Top reads for 2014

Okay, if I have to have a list of my absolute top ten favourite books for 2014, this would be it. Bear this in mind, however, that many of these books were not published in 2013 or 2014. In fact, some of them are decades old, and I make no apologies. Some of these are rereads, but for what it’s worth, they stand out for me as the books I enjoyed the most for the year past.

Sister-Sister by Rachel Zadok
If I have to name one book that completely blew me out of the water, it’s Sister-Sister. Rachel’s prose sings, and there’s a really good reason why I stand by my statement that she’s the secret love child of Poppy Z Brite and Nick Cave. Sister-Sister is part surreal dreamscape, part ghost story, part tragedy. It’s not a story that will settle in a convenient box.

The Lies of Locke Lamora by Scott Lynch
Scott’s writing style put me off a bit as he does a third-person skirting around omniscient, but hell, the sheer cleverness of the writing, the plot twists, the world building … that all conspired to have me in Scott's thrall. The Lies of Locke Lamora gets off to a slow start but patient readers are rewarded by a thrilling conclusion. I honestly could not imagine how Locke would get out of his bind.


Assassin’s Apprentice by Robin Hobb
This is part of my desire to revisit Fitz’s world. I was completely swept away by Robin’s writing when I was a teen, and her world has lost none of its magic. In fact, I was alive to far more nuances than ever before. Seriously, I can’t wait to dip further into the trilogy. Robin doesn’t pull any punches, and her characters go through hell. And triumphs are bittersweet.




Fulfillments of Fate and Desire by Storm Constantine
Since I’m now writing for Storm’s Wraeththu Mythos, it stands to reason that I need to actually *read* the books. The Devil knows I’ve been threatening to all these years. But Storm’s writing is to be savoured, and I suspect I’ve been holding back because I’m scared of running out of her words. There’s a reason why she’s one of my all-time favourite authors.

Emperor of Thorns by Mark Lawrence
Mark is wicked. He has a way with words, and I was also really sorry to hit the end of his Broken Empire trilogy that features the doings of our young friend Jorg. Yet this is a fitting conclusion to the saga of the young prince who would be emperor. The pace is cracking, and Jorg’s somewhat astute observations make for some rather dark humour and uncanny wisdom for one so young in a broken world.

Darkspell by Katherine Kerr
Another reread for me. Katherine Kerr remains a firm favourite, and I’m gradually working my way through her Deverry Cycle in its proper order. She combines Celtic mythology in a fantasy setting, with reincarnation as a theme with strong pagan leanings. Truly, she’s also one of the reasons why I hold by my love of the fantasy genre. There is love without the romance being overbearing, as well as thrilling adventure, mystery and battles. What’s not to love?


Fletcher by David Horscroft
Technically this book shouldn’t be on this list, since I did the proofreading for the manuscript before it went to print. But I loved the book so much, and it was so thrilling and nasty, that I have become *that* friend who gifts copies to other friends via Amazon just to force them to read it. This is a blood-drenched post-apocalyptic kick-ass thriller featuring my new favourite psychopath. Also, I worry about David. A lot. But he’s a great guy. Really.

The Other Me by Suzanne van Rooyen
Suzanne van Rooyen writes YA like it’s supposed to be: with a gritty, authentic voice. In this novel, she explores gender identity in such a way that made me hurt so much for the characters. Beautiful, beautiful writing, that stands head and shoulders above nearly all the YA fiction I’ve read in years.

Queen’s Hunt by Beth Bernobich
I must thank Cat Hellisen for introducing me to Beth’s writing. (For good measure, do go grab Cat's books while you're at it.) I still haven’t gotten round to reading the third in Beth's epic, but what I can say is that this is solid fantasy that delivers. There’s magic, intrigue and whiffs of reincarnation, as the characters navigate a dangerous path. I’d recommend this to folks who enjoy Robin Hobb.

The City by Stella Gemmell
Last, but not least, I have to mention The City. It was not an easy book but hell, its sheer magnitude was something else. The real star was not so much the people who inhabited the City, but rather the City itself, built layer upon layer, and stuffed to the eaves with secrets. Some might find the emphasis on the setting rather than narrative tedious but I just loved every last bit of description.

On my desk... December 11

These two landed on my desk this morning and I'm looking forward to cracking them open. Am currently reading The Emerald Atlas by John Stephens, Mark of the Gladiator by Heidi Belleau and Violetta Vane, Prince of Thorns by Mark Lawrence, and The Pirate Queen Queen Elizabeth I, Her Pirate Adventurers, and the Dawn of Empire by Susan Ronald.

Edit: Oh, I forgot to add that I'm also FINALLY getting round to reading The Mists of Avalon by Marion Zimmer Bradley. Yes. Shake your head. I really don't care. 

Yes. I know I suffer from OH LOOK BRIGHT-SHINY...

Authors and publishers are more than welcome to approach me to do book reviews (email nerinedorman@gmail.com). I post to Amazon, Goodreads and run reviews here on my blog. Occasionally I will review for the Pretoria News, The Star and Cape Argus.

I'm more than happy to conduct author interviews or host you on my blog if you have a new release if your book piques my interest. Preferred genres are fantasy (dark and urban), horror and science fiction, though I do occasionally roam into the realms of erotica and paranormal romance.

My mom’s one of the people I blame for my love of books and writing. She was a school teacher, and some of my earliest memories are of sitting in her classes during the afternoons when I was done with preschool. My favourite class was English, and I’d listen to her teach while I drew on bits of paper. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but often when my mom asked the kids a question I was the only one to put up my hand with a correct answer. I was five at the time. She was teaching Grade 6s.

So, yeah, it would appear that my knack with language is largely thanks to my mom, and we still spend hours chatting about the written word. She’s also the only member of my family with whom I can discuss my writing. Apart from my dad, who also used to be a school teacher, the rest are pretty much functionally illiterate.

When I was little, my parents would often take me on long hikes in the mountains, and one of the ways in which my mom distracted me from the distance or my sore feet was to tell me stories. One such story was about a young boy, about my own age then (six), who got lost in the woods and was looked after by a badger. She remembers wishing she could find that book again but had, sadly, forgotten the title and the author’s name. One of the children at the school where she was teaching loved that story so much he stole the book before she could finish reading it to the class.

My mom and I had also gone to the library in a bid to find the story, and asked the librarian if she could help. She had no idea what the book’s title was and that’s where the matter rested for almost twenty years. Today I received a phonecall from my mom and we spoke about that book. I was at my desk so I suggested we run a few searches online.

My mom gave me what she thought was the author’s surname, and I had some fun with Google and Amazon. Nothing came up. Then I typed in “badgers in fiction”. Lo and behold, www.whatsthatbook.com came up as one of the search results. It’s an online community dedicated to helping people find their long-lost books and the Google search had dug up, “children’s/young adult novel about a young boy who falls into a badger hole, is injured and subsequently cared for by the mother badger inhabiting the hole.”

When I read that blurb out to my mom she yelled with joy. We’d found our book: Incident at Hawk’s Hill by Allan W Eckert. Because I love supporting independent bookshops, I mailed the Book Lounge right away and they’ve put it on order. It’ll be here in two weeks.

This is one of those niggling little life stories that has a happy ending. My mother had remembered the book with such fondness and it really made my day to help her rediscover it. I can’t wait to read the whole story myself. I’d love to know what some of your book mysteries are.

An author's temple is her library

As an author and editor, with a day job, a big gripe I have is that I no longer have much, if any, time for reading. Oh, I read all right. I read submissions, I proofread, I study... but for pleasure? Nah. If I'm lucky, I snatch an hour or so on the train every day, when I'm not writing or chatting with friends. Sometimes I'm lucky and get to read for a whole hour on a weekend when my husband decides to hog the computer. That's if we're not rushing about madly after his photo- or film-shoots.

If 2009 was anything to go by, it's set the tone for 2010. I need to find balance. Sure, I love what I do and this year I'll be trying to work even harder than the last, but I need to be able to indulge in the activity that got me into this predicament in the first place: my love of books.

It all started when I was a wee lass of about five or so. My mom used to teach at a primary school in the seaside village of Hout Bay. My pre-school was across the way from her place of work, and every afternoon I'd sit patiently in her classes (she taught the Grade 6s) and wait for her to finish so we could go home.

(This is possibly also another reason why I could read and write better than most brats my age, thanks Mum!)

Sitting in a classroom watching my mum teach soon lost its appeal. A few other teachers had younglings my age and we sometimes ranged about the school for hours on end, catching all sorts of mischief, but they weren't always there, so I had to find some other sort of entertainment.

That's when I discovered the library. The Thomas Library (as it was called then) was in the same block as my pre-school. I'm not quite sure how I discovered it, but when I did, I pestered my mum to let me spend the afternoons there helping the librarian pack away books.

Even though my reading wasn't all that great, I loved paging through the books, trying to string together words and examining the illustrations or photographs. I spent almost every afternoon in the library, a habit that continued well into my teens, although not with as much frequency, since I'd started checking out books instead.

The saddest development over the past few years since I've started writing and editing professionally, is that I'd stopped going to the library. Besides, even if I did check out books, I never had time to read them anyway. With so many books at home sitting on my "to read" pile, it didn't make sense to still use the library.

What I didn't realise is that I'd been missing out on what can possibly described as one of the most spiritual aspects of being a wordsmith. The library was my temple, and I was so far off the path I didn't realise my absolute thirst for knowledge and inspiration.

I work in Cape Town's CBD, and for many years the central library was hosted within the labyrinthine City Hall, with several floors and a series of pokey, stuffy rooms choked with shelves. Although fun to visit, I was rarely stayed long to browse mainly because the building made me feel claustrophibic.

Imagine my delight when I decided to visit the newly revamped central library, which has now moved to a historical building next to the City Hall.

This story pretty much sums up the feeling of intense ecstasy flowing through my veins:
http://www.capetown.gov.za/en/Pages/NewCentralLibrarywillbeaCentreofExcellence.aspx

Of course, I told myself, I had to be realistic. With my current times being overburdened with other activities, there was no way I could check out books and read them. But a part of me just itched to spend time in that hallowed hall, breathing in the atmosphere and basking in my reverence of the written word.

Then something struck me. Nothing was stopping me from making a special "me" day, once a week, to spend my lunch hour in the library. Now, every Wednesday, I trot down the road to the library. Acting on personal whim, I wander between the shelves, picking books at random. Sometimes I read the preface... or the first chapter... Maybe next week I'll pick up the book again or find something different.

The most important aspect of this act is to take me away from the hundreds of distractions and say, "Hey, you, author, how about broadening your horizons a bit?"

During an hour I look at four or five books in this fashion, and am exposed to new ideas. As a writer, this is a real act of discovery, and often I walk away turning over the bones of yet another plot to stir and thicken... and who knows, may just prove to be my next novel.