Watership Down by Richard Adams

Watership Down by Richard Adams, 1972

"Hello, Bigwig," said Hazel "You're off duty?"

"Off duty," said Bigwig, "and likely to remain off duty."

"How do you mean?"

"I've left the Owsla, that's what I mean."

"Not on our account?"

"You could say that. The Threarah's rather good at making himself unpleasant when he's been woken up at ni-Frith for what he considers a piece of trivial nonsense. He certainly knows how to get under your skin. I dare say a good mmany rabbits would have kept quiet and thought about keeping on the right side of the Chief, but I'm afraid I'm not much good at that. I told him the Owsla's priveliges didn't mean all that much to me in any case and that a strong rabbit could always do just as well by leaving the warren. He told me not to be impulsive and think it over, but I shan't stay. Lettuce-stealing isn't my idea of a jolly life, nor sentry duty in the burrow. I'm in a fine temper, I can tell you."

"No one will steal lettuces soon," said Fiver quietly.

"Oh, that's you, Fiver, is it?" said Bigwig, noticing him for the first time. "Good, I was coming to look for you. I've been thinking about what you said to the Chief Rabbit. Tell me, is it a sort of tremendous hoax to make yourself important, or is it true?"

"It is true," said Fiver. "I wish it weren't."

"Then you'll be leaving the warren?"

They were all startled by the bluntness with which Bigwig went to the point. Dandelion muttered, "Leave the warren, Frithrah!" while Blackberry twitched his ears and looked very intently, first at Bigwig and then at Hazel.

It was Hazel who replied. "Fiver and I will be leaving the warren tonight," he said deliberately. "I don't know exactly where we shall go, but we'll take anyone who's ready to come with us."

"Right," said Bigwig, "then you can take me."--- (pages 28-29)

Watership Down is a great old-fashioned English adventure story, like The Hobbit or The Swiss Family Robinson. It has danger, coziness, courageous heroes, humor, action, suspense, originality and a memorably diabolical villain. It's an entrancing and spellbinding ride into a world that's equal parts alien and familiar. It's a novel that feels magical and somehow handmade. It's a delight from start to finish.

Oh, and it's about rabbits.

When a young rabbit named Fiver has a psychic vision of danger and death, a small group of rabbits leave their comfortable, doomed warren in order to seek out a new home in the unknown wilderness. Led by the level-headed Hazel, the wanderers find themselves beset by foes and perils, none greater than Efrafa, the dystopian warren run by the vicious General Woundwort.

In classic fashion, the plot is loose and episodic until the last half or so, which deals with the war between the warrens. The novel apparently began as a story that Adams told his daughters on a long car trip, and you can almost feel the storyteller inventing as the plot progresses, coming up with new obstacles and storylines. The slight feel of improvisation is another element of the book's considerable charm.

The rabbits' mythology feels anything but contrived, though. Adams gives his rabbits a vocabulary and religion all their own, complete with a Robin Hood-like folk hero El-ahrairah. There are several complete El-ahrairah stories embedded in the book (as the rabbits tell them to each other). This is usually one of my least-favorite literary devices, but these stories are gems, both funny and poignant. I especially liked the way Adams uses the stories to foreshadow future events or to underline important thematic points.

I liked the way that the story grew, too. The novel begins as a simple, fairy-tale-like narrative and slowly morphs into something darker, broader and epic in scope. By the end of the book, what began as a fun Wind in the Willows-esque amusement, has become a thrilling tale of war and sacrifice. The last few chapters are as exciting and pulse-pounding as anything I've read this year.

The characters are not the main event here in general; there's not a whole lot of growth or development, especially the minor rabbits like Acorn and Speedwell, who remain featureless throughout. Hazel, Bigwig, Fiver, Dandelion and Blackberry get the most "screen time" out of the main characters. Bigwig in particular seems to be a favorite of the author. Why? Because he's awesome, that's why. I love his gruff courage and street smarts, and his climactic fight with Woundwort should be in the dictionary under "epic." Hazel has some pretty amazing moments, too, and Woundwort is a suitably memorable and nasty villain. What Adams' characterizations lack in complexity and nuance, they more than make up for in strength and consistency.

Adams' flair for descriptive writing is a double-edged sword. On the one hand he absolutely sells his world, down to the smells, textures and tastes (I find his descriptions of burrows and tunnels especially cozy). His world is rich and vivid. On the other hand, passages describing sunsets, flowers and lanscapes can become overly long and far too wordy, slowing the book's momentum a bit at times. It's not that the descriptions are exactly bad, just too bloated.

My only other real complaint is that Adams cheats a bit during the climax by inserting a sudden, random chapter from the perspective of a human. It's a jarring, utterly pointless addition to the narrative that stops the story dead in its tracks. It's quite badly written, too, and just a bizarre interlude in an otherwise breathtaking conclusion. I always hate something that violates the "rules" of a fictional universe.

There's something about Watership Down that just telegraphs 'classic' from the start. The force and passion of the story, the universal themes of courage, loyalty and leadership, and the mind-boggling originality of the premise combine to form a novel that you can feel getting under your skin even as you read. In a good way. Yeah, I know that sounds weird, just go with it.

I love the way that Adams combines innocence and experience, creating a book that sometimes feels like a giddy return to childhood and sometimes provides us with a surprisingly dark view of the world. In the end, it's a real literary journey in the traditional style, running the gamut from terror to hilarity, from tragedy to salvation, all within the confines of a few miles of English countryside. Watership Down is the kind of book you can give your heart to.

NEXT UP: Neil Gaiman's sprawling opus, American Gods.

The Spy Who Came in from the Cold by John le Carré

The Spy Who Came in from the Cold by John le Carré, 1962

"I want you to stay out in the cold a little longer." Leamas said nothing, so Control went on: "The ethic of our work, as I understand it, is based on a single assumption. That is, we are never going to be aggressors. Do you think that's fair?"

Leamas nodded. Anything to avoid talking.

"Thus we do disagreeable things, but we are defensive. That, I think, is still fair. We do disagreeable things so that ordinary people here and elsewhere can sleep safely in their beds at night. Is that too romantic? Of course, we occasionally do very wicked things"; he grinned like a schoolboy. "And in weighing up the moralities, we rather go in for dishonest comparisons; after all, you can't compare the ideals of one side with the methods of the other, can you, now?"

Leamas was lost. He'd heard the man talked a lot of drivel before getting the knife in, but he'd never heard anything like this before.

"I mean you've got to compare method with method, and ideal with ideal. I would say that since the war, our methods--ours, and those of the opposition--have become much the same. I mean you can't be less ruthless than the opposition simply because your government's policy is benevolent, can you now?" He laughed quietly to himself: "That would never do," he said.

For God's sake, though Leamas, it's like working for a bloody clergyman. What is he up to?

"That is why," Control continued, "I think we ought to try and get rid of Mundt. . . Oh really," he said, turning irritably towards the door, "Where is that damned coffee?"--- (pages 15-16)

The Spy Who Came in from the Cold is probably one of the finest examples of plotting that I've ever encountered. It's a short book, not much over two hundred pages in my edition, and le Carré uses its brevity to masterfully, methodically wind the strands of story tighter and tighter. Spy is an exhilarating exercise in tension, understated atmosphere, diamond-hard prose and slow, subtle character development. It's no wonder why this one's a classic.

Alec Leamas is a spy without gadgets, guns or adventures. He's really more of an administrator, overseeing spy rings in Cold War-era Berlin, soon after the rise of the Wall. When the last agent under his command is killed, Leamas returns to England, anticipating retirement. Control, a high-ranking officer in the Circus, has one final mission for him: a dangerous gambit to bring down a crucial member of Berlin's secret police. As plots become layered on plots, Leamas finds himself trapped in a web of treachery, double-agents and deceit, where being human is the ultimate risk.

The plot of Spy is constructed with a thrilling delicacy, each small detail carefully worked out, the pieces fitting together like an elaborate piece of clockwork. What makes the story so exhilarating is its complete lack of glitz and glamour. No nuclear bombs set to blow, no elaborate action setpieces. The spies are more office drones than anything else--but this is a job where one mistake means death. The way le Carré weaves the story's strands together is pure craftsmanship.

At first, it seems as though character will take a back seat to plot in le Carré's world. Not so. Alec Leamas slowly emerges as a flesh-and-blood figure, a tired, burned-out man with nothing left to believe in. His opposite number, Mundt, is a cipher, as is the genial Fiedler, whose manners and poise may mask good, evil or some combination of the two. Only naive, gawky Liz Gold is basically pure of heart, unable to understand the cutthroat world of the man she loves. Above it all looms Control, the man holding the strings (but of what puppets?). These characters are simultaneously mythic and surprisingly everyday. Le Carré shows us who they are through his pitch-perfect dialogue.

Even given le Carré's reputation, I was taken aback by the quality of his prose. The man can say a lot with very little; there are no extraneous words (Elmore Leonard would be proud). The shoestring scenes of back-and-forth dialogue are maybe the tensest of all. Le Carré perfectly evokes a time, a place, an atmosphere, without ever coming out and showing us his hand. Understatement is his secret weapon, and he deploys it beautifully.

Ultimately, Spy offers both a penetrating look at a dark and amoral shadow war and a perfectly constructed story of espionage. There is something mildly revolutionary about le Carré's approach to his subject matter (and I'm sure it was more than mildly in 1962). His spy world is dirty and dangerous and dull, but without the shiny appeal of the James Bond series or TV's Alias. It's a world where the line between good and evil is practically nonexistent, and the feelings of the people trapped in the web don't matter at all. It's a novel with a lot of power and terrific resonance, as well as being seamlessly written and white-knuckle thrilling.

NEXT UP: Richard Adams' classic Watership Down.

Vision in White by Nora Roberts

Vision in White by Nora Roberts, 2009

Then she laid her pocket-warmed hands on his cheeks, brushed her lips to his in a light, friendly, close to sisterly kiss.

He blanked. He moved before he thought, acted before he checked. He took her shoulders, pulled her in--pressed her back to the door as he took the simple brush of lips into the long and the dark.

What he'd imagined at seventeen plunged into reality at thirty. The taste of her, the feel. That moment of lips and tongue, and the heat rising in her blood. In the quiet of snowfall, that elemental hush, the sound of her breath sighing out broke in his mind like thunder.

A storm gathering.--- (page 53)

I think I've mentioned on this blog my general lack of interest in the romance genre. It's just always seemed like a bit of a waste of time to me. Boy meets girl (or pirate meets duchess, or cowboy meets heiress), boy and girl go through small relationship crisis, boy and girl make babies into the sunset. Snooze. There aren't a lot of romance writers who have a reputation for sparkling prose or great characters, either. As a whole, I've always looked at romance novels as a cut above your average picture book in terms of quality and maturity.

But since I'm nothing if not curious, I figured a book by Nora Roberts would be worth a shot (being stuck at a weekend at the beach with literally no other choices may have contributed, too). Roberts is one of the few romance writers that has a reputation for being a little more than a one-dimensional bodice-ripper. Her "In Death" series is quite highly acclaimed by crime fans and even her conventional romances have not been poorly received by critics. So I went in to Vision in White with a slightly open mind, but still fully ready to scoff, eye-roll and snort.

I was actually surprised. Even though it's still very much a "romance," Vision is also disarmingly sweet, surprisingly sexy and even, dare I say it, a little bit smart. The air of maudlin, fantasy-wish-fulfillment that I expected is mostly--okay, somewhat--missing; there's a level of maturity and nuance present that I definitely didn't expect.

Mackensie "Mac" Elliot grew up with an absent father and a self-absorbed mother, giving her a deathly fear of romantic commitment. Despite her own personal struggles with love, she is a photographer in the wedding planning firm she runs with her friends (they all live together on a Connecticut estate, in a piece of ridiculous but mildly enchanting fantasy). When she bumps into soft-spoken English teacher Carter Maguire, Mac falls head over heels, even though her first instinct is to head for the hills. And yep, you can probably guess what happens next.

There's no real plot, per se. This is a story about basically good people who love and support each other and want each other to be happy (with one notable exception). There is almost no real conflict or major drama. It is the story of a smooth and successful courtship, and it makes no apologies for itself. If you want plot, find something else.

What makes something this fundamentally silly work is Roberts' writing, which is surprisingly good: lean, funny, fast, with strong dialogue. The dialogue is seriously quite good, sharp, natural and even witty. The characters all have their own distinctive patterns; no mush-mouthed automatons here, which is honestly what I was waiting for.

Characterization is the key to making a novel like Vision succeed, and Roberts gives us two appealing, well-rounded protagonists in Mac and Carter. Their interactions are a skillful blend of lifelike and impossibly romantic. Realistic enough to be believable and relatable, overblown enough to be an exciting escape. Even though there are the requisite passionate kisses, smoldering looks and steamy sex scenes, I was impressed at the actual amount of content in Mac and Carter's relationship. Roberts works hard to establish a real, mature connection between the pair that extends beyond dewy glances and sexual tension.

The book is without a doubt an engine that drives the two of them together, and by definition it's contrived. I'm not letting Roberts off the hook for some notably overdone passages of drama (the "butterfly picture" motif is a recurring annoyance). The supporting characters don't exactly jump off the page-- and Carter's coworker Bob doesn't speak or act like any human being I've ever encountered. And there's not much going on under the surface of the story, either.

But Vision in White works. Roberts does what she does well; she's somehow convincing. She's not trying to write a novel with something important or unusual to say, she's not trying to create enduring characters. She's trying to bewitch her readers into believing--if only for an instant--in fate, true love, happily ever after, and all that good stuff. She's an accomplished enough writer to pull it off, too.

NEXT UP: John le Carré's classic spy novel The Spy Who Came in from the Cold.

A Feast for Crows by George R. R. Martin

A Feast for Crows by George R. R. Martin, 2005

"We are the ironborn, and once we were conquerors. Our writ ran everywhere the sound of the waves was heard. My brother would have you be content with the cold and dismal north, my niece with even less. . . but I shall give you Lannisport. Highgarden. The Arbor. Oldtown. The riverlands and the Reach, the kingswood and the rainwood, Dorne and the marches, the Mountains of the Moon and the Vale of Arryn, Tarth and the Stepstones. I say we take it all! I say, we take Westeros." He glanced at the priest. "All for the greater glory of the Drowned God, to be sure."

For half a heartbeat even Aeron was swept away by the boldness of his words. The priest had dreamed the same dream, when first he'd seen the red comet in the sky. We shall sweep over the green lands with fire and sword, root out the seven gods of the septons and the white trees of the northmen. . .

"Crow's Eye," Asha called, "did you leave your wits at Asshai? If we cannot hold the north--and we cannot--how can we win the whole of the Seven Kingdoms?"

"Why, it has been done before. Did Balon teach his girl so little of the ways of war? Victarion, our brother's daughter has never heard of Aegon the Conqueror, it would seem."

"Aegon?" Victarion has crossed his arms against his armored chest. "What has the Conqueror to do with this?"

"I know as much of war as you do, Crow's Eye," Asha said. "Aegon Targaryen conquered Westeros with dragons."

"And so shall we," Euron Greyjoy promised. "That horn you heard I found amongst the smoking ruins that were Valyria, where no man has dared to walk but me. You heard its call, and felt its power. It is a dragon horn, bound with bands of red gold and Valyrian steel graven with enchantments. The dragonlords old sounded such horns, before the Doom devoured them. With this horn, ironmen, I can bind dragons to my will."

Asha laughed aloud. "A horn to bind goats to your will would be of more use, Crow's Eye. There are no more dragons."

"Again, girl, you are wrong. There are three, and I know where to find them. Surely that is worth a driftwood crown."--- (pages 395-396)

Even before I started reading A Song of Ice and Fire, I knew that the fourth book, A Feast for Crows, was largely seen as a disappointment by fans, inciting frustration and even anger among those who adored Game, Clash and Storm. A few have even described Feast as Martin's "jump the shark" moment. Feast only has half of the usual cast of characters, with such favorites as Jon, Tyrion and Dany relegated to the next installment. As a result, the novel definitely suffers from a much-reduced pace and a notable lack of the kind of direction that the previous books had.

There's no doubt, though, that Feast is, quite literally, a feast for readers. The dynamism of previous installments is missing, but there is world-building and character development galore. Martin reaches into the corners of his world and gives us a more eclectic look at the story, from the perspectives of scheming queens, ironmen, Dornish princesses and wandering knights. Those invested in the tale of the Stark family will be disappointed, but for those who are willing to wade through a certain amount of filler, there's a rich bounty of rewards.

Between the decimation of Stannis's forces on the Blackwater and the (sniff) death of Robb Stark, the war in Westeros seems to be coming to a close. Tommen is king of a scorched and decimated land, overrun with bandits and still struggling to find lasting peace. Westeros is still a powder keg ready to blow, even without outright war.

In this troubled and uncertain new world, Brienne hunts for the Stark girls, Cersei struggles to maintain control of her kingdom (and her sanity), Jaime tries to find a new place for himself, Arya finds a new life in Braavos, Sansa faces constant deception and intrigue in the Eyrie and Samwell leaves the Wall on a clandestine mission, as an explosive power struggle threatens to erupt in Dorne and the ironmen unite to conquer Westeros--and to find a far-off dragon queen.

Feast is an unusual mixture, a bit of a dumping ground for Martin's extraneous characters and plot threads. The three characters who have provided the base for the saga--Jon, Dany and Tyrion--are only referred to or, in Jon's case, seen briefly. It's up to the smaller figures to carry the novel, particularly Cersei and Brienne, who get the most prominent roles.

I was pretty impressed with Cersei's storyline overall (Martin does a great job of making Cersei unbalanced, nasty, childish. . . and just a tiny bit understandable), but it's definitely overlong and a tad galumphing in comparison to the book's other narrative threads. For instance, Arya and Sansa only get a couple of chapters apiece and Samwell, Jaime, the ironmen and the Dornishmen get pretty truncated stories, too.

The pace is slower, no question, the plot less dynamic. What Feast does very well is filling in the missing pieces of the Westeros puzzle, exploring nooks and crannies that we haven't seen in detail before: Braavos, Dorne, Oldtown, the Iron Islands. Martin has a rare gift for creating intricate, interesting cultures, each with its own customs and unique perspective. Feast is like a colorful patchwork quilt of nations, groups, organizations and individuals, each with their own agenda, sometimes obvious, sometimes shadowy. Nobody tells a story like this better than Martin.

There are some truly glorious bits of character development in Feast: Jaime's increasing disillusionment with Cersei, Sam's growing courage and confidence, the contentious relationship between Euron and Victarion Greyjoy, Arys Oakheart's romance with Arianne Martell. Martin's patented mixture of the sweepingly epic with the intimately personal continues to work wonders for him. His writing is, as always, damn good, no matter what he's depicting. It's easy to forget just how good he is because his narrative is so engrossing.

His editor, however, seems to be on break. Martin's struggles with editing the book are practically literary legend by now, and the book definitely shows the labor that went into it. There are too many dropped or inconsequential plotlines and, like A Clash of Kings, way too much name-dropping. It is literally impossible to keep track of everyone's name, house and allegiances without the appendix in the back. I also got a bit weary of Martin's tendency (which is particularly pronounced in Feast) to head off on interludes that seem unconnected to the larger story, such as Brienne's trek to Crackclaw Point or Arianne's long imprisonment in the Sunspear.

George R. R. Martin at his worst is still better than most writers at their best. Feast may be the weakest novel in the series so far, yet it's still terrific, layered with romance and intrigue and war and character growth. It doesn't come close to the dizzying heights of A Storm of Swords, but it's a good book in its own right. Its status as a placeholder in the series definitely contributes to the feeling that it's a prelude to greatness rather than greatness itself.

NEXT UP: Vision in White, by Nora Roberts. Yep, that's right. A romance novel.

The Face of a Stranger by Anne Perry

The Face of a Stranger by Anne Perry, 1990

He realized with a shock he did not know how old he was. He still had not looked at himself in the glass. Why not? Was he afraid of it? What did it matter how a man looked? And yet he was trembling.

He swallowed hard and picked up the oil lamp from the desk. He walked slowly into te bedroom and put the lamp on the dresser. There must be a glass here, at least big enough to shave himself.

It was on a swivel; that was why he had not noticed it before, his eye had been on the silver brush. He set the lamp down and slowly tipped the glass.

The face he saw was dark and very strong, broad, slightly aquiline nose, wide mouth, rather thin upper lip, lower lip fuller, with an old scar just below it, eyes intense luminous gray in the flickering light. It was a powerful face, but not an easy one. If there was humor it would be harsh, of wit rather than laughter. He could have been anything between thirty-five and forty-five.

He picked up the lamp and walked back to the main room, finding the way blindly, his inner eye still seeing the face that had stared back at him from the dim glass. It was not that it displeased him especially, but it was the face of a stranger, and not one easy to know. --- (pages 16-17)

I am an avowed Anglophile. I especially love the Victorian period, with its carriages, hoopskirts gasogene lamps and social regimentation. There's just something appealing about the period, and something that seems to breed good stories.

The fact that The Face of a Stranger is set in richly detailed Victorian England was one of the main reasons I was interested in it in the first place, and Anne Perry doesn't disappoint in her depiction. She has the Diana Gabaldon-esque gift that gives her descriptions that sense of tactile sensation. She manages to both communicate information about period technology, dress and behavior to the modern reader, while also keeping her characters matter-of-fact about it.

Overall, it's an enjoyable murder mystery, too. Face is the first installment in a series revolving around amnesiac William Monk and his adventures as a police detective in London (yes, I know, I read a lot of series fiction). Perry is the reigning queen of the historical mystery genre and has quite an impressive number of ardent fans. She was also famously tried and convicted of manslaughter as a teenager, a fact that I find utterly fascinating considering the fact that she now writes about murders for a living.

When William Monk wakes up in a London hospital after a carriage crash, he is a blank slate. Like a nineteenth-century Jason Bourne, he has no memory of his former life and no identity, except from what he can glean for the reactions of others.

Concealing his condition from everyone, he resumes work as a detective (even though he doesn't remember any of his old contacts or skills) and is assigned to the well-publicized murder of a well-to-do Crimean War hero who was beaten to death in his lodgings. Monk attempts to track down the killer, while also trying to put together the pieces of his past. Since this is a mystery novel, we know from the start that the two investigations will intertwine, and sure enough, they do.

Perry is a pretty good writer, a tendency towards overwrought emotional description aside, but she does make some notable mistakes from the get-go. For instance, the amnesiac angle is really not that compelling, especially at the beginning of the novel. Monk's decision to tell no one the truth feels like a plot device and not a very skillfully deployed one at that. Furthermore, introducing a main character with no real characteristics except his lack of characteristics is not a great way to kick off a multi-book series.

Admittedly, the memory-loss story does enable a great twist near the end of the novel, and it becomes a more intriguing element as it goes on; it just seems like an odd device to base your main character around. Crimean War nurse Hester Latterly, who has several chapters to herself, seems like a more charismatic and interesting character than Monk. She seems like a more logical choice for a protagonist, but I digress.

The main question of who killed Joscelin Grey is nicely dealt with, with Perry employing a classic whodunit structure with lots of clues and misdirection. The pace is not exactly fast, but the upper-class comedy-of-manners segments are surprisingly effective. Monk's forays into the lower classes of society are a little less impressive, marked as they are with pages of galumphing Cockney slang. There's no innovative reivention of the detective-fiction wheel here, but Perry navigates the conventions of the genre with relative ease.

I also enjoyed Perry's use of an important, but little-known, historical event (the Crimean War) to support the plot. Historical information is unobtrusively laced throughout the narrative, adding extra emotional depth to a story that lacks it.

Did I like Face enough to continue on with the series? While I'm not exactly chomping at the bit to find out what happens next to William Monk, I definitely enjoyed the book enough to try the next one (the fact that I own the next two novels in the series doesnt hurt either). Perry definitely writes a good mystery with an arresting setting and a satisfying resolution. What she needs to work on is her protagonist, who needs to grow into something more than just a blank slate.

NEXT UP: A Feast for Crows by George R. R. Martin.

One Was a Soldier by Julia Spencer-Fleming

One Was a Soldier by Julia Spencer-Fleming, 2011

The brunette braced her hands on her thighs. "My name's Mary McNabb, but everyone calls me Tally." She looked at Stillman. "Sorta like you, I guess. I was formerly a specialist, formerly in the United States Army."

"Where did you serve, Tally?"

"Camp Anaconda."

That got some whistles from the rest. "Mortaritaville," Fergusson said.

"Yeah, well." McNabb ran her hands through her short hair.

Stillman snapped his fingers. "Mary McNabb. Fractured left ankle. A car dropped on you?"

McNabb laughed. "I was helping my husband fix it up for resale. I'm impressed you remember."

Sarah put up her hands again. "Wait." She looked around the circle. "Do you all know each other?"

They looked at each other. They looked at her. "Yes," they all said.

"It's a very small town." Clare Fergusson's voice was dry. ---(page 6)

Julia Spencer-Fleming has gotten enormously good at the formula of her novels. I'm not saying they're formulaic (because they really aren't), but that she has, over the course of the last few books in the series, found a perfect balance between mystery, romance, thriller and drama.

One Was a Soldier, the latest in her continuing Millers Kill saga, is another rock-solid novel, darker and more intricate than I Shall Not Want, heavy on character interaction and light on action. As always the pacing is pretty much flawless, the dialogue is sharp and the characters continually display fresh layers.

After a year and a half in Iraq flying helicopters, Clare returns to Russ and Millers Kill pretending not to be suffering from harrowing flashbacks and an increasing dependence on sleeping pills. Clare joins a local veterans support group, hoping to heal herself before her post-traumatic stress disorder interferes with her relationship with Russ, but finds herself set against the man she loves when one of the group dies under mysterious circumstances. Russ rules the death a suicide, while Clare is convinced that it was murder, and only a small part of a dangerous conspiracy.

The mystery plot is not the main event here; it's more of an interesting sidebar to accompany the larger story of the returning veterans and their struggles to reintegrate into the world of Millers Kill. Spencer-Fleming introduces a few new characters and fleshes out some existing ones, too, like Eric McCrea and Trip Stillman. Like most of Spencer-Fleming's writing choices, it's a smart move to give some of the supporting characters some room to shine. She clearly knows that readers would get bored if it all they got was Russ/Clare interaction.

The Russ/Clare interaction is pretty darn good, though. By now, Spencer-Fleming knows exactly how to portray their relationship, which goes through some interesting permutations in this volume. Clare in particular goes down a compelling, and surprisingly dark, path. It's a testament to Spencer-Fleming's control of her characters and narrative that she can make unorthodox choices seem logical and in-character.

The series' other major character pairing, Hadley/Kevin, doesn't get quite as much attention as it did in I Shall Not Want (the veterans group story takes up too much space), but there's enough development to be satisfying. Kevin Flynn continues to be Spencer-Fleming's ace in the hole, and many of the book's best moments, both comic and romantic, come from his naivete and kind nature.

As always, Spencer-Fleming experiments with a slightly different style (she's also used flashbacks, real-time and in media res). Here, the narrative is jumbled and somewhat nonlinear, as well as wider in scope than some of the previous books, involving more characters than the core cast and a larger plot.

Spencer-Fleming is very good at keeping her mystery plots both varied and plausible, and Soldier has an excellent one. There is a touch of that mid-book sagging that so many mysteries have, but I really liked the fact that the mystery served the emotional drama rather than the other way around. Small doses of action throughout make up for the lack of a wild and crazy showdown at the end. Also: setting up a potential Big Bad for the series in John Opperman? Inspired, and a terrific use of the already-established continuity.

One Was a Soldier definitely doesn't have the emotional train-crash/instant classic aspects of All Mortal Flesh and its plot is not the best of the series, but it still easily stands as one of the series' strongest novels. Spencer-Fleming's writing is as clear and strong as ever and her sense of character has never been better. A final-sentence twist (admittedly, a fairly predictable one) sets up the next book with aplomb. This is one series that shows no signs of flagging quality, even seven books in.

NEXT UP: Due to my full re-read of the Harry Potter series, I haven't updated this blog for a while. Never fear! I'm currently working on a couple of books, including A Feast for Crows and Anne Perry's The Face of a Stranger.

A Storm of Swords by George R. R. Martin

A Storm of Swords by George R. R. Martin, 2000

Dany shrugged him off. "Viserys would have bought as many Unsullied as he had the coin for. But you once said I was like Rhaegar. . ."

"I remember, Daenerys."

"Your Grace," she corrected. "Prince Rhaegar led free men into battle, not slaves. Whitebeard said he dubbed his squires himself, and made many other knights as well."

"There was no higher honor than to receive your knighthood from the Prince of Dragonstone."

"Tell me, then--when he touched a man on the shoulder with his sword, what did he say? 'Go forth and kill the weak'? Or 'Go forth and defend them'? At the Trident, those brave men Viserys spoke of who died beneath our dragon banners--did they give their lives because they believed in Rhaegar's cause, or because they had been bought and paid for?" Dany turned to Mormont, crossed her arms, and waited for an answer.

"My queen," the big man said slowly, "all you say is true. But Rhaegar lost on the Trident. He lost the battle, he lost the war, he lost his kingdom, and he lost his life. His blood swirled downriver with the rubies from his breastplate, and Robert the Usurper rode over his corpse to steal the Iron Throne. Rhaegar fought valiantly, Rhaegar fought nobly, Rhaegar fought honorably. And Rhaegar died.---(page 330)

I am going to make a concerted effort not to write this review in ALL CAPS and littered with exclamation points and glowing words of praise. I'm going to try to rein myself in and be balanced and reasonable. This will not be easy because A Storm of Swords is SO FREAKING AWESOME IN SO MANY WAYS!!!!!!!!

Ahem. Yes, as I was saying, Storm is--well, it's incredible. It's just an incredible work of writing, a truly staggering novel that made me want to organize a parade for George R. R. Martin. Storm pushed so many of my buttons, and in some combinations that I didn't even know existed. It makes the first two novels in the series look like slow, plodding mammoths. In Storm, plotlines that have lain dormant begin to sizzle, character arcs pay off explosively and the story twists and turns as violently as a roller coaster. Martin's writing has never been better, his characters never more fascinating, infuriating, lovable, despicable, funny, hateful and conflicted. This is the kind of novel where mammoth-riding archers engaging in battle at a seven-hundred foot wall of ice is a lull in the action.

The War of the Five Kings is still going as Storm begins, even after Stannis's crushing defeat at the Blackwater. New Hand of the King Tywin Lannister has engineered a politically advantageous marriage for King Joffrey that will cement an important military alliance, while Stannis licks his wounds on Dragonstone and Robb tries to rectify a potentially disastrous mistake.

Meanwhile, Daenerys begins her conquest of the eastern realms, Davos Seaworth attempts to stop Stannis from trusting Melisandre, Jon finds himself a turncloak spy inside the wildllings' camp, Arya falls in with a mysterious band of outlaws, Tyrion is trapped in an unusual marriage to Sansa, of all people, Bran travels beyond the Wall, Catelyn struggles to keep Robb's campaign afloat and Jaime Lannister goes on a painful journey of self-discovery.

And believe me, this is a seriously truncated summary. So much happens in Storm that it makes the previous two novels in the series look positively sleepy. There's very little set-up here; this baby is all payoff. The rivalries, wars, conflicts and intrigues that have been carefully set in place explode like nukes. Martin's plotting is mind-blowing in its intricacy and internal consistency. He reminds me of J.K. Rowling in his ability to drop in a seemingly irrelevant detail that turns out, a thousand pages later, to be the key to solving some crucial mystery. He has character revelations galore up his sleeve in this installment--some heartbreaking, some jaw-dropping. Nearly every chapter changes the game in some significant way.

One incredible twist (which occurs two-thirds of the way through the novel) is one of the most shocking I've ever encountered, as is the one that occurs on the book's final page. To call it gutsy would be a massive understatement. Martin takes constant risks and 99.9% of them pay off in the end. I can honestly say that I've never read any author who could out-plot Martin.

The characters are progressing amazingly, too. Tyrion? Still awesome. Arya? Still awesome. Jon? Awesomer than ever. The sheer number of compelling characters in the series is staggering; even characters with minuscule roles (Podrick Payne, Tormund Giantsbane, Osha) become fascinating figures in Martin's able hands.

A few characters get boatloads of new development, too, especially Jaime Lannister, who was formerly a one-dimensional villain. Martin expertly shows us Jaime's side of the story and, of course, I was loving him by the end of the book. It's a tribute to the incredible moral complexity of the series that a man who threw a child off a tower with the intent to kill him can become a likable antihero. Jaime's chemistry with Brienne is one of the book's best subplots. Come to think of it, George R. R. Martin does romance surprisingly well: Jon's sweet, sad love affair with Ygritte is a notable highlight in a book jam-packed with them.

One of my other favorites: the gorgeously sad scene near the end where lost, lonely Sansa builds a replica Winterfell in the snow of the Eyrie. Martin knows just exactly how to move his readers; he toys with our emotions like a master puppeteer, giving us just enough decency, hope and goodness to keep us going through the grim, gory and harsh world he's created.

Do I have anything bad to say about Storm? Not really. I did think that Bran's story was a total non-starter in this particular volume, despite the cool revelation that he can possess people as well as animals. This doesn't much bother me, though, because I trust Martin enough to know that he is going somewhere with Bran.

Fiction doesn't get a whole lot better than this. Storm is definitely the best book in an already-amazing series and it's the kind of book that you can climb into and live in for a while, a completely absorbing read with a fantasy world so detailed and complete that you can sometimes forget it's fantasy at all.

And those cliffhangers he leaves us with? Freaking brutal, but still amazing. Tyrion killing Shae and Tywin, Jon being made Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Dany settling down to rule her "practice kingdom," Arya leaving Westeros and Catelyn BEING ALIVE, as well as completely badass? Now that's how you finish off a book. Magnificent.

NEXT UP: Julia Spencer-Fleming's latest, One Was a Soldier.