Book Review – Ammey McKeaf

Author: Jane Shoup
Publisher: Lethal Publishing
Binding: Paperback
Publication Date: February 2002

Let me start with a synopsis of doom, replete with interjections in square brackets […]:

It begins with a Prologue, as these wretched things often do. The first person narrator, once a denizen of the now-lost island of Azulland – which, we are told was once to be found “in the Cantabric Sea, surrounded by the Kingdom of England, the Kingdom of France and the five Kingdoms that make up the Iberian Peninsula” – is determined to tell their story before they a) disappear/die or b) return to their homeland. It probably won’t shock you to learn that the tale purports to be dangerous and scandalous, full of secrets, twists and high jinks. So far, so underwhelming. Some queasy authorial squits follow:

- “I write “we” dear reader, because you are now a part of the journey. By the magic of words and your own imagination, I grant you a bird’s eye view as we approach Azulland from its northern end.” [I jest not. That *is* a quote.]

Verily, no sooner is the sentence read than, by the “magic of words”, you’ve been transported to southern Azulland, where “you will see many villages, small and large. You will see rich farmland and rivers, lakes and creeks…” [world-building at its best right?] But remember “dear reader” [scowls]: “Pay attention! The Blue Mountains are close, and you will have to gain altitude to clear the snowy peaks.” [Whoosh!] This nauseating aerial flight (a simple map would have made the whole experience redundant) only ends when we (most dear readers that we are) are ordered to swoop in on our heroine thusly:

- “When you see a lovely young woman with golden hair staring out at the men below, draw closer. This is Ammey McKeaf [you don’t say], for whom one of the chronicles is named [you mean like the one I’m holding? Surely you jest!], as we follow the story from her perspective [if you hadn’t let me in on it, I’d have been stumped]. The A in ‘Ammey’ is soft, as in Virgil’s Amaryllis [a reference to The Ecologues, how edifying] for whom the flower was later named. It, too, seems worth noting, as her name should not be mispronounced. [God forbid!]”

Ammey, it soon transpires, is not only lovely and blonde but also the daughter of Azulland’s most revered General, The McKeaf, and sister to five older brothers, each stronger and more manly than the last. [Lucky thing.] We’re left to assume that she spends her days enchanting every male in a 30 mile radius, fending off subsequent marriage proposals and sparring with her variously tender siblings.

But, in honoured fantasy fashion, all is not well: Azulland is under siege by one of its own Kings, Marko Corin of Bellux-Abry, who is seeking to gain control of the whole island by way of forced annexations. His “wolf packs” – small bands of highly trained and vicious warriors – roam the countryside randomly, murdering villagers, raping their women and burning their barns. Cue an Ammey-related tragedy: her best friend, Julia, is kidnapped, raped and found with her heart torn from her body. The McKeaf swiftly dispatches Ammey off to a place of safety…but she stumbles upon a “wolf pack” along the way [didn't see that coming] and is only saved from certain death by the Fortenay Five, a band of notorious assassins [though you wouldn’t think it from their easy-listening name would you]…

What follows involves a number of highly unlikely circumstances: While the infamous assassins actually turn out to be farmers-turned-peace brokers, Ammey is revealed as an unmatched swordswoman, capable of killing 7 men at a time. Not to mention the fact that, despite her frequently referenced svelteness, she’s strong enough to strangle a full-grown man with her hands tied. Every single man she meets falls madly in love with her, a state of affairs that leads to a plethora of un-compelling romantic leads, each one as unlikely as the last. The plot, however, is entirely predictable, the upshot being that Ammey is put in danger, saved, put in danger and saved again, during in which time she gets tied up, tortured and fallen in love with A Lot…but never fear, she ends up saving Azulland from war in a dire dénouement involving a mistaken identity, a King and that ever-threatening marriage. [Hurrah!]

Had enough yet? Try reading 313 wearying pages of the stuff. It’s true: Jane Shoup’s “Ammey McKeaf: Book One of the Azulland Chronicles” is probably not the worst book I’ve ever read…but it’s certainly a strong contender.

It’s not just that the plot is painful and cookie-cutter (it is) or that the characters are ridiculous (they are and I’ll come back to them), it’s also that the writing is just plain bad, right down to the basics of grammar. Given, I read an uncorrected proof, but use of commas and full stops was confused and sentence structure and syntax was simply abysmal. Further, Jane Shoup is a prime abuser of that old creative writing favourite: show, don’t tell. Indeed, she shows us AND tells us. The non-dialogic sections are a nightmare in which we are pummelled by one emotional cue after another: it seems obvious to me, for example, that someone is distressed, if, after being told that his sister had been tortured, he “ran both hands through his hair, gripping its thickness at the base of his neck”. I do not need to be prodded with a subsequent: “It was a gesture of extreme emotion. David was aghast at the description of the torture his sister had endured.” Not only is it utterly redundant, it’s also intrusive…and sadly characteristic of “Ammey McKeaf”. The real shame of the matter is that Shoup’s dialogue *can* be quite natty and expressive – arguably the best stylings she has to offer – and is perfectly capable of bearing the weight of her character’s emotions, no matter how ponderous and over-wrought.

Unfortunately, the prose isn’t alleviated by compelling characters – Ammey, our heroine, is thoroughly and infuriatingly trite. First and foremost an obedient daughter (she hardly makes a fuss when her father exiles her from the centre of the action), and latterly a caring and indulgent wife (even when she’s pretending to be the wife of a man who’s tortured her into unconsciousness, she’s tender as a lamb!), she emotes her way through the plot. Indeed, she spends quite a lot of time “saving” the weak-willed villain and, apparently, falling in love with him. She’s a quintessential dream of 1950s womanhood; a Stepford Wife of high fantasy and from where I’m sitting heroine-as-heal-all never works. All of which is difficult to reconcile with the kick-ass “warrior woman” (Jane Shoup’s words not mine) she frequently becomes: one minute she’s playing with the kids by the stream, next minute she’s whipping out the sword and slaughtering entire battalions single-handed, not to mention besting assassins, poisoning gang-leaders and surviving alone in the wilds for weeks. She does get tortured however, a lot, and at least these visceral moments prove psychologically satisfying…even if Ammey’s determination to kill herself (by beating her head against the wall) rather than betray her family is wholly unlikely. Other characters – the brothers, father, suitors, and villains – are almost unrelentingly flat and bland in their honourable niceness or dark nastiness. Some conflict is pretended around the character of King Marko Corin, but is never truly real: Ammey only has to toss her spirited head and he’s seen the light. Even when there is a glimmer of hope – and occasionally there is an anecdote or a well-turned phrase that works, usually from one of the Fortenay Five – it’s quickly swallowed, stamped upon and buried under sentimental tripe.

The world building is equally sparse and uncertain, mostly because Shoup is an impatient writer; instead of developing her characters or involving us in Azulland’s world she leaps from incident to incident. In fact, if we’re told something will happen in one scene (and we often are) it invariably happens in the next, and while that might make you eager to turn the page, it also disappoints.

Thus, “Ammey McKeaf”: bland, obvious and flaccid. Just don’t bother “dear reader”, it ain’t worth it.

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