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Science Fiction & FantasyFictionFantasy

Rediscovering the universe

Review by Adam Morgan

At first glance, The Only Words That Are Worth Remembering looks like Interstellar meets The Stand. Centuries from now, in a post-scientific society where astronomy “is regarded as a delusional cult scarcely more respectable than Jesus Lovers,” a powerful corporation discovers a perfectly intact Orion spacecraft hidden beneath the ruins of Cape Canaveral, along with detailed instructions from NASA on how to launch a voyage to Europa, Jupiter’s icy moon.

Meanwhile in Miami, Rowan Van Zandt is sentenced to hard labor for stealing a tour bus, until he’s offered a deal by Bosom Industries: pilot the spacecraft with his brother, mother and father, and avoid serving time.

But the story of the Van Zandt family isn’t a quixotic space mission. In a frame narrative set 10 years after the discovery, Rowan records his coming-of-age story from the Paranal Observatory in Chile, home of the world’s only remaining telescope. So it’s clear from Chapter 1 that Rowan, at least, never leaves Earth, making comparisons to Interstellar misleading at best. Instead of a high-stakes adventure through the solar system, Rowan’s journey across the dystopic remnants of America is a dark comedy, a clever, funny satire on the way reality is distorted by time and willful ignorance.

Rotter’s second novel is just as funny as his first (The Unknown Knowns), and—in our own age of populist challenges to science—just as topical. “It is a comfort,” Rowan posits eerily, “to know how swiftly and thoroughly a civilization can crumble when nobody wants it anymore.”

At first glance, The Only Words That Are Worth Repeating looks like Interstellar meets The Stand. Centuries from now, in a post-scientific society where astronomy “is regarded as a delusional cult scarcely more respectable than Jesus Lovers,” a powerful corporation discovers a perfectly intact Orion spacecraft hidden beneath the ruins of Cape Canaveral, along with detailed instructions from NASA on how to launch a voyage to Europa, Jupiter’s icy moon.
Science Fiction & FantasyFictionFantasy

A world-spanning fantasy adventure

Review by Michael Burgin

In V.E. Schwab’s A Darker Shade of Magic, three versions of London exist side by side in parallel universes. There’s Grey London, where magic is basically extinguished; Red London, where it’s abundant; and White London, where it’s somewhere in between (and where the control of it as a resource is jealously and viciously contested). There was also a fourth—Black London—whose inhabitants were devoured by magic and which should no longer exist. Schwab’s male protagonist, Kell, is one of the few with the power to travel between those Londons, and as such, serves as a diplomatic courier of sorts between the monarchies of each.

As premises go, it’s a solid yet simple framework that is both easily grasped and potentially rich to mine. Of course, it’s one thing to have an interesting setting, and another to bring that world (or worlds) to life. Fortunately, Schwab populates her many Londons with compelling heroes, villains and bit players. Kell is joined as the primary protagonist by Delilah Bard, a Grey London resident whose name and aspirations could have come straight from the D&D gaming table (or perhaps the Dragon Age character creation screen). That may sound like faint praise, but again, it’s what Schwab does with her characters after the initial outline that matters, and it doesn’t take long for the reader to become engrossed in the fortunes of Bard, especially after she pickpockets a certain worlds-traveling mage and lifts an item of dark origin and dangerous power.

Ultimately, A Darker Shade of Magic feels familiar, especially to anyone who has read any of the stories in Robert Lynn Asprin’s classic Thieves’ World shared-world anthology. Though crisply drawn, the depths of Schwab’s characters are pretty quickly and clearly plumbed—a reader won’t be left wondering too long about who the real villain is or from where comes the real threat. But it’s a familiarity that breeds interest, and this is less a weakness than the result of a writer who recognizes and employs the shorthand native to the genre in which she works.

By novel’s end, readers may be left wondering if the various threats haven’t been resolved in a manner that’s a tad too tidy. (They have been.) And they will certainly be curious if new adventures await. (Let’s hope so.) But regardless, they will have likely found the time with Kell, Bard and the rest of the inhabitants of the three Londons time well spent.

In V.E. Schwab’s A Darker Shade of Magic, three versions of London exist side by side in parallel universes. There’s Grey London, where magic is basically extinguished; Red London, where it’s abundant; and White London, where it’s somewhere in between (and where the control of it as a resource is jealously and viciously contested). There was also a fourth—Black London—whose inhabitants were devoured by magic and which should no longer exist. Schwab’s male protagonist, Kell, is one of the few with the power to travel between those Londons, and as such, serves as a diplomatic courier of sorts between the monarchies of each.
Science Fiction

A world divided by four

Review by Becky Ohlsen

Remember those scholastic-aptitude tests you took in grade school, the ones that told you what kind of career path you should follow? Those tests and their ilk take on a much more ominous significance in light of Rupert Thomson's new novel, Divided Kingdom.

A near-future science-fiction odyssey, the book is set in England after a revolution in which the powers-that-be have sorted people into four categories: "not according to economic status or social position, not according to colour, race or creed, but according to psychology, according to type," as one leader puts it. The divisions are named after what medicine has traditionally called the body's humours: yellow bile (choleric), black bile (melancholic), phlegm (phlegmatic) and blood (sanguine). This "rearrangement," as it's called, disturbingly echoes such long-since-abandoned practices as eugenics and phrenology, and the results are as chaotic and disastrous as one might expect. Children are ripped from the arms of their parents, husbands and wives are parted, and the four groups are moved into four separate quarters, each enclosed by insurmountable concrete walls.

The book's narrator, Thomas Parry (his post-rearrangement name), is among the first batch of children taken from his parents and moved. Luckily for him he's designated sanguine, the "best" of the four humours. He's placed in a grim boarding school with other "Children of the Red Quarter" and indoctrinated with the principles of the system. When he's old enough, he is assigned to a new family, or what's left of it: a bereaved father whose wife has been relocated, and an adopted sister with whom Thomas immediately and irrevocably falls in love. He is encouraged to spy on this new family; later, he is secretly hired to work for the government, and his ability to assimilate makes him good at the job. Even then, though, you can sense rebellion lurking under his calm surface.

When Thomas suddenly snaps, while on a work trip to the Yellow Quarter, he sets out on a fascinating journey that confirms his doubts about the efficacy of the divided kingdom. His motivations, though, are hardly political; what he really wants, even before he realizes it, is to find his mother and the scraps of a childhood he lost when his new life began. It's a universal desire, and one that demonstrates just how difficult it is to define and categorize something as complicated as a human being.

 

Becky Ohlsen writes from Portland, Oregon.

 

Remember those scholastic-aptitude tests you took in grade school, the ones that told you what kind of career path you should follow? Those tests and their ilk take on a much more ominous significance in light of Rupert Thomson's newest novel, Divided Kingdom.

YA FictionYAFantasy

Hierarchy of blood

Review by Justin Barisich

In the magical, feuding lands of Norta, a poor young woman is thrust into the center of an elite world where she must hide her true self and discover her inner strength and power to survive.

Seventeen-year-old street thief Mare Barrow has always understood the blood-based hierarchy of her nation: Unremarkable Reds serve the Silvers, who possess supernatural abilities to control metal, fire, minds and more. But when Mare, a Red, discovers that she possesses one of these superhuman abilities, she turns the entire social system on its head and must become someone she never thought she could be just to stay alive.

Author Victoria Aveyard’s debut novel builds a world that’s rife with classism, political jostling and unfathomable power. Red Queen is the first in a trilogy, and with Aveyard’s steady, masterful reveal of this world’s dark inner workings, readers will have much to devour.

 

Justin Barisich is a freelancer, satirist, poet and performer living in Atlanta. More of his writing can be found at littlewritingman.com.

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

In the magical, feuding lands of Norta, a poor young woman is thrust into the center of an elite world where she must hide her true self and discover her inner strength and power to survive.
Science Fiction & FantasyFiction

Building a perfect world

Review by Matthew Jackson

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.
YA FictionYAFantasy

A sinister, enchanting forest

Review by Kimberly Giarratano

“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.
Science Fiction

The worm has turned

Review by Michael Burgin

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.
YA FictionYAFantasy

The dragon age

Review by Diane Colson

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.
Science Fiction & FantasyFictionScience Fiction

Inhabiting dual worlds

Review by Jay MacDonald

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.
YA FictionYAFantasy

Magical intrigue along Russia’s railway

Review by Kimberly Giarratano

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.
Science Fiction & FantasyFictionScience Fiction

Blame it on the robots

Review by Michael Burgin

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.
YA FictionYAScience Fiction

When Hawaiian paradise is lost

Review by Diane Colson

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.
Science Fiction & FantasyFictionFantasy

What does it take to be a superhero?

Review by Matthew Jackson

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.

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