Microreview [book]: Son of the Storm by Suyi Davies Okungbowa

 Nuanced epic fantasy in a precolonial West African inspired setting

After the intriguing debut that was Suyi Davies Okungbowa's David Mogo, Godhunter, I've been intrigued by what Okungbowa's take on epic fantasy might look like. Drawing on pre-colonial West Africa for its worldbuilding inspiration, Son of the Storm pivots around the nation of Bassa: a rigid, stratified city at the heart of an empire, whose wealth and geopolitical appears to hide its growing problems. Inside that city are Danso, a talented novitiate at the University of Bassa who appears to have a great future ahead of him, if he can overcome both persistent racial discrimination and his own interest in forbidden knowledge; his indentured second Zaq, who is looking for a way to build control over his own life in a society which accords him none; Nem, a fixer who is considered invaluable by the city's elite even as she is shunned for ignoble work and her lower-caste origins, and her daughter Esheme, Danso's partner at the university, who is eager to take the opportunities given to her and carve out her own position.

All of these characters' initial roles are dictated by Bassa's strict racial and caste-based hierarchy, where dark-skinned original inhabitants of the city maintain authority and privilege while lighter skinned folk occupy lower status roles, with low-caste migrants from outside territories are forced into indentured servitude. Mixed race people like Danso belong to the Shashi, and are officially without rights or position in the city, with most of their population living in an isolated outside territory called Whudasha. Even further outside the heirarchy, and treated as mythical demons since their islands fell out of touch with the mainland and were declared lost, are the "yellowskin" inhabitants of the Nameless Archipelago. Following the "Chekov's lost civilisation" rule of epic fantasy, of course, we are soon introduced to a magical substance from the archipelago, and to Lilong, the agent trying to get back the piece of it that has arrived into the city. When Danso and Lilong collide, it sets them on a path outside Bassa's walls, while those who remain are left with a radically different political environment and their own choices to make.

This set-up leads into a story that's hard to really define. Several of the characters end up travelling, but it's not really a quest: the people involved stick together more for survival than anything else, and Danso in particular is notable for his absence of really well-defined goals despite being the closest thing Son of the Storm has to a main protagonist. Back in the city, Esheme's machinations have a somewhat clearer goal, but there are characters working around and under her who have their own motivations and activities which add a whole host of nuance to what she's trying to achieve. Esheme and Danso quickly end up at odds with each other, but it doesn't feel like their goals and motivations are inherently opposed: rather, their personal histories, different ambitions and responses to the trauma of discrimination seem just as weighty as their political goals, if not more so. Son of the Storm is full of complex characters doing things which don't feel driven by an overarching plot point, and even ibor, the magical substance which sparks Danso's flight from the city, isn't a complete gamechanger a lot of the time. In some ways, that makes Son of the Storm a more intriguing and nuanced ride, and having characters vaguely fill the functions of protagonists and antagonists without their motivations being flattened to fit with a "traditional" epic fantasy quest makes them even more interesting to follow. It does, however, lead to a feeling that there's not much direction in Son of the Storm at times, and the book leaves off at a point where it just feels like the board has been set up for an actual clash in future volumes, making this one feel rather like a 450 page long set-up. Still, there's plenty to carry the book through here even when the story itself feels like it's dragging.

Behind the characters, there's an immense depth to the worldbuilding of Son of the Storm, and much of it is developed in subtle clues and context rather than being explained within the text itself. This makes a lot of sense for a book set in an empire that has been actively curating its own history, so that even highly educated characters like Danso know they don't have the full picture of what's going on; the influence of Bassa's narrative about itself is also evident in the fact that none of the main characters really come out in opposition to the oppressive structures on which the city operates, even those who have been most affected by it. Son of the Storm's characters showcase the fact that very few people fit happily into a rigid social system, especially one which relies on exploitation to maintain power, and it also demonstrates how people can become complicit in, or even defensive of, a system that hates them, when it seems like the only alternative is to push for revolution and lose the little which they feel the have.

Beyond Bassa itself, there are geographical elements like the extreme tides which have apparently cut off travel to and from the islands beyond the continent, as well as magical geographies like doorways and a breathing forest. Sadly, my advance copy of Son of the Storm didn't come with a map, but I'm interested to see a visual representation of how the Savannah, the Mainland and other parts of Bassa's world fit together. I certainly wouldn't mind if future volumes made some of the magical geographies of Danso and Lilong's world a bit clearer, though if this ends up being a series whose fantasy worldbuilding goes far deeper than what's on the page - a la Neon Yang's Tensorate series - I would still be along for the ride.

In short, Son of the Storm is a great book, although it's one whose mission to portray a nuanced take on epic fantasy characterisation left me feeling a bit lost on occasion. This is shaping up to be a great series, though, and I'll definitely be tuning in for the next volume to see where Okungbowa takes the Nameless Republic next.

Rating: 7/10

Posted by: Adri, Nerds of a Feather co-editor, is a semi-aquatic migratory mammal most often found in the UK. She has many opinions about SFF books, and is also partial to gaming, baking, interacting with dogs, and Asian-style karaoke. Find her on Twitter at @adrijjy

Reference: Okungbowa, Suyi Davies. Son of the Storm [Orbit]

Invincible, or how to blow up daddy issues to the stratosphere

Underneath the gore, Invincible is a classic Freudian tale about the tragedy of hero worship

The first shot of the first episode of new Amazon Studios series Invincible shows the sun, the American flag, and the barrel of a cannon. No need for subtlety, it seems: this is a story about power. In that scene, a White House guard discusses his personal issues with a coworker while obliviously waving in every car that approaches. One feels a bit alarmed at the lapse in security, considering the show is set in a world where supervillains exist and the White House is equipped with laser cannons, but if we continue to read a theme in this scene, it's probably about a the difficulty to find compatibility between duty and family life.

I want to spend some more time analyzing this scene, because it achieves many things with great narrative efficiency. With the White House in the background, the emblem of a literal superpower, the guard is talking about how proud he is of his stepson's maturation into a responsible young man, which apparently was hard to expect given his biological father's traits. What this scene is doing here is establishing a theme of fatherhood that explicitly contrasts love against genetic destiny. That, in a nutshell, is the emotional driving force of the show.

This sweet moment is interrupted by two twin supervillains whose shtick is that they constantly argue about who is the original twin and who is the clone. The fixation these two have with proving their firstborn status and engaging in performative violence, just after we saw two mature men talk about their feelings with sincere openness, presents another side to the show's theme: conflicting visions of masculinity. The guard, who couldn't be happier to be raising a son he's not related to, because fatherhood is not about genes, has the literal power to decide who gets into the White House. On the other hand, the supervillain twins are so comically insecure in their manhood that their first line of dialogue is to complain about having failed to penetrate the White House while carrying gigantic bazookas that are fired at groin level. The ensuing fight, which has the hero Superman Omni-Man making a repeated exhibition of how much more powerful he is than the Justice League Guardians of the Globe, cements the theme with a sequence of small acts of petty rivalry.

As if it weren't clear that we're exploring the repressed fear of emasculation (about which, a bit later, the character of Rex Splode will go beyond overkill), the scene that follows introduces Mark, our teenage protagonist and Omni-Man's son, covering his privates when his mother enters the bathroom. Her justification for the breach of privacy? She has already seen everything he's covering. The plot hasn't even gotten to his incredibly complicated daddy issues and we already have a sense of how easily a confident adult can challenge his unfinished self-image. In a later scene, the protagonist expresses disgust at the mere implication that his parents have a sex life; later still, more disgust at a classmate's atraction toward his father's superhero image. The symbolic intention becomes more noticeable on rewatch. While he's waiting for his genetic superpowers to manifest, Mark's first act of heroism is to stand up to a clichéd incarnation of toxic masculinity, and he finally gets his superpowers during the humbling task of taking out the trash. This is not just a story about a boy looking up to an idealized father; it's about the anxiety of grasping at the indiscernible shape of manhood while trying to fit into it. Remember the White House, that venerable embodiment of ultimate power? Turns out it has to be rebuilt twice a year. Here, male power is fragile, and its symbols more so. For a protagonist who has been raised with the expectation that he'll grow into a superhero, this is not a world of solid truths.

This feels familiar. Invincible is told in the overused narrative language that equates superpowers with puberty and the superhero life with a fully developed sexuality. For Mark, becoming a superhero and becoming a man are the same inner journey. But, just like happens to every young man, the last and indispensable step in the construction of your own masculinity is recognizing that your father is not perfect, and that you should never have expected him to be.

After we've all been forced to spend a year in our homes, the superhero genre seems to have entered an era of looking inward, of deeply personal drama. Mere weeks ago, we saw the Scarlet Witch try her hand at suburban housewifery, and shortly later Superman was putting down roots at his childhood home. Even the new Captain America would rather spend time with his sister and nephews than save the world, and let's not forget Wonder Woman's wish for domestic happiness last December. Superheroes are exhausted. They just want to sit at home, relax, and cuddle. Mark's tragedy is that he still doesn't know this. He yearns to join the glamorous élite of world saviors, unaware that the select group is sick of the job. The question for Mark is the question every young man has asked himself: why should he (and, by extension, any of us) want to be like his father?

So let's talk about Canada.

In a flashback scene, Omni-Man reveals his alien origins to little Mark. Unlike in the comic, the animated version of this dialogue has Mark ostensibly wearing a T-shirt that says CANADA in big letters. In a show where the main superhero is positioned as the defender of the American way, this brief shot is loaded with meaning. The Invincible comic was written by the American Robert Kirkman, but this animated adaptation has among its team of producers Simon Racioppa, Catherine Winder, Seth Rogen, and Evan Goldberg, all Canadians. Post-production services are credited to a company in Vancouver, operating under a British Columbia tax credit. That combination of facts was inevitably going to leave its mark on the show. This is one of those nice cases that illustrate how adaptation can enrich the content of a text. Growing up in the same house with an alien who can lift buildings and fight dragons must be pretty similar to what it feels like for Canadians to live next door to the world's biggest superpower. The question for Mark is reflected on a larger scale: why should Canada (and, by extension, any country) want to be like America?

So let's talk about Britain.

The first shot of the second episode shows the British flag over Buckingham Palace, repeating the framing of the previous episode. The scene has the same guard we saw earlier, visiting London on vacation with his stepson and explaining to him the meaning of government buildings. Here the topic of power is made explicit: the Queen of England descends from a long line of tyrants. The dialogue stops short of claiming that oppression and cruelty are in her blood, but the viewer is given enough tools to analyze Mark's difficult relationship to his inheritance.

Indeed, the issue of impossible standards seems to have become yet another obsession of the genre. So far, every Marvel production after Endgame has dealt with how to honor the legacy of a beloved superhero (Peter Parker anguishing over filling Iron Man's shoes, Wanda Maximoff adjusting to a world without Vision, Sam Wilson learning to accept Captain America's last will). Over at the CW, the new Batwoman is still working under the shadow of the original's reputation, while Superman's son is suddenly burdened with the knowledge of what his father can do and what could therefore be asked of him.

Impossible standards are a hallmark of bad parenting. In Invincible, Mark believes he has a strong role model in Omni-Man, but he's actually being manipulated into losing his humanity. In another meaningful shot, once Mark's started training, we see the two supermen from a low angle through the window in the kitchen of their house. The shot frames them as separate from mundane affairs: we see the curve of a faucet and the curve of a flower, both pointing down, toward the earth. This motif of the faucet and the flower reapperars when the demon detective Damien Darkblood explains his backstory to Omni-Man's wife. With the downward-pointing shapes as a background, the symbolic implication is an opposition between the beings of up above and the beings of down here. Compared to supermen, we mortals might as well be living in hell. The supermen are unreachably beyond.

The perks that come with power extend to every level of life. Of note, superheroes get a level of medical care that the general population doesn't even suspect exists. Rex Splode is the most obvious example of this assumption of entitlement; his treatment of Black Samson, a hero who has lost his superpowers, reeks of macho posturing and a desperate need to prove himself. Interestingly, Damien Darkblood, who has nothing to prove to mortals and doesn't even use the word "I," is the most heroic character in the story. The third episode makes a curious contrast between this demon's icy presence, always announced by frozen air, and the literal lake of fire opened by the villain of the episode, who aimed to position himself as a new god.

So let's talk about America.

The third episode's villain makes a silly speech about how people should worship him instead of false idols, but it's interesting that his choice of false idols is Mount Rushmore, American civil religion's equivalent to a site of holy pilgrimage (and built on an already existing holy site). Invincible brings a closer focus to the "worship" part of hero worship and examines it on a more concrete level. America worships itself, or rather a sanitized idea of itself, and has very little tolerance for questions that lift the smiling mask it desperately needs to hide behind. America needs to remain on top, and needs to keep believing it deserves to be there.

In Invincible, the murder of the world's strongest heroes in the first episode leaves Omni-Man at the top, enjoying a sort of unipolar moment as the representative of the putatively benevolent Viltrumites, who, as he can't stop repeating, like to intervene in less developed cultures to steer their development. Even after we watch him butcher a whole team of heroes in the first episode, it's still unnerving when he struggles to keep the saintly pretense and lets his true selfishness show. Mark's realization that the culture he comes from is not made of wise gentlemen but of heartless supremacists is too obviously a metaphor for the hard awakening that not enough Americans get when they come of age. And in tiny but crucial moments, one can see the malevolent drop of Omni-Man that lives in Mark.

The anxiety underlying the desperate need to be the strongest is explored through Mark's friendship with fellow crimefighter Atom Eve, who is having a crisis of identity because she doesn't know who she is beyond her power. This theme is echoed in the morally gray character of Titan, who wants to leave organized crime, but has let himself be defined solely by his power. His choice, in the end, is to embrace who he has been as the only way he can keep on being. Eve's choice shows another way: she takes control of how she uses her power, and finds freedom.

Mark takes a long time to learn anything from these examples. His situation parallels that of 21st-century America, finding himself with more power than he knows what to do with, protected by a bubble of privilege, terrified of having to go through life without it, and haunted by an earlier example that is only capable of destruction. Mark's struggle to build himself as a man, but not become his father, is punctuated in the show by setting several key scenes on Mount Everest, the most phallic place on Earth. Every time the action returns there, we know a crucial emotional step is occurring.

It's important to point out these uses of symbolism. Invincible is visually gory and yucky at first sight, but it's told through the motifs of time and repetition. Side characters make copies of each other left and right, one superheroine's only power is to replicate herself, and Mark's main quest is to not let history repeat itself, to somehow defeat what seems inevitable. It's interesting that Mark's first big fight as a superhero is alongside a team of kids against aliens who age rapidly, because Mark's biggest enemy, more than his father's influence, is time. He will soon become a man, and life is only giving him one chance to define who he's going to be. His predicament contrasts with the case of Monster Girl, an actually adult superheroine who reverses one week of age each time she uses her powers, and is thus doomed to stay perpetually unfinished. That is not the path Mark must go. The only way is forward.

For a show with such a disturbing penchant for blood and guts, Invincible is capable of deeply meaningful moments. Maybe it was necesary for a team of Canadian creatives to step in and start asking so many uncomfortable questions about America's destiny. I'm not even an American, and I was moved. I can only imagine what it will feel like for you.

The Math

Baseline Assessment: 8/10.

Bonuses: +1 for great direction, particularly when it comes to shot composition and symbolic motifs.

Penalties: −2 for showing way more internal organs than was necessary.

Nerd Coefficient: 7/10.

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

Microreview [book]: Water Horse by Melissa Scott

A fully immersive epic fantasy with deep notes of character, worldbuilding and magic making for a wonderful and engaging story.

In a world of myth and magic, of prophecy, religious war, and twisty politics, Esclin Aubrinos, Arros of the Hundred Hills has a problem. The Riders, followers of a monotheism, The Burning One, very different than the diverse traditions predominant in the hills, riverlands and forest, have come in numbers across the narrow sea. This time, instead of raiding, they are in great numbers and seem set to not just pillage, but to stay and conquer. With such a diverse group of independently minded communities, keeping his friends and allies together to face the Riders is a challenge--and it may not even be enough to stand against their power.

This is the matter of Melissa Scott’s epic fantasy, Water Horse.

Water Horse is epic, mythic, and expansive fantasy in a mold that explicitly invokes for me, things like the First and Second Age of Tolkien, Jacqueline Carey’s The Sundering, or Kate Elliott’s Crown of Stars series. This is a novel that stands in the space where there are deep and abiding personal relationships, realpolitik, and strongly passionate and drawn characters. It stands apart from the traditions of low magic fantasy like in Westeros and instead uses deeply rooted magics and powers and a world full of magic, heroism, clashes of arms, deep connections and abiding senses of place to provide a tapestry for the story.

So what is it all about? We are presented with the challenge of the Riders, who have upped their game and decided the Hundred Hills and the nearby lands are not just for raiding, but would make fine lands for conquest. This provides a next-level challenge to the wily Esclin and his allies, who are used to the normal back and forth of Rider problems, its so long standing and the cultural ties are bleeding over so much that believers in the Burning Eye are among his subjects at this point. 

The whole Burning Eye and the monotheism of the Riders is just one element, one strand of magic in this novel. The novel has deep and intensive worldbuilding on so many levels, from language, to names, to customs, and of course magic. There is the Riders, but there is also the magic of the Mistress of Fire, and of the Wood, and other magical abilities which come to the fore. This is a complex and mythically rich magical world. The very title of the book, Water Horse, refers to a kelpie like creature, a symbol of Esclin's House, and the titular being does become important to the narrative on a number of levels. Scott has managed the trick of setting a great and rich stage of people and their customs and doings that follows the iceberg rule of fantasy and leverages it.

But it is relationships and people at the center of why this conflict is coming and what can and should be done, on both sides. This is not a novel of impartial, unseen forces driving communities and nations to conflict, it is people, personalities and their deeds The Riders are not invading casually, they have been given sign and portent to their new commander, their Lord Paramount, and defying a God’s sign and will is never a good idea. Too, Esclin, in trying to manage the people in his coalition has to be mindful of his relationship with them, and their beliefs, and even a prophecy. The conflict is never pieces on a Risk board in Scott’s novel, what people do and how they do it always feeds back to the characters and their relationships.

As mentioned above, relationships, both platonic and sexual, really drive the narrative. This is a novel where queer relationships are the norm, and the relationship between Esclin, the arros, and the smith Kelleiden is one of the center personal stories of the novel. w. Besides the relationship above, the bonds of relationships are an engine that is equal to plot considerations for making the story go. It is relationships, be it social and personal ones, or political ones, that prove to be levers for character actions, reactions and plot. It’s a nicely complicating factor for the lines of the overall plot and conflict as well. Sure, we are presented with the locals of the Hundred Hills and the Westwood, and the realms of the Riverholme defending against the adherents of the Burning One, the Riders. Sure, it seems like in the end it's a simple binary, Esclin versus the Lord Paramount, local faiths and beliefs versus the invaders. A casual reading might give that impression, but reading further and deeper brings things further.

Scott knows well to leaven the binary and complicate it. There are already adherents of the Burning One within the realms overseen by the Arros, and coming to terms with their worship and their power starts with the personal rather than the global, and those relationships make the “Burning One adherents bad, locals good” binary a non-factor. This is not to say that the characters themselves on both sides don’t feel this pull and tension. In the course of events, Viven Harper is captured by the Lord Paramount’s forces, and we not only learn about the limits of the power of a Harper, but also the binding of their oaths, to their harps and other entities, but how she has to manage her beliefs while in the midst of the army of adherents of the Burning One, who have their own ideas on what the Harper should and should not be able to do, and where her beliefs should be turned.

In terms of that, there is a wonderful set piece where the captured Harper, Viven, is made part of a solstice ritual that the Burning One adherents are performing. The Lord Paramount seeks to mold the Harper and use her power as part of the ritual; she naturally is resistant to lend any of her power in this cause, and yet,as a prisoner, is under severe threat if she is not seen contributing to the cause (something that later extends to the Rider’s army campaigns). But there is beauty and poetry and power that we the reader, and Viven herself sees within the solstice rite that her mortal enemies also have not only power, but beauty and culture as well.  

This is not to say though that the Riders and the Burning Ones are not clearly the antagonists here. We don’t get any real sympathetic point of views from them, although there are sympathetic characters that interact with our heroes. And that is something I want to emphasize here about the novel. While we get to see the Burning One’s Riders for what they are in their complexity, they clearly are the aggressive invaders, the antagonists to Esclin and his allies resisting their attempt at invasion and hegemony. This is decidedly not a grimdark novel (not that I can imagine well what a Melissa Scott Grimdark novel would be). This is a novel of heroes, hard choices, ugly choices, but also heroism, people stepping up (and characters of all ages, too, from children to the eldertly) and wanting to stand up against a threat to themselves, their loved ones, their communities. This is a world not only of the aforementioned magic, and deep character, and rich worldbuilding, but it is also a world where people can be big damn heroes, people of all stripes. That is a positivist message for this day and age. While Scott puts her characters through hell (and that sword of damocles of a prophecy that Esclin suffers under and Viven’s captivity being just two examples), the novel provides a framework and exemplar of a story where heroism, valor, strength of character and rising to the occasion are not trampled and mocked, but can save a city, a people, a land. 

Melissa’s Scott’s Water Horse is a rich and deep epic fantasy full of the deep worldbuilding, immersive writing, intriguing magic, and strong characters that I come to expect and crave in her writing. Just as importantly, the novel provides a framework and exemplar of a story where heroism, valor, strength of character and rising to the occasion are not trampled and mocked and denigrated as in some grimly dark regions of the Grand Duchy of Fantasy. Instead, in The Water Horse, they are virtues that can save a person, a city, a people, and a land. That's a message, and thus a book stunningly well suited to our times.

The Math

Baseline Assessment: 8/10

Bonuses : +1 for deep and memorable characters in an inclusive, queer friendly, engaging world

+1 for a positivist heroic viewpoint for its fantasy

Penalties: -1 A couple of metaplot beats don’t quite resolve entirely satisfactory.

Nerd Coefficient: 9/10  Very high quality/standout in its category

 POSTED BY: Paul Weimer. Ubiquitous in Shadow, but I’m just this guy, you know? @princejvstin.

Reference: Scott, Melissa. Water Horse  [Candlemark and Gleam, 2021]

Thursday Morning Superhero

In this month's installment I wanted to focus on the comic book streaming content that is landing on your television for May and June.  Invincible reached its upsetting conclusion and the Falcon and the Winter Soldier finally gave us the Captain America I have been waiting for since Steve hung up the shield.  Invincible, despite the upsetting ending which I anticipated after reading the series, has been renewed for two more seasons and I couldn't be more excited. 

Sweet Tooth:

Last week Netflix surprised us with an official trailer for the upcoming series based on the phenomenal series Sweet Tooth by Jeff Lemire.  When it was first announced I was very excited, but am always concerned when a series I love gets adapted. Sweet Tooth tells the story about a hybrid kid named Gus who is raised during a mysterious plague.  Humans who catch the disease are dying and there isn't a cure, but a new breed of part human and part animal children are being born and are immune.  Gus is part human and part deer and quickly learns that life outside of the sheltered farm his dad raised him on is much more complex.  This is possibly my second favorite comic book of all-time and I really hope that it is as good as it looks.

Loki:

The next Marvel series that is hitting Disney Plus is Loki and is much different than I expected.  Launching in June, Loki is tasked with traveling through time to undo the damage done during Infinity War.  The cast features Owen Wilson and feels oddly similar to a certain time travel episode of Gravity Falls. That is intended as a compliment and I can't wait to see what Easter eggs are sprinkled throughout.

Jupiter's Legacy:

It has been a long time since I read this series, but I remember enjoying it.  Mark Millar books tend to be hit or miss with me, but you have to credit his ability to get his work adapted for both the small and large screen.  Most of his work that has been adapted (Logan, Kingsman, and Kick-Ass) has been enjoyable and I am curious how much of this series I remember.  It hits Netflix this Friday so I am not sure I will be able to locate the correct long box to check it out, but I am still excited to fill the void that the end of Invincible and Falcon and the Winter Soldier left.

POSTED BY MIKE N. aka Victor Domashev -- comic guy, proudly raising nerdy kids, and Nerds of a Feather contributor since 2012.

Microreview [Book]: Black Water Sister by Zen Cho

A skillfully crafted fantasy story that's as ethereal as its spirits.

Our bodies can often seem possessed. To most people, that possession occurs in a metaphorical sense. Dogma possesses us, as it’s hammered down from society until it sticks, nailed down to our core whether we like it or not. And that dogma can deviate from what we want deep down, like how family values dictate who we can and can’t love. Black Water Sister explores that possession, and with clever skill, it combines it with literal possession. A family spirit inhabits the protagonist, while they’re dealing with family interference from all sides. It’s a compelling story that’s quality is heightened by witty dialogue, a pacey second half, and vibrant characters.

Jess is a college grad, moving from America to Malaysia—where she once lived until toddlerhood. But a new location isn’t even one of the top five things nagging her. She has a girlfriend that she’s frightened to disclose to her parents, fearing homophobia. And most prominent is that the spirit of her maternal grandmother – Ah Ma – has inhabited her mind. Ah Ma wants something from Jess, which sparks a journey full of betrayals, gods, gangsters, and a slew of other obstacles.

We’re introduced to Jess at an active time of her life, where she’s juggling closeted sexuality, family spirits, and a change of location. But despite the interweaving of several high-stake plot threads, the story takes its time getting going. There’s always some momentum – the story never wades – but there were times in its early goings when I wanted to speed through the proceedings a little quicker. Just before the halfway mark, however, the story comes together, as all the aforementioned threads are fully realized, bouncing off each other in frenetic but readable thrills.

A great asset that encompasses every section of Black Water Sister is its impeccable dialogue and voice. Zen Cho fires off clever one-liners with such rapid fire and skillful consistency that it seems easy. The characters come alive from it, too. Even side characters who have minimal roles have brief, concise lines that exude a distinct personality with verve, getting at least a couple memorable scenes. To top it off, the prose never meanders into over-description or lack of focus. Every sentence is fluid and calculated, giving me the feeling that I was riding on a train track that every rail had been polished, checked, and rechecked, so I would arrive exactly at my destination exactly as intended.

As fun as the one-liners are, that’s not the storytelling’s only great quality. There are moments of engaging drama that become more apparent as the story progresses. Those moments interlace the verve with tension of the romantic, familial, or spiritual variety, making the moments of pep full of relief. And those relieving instances are peppered through the story to not overload it with frivolity or vice versa. Heartbreak from one relationship is counterbalanced with affection in another. Internal conflict is counterbalanced with external rewards.

Those rewards take a little patience as the novel sets up its world--but those rewards are more than worthy of a slow but still fascinating start. Black Water Sister taught me that possessions aren’t just from family dogma and literal supernatural possessions. Literature has a possessive quality, too. Like the most interesting books, Black Water Sister inserted itself firmly in my mind, as I experienced visceral reactions for the characters and genuine shock for its many twists. It’s an ultimately propulsive story that didn’t leave me with internal angst or spiritual agitation. Instead, it took up gratifying space in my brain, and thanks to the characters and a story that I couldn’t get enough of, I hope it never leaves.

The Math

Baseline Score: 7/10

Bonuses: +1 For consistently terrific dialogue.

+1 For an un-put-downable second half.

Negatives: -1 For a slightly slow start.

Nerd Coefficient: 8/10

Cho, Zen. Black Water Sister [Ace Books, 2021].

POSTED BY: Sean Dowie - Screenwriter, editor, lover of all books that make him nod his head and say, "Neat!”

Short Fiction Round Up: March and April 2021

Hello readers! I’m back with a short fiction round up spanning two months, as I was absent in March due to a death in the family. So…please enjoy some short stories that helped me grapple with grief.

Deadlock by Aimee Ogden (Fireside Magazine)
Ogden’s prose is always clear, sharp and laser-focused. It is on display at it’s best in this small 800 word flash piece published in Danny Lore’s amazing issue of Fireside. I actually had to stop myself from adding other stories from this issue here, but I highly encourage you to read them all! It’s such an excellent collection! Now, back to Deadlock: Ogden’s apocalyptic piece about climate change leaves a reader breathless as it balances anger, despair, and resignation. But as always, in true Ogden fashion, it ends with a little glitter of hope.  

Where Oaken Hearts Do Gather by Sarah Pinsker (Uncanny Magazine)
Pinsker’s newest short story is structured to mimic an internet conversation analysing the lyrics of an "old English ballad." Throughout the story, a group of internet users discuss the meaning and origin of the titular "Where Oaken Hearts Do Gather" ballad. Pinsker crafts horror atmospheres slowly– the creeping sense of dread comes from unspooling a mystery masterfully hidden between the lines of her work, until you reach the end, and feel as if you – and the characters – were always going to end up here. I especially loved the touch of adding small "intra-community" forum discussions as part of the story, as I felt it added depth to this already complex and powerful story. 

Things I Learned Today by Kyle Aisteach (Daily Science Fiction)
Aisteach’s hilarious little flash story about toddlers, Zoom, cats, and dark magic is a perfect story for 2021. It begins with the line "Any toddler who manages to pick up a full gasoline can immediately gains the power to run at the speed of light and to pass through walls simply by turning the gas can upside down," and just gets better from there.

Our Nomadic Forest – J. S. Alexander (Hexagon Magazine)
While the whole Spring issue of Hexagon Magazine is a delight, this story really stood out to me with it's originality. The short story follows a romance between two members of different tribes who live in a forest. The story is set during an important historical moment for both communities, namely a moment in which the (nomadic) forest is moving around the village. The romance -- both between the two lovers, and between the characters and their natural environment -- is beautiful, and gives this story amazing weight. 

So your grandmother is a starship now: a quick guide for the bewildered by Marissa Lingen (nature)
Lingen's flash fiction is genuine, multi-layered, and nuanced, even in only a couple of hundred words. Her celebration of women's agency by challenging our assumptions about -- especially older-- female characters is couched in the style of a perfectly crafted brochure, whose comedic questions such as "Can I stop her from becoming a starship?" receive cutting and clear answers ("no"). 

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POSTED BY: Elisabeth R Moore is a writer, birder and grad student living in Germany. When she's not writing strange stories about scary plants, or reviewing short fiction, she can be found crocheting, hiking or biking. She tweets at @willowcabins.

Interview: Sue Burke, Author of Immunity Index

photo by Daniel Lewis

Sue Burke is an author and translator who has lived in Madrid and Milwaukee, and currently resides in Chicago. Her newest novel, Immunity Index, comes out on May 4th.  She is also the author of the novels Semiosis and Interference,  her short stories and non-fiction articles have appeared in Asimov's, Clarksworld, Slate, Tor.com, Supersonic, and elsewhere, and she has translated multiple novels and short stories from Spanish to English. Along with many translators and linguists, her dream is to talk with aliens. 

Her forthcoming novel, Immunity Index, takes place in the not so distant future on Earth, yet much of what happens feels like it could have happened in the last year: a pandemic that leads to uncertainty and chaos, scientists racing for information, political protests, and people realizing that anything can be weaponized.  And since Burke writes science fiction, there are also secret sisters, a woolly mammoth, and a whole population of clones who are sick of being treated like second class citizens.  If you're a fan of Orphan Black and What Happened to Monday, you'll likely enjoy Immunity Index.

Burke was kind enough to chat with me about where she got the ideas for this novel, how to stay safe when you've just found your secret siblings, that the customer is not always right, her hopes for the future, and that even megafauna get hangry from time to time.  To learn more about Burke and her fiction, translation, and non-fiction, visit her website at sueburke.site, or follow her on twitter at @SueBurkeSpain.

Let's get to the interview!

NOAF: What can you tell us about your new novel Immunity Index? What's the elevator pitch?

Sue Burke: The United States is on the verge of a mutiny, human clones are second-class citizens, and three young women discover they are clones and sisters. When a sudden epidemic produces chaos, a scientist begins to unravel what’s really happening. Each of the women must fight to survive. One is an essential worker who hates her job, one is a rebellious college student, and one is caring for a genetically engineered woolly mammoth doomed by the chaos. Amid the mutiny and epidemic, their quest for freedom will lead them to each other. 

NOAF: Secret sisters, a geneticist studying illegal technology, and a deadly virus. What inspired this story, and how did all those elements get into the story?

SB: The initial central question of the story is identity. What makes us the same and different? Some of it is genetics, and some of it is life experiences. What makes those differences stand out? People show their true nature in a disaster. Because the story is about genetics, I brought more genetics and more disaster into it. The elements posed a lot of questions, and the story resulted from one set of answers.

NOAF: When the three women meet each other and realize everything they have in common, how do they react to learning who they are? Are they surprised? Had any of them been suspecting this truth? Is there any sisterly bonding that happens?

SB: The women manage to find out about each other well before they meet, but as a kind of sisterly bonding, they also don’t contact each other to keep each other safe. I don’t want to say much more and give away the plot.

Each one reacts differently, though, because they are different people. Life prepares all of us to deal with surprises in different ways. The same thing that seems like a disaster to one person can be an opportunity to another. What if you had a sister you never knew about? Your reaction would depend on everything that has happened to you so far.

NOAF: Who was your favorite character to write? What made that person so interesting to you?

SB: One of the sisters works in customer service, and I’ve done that too. She must be subservient and pleasant to all the customers all the time … until, in the chaos, she can finally speak her mind. She says things that I and every customer service worker have always wanted to say.

NOAF: I hear there is a woolly mammoth in this book? Tell me more!

SB: Two words: charismatic megafauna. These are the big animals that we love to love, like tigers, elephants, whales, and gorillas. What could be bigger and more lovable than a six-ton hairy mammoth? I realized that I could bring one back, at least in fiction, so I did. But I had to be honest about it. This would be a demanding, cranky beast that would eat everything in sight, need constant care, and do poorly in captivity. Still, he captures the heart of one of the sisters, and eventually, she gets to ride him!

NOAF: What is your writing process like? Do you plot everything out ahead of time, or do you just start writing and see where the story goes?

SB: Many writers praise the creative, organic exhilaration of “pantsing” or writing by the seat of their pants without an outline, uncovering the story as they go along. So, I thought, I’ll give it a try. It didn’t work for me. My first draft was limp and only half as long as it needed to be. Nine complete re-writes later, I had the final version of Immunity Index. And I learned a lesson. Planning saves time and trouble for me, although maybe not for other writers; whatever works is the right method for you. Now I’ve gone back to my old ways. I use an outline detailed enough to serve as a roadmap, and I discover a lot of interesting sights and stops along the way.

NOAF: You were recently at the virtual Capricon41 Science Fiction convention, and you hosted a few panels. On your blog, you mentioned that the theme of the convention was “Creating the Future We Want”. What is the future that you want? What do you hope to see in the next 5 years, the next 20? 

SB: I would like a quiet future. Slow but sure, we work through our problems. We make decisions that save us from dramatic disaster. People get opportunity, equity, and a chance to be their best and to lead good, productive lives. We bring climate change to a halt, and we live more lightly on the Earth.

I don’t actually expect this to happen, though, at least not in the next five to twenty years. Instead, I hope for noise — good noise, to paraphrase the late Senator John Lewis. Most of all, as we create this future, I don’t want to leave anyone out. We’ve done that in the past, and we’re living amid the wreckage.

NOAF: Thanks so much Sue!

POSTED BY: Andrea Johnson lives in Michigan with her husband and too many books. She can be found on twitter, @redhead5318 , where she posts about books, food, and assorted nerdery.