Warchild by Rick Bowes
All right, this book is one of those I wish I had read as a fifteen year old. At fifteen I would have gobbled this up as I did Moorcock’s Eternal Champion. A Mohawk-sporting, telepathic juvenile delinquent hops through time and dimensions to raise an army to do battle with mind parasites?
Yes. Sign me up.
Now sometimes this is a mixed bag. Often encountering something that speaks to our teen-self only increases our awareness of time’s passing, and you either succumb to wistful nostalgia or get grumpy because you got older. Other times by some quirk in the work or possibly within ourselves, the magic’s still there waiting for us to open the pages and discover it. Warchild was one of those other times.
If you have SFnal fifteen year olds in your life, find them a copy of this book and give it to them.
Why thank you so much!
I wish I was 15 when I wrote it. Instead I was forty. This was the first piece of spec fiction I wrote. Glad someone still likes it 25 years on.
I have a defective “self promotion” gene:
I should have added that I’m currently writing a YA novel about a telepathic 15 year old Lesbian in a post-apocalytic New York and the Land of Faery. It owes more than something to Warchild.