See you in 2024!

 That's right gang, we're done for another year.

Looking forward to bringing you more reviews of upcoming SF&F stories in the new year!

Saevus Corax Captures the Castle - K.J. Parker

The new Parker trilogy is releasing at a rapid pace this year, following up Saevus Corax Deals with the Dead with this new volume. And, in case you were wondering, yes, it is rather good. I will sound a note of caution that it hits a lot of the same notes stylistically as the previous volume. Our protagonist is smart, funny, determined to just keep his head down and out of the way - and yet catastrophic, world altering events seem to always catch him in their wake. Or the other way around, I suppose. There's civilisations that look familiar if you squint and turn your head to the left a bit, some genuinely funny dialogue, and a viciously dark view of the world which also holds up the best of humanity even as it washes its hands of 'em.

Which is to say, it's a K.J. Parker book; by this point, you probably know what you're getting in terms of structure and tone. I will say though that the story remains as wonderfully byzantine as ever (in several senses), the characterisation is detailed, multi-faceted and occasionally throws out a total surprise, and the technical execution in general is top tier. If you liked the previous Corax book, you won't fond this one disappoints. 

Saevus Corax remains as charming, devious and occasionally outright brutal as ever. Or perhaps I should say ruthless, given hsi gift for playing all the angles. In this instance, those angles involve a castle. And how one might take that away from the people currently in it, and keep hold of it afterward. It's a simple conceit (and one which, to be fair, doesn't take up the entire book, which instead pinwheels out of control from there in a very satisfying fashion). But it allows us to see Corax in full flow. To live inside the monologue of someone about to make some very bloody decisions, for the very best of reasons. And later a plan inside another plan inside another. Like an onion, except with arrows and big rocks. There's further, somewhat cryptic delving into his past as well, piecing together things the man himself has tried to forget for quite a while - and which, as these things do, are likely to come back at the worst moment. Again, like an onion, we see sides to Corax we didn't find in the last book - and it's a triumph that Parker can show us these layers, show us the psychological and physical cost of being Saevus Corax, and make him both sympathetic and an unrepentant terror. In any event, Corax remains a fine fellow to share a head and an inner monologue with; just don't accept any wine he gives you.

The story rattles along nicely between reveals, crosses, double crosses and so on. It also moves geographically, including a richly wrought ersatz Byzantine empire, complete with theatres and mail coaches - and other, far stranger places I wont get into for fear of spoilers. Suffice to say, they're eerily alive as well. And the book itself remains a solid, entertaining read moment to moment - from battle debris to sieges to night rides to love and promises and betrayal, there's something for everyone. And the sheer accessibility of Corax as a narrator, his cheerful unreliability and ruthlessness, is what makes it work, and kept me turning pages on and on and on. If you're a Parker fan, it'll probably work for you, too - go give it a whirl.

System Collapse - Martha Wells

 

Murderbot is back!  And it's about time. This series has been a runaway success, and I must admit that in my view it's entirely deserved. I've been champing at the bit for a new Murderbot novel since, well, since about a day after the release of the last one. And, well, here it is. Is it any good? Dear reader, the answer is an unmitigated yes. If you're a fan, and up to date with the series: Go out and pick this one up right away. If you're not: Go and read the rest of the series, then go out and pick this one up right away.

Now that that's out of the way. 

Murderbot, eh? It's a fantastic protagonist, a fish out of water that isn't entirely sure whether it wants to be in the water or invest in some sort of aquatic environmental suit. Murderbot doesn't know exactly what it is, but it knows it isn't an AI, or a robot, or a human. But it's also determined to be a person, on its own terms, with an ethical framework spun up from first principles, with the help of sci-fi space operas and rather a lot of sarcasm. And it's going well, between ups and downs, corporate takeovers, hostile alien assimilations and the odd drone-battle, Murderbot is figuring itself out. But there's a lot to unpack there - and this is a story about how Murderbot isn't alright, actually, and how that's okay. Because after everything its seen and done, Murderbot is having to handle some fairly impressive trauma...but also keep people alive, and do all kinds of heroics, when it would clearly much rather be watching its shows. 

One of the strong points of the series has been the way it delves into emotion, into how and why we feel the way we do. Approaching the idea that it's okay not to be okay, Wells wraps it in a panacea of banter and explosive action, but the raw, emotional honesty of Murderbot remains. It's digging around to figure out what it is, and why it doesn't feel right. And as readers, we can live that struggle, empathise with that pain, cheer on that discovery and, perhaps, recovery. This is a book which talks about isolation, about depression, about identity and that sense of belonging (or not). And it hurts to read and think about and empathise over, but it also feels true. 

That said. Don't worry if the above isn't entirely your cup of tea. Because we aren't entirely here to unpick Murderbot's psyche. We're also here to save the world. Well, a world, anyway. Because Murderbot and its friends are currently far out on a limb, trying to dig a colony of hapless people out of the alien-contaminated soup they got themselves into, while fending off the ever helpful efforts of a rapacious interstellar corporation, which isn't entirely above bringing in a squad of bots of its own, to help things go the way it wants. You can always rely on this series to poke fun at corporate culture in service of painting a dystopian corporate future, and it does so with all the grace and lethality of a stiletto between the ribs. The planet itself, the claustrophobic tunnels packed with wary colonists and alien remnants that might be time-bombs, is familiar from earlier in the series, but no less well realised for that; the cramped habitats and dusty, wayward tram tracks into looming darkness remain as ominously mundane as ever. Murderbot's world is a plausible one, a lived in one, one you may see in your minds eye a year or ten from now. A warning to us, and possibly a promise. 

As for the story, well. Absolutely stellar. This is a thoughtful, action-packed story about people, and also humans. And it has a heart to it, and an emotional weight and gravitas that you can feel *searing* into you off the back of every page.

And it has the banter you're looking for, maybe. And it has the snark. But it also has points to make about corporations and how we choose to live our lives while we try and make good choices. And about the agency we have to make choices. And it explores consequences and it hurts and it'll jerk tears and pain right out of you by being a story about a sarcastic Murderbot which is also real and raw and true and painful and vulnerable in its honesty.

Another fantastic entry in the series - and thoroughly recommended.

Back next week!

 We've been at the doctors and it turns out neither of us can type much at the moment without suffering - so we'll be back next week!

Chaos Terminal - Mur Lafferty

Lets talk about Chaos Terminal. It's the second in Mur Lafferty's Midsolar Murders series, and if you ask me, that pun alone is worth the price of admission. The first instalment introduced us to Mallory Viridian, a woman who always seems to be around when a murder takes place, and who always seems able to solve them. Getting tired of a constant cavalcade of dead bodies in her wake, she now lives on a space station, surrounded by aliens, most of whom don't drop dead around her. A few of them do eat people, or, from time to time, turn into sentient battlemechs made of rock, but that's a small price to pay, relatively speaking. Unfortunately for Mallory, the people of Earth have finally been allowed to send a proper ambassador out to talk to the different aliens in the galaxy, starting with her location. And they're on their way - which probably means someone is about to die, again.

The focus of the story remains Mallory, a protagonist whose business-like public face is backed up by vulnerability, honesty and an intense, well, humanity. After the events of the first book in the series, Mallory seems a little more settled in herself. No longer spooking at casual interactions,, not immediately assuming the worst, not living a hand to mouth existence in fear of what she might make happen next. Having said that, she's not action-girl-superhero either. Mallory Viridian is a woman who tries to think things through, figure things out as best she can, and do the right thing. If she's a little less internally conflicted about who she is and what she is now, that helps - but she's still the same thoughtful investigator she's always been, pulling on threads and connections, trying to see what's what and who's who to who. And she still has a certain emotional fragility to her, a life built on loss and murder having not really helped with that. This new Mallory is going to have to adjust though, because her past is, quite literally, going to catch up with her. A shuttle full of new people, well, new humans, form Earth is here. And, of course, a lot of them know her, and a lot of them can't stand each other.  But whether the new Mallory will sink or swim when faced with past friends and enemies thought long gone is another matter - and while I won't spoil it for you, I'll say this: if Mallory comes out at the end of this story, she'll be a very different person to the one we see on page one. And you can rely on Mur Lafferty to make us care about it. To feel the raw emotion, feel the truth of Mallory's existence, the small joys and different pains that make her life a,, well, life.

The story itself starts gently, as people start to arrive on Station Eternity, Mallory's new home. And people start to leave, too. And we're treated to some wonderful descriptions of truly alien environs, physiologies, and attitudes. That sense for the alien but familiar, and that feel for the deeply strange, have made this series one with a depth of imagination and invention in its worldbuilding that is hard to beat. As things escalate, as alarms start to go off, both mental and physical, that world seems in danger of crashing down. The rising tension and the steadily beating pace will keep you turning pages; just one more, to see how they get out of this one. Just one more, to see what happens next. Just one more, to see if this suspect is a killer. Just one more, to see who the guilty parties are. And it's three in the morning and the end was worth it but damned if you don't want the next book right now. 

And that, right there, that feeling was what I got when I finished this book, and why it's a book I think you all should hurry up and read.

Saevus Corax Deals With The Dead - K.J. Parker

Saevus Corax Deals With the Dead is the latest from K.J. Parker, and the start of a new series from them, to boot. Not to speak out of school, but it’s another solid entry, bringing the trademark wry wit blended with occasional violence, entwined with a story with as many twists and turns as a…twisty, turny thing. I’ll be the first to admit that I was never quite sure where the tale was going to take me next, but that I absolutely enjoyed every second of finding out. 

As is typical for Parker, we have a protagonist whom we might charitably describe as “morally grey”, or less charitably as “a bit of an arsehole”. Saevus Corax, for it is he, makes up for it with both a bounty of charm, and a voice which is razor sharp, horribly cynical, and unforgiving of his own flaws. Saevus Corax may be an arsehole, but he knows that, and makes no apologies. Well, he might make an apology, but he’s still going to steal your horse. Or possibly hit you over the head and take your boots. Hard to say, really. For all that though, Saevus Corax is a charmer. He’s someone who likes to talk, who can make the glibbest lie seem plausible. And, in fairness to him, he’s also got a shiny trap of a mind, full of gears and wheels. Because you can always see him falling from one crisis to another, but what you can’t see is whether that particular crisis is also something he’s made into an opportunity. It is, to be honest, tricky to get one around on Saevus Corax, and he’d be the first to tell you so. It helps that he has a fun supporting cast, but if I’m honest, this is largely a one person show, a man thrown into the firmament by the vagaries of chance and his own survival strategies.

As usual with Parker, that firmament may end up being rather bigger than you expect. There’s a lot of world on display here, all of it clearly precision-crafted. We can wade through mud and blood and bodies, digging for teeth, straightening arrowheads, and asking questions like “Saevus Corax, would you say battlefield salvage is a good gig?”. Or we can approach lavish courts, and regal suites with high and oddly barred windows, to learn about how one nation  survives as a counterbalance between conflicting empires. We can talk about the economics of murder, the economics of nation-states, and how those probably aren’t quite the same thing. The sense of history is always there, in the grime and the dirt and the banal humanity amongst the grandeur, and the surprising divinity of the humane amongst the grime. It’s a sprawling world, from sea battles to mud puddles and back around again, and it’s a world that makes sense to itself, both immediately and on a larger scale. Each character is taking sensible steps, and together, they’re changing the weft and warp of their world - and occasionally we may pull our vantage back and be able to see that. Or perhaps not, this time. In any case, the world is richly imagined, vividly described, and I’m rather grateful I don’t live there.

I already alluded to the story, and honestly, that’s all I can do without giving something away. It begins on a battlefield, but inside the first twenty or so pages, we;re having expectations upended, and truths turned into lies (and, perhaps, back again later).  The story is at once personal, the story of Saevus Corax and how he got where he is, and epic in the sense that it’s about a world changing around a focal point, around central events - or just by chance. It’s a story that blends those two perfectly, makes you care, and is going to make you keep turning pages until you’re done. K.J. Parker at his best, and that’s saying something.

Amongst Our Weapons - Ben Aaronovitch

Amongst Our Weapons is the ninth (ninth!) full novel in the PC Peter Grant series, in which a hapless young police constable has an unexpected encounter  with a ghost, and then finds his life very rapidly going out of control. He's since dealt with eh dead, with malevolent mages, with incipient AI's, goblin markets, the London Underground system, and, most worryingly of all, the byzantine bureaucracy of the London Metropolitan Police. Along the way he's made and lost both enemies and friends, and the Peter Grant at the start of this book is starting to look a little frayed around the edges. No wonder, given how busy he's been.

That said, if the Peter Grant of this story is quieter, more contemplative perhaps, he's still going to be familiar to long-term, fans. There's the low-grade snark that anyone working a professional role exhibits, albeit given a police-centric spin. There's the digressions into London history and architecture, which are always good fun (and usually plot relevant). And there's the raw, self-aware honesty that makes Peter work as a protagonist. He approaches his own emotions and thoughts with an enthusiastic energy which makes it possible to take him seriously, while adding in enough banter and touches of humanity that he seems like a person. In this case, a person soon to be on the receiving end of fatherhood, mulling how that will affect him. But still recognisably PC Grant - older, nominally wiser, but still ticking along, alongside the longer-running supporting cast. I'm not sure I'd want a new reader to start here, but if they did, I think that Peter's internal dialogue, his way of seeing the world, would remain as powerful a unique voice as it ever was (and it's always nice to see BAME representation, too.) As noted, the gang is largely back together here, from the taciturn, old-school Nightingale, who drives a jag, wears a suit, gives off a genial uncle vibe, and once drilled a fireball through a Tiger tank, to the various rivers of London - from haughty Tyburn on down - and back to the blustery, take-no prisoners Seawoll, whose nice tidy murder investigations keep getting interrupted by "weird bollocks. There's a sprawling group by this time, and we'll all have our favourites. I think most of them are here somewhere, though it does sometimes feel like they're spread a bit thin by sheer weight of numbers. Still, an entertaining crowd, all the same.

Incidentally, some parts of this story dare to trespass outside the borders of London. They even involve going into the unknown hinterlands of The North. There, wyrd smiths ply an ancient occult trade, ghosts haunt the moors, and occasionally, someone attempts to do a rather supernaturally tinged murder. It's lovely to diverge our location a little; Aaronovitch's love of London folklore is obvious, but it's a joy to see that beam of inquiry digging around in the rest of the UK, which certainly deserves it.  But worry not, because there's also plenty of lore of London to be had, and in any event, the geography itself carries a sense of weight, of place, in both cases. That is to say, they have enough flavour and texture, personal and descriptive, to make them feel real. I will note that nine novels and a great many novellae and comic collections into the series, it sometimes feels like I'm missing contest; some relationships on the page work well enough, but feel like they'd have more resonance if I'd read a comic or two, for example. Still, the relationships work as they are, for me - though  I might not start here as a first time reader, as an old hand, they're charming and comfortable.

The story I shan't spoil, though those of you with a working knowledge of Monty Python may venture to a guess or two of the focus. It does however trot along well enough. Clues and motives are laced through the story, available to the alert reader (and occasionally, to the regular reader, like me).The story pulls at the roots of its genre here, building a murder investigation from the ground up, walking us through procedure, revelation by revelation on the search for truth. And, to be fair, it's not above the occasional swift pivot either, to keep you on your toes.

After nine books, that there are any surprises at all are a joy; and also after nine books, you know broadly what you're getting. This is a smart, funny murder book, with a splash of British history, and a soupcon of magic. If you're a series regular, this is worth reading - and if you're not, you can always give it a try.

Back next week!

 Sorry gang, we're all sick here - back next week!

Station Eternity - Mur Lafferty

Mur Lafferty has been on my list of writers to watch since her Six Wakes, a tale of clones, murder and people at their best (and worst) blew me away a year or two ago. She's done other work, including top-tier podcasting, a Star Wars novelisation, and has a couple of complete series under her belt, in different brackets. Which is to say, it seems like Lafferty can write anything, and write it well.

Which brings us to Station Eternity. On the surface this is an intriguing sci-fi murder mystery, which takes human fish out of water Mallory and Xan, and asks them to find a killer in an entirely alien space, in a milieu filled with walking rock people, sentient wasps, and all sorts of other people who are still coming to terms with the idea that humans are sentient, and not just walking bags of squishy noise. They have a smattering of clues, they can think fast on their feet, and they'd better, because it's entirely possible their lives are on the line. And their secrets, which might be worse. I say on the surface it's this. It's also this  in the detail as well. The central mystery and mayhem and murder ticks along with the precision of a swiss watch, if the watch were filled with misdirection, outright lies, dark pasts, and more than a splash of blood. It's beautifully designed to keep the reader guessing, while giving them just enough information that it doesn't feel like they're guessing blindly. This is a story aware of history, deftly weaving strands of Poirot and Midsomer Murders into a broader tapestry of science fiction. 

It is, however, also a book about connection. About the way humans, or people in general, reach out to those around them and try to make something of it. Reach past loneliness and selfishness and grief to put a little light in the universe. Mallory and Xan are most of the humans on the sentient Eternity, but that doesn't seem to slow them down, as they both live in separately splendid isolation, but also build up connections in the weft of things, looking to aliens to have a common understanding that some humans might struggle with. This is a story about the way people can connect to each other, for good or ill. And that is, of course, rather convenient in a murder mystery. Everyone is a suspect. Everyone is connected. There's always a story. 

I must confess to having a soft spot for Mallory, a woman who has spent her life running away from connections. Mostly because everywhere she goes, someone seems to get murdered. Not, in a lovely nod to Cabot Cove, by Mallory. But she's always on the scene when someone turns up dead, and she's always solving the murder well before the police arrive. Now she's on Eternity, where people seem less prone to dropping dead wherever she goes. Mallory is tough and fragile at once, resting on assumptions of how things are, bathed in her own tragedy, while still kicking the traces. And well she might, because it's possible the situation on Eternity, where she feels she can live safely, is about to be upended. In any case, Mallory is a fun protagonist. Thoughtful, sometimes brittle or abrupt, she's always working to do the right thing, if she can work out what it is, while shouldering and walking past her own trauma. She's vulnerable and tough and open and a mask all at once, and so a joy to read.

The same is true of the story itself, which I very much shan't spoil. But it starts big, and only gets bigger as the Catherine Wheel of Consequences begins to spin/. As Mallory investigates, and uncovers secrets in unlikely places, even her own heart. It's a mystery that had me turning to over in my mind trying to figure it out, and grinning with every revelation as the mystery, slowly unlocked. This is a good sci-fi book, a good mystery book, and a great blend of the two, and perfect for fans of both. Do yourself a favour and check it out.

A Sword of Bronze and Ashes - Anna Smith Spark

Anna Smith Spark is, in certain circles, a legend. The "Queen of Grimdark" brought us the dark, metal, unspeakably violent and yet beautifully written Empires of Dust series. It was raw and human and bloody and wonderful, and I think I spoke about each book in the series in increasingly glowing terms. 

And now, a new novel, A Sword of Bronze and Ashes. Something different, a folk horror fairytale. Still with the same poetry, the same multi-layered prose coursing the wine-dark sea of liquid prose. Still with the same sense of humanity, both at our best and, oh my, at our worst. But also with a focus somewhere different. This is a book about family, about one woman and her journey into the future to deal with the consequences of the past, and her daughters, and how they have to grapple with a legacy which could define them if they let it. And it's wrapped up in a story, a journey that reads like a dream spiked with flashes of nightmare, our cast moving between spaces, between the grounded world around them, the soaring towers of years past, and the bare copper knives of the not-quite yet, all at once. The prose is liquid, tumbling rocky thoughts over in your mind, the story prying them loose, to see what lies beneath. And that's without getting into what it does to the cast.

Kanda is, for want of a better word, our protagonist. A woman who, three children later, quietly whiles away her time on a farm, looking after animals, baling hay, and generally living a quiet life. What Kanda did before she looked after animals and children is another matter. Unfortunately for her, or at least for her quiet life, her past is about to catch up to her in a big way. Because the world Kanda inhabits is as much myth and story as it is known to us. While she pulls in corn and feeds livestock, she speaks with the dead who line the doorways of buildings, keeping them safe from harm. And wards against things roaming in the night, skipping between realities like we would use a revolving door. 

Because the darkest dreams of humanity are out here, and very real, in this world where myth and story are another context entwined within reality. Kanda's world is a saga, a song,  because it can't be anything else. Kanda is brutally prosaic, a woman who is sometimes drunk, also sometimes hungover, often tired, with an intimate understanding of violence. But in the past, she has been a dream of something more, something which soared, even while the dream in which it lived began to collapse under its own weight. As to what and who else Kanda is, that you'll have to see for yourself. But she is solid in her roles, all of them. A fierce and weighty presence whose sheer determination makes the page and the story and the words wrap around her. The dream she was and the person she is may not be the same, but Kanda is utterly real, to us, as well as to everyone on the page. It's fantastic incidentally, to see her portrayal in the now of the book, a tired woman with three children and a husband, forced back into metaphorical harness by her desire to protect them and keep them safe; and they're there with her and she with them, and the family dynamic has all the bickering and affection and poison and joy of, well, a family. It's something we often sacrifice for tales of battle-maidens in shiny armour, and seeing this, a family story, makes my heart sing a little.

Because this is a family story. Kanda's daughters are varying degrees of young; and it's wonderful that they're all so different. In the way they talk, in the way they react, in what they believe. But in their strengths, in the mistakes they make and the ways they try to fix them, in the passions they feel and the responsibilities they feel they can bear, they're able to find a way to bind themselves together.

And the story. Well, you know I don't spoil those. But it's a very concrete as well as a metaphorical journey. Diving into the past to see how Kanda got where she is now, to build a context for why things are happening. And walking with her through the now, inch by inch as she pulls her family toward, if not safety, a conclusion, a sense of catharsis. It's a story that comes with tension so thick you can less cut it with a knife than actively chew on it - as well as your nails - waiting ot see how thing splay out. And it has the sumptuous, glittering romance of a chivalric folktale, and the mud and blood and disaster of one too. This is a story that pulls no punches, and in fact probably has a stiletto secreted in one hand and a broadsword nonchalantly twirling from the other. It's a story you'll be up at 4AM trying to finish.

So is it good? Hell yes. Should you read it? Hell yes. This is another winner for Anna Smith Spark, and a story you owe it to yourself to read as soon as possible.

Back next week!

 We're on holiday this week, so no review today. Review next week, when we're back!

Gods of the Wyrdwood

Gods of the Wyrdwood is the start of a new series from R.J. Barker, whose previous series I've enjoyed immensely. Fortunately, I can safely say that this is a strong start to a series: a new world, with new  characters, but the same strong writing, the same emotional depth, the same strange and wonderful on every page. If you're looking for something new, something that will make you think, and make you feel, something which isn't quite like anything else out there...then this is the book for you.

Part of the reason for that is the worldbuilding. Barker has always excelled at creating worlds that feel real, feel lived in. They also tend to be strange, beautiful, and brutal, and this one is no exception. Because this is a world that lives or dies depending on power. A world whose very orientation on its axis is driven by magic. A world where the ability to command the elements is a function of a symbiosis between a person and, well, something else entirely. And also a world of wood. Much of the story revolves around The Forester, someone who can walk through the various levels of forest, perhaps even the titular Wyrdwood. Where a tree might be large enough to walk around, and where cuts from its branches might be able to be animated with a thought.  The forest sits close by our protagonist, and the small world he allows himself, and stretches seemingly endless into the night. Stepping within is an act of courage, going too deep is an act of madness. Because what the forest is most of all is uncaring - but like the sea, uncaring doesn't mean not deadly, Each step is a risk. And within the forest, what seems like it's uncaring may suddenly come alive with malice or, perhaps worse, some kind of unknowable, but probably unpleasant (for you) agenda. But Barker really shines in shaping that forest, in making it feel like a place where things live, where everything has its niche, even if we don't understand it. And the trees and the various horrors they contain have a deeply grounded sense of place, a feeling of the concrete. And they're not alone in that. Outside the trees are the human world rolls on regardless. In the deeper distance, a continent-wide war is a conflagration devouring lives by the bucketload. The cities are ruled by an aristocracy filled with long-lived magic users, most of whom are some version of vicious, cruel or uncaring. They're made of soaring spires which seem to have been built by an unknown builder for unknown reasons, with an unknown lifespan and a propensity for...imaginative...geometry. The world beyond the forest is no less real, but may be more actively cruel. And it's a world driven by religion, by prophets, by big and small gods, as people in power try to grab on to just a little more. 

And into that space steps the Forester, someone who was once a Chosen One. Someone meant to break the world. Someone trained to kill, to shatter, to make great changes. A once in a century event. And then...there was another one. Suddenly a special child ran into the night, no longer special. And a long timer later, we find them at the edge of the forest, living a solitary life, shearing for wool, farming, and keeping their head down. Trying not to feel too much, to stay out of trouble, to be a mouse in the walls and just be left alone. The Forester is someone who has hurt and been hurt, fought and been beaten down. They have a façade of self-interest, a need to remain cut off from connection. Or perhaps just a desire. How true their image of themselves as an isolated island is, well that's something you'll have to delve into the story for., I will say that the characterisation here is top notch, not just for our protagonist, but for the rest of the ensemble. The villagers who regard him with a mixture of suspicion and disdain. The mages who look for nothing other than a means to keep themselves alive, to survive and benefit from the deaths of others. The monks haranguing their parishioners, and the quieter rumblings of different gods in a world struggling with a clash between ancient theism and armed monotheists. There's a diversity of viewpoint, and an honesty in it that makes the story work, makes the characters feel like they're really there, people and not words on a page. You can laugh and cry and feel with them, empathise, sympathise, scream and cry along with them. They feel real.

As for the story. Well, as ever, no spoilers on this one. But it's got the bones of a redemption arc. It's got a found family at its heart. And it has a positivity, a hope in what people are, despite everything, in it soul. It's got a whole bunch of politics. Some genuinely horrifying and epic magic. It has the kind of battles that make you hold your breath, and the kind of brutal immediacy that will make you feel like you're bleeding. It has a truth to it, this story, a story of someone who just wants to be left alone, and the story of people who are willing to hold true to who they are in the face of a society with different expectations, a strength to say yes to truth and friendship and humanity, and no to murder, blood and fire, even in the face of a world that wants to hammer them into the ground. It's a story I couldn't put down. And that's the highest recommendation I can give - go and read this book right now.

The Devil's Gun - Cat Rambo

The Devil's Gun is the sequel to Cat Rambo's You Sexy Thing, which I would characterise as a space opera in which an ex-admiral turned restauranteur has to save themselves and their found family from an ominous nemesis and their own feelings. Occasionally, they blow stuff up!

The Devil's Gun serves up a lot of the same dishes as its predecessor, but with some interesting new flavours. The crew, fresh from their defeat of Tubal Last - space pirate and general do-babder - are trying to settle into themselves after a fairly hectic period. They've had losses that they need to deal with. They've brought new members into their little family, including a sentient, star-hopping bio-ship with a bit of an attitude. They've lost people. too, and need to grieve. And even as they're doing that, new stormclouds are gathering, threatening to tear away at all they've built. 

The team on the Thing are on a mission, a mission to find an old love, an old friend. And while they're doing that, they're still trying to rebuild themselves, physically and mentally. Most of the book feels like a character piece, in a good way. An ensemble cast, whose views we get to see, whose weaknesses and fears are laid bare on the page, even while their actions set up their strengths. Some of them, like Atlanta, one time Imperial heir, now occasional mushroom-chopper are feeling insecure and looking for purpose. Some of them, like the Thing itself, are reaching out, trying to define their boundaries. Understand their feelings, and what provokes them, what makes them happy, and why, sometimes, you might need to do the harder thing. And some of them are deep in their grief. You can feel that roiling off them, a miasma that infects everything they do, and tries to define what they are. In some ways, large parts of the story are meditations on that grief; the way that loss shapes people, the way it makes them do things they wouldn't normally do, for better or worse. The way that living it can be horrible and hurtful and healthy, and clutching it too tight can be poison. 

Which all sounds very dramatic, and in some ways it is. But the crew of the Thing spend a large amount of the story working alongside each other, a story in a bottle over a flame, slowly simmering away. There are, for those of you who were wondering, more twists, more betrayals, and more revelations in the world of Niko and her gang. Some of them are potentially galaxy-spanning in their impacts. Others are quieter - the click of a kitchen knife chopping vegetables, the fierce strength of someone digging in raw soil for their purpose.

I won't spoil here beyond saying that the Thing will run into enemies and friends old and new. Some of them are charming and rougish and e a delight to read; others are petty tyrants, with a sense of turgid malice about them that makes you grit your teeth, and feel catharsis when comeuppance occurs. This is The Devil's Gun, another story about the family that is the crew of the Thing. It's their stories, the complex notes of tragedy and joy over the base of action, adventure, and really wild things, those stories that make the meal. It's a slow burn, building context and emotional investment layer by layer, page by page, but the final product deserves, well, whatever a Michelin star is for stories. If you're new to the series, it's probably worth going back before you go forward, the story works better that way, has more weight, more depth to it. But if you're fresh off the first book and looking for more, don't worry.

The Devil's Gun does not disappoint.

The Hunters - David Wragg

Alright, The Hunters. I've had a good time with Dave Wragg's books in the past, so I went in hopeful, but without much idea of what I was getting into. And you know what? What I got was a smart, funny, heartfelt story of a family trying to navigate around each other and the way they saw each other. I saw a woman with a chequered past trying to make something better, and a young woman looking for something better than that, pushing back. I saw some absolutely delightful chase scenes in a fantasy-western motif. I saw a few stark moments that felt like magic and made me go "Huh!". I got some twists and turns in the story that kept me on my toes, and I got some unpleasant villains to rail against and some delightful heroes to cheer along.

This is a good book, is what I'm saying to you here.

Perhaps the book is called The Hunters because everyone in it seems to be looking for something. The central duo are Ree and Javani. Now Javani. Javani is a smart girl, a simmering bowl of resentment of where she is now, in a mining town in the armpit of nowhere. Someone trying to make something of herself and work out what that something is, while trying to define her own identity. She's fast and thoughtful, someone always trying to put a plan together, someone pushing back against a world which seems destined to give her nothing but a provincial quiet life. And one of the main architects is the other half of that duo, her aunt, Ree. Javani is looking for identity and purpose, for parentage and truth, and working out who she wants to be. Ree. Ree knows who she is. Sometimes it seems like she wishes she didn't. Quite what's led her out into a dead-end farmstead in the middle of nowhere is something of a mystery. But you can feel the edges to Ree, the ones rounded away, a sharp blade kept sheathed, both metaphorically and physically. What Ree is looking for is that quiet life Javani rails so hard against - that life of safety, a space to let the girl come into her own. A space where Ree can perhaps walk away from the past, and what it did to her, and what she did, too. Their interactions are fierce and awkward, poignant and perilous in equal measure, and the energy of the space between them sparks with every word struck. It's a good time, this. 

On the lighter side, of sorts, are the siblings, Anashe and Aki. Them? They're hunting for information, and they're hunting for history. They're looking to know about their family, about those who died, and why, and what they were like, before the two were born. And that trail has led them to a farmstead in the middle of nowhere. They have a different vibe to Ree and Javani. Aki, in particular, is an effervescent, endlessly positive delight, who assists that disposition by running a full speed motormouth, with a lexicon that would make a thesaurus blush. He's just fun to read. Anashe is the quieter, more contemplative, with a ground down patience for her brother and a vituperative tongue that she wields like a lash (mostly at Aki, which he mostly ignores). They're ruthless enough, and determined, and passionate, and trying to be better. There's a poignant undercurrent to their rare, quieter moments, as they work out what they're doing, and why.

And then, well, there's the others. Lazant and Kahlida are also hunting something. Something more, or less abstract perhaps. Power. Influence. A place of safety, security. The approval of a parent. But they're willing to wade in blood to get it, to grind their way through dust and lightning, blasting powder and blades, to grasp what they feel is theirs. Relentless, entitled, bloody and, at the core, contemptuous of these little towns and their little lives, they're a duo who you can feel festering behind golden smiles on every page where they appear.

This is a story about stories, too. About the stories we tell each other and ourselves. How Ree looks at herself. What she tells Javani about her past. What Javani tells herself about her future. What Aki and Anashe think they know and want to know about their family and why. And what the world tells itself about itself, a mining town slowly being absorbed by a guild with tentacles deep in more urban places, where they don't care about the miners, just the bottom line. Like the people, the place is a liminal space, a place on the edge of things. Straddling the wilderness and what insists on calling itself civilisation. What it's been is a place of safety, but what it might be is somewhere between a thriving town, and a desolate wasteland. I loved the way the quiet desperation of a marginal mining town was evoked, the core economic certainties behind the crossbows and charms, the gold behind the blood and steel.

And it's this blend of a vividly realised world, a world of grit and blood and love and tears, vengeance and joy, along with the strong characterisation, the tightly written, complex, human relationships, filled with simmering tensions, explosions (literal as well as metaphorical), the quiet moments, the drawn breath in the dark. That there's chases and swordfights and banter and, yes, more than one big explosion, is helpful, of course. But it's these things, these human moments that make this a book you want to read, and read again right after you're done. 

Anyway. Bloody good book. Give it a whirl.

Outlaw Mage - K.S. Villoso

Outlaw Mage is the start of a new series for Villoso, whose Annals of the Bitch Queen series was a delightful, bloody, character-driven read that dovetailed complex human relationships with a desire to explore the ideas and issues that make people, well, people. And, you know, also stab people a lot. On balance, I think this new book has similar strengths; the character work is top-notch, the world-building is at once intricate and organic, so it never feels like you're being infodumped, and the story certainly kept me turning pages long after I should've been in bed. There are, I think, fewer stabbings. On the other hand, there's quite a few messy magical demises in there, so it probably balances out. So that's the capsule review. Magic, cynical, smart protagonist who is slightly too jaded for her own good, an immigrant story, a family story, a story of expectations and reality, a story of fighting against a system from inside and outside it, a story with more than a few explosions. It's a great time, and you should read it. 

Now, a little more in depth stuff. Full disclosure, I backed this one on Kickstarter, so I was primed to enjoy it, given Villoso's record. And, well, I did. So lets talk a bit about why.

First, I like Rosha. The protagonist of the book, she's a woman with talent. Magical talent to be precise. The sort of talent that lets you teleport around the place, or turn your enemies inside out. She's fiercely intelligent, and deeply uncompromising. She is also, at least in my view, someone who has a lot of wards up against a system that is designed to hurt her. She struggles, sometimes, to relate to people. In many ways, she wants to be left alone. But oh, is she proud. A woman who knows she's the best in her class, at the pre-eminent magical academy. Surrounded by sycophants, try-hards and political scions, all of whom will end up better positioned than she does, because of where she came from. Because Rosha is from a little-loved late-acquired portion of a fantasy Empire, a place nobody thinks about much, a place where the people are othered, not worth the time of those folks who go to, say, elite magic schools. But Rosha is definat and competent and knows what she's about.  I love that for her, about her. And seeing her struggle, to try and make something of herself out of the expectations other s have set for her, and that she set for herself, that's a joy, too.; As is the life and energy and passion you can see in her when she's talking about her family, with her family. As an aside, it's lovely to just see a family like this. They're a sprawling net of squabbling, loving, hurtful, silly, murderous, wonderful people, and honestly I'd go to dinner with all of them. The dynamics there are perfect, the prodigal daughter with one foot out the door and one foot teetering over the edge of the frame, one way or the other, trying to find acceptance and herself in equal measure. Honestly, I'm doing Rosha a disservice, because there'#s so much going on beneath the surface of her story, as the book slowly unpacks he rmotivations, her past, and that of those around her. But I'm struggling to convey to you what a complex, thoughtful, fiercely angry, even more fiercely talented protagonist she is, how shaped by her past, and how huiman she is because of that, and the pain and love that those experiences encapsulate.

Also, she is, I must confess, sometimes a bit of an acid-tongued take-no-shit kind of person, and I do appreciate that.

Then there's the world. This is a world with, I'm not going to say problems, but problems. It's a world whose story is, at least currently, centred on an Empire with a capital E. An expansionist, hungry Empire. One that considers itself to be the centre of everything, that reaches out to the people and cultures around it on a self-imposed mission to civilise. Well, in between mining and logging and, you know, resource extraction from those Other places. Villoso builds up the splendor and decay of that empire wonderfully. From institutions riven through with factional infighting, to functionaries trying to get on top of things, but still trapped by their entrenched cultural biases, to a visceral, virulent, quietly hideous disdain for those who come in from the outside, couched in a language of grudging, back-handed acceptance. This is imperialism writ large, and small, a pervasive influence that you can feel coming off the page and seeping into your bones. Then there's the distant wilds, the places where an airship run by magic rolls by once a month or so, and everyone is out on the edges of what is called civilisation, trying to make a life for themselves and stay out of the way of everything that abides in liminal spaces, as well as the ever approaching boots of the local Authority. And as you're washing through the clear streams and rude log cabins and neighbours with a pie on the window sill and just a little casual racism in their heart of hearts, you're off to the towering ivory spires of an elite institution, which happens to train people to use magic, while also helping them learn how to run an empire. As long as they don't forget their place, their constraints, the system that put them there and could remove them if it felt the impersonal need to do so - or a personal one, come to that. The empire is a facade of institutions wrapped around power and wealth and a set of lies it tries to tell itself in the dark of night about who it is, and, wow does that all feel very familiar to me in terms of lived experience. This is how things used to be, not that long ago, out here off the page - and you can feel the same energy here, building a world that's rich and exploitative and violent in the abstract and the practical, even as it manages to be the biggest, nearly the only game in town. This is a world that feels real, and Villoso is unafraid to explore what that means.

The story...well, I don't want to spoil it, honestly. Because there's moment sin there that made me laugh out loud. And twists that made me blink, and mentally rearrange my idea of what was going on. And quiet moments of honesty and intimacy and pain that come off the page at you like knives and kisses in a roll of words. Suffice to say, it's a story that has a lot to say, and tells itself well. You should read it, because it's one of the best things I've read this year, and I want everyone else to get the chance to feel how this made me feel. Do it.

Translation State - Ann Leckie

Translation State is a new standalone from Ann Leckie, set in her Imperial Radch universe, which many readers may be familiar with from her earlier work. But if not, don't worry - this one works perfectly well as a standalone. It's one part mystery, one part legal thriller, with a dash of fast-paced action swirled in for flavour. And, not to give the game away, it work very, very well. Leckie is one of the best contemporary writers of thoughtful, high concept science fiction, and it shows in this story which is both gentle and angry and clever all at once.

The story revolves around a tripod of characters. Enae, who is out on her own for the first time after a lifetime of living in the shadow of a grandmother who was less than a positive role model Reet, living on a space station, doing unpleasant jobs for little in the way of recognition, an adopted son who struggles with his place in the world and his identity - especially since the latter seems to come with an urge to literally take people apart. Which is, obviously, frowned upon. And then there's Qven. Qven was created by and to serve as a translator for the alien Presgr. Qven has always been told what their role is to be, but Qven is also starting to wonder if that path is something to actually pursue. 

One of Leckie's strengths is that she can give her characters a voice. All three people are just that. People. And they sound and feel different on the page because of the lived experiences that we hear about and are shown. Enae's fear of living a little bigger, of breaking out of the confines of a life that enveloped like a hermit crab's shell, is palpable. As is the pressure Reet feels building up inside himself, the vivid horrors of his dreams and needs. And Qven, Qven is strange and wonderful and horrifying and joyful, and trying to find and become who they want to be and not who they're expected to be. And each of these people have a voice that resonates with who they are, and we can feel their passion and weakness and delight and smaller terrors and flashes of joy coming right off the page to hit us right in the gut. I...ironically, I don't want ot talk about them too much, because each of them grows so much from who they are into someone new through the story. And it's that journey which matters.  I will say that Leckie does a great job at making the strange and horrific and wonderful feel prosaic t the characters embedded in it, whilst still letting us have a sense of strangeness and discovery even as we come to accept these things alongside the characters. Honestly, I don't think anyone writing today captures that sense of different but people as well as Leckie has done here. We can get into these characters heads, into their lives, and be somewhere completely familiarly strange. From the first page I was catching up on social context, cues, who meant what to who and what events actually meant...but it all fit together and it all made sense to the people on the page, even while I was unpicking who they were. Suffice to say, Leckie has brought us some fantastic people on the page, who it was a pleasure to follow along with, even when what they were up to was....rather odd.

Speaking of rather odd. The universe is sprawling, filled with, ha, different places. Or, to be more specific, places that feel different. The cloistered halls of Enae's existence, filled with the artifacts of a grandparent who lived seemingly forever, have a sense of age and claustrophobia and potential denied. While the claustrophobia of Reet cleaning station maintenance tunnels is more literal, the grime more practical, the cramped space for hope remains the same, even as they both find burgeoning change is making all the difference. There's little touches in both places, from the detail on folding sideboards to the curious community meetings of Reet's station that help them feel like places, help them feel lived in. And then there's Qven. Always Qven. Qven's world is as physically bounded as Enae's is by psychic boundaries. Qven's world is as constrained in its day to day activities as Reet's is by huis position and opportunities. Qven is wrapped in a straitjacket made to measure by the society that has embraced them, and they get to live comfortably in it, as long as they follow the rulkes, do what they're told, step through the motions. It's a world where eating fellow members of your cohort isn't the strangest thing going on, and Qven is locked down, locked in, and struggling against shackles they don't evne know are there. And here we see an environment which feels plausible, just normal enough to be inside our experience, and strange, strange enough that every so often I had to go back and check I'd actually read what I had. There's hints here of something broader and stranger and more alien and what we have, a soupcon of weird, is wonderfully drawn. And as all these worlds and conceptual spaces converge, they make a big old setting gumbo that's filled with fascinating flavour.

As much as I don't want to say too much, you know I don't want to , don't dare to, spoil the story for you all. It begins cosily enough though, showing us our new friends, letting us see them in their own heads, how they seem themselves, how they live their lives. It watches them as they try to reach out, to put their arms up and soar. This is a story with mysteries abounding, about life and identity and who and what people are. And it's a story about people looking for inclusion, trying to find a place where they feel at home, and find a place where they can be themselves and find out who they are. It's a story with extremists and a story with explosions, and a story with authorities that try and be Authorities, and about overreach and the dangers of definition by category and the joy of self-categorisation. It's a thriller, its a courtroom drama, it's a sci-fi adventure story, its a mystery, and above all, it's an absolute triumph of high-concept sci-fi married to the personal, the immediate, the real, backed by real emotion and real truths. This is Leckie on top form, and it's well worth the read.

Back next week!

 We've got medical stuff this week, so reviews will resume their regular schedule next week. Sorry!

The Book That Wouldn't Burn - Mark Lawrence

As long time readers will know, I'm a huge fan of Mark Lawrence's work. So I met the announcement of a new series, in a new world, with exhilaration and  dread. Because a new book, a new series, from an author I really enjoy reading, that's great news. Dread, because...like all of us, I can get comfortable in the familiar. What if this new series wasn't up to snuff? We went round on this already with Red Sister and Prince of Fools, and here we are again.  In short: I need not have worried, this book is great.

I'm happy to report that The Book That Wouldn't Burn is both really entertaining, and also, you know, just generally a really good book. Lawrence has pulled out all the stops to make a new, interesting, compelling story, in a rich, vibrant world. It got me to keep turning pages long after I should've been in bed, and, more importantly, I didn't regret that choice when I dragged myself out of bed in the morning. Because this is, simply put, a good time, and if you don't take anything from the rest of the review, take this: go buy this book, go read this book, go enjoy this book. 

Incidentally, for those of you wondering, the rest of the trilogy is already written, so you may as well start now.

Anyway. Appropriately for a story about books, much of it takes place in, well, a library. I say a library. It's more a cavernous complex, housed in the bowels of a mountain. Where travel times are measured in days. Where index systems for the contents are marks of power.. Where dross and society-changing concepts sit cheek-by-jowl, if you could manage to sort one from the other. The library is, I am saying, large. Maybe not quite large enough to have formed its own black hole, but I'm also not going to bet against it. And credit to Lawrence, he makes the library feel real. Indeed, it's almost a character in its own right. Filled with little rituals, day to day complexities, and of course, bureaucracy. Also filled with eldritch tomes, that researchers are trusted to go dig into the veins of, to find intellectual gold. You can feel the weight of history in the library, the way it changes hands between warring entities, from shifts in signage and doors that open one way or another. In the drifts of scattered paper and ash from old fires. The story excels at giving the library both a sense of place and a sense of age - a timeless ancient, a seeming rock before the ravages of time, it persists and changes on every glance. 

If the library is the central rock of place in the book, it's worth mentioning the city that has accreted around it. And the scattered steadings outside it, all of which huddle against the rock of all the knowledge in the world. The politics of the city are driven by the necessity of defence against an implacable enemy outside the walls, and by the need to dig into the guts of the library to try and find a way to make the city safe. There's centuries worth of myth and legend there, structured around the gain and loss of knowledge, and centuries worth of treatises on war, successful and otherwise. The one who rules the city can decide how what they find is dispensed to the inhabitants, and that gives rise to its own tensions - as does the current staff of the library deciding quite how much it's going to hand over to the city government. Which is to say that there's a bigger world out there, outside the confines and claustrophobia of the library, and Lawrence manages to keep us aware of that around the edges of awareness. The world is real, even the parts we don't see, or see less often.

Anyway. There's people here too! Livira and Evar are our protagonists, our windows on a world wrought by and distorted by knowledge, and by the certainty that outside the city is an enemy that would happily tear everything down. Livira...oh, I have a lot of time for her. Literally and figuratively, as we follow her from a childhood escaping from the enemy seeking to destroy the city, into an adulthood within the library. Livira is smart, witty, and unafraid. If she's not going to be able to bludgeon an enemy to death with a novel, she'll be able to figure out a way to make them regret crossing her path anyway. Watching her grow, and move out of isolation into a space where people care about her, and she cares about them, is a delight, and also allows for some thoughtful meditations on the nature of loneliness, social expectations, and ways to deal with both. A woman with a penchant for risks, and for doing what she thinks is right, Livira is driven to succeed, to rise above a society that wants to keep her in her place. And she works on doing that by being competent, by being lucky, and by having friends. She genuinely is a lot of fun to read, as she tried to fit into a space that is built to hate her, and drives forward, trying to shape the world to avoid being shaped by it. How she does that, and the costs...well. Read and find out.

Evar, by contrast, is never really alone. someone with a handful of siblings, he's constrained more by geography, unable to leave the same space where he's spent his entire life. Evar is the second best at everything, and if he doesn't resent it, is perhaps frustrated by it. Evar is charming, and manages to be knowledgeable and deadly whilst also being so self effacing that he remains rather fun to read along with. In this he's helped by a trauma which has shaped his understanding of who he is, and by his siblings, all of whom are both ferociously competent in their own areas of expertise, and quite obviously struggle in doing anything else. They're all struggling to survive, trying to understand the mystery of where they are and why...which is how they intersect with Livira. I don't want to touch on this in detail, except to say that this is a story which travels through time as well as space, and challenges our assumptions about how those things impact on each other. Suffice to say that Evar is, if a little naïve, definitely likeable, and if his life has been blighted by the enemy that would devour everything he holds dear, he manages to keep that down to a dull roar. 

Anyway. Our protagonists aren't the only people out there, of course. Though the focus on their intertwining fates, their isolation and loneliness, their passion and sense of truth and justice, are all vital to the story. But Evar has his siblings, rough and ready as they may be, and Livira has her gang of library colleagues and their superiors, some of whom are odd, some of whom are mysterious, some of whom are lethal, and some of whom are...all of the above. Its to the author's credit that every person we see actually feels real. They're alive and out there in a world that exists for them, where we just happen to be, strolling their stage for all the world like it's, well, all the world. There's a depth and flavoir and texture to even the most incidental characterisation that gives each individual more heft, more depth, makes them concrete and real.

Anyway. As ever, I don't want to spoil the story. But I will say it manages to be both sweepingly epic, and intimately beautiful. Occasionally it does both of those things at the same time. And it's really very clever, and emotionally affective and effective. It will make you Feel Things, friends. Be ready with the tissues.  And be ready for twists, turns, and revelations, a couple of which definitely made me go "Ha!". This is, no doubt, Mark Lawrence at his best. It's a beautiful world, with some wonderful characters, and a story that keeps you turning pages until it's done, and then makes you want ot re-read it right away so that it isn't over yet. 

Which is a very long winded way of saying, this is another great book from Mark Lawrence - go get a copy right now.

Tsalmoth - Steven Brust

Full disclosure, I've been a fan of Steven Brust's work for a long time. Especially his "Vlad" series, centred on the eponymous Vlad Taltos, one-time assassin, one time husband, now on the run and dealing with what we might charitably call "relationship issues". Tsalmoth is the latest in that sequence, which has hop-skip-and-jumped throughout Vlad's personal timeline over the years, showing us a young man trying to make a name for himself, through to an older, possibly wiser one trying to deal with the consequences of that reputation. Tsalmoth is mostly focused on the former, following a younger Vlad as he investigates a mystery, trying to recover a small amount of money owed, which snowballs until it becomes something else entirely. Something with wider ramifications.

I will say that this story works beause of its protagonist Because Vlad is smart until he isn't, and because he is, largely, honest with himself while we sit alongside his inner dialogue. He can be a lover, a killer, a man searching for redemption or a quiet life, a hero of sorts and a villain of same. And wearing all of those many hats, he's thoughtful, interesting, wry, slyly funny, and very human. There's a sense of immediccy, of energy, of reaching out toward a future he imagines as a bright one, shrotly before it explodes in his hand. Because if Vlad is the star of the show, Cawti, his soon to be wife, is a close second.  I rather like Cawti. She's no-nonsense, witty, a little bit romantic, and as willing to comment on the quality of a restaurant dish or the politics of equality for workers as she is to put a knife through someones eye. WHich is to say, very.  It's interesting to compare this pair of young lvoers, as they take their first steps of marital bliss, to what we know comes later in their lives - the joy and tragedy of knowing a little of how things will shake out before they do themselves. In any event, they're a vivacious pair, and one that captures every page they appear on. Brust's dialogue is a strong point, always able to raise a chuckle, or a gasp, or a tear - and his characters enable that by being fast talking, hard-feeling rogues, with hearts on their sleeves as well as swords at their belts.

And we're back in seaside Adrilahnka again. Over double-digits of books, Brust has managed to make the city as much of a character as the people which inhabit it, from the bustling nighbourhoods whose propserity is seemingly linkd to their place on the rotating caste-wheel that is Dragaeran life, to the glowering orange cloud that blocks out much of the light of the sun, to the sneeing, matter-of-fact prejudice by Dragaerans against "Easterners" like Vlad, there's texture and flavour in every morsel of description. When they sit down at a restaurant to hash out a business proposition, or skirt the edges of an abandoned house looking for trouble, or stand on the cloffs, looking at a sea which, in this case, isn't an amorphous murder-blob crated by runaway sorcery...well, you can feel the place, the years pressing in around, the drifting scents on the air and mutter of background dialogue. Adrilahnka lives, and in its life and depth and weight, it helps keep us grounded, and gives the characters a solid stage on which to set themselves against the forces that oppose them.

And what forces they are. I won't spoil it, but you know what, this one is a lot of fun. There's the snowball, the way that Vlad's injecting hoimself into a situation in a relatively minor way just propels him further and further through a chain of consequences until things are, perhaps, a little out of hand. And there's the way that each step in that chain has real stakes, has drama and passion in it, sure, but also consequences, which make sense to all parties. And then there's the way that there's also other stakes, hidden hands pushing thigns around, trying to serve an agenda which Vlad is, at least initially, ignorant of. Quite what's going on and how Vlad ends up in as much trouble as he does, well, you'll have to Read And Find Out. But I will say that this is a fun journey. In a sense it's a tragedy, seeing the younger Vlad again, before life...happened with him. But at the same time, it's a joy, and an absolute firecracker of a story, one I don't hesitate to recommend to all you long term Taltos fans. Brust remains on top form here, and you'll have a lot of fun coming back to Dragaera, and to Vlad. 

Furious Heaven - Kate Elliot

Let me open with this: Furious Heaven is a fantastic book, a sequel to the also brilliant Unconquerable Sun. You can say it's a gender-flipped, science-fiction re-imagining of the life of Alexander the Great. I think that's a great summary, but it does the text something of a disservice, because there's just...so much here. Politics. War, encompassing grand strategy and short, brutal tactical engagements. There's family squabbles - and sometimes that family is powerful enough that their disagreements can break worlds. There's friendships and betrayals, and people building on shifting sands, trying to make things better. And in a story built on war, built on conflict, there's a suggestion that the two sides may not be as far apart as all that. 

So yes. This is a clever book, that delves into the depths of politics, violence, warfare, power, friendship...and a lot of other big words. But it's also a fast-paced, action packed story filled with explosions, the occasional assassination, and enough happening on every page that I couldn't put it down. 

As always with Eliot, the worldbuilding is rich and intricate. The Republic of Chaonia is given more texture here; a lavishly wealthy active monarchy, where the queen is the final, absolute authority. A star-spanning political union, the Republic has been shaped by its conflict with its nearest neighbour, the Empire of Phene. They're militaristic, and identify strongly with their political system; they're ready to fight and die for the Republic - and the government of the Republic is more than happy to use its pervasive media control to encourage that willingness in its citizens. In the meantime, the Republic aristocracy are engaged in one-upping, politics, and the occasional bout of murder. And that's just what we know about. Looking at the less than stellar underbelly of the Republic is a delight. We always knew it was a bit sketchy, but placing the characters, most of whom are good people by their own lights, into a worrying system they're largely at the top of and sustaining, is fascinating. And it helps that this contrasts with their adversaries, the Empire of Phene. The Phene are genetically engineered, and seemingly largely egalitarian, a union that believes in equality. But they're also maintained by a shadowy council of "riders", who are kept largely screened from the population they lead, and whose ability to communicate with each other across vast distances is deeply  mysterious and the thing holding their Empire together. The Phene also have their own problems - including experimentation on other sentients, and a whole gamut of politics and backbiting. We get to see more of the latter in this story, which delights in giving us a Phene point of view, to compare with that of the otherwise estimable Princess Sun and her coterie. And amongst these space faring powers sit other, stranger things - including fleets sailing between the stars, and telepathic symbionts, and roses blooming in dead earth. This is a grand universe, one which echoes with history and determination, and one which has enough grease and blood and tears on it that it feels real.

Funnily enough, the same applies to the characters. Sun, our Alexander analogue, continues to blend a regal, mysterious, ruthless public persona with something a little more real, or at least something a little differently real, gentler, more contemplative, in a private context. And she does this while leading a war fleet of ships across the depths of space, slowly concentrating her power and her ambitions and her personal connections,, becoming a personality and a power in her own right, out from under the thumb of her mother, Eirene. Eirene, incidentally, and especially her interactions with Sun, is characterised with exquisite detail - a monarch who broke the mould, who fought through hell and back and made victory out of ashes, and peace out of defeat - and who lives a hard, often transactional existence. Eirene is what Sun could be, one day, if she makes the same kinds of choices - a warning and a celebration all at once. 

And then there's the Wily Persephone. Persephone is one of Sun's companions, an aristocrat, but one who was determined to live out from beneath the shadow of her family intrigues. She's sly, sarcastic, and smart. I'm always here for the witty one-liners, and the refusal to accept other people's nonsense, and Perse delivers on that very well. It helps that she's also a capable leader, and willing to back up being a smart-arse with being willing to kick ass, as necessary. That said, Persephone is still grappling with her need to prove herself as part of Sun's coterie, and with the affection she has for, well, lets say less than suitable admirers. And with the secrets of her own past, which threaten to envelop and overthrow the life she's made for herself.  But that all sounds frightfully ominous, and you know what, while it is, Perse is our accessible entry point into the halls of power, someone who at the very least is willing to think the obvious questions, to explore outside-he-box solutions, to fight and die to change the world, or change a mind. She is, in sum, a fully realised person, and one who's probably a heck of a lot of fun at parties, and easily underestimated on a firing line. 

There's other characters here too, I just...don't want to spoil too much. We do see a lot more of the Phene this time around, and exploring their culture, in its nuanced horror and joy, is fascinating. And we see a little more of Sun's Republic through the eyes of those a little further down the tree. Without spoilers then: these are, it feels like, real people doing their best within their circumstances, and we can sit alongside them in their lavishly explored inner-lives while they do so. Top-notch characterisation all around. 

By now you know I'm not going to spoil the plot. But. But but but. It's something. It's the sort of story that had me turning pages at 2am to find out what happened next. The sort of story that's seared across your brain for nights afterward. The sort of story that makes you laugh, cry, and then turn the page because you have to know what's next. For those of you here for the combat: it's bloody and brutal and visceral, from the unexpected decompression of atmosphere during the silent, deadly dance of fleet engagements, through the chaos of boarding actions, to the gore and muck of hand to hand fighting planetside. It's unafraid to explore the glory of the fight, but also the horrifying costs, and the waste of it all. There's idols being thrown up here, but the story isn't afraid to explore the sacrifices which they ask for. And as the tale carries on, you can see that whatever happens, Sun's world, Persephone's world, the Republic and the Empire, it's all going to change. 

So is it any good? Absolutely. I tore through this second volume even faster than the first, and need to know what happens next. If you need a space opera in your life, this is a bloody good one. 

Dead Country - Max Gladstone

In short: bloody hell. Meditation on mentorship and family and homecoming and sacrifice and life and death and love and *people* and what they are and do and why. And power and consequences.

Absolute gem of a book, right here.

Now, in more detail: I'm going to open by admitting that I'm a huge fan of Max Gladstone's work. I've talked at length about his standalone urban/portal fantasy, Last Exit, and the sci-fi/romance crossover he co-authored with Amal El-Mohtar, This is How You Lose The Time War, which won alllll the awards back in the pandemic. But it's his Craft Sequence that he's perhaps known for. The series takes place in a world broken by a magical war to overthrow very real gods, one which now blends the fantastical with the institutionally familiar. Lich Kings are more CEO's; those working magic tend to have the skillsets of lawyers or risk management consultants, except they can also bend reality to their whim. The soaring pyramids that once rang with screams of sacrifice now house the elevator chimes of corporately-driven magic. 

It's an ingenious idea. It lets us look at a mirror of our own world, explore it, criticise and understand the systems and complexities that bind us...and do so under the cover of a world rife wityh fantastical elements, from soul-powered golems to fire-throwing mages. It's just that the golems are a police force, the mages are in suits and ties, and the fire-throwing is one part incinerating demons, one part pushing up the corporate stock price. It's some of the most innovative, tightly written worldbuilding I've seen, and it's a lived in, bloody, dangerous world, from the boardroom floor to six feet under. 

An now we have a new story there. And the start of a new series, even, the Craft Wars, which sounds suitably ominous.  It's been a delight, then, to dip into the book and find it like being in a warm (blood temperature?) bath.  The well described, carefully constructed world is still there, still ticking away. And the people in it are as strange and familiar as they ever were.  Fittingly for a new series, we're back with Tara Abernathy. Tara was the protagonist of the first Craft book, a recently graduated apprentice, thrown to her theoretical doom, but too stubborn to die. And she's turned up since, off and on, trying to do the best she can at any given moment, trying to make things right, with the fire and passion and energy that will be familiar to anyone watching the news these days. But Tara is older now, too, and if not wiser, at least more familiar with the world and how it works. And as the story begins, she's going home, back to where everything started, going to see family in a small town that don't know her or like her and may once have tried to burn her as a witch. And so she'll be there, in suit and tie and nice shoes, surrounded by faces old and new, in the depths of family tragedy. A fish out of water story, but with something more going on behind it. Still, it's something, to see the cocksure, stubborn Tara of Three Parts Dead now, becoming something like her own mentor. Trying still to work out who she is, what she wants to do, what she's willing to do in service of larger goals (and isn't that what every villain says?). 

Tara is the heart of the story; sad and often alone and determined and sharp and human. But she's not alone. Her own family are there, and childhood friendships and grudges made manifest. There's threads, complexity spread all around, and you can feel old joys and old wounds laid out quietly in the spaces between words. The folk who live in the backwoods space that Tara once called home are familiar and strange, happy with who and what they are, perhaps (or not), but as proud and flawed and argumentative and terrible and beautiful as any other people. Though Tara's here on big city wings, it's not always her way that's right - or, indeed, her way that's wrong. Both she and those around her need to dig a little deeper, empathise and understand. But of course, they have other problems. Still, the characters, well, you'll remember them all long after you close the book. They're smart, funny, gentle, vicious, troubled, broken, in love, out of love....so many things. But for all that, they are. And the story makes them come alive for us, makes us care about them, about this little town and what happens to it, about Tara and her relationships, and her family. About what might happen next. 

And that's the story, isn't it, what happens next. Because as the pages turn, it's clear that Tara doesn't jsut have a family crisis on her hands. Or a chance to drop in and one-up the local yokels with her big city ways. There's crisis here, fires to be put out before they become something new. Old scores to settle and old cuts to heal, or re-open. I don't want to spoil any of it, because honestly I was spellbound throughout, always looking to see the next turn in the story, watching the stakes go from intimate to epic life-and-death and back again, seamlessly, beautifully. Gladstone can write.  he can give you people to care about, he can give you a beautiful, precision-crafted setting, and he can give you a compelling story that just. Won't. Let. Go. And he does. I don't want to spoil it, but I sat up all night reading it, and I don't regret a moment of it. 

If you enjoy clever, thoughtful, emotionally raw, richly crafted fantasy, then this is a book you can't afford to miss. Much like all his other books, this is some of the best work I've read in years. Go get a copy, right now, and let me know what you think!

Shawn Speakman (ed.) - Unbound II

Unbound II is, perhaps unsurprisingly, the second fantasy anthology in Shawn Speakman's Unbound series. The first was filled with innovative, impressive work from writers more-and-less familair, so I had some high hopes for this one. And I tell you what, it delivers. There's an impressive breadth of talent on display here. And that talent is put in across a variety of stories, united, somewhat in their theme of freedom, authorial and character. I'm going to avoid delving in on a story by story basis, simply because there were so many stories, and so much content, and frankly,  it would be easy to get lost in the weeds.

But for me, looking at an anthology, the first question is going to be, is there anything here I know I'm going to like? And you know what, in this case, there is. Shawn writes a story from his own universe. Mark Lawrence gives us a Jorg Ancrath story of all things. There's Jon Sprunk, running a tale in the same universe as his Shadow Son series. And there's a new Dune story from Herbert and Anderson. Thats a wealth of heavy hitters, in different spaces, and they'll probably delight with a new variant on their greatest hits.

As an aside, I thought Lawrence's story, Solomon, which included a sharply edged Ancrath, a baby, and a chest full of gold, was wonderful. Twined through with fraught emotional beats, hard choices, and more than a little of the old ultraviolence. Worth the price of admission on its own/ But I digress.

There's also stories from some fantastic writers trying out something new, rather than revisiting what they're known for. I particularly enjoyed Anna Smith-Spark's exploration of a knight who was reliant on her horse to get around, who lived the reality of the honourable knight-errant of the mind, while refusing to conform to the expectation of what a knight should look like. It was heartfelt, emotional, and, again, rather lethal. The same could be said of Anna Stephen's Heart-Eater, which packs so much depth of setting and emotional content into such a small space; both stories were an absolute joy, and cement the anthology as one which has some serious chops.

It also steps away from the sprawling epics common in SF&F to look at the personal; part of that comes across in the stories above. Even the Dune one is, at heart, character-driven. Adrian Tchaikovsky gives us Sandra, a story which is about relationships and technology and the way in which the future slowly builds out, though whether to a crescendo or a whimper is for you to decide. In any case it, and indeed the other stories in this collection, have a feeling of intimacy. Of looking at the constraints of a short story, and trying to bring an honesty to their stories within that space. Of saying, look here, there's power in emotion, there's pwoer in how we think of ourselves and why and in the way we let ourselves be or refuse to be defined. So lets talk about that. And lets do it with fae and lets do it with Harkonnen and lets do it with mermaids, of sorts, and lets do it with high tech and lets do it with magic, and you know what, lets wrap that bundle of stories up and say this is important.

Because you know what, there's a lot of stories here, and I mentioned a handful. There were some that didn't really hit for me, and some that were, you know, fine. But they were all trying to be free, to show us people and who they are and why and do it with the quiet stiletto of narrative truth. The stories feel real because they are true, and vice versa - even the ones I wasn't sold on.

So anyway. There's a lot here. Some of it will work for you. Some won't. But all of it will be trying to reach you, to make you understand, to make you feel, and feel free. And that's worth a lot.