From the acid-tipped pen of the Rageaholic himself comes his smash-hit debut into pulp fiction. I’m of course talking about the first volume of his Nightvale series, ‘The Long Moonlight’.
We follow the adventures of world-weary, young thief, Xerdes, as he becomes unwillingly embroiled in a conflict between two, rival gangs after a robbery gone wrong. However, he may just happen to turn a profit in all the chaos as he receives the job offer of a lifetime—to pull off the ultimate heist. In the backdrop of Vale in the Kingdom of Menuvia, we follow the power struggle of the criminal underworld and the bureaucratic corruption that professes to combat it while all too often aiding it from the shadows. Even as Xerdes finds himself caught up in the machinations of rival gang lords, the wily Police Inspector Coggins finds his hunt for street thugs gradually lead him back to the city Guard he serves, becoming embroiled himself in a hunt for truth that may find him enemies among his own comrades and superiors.
To any seasoned pulp fan, The Long Moonlight wears its influences on its sleeve, with its world, characters, and plots invoking everything from Fafhrd and the Grey Mouser, to Solomon Kane, to Robin Hood, to Philip Marlowe, to particularly Robert E. Howard’s Conan adventure, ‘Tower of the Elephant’ with its description of the tower heist and the general opulence and corruption of the city itself. Most especially, his descriptions of Xerdes’ stealth, thievery, and talent of blending into the shadows deeply invokes comparisons to Walter B. Gibson’s ‘The Shadow’. The plot itself bears some similarities with Dashiell Hammett’s ‘Red Harvest’ and Sergio Leone’s ‘Fistfull of Dollars’ as our hero finds himself caught between the machinations of two, rival crime lords. Yet, despite its many influences, The Long Moonlight still stands apart with its author’s own, unique eloquence, sharp-tongued wit, sarcasm, and dark humor to eschew accusations of being in any way derivative. While these are all elements of stories and fictional worlds he loves, they are filtered through his own vision of them. The speed and rhythm of his dialogue as well as his use of alliteration is both a combination of his own inimitable speaking style and the Victorian speech of HBO’s Deadwood (minus the proliferative profanity, of course). An eagle-eyed reader may even find various homages to David Milch’s underrated western strewn throughout the book as much as any of the noir or fantasy underpinnings.
Xerdes, is about as close as you can get in a medieval fantasy to a gumshoe detective. His sarcastic quipping and street smarts combined with snide ruminations on the corruption, hypocrisy, and and backstabbing around him very much invoke the spirit of Philip Marlowe. Yet, he never becomes obnoxious, broody, grimdark, or overly dramatic like a certain Caped Crusader who shall not be named. While some like to compare Xerdes to Garret (the hero of Razorfist’s favorite videogame series, ‘Thief’), aside from the acid-tongued wit and sarcasm of the character, there’s really no comparison between the two.
That is perhaps the most inspired flourish—unlike Garret, who just wants to steal and get paid and often finds himself unwillingly put in the position of being a hero, Xerdes is a younger thief plagued by a conscience. As he delves deeper and deeper into the criminal world of Menuvia in hopes of a steady pay, he finds himself more and more disgusted by the greed, avarice, and duplicity of its denizens. Slowly, and while denying it to himself, the morally gray thief gradually finds himself transmogrifying into a white hat hero, putting his conscience in direct conflict with his chosen vocation. However, the more he considers his retirement, the more outside forces seem to draw him inexorably back into the criminal world he abhors. This leaves Xerdes with a choice—to flee, to give in and join, or to finally take a stand both physically and morally and fight back; to be the hero he denies himself to be. What makes Xerdes’ struggles all the more intriguing is his imperfection; like Philip Marlowe, he is brash, too self assured at times, and prone to mistakes that very nearly cost him his life. Yet he’s far from a bumbling dolt, and we admire his cunning and strength of character when he learns from his mistakes and manages to find his way out of nearly every bad situation.
Razor’s medieval fantasy world of Vale hints at hidden depths that we’ve only barely dipped our toes into with his inaugural outing. He doesn’t bog us down in needless worldbuilding minutiae, but gives us just enough to ground us in the story and leave us hungering for more in the end. There are no infodumps, and the world is unveiled to us (no pun intended) organically. We experience the world with Xerdes so that at times he almost feels like an avatar of the audience. Yet he is still his own person, and much like the world he inhabits, he hints at hidden depths to his character and history. He is as much a mystery as the world he inhabits.
The world of Nightvale itself is a mystery, and Razorfist takes great care not to spell everything out in the first book like some obnoxious, phonebook fantasy hack. What happened to the Wulf Pack Thieves’ Guild? Who betrayed them? What part did Xerdes play in their downfall? Why was he the only survivor? What is his connection to the Eghenston family? Has the Menuvian Guard been infiltrated by the underworld through bribes and cuts from various criminal undertakings, or has it been in bed with them all along? How far up the chain of command has the corruption infected? These are questions we hope to learn in stories to come as we follow the exploits of our daring thief through the high fantasy world of Vale. Furthermore, while we get hints of the political intrigue of Vale, they serve more as a backdrop for the conflicting, treacherous, and depraved nature of the city rather than miring us in Game of Thrones-style, Machiavellian conspiracies and bureaucratic plots.
The action relies more on stealthy incursions and daring escapes than blood and violence, and yet the Long Moonlight doesn’t shy from the latter approach. There are enough perilous pitfalls and visceral action to keep us on the edges of our seats as Xerdes pits his wits and steel against assassins, guards, mercenaries, gangsters, and sorcerous booby traps. However, none of these are overindulgent, and all of them work in service to the narrative rather than merely for their own sake. As a result, none of it feels bloated or tacked-on.
The inclusion of a romance between two of the main characters is slow, organic, and believable, developing and revealing more about both characters through their interactions. Yet the romance doesn’t interfere with the pace of the story or act as some indulgent roadblock, but enriches it, makes the characters more human, and gives them both something to lose.
You know you have an airtight narrative when almost every element is indispensable, it tells a concise tale with complex and interesting characters, and it immerses you in a deceptively deep world all within the span of a paltry 125 pages.
Frankly, despite its many influences and sparse homages, I can honestly say that I’ve never read anything like The Long Moonlight. It’s a unique return to traditional storytelling and pulp subject matter while still maintaining a balance with a contemporary outlook, interpretation, and most of all, appreciation of its forebears. It’s both a tribute to the pulps of the past and a legitimate entry into the genres of newpulp, sword and sorcery, low fantasy, and of course, noir. Unlike so many contemporary adherents of those genres, ‘The Long Moonlight’ understands exactly what made those genres so great and influential in the first place.