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Book Review: Heart of the Dragon--SPOILERS
Before I proceed to the review proper, a preamble:
I like most of Keith R.A. DeCandido's work. It's not Great Literature, but it doesn't profess to be. He writes solid, entertaining yarns for hire and earns his shillings and pence admirably. I might not think his books are the greatest stories ever told, but I don't feel cheated when I close the cover, either. After reading Heart of the Dragon, I will continue to buy his work if it involves a fandom in which I am interested.
That noted, Dragon is easily his weakest foray into Supernatural fandom. Whereas his previous entries--Bone Key and Nevermore were solid, fully-imagined stories that showcased a city as an integral backdrop to the drama at hand, Dragon reads like his sloppy excuse to indulge in his love for San Francisco and Asian culture and to show off his knowledge of the city, organized crime, and Japanese and Chinese culture and history. Rather than use this knowledge to accent the story, he uses the story to prop up his eight-dollar game of My Learning, Let Me Show You Them.
The case is wafer-thin and nonsensical. According to it, a demon frames an honorable samurai for the attempted rape of a young girl and incites a mob of vengeful villagers to burn him alive. Then the crafty demon binds the innocent soul to its descendants, who can force the bound soul to their wills. Predictably, most of these descendants are mad as hatters or just plain cat-shit mean and force the honorable, angsting spirit to commit evil deeds. Only a magical sword can end the spirit's suffering, and as you might have guessed, Bobby, that cantankerous packrat, just happens to have it lying around.
If the story had ended there, it might have made sense. It has all the hallmarks of a standard SPN tale. Demons fomenting evil deeds. Tortured spirits. Cursed objects. Nasty magic. Greedy people mucking about with powers beyond their comprehension. It doesn't blaze any trails, but it gets the job done.
Alas, three-quarters of the way through the story, Our Yeoman Writer inexplicably ups the ante and declares that the samurai is an integral part of the war between angels and demons. Why is never explained, beyond the nebulous assertion that it would make a fine weapon. Fine. Then why didn't this purportedly intelligent, canny demon simply possess Albert Chao as soon as he got his hands on the Dragon? You know, when he was angry and stupid and utterly ignorant of the occult? Why wait until he was older and wiser and more confident to approach him? Why approach him at all? Unlike angels, who make a nominal show of asking to use people as meatsuits, demons don't bother which such niceties. The demon could have possessed Chao at any time, without his knowledge or consent, and done as he pleased. Why didn't he? Was it because there would have been no story if he had, or, at the very least, one very different from the one DeCandido set out to tell?
The clumsy insertion of angels and demons into a story that had no need of them smacks of a desperate need to bring the story into canonical compliance and relevance regardless of whether or not their inclusion serves the story. It doesn't, by the by. In fact, it detracts from other narrative elements. The John section of the story is woefully anemic, a sketch rather than a a vivid watercolor, and the fate of a likeable utilitarian character is left unresolved, as though DeCandido forgot about him in the rush to trot a small cadre of angelic OCs who serve no purpose other than to fill pages and remind us that a war is afoot, and that smarmy, conniving Zachariah is Up to No Good. Honestly, the murder of Ramiel is one of the most muddled scenes in the book. I read it three times, and I'm still not sure who killed him, though I assume it was Uzziel. It was a bizarre, superfluous scene, and I can see the shoddy workmanship of "I need to build this narrative bridge to get to the end of this book" when I see it.
Castiel makes a token appearance, too. Oh, goody. What a waste of a character.
The book could have been excellent. The Campbell section was rich and vibrant and brilliant, and when it was over, I wanted more. Sam and Deanna were a delight, and Mary was a typical teenager with an atypical job and uncommon spirit. If the story had focused on them and jettisoned the celestial claptrap, it would have been a stronger, more cohesive story, and not a sodden, self-indulgent, mishmash of unfinished ideas. DeCandido's imagination and creative hubris simply exceeded his abilities here. He needed more time to write and more space in which to write it, and the lack of either destroyed the story.
A final niggle before I surrender my truncheon.
You cannot smile something. You can smile at something, because of something, in spite of something, and to yourself. But unless you are talking out your ass, smiles cannot speak. Hence, the sentence "'I don't think so,' Dean smiled." is in extraordinarily bad form(Ch. 18). It's lazy writing. Period. How hard is it to write, "'I don't think so,' Dean said, and smiled."? Or, "'I don't think so.' Dean smiled."? Not every noun in the English language can be converted to a verb, and not every verb can be used as a goddamn speech tag. For God's sake, show some respect to the language by which you earn your daily bread.
DeCandido tried. He overreached. I overpaid. The end.
C-
I like most of Keith R.A. DeCandido's work. It's not Great Literature, but it doesn't profess to be. He writes solid, entertaining yarns for hire and earns his shillings and pence admirably. I might not think his books are the greatest stories ever told, but I don't feel cheated when I close the cover, either. After reading Heart of the Dragon, I will continue to buy his work if it involves a fandom in which I am interested.
That noted, Dragon is easily his weakest foray into Supernatural fandom. Whereas his previous entries--Bone Key and Nevermore were solid, fully-imagined stories that showcased a city as an integral backdrop to the drama at hand, Dragon reads like his sloppy excuse to indulge in his love for San Francisco and Asian culture and to show off his knowledge of the city, organized crime, and Japanese and Chinese culture and history. Rather than use this knowledge to accent the story, he uses the story to prop up his eight-dollar game of My Learning, Let Me Show You Them.
The case is wafer-thin and nonsensical. According to it, a demon frames an honorable samurai for the attempted rape of a young girl and incites a mob of vengeful villagers to burn him alive. Then the crafty demon binds the innocent soul to its descendants, who can force the bound soul to their wills. Predictably, most of these descendants are mad as hatters or just plain cat-shit mean and force the honorable, angsting spirit to commit evil deeds. Only a magical sword can end the spirit's suffering, and as you might have guessed, Bobby, that cantankerous packrat, just happens to have it lying around.
If the story had ended there, it might have made sense. It has all the hallmarks of a standard SPN tale. Demons fomenting evil deeds. Tortured spirits. Cursed objects. Nasty magic. Greedy people mucking about with powers beyond their comprehension. It doesn't blaze any trails, but it gets the job done.
Alas, three-quarters of the way through the story, Our Yeoman Writer inexplicably ups the ante and declares that the samurai is an integral part of the war between angels and demons. Why is never explained, beyond the nebulous assertion that it would make a fine weapon. Fine. Then why didn't this purportedly intelligent, canny demon simply possess Albert Chao as soon as he got his hands on the Dragon? You know, when he was angry and stupid and utterly ignorant of the occult? Why wait until he was older and wiser and more confident to approach him? Why approach him at all? Unlike angels, who make a nominal show of asking to use people as meatsuits, demons don't bother which such niceties. The demon could have possessed Chao at any time, without his knowledge or consent, and done as he pleased. Why didn't he? Was it because there would have been no story if he had, or, at the very least, one very different from the one DeCandido set out to tell?
The clumsy insertion of angels and demons into a story that had no need of them smacks of a desperate need to bring the story into canonical compliance and relevance regardless of whether or not their inclusion serves the story. It doesn't, by the by. In fact, it detracts from other narrative elements. The John section of the story is woefully anemic, a sketch rather than a a vivid watercolor, and the fate of a likeable utilitarian character is left unresolved, as though DeCandido forgot about him in the rush to trot a small cadre of angelic OCs who serve no purpose other than to fill pages and remind us that a war is afoot, and that smarmy, conniving Zachariah is Up to No Good. Honestly, the murder of Ramiel is one of the most muddled scenes in the book. I read it three times, and I'm still not sure who killed him, though I assume it was Uzziel. It was a bizarre, superfluous scene, and I can see the shoddy workmanship of "I need to build this narrative bridge to get to the end of this book" when I see it.
Castiel makes a token appearance, too. Oh, goody. What a waste of a character.
The book could have been excellent. The Campbell section was rich and vibrant and brilliant, and when it was over, I wanted more. Sam and Deanna were a delight, and Mary was a typical teenager with an atypical job and uncommon spirit. If the story had focused on them and jettisoned the celestial claptrap, it would have been a stronger, more cohesive story, and not a sodden, self-indulgent, mishmash of unfinished ideas. DeCandido's imagination and creative hubris simply exceeded his abilities here. He needed more time to write and more space in which to write it, and the lack of either destroyed the story.
A final niggle before I surrender my truncheon.
You cannot smile something. You can smile at something, because of something, in spite of something, and to yourself. But unless you are talking out your ass, smiles cannot speak. Hence, the sentence "'I don't think so,' Dean smiled." is in extraordinarily bad form(Ch. 18). It's lazy writing. Period. How hard is it to write, "'I don't think so,' Dean said, and smiled."? Or, "'I don't think so.' Dean smiled."? Not every noun in the English language can be converted to a verb, and not every verb can be used as a goddamn speech tag. For God's sake, show some respect to the language by which you earn your daily bread.
DeCandido tried. He overreached. I overpaid. The end.
C-