I was thumbing through an index of author's blogs the other day when
Steven Brust's name popped out at me. I immediately clicked that link
and bookmarked that baby because he's the author of the Vlad Taltos
series, one of my favorites. As a matter of fact, I pretty much love
everything this guy has done, but Vlad holds a special place in my
heart. He and his jhereg Loiosh.
I'm a bit dragon infatuated, truth be told. My martial arts background really helped develop that because of the dragon's relationship to disciplines, none of which I actually practiced for more than, oooh ... a month ... and it was called Green Dragon, if I recall. White tiger, green dragon? Something like that. Anyway, I have a rather nice collection of dragons in my possession, most of whom have homes in my bookshelves when I do actually have bookshelves.
A place of pride on those shelves is my collection of Steven Brust. Imagine a world where the Chinese 12-year cycle rules your lives, your personalities, your friends, your livelihood and vocation. Dogs and Tigers and Horses would get along famously, but we'd have little patience for Dragons and their haughty ways or the rest of their triumvirate of friends. We'd do business with others, but shy away from the Roosters and their tight-fisted dealings with money. We might worry about Rats sneaking into our homes at night or operating gambling dens or we might seek them out to hire them for a bit of dirty work.
Enter Brust's playground, the world of Dragaera and the home of Vlad Taltos, of the House of Jhereg. Here's a bit of alonger description from one of the fansites;
"There are two major species: Easterners and Dragaerans. Dragaerans are an elf-like species who live thousands of years. Easterners are a more real-world human population with a life-span of approximately 100 years and have more human-like characteristics ... like facial hair. Both species call themselves "humans;" however, Dragaerans consider Easterners something less than human.
There are 17 Houses in the Dragaeran Empire each named after a species of animal in Dragaera. Each House has its own uniform/color-scheme and its own distinct personality. The House of the Jhereg is the only one that admits Easterners. It is the House of criminal enterprises, much like the mafia.
In Dragaera, there exists witchcraft (primarily utilized by Easterners), sorcery (which relies on the presence of the Orb), and then the illegal and volatile Elder Sorcery. The main character in this series, Vlad Taltos, plays with them all."
Vlad lives on the shady side of the street and has a real Jhereg as a pet, his familiar, Loiosh, who is as reverent a sidekick as, say, my brother George would be, which is to say "not at all." An assassin by trade, he trusts completely in his knife and blade, and a bit less so in the magical arts he employs.
The series .. there are more than a few, probably more than "a lot," are all stand-alone adventures. It matters not which order you read them in because Brust hasn't written them in chronological order.
Now .. if this hasn't yet convinced you, I'm going to take you to visit the site of a free downloadable book .. a fanfiction, if you will. I think I may have purred when I discovered this. Because Steven Brust has made a jump to hyperspace .. to a ship that many of my family and friends already know.
That was the moment that separated pilots; a sloppy entry cost fuel, a perfect entry saved fuel, and the difference could be the difference between a healthy profit and a disastrous loss. When you kissed atmo, it was all touch; suddenly the number of variables increased by an order of magnitude: the shape of the ship, the tilt of her nose, the attitude adjusters, speed, direction, the density and exact composition of the upper atmosphere—all of it.
Mal never noticed, of course; none of them noticed. They'd only notice if he did it badly; then he would, no doubt, get all sorts of looks and remarks. And it would cut into his profits as it would the rest of the crew's.
But none of that was why he made his entries as close to perfect as humanly possible: he did it because it was what he loved doing. The challenges to a pilot in the black were rare, and usually involved some form of terror. But the first touch of atmo on a new planet, setting up the slide, the deceleration, balancing skin heat with fuel cost, inert-damp with gravity—feeling part of the boat in a way even Kaylee, bless her heart, could never know—those were the moments of living. That was the best.
He was aware of the first hint of rudder to port, and nose up, and then the thrust control was under his right hand; and after that for a while he could no longer follow the details, because he was no longer using controls—it wasn't cause and effect, it was just one long effect as distinctions blurred. Pilot to control, control to boat, boat to atmo, atmo to gravity, gravity to pilot: they were all the same thing as Serenity sang the song only Wash could hear. After an interminable twenty seconds that was over so quickly it may never have existed, the decisions were made, the hard part past, and everything was, alas, easy again. It was morning on this part of Hera.
From the co-pilot's chair, Mal said, "How's the entry?"
"It's an entry. They're all the same."
And because I know we're all in a sort of blissed out Kumbaya state right now ... let's all hold hands and sing the theme together ... c'mon, it's okay, we'll geek out together.
I'm a bit dragon infatuated, truth be told. My martial arts background really helped develop that because of the dragon's relationship to disciplines, none of which I actually practiced for more than, oooh ... a month ... and it was called Green Dragon, if I recall. White tiger, green dragon? Something like that. Anyway, I have a rather nice collection of dragons in my possession, most of whom have homes in my bookshelves when I do actually have bookshelves.
A place of pride on those shelves is my collection of Steven Brust. Imagine a world where the Chinese 12-year cycle rules your lives, your personalities, your friends, your livelihood and vocation. Dogs and Tigers and Horses would get along famously, but we'd have little patience for Dragons and their haughty ways or the rest of their triumvirate of friends. We'd do business with others, but shy away from the Roosters and their tight-fisted dealings with money. We might worry about Rats sneaking into our homes at night or operating gambling dens or we might seek them out to hire them for a bit of dirty work.
Enter Brust's playground, the world of Dragaera and the home of Vlad Taltos, of the House of Jhereg. Here's a bit of alonger description from one of the fansites;
"There are two major species: Easterners and Dragaerans. Dragaerans are an elf-like species who live thousands of years. Easterners are a more real-world human population with a life-span of approximately 100 years and have more human-like characteristics ... like facial hair. Both species call themselves "humans;" however, Dragaerans consider Easterners something less than human.
There are 17 Houses in the Dragaeran Empire each named after a species of animal in Dragaera. Each House has its own uniform/color-scheme and its own distinct personality. The House of the Jhereg is the only one that admits Easterners. It is the House of criminal enterprises, much like the mafia.
In Dragaera, there exists witchcraft (primarily utilized by Easterners), sorcery (which relies on the presence of the Orb), and then the illegal and volatile Elder Sorcery. The main character in this series, Vlad Taltos, plays with them all."
Vlad lives on the shady side of the street and has a real Jhereg as a pet, his familiar, Loiosh, who is as reverent a sidekick as, say, my brother George would be, which is to say "not at all." An assassin by trade, he trusts completely in his knife and blade, and a bit less so in the magical arts he employs.
The series .. there are more than a few, probably more than "a lot," are all stand-alone adventures. It matters not which order you read them in because Brust hasn't written them in chronological order.
 |
| Words, Words, Words, The Dreamcafé. Steven Brust's blog |
Now .. if this hasn't yet convinced you, I'm going to take you to visit the site of a free downloadable book .. a fanfiction, if you will. I think I may have purred when I discovered this. Because Steven Brust has made a jump to hyperspace .. to a ship that many of my family and friends already know.
I think I’m so civilized cause I’m living my life saying hello and good-bye
But all around me people make me so mad I could be spitting in their eye
So I’m no better than the bad criminals who hit, cheat, and burglarize
‘Cos compared to all of those neat super-heroes I am a mean-guy.
I always say please and thank you and you’re welcome, ‘cos I am very polite
But overdraft fees and automatic phone help makes me ready to fight
I don’t wanted to listen to idiots blab
I don’t want drink until I’m in rehab
I just want go into my secret lab and make like a mean guy.
I’m a mean guy I’m a mean mean guy
Oh, I’m a mean guy.
I’m a Green Goblin guy I’m a Venom guy, oh I’m a mean guy.
Cos compared to Spidey so strong and so brave
Compared to Batman in his bat cave
Compared to a boy who knows how to behave
I am a mean guy.
In man’s evolution he has created boundaries between every nation
Which is nothing but asking for guys like to me to go for world domination
Cos I’m happier than I might seem
When I’m with my hand-picked team
Making an invisible destructor beam
Cause I am a mean guy.
I’m a mean guy I’m a mean mean guy
Oh, I’m a mean guy.
I’m a Marvel guy I’m a D.C., oh I’m a mean guy.
I watch the world through my periscope
Hatching schemes that will work I hope
Maybe next week I’ll kidnap the Pope.
I am a mean guy.
Come on and join me, by my mean guy pal.
We’ll share the world, you can have Lonsdale.
I’m a mean guy I’m a mean mean guy
Oh, I’m a mean guy.
I’m a Green Goblin guy I’m a Venom guy, oh I’m a mean guy.
I’ll be your Joker you’ll be Harley Quinn
I’ll make you rich and you’ll make me win
If our plans our foiled we’ll just try again
I am a mean guy.
I’m a mean guy I’m a mean mean guy
Oh, I’m a mean guy.
I’m a Doc Oc guy I’m a Burglar guy, oh I’m a mean guy.
I want to own everything I see.
I’m Ayn Rand’s child by Bill Nietzsche
Until the superheroes catch up with me.
I’ll be a mean guy.
He always smiled when Serenity first kissed atmo.That was the moment that separated pilots; a sloppy entry cost fuel, a perfect entry saved fuel, and the difference could be the difference between a healthy profit and a disastrous loss. When you kissed atmo, it was all touch; suddenly the number of variables increased by an order of magnitude: the shape of the ship, the tilt of her nose, the attitude adjusters, speed, direction, the density and exact composition of the upper atmosphere—all of it.
Mal never noticed, of course; none of them noticed. They'd only notice if he did it badly; then he would, no doubt, get all sorts of looks and remarks. And it would cut into his profits as it would the rest of the crew's.
But none of that was why he made his entries as close to perfect as humanly possible: he did it because it was what he loved doing. The challenges to a pilot in the black were rare, and usually involved some form of terror. But the first touch of atmo on a new planet, setting up the slide, the deceleration, balancing skin heat with fuel cost, inert-damp with gravity—feeling part of the boat in a way even Kaylee, bless her heart, could never know—those were the moments of living. That was the best.
He was aware of the first hint of rudder to port, and nose up, and then the thrust control was under his right hand; and after that for a while he could no longer follow the details, because he was no longer using controls—it wasn't cause and effect, it was just one long effect as distinctions blurred. Pilot to control, control to boat, boat to atmo, atmo to gravity, gravity to pilot: they were all the same thing as Serenity sang the song only Wash could hear. After an interminable twenty seconds that was over so quickly it may never have existed, the decisions were made, the hard part past, and everything was, alas, easy again. It was morning on this part of Hera.
From the co-pilot's chair, Mal said, "How's the entry?"
"It's an entry. They're all the same."
 |
| My Own Kind of Freedom A Firefly Novel by Steven Brust
Yes, yes, click the picture for the link
|
And because I know we're all in a sort of blissed out Kumbaya state right now ... let's all hold hands and sing the theme together ... c'mon, it's okay, we'll geek out together.
Take my love, take my land,
Take me where I cannot stand,
I don't care, I'm still free,
You can't take the sky from me.
Take me out to the black.
Tell em I ain't comin' back.
Burn the land and boil the sea.
You can't take the sky from me.
Have no place I can be
Since I found Serenity.
But you can't take the sky from me.
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