The blog seems to be all about reviews lately - reviews I've written, reviews I've read, reviews others have written ...

And there have been some lovely reviews of my novel, The Dagger of Dresnia. There are six so far on Amazon, and you can read them at http://www.amazon.com/The-Dagger-Dresnia-Satima-Flavell/product-reviews/0992460166/ref=cm_cr_dp_see_all_btm?ie=UTF8&showViewpoints=1&sortBy=bySubmissionDateDescending

And there are three on Goodreads as well: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/21898335-the-dagger-of-dresnia

I'm happy to report that they all carry four or five stars!

I've also had a couple in the local press, both of which were very commendatory. And of course, there are the lovely back cover blurbs by two of my favourite authors:

I guess it's only a matter of time before I get a bad review - it happens to everyone sooner or later - but there have been so many good ones that the odd bad one won't matter. Besides, any publicity is good publicity! Apparently even bad reviews are better than no reviews at all.

Bitter Greens by Kate Forsyth

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


An utterly lovely story, beautifully told. In fact, it is two stories in one: a re-imagined story of the convent days of French author Charlotte-Rose de la Force, and the fictional story of a nun who told her the tale of Rapunzel. How de la Force, a French noblewoman, learnt the Italian tale has long been subject to speculation, and this as convincing an explanation as we are ever likely to have.

In Bitter Greens, Forsyth has woven a tapestry as rich as any owned by the Sun King himself. It is, without a doubt, one of the best retellings of a fairy tale in a long time.


View all my Goodreads reviews

The Lascar's Dagger by Glenda Larke
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

The Lascar's Dagger is excellent start to a new trilogy! Two very likeable characters - Saker the Witan (priest) and Sorrel, handmaiden to a spoilt princess - each on a quest, cross paths again and again. We quickly realise that they would make a great partnership, but their commitments lie along separate tracks, each fraught with different dangers. Each time they meet, however, one manages to help the other in some way.

This is a wonderfully varied book, both in the contrast between the two main characters and the diverse places they visit. The secondary characters are also varied and well-drawn. Themes of friendship, loyalty and sacrifice underlie what is undoubtedly an exciting and orginal tale.

Glenda Larke has a fabulous imagination, and as in all her books, she has devised a credible but highly original system of magic. The Forbidden Lands just might be Larke's best trilogy yet. I can't wait for book two!

View all my Goodreads reviews

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Here's another little snippet from The Dagger of Dresnia. It's the start of the big battle scene just before the end.


Beverak leaned into the charge, sword drawn, wind rushing in his ears. The earth reverberated with thousands of hooves, the air thickened with yells and screams. Arrows rained down around him. One caught him in the shoulder, knocking him back in the saddle, but it failed to penetrate. He brushed it off his mail and it fell harmlessly to the ground.

Closer, ever closer they rode, toward the bristling line of archers. The archers broke and ran, firing a final volley over their shoulders. Their departure revealed a wall of shields, sheltering behind a line of pikes stuck into the earth like a row of old men’s rotten teeth. A horse bolted past Beverak, making for a gap between the pikes. It missed and impaled itself, went down screaming. The rider flew into the wall of shields. It opened briefly, swallowed him whole. Another horse stumbled into a pitfall, and rolled on its rider. Both were trampled by the oncoming charge.

Around him, horses reared, baulking at the bristling pikes. He whispered into his own mount’s ear, and it hurtled forward, unfazed by the wall of shields and pikes. The wall broke. Men scattered and ran. Shields reformed in clusters around banners. Riders on the charge’s flanks fanned outward to attack from the sides.

Beverak pressed forward with the centre, slowing to meet sword with sword among the huddles of fighting men. He hacked and slashed at man after man, some mounted, some on foot. A sword chopped at his horse’s neck. Beverak’s sword took off the hand that held it. He wheeled to meet a mounted opponent, but the man’s horse bucked and pitched the rider beneath the hooves of Beverak’s rearing mount. Mud and grass and blood sprayed up, and Beverak pressed on.

The day reduced to cut, thrust, kill, turn, over and over again. Ullavir’s voice of years before rang in his ears. Grip with your knees and try not to die.

Then Ullavir was beside him in truth, the standard bearer at his side. ‘Back off, sire,’ he hissed. ‘We want a live king, not a dead hero.’