Ralph Harris

Run

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Run by Blake Crouch is a thriller that dips its toe just far enough into the world of science fiction to be deeply unsettling. In the lower 48 states of America, an aurora borealis has beamed brainwashing light into the eyes of unwitting citizens, turning them into homicidal, cultish maniacs.

Crouch’s story follows a single family, the Colcloughs. After a narrow escape from several people of murderous intent, they head north from their home in Albuquerque, New Mexico, looking for anywhere that could provide shelter. For the entirety of Run, Crouch focuses on the beat-to-beat action of their journey, providing a ground-level view of the world going to hell, through the eyes of one family in a greater apocalypse.

Those affected by the aurora can spot others affected, but the unaffected are none the wiser, which makes every encounter with humans outside the family a chance encounter with death. The various antagonists in Run are psychopathic and brutal: Those affected by the aurora enjoy killing those who are not. They hack their victims with knives, burn them at the stake or crucify them, and there is no hesitation or regret during their assault—they even go so far as to joke with one another while slaughtering their victims. They also instinctively work together, forming bands of roving vehicles that round up the unaffected for mass execution. All of this sets the tone for the Colcloughs (and the reader) early on: There is no negotiating or appealing with these aggressors. The result is a sense of absolute, uncompromising fight-or-flight.

In the midst of this extreme and violent world, our protagonists are incongruously human, grounding the story in realism. Patriarch Jack is struggling to reconnect with his wife, Dee. Their daughter, Naomi, is an angsty teen who hasn’t felt close to her father in years. Their son, Cole, is a child, too young to really understand what is going on but too old to forget the images he will most likely carry forever. Each of the characters feels realistic: Naomi never wanders into “You just don’t understand me” tropes, nor do Jack and Dee devolve into petty, drama-for-drama’s-sake arguments.

Taut and sparsely written, Blake Crouch’s Run is an unnerving thriller set in the early days of the apocalypse.
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Humans are walking petri dishes in Alien Clay by Adrian Tchaikovsky.

The dystopian cyberpunk future is here, and the Mandate, humanity’s fascist government, punts its criminals and political opposition to alien worlds. Those who survive the journey (punctuated by an airdrop from space as their disposable shuttle falls apart) face a lifetime sentence in an off-world labor camp. While there are other camps on other planets, Tchaikovsky focuses on just one for this story: Kiln.

Xeno-ecologist (someone who studies the environments of alien worlds) Arton Daghdev is shipped to Kiln after finding himself on the wrong side of the Mandate. Once there, he’s shocked to learn that the planet is home to actual, extraterrestrial life, a secret that’s been kept hidden from the people of Earth. Monolithic white structures dot the surface of Kiln, and were apparently crafted by some type of intelligent life. While whatever species made the monoliths is not readily present, horrific beings of another sort roam the surface of Kiln. Each of these “beings” is made up of multiple, independent creatures that act as their organs, like stomachs or lungs. (Imagine that your lungs are little dudes with their own brains, hanging out in your body. One day, you pass a dying person on the road; they’re mostly dead, but their lung-dudes are crawling away looking for a new body. The dying person’s lung-dudes are shinier and cooler than your lung-dudes, so your body rejects your old lung-dudes and picks up the newer models instead. This is how all life on Kiln works.) Arton and his fellow humans are stuck on a planet crawling with lung-dudes and stomach-dudes and heart-dudes, all ready and eager to replace the organs in their bodies, no matter what the humans themselves have to say about it.

This frightening biology contributes to Alien Clay’s thesis: Science cannot be contained, no matter how much humanity may cling to our arbitrary, artificially restricted “reality.” Commandant Teloran, the director of the camp, relentlessly pushes his staff and the imprisoned scientists to find explanations for the life on Kiln that conform to the Mandate’s established rules of science, despite all the evidence that doesn’t fit within those parameters. Tchaikovsky draws a clear contrast between the hyper-adaptive, ever-changing environment of Kiln and the harsh world of the labor camp, where prisoners slave away at various tasks from toilet cleaning to analysis of alien artifacts. 

Arton is fascinated with the planet and waxes philosophical often, creating a moody, introspective atmosphere. Kiln, Commandant Teloran’s regime and the disgruntled prisoners increasingly find themselves at odds, and as life within the walls of the camp becomes more and more hostile, Arton’s options become less and less appealing. Eventually, he must choose between the safety of the science he knows and understands, or the new understanding that Kiln can teach him. Tchaikovsky is just as laser-focused on the life of Kiln as his protagonist, which may disappoint some readers interested in a broader exploration of the characters or the greater universe they inhabit. But those willing to abandon all else in pursuit of uncovering Kiln’s mysteries will be continually fascinated—and often horrified—by Alien Clay.

Adrian Tchaikovsky’s Alien Clay presents a vision of extraterrestrial life that’s as fascinating as it is horrifying.
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Veycosi, the narrator of Nalo Hopkinson’s Caribbean-inspired fantasy novel, Blackheart Man, is not a good person. He is a near-constant failure with few redeeming qualities; this is a character you may be supposed to hate (and boy did I). We are introduced to Veycosi mid-escapade: attempting to unclog the aqueducts of Carenage Town, a city on the island of Chynchin, with a phosphorus bomb. Despite the fact that he partially floods a whole neighborhood, Veycosi still believes he should receive nothing but praise. At the same time, 15 ships from Ymisen, a country that once conquered Chynchin, appear in the harbor. The rest of Hopkinson’s story features further Veycosi failures and a couple of singular successes as he stumbles through major events in a city wreathed in magic.

Chynchin’s unique culture is one of the most interesting aspects of Blackheart Man. The island’s society is matriarchal after a fashion, with family units typically consisting of one wife and two co-husbands. Only women are allowed to be sailors; men tend to take on supporting tasks such as caring for children. Science (like Veycosi’s phosphorus bomb) mixes easily with obeah, a Caribbean magic tradition that, among other things, can create people like Kaira, a “twinning child” born with no biological father, just a mother. Chynchin is populated by various groups of formerly enslaved people who banded together to defeat their conquerors. Despite that, there are certainly still lower classes, chief among them the Mirmeki, former enslaved soldiers of the Ymisen, who are relegated to physical labor. Hopkinson riffs on French-Caribbean dialect and slang, in addition to including various fictional languages, and readers who enjoy imagining different voices for characters will appreciate Blackheart Man’s plethora of distinct accents and tones.

As the political situation escalates to a breaking point and Veycosi continues on his picaresque adventures, Hopkinson reveals the shrouded, mystical history of Chynchin and its people.  However, as the entire story is told through the lens of the incredibly unreliable and frequently intoxicated Veycosi, readers are basically learning this story from the perspective of the town fool. Time skips forward without warning, and incongruities in the narrative are part of the charm; Hopkinson even includes a passage where the book halts to point out its inconsistencies. By the end of the tale, some secrets have been uncovered, but many remain mysteries. Readers ready for a wild, chaotic series of unfortunate events will enjoy seeing how badly Veycosi ruins everything.

Nalo Hopkinson’s Blackheart Man is a picaresque fantasy adventure following a hilariously unreliable narrator as he stumbles through a series of important political events.
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Arthur is dead and the Round Table lies shattered in The Bright Sword by Lev Grossman, author of the bestselling Magicians trilogy. The story begins with Collum of the Isle of Mull, a character who does not appear in Arthurian legend, embroiled in a duel with an unnamed knight. The knight spits uncouth insults about Collum’s mother, and at the end of their brawl, Collum makes his first (extremely messy) kill of the book. This resolution to a duel outlines how most plot points are resolved in The Bright Sword: Someone inevitably dies, and no one is happy.

Once Collum gets to Camelot, none of the remaining knights are particularly happy either. After a few chapters about Collum, a new knight of the Round Table is introduced, and, as if remembering the reader may not know anything about this person, Grossman suspends the main story to relate how the knight arrived at Camelot. These consistently shifting perspectives, combined with an extremely loose approach to time and distance, creates a dreamlike vibe, suggestive of a story told around a campfire by a narrator who keeps getting distracted. Those with little patience will likely find The Bright Sword frustrating, but readers willing to savor the book over many nights will find each chapter a neatly arranged, miniature adventure of its own.

Traditionally minimal side characters in the story of Arthur—like Sir Bedivere, Sir Palomides and even Dagonet the Fool—receive intricate, deep backstories that erase the mythological buildup around each figure, viewing them instead in a far more human and often more modern light. In many older tales, Palomides is a Middle Eastern stereotype, used entirely as a foil to elevate Sir Tristan’s status as an honorable and just knight. But in Grossman’s story, Palomides is a prince and explorer who is wildly misunderstood by his knightly peers, with his own journey of self-discovery and growth.

At once full of desperate hope and grievous loss, The Bright Sword is a moody reflection on Arthur’s tale. This saga is not marked by optimism, but instead a dignified cynicism. Collum and his endearing band of Round Table Rejects (album out soon) simply live and persevere, knowing that if they do not try to bring peace to the now-fractured Britain, no one else will.

At once full of desperate hope and grievous loss, Lev Grossman’s The Bright Sword is a moody reflection on the tales of King Arthur and the Round Table.

Running Close to the Wind

Avra Helvaçi is lucky, perhaps supernaturally so, but he refuses to believe that. Luck can’t be proven, after all. Did he test the limits of his luck by drunkenly traipsing into a highly protected vault of the Arasti government and stealing the most powerful secret of the empire without getting caught? Well, yes, but that could just be coincidence.

With copies of Arasti intelligence hidden on him, Avra flees to the high seas and back into the arms of his on-again, off-again partner, the intimidating pirate captain Teveri az-Haffar. Tev wants nothing more to do with the spy-turned-poet-turned-traitor, but selling Avra’s secret could solve his ship’s financial problems. Can they get to the Isles of Lost Souls to fence what Avra stole before the Arasti government finds them, the hot monk on the ship drives them mad or before the isles’ infamous cake competition concludes?

A standalone novel set in the world of author Alexandra Rowland’s A Taste of Gold and Iron, Running Close to the Wind and its self-proclaimed “silly little slut” of a narrator will have readers laughing on every page. Despite the book’s zany, breezy to a fault tone, the Isle of Souls and the many political machinations of background characters are refreshingly complex, and Avra’s “Is it blessed?” luck is a fascinating story element. Yet it is the characters that make this story shine. Though some readers are sure to find Avra’s gremlin-esque behavior aggravating, as Tev often does, the rest of the cast makes up for it. Standouts include the flustered yet noble Tev, knowledge-driven and rebellious monk Julian, secretly softhearted fence Black Garda and friendly sex worker Cat.

Though Avra thinks—and speaks—constantly of sex and how hot Julian and Tev both are, there are few actual romantic moments, and Rowland cuts away from any on-page love scenes. Fantasy romance aficionados will find themselves as blue-balled as Avra often claims to feel. However, “Our Flag Means Death” devotees looking for a lighthearted solace after the show’s unfortunate cancellation and fans of whimsical main characters a la Alexis Hall’s Mortal Follies will enjoy Running Close to the Wind.

—Nicole Brinkley

Dreadful

Dread Lord Gavrax has somehow lost his memory, and is unable to recall why he decided to become a Dread Lord in the first place. Gav, as he now calls himself, decides to change his life for the better by vanquishing his rage and toxic masculinity. Complicating matters is the presence of Princess Eliasha, whom Gavrax kidnapped before his hard cognitive reset. Eliasha is determined not to trust her captor’s sudden change of heart, and understandably so: Dread Lord Gavrax has committed a great many crimes. The princess is also a key ingredient in a mysterious ritual of great power. Dread Lord Gavrax is one of four Dark Wizards that are collaborating to do something very important . . . if only Gav could remember what that something is.

Throughout Caitlin Rozakis’ Dreadful, Gav faces several simple yet charming challenges, such as finding a way to save a starving village and undoing years of fear he instilled in his goblin staff. While Gav grows and learns from his and his former self’s mistakes, a series of sitcom-esque events nudge him onto the path of righteousness. His goblin cook, Orla, is thrilled to don an apron and cook truly good food—but she only knows how to cook steaks, bake bread and shove whole (occasionally alive) animals into pie crust. The village decides to throw a garlic festival to make up for the fact that all of their other crops failed. Heroes run in by the hundreds, tripping over each other in an effort to rescue the princess. Dreadful never takes itself too seriously, so moments that could induce secondhand cringe become hilarious escapades instead.

However, Rozakis’ story is not all jokes and gags. Gavrax had serious issues with his own masculinity alongside his relationship with women, and Gav is not immune to his former self’s impulses. Violence is still a reflex, and he must resist incinerating anyone who annoys him. He also must learn to choose other people and his dawning sense of morality over his own self-preservation. Rozakis unobtrusively guides the reader through Gav’s evolution via his inner monologue, never allowing the lessons to get preachy.

With its charming cast and unique mixture of slapstick and sincerity, Dreadful is a heartwarmingly earnest story about how to grow into a better person.

—Ralph Harris

Two tales of swords and sorcery from Alexandra Rowland and Caitlin Rozakis look on the brighter side of life.
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Found family is a special weakness of mine: From Lord of the Rings to “Stargate SG-1,” I often find myself tearing up as brothers- and sisters-in-arms share their lives and hurts with one another. Cascade Failure by L.M. Sagas and Floating Hotel by Grace Curtis are both about struggling, scrappy people making their way through a sci-fi world—and both have enough emotional heft to move even less susceptible readers. Cascade Failure makes a deep, rich investment in five characters and their adventure to save the galaxy. Floating Hotel, on the other hand, drifts from one perspective to another, almost never repeating the same viewpoint, to paint a beautiful portrait of a community.

In Cascade Failure, debut author Sagas kicks off a new sci-fi series with aplomb. A disgraced himbo of a soldier named Jal finds himself captured by the crew of the Ambit, which consists of his old lieutenant, an AI ship captain and a foulmouthed engineer. They try to take Jal in to be court-martialed, but are distracted by a distress signal that leads to a chattery, terrified programmer and a conspiracy that threatens millions across the galaxy. From there, the crew of the Ambit go on a rollicking journey, but the real draw is how the relationships between the characters unfold. Each person has a long history rife with post-traumatic stress disorder, abuse and abandonment. Sagas avoids making the party’s communication difficulties frustrating for the reader, using their inner monologues to illustrate the complicated emotions and memories that stand in the way of healing. At first, the five people aboard the Ambit are tense and uncomfortable around one another. By the end, they are inseparable.

A beautiful luxury ship that travels the galaxy, the Grand Abeona Hotel is slowly falling into disrepair. Its manager, Carl, has a penchant for taking in strays and finding them jobs. The staff is thus a group of people who happened upon one another, rather than actively chose one another. As a result, their familial relationships encompass both long-suffering irritations and radical, immediate support when needed. More than anything else, they each have a special affection for the Grand Abeona Hotel and the safety, unity and new start it provided each of them. A political mystery provides a spine of sorts—a rebellious writer has been criticizing the emperor, and various figures are hunting for the satirist—but Curtis focuses on small redemptions and triumphs. The musician finds her song, the stuttering aide finds her confidence and the bonds between a group of broken people shift from necessary tolerance into something like love (which should be familiar to anyone who has worked in the service industry for any amount of time). Melancholic and nostalgic, Floating Hotel is an ode to circumstantial companions that left this reviewer pondering old friends who now live miles away, off in their own stories.

The crews of a galactic hotel and a shambly spaceship bond in spite of themselves in these emotional sci-fi novels.
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In Three Kinds of Lucky by Kim Harrison, author of the bestselling Hollows series, magic has its own specialized sanitation service: Sweepers, who pick up a byproduct of magic called dross. If left unattended, dross can attract shadow, a dangerous, somewhat intelligent life-form that can easily kill mages, sweepers and normal humans alike.

Harrison wastes little time getting down to business; the story kicks off in St. Unoc, a fictional city set east of Tucson, Arizona, where mages congregate to learn, research and test their skills at St. Unoc University. While tackling a messy dross cleanup, our narrator and protagonist, sweeper Petra Grady, discovers she has the rare ability to manipulate shadow itself. Petra is soon drafted into a research project on dross that could upend everything she thought she knew about St. Unoc. 

Three Kinds of Lucky revolves around its distinct class system: The magical equivalent of janitors, sweepers cannot use magic, and most mages ignore or sneer at them. However, unlike mages, the sweepers can directly handle dross with no ill effects. Harrison uses Grady to personify this complicated interplay. Her struggle to balance her pride in her work with the fact that some people would rather spit on her than acknowledge her is a key pillar of the story. What’s more, jealousy over the mages’ ability to craft and manipulate magic has always burned in Grady’s heart, despite her sense of duty as a sweeper. As her role in St. Unoc evolves, she learns more about the origin of the two separate classes, discovering sins so old that the mages don’t remember their existence.

Three Kinds of Lucky will immediately pull readers in with its fast pace and efficient storytelling; the entirety of its nearly city-shattering events all happen within a few days. Sometimes, however, the character development fails to keep time with the speed of the plot, resulting in frustrating moments where one wishes that Grady and her companions would adapt more quickly to what’s happening around them. However, the mechanically intricate magic system and complex world Harrison has created makes this series opener well worth the read.

Kim Harrison’s Three Kinds of Lucky is an immediately compelling urban fantasy with an intricate magic system and complex world.
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The leader of a family of thieves, Balthazar Valdaren is about to attempt the most challenging heist of his career: pilfering a jade idol right out from under the nose of its owner, on the day of its consecration. From that description, a reader might expect this story to be about a crew of con men in the early 21st century. Instead, Greta Kelly’s The Queen of Days takes readers to the island of Cothis, in a fantasy realm resembling the 17th century. The swagger and the cons are still here, but instead of casinos and 21st-century technology, Balthazar and his crew are tangling with gods and demigods.

Kelly begins by introducing the book’s other primary protagonist: the Queen of Days, Tassiel. Tassiel, who will be joining Bal on the job, is one of the Septiniri: half-human, half-Ankaari, a god that can manipulate time. Bal and his crew—his bastard brother, Kai; his cousin Zee and her husband, Edik; and Bal’s young sister, Mira—quickly discover just how powerful a Septinri can be. Tass, as the Queen of Days prefers to be called, charges each crew member a month of their life to help them with the heist.

After that less-than-happy revelation, the action begins and does not let up. Balthazar, Tass and their scrappy crew run from planning to fighting to hiding to heisting with a ferocity that makes the book difficult to put down. Kelly efficiently relays the crew’s history and relationships through their interactions: Kai makes an off-color comment, Edik admonishes him, Zee rolls her eyes, then Bal keeps the plan moving. These quick moments of characterization allow Kelly to focus on the beat-to-beat action without pausing for exposition. As the outcast in more ways than one, Tass is the only exception. The chapters from her point of view are far more introspective as she learns new things about herself and the humans she is helping.

By the end of the book, some amount of heisting has completed, Tass has grown and evolved as a result of her time with the crew, and the stage is set for this motley team’s next adventure. The Queen of Days is a fantastic piece of escapist fantasy for readers looking to leave planet Earth for a few hundred pages.

A fantasy following a crew of thieves and con men on an increasingly dangerous heist, The Queen of Days is a fantastic piece of escapism.
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Our Share of Night by Mariana Enriquez is a dark, twisted tale of a cult in Argentina called the Order that sacrifices humans to an occult entity known as the Darkness. Mediums possess a natural ability to channel this figure into reality. Juan has served the Order as a medium for his entire life, but as the story begins, he attempts to sever ties with the cult to protect his son, Gaspar, from its clutches.

Our Share of Night follows Juan’s first-person viewpoint for several hundred pages, then jumps to Gaspar’s perspective, then goes 30 years into the past to tell the story of Juan’s wife, Rosario. Enriquez creates a sense of mystery with every aspect of her prose, even down to the way speech is written. Dialogue is sometimes in quotes, sometimes not; sometimes it necessitates the start of a new paragraph, sometimes it doesn’t. Enriquez uses these structural elements to reveal details when the reader least expects it. When Juan channels the Darkness for the first time, his hands lengthen and his nails turn into golden claws, but the explanation for why mediums are affected by channeling in this way is not revealed until another storyteller has taken over.

Even with such an unpredictable writing style, Enriquez perfectly paces solutions to the novel’s various mysteries, enticing readers through her chaotic dreamscape with answers that are as intriguing as they are frightening. Spooky and atmospheric, Our Share of Night is a constantly surprising and bloody ride.

Spooky and atmospheric, Our Share of Night is a constantly surprising and bloody ride.
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People love an underdog story: A hero or scrappy gang of misfits prevailing against nearly insurmountable odds. But in Some Desperate Glory, author Emily Tesh takes this trope in a dark direction, illustrating how single-minded zealotry can spiral into overt fascism.

Some Desperate Glory follows Kyr, a girl born into an extremist human sect living on the fringes of known space. In Tesh’s universe, humanity accomplished interstellar travel and encountered the majoda, an alien confederacy ruled by an interdimensional, reality-warping artificial intelligence known as the Wisdom. Earth tore through the majoda’s military, and in response, the Wisdom had the majoda deploy a weapon that destroyed the planet. Completely broken and scattered, most of the remaining humans submitted to majoda rule.

But the people who live on Gaea Station, where Kyr was born, have dubbed themselves the saviors of humanity. Children and adults alike hone their bodies and minds in order to become the avenging angels of their destroyed planet. Joy and relaxation are luxuries, as the admirals ruling Gaea Station demand their people give everything to keep the cause alive. In their mid-teens, people are assigned to permanent roles, which can be anything from combat service, to maintenance to keep the station afloat, to bearing sons in the Nursery to keep the community supplied with soldiers. It’s as abhorrent as it is absolute, but Kyr thinks this system is righteous, a necessity of the ongoing war against the majoda.

Emily Tesh’s new protagonist is anything but likable—and that’s the point.

Tesh describes Gaea Station in impressively revolting detail without losing focus on Kyr’s growth as a character. A talented and devoted warrior, Kyr finds herself at odds with her cultural programming when she is assigned to the Nursery. And after her brother leaves the station under mysterious circumstances, she defies her orders and takes off after him, a quest that thrusts her into the wider universe. She meets an alien for the first time and starts a grueling journey to peel back years of programming. As she learns more about the rest of the universe, Kyr realizes she must confront the sinister underbelly of the shiny, nationalistic Gaea Station, which is beginning to look more and more like a cult.

While heavily invested in Kyr’s personal struggle to find meaning and purpose, Some Desperate Glory is also rife with rich settings and history. The majoda are fascinatingly inhuman, composed of refreshingly distinct alien species. (Don’t worry, there aren’t any “They’re basically humans but their skin is blue” races in this story.) Tesh takes readers on a wild tour through her universe, defying any expectations they may have based on the setting and characters in surprising and unique ways.

An examination of the dangers of unchecked nationalism, Some Desperate Glory will resonate with readers looking for messy morality and antihero redemption arcs.

Rife with rich settings and refreshingly distinct alien species, Some Desperate Glory will resonate with readers looking for messy morality and antihero redemption arcs.
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Nick Harkaway fuses a broody noir mystery with a cyberpunk dystopia in Titanium Noir. Set in a fictional American city tucked away in the mountains, Titanium Noir follows Cal Sounder, a detective who helps the police with only the most unique of cases: those that involve Titans, people who have attained the closest thing to immortality that capitalism can provide. After taking a drug named T7, a human is “reset” to adolescence, then, rapidly and painfully, they sprint back through puberty, resulting in a rejuvenated body. Since they start their second puberty as a fully grown adult, they become much larger, their bones denser and their muscles thicker, hence the name Titan.

Titans are almost exclusively ultrarich or highly influential, their physical stature often merely a reflection of their broader social power. Stefan Tonfamecasca, the creator of T7 and controller of its distribution, is now impossibly huge as a four-dose Titan. Cal is Stefan’s liaison with law enforcement, sparing the police from dealing with the ruling rich of the city while also keeping Titan problems from escalating out of control. But Cal’s latest case is especially challenging: A Titan has, somehow, been murdered.

Harkaway colors each character and vignette with just enough detail to keep things interesting, while assembling the setting and unraveling the mystery in a steady stream of information. Cal’s sardonic and witty internal monologue helps keep the reader from losing track of important details, with Cal himself acting as a necessary anchor as Harkaway introduces new characters and reveals new plot points on nearly every page. 

Titanium Noir’s fast pace drives home just how much Cal is floundering, a very small fish in a very large pond, doing his absolute best. There are several well-choreographed, graphic but not gratuitously bloody fights and several tense negotiations with very powerful figures, each leaving Cal increasingly feeling like the odds are stacked against him. Yet, he relentlessly pursues the truth, flirts with rebellion and even performs some mild blackmail on the way. (What is a little extortion between friends, anyway?)

With its likable narrator, explosive action, noir-style rumination and just the right amount of twists, Titanium Noir is an entertaining sci-fi mystery that never overstays its welcome.

With its likable narrator and explosive action, Titanium Noir is an entertaining sci-fi mystery that blends a broody noir whodunit with a cyberpunk dystopia.
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Fantasy author P. Djèlí Clark’s first middle grade novel tells the story of a girl named Abeni in three clear acts: a discovery, a journey and a confrontation. It all begins on the day of the Harvest Festival, when Abeni’s village is attacked. A mysterious army razes the village and captures all of the villagers, while a strange man wearing a mask with goat horns plays a flute melody that enchants the children into following him. These terrifying forces serve the Witch Priest, who has started a war so that he may rule over all the lands.

Abeni alone is saved by a very old witch named Asha, who has watched over the village for many generations, although no one heeded her warnings of danger. Asha takes Abeni to live in her magical hut that’s larger on the inside than the outside, and Asha begins to discover new truths about the world and herself. She even learns little bits of magic and how to wield a staff.

Between facing the loss of her family and discovering a world of magic and mystery previously unknown to her, Abeni also takes on new responsibilities when Asha is struck down by a shadow being—another one of the Witch Priest’s servants—and reborn as a young girl. It turns out that Asha is not a witch but an ancient spirit who serves as a protector of the land and its people. Now she must grow into her power again.

Asha’s transformation reverses the two characters’ roles. Overwhelmed by both the duty of protecting Asha and a desire to find her people, Abeni sets off to find Asha’s sister. Abeni hopes to pawn off Asha once the sister is found and then chase down her family and rescue them from the forces of the Witch Priest. She soon discovers that fate has a different plan in store.

There are few surprises in the plot, but readers might find themselves sniffling—or outright turning on the waterworks—at several moments when these adolescent characters team up and grow to truly care for each other. Rooting for Abeni and Asha comes naturally, and Abeni is particularly charming. She cannot help her curiosity and speaks rashly, but she is also open to learning about herself and the reality in which she lives. With the help of spirits and friends she meets along the way, Abeni builds the skills, courage and wisdom to face her evil adversary: the part-goat, part-man kidnapper of children.

As with most of the books Clark has written, Abeni’s Song does a fantastic job building a world full of deep lore. Readers are clearly being set up for a series, so not all mysteries are solved nor everyone saved, but the nature of spirits and magic, and the secrets of allies and enemies all plant a firm vision for a future installment.

Fantasy author P. Djèlí Clark’s first middle grade novel follows Abeni as she builds the skills, courage and wisdom to face her evil adversary: a part-goat, part-man kidnapper of children.
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Lauren Beukes’ Bridge begins with Jo, a young mother on a desperate cross-country trip to acquire something she refers to as the “dreamworm.” When combined with other visual and auditory stimulation, the dreamworm allows a person to swap consciousnesses with another version of themselves from an alternate reality. A brilliant neuroscientist, Jo thinks she can use the dreamworm to find a way to defeat her cancer diagnosis. As a child, Jo’s daughter, Bridget aka “Bridge,” fully believed in her mother’s quest; as an adult, she understands it to have been a combination of her mother’s epilepsy, her cancer and the delusional imaginations of a desperate woman and her child.

In modern-day Portland, Oregon, Bridge is trying to organize her mother’s belongings after Jo’s death. While going through the house, Bridge finds the dreamworm and realizes her mom may have been telling the truth. Bridge quickly dives into the drugs-and-rock-and-roll version of astral projection her mom was studying, with her friend Dom along for the ride as an ever-faithful ally.

Lauren Beukes embraces the multiverse.

Bridge is a mystery and a family drama wrapped in the trappings of science fiction, with Beukes spending most of the book examining the difficult and complicated relationships between her characters. Beukes impressively paints each individual with a highly realistic level of detail and a clear-eyed perspective on their faults; there are no overblown types or caricatures to be found. The cast provides a full spectrum of human foibles, ranging from “Well, this character’s probably being the best friend they can reasonably be,” to “Wow, this character is somehow worse than a serial killer.” 

Beukes drops clues about the dreamworm and the mysterious forces trying to claim it for their own throughout, and while readers will be able to piece some or all of these mysteries together, the twists are still surprising and the payoffs still satisfying. Searching for the answers will gnaw at the reader; it’s impossible to stop reading until they find out if their theories are right or wrong, even if that discovery comes at 2 a.m. and they will certainly regret it at work later that day. Ahem. Some readers may experience this, anyway.

In Bridge, Lauren Beukes wraps a mystery and a family drama in the trappings of science fiction, specifically a drugs-and-rock-and-roll version of astral projection.

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