The Baron of Magister Valley - Steven Brust

I came away from The Baron of Magister Valley smiling. It’s the epitome of a fun book, one crafted with obvious skill and passion, taking the reader on a journey that by turns excites and intrigues, horrifies and thrills. It’s got a story that kept my attention, and, as the sages say, had me turning pages, and protagonists who I cared about. There’s duels, wordplay, and a wonderful amount of baroque-yet-cunningly-crafted language. 

Speaking of which, I have to talk about the style. Anyone who picked up The Phoenix Guards, or one of Brust’s other Khaavren Romances books will be familiar with it. In theory, they’re all written by the same in-universe historian, Paarfi of Roundwood, whose academic feuds and tendency to pointed outrage at petty injustices suffuse the subtext of the story. And Paarfi is a long-winded fellow. In this, he follows the tradition of Dumas, whose works are, shall we say, an homage to Paarfi, rather than the other way around. Paid by the word, Dumas gave us flowery descriptions of every, er, description, and dialogue which laced beautifully shaped prose through a structure which meant you got rather a lot of it for your money. And Paarfi is the same. There’s rather a lot of characters asking if someone wants them to answer a question, hearing the reply, confirming that they have heard the reply, replying to the confirmation, replying to the reply, and then maybe actually providing some information. It can be a bit hard to get your head around. But after a while, you don’t notice - the words themselves flow together in a cadence which is both a surprisingly restful read, and also compels you to turn the next page. 

I suppose I’m saying that, if you’re new to Paarfi’s style, don’t worry, you get used to it. Like klava without honey in it, you may even come to enjoy it after a little while!

The story...well, depending on who you believe about who published first, you could say it bears a certain similarity to Dumas’ The Count of Monte Cristo. Taking the place of the Count is Eremit, the young scion of a noble family, recently come into possession of resources. This does not end well for him. Eremit is a wonderful portrait of someone unjustly confined, pacing the walls of their cell, marking time, trying to find a meaning and purpose in the slow monotony of their lives. Eremit is also a vivid actor when given the chance for vengeance, a mastermind with a ticking clock, moving his enemies like chess pieces, giving a comeuppance which was extremely cathartic to read. He’s easy to sympathise with, is Eremit, and his actions are always justified; thi is a paean to righteous vengeance. But it starts with a different person, a young man looking at the sun travelling over the sea - and the proof of the growth of his character is that, over time, that boy seems unlike Eremit to both himself and us. The pages that make up the text are those that shape Eremit, and drive him toward the heart of vengeance on a corrupt system, and the individuals which enable it - and if he is changed by that experience, then so too are we changed by having it with him. 

Livosha, Eremit’s betrothed, is perhaps the other significant point of view here. While Eremit’s initial stages are those of confinement and apathy driven by injustice, Livosha is an active agent, struggling to escape from carnage, survive tragedy, and take back what is hers. Livosha is charming, thoughtful, deadly with a blade - and as driven by the need for survival and for revenge as is Eremit. Her relationship with her family has some genuinely charming banter in it, and watching her kick arse and take names, whilst slowly re-ascending the steps of a society which ignored her when she was cast down - well, it’s a pure joy. Livosha, having struggled through trials and tribulations, is someone you can cheer when they’re finally holding the edge of a sword to the throat of someone used to abusing a position of power. 

And that’s what this is, in the end. A world of nobility, of power, of corruption and abuse, wrapped in phantom structures of honour, where what is right is decided by connections, magic, and the number of blades. That world can be overturned by one or two people of good intent, who are determined to make something of it, something better. Dragaera will be changed by these two, and by their friends - and by the struggles they have against a cast of delightfully unpleasant villains. This is a world of sorcery and high adventure, but its tale of the struggle to rise up out from under a system of oppression, to have agency of ones own, and not to accept what the system doles out - those are messages that resonate very strongly today. 

Paarfi..er..Brust, has done it again. This is at once a searing indictment of modern society, a thrilling adventure story, and a cosy fantasy delight. And for all of those reasons, I suggest that you help Paarfi pay for his next cup of klava, and pick a copy up. It’s a lot of fun, and it’ll make you smile.

People of the City - Marshall Ryan Maresca

 

People of the City is the conclusion of a chapter in Marshall Ryan Maresca’s Maradaine saga. I've been talking about it for five years, and the series has always been a mosaic. Different characters have trilogies or sequences of their own, and those stories have interwoven to produce a narrative with a genuinely epic scope. We’ve seen crossovers between them, but here all of our heroes finally meet. The crime fighting superhero Thorn, the hard-working investigators Minox and Rainey, the Rynax brothers, and the Tarians Dayne and Jerinne - they’re all going to be drawn into a plot which has the potential to shake the literal foundations of the city of Maradaine. 

This is, above all, a fun book. It’s probably also one you’d want to be familiar with the rest of the series in order to truly enjoy. All of the central cast are established characters, and knowing their issues, what drives them, the costs which they’ve already borne, their quirks and in-jokes, will make the experience far richer. You can still read this as a standalone, I suspect, but it works better as a culmination of threads from all of the other works, being tied together into something larger.

With that in mind, there’s always a lot going on. The story starts off quickly, and ramps up the tension and pressure as it goes, pulling you along with it. There’s plots and counterplots here, new mysteries and the settling of old scores. If you’ve got a favourite character, worry not, they’ll have their moment in the sun. This is a song for the people of Maradaine. A paean for civic co-operation, and for the way that groups of ordinary people, standing as one, can be stronger together, can defeat any evil they put their mind and arm to. It’s also a story about evildoers trying to take over a city, using a wonderfully diabolical plan, and about a band of heroes coming together to kick arse and keep evil off the streets.

Is it good though? Yes. Yes it is. 

It has everything I’ve enjoyed in previous Maradaine novels. There’s the complex, compelling world building, which constructs a city with a real sense of itself, one which feels alive, one where the different neighbourhoods feel different. Where the politics has the glitz and glamour and hard graft and seams of corruption we all know from our own lives. Where people make excellent pastries, and I surface from the page feeling hungry. Where magic and science collide, and construct wonders and horrors in equal measure. There’s the characterisation - here informed by books worth of back-adventures for each of the main characters, all of whom seem to be acting in line with their own needs. Some of the villainy is a little over the top, though in fairness, that felt like it added to the fun, but in general, the people on the page are as real as we are. Working hard jobs, going for a pint, looking for love - and, occasionally, trying to overthrow the government, or saving people from assassination attempts. 

The story rattles along wonderfully. I always wanted to know what the next page brought, and the conclusion left enough unanswered threads that I came away from the book wanting more. It has revelations, sudden reversals, some genuinely impressive magic, some moments of appalling villainy, and some of genuinely hopeful heroism.

This is a story which will take you into the world of Maradaine, and when you come out on he last page, leave you wanting more, wanting to know what happens next. So go now, and pick a copy up - it’s a genuine delight.

The Seventh Perfection - Daniel Polansky

 

Daniel Polansky is, for my money, one of the most innovative fantasy writers in the field today. He’s always writing stuff that feels fresh, takes an interesting approach to the genre, and draws in the reader with well-wrought characters and interesting worlds. Basically, I always look forward to reading his next work, because I never know what it’s going to be like, only that it’s unlikely to be similar to anything else, and it is likely to be very good.

And so it is with The Seventh Perfection, which is not like anything else I’ve read this year, but is, absolutely, very good indeed.

One of the most striking things about the story is the narrative structure. Told in the second person, each chapter is the other side of someone’s dialogue with our protagonist. That this all fits together naturally is, frankly, a triumph. We pick up on the questions our interlocutor asks, and construct an image of her based entirely on the perceptions of others. We understand her, not through her own eyes, but through theirs. And equally, we understand those she speaks to through their words, their silences, their pauses, what they fight not to answer and what they divulge freely. This is a world constructed entirely from dialogue. That the world built in this way is as richly drawn and real as any other is rather impressive, to put it mildly.

And what a world it is. One populated by god-kings and a militant priesthood. And by people just out for a pint and a quiet celebration. By strange, constructed people, and by technology whose workings are lost in time. Where books are burned, where the past is forbidden, where the story is at once eternal and perpetually changing. Where the national myth is also the national reality. It’s a rich, intriguing world, one not afraid of blood and bone and hurt, though also one with sparks of kindness and quiet joys.

 This is also a book filled with mysteries. Our protagonist is searching for something, or someone. Why they’re doing so, and who or what they’re looking for becomes clearer as their questions are answered. Clearer to both us and, I think, themselves. The gradual unveiling of our “narrator” and their cause is skillfully done, the revelations at once inevitable and startling. It’s a book asking about the mutability of history, and truth. Whether the story we tell ourselves is what is true, or what we remember. Or if what we remember can change, and if that change is true. The seventh perfection is the perfection of memory, which is something, in a story where everyone’s memory of past events is different.

Speaking of which - given that each chapter is a dialogue between our silent protagonist and whoever they’re questioning, I want to note the marvellous diversity of voice. From old antiquity traders, to ex-lovers, to broken-down members of the old regime, each person sees differently, speaks differently, thinks differently. Each of these people come across as completely different, a snapshot of an individual, with their own needs, their own old wounds, and iceberg covered depths. That they draw around her the shape of our protagonist, with those wants and needs under a skein of words, shape our own views with the warp and weft of their stories - well, it’s fantastic.

Which is how I’ll leave this review, really. The Seventh Perfection is, in a word, fantastic; Polansky has done it again, and brought forth another innovative, intriguing, must-read work of fantasy. Go get it.

 

When Jackals Storm The Walls - Bradley P. Beaulieu

When Jackals Storm The Walls is the latest in Bradley Beaulieu’s Sharakai saga, and a story which expertly blends three-dimensional, thoroughly human characters, a vividly realised world, and a properly kick-arse plot into a delicious narrative gumbo. I’ve talked at length before about how much I enjoy this series, so it’ll be no surprise that the tl;dr for this one is: yes, it’s as good as the previous installments. Yes, if you enjoyed those, you should go and get hold of a copy immediately. And yes, if you haven’t read the previous installments, you should do that, too.

We’re back in Sharakai, and the city is as beautiful and terrible as ever, even if things have changed. The spires still soar into a desert sky. The Collegia is still filled with scrolls of ancient knowledge, the quiet riffle of parchment and the laughter of students still matched incongruously with blood magic and mysterious disappearances. The Silver Spears are still on the march for their rulers, keeping the streets safe - but the new Kings and Queens aren’t the same as the old. But still, the heart of the city beats in its people, and the city has a vibrance, an energy, which makes it a jewel at the heart of the desert. It’s filled with contradictions, of course, though I think the most interesting is a matter of identity. As new rulers replace the old, is Sharakai still itself, or something new? Will the old systems remain in place, or are new alliances being made, new deals cut. Will old prejudices outweigh common ground? Given that the story has a deep history, one which very much informs the decisions of the characters, this isn’t a casual question. The city, and the desert, are wracked by change, with different actors trying to move the identity being built to ward their own designs. Will the desert tribes come together? Who can say. They may storm Sharakai and topple those towers, or perhaps come together with those inside the walls to act against invaders from outside the desert sands. Or perhaps neither. This is a story which is looking at what makes people who they are, and also one where who people are is very much in flux, both individually, and on a larger scale.

Which is a long winded way of saying that the elaborate wonder of the city, and the stark, unflinching beauty of the desert are breathtaking in their own ways, and the story expertly brings both to life. If you’ve missed the purple skies of a desert sunset, or the text-shrouded gloom of the collegia, you’ll find everything you needed here.

The characters...well, they’re difficult to talk about, actually. Because this is a story, as I say, of change, of flux. Çeda is still our protagonist, but we see more viewpoints too, from those in her orbit, but also those without, including some we might have previously considered antagonists. I will say that each comes with their own life, their own goals, and you can see them reaching out for those, see the tragedy when they fail (or succeed), and the triumph too. There’s nobody here who feels like a caricature, because we’ve been with most of them for several books. We know their complex, multi-layered story. There are revelations here though, changes to relationships that will make you gasp, make you re-read a page just to make sure something is true. I, for one, have been emotionally invested in this lot for some time, and so I feel every betrayal, and cheer for every victory - because they’re people, right there on the page, and in their humanity, in their defeats, in their reversals, in their lies and truths and moments of hope, you can see their humanity, and feel for, and with them. The characterisation here is, as always with the series, marvellous.

And the story. Well. As ever, no spoilers, so this’ll be brief, because there’s a lot going on! So many things change here, in this book. Alliances collapse, or are formed between unlikely compatriots. Romances are realised, The final steps in the dance begin to be laid down, and no-one, no matter how beloved, is safe. There are some very well deserved, carefully built up, beautifully delivered narrative moments that gave me joy, and you can see the plans set in motion books and books ago finally coming to fruition. Essentially, this is a book where the final pieces are getting played out, where the truth is becoming clearer, where people decide which sides they’re on - and there are so many surprises, so many pitch perfect moments, I couldn’t list them all. This is a love letter to Sharakai and its people, and an absolutely fantastic read; if you’ve come this far with the series, you owe it to yourself to see where this book takes you. It’s a heck of a journey.

How to Rule an Empire and Get Away With It - K.J. Parker

At this stage, my being enthusiastic about the latest K.J. Parker novel can’t be a surprise. And that streak is going to continue with How to Rule an Empire and Get Away With It, which is equal parts social commentary, elaborate heist, and war story. It also has an extremely long title, but you can’t have everything - and as a sort-of sequel to the equally lengthily titled Sixteen Ways to Defend a Walled City, it’s on-brand. And much like that book, it's very, very good.

This is Parker at their best, frankly. The narrator is unreliable, intelligent, incisive, and sarcastic. The narrative voice, tied to the internal monologue of the character, is clear, personable, and thoroughly entertaining. As usual, Parker shines at giving us a protagonist we can root for who is at once thoroughly likable and rather flawed. Identity, come to think of it, is one of the key themes of the text. Watching our lead, a some-time professional actor-slash-impersonator, struggle to define who they are through the constraints of their own unreliable narration is a joy. When they’re still struggling to define themselves against their own legacy, how are we supposed to take what they say as entirely true.

Speaking of which, this is a story which does dip back into the past now and again, telling us the story of our protagonist’s childhood, from his own eyes, showing us, little by little, how he ended up where he is, and also how he ended up as the person that he is. Some other parts of the story are laugh out loud funny, and even these sections can get a subversive chuckle out of me, but there’s some grim reading here, dark steel beneath warmer words. The child of an enforcer in the Themes, the unofficial gangs of the City, our narrator comes from a heritage of violence, extortion, and outright murder. Struggling to shake off that heritage helps shape them, and they also have enough self-awareness to acknowledge the role that their childhood has in making them who they are. Frankly, the way that we start with an enigma, and gradually see parts of our narrator’s history field in by their own recollections, and from other characters in dialogue, is compelling stuff, and the slow drip of revelation and discovery made the story all the more intriguing.

So yes. Rock solid protagonist. Top banter. Clever. Thinks things through. Unreliable, though with a bit more of a moral centre than a lot of Parker’s other leads. Honestly, I love the characterisation here, it’s top notch. And that extends to the other characters as well. Some of them we only meet briefly, but you can feel the desperation, the sweat on their palms as they try and extricate themselves from a bad situation. Or the auger-like sharpness of a calculating gaze, weighing the odds, deciding when would be a good time to make that one roll that means either retirement to a money vault, or a rather rapid demise. Because our lead isn’t the only smart person around. There are others, and they all have an agenda of their own. Watching the fencing, the squabbling, the betrayals and moments of self-doubt, it helps shape this world,and show that there are people here, with agency, recognising or struggling against institutional inevitabilities.

As an aside, Parker has always been good about writing women who are as thoroughly realised and developed as characters as the men, and that trend continues here. There’s an abundance of sharp-witted, driven female characters here, with their own agency, utterly unwilling to take any crap from the protagonist, and getting on with their own lives, with their own goals. They’re not here to provide an incentive, or be the plot - they’re here to seize the initiative, and shape the world to their needs.

In the end, the characters here are, frankly, wonderful. They live, they breathe, and occasionally they die very quickly. Each of them feels like a person, and you can feel for them. If I had to pin down what makes them work, I’d say its their humanity - the pettiness, the spite, the conflict, and the moments of hope, of joy, of genuine love sprinkled through. These are people, and people matter. Which means that you keep turning the pages, to see what happens next.

Speaking of what happens next: Parker has always done narrative chess well, laying out all the pieces line by line, word by word, stepping the character and the readers through it until the story has the momentum of a hurtling boulder, born from the first few lines, way back at the beginning. So it is here. There’s a lot going on. This is a city under siege from an army sworn to destroy everything inside. And so there are rushes at gates. There are attempts to storm the walls, and heroic citizens laying down their lives for their culture. There’s saps and counter saps  - I learned a surprising amount about siege mining! Basically, there’s a war on. And if we’re not often on the front lines, in the dark, feeling the grate of blade against bone, we’re watching the high level discussions about how the City can survive, what to do next, how to keep things moving from one day to the next. There’s issues with logistics, and, for example, a genuinely interesting bit on the role of fire brigades. And it works! It’s sometimes funny, always utterly convincing, and smart enough to keep your attention. The war is there, driving us forward, making our protagonist make choices, decide what to do, and what the results of those choices mean about who he is.

Anyway. At the end of the day, this is another cracking story from Parker. It has the superlative characterisation they’re known for, as well as the complex plotting, the devastating twists and turns, and the beautifully structured, thoroughly believable world. This is a fantastic story, and, as usual, I think you should give it, and Parker, a tr

The First Sister - Linden A. Lewis

The First Sister is a sci-fi debut from Linden A. Lewis, and, just to get this out of the way now, it’s really rather good. The characterisation is absolutely stellar. The world is interesting, populated by interesting little details and a fascinating history, and the narrative was compulsive reading, and left me wanting more. Basically, it’s a fun read, and one I can wholeheartedly recommend.

So, that world I was talking about? It’s a world in conflict. Interplanetry war is real, and here to stay. One faction of humanity has spread its metaphorical wings, and moved to the orbit of Mercury, where the discovery of a super-material has allowed them to build a high-tech society in which many of humanity’s basic needs and wants are satisfied. That said, the utopia may not be all that it seems, and a price may still be paid. But the Icarii, as they call themselves, are apple to make use of technological weaponry beyond the grasp of most, including swords made of matter that forms at a thought, and implants that allow their elites to shunt away pain, or fear, or doubt. They stand astride their world like deities, facing down the outer planets. For Earth and Mars are a hegemony, driven by war, by religion, and by the need to capture Mercury’s technology to drive the regeneration of their own dying planets. Both societies have the well-worn texture of the real, from the cool, clinical corridors of the Icarii military command, to the claustrophobic corridors of an Earth cruiser, via the remnants of community being rebuilt after conflict on the moon of Ceres, with all the discrete corners, forgotten people and horse trading that implies. This is a universe which has its own sacrifices, its own edges, one which is different enough to surprise, and familiar enough to ground its horrors in reality. These are people we see here, living their lives in the shadow of war, or in the rigid anxiety and gentle terror of encroaching oppression.

And onto this stage steps First Sister, to take hold of it, humanise it. As the first of her sisterhood on an Earth cruiser, she acts as a means of comfort and confession for its captain; the sisterhood are as religious icons to their crew, but also as comfort women. Subjugation and reification mixed together in a headily toxic brew, in a society geared for war, where young men are sent to die, and technology is prized. Where war machines stride shattered cities, and the role of women is ambiguous at best. The Sisters have their power, a power of shared secrets and intimacy, though it’s wrapped around by the power of the Aunts, those who can speak for the Sisters. Quite literally, as the Sisters have been rendered unable to speak. So they serve in silence, signing to each other, forbidden to write, knowing that when their youth and vitality fade, they’ll be moved into a servant class. These are less lives of quiet desperation than they are just regular desperation, and our First Sister shows that. Because while she is fiercely intelligent, driven to succeed, and talented, she lives in fear. The fear that what she has will be taken from her at a whim, at a word. First Sister lives in a world of delicate power dynamics, where one mis-step could end in disaster, surrounded by hungry eyes mouthing faithful platitudes. But oh, she’s a joy. In that environment, she flourishes, she fights, she works to survive and turn things her way - and does so while facing down her inner demons and crises of conscience. This is a book, in a lot of ways, about what we will allow. About what people will convince themselves needs to be done, and about where they’ll draw the line. First Sister has to make choices, decide which prices she’s willing to pay, what lines he’s willing to cross, and what she wants. To know what sort of person she is. A woman without a name, she’s seizing hold of life, refusing to be buffeted by fate, trying to choose her own path in the face of both personal and institutional pressure. I cheered her on every step of the way, and  was delighted that her story, with its intimacies, with its relationships (and points for some wonderful LGBTQIA+ representation), with its betrayals and lies and friendships and affections, could show off so much about the human condition. Because the First Sister is a person, like all of us, and comes off the page to stand before the reader as she works and struggles her way toward the life she deserves - which may or may not be the life she thinks she wants.

Which brings us to Lito. While First Sister showcases the Gaean (Earth and Mars) society for us, Lito shows us what’s going on for the Icarii. And Lito is drowning. Teaching cadets at a military academy, one half of a partnership torn asunder by war. Lito is one of the elite, having fought to join it from a background less than salubrious. Lito has fought and killed, been physically injured, and then left to recuperate without their partner, Hiro, whose absence is a deep seated anguish, an emotional amputation. I have to admire Lito for their obvious devotion to their partner, their desire to find them, to get them back from whatever hole they’ve fallen into, and for their quiet idealism. Lito isn’t unaware of the truths of the world they grew up in, of the point of privilege they now occupy, of what it took to get them there. But they’re struggling with their image of themselves, and with whether the society they’ve paid a cost to maintain was worth it. We do hear from Hiro as well, and, as an aside, the non-binary representation in the text is a joy, but it’s Lito’s story that comes to us and stands beside that of the First Sister, showing a physical power restrained by social oppression, by a military that looks on Lito as (at best) a tool, one which can be broken - and replaced. And like First Sister, Lito fights, struggles, drives forward trying to become their own version of themselves, something they can live with. The text puts them both through the wringer, and it’s agonising and wonderful at once.

I don’t want to get into the story, for fear of spoiling some fantastic reversals and revelations. But it was a truly gripping read. Each chapter left me at the edge of our couch, excited to see what the other characters were getting up to, and also desperate to see what happened to the ones I was switching away from. It’s a work of art, this story, art that kept me guessing all the way through about motivations, costs, and how it was going to end. This is a story about people, and about relationships, about systems and the way those can become less a means to help people than to hurt them - and about what happens when people decide they won’t take that sort of treatment any longer. It’s a story of treachery, and blood. It’s a story with more than one gruesome moment, of psychological or physical horror. But it’s also a story with bravery, and kindness and love at centre stage. A story about the voiceless finding their voice.

 And in the end it’s a damn good story, one I think you should read.

The Tyrant Baru Coromorant - Seth Dickinson

The Tyrant Baru Cormorant is the conclusion to Seth Dickinson’s Baru series. I absolutely adored the first of those, and the second was no slouch either; a conclusion had a lot to live up to. And, to get the tl;dr out of the way: it does. Absolutely smashes it. There’s a whole lot of stuff I loved from the first two books - life-in-crisis Baru, looking at deep moral and ethical issues through a fantasy lens, some baffling magic, and rock-solid, multi-layered characterisation. And then there’s some new cool stuff too. Spending some time in the heartland of the Empire. Baru getting asked some hard questions. Some intriguing backstory (more on that later). And, of course the sort of byzantine power plays, personal leveraging and political machinations from unexpected angles that help keep baru the savant alive. This is all the things I loved about the first two books, and you can rest assured that if you enjoyed those, this one proves to be a worthy conclusion..

Baru...oh, Baru is the heart of this book. A woman absolutely determined to do what must be done to reach her goals. Ruthless, driven, focused. After spending much of the previous book deep in depression and being dragged out of it, it’s good to see her on task. Well, I say good. Baru is definitely paying the cost for her actions, mostly by watching those costs happen to other people. There’s a moral corrosion which she’s aware of, as everyone else bears the price for her decisions, and as she weighs up whether to let them continue to do so, or walk away and pay the cost of that decision too. Part of the reason I love Baru so much is her complexity, and her internal conflicts. In other books, she might be seen as a villain, and is..absolutely responsible for some deeply sketchy stuff. But at the same time, we can see Baru as a person with a strong moral purpose, trying to do the best for her people, and for herself. Do the means justify the end? It’s a question that the narrative is asking the reader, not just about the protagonist, but about her opponents. It helps that Baru is self-aware enough to question whether she is, in other people’s lights, a monster. And the emotional heart of the book, her relationship with her old friend Amanita, and the tragedy of her love for a now-dead revolutionary, ground Baru, keep her human. If she’s sometimes odd, febrile, prone to lashing out, and too focused on the board and not the other players, still she can be empathised with, understood, seen sympathetically. Baru is complicated, as are we all - and in trying to break apart forces both personal and systemic, she’s someone we can stand alongside, even as they do terrible things.

Anyway. If you’re this deep in the series, you know Baru. Know this: you’re going to see the costs of Baru’s actions paid. You’ll see her work through her understanding of who and what she is. Of what she’s willing to do. You’ll see love and family and professionalism and respect and madness and outright hate. It’s going to get emotionally messy. But it’s Baru, whose inner life (and trauma) is richly realised here, and who comes to us as a living, breathing person. Reading this is going to hurt. It may make you laugh, it’ll probably make you cry. It may rip your heart out of your chest...possibly literally. It will, to coin a phrase, be emotional. Be warned. But its also fantastic.

The world...well, we don’t spend quite as much time at sea as previously. But we do get to see some mind bendingly imaginative, and occasionally horrifying environments. Falcrest, the city, gets a look in, the towering spires of the shining city on the hill, mixed with the cold cells, and reconditioning rooms, and icepicks to the frontal lobe. There’s also some time spent with the Mbo, drawing us back into the past, looking at the reaching hand of Falcrest, and the rise of the Cryptarchs whose later presence has put such a weight onto Baru. We can see history at work here, the underpinnings of the modern tragedy in the heroics of the past. And the Mbo, its warmth and its reliance on intrinsic social bonds, and its reaction to threats...all those things stand as a fascinating contrast to the Falcresti model of industrial society. It has its flaws as well, and the text does not flinch away from those, but lets the reader think and draw their own conclusions from the options on the table, and from the people living within the systems. Quite whether any system can be good, or just less oppressive, is something I had to think about as the story drew to a close - but I was also thinking about the clinical efficiency and ravening energy of the Falcresti, and the hospitality, the warmth, and the stratification of the Mbo. It’s a difficult world, this one, filled with unknown terrors, and even the people we see are grist for the mill. But they are also, importantly, people, with faces, lives and names, and in the end, both the world and the people in it feel important, feel real.

I won’t go into the story, but will say that it kicks off very strongly, and only improves from there. As Baru drives forward, the story carries her along, a fast-flowing river that becomes a torrent of plays, counter-plays, betrayals, revelations and revolutions. There is, basically, always something going on, and that something always grabbed my attention and kept my eyes on the page. I wanted to see how this one shook out, see what Baru could do, what she would allow herself to do, and how the various seemingly unsolvable moral and ethical dilemmas (and their rather more immediate physical counterparts - threats of warm invasion or world-ending pestilence) would turn out. This is a story with bite, which stands before you unflinching and asks you to follow it through, and to think it through as well. It made me gasp, genuinely, more than once, and swear, loudly, more than once too. This is the ending I was hoping for, once which takes the investment I made in the characters and the world, and makes it worth it.

If you’ve reached this point in the series, I can only urge you to finish it - because this is a book i was sad to finish, and a book I couldn’t stop reading. It’s a fantastic ending, and one that delivers on the promise of earlier installments - so go read it.