Andy Marino rides the balance between good horrific fun and grisly speculation in The Swarm, a tale of a cicada emergence of biblical proportions.
Andy Marino rides the balance between good horrific fun and grisly speculation in The Swarm, a tale of a cicada emergence of biblical proportions.
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Jovan and Kalina, noble siblings of art-loving Sjona, are heirs to a difficult responsibility: detecting poisons and preventing them from reaching the city’s Chancellor. When their father is felled along with the reigning monarch by a poison none of them can identify or detect, they are thrust into duty protecting their friend Tain—the newest ruler of Sjona. And then, with their military fighting a campaign far from home, they find an army of fanatics at their city’s gates, hell-bent on destroying Sjona and its people. Somehow, Jovan and Kalina must decide whom to trust in a city they barely recognize, while fighting a war neither of them fully understands.

City of Lies is only the beginning of the Poison War trilogy, but it functions as a standalone story as well. Sam Hawke’s tale of intrigue and betrayal comes to a seemingly pat ending, but knowing that the story is far from over casts a welcome patina of uncertainty over the state of affairs. This complexity is aided by Hawke’s skilful use of a first-person limited perspective to construct multifaceted and imperfect characters, although they sometimes fall into established fantasy archetypes. Sjona is a fascinating environment as well. Hawke’s politically fraught society is built on subterfuge in a fashion reminiscent of Robin Hobb’s Buckkeep Castle, and her magic system is an interesting take on the type of magic used by writers like Guy Gavriel Kay and Daniel Abraham.

Much of City of Lies’ appeal lies in Hawke’s writing style, and the depth and narrative potential of its world and characters. But the most interesting aspect is its approach to conflict. Unlike most typical fantasy works, Hawke presents both sides of a religious war as sympathetic. This is a plot that seems to be full of antagonists, but is actually populated with basically decent people who cannot communicate with each other, either because they do not understand each other’s concerns or because their complaints are too deeply held to be negotiable. Even the real masterminds are merely selfish rather than evil. As a result, City of Lies is a story that resonates beyond its pages without overtly moralizing, which is a rare achievement in any genre.

All told, Sam Hawke’s debut is an engaging, tense and deeply relevant story within an intriguing world that lends itself well to further exploration.

Jovan and Kalina, noble siblings of art-loving Sjona, are heirs to a difficult responsibility: detecting poisons and preventing them from reaching the city’s Chancellor. When their father is felled along with the reigning monarch by a poison none of them can identify or detect, they are thrust into duty protecting their friend Tain—the newest ruler of Sjona. And then, with their military fighting a campaign far from home, they find an army of fanatics at their city’s gates, hell-bent on destroying Sjona and its people. Somehow, Jovan and Kalina must decide whom to trust in a city they barely recognize, while fighting a war neither of them fully understands.

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After a sudden climate apocalypse, one of the only places left intact was Dinétah, a former Navajo reservation that has become a land where gods and supernatural heroes walk among humans. Preternaturally deadly monster hunter Maggie Hoskie is one of the byproducts of the supernatural rebirth of Dinétah. When her search for a missing girl and her monstrous captor goes south, Maggie is left with questions. Who created the monster that abducted the girl, and why? Maggie’s investigation leads her to reluctantly team up with Kai Arviso, an overly charismatic young medicine man with powers of his own. The further they dig to find the truth behind the monster, the more Maggie is forced to recognize that confronting her past may be the key to solving the mystery.

Trail of Lightning, the first in the Sixth World series by debut novelist Rebecca Roanhorse, is one of those books that grabs you by the hand and makes you listen. What separates it from other monster hunter books isn’t its plot. The basic plot arc could belong to almost any book within the genre. Its characters are typical of the monster hunter genre too: not always likeable, but always loveable. Its setting is remarkable, wonderful and strange, but so too are those of many other books. What then, is it that makes Trail of Lightning an unforgettable read? Even as some of the novel follows predictable patterns, so much of it is unexpected, turning what could be a straightforward plot into something both entertaining and thoughtful.

The best example of Roanhorse’s ability to take the standard and make it unexpected is in how she sets up conflict, particularly psychological conflict. Yes, Trail of Lightning is about a monster hunt. And yes, the fight scenes will make you hold your breath and sit on the edge of your chair. What sets the conflict apart, however, is how Roanhorse takes an action-heavy premise and makes it character-driven. On the surface, Maggie is exactly what we would expect from a monster hunter: dry, trigger happy and no-nonsense. But beneath that facade is a lot of trauma. Maggie has been taught by her former mentor to be ashamed and afraid of her gift, that it somehow makes her evil. She’s constantly questioning whether her power is turning her into the very kind of monster she’s been trained to hunt. This question dogs her at every movement, threatening to swallow her whole. In some books, this sort of constant introspection can be grating or even boring, usually because the angst it brings does nothing for the plot or characters. In Trail of Lightning, it’s what drives the plot, and it’s what makes its main character achingly human, a necessary feature for a book where the monstrous bleeds into the mundane.

Trail of Lightning has set a new standard for speculative fiction. Roanhorse has dazzled with this first installment into the Sixth World series, introducing readers to a world that will leave them eager to learn what else lies within the walls of Dinétah—and outside of them. The only downside is that we have to wait to learn what happens next.

After a sudden climate apocalypse, one of the only places left intact was Dinétah, a former Navajo reservation that has become a land where gods and supernatural heroes walk among humans. Preternaturally deadly monster hunter Maggie Hoskie is one of the byproducts of the supernatural rebirth of Dinétah. When her search for a missing girl and her monstrous captor goes south, Maggie is left with questions. Who created the monster that abducted the girl, and why? Maggie’s investigation leads her to reluctantly team up with Kai Arviso, an overly charismatic young medicine man with powers of his own. The further they dig to find the truth behind the monster, the more Maggie is forced to recognize that confronting her past may be the key to solving the mystery.

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As fans of “Downton Abbey” can attest, there will always be an appetite for stories of family drama and forbidden love set in the bucolic, modestly glittering England that was. Cue Witchmark by C.L. Polk, a startlingly beautiful fantasy debut that is both magical conspiracy thriller and supernatural love story. But Polk weaponizes their quasi-Edwardian setting: An ornate family home’s staid beauty hides horrifying abuse. A bicycle chase through quaint, narrow city streets is the opening salvo in a battle that will become increasingly macabre. There is something wrong with this world at its core, and all its beauty and decorum serve only as distraction, camouflage or lure for the Anglophilic reader.

After a vicious, victorious campaign to conquer the country of Laneer, soldiers are returning home to Aeland, a small yet powerful island nation and Polk’s alternate vision of England. The mild weather enjoyed by the country’s inhabitants is secretly the work of a hundred mages called Storm-Singers, who together cast elaborate spells to control the weather. The Storm-Singers come from an upper class that calls itself the Invisibles, since they hide their powers from the rest of the country. Not every member of this elite, however, has weather-related abilities. The ones who don’t, no matter the utility of their powers, are bound to the more powerful Storm-Singers, and essentially used as human batteries.

Dr. Miles Singer escaped such a fate by running away from his family and joining the army, secretly using his healing powers to help wounded and traumatized soldiers. But when he discovers a mysterious mental ailment is infecting veterans, and possibly causing them to commit violent acts, he must balance his own self-preservation against the deadly consequences of staying silent. It’s not hard to draw parallels between this tension and Miles’ identity as a gay man, which he must also hide, and Polk depicts his calculations with heartbreaking restraint. Miles doesn’t have the time or space to truly feel how unjust his situation is, which only drives home to the reader how unfairly constrained his existence has become.

Polk’s reticence serves them well in Witchmark’s central love story, which adds another layer of supernatural intrigue. When a handsome, unfailingly kind man named Tristan Hunter starts asking the same questions about the returning veterans, Miles doesn’t know what to make of him. He’s too open to be an agent of Miles’ powerful family, and too seemingly naïve to be a fellow fugitive Invisible. The reason Tristan gives Miles for his lack of knowledge initially sounds insane—he’s not a human being, and he’s not from this world at all. But Polk’s prose is never more beautiful or soothing when describing Tristan and his surroundings, reaching du Maurier-esque gauzy ease, and soon the reader is convinced as well as Miles that the mysterious man is something otherworldly.

The attraction between the two of them unfolds haltingly, a port of calm established over cups of tea and excellent meals, as their investigation reaches further and further into the dark imperialist heart of Aeland. But it is a center that will not hold, and both know that. The increasing darkness of Witchmark is beautifully modulated by Polk, who slowly dims the initial vibrancy of their book, funneling the reader closer to a chilling, utterly fantastic final reveal.

As fans of “Downton Abbey” can attest, there will always be an appetite for stories of family drama and forbidden love set in the bucolic, modestly glittering England that was. Cue Witchmark by C.L. Polk, a startlingly beautiful fantasy debut that is both magical conspiracy thriller and supernatural love story.

The year is 2067, and 16-year-old Romy Silvers is the only surviving crew member aboard the Infinity, a NASA spaceship sent to colonize an Earth-like planet.

For the past five years, Romy has been commanding and piloting the Infinity alone after her parents and all of the other astronauts on board died from a mechanical malfunction. Romy’s only human contact is via the audio messages she receives from Molly, a NASA psychiatrist, but those stop when war erupts back home.

Another spaceship, the Eternity, has been dispatched to aid the Infinity. The commander on board the Eternity is a young man simply known as J. As J and Romy begin to exchange emails, a romance slowly blooms between them. For a girl who has never even had a friend, Romy clings to this budding relationship with the fervent hope that she won’t always be as lonely as she is now. But a shady system update on her ship and J’s too-good-to-be-true persona make Romy wonder if she’s being saved or sabotaged.

Despite Romy being singularly tasked with saving humanity, she is an incredibly relatable heroine. She obsesses over her favorite television show and writes fan fiction. She understands complicated physics problems but is overwhelmed by the expectations placed on her. She crushes hard on J but is insecure about his feelings for her. Romy is an Everygirl alone in deep space, but it’s her zesty narration that drives the momentum in British author Lauren James’ The Loneliest Girl in the Universe. The plot reaches warp speed once Romy and J make face-to-face contact—prepare for some rapid page-turning.

 

This article was originally published in the July 2018 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

The year is 2067, and 16-year-old Romy Silvers is the only surviving crew member aboard the Infinity, a NASA spaceship sent to colonize an Earth-like planet.

BookPage Teen Top Pick, July 2018

Cynthia Hand, Brodi Ashton and Jodi Meadows, the team of young adult authors otherwise known as the Lady Janies, penned the 2016 New York Times bestseller My Lady Jane—inspired (more or less) by hapless historical figure Lady Jane Grey, who ruled as queen of England for only nine days. Now, they’ve whipped up another ghostly journey into the past in the latest installment of their Jane-centric series, but their new inspiration is a different famous Jane. This time, the eponymous protagonist is none other than Charlotte Brontë’s indomitable heroine Jane Eyre.

With this crew of authors at the helm, don’t expect a simple retelling. In the opening pages of My Plain Jane, we meet not only Jane but also her friend Charlotte Brontë, both of whom are students at the infamous Lowood School. As a young aspiring author, Charlotte is working on her “Very-First-Ever-Attempt-at-a-Novel” and thinks Jane will make the perfect heroine in her story.

Jane has the ability to see ghosts, which convinces the very attractive supernatural investigator Alexander Blackwood that she would make a fine addition to his Society for the Relocation of Wayward Spirits. But Jane rejects the job offer and instead sets off to fulfill her destiny by securing the governess position at Rochester’s Thornfield Hall. Off she trots with a ghostly Helen Burns at her side, who proves to be a fantastic comic foil for Jane.

Anyone who loves Brontë’s classic novel will find this supernatural, romantic sendup to be clever and hilarious. At the end of the story, Charlotte reads from her future novel, and Jane approves: “Your readers will eat it up.” Charlotte nervously admits that she doesn’t have any readers yet, but it’s a sure bet she’ll have a lot more after readers finish My Plain Jane.

 

This article was originally published in the July 2018 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Cynthia Hand, Brodi Ashton and Jodi Meadows, the team of young adult authors otherwise known as the Lady Janies, penned the 2016 New York Times bestseller My Lady Jane—inspired (more or less) by hapless historical figure Lady Jane Grey, who ruled as queen of England for only nine days. Now, they’ve whipped up another ghostly journey into the past in the latest installment of their Jane-centric series, but their new inspiration is a different famous Jane. This time, the eponymous protagonist is none other than Charlotte Brontë’s indomitable heroine Jane Eyre.

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Rune Saint John isn’t from a dying house: he’s from a dead one. Two decades ago, Rune’s fellow Atlanteans attacked the seat of his family’s power, destroying their court and leaving only Rune and his companion, Brand, behind. The two survived by becoming guns for hire, scrounging where they could and taking what jobs came their way. When Rune and Brand are saddled with caring for a teenager as a result of one of their odd jobs, their new charge Matthias is the least of their worries. Their latest employer, the Lord Tower, tasks them with finding the missing scion of House Justice, Addam Saint Nicholas, and their world is quickly turned upside down. As they search for Addam, they are pulled into a labyrinthine plot that threatens not just Addam’s life, but all of New Atlantis.

The Last Sun is K.D. Edwards’ debut novel, and if this first installment is any indication, her Tarot Sequence is going to be a breathtaking ride. A hard-boiled mystery told with breathtaking speed, The Last Sun is something unexpected in urban fantasy. Edwards forces readers into the not-quite-human narration of an Atlantean and insists we adapt. Other staples of the genre are set in well-known cities primarily inhabited by humans, like The Dresden Files’ Chicago or Neverwhere’s London. The Last Sun describes a city that is wholly new and utterly fascinating—a world alien from what we have come to expect from urban fantasy.

An easy criticism to make is that there is very little gender diversity within The Last Sun. The majority of the speech comes from men, and all of the action within the book is driven by men, with few exceptions. However, for all of its fights, high-speed chases and monsters rising from the grave, this story is as much about the many ways men express their love for one another as it is about the conflicts between them. There’s the protective love of the Companion Bond between Rune and Brand, Addam’s love for his brother Quinn, and Matthias’s teenage infatuation with Rune. In a genre that so often focuses on romantic love to the exclusion of all else, a book that manages to have so many non-romantic, complex and loving relationships between men is both revolutionary and long overdue.

Any fan of urban fantasy will enjoy this moving and sardonic magical mystery. Edwards has set up a fantastic ride—one that we can only hope will continue to surprise and delight in the second book in the series, The Hanged Man, which is due out next year.

Any fan of urban fantasy will enjoy this moving and sardonic magical mystery.

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Imagine at the very instant of your birth, your soul’s twin was born somewhere in the world. From the moment you could walk, you were given a weapon and told that you existed to defend your soulmate. You are forged into a perfect warrior, a living avatar of the desert god, Parkoun the Scouring Wind. You have never felt fear. Maybe you’d think the world is filled with certainty. In Jaqueline Carey’s consistently enthralling and surprising Starless, you’d find there’s a lot more to the world than you first believed.

Khai is born into such a world. His soul’s twin, the Princess Zariya, lives in the House of the Ageless and is a member of an ancient ruling family blessed with near immortality. It is Khai’s purpose to be the princess’ Shadow and keep her safe from all danger. Though the connection he and Zariya share is achingly real, he is out of his element amongst the court, where the dangers aren’t as easy to spot as swords. But all of this doubt is pushed aside when an ancient darkness starts to rise. Pushed into an impossible mission by an ancient prophecy, Khai and Zariya hope that their link, and all the gifts it provides, is enough to help them survive a catastrophe of celestial proportions.

The gods in Starless walk the earth. Cast down from the sky for rebelling against their father, each god’s unique persona informs the people who worship it. Elemental, wondrous and terrifying, these deities are memorable, and each time the characters encounter them is epic. A tornado of sand and heat, an unseen jungle menace and a graceful rain spirit all make appearances on our heroes’ quest.

At its heart, Starless is profoundly interested in very personal questions. Khai must confront a significant truth about himself early in the story, and the resulting doubt and ambiguity are rendered with great care and tenderness. Even as the undead rise from the sea, we can’t help but be drawn to the feelings Khai must be grappling with in the wake of his personal revelation. It is one of the very best parts of the novel.

Another fantastic element is the back-and-forth between Khai and Zariya. In the hands of a lesser writer, the fated spark they share might not seem earned or, worse, believable. Let us dispel that thought—Carey has put to page one of the best pairs of protagonists in the last few years. Her lush, vibrant world just serves as the perfect backdrop for a relationship worthy of the prophecies it fulfills.

 

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Read our Q&A with Jacqueline Carey.

Imagine at the very instant of your birth, your soul’s twin was born somewhere in the world. From the moment you could walk, you were given a weapon and told that you existed to defend your soulmate. You are forged into a perfect warrior, a living avatar of the desert god, Parkoun the Scouring Wind. You have never felt fear. Maybe you’d think the world is filled with certainty. In Jaqueline Carey’s consistently enthralling and surprising Starless, you’d find there’s a lot more to the world than you first believed.

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Beatrice Hartley has been unable to find normalcy ever since her boyfriend, Jim, was found dead under mysterious circumstances in a quarry outside their elite boarding school. While searching for answers, Beatrice attempts to make amends with four former friends. But a freak accident soon finds the group trapped in the Neverworld, a realm in which the same day repeats endlessly . . . and will continue to do so until the quintet can agree on one member who will return to the world of the living. The others will die.

Imagine living the same day an infinite number of times and being trapped for centuries in the moment between life and death. That’s what happens in the Neverworld, where storms rage, strange birds nest in dead trees and black mold lies just below clean-looking surfaces. While some in the group delight in the mayhem, Beatrice remains the stereotypical good girl. But as the friends put aside their differences (and their debauchery) to investigate Jim’s death in earnest, secrets and deceptions begin to multiply. And the Neverworld begins to break down.

Drawing on ideas and imagery reminiscent of The Marbury Lens by Andrew Smith, Belzhar by Meg Wolitzer and the movie Inception, Marisha Pessl’s first work of young adult fiction (after her adult novels Special Topics in Calamity Physics and Night Film) is spooky, smart and satisfying. Clear your calendar to read this in one sitting, and then, when it gets under your skin, immediately turn back to the beginning and read it again.

 

This article was originally published in the June 2018 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Beatrice Hartley has been unable to find normalcy ever since her boyfriend, Jim, was found dead under mysterious circumstances in a quarry outside their elite boarding school. While searching for answers, Beatrice attempts to make amends with four former friends. But a freak accident soon finds the group trapped in the Neverworld, a realm in which the same day repeats endlessly . . . and will continue to do so until the quintet can agree on one member who will return to the world of the living. The others will die.

Review by

BookPage Teen Top Pick, June 2018

As her 18th birthday approaches, Georgina is beginning to fear that she may be the first Fernweh woman in generations not to possess magical powers. But she tries to brush her nerves aside as she prepares for her last tourist season on her hometown island, By-the-Sea. Every summer on the island has been more or less like the one before, but then By-the-Sea’s iconic 300-year-old bird goes missing, a storm floods the island, and Georgina’s twin sister, Mary, begins leaving a trail of feathers in her wake. Georgina knows nothing will ever be the same.

Katrina Leno’s latest novel, Summer of Salt, is a haunting coming-of-age story tinged with magic and steeped in tradition in the vein of Shea Ernshaw’s The Wicked Deep and Leslye Walton’s The Strange and Beautiful Sorrows of Ava Lavender.

The relationships between the novel’s strong female characters are particularly poignant: From Georgina’s blossoming romance with a girl named Prue and the bonds between the Fernweh women to the friendships that sustain them when the unthinkable happens, Summer of Salt is a profound and subtly feminist tribute to the power of female connection.

Leno’s whimsical prose is grounded by the dark events—both fantastical and all too real—that befall the island and its residents (young readers should be prepared to face issues of sexual assault), and the eclectic cast of well-developed characters is made familiar by the weight of the decisions they have to make as they learn the true meanings of love, sacrifice and magic.

 

This article was originally published in the June 2018 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

As her 18th birthday approaches, Georgina is beginning to fear that she may be the first Fernweh woman in generations not to possess magical powers. But she tries to brush her nerves aside as she prepares for her last tourist season on her hometown island, By-the-Sea. Every summer on the island has been more or less like the one before, but then By-the-Sea’s iconic 300-year-old bird goes missing, a storm floods the island, and Georgina’s twin sister, Mary, begins leaving a trail of feathers in her wake. Georgina knows nothing will ever be the same.

Review by

In Nikan, opium opens the gateway to the gods. Confined to their Pantheon in the spirit realm, they can only hope to influence the choices of those on earth with whispered promises through the haze of pipe smoke. For Rin, an undersized orphan, the thought of communing with the gods is terrifying. But as the drums of war begin to beat in R.F. Kuang’s extraordinary debut novel The Poppy War, Rin discovers that a day might come when she has no choice.

After testing into Sinegard, the most elite military academy in Nikan, Rin Fang discovers she is special. Through training with a seemingly insane professor, her shamanistic ability to conjure fire starts to blossom. When Mugen, a militaristic empire who defeated Nikan in previous Poppy Wars, invades their homeland, the students find themselves dispersed into the middle of a horrific ground war. Rin, conscripted into a misfit band of shaman outcasts, must fight both the ever-advancing Mugen army and her increasing sense that something inside her desperately wants to escape. Her sanity might be the price of finding the answers.

R.F. Kuang must first be congratulated on seamlessly drawing on and then reshaping Chinese history as influence for the world Rin inhabits. Martial arts sparring sessions and colorful street parades instantly conjure images of western Asian culture, but at no point does this world ever feel like a simple reflection of our own. Nikan’s richly detailed culture and history feel substantial and authentic, supporting the characters’ actions as the war unfolds.

And when that war begins, it’s almost shocking in its realness. It is not a conflict fought far away as Rin sits idly in a classroom. The violence is immediate, visceral and wrenching, pulling on the reader’s sense of disgust and anger. The “war is hell” trope plays out solemnly and intimately here, leaving no character untouched. By the climax of the narrative, everyone the reader meets is scarred.

Thank goodness we have Rin to lead us through it. Her tenacity, stubbornness and insecurity are instantly sympathetic and Kuang’s attention to Rin’s feelings opens up oceans of emotional depth. There’s a definite weight to Rin’s conflicting choices that only builds as the suspenseful final act plays out. It would be a thrill to see Rin, fresh from the crucible of The Poppy War, on the pages of a sequel novel. With such a brilliant start, one can’t help but think how certain hers and Kuang’s futures surely are.

 

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Read our Q&A with R.F. Kuang about The Poppy War.

In Nikan, opium opens the gateway to the gods. Confined to their spirit realm, Pantheon, they can only hope to influence the choices of those on earth with whispered promises through the haze of pipe smoke. For Rin, an undersized orphan, the thought of communing with the gods is terrifying. But as the drums of war begin to beat in R.F. Kuang’s extraordinary debut novel The Poppy War, Rin discovers that a day might come when she has no choice.

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In the first two books of the Themis Files, Dr. Rose Franklin discovered and rebuilt an alien war machine, nearly doomed the human race to extinction at the hands of an aggressively benevolent alien power, wrenched survival from the jaws of an untimely demise and was accidentally whisked off into space along with a linguist named Vincent, his daughter Eva and General Eugene Govender of the Earth Defense Corps. Now, nine years later, she must save her species again, this time from itself. With her friendships fractured and thrown into a cauldron of eugenics and Cold War imperialism, she must rely on her intelligence, instincts and stubborn unwillingness to accept the world as it is.

Sylvain Neuvel is an engaging and atypical writer. Like the rest of the series, Only Human is told entirely in transcripts of conversations, interviews and news reports, and Neuvel handles this challenging storytelling medium extremely well. The story he tells is interesting and compelling, in large part due to the complexity of the supporting cast. Although the most enigmatic character from the first two novels—his name is never revealed, even when he details his own history—is absent, Vincent’s struggle with the responsibilities of fatherhood, and the blurred moralities of geneticist Alyssa Papantoniou and GRU officer Katherine Lebedev admirably fill that void. Even if the ending has a touch of deus ex machina, this is a story driven by its people more than its plot.

The familiarity of that plot at times makes Only Human the literary equivalent of a cover band of a cover band composed of better musicians than the groups they mimic. It is most reminiscent of Carl Sagan’s Contact or the recent film Arrival, both of which also featured an alien species contacting humanity at some technological milestone, a group of scientists attempting to decode that civilization’s language to construct and use a giant machine, and a realization of the flaws in human nature. But Neuvel’s narrative technique sets the Themis Files apart from its predecessors and demonstrates that even the most well-worn stories can always be told better than before.

Only Human is a fitting conclusion to a well-crafted sci-fi fable of human fallacy. Its plot may cover previously trodden ground, but its narrative technique and character depth make it worth the reader’s time. Just be sure to read the rest of the trilogy first.

In the first two books of the Themis Files, Dr. Rose Franklin discovered and rebuilt an alien war machine, nearly doomed the human race to extinction at the hands of an aggressively benevolent alien power, wrenched survival from the jaws of an untimely demise and was accidentally whisked off into space along with a linguist named Vincent, his daughter Eva and General Eugene Govender of the Earth Defense Corps. Now, nine years later, she must save her species again, this time from itself. With her friendships fractured and thrown into a cauldron of eugenics and Cold War imperialism, she must rely on her intelligence, instincts and stubborn unwillingness to accept the world as it is.

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In an alternate version of ancient Rome, mages blessed by the gods wield elemental magic, shaping the land and the people within it. For years, the dictator Ocella ruled Aven with fear, working to strip the society of all the trappings of the Republic, and killing entire families of Senators and bureaucrats who displeased him. After her sister’s husband is put to death, noblewoman Latona was forced into service of the dictator as mage and (presumably) as mistress. With his death, she and her sisters are free once more.

But keeping her powers suppressed for so long has come at a price: Latona now struggles to keep control over her growing powers as she relaxes the suppression over her gift. Simultaneously, the death of the dictator has left a power vacuum within the political arena. Among the men who would seek to gain power and guide Aven to greater glory is Sempronius Tarren. His political machinations bring him together with Latona, setting them both on a path that is as dangerous as it is unclear.

From Unseen Fire is brilliantly imagined and plotted. Its world is rich, with no detail left unattended to. Cass Morris has generated Tolkien-level tomes of information about the world of Aven to make the world come alive. And come alive it does. The city and the world we explore teem with life, and not just of the alternate-Roman variety. The different cultures that intersect in Aven have different motivations, different gods and different ways of practicing magic. This level of within-world work gives From Unseen Fire a verisimilitude that can be missing from similar books.

And the level of work Morris put into this book isn’t just seen through world building. Every character (with perhaps the exception of Latona’s unfortunate husband) seems like they could be the lead of a story all their own, happening just offscreen. Readers don’t always know where they are going but always have the sense that, while characters may walk out of the frame, their movements are not unaccounted for. Morris knows where they are and what they are doing at all times, in the sort of instinctive way you know where your hand is even in the dark. This mastery of character development prevents Morris’ plot-heavy book from overpowering its characters.

With so much plot and so many characters, Morris has to take the beginning of the book slowly—any faster, and readers would lose the thread and not be able to tell one character from another. The beginning is definition-heavy, dragging the reader through exposition rather than letting us discover things for ourselves through the actions and words of Morris’s brilliantly developed characters. And the slow pacing does begin to wear on the reader in one major way. Latona is obviously the heroine, but it is not immediately clear that Sempronius is a main character, flawed or otherwise. His chapters come too far and few between in the early chapters to make much of an impact, and it is not immediately clear that we as readers should trust him any more than we trust his political opponents. That unpredictability does, however, become part of Sempronius’s charm as he grows into his role as leading man.

But while the beginning of From Unseen Fire may drag slightly, once things get going, they fly. The book rockets along at breakneck speed through the machinations of the Senate, and the public (and personal) struggles of Latona and Sempronius. Any wait at the beginning is well worth it as the pieces fall into place as the book progresses. Readers who are patient enough to let Cass Morris build the world around them will be rewarded handsomely with an amazing ride.

In an alternate version of ancient Rome, mages blessed by the gods wield elemental magic, shaping the land and the people within it. For years, the dictator Ocella ruled Aven with fear, working to strip the society of all the trappings of the Republic, and killing entire families of Senators and bureaucrats who displeased him. After her sister’s husband is put to death, noblewoman Latona was forced into service of the dictator as mage and (presumably) as mistress. With his death, she and her sisters are free once more.

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Decibel Jones, one-time rock god and full-time personification of glam and glitter, wakes up from a hangover to confront an alien invasion. More precisely, he wakes up to find himself being abducted. The aliens want to know more about humanity, and they have chosen Jones and his old band, the Absolute Zeros, as the best living specimens.

That is the extent of the similarities between Space Opera and any other book about humankind’s first interaction with extraterrestrial life. Decibel Jones and the Absolute Zeros are not bound for an examination room and a catalog; rather, they are headed for a stage. These aliens’ research method of choice is, of all things, a song competition, and they hope to determine whether or not humanity has enough soul to be allowed to survive.

Although Catherynne M. Valente’s delightful sense of humor is the most constant aspect of her prose, it is not the most memorable. Although her comedic talents are reminiscent of Douglas Adams at his best, Valente’s palette is far larger. Her prose is always quick and engrossing, but the content ranges from a glitzy, sometimes profane satirization of the music industry and its larger-than-life characters, to dead-serious flashbacks and a genuinely moving finale.

That ability to fluidly tie real-world tragedy together with psychedelic hilarity is perhaps Space Opera’s most impressive attribute. Valente’s writing here is as strong as anything taught as “good prose,” although the rock and whimsy will keep it from finding its way into the traditional literary canon anytime soon. And that’s a shame. It takes confidence, skill and talent to craft a tragic disco ball metaphor, and Valente has all three in spades.

At the end of the day, Valente’s fiction of a high-stakes, sequined Intergalactic Idol ably addresses what it means to be human and what it means to love someone, while being ever-entertaining and, crucially, being the kind of book that makes you want to dance. It’s got soul, after all.

Decibel Jones, one-time rock god and full-time personification of glam and glitter, wakes up from a hangover to confront an alien invasion. More precisely, he wakes up to find himself being abducted. The aliens want to know more about humanity, and they have chosen Jones and his old band, the Absolute Zeros, as the best living specimens.

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