Crystal Rod - MTG 4E

Angel in the Rain

I am tired and worn out and the week has barely begun. Whooh boy, it’s going to be a long 8 weeks until New Years.

Sense and Sensibility (1995 Movie)

Wow. Just wow. I am pretty wow’ed at the moment. But let me explain, because it does take a bit of explaining, especially with how I’m going to describe things in the following paragraph.

The Book, a fully fledged beautiful woman in flowing period gown. She swishes, she glides, she sits, she pours your tea with aplomb and brings a glow to every room she enters. The 2008 TV Miniseries is a painting of that woman. Beautiful and wonderful and as it hangs on your wall, it brings back wonderful memories of the woman herself. This 1995 Movie is a skilled impersonator. You know it isn’t the Lady herself, but she looks like her, acts like her and carries off her manner and attitudes so that from across a room you could fool yourself into thinking it is her.

Now I realize that might sound like a slur, but in reality, it is the highest complement I can give. This movie has the very bones of Austen’s novel. It has the heart and soul of it. Most of the changes were excisions and I was fine with all of the changes. Why I was ok with the changes in this movie I do not know, but it worked, and it worked very well.

I am sure that some of my comfort with this movie was the amount of actors that not only did I recognize but recognize as very good actors. Kate Winslet was perfect as Marianne. I’m sure part of that was her actual youth (she was a mere 19 at the time) but she also simply brought a very real energy to the role. And yet she didn’t steal the movie. There were too many other wonderful actors. Emma Thompson as Elinor. Hugh Grant as Edward Ferrars. Oh, Hugh carried off the “awkward and stilted” Edward to a t. It was like he had a pebble in his boot and a thistle in his britches. It was exactly as I imagined Edward to be. Then we come to Alan Rickman, playing Colonel Brandon. What an understated performance. In this version, I’d like to mention one of the side characters. Hugh Laurie plays Mr Palmer, a very minor character even in the book. He was a cold, self-centered man and he starts out that way in the movie. He has a silly wife and is either silent or speaking very cutting remarks. But as Marianne’s sickness progresses, Laurie manages to convey a deep well of sympathy and humanity in just a scene of 30 seconds. I just had to nod my head in admiration.

I have to say, I enjoyed this way more than the miniseries. It felt like a perfect movie and it swept me along. I’m extremely happy to have watched this. Now I have to live with myself knowing I’ve got two more movies to watch and neither of them are this one. Mercy on my soul….

[Art] Flight in the Night

The problem most Heroes find is that the Villain always wants to kill them. It’s just one of those things, like the sun rising in the East. Sure, you can complain, or whine about it, but that doesn’t change a thing.

Thankfully OUR hero, as an outcast pegleg ninja pirate, not only has friends in low places, but also in high places. In this case, VERY high places. Fleeing the Warriors of the Emperor, our hero retreats to the vast uncharted mountainous regions.

Will he return? Will he face the Emperor? This narrator does not know and begs your indulgence for not being able to see the future. “Difficult to see, and in motion always the future is”, as a wise jedi master once said.

[Repost 2023] About

It has been 2 years since I last reposted my “About” page. While it is in a nice obvious place, I know not everyone immediately goes there to find out all the important things about me. I also know that as I change, my About page will change to reflect that. It is also a good reminder for those who have been around awhile who might have forgotten a thing or two.

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Here are some things to know about me that might make your interactions a tiny bit easier. If you still have questions,  you can always email me:

Bookstoog eat proto nmail do tcom

1) I am a pretty devout Christian. Weird personal mix of Baptist and 7th Day Adventist. To over-simplify it, that means I believe in the Bible literally and I go to church on Saturday instead of Sunday. It also means that it influences what I read, how I read and how I review.

2) I am a Man. I cannot state this boldly enough or enough times. Be prepared. Mancakes Ahead!

3) I like Science fiction, Fantasy, Classics [1900’s and earlier] and mysteries. I’ll read other stuff, but not regularly. As I’ve gotten older, my tastes have broadened though, so chances are pretty good you’ll see more than what I listed there..

4) I tend to read 100+ books a year.

5) Of the 5 Love Languages, [quality time, words of affirmation, gifts, acts of service, or physical touch] my main one is Words of affirmation. Or just words 🙂 Which means that I tend to post and comment quite a bit. I am NOT a once a week poster.

6) To go along with #1, I graduated from a non-accredited Bible school, so I’ve got a working man’s knowledge of how to be a Pastor, just not the actual degree. Or the temperament.

7) I am NOT a people person. People wear me out, even online. Then I say things that later I sometimes regret. Then I need chicken fingers to recover!

8) I am happily married to Mrs Bookstooge. For some reason she really loves me. Weird, huh?

9) If you disagree with something in my posts or reviews, feel free to say so; IF you want to actually have a conversation with someone who disagrees with you. Most times I will try to move such conversations to email.

10) I am a land surveyor. I work outdoors year round in New England. The picture below is of me. It typifies why I like being a surveyor.

Groo Meets Pal and Drumm (Groo the Wanderer #23) 3.5Stars

This review is written with a GPL 4.0 license and the rights contained therein shall supersede all TOS by any and all websites in regards to copying and sharing without proper authorization and permissions. Crossposted at WordPress & Blogspot, by Bookstooge’s Exalted Permission

Title: Groo Meets Pal and Drumm
Series: Groo the Wanderer #23
Author: Sergio Aragones
Rating: 3.5 of 5 Stars
Genre: Comics
Pages: 24
Words: 2K

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Hahahahahahahaaa. This was another great entry in the Groo comic. Groo is suckered into putting on fake fights with another warrior and of course, he bungles, every single time.

I thought it showed Aragones’ creativity to be able to think of these “simple” situations and then make comedy gold out of them. It’s not easy to do humor on demand (as shown by almost all of our modern media writers, who are nothing but hacks, at best) but Aragones hasn’t let me down yet.

One thing I don’t think I’ve mentioned about the artwork before is how Aragones manages to draw a scene filled with people and it is busy and full but he shades things in such a way that your eye is drawn to the important part. That takes skill too and I appreciate it. The artist of a comic should be directing the audiences’ eyes and if he’s not, he’s a complete failure of an artist and should be tarred, feathered and run out of town on the rails! (I’m looking at you, modern comic artists who draw 2 page spreads with so much crap going on that the reader gets epilepsy just looking at it!) The following pix is the last page in the comic and I think illustrates this principle perfectly.

★★★✬☆

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From Bookstooge.blog

Groo meets another warrior, Drum, who is working with a schemer called Pal. All three work together to put on “fights” which are rigged. The problem is that Groo keeps messing everything up and eventually everyone else catches on and the comic ends with Groo, Drumm and Pal all running for their lives.

• All of My “Groo the Wanderer” Reviews

I am Curious (Bloody) 3.5Stars

This review is written with a GPL 4.0 license and the rights contained therein shall supersede all TOS by any and all websites in regards to copying and sharing without proper authorization and permissions. Crossposted at WordPress & Blogspot by Bookstooge’s Exalted Permission

Title: I am Curious (Bloody)
Series: ———-
Editor: Alfred Hitchcock
Rating: 3.5 of 5 Stars
Genre: Crime Fiction
Pages: 144
Words: 55K

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Another good collection from the Alfred Hitchcock magazine back in the day. Once again we run the gamut from disturbing stories (in the Accidental Widow a man seeks the prize of a rich woman and kills off her husbands, only to find that once he’s won her, he likes the killing more than he likes her) to the incompetent oaf (The Skim is about a married low level gangster falling in love with another woman and getting caught by his wife and his brother-in-law, the head mobster) to an almost-happy ending (The Heir has a street hoodlum killing a drug addict and taking his place in his mother’s affections, and will).

Now, there was one story that I wasn’t sure what the ending meant. It was called Holiday by Hal Ellson. I’m going to include it here under the details tag, peruse it if you’d like and give me your interpretation. I’ll say more about it in the next paragraph:

Blue light trembled above the hotel; guests were already sitting in the open dining room beyond the pool when a girl appeared on the upper terrace. Down the stone stairway she came, sandals clacking, white bathing suit startling in the dusky light.

She was another lone female tourist, but different from the others. At the pool-edge she adjusted her cap and plunged in. Twice she swam the length of the pool, then floated on her back, sensuously. Roger watched her casually; no point in getting excited when she’d never more than nodded to him.

Footsteps made him turn. The hotel manager smiled. “Not dining again, Mr. Peters?”

“No appetite in this heat.”

The girl in the water swam to the pool-edge, and the manager turned to her. “Enjoying a dip, Miss Boyd?”

“Yes, the heat in the city was dreadful. Isn’t it ever cool there?”

“Never. By the way, may I join you at your table this evening?”

“You could, but I’m not dining.”

“I’m disappointed. Reconsider?”

Miss Boyd climbed from the pool, asked for a cigarette. The manager felt his pockets, shrugged, and Roger offered his pack and a light. The manager introduced them. A moment later he was called to the desk. Annoyed, he started away, stopped. “A dance at the Royal Palm tonight. I hope to have the pleasure. . .”

“Sorry, I’m not going.”

“I’m more than sorry.” The manager shrugged and walked away. Miss Boyd removed her rubber cap, shook her hair. “He really is sorry,” she said to Roger.

“What does that mean?”

“All the men are in this place. They’ve only one thing in mind.”

“Perhaps because there’s nothing else to do.”

Miss Boyd laughed. “I suppose one can’t blame them. Do you think it’s the climate?”

“They’re probably trying to prove they’re men and lovers.”

“Well, making love is one way of proving it.”

“Not necessarily. And certainly not when one is married, like Mr. LaFarge.”

“He doesn’t miss a trick, but you sound married, or perhaps you’re a prude.”

“Neither one nor the other.”

“But you object to Mr. LaFarge’s activities?”

“I don’t give a damn about him and his activities.” Miss Boyd smiled. “You’re from New York?”

“Who here isn’t?”

“True. I came down to get away from the place, and everybody I’ve run into is from the big town.”

“Disappointed?”

“In that respect, but the island’s beautiful.”

“Too hot and too lush. I prefer a cooler climate, but doctor’s orders. I needed a rest. I can’t say I haven’t rested.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

“Really? I didn’t think you knew I existed.”

“The only male who hasn’t made some kind of pass. I thought you might be queer.”

“No such problem,” Roger smiled. “As for you, I had my own thoughts.”

“You thought I was?”

“Oh, no, just a bit of a snob, but at least you’re not like the other loners, all hunting for a man.”

“Anything wrong in that?”

“No, but most of them will go home disappointed.”

“And yourself?”

“Me? I came for a rest, remember?”

“Oh, yes. Then I don’t suppose you’re permitted to drink?”

“A glass or two wouldn’t bother me,” he admitted encouragingly.

“Could we have one out here?”

“Of course.” A drink would be just the thing. A white-jacketed boy brought them, bowed and walked away. Water splashed into the pool from the mouths of three green nymphs, a murmuring came from the dining room; otherwise, there was no sound.

“No music this evening,” Roger observed. “Some thing big going on elsewhere?”

“Nothing unusual. Gambling at the Casino, a dance at the Royal Palm. Do you gamble, Mr. Peters?”

“Not even for fun, and I don’t particularly care for nightclubs.”

“You’ll be lonely this evening.”

He caught the suggestion and looked directly at her. “You’re going dancing—without an escort?”

“Would you care to take me?” Miss Boyd smiled, and he realized he’d walked into a trap, but what difference?

“Glad to take you,” he said.

The night blackened and grew cooler, the pool lay quiet. Roger emptied his glass, glanced toward the dining room. Empty and dark; a single small light burning at the bar and no one there. The guests had fled, the hotel was deserted. He arose on unsteady legs, went to the railing, looked down. The hill below dropped swiftly away, thin trees raised dark hands toward him; the jungle below. Chilled, he turned away, for down there was the real island with its hidden terrors and violence which the tourists never saw. Now he wondered about himself. Why had he accepted Miss Boyd’s proposal? Would she be like the others? He resented the thought, for it cheapened her and, by the same token, made her available.

Three potent rum cocktails in him and he felt a little reckless. But where was she? A half-hour gone since she went to dress. He entered the hotel and asked at the desk for her room number. The clerk obliged and sent him a sly smile. They must smell it, Roger thought.

A series of dim passages brought him to Miss Boyd’s room—but was it hers? He struck a match. Number seven on the door. He knocked, heels clicked on tile, the door opened and she stood before him.

“I’m almost ready. Coming in?”

The invitation unexpected, he hesitated, stepped in.

“Sorry I took so long, Roger, but those drinks we had. . .I had to lie down.” She smiled, a different person from the one at the pool, eyes softer, body relaxed. “It’s so quiet. I don’t hear anyone.”

“I doubt if any guests are about,” he said, and eyed the room. “Big,” he commented.

“And so isolated.”

“A hard time finding it.”

“But you did.”

“Had to,” he said, and she stepped close, her arms encircled his neck, her mouth found his. Stunned, he couldn’t move at first and, when he did, it was too late. She escaped and ran to the bathroom. Out again, she donned a white shawl, walked toward him, pressed her room key into his hand, saying, “We’ll need this later.”

A single taxi waited under the carport. The driver assisted them in. A rumbling over cobblestones, wide turn on a descending curve and the car leaped for ward into the dark. Roger felt he was moving through a void. Anything can happen, he thought, feeling the key in his hand and recalling the start of the evening, Miss Boyd descending the steps to the pool, the casual introduction by Mr. LaFarge.

Simple and ordinary. . .but was it? He slipped the key into his pocket. Later, after the necessary rituals of the dancing and drinking, he’d have use for it. Nothing else remained between the formalities and the cool sheets of Miss Boyd’s bed. Is she like the others? He wondered, and she spoke.

“You’re not saying anything. What’s wrong?” she asked him.

“I don’t like this road in the dark.”

“The drivers know it with their eyes shut.” She took his hand. A sharp curve and she was thrown against him. There was an odor of rum on her.

“Those drinks were stronger than I thought,” he remarked. “Smell the rum?”

“A bottle in my bathroom—I had a quick drink before we left.”

Strange. Earlier, she’d complained about the cock tails. But what matter? The car rushed on.

Twenty minutes later it stopped in front of the Royal Palm. The nightclub was dimly lit, crowded, the native band playing a Meringue. A waiter found them a table. The band paused, took up with another Meringue and Miss Boyd arose. “Shall we?”

“Why not?” He escorted her to the floor. Dance? She pressed too close, used her body a bit too much. Back at their table she emptied her drink in a swallow, and he looked around. An excess of men, some tables occupied solely by them, natives, each with the look of a hungry predator. They drank and watched the women who sat out the dances. Some times they got up and approached them. None came to Roger’s table, but they watched, one in particular. Roger noticed him, Miss Boyd didn’t; the drinks reaching her? He saw it in her eyes, felt it in the way she clung to him and used her body while they danced. She was beginning to draw attention. At the announcement of the floor show, he felt relieved. At least he didn’t have to dance the Meringue for a while. He mentioned that.

“It’s the craze here,” Miss Boyd countered.

“Yes, like dope. Let yourself go with it and you can’t stop.”

She lifted her glass. “Isn’t that why we came, to let ourselves go?”

How far? he wanted to say, and a loud drumming intervened. Out went the lights, silence; a white beam knifed across the dance floor, focused on an all but naked female. A slow rhythmic beat of bongos and she began to writhe. Conversation died. The dancer held all eyes till she finished. Applause followed, a group took the floor, waiters moved among the tables. Ice clinked in glasses. Roger had already lost count of the drinks he’d had. The waiter brought new glasses. Warn Miss Boyd to be careful? A bit late; her eyes were already glazed.

The near naked female dancer again in solo, the rhythm of the bongos wilder, dancer’s movements more suggestive. A burst of applause greeted her as she finished. The lights went on, the band began another Meringue.

Miss Boyd jumped up, ready to dance. Roger hesitated. As the tall man at the other table stared, he led Miss Boyd to the floor. She held him tightly, head bobbing loosely, hips everywhere; her dress slipped from her shoulders and she refused to adjust it.

Three successive dances, back to the table and the tall man appeared, bowed, smiled at Roger. “Do you mind?” Quickly he turned to Miss Boyd and asked for a dance. Smiling, she rose unsteadily and was taken by the arm.

Roger watched them on the floor, finally lost them in the crowd. They returned when the music stopped. The tall man bowed, left, and Miss Boyd flopped into her chair. “He’s a marvelous dancer,” she said. “Did you at all notice?”

“I did, but take care, he’s had his eye on you all evening.”

“Anything wrong in that?”

“Not if he just looks.”

“Jealous, or just being stuffy?”

“Neither, but I brought you here, I feel responsible.”

“Oh, come on. What can happen on a dance floor?”

“Nothing, I suppose, but just be careful. He’ll be back for more.”

“You don’t want me to dance with him?”

“I can’t stop you,” he said.

Later, the tall one appeared at their table again. A bow, a smile, and off he swept Miss Boyd to the far side of the floor. His strategy? Roger lifted his glass. The drink was as mild as water. Was the wait er cheating, thinking he was drunk? Still, his lips were completely numb, a looseness had invaded his body and he felt ready to do something reckless.

A bottle crashed and he turned, saw a stout middle-aged woman being helped from the floor by a man half her age. Maudlin drunk, she tried to kiss him. He held her off, gave her a familiar pat, filled her glass.

Roger turned away. A sudden change was taking place, the music louder, wilder, dancers less restrained. The almost stilted, formalized steps of the Meringue no longer held the women. Their hips were freer now as they abandoned themselves to the music.

Some minutes later the tall man returned to his table and tossed off a drink. Where was Miss Boyd? Gone to the powder room? Roger waited, finally got up and went to the other table. The tall one arose, bowed stiffly from the hips. “Miss Boyd? Another gentleman asked her to dance.”

Roger turned away, searched for her, and went back to the table where the tall man sat with his friends. He looked up and smiled. “Ah, back again. You didn’t find your partner? Too bad.”

“What happened to her?”

“Who knows? Perhaps she went off with the other gentleman.”

There was no point in continuing. The tall one lit up, his friends grinned. Appeal to them? Roger turned away, again searched the huge room and found the waiter who’d served him. He knew nothing. Perhaps the manager could help. That one shrugged. “The lady must have decided to leave.”

“She didn’t leave on her own. Something happened to her.”

“Here? Impossible. Perhaps—”

“There’s no sense discussing it with you people. Where do I find the police?”

“It’ll do you no good to go to them. The Captain won’t be at headquarters, I can assure you.”

“He’s the whole force?”

“No, but his subordinates would only refer the matter to him in the morning—if he appears.”

“If he appears?”

“Yes. You see, he’s not always there.”

“Then where can I reach him?”

A shrug and Roger went out the door. The taxi driver who’d brought them stepped up. “Ready to go back to the hotel, sir?”

“No. Something happened to the young lady I brought here. Take me to police headquarters.”

“I wouldn’t advise that, sir.”

“I’m not asking for advice.”

“As you wish, but the Captain—”

“Won’t be there till morning? Okay, the hotel.” The driver started the car. It was late now. No light shone, nothing stirred. Roger sat back. “What happens when a crime is committed on the island?” he asked.

“Sir?”

“Suppose someone is murdered, kidnapped, raped? Must you wait till morning for something to be done about it?”

The driver glanced back and grinned. “There are no kidnappings here. Rape?” He shook his head. “One doesn’t have to use force where love comes so easy. Ah, but in your country it’s different, I understand. As for murder, occasionally a man may kill another over a woman.”

“And the Captain comes around in the morning to clear up the matter?”

The driver ignored the remark. “As a matter of fact, we have very little crime, no gangsters, nothing like you have back in the States.”

End of theme; silence reigned till they reached the hotel. “If you’re going into the city in the morning, sir. . .”

No answer for him. Roger went up the steps, entered the hotel. A sleepy-eyed clerk lounged behind the desk. Ask him if Miss Boyd had returned? No. He went to her room, opened the door, flicked the light. A hollow room.

Light slipped through the blinds, laughter sounded below the balcony, the black night of the island gone. Roger went to Miss Boyd’s room and knocked, then used the key. An empty room. He went off, found the manager and explained the events of the previous evening.

“You think something happened to Miss Boyd?” The manager looked at his nail. “Most likely she went off with someone for the evening and slept over. After all, that’s been known to happen here.”

“No doubt, but that’s not the answer.”

“You might wait and see if she turns up. It’s early yet,” he placated.

“I’ve waited long enough.”

“In that case, you’ll want to see the police, but please sit down. Unfortunately, the Captain sleeps late. He may not be up before noon.”

“No one else can do anything?”

“I’m afraid not. Coffee, Mr. Peters?”

An hour later Roger drove away from the hotel. The sun blazed, the road stayed empty all the way into town. The taxi stopped in front of police head quarters. He went inside. The Captain? Not in yet. When would he arrive? Later.

The sum of later, noon—and the Captain? One and the same as the tall man of the previous evening. “Yes, what can I do for you?” he grinned.

“It’s about—”

“The young lady you were looking for last evening. You didn’t find her?”

“You know damned well—”

The grin faded, the Captain’s hand came up. “Enough of that. You were drinking last night, and I made allowances. Now you’re sober, and I have a headache.”

Heed the warning? The hell with him. “Where’s Miss Boyd? You don’t frighten me.”

“Perhaps not. So you want the young lady? Too bad. She left the island.”

“There was no plane out of here last night, as you very well know.”

“She left this morning. A little trouble with a gentleman she danced with last night. Too much to drink, so she was detained.”

“Where?”

“In our jail, of course.”

“For what reason? You haven’t made that clear enough.”

“I’ve made it as clear as I intend to, and now if you will please leave. . .When you have the facts? Ah, perhaps you’d like to try our jail? I can hold you on several charges, and it would be most difficult for you to do anything about it. A month or so in a dirty cell. . .”

A bluff? No. He left, climbed into the taxi and it moved off.

“The young lady’s safe?” the driver asked.

“She’s supposed to have left on the morning plane.”

“That’s right. I drove her to the airport this morning.”

“How could you? She wasn’t at the hotel, she was in jail.”

“Jail? Oh, no. She spent the night at the Captain’s house. You see, it’s always the same. Someone takes his fancy, she’s arrested, held overnight and—”

“Put on the plane in the morning,” Roger said. Reaching into his pocket then, he found Miss Boyd’s key and flung it out the window.

I don’t know what to make of that. Did the police chief murder her and use his position to sweep it under the rug? Was she a whore who was hired to play a role involving the main character to boost the police chief’s ego? Or was it just as it said, the woman was used and then shipped off? That interpretation just doesn’t fit with the the main character getting angry and throwing the woman’s keycard away. I don’t know what to make of it. And that is the first time that has happened to me in one of these Hitchcock collections. I could be overthinking everything though, that’s been known to happen on occasion too.

Another thing that bugged me, as in that I didn’t understand, is the title itself. I know “bloody” is a British curse akin to the American f-word but it should be used as an adjective as in “I am Bloody Curious”, so why does it come at the end, in parenthesis? At first I thought I had some bad meta-data for the ebook, but looking at the cover itself, you can see that nope, it is correct. I realize I’ve probably asked more questions than anything in this review, but these are the thoughts I thought as I read this.

I was pretty happy with this read because even the questions I had didn’t detract from my enjoyment, they just didn’t allow me to enjoy things as much as I could have.

★★★✬☆

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Inside Blurb & Table of Contents:

ALFIE, THE DOVE

Alfred Hitchcock simply can’t stand war. He knows he may be considered old-fashioned, but mechanical kinds of death utterly revolt his delicate taste.

Alfie firmly believes that nothing can best individual craftsmanship. A murder really isn’t worth enjoying without that unmistakable personal touch.

To prove his point, Alfie has assembled thirteen expert practitioners of the fine art of homicide. Their body counts may not be as high as figures in the newspaper—but quality, not quantity, is their aim. You’ll find thrills tailored perfectly to your chilling reading pleasure in—

Alfred Hitchcock’s

I AM CURIOUS (BLOODY)

• ONE-ARMED BANDIT
•      Dan Sontup
• NEVER KILL FOR LOVE
•      C. B. Gilford
• THESE DAISIES TOLD
•      Arthur Porges
• CANINE ACCOMPLICE
•      Grover Brinkman
• THE ACCIDENTAL WIDOW
•      Robert Colby
• TWILIGHT THUNDER
•      Edward D. Hoch
• IMAGES
•      Michael Brett
• THE SKIM
•      Richard Deming
• ONE WAY
•      John Lutz
• THAT GUY WHAT LAUGHS LAST
•      Phillip Tremont
• THE PRIVATE EYE OF IRVING ANVIL
•      Richard Hardwick
• HOLIDAY
•      Hal Ellson
• THE HEIR
•      Talmage Powell

• All of My “Alfred Hitchcock” Reviews

The Sword and the Stallion (Eternal Champion: Corum #6) 3.5Stars

This review is written with a GPL 4.0 license and the rights contained therein shall supersede all TOS by any and all websites in regards to copying and sharing without proper authorization and permissions. Crossposted at WordPress & Blogspot by Bookstooge’s Exalted Permission

Title: The Sword and the Stallion
Series: Eternal Champion: Corum #6
Author: Michael Moorcock
Rating: 3.5 of 5 Stars
Genre: Fantasy
Pages: 122
Words: 43K

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Depressing as all get out. Corum almost dooms humanity and wastes months of time and then the love of his new life, Queen Medbh, is the instrument of his death. He has a nice shiny white sword named Traitor, that while not exactly the same of Elric’s Stormbringer, has many of the same properties, including lending strength to the user while it kills. And of course it lives up to it’s name, just like Stormbringer did for Elric.

Overall, this felt like Moorcock let things run out with a whimper. The Corum in this story does not feel like the Corum from the previous books. Corum from the Coming of Chaos trilogy was one consistent character. In this Prince of the Silver Hand trilogy it felt like the adventure determined what the character, who just happened to be named Corum, would be like. Really could have replaced Corum with any random Adventurer and it would have probably felt better. I can’t pin down exactly what made things feel this way, but it just hit me enough in all 3 books that I needed to mention it.

I mentioned in The Oak and the Ram that I thought this would be the last time I ever read the Eternal Champion stories. This book made that a surety and it convinced me not to try the Hawkmoon books either, not the original Hawkmoon series nor the sequel Castle Brass trilogy. So thanks for all the good memories, author, but I’ve outgrown you. Don’t feel bad because you’re not a Dickens or an Austen or even a Rex Stout, not many authors are after all.

★★★✬☆

On a side note, in one of my previous reviews, someone showcased a very psychedelic cover for the book. I tracked down all three of them and wanted to include them in this review. They are far out man, and you’ll be well served to remember that we used to have covers like this on a regular basis. I leave it up to you to decide if the passing of such things is good or bad.

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From Bookstooge.blog

Corum, with his human allies and the two remaining Siddhi allies, are on the eve of attacking the remaining Frost gods and to save the world for humanity. Corum hears about some allies on a magical island and along with one of the siddhi, goes there to attempt an alliance. Unfortunately, they are not very good allies and thus Corum and the siddhi miss the battle. The wizard Calatin creates a double of Corum and allies it with the frost gods, making Corum’s friends think he has turned traitor. Corum kills Calatin and does make an alliance with the Island Inhabitants. Unfortunately, humanity is on the verge of being wiped out and Corum is met with distrust upon his return. Thankfully, he persuades humanity to accept him and his new allies and the frost gods are either killed or returned to Limbo. The magician of the humans takes a magic artifact and helps the Island Inhabitants to return to their original plane of existence. Corum is offered a chance to end the cycle of death and rebirth as the Eternal Champion and live in a land of peace and happiness forever. He turns it down because he wants to be with Medbh, the queen of the humans. She attempts to kill him with a slingstone made from the brains of the evil duplicate and Corum’s new sword (a white counterpoint to Elric’s, appropriately named Traitor) and his silver hand deliver the coupe de grace. Corum dies and the cycle continues. The End.

• Corum: The Prince with the Silver Hand trilogy (2000 “Review”)
• All of My “Corum” Reviews

Crusade - MTG 4E

Sense and Sensibility (2008 TV Miniseries)

I am working backwards in time with these various S&S screen adaptations. First up is this 2008 tv miniseries adaptation by the BBC. It is 3 episodes long and is 2hrs and 50’ish minutes long. Round it to 3hrs.

The first thing I’d like to address is that lascivious cover. Marianne does not go around with her bosom showing off like that at all. That was a concern of mine that was thankfully never realized. That being said, the director starts off the show with the seduction of Colonel Brandon’s young ward. It is not graphic but is very frank about what is going on. Sensual is the word. That does continue for this miniseries. The music, the period clothing, it all is very sensual.

The characters, I was pretty pleased with their portrayal over all. Elinor was calm, cool headed and very practical. Yet she also was able to show her distress with her face and her eyes in the scenes requiring it. Marianne, while not being at all silly, was VERY emotionally driven. The actress did an excellent job of showing a smart young woman who wasn’t stupid but had her faults, mostly of age. Colonel Brandon was serious, mature and yet not shy or withdrawn. He came across as fully self-assured and confident. Edward Ferrars. Now, I always pronounced his last name Fair-Ars. In the movie, they pronounced Fair-iss. In the book his actions and manner were always halting and awkward. There was none of that here. While he was no voluble gentleman of ease, there was nothing that made you think he was in any way uncomfortable. Thankfully, he plays such a small part on screen that it wasn’t a big problem. All of the minor characters didn’t stand out, which is how it should be. On a purely personal note, I was thankful that this BBC production didn’t use the regular crew of ugly people like a lot of BBC productions do. Call me shallow, but I want to see good looking people on the screen. And I got that here.

Storywise, this stuck to the plot rather closely. I’m always a fan of that. Shows the director doesn’t get above himself (looking at YOU, Wheel of Time director, who I hate with the dull red hatred of a fired spoon). There were scenes expanded upon, but they were mentioned in the book and so I didn’t have a real problem with their expansion. If Austen couldn’t/wouldn’t expand, then whatever the director decided was a-ok by me. The scene between Marianne and Willoughby in London was excellently done. The heartbreak was palpable and I liked the addition of Colonel Brandon stepping in to catch her as she fell, it was tone perfect. I’m a sucker for Damsels in Distress and Protectors.

I enjoyed this but it felt a tad too long. I know it had to be that way because of the story but I was ready for it to end. This was a great start to this month of Sense and Sensibility. I just hope the movies, with their abbreviated length, won’t be too abbreviated.

• Book Review of Sense and Sensibility