I’ve been struggling for a couple of weeks to come up with words adequate to express my feelings about Holly Lisle’s first foray into young adult literature, The Ruby Key. The more time passes, and the more I consider the story, the more I appreciate it. It’s a book refreshingly simple but of great depth, in which many elements are comfortably familiar, but never predictable; you always feel a surprise is just around the corner.

In the world of The Ruby Key, humans must do their work during the daytime, from sunrise to sunset, for the dark is the domain of the nightlings, and there is a covenant in place to keep that law. Gemma, a human, and her brother Dan enter the forest in secret at night, to gather the magical sap of a taandu tree in the hopes that it will cure their mother of a sickness that is spreading over their village (the symptoms of which resemble senility or mental illness). On their covert night-time foray into the woods—the realm of the nightlings—they are met by Yarri, a nightling slave, who tells them that “Uncle” Banris, the man who seeks their mother’s hand in marriage, has broken a deal with the nightling kai-lord, and that’s why so many villagers are sick and dying: he promised human slaves, daylight taandu sap and purple dye in exchange for immortality and the power to rule, and failed to deliver. Now the kai-lord is meting out his punishment on the villagers.

Gemma goes to the kai-lord in order to present a new deal to him. In exchange for Yarri’s help, Yarri tells her she must ask the kai-lord for one thing in addition to the safety of her village and her mother’s life: The Ruby Key. Gemma doesn’t know what this is, but when she asks for it, the kai-lord is angered and makes an almost impossible request: She must find a child named Doyati who frequents the moonroads, dangerous and magical roads that might send a traveller anywhere.

It doesn’t take long for Gemma to realize her efforts to bring Doyati back are hopeless. The reader senses it too. And yet Gemma keeps moving forward, knowing that she must, even if there’s no chance for her at all. There is never a moment in The Ruby Key when you feel certain that everything—or anything—will turn out in the heroes’ favour. But at the same time, you sense that in a world like this, anything can happen, and the mysterious cat and the moonroads add to that feeling of unexpected danger and kindle the hope of a sudden turn for the better (it’s a page-turner for sure). This book has a depth to it that I have rarely experienced in young adult books; this fantasy setting is touched by real-world troubles though the problems themselves are as foreign as faerie. Do we help strangers even when it costs us dearly? Do we keep pressing on when we know it’s right, even if we know we’ll fail?

There are ghostly armies, a talking cat (who is certainly more than a cat), roads of light that lead to deadly wastelands, hints at a secret history, and monsters both ugly and beautiful. The story itself is simple, and takes place on a rather small, closed stage compared to much Fantasy literature. In the end, that stage opens up into the wide world, and a new reality opens up for the characters that they had never dreamed, one that echoes events in our own world and yet is still wholly “other”.

This book is the first of a series, and I’m waiting for the next book, The Silver Door, with an anticipation I haven’t felt since I finished the first Harry Potter. The Ruby Key resonated with me on a deeper level than many other YA series I’ve tried in years. I sense the start of a great series here!

About two years ago I had an unhappy realization about a boyfriend who passed away when we were both teenagers. Because of some things that happened and some regrets I felt, I never adequately mourned him. Though he’d loved me ardently and self-sacrificially, I’d refused to admit that I loved him. After I played with his feelings long enough, he broke off our relationship, as he should have, and I never saw him again.

I realized I’d been selfish, and foolish, and wasted his love, and about twelve years after the fact I mourned him afresh. I hid myself away and grieved for him for months. To the confusion of my family, I sat in the dark and stared out at the rain on the lake, and scenes from the past played over in my head for the first time in more than a decade, and he lived again in each memory.

A Severe Mercy by Sheldon Vanauken is the story of one man’s passionate love for his wife, their journey together toward faith in Christ, and his grief at her untimely passing. It’s a record in letters of his friendship with C.S. Lewis. It’s the search for eternity, the search embarked upon by all people, whether pagan, humanist or cradle-Christians; the search for joy and divinely-appointed meaning in a world that often seems meaningless.

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Apparently Sherwood Smith has worked on her setting since 1959, when she was eight years old. The hard work she’s put into her story world shows in Crown Duel, and you get the feeling it’s only a taste of this rich setting.

Crown Duel is one story in two parts, and was at one point published as two separate works. In this paperback, it has been printed as a single novel, Smith’s original intent. However, there are two distinct parts to this story, and each has a slightly different feel, though the voice and tone remain the same throughout.

In the first part, Meliara and her brother, Branaric go to war against King Galdran, who plans to break the Covenant that protects the colourwood forests the Hill Folk cherish (full of highly-prized woods of blue, red and gold), and protects the people of Remalna from the Hill Folk. Meliara and Branaric promised their late father that they would take arms against the greedy king, but their campaign is not a success, and due to her own impulsiveness, Meliara is taken captive by the enemy and is carried to the capital city of Remalna by Vidanric, the blonde-haired and narrow-eyed Marquis of Shevraeth.

The second part is the account of how Meliara learns to survive at court amongst nobles vying for position after the war. The court is a new world of intrigue and deception to Meliara, a countess raised in the mountains of Tlanth.

The second part succeeds better than the first, but even the first section is an enjoyable read. Meliara is a somewhat unpleasant character, frustrating on occasion when you witness her obvious errors of judgement, though she refuses to see them herself. There are some odd bits; Smith seems reluctant to describe battle scenes. Meliara is absent or knocked out during some of them, others are “told” more than shown. Key moments are explained to her by other characters after the fact. This weakens the overall plot of the first half, and everything seems to happen on such a small scale that it’s surprising later when they refer to the events as a “war”.

The best thing about the first half is Meliara’s pluck, and her escape across the countryside, through villages, and finally back into the hands of her enemy. She is a surprisingly resourceful and resilient heroine without being unrealistic, and is a joy to read even when you’re shaking your head at her inwardly, or occasionally, screaming at her mentally. You know the author intended her to have these flaws, and Meliara feels like a real person, with all her “prickles and stings”.

The second part is more successful, although I wish it had been heavier on intrigue; In a political story, I like a bit of cloak and dagger, and not knowing who is bad or good, or who merely appears to be bad or good. Only one character’s nature seemed truly uncertain until the end, and even his motives weren’t quite obscure enough for my liking. The intricacies of court life were well-developed, however, and the character interactions were fun. My favourite bit was Meliara’s correspondence with a secret admirer who becomes her mentor in court life. The fact that I guessed who it was from the beginning only made it more charming.

This is the first book I’ve read in a long time that I didn’t want to end, and that’s saying something. Fortunately, Smith added a cute short story at the conclusion of the book that was like the prize in a Cracker-Jack box: the novel was complete without it, but it was a nice surprise all the same. I have a feeling I’ll miss the characters from Crown Duel for awhile—especially the Marquis of Shevraeth—but fortunately I can return to Smith’s fascinating world in Inda and her other books.

Fantasy Book Critic has posted a review of what sounds like a truly beautiful and overlooked novel from 2007, Auralia’s Colors.

“What makes ‘Auralia’s Colors’ work so well as a novel is the author. Jeffrey had a unique vision in mind regarding color and he stayed true to that vision throughout the book while making sure that the story, characters and setting didn’t suffer. On top of that, Mr. Overstreet just has fantastic prose, reminding me of the lyrical quality that has infused the works of such authors/poets as Nicholas Christopher and Catherynne M. Valente, and which just seems to suit this kind of storytelling.”

Fantasy Book Critic is also offering this book in a giveaway!

I have varying success with YA books, so I was hesitant when my niece pressed this book into my ink-stained hands. But since my niece is a very clever and funny girl who generally likes the same books as me (unless she’s reading what she calls “teen angst books”) I took it from her and gave it a try.

Alanna is the story of young Alan of Trebond, a page training at the royal court in the hope of eventually becoming a knight. The catch is that Alan is actually Alanna, a girl who took the place of her twin brother—who wanted to be trained to use magic instead—and posed as a boy so she could fulfill her dream of one day being a knight and hero herself, instead of a proper lady.

The story is good fun. It’s more character study than epic fantasy, but it has a solid plot that moves along at a quick pace, and being YA it was a fast read for me once I settled into it. There are lots of charming characters, not least of these Alanna herself. I typically have a hard time identifying with this type of girl character. I never wanted to be the knight in shining armour myself, but I can’t say I wanted to be the princess in the tower either. I wanted to be the lady in charge of the castle, whether in peace or under siege. I’ve never understood the girl who doesn’t feel like being a girl is enough. Alanna, however, was an interesting character who kept me reading, and even if I found myself rolling my eyes when she insisted that she had to prove herself to the boys, I liked her and wanted her to reach her goals. I think Alanna has a lot of growing to do and will become a more complex character as the story goes on.

I had to give this book two tries, really. After reading through the first few chapters of the book I put it down, and it took me a long while to go back to it. I figured out why I got bogged down in the beginning, and I think it’s a helpful lesson to writers. The spot where I put the book down was the character introduction scene. Yes, there is one. Okay, to be fair, Alanna was introduced in the beginning, and most of the adult characters are introduced one at a time, but the young pages, the lot of ‘em it seemed, were introduced all in one scene a few pages long. Two of these characters, Prince Jonathan and Rolan, Alanna’s initial antagonist, were easy to distinguish from the others, but most of the pages were introduced using a very brief tag that may or may not have been descriptive of the character himself (things like, to paraphrase, “This boy who interrupted that other boy”) then a couple of pages later using their names and a descriptive tag that may or may not have related to what they did or how they were described when they appeared initially. *looks back at all that* No wonder I put it down.

Once I came back to it however, I was rewarded with a charming tale. It was not particularly meaty, but the ending hinted at things to come and a broader world beyond the palace walls. I’d come to really like some of the characters (Prince Jonathan is my favourite, naturally) and it gave me some questions to ponder about where the story was headed. In all, while I wasn’t particularly knocked out by the first book in The Song of the Lioness series, I liked it, and I’m looking forward to reading more and seeing how the story and characters evolve.

Not to be confused with the American Civil War miniseries of the same name, North & South is based on the novel by Elizabeth Gaskell (author of Wives & Daughters), and is the story of a young woman from the green, idyllic south of England whose small family is uprooted and moved to the north, to the city of Milton, its skies blocked by the looming shapes of factories and soot-darkened buildings crammed close together, the air full of smoke and floating cotton.

I enjoyed this four-episode miniseries quite a bit more than Wives & Daughters, which I liked but never really warmed to completely; unlike Wives & Daughters, it made me curious to read Mrs. Gaskell’s work. The characters were much more likeable in North & South, even though there were fewer overall, and the milieu was unique (at least, it seemed so to me.) It also didn’t have that um, weird quality, is the only way I can think to describe it . . . that aura of almost sinister unreality that Wives & Daughters was punctuated with here and there, that never seemed to click with the rest of the story. (Also, it did not have those unfortunate Hoo from Hooville hairdos the ladies in Wives & Daughters sported so prominently on top of their heads. I was relieved, I assure you.)

I certainly can’t complain about Mr. Thornton. There is nothing like a dark look to make my day. I prefer heroes that are rough around the edges, formidable and tough (which probably explains why I prefer Mark Strong’s Mr. Knightley to Jeremy Northam’s). At any rate, the miniseries touched on themes related to labor unions and workers’ rights, which added a refreshing depth to the story. I’ll have to read the novel and see how the adaptation compares.

Oh, and I musn’t forget to add, the Northern accent is a captivating sound.