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Madeline Miller’s enthralling second novel may be about a goddess, but it has a lot to say about what it means to be a woman. In Circe, the acclaimed author of The Song of Achilles (which won the Orange Prize in 2012) unfurls the story of the legendary witch from Homer’s Odyssey with lyric intensity.

Circe grows up in the palace of her father, the sun god Helios, listening to stories of the legendary fall of the Titans and conflicts among the gods. Like all immortals, Helios is ruthless, capricious and obsessed with maintaining his status. Circe, a goddess without exceptional beauty or discernible power, is sidelined in his court, unworthy of even being married off. It isn’t until Circe falls in love with a mortal that she realizes she has the ability to bless or harm others through transfiguration—a discovery that causes her to be labeled a threat. Helios exiles her to a remote island; there, she is able to further develop her skills with pharmakeia, the art of using plants and herbs to perform magic.

Though sailors occasionally attempt to seek shelter on her island’s shores, Circe protects herself by transforming any men with bad intentions into pigs. As centuries roll by, key encounters with gods and humans alike punctuate her isolated existence—a meeting with Medea and a shocking midwifery scene are particularly mesmerizing. Eventually, Circe’s connections with others force her to embrace her powers, breach her exile and choose her destiny.

Miller, who studied classics at Brown University and teaches high school Greek and Latin, paints a vivid picture of classical Greece: the mindset of its people, the beauty of its landscapes, the details of daily tasks. The elemental allure of mythology, with its magic and mystery and questions of fate and free will, is presented here with added freshness that comes from seeing this world from a female perspective. Like its heroine, this is a novel to underestimate at your peril.

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Read a Q&A with Madeline Miller for Circe.

The acclaimed author of The Song of Achilles unfurls the story of the legendary witch from Homer’s Odyssey with lyric intensity.
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Anthologies can be dismissed as attempts to get more work out the door from bestselling authors. This tendency might lead some readers to neglect a book of staggering beauty. The Tangled Lands, a joint effort between Paolo Bacigalupi and Tobias S. Buckell, isn’t just good for an anthology. It soars.

The four parts of The Tangled Lands tell the story of a failing civilization. Its last hope, the Blue City of Khaim, is under the stranglehold of both its rulers and a menacing magic bramble. The bramble, a nearly mystical force, grows insatiably in the presence of magic. The slightest spell fertilizes it, allowing it to grow and swallow houses, fields and even entire cities. The people of Khaim fight against the bramble, burning and cutting it back every day even as they deal with the stream of refugees from already fallen cities. Khaim’s last magister, Archmage Scacz, has made any use of magic punishable by death, even as he creates his own sorcery-fueled castle in the sky. All the while, the people of Khaim toil on, hoping to eke out an existence before the tide of bramble swallows them as well.

While many characters stand out within The Tangled Lands, the anthology’s greatest creation is the city of Khaim. One of the great issues with world building, especially when an author is constructing a place alien to our own, is that it requires a fair bit of explanation. In the hands of less talented storytellers, it can feel less like fiction and more like an interesting history class. Bacigalupi and Buckell build their world so precisely that everything feels natural and inevitable. Instead of seeming alien, their fantasy world gives the reader the sense that they are strolling into a world they already know.

One of the most difficult things about this anthology is that there are no easy answers. Some may see this as a weakness of the second set of stories, “The Children of Khaim” and “The Blacksmith’s Daughter.” Both tales are gloomy, and it could be argued that there is no payoff for the emotional investment that the two stories demand. There is only the smallest sliver of hope and little resolution—but that is the point. The city of Khaim, despite the best efforts of its tyrants, isn’t just destined to fall. It is fallen, even if its residents and rulers haven’t accepted it yet. What life—what hope—can really come out of a city like that? The payoff is there, even if it isn’t always what we want it to be.

That may seem like a dour view of The Tangled Lands, but all four stories are beautiful, subtle and well worth every moment spent reading them. Their writers understand not just how to give readers what they want but also how to write stories that couldn’t have happened any other way.

Anthologies can be dismissed as attempts to get more work out the door from bestselling authors. This tendency might lead some readers to neglect a book of staggering beauty. The Tangled Lands, a joint effort between Paolo Bacigalupi and Tobias S. Buckell, isn’t just good for an anthology. It soars.

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It’s been six years since the colonists of Donovan, the farthest known planet capable of supporting human life, have had contact with the Corporation. A business and nation state in one, the Corporation was supposed to send frequent ships full of supplies and medicine to the colonists, as well as act as a guaranteed way back home.

Abandoned on a planet where nearly everything is poisonous and almost every alien life-form is capable of inflicting sudden, often very painful death, the colonists mutiny against their controlling overseer, set up their own governments and do their best to survive. W. Michael Gear’s Outpost begins when a Corporation ship, the Turalon, arrives armed and ready to take control of the planet and its people.

The Corporation has actually been sending ships to Donovan steadily over the years—but none have returned or even shown up in the planet’s atmosphere, and no one knows why. And when another, older Corporation ship suddenly appears in the planet’s atmosphere, everyone on it has been dead for decades. Supervisor Kalico Aguila, the woman in charge of the Turalon, nearly tips into an Ayn Rand parody at the beginning of Outpost, but her increasingly panicked anxiety over what might befall her if she leaves the planet is empathetically and effectively portrayed.

A violent confrontation seems inevitable, but Gear takes a character-driven, organic approach to the plot, deriving a level of humor that is surprising for a book with a statue of human bones on its cover. The Donovan colonists have gone various shades of native—most are clad in the scaly rainbow skin of quetzals, the large and vicious lizards that rule the bush outside their heavily guarded settlement. Aguila expects to be met with deference and fear, but her high heels sink in the mud, and the colonists call her combat-ready Marines “soft meat.”

Despite how extremely, almost hilariously dangerous the planet is, Gear’s knack for human detail and vivid depictions of the rugged natural beauty of his world make the death trap of a planet appealing. A large section of the novel is from the point of view of the Marines’ leader, Max “Cap” Taggart, as he explores the wilderness of Donovan alongside colonist leader Talina Perez. Taggart’s delight at the freedom and purity of life on the alien planet—and his unquestioned respect for the stalwart Talina—makes him a far more appealing and complex figure than the cynical grunt he first appears to be.

Nearly every character in Outpost has hidden depths and hidden sorrows, from Talina’s odd connection to the savage quetzals to the philosophical underpinnings behind her fellow leader Shig’s sangfroid. Gear’s novel at times reads more like an introduction than a properly formed novel, but with a world so rich, with so many characters to fascinate, it’s still an excellent start to an intriguing new sci-fi series.

It’s been six years since the colonists of Donovan, the farthest known planet capable of supporting human life, have had contact with the Corporation. A business and nation state in one, the Corporation was supposed to send frequent ships full of supplies and medicine to the colonists, as well as to guarantee a way back home.

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The act of combining man and machine into something more has fascinated science-fiction authors for decades. There’s something mysterious and wonderful about the similarities between firing neurons and humming microprocessors. But what if the union of organic and inorganic matter manifested in the form of an entire space ship? What if the Millennium Falcon could speak? If Gareth L. Powell’s ripping space opera is any guide, it would be one heck of a ride.

In Powell’s future, military spacecraft are sentient, capable of communicating and choosing their course without input from a human. The Trouble Dog, one such ship in the Conglomeration fleet, seeks penance from the destruction she wrought during wartime by joining the House of Reclamation, a search-and-rescue company. When an unknown ship shoots down a large space liner carrying a thousand tourists in a disputed system, the Trouble Dog and her scrappy crew rush to the rescue. What they discover, however, could start an all-out war.

Like the ship herself, Embers of War practically zooms across space, pulling the reader along with it. This is an excellently paced adventure that swells with energy and force, upping the stakes at every turn of the page. It also manages to consider some heady and relevant questions as it jumps in and out of hyperspace. A longing for redemption is laced through the story, adding welcome emotional momentum to each new challenge. This also makes the concept of ships as sentient beings all the more intriguing; like any human, Trouble Dog struggles to articulate feelings of remorse, self-loathing and doubt.

Having such a fun ensemble cast also keeps the narrative upbeat. The calm and confident warship, the dropout punk captain, the intelligence agent in an exoskeleton—all are sharply defined and full of life. Short, varied third-person chapters buzz from one perspective to another, almost like cuts in a film. The reader always feels close to the main story, never needing to pause for breath between one important passage and the next.

Readers will no doubt notice a number of sci-fi influences here. Heinlein and Clark, along with a healthy dose of Joss Whedon’s “Firefly,” might have stoked the engines for Trouble Dog’s journey. Though no stranger to space opera thanks to 2011’s The Recollection, Powell’s deft hand at action scenes and his confidence with high concepts like sentient spacecraft should make any reader looking for a new voice in the genre very pleased indeed.

What if the Millennium Falcon could speak? If Gareth L. Powell’s ripping space opera is any guide, it would be one heck of a ride.
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Elena Mendoza was conceived via parthenogenesis—literally a virgin birth—and has long lived with the consequences of her strange origin story (and her classmates don’t even know about the fact that inanimate objects speak to her).

She’s content to hang out with her best friend, Fadil, and crush on Winifred “Freddie” Petrine from afar, but the universe has other plans. When a boy shoots Freddie in front of Elena, she has no choice but to listen to the voice coming from the Starbucks sign, telling Elena she has the power to heal Freddie. After successfully healing her gunshot wound, Elena learns that these voices have big plans for her and her newfound abilities—but every time she uses her powers, people are mysteriously raptured into the sky. How can Elena refuse to help those in front of her? But how can she use her gifts when they might be bringing about the end of the world?

During this apparent apocalypse, Elena and Fadil pursue their respective crushes and deal with the changing nature of their lifelong friendship. As Elena gets closer to Freddie, she discovers that the real Freddie is nothing like what she had imagined; instead, she's prickly, challenging and intriguing. Smart conversations between the teen characters, a matter-of-fact exploration of the spectrum of sexuality, and deep philosophical meditations make up the bulk of the action here in between Elena’s acts of healing. Though somewhat repetitive, Shaun David Hutchinson’s (We Are the Ants) eighth novel is a timely portrayal of uncertainty and anxiety on both a global and personal level.

Elena Mendoza was conceived via parthenogenesis—literally a virgin birth—and has long lived with the consequences of her strange origin story (and her classmates don’t even know about the fact that inanimate objects speak to her).
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BookPage Teen Top Pick, March 2018

Tomi Adeyemi’s hefty fantasy debut—set in a kingdom with traditions and mythology reminiscent of Nigeria and greater West Africa—is an astounding feat of storytelling and world-building.

Seventeen-year-old Zélie is a divîner, one who is born with the ability to perform gods-given magic and easily distinguishable by their white hair. When their magic fully manifests, divîners can become maji—but that was before the cruel king of Orïsha ordered an anti-magic raid that killed Zélie’s mother. Since the raid, magic has disappeared, and divîners have been relegated to second-class citizens.

When hotheaded, impulsive Zélie and her nondivîner brother, Tzain, go to the market in the nearby capital, they end up helping a young woman escape the city guards. The girl turns out to be Amari, princess of Orïsha, who has discovered the reason magic disappeared—and a possible means to get it back. However, next in line for the throne is Amari’s older brother, Inan, who is determined to thwart the trio’s plan. But Inan has a secret of his own: There is a power awakening within him that connects him to the magic he fears and to his enemy, Zélie.

This epic is filled with fascinating landscapes, complex mythology and nuanced characters coping with a world on the brink of massive change. The royals must confront their power, privilege and the horrific deeds of the king, while Zélie and Tzain reckon with the psychological ripples of their mother’s death.

Unmistakably descended from traditional high fantasy, Children of Blood and Bone is perfectly positioned to join the ranks of sprawling speculative worlds for teens, bringing with it a much-needed Afrocentric perspective.

 

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

Tomi Adeyemi’s hefty fantasy debut—set in a kingdom with traditions and mythology reminiscent of Nigeria and greater West Africa—is an astounding feat of storytelling and world-building.

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Ten generations of clones, spaced 10 years apart, with 10 of each model in each generation: They are the Homo factus, the Made Men, cloned from the humans who founded Vispera 300 years ago with a vision to save their species from an apocalyptic plague. Now that there is no poverty, hunger or disease in Vispera, these clones live predictable lives from their births in embryotic tanks to their planned deaths at age 100.

Seventeen-year-old Althea-310 spends her days apprenticing as a Council recorder, participating in Pairing rituals and communing with her nine sisters, silently sharing thoughts and soothing hurt feelings through a psychic link. But one day, someone new appears in Vispera. Jack is a human, made in the lab for an experiment whose purpose is unknown to all but a few older clones. He can’t commune and doesn't understand the clones’ culture, and the clones can’t understand his asthma, his unpredictable emotions or his love of music.

While Jack tries to find his place in Vispera and Althea-310 starts to question the harmony she’s always known, larger issues come to light. The clones have been copied too many times and their genetic lines are beginning to weaken. Items keep disappearing from communal stores, and Samuel-299—Jack’s so-called father—finds defending Jack’s continued existence increasingly difficult. New revelations soon force Jack, Althea and Samuel to make difficult decisions about the future of their supposedly perfect home.

Fans of Lois Lowry’s The Giver and Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World won’t want to miss Your One & Only.

Fans of Lois Lowry’s The Giver and Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World won’t want to miss Your One & Only.

Special Agent Shannon Moss is assigned by the Naval Criminal Investigative Service to help solve the brutal murder of a Navy SEAL’s family—but that’s not her only mission regarding the crime. Embedded in the NCIS, Moss is also part of a black ops program that travels to deep space and potential future timelines. The prime suspect in the family’s ritualistic slaying (and the potential kidnapper of a child missing from the murder scene) has been presumed dead for years, his ship destroyed during an early intergalactic mission. Essentially, Agent Moss is searching for a man who shouldn’t exist.

Armed with Navy technology that can propel agents into possible futures, Moss ventures forward in time, searching for clues to solve the 1997 murders. Looming over both her investigation and the time travel program is the revelation that an apocalyptic event designated Terminus is moving closer in history, approaching the present. Agent Moss’ excursions into potential timelines reveal grim domestic terror events evolving from the original murder, as well as an unexplained acceleration of the Terminus cataclysm.

Tom Sweterlitsch has crafted a powerful and compelling protagonist in Shannon Moss, a female amputee navigating the military and law enforcement structure of the 1990s. Her stamina and versatility in the face of shifting possibilities and loyalties stem from a life spent overcoming the odds. She battles mounting physical and emotional scars beneath an unflinching facade as allies evolve into enemies, victims become suspects, and the future threatens everything that came before it.

Built on the solid foundation of a mystery novel, The Gone World displays the mesmerizing power of rich speculative fiction, which drives the investigation forward (and backward) in time. Transporting readers to increasingly hostile timelines, Sweterlitsch delivers visceral and unflinching action in this dynamic merger of murder mystery and futuristic vision.

Built on the solid foundation of a mystery novel, The Gone World displays the mesmerizing power of rich speculative fiction, which drive the investigation forward (and backward) in time. Transporting readers to increasingly hostile timelines, Sweterlitsch delivers visceral and unflinching action in this dynamic merger of murder mystery and futuristic vision.

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On the mountain of Fireach Speuer, only the strong survive. Warring tribes raid one another for food and slaves. The winters are harsh, and when the blood moon rises, a demon creature hunts the living with ravenous fury. It’s a harsh setting, but Aoleyn, the fiery and engaging female lead of R.A. Salvatore’s Child of a Mad God, makes each moment spent in this world a treasure.

Aoleyn dreams of joining the Usgar tribe’s coven of witches like her mother before her. But as she grows up, she can’t ignore the brutality of the society in which she lives. The physical savagery visited upon slaves, the hollowness of marriage and myriad other abuses prime Aoleyn for an awakening. When her immense magical powers manifest in her 18th year, she finally discovers a way to break free of the tribe’s iron grip and confront the evil presence infecting her homeland.

This challenging environment is made all the more daunting by the sense of remoteness that permeates the book. Salvatore regularly reminds the reader how far away these tribes are from the rest of his world, using places and people familiar to readers of his other Corona novels as anchors to the larger universe. It’s skillfully done—hints of his other novels shine through, but past references never bog down the story at hand. And intercut with Aeolyn’s story is the perspective of the demon creature, which constantly reminds the reader what lurks in the darkness.

Aoleyn’s metamorphosis from stubborn child to powerful witch propels the reader through this harrowing story, as we feel her fear, frustration and, ultimately, resolve. Never satisfied with the narrow life her tribe offers her and willing to endure painful trials to get what she wants, Aoleyn captivates from the very first line, and is sympathetic and centered throughout.

Salvatore should be commended for cutting a new path here, and as this is the first book in a series, readers will reap the benefits. Grand palaces and shining swords are traded for roaring fires and whistling peaks. This is fantasy refreshed, with familiar concepts reconfigured for a new arc. Luckily, we’ll have a wonderful heroine to pull us along for the ride.

On the mountain of Fireach Speuer, only the strong survive. Warring tribes raid one another for food and slaves. The winters are harsh, and when the blood moon rises, a demon creature hunts the living with ravenous fury. It’s a harsh setting, but Aoleyn, the fiery and engaging female lead of R.A. Salvatore’s Child of a Mad God, makes each moment spent in this world a treasure.

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What remains after you change the world? That is the central question of Iron Gold, the first installment of Pierce Brown’s new trilogy set in the Red Rising universe. The revolution is over, and a new Republic has risen from the ashes of the oppressive empire that ruled for generations. However, war still looms as the now-legendary hero Darrow struggles to bring the inner planets—still under the control of the brutal Ash Lord and the Society—under the Republic’s dominion. But endless battles come with a cost. His crusade costs millions of lives, threatening not only the new Republic but also Darrow’s place in it. The Reaper’s new world is moving on, and new stars are rising. The heir of the deposed au Lune family, raised in obscurity, makes a discovery in the Gulf. A soldier-turned-thief struggles with his grief after the Rising. A Red girl, now free from the mines, tries to rebuild after she loses everything.

While the Red Rising trilogy primarily focused on Darrow’s struggle, this new chapter spends as much time on the consequences of his actions, past and present, on those around him. The book still contains many of the kinetic fight scenes that were a hallmark of the first series. Golds still cross razors in painfully visceral duels, and armies still clash in grand fashion in the skies. However, it is in the stories of his new characters that Brown shows real mastery. We feel their confusion as they struggle to adapt to their changing worlds. We sympathize with their frustration with the way things are—even when their frustrations are at odds with one another. As he tells their tales, Brown reminds readers that within the small and specific, there is something universal.

If there is one drawback to Iron Gold, it is its length. While no single scene in its nearly 600 pages is superfluous, there is a lot of setup—especially in the first few hundred pages—that takes a while to pay off. Impatient readers may wonder why we care about our newest characters, why Brown spends so much time on them rather than focusing on our hero. But it’s worth the wait. Without those careful chapters at the beginning, the book itself would be much less satisfying.

Iron Gold makes us come to terms with ourselves as readers. It is satisfying to watch a protagonist bomb an entire world to bring about a new order. It is satisfying to watch them tear it all down, to free the oppressed. But as readers, we aren’t often asked to sit through the pain of what comes next. We aren’t asked whether our heroes can decide that they’ve done enough or whether they will always be fighting—whether they can turn instead to raising a family or rebuilding a society. Iron Gold asks us those questions, and some answers aren’t what we want to hear. However, it’s those uncomfortable answers that make Iron Gold such a refreshing and impressive read.

Iron Gold is a book that makes us come to terms with ourselves as readers. It is satisfying to watch a protagonist bomb an entire world to bring about a new order. It is satisfying to watch them tear it all down, to free the oppressed. But as readers, we aren’t often asked to sit through the pain of what comes next.

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It’s no exaggeration to say that The Hazel Wood is one of the most anticipated books of the year. Fortunately, this is one of those cases where the hype is justified. Readers, especially those with a fondness for dark fairy tales, won’t want to miss this brilliant combination of realistic fiction and fantasy.

Seventeen-year-old Alice and her mother, Ella, have spent years living as nomads; they never seem to be able to outrun their bad luck or avoid the obsessive fans of the hard-to-find fairy-tale collection Tales from the Hinterland, written by Alice’s grandmother, whom she’s never met. But when Alice’s mom is mysteriously kidnapped, Alice and her classmate (and die-hard Hinterland fan) Finch set off to find her in the supernatural Hazel Wood. Along the way, the two encounter dangerous situations and memorable—and sometimes terrifying—characters.

Readers may wish they could get their hands on an elusive copy of Tales from the Hinterland, and they’ll be more than happy to stay up late to accompany Alice on her perilous journey.

 

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

It’s no exaggeration to say that The Hazel Wood is one of the most anticipated books of the year. Fortunately, this is one of those cases where the hype is justified. Readers, especially those with a fondness for dark fairy tales, won’t want to miss this brilliant combination of realistic fiction and fantasy.

Review by

The mind is a mysterious thing. It keeps our secrets safe, imagines distant futures and stores our memories. What if your mind was recorded so that, in the event of a crime, someone could play back its memories like a cassette tape? Would doing this make society safer? Or would our perception of ourselves cease to exist? Gnomon, Nick Harkaway’s kaleidoscopic, mind-bending novel, pulls the reader into a mental vortex and never lets go.

In a society controlled by an advanced AI, everything is recorded, right down to individual thoughts. When Diana Hunter, a suspected revolutionary, dies in government custody, intrepid state investigator Mielikki Neith combs through Hunter’s memories to discover why. She finds memories not from one person but several, including an Ethiopian painter, an alchemist from ancient Carthage and a violent pseudoconscience from the distant future. The investigation propels Neith on a journey to discover the true identity of Diana Hunter, all while trying to maintain her own sanity.

Reading Gnomon is a bit like driving a car at high speed—at some point, you’re just trying to hold on. The narrative barrels forward, building feverishly with the multilayered dimensions of Hunter’s mind. Neith serves as the reader’s safe harbor, a calm and determined truth-seeker who balances the book’s many perspectives.

The deep forays into Hunter’s memories give the story incredible potency. The personalities Harkaway builds leap off the page, bringing full color to a string of existential quandaries with which the author challenges the reader. At every turn, we find ourselves considering the philosophical depths of the mind, the limit of consciousness and whether coincidences are in fact universal patterns.

With Tigerman and The Gone-Away World, Harkaway gave a glimpse of the confidence and fearlessness he delivers here in spades. With Gnomon, he has landed in the sci-fi pantheon. Glimpses of William Gibson, Ridley Scott and Alan Moore abound, but in the end, Harkaway has found a deep, sometimes terrifying future-scape all for himself, one that surprises and challenges right to the last firing synapse.

Gnomon, Nick Harkaway’s kaleidoscopic, mind-bending novel, pulls the reader into a mental vortex and never lets go.
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Part thriller, part romance, part coming-of-age fantasy, The Philosopher’s Flight by debut novelist Tom Miller has already set a high bar for any book vying to be the most entertaining novel of 2018.

In this alternate history, the United States has just entered World War I, and the science behind unaided human flight, known as empirical philosophy, is as controversial as ever. Much of that fuss comes from the fact that, with rare exceptions, only women can fly. Anti-philosophy activists, known as Trenchers, are gaining traction, and extremists on both sides have participated in riots, attacks and even assassinations.

Into this whirlwind leaps Robert Weekes, an 18-year-old Montanan who lives with his mother, the legendary Major Emmeline Weekes, philosopher, war hero and vigilante. Robert, one of the few men capable of flight, dreams of following in his mother’s footsteps and joining the U.S. Sigilry Corps Rescue and Evacuation Service, an elite, women-only group of philosophers who swoop onto battlefields under heavy fire to fly the dead and wounded to safety.

When a daring rescue after a deadly Trencher attack makes him a minor hero, Robert wins a scholarship to Radcliffe College, an all-women’s school, to study empirical philosophy. After a chilly welcome, Robert pushes his flying to new—and reckless—levels to win the respect of the Radcliffe women. He improves so rapidly that his absurd dream of Rescue and Evac is within grasp, especially after a sparkling performance at the General’s Cup, the annual flying competition showcasing the best of the college philosophers.

His future becomes less certain when he meets and falls for Danielle Hardin, a bitter war veteran disillusioned by her service at Gallipoli. When the outspoken philosopher takes on the Trenchers, she and Robert draw the attention of a fanatical anti-philosophy group, with deadly consequences.

The wild and soaring The Philosopher’s Flight is as fun a read as you’ll come across. Miller appears to have left room for more at the story’s end; let’s hope this is the start of a new series.

 

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

Part thriller, part romance, part coming-of-age fantasy, The Philosopher’s Flight by debut novelist Tom Miller has already set a high bar for any book vying to be the most entertaining novel of 2018.

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