Finding Magic by Tanya Huff

It’s odd how you can get to know a stranger by simply perusing a block of squashed tree for a few hours. Ten days ago, I didn’t know Tanya Huff from Adam—or Lilith, for that matter. I have since learned from her collection, Finding Magic, that she adores animals and strong women (especially redheads), appreciates gourmet food, and can write a slap up battle scene. If these stories are any indication, her range is remarkable.

“Tuesday Evenings, Six Thirty to Seven” involves unlikely allies meeting one another at the right time, like several other stories in this volume (”The Demon’s Den,” “Finding Marcus,” and “Brock”). A troop leader left behind by an overscheduled and overstimulated era (”Five hundred channels. A hundred gigabytes. Baseball. Ballet. Soccer. Music lessons”) needs children to lead. A few unusual little folk come to her to be led, to her shock, and transform under her guidance (I will resist making comparisons to hairy caterpillars). Although she at first denies that she can help her nontraditional charges, our desperate Brown Owl finds that she is changing as well. The troop’s hilarious interactions with each other and their leader are strongly reminiscent of the behavior of Cohen the Barbarian’s Silver Horde under Mr. Saveloy’s patient tutelage (in Interesting Times by Terry Pratchett), and their vocabulary overlaps quite amusingly with that of certain small blue men with whom Pratchett fans may also be familiar (although those tiny Scots are rather less familiar than these with things like CSI). This adorable and well-crafted tale, blessed with a sensitive ending as satisfying as a thin mint, was my favorite in the collection.

“A Woman’s Work . . .” is delectably evil, as only the most dark, decadent, flourless chocolate torte can be (blame “Slow Poison” for all my food analogies). Queen Arrabel’s devastating intelligence (she knocks over a kingdom at one point), brilliant Machiavellian political scheming, and sickeningly ruthless leadership are the very definition of a character you love to hate. Her calm success is quite a change of pace from the vituperating, inefficient, and easily defeated antics of most evil females in fantasy, from Mombi, to the White Witch, to Bavmorda. For frosting, all of the (foolish or servile) men in this story are either her slaughtered enemies, her terrified underlings, or her future victims.

Speaking of victims, outside of “Slow Poison,” I’ve never seen political cunning and clever leadership manifest themselves in such a . . . culinary fashion. Disturbing as well as delicious descriptions nauseated and enthralled me as I read this story, and although I found the ending unrealistic, the manner of the cook’s coup is clever. The future she envisions for her kingdom is believable, and her method of domesticating the wild beasts that beat down her door reminds me that empire building can motivated as much by the attractions of bourgeois comfort as the rapacity of impatient conquerors.

“Blood in the Water” also has something to do with catering to a kingdom’s practical needs, although the emphasis here is on defending borders rather than reestablishing them. Well-written battle scenes and interesting characters made yet more intriguing by their special abilities (giving a whole new meaning to “Navy Seal”) make this a boy’s own adventure story I can really sink my teeth into. Although I do wonder about the owner of the largest set of teeth in this story, and whether it might have been tempted to stop making mischief if the dramatis personae had found a method employing edibles or other inducements (as their enemies had), rather than high explosives.

I wish that “Not That Kind of War” hadn’t been placed right after “Blood in the Water”; not only do two war stories back-to-back give me battle fatigue (even if the battles are well-written), but its world isn’t as interesting as the Napoleonic-toned ocean warfare of Queen Isabella and the NcTrans. Like “Finding Marcus” and “After School Specials,” it’s a novel-derived setting and employs characters that don’t seem to work as well on their own. Too many kinds of aliens to keep track of and confusion as to why they’re fighting one another made this one feel more like a chapter than a short story.

“Brock,” like all of the Valdemar tales in this volume, does succeed in making sense and even shining on its own, despite the fact that I’ve never read a page of Mercedes Lackey, although it is rather more thought provoking than the other two. I’m not entirely sure I’m comfortable with Huff’s treatment of the title character, despite how carefully she tried to present him. I admit the plainspoken eulogy he delivers did succeed in setting off my tear ducts, and overall, he is more nuanced than many portrayals of similar characters, but I almost want to see him get angrier at “mean lady,” want to see him be something other than the brave and simple saint he ends up being. I know this story is well meant and am not sure how it could have been improved at its current length, but I’m also hypervigilant when it comes to stereotypes, so, despite its strengths, I can’t give this one a wholehearted thumbs up, no matter how likeable its characters were and how much they engaged my sympathies.

The first adventure of Jors and Gervis, “The Demon’s Den,” also skirts (but I think narrowly evades) portraying its disabled character as a brave saint. Ari has her own, at least partially selfish, reasons for making her rescue attempt. She is allowed to be bitter, guilty, and angry and to engage in acts of physical courage. Like Brown Owl, her odd alliance ultimately benefits her as much as the person she tries to help. The cave-in and cavern rescue scenes are interestingly described, although I had difficulty envisioning them, mostly because I haven’t spent much time underground, I imagine.

Ari’s transformation feels somehow more genuine and redemptive than Magdelene’s in “We Two May Meet,” probably because Magdelene (and her story) are very flamboyant and cartoony. She’s charming, and her emotions seem genuine, but the necessary change (once she knows what it is) seems to happen effortlessly once she has communicated the source of her distress.

A semi-omnipotent female protagonist’s search for answers—and enactment of solutions—is also frustratingly facile in “I Knew a Guy Once” and “Under Summons.” Able and Diana are charming, even amusing, but their quick sitcom turnarounds make their endings feel pat. Both of them are likeable characters, particularly Able, and their stories are written fairly well, but they aren’t the highlights of the collection. (I feel bad saying this since in the introduction note, Huff indicates that “I Knew a Guy Once” is one of her favorites.)

Mrs. Ruth’s problem is not nearly as easy to solve in “Choice of Ending.” It is so difficult, in fact, that the plot has begun to drag a little by the time she works out what she’s supposed to do. She’s an entertaining character, but her aimlessness is confusing. She’s also a bit flat in some of the same ways Able is, drawn as a colorful assortment of quirks.

“Jack,” on the other hand, isn’t odd at all, although his story is certainly a standout. It is written in the same cartoony style as “We Two May Meet,” but somehow it fits better here. Huff handles setting and tone well in this fractured fairy tale, although there are a few logical jumps (like Lyra’s swift transformation once the executives get a hold of her) that don’t quite make sense. However, some particularly amusing scenes, for example the metalheads’ search for food in their barren apartment (”Man, we are down to tap water and toaster leavings”).

Tommy Lane in “He Said, Sidhe Said” is as earnest and unassuming as Jack, although he’s a skater rather than a thrasher. The back and forth narration is amusing, and the Queen’s frustration with him, her King, and the King’s emissary reminds me of “A Woman’s Work . . .”. I don’t quite understand how Tommy could use trees as skating ramps, although his clumsy rampage through the bowers of fairyland is funny.

“The Things Everyone Knows” is good enough to make me want to seek out more Terizan stories. One of Huff’s many strengths is her ability to deal in meta-fantasy; at one point, Terizan is waiting for her quarry to appear, and musing:

“Everyone knew that conspirators met in the dark of night when cloaked figures scuttling about empty streets were likely to be noticed and they’d have no plausible excuse if they got caught. If she was running a conspiracy, she’d have them meet in the late evening and have them head home with the crowds when the cantinas closed, hiding them in plain sight.”

“A Woman’s Work . . .“, “Jack,” and “Tuesday Evenings, Six Thirty to Seven” are also rich in enjoyable meta-commentary.

“Finding Marcus” and “After School Specials” both felt a little opaque to me because I haven’t read the novels in which their characters appeared and am not familiar with the worlds they are set in. Each of them had charming moments (like the pen-wand in “After School Specials” and the talkative crow in “Finding Marcus”). Ultimately, however, they don’t stand as well on their own as the Valdemar stories and “Under Summons.” “All the Ages of Man” wouldn’t either, but because it is clustered with two other stories about Jors, it does, and makes a graceful ending to the book.

Although I didn’t find the opening essay to be more than a hearty “bon appetit!” the closing one drew insightful and interesting conclusions. However, I think that a hazard of including works of literary criticism in books which they critique can lead to their being viewed as “received wisdom” in concert with the opinions of the fiction author, and potentially close other avenues of argument to readers.

When this collection shines, it is psychologically realistic, engaging, evocative, funny, and full of heart. Where it falters, it becomes a little cartoony, sentimental, or sermonic, but even its weaker moments are rendered with endearing tenderness and humor. Often a story may excel in one regard and waver in another, although the strongest pieces in the collection, “Tuesday Evenings, Six Thirty to Seven,” “A Woman’s Work. . . “, “Slow Poison,” and “Blood In the Water,” are thoroughly solid and deserve to become classics of the genre.

Publisher: ISFiC (Nov. 2007)
Price: $30.00
Hardcover: 312 pages
ISBN: 9780975915653