Far from discovering that her books have been visited by the suck fairy in the intervening decades since she wrote, I have been excited to realize Jo Clayton’s novels are even deeper, richer, and more rewarding now than I had realized at the time.
There is plenty of pulse-pounding action in this book, from hand-to-hand combat to running battles including drones, hybrid watch-animals, mechas, and both normal humans and other super-soldiers…
I’ve been a fan of Jo Graham since her Black Ships (2008), a re-imagining of the Aeneid from the perspective of a priestess. Although she has written a good deal of science fiction (her Calpurnian Wars series and numerous Stargate tie-ins), much of her work has focused on historical fantasy, ranging from the ancient world (her Numinous World novels that started with Black Ships) through the Napoleonic era (The General’s Mistress, etc.) to The Order of the Air, the 1930s series co-written with Melissa Scott that I wrote about in 2018. When Graham’s fantastic Italian Renaissance series debuted in 2023 with A Blackened Mirror, I missed it, along with the 2024 sequel, The Borgia Dove. Now, just ahead of the release of The Blood of the Bull, I have finally caught up, and I’m so glad I did! The Memoirs of the Borgia Sibyl series focuses on Giulia Farnese, a real-life Italian noblewoman who became the lover of Cardinal Rodrigo Borgia. Having some knowledge of history, plus recently listening to Ada Palmer’s Inventing the Renaissance: The Myth of a Golden Age (2025), I was aware of the basic beats of Borgia’s career, although I knew nothing of Giulia. Graham has done a great deal of research and has quoted letters from Rodrigo and Giulia on her Patreon. All the books start with family trees, explanations of timekeeping in Renaissance Rome, and lists of important People, Places and Things, but I mostly skipped over those, trusting Graham to explain what I’d need to know as the story progressed. This was justified, but then, I’ve read a lot of historical novels; others may find these elements extremely helpful, especially since the cast of characters is large. What is not historically recorded is Graham’s version of Giulia being a seer with mystic powers. Early in the first book, she descends into some ancient tombs and begs Persephone to rescue her from her expected destiny of maiden aunthood. Her pleas are granted in very unexpected ways, and her connection with the numinous persists throughout the events of each book, including learning how to cast protective wards against evil, and more. Given that this is based on real history, I don’t think it’s much of a spoiler to say that by book 3, Rodrigo is now Pope Alexander VI. Giulia has assisted in his rise, participating in political intrigues and foiling assassination attempts by various means. The question is, having gained great power, can they keep it against old rivals and new threats? A shocking turn of events sends Giulia fleeing Rome, making herself vulnerable to both French invaders and the ascetic extremist Friar Savonarola. Will Giulia and Rodrigo be able to overcome their internal and external challenges, and save themselves, Rome, and the progressive faction of the Church? Or must the blood of Borgia, whose house emblem is the Bull, be shed and sacrificed to protect all that they cherish? I am really enjoying this series. Giulia is kind, clever, resourceful, and brave, an entirely engaging protagonist. Trapped in a bad marriage, used and endangered by her in-laws, and seeing many examples of rule-breaking in Roman society, it’s natural that she looks for love and protection elsewhere. And although modern eyes would see her relationship with Rodrigo as a May-December romance at best, starting with her being 15 and him 58, I love Graham’s depiction of their courtship and bond. Although he has great temporal and ecclesiastical power, she brings her own resources of perception, intuition, social networking, female-coded skills like the languages of clothes and jewelry, and mystic power into the balance. They are sweet, caring, and considerate of each other (except for rare quarrels), and their wordplay and games are often extremely amusing. And they are extremely sensual and sexual together! Graham excels at depicting intensely warm ongoing relationships that blend earthiness and spiritual aspects, and this comes very much to the forefront here. But it’s not just the Giulia and Rodrigo show. Giulia has brothers and a mother (and in-laws), Rodrigo has sons and daughters (despite his clerical station), and both of them have extensive networks of allies and clients. On the other side are Giulia’s in-laws and the leaders and agents of those who oppose Rodrigo for reasons of nationality (he’s a Spaniard, while most Cardinals are Italian), doctrine (he’s humanist, they’re reactionary), and pure power. Graham weaves the plethora of personal threads to create a rich and brilliant tapestry of life in the Italian Renaissance, highlighted by magical underpinnings and subtle sparks. I was planning to space out these books a bit more, but I was so engrossed by the first novel that I bumped the rest up in my reading schedule and gobbled down the next two in the space of two days. I highly recommend these novels for fans of historical fantasy and romance. The Blood of the Bull will be published on July 7; you can preorder it here. The first two books are available at Candlemark & Gleam. At least one more book, A Golden Branch, is planned in the Memoirs of the Borgia Sibyl series. Content warnings (series): Disease, killings, riots, violence; religious and ethnic persecution; religious patronage and corruption; sexual discrimination and coercion; sex scenes, infidelity, and illegitimacy; curses and black magic. Comps: The Emperor’s Agent, by Jo Graham. Disclosures: As mentioned, I’m a longtime fan of Jo Graham; I used to talk with her on LiveJournal, and I support her on Patreon. I received free eARCs of all three books in the series (so far) from the publisher for review.
Sword-and-sorcery is a subgenre of fantasy with broad shoulders, covering a lot of territory. It has to have action, but the protagonists can range from big dumb heroes to sneak thieves to philosophers — at least the types of philosophers who can wield weapons. Hanlin, the main character of Sometime Lofty Towers by David C. Smith, is a military veteran who is angry at the world and broods a lot, but he’s far from the only deep thinker around. His former fellow soldier Thorem talks about how he feels most free when he’s fighting, Mother Grunda talks about the ills of civilization, servant Wilm talks about the nature of memories and the past, and the kirangee westlings base their culture on connection with nature and the world. The book isn’t all talk, of course. It opens with Thorem trying to recruit Hanlin into a new campaign that the “civilized” cityfolk are planning, to push the frontier farther into the territory held by the indigenous “westlings” who had been partially defeated in the last war. Hanlin isn’t interested, and in fact has been planning to move back to the northern wilds whence he came. Furthermore, after that previous war, he had spent time with the westlings (or rather, as they call themselves, kirangee), and come to respect them and their ways. However, a message about an old personal antagonist lures him into meeting with the noblewoman who’s organizing this new drive, and that propels him into the events that make up most of this book. Former watchtowers built in the frontier territory by the “civilized” invaders do come into play during the clash between them and the inhabitants. However, the book’s front matter says the phrase “sometime lofty towers” (meaning once or formerly high towers, not towers whose height varies up and down) from the title is taken from Shakespeare’s sonnet 64, which is about inevitable losses to time and decay, which certainly fits with some of the themes here. In some ways, this book reminds me of the great story by Robert E. Howard, “Beyond the Black River.” That starts off from the viewpoint of Balthus, an Aquilonian settler on the frontier, where Picts are trying to reclaim their former land (by taking a fort and slaughtering the settlers), with the aid of sorcery that calls on an old god. It ends with Conan, a Cimmerian from the north temporarily working with/for the Aquilonians, who muses, “Barbarism is the natural state of mankind. Civilization is unnatural; it is a whim of circumstance… And barbarism must always ultimately triumph!” In Smith’s book, it’s the wealthy city people who act barbarically, taking land by force of arms from people whom they call “animals” — the city folk say the westling’s speech makes no sense to “human beings” (which reminds me of Ann Leckie’s Radch civilization). The city folk abuse the surviving westlings, killing them on whims and even using their skins as leather, with hints in the text of even worse happenings. The kirangee think that the city people are bringing curses upon themselves by the sick nature of their society that has broken with nature. The kirangee build communities, not great cities, and respect is given to women and elders; they try to live in harmony with nature, but when that harmony is broken, they use nature magic which includes a form of necromancy to fight back. Rest assured, there is some vivid (if brief) fighting even near the beginning of this book, and there are physical and verbal conflicts throughout, but it builds toward a climax of sustained action, usually striking, even graphic, but occasionally dreamy or nightmarish as magic comes into play, and as current happenings revive memories of old battles. Hanlin has some flashbacks as events proceed, but he also keeps thinking of various things people have said to him as he mulls his course of action. Some readers may find this slightly repetitive, but it totally makes sense for Hanlin, broody and on certain topics (such as revenge) even obsessive. Smith’s prose and dialogue are certainly interesting enough to make it worth the occasional revisit, with some really great lines now and then that made me grin. I also like the various language usages that make it clear we’re in a slightly different culture without making things confusing – “thentime,” swords being worn “byside” or “overshoulder,” “meal” as a verb, etc. Additionally, various passages use some eerie and impactful metaphors. I was slightly jarred by a minor inconsistency in the eARC about where an offscreen event had taken place that was highly impactful to one of Hanlin’s companions; it pulled me out of the narrative as I went back and forth to try to figure out the actual site. However, although it matters to that character’s backstory, it doesn’t really affect the plot, and maybe it’ll be fixed by the time the book is published. Some of the side characters have interesting arcs of their own, in addition to Hanlin’s arc as he searches for internal peace. There’s Thorem, who is happy making money by serving the invaders at first but who is forced by events to think about what he’s doing; there’s a female fighter whose circumstances lead her to think about who deserves her efforts; and there’s a very aggressive young kirangee warrior who ends up learning a lot about trust and goals. I can’t say that they surprised me a lot, but I enjoyed watching how they were developed. Overall, I quite enjoyed Sometime Lofty Towers. The protagonist and other characters are interesting (although not so much for the antagonists), the writing is good, the action is vivid, and the philosophical explorations of the nature of civilization, time, memories, and connections are enjoyable. I look forward to seeing more from Smith. A final note: Readers, don’t skip the Interview at the end, which centers for a time on the death of the author’s father. Rarely have I felt such strong sympathetic rage due
“Being in Thailand reminded her of an identity she’d lost in relocation, and probably why she always preferred haunted places and to be among ghosts. They existed somewhere in between, like her.”— “Mindfulness” by Rena Mason, in Silk & Sinew Silk & Sinew: A Collection of Folk Horror from the Asian Diaspora, edited by Kristy Park Kulski, contains some really interesting stories, poems, and reflections, many of which transmit lovely feelings, and/or deep unease, and/or gut punches. Sometimes all at once! It came out in May, but I wasn’t in the right headspace to read a horror collection then. The main part of the book is divided into sections of Soil, Estuary, Bedrock, Roots, and Air. Each section starts with a poem (one in prose) and continues with several short stories more or less related to the theme. The front matter contains an Editor’s Note, a poem, and a Foreword by Monika Kim. The book ends with “Glimpses into the Historical Context” — providing short summaries of Colonialism in Taiwan, Enriching Far Away Worlds (about British colonialism breaking Indian economics), and An Ancient Land (about Armenia) — plus another poem, Acknowledgements, Content & Trigger Warnings, and sections about the authors, the editor, and the artist. I want to highlight the Content & Trigger Warnings section a little, because it’s in the back of the book, which may be a little late for people who just begin at the beginning and read straight through. But it makes sense to put it there, because the warnings are story-specific and thus contain spoilers for some things that will happen or be referenced in each story. A front-of-book warning would necessarily be either so generalized as to be useless, or a long list of specific harms that might put people off the book who could have just skipped stories that might have traumatized them in particular. In addition to possibly skipping to the back for the warnings in case you want to avoid, or at least brace yourself against, specific themes, I also recommend reading the Foreword by Monika Kim, which helps add to these stories and poems a context for our era. Like Silk & Sinew’s editor, Kristy Park Kulski (according to Kim), and like Kylie Lee Baker, whose Bat Eater and Other Names for Cora Zeng I reviewed in April, and doubtlessly like many others, she expresses dismay over the upsurge in anti-Asian sentiments, harassment, and violence following the COVID-19 pandemic; however, she also talks about finding some comfort and catharsis in reading and writing about experiences that may not always be shared, exactly, but that do resonate with common themes. There are seven poems and more than 20 stories in the anthology. All of the poems were evocative and included lovely, lyrical language, with emotions ranging from wistful and nostalgic, to harsh and angry, to fatalistic about oncoming doom, to wondering and hopeful, and more. The opening poem, “Treachery for the Forlorn” by Saba Syed Razvi, describes heartfelt memories and numinous figures, contrasting comfort with unease, inviting the reader to contemplate and speculate:“On this the night of a thousand echoes,…Which voice would you invoke into the walls of your heart, if the wayward would listen?” Many of the stories also contain lovely passages, or harrowing ones. All the writers here are extremely skilled at their craft. There are a lot that I don’t want to quote here because the most amazing sentences give away something important, but here’s one section: For the first time since I answered the phone—what seems like a lifetime ago—my vision blurs, turning the rippling grasses into a kaleidoscope of gold and green. I open myself up to my grief, letting the tears fall from my face into the river below, swirling into the current.I let the water taste me. I let them know I’m here.— “Fed by Earth, Slaked by Salt” by Jess Cho Many of the stories include elements of sacrifices that relatives are expected to make for each other, sometimes matter-of-factly like in “Mother’s Mother’s Daughter” by Audrey Zhou, sometimes resentfully, and sometimes even unknowingly. Sometimes the sacrifices are mutual, and sometimes they benefit entire communities. On the other hand, people can make sacrifices that only end up benefiting outsiders, via trickery and extractive economics, and some of these nominally horrific stories’ plots act as wish fulfillment for the vengeful. Numerous stories are about people adjusting to life in new lands, occasionally finding unexpected allies, or still coping with being treated as outsiders generations afterward. Several of the stories are about members of the diaspora visiting the lands their parents or ancestors came from; sometimes this leads to revelations and deeper understandings (e.g. “The Squatters” by Shawna Yang Ryan), sometimes to transformations, sometimes to potential gain for the inhabitants if not the visitors, and sometimes simply to fear, horror, and death. Sometimes the horror happens to the protagonists, and sometimes they perpetrate horrors upon others. Often the horror depends on the perspective the reader brings to the stories. I certainly don’t always agree with the actions or inactions of the protagonists, and I’m sure many stories contain nuances that I missed; however, I find most of them to be relatable in some manner. Each poem is moving in its own way, as are most of the stories, and everything in the anthology is interesting, often in very surprising ways. Silk & Sinew: A Collection of Folk Horror from the Asian Diaspora, was published by Bad Hand Books but can also be ordered via other retailers.Authors: Kristy Park Kulski (editor, editor’s note, afterword, and acknowledgements); Monika Kim (foreword); Saba Syed Razvi, Geneve Flynn, Angela Yuriko Smith, Christina Sng, Rena Mason, Lee Murray, and Bryan Thao Worra (poems); and Audrey Zhou, Shawna Yang Ryan, Geneve Flynn, Ayida Shonibar, Kanishk Tantia, Jess Cho, Yi Izzy Yu, Angela Yuriko Smith, J.A.W. McCarthy, Nadia Bulkin, Robert Nazar Arjoyan, Rowan Cardosa, Seoung Kim, Saheli Khastagir, Gabriela Lee, Rena Mason, Ai Jiang, Christopher Hann, Priya Sridhar, and Lee Murray (stories). Three
Malka Older makes a rousing return to her acclaimed SF mystery/romance series, The Investigations of Mossa and Pleiti, with The Potency of Ungovernable Impulses, coming out June 10. The novella that started the series, The Mimicking of Known Successes, was amazingly great (I reviewed it here), and I quite enjoyed the sequel, The Imposition of Unnecessary Obstacles. The latest book is the longest so far, but at 256 pages it feels just right. The mystery seems to have lower stakes than in previous books, but it also highlights previously unexplored aspects of the Giant (Jovian) society and returns to some elements of previous books that hadn’t exactly been resolved after all. The romance between Pleiti and Mossa undergoes some severe friction, but in the end … well, read it and see! I don’t advise jumping into the latest book if you’re new to Mossa and Pleiti; start with the first novella, since the relationship and the worldbuilding are complex and continue to develop throughout the series. However, it’s not necessary to reread the earlier works to pick up the series again at this point (especially if you’ve already reread in the intervals like me), since Older includes plenty of reminder-references and context clues to prior situations. (I think if you skipped the second book for whatever reason, you can still read the third without too much difficulty.) The Potency of Ungovernable Impulses opens with a prologue of Mossa lurking outside Pleiti’s quarters, oddly reluctant to enter. The action starts in Chapter 1 with Petanj, an old Valdegeld University schoolmate, asking Pleiti for help; Petanj’s cousin Villette, a rising scholar-star at rival Stortellen U. who’s scheduled to be honored soon with a donship that’s relatively early in her career, has been receiving nasty anonymous notes and a false accusation of plagiarism. Petanj thinks that Pleiti, as a fellow scholar, will be less official, less intimidating, and more familiar with academic environments than Investigator Mossi, but hopefully familiar enough with the investigative process (given Pleiti’s somewhat notorious participation in prior investigations) to help resolve this problem and growing scandal. Pleiti asks Mossi to investigate with her anyway, or at least consult with her, but Mossa, sunken into a deep apathy or worse, refuses to even listen to the case, and sends Pleiti away. For much of the book, Pleiti doesn’t see Mossa, and frequently asks herself What Would Mossa Do as she embarks on the investigation, wondering whether she should have stayed with Mossa instead to help lift her spirits, since she doesn’t seem to be making much progress as she chats with various associates of Villette (pretending to be a mere curious visitor who’d come for the donship ceremony). Libel escalates to sabotage and worse, but the university leadership is more inclined to blame Villette as a trouble-inciter than to find the culprit(s?). In many ways, this book reminds me of the wonderful academic mystery/romance Gaudy Night (1935), by Dorothy Sayers. In that, Harriet Vane, a mystery novelist, is asked to investigate various “poison pen” notes at her alma mater, a women’s college at Oxford; she begins to feel out of her depth when the attacks move from libelous taunts to violence, and writes about the case to her unsuccessful suitor, the famous detective Lord Peter Wimsey. The Potency of Ungovernable Obstacles doesn’t address women’s roles in society the way Gaudy Night does, since the Jovians of the future appear to have moved beyond that (although I note that the highest leaders of both universities here are men). And Potency doesn’t address clashes between town and gown mindsets the way Gaudy Night does (although Imposition touched on that lightly), but it does talk quite a lot about the different, and sometimes opposite, mindsets of the Classicists (studying Classic pre-Giant works in order to try to reconstruct a sustainable biosphere for ruined Earth) and the Modernists (focusing on life here and now on the orbiting rail-ring platforms around Giant/Jupiter). Distant from Valdegeld, the Stortellans have heard little more than vague rumors about the stirring events from the climax of The Mimicking of Known Successes, and some of them wonder whether the conspiracy there may have been much wider-reaching than the news said — which sets Pleiti to wondering whether she and Mossa really had gotten all the culprits; certainly the major perpetrator there had a lot of sympathizers. As Pleiti confesses late in Potency, she has much less faith now in leaders and institutions than she used to have. Eventually, Pleiti finds her own way to analyze the case and come to a conclusion; eventually, she gets some more help, and the mystery is solved, although not without some collateral damage along the way. Obviously I don’t want to spoil the perpetrator or the motives here, so I can’t talk about the resolution much. However, on a side note, I did feel pleasantly vindicated when I was confirmed in my guess about a romantic subplot. For the major romantic plot, both Mossa and Pleiti both struggle a lot with their feelings of inadequacy, and their tendencies to hurt each other with inadvertencies, occasional emotional obtuseness, and even efforts to shield each other from harm. Somehow, Malka Older manages to write this in a way that mostly has me sympathetically groaning “Oh, Mossa” or “Oh, Pleiti” instead of snarling, “Oh, come ON!” Mostly. But they do, eventually, communicate better. (And the book isn’t all grim and moody! There’s a lot of snide humor, and comfort food, and some exciting action!) Speaking of communication, I’ll mention the word choices here. Language on the platform is an evolving thing, which is natural for a society of Earth refugees thrown together and mixing and building a new way of life together around another world. In this future, numerous words have crossed over from other languages into English (or whatever language the future story has been translated from into our 21st-century usages, ha!), and various words have evolved via dropping prefixes or suffixes, or adding new
