Book Review – Rift
Author: Melody Tiamat
Publisher: Dragon’s Hoard Publishing
Binding: Paperback
Publication Date: February 2002
Dragons are small on the planet of Rift. In fact, they look a lot like lizards and, aside from being sentient and inclined towards cheeky banter, have more in common with your average Gecko than with Glaurung or Smaug. Nevertheless, they’re still magical critters and when Aldo Nightingale, our protagonist and a 19 year old musician from our own world, recovers consciousness to find himself stranded alone in another reality with one for company, he’s understandably disorientated. One minute he was playing the guitar in his tiny squalid apartment and the next holding telepathic conversations with Figment (as said dragon is known) in a forest.
What follows is a fantasy adventure in the traditional mould – Aldo discovers hitherto untapped magical powers associated with his musical gift, falls foul of the local blood-magic mage Parathos and finally constitutes one of a trio of companions (and a gaggle of dragons) on A Journey. His first cohort – Akiahr – is also dimensionally displaced, having been scooped off Earth with his partner Hunter (who, subsequently lost in the crossing, has ended up on another planet altogether). But unlike Aldo and the mediaeval-esque natives of Rift, Akiahr isn’t human but Zarai, a technically advanced species descended not from primates but from giant cats (and, happily, hailing from the very planet Hunter has been deposited on). Zarai males, bred by the females for stud and prize fighting, are usually both feral and highly sexed; Akiahr is both and yet strangely, somewhat neither. Ishandi, a mercenary on a holiday jaunt with her ridiculously named warhorse, Bunny, completes the trio.
The overarching Quest of the novel, and the purpose of The Journey, is a little obscured throughout by the somewhat heavy-handed establishment of the above characters and their motivations, but boils down to this: the barriers between the three worlds of Rift, Zarai and Earth have been breached, causing dimensional breakdown. The cause is on Rift and Akiahr’s people have decided to recruit him and Hunter (without telling them) to identify the problem and halt imminent disaster…unfortunately they get separated and thus the Quest of the novel becomes finding each other again. It also seems quite clear that the blood-mage Parathos is behind lots of nastiness *and* the big problem (or it might well be the mysterious Golden Queen), and that Aldo, reinvented as bard-mage, is going to be instrumental in saving the day.
The synopsis should imply two things. One that “Rift” is absolutely in the mode of high fantasy: dragons…check…bards…check…mages…check…evil queens…check…mercenaries…check…quest…check…impending doom…check…luckless teenage hero…check. But also that it makes some attempts at challenge. Aldo is not really your average stable-boy-turned-saviour; he’s been institutionalised and abused on Earth, and, even though this past is sometimes gratuitously vile and far too easily overcome, it’s still technically thought provoking. For many years he mistook the voice of Figment, previously only in his head, as a self-delusion, an imaginary friend invented to sooth his loneliness. Equally, Akiahr’s dangerous sexuality – his artless promiscuity divorced from his emotionally monogamous relationship with Hunter – is out of the ordinary, and the construction of Zarai culture is an attempt as something anthropological. Perhaps there is even a shade of Le Guinian influence.
It is a shame then that “Rift” suffers from two common problems: impatience and character indulgence in equal measures. One moment the writer is too eager to move from one scene to the next and rushes the narrative cycle, dissolving any tension and forcing the reader onward, while the next moment they’re indulging a character in lengthy scenes that drag without any dramatic momentum or emotional revelation. It needs to be broader, slower and intuit much more psychologically.
Another related dictum, somewhat abused in “Rift” and much discussed in creative writing class, is “Show, Not Tell”. Telling and not showing is, I think, a sure sign of an inexperienced and over-enthusiastic writer: it smacks of a distrust of the reader and a strong desire to utterly shape character. In telling an audience *exactly* how an individual feels, and not relying on their actions or dialogues to show it, leads to a kind of florescent two-dimensionality. This propensity towards over-characterisation is ubiquitous throughout “Rift” – we’re just told too much too often to really appreciate an individual’s subtlety. The best character piece in the book is early on. A flashback to the moment when Akiahr’s mother first sees the son she’s bred and muses on his future as a stud and a gladiatorial fighter; the cultural nuance surrounding her proud, but cool responses make her the most satisfying of all the novel’s players.
The prose itself is generally uneven, but I think this may be a natural result of the book being a collaborative effort (I assume Melody Tiamat is a pseudonym for the three individuals named on the title page, although I may be wrong). Still, it’s not without its charm and this is true of the dialogue especially.
Finally, a word about audience: if not for Akiahr’s sexual assignations, not graphically described but heavily implied, I would have few qualms about recommending the novel for children who enjoy fantasy adventure. Would I recommend it equally to adults? Probably not and that, in the end, is the reason for the relatively low rating awarded. While I didn’t resent reading the novel, and found myself mildly entertained at intervals, there were times when I felt a good deal of frustration and disappointment (the ending in particular made me cringe). It all felt just a little too easy, a little too arbitrary and finally, unfulfilled.
Ultimately then: a promising premise, pleasant enough, but lacking the ingenuity and narrative experience to really make good.
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