Why do all my ideas start with my backbrain going "That's neat, but there's a problem with it?..."
I'm thinking that Roger Zelazny watched too much television. I've commented before on the similarities between Corwin-and-Random and Napoleon-and-Illya. But as I'm contemplating this, the adjunct similarities (which kitkindred has noted before) to Bonanza are starting to sink in. Think about it: a gazillion children (of about half a gazillion different mothers) who don't get along real well, but God help the outsider who starts something with one of them. An authoritarian father who is never around when trouble kicks up. A lot of riding around and shooting things.
Creepy, isn't it?
Be that as it may, the Oberon/Mr. Waverly/Ben Cartwright figure needs a name....
What's really amusing me is that, by the time I get done filing the serial numbers off this sucker, the only way anybody's going to be able to tell where the idea came from is to point to this post. It already doesn't look a damned thing like Amber in my head. Except for the eighteen siblings thing.
...truepenny suggests I call him Alexander. You know, that's not half bad.
Now I just have
eight mothers to name. Wait, cpolk just named one for me. Seven! Seven mothers to name!
In progress: book number something or other, Ken MacLeod, Newton's Wake:
I love the writing. And he writes dialect infectiously; I have to bite my lip not to break into a Terrible Fake Scottish Accent every time I open my mouth.
The hard edge on the transitions is a bit jarring now and again.