Ex Libris: Picus the Thief

Picus the Thief, by Robin Bennett

I attempted to write a review of Robin Bennett’s latest work earlier this month without much success. I deliberately tried to be even-handed and fair, but my friends took one look at the review and asked where all the feelings had gone. They were right. Reading Picus the Thief inspired many feelings in me, and regrettably not all of them were good.

Unusually for me, I wanted to like this book even when it did everything it could to put me off. Robin Bennett transforms Vampires from the brooding children of the night into tiny fairy-like creatures and places them into a dark fantasy world where they fit right in alongside Faies, Weres and Trolls. An entire world of magic, wonder and betrayal exists just on the edge of human perception, and clearly a great deal of imagination and thought has gone into every last detail. Yet such an innovative premise is wasted on a story that rapidly devolves from gripping suspense into disappointing mediocrity.

Picus the Thief introduces us an outcast Vampire with a heart of gold, a tendency to pinch things, and an overwhelming obsession with footwear. A series of botched jobs leads to a powerful Vampire offering Picus the choice between imprisonment and retrieving an artefact for the Vampire. Thus Picus and his cousin Lark travel throughout the Hidden Kingdoms on their quest for the vampiric holy grail, and end up facing deadly traps, hidden enemies and lost boots.

I found myself instantly drawn into the world of tiny Vampires and Weres and Faies as soon as I opened the book. The humour made me smile, if not laugh outright. Fraught moments in which Picus literally sidesteps one threat to find himself facing another greater threat made me wonder how he would escape. Skilful descriptions drew me into Picus’ world, while the sharp and witty dialogue made me appreciate the characters anew.

So where did it go wrong?

Whereas the opening of the book serves up fast and well-plotted action sequences that almost turn the pages by themselves, the later chapters sacrifice potential suspense in the name of humour. If we are to believe Vampires and Faies truly are mortal enemies, then the real surprise isn’t that Picus gets caught in Faie territory, it’s that nobody cares. Some men laugh in the face of danger, Picus shrugs, and the readers shrug along with him.

A number of action scenes fall victim to this apathy, until Picus becomes a completely passive hero. The well-written, fast-paced thrills of the opening chapters are forgotten as Picus devises cunning escape plans, then decides to do nothing at all. Any action sequences that do occur (in spite of Picus’ best efforts) are all too frequently hamstrung by the author’s obsessive explanations of every detail and action, which grinds the narrative to a halt. But not to worry, even when Picus finds himself hopelessly outmatched in a fight, he can always stand back and let Mother Nature save him!

This is also the only book I’ve read where a character is sent to a foreign land to retrieve a powerful artefact and apparently forgets why he’s there. I was quite looking forward to the culmination of Picus’ quest in Angleland. Instead, the quest for an ancient artefact of untold power is treated as seriously as someone nipping out to the shops for a pint of milk. It can’t be ascribed to a irreverent, funny narrative style either; this story frequently veers away from humour to serve up mentions of torture and cannibalism in between multiple graphic depictions of bound and tortured captives.

 

There is a minor moment of redemption towards the end of the story, in which Picus is forced to face up to the consequences of his actions and is utterly devastated by them. His realisation that he alone bears responsibility for his deeds turns into a fantastic piece of insight and a rare moment of character growth. The story closes upon a vastly different Picus to the cheeky thief we’re introduced to in the beginning, but it’s too little, too late.

Picus the Thief is full of little gems that just prove its potential to become a truly stunning tale, but the further I read, the greater my sense of disappointment grew. I can’t help but feel that a little polishing would make this story truly great. But instead it succumbs to increasingly poor pacing, woolly narrative and scenes that leave a bitter taste in the reader’s mouth and inspire a lengthy rant on a blog.

Picus the Thief, by Robin Bennett, illustrated by Rob Rayevsky

236 pages in hardcover

ISBN-10: 0956868401

ISBN-13: 978-0956868404

Amazon link here

Angry.

I'd really hoped to finish up a review of Picus the Thief by Robin Bennett to post this evening.


Instead, this evening, I learned of a death in the family. I wish I could cry and grieve and move on through the so-called five stages of grief. But instead I'm so fucking furious I can barely see straight. So rather than post something that I'll regret tomorrow, I'll just say this:

If you ever find yourself in the unfortunate position of notifying someone of a death, don't wait two fucking weeks to tell them.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to start calling the rest of my family.

FantasyCon 2011: Where It All Began

Many many moons ago, my friend Richard (writer of the Heresy and Hearsay blog) proposed a trip to the British Fantasy Society's annual convention. So we packed our bags, got on a train, and headed to FantasyCon 2011 at the Royal Albion Hotel in Brighton. 

There I met all kinds of lovely people, attended fascinating and often hilarious panels, and encountered enough free-flowing creativity to launch a tactical warhead at the creative block that's plagued me for months now.

And that was just on the first day.

Planting a Seed of an Idea

Once upon a midday cheery, while I pondered, hot and ...smeary...?

…I realised how difficult it is to find rhyming antonyms for "weary" and that "smeary" is hardly a word. So instead of continuing to massacre Edgar Allen Poe's poor Raven, I acknowledged my complete and utter lack of talent for preserving rhyme, metre and subject. It was a small moment at best, but it was the first step onto a path of understanding.

In films and games, a hero's important realisations are narrated to us by a wise-sounding voice-over while the hero stands and gazes out pensively over the kingdom he will one day inherit, or gazes regretfully upon the ruins of a fallen civilisation, or looks over some view that involves a wide-angle camera lens and gradually swelling music in the background to tell us that this is a Very Significant Moment.

Sadly, realisations in real life rarely include disembodied voices predicting our future, or impressive sweeping views of New Zealand mixed with CGI, or inspiring music and a well-placed breeze to toss our hair just so while we stare at nothing. 

Important realisations are more likely to come in between the thoughts like 'huh, I think this chair turned into granite while I wasn't looking' and 'if sufficient people sit in an unventilated room for long enough, will the pitchers of water on the speakers' table eventually boil?' and 'whoops, where did my pen go this time?'

In that instant, I stopped caring about the uncomfortable chair and the oppressive heat. I truly heard the words that the panel of authors at the front of the room were saying. I stopped fidgeting. I stopped dropping my pen on myself. I started to understand the value of the wisdom they were offering. 

They spoke. I listened. And I learned.

And then I came home and made a blog.

~*~The End~*~

Or is it? I sincerely hope not. I had been toying with the idea of starting a blog before I went to FantasyCon this year, but the incredible and inspiring people I met at the convention provided the catalyst to finally do it. So here it is. I'll post up details of FantasyCon 2011 and the trip I took fairly soon. 'Til next time!