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rior to Roger Zelazny's death in 1995, the award-winning fantasist wrote 10 books about the demigods known as the Lords and Ladies of Amber, a world that existed on a higher plane of reality than ours, at the center of the multiverse. The first five books focused on Corwin, an outsider returning to the Borgia-like feuds of his brothers and sisters, the children of Oberon. The latter five volumes took as their protagonist Merlin, Corwin's son. Readers interested in boning up on the fabulously intricate deeds and designs of the Amber universe are advised to seek out the 10-volume, 1200+-page omnibus published by AvonEos in 1999 (ISBN 0-380-80906-0).
But such a move is not strictly necessary before diving into John Gregory Betancourt's authorized prequel, the first of a trilogy. Betancourt lays out all the mechanics of the Amberverse clearly, and introduces new characters to balance the older ones.
We first encounter young Oberon as a professional soldier who has been raised in Shadow (the collective name for the lesser universes). Throughout his childhood, he was partially tutored by "Uncle Dworkin," who one day mysteriously vanished. But now Dworkin is back, to rescue Oberon from an assault of hellish creatures. Taking Oberon across the shifting terrain of Shadow to a castle known as Juniper, Oberon and a woman named Freda remain close-mouthed. But Oberon soon learns the score: Dworkin is his father, Freda his sister, and the other sundry princes and princesses he meets are his siblings. Oberon must establish alliances, fend off assassination attempts, learn to use the magical powers conferred by his heritage and assume command of the army defending Juniper—all while an army of fiends masses for an assault on the family stronghold.
Oberon discovers the role of the Courts of Chaos in his family history, a realm which Zelazny revealed preceded Amber and where Dworkin used to live before he was exiled. The ruler of the Courts, King Uthor, seems to be behind the assault on Dworkin and his scions. But there is also the matter of the mysterious dreams Oberon has, which feature a reptilian Lord Zon who is busy slaughtering Dworkin's heirs. As the final attack on Juniper mounts, Oberon proves to be the family's only hope for escape.
Revisiting Amber with a new tour guide
Let's establish first of all what Betancourt does well, before taking a look at what he does not attempt. He tells a vigorous, fast-paced story that reuses the killer hook of the first Amber book, Nine Princes in Amber (1970): An outsider with limited knowledge and powers is thrust into a shark tank and forced to swim with the big fishes or be eaten. Betancourt also handles the icongraphic implements of the Amberverse well: the painted playing cards known as the Trumps, which depict places and persons and afford instant long-distance contact between viewer and portrait; and the slippery travel across Shadow which occupies chapters four and five. He sets up numerous unsolved mysteries which intrigue the reader and lure us on to future volumes. And he is adept at action scenes, including the climax when the castle is besieged. So far, so good.
But here's what's missing from this prequel—three important things that really make this reading experience pale beside Zelazny's originals. First off, most glaringly, is the style. Zelazny was one of the genre's preeminent stylists, a master of a poetic-colloquial diction that read like a cross between the voices of John Donne, Raymond Chandler, Alfred Bester and Jack Kerouac. His sentences zinged and zipped and were unmistakably his. Betancourt simply does not try to emulate Zelazny's prose, perhaps wisely, not wishing to produce a second-rate pastiche. But the matter of Amber without the voice of Amber is only half a loaf.
Second, much of the pleasure of the original novels came from a disjunction between the courtly, pre-technological ambiance of Amber and the modern appurtenances and attitudes borrowed from Shadow. Swords and guns, horses and cars, gowns and miniskirts, Shakespeare and slang. This stimulating heterogeneous mix is missing completely here, making this book for too much of its length another quasi-medieval fantasy. Finally, Amber was always about the soap-opera machinations of the egocentric royalty, a kind of SF version of Dynasty or Dallas. While Betancourt makes a stab at individuating Dworkin's kids, they just don't have the maniacal magnitude or differentiating quirks of Zelazny's schemers.
It will be interesting to see if Betancourt can transform Oberon from callow youth to patriarch over the course of the next two books. Already, by the end of this volume, Oberon has grown tremendously. Perhaps this somewhat disappointing start will be redeemed by the next two entries.
A nice touch of nastiness which indicates how the Amberites view themselves as superior to "Shadowlings" is how readily they abandon the lesser inhabitants of Juniper when disaster strikes. This is the kind of bold characterization Betancourt needs to add in larger doses. — Paul
Also in this issue: The Green Man: Tales from the Mythic Forest, edited by Ellen Datlow and Terri Windling
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