Star Wars: Reign of the Empire: The Mask of Fear - Alexander Freed

In my younger days, I was a massive fan of Star Wars (still am, actually). But before the prequels, we had something like fifteen years between the end of the original Trilogy with Return of the Jedi and the start of the prequel series with The Phantom Menace. Fortunately for me, George Lucas let that gap be filled with what I guess is now known as the Expanded Universe, eventually putting out a seemingly endless cavalcade of novels, comics and weird ephemera. All of these things were, kindly, of variable quality. Some were genuine blockbusters on the page, and other were...well, a limp noodle, but in the page. But I didn't care, because I was young and there were no other options, so I devoured it all whole. Eventually, the Expanded Universe was retconned out of existence when Lucas was bought out by Disney, and I haven't really thought about Star Wars outside of TV for a decade or so. This is the book I came back for, and I have to say, it really does deliver. 

Apart, perhaps, from having too many colons in its title, The Mask of Fear has a lot going for it. Set shortly after the collapse of the Galactic Republic and the formation of the Empire by the deeply malevolent Emperor Palpatine, the book follows a couple of Senators as they try, in their own ways, to figure out what they can do to navigate the new world they inhabit and mitigate the damage being done to institutions and people they hold dear. It explores the crisis of effective governance under totalitarianism, and the means by which those governments control the people in and out of power, be that through popular movements, secret police, or the quiet word in the right ear and the occasional disappearance. 

One of the protagonists here is Mon Mothma, who has a small role in the original Star Wars films, but was an absolute standout in the recent Andor as a woman of principle - albeit principle laced with pragmatism - struggling to figure out what she could do to stop a plunge into absolutism. While the Mothma of Andor has some extremely dodgy political connections indeed, the one in this book is still taking her first steps toward rebellion, still working inside the system, trading for votes and trying to understand why people don't seem to care quite as much as she does. Mothma is considered, thoughtful, occasionally afraid, willing to bridge gaps with those she personally despises in order to get the job done. Whether that's a good thing in a government being led by a megalomaniacal psychopath who can shoot lightning out of his hands has been left as something on which the reader can draw their own conclusions. That said, riding around on Mothma's shoulder demonstrates that she's trying her best, and doing what she thinks is right, and doing it well - and while she thinks the rise of more ideologically driven members of the senate is preventing them from getting their own demands met, she has her sympathies and her friends, on both sides of the aisle. Mothma's is a wolrd of backroom deals, of quiet conversations in secluded hallways, and, very occasionally, meeting informants and political partners in out of the way places which are also often horrifically dangerous. 

By contrast, there's Bail Organa from Alderaan, whose daughter, Leia, is of soooome importance in the Star Wars universe. But Bail, here, is relatively young and headstrong and determined to get things done, and he isn't at all willing to let stuff go, or compromise his principles in the name of pragmatism. He is, in fact, a giant noisy cricket in the Empire's eye, and himself readily admits that he hasn't been slapped down by now because he's just...not very effective. But Organa is doggedly persistent, and has a charisma and easy charm that Mothma thinks she lacks, and he's absolutely determined to dig into what happened to all of those Jedi that the Emperor says were traitors, because he doesn't believe a word of it. Of course, he's also being tailed by an agent of one of the many Imperial security bureaus, because he's...well, not good at this. Organa and Mothma, each in their own way, show us the best of people trying to work under an autocratic rule and find a way out, and at the same time they show us the weaknesses and humanity that make clinging to one position as the only answer untenable. Organa is too ideological to survive if he ever got hold of anything he could use, and Mothma is too much of a pragmatist to embrace the sort of violent rupture that unseating a nascent Empire would require. At least, right now. Both of them have a lot of learning and growth throughout the book. 

And I think that's the strength of the story, really. Both of them do grow. Both of them are compelx, flawed characters, working in a system which is becoming increasingly hostile to their existence. They're fighting a fight that we already know (thanks to Star Wars) that they're going to lose. But the face of the enmey, the face of a government led by a tyrant in a cloak of tradition and respectability is one made strange by familiarity. Watching the rise of "pro-Empire" popular movements which are actually astroturfed by Imperial Security, watching Security purge itself of effective members because they won't toe the line or aren't the right species, watching politicians step back from principle in the face of fear of reprisal against those they rep[resent...it's a creeping horror, and a fierce indictment of totalitarianism. This (mostly) isn't lightsabres and lasers - though there's a few in there. But it's a savagely compelling story of Star Wars for the modern era, and one that will leave you flipping pages well into the night. I'm already looking forward to the sequel. 

Dead Hand Rule - Max Gladstone

Dead Hand Rule is the third entry in Max Gladstone's Craft Wars series, itself a sequel of sorts to his larger Craft Sequence novels. I've had a soft spot for Gladstone for years; his blend of fantasy and business-modern, where management consultants gripe about doing TPS reports while using arcane magic and divine will to do things like set up water treatment corporations has always been a delight. The idea that the heads of the largest corporations are, broadly speaking, all powerful undead necromancers...well, that also has its appeal, shall we say. 

So anyway, the Craft Wars. This series drew together protagonists from the previous sequence, then set them up on opposite sides - sort of like Marvel's Civil War only there were fewer superheroes, and more chic business suits. And roughly the same amount of mayhem and world-ending stakes. The close of book two left everything on rather a cliff-hanger, and the question of whether our heroes (on either side) could save the world was...well, quite pressing. Because while they've been fighting each other, there's a larger menace setting itself up to make all of their concerns moot.

The cast is sprawling, probably too much so to get into here. But as always, there's some standouts. Tara Abernathy, who once fell out of the sky, hit the ground, and walked it off, is back. She's struggling with becoming who she thinks she has to be in order to thwart the (possibly problematic?) designs of her one-time protégé, Dawn. Who does Tara think she has to be? Someone harder, sharper, less forgiving, less human than the person she is now, perhaps. Someone a bit more like the skeletal mage-lords on their pyramids, who run the larger magicla firms, and a bit less like Tara, who is sometimes falling in a little bit of love with one of her frienbds. But definitely the same Tara with a tendency to push her friends away, to try and limit them from getting hurt, to try and carry everything on her shoulders in order to spare everyone else. That Tara, and her hang ups and her anxieties, as well as her deep friendships, affections and genuine heroism, is someone struggling with not just who they want to be, but who the situation they're in requires in order for things not to end in total disaster. 

Ironically of course, the same applies to Dawn, once the survivor of a decimated village, then a student of Tara's, and now a part-time goddess with her own incipient hero complex. She's less burdened by the past than Tara is, less a prisoner of her own mistakes - but also less experienced, prone to seeing a straightforward answer where one may not yet exist. Or where it might have rather sharp edges. 

They're joined by, well, everyone. If you've touched a Craft book, there's a good chance your favourite character is in here somewhere, and props to Gladstone for making them all feel entertaining and real and human. Or inhuman, as the case may be. I don't want to talk villains, because some of them are a surprise, but oooooh some of them are deeply loathsome. Well drawn, yes, complex, yes, awful people who made my skin crawl to read whenever they rolled onto the page...oh, my, yes. That's the thing though, this is a story that you can feel is true in your bones. It has the pyramids and the monsters and the magic and that certainly gives it a flavour and a spice that keeps the pages turning, but it's also a deeply human story of loss and learning and friendship and absolutely fucking up and also absolutely trying to fuck up that bad guy over there, possibly with a fireball. Gladstone can make the familiar strange, and have you experience it for the first time all over again, and the emotional weight hits like a truck. This is a book with power, and you may well leave it shaking your head, thinking things through, and knowing you're just a little different to the person who went in. 

This is the end of one part of the story, but it's also, I hope, the start of something even better. And it's also, not to put too fine a point on it, bloody fantastic. Go give it a read.