Saturday, 27 February 2016

Sweet Silver Blues re-read

(Originally posted on Sunday, 21 December 2014)

My original rating: 10/10
My final rating: 10/10

Re-reading Sweet Silver Blues was as enjoyable as reading it for the first time. A perfect book.

I must admit that the beginning of the novel is not THAT great, but the story gets better and better with every chapter, just like in The Black Company novel. And just like in The Black Company novel there is a HUGE amount of action. Sweet Silver Blues is an example of Glen Cook at his best. Here are my favourite quotes:

    Bam! Bam! Bam!
    „Go the hell away!” I yelled. It left my head feeling like an egg that had just bounced off the edge of a frying pan. I wondered if I ought to feel the back to see if the yolk was leaking, but it seemed like too much work. I'd just go ahead and die.

    (…) Why do they always do this? They bring you in to handle a problem, then lie about it or hide it from you. But they never stop screaming for results.

    The place went silent when I stepped inside. I ignored an arsenal's worth of death-looks as I limped to the alleged bar. Morley's barman gave me once-over. He grinned, revealing pointy darkelf teeth. „You have a knack for making people mad at you, Garrett.”
    „You ought to see the other guy.”
    „I did. He came in for some sprouts. Wasn't a scratch on him.”
    Conversations picked up behind me. The barman was being as friendly as darkelves ever are. That made me a marginally acceptable lower life-form, presence tolerated. Like that of a beer-drinking dog in a human tavern.

    He cocked his head and looked at me like a bird looking at a new kind of bug. “Death wish. Suicidal tendencies. Know what causes that, Garrett? Diet. That's right. Your meat-heavy human diet. You need more roughage. You don't get enough roughage, your bowels tighten up. When your bowels tighten up you get these dangerous, self-destructive mood swings ...”
    “Somebody is going to get his bowels loosened up. You had to go and throw somebody through my window, didn't you?”

    Bam! Bam! Bam!
    Morning is wonderful. Its only drawback is that it comes at such an inconvenient time of day. A time when the early birds of the world are aflame with their mission of bringing the joys of dawn-watching to the nations. And to me in particular.

    “I'd invite you in if you'd fit,” I said. One is polite to grolls at all times, irrespective of one's prejudices. Otherwise one finds oneself reassuring one's attitude while being squished between warty green toes.

    Dotes said, “Keep Dojango away from the juice and he'll do all right.”
    Everyone knows breeds cannot handle their booze. Dojango's grin became apologetic.

    This old universe hasn't got one notion of the meaning of the world mercy where I'm concerned. I just got to snoozing when the door began shivering like a drumhead again.
    “Going to have to do something about this,” I muttered as I hit the floor. “Like maybe move and not tell anybody.”

    Horses. They are one of the little unpleasantnesses to be endured during any lengthy journey. Unless you want to walk. Morley Dotes had high praise for that sort of exercise, which meant it hurt. Personally, I have very little interest in voluntarily inflicting pain or discomfort upon myself.
    “Three, four months is a far piece out and back. Where you going?” He was headed for his stable, where a whole clan of four-legged assassins awaited my advent with malice bubbling in their blood.
    We entered the digs of their satanic majesties the horses. Twenty pair of big brown evil eyes turned my way. I could almost hear them sizing me up in their secret language, plotting misery.
    “This is Thunderbolt,” Playmate said, indicating a big black stallion with wicked teeth. “A spirited animal. Partly battle-trained.”
    Playmate shrugged, moved on to a roan. “How about Hurricane, here? Fast and smart and a little unpredictable. Like you. You should get along great. Complementary personalities.”
    “No. And no Storm, no Fury, no nothing with a fire-breathing name to live up to. I want an old mare on her last legs with a name like Daffodil and a temperament to match.”

    “He said (…) was killed during the Venageti thing. Not by the Venageti.”
    “An imprecision due entirely to laziness, no doubt.”
    “Probably. But that's the kind of detail you keep an ear out for. Sometimes they add up to a picture people don't know they're giving you, like brush-strokes add up to a painting.”

    I raised an eyebrow. I do that very well. It's one of my outstanding talents.

    A thought occurred to me. That happens occasionally. He saw it spark.

    Somehow, as we approached, the second vampire broke loose. It hit the ground, then hurled itself through the air in one of those hundred-foot bounds that have led the ignorant to believe they can fly.

No comments:

Post a Comment