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The trope of a doe-eyed, innocent waif wandering a spectacular wonderland is well-worn by authors of classic fantasy and science fiction, but the magic that Silvia Moreno-Garcia weaves in her 1920s-set historical fantasy, Gods of Jade and Shadow, immerses the reader in a fairy tale like no other. The author of Signal to Noise and The Beautiful Ones is known for celebrating remarkable heroines of Mexican heritage, and her protagonist Casiopea Tun certainly does not disappoint.

Casiopea is a star-crossed Cenicienta who refuses to let fate, mysticism, prophecies and other such rubbish dictate her life. Scorned and neglected by her wealthy family because of her supposedly bastard heritage,  she opts for curiosity and wit over lashing out against her cantankerous grandfather, Cirilo Leyva, and dangerously spoiled cousin, Martín. When the imaginative Casiopea opens a mysterious locked chest in Cirilo’s bedroom à la Pandora, she unleashes the bones of one of the gods of the underworld: the stoic and dryly humorous Hun-Kamé, former (and self-titled “rightful”) Lord of Xibalba.

After learning that she is inextricably bound to Hun-Kamé until he is able to defeat his treacherous brother, Vucub-Kamé, and that she and Martín will play important roles in the battle for the crown, the simultaneously sheltered and exploited Casiopea embarks on a cross-country, darkly whimsical adventure to both restore Hun-Kamé to the throne and regain her independence. Casiopea is not a damsel in distress, but rather a young woman coming of age in a time where music, myth, art and exploration thrum colorfully around her, and her affinity for poetry and storytelling, gleaned from her deceased father, keeps her motivated and hopeful.

Casiopea explores what it means to live on the fringe—she is neither Tun nor Leyva, of Middleworld nor Xibalba, country girl nor flapper of Mexico City’s Jazz Age renaissance—while learning about love and loss, grief and greed, strength and perseverance. Unlike her namesake in Greek mythology, she is far from vain, possessing instead resourcefulness and a willingness to sacrifice for the well-being of others. Casiopea encounters demons, succubi, monsters and sorcerers along the way, from Tierra Blanca to the Black Road—settings that glimmer like the Mayan obsidian and jade that the gods are so fond of. The book also includes bleak but nonetheless vivid depictions of Xibalba itself, a nightmarish hellscape home to dangerous, but wondrous, beings.

Readers will be floored by Moreno-Garcia’s painstaking attention to detail. Her descriptions of the emotionally charged interactions between realistic human characters and otherworldly gods, witches and demonic forces are unforgettable, as are as the fairy-tale and folktale aspects of the plot. As Hun-Kamé and Casiopea grow closer, physically and psychologically, the two experience and share what it truly means to live—and die. When Casiopea enters her new life, she is assured that “’Tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all.”

The trope of a doe-eyed, innocent waif wandering a spectacular wonderland is well-worn by authors of classic fantasy and science fiction, but the magic that Silvia Moreno-Garcia weaves in Gods of Jade and Shadow immerses the reader in a fairy tale like no other.

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An all-female dystopia with rich language and intricate characters, Wilder Girls offers a taste of something new in a sea of predictable YA apocalypses.

Almost two years have passed since the Tox, a mysterious disease, first ravaged the bodies of the girls and teachers at Raxter School for Girls, an isolated island boarding school. Now there’s only a fraction of them left, and they’ve learned to adapt to the new additions to their bodies—gills, silver scales and second spines—and to the changed environment of the island in order to survive. Their most sacred rule? Never break quarantine, never go outside the fence. 

But when Hetty’s closest friend, Byatt, has a flare-up and goes missing, following the rules becomes the last thing on Hetty’s mind. She will do whatever it takes to get to Byatt, even if it means putting herself in even more danger. But when she ventures past the fence, what she finds on the other side may not be what she expected.

In our current cultural and political climate, it’s refreshing to find a young adult novel that showcases and celebrates the enduring strength of women, even in the face of unimaginable hardship. First-time author Rory Power is particularly adept at illustrating the dynamics of female friendship, as well as exploring queer romantic relationships. All of these relevant topics, set against a stark and high-risk backdrop, make Wilder Girls stand out from the crowd and practically demand to be read. 

An all-female dystopia with rich language and intricate characters, Wilder Girls offers a taste of something new in a sea of predictable YA apocalypses.

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When the Sinner’s Plague strikes a village in Sabor, the villagers know what to do. A lit beacon will summon the Crows, who will deal a quick mercy to the victims, then burn the bodies to contain the spread of disease. In return, the wandering Crows—the most reviled and least blessed of all social castes—expect payment, sometimes in the form of travel supplies and sometimes in the form of the teeth of the dead.

Fie has grown up knowing that she’ll someday be chief of her Crow band. That day comes sooner than she expects when her father swears a Covenant Oath with an escaped prince. Her father promises Prince Jasimir that the band will see him and his body double, the Hawk Tavin, safely to his political allies, while Jasimir in turn promises the Crows protection from the armed vigilantes of the Oleander Gentry. Before either end of the oath can be kept, though, Fie and her band must navigate a range of obstacles, ranging from geographic to supernatural to romantic. As Jasimir’s enemies begin to attack, will the magic of ancient witches’ teeth be enough to keep Fie, her band and their traveling companions safe? What terrors hide in the darkness? And what if Fie decides that she doesn’t want to be a Crow chief after all?

Margaret Owen weaves a multilayered fantasy world of masks, mercy and magic into The Merciful Crow, a dark fantasy that’s perfect for “Game of Thrones” fans.

 

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Read our Q&A with Margaret Owen about The Merciful Crow.

Margaret Owen weaves a multilayered fantasy world of masks, mercy and magic into The Merciful Crow, a dark fantasy that’s perfect for “Game of Thrones” fans.

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Kira Jane Buxton’s hilariously philosophical and formidable first novel, Hollow Kingdom, tackles humankind’s most existential questions.

Narrated by a foulmouthed, Cheetos-loving pet crow named S.T., the story starts in Seattle, Washington, where a terrible virus has turned all humans into zombies. When S.T.’s owner, Big Jim, succumbs to the virus’ effects, S.T. leaves the only home he has known to find some answers and possibly a cure. What he learns, however, is gut-wrenching. The human race as he knew it has ceased to exist, destroyed by their own addiction to technology. What now roams the earth are not humans but rather highly mutated and heinous creatures whose only purpose is to destroy.

World annihilation doesn’t necessarily make for a fun read, except perhaps when told by a domesticated crow that has watched a lot of TV and thinks himself half-human. Equally fascinating is the odd squad of dogs, cats and other birds who have joined S.T. in this post-apocalyptic odyssey. There might not be humans or the world wide web anymore, but that doesn’t really seem to matter, as Buxton does a stellar job of anthropomorphizing the novel’s animals and adding drama, suspense, tragedy and hope. It’s amazing that such a bizarre and far-fetched story can connect so deeply with our reality and its discussions about social media, climate change, immigration and self-identity.

It doesn’t get any weirder, funnier or better than Hollow Kingdom.

Kira Jane Buxton’s hilariously philosophical and formidable first novel, Hollow Kingdom, tackles humankind’s most existential questions.

Inspired by Grimm’s “Twelve Dancing Princesses,” this gothic fantasy is brimming with ghosts, murder, mythology and romance.

Annaleigh Thaumas is one of 12 sisters who live in the seaside estate of Highmoor in the mythical kingdom of Arcannia. Locals believe Highmoor is cursed, as four of Annaleigh’s sisters have died in tragic and gruesome ways. When Annaleigh’s naive stepmother insists on a ball to end the long mourning period, the sisters bedeck themselves in expensive shoes and luscious gowns, only to find themselves shunned by society. Desperate for company, the girls sneak out through a magical door to attend dances in distant places where no one has ever heard of the Thaumas curse. Meanwhile, Annaleigh, who is being haunted by the ghosts of her dead sisters, is investigating their deaths even as she begins a budding romance with the enigmatic Cassius. When tragedy strikes again, Annaleigh must uncover who, or what, is killing the Thaumas girls before she is next.

Atmospheric, intense and macabre, House of Salt and Sorrows is a smorgasbord of gothic subgenres but a murder mystery at its core. Once the story builds momentum, it rapidly revs up the stakes, making for a devouring and page-turning read.

Inspired by Grimm’s “Twelve Dancing Princesses,” this gothic fantasy is brimming with ghosts, murder, mythology and romance.
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I’ll admit it—sometimes I can’t keep up with science fiction novels I read. It’s not for lack of trying; I’ll keep doggedly reading even if the complexities of the plot confuse me or the science has gotten too “science-y” or the concepts are so philosophical I feel like I’m back in lectures just trying to maintain a C for the course. It can be downright exhausting. Thank goodness that, despite being a wild ride across the galaxy, Max Gladstone’s Empress of Forever has the perfect amount of self-awareness and heart to maintain its wilder moments.

Vivian Liao is tired of being herself. A Steve Jobs-esque super CEO in Earth’s near future, she controls a vast technological empire, but increasingly suspects that her enemies are closing in on her success. In a last-ditch effort to take control of her life (and the world), Viv fakes her own death and breaks into a server room where, with a few quick keystrokes, she’d be able to take over all data on earth. Just as the last loading bar creeps toward 100 percent, a woman bathed in light grabs Viv and, somehow, rips her out of her existence and into a far future galaxy full of robots where she is the only human. With nothing but questions and a few fantastic companions by her side, Viv must scour the galaxy for an answer to a simple question: “How the heck do I get home?”

The answer involves a kaleidoscopic journey through space on a ship called, of course, the Question. And the journey wouldn’t be half as fun without the ensemble cast Gladstone builds around Viv the moment she arrives in the post-human future. There’s a forest-dwelling Viking princess-pilot, a robed monk who treats Viv like a miracle, a creature called Gray who steals dreams and Zanj, a wrathful demigod hell bent on the same thing as Viv—finding the Empress and exacting revenge. Each core member of the team is given plenty of page time, and in its best moments, Empress feels like Guardians of the Galaxy mixed with a healthy, swashbuckling dose of Pirates of the Caribbean.

With Empress, Gladstone stands confidently on the shoulders of his Craft Sequence to create a confident, poignant, expansive world. Though he never holds back in the imagination department, it’s the smaller interactions between characters that forms the foundation. It might be hard to build a new universe, but it is even harder to fill it with people that readers instinctively know both belong and deserve to be there.

So I need not have worried that Gladstone would leave me behind. Though the Question finds itself hurtling through a dizzying, incredible universe, Viv and her friends were right there to keep me company.

 

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Go Behind the Book with Max Gladstone.

I’ll admit it—sometimes I can’t keep up with science fiction novels I read. It’s not for lack of trying; I’ll keep doggedly reading even if the complexities of the plot confuse me or the science has gotten too “science-y” or the concepts are so philosophical I feel like I’m back in lectures just trying to maintain a C for the course. It can be downright exhausting. Thank goodness that, despite being a wild ride across the galaxy, Max Gladstone’s Empress of Forever has the perfect amount of self-awareness and heart to maintain its wilder moments.

As The Storm Crow opens, Princess Thia of Rhodaire is soaring over the city of Aris, perched on the back of a strong and beautiful storm crow. It’s a special day for the teenage princess. On this night she won’t be riding a borrowed crow but will get her very own.

Then tragedy strikes. Rhodaire’s enemies set fire to the rookery, destroying all the crows, and Thia’s mother and her beloved aunt are both killed in the attack. The princess plunges into months of depression, and the kingdom is at risk without the crows. 

Knowing that a full-on war would destroy Rhodaire, Thia’s older sister, now Queen Caliza, arranges a match between Thia and Prince Ericen, son of Queen Razel of Illucia, the enemy who destroyed all Thia held dear. But just when all seems hopeless, Thia makes a discovery that could change everything. A single crow’s egg has somehow survived the devastating fire, and if she can find a way to hatch the egg, and if Caliza can convince a neighboring kingdom to come to their aid, they just might stand a chance against Illucia.

Storm crows might not be as spectacular as dragons, but teen readers will nonetheless marvel as Thia soars through the sky, and as she strategizes to survive in Illucia and negotiate her relationship with her intended. Debut author Kalyn Josephson is adept at world building, and with its powerful women and diverse set of characters, The Storm Crow is sure to attract a loyal following.

As The Storm Crow opens, Princess Thia of Rhodaire is soaring over the city of Aris, perched on the back of a strong and beautiful storm crow. It’s a special day for the teenage princess. On this night she won’t be riding a borrowed crow but will get her very own.

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At just 17, Raven Roth’s life takes a hard turn when a car crash kills the foster mom who was going to adopt her. The crash also wipes Raven’s memory clean. Afterward she moves from Atlanta to New Orleans to try and finish her senior year while recuperating. While her own thoughts are still foggy, other people’s thoughts begin to crowd her mind—and if someone crosses her and she wishes them harm, beware.

As written by Kami Garcia, Raven’s brain is already overloaded with typical high school worries and drama before the additional thoughts move in. Illustrator Gabriel Picolo draws these thoughts like fat lightning bolts, reaching across the classroom and prodding Raven in the head. Raven’s aunt and foster sister try to help her regain some sense of self, but they’re also protecting her from powers on the verge of exploding. A critical showdown near the end of the story is beautifully drawn, with ghosts emerging to come to Raven’s aid as she faces a monstrous foe. 

Teen Titans: Raven is a story of self-discovery, and what’s unearthed may be hard to bury again.

At just 17, Raven Roth’s life takes a hard turn when a car crash kills the foster mom who was going to adopt her. The crash also wipes Raven’s memory clean. Afterward she moves from Atlanta to New Orleans to try and finish her senior year while recuperating. While her own thoughts are still foggy, other people’s thoughts begin to crowd her mind—and if someone crosses her and she wishes them harm, beware.

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It’s not easy to write the end of the world. In precise and deliberate prose, you can explain why and how your fictional world is ending, but writing something that really conjures the end—with the many cogs in the machine of civilization that have to break down, and the consequences of the failure of each one—is much harder, particularly if you’d like to do it with heart and thrills and something resembling a thesis statement about the human condition. Very few authors can pull it off, and even fewer can master it. With Wanderers, Chuck Wendig has mastered it. 

The story begins with a young girl walking out of her house one morning with no shoes or supplies. Her sister tries to stop her, then her father, then EMTs and police, but still she walks. She is the beginning of an apparent epidemic of “sleepwalkers” that form a flock who walk—expressionlessly and painlessly—across the United States. In the midst of this mysterious outbreak come a series of characters—a disgraced CDC official, a woman who built the world’s most sophisticated artificial intelligence, a rock star, a preacher on the verge of crisis and the young girl’s older sister—who all have roles to play in unraveling the mystery of what’s to come. The walkers, you see, are just the beginning, and what follows is an American epic with the soul of the nation—and the world—at stake. 

Wendig tells this story through several points of view, mixing not just different geographic and emotional perspectives but also different spiritual, political and psychological worldviews, each one as real as the last, each gripping in its way. His ability to juggle so many fully realized characters is impressive, but even more so is the astonishing power Wanderers commands in conveying what it would actually feel like if this happened in the America we live in now, complicated by deep ideological divides, disinformation and the constant chatter of social media. All of these elements work together, often in surprising ways, to create a sense of terrifying plausibility and compelling verisimilitude.

The true success of Wanderers, though, is not just in its ability to show us the grim scenarios that could play out across a divided nation; it’s in its heart. Whether he’s writing about rage or faith or the faintest glimmer of light, Wendig brings a sincerity and emotional weight to his prose. That’s why the scariest parts of Wanderers work, but it’s also why the most hopeful ones do, too.

The story begins with a young girl walking out of her house one morning with no shoes or supplies. Her sister tries to stop her, then her father, then EMTs and police, but still she walks. She is the beginning of an apparent epidemic of “sleepwalkers” that form a flock who walk—expressionlessly and painlessly—across the United States. In the midst of this mysterious outbreak come a series of characters—a disgraced CDC official, a woman who built the world’s most sophisticated artificial intelligence, a rock star, a preacher on the verge of crisis and the young girl’s older sister—who all have roles to play in unraveling the mystery of what’s to come. The walkers, you see, are just the beginning, and what follows is an American epic with the soul of the nation—and the world—at stake. 

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The Great War is over, and that’s cause for celebration in Lower Proszawa. Alcohol, sex and drugs flow freely at opulent parties where artists and their friends and benefactors try to ignore the threat of a new war just around the corner. Automatons, disfigured war veterans in iron masks, deadly plagues and the invisible presence of the secret police are ever-present but best ignored. In the center of it all is the Grand Dark, a theater where actors in puppet suits reenact grisly stories of murder and lust. To Largo Moorden, recently promoted to head courier of the city’s bike messenger service, everything is perfect. His new position comes with more money and possibly even a chance to move out of the messenger service entirely. His girlfriend is an actress at the Grand Dark, and there are enough drugs and parties to keep them both happy. But perfection comes with a price, and as Largo learns more about his new job, he begins to learn just how fragile Lower Proszawa’s peaceful façade really is.

Richard Kadrey’s The Grand Dark takes its time. Indeed, for the first third of the book it is unclear exactly what plot Largo Moorden is blindly walking into. Kadrey reveals Lower Proszawa almost as though by candlelight, showing readers just enough at any one time for them to see a few vibrant figures of a city under immense strain. Beyond that, the dark outlines of the threatening world are present but obscured and muted. Despite its lack of cliffhangers and action scenes, the subtle but constant pressure from that insidious outside world makes The Grand Dark an unexpected page-turner. With secret police and anarchist groups seemingly everywhere, it feels like a conspiracy in book form. Around every corner is a potential mystery, although it is sometimes unclear which mysteries are important and which aren’t. But when the central conflict of the book is finally revealed, it is both wholly unexpected in the moment and perfectly obvious in retrospect.

Kadrey’s characters are clueless, idealistic youths who could have stepped out of the bohemian dreams of a 19th-century opera composer. They dream of a better (or at least a drug-filled) life but are forced to live their lives within a dark, Kafka-esque state in which people disappear for seemingly no reason. Between these characters’ struggles and Lower Proszawa’s strange yet familiar technologies and magics, Kadrey successfully weaves the ultra-realistic with the nearly possible into a beautiful and morbid tapestry that fascinates as much as it entertains. The result is a fantastically written book for suspense or fantasy fans looking for a bit of gloom to fight the summer heat.

The Great War is over, and that’s cause for celebration in Lower Proszawa. Alcohol, sex and drugs flow freely at opulent parties where artists and their friends and benefactors try to ignore the threat of a new war just around the corner. Automatons, disfigured war veterans in iron masks, deadly plagues and the invisible presence of the secret police are ever-present but best ignored.

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An innocent joke takes a raucous turn in Emmy-winning television and comedy writer David Quantick’s latest novel, All My Colors.

Todd Milstead is at a turning point in 1979. His wife, Janis, has had enough of his wisecracks, incompetence and affairs. When she leaves, Todd must support himself by actually publishing something instead of just acting like a writer. It just so happens that at a Saturday night gathering, Todd is showing off his eidetic memory by reciting lines from a successful novel titled All My Colors—but no one else at the party knows this novel. In fact, it doesn’t seem to exist. So Todd decides to write this book as if it were his own, but his disturbing (albeit funny) encounters with similarly plagiarizing storytellers bring devastating results. 

Quantick brings his TV prowess to his third novel through its episodic pacing, dark humor and satirical reflections on story crafting. The novel excels in scenes like Todd’s book signings in small towns and his run-in with other authors at a mysterious library in Michigan. In between these episodes, the narration moves quickly and succinctly. The tone is sarcastic and biting as details of Todd’s shenanigans reveal the underbelly of his deception. Todd and fellow bibliophiles, like bookstore owner Timothy who calls himself “an old fraud,” make fun of themselves. Todd is a “bad copier,” a caricature of himself. But behind the hoaxes and hijinks, these clowns and other characters pose serious, timely questions about what happens when stories are told. How does a writer change by writing his story? Can fiction become more truthful than fact?

Part mystery, part fantasy, All My Colors’ rainbow of sensations won’t leave readers unfazed.

An innocent joke takes a raucous turn in Emmy-winning television and comedy writer David Quantick’s latest novel, All My Colors.

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In the weeks since the climactic events of Trail of Lightning, Maggie Hoskie’s life has returned to normal. The demigod Neizghání has been safely imprisoned under several tons of rock, the uneasy alliance between Maggie and the Goodacre clan has largely dissolved, and Maggie’s partner, Kai Arviso, is miraculously back from the dead. Granted, Kai still isn’t speaking to Maggie, and a hunt gone wrong has left her responsible for Ben, a grieving teenage girl. And there’s a new problem: a cult leader called the White Locust. But normal is relative when you’re a supernaturally gifted monster hunter living after the climate apocalypse. When Clive and Rissa Goodacre show up on Maggie’s doorstep with the news that both Caleb Goodacre and Kai have been abducted by the White Locust, Maggie is pulled into a hunt that will take her outside the relative safety of Dinétah, a former Navajo reservation, and into the horrors of the world beyond.

For some series, a second installment can be a “set-up” book that slowly introduces new characters and new places as it builds toward a final conclusion. Rebecca Roanhorse’s Storm of Locusts is not that sort of second book. It’s the kind that makes a fantastic first book pale in comparison, that captivates readers from the first page to the last. Storm of Locusts introduces new characters who captivate as much as Maggie, Kai and the Goodacres while also giving readers a glimpse into the world outside of Dinétah—a world dominated by slave traders, organ harvesters and dedicated park rangers. But none of these introductions makes the book feel slow. Storm of Locusts careens from scene to scene with the same frenetic energy and electrifying prose that set Roanhorse’s debut apart.

But while Trail of Lightning dealt with conflict on a godly scale, Storm of Locusts changes perspective, showing just how destructive clan powers can be if placed in the wrong hands. The shift focuses our attention on Maggie, Ben and their companions. Whether it’s Maggie’s search for Kai or Ben’s desire for revenge for the death of her uncle, the stakes are high. Roanhorse’s prose and pacing are electric, and so are her characters, who clearly have many more stories to tell.

Storm of Locusts will delight and captivate fans of speculative fiction and mythology. Your only complaint will be that the next book isn’t out yet for you to devour.

 

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Read our Q&A with Rebecca Roanhorse about Storm of Locusts.

Normal is relative when you’re a supernaturally gifted monster hunter living after the climate apocalypse. Maggie Hoskie is pulled into a hunt that will take her outside the relative safety of Dinétah, a former Navajo reservation, and into the horrors of the world beyond.

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When I was a kid, my father would read to me to help me fall asleep. Most of the books he read to me were books he had inherited or owned when he was young. As luck would have it, almost all of these were sea-faring adventures like 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea, Dead Man’s Chest and Treasure Island. I recalled those moments with quite a bit of nostalgia while finishing Winds of Marque, which consistently evokes the danger, the promise and the daring of life on the open ocean. However, one detail in this new novel by Bennett R. Coles would have blown my 9-year-old brain: It’s in space?!

Commissioned to capture enemy vessels, the spaceship HMS Daring sets sail under a false flag to pursue and engage pirate ships. Liam Blackwood, the ship’s second-in-command, leads a crew of “sailors” in undercover missions meant to locate the pirates. When a series of dangerous moves from his new captain threaten the safety and morale of the crew, he must uncover the truth about his captain and keep the mission on course before pirates strike out from a hidden base.

Coles cleverly preserves many of the naval traditions that have become synonymous with historical seafaring adventure stories. The leadership structure aboard Daring, the divisions between the sailors and the officers, and even the commands shouted out in the middle of battle feel ripped from the pages of a Patrick O’Brien novel. In fact, the environment of the ship is perhaps Coles’ greatest achievement in Winds of Marque. A former officer in the Royal Canadian Navy himself, it’s no surprise that Coles bring that knowledge into this fictional world.

Winds of Marque maintains a brisk pace from the get-go. Action scenes are crisp and tense, with special attention paid to the visceral feeling of hand-to-hand combat and firing cannon batteries. Because of Daring’s secret mission, the stakes are high at every encounter and as the adventure becomes more and more desperate, each skirmish reinforces what failure means for everyone. Adding to this tension is the interplay between a set of colorful characters, particularly the officers. I loved the tenacious Chief Sky, leader of the boarding party, and Virtue, the talented new quartermaster. Coles achieves a real sense of camaraderie amongst his characters and I found myself wanting to see more banter even before the book was over.

I might not have had my dad drowsily reading Winds of Marque to me, but I did feel that same sense of adventure I felt as a kid. And though it isn’t set in the chilly waters of the northern Atlantic, Winds of Marque takes you to a place just as full of danger and intrigue.

When I was a kid, my father would read to me to help me fall asleep. Most of the books he read to me were books he had inherited or owned when he was young. As luck would have it, almost all of these were sea-faring adventures like 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea, Dead Man’s Chest and Treasure Island. I recalled those moments with quite a bit of nostalgia while finishing Winds of Marque, which consistently evokes the danger, the promise and the daring of life on the open ocean. However, one detail in this new novel by Bennett R. Coles would have blown my 9-year-old brain: It’s in space?!

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