Demon In White - Christopher Ruocchio

Demon In White is the third in Christopher Ruocchio’s Sun Eater series, a sprawling space opera with galactic scope, and one I’ve spoken about very positively in the past. This instalment takes a lot of the stuff I loved about the first two books - galactic conflict, knives-out politics, rich world-building and strong characterisation - and turned them up to eleven. People scheme. Things go boom. Secrets are revealed. A galactic war soars to new heights. It’s thoughtful science fiction, asking interesting questions about the human condition, but it’s also extremely fun to read, and that alone, apart from all its other virtues, would be enough to recommend it.

We’re back in the universe of Hadrian Marlowe. It’s a universe where humanity has escaped the surly bonds of Earth, and spread throughout the galaxy. Where a time before galactic colonisation is less history than myth. Where a war between rebellious humans and AI left humanity scarred, averse to technology, and with a technophobic priesthood on hand to make sure that the mistakes of the past are not made again. Where humanity is ruled by an aristocracy whose genetic modifications render them near immortal, inhumanly fast and strong, but also sterile. This is the universe of the Sun Eater.

The largest part of the human galactic polity is the Empire into which Hadrian Marlowe fits. Its institutions are modelled on ancient Rome, and the ersatz romanitas blended with remnants of high technology makes for a compelling setting. The mix of late antiquity and far future is a potent one. But the Empire is surrounded by enemies and uncertain allies - from the edges of humanity come the Solarians, who augment their bodies with technology in ways the Empire forbids, to the ravening, cannibalistic hordes of the alien Cielcin. And the Empire is losing. The floating cities of the hartworld of Forum still fly, and the court of the emperor is as lavish as ever, but each battle in this war is costing humanity dearly, even as that cost pays for their continued survival. It’s a cold universe, where the Empire, brutal and feudal as it can be, is still a bright centre of learning, truth and a future for humanity. But the tension of that society is being ranked higher every day, as the Cielcin devour world after world, or are driven away under mountains of bone.

This universe is vivid and real, the splash of blood on a nano-molecular blade being as starkly visible as the towering hulks of Cielcin siege engines, or the quiet, dusty, weighted reality of hidden datavaults clutching forbidden secrets from a lost past. There’s so, so much here it’s hard to talk about it all. It’s enough to say that this universe feels real, feels live din. It shows off the panoply and glory of its institutions in a way that makes you gasp and turn the page, while not shying away from showing the price of that empire, the mud, the blood, the sheer hard graft and sacrifice that keeps the wheels turning. And that too, the essential humanity of glorious institutions built on the back of blood and bone and sacrifice, will keep you turning pages.

Which brings us back to Marlowe. A man who is turning slowly to dreadful things. We’ve seen him in his youth, fiery for change to a system which is, to be fair, systemically unfair. Desperate to form a dialogue with the monsters that threaten humanity, to show that thinking species can reach across the gulf of understanding. This is another Marlowe. One tired of politics and conflict. One with dead friends. With centuries of life under his belt, a lot of it on ships of war. This Marlowe still has that vitality, and it shows: in his love for his partner, and in his affection for his friends and the troops under his command. But there’s harder edges to him now, a willingness to demand sacrifice, even as he’s willing to make them himself. Hadrian Marlowe may now have something of a longer fuse, and more self awareness, but he’s still trying to make the Empire fit his ideals of what it could be, rather than what it actually is. Again, to be fair, he’s not alone in this. All sorts of people in the Imperial court are trying to do their best inside a system which shapes how they can respond to it. But Marlowe’s our protagonist - an unwilling politician, a reluctant hero. The old dream, of living a quiet, scholarly life among the remnants of the past has been swept aside by the reality of military actions and holding things together. I’m not sure Hadrian is a good man, and neither we nor the text can afford ot lionise his choices, even as they get more difficult - but he does make for an interesting, conflicted protagonist, doing “heroic” things, but always on the edge, always not seeing himself outside of others eyes, or out from under the shadow of his past.I’m not sure I always like Marlowe, but I can understand him - his loves, his flashes of temper, his principles, and the hard decisions he makes which have the potential to break with those principles. Hadrian is a whole person, as real as you or I, striding off the page with a blade on his hip, a clever plan on his tongue, and a lot of potential. In any event, he owns every part of the page he appears on, and that’s a joy to read.

In this he’s ably supported by a wonderful cast of comrades on arms, including a few whose appearance brought a genuine smile to my face. Their affection for their commander and esprit de corps are one thing, but the informal banter, the joshing and general signs of long acquaintance and friendship are all there, all showing us another way into this world. The lower decks aren’t faceless automatons, but soldiers with lives and loves and fates and names, and the story doesn’t forget that, and so neither do we. And then there’s Hadrian’s romance, which is (to repeat myself) so much fun. It’s understated, thoughtful and also obviously incredibly heartfelt, an underground torrent racing beneath the surface - and the subsurface - of a man we’re watching hold back the alien hordes. The pure strength of this affection on the page is awe inspiring, and its gentle heart keeps it human. It helps that his lady love is smart, effective, utterly unwilling to take any of Marlowe’s crap, and a force of nature in her own right, of course. It’s not ornate or explicit, but it is a very human kind of love, theirs, and very affecting.

So anyway. The story. In short: Good. Slightly longer? OK. There’s a lot going on here from Hadrian’s search for answers in forbidden vaults of unquiet knowledge, to some downright epic warfare involving humanity and the Cielcin. There’s some court politics mixed in there too, including opportunities for lost love and the slow building of simmering resentments over perceived slights. There’s gladiator combat that has the kinetic energy of a boot to the gut, and space battles that feel at one distant and clinical and immediate and bloody. Tension so thick you could only cut it with highmatter permeates the air, and old secrets are unearthed in a search for truth and victory. The story demands your attention, and it deserves it. This is another fine instalment in the Sun Eater series, and one I strongly encourage you to go and read immediately.