All Things M4tt

"Speak." Its voice echoed for miles around, shredding the scraps of confidence I had left.

I swallowed hard, desperate to stop my breakfast's march to my mouth. "I...I have the fire of a dragon!" I paused and waved the torch in front of me. After a few sways, and nothing from the beast, foolishness slowed my actions.

I stopped. Cocked my neck upwards and stared at the creature. Rolling clouds covered its body all the way to its neck. Its head was large like a hot air balloon but with more dents. Its eyes were so white they made plain paper look grey. Strings of tight flesh looked ready to peel from its cheeks.

Fresh wind blew through me, pulling me from my gawks. I continued. "and...and like it is prophesied you will bow to me." I coated my words with gruffness, as if that was how you drag attention out of a celestial being.

It didn't move. My eyes explored its gaunt face for answers, but found nothing. Standing, flame a loft, stomach cartwheeling and options limited, I repeated my declaration.

As my mouth wrapped around the words, the hills beneath me fell way. I gripped the torch and grabbed at thin air, desperate for anything. I fell hard but hit the ground before I could build any lethal speed.

Mist tumbled around me, masking everything, even my own nose was a struggle to see. I stepped forward and the ground lifted. Every muscle in my body clenched.

I quickly breached the mist and returned to the creature's face. The ground beneath me, which was part-circled by tiny hills, didn't stop though. Within seconds, I'd left the face below and was high above the clouds. The horizon circled me in every direction. The sheer expanse stole my breath. This is what my ancestors must have felt when planes owned the skies.

The ground shook. I spun around, gripping the torch tighter than my palms liked.

The creature's head rose back into view. This time rising higher and higher, revealing it's neck, shoulders, arms and chest. Without the masking clouds, I realised I stood in the palm of this thing's hands. The hills I had climbed and then fallen from were its fingers.

"You humans and your beliefs. You learnt to control fire in your infancy. Do you think it could control me?" It reached for my torch, and killed the flames before I could protect it. "Like it is prophesised..." It mocked.

I stood surprised and then a smile grabbed my lips, tugging them upwards. "She said the only way to know it was you was through your ego." The crevasses in its face networked to new places. I pulled out the amulet. It had bleached a pale yellow, confirming everything.

Fear looks the same on every creature, even a celestial being as old as time!

**Artwork by Jacob Duncan - https://www.artstation.com/jacobduncan**

Ever since I could remember, I could tell how dangerous people were. Not like a police officer, picking out the criminal amongst a large crowd and they just so happened to be black. I mean actually tell those who could rip your heart out and feed it to you through your nostrils, and those who still sleep with their teddy bears.

It appears as a number. Everyone that I see has a number above their head.

I was seven when my parents first realised every person I drew had a numeral above them. I thought that's how people looked. I was eight when my mum sought help. I'd drawn a couple of super-villains with loads of sixes above them and Mum thought I was the anti-Christ.

I saw every specialist in the country. A Mr Wang from China, and an American who believed the numbers were my subconscious trying to contact the ghost of Tupac Shakur. Would you believe he supposedly studied at Harvard and roomed with a former president?

It was Doctor Javier who finally believed me. After a further six thousand pounds, as my dad always points out, he realised what the numbers represented.

Mum wanted everything kept a secret. She grew up reading Marvel comics and worried her son might become a government weapon. Dad did what all husbands in happy, stable marriages do and agreed with Mum. Doctor Javier had worked with a whole heap of 'keeks' (his word not mine) and agreed silence was the best policy. He also agreed that wicker shoes, chequered chinos and linen shirts went well together, but I liked him.

According to Doctor J, the numbers were scores out of ten and showed a person's potential for danger. For example, little old ladies walking their dogs are usually ones, except for Miss Jaeger on Argyle Street. She's a three. Apparently, she grew up on the wrong side of town and learnt how to sever limbs before she could tie her own laces.

When I see petty criminals, they might be a four/five. A trained soldier is usually a six. You get my drift? The highest numbers are reserved for the proper dangers to the world like politicians and bankers. They come in with sevens and sometimes eights.

I remember going home after my diagnosis and understanding what I could do. It was a huge weight off my shoulders. It was real, and not a possible brain tumour as that idiot Mr Wang stated, before asking for ten grand to heal me with green tea and acupuncture.

Mum wedged it in my head what would happen if anyone else found out. So, I stopped drawing numbers above heads and never spoke about it to anyone else.

I was annoyed I couldn't tell anyone but it was awesome being a 'keek' at school. Imagine being able to spot the dangerous kids a mile off. I remember my first ever altercation. I accidentally tripped this kid and he wanted to fight. He was a foot smaller than me and looked like he did chemotherapy for a hobby. I'm a selective pacifist, which means if I can take pummel someone, I select to waver my pacifism. So, I chose to give this punk a lesson. All the other kids circled around us and turned it into a real playground cauldron of chanting. Testosterone and bad ideas swirled as one. Next thing, a four appeared above the kid’s head - an actual four. After I scraped my jaw from the floor, I used every excuse in the book to avoid getting my head smashed in. I lost some street cred' but kept my teeth. Good thing too. A week later, he put Butch Rivera, school bully and most likely to become a bear, in hospital.

My powers weren't just for self-preservation though. Dad realised he could make some money from them too. We would wait for a boxing match to be announced. Drive down to the press conference, to see the boxers promoting the fight and I’d see their numbers. Dad would then put money on the higher number, and they'd win every time. It's like my powers understood the sweet science behind boxing and could tell who was the most dangerous with their fists. We went to Tokyo, first class, off the back of one of Dad's bets.

By the way, my powers only work on people I'm near. Everything on the television is numberless.

My powers also work on animals. You know those big muscular guys that walk around with those huge dogs with muzzles on them? Guess what? They're all ones, every last one of them. The real vicious ones are those little terriers. Twos and threes some of them. Vicious little things! Squirrels are ones, pigeons are ones and spiders are ones. Lions are 5s, even the cuddly ones in the zoo. I’ve never seen a lion with less than that.

I love my powers, I really do. I just wish they helped me with the ladies. A little flying or super strength, now and then, wouldn't go a miss.

Take this new girl that's started working at my store. She is something else. Her hair is perfection, like every God ever created sat down and worked together to sculpt it. Her walk spits in the face of every runway model ever! And her face... Honestly, I hear music when I stare at her for too long. It’s real deep classical stuff with harps and lyres. Probably be too mushy for Keats and Shelley.

But… she doesn't even notice me. Nothing.

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And I'm not sure how to say this but she might be a ten. It popped up above her head the first morning she walked in. It has to be a mistake though, a consequence of her hotness. She's messing with my radar somehow. I mean a part from teenage heart attacks and men fighting to the death for her love, how could she be the most dangerous creature on the planet?

The Name of the Wind is a fantasy novel released in 2007. It was penned by Patrick Rothfuss and took fourteen years to reach the shelves. The story is told in the form of a re-telling. A chronicler arrives at an inn to document the life story of the unassuming inn-keeper, Kvothe. Through the retelling of his life it soon becomes apparent that Kvothe isn't the average inn-keeper he is trying to be.

The story flashes between present day and Kvothe's history. We learn about his painful childhood and early teenage years.

This is the first book of a trilogy of which the final book is still to be released.

Rothfuss has been marked as a Fantasy hero since the release of this book. So I was eager to see why.

Below are my spoiler plagued thoughts so be aware:

WHAT I LIKED:

The story captivated from start to finish. Everything fit and nothing felt forced or like a literary device. The regular pain inflicted on Kvothe kept you interested to see how he would overcome. I lost count of the times I leapt for joy when something good happened to him or sunk my head into my hands when he was beaten with tragedy.

Rothfuss's writing is rhythmical. Certain paragraphs had me feeling I was in the middle of a Keatsian epic. His sentences and words slapped a smile on my face and kept it there. I paused regularly at his descriptions and just nodded with approval. Everything was clear and vivd. The freedom and fun of his language reminded me of Oscar Wilde.

The protagonist Kvothe was interesting and brilliant. He could do everything and picks up skills quickly, but wasn't a Mary Sue. Rothfuss kept him interesting through inflicting failure and disaster into his life. Kvothe's brilliance grouped with his frequent lack of wisdom was a page turner. There was never certainty he would will succeed but when he was it was triumphant surprise. Seeing Kvothe in the future and in the past was a great tool for the story. I hungered to know how young Kvothe ended up as a dull inn-keeper.

The dialogue was witty, clever and authentic throughout. The characters had distinct voices and conversations felt real. Characters made mistakes when they spoke, not everything was perfect. Some conversations had no purpose to the storyline a la real life. Monologues were insightful and powerful but didn't feel preachy or pompous. The amount of quotes teeming from this book about various aspects of life was special.

I haven't fallen in love with a world such as this since the Harry Potter series. Rothfuss created back story that leaves you hungry for knowledge. He shared myths of the world and had me feeling like I'm in the bar sitting with Bast, chronicler and Kvothe. The money system presented was easy to understand and the social hierarchy was clear. The in-depth introduction of magic had me envious and wishing I took a class at the University. There was a lot of information for readers, but the information was fed with intrigue and doesn't feel clunky or needless.

WHAT I DISLIKED:

That this book isn't taught in schools. It should be on the curriculum for secondary pupils across the country. If you want to see good writing and storytelling you don't need to look any further.

WHAT IT IS SIMILAR TO:

Rothfuss's writing style reminded me of Oscar Wilde. The immense fun with language, the freedom, but also the ability to tell a gripping story. The last book that had me pausing frequently because of its literary beauty was The Picture of Dorian Gray.

WOULD I RECOMMEND?:

Does the Pope have pointy hat? It's a wonderful story, written by a wonderful author and it's a tale that has enriched me as a writer, reader and person. Thank you Patrick Rothfuss.

"Everything I've done, I've done for you Sira." He pulled his hands through his white locks. The moon intensified every strand. "You wanted him dead, I erased him from history. You wanted them silenced, I cut out their tongues and stitched their mouths. I'm tired of living up to your expectations."

Tears puddled on her jumper. "I didn't ask for any of this Jareth."

He vanished in a sparkle of lights. Sira frenzied around, yanking her neck like it were her enemy. As magic tricks went, this was the best she'd ever seen.

Silence swept across the meadow. Everything was still. Sira's panic eased and she rational thoughts filtered back into her mind. Then in a blaze of sparkles Jareth re-appeared next to her, closer than before. His chest thrust into her face forcing her to step back. He looked down and sniffed her hair. A smile curved his lips. Sira stood still, fear robbed her of movement.

Jareth raised a gloved finger to her mouth. "I don't move the stars lightly Sira."

"I didn't ask you to move anything!" Breathes stuttered her response.

Anger tore across his face. He exploded into flames, scaling from his feet to his head. Sira raised an arm for protection. The flames crackled and climbed into the night sky. Then, as if doused by gallons of water, they died away.

No remnants of the blaze lingered. The grass was as lush as before, and the air as pure as ever. Sira peered around meadow, the moonlight cast everything in a milky tint.

"I wished they would all shut up!" A voice blared from the darkness that edged the meadow. "I wished they would all shut up!" The words repeated over and over again. Sira recognised the voice, it was hers.

"You see? I was doing your bidding!" Jareth's voice boomed as the recording faded away.

Sira spun every which way, desperate for something her eyes could register. "I didn't mean it. It was..."

"Death wouldn't be enough for him." Sira's voice again bleated from the darkness. The words were different but the volume and circulating menace remained.

"Stop it!" She cried. "Stop it!"

Everything stopped and he flashed back in front of her. His eyes raged, but he held a smile. "I have been patient with you, I really have." He went to stroke her hair but she flinched.

"I didn't want this!" She barked.

He added some teeth to his smile and hand combed his hair. "It's always about you isn't it? Always about poor little Sira. What about what others want?"

She wiped her face with her sleeve. Streaks of red coloured her eyes.

He pointed to the sky. "Watch." Like an orchestral conductor, his hands frenzied to and fro. Slowly, the stars began to move. Constellations that had burned in the night sky for generations became a muddle. Sira's mouth gapped open. The stars swirled and moved like shuffled dominos.

"That's me!" Horror wobbled her voice as she recognised the formations. "What are you doing?"

"It is us Sira. Forget this life. Just let me rule you, and I will be your slave!" Jareth's eyes never left his work.

A King and Queen sat on top of a thrown surrounded by servants.

"No... no." Sira shook her head.

Jareth dropped his hands and the constellation of stars fell away and returned to their former patterns.

"If you really don't want this. If you really don't want forever. I will give you thirteen hours to reach my castle in the heart of the Goblin City. If you do that, I will reset everything. It will be as if we never met."

The meadow melted into a desert. The trees wilted to the ground. The grass scuttled away like disturbed mice and yellow sand sprouted. The night sky rolled away and the beating Sun hung high. Sira jumped and yelped as the terrain beneath her morphed. Jareth plucked a sand timer from thin air and presented it to Sira.

"When the timer is finished, your thirteen hours will be over." Jareth pointed to a castle in the distance. It crested a steep hill and was surrounded by what looked like a maze. "I forgot to mention, my castle is at the centre of that Labyrinth."

Sira used her hands to umbrella the sun from her face. "It doesn't look far."

"It's further than you think." Jareth turned away. "Time is short." As the words left him a gust of wind kicked past and he faded like his body was sand. "You could forget it all and join me Sira. It's only forever, it's not long at all." His voice rode away on the wind.

The Caves of Steel was first published as a serial from October to December 1953. It followed Asimov's love for robotic science fiction. It also incorporated the detective genre in an attempt by Asimov to prove that science fiction could be applied to any genre.

The story is set 3000 years in the future where Earth is critically overpopulated. Surrounding planets have been populated by humans, but they are now known as 'Spacers.' 'Spacers' no longer see themselves as Earthlings and thus tensions between Earth and the surrounding colonies are high.

The Spacer worlds are far less populated and use highly advanced robots as part of their day to day lives. Earth is the complete opposite.

The story begins with a Spacer death being committed on Earth. The death could potentially start an interplanetary war. Elijah Baley is handed the task of finding the killer and handing him/her over to the Spacers ASAP. Not trusting the humans, the Spacers send R. Daneel, a sophisticated Spacer robot, to help.

Below are my thoughts on the story.

WHAT I LIKED:

The relationship between Elijah and R. Daneel oozed intrigue. It always felt as if the two were bonding. However, with frequent accusations flying around and the anti-robot environment the depth of their friendship was always questioned. This uncertainty worked well and kept an edgy atmosphere running through the story.

The twists and turns are well timed and developed. The suspense was frequently raised and forced page turning. The narrative was steered in different directions, all believable but none predictable. The last act arrived with the killer still at large, but reader interest in his identity at an acute high.

The mixture of science fiction and crime/mystery/thriller was fun. Asimov wanted to create sci-fi work that could fit into any genre and with The Caves of Steel he succeeded. The futuristic setting was brought to life beautifully and was easy to picture. The dynamics between humans and robots was explicit, and added depth to Asimov's world. This added depth created a dimension to the guessing of the murderer. Predictions were laced with the understanding of Asimov's world. Highlighting how immersive Asimov's story telling is.

WHAT I DISLIKED:

The narration is very straight edged and to the point. At times it lacked the colour and humour of say a Robert Heinlein story.

WHAT IS THIS SIMILAR TO?:

This is archetypal Asimov. Science fiction cock-tailed with another genre and bold story telling. Very 50s hard science writing, but it's more fun than the work's of Arthur C Clarke and less preachy than Robert Heinlein's ventures.

WOULD I RECOMMEND?:

This book was very fun. It's full of suspense and interesting events designed to have readers turning the page. It's the first story in Asimov's robot series and a fantastic way to kick of a series. Definitely worth the read!

Bow to me

The Most Dangerous Creature in the World

Book Review: The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss

It's further than you think!

Book Review: The Caves of Steel by Isaac Asmiov

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