Friday, May 27, 2022

Blogger Review: Kenobi(Star Wars Legends) by John Jackson Miller



Summary:

Star Wars Legends
NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER
The Republic has fallen. 
Sith Lords rule the galaxy. 
Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi has lost everything . . . 
everything but hope.

Tatooine—a harsh desert world where farmers toil in the heat of two suns while trying to protect themselves and their loved ones from the marauding Tusken Raiders. A backwater planet on the edge of civilized space. And an unlikely place to find a Jedi Master in hiding, or an orphaned infant boy on whose tiny shoulders rests the future of a galaxy.

Known to locals only as “Ben,” the bearded and robed offworlder is an enigmatic stranger who keeps to himself, shares nothing of his past, and goes to great pains to remain an outsider. But as tensions escalate between the farmers and a tribe of Sand People led by a ruthless war chief, Ben finds himself drawn into the fight, endangering the very mission that brought him to Tatooine.

Ben—Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, hero of the Clone Wars, traitor to the Empire, and protector of the galaxy’s last hope—can no more turn his back on evil than he can reject his Jedi training. And when blood is unjustly spilled, innocent lives threatened, and a ruthless opponent unmasked, Ben has no choice but to call on the wisdom of the Jedi—and the formidable power of the Force—in his never-ending fight for justice.

Praise for Kenobi: Star Wars
Buy this book right now. . . . [This novel] manages to explore the depths of Ben Kenobi but still maintains the aura of mystery around his character.—Tosche Station

Addictive, engrossing . . . wildly entertaining . . . There are plenty of twists, turns, and surprises. . . . John Jackson Miller creates a story that reaches new heights.—Roqoo Depot

Brilliant . . . This is Star Wars fiction at its absolute best.—Examiner

Enthralling . . . almost impossible to put down.—Eucantina



This is just a brief, few thoughts review as I originally read this book nearly 9 years ago, before Disney erased the SWEU and made it non-canon.  Those of us who loved the original SWEU can still enjoy them in the now labeled "Legends" timeline.  They will never get old for me.  

As for John Jackson Miller's Kenobi, well it wasn't my favorite in the SWEU, I would have liked to seen more Obi-Wan, or Ben as he's called in exile, and his life on Tatooine after his beloved Republic and Jedi fell.  We see it and we get to see inside his thoughts but he is only part of the story.  Which of course is okay as SW has room for many stories, many characters, many journeys, it's just a little misleading with the title Kenobi, which I know disappointed some but for me it's all SW so it's all good😉.

If you are like me and loved the years of SWEU than you will enjoy this entry.  If, again like me, you are a fan of SW as a whole, you will also enjoy this tale of life on Tatooine and the trouble that follows.  If you never experienced the SWEU pre-Disney, I think you will be intrigued to get a glimpse into the wider variety of characters and stories Kenobi provides.

Just keep in mind this is not canon in the Disney timeline.

RATING:



Chapter One
Everything casts two shadows.

The suns had determined this at the dawn of creation. Brothers, they were, until the younger sun showed his true face to the tribe. It was a sin. The elder sun attempted to kill his brother, as was only proper.

But he failed.

Burning, bleeding, the younger sun pursued his sibling across the sky. The wily old star fled for the hills and safety, but it was his fate never to rest again. For the younger brother had only exposed his face. The elder had exposed his failure.

And others had seen it—to their everlasting sorrow.

The first Sand People had watched the battle in the sky. The suns, dually covered in shame, turned their wrath on the witnesses. The skybrothers’ gaze tore at the mortals, burning through flesh to reveal their secret selves. The Sand People saw their shadows on the sands of Tatooine, and listened. The younger spirit urged attack. The elder told them to hide. Counsels, from the condemned.

The Sand People were condemned, as well. Always walking with the twin shadows of sacrilege and failure beside them, they would hide their faces. They would fight. They would raid. And they would run.

Most Sand People struck at night, when neither skybrother could whisper to them. A’Yark preferred to hunt at dawn. The voices of the shadows were quieter then—and the settlers who infested the land could see their doom clearly. That was important. The elder sun had failed by not killing his brother. A’Yark would not fail, had never failed, in killing settlers. The elder sun would see the example, and learn . . .

. . . now.

“Tuskens!”

A’Yark charged toward the old farmer who had given the cry. The raider’s metal gaderffii smashed into the human’s naked chin, shattering bone. A’Yark surged forward, knocking the victim to the ground. The settler struggled, coughing as he tried to repeat the cry. “Tuskens!”

Years earlier, other settlers had given that name to the Sand People who obliterated Fort Tusken. The raiders back then had welcomed the name into their tongue; it was proof the walking parasites had nothing the Sand People could not take. But A’Yark couldn’t stand to hear the proud name in the mouths of the appalling creatures—and few were as ugly as the bloody settler now writhing on the sand. The human was ancient. Apart from a bandage from a recent head injury, his whitish hairs and withered flesh were exposed to the sky. It was horrible to see.

A’Yark plunged the hefty gaderffii downward, its metal flanges crushing against the settler’s rib cage. Bones snapped. The weapon’s point went fully through, grinding against the stone surface beneath. The old settler choked his last. The Tusken name again belonged only to the Sand People.

Immediately A’Yark charged toward the low building, a short distance ahead. There was no thought to it. No predator of Tatooine ever stopped to reflect on killing. A Tusken could be no different.

To think too long was to die.

The human nest was a wretched thing, something like a sketto hive: scum molded and shaped into a disgusting half bulb, buried in the sand. This one was formed from that false rock of theirs, the “synstone.” A’Yark had seen it before.

Another shout. A pasty white biped with a bulging cranium appeared in the doorway of the building, brandishing a blaster rifle. A’Yark discarded the gaderffii and lunged, ripping the gun from the startled settler’s hands. A’Yark did not understand how a blaster rifle tore its victim apart, but understanding wasn’t necessary. The thing had a use. The marauder put it to work on the settler, who had no use.

Well, that wasn’t exactly true. The settlers did have a use: to provide more rifles for the Tuskens to take. It might have been a funny thought, if A’Yark ever laughed. But that concept was as alien as the white-skinned corpse now on the floor.

So many strange things had come to live in the desert. And to die.

Behind, two more raiders entered the structure. A’Yark did not know them. The days of going into battle flanked by cousins were long since past. The newcomers began flipping crates in the storage area, spilling contents. More metal things. The settlers were obsessed with them.

The warriors were, too—but it wasn’t time for that. A’Yark barked at them. “N’gaaaiih! N’gaaaiih!”

The youths didn’t listen. They were not A’Yark’s sons. A’Yark had but one son, now, not quite old enough to fight. Nor did these warriors have fathers. It was the way, these days. Mighty tribes had become mere war parties, their ranks constantly evolving as survivors of one group melted into another.

That A’Yark led this raid at all bespoke their misery. No one on the attack had lived half as long as A’Yark had, or seen so much. The best warriors had fallen years before; these youths certainly wouldn’t live to vie for leadership. They were fools, and if A’Yark did not kill them for their foolishness, they would die some other way.

Not this morning, though. A’Yark had chosen the target carefully. This farm was close to the jagged Jundland Wastes, far from the other villages—and it had few of the vile structures by which the residents wrenched water from a sky none could own. The fewer spires—vaporators, the farmers called them—the fewer settlers. Now, it would seem, there were none. Except for the young warriors fumbling, all was quiet.

But A’Yark, who had lived to see forty cycles of the starry sky, was not fooled. A weapon stood beside the doorway leading outside. The old human’s, left by accident? Rifle to silvery mouthpiece, A’Yark sniffed.

No. With one swift motion, A’Yark smashed the weapon against the doorjamb. The rifle had been used to kill a Tusken. The smell of sweat from another day still clung to the stock. It differed from the old human’s scent, and that of the white creature the settlers called a Bith. Someone else was here. But the rifle could not be used now, nor ever again.

A weapon that killed a Tusken had no more power than any other, so far as A’Yark was concerned; such superstitions were for weaker minds. But just as Tuskens prized their banthas, the settlers seemed to prize individual rifles, etching symbols on their stocks. The human that carried this one was more formidable than the old man and the Bith creature, but he would have to resort to something new and unfamiliar next time. If he survived the day.

A’Yark would see that he didn’t.

The war leader reclaimed the gaderffii from the floor and shoved past the looting youths. Footsteps in the sand led around back, where three soulless vaporators hummed and defiled. A small hut for servicing the foul machines sat behind them.

Fitting. A’Yark would make the inhabitants bleed for using the vaporators. Slowly, and so the suns would see. What the settlers had stolen would return to the sand, a drop at a time.

“Ru rah ru rah!” A’Yark called, straining to remember the old words. “We is here in peace.”

No answer. Of course, there would be none—but someone was surely inside and had heard the words. The warrior was proud of remembering them. A human sister had joined A’Yark’s family years ago; the Tuskens often replenished their numbers by kidnapping. The band needed reinforcements now, but would not take anyone here. The settlers’ presence so near the wastes was too great an offense. They would die, and others would see, and the Jundland would be left alone.

The other warriors filed from the house and surrounded the service hut. The Tuskens numbered eight; none could challenge them. Cloth-wrapped hands curled around the shaft of an ancient gaderffii, A’Yark inserted the traang—the curved end of the weapon—into the door handle.

The metal door creaked open. Inside, a quivering trio of humans huddled amid spare parts for the thirst machines. A black-haired woman clutched a swaddled infant, while a brown-haired male held them both. He also held a blaster pistol.

It was the owner of the busted rifle—and A’Yark could tell he was missing the weapon now. Swallowing his fear, the young man looked right into A’Yark’s good eye. “You—go! We’re not afraid.”

“Settlers lie,” A’Yark said, the strange words startling the humans almost as much as they startled the other Tuskens. “Settler lies.”

Eight gaderffii lifted to the sky, their spear-points glinting in the morning light. A’Yark knew some would land true. And the old skybrother above would see again what real bravery was—

“Ayooooo-eh-EH-EHH!”

The sound echoed over the horizon. As one, the war party looked north. The sound came again, louder this time. Its meaning was unmistakable.

The youngest Tusken in the party said it first: krayt dragon!


Author Bio:

New York Times bestselling author John Jackson Miller has spent a lifetime immersed in the worlds of fantasy and science fiction. He's best known for his Star Wars and Star Trek work, including Star Wars: Kenobi, his Scribe Award winning novel from Del Rey; Star Wars: A New Dawn; the Star Trek: Prey trilogy, and Star Trek: Discovery - The Enterprise War.

He's also written comics included the long-running Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic comics series, as well as comics for Battlestar Galactica, Halo, Lion King, Mass Effect, Iron Man, Indiana Jones, and The Simpsons. Production notes on all his works can be found at his fiction site (farawaypress.com).

Miller is also a noted comics industry historian, specializing in studying comic-book circulation as presented on his website, Comichron (comichron.com). He also coauthored the Standard Catalog of Comic Books series.


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📘🎥Friday's Film Adaptation🎥📘: They Were Expendable: An American Torpedo Boat Squadron in the U.S. Retreat from the Philippines by William Lindsay White



Summary:

A national bestseller when it was originally published in 1942 and the subject of a 1945 John Ford film featuring John Wayne, They Were Expendable offers an account of Motor Torpedo Boat Squadron Three's heroic actions during the disastrous Philippine campaign early in World War II. The author uses an unusual and effective format to tell the story: an interview with the four young survivors whose names are forever linked with the tragedy - John Bulkeley, Robert Kelly, Anthony Akers, and George Cox. Deeply moving, it describes Squadron Three's brave exploits, from the first appearance of Japanese planes over Manila Bay to its calamitous end, including a thrilling account of Gen. Douglas MacArthur's escape from Bataan.



A Navy commander fights to prove the battle-worthiness of the PT boat at the start of World War II.

Release Date: December 19, 1945
Release Time: 135 minutes

Director: John Ford

Cast:
Robert Montgomery as Lieutenant John Brickley
John Wayne as Lieutenant (junior grade) "Rusty" Ryan
Donna Reed as 2nd Lieutenant Sandy Davyss
Jack Holt as General Martin
Ward Bond as "Boats" Mulcahey C.B.M.
Marshall Thompson as Ensign "Snake" Gardner
Paul Langton as Ensign "Andy" Andrews
Leon Ames as Major James Morton
Arthur Walsh as Seaman Jones
Donald Curtis as Lieutenant (J.G.) "Shorty" Long
Cameron Mitchell as Ensign George Cross
Jeff York as Ensign Tony Aiken
Murray Alper as TM1c "Slug" Mahan
Harry Tenbrook as "Squarehead" Larsen SC2c
Jack Pennick as "Doc"
Alex Havier as 'Benny' Lecoco ST3c
Charles Trowbridge as Admiral Blackwell
Robert Barrat as The General
Bruce Kellogg as Elder Tompkins MoMM2c
Tim Murdock as Ens. Brant
Louis Jean Heydt as "Ohio"
Russell Simpson as "Dad" Knowland
Vernon Steele as Army Doctor

Awards:
1945 Academy Awards
Best Sound - Douglas Shearer - Nominated
Best Special Effects - Donald Jahraus, Robert MacDonald, Michael Steinore, Arnold A. Gillespie - Nominated






Author Bio:
White, author, journalist, and war correspondent, worked for the Washington Post and Fortune before taking over his Pulitzer Prize-winning father's famous paper, the Emporia Gazette.






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