I was supposed to be spending this month (and next, and the next) plowing through the first draft of my new novel. But for whatever reason, I've been putting off the wordage so I can read some of the books I've acquired lately. Go figure.

Just a few minutes ago, I finished According to Crow by E. Sedia. A fascinating novel -- and a harsh one. I've been enjoying "E"'s latest novel, which she is sharing with me as she finishes each chapter (pssst, write faster!), so this first novel was a pleasure to read, to see what E's interests were and how her writing has evolved.

More than anything, Crow is a book about the devastation of war. People die in her book who in other books would never even get wounded. War is indiscriminate. Heartbreak is widespread, on both sides. In clear, subdued prose that almost lulls you into a false sense of security, Crow tells the coming-of-age story of a boy whose mother was a war-time hero, and whose best friend holds the history of an entire world inside his head.

Fascinating stuff, and no magic lightning bolts or enchanted swords to be seen. The world reminded me a lot of K.J. Bishop's Etched City. With a beautiful cover painted by Alan Clark and great design all around by the Five Star books team (soon to be publishing MY novel, next year!), I highly recommend According to Crow.

And then there's that other book that knocked me off my feet, by that Graham Joyce fellow, Smoking Poppy. Where Crow was a coming-of-age story, Poppy is a story of a man coming to grips with his past, embodied by the loss of his children -- not through death, but through different forms of separation.

From the opening sentence of the book, as Joyce describes the addictive smell of a newborn child's head (yes, I can relate) to the strange camraderie of his protagonist and his so-called friend and his son as they try to rescue his daughter from a jail cell in Thailand, I was hooked. Joyce writes the most compelling characters I've come across in a long time, and he's able to write about dislikeable characters in a way that fascinates me, not turning me off from them in the least.

Rick Kleffel's review of the novel really nails it for me when he says "Writing a novel about the supernatural without being fully, out in the open overt about it is a difficult task. It's easy to disappoint the lover of the supernatural while annoying the reader who prefers a more mundane narrative. But Joyce's precise command of the language allows him to leave both types of readers happy." The book is a wonderful mix of mystery, character, action, and just the right touch of magic.

This is the third novel I've read by Joyce, and I look forward to reading more of his stuff -- I've got his Facts of Life in my To-Read queue. About five books back... Later!