My discovery of On Stranger Tides by Tim Powers was a strange one. First published 20 years ago, it’s largely flown under the radar amongst the pirate crowds. I’d never heard its name uttered amongst fellow enthusiasts swapping their favorite reads, I’d never heard murmurs of it being made into a movie, never saw it pop up as an Amazon.com recommendation – it’s honestly a miracle I discovered it at all.

It was while reading an old interview with Ron Gilbert – creator of the first two Monkey Island games – that I first learned of this book. The Pirates of the Caribbean Ride has largely been attributed as the inspiration for these brilliant games, but in this interview Gilbert indicated that it was actually the book On Stranger Tides that spurred the creation of Monkey Island. Now, the PotC rides were indeed key to my early love of pirates, and the Monkey Island Games were themselves key during my teenage years. So to learn that there might be a third part of this equation – well, I certainly had to check it out.

Fortunately, On Stranger Tides is still readily available online through the usual retailers (you can buy it now via the links on the left – hint, hint!). And so I ordered the thing and quickly set to reading what I anticipated would be a swashbuckling tale ripe with the seeds of Guybrush Threepwood, LeChuck, Melee Island, and perhaps even giant monkey heads. However, it soon became aparent that if this novel indeed inspired Monkey Island, that’s all it did – inspired it. The story, characters – even the tone of On Stranger Tides was entirely unlike Monkey Island. This was darker, grittier, and utterly genius.

The story begins with John Chandagnac, a former puppeteer on his way to the New World to confront an estranged uncle who’d jilted John’s late father out of his due inheritance. But prior to reaching his destination, the ship is boarded by pirates in a surprisingly brutal battle that doesn’t go remotely as expected. John himself is pressed into service, friends reveal themselves to be enemies, and what’s more, the attack seems to be much more than a mere raid - rather it’s the first step in a much larger plan.

The “plan” here is the instrumental part of the tale, and the cornerstone of the brilliance at work. It’s a plan that involves Stede Bonnet, Blackbeard, the “governor” of Nassau, the Fountain of Youth, and even the devastating earthquake that destroyed Port Royal. Author Powers has taken the recorded histories of the time and meticulously filled in the cracks – not as a means of simply stringing together the facts of the day, but rather as the foundation of the much larger story. Think you know all about Blackbeard? In the world of Tim Powers, what you know is only the dorsal fin hovering on the surface, and you haven’t the foggiest clue of the vast predator that swims beneath.

Taking place in the early 1700′s, this is the Caribbean of legend. The colonial outskirts far removed from the Old World, where men create their own rules, and magic has not yet entirely faded from the world. Voodoo, in fact, is central to the lives of the pirates, and entirely entwined in the fates of Bonnet and Blackbeard. By all rights this would make for a fantasy novel, and yet Powers crafts it in such a way as to seem entirely feasible and in keeping with true history. Why did Blackbeard lay seige to Charleston? Why did Blackbeard take Bonnet under his wing? For that matter, why did Bonnet leave his comfortable life as a retired Major to pursue a life of piracy? All these questions are answered in full. And the answers – while steeped in Voodoo – seem as believable as walking to the market for a gallon of milk. It’s a remarkable feat and makes for a thrilling, intriguing read.

In a perfect world On Stranger Tides would be a modern classic of pirate literature. It’s as perfect a mixture of fiction and reality as I’ve ever read. Powers’ execution of his story is almost flawless, save for the very end where it seems as if he found himself suddenly overdue for publication and scratched out the rough equivelant of, “the heroes had pretty much wrapped things up, although there is still a little left so we’ll wish them well. The End.” But its peculiar conclusion aside, this remains a book that any and every fan of the pirate genre would do well to investigate.

Having previously read and reviewed Sea Witch by Helen Hollick, I was looking forward to checking out its sequel, Pirate Code, which seems to begin mere moments after Sea Witch concluded. We immediately join up with the tale’s protagonists, pirate Jesemiah Acorne and his – well, girlfriend I suppose (being as they’re so devoted to one another, girlfriend seems too weak a term. But since she’s married to another, she really can’t be otherwise), the witch Tiola. Tiola and Jesemiah are well occupied dealing with the difficulties of Tiola’s husband, who refuses to grant a divorce – but this distraction is soon eclipsed by the larger issue of England going to war with Spain, followed by Governor Woodes Rogers’ revocation of pirate amnesties for the purpose of pressing all able seamen into service.

Acorne, however, is more than a mere able seaman, and is therefore manipulated into a more demanding and somewhat convoluted secret mission that takes him to Spanish Jamaica where he must coordinate with an English agent while at the same time claim cargo from a plantation – formerly held by his family but more recently by his girlfriend’s husband – for the purpose of convincing said husband to grant Tiola her freedom. The journey involves many elements of intrigue and danger, but it also doesn’t really go anywhere in the end. For all the travels, excursions, and plot twists, very little is ultimately accomplished – making Pirate Code something of a middle story in a larger saga. It seems most of the character development has already occurred in the previous book. And while many of Pirate Code’s characters and events might lead to bigger things in future novels, they seem to serve little role here aside from elaborate introduction.

On their own the above issues could be easily overcome to make for a decent pirate “pulp” novel – a fun swashbuckler with just enough sex to add spice. Which is more or less what this is – a decent pulp novel. But it does suffer one more pervasive flaw that regrettably distracts from the story, and that is the personification of Jesemiah Acorne himself.

Jesemiah is nearly perfect, it seems. He’s a brilliant sailor who quickly commands the respect of all around him. His crew is deeply devoted, and most of them would follow him to the ends of the earth. He’s a master strategist and tactician, has a way with animals, and has an open mind and deep humanity that are in stark contrast to most every other male mentioned (most of whom seem to be weak-willed and selfish, or just plain bulbous and disgusting.)

Acorne is a pirate god among men, clearly. And what’s more, he’s also a hit with the ladies. Jesemiah Acorne is, as would be expected, loved by Tiola. But he’s also loved by Tethys, the sea goddess, and her daughter Rain. He’s further loved (or at least desired) by women of all classes that he meets during his exploits. During a time of absence, it’s even implied that his very ship aches for his return. Female loins throughout the Caribbean seem to ignite at his mere presence, despite his bearded, unwashed, Sparrow-esque pirate appearance (and therefore, not likely a huge draw to any woman of the time, save the very low class or those looking to score a coin or two for their troubles.) Acorne’s greatness makes him more a character of fantasy than a believably historical adventure hero, and puts him rather at odds with the general gritty tone of the story.

I enjoyed Sea Witch. I did not enjoy Pirate Code nearly as much. Hollick’s writing remains strong and descriptive. Her Caribbean is an exciting one, full of corrupt governments, conniving whores, brutal pirates, and unforgiving seas. But her clear love of Jesemiah Acorne has led her to hold him up as a shining heroic and romantic beacon in this otherwise bleak, harsh environment. It’s a role that doesn’t well suit him, and any readers that aren’t enraptured by Jesemiah’s many, many admirable qualities may find this book a less fulfilling read than was its predecessor.

The basic deal is this – the famous buccaneer l’Ollonais apparently didn’t die as most historical accounts state (being torn apart alive and eaten by native cannibals), but rather he founded his own society of pirates. His children, grand-children, and great grand-children have continued to raid passing ships by means of acquiring the necessities of life. They honor their past, follow a code, and basically live the “good life”, with the tiny exception that their limited gene pool has begun to bottom out. But never fear – these crafty pirates have learned the key to their salvation. Rather than simply stealing booty, it’s time to start stealing children as well. See? Problem solved.

Actually, not entirely, as all these disappearing ships haven’t gone unnoticed – something about cult theories involving a “Bermuda Triangle”, which prods reporter Blair Maynard to investigate, bringing his song Justin along in tow. But it’s not long before they too are captured, and the pirates – learning of Blair and Justin’s surname, deduce that they much be decedents of the noble Lt. Maynard, defeater of Blackbeard. As such, Justin is taken away to be brainwashed in the hopes he may become heir to the pirate throne, while Blair, being too old for assimilation, is merely kept alive long enough to make a contribution to the fading gene pool (read between the lines, mates.)

Enough of the story – I don’t want to give too much away. Suffice to say, the tale is a good one, and the execution is even better. The methods and temperaments of the pirates seem quite feasible, considering the circumstances. In their raids they use tactics that were common in the days of sail, while still modifying them for modern times – in so far as they understand modern times, anyways. This is because, while having stolen increasingly modern plunder, most of modern society is lost on them. Pirate anachronisms, content to live as they’ve always done, raid as they’ve always raided.

This film does have some gore, and the brutality isn’t watered down. But by and large, this is a drama, although you’re far more likely to find it in the horror section of your video store – if you can find it at all. But should you find it, grab it and hold on like grim death – this one’s a treasure, me lads!

I loved this book. I freakin’ loved this book.

I’ll be honest – I’ve rarely given Captain Hook much thought. I’m not a particular fan of the Peter Pan story, and most depictions of its famous villain have left me rather indifferent. Jason Isaac’s incredible 2005 portrayal was a notable exception – but exactly that, an exception. So Hook in general? Meh.

All this has changed due to Capt. Hook: The Adventures of a Notorious Youth. This is the story of Hook before he was hook – back when he was merely James Matthew, the bastard child of a British Lord, and a new student at Eton.

James is at once prideful yet sympathetic. His desire for some sort of recognition from his estranged father is heartwrenching, while his increasingly sinister coping methods certainly demonstrate a dark interior. It’s this contrast that makes young James such an intriguing character – we want to like him. We do like him, actually, but also we’re afraid for and of him.

Following James from his beginnings at Eton, his dealings with upperclassmen and their sadistic initiations, his rise through rank amongst his peers, and his eventual departure to the sea – it’s all fascinating from beginning to end. Mostly this story takes place in the “real” world, although James does carry just a little of the supernatural about him, and we’re given to expect these supernatural elements may come even more into play later in his life, which is the books one great shortcoming – it ends too soon. Our appetite is whetted, but we’re not given insight into just how James discovers Neverland, nor the origins of his feud with Peter Pan. In fact, at the time of the story’s end, it’s still difficult to picture this youth – dispite his dark inclinations – becoming a true monster. Anti-hero, maybe, but not the monster that Captain Hook is so often portrayed. But this is what sequels are for, and I’ve just learned that Capt. Hook: The Journey To Neverland is due out any day now – topping swank news indeed.

Capt. Hook is generally listed as a children’s/young adult book, which is unfortunate. Not only because there is some level of brutality – James’ own fascinations with guillitines and deadly spiders  are nothing compared to the floggings and mutinees – or that the humor is sometimes quite British and dry (thus adding a wonderfully victorian flair to the tale), but mostly because no adult should feel afraid to pick this up. It’s an ageless story about one of the most fascinating yet under-appreciated (in my case, anyways) villains in literary history. And I’m literally chomping at the bit for the sequel to arrive.

Silver is a fictional autobiography as penned by none other than Long John himself. Starting with his roots as a back-alley thief and working up through common pirate to eventual captain, it traces his entire life in shameless detail. Long John delights in every crime, every murder, every maneuver for advantage against his adversaries and allies alike.

The first thing a reader needs to understand is that this is not the Long John of Treasure Island - Disney or otherwise. Rather, it’s a new perspective of this same character – more sinister, more murderous. Throughout, many important details of this account won’t quite match with John Hawkins’ own famous telling – this is intentional, as the author states his purpose to create a new story inspired by the Long John Silver, rather than a mere prequel limited by the exact characters and events of Treasure Island. This is important to note, because otherwise a reader might go nuts over several apparent discrepancies (Long John’s missing leg, the origins of the treasure, the role of Hawkins, etc.)

So, knowing that we must evaluate Silver as a standalone novel, how does it measure up? Not bad, actually, although I did need to grow accustomed to two key issues before I could fully enjoy this book. The first was Long John’s manner of speaking (or more accurately, writing.) This is a novel written from beginning to end by a pirate, and it reads as such. But mind you, this isn’t the typical pirate writing, n’which tha author jus trim’is words ta try’n emulate a pirate-like accent, but rather, it’s written with an educated pen, rich with metaphor, slang, and bravado. It makes for a colorful read, but does take some time to get used to. The second issue that took some time was Long John himself. In Treasure Island, he comes across as a clever rogue and a master of manipulation, but he’s also warm and oddly paternal. Not so in Silver – in this story Long John has a heart of ice. Murder is the key to his success, and he delights in indulging in such. Where the Long John of Treasure Island was sort of an anti-hero, in Silver he’s just an out-right bastard. And the sooner you stop trying to “like” him, the sooner you can enjoy the tales of his exploits.

As a story, Silver is enjoyable, if somewhat drawn out. It makes for an interesting read, but it’s difficult at times to know where it’s all heading, save towards Long John’s end, whatever it may be. But there’s another factor involved, one that may be of special interest to those who enjoy mysteries. In the telling of his tale, Silver recounts his own pursuit of Treasure Island, and the clues to its discovery hidden within a bible he’s come to possess. It’s riddles within riddles, full of cyphers, codes, and misdirection. It’s the sort of stuff that boggles my own mind – I’ve no head for such things, so can’t state whether the riddles could be plausibly solved, or whether I’m just too dense to keep up. And of course, there’s more to the riddles than originally stated, but for that you’ll have to read it yourself.

Radiance&Shadows is the sequel to The Captains Marshall, a book that stood out from any other in that it experimented with the notion of a pirate crew as a maternal (rather than patriarchal) undertaking. It also stood out in its exploration of karmic balance – or lack thereof, to be more specific. The delicate act of being the “nice guy” (or gal) in a business that thrives on brutality can be difficult to manage, and good intentions don’t always bear good results. These are the issues that were explored in the Captains Marshall, and these were the reasons that this first novel was more engrossing and complex than I’d initially expected.

Radiance&Shadows picks up a few years after The Captains Marshall left off. Giselle and Soairse (revealed in this book to be pronounced “seer-sha”) are still dual captains of their own pirate “family”, and seem to have enjoyed continued success since we last left them. The story begins in the Caribbean, but soon works its way north to New York, only recently seized by the British from the Dutch. The details of the plot I’ll forgo, so as to not give away any surprises, but suffice to say Catherine Donaldson has again used her story and her characters as vessels for larger matters rarely found in pirate tales. Where The Captains Marshall addressed maternity and karma, Radiance&Shadows is more a book about unresolved business, quality of character, and love.

Love is key in this case, and let me be clear as to why. This is a book written very much from a female perspective. In the pirate world, this often means it’s a chance for women to “be bad” without shame, to indulge in the lady equivalent of wenching and whatnot. Not so with Radiance&Shadows – this book explores emotional – not physical – love. But this also doesn’t mean love as the sappy, fluffy bunny puppy crush often associated as the opposite extreme of spicy romance novels. No, in this case love is a subject of strength and fear – something people can live without, but not really. It’s also a source of infinite joy, and equally infinite pain. And Donaldson doesn’t pull her punches.

The Captains Marshall had left some unresolved issues – primarily the unlikely (and sometimes potentially supernatural) success of its young heroins. Radiance&Shadows sadly does not address these matters, and also offers up some mysteries of its own – characters gone missing before their stories seem complete, and other characters that seem off-center of normal – not just to the reader, but to other characters as well. These matters are never satisfactorily concluded, but neither is Radiance&Shadows as a whole, for that matter. It ends abruptly, making it quite clearly a middle book. If this is a sign of an incomplete story line, then I worry this series may soon lose steam. But I’m hopeful that it’s all leading somewhere, and if so I expect the results will be both intriguing and unexpected.

Like its predecessor, Radiance&Shadows takes the cliché story of women captains and resculpts it in new and intriguing ways. While most such stories serve as escapist vehicles for freedom and adventure, this book takes a more grounded approach as the Marshall girls and their crew simply try to survive one day to the next. The journey is sometimes evenly paced, other times quite sporadic, and often surprising. As I read her tale, I’m occasionally baffled as to what Donaldson was thinking when she wrote it – but throughout I remained eager to find out.

The Pirate of Panther Bay is a story that begins midstream, dropping the reader in the middle of events already well underway, and leaving you to play catchup even as additional events transpire. In some ways, this adds a sense of life and urgency, but in others it’s just plain confusing.

The book follows the exploits of Isabella, a novice pirate captain that recently inherited her position upon the death of her boyfriend (himself being the previous captain.) A former slave turned free rogue, Isabella is headstrong and skilled with the blade, but also full of self-doubt. She’s also of dubious leadership abililty – a fact to which she often seems painfully aware, and yet somehow she still expects – scratch that – she demands devoted loyalty from her inherited crew.

I’m unsure what to make of this book. On the one hand, it should be ripe for intrigue – the concept of a former slave girl wrestling with her own shortcomings even as she struggles to wear a captain’s hat should make for compelling drama. But unfortunately, much of it comes across instead like a girl who – while a talented fencer – has no business expecting a crew of pirates to follow her simply because she was the former captain’s main squeeze. Her lack of readiness for command is made all the more clear from her additional struggle with her own girlish crush on a spanish prisoner, Captain Santa Anna. Even as she’s disgusted at her own fluffy feelings for the young spaniard, she seems entirely ruled by impulse. Santa Anna, in turn, nurses his own boyish behavior as he’s smitten by Isabella, and compelled by her strong will and commanding demeanor (the strong will I’ll give him, but Isabella seems anything but commanding. Bossy perhaps, but not commanding.) This makes for a drawn out romance that seems more born of puppy love than any genuine connection.

As the book goes on, the midstream nature of its opening is strangely maintained. New characters are introduced and recognized by other characters (but not the reader), but the nature and significance of the recognitions aren’t always explained. This could be a story telling technique, but feels more like incompleteness. This and other factors lead to an ongoing sense of low-level confusion. Conversations at times are inconsistent, such as once instance where a character thinks something, and another character verbally responds to the thought as if they were a mind reader. Isabella’s doubts and former losses are visited and revisited to such a degree that I began to wonder if I was accidentally rereading the some paragraphs I’d already read several chapters before. And terms such as “Score!”, and the use of striking matches, feel strangely out of place.

The Pirate of Panther Bay ends much as it began, with a rather forced display of unlikely puppy love, and the promise of much more story to come. Many things remain unexplained, particularly regarding a prophecy regarding Isabella that had been alluded to throughout the book, yet never fully addressed.

All told, this is a book that feels incomplete – not only in the way it fails to directly introduce or resolve characters and concepts, but in the way it tells the story. Further exposition and further drafting could have done wonders to smooth out inconsistencies and contradictions, and may have done much to polish up the many underlying – and potentially compelling – qualities.

It was the golden age of Piracy – a privateer out of New England went “freelance”, violating his letter of marque and plundering a fortune in Portuguese gold. Upon his return home, he was tried and sentenced amongst a deafening uproar of injustice in a region only recently recovering from the Salem Witch Trials. To this day, folks still seek the gold these pirates left behind, while living in a nation founded partly on sparks generated by this very pirate’s conviction. And odds are, you don’t have a clue who I’m talking about.

John Quelch was in many ways the very embodiment of a 1704 pirate. Beginning as a legal privateer, he followed much in the footsteps of his more famous predecessor Captain Kidd as he abandoned the terms of his commission in favor of hunting more lucrative prey. The evidence is pretty clear, and quite damning. That Quelch and his men, armed with a Letter of Marque to hunt the French in the Northern Atlantic instead headed south to Brazil to plunder Portuguese gold is pretty much beyond question. And yet, in the eyes of history this is far from an open-and-shut case, leaving many questions.

Quelch and his men seemed content to make a run of a single crime-spree. They then returned to their home port, presemably to return to their old lives (albiet a good deal richer.) And yet, they made only scant effort at concealing the source of their newfound wealth, soon resulting in the strong hand of the law intervening. Why Quelch and his men covered their tracks so poorly – indeed, why they returned at all to the port most likely to sniff out the obvious flaws in their hasty alibis, is a matter for speculation. But even moreso are the methods used by the authorities to convict and condemn Quelch and his crew.

In a time when local authorities not only dealt with punishing pirates, but also frequently had great latitude in the usage of seized plunder, it’s easy to draw the parallel of the government “stealing” that which was already stolen (sometimes by better, certainly by bolder men) – this holds especially true in cases where legal corners were cut, dubious procedures enacted, and legislative processes selectively utilized or ignored, depending on what best served the prosecution’s cause. Like the case of Captain Kidd three years before, it’s clear that laws were broken and booty was plundered, but it’s less clear who was the greater criminal – the pirate, or the authorities that executed him.

1704 New England was showing signs of unrest beneath England’s rule. The Revolution was nearly a century away, but already resentment was growing at seeing colonial citizens convicted by “foreign” authority. Quelch’s own trial and execution were met with local anger, and certainly contributed to undercurrents of rebellion that were brewing.

“Quelch’s Gold” is an excellent read – a pirate tale from beginning to end, but also one that has strong links to the early American spirit. Sometimes it’s difficult to see how events from 300 years ago had their affect on our present world, but author Clifford Beal crafts a story that feels at once historical yet entirely relevant. The events leading up to Quelch’s voyage, the conquests he achieved during that voyage, and the reception upon returning home are all retold in exception detail, while remaining casual enough to make for an enjoyable read. The trial itself is conveyed in an equally compelling manner, and opens up many legal and ethical questions that should make for excellent conversational fodder amongst fellow pirate and historical buffs.

With this in mind, one might expect the television series “The Adventures of Long John Silver” – all six episodes starring Robert Newton in his signature role – to be a true classic gem. And for Newton’s fans, it may well be. Each episode prominently features Newton retackling his interpretation of Silver with every bit of gusto he can muster – and this makes these shows worth watching. But each episode also features dreadfully predictable writing, cliche plot points (Long John saves the orphan’s Christmas??? Crikey!), and many scenes that are downright painful (The not-so-attractive Miss Purity flirting heavily with an even less attractive one-eared pirate is difficult to bear, to say the least.)

Jim Hawkins – as is often the case – is portrayed as an unimpressive “every boy”, rather than the extraordinary young man he should be. Silver’s first mate “Patch”, who – you guessed it – wears an eyepatch, sports a hairstyle so dated and odd it must be seen to be believed, and not one of the stories boasts anything truly memorable. BUT, it’s all ripe with “arrrs”, pirate jargon, and bloodless bloodshed, which for hardcore pirate fans might be just enough to keep this somewhat enjoyable in small doses.