The New World. That’s a phrase redolent with promise, with corruption and violence, and above all, with opportunity. It’s a fit title, then for this novella from Mark Lawrence. The story is set in the world of Lawrence’s Broken Empire, and centred on Jalan, the protagonist of the Red Queen’s War trilogy within that world. Regular readers will know I'm a big fan of Mark Lawrence's work in general, as well as that trilogy in particular, so I went into this one with high spirits and high expectations.
At time of writing, this novella is only available as part of a limited and signed omnibus edition of that series (hence the cover art!). So if you’re reading this, there’s a decent chance you’re weighing up buying one, and wondering if this story is any good. To which I can say, unequivocally, yes. This is a cracking tale of excitement, adventure, and really wild things. That all of those things are happening to Jalan, who one might charitably describe as a smart-arse with a firm intent to protect his own behind, and a low tolerance for heroics, makes things even better. If you’re on the fence about picking up the edition holding this tale, let me tell you, this could, and perhaps should, push you off it.
This, you see, is the aftermath. The world is saved. Jalan is enjoying his just rewards. Living in authority, and trying to avoid as much responsibility as possible, while living and loving life as much as possible. As usual, he’s his own worst enemy, and those just rewards quickly turn to just desserts. So here’s our sort-of hero, sent on a mission of dubious put doing it in a style characteristic of the man we know. Incisive, intelligent, not at all above stabbing a man in the back or cutting his throat while he’s down. Playing cards to win, and cheating so as not to lose. Holding to friends, but always looking out for the main chance. The cardinal’s robes are there, sure enough. The things that Jal went through, that the reader went through with him, have left their mark. But he’s still in there, the reckless boy willing to dive out of a toilet window to avoid awkward questions from debt collectors. It’s just that the man willing to make a stand, he’s in there too.
Which brings us to Snorri. Someone who would absolutely be the hero of his own saga, striding through the snows like a force of nature, laying waste with axe in song and story. Never mentioning the family tragedy that still sits on his shoulders. Someone who feels like a tragic hero, but has the raw depth and emotional heart to step outside the archetype and be a person, to be a friend to Jal, someone who has a very limited circle of actual friends. The friendship of this duo, their chemistry, informs so much of the trilogy they’re the centre of - and it’s wonderful to see them back on the page again, grumbling about how it was only three nuns, and who takes a vow of celibacy anyway, or how that captain is apparently unable to read a chart. They’re greater than the sum of their parts, Jal and Snorri, and just as electrifyingly compelling in this tale as the ones I couldn’t bear to put down before.
Oh. Yes. I was talking about Captain's. Because our dynamic duo are on a boat (er...ship), off to investigate the wonders and terrors of whatever lies over the Western ocean. Which obviously, many people have tried. And equally obviously, very few have returned from. I do want to take a brief moment to take joy in the mentions we have here of the United States and of Canada. If you’ve been wondering what they got up to while the world turned...well, there’s some morsels here, if you fancy digging around for them. And there’s also the sea, and the ship. And its crew, from the terrifying martinet captain and the villainous first mate, through to the various church reprobates picked out to accompany Jal on what may well be a one way trip. I’d like to see more of them, truthfully. The sailors are wonderfully grotesque, but the mix of old friends we know from Jal and Snorri’s previous adventures, and newcomers of dubious provenance in the church folk gives them an aura of mystery, and the cracks in that mystery let their humanity shine through. The icy church representative seemingly sent to keep an eye on Jal, who can barely keep from rolling her eyes at his seeming ineptitude, or the by turns contemplative and terrified bishop, packed off for doing unspeakable things to a monk...well, they have force of personality, and I’d like to see who they were given a little more room to stretch their legs. Mind you, even here, they still have enough room to breathe – and if our focus is on our dynamic duo, still these comrades, old and new, have some of our affections too.
The world...well, if you’re reading this, you know the world of the Broken Empire, shattered by technological hubris, by people become gods, become stories, chained and poisoned by their own ideas. The magic that lived in the infinite power of belief is draining away now, the world no less broken for being more prosaic. But still, remnants persist, glitters of diamonds beneath the waves and shifting sands. Strange magics dance just out of reach, and ancient technological relics suddenly spark to life, with dire threats, and even more dire warnings. The world is changing, but the past is still dredging onto the shores of Jal and Snorri’s story – and those flickers of a future past are as fascinating as ever.
Also, and I realise this may just be one for me, that cover art is incredible.
So anyway. Is this story worth reading? Absolutely. I came away from it with a desire for more, wanting to know what happens next, the hook having firmly caught. It’s witty, funny, emotionally honest, heartfelt, and has the pace and energy to grab hold and keep you turning pages to see what happens next. If you have the chance to read it, you should. If that means getting off the fence, and picking up that gorgeous limited edition omnibus, you should do that, too. You won’t regret it.
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