Kara used to think her life was on track, but one divorce later she finds herself back in the small town of Hog Chapel, living in a
spare room of her eccentric Uncle Earl's tourist trap museum. She grew up among the taxidermy beasts, strange artifacts of questionable
authenticity, and other odds and end that clutter the two-story place, plus it's rent-free and she gets all the coffee she wants from
the shop next door, so she can't really complain; all she has to do is help her aging uncle run the museum, and maybe do something about
cataloging the out-of-control inventory, until she gets her feet back under her.
Then she finds the hole in the wall, beyond which lies an impossible concrete corridor... and a doorway into a world of mist and willows
and a broad, island-specked river, with innumerable other doorways and corridors and mysteries.
With Simon, the barista from the coffee shop, Kara decides to explore a little - only to discover that the seemingly empty world of the
willows isn't so empty, or as benign, as it first appeared. Malevolent entities stalk the land, slipping in and out of reality and doing
unspeakable things to whatever they catch, and even thoughts aren't safe from them. Worse, the hole that let Kara into the willow world
may also let the monsters into Hog Chapel.
Review
The Hollow Places is a nicely creepy tale of other worlds and unseen horrors, featuring a reasonably competent heroine and
sidekick and terrifyingly inscrutable monsters literally operating on an unknowable plane of existence. The southern town of Hog Chapel
and the little museum of wonders make a nicely quaint throwback setting for the horrific events that unfold, as Kara and Simon poke at
something that should best be left alone. The willow world has a surreal and menacing quality from the start, even before they encounter
anyone or anything undeniably amiss. Kara quickly realizes she's in way over her head, but cannot seem to walk away, not knowing the
dangers lurking just beyond a hole in reality itself. The story takes a little time setting itself up, and there are one or two instances
of Kara dropping the mental ball to prolong the plot, but overall it delivers the tale it promises.
A widow in her thirties, despised by her in-laws (mostly for not getting a child by her short-lived husband, making her a worthless
burden as far as they're concerned), Halla had minimal expectations in life, especially when the only one who would take her in was
eccentric old Uncle Silas. Now that he has passed, she expects to be cast out in the street - but the man left her his fortune and his
house full of oddities. Suddenly, shrewish old Aunt Malva and her spineless son Alver, who had no use for her before, find they do,
indeed, have a purpose in mind: marry her to Alver, then kill or incapacitate her while they take control of the inheritance. Halla's
objections get her locked in her room until she "sees reason" (or until they can get her declared too feeble-minded to make her own
decisions). She sees no way out of the predicament save taking her own life - but the old sword she grabs, part of the late Silas's
clutter, has other plans...
Centuries ago, mercenary Sarkis was cursed into the steel after a terrible defeat. Ever since, he is bound to serve the sword's master,
following it from hand to hand through the years. Be they good or evil, Sarkis has no choice. Even death cannot release him; a
fortnight later, when the blade is drawn, he reappears, healed in body if not necessarily in spirit. When he finds himself summoned to
the waking world once again, he expects to find battle, or a warlord. He does not expect a tearful, desperate woman about to be married
off against her will. This is, perhaps, the most ignoble waste of his talents he's ever been forced to endure, but rules are rules:
she drew his sword, so she is, for all intents and purposes, his master, and he is bound to help.
Halla has never met anyone like Sarkis, and vice versa. After their inauspicious meeting and escape, they set out to find help from the
Temple of the White Rat, which specializes in untangling thorny knots like the one she finds herself in... a journey with numerous
dangers, from followers of a fanatic god to bandits. The greatest danger, though, may come from within, two wounded hearts who may not
recognize their chance until it's too late.
Review
Though technically part of a larger world, I read (or listened to, rather) it as a standalone. Maybe that was part of the problem,
but I doubt it, because my issues with the book have very little to do with the worldbuilding, a passably interesting fantasy land with
the usual pseudo-medieval aesthetics, a handful of gods and goddesses in uneasy coexistence (particularly in relation to the fanatical
followers of the "Hanged Mother"), and magic and mystery around the edges. Nor was it necessarily with the main story arc, which - when
it didn't bog itself down in somewhat silly diversions, not helped by Halla's tendency to babble and do, frankly, stupid things for the
sake of doing stupid things - was also interesting enough to keep me reading (or listening).
What cut a full fourth star from the rating was the romance angle, particularly the beyond-stale, well-into-fossilized cliché of
a woman having to be romantically and sexually naïve so her True Love in some way owns her pleasure and satisfaction, being the only
one to induce either. Even when the woman is a widow, it's emphasized how uninterested her late husband was in matters romantic or carnal,
how little she actually cared about him, because apparently there is only ever one person a body can ever truly love. (Some books go so
far as to make said woman childish in appearance, too, just to drive home the creep factor with the older male love interest introducing
her to sex; fortunately, that wasn't the case here, even if Halla is almost impossibly sheltered and naïve about people in general
to the point where she often behaves with a childish guilelessness.) She's also supposed to be smarter than her demeanor lets on, her
off-putting streams of questions a form of camouflage to get people to dismiss and ignore her (instead of bullying or hurting her), but
to be honest that silly/stupid demeanor runs far deeper than it ought to for a grown woman. As for Sarkis, he's a gruff, grizzled,
put-upon soldier, worn down by unwanted immortality and service through the centuries, often to less than pleasant masters. He finds
himself drawn to Halla, the first person to treat him as a human rather than a tool in far too long... and despite the fact that she
could make a career out of blundering into danger, to the point where one honestly wonders how she made it to her third decade with all
her limbs. But he's also hiding a secret that could threaten everything... one that, naturally, doesn't come out until The Wrong Time to
trigger the low point of despair before the climax. I was grinding my teeth in annoyance with both of them at this point; so much of the
angst between them could have been resolved if they just opened their mouths for something other than a silly question. It also feels
like it wants a sequel, but there appears to be no sign of one.
Between my annoyance at the romance dithering and Kingfisher's overuse of Halla's babbling (and Sarkis's irritation with said babbling,
which lost its humor early on and just made me wish I could fast-forward to when the plot moved again), Swordheart fell to a
bland three-star Okay rating, which is a shame because I liked some of the secondary characters and the world, and the rest of the tale
could've easily carried four stars. I'm on the fence about reading on in this world, unless I can get some assurance that the parts I
found annoying aren't replicated.
Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess trapped in a cursed sleep, high in a tower hidden by an impenetrable tangle of vines
and thorns... but were the brambles there to keep brave knightly rescuers out, or something else in?
Toadling - once a human child until snatched by fairies, raised in their world, and returned irrevocably changed by her experiences - lives
in the hedge, protecting the secret within as she was bound to do many mortal lifetimes ago. As time passes, it seems that people have
finally forgotten all about the tower, to her relief... until a curious knight turns up, determined to unravel the mystery of the hedge,
the tower, the princess, the curse - and Toadling herself.
Review
Thornhedge puts an interesting spin on the Sleeping Beauty story, weaving in elements of fae lore and changelings. It starts
out a little slow, playing it cagey about what's going on and why a young woman with fairy powers - raised by marsh-dwellers known as
greenteeth in the fairy realm, she learned small magics over water, as well as how to talk to animals and turn into a toad - is hiding
out in Sleeping Beauty's hedge. Watching as time passes and a road is built past the hidden tower, Toadling reveals mixed feelings
about humans, fearing them and longing for their company at the same time, while ultimately burdened by the task/curse that shackles
her to the forgotten tower on the forgotten hill. Time meanders past, centuries drifting by, before the knight shows up and kicks off
the story proper. As she tries to discourage him from his explorations of the hedge, her backstory is revealed, as well as what really
happened in the lost kingdom of the tower, from the fateful christening to the day the thorns grew - not at all the story one knows
from popular fairy tales. After the initial meandering, the tale picks up very nicely, developing into a dark retelling that highlights
the casual cruelty of both fate and the fairies, how beauty and virtue are not always bedfellows, how misplaced love and loyalty can do
great damage, and how family can be found in the most unexpected places and people. It all wraps up with a strong finish, though that
earlier dithering just barely held it down to four stars.
Like many people in the land, fourteen-year-old Mona has magic, but isn't much of a wizard. She can't summon lightning bolts or move
mountains or wake dead soldiers to fight on the battlefield. Her gifts are smaller and more practical, over baked goods and yeast; she
can keep the biscuits from burning, make the gingerbread men dance, and one time accidentally put too much power into a batch of sourdough
starter and thus created Bob, the yeast blob which now lives in a bucket in the cellar and has been known to devour rats (but which still
makes the best sourdough in the city.) Fortunately, she lives in Riverbraid, where people aren't as fussed about wizards in their midst
as some places. But when she discovers a dead body on the bakery floor one morning, Mona learns of a dark side to her city, a hidden
assassin striking down Riverbraid's wizards - and a plot that could leave the city at the mercy of vicious mercenaries.
Review
I wanted something quick and fun, and this fit the bill nicely. Mona's just a girl who wants to be left alone to bake sweet rolls and
sourdough; she fights being drug into nefarious plots and potential coups, just as she fights the idea that her gifts could be much more
than she's made of them. At times, the story reads light and almost simplistic, with Mona a little too stubborn and slow to pick up on
obvious danger signals; if it weren't for her partner of convenience, the street thief Spindle, she'd be dead a few times over by the
time she figures out how to stand on her own two feet. At other times, the tale offers some pointed commentary on the nature of heroism,
the dangers of xenophobia (and how it can be harnessed and inflamed by those with the worst of intentions), and how politics and power
have a way of manipulating truths and bending people until they break. The concept of bakery as wizardry makes for an enjoyable plot
device, reasonably well explored, as Mona learns that it's not the strength of your power, but how creatively you can employ it, that
makes the greatness of a wizard. It reads fairly fast and reaches a reasonably satisfying conclusion, with enough sacrifices and pain
along the way to add substance and keep it from being just a puff pastry of a tale.
