Wednesday, April 24, 2013

Inge H. Borg – Interviewed by Christoph Fischer

Please tell us a little about yourself. How long have you been writing, and how did you start?
From early on, I was passionate about books and spent a lot of time reading. That led to becoming a good speller. It also nurtured my apparently natural (or maternally inherited) penchant to write. My teachers often made me read my essay to the class (which softened them up when it came to my deplorable Math grades, an inherited trait as well, as my mother bluntly informed the school. I was allowed to graduate).
Being a secretary was not a bad career in my day. Speaking and writing several languages with shorthand (and my willingness to keep my bags packed) provided the springboard that catapulted me out into the world.
Also (in my day), one stayed in touch with family and friends by writing copiously (at least, I did for my part). The recipients always spouted how much they loved my letters; if only they could decipher them. Penmanship was not one of my noteworthy accomplishments.
I loved my IBM Selectric, and when they tried to foist my first computer on me, I balked pressing my typewriter protectively to my bosom (or vice versa). Little did I know how many grateful hours I would spend over my new keyboard. We are on quite familiar terms these days, and my laptop is high on my to-be-saved-in-case-of-tornado list; right after the cat and my pearls.

How did you come up with the idea for your books?
It sounds banal, but someone said “you should write a book.” Oh, wait. That was usually suggested after I had regaled a girlfriend or two with some of my life’s interludes. Seriously though, there was somebody who suggested that “I could write a book,” and rattled off snippets of an Egyptian saga. I laughed. No way.
A couple of weeks later, I showed him the first chapter. However, when he realized what was involved—research, and—oh my—spelling and correct word usage (he was a veritable Mr. Malaprop), he lost interest in this clearly non-get-rich-quick scheme.
But I was hooked. As the time was “B.G.” (Before Google), and I poured over ever-conflicting research material about Egypt’s Old Kingdom. In the end, the 250,000-word manuscript (and its many pink slips and cancelled checks from bogus-agents) rested buried in a drawer for twenty years while I kept writing long letters home.
It was not until Amazon’s e-book swell struck a chord. I re-edited Khamsin, chiselling it down to 150,000 words (with those tossed 100,000 words, “I could have been somebody”). After Khamsin was selected as an “Editor’s Choice” by the Historical Novel Society, the fires were lit—I wrote Sirocco over the following eight months, and published three other minor works.
I now have the time and—one should grant me—the tenacity, to work all day, every day on my writing. That is a great luxury—and I have never been happier (well, not lately anyway).

What is your connection to Egypt?
Pure imagination; possibly arrogance thinking I could write about it. I have no background in Egyptology nor in any other archaeology. Books with exotic settings fascinate me. However, writing about locales I knew nothing about was a bit like walking into a minefield; it took a lot of tiptoeing, and even more research.
Luckily, so far, I was only “admonished” about one supposed mistake, using “Royal Bark” instead of “Barque.” I could prove that I was not wrong. This reader actually did me a great favor because I went back and painstakingly re-edited the book one more time. After which that reviewer graciously changed her ranking from 3 to 5 stars.

What made you think of writing historical fiction? Did you ever consider other genres?
I am too passionate to limit myself to a one-formula-type of style, despite the sad fact that this is what seems to sell an author these days. Even though the pundits tout that it is counter-productive to change genres, I would eventually get bored (though it would save a lot of research).
Actually, the second book in the “Legends of the Winged Scarab” series, Sirocco, Storm over Land and Sea, is a present-day thriller. It does have tie-ins to archaeological treasures from Khamsin, as will the planned Books Three and Four—each will play out during in very different places and times.
I also wrote a non-fiction book about my days as a shelter volunteer—and “the darn cat” that got the better of me.
My WIP, Mountain Shadows, might fit into a new category even though I did not know that’s what I was writing until I saw a Goodreads group that wants to breathe life into Boomer Lit.

Historical Fiction—Too boring, scholarly, irrelevant?
The emphasis here is on fiction. While I don’t write steamy, explicit stuff, there is plenty of action, innuendo and human deviousness in Khamsin. People then as now have their strengths and weaknesses, their foibles, ambitions and desires. It just plays out at a different time, in a different place. We, in our flawed humanity, have not changed for the better—nor will we do so any time soon.

How difficult was it to draw the balance between research and invention/ imagination?
There must be balance. The tendency “to show” what one knows is always there. To keep it from coming through as condescending, or even boring, surroundings, customs, etc. need to be woven into the action unobtrusively. If the reader feels he is there, even if he learns something new, you succeeded. There are plenty of knowledgeable readers—so you had better be accurate.
Particularly for Egypt, debates are being waged regarding the use of current names for cities and deities versus the Greek labels bestowed upon a conquered land. I mostly opted for the old Egyptian names (with an extensive glossary), but kept a couple of familiar gods.

Tell us briefly about all of your books.
Sirocco, Storm over Land and Sea is Book 2 of the “Legends of the Winged Scarab.” It is a present-day thriller with tie-ins to Khamsin, but stands alone in its action.
By the way, I was counseled against using a stolen Rembrandt painting as my cover—but I thought the public domain image portrayed ‘the perfect storm’ and I wove it into my story. Recently, the FBI issued a poster asking the public for help in the recovery of this work of art—something which I had already done in my foreword the prior year (there is a $5 million reward).
Edward, Con Extraordinaire, is a collection of short stories of a charmer’s San Diego escapades; it does have tie-ins to Sirocco, in which Edward turns out to be less gallant.
Pasha, From Animal Shelter to A Sheltered Life – non-fiction mentioned above.
Moments of the Heart, A Book of Poems and Short Prose – an early collection of—yes—poems and short stories.

What do you like best about writing? What’s your least favorite thing?
Although by upbringing, education and travel, I am socially adept and have always had to deal with people, I am basically a solitary creature. This writing life now suits me; I revel in it.
My least favorite things—and I am certain this is echoed by many fellow-authors—are editing and marketing. Trumpeting one’s name and titles onto indifferent ears, flogging unsuspecting readers with burps and blurbs, searching, weeding, hoping, giving away scores of books…it is painful to the artistic soul.
Of course, any day turns aglow when a thoughtful review is posted, a reaffirmation that one might have produced a book worthwhile reading. My hat is off to those dedicated readers who not only read for their own enjoyment but take the time and trouble to post reviews and let especially us “Indies” know how a book resonated with them.

Did you have any say in your cover art? What do you think of it? Tell us about the artist.
When my cover designer, fellow-author Diana Wilder—who also writes about Egyptian history—sent me the cover for Khamsin, she had inserted a small Khepri, a winged scarab, into her wind-swept landscape. ‘How cool,’ I thought. Uploading a corrected copy of the book, I slyly inserted a paragraph for this scarab to become the personal seal of the high priest, chiseled onto the Golden Tablets that serve as the tie-in to Sirocco.
For Sirocco, I again asked Diana to superimpose the small scarab onto that cover. Thanks to her inventive mind, I had my Leitmotif. The Legends of the Winged Scarab series was born (yes, there are two more volumes rattling around in my head).

What books have you read more than once or want to read again?
For sheer delight, I reread Peter Mayle’s Provence series every couple of years. They provide an escape for my earnest soul.

Did you find it difficult to research? How did you research?
Nowadays, the Internet is invaluable. If one takes its offerings with the proverbial grain of salt; and if one realizes what is public domain and what might not be. For instance, I was looking for a harbor on the island of Crete. And there was Loutro, tiny fishing village accessible only by water. Nothing could have been more perfect for my double-dealing yachties in Sirocco.

What would your characters say about the book?
Quite a few would shake their fists at me: “Did you have to kill me off!” (And my answer would be “Yes.”)

Who are your favourite characters and why?
I can’t explain why, from my myriad of characters in Khamsin, I often think of one who occupies barely half a page: Hanni, the Ostrich Egg Gatherer. Bent and battered, he lifts his rheumy eyes up at the High Priest in hopes of reprieve from his arduous tasks. His shriek, as he falls, still echoes.

Which author would you most like to invite to dinner, and what would you fix me? I mean, him. Or her.
Clive Cussler. (Surprised?) He not only writes about adventure, he has lived it. His thrills and technologically futuristic ideas are amazing (or they were before he started to draw on all those co-authors).
We’ll chat around the fireplace, over a Cognac. (I am a lousy cook).

How do you handle criticism of your work?
What criticism? Seriously, at first blush I huff and puff a bit. But then, I correct it, if it’s a glaring mistake, or change it if a better ‘whatever’ is suggested, as I did with the second edition of Sirocco where I was told to ‘for heaven’s sake, have Jonathan get laid already.’… “Oh, my!” I listened …

Tell us one weird thing, one nice thing, and one fact about where you live.
A) It’s a “dry” county—and I don’t mean it lacks for rain.
B) Lots of lakes, woods and hills. Very quiet and peaceful.
C) Tornado-prone area.

What three books have you read recently and would recommend?
Sadly, I am not reading as much as I should or want. But my “to-be-read” list is growing, not in the least from your own writings and recommendations in this blog. High on my list are books by Diana Wilder, James Hockey, and Tui Allen’s "Ripple," a dolphin’s tale. Last but not least, Christoph, I have just added your own writings.

If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?
On Kauai, the least crowded of the Hawaian islands.

If you could take a trip anywhere in the world, where would you go? (Don’t worry about the money. Your publisher is paying.)
Oh well, if it’s all paid for, then I would like to take a cruise up the Nile and visit all the sites in Upper Egypt, led by Dr. Zahi Hawass (but only if he is in a benign mood and wears his trade-mark Fedora).

What are you working on now?
A contemporary novel called Mountain Shadows, slated for publication in May (the main character is one of Edward’s former victims). There is also a time-constraint, only noticeable for those who read Sirocco and paid attention to the epilogue.
What else would you like us to know about yourself and your books?
I write what I write with enthusiasm; I care about what I write; I like what I write with the hope that my readers might like it too.

Read the complete interview at:

* * *
Christoph Fischer is an Independent widely-traveled writer from Germany, based in the UK.
His first book “The Luck of the Weissensteiners” is a historical novel set in 1930s and 1940s Slovakia and was published in November 2012.






And he just published “Sebastian,” another historical novel, set in Vienna in the 1910s.

Read more about Christoph on http://www.christophfischerbooks.com/


Christoph Fischer is also a reviewer of independent books and his recommendation pages on his blog feature interviews and reviews of the books that have most captured his attention and appreciation by genre.

Sunday, April 14, 2013

A 5-Star Review for SIROCCO

This review of SIROCCO, Storm over Land and Sea, is from a self-proclaimed 'highly addicted' reader--who read and reviewed Book One of the "Legends of the Winged Scarab" series--KHAMSIN, The Devil Wind of The Nile--first, also giving it five stars.


Great Story April 7, 2013
By diebus
Format:Paperback
I read "Sirocco, Storm over Land and Sea" by Inge H. Borg as a follow up to "Khamsin", her histroical novel set 3080 B.C., since I read that there were some connections between the two books. Having thoroughly enjoyed the first book I was pleasantly surprised to find Borg change direction from one genre to the next.

Set in present day Egypt with its political unrest during the Arab Spring and beyond it tells the story of Archaeologists, Museums, art collectors and their procedures, rivalry and bureaucracy during an expedition to Cairo where ancient golden tablets are to be deciphered.

Borg describes with great detail procedures and technology used in modern Archaeology and I settled in to a great contemporary book about Egyptology where the people and times of the previous book now have become the object of historical study. Just then two of the artefacts are stolen and a hunt through Greece and the Mediterranean Sea ensues.

Thrown into this is also a love triangle and rivalry between several characters, all of which have different interests in the missing artefacts. Borg enriches the plot with themes such as ancient curses to give you one more example of the broad spectrum of what to expect from this novel and thriller.

I enjoyed this book even more than the first in the series and loved when the old turned up in the new. In that it helps to bring to live the first book again and to underline again the bringing to life of the past that good historical fiction can achieve. While we where living with the ancient Priest in the last book, now he is the author of an ancient scroll and a mysterious figure.
The ancient storm, Sirocco, a symbol of the 'blast from the past' and the force of nature, which blows everything over, is a brilliant title for a book that has many more layers than I would have expected.

Besides all of this, it has great suspense and intriguing characters. I am glad that I read Khamsin first to appreciate everything the author has put into this book, but for its story alone it does not need the predecessor. A great read.

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Take a "Look Inside" here: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008Y6GXZ8

Sunday, April 7, 2013

Offshore Sailing


White Wings on an Ocean,
straining, a billowing team.
The sailor braces against his contrary wheel
raping the rudder as lines wail taut.
The storm flogs with malice.

White Wings on an Ocean
screamed into shreds that bandage the mast. 
A halyard flails, lifelines gone,
the dinghy torn off.
The sailor weeps for soft green meadows.


Excerpted from my
Moments of the Heart,
A Book of Poems and Short Prose
 

Saturday, April 6, 2013

Hugo, the Atlantic’s Misbegotten Child


Sailing has played a big part in my life. Warm days, anchoring in sequestered coves, sipping a cool drink—and being with the man you love. Idyllic, wonderful, and forever-lasting, you think. But it takes only one bad storm to wipe all that warm and fuzzy feeling from your now terrified soul forever.

The following is an excerpt from my short story/poetry volume
“Moments of the Heart.”





* * *
Sometimes, I did wonder where and how I would die. This night, it seemed, held the answer: Latitude 18-North, Longitude 63-West, my murderess not the Atlantic but her misbegotten child Hugo, screeching its dirge over our pristine cutter, ripping our topsides bare. We were sailing miles offshore, likely beyond the saving reach of the Coast Guard, should we get into trouble.
A dripping figure swathed in stiff foul-weather gear slithered down the companionway, bringing with it the deluge of a following sea, before we both were able to slam the wooden slats into their grooves, closing off the large opening.
“Pouch! Hand GPS! Water! Flares!” the dripping, bug-eyed monster screamed into my ear. Short, long, short, short. Dit-Da-Dit-Dit. L, for Love. It was also the signal of Point Loma’s Radio Beacon. If only we were still on that San Diego coast instead of being churned to death in the romanticized Caribbean.
“Move, Move, Move!” the yellow apparition shouted and shook the diving goggles from his head. Without them, his eye-lids would have been shredded by the wind. Richard’s usually curly hair had been screamed into salt-stiffened arrows. For the last five hours, my intrepid skipper had hand-stirred our lovely double-ender across liquid mountains foaming their insolence at us, while I had lain strapped in a bunk mid-ships below, waiting for it to end. Wham! The boat’s death-shudder ripped away another strand of my badly frayed nerves. At least the lights were still on; a dark cabin would bring me to the brink of insanity, I was certain.
“Get the pouch!” Richard’s shout almost burst my eardrum.
Suddenly, it seemed that the noisy freight-train had pushed past us, leaving behind a sudden eerie calm. At least, we were still afloat. Oily water sloshed over my ankles and I shivered with cold. Other than that, I could not move. The Pouch? Where was it? We had trained for most emergencies but for the life of me I could not recall where that pouch had been stowed. It held our boat papers, passports, money. My teeth hurt from their uncontrolled chattering. There was a searing pain in my right temple. I watched Richard dig for something under the splintered chart table. The stove had wedged itself on top of it, its oven door hanging open like a village idiot’s uncomprehending mouth.
Richard turned back toward me. “Christ!” he said and laid his gloved hand against my face. When he pulled it away, the soggy leather dripped red. “Did the stove hit you?”
“I don’t remember.” I began to dry-heave.
“Hang in there, baby,” he said softly. “We have to pull our stuff together as long as the wind has calmed down. Can you help me?”
Help him? How? I couldn’t even move. I wanted to lay my head on his chest and cry my heart out; for me, for him, for our surely doomed Artemesia, our Nevada Tumbleweed, that had helped us forget our desert origins and carried us over thousands of miles of benevolent seas; until this awful night.
“Are we a-b-b-b-abandoning?” My teeth still chattered violently.
“Not yet. We’ll wait,” the lover I had followed into his dream said gently while hurriedly stuffing things into plastic bags.
“Wait? Oh, is the Coast Guard on its way then?” Suddenly, I was calm. Like a block of ice. I figured that was good. However, I still could not move which, I knew, was not.  Richard shook his head.
“We’ll wait for what?” I whispered again.
He was searching for something at the bulkhead where two large empty clamps reached back toward him. It was the first time I saw panic on his face. The EPIRB was gone. It would be our only hope for a rescue team to locate us.
“We can’t launch the life-raft until after,” Richard said and pulled a foul-weather jacket over my head, careful not to scrape against my blood-encrusted temple.
“Until after what? The water is getting higher in here. Why not now? It’s so much calmer outside now.”
The man I knew to be such a capable sailor didn’t look at me. “The calm will last only for a little while, sweetie.” He smiled with lips that formed a crooked apology, as if this was his fault. “We don’t have much time. We are in the eye of the hurricane.”
All of a sudden, I felt myself propelled forward, groping for things as I moved through the cabin. Pouch! GPS! Water! Flares! Life vest! I grabbed the long flashlight from under the companionway stairs and repeated to myself: Dit-Dit-Dit - Da-Da-Da - Dit-Dit-Dit. Three Short, Three Long, Three Short. S.O.S.

* * *


Friday, April 5, 2013

A 5-Star Review for KHAMSIN

Waking up to a new five-star review is the best there is in life (well, almost); but for a writer, IT IS! It's the proverbial shot-in-the-arm which, however, also places new responsibility onto our shoulders: now, the next books have to live up to expectations. You owe it to yourself, to your readers, and to the reviewers who spend their time, their energy and their thoughtfulness on your writing. I surely trust they know how valuable all feedback is.



---------------------------------------------
5.0 out of 5 stars Work of art April 4, 2013
By diebus
Format:Kindle Edition
"Khamsin: The Devil Wind of the Nile" by Inge H. Borg is a complex story set in Egypt ca. 3080 B.C. Knowledgeable and armed with plenty of research the author paints a very authentic feeling picture of the Egyptian court with its intrigues and many-fold players: the priests, the generals, the wives and children, the servants and so forth.
The book is full of small and bigger stories involving a huge ensemble cast, making this a great read that gives multiple insight into the life as we have to imagine that it could or would have been. With great insight into human nature and a colourful imagination Borg manages to enrich the reading experience with plenty of ideas and stimulating thoughts. There s a lot to be learned about the priesthood, the weapons, transport and warfare, the religion and life in the desert country.

This was quite a captivating read and a well illustrated work of art. The themes may not be innovative - adultery, questionable paternity, war, competitive men to name a few obvious ones - but that did not stop me from caring for the characters and their fortune during the novel, especially when the title character Khamsin, the devil wind of the Nile, befalls the country.
Although the author claims in the foreword that this is not a work of science but of art, the writing has a confidence and an air of authority that gives this 'entertainment' an extra value.
If you like an unusual setting for your books or love ancient history this is a book worth reading.
  Take a "Look Inside" here:

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

A Strand Runs Through It

A Strand of Golden South Sea Pearls

There is one particular strand (oh, how I wish I had one of those) that runs through Edward, Con Extraordinaire and Sirocco, Storm over Land and Sea. Maybe it was wishful thinking on my part that I wove it into these two books; but it served me well, I think, as part of these different stories. Of course, Edward is there, too, but I really wouldn’t wish one like him on any woman. Quite likely, some of us have met, even loved and then been deceived by, one of his ilk.

Other than drawing from one’s life experiences, where do those ideas come from? Mostly at two in the morning only to vanish upon waking up. Like most writers do I assume, I keep a notepad by my bed so I can catch that wisp of a thought, that perfect sentence, that new idea. And it is treasured like a precious pearl, to be strung along with others, maybe not yet perfectly formed. At least they are there, ready to be polished; as they are, time and time again, until the writer perceives his or her strand of verbal pearls to be as perfect as they can be.

Sunday, March 24, 2013

Who reads my books anyway?

My target audience—that is who the marketing guys would call the readers for my books—should be carefully, coldly viewed and—yes, targeted. I should be writing to them; to their taste and reading level. That last one really hurts. Reading rather grown-up books at an early age, I learned not only to comprehend and appreciate the melody of words and to be an excellent speller, I also learned about people, about their feelings, and about the world. It is a never-ending journey.

I enjoy composing the perfect sentence with the perfect nuance. It has a rhythm, a melody. That’s how I like, nay, must write. But it is not how to sell. Not to today’s speed reader who prefers action over substance. Hence, I sell very few copies of my fiction, and almost none of my non-fiction book about my cat and other shelter animals.

So, how to be successful? Writing vapid romance? Steamy sex? Mindless violence? Little volumes with those themes sell like the proverbial hotcakes. I should take heed. The trouble is, if one still needs to know what one writes about, I am too old, too conservative, and likely too uptight to let loose with stories like that. Maybe it’s just sour grapes.

Wherein then lies the answer? I do not know. Meantime, however, I shall continue to write what I love to write. And I shall try to do the best I can with it. YOU are my audience, my readers. I write for you. No survey shall diminish that.

* * *
Perhaps I need to appeal to Toth, the Egyptian God of Writing



Tuesday, March 12, 2013

SIROCCO, Storm over Land and Sea - SECOND EDITION - ON SALE

Feedback from reader to author can be a precious gift. Thus, I listened closely when one of my readers proclaimed, I just wanted for Jonathan to get laid.”

Well, my (male) audience has spoken. So, I had a glass of wine (ok, two) and rewrote the last chapter of SIROCCO, Storm over Land and Sea. It may not be as hot and steamy, or as explicit as a lot of other works, but one thing is clear: Boy finally gets girl. I must admit that I, too, like the ending much better now. Alas, the Epilogue still stands. Sorry, world—after all, it was December 2012!

Kindle Edition Reduced from $5.99 to $3.99
Print Edition Reduced from $11.95 to $9.95

Perhaps, one of these days, I’ll sell enough books to buy “Lorenzo’s” mega-yacht, the Bucanero. Who is Lorenzo? The answer lies in Sirocco.

Though, to be honest, I’d rather have a Valiant-40 like the Tumbleweed. What is a Valiant? That answer, too, lies in Sirocco.

Wednesday, March 6, 2013

KHAMSIN, The Devil Wind of The Nile--Second Edition

I have cracked the whip (or somebody did).

After painstakingly re-editing KHAMSIN, The Devil Wind of The Nile, the Second Edition for this Egyptian saga is now available.

In celebration of my blurry eyes (and Spring), a special price-reduction went into effect as follows:

Kindle/Nook Editions,
reduced from $7.99 to $4.99
Paperback reduced from $14.95 to $ 12.95


 Just thought I'd let you know.

Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Newest Review for SIROCCO


4.0 out of 5 stars
Thriller, February 18, 2013

Adventure: cons, thieves, archeologists; temptation and redemption February 18, 2013
Format:Kindle Edition
As always, don't let the star count decide for you. Borg uses "thriller" to describe this work, and it does not disappoint. You will meet some of the key characters in the opening chapter. If you've followed Edward Guernsey-Crock before, you'll soon meet him again, even more of an `adventurer', and even more of a smoothie, in this tale. The cast of characters includes Americans, Egyptians, Turks, and others. There is some sailing technology and terminology, and I found all of it (to my limited knowledge, augmented by Google!) to be correct. There is a bit of science, more archeology, Egyptian treasures, and even a mix-in of superstition/belief. There is a sort-of love story as well, which drives its characters to rethink their life positions. There is rivalry and sexual tension. There are criminals and danger, risks and choices.

If I had to make tiny carps, they would be these: not all chapters are at the same level of tension, perhaps a good thing. The opening chapter has a lot of background to fill in, so we can excuse Borg for providing us with a slightly higher information-to-suspense ratio than the majority of the book. Occasionally an additional sentence or word could have been omitted, as in `inappropriate rudeness'. These are indeed tiny carps; the writing is nicely done, often literary. Borg tends to describe in more detail than some more terse, `modern' writing, as this is her style. You will be aware of dress, eye colour, building shape, and character habits. Engaging.

The complex plot unravels in parallel stories toward their multiple collisions and resolution. The major climactic scenes (at least three, imho, and no spoilers here) are set up with Borg's usual cleverness. (See `Edward, Con Extraordinaire'; and Journey to Kiev in `Moments of the Heart', for other examples of Borg's deft setting up of key scenes.) Important details `just happen' and you are there, because they occur in a background which makes them reasonable, almost inevitable. This is fiction writing at a high level. You will feel for the heroine, and sympathize with the other chief protagonist. The story takes place during the Egyptian revolution, which is woven into the tale and forms part of its drama and background. And there is a sirocco. This is not a trivial story, and it is definitely an enjoyable read. You may, as I did, reread it more than once, simply for pleasure.

Why four stars? This is one reviewer's opinion. In an `official' KBR review, five stars is `best in genre or equal,' and rarely given. Your personal pleasure may vary. In Sirocco, Borg has created a work that is a real page-turner.
Definitely recommended.

Jim Bennett, Kindle Book Review Team member.
(Note: this reviewer received a free copy of this book for an independent review. He is not associated with the author or Amazon.)

Monday, February 11, 2013

Newest Review for KHAMSIN



4.0 out of 5 stars
Ancient Egypt Historical Fiction, February 11, 2013

By 
This review is from: KHAMSIN, The Devil Wind of The Nile (Legends of the Winged Scarab) (Kindle Edition)

Ms. Borg has written a terrific story of Ancient Egypt before the age of pyramids. She has researched it well and documented the period through characters about whom most of us have little knowledge. The story and her characters are extremely believable.

In reading this novel of triumphs and tragedies of ancient pharaoh, Aha, and his heirs, I couldn't help but recognize a parallel between this monarchy and some of the European monarchies of the Renaissance and even modern times. Thrones are high places beset by public intrigues, tragedies and triumphs. Ms. Borg has illustrated this well in Khamsin.

One of my history professors insisted that his classes read a historical novel during each quarter of his classes. I remember well his suggestion of The Egyptian for Egyptian Historical Fiction. Had Khamsin been written at that time of his teaching, it would likely have been added to his list of suggestions for his students to read. Good work, Ms. Borg!

Dawn Edwards, The Kindle Book Review

The KBR received a free copy of this book in exchange for a fair and honest review. We are not connected with the author, publisher, or Amazon in any way.


 

Saturday, February 2, 2013

The Power of the Author

I am distressed to see that Egypt is being dismanteled, toppled bit by bit, just like its awe-inspiring monuments.

Somehow, I feel remorse that I predicted such unrest in my novel SIROCCO, Storm over Land and See. But then, I must ask myself, what about my other prediction? The one at the end of the book? Could I perhaps rewrite history?

Yes. I am the author! I have power!

I shall concoct a sequel. And while I cannot change the unfortunate path Egypt's people are choosing in hopes of a better future, perhaps I can "rescue" my characters one more time...I'll work on that. At least, then I feel that I will have done all I can - in my mind; in my heart. Because I have grown to love those brittle bones still waiting to be freed from the desert sand; those ancient treasures hoping to be preserved forever.

The "Legends of the Winged Scarab" shall live on...

Wednesday, January 16, 2013

"Southern Trades"-- Work in Progress

Being snowed in right now must be one of the best reasons to start a new novel (Book 3 of the Legends of the Winged Scarab. Book 1 is Khamsin, The Devil Wind of the Nile, Book 2 is SIROCCO, Storm over Land and Sea.).



After a devastating North American volcanic eruption, Jonathan and Naunet Wilkins escape to warmer climes. They sail through the southern tradewinds into a new life on a private island off Venezuela, its mysterious owner having bought the Golden Tablets from an Egyptian fugitive. What awaits them is more than they bargained for.

Friday, December 7, 2012

Edward, Con Extraordinaire




Edward, Con Extraordinaire, is a dreamboat of a man to every middle-aged woman he courts. While he never directly asks for anything, gifts are bestowed upon him. He lives well, drives a racy Jaguar, and charms and entertains new lady-friends with panache--mostly on their money. And he always has a Plan-B, as he skips easily from one benefactress to the next--mostly around San Diego and its well-shod neighboring La Jolla.

Take Betsy, for instance. After sipping a bit more of her heady Chardonnay, the smitten Mrs. Bunting hits upon a brilliant idea. Would he take her ill husband’s place on a prepaid Egypt tour? In a strictly platonic sense, of course.

That week, the dapper Edward Guernsey-Crock, Esquire, reads several guide-books on Egypt (he told Betsy he was familiar with Cairo). Then he buys himself a pith helmet.

We encounter him again in Sirocco, Storm over Land and Sea, as he bedazzles Dr. Naunet Klein, a beautiful Egyptologist on a research mission in Egypt.

A Review from the Kindle Book Review Team:


4.0 out of 5 stars A Pleasant Romp with a Cad, January 29, 2013
By Jim Bennett (Toronto, Canada) - See all my reviews
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As always, don't just count stars. This is a lighthearted story of a hardhearted con man, cad, almost-womanizer. Edward is introduced quickly and effectively in the first short story. Eight smoothly connected short stories follow, one or more for each victim; and an ambiguous conclusion. Borg has cleverly left the door open for further exploits of Edward, in additional books.
The writing is good, the language sophisticated, but I didn't need Google, so if your vocabulary is roughly equal to mine, you'll get pretty much everything right off. Okay, I did have to look up `lazy jacks', but I could have guessed and been OK, and real sailors would know. The women are gullible, but I found their being conned quite believable. Edward really is a s..t, but a smooth and clever and manipulative one. He cons everyone: police, car dealers, locksmiths, everyone. Only one person in the story sees through him at once, and her advice is muted and ignored.
If you're waiting for the tiny carps, there aren't any.
Usually in a review I include memorable quotes, but not this time: I don't want to spoil surprises for you. While Borg is not (yet) William Faulkner, and will not hurt your head too much, she may make you think, perhaps to wonder if you've ever been conned, or if you could con like this. In Edward, Con Extraordinaire, you will find a fun story, very enjoyable. If you like a sort-of romance, sort-of (very light) social commentary, and keen personal insights, you will get pleasure from this book. The writing is very smooth, very intelligent. Another good tale from Inge H. Borg. Definitely Recommended.

Jim Bennett (Kindle Book Review Team member)
 

 


Thursday, December 6, 2012

SIROCCO, Storm over Land and Sea



Sirocco, Storm over Land and Sea,
is a present-day thriller with tie-ins to the historical fiction saga
Khamsin, The Devil Wind of The Nile.

Egyptologist Naunet Klein and her two scientist colleagues arrive in Cairo to assist museum director Dr. Jabari El-Masri in deciphering golden tablets inscribed with dire predictions from an unknown ancient culture predating the Egyptians. The tablets are a translation done by the First Dynasty High Priest of Ptah, Ramose.

She never dreamed that she would meet a handsome stranger. Nor had she and her two colleagues expected to be embroiled in Egypt’s political upheaval, and an audacious theft that culminates in kidnapping and murder. But a thousand pounds of gold bring out the worst in those dealing with illicit ancient treasures.

During a perilous sailing trip from the Red Sea to Crete, Naunet learns the truth not only about the charming Edward Guernsey-Crock, but also about the ancient writings. Time is running out.
Will the Legends of the Winged Scarab become a devastating reality?




Excerpt from SIROCCO, Storm over Land and Sea, by Inge H. Borg

“During the war, the British imprisoned General Aziz El-Masri who was then Commander of the Egyptian Army. If better luck had been on his side, he would have liberated my country from its dictator, the Germans, as well as the British.”
“Any relation of yours?”
The answer was a shoulder shrug.
Jonathan pressed on. “Did the general survive the war?”
“Evidently,” El-Masri suddenly grinned. “I was born in forty-seven.”
Bill cleared his throat. “What are you planning to do, Jabari. You do realize that you have practically kidnapped us, which has the makings of an international incident, I might add. And I assume this plane is still the property of the Egyptian military, or at least of whoever claims to be the leader of your government these days. And once the existence of all these tablets becomes public knowledge, no doubt they will be classified as national treasures. So, it comes to mind—forgive me for pointing this out—that you are about to steal both.”
“Steal? Steal!” The Egyptian jumped to his full five-foot seven-inch height. As the Americans were seated, he towered over them, all indignation and spitting rage.
“You dare to call me a thief, when your woman abscondered with my Saqqara tablets!”
“My woman did not steal anything,” Jonathan exploded trying to jump up as well but failed, being hemmed in by the table and by Bill.
“Let me correct you, my young interferer.”
“Now hold on.” Bill was turning red himself now.
“No! You hold on. The world has been stealing from Egypt forever. They all came supposedly to explore and study. And then went back home with loot from our ancestors crammed into their lorries. Shiploads of sacred mummies, carted off to Europe for fertilizer. Fertilizer!”
“Mummified cats, I think,” Jonathan dared. A jab from Bill, and a scornful look from The Pharaoh made him retreat deeper into the hard seat.
“You cannot really believe that the likes of your glorified Carters and Champollions did not take whatever they wanted before leaving us the pittance of their finds. The British, the Germans, the French and, oh, let us not forget the Americans. What they did not damage and destroy, they grabbed with both hands. And now, that I have discovered the most incredible writings since the Rosetta Stone.”
Jonathan squirmed. This was not the time to point out Jean François Champollion’s ground-breaking contribution to Egyptology.
“But now, my own people aim to steal from me. They have stolen before. Yes, I admit, I was forced to make some deals. Negligible objects, of course. What was I to do? To go against those in power would have been suicidal. The secret buyers came in droves.
“The Japanese in their private jets. The South Americans, mooring their ostentatious yachts off Alexandria. Too much money, and no respect. All they wanted was to squirrel away our antiquities in their private collections.
“And now this! My own people ordering me to melt down these tablets to finance their corrupt campaigns. People who assume that they are the next president.
“Such blasphemy! I cannot let this happen. I will save these treasures for Egypt. They are my heritage. They are,” the Egyptologist paused, seemingly exhausted. “They are my nemesis. I will safeguard them to the death.”
Stunned silence followed Dr. Jabari El-Masri’s impassioned testimony to his almost fanatical belief in his country’s glorious heritage. The man before them was neither a thieving scoundrel nor an uncaring zealot. He was through and through Egyptian. He was a world-renowned Egyptologist. And he was willingly endangering his professional credibility. Most likely he had already made personal sacrifices preserving the legacy of this awesome land of his. His whole life, he had painstakingly labored to unravel the enigma of a great bygone civilization, unequalled anywhere. The man standing before them was an Egyptian patriot who, in their eyes, now lived up to his name. It translated into Brave Egyptian.

The boats in SIROCCO:


The Valiant-40 cruising cutter on which Naunet was kidnapped by Karakurt Teryaki and Edward Guernsey-Crock, the "charming" Con Extraordinaire.

The "Bucanero," Lorenzo Domingo's mega-yacht (complete with the stolen Rembrandt and van Gogh paintings) to which the South American hoped to add the Ancient Golden Tablets.

Wednesday, December 5, 2012

KHAMSIN, The Devil Wind of The Nile



KHAMSIN, The Devil Wind of The Nile, a historical novel, is an engrossing saga of intrigue, warfare and forbidden love in the colorful setting of the court of Egypt's First Dynasty King Aha – ca. 3080 BC. Complex main and subordinate characters come alive and are well delineated, as the briskly paced action evokes a violent, tumultuous epoch with attention to detail and cinematic presentation. The literate narrative of the book is divided into five major parts, with forty-three chapters, a poignant prologue, and a thought-provoking epilogue.

Meticulous research of ancient sites and the way of life of the early Nile dwellers lends authenticity to this pre-Pyramid, pre-Pharaoh era of the Two Lands. Select Egyptian words and the usage of ancient city names are made comprehensible within context as well as through appendices and a glossary.

Many compelling characters enliven KHAMSIN. At the center is Ramose, the powerful High Priest of Ptah, practically ruling his weakling King Aha. We cannot but dislike his insecure second consort, the whining Queen Hent as she treats her willful step-daughter Nefret with disdain. Just as much as we have to adore the forever scolding Royal Nurse Amma who despairs at the clumsiness of the dark slave Dokki, but is rendered helpless by the impish pranks of her royal charge.

From the scheming Vizier Ebu al-Saqqara to Hanni, the bent Ostrich-Egg Gatherer, to Aha's military genius, Grand General Makari with his four powerful generals, we meet Ramose’s priests as well as Yadate (Yah-dah-tey), the spy from the Land of Punt (Ethiopia) who provides his beautiful supposed relative for General Barum's relaxation in the Kharga Oasis. Equally important to the action are Pase, a young Royal Archer, who loves Nefret’s companion-slave Safaga, but is unjustly killed by Nefret’s secret lover Tasar as "the messenger bearing bad news."

In the end, it is the Golden Tablets' disappearance during the raging Khamsin that left the door open for the modern-day sequel, SIROCCO, Storm over Land and Sea.

* * *

Historical Novel Society -- Editor's Choice
Historical Novels Review, Quarterly Issue, August 2012
Reviewed by Steve Donoghue

Khamsin: The Devil Wind of the Nile - By Inge H. Borg

Borg’s exceptional novel Khamsin takes its name from the “devil wind” that ravages ancient Egypt for fifty days during the reign of King Aha, the second ruler of the First Dynasty (roughly 3080 B.C.). The Egypt of this setting is primordial even by Egyptian standards: this is a time before the Great Pyramids were built, and before the Sphinx.
But even in such an exotic setting, Borg adeptly demonstrates that some human passions never change – As the freak windstorm continues to rage, its turbulence is mirrored in the intrigues and battle scenes, the plight of queens and princesses, and the hopes of dozens of lesser (but still fully realized) characters.

Borg’s narrative structure is as supple as it is strong; this is a big book in every way (except in your luggage: it’s a well-designed e-book), sprawling, ambitious, and marvelously executed. It’s enthusiastically recommended.

* * *

Excerpt from KHAMSIN, The Devil Wind of The Nile

... (Queen) Hent naturally aspired that (Prince) Dubar, the first of her issue, inherit the Two Land’s double crown despite (Princess) Nefret’s prior claim. When her time came to bear her child, Aha’s second queen made elaborate arrangements to have its royal afterbirth preserved. As soon as she issued forth her son, the bustling midwife scooped the bloody membrane into thick natron solution curing in a clay jar. Under the well-established Cult of the Royal Placenta, a protective birth sack was invested with exceptional powers as the royal placenta was placed in a special shrine. Upon ascension to the throne, the new ruler’s placenta was depicted on its own standard, to be carried aloft on ceremonial occasions. After death, this alter-ego was buried with the deceased.
Should the placenta, however, be damaged or destroyed, great disaster was foretold. Because of this belief, Hent entrusted no one with this twin-god of her royal son and decided that his urn should not stand unprotected in a temple. She would watch over it herself. She kept the delicate jar with its pickled membrane in her bedchamber. Sealed with beeswax, the jar was topped by an exquisitely wrought lid of yellow nub. Its own small stepped alcove became Hent’s premier place of worship. Dubar’s royal placenta had assumed the status of a god and each day, the mother implored another deity to bring her son good fortune and longevity.
One day, while the Khamsin raged and the two small royal children could not be taken into the courtyard to play, Hent again kneeled before this shrine. Dubar was crawling about behind her and Nefret, barely three, annoyed the queen by pinching her fleshy arm in an attempt to lend her unsteady legs support.
Dubar’s screams suddenly filled the hollow of the recess. The infant prince had stubbed his nose against a jutting corner of the alcove wall. In motherly haste, Hent jumped up to aid her howling son, shoving the clinging girl aside. Nefret tottered toward the low-stepped platform.
The tiny princess felt rejected. She was about to cry to regain the queen’s sympathies when a glitter caught her eye. Curious about everything, the child reached for the glowing top of the amphora and pulled it toward her.
The crash almost caused Hent to jettison her son from her comforting arms.
Aghast, she stared at the overturned amphora. Though it did not shatter, the beeswax seal split open. The lid clattered along the steps playing hop-scotch with itself. Like a lazy slug, a jellied mass escaped over the vessel’s delicate rim to slither down the steps, onto the reed-covered floor. Before the horror-stricken Queen could react, a yellow flash streaked past her legs. As it seeped into the woven mats, her own pampered hound slurped up her first-born’s quivering alter-ego.
“I never want to see that little monster again! Do you hear me!” The queen’s horse whisper turned a rushing Amma pale with concern for her beloved charge.
Hent’s face was as white as her wrapper and her pendulous breasts heaved. “Do you hear me,” she screamed at the mortified nurse. “And have that hound destroyed!”
No dog was ever seen again within the palace walls. Even the King was forced to leave his cherished hunting dogs in a kennel outside the royal compound. Hent insisted further that no dog would be buried in the royal tombs. Not with her, nor anyone connected with the royal family.
From that day on, Nefret was no longer allowed in the Queen’s wing.

* * *