One night, riding outside of town on a routine job Eddie LaCrosse comes across a woman in pretty rough shape. She's naked, bruised, cut and burned—many of the burns look skillfully inflicted, as are all the rest of her injuries. Whoever worked her over knew what he was doing. A damsel in a lot of distress and after a brief conversation, Eddie offers to help her get away from whoever did this and protect her.

Then he's struck from behind and wakes up as someone's captive—she's there, too. Not long after that, he wakes up again, at the bottom of a cliff, barely alive. The damsel didn't fare that well. Once he's patched up well enough to move and think, Eddie sets out to find out who she was, who killed her—and nearly him—and get a little revenge.

His search puts him in the way of one of the strongest criminal figures in his neck of the woods (a man that Eddie would've been happy never to have crossed paths with) and a government official trying to stop his investigation. Then an old friend of Eddie's is killed, and that may be related to his case. Which sends him off into several other directions—including a new dragon-worshiping cult that's somehow tied to the crime boss.

Eddie scoffs at the idea behind this cult—who, in his enlightened age, still believes in dragons? Eddie's skepticism (that word's too mild, but I can't come up with a better one) seems out of place for someone reader know has known both a deity and a man who has lived centuries. Whether or not he's right to disbelieve, the worshipers seem more than a little out to lunch, and are clearly easily manipulated. 

There are a few good fight scenes, some good character growth and development since the last book (noteworthy because Eddie seemed to be dead-set against growth and development at the beginning of that novel). Liz, the courier we met at the very end of the first novel, is still around and is a huge part of Eddie's life. We get a taste of that, but not as much as I'd have liked (for good reasons, I should add, I'm not saying that Bledsoe wasted her).

I think this might be a better novel than The Sword-Edged Blonde—the story's a bit tighter, Eddie doesn't engage in any casual cruelty, the characters are better developed (just a bit). But I don't like it as much (each of the three or so times I've worked through the). There's a missing je ne sais quoi to this, however, that restrains my enthusiasm. Do I recommend it on its own merits? Yeah. Do I recommend it as a necessary installment in this series? Definitely—read them all.

I've only re-read the first two novels up to this point, when I move on to book three in a month or so, it'll be the first time I revisit it, and I'm really looking forward to that. It's possibly the best of the series—at the least, I remember it being a step above this.

I've read this novel at least twice (13 and 11 years ago), and apparently have forgotten almost all of it. In fact, what I did remember as the climactic scene must belong to the second novel in the series, Burn Me Deadly. I can do better with the rest of the series (and not just because I actually wrote something about them—but I'm looking forward to taking another look at them in the coming months.

But I'm getting ahead of myself, I should introduce you to Eddie LaCrosse and his world. It's your basic Fantasy world—swords, rumors of sorcery, small kingdoms, and so on. Eddie's an ex-soldier, ex-mercenary, now "sword jockey" (basically a private cop). He's got a little more on his résumé, but you'll learn more about that as you dive in yourself. He's been hired by an old friend, the King of a neighboring country to clear his wife of the horrific murder of her son. She doesn't remember him, but when he meets her, Eddie realizes that he knew the Queen long before the King did.

Eddie's investigation takes him through multiple kingdoms, into the remains of a cult, and into a criminal network that rivals anything that Varys put together for efficacy or ruthlessness. At the same time he does this, Eddie takes a trip through his personal history, reliving the time he knew the Queen (and events leading up to that). The two storylines are interwoven to help Eddie solve what seems like a perfect crime.

Both in the narration, LaCrosse's character and the kinds of people we meet along the way, Bledsoe channels Chandler. LaCrosse is casually violent in a way that Marlowe indulged in a bit too often for me, and the (for lack of a better word) grotesque (in physical appearance and morality) criminals Eddie deals with in the latter parts of the book felt particularly Chandler-esque to me.

There's some things that happen at the end that point to Eddie coming to terms with parts of his past that he's been unable/unwilling to acknowledge existed. The character won't change as a result of this (at least not much), but I think it opens the door for some of his rougher edges to be rounded out. How well that actually happens, I'll have to see (I don't trust my memory enough right now)—but at the very least, Bledsoe made it possible for the character to grow and evolve here.

Rudnicki's narration didn't really work for me initially—there was a quality to his voice that just didn't click with me. But, I kept going because I liked the novel. Before the halfway mark, however, he'd won me over. I can't put my finger on it (either good or bad), but he sold the emotional moments, the humor, and Eddie's general attitude. Which is good enough for me.

It's hard for me to rate this one on its own terms—I remember liking it. I remember what Bledsoe does with the characters. And those things color my rating, leading me to probably giving this another half-to-whole star more than I would otherwise. But also, for the world. The merging of Fantasy and Hard-boiled genres in a way that's seamless and well-executed. I recommend this one and will be back for more soon.

Bookstooge posted about this book yesterday. It's probably worth a read (I'll read it later today, I didn't want his voice in my head as I wrote this).

For many years [the Tufa] were on the wrong side of the South’s color line, and suffered for it. Their secretive ways and legendary musical aptitude spawned rumor and legend, which in turn prompted more and more withdrawal.

 

But now the twenty-first century, with its pervasive interconnectedness, pushed against this isolation. More and more Tufa risked the consequences of leaving and sought their way in the world. They all knew they would someday have to come back, since all Tufa were inextricably tied to Needsville. But they also knew that the seclusion of the past was no longer practical. Like it or not, the world now knocked on their door. 

Such a depressing thought, but a pretty good summary of the State of the Tufa.

I still remember some of the reactions I had back in 2011 during my first read of The Hum and the Shiver and met the Tufa. There was something otherworldly, ethereal and haunting -- and yet, very human, and even fun. It was, in short, magic. I thought the same when I re-read it before the sequel, and maybe it impressed me more that time. Each book since has felt the same -- not all have them as successful as the first, but they've all had that same core magic.

When it was announced a couple of months ago that this was going to be the final novel in the series I was struck by two thoughts -- the first, and strongest, was lament. The second was, "how?" There's not an overarching narrative that needs tieing up, a goal to meet or anything. Partway through this book, I started to understand how Bledsoe was wrapping things up and concluding the series -- and it felt perfect. I should add at this point that I was wrong about what he was doing, and that the reality was better than my guess.

As it's the final book, all bets are off -- the first novel contained many hints about the nature of the Tufa, but the successive books were less and less subtle in that regard, and ended up telling more than the previous. At this point, there's no hinting, no suggesting -- not only that, Bledsoe answers many questions readers have had since the beginning, and probably a few we should've had. And he does so in a way that enriches the series and the Tufa, not just something that reveals. There were so many little tidbits that came out that just made me smile or utter a quiet "Ah ha!"

I actually haven't talked much about the plot yet -- how odd. There are a couple of graduate students from a university in Tennessee -- one in psychology (would be parapsychology if she could get away with it) and one in English with a focus in folk music as a way to improve his own music (minor spoiler: I spent a few pages waiting for him to be revealed to be a Tufa -- nope, just a kindred spirit). These two have come across an old film -- silent film old -- shot near Needsville, showing a young woman losing her glamour and flying off on wings. There's no way that it could be silent film quality FX, it's a woman with wings. This town it was filmed in, Sadiesville, disappeared shortly afterwards. The two want to find this town and explore what happened to it.

Which brings them into contact with the people of Needsville -- and the night winds have instructed them to help these two find what they're looking for, despite the fact that no one in Needsville has a clue about the town. For readers, the idea that Tufa have forgotten anything that happened in their area is pretty astounding the kind of thing that piques your curiosity.

What happens next is wonderful, and horrible, and beautiful -- awful in every sense, archaic and otherwise. I loved it and hated it while admiring how Bledsoe played this out. Structurally, tonally, thematically different from the rest (as each book in this series has been), yet undeniably part of the series. I loved seeing friends who've been around since The Hum and the Shiver or those as fresh as Gather Her Round just one last time (not that the new characters are slouches. For example, Veronica, our aspiring parapsychologist, is someone I'd hope to see if there was going to be a book 7).

There are a million little touches here -- none of which I can talk about without ruining something, that make this good-bye the best installment of this series since The Hum and the Shiver. This is a must for Tufa fans (not that they need me to say it), and one more chance for me to suggest that people who haven't started the series yet get on it. I don't believe in actual magic -- but Bledsoe's series make me want to, especially if it looked like this. I hate to say good-bye to this series, but this is the way to do it.

Bravo.

I really enjoy Alex Bledsoe's voice.  His writing is easy yet rich and full.  Perfect for the subject matter of North America's fairy population. It's not an urban fantasy, it's more a contemporary, rural fantasy, I think.  Set in the Appalachian mountains and peopled with a whole bunch of unique characters, it's the place where Rob Quillan, a musician haunted by tragedy, comes in search of a song to heal him. 

Now there may be other books out there about the other-worldly creatures in this part of North America, but I can't really recall any.  As it is Bledsoe walks the perfect line of keeping the story sounding ... um, not of the city .... yet not sounding like the Clampetts.  His characters are characters, not caricatures and some you love, some you hate and some you just... know.  It's a homey book, but with an edge.  :)

And the fairy-folk themselves.  They're not the grand lord and lady types, not the ethereal little nymphs, not the austere folk we see portrayed so often.  They're good, they're bad, they're dark, they're light and they're not quite like anything I've read about before.

I think if you're a fan of Charles de Lint, you'll enjoy this series. 

Man, it's hard to write much that doesn't boil down to: It's the new Tufa book by Bledsoe -- it's great, go read it. Which is essentially a tautology followed by a natural conclusion. And isn't that interesting (then again, I never promised you interesting, Dear Reader).

So, what sets this one apart? Well, there's the pretty mundane nature of the inciting incident (mundane meaning not magical, not mundane meaning ordinary), the framing device, and the . . . I don't want to say resolution (because there are a few -- and yet none), I guess the way things end.

The framing device is perfect for a Tufa novel -- Janet Harper, a noted musician and actress is at a story-telling festival and brings her guitar onstage to use with her story -- one that's true, but that no one in the audience will believe, as much as she says it. She does change the names of the participants (which makes her different than Ray Parrish) to protect everyone involved -- including herself (see Ray Parrish).

Janet tells the story of Kera Rogers, who goes for a walk one morning to go play a little music, relax a bit, sext a little with a couple of guys, think a little about cutting out one or both of the guys when she's attacked by a wild animal and is never seen again. At least not most of her -- a small body part or two shows up. The community is horrified that this happens and her parents grieve the end of her young life. Duncan Gowan is one of the boys she was involved with -- and thought he was the only one -- is wrecked by her death and learning that she was also sleeping with someone else.

The rest of the tale traces the ripples from this event over the next few months (almost a year) -- and the next victim to fall prey to the animal -- Kera's family moving on, Duncan getting involved with another woman, the hunters that come in to track the beast (which will also hopefully prevent any police investigation). One of the hunters gets involved with a Tufa we've known since the first book, and is introduced to the real culture of Needsville.

While all this is going on, we get the best picture of how things are going with the faction formerly led by Rockhouse Hicks, now led by Junior Damo, and it's clear to everyone that Junior is not the new Rockhouse -- which is mostly good, but there are some real drawbacks. Mandalay Harris takes it upon herself -- even though the dead are Junior's -- to get to the bottom of what happened. Sure, it was a wild animal attack -- but is that all it was? Her methods aren't exactly anything you'll find in a police procedural, but produce results that Gil Grissom and his kind would envy.

The best parts of these books is the way that people like Junior, Mandalay, Bliss, and Bronwyn are secondary characters; while people we've never met (or just barely) like Kera, Duncan, Janet, and Jack Cates (the hunter) are the focus. Yet somehow, we care about them almost as much -- and through the eyes and experiences of the new characters we learn more about our old friends and see them grow and develop. Bledsoe is fantastic at making each of these books very different from the rest, yet clearly part of a series.

Like every novel in this series -- this can be your introduction to the world. Actually, this one may be a better intro-book than any but the first (even as I write that I can think of arguments against it, but I think I can stick with it). You don't have to have any advance knowledge of this world to appreciate 98% of the book.

There's heart, magic, fun, wonder, vengeance, a dash of romance and mystery wrapped up in this novel -- expressed through very human characters. The humanity shown by these people who aren't all that human shines through more than anything else.

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