#oneaday Day 437: Reflecting on the Talents duology

The other night, I finished reading through Master of Fiends, Douglas Hill's sequel to Blade of the Poisoner. This is a book I've read fewer times than Blade of the Poisoner, since I didn't have my own copy of it growing up, but I remember liking it nonetheless.

Taken as a pair, Blade of the Poisoner and Master of Fiends make for some entertaining, uncomplicated and undemanding fantasy that I am pleased to report was almost as enjoyable today as it was when I was a kid. The breezy young adult-level writing makes the whole thing remarkably quick to zip through — particularly as both volumes are quite short in and of themselves — but it doesn't feel especially "dumbed down" or "childish". There's a good, dramatic tone to the narration — towards the end of Master of Fiends I found myself internally voicing the narrator as the late Tony Jay, which added immeasurably to the experience and makes me sad we'll never hear him do an audiobook reading of these — and the characters, although straightforward and somewhat archetypal, are all likable.

I realise in my past musings on these books, I haven't really talked about the details of their narratives. So here we go, then.

In Blade of the Poisoner, we're introduced to our protagonist: 12 year old Jarral, who is out hunting in the Wellwood, when he comes into contact with a veritable giantess of a woman named Archer that he has, over the years, struck up something of a friendship with. Before long, Jarral discovers that his village has been destroyed by Prince Mephtik, better known as the Poisoner, and he flees the Wellwood with Archer — or at least attempts to, though before long he and his gigantic companion are captured by Mephtik and his monstrous spiders.

During their captivity, Mephtik opts to use his "favourite toy", a magic sword known as the Tainted Blade. It is said that a single scratch from this sword is fatal, with the recipient of the wound dropping dead (or, more accurately, pretty much magically burning to death) when the moon next turns full. It is nearly a full month before the moon is next full, and Mephtik makes it clear that he intends for Jarral to be in his captivity when the time comes, so he can watch the young boy die.

He doesn't get the chance, though, because before long two more of our central heroes enter the picture after being sent to the Wellwood by the mysterious wizard Cryltaur Tabbetang (Cryl to his friends): the blind warrior Scythe, and the fifteen year old Lady Mandragorina, or Mandra for short. Between them — and through judicious use of their mental powers known as Talents, which Cryl trained them in — they manage to free Jarral and Archer, escaping from the Wellwood and getting well clear of Mephtik and his beasts before they can pursue.

There is, of course, a problem that remains, which is that Jarral has been marked by the Tainted Blade, and will thus die in a month's time unless both the Blade and its wielder are destroyed. That sure sounds like an epic quest to me! And, sure enough, things unfold pretty much as you expect — though at kind of a breakneck pace compared to some other works of fantasy fiction.

There's not a lot of getting bogged down in the details of travelling, Hobbit songs or whatever; it's remarkably soon that the party finds themselves looking upon the city of Xicanti, where Mephtik has his stronghold, and a few chapters after that where, between them, they have defeated Mephtik in a thematically appropriate manner, defeated a Greater Demon using the Tainted Blade — which, conveniently, destroyed it in the process — and decided that rather than going home to celebrate, it would probably be a good idea to go after the world's Big Bad, a "thou shalt not speak his name" evil sorcerer known variously as the Demon-Driver or, you guessed it, the Master of Fiends, particularly as said Big Bad has kidnapped Cryl and promises to keep him alive for an "eternity of torment" or some such equivalent gesture.

Master of Fiends picks up almost immediately after Blade of the Poisoner after the party's second journey is underway. All of them are still present, including Jarral, who, during the climactic battles of Blade of the Poisoner, discovered he had the extremely rare Talent of being able to summon the powerful forces of nature that are Elementals: one of the few Talents that can stand up to honest-to-goodness demons, because demons are weakened and even paralysed with fear in the sheer presence of an Elemental. However, Jarral, being just twelve years old and having had no training in his Talent, is not entirely able to control his ability to everyone's complete satisfaction, so part of the running theme of Master of Fiends is Jarral quickly having to grow up and figure things out under, at times, extreme duress.

Throughout both books, Jarral is very obviously the teenage reader's wish-fulfilment character. Despite being unremarkable and inept, he has The Most Powerful Thing, and he's also the centre of the universe so far as the narrative of Blade of the Poisoner is concerned. As a young reader, I remember feeling like I was supposed to almost "inhabit" the role of Jarral, particularly when it came to his growing feelings towards Mandra — feelings that, I would note, are shot down in flames at the end of Master of Fiends due to the age gap between the pair of them, but with a whiff of hope that when they're both "grown up" something might be able to happen between them, maybe, possibly. I recall feeling a bit put out at that part of the ending when I was younger, but looking at it now, it does make a certain amount of sense, and means that none of us had to sit through any particularly awkward pre-pubescent romance scenes.

One could probably pick many faults with both Blade of the Poisoner and Master of Fiends. We don't learn much — if anything — about the background of any of the characters, for one thing, though I actually found this didn't really matter all that much in the grand scheme of things. The most backstory we get is when Scythe is introduced early in Blade of the Poisoner, and we discover he's been making his living using his ability to "see without sight" (and his formidable weapon-handling skills that come with it) to act as a juggler. We learn nothing about Archer, including why she is regarded as a "giantess"; similarly, we don't learn all that much about Mandra, either, just that she is from a noble background, unlike the others.

It might have been nice to learn a bit more about all the characters — particularly in an epilogue, as Master of Fiends does feel like it ends rather abruptly — but, as I say, these two books weren't really trying to be the next Lord of the Rings. They were just trying to tell an interesting, exciting and accessible story for young adults, and the many holes one can pick in their respective narratives and the overall settings don't get in the way of them achieving that goal. I came away from rereading both feeling vindicated at my longstanding fond memories of them both, and glad that I had taken the time (very little time, as it happened) to reread them as an adult.

So while they're not classics of great literature or anything, nor are they in any way the most amazing pieces of fantasy fiction you'll ever read, they were both perfectly enjoyable — and probably a good introduction to the genre for younger readers who are up to handling the more "horrifying" aspects of both narratives. Perhaps a fun exercise sometime could be to imagine what happened next for these characters, since sadly Hill, having passed away in 2007, is no longer around to do it for us.


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#oneaday Day 429: Past poisonous pleasures

After finishing Jane Eyre, I find myself pondering what I might want to read next. At the moment I am torn between wanting to keep my sufficiently "Victorian-calibrated" reading mind in practice by reading something else from the 19th century — I have several things in mind, including things that are both new and familiar to me — and wanting to read something simple, straightforward and, let's be honest, dumb.

There's a certain appeal to reading something that is well below your ability level. I'm obviously not talking about regressing to See Spot Run or suchlike, but returning to what tends to be lumped under the all-expansive "YA" (Young Adult) umbrella today offers a compelling prospect. Not only are titles from this particular part of the literary sphere easy to read, they also tend to be short, which, after ploughing through Jane Eyre (which had been formatted incorrectly on Kindle so it only displayed the amount of reading time remaining in the book rather than in your current chapter as it is supposed to) is definitely appealing.

One pair of books I'm actually quite interested to return to is Douglas Hill's Poisoner duology, which consists of Blade of the Poisoner and Master of Fiends. These were probably some of my earliest exposure to fantasy fiction, and I remember absolutely loving them as a kid. Well, more accurately, I loved Blade of the Poisoner; I never had my own copy of Master of Fiends, though I believe my friend Matthew had a copy that I borrowed on more than one occasion. I definitely read it at least once.

Blade of the Poisoner is fairly traditional, unremarkable fantasy with a touch of childish wish-fulfilment in there. The protagonist is a 12 year old boy called Jarral who, in fantasy novel tradition, grew up as a country bumpkin. Through certain misadventures, the details of which I forget, Jarral becomes marked by Prince Mephtik's magic blade; specifically, he gets a big letter "M" carved on his chest, and the nature of Mephtik's blade means that anyone given so much as a scratch with it will die on the next full moon, hence his colloquial name, "The Poisoner". You probably see where this is going.

Blade of the Poisoner does indeed go exactly where you expect it to, but that's what made it appeal to me as a kid. I enjoyed the simple, straightforward fantasy story of good versus evil, and even though I knew things were almost certainly going to be all right for the good guys by the end of proceedings, I still enjoyed reading it. Blade of the Poisoner, I recall, stood quite well by itself, but Master of Fiends was a solid sequel that raised the stakes somewhat.

I also remember being quite taken with the descriptions of the Lady Mandragorina as a kid; from what I recall, she was a pretty young woman around a similar age to Jarral (and me, when I was reading the book) and… well, there was definitely some teenage wish fulfilment going on there. These days, I suspect the formidable figure of Archer may have some appeal for me, from what I remember of her powerful thighs and suchlike.

Sorry, where was I? Oh, right. Yes. I think I might actually re-read Blade of the Poisoner (and possibly Master of Fiends also) if it's available on Kindle (it is!) and see how well it holds up to my old, jaded eyes. And then I'll jump back into some sort of Victoriana. Maybe.

Aside: The cover for the Kindle version sucks. Look at this low-effort photoshoot of a dude in an anorak in someone's back garden:

And compare, if you will, to the cover of the version I grew up with:

Yeah. C'mon. That's more like it.


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#oneaday Day 379: I watched A Good Girl's Guide to Murder

After enjoying Shakespeare & Hathaway: Private Investigators recently, I found myself hankering after another murder mystery type thing, and BBC iPlayer was good enough to recommend a show called A Good Girl's Guide to Murder, which sounded intriguing. I hadn't heard of the show before but I liked the premise and it sounded like an interesting contrast to the somewhat comedic tone of Shakespeare & Hathaway, so I took a chance on it.

A couple of days later, I've finished watching the full series of six episodes, and I really enjoyed it, so I thought I'd talk about it a bit today.

A Good Girl's Guide to Murder is apparently based on a novel of the same name by Holly Jackson. Specifically, it's an adaptation of the first novel in a series of three and a bit — I say this because the last one is described as a "novella" rather than a "novel" — and it looks as if the show has been renewed for a second season, so presumably the plan, long-term, is to adapt the whole series.

The premise of the show is that A-grade and possibly autistic student Pip is preparing for university admissions, and part of this process involves the preparation of an "EPQ" — an Extended Project Qualification, which some students in England and Wales do to add to their "UCAS Points" total. I'd never heard of this, as it was introduced after my time in the classroom as both student and teacher, but apparently it adds up to about half an A-level points-wise. But I digress.

Pip decides to do her EPQ on a notorious local incident in which a young woman named Andie Bell went missing and was assumed to have been murdered, but her body was never found. Her boyfriend at the time, Sal Singh, was assumed to be the murderer because he was found to have committed suicide shortly after Andie went missing, but something didn't seem right to Pip. She starts investigating and — spoilers, I guess — eventually brings the full truth of the situation to light, though not without encountering numerous roadblocks and a lot of soul-searching along the way.

Being a 17 year old girl, Pip doesn't go about her investigation as a policeman or private detective would. Instead, she engages in the sort of subterfuge only a teenage girl is capable of, aided and abetted in most circumstances by Sal's brother Ravi, who also has doubts about whether his brother was really a murderer. Over the course of the series, she breaks into houses, steals evidence, attends illicit raves, puts herself in mortal peril on multiple occasions and somehow manages to survive the whole experience.

It's very much a "suspension of disbelief" kind of show, because a lot of things just sort of seem to work out quite conveniently for Pip, and there are several instances where she almost gets caught and could quite clearly have been collared after the fact, but manages to escape any real consequences. But once you're immersed in the show, none of this really matters, because it's a really fun ride; you root for the plucky Pip as she repeatedly gets into things well over her head, and come out cheering for her when she finally manages to uncover something missed when the case was originally investigated.

Part of Pip not suffering any real consequences for the things she does stems from the "Good Girl" part of the title; Pip is renowned as a good girl, a straight-A student and someone who has always been well-behaved and sensible. As such, she can get away with a lot of things, even when her parents expressly forbid her from continuing to work on the case on the grounds that it's dangerous and threatens to dredge up terrible memories for several local families.

Towards the end of the series, the show really gets into this theme in a somewhat literary manner: the concept that someone can appear to be a "good person" on the outside, but actually harbour darkness in their heart. Exactly what form this "darkness" can take varies from person to person; in Pip's case, it manifests both through her willingness to flout the "rules" of society to get the job done, and her own sense of guilt over the past. She believes that a chance encounter shortly before Andie's disappearance may have indirectly been a catalyst for all this, so part of her initially altruistic-seeming investigation is to absolve herself of that guilt.

In the case of other characters, the darkness is more obvious. One character, crucial to the eventual outcome of the case, describes himself as being fundamentally a "good person" but having a "dark seed" inside himself; he believes that everyone has such a "seed" inside themselves, and it just takes "the right conditions for it to grow". In his case, it most certainly did grow, leading him to commit unforgivable, unconscionable acts — though to his credit, once he's caught he does appear to be legitimately remorseful — and surprise everyone around him that he was capable of such things.

I don't want to get too much into the details of the story because I think it's worth watching and the twists and turns of the narrative are, of course, part of the appeal. So instead I'll talk a bit about the overall presentation of the show, which is excellent.

The visual direction is striking and dynamic; no scene is truly static, and the show makes great use of close-ups to highlight both characters' emotions and the danger and discomfort Pip finds herself in when getting a little too close to the truth. The actors are all very well-cast — Emma Myers as Pip is particularly excellent, as one would hope for the lead — and manage to nail a feeling of realistic diversity without feeling tokenistic. This is relevant, because matters of racism do play a part in the narrative; as Ravi points out, as enlightened as we might wish we all were, the fact is that certain types of people — particularly middle-class people who live in a small, affluent town — are inclined to believe that a "brown boy" (as he puts it) might not have the best interests of a "blonde white girl" at heart.

The show isn't obnoxious about this message; it only brings it up a couple of times, and it is a worthwhile contemporary talking point. The sort of small town in which the majority of the narrative unfolds is the kind that would be inextricably associated with white, middle-class England, but Pip in particular, as a thoroughly modern Good Girl, is above such things. Part of this is down to the fact that her mother married a Nigerian man after Pip's biological father passed away when she was just a year old, and as such, she has always been exposed to the idea of diversity and tolerance on a daily basis. But it's also a reflection of the modern youth: conscious of social issues, aware that society still has problems, and open about wanting to do their part in making things a little bit better.

Where the show is really striking, though, is in its use of music. There's a lot of contemporary music used on the soundtrack, and it is often used to emphasise powerfully emotional moments; it's always very loud compared to the relatively quiet dialogue sequences, though, making for an attention-grabbing contrast between the more personal, intimate moments and the bigger picture of what is going on.

The contemporary popular music is contrasted with an excellent original score that highlights the tension of numerous scenes, in some cases mimicking "sound effects" to reflect what is going on. During a sequence where Pip's beloved dog Barney goes missing, for example, the soundtrack makes use of a somewhat "sonar"-style motif to reflect the search that is going on; initially, it's almost hard to determine whether the sound is diegetic or not, but as the texture of the track builds up as the tension increases, it becomes clear that it's part of the overall soundscape of the show.

I really enjoyed A Good Girl's Guide to Murder overall. After finishing one episode, I was keen to immediately watch the next, and I must confess I have spent my whole morning watching the final three episodes because I really wanted to see how things turned out. It's compelling, well-crafted and exceedingly well-presented viewing, and while it's perhaps not particularly realistic if you stop to think about things too much, it doesn't take long for that to cease mattering and for you to be drawn in to the narrative.

Yes, it may primarily be aimed at teens — it was a BBC Three show, after all — but don't let that put you off if you're a little older and still enjoy a good murder mystery. I found myself thinking as I watched that it would make a good anime, and I think that's testament to what makes it good — like the best anime series, it's a show that all ages can get something out of; it doesn't talk down to its core audience, and it doesn't feel cringeworthy and insincere to older viewers.

Definite recommend, then. Here's hoping that second series materialises!


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