I’m going to let you in on a little secret. I haven’t been reading that much fiction recently. When I have been reading fiction, I haven’t been finishing it. When I have been finishing it, it has taken an exceptionally long time.

I don’t suffer this with non-fiction. I think that is because I don’t write non-fiction. It has become harder and harder to read fiction without looking behind the curtain—as it were. I am reading it too critically. I’m not enjoying it. When the writer has done his job, when I’m swept away by the story, intrigued by the plot, or entertained by the characters, I lose myself and I read fiction for pleasure.

I fired through the Big Sleep in three days. Granted, it’s not that long of a book. The volume I have has it included with Farewell, My Lovely and the Long Goodbye. You have to understand, though, I read it on the bus to work, on my break, on my lunch, and on the bus home from work. I read it on the couch after everyone else had gone to bed.

It’s a really good book.

The story is legendarily convoluted. There is actually a murder that Raymond Chandler forgot about in the middle of it, but the writing is so good, I never lost the plot. I never needed a list of players or connections to remember where things were going or where we had been. Sometimes, there’s a nice little summary as Philip Marlowe or some other character sizes things up or explains something.

The prose is tight while being luxurious. There’s no flab here, but there is a huge amount of beauty. Chandler really had a way with words. I’m not surprised that he started out writing poetry.

The dialogue is kind of difficult, in that it is so close to our modern colloquial, yet the slang and the structure can be jarring. That was my biggest hurdle. We’ve heard this before in old movies, and might have laughed at it there. The dialogue written Chandler (and the other hardboiled writers like Dashiell Hammet) was so good at the time, it’s been copied endlessly by all levels of hackery, so it has come down to us as a kind of joke. But just as one only needs to get a grip on Shakespeare’s Elizabethan once and one can move through his work, once I overcame the hurdle of the dialogue, nothing slowed me down.

Do I need to tell you the story? General Sternwood—a very aged, very decrepit gentleman—has hired Philip Marlowe to deal with a possible blackmailer. That’s all I’m going to say. Everything leads from that, but it leads to some wildly unexpected places.

I really liked the Marlowe character. He’s competent without being invulnerable. He’s smart, but still gets fooled sometimes. One of the characters calls him a soldier, and that’s kind of what he’s like. He’s got a dedication to the mission. His power is in his will—he pretty much imposes himself a couple of times in situations in which a less confident character might do something stupid . . . like try to fight.

It’s interesting, I’ve started reading the Maltese Falcon by Dashiell Hammet and both Sam Spade and Philip Marlowe state an aversion to carrying a gun. They’ll both use them when the situation warrants it, but more often than not, the gun they are using is one they’ve taken off another character.

All of the characters in the Big Sleep, even those that spend little time with the reader, are fully realized. We see the characters through Marlowe’s eyes, and his judgements of them effects our own. It was especially fun reading this, remembering that this is Marlowe telling me what happened, and trying to guess when Marlowe is being an untrustworthy narrator. Did a character really do that, or is that Marlowe’s memory playing tricks on him? Did it really happen like that, or is Marlowe covering something up, or trying to make himself look better?

I will say I am not enjoying the Maltese Falcon as much as I did the Big Sleep. Is this because I saw the movie, and it hewed very, very close to the novel? Possibly. I’ve got four other Hammet novels to read (and two other Chandlers), so I’ll see. Next on the list is Red Harvest, from which Yojimbo allegedly derives.

Hammet also uses a limited third-person point of view, kind of like one is watching a movie or TV program. The reader doesn’t get into the head of any of the characters. The Big Sleep is first person, and it’s first person done very, very right. I like getting in character’s heads. Much of my own writing is about what is happening in a character’s head. I have often considered trying more limited third person, but I don’t think my strength is in description, so I’m not sure how well I could produce it.

To summarize, the Big Sleep is an excellent introduction into hardboiled detective fiction, the kind that made it to the screen as film noir. Raymond Chandler’s writing is tight yet flowery, and his characters are very distinctive.

I give this one 4.5 shots of whiskey out of 5.

Now I’ve loved everything I’ve ever read by Guy Gavriel Kay. I found him through reading the Fionovar Tapestry, but became a huge fan through reading Tigana. I’ve been lucky enough to meet and chat with him twice, once before Tigana was released and once during the release of Lord of Emperors. He’s a fascinating person, extremely intelligent, personable, and with vast knowledge of mythology.

The Sarantine Mosaic was something different for me. First off, the period is after the fall of Rome, but it is before the dark really descends on the Dark Ages. The main characters are not sword-swinging heroes, but an artist and a physician. The action is mostly social and political.

Now, given that right now I’m digging on something called sword noir, and that I’m in the middle of a modern action/adventure/fantasy serial, this might not hit you as something that I would love.

Here’s the thing: Kay does it right. He hits all the right notes. The characters are engrossing. The setting is fully realized, and the text allowed me to build this world in my head. Kay knows Byzantium, he’s done his homework. Just like a jazz musician, because he is so supremely confident, he can riff on something and create a thing of beauty. This is not Byzantium, but there’s enough of our world there to quickly situate oneself. I know this place, but it holds secrets and surprises.

It’s also not that the Sarantine Mosaic does not deliver on action and adventure, because it does, but action is not the driving force of this story.

I hear a lot about how “Eurocentric” fantasy is, and how readers are looking for something different. The funny thing is that while—especially in this period—Byzantium could be considered part of Europe, the society and attitudes illustrated in this work are alien to us. This is something different. It is a different culture in a different book inhabited by different characters.

So, if you love your fantasy, but you are ready for something different, check out Guy Gavriel’s Kay the Sarantine Mosaic.

Oh, but first, go buy the current issue of On Spec if you have not already.

Reason # 6? To read the results of Fraser being totally blindsided by a simple question about top ten books.

The story would begin at the death of a young king of the New Faith and the rise of his half-sister, of the Old Faith. It would then jump to that Queen’s passing and the ascension of another half-sister, who would try to moderate her New Faith with the needs of those among her people who still follow the Old Faith. The early reign of this sister would be the main story, as the characters all find themselves in conflict with Norford and in a race to protect the young queen from old enmities and foreign powers.

Sound familiar? Yes, both in history and in media, this story has been told. But it’s the characters, rather than the political events, which I intend will drive the story.

The Spymaster’s story is one of loyalty and speaking truth to power. Through his story, he consistently tells the monarchs his mind and he refuses to make promises he is not certain he can keep. His actions make him invaluable to the monarchy.  He is able to do this because he has nothing to lose but his life. As the story progresses, he becomes more and more powerful. He is a man of his word and amasses a collection of talented and sometimes dangerous adherents, whom he uses to advance the interests of the crown.  He is an enemy of Norford simply because he does have such a strong influence on the crown, and his professed New Faith.

The Mayor’s story is one of compromise and fear of government. The Mayor also gains political power through the story, but constantly avoids using it to advance the New Faith. He will accept whatever faith the monarch proclaims and rarely (except for one instance) chooses faith over expediency. He has a family, and fear of what might happen to them makes him flexible. He shows that good men sometimes do nothing, but he is not condemned for this.  His one instance of opposition to authority relates to warning and allowing his servants (of the New Faith) to escape the counter-reformation, spearheaded by Norford. This puts the Mayor at odds with Norford.

The Outlaw’s story is one of revenge and the illusion of religion. His uncle, a good and honourable man, becomes a political opponent of Norford and so is silenced. Even though the Outlaw and his family strictly follow the Old Faith, Norford’s desire for power and wealth make him blind to religion, save when it suits his own purposes. The Outlaw’s story weaves in and out of the Spymaster’s and the Mayor’s, finally linking all three. The Outlaw also has nothing to lose, and may actively wish to spend his life in an effort to gain his revenge–as once that revenge is achieved, for what does he live?

This is the first time, for me, that part of the outline of a story includes themes that I see arising from the plot. The plot came first–a plot that is a little intricate and would take up too much space, though I may relate it at a later date, if this project moves forward. Still, as I examined the story and the characters’ roles, certain themes became obvious to me. I think this can only help to focus my writing. The pit-fall, though, is that it might stymie character growth. If the Spymaster is about loyalty and truth to power, what does he grow into? Is his growth within these themes, or does it lead him beyond these, and into something else?

Right now, the plot as developed doesn’t really answer those questions. I would expect they would be answered in the telling of the story. Outlines are good for giving me direction, but I often go off course during the writing, and find little gems I never anticipated.

I was watching a special on James Brown, and there was some comment on the traumas of his early life. It made me wonder about extraordinary people, and how trauma may drive them to achieve. My greatest fear is the loss of my daughter. From this, I wondered about a man of great potential who wastes that potential until he loses his daughter.

From that came an idea about a run-of-the-mill sorcerer who could be supreme, but only the motivation to find his lost daughter provides the discipline to learn how to master his gifts.

I had the idea that it would be in a faux-Roman setting around the fall of the Republic. This is likely predicated (as were my Brude and Drust short stories) on the series Rome from HBO. At first, I toyed with the idea of setting it in an Oriental setting, but what actually drew me off from that was the names. I don’t like most fantasy names, and using Chinese or Korean names would be as alien. Roman names are different, but there is a connection with most North American readers that make them more familiar.

By this time, I was on my way home. I had a 6 hour drive, so lots of time to think about the setting in between conversations with my wife and providing entertainment for my daughter. This was the time when the setting became much more fully fleshed out. It was during the drive that I decided to go with a Roman rather than Oriental setting.

I considered setting the story in our world, but slightly altered. I was considering having it set in the 10th century, but with an existent Eastern and Western Empires–Rome and Byzantium still under the pretence of being one Empire but with two competing Emperors. I was going to remove both Christianity and Islam, making the competing religions based on mystery cults, like the the Mithras cult and the cult of Isis. As usual, my desire to render historical details accurately made that a daunting task, so I decided to use a false Rome and Byzantium.

The Brude and Drust short stories are set in the Aeolean Empire, and I thought of reusing that. The major problem would be the levels of magic–the Aeolean Empire has magic, but it is subtle and much less prevalent than I envisioned for this new story.

I already had another short story and a novel outline for a further faux-Roman story (maybe I need to examine my fondness for faux-Rome as a setting), centred on a female centurion and a mad Emperor’s quest for the secret to eternal life. I decided that this would work in that setting as well. While the female centurion idea was Roman Empire by way of Mali, I wanted this one to be much closer to the actual Rome.

That led to an amalgam of the female centurion’s setting and a new one. This Empire was based on Alba Longa, the Etruscan city founded by Julus, a son of Aeneas, rather than Rome. I had discovered Alba Longa and Julus earlier while doing unrelated research, and it fit rather nicely into this.

From the Oriental setting, I kept an idea regarding a group of master wizards who acted as the legates of the emperor. These are the Celestial Generals, and each is based on one of the 12 zodiac animals, except the Dragon, which is embodied in the Imperator (the emperor of Alba). These Celestial Generals have access to the Dragon’s Breath (a nod to Excalibur there) through the Imperator, and this sets them above any other wizard.

I decided on the name of Lucius Agrippa for my protagonist. Lucius comes from Lucius Vorenus on HBO’s Rome, and Agrippa was Caesar Augustus’ great general and friend (who also appears in Rome). Lucius was a magus with exceptional raw talent but no training or control. The death of his wife and loss of his daughter drove him to become The Hound, one of the 11 Celestial Generals.

The plot would be around Lucius finally unravelling the death of his wife and the disappearance of his daughter. It is seen through the eyes of the female centurion–”Grief”–and her legionnaires, all identified by nicknames such as Quill, Scab, and Bleeder. Lucius will find a way to circumvent the Imperator and directly access the Dragon’s Breath, leading to a showdown with the individual responsible for Lucius’ trauma–an individual being protected by the Imperator.

I had thought the first chapter would recount Lucius’ discovery of the tragedy. I then realized that wouldn’t work. It would have ended up as two, maybe three chapters to tell as I envisioned it. I realized that’s not where the story begins, it begins when Lucius puts his machinations in motion, when he is finally certain the Imperator lied to him about his wife and daughter. That’s where the story starts, so that’s where the novel needs to start. The background would be dispersed through the story in small bites, discovered as the point-of-view characters discover it–those being primarily Grief and Quill.

A lot of the thinking was about the setting, because the plot pretty much came to me in about an hour. The character’s name took some time to decide upon, but the character himself–his trauma and what it has led to–came almost fully formed to mind. Now I don’t have a full fledged outline, but I have a strong set of ideas and a general direction in mind. It wouldn’t take long to flesh out.

The writing of it, though, there’s the rub!

Anyone willing to give me an advance to get this thing on paper?