Peter R S Thomas

[peterrsthomas]

Book Review: Red Seas Under Red Skies

I really enjoyed Scott Lynch’s The Lies of Locke Lamora so I had to follow it up by reading Red Seas Under Red Skies.Being back in the world with Locke and Jean felt like reconnecting with old friends; it had the kind of comfort that comes from reentering a rich fantasy word. And, as hoped, Lynch wastes no time throwing them into another elaborate scheme that goes spectacularly sideways.

The pacing hits the same sweet spot that made the first book work so well. Just when I thought I had figured out where the plot was heading, something would happen that sent everything spinning in a new direction. The core structure mirrors the first book: a carefully planned con that gets derailed by forces much bigger than our protagonists. But it never feels repetitive.

Like many of the books I love, this one has pirates. And it’s clear the author did his homework. The use of period-accurate nautical terminology (hearing ‘larboard’ instead of the more familiar ‘port’ was a nice touch) and historical elements like the mock trials that actually happened aboard pirate ships made the maritime world feel authentic and lived-in. And the characters populating this world continue to be one of the series greatest strengths. They’re diverse and genuinely interesting.

In this second instalment, the protagonists find themselves poisoned, with their antagonist leading them on with an antidote. This drives the narrative forward and creates a sense of urgency, and also allows the author to resolve lingering threads from the first book while leaving some untied for the next.

If you enjoyed the first Gentleman Bastard book, this is an easy recommendation. Lynch has crafted a sequel that expands the world without losing what made the original special.

[peterrsthomas]

Book Review: Stranger in a Strange Land

After reading (and enjoying) Starship Troopers and The Moon is a Harsh Mistress, I wanted to continue reading Robert Heinlein’s notable works. This time, I went for Stranger in a Strange Land. It’s an essential part of the Sci-fi genre, and it was good to explore it. It was also satisfying to see the word ‘grok’ in its original context (even if the new AI model has tainted the word).

I found the first of the book to be absolutely captivating. It felt like Heinlein at his best, and had everything I loved about his other books. The politics and political manoeuvring was sharp and dynamic, the characters are varied and interesting. Jubal Harshaw felt very similar in style to the Professor in The Moon is a Harsh Mistress. I particularly enjoyed how the characters navigated the return of Valentine Michael Smith (the Man from Mars, and titular stranger). It provides a good focal point to explore those questions about society, religion, and human nature.

The second half loses a little momentum. I read the original, unabridged version, which was released posthumously. I wonder if the second half was where more content was cut down for the initial publication. The point Heinlein makes about religion, the church and commune become clear fairly early, and so it doesn’t really develop. Perhaps it’s because what was provocative in the 1960s (free love, polyamory, critiques of organised religion) isn’t quite so today. These concepts are more widely discussed, if not universally accepted!

The book doesn’t really grapple with the darker realities of cults, particularly those centred around sex and charismatic leaders. There's no real exploration of exploitation, consent, or how vulnerable people can be preyed upon, themes that feel glaringly absent from a modern perspective.

Still, there’s something about reading a book that was controversial sixty years ago and finding it tame today. Whether that speaks to Heinlein’s foresight or to the book’s cultural impact (or both), it’s worth the read simply to understand that evolution.

[peterrsthomas]

Book Review: Godkiller

Kissen’s family were killed by zealots of a fire god. Now, she makes a living killing gods, and enjoys it. That is until she finds a god she cannot kill: Skedi, a god of white lies, has somehow bound himself to a young noble, and they are both on the run from unknown assassins.

What immediately drew me in to Hannah Kaner’s Godkiller was the way she conceptualises the gods. In this world, gods are born from human belief and need. The more people worship them, the stronger they become. It’s both simple and complex in how it works, with a symbiotic system that creates genuine stakes for both mortals and deities. It was interesting to explore how this dynamic shaped everything from village politics to divine hierarchies.

The relationship between Kissen (the godkiller herself) and young Inara, the young noble tied to Skedi, anchors the story well. Their unlikely partnership (the woman who destroys gods paired with a girl who might be tied to one) creates natural tension. Watching their bond develop as they navigate this dangerous world together was another highlight of the book.

The prose is the kind of prose that gets the job done, and the dialogue serves its purpose. In a sense it’s good that the writing doesn’t get in the way of the story (that can be an issue with some books where writers can be a little self-indulgent with their flare!). But I could have done with maybe a little more imagery and metaphor to bring the scenes to life.

That being said, the story is well structured. The pacing doesn’t drag and the plot progression feels logical and well thought out. Each revelation builds naturally on what came before, and I never felt lost or confused about the world’s rules or the characters’ motivations.

And the worldbuilding really is Godkiller’s strongest suit. Beyond just the god creation concept, Godkiller has a setting that feels authentic. The political tensions, the way different regions handle their divine relationships, the consequences of godkilling, it all hangs together convincingly. This was enough to make it an enjoyable read.

[peterrsthomas]

Book Review: A Wizard of Earthsea

Ursula Le Guin’s A Wizard of Earthsea is a cornerstone of fantasy literature… is it bad that it took me a while to fully connect with it?

What did I love about it? Well, it was the world building that hooked me. Earthsea is an expansive and rich archipelago world, filled with distinct cultures, peoples, and creatures. We follow Ged, a gifted young wizard, on an adventure across Earthsea’s different islands, and get to know the people he encounters. The voyages by boat feel treacherous in the way that seafaring adventures should, and the maritime setting lends to the atmosphere. The magic system, too, is mystical and complex. Built around the true names and fundamental nature of things, it has a beautiful sense of knowledge and responsibility.

Ged is a well-crafted protagonist. He’s cocky, talented, and absolutely believable as a teenager who thinks he knows everything. His catastrophic mistake early in the story (summoning a shadow creature while showing off) feels earned by his character, and watching him grapple with the consequences as he matures gives the book proper emotional weight. I wanted him to get some comeuppance early on, and it was gratifying when he did!

But I struggled with Le Guin's writing style, especially in the opening sections. It reads more like a historical chronicle rather than an intimate character study. We’re told about Ged's actions and development, but we don't really feel his journey, at least not at first. This made it difficult for me to root for him initially. The writing does become more engaging as the story progresses, particularly when Ged interacts with his friend Vetch and we get more genuine character moments.

You can see A Wizard of Earthsea in the DNA of modern fantasy: the archipelago setting finds itself in Katherine Rundell’s Impossible Creatures, the power of names in Patrick Rothfuss's Name of the Wind, and the issues with shapeshifting in Terry Pratchett’s Equal Rites. It is undeniably important, but it requires a specific mood and patience with its more… distant narrative style. I'm glad I read it for the perspective it gives on the genre, though I'm probably not going to rush back to Earthsea soon.

[peterrsthomas]

Book Review: Project Hail Mary

I’m a big fan of The Martian. I enjoyed Artemis. But I was blown away by Project Hail Mary. I went in knowing nothing about it—I didn’t even read the blurb. And I think that was the right thing to do. The plot was unveiled like a true mystery adventure. If anyone wants the same experience as me, stop reading here, and just take my word for it that it’s worth your time!

Andy Weir’s latest sci-fi novel opens with our protagonist waking up with complete amnesia aboard a spaceship. Safe to say, amnesia has been done (All My Circuits, anyone?). But the way Weir uses the memory loss to gradually reveal both the present crisis and the backstory is excellent. The pacing was just right, and all the pieces of the puzzle, from why humanity is facing extinction, how our narrator ended up alone in space, what his actual mission is, all slowly click into place alongside his returning memories.

What absolutely sold me on this book, though, is Rocky. Creating a compelling alien character is incredibly difficult (how many different alien species have sci-fi writers conjured up?). But Weir manages to bring this spider-like creature to life in a way that feels both genuinely alien and deeply relatable. Rocky isn't just a cool biological concept (though he is that too). He’s impatient, intelligent, funny, and flawed. The sections exploring how they learn to communicate reminded me strongly of Arrival, in a good way. And I loved watching their friendship develop as they worked together against a threat to both their species.

As you might expect, Weir’s protagonist is… very similar to his other protagonists. If I have one criticism, it seems he can only write one main character: the brilliant-but-anxious, funny, slightly neurotic scientist. Luckily for Weir, I like this character! As with The Martian, this kind of character is executed well. His voice is engaging and the he scientific problem-solving is immensely satisfying. (I love that Weir makes me feel like I'm secretly learning while being entertained!)

And in a world of sci-fi where in so many stories first contact means invasion and destruction, Project Hail Mary offers something refreshingly different: the idea that when faced with extinction, different species might choose cooperation over conflict. The plot escalates organically and believably, the challenges build, the emotional complexity is just at the right level… It’s one of those where you know they’re going to get through it, you just don’t know how, or at what cost.

[peterrsthomas]

Review: 1984 by George Orwell (Audible Dramatisation)

I’d seen this advertised and, finding that listening to this wouldn’t cost an Audible credit, I thought I’d give it a go.

1984, of course, is a classic—for me, it stands next to Brave New World and The Handmaid’s Tale as one of the three greatest dystopian novels—so any adaptation has to be good. And, overall, I think they did a good job.

As a listening experience, it was enjoyable. Andrew Scott is chillingly perfect as O'Brien, bringing that mix of intellectual authority and sinister menace that makes the character so unsettling. Andrew Garfield does solid work as Winston too, though I did find myself questioning whether he played Winston as a bit too much of a wet lettuce (so to speak). He felt a bit more subservient than how I remember him when I first read the book.

And I knew it was Matt Belamy who did the sound design just from listening. You can hear all that paranoia that's been baked into Muse’s music over the years (and, of course there’s the little cameo moment for The Resistance). It was like Belamy had been auditioning for this role for years; and, given how obviously inspired Muse have been by dystopian literature, it was a good fit. If I had any criticism, it's that Belamy probably played it a bit safe. I would have loved him to lean even harder into the dystopian atmosphere he’s so good at creating.

The adaptation does okay at condensing Orwell's dense novel while keeping all the essential elements intact. The core concepts (newspeak, doublethink, Big Brother’s surveillance) all come through clearly without feeling rushed or oversimplified.

Was it perfect? No, I can’t say it was. Winston’s character development and his fluctuating relationship with Julia doesn’t quite work in this compressed version. The significant changes in how they feel about each other and the resistance don’t feel natural. And, I certainly could have done without Garfield’s heavy breathing right in my ears during the sex scene. Some things work better on the page than whispered directly into your headphones…

I’d take the original over the adaptation any day of the week. But overall it was a solid effort and an enjoyable listening experience.

[peterrsthomas]

Book Review: The Lies of Locke Lamora

Scott Lynch’s debut fantasy novel, The Lies of Locke Lamora, features an elaborate heist set in a beautifully realised seventeeth-century-inspired world.

Honestly, it hit me in the same way that The Name of the Wind did. We have a physically unimpressive protagonist who makes up for a lack of brawn with guile and pure cunning. Locke Lamora is endearing in the same way the Kvothe is. He executes elaborate cons and talks his way out of deadly situations. He fits the rogue archetype to a tee. And Jean is an excellent companion (and Jean brings the physicality that Locke lacks). He’s not a simpleton or a yes-man in the way that some ‘brawler’ characters can be. He feels well defined in his own right. Above all, their friendship feels genuine and lived in. It’s easy to care about them.

As fantasy heists go, the plot is near perfect. It’s well structured and escalates in just the right way. Just as you think you have a handle on what’s going on, something else happens and it all spirals into some bigger and more dangerous; the stakes are raised organically and plausibly at each turn. And they’re raised in ways I couldn’t see coming. There’s also backstory interwoven throughout (the kind of backstory that again reminded me of The Name of the Wind, albeit delivered in a different way). Information important to the present moment is delivered via these backstories, keeping them timely and relevant.

The worldbuilding is immersive without being overwhelming. None of the protagonists are magic, but they encounter others who are—and so Lynch has to create problems that are challenging for the protagonists, whilst giving them scope to overcome them. I think he strikes the right balance between power and limitation, and the rules are clear enough for some satisfying loopholes to be exploited without feeling contrived.

It’s not without its flaws. There’s hints at a romantic subplot that never quite develops. And [MODERATE SPOILERS] his heroic turn at the climax didn’t feel completely earned. I understand the choices made, but I didn’t fully buy it. There were also some stretches where plot threads were left unattended, as other parts of the plot moved forward. 

But these complaints are relatively minor. I was entertained enough by the characters, the dialogue, and the rich world. It has enough clever problem solving and good character work to scratch the same itch as The Name of the Wind.

[peterrsthomas]

Book Review: The Restaurant at the End of the Universe

The Restaurant at the End of the Universe by Douglas Adams is full of the same zany, unpredictable storytelling that made The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy such a hit. 

What I love most about this book is how the book jumps from one impossible situation to another. I had no idea where the story was going to go, and neither did the characters. This is made possible by the technology within Adams’ universe, whether it be teleportation, time travel, or reality manipulation. I think the thing that makes it work as a narrative device is that the stupid, unpredictable situation the characters find themselves in always makes things harder, or worse; they might be rescued from one situation, but find themselves jumping out of the frying pan into the fire. This makes it really effective storytelling.

I think the character work wasn’t as strong as the preceding novel. Marvin remains one of the best characters in modern literature, and I really enjoyed having large chunks of the story told from Zaphod’s perspective. His journey to meet the ruler of the universe revealed some great backstory. But Arthur, Ford, and Trillian’s storylines were undeveloped and not quite as interesting by comparison.

The ending was a little flat for me, as well. Zaphod finally meets the ruler of the universe and, [SPOILERS], it turns out he doesn’t have any idea that he’s making decisions that impact the entire universe (a universe the ruler isn’t sure exists). I get the joke Adams is making, but the execution, especially how quickly Zarniworp becomes frustrated, didn’t hit for me. Similarly, Arthur and Ford wandering around prehistoric Earth was a bit of a drag. That said, the revelation of the Ultimate Question was exactly the kind of comic deflation that worked really well.

I’ve been reading a lot of Terry Pratchett and Douglas Adams recently. I’m still at the starting point of my journey through their respective universes, but I’m finding myself preferring Adams’ humour and writing style at the moment (though don’t get my wrong, both are fantastic). Where Pratchett sometimes breaks the fourth wall with references to our world, Adams creates alien societies that mirror our own absurdities without winking directly at the reader. This makes the satire feel more integrated and immersive.

So, onwards I journey! Next stop: Life, the Universe and Everything.

[peterrsthomas]

Book Review: Mort

I’m about five or six books into Discworld as a series now, and so I’ve seen Death appear as a minor character a few times. But I was very intrigued to read Mort, which sees the whole story revolve around Death and the titular character, his new apprentice.

Death wants a holiday, wants to explore his other interests, find out what it means to be alive… and who better to take over his work than a gangly farm boy that no one else wanted as their apprentice?

Death and Mort act as counterpoints to each other. In his time away from his ‘work’, Death struggles with humanity (trying to get drunk, not really getting why people fear him—except cats, that is). 

Mort, on the other hand, grapples with the weight of having to sever peoples’ souls from their earthly bodies, and the apparent lack of justice when they die (because, in the end, people go where they believe they’re going to go). 

They both go through steady arcs, with Death finding peace as a chef, and Mort becoming less bumbling and more able to take on the powers of the job, even as he questions his duty.

One of the things I loved most was the conceptualisation of time. The instigating moment for the plot was Mort’s refusal to take Princess Keli’s soul, which created an inflection point in time. She should have died, and history carries on as if she did, and eventually it all tries to self-correct. It’s clever writing and creates a set-up where the reader isn’t sure how it’s going to be resolved.

I found the supporting cast to be hit or miss, though. I liked Ysabel and her relationship with Mort, and how it goes from antagonistic to friendship over time. Albert is an excellent character, especially when his mysterious past is unveiled. But I wasn’t so sure about Cutwell—I’m not sure if he was supposed to be annoying and off-putting, but I wasn’t really keen on him!

This is a really interesting and unusual fantasy book showing how Pratchett continued to have a unique take on the genre. Like I said, I’m five or six books in, and none of them have really felt the same.

[peterrsthomas]

Book Review: The Light Fantastic

The Light Fantastic is a strange, unpredictable book that is subject to its own whims and internal logic.

So, essentially, exactly what you’d expect from a Terry Pratchett novel.

It follows on from The Colour of Magic, though with more confidence in the narrative and voice. It overcomes some of the structural hiccups of the previous book, and its full of the beautiful, absurdist humour that we all love about Pratchett. We follow Rincewind and Twoflower as they continue their journey through Discworld on a mission to save it from certain doom.

There are some really memorable scenes in this book. The computer created by the druids is wonderfully funny (and another great example of Pratchettian satire), as is Rincewind’s voyage into Death’s home to rescue the unperturbed Twoflower. The latter parts of the book, with mobs of increasingly erratic inhabitants of the soon-to-be-destroyed world, are both gripping and hilarious.

The characters themselves are the heart of the novel. Rincewind and Twoflower are, of course, central, and their opposites-attract-style relationship is timeless. But others, notably Cohen the Barbarian, steal the show. Of Pratchett’s gentle parody at the expense of fantasy tropes, this is one of my favourites.

At the same time, the plot builds in that uniquely Pratchett way, with a blend of absurdity and genuine stakes. And the ending is surprisingly touching and unexpected, and feels like a natural conclusion to this part of Rincewind’s adventure.

If you’re looking for a natural entry point to Pratchett’s world, you could do worse than reading The Light Fantastic.

[peterrsthomas]

Book Review: Artemis

There’s a lot to like about Andy Weir’s Artemis. Sci-fi plus crime thriller; spunky protagonist (who, yes, admittedly sounds a lot like the protagonist of Weir’s other novel, The Martian). Set in humanity’s first lunar city, the novel follows Jazz Bashara through a heist that could set her up for life—or set Artemis on a path towards its doom!

I found Jazz to be assertive and entertaining. There’s a bit of cliche in her backstory—brilliant and intelligent, but not living up to her full potential. But her voice and her attitude make her likeable, and her relationships with others keep things interesting, and in particular her relationship with her father. Jazz also has a pen pal on earth, Kelvin, who we get to know through messages that intersperse each chapter. These start off in the past, but eventually catch up to the present, which means we learn about Jazz’s past mistakes and personal growth. But as the past meets present, Kelvin has an impact on the narrative itself. I thought this was quite a clever device.

I thought the hard science was great, and I found the book to be genuinely educational, much like The Martian. The physics, from how welding works to oxygen production, are described in a way that makes the possibilities of living on the moon seem real. Maybe someone with more knowledge about the science might be able to pick holes in it, but for a layman I enjoyed it.

At the heart of the story is a heist. This was well structured, escalating naturally from Jazz’s smalltime smuggling operations to a huge conspiracy. In true sci-fi fashion, Weir uses the setting to create constraints and opportunities that make the crime thriller vibes feel truly unique. Isolation, life support, limited escape routes—all these play a big part.

And, of course, I enjoyed the nods to Heinlein’s The Moon is a Harsh Mistress (my favourite: we don’t actually like to be called loonies). And Weir is able to navigate the setting in a way that feels new, thinking more about the economics of the situation that the politics.

Does this live up to the bar set by The Martian? Not quite. But I'd still recommend the read!

[peterrsthomas]

Book Review: Shadow of the Gods

I’m not sure I was ready to read Shadow of the Gods… It is a brutal, violent dark fantasy! The start of John Gwynne’s Bloodsworn Saga, it journeys through three different perspectives, with characters traversing a world left bloody and divided in the wake of fallen gods.

The combat sequences are visceral and expertly crafted. Every fight scene is choreographed with brutal precision, from the intimate duels to the massive battles, each one weighted with consequence. The gore—gore that I was not fully prepared for—raises the stakes and makes every confrontation feel genuinely dangerous.

I had some issues with the three different perspectives. They had strong thematic coherence—overall, Shadow of the Godsis an intertwined story of family bonds and revenge. But I found Orka and Varg’s storylines to be much more interesting, and the characters more compelling, than Elvar’s. It put me in that uncomfortable position where (and I don’t like feeling this) I felt I was waiting for her parts to be over so I could go back to the other perspectives. It's only in the final act that Elvar’s storyline finally started to engage me.

What I loved was the worldbuilding. It is built on the same mythological foundation as Skyrim, and that gave me a certain sense of nostalgia. The echo of the dead gods and the impact it has on the characters (in particular the ‘tainted’) drives the story well, making it feel truly epic in scope. The magic system integrates well into this world, providing moments of genuine wonder and power.

On balance, the atmosphere and immersive worldbuilding overcome what I personally felt were structural weaknesses in combining the different storylines. But I admit that I may be in the minority in feeling this. And I certainly feel driven to keep going with the series!

[peterrsthomas]

Book Review: Equal Rites

Terry Pratchett's Equal Rites is a fun blend of fantasy and social commentary. It is told through the story of Eskarina Smith (known as Esk), a girl who accidentally inherits wizard magic in a world that insists women can only be witches.

The characters are the book’s greatest strength. Esk is wonderfully ambitious, relentlessly driving the story forward with her determination to become a wizard. Granny Weatherwax is magnificently assertive and dominant—a true force of nature. Even Simon, the awkward young wizard, is delightfully written with genuine charm. All three develop beautifully throughout the story, their growth feeling organic rather than forced.

Pratchett's magic system lavishes the world with superb chaotic energy. The way magic literally seeks to escape from books, how the very walls of the Unseen University absorb magical energy and gain sentience—these details create a world where magic feels truly wild and dangerous... and real! The characters must navigate not just social obstacles but a fundamentally unstable magical environment that adds genuine tension to their journey.

Perhaps most fascinating is Pratchett's exploration of competing magical philosophies. Witch magic—practical, intuitive, and grounded in real-world problems—stands in sharp contrast to wizard magic, which is academic, hierarchical, and theoretical. This isn’t just for flavour; the genuine debates about different ways of knowing and learning that arise form a core part of the plot.

Building on this, the satire of Unseen University spears traditional academic establishments everywhere (as someone who has worked in that environment, you can recognise some of the characters!). Pratchett sets focus on the politics, traditions, and resistance to change that plague many institutions. Indeed, there is an inherent contradiction between the University’s self-importance and its actual dysfunction that encapsulates the book’s themes.

The story itself succeeds despite—or perhaps because of—its straightforward allegory. Yes, the gender dynamics critique is fairly obvious and somewhat on the nose, but Pratchett grounds it in genuine character motivations and real stakes. And to this day it remains eminently readable and relatable.

[peterrsthomas]

Book Review: The Colour of Magic

The Colour of Magic introduces readers to Terry Pratchett's Discworld—a flat planet balanced on the backs of four elephants standing on a giant turtle swimming through space. The story follows Rincewind, a wizard capable of performing only one spell, who reluctantly becomes the guide for Twoflower, the Disc's first tourist, complete with his magical luggage that follows him on hundreds of tiny legs. Their misadventures take them across the Disc as they flee assassins, dragons, and the whims of gods.

What I loved most was the dynamic between Rincewind and Twoflower. It strikes a perfect balance between the cynical wizard and the wide-eyed tourist, creating a classic contrast of worldviews. I loved the interplay here—Rincewind desperate to avoid adventure, Twoflower open to exploring and nonchalant about the consequences.

The prose is great; I’ve heard some people say that they’re not so keen on Pratchett’s earlier work and it takes him a few books to hone his style, but even still I really like it. What I think is key is his ability to imply rather than explain. He often shows reactions or outcomes, trusting readers to fill in what happened. It misfires from time to time (occasionally I misinterpret what happens), but this  is rare, and on balance I find it really effective.

The four-part structure of The Colour of Magic gives the novel an enjoyable episodic quality, allowing us to experience the different corners of Discworld while exploring the interplay between gods and the fundamentals of magic. We move through different parts of the world, visiting Ankh-Morpork, then woods and temples, dragons, to the very edge of the Disc, in a really fun and varied way. 

And, at its core, we get this really loving satire and parody of fantasy tropes. This is what makes Pratchett’s work distinctive—there’s an affectionate mockery of a genre he clearly adores, in this case some of the classic sword and sorcery works. All this as part of fantastic and rich world building that incorporates modernist themes, religion, bureaucracy, and other carefully selected and well represented targets of gentle mockery.

My only criticism lies in the transition between the third and final parts, where it felt like something significant occurred off-page. There was a momentary disconnect for me that was more jarring than the book’s other scene shifts. But otherwise I loved it, and I love Pratchett, and it’s been a great experience revisiting some of his work.

[peterrsthomas]

Book Review: The Summer Tree

Content Warning: This review discusses a book containing sexual assault.

The Summer Tree, a richly imagined fantasy adventure, is the first of Guy Gavriel Kay's Fionavar Tapestry trilogy. The novel follows five university students from Toronto who are transported to Fionavar, the ‘first of all worlds’, where they become entangled in an ancient conflict against a dark god breaking free from imprisonment.

Kay's worldbuilding is probably the highlight of the novel. The magic system, where mages must be tied to other individuals who serve as ‘sources’ of power, is a nice mechanic. Also nicely done is the imprisonment of dark god Rakoth Maugrim beneath a mountain. The mountain looms visibly in the landscape as a prison in plain sight of all who live there. And the ritual of the Summer Tree itself introduces a compelling concept: kings are traditionally expected to sacrifice themselves during times of crisis, offering their lives to the gods. But they can send others in their place, and this puts one of the protagonists in an interesting position. Throughout, the metaphor of a tapestry and a weaver (symbolising fate and determinism) is contrasted with the dark god—the ‘unweaver’.

The narrative mostly focuses on its classical fantasy setting—think kings and castles and mages—but it takes a refreshing turn in the final third when we finally reconnect with Dave, the fifth member of the transported group, who went missing during the journey into Fionavar. Kay's incorporation of Native American-inspired elements here adds a level of cultural diversity to what otherwise might have been a purely European-inspired fantasy setting. The pacing of the story is fine, and the prose is accessible throughout. There’s the odd name you have to remember, but you’re not drowned in unnecessarily complicated language.

Of the ensemble cast, certain characters stand out with more memorable moments and clear arcs. Paul, driven by grief, finds his place on The Summer Tree; Kevin’s personality comes through. However, this is also where some of the novel's weaknesses emerge. With five modern-day characters thrust into this fantasy realm, Kay effectively shows different reactions to this strange new world, but this breadth comes at the cost of depth for some characters. We get more substantive development for some protagonists, while others remain relatively undeveloped.

This imbalance is particularly noticeable in the female characters, both from our world and Fionavar itself. Too often, women in the narrative exist primarily as romantic interests, objects of desire, or victims of violence. In the final pages, there is an instance of sexual assault—unnecessarily graphic as far as I was concerned—as a plot device to show how evil the dark god is. Reading this book forty years after it was first published, it certainly feels dated in this regard.

Kay has earned comparisons to Tolkien, and not undeservedly so. His own work with Christopher Tolkien in drawing together the stories for the The Silmarillion undoubtedly impacted him, and he has brought to the genre a blend of different mythologies and influences. But I don’t think I was so enamoured by this book that I’d want to continue the trilogy.

[peterrsthomas]

Book Review: Tress of the Emerald Sea 

Tress of the Emerald Sea is a wonderful, layered adventure that evolves as the priorities of Tress, our main character, ebb and shift. Tress is a young girl from a barely habitable rock, surrounded by a sea of spores that turn into vines when they touch water. Her friend and love interest, Charlie, the son of the island’s Duke, is sent to the island of the King to be married. When he makes himself completely undesirable, the King sends him to the Midnight Sea (another of several spore seas, each with their own distinct properties) where he is captured by the fearsome Sorceress. 

Tress, when she finds out, sets off on a grand adventure to save him. On the way, she becomes part of a pirate crew, driven by the fearsome Captain Crow, and meets Fort, Ann, and Salay, as well as Hoid, a world-hopping character of the wider Cosmere who is cursed by the Sorceress. As Tress seeks Charlie, she becomes embroiled in a conflict between the crew and their captain. This multi-tiered adventure keeps the story fresh and engaging. Of the people Tress meets, Ulaam in particular stands out as a delightful character whose presence brings fun and unpredictability to his scenes. An ear on your arm, anyone?

One of the key strengths of the novel is how its conflicts are solved through different means. Some through combat, sure, but also through wit and quick-thinking. These keep the tension high in the right places, and show Sanderson’s skill in crafting a variety of situations and solutions for his characters. I am a massive fan of different ways of solving problems beyond force—the scene with Xixis the dragon was my favourite—so this scratched a real itch for me.

The world building, as one would expect of Sanderson, is top-tier. The spores and how they function are cool and varied, and the way they are built into the story is very satisfying. Likewise, the narrative voice, provided by the cursed Hoid (who is rendered to something of a ‘village idiot’ with no fashion sense), connects the novel to the broader Cosmere. Hoid is witty and fun, and this keeps the narrative light. It is also refreshing to have the story told by a third party who is able to comment personally on what is happening without being the centre of the story. I did find some of Hoid’s observations to disrupt the immersion in places—e.g., the reference to ‘laptops’ being a key one. I get that this is supposed to broaden out the links to the world beyond, but, as someone unfamiliar with the rest of the universe, I found it a little jarring.

Also, Tress’s character development, while clearly central to the story, does sometimes suffer from exposition that I found a little heavy-handed. There are moments when the narrative explicitly states that Tress is changing or growing, even when I think readers can see these changes organically. It’s a little unnecessary and on-the-nose. And, lastly—SPOILERS—certain plot elements create minor inconsistencies that detract from the otherwise cohesive world. For example, the Sorceress has inhabited the planet for years and possesses advanced knowledge of technology that Tress is only beginning to develop. When Tress offers to trade this technology, the Sorceress dismisses it—yet later, her guards are defeated by this very same technology. This inconsistency feels like an oversight that somewhat weakens the internal logic of the story.

Regardless of some minor flaws, Tress of the Emerald Sea is an easygoing, refreshing sci-fi/fantasy adventure with a cast of loveable characters. The story is accessible and easy to follow, is told with humour, and sits against a well-fleshed-out and intriguing world. It gets a big ‘recommend’ from me!

[peterrsthomas]

Book Review: The Great Gatsby and Brideshead Revisited

I’ve just finished reading The Great Gatsby for the first time, and yes, I can see why it’s become a classic of American literature. The underlying themes, the gradual reveal of the Gatsby’s elusive past, the inevitable tragedy, are subtle and enduring. It reminded me of Brideshead Revisited in a way. The tragic nature of wealth, the decay beneath all that glitz and glamour—Gatsby is to American literature what Brideshead is to English.

Both are narrated by outside observers, Nick Carraway (Gatsby) and Charles Ryder (Brideshead). And both of these men are drawn into the world of wealth from modest backgrounds, and both are simultaneously invested and detached in what they see. Nick establishes a relationship with Jordan Baker, a socialite part of Gatsby’s world, and Charles with Julia, the sister of Sebastian Flyte. And both watch as Gatsby and Sebastian struggle through their personal issues.

Those observed are haunted in their own way by their past. Gatsby is obsessed with Daisy Buchanan, while Sebastian and his family are consumed by their heritage, the death of the English nobility and struggling Catholic traditions. And Gatsby and Sebastian’s family are both eventually consumed—Gatsby is killed following the attempted renewal of his relationship with Daisy, and Sebastian descends into alcoholism.

But there are, of course, key differences. Brideshead’s driving theme is the Catholic religion and English aristocracy; Gatsby’s is the American Dream, a quasi-religion in itself, I suppose, and chased with similar fervour. Fitzgerald critiques a particular form of social mobility and how it can be achieved, and amidst this the hidden classes that define American society, while Waugh explores, with nostalgia, the decline of English nobility, its relationship to faith, education, and tradition. Significantly, wealth, for Gatsby, comes from questionable means, and for the Flytes, wealth is inherited and comes with its own obligations. But, of course, wealth ends up destroying them both, and the people they love.

Do these differences reveal the contrasting nature of English and American societies? Or do they simply represent the differing perspectives of their authors on the nature of wealth and status? There’s something of both, clearly, in this. But regardless, both are significant reads.