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  What can I say about this epic tome that hasn't been said a thousand times before? Oh, yeah. Anything. That's right, no one's ever read this book before. Well, me and my friends.... and the author, too, I suppose.... Well, okay, he probably told his family about it..... No, all right. I'm being a little mean here. No more author-bashing. Sorry, Bill. This book, after all, is the first book that bit my ass about the Holy Lance of Longinus, the Knights Templar, and of course, poor character development. And where does a young adventurer happen upon a work of this magnitude? All For A Dollar.

I worked at All For A Dollar for Too Damned Long. As the early 90's turned slowly to the late early 90's, I scrambled up to the Assistant Manager rung of the corporate ladder of success, where I clung desperately for fear of being promoted again. I honored that rank by being the guy that cut open glow-sticks with part-timers and sprayed toxic neon gunk all over the backroom walls. Turn off the lights and presto!, your very own planetarium. Constellation room. Whatever. Good Times.

Well, this particular Assistant Manager (I always preferred "Ass-Man" for short. Retail doesn't make time for multi-syllable words) always loved the book section. She was my baby. Why? My love of literature? Well, that, yes. Also, books were very easy to shelf and display. They stacked quite nicely, and we had decent shelves, so there was no lining wire basket racks with plexi and cramming books where books were never meant to go. So screw the (very pretty) hair accessories and the (ug) food and the (motherfucking) ceramic figurines. The part-timers needed something to do. T-Bone's in charge of the books, god-damnit. Well, no one ever called me "T-Bone".

When your library consists of piss-poor remainder books and proof copies for sale at the mall dollar store, bad becomes reasonably okay, and awful becomes only sort of bad. There is rarely a good to begin with, so when one comes along, it becomes a brilliant work of insight into the human condition. I'd read a William Goldman book that was pretty all right. There was a paperback about television's impact on society, but it was about a decade or so out of date. My mom recognized it, so you know.... "Nuff Said." There was a book called Frankie Furbo, which I never even read, yet I can't seem to forget the fucking title. Frankie Furbo. The fuck. I saw a copy of it at Mystery Train in Amherst awhile ago and almost shot my eyeballs out of my head. Jesus. Frankie motherfucking Furbo. I scored a perfect copy of Women by Bukowski and a Return of the Jedi adaptation with storyboard illustrations in it. The binding was cracked but I lived. Darth Vader did not. Oh, shit, did I just give a plot thing? Man, writing reviews is harder than I thought. Anyway, one fateful shift when he was going through the latest shipment, Ass-Man shot his glowing green juice onto a box marked "LEGEND LANCE STILL".

What's this?

As the forward (and the author's comments on his own book at Amazon.com) clearly states, Legend of the Holy Lance is a work of fiction based around historical fact and a wee bit of legend & lore. The research Still did for this book is indeed admirable, especially the timelines at the end of the book. It was a great point of reference that sent me off reading about the Knights Templar, Hitler, the Grail, the sword, Queen Boudicca, Skull & Bones, and yes, the Lance. This book is really the basis of my interest in all that fun crap and all the fun conspiracy sorta stuff that interconnects 'em. I'll always have a special place in my heart for Holy Lance. Well, maybe that's overstating it. But I still haven't sold it yet, so how's that? I mean, it was only a dollar in the first place, so I reckon it's... ah, anyway. I still own it. So it's a good book, right?

Right?

The flaw, the ugly terrible flaw of this book is that it took an epic, spellbinding (true?) tale and wrapped it up in a poorly-conceived modern day action adventure love story poop burrito. I do not blame Bill Still for this choice, as he has made it abundantly clear that it was not his original intent, but I will hold him wholly responsible for lousy fiction writing. Jimm (extra "M" for "manly") Windsor - our hero - and a young sexy dorm-dwelling lancebearer named Cara experience the flattest, blandest, most extraordinarily special bond that two underdeveloped characters have ever experienced. This book hurts to read in a few places. From Windsor's keen insights into being a DC news reporter (with accompanying street beat slang) to the unnatural dialogue of overly-explicit explanations ("No, no, my boy! You don't understand...") to the descriptionless carnal excess of the Germanic Knightly Orders' debaucherous orgy. (Sort of Hogan's Heroes crossed with Eyes Wide Shut. Is 'debaucherous' even a word? Ah, shit.) The fictional aspects of the story cannot help but be read as a fantasy of the author. Wishing he owned a cool old house, wishing he drove a tit '68 289 Cobra, wishing he experienced globetrotting adventures, wishing he had three babes of varying babeness anxious for his holy lance. Or maybe I'm wrong, and that's exactly what his life IS like, in which case, more power to ya, Billy.

Would I recommend this book? Tough call. There are other really good resources out there devoid of dramatic car chases ending on glaciers. But hell, if you can pick it up for a dollar, Legend of the Holy Lance just might tubal your cain. - Tom, Dec 12, 01

COVER ART: It's as if the cover was torn away to reveal the Holy Colored-In Lance. I mean, just think of it!

BIG WORDS: not so many

BEST PARAGRAPH EVER: "She melted into him. His heart was pounding. She felt his heart beating as though it was her own against her breasts. Her breath mingled with his. Her whole body tingled. He stroked her head. Every hair felt electrified. She had never felt this way before. She wanted more. She was losing herself..."

SEE ALSO: BLOODLINE OF THE HOLY GRAIL, HARDY BOYS MYSTERIES

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