Back next week!

 We've been on vacation the last few weeks, we'll be back next week!

Star Wars: Inquisitor: Rise of the Red Blade - Delilah S. Dawson

Okay, first of all, all the colons in there aren't my fault, okay? It's just a mouthful of a title. And despite being something of a mouthful, Inquisitor: Rise of the Red Blade is also a really interesting story. Broadly, when I think of Star Wars, it's in the context of its heroes, those who stand up in the face of evil and fight back - from the chivalric everyman rise of Luke Skywalker, to the cold-war-spy heroics of Cassian Andor and Kleya Marki.But this isn't a story of risign heroics, it's a story of descent into darkness, and finding out what lies at the hart of a character. It's also an emotional, thoughtful journey, one that definitely dishes out hope and hurt in near-equal measure. Darth Vader is easy to see as a monster; Iskat Akaris is a victim.

Iskat is also very sympathetic, certainly in the front section of the book. She's an outsider among the Jedi, avoided by many after a training accident caused harm to another student. Iskat works alongside a Jedi Master who seems to care for her only distantly, as an assistant in search of rare artifacts. There's none of the bond we see between Obi-Wan and Anakin here, only a more absolute distance, wrapped in a philosophy of detachment.And Iskat is trying very hard to be what everyone else wants her to be, and struggling, it seems, against who she wants to be. The story manages to show us the Jedi not as heroes, but as an institution. A bureaucracy, a school that has a model for how those within it should be, or must be, and those who don't fit that model are...disappointments. 

If you've ever been different from your peers, if you've ever felt the edge of disappointment in the voices of teachers, mentors, friends, if you've ever felt like you were alone, this will all sound searingly familiar.

Then, Iskat finds something she's good at. As war engulfs the galaxy, Iskat discovers that she can fight, and can kill, and that she's good at it. Unfortunately, despite being in a fight for survival, the Jedi Order has no time for warriors, for those who enjoy the fight, for those who make choices they might not, under pressure. Iskat finds that instead of plaudits and assignments, she faces ostracism, silence and condescension.  Individuals are so wrapped up in themselves that they don't see her pain, or dismiss it, or don't have the time to deal with it in the way that they think it should be done. So instead she's left to find her own path, riven from the support of the institution while being attacked for the choices she makes without that support.

I have a lot of empathy for Iskat.

Eventually, of course, things fall apart, and Iskat gets to decide if she wants to die a hero, or take a different path. Unsurprisingly, given the cover, you can probably guess how that turns out. But the trick is that each step of the way we're there with Iskat, living her fear of failure, her fear of ostracism, her fear of abandonment, and seeing that fear backed up in the actions of those around her, in a world that seems determined to shove her square peg into a Jedi-shaped hole, whether it fits in there or not, and no matter how uncomfortable she may be about it. And you can see how the environment around her, and the whispers of acceptance are so powerful. How finally getting to live her life as herself and not one crushed by the weight of others expectations has significant appeal. 

This is, of course, a tragedy. The rise of the red blade is the fall of Iskat, the Padawan, the Jedi Knight, even while it may also be the rise of Iskat, the person. Does she do terrible things? Of course. But we know what shaped those choices, we know that if she's not justified, she's certainly valid in her concoction of self-justification. The story doesn't flinch away from what the Inquisitors are, and neither does Iskat - she just finds the price worth it to be free - at least for a while. 

 This isn't a happy story. It's a character study of someone in pain, someone alone, someone making sacrifices every day to appear somewhere near what their society expects. It's a story of someone feeling like they have to hide who they are, of the way institutions, even benign ones, can fail us, and the costs to both them and us when that happens. It's Iskat's story, but it's a story that resonates with anyone who's ever felt like they were on the outside looking in, that they weren't being given a chance to show what they could do, or able to live as who they were. It's a story that hurts, and that's the highest praise I have to offer. It will make you feel. Go, read it, you won't regret it.

Caves of Ice - Sandy Mitchell

Continuing our journey through franchises, this week we're in the universe of Warhammer: 40,000. And what a universe it is. a grimdark-before-we-had-the-word galaxy largely composed of different species of alien and humanity, all focused on trying to kill each other. Back in the eighties and early 90's, the lore largely served as an excuse to sell different model armies and rulesets, so that you could blow up your friends Space Marine (giant genetically and surgically altered human warriors) with your Orks (green, hordes, argumentative, cockney accents). Somewhere in the intervening decades, however, the lore has become rather popular in itself, with near-numberless video game adaptions, book series, and even the occasional TV episode. The sheer volume of stories now available for 40K, as it's known, mean that they can be of..variable..quality, and that there's plenty of sub-genres available, from political thrillers, through war stories, to comedy. Because if there's one thing 40K is known for, it's not taking itself too seriously, especially when it's taking itself too seriously. That whimsy and sense of humour can sometimes be hard to find in a world of stoic warrior-monks, demon-possessed monstrosities, and elegant robotic killers, but it is, I think, what makes that world so successful. After all, you have to laugh, don't you. 

Which brings us, by a rather roundabout route, to Caves of Ice. This is the second novel in a looooong sequence of stories starring Commissar Ciaphas Cain. A Comissar has the job of maintaining the morale of the hordes of humanity impressed or indentured into the Imperial Guard, whose role is usually to serve as a bit of light cannon fodder for the enemy before the more expensive models show up. Commissar's usually maintain morale by shooting anyone who tries to run away. Cain is a bit different in this regard, intuiting that if he keeps morale high by less lethal, more collaborative means, his troops are less likely to leave him to get eaten by the next alien monstrosity that they come across. Cain is also, since we're treated to his internal monologue, a pragmatic, self-serving individual, one who only goes into a fight if he thinks it's necessary for his survival, or that he can win, or ideally both.He's possibly the only sane man in a legion of religious fanatics, hardened killers, fanatics keen to die for their Emperor and other such reprobates. He wants to win, and he also wants to live, and his efforts to do the latter often seem to end up with him performing bouts of accidental heroism, ensuring he'll be the first choice of the top brass next time they need someone to throw at a problem. 

In a world that seems to be completely off the scale ridiculous with its conflicts, with po-faced space-elves declaiming their tragic destiny and murderous space swarms obliterating entire planets, looking over the shoulder of someone who would be quite happy to be left alone so they could go for a quick pint down the pub is, frankly, refreshing. And Caves of Ice does lean into that, letting us see Cain fail upward into more and more dangerous situations. I mean, I say fail, he succeeds in surviving, but never at actually getting out of the way. He does, however, get to fight all kinds of aliens, while trying to keep all of his limbs attached. And he does this with a self-awareness to his internal monologue which is searing and clever. Cain, as a character, is one we can empathise with and sympathise with, because who among us wouldn't want to run all the way away from some sort of teleporting murderous robot or giant with an axe which is also a chainsaw? And yet, he still manages to stand up when it matters, and be a hero. And he's human enough to build friendships with those he works with, and to tweak the noses of authority when that authority doesn't have their (or his) best interests at heart. Cain is funny, thoughtful, sometimes kind, and occasionally ruthless, and in a universe determined to take itself seriously, he's the one on the outside pointing out how ridiculous it all is, before barging in the doors and getting a round in. 

 This is a fun book, entertaining, silly, sometimes a little emotional, and enough of an adventure to keep you turning the pages to see what happens next. As for Cain...well, I'm sure we'll see more of him, and I'll certainly be reading more of his stories in the near future. 

Back next week!

 Everyone is sick again - back next week!

Star Trek: Red Shirts - Cantwell/Levens

I'm not too much of a comics person, but I do have a love of Star Trek. I'm also a sucker for anything that looks at the established forms of a genre or universe and flips them around a bit. And oh, does Star Trek: Red Shirts do that. It focuses on a team of Starfleet Security officers (the eponymous Red Shirts, because their shirts, ha, are red), who are sent on a covert mission to a planet in the middle of nowhere. As one might expect, things do not go well. 

This is a slightly different brand of Trek, though. Set around the Original Series time periods, sharing space with Kirk, Spock, Uhura and the rest of the gang. But where their heroics were appropriate for prime time TV, where the heroes fought injustice and suffered only as much as audience share would allow, the cast of Red Shirts live differently. They're here to fight, and to win. No less heroes than the command staff that we've seen on TV, but down in the mud. Conscious that their lives may be seen as more disposable. Very conscious that their lives are on the line on every away mission. Keen to survive. But for all that, still human. Still willing to be brave, to stand up and be counted, to live and fight and die for their friends, their comrades, or the ideals of the Federation. Not that they want to, of course. But they know the score. This is a more lethal, bloodier version of the world we tohught we knew. 

Levens does a great job in the illustration department. The colours are rich and vibrant, and you can immediately identify each of the hapless Red Shirts as they come across the page. There's eleven of them(!) and if their numbers do reduce rather rapidly, still you know who's who and what their deal is without having to squint. The environments are rendered in lush, loving detail, from the glossy white of Federation starships to the purple dark of an alien jungle, where one small step can leave things splashed carmine with the insides of the unlucky. You can feel the world breathing in and out around you, and if it has more splashes of weapons fire and blood than usual, that just makes it more vital. There's an intentional claustrophobia in the environments, everyone in slightly too close proximity, everyone one short step from disaster. 

The cast...well, you're spread across a lot of different faces, very quickly. But they all have moments to shine, things which make them feel real, make them feel like people, and make you feel for them, as their mission moves from "adventure" to "out of control trashfire". There are definitely a few that seem more like a quick collection of traits than a full characterisation, but the comic is clearly giving it all it has to build them a backstory, to make you see each of these poor folks as people.  Because, make no mistake, and as the monstrous creature that used to be a person on the cover makes clear, this is Star-Trek-As-Horror, and survival is by no means guaranteed. 

There's a story here, about a monitoring station that's keeping an eye on stellar winds.  And about spies, trying to figure out what's being received - or transmitted - from that station. About old officers left out in the middle of nowhere with an eye to conspiracy, and the occasional actual conspiracy. This is a harsher, colder Trek, where nobody has their phasers set to stun, where life is cheap, and where nobody's hands are clean. But it's still Trek, for all that - a story of humanity out among the stars, being our best and worst selves. It's fun, playing on expectation, subverting it, enabling it, and unflinchingly looking at what life is like for these poor expendable folks at the sharp end of Starfleet's exploration of new worlds. It wants to shwow you what kind of people they are, what dreams they have, what drives them, and what they're willing to do to survive - and it doesn't look away form the answers, foul and fair. 

Is Star Trek: Red Shirts a typical Star Trek story? No. But it's an entertaining one, an important one, and one that might leave you asking questions, might leave you examining how you feel, in the wreckage of what expendables will do in the face of the inevitable. It's a good read, and if you're looking for something a little different, then it's well worth a look. 

Back next week!

 We've all been sick for a couple of weeks - should be back shortly!

Our Lady of Blades - Sebastien De Castell

Alright, this is a fun one. A standalone novel set in De Castell's Greatcoats universe. Our Lady of Blades is a tale of revenge, murder, betrayal, and duels, physical and mental. There is, as always, some damn fine swordplay in there as well. That said, there's darker undercurrents here, questions of identity and horrors both physical and mental are not shied away from. Because pretty much nobody in this story is a Good Person, although some (many?) of them are definitely worse than others.

Over two timelines, we track the mysterious Lady Consequence and the "mine-girl", Natazia, years before. The former is a skilled duelist, a driven killer, someone who has plans within plans and is willing to back them at swordpoint. The latter...well, Natazia is years younger than Lady Consequence, and her world is on an upward trajectory. She's brought out of the mines, brought into a noble family, and asked to train to protect them, to fight and die for that family when its fortunes rest on the edge of a blade. As the story moves forward, Natazia's tale slowly intertwines with (or becomes?) part of the one that leads to the creation of Lady Consequence. Both feel like different people, and their eyes on the world show us different things.  Consequence is thoughtful, possibly decent, but driven, pragmatically, even callously lethal. She dives off the pages like a hawk, trying to reach out and tear her enemies to shreds on her way to vengeance - but doing so behind a mask, behind wit and a whirl and subterfuge. And, at the end, the raw honesty of a blade. She's charming, funny, passionate, a creature of her convictions, and a lot of fun to watch saunter through a crowd of deadbeats, sycophants, philanderers, sociopaths and stone-cold killers. Lady Consequence has style. Natazia, on the other hand, does not have style. But she has the strength wrought form being a survivor, and a willingness to drive ahead, to commit, to keep people safe. Years before Lady Consequence and her dance of blades, Natazia is quietly stashing sharp implements up her sleeves so she can protect her new family at the breakfast table, and using the steadfast strength and tenacity from year sin the mines to push forward, always forward, never giving up. Where Consequence is witty, Tazia is plain spoken (though no less intelligent), and her endurance is an excellent contrast to the speed and fire in the older Consequence. They're both fascinating to read,both characters you can empathise with and cheer for, and they're both, in one way or another, fun. 

On the other hand, they live in Rijou, which is, basically, hell. We've seen Rijou before in several other Greatcoats-adjacent books, and it's never seemed like a fun place to live. The aristocracy own the judiciary, the aristocracy don't, quite own the common people, though they'd like to, and the aristocracy absolutely own the swords in the hands of the people who enforce the law. Each of the Houses of Rijou is an entity unto itself, rich off the backs of monopolies and client-houses, effectively above the law and beyond reproach. Beyond reproach in the sense that they can't be reproached, that is. Because all the houses are filled with byzantine schemes and schemers, with blades who are looking for any excuse to put another house down, with accountants more than happy to buy a judge a meal, or a house, to look the other way. Rijou is a city fat on the stench of its own corruption, a frenzied gala of blood and roses. Tazia stands out here as plain, independent, uncompromising. And Lady Consequence flits between the gaps, using a razor-edge blade to cut through the social niceties and iniquities. Rijou is a horror, but it's a resplendent one, one that pulls in wealth and power and feeds on it like a bejewelled tick. It's a place filled with life, even as it drains life, or at least decency, from everyone in it. If you've been here before, it's even worse than you remembered, and if you haven't...well, watch your wallet in the bright lights and parties, and watch your back, too.

The story...I don't want to get into the story, because it has, well, a lot going on. There's some especially savage twists that I didn't see coming, the kind of thing that knocks you back, and certainly made me put the book down for a few minutes to mull over. And there's the threads there, of revenge. Of trying to protect family, of trying to make oneself into something else, one way or another. Of trying to be decent, and of being willing to be a monster in the service of red-handed justice, in a city where justice is a joke between enemies. It's an adventure, often a darkly shadowed one, filled with mischance, filled with love and hope, filled with the loss of both, filled with grief and joy in, perhaps, equal measure. And it has some absolutely top notch banter and sword-fights.This is a hard read, a complicated read, the kind of story that makes you think and makes you feel, that demands, here and there, a moment of contemplation, and asks, here and there, for your attention. It's bloody and messy and horrible and kind and compelling stuff, and a damn good read.