kierano's reviews
22 reviews

A Dirge for Cascius: Part 1 by Calum Lott

adventurous challenging dark mysterious tense medium-paced

• Plot- or character-driven? A mix
• Strong character development? Yes
• Loveable characters? It's complicated
• Diverse cast of characters? Yes
• Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes

3.25

 When I was first reading Gardens of the Moon—book one in the Malazan series by Steven Erikson—I knew what I was getting into. The series had been on shelves for over two decades, and it had garnered a reputation for being a story with a learning curve so steep that its entire first half was borderline incomprehensible.

Given that the novel developed into a ten-book series though, readers seemed to agree that scaling that initial cliff of names and dates and battles and loyalties and magic systems was a worthwhile endeavour. Like I said, the series’ reputation preceded it, so when it was my turn to face the challenge, I had friends and internet strangers telling me that it would all be worth it.

Of course, I’m not bringing this up for no reason. With A Dirge for Cascius, author Calum Lott is facing a similar challenge to what I imagine Steven Erikson experienced in the early days of Malazan. The similarities between the novel/series pretty much at ‘dense fantasy’, but the question that persisted for me as I pushed through the novel was ‘Is this going to be worth it?’

Magic/Science

When Cascius, a suicidal yet excellent scrutineer (i.e. detective), is offered a new case and a new partner, he begins the investigation mostly as a way to distract himself from the haunted memories of all the loved ones he’s lost over the years. But as his relationship with his new partner, Kirella, deepens, and he becomes more invested in the case, he finds himself confronting what scares him most: a life worth living.

A Dirge for Cascius is, on its surface, a detective thriller, and employs many of the tropes of the genre to good effect. There is, of course, the odd couple dynamic between the partners, red herrings, crime scene analyses, and—topping it all off—the substance-abusing lead detective. The ‘substance’ that Cascius abuses is interesting though; he’s addicted to reliving the traumatic memories of his past through an all-immersive process called Recall. I found this to be a really unique place to begin a character journey, and a fun spin on a well-used trope.

So yes, if you’re a fan of detective fiction there’s a fair chance you’ll enjoy the broader strokes of Cascius, but the real appeal of the novel will come in its heavy fantasy/sci-fi elements. There’s a case to be made that science fiction is, at its core, a fantasy subgenre, but here the lines between the two are totally blurred. Cascius features multiple planets and spacecraft and tactile holograms, but Lott’s terminology is very fantasy-based.

The result of this is a story that feels totally alien. There is no ‘fish out of water’ character to help a reader process the nuances of this universe—they’re thrown in head-first and expected to swim through dozens of fictional terms for the various otherworldly aspects of the story, many of which are never outright explained, requiring the reader to piece their definitions together through context alone.

For some, this is a mighty appealing challenge. Lott doesn’t just not hold your hand—he blindfolds you, spins you around ten times, then says ‘Off you go!’ I should note that there is a glossary at the back of the novel (something I didn’t realise until I came to the end of my e-book). I’m not a person who ever refers to glossaries during a first read-through anyway, but the option is there.

Regret/Acceptance

When I first realised the uphill battle I was facing with Cascius, I grew nervous. This is a debut novel, and I simply didn’t know if I was in experienced-enough hands for me to have a good time. I’ll admit that getting through the first quarter or so of the story was tough. I felt very lost, very groundless, and I found Cascius’ characterisation to be a little melodramatic and very self-pitying, which was a little off-putting. While it became clear that this was a purposeful choice being made by the author, I do think it’s a little risky for a debut novel to start in such a manner.

But as I pressed on with the story, something clicked. I was no longer struggling to parse the dense terminology of the world, and even if I had trouble visualising some aspects of it, I understood the function of the fantastical technologies enough to have a clear understanding of what was going on. It’s a great feeling, settling into the lingo of a fantasy world like this, and belies Lott’s consistent, descriptive prose.

There’s still so much about the world of Cascius that I don’t understand. There are named factions and races that never come to the forefront of the story, but I sense real intention in Lott’s worldbuilding. As he writes more books and grows a fanbase, I’m sure that those fans are going to love exploring this deep and mysterious universe.

Personally though, I’m not sure if this story was fully up my alley. There are going to be people who absolute love this novel and Lott’s future work, but even after I settled into the basics of the world, some plot elements, turning points, and set pieces had me scratching my head more than leaning forward. While I never lost track of Cascius or Kirella’s motivations and intentions, sometimes it felt like understanding the intricacies of the various antagonistic forces of the story was totally out of reach.

This feels intentional, which I can respect. As I’ve mentioned, this universe feels totally alien at times, but it’s that very feeling of total transportation to a wholly unique universe that will be the appeal for so many fantasy and science-fiction fans. Also, once it got going, the greatest appeal of the novel for me was watching Cascius attempt to come out of his morbid shell and develop a kinship with his new partner. Their relationship is the heart of the novel, really, and I’m grateful that Lott had the ability and awareness to develop it in a satisfying manner.

Conclusion

A Dirge for Cascius is a totally fresh experience, filled with the twists and turns you’d expect from a detective thriller, but written through the lens of an incredibly dense fantasy/sci-fi universe. It’s certainly not for everybody—and even the people who will like it face a challenge adjusting to this world—but I found it to be a worthwhile experience, helmed by an author with deep creative vision and imagination.

Foundation and Empire by Isaac Asimov

3.0

 After suffering through some Dune fatigue, I recently re-stumbled upon Isaac Asimov’s exceptional novel Foundation. I was really taken with how accessible the story was; Asimov took what sounds like dense subject matter—the political machinations revolving around the predicted collapse of a galactic empire—and turned it into a page-turner.

Each of the five stories in Foundation were political puzzles, and seeing how they played out was tons of fun. Asimov continues the concept with Foundation and Empire, although this novel only features two stories. I was initially excited by this concept—I wanted to see what Asimov could pull off with stories of novella length as opposed to short stories.

Unfortunately, I found the combination of Asimov’s writing style and his choice of subject matter to be a little grating here. There are some shining moments to be sure, but the overall effect of Foundation and Empire didn’t come close to Foundation for me.

The General

The first of the two stories is called ‘The General’ and focuses on the exploits of a military general from the collapsing galactic empire attempting to capture and overthrow the Foundation. The shorter of the two stories, I found this one to be the most effective. I enjoyed getting a glimpse into what was happening beyond the scope of the Foundation—that the Foundation has become something almost mythological to the people of the old empire is a really nice bit of worldbuilding.

Ultimately though, whether you find ‘The General’ to be a satisfying read will depend largely on your personal taste. The story features a lot of tail-chasing, and its ending purposefully undercuts the narrative in way that will either having you lauding the way Asimov undermined your expectations of how a Foundation story ‘should’ play out, or tossing your book at a wall, throwing up your hands, and asking ‘Then what was the point of any of it?’

I think I fall somewhere in middle of the spectrum but would lean towards the former on a re-read. The bulk of the story felt a bit more convoluted than previous entries—keeping names, locations, and political allegiances straight in my head took more brainpower than I’d anticipated—but the story retains the ‘political puzzle’ elements that I came to like so much in Foundation, and for that I say it’s a story worth reading, even with its divisive ending.

The Mule

The second of the two stories is called ‘The Mule’ and this is where the novel kind of fell apart for me. This is longest Foundation story by far, and simply put, I don’t think Asimov’s character writing is good enough to keep a novella-length story interesting.

I haven’t mentioned it in this review yet, but each Foundation story is set decades—if not centuries—apart from the others. In this manner, each story not only gives us new status quos, but entirely new characters and scenarios. This worked really well in Foundation—Asimov told a compelling larger story by constantly pivoting through a series of immaculately set up political puzzles. The stories weren’t great because of their characters—although he did manage to make them feel distinct—but because of the surprisingly satisfying ways they made it through their conundrums.

‘The Mule’, by nature of its length, places a lot more emphasis on the characters than other stories, but they’re simply not interesting. The story follows the rise of an unknown threat to the galaxy known only as ‘The Mule’, who can seemingly overthrow entire planets at will.

Piecing together this latest status quo was fun. There have been some big changes in the galaxy since the era of ‘The General’ and credit to Asimov for keeping his world from feeling stagnant. His ever-changing, ever-evolving galaxy feels real and loaded with consequence. I enjoyed the set-up for this story a lot. The question of whether the Mule is something that has been predicated and prepared for by the Foundation’s creator is brimming with tension, and I enjoyed the overall atmosphere of panic and fear that the Mule created.

Unfortunately, as the story veers towards magical realism and forces me to spend more and more time with a young married couple and their feeble-minded court-jester friend (yes), the more the story started to wear me down. Bayta and Toren—the young couple—are simply too flat to be worth this much story. Magnifico the clown (again, yes) has at least an element of mystery to him that kept me reading, but the whole thing just felt so bizarre at times that it hindered full enjoyment.

Conclusion

This didn’t come close to the revelatory experience I had reading Foundation, which I still maintain is well worth your time. There are elements of Foundation and Empire that are worthwhile too, though. It’s not that this is a drastic step down in quality compared to the first book—it’s really more of the same, just stretched to the point where the cracks in Asimov’s writing have become readily apparent.

Clearly, Foundation and Empire has its fans, and I’ll be continuing the series for sure. If you liked Foundation, I would recommend you continue the series, too. For me, Foundation and Empire was a sometimes-frustrating experience, sometimes-puzzling experience, but even that can’t totally diminish Asimov’s spectacular level of imagination and creativity that has caused the series to endure to this day. 

Apostles of Mercy by Lindsay Ellis

4.5

To set the tone for how much I was looking forward to this book: I audibly gasped when I saw it on a shelf at my local bookshop and purchased it straight away despite having only popped in for a browse.

You might argue that a true fan of Lindsay Ellis's Noumena series would've known when the next instalment was releasing, but when I'm reading a series that's still being released, I find myself actively resisting the urge to Google when the next book is coming to spare myself the frustration when ninety percent of the time the answer is 'Who knows?'

So, yes, I gasped. Don't blame Ellis's marketing team; this is a book I've been anticipating for years, since the release of the second book, Truth of the Divine. This superb sci-fi series began with 2020's Axiom's End, and follows the story of Cora, daughter of a Julian Assange-esque leaker and general failure at life, who winds up acting as an interpreter for an alien codenamed Ampersand.

As usual, I'm not going to be spoiling Apostles of Mercy, but merely discussing it may spoil aspects of the first two books. If you're looking for a modern sci-fi thriller that reads a little like Independance Day with just a touch of alien-based romance, this is the series for you. And if you think that isn't quite your style... Read Axiom's End anyway. It might surprise you.

She's Not a Girl Who Misses Much
Apostles of Mercy picks up where book two left off, with Cora and Ampersand having decided that because Earth and humanity is inevitably doomed to die in the coming decades at the hands of the much more advanced 'Superorganism', they're going to abandon the planet soon. These plans are thrown off course when Cora begins to fear Ampersand and enters into the early stages of an unexpected romance with Paris--a journalist and friend of Kaveh, her old boyfriend.

Messy doesn't come close to describing Cora's personal life. At not a single point in the story is she on solid ground with even a slight majority of her relationships. Her relationship with Paris seems doomed from the start; Ampersand is uncaring of her emotional needs to the point that it feels abusive; her father is, as usual, playing mind games with her; and a certain vindictive CIA agent feels the need to toy with her at every step. Cora always feels like she's one step from having a breakdown and I'm a sick freak for liking it that way.

Cora's relationship with Ampersand is the heart of the series and is fascinatingly observed. Given the intimate nature of their connection, there is obviously romantic elements to their entanglement, but Ellis pushes this a step further in Apostles, adding a layer of toxicity to their dynamic. Amperdand's imperfect communication skills and treatment of Cora is uncomfortable. Ellis is always pushing and evolving the nature of their relationship, but here it reach new levels.

Ellis has a real skill at grounding every element of the story in her characters. Despite the heavy sci-fi tropes she's employing--stuff that sounds like a silver age comic book on the surface--she roots everything in complex characters dealing with very human issues and manages to make the personal stuff feel just as important as the world-threatening alien stuff. Paris and Sol The CIA Agent both get their own POV chapters and arcs in Apostles, and both feel as fully fleshed out and complex as Cora.

Imagine All The Non-Human People
There's a lot happening in Apostles of Mercy. Part of the appeal of the series is the political ramifications of the existence of aliens on Earth, something which is made even more complicated by the divide in alien factions and species, all of whom are vying for survival on a planet whose inhabitants are hostile towards them. The threat of nuclear armament, the question of personhood, the illegal invasion of sovereign nations, state secrets, the crimes of the CIA and more all play an important role in the story, creating a sense of depth and realism.

Sometimes I found it a little tricky keeping all of this straight in my head--especially the alien stuff. Some of this might be my own poor memory and the fact that I didn't re-read the first two novels before diving into Apostles, but Ellis does such a good job at refreshing the reader on the facts of this world ninety-nine percent of the time that I really noticed the one percent of the time I was left behind. It was just the detailed, nitty-gritty stuff about alien caste systems and political schisms that sometimes tripped me--things that also showcase an incredibly creative eye for worldbuilding on Ellis' part.

Now and Then
Apostles of Mercy, and indeed the entire Noumena series thus far, is an incredibly worthwhile read that rewards close inspection not only for its imaginative take on the alien invasion trope, but Ellis' insights into human relationships and her interrogation of the U.S. government's relationship with outsiders. The series is also releasing at an a satisfactory clip. I know some people don't like starting a series until it's complete, but three books of this quality in four years is an astounding output, and I'd encourage any sci-fi fan to jump aboard Noumena A.S.A.P.

Light of the Jedi by Charles Soule

3.25

 With the release of The Acolyte, Disney put a new era of Star Wars on screen for the first time—an era set hundreds of years before the dawn of the Skywalker Saga. For mega-fans though, The Acolyte is only the latest step in the development of this time-period which first began back in 2021 with the novel Light of the Jedi by Charles Soule.

Since then, there have been numerous novels, comics, and audio dramas set in this era dubbed ‘The High Republic’. I’m not the kind of fan who keeps up with all of that, but as The Acolyte approached release, I found myself interested in dipping a toe into the world of Star Wars novels. Mostly, this is because of author Charles Soule, who wrote a great Daredevil run for Marvel a few years ago. I’m not sure if I would’ve made the jump if I didn’t know there was that level of quality backing the story.

Regardless, I remained somewhat apprehensive, because I hadn’t the least clue what to expect from a Star Wars novel, given how much of the charm of the movies is found in the on-screen visuals and imaginative sound effects.

A really long time ago…

After a disaster in hyperspace destroys a cargo ship, sending fragments of the ship hurtling towards the population centres of the Hetzal system, the combined forces of the Republic and the Jedi race to uncover the cause of the disaster before it happens again. Meanwhile, a powerful group of marauders known as the Nihil seek to take advantage of the situation.

Light of the Jedi is told from more points of view than I can count. This is to both its benefit and its detriment. I have no issue with stories with multiple POVs, nor do I mind jumping to minor characters’ perspectives when appropriate, but this generally only works in stories longer than Light of the Jedi’s 380 pages.

Indeed, the entire first third of the novel recounts only the details of the disaster that sets the story in motion, flitting between chancellors, Jedi, apprentices, engineers, and many more. We never stay in any one perspective long enough for them to have any lasting impressions, though. Sometimes this works—several times Soule did quick and efficient work to get me to care about a character, only for them to be killed, which solidly raised the stakes—but I was also left feeling a bit groundless.

Really, that’s my biggest issue with Light of the Jedi; there just isn’t a single strong character arc backing the narrative. Every character feels like a bit-player, and while this makes for easy reading, it does mean that by the end, there’s no real sense of catharsis, other than a few bad guys getting their comeuppance.  

Pilot episode

I can’t imagine that this would be anybody’s first introduction to the Star Wars universe, so I’m not going to critique Light of the Jedi from that angle, but even if you happen to have a reasonable knowledge of the franchise like me, you’ll likely find it tough to keep track of all of the alien races. Listen, I like the movies, but don’t ask me to describe a Twi’lek for you. It’s an extension of the too-many-characters problem—there’s just no way a casual reader will be able to keep what everything and everyone’s supposed to look like straight in their heads.

That all said, the story does deliver on the kind of solid action set pieces you’d hope to see in any Star Wars story. There’s space battles and thousand-foot drops and chase scenes and ambushes and miraculous uses of the Force. The story might be spread too thin character-wise, but it’s never boring, and I found myself eating it up just to see how each set piece would resolve. Soule is a proficient and efficient writer, who writes action very well.

Conclusion

Initially, I was under the impression that this was a standalone story, which it apparently is not. Now, normally having this particular rug pulled out from beneath me at the end of the novel really bothers me, but I didn’t mind this ‘twist’ here. The final act actually really worked for me as it gave us a bit more of the main villain than we’d had throughout the rest of the story. There’s a decent sense of mystery and menace to this baddie, and I was actually kind of excited that this wasn’t the end of their story. I hadn’t been planning on reading any more Star Wars novels, but now I just might.

Light of the Jedi isn’t a bad book. It delivered on being a light, entertaining Star Wars story, but if you’re looking for something with real impact, you might be better off looking elsewhere. I couldn’t unconditionally recommend it to every Star Wars fan, but it was an easy, inoffensive read that provided enough thrills and tension to be worth engaging with. 

Eldest by Christopher Paolini

2.0

 When I was a kid, I was obsessed with Christopher Paolini’s Eragon. I read the book over and over, got the movie on DVD so I could see it again and again, and even had the GameBoy Advance game that was too difficult for me, but it didn’t matter because when I got to the hard part, I would just restart the game from the beginning.

My love wasn’t meant to last, though; despite my obsession, I never finished the series, and I pretty much forgot about it until last year when Christopher Paolini returned to the world of Eragon with his spin-off/sequel, Murtagh. When I received a copy of Murtagh from a similarly obsessed-at-the-time friend (hi David!), I decided that I would revisit the series I once loved so much and finish it this time so that I could dive into Murtagh fully caught up.

To summarise my experience with Eragon: I generally enjoyed it. The elements it derives from more popular series are glaring, and there were some pacing issues towards the end, but it was an easy read written with passion despite a lack of experience.

Cousin Roran

Eldest picks up in the immediate aftermath of Eragon. Eragon has to travel north to train with the elves to become a Dragon Rider powerful enough to face off against the evil emperor Galbatorix (an evil emperor name if I ever heard one). Meanwhile back in his home village of Carvahall, Eragon’s cousin Roran faces his own challenges as he becomes a wanted man because of his association with Eragon.

Roran’s adventure is the best part of the book. There’s more tension in the escalating situation in Carvahall than anywhere else in the story. Roran faces a genuine moral quandary—in resisting the empire’s attempts to capture him, he places his entire village in danger. The more he resists, the worse the consequences are for the people he loves.

There are moments in this storyline that are cribbed wholesale from one of the most famous storylines in The Wheel of Time (Roran is essentially a watered-down version of Perrin from that series; from the hammer, to the beard, to defending his hometown from invasion) but the narrative does eventually deviate into a semblance of originality, which is where things get the most interesting.

Dragon Fever

As enjoyable as the Roran sequences are, we spend vastly more time with Eragon, the series’ primary protagonist, for better or worse (mostly worse). Eragon’s storyline is, simply put, a total drag. I kept waiting for the plot to kick in—what was this book actually going to be about?

Turns out, the book’s about Eragon looking at pretty scenery and learning lore.

The first book was a race for survival—Eragon and his mentor Brom were fleeing the monstrous Ra’zac for pretty much the whole story, with deviations for prison breaks, meetings with mysterious strangers and near-death experiences. Eldest, on the other hand, comes nowhere close to that level of excitement. Nothing happens. For five-hundred pages, Eragon spends his time training and pining over an elf that he fancies for no real reason other than Paolini felt the need to include a romance subplot.

It's an absolute slog, made worse by the total lack of originality on display. As a kid who hadn’t read much fantasy, this world felt real and exciting. Now it just feels like Middle-Earth-Lite. I’m not dinging Paolini too much on this—he was young when he wrote this book, and for the young readers the book is primarily aimed at, this won’t be an issue—but did leave me gasping for a sip of anything that didn’t feel like Lord of the Rings fanfiction.

I guess my biggest issue by far though, is with Eragon’s characterisation. He doesn’t feel like a real person. I can feel Paolini’s hand in every sweeping emotional outburst Eragon displays. Essentially, he behaves exactly how you’d expect him to at every single turn, which is incredibly boring. There’s no nuance in his introspections, no subtlety in his actions. His romantic feelings for the elf Arya are so obnoxious and infantile that you’ll be intermittently forced to put the book down for a dose of refreshing reality.

Conclusion

Reading Eldest is like playing with a wind-up toy. Every input leads to the exact output you’d expect. Sometimes the toy veers left, sometimes the toy veers right, but there are no surprises, and even when the toy threatens to fall off the table, you don’t really care.

Am I going to continue the series? Yes. As woeful as this book often is, I can’t help but wonder how the overall narrative will play out. Like I mentioned, Roran is an interesting character, and it looks like there are some major threats on the horizon that hopefully will provide some thrills.

There’s also a perverse joy in reading a series where you kind of hate the main character. Here’s to Eragon’s premature demise in book three. 

Skysworn by Will Wight

3.5

Skysworn is the fourth novel in the ‘progression fantasy’ series Cradle by Will Wight. I’ve been thoroughly enjoying the series so far and jumped straight into book four after finishing book three because I couldn’t get enough.

The series follows Lindon’s journey to become powerful enough to save his homeland from a looming threat, and Wight has thus far managed to keep finding fresh and meaningful ways to track his progress without the ‘levelling up’ aspect of the story feeling stale.

Lindon is joined on his journey by his friend and powerful sacred artist, Yerin, and his master, Eithan, who mentors both of them. When we last saw Lindon, he was being imprisoned by the empire for practising a forbidden form of magic—the Path of the Black Flame; not that he had much of a choice in that regard.

With an impending duel that he’ll almost certainly lose coming closer and his ability to train becoming severely limited, Lindon’s in a bit of a tight spot.

Apocalypse All of a Sudden

In much the same way of the previous novels, Skysworn expands the world of Cradle vastly, introducing us to new factions, new powers, and hints of trials to (hopefully) come. I love this world, and seeing it widen in scope is always fun.

Skysworn also features some of the best characterisation in the series so far, specifically with Yerin. She’s been a great, complex character so far, but here we finally get a peek under the hood at some of her more mysterious elements, which is not only exciting, but also emotionally resonant.

The bulk of Skysworn’s narrative tension though comes from a surprising, borderline world-ending threat that I’m not sure the story had earned. Logically, we understand every element that leads to the emergence of this threat, but it does perhaps feel a little rushed. When certain events started happening, my initial thought was ‘Wait, already!?’

I honestly thought that Wight was just doing the necessary legwork to set up a future threat, and its emergence felt too sudden. I just feel like a bit more build-up and earlier context would’ve made the impact what happens hit a little harder.

Lindon in Limbo

Then there’s also the issue with Lindon’s placement in the story. As usual, we cut between Lindon and other characters that flesh out the world throughout the story, but I think this is the first time where Lindon feels a little lost in the grander machinations.

He has a very explosive sequence early on in the story, but after that he shrinks as the scale of the story widens far beyond his ability to perceive. From a certain point on, Lindon’s goal is simply survival (and doing his best to keep his friends alive, too). And while there’s nothing explicitly wrong with this, the climax lacks any real emotional payoff.

Of course, Wight is still great at pushing Lindon to the extreme. This is not a boring story by any means, and Lindon is once again run ragged by some very powerful forces. It’s just that, this time, those forces feel a little impersonal.

Apart from being set up a little too quickly, the primary threat of the story is resolved a little too quickly as well, and it doesn’t help that Lindon influences the plot very little. He does make some big decisions here and there, but they’re personal ones. Again, this isn’t necessarily a bad thing—Lindon is a great character and these decisions feel important—I just wish he had a bigger hand in the rest of the story.

Conclusion

I’ll still be continuing with Cradle. This wasn’t a bad book by a long shot—it was simply the weakest in a series that has set a very high standard. Each novel has been satisfying in its own right while also implicitly teasing more to come, which is a very tricky balance (just ask Marvel).

Lindon’s upgrades and progression still feels natural and earned, and at the end the of the day, I’m having great fun tracking his progress, which manifests not only in imaginative and vivid action scenes, but also in a strong emotional core. 

Blackflame by Will Wight

4.0

 Blackflame is the third novel in Will Wight’s fantasy series, Cradle. Dubbed a ‘progression fantasy’, the series follows Lindon’s journey to become strong enough to defend his homeland from an apocalyptic threat. I’ve really liked the series thus far, and unless there happens to be a drastic drop in quality in the next few instalments, I will likely be following the series to the end (that’s twelve books, by the way).   

Soulsmith, the second novel, ended by putting Lindon on a timer. He’s been forced into a duel with a much stronger ‘sacred artist’ but has been given a year to train so that the fight will have some semblance of fairness.

‘Lindon Levelled Up!’

Something that I was wondering as I started into Blackflame was how author Will Wight would manage to keep Lindon’s continuing quest for strength from becoming stale. Levelling up for the sake of it is fun in video games, but in a story there needs to be some meaning behind it.

Of course, Lindon has a distant goal in mind (the threat to his homeland won’t happen for decades) but what about the here-and-now?

In Blackflame, Wight solves this problem with a deft hand. Lindon’s master, Eithan, pushes his apprentice into pursuing a forbidden Path, i.e. a set of skills and powers that are so strong they’re feared and pretty much banned across the continent. It also drives the user mad, over time. Lindon, of course, doesn’t have much of a choice. Without this Path—the Path of the Black Flame—he’ll likely lose his duel. Choosing to follow it comes with its own risks, though.

This provides a nice bit of tension to Lindon’s training, as we understand that there will be consequences to this down the line, even if we’re not seeing them right away. There’s also the question of Eithan hanging over everything because it’s clear that he’s training Lindon for his own purposes. What they might be adds a level of intrigue to the whole thing.

Take Five

Wight also smartly diverts our attention from Lindon repeatedly during the story to set up some external stakes. The story is a bit of a balancing act. Lindon’s training needs be front and centre—it can’t be glossed over, otherwise the weight of it would be lost, and there wouldn’t be any catharsis in him getting stronger. But if we spend the whole time with Lindon training, where will the climax of the story come from?

Well, that’s where we get a nice bit of worldbuilding and political intrigue. As I mentioned in the last review, Wight is a master of doling out information. There are a lot of unique elements in this world, but you’re never going to feel overwhelmed by it all, because you only learn what you need to learn to get the most out of what is happening right now in the story.

In Blacksmith, we get to learn a bit more about how the factions and clans of the Empire work with/against each other. There’s no need to bog you down in this review with a detailed look at it all, but basically a prominent clan that we’re already familiar with from book two has serious beef with Eithan’s clan, and the two are embroiled in a feud that will directly impact Lindon and his training.

There’s also thread running through these novels that I’ve only lightly touched on that concerns the world of Cradle and its place in the cosmos. I personally really enjoy this plotline, which only usually pops up once or twice per book, because it seems to be giving context for greater threats ahead (and foreshadowing how powerful Lindon could become) but I can envision some people struggling here.

Very simply, these threads are such a great departure from Lindon’s narrative as to be somewhat jarring and also have a lot going on worldbuilding-wise. There’s stuff being mentioned that the reader has zero context for initially, which I personally love (piecing together a world over time is part of the fun of epic fantasy for me) but could also confuse a more casual reader. These sections don’t overstay their welcome though, so don’t let them put you off—I only mention them as some might find them as tantalising as I do.

The Path of the Great Story

One final point to mention is that I really enjoyed Yerin in this book. She’s Lindon’s friend and oftentimes his saviour, and I really like how she pushes Lindon to shift his perspective a little in this story as they’re made to train together. Where Lindon remains somewhat timid and humble, Yerin provides a nice counterpoint with her extremely blunt personality and bleak worldview. The two play off each other nicely.

Overall, Cradle continues to be an incredibly strong series. As I experience more and more of this world, I find myself getting sucked in deeper, and watching Lindon grow stronger feels natural and cathartic. I’ve already started the next book in the series, too, so look forward to a review of that soon! 

Foundation by Isaac Asimov

4.0

Foundation by Isaac Asimov first caught my eye many years ago around the time I finished Dune. Unfortunately for me, I tried to listen to Foundation as my first audiobook—an experience that I quite detested—and I gave up halfway through. (I would genuinely love to be an audiobook person, but it just doesn’t work for me—a story for another day) 

This left me with the wholly incorrect perception that Foundation was just a little too boring and confusing to be worth reading. Nevertheless, last week I picked up a physical copy in a bookshop and upon reading the blurb was struck by the similarities in theme between Foundation and the Dune series—I was reading Heretics of Dune at the time. 

These similarities are entirely obvious to anyone who’s read both series—some even suggest that Dune was written in response to the Foundation series—but I had mostly forgotten my previous audiobook foray and was intrigued. I think perhaps my brain was looking for a way to process some of the dense themes of Dune from a new angle, so I bought the book.

I was apprehensive. I was pretty much expecting a level of density and complexity on par with Herbert’s series and braced myself for a challenging reading experience.It was the literary equivalent of tensing up to barge through a locked door only for someone to open it from the inside right before I made contact.


A Long Time Away in a Galaxy Much Like Our Own…
When ‘psychohistorian’ Hari Seldon predicts the fall of the Galactic Empire using a combination of statistics and psychology, he’s put on trial for treason. This is the premise of the first of five interconnected stories that form Foundation—with the other four stories each exploring the fallout of this initial inciting incident from various points in the future.

I really don’t want to spoil more than that. Each of these stories is a joy to read (although the fourth is the weakest) and filled with unexpected twists and gasp-out-loud moments. These stories were written in the 1940s, and as someone who was expecting stuffy prose and long-winded passages on the nature of humanity, I was totally astounded by how well plotted and paced these stories were.

Dune really did a number on me. I’m enamoured with the series (for all its flaws), but one unique aspect of it is that nearly every character knows what’s about to happen all the time. Through a combination of strategy and prescience, each action taken by a character is predicted and planned for and countered. There are plans within plans and counterstrokes to counterstrokes. The end result is an impressive tapestry of political intrigue, but the reader isn’t left with many surprises.

It was then absolutely delightful to have the rug pulled out from underneath me repeatedly in Foundation. Characters have plans that they don’t share with the reader until the point when they’re most impactful. While that seems like it should be the standard, it was a breath of fresh air after reading so much Dune.


The Razor’s EdgeEach story is grounded in a specific character’s point of view and despite the huge scope of the plot, they manage to feel personal. Not once was I buried in abstract, borderline-impossible-to-grasp philosophy or political theory. There’s a real sense of humanity in how these space-age characters are written. They manage to feel distinct too, as most pull their primary POV character from a different facet of society, although there’s a gender diversity problem that may detract from this for some.

The primary plot of the stories each revolve around a seemingly unsolvable political problem. Characters, and indeed entire societies and planets, are repeatedly trapped between a rock and a hard place with no obvious way to survive/succeed. 

The catharsis of the stories come from the clever, unforeseen, yet entirely plausible ways that Asimov charts his characters through these problems. The man was obviously smart. He created wonderfully complex political puzzles and navigates through the hidden cracks in them without ever feeling like he’s cheating the reader.

Perhaps what’s most impressive about Foundation, though, is how accessible it is. For as much as I like Dune, it has an extremely steep learning curve that makes it tough to recommend. Foundation, on the other hand, eases the reader in from the beginning with a ‘fish-out-of-water’ point of view character in the first story, and doesn’t bog them down with fantastical sci-fi terms that couldn’t be interpreted at a glance.

It’s easy reading compared to some of the science-fiction that’s out there.

Conclusion

It’s not revolutionary to say that Foundation is necessary reading for any science-fiction fan. I’d always known this, but my own perceptions and misadventures had kept me from experiencing the series for so long, which I regret. Foundation feels timeless and is perhaps one of the most influential works in the genre, but more important than that—you’ll have fun reading it.

As Dune’s popularity explodes, I hope that any new fans of the genre find their way to Foundation.

Soulsmith by Will Wight

• Strong character development? Yes

4.25

 

After my strikingly positive experience with the first Cradle novel, Unsouled, left me wanting more, I didn’t want to waste much time before diving into the second instalment, Soulsmith. Part of this was so I wouldn’t forget the story, but most of it was genuine curiosity about where the series would go next.

Soulsmith picks up in the immediate aftermath of the first novel, with Lindon having left Sacred Valley with Yerin. The pair are struggling to survive the Desolate Wilds, but soon fall in with an alliance of sacred artists in the area searching some recently materialised ancient ruins for a legendary treasure.

Tactful Info-Drops

Much like Lindon, the reader is thrown into this situation with almost zero context. The ‘fish out of water’ trope is nothing new, but Wight puts it to great use here. It can be a little baffling trying to piece together the politics of the ‘Five Factions Alliance’ that have gathered at the ruins, but it helps that Lindon is also out of his depth.

You’re told everything you need to know eventually but not an iota more, which I think is smart. Wight doesn’t overload the reader with lore and leaves them with questions that will hopefully be picked up in later books.

My one issue with Unsouled was that I felt like I didn’t have a great grasp of the magic system, but Soulsmith did a really good job of expanding my knowledge on the topic. There’s still a lot to keep track of, and I can tell there’s more to come down the line, but this is where the magic system clicked with me in a way it hadn’t before.

Part of this is because we finally get to see Lindon ‘advance’ in Soulsmith, the risks and benefits of which necessitate Wight in explaining the magic system to us in a little more detail. Like I said, Wight chooses what information to give the reader very carefully. It’s a balancing act that’s a sign of a good writer.

Fist-Pumping Character Growth

Lindon himself remains a wonderfully endearing character. I don’t want to bandy about the word ‘inspiring’, but there are moments later in the novel taking place inside the Transcendent Ruins that had me grinning ear to ear. There’s a theme running throughout the series that hardship breeds strength, and watching Lindon push himself as far as physically possible in pursuit of that ideal is, yeah, inspiring.

Watching him overcome his deficiency is a lot of fun, but like in Unsouled, Lindon always remains on the backfoot. He remains humble, subservient, and honour-bound to people a lot more powerful than him, but always manages to maintain his dignity. It's a great, complex space for a main character to be in.

Unsouled featured a somewhat revolving door of supporting characters, with friends and foes entering and exiting the story pretty regularly. It looks like some of them will be sticking around with Soulsmith. I was even half-expecting Yerin—Lindon’s prickly saviour from the first novel—to abandon Lindon at the beginning and was happy to see her stick around.

We’re also introduced to Eithan—a powerful sacred artist who takes an interest in Lindon and Yerin—and Jai Long—an antagonist with powerful motivation and backstory. I won’t go into detail on them, but Wight treats us to several sections from their points of view that serve to remind us just how weak Lindon is, as well as expanding our knowledge of the world and teasing what’s to come.

These sections also work because they signal to the reader the direction of where the story’s going. Lindon doesn’t know what he doesn’t know, and there were several points in the novel where he’s on the outside of the conflict brewing in the Alliance and didn’t really have a concrete goal beyond his usual ‘find a way to get stronger’. Switching things up POV-wise kept the pace up while implicitly promising some deeper conflict down the line, which worked well for my engagement with the story.

The Big Picture

There are also several mysteries introduced in this novel—the big kind that probably won’t get resolved for several volumes—that had me drooling. It’s a light touch, but if you’re a fan of these kinds of worldbuilding mysteries (who isn’t?) I imagine you’ll have a good time with Soulsmith and, hopefully, the rest of the series.

Overall, I’m having a blast with Cradle. I can definitely see myself finishing the series (I’m already a good chunk into volume three) and think it’s incredibly deserving of it’s high status among fantasy fans.

Heretics of Dune by Frank Herbert

2.5

 

After I finished God Emperor Dune (the fourth Dune book) nearly a year ago, I told myself I was done with Dune. My impressions of that book varied from disgust to boredom. The only aspect of it that held my interest was the sheer brazenness of the storytelling. Here, Herbert was telling the story of a universe ruled by an immortal tyrant, only through the lens of lengthy discussions about abstract political theories and ruminations on human nature rather than plot, action, or character development.

It was, in a word, bizarre.

That’s enough of that, I thought, as I put the book on my shelf. Alas, following the release of Dune Part Two in cinemas (which I loved), I couldn’t help but wonder what the fifth Dune book would be like. For as much as I didn’t like God Emperor Dune, it made an impression on me I couldn’t shake.

 In the end, I caved.

Heretics of Dune takes place 1,500 years after God Emperor, in a universe still feeling the effects of Leto II’s tyranny, most notably in the return of the ‘Scattering’—the descendants of the people who fled the inner worlds following Leto II’s demise.

Threatened by the Scattering are the disparate and familiar powers of the inner worlds, most notably the Bene Gesserit and the Bene Tleilax. Throw a new Duncan Idaho ghola into the mix as well as a young girl who can control sandworms on ‘Rakis’ and things are about to get complicated.

(An aside: if you didn’t understand a word of what I just wrote, I’m afraid I can’t help you. From the very first book, Dune is totally encased in its own seemingly impenetrable lore, and it only gets denser as the series progresses.)

Bear With Me, Okay?

Let’s start with a positive. The sequels after Dune are less necessary instalments in an ongoing series and more explorations across centuries and millennia of the ramifications of Paul’s actions in the first novel. Heretics of Dune is no exception, and in that regard it’s an interesting read. It feels like the reader is getting a glimpse into the world after ‘The End.’

Unfortunately, there’s no promises you’ll like what you see. The world of Heretics is bleak, not just in terms of politics and environment (although that, too) but also in terms of character. The biggest misstep this novel makes for me is having not one, not two, but three main point of view characters as Bene Gesserit. 

These are cold, calculating, impossibly smart and aloof women who feel totally interchangeable and lack any relatable traits that would endear us to them.

The women of the Bene Gesserit all possess genius-level intellect, but Herbert never deigns to convey their thought processes, and I was often left in the dark as to what their true motivations were. They would regularly experience ‘revelations’ that were not explicated in the slightest and meant nothing to me, leaving me feeling kind of stupid for not being able to put the pieces together. 

This is, of course, on purpose. Herbert isn’t about to sacrifice the realism of what kind of person it would take to be a Bene Gesserit for the sake of our enjoyment, but it makes for hard reading,

The enormous scale of the story is also tough to digest. There is a Bene Gesserit scheme involving Sheeana—the girl who can control Sandworms—the latest Duncan Idaho ghola, and something with the Bene Tleilax, but we are never told what the purpose of this plot is until the very end of the novel, and even then, I failed to grasp the motivation behind it. There are incredibly monumental events happening semi-regularly that seem to shake characters to their core, but half the time I couldn’t parse what was even happening.

This fumbling around in the dark, begging for the barest hint of a context clue to orient myself in the story, becomes exhausting, although I’d be remiss to mention the satisfaction I got when I did manage to put together the occasional jigsaw pieces of this puzzling plot and catch a brief glimpse of the bigger picture.

A Trip Down Memory Space-Lane

The memories of the characters we came to love in the first novel (and the second, for some) are also distant here. The Atreides bloodline and the prescience it grants plays an important role for nearly all of the point of view characters, but there is no sense of tragedy and doomed fate present in these characters; nothing that makes me empathise with them a fraction as much as I did with Paul.

Miles Teg, a military leader for the Bene Gesserit bred to look like Leto I, is really the only intriguing character in the book. He has a simple goal—protect the latest Duncan ghola from assassination—and has a sceptical view of the Bene Gesserit. The Duncan ghola also provides some much-needed grounding, but his presence is covering the same philosophical ideas explored in previous novels.

Then there’s the three Bene Gesserit. One is ‘Supreme Mother’, current leader of the Sisterhood. Her chapters are borderline indecipherable as we’re kept from knowing her motivations. Then there’s Odrade and Lucilla who both represent Herbert’s honestly half-hearted attempt at theming. They repeatedly struggle with the abstract concept of ‘love’ throughout the novel, but Herbert’s writing style is so detached and these characters so hardened that it’s tough to feel much of anything for them.

Strangely, for as much as this book is totally unknowable on a first read-through, I do prefer it to God Emperor, and I’m glad I read it. The story was oftentimes baffling and opaque, but Herbert does manage to convey this futuristic society in an engaging manner, dropping the names of devices and locations and events in a way that made me lean in. To his immense credit, Herbert’s world it totally unique and he takes full advantage of this, even if this results in a totally alien—and sometimes disturbing—experience.

There’s also a perverse joy in struggling to put together a story like this. Herbert clearly was never interested in making his books appeal to a wide audience, and even though Dune succeeded in the sci-fi/fantasy space and is now being adopted by a broader segment of the population thanks to the success of the movies, I really can’t see anyone but the most die-hard of fans reading, or even enjoying, Heretics of Dune.

Herbert’s world-building may be on par with Tolkien’s, and I really liked the first two novels, but it’s far from my favourite book series. That said, having come this far I’m probably going to read the sixth and final book soon. At this stage, I pretty much know what I’m in for, and even if I don’t love it, there is something undeniably captivating about these books.