Chris Pickens

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On a small island in the middle of the sea live three girls. The first, Grace, is practical and protective. The second, Lia, is brave and loving. The third, Sky, is pure and innocent. Three sisters, set apart from a dying world, safe from it all. It might sound like a dream or a poem, but in Sophie Mackintosh’s beguiling, eerie debut novel The Water Cure, the island is real. But is the island to keep the girls safe, or to keep them prisoner?

King, the girls’ father, has created a haven to protect them from the toxicity being spread across the world. Never permitted to leave the sanctuary of the island, the girls and their mother participate in rituals and rote therapeutic behaviors to keep themselves clean. When King leaves the island for supplies and doesn’t return, the girls and their mother are left alone to wonder what happened. But then, the unthinkable happens: a boat arrives on the beach. A boat that doesn’t carry King, but three strangers, three men. The girls have never seen men before other than King. With no sign of when King might return and no idea of what these men might want, the girls and their mother must decide what to do with the strangers on their shore.

Sometimes, it’s the most human books that chill us the most. Plenty of recent books amp up the action and violence in the name of pure entertainment. Indeed, it’s the bread and butter of the sci-fi and fantasy genres. But no other book in the last year has left me feeling simultaneously frayed and mesmerized. Mackintosh is such a strong writer sentence by sentence that the reader feels an inescapable pull from the narrative. You can’t help but keep turning the page, wondering, with dread, what will happen next. One of the rituals the girls undertake is to decide who gets to be loved by the others in a given year. The others won’t return that love. It’s a twisted take on self and group preservation, and one that’s being encouraged by both mother and father. What would a trio of girls who haven’t known the outside world think of love? Is the concept of love universal? Is love owned? This is just one example of how small moments become so much larger in Mackintosh’s hands.

I think it would be a mistake to categorize this book as purely a work of science fiction. However, it would be an even larger mistake to miss such a powerful book because it didn’t have robots or time machines. In the same way that The Handmaid’s Tale and The Children of Men reflect women’s experiences back to us, The Water Cure is written in the future, but it’s about us now.

On a small island in the middle of the sea live three girls. The first, Grace, is practical and protective. The second, Lia, is brave and loving. The third, Sky, is pure and innocent. Three sisters, set apart from a dying world, safe from it all. It might sound like a dream or a poem, but in Sophie Mackintosh’s beguiling, eerie debut novel The Water Cure, the island is real. But is the island to keep the girls safe, or to keep them prisoner?

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Let’s face it: We all want to feel cool. We want to place ourselves in our favorite story and imagine what it would feel like to win. Of course this vision is different for everyone. Yours could be belting out a hit song on stage in front of thousands, or making a last-second buzzer beater with your high school crush looking on or mowing down hordes of zombies before croaking out a one-liner. Here’s the good news about Alex White’s A Bad Deal for the Whole Galaxy: You get to feel unbelievably cool reading it. This genre-mixing sequel to White’s A Big Ship at the Edge of the Universe turns up the action and attitude to 10 and never lets up, making for one hell of a ride.

In a future when humans have conquered the stars, the motley crew of the Capricious has almost no time to rest on their laurels from saving the Galaxy. Nilah, the temperamental yet brilliant racer, and Boots, the world-weary former treasure hunter, team up with the crew to investigate rumors of a galactic cult bent on unlocking the secrets to an ancient and dangerous magic. Determined to thwart the designs of the cult’s mastermind, Nilah, Boots and the rest of the crew must use all the tools at the Capricious’ disposal to infiltrate and combat a group bent on galactic control.

This is a well-developed world with layer upon layer of detail and nuance. Not only does White meticulously script small things like how the crew communicates in combat situations, but they've also managed to build out large-scale geopolitical movements with similar ease. Keep in mind, this is the second book of a series, so this world and these characters have had some time to expand. It can sometimes be a bit daunting when details rush past in the heat of battle, but the payoff is a feeling of being plugged into the action.

Some might say a magic system doesn’t belong in a space opera, but White makes it work. Many characters in this world are able to control specific magical capabilities like hacking electronic systems or reading minds. It’s an interesting way to give the crew a different level of interactivity, both with each other and their adversaries (of which they seem to have many). In one sequence, Nilah is trying to outrun a massive enemy machine, but chooses to try to hack its systems with a magic spell. Readers can look forward to many other small magical moments throughout the narrative.

It’s clear from the get-go that A Bad Deal for the Whole Galaxy wants to take you on an action-filled adventure across space. But at its core, it’s a story about a close-knit group of people, with both talents and scars, just trying to do the right thing. That’s what had me reading past my bedtime. It’s anything but a bad deal for the reader.

Here’s the good news about Alex White’s A Bad Deal for the Whole Galaxy: You get to feel unbelievably cool reading it. This genre-mixing sequel to White’s A Big Ship at the Edge of the Universe turns up the action and attitude to 10 and never lets up, making for one hell of a ride.

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In many fantasy stories, making a deal with a demon starts out as a good idea. Maybe you end up with superhuman strength, riches beyond your wildest dreams or the admiration of those around you. But what do you have to give to receive these gifts? In the case of Molly Tanzer’s fun and atmospheric Creatures of Want and Ruin, two women from very different walks of life have to figure out what the demon wants before Long Island is swallowed by an evil they don’t understand.

The first character you meet is Ellie. It’s the height of Prohibition, and she smuggles liquor by boat to paying customers all over Long Island. When she discovers a wrecked ship stocked with bottles of a mysterious liquid, she naturally takes them for herself. Meanwhile, Fin, a socialite visiting the island to escape the city, feels disconnected from her husband and the rest of her friends from high society. She’s coaxed into hosting a party and enlists Ellie’s help to supply the all-important booze. Fin ends up taking a sip from one of Ellie’s unmarked bottles, and sees a vision: a man bowed before a monstrous thing, submitting to a dark will that she is unable to understand. Bound together by shared experience, Ellie and Fin must work together to find the source of the unholy presence gripping the island.

The vision Tanzer paints of Long Island during Prohibition is nostalgic, tactile and just a little bit creepy. One can almost hear the creak of Ellie’s boat or the tinkle of Fin’s expensive champagne flutes as we float into and out of each character’s perspectives. That being said, the setting never overtakes the interplay between the characters. Both Ellie and Fin maintain complex, multidimensional relationships that ebb and flow as real relationships do. And, thankfully, not even Ellie and Fin are blameless in how they treat others. No one is perfect in this vision of the past.

The back-and-forth between the two heroines is worth celebrating. Ellie, the hard-nosed, what’s-it-to-you liquor smuggler balances perfectly with thoughtful, lonely, demure yet determined society maven Fin. The way they gain each other’s trust and play off one another’s strengths feels natural and unforced, a testament to Tanzer’s gifts with dialogue and pacing. Indeed, the book does a wonderful job of knowing when to lean into an action sequence (the climax gets a large chunk of time at the end of the story) and when to step back and let the characters inhabit the world.

Creatures of Want and Ruin is the second of a trilogy of books revolving around the impact of a demonic presence in a small community. How these communities are split by fear and hatred is telling and relevant in today’s divided public forum. It’ll be a sad day for readers when Tanzer’s trilogy is complete, but at least we didn’t have to sell our souls for such a fantastic journey.

 

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Read our Q&A with Molly Tanzer.

In many fantasy stories, making a deal with a demon starts out as a good idea. Maybe you end up with superhuman strength, riches beyond your wildest dreams or the admiration of those around you. But what do you have to give to receive these gifts? In the case of Molly Tanzer’s fun and atmospheric Creatures of Want and Ruin, two women from very different walks of life have to figure out what the demon wants before Long Island is swallowed by an evil they don’t understand.

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At first glance, the town of Dubossary might appear to be a simple Jewish town at the edge of the woods. Pious and cheerful villagers bustle about in the snow, going to market and celebrating shabbas together. But for sisters Liba and Laya, who live in the forest outside of town, things aren’t quite as idyllic as they seem. Odd noises and rumors of wandering strangers suddenly make life in the woods a little less welcoming. Maybe the folk tales are true after all?

When Liba and Laya’s parents leave to visit a dying relative several towns away, they tell the girls two massive secrets. Both of their parents are shape-shifters—and so are they. Liba inherited her father’s bearlike shape and dark features; Laya has her mother’s swanlike beauty and light hair. These changes start to manifest as each sister’s feelings for each other, boys, tradition and temptation collide. When Laya is tempted by a group of young outsiders, Liba knows it’s up to her to protect her sister and, if necessary, call on the swan people to defend her and her sister from whatever lurks in the woods.

One very distinct stylistic choice separates Rena Rossner’s The Sisters of the Winter Wood from all of the other history-meets-legend tales out there. Liba’s perspective is written in prose and Laya’s in poetry. Throughout the book, the differences between Liba’s stalwart, rule-abiding nature and Laya’s strong-willed, rebellious character play out beautifully as the two styles Rossner employs perfectly reflect each sister’s emotions. I was particularly drawn to Laya’s airy yet intense chapters, which seem to fly by in an instant.

Equally intriguing is how Rossner evokes the sensation of breaking the strict rules that govern the sisters’ existence. Dubossary’s identity is based on a very strict interpretation of Orthodox Judaism, which forbids men and women to physically touch before they are a couple. When Liba finds herself just thinking the natural thoughts of an 18-year-old woman, the reader feels the push-and-pull through Rossner’s prose. Amplifying this conflicting feeling is the uncontrollable shape-shifting transformations each sister starts to undergo, a touching and painful representation of what it feels like to grow up.

Rossner’s family came to America as a way to escape the pogroms and hatred visited upon Jews in Eastern Europe. She mentions in the (highly recommended) author’s note that she heard her grandmother’s voice in her head as she wrote The Sisters of the Winter Wood. There’s a lived-in, folklore feeling to this story, a mystical and ominous glow you can’t shake. However, at its heart, this is a novel about two sisters loving and understanding each other during a difficult time in life. And luckily, we get to take that wonderful, strange journey with them. Rossner’s The Sisters of the Winter Wood is a dreamlike ode to sisterhood, mythology and family that you won’t be able to put down.

 

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Read our Q&A with Rena Rossner.

At first glance, the town of Dubossary might appear to be a simple Jewish town at the edge of the woods. Pious and cheerful villagers bustle about in the snow, going to market and celebrating shabbas together. But for sisters Liba and Laya, who live in the forest outside of town, things aren’t quite as idyllic as they seem. Odd noises and rumors of wandering strangers suddenly make life in the woods a little less welcoming. Maybe the old folk tales are true after all?

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Imagine at the very instant of your birth, your soul’s twin was born somewhere in the world. From the moment you could walk, you were given a weapon and told that you existed to defend your soulmate. You are forged into a perfect warrior, a living avatar of the desert god, Parkoun the Scouring Wind. You have never felt fear. Maybe you’d think the world is filled with certainty. In Jaqueline Carey’s consistently enthralling and surprising Starless, you’d find there’s a lot more to the world than you first believed.

Khai is born into such a world. His soul’s twin, the Princess Zariya, lives in the House of the Ageless and is a member of an ancient ruling family blessed with near immortality. It is Khai’s purpose to be the princess’ Shadow and keep her safe from all danger. Though the connection he and Zariya share is achingly real, he is out of his element amongst the court, where the dangers aren’t as easy to spot as swords. But all of this doubt is pushed aside when an ancient darkness starts to rise. Pushed into an impossible mission by an ancient prophecy, Khai and Zariya hope that their link, and all the gifts it provides, is enough to help them survive a catastrophe of celestial proportions.

The gods in Starless walk the earth. Cast down from the sky for rebelling against their father, each god’s unique persona informs the people who worship it. Elemental, wondrous and terrifying, these deities are memorable, and each time the characters encounter them is epic. A tornado of sand and heat, an unseen jungle menace and a graceful rain spirit all make appearances on our heroes’ quest.

At its heart, Starless is profoundly interested in very personal questions. Khai must confront a significant truth about himself early in the story, and the resulting doubt and ambiguity are rendered with great care and tenderness. Even as the undead rise from the sea, we can’t help but be drawn to the feelings Khai must be grappling with in the wake of his personal revelation. It is one of the very best parts of the novel.

Another fantastic element is the back-and-forth between Khai and Zariya. In the hands of a lesser writer, the fated spark they share might not seem earned or, worse, believable. Let us dispel that thought—Carey has put to page one of the best pairs of protagonists in the last few years. Her lush, vibrant world just serves as the perfect backdrop for a relationship worthy of the prophecies it fulfills.

 

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Read our Q&A with Jacqueline Carey.

Imagine at the very instant of your birth, your soul’s twin was born somewhere in the world. From the moment you could walk, you were given a weapon and told that you existed to defend your soulmate. You are forged into a perfect warrior, a living avatar of the desert god, Parkoun the Scouring Wind. You have never felt fear. Maybe you’d think the world is filled with certainty. In Jaqueline Carey’s consistently enthralling and surprising Starless, you’d find there’s a lot more to the world than you first believed.

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In Nikan, opium opens the gateway to the gods. Confined to their Pantheon in the spirit realm, they can only hope to influence the choices of those on earth with whispered promises through the haze of pipe smoke. For Rin, an undersized orphan, the thought of communing with the gods is terrifying. But as the drums of war begin to beat in R.F. Kuang’s extraordinary debut novel The Poppy War, Rin discovers that a day might come when she has no choice.

After testing into Sinegard, the most elite military academy in Nikan, Rin Fang discovers she is special. Through training with a seemingly insane professor, her shamanistic ability to conjure fire starts to blossom. When Mugen, a militaristic empire who defeated Nikan in previous Poppy Wars, invades their homeland, the students find themselves dispersed into the middle of a horrific ground war. Rin, conscripted into a misfit band of shaman outcasts, must fight both the ever-advancing Mugen army and her increasing sense that something inside her desperately wants to escape. Her sanity might be the price of finding the answers.

R.F. Kuang must first be congratulated on seamlessly drawing on and then reshaping Chinese history as influence for the world Rin inhabits. Martial arts sparring sessions and colorful street parades instantly conjure images of western Asian culture, but at no point does this world ever feel like a simple reflection of our own. Nikan’s richly detailed culture and history feel substantial and authentic, supporting the characters’ actions as the war unfolds.

And when that war begins, it’s almost shocking in its realness. It is not a conflict fought far away as Rin sits idly in a classroom. The violence is immediate, visceral and wrenching, pulling on the reader’s sense of disgust and anger. The “war is hell” trope plays out solemnly and intimately here, leaving no character untouched. By the climax of the narrative, everyone the reader meets is scarred.

Thank goodness we have Rin to lead us through it. Her tenacity, stubbornness and insecurity are instantly sympathetic and Kuang’s attention to Rin’s feelings opens up oceans of emotional depth. There’s a definite weight to Rin’s conflicting choices that only builds as the suspenseful final act plays out. It would be a thrill to see Rin, fresh from the crucible of The Poppy War, on the pages of a sequel novel. With such a brilliant start, one can’t help but think how certain hers and Kuang’s futures surely are.

 

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Read our Q&A with R.F. Kuang about The Poppy War.

In Nikan, opium opens the gateway to the gods. Confined to their spirit realm, Pantheon, they can only hope to influence the choices of those on earth with whispered promises through the haze of pipe smoke. For Rin, an undersized orphan, the thought of communing with the gods is terrifying. But as the drums of war begin to beat in R.F. Kuang’s extraordinary debut novel The Poppy War, Rin discovers that a day might come when she has no choice.

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“Knowledge is power,” as the saying goes, and bass guitar player Will Dando has a lot of it. Will knows 108 specific things that will happen in the future. In a world like ours, that’s a heck of a lot of power. How would the world react to knowing a person like this exists? Would he be shunned or exalted? Loved or feared? How would he live his life? Charles Soule puts these questions to the literary test in the entertaining and thoughtful The Oracle Year.

Will wakes up one morning with the predictions simply there, in his mind. Driven by this knowledge, he dubs himself the Oracle and launches a website to share his knowledge with the world. With help from his friend Hamza, Will gets rich by auctioning off his predictions to the highest-paying global conglomerate, which causes him to question his own motivations. But when his predictions start to cause riots, investigations from the government and even murders, Will has to chose what matters more: the predictions or the consequences.

A creation infused with empathy and soul, Will Dando shares traits with many modern superheroes. He wants desperately to do the best he can with what he’s given, but even with his knowledge, he’s powerless to stop the forces working to reveal the Oracle. But these antagonists don’t have secret lairs or death rays. They’re the familiar institutions we know—the church, the government, the people in our communities. It’s a revealing and somewhat disturbing estimation of what might happen if a person like Will existed.

When the narrative really gets going, it moves with suspense and well-coordinated attention. The pacing slows during sections in which Will attempts to deal with his knowledge, but these are mostly present in the first two acts. The story maintains momentum as people around the globe first react to the Oracle with wonder, and then fear and anger.

And herein is Soule’s greatest victory: The riots for and against the Oracle, the government operations, the religious sermons and the attempts to prove the predictions wrong all feel grounded and born out of a fully aware, digital world. Soule, a well-loved comic book writer of Daredevil, She-Hulk and Star Wars, has delivered a realistic meditation on the consequences of being different. If The Oracle Year predicts the future, we need more good people like Will Dando leading us there.

“Knowledge is power,” as the saying goes, and bass guitar player Will Dando has a lot of it. Will knows 108 specific things that will happen in the future. In a world like ours, that’s a heck of a lot of power. How would the world react to knowing a person like this exists? Would he be shunned or exalted? Loved or feared? How would he live his life? Charles Soule puts these questions to the literary test in the entertaining and thoughtful The Oracle Year.

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The act of combining man and machine into something more has fascinated science-fiction authors for decades. There’s something mysterious and wonderful about the similarities between firing neurons and humming microprocessors. But what if the union of organic and inorganic matter manifested in the form of an entire space ship? What if the Millennium Falcon could speak? If Gareth L. Powell’s ripping space opera is any guide, it would be one heck of a ride.

In Powell’s future, military spacecraft are sentient, capable of communicating and choosing their course without input from a human. The Trouble Dog, one such ship in the Conglomeration fleet, seeks penance from the destruction she wrought during wartime by joining the House of Reclamation, a search-and-rescue company. When an unknown ship shoots down a large space liner carrying a thousand tourists in a disputed system, the Trouble Dog and her scrappy crew rush to the rescue. What they discover, however, could start an all-out war.

Like the ship herself, Embers of War practically zooms across space, pulling the reader along with it. This is an excellently paced adventure that swells with energy and force, upping the stakes at every turn of the page. It also manages to consider some heady and relevant questions as it jumps in and out of hyperspace. A longing for redemption is laced through the story, adding welcome emotional momentum to each new challenge. This also makes the concept of ships as sentient beings all the more intriguing; like any human, Trouble Dog struggles to articulate feelings of remorse, self-loathing and doubt.

Having such a fun ensemble cast also keeps the narrative upbeat. The calm and confident warship, the dropout punk captain, the intelligence agent in an exoskeleton—all are sharply defined and full of life. Short, varied third-person chapters buzz from one perspective to another, almost like cuts in a film. The reader always feels close to the main story, never needing to pause for breath between one important passage and the next.

Readers will no doubt notice a number of sci-fi influences here. Heinlein and Clark, along with a healthy dose of Joss Whedon’s “Firefly,” might have stoked the engines for Trouble Dog’s journey. Though no stranger to space opera thanks to 2011’s The Recollection, Powell’s deft hand at action scenes and his confidence with high concepts like sentient spacecraft should make any reader looking for a new voice in the genre very pleased indeed.

What if the Millennium Falcon could speak? If Gareth L. Powell’s ripping space opera is any guide, it would be one heck of a ride.
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On the mountain of Fireach Speuer, only the strong survive. Warring tribes raid one another for food and slaves. The winters are harsh, and when the blood moon rises, a demon creature hunts the living with ravenous fury. It’s a harsh setting, but Aoleyn, the fiery and engaging female lead of R.A. Salvatore’s Child of a Mad God, makes each moment spent in this world a treasure.

Aoleyn dreams of joining the Usgar tribe’s coven of witches like her mother before her. But as she grows up, she can’t ignore the brutality of the society in which she lives. The physical savagery visited upon slaves, the hollowness of marriage and myriad other abuses prime Aoleyn for an awakening. When her immense magical powers manifest in her 18th year, she finally discovers a way to break free of the tribe’s iron grip and confront the evil presence infecting her homeland.

This challenging environment is made all the more daunting by the sense of remoteness that permeates the book. Salvatore regularly reminds the reader how far away these tribes are from the rest of his world, using places and people familiar to readers of his other Corona novels as anchors to the larger universe. It’s skillfully done—hints of his other novels shine through, but past references never bog down the story at hand. And intercut with Aeolyn’s story is the perspective of the demon creature, which constantly reminds the reader what lurks in the darkness.

Aoleyn’s metamorphosis from stubborn child to powerful witch propels the reader through this harrowing story, as we feel her fear, frustration and, ultimately, resolve. Never satisfied with the narrow life her tribe offers her and willing to endure painful trials to get what she wants, Aoleyn captivates from the very first line, and is sympathetic and centered throughout.

Salvatore should be commended for cutting a new path here, and as this is the first book in a series, readers will reap the benefits. Grand palaces and shining swords are traded for roaring fires and whistling peaks. This is fantasy refreshed, with familiar concepts reconfigured for a new arc. Luckily, we’ll have a wonderful heroine to pull us along for the ride.

On the mountain of Fireach Speuer, only the strong survive. Warring tribes raid one another for food and slaves. The winters are harsh, and when the blood moon rises, a demon creature hunts the living with ravenous fury. It’s a harsh setting, but Aoleyn, the fiery and engaging female lead of R.A. Salvatore’s Child of a Mad God, makes each moment spent in this world a treasure.

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The mind is a mysterious thing. It keeps our secrets safe, imagines distant futures and stores our memories. What if your mind was recorded so that, in the event of a crime, someone could play back its memories like a cassette tape? Would doing this make society safer? Or would our perception of ourselves cease to exist? Gnomon, Nick Harkaway’s kaleidoscopic, mind-bending novel, pulls the reader into a mental vortex and never lets go.

In a society controlled by an advanced AI, everything is recorded, right down to individual thoughts. When Diana Hunter, a suspected revolutionary, dies in government custody, intrepid state investigator Mielikki Neith combs through Hunter’s memories to discover why. She finds memories not from one person but several, including an Ethiopian painter, an alchemist from ancient Carthage and a violent pseudoconscience from the distant future. The investigation propels Neith on a journey to discover the true identity of Diana Hunter, all while trying to maintain her own sanity.

Reading Gnomon is a bit like driving a car at high speed—at some point, you’re just trying to hold on. The narrative barrels forward, building feverishly with the multilayered dimensions of Hunter’s mind. Neith serves as the reader’s safe harbor, a calm and determined truth-seeker who balances the book’s many perspectives.

The deep forays into Hunter’s memories give the story incredible potency. The personalities Harkaway builds leap off the page, bringing full color to a string of existential quandaries with which the author challenges the reader. At every turn, we find ourselves considering the philosophical depths of the mind, the limit of consciousness and whether coincidences are in fact universal patterns.

With Tigerman and The Gone-Away World, Harkaway gave a glimpse of the confidence and fearlessness he delivers here in spades. With Gnomon, he has landed in the sci-fi pantheon. Glimpses of William Gibson, Ridley Scott and Alan Moore abound, but in the end, Harkaway has found a deep, sometimes terrifying future-scape all for himself, one that surprises and challenges right to the last firing synapse.

The mind is a mysterious thing. It keeps our secrets safe, imagines distant futures and stores our memories. What if your mind was recorded so that, in the event of a crime, someone could play back its memories like a cassette tape? Would doing this make society safer? Or would our perception of ourselves cease to exist? Gnomon, Nick Harkaway’s kaleidoscopic, mind-bending novel, pulls the reader into a mental vortex and never lets go.

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Winters in Rachel Neumeier’s Winter of Ice and Iron can get pretty rough. As snow and ice blanket the Four Kingdoms, the obsidian winds rip down from the mountains, the night lasts for days and massive winter dragons terrorize commoners and nobles alike. Fortunately for us, the characters that Neumeier weaves into her tale of ambition, duty and family are more than ready to face it all.

When the Mad King of Emmer threatens her native Haravir, Princess Kehera rides to the border to avert all-out war. On the way, she discovers there are forces and powers at play far beyond her understanding, and she is forced to go on the run. In the forbidding mountains of Ëaneté, she is scooped up by Innisth, the Wolf Duke, a man as forbidding as the land he rules. Though he is cold and strict, Kehera senses something powerful in him. Innisth, in turn, conceives of a way Kehera can help him realize his close-guarded ambitions.

The reason they sense something in one another is that both Kehera and Innisth hold ties to Immanent Powers, one of Winter of Ice and Iron’s most inventive elements. These magical, non-sentient elementals naturally form over generations, drawing power from the earth, the creatures and the people that inhabit their realm. Neumeier confidently employs these Powers, lending an ethereal and whirling grace to every appearance they make in the narrative. They are both the paint used to color this world and a reflection of the people that wield them.

And Kehera and Innisth are just as enthralling. The two ricochet off one another, giving each a sense of purpose and forward motion. Even with other memorable characters throughout, Kehera and Innisth command the reader’s attention from the moment they meet.

Neumeier’s experience in the fantasy space, borne out in works like The Griffin Mage Trilogy, shines in this latest work. Winter of Ice and Iron is dark and unflinching, but also surefooted and heartfelt. From their first meeting through the gripping final sequence, real emotion and real history drive Kehera and Innisth’s ever-evolving relationship. What a welcome way to bear out the winter.

Winter of Ice and Iron is dark and unflinching, but also surefooted and heartfelt. What a welcome way to bear out the winter.

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Janloon, the glittering metropolis that serves as the battleground for waring mobsters in Fonda Lee’s Jade City, feels both familiar and foreign. The silent temples, towering skyscrapers and mountain strongholds remind the reader of east Asian cities like Seoul, Hong Kong and Tokyo. One thing, however, makes Janloon stand apart—Janloon is a war-zone dominated by magic.

In a period of uneasy peace, tensions between two of the city’s largest crime families begin to escalate just as Shae, the youngest daughter of the powerful Kaul family, returns home to Janloon after years spent abroad. Her brothers Lan and Hilo, leaders of No Peak clan, are struggling to consolidate their family’s holdings. Shae is determined to forge her own path outside the clan, and tries to stay out of the violence and intrigue. But when the Mountain clan assassinates one of her family members, she is honor-bound to rejoin the clan and avenge her loved ones.

Fonda Lee might have found a home in the young adult arena with Zero Boxer and Exo, but her debut in the adult fantasy world makes an ambitious statement. In Janloon, Lee has created a fully realized universe in which to expand, with a solid magic system and boatloads of history and gravitas.

And what about that magic? Clan members carry jade, which gives them access to powerful abilities. Imagine if Michael Corleone could bend bullets, make himself feather-light or hard as steel. Lee choreographs jade-fueled battles with precision and white-knuckle tension. Jade City’s fights flow with a sense of purpose, visceral brutality and dizzying spectacle.

It’s impossible not to see the influence of modern gangster cinema in Jade City. A secret dockside rendezvous, dimly-lit back alleys and the rattle of machine gun fire seem to nod directly to a slew of famous mafia films. But Jade City is more than simple homage. It’s characters have not stepped out of a time capsule, but instead are actively confronting how their ancient traditions and magic fit into a modern, unforgettable world.

Janloon, the glittering metropolis that serves as the battleground for waring mobsters in Fonda Lee’s Jade City, feels both familiar and foreign. The silent temples, towering skyscrapers and mountain strongholds remind the reader of east Asian cities like Seoul, Hong Kong and Tokyo. One thing, however, makes Janloon stand apart—Janloon is a war-zone dominated by magic.

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One moment in Quillifer, Walter Jon Williams’ lavish fantasy novel, stands apart from the grand opulence, banquet hall intrigue and humming action that sweep the reader along in the rest of the book. Fresh out of jail and caked in blood, the narrator and namesake of the book surveys his apartment. It’s full of trinkets, trophies, keepsakes and memories of a young life lived to the extreme thanks to a wild sense of ambition that’s taken him clear across the world. But instead of glory, he sees meaningless things, cluttering a life he fears has barely been lived at all. It’s these imperfections in Quillifer that make him so fun to follow.

The first book in a planned series, Quillifer overflows with richness and enchantment. There’s a lot to build on for future books, but it’s Quillifer himself that’s the star of the show. In a genre dominated by ensemble casts like that of George R. R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire, it’s refreshing to rely on just one voice.

When we first join Quillifer, he’s using every bit of his good looks, innate charm and abundant self-regard to strut and preen through his well-appointed life as a lawyer in Ethelbight, an ocean port in the country of Duisland. When sea raiders sack the town and kill his family, Quillifer’s life is upended as he finds himself riding to the capital of Selford to ask the monarch for help (and build a career for himself).

Williams, known for a long catalogue of Nebula Award-nominated science fiction, dives headlong into epic fantasy with high-spirited gusto. He renders each scene of court life in Selford with ever-increasing visual detail, giving each castle and royal courtier their own decadently fashioned identity. The colorful friends and enemies Quillifer meets along his way enter and leave his life like guests at a party rather than tools in a save-the-world quest. And at the center of it all is Williams' wonderful protagonist—a flawed man, learning to live with his faults in a world destined to reinforce them.

The first book in a planned series, Quillifer overflows with richness and enchantment. There’s a lot to build on for future books, but it’s Quillifer himself that’s the star of the show. In a genre dominated by ensemble casts like that of George R. R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire, it’s refreshing to rely on just one voice.

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