Subject: Mick Farren, _Phaid the Gambler_

From: [email-masked] ("Rebecca Leann Smit Crowley")
Date: 29 Nov 1993 02:55:43 GMT

A friend of mine who never rereads books periodically makes room
on his shelves by giving me his paperbacks.  I wind up reading books
I might not otherwise bother with, some of which are very, very
good.

Some, however, are merely acceptable.  _Phaid the Gambler_, I'm
afraid, falls into this category.  In the far future, Earth is
populated by three human races, intelligent cats and dogs, and
androids which no one knows how to make but which reproduce
themselves (and many whose functions have long since been forgotten),
and is divided into regions of hot, cold, and bearable.  Phaid
used to live in a relatively civilized area, but had to split
for the back country when his gambling ways got him into a spot
of trouble.  Years later, he returns to discover things have
gone downhill.  A lot.

A lot of sf gadgetry of the Star Wars variety shows up:  land crawlers
and blasters, among others.  The decadent republic is made up of
sharply divided classes, and revolution is fomenting.  Weird drugs.
Weirder sex.  Juvenal would have felt right at home describing the
behavior of some of the aristocratic women.  (I kept thinking about
that satire about the mother of Caesar who supposedly amused herself
by playing prostitute.  Then a character in the book did exactly
that.  Very strange.)

On the whole, relatively uninspired.  The dialogue is pretty cheesy,
and the action is stilted.  Phaid is. . .passive, I suppose.  Buffeted
by destiny.  He reacts to situations, rather than responding, and he
never seems to initiate action of any sort.

I might read the sequel, _Citizen Phaid_, since I have it sitting
around.  Then again, I might not.  Either way, books like this
help me understand why my friend doesn't bother to reread his books.

--
Rebecca Crowley		standard disclaimers apply	[email-masked]
      He doesn't give a damn about my body -- all he wants is my mind.