So, then, how does Wizard of the Pigeons stack up today, nearly two decades later? Surprisingly well, actually. For those readers familiar only with her more recent work as Robin Hobb, this book shows that Lindholm was no slouch when it came to spinning a good yarn, one that insisted the reader invest themselves emotionally in the protagonist's plight.

The main character here is Wizard, a homeless man living on the streets of Seattle who has perfected the art of blending in with polite society. He takes pains not to appear as one of the homeless, and his skill allows him a somewhat comfortable -- if tenuous -- existence. He is, naturally enough, a wizard of not insignificant power, charged with observing several rules necessary to retain that power: feed and protect pigeons; listen to people when they talk to him, even when what they say hurts; tell them what they need to know; and always give away more than he receives.

Other wizards populate the enchanted streets of Seattle as well, allies and friends of Wizard. Rasputin is a whirling dervish whose power lies in dance; Euripides safeguards wishes and makes magic with music; and Cassie, a wise and knowing figure who never appears in the same guise twice. The interactions of this colorful mix of characters ring true, and Lindholm establishes distinct personalities and spheres of influence with minimal words. To cite them as precursors to Neil Gaiman's Endless from the Sandman books is not too far of a stretch. And, like the infinitely powerful Endless from Gaiman's stories, life for the Seattle street wizards quickly grows complicated with the arrival of a powerful, malevolent force called Mir, whose coming is heralded by a chilling children's playground jump-rope rhyme:

Billy was a sniper, Billy got a gun,
Billy thought killing was fun fun fun.
How many slopes did Billy get?
One, two, three, four...

As the viewpoint character, Wizard's perceptions become increasingly unreliable for the reader as his grasp of the situation steadily unravels. It's a common enough literary trick, but difficult to pull off without it becoming ham-fisted. Lindholm manages it nicely, though, and to her credit, had this book been published as mainstream instead of genre, many readers who'd turn their nose up at something as gauche as fantasy would have accepted Wizard of the Pigeons without so much as a quibble. The same scenario worked quite successfully for Terry Gilliam with The Fisher King and Wizard of the Pigeons boasts much the same flair and style.

In fact, it's quite easy to see how heavily Wizard of the Pigeons influenced the urban fantasy sub-genre through the late 80s and early 90s. Consciously or not, many creators drew heavily on the form and substance of Lindholm's work, and that's certainly a fine legacy for any writer.