Placeholder for eventual review following publication.

Something has gone terribly wrong in Terrielle, and the Blood who was meant to nurture the Realm is instead ruining it, having become a perversion of their true nature under the rule of Dorothea SaDiablo and her lackeys. Strong Queens who dare oppose her are destroyed by the males who should have been protecting them, but who fear slavery and the Ring of Obedience so much that they go against their strongest instincts. The only hope which remains is that Witch will return, but many of those who should be waiting and hoping for her arrival are instead fearful of it, even to the point of wishing that the living myth, she who is dreams made flesh, will never return.

But for Daemon Sadi, called the Sadist, there is no doubt about he hopes for. The promise of her return is all that has kept him on the right side of sanity over the last centuries of slavery under Dorothea SaDiablo. That and his concern for his half-Eyrien half-brother, Lucivar, the only means through which—beyond the Ring of Obedience—that the corrupted Queens of Terrielle can hope to control a black-jeweled Warlord Prince. What he doesn’t realize is that someone else has also waited long for the return of Witch, so long that to most of the Blood he has become little more than a greatly feared legend, ruling the Dark Realm as the High Lord of Hell. For him, Witch is the promised daughter of his soul, and he is prepared to do just about anything to protect her.

Daughter of the Blood is wonderfully dark and erotic, as well as at times quite disturbing. It is certainly not for the faint of heart, and is probably best read by a somewhat mature reader as well as someone who appreciates the strong influences from the romance genre (especially the Regency romances). However, it is by no means your typical romance. In the world Bishop has created the dark, sensual and dangerous heroes are natural results of the almost animalistic social structure that lies at the heart of the Blood’s society—they are quite literally alpha males.

A Companion to Wolves, a collaboration between Sarah Monette and Elizabeth Bear, is set in a harsh, northern land were men bonded to huge wolves defend their lands and their wolfless kin from great trolls and wyverns. But the wolfbrothers are not well regarded by the wolfless, not the least because the bonding between man and wolf is so close that when the wolves mate, so do the men—with each other. Njall, a jarl’s son, is chosen as tithe to the wolfbrothers, but his father resents him for going and Njall himself is anything but certain about his choice. At first, his sense of honour is what keeps him at the wolfheall. Then, as Viradechtis is born, love for his wolfsister becomes the force that holds his new life together and helps him cope with the demands of his new position. And at the same time, the threat from the trolls worsens, escalating into a conflict that seems set to lead to the destruction of one side or the other.

Before I started on the book, I considered for a while if books that set out to comment on other books should be approached in a particular way. Is it best to be aware of the stated purpose of the book? Is it best to have read the books being commented on? In most cases, it seems like either of these circumstances would make a difference to how one perceives the book. I know, for example, that Jacquline Carey’s The Sundering duology was poorly received by some people who did not know that it was a purposeful rewrite of the basic ideas in Tolkien and simply took it for a badly disguised rip-off.

In this case, I have to say that it didn’t matter much what I knew when I started the book, because the pleasure of the reading experience took over entirely. The writing flows very well and the pacing of the book is just right, so it did not take me long to be entirely caught up in Njall’s/Isolfr’s life together with the wolves and the wolfbrothers. From time to time, I did make a mental note of things that in some way paralleled or reworked elements from Pern, but those mental notes became fewer and fewer the further I read. And on the whole, that is how I prefer it. I don’t mind books that make me think (Guy Gavriel Kay wouldn’t be my favourite author if that was the case), but I read for pleasure first and foremost, so I prefer it if the thoughts provoked aren’t prodded to rise beyond simmering at the back of my head.

Note: After reading a brief response to this review by Elizabeth Bear, as well as some comments about the book on her website, I have reworked this latter half of the review somewhat.

Since finishing the book, I’ve discussed it extensively with Elio as well as on the board. Both Elio and I are in agreement that its a great story and a very good take on the animal companion concept in fantasy. However, we had (from reading some comments by the author) been left with the impression that their intent was to some degree to shock readers, and we did not feel that the story was all that provocative or subversive. Now, I agree that we probably misinterpreted their comments to some degree, though it remains true for us that we see the book mainly as doing the animal companion story very well compared to certain other attempts, and so we see the improvement and not the deconstruction as its strongest point. Our discussions on the matter did lead to an agreement on the fact that by, for example, having a male protagonist in a role where most readers would expect a female can make you consider the scenario more carefully than if the cliché was presented with the standard ingredients. So, in that sense, playing with reader expectations can be an effective tool for provoking thought and deconstructing the story to the smaller components by making the reader take notice of these.

Of course, this is probably most effective when readers are shocked to find that their expectations are not met or when something for them quite discomforting happens. In this case, neither I nor Elio were shocked. We found it interesting, not the least since it introduced complexities not found in all animal companion stories (but we would both argue that there are some other very good such stories out there, so we don’t feel it is a genre that is particularly poorly represented), but initially we were left thinking that our reactions were far from what the writers seemed to have expected. Yes, parts of the story could be called uncomfortable in that they did not flinch from dealing with the harsh realities of the man-wolf bond, but they were not uncomfortable in the sense that we thought ‘this is so wrong’. The reality they portrayed was harsh, but it was the reality of the setting, and we accepted it.

None of this, however, is a problem with the story. If we had been unaware of any of the discussions surrounding the book, we would simply have said ‘wow’ and then this review would have focused entirely on how compelling the story is, with its interesting setting (you don’t get a lot of good fantasy in a Norse setting, so that’s another big plus for it), strong characters and realistic ideas for how an animal companion bond could work out given these circumstances.