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Framed by Astolpho, a paladin of Charlemagne, speaking with Ereshkigal, the Sumerian goddess who oversees the underworld, Kur. The narrative aligns his account on the left, and her comments on the right. Astolpho's betrayal by Alcina is well-described; each callback to the source canon is executed smoothly, and blends in well with the interpretation of the characters. Astolpho pivots from story to story through repeated self-distraction, which shapes the larger narrative in an organic fashion. Brief interludes see their roles reversed, with Ereshkigal speaking on the events of Nergal and Ereshkigal and Inanna's Descent to the Underworld, for which the work is named. The interludes are in third person, describing their meeting, while the actual accounts are told in a first person back-and-forth, like a transcript. Well-executed as an adaptation of versions of both sets of canons; a fantastic crossover between Italian chivalric romance and Mesopotamian mythology.

The One From Carcosa is told in a diary format, without designation of dates, with visceral use of sensory descriptions. There is a fantastic sense of disorientation and haze, like a written hypnagogic hallucination. Repetition is effectively used to build suspense and desperation. The pivot from suspense to the introduction of Cahors and nighttime romance is well executed and lends to the endearing nature of Cahors' character. The description of Cahors' physique is fed in small portions which allows the reader to follow the narrator's same gradual exploration. What comes to mind in an attempt to describe the tone is "night-soft and warm." If Cahors has one million fans, then I am one of them. If Cahors has one fan, that is also me.

The protagonists of To Skin A Lindworm, Enoris and Maeve, have a wonderful dynamic. Captivating raw egg eating by Maeve, who is distinctly nonhuman from the start but behaves in increasingly nonhuman ways as she grows more comfortable with her environment. In many ways this is a practical character study between a socially beloved murderer (per her own self description) and a socially outcast monster. The description of the castle ruins is a lovely, evocative image. I am still enamored with the mental image of Maeve slaughtering an adult deer with her bare hands. The description of the events at Kaer are poignant and perfectly satisfy the questions the story poses through Enoris's behavior, and nicely complements Maeve's past. One parent loving yet not cognizant, one parent biological and unloving. I wish them a long life of belligerent pharmacy and keystone predation.

Counting Teeth features erotic cannibalism, my beloved. Fantastic dialogue where Versipelle describes how she intends to devour Akenaos, which I read over several times before continuing out of sheer enjoyment. Short, pointed, and an enjoyable send-off to a wonderful short story collection.

Renault of Montauban, much like Astolpho from Irkalla's Ascent from the Underworld, was present in Orlando furioso by Ludovico Ariosto (though, more notably, he originates from Quatre Fils Aymon). This work is a loose sequel to Irkalla's Ascent, and is told in a similar style - I'd highly recommend reading Irkalla's Ascent first for context on Astolpho of Kur, then return to Renault. The formatting of third person framing around first person discussion that works for Irkalla's Ascent works just as well for Renault. Much more poetic prose is used here, which befits the allusions. Wonderful descriptions are used for the manticore-like transformation Maugris undergoes, which brings to mind the latter portion of Lion In Human Hide. Really a love story to the dynamics between these characters. Bradamante, as written by Verse, is (as always) a complete delight. A phenomenal continuation that absolutely demands that you read both.

This work investigates a bag of teeth, or a knight in a lake, or a werewolf, as told by a florist, Ilana, who regularly encounters the god-slaying knight Estout (or Astolpho, or Bedivere, or both, or neither). God-slaying is less an act of deicide, more an exorcism of narrative imposition on the soul. Translation of imbued text carries the potential of magical physiotrauma, from which are borne wild gods (though not all wild gods arise from this process). A phenominal exploration of grief over what is lost, grief over causing past harm, and the interplay of stories and consciousness. I do not tend to describe stories by listing basic components of the characters, but the following sentence has been stuck in my head in a delightful way: "Magic-purged Jewish trans woman and her friend, a nonbinary immortal gestalt godhood-stripping knight, meet the re-knitting corpse of a Welsh berserker knight." The language used in describing the scenes of body horror are evocative and visceral - enjoyable throughout, and very warm.

While very different in setting, tone, and execution, reading this brought to mind Ink in the Blood by Kim Smejkal. Taking place on an alternate-history Earth, Lion in Human Hide follows Declan, a college student of the Bardic Arts who, at a young age, was adopted into a prominent mage family. The internet is used alongside bags of holding, and near the Tonsillar lymph nodes sit glands responsible for the primary legal source of magical energy. Atoui incorporates a setting-specific array of myths and folklore, most notably the narrative of the God Dressed in Plague and the old alchemical adage of "A lion in human hide would devour even the Sun to further their goal". Declan is snared by a number of interconnected subplots, ranging from the legality of magic sources, demonic heritages, curses, time travel, barrier seals between realms, ghosts, wandering gods, imposter syndrome, and pervasive family drama, capstoned by the ever-present gun on the wall, the enigmatic Kal Matriarch. Satisfying repetition of prose carry a steady rhythm from beginning to end.