This page - as may be somewhat obvious - is devoted to the media that's intrigued me most over the years. There are some books I read over and over, finding something new and amazing each time. There are movies that still make me cover my eyes, or squeal in delight, or cry. And there are the TV series I still laugh out loud at, discuss with friends and watch in good company.

In progress - last update; Feb 3rd 2005

Books

The Last Unicorn ~*~ The Wind on Fire Trilogy ~*~ Sabriel ~*~ A Song of Ice and Fire ~*~ The Discworld ~*~ The Virgin Suicides ~*~ The Tales of the Otori ~*~ The Black Jewels Trilogy

The Last Unicorn by Peter Beagle

Though this is categorised as a children's book, it's anything but. Full of lyrical description, this is a book that reads like the purest poetry, a seemingly simple story full of hidden meaning and complexity.

Described as gossamer-light and bittersweet, it is the story of the last unicorn, compelled to find out for herself if she is truly the last of her kind. In unravelling the mystery of her lost people, she encounters the enigmatic Schmendrick, a magician baffled by magic, the acidic Molly Grue, moruning her lost youth, and the irascible, sinister King Haggard.

Excerpt: Then, one afternoon the butterfly wobbled out of a breeze and lit on the tip of her horn. He was velvet all over, dark and dusty, with golden spots on his wings, and he was thin as a flower petal. Dancing along her horn, he saluted her with his curling feelers. "I am a roving gambler. How do you do?"

The unicorn laughed for the first time in her travels. "Butterfly, what are you doing out on such a windy day?" she asked him. "You'll take cold and die long before your time."

"Death takes what man would keep," said the butterfly, " and leaves what man would lose. Blow, wind, and crack your cheeks. I warm my hands before the fire of life and get four-way relief." He glimmered like a scrap of owl-light on her horn.

"Do you know what I am, butterfly?" the unicorn asked hopefully, and he replied. "Excellent well, you're a fishmonger. You're my everything, you are my sunshine, you are old and gray and full of sleep, you're my pickle-face, consumptive Mary-Jane." He paused, fluttering his wings against the wind and added conversationally, "Your name is a golden bell hung in my heart. I would break my body to pieces to call you once by name."

The Wind On Fire Trilogy by William Nicholson
I: The Wind Singer - II: Slaves of the Mastery - III: Firesong

Another children's series that carries a sweet, subtle and adult message, this trilogy follows the people of Manth, and their connections with the mysterious Singer people. Centering around Kestrel and Bowman Hath, two children who discovery extraordinary powers inside themselves, the series explores their relationships with their family, and their interaction within a society that deplores the unconventional - as the Hath family are.

This is a series that begins well, and becomes stronger and stronger. Though at first, these books may seem to weave the oft-told tale of good against evil, as the trilogy unwinds, the two begin to blur and merge, culminating in a story that is as complex as it is beautiful, one of those rare books to make your breath catch, your heart shiver, and tears fall - even as you smile.

Nicholson's writing is simple and vivid, unfolding his story in an almost cinematic manner. Full of memorable characters and lines, and written with grace and passion, these are a must-read.

Excerpt from Firesong: Kestrel knew her brother believed it was his destiny to join the Singer people, but she didn't understand how they could be parted.

We go together, she thought. We always go together.

Bowman heard her thought.

"I don't want to go. But I can't go on like this. You don't know what it's like."

"I feel it, a little."

She could feel the turmoil in him, his spirit a field of endless battle. Bowman was so open, he could resist nothing, he was like the sky, he absorbed all things. The nomad dreams of the Manth people, the fierce power of the Morah, the sweet wordless songs of Sirene, all swept the horizons of his mind, chasing each other like wind-broken clouds.

"I don't want to leave you," he said. "But I must be with them, when the time comes."

"And after?"

"There is no after. Not for me."

"Am I to go on without you?"

Don't ask. Forgive me.

As Kestrel received these unspoken words, she felt a movement against her skin, beneath the fabric of her shirt. It was the silver pendant she wore on a string round her neck, that had once been the voice of the wind singer. She had worn it so long she had almost forgotten it was there. Now it stirred and pressed on her chest, and felt warm, as if it was part of her. At the same time, as she sensed its familiar shape and weight, a door opened in her mind, a door she had not known existed. Through it she saw herself and Bowman together, just as they were now: but a little further away, in a time she knew had not yet taken place, she saw her brother without her, lost and heart-broken, calling her name.

He seemed so real and so lonely, that she called out to him with her mind.

I'll never leave you. Even if I seem to be gone, I won't be. I'll always be with you.

Sabriel by Garth Nix

Set in a world that seems a mix of medieval and early twentieth century England, Sabriel deals with the title character's quest to find her missing father, and take up her heritage as an Abhorsen, a necromancer who keeps the Dead at bay. Nix creates a powerful world, where Life and Death are more like two seperate countries than arbitrary concepts. Magic and mythology wind tightly around the story, which is surprisingly dark, but never resorts to cheap horror.

Sabriel first become aware her father is missing - perhaps dead - when a Dead creature, sent to her school, brings her his tools: a set of bells and a magical sword. As the new Abhorsen, Sabriel refuses to believe her father can be dead, and sets out into the Old Kingdom, her birthplace and a world where magic is dominant and modern techonology will not work, a land made dangerous after the slaughter of its ruling family led to the Dead infesting the countryside. In her travels, she comes across the extraordinary Mogget, the enigmatic Touchstone and her nemesis, the Dead sorcerer Kerrigor.

This book deals with many themes; magic versus science, the choice of family or duty, the ever-present struggle between the living and the dead among many more, all set against a fast-paced story. One quibble I do have with this is the characterisation; of the main characters, only Mogget the cat-shaped familiar of Abhorsen's family, stands out with his sharp, sassy comments and unknown past. However, the book remains worth reading simply for its originality and verve, and the sequels Lirael and Abhorsen are stronger books.

Excerpt: From Amazon.com

A Song of Ice and Fire by George R R Martin
I: A Game of Thrones - II: A Clash of Kings - III:A Storm of Swords - IV: A Feast for Crows

A six-book series still in the writing, Martin's Song of Ice and Fire is simply sublime. Set in a rich, mystical world loosely reminiscent of our own medieval times, this series follows the pathways of several characters through the battles for the throne of Westeros, a country split into seven kingdoms. Truly epic, what makes this story so wonderful, beyond the breadth of detail and the scope of the story, is the brilliant characters.

This is no clear-cut world of good and evil; everything is uncertain, from the loyalties of eadch person to the outcome of the wars. It's impossible to give any kind of detailed synopsis here, but the story begins with Eddard Stark (Ned) being asked to stand as the Hand of the King (read: second-in-command) after the previous incumbent's death. In trying to solve the last Hand's death, dealing with the trickery and deceit fo the court, and trying to protect his own family, Ned discovers a dark secret underlying the succession to the throne.

Obviously this cannot do justice to the books. Ranging from the high, icy mountains where dangerous undead called Others lurk, to the deserts across the sea where vast tribes of nomadic warriors sweep all before them, the scope is dazzling. Martin's plots are devastatingly well-written, unpredictable and have the ability to make the reader laugh, cry - and want to scream what are you doing, you idiot! at several of the characters. In fact, there is only one major flaw I can find with this series - it remains unfinished, and the wait between books agonising.

Excerpt: A sample from George R R Martin's own site

The Discworld Books by Terry Pratchett
Soul Music - Interesting Times - Jingo - Carpe Jugulum - Nightwatch - The Truth - Monstrous Regiment - Going Postal - The Amazing Maurice and His Educated Rodents

Terry Pratchett's Discworld has reached the status of automatic best-seller, largely due to his wonderful wry humour and shrewd insight. This long running comic fantasy series, now numbering thirty books, is set on a large disc-shaped world balanced on four elephants who in turn stand on the back of a giant turtle, and is full of magic, mystery and sheer madness.

These books are laugh-out-loud funny, sending up everything from the press to Conan the Barbarian with wit and elegance, but what makes them brilliant is Pratchett's grasp of human nature of every kind. Going Postal, the most recent book, centres around Moist von Lipwig, a confidence trickster given an unlikely reprieve from hanging by the ruler of Ankh-Morpork, the Discworld's largest and most chaotic city, in order to re-establish the city's defunct postal system. Aided by the grouchy, ambitious Mr Groat, and the plain weird Stanley, obsessed with pin-collecting (yes, really), Moist finds that the ghosts of the Post Office do not want to rest...

Excerpt:They say that the prospect of being hanged in the morning concentrates a man's mind wonderfully; unfortunately, what the mind inevitably concentrates on is that it is in a body that, in the morning, is going to be hanged.

The man going to be hanged had been named Moist von Lipwig by doting if unwise parents, but he was not going to embarrass the name, in so far as that was still possible, by being hung under it. To the world in general, and particularly on that bit of it known as the death warrant, he was Albert Spangler.

And he took a more positive approach to the situation and had concentrated his mind on the prospect of not being hanged in the morning, and most particularly on the prospect of removing all the crumbling mortar from around a stone in his cell wall with a spoon. So far the work had taken him five weeks, and reduced the spoon to something like a nail file. Fortunately, no one ever came to change the bedding here, or else they would have discovered the world's heaviest mattress.

It was the large and heavy stone that was currently the object of his attentions, and at some point a huge staple had been hammered into it as an anchor for manacles.

Moist sat down facing the wall, gripped the iron ring in both hands, braced his legs against the stones on either side, and heaved.

His shoulders caught fire and a red mist filled his vision but the block slid out, with a faint and inappropriate tinkling noise. Moist managed to ease it away from the hole and peered inside.

At the far end was another block, and the mortar around it looked suspiciously strong and fresh.

Just in front of it was a new spoon. It was shiny.

As he studied it, he heard the clapping behind him. He turned his head, tendons twanging a little riff of agony, and saw several of the warders watching him through the bars.

"Well done, Mr Spangler!' said one of them. 'Ron here owes me five dollars! I told him you were a sticker! He's a sticker, I said!'

'You set this up, did you, Mr Wilkinson?' said Moist weakly, watching the glint of light on the spoon.

'Oh, not us, sir. Lord Vetinari's orders. He insists that all condemned prisoners should be offered the prospect of freedom.'

'Freedom? But there's a damn great stone through there!'

'Yes, there is that, sir, yes, there is that,' said the warder. 'It's only the prospect, you see. Not actual free freedom as such. Hah, that'd be a bit daft, eh?'

'I suppose so, yes,' said Moist. He didn't say 'you bastards.' The warders had treated him quite civilly this past six weeks, and he made a point of getting on with people. He was very, very good at it. People skills were part of his stock-in-trade; they were nearly the whole of it.

Besides, these people had big sticks. So, speaking carefully, he added: 'Some people might consider this cruel, Mr Wilkinson.'

'Yes, sir, we asked him about that, sir, but he said no, it wasn't. He said it provided-' his forehead wrinkled '-occ-you-pay-shun-all ther-rap-py, healthy exercise, prevented moping and offered that greatest of all treasures which is Hope, sir.'

'Hope,' muttered Moist glumly.

'Not upset, are you, sir?'

'Upset? Why should I be upset, Mr Wilkinson?'

'Only the last bloke we had in this cell, he managed to get down that drain, sir. Very small man. Very agile.'

Moist looked at the little grid in the floor. He'd dismissed it out of hand.

'Does it lead to the river?' he said.

The warder grinned. 'You'd think so, wouldn't you? He was really upset when we fished him out. Nice to see you've entered into the spirit of the thing, sir. You've been an example to all of us, sir, the way you kept going. Stuffing all the dust in your mattress? Very clever, very tidy. Very neat. It's really cheered us up, having you in here. By the way, Mrs Wilkinson says ta very much for the fruit basket. Very posh, it is. It's got kumquats, even!'

'Don't mention it, Mr Wilkinson.'

'The Warden was a bit green about the kumquats 'cos he only got dates in his, but I told him, sir, that fruit baskets is like life: until you've got the pineapple off'f the top you never know what's underneath. He says thank you, too.'

'Glad he liked it, Mr Wilkinson,' said Moist absent-mindedly. Several of his former landladies had brought in presents for 'the poor confused boy', and Moist always invested in generosity. A career like his was all about style, after all.

'On that general subject, sir,' said Mr Wilkinson, 'me and the lads were wondering if you might like to unburden yourself, at this point in time, on the subject of the whereabouts of the place where the location of the spot is where, not to beat about the bush, you hid all that money you stole . . . ?'

The jail went silent. Even the cockroaches were listening.

The Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides

Surprisingly short, yet wonderfully written, this book - as the title suggests - follows the suicides of five sisters in one year. Unusually, it is written in the first person plural, remenbered by a group of boys who watched, obsessed over - and possibly loved - the girls from afar, trying to understand why the five killed themselves.

Full of dreamy nostalgia, despite its grim subject, Eugenides paints a golden picture of America in the 1970s, mingled with the curiously distant violence of the girls' deaths. Most alive of all the five is Lux, brash and lively, and it is she who strikes the deepest chord out of all the characters. There's a beauty to the writing that draws you into this world that might be too sugar-sweet and glowing, if not offset by the girls' deaths.

The best part of this book is that it doesn't offer any cast-iron reasons for suicide - the neighbourhood boys strive to understand, but fail in the end, yearning only for the girls they felt so deeply for. Subtle and complex, this isn't a book to make you cry, but rather one that will strike you at the oddest moments, to be mulled over again and again.

Excerpt: The first few pages on Amazon.com

The Tales of the Otori by Lian Hearn
I: Across the Nightingale Floor - II: Grass for his Pillow - III: The Brilliance of the Moon

Concise, elegant and quietly graceful, Hearn's trilogy is set in a world very alike to old-world Japan in etiquette and setting, but vastly different geographically, with a dash of magic and mystique that makes this trilogy a different - and intoxicating - read. We follow the viewpoints of Takeo, a young orphan adopted (controversially) by an aristocrat after the slaughter of his family, and Kaede, a highbred young woman held hostage and treated as a slave to ensure her family's compliance with the ruling tyrant.

Takeo becomes entangled with the mysterious Tribe, a family of startling skills - the ability to send people into slumber with a gaze, unnatural speed and senses - suiting the dangerous profession of assassinsation. Torn between his duty to his adopted family and to the intriguing Tribe - and later, to Kaede - Takeo struggles to find balance amid the warring families.

Kaede's story has less of the warrior-mystery about it, and more of the difficulties facing a woman caught between the all-powerful men and the strict lifestyle honour binds her to. While Takeo's story is full of fighting and strife, Kaede's is one of trying to escape the trappings of other people's expectations.

Both stories are set against a background of conflict - divdes between the poor and the rich, the skilled and unskilled, the mundane and arcane. The world is richly drawn and authentic; though I found often the minor characters had more verve than the two protagonists, particularly the 'villains' of the piece. The following two books are just as strongly written, and easily mature enough to surpass their YA status.

Excerpt: From Across the Nightingale Floor at Amazon.com

The Black Jewels Trilogy by Anne Bishop
I: Daughter of the Blood - II: Heir to the Shadows - III: Queen of the Darkness

This trilogy is a wealth of stunning ideas and memorable characters. It's a very all-or-nothing series - every character in this dark, brutal world is vibrant and opinionated, trying to find their place in the taut hierarchy of the Blood, people magically gifted. Into a world where dominance is exerted through fear and cruelty, Jaenelle is born; the incarnation of a legendary figure called Witch, greatest of the Blood.

The series follows Jaenelle's ascent to her powers, and the lives of the three men who are fated to protect her; Saetan, the ancient High Lord of Hell, Lucivar, the winged warrior and brother-figure to Jaenelle, and the sultry Daemon, who has waited a lifetime for Witch, his lover.

But make no mistake, this is an adult book, and Anne Bishop doesn't squirm away from violence, particularly sexual violence. This is a world ruled by the sensuous relationship between man and woman, and the results of this sometimes tender, sometimes destructive battle can be devastating.

This review explains it far better.

Excerpt: From Amazon.com