TV Review: Talamasca

The world’s most clueless spy, working for the world’s most ineffective spy agency… what could go wrong?

Our guy has a problem: his name is Guy. This show’s lack of imagination only gets worse from there.

Guy has another problem: he can hear other people’s thoughts, but the universe conspires to put him in the presence of either so many people that telepathy is too painful to use, or one person who is specially trained or magically gifted to resist it, so he’s that supremely irritating type of protagonist who has an awesome superpower that is of no use ever.

As it turns out, Guy’s life has been watched and orchestrated by the secret order of the Talamasca, who recruit people like him to keep tabs on the hidden supernatural world. The theory is that collecting data on vampires, witches, ghosts and demons (the series is set in the same universe as Interview with the Vampire and Mayfair Witches) will help normal humans keep a reasonably peaceful life alongside so many warring superhuman factions. The reality is that the magical police is incapable of keeping its own house in order and its hierarchy is a tangled mess of betrayal and backstabbing enabled by jaw-dropping incompetence.

Welcome to the worst spy agency I’ve seen since Get Smart.

Our guy Guy is played by a too distracting Nicholas Denton, who, in fairness, isn’t to blame for looking so much like the spitting image of Eddie Redmayne that one forgets to listen to what he’s saying—not that he has much to comment on, what with the absurd level of secrecy his boss likes to maintain. Said boss, who goes by Helen, is a veteran spy and a master of the art of posing dramatically and giving a knowing smile as a substitute for having anything useful to say.

Helen has been the one in charge of steering Guy’s life from behind the scenes, preparing him for the right time to recruit his psychic talents in the neverending mission of keeping humankind safe. Nevermind that she never does anything to earn Guy’s trust; every one of his questions gets slammed down with the promise that all will be revealed in due time, which I guess is intended to be in the middle of season 4.

Because there’s apparently an urgent crisis going on, Helen gives Guy a crash course in spycraft (inexplicably, the course doesn’t include a lesson on “Don’t Read Your Spy Textbook in Public Transportation”), and sends him on his own across the pond to listen to the thoughts of a powerful vampire who has infiltrated the British branch of the Talamasca. On his first day in London, Guy fails at basic spying and hooks up with the first woman who makes eyes at him. One has to wonder why the spy textbook didn’t cover this kind of scenario.

Guy is supposed to be provided with a mentor/handler, who is alarmingly absent during most of the mission, and when it’s finally time to go looking for the big bad vampire, Helen refuses to make any plan. She basically tells him, “You’re smarter than any plan I could give you. You’ll think of something.” With this dismal neglect from his superiors, it’s no wonder that he turns against the Talamasca at the first opportunity.

Even before that, he seems to devote more effort to spying on his boss than on the vampire. He has valid reasons to resent the ways the Talamasca has meddled in his life since childhood, and when he discovers that his mother was also some form of spy, and that she and the agency parted ways in bad terms, any hope of retaining his loyalty is lost. But the side he chooses instead cares even less for his personal gripes, his lack of experience, or his continued existence. At times I wondered whether this series was supposed to be a comedy, because Guy speedruns through one disastrously bad choice after another, somehow making it way past the point where he should have already been dismembered by vampires several times.

The show’s aim appears pointed at feeling mysterious rather than narrating a mystery. We’re told that the magic police has vast resources, but when they task a complete noob with undoing a vampire conspiracy, they don’t equip him with as much as a cove of garlic. We’re told that the world has vampires, witches, ghosts and demons, but we only ever see vampires, and in the rare scenes that feature a witch coven, they don’t do anything particularly witchy, so they may as well be a hippie commune. We’re told that the order is ancient and has tentacles everywhere, but across the season we meet at most the same half dozen top operatives, which gives the impression that we’re watching a school play with zero budget.

As for the mystery of the season, it’s admittedly a clever one, but getting there is an ordeal, even with just six episodes. Someone has destroyed the centuries-old archives of the Dutch branch of the Talamasca, which should severely cripple the order’s ability to keep tabs on the supernatural world, but we don’t see any serious consequence. Out of earshot of her colleagues, Helen has been searching for something called The 752, which sounds like the name of a chemical weapon, or a model of missile, or a limited edition comic book. Whatever it is, it has immense power, so it must not fall into the wrong yadda yadda, or else the world will yadda yadda. And it just so happens that the person closest to finding it is the same vampire our guy Guy has to follow. Neat!

Oh, have I already mentioned that the season’s two-part premiere has not one but two fridged women? You know, for extra drama.

I haven’t watched the TV adaptation of Interview with the Vampire, but the praise I’ve heard about it has been consistently enthusiastic. This spinoff, on top of being mediocre on its own merits, does a shameful disservice to a beloved story.

Nerd Coefficient: 4/10.

POSTED BY: Arturo Serrano, multiclass Trekkie/Whovian/Moonie/Miraculer, accumulating experience points for still more obsessions.

Review: The American Society of Magical Negroes

A poignant exploration of racism and appeasement wrapped in sarcastic, quirky, rom-com magic. 

A “magical negro” is a sarcastic artistic term used to describe an inspirational Black side character whose sole purpose is to inspire, comfort, and motivate the story’s protagonist. Although they frequently appear in speculative films and television, they don’t typically have actual magical powers. “Magical” is a sarcastic reference to their ability to help the (not-Black) protagonist find motivation to work through their emotional obstacles. It’s sort of like a mentor but often with more of a folksy / self-deprecating vibe. I won’t list specific films or shows but, if you think for a second, you can probably remember a few examples. The trope of the "magical" Black person is not bad per se, but it becomes exhausting when it’s repeatedly used, especially as a way to give lip service to diversity while keeping diverse characters in background roles and out of leading roles.

The American Society of Magical Negroes parodies this literary and film trope by creating an actual organization of people who problem solve anxiety-causing issues for white people in the real world. If you are expecting some kind of Black version of Hogwarts or Shadowhunter Academy, prepare to be disappointed. The film is a sarcastic deep dive into society’s underlying class systems. It’s much more of a companion film to social commentary stories like American Fiction and Origin than to fantasy pieces like Harry Potter or Shadowhunters. There is some magic on screen but not much. The fantastical moments are meant to be a brief, humorous backdrop, not a primary plot device.

In the film, Aren (Justice Smith) is an extremely polite, young Black man and a struggling visual artist. After a disappointing art show he encounters a drunk woman at night who hands him her purse, causing the woman’s two male friends to accuse Aren of stealing it. Aren is understandably fearful of what will happen next. A kindly older Black man, Roger (David Alan Grier), appears and magically transfers the purse back to the woman. Roger then engages in charming, folksy banter about the delicious food at a nearby restaurant. This de-escalates the situation and the two men who were previously threatening Aren become friendly and leave happily with the woman. Roger then invites Aren to join a society of people who use folksy banter make white people feel more comfortable, then they pivot to inspirational cliches to inspire them. By doing this they help make the world a safer place for people of color. According to Roger, without this surreptitious placating behavior, the violence against Black people will escalate in America.

Obviously there is a lot to unpack in this premise. Aren is led through secret door in an unassuming shop and finds himself in a meeting room of Black people who have been granted minor magical powers in exchange for taking on assignments to be supportive advisors to stressed, non-Black people. Aren has some understandable hesitation about the mission statement (and even the name) of the group but ultimately (due to his dwindling finances) accepts a job inspiring a self-absorbed young man, Jason (Drew Tarver), at a tech company. With Aren’s help, Jason progresses at the firm at the cost of Aren’s own career hopes and at the cost of Aren’s love interest Lizzie (An-Li Bogan). Introverted Aren initially enjoys the opportunity to be accepted in his new workplace and to help  Jason. But Aren grows to resent his artificially subservient role. Additionally, despite her superior work performance, Lizzie finds herself cut out of opportunities because Jason’s louder persona is confused with talent by their bosses. The story has some additional interesting context: Aren is biracial (partly white); Lizzie is a person of color; and, although Jason is self-absorbed, he is not a true villain. In addition to the scenes of Aren’s adventures, we also see snippets of the other Society members working in various timelines and locations, inspiring leading characters. Each scenario references a famous classic film with the “magical negro” trope.

As you can imagine, this film is not for everyone. The title may mislead some into thinking it’s a high fantasy—it’s not. Although the Society members can time travel, teleport, and blink objects into existence, magic is a minor part of the story. On the other hand, the interactions of Aren and Lizzie make the film feel substantially like a rom-com. But the trope of the misguided romantic triangle (between Jason, Lizzie, and Aren)  is not the true message. The real story is about race and classism (and later sexism). The theme of the supportive, inspiring colleague quickly shifts to the more troubling concept of appeasement by those in the minority towards those who are in power in society. These uncomfortable, underlying themes will resonate with anyone who has felt like an outsider in a space that should equally belong to them. After several mildly humorous and ironic moments, we have a climactic scene where Aren decides to tell Jason the truth about his feelings of fear and erasure. It’s not a universal monologue on all types of racism but rather a specific niche of oppression felt by some people of color in some societal spaces. It rages against both the appeaser and the oppressor.

The ultimate messaging is sharp and meaningful but it may get lost in the rom-com hijinks. Like The Book of Clarence, the story is weighed down by an overload of conflicting film elements. However, for those who can relate to Aren’s dilemma of standing up for himself in a society that will then see him as threatening or alien, the film will truly hit home. The American Society of Magical Negroes is a good companion piece for other recent films on race, such as American Fiction, Origin, and The Book of Clarence. For those who connect with the story, the film will provide a lot to ponder and hopefully create a starting point for meaningful discussions on Black roles in film and in real life.

 

Nerd Coefficient: 7/10

Highlights:

·         A poignant exploration of racism and appeasement

·         Conflicting thematic elements

·         Heavy, biting sarcasm that may elude some viewers

POSTED BY: Ann Michelle Harris – Multitasking, fiction writing Trekkie currently dreaming of her next beach vacation.

Review: Kalyna the Soothsayer by Elijah Kinch Spector

A frank portrayal of the cruelty of class inequality and the poisonous allure of belief in destiny

The world of Elijah Kinch Spector's debut novel Kalyna the Soothsayer isn't a nice one. The royals are more concerned with their banquets and opera galas than in protecting the commonfolk. What nominal justice there is cannot thwart the rule of whoever can hire the most mercenaries. The unstable regime of the Tetrarchia, a federation of four perpetually quarreling kingdoms not quite held together with spit and prayers, hasn't managed to overcome xenophobic prejudice. For Kalyna, the daughter of a penniless family of nomadic fortune-tellers, life is an unceasing barrage of persecution, neglect, abuse, and hunger. Generations of her ancestors have subsisted by using their divinatory powers to help ordinary people improve their sad fortunes a little, and that's the only trade Kalyna knows how to do.

Except Kalyna was born without magic. Unable to see the future, she gets her job done by gossip, hearsay, acute observation, and plain guile. She's a fraud, and her family's precarious livelihood depends on her keeping the pretense that she's an accurate clairvoyant. By paying close attention to the important details, connecting the dots, and making likely guesses, she awes her clientele with her ability to predict what is totally predictable, just unnoticed. So far, these sketchy methods have sufficed to put just enough food on the table for herself, her disabled father, and her violently hostile grandmother. But when a prince from the kingdom of Rotfelsen snatches her from her family and demands predictions of the nation's future, she has to quickly become even more resourceful and conniving to stay in business—and stay alive.

Despite her finely honed talent for careful observation and deduction, Kalyna can't imagine the voracious whirlwind of intrigue, betrayal, hipocrisy, fanaticism, divided loyalties, and decadence she's been thrown into. She's barely prepared for the immensely rich and crafty schemers she's going to have to outwit, but they're no more prepared for the fierceness with which she's willing to oppose rabid nationalism and stand for the masses of low-born. The safety of the four kingdoms is now in the hands of a professional liar set against an entire aristocracy made of liars.

Kalyna the Soothsayer is clear-eyed about the effect that relentless oppression can have on otherwise decent people. This protagonist is still fundamentally well-intentioned, but the brutal harshness of life in the Tetrarchia has forced her to learn to play dirty. Although her conscience is torn by all the tactics of manipulation she's had to rely on to make a living, she can still effortlessly weave more and more lies each time. She doesn't hesitate to use her allies as tools, withhold crucial facts, ruin reputations, threaten, blackmail, and burn bridges to sustain the farce that she has prophetic visions. While she loves her father tenderly and feels sympathy for the plight of the poorest, she's had to navigate the world with a self-imposed indifference to the consequences of her deception.

What these intersecting conditions produce is a brilliantly constructed character, endlessly multilayered and relatably conflicted, with a scarred interior that nonetheless perseveres by sheer survival instinct. Kalyna's inner monologue is a delicious parade of sharp political commentary, pragmatic callousness, reluctant hope, internalized self-loathing, wounded desire, the driest sense of gallows humor, and a drive to independence made of the hardest bedrock. It's an engrossing experience to feel the author lure the reader into rooting for a shameless charlatan, and the key to this trick is in the push and pull of battling impulses in Kalyna's mind. In her impossible situation, she doesn't cease to wish there were a right thing to do, and much of the enjoyment of this novel comes from watching her rationalize which of all the wrong choices is the least catastrophic.

By placing a powerless person at a position of influence among ruthless masterminds, the author also offers a harsh critique of the inner workings of centralized power. The plot threads related to resurgent hyperpatriotism, national mythbuilding, and raw ambition couldn't be more resonant to today's readers. Despite its everyday complications, diverse government comes out victorious, but the story makes a forceful point about the delicate work needed to preserve a civic community built from the strength of the many.

In a setting shaped by magical lineages, ancient mysteries, forgotten world-shaking beasts, and secrets that sleep under the earth, the use of a completely ordinary human as the central focus of the narrative serves to highlight the value of mundane life. Pomp and glory and patriotic pride are mercilessly denounced as the ridiculous folly they are, a fraud more outrageous than Kalyna's daily machinations. Even more than the gift of seeing the coming events, it's fatally dangerous to trust those with absolute power with the gift of believing that fortune smiles upon them.

Nerd Coefficient: 8/10.

POSTED BY: Arturo Serrano, multiclass Trekkie/Whovian/Moonie/Miraculer, accumulating experience points for still more obsessions.

Reference: Kinch Spector, Elijah. Kalyna the Soothsayer [Erewhon, 2022].

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]