The October Daye Reread: Night and Silence

Phew!

Friends, I have a confession to make. I have felt quite motivated the last couple of weeks and I think I’m back on the horse in terms of my reading and even starting to write again, though I may need to offer apologies to the Wheel of Time Reread. I pushed through a few books that have been lingering, and I’m feeling good (about reading, anyway). It’s been a while, relatively speaking, for October Daye, so I picked up The Unkindest Tide and I’m starting to take notes and speculate about a couple of characters (who *is* Maeve, anyway?) when I thought maybe I should double-check that I’m caught up on actually writing about the rereads.

I am not.

I finished Night and Silence back in August, so we’re going to do the best we can here.

Welcome back, dear readers. Today we’re going to revisit the twelfth novel in Seanan McGuire’s October Daye series: Night and Silence. We are making a good push to catch up with publication, and with no October Daye novel this year, and if the September publication schedule holds with Tor (the series having moved from DAW), I’ve got some time. If I don’t flake. Twelve down, six to go.

The preceding novel, The Brightest Fell, took Toby to the deepest (and sealed) realms of Faerie to bring home the sister she never knew she had. Being a hero, she might have done so anyway, but Toby’s Firstborn mother Amandine took Tybalt and Jazz, and so a-questing-she-did-go. As an investigator and fully named Hero of the Realm (not always in capital letters), many of Toby’s novel-length missions involving finding people.

Night and Silence is the second book, after One Salt Sea (#5), where Toby has to find her missing daughter. There’s a much longer story there, and hopefully, if you are reading me talk about book twelve, you’re well familiar. If this is all new to you—hey, I really like the October Daye series, definitely recommend you read it, and start from the beginning. The books more or less stand on their own, but there is a growing impossibility of references and connections to how all this fits together that so much of the richness would be lost if you start *here*. There are worse places to start (Be the Serpent), but this is maybe also not the place.

If you are here, though, you’re ready for the search for Gillian and for Secrets to be revealed. I really like lore, and Night and Silence builds the lore of Faerie through the storytelling and also with more detail that Toby’s ex-husband and Gillian’s father has remarried a woman named Janet. Because this is a Seanan McGuire novel, Janet is far more than she initially seems—which is just the new wife who raised Gillian when Toby disappeared (being turned into a fish for fourteen years and all) and resents the mere idea of Toby trying to get back into Gillian’s life—but begins the novel accusing Toby of kidnapping their daughter, a scene that does not go well for either Toby or Janet at all. With grace, these are two hurting parents with no reason to like or trust the other. We see everything through Toby’s perspective, of course, which is one of the things I most appreciate about this series, because we see Toby trying to give understanding to Janet (and others). She may not always verbalize it, but she is more thoughtful than she often gets credit for by other characters.

Let’s just be clear that I’m going to spoil Night and Silence and, frankly, anything that runs through my mind while working through this.

I’ve mentioned Janet as the woman who married Cliff, Toby’s ex husband. If you’ve read the series this far, you don’t know Janet. You know Miranda. People have multiple names in this series and alternate titles and it’s just a mess of names. Miranda has been magically alive for some five hundred years. This bit doesn’t make a ton of sense, but it’s also the underpinning of the series. Back in the day when Oberon, Maeve, and Titania were walking through Faerie, there was a “Ride” where a human becomes a part of Faerie and is granted some power and position, but that incurs a debt, and that debt is paid through the sacrifice of that human’s life during the Ride of one of the Big Three of Faerie.

Janet, then a daughter of a Scottish landholder, fell in love with a man named Tam Lin, and Tam Lin was to be Maeve’s sacrifice in her Ride. Through the conniving of Firstborn Eira Rosynhwyr (always, she’s the worst), Janet “broke” Maeve’s ride and is ultimately responsible for Maeve’s disappearance and the splintering of Faerie. She, through a dalliance with Oberon, is also the mother of Amandine, which makes her Toby’s grandmother and Gilian’s great-grandmother despite now being married to Cliff and being known as Gillian’s mother.

It’s an absolute mess and also holy crap. McGuire has brought up breaking Maeve’s Ride a number of times throughout the series, and it’s mythic in every possible way. It’s this thing that happened so long ago (and is it weird that I wonder if 500 years isn’t actually that long in Faerie?) that it’s legend—but then, for all the fae, now Oberon and Maeve and Titania are all legend, and we are very close to McGuire pushing towards a presumed endgame in bringing back Oberon and Titania (like her daughter Eira, Titania is the WORST) and we have to be on the cusp of Maeve’s return. I’ve got a theory, which I’ll discuss more when I write about The Unkindest Tide, but it’s almost a certain that we’ve already met Maeve.

Lore! It’s a lot of Lore!

Also lore, but truly pertinent to Night and Silence, but for a number of books now the Luidaeg has been talking about needing to do something about the Selkies and that their debt is going to come due and they are on the clock and Toby is going to help the Luidaeg deal with it—but through the eventual rescue of her daughter, Gillian is elf-shot, and being fully human (see One Salt Sea), is going to die. But wait, there’s more! To save Gillian, the Luidaeg gives Gillian one of the lost Selkie skins, which anchors Gillian into Faerie, and Gillian *cannot* take off the skin for one hundred years and return to being human, or the elf shot will kill her. Faerie is seldom kind.

What all that means is that we are truly on the cusp of the Luidaeg doing something about the Selkies, and now Toby will have an even more personal stake in that action.

Next up on the reread will be The Unkindest Tide, in which the Selkies’ debt is paid, Toby is stabbed again, more Firstborn!, and because the path from A to B will always run through any number of additional letters, there is a bonus murder mystery.

Open roads and kind fires, my friends.

Previous Rereads

Rosemary and Rue
A Local Habitation
An Artificial Night
Late Eclipses
One Salt Sea
Ashes of Honor
Chimes at Midnight
The Winter Long
A Red-Rose Chain
Once Broken Faith

The Brightest Fell


PUBLISHED BY: Joe Sherry - Senior Editor of Nerds of a Feather. Hugo and Ignyte Winner. Minnesotan.

Book Review: To Turn the Tide by S. M. Stirling

An argument about the Roman Empire that masquerades as a time travel into a alternate history novel.

It’s not often that one finds that the end of the book is what a reader might consider reading first. Usually an afterword of a book is best read in the aftermath of the book, when the reader’s thoughts can gel and coalesce and get a peek behind the curtain. It has happened, though, that said peek behind the curtain feels like it is oddly placed, that it should be in a foreword, or if it was a standalone piece altogether. Or, that the afterward and its arguments is the dog, and the book is the tail. 

In this context I want to talk about S.M. Stirling’s To Turn the Tide. 

But let’s go back to the end of the book before we get into the meat and potatoes of the actual book. The title is “For Nerds like Me: Concerning Technological Innovations and Time Travel”. Stirling begins with what is exactly on the tin, talking about works such as Lest Darkness Fall, The Man who Came Early, A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court and others. What follows is a long essay on the practicalities of what and how history and technology could be changed. There is a lot of discussion (which winds up in the book by the characters themselves) about the practicalities of providing technological innovation, and what kinds of innovation can be brought. There is also a lengthy discussion of the history of the Roman Empire at the time of the Marcomannic Wars in terms of society and technology and its impending fall. Oh, and for good measure, mentions of the mutability of history in general

But the thing is, this afterward is written in a tone and style as if you hadn’t actually just read the book itself, which I found peculiar. The ending of the essay even says “To find out more, you will have to read To Turn the Tide and its sequels”. And while the essay sets a lot of things up, it remains in terms of characters and plot mostly non-spoilery. It’s an academic argument from a non-academic on a number of levels that the book seems to have been written once the afterword was done, to see what it would look like as a story, rather than an essay.

And so we can now actually turn to the book that seems to put its own afterward into practice. 

To Turn the Tide starts in early 2030’s Vienna, where a scientist has invited several Americans to his house. They all have gotten to Vienna and the House before the world has decided to go to hell. As they learn the professor has built a time machine, a global thermonuclear war of the highest and fullest order breaks out, and a fusion bomb dropped on Vienna activates the machine and sends the professor and the Americans to 165 CE. The Americans are not murdered (although the professor does die) thanks to the intervention of a merchant who decides not to rob and kill the stunned mysterious travelers who seemed to fall from the sky. With the merchant’s help, the Americans get themselves on their feet, find that the Professor had packed a lot of money and gear (it was clear he was going to bring them all back before the bomb forced his hand) and now they have to make a life here. Going back or avoiding changing history (à la the concerns in Island in the Sea of Time) are impossible, given the nuclear war. They have to make the best of it. But they know a bunch of the outlines of history, and know in the next couple of years, a massive German invasion is coming (the Marcomannic Wars). Arthur and his friends decide they need to survive, and to prop up Marcus Aurelius and the Roman Empire... and keep it from sliding downward (they’ve seen Gladiator, they know who Commodus is). And so a story begins as the Americans try to use the money and goods they have (including a lot of seeds, of things like potatoes, chilies and tomatoes) to introduce positive change for the Empire, starting in Pannonia.  And, Arthur knows the formula for gunpowder.

The book is very heavy on its historical and technological arguments, and of course the nuts and bolts of trying to bootstrap technological changes from the wheelbarrow to gunpowder. This means the characterization of the characters is a bit lacking. Arthur Vanderberg, who soon becomes Artorius, gets the most of the book. He’s the veteran, and as the book goes more and more oriented toward the war with the Germanic tribes headed into Pannonia, he gets more and more screen time, he is the hub that the other Americans run around. It’s no surprise that when the Americans’ place in the world goes up, he’s the one that’s considered the leader and rises the farthest and highest. We really understand his deal, but we get lesser and varying degrees of motivation and drive from the others. One of them, Filiipa Chang, gets a same sex relationship that looks like a deliberate inversion of a relationship in another Stirling castaway in time novel, Island in the Sea of Time. Two of the other Americans not very convincingly and later in the book pair off with each other, leaving one unattached completely.  Given that intimate relationships are the major way the book drives character development, the book falls down significantly on that score.

There is a lot of playfulness, though, with the characters even given that thinness here with the Americans making lots of movie and book references and having a mentality that readers can identify with. Unlike a lot of previous time travel castaway novels, this is a novel where the characters come to terms with it immediately, and they have done the reading and viewing, as it were (the aforementioned Lest Darkness Fall gets explicitly talked about by the characters). There are other fun bits too, as when the Americans, now that they have tomatoes and chilies, decide to introduce the Romans to Texas pit style barbecue...and the Romans go gangbusters for it. There is even a cameo by a character from another time travel novel that is set in the same time and place that I will allow the reader to find and discover. I didn’t recognize her at first, but later, when I re-read the section, it's obvious who it is. 

Marcus Aurelius himself becomes a character in the book, with a point of view. The book has, as many people interested in him do, a bit of a crush on the man, as he is clearly more intelligent and clever than many of those around him, and he comes to accept the strangers with their newfangled ideas far more readily than perhaps reason would allow. I get the feeling that out of the “Good Emperors”, Marcus is clearly Stirling’s favorite. And Verus, his co-emperor, is definitely depicted as a slacker nobody remembers (to be fair, even today, most people who know Marcus Aurelius don’t even remember Verus was co-emperor with him until he died of the plague). 

The action sequences, and they get bigger and more prominent as the book goes along, are a draw for readers who like that sort of thing. Are you the kind of person who saw the battle at the beginning of Gladiator (a movie the characters have seen!) and thought “adding a primitive gun barrage to this fight would make it even cooler?” If that is the case, then there is a lot for you to love. There are long stretches of the book that are ticking over technological changes and development, and then there is the sharp shock of war, described in bloody and serious detail. War is definitely hell. Even as Arthur tries to develop primitive gunpowder weapons, he can’t get the Romans to Napoleonic level technology where gunpowder weapons are everything in a battle (the book is heavy on how much things can change and how much materiel can actually be produced; it does a great job in showing the gunpowder weapons as a force multiplier but not the be all of warfare, but Stirling has a great admiration for Romans, and has the characters point out how easily the Romans borrowed technological ideas from rivals and neighbors, and so they take up the gunpowder weapons similarly).

But is the book worth reading? Who is this book for? I think this book is for the kind of people who would read that afterword first, and would be excited to see it in action. It’s a book that, with its afterword in the lead, is making historical arguments about the Roman empire, technology and history, with the fates or even development of the characters as somewhat of a secondary concern. In some ways it is a definite evolution of some of Stirling’s thought given his previous time travel, alternate history books, showing development of his thinking on how things could be changed, but in other ways, there is a bit of a regression on the character front. Arthur and his friends don’t quite stand up to, say, Captain Alston and the islanders of Nantucket in terms of memorability, save for Arthur. 

I personally enjoyed the book, given its focus on alternate history, history, and thinking about a subgenre and the practicalities of time travel, changing history and a reconsideration of the reign of Marcus Aurelius and the Roman Empire. It’s not a book for those who are deeply invested in the characters and their lives and growth and development as much, I am afraid. 

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The Math

Highlights:

• Intensely interesting worldbuilding and piece of life in Pannonia 165 CE as the Americans are dropped into it.

• Deep consideration of the problems of technological change and development and theories of history

• A Baen cover that doesn’t hurt the eyes

• Notably weak on characters, even the lead. 

My rating? That's tough. For me as a writer, it hits a solid 8 out of 10. If the characters had more depth to them, it would be an easy nine. But the characters really drag down the final score a whole point. And if you aren't interested in time travel, the problems of the Roman Empire, et cetera, that 8 score is generous and this book is probably Not For You. (See what I mean?)

Reference: Stirling, S. M.,  To Turn the Tide  [Baen, 2024].

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

Book Review: Absolution by Jeff VanderMeer

Area X gets weirder (and more male-driven) in Jeff VanderMeer’s fourth installment, the prequel Absolution.

I’m a big fan of Jeff VanderMeer’s Southern Reach trilogy (2014). I’ve presented on it at conferences, taught Annihilation multiple times, and wrote a dissertation chapter on the trilogy. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about these books—perhaps too much time to accurately write a review of the fourth book, Absolution, so do with that what you will. Also, there will be light spoilers for the trilogy. 

The original trilogy explores a place on the Florida coast called Area X through multiple characters and points of view. Area X is a transitional environment where things that enter it do not remain the same (to put it mildly), with sometimes horrific results. The Southern Reach is a quasi-governmental agency created to control (or defeat) Area X and try to figure out what exactly is going on. By the end of the trilogy, it’s clear Area X cannot be contained.

Ten years later, VanderMeer has released Absolution, which takes place before Area X becomes the infamous location of the trilogy. Like the environment that VanderMeer has released this prequel into, much has changed—including VanderMeer as a writer. His more direct works (which is perhaps a misnomer) such as Finch (2009) and Southern Reach trilogy have been replaced with more dense, circular stories that give up linearity for the weird. While VanderMeer has always been part of the new weird, his later novels, such as Dead Astronauts (2019), really lean into the weird in terms of structure and prose. I wondered how he would approach this change in his style when it came to returning to Area X or if he would double down on his current style. He chose the latter, so while the novel doesn’t read quite the same as the original trilogy, it retains the weirdness.

Much of Absolution is told from the point of view of Old Jim, who owned the bar in the town on the Forgotten Coast in the original trilogy. In the prequel, we learn Old Jim was sent there by Central in an operation to see what was going on with the strange things happening on the Forgotten Coast (which becomes Area X). Old Jim has a rambling, near stream of consciousness style that makes for a dense, rich reading experience. He’s also an unreliable narrator, which adds another layer of weirdness to what is actually going on in the Forgotten Coast as it is difficult to discern what is trauma from Old Jim’s decades as an operative and what is actually something bizarre happening. Old Jim is obsessed with the Dead Town expedition, an early group of biologists that mirror the later expeditions into Area X in the original trilogy. He scours Central’s archives for notes from the biologists’ journals for clues of what actually happened before being deployed to the Forgotten Coast.  

Without dipping into spoilers, there is a time jump to a later point in the Area X timeline, with the story told from the point of view of Lowry, an unlikeable drug-obsessed and “fuck”-addled member of the first expedition into Area X (and a character from the original trilogy). Much like Old Jim’s section, the writing is dense and fully stream of consciousness with an intense amount of profanity that adds to the difficulty of reading the prose out of pure stuttering repetition. 

As these two sections suggest, the book is much more character driven and focused on the voices of these characters as opposed to uncovering the mystery of Area X, as in the original trilogy. The other main character is Cass, another Central agent who works with Old Jim to discover what is going. She is a spy but also a lookalike for his missing daughter, and the two become conflated for him as she becomes a surrogate for his daughter—not just his colleague. Her character felt most like a callback to some of the multi-dimensional women who populated the original trilogy, such as the Biologist.

Perhaps because this book functions as a prequel, there are very few answers in its pages. Much of the book is simply weird in the unique ways that VanderMeer explores the weird. What surprised me about this addition to the Southern Reach was the focus on the human. While the place of the Forgotten Coast and Area X are certainly important characters to this novel, the human voices are overwhelming in their narrative style. VanderMeer’s trilogy of 2014 had clear parallels to how environmental thinkers were engaging with the climate crisis, which has led to the 2014 trilogy being on many environmental and climate-focused reading lists and syllabi, mine included. In Absolution, the environmental commentary is much less clear cut. Some of this change comes from the characters. In this book, we don’t have a biologist point of view character to comment on the transitional environments or how humanity is impacting different species. Rather, these two men, Old Jim and Lowry, are infected with their jobs (and in Lowry’s case, drugs) as much as by Area X, which is supported by referencing Dr. Alison Sperling’s theoretical work on the body in the novel’s acknowledgements. 

While weirdness for the sake of weirdness might be enough for some people, it wasn’t for me. Then again, I’ve spent a lot of time in Area X. If you preferred reading about the Biologist (from Annihilation) and Ghost Bird (from Acceptance), then Absolution might leave you feeling hollow. If book two, Authority, was your favorite of the original trilogy, then you will most likely enjoy this prequel that investigates these disintegrating human systems in all their toxic weirdness.

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Reference: VanderMeer, Jeff. Absolution [MCD, 2024].

Posted by: Phoebe Wagner is an author, editor, and academic writing and living at the intersection of speculative fiction and climate change.

Film Review: Pedro Páramo

Netflix adapts one of the most acclaimed classics of Latin American literature

Latin American history has been stained with blood since the time of colonization. The respective canons of our national literary traditions have variously grappled with the sense of disorientation of having to figure out how to build new nations after finally winning our independence; and the ever-present shadow of violence that haunted those first attempts (and that still haunts us in many ways) left a clear mark on our writers. But the special blend of Indigenous and Catholic beliefs that occurred in Mexico created a unique cultural relationship with death.

One of the manifestations of the role of death in Mexican consciousness is Juan Rulfo's 1955 novel Pedro Páramo, one of the biggest masterpieces of the Spanish language. Told in a minutely fragmented, extremely nonlinear style, it anticipated many of the technical innovations of what would eventually be called magical realism. It follows multiple first-person accounts in the remote town of Comala, where the main narrator travels to look for Pedro Páramo, his father. Pedro Páramo embodies the archetype of the Mexican macho: a selfish, violent authoritarian who exploits men and consumes women. His inner demons gradually turn him into a bitter loner, feared and hated by everyone. By the time the narrator arrives looking for him, Comala is an abandoned waste, its inhabitants long gone. But the deep pain that lived there still echoes in the walls and in the streets. Pedro left behind many tormented, restless spirits, from whose voices we piece together his story.

Pedro is a rich landowner at a time when the Mexican Revolution is trying to put an end to the outrageous inequality that has always been the scourge of our countries. Through shameless fraud, manipulation and murder, he gradually becomes the uncontested authority in the town, but all his money and his power are useless against the capricious hand of death that continuously denies him any morsel of happiness. One character defines him as "living rancor," and that sentiment takes hold of him until nothing else remains.

Of many classics of literature it has been said that they can't be adapted to cinema. Curiously, the numerous jumps in the narration of Pedro Páramo, from past to present and from one narrator to another, feel ready-made for the screen. The Netflix adaptation follows almost exactly the sequence in which the text is written, and that structure, full of abrupt breaks, which in book form demands constant attention and effort from the reader, lends itself to the audiovisual medium with surprising ease. (Rulfo also wrote movie scripts, so maybe he had a sense of the possibilities of scene cuts when writing his novel.)

Precisely because the movie didn't need to add more technical embellishments to a text that was itself quite complex, some Anglo reviewers have reported feeling left unimpressed by it, describing it as too long and not experimental enough for its source material. My suspicion is that they watched the movie in its lackluster English dub instead of the powerful dialogues of the original Spanish, most of them taken verbatim from the novel. I'm not surprised to find that, where English media have assigned this movie to a Hispanic reviewer, its reception has been more favorable. The languid, understated tone is part of the point. The trip to Comala is a descent into hell, and when these ghosts speak, they have much to lament. You can get bored with Pedro Páramo if you're not intimately familiar with the way the real and the unreal are experienced by Latin Americans. The generational shock of colonization and the repeated shocks of subsequent civil wars built a collective mindset where no assumptions are guaranteed, where things can crumble down at any moment and the most delicate beauty coexists with utter terror. You don't need fancy CGI to tell our stories. Our mundane, common lives are already full of the impossible.

Director Rodrigo Prieto masterfully communicates the intensity of the events in Pedro Páramo with vivid colors and stark chiaroscuros. The result is a slow-paced account of a life of frustrated desires painted with heightened accents. Nothing much seems to happen while a tempest of emotions roars under the surface. That's the tension in the heart of a Mexican macho, who is expected to show at all times a hard face that nothing can move, even as his unacknowledged feelings eat him alive. Here's where we can notice the ace up the sleeve of this movie: Gustavo Santaolalla's monumental soundtrack, at the same time unobtrusive and ominous, matching the all-consuming resentment and fury that hide in the ordinary flow of everyday moments.

This production lives up to the thorny responsibility of adapting a national epic. Many classics of Latin American literature took upon themselves the task of expressing an entire country in a book. To get a feel for the soul of Argentina, you read Martín Fierro. To get a feel for the soul of Colombia, you read One Hundred Years of Solitude. That's the position that Pedro Páramo occupies for Mexico. And the many souls trapped between the empty houses of Comala tell of a land mercilessly punished by men's ambitions, a land that resonates with the clamor of a very old pain that still hasn't found peace, a land where the melancholy of memories finds some comfort each time someone listens to them.

Nerd Coefficient: 9/10.

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

Videogame Review: Persona 3 Reload/Episode Aigis by P-Studio

It’s Going Down.

When the clock strikes twelve, the world enters an eerie state called the “midnight hour” and the shadows come out to play. But what is this midnight hour and why are these shadows on the hunt? And why has the high school turned into a horrid skyscraper called Tartarus? Discovering the answers to these questions is precisely the mission of the Specialized Extracurricular Execution Squad (S.E.E.S.). As you take control of the silent protagonist (who you can name whatever you please, though Makoto Yuki is canon) through this eighty-plus-hour JRPG, you’ll discover more about the world, your friends, and the city around you. Persona 3 is where the series pivoted to include the social link formula it is known for today, and Reload refreshes what made it special and puts a modern coat on it. So grab your evoker and put it to your head, it’s time to blow your persona out of your brain.

I must declare that I never played the original Persona 3, nor did I have a chance to play Persona 3 FES or Persona 3 Portable, so my frame of reference is strictly tied to its sequels, specifically Persona 4 Golden and Persona 5 (not Royal, sorry Kasumi). As Persona 4 and 5 are two of my all-time favorite JRPGs, the 3 Reload announcement was an exciting prospect. For me, a new Persona game would be released, with a new set of characters to love, and a new dungeon to explore. Persona 3 Portable allowed the choice of a female protagonist, so they must have removed some features of the past games to create this updated version unfortunately, as I would have loved the chance to have a female protagonist in a Persona game.

The game’s aesthetic is fantastic. The character models and art style make it feel like you’re watching anime at times. Sure, there’s the occasional NPC who has a lower budget model, but the overall look of the game is vibrant and diverse and is always appealing. The high school setting and dorm (two of the places the player frequents) don’t necessarily wow, but have an ingrained sense of comfort that grows on you as you spend your hours on Tatsumi Port Island. P-Studio has ensured visual parity between the oldest modern Persona game (1 and 2 are a different beat altogether) and the newest. Now we just need a little refresher for Persona 4 and we’ll be golden.

But the parity doesn't just stop and the in-game animations and visuals, it also extends to the UI and combat. The UI is beautiful, seamless, and most important, stylish. Like its predecessor-successor Persona 5, P-Studio knocked the UI’s look out of the park with its distinct sophistication. You could probably show me that UI in ten years and I'll know exactly which game I’m looking at. That said, the item UI could use a bit of organization. Finding items, especially late game when you’ve collected so much, can end up being a bit of a hassle. And the naming conventions of the skill cards aren’t necessarily intuitive.

The combat is fun and flashy and exactly what I love about these games. For those of you who haven't played any Persona, the games are turn-based. The primary goal of combat is to down your enemies (putting them in a weakened position). This can be done by landing a critical hit or exploiting an enemy’s weakness (like fire, ice, etc.), once one is downed, the player receives a huge 1 More on their screen, allowing them to attack again in a row. Once all enemies in the current encounter are down, you have the opportunity to engage in an All-Out attack, which sees the main character and allies land a combined attack on remaining enemies that does a lot of damage. In Persona 3 Reload, finishing a fight with an All-Out attack guarantees the activation of an event called Shuffle Time, which allows the player to pick prizes (and who doesn't love prizes?). This combat loop is extremely satisfying and easily hooked me for hours on end. One of my favorite new additions to the combat is the updated Persona 5 baton-pass. Shifting, as it has been renamed, allows the player to exploit enemy weaknesses with greater ease, and adds an extra flow to the combat. When the character triggers an enemy weakness, they can use their 1 More action to transfer their additional turn to a teammate (who may then be able to exploit another weakness or heal the team). This creates ample opportunity to down the entire enemy line and get a chance at the sweet, sweet Shuffle Time.

Though I love the combat and would love to see something like it implemented in some of my other favorite series (Pokemon anyone?), there are a few gripes I had that occasionally created some irritating bumps. The main player character is considered the party leader. If the party leader dies, it’s game over. You have to restart the game, the fight, or go to your last save file. It’s dumb and inconvenient and doesn't enhance the experience in any way. In a game with insta-kill spells, this can come on randomly. There were a few fights in which I was deep into an encounter and the main character was insta-killed, leading to much frustration. In reality, my other characters would simply use a revive spell or item. The game doesn't have to end. Also, I’m not sure if it was a glitch, but halfway through the game, the game-over screen stopped allowing me to replay a battle I had lost (meaning I could only restart the game or load an old save file). Why? Later on, I would sometimes be offered the ability to retry, sometimes not. Not sure what the deal was there, but it was an odd inconsistency. Also, outside of combat, item management in combat is not the best. Also, I think an option to skip the All-Out attack animation should have been considered. I saw it about a million times, I don’t think it’s necessary to watch it every time.

Filling the persona compendium is a satisfying endeavor that kept me occupied throughout my adventures in Tartarus. For those not in the know, personas are different creatures and mythological beings that the characters summon to grant them their magical abilities. Unlike the supporting S.E.E.S. members, the main character can summon multiple personas. There is a certain Pokemon-like element to it, the collectible element is exciting, and trying to get better and better personas with better abilities is a continuous goal. Unlike Pokemon, however, personas are easy to discard for a better one. The sentimental attachment gained from sticking with a certain group of Pokemon doesn't exist here. Instead of Pikachu, you have Thor (but Odin looks to be a bit better, so maybe I’ll go with him…). Some of the designs are neat, some are quite bizarre. Who wouldn't want to use Alice from Through the Looking Glass and What Alice Found There? Or what about Lucifer? Yeah, that’s about how wide the compendium goes.

The dungeon design is varied, not just aesthetically, but in layout as well. Some were easier to navigate than others, but none were particularly difficult by any means. Every block has a unique look with new enemies to encounter. Admittedly, many of the enemies are re-skinned, which leads to a bit of redundancy in the design, but since each new re-skin comes with a new set of weaknesses and abilities, it essentially feels like a new enemy. Trying to discover a new enemy’s weaknesses never gets old thankfully, even if the enemy designs begin to tire. While I enjoyed most of the dungeons, one in particular was visually obfuscating, causing me to have to pause the game multiple times. It wasn't fun to look at for more than twenty minutes at a time and I find it a rather odd inclusion. It’s what I imagine some sort of hallucinogenic trip to look like, and it isn't particularly pleasant. Another irritating Tartarus issue I had concerned the consistent commentary from teammates. I swear I’ve never played a game where I was told about every single treasure chest and every single enemy in the game. The only conclusion I came to was that play-testers simply couldn’t see any of these things. But boy is it annoying at times. Also, the number of times I heard Fuuka tell Koromaru how cool he looked in combat made me want to remove him from my party. Of course he looks cool! He's a dog with a knife in his mouth.

I’ve talked about the meat, but what about the potatoes? The social link and daily life activities of the main character are part of what makes modern Persona what it is. Persona 3 Reload doesn't disappoint in this respect. From the dying man, Akinari (one of my new favorites) to the unusual monk Mutatsu, the social links are satisfying and worthwhile. While a few of the main party characters seem a bit single-minded, they eventually open up a bit. Though Sanada’s incessant desire to work out drove me a bit crazy, I still warmed up to him, and Junpei. Well, Junpei is Junpei. My only issue in this game is that not all teammates have social links. Sure you can level them up in a social way that increases combat ability, but you can’t link them up, which is an odd omission. Considering I prioritized my social links, I missed time-sensitive events with some of my fellow S.E.E.S. members that I would have liked to have seen. Another small gripe is the nighttime social links. At night there are exactly two. Daytime? Seventeen. I understand the need for a big imbalance due to the game’s structure, but there were quite a few nights where having another companion available would been a great addition, and it would have allowed me to spread the love a little more evenly. Beside that though, I enjoyed getting my part-time jobs and leveling up my social stats (academics, charm, and courage). Having only three (as opposed to five for P4 and P5) allowed a more focused assault on specific stats, though each can hit a max of six (instead of five as in the other games).

Last but not least, sound! I played in English and loved the characters and voice actors. I loved the dorm crew and am so glad I got a chance to become a member of S.E.E.S. (even if Junpei got on my nerves sometimes). Having a silent protagonist is a bit odd at times, but it works for the Persona games on the whole. But where the game shines is the music. The soundtrack is fantastic. Every Persona game has an amazing soundtrack and Persona 3 Reload has an absolute banger of an OST. “Color Your Night” and “It’s Going Down” are some of my favorites. My girlfriend even came into the room a few times to ask what I was listening to because it sounded cool (for the record, she is not into video games). Even if you don't play the game, the soundtrack is worth listening to on its own.

Persona 3 Reload feels like it could be an entirely new Persona for those who’ve yet to play the original. For those who have played the original, I can’t say how it compares, but I do know that it is now in line with its contemporaries. While there are some intriguing choices made (like excluding some teammates from social links), the overall package is an appealing and satisfying one. It’s difficult to say where I place this darker iteration in the series, but I do know one thing, when the final cutscene rolled, I felt the same sensation I had at the end of the previous two games; a mournful end to something good, a goodbye to a group of friends. And that’s how I know it was a successful Persona game.

--

The Math

Objective Assessment: 8.5/10

Bonus: +1 for an excellent OST. +1 for visual splendor. + 1 for social links.

Penalties: -1 for party leader KO game over. -1 day/night activity imbalance. -1 for repetivie dungeon voice lines.

Nerd Coefficient: 8.5/10

Posted by: Joe DelFranco - Fiction writer and lover of most things video games. On most days you can find him writing at his favorite spot in the little state of Rhode Island.

———


Why did you make me do this?

The good thing about a Persona game is that they usually release a big update or add-on that brings with it a significant chunk of gameplay. The bad thing is that, by the time it comes out, you’d have to replay the entire hundred-hour game just to experience it (hence why I have yet to try Persona 5 Royal—again, sorry Kasumi). I didn’t realize what kind of DLC Episode Aigis was going to be (whether it would be post-game or integrated like Royal), so I waited for its release before playing Persona 3 Reload. What I wasn’t expecting was a $35 price tag. It’s a hefty one.

Now, I went at length with my primary review, so I’ll keep this one brief. Episode Aigis is post-game content that you can probably play without having to finish the main campaign (of course you would have to endure the spoilers). The only thing that carries over here is your persona compendium. Episode Aigis places the character at level 25 and has you and the old team essentially re-level up to get as powerful as you were before. It’s not exactly an enticing premise, but since the combat is enjoyable, it’s not much of an issue.

Introduced right away is the new character Metis, who accompanies the heroes throughout the Abyss of Time as they try to resolve issues from the past. Metis has charm and is at times humorous, but the number of times she says the word “sister” got on my nerves. It’s annoying, frankly. I liked her kit and wanted to see more of her since I was used to the rest of the cast, but there were a few times I put her aside just so I didn't have to listen to her call Aigis sister for the millionth time.

The DLC is sizable, taking about thirty hours and comprising three new dungeon types that are intermixed throughout the exploration of the Abyss of Time. Notably absent are any social links or daily activities. This is primarily a combat-focused add-on. Yes, there is a reason for the combat, and the story does resolve things for all the ancillary characters that were in the main game, but the potatoes are missing from the meat and potatoes plate.

While the combat is great, there isn't much in the way of new enemies or combat mechanics. It feels like a rather exploitative DLC that should have been about $15, or better yet, included with the game (since they had already released this years ago with Persona 3 FES). Sony recently remade The Last of Us Part I and included their Left Behind DLC with the package because it is now considered part of the first game. I fully believe P-Studio should have done this with Episode Aigis. Or at least not charge $35 for something that doesn’t quite live up to the base game.

One of the issues I had with this DLC was that enemies attacked out of turn on many occasions (a big no-no when you're trying to coordinate your attacks), something that never happened in the primary game. Also, one of the end-game enemies, Maya, was an irritating pain and I just eventually ignored her (not that I couldn't beat her, she would just eventually run away after I wasted my time fighting her).

The story has an odd Christ allegory that I found drained a bit of the end-game appreciation. Speaking of, I disliked how the end battles remove character weaknesses to buff playtime. It creates boring drawn-out battles that I just wanted to be over.

To be honest, I appreciated the ability to see more of these characters and to watch them work through the problems that were a result of their actions in the main game. If you enjoy the main game and its characters, then this is a worthy addition. I would just wait for a price drop or a bundle. Have no worries though, the soundtrack is still peak.

--

The Math

Objective Assessment: 7/10

Bonus: +1 for story extension. +1 for amazing OST.

Penalties: -1 for lack of social links. -1 for how many times Metis says "sister". -.5 for rehashing from level 25.

Nerd Coefficient: 6.5/10

Posted by: Joe DelFranco - Fiction writer and lover of most things video games. On most days you can find him writing at his favorite spot in the little state of Rhode Island.

GUEST POST: Pontypool Stage Show Review by Alasdair Stuart

Pontypool is my favourite horror movie. Adapted from Tony Burgess’ cult novel, it follows the crew of a tiny Canadian local radio station on the night that a virus spread through language breaks out in their small town. As they become the story, and the story becomes a killer, the three must work out how to communicate with each other and the world. It’s intensely humane, relentlessly funny and unlike anything else I’ve ever seen.

It's ridiculously appropriate then that a story about a linguistic virus should evolve so well. As well as the excellent original book, there’s an audio drama using the movie’s cast and now, the show has jumped the Atlantic to land in the home of the other Pontypool, Wales.

For the next week, a stage production of Pontypool is playing in the Millennium Centre’s Westin Studio in Cardiff. I saw it last week, chatted to the director and had an incredibly good, fun night.

 This is a show that’s deeply Welsh in fascinating, subtle ways. In addition to relocating the story to the valleys, it also leans into the very real cultural divide between the different elements of the UK and the stories we tell ourselves about where we come from and who we are. No one tgells those stories louder than Grant Mazzy, the exiled shock jock at the heart of the play. Lloyd Hutchinson plays him with Clarksonian glee, revelling in the sound of his own voice and trying not to think about how far it carries. Thrown out of the BBC, Grant is a legend in his own lunchtime, performatively railing against the dying of the light from Beacon Radio’s tiny studio.

His only appreciative audience is Megan Davies, played by Mali O’Donnell. The production assistant for Beacon is intensely competent, cheerful and likes everyone, the social glue that holds Grant and producer Rhiannon Briar played by Victoria John together. O’Donnell and John are both fantastic and there’s a smartly handled dynamic between the two women that does the vital work of grounding the story. We find out as the story goes on that Rhi is guilt-ridden over the fact Megan is at the station. Not because of what she does but because of how small it is and how few opportunities there are. Grant is exiled here, Rhi feels like she’s the sole defender of the station status quo and Megan is quite happy where she is, even if Rhi isn’t. Three people at three different stages of their career, all crammed into a tiny studio on the day the world ends. Elements like that, and the universally strong cast give the play a foundation it only ever builds on. Its characters do the same, clinging to their training, using their job as a shield even as they slowly realise just how much trouble they’re in. John is especially good in this regard playing Rhi as furious, terrified, exhausted and relentless she’s just trying to understand the problem, even as Grant is trying to make the problem his road home.

The problem itself is chillingly well realised, and movement coordinator Lucy Glassbrook has given the virus victims (Referred to as ‘Conversationalists’ in the original text) a chilling set of common movements as the virus overtakes them. Director Dan Phillips uses this as a handle to crank the tension with the second half featuring an extended sequence where the radio staff are locked in with multiple victims. Because the event is so unprecedented, and Grant is often so self-absorbed, we notice before they do and the ‘IT’S BEHIND YOU!’ tension is cut with the horror of watching someone be taken over to create some gloriously dark theatrical horror. Philips and Robinson give us multiple cups too, with Corwyn Jones is particularly impressive as ‘helicopter traffic reporter’ Ken Loney who witnesses the original breakout in a manner that shatters his, his colleagues’ and our illusions that anything is safe.

That’s the big takeaway from the show. Hefin Robinson’s script comes at the original idea from a different angle that makes it both more focused and humane and, if anything, bleaker. Grant’s motivations are an oil and water slick of personal gain and altruism and as the second half continues and order collapses, he rises to the occasion whether anyone wants him to or not. Dan Phillips peppers that act with some glorious moments of theatricality, all of which land like the arcing flashlight blows of one character clubbing another to death on a near blacked out stage. Language, music, implication and psychology all mix in the increased damaged studio and your perception of the characters shifts even as the language they’re using does. The ending, whose final line has been on my tattoo list for years, is subtly retooled too, as Grant both tries to save the world and redeem himself. It’s not the end of the world, it’s not even the end of the show, but it’s the end of Grant Mazzy’s exile and God help anyone in his way.

 Every choice this show makes is smart. Every performance is top notch. The production looks brilliant. It deserves a longer run, a wider audience and a lot of acclaim and if you’re a horror fan and can make it to Cardiff, you need to see it.

Pontypool is currently playing at the Millennium Centre in Cardiff until November 16^th.

--

Alasdair Stuart is a professional enthusiast, pop culture analyst, and writer behind the award-nominated weekly newsletter, The Full Lid. He is a multiple Hugo finalist and co-owns the Escape Artists podcast network. He can be found on bluesky.

K. J. Parker and the the Saevus Corax Trilogy

Now complete, the Saevus Corax trilogy shows the wit, cynicism, nuance and a comprehensive experience of K. J. Parker in the long form. And my favorite of his works.

Tom Holt contains multitudes as an author. In his given name, he is a prolific writer of comedic and humorous fantasy. He’s also written historical novels under his given name, and poetry as well. And then there is his pen name of K. J. Parker. Parker has two modes: the short story, often with supernatural elements, a crisp and focused affair; and then there are his novels, most especially his trilogies. Most of these are set in the same world as the short stories (as far as one can tell) but are relentlessly mundane fantasy, with no magic or supernatural elements whatsoever, and constructing larger, longer narratives.

And so we come to his latest trilogy: Saevus Corax (Saevus Corax Deals with the Dead, Saevus Corax Captures the Castle, Saevus Corax Gets Away with Murder). All three novels were released in a burst at the end of 2023, which reinforces the point that in all of his guises and facets, Parker is quite the prolific author.

As mentioned above, most of his novels and short stories are set in various times and places in the same fantasy world. Parkerland (for lack of any real defined name) is roughly, with a very few exceptions, based on an alternate Eurasia. There are some deliberately obfuscating and contradictory elements to Parker’s worldbuilding. There is no defined timeline anywhere in his novels and stories. We get plenty of references to events and characters (Salonicus, a playwright and con man who features in a few stories as a main character, has his work referenced in many other books, including here in the Corax trilogy). And maps? There are no official maps of Parkerland anywhere, and the very geography of the world feels fast and loose at times. It feels more than deliberate on Parker’s part.

I want to come to Corax directly on this last one, and discuss it, because it is at its heart a travelogue of a character who has been running away from his past his entire life. And so, while some if not many of Parker’s novels and stories take place in a relatively confined space (the City Trilogy, for example, mostly takes place in the titular Robur City), Corax is really different in that our main character ranges all across Parkerland. And where Corax doesn’t actually visit, he namedrops and has opinions on, or wonders what is happening as the overarching plot of the trilogy unfolds. So the Corax Trilogy is about a guy who roams a world where there are plenty of comparative references and places to go and things described, but is light on how everything is supposed to fit together.

Corax has a bigger problem than that. Even as he runs away from his past, a long simmering fight between much of the “West” (read: Western Europe) and the Sashan Empire (read: “Imperial Persia”) has been brewing. In point of fact, for more than two novels, Corax does his best to try and defuse and stop the conflict from happening with all of his wit, panache and machinations.. There is a deep irony in all this, but Corax makes it make sense.

For, you see, Corax’s main occupation for most of these three novels is as a battlefield salvager. Two sides have a battle, then leave, and firms such as the one Corax runs come in (having paid for the privilege), strip the armors, weapons, and other goodies, and take care of the dead bodies. Corax’s company is a second-tier outfit in this business, and his margins are crap, but he does the job anyway. It’s not his first career after he ran away from home, but he’s got a lot invested in it, so he keeps coming back to it, even with such weird diversions as becoming king of a rich island for a while. So you’d think that a big war between the Sashans and everyone else would be good for his bottom line, but you'd be wrong, and Corax is not shy in telling us why in detail. And yes, it is mainly the fact that hundreds of thousands or more people dead would be a tragedy. But even personally, it is also because no outfit, not even the Asphogel Brothers, the top-tier outfit, could handle a grand world war, much less Corax and his five hundred men.

So, for a trilogy about a guy who has run away from his past and finally landed on battlefield salvager after conflicts and wars, the trilogy is throughout rather against the whole idea of war in general. Corax is way too practical to think that war doesn’t solve anything; it's just that it's often a very bad solution to problems, and the collateral damage is frightful. He knows all this, and knows the reasons why the historical forces of commerce and need are driving toward war, but he tries to stop it any way he can.

So, in trying to stop the war (and spoiler, he is ultimately unsuccessful, and that itself is a tragedy on several levels, the more I think about it given events in the trilogy), Corax’s journeys across Parkerland make this my favorite of Parker’s works. Sure, I would like a definitive map, or even a timeline to make sense of when this trilogy takes place in relation to other works. We get some hints and signposts, but for all of the places we do visit and the things Corax sees and deals with, the lack of precision makes the trilogy, and Parker’s work in general feels somewhat more like M. J. Harrison than, say, Marshall Ryan Maresca in terms of the worldbuilding. A question I would like to ask Holt, should I ever get the chance: Is it at all straight and ordered and plotted out privately, for himself? Or does he delight in the contradictions and lack of certainty for readers?

But why would I want to read a book or a series of books where worldbuilding is frustratingly vague sometimes, especially someone like me, who likes consistency in such matters, and crunchy details? What else does Corax and Parker’s work hold for me? Glad you asked! First of all, there is the often mordant sense of humor, in the “another fine mess” school of humor, with dollops of Corax’s observations on his companions, life, the universe and everything else. There is a voice to a lot of Parker’s longform work that makes it feel like I am sitting in a tavern somewhere having a friend tell me about the improbable absurdities that have happened to him. And this comes up all the time in Parker’s novels, be it a Colonel of Engineers asked to defend a city with no resources, or a playwright winding up having to do a Prisoner of Zenda bit. Or Corax becoming king of a rich island on the eve of it being invaded. Or the time Corax met the real king of Sashan living in exile... with Corax’s ex-wife. And much more.

And there are real human moments in all of this, too. For all that Corax feels like a con man, rogue and reprobate, there is a real core question at the heart of the books: How and why did he really kill his brother? This is something that comes up again in the books, and there are several opinions on it, and even Corax doesn’t know the truth himself of the day his brother, the golden child of his noble family, died. Certainly his family (especially his father) has opinions... and a big price on his head (alive, not dead; Corax’s father wants him to *suffer*), and Corax does end up escaping from one capture plot after another. But for all of the “not again” aspects of these events, the central question of what set Corax on the run in the first place remains Rashomonian and there is a bit of a tragedy in that.

In addition, there is, in the trilogy, unexpectedly, a romance. It’s doomed and tragic, one that dare not even be thought, much less acted upon, for the greater part of two books. It’s part of the ultimate story, maybe tragedy, of Corax that he finds himself in a romance, or realizes he has been in one for years and never quite realized it (although it is clear his partner in the relationship has been far less clueless). The revelation of this romance, as well as other events in the third book, does do something Parker is good at in his trilogies, and that is tie the books together and get you to think about and reconsider the second, and especially the first book in the series and reinterpret events. And, for those who have the luxury and the will to do so, this also means that Parker’s longform work bears rereading.

And if you do read a swath of Parker, not only are there the teasing references here and there, but also the rhymes and repeats of themes played out in different ways. For example, there is the Salonicus novella “The Big Score,” which is his attempt to find the one job, the one con, the one weird trick that will let him retire to wealth and leisure. Corax and many of his companions are also looking for a Big Score, and while they look for ones very different from Salonicus’s too-clever-by-half plan, there is a resonance for those who read both works. Or consider how Corax’s efforts to stop a war at any cost are a dark reflection of the Engineer Trilogy, which is all about a man engineering a war for his own selfish ends, costs to others be damned (and an Engineer defending a city against all odds also ties into the Siege Trilogy).

I put K. J. Parker, in a narrower way, in the same class as Adrian Tchaikovsky, Elizabeth Bear and Walter Jon Williams. He not only bears rereading, but he is an author of a depth and a breath and a large oeuvre that means that a wide variety of readers of genre fiction can find at least one work in their writing that they could come to love. This also means, though, that there are works of his that you might bounce hard off of. But for me, while the City Trilogy is a lot of fun, and Salonicus is a fascinating character (playwright and con man all in wrong), I think for now my favorite Parker books are these three, detailing poor Corax’s misadventures across Parkerland. I look forward to where Parker goes next from here.

Highlights:

• A Travelogue in a world without a map or even entirely consistent geography
• Mordantly funny protagonist
• Real human moments as the protagonist struggles hard against implacable forces.

References: Parker, K. J. Saevus Corax Deals with the Dead, Saevus Corax Captures the Castle, Saevus Corax Gets Away with Murder [Orbit, 2023].

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