Consistency: Not Mr Upstream's strongest point

It was recently pointed out that Mr Upstream's rating 'system' may be somewhat, er, muddled.

This is true.

Sometimes Mr Upstream feels the need to rate in 'middle fingers'. Sometimes he does not. He may, in some dim and distant future, decide to rate in pink fuzzy bunny hugs. This, it should be noted, is the remotest of remote possibilities, unless Mr Upstream decides to start rating booze. Or hookers. Or orthopedic shoes.

The main point here being if Mr Upstream is rating in insulting things like middle fingers or candy-sprinkled turds (not likely, and probably reserved for self-help titles), then the author would almost certainly like to have fewer of them. Two candy sprinkled turds are certainly less awful than ten, or so goes Mr Upstream's reasoning at any rate. And if Mr Upstream finds some gem to review that is, if not flawless, then at least worthwhile, well then he will find some other means with which to indicate his approbation.

Now Mr Ustream must get back to mixing mai tais and listing to Deano. It's Tiki Friday at Mr Upstream's house, and citronella is in the air.

The greatest work of fiction, ever.

The first sentence of Delina Delany, by Amanda McKittrick Ros:

Have you ever visited that portion of Erin's plot that offers its sympathetic soil for the minute survey and scrutinous examination of those in political power, whose decision has wisely been the means before now of converting the stern and prejudiced, and reaching the hand of slight aid to share its strength in augmenting its agricultural richness?

No, Mr Upstream can honestly say that he has not.

Review: The Gateway (Harbinger of Doom Volume 1) by Glenn Thater

Hoo boy. This book made Mr Upstream very very thankful for the 'sample' button that ebooks feature. It also made Mr Upstream thankful for cheap alcohol.

Mr Upstream believes he will let Mr Thater's work speak for itself. Here area few examples of the (appropriately empurpled) prose inflicted upon the unsuspecting reader in The Gateway:

A grayed Lord and his lieutenants stood at the fore of a small wedge of armored soldiers, veterans all. Malignant, clinging mist wafted about, sickening the men and clouding their vision. With the mist came a thunderous cacophony that consumed the night, piercing the very souls of those unfortunates within its demesne. A maleficent, skirling, bestial sound, akin to naught in nature and much in nightmare. A preternatural wailing it was, and in its wake bounded death.

So the sound might not be so nice. This was the first paragraph, in case you were interested.

On to part II!

Angry wood screamed [really?] as the stairwell door burst open. Brother Claradon Eotrus's hand went to his sword hilt as several figures flew through the portal onto the tower's roof. Par Tanch spun toward them, death flaring in his eyes and blue fire licking the apex of his staff. But the wizard lowered his ensorcelled weapon, and his aspect softened at the sight of Sir Ector Eotrus's haggard face. At the young nobleman's heels were his diminutive comrade Ob and a glity-armored leviathan known as the Lord Angle Theta. Behind them came one Dolan Silk, a wiry man of sickly pallor and strange ears.

Rarely in Mr Upstream's long reading career has he seen such overwrought fiction. It's not quite to the level of, say, The Eye of Argon, but not for lack of effort.

And that, dear readers, is why Glenn Thater has earned the inaugural Upstream Independent Fiction Review Purple Prose award.

(Rating: 7/10 middle fingers)

Reviews: 'Zombie' by Johnny Smith & 'Darkness Stalks the Night' by Bruce Blake

Mr Upstream recently experienced what some might call a 'heavy flow' and so he went out and bought an iPad2. Having no money left after this purchase, he was forced to load up on all the free downloads available from the iTunes iBookstore (Mr Upstream not being a huge fan of the first person singular pronoun, you can only imagine what pain it causes him to write iTunes iBookstore. Or perhaps not).

In any case, Mr Upstream decided to dip one grimy, withered toe into the water by sampling a couple of free short stories. Here are the results:

'Zombie' by Johnny Smith

At roughly 20 tiny little electronic pages, 'Zombie' doesn't have much meat on its bones. It's a sparse story, told in a sparse style that reminded Mr Upstream, favorably, of a Hemingway short story.

Unfortunately, Johnny Smith decided to get a little too artistic with the chronological order of the events of the book, leaving Mr Upstream rather confused as to who did what to who and when. Now that might just have been the gin talking, but Mr Upstream rather doubts it.

Also, no zombies. WTF? If you call your artistic endeavor 'Zombie' and then proceed not to make with the zombies, unless your name is 'The Cranberries' you can rightfully expect some shit to be slung your way.

The Upstream Independent Fiction Meter rates this one a 5 out of 10 possible middle fingers.*

The next short story Mr Upstream Sampled was 'Darkness Stalks the Night' by Bruce Blake:

There are oh, so many vampire stories out there, and this is one of them. On the plus side, no sparkly vampires, or vampires that feel the need to dress in black leather. More plusses: lots and lots of foul language. Mr Upstream is a big proponent of foul language. Also boobies. Viscera not so much, which this story features, but Mr Upstream is willing to let that slide.

What Mr Upstream is not willing to let slide is sloppy logic. Gather round, ye aspiring indie writers, and listen to the wisdom Mr Upstream is about to impart: Traditional publishers are fond of saying 'Don't write in first person point of view'. Now Mr Upstream favors third person in all things, but even he would say to those traditional publishers 'Go fuck yourself'. First person is perfectly fine - EXCEPT if your point of view character dies at the end. If he or she dies, then who the hell is telling the story?

Mr Upstream doesn't want to shock you, but in 'Darkness Stalks the Night' the first person point of view character dies at the end, which is why this story gets seven middle fingers out of a possible ten.

* Middle fingers no good. You no want middle fingers. Middle fingers bad. You no want see Mr Upstream's ten middle fingers (yes, Mr Upstream's hands are solely populated by middle fingers. Yes, his parents lived very near a nuclear facility during his gestation). Ten middle fingers means you suck ass.

The Weight of Blood (The Half-Orcs, Book 1) by David Dalglish

Many years ago, Mr Upstream was driving through Indiana on his way to a Labradoodle convention in Columbus, and was listening to the radio. A DJ was interviewing John Cougar Mellencamp, and giving him hell about the awfulness of his very first album (as an aside, what the hell happened to you, Johnnie?)

Now John told the DJ that he'd grown since then, yadda yadda, and that he'd learned pick the good fruit, not just the low-lying fruit. He also said he wished he could buy up every copy of that first, wretched album.

David Dalglish never heard that interview.

The Weight of Blood is, apparently, Dalglish's very first novel. He's gone on to write a bunch more (The Half-Orcs is a five book series, and he's got at least two other novels out there).

The Weight of Blood is, well, bad. It's not The Kingdoms and the Elves of the Reaches bad -- but then, what is? But it's bad. Bad in a way that makes you throw the book across the room, then curse because that was your ebook reader kind of way. Cardboard characters? Check. Generic, derivative world building? Check. Dialog that is the spiritual equivalent of cold, lumpy oatmeal? Check. And the best part? Of the two main characters, the likeable one is a serial child killer.

All of which might be forgivable in a first novel, if the author, you know, repented of his sins, the way Johnny Cougar did. Instead, Dalglish puts it out there for free, as an intro to his body of work. That's like Mr Upstream telling the world, "Hey, come bump uglies with me, it's free and you only get syphilis the first time!"

I despair.

The Panama Laugh by Thomas S. Roche

"High above me, I heard a laughing scream and the hiss-whistle of incoming ordnance: a preadolescent projectile coming down fast, cackling, trailing streamers of goo and a long trail of ropelike intestine. It was not going to hit me but I fired and fired and fired until the slide locked open and poured smoke. It pulped on the rocks and did nothing but squirm; all its bones were thoroughly broken."

Thomas Roche (2011-09-05T04:00:00+00:00). The Panama Laugh (Kindle Locations 853-856). Night

Shade Books. Kindle Edition.

And that, my friends, is why you should never fire zombies from catapults. As cool as it sounds, it's really not terribly effective.

There's a lot Mr Upstream could say about The Panama Laugh, but right now he needs to take a nice hot shower and suck down some rum. So he'll just say that The Panama Laugh is worth your time. Unless, you know, you're one of those readers with a stick up your ass who doesn't get why the zombiepocalypse would be freaking hilarious.

Mr Upstream is back

Has it really been two years or so? Wow. Mr Upstream was not allowed to blog in prison, though he was allowed to read. So he has a lot of reviews to catch up on.

He also needs to catch up on what's been happening in the literary world. Borders closed? Everybody is reading ebooks? Jeebus.

Mr Upstream would probably have been back sooner if he hadn't told the parole board to 'Sit and spin, but you'll have to take turns 'cause I only got two bird fingers for ya.'

Mr Upstream will also miss his special friend, Hector.

Queen of the Orcs Trilogy by Morgan Howell

Morgan Howell is not the author's real name. If Mr Upstream had had written this trilogy, he'd have changed his name as well.

Mr Upstream could give you a very detailed synopsis of each of the three books, and talk about the interesting correlations between Howell's orcs and various North American Indian tribes, but in the end all you really need to know is this: Read the first book to see how to bring to life a non-human sentient culture. Read the next two books to see how to make an utter hash of characterization and motivation of anyone without green skin or black teeth, and how to make readers frustrated beyond belief.

The human characters in books two and three weren't even cardboard. Cardboard is sturdier. It reminded Mr Upstrean a little of The Grapes of Wrath, where the Okies were lovingly, intricately detailed, and you really felt their humanity, but the California bosses were cheap die-cut villains.

Mr Upstream wanted to tear these books apart, but when it came down to it, Mr Upstream mostly just felt sad at the wasted potential of the books.

Mr Upstream is now going to lie down with a bottle of rye and cry himself to sleep.