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Moderate: Gun violence, Violence, Murder
Roz is the kind of character who would short-circuit a Voight-Kampff test by offering to babysit your gosling and then building it a moss-lined nest. She starts out as a blank slate—ROZZUM Unit 7134, thank you very much—but her slow transformation into a Nature-Loving Robot and full-blown Goose Mom™ was honestly kind of moving. Watching her GroW BeYoNd HeR pRoGrAmMiNg in real time was like watching your Roomba discover slam poetry. The animals, from cranky Loudwing to lazy barn cats and overly dramatic beavers, all had distinct personalities and purpose. Even the turtle gets to drop some family-lore exposition like it’s a Flooded Future World bedtime story. And Brightbill? That little guy had more emotional nuance than half the YA love interests I’ve read this year.
So yes, it’s a lonely island, but make it post-climate-collapse. The “Flooded Future World” backdrop is sneakily revealed through blink-and-you-miss-it scenery—a submerged building here, a turtle legend there. It’s like Brown is whispering “human hubris” behind a bush while Roz teaches geese how to make fire. The atmosphere walks a fine line between gentle fable and quiet eco-horror, without ever tipping over into preachy or bleak. The island is alive in the Nature Is Not Nice sense—creatures die, winters kill, and a baby goose nearly eats a robot’s face—but the tone stays grounded and thoughtful. Plus, I loved the seasonal structure, like the island was its own character slowly turning the pages.
Peter Brown’s prose is efficient like Roz herself—streamlined, occasionally poetic, but never flashy. The narrator is a Lemony Narrator Lite™, breaking the fourth wall just enough to wink at us without getting annoying. Sentences are short, chapters even shorter, which made it compulsively readable—like eating popcorn, but the popcorn occasionally makes you reflect on mortality. His turns of phrase (“Clearly, Roz was not designed for…” is the story’s Arc Word) give the book a rhythmic, almost fairytale vibe, though never so precious that I wanted to throw it in a recycling bin. I just wish the emotional moments had a little more breathing room; sometimes it felt like we zoomed from death to warm fuzzies in a single paragraph.
Stranded robot learns to survive. Stranded robot adopts gosling. Stranded robot goes to war with corporate salvage drones. The plot really said, “Let’s go from Robinson Crusoe to Terminator but make it tender.” The early story leans episodic, with Roz picking up Chekhov’s Skills left and right—camouflage, fire-building, bear-whispering—and while the vignettes are charming, they do delay the forward momentum. That said, when the RECO drones finally show up, the tonal whiplash is delicious. And the Cliffhanger ending? It felt earned. She’s heading to the mainland, probably to start a goose-based revolution.
Despite its quiet pacing, this book had me hooked like a curious squirrel eavesdropping on a talking machine. The novelty of Roz learning to Speak Fluent Animal never got old. Her attempts at communication often backfired hilariously—especially when her mash-up accent made her sound like a chimera from animal hell. Every time she learned a new survival skill or earned the respect of another animal, I felt like I was watching the slowest, most emotionally intelligent Survivor season ever. And that final battle with the RECOs? Genuinely gripping in a homegrown insurgency meets robot ethics kind of way.
It’s a book where animals can shoot rifles and give survivalist advice, so you’d think the logic would fly south for the winter—but nope, it all holds together. Roz’s journey from literal-minded A.I. to emotionally resonant caretaker had a solid throughline. Her I Cannot Self-Terminate programming detail was a surprisingly poignant touch. The “animal talk” system—where each species has a dialect—was a clever twist on Animal Talk tropes, and made Roz’s multilingual awkwardness oddly endearing. And Roz and Brightbill? Their relationship was the heart of the story. You could’ve given me 200 more pages of them just waddling around learning about clouds, and I would’ve been thrilled.
This book was a total surprise hit for me. I expected cute. I got an existential eco-fable with emotional range, high-stakes mom drama, and a meditation on what it means to live and belong. Also, geese with a body count. It’s the kind of book I’d gift to a kid, borrow back from them, and reread under the guise of “checking if it’s appropriate.” The only reason I’m not giving it a perfect 10 is because it didn’t fully wreck me—but it definitely rewired a few circuits.
Graphic: Animal death, Gun violence, Violence, Death of parent, Fire/Fire injury, Injury/Injury detail
Moderate: Animal cruelty, Bullying, Death, Kidnapping, Grief, Abandonment, War
Minor: Body horror, Confinement, Hate crime, Xenophobia, Blood, Excrement
Graphic: Animal death, Bullying, Death, Gun violence, Violence, Xenophobia, Death of parent, Murder, Fire/Fire injury, Injury/Injury detail
Moderate: Excrement, Grief
Moderate: Death, Violence
Minor: Violence
Graphic: Animal death, Death
Moderate: Violence
Minor: Bullying, Gun violence, Fire/Fire injury, Injury/Injury detail
Moderate: Animal death, Bullying, Gun violence, Violence
Minor: Animal cruelty, Fire/Fire injury
Graphic: Animal death, Death, Gun violence, Hate crime, Violence, Death of parent, Murder, Fire/Fire injury, War, Injury/Injury detail
Graphic: Animal death, Death, Gun violence, Violence
Graphic: Animal death, Death, Gun violence, Violence, Fire/Fire injury, Injury/Injury detail