"You know we're not all born with the ability to throw fireballs right?" Imran watched the flames eat their way through a t...

"You know we're not all born with the ability to throw fireballs right?" Imran watched the flames eat their way through a tree.

"If you can't create a simple fireball then we are wasting our time!" The sage turned away from Imran and the burning tree. He picked up his cane and hobbled through the forest.

"Wait up! I didn't say I can't!" Imran held his hand high and emptied his lungs. Like a sprouting flower on fast forward a flame grew in his hand. "Here you go!"

The sage turned round, his hips let him know they weren't happy with his sudden movement. "Ahh good! You've mastered level one pyromatics." He clapped. Imran gnawed on his lip. He tossed the flame into the air and clasped his hand shut. The flame stopped dead. It continued to burn but it hung suspended as if stuck to something.

"Level one pyro..." Imran grunted. He spun his raised fist in a clockwise direction and the flame mimicked him. It thinned out and spun itself into a large ring.

"Level two!" The sage shouted. Imran gritted his teeth, imprisoning his tongue, which was ready to go to war. He bent his knees and continued to spin his arm. The ring of fire seared from orange to white. "Level three." Said the sage with a smile that left as quick as it came. 

The ring collapsed back into a ball. White flames danced and fell vanishing when they got too far away from their source of life. Imran stopped spinning his arm and dropped it to his side. "What level is this old man?" Before the sage could respond, the fire burst into an orange phoenix, with all the trimmings. A tail longer than Princess Diana's wedding dress train. Wings with an impossible amount of oranges and reds, and an elegant white beak that hooked at its tip. 

The sage twitched his nose but didn't speak. Imran took his other hand and lifted it above his head. He pulled it down toward his chest and the phoenix dived instantly. He then raised his hand and the phoenix soared, stretching its glorious wings to their complete span.

"Pyro projections! Advanced level. I would say well done but I was expecting more." The sage turned his back and continued to hobble away. "I guess we must find another."

"Hey! You old sack of melancholy crap. I haven't finished." Imran thrust his hand toward the sage, and the phoenix raced straight toward him.

The sage turned back to the approaching phoenix and watched it, unfazed. The phoenix flapped and opened its beak ready to consume its prey. 10 metres from impact it vanished, leaving behind silver smoke. The sage's eyes narrowed. "So you aren't a precession of disappointment." He said.

Imran kept his hand outstretched and slowly raised it. "What level would you give me now?"

The sage opened his mouth but before the words escaped the phoenix reappeared. It stooped proudly on top of the sage's hairless head, this time in liquid form. The sage's cheeks flushed, like someone had squirted ketchup across them. He raised his hands, to dispel the liquid bird, but they didn't respond. He looked down at them and his cheeks diluted. Thick mud shackled them. He tugged but it only made the cuffs firmer. The phoenix lifted its head and a stream of water fountained from its beak and crashed against the floor.

"When you retire you'll be able to get work in a garden centre, old man." Imran chuckled as he held his hands in position. 

"Multiple elemental control. Maybe there is hope for you." The sage smiled and stared at Imran. His beady eyes were nerve racking at the best of times but when paired with his smile they took on a creepy element. "Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, Ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul." An incantation left his lips, and as it did the phoenix lifted into the air. Like someone had added blackcurrant to the mixture, the phoenix turned a purple. Its face twisted and snapped, and is sprayed water in every direction. The mounds of earth fell from the sage's wrists. The ground trembled and birds scarpered out of the surrounding trees. 

Imran's jaw hit the floor. He swung his arm around to move to phoenix but nothing happened. He tried again with the same result. 

The phoenix stared at its former master and charged toward him. Imran contorted his arm, desperate for the phoenix to respond. Metres away the phoenix stopped. Imran looked at his arm, believing he'd regained some control. He thrust out his arm and waved it around. The phoenix didn't move, it would have been perfect for the centre piece of an art collectors gallery.

"You are good." Whispers came from behind Imran. "In fact you are brilliant." Imran tried to turn around but his feet were beneath sticky mounds of mud. "To have your abilities at your age is impressive." The sage hobbled in front of Imran. "Are you ready to come with me and continue the next stage of your training?" 

A mixture of embarrassment and excitement slapped a smile across Imran's face. "Let's go!"   

 

I'd been introduced to Robert Heinlein through his military epic 'Starship Troopers.' That book was fun and delved into the psyc...

I'd been introduced to Robert Heinlein through his military epic 'Starship Troopers.' That book was fun and delved into the psyche of a soldier. It had its preachy moments, but the commentary felt relevant, and the points made were thought evoking.

Since 'Starship Troopers', I'd been eager to read more Heinlein. This opportunity came in the form of 'Glory Road'. Which grabbed my attention with good reviews and awards behind it. It's a story that falls in both fantasy and sci-fi, and was written during Heinlein's heyday (50s/6
0s).

The protagonist is a recently discharged soldier, named E.C, who meets a beautiful woman named Star. The woman, whose beauty is regularly expressed, is looking for a hero to retrieve the Egg of a Phoenix. Star and E.C, who gets renamed Scar, are joined by an ageing assistant called Rufo. They come across different trials, which are all resolved neatly (Scar should have been named Mary Sue). After pages of analysis on space and time, through strange and drawn out character conversations, the story ends anticlimactically.

My thoughts are below, there will be spoilers (you aren't missing out).

WHAT I LIKED:

The initial set up of the story, was fun. Oscar doesn't enjoy the army and attempts to leave. This was a very different scene to the type of frenzied idolising of the army that Heinlein depicted in 'Starship Trooper.' 

Before meeting Star, Oscar's character was interesting and appeared to have some depth to him. 

The premise of Star needing to find the egg of phoenix promised a lot. The outline of events was clear, and what happened to the characters en- route to their goal was a page turning thought.

WHAT I DISLIKED:

After the initial promise, the characters were forgettable. Star was peculiar and unlikeable. Everything that came out of her mouth was fake and cold. Once Oscar met Star and became fascinated with her beauty he became a dull vessel for Heinlein to vomit his ideas on space and time. Rufo, the third wheel, was the comic relief that fails at his job. 

The relationship between the forgettable characters was also strange. Oscar and Star loved each other so much they regularly expressed themselves through contrived dialogue and cringe declarations. Star ultimately used Oscar, which made the constant shouts of 'darling' and 'my love' even more frustrating. Over the top soppiness is one thing, but fake over the top soppiness is its own type of hell.

The narrative was slow. There were occasional pieces of excitement but pages of strange interactions and nothingness, hindered any enjoyment.

With 'Starship Troopers', humour was a strong part of Heinlein's voice. Sadly, this was not the case with 'Glory Road'. There were moments with witty descriptions and funny exchanges, but they were minimal.

The premise of needing a hero to retrieve the Phoenix's egg developed to be an odd scenario. Star came across as fiercely independent, stronger, smarter and more suited to the hero role. The question "Why does she need Oscar?" remained throughout reading and still as I write this.


WOULD I RECOMMEND?:

Well received in 1963, this book has won awards and appears on many lists of Heinlein's best work. It mixed two of my favourite genres and was written by an author who I've previously enjoyed. Maybe I was comparing it with Heinlein's other work or with the fun of my previous read Ready Player One, who knows. Ultimately, I found this book a struggle and would advise readers to find something else, even the most ardent Heinlein fans. 

There it was… the end of my journey. A smile curved my lips. I must have been the first human to skip toward a giant’s house. My smile ...

There it was… the end of my journey. A smile curved my lips. I must have been the first human to skip toward a giant’s house.

My smile eased as I edged closer. Everything was smaller than I’d pictured. The windows, the pathway, the door… I filled with hope. Maybe the stories of the giant’s size were grossly exaggerated?  

Thoughts about his size fell away when I came face to face with the door. It looked like a five year old painted it, a five year old with no hands and the eyesight of Stevie Wonder. I pondered its origin for too long, then scolded myself. I was there to kill a giant and claim the bounty on his head, not judge whether lime green goes with Barbie pink – it doesn’t by the way.

Once over the door’s paintjob, I searched high and low for a way in. There was no keyhole, knocker or crack in a panel I could use to wedge it open. I wondered how a giant ever entered. I even got myself into character and stomped about like a giant would, or at least how every Hollywood giant would. Coming from a little town in England I didn't see too many real giants. 

During my Oscar worthy stomping, I noticed, for the first time, a knocker. I froze and scratched my scalp, my go to mannerism when stumped. I tilted my head left and right, trying to add a new perspective. Without permission, my eyes blinked - chomping away like Pacman. I was now at my completely stumped mannerism.

I’ve found needles in haystacks and black cats in coal cellars, it’s my livelihood, so missing the knocker made no sense. I stepped up to the door and analysed this seeming re-incarnation of Harry Houdini. It didn’t disappoint.

Gold coated it and little diamonds accented its edges. It wore a gargoyle's face, with pointy ears and a nose that had told more lies than Pinocchio. A large ring jammed in its mouth and it begged to be knocked. Not being the type to disappoint, I reached up to the knocker and lifted the ring. As I went to slam it, the mouth opened and spat the ring at me. My first reaction was to wipe away the saliva. Then my brain caught up with events. "What the hell!" I ogled the knocker. Blinks were on hold for the moment.
            It puckered its lips and spoke, "I've been trying to get that out of my mouth for weeks." He stretched and pseudo yawned, contorting his face everywhere. I didn't know what to say. I'd never seen a knocker speak. A little town in England doesn't throw up these opportunities. "What are you gawking at?" His voice was raspy, it didn't reflect his appearance, but then again, what should a knocker's voice sound like? I did my best to reply, but the words weren't there. He asked me to nod if I was a mute. I shook my head. Then he asked if I was simple, which kicked me into life.

"Sorry, I've never spoken to a knocker before. Sorry!" I bleed 'sorrys' when my nerves are tampered with.

"Well now you have! So stop staring." He was angry for some reason.

"Erm, sorry, I need to get into this house and I think I need to knock. So if you don't mind? I'm going to put this ring back in your mouth."

"That isn't going back anywhere!"

"How will I let the giant know that I'm here to vanquish him?"

"I don't care. That isn't going in." He scrunched up his face and took on a whole new level of ugly.

"I promise after I’ve knocked I'll take the ring back out again."

"I wasn't born yesterday. That's what everyone says and everyone lies!" 

I did intend to take it out after but I could tell from his voice he wasn't going to believe me. So I did the only thing I could think of. I grabbed his nose and waited for him to breathe. To my relief, knockers need oxygen too. He held his breath for a long time and I did get worried, thinking I'm going to have the death of a doorknocker on my conscience. After fighting to a reddish gold, he gasped for air and I shoved the ring back into his mouth. I didn't waste anytime and slammed the knocker as hard as I could. As the ringing tolled, the house crumbled. Bricks, mortar and glass tumbled to the ground. The knocker dropped the ring and gagged with laughter.

I raced away from the door, but something grabbed me. Before I could register my opposition, twenty metres separated me from the ground. I'd tasted rollercoasters in Japan, Germany and other countries with casual laws on being flung through the air. They had nothing on this. 

My arms were trapped and all I could move was my head. If I'd been an owl, I could have turned my neck around and pieced my incarceration together. As it was, I could only see the smoke and rubble of the former house.

A strong stench battered my neck. When a smell is pungent enough it can be felt. A growl banged my eardrums. Suddenly, I loved my human limitations. I no longer wanted to see what was holding me. My jailor didn’t share my thinking. It rotated me at Alton Towers pace and finally, we were face-to-face. I wished its breath were its worst quality. Truth is, it was probably the best. It was a giant after all.

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