Impossible Creatures is the latest fantasy novel by Katherine Rundell. It follows Christopher, a boy with a special connection to animals, and Mal, a girl with the unusual ability to fly using a special coat, as they try to stop the glimourie (magic) fading from the Archipelago. The Archipelago is, simply, a collection of islands hidden by magic in the Atlantic Ocean that is home to all sorts of mystical and magical creatures—creatures who had been saved there to prevent their extinction.
But the islands are under threat, and the magic is fading, and so Christopher and Mal set off on a journey to save all the creatures who rely on this magic. They are joined by Nighthand, an alcoholic who was formerly a bodyguard to the Immortal, the protector of magic since lost for a hundred years, and Irian, a scientist who is similarly investigating the afflictions affecting the creatures.
It is a wild seafaring adventure that takes the reader to far off places, and we meet, as the title promises, a whole host of mythical beasts. Each has their own personality, their own tendencies, and they are a real joy to behold. I love the creatures—they are the heart and soul of this book. They are present on the island because they were, at some point in history, saved from extinction at human hands. It is curious that other (non-mythical) creatures who became extinct in the years since did not make it on. It would have been nice to encounter a dodo or two. Oh well. Jacques the tiny dragon more than makes up for it.
The story flows nicely, though there are a few convenient moments were information is handed to the characters just at the right time. We have, at one point, a wealthy women flying about the islands on a longma to places otherwise inaccessible to the protagonists and gathering information for them. At another point, a manticore begins, without being prompted, monologuing on a topic that the characters could conveniently do with some more information about. All this is to keep the story moving at a good, consistent pace, but it does pull the reader out a bit.
But otherwise, it is a magical and enjoyable read. I liked the ending, which was heart-breaking and inspiring all at once. The antagonist, who we don’t meet until the end, is set well in the broader lore of the island, so it still feels like a good payoff when we meet. And, above all, the bond that forms between Christopher and Mal is a treasure.
This book is the latest in Alonna William’s instalments of the Fables from Wyanidus Lystria series. It takes us on a journey of a changing of the guard, so to speak, of the Guardians, the powerful beings entrusted by the island to look after the weather, over the people, and generally maintain good order. Our heroes are Azari’ah and Ariad’na, who we follow as they turn from rivals into lovers, rise to become guardians, and help solve the island’s problems.
The relationship between Azari’ah and Ariad’na is the beating heart of this book, and their relationship as it shifts and changes over time drives the plot forward. When they meet, Azari’ah, serious and studious, resents Ariad’na’s careful and playful attitude; Ariad’na, for her part finds Azari’ah’s joylessness off-putting. But when they are forced into proximity by the current guardians, who are training them up, they start to become close. Very close. This yields its own problems, as guardians are forbidden from forming attachments with specific people, lest it bias their judgement. The interplay between the two is great, and I love the dialogue and characterisation.
In exploring its plot and relationships, the author delves into some hard-hitting themes. She explores issues of poverty and childhood trauma, and the impact this has on later relationships and values. She also digs into themes of toxic masculinity in a way that I think is really well done. Throughout the book, Azari’ah is told by his mentor to be strong and suppress his emotions, to let go of his attachments to people, to be ruled by strict logic. But we see the damage that this has on his psyche, and the struggles it pushes him through.
The broader world is luscious and expansive. The author clearly has so much care for this land she has created, and that really shines through. All the different creatures, the magic of the island, the interplay of how they all connect—it’s enchanting! It’s a world where, after I put down the book, I can’t wait to get stuck back in.
Have you ever woken up one morning to find your hair has turned long and luscious, and your ears pointed? If so, you just might be a siren! This is the fate that befalls Trevor when he starts to go through the equivalent of siren puberty in The Siren’s Call, which leads him on a perilous journey of self discovery and adventure.
There is much to love about this charming novel. It is rich in carefully crafted maritime mythology, drawing on a range of Atlantic and Mediterranean influences. The world the sirens and other mercreatures inhabit is beautiful and expansive, and we get the pleasure of exploring it more as the story unfolds. The pacing is pleasant, and there are some likeable and engaging characters—Nicholas in particular I found to be interesting. Bloo is another, who has a distinctive and charming pattern of speech.
That said, the reader might be overwhelmed by just how many characters there are. There are a couple of large families, human and siren, plus a couple of friendship groups we meet along the way. The geography is also a little confusing at the start. The initial setting is late eighteenth century Manchester, UK, though there are frequent movements between the city and the sea.
Nevertheless, this is a compelling and creative work full of mystery and excitement that it is easy to get drawn into. I love the world, and I am eager to explore the author’s other novels to find out more about it!
I am a real sucker for a pirate novel. Throw some magic in there, and you’ve got me. One of my favourite books of all time is On Stranger Tides; one of my favourite movies is Pirates of the Caribbean. I’m not sure if this means my bar is set very high (I’ve read a lot of books about pirates) or very low (I’ll enjoy almost any book that has pirates in).
Mad Kestrel, by Misty Massey, I thought was a very enjoyable read. Again, I’m late to the party—the book was released in 2008. But I’ve only just found it in my local charity shop. Sue me. It’s a thrilling adventure with a compelling female lead. There are some wonderful action sequences and pulse-raising swordplay. And, of course, some sailing through rough waters (literally and figuratively), and intriguingly handsome—but also infuriatingly charming—men.
We follow Kestrel, a quartermaster aboard the Wolfsbane, as she attempts to rescue her captured mentor, Artemus Binns. Along the way she meets Phillip McAvery, a smooth-talking rogue who we don’t know whether or not to trust, and we are accompanied by a loyal, hard-working crew… or are we? Throughout, we are trailed by bounty hunters and a mysterious magical order, whose ceaseless pursuit keeps Kestrel constantly on her toes.
The magic system is probably the weakest part of the book. It’s used to drive the threat more than anything—the protagonist, a special kind of magic wielder, is afraid to use her magic lest she is found by magic hunters. So, we don’t really get to see how it works until the end. And, in the end, it seems almost anything is possible with magic. Because we haven’t really been exposed to it much throughout the book, it means the payoff isn’t all that great. Oh well: Less magic means more room for swords and swashbuckling! And the sword fights and action sequences are superb.
One thing though: I was disappointed with the author’s choice for the ending…
SPOILER ALERT!
The protagonist, Kestrel, is presented with a choice to take her mentor’s place as privateer for the king, or to go about her merry way as a pirate. We’ve had a whole book building up this character as a strong, independent woman who is fighting to prove her place as a leader of men; but in the end, she chooses to be under the thumb of the king. We’re told she negotiated better terms, and women are now allowed to sail on ships in the kingdom (yay!), but it feels a little flat after all that’s happened. I’d have liked for her to stick it to her (male) mentor and the king, and go off pirating into the sunset. But I can understand why the author went the other way… it certainly feels neater, and ties everything up.
Despite some flaws, this is an enjoyable read, with thrilling adventure and strong characters. I’ll add it to the list of books I’ll recommend to anyone who dares ask me pirate stories!
I’m a bit late to the party with this one, I know. The book had been sat on my shelf for two years before I read it. It has been published even longer. (I’ve had a lot on, okay… don’t judge me!) I have now read it, and I understand why it has become an instant classic of the genre. And yes, I can now join the legions of fans anxiously clamouring for the third instalment. Hopefully by the time I’m done reading the sequel…
The Name of the Wind is an epic fantasy ambitious in scope. It truly lives up to the ‘epic’ part of the genre. Told in both third person (in the present) and first person (as the protagonist recounts his life story), it follows Kvothe as he grows up and attends university. It is a detailed, thorough, character-driven story that rarely relents in excitement. The character development is superb. I love a character with a background in the performing arts—it’s a great way of explaining their charisma, and giving them a way of plausibly talking their way out of trouble (or talking their way into trouble). It also makes them a little more dynamic than the warrior-hero archetype. Rothfuss strikes a great balance between the genius of Kvothe’s character (he learns fast, has great instincts for almost all his studies) and his flaws—he still has obstacles he finds difficult to overcome. He is intelligent, but occasionally foolish, and brash, sometimes over confident. He is limited by his background as part of a travelling troupe as much as he his aided by it.
There is an overarching story that the book sets up but delves little into. Despite this, I didn’t feel in too much of a rush for that side of things to develop. The drama of Kvothe’s life as he moves from travelling performer to street urchin to university student keeps the reader hooked. There is also an expansive world with different magic systems, from runes and artificery to more abstract controlling-the-elements-by-speaking-their-names. The wider world is nicely constructed, with different peoples and customs that intersect at different places. It gives the setting depth, and let’s the reader know that there is more to explore.
The story slows down a little towards the last third, around the time that Kvothe finds out that he’s a heterosexual male and that women exist. Periods of courtship and pining after an elusive and mysterious woman become a little drawn out at times, but I can see why they’re there, and it doesn’t stall things for too long. In the end, the relationship the protagonist has with his love interest does drive the story forward.
So, safe to say, I am hooked! This is an epic story with excellent character development and an expansive world. I look forward to reading The Wise Man’s Fear…
I first heard of Percival Everett when previews started coming out of American Fiction, the film based on Everett’s Erasure. About that time, I also started noticing adverts for James, his new reimagining of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn from the perspective of Jim, the enslaved man with whom Finn runs away. Apparently Everett is America’s best kept secret, and his work is only just making its way across the pond. So what was I supposed to do? Not buy it?
Full disclosure: I have never read Huckleberry Finn. This is probably a cultural thing; Mark Twain was never a part of the British education system, at least not when I was in school. We had endless supplies of Shakespeare, poetry anthologies, and the like, but, alas, no Twain. So much to say, I can’t comment much on the intersection between James and Huckleberry Finn.
What I can say is that I thoroughly enjoyed reading this novel. ‘Enjoy’ feels like a strange word to use for a book that focuses on such a dark side of human history, but Everett is clearly a master of his art. The focus on the use of language is excellent. Everett positions well the dichotomy between how enslaved people spoke with each other and how they spoke with the white men and women who purported to own them. In speaking with white people, they protected themselves by attempting to appear as they were perceived—simple, lacking intelligence. But in private, they were truly themselves, discussing life, love, politics, philosophy, and everything in between.
There are some excellent scenes, which have garnered much attention, where James meets with philosophers of old in his dreams. An avid reader, sneaking into his master’s library at night, in states of delirium he discusses the ethics of slavery with several of the European philosophers who had pontificated on the subject. There Everett explores the complexity of the arguments for and against slavery, showing how even those Europeans who were against slavery still had complex and often problematic views. This kind of sequence could have been gimmicky, but Everett pulls it off well. He never lingers too long, and doesn’t lean into it too hard, which is to the book’s benefit.
Though, confessedly, I don’t know Huckleberry Finn well, where I understand James diverges from its source material is where I think it is at its strongest. There are times where Finn and James are separated, and this gives Everett the freedom to explore more deeply the themes of justice and the experience of enslavement.
Overall, I rate this book very highly. It tackles a difficult topic in a novel and compelling way; and those who read Huckleberry Finn at school would do well to read this as a companion.
The Call of the Sea by Kate Schumacher is a maritime take on the Arthurian legends, told with an ensemble of characters and through multiple viewpoints. It is set in a land being changed—not for the better—by a monotheistic, orthodox religion (a thinly veiled critique of christianity) that seeks to keep women bound in their homes and sees homosexuality as sinful and shameful. It also seeks to rid the world of its old magic and those who can control it (hypocritically, of course, given that to detect magic one must possess magic). A series of events leads its three core characters—Jenyfer, Ordes and Arthur—on a mission to find themselves, find each other, and, yes, find the grail.
The story is beautifully told, with vivid descriptions of the scenery and subtle world building. At the heart of the story are the relationships between the characters, romantic and otherwise, and they are deliciously lustful and thirsty for each other (be prepared for lots of burning flesh and clenching legs). The pacing is consistent and slow, with plenty of time for reflection and characterisation. This might put some people off, but it is deliberate, and it works, and people looking for a break from breakneck pace will find something to love here.
Given its emphasis on the persecution of women and gay people, the author is not afraid to tackle difficult subjects. There are some graphic scenes, so just be warned going in.
The first in a trilogy, this book does more to set up the characters and the problems affecting the world, so don’t expect much resolution as you get to the end. But, given the richness and depth of the world, I don’t doubt that after finishing this you will be hungry for the next instalment.
This series will forever be one of my favourites. It was my favourite as a boy and, rereading the books now, I’m still in love. And how could I not be? The world is expansive and diverse, the characters are relatable and compelling, and the illustrations are beautiful (especially in the print books—the ebook version, perhaps not so much… the limitations of technology! Though the maps and many illustrations are available from the official website).
The series is set on The Edge, a jutting piece of rock that sits amidst a vast expanse—no one has travelled far enough over the edge (outward, upward, or downward) and returned. A river flows into nothingness. But on The Edge are lush and dangerous forests, barren wastelands, marshes and mires, towns and cities (including the floating city of Sanctaphrax). The world is populated by a wide variety of different creatures, some coexisting, some not, from humans to humanoid beings, spindly-legged spider-like creatures, flesh-eating trees, giant banderbears, and much more in between.
The series follows The Edge at different stages, with storylines focusing on a core of interrelated characters, all descendants of the same family across different generations. The epochs are defined by the stages of flight they go through, from ships mounted with lighter-than-air stones (flight rocks) able to keep them afloat in the sky, to specially varnished buoyant woods, to more industrial sky ships powered by stormphrax.
Sky pirates feature heavily, especially in the first two trilogies centred on Twig and Quint (one of the key reasons, obviously, why I love it), and the stories are bound together by sweeping adventures. The reader is taken to the variety of places across The Edge, and they meet numerous different peoples and societies, all wonderfully imagined. Within this world, the stories are able to tackle different themes: race and difference, identity and belonging, nature and industry, slavery and freedom—alongside the more familiar themes of good and evil, right and wrong.
The world created by Paul Stewart and Chris Riddell is captivating and formidable. Enter at your peril, and be prepared to be swept along in breathless adventures to the farthest reaches of the land—and beyond!
Starship Troopers is perhaps Robert Heinlein’s most widely known work. Set in a future 700 years from now, it details an interstellar war between the humans of earth and an alien species referred to as ‘bugs’. On one hand a coming of age novel, on the other, a exploration of political philosophy, it has garnered both praise and criticism. It follows Johnny Rico as he rises through the ranks in the Terran Federation’s army. In 1997, a film was made, which (supposedly) satirised the views espoused by the book.
The book has been especially influential in its imagination of future war. This includes, in particular, the use of power armour, a type of mechanised exoskeleton, to enhance human combat abilities. Power armour has become a widespread feature of science fiction in books, films, and video games, notably inspiring figures like Iron Man, and many more besides. Heinlein goes into detail about how it is controlled, how communication lines are opened, and how the performance-enhancing capabilities of the suit are activated. It’s deeply riveting.
How true to life has this vision been? While using machinery to enhance human capabilities in warfare has been experimented with, with the advent of remote control technology and robotics, not to mention artificial intelligence, it is drone warfare that has become the new staple of twenty-first century combat. It has replaced the need for human presence in several combat situations, in particular aviation. By reducing the need for ‘boots on the ground’, it has enabled politicians to maintain support at home for wars abroad by lowering the number of casualties on their side. Conversely, drone warfare has deep ethical considerations, in particular the scope for impersonal and indiscriminate killing. This is not the vision presented by Heinlein, who keeps human soldiers central to the technology. In the book, it seems, it is the bugs that are drones, with central ‘brains bugs’ that direct and control fearless warrior bugs—which, like drones, have a complete lack of self-preservation.
Starship Troopers is complex in its politics. It presents a militarised view of the future, with citizenship earned through military service. This is justified and explored by Heinlein through the voice of Jean V. Dubois, Rico’s teacher of History and Moral Philosophy in school. Amidst this, it presents a vision of equality, where service, rather than economic status, race, or gender, is the pathway to citizenship. Despite this, gender lines are still drawn: the troopers are entirely men, pilots of the spaceships entirely women. The politics have become the most controversial aspects of the books; indeed, the film version of the book sought to parody what some interpret as fascist elements (though, in my opinion, it wasn’t particularly well done, and it didn’t help that the film views like a children’s movie that someone decided to imbue with an overabundance of gore). In particular, given its focus and support for militarism, combined with its critique of twentieth century society as morally corrupt (written, as it was, during a liberalising era and against the backdrop of the Cold War), some view it as a recruitment piece—propaganda to make military life seem exciting, honourable, and tantalising. In this it has its modern parallels, notably the Call of Duty franchise, which itself has been seen to glorify war.
Heinlein’s space age novel therefore has much to offer and much to criticise. One of its key failings, at least on my reading, was its lack of exploration of military tactics against an unusual enemy. It withholds a captivating combat scene until the very end, and only then does it explore how a race dependent on technology could fight against a caste-like species that communicated via a hive mind. Despite this, and despite the various other criticisms levied against it, Starship Troopers is an interesting read with relevance to this day. It remains worthy of our attention and critical engagement.
The recent boom in the use of generative AI in the writing and visual fields presents a host of opportunities and the same plus interest in challenges. ChatGPT, Bard, Dall-E, Sora, and a long list of others have burst onto the scene at alarming rates. They are powerful tools, but deeply flawed, and pose significant risks to users and artistic communities. They can be used to generate large amounts of text, images, video, and audio, that on the surface appear to be akin to skilled human creations.
Artificially generated images are flooding the internet, thanks to new generative AI tools
And they are only getting better. Their capacity for good must be weighed against their capacity for harm, as these models facilitate the spread of deep fakes and misinformation, amongst other ills. But if these tools are to be accepted by both the artistic community, and society more broadly, at least three things must happen.
AI must be used to augment rather than replace human labour
A fundamental concern with the introduction of generative AI tools is the mass loss of jobs that might result. Technological change is, seemingly, inevitable, and throughout human history tasks that required human (and animal) labour have been replaced by increasingly sophisticated machinery. This has had the effect of both eliminating or deskilling jobs and increasing productivity by augmenting skilled labour.
To ease any transition into new ways of working, change must be slow. Augmentation must be prioritised over replacement, and, if replacement is inevitable (there are reports that large amounts of paralegal work could be outsourced to AI, for example), this must happen slowly, and appropriate safety nets and meaningful retraining must be in place. If productivity gains are used to reduce the inputs to production, non-human inputs must be limited before human labour is limited.
Importantly—and this is a principle that should apply to any form of automation—the gains must go to the workers and labourers, rather than the capitalists. For far too long, productivity gains have made the wealthiest in our societies even wealthier, at the expense of the poorest and middle classes. For people to feel like they have a meaningful stake in society, and for them to accept the expected level of change, they have to stand to benefit.
Working with AI must be regarded as a specialism
As well as economic considerations, a cultural shift must take place. Where artists use AI in their artwork, this must still be seen as an exercise of their talent. It takes some skill to actually use AI tools to proper effect. Prompts require engineering with precision, outputs require altering in a painstaking iterative process. Often, outputs require manual editing or remastering. People will have to come to accept this as a skill in its own right, rather than see it as a form of cheating.
At the same time, knowing what goes into generating an image or a piece of writing in this way, we must also adapt our expectations. We should be increasingly critical of the outputs, holding artists and writers to higher standards. The spread of word processing software with in-built error detection has made us less accepting of spelling and grammatical errors—the same must be true of these new forms of AI. We must also be determined in our questioning: where is the artistry? What effort has gone into this? A fundamental essence of art is the sweat of the labour, the passion; we need to see how the artist has used their knowledge, skill, and experience to modify the output and ensure that it is fit for purpose—that it is fit for the story that they intend to tell.
People whose work or data is used in training models should be compensated
This is one of the most important barriers to acceptance. Given that many of the models available have been trained on artwork and creative works without the artists’ consent, it is regarded as immoral to then used said models to create artworks that replace the efforts of those very artists. The foundation of the image-based generative AI models is the artwork of innumerable creatives that are accessible on the internet; of text-based models, thousands of books that were scraped from eBook hosting sites. These works were offered for free, but, in violation of a fundamental principle of open access works, they were offered gratuit, but not libre. They could be accessed without cost, but that did not mean they could be used for any purpose. The people whose work this is have been wronged.
There is no easy remedy to this. But as a start, big tech firms need to licence peoples’ artwork and creative outputs, and uses must be made explicit in data collection. The artists should be free to name their price, or have their work retracted from the model. Though the outcome of the numerous court cases are far away, every thinking person who has looked upon this topic with a sympathetic eye should see that some form of theft has occurred. If it is too late to licence each and every work or piece of data that has gone into training the models—and if keeping the models rather than eradicating them is deemed a lesser of two evils—then the public deserves a share of the profits or some form of public ownership. Such profits should be earmarked for creative pursuits and education.
These firms have taken from the creative space without consent to create tools that directly harm the people they stole from. If these tools are indeed here to stay, they must be prepared to give back to the community that they have wronged.
Peter R. S. Thomas 