Eric Staggs : Writer

As a writer, you hate to bash another writer’s work. You always want to try to find something positive to say about it. In college, when doing peer readings, hyper-critical as I am, I found myself not saying much. One of my favorite professors said “You’ve a great integrity about you when comment…”

I think she meant that I didn’t just spout off for a grade like the other students. The truth was, I seldom had anything good to say.

Tim Waggoner’s Thieves of Blood: Blade of the Flame read’s like an introductory page from a Dungeons and Dragon’s Gaming book. The exposition nearly bowls a person over, and the character archetypes offer nothing new to readers.

That said, if this book is classed as young adult fiction, or used as the marketing piece it was obviously intended to be, it’s a total success. Those not familiar with the Eberron campaign setting will find the book enlightening. Another refreshing aspect of Waggoner’s approach is his general lack of an “origins” story. He simply starts in with two pre-existing characters and allows their histories, though somewhat two-dimensional they may be, to unfold naturally for the reader.

Another thing the writer’s done here, which I appreciate greatly, is create a literary adventure, a time filler for young adults, that needs neither electricity or software.

B+

Seems like every fantasy book begins with a youth, who is typically a loner, outsider, or adopted or some other form of pariah. After a troublesome childhood, they tend to be forced out into the world on a whirlwind adventure, where they not only grow up some, but discover a power or ability, as well as the key to their unhappy childhood.

While emanations of Joseph Campbell’s “Hero’s Journey” and the inherent myth cycle that resides in all cultures can be seen in the standard fantasy plot, one must ask themselves, how many magic swords are there? I’ve personally never come across a magic sword, (though admittedly my collection is rather small) let alone a Chosen One.

Seriously though, a good fantasy novel is getting hard and harder to come by, and I wonder why. Even the vaunted Harry Potter suffers from a formulaic sickness, being the Chosen One who will slay…what’s his name. Anyway, I think the fundamental failing of fantasy is the Chosen One syndrome. It’s often argued that the Chosen One is more interesting to audiences than Schlomo the Shit-cart Boy, who was killed by a runaway shit-cart. Granted. But isn’t it the job of the writer to make Schlomo more interesting? Dare I say, to make him a hero?

What say, Schlomo was indeed killed by a runaway shitcart. But in the stinky conflagration that followed (no one really knows where the flames started – a torch or candle most likely) Schlomo’s son, Bertrand Schlomo Gorp (who would in later years become known as Bert the Unlucky) was injured and orphaned and raised in a priory. His childhood injury, broken bones in his right foot, were treated by the best healers his rather backward village had to offer. Thus, they had mended rather poorly. Until the age of 18, Bert the Unlucky limped about the priory, sweeping and cooking and cleaning dishes, tending gardens. Bert the Unlucky, earned his dubious honorific when he failed to pass the examinations required to become a full fledged member of the holy order which he served.

Now, Bert the Unlucky, a pious and rather naieve, if well educated soul, set off into the world, seeking his fate.

See? Isn’t that some much more satisfying than the son of a king who has a powerful magic sword and rides dragons?