Scan barcode
anubis9's review against another edition
4.0
Makes me wish I played Khador.
Dan Wells did an excellent job adding some color to this Warmachine character and the world the game takes place in.
What would have been a 3-star narrative (for a story most game players know the end of going in) gets an extra 1-star star boost for excellent use of chronological shifts that keep the interest high throughout.
Wells set the bar high for other fiction in this world.
Dan Wells did an excellent job adding some color to this Warmachine character and the world the game takes place in.
What would have been a 3-star narrative (for a story most game players know the end of going in) gets an extra 1-star star boost for excellent use of chronological shifts that keep the interest high throughout.
Wells set the bar high for other fiction in this world.
lukecostin's review against another edition
3.0
Started strong but quickly tailed off. Also I wasn’t a fan of the scattered flashback style storytelling.
sonofthe's review against another edition
3.0
An interesting look into the life of the eponymous killer--a giant man who is also a warcaster i.e. someone who can magically control warmachines. As far as the character study, this book is pretty good, but it's still based on an RPG, and therefore most understood by a select audience.
There's also plenty of steampunk content, something I'm not typically a fan of, especially when it's mixed with magic in a stereotypical way. The ending wasn't very satisfying. It seemed to go against a lot of the character building that Wells spent time establishing with the rest of the story.
NOTE: I read this as part of the 2014 Hugo Voter Pack.
There's also plenty of steampunk content, something I'm not typically a fan of, especially when it's mixed with magic in a stereotypical way. The ending wasn't very satisfying. It seemed to go against a lot of the character building that Wells spent time establishing with the rest of the story.
NOTE: I read this as part of the 2014 Hugo Voter Pack.
aceir's review against another edition
I'm not giving this a star rating since I don't think that would be fair to the book. It's competently written, and I think that people who care about this universe would enjoy it. Plus it has a few drawings in it, which I thought was nice.
But I read this as a Hugo nomination. And, wow, is it cheesy. I mean, of course the Tharn barbarians, worshipers of the Devourer Worm, killed his whole family, giving his origin story both Pain and Anger.
But I read this as a Hugo nomination. And, wow, is it cheesy. I mean, of course the Tharn barbarians, worshipers of the Devourer Worm, killed his whole family, giving his origin story both Pain and Anger.
kimtrucks's review against another edition
2.0
Not as irritating as the narrator could be in Equoid, but also not as interesting.
ctaymor's review against another edition
4.0
At first, I wasn't sure about this story. Sometimes, I liked it, and sometimes I was bored by the big brute who must avenge his dead woman trope. But honestly, by the final scene, it mostly won me over. I think it was the unreliable narrator that won me. Orsus is not sane, and the reader is right there with him, which is really interesting.
As a feminist it bugged me, because the female characters are far and few between, and mostly for being rescued and avenged, with a few exceptions but as a reader, I came to really enjoy it.
lauredhel's review against another edition
1.0
Ugh. A sexist trope-ridden dull very-obviously-RPG-tie-in fridge story. I disliked it greatly. Absolutely not worth a Hugo nom (or any sort of nom).
tachyondecay's review
2.0
This is something I probably never would have read had it not been nominated for a Hugo Award. I generally eschew tie-in fiction—I have enough fiction set in original worlds to read. The Butcher of Khardov is set in the world of Warmachine, which Wikipedia reliably informs me is a “tabletop steampunk wargame.” So, Dungeons & Dragons on steroids.
The cover art and illustrations scattered throughout the story reinforce this perception. Orsus Zoktavir is a big—really big—and strong—really strong—man—a manly man!—with a serious psychological scar after losing the love of his life in the village of his childhood. Dan Wells tells Orsus’ story thematically, out of chronological order, as Orsus wrestles with the concept of loyalty at various points in his life. From witnessing the death of his parents at the hands of the cannibalistic Tharn raiders to working as the muscle for a logging baron, Orsus sees his fair share of death and fighting. And he proves to be really, really good at it. But the woman he loves declares herself unable to be with a killer. So what is a dude to do?
The story culminates through two parallel climaxes. Although it becomes apparent early on that Orsus loses his way after he loses Lola, we have to wait until the very end to witness the actual event. Years later, having joined the Khadoran Army and formalized his talents as a warcaster and controller of warmachines known as “steamjacks,” Orsus loses control and butchers an entire village for “treason” (hence the name of the novella). This earns him a tense, heavily-fortified conversation with the Queen of Khador, in which she questions Orsus’ motivations and he has a chance to explain how fucked up his ideas about loyalty, morality, and just action have become since losing his parents, girlfriend, and basically any sense of normal human empathy.
I will give it this: The Butcher of Khardov inspired me to consider why we give fantasy warriors so much of our love and allegiance despite the fact that they are essentially sociopaths with big swords. The only sane character in this story is Lola, who is 100% correct when she points out that killing people is, you know, wrong. But we write big fat blank cheques when fantasy warriors do it, far more than we are willing to do for characters in any other setting. Somewhere along the way, the narrative of the fantasy warrior shifted from the hulking image of self-absorbed Conan to the noble, smokey-eyed Aragorn or Legolas; the antihero became just a straight-up hero.
In a way, Wells is stripping away all of this pretty packaging and getting back to basics: Orsus likes to kill, and he is good at it. He admits this freely. He just so happens to also want to remain loyal to a cause bigger than himself. These ingredients are the perfect recipe for an effective warrior, but that first one—liking to kill—is one we tend to ignore. We like to pretend that our nobler, almost Disney-fied warriors of these modern days are somehow reluctant killers. They kill “in self-defense” or “to protect” their loved ones. And we can debate the ethical justification for killing, for any reason, as much as we like. I’m just wondering why we are so willing to label as heroic such killers….
So, that’s the thought-provoking aspect of The Butcher of Khardov, and I will give it that. Everything else about it is just ridiculous, though. Over-the-top hulking brutes who need six steam-powered soldiers guarding them? And the ending, with the Queen essentially letting Orsus go free because “Oh, well, you did it to show your loyalty to me!” is repugnant. (Then again, I guess if you are the ruler of a country at war, you need to do repugnant things once in a while, and she recognizes Orsus as a valuable weapon, albeit one that is likely going to come at the cost of a few more villages here and there.) This is a brutal, almost grisly story—perfect as a companion to a brutal and grisly tabletop wargame. But my projection of my philosophical hang-ups about hypermasculine warrior worship in fantasy literature onto it aside, I’m not sure what else this story has going for it.
The cover art and illustrations scattered throughout the story reinforce this perception. Orsus Zoktavir is a big—really big—and strong—really strong—man—a manly man!—with a serious psychological scar after losing the love of his life in the village of his childhood. Dan Wells tells Orsus’ story thematically, out of chronological order, as Orsus wrestles with the concept of loyalty at various points in his life. From witnessing the death of his parents at the hands of the cannibalistic Tharn raiders to working as the muscle for a logging baron, Orsus sees his fair share of death and fighting. And he proves to be really, really good at it. But the woman he loves declares herself unable to be with a killer. So what is a dude to do?
The story culminates through two parallel climaxes. Although it becomes apparent early on that Orsus loses his way after he loses Lola, we have to wait until the very end to witness the actual event. Years later, having joined the Khadoran Army and formalized his talents as a warcaster and controller of warmachines known as “steamjacks,” Orsus loses control and butchers an entire village for “treason” (hence the name of the novella). This earns him a tense, heavily-fortified conversation with the Queen of Khador, in which she questions Orsus’ motivations and he has a chance to explain how fucked up his ideas about loyalty, morality, and just action have become since losing his parents, girlfriend, and basically any sense of normal human empathy.
I will give it this: The Butcher of Khardov inspired me to consider why we give fantasy warriors so much of our love and allegiance despite the fact that they are essentially sociopaths with big swords. The only sane character in this story is Lola, who is 100% correct when she points out that killing people is, you know, wrong. But we write big fat blank cheques when fantasy warriors do it, far more than we are willing to do for characters in any other setting. Somewhere along the way, the narrative of the fantasy warrior shifted from the hulking image of self-absorbed Conan to the noble, smokey-eyed Aragorn or Legolas; the antihero became just a straight-up hero.
In a way, Wells is stripping away all of this pretty packaging and getting back to basics: Orsus likes to kill, and he is good at it. He admits this freely. He just so happens to also want to remain loyal to a cause bigger than himself. These ingredients are the perfect recipe for an effective warrior, but that first one—liking to kill—is one we tend to ignore. We like to pretend that our nobler, almost Disney-fied warriors of these modern days are somehow reluctant killers. They kill “in self-defense” or “to protect” their loved ones. And we can debate the ethical justification for killing, for any reason, as much as we like. I’m just wondering why we are so willing to label as heroic such killers….
So, that’s the thought-provoking aspect of The Butcher of Khardov, and I will give it that. Everything else about it is just ridiculous, though. Over-the-top hulking brutes who need six steam-powered soldiers guarding them? And the ending, with the Queen essentially letting Orsus go free because “Oh, well, you did it to show your loyalty to me!” is repugnant. (Then again, I guess if you are the ruler of a country at war, you need to do repugnant things once in a while, and she recognizes Orsus as a valuable weapon, albeit one that is likely going to come at the cost of a few more villages here and there.) This is a brutal, almost grisly story—perfect as a companion to a brutal and grisly tabletop wargame. But my projection of my philosophical hang-ups about hypermasculine warrior worship in fantasy literature onto it aside, I’m not sure what else this story has going for it.
More...