This is my first encounter with the work of Josef Skvorecky. As his Author's Note explains, this book ties together many of the characters and themes from his previous novels. If I had been more familiar with his work, I would have enjoyed this book more.

That being said, I still enjoyed it. Paul Wilson has done a fantastic job translating Ordinary Lives into English--if I didn't know it had been translated, I would have thought it a native English novel. Since I can't read Czech, I have to assume that the lyrical prose is a faithful translation and not an embellishment on Wilson's part--but considering the depth of the characters and the gravitas with which Skvorecky writes, my assumption must be right.

I've studied World War II like any good history student, but after sixty years this momentous era has been reduced--in high schools, at least--to bleak facts and consecutive tragedies, each awaiting its allotted period of time in a student's busy schedule. Personal testimonials about the war usually came from Jewish Holocaust survivors, most of whom lived in Germany. And my history class pretty much stopped after WWII--I never learned about the '50s, and especially not about how the rise of communism affected Central and Eastern Europe.

So I'm grateful to Skvorecky for granting me this glimpse into the eponymous Ordinary Lives of Czech and Germans under the regimes of the Nazis and the Communist Party. I admire Skvorecky's approach to these topics--as much as I enjoy the blockbuster movies set during some of the most important wartime operations, there's something to be said for focusing on the more "mundane" aspects of life during and after WWII. Enriched by his first-hand experience about which he writes, Skvorecky's novels demonstrate to us why the effects of WWII were so pervasive to the lives of Central Europeans.

Sad to say that this book was almost painful to read. Rick Moody's character sketches are confusing and unnecessarily complicated. When I eventually manage to figure out what's going on, I usually don't like it, and I don't feel any reason to identify with the protagonist. None of the three novellas left me yearning for more. Worse still, none left me with the vaguest impression that I'd absorbed some sort of narrative. They mostly gave me a headache.

In "The Omega Force," the protagonist is a retired doctor who may-or-may-not be senile and who may-or-may-not be in the middle of a government/foreign conspiracy that may-or-may-not exist. As he spirals deeper into megalomania, only the reader is around to watch him give into his basest urges--to conduct an invisible orchestra via the "Dance of the Stick."

My trouble with "The Omega Force" stems from the lack of a focal point of conflict. Should I feel sorry for Dr. Van Deusen because he's delusional, and this is causing trouble for his marriage and his relationship with his son? Should I feel tense because no one will believe him about the convoluted conspiracy only he thinks he has discovered?

The second novella, "K & K", is the only one told from a third person perspective. It's third person limited, though, so we're still treated to the thoughts of the deranged main character. I actually liked the story at the beginning; I thought it would be a delightful descent into officeplace humour--who's stuffing the suggestion box?! Ultimately, however, Moody treats us to a postmodernist ending that takes all of the delight out of deduction (not that he had put much in there in the first place).

"The Albertine Notes" was perhaps the best novella of the three, but I won't go so far as to say it was good or even great. The concept of a memory recall-enhancing drug that actually allows one to change the past through quantum indeterminacy is intriguing, for sure. Unfortunately, the use of the first person perspective meant we experienced everything from a drug addict's point of view. While that was interesting, it was also confusing. Time travel and quantum theory is confusing enough when you don't have drugs involved. And while I realize I'm disregarding the fact that "The Albertine Notes" has, buried deep within it, the skeleton of a profound theme, that's only because the narrative was confusing enough that I lost the thread of the theme every time it surfaced for air.

I'm not going to apologize if it turns out that these were incredibly simple and their points just managed to fly over my head. It's not that I dislike having to work to comprehend a story's point. I trudged through [b:The Name of the Rose|119073|The Name of the Rose including Postscript to the Name of the Rose|Umberto Eco|http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/512MGT2T21L._SL75_.jpg|3138328] one page at a time--and I loved it. On the other hand, Right Livelihoods was not enjoyable. The book's cover copy says, "Only Rick Moody could lead us to feel affection for the misguided, earnestly striving characters in this alternately unsettling and warm, always remarkable trio of novellas." I don't feel that affection? In fact, looking back at many of my reviews, a lack of sympathy for the main character seems to be one of my most common complaints. Am I actually a sociopath? If so, and it's this book that finally made me realize it, what does that mean?

If I ever write a long, confusingly-narrated novella about it, I'll let you know....

A Novel Way to Die is wholly unremarkable, but that is not necessarily bad. While by no means a stunning and suspenseful example of the mystery genre, it was pleasant and entertaining enough.

I enjoyed the choice of a protagonist. So many sleuths are cops, retired cops, ex-cops, private investigators, or nosey kids. It was refreshing to see a criminologist try to solve the mystery. However, I would have liked to see more of the criminology aspect. Karen Stuyck throws a bit in there, but not as much as I'd have liked.

Most of the characters were interesting (if not entirely believable). Aspects of the family dynamic weren't great: Molly (the protagonist) is having marital problems, but the rest of the plot largely sidetracks this part of the story. It has a bearing, but it feels extraneous to the mystery.

The mystery itself is predictable. Stuyck makes one suspect seem very probably the culprit, but I knew it was a red herring. I guessed the real killer about halfway through--normally I'm not good at guessing whodunit, which may indicate how transparent a mystery this is. The killer catches up to the protagonist and her family, and Molly has to think quickly to save her loved ones from a psychopath.

This book won't change your perceptions of the mystery genre. It will, however, level your coffee table--and thanks to that horrible permabound binding that I despise, it'll never fail at this task. Oh, and you can read it too!

In The Tristan Chord, Bettina von Kampen explores a very profound question: should one forget the great acts of a man because he has committed terrible ones?

The title may be misleading, because this book is not about music. It has a musical element and bandies about musical terms, sure, but music acts only as a plot device for telling this story. So if you aren't a musician, don't immediately shy away from this book because of what the title suggests.

I found the characters interesting and mostly very three-dimensional. Von Kampen depicts a very typical relationship between 41-year-old Robert and his mother, Johanna. Likewise, Johanna's feelings about her dead Nazi brother, Heinz, are conflicted. On one hand, Heinz eagerly joined the SS at seventeen, believed the propaganda, and killed Jews at Dachau. On the other hand, he possessed a musical genius and finished an opera that is an allegory for Germany's recovery after World War II. Which Heinz should Johanna remember?

Von Kampen's story pulled me and made me want to keep reading, which is something I can't say for a lot of books I read. The Tristan Chord takes place in two periods, but von Kampen moves between them seamlessly, and the transitions never feel clunky or unwelcome. Johanna acts as a bridge figure between these two eras; we get to see her as both a young girl and an older, more experienced woman.

I could have done without the character of Marcelline, who seems superfluous. She seems to exist purely to flirt with Robert, and her character never gets a backstory or any development beyond the sketchiest of details--I feel kind of sorry for her!

I picked this book up on a whim. I doubt I'll ever pick it up again--it's not that kind of book. It was OK, and the motifs and themes were much deeper than I expected. In the end, I was pleasantly surprised.

I read this book as an assignment for my critical thinking class. Now I have to write an essay critiquing both the validity of the argument and its soundness. So this review is a rough collection of my thoughts on Selling Sickness.

If you are predisposed to accept Moynihan and Cassels' argument--i.e., if you already agree with their position--then this book will merely enhance your disgust for the pharmaceutical industry. However, the book is still a useful educational tool, for it outlines the insidious techniques that drug companies will use to market illness.

Prior to reading this book, I would see television commercials advising me to "talk to my doctor" about one condition or another. I ignored them--I am fortunate enough to be both a young and a healthy person free of concerns about osteoporosis or high blood pressure. I can see how people not in my happy position could be concerned, however, and the drug companies use those commercials to manipulate such concerned persons. So Selling Sickness made me think more about the marketing techniques at work.

If you're on the other side of the fence and support the initiatives of drug companies to produce medicines for new conditions, then make no mistake: Selling Sickness is an argument, not an analysis. It will seem biased. On the whole, I don't think the book is biased. Moynihan and Cassels mention counterarguments and refute them or cite sources that refute them. They could have done better, but at least they do it. Moreover, many of the points that they put forth are valid even if the drug companies are entirely altruistic (which, let's face it: they aren't--capitalism doesn't work that way). We should be informed, and you can't be informed when the advertising and "educational materials" are associated in any way with the drug companies. Even if there is no bias involved, there is still the perception.

I approve of the format of the book. Moynihan and Cassels analyze a particular condition in each chapter. Their narrow scope has a purpose, however; each condition is an example of a particular way in which the drug companies influenced the marketplace. Depression was marketed directly to doctors, whereas irritable bowel syndrome was pushed through the "tame" FDA. These concrete examples strengthen their case, make it easier for people to relate to what they are saying, and provide links to useful data for anyone interested in pursuing the evidence further.

The conclusion is probably the best part of the book. It's here that Moynihan and Cassels manage to redeem themselves for any of the other errors they make in the body of their argument. Their conclusion pulls back on the rhetoric regarding the drug companies' intentions, content to emphasize the need for drug companies to distance themselves--regardless of intent--from the defining of medical conditions and education of doctors, patients, and the public. Anything short of that will introduce the chance of bias, the possibility that the system will fail.

And hey, if you aren't as inclined toward accepting Moynihan and Cassels' argument as I am, then read the book, look at the research, and write a rebuttal. I'll read that too.

This was a gift from a friend who spent a couple of months in Banff. Books about the outdoors, much like the outdoors themselves, are not a high reading priority for me. As an outsider to this genre, however, I enjoyed reading The Black Grizzly of Whiskey Creek.

The first couple of chapters were somewhat dull--but then Marty began relating the events during the hunt for the eponymous bear, and suddenly the atmosphere of the book became darker and laden with suspense. I was hooked. In many ways, Marty was in a perfect position to recount the hunt. On one hand, as an experienced warden, he was familiar with both the jargon and the task at hand, so he can do the subject justice. On the other hand, as he had left the service at the time of the hunt (even though he did eventually volunteer during the hunt), Marty had sufficient distance to relate events objectively.

Marty does a good job of capturing the story from several aspects, especially when it comes to respecting the majesty of the grizzly bear. I did not much care for the fictional portions in which he puts us in the mind of the black grizzly, whom he names Sticky Mouth. But that's just a matter of personal taste--your mileage may vary. However, Marty is careful to remind us that this was not a hunt for a bloodthirsty man-killer out to eliminate humans--it was a proud animal defending itself and its territory and trying to prepare for the coming winter. "Blame" is never too far off stage in The Black Grizzly of Whiskey Creek, but Marty's ultimate conclusion is that the blame can't be portioned out to one person or even a select group. Rather, he offers an account of how the failures of numerous parties, including Parks Canada and the CP hotels/restaurants around Banff, contributed to the bear problem in the 1980s.

"Well-written" and "gripping" are words I'd apply to The Black Grizzly of Whiskey Creek. Those with more experience with the outdoors, Banff, and bears will probably take more away from this book than a neophyte like myself. But if a friend hands this book to you as a well-intentioned gift, don't leave it sitting on your shelf gathering dust. Read it and wonder if outside your door, a bear lurks.

If a book's merits are judged based on whether or not it achieves the goal its author intends, then Feminism: Issues and Arguments has great merit. Jennifer Saul explicitly states that she is not out to provide a final say on any of the issues she discusses in her book; rather, it's an introduction to contemporary feminist thought by focusing on several issues key to feminism. The only remaining question is one of quality; how well has Saul presented her overview of feminism?

For the most part, I would agree with the book's somewhat hyperbolic summary: this is an accessible text, especially when one considers the amount of academic references Saul packs into her discussions. Saul carefully defines the terms she uses and mentions when the terms are particularly controversial--for instance, feminists who oppose pornography often operate under a very definition of "pornography" that differs from more conventional definitions. This helps the feminist newbie stay afloat in what is really an intense conversation. With each theme, Saul tries to cover as much territory as possible, citing as many opposing view points, sorting them, analyzing their merits, and injecting some of her own opinions where appropriate. Since each theme deserves (and has) entire books devoted to it, this makes for a whirlwind pacing that can leave a reader gasping for breath.

I'd particularly praise Saul for her attention to detail when analyzing or criticizing the various viewpoints discussed in the book. In addition to her focus on definitions, Saul employs logical reasoning to test the validity of arguments and analyzes their premises individually before summarizing her opinion of the argument as a whole. So when mentioning that some feminists oppose legal codification of sexual harrassment because it portrays women as frail and in need of protection, Saul devotes a good section of her chapter on sexual harrassment to an analysis of this claim, and just this claim, before going on to talk about the various legal and philosophical approaches to what constitutes sexual harrassment. Her methodical approach ensures that the reader not only understands what the viewpoint is saying but also the viewpoint's stance relative to all the other perspectives on a particular issue.

While "overview" does not immediately translate into "shallow" or "lack of depth," at times this approach inevitably leads to oversimplification or overgeneralization. Saul mostly avoids this, for she chooses to discuss very concrete themes that have well-entrenched or highly-differentiated positions: pornography, abortion, feminine appearance, language in relation to feminism, feminism in science, etc. The first and last chapters are probably the weakest in the book and also the most nebulous in terms of subject matter. In the first chapter, "The Politics of Work and Family," Saul discusses feminism in the workplace, how the workplace influences women's roles in society and in the family, and possible solutions that make the workplace and the family better for both women and men. In the last chapter, "Feminism and 'Respect for Cultures'," Saul discusses how feminists have approached cultural inequity (particularly when women seem disadvantaged due to "cultural traditions"). In both chapters, Saul tries to gather several related but disparate topics under a single subject heading, and the result is not as cohesive as the more monolithic chapters on "Pornography" and "Abortion."

I suppose I should mention that I read this book as part of a university course I took online, "Philosophy and Gender." It was assigned as a textbook along with Multiculturalism without Culture, and we did not discuss every chapter. As an introductory textbook (apparently its primary purpose), Feminism: Issues and Arguments works well: it saturates its reader with various feminist perspectives without overwhelming its reader. That's about as much as an introductory textbook can offer. Saul continually recommends further reading, both throughout each chapter and then in lengthy sections at the conclusion of every chapter. These recommendations further enhance the value of the book; they provide credible sources for readers interested in continuing their research. Beginners in the field of gender studies will find Feminism: Issues and Arguments helpful; those familiar with the field would do well to recommend this text to their uninitiated friends.

It wasn't until the middle of the story that The Writing On My Forehead nearly broke my heart. And the scene that did it wasn't anything remarkable: it was when Saira decides to lie to her mother about playing Rizzo in her school's production of Grease. Prior to that, although I was enjoying the book, nothing had really moved me very emotionally. But then it hit me, the line that Saira was crossing, and I was touched.

Nafisa Haji creates a very personal microcosm around her narrator, but this does not prevent her from weaving a story of many layers. We get more than a glimpse at the intricacies of life in Saira's extended Indo-Pakistani Muslim family, the social contract that exists among family members and the obligations one has to fulfil as a result. Beyond her family, international events progress at their own pace; though Saira becomes a globetrotting journalist, the narrative is confined to Los Angeles, London, and Karachi and the events important to Saira and her family. The only international event to intrude is September 11, and that's because it indirectly affects Saira's life—and the life of her sister, Ameena.

Although not didactic by nature, Haji's novel is a useful reminder of the heterogeneity of Islam—both Saira and her slightly more conservative mother express concern when Ameena begins to wear a hijab, for instance. I liked that Haji chose not to present Saira's mother and family as villains pressuring Saira to marry out of a misguided sense of morality; they were just concerned parents who genuinely believed that this was the only way Saira would be happy. The characters of The Writing On My Forehead, from rebellious gay Mohsin to erudite Big Nanima, are dynamic and three-dimensional. Even Saira's mother eventually chooses to reconcile with her estranged half-siblings, partly due to Saira's influential journalism. This is not a book of paper-thin characters following strict moral codes; it's a sandstorm of the conflicting and corroborating moral decisions of an extended family.

Indeed, Haji demures from any specific themes of morality, choosing instead to talk about choice and destiny, culminating in perhaps the most poignant line in the entire book: "You won't understand this now, Saira. Later, perhaps. When you are older. When you learn that life is not only about the choices you make. That some of them will be made for you." At its core, The Writing On My Forehead is a chronicle of the push/pull, personal choice versus familial obligation, and a desperate desire to fulfil both.

The book is also about sisterhood: Saira and Ameena, Nanima and Big Nanima, Mummy and her two other sisters. There are parallels in the relationships of each of these categories, but they operate on a less explicit level than the book's other themes. Marriage came between Nanima and Big Nanima, as it almost comes between Saira and Ameena. Each of these sisters chooses a different lifestyle, one that appears to work for them, although the others don't always understand how this can be so. Isn't that always how it is, though?

The only problem with this book, in my opinion, is the narrative style. The majority of the story takes place during a flashback; that's fine, except that by the time we arrive back at the "present," I had begun to forget what the present was. Perhaps that's a compliment to Haji's ability to draw me into the story and the life of her character. Nonetheless, the flashback presents some difficulty. The first part of the book chronicles Saira's time as a child, up until her college years. Then it skips forward five years to a time just prior to the present. Haji does this in order to conceal the revelation that Saira's niece, Sakina, is actually her daughter, the result of an unintentional pregnancy adopted by Saira's infertile sister. I can tell that this twist is supposed to be eye-opening and shocking, particularly because it happens after Saira's sister is shot and her niece, only six years old, has to deal with her "mother's" death. Yet I think I would have preferred experiencing all of this linearly; instead of a five-year gap, I would have liked to know from the beginning that Sakina is Saira's child. There seems to be little reason to conceal this from us, beyond the pure shock value.

The Writing On My Forehead is a profound read, but not as moving as I usually expect from similar books. It made me think about culture, family, and duty. Aside from what's really a technical flaw, this book is quite good, so I won't hesitate to recommend it to those who are interested.

We used this book in the second half of my Philosophy and Gender course (the first book we discussed was Feminism: Issues and Arguments, by Jennifer Saul). It's probably one of the best discussions of multiculturalism I will ever read. Anne Phillips provides a marvellous survey of contemporary political and philosophical attitudes toward multiculturalism while simultaneously advocating her approach.

Phillips' thesis is clear: she wants to keep multiculturalism but change how we understand the entire concept of culture, which she argues has become too rooted in narrowly-perceived groups. Instead, we should focus on the cultural rights of individuals. Current efforts to promote multiculturalism often result in treating individuals, especially individuals from minority groups, like cultural robots at the mercy of the tenets of their "cultural group." Phillips argues that these groups are harder to define than most people think, and that individuals should be regarded as autonomous generators of culture instead of robots.

To support her thesis, Phillips shows how current multicultural policies leave the door open to political and social inequality of women and other minority groups; furthermore, she cites examples of civil and criminal cases where a mistaken definition of culture has allowed individuals to commit heinous crimes with mitigated or even no punishment. Finally, she emphasizes the disadvantage to shifting motivations for action from the individual to culture, and notes that our reliance on the idea of cultural groups creates problems when people want to leave those groups and find a lack of willing support services on the "outside." In the book's final chapter, Phillips reiterates her solution to all of these problems: a multiculturalism without groups. While not a panacea, she admits, she believes it will establish an atmosphere better equipped to deal with the types of problems that arise in the application of multiculturalism. Whether or not Phillips is correct remains to be seen; personally, I found her argument convincing.

The beauty of this book is that it advances Phillips' abstract argument on very practical grounds, by pointing out problems with current policies and suggesting possible solutions. She draws on a variety of sources but doesn't religiously support any of them, openly criticizing theorists whom she praised in a prior chapter. Similarly, she praises various governments when they get it right (in her opinion) and notes when they get it wrong. This non-partisan approach firmly places Multiculturalism without Culture in the academic area of arguments, making it a nice break from the politically-biased fiction that, even if entertaining, always leaves me vaguely suspicious at the end.

In terms of use, I found Multiculturalism without Culture educational and interesting. I learned a great deal about the multicultural policies of the United Kingdom and the Netherlands, forced marriages, and cultural defence in courts. This book, in many ways a survey book, is not about any of those things except as they relate to Phillips' thesis; still, her coverage of them piqued my interest. Culture is more than just language, ideas, and beliefs ... it has political and social manifestations that are not as clear cut as textbooks and legislatures would like to believe.

Multiculturalism without Culture is relatively easy to read—a little long, but all of it is relevant to Phillips' argument—and very well-written. While some books will cover the more specific subjects in depth (Phillips recommends a few in her footnotes and bibliography), this is a great look at contemporary views on multiculturalism.

I won a copy of Stones of Time through Goodreads' first reads giveaway.

This is the sequel to Demons of the Past, and immediately I liked Stones of Time better. Although Demons of the Past was OK, I felt that its plot did not delve deep enough into the social ramifications of this neo-medieval America, nor was the plot complex enough to make up for the dearth of dimension in Durante's characters. Stones of Time went a long way toward both improving the plot and increasing the complexity of its characters.

Three years have passed since the end of the first book, and Nadia is now a prisoner of the devious Ordi ex Machina. They plan to return Earth to the pastoral times of advanced technology and fast food franchises, but in order to do this, they need Nadia's eggs! Nadia, now a "demon" who can shift into the form of a puma, manages to convince her new guard to help her escape. She meets up with her old flame, Prince Andrew, rescues her other old flame, Vestro the Kelpie, and they and sundry characters flee Colorado Springs and head for Andrew's kingdom, the Pearl Isles (actually the now-island of California). Their goal: detonate an orbital nuclear bomb to set off an electromagnetic pulse that will disable electronics across America, levelling the playing field for the technology-inept forces of good. I must say, that's a fair step up from "rescue the magic ocarina and keep the demons imprisoned."

Indeed, the main characters' increasing tech savvy was refreshing. Nadia now casually mentions things like computers and cameras, although she's still surprised by some modern things, such as flashlights and paper money. She even tries to use a gun once or twice (rubbish at it so far). My predictions in my last review, that Nadia would mature from a petulant princess into a truly worthy Action Girl, have largely come true—and I'm quite glad. It made the story so much more enjoyable. Moreover, there are genuine moments of emotional turmoil for Nadia, as opposed to the manufactured love triangle we got in the first book. It helps, I think, that she has a fellow female companion on this trip; Andrew's new hotness, Anna, is a foil to Nadia, a nemesis and potential ally. I loved how Nadia discovered Anna was pregnant and then later she had to confront the fact that her own coupling with Vestro (her second time having sex, as far as we're aware) has left her pregnant and is complicating her ability to shift into the form of an animal—although, this keeps up, I may start thinking that this is a horror series instead of a fantasy series, and only the virgins are safe....

Speaking of virgins, the guard who helps Nadia escape is one of the first demons bred from Nadia's eggs. Shaden, part-human, part-dragon, can't but help bonding with Nadia and seeing her in a maternal light, even before he knows that she is, biologically, his mother. I applaud the twisted moral gradient here. It's just the right amount of disconcerting without skewing over the line to downright wrong. Also, it emphasizes the cold, clinical nature of the Ordi Ex Machina, who will go so far as to offer up their own bodies if it helps the breeding program—Shaden wasn't grown in a test tube but matured in a surrogate mother, who later acted as Nadia's "therapist" during her incarceration. Yeah, it's all one big twisted family....

Stones of Time, like Demons of the Past, is chock full of action scenes. Its action is even better, in part because Nadia is more combat-capable, but also because the fights are more varied. There's some urban warfare against Ordi Ex Machina guards as well as woodland combat and a chase sequence in a minefield. What's not to like?

Well, the book again doggedly adheres to quest-style fantasy's travel motif: book begins in point A and ends at point B, with a largely linear journey in between. The characters must hack and slash their way from A to B, once and a while pausing for some exposition or a little conflict among the protagonists, but the majority of the book is spent getting to the Pearl Isles so that they can find the launch facility. Although Durante's writing is smooth enough that I never felt like abandoning the book, I still get the sense that, in some ways, Stones of Time is just Demons of the Past redux with new-and-improved characters and extra special effects—I get story déjà vu.

For the most part, I enjoyed the new characters (particularly Shaden and Anna), and I praised Nadia's changes above. Andrew is still pretty variable, unfortunately; his unsavoury habits tend to come and go as the story requires. Vestro, although not as annoying as he was in the first book, also has a conceit that crops up only when the plot requires it (and I'm not sure I follow why "kelpie107" was the password for the bomb detonator...). As much as Stones of Time tries to give us interesting character development, however, it lacks something that Demons of the Past also lacked: a compelling and personable villain.

I don't mean the Ordi Ex Machina or its flunkies, Maurdruik the Ex-Wizard and Dr. Reichard. Yes, the Ordi Ex Machina is the story's organizational antagonist and serves that purpose well. But evil needs a face, someone who is plotting and scheming behind the scenes to dispose of the good guys before they run everything. We don't see enough of evil's face, in my opinion. Although our protagonists occasionally encountered some resistance, it seemed a safe bet they would reach the Pearl Isles and succeed in their mission—sometimes, you need a cackling villain to instill a little concern over the hero's survival. It's a shame, too, because the Ordi Ex Machina could create such a powerful villain or group of villains to oppose Nadia; so far, the most opposition she gets is from her temperamental two-year-old son and his unwitting kelpie father.

Stones of Time is a good step forward for the Damewood trilogy. I'd even go so far as it recommend it even if you don't want to read the first book—I seldom advocate this, but it's sufficient to read a plot synopsis for Demmons of the Past and then skip directly to this one.