Review: Death by Silver by Melissa Scott and Amy Griswold

Death by Silver is a classic murder mystery that brings gay romance and a fascinating magic system to Edwardian England.

Cover by Matthew Bright

In 2013, Amy Griswold and Melissa Scott self-published Death by Silver, going on to win a Lambda Award the following year. Now in time for the tenth anniversary, the book is being republished by Queen of Swords Press.

In this historical fantasy, magic can be learned by anyone with the right education. Ned Mathey is a metaphysician who trained at Oxford and who is finding money a bit tight after establishing his business as a practitioner. When he is approached by the father of his childhood bully to check the family's silver for a curse, he is reluctant to take the job. However, the money is decent and it is a straightforward job... up until his client turns up dead days later. To help clear his name, he seeks help from Julian Lynes, boyhood friend and lover, now a private detective.

Death by Silver deftly weaves fantasy, romance and mystery together into a seamless whole. The natural comparisons here are with KJ Charles's series A Charm of Magpies and with Jordan Hawk's Whybourne and Griffin. However, it is worth noting that the romance is different in a few key elements. Death by Silver opens with an existing relationship between the protagonists. Having met at school and become lovers, Ned and Julian drifted apart when they went to university, though never entirely lost touch. Having recently reconnected, their relationship is best characterised as friends with benefits. Each wants something more, but are uncertain of the other and unwilling to make the first move. This relies on a reluctance to communicate which may annoy some readers, even if the reasons for this reluctance are somewhat understandable on both sides.

Another difference from the comp titles is the treatment of sex. While it unequivocally takes place, the action fades to black rather than features explicitly on the page, which may suit readers of historical fantasy and mystery rather more than dedicated readers of romance and erotica.

However, even though the story features no explicit sex, it is by no means without landmines. I would give content warnings for bullying, as well as physical and sexual abuse. Most of this occurs in flashback scenes detailing Ned and Julian's time at boarding school together.

The main characters are a study in contrasts, tending to fall into the sunshine/storm-cloud trope but with a little more nuance than usual. Ned is almost universally beloved, a sportsman who also has a talent for magic. While he may not be exactly cheery all the time, he nevertheless has a relatively sanguine outlook on life.

Julian, on the other hand, tends to be the sharper of the two. He has an ongoing war with his landlady and a tendency to use magic in the place of drugs, to energise or calm himself down. He has more of an affinity for literature and art, though he detests the opera, and is from a lower class background than Ned.

Unsurprisingly for a mystery, there is a strong theme of justice throughout the book. This is one of the more subtle areas of difference between the main characters. Julian, of course, is the more extreme of the two. Even as a boy, he had a well developed sense of injustice and is inclined to speak out, paired with a willingness to take matters into his own hands where society turns a blind eye. Ned tended to go along with the conventionally accepted, even if it isn't really fair. He tempered Julian's more extreme impulses. As they grow and mature, these attitudes shift closer together.

As is often the case in m/m romance, the female characters are rather less detailed than their male counterparts and tended to serve as plot functions. However, I recognise that it is hard to flesh out every character and still have a plausibly long suspect list for a murder mystery. One of the best realised female characters was Ned's secretary, Miss Frost, who was a charming during her somewhat rare appearances. Keen to study magic, she is hampered by society's attitudes regarding what is appropriate for women. Nevertheless, she is able to offer some important insights that further the investigation.

Which brings me to the magic system. This was for me one of the most fascinating elements of the book. Death by Silver is the first in the Lynes and Mathey series, a punny name that, in addition to referring to the title characters, is also an allusion to the magic system. Magic or planetary squares form the basis for this system, and are an element that has been part of occult practice for hundreds of years. Much like sudoku, planetary squares are a grid of numbers where each line and column adds up to the same number—generally one significant to the planet associated with the particular grid. This is then paired with alphabets so that sigils can be generated by tracing a path between the numbers that correspond to the letters of any given word. Hence lines and math.

The story at times lacks a bit of clarity around how a given spell is cast, perhaps relying on knowledge of the historical process to fill in the gaps or simply allowing space for readers to use their imaginations. However, where it excels is in the worldbuilding tied to the magic. Planetary squares lend themselves well to the kind of institutionalised learning that's featured in Death by Silver; they become just another thing to be learned alongside multiplication tables and Latin vocabulary. This is reinforced by adding a kind of grammar system to the construction of spells—get the word order wrong and you could have quite the mess on your hands.

There's also an interesting intersection with the time period. While I'm a little hazy on the exact year, the technology and fashion suggest the Edwardian Era. Certainly, we're post Industrial Revolution, with its ability to mass produce items. This includes magic kits; trace the sigils as they are laid out for you and you too can trap a burglar or banish your acne. Or, more likely, you could lose your money and end up needing to call in a trained metaphysician to clean up the result. Such details show the consideration that has been given to the worldbuilding and provide a wonderful richness to the setting.

The plot is a classic mystery format. I found the ultimate villain perhaps a touch predictable, but not overly so.

All in all, I found it a delight to read and can easily see how it earned a Lammy. The sequel is due to be released in December and I am already looking forward to it.

The Math

Baseline Assessment: 8/10

Bonuses: +1 for excellent magic world building, +1 for deft balancing of fantasy, romance and mystery elements

Penalties: -1 for flat female characters, -1 for the lack of communication between characters

Nerd Coefficient: 8/10

POSTED BY: Elizabeth Fitzgerald, a writer, binge reader, tabletop gamer & tea addict. @elizabeth_fitz@ wandering.shop

References

Death by Silver. Griswold, Amy, and Scott, Melissa (Queen of Swords Press, 2023)

The Magpie Lord. Charles, K.J. (KJC Books, 2013)

Widdershins. Hawk, Jordan L. (Widdershins Press LLC, 2012)

Rereading The Old Kingdom Series by Garth Nix

 First published 27 years ago, the Old Kingdom series by Garth Nix was a big part of many people’s childhoods, but does it still hold up to a reading in 2023? Elizabeth and Roseanna look back at the original three books of Sabriel, Lirael and Abhorsen, and reflect on how their opinions of the series have changed, and how they’ve stayed the same. 

Sabriel follows a young woman as she leaves school and heads back across the Wall into her mysterious home country, after finding out that something has happened to her father. Who happened to be a necromancer, and has been teaching her to follow in his footsteps - not to raise the dead, as most necromancers do, but to lay them to their final rest. Her journey into the Old Kingdom will reveal to her how little she knows of her craft, the charter magic of her homeland, her father and her heritage, and will test her resolve as she faces an evil far greater than she anticipated.

Roseanna: I first read Sabriel when I would have been about 12 - it came out in Australia in the 90s, but didn’t make it to the UK until 2002 - and I was exactly the right age to fall completely in love with it. There’s a strong memory that still sits with me of some book-selling group coming into my school with a pile of various delights, and of me seeing the UK hardback edition, which was bright white, with an extremely fancy clear plastic dust jacket with a gold illustration on and thinking to myself “ooooooh”. The series was also one of the first I remember reading with female characters I genuinely liked and thought were well done, ones that seemed heroic and exciting and like people whose adventures I wanted to follow. That it was set in a gorgeous world with an interesting magic system was absolutely a bonus, but it was the characters that really did it for me the first time around, and who kept bringing me back to the series over and again.

Elizabeth: Honestly, I’m not sure I can remember exactly how I first came across the series – it seems almost by osmosis. Certainly, I’d read it by 2004 when I started studying Creative Writing at the same university as Garth Nix, where he was something of a hometown hero. Although I was in my early twenties, the mix of adventure and magic drew me in and kept me hooked. I’m not much of a rereader (there are always so many new books!) so the details have faded over the years. But the Abhorsen’s bells remain etched clearly in my memory.

Roseanna: One of the things that really stuck with me after reading the series for the first time was the magic system - particularly the bells. It’s one of the best examples I remember reading as a child of a magic system that manages to be neat, easily comprehensible and fully integrated into the world-building. The bells aren’t just bells, the Abhorsen isn’t just a person, they’re all woven into other parts of the Old Kingdom, and this only gets deepened and deepened as the series goes on - the more we learn, the more we understand how things fit together. And part of how well that worked was the little rhymes that explained parts of it - even years after I first read the books I could recite you segments of them, because they were catchy and exactly the sort of thing that would be taught to children, or memory rhymes, or other bits and bobs - the world-building works in the how, as well as the what, and I love that it captured child-my imagination.

Elizabeth: I love what you said about the bells not being just bells. Not only does each one have a particular purpose – a particular kind of magic it’s used for – but even a personality. Some are serious, others mischievous, and all worthy of caution. They even correspond to a particular Precinct of Death and the way that precinct manifests: whether the river of death comes in tidal waves or looks calm but has hidden potholes.

In addition to mnemonic rhymes, the lore of the world offers a visual language in its heraldry: the silver key of the Abhorsen, the gold tower of the King, the silver trowel of the Wallmakers. We know our heroes by their colours.

That visual language is less well defined when it comes to the magic itself, but is no less evocative for allowing the readers to picture their own Charter Marks. 

Roseanna: And the Charter Marks are such a neat part of how the world is visualised - not least because they’re everywhere. Magic isn’t distant and ethereal in the story as we see it. Important places and objects are spelled, and to those who have been baptised with a Charter Mark are able to see, and read in what they see, the magic in the world around them. It means that our characters – and especially Lirael in the second book, who is a skilled Charter Mage working in a library full of peculiar, old and magical objects – connect us to the lore of the world simply by looking around. 

I love too that this is tied into how the books are presented. The British editions I had as a child were bold, plain hardcovers with a single charter mark each on the cover, while the paperbacks that came after had smaller marks printed all over them in clear gloss, so they were invisible until they caught the light - just as we are told of the marks in the story. For twelve year old me, that felt utterly magical… and still does to my somewhat older self now.

But the magic isn’t just the written symbols - there are links to all sorts of other elements, many of which are older, more folkloric, and so while we learn about one part, the other parts – especially around the Free Magic side of things, or the wardings and bindings – feel already familiar.

Elizabeth: Part of this is because Nix draws on existing folklore to create the Old Kingdom and its magic. For example, when Lirael is researching how to banish a powerful Free Magic creature, the book she finds tells her to use “...an ensorcelled sword or a rowan wand, charged with the first circle of seven marks for binding the elements…” Rowan has long been popular in European folklore for holding protective properties, and rowan growing by stone circles – echoed by the Charter Stones of the Old Kingdom – was believed to be the most potent. This weaving together of old folklore with the unique elements of the world grants it a solid foundation and that feeling of strange familiarity.

It’s also an element of world-building that points to the strong influence of English children’s literature. After all, this is European folklore, European plants, not Australian like the author. While this is a common trend among Australian fantasy, it is by no means a foregone conclusion. For example, Cecilia Dart-Thornton’s Bitterbynde Trilogy (the first book of which was published in the same year as Lirael) subtly weaves in Australian flora and fauna into the background of a tale strongly influenced by English fairy lore. Much more recently, Sam Hawke’s Poison Wars books eschews our world entirely in favour of making up plants and poisons from whole cloth.

In the Old Kingdom Trilogy, we get rowan and Charter Stones. Across the Wall in Ancelstierre, we get boarding schools, bobbed hair and firearms. Although Sabriel isn’t strictly a portal fantasy, the story functions in much the same way. In rereading it, I felt like I had stepped into a world adjacent to the Chronicles of Narnia… although one with rather stronger representation of women.

Roseanna: And this is one of the things that really drew me to the stories as a child - Sabriel herself, despite being young, and often afraid or out of her depth, was the first protagonist I remember reading in a “proper” book who was both female and fighty, and she’s written with a depth and reality that really sells it, rather than just being the pattern of a 90s female action hero, who has to be all machismo and “one of the boys” to fit in. Especially with her all-girls-school, jolly-hockey-sticks background, she feels grounded in a realistic idea of a young woman on a journey, albeit one who has been learning to do necromancy since she was very young and taking fighting arts classes at school.

It isn’t just Sabriel herself though - Lirael too manages a great balance of competence, inner strength and doubt, as well as being the first representation of depression I recall reading. She’s not strong in the same way as Sabriel; her fighting skills aren’t at all her focus. But she’s compelling, willing to go out and achieve what needs achieving, and brave confronting dangers those around her find difficult to face.

What they both contrast beautifully is the men around them too. It seems to be something of a theme in Nix’s work to write competent women who, for all their turmoil, get the job done, alongside men with strong emotional focuses who, for whatever reason, are unwilling or unable to solve the problems of the story alone, or struggle to live up to the roles set out for them. For Sabriel, it’s Touchstone, a man out of time being overcome by guilt over his past actions, to the point of sometimes being unable to act at all. For Lirael, it’s Sam, the man who is supposed to be learning necromancy to follow in his mother’s footsteps, but fears the dead, the bells and Death itself right into his bones. Neither man is weak, both of them are brave at points in the plot and very good at their areas of expertise, but neither have the driving determination and ability to just Get On with things that their female counterparts have. This holds true even among the side characters - the whole series is peopled with various no-nonsense women who just get on with things, including an entire glacier of matriarchal seers.

This isn’t even restricted to just the human women - Lirael’s Disreputable Dog companion epitomises the exact same attitude in her oft-repeated statement of “it’s better to be doing” whenever any of the characters get a little too mopey for her liking.

Elizabeth: Contrast this with Mogget, arguably the most memorable of Nix’s animal companions. This powerful and somewhat malevolent spirit has been forced to take the shape of a white cat for so long that he has taken on many of the traits of that form. The contrast here is not like that between the female and the male characters of the book; Mogget does not by any means have a strong emotional focus and would be perfectly happy to Get Things Done, if this meant burning them to the ground. Instead, he contrasts the Disreputable Dog’s drive to action with pure laziness. For the most part, he rides around in the backpack of his companion and rarely takes initiative, responding only to commands and providing snarky comments.

Actually, that’s not entirely accurate. Mogget does have a driving focus on eating fish.

While Mogget may be the most well-remembered animal companion of not just the Old Kingdom Trilogy, but Nix’s oeuvre, the Disreputable Dog is particularly significant for being the first of Nix’s many canine companions. His middle-grade fantasy adventure Frogkisser! springs to mind. This story has a pack of canine advisers to the royal family. They're presided over by a matriarch, and one of the younger dogs serves as a companion to the main character on her adventures.

Nix’s adult works are less likely to feature canine companions, but are not entirely devoid. For example, his 2006 story “Dog Soldier”, published in Jim Baen’s Universe. In the story, a military engineer on the front of a space war receives a package from R&D containing a robot with the mind of a dog.

However, while canine companions are more prevalent in Nix’s work for younger audiences, one does not need to be young to appreciate them – or, indeed, the themes of the Old Kingdom Trilogy.

Roseanna: Absolutely. And this was something that was particularly obvious to me coming back to reread as an adult - there’s a strong theme in both Sabriel and Lirael of the death of one’s childhood and childhood dreams, and moving past them to becoming the person you’ll be as an adult, which hits really hard in a way it didn’t when I first read them. In many ways, some of the themes become more appropriate to someone reading them looking back, rather than forward, as you have the experiences to really appreciate how well those emotions have been put across on the page. Unsurprisingly for books that centre the experience of death, however fantastically, they are often unflinching in dealing with hard topics in ways that make them both appropriate for a young audience while still poignant to older readers. The darkness and emotionality never overwhelms the more fun aspects of the stories, but neither are they trivialised and sidelined. 

There is a sadness running through so many of the characters’ stories - Touchstone, trapped out of time and away from everyone he ever knew and loved, forced to reckon with the worst of his own experiences alone, at least at first; Sabriel, facing the death of her father right on the cusp of her potential adult opportunity to join him in her homeland; Lirael, constantly reckoning with the idea that she may never achieve the one thing that her family seem to think is worth being, and the loneliness of never being part of the community that surrounds her. There is depression, suicidal ideation and a lot of really sensitively handled big topics that I think just become better and better when you come back to them.

And for me, they are at the heart of what makes these somewhat timelessly good stories. They have a solid emotional core that rewards new perspectives from the reader, and in many ways feels sufficiently universal to be able to touch something in everyone, even if it may not be quite the same something.

Elizabeth: I think you’re right about there being something here for everyone. Even if the reader is not taken in by Lirael’s teenage angst – or her desperate and genuine need for belonging that is so relatable – there’s Sabriel repeating (and, arguably, making worse) her father’s mistakes in raising her own children. 

It may have been the magic and adventure that enchanted us as young readers, but the themes hold wisdom that will have us coming back all our lives.

Review: Valentine by Jodi McAlister

Valentine remains one of Australia's most underrated YA fantasies.

It's crunch time for me as the deadline for judging the Aurealis Awards rapidly looms. Since I was unable to figure out how to squeeze one more thing into my already crammed reading schedule, I thought I would offer this old review of mine on a book I consider to be one of Australia's most underrated YA fantasy novels. I've added a few extra thoughts here and there.

Pearl is one of four children in her town born on Valentine's Day. One of them is a changeling, but not even the Unseelie fae hunting them know which one of them it is.

This was definitely a case of "right book, right time" for me. I'd meant to review something else, but it was clear from the first page that we weren't going to get along. Since I had a Monsterhearts game coming up, I thought I'd give Valentine a go instead. It turned out to be the perfect mood-setter.

But I think I was always going to love this book. As I've mentioned before, I was a huge fan of Holly Black's Tithe, and Valentine hits many of the same buttons. The book starts off with a strange event -- a black horse mysteriously showing up at a party -- and things get stranger around Pearl. If you like your faeries with teeth, this is definitely a book to check out. It makes use of some of the less commonly known or used pieces of faerie lore, such as elflocks, though it doesn't always play them straight.

Pearl isn't stupid and recognises something weird is going on, though she sometimes wavers in that belief. She's a relatable character in many ways, taking her responsibilities seriously and angsting over what other people think of her. She's brave and loyal, while also being afraid and, at times, hypocritical. She neglects her best friend but doesn't hesitate to put herself in danger for the people she cares about.

The book is told in first person and is lightly sprinkled with pop-culture references and text speak. This is not going to suit everyone. I thought it contributed to making Pearl's voice a strong one. The reference to the eternal conundrum of Sherlock vs Elementary made me smile. Facebook also plays a role in the plot as a way the characters keep in contact. Valentine embraces the modern era, rather than trying to work around it.

Of course, this may work less well from the perspective of 2023. After all, who uses Facebook anymore? Certainly not teenagers like Pearl and her friends. The drawback with incorporating current trends in technology, social media and pop culture is that it serves to date the book, and sometimes quite rapidly (my goodness, how the world has changed since 2017). This may not be a problem for older audiences, but may make it a little less accessible or appealing to the target audience.

One thing that never gets old for me is a good enemies-to-lovers story (or at least an on-page relationship that starts out in antagonism). It's clear from the outset that Finn isn't as disdainful of Pearl as she is of him, though that doesn't prevent him from expressing anger and irritation towards her where it's warranted. Watching Pearl's opinion of him grow and improve was a delight.

Not everyone is going to like the ending, particularly since it deviates from certain genre expectations, but I found it a mature change. In fact, the series as a whole handles consent in a pretty healthy way, making it easy for me to recommend.

The story is also set in Australia, which results in some subtle cultural shifts. The common US stereotypes of jocks, nerds and goths are absent. Instead, there are some distinctly Australian elements, like school captains and Pearl's job as a lifeguard at the local pool.

Overall, I found Valentine a fresh and intelligent take on faerie YA urban fantasy and one very appropriate to the current season.

The Math

Baseline Assessment: 8 /10

Bonuses: +1 for fairies with teeth, + 1 for mature handling of consent

Penalties: -1 for dated use of pop culture and social media

Nerd Coefficient: 9/10

POSTED BY: Elizabeth Fitzgerald, a writer, binge reader, tabletop gamer & tea addict. @elizabeth_fitz@wandering.shop

References

McAlister, Jodi. Valentine. (Penguin Teen Australia, 2017)

Black, Holly. Tithe. (Simon Pulse, 2002)

Microreview [book]: Wolfpack by Rem Wigmore

 Wolfpack is a spiky solarpunk that wrestles with questions of leadership and belonging.

Cover by Layla Rose Mutton-Rogers

Wolfpack is the second book in the Foxhunt series, so spoilers ahoy! Also, please be aware that this review (and the book being reviewed) contains passing references to suicide. While this series has many traits of solarpunk in its worldbuilding and its focus is on healing, the inclusion of material relating to trauma, violence, mental health and disaster (both natural and manmade) makes it a little spikier than other examples of the subgenre.

For those new to the series, it is set in a version of our world in which humanity has managed to step back from the brink of ecological disaster. It has done so by instituting some strict rules about the reasonable use of resources and enshrining the laws of hospitality. When someone breaks those laws, the Order of the Vengeful Wild is called. While the Order's mission may be noble, they have a well-earned reputation for bloodshed and violence.

The story picks up two months after the previous book. The previous Leader of the Order, Luga, committed suicide in a way that framed Orfeus, making her Leader. Orfeus went along with it because it put her in a position to implement changes to the Order, such as a no-kill policy.

Her relationship with Faolan remains uneasy. He's still very much in love with her, but resents her for having killed his surrogate father figure. He also feels the changes she has implemented come from weakness. While the story is mostly focused on Orfeus, one thread shows Faolan coming to terms with the fact Luga was not a good father to her and had no intention of handing over leadership to her. She also wrestles with the nature of leadership: can it be done without the self-destructive sacrifice Luga believed was necessary? Can it instead be done like a pack, a family?

As a side note, if the pronouns in the previous paragraph just did your head in, an important element of this series is its representation of gender. Faolan's pronouns tend to alternate between he and she. There are also a variety of other pronouns used throughout the story. A number of the characters are transgender, including Orfeus. And if there's a straight, cis-gender character anywhere in the book, I must have overlooked them. (As a straight, cis-gender woman, I'm fine with that).

The Order has undergone some membership turnover since the previous book. One or two members left, unwilling to tolerate Orfeus' leadership. A new member was also gained and is finding eir feet with Orfeus' support. The relationship that develops between Velvet Worm and Orfeus is rather sweet and a good counterpoint to some of Orfeus' other relationships.

Speaking of which, Orfeus too has finally found a place she belongs, though she is slow to realise that. Being used to thinking of herself as an outsider makes it difficult for her, as does the baggage that comes with some of her relationships, particularly Faol and Tai. She is quick to protect others, but can get prickly around them wanting to protect her.

There's a lot in this story about belonging. Another thread of this book focuses on Jean, a runaway from a cult. Jean's path soon crosses with Arcon, an AI programmed to protect a DNA bank Orfeus damaged in one of her ill-conceived adventures. Jean's upbringing with the Truest Church of the Most Ancient God (which is most definitely Christian inspired) leads him to conceive of Arcon as an angel, so when Arcon asks for the use of Jean's body (being damaged and needing somewhere to store his nanites), Jean agrees.  Jean has been looked down on by the cult he grew up in and Arcon has been lonely without company for decades, perhaps gone a little mad and suffering from errors in his programming. They don't always see eye-to-eye, but they do find belonging together.

But going back to Orfeus' ill-conceived adventures, I found the story a little frustrating in places because it is one of those stories where the characters just need to sit down and have an honest conversation. Orfeus is aware of this need, but works to avoid it, instead opting for grand gestures which tend to leave destruction in her wake (sometimes physically, sometimes emotionally). Her tendency towards keeping her intentions hidden and actively lying about them damages her relationships. While the honest conversations do happen eventually, it's still pretty annoying, especially since I'm not sure Orfeus really learns from her mistakes. I certainly appreciate a flawed character, but there needs to be a sense that they can learn and grow; Orfeus' tendency to make the same or similar mistakes makes it difficult to trust she has changed.

Although Wolfpack makes a reasonable entry point for the series, with the history behind ongoing relationships being either explained or easily inferred, I'd recommend starting the series from the beginning. Returning readers will enjoy cameos from characters from the previous book, such as Orfeus' neighbour Linden and Rivasoa, the Archivist of Eldergrove.

The book offers a reasonably satisfying conclusion while leaving the way wide open for more. There's a looming threat left as a loose end and while some of Orfeus' relationships are left in a good place, others are in need of repair.

The Math

Baseline Assessment: 6/10

Bonuses: +1 for the sheer diversity of queer representation, +1 for mature handling of themes of family and belonging

Penalties -1 for Orfeus' dubious personal growth

Nerd Coefficient: 7/10

POSTED BY: Elizabeth Fitzgerald, a writer, binge reader, tabletop gamer & tea addict. @elizabeth_fitz@ wandering.shop

References

Wolfpack. Wigmore, Rem (Queen of Swords Press, 2023)

Microreview [book]: Daughters of the Storm by Kim Wilkins

Daughters of the Storm is an epic fantasy that centres women and allows them the space to be flawed.

Australia has a long history of female authors of fantasy; we've been known to look confused when claims are made that there hasn't been women writing fantasy until recently. One of the reasons for this is Sara Douglass. A pioneer of Australian fantasy, she beat George R.R. Martin to the punch, with her debut novel Battleaxe released a year before A Song of Ice and Fire. Her epic fantasies were an international success at a time when breaking into the US market was all but unheard of. To quote the Aurealis Awards:

Sara Douglass was the flagship author of the HarperVoyager Australian line, which launched the careers of many of our most popular writers, and paved the way for the vibrant and diverse speculative fiction scene Australia has today. Sara’s contribution to the state of speculative fiction in Australia cannot be underestimated...

After she died in 2011, and with permission from her estate, the Sara Douglass Book Series Award was established in conjunction with the Aurealis Awards. The inaugural award was presented in 2016 and is given only once every three years.

The 2021 award was presented earlier this year to Kim Wilkins for the Blood and Gold series. The first book in the series is Daughters of the Storm, and is a fitting successor to Sara Douglass.

When the king of Thyrsland falls into a coma, his five daughters gather at his side to investigate the cause and determine the fate of the kingdom. This is a character-driven epic fantasy told in close third person. I actually tripped over the perspective in the prologue because at first it seemed to me to be coming from the king. It turned out to actually be coming from his wife, the step-mother of the five princesses. This seemed to me to be pretty appropriate for the book, which centres women in a traditionally male-dominated genre.

It's a story that tends somewhat towards the grimdark. Each of the daughters has a very distinct character with definite flaws. While I tend to prefer my characters to be more likeable, I appreciated that they were given the space to be unlikeable and in a variety of ways. With so many female characters present, there's no danger of them needing to be the sole representative (or one of very few) of their gender; they get to be well-rounded people.

Bluebell is the eldest daughter and heir apparent. She's the sister most likely to be voted the Strong Female Protagonist: a fearsome warrior and commander, rumoured to be unkillable, and deeply devoted to her father. However, she's not much of a people person (even if she has her moments), coming across as a bit of a bully, and not always the brightest of sparks.

I admit it took me a bit to adjust to Bluebell as a warrior's name. In addition to undermining expected masculine norms, I suspect there's an aspect of playing with the Victorian language of flowers. According to Jessica Roux in Floriography, bluebells represent humility and faithfulness. While Bluebell is very faithful to her father (at least so far), humility is not exactly one of her key traits.

Likewise, rose represents love. As the second of the sisters, and perhaps the most beautiful, Rose was married off to the ruler of the neighbouring kingdom. Her affair with the king's nephew threatens to jeopardise an already fragile peace. While her desire to follow her heart is most certainly sympathetic to a modern audience -- along with her desire to be treated as more than just a womb -- her tendency to want what she can't have casts a shadow over her love.

I found Ash to be perhaps the most sympathetic of the sisters. In training as a counsellor of the common faith, she finds her gifts of magic and precognisence stronger than the order finds acceptable... and growing stronger daily. When she receives a mental message from Bluebell regarding the state of their father, she flees for home, haunted by a premonition of her own death. Even as she slowly embraces her powers, her priorities remain muddled, torn between loyalties.

The twins Ivy and Willow are rather younger than their siblings. Ivy is thoroughly spoiled and boy-crazy, quickly developing a crush on Heath, Rose's secret paramour. Willow has much more backbone, tending to take after her sister Bluebell. However, she's a convert to the foreign Trimartyr religion and views her sisters as heathens, encouraged by the voices of the angels she apparently hears. This analogue of Christianity is not portrayed in a particularly flattering light... but perhaps no worse than any of the other religions at play in the world.

For the most part, the story alternates between the perspectives of the sisters. However, we do get a token male perspective from Wylm, their step-brother. This perspective is necessary because he functions as an antagonist, and one who is often deceitful and acting alone. Thus we are able to see the true extent of his cowardice.

With so many threads to juggle, the pacing can be a bit slow in places. This is particularly the case towards the middle.

The setting seems heavily inspired by Viking-age England. There are small, feuding kingdoms plagued by raiders from the sea. A new, patriarchal religion is rising up against the old, more nature-focused warrior gods. Magic is part of the world view, which accepts (to varying degrees) the existence of elemental spirits and that a brain fever may instead be the effects of elf-shot. It even manifests in the language, where there are no bedrooms, only bowers.

As might be expected, given the genre, the story comes with some content warnings, including violence, sexual assault, and human and animal death.

While it's most definitely not my cup of tea, I nevertheless felt it was doing some interesting things and well deserving of the award it received.

The Math

Baseline Assessment: 8/10

Bonuses: +1 for the variety of female characters, +1 for balancing flaws with understandable motivations

Penalties: -1 for occasional slow pacing

Nerd Coefficient: 9/10

POSTED BY: Elizabeth Fitzgerald, a writer, binge reader, tabletop gamer & tea addict. @elizabeth_fitz@wandering.shop

References

Wilkins, Kim. Daughters of the Storm [MIRA, 2014]

Roux, Jessica. Floriography [Andrews McMeel Publishing, 2020]

Microreview [book]: Legends and Lattes by Travis Baldree

A fun and food-focused comfort read.

As Roseanna mentioned last month, cosy fantasy is becoming increasingly prevalent. Legends and Lattes is a perfect demonstration of the subgenre's popularity. First self-published in February 2022, it was so successful that Tor quickly picked it up and is rereleasing it this month -- a fast turnaround for a notoriously slow industry.

The story focuses on Viv, an orc adventurer ready for retirement. Her injuries are racking up (her lower back has particularly been playing up), she's tired of her coworkers (or one of them, anyway), and she has a new dream: to open a coffee shop. So, she comes to Thune, finds a decrepit hostelry just off the main street and gets to work. But renovating and running a coffee shop is a big job, and Viv can't do it on her own.

Unsurprisingly then (it's a cosy fantasy, after all), this is a book about found family. Viv slowly collects the people she needs to see her dream become a reality. She starts with Cal, a builder and craftsman who Viv recruits to help with the renovations. Being a hob, he's not exactly overrun with work, but he is well established and good at what he does. His surprised response to Viv's trust in him was a little bittersweet. In return, he provides Viv with a good foundation and her first friend in Thune.

Next is Tandri, a succubus who answers Viv's advertisement for an assistant on the very day it is posted. Practical, enthusiastic and whip-smart, Tandri gives the café her all from the get-go, constantly coming up with new ideas to bring in customers and help things run more smoothly. In Tandri, Viv finds not only an assistant but a business partner and maybe something more.

 The rattkin Thimble is already a regular at the café when Viv starts looking for a baker. Like Cal, he's not much of a talker, but is keen to come on board if part of his wages include a steady supply of coffee. His delectable creations put Viv's café on the map... and will have you drooling as you read.

As may be obvious, this is very much a book centred around its characters. That said, we're not offered much in the way of backstory for them. It is enough to know that they are outsiders, for the most part. Because this is also a book about defying the expectations of society. As an orc, Viv is used to people watching her with distrust and expecting her to cause trouble or respond with violence. They don't expect her to become a neighbour or to serve food. Likewise, only fans of Ratatouille expect a ratkin to be a genius baker. Succubi like Tandri are supposed to exude sexuality, not to have a head for thaumaturgy.

Speaking of which, we get a modicum more backstory from Tandri to set the stage for a plotline involving a stalker. On the whole, I found this thread was pretty well handled. It was tame enough on the page not to interfere with the cosy vibe, but persistent enough for it to feel like a threat.

Balancing this characterisation of Tandri as not being defined by her sexuality with her romantic interest in Viv was also well handled. While it was a shade understated for my taste, it suited the story being told and is unlikely to send the romance adverse screaming in the other direction.

However, this general inversion of expectations doesn't always work. One place it felt a bit squishy was regarding the identity of the city's crime boss. I won't spoil that here; the reveal was fun and I rather enjoyed it. However, Viv's eventual arrangement with the Madrigal handwaves the fact that they remain a crime boss and by inference are causing harm to other parts of the community -- the same community that so heartwarmingly rallies around Viv when disaster does eventually strike.

The ending is perhaps a bit cliché, being very "the real treasure is the friends we made along the way," but that's to be expected of a cosy fantasy and works well in this context. Similarly, the beginning is a bit slow, being filled with details about the renovations and how to make coffee. That's not going to work for everyone, but does help set up a slice-of-life vibe that is part and parcel of the subgenre. 

This is billed as a high fantasy with low stakes. While it is unquestionably high fantasy, I'm not entirely sure I can agree that it's low stakes. It's true that the world or even the city isn't facing peril, but what can be higher stakes than the death of someone's dream?

So, if  you're looking for a fun and somewhat food-focused comfort read (and who isn't, these days?) Legends and Lattes may be just the treat you need.

The Math

Baseline Assessment: 6/10

Bonuses: +1 for the excellent cosy vibes, +1 for Thimble's delicious Midnight Crescents

Penalties: - 1 for the Madrigal's cognitive dissonance

Nerd Coefficient: 7/10

POSTED BY: Elizabeth Fitzgerald, a writer, binge reader, tabletop gamer & tea addict. @elizabeth_fitz

References

Baldree, Travis. Legends and Lattes [Tor Books, 2022]

Microreview: The Cruel Stars by John Birmingham

 Space Nazis set loose a plague of zombies and well-worn tropes in this epic military sci-fi.

Tomorrow marks the start of Conflux, Canberra’s convention for speculative fiction writers. For 2022 it is doing double duty as the Australian national speculative fiction convention. It has become my tradition to review something by a Guest of Honour wherever possible. This year that’s John Birmingham.

The Cruel Stars is the first in an anticipated trilogy of military sci-fi. It follows the perspectives of five survivors of an attack by the Sturm. The Sturm are explicitly described as space Nazis, obsessed with keeping humanity pure of the neural nets and other in-body technology that has become so pervasive. Having been defeated once many years ago, they return following a necrophagic virus they’ve engineered to turn anyone with implants into zombies, wiping out most of civilisation. It’s up to our survivors to defeat them once again.

While The Cruel Stars is a solid read, it’s not exactly breaking new ground. Rather, it weaves together a bunch of well-worn sci-fi elements into a complex pattern. Most people live several lifetimes, downloading their consciousness into new bodies when their current ones wear out. Skills are frequently downloaded rather than learned, like in the Matrix.

Lucinda Hardy is the commander of the only surviving warship in the Royal Armadalen Navy and a warrior who has worked hard to acquire her abilities in combat. Her scenes are the most traditionally military sci-fi, reminiscent of Battlestar Galactica and, later, anything with space marines. Having grown up in poverty, she feels out of place among the officers on her ship. Her Imposter Syndrome and the class issues her story touches upon give her some interesting dimensions, but not much time and space are devoted to exploring these issues in depth due to the sheer number of elements in play.

The characters of Sephina L’trel and Booker3 lean into different aspects of cyberpunk. Sephina is the head of an outlaw band who are in the middle of a gunfight when the virus takes hold around them. These characters play more into the sassy, criminal, Japanese-influenced aspects of cyberpunk. In contrast, Booker3 is on death row for his heretical belief that the soul is code that can be transferred between bodies and machines. He has much more of a Ghost in the Shell vibe, with faint echoes of Murderbot. Some of the forms into which he is downloaded prove rather amusing.

A very young princess of a corporation and a very crusty retired admiral round out the point-of-view characters, along with the admiral of the Sturm. The number of POV characters with their very different situations gives a good sense of the epic scale of the attack. However, cycling through all the different storylines makes the pace slow, at least until they begin to converge.

I am not a big fan of zombie stories (with a few notable exceptions), but found their use in The Cruel Stars drew me in. After the initial, very gruesome shock of them, the zombie presence in the story remained relatively light, mostly remaining as an obstacle to the use of technology so prevalent in this world.

The cast is reasonably diverse, but not without problems. Using a character’s phenotype as a shortcut description seems a curious choice in a book about space Nazis — even if those space Nazis are less concerned with race than technology. Also, did we really need to fridge the gays?

Disability continues to be a weak point of the cyberpunk genre. It seems assumed that disabilities have been largely engineered away, except in the case of Admiral McLennan, whose refusal to have a predisposition to cancer engineered away and whose reluctance to relife has him facing disaster in 54-year-old body — traits which are framed more as eccentricities than solid representation of disability.

It managed to weave in some distinctly Australasian elements, which I appreciated. These elements mostly tied into the setting. This is a far-future story, but still based in our world. The Royal Armadalen Navy that Lucinda serves is the military arm of the Commonwealth of Armadale. For context, Armadale is a suburb in the city of Perth in Western Australia which originally started life as a small colonial garrison. Lucinda is also mentioned as earning the Star of Valour in the Javan War. One of the most powerful corporations-cum-noble-houses is the Yulin-Irrawaddy Combine (though, as they are also one of the least ethical and most ruthless, perhaps not the most well-considered inclusion) and a number of characters are described as having South-east Asian phenotypes.

The writing style was noticeably clunky early on and particularly in the first chapter. I found this surprising from someone I would have considered a reasonably experienced writer. Fortunately, it improved as the book went on, finding its strength more in action sequences and big moments. 

That said, I did find the ending somewhat unsatisfying, with a deus ex machina that was more literal than most.

All in all, The Cruel Stars didn’t blow me away, but may appeal to more devoted readers of epic science fiction.

Microreview: Waking Romeo by Kathryn Barker

Juliet Capulet teams up with Heathcliff Ellis to bounce through time on a quest to revive her comatose husband in this award-winning YA sci-fi novel.

In my last review (of Mykaela Saunders' groundbreaking anthology This All Come Back Now) I mentioned that Lisa Fuller's short story "Don't Look" won two categories in this year's Aurealis Awards. It was not the only work to do so. Waking Romeo took out Best Science Fiction Novel and Best Young Adult Novel, suggesting it was worth a look. And it certainly was.

The year is 2083. It has been two years since the events of Romeo and Juliet. After their double suicide attempt, Romeo remains in a coma while Juliet survived with an impressive scar and a paralysed arm. She visits the hospital every day and writes her version of events while sitting by Romeo's bed.

But a comatose husband isn't Jules's only problem: the world is literally falling apart around her. 2023 saw the invention of time travel pods. These were flawed inventions that could only move forward in time. They were also unable to travel through space, which led to a grisly outcome for the occupant if they happened to materialise in the same space as an existing object. Despite these limitations, the world's population took to them in droves to avoid climate catastrophe and the general drudgery of life. So many people jumped forward in time that soon there wasn't enough people to sustain the current society and it began to collapse. No one stuck around to make the future better... so the Travellers kept jumping forward until they died.

Juliet belongs to the Settlement, a group of people who refuse to time travel... but they aren't exactly working towards a better future, either. They live off stock-piled food and clothing, toss their waste over the Wall, and even run the school like back in the old times. Juliet isn't exactly well-liked in the Settlement after the drama of her affair with Romeo and the resulting fallout. Nor is Jules interested in being liked, preferring to be a brooding loner marinating in her angst.

Then one day she meets a Traveller from the future.

Heathcliff Ellis (yes, that Heathcliff... more or less) was born in 1800 and is 18 years old. After being pushed off a cliff by an angry mob, he is rescued and is now living near the end of time with a group of other teenagers who call themselves the Deadenders. They have a superior form of time-travel that allow them to move freely through time and space. They carry out missions given to them by an AI called Frogs. Ellis's latest mission: wake Romeo.

As you might have gathered, the plot is absolutely bonkers. It's difficult to discuss without spoilers, thanks to all the twists, turns and time-travel shenanigans. Despite that, I didn't find it difficult to follow and I don't think it will be a problem for any science fiction fan.

The book is written using first person perspective, with chapters alternating between Jules and Ellis. These dual perspectives really help with the time travel elements of the book. There's a lot of jumping around through time, but the dual perspectives serve to drive the action forward so that the plot is always advancing. It also shows the way in which Jules and Ellis are often in different stages of their relationship with each other; whereas Jules may have barely met Ellis, he knows her quite well or vice versa. The contrast makes for some poignant moments.

The characters really made the story for me. Juliet isn't a sweet young girl in this story. Rather, Jules is angry and rebellious. She's constantly slouching around in hoodies, using the front pouch as a makeshift sling for her paralysed arm. She's a person of courage and action who is good at keeping things practical.

Ellis makes a good contrast. Although he's not exactly the most cheerful of people either in the beginning, he has some of the sweetness that Jules is missing. Time hasn't treated him well -- as he points out, there is never a good point in history to be Black -- but any resulting bitterness is a shallow thing more directed at himself than at others.

There are a lot of hefty themes within the book. Perhaps unsurprisingly, there's a lot of musing about our relationship to time and also love. It pushes back against instant love, maintaining that love -- and even friendship -- needs time to develop.

However, the book is also a lot about personal responsibility, of facing the difficult things and sticking around to fix them. It does an excellent job of showing this on both the big picture and the small, through the collapse of society and its commentary on climate catastrophe, as well as through life after Juliet's suicide attempt.

Another theme is about rewriting your own story. In order to cope with events, Juliet writes the version of her life that we all know and are familiar with. She loves Shakespeare and mimics his language and setting to distance herself from the events. But her memories bleed in around the edges, giving us a glimpse of a version less romantic (if you consider Romeo and Juliet romantic in the first place).

Ellis, meanwhile, shows the theme from an opposite perspective. He is haunted by Wuthering Heights, which isn't exactly the romanticised version of his life that Romeo and Juliet is for Jules. Rather, Emily Bronte shows the worst possible version of him, leaving Ellis feeling both betrayed and wracked with guilt.

This is a book that loves literature. In addition to playing with Romeo and Juliet and Wuthering Heights, it also riffs off Hamlet, especially in relation to Juliet's parents and their generation. From here, the second half of the book develops a theme of action vs inaction. To me, this felt a a little late to be flagging a theme, but it tied in nicely to its exploration of personal responsibility.

Lest you think it all highbrow with its references, the sharp eyed will catch a few nods to Taylor Swift and other more or less contemporary musicians.

As mentioned, it covers some dark content, though it does a good job of keeping the worst of it off the page. I would give content warnings for suicide, gun violence, racism and mob violence.

While I enjoyed the book immensely, it wasn't without its flaws. Readers hoping for an explanation of how time travel works will be disappointed; the focus is more on the characters and plot.

Ellis's ragtag Deadender friends were a charming motley, so I was disappointed there ultimately wasn't much done with them. They seemed largely around to make sure the plot moved forward.

But ultimately, this was a crazy rollercoaster of a story and I thoroughly enjoyed the ride.

The Math

Baseline Assessment: 7/10

Bonuses: +1 for the satisfying development of themes, +1 for excellent use of time travel

Penalties: -1 for the underdevelopment of the Deadenders

Nerd Co-efficient: 8/10

POSTED BY: Elizabeth Fitzgerald, a writer, binge reader, tabletop gamer & tea addict. @elizabeth_fitz

References

Barker, Kathryn. Waking Romeo [Allen and Unwin, 2021]

Bronte, Emily. Wuthering Heights [Thomas Cautley Newby, 1847]

Shakespeare, William, Hamlet

Shakespeare, William, Romeo and Juliet

Microreview: This All Come Back Now edited by Mykaela Saunders

Mykaela Saunders lovingly curates a mixtape of Australian First Nations speculative fiction in this ground-breaking anthology.

Australia's speculative fiction scene has long been very white. Indigenous speculative fiction has been particularly hard to find... until now. Editor Mykaela Saunders has brought together what may be Australia's first anthology of First Nations speculative fiction. In doing so, she follows in the tradition of such anthologies as So Long Been Dreaming: Postcolonial science fiction and fantasy edited by Nalo Hopkinson and Uppinder Mehan, and Walking the Clouds: An anthology of Indigenous science fiction edited by Grace L. Dillon.

This is a book worth reading simply for the introduction, or the Overture as it is called. Saunders frames the anthology as a mix tape, which I found to be a delightful concept. However, the Overture itself works as a sort of literature review, making it a good place for finding other resources (Australian and otherwise). It perhaps also gestures to the editor's academic background.

Saunders addresses the reasons for the dearth of Indigenous speculative fiction. To begin with, the term speculative fiction is a problematic one in relation to Indigenous writing. This broad category is largely defined as covering things that aren't considered real by Western cultures. However, some tropes popularly considered as speculative fiction are reality in an Indigenous worldview, such as the existence of ghosts, or time travel in a culture that experiences all time simultaneously.

Another reason for the difficulty in finding Indigenous speculative fiction is simply that Australian SFF publishers won't take it on... though I note that Australian SFF publishers have been in decline for a number of years, so any Australian author looking to be published on home turf is facing slim chances to begin with. Where Australian SFF publishers have turned Indigenous authors away, the Australian literary scene have been more welcoming. One does not need to look further than the reception of this anthology to see that playing out; most Australian literary review outlets have devoted space to discussing this book, while there have been crickets from speculative fiction outlets in Australia and beyond.

Awards, too, have tended to favour non-Indigenous writers of Indigenous stories, though there are signs this is starting to shift in the speculative fiction scene. Since the publication of this anthology, Lisa Fuller won two Aurealis Awards (Australia's premier juried speculative fiction award) for her story "Don't Look!". On the international SFF scene, Darcie Little Badger is also becoming a familiar face on the Hugo shortlists.

And again, while the SFF awards scene has not exactly been welcoming, it's quite a different case with literary awards. The contributors to this anthology are a well-decorated bunch, who seem to have won just about every literary award Australia has and a few more besides. They're also a multi-talented mob, with many being known for other forms of writing or art, such as poetry, journalism, music and visual art. Generally speaking, they are not writers at the beginning of their careers. Rather, This All Come Back Now is an anthology that has been carefully curated to show their best, with most of the stories being reprints.

But show to whom? The Overture states that this is an anthology written by and for First Nations people, and certainly the editor didn't make it easy to access by starting with "Muyum, A Transgression" by poet Evelyn Araluen. The story is a surreal trip through time and space, but beautifully evocative. Although I didn't entirely understand what was going on, I enjoyed it enough that I'll be trying Araluen's recent poetry collection Dropbear, once it makes its way through the long queue at the library.

After this evocative but challenging start, the stories settle into something a bit more accessible for a white (or at least Australian) audience. There's a wide variety of stories on offer.

"Closing Time" by Samuel Wagan Watson is a Covid-era story that examines what this time of isolation means to a character who is already feeling isolated.

The anthology also contains a story by Wagan Watson's father, Sam Watson Snr. The Kadaitcha Sung was the first Aboriginal speculative fiction novel, published in 1990, and the anthology has included an extract of this seminal work.

Kalem Murray and Lisa Fuller write horror stories about teaching the new generation the importance of respecting traditions around how and where to travel; there are some places one should never tread.

Alison Whittaker looks at transhumanism from an Indigenous perspective, particularly how it might be used as another form of colonisation or segregation. This sits interestingly with Protocols of Transference by Kathryn Gledhill-Tucker, which looks at the combination of Indigenous worldview and technology through the protagonist’s relationship with the robot they’re building.

Climate concern shows up in more than a few of the stories, including Muyum, A Transgression; Lake Mindi by Krystal Hurst (whose Big Fire is something any Australian and many Americans will find all too easy to picture); Nimeybirra by Laniyuk (which I loved for the solidarity envisioned with the Maori of Aotearoa); Water by Ellen van Neerven; An Invitation by Timmah Ball.

I particularly enjoyed Snake of Light by Loki Liddle. It was intense and a bit violent (as many vigilante stories are), but the surreal aspects were managed well and there was a queer edge I enjoyed.

The extract from Alexis Wright's The Swan Book showed her superb command of language.

As is usual with anthologies, there were a few stories that didn't really do much for me, but none I actively disliked. It doesn't always make for comfortable reading, but nor should it. Rather, it should be appreciated as a ground-breaking work that has been sadly overdue. May it open the gateway for more.

The Math

Baseline assessment: 7/10

Bonuses:  +2 for collecting together a representative sample of Indigenous speculative fiction, +1 for an excellent introduction placing the anthology in context.

Penalties: -1 for the challenging start to the collection.

Nerd co-efficient: 9/10

POSTED BY: Elizabeth Fitzgerald, a writer, binge reader, tabletop gamer & tea addict. @elizabeth_fitz

References

Saunders, Mykaela. This All Come Back Now [University of Queensland Press, 2022]

Araluen, Evelyn. Dropbear [University of Queensland Press, 2021]

Dillon, Grace L. Walking the Clouds: An anthology of Indigenous science fiction [University of Arizona Press, 2012]

Fuller, Lisa. “Don’t Look!”, Hometown Haunts: #LoveOzYA Horror Tales, [Wakefield Press, 2021]

Hopkinson, Nalo, and Mehan, Uppinder. So Long Been Dreaming: Postcolonial science fiction and fantasy [Arsenal Pulp Press, 2004]

Watson, Sam. The Kadaitcha Sung [Penguin, 1990]

Wright, Alexis. The Swan Book [Giramondo, 2013]

Brewing Community with Rem Wigmore

Brewing Community is a series of guest posts in which readers, writers, artists and fans are invited to share their experiences of community. Whether online or in person, these groups bring a great deal of support and sometimes stress to their members. The aim of Brewing Community is to share the joy and find ways to brew stronger communities.

The series first ran in 2015. In returning to it after several years, I wanted to focus on how these experiences of community may have changed in recent years, and how people would like to see them change, as well as delving into what books and media have brought comfort in difficult times.

When I put my blog on hiatus, I still had a few outstanding interviews. I'm delighted to be able to share them with you here at Nerds of a Feather. You can find the other interviews back at Earl Grey Editing. 

Today's guest is Rem Wigmore. Rem is an up-and-coming talent who is fast becoming a regular on the shortlists for the Sir Julius Vogel Awards. Even in Australia, books from New Zealand authors can be hard to get hold of, so I'd heard of Rem long before I got my hands on their work. Once I did, they didn't disappoint, and I devoured their queer, found-family solarpunk novel Foxhunt from Queen of Swords Press. I'm already counting the days until I can get my hands on the sequel. In the meantime, I'm delighted to share this interview with them.

Since I've never interviewed you before, there's one important question I must ask first: what's your favourite beverage?

Black coffee! I drink plunger coffee at home (French press) and normally an Americano if I’m at a cafe. Filter coffee is also fine. I never used to drink coffee, and then I did a barista course and became an insufferable coffee person nearly overnight. This is fortunate as I live in the nation’s capital city of insufferable coffee people.

Has your experience of community in speculative fiction and fandom changed in recent years?

A little, in a few different directions. I don’t engage in fandom as much as I once did in terms of making my own content for anything, though I still get really into specific things sometimes (Murderbot and What We Do In The Shadows were two big examples in 2021, and now Our Flag Means Death). I tend to have to put my time and energy into original work and my own work more these days, as there’s not much time and energy to go round. So my experience of fandom is more just bonding about stuff with pals who also happen to be into it rather than the wider community.

The good ways my experience of community in speculative fiction has changed is that I have a fair few little pockets of community that I’m very happy with and lucky to have. I feel very fortunate in my friends.

Also, what a WONDERFUL time to be writing and reading spec fic. It really feels like there’s more diversity and variety than ever before! Of course people have always been writing it, but it’s more available now, and tentatively more celebrated. I hope it gets even more celebrated. I want mainstream success for more queer authors, trans and nonbinary authors, authors of colour, disabled authors, neurodiverse authors, authors from all over the world.

What would you like to see changed?

The negative way my experience of community in spec fic has changed is how hostile and outright dangerous this environment can be. I’m talking specifically in terms of social media, and it’s the same story that can be seen with social media in general, but it’s honestly scary. People get dogpiled for imaginary slights as well as real mistakes and there’s no understanding about a person’s capacity for change. It’s all terrifying as a marginalised author. It’s okay to be scared of doing wrong – of course we all want to do things right, and a little uneasiness is a good sign of when to veer back into one’s lane – but I don’t think people should be this scared, not just of doing wrong but of the appearance of it. The people who often get targeted are more often marginalised authors than people in positions of any real power, as well.

So I’d love to see something more like actual justice, a community operating in kindness – obviously not being fine with people going around doing harm, and what each person thinks is acceptable is a deeply personal thing, but what I don’t find helpful is this current attitude where making a mistake can haunt you forever. The way the ownvoices movement went from being an attempt to shine light on marginalised authors to being a cudgel used to prod people out of the closet, to gatekeep people who aren’t ‘enough’ or make them divulge personal information. I’d like none of that. To an extent this is a danger in any online community (and online is mostly what I’m thinking of; I haven’t seen anything really like this in local spaces). I think it’d be nice if we could do better.

What books or media have you found yourself turning to for comfort?

What We Do In The Shadows is a delight. Those are my emotional support vampires ... I love a lot about that show, it’s really goofy and silly and has that Kiwi humour that of course I love, but my favourite thing is Guillermo. It’s rarer than it should be to see fat characters getting to be cool, complex and badass, and I like it very much. I finally started listening to The Magnus Archives, too. I’ve gotten more into horror and dark fantasy these last few years. I’m also big into Dracula Daily!

Sometimes I struggle with reading, but I’ve been able to get back into the habit by reading at least a little bit each day – I still read slowly, but I read! I greatly enjoy local authors like Cassie Hart, Octavia Cade and Andi C. Buchanan (off the top of my head) as well as the current boom in speculative romance – authors like Freya Marske, AJ Lancaster and Everina Maxwell.

And I play a lot of Dungeons and Dragons and other tabletop roleplaying games. That was the main thing that sustained my creative spirit during lockdown and it’s still pretty vital to me, I think. It’s good to have an outlet for storytelling (with Friends!) that isn’t a Hustle like my writing is. I am extremely invested in my highwayman’s misadventures.

Rem Wigmore is a speculative fiction writer based in Aotearoa New Zealand, author of the queer solarpunk novel Foxhunt, published by Queen of Swords Press, and forthcoming sequel Wolfpack. Their other works include Riverwitch and The Wind City, both shortlisted for Sir Julius Vogel Awards. Rem’s short fiction appears in several places including Capricious Magazine, Baffling Magazine and two of the Year’s Best Aotearoa New Zealand Science Fiction & Fantasy anthologies. Rem’s probably a changeling, but you’re stuck with them now. The coffee here is just too good. Rem can be found at remwigmore.com or on twitter as @faewriter.

POSTED BY: Elizabeth Fitzgerald, a writer, binge reader, tabletop gamer & tea addict. @elizabeth_fitz

Microreview: A Strange and Stubborn Endurance by Foz Meadows

Foz Meadows weaves a tale of healing and self-worth amid this political murder mystery.

When Velasin is called to his father's estate, marriage is the last thing on his mind. That soon changes when his father announces Vel's impending engagement to the princess of the neighbouring kingdom Tithena. This alliance is placed in jeopardy when Vel's father and the Tithenai ambassador catch Vel in a compromising position with his male ex-lover, but the situation is soon resolved by engaging Vel to the prince instead of the princess. However, Vel's father is disgusted by his proclivities and makes it clear he will never be welcome back. Thus Vel finds himself exiled to a foreign country and unsure of whom to trust when it becomes apparent someone might be trying to kill him.

There was much about A Strange and Stubborn Endurance that put me in mind of Winter's Orbit: a gay romance featuring a political marriage, a protagonist coming from an abusive relationship who is isolated in another culture, and a bigger mystery at play. I did not love Winter's Orbit, so the comparison worked in favour of A Strange and Stubborn Endurance, which I felt handled several aspects rather better.

It does this by being very clear about the kind of story that it is: a story of healing and self-worth. Although it alternates between points-of-view, Velasin's sections are written in first person and Caethari's in a close third person. This makes it very much Vel's story, allowing us to fully experience the complicated emotional journey he's going through.

In order to get to the healing we must first go through the trauma. The story carries content warnings for sexual assault and attempted suicide, among other things. In fact, there's a handy list under the author's note at the start, which I very much appreciated; being a story that foregrounds healing, it's not looking to play gotcha with readers' triggers.

Many gay romances can be light on female characters, but this is an obstacle the book manages to avoid. Cae's sisters and grandmother play prominent roles; the army commander he serves under is also a woman and women are well represented in the guard. On the other side of the border, this is less pronounced, but still present. In the wake of Vel's assault, there is a lovely exchange between Velasin and his step-mother, Lady Sine. Although she is happily married to Vel's father, she is also no stranger to the realities of sexual assault and arranged marriage. She is the one person who can understand what Vel is going through and does her best to provide comfort within the limits of her power.

There is also space made for non-binary characters. Tithena recognises them as a third gender referred to as kemi. The Tithenai ambassador is kemi, and while the role they play in the story isn't necessarily a huge one, it's also one that continues long after they return to Tithena with Vel.

This brings me to something of a criticism of the worldbuilding: the treatment of the nations was rather uneven. Caethari's Tithena recognises three genders, accepts same-sex marriage and transgender people. The food is excellent (according to Velasin). Divorce is permitted and consent is an important part of marriage contracts. In contrast, Velasin's Ralia has all the unattractive features of English-based medieval fantasy: arranged marriage, women as chattel, same-sex relationships censured by religion and society (though not outright illegal), and bland food.

Similarly uneven was the treatment of former lovers. Both Velasin and Caethari have exs who appear in the story. Velasin's ex, Killic, is a nasty piece of work who sexually assaults him on the page, then stalks him and attempts to gaslight him. In contrast, Caethari's ex, Liran, is utterly charming: a trans man of colour who is a painter and a deeply intelligent individual who welcomes Vel warmly.

This unevenness arises from its purpose as a story of healing; Vel literally moves on to a better place. Unfortunately, it undermined a little of the story's credibility for me, leaving it feeling a bit like wish-fulfilment.

And this does overlook the fact that someone (or a group of someones) is trying to kill Velasin. In fact, the story becomes something of a murder mystery. First Vel's party is attacked by bandits as they cross the mountains between the nations. When they arrive at the city, someone attempts to assassinate Vel and ends up stabbing his friend Markel instead. From there, the bodies begin to pile up. The mystery was largely well handled, but while I wouldn't say the culprit was obvious exactly, the story could have benefitted from a few more serious suspects.

Before I go any further, it is egregious that I haven't yet introduced Markel properly. He is Velasin's valet and friend. He is also mute and communicates through sign language. The relationship between Vel and Markel is truly lovely and built on mutual respect. Both have been there for each other through difficult times. It's a bit of a shame that Markel tends to be side-lined once the pair arrive in Qi-Katai to make way for the developing relationship between Vel and Cae. However, his obvious shipping of the pair is quite charming and I was delighted to see the character was allowed to be a bit of a ladies man himself.

Speaking of Vel and Cae's relationship, the pacing of it works nicely. They become friends reasonably quickly. The romance takes longer, which is fitting considering Vel's experience and culture. I was relieved that the story avoided the miscommunication that so characterised Winter's Orbit (and many other romances). In fact, I was surprised at how early Vel confessed his sexual assault to Cae, but it allows the story to move on to the healing which is the focus.

Overall, while I felt it had some weak points, A Strange and Stubborn Endurance was a delight to read.

The Math

Baseline Assessment: 6/10

Bonuses: +1 for being clear what it's about, +1 for lack of miscommunication

Penalties: -1 for uneven worldbuilding.

Nerd Co-efficient: 7/10

POSTED BY: Elizabeth Fitzgerald, a writer, binge reader, tabletop gamer & tea addict. @elizabeth_fitz

References

Meadows, Foz. A Strange and Stubborn Endurance [Tor Books, 2022]

Maxwell, Everina. Winter's Orbit [Tor Books, 2021]

Microreview: The Impossible Resurrection of Grief by Octavia Cade

Octavia Cade offers a short but brilliant meditation on humanity's relationship to nature in The Impossible Resurrection of Grief.

Cover art and design by Rachel Lobbenberg.

In the near future, ecosystem collapse is endemic. This has brought with it Grief, a kind of severe depression in humans that leads to madness and, ultimately, suicide. Once it has infected a person, the decline into death is inevitable.

Although Ruby is a marine biologist working in conservation, she has so far managed to escape Grief's grasp. This is in part because her beloved jellyfish are thriving in the warming oceans. Her friend and colleague Marjorie hasn't been so lucky. After Marjorie commits suicide, a bundle of her letters is delivered to Ruby, kicking off a series of encounters with other Grief-stricken individuals.

The Impossible Resurrection of Grief packs in a lot in under a hundred pages. There is, of course, the climate change aspects and humanity's relationship to nature. Grief is the central expression of this: the exhaustion and despair of watching the Earth die around you (especially that element you are particularly attached to -- be it a species of small bird or the Great Barrier Reef) and not being able to do anything about it, seeing only the futility of your efforts. Anyone with a background in ecology or conservation, or with even the smallest interest in the natural world, will find this relatable.

However, Cade is not interested in presenting uncomplicated pictures. Throughout the story, she reminds us of humanity's capacity to compartmentalise. We ignore what doesn't directly affect us -- or even what affects us only indirectly. It allows us to continue on more or less as normal while the world slowly dies around us. Ruby is a prime example of this. On an intellectual level, she understands that things are dire -- which is why she has elected not to have children. She works hard on helping her colleagues obtain vital research grants to support species that are rapidly disappearing. However, on an emotional level she remains unaffected, caught up in the wonder of her jellyfish and a worldview that could be seeing the silver lining or could be toxic positivity.

The concept of Grief also acknowledges the colonialist aspects of ecological disaster. We're told that rates of Grief are higher amongst indigenous and First Nations people, reflecting their deeper ties to land. The story also discusses the near extinction of the Indigenous populations of Tasmania. While it is in many respects deeply problematic to put Indigenous people on the level of animals (a troublesome pattern that continues to crop up particularly in Western SFF), the author is at pains to show how rhetoric of white settlement equated them and used the same tactics to achieve annihilation.

But again, this perspective is not allowed to be uncomplicated; indigenous people are not a monolith. In this case, Ruby's husband George provides a counter example. Of Maori descent, George left behind his homeland in Aoteroa to immigrate to Australia. Like Ruby, George is good at compartmentalising and is untouched by Grief. In fact, he still hopes to have children, which is why he and Ruby are undergoing a very amicable divorce.

The relationship between Ruby and George may strike some as a little underdeveloped, but that seems to me to be a very intentional decision. In fact, many apparent flaws of The Impossible Resurrection of Grief are, on closer inspection, actually features. Ruby and George's relationship is a microcosm of humanity's position in the world: a comfortable habit lacking in deep affection that will have to be let go in order to move on to something truly worthwhile.

The structure of the story is another example. The opening and ending focus on Ruby's relationship with her friend Marjorie, and these bookend three encounters Ruby has with other Grief-afflicted characters. The transitions between these sections can be a little jarring, particularly as Ruby travels from Tasmania to New Zealand. However once again, I feel this is by design. After all, it so aptly reflects the compartmentalisation that is an important central theme of the story.

Criticisms of the story as needing to be longer are patently ridiculous. What more is needed? Certainly not worldbuilding. The world of the story is just a breath away from our own, where crown-of-thorns starfish plague the Great Barrier Reef and species extinction and endangerment are rising rapidly in Australia after a record summer of bushfires.

This is a difficult story to discuss without spoilers, and the ending especially so. Consider this your warning and feel free to skip to the end of the review.

The ambiguity of the ending may not be to everyone's taste, but fits the Little Mermaid motif that runs through the story, stealing away Ruby's voice just as Anderson's Sea Witch does. It also serves to make Ruby's choice our own. Are we going to compartmentalise this as just a story and continue on our usual way? Are we going to succumb to despair? Or are we going to take our grief and anger and forge it into a weapon to fight back for nature?

The writing style was excellent and the uneasy atmosphere it invoked reminded me of Kaaron Warren at her finest. This was particularly the case during Ruby's encounter with Granny, a scientist who has managed to resurrect the extinct thylacine or Tasmanian Tiger. It was also particularly present in Ruby's final encounter with the Sea Witch, as her friend Marjorie has become. It gave a real sense of humans as predators, giving a glimpse into a world where any separation that might have existed between humans and nature has been obliterated, allowing the use of human technology to help nature fight back against humans. The veil is pulled back and we see how these predators have camoflaged themselves, preying on the humans who have ruined the world and setting a trap for Ruby.

I find myself wanting to give this book to everyone but aware that, like Marjorie, I have to pick my targets carefully.

The Impossible Resurrection of Grief is on the shortlist for the Sir Julius Vogel Awards, Aoteora's premier award for speculative fiction -- and where it will go up against Cade's own Scales, Tails and Hagfish in the category of Best Novella/Novelette. While I'm pleased to see it being recognised in the author's home country, it seems an oversight that it hasn't received the same recognition on international stages.

The Math

Baseline Assessment: 8/10

Bonuses: +1 for managing a nuanced perspective of a complicated topic in such a short story

Nerd Coefficient: 9/10