By Dan Monan, Culture Editor -

Yes, the “blog” is not dead! Although air-quotes may be necessary until some sort of regular schedule is worked out.

This time I’ve decided to go the route of historical fiction with Seth Grahame-Smith’s Abraham Lincoln Vampire Hunter, the same guy who gave us Pride and Prejudice and Zombies and Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters, the gleefully irreverent corruptions of Jane Austen’s classic novels.

Unlike those earlier works, which interwove actual text from Austen novels with more, shall we say modern additions,  Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter does not use an older novel as its base material. Instead, Grahame-Smith claims to have uncovered a “secret diary” explaining Lincoln’s double life as a vampire-hunter, along with the hidden, vampire-based reasons for the Civil War and Lincoln’s political career.

The book is good. Let’s get that out of the way before anything else. Its Abraham Lincoln, axe in hand, chopping creatures of the night limb from limb, what’s not to like? The gore-filled pages move at a decent clip, and Lincoln is a surprisingly fleshed out character. True to life, Lincoln is a tragic figure, and by the end, feels believably presidential (But in a good, pre-George Bush kind-of way… actually, make that good in a pre-Bill Clinton way… actually, let’s just call it presidential like Harrison Ford in Air Force One).

Lincoln. Axe. Vampires. This is what the title offers; this is what you shall find. And Lincoln’s secret hack-and-slash pastime offers more than enough to create an engaging storyline, but deep social commentary this is not. Yes, vampirism makes a wonderful metaphor for slavery, yet once the connection is made, little more is done with it.

I suppose I’m saying the book is shallow, or maybe that it just feels too neat. The world Grahame reveals is exciting and interesting and at some points disturbingly believable, but he never plunges into the depths of it. If this were a movie, it would be a popcorn action flick, perhaps even a better-than-average horror film. Grahame seems unwilling or unable to pull away from the violence to focus on the complexities of his creation. And this prevents a good book from becoming a great one, although to be fair, Grahame never really tries to delve into these issues. He seems to know what he’s good at and stick to it.

Likewise, while Lincoln is a deep character, most of the others are not. It would be a shame to reveal too much of what is truly an enjoyable book, so without going into details, most other character he encounters is uninteresting and forgettable. I finished the book less than a week ago, and most of their names are already gone, though some are unique enough to leave an impression.

Despite these reservations, as before, Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter is a worthwhile read. Something undeniably entertaining comes from a straight-faced account of America’s favorite president, decapitating fanged monsters. I’m looking forward to Grahame’s next foray into the genre, Teddy Roosevelt: American Werewolf perhaps?

The Magicians, by Lev Grossman, is many things. It is a blatant parody of the Harry Potter and Narnia series. Yet, while other books have attempted to hop on the boy-wizard-bandwagon (to say nothing of the growing hoard of teen vampire rip-offs) it uses its associations with the previously mentioned series to its advantage, ultimately becoming something wholly different than anything seen before. Basic plot similarities aside, The Magicians possesses a dark and brooding quality that, while sometimes bordering on angst, neither J.K. Rowling nor C.S. Lewis would ever attempt. For this reason and many others, this is no children’s story. It is a remarkable book to be valued for its flaws as well as for its triumphs, and is certainly well worth a look.

The Magicians tells the story of Quinton, a disaffected teen looking for meaning in life. Quinton has spent his childhood reading and rereading a series of books set in “Fillory,” a magical land visited by a group of English schoolchildren, and an undisguised allusion to the Narnia books. He dreams of the kind of contentment it seems only magic can achieve. Predictably, Quinton soon learns that magic is real and that he has been accepted into the premiere school for magicians.

Grossman makes no attempt to hide the similarities to Harry Potter and makes ruthless use of those expectations. The Magicians is a novel written for those who grew up on Harry Potter and Narnia, not a copy of the same. Brilliant, often arrogant, and always insecure, Quinton is not Harry, nor are his friends the steadfast companions Harry has at Hogwarts. One would be hard pressed to say any of the characters are particularly likable, but they are undeniably entertaining. The lack of effort put into making them pleasant goes a long way towards making them believable characters.

Unlike other hero-protagonists with their inborn importance, Quinton is not a “chosen one.” He has no destiny or direction, and this becomes the chief focus of the novel. He and his friends occupy their time with the standard college pursuits of alcohol, sex, drug-use and occasional studying, throughout which Quinton faces a subtle but near constant existential crisis as he realizes magic gives no more meaning to his life than life in the ordinary world.

Eventually, it is revealed that Fillory, the Narnia-esque world from the stories of his youth, is a real place. Desperate for an escape from his despondent state, Quinton leaps at the chance to go. He and his friends embark on a sort of “quest to find a quest,” seeking some adventure that will end the despondency they feel. This journey will cost them more than any of them realize.

As said before, Grossman borrows shamelessly from the themes of Harry Potter and Narnia to complete his novel, but none of this is a bad thing. It is easy to believe in Quinton, terribly envious of the ready-made destinies and purposes that are so common in books. The success of The Magicians hinges on Grossman’s subtle but constant argument that, despite all of the hardships characters in stories face, none can compete with the apathy inherent in magically having every¬thing one could possibly want.

Putting aside the plot similarities, the writing of The Magicians is clean and precise, with a wonderful economy to the detail and description of the surrounding world. There are several indications that Grossman still has maturing to do as a writer. For example, he introduces secondary characters who vanish never to be seen again and there are points where the pace drags a bit, but none of this particularly hinders the book’s purpose from realization. Without revealing too much, the ending is not one that everyone will enjoy but still feels right in the context of the book. It is at the end where Grossman’s rather cynical philosophy comes out most strongly, forcing the reader to be paradoxically satisfied with a certain level of dissatisfaction.

The Magicians is Grossman’s third book, making him still a relatively early arrival to the writing scene. Hopefully, his next work will overcome some of the issues that affect The Magicians, but until then, The Magicians is still very much worth the time of anyone who has ever been left cold by the too-perfect fantasy worlds they visited in their youth.

It’s almost over. Christmas break is nearly here. Just finals, and then we’ll all have a whole month to explain to our parents just how that D+ in calculus was really the teacher’s fault. It’s time to start thinking about books to read over the break — to throw out that old, dusty, book of Shakespeare and pick up a bright, shiny, new one written in modern English … mostly.

The Book of Air and Shadows, by Michael Gruber, is a worthy addition to the rising subgenre of thrillers defined by an unprepared academic forced to solve some ancient mystery. Think The Da Vinci Code minus the Bible tie-ins.

In this case, a 17th century letter has been discovered, hinting at a hidden manuscript to a never before seen Shakespearean play. From there, the plot of the novel unfolds much as one would expect: people start dying; someone wants the new play at any cost. There’s the standard mix of romance and betrayal, murder and mayhem. Just because we’ve seen it before doesn’t mean that it’s not brilliantly executed.

The story moves rapidly, shifting perspectives from the past and present. As the novel progresses, tensions mount and the timelines slowly begin to merge. The sections set in the past (the 17th century letter) are written in a pseudo-antiquated English that is a little hard to follow at first, though persistence pays off. The story related in the letters is in many ways an entirely separate plot, and could have easily been turned into a book in its own right. It follows a protestant Englishman assigned to spy on Shakespeare, who was suspected of secretly being a Roman Catholic — a crime in England at the time. Excellently researched and not without their fair share of adventure, these passages give the rest of the story a depth and epic scope.

Michael Gruber makes great use of fact that virtually nothing concrete is known about Shakespeare himself, allowing for a degree of freedom in his portrayal. That said, the depth of research employed in reconstructing Elizabethan England is immediately apparent. The setting is expansive, grittily realistic, and perfectly described.

The bulk of the novel is framed through the reflections of Jake Mishkin, an intellectual property lawyer hiding from Russian mobsters. To pass the time, Mishkin types his story, explaining the events that lead him to the situation he finds himself in. At any moment, he expects killers in search of the lost play to arrive and finish him off, a dark piece of foreshadowing introduced at the beginning of the story which keeps the pages turning.

Jake is a fascinating, if not entirely believable character ─ a common trait throughout the novel ─ as an unapologetic womanizer, high-class lawyer, and former Olympic weightlifter, with a chauffeur/bodyguard who happens to be ex-Israeli Special Forces. It is a testament to Gruber’s skill as a writer that none of this destroys the story’s credibility upon initial reading. Through all of his absurdities, Mishkin remains an absorbing and likable character.

The female characters of the novel suffer from a flaw common in this genre. While they are well-defined and strong, independent characters in their own rights they essentially exist as Bond girls, sex symbols to be lusted after and pursued. Much of this is no doubt due to Mishkin’s womanizing perspective and overall does minimal damage to the narrative ─ it seems to be expected from this sort of story.

Like any good thriller, the plot is full of twists and turns that should not be spoiled. Think of The Book of Air and Shadows as a smarter-than-average beach read. Engaging and never dull, it’s a step above most of the pulp action novels currently circulating.