God's Demon [NOOK Book]

Overview


The powerful Lord Sargatanas, Brigadier-general in Beelzebub’s host, is restless. For millennia Sargatanas has ruled dutifully over an Infernal metropolis, but he has never forgotten what he lost in the Fall. He is sickened by what he has done and what he has become. Now, with a small event—a confrontation with a damned soul—he makes a decision that will reverberate through every being in Hell.  Sargatanas decides to attempt the impossible, to rebel, to win his way Home and bring with him anyone who chooses...

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God's Demon

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Overview


The powerful Lord Sargatanas, Brigadier-general in Beelzebub’s host, is restless. For millennia Sargatanas has ruled dutifully over an Infernal metropolis, but he has never forgotten what he lost in the Fall. He is sickened by what he has done and what he has become. Now, with a small event—a confrontation with a damned soul—he makes a decision that will reverberate through every being in Hell.  Sargatanas decides to attempt the impossible, to rebel, to win his way Home and bring with him anyone who chooses to follow...be they demon or soul.

He will stake everything on fighting all the abominable forces of Hell arrayed against him, when the prize is nothing less than redemption.


At the publisher's request, this title is being sold without Digital Rights Management software (DRM) applied.


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Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly

Best known for extraordinarily imaginative fantasy art, Barlowe (Barlowe's Guide to Extraterrestrials) now sets his talents to writing equally compelling speculative fiction. Inspired by Paradise Lost, Barlowe conjures up the creatures who sided with Lucifer and were ejected from heaven, thrown down into Hell to become freakishly mangled demons. After innumerable eons of exile, the demon Sargatanas has started to dream of being reunited with God. Sargatanas amasses an army to aid him in overthrowing Lucifer's regent, Beelzebub, in an attempt to catch God's eye. In a flash of inspiration, Sargatanas adds human souls to his army, under the direction of Hannibal. Together, human sinners and once-rebellious demons unite to vanquish Beelzebub in an all-out war. Barlowe's interpretation is not for the squeamish, with its horrifically explicit descriptions of demonic behavior, but it's a compelling view of Hell and of a demon who seeks redemption. (Oct.)

Copyright 2007 Reed Business Information
Kirkus Reviews
Hell's denizens struggle for redemption in this evocative epic fantasy, inspired by Barlowe's own artwork. After the War in Heaven was lost, the fallen angels became demons and built vast new cities in Hell, mainly constructed of damned souls transformed into bricks. No one has seen Lucifer since the Fall, and Beelzebub, a powerful, hideous figure composed of thousands of flies, rules as Prince from the dreadful city of Dis. Meanwhile, the Demon Major Sargatanas is determined to preserve the memory of his once-noble existence as a seraph by constructing the city of Adamantinarx, which attempts to echo the glory he had known. And it is the shreds of that nobility that eventually makes Hell impossible for Sargatanas to endure. He resolves to see if he can send a message to Heaven, demonstrating his intention to return to the light by rebelling against Beelzebub's depraved rule. Joining him in this exceptionally risky enterprise are a host of demons, plus Lilith, Adam's cast-down first wife and Beelzebub's runaway consort, and the soul of the Carthaginian general Hannibal. The plot drives forward in a fairly straightforward, episodic manner, with little in the way of twists and turns-readers seeking surprises should look elsewhere. Barlowe's primary interest seems to be to repaint his landscapes in words and to breathe life, or afterlife, into his characters. In those aims, he succeeds; at some points, his depictions of both the grandeur and the horror of Hell even surpass his original paintings and drawings, available for comparison on the book's cover as well as at the associated website. From Barlowe (Barlowe's Inferno, 1999, etc.), a vivid travelogue of a place we'd all like to avoid.
From the Publisher
"Barlowe's envisioning of the landscape, architecture, and denizens of Hell is nothing short of awe-inspiring . . . this is a fascinating novel that will ring true to anyone who has ever hoped for forgiveness."—Booklist (Starred Review) on God's Demon

"Hell's denizens struggle for redemption in this evocative epic fantasy . . . [Barlowe] succeeds; at some points, his depictions of both the grandeur and the horror of Hell even surpass his original paintings and drawings . . . a vivid travelogue of a place we'd all like to avoid."—Kirkus Reviews on God's Demon

"Best known for extraordinarily imaginative fantasy art, Barlowe now sets his talents to writing equally compelling speculative fiction . . . a compelling view of Hell and of a demon who seeks redemption."—Publishers Weekly on God's Demon

"An electrifying, chilling trip through the netherworld. The landscape is so well depicted, you can smell the brimstone and feel the despair."—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on God's Demon

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781429911139
  • Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
  • Publication date: 12/30/2008
  • Sold by: Macmillan
  • Format: eBook
  • Edition description: First Edition
  • Edition number: 1
  • Pages: 352
  • Sales rank: 389,940
  • File size: 521 KB

Meet the Author


Wayne Barlowe is an artist, author and film concept designer whose bestselling book, Barlowe’s Guide to Extraterrestrials is a modern classic, as are Expedition, Barlowe’s Inferno and Brushfire. His concept designs have appeared in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban and Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Hellboy and Hellboy 2: The Golden Army, Blade 2, and his own Discovery Channel program Alien Planet. His artwork has appeared in galleries and museum shows across the country, as well as Life, Time, and Newsweek.


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Read an Excerpt


Chapter 1
There was the Fall. And no one was permitted to speak of it, or of the time before or of the Above. But it was the Fall that established many things in Hell, not the least of which was the distribution of territory. The future wards of Hell were randomly determined as each Demon Major, on his own sizzling trajectory from the Above, plunged headlong, meteoric, into the unknown wilds of the Inferno. Some impacted far apart, setting up their realms in relative seclusion and safety, while others, less fortunate, found themselves in close proximity, able to see the rising smoke of their neighbor’s arrival. These close arrivals began plotting and campaigning as soon as they could gather about them enough minor demons to form a court. The fratricidal wars that erupted lingered for millennia, occasionally flaring up into major conflagrations. These were the volatile times of Settlement and they were never forgotten by the survivors. Many of Lucifer’s original Host were lost, but those that remained, the strong and the cunning, established powerful kingdoms that would grow and prosper.
When Eligor Fell he found himself upon a smoking plain cratered with the barely moving bodies of a thousand fallen demons. They lay, as he did, stunned, twisted by their furious descents, and glowing from myriad tiny embers. Eligor had been a foot soldier in the celestial Host, attached to the seraph Sargatanas’ legions, and could remember nothing of his final moments Above. Somehow, as he Fell, he had managed to stay near his general’s flaming smoke-plume.
Eligor came upon Sargatanas as he stood upon a wind-whipped bluff, unsteady, the steam of his descent wreathing him. Transformed from luminous seraph to Demon Major, he had lost all of his heavenly trappings and none of his dignity. A corona of embers flitted away from his massive head and Eligor saw it form into a great and complicated sigil for the first time. Sargatanas had been one of the fortunate ones, a demon who had Fallen, uncontested, in an infernal region harsh and inhospitable, albeit rich in minerals and perfect for city-building. Glowing milky white upon a flat plain before them, and bending around a tall central mount, oxbowed a slow-flowing river that would be named Acheron. Here, Eligor somehow knew, a great city would rise.
They stood silently, watching the shower of fiery contrails, the paths of slower descents as they approached their new, unwelcoming home. Eligor glanced over at his lord. He saw Sargatanas looking up, beyond the contrails and beyond the clouds, and saw him close his burning eyes. A great number of demons gathered about Sargatanas as he set about the founding of his city. The earliest, mostly unknown to him, were those who had descended nearby and, after meeting with him, agreed to join his van. Others traveling from afar, more often than not, had known him from before the Fall and wanted to be by his side, perhaps for comfort, in the new world.
Eligor’s intuition had proven correct; Sargatanas had seen the same potential in the land near where he had Fallen. The boundaries of Sargatanas’ future city were vast, yet the Demon Major had walked them himself, pointing out to Eligor the specific features of the landscape that had provoked his interest in this particular spot. The great river, especially, had won Sargatanas over. As he and Eligor approached its steep banks, they smelled a distinct saltiness carried upon the thick air.
They peered down into the languorously flowing Acheron and both of them could see tiny forms, indistinct and writhing, in the thick water. An unaccountable deep sadness filled them as their lungs filled with the mist-laden air that rose up, and, after a moment, Sargatanas shook his great head and spun away. The gesture surprised Eligor, breaking the odd reverie that had fallen about him.
They left the river and ascended the gradual rise to the projected city’s periphery where, standing assembled in a seemingly endless line twenty ranks deep, were countless souls. They were a miserable, deformed crowd, crying and trembling, as yet unaware of what was going to befall them. Sargatanas drew himself up, smoothing his robes as he walked toward them, deaf to the echoing pleas that filled the air. Eligor, too, ignored them, grown accustomed, as he was, to the souls’ ways.
They were the first arrivals, souls who had been sent as the vanguard of humanities’ effluvia, the damned. A steady stream of them had been arriving since shortly after the demons’ Fall, and while he was repulsed by them and their ways, Eligor found himself fascinated nonetheless.
Their appearance was as grotesque as their croaking chorus; they were as varied and individual as the capricious laws of the demons could create. Somewhere in Hell, somewhere Eligor would never visit, a veritable army of lesser demons had their way with the endless flood of souls as they entered the realm. Legless, headless, corkscrewed, folded, torn, and pierced, each soul wore but the thinnest mask of mankind. No two were alike. And pushed, as if into gray clay by a giant’s hand, into each soul was a black sphere, heavy and dull. Sargatanas told Eligor that the Demons Major had fashioned these globes, filled with the essence of the souls’ transgressions, to serve not only as reminders of their punishment but also as a means for the demons’ control. Beyond that he did not say, but Eligor marveled at the simplicity of it. As he and Sargatanas passed them, Eligor looked into their fog-white eyes and wondered what they knew, whether there was any remnant at all of their previous lives to be found in the gray husks.
Sargatanas approached his new Architect General, greeting him warmly. The Demon Major Halphas, thin and flamboyantly spined, was bedecked in layers of clacking, bone-ornamented robes while above his head blazed his new sigil, an elaborate device that now incorporated the sigil of his liege, Sargatanas, as well. Halphas was smiling as his lord approached. Around him were a half-dozen other demons, his assistants, each of whom looked at their lord with anticipatory pleasure.
“My lord,” Halphas said dramatically, his smile revealing through his destroyed cheeks myriad tiny teeth, “we await but your command and the walls’ foundations will be laid.”
Sargatanas examined the deep trench and took the maps from Halphas, comparing what he could see with the glyph-dense diagrams that appeared on the chart. He nodded and handed them over to Eligor, who studied them briefly.
“You have done a flawless job, Lord Halphas. It is obvious to me how much effort went into your careful plans. And I checked the city limits; they are just as I laid out without the slightest deviation. Excellent!”
“Lord, I am pleased,” Halphas said modestly in his scratchy voice. “The Overseers only await your command.”
“We cannot begin soon enough,” said Sargatanas. He raised his faintly steaming hand and with a small gesture, a flick of his hand, created a simple fiery glyph that immediately fractured and sped off to the many attending demons. They, in their turn, dutifully produced their own glyphs that rose into the sky, and these, flying along the outline of the wall, galvanized the distant demons who began the process of converting souls into bricks. The wailing grew in intensity, but none of the demons paid it any attention. Conscious of their lord’s presence, they were too intent upon beginning the job at hand, as the wall’s foundation started to take form around them.
Eligor watched in amazement; this was the first time he had witnessed any real construction in Hell. The techniques, he knew, were relatively untried. As each glittering glyph touched a selected soul upon its black sphere it would instantly transform from a solid globe into a thick, black liquid that flowed down into the ground. And even as the liquid began to pool, the glyph’s true meaning impacted upon the soul, hammering it, compressing it into a brick, wringing out what little blood there might be, and then sending it tumbling into position in the wall. Silencing its cries forever. And upon each brick, stamped in relief into its wrinkled surface, was the sigil of its lord, Sargatanas.
Black and oily Scourges, demon-tamed Abyssals that flapped their short wings and cracked their cranium-mounted whips, darted about keeping the quavering souls in line. Eligor loathed the Scourges but had to admit their effectiveness. Pressed closely together, the clay-colored souls reacted to the commencement of construction in various ways. Some collapsed, some knelt sobbing, while others, wide-eyed, looked stunned and seemed unable to move. Most stood and pleaded at the top of their voices while a few desperate individuals attempted to run, though Eligor, who was watching all this intently, could not imagine where they thought they would go. Time and again, he would watch the well-trained Scourges fly away in short pursuits, mindlessly flailing the fleeing souls until they collapsed. Once they were still, the souls were hooked and brought back to the trench’s edge. None ever escaped.
The Overseers, arms outstretched, repeatedly created their conversion-glyphs with such rapidity that the overall impression of the growing wall was one of a luminous ribbon of twinkling fire, a radiant necklace set upon the dark bosom of Hell.
The Overseers were, under Halphas’ able tutelage, extremely skilled; it took enormous concentration to create, size, and shape the bricks and set them in place quickly, and some of the demons openly competed with their neighbors, racing to complete their sections.
The broad trench filled smoothly and efficiently. Huge gaps were left for the seven massive gates that would be built. Halphas’ calculations were perfection; Sargatanas had said many times that he thought him the best architect in Hell. As a raw material the souls were malleable and—best of all—plentiful. A hundred souls every foot created the beginnings of a wall twenty feet thick and ten feet high—nothing compared to what the finished wall would be, but a start nonetheless.
Eventually, as the numbers of standing souls diminished, the wailing tapered off to be replaced by the low moan of the hot winds. Algol was setting; the long day’s work was done. More souls would be collected, more wall would be created, and eventually this moment would become nothing but a distant memory for demon and brick alike.
When all was done for the day, Sargatanas walked along the fresh foundation for some distance, hands behind his back, inspecting the site. He was smiling broadly. His city would be built, and this ceremony was its harbinger. His elation was unmistakable, and Eligor and the others could not help but be swept up in it. Eligor watched with growing wonder and enthusiasm as Adamantinarx-upon-the-Acheron rose, layer by layer, like a dark, growing crystal from the fleshy ground. As a moon is to a sun, so was Adamantinarx to the cities of Heaven. Under the guiding hand of Sargatanas, the city’s planners did their best with the materials at hand to emulate the splendor of the Above. Eligor suspected that those similarities in architecture were born merely out of the desire of the demon planners to live as they had and not meant to be a cynical parody of a lost world. At times, as he walked the growing streets, Eligor felt at ease, even at home. But at other moments, moments when the memories of his former life came to him, the dark evocation made him sad.
The great hunts that Sargatanas organized to rid the nearby Wastes of the Abyssal fauna and the Primordial natives would help cheer Eligor at these times. It was impossible for him to not share the wild exhilaration that everyone felt, charging through the chaotic landscape after the fearless wildlife, and he would soon forget his sadness. The indigenous creatures of Hell posed a continuing threat to the construction of Adamantinarx, and it was challenging, even for former angels, to run them down and destroy them.
The city grew quickly and was populated just as quickly. There was no shortage of ready inhabitants. Hell, Eligor thought often, would never have a problem filling its cities. Soon not only demon workers but demons of all description as well as gray, twisted souls by the hundreds of thousands strode the broad avenues dwarfed by the enormous buildings; the only requirement to existing within the city’s boundaries was fealty to Sargatanas’ bidding.
And when Adamantinarx had grown for ten thousand years, the two demons had found themselves together, surveying the great city from one of its lofty towers. Eligor, in a moment of sincere enthusiasm, had turned to Sargatanas and said, “This exile, my lord, has not been nearly as grievous as we had, at first, thought. So much has been achieved!”
Sargatanas looked at him and said, “But Eligor, this is only the beginning of the beginning.”
Sargatanas’ voice, all harmonics and rumbles like the woody intake of some giant pipe organ, had sounded sardonic. Eligor had no reply for his lord. They had spent so much time in Hell already. Eligor would always look back at that small conversation as the moment when the enormity of their banishment—of their shared eternity—crystallized.
Perhaps, Eligor had thought during this early period, this is why there is such frenetic building. Like beasts who groom themselves when confronted with the insoluble, the demons, confronted with the eternity of their damnation, built. What else could they do but attempt to make this place their own? If they had to live in this place forever, they would try to tame it first, make it their own. But he knew that Hell could not be brought to heel. It was a living place, a place with its own will.
Sargatanas went about his tasks with a preternatural intensity that bordered on the obsessive. He never tired of directing the large and small matters of state. It was, Eligor guessed, his way of not thinking about the reality of their situation. He seemed, too, to be preoccupied with the affairs of his neighboring fiefdoms. The lands of his mentor from before the Fall, Lord Astaroth, bordered his largest ward, and this pleased him. Astaroth was old, genial, perhaps a little inept in his governing, and Sargatanas looked with some dismay at his old teacher’s failures. But, in those early days, he posed no threat to Sargatanas or his realm and peace reigned.
Adamantinarx was not dissimilar, in its composition, from many of the cities of Hell; its flagstoned streets ran red with the blood of its souls, its soul-bricks sighed and blinked as one passed them, and its countless low buildings groaned and shuddered like any others in any other infernal city. But it was also the least tortured of Hell’s cities, and its underlying openness was due solely to Sargatanas’ will. Just as Hell’s capital, Dis, was a horrific reflection of its creator, Beelzebub, Adamantinarx seemed, to its demonic inhabitants, as tolerant as its lord. There was a difference, a nobility, to this demon. Eligor could see it, as could any who entered Sargatanas’ court. When he laid the foundations, high atop the center mount, for his many-bastioned palace, he consulted not only with Halphas but also with each of his chief underlings. Eligor saw how this openhandedness affected the court, how it served not only to bring together each demon but also to make them loyal to Sargatanas.
During one such consultation, high atop the windswept crag, Sargatanas had convened a general meeting to discuss the number of tiers the palace would have. The hot, ember-laden wind whipped Halphas’ plans about, making it hard for all to see, and Sargatanas bent down to gather a few rocks to anchor them. When he had arisen, a newcomer had joined the party, having climbed the steep ascent unseen by all. Eligor’s hand went to his sword, as did a half-dozen other demons’.
“Do you not know me?” the shrouded figure asked, putting down a long, narrow box and looking directly at Sargatanas. A long, bony needle pierced the flesh of the newcomer’s hood, holding the heavy folds closed save for a gathered hole left for speech.
Sargatanas was a full head and a half taller than all assembled. It was a habit of his, when confronted or challenged, to fold his arms and straighten up to his imposing full height. The bony plates of his face began to shift subtly while the flame that crowned him grew more brilliant. The gathered demons knew the signs when he grew impatient and each looked at one another with anticipatory relish.
“How can I possibly know you, cloaked as you are? Your sigil is not lit.”
“Surely you must remember me . . . from before the Fall. My voice, at least, must be familiar.”
And of course, Eligor thought, that was the most absurd thing he had heard in a very long time. No one’s voice had remained the same. The bells of the Above had left their throats long ago, burned away by the fire and the screams. The newcomer was playing a foolish, dangerous game.
Nonetheless, there was something compelling about the words that made Sargatanas look more intently at the enigmatic figure. Sargatanas’ personal Art was to divine the hidden, but, strangely, in this case he seemed unable.
“Draw aside your hood.” The rumble in his voice was unmistakable.
“Perhaps—if you were to ask me in the Old Tongue . . .”
“My old tongue is gone. Only this sharp one remains.”
“Well then, perhaps your ears and eyes are as they were Above.” The figure slowly reached up with a skin-covered, gloved hand and withdrew the bone needle from his hood. “Micama! Adoianu Valefar!”
“Valefar!” exclaimed Sargatanas, and rushed to embrace him.
Eligor and the others watched in wide-eyed astonishment as their lord released the Demon Major, the purest joy pouring forth from him. Here, Eligor knew, was Sargatanas’ dearest friend from before the Fall, the loss of whom had been spoken of only briefly, and to only a select few, for all the long millennia. Valefar’s absence had been a great blow to Sargatanas, as if more than just his great heart had been torn from him by the victorious seraphim.
“Where have you been all this time?”
“I was in Dis,” Valefar said, dropping his chin. “I lingered there much longer than I would have liked. It is not an easy place to leave, once one enters.”
Sargatanas put his clawed hand upon his friend’s shoulder. “Ah, Valefar, all that is behind you. You are here now and here you will stay.”
Picking up the long metal box, Valefar swung it easily over his shoulder, the charred plates of his face shifting into a broad grin.
Together they descended the mount. As Sargatanas passed, he nodded to Halphas, who began to roll the plans into a tube; the palace could wait.
Eligor saw how Valefar’s arrival seemed to complete his lord. Though both figures were physically greatly transformed by the Fall, it was easy to see how they might have been before the great battle. Sargatanas carried his looming flesh-cloaked form more lightly. And Valefar, who knew his somewhat secondary role perfectly, also knew exactly how to prize his lord away from his dark moods. Valefar’s was a lighter spirit that seemed, to Eligor, totally out of place in Hell.
Copyright © 2007 by Wayne Barlowe. All rights reserved.
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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4.5
( 16 )
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Sort by: Showing all of 16 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted January 21, 2013

    Fantasticly original setting

    While the story develops in a way that struck me as relatively basic and episodic, it wasn't so simplistic or formulaic as to be unenjoyable. Rather, i found it simply took a back seat to the marvel of the plot and setting- i don't know if i've ever been transported by an author to such a uniquely visceral place. Barlowe is a painter with a knack for the surreal, and it shows as he weaves a world of such visual impact it will have you reeling under the response evoked in your own imagination. More originality per sentence here than you're likely to encounter anywhere else.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 22, 2012

    Wonderful read

    Just finished it. Read it through in two days, I couldn't put it down. I've been a fan of Wayne Barlowe since reading "Barlowes's Guide To Extraterrastrials" in high school. I can't wait for the next book!

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  • Posted September 21, 2009

    I Also Recommend:

    God's Demon by Wayne Barlow

    Embark upon a journey through the wastes and cities of Hell, upon the back of many great characters. Visit Adamantinarx, a city in hell built to mirror the magnificence of those in Heaven in order to remind the fallen ones of their former home. Follow the soul of Hannibal, as he is restored to his former glory and pressed into service of Sargatanas in his crusade to rid Hell of the opressive Beelzebub, who rules in place of Lucifer while Lucifer roams the barren wastes of the furthest reaches of Hell alone. Become entranced with the lady Lillith, who loves Lucifer... and comes to love Sargatanas. Follow Sargatanas during his endeavors. See his defeats, his victories, and read his thoughts.

    Wayne Barlow will bring you to your knees in awe as you see Hell from a new perspective... one where everything horrible is justified as punishment for sins comitted on Earth (for souls) and in Heaven (for the Fallen Ones). Will Sargatanas succeed? Will we see Sargatanas pave the way for all who have fallen to once again gain the favor of God?

    This is a must-have for any library, personal or public.

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  • Posted April 20, 2009

    Gods Demon

    An Epic knock your socks off kind of book. I just wish that every read was this good. Loved it.

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  • Posted March 30, 2009

    A different perspective of Hell and demons.

    The book is predicated on an intriguing twist of traditional concept of hell and the fallen angels or demons. Biblical, mythological, and historical characters are interwoven to create an interesting and rich storyline tapestry. Definitely original.

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  • Posted March 19, 2009

    more from this reviewer

    I Also Recommend:

    A unique view of Hell.

    I really enjoyed Barlowe's unique vision of Hell.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 11, 2008

    God's Demon

    For someone with a background as an illustrator, Mr Barlowe is surprisingly engaging as an author. 'God's Demon' is not without its weaknesses: sometimes the foreshadowing is a little heavy and obvious, and there appear to be minor character inconsistencies from chapter to chapter. None the less, 'God's Demon' has a very strong and engaging story arc, and the pacing kept me riveted through the entire book. What I think makes the book work the most is the exotic nature of the environs and characters. Readers will pick this up to read about Hell in all its gruesome wonder, and Mr. Barlowe delivers in abundance. I recommend it.

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  • Posted December 9, 2008

    more from this reviewer

    A fabulous exciting tale

    The civil war in Heaven ended with fallen angels banished to Hell. There a restrictive hierarchy formed with Beelzebub on the top of the pyramid and human sinners in the ooze at the bottom. Most of the Fallen are either pleased with the brutally oppressed set up especially those near the top or just too frightened to complain as Beezlebub runs a tightly controlled chain of command. However, there are rivalries running competing micro kingdoms mostly within a layer in which a local ruler wants an edge, but none come close to impacting the top leadership.------------- However, one angry former angel General Sargatanus has never forgotten The First War he lives in anguish over the defeat and what could have been if Lucifer let the Generals run the fight and is livid that his side has given up hope for eternity. He wants back in Heaven, but fears open rebellion in Hell as his superiors are contented with the status quo of abusing those beneath them and strict obeisance to those above them in the chain of command. He decides he has enough subjugating to losers and he might as well have stayed upstairs if he has to kneel for eternity. When he is pushed over the edge, all hell breaks loose as he and several others of the downtrodden demonic fallen angels and the once human damned explode civil war has occurred again this time starting in Hell as Sargatanus believes he cannot fall any further than he already has so this is step one in his strategic plan to win the Second War Between Heaven and Hell.------------- Hell seems real and the Fallen appear genuine turning Wayne Barlowe¿s allegorical thriller into a fabulous exciting tale. GOD¿S DEMON contains parallels to church hierarchy and American Federalism with Congressional fiefdoms and an imperial President ruling Hell instead of America. Fans will enjoy Mr. Barlowe¿s deep look at the players making up his Inferno.-------------- Harriet Klausner

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