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Judith Tarr’s novel, Living in Threes, is a complex interweaving of three stories, in three times, each story focused on a young woman on the verge of adulthood, navigating the journey of her own growing independence while negotiating changes in her relationships with family, and facing the ultimate challenges of becoming an adult, the parameters of life and loss, birth and death.

In the present, Meredith wants nothing more than to spend the summer before her 16th birthday hanging out with friends, riding and taking care of the horses that she loves - especially Bonnie, her Lippizaner, who is pregnant - doing all the things she’s been planning on. But her mother has a an unwelcome surprise - everything has been arranged for her to spend the summer away from home, friends, and her overworked mother - a cancer survivor - in Egypt, working on a dig with her aunt Jessie, an archaeologist.

Meredith has strange dreams. Some of them are about Meru, a young girl living in the future, soon to become a space pilot, who receives a strange call for help from her mother, supposedly on a mission far from Earth. But when she tracks the message to the source, what she finds is worse than anything she could have imagined - plague, quarantine, and death.

Others are about Meritre, a young Egyptian girl, a singer in a temple chorus. The land is recovering from plague, in which Meritre’s baby sister died. Meritre’s mother, also a singer, is pregnant again, but her health may not be strong enough to carry the baby safely. And while the plague is mostly over, still, her father, a sculptor, is ill with something that worries Meritre.

One thing draws them together - a blue scarab bead. Meritre buys it in a marketplace, Meredith finds it in a tomb, Meru is given it by her mother as a clue. And when each one has the scarab in her own time, the three discover that they have one soul, and that sharing their knowledge and experience can help all of them face the challenges before them.

It’s a beautiful story about three young women, growing up and finding courage to do the impossible.
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I must admit at the outset that I may not be capable of writing objectively about Judith Tarr's science fiction space opera Forgotten Suns. You see, Tarr is one of a large handful of authors I whose work I adore without reservation, and this book is the unexpected and completely amazing sequel to my very favourite of her many works, the double trilogy Avaryan Rising and Avaryan Ascendant.

If you are familiar Tarr's books, you may be going "whoa, what was that?" just now, because the Avaryan series is written as pure, epic high fantasy, and I've just described Forgotten Suns as a science fiction space opera. If you want to know how that can be, it's best if you read Tarr's own explanation, from her The Big Idea post on John Scalzi's Whatever blog [1]. I'll just add that, after you take a minute to rethink the story of Mirain and his descendants in the Avaryan series in the language of science fictional conventions and assumptions (and Tarr makes it easy to do this by laying out for the reader all the keys needed - the Rosetta stone, as it were, for translating fantasy to science fiction - in the text), it all makes perfect sense.

The story itself begins with an archeological dig on the virtually abandoned world that its newest inhabitants call Nevermore. There are ruins suggesting a large and highly developed civilisation, and a small population of illiterate nomads. It appears as though the original inhabitants simply left - but before so doing, they carefully obliterated all images of their people from the cities they left behind.

When Aisha, the daughter of the lead archeologists, seeks to help her parents find something spectacular that will revitalise their waning research funding, she unknowingly awakens a millenias-old sleeper left behind - who realises that he has been woken for a reason, to find out what happened to the people who have gone before, and save them in their hour of need.

The quest involves the sleeper - now called Rama - along with Aisha, her aunt, a traumatised Military Intelligence officer, the Galactic Psycorps, space whales who sing, an opera star, and a journey across space, time, and the multiverses.

It's magical and sciencefictional, it's a wild ride and a slow-unfolding love story, it's got everything you want in a space opera from pirates to mysteries, plots and betrayals, a rag-tag army and a nasty and corrupt galactic government.

It's just perfect.

[1] http://whatever.scalzi.com/2015/05/07/the-big-idea-judith-tarr/

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Judith Tarr, Bring Down the Sun

Judith Tarr writes wonderful historical fantasy. She takes real characters, places and times, and tells a story that builds on is known about them, imbuing the tale with the mystery of gods and magic.

In Bring Down the Sun, Tarr tells a story about Olympias (also known as Polyxena and Myrtale), the mother of Alexander the Great, following the outlines of her life as recorded by Plutarch, several centuries after her death. The magic enters the tale from the beginning, with the young Polyxena being raised to be a priestess in a Triple Goddess cult and the hints we gather from the elder Priestesses that Polyxena carries within her some powerful but unexplained gifts. Polyxena later is initiated into the Dionysian mysteries (taking the name Myrtale at this point) where she meets and forms a bond – part sexual, part magical – with the young Philip of Macedonia, who seeks her for his (fourth) wife. The story continues up to the birth of the young Alexander, with Myrtale facing intrigue from Philip’s other wives and from various magical sources, including the cult she served as a young girl and a cult of “Thessalonian witches” – priestesses of yet another ancient mystical tradition who are aware of Myrtale’s hidden power and seek to bring make her one of their own.

What I found frustrating about this book, despite my enjoyment of the story, the magic, and the strong women characters, is that it seems unfinished. I had hoped it was the first in a series, but it has been three years and there’s no sign of a sequel on the horizon. There is still so much of the past that Tarr has imagined for Myrtale that remains hidden, and so much more that is known of Olympias’ life past the birth of Alexander, that the book does not address. I will just have to keep looking to see if Tarr returns to this story.

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I recently had the interesting experience of reading over a fairly short period of time seven books written by Judith Tarr under three different names – Judith Tarr, under which she has written primarily historical fantasy/alternate history, Caitlin Brennan, under which she has written a romantic fantasy trilogy for Luna Books, a subsidiary of Harlequin, and her newest pen name, Kathleen Bryan, which she appears to be using to write high fantasy, something she’s done little of in recent years outside of the two Avaryan trilogies.

It was rather interesting looking at the differences – and similarities – in the books written under the three names.

Rite of Conquest
King’s Blood

These two books make up a duology, written as Judith Tarr, set around the time of the Norman Conquest. Tarr has taken as her starting point a speculation that has been batted around the world of “occult interpretations of historical events” for quite some time – that the mysterious death of King William II (William Rufus) of England was in fact a ritual sacrifice intended to bind the royal line of Normandy to the land. In creating this fantasy about the mystical nature of kingship, Tarr closely follows the known historical events, but weaves a story of power and responsibility, commitment and sacrifice, placed against a background of struggle between the narrow faith of the Christian Church and the older pagan beliefs and magics.

This was classic Tarr at her best, and I enjoyed it greatly.


The Serpent and the Rose
The Golden Rose

In these books, the first two novels of a (presumed) trilogy, the War of the Rose, written under the name of Kathleen Bryan, Tarr’s voice is very similar to that of the novels written under her own name. Set in a fantasy world not altogether unlike France during the feudal era, the story explores one of Tarr’s recurring themes - struggle between systems of magic, religion, philosophy and belief - through the adventures of Averil, a young noblewoman raised to dual expectations as the heir of a major duchy and as a student of her culture’s dominant system of religious magic, which has a number of resonances with Christianity.

Assisting her fight against a king corrupted through the adoption of the long-suppressed worship of the serpent is Gereint, a fatherless peasant boy with great magical promise who bears more than a passing resemblance to the Arthurian figure of Parsifal. What lifts this well above the standard heroes versus villians battle of magic are the persistent hints that there is a relationship between the Young god of Averil’s religion and the ancient Serpent that is far more complex than that of a conquest of good over evil, and the introduction of a third system of wild magic and the being who are part of it, who stand outside the clear-cut dichotomy Averil has been raised to believe in.

While many of the elements of this story are very familiar, Tarr in her voice as Kathleen Bryan seems to be putting them together in an interesting and far from formulaic fashion. I'm looking forward to seeing where she's taking her heroes.


The Mountain’s Call
Song of Unmaking
Shattered Dance

In this trilogy written under the name of Caitlin Brennan, marketed as romantic fantasy or supernatural romance or some such category, Tarr’s voice seems furthest from what I’ve come to expect from her, and I suspect it has much to do with the fact that she is writing for a publisher with a history of wanting a very specific product in terms of the romance aspects of the book – which in my mind were definitely the weakest and least characteristic elements.

As with the War of the Rose books, this trilogy is set in a fantasy world that bears strong resemblance to a specific period of European history, in this case, a variation on the late Roman empire, surrounded by barbarian tribes seeking to destroy its power. The protagonist is a young woman called to become a priest-adept, a role which has until now been reserved for men, and as the story progresses, she will be a significant player in the struggle hold back the peoples, magic and gods of the northern barbarians, while renewing the spirit of the Empire, both at a political and a mystical level.

What makes the religious magic of these novels so interesting, and where Tarr’s passion for the story is strongest, lies in her vision of the divine protectors of the Empire as gods and goddesses come to earth in the form of horses, and whose powers are made manifest through the sacred dances performed by the gods while they are ridden by the priest-adepts. (It should be noted here that Tarr is a breeder and trainer of Lippizaner horses, famed for their abilities to perform the “airs above the ground.”)

Unfortunately, Tarr’s attempts to weave a traditional Harlequin-type love story into the narrative were much less interesting. Not that Tarr doesn’t write good love stories – to the contrary, many of her other books have wonderful love stories woven into them. It’s just that Tarr seems to be at her best when writing about heterosexual relationships when they develop organically out of the shared experiences and passions of her characters. Most of the women in her novels are women with life experience, power, either political, magical, or both, and strong, well-formed characters. They usually work together with the men they become involved with, sharing risks, dangers, and in some cases they are even the leader or teacher in the partnership.

The romantic plot of the trilogy required the protagonist, a young woman still learning her power and unsure of her authority, to be torn between two men – one, a priest of her order and mentor figure who has a dark and tortured past, who saves her from assault early in the story, and with whom she has massive angst-ridden failures of communication, and the other, a bold, open-hearted barbarian lord who m she meets while he is a hostage to the Empire, and who has a great deal of openly expressed admiration for her abilities. The problem is that the one she seems most suited with is the one she can’t end up with, and the story suffers from trying to force her into finally choosing the man that I most wanted her to run like hell from, while forcing the other man to behave in uncharacteristic ways in order to make him not worthy of her. The love triangle simply did not seem believable, and it ended in a way that seemed just plain wrong.

While I enjoyed the broader story, this was disappointing. Still, disappointing work from Judith Tarr, no matter what name she’s using, is better than the best that many others can achieve.

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Gentle reader may recall that one of my favourite fantasy writers is Judith Tarr. Although she has written some fantasy set in original worlds, some of her best work, in my opinion, is in the vein of the historical fantasy, in which she revisits a place and time in our own very real history, and retells it as if some of the myths and legends common to that time and place were also real, and had been a part of the unfolding of history.

Earlier this year I re-read Judith Tarr’s The Hound and the Falcon trilogy, her first published fantasy:

The Isle of Glass
The Golden Horn
The Hounds of God

This series is partly the kind of historical fantasy that Tarr would later excel at, and partly an alternate historical fantasy, in which history did not happen quite as it did in this world. It’s also the first of her works that I read, and hence I remembered it with great fondness, and anticipated re-reading it. And I was not disappointed.

The Hound and the Falcon is set in an Earth where elves exist, and have for a long time had relations of state with the world of man, but are now withdrawing slowly, pushed to the edges of the known world by the advance of the Catholic Church, to which they are anathema. The time corresponds to our own 13th century: there is a Richard on the throne of Anglia, and a crusade brewing. But in this Earth, there are three kingdoms in southern Britannia – Anglia, Gwynedd, and Rhiyana, and the king of Rhiyana is of the Elfkind.

The protagonist of the series is Alf, who we see first as Brother Alfred, a devout monk who, despite having lived in the monastery of St. Ruan for 60 years, and having penned a scholarly religious work that is known throughout Europe, appears to be little more than a beautiful, almost unearthly-looking boy. Alf was a foundling, his past unknown, and he has lived his entire life sheltered by the abbots and monks of St. Ruan, never having to face the question of who – or what – he is. Then, quite suddenly, Alf is thrown into the outer world of politics – both secular and churchly – and is forced to acknowledge his true self and his people in order to survive – and discover himself, and love – in a world where religious wars are raging and the Church wants nothing more than to drive whatever it considers to be heretical and evil from the sight of man and God.

The story of Alf’s search for truth, self and love, set against a turbulent time of fear, distrust, hate and catastrophic religious war, is compelling – and its conclusion leaves the reader with both joy and sorrow.

This is among the best of Tarr's many great works of fantasy.

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More volumes from series that I've been reading and enjoying.


Water Logic, Laurie Marks

Laurie Marks' Elemental Logic series is a tour de force. In the first book of the series, Fire Logic, Marks introduced us to the land and people of Shaftal, where one's character is defined by one's element, and where some children are born with such a strong elemental nature that they can wield the magic that is inherent in the nature of their element - earth blood means healing; water means time and space; air means truth-seeing; and fire means prescience and passion. Shaftal has been invaded by a people coming from across the eastern sea, the leader (G'deon) of the Shaftali people has died, naming as heir an unacceptable Earth blood named Karis, child of a Shaftali sex worker and a Sainite invader, and the Sainites are moving swiftly to destroy the magic and culture of the Shaftali.

The series follows the paths of a loosely defined family that gathers about the rejected G'deon Karis and their struggles to end the invasion, bring peace and - for what else can an earth blood do? - heal the wounds of war and empire on both sides, in both peoples.

In addition to all the other stuff that I love about complex worldbuilding and strong, well-drawn characters and great writing, part of what thrills me about these books is the rejection of gender norms. In Shaftal, people don't act in a certain way or enter a certain profession because they are male or female, they do so because it is in their element to do so. Marks uses the concept of elemental natures to show us how arbitrary is our belief that gender is the most important defining characteristic of personality - the one thing that one has to know about another human being. What follows from this lack of gender norms is a completely different way of defining sexual relationships and families - since male and female are not particularly relevant, there is no real distinction between people who are in a relationship others of the same sex and people who are in relationships with people of another sex. Families form based on love and the desire to share lives, not exclusively around sexual relationships, and can involve a number of adults who relate with each other on many levels, and their children.

In this series, Marks has also attempted to write each book in a style that is suited to her definition of one of the four elements. This has, I think, led some people to like some but not all of the books, because the styles are different in each book, but in my opinion, this is one of the things that has made this series so very special.


Aerie, Mercedes Lackey

This wraps up the Dragon Jousters series quite nicely, pulling together most if not all of the loose plot threads while providing one last enemy - the Nameless Ones, whose powers may have been behind the rule of the Magi over the twin lands of Alta and Tia. Kiron finds love, the united lands find peace, prosperity and leadership, the new community of dragon riders find a home and a function for themselves that doesn't involve killing each other, and all's well that ends well... unless Lackey decides to play in this particular universe some more, which is certainly possible.


First Rider’s Call, Kristen Britain

In the sequel to Green rider, the stakes are raised as the ancient evils awakened in the first book grow more powerful and begin to call up old allies and Karigan G'ladheon finds she can no longer resist the powerful call to commit herself to a life as a Green Rider. As the enemies of the kingdom - human and inhuman, within and without - gather their strength and lay their plans, Karigan begins to discover why she is so important to the coming fight, and in the process uncovers much that had been long forgotten about the early days of the kingdom and the founding of the Green Riders. A good sequel that builds well on what came before and promises a satisfying climax to come.


Tides of Darkness, Judith Tarr

The last of the Avaryan Resplendent trilogy, this book takes Mirain's descendants into the far-flung corners of the universe to combat the growing evil that threatens all the worlds and the magical gateways between them. While most of the action in this novel takes place on distant planets among peoples we have not met before, the slow realisation that this threat the seem to come from so far away is really the other side of everything we have come to love about the world of Avaryan brings everything full circle, as everyone, including the immortal Mirain, finds the long road home. While I found the second of the trilogies, Avaryan Resplendent, less compelling than the first, Avaryan Rising, Judith Tarr at less than her best is still much better than a lot of the fantasy that's out there.

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The Kingdom of the Grail, Judith Tarr

In The Kingdom of the Grail, Tarr has created a story that is a thoroughly enjoyable blend of Arthurian legend and the tales of the court of Charlemagne, two of the three canonical subject mattes for medieval storytellers, as named by French poet Jean Bodel: “Ne sont que iii matières à nul homme atandant, De France et de Bretaigne, et de Rome la grant.” In creating a tale with roots in both traditions, Tarr makes use of the great French epic, La Chanson de Roland, while drawing considerable background from Wagner’s opera Parsifal, itself inspired by the earlier epic poem Parzival of Wolfram von Eschenbach, which presents one version of Parzival’s quest for the Holy Grail

Tarr begins with the idea that Merlin, child of a human woman and a demon summoned by a powerful, evil, and near-immortal sorcerer, lives on in imprisonment and has, through the human enchantress Nimue, fathered the line that culminates in Roland, the greatest hero of Charlemagne’s court, and Roland’s adversary, the ancient sorcerer, has been trying for centuries to gain possession of the Grail. Foiled once before by Parsifal, brother to Nimue and trained by Merlin, the adversary is preparing to mount another assault on the Grail kingdom, a place no longer of this world, but still accessible through magic, known as Monsalvat.

The first part of the novel follows the basic plot of La Chanson de Roland, but the pivotal events are revisioned as steps in the struggle between the sorcerer – identified with the character of Ganelon from the Chanson – and Roland. In the second half of the novel, however, instead of dying with his companions at the battle of Roncesvalles, Roland is transported to Monsalvat where he is expected to prepare to lead the forces of the Grail Kingdom against the gathering armies of the ancient enemy that seeks to take the Grail and use its power for evil. Tarr brings these elements together into a most satisfying tale of heroic destinies and the great and everlasting battle between good and evil.

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One of my favourite fantasy writers (and yes, I have many favourite fantasy writers) is Judith Tarr, who for some strange reason has not achieved the popularity she so richly deserves. She writes both high fantasy and historical fantasy, and I believe she does so brilliantly.

I recently went back and read one of her very early works, the high fantasy Avaryan Rising trilogy, and started reading her later, second trilogy, Avaryan Resplendant set in the same universe - I still have one more book in that trilogy to locate and read. The books in the first trilogy are:

The Hall of the Mountain King
The Lady of Han-Gilad
A Fall of Princes

And the two I've read from the second trilogy are:

Arrows of the Sun
Spear of Heaven

Tarr is a very good writer. Her plots are often highly original, her characters are full, well-developed and and consistent, she often puts wonderful touches of humour into her books, her awareness of historical detail and all sociological, political and military possibilities of the kinds of cultures you find in both high and historical fantasy - pre-industrial theocracies, feudal monarchies, empires and the like - is profound (I think the PhD in history might help some there).

The first book in the Avaryan Rising series deals with the homecoming of Mirain, the child of a sungod and the long-lost heir to a small kingdom, as he struggles to assume political power in his long-deceased mother's home country and fights off the first of many adversaries he and his descendants will face - rival claimants to his throne who are worshipers of another deity (in this world, in addition to the standard kinds of secular magic, the gods are real and interact with their priests).

What is very interesting about the path of the first trilogy is that as time passes and we become more invested in the main character, Tarr starts giving us hints that all is not quite what it seems to be, and that we are not reading the standard hero fulfils his noble quest story. If the reader is perceptive, there's a line early in the first book that revels what is off-kilter, but it's not until the end of the first trilogy that we are fully shown Mirain's fatal flaw. Tarr puts a lot of focus on political intrigue, power struggles and the difficulties of integrating several very well-realized but very different civilizations into one political unit, but she shows this through the actions of her characters rather than telling us about it, letting us understand the upheavals of nations from the experiences of the people driving, and caught up in, all of this change.

There are several things I did not remember about the early books but now find very interesting. One is that Tarr was writing very positively in the late 1980s about same-sex relationships, and she has a very important protagonist in the third volume of the original trilogy who is magically transgendered. The other was that Tarr made her line of demigods dark-skinned, and all the early covers of her books show her protagonists as being white. This error has been corrected in the covers of the second trilogy, where the protagonists are shown as being multi-racial - which, given that Mirain and his successor marry people of other, lighter-skinned races, is just about right.

The second trilogy deals with Mirain's descendants, who by now rule half the planet and are investigating the unknown other half. The novels and their themes - or at least, the first two in the trilogy - are perhaps a little less complex in plot and theme than those of the first trilogy, but they are still fine examples of high fantasy.

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