I probably have this novella in The Dragon Griaule collection, but since I bought Shepard novellas as they were published (mostly by Subterranean Press, who these days seem happier publishing limited editions of best-selling genre novels – like Andy Weir’s Artemis, WTF?), so I also have The Taborin Scale as a standalone. In fact, I might well have all of the contents of The Dragon Griaule as either standalone novellas or in other collections, unless there was a story original to the collection, of course. Anyway, The Taborin Scale… A numismatist, George Taborin, comes across a dragon scale in among a collection he bought, and travels to Teocinte, the town that has grown up beside the vast corpse of Griaule. There he consorts with a prostitute, to whom he gives the name Sylvia (not her real name). But something happens, and the two find themselves transported to another time, where Teocinte does not exist and Griaule is young and active and seems to have some purpose in drawing people to that time, although what it is remains unknowable. Taborin rescues a young girl from a group of transportees who had been abusing her, and the three eke out a precarious existence. But then Griaule dies – following the events of The Man Who Painted The Dragon Griaule – and Taborin and Sylvia and the girl find themselves abruptly back in Teocinte… And, to be honest, I’m not entirely sure where this novella was intended to go. It felt like a story in search of a plot, spiced up by the use of footnotes, and carried on the back of earlier Griaule stories. Shepard was a bloody good writer, but he was often sloppy and some of his work often felt half-baked. He was widely-admired, and notoriously cranky, which may be why publishers accepted his stuff when it really needed another go around. And yet, having said that, Shepard’s prose was usually top-notch. It was a bit magpie-like, with a tendency to borrow styles, but it was always put together well. Which is why The Taborin Scale feels so much like a curate’s egg: a well-established prose style, a milieu Shepard had explored in other works (all based around a humungous metaphor)… but then there are the footnotes… and the general vagueness of the story. The Taborin Scale reads like a cross between an experiment and a contractual obligation. I guess I shall have to read the collection to see how it all fits together… ( )

His flesh has become one with the earth. He knows its every tremor and convulsion. His thoughts roam the plenum, his mind is a cloud that encompasses our world. His blood is the marrow of time. Centuries flow through him, leaving behind a residue that he incorporates into his being. Is it any wonder he controls our lives and knows our fates?

The Dragon Griaule collects Lucius Shepard�??s six stories and novellas about Griaule, the mile-long 750-foot-high dragon that has been in a spellbound sleep for thousands of years. He rests in a valley where his body composes much of the landscape, creating hills and forests and waterfalls. Trees and other vegetation have taken root on his body and animals and parasites live in the habitat he produces. Griaule overlooks the town of Teocinte and another shantytown rests on his back. Heƒ??s angry about his situation and his negative... Read More: http://www.fantasyliterature.com/reviews/the-dragon-griaule/ ( )

I have long thought that the ideal length for a work of science fiction or fantasy is the novella length, defined by the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America as 17,500 to 40,000 words. This gives an author sufficient space to create a world, describe it and the characters that inhabit it, and spin a plot. It’s a short enough work for the reader to consume in a single sitting, allowing her to immerse herself in the author’s world without any such rude interruptions as the need to go to work. For this particular reader, it’s lovely to be able to give myself up entirely to a writer’s imagination; the colors, the scents, the textures of the world become completely real to me.

Lucius Shepard writes ravishing novellas. The Taborin Scale, set in the same universe as the novella Scalehunter's Beautiful Daughter and the short story “The Man Who Painted the Dragon Griaule,” gives us yet another perspective on the massive Dragon Griaule. It is the story of George Taborin, a numismatist who purchases a glass jar containing coins, buttons and other odds and ends when on his annual trip to Teocinte to sport in the brothels. He finds a dark, leathery chip in the jar, and begins polishing it, uncovering a blue-green color. A prostitute sees what he’s doing and identifies the chip as a dragon scale from a young dragon – definitely not the Dragon Griaule, she says, and it has to be centuries old. She wants the chip, so George strikes a deal: two weeks during which she will meet his needs (“spelled out … in clinical detail”), and the chip is hers.

Sylvia and George get along well enough, but of course there are times when they’re not in bed, and George spends some of it polishing the dragon scale. At one point, George strokes the scale and the world around him changes: suddenly he and Sylvia are on a plain with tall grasses and stands of trees, far from the city of their hotel room. The landscape fades after a moment and they’re back. Sylvia, though frightened, wants him to try it again, and he obliges. This time the landscape doesn’t fade, and they’re stranded in the new world that seems to be their own, only much younger.

Before long, it becomes clear that they have been brought here by the Dragon Griaule, though the reasons for the dragon’s actions are never made clear, even after a climax that is as unexpected as it is exciting. There is always more to this dragon than any reader might have thought. Shepard explores his meaning, religiously, culturally and historically; indeed, the book is presented as a sort of history in itself, with infrequent footnotes that explain certain details in a much more clinical manner that the tone of the story, which is much more artistically told.

The novella is published by Subterranean Press, which often publishes novellas in beautiful editions that justify the high prices it charges. This book, for instance, is signed by Shepard and, opposite the title page, bears a picture of the Dragon Griaule by J.K. Potter (who also did the lovely cover) that just might haunt your dreams. It’s a small detail, but I was particularly taken by the end papers, which are textured to resemble the dragon’s skin and scales. I cannot imagine replacing this sort of book with the bare text on an e-reader; it stands as an argument for physical books all by itself. My only complaint is a familiar one when it comes to Subterranean: there are far too many typographical errors for a book on which such love has been lavished.

Despite the typographical errors, if I were rich, I’d be collecting Subterranean Press books by the boatload. They are lovely in every way. The Taborin Scale is as beautiful to hold and touch as it is to read. If you are already a Shepard fan, you’ll want to add this book to your collection. If you’re not, think about investing in another Subterranean book, The Best of Lucius Shepard, which opens with “The Man Who Painted the Dragon Griaule.” Shepard is worth savoring. ( )