‘Spartacus: Blood and Ashes’ by author J.M. Clements, the tie-in book to Stars’ epic swords-and-sandals series, hits bookshelves this week. To celebrate the release, we have a guest blog from the author himself here, but we also have three copies of the book to give away courtesy of the fine folks at Titan Books!


Some legends are written in blood.

In the arena blood and death are primetime entertainment. But not all battles are fought upon the sands…





To be in with a chance of winning, simply email us here and include the following:

1. Your full name and mailing address.
2. The answer to the following: Which actor plays Batiatus in the TV series Spartacus: Blood and Sand?

(UK entrants only. One entry per household. Competition ends 3rd February 2012.)

Julie Cross’ debut novel ‘Tempest’ hit bookshelves worldwide this month. A fun, fast-paced action/romance for young adult readers, it’s a mixture of The Time Traveller’s Wife, Jumper and The Bourne Identity.

You can find my full review here, but the folks at MacMillan were kind enough to send along a clip from the audiobook version so you can check out a little of the book for yourself.

‘Tempest’ by Julie Cross is available to buy now in audiobook, hardback and ebook format.
Click here to order the book from Amazon.co.uk

Spartacus: Swords and Ashes, the tie-in novel to Stars’ epic swords and sandals TV series arrives on bookshelves in the UK on 27th January from Titan Books (Priced £6.99).

You can out find more about the book at Titan Books’ website here, and to celebrate the release, we’re pleased to host a guest blog from Swords and Ashes author J.M. Clements!

JUPITER’S COCK!

Author J.M. Clements on the language of Spartacus

The language was the first thing I noticed about Spartacus: Blood & Sand. While everyone else was trilling about the blood and the gore, the crotch-shots and the knockers, I heard the distinct sound of scriptwriters who loved language. Slaves from the provinces spat recognisable modern dialogue, effing and blinding, often with clear Antipodean accents. But when Batiatus first swans into view, John Hannah speaks in elaborate trimeters and tetrameters, full of classy poise and archaic charm.

Writers have long struggled with the problems of conveying the attitudes and ideas of a different time or place in the same language that readers use to write their shopping lists or shout at their kids. Tolkien invented an entire world in order to justify the authorship of a single sentence in a language that didn’t exist. Numerous science fiction authors have posited the use of an English that is decayed or mutated, each demanding new exercise on the part of the reader before they get a sense of the world they see. The same applies to historical fiction.

Derek Jarman found a way around it by having everyone speak Latin in his film Sebastiane. But even though his actors rose to the task, their argot sounds strange to modern ears. In the most memorable line, a man onscreen calls out “Oi! Oedipe!” The subtitles gleefully translate it as “Hey! Motherf*cker!” Roman insults and oaths didn’t draw on vernacular concepts – more often than not, they drew classical allusions, to Hercules and Venus, Vulcan and Jupiter. And their body parts.

In Spartacus, the writers embark upon an extended exercise in capturing the sense of how ancient Romans communicate. Dialogue is as carefully Latinate as possible, to the exclusion of much earthy Anglo-Saxon. No, not the f-word and the c-word, both found in abundance, but little touches like hello, goodbye and thank you, banished from hearing in order to up the sense of a different world. “Gratitude” is itself an anachronism, not found in Latin until long after the time of the Republic, but its use in Spartacus sets a tone throughout, and matched by much other dialogue.

When Craig Parker, as Glaber, says: “What promises have you made Batiatus and his faded bitch?” there is a music and a rhythm to his words. Even in English, the script conveys the sense of a language carefully conjugated almost into poetry, heavy with alliteration and assonance, even as it launches an insult.

That’s one of the reasons why I leapt at the chance to write the first Spartacus tie-in novel Swords & Ashes, because it was a chance to play with those ideas for a whole book. I took things the other way, as well, with chapter titles in real Latin, often with strong resonances with modern English: “Posteritas”, “Reconciliatum”, or “Argumenta”. I get a real kick out of words like miscellanea (a gladiator’s porridge) or spoliarium (the room where they dump the dead). I think it’s sweet that a gladiatorial groupie is called a ludia (literally “schoolie”) or that the gladiators used to call their pre-game warm-up routine numeri (“the numbers”). Such ideas can impart a real sense of time and place by their presence.

There are also some that need to be absent. When my first draft came back from approvals, it was missing three thousand words, most of them “the” and “a”. Latin doesn’t have definite or indefinite articles, and while the producers are happy to have them in the text, they are reluctant to hear them in dialogue. The pseudo-Latinate dialogue of the show is jarring when you first see it on the page, but you soon get used to it. It’s not long before you hear Batiatus bellowing in your ear about wine, women, and the arena. I was very surprised that I was able to last a whole 28 pages before his first outburst of “JUPITER’S COCK!”


J.M. Clements is the author of Spartacus: Swords & Ashes, available now in the US in paperback and on Kindle. It is released in the UK on 27th January.
Click here to order the book from Amazon.co.uk

It’s 2009 and 19-year-old college student Jackson Meyer can jump through time. His abilities aren’t quite as impressive as they might sound to begin with: He can only make short trips into the recent past and he can’t poke around and change history. When two armed men break into his apartment in an attempt to kidnap him, his girlfriend Holly is shot and panicked Jackson instinctively jumps into the past, but without control of his abilities, he ends up stuck in 2007.

Stranded in a time he doesn’t belong, he finds himself beginning his relationship all over again with younger Holly while trying to hone his powers enough to leap back to the present and save the future her. With a shady government agency desperate to harness his gift for their own means and the sinister time-travellers behind Holly’s shooting following him into the past, Jackson’s life becomes more dangerous than he ever thought possible as he struggles to save the girl he loves.

After the success of the Twilight books, young adult fiction has become a potential cash cow for movie studios looking to option the ‘next big thing’ franchise. With a huge marketing push and promo ads airing on UK TV (quite a rarity for books over here), it’s no surprise that Tempest is being groomed for movie success, too, with YA film factory Summit Entertainment optioning the rights. Unfortunately, though, Tempest often feels like a book awkwardly written with a movie adaptation in mind, with franchise-friendly tropes, subplots and mysteries shoe-horned in to fuel future books/films. It’s a shame, because those clunky, underwritten elements aside, Julie Cross’ debut novel is a fast-paced and entertaining romantic adventure with surprisingly likeable, well-written lead characters.





It’s incredibly refreshing to see a realistic, well fleshed out guy character at the centre of a young adult novel, which makes a nice change from the usual clichéd dark, broody, borderline abusive bad boys or bland, perfect Prince Charming caricatures who usually the male lead. Time-travelley protagonist Jackson Meyer proves to be a likeable, believable character; he’s intelligent and good natured, but occasionally self-involved and short-sighted, which helps make him and the relationship at the centre of the story feel realistically flawed and rather engrossing one. The same is true of love interest Holly, and while she’s not given quite the same amount of character development as Jackson, she’s a cute, strong-willed and well-written character, and their enjoyable dialogue flows naturally and believably.

The major problem is that it often seems like Cross is putting together a supernatural trilogy just because that’s what’s popular and expected of YA authors now (unsurprisingly, Tempest already had a movie adaptation in the works even before the book hit shelves), and the story and writing are far more natural, entertaining and impressive when the book focuses on the real-world relationship drama than the other-worldly sci-fi elements. She crafts believable lead characters and an engaging romance, with both Jackson and Holly being likeable, realistic characters, and their relationship and the dialogue that propels it is natural, sweet and often funny.

Unfortunately, when the book steps outside the lines of that simple, down-to-earth romance, it feels like Cross gets bored and rushes through the convoluted sci-fi elements as quickly as possible with the least amount of effort to get back to the relationship drama. The natural, realistic dialogue that drives the central relationship vanishes whenever the story has to focus on its big mysteries and time travel elements, where every bit of new information about Jackson’s abilities are clumsy thrown at us with lazy exposition and major, life-changing secrets about his past are just blurted out in stilted ‘Oh, and by the way, you also have this power now, and you’re also adopted, see ya!’ fashion by his father or doctor.





It’s a problem that’s even more noticeable when you throw in the rather rote, generic elements of the time travel story as it feels like Cross is just ticking off boxes on a checklist of familiar tropes. Jackson naturally has a teen hacker sidekick who can hack into any government system with zero effort, there’s a shifty government agency on the trail of those with special abilities and there’s an ages-old race of evil time-hoppers dubbed ‘The Enemies of Time’ (or EOT for short) out to destroy the world. If you’ve ever read/seen teleportation YA book/movie adaptation Jumper, the entirety of Tempest will give you a huge sense of deja-vu, and far too much of the sci-fi story is an unfortunate mixture of convoluted, clumsy and derivative.

But even amidst the often clunky and potentially confusing sci-fi elements, Cross crafts some engaging action scenes. The bursts of violent energy that pop up as Jackson learns some Bourne Identity-style martial arts and puts his powers to use are fairly gripping and Cross writes action in a simple, dynamic and easy-to-follow way which helps keep the pace as propulsive as the action. She also throws in some interesting ideas when toying with time travel: Jackson can perform half-jumps, where his actions in the past have no consequence and part of him stays rooted in the present, as well as full leaps, where he propels himself through time completely, able to change things. Unfortunately those ideas aren’t always used to their full potential, but it’s a unique mechanic all the same and sows the seed to hopefully be used to better effect in later books.

Tempest is a fast, action-packed, breezy read, and a largely enjoyable one, with a sweet, natural core romance and charming, well-written leads. Sadly, its sci-fi elements give way to plenty of clumsy, unnatural dialogue, paper thin supporting characters and convoluted, derivative chunks of plot. It’s an entertaining read, and one which you’ll fly through in no time, but it’s a shame that Cross doesn’t put as much heart and effort into the larger sci-fi plot and characters than she does the comparatively more engaging love story elements.

Rating:

‘Tempest’ by Julie Cross is available to buy now.
Click here to order the book from Amazon.co.uk

The tie-in novel can be a tough proposition to pull off well, but even more challenging are those books based on video games. It’s a lose-lose situation in most respects; for the majority of games, the narrative doesn’t hold up to close scrutiny and is merely tolerated for the fun gameplay, but even those titles with rich mythology and great characters might not prove as memorable and enthralling when you’re a passive observer instead of an active participant helping shape the story. Uncharted: The Fourth Labyrinth attempts to adapt the exhilarating action and adventure of the Uncharted games to the printed page, and while it’s a fun little pulpy adventure to help tide fans over until the new game arrives, sadly it never comes close to rivalling the video game adventures of Nathan Drake.

When college professor and noted archaeologist Luka Hzujak turns up brutally murdered in New York while investigating the myth of Daedalus’ labyrinths, his grieving daughter Jada turns to her godfather, Victor ‘Sully’ Sullivan, for help. Wise-cracking adventurer Nathan Drake leaps to the aid of his best pal/partner in crime and he and Sully head off to Egypt with Jada in tow, intent on unravelling the mysteries of the lost labyrinths, discovering the treasure at the heart of it all and uncovering the truth behind Hzujak’s murder. But with an army of mysterious hooded assassins and a sinister German industrialist on their tail, the treasure-hunters’ latest adventure might prove to be their most dangerous yet.

Though he crafts an entertaining adventure for Nathan Drake, Christopher Golden never quite manages to manoeuvre around the overlooked fact that, at least on paper, Uncharted isn’t an exceptional series. They’re solid, old-fashioned Indiana Jones-inspired adventures that’re masterpieces of presentation rather than plot. The masterstroke of the Uncharted games is in the storytelling rather than the story, combining fantastic gameplay, incredibly cinematic, dynamic and interactive action narratives with voice acting and motion capture performance that’s far above and beyond that of most other games. Take away the exceptional voice talent of Nolan North, Emily Rose and Richard McGonagle, the cinematic, visual action and the interactivity and we’re left back at square one, with an enjoyable, but derivative and familiar pulp adventure story.





Not that that’s a terrible compromise, but without the defining, elevating elements that make the games such phenomenal experiences, the wear in the foundation is much more apparent and harder to forgive. The Uncharted series has always owed a colossal debt to the Indiana Jones movies; without the globe-trotting, treasure-hunting adventures of Henry Jones, Jr., the roguish, quip-happy Nathan Drake we know and love wouldn’t exist. But Christopher Golden goes a few steps further, borrowing almost the entire plot of Temple of Doom for The Fourth Labyrinth. (Spoiler alert!) A mysterious, sinister, catacomb-dwelling cult kidnapping the locals and feeding them potion to turn them into mindless worker drones? Check. One of our heroes momentarily turned slave-zombie and forced to attack his friends? Check-oslavakia.

(The spoilers are over, you can look now!) In fairness, Golden does weave an otherwise entertaining and fairly gripping tale which, true to the Indy/Uncharted formula, weaves mythic history lesson with cryptic, supernatural-tinged mystery and tomb-raiding adventure to engaging effect, with a fun re-imagining of the Daedalus/Minotaur myth. Sadly it’s more than a little damning that The Fourth Labyrinth’s most original and interesting story moments are shamelessly yoinked from an Indiana Jones movie. The action is naturally never as dynamic or as heart-stopping as its gaming counterpart, propped up by too much exposition, and the dialogue’s never quite as snappy, but Golden manages to strike a decent approximation of the game’s tone. A high-octane jungle jeep chase/impromptu rescue sets the scene and reintroduces Nathan Drake perfectly, and a couple of underground labyrinth exploration set-pieces offer fast-paced, well constructed action to have you speeding through pages at a steady clip.

There’s the obligatory woman-of-the-week love interest in Jada Hzujak, a fiesty and amiable girl who gives Nate a run for his money in terms of both wit and adventure. There’s more literary real estate devoted to constantly reminding us of her hair colour than there is to her actual character (keep a hip flash handy and take a swig whenever ‘magenta streaks’ are mentioned – hangovers will ensue), but Golden throws in plenty of fun, flirty banter that works well in effectively nudging along their ‘will-they/won’t they?’ relationship. The usual friendly back-and-forth ribbing between snarky Drake and playful curmudgeon Sully is intact, too, and the pair are great fun to spend time with yet again. There’s brief mention of Nate’s parents, but otherwise there’s not much new light shed on familiar faces and precious little character development for our two heroes, while newcomers might be a tad lost as Golden makes only a sparse effort to introduce Nate and Sully to non-fans.

Those who loved the games will likely find that this paperback Nathan Drake outing never reaches the heights of its interactive equivalent. But while it’s derivative and light on character, The Fourth Labyrinth still makes for a fun, pulpy adventure that proves to be an enjoyable afternoon read. Consider it a fatty, but quite tasty Uncharted hamburger to tide you over until the delicious prime cut steak of Drake’s Deception arrives on PlayStation 3.

Rating:

Christopher Golden’s ‘Uncharted: The Fourth Labyrinth’ is available to buy now .
Click here to order the book from Amazon.co.uk

Whether you’re a fan or not, it’s impossible not to see the unfortunate impact that Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight series has had on the landscape of teen literature. In any medium, publishers and studios will always try to replicate or capitalise on the latest phenomenon. As a result, almost every upcoming novel aimed at the teen market is the third, fifth or eleventeenth book in a series centring on the epic, forbidden love between a small-town girl and a broody vampire/werewolf/mummy/Oompa-Loompa. In a genre completely flooded with bland, derivative tales of gothic romance and warring supernatural clans, Cat Patrick’s Forgotten is the kind of book that young adult fiction desperately needs more of: An enticingly unique and instantly compelling novel with a killer concept.

London Lane might seem like your average high-school girl – good grades, a loyal, if stubborn best friend and a supportive, but overprotective mother – but what sets her apart isn’t on the surface. Every night at 4:33 a.m., London’s memory resets itself. Her entire past is a blank, but she can see her future like memories; she’ll remember things that’ll happen tomorrow, but has no clue what happened yesterday. Patching together a past for herself by keeping a system of daily notes and relying on reminders from her mother and best friend Jamie, London attempts to live a normal life. Trying to start a relationship with the sweet, charming new boy at school proves difficult in itself when she’ll forget him every night, but when London uncovers a terrifying memory of her future, she’ll be forced to unravel her past if she’ll have any hope of changing what’s to come.





Patrick uses the Memento-esque concept to great effect both as a mystery device and to fuel the human drama of a girl stuck with such a unique condition, exploring the inherent minor perks and major problems for a teenage girl with total memory loss. After all, the daily life of a teenage girl seems like a life and death drama already, and a particularly bad day at high school can feel like a minor tragedy for the hormonal teenagers living it. London has the benefit of being able to see the future and pick and chose what parts of the past she wakes up to. If she doesn’t want to remember a painful argument or embarrassing mishap, she simply doesn’t leave a note to tell herself about it and it’s gone forever.

But it’s a double-edged sword, too: Relying on a parent or friend to remind her of the past is great in theory, but what if she isn’t being told everything? And where should she draw the line with her knowledge of the future; is it okay to interfere with someone’s happiness in the present if it might spare them heartache later? London’s struggle to live a normal life and the murky moral dilemmas that pop up while she’s exploring her abilities helps shape her into an interesting, immediately likeable and realistically flawed, believable protagonist. Her story becomes even more gripping as Patrick unfolds a tapestry of captivating mystery that’ll hook in readers in until the surprising (if hurried) finale. Questions unravel at a steady pace and Forgotten becomes even more riveting as the answers become clearer. What caused London’s condition? What’s her mother hiding from her? Why can’t she see her boyfriend in her memory of the future like she can everything else? And who is at the centre of the looming funeral she keeps seeing glimpses of?





Naturally, since it’s a Young Adult novel, there’s the obligatory romance, but Forgotten’s is a refreshingly sweet and simple one at heart, and swoon-inducing new kid Luke Henry is sure to have teenage girls wishing they could steal him off the page and keep him for themselves. London’s romance is made instantly problematic for her since she’s doomed to forget Luke every night, will never recall the events of their first date and only gets to remember their relationship vicariously through her collection of notes. Even so, she does get the benefit of being able to rediscover his improbable good looks and fall for him all over again with every new day. He’s the archetypal Prince Charming, only with a quirky fondness for painting ears, but while he’s a little too lightly fleshed out in comparison to the other well-developed characters, it’s a welcome change to find a sweet, well-adjusted nice guy as the romantic interest in a young adult novel, as opposed to yet another terminally broody, melodramatic bad boy.

I started reading Forgotten in bed expecting to skim through a chapter before falling asleep. Four hours later, it was 5am and I was on the last few pages. It’s a gripping, unputdownable read, and Cat Patrick dishes out the perfect balance of intrigue, drama and romance with a breezy, delicate prose. Naturally, if you vomit uncontrollably at the thought of teen romance novels, then it probably won’t be for you, but if you’re jonesing for a unique, compelling and memorable change from the mountain of Twilight knock-offs, then Forgotten is a perfect fit.

Rating:

Cat Patrick’s ‘Forgotten’ is released simultaneously in the UK, USA and Australia on 6th June 2011.
Click here to order the book from Amazon.co.uk

Now that the fifth year of Skins has wrapped up in not quite spectacular fashion, we’re a year from seeing if the next (and likely final) series of Skins can steer the show back on course and deliver on the new generation’s initial potential. For those who are jonesing for a new fix of the show before then, though, a tie-in novel penned by Jess Brittain (daughter of co-creator Bryan Elsley and writer for Series Six) hit shelves this month.

Skins: Summer Holiday is a fast, breezy, fun read which often does a better job juggling the group and fleshing out its characters consistently than the current series of the show itself has. For the most part, though, it’s best equated with a filler episode – one which gives you an added chunk of time to spend with your favourite characters for a few laughs and light drama, but which doesn’t push Generation Three’s story forward in any way or offer any major new character development or revelations.

The book charts the gang’s escapades before Series Five as they embark on a post-GCSE summer of partying and a camping trip to Newquay before their first day at Roundview. Grace is coping with a crush on a fellow ballet student who might not be all he seems, while she and Liv are suffering under the tyrannical rule of bitch-queen Mini, who’s spending a lot of time with Jack, a suspicious older man. Nick’s struggling to get laid and still in the thrall of his controlling, self-absorbed dad, viewing their relationship through rose-tinted glasses. Alo is trying desperately to make up for years of social leprosy and celibacy by going out to clubs with best friend Rich in tow, who would much rather stay home and listen to Slayer. Matty’s out of the picture after being booted out of the Levan house, while Franky is still in Oxford, enduring a brutal campaign of torment at the hands of monstrous bully Riga.





Summer Holiday is largely limited by what it is: A tie-in prequel. Prequels on the whole are usually unnecessary endeavours, either expanding needlessly on things that were already explained well enough or are better left to our imagination, or rehashing events we’ve already heard about. Summer Holiday slips into that ditch a little too often, but is also stuck being unable to tread any real new ground for its characters – there’s already a concrete path laid out ahead for these characters that Jess Brittain can’t really diverge from or move past with her novel. The drama explored for Liv, for example, essentially just repeats the family events of her episode of the show, revealing nothing new about her character and tiptoeing around the Bella backstory again (presumably that’s being saved for next year’s Liv episode). Likewise, seeing Franky brutally victimised is certainly gruelling, but is content covered just as effectively and much more economically in just a few lines and photos in the show.

Adding to the inherent prequel problems, characters like Nick and Mini who have since been fleshed out and grown to be likeable (or at least less hate-worthy) on the show revert back to the unbearable people they were before they matured, thus becoming a lot tougher to spent time with again. As a result of the baked-in prequel problems, Summer Holiday is at its best when introducing new characters that Brittain is free to do what she likes with. Grace’s burgeoning, but doomed romance with her previously unseen ballet partner Zayne and her friendship with Skylar, a girl living in a hippy squatter commune provide an engaging story, some interesting new characters and gives Grace more to do than in the entire series itself.





The book’s highlight, however, comes when we’re introduced to a deaf girl named Rhodie, whose parents have sent her off to summer camp in Newquay with kids much younger than her. Parents and teachers have been treading on eggshells around her for her whole life due to her condition, neglecting to let her live like an actual teenager and failing to fill her in on the things a 16-year-old should know. She takes her beach trip as an opportunity to break away from her sheltered life and embark on a coming-of-age adventure, experiencing the life she’s missed out on, crossing paths with Alo along the way. Even in just a couple of very short chapters, Brittain quickly shapes Rhodie into as interesting, unique, endearing and well developed a character as any on the show.

Though Summer Holiday doesn’t cover any radically new ground when it comes to characters, Brittain does do a much better job at fleshing out the motivations and dynamics of the group than the inconsistent character development of the series has. The book flits back and forth between the viewpoint of multiple characters in each scene to fun effect, hammering home a few awkward mixed messages between characters and conveying the distinct inner thoughts of the gang in a way the show can’t. And while there aren’t any major new revelations, we do get a tonne of the great smaller moments between characters, like Rich jumping on the grenade of public embarrassment to protect his best pal Alo. We also get a few more hints about where Series Six might lead, with major hints of physical or sexual abuse in Franky’s past and more lesbian moments with Mini as she gets frisky with a sleeping Liv:

“Her skin was so beautiful, all perfect and chocolatey. Before I knew what I was doing, I traced my fingers along her stomach, just above her pants.”





Ultimately Summer Holiday is limited by its form as a prequel novel, unable to offer any major new revelations or character development that might clash with the show itself or step on the toes of the upcoming series. Even so, it’s a well-written, entertaining read that introduces a fantastic new character, offers a few fun adventures with the gang and proves more enjoyable than most episodes from this series. It’s not perfect, but those itching for another entertaining dose of drama and debauchery with their favourite group of Bristol misfits will surely find much to enjoy in Skins: Summer Holiday.

Rating:

Skins: Summer Holiday is available to buy now in the UK in paperback and Kindle format.
Click here to order the book from Amazon.co.uk

Created By Bryan Lee O’Malley

With the final volume now released, the marketing for Edgar Wright’s superb-looking film adaptation gearing up to hit cinemas, a video game tie-in due and Bryan Lee O’Malley’s six-year-long love letter to a generation now complete, you’ve probably been bludgeoned with the blunt end of Scott Pilgrim‘s fantastically fun premise enough already, so forgive the following catch-up. Scott Pilgrim’s a bass-playing Canadian slacker in a not-exactly-good band called Sex Bob-omb. When he meets and falls in love with mysterious American courier Ramona Flowers, he discovers he’ll have to defeat her 7 evil ex-boyfriends if he wants to be with her. Littered with oodles of video game references, gleefully daft magical realism fantasy and epic fights balanced with wonderful, real characters, touching romance and resonant, evolving relationships, Scott Pilgrim is that rare creation: a unique, geek-friendly comic with genuine depth and universal appeal.

As Volume 6 opens, Scott is languishing in post-break-up depression following Ramona’s vanishing act: unwashed, unfed on anything but ramen and unable to leave the comforting confines of his loving couch. The imposing spectre of final evil ex Gideon looms large, Kim Pine has moved away up north, Stephen Stills is moving on to form another band, while Wallace Wells is growing weary of Scott’s self-pity and is trying to convince Pilgrim to go out, sleep with something and just move on. Misguidedly heeding his advice, Scott awkwardly fumbles through his own exes in a series of desperate, embarrassing and unsuccessful attempts to get laid and get over Ramona before realising that he’ll have to finally grow up and take charge of his life if he’ll have any hopes of being happy and winning her back.

In many respects, Scott Pilgrim’s Finest Hour is Bryan Lee O’Malley’s High Fidelity. There are similarities from the get-go, from the opening state of depressed post-break-up ennui that we find both protagonists in, to Scott’s impromptu Rob Gordon-style trip down ex-girlfriend memory lane. Though while Rob’s is a self-aware quest for past relationship closure and understanding, Scott’s is a more passive search for break-up therapy casual sex at the behest of Wallace, and on some level, a desperate scramble to find someone amongst his former flames to fill the void Ramona left behind. Naturally, along the way, he too finds the same respective clarity and closure as O’Malley explores something touched on in Nick Hornby’s book: the idea of our selective, self-serving memory of relationships and break-ups.

O’Malley channels the notion through hilarious, cutesy, chibi-style ‘Memory-Cam’ moments – cheerful, rose-tinted and woefully inaccurate recollections of the past that conveniently paint a character’s revisionist, idealised view of their own history. It’s no great secret that the characters of Scott Pilgrim are often complete dicks, none more so than Scott himself; they’re young, human, and therefore inherently flawed as people, capable of thoughtless and hurtful actions. Sure, Scott’s loveable, endearing and it’s hard not to identify with him or root for him, but he’s thoroughly capable of instigating just as much heartache and pain as he reaps, whether he’s aware of it or not. We’re all the heroes of our own story, but none of us like to entertain the notion that we might be the villain of others’, or the cause of our own problems and heartbreaks. That idea is the thematic centre of the final book, and as the culmination of his steady growth and maturity over the series, Scott – the Rob Gordon of the videogame generation – will have to buck his trend of wilful ignorance, acknowledge his past mistakes and learn from them if he’s ever to truly grow up and be worthy of the girl he loves.

This depth of character extends throughout the entire cast, and though the cornucopia of geek-friendly video game references, absurd left-field humour and outlandish action might be the selling point of the series for many, it’s the intelligent, incisive and emotionally-resonant character work that’s the true heart and soul of O’Malley’s creation. Every character gets their moment to shine, despite the brisk pace, and character is pushed to the fore more than ever before as relationships and people continue to shift and change towards the conclusions of their respective journeys. There are less ancillary gags to be found in Volume 6, which might irk some, but it feels oddly fitting; not only does the final volume have a lot of ground to cover and little time to waste in terms of wrapping up character arcs, but the even more focused, driven narrative suits the rapidly maturing nature of the characters well.

That’s not to say it lacks the humour and geeky references we’ve come to love – it’s certainly isn’t short of laugh-out loud gags, from ‘Gideon Graves, Occupation: Asshole’ to a killer Google/Wikipedia joke, with copious Zelda and Final Fantasy references inbetween – but while the book’s the longest yet, it’s unquestionably the fastest. Volume 6 breezes by almost instantly, partly because as the final book, you simply don’t want it to end, but largely thanks to the entire second half being devoted to an epic and lengthy climactic fight scene between Scott and Gideon. While some might be off-put by the incredibly fast pace, it’s to O’Malley’s credit that despite the hurried feel and the abundance of action, character never feels sacrificed for a single moment and the result is a thoroughly rewarding, emotionally satisfying climax to a truly amazing series.

It’s not just his characters who have evolved, either – Bryan Lee O’Malley’s artwork is more striking than ever. The characters are more expressive, O’Malley experiments with texture more (a recurring blood spatter effect looks especially impressive) and the last half is crammed with inventive and visually kinetic action, from sword fights, 80 foot tall adversaries and sub-space explosions, while the last few pages are simply beautiful. The artwork has, frankly, never been the strongest component of Scott Pilgrim. It’s always been distinctive and charming, but O’Malley’s grown by infinite leaps and bounds as an artist from the humble beginnings of Scott Pilgrim’s Precious Little Life, and his work has never looked better than here.

There are people who may not enjoy Scott Pilgrim. Perhaps they might prefer their comic books to be of the traditional, generic ‘superheroes, muscles and boobs’ variety. It’s possible they’re cripplingly phobic of the letter ‘S’ (a unique and fictional condition called ‘essophobia’, not to be confused with the fear of petrol stations). Maybe they were stabbed in the brain in a bizarre trowel attack, severing the part of their cerebral cortex that processes fun. But anyone with a fondness for video games, quirky comedy, outlandish action or heartfelt, resonant relationship drama will find something in the series to adore. If your tastes lie at the intersection of any of those criteria though, Scott Pilgrim is your geek nirvana: a profoundly stunning work of perfection that deftly blends comedy, action and romance with surprising intelligence and shocking depth into a package that’s hilarious, touching, universally accessible and completely unforgettable.

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Scott Pilgrim’s Finest Hour is available to buy now. Click here to order it from Amazon.co.uk.