Guards! Guards! by Terry Pratchett -- as relevant today as it was over 25 years ago

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courtesy of

Harper Collins Publishers 

Can you hone currently relevant wisdom from a silly little novel about dragons and impotent guards set in a medieval fantasy world and written nearly thirty years ago? Why yes. Yes you can. Take, for example, this passage from Terry Pratchett's arguably most popular DiscWorld novel Guards! Guards!

Excerpt from Guards! Guards!

 by Terry Pratchett

1989 

I try not to get too political when I write reviews, but this passage struck me as ironic while reading this in 2026 during the Trumpocolypse -- and writing about it on the day of the dude's birthday, no less (and no, I will not be watching the 250th anniversary UFC fight on the White House stage/lawn. I've seen the movie Idiocracy, and I don't need to see it play out in real life, thank you very much). The arts, it seems, is full of prophets.

Guards! Guards! is the 8th book in the long ago popular DiscWorld series. I have been told that you don't need to read the series in order, but I'm an orderly philistine who likes to approach things with some linear semblance (This also applies to Star Wars. A New Hope will always be the first to me). They're right. You probably don't need to read books 1-7 first, but side characters and world building from some of the previous novels might make the read more of a pleasure. It prepares you for the appearance of DEATH and the Librarian, after all. So let's summarize for the potential new generation of readers who (gasp!) might not be at all familiar with Pratchett and his work.

The story takes place in the cesspool of a big city called Ankh-Morpork, where crime runs legally rampant due to various shady guilds who control everything due to shady government deals, and where the understaffed policing department, The Watch led by Captain Vimes, serves its community best by turning a blind eye and staying out of harm's way. There is no "king" here; there is a government appointed Patrician named Vetinari, who is hardly a saint as far as government leaders go. But it's better than a king, right?

Well, some citizens of Ankh-Morpork disagree. A cult-like cabal sets out to change things by summoning a dragon with a restricted access book stolen from the city's magical library. If they summon the dragon, they can rely on some fool with a magic sword to come slay it and, by default, that brave young knight with heretofore unknown royal lineage, is crowned king. That's the plan. And, for some reason, it works.

Until it doesn't. Until the summoned dragon gets his own ideas and decides that it could just as well be king too. This is literally a play with fire and get burned scenario. Captain Vimes and his mismatched crew of watchmen (including too old to be working Nobby, out-of-shape Colon, and by-the-book dwarf Carrot--who is way too tall to be a dwarf and named Carrot because of his top heavy build, not his hair color) embark on a quest to save the city from its own lack of courage. They engage the help of Lady Ramkin, a socialite with a keen interest and knowledge of the lesser swamp dragons whom she cares for and raises like pets.

It sounds a bit like a circus, much like our current state of affairs on this day in America with this current administration (do not --at-- me with your opinions. This book is nearing 30 years old!). But the outrageous fantasy element makes it fun and absurd and, by default, maybe easier to manage. What it tells me is that, from the perspective of Terry Pratchett, we've been through this before. And it's more than likely that we'll make it through to the end. Even if the odds are a million to one. Coincidentally, a quote from both Star Wars and Guards! Guards!
 

If you haven't read it yet, why not? Get on it! Find it here, or at your library, or wherever books are sold. 

The Seep by Chana Porter Trolls the Same Waters as Pluribus on Apple TV

Cover Image Courtesy of 
Soho Press

If you are a fan of the Apple TV series Pluribus, maybe you’ll like this book—or maybe you won’t. That’s not necessarily throwing shade. The two separate endeavors share a highly similar setting where an alien invasion consists of a hive mind entity that solves everyone’s problems and makes everything possible once you surrender and accept the alien life form’s control. But under your terms. The Seep wants you to decide. No pressure…

Porter’s novel was published before Vince Gilligan ran with the series idea for Pluribus, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the book had been a source of inspiration. The difference between the two lies in their themes. While both address the problematic aspects of living in a questionable utopia that’s controlled by one big universal thought machine, Carol in Pluribus actively fights it. In The Seep, MC Trina lives in a world where the hive mind has already been established and the world has accepted it. Even Trina has accepted it in some form or other. Until her significant other Deeba makes a wildly controversial choice to utilize The Seep in a way that flat out ends their relationship. Trina deals with a loss—still similar to a loss that Carol shares in the TV series, except that the loss is fundamentally different (can’t explain, it’s a spoiler), and the loss is the crux behind all of Trina’s subsequent actions.

While Trina does push back against The Seep’s influence, her bigger hurdle is more personal. Her personal battle is more akin to depression and grieving. Also, there are themes that touch on addiction and acceptance of self.

I have conflicting feelings about this book, so let’s break it down the way a fair review should be done—the good—the bad—the rating.

Here’s the good. This is one of those books that is perfect for a book club or a group read. It’s an easy commitment at about 200 pages, it’s actually a quick and easy read, and there’s a lot to discuss. It’s a story relevant to current events in multiple ways, including discussions about gender, lgbtq topics, socialism and the advantages and dangers of living within an AI simulated reality. These topics might just make this book relevant for a near timeless run.

Now here’s the bad—and let’s be honest, it’s unfair for me to call what I didn’t like about this novel “bad.” These are the things that made me personally uncomfortable, and for some that might be a selling point. But here it goes…I loved the first season of Pluribus for the reasons that make it different from this book. I’m team Carol. The idea that we would all be happy if we were locked into the same brainwave frequency living in some parallel to an AI simulation that can become whatever we decide it to be—even if it isn’t—doesn’t sit well with me. Maybe I should harken back farther and pledge allegiance to team Neo. Kill the Matrix.

While the MC Trina does fight against The Seep to some degree in this novel, it’s not ultimately what Trina’s fight is about. The Seep is part of this world, and it isn’t really going away, and Trina is fine coming to terms with that part of her reality. This part of the story is a let down for me.

But it’s a great topic for a group read discussion, right? So my rating is a thumbs up one.

If you are interested in books and movies that explore a future painted up to be a surreal utopia that proves to be a facade, this book might be for you.  Thanks goes out to Porter Square Books who put out a social media challenge a while back to have them guess a good book selection for you based on some criteria that I have now forgotten. Maybe it was a “what TV are you watching,” kind of question because that would make sense… Anyway, The Seep is available through them, as well as through many book sites of your choice.

RedShirts by John Scalzi —

 

Cover Image
Courtesy of 
Tor Books

I’m still not sure if the title is one word or two, and I just looked it up… I’m sticking with one, though, and I apologize to Mr. Scalzi if I’ve offended. But I don’t get the impression that the author John Scalzi is easily offended, and there’s a slightly off topic reason for that. He’s a screenwriter.

Let me explain. Screenwriters, even the established ones, quickly come to terms with being dismissed or disrespected by the industry that they are essential to. Still, they continue to write. Hence, the thick skin. But why was I suspicious that a screenwriter was at the wheel?

This is my first read from Scalzi, and I have screenwriter roots too, and while reading this lighthearted tale about the crew of a ship with eerily recognizable similarities to a scifi series of the past, who stumble upon an equally eerie correlation to said series, my initial thoughts while reading it were, this feels like a novel written by a screenwriter. So I stopped reading long enough to do some digging—to do some flipping through pages to see that parts of the book were indeed written in some semblance of script format (for novels)—and I shouted, Aha! Screenwriter! 

This isn’t necessarily a bad thing. I prefer it sometimes, myself. But what it relies on is pared down descriptions and more dialogue than narrative to carry the story. So maybe, for those readers not familiar with the dos and don’ts of the business, be prepared to struggle with who is who and what they look like. You’ll have a general idea, and it gets easier halfway through, but initially, keeping track of the characters might be a small challenge. (There is one character who is introduced as a yeti, and yes, I got immediate Chewie vibes, but alas, he turned out to just be a hairy man.)

There’s also not a lot of character depth to the crew of the Intrepid, but there’s a reason for that that unfolds at the end of the book, where Scalzi pulls a unique hat trick with three codas. Here, he makes us feel for three specific characters who are barely part of the main narrative until the bitter end. And he makes us feel for them hard.

All in all, it’s a clever premise. And yes, if you’re a fan of any of the Star Trek series offshoots (especially Lower Decks), or any scifi series of the last few decades, of which the show in this narrative is not, you might enjoy this one. At minimum, I think it’s a good introduction to the world of John Scalzi.

Click on the cover image above or HERE for a link to buy at BookShop.org. 

The Children, by Melissa Albert — An ARC Review

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Harper Collins/William Morrow

First, thank you to the publishers for providing this ARC via NetGalley. This is my first read from author Albert, and I didn’t know what to expect.

Here’s what to expect: A dark fairytale about the repercussions of childhood fame. It’s more than that, because it’s dark and edgy with elements of magical realism and characters full of seemingly irreconcilable flaws until (maybe?) the bitter end, and if you like flawed and struggling characters, this book holds promise. I personally tend to favor stories with characters who have their own demons to face, and this delivers on that point. There’s something to hate about almost every character in this book, even the MC, but those unlikable qualities deepen character and lead to sincere moments of empathy.

Guinevere is the lead protagonist here. She, and her older brother Ennis, are the estranged children of a famed children’s book author named Edith Sharpe, who built her characters—even named them—after her own kids. The wild popularity of the book series thrust Guin and Ennis into an unforgiving public spotlight at a young age, and as adults, they have grown into their own famous artistic endeavors while having drifted far apart from their childhood days of protecting each other from their parents’ borderline abuse and neglect. 

Mostly neglect. Mother Edith is too focused on her writing; she has responsibilities to meet the demands of the public after all. And father Llewellyn watches his artistic prowess get increasingly shoved to a back burner due to his wife’s eclipsing fame. And the kids…well, they’re the titled characters of the book series, and rabid fans often choose not to tell the difference between fiction and their reality. Their childhood is robbed in many ways, not only because of public scrutiny, but also because mom and dad are so wrapped up in their artistic and Bohemian lifestyle that they tend to overlook what’s happening to their kids daily.

The story cuts back and forth between that childhood, that leads to a major tragedy, and to the present, where Guin is back in the spotlight with a memoir, and Ennis is embroiled in his own controversies involving his famed antics as a Banksy-like artist. Guin struggles to come to terms with imposter syndrome, with her past, the weird pieces that never fit together from it, and the desire to reconnect with her estranged brother to find answers.

It’s a compelling and well written piece, most definitely, with tough and heartbreaking character moments. That having been said, I personally found some usage of metaphor to be overly ambitious. Enough to pull me out of the story. I’m not wholly satisfied by the ending either, as I don’t feel like Guin truly came to terms with her traumatic childhood—or her imposter syndrome—in a useful way. I’d say more, but fear it will be a spoiler.

All in all, though, it’s an intriguing story with traumatic undertones and a creatively thought out, supernatural tinged, mystery at its core.

Due out June, 2026, find it here, or wherever books are sold.

Little White Flowers by Amber Hathaway—A Promising Start to a Gothic Horror Series

Cover art courtesy of
Deadly Seeds Press

What I wasn’t expecting from Little White Flowers by Amber Hathaway, was a story that thematically falls into the realm of religious themed/cult themed horror, which is kind of my wheelhouse when it comes to the horror I tend to write  

Alice and Andy are brother and sister, young adults, who are tasked with spending their summer in a rural Maine town to clean up an inherited piece of property previously owned by their deceased grandmother. Before she died though, grandma hinted to Alice about a secret and sordid past in her hometown, and Alice is eager to uncover the family history.

What Alice and Andy find when they reach the town of Evanston is a cut off community with deep religious roots that border on the puritanical. Things begin to go awry as the members of the community openly judge the siblings for their sinful lifestyles—that are barely sinful at all in the outside world—and then for a budding relationship between Alice and one of the boys of the town, Riley. 

Hathaway states at the end of the book that she drew inspiration from the likes of Stephen King, and Children of the Corn, but I was getting a Shirley Jackson vibe, in terms of ambiance and style. There is a gothic patina to the work as opposed to outright horror, imo, and I find it appropriate for a young adult or new adult audience. I honestly can’t keep up with all the audience configurations nowadays, but this wasn’t overly gory or overly explicit. Also, the love interest angle never crossed a perceived line. Adult topics are addressed though, including bullying, teen pregnancy, domestic and child abuse. 

The main characters, Alice, Riley and Andy are kind and caring and noble to a fault. You want to root for them, although at times I wished they had more fight when they were challenged with the horrible fate the town has in store for them. Their moments of worry, indecision and downright acceptance of the circumstances sometimes made the story drag for me. But there are a few pleasantly surprising twists in the last third of the book. It’s also important to note that it’s an open ended story, clearly designed to draw us in to the next book. 

The villains of the story are of the cloth of the ultra conservative Christian kind, which can come across as a bit two dimensional and on the nose at times. But there are a few surprises among those Christians who prove to be questioning the strict rules of the faith, and who may prove to develop quite nicely in a continuation of the series. 

And if gothic tinged stories that put a spotlight on religious trauma are for you, then you might want to check out this book and its upcoming sequel here.