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orionmerlin 's review for:
A Stitch in Time
by Andrew J. Robinson
challenging
dark
emotional
mysterious
reflective
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
Characters: 8/10
Elim Garak is a walking, talking trope machine, and I mean that with reverence and a little concern. He’s The Atoner, The Unreliable Narrator, Double Consciousness incarnate. He’s basically a tapestry of literary devices masquerading as a tailor. From Abusive Parents (Tain, you absolute bastard) to Odd Friendships (Parmak, my sweet terrified cinnamon roll), the character work is layered—but also deeply Garak-centric. Everyone else is either a tragic mirror (Palandine, Tolan), a cautionary tale (Tain), or just atmospheric set dressing (Bashir, sadly). I loved being in Garak’s head, but it’s his memoir—not a full cast production. If you're not already obsessed with him, this is going to feel like watching a monologue with backup dancers.
Elim Garak is a walking, talking trope machine, and I mean that with reverence and a little concern. He’s The Atoner, The Unreliable Narrator, Double Consciousness incarnate. He’s basically a tapestry of literary devices masquerading as a tailor. From Abusive Parents (Tain, you absolute bastard) to Odd Friendships (Parmak, my sweet terrified cinnamon roll), the character work is layered—but also deeply Garak-centric. Everyone else is either a tragic mirror (Palandine, Tolan), a cautionary tale (Tain), or just atmospheric set dressing (Bashir, sadly). I loved being in Garak’s head, but it’s his memoir—not a full cast production. If you're not already obsessed with him, this is going to feel like watching a monologue with backup dancers.
Atmosphere/Setting: 7/10
We are After the End, friends. Cardassia is rubble, literal and metaphorical, and the air smells like guilt, ash, and iron oxide. The settings are potent—especially Garak’s reconstruction of Tain’s house into an accidental memorial (Death of the Author, indeed). But after the third time someone uses an Edosian Orchid to symbolize rebirth or fragility, I started wondering if there were any flowers on Cardassia without metaphorical baggage. I appreciated the Boarding School of Horrors flashbacks and the haunting, bureaucratic deadness of the Directorate scenes, but everything’s so heavy. The tone fits, but it’s exhausting. Grimly poetic, but also just... grim.
We are After the End, friends. Cardassia is rubble, literal and metaphorical, and the air smells like guilt, ash, and iron oxide. The settings are potent—especially Garak’s reconstruction of Tain’s house into an accidental memorial (Death of the Author, indeed). But after the third time someone uses an Edosian Orchid to symbolize rebirth or fragility, I started wondering if there were any flowers on Cardassia without metaphorical baggage. I appreciated the Boarding School of Horrors flashbacks and the haunting, bureaucratic deadness of the Directorate scenes, but everything’s so heavy. The tone fits, but it’s exhausting. Grimly poetic, but also just... grim.
Writing Style: 9/10
Robinson said, “What if The Secret History had more fascism and scales?” and I kind of love that for him. The prose is rich and self-aware—just like Garak. It's laced with Ironic Echoes, meditative digressions, and Cruel Mercy monologues so sharp they could cut through Obsidian Order red tape. The epistolary format works—until it doesn't. Some passages feel like they're written more for literary kudos than narrative clarity, and occasionally the metaphors pile so high they need their own elevation map. Still, I’m impressed. The man wrote like he had something to prove, and—Armor-Piercing Questions aside—I think he proved it.
Robinson said, “What if The Secret History had more fascism and scales?” and I kind of love that for him. The prose is rich and self-aware—just like Garak. It's laced with Ironic Echoes, meditative digressions, and Cruel Mercy monologues so sharp they could cut through Obsidian Order red tape. The epistolary format works—until it doesn't. Some passages feel like they're written more for literary kudos than narrative clarity, and occasionally the metaphors pile so high they need their own elevation map. Still, I’m impressed. The man wrote like he had something to prove, and—Armor-Piercing Questions aside—I think he proved it.
Plot: 6/10
Plot? What plot? This is Anachronic Order disguised as a confession. It weaves between Spy School, Star-Crossed Lovers, Loophole Abuse, and Screw This, I’m Out of Here in a narrative that is compelling only if you’re tracking Garak’s moral erosion in high resolution. There are stakes, yes—False Flag Operations, Villain Team-Ups, Asshole Victims toasted to genocide—but the pace? Glacial. The “present” timeline feels like set dressing for therapy, and some story beats are just Resolved Noodle Incidents from DS9 finally getting their close-up. I was here for character arcs, not edge-of-your-seat tension. But damn, those arcs were sharp.
Plot? What plot? This is Anachronic Order disguised as a confession. It weaves between Spy School, Star-Crossed Lovers, Loophole Abuse, and Screw This, I’m Out of Here in a narrative that is compelling only if you’re tracking Garak’s moral erosion in high resolution. There are stakes, yes—False Flag Operations, Villain Team-Ups, Asshole Victims toasted to genocide—but the pace? Glacial. The “present” timeline feels like set dressing for therapy, and some story beats are just Resolved Noodle Incidents from DS9 finally getting their close-up. I was here for character arcs, not edge-of-your-seat tension. But damn, those arcs were sharp.
Intrigue: 7/10
Early on, I was Properly Paranoid. Who’s watching? Who’s lying? (Spoiler: everyone, especially Garak.) But by the midpoint, I hit a wall of Internal Monologue Fatigue. When the book commits to spycraft or Heel Realizations, it’s electric—but the moments of political theater felt more like allegory than action. I kept going out of respect for the craft, but let’s be real: the drama is mostly personal. If you’re not here to find out whether Garak will finally admit he has feelings (and probably trauma-induced claustrophobia), you’re not going to be racing through this one.
Early on, I was Properly Paranoid. Who’s watching? Who’s lying? (Spoiler: everyone, especially Garak.) But by the midpoint, I hit a wall of Internal Monologue Fatigue. When the book commits to spycraft or Heel Realizations, it’s electric—but the moments of political theater felt more like allegory than action. I kept going out of respect for the craft, but let’s be real: the drama is mostly personal. If you’re not here to find out whether Garak will finally admit he has feelings (and probably trauma-induced claustrophobia), you’re not going to be racing through this one.
Logic/Relationships: 9/10
This is where the book earns its stripes. Cardassian politics are a glorious mess of Inter-Service Rivalry, My Country, Right or Wrong, and Training from Hell—and Garak navigates it all with tired, razor-sharp cynicism. His relationships—especially with Parmak (I Owe You My Life, but awkward), Mila ("You are my son and you are a Cardassian, not a Hebitian!"), and ghost-dad Tain—are emotionally coherent even when ethically bankrupt. You want Wicked Cultured tension? You’ve got it. Even Would Not Hit a Girl becomes a commentary on Cardassian masculinity. Honestly, this was the most intellectually rewarding part of the book.
This is where the book earns its stripes. Cardassian politics are a glorious mess of Inter-Service Rivalry, My Country, Right or Wrong, and Training from Hell—and Garak navigates it all with tired, razor-sharp cynicism. His relationships—especially with Parmak (I Owe You My Life, but awkward), Mila ("You are my son and you are a Cardassian, not a Hebitian!"), and ghost-dad Tain—are emotionally coherent even when ethically bankrupt. You want Wicked Cultured tension? You’ve got it. Even Would Not Hit a Girl becomes a commentary on Cardassian masculinity. Honestly, this was the most intellectually rewarding part of the book.
Enjoyment: 7/10
Did I enjoy it? Yes. Did I want to scream into a pillow halfway through? Also yes. It’s a slow burn with literary ambition, and if you treat it like Cardassian Crime and Punishment, it works. But I wouldn’t hand it to someone who just finished Q-Squared and wants more Trek hijinks. This is literary reconstruction of a morally ravaged tailor’s soul, not “space politics but fun.” It’s gorgeously written and thematically rich, but enjoyment comes with caveats. It made me think more than it made me feel—and that might be the most Cardassian outcome of all.
Did I enjoy it? Yes. Did I want to scream into a pillow halfway through? Also yes. It’s a slow burn with literary ambition, and if you treat it like Cardassian Crime and Punishment, it works. But I wouldn’t hand it to someone who just finished Q-Squared and wants more Trek hijinks. This is literary reconstruction of a morally ravaged tailor’s soul, not “space politics but fun.” It’s gorgeously written and thematically rich, but enjoyment comes with caveats. It made me think more than it made me feel—and that might be the most Cardassian outcome of all.
Final Score: 53/70
This book is A Stitch in Time, not a tapestry. It’s threadbare in plot, dense in character work, and soaked in metaphor. A triumph of genre-defiant fanservice if you're into morally complex self-loathing spies with a flair for tailoring and religious doubt. If not? Well... perhaps there’s hope for you yet.
This book is A Stitch in Time, not a tapestry. It’s threadbare in plot, dense in character work, and soaked in metaphor. A triumph of genre-defiant fanservice if you're into morally complex self-loathing spies with a flair for tailoring and religious doubt. If not? Well... perhaps there’s hope for you yet.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Death, Genocide, Torture, Murder, War
Moderate: Confinement, Emotional abuse, Panic attacks/disorders, Physical abuse, Suicide, Grief, Gaslighting, Colonisation, Classism
Minor: Cursing, Domestic abuse, Racism, Sexism, Sexual content, Xenophobia, Medical trauma, Alcohol
Much of the trauma in this book is psychological and ideological rather than visceral. Garak’s narration filters events through his cold irony and unreliable memory, so the emotional impact often lands harder than any explicit scene. Abuse—especially emotional and institutional—is a major theme, and the novel confronts war crimes, propaganda, and generational guilt with nuance but little comfort. There’s also a powerful undercurrent of recovery, especially in the post-war reconstruction arc, but it’s subtle and bittersweet.