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    War for the Oaks: A Novel
    War for the Oaks: A Novel
    War for the Oaks: A Novel
    Ebook455 pages7 hours

    War for the Oaks: A Novel

    By Emma Bull

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    About this ebook

    Acclaimed by critics and readers on its first publication in 1987, winner of the Locus Award for Best First Novel, Emma Bull's War for the Oaks is one of the novels that has defined modern urban fantasy.

    Eddi McCandry sings rock and roll. But her boyfriend just dumped her, her band just broke up, and life could hardly be worse. Then, walking home through downtown Minneapolis on a dark night, she finds herself drafted into an invisible war between the faerie folk. Now, more than her own survival is at risk—and her own preferences, musical and personal, are very much beside the point.

    By turns tough and lyrical, fabulous and down-to-earth, War for the Oaks is a fantasy novel that's as much about this world as about the other one. It's about real love and loyalty, about real music and musicians, about false glamour and true art. It will change the way you hear and see your own daily life.



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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMacmillan Publishers
    Release dateNov 1, 2004
    ISBN9781466804234
    War for the Oaks: A Novel
    Author

    Emma Bull

    Emma Bull’s War for the Oaks won the Locus Award for Best First Novel. Her subsequent works have included Falcon, the Hugo, Nebula, and World Fantasy Award-finalist Bone Dance, Finder, and (with Steven Brust) Freedom and Necessity. She lives in Tucson, Arizona.

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    Reviews for War for the Oaks

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    • 3/5
      Readable, but not my cup of tea. Romantic contemporary urban faerie tales simply don't appeal much to me. I did manage to finish but thought about putting this one aside several times along the way. At the conclusion, it was all rather predictable.
    • 3/5
      I discovered this book after attending Odyssey Con where Emma Bull was one of the Guests of Honor. It's an enjoyable book, and holds the position of being one of the first books of what we now refer to urban fantasy genre. It's a fun book, dealing with a young mortal musician who gets caught up in a war between the Seelie and Unseelie courts of Faerie.

      It's a quick and fun read, and the characters are enjoyable, although in some cases perhaps too broadly drawn, and in some ways I felt like it should have been more epic somehow. There's an almost absurd speed to the ability of the mortal characters to accept what is occurring, which bothered me. That's also true of some of the dialogue, which seemed rushed to me in a few places early in the book. As if the current of the story was too strong for Bull to slow down enough to capture the full conversation.

      Still, I enjoyed the book and it made for a quick read, which was perfect since I was in the mood for a little bit of fun.
    • 4/5
      It was an enjoyable read but I was disappointed in the, what I felt, rushed ending. I like the characters and wanted to know what would happen to them, but I forever found myself wondering when the story was going to get back to the faerie war instead of focusing on the band. All in all, a decent urban fantasy novel, but I think there's better ones out there.
    • 5/5
      Fast paced.
    • 1/5
      Couldn't finish it...
    • 5/5
      Wow. What an intense ride, a gentle slow beginning that just picks up pace and drama before the climatic end. Superb. So much worth waiting for, I'd been recommended this years ago, and failed to find a copy, it wasn't out in ebook, and 2nd hand copies were ruinous. But bless penguin who've released a new ebook version, finally. It is every bit as good as promised.Before there was 'urban fantasy' before HP and before Twilight, the fantasy genre was almost exclusively 'other world' and occasionally 'portal'. The concept of having magic within our contemporary lives didn't sit well with the psyche and it was rarely, if ever, done. Emma Bull did it. Her debuet novel is powerful tour-de-force of things we take for granted in writing these days: Kick-ass women, mysterious creatures, battles of will, wits and illusion all submerged into and around a normal life.Eddi is singer musician and guitarist in 70s Minneapolis, making a living, just about, in the days before mobiles (and Aids?) when you only heard about bands by seeing them live, and adverts for musicians went in the paper. She's just dumped a band and boyfriend and is not in the mood for shit from strange men lurking by fountains in the dark. But she doesn't get much choice, as the Poucha and the Glastag from Celtic faerie traditions cast glamours and beguiling words, although to their surprise she's almost able to shake them off. They inform her, that she has been chosen by the Seelie court of the Fey, to be their mortal token in their upcoming battle with the Unseelie, and that she has to be present on the battlefield for them to triumph. The price of their failing is the loss of all that makes Minneapolis bright and fun. The Phouka is to guard her night and day from the Unseelie who will seek to remove her from contention. Eddi is utterly nonplussed by such talk but has little choice than to accept. Her immediate attempts to lose the Phouka come to no fruition, and he is as annoying as the faerie sprite who leads travellers astray can be. Her biggest problem is the sudden realisation that it's impossible to find a job with a phouka (even if he's in an attractive human form) literally around you 24/7. Her friend to whom she's perhaps unwisely confided, urges her to start her own band, and they're surprisingly successful. But the Fey have not forgotten her, and battle's await.There are, if you're picky, some problems with the plot and even the writing occasionally. All the characters are far too accepting of the supernatural; friends' with money and contacts are a lazy get-out for an 'ordinary girl' and not enough is made of the interactions with her ex-Stuart. I'm sure some people will object to the inclusion of song lyrics within prose - but they work far better than many poems that get introduced to other works. I found some of the intricacies of musical descriptions hard to follow, but the intensity and passion of the writing leaves so little room for such trifles. This should only really get 4.5* for the minor niggles, and that it hasn't aged magnificently well, given how much society has changed since it was written. But it's so powerfully written and engages so deeply with that crossover between music, art , words and magic that it gets a full 5*. Go and read it!
    • 5/5
      I read it first when it was first released.... and loved it.
      I read it again, and love it still.
    • 4/5
      Rating: Music as Magic was great.I had a few issues with this book, mainly I lost interest when we were delving into roadie lingo. But it certainly had its fair share of surprises and unexpected twists and turns.
    • 5/5
      I am not able to be unbiased for this book--it takes place in the parks, buildings, and streets of my home, Minneapolis.

      It reads a lot like modern Urban Fantasy, but came out in 1987.

      I'm definitely going to read this again.
    • 4/5
      Eddi McCandry is a rock musician who meets a phouka who recruits her into fighting for the Seelie Court in their battle against the Unseelie. This is one of the first examples in the urban fantasy genre and, as that is a favorite genre of mine, it was really interesting to read this "genesis" and to see how much the genre has evolved since its publication. That said, it was a decent read for me and the story-line and the supernatural characters were great. The world-building is good, but I didn't quite see the supernaturals' fascination with the main character (possibly because she has virtually no back-story and doesn't quite feel like a real person) and I didn't completely believe in her abilities; I was told she had powers, but didn't feel it. Also, since I am not a musician, there are many, many pages of band practice descriptions that make little sense to me, personally. Still, an entertaining read and it's a good kick-off for a genre that contains many of my favorite reads.
    • 4/5
      First published in 1987, War for the Oaks is one of the pioneers of the urban fantasy genre. On the night that Eddi McCandry breaks up with her boyfriend and leaves his band, she has a run in with the fey. Turns out, she’s been chosen as a pawn in the war between the Seelie and Unseelie courts.War for the Oaks draws upon what’s nowadays fairly familiar aspects of fairy folklore. The Seelie and Unseelie courts, the fey’s love of mortal musicians, creatures such as brownies and phoukas, and so on. However, the story focuses just as much on Eddie forming a new band as it does on her role in the fairy war.Music plays a huge role in War for the Oaks. Eddi’s life revolves around music and creating music. I’m not much of a music person (to the point where I rarely listen to it on my own), so I think it’s a testament to the strength of Bull’s writing that I enjoyed these sections as much as I did. Let me be clear – I found War for the Oaks excellently written. The descriptions were lush and vibrant, and the dialog snappy.I’m the wrong generation to have eighties nostalgia, but War for the Oaks did remind me of the eighties movies I’ve seen. Obviously, none of the musical references outdated 1987, but there were also a lot of descriptions of clothes that seem specific to the era. It’s not exactly specific to the time period, but there was also a bit of casual background racism, and Eddie just accepted that Stuart would react violently to the breakup.My favorite character by far is the phouka, a shapeshifter who turns from man to dog. He’s exuberant and flamboyant, and his dialog for some reason reminds me of a Shakespearean play. I realize only now that I never became strongly attached to Eddie herself, although I did like her friendship with Carla, the drummer in her band. Maybe it’s because so much of Eddie’s life revolves around her music that it’s hard to get a sense of her outside of that?The climax of the book felt like it was over with very quickly. It was also a lot more vaguely mystical than the rest of the book, in a way that reminds me of Robin McKinley’s writing.I’d really like to know more about the influence War for the Oaks had on the genre. I know it was one of the very first urban fantasy novels, and I can clearly see it’s touch in books like Holly Black’s Tithe. If anyone ever comes across some sort of essay on the subject, I would love to read it.I don’t think War for the Oaks will feel particularly novel to anyone familiar with fairies in today’s urban fantasy. However, I’d still suggest it as a well written example of the genre and to anyone interested in a fantasy book centering on music.Originally posted on The Illustrated Page.
    • 3/5
      This book is listed on some "must read" lists for fantasy as the first urban fantasy. Now I am not an urban fantasy reader but had a copy. I wasn't enamoured of it. In fact around about page 100 I nearly gave up. The beginning is really boring. I then skim read for a bit and the novel picks up a bit once the war begins. So I did finish it and the end is much better than the beginning but my reaction was still "meh". I just don't like urban fantasy much and a lot of this book was like treacle to read.
    • 5/5
      I'd never heard of this book until last week and, lo, the bookstore had a ton of copies of this newer edition sitting everywhere, like they got overstocked and where trying to get rid of it. It's hard for me to believe that such an incredible novel that is so relevant to my interests, and is nearly as old as I am, could have gone so unknown to me until mere chance intervened.

      This book is a wonderful urban fantasy that can be even more appreciated by music lovers. It's multi-leveled and has great dialogue and character interactions that have you entranced from cover to cover. One reading has set it in my favourites pile.

      It was originally published for teens but I feel it's more adult, not in context but in writing. It's very mature and just very well written. This is not for typical lovers of the S. Meyer brand of romance fantasy but a more developed reader.
    • 5/5
      Eddi McCandry breaks up with her boyfriend and leaves his band only to become involved with the Seelie Court. She is chosen as their mortal representative in their war with the Unseelie Court over turf in Minneapolis. At the same time, she's putting together a new band while guarded by a phouka who helps her navigate her new world. This is one of the first books in the Urban Fantasy genre and the winner of a Locus Award. The story relies heavily on Celtic folklore for the creatures of the Courts while set in an urban real world. While the music references are slightly dated (more for younger readers than me), the story also incorporates music as a type of magic. Speaking of Eddi:“She has her own glamour, Willy lad. All poets do, all the bards and artists, all the musicians who truly take the music into their own hearts. They all straddle the border of Faerie, and they see into both worlds. Not dependably into either, perhaps, but that uncertainty keeps them honest and at a distance.”The characters, both human and magical, are intriguing and interesting. The humans are rock glam musicians for the most part and I love how they contribute to the music and the band. The magical characters rely on tradition like the works of Lord Dunsany or Tam Lin, a solid foundation for fantasy writing. My special favorite is Hairy Meg, a brownie who becomes friends with Eddi.If you like urban fantasy writers like Charles de Lint or Patricia McKillip, this is definitely a book you should read.
    • 5/5
      Rereading this book after 30 years, I was a little hesitant. How well would it hold up? After all, what was dazzling and new in 1987 is now standard for modern urban fantasy. And, well, I've gotten a bit pickier over the years about what I consider to be good writing. So there was always the chance that I'd changed, even if the book hadn't.Answer: it holds up pretty darn well. Even though I knew how it was going to turn out, the plot still held me and I still cared about the characters. I confess I could've done with less "Rock Band 101" in the first half of the book. I'm sure all the details are accurate; I just wasn't interested. Once the battle between the Seelie and Unseelie Courts got going, the pace picked up nicely and the book was much more captivating. Also, oddly, even though I'd spent an entire book in Eddi's head, I still didn't feel like I knew her all that well by the end of the book. She has almost no backstory beyond what you can suss out from her relationship with Stuart and a few comments to Carla. But that's the kind of thing I only notice once I've finished; it didn't get in the way of reading the book. So yeah, it's still readable and still recommendable—have at it!
    • 4/5
      Eddi McCandry is in a band that’s going nowhere and in a relationship with the band’s leader that’s heading the same way when after their latest gig ends badly is accosted on her way home after quitting from both. There’s a war brewing between the Seelie and Unseelie courts of Faerie that would lack meaning without a mortal’s involvement and it appears Eddi has just been drafted. Until the conflict begins in earnest she is assigned a protector in the shape of a phouka and despite Eddi’s best efforts won’t leave her side. Needing something to occupy her time and take her mind off upcoming events Eddi, at the urging of Carla (best friend and drummer from the band she just quit), starts a new band and sets about recruiting members. The phouka will act as roadie. Can she live to see the end of the conflict and even make a success of both sides of her new life?This accomplished debut novel is regarded as a forerunner for the urban fantasy genre that blends the world of magic with the one we know as real. It also deals heavily with the life of a musician and all that that entails with occasional song lyrics being inserted into the story. It’s very firmly set within the time period it was written with the culture, music and fashion all being late 80’s. There’s a good sense of place with the Minneapolis backdrop to the story featuring prominently. My copy of the book includes a couple of scenes from a screenplay written by the author and her husband and a few notes about why and how they wrote it. An enjoyable early work of the genre.

      1 person found this helpful

    • 5/5
      Terrific book from the introduction straight through to the appendix where the author includes scenes from a screenplay that she and her husband Will Shetterly wrote, scenes that didn't appear in the book.

      Aside from the great extras this story has everything I'm looking for in an Urban Fantasy book, a quick introduction to the magic that makes it "Fantasy" and great characters that you really care about. I read this because it's a URBAN FANTASY GROUP BOOK OF THE MONTH -February Group Read. A terrific choice by it's members that's why I joined the group to get different recommendations of great books to read.
    • 4/5
      Emma Bull is an author I have been meaning to read for a long time. She was one of the first to start the whole sub-genre of urban fantasy. And although urban fantasy can contain rubbish so can any other genre, it also contains gems.

      War for the Oaks was not one the books that I added to Mount TBR over the years, but it was the first book by Bull that I came across when browsing the library catalogue, and I had heard mention of it. More than enough reason to pick it up.

      The novel centres on Eddi McCandry, a rock and roll singer who has just broken up with her boyfriend and left her band. She has also just been chosen by the Seelie Court as the mortal they will bind to them on the battlefield. Discovering that faeries exist was shock enough, discovering that they want her in order to bring mortality to war is on a whole different level.

      Just as important as the fey in this story is the music. Eddi is a musician and singer. That’s who she is, and it is part of the reason the Phouka gives for having chosen her. If you aren’t into music then you may find some aspects of the book a little skim-worthy. I’ll admit I found that some of the descriptions of the music and band scenes went on a little too long, but music isn’t really my thing. I listen to it, I enjoy it, but I’m pretty much as far from a musician as you’ll get. I still enjoyed the majority of it, and I really liked the way the music became part of the plot.

      I also loved Eddi and Carla’s friendship. They really felt like real characters with real history.

      Overall I enjoyed it, and I think I will be reading more Bull1 in the future. So far I have her Falcom and Territory on Mount TBR, anyone got any other titles they think are better by her?
    • 4/5
      I saw this on a list of UF books and when I read that this was the 'defining novel for urban fantasy' I couldn't pass it up.

      It really was a treat, and I can see the places where authors nabbed from and ran, or used similar tropes and tricks. I do appreciate that not everything was explained on the page, and that the reader is forced to think about what would happen next.

      I do wish there had been more of that final battle explained. Did the 'ointment' wear off, or something? There is no excuse for there to be so few details about that battle. It was hellish, yes, and I'm sure fugue state had something to do with it, but there wasn't even a hint of magic messing with perceptions, here. A few pages of gore might have even helped the reader get a sense of foreboding for what would happen next.

      I did like the response to that final battle, though. That was pure Eddi, and I appreciated in full what went down. I do hope Eddi taught a lesson to Faerie about the extremes of human emotion and how they can overwhelm even strong Fae.

      There were a few dated references, and a few things that were....perhaps accepted at the time, but are no longer. It didn't take away from the overall feel of the book, but it was a bit of a shock to read nonetheless.
    • 3/5
      Alright. So maybe I was a *little* overzealous in my praise before.

      Still, I really enjoyed this, it was a lot of fun! The romance subplot and the 'big' final conflict were a bit too much like tired and trope-ridden fan fiction for my taste, but in the end I still found Eddi a charming and relatable character. And I stand by my praise of Bull's style of weaving the mundane with the magical, and her MN setting was a nice change of place, and fleshed out with the details only a loving community member and provide.
    • 3/5
      It was fun, and certainly part of a particular era of urban fantasy. Reminded me of Mercedes Lackey's Bedlam's Bard universe, and her SERRAted Edge books. Not-very-alien fairy world, musicians-as-mortal-bards, motorcycles and angst-free interspecies romance.

      I'd have liked it more if it didn't feel so contrived and easy. Bull's fairy world didn't have the horror and complete Otherness that makes a good story for me. Her fey are just people from a different culture and still come across as essentially understandable in their motivations.

      Not being musically inclined, the many band practice scences dragged. All in all, a fluffy 80s urban fantasy with Mary Sue overtones. Don't think this one will stay in my collection.
    • 4/5
      One of the earlier examples of urban fantasy.

      This was a good book, but I wasn't just blown away like I was expected to be after everything I've heard about it.

      Maybe one of the reasons is that I really don't like rock. Give me acoustic guitars over electric any day. Synthesizer sounds? Really? People WANT to hear that?

      I was also hoping for a wider impact on the fae community. They mention trying to rally the common fae, but other than one particular individual, nothing ever comes of that -- they seem to deal just with the royal courts.
    • 5/5
      This is the second time reading it. It stirs up the same feelings in me as it did before. I can honestly say it makes me feel incredibly alone in this world. The deep loyal feelings everyone has for eachother are so.. touching.

      This book has given me tears/shivers in some of the exciting bits, and gets me very depressed in the sad bits.

      Very enjoyable book.
    • 5/5
      I loved this book. The main character is a woman lead singer in a sort of rock band. The things I loved most in the book were the descriptions of what it feels like to make music with a group of people. I would read this book again just for that, and the rest of it is pretty darn good too.
    • 3/5
      Eddi McCandry plays guitar in a Minneapolis band -- until the night she is recruited into a secret war in the realm of Faerie, a world that exists parallel to our own. The light and dark courts of faerie have battled for centuries for dominion. This time their object is the city of Minneapolis and all it contains. As much as Eddi wishes no part in the proceedings, how can she refuse to protect the city she loves from the forces of darkness?

      Emma Bull's novel is an early example of the urban fantasy genre in which hidden magic exists in the real world. It's a little burdened by 80s references -- the music, the fashion -- but the characters are engaging (the phouka, in particular) and there's a lot of local Minneapolis color. The faerie thing has been overplayed lately, but it must have been novel back in 1987 when WftO was first published.

      Recommended when you crave something fun and not too mentally taxing.
    • 5/5
      Eddi McCandry dumps her self-centered lead-singer boyfriend and quits his band. On her way home from their last gig she is kidnapped by two fey: a phouka and a glaistig. They inform her that the fairy world is in the middle of a civil war (Seelie Court vs. Unseelie Court). Because fey are immortal, the only way they can actually have a war is if a mortal is on the battlefield with them like a mascot. Eddi has been chosen to be this pawn, though she knows not why, and after an attempt is made on her life by the Unseelie Court she agrees to allow the phouka to be her round-the-clock bodyguard. She eventually starts her own band with her best friend Carla, learns why she was chosen for the Seelie war, and becomes more emotionally invested in the war's outcome than she had ever expected.War for the Oaks is arguably the pioneer of the urban fantasy genre (fantasy that takes place in a real-world setting). The plot might sound a little cliche, but this is the original. Emma Bull wrote the cliches. I can tell that Neil Gaiman's American Gods and Neverwhere, especially, were directly influenced. The story is a little dated (mid-1980s), as any book involving so much music will be, but it is more classic than anachronism, likely due to the excellent writing (and 3rd-person narration!). I loved that the book was set in Minneapolis; it was a nice change from New York or London, where it seems all urban fantasy takes place. I'm going to go beyond "recommended" and call this a must read for anyone who enjoys urban fantasy.
    • 3/5
      Alright. So maybe I was a *little* overzealous in my praise before.

      Still, I really enjoyed this, it was a lot of fun! The romance subplot and the 'big' final conflict were a bit too much like tired and trope-ridden fan fiction for my taste, but in the end I still found Eddi a charming and relatable character. And I stand by my praise of Bull's style of weaving the mundane with the magical, and her MN setting was a nice change of place, and fleshed out with the details only a loving community member and provide.
    • 3/5
      This book was enjoyable! It's a fairly fluffy urban fantasy romance, but the prose is good and the setting of Faerie!Minneapolis was engaging. It's also a book about music, and Bull does a good job making the song lyrics sound compelling on the page and conveying the energy of a rock concert. And, yes, it was apparently one of the very first urban fantasies and is a classic of the genre, so fans would do well to read it.
    • 3/5
      I need to add a shelf labeled "Books that are cooler than I am"--because this one certainly is. The urban fantasy part--the Faerie war that's about to be fought, with a mortal getting swept up as a champion of one side, and other denizens of Faerie charged with her protection--was good, and engrossing. But the mortal in question was a musician, and a lot of the book focused on her band: choosing members, jamming together, creating their own magic through the power of rock & roll. And I just can't identify with that at all. (Can I identify with the feeling of being drafted into a supernatural war? no. But that's beside the point.) It kept me from caring about the characters--I had no emotional connection to any of them.

      The person who recommended I read this--the one who swore I'd love it--plays bass and is planning on doing something with music when he gets to college. That's probably the difference. I just couldn't get into the music part of the story, and it was a major element to the book.

      Also, the fixation on what the main character was wearing. Oh, those wacky '80s. I know image is important to musicians when they're going onstage, but yikes, I don't want to have to picture her outfits. Black leggings and an pink shirt that hangs halfway to her knees? White, tapered skinny-jeans, paired with an oversized tuxedo shirt with big shoulder pads? Egad. I lived through the '80s once, and that was enough. It makes me sad that this was immortalized in a book that's too good to be weeded from most library collections.
    • 5/5
      This has been one of my favorite books since I first read it, and now I reread it every spring. Emma Bull has such a great take on Faerie, and her characters are so fantastically real.

    Book preview

    War for the Oaks - Emma Bull

    On the Folly of Introductions

    Ideally, works of fiction don’t need to be explained. When I see one of those scholarly and well-crafted essays that always seem to precede a volume of Jane Austen or Dorothy Parker, I skip it. Yes, I do. If it looks promising, I come back and read it when I’m done with the fiction. But I’d rather not know beforehand that a character is based on the author’s brother, or that the author had just been cruelly rejected by his childhood sweetheart when he began chapter 10. I like biography; but Charlotte Bronte isn’t Jane Eyre, and Louisa Alcott isn’t Jo March, and I don’t want to be lured into thinking otherwise if the author doesn’t want me to.

    I wonder sometimes how authors would feel if they read the introductions that spring up in front of their works after they’re too dead to say anything about them. What if that character had nothing to do with the author’s brother but was actually based on the writer’s dad’s stories about what it was like to grow up with Uncle Oscar? What if the author was rejected by his childhood sweetheart, but it was secretly something of a relief to him by that point, though he never said so to anyone? And does chapter 10 read differently if the reader knows that?

    It’s all just too darn risky, this business of introductions. If I weren’t me, I’m sure I’d be working up to declaring here that "Bull’s experience as a professional musician clearly informed War for the Oaks." But since I am me, I get to dodge that bullet. I’d had very little experience as a professional musician when I wrote this book. I was extrapolating from things I’d seen other people do, things I’d read and heard. War for the Oaks was written from the backside of the monitor speakers, as it were, and it wasn’t until after the book was published and Cats Laughing came together (Adam Stemple, Lojo Russo, Bill Colsher, Steve Brust, and me, playing original electric folk/jazz/space music) that the novel became at all autobiographical. (By the time I became half of the goth-folk duo the Flash Girls, I was pretty used to the involvement of supernatural forces in one’s band. Half kidding.)

    But just knowing a few facts about the chronology of the author’s life doesn’t make introduction-writing safe. Writing a novel may be much like childbirth: once the end product’s age is measured in double digits, the painful and messy details of its origin are a little fuzzy. My firstborn book is a teenager, and its very existence makes it hard for me to remember what life was like before it existed.

    And as with teenagers, there’s a point at which your book leaves the nest. What War for the Oaks means to me matters less, now that it’s done and out of my hands, than what it means to whoever’s reading it. A book makes intimate friends with people its author will never meet. I’m not part of those people’s lives; Eddi McCandry is, and the Phouka, and Willy Silver, and the Queen of Air and Darkness. How can I describe or explain that relationship, when I’m not there to see it?

    Here’s what I can safely, honestly tell you about the story that follows this introduction:

    I still love this book. I still believe in the things it says. When someone tells me, "War for the Oaks is one of my favorite books," it still makes me happy and proud.

    Those are things only I could tell you; no writer of introductions, no matter how insightful, could deduce them from the text of the novel or the details of my life. But for everything else, the novel can, and should, speak for itself, and your relationship with it is as true as anyone else’s, including mine. All I can do now is step aside and say, I’d like you to meet my story.

    I hope the two of you hit it off.

    Los Angeles

    November 2000

    Prologue

    By day, the Nicollet Mall winds through Minneapolis like a paved canal. People flow between its banks, eddying at the doors of office towers and department stores. The big red-and-white city buses roar at every corner. On the many-globed lampposts, banners advertising a museum exhibit flap in the wind that the tallest buildings snatch out of the sky. The skyway system vaults the mall with its covered bridges of steel and glass, and they, too, are full of people, color, motion.

    But late at night, there’s a change in the Nicollet Mall.

    The street lamp globes hang like myriad moons, and light glows in the empty bus shelters like nebulae. Down through the silent business district the mall twists, the silver zipper in a patchwork coat of many dark colors. The sound of traffic from Hennepin Avenue, one block over, might be the grating of the World-Worm’s scales over stone.

    Near the south end of the mall, in front of Orchestra Hall, Peavey Plaza beckons: a reflecting pool, and a cascade that descends from towering chrome cylinders to a sunken walk-in maze of stone blocks and pillars for which fountain is an inadequate name. In the moonlight, it is black and silver, gray and white, full of an elusive play of shape and contrast.

    On that night, there were voices in Peavey Plaza. One was like the susurrus of the fountain itself, sometimes hissing, sometimes with the little-bell sound of a water drop striking. The other was deep and rough; if the concrete were an animal, it would have this voice.

    Tell me, said the water voice, what you have found.

    The deep voice replied. There is a woman who will do, I think.

    When water hits a hot griddle, it sizzles; the water-voice sounded like that. You are our eyes and legs in this, Dog. That should not interfere with your tongue. Tell me!

    A low, growling laugh, then: She makes music, the kind that moves heart and body. In another time, we would have found her long before, for that alone. We grow fat and slow in this easy life, the rough voice said, as if it meant to say something very different.

    The water made a fierce sound, but the rough voice laughed again, and went on. She is like flowering moss, delicate and fair, but proof against frosts and trampling feet. Her hair is the color of an elm leaf before it falls, her eyes the gray of the storm that brings it down. She does not offend the eye. She seems strong enough, and I think she is clever. Shall I bring her to show to you?

    Can you?

    B’lieve I can. But we should rather ask—will she do what she’s to do?

    The water-voice’s laughter was like sleet on a window. With all the Court against her if she refuses? Oh, if we fancy her, Dog, she’ll do. Pity her if she tries to stand against us.

    And the rough voice said quietly, I shall.

    chapter 1

    Another Magic Moment in Showbiz

    The University Bar was not, in the grand scheme of the city, close to the university. Nor was its clientele collegiate. They worked the assembly lines and warehouses, and wanted uncomplicated entertainment. The club boasted a jukebox stocked by the rental company and two old arcade games. It was small and smoky and smelled vaguely bad. But InKline Plain, the most misspelled band in Minneapolis, was there, playing the first night of a two-night gig with a sort of weary desperation. The promise of fifty dollars per band member kept them going; it was more than they’d made last week.

    Eddi McCandry stared bleakly at the dim little stage with its red-and-black flocked wallpaper. The band’s equipment threatened to overflow it. She’d tried to wedge her guitar stand out of the way, but it still seemed likely to leap out and trip someone. She was glad the keyboard player had quit two weeks before—there wasn’t room for him.

    The first set had been bad enough, playing to a nearly empty club. The next two were worse. Too many country fans with requests for favorites. And of course, Stuart, as bandleader, had accepted them all, played them wretchedly, forgot the words, and made it plain that he didn’t care. They were the wrong band for this bar.

    I think, Eddi said, that this job was a bad idea.

    Her companion nodded solemnly. Every time you’ve said that this evening, it’s sounded smarter. Carla DiAmato was the drummer for InKline Plain. With her shaggy black hair and her eyes made up dark for the stage, she looked exotic as a tiger, wholly out of place in the University Bar.

    It would have been smarter to tell Stuart it was a bad idea, Eddi said. Ideally, before he booked the job.

    You couldn’t know.

    I could. I did. Look at this place.

    Carla sighed. I think I’m gonna hear the ‘This Band Sucks Dead Rat’ speech again.

    Well, it does.

    Through a straw. I know. So why don’t you quit?

    Eddi looked at her, then at her glass, then at the ceiling. Why don’t you?

    It’s steady work. Carla was silent for a moment, then added, Well, it used to be.

    Tsk. You don’t even have my excuse.

    You mean I haven’t been sleeping with Stuart?

    Yeah, Eddi sighed, like that.

    Sometimes I take my blessings for granted. I’m going to go up and scare the cockroaches out of the bass drum.

    Good luck, said Eddi. I’ll be right behind you.

    She almost made it to the stage before Stuart Kline grabbed her arm. His face was flushed, and his brown hair was rumpled, half-flattened. She sighed. You’re drunk, Stu, she said with a gentleness that surprised her.

    Fuck it. Petulance twisted up his male-model features. She should have felt angry, or ashamed. All she felt was a distant wonder: I used to be in love with him.

    She asked, You want to do easy stuff this set?

    I said fuck it, fuck off. I’m okay.

    Eddi shrugged. It’s your hanging.

    He grabbed her arm again. Hey, I want you to be nicer to the club managers.

    What?

    Don’t look at me like that. Just flirt. It’s good for the band.

    She wanted to tweak his nose, see his smile—but that didn’t make him smile anymore. Stuart, you don’t get gigs by sending the rhythm guitarist to flirt with the manager. You get ’em by playing good dance music.

    I play good dance music.

    We play anything that’s already been played to death. All night, people have been sticking their heads in the front door, listening to half a song, and leaving. You in a betting mood?

    Why?

    I bet the nice man at the bar tells us not to come back tomorrow.

    Damn you, he raged suddenly, is that my fault?

    Eddi blinked.

    You pissed him off, didn’t you? Why do you have to be such a bitch?

    For a long moment she thought she might shout back at him. But it was laughter that came racing up her throat. Stuart’s look of foolish surprise fed it, doubled it. She planted a smacking kiss on his chin. Stuart, honey, she grinned, you gotta grow where you’re planted.

    She loped over and swung up on stage, took her lipstick-red Rickenbacker from the stand, and flipped the strap over her shoulder. She caught Carla’s eye over the tops of the cymbals. Dale back from break yet?

    Carla shook her head, then inhaled loudly through pursed lips. Parking lot, she croaked.

    Oh, goody. The whole left side of the stage in an altered state of consciousness. Let’s figure out the set list.

    But we’ve got a set list.

    Let’s make a new one. May as well be hanged for Prince as for Pink Floyd.

    But Stuart—

    Eddi grinned. I want to leave this band in a blaze of glory.

    Carla’s eyes grew wide. You’re—Jesus. Okay, set list. Can we dump all the Chuck Berry?

    Yeah. Let’s show this dive that we at least flirt with modern music, huh?

    They came up with a list of songs in a few gleeful minutes. Stuart hoisted himself on stage as they finished, eyeing them with sullen suspicion. He slung on his guitar and began to noodle, running through his arsenal of electronic effects—more, Eddi suspected, to prove to the audience that he had them than to make sure they worked.

    Dale, the bass player, ambled on stage looking vaguely pleased with himself. Dale was all right in his own disconnected way; but he liked country rock and hated rock ‘n’ roll, and consoled himself with dope during breaks. Eddi cranked up the bass on her amp and hoped it would make up for whatever he was too stoned to deliver.

    Carla was watching her, waiting for the cue to start. Stuart and Dale were ready, if not precisely waiting. Give us a count, she said to Carla. Stuart glared at her. Carla counted, and they kicked off with a semblance of unity.

    They began with a skewed version of Del Shannon’s Runaway. It was familiar enough to pull people onto the dance floor, and the band’s odd arrangement disguised most of the mistakes. Eddi and Carla did impromptu girl-group vocals. Dale looked confused. Then they dived into the Bangles’ In a Different Light, and Stuart began to sulk. Eddi had anticipated that. The next one was an old Eagles song that gave Stuart a chance to sing and muddle up the lead guitar riffs.

    Perhaps the scanty audience felt Eddi’s sudden madness; they were in charity with the band for the first time that night. People had finally started to dance. Eddi hoped it wasn’t too late to impress the manager, but suspected it was.

    Carla set the bass drum and her drum machine to tossing the percussion back and forth. The dancers were staying on the floor, waiting for the beat to fulfill its promise. Eddi murmured the four-count. Dale thumped out a bass line that was only a little too predictable. Stuart shot Eddi an unreadable look and layered on the piercing voice of his Stratocaster. Eddi grabbed her mike and began to sing.

    You told me I was pretty

    I can’t believe it’s true.

    The little dears you left me for

    They all look just like you.

    Ugly is as ugly does—

    Are you telling me what to do?

    Wear my face

    You can have it for a week

    Wear my face

    Aren’t the cheekbones chic?

    Wear my face

    See how people look at you?

    Wear my face

    See how much my face can do?

    They were still dancing. The band was together and tight at last, and Eddi felt as if she’d done it all herself in a burst of goddesslike musical electricity.

    Then she saw the man standing at the edge of the dance floor. His walnut-stain skin seemed too dark for his features. He wore his hair smoothed back, except for a couple of escaped curls on his forehead. His eyes were large and slanted upward under thick arched brows; his nose was narrow and slightly aquiline. He wore a long dark coat with the collar up, and a gleaming white scarf that reflected the stage lights into his face. When she looked at him, he met her eyes boldly and grinned.

    Eddi snagged the microphone, took the one step toward him that she had room for, and sang the last verse at him.

    I’ve seen the way you look away

    When you think I might see,

    You say I scare you silly—

    That’s reacting sensibly.

    Why should people look at you

    When they could look at me?

    It was Eddi who had to turn away, and the last chorus was delivered to the dancers. The man had met her look with a silent challenge that made her skin prickle. His sloping eyes had been full of reflected lights in colors that shone nowhere in the room.

    She almost missed Carla’s neat segue into the next song. She nailed down her first guitar chord barely in time, and caught Stuart’s scowl out of the corner of her eye.

    Eddi had wanted to close with something rambunctious, something the audience would like yet that would allow Eddi and Carla to respect themselves in the morning. Carla had hit upon ZZ Top’s Cheap Sunglasses. Halfway into it, with a shower of sparks and a vile smell, the ancient power amp for the PA dropped dead.

    As the microphones failed, Stuart’s vocals disappeared tinnily under the sound of guitars and bass and Carla’s drums. Stuart, never at his best in the face of adversity, lost his temper. He yanked his guitar strap over his head and let the Strat drop to the stage. The pickups howled painfully through his amp.

    Eddi heard Dale’s bass stumble through a succession of wrong notes, and fall silent. She supposed he was right; Stuart had made it impossible to end the song gracefully. But for her pride’s sake, she played out the measure and added a final flourish. Carla matched her perfectly, and Eddi wanted to kiss her feet for it.

    The dancers had deserted the floor, and people were finishing drinks and pulling on jackets. She swept the room a stagey bow. At the corner of her vision, she thought she saw a dark-coated figure move toward the door.

    Stuart had turned off his amp and unplugged his axe. His expression was forbidding. Eddi turned away to tend to her own equipment, but not before she saw the club manager striding toward the stage.

    You the bandleader? she heard him ask Stuart.

    Yeah, said Stuart, what is it?

    It’s our walking papers, Stu, she thought sadly, knowing that he could save the whole gig now, if only he would be pleasant and conciliating. He wouldn’t be, of course. The manager would tell Stuart what he should be doing with his band, and Stuart, instead of thanking him for the tip, would recommend he keep his asshole advice to himself.

    And Stuart would make Eddi out the villain if he could. Well, she was done with that now. She finished packing her guitar and tracked the power cord on her amplifier back to the outlet.

    You’re that sure, huh? Carla’s voice came from over her head.

    You mean, am I packing up everything? Yeah. You want help tearing down?

    Carla looked faded and limp. You can pack the electronic junk.

    Eddi nodded, and started unplugging things from the back of the drum machine. You done good, kid. Even at the end when it hit the fan.

    Carla shook her head and grinned. "Well, you got to go out in a blaze of something."

    Over at the bar, Stuart and the manager had begun to shout at each other. I booked a goddamn five-piece! the manager yelled. "You goddamn well did break your contract!"

    Carla looked up at Eddi, her eyes wide. "Oh boy—you mean we’re not even gonna get paid?"

    Eddi turned to see how Dale was taking the news. He was nowhere to be seen.

    Carla, you think your wagon will hold your equipment and mine, too?

    Carla smiled. The Titanic? I won’t even have to put the seat down.

    They did have to put the seat down, but the drums, drum machine, Eddi’s guitar, and her Fender Twin Reverb all fit. They made three trips out the back door with the stuff, and Stuart and the manager showed no sign of noticing them.

    As Carla bullied the wagon out of its parking space, Eddi spotted Dale. He was leaning against the back of his rusted-out Dodge. The lit end of his joint flared under his nose. Hold it, Eddi said to Carla. She jumped out of the car and ran over to him. Hey, Dale!

    Eddi? Hullo. Is Stuart still at it?

    Still at what?

    Dale shrugged and dragged at the joint. You know, he croaked, screwing up. He exhaled and held the J out to her.

    Eddi shook her head. I didn’t think you’d noticed—I mean—

    Been pretty bad the last month. It’d be hard not to. He smiled sadly at the toes of his cowboy boots. So, you going?

    Yeah. That is, I’m leaving the band.

    That’s what I meant.

    Oh. Well, I wanted to say good-bye. I’ll miss you. Which, Eddi realized with a start, was more true than she’d thought.

    Dale smiled at his joint. Maybe I’ll quit gigging. Friend of mine has a farm out past Shakopee, says I can stay there. He’s got goats, and some beehives—pretty fuckin’ weird. He looked at her, and his voice lost some of its dreaminess. You know, you’re really good. I don’t much like that stuff, you know, but you’re good.

    Eddi found she couldn’t answer that. She hugged him instead, whispered, Bye, Dale, and ran back to the car.

    Carla turned north on Highway 35. Eddi hung over the back of her seat watching the Minneapolis skyline rise up and unroll behind them. White light banded the top of the IDS building, rebounded off the darkened geometry of a blue glass tower nearby. The clock on the old courthouse added the angular red of its hands. The river glittered like wrinkled black patent leather, and the railroad bridges glowed like something from a movie set.

    I love this view, Eddi sighed. Even the Metrodome’s not bad from here, for a glow-in-the-dark fungus.

    "Boy, you are feeling sentimental," said Carla.

    Yeah. Eddi turned around to face the windshield. Carla, am I doing the right thing?

    You mean dumping Personality Man?

    Eddi looked at her, startled.

    Hey, Carla continued, no big deduction. You couldn’t leave Stu’s band and stay friends with Stu—nobody could. So kissing off the band means breaking up with Mr. Potato Head.

    Eddi giggled. "It’s a really pretty potato."

    And solid all the way through. This’ll probably wipe the band out, y’know.

    He can replace me, Eddi shrugged.

    "Maybe. But you and me?"

    You’re quitting?

    I’m not sticking around to watch Stuart piss and moan. Carla’s tone was a little too offhand, and Eddi shot her a glance. Oh, all right, Carla amended. Stuart would scream about what a bitch and a traitor you are, I’d tell him he was a shit and didn’t deserve you, and I’d end up walking out anyway. Why not now?

    Eddi slugged her gently in the shoulder. Yer a pal.

    Yeah, yeah. So start a band I can drum in.

    You could play for anybody.

    "I don’t want to play for anybody. You do that, you end up working with bums like Stuart."

    With a lurch and a rumble of drumheads, they pulled in the driveway of Chester’s. Even in the dark, its bits of Tudor architecture were unconvincing. The bar rush that hit every all-night restaurant was in full force; they had to wait for a table. When they got one, they ordered coffee and tea.

    So, are you going to start a band?

    Eddi slumped in her seat. Oh God, Carla. It’s such a crappy way to make a living. You work and work, and you end up playing cover tunes in the Dew Drop Inn where all the guys slow-dance with their hands in their girlfriends’ back pockets.

    So you don’t do that kind of band.

    What kind do you do?

    Their order arrived, and Carla dunked a tea bag with great concentration. Originals, she said at last. "Absolutely new, on-the-edge stuff. Very high class. Only play the good venues."

    Eddi stared at her. Maybe I should just go over to Control Data and apply for a job as Chairman of the Board.

    Carla looked out the window. Listen. You don’t become a bar band and work your way up from there. There is no up from there. It’s a dead end. All you can become is the world’s best bar band.

    Eddi sighed. I don’t want a new band. I want to be a normal person.

    Carla’s dark eyes were very wide. Oh, she said.

    Hey, Eddi smiled limply, it’s not like you to miss a straight line.

    Too easy, Carla said with a shrug. Then she shook her head and made her black hair fly, and seemed to shake off her sorrow as well. Give it time. You don’t remember how awful it is being normal.

    Not as awful as being in InKline Plain.

    Oh, worse, said Carla solemnly. They make you sit at a desk all day and eat vending machine donuts, and your butt gets humongous.

    Now that, Eddi said, is a job I can handle.

    If you work hard, you get promoted to brownies. Carla set her cup down. Come on, let’s roll.

    Outside, the wind was blowing. It had none of the rough-sided cold of winter in it; it was damp, with a spoor of wildness that seemed to race through Eddi’s blood. It made her want to run, yell, do any foolish thing … .

    You okay? Carla’s voice broke into her mood. If you don’t get in the car, I’m gonna leave without you.

    Eddi took pleasure in the dash to the car, the way the wind tugged on her hair. Roll the windows down.

    Are you bats? We’ll freeze.

    Eddi rolled down her own, but it wasn’t enough. As they drove toward the city, the early spring madness drained away. The wagon’s rattles and squeaks, its smell of cigarette butts and old vinyl and burnt oil, took its place. By the time they’d reached the edge of downtown, Eddi felt weary in every muscle and bone.

    What should she do now? What could she do? It sounded fine to tell Carla that she wanted to be normal for once, but Eddi had never been suited to a normal life. Once she had taken a job as a security guard, patrolling an abandoned factory from four until midnight. Each night her imagination had tenanted the shadows with burglars and arsonists. At the end of a week the shadows were full, and she quit. She typed too slowly—did everything with her hands too slowly, in fact, except play the guitar.

    As for a normal love affair, it wasn’t impossible. She was reasonably intelligent. She was attractive, though not beautiful: blond and gray-eyed with strong features and clear skin; and she was small and slender and knew how to choose her clothes. But she wasn’t sure where to find men who weren’t—well, musicians.

    Mighty quiet, Carla said, as if she already knew why.

    I’m … I guess I’m beginning to realize the consequences of everything.

    Mmm. You going to chicken out?

    No. But … would you call me tomorrow? Around two-ish? I figure I’ll call Stu at one and tell him.

    And you’ll need someone to tell you you’re gonna be okay.

    Eddi smiled sheepishly. You must have done this yourself.

    Everybody has to, at least once. Don’t beat yourself over the head for it.

    The light was red at Washington and Hennepin, the corner where Carla would begin negotiating the rat’s nest of one-way streets that led to Eddi’s apartment. Let me off here, she said suddenly.

    Wha—why?

    I want to walk. It’s a nice night.

    Carla was shocked. It’s freezing. And you’ll get murdered.

    You’ve been living around the lakes too long. You think any place with buildings more than three stories high is full of addicts.

    And I’m right. Anyway, what about your axe and stuff?

    It was true; she couldn’t haul her guitar and amplifier fourteen blocks. She was settling back in the passenger seat when Carla spoke again.

    I know, I know. ‘Carla, would you mind taking them to your place and carrying them all the way up the back stairs, then carrying them back down tomorrow when you come over to keep me from being miserable ’cause I broke up with my boyfriend?’ Sure, Ed, what’re friends for?

    Eddi giggled. If you’d quit going to Mass, you’d make a great Jewish mother. She leaned over and hugged her.

    Jeez, will you get out of here? The light’s changed twice already! After Eddi had bounced out and slammed the door, Carla shouted through the half-open window, I’ll call at two!

    Thank you! Eddi yelled back, and waved as the station wagon rumbled and clanked away from the curb. The gold-and-gray flank of the library rose before her, and she followed it to the Nicollet Mall.

    Whatever had tugged at her in the restaurant parking lot refused to be summoned back now. Eddi shook her head and started down the mall, and hoped that the effort would blow her melancholy away. The rhythm of her steps reminded her of a dozen different songs at once, and she hummed one softly to herself. It was Kate Bush, she realized, Cloudbusting, and she sang it as she walked.

    Then she saw the figure standing by the bus shelter across the street.

    By the shape, it was a man—a man’s broad-brimmed hat and long, fitted coat. He didn’t move, didn’t seem even to turn his head to watch her, but she had a sudden wild understanding of the idea of a bullet with one’s name on it. This figure had her name on him.

    You must be feeling mighty low, girl, she scolded herself, if you think that every poor idiot who’s missed his bus is lying in wait for you. Still, the man seemed naggingly present, and almost familiar. And three in the morning was an odd hour to wait for a bus in a town where the buses quit running at half past midnight.

    Her pace was steady as she crossed the empty street. Behind her, she heard his steps begin. It’s not fair, she raged as she sped up. I don’t need this, not tonight. She thought she heard a low laugh behind her, half the block away. Her stride lost some of its purpose and took on an edge of panic.

    South of the power company offices, Eddi turned and headed for Hennepin Avenue. If there were still people on any street in Minneapolis, they would be on Hennepin. A police cruiser might even come by … .

    The footsteps behind her had stopped. There, see? Poor bastard was just walking down Nicollet. I’ll be fine now—

    A black, waist-high shape slunk out of the alley in front of her. Its bared teeth glittered as it snarled; its eyes glowed red. It was a huge black dog, stalking stiff-legged toward her. Eddi backed up a step. It made a ferocious noise and lunged. She turned and ran in the only direction she could, back toward Nicollet.

    She got one of the streetlight posts on the mall between her and the dog and turned to face it. It wasn’t there. Across the street, in the shadow of a doorway, Eddi saw the silhouette of the man in the hat and long coat. He threw back his head, and she heard his laughter. The streetlight fell on his face and throat and she saw the gleam of his white scarf, his dark skin and sloping, shining eyes. It was the man from the dance floor, from the University Bar. She ran.

    The footsteps behind her seemed unhurried, yet they never dropped back, no matter how fast she ran. She tried again to turn toward Hennepin. The black dog lunged at her from out of a parking ramp exit, its red eyes blazing.

    This is crazy, she thought with the dead calm of fear. Muggers and mad dogs. I’m stuck in a Vincent Price movie. Where are the zombies?

    She was running down Nicollet again before she realized that it couldn’t be the same dog. But it was insane to think that the man could have known she would walk home, impossible to think he had a pack of dogs. Her breath burned in her throat. She had a stitch in her side. Her pace had become a quick stumble.

    She’d almost reached the end of the mall, she realized. Two blocks away were the Holiday Inn and the Hyatt, and she could run into either, into a lobby full of light and bellhops and a desk clerk who’d call the police. She staggered across the street toward Peavey Plaza and Orchestra Hall.

    The black dog seemed to form out of the shadows. Perhaps it was only one dog, after all; surely there weren’t two dogs like this. It was huge, huge, its head low, its fur bristling gunmetal-dark in the street light. It growled softly, in macabre counterpoint to the waterfall sounds of the Peavey Plaza fountain. Did the damned dog know it stood between her and safety? How had it gotten past her? She moved sideways, through the concrete planters that marked the sidewalk level of Peavey Plaza. The hotels seemed miles away now. She would have to try to lose both dog and man in the complexity of the ornamental pool and fountains below her, and escape out the other

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