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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Reading the setup of The Just City can itself floor you. That’s how big Jo Walton, a writer already known for ambitious fantasy storytelling, is going with this particular novel, something she says she’s imagined writing since her teenage years. There’s time travel, Greek gods, ancient philosophers, robots from the far future and Atlantis. That such a story was conceived is impressive. That Walton actually delivers on its promise is brilliant.

Dreaming of a great experiment, the goddess Pallas Athene pulls children, teachers and thinkers from throughout history and places them in the distant past on the island of Atlantis, in an attempt to make Plato’s Republic a reality. Among them is Simmea, a bright girl from ancient Egypt who sees the city as a place to learn and grow, and Maia, a woman from Victorian England who dreamt of something more than her limited life. Apollo, Athene’s brother, is also there, but in the form of a mortal child who’s eager to see what human beings can teach him. As the city grows and the children age, the philosopher Sokrates arrives and, in true Socratic fashion, begins to question everything this “just city” has become.

What follows is a sweeping novel of ideas, examined through characters united by their ambition to be more, but divided by their methods. Through her character—all refreshingly detailed in their humanity despite their rather fantastical surroundings—Walton explores questions of love, justice, what it means to have a consciousness, what it means to be a god and what good an experiment is even if it’s doomed to be forgotten. Woven through those themes are even deeper ones: the power of legend, the way our ambitions cloud our judgment and what it means to be the best version of ourselves.

It’s all so expansive and far-reaching that it might be intimidating if it weren’t for Walton’s precise, warm prose. In her hands these characters, this world and these ideas become home to the reader, and The Just City is a place you’ll get happily lost in.

Reading the setup of The Just City can itself floor you. That’s how big Jo Walton, a writer already known for ambitious fantasy storytelling, is going with this particular novel, something she says she’s imagined writing since her teenage years.

“Down a path worn into the woods, past a stream and a hollowed-out log full of pill bugs and termites, was a glass coffin . . . and in it slept a boy with horns on his head and ears as pointed as knives.” So begins Holly Black’s exquisite story about siblings Hazel and Ben and the sleeping faerie prince they swore to protect. When Hazel and Ben were children, they would disappear into the forest, whisper their secrets to the horned boy and protect unsuspecting humans from the evil faeries. Ben subdued them with his haunting music, while Hazel wielded a sword against the sinister fae who lured tourists to their deaths. As they grew older, Hazel put away her sword and Ben gave up his music. But then one day the horned boy woke up. Hazel, now 16, once made a bargain with the fae, and they’ve come to collect.

Black’s stories are like the faerie world she creates—deeply dark, yet achingly beautiful. She turns stereotypes on their heads and engages her readers in a discussion about social constructs and finding oneself, whether in a faerie land or the real world. This is a true storytelling achievement and perhaps Black’s finest work yet.

 

This article was originally published in the January 2015 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

“Down a path worn into the woods, past a stream and a hollowed-out log full of pill bugs and termites, was a glass coffin . . . and in it slept a boy with horns on his head and ears as pointed as knives.” So begins Holly Black’s exquisite story about siblings Hazel and Ben and the sleeping faerie prince they swore to protect.
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One could argue that with Symbiont, book two of Mira Grant’s Parasitology trilogy, things must, inevitably, get more interesting. That’s not a knock on its predecessor, Parasite. As enjoyable as Grant’s parasitic twist on the zombie template was, the “revelations” in the first book—that tapeworms meant to cure disease were actually sentient and able to evict their hosts—weren’t really that surprising. I suspect many lovers of apocalyptic fiction spent much of the book waiting for Grant to finish up with all the predictable stuff, so we could see what happens next.

And it was worth waiting for: Symbiont has plenty of fodder to keep Sally/Sal Mitchel and her boyfriend, Nathan Kim, occupied—and the reader guessing. Sal may have a better handle on who and what she is, but a robust number of opposing factions—Steven Banks and SymboGen Corp., Shanti Cale and her rogue scientific outpost, Sherman and his sleepwalkers, and the military, to name a few—provide plenty of obstacles for both Sal’s and the reader’s grasp of the big picture.

As the outbreak of tapeworm takeovers reaches the familiar “societal breakdown” phase, Grant nonetheless keeps the reader firmly planted in Sal’s perspective. There are plenty of bigger questions floating around, many of them a variant on the biggie: What does it truly mean to be human? But the more metaphysical aspects of this particular threat to humanity, while always present, seldom take center stage. Grant doesn’t seem that interested in the metaphorical resonance—she’s all about exploring the personal and scientific ramifications of this particular doomsday scenario.

As a result, like its predecessor, Symbiont feels lighter than the heavy events it portrays. For readers who like their end of days to come with a heaping helping of zombie-esque transformation, Grant’s series will remain both familiar and a bit fresh. For everyone else who has reached the second book of this trilogy—there’s certainly no reason to stop now.

For readers who like their end of days to come with a heaping helping of zombie-esque transformation, Grant’s series will remain both familiar and a bit fresh.
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Ember is a dragon. Her life has been spent at an isolated training school run by Talon, the organization that governs all dragons. To fulfill the next stage of training—assimilation into human society—Ember and her brother, Dante, must assume human form. The assignment lands them in a small beach town in California, where they befriend a group of surfer teens. But Ember’s enthusiasm is tempered when she spots a dangerous rogue dragon in the guise of a gorgeous biker boy. At the same time, a dragon-slayer affiliated with the Order of St. George—a legendary society that once hunted dragons nearly to extinction—arrives in the seaside town. Ember is attracted to both the chivalrous slayer and the mysterious rogue dragon, but she cannot distinguish between friend and foe.

Kagawa’s fine storytelling elevates this novel within the crowded field of fantasy romance. The first in a new series, Talon leaves readers perfectly balanced between satisfaction and anticipation.

 

Diane Colson works at the Nashville Public Library. She has long been active in the American Library Association's Young Adult Library Association (YALSA), serving on selection committees such as the Morris Award, the Alex Award and the Excellence in Nonfiction for Young Adults Award.

This article was originally published in the November 2014 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Ember is a dragon. Her life has been spent at an isolated training school run by Talon, the organization that governs all dragons. To fulfill the next stage of training—assimilation into human society—Ember and her brother, Dante, must assume human form.
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Thirty years ago, William Gibson blew our minds with his prescient debut novel, Neuromancer, which imagined a technologically advanced world that now eerily resembles our own.

The Peripheral doubles down on his cyberpunk classic by transporting us to not one but two future worlds, connected by a murder but separated by the “jackpot,” a multi-causal near-apocalypse set in motion by mankind’s greatest threat: human indifference.

In the nearer of these futures, several decades hence, small-town America has been reduced to a sole industry: the manufacture of illegal drugs. To rise above this real-life version of “Breaking Bad,” ex-Marine Burton Fisher and his sister Flynne eke out a living playing online games for wealthy enthusiasts. When Flynne sits in for Burton on what she assumes is just another futuristic game for hire, she witnesses a murder that seems far more real than virtual.

And indeed it is, as the siblings find out when Flynne is contacted by investigator Wilf Netherton—but the crime occurred in a drastically altered London, 70 years in their future. In that distant, dystopian time, predicting the future remains impossible—but manipulating the past is not.

And so Netherton enlists Flynne in an investigation in his world that could never have been possible in hers. Leave it to Gibson to break down our innate resistance to time travel by using our uncertainty about the mechanics of high-speed computing to make the impossible seem plausible.

Fair warning: Gibson throws readers directly into The Peripheral’s dual worlds without undue explanation, preferring to let the details of his futures—whether polts, patchers, sigils, Medicis, thylacines or whatever those shape-shifting Lego blocks are all about—catch our eye and lure us in. But rest assured: By the time this master storyteller starts methodically revealing his cards, you’ll be hooked.

 

This article was originally published in the November 2014 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

And so Netherton enlists Flynne in an investigation in his world that could never have been possible in hers. Leave it to Gibson to break down our innate resistance to time travel by using our uncertainty about the mechanics of high-speed computing to make the impossible seem plausible.

Gregory Maguire steps out of Oz and into Tsarist Russia in this magical twist on the classic prince and the pauper folk tale. Thirteen-year-old Elena is a peasant daughter who scrounges for food during a bleak crop failure. Her mother is dying, and her eldest brother has been taken into the tsar’s army. Except for a few kind villagers, Elena is alone until a train rolls into town. Aboard the train is Ekaterina, a wealthy girl who is headed to Saint Petersburg to impress the tsar’s godson, something she dreads. When the girls accidentally switch places, they each set off on an adventure. Elena goes to the city in hopes of finding her brother while Ekaterina runs into Baba Yaga, the infamous Russian witch full of anachronistic one-liners and crazy schemes. In order to avoid being eaten, Ekaterina agrees to accompany Baba Yaga aboard her enchanted house on legs to Saint Petersburg for an audience with the tsar. When the girls see each other again, their fates are forever entwined.

Maguire weaves themes of class struggle and environmental upheaval into an engaging and relatable tale. This isn’t a story about desolation, but one of hope. Elena and Ekaterina prove that with a little tenacity and bravery, people can change their lives for the better.

 

This article was originally published in the September 2014 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Gregory Maguire steps out of Oz and into Tsarist Russia in this magical twist on the classic prince and the pauper folk tale.
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An intriguing hybrid of Asimovian I, Robot-flavored sci-fi, the quasi-contemporary speculative fiction of William Gibson and the enjoyable detective/crime procedural work of . . . well, countless writers, John Scalzi’s latest novel, Lock In, interweaves the threads of a number of familiar genre conventions to impressive effect.

Exhibit one: the society-threatening plague—in this case, a highly contagious virus called Haden’s Syndrome that has left millions “locked in,” fully conscious but incapable of any movement or response to stimulus. Then there’s the allusion to the well-trod sci-fi terrain of A.I. and androids: The plight of the locked-in has led to the creation of embedded neural nets and Personal Transports (dubbed “threeps,” after a certain golden robot of the silver screen). Finally, Scalzi brings it all together in that most fleet and engaging of forms: the whodunit.

Lock In introduces readers to FBI agents Chris Shane (a Haden) and Leslie Vann as they arrive at a crime scene. The victim lies dead in a room, and the chief suspect is the Integrator in the room with him. (Integrators have the ability to allow Hadens to experience physical sensations.) From there, things get complicated in all the ways one wants detective fiction to get complicated.

Through it all, the Hugo Award-winning Scalzi shows that being a master storyteller isn’t so much about finding new ingredients as it is about combining old standards in ways that are fresh and engaging. But here Scalzi does both, and his novel twist on robot lit alone would make Lock In worth the read.

Scalzi’s world-building is deceptively simple, accomplished while keeping the reader fully enmeshed in the murder mystery that propels the story. Ultimately, the Hadens and Integrators of Lock In each may be as fanciful a construct as the more standard sci-fi fare of androids and aliens. But thanks to Scalzi’s talent, it certainly doesn’t seem that way.

 

This article was originally published in the September 2014 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

An intriguing hybrid of Asimovian I, Robot-flavored sci-fi, the quasi-contemporary speculative fiction of William Gibson and the enjoyable detective/crime procedural work of . . . well, countless writers, John Scalzi’s latest novel, Lock In, interweaves the threads of a number of familiar genre conventions to impressive effect.
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The siren screaming through Hilo, 16-year-old Leilani’s hometown on Hawaii’s Big Island, is her first warning of coming catastrophe. But she and her father stick to their planned trip from Hilo to Honolulu, where she is to undergo tests for her epilepsy. They fly to the island of Oahu, and that’s when the world veers off course: The president appears on television in a frightened state. Satellite and electrical networks collapse. Commercial airline flights cease. At the same time, Leilani is having epileptic episodes filled with visions of ancient Hawaiian gods.

When the military begins to corral people into makeshift camps, Leilani and her father realize that they must find their way back to Hilo on their own. Thus begins their desperate, horrifying struggle to return home, island by island.

Recommended for fans of Graham Salisbury’s evocative Hawaiian historical thrillers, Austin Aslan’s debut novel, the first in a series, is an action-packed adventure, rich with details about Hawaii’s geological diversity, cultural hostilities and ecological crises.

 

This article was originally published in the August 2014 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

The siren screaming through Hilo, 16-year-old Leilani’s hometown on Hawaii’s Big Island, is her first warning of coming catastrophe. But she and her father stick to their planned trip from Hilo to Honolulu, where she is to undergo tests for her epilepsy. They fly to the island of Oahu, and that’s when the world veers off course: The president appears on television in a frightened state. Satellite and electrical networks collapse. Commercial airline flights cease. At the same time, Leilani is having epileptic episodes filled with visions of ancient Hawaiian gods.
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Nick Harkaway has a strange way of making us feel at home as readers even when we are in a decidedly strange place, of immersing us in something new and somehow making it feel familiar at the same time. With Tigerman, he again spellbinds with witty prose and inviting characters while taking us into a world that needs an unexpected hero.

After a hard tour of duty in Afghanistan, Sergeant Lester Ferris is sent off on a supposedly leisurely assignment in a fictional British territory called Mancreu. He’s meant to simply keep an eye on things, despite the island’s growing criminal reputation. In the quirky, chaotic and often unexpected grind of daily life there, he meets a young boy obsessed with comic books and quickly grows fond of him. They forge a somewhat unlikely friendship as the boy influences Lester’s worldview. Then, an outbreak of violence shakes Mancreu, and when faced with a new path, Lester must contemplate being a hero again, not just for the island, but for the boy he’s come to love.

British writer Harkaway (The Gone-Away World) is known for sweeping us off to alien worlds that are somehow strikingly and humanly familiar. With Tigerman, he pulls that off again. Mancreu is a fascinating place, smeared over with a particular kind of fantasy, one where the reinvention of self seems to hang in the air. The characters who populate it are equally compelling.

If you look closely, though, you’ll see that Harkaway’s gift lies not just in his knack for imagining environments teeming with a kind of transportive magic, but in the prose itself. Lester’s dreams of a new life, and the boy’s musings about and fixations on the heroes he worships, are just as filled with depth and charisma as the novel’s completely inventive plot.

Harkaway shows his brilliance on a micro and macro level, and the result is a funny, touching and meditative page-turner that will leave you thinking about what it really means to be a hero for days after you’ve finished it.

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Read a Q&A with Nick Harkaway for Tigerman.

This article was originally published in the August 2014 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Nick Harkaway has a strange way of making us feel at home as readers even when we are in a decidedly strange place, of immersing us in something new and somehow making it feel familiar at the same time. With Tigerman, he again spellbinds with witty prose and inviting characters while taking us into a world that needs an unexpected hero.
Review by

In the summer of 1976, 19-year-old David Barwise takes a job at a holiday resort in the seaside town of Skegness, England, hoping to avoid spending the summer with his mother and stepfather. But there is something more sinister underlying David’s reasoning: The beach resort is where his biological father died 15 years earlier, and David feels strangely drawn to the area, despite the tension it causes within his family.

The Ghost in the Electric Blue Suit is a startlingly clear tale of a blistering English holiday season, the hottest in English history. The seasonal staff, made up of eccentrics and show people, accepts David into the fold—even hulking, ill-tempered resort employee Colin, with whom David develops an interesting relationship. His days are filled with organizing treasure hunts, setting up talent shows and judging sandcastle contests, and his nights are spent restlessly attempting sleep as he grapples with the odd feelings that being at Skegness brings. As David attempts to navigate the social structure of the resort staff, he becomes entangled in political movements and love triangles, both forbidden and dangerous. Meanwhile, swarms of ladybugs plague the town, and his attempts at building a life in Skegness are haunted by sinister and troubling visions of a man in a blue suit who wanders the beach, grasping a rope and an unidentifiable young child.

Graham Joyce’s fiction has earned him the O. Henry Award, the British Fantasy Award and the World Fantasy Award, and praise from horror and fantasy-genre greats like Peter Straub and Stephen King. In The Ghost in the Electric Blue Suit, Joyce weaves a bizarre, colorful story, full of nostalgia, indecision, emotion and tension, and this genre-spanning novel is sure to be a favorite of fantasy, suspense and thriller fans.

 

This article was originally published in the August 2014 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

In the summer of 1976, 19-year-old David Barwise takes a job at a holiday resort in the seaside town of Skegness, England, hoping to avoid spending the summer with his mother and stepfather. But there is something more sinister underlying David’s reasoning: The beach resort is where his biological father died 15 years earlier, and David feels strangely drawn to the area, despite the tension it causes within his family.
Review by

In his first novel, The String Diaries, British author Stephen Lloyd Jones has created both an innovative storyline and a new creature to fear. The secret to overcoming this monster lies within one family’s weathered, string-tied diaries, which contain meticulously compiled stories, research and theories. But what is it that hunts this family, and why?

Jones imagines a fantastical subset of humans, inspired by Hungarian folklore: the hosszú életek, the “long-lived” ones, who are able to take on the appearance of any individual they please. For three centuries, Hannah Wilde’s ancestors have been sought by Jakab, a degenerate hosszú életek, whose twisted passion quickly led to an abject obsession with the women in Hannah’s family. Now he is fixated on her. Hannah must face this ancient evil or risk losing the love of her life and their daughter. She must use her family’s diaries as a survival guide, learning to trust no one, to verify everyone and, if ever compromised, to run. But with Jakab’s ability to take on the appearance and mannerisms of those she loves, will she have the resilience to make the correct decision?

The String Diaries is a phenomenal read, offering readers a refreshing villain and a thrilling narrative laced with the Gothic: a woman being chased by a tyrannical male of supernatural ability in uninhabited places. Jones dazzles in his ability to make his characters' raw nerves so palpable, the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. The mounting tension throughout the novel is methodically woven through the centuries and the generations, bound together until the final pages. This book will have readers engrossed from start to finish, and hungry for more of Jones’ work.

In his first novel, The String Diaries, British author Stephen Lloyd Jones has created both an innovative storyline and a new creature to fear. The secret to overcoming this monster lies within one family’s weathered, string-tied diaries, which contain meticulously compiled stories, research and theories. But what is it that hunts this family, and why?

Review by

Erika Johansen’s new novel, The Queen of the Tearling, uses a familiar fantasy premise: a special child—a chosen one, if you will—is born, and then hidden from those with murderous intent. As the book opens, it is 19 years later, and the time has come for Kelsea Glynn, the rightful queen of a benighted land, to leave hiding and assume her throne.

Plenty of people still wish her dead, especially the near-immortal Red Queen of neighboring Mortmesne. Kelsea’s not completely without allies, though. Besides the two loyal guardians who have raised her and prepared her for this moment, a troop of queen’s guards has arrived to deliver her into the heart of the wasp’s nest that is her birthright. There’s also a rakish lord of thieves.

In addition to the host of immediate threats, Johansen sets up a few mysteries that will be resolved over the course of her planned series. Most are common fantasy tropes—who is Kelsea’s father? What exactly is the story of the evil queen?—but Johansen’s world also contains a bigger mystery of setting: When and where, exactly, is the present action taking place? While it feels relatively medieval, there are numerous references to a Crossing, and everything Pre-Crossing sounds like the real world (our world). This suggests the kingdoms of Tear and Mortmesne may have more of a science fiction/post-apocalyptic tinge than is immediately apparent.

With so many nutritional staples of genre in play, it would be easy for Johansen’s novel to come across either as overly bland, or as a confusingly crowded mish-mash. Yet The Queen of the Tearling avoids this fate by keeping the action and the characters engaging. Kelsea, the Red Queen, Mace (the captain of Kelsea’s guards) and the rest of the characters are made interesting thanks to the actions they take and the world they inhabit.

Ultimately, The Queen of the Tearling is a notable debut and a reminder that a dish need not have exotic ingredients or fancy presentation to prove filling and tasty to the fantasy palate.

Erika Johansen’s new novel, The Queen of the Tearling, uses a familiar fantasy premise: a special child—a chosen one, if you will—is born, and then hidden from those with murderous intent. As the book opens, it is 19 years later, and the time has come for Kelsea Glynn, the rightful queen of a benighted land, to leave hiding and assume her throne.

BookPage Teen Top Pick, July 2014

There are all kinds of lies and prevarications in the aptly titled The Kiss of Deception, the new book from award-winning author Mary E. Pearson. Princess Arabella Celestine Idris Jezelia (or Lia, as she prefers to be called), First Daughter of the House of Morrighan, does not want to marry the unseen prince from a neighboring country. Lia—accompanied by her lady’s companion, Pauline—forsakes her parents’ wishes and runs away on her wedding day.

These two young women are clever and resourceful, capable of obscuring their tracks and making a life in a small village many miles from the court intrigue they left behind. But, of course, it is not to last. The prince, miffed and insulted by her rejection, comes looking for her, and a political schemer sends an assassin to kill her. The handsome young men find her at the same time, but neither does anything at first. Lia thinks they are traveling workmen in town for a festival, and they let her think so. Even the reader is not sure which one of the men is the assassin and which is the prince, and the reveal makes for an exciting moment in the story.

The book’s slow build takes off when Lia realizes that what she wants is not as important as her power to help thousands of people. Pearson’s writing is beautiful, and her ability to twist a plot into knots keeps the reader wanting more. It’s going to be frustrating to wait for the sequel!

 

This article was originally published in the July 2014 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

There are all kinds of lies and prevarications in the aptly titled The Kiss of Deception, the new book from award-winning author Mary E. Pearson. Princess Arabella Celestine Idris Jezelia (or Lia, as she prefers to be called), First Daughter of the House of Morrighan, does not want to marry the unseen prince from a neighboring country. Lia—accompanied by her lady’s companion, Pauline—forsakes her parents’ wishes and runs away on her wedding day.

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