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The Protagonist Speaks

Interviews with the characters of your favourite books

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Assaph Mehr

Felix the Fox is a failed magician (not his fault he couldn't pay tuition and got thrown out), a discharged legionary (honourably discharged - even if the dice were loaded), and a full time investigator of crap no one else wants to touch. Assaph is just the guy putting words on paper for Felix.

Jean René Joseph de Lorraine and Alison Mitchell (of Next in Line, by Donna Marie West)

Dear readers, tonight with us is a young woman recovering from the death of her mother, and the mysterious French man she met on her way. They are here to speak about the unlikely circumstances that brought them together, and about making choices that could affect not only their own lives and families, but the future of the entire world.

Tell us a little about where you grew up. What was it like there?

Alison: Nothing special here. I was born and raised in New Haven, Connecticut, and I still live here with my dad. I haven’t traveled much—at least not yet—but I hope to in the near future.

Joseph: I was born in Carcassonne, France. I went to school in Scotland, Switzerland, Israel, and Paris. As a wee boy in Scotland, I learned my English the hard way. I’m now studying at Yale University here in New Haven.

Did you have any favourite toys as a child? Any cherished memories?

A: Sure, I had the usual toys—dolls and stuffed animals and such—and I loved horseback riding. I used to go riding all the time with my mom (she takes a moment to settle herself at the mention of her mother, who passed away a year ago). I need to get back into that.

J: I’ve always played football—uh, you call it soccer here—and I still play at Yale. I also like to ride (he looks fondly at Alison). Perhaps we should do this together one day soon.

What do you do now?

A: I took a year off school when my mom died, but now I’m at the University of New Haven in the psychology program.

J: I’m in my second year of international law at Yale. There was a fire in my house, so I’m currently refurnishing it (he pauses here and I feel he’s keeping something back). Alison was kind enough to invite me to stay with her and her father until my house is ready.

What can you tell us about your latest adventure?

A: (looks at Joseph). I’ll let you answer this one.

J: Ah, Dieu. Where to start? My best friend was killed, my house set on fire. I was kidnapped. I escaped and was hit by a car. This is how I met Alison (he smiles). These past months have been quite a trial for both of us.

Continue reading “Jean René Joseph de Lorraine and Alison Mitchell (of Next in Line, by Donna Marie West)” →
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Sheerie (of The Only Song Worth Singing, by Randee Dawn)

Dear reader, tonight with us is one of the Irish fae, inspiring poets and musicians for decades. She’s here to talk about unseen worlds and working with a touring rock band.

Tell us a little about where you grew up. What was it like there?

I’m not human, you see, so I can’t exactly give you warm and fuzzy tales of my idyllic “childhood.” I’m actually a leanhaun sídhe, or as you might call me, a “fairy mistress.” Like many fae, I exist because I am believed in, and the more powerful the belief, the more powerful I become. I was created out of a string of folk and fairy tales from Ireland, and I believe my true father was none other than the poet W.B. Yeats, who first gave me form in his 1892 book Irish Fairy and Folk Tales. I visited him more than once, though once he left for France he was out of my reach. In those days I couldn’t travel across the waters … but today it is different.

What do you do now?

My duties involve inspiring your poets – or, in the case of The Only Song Worth Singing, your rock musicians, driving their inherent creativity to heights of near (or total) insanity. What do I ask in return? So very little. Just a bit of life, taken bit by bit. It’s a fair exchange. It’s also why your poets die so young….

What can you tell us about your latest adventure?

Fae exist in a world “beyond the Veil,” sometimes considered “under the hills,” but in any case, a place separate from the human world. All fae can pass through … and a few humans, if they are particularly special. But when a human and a fae comingle and create a new … being, it can be distasteful to us. One such exists, and we’ve been keeping an eye on him his entire life. Then he – and his band – left to share their music in the New World, and the orders came down from the Seelie Court: Find him and decide if he’s allowed to live. What can I say, though? I got distracted and found his bandmate far more interesting.

Continue reading “Sheerie (of The Only Song Worth Singing, by Randee Dawn)” →
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Carloman (of Shadows & Sorcery, by Sean Hill)

Dear readers, tonight with us is a metaphysical adept – also known as a wizard. He’s here to speak about wandering his lands, about his adventures, betrayal, and the practicality of red robes.

Tell us a little about where you grew up. What was it like there?

Oh. *laughs* That was so long ago, and so much has happened since, I can barely recall. You see, I am an itinerant, a nomad, I have no fixed abode but the earth itself, and it is my pleasure to call every person my friend. I am as happy on a bed of moss as I am in a tavern spare room or manor’s guest chambers, alone or amidst the roars of the beer house. But home for me will always, wherever my feet may tread, be Voerlund, in the small towns and villages and wilds as much as the ancient splendour of Lundermark. Background, though, background…well, I spent many years as the official court wizard of a Knight out east, that was a rare thing, and they are dear memories, now long ago.

Did you have any favourite toys as a child? Any cherished memories?

Well, as I said, I spent quite some time as a court wizard for a Knight out in eastern Voerlund, in a small county called Zagrest, a fair ways in from the borderlands. The lord of the keep back then was a Sir Kobyla—that’s koh-bill-ah, make sure you write that down. He was a good-natured fellow with a stern but fair streak, and held to his duties, his responsibilities, and his obligations with absolute conviction. Was a real follower of the Lunderman honour code. Now, I ended up there as part of some retinue, I think I had come in with a caravan or something, and the Knight hired me, a budding sorcerer, to help him with a particular issue in the keep. It was badly haunted, you see, and the ghosts were terribly grotesque, owing to some grim, forgotten deed amidst the colourful history of our nation. It was, in due time, and with much difficulty, cleared out. But we made a fine team, and Sir Kobyla’s son Harrik took to me so well, that I was offered a place in the castle. Now, Kobyla was a practical man, and having a magician he could trust around helped cover every base. Under his roof I gained access to much magical literature, and I was no slouch before, believe you me. But with Kobyla’s resources, Castle Zagrest was probably the most secure keep in the entire nation—Lundermark aside, of course. His son was a student of mine for years, too, partly at Kobyla’s behest. Clearly I’m not there anymore, because like much of Voerlund, old rivalries bubble to the surface between old families, and Kobyla and his people, including myself, found themselves ousted by an overwhelming invading force of treacherous bastards, excuse my language. The Knight didn’t survive. Oh, if I could do then what I can do now… But I suppose it also means I wouldn’t have been able to help all the people I have these past few decades. I suppose part of me does this for Kobyla and Harrik.

What do you do now?

I have been a metaphysical adept—that’s what they call strange folks like myself in the Arragad College in Silverden, everywhere else I am a wizard—for my entire life, or close enough. I like to think of myself as a steward of the land and the people, if that’s not too presumptuous. *laughs* I wander where I may, or where the gods give me little nudges as needs be. I have variously been described as an enigmatic sorcerer, nonsensical mystic, noble magician, old sage, rascal, and strange old man—all of it true, of course.

What can you tell us about your latest adventure?.

Oh, Serpent’s Breath—again, my language—where was I last…oh yes, yes, that bad business in the capital—in Lundermark. Glad to oblige the Lunderman lords when I can. Before that…I think it was Silverden, yes, that poor child. Only a little girl, she was. Now that was nasty work. Took no small effort to do what I could. And no meagre measure of anger, I don’t mind saying. I’m glad to report she made it through, but she very nearly didn’t. Not with what that bastard had done to her, and he’s a pile of rotting cinders now. Apologies for my language again. Before that, I think I was somewhere north of Baletor, east of Voerlund, on the coast where I’d encountered—ah, well, helping deal with some curious weather and sickness. All gone, too. Very little gets away from me!

Continue reading “Carloman (of Shadows & Sorcery, by Sean Hill)” →
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Paul Landrum (of The Promise of Unbroken Straw, by Ken Steele)

Dear readers, tonight with us is a boy on the cusp of teenagehood, growing up in a US small town while WWII rages on.

Tell us a little about where you grew up. What was it like there?

[Interviewer’s note:  Paul glances away, begins fidgeting] Well, I’m not sure I want to talk about that. But since you asked, I was born on a wheat farm in Wyatt County, Oklahoma, though I got out of there as soon as I could. I guess I can’t really take credit for the escape, as those circumstances sort of fell in my lap.

So, you’re asking about life on a farm in the 1940s. Every day, and I mean every day, starts a couple of hours before dawn. Feeding the livestock, milking cows, repairing whatever just broke. And staying ahead of all sorts of things that can stunt the growth of the wheat. Then on school days, you get sidetracked for hours on end with a bunch of worthless gobbledygook, come back home, and pick-up where you left off until sundown. On a farm, it’s all about the crop, end of story. Maybe next year there will be time for fun. But realistically, probably not.

Did you have any favourite toys as a child? Any cherished memories?

Toys? Yeah right. Like we could actually afford stuff like that. Sorry, toys weren’t in the budget, other than my comic book collection, that is. I did get a new fishing pole one Christmas, and Grandpa and I trotted it out as often as we could. For fly fishing, that is, not that other sport where everyone gets their hands filthy messing with live bait. I do have a lot of memories of Grandpa . . . and my brother, Tim, of course. Both gave me tons of advice, wanted or otherwise, but I suppose most of it was worth hearing. Jake, on the other hand, he didn’t waste time on advice. He wasn’t like most fathers, in that way at least. In other ways too, if we’re counting. And then, of course, there’s Momma, who died when I was young. But I don’t want to talk about that.

What do you do now?

Well, I eventually ended up in some line of work that I’d never even heard of back on the farm. Never saw that coming. But I suppose I was always fond of math even though most of my classmates poked fun. My fault that they even knew about that, as I usually keep such things to myself. You know, just to blend in. There’s a lot to be said for blending in when you live in some corner of nowhere.

What can you tell us about your biggest adventure?

I’ve gotta be careful here as I don’t want to get ahead of myself. But I will say that we had plenty of ups and downs not long after my fourteenth birthday. For starters, I thought we were actually going to starve. Hand to heart, I didn’t see how we were going to get by. Even Jake was scared; I could see it in his eyes. But the way we climbed out of that hole, now that was something else. I guess I can say this much. Things took an . . . unexpected . . . turn. Some would say for the better; others would say that anyone who felt that way was certifiably crazy. At any rate, I wasn’t remotely prepared for the changes. None of us were. But we did the best that we could. Looking back, I just wish we’d have done some things differently.

Continue reading “Paul Landrum (of The Promise of Unbroken Straw, by Ken Steele)” →
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Dom-ma (of The Mud Man, by Donna Marie West)

Dear readers, tonight with us is a man from pre-history, frozen for the past ten millennia and now revived. He’s here to tell us about life back then, and about being forced to learn about our modern world.

Tell us a little about where you grew up. What was it like there?

I grew up with my people in the north of what you now call British Columbia. We spent winters near the ocean and summers in a mountain valley inland. It was a peaceful childhood surrounded by family. Then I became a man and had my own family. To be honest, I lost my father and most of my first family—my woman Roo, four children—when a big sickness swept through my village. People became covered with red spots and grew weak until they died. I was not even sick! Much later, I left my people and while I was alone I was attacked by a bear. I almost died then, but I was found by hunters from another tribe and healed by a young woman. She later became my woman and I began my second family.

Did you have any favourite toys as a child? Any cherished memories?

I do not remember having toys, but I always liked to draw and paint. I played with my brothers and sisters. We fished and collected plants for eating and medicine. My father taught me to hunt and make stone tools. My mother taught me how to make baskets, clothes, and string. How to make medicine from plants. When I was fifteen, I spent a month alone in the forest to become a man. I will never forget that special place and time. I left my mark in a small cave to say to others that I was there.

What do you do now?

Now? I am trying to survive in this world I do not know or understand. I spend my days in Doctor Walter’s hospital. Vee takes me outside to visit places in the city. Sometimes, she takes me to her place, where she has two cats. They are like the wild cats I know, but smaller and soft and friendly. They even have names—Rusty and Scout.

What can you tell us about your latest adventure?

To be honest, every day is an adventure, and not always a pleasant one. I woke up in a place called a hospital only to realize that everything and everyone I ever knew is gone. I am learning to speak the language called English. Learning everything all over—to sit and eat and dress and walk—as if I am a child.

Continue reading “Dom-ma (of The Mud Man, by Donna Marie West)” →
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Lieutenant Jameson (of Through Jaded Eyes, by Ryan McClellan)

Dear readers, tonight we bring you the antagonist from a world where fear is the ultimate weapon, one man’s rebellion could change everything—or destroy it all.

Tell us a little about where you grew up. What was it like there?

Before the tragedy, I grew up in Manhattan. The streets were riddled with peasants, drifters, and the like. I always pitied them. I eventually signed up for a classified doctrine that would help me pay my rent. Little did I know, it was nothing short of a brainwashing experiment. I once  saw a movie, before The Great Degeneration, about a man named Jason Bourne, who underwent a similar story: I was told that I was to forget my own name, and it took a while before I realized that I needed to join the TRITE Movement, which indoctrinated me into combat. The rest, as they say, is history.

Did you have any favorite toys as a child? Any cherished memories?

When The Great Degeneration occurred, and I cannot say I fully understand what happened, I was left on the streets. I recall a drifter handing me a vial of a compound known as LSD. This, unfortunately, was my only toy, and then all went blank. Three years later, I woke up in the midst of a world that had changed. Manhattan was now enclosed by a great wall, and TRITE ran the streets. Once again, my memory is foggy, but I do remember the fear I felt when I shot my mother and father. It was the day I swore off fear, and began to climb the ranks of the TRITE Movement, where I soon became a Lieutenant.

What do you do now?

Well, my friend, I am dead. Whether I like to believe it or not, after the death of Admiral Sathers in a car explosion, I rose to the ranks as the new leader of New Manhattan. There was a boy named Daniel, who I later found out had escaped the encompassment of the wall. For now, I will wallow in shadow, until the bombs drop once more, and I am rebirthed. From there, I shall continue to seek revenge on those who hazed me. I do not know when, but I know my body is preserved. I will find a way to live again…

What can you tell us about the escape of Daniel Sathers?

When word got out about the escapee, I had no choice but to hunt him down. Exiting into The Outskirts beyond the wall, I hunted that boy, Daniel, as he was a catalyst. He was the first to ever deny The Sickness, or what some call: “fear.” He found his way into a forbidden land, and he met a former TRITE Officer named Donnie, who seemed to be an accomplice. The chase ended in a bloody battle where the Twin Towers once stood, and Mile 9 was, unfortunately, where I decided to turn back and head to the city again. The only thing is, by the time I got there, rebellion had begun. I will forever remember the bullet that cost me my final breath. Thankfully, TRITE has ways of bringing the dead back. I will await it.

Continue reading “Lieutenant Jameson (of Through Jaded Eyes, by Ryan McClellan)” →
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Oller (of New Rock New Realm, by Richard Sparks)

Dear readers, tonight with us is a sneakthief, part of a crew on a mission to follow a cryptic message that arrived on a ghost ship.

Tell us a little about where you grew up. What was it like there?

I grew up on the streets of Brigstowe. I never knew my parents. I usually managed to find somewhere to doss down for the night. I’d have been lost without Old Fingers, who took me on as his ’prentice and taught me everything he knew about thieving. He said I was a natural. I joined the Thieves Guild as soon as I could, aged ten or so. I was soon one of their best operators. If it hadn’t been for an out-of-town lass who played me for a sucker I’d never have wound up drafted into My Lord’s army—and I’d never have met Daxx, and Grell, and Qrysta, and gone on all our adventures all over the world. Foreigners, they are, and with funny foreign ways—and Grell’s an Orc, from somewhere called Ozgaroo. But they’re my new family now. First family I ever had. Best family I could imagine.

Did you have any favourite toys as a child? Any cherished memories?

Toys? Me? Only toys I ever had were ones I nicked, and sold on as soon as I could. Cherished memories? Well, if it hadn’t been for Old Fingers spotting me nicking purses in the market, I’d probably have been caught by the guards and hauled up before the reeve. He was the saving of me, and like a father to me.

What do you do now?

I find things. I’m good at finding. Ways, gold, hidden secrets and valuables. The others rely on me to find things. And use my knives when it comes to a scrap, of course.

What can you tell us about your latest adventure?

We only went and got on board this ghost ship like four blooming idiots—well, five if you count Little Guy, my dog, who adopted me when we was on the run from the authorities. Then we got into a mess, I can tell you—having to get tricky jobs done for this nasty piece of work while the whole realm was hunting us and wanting to kill us. First job was to fight a helldragon, and it only got worse from there.

Continue reading “Oller (of New Rock New Realm, by Richard Sparks)” →
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Ed the Dimetrodon (of The Heart of Pangaea, by Lindsey Kinsella)

Dear readers, tonight we interview an imaginary friend, a precocious twelve-year-old’s companion. He’s a dinosaur, living in a fantastical pre-historic world together with other creatures, pirates, and ancient magic.

Tell us a little about where you were born. What was it like there?

Well, as an imaginary friend, I suppose I was born in my best friend’s imagination. I can’t say I remember exactly how I came to be—when did I shift from abstract thought to something… more? Am I more than that at all? What I can say is Robyn’s mind is a wild place—believe me when I say it has created more than just me!

But conceptually I was born much longer ago. You see, Robyn is a real geek for everything prehistoric, so when she concocted a friend, she modelled me on a real-life ancient creature. A Dimetrodon hailing from the Permian period, some quarter of a billion years ago and long before the first dinosaur hatched. It was a time before the rise of reptiles, when animals more similar to mammals ruled the planet.

Did you have any favourite activities as a child? Any cherished memories?

One of the downsides of being a figment of someone’s imagination is that interacting with the “real” world is… difficult. I won’t say impossible—I did once headbutt someone into a puddle, but that’s a story for another time.

So, I have to be happy to spectate. And I know that sounds boring, but I get to spectate the most interesting girl on the planet. Okay, I might be biased. She’s an incredible artist, an impressive athlete, and… a terrible singer. So, you might say my favourite activity is just being with my best friend every single day. I don’t think many people get to do that.

Of course, I’m also her emotional support—and she’s needed me for that lately. You see, her mum isn’t well. We didn’t realise until recently just how unwell. But it’s okay—we can help her.

What do you do now?

Not so long ago, Robyn and I made a discovery. It all began with the aforementioned headbutt. Look, I’m not proud of myself, but… actually I am—it was awesome and they totally deserved it. From there we came to realise that the line between what’s imaginary and what’s real is kind of vague. Under the right conditions, I can interact with the real world. And if I can, does that mean anything Robyn imagines could? Could she create real, physical things with nothing more than imagination?

One thing led to another and woosh! We find ourselves in a different world. An imaginary world, but somehow real. I can’t say I understand it myself, but I feel at home there. I can touch things, speak with people other than Robyn, I can eat. That might all sound quite pedestrian to you, but I’ve never been able to do those things before.

So now we have a job to do—a quest, if you will. Because this world, Pangaea, has a magic to it. Something more than just a tired cliché about the power of imagination. Here, we might find a cure for Robyn’s mum. If it’s here, we will find it. We have to.

What can you tell us about your latest adventure?

Our time in Pangaea has been wild. We’ve met prehistoric creatures, dined with a king, and even been kidnapped by pirates—all in search for the Heart of Pangaea. We don’t know what it is yet, but we’ll find out soon—the king reckons it could save Robyn’s mum.

Continue reading “Ed the Dimetrodon (of The Heart of Pangaea, by Lindsey Kinsella)” →
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Prof Benjamin Dinerstein (of The Ibbur’s Tale, by Lenny Abelson)

Dear readers, tonight we’re chatting with an English literature professor who encountered a most unusual ghost. Straight out of Eastern European Judaic mythology, it has led him on a journey of discovery and mysteries.

TPS: We were pleased to have the opportunity to speak with Professor Emeritus Benjamin Dinerstein about his experiences with an ibbur and the remarkable history the two of them uncovered. Professor, welcome!

BD: Thank you very much, and please call me Ben. It is a pleasure to meet you.

TPS: Likewise. Well, Ben, it is now more than twenty-two years since your encounter with the ibbur. Have you had any further contact either with her or Zephaniah, the mysterious old woman who played such a prominent role in the narrative?

BD: Sadly, I have not.

TPS: But you are quite certain that you actually encountered an ibbur, in this case, the ghost of your former student, Miriam?

BD: Excuse me. I hate to wax pedantic, but I must make a quick correction. An ibbur is not to be confused with a ghost. It is a very specific type of possessive spirit. Miriam came to me seeking my assistance. She had one last mitzvah, a good deed, to perform, and that was to finish her uncle’s quest. In fairness, she would surely have completed the task herself had she not been killed in the automobile accident. That said, I am absolutely certain that the entity I encountered was indeed Miriam.

TPS: I understand. In fact, I found the story quite convincing myself. Why, there’s so much history — not only her family’s saga, but European history, from before World War One through World War Two…

BD: … and, as you probably realized as quickly as I did, it all “fits.” As implausible as it might seem, these events took place almost exactly as Susanna, whom Miriam had planned to contact, described them.

TPS: I found Susanna absolutely fascinating. What remarkable strength she must have had!

BD: I got to know her quite well over the years, and she was a wonderful woman. She died just a few months ago, though not before she had seen five great-grandchildren.

TPS: But Naomi was her only child?

BD: Yes. It seems that irony ran rampant in that family. Michael Goldberg, Susanna’s husband, had had a bad case of mumps and was apparently unable to have children of his own. Similarly, Zephaniah told me that the man Yosef Müller believed was his father had also been rendered sterile by that disease. However, it seems as though everything fell into place nevertheless, didn’t it?

TPS: Indeed. Now, I must ask you something a little more personal. You have long described yourself as a skeptic, yet you seem so willing to accept an encounter with a purported ibbur without any reservations. Did you step out of character? Did you make an exception because of your feelings toward Miriam, your former student?

BD: Not at all! Like the ancient Greek skeptics, I tend to withhold assent, at least initially. Thereafter, I reserve judgment until I have gathered sufficient information. The image of Miriam convinced me that she was indeed my brilliant student, and the strange family saga that we unfolded was considerably more believable than the appearance of an ibbur. Everything made sense, except —

Continue reading “Prof Benjamin Dinerstein (of The Ibbur’s Tale, by Lenny Abelson)” →
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