Danica Ackerman

I grabbed Sword Dance on a whim after seeing it advertised on Facebook. I’ve always had a desperate weak spot for the Ancient Mediterranean World and an alt-history version of it with romance and intrigue thrown in called to me. Sometimes my whims lead me in terrible directions, but with Sword Dance, my intuition didn’t fail me. I loved basically every word of this book. It was sweet, intriguing, well-paced, and also surprisingly funny. The main characters were unique and well-written, never falling too firmly into any archetype. The two of them played off each other and the action around them well, never failing to entertain. Sometimes Damiskos is a little too infatuated with Varazda, dwelling on the dancer’s beauty and unique appearance; it’s not unbelievable that he feels so strongly, but I do feel the reader accesses those feelings a little too often. Sometimes, Damiskos’s attraction to him leans into Varazda’s exoticness more than I’d like; the book even acknowledges that on some level. It never turns into flat out fetishism or othering of the character, though, and I hope it never does. It’s refreshing to see a character like Varazda have a purpose and a personality. The author also gets major points for having characters who discuss their sexual likes and dislikes with partners who actually respect those boundaries. This book is a romance, but it didn’t isolate itself to that genre. This book also tackles political intrigue, espionage, foreign relations, and civil rights, sometimes subtle, sometimes less so. The plot of Sword Dance moved at a quick clip, taking place over a short (though not very relaxing) vacation at a seaside villa. As the world around them falls into chaos and bloated political idealism, Damiskos and Varazda scheme to keep themselves and each other above the rising tide of danger. The supporting characters, though not always likable, are mostly fleshed out, although some of them, especially the philosophy students, do come across as caricatures. The book also has an expansive cast of supporting and background characters, so it’s understandable that not all of them are fully developed. The ending is not a happily-ever-after, which is to be expected, as there are other books due out in the series, but it does leave room for one someday, somewhere down the road. I’m really hoping these two find their way to it. I can’t say too much without giving away the plot, but Varazda proves so much more complex and unique than his initial introduction suggests. I’m already awaiting the second installment.

This novella takes place in several parts: the childhood, youth, and adulthood of Caleb, the main character. These parts trace a series of similar events: murders of young women by a madman named Archie Royce hellbent on killing figure of myth: Catfish John. Catfish John appears infrequently in the actual story, but his legend permeates the story. He’s a man, a monster, a god, a savior, a horror. The more important players are Cere, the young daughter of Archie Royce, and Caleb, the boy who befriends and aids in her in struggle. Together in their youths and adulthoods, they join forces to undo the horrific work of her father. This book is short, but it’s also well-paced, well-written, and steeped in atmosphere with characters that move through the pages as if they lived. This book features no romance and has homophobic and racist characters, though Caleb does end the book as an openly gay, black man with a partner in a small town in the South, all of which the author tackles with sensitivity and poise. With a novella, it is difficult not to say too much and ruin it for future readers. I recommend this book for fans of Lovecraft and could do without his prejudices, those who have a fascination with folklore and urban legends, fans of movies like Candyman, and readers who want queer representation without the usual focus on romance, or the character’s sexual identity becoming a token write off that’s never addressed.