And the Winner Is...

You all remember the Sam Sykes love-in last week? Well, as of today, it's over.

By which I mean to say, I have an announcement to make. The giveaway was a tremendous success. I received around 200 entries, the vast majority of which had figured out the correct answer to the question I posed:

In Tome of the Undergates, Lenk and his miserable band of miscreants often encounter "bulbous bird-like beasts who parrot the voices of the dead". What are they called?

The answer, of course, was "Omens".

And courtesy of the lovely folks at Orion Books and the Gollancz imprint in particular, the three lucky winners of the early copies of Sam Sykes storming debut I had to give away are as follows:

...Darren Hartwell, in England.

...Brett Mastin, in Oklahoma City.

...and Christopher Dowie, in Scotland.

Congratulations to all the winners - you'll be hearing from me directly. Commiserations, meanwhile, to all the losers...

But thanks to all those who participated, whether you got a free book for your efforts or not. If that's you, don't despair just yet; it's looking like I'll have another few giveaways to host in the coming weeks. Stay tuned for your chance to win, for instance, a copy of Shadow Prowler, from Simon & Schuster, or thanks to the wonderful Mark Charan Newton, a signed proof of the US edition of his own first novel.

I know. Exciting, isn't it?

The Speculative Spotlight: An Interview With Sam Sykes

Last month, the inaugural edition of The Speculative Spotlight shone on Alex Bell, author of Lex Trent Versus the Gods and a lovely young lady besides. This time out, the game has changed. Amongst threats of physical violence and discussion of bodily functions, foul language abounds in the second installment of this semi-regular interview feature here on TSS.

Today, for your pleasure and/or pain, I cornered Sam Sykes with a few questions, and I think you'll find much to enjoy in all that he had to say. I know I enjoyed hearing it - that is, in between dodging his occasional, unprovoked machette thrusts.

Hold on to your hats, ladies and gentlemen. And don't say I didn't warn you!

***

Hey, Sam. How does your garden grow on this fine day?

With silver bells and cockle shells and chickens in a row.

You’re all about the chickens, aren’t you? Is there... something I should know?

Chickens are an excellent source of protein! Lean protein is nearly as important to your body as fibre is for healthy bowels.

I’m going to politely refrain from segueing off the too-soon introduction of bowels to this interview. So, since we’re talking dinner already, if your near-as-dammit debut novel were a food item - and surely books are consumables too - what would it be?

TOME OF THE UNDERGATES is something very spicy, though a little slow to begin with. I'd suggest it's probably a nice curry sold to you by a one-eyed Indian fellow in a tiny shop in a back alley. Strangely delicious, exceedingly spicy and it lingers with you long after you put it down.

Having barrelled through TOME OF THE UNDERGATES last week, I’d quite agree. I do enjoy a good curry from time to time - although that one-eyed Indian fellow always puts mushrooms in mine, no matter what manner of awful things I threaten his children with. Mushrooms: surely the devil’s vegetable.

But a little slow? With treason on the high seas and a body count that builds by the chapter? And I haven’t even mentioned the crotch-stomping yet. What gives?

Well, TOME OF THE UNDERGATES is not the sort of book that deals with just one hero. There are six main characters and none of them are what one might call heroic. The beginning, I'm told, is a little slow, but it's worth it to establish their personalities and motives. And, given that said motives tend to be fairly diverse (everything from suicide to homicide to genocide and maybe a little theological doubt), I'd say it was the right choice.

Of course, for everyone who gripes that there's a 200 page fight scene at the beginning, another person squeals with delight over the possibility.

I’ll admit, I had a few reservations about the opening of TOME OF THE UNDERGATES myself, but by the time the Abysmyth entered from stage left in all its “emaciated, ebon-skinner splendour,” I was squealing with the rest of the piggies. It’s full steam ahead from there on out.

For the benefit of those readers who haven’t yet had the pleasure, Sam, do tell: what exactly are these adventurers adventuring after?

Ah, well, these adventurers (like all adventurers) find themselves starting, initially as cheap labour, adventurers being the people one looks up when they can't be bothered to deal with trivialities like fair pay, sanitary working conditions and ethical business practices. The story takes a shift, however, and our adventurers find themselves chasing the titular Tome of the Undergates, the written compilation of all mankind's sins and necessary key to opening the gates of hell and allowing the demons therein free exit from their prison. These being luckless adventurers, the actual pursuit draws them off their comfortable ship and into open waters as they hunt down the aforementioned Abysmyth, something of a titanic demonic evangelist, and draws them right into a collision course with the chanting, purple psychotic women who are also chasing the Tome.

There's an immense amount of happenings in the book and I think lovers of adventure, violence, the otherworldly and awkward romances alike will find a whole slew of stuff to like.

Awkward’s putting it lightly when it comes to the bloody-minded courtship between Lenk and Kataria, one of my favourite story threads running throughout TOME OF THE UNDERGATES. Speaking of Lenk, leader of the aforementioned adventurers, he’s not really your average hero, is he? He’s a short-arse, for one thing; something I can sympathise with, I might add. Might you also be a card-carrying little person, Sam?

I'm actually scraping six and a half feet tall and my shoulders are about as broad as well-fed sheep. Lenk's height was simply how he sounded to me. The more I thought about it, though, the more sense it made. He's prickly, snide and aggressive: all hallmarks of short people. He's disrespected, resentful and often ignored: further traits associated with those of diminutive stature. Also, I thought the image of a small guy leaping onto a larger dude and stabbing him in the face was one worth exploring.

Oh, burn. I’m sure there are some decent shorties out there somewhere, though I’m drawing a blank. Anyone care to suggest a few?

There’s certainly lots of stabbing in TOME OF THE UNDERGATES, as well as dismemberment, evisceration, I could go on. Lots of good, healthy violence, all in all! But for every crotch turned to pulp there’s a joke; for every demon beheaded, a witty retort. Your debut is certainly one of the funniest fantasy novels The Speculative Scotsman has read in a long while - a breath of fresh air after so much self-important gravitas.

Do you think the genre we all hold so dear could do with a kick in the rear by way of a decent sense of humour? Does SF&F take itself too seriously?

There was that Napoleon fellow, but as to your proper question...

The pain I feel at mentioning his name is soul-deep, but my answer to the question of whether or not such a thing is refreshing to the genre is: "Joe Abercrombie." Tangentially related, this is also the most common answer to "who replaced the cookies with mousetraps" and "why is that fellow on the lawn prancing about nude.”

But, anyway, the two phrases used to describe him are "darkly humorous" and "wickedly violent." He's also currently one of the bigger names in the genre. In fact, if you look at the stuff before him, there's very little action or humour to speak of. After George R.R. Martin, fantasy political thrillers became the "in" thing. This is not a bad thing, by any means, and we've got some truly great stuff out of the trend that continues today, if THE HUNDRED THOUSAND KINGDOMS by N.K. Jemisin is anything to go by. All the same, readership greatly benefits from having stuff like BEST SERVED COLD because it diversifies the genre.

Diversity, really, is the keyword here and we're extremely fortunate that it's the watchword for the current trends of fantasy. In addition to political thrillers and action/adventure, we've got new weird, destiny epics, magic innovations and all sorts of stuff that just defies labels entirely. To me, there's little more aggravating than someone saying: "I'm going to revolutionize this genre," because do we really need it? A revolution implies that what we've got is flawed. This is not the case. We've got plenty of good stuff. What we need is to encourage authors to give us their all because fantasy is one of those bizarre communal hiveminds where one person's success benefits all.

So you’re saying... TOME OF THE UNDERGATES might not have been published had it not been for the likes of THE FIRST LAW trilogy? I don’t entirely disagree, but I’ve had thought you would be shying away from the Joe Abercrombie comparisons. To my mind, he’s certainly among the greatest new voices in modern fantasy. Quite the imposing touchstone to be measuring your first novel against...

Of course, if the whispers of the little biography birdies are to be believed, you’ve been writing TOME for seven years - since well before THE BLADE ITSELF saw publication in 2006. That being the case, how do you feel your debut in its final form shapes up against what you might have imagined all that time ago?

Well, now, I didn't say that. The comparisons are unavoidable, though, since I am apparently his second coming... or he's my first coming. Who knows? I think TOME OF THE UNDERGATES still would have gotten underway since it's a good story and publishers have only gotten pickier since 2006, but Abercrombie certainly made it easier, as well as providing me one of my favourite series to boot.

Ah, see, I started this awhile back, it's true, but it was a curious sort of amalgamation. In the beginning, it was fairly straightforward fantasy: dark masters, people being heroic all the time, good vs. evil. Then, by the time I hit the end, I sort of crossed a threshold of reading puberty. If that doesn't immediately make you stop reading, I'll explain. By the end, it was a fairly well-told book, but it just didn't ring with the right vigour to me. I didn't think that anyone who actively chose to fight monsters and kill other people would be nearly mentally stable enough to be able to grasp concepts of higher powers and good and evil. Beyond that, the idea of having to choose sides is not practical in such a situation: righteousness comes to those who can afford it. People who have to survive can't be so picky.

So, I rewrote it and things began to take shape. This was one of my favorite and most frustrating things about the whole project: I couldn't stop having ideas. Some of them, like the talking dolphin, got scrapped. Others, like the Abysmyth's evangelizing, stuck and shaped their whole history. It's still incredibly fun and incredibly frustrating, especially now that I'm balls-deep in book two and having to choose which of my beloved babies to cast off a cliff to the hungry sharks below.

Oh, lots to get to in there, but priorities, I must remember my priorities. Tell me more about the talking dolphin!

Well, there's not a crapload to tell, sadly. This was when I was stuck in my "goodness must reign supreme" phase and what is more good and pure than a dolphin? Hot contenders were the sentient chimpanzee and the puppy of light, but the talking dolphin won out due to environmental bias. My editor at the time, Lou Aronica, said it was "unnecessary." It's worth noting that Lou and I think alike on several occasions and Lou is also immensely polite, which is why he probably didn't say what I was thinking when I looked back at that scene.

That being: "This is going to make people a lot more sympathetic to unsafe tuna fishing."

Tuna must... not die? Falling a little short of your ruthless image there, Sam.

So a full rewrite? Not to mention the dead alone know how many further drafts and revisions. For me, it’s more often a case of revising as I go. The thought of just scrapping a whole book’s worth of work... that must just kill a man.

How do you feel the seven years you’ve spent with TOME OF THE UNDERGATES, be it in one form or another, have informed your work on BLACK HALO? Is there a chance, do you think, that you’ll reach the end of the sequel and decide to start over, or has the hard time and all the baby-killing paid off?

I'm not unsympathetic to the tuna. Being beasts from the festering blue wound that is the ocean, they should die horribly, no doubt, but it needs to be a concentrated attack. Dolphins, being the rapists of the sea, should be rehabilitated.

Well, now, you're forgetting I'm published by Gollancz, the same house that put out Scott Lynch, who promptly vanished into myth and legend after his second book, and Patrick Rothfuss, who has been in a beard-off with George R.R. Martin for the past three years. Great guys with great books, both of them, but to say they're late is to something akin to saying that dolphins just get a little affectionate at times.

Suffice to say, my tremendously tall editor, Simon Spanton, put forth in no uncertain terms that he would sooner see me get my testicles put in the path of a wildebeest charge than see the book get pushed back... or least to the extent of THE WISE MAN'S FEAR and THE REPUBLIC OF THIEVES. All the same, though, if a book needs a lot of polish and restructuring, then it'll take as long as it takes. Not nearly the extent that those fellows are doing, I hope, but quality is the chief concern here.

As it stands, though, BLACK HALO's biggest problem is that there's just a lot of fun stuff going on that we might have to cut out a few subplots. In which case, what do we choose? The killer librarian? The Serrant's disgrace? The religious fanatic lizardmen?

You tease! Well, if BLACK HALO is a match for TOME OF THE UNDERGATES, and from that description it certainly sounds to be, I’m all for done when it’s done. For my money, it’s the provisional dates the likes of Amazon insist on conjuring up out of nothing more substantial than a deadline - I mean, who cares about those? - that I think result in so very many panties all a-bunch.

Whatever you do, though, don’t cut the killer librarian! She’d better have horn-rimmed glasses, too...

So did you compose TOME OF THE UNDERGATES with the thought always in mind that there’d be sequels? Have you a great story bible secreted somewhere about your person that contains the inner workings of the whole trilogy, or --- wait, I know all about what assumptions can make of you and me (mostly me). Is this even a trilogy? Come to that, have you a name for the series?

The Librarian is actually male, sadly, part of an elite sect of wizard-hunters. But I've already said too much.

I know what happens, yes, for fairly far into the future. It all depends on how successful the books are, though. The series thus far is called THE AEON'S GATE. If TOME OF THE UNDERGATES does well and BLACK HALO does well and MOTHER DEEP does well, we may yet get to another. I'd advise, though, that people not instantly go berserk over the idea of a series spanning into infinity (it won't). I get terribly bored with just one setting, so any further stories would be self-contained duologies or whatever the fuck I feel like writing.

A male librarian? What is this, the 21st century? Cut it!

Besides fame and fortune and women dangling from your every heathen limb, Sam, what inspires you to drag yourself up out of bed and spend your days telling stories? Can you put your finger on a book or a film or hell, a video game that drove you to such an admittedly creative compulsion?

It was a peculiar blend of things, really.

For one, I always just wanted to tell stories. I was doing it since I was eight (though in those days, they called it 'lying' and you were frequently bludgeoned for it), but I didn't really think TOME OF THE UNDERGATES would amount to anything. I tried doing lots of other things: hotel and restaurant management, journalism, retail, cooking, witness protection, snitch killing, swineherding, nutria farming and bear wrestling. The fact that I'm easily distracted, wholly vain and totally self-absorbed generally prevented me from going forward with any of these.

So, generally, writing began because I was too incompetent to do anything else. But as I kept at it, I found I never had to force myself to do it and I could never quit it. I like to think I'm not just incredibly shallow, but I think 90% of authors out there spend the vast majority of time thinking about their own work. It's not a job you can really clock out of, since even if you're going grocery shopping, walking in the park or making tender love to a sweet woman as she tells you to finger the stump where her leg used to be, your thoughts are always: "could this character kill someone with a shopping cart," "that's a funny tree, could I use that," "how does a schizophrenic make love," that sort of thing.

In short, I write because there's pretty much no other option.

It must be tough to see the world as if it were an overcrowded garden of narratives, to go through life always with an eye for some sight that could make for a touch of exposition here, some sound that could become a bit of sparky dialogue there.

So when you switch off, when the well has run dry for a few hours or days or however long, what do you like to unwind with? I know from your interview with the lovely Aidan over at A Dribble of Ink that you’re a man who enjoys his video games, but beyond drooling over GOD OF WAR 3 and quibbling about whether or not to buy DANTE'S INFERNO - don’t do it, man! - how do you like to relax?

God, it really shouldn't be as difficult as it is to decide whether or not to buy DANTE'S INFERNO: there's just something about it in every instance where it goes just too far to be a game I would have ease buying (ie. killing unbaptised babies, a shirtless crusader, demonic clitorises, diarrhoea demons and Cleopatra's slurping nipples), but the style is slick as hell and the market is woefully short on GOD OF WAR games (with good reason; if you can't do it right, don't do it).

But, anyway, I try to exercise when I can as a form of relaxation. That might sound obtuse, but it does wonders for clearing one's head of distracting thought. Aside from that, I browse a lot of neat webcomics to keep myself busy (Penny-Arcade and PvP remain no-brainers, but I enjoy newer, stylized comics like Phoenix Requiem, The Meek, Supernormal Step and Finder's Keepers, as well. Hark! A Vagrant! and Beartato remain two of my absolute favorites). I have a low-scale passion for cooking (nowhere near the craft or skill of David Devereux), having once been a bit of a chef (nowhere near the style or level of David Devereux), so I indulge in that when I can.

Really, most of my relaxation techniques involve getting too worn out, mentally or physically, to feel angry anymore.

You are a rather angry man, aren’t you? Which dovetails all too neatly into something I noticed during my read-through of TOME OF THE UNDERGATES: whatever did the world do to you, Sam, to make you so deeply suspicious of humanity? Are we really such a lost cause?

Oh, no, I'm actually quite shy and affable, as anyone will tell you.



"Irritated" is just sort of my default state. If I'm not irritated by my immediate circumstances, I'm irritated by the fact that I soon will be. If nothing happens, I'll realize that Australian politics just piss me right the hell off. After realizing I don't have any stakes in Australian politics, I'll realize that I don't have enough money to go there and that just irks me even more. This sort of happens over the span of five seconds, my facial expression going from "frown" to "pants-shitting" in that time. It's quite neat to see, I'm told.

As for the book, well, humanity is pretty suspicious in it, isn't it? To every other race, they're a breeding, teeming race of sentient cockroaches who quickly took all the best land for themselves by virtue of the fact that they have more sex than anyone else. To themselves, they're deeply divided by their own faiths and religions and worship a surprising number of gods whose chief mandate is "kill those other guys right there." It's a breeding ground for conflict, though, which is what makes it a nice place to start a story.


Fair enough, on all counts. Well, except the Australian politics thing. I’m a Scotsman! Don’t you know we don’t vote?


What were we talking about again?


Your crafty attempts to derail this interview notwithstanding, what do you think the most important aspect of a story is? The setting, the characters, the central conflict? What exactly was it that you had in mind when you began TOME OF THE UNDERGATES?


Character.


Because character is the story. You have an event, sure, and it can be the greatest, most incredible, unique story that ever lived, but not having a good character is roughly equivalent to the author saying: "hey, look here! Here's a nice, fancy playground: it's got slides, carousels, swingsets, sandboxes and strippers. Looks fun, right? You can't play in it, but isn't it nice to look at?" Well, yes, it's nice to look at for all of a minute and then I feel the urge to build sand castles with ladies of ill repute and my options are painfully slim at that point.

Don't get me wrong, a plot and conflict are important, as characters don't really function well without purpose (you'd get awfully bored watching Superman and Batman make macaroni and cheese, for example). But the idea there is that the conflict comes from the characters. You can lay down a quest, say: "take this object from point A to point B." But if that's all there is, there's not much of a reason to read, because you already know what's going to happen. Now, if a villain jumps out to take the object just because he wants it, that's more exciting and if you go long enough with that you can get a good story. But if the villain wants it because his people need it more than the heroes, suddenly you've got a conflict that goes deeper, digging itself into the reader themselves and making them choose a side and suddenly the conflict is that much more palpable.


But how is the reader in any position to choose which side he or she is on without hearing the story told from the villain’s perspective? There’s certainly some of that in TOME OF THE UNDERGATES, particularly in the last act, but of late there seems to be no small amount of interest in the opposing front - Angry Robot, for instance, have packaged Kaaron Warren's wonderful WALKING THE TREE with a 20,000 word novella which retells her novel’s narrative from another point of view.

Without spoiling anything that hasn’t already been given away by the various plot synopses of your debut, can we expect to hear more from the villains in BLACK HALO and MOTHER DEEP?


It depends, really. How sympathetic are you to a mother trying to protect her children? How sympathetic are you if her children are emaciated fish-men with a violent streak? How sympathetic are you if the people opposing her are even more violent? It's a tricky situation, really, and one that I hope the reader will decide for themselves.


I will say this, though: BLACK HALO deals much more with a certain race of purple-skinned brutes and their charismatic, Darwinist leader. I hope they'll be as compelling as the demons.


Could I have asked for a more appropriate note on which to draw this illuminating conversation to a close than evolution? I think not.


One last question before I let you get back to your lizardmen and your wizard-hunters. My review of TOME OF THE UNDERGATES went up yesterday, but better, surely, that readers of The Speculative Scotsman have it first from the horse’s mouth. Publishing, I’m sure, is embroiled in as cut-throat and brutish a sphere as any other competitive pursuit. Given that, tell us why you and your furious debut are the fittest specimens of fantasy to survive the myriad evolutions of the genre that are surely to come?


In other words, Sam, tell us why TOME OF THE UNDERGATES is the best fantasy debut of the year so far.


I can't say anything for editors themselves, but I've never met another fantasy author I didn't like. To add to that, a veritable panoply of new releases (SPELLWRIGHT, THE HUNDRED THOUSAND KINGDOMS, etc), all said to be quite excellent, can only be good for each author. Because, let's be totally honest: when have you ever known any reader, let alone a fantasy reader, to say: "you know, I think I'll only buy one book this year."


But, let me be a little more self-indulgent.

TOME OF THE UNDERGATES is basically your favourite fantasy on steroids. The characters are rich and thought out in violently exquisite detail. The combat is fast-paced and possessed of some truly creative action. The plot is a not-overly familiar tale, underscored and augmented by a festering crop of conflicts within and without the characters' relationships. The romance is suitably awkward and bizarre. The world is there and rich without being shoved down your throat or up your butt.


Really, I'd say just look at some other reviews: they've loved some parts, they've hated other parts, but there's no real in-between, is there? None of them have been bored. All of them want to see what happens next. I hope you, and the readers, do, too.


Well I know that I do, and now that I’m finished with TOME OF THE UNDERGATES, I’ll be anticipating the next instalment in THE AEON’S GATE as surely as any reader who dares peel back the first pages of your incredible debut.


Thanks so much for taking the time to tolerate my curious interrogation, Sam. It’s been a pleasure speaking with you, and I’d heartily recommend anyone with even a passing interest in high-octane fantasy fiction get their orders for TOME OF THE UNDERGATES in now. But more on that note in my review tomorrow.


For the moment, if there are any last words you’d like to share with those readers you’ve already seduced and the foolish few still on the fence, now’s your chance...

All threats aside, I dearly hope the book passes muster for you readers interested in it. Six editors believed enough in it to make it a very big part of their catalogues, the same editors who brought you Scott Lynch, Joe Abercrombie, James Enge, Patrick Rothfuss and other such big leaguers. It's an incredible honour to have those same people believe I can stand with them.


Also, if you do buy it, I will give you a free hug.


You hear that? Free hugs for every reader!

Thanks again, Sam.

***

And there we have it. That concludes my conversation with the second guest to grace The Speculative Spotlight, although in fairness to the man, we conducted this lengthy conversation a wee while before I chatted with Alex Bell. You hear that, Sam? You win.

As ever...

Before we call it a day, how about a sneak peek at the next guest TSS is proud to present? In a little while, you'll be hearing from Kaaron Warren, Aussie author of Slights and lately, the wonderful Walking the Tree. Stay tuned!

Giveaway! Giveaway! Read All About It!

If my review of Tome of the Undergates has whetted your appetite for what I called "one of the best fantasy debuts of 2010 from the most morbidly entertaining new voice in the genre since Joe Abercrombie," then readers, you're in luck.

If it hasn't, what's wrong with you?

Well, I don't suppose you have to be drooling with anticipation to want a free book. Yup, that's what I said: free!

I have a real treat for you today, readers. Thanks to the lovely folks at Gollancz, I have three early copies of Sam Sykes' deservedly hyped fantasy debut to give away. All you have to do to stand a chance of winning one of these rare beauties is send an email to thespeculativescotsman [at] googlemail [dot] com (replacing the words in square brackets with the corresponding symbols) with the answer to the following question:

In Tome of the Undergates, Lenk and his miserable band of miscreants often encounter "bulbous bird-like beasts who parrot the voices of the dead". What are they called?

In case that's too much for you, well, tough.

No, no, I kid. Here's a hint: you'll be able to find the answer - and with very little effort, I might add - in the text of The Speculative Scotsman's review of Tome of the Undergates.

So, to re-iterate in three easy steps.

1. Read the review of Tome of the Undergates here

2. Discover (with your cunning) what the "bulbous, bird-like beasts" are called

3. Send an email with your answer to thespeculativescotsman [at] googlemail [dot] com

You can enter any time between now and 6PM next Thursday, when I'll be announcing the lucky winners. Winners will be drawn at random using a dainty little bit of freeware I've acquired for this very special equation. Thanks to the boundless generosity of the wonderful lot at Gollancz, I'm going to be able to accept entries from anywhere in the world, so don't by shy of entering if you're in the United States or elsewhere - although if you're lucky enough to win, let it be said your book might take a bit longer to get to you than it would if you lived somewhere sensible.

Please do include your name and postal address in the body text of your entry email. Also, no gaming the system. Only one entry per person, or I'll be forced to void all your entries.

And Sam, if you're reading this - I'm afraid you're not allowed to enter. Sorry! Rules are rules.

That's all the small print.

Now go!

Book Review: Tome of the Undergates by Sam Sykes

[Buy this book on
Amazon in the UK]

"Lenk can barely keep control of his mismatched adventurer band at the best of times: Gariath the dragon man sees humans as little more than prey, Kataria the shict despises most humans and the humans in the band are little better. When they're not insulting each other's religions, they're arguing about pay and conditions, so when the ship the gang are travelling on is attacked by pirates, things don't go well. They go a whole lot worse when an invincible demon joins the fray.

"The demon steals the fabled Tome of the Undergates - a manuscript containing all a body would need to open the undergates. And whichever god you believe in, you don't want the undergates open. On the other side are an array of additional, equally impervious demons; the manifestation of all the evil of the gods. And the Gods, well... they want out."

***

Tome of the Undergates is a behemoth of a book. At upwards of 600 pages, it's the sort of novel you could use to handily beat a man to death - and there's plenty of death herein, not to mention torture, dismemberment, crotch-stomping; I could go on. That said, with Tome of the Undergates, Sam Sykes - hot tip for the most promising new voice in fantasy fiction since Joe Abercrombie - hits the ground running at a pace more befitting the entrants of a short sprint than the half-marathon of his impressive debut.

When the Riptide is boarded by an army of menacing Cragsmen, there's little time for formal introductions to Lenk and the miserable band of misbegotten adventurers who will shortly follow him to the end of the world in search of an apocalyptic book. But there's time enough for some serious violence; there's at least one death in every chapter, alternately grim or comical. And there's time, too, for some witty banter between the fellowship of miscreants; the better to get to know an initially intimidating line-up of characters whose lives are on the line as the pirates attack.

They're a traditional lot, for the most part, the likes of which you'll be familiar with from countless decades of fantasy fiction, and sadly the first 100 pages of Tome of the Undergates doesn't do much to dissuade that suspicion. Sykes perhaps take too much on too soon: beginning his debut in full swing with an extended, high-tension battle is a great idea in concept, but in practice, as per the opening of Tome of the Undergates, the fight has worn out its welcome long before the last killing blow is struck. Add to that already-crowded introduction the worldbuilding Skyes endeavours to begin and intially, the apparently revolving door of characters he ushers in all fall rather... flat.

Save for some choice moments of murderous madness and the first flush of an impossible romance between the novel's hillariously diminutive hero and Kataria, a filthy Shict with more than a passing fondness for flatulence, Tome of the Undergates can seem a hollow reading experience for the first while, not despite the break-neck pace but perhaps, in part, because of it.

Before the great battle's over and done, though, a game-changing Lovecraftian horror descends into the chaos of the collision on the high seas: with the Abysmyth, in all its "emaciated, ebon-skinned splendour," Sykes hits his stride, setting the tone for the larger part of his debut that remains. Tome of the Undergates shortly becomes something like The Island of Dr. Moreau with hellish demons standing in for the evolutionary monstrosities of that latter novel's mad scientist.

And the Abysmyth is only the beginning. In their pursuit of the titular manuscript, Lenk and his lot are shortly tormented by a host of other unspeakable creatures. From Omens, bulbous bird-like beasts who parrot the voices of the dead, to dreadful Deepshrieks, skin-crawling Longfaces and on, Skyes conjures into existence a ghastly assortment of fauna with which to menace his foul-mouthed fellowship. They are the fantastic equivalent of an Inferno that Dante himself would be proud of - that is, were he not too busy spinning in his grave over the video game his likeness is busy starring in.

When they've room to breathe, the cast easily overcome the meek expectations the opening of Tome of the Undergates will leave readers with. Lenk is a long way from the untouchable hero of so many novels of the genre. He is, in fact, second-guessed at every stage by a darker personality than even his own that questions every action, every word with an almost schizophrenic persistence. Kataria, meanwhile, is plagued by her Shictish heritage - the words of her father come often to her, berating her for her decision to take up with a crew of low-down, dirty humans.

Gradually, Sykes reveals the origins of Daemos the rogue, the dragonman Gariath, Asper the healer and, in time, the other adventurers to accompany Lenk on his hell-bent quest; it doesn't take long for any fleeting impression of their shallowness to fall away. Superficially speaking, there may be little to seperate them from your usual assortment of fantasy folk, but Sykes renders each member of Lenk's party distinctly enough - through internal monologues and unique conflicts - that they quickly overcome and in some cases quite subvert the traditional tropes genre fans might anticipate.

Violence is far from in short supply throughout Tome of the Undergates, and there's also occasion for intrigue, conspiracy and, of course, adventure, but the most definitive characteristic of Sykes' debut is certainly its sense of humour. For every question, there's a witty retort waiting in the wings; for every seemingly imperfect turn of phrase, a sense of self-awareness to diminish it. Whales fart - not to mention Lenk's love interest - and dragonmen gallavant about in kilts.

At times, the comedy perhaps robs Tome of the Undergates of the profundity it should have strived for instead; there are lengthy chats in the midst of pivotal battles at the outset and the climax of the novel that rather detract from the impression of immediacy that such sequences would be the better for. But at its best, which is to say for the most part of Tome of the Undergates, Sykes' amusing exposition and endlessly cutting dialogue elevates his debut to a height not dissimilar to that his closest contemporary scaled in The First Law trilogy.

In the end, Tome of the Undergates doesn't put its best foot forward with its opening sequence, and it falters from time to time thereafter, but from the moment the Abysmyth claws its way onto the Riptide, things get very good, very quickly. This much-hyped first novel is an incredibly confident piece of work, and ultimately, Sam Sykes has good reason to be so full of himself. Fast, furious, funny and brilliantly filthy, Tome of the Undergates is one of the best fantasy debuts of 2010 from the most morbidly entertaining new voice in the genre since Joe Abercrombie - no shit.

***

Tome of the Undergates

by Sam Sykes

April 2010, Gollancz

[Buy this book on
Amazon in the UK]

Recommended and Related Reading

Opinionated Speculations: Writers Reviewing Bloggers

You've all read 'Righting the Left Hand of God', right?

If not, go do that. You'll also want to read the review of Paul Hoffman's eagerly anticipated fantasy debut that preceded it. Don't worry; it's not too much to get through, and hey, what better way is there to spend another dreary Monday than by shirking more pressing responsibilities?

Let's push forward on the presumption that if you're here, however, you're already familiar with the two posts Google Analytics tell me now reign supreme on The Speculative Scotsman - although before we do, let me thank everyone who's read the article, as well as those who were moved enough to tweet about it, link to it, or follow it up on their own blog, with their own thoughts. In the end, it's all about the conversation - the power that arises from this speculative collective - and I'm chuffed to bits to have contributed something to the endlessly stimulating dialogue that's followed.

But let's get on with the show.

In 'Righting the Left Hand of God', I discussed how the reception to my negative review of said novel had left me feeling a little conflicted; or, at the least, I certainly meant to. One way or another, to cut a long story short, I didn't launch The Speculative Scotsman in order to bully readers into buying or not buying a book - any book - based solely on my say-so.

Now far be it from me to suggest that any of the readers who said in the comments section of said review that they would no longer be buying The Left Hand of God made that decision based on a single blogger's opinion. I'm sure that wasn't the case, but equally, it's not impossible that in some cases, my thoughts on Hoffman's much-hyped novel represented the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back. And no wonder: that camel's got to be exhausted by now, trotting back and forth with all the world's expectations on its shoulders like the first man to set foot on the moon, albeit with humps. And straw.

So. Tome of the Undergates author and seemingly frequent TSS visitor Sam Sykes posted his thoughts on the questions raised in part in 'Righting The Left Hand of God' on his own site, which I'd advise you bookmark or add to your RSS readers right this second.

I don't want to repost his entire blog, so go read his response, 'Do Y'all Wanna Talk About Reviews?' - and then, dear reader, return to me, for I have things yet unsaid to say.

To surmise: Sam - perhaps a little nervous over the perception that if bloggers don't like his highly anticipated debut, people might be dissuaded from buying it - doesn't think that a single recommendation, or indeed a warning not to go near a certain novel, is worth overly much. I find myself agreeing with Sam disturbingly often, and this surely isn't the ideological crossroads at which we must part ways; he's right.

I'm not the magical Scotsman that has been suggested elsewhere, nor need my English degree be any sort of validation of the opinions I presented here on the blog; assuredly, the university I studied at is no universally renowned bastion of education, though I suppose it's a step up from the drive-through colleges you can buy diplomas a dime a piece from. That said, there's nothing more or less valid about my reactions to a novel than any other blogger's. TSS is but a single voice, and though I'm not afraid sing a different tune here than other writers and readers might, that's only because, at the end of the day - as they say - beauty is in the eye of the beholder. What makes a book great to me isn't necessarily what would make a book great to you; my opinions are my own, and I promise you, I'll think no less of you if you do not share them.

Anyway, never one to say a little when I could say a lot, I've only really written all of the above to somehow justify with sheer verbosity my reposting of the lengthy comment I made on Sam's blog, as follows:

"Be it good press or bad, if people are talking about your book, if there's buzz of any sort surrounding its release, there's got to be a greater chance that the average Joe or Jane will recognise it when he or she is window-shopping in Waterstones or browsing in Borders. People aren't like lemmings - as Sam says, we can and should be making up our own minds about whether or not a particular thing appeals to us, be it a book, a film, new food or fashion. As far as books go, a review, whether positive or negative, serves firstly to give people who otherwise wouldn't look twice that first incentive to pick up, say, The Left Hand of God, or indeed, Tome of the Undergates, and make their own decisions according to their own criteria.

"And though a part of me rebels against it, there is that other point that no-one's quite making. The Speculative Scotsman may only be a month and change old, but I've been lurking amongst the community for years, and as such I don't think I would be far off-base to say that a negative review on a blog, any blog really, seems to be an uncommon thing. It's not like there's a chance Orbit or Gollancz would stop sending ARCs to The Guardian or The Times if either made a habit of ripping their publications to shreds - the exposure is just too valuable - but as far as blogs go, I imagine things are quite different.

"Bloggers are in the unenviable position of either buying just the books they want to read, and therefore leaning necessarily towards covering only those novels that they're likely to react positively to, or relying on publishers to send them a selection of the good, the bad and the ugly alike. In that latter case, the bloggers in question must then decide how important the relationships he or she has with those publishers are before publicly savaging a book they've particularly disliked. There's certainly bad press to be had in the blogs, but largely I think it's a case of good press to be lost.

"Now I wouldn't go so far as to suggest that blogs which rely on ARCs and the like are dishonest - I'd only be shooting myself in the foot, let's be frank - but I feel there's an important point to be made in amongst all that thinking-out-loud. At the end of the day, I don't necessarily trust a good review in the way that I do a negative perspective; a reviewer has nothing to lose by saying nice things about something, and much to gain. A bad review, on the other hand, will do him or her no favours - it's akin to biting the hand that feeds. Suffice it to say I don't imagine any attempts I make to establish a working relationship with Michael Joseph, the UK publishers of The Left Hand of God, will meet with much success. For a book to be met with indifference or outright negativity, therefore, there have got to be some real problems for a blogger to take that chance.

"Of course, none of that changes the fact that ultimately, readers must make their decisions for themselves. Better that they're informed decisions, though, and better still that they're decisions made bearing in mind the advice of bloggers whose reactions in the past have been similar to your own.

"But for me, for the reasons outlined above, when I'm looking to add to my collection of books, a single bad review carries substantially more weight than a single good review."

Of course, the larger part of that comment is a story for another time, and that time is not now. I've burbled enough for one day.

But do, dear readers, let me know what your thoughts are on these issues in the comments. Are bad reviews bad things? Do they impact your perception of a book more than a good review might? Can bloggers be considered a source of legitimate criticism if there's anything to the above-mooted opinion? At that, is there anything to it?

Discuss!

Righting The Left Hand of God

We're all adults here, aren't we?

Well, here's hoping the thought of a little homework doesn't discourage you from reading the remainder of this post. There's really only a very little, I swear it! For those of you who have already scrolled through my review of Paul Hoffman's The Left Hand of God, a free pass. For those of you who haven't, well... why not? Click through and get caught up. Don't forget to read the comments!

Go on. I'll wait.

...

Quite finished? Excellent. Let's get on with it, then.

I'll admit, I had a notion that a review of The Left Hand of God would appeal to many of the kind souls who frequent these pages. Penguin's incredibly widespread publicity campaign has made certain that there's a great deal of buzz surrounding Hoffman's debut - enough to have hoodwinked several of my fellow bloggers into tipping it as among the most promising SF&F debuts of 2010 - and with its publication in the States still months away, the level of anticipation for The Left Hand of God remains high enough that anyone writing anything about it is guaranteed a bit of traffic.

Skeptics: the above rationale is not why I'm writing about The Left Hand of God again. You have The Speculative Scotsman's word, and Scotsmen, especially the speculative variety, are well known to be honour-bound by their word. Also, if you believe me, I will give you each a cookie.

In any event, I expected that my review would get a bit of attention from those fantasy fans that, like me, had been taken in by the unending hype behind Hoffman's genre debut. What I didn't expect was for traffic to the article to surpass every other piece published to date here on TSS. I mean, come on, Guy Gavriel Kay fans; you're letting the side down!

To my relief, no-one got too up in arms about my reaction to The Left Hand of God. Wait, had I not mentioned that this was the first out-and-out negative review I've written for the site? Well, you should have done your homework. To surmise: The Left Hand of God is hardly fit to prop up your worst enemy's gangrenous ankle. It's a book written by committee. A committee, moreover, who hasn't a clue how to write anything more worthwhile than derivative dreck with designs on selling fantasy to legions of readers to whom Twilight represents the height of literary fiction.

But decrying the UK's bestselling book isn't going to make it any less popular, is it? We're talking about the opinion of a single, small-scale blogger, after all. If you've a mind to see the other half of the equation, there are certainly plenty of more positive reviews of The Left Hand of God out there - although I strenuously disagree with nearly every flattering thing professional critics and fellow bloggers have alike asserted regarding Hoffman's debut. Nevertheless, that very question feeds into the issue I hope to address with this post. What good does a bad review do?

Perhaps I should rephrase and ask, instead: what bad does a bad review do? Eloquent, I know, but all the same, it's an easier question to answer. In the comments section of the aforementioned review, you see, where I'm pleased to say cooler heads prevailed than I'd anticipated - consider my expectations adjusted accordingly, readers; you really are a fine bunch - the most common reaction to my so-called "sodomising" of The Left Hand of God was something along the lines of this, from Phil of A Fantasy Reader:

"I'm glad I read your review, that book was on my 2010 reading list (sadly simply because of the hype) and now it's off."

And this, from Jason, who makes his home over at the excellent Kamvision:

"For some reason I wasn't sure about this one to begin with... Something I read - maybe it was about the author - put me off. Anyway, thanks to your review I'm really not going to bother trying to cram this into an already very tight schedule. Cheers!"

Now this, surely, is one of the prime motivating factors behind why we bloggers do what we do. To inspire people to read books they otherwise wouldn't, and discourage them from wasting their time and money on something that isn't worth either.

Assuredly, I find reviewing to be a great way of collecting together my thoughts on books, films and video games that in all likelihood I won't remember with any real clarity a few years from now, but if that were the only reason I began blogging about speculative fiction in all its forms I'd have been as well to start a diary as launch TSS.

For me, the reviews I publish here are firstly my contribution to the great conversation that goes on between the various members of a community that's built itself around SF&F. Individually, whatever our respective reach and readership, we're none of us terribly powerful when you come right down to it. Together, however, as a single entity amassed at the fringes of genre fiction, we're capable of touching nearly every part of the literature we love to an incredible extent - from writers to publishers to readers, bloggers are an influential force that each of these groups would rather have on their side than on the opposing front.

But that doesn't mean we all have to agree about everything. For my money, a review is a sort of balancing act; an accounting of the various positives and negatives that make up the whole that is the product you're reviewing. A review needn't be anything so sterile as that description perhaps suggests, but I would go so far as to say it's amongst our obligations, as bloggers, to state, according to our own judgment, what does and doesn't work about a particular piece of fiction - obfuscating either the good or the bad so that your argument seems clearer seems to me the sign of a poor argument.

At this point, let me reiterate one final comment from The Left Hand of God review that speaks to the entire issue at hand. Sam Sykes, author of the hotly-anticipated Tome of the Undergates and soon to be TSS interview subject, found a high horse and rode it into the ground. Apologies for his foul language - evidently the gentleman's username on Twitter (follow him @SamSykesSwears) isn't just smoke and mirrors to disguise a specimen of infinite sweetness and light - and do note that I've edited his reaction for brevity, and furthermore, taken great glee in so doing. You can find his unaltered words in the comments for the original post.

Without further ado, then, over to you, sweary Sam:

"Reviews aren't everything and everything a reviewer hates you won't necessarily dislike.

"This is most definitely not a slight or a discouragement of Mr. Alexander or his fine blog. He definitely does a service here, as do all reviewers, but that service is still giving us his opinion, not necessarily telling us what to buy.

"The biggest thing I've learned so far is that the phrase 'different strokes for different folks' (or blokes, if you're inclined) is not just a phrase as it pertains to books: it's a goddamn mantra.

"Everyone gets some negative press. This is because what is written just doesn't work for everyone. Some people want grittier, some people want more angst, some people just want something closer to something they already know. As a result, I don't really take any review as negative anymore, because for every point that a reviewer says is not good, someone else says: 'shit, that's for me!'

"Admittedly, Mr. Alexander's review was a bit harsh and he's absolutely correct to tell you exactly what he thinks of a book; if he coddled you, he'd be a fraudster, and sentenced to the eighth level of hell to be sodomized with hot irons. But that doesn't necessarily mean you won't like the book.

"That went on a bit, didn't it? The point of this all is that you shouldn't feel poorly for buying a book that someone later didn't like. There are tons of popular books out there that I absolutely could not bring myself to like.

"Besides, even if you end up hating it, you'll want to keep it around, because you will find a sentence you just truly hate and someone will eventually ask you what the worst book you ever read was and you will want to have it on hand to quote from."

I find myself very much in agreement with Sam's argument. Ultimately, either in a review or in the case of an article such as this, what I'm stating is an opinion, nothing more concrete than that and nothing less pliable. But then, that's all any of us are doing - even those critics in the enviable position of being able to trade theirs for cold, hard cash. If you've enjoyed some of the same books The Speculative Scotsman has, you'll probably enjoy the books I've read that you haven't; equally, you probably won't like The Left Hand of God, nor be entirely blown away by the likes of Cherie Priest's Boneshaker. But in all likelihood, you'll love Tigana.

However, whether you're a reader or a fellow writer, if the opinions published on TSS diverge from your own - and inevitably, even if we find ourselves nodding in agreement the majority of the time, they will - so much the better; much as I feel a review is better when it encompasses both pros and cons, surely the community as a whole is made stronger if it's truly representative of the vast swathe of reactions every piece of fiction leave in its literary wake.

When I was growing up, my folks would fight a lot. Maybe that's got something to do with why I find fiction such an invaluable diversion, but I digress; I certainly haven't had a hard life. Nonetheless, whenever I'd ask why they were always shouting at one another, they'd say to me, "N. R. Alexander, couples who don't fight, why... they aren't couples at all," which I thought was ridiculous. Isn't that ridiculous? What's surprising, though, is that the grown-up me might agree with them - to a point. Disagreement, I believe now, is healthy. Energetic debate gives you a fresh perspective on issues you might not ever have realised there was another side to.

In the grander scheme, I'd wager that the disparity of opinion in the blogosphere coalesces, eventually, into a kind of counter-intuitive parity; that the very divergence of the opinions voiced here and elsewhere comes, in the end, to form a representational entity that can simultaneously cater to readers of every taste and inclination, from one extreme of the spectrum to the other. That one blogger might hate a book while another thinks it's the best creation since the cheese slice, I think, is of little significance in individual terms, but when taken together, this glorious collective of opinions at odds with one another is surely an infinitely more valuable entity than any single recommendation, be it positive or negative.

So you see, fighting is fun and helpful... although my parents are still loons.

Here endeth today's lesson!