A Local Habitation by Seanan McGuire
Trolls, selkies, pixies, hags,
Urban fairies, such a drag?
PI Toby hits a snag.
I bought this book in a paper bag.
Yes sir, yes sir
I read the book, sir.
Characters were found dead dropped, sir.
It did tricks with flips and plots, sir.
I'll do tricks with bits and words, sir.
Changeling Toby (slightly tipsy)
Gets a message from liege Lord Sylvestie
To check on niece Jannie
In her county and see what all.
Jannie's staffers, slowly shrinking.
Bodies in the yard (but not a-stinking)
Night haunts missing
their cadaver call.
Bad things happen (of course)
Toby's no “hero” (maybe the horse)
Blood analysis, her recourse
But tells her no tales at all.
First person, check!
Lady PI, check!
Rare talent, check!
Supernatural, check!
Main char. with connections!
I got sub genre Bingo!
How about you?
I had problems, if you could guess
at the narrator's form of address
To the audience;
it was so flat and dull.
Explanations I desired,
But they were bogged down and mired
in a flood of names.
Palm to forehead, I smack.
For the rare times exposition a-came all forthcoming
Mostly the characters were running
Away from the truth
and Toby, the sleuth,
Seemed to let politics dictate her prying.
Instead there is action,
Without the satisfaction
That sympathetic voice
Could have lent
To my bookish distraction.
The lack of emotion
Upset my promotion
of this book's notions
And the pacing, oh man!
Rush, rush, rush!
The pace goes so very fast
That no character moments last.
Sadly thus
The characters were all so very small.
Since the plot went by in a blur
I'm afraid I must very much defer...
It was all right, but not a whit more.
It suffered most by being stuck to October.
It was a shame (I do declare)
Since for the setting, I was so there.
The fantastic and modern
Is an awesome concoction.
Why do so few nail it right on the hair?
In deft mitigation
I did have some cause for celebration
For April, whose data configuration
Was of a cause of much fascination
For the interesting vice
Of a cool character device,
She's a Dryad who lives in a server.
A dryad she is to the core
(Although not really like those of yore)
Her character growth
Was better than Quelf
Twice as interesting and sincere, what's more!
Now if the plot
had gotten a shot
From “mystery” rather than “thriller”
You would find me
Much happier be
And less of a rude joy killer.
And “What overall?” say you?
I find that I must be true
That my wordplay (while lacking)
Has done much satisfacting
For my woefully pouty moue.
“Not terrible,” say I
“And not really so high
My expectations should have been set.
Perhaps the book previous
Was infinitely more devious
And a better plot to go fly.”
Yes, I know I should be getting along,
Because those who have now heard my song
Flee in stark fear
Whene'er I come near
For my rants, they tend to drone on.
P.S. Yes, I am aware that my poetry is truly awful.
Urban fairies, such a drag?
PI Toby hits a snag.
I bought this book in a paper bag.
Yes sir, yes sir
I read the book, sir.
Characters were found dead dropped, sir.
It did tricks with flips and plots, sir.
I'll do tricks with bits and words, sir.
Changeling Toby (slightly tipsy)
Gets a message from liege Lord Sylvestie
To check on niece Jannie
In her county and see what all.
Jannie's staffers, slowly shrinking.
Bodies in the yard (but not a-stinking)
Night haunts missing
their cadaver call.
Bad things happen (of course)
Toby's no “hero” (maybe the horse)
Blood analysis, her recourse
But tells her no tales at all.
First person, check!
Lady PI, check!
Rare talent, check!
Supernatural, check!
Main char. with connections!
I got sub genre Bingo!
How about you?
I had problems, if you could guess
at the narrator's form of address
To the audience;
it was so flat and dull.
Explanations I desired,
But they were bogged down and mired
in a flood of names.
Palm to forehead, I smack.
For the rare times exposition a-came all forthcoming
Mostly the characters were running
Away from the truth
and Toby, the sleuth,
Seemed to let politics dictate her prying.
Instead there is action,
Without the satisfaction
That sympathetic voice
Could have lent
To my bookish distraction.
The lack of emotion
Upset my promotion
of this book's notions
And the pacing, oh man!
Rush, rush, rush!
The pace goes so very fast
That no character moments last.
Sadly thus
The characters were all so very small.
Since the plot went by in a blur
I'm afraid I must very much defer...
It was all right, but not a whit more.
It suffered most by being stuck to October.
It was a shame (I do declare)
Since for the setting, I was so there.
The fantastic and modern
Is an awesome concoction.
Why do so few nail it right on the hair?
In deft mitigation
I did have some cause for celebration
For April, whose data configuration
Was of a cause of much fascination
For the interesting vice
Of a cool character device,
She's a Dryad who lives in a server.
A dryad she is to the core
(Although not really like those of yore)
Her character growth
Was better than Quelf
Twice as interesting and sincere, what's more!
Now if the plot
had gotten a shot
From “mystery” rather than “thriller”
You would find me
Much happier be
And less of a rude joy killer.
And “What overall?” say you?
I find that I must be true
That my wordplay (while lacking)
Has done much satisfacting
For my woefully pouty moue.
“Not terrible,” say I
“And not really so high
My expectations should have been set.
Perhaps the book previous
Was infinitely more devious
And a better plot to go fly.”
Yes, I know I should be getting along,
Because those who have now heard my song
Flee in stark fear
Whene'er I come near
For my rants, they tend to drone on.
P.S. Yes, I am aware that my poetry is truly awful.