Paperback: 544 Pages
Genre: Epic Fantasy
Series: The Saga of Recluse: Book Two
“The Towers of the Sunset”
by, L.E. Modesitt, Jr.
“A complex world based on a plausible system of magic.”
–Publishers Weekly
Summary
With the founding of the world of the Recluse and the rise in the discipline of Order Magic, battling wizards, love, and politics mix in a tale that climaxes in a final battle on land and sea.
Stacy’s Review
First of all, I have to say this: L.E. Modesitt, Jr. is a master at creating numerous descriptives for a smile. I had no idea there were so many different ways to do so.
The main character, Creslin, lives in a Matriarchal society high in the northern mountains of Westwinds, aptly named the Roof of the World. He is the male descendant of the last Marshall of the Westwinds. Poor Creslin is naught but a mere man, who’s only destiny, (it seems), is to suffer the fate of an arranged marriage–an arrangement made in the hopes of keeping the white Chaos wizards from ruling the world–errr, or the whole of the continent, that is.
Not willing to accept “becoming little more than a prize stud”, Creslin devises a plan to escape his fate. His journey of self discovery transforms into an all out tale of fascinating magic, high adventure, fantastic imagery, a splash of romance, compelling intrigue, life lessons, and lots of awesome, kick-the-bad-guys-ass moments! Creslin is killer with a sword! {grin}
But that’s not all. In becoming his own man, Creslin realizes his full potential as a powerful weather mage. He learns how to be a true leader of his people, a good friend, and a–
Oh, wait! I can’t tell ya that part, it’s a spoiler!
In conclusion: Although there were a couple of slow areas, all-in-all I truly enjoyed reading this book. Modesitt cares about his characters, and thusly, you’ll find yourself drawn into the story of their lives. An engrossing and fully entertaining read!
Technorati Tags: Epic, Fantasy, The Saga of Recluse, Book Two, The Towers of the Sunset, L.E. Modesitt, Jr.
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I Remember Ireland
I would search for my Ireland
clothed in green, the grass I well remember,
yet not an eye is found, clear of tear
and smile to match an Irish heart that lives
within its shores and without fear.
She is gone, tumbled into the mist,
my memory a blur of peaceful days once seen,
so quill will write her epitaph, in words
to so fair a name, only found on Irish lass
and not on English cur.
A lilt of melody I still possess,
to hear in voice of tenor softly sung,
in straw thatched inn of peasants random
now gone with ships, of coffin sails
to die beneath the fathoms.
Her sweet and distant beating heart I seek,
to return the laughter in the meadow
where serf and gentry meet in caress so tender
and rebellion is forgotten tongue
in the Ireland I remember.
by Cheryl Harvey
(Cannonsfire)
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