*If there happens to be some mistakes within this review. I'm currently battling an agonizing migraine as writing this. So my writing's incredibly disjointed for that very reason. Well not intense pain but more of a numbing sensation within my skull. So please mind the structure of this review, I'm attempting to write even with this feeling pervading my thought process. (And I believe it's stress related.)*



Today's entry shall be dedicated to my review of the book. And I'm also offering a copy of "The Enclave" for this month's CSFF Blog Tour. Basically to enter, comment on any of my posts within the next three days (as I'll finally be writing entries over the course of all three days). And I shall randomly choose a user who will then be asked to email their address to me so I may "promptly ship out the copy of the book.


Before I delve into the details of this review, I must detail my background in relation to reading Karen Hancock's works. About three years ago, I discovered "Arena," through a random Amazon search from a curiosity surrounding Christian speculative fiction. Upon discovery, I purchased the novel and waited with bated breath for its arrival. Once I read it, my once unfavorable opinion of Christian speculative fiction was reversed. As I once believed Christian novels to involve the trials of incredibly perfect individuals who rely completely upon God for their strength through trials that arise within their lives. While Karen Hancock incorporated that important element of relying on God. She did it in a way that felt wholly natural within the fabric of the story. And even more importantly, she created characters who were human and not caricatures of personalities of perfect faith.

I've read her "Legend of the Guardian King," series and find it to be the pinnacle of Christian fiction. As with Arena, characters have natural flaws and are completely human with their interaction and struggle to grapple with the questions of faith. Truthfully, I was ecstatic about "The Enclave," as Karen Hancock's writing has always birthed within me more wonder and faith about a God that I sometimes feel disillusioned with. And though Enclave illustrated the faith struggle of the two main characters in exemplary fashion; one cannot help but sense the feeling of derivation of the novel's plot structure as compared with her earlier novels.

Within the utopia called "New Eden," there exists a strict religious rule that nearly emulates that of the Mataio. Even right down to the strange "eye" contained within one of the leaders. I could not help but easily see the striking similarities between this individual and the strange occulus of some of the characters within the Guardian King series. Mind my ambiguity of the references; I haven't read the series in nearly a year and a half now. So my memory is sort of blurred as to their exact description.

Also, both Cam and Lacey seemed to be nearly identical to "Callie" and "Pierce," with their faith struggles and even their budding romance. Lacey and Callie both seem uncomfortable with their romantic feelings, given the troubles of their relationship past which makes them distrustful of God's direction with future relationships.

And add in some strange demonic jewels with possession powers and the characters near the end solidifying their faith in God, and you feel like you are treading the same waters that have already been tread through with "Arena." Many of the story's structure is diversified in its own unique way. But some of the same retread story conventions seemed to have made their way into the story. And for someone who reads many novels and who can easily identify the recycled elements of various novels. I cannot help but notice these blaring reiterated themes and the emulated plot progression.

I mean not to degrade Karen Hancock in anyway or to sound elitist with my review. I truly liked the novel in its own manner. And her writing continues to marvel me with her expertise in description and her expansive vocabulary; I cannot help but be very proud of her from a writing angle. Since she truly can write unlike many of her peers (though that view's subjective). If "Arena," or her other books have never existed; I may have loved this story and would have even deemed it the best Christian novel I've read in years. And this book's definitely one of the better books I've read this year. But as she's written novels that have explored these themes before and have even exceeded herself with "LOTGK," I have to admit that it's not my favorite of her books. But really nothing shall ever compare with her four part series that has truly refreshed my belief in God and has caused me to break free from the hold of depression on my life. And for that I truly thank God for the manner in which she's vicariously helped others who are conflicted in their belief become more confident in their belief of God. To Karen Hancock, I hope you see the repetitive elements of this novel and improve upon it with your next.


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CSFF Blog Tour
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Julie
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Speculative Faith
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Steve Trower
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Karen Hancock's website
Karen Hancock's blog
Where to purchase the book?

Well wall constructing is a favorite pastime for some Christians. Take some bricks and resume the precarious operation of piling them around oneself, till one's completely isolated from other person(s) of the world and the only other presence is oneself. Where's the aim for this sort of behavior? The fear of ourselves or the corruption of others.

With regards to the way the church reacts to homosexuality? The first instinct that passes their minds is "wall building." And along with those walls comes the guidelines to provide some illusion of restrain amongst the bodies of believers. "A man shalt not hug another man for thou are thus ravaging homosexuals." Then once we repressed every loving instinct of all ourselves, the dirt that scurf across the ground's is our internal desire to express love towards our fellow kin. But we can't for if we even associate ourselves with the so called sinner, we'd then be contaminated with the sin from them.

If one were to look upon humanity, we'd see crudely built walls and fault lines, separating believers from the "others." And also we'd begin to suspect others of the same crime all because of our sub conscious hatred for that person. And inevitably everything would begin to emulate the beginning stages of the Salem Witch Trial.

It's with these walls and fault lines, I've found myself encamped in the midst of the chaos. Hearing voices from both sides urging me to ally with their beliefs. Every group believes they know God better than the other or they know the secret of obtaining salvation. But as I've soon found, only within myself shall I excise the truth. I've become disillusioned with these camps and have found that true solace is found with our personal connection with the lord. Something so precious and personal, no one could understand our thoughts. It's why God granted us minds, so we could still obtain a sense of freedom amongst a world with people trying to manacle you to their causes.

(Pocket Book Blog Tour)

Regretfully this book's subject material or plot did not completely enrapture me in the slightest. Usually with most books, that detached feeling's pacified by interesting plot developments within the story. Yet even when I attempted through the book's mid section, I still felt completely disinterested with the book's overall plot. For the book seem focused upon Devyn's desire for Bride Mckell. While there were a few moments within the novel that were fascinating; particularly information about the universe the author created within the novel.

Now many shall derive different opinions about this story, based on their overall opinion regarding romance tales. I specially prefer romance with a focus upon passionate emotions rather than external desire, where each character desires one's body over their souls. With that, my assessment's not entirely fair and the writing overall was solid, nothing outstanding or revolutionary. It was enough to capture the reader's interest and carry them through the entire book.

My recommendation for this book would be forwarded to those who prefer more Harlequin esque romance novels with a fantasy bent. For me, I'd highly prefer more action or internal struggles over the main character's nature, rather than his passionate love. Or a balance of both those elements with enough action to provide for an insanely enthralling novel.

Recently I've received news from my artist that the cover design for Death Seer's been completed. For all who do not know of this project. One of my friends and I are involved with creating a web comic all based upon a story that I'd been plotting for nearly three years. After all the arduous effort of writing so many emotional sequences and inner monologues, I'm beginning to see the result of my labor with these cover draft, still extremely rough in it's appearance. As its lacking color and final details of the protagonist's character model. For all here, I'm posting the "excerpt," which was written in narrative form, though the rest of the story's written in script form, for ease of transfer for the artist.

Warning!!! For all those reading most and nearly all the material within my stories have extreme gore or other suggestive content. My story's are not being bowdlerized in any manner, though I'm a Christian. Basically with my story, I'm proving one can write dark stories while still allowing the light to eek through. Though as many know me, I'm an extremely left Christian, as opposed with others.


“Train three shall be departing in around three minutes, please have your ticket stubs and photo “ID” for boarding,” a cacophonous voice reverberated throughout the chasms of the subway’s seemly endless passages, lined with brayed, sullied bricks. Occupied businessmen garbed with black and blue suit coats dashed expediently to their assigned boarding platform. The faces of every person rushing to their respective places shared a commonality, a vacant stare, void of any indiscernible emotion.

“Watch where you’re going, damnit,” a grizzled old man of short stature grunted while walking feebly into the metallic car of the train.

“Sorry…” I murmured, walking aimlessly towards the pair of stairs, located adjacent to the train, readying to depart from the platform to the next to pick up the next influx of passengers who all had a key destination in mind, whether scrutinizing it intently or subconsciously allowing it to maneuver their every move. Unlike these denizens, I was a free roamer both metaphorically and implicitly. My destination tonight remained looming overhead, just like the fractured light bulbs, providing light within an otherwise impenetrably dark subway tunnel.

Upon my lanky form were my bare essentials: a dirt sodden black t-shirt, black linen pants doused with the fleeting drips of water raining down from the dank ceiling panes of the subway tunnels, easily defining me as a destitute with no real intention or lucid meaning within their lives. Abandoned by both my parents only a mere two years ago, I’ve always lived my life wandering haplessly from each train platform, seeking solace in an otherwise meaningless existence. But as long as people imbued my limited field of vision, then death always surrounded me.

As my blue irises remained affixed upon the old man, my field of vision suddenly reverted to a darkened room where the old man lay recumbent upon a four poster bed. Knives encircled his feeble form as dribble speckled down his wrinkly skin.

“My wife, I never had a wife to being with and most of my children perceive me to be a crazed recluse. Love… when I ever had love… Love was only a diversion, to detract from the righteous path. Well.. Now love has ensnared me and now death’s come elusively along with it.. Though always mutually connected,” the old man chided as he snatched the longest knife which lay splayed upon the bed.

Inaudibly I screamed for him to reconsider his actions. But as with all my visions, death remained inevitable and irreversible. With the knife in his right hand, the old man plunged it into his right artery and then resumed his tight grasp of the knife and cut downwards, etching the shape of a misconstrued heart upon the main antechamber of his heart.

“Sara…” the old man muttered his last words, wishing the woman who never reciprocated his feelings could have seen his contorted face and the blood profusely spluttered across his tobacco stained sheets.

Slowly I regained my composure and my field of vision slowly shriveled and returned me to “reality.” Grabbing the shoulder pads of my knapsack, my feet sloughed through the brown puddles of train platform as I avoided people’s glances, hoping to repress my keen sense of detecting death. My intended destination remained insensible for the time being, for the only thought looming within my mind was the instinct to avoid all human contact and anything which could possibly cast a reflection.

Though I’ve had many near death experiences in the sense of catching a glance upon my own inevitable demise; never have I’ve seen the entire visage of this image. Every element of my death fettered my being, even the mere thought of allowing me to see my own death incapacitated me. As such, I’ve always maintained my own personal oath of never allowing myself to catch glance of my own death. Of course this proclamation limited me from ever catching glance of my own facial features or hair color. The only person who’s ever described to me the way the rest of the world saw me was my mother.

“Sam, your hair is the color of fine mahogany, glittering in the rays of the setting sun and your eyes are an irrevocably beautiful shade of blue like the shimmering spectral of the ocean’s waves.” My mother would always caress my six year old form within all my memories as she whispered them into my ears while standing behind me, never revealing herself to me for fear of embracing me with death Death was a topic that she never wanted to broach. Every time I asked why she would never reveal herself to me, she would click her tongue against the rim of her mouth twice and her eyebrows would undulate. “Honey I’m right before you it’s that you’ve been equipped with special glasses in order to allow yourself to see only the physical properties of inanimate objects. You have a fatal form of blindness where you only see the outlines of these objects. But with these glasses, you’ll be able to see colors and shapes, but never see people like you and your mother.

How could I ever need glasses for blindness which I’ve never had? Why would she allow me to use an instrument which would display my death before my eyes in an unending loop? With my advance intellect, her diagnosis of my malady was highly improbable and utterly ludicrous and not based upon scientific knowledge. So after the first few days after my seventh birthday, I soon discovered my highly abhorred blemish; an aspect of myself which allowed Death to become an integral element of myself.

Though these memories happened over six years ago, the memory remained a lucid and irreplaceable part of my memory banks. At the time, my mother stood out in the garden, basking in the bath of sunlight radiating from the unseasonably sultry day. While my mother allowed the droplets of water to percolate upon the pistils of the poinsettias she’d been growing, I had unbolted the lock of the playpen where I’d been situated in. As the minuscule toes of my feet penetrated the beige carpet, permeating the wood floors of our small apartment; I caught a glance of my mother's long auburn hair billowing with the slight gusts of the spring air. My glance of her before her envisioned death was reminiscent of an angel with her smooth gestures and rueful smile.

Soon enough my vision altered and my mother stood within the kitchen of the house, preparing a cake for my seventeenth birthday. As she prepared the cake, I was presently situated within my locked room, tending to my academic obligations through virtual school as I had been unable to have any exposure to real people due to my disability. While my mother made a cake, a knife suddenly emerged from her right shoulder as a masked man, garbed in an outfit of complete black, demanded her surrender.

Glancing upon her blood drenched white apron, she fell aimlessly to the floor as the man succeeded in penetrating the pivotal regions of her neck, inoculating her. Watching the angel slowly fracturing before my eyes, tears ripped down my reddened cheeks as slowly the image darkened.

When I finally regained consciousness, my mother stood before me, her mouthing hanging agape, realizing whose death I’d obtained a teaser of. “Mo…m you’re alive, Are we in heaven?” I muttered, fiercely wiping the few remaining tears placated on my eyelids. Gaping at my mother’s chagrin, I resumed to my former catatonic stage and inverted my scrawny body upon my plastic red car bed decorated with red and blue stripes.

“No you’re still anchored safely on this Earth but you’ve finally realized your affliction. The erring of your vision which shall debilitate the quality of your life and exclude you from the many necessities for the sustainability of life for your eyes shall always remain closed to the light of the world but unveiled to the darkness which entrench upon our affinity of ourselves. As long as you never catch your reflection, the wings of life shall always remain unfurled for the world to marvel. Yet love shall never penetrate the deep trenches of your soul, forever you shall remain in solemnity until your wings scurf you off to a world where love’s a reality and not a dormant desire of your mind. “With her melodic voice, enthusing her words with grace, she left me alone to weep unceasingly through the night with my blanket constricted around my fragile form. As darkness exuded from the far stretches of my room and danced frivolously upon my pillow; I internally latched upon the last remains of faith in myself. Under my bed, the harsh stifled breaths of death scurried across the green nodes of my carpet, waiting unabated for my next encounter.



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Details on trailer contest!!

Barry Lyga's prepping to release a sequel to "The Adventures of Fanboy and Gothgirl" on early October and in anticipation of that release, he has decided to begin a contest where one lucky winner could win an ARC copy of the sequel, Goth Girl Returns. For Further Details, click the link above!!

Honestly, my posts are widely sporadic though I'm aiming for my posts to be updated weekly as I've been joining more book blog alliances. And have even decided to make another blog, specially for reviewing secular titles. As many members of CSFF did not receive this month's book and being one of them, I'll be providing a link to the author's page for more interest, where there's a terse excerpt for creating buzz about the book.

Next month, expect to see a wide array of dialogue about Karen Hancock's newest novel within the last two months. As she was my introduction to the world of Christian Fiction and reinvigorated my appreciation for the genre on a whole; special attention shall be paid to her novel "Enclave." I'm three quarters through the book and especially impressed with Karen Hancock's improved writing. Mrs. Hancock really knows how to write as compared with other writers, especially a rather prolofic secular young adult writer who resides within the same state.

In August, Robin Parrish's book will be featured which looks very intriguing and being a fan of his works, I'm really stoked.

Book's Sequel: "Valley of the Shadow"
Vanish
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Phyllis Wheeler

Admittedly one section of the Bible angers me even more than the passage about submitting to authority. That's Paul's statement about the roles of women within a Christian household and church. Every time I read these passages, my heart rings in fury. I tend to be an individual passionately against the subjugation of another sometimes inferior human being. Seeing the Bible used as something that limits one's ability to share God's word or to reflect Jesus Christ greatly confounds me. Even more, are the number of gender constructs built as a means of safeguarding the church from homosexuals.

I've had many problems with the number of gender stereotypes prevalent within the church and society. Typically, a male shall possess great physique while a woman's strength's limited by their strong emotions. Hearing this from another man's lips results in a great guffaw from myself. For how could only a woman have strong emotions resonating through their being. When some men, typically those who are artistic need that emotion for fodder for their own writing. The fear of homosexuality has caused many Christians to enforce these gender stereotypes as an affront to the surging of those admitting to having same sex feelings. For me, these stereotypes have caused me to suffer from harassment for most of my life. As response to being abused by men within my church and school, I've seeked women to be my friends. With God's help, he has helped shape me into a man that sees beyond the archaic rift between men and women. I only see people with some anatomical differences who love the lord.

But the main question still remains, why are some churches so apprehensive of women leadership. The reasons are are purely nonsensical and seemed to be devised by some of the most staunch misogynistic Christians. Women are capable of being physically strong just as some men are capable of being physically strong through discipline and training. In the Bible, God has always utilized the self acclaimed weak human beings. Those who possessed a strong heart and not a strong body. Many within our society mistaken exterior strength as being the definer of one's masculinity. But these people are absorbed by societal definitions and see not the great similarities between ourselves and women. God calls each of us to an individual calling and for some women that's leadership. My challenge for men who are confining God by using Paul's letters as fodder for limiting women is to the truth behind their reasoning. That the majority of reasons they have for not allowing women to hold clerical positions is because of the stereotypes that have become ingrained in their being.God someday shall allow us to see the fault we have in limiting anyone's potential for their gender, race, or other societal definitions. We are not following God's word but ascribing to comfortable societal stigmas which keep us safe. The Bible's a book of liberation, not one of constraint to one's abilities.

I apologize greatly for my belated post. Lately, I have had a tumult of emotional stress within my life to deal with, so other obligations such as posting for CSFF sometimes neglected. But I've decided to post even if greatly postponed. Stephen Lawheads books were a marvelous read for me as I was able to embark upon a journey once again into his take upon the Robin Hood story, which I've found to contain far more realism than other interpretations of Robin Hood. There's not much else for me to say as I wish not to ruin another person's personal experience of the novel. Sorry for the lack of depth or any profound comments upon the writing quality. Perhaps next month, we shall be able to see a more fleshed out editorial of the book. Anyways for all those visiting my blog, please be sure to visit some of the other member's sites for some more insight into the novel and maybe some music also to enliven your experience.

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Where to purchase the novel?
Author's Site