mean it’s morally correct.

The world itself is politically and geographically based on Western Europe in the pre-Colonial period. At the start of book one, A Thousand Recipes for Revenge, Solenn, a princess of Braiz (essentially coastal northern France as its own country) has been promised in marriage to a prince of Verdania (the larger, more landlocked portion of France). Thanks to recent events (including the virtual destruction of Braiz’s once powerful navy), Verdania is a more politically and militarily powerful nation than Braiz. Braiz needs the ally, given its geographic position between Verdania and the equally powerful and antagonistic island nation of Albion, a constant threat. Accompanied to Verdania’s capitol city by only a small handful of musketeers led by her father’s closest friend and her mentor, Erwan Corre, Solenn must navigate the politics of a foreign nation and the burgeoning of a power she didn’t know she had: she’s a Chef.

In this world, ingredients called epicurea, derived from certain animals and plants, hold magic. Foods cooked with epicurea do everything from enhancing stamina and erasing wrinkles to making voices louder and more sonorous … and being used as sometimes-undetectable poisons. People who can empathically sense epicurea are called Chefs, and in Verdania and Albion they are conscripted into service of the government. Especially empathetic Chefs can even sense the aromas and flavors of ordinary ingredients and can perfectly pair epicurean and non-epicurean ingredients to create unforgettable meals. Ada Garland is a rogue Chef, on the run from service to Verdania’s ruthless king and separated from the love of her life, a Braizian musketeer named Erwan Corre. When Ada is attacked by employees of a man she sent to prison many years earlier, she is put on a path that will inevitably lead her to the daughter she sent away with Erwan for safety’s sake: Solenn.

The combination of a volatile political situation and a magic that only certain people can wield is a potent one. Throw in two strong female leads and a diverse supporting cast, all with their own secrets, and you have a fast-moving, often surprising pair of books that I highly recommend.

Solenn has no idea that Erwan and Ada are her parents, so learning she’s a Chef (as she senses poison in a meal being served to her soon-to-be husband) is a shock that leads to the reveal of her parentage. These early scenes with Solenn establish who she is so clearly: strong-willed, intelligent, but still afraid of being alone once she’s married in a court of enemies. She is not happy about being a political tool, but she loves her country too much to shirk what she perceives as her duty. Learning that she is in fact not the child of the parents who raised her, learning that she is in fact “gifted” with a talent she’s only seen others possess, learning that there’s a plot to kill her betrothed … all of this turns her world upside down, but doesn’t deter her from doing what she knows is the right thing.

Solenn’s scenes alternate with Ada’s which almost from the start are more action-packed (arrests, chases, and attacks) but are equally informative about who Ada is: strong-willed, intelligent, well-trained in sword and gun and hand-to-hand combat, afraid of the toll being on the run has taken on her beloved grandmother, also a rogue Chef. She loves the ability she possesses, hates having to create less-than-perfect meals to serve customers at the Inn where she works so that no one will suspect she’s a rogue Chef. She is devoted to her grandmother, to the friends she served with, to the memory of her marriage to Erwan Corre, annulled by edict of Verdania’s king (which forced her to send her infant daughter away). Both women would do anything, risk anything, for the people they love – and throughout the duology they do just that.

Mother and Daughter’s paths slowly converge over the course of the first book, as the true magical origins of epicurea add another layer of intrigue and several of the Five Gods become personally involved in the events. A Thousand Recipes for Revenge wraps up its major plot points before the book’s denouement, but not everyone emerges completely unscathed … and everything escalates in book two, A Feast for Starving Stone. Albionish machinations in book one lead to outright war in book two as Solenn finds herself in a new role, creating an alliance between Braiz and the previously unknown magical world to save Braiz from being overwhelmed by larger and more powerful enemies attacking from both sides.

A large portion of A Thousand Recipes for Revenge is devoted to the political intrigues surrounding Solenn and the revelations of why Ada went rogue (and how that reason is coming back to threaten her), making the book a delightful slow boil of alternating viewpoints, keeping the reader wondering how and when Ada’s and Solenn’s stories will converge. The reveal of the mother-daughter connection comes early, which enabled me to enjoy picking out how similar, and how different, the two women are without too much time spent on wondering why they are so similar. (I should admit here that I received a print ARC of the book and because I’m such a Beth Cato fan, I dove right in without reading the back cover copy, where the relationship is revealed in the first paragraph.) As noted above, they are both strong women who love their families and would do anything to protect the people they love – even if that means facing fatal danger. But where Solenn also loved her country, Ada is jaded and embittered against hers (for good reason), and this difference in political fealty affects the decisions each makes, which in turn propels the narrative. I hope you can tell how much I love, and feel for, both characters.

I also really enjoyed the supporting cast. Not just Erwan Corre, who is a wonderfully relaxed yet dangerous man, but also the sweet but mysterious Aveyron Silvacane and his father Brillat; Ada’s beloved Grand-Mere, suffering from dementia; Ada’s friend and former fellow soldier Emone and her wife Claudette; and others I loath to identify in fear of spoiling some major plot twists/reveals.

While Thousand Recipes focuses very much on behind-the-scenes political machinations and spycraft before moving into a deadly battle, A Feast for Starving Stone’s opening chapter makes it clear that war is no longer imminent, it is here – and Braiz is caught in a pincer between Albion and Verdania. Solenn and Ada again find themselves on separate quests to protect the people they love, again at great personal peril, and again caught up in the games several of the Five Gods seem to be playing with humanity and with each other. Starving Stone is a much faster paced, blatantly action filled than Thousand Recipes, which puts the books in interesting counterpoint to each other, just as Solenn and Ada counterpoint but complement each other. There is much more bloodshed in Starving Stone but there is also emotional healing and bonding. The book has a lot to say about how we heal from trauma, and how we sometimes come to forgiveness and understanding for those who have harmed us. (Solenn in particular has a painfully beautiful arc regarding this.)

Throughout both books, it is clear that all of these countries regard epicurea as a tool, drawn from animals who are not as important as the humans in control of the world. Many of these animals are hunted to near extinction or bred in horrible circumstances, the plants overharvested. While I am not a vegetarian or vegan, I recognize the parallels between the epicurea of Cato’s world and the hunting, cruel breeding/raising, and overharvesting that happens in our own. As mentioned earlier, Cato makes a persuasive case that just because something is an ingrained cultural institution doesn’t mean it is the morally correct or empathetic thing to do. But we’ve all seen in our own world how hard it is to get people to change from “the way it’s always been” to “a way that is more caring,” and the characters in this duology struggle with what will be a massive cultural shift.

“Chefs of the Five Gods” is currently billed as a duology, and the second book ends on a satisfying note with all the major plotlines tied up, but I really hope Cato will return to this world. It feels like there’s still plenty to explore both in where the characters will go (I totally ship Solenn and Aveyron, by the way. If I wrote fanfiction…) and in the shifts in politics and culture that the reveal of the truth about epicurea should bring about. Still, for now the story is done and I cannot recommend highly enough that fantasy fans seek out A Thousand Recipes for Revenge and A Feast for Starving Stone.

I’ve also featured Beth Cato’s Blood of Earth trilogy on Series Saturday. You can find that post HERE. And I’ve reviewed several of her short stories. Those reviews can be found HERE.

Series Saturday: PERCY JACKSON AND THE OLYMPIANS Season One

This is a blog series about … well, series. I love stories that continue across volumes, in whatever form: linked short stories, novels, novellas, television, movies, comics.

 

Percy Jackson and the Olympians Season One television series (2023 - 2024)

Starred: Walker Scobell, Leah Sava Jeffries, Aryan Simhadri

Produced by 20th Television, Co-Lab 21, Gotham Group, Moorish Dignity Productions, Quaker Moving Pictures, and Walt Disney Studios

Originally aired on Disney+

Count me in as one of the many viewers who are far more satisfied with this television adaptation of Book One of Rick Riordan’s Percy Jackson and the Olympians series than with the previous movie attempts. (To be honest: I am also one of those folks who liked the movies fine for what they were, but faithful to the novels they were not.) Disney’s eight-episode season allowed for a much more faithful (but not slavishly so) adaptation. Is it perfect? No, of course not. No adaptation from one form of media to another ever is. But it’s a damn fine eight hours of television, in this viewer’s eyes. I’m not going to spend time talking about the changes. Rick Riordan himself has commented on most of them on his social media, and while I love the books it has been over a decade since I last read The Lightning Thief. I’ll stick to my thoughts on the show we got rather than lamenting (or lambasting) the things we didn’t.

First and foremost: kudos to the casting department, especially on the three leads. I may be one of the few people on Earth who still have not seen The Adam Project, so my only awareness of Walker Scobell was when clips from that movie started to show up on social media, but what I saw in those clips definitely fit my perception of Percy. Scobell’s excellent use of snark is not the only reason he’s a great Percy, of course. He really gets the character’s struggles to fit in, to control his anger at his absentee father, to manage his ADHD; he also embodies Percy’s loyalty to those he calls friends (and his pain when those friends betray, or seem to betray, him). Leah Sava Jeffries is pretty much his perfect match as Annabeth – she too can bring the snark, but the best moments were watching her struggle with being the smartest person in the room. Aryan Simhadri brings a loveable goofiness to Grover that never tips over into broad caricature (which it could easily have done); his sense of comic timing is spot on. (Bonus points for the casting director who found Azriel Dalman to play young Percy; I believed he and Walker were playing the same kid.)

The adults are also perfectly cast. Virginia Kull is heartbreaking as Sally Jackson while also being a bastion of parental support (however imperfect at times). The gods and monsters (Lin Manuel Miranda, Toby Stephens, Megan Mulally, Timothy Omundson, Glynn Turman, Jay Duplass, Jason Mantzoukas, Jessica Parker Kennedy, Suzanne Cryer) are all excellent in their turns, but full credit especially to Adam Copeland as Ares. I do wish the late, great Lance Reddick had had more screen time as Zeus. I am also glad that on screen and even in the credits and despite their overwhelming star power, all these wonderful adults were not allowed to overshadow the three leads. They were supporting characters or antagonists (or both) but never stole focus.

My one major complaint with the season is that it should have been one episode longer. The time Percy spends at Camp Half-Blood is given only one episode and I think the Percy/Luke dynamic suffers for it. When episode two aired, I commented that I wasn’t particularly impressed with Charlie Bushnell as Luke in comparison to the other kids (including Dior Goodjohn as Clarissa). Watching the final episode, I realized I felt that way because Bushnell just wasn’t given much to work with in the earlier episode. All of his good stuff came at the end, and half of that in flashback to stuff we should have seen earlier. It was a stylistic choice on the part of Riordan and the rest of the production team and in my opinion one of the few missteps.

My only other complaint, and it is minor, is that the nighttime and Underworld scenes were all so dark I sometime couldn’t see details that I would have liked to see and I’m sure were there (because in all the other stuff shot on the Volume stage, the FX work is stunning and immersive). Yes, I’m aware that maybe it’s my television and not the production at fault.

When I originally drafted this post, I ended with a simple “So, Disney: get on with greenlighting season two already!”  And lo and behold, just a few days before this post will go live, Disney did exactly that. I hope production on season 2, adapted from The Sea of Monsters, starts up quickly and runs smoothly and that it appears on our screens sooner rather than later.


If you enjoyed this post, check out some of my previous fantasy/superhero television-related Series Saturday posts:

SERIES SATURDAY: THE BITTERSWEETS CLUB

This is a blog series about … well, series. I love stories that continue across volumes, in whatever form: linked short stories, novels, novellas, television, movies, comics.

Series cover art by Inkspiral Designs

It’s a little past the season, but I thought I’d relaunch regular Series Saturday posts with a look at what has become one of my annual re-reads: a set of holiday-themed novellas, three of which take place at Christmas (and the other on April Fool’s Day).

The Little Village novellas (4 volumes)

Written by ‘Nathan Burgoine

published by Bold Stroke Books (2019 – 2022)

 

Titles:

·       Handmade Holidays

·       Faux Ho Ho

·       Village Fool

·       Felix Navidad

 

A substantial number, if not all, of ‘Nathan Burgoine’s novels and short stories interconnect, with his fictionalized version of Ottawa’s Gay Village as a shared setting. Main characters in one story will play supporting roles or make cameo appearances in others, local businesses with names like Body Positive, NiceTeas, and Bittersweets recur, incidents are mentioned in passing, lending all the stories a shared history and timeline. Part of the fun of reading any Burgoine work is figuring out how it connects to all his other work. Some are more obviously connected than others, such as those identified as “Little Village novellas” on the cover – and in particular, the quartet of romance novellas featuring a group of friends called “the Bittersweets Club.”

The Bittersweets Club are four friends who meet regularly at the titular coffee shop: graphic designer Ru, the quippiest member of the group; software designer Silas, the most socially awkward; I.T. Specialist Owen, who still bears the mental and physical scars of a bad car accident; and home health aide nurse Felix, who never met a practical joke he didn’t love and never met a man he did. Each man’s road to romance gets its own novella focused, as mentioned above, on a particular holiday,

What I love about this series as a whole is how sweet and straightforward each book is. These are books about gay men finding love, yes, but also about friends nurturing each other and the strength of “found family.” They have just the right amount of “will they get together or won’t they” angst, are playful with the tropes of the romance genre, and all have HEA (Happily Ever After) or at least HFN (Happy For Now) endings. Which is not to say the stories are completely light or frivolous. Burgoine’s romances are always grounded in our very real current culture, where queer people still have to check their surroundings before holding hands or kissing in public, where birth families still disown gay children, where transphobia is very real even within the LGBTQ+ community. I always appreciate Burgoine’s refusal to paint his stories into some rosy world where homophobia is a thing of the past. Because it isn’t.

Though they share characters and a timeline, each of the four novellas stands alone and thus can be read in any order. References are made to events in the other books, but always in a way that does not make the reader feel like they’re missing vital information for the story at hand and I think in a way that intrigues the reader enough to seek out the other books regardless of which one you start with.

That said, I’ll discuss the books in publication order since that’s the order in which I read them.

Handmade Holidays

Handmade Holidays is Ru’s story, even though he is not the focal character. That would be bookstore manager and budding author Nick. Disowned at nineteen but his family for the “sin” of being gay, Nick begins to build his own traditions with a found family that includes his best friend Ru. The only novella in the series told in strict chronological order, each chapter covers an important Christmas in Nick’s life, and therefore Ru’s, as the friends navigate unsuccessful relationships, changes in employment, parental illnesses, and the growth of their found family. This is also the novella with the longest timespan, stretching over 15 years of Nick and Ru’s lives. I love the pacing of this book. Burgoine packs so many major life events in and manages to make it feel neither rushed nor lacking in detail. It’s also a wonderful take on the “friends to lovers” trope, as Nick and Ru bounce off of each other and second-guess their feelings, the timing never feeling quite right – until one of them takes a risk. It all feels totally authentic. And as with all the Little Village romances, both leads are men I’d like to know in real life.

 

Faux Ho Ho

But lifelong friends finally admitting they’re in love with each other can have repercussions on their friend group. When Nick and Ru move in together, Ru’s roommate Silas is left in search of someone to share the rent with. The apartment is perfectly placed above Bittersweets, but Silas’ pay as a freelance IT consultant and software designer won’t cover the rent and he knows that asking his conservative and politically powerful parents (who tolerate Silas for the optics more than anything) for help will come with strings attached. Silas is skeptical when Ru suggests he consider personal trainer Dino as a new roommate. Big, burly bodybuilders do not really fit in the Silas Waite Venn Diagram of Life. But as they get to know each other, Dino causes Silas to readjust his outlook. Told in Burgoine’s signature style – that is, chapters that alternate between the present and the past to heighten the story’s tension (juxtaposing “what will happen next” with “how did the characters get to this point”), Faux Ho Ho plays with both the “opposites attract” and “fake relationship” tropes. To get Silas out of spending Thanksgiving with his very conservative family, Dino pretends to be Silas’ boyfriend … which inspires Silas’ sister to finally marry her boyfriend because now Silas can attend with a date, which she knows will piss off their parents and siblings. I love how Silas and Dino bring out the best in each other. I love the contrast between Dino’s family, who all instantly love Silas and go along with the “fake relationship” hoping it will turn real, and Silas’ family, who (other than his wonderfully supportive sister and her fiancée) are only okay with Silas being gay as long as he stays quiet and single. And I love the themes of found family what it really means to be an ally to the LGBTQIA+ community that Burgoine continues to thread through these books.

 

Village Fool

Village Fool is the only “Bittersweets Club” novella which does not take place on or around the Christmas holidays. While this is Owen’s story from start to finish, the main action is incited by Felix’s impulsiveness. He plays an April Fool’s joke on Owen, switching Owen’s phone contacts so when Owen thinks he’s texting Felix, he’s really texting his unrequited crush Toma. The fact that Toma is Owen’s physiotherapist complicates matters even more. Like Faux Ho Ho, the chapters in Village Fool alternate between the present, where we see the set-up of the practical joke, how it plays out, and the immediate aftermath, and the past, where we see how the Bittersweets Club formed, how Owen met Toma and how their mutual crushes (this is not really a spoiler) developed. One of the things I love about this book is the way Burgoine presents Owen’s anxiety and insecurity as compared to Silas’s in Faux Ho Ho; the author is very conscious of the fact that no two people’s anxiety, insecurity, or depression operate the same way and makes sure that Own and Silas are not cookie-cutter stereotypes. They have certain commonalities (just as Ru and Felix, the group extroverts, do) but their coping mechanisms, as well as their formative backgrounds, are quite different.

 

Felix Navidad

The final “Bittersweets Club” novella is all about Felix, but it also ties the series’ subplots together in a nice little bow. Ru and Nick are finally getting married, after Covid forced them to delay. Owen and Toma and Silas and Dino are of course going together, but Felix is going solo. He’s had a rough year but is also still feeling the sting of how his impulsive April Fool’s gag affected Owen, even though everything turned out okay. The story alternates between the present holiday, (where Felix and another wedding guest, Ru’s ex Kevin, end up stuck in a cabin that only has one bed, thanks to a massive blizzard), and the past year (with Ru getting to know a new patient, retiree Danya, who has a thing or two to say about Felix’s lack of a social or romantic life). In the “present holiday” chapters, Burgoine moves from one classic trope (the “blind date misunderstanding”) to another (forced proximity/one bed) so smoothly you almost don’t realize it’s happening … and manages to tweak both in very satisfactory ways. The flashback chapters focus on Felix’s growing friendship with sickly but still effervescent Danya, and they are an amazing look at how intergenerational friendships in the gay community should (but all too often don’t) work. Burgoine often comments on how hard it is for younger queer folk to learn our community’s history, because so many of those who should be our elders were taken away from us by the AIDS epidemic. But here, he reminds us that some of that history is still living, still vital – if only younger folks are willing to pay attention, learn, and develop actual connection with our elders. Danya’s illness (NOT AIDS, I feel like I must stress) is a major part of the flashback chapters but please don’t think this means the book is depressing. It is not. It’s as sweet and cute and romantic as the other books in the series – but it also doesn’t shy away from the reality that often joy and sorrow walk beside each other.

 

While books focused on the “Bittersweets Club” may be done for now, Burgoine isn’t done with gay romances set at the holidays in the Little Village. He recently teased plans for a series featuring a new group of Little Village residents taking place on holidays other than Christmas, and I don’t need to tell you I’m here for them all. He’s also got plans for non-holiday romances building out some of the characters and locations we’ve met along with the Bittersweets guys. In fact, A Little Village Blend is already out in the world.

So: what are your favorite holiday-set LGBTQIA+ romances? Let me know in the comments!

SERIES SATURDAY: Warriors of Zandar

This is a blog series about … well, series. I love stories that continue across volumes, in whatever form: linked short stories, novels, novellas, television, movies, comics.

 

Beyond The Farthest Star: Warriors of Zandar

Publisher: American Mythology

Publication Date(s): 2022

Writer/Editor: Mike Wolfer

Pencils and Inks: Allesandro Ranaldi

Colors: Arthur Hesli

Letters: Natalie Jane

 

Last week on Series Saturday, I reviewed American Mythology’s recent four-issue mini-series Pellucidar: Across Savage Seas featuring Gretchen Von Harben, the first of two comic book series officially considered canonical Edgar Rice Burroughs Universe entries. Beyond The Farthest Star: Warriors of Zandar is the second of those series, and stars Gretchen Von Harben’s daughter Victory Harben.

Over the past two years, readers of the “Swords of Eternity Super-Arc” series from Edgar Rice Burroughs Inc. (Carson of Venus: The Edge of All Worlds by Matt Betts; Tarzan: Battle for Pellucidar by Win Scott Eckert; and John Carter of Mars: Gods of the Forgotten by Geary Gravel) have been introduced to Victory, learned a bit about her childhood, and bore witness to a few of her many adventures bouncing through space and time thanks to an accident involving the Gridley Wave that allows those in Pellucidar to communicate with the surface world. Beyond the Farthest Star: Warriors of Zandar is another of those space-and-time-bouncing adventures, in which Victory finds herself on the far-off titular planet and smack in the middle of a battle between two races: the peaceful Ki-Vaas and the brutal Keelars. As usual, the out-going and gregarious Victory makes a new friend almost immediately, which pulls her further into the local conflict: the Keelars are harvesting the Ki-Vaas and subjecting them to a device that extracts and saves the life-force of anyone placed in it.

Writer Mike Wolfer paces the main story – Victory and her friend’s attempts to rescue the captive Ki-Vaa and stop the Keelars – pretty perfectly across the four issues, once again easily matching Edgar Rice Burroughs’ prose style in comic book form. Complications abound before Victory and her compatriots solve the problem at hand, but there is a resolution to the main story. We also get a nice look into Victory’s character: her sense of social justice, her willingness to do the right thing even at great personal peril, her open-hearted nature. In Wolfer’s hands, Victory Harben continues to be a character I want to know more about and want to see in adventure after adventure.

There are some unresolved secondary plots, but as this is definitely not Victory’s final adventure I’m not concerned that they will remain unresolved for long. I am intrigued by references to the Keelar’s unseen master “The One from Above,” a figure who remains mysterious and unseen even in the final issue of the mini-series. I’m also wondering just how long Victory will remain on Zandar and whether this world will also be the setting for Christopher Paul Carey’s upcoming novel Victory Harben: Fires of Helos, which is the final installment in the “Swords of Eternity” Super-Arc mentioned above.

Wolfer also does a wonderful job, mostly via dialogue that doesn’t feel like an info-dump and never feels out of character, conveying the differences between the Ki-Vaa and Keelar societies. Burroughs, in his Mars and Venus books especially, was known for making sure his alien planets were populated with a diversity of physical and societal types where so much science fiction of the time (and even in the more recent past) took the short-cut of having homogenous planet-wide societies. The latter may make for easier storytelling, but it also feels a bit unrealistic.

Allesandro Ranaldi’s artwork is highly expressive and really conveys the alien nature of the planet Victory has found herself on. Wolfer conveys via dialogue the differences between the two societies, and Rinaldi shows us the very large difference in physicality. The Ki-Vaa are humanoid but distinctly not human, while the Keelar are blockier, for lack of a better term. (It’s probably not intentional on the part of the artist, but the Keelar remind me of shorter, hairless versions of Looney Tunes character Gossamer.) Arthur Hesli’s colors make this new world pop.

Victory Harben is not the only connection between this series and the greater canonical Edgar Rice Burroughs Universe: the planet Zandar is in the same solar system as Poloda, the planet introduced in the novel Beyond the Farthest Star (hence the lengthy title of the mini-series). Farthest Star is one of my favorite Burroughs novels. We’ll never know what Burroughs intended for Tangor, the hero of the novel, or Poloda or the solar system as a whole – but ERB Inc. clearly has plans for them. Victory Harben is, I think, the ideal character to bridge the gap between Farthest Star and the rest of the canonical ERBU.

Series Saturday: Frank Schildiner's Frankenstein novels

This is a blog series about … well, series. I love stories that continue across volumes, in whatever form: linked short stories, novels, novellas, television, movies, comics.

The Frankenstein novels (3 volumes)

Written by Frank Schildiner

published by Black Coat Press (2015 – 2019)

 

Titles:

·       The Quest of Frankenstein (2015)

·       The Triumph of Frankenstein (2017)

·       The Spells of Frankenstein (2019)

 

Mary Shelley’s classic creation Frankenstein has spawned more sequels and reinterpretations than I have the energy to count at the moment. Back in 1957-58, French screenwriter Jean-Claude Carrière wrote a series of novels featuring Frankenstein’s Monster, now named Gouroull and traveling the world following an agenda of his own making. Gouroull has utter disdain for humanity as a whole and is as likely to murder temporary allies as he is enemies. I’ve never read the Carrière novels (English translations appear to be out of print and highly priced on the secondary market), but I have read Frank Schildiner’s three sequels published by Black Coat Press, which are the subject of today’s post.

Frank Schildiner is a wonderful “new pulp” author whose work runs from pulp adventure (The New Adventures of Thunder Jim Wade) to sword-and-sorcery (The Warrior’s Pilgrimage) to espionage (The Klaus Protocol) to westerns, science fiction, and horror. Much of his work mixes genres, and the Frankenstein novels are no exception. Primarily horror, the books also include elements of classic pulp adventure (scientific or occult investigator type characters) and espionage thrillers (the political machinations of the fictional South American country in which The Triumph of Frankenstein takes place).

Gouroull himself is a far cry from the sympathetic Monster of Shelley’s original novel (who simply wanted to understand his place in the world and have a mate to love) and the childlike force of nature of the early Universal Studios films. If any connection/comparison is to be made, I’d say the Monster as played by Bela Lugosi (when evil hunchback Ygor’s brain had been transplanted into the Monster’s body) comes closest tonally to Carrière/Schildiner’s Gouroull. But where Lugosi’s Monster simply had the potential to be a Force of Evil, Gouroull IS that force. We are meant to be afraid of a creature made by Man but unaffected by human emotions of love and want. Gouroull’s search for someone capable of creating him a Mate is powered by the biological imperative to propagate the species as much as by his disdain for weaker/lesser humanity – there’s not a speck of sentiment or loneliness to be seen. This makes Gouroull a hard character to sympathize with – which is not the same as making him a hard character to root for.

On the contrary, throughout the three books I found myself mostly wanting Gouroull to succeed, mostly because the other characters he encounters and does battle with are even less friendly/sympathetic. (I say “mostly” only because Gouroull’s quest in The Spells of Frankenstein involves bringing the Elder Gods of the Lovecraft Mythos back to Earth, and I mean really, who wants that mission to succeed?) Gouroull does battle with vampires (including but not limited to several “soul clones” of Dracula), sorcerers, necromancers, ghosts, mad scientists (paging Doctors Herbert West and Elizabeth Frankenstein) and other supernatural menaces, but even the theoretically heroic characters he meets (monster hunters named Hezekiah Whately and Martin Mars) are reprehensible, highlighting the worst in human greed and hubris. It’s a pleasure to see characters like these get their come-uppance against a force of nature they cannot overcome.

Even though Gouroull is the focus of each book, these are very much ensemble cast novels. Chapters switch between various characters’ points of view as they are drawn into contact with the Monster, and we get insight into who they are before they encounter in (and why they’re searching for him, when they are) as well as how their encounter changes them (when they survive, that is). It’s an effective way to build tension in each book, but is particularly effective in The Spells of Frankenstein, where we meet a pair of heroic human characters of Schildiner’s creation who I would love to see more of in their own books/stories: the Muslim adventurers Faisal and Fatimah. (To a lesser extent, I was also intrigued by  Moraika, the tribal wise woman/shamaness Schildiner created for a sub-plot in Triumph and would like to see her plotline continued as well.)

As is the wont of many “new pulp” writers, Schildiner tosses “easter eggs” liberally throughout these books – nods at classic horror and adventure literary and movie characters. And he does it in ways that don’t distract from the on-going narrative. If you know who is being referenced, great. If not, you can always check the author’s notes at the end of each book. I found those notes inspiring interest in a long list of books I’ve not yet read and movies I’ve not yet seen, especially where the nods were in the form of pastiche or homage rather than outright use of a character.

It’s rare these days for an author to write a series in which the books can be read in any order. Like Seanan McGuire’s Wayward Children series, Frank Schildiner’s Frankenstein books each stand alone, complete unto themselves while still having an obvious place in the overall structure of the series. Read the series in publication order (as I did) or in character chronology order (or, I guess, if you’re one of the lucky folks who have the Carrière novels, read Schildiner’s books where they take place within that chronology), whichever fits your fancy.

There may or may not be further Gouroull novels by Schildiner and Black Coat Press. If there are, I look forward to which gaps in the character’s history Schildiner fills in next. If there aren’t, these books together still tell a trio of tales about a version of Frankenstein’s Monster that is not sympathetic but is compelling.

Series Saturday: HBO's Perry Mason

This is a blog series about … well, series. I love stories that continue across volumes, in whatever form: linked short stories, novels, novellas, television, movies, comics.

perry mason poster.jpg

 

Let me start this post out with a bit of background/disclaimer/call it what you will: I’ve never read any of Erle Stanley Gardner’s Perry Mason novels (I intend to fix that in 2021); I’ve never seen any of the 1930s Perry Mason movies (starring Warren William as Maxon and Claire Dodd as Della Street); and I don’t think I’ve watched an episode of the Raymond Burr series since I was in high school (although I do recall catching a couple of the late 80s/early 90s reunion movies). So, I’m probably not coming at the new Perry Mason TV series with anywhere near the expectations/baggage heavy Mason fans are. That said: this is definitely a different Perry Mason than the television show I remember.

That’s not the negative it sounds like. I liked the episodes of Perry Mason I saw as a kid/teen. But I’m also pretty open to new interpretations even of characters I love (otherwise, how could I stand so many different versions of Superman parading across my television screen?). And I happen to really enjoy film noir.

And that’s what this new series is: a noir interpretation of the previously unwritten “origin story” of Perry Mason. As noir, the eight-episode season hits all the right notes. The tone is dark, dark, dark throughout, and violent/graphic as well, from the opening scene of the first episode (a dead baby in a trolley car) to the flashback scenes of the final episode (revealing much of what the audience and Mason have suspected all along). It’s a bit unrelenting, almost suffocating. Even the daylight scenes of Los Angeles in winter/spring feel dark and a bit claustrophobic. By the time I was able to access HBOMax and watch the show, the entire season was available; I admit I found it hard to watch more than one episode at a time without coming up for light and air in between.

The set-up, for those unfamiliar, is that this is Mason’s “origin” story. Mason (Matthew Rhys) starts the season as a down-beat, down-on-his-luck private eye living on a slowly dying family farm next to a small airport, taking whatever follow-and-photograph jobs he can. Sometimes, those jobs come from lawyer E.B. Jonathan (John Lithgow) via Jonathan’s secretary Della Street (Juliet Rylance) and sometimes Mason calls on fellow P.I. Pete Strickland (Shea Whigham) for help. E.B.’s newest job for Mason involves investigating the kidnapping/death of baby Charlie Dodson, which includes investigating the child’s parents Matthew (Nate Corddry) and Emily (Gayle Rankin). E.B. has been hired by rich magnate Herman Baggerly (Robert Patrick), who goes to the same church as Matthew and Emily: The Radiant Assembly of God, led by Sister Alice McKeegan (Tatiana Maslany) and her mother Birdie (Lili Taylor). Along the way, Mason finds himself at odds with District Attorney Maynard Barnes (Stephen Root), Judge Fred Wright (Matt Frewer) and Detectives Holcomb (Eric Lange) and Ennis (Andrew Howard), and assisted by coroner Virgil Sheets (Jefferson Mays), beat cop Paul Drake (Chris Chalk), aviator Lupe Gibbs (Veronica Falcón), and a friend of Della’s named Hazel Prystock (Molly Ephraim).

The good news for viewers and mystery lovers alike: as complicated as the overlapping plots get (there are also subplots about E.B.’s financial difficulties, Mason’s estranged wife and son, Gibbs trying to purchase Mason’s family farm, Della’s boarding house friendships, Sister Alice’s health, and Drake’s struggles as a black cop), every question asked in the early episodes is answered by the end of the final episode. No cliffhangers, no missing resolutions. And the revelations about what really happened to baby Charlie and why are what I call “fair play” – that is, the clues are there littered throughout for the viewer to pick up on, even if Mason and Co. don’t see them as quickly or as clearly. I was very satisfied with the way the overlapping mysteries and crimes were pulled together, and the way the majority of the subplots were at least temporarily resolved (hey, something has to carry over to a potential season two). Most of the characters get what they deserve (both for good and bad). Fans of the Raymond Burr-led television series may not be as enamored of the way the final episode tweaks the final big courtroom scene. And I know people more familiar with the legal system are not happy about the way Mason goes from private eye to full lawyer in the space of an episode. I can live with upended expectations and a bit of suspension of disbelief.

Rhys’ Mason is a classic noir detective: disheveled, discontent, easy to anger but also chivalrous (mostly), and doggedly determined once he decides something must be done. The character has shades and depths, and he’s not always likeable. This unlikability could have been an issue; the show is called Perry Mason, after all, and if we’re not invested in the character from the get-go that’s a problem. But Rhys gives his all to every emotion, every scene, and shows us why we should care about this damaged, often bitter, man. Mason’s arc is as strong as it is because Rhys lets us see the potential good even when Mason is at his worst in the season premiere. The character’s redemption is not a straight incline. For my money, Perry’s worst moments are mid-way through the season. Rhys plays it all expertly.

While the show is about Mason, it hews close to another aspect of noir that I love: strong, nuanced women. Rylance’s Della Street is a powerhouse of a character, equally confrontational and supportive, and I loved every moment she was on screen. She is clearly Perry’s equal, and she is the “better angel” who sits on his shoulder (and E.B. Jonathan’s shoulder as well). Equally impressive was Tatiana Maslany. I think this is the first thing I’ve seen her in (yes, yes, I know: I should watch Orphan Black) and she was mesmerizing, commanding every scene she was in regardless of whether Sister Alice was in the throes of religious ecstasy or pushing back against a controlling mother. Gayle Rankin’s Emily Dodson is the not the femme fatale one expects at the center of a noir crime story, but Rankin’s portrayal of a mother broken by the death of her child is just stunningly raw and captivating.

I know that there’s been a lot of pushback from some quarters about the casting of Chris Chalk as Paul Drake (a white character in the Raymond Burr Mason series, who I’m going to guess is also a white man in the original novels upon which both shows are based). Arguments have been made that there’s no way a black investigator, even working for a white lawyer, would have been effective in 1930s America. It will be interesting to see how this plays out in future seasons (if there are any). Regardless, Chalk is compelling, imbuing Drake with a simmering anger that he’s unable to ever totally put aside (and which erupts in one powerful scene early on, to Mason’s detriment).

The supporting cast is equally superb all around. John Lithgow is, as I think everyone knows, one of my favorite actors; his mercurial (for good reason) E.B. Jonathan appears in only four episodes but in that time you love, hate, and empathize with him in equal measure. Stephen Root’s Maynard Barnes, on the other hand, is the character you love to hate, the epitome of the slick politician who is more concerned with rising to power than he is with any kind of justice. (Robert Patrick’s officious, judgmental Herman Baggerly and Lili Taylor’s controlling, abusive Birdie McKeegan vie for second pace in the “love to hate” category.) Shea Whigham throws brilliant snark as Paul Strickland but lets us see that there’s a good guy under all that attitude. Lange and Howard do as much as they can with the “how bad are they” corrupt-cop duo act, with Howard playing the heavy very well when required. Jefferson Mays’ Virgil and Molly Ephraim’s Hazel provide some much-needed awkward humor at the right moments. Veronica Falcón’s Lupe is sexy and strong, perhaps the one true “femme fatale” in the series. Every one of these roles is a full character: we get to see at least hints of what makes them who they are.

The show is not perfect. I’ve already mentioned the stunning speed with which Mason goes from private eye to lawyer. At times, the show feels like it’s trying to do much with the lives of the supporting cast for an eight-episode season – the main storyline might have had more room to breathe had some of those supporting-cast moments been downsized a bit. And there are several pointed mentions of a mysterious Chinese gangster which felt heavy with implication and purpose, but those mentions never tie into the Charlie Dodson case nor with Sister Alice’s church. Perhaps it’s a set-up for season two. And I hope there is a season two!

Series Saturday: the Philip Marlowe novels

This is a blog series about … well, series. I love stories that continue across volumes, in whatever form: linked short stories, novels, novellas, television, movies, comics.

Marlowe Cover Banner.png

 

In 2019, I realized after several conversations with my friend Dave (our conversations often lead to me identifying something I haven’t read or seen) that I had never read a Philip Marlowe novel (or likely anything else by Raymond Chandler). I mean, I knew who Marlowe was, and I knew Chandler’s influence on the mystery genre overall and noir in particular. So how was it that I could not recall every having read a single Marlowe book? It was time to fix that!

As with so many of the reading and/or viewing challenges I set myself, it took a while for this one to play out. I listened to the first Marlowe novel, The Big Sleep, in late 2019, and then decided to motivate myself by making the Marlowe books a part of my “Complete the Series” Challenge for 2020. I made a game start at the beginning of the year thanks to several long work trips with lots of driving, then dropped the ball until Noirvember when I read the final two books written or co-written by Chandler.

The long gap between the first six books and the final two influenced my experience of the series as a whole. Another influence was experiencing the series in three different forms. I listened to the first two novels narrated by Ray Porter. When I went to purchase book three, I discovered that it was not available with narration by Porter – nor were the rest of the books. That left me with either listening to abridged editions narrated by Elliot Gould or full-cast recording from the BBC starring Toby Stephens. As I really wanted to continue the experience of hearing Chandler’s actual words, I chose the Gould abridged editions. When it came time for book seven? Only the full-cast BBC version was available. I switched to print for the final two books, which partially explains the seven months gap as the last book (started by Chandler but completed after his death by Robert B. Parker) was harder to track down than I expected it to be.

Overall, I loved this series. So much of what Chandler did is consider trope now – but I believe he was the first to do it, or at least the first to do it well enough to influence others.

His characterization of Marlowe – world-weary, introspective, a bit of a horn-dog, chivalrous and chauvinistic in equal measure, aware of his own prejudices and not always able to stop himself from acting on them – set a standard for disgruntled, distrusting protagonists. And the characterization isn’t quite static. In some books, he’s far more introspective and fatalistic while in others he’s just cynical and snarky. (Okay, he’s snarky in every single book. It’s part of his charm.) The heaviest introspective moments, the moments that gave noir its enduring rep, seem to come in the second through fifth books. In the first book, Marlowe is thoughtful but not full-out depressing. In the later books, Marlowe seems to have mellowed a little. He’s still world-weary but he seems to have accepted it and ruminates less on it. Or at least, he spends fewer words ruminating on it.

Chandler’s formula was to have Marlowe take on a case that then connects to one or more other cases. I may be mistaken, but I don’t think he varied from that basic formula throughout the books (and it’s especially evident in the final book, Playback). Most of the time, he’s hired by someone rich who is condescending at best and occasionally downright hostile. And these rich folks usually get some kind of come-uppance even when they’re not the actual bad guy of the story. In terms of the mysteries, Chandler is usually good about providing the reader with enough hints of what’s going on that the reveal doesn’t come out of nowhere. Marlowe’s interactions with the police are always interesting and not always antagonistic (I’d say it’s about 50/50 over the series). It’s also sort of fun trying to figure who Marlowe is going to go to bed with and when (and occasionally even if – he doesn’t always let his hormones win over common sense).

One of the things that did surprise me was how few continuing supporting characters there are. I expected Marlowe’s former boss, introduced in the first book, to appear or at least be mentioned more than once. Likewise, some of the cops; I realize Los Angeles was a big city even in the 1940s and that some of the action rolls outside of LA proper (even down to San Diego and into Mexico), but we rarely see an officer of the law a second time. (Parker does bring one of them back in Poodle Springs, but I have to wonder if Chandler would have done so had he written more than four chapters before passing away). Nowadays, the idea of a detective character without a regular supporting cast, including a regular antagonist of some kind, is unthinkable. Then again, the idea of a series lead without a serious romantic interest is also unthinkable these days, and it’s only in the final three books that we see Marlowe make a serious commitment (even if we don’t realize he’s making the commitment until the end of Playback and the opening of Poodle Springs). I personally thought Anne Riordan from Farewell, My Lovely, had the makings of a perfect non-romantic Girl Friday and would have added a lot to later books.

So how did the various listening/reading formats affect my experience?

I really loved Ray Porter’s interpretation of the character, gruff-voiced but still relatable, and that set the tone for me. He plays with Chandler’s language the way someone who really enjoys lush descriptions does. He’s clearly invested in the role and having fun with it, and every word has appropriate weight. I really wish the entire run was available narrated by Porter (who has narrated a LOT of other stuff, and I’m never disappointed with his work when I get to listen to it).

Elliot Gould is well known for playing Marlowe in 1973’s film version of The Long Goodbye, and he’s a great reader who also really gets the character – but the abridged audiobooks feel rushed. There are no chapter breaks, the action running from one scene to another without the pause such breaks afford the reader. More than once I found myself confused because of contradictory back-to-back statements (it’s midnight, and then suddenly it’s noon, for instance) that a simple intonation of “Chapter Six,” or even a ten second pause, would have broken up. My theory, which I haven’t checked, is that the Gould-narrated books (including the first two, which I didn’t listen to) were recorded at a time when audiobooks were on cassette (and the more cassettes a publisher had to produce, the higher the price) or early CDs (when the discs couldn’t hold as much data as they do now). Then there’s the fact that they’re advertised as “abridged,” which means something deemed inconsequential by someone was removed to make the narration fit into the allotted cassette or CD space. I’m still wondering what I missed by not just reading the actual novels of these five books.

Reading, instead of listening to, Playback and Poodle Springs allowed me to merge the best parts of Porter and Gould’s performances in my head. Although thanks to the cover art on Playback my mental image of Marlowe was Robert Mitchum. (It’s not Mitchum on the cover – it just looks a lot like him.) It felt appropriate to be in the home stretch with Marlowe on my own, turning yellowed pages (one paperback, one hardcover, both from used bookstores) and savoring Chandler’s descriptions of places and people.

I can imagine rereading the entire series one day, especially because I’ll always have that nagging question of what the abridged audiobooks cut out. But for now, I’m glad I finished this challenge this year!

The Marlowe Books, in order, are:

·       The Big Sleep (1939)

·       Farewell, My Lovely (1940)

·       The High Window (1942)

·       The Lady in the Lake (1943)

·       The Little Sister (1949)

·       The Long Goodbye (1953)

·       Playback (1958)

·       Poodle Springs (unfinished by Chandler at his death in 1959; completed by Robert B. Parker in 1989)

Parker did write another sequel completely on his own, which I decided not to include in this particular challenge. And there have been several other Marlowe prequels and sequels in the past few years that sound like they might be worth seeking out.