Book Review: Miserere (Revised Edition) by T. Frohock

The revised version of T. Frohock’s Miserere is a major overhaul of the author's debut novel, more than a decade afterwards.

Disclaimer up front and personal: In the process of this rewrite, the author asked me for my advice and suggestions for some of the Latin she uses.

Miserere was a 2011 debut novel by Teresa Frohock (who goes more these days by T. Frohock. Part of the wide ranging net that Night Shade books attempted to cast in those halcyon days, I read the original back in my relatively early days as a reviewer.

This new review is of the 2025 edition and focuses primarily on how I feel about the changes between the original and this version.

The basis chassis of the story remains from the original. Our major characters are four. Lucian is a Katharos, a holy warrior in the service of God, but he has been banished for abandoning his lover, Rachael (another Katharos) in an an attempt to save his sister, Catarina (who is basically a fallen Katharos at this point). Our fourth character is Lindsay,a young woman drawn to the liminal world of Woerld where Rachael, Lucian and Catarina live to be a Katharos herself.

The major conflict revolves around Lucian’s attempt to oppose his sister, who has truly turned to the dark side, the side of demons and evils. Lucian sacrificed his career, life and the trust of others to try and save his sister, but his sister had made her choice, now, to side with the demons seeking entrance from hell into Woerld (whereupon they will go to Earth, and thence to storm heaven, raining destruction in their wake).

Mixed in with this is that Rachael is being possessed by a demon that is slowly eating her alive, Catarina needing her brother to execute her plans to open these gates, and Lindsay, recently arrived to Woerld and a good source of “How does this all work?” just wants to go home, and find her brother (also caught in the same event that brought her here) in the process.

The subtitle for this novel is “An Autumn Tale”. And the original was indeed a dark story. It felt then and felt now like something you’d read in early November, as Autumn truly takes hold, the shadows get longer, the ground gets colder. The relative barrenness and harshness of the liminal world of Woerld encourages it. But this new version of Miserere feels more like a *late* Autumn tale, on the verge of but not quite winter. This new version makes both Catarina and Rachael more active characters.

To the positive of having Rachael as a more active character with more action on the page, this does make her a more heroic and less passive character. Frohock does this on the line level, and with her scenes from her point of view as well. The former version was very much a hand-wringing Lucian caught between his sister, and his ex. This new version has Rachael much less passive, much more active in this broken relationship and the relationship is all the better for it. Rachael’s trust of Lucian, broken at the start of the novel, has to be earned strand by strand and it is not easy. Her relationship with the demon that’s inside of her is also a more active sort of fight that she is having on a minute by minute basis.

Next up is Catarina. I thought Catarina was a dark force of nature in the original version, a memorable villain with dark goals and a dark relationship with her brother. This new version of Catarina is even more toxic, even more active, even more dangerous. Catarina has a very dysfunctional relationship with her brother in this new version. She uses, abuses and manipulates Lucian every moment she gets, all the way to the end. Hers is a tragic story, someone who has grasped for power, and grasps no matter the cost. Her scenes with Cerberus, as she bargains for ever more power, for ever greater costs, are well written and sharp.

But overall, in terms of writing and style, the additional scenes, removal of scene, and rewrite, especially early in the novel puts it a couple of shades of darker fantasy than it was originally. Is it horror? Not quite, because I think horror is a mode, and Frohock is not going for horror here. But it is a dark world, dark things happen and the overall aspect of the book can be, despite the hope and the light in it, rather dark and oppressive. I say in all seriousness this is not a book to read when you are in a dark place, mentally.

So let’s switch gears and talk about Lindsay. Lindsay and her brother Peter, fleeing a conflict with some local toughs, get caught in the veil and are brought to Woerld. The original version didn’t make it quite so clear, but this newer version clarifies just how and why this works. It’s a call to service, basically, from the godhead, to come and oppose evil on the front line of Woerld. I have some more questions now, but a lot of the roughness from the first novel is cleared up now. Lindsay asks a lot of questions and gives us a ground level introduction to some of the basics that Lucian and Rachael take for granted. And she is an unsullied beacon of light and innocence in the novel, as opposed to the far more world weary Rachael. And, of course, Lucian.

And so there is the heart of the novel, Lucian. He’s right there on the cover, flanked by Catarina and Rachael. At the start, he is in exile from the people he has served every since coming from our Earth, from the woman he loves, living as a house prisoner in the house of his sister. His is a painful journey, the realization that he cannot save his sister, his escape, he encounter with Lindsay, and the extended chase/journey as he tries to get Lindsay to safety. Lucian is full of doubt, throughout the novel, and needs the help of both Lindsay and Rachael, and needs to both convince them to help him, and accept their help when it comes. There is a whole lot of redemption that Lucian needs if he is going to survive.

Or not just redemption, but mercy. Hence the title of the novel, Miserere. The mercy that Lucian tries to show his sister. The mercy that Lucian himself *needs*.

This new version does add some worldbuilding and fleshes out more detail on Woerld, something that I had mentioned in my original view. This newly rewritten version, especially with the more active Rachael as mentioned above, and other changes does address some of the worldbuilding deficiencies that I saw in the original novel. I think on that the balance, the world of Woerld feels more complete in this world and I have a better sense of how and why it works. I would still like to see more of the world and get a better sense of it, but I do think this new version is an improvement.

I thought then and I think now that the theology of the book might turn off some readers. It’s not Christian apocalyptic fiction like Left Behind, but the theology of Woerld, despite being described as being very pantheistic, is, thanks to Lucian, Rachael, Catarina and Linday being Christian, strictly Christian. We get a full on exorcism, a lot of use of Latin, and so on. The real comp for Miserere that I can think of, and its a stretch even so given just how narrow and unique Miserere was then, and is now, is the RPG In Nomine. In In Nomine, you play minor angels (or devils) in a world where Christian theology is real, and you are trying to support your side, your own power and promotion, and trying to get along in a world where there are some very scary characters indeed. But that unique sort of world, theology, setting and characters is what drew me to the novel in the first place.

I think overall this version of Miserere is an improvement over the original on all axes, but it may have narrowed slightly the market for its readership by its somewhat darker turn. The stronger female characters do it a lot of credit and make it a much better book, without question, but this is a book that is most definitely not for anyone. But if you want to read a book were heroic men and women stand in the darkness against demons, and wrestle rather grimly with their own personal ones (including a literal one), and don’t mind and embrace the Christian theology of the book -- Miserere is the book for you. For those who might be curious about Frohock’s work but don’t feel this is quite the spot to read it, that’s understanding. The Los Nefilim novellas and novels and stories, which have a race of beings between angels and devils, might be a better fit for you than Miserere.

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Highlights:

• Revised and Expanded Edition: But Darker, too
• Stronger set of characters
• Better worldbuilding, stronger overall

Reference: Frohock, T., Miserere: An Autumn Tale, Revised and Expanded, [Nightshade Books, 2025]

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

Film Review: Seven Samurai

Akira Kurosawa's Seven Samurai is a legend for a reason — here are some influences and thoughts on a 4K rewatch on the big screen.

Seven Samurai has been making the rounds at repertory theaters recently in honor of its 70th anniversary, and I was lucky enough to see it on a cold January Sunday at the Plaza in Atlanta. Enjoying it in glorious 4K on the silver screen with twenty or so like-minded cinephiles, I had an absolute blast. I've seen it many times before, and it seemed to always be playing in the background at my grandmother's house growing up (strangely enough, my classical Southern matriarch was a big fan of samurai movies). 

For those that aren't familiar with the plot, the story centers around a medieval farming village that's been beset by bandits who come to steal their crops — as it's not ripe for harvest yet, the bad guys vow to return when it is. The farmers set out to convince samurai to come to their aid, offering unlimited food as payment. Fortunately, a starving ronin (samurai without masters and thus jobs), takes them up on their quest, and manages to gather a crew of like-minded warriors to commit to the cause. 

Discussion-wise, I don't think that there's much I can bring to the table that hasn't been the subject of countless textbooks, documentaries, and college seminars, so I thought instead I'd focus on 5 things that brought me joy or that I hadn't noticed until this viewing.

1. Oh George Lucas, I'd recognize that flower field anywhere

It's no secret that George Lucas was heavily influenced by Kurosawa's filmmaking techniques, from screen wipes to dramatic musical accompaniment. He even acknowledged that Hidden Fortress inspired him to tell the story of A New Hope through the eyes of lowly droids, stand-ins for the lowly peasants that anchor Hidden Fortress. (Here's a quick primer on exactly all those similarities.)

But in the middle of Seven Samurai, there's a scene of beauty and respite for the youngest samurai, Katsushirō and Shino, a local village girl. They meet secretly in field of flowers, laughing and flirting while trying to ignore the fact that bandits are about to besiege their town. Even though Seven Samurai is shot in black and white, this scene stands out with the sheer number of small delicate flowers, and they contrast well against the dark and scrubby brush behind them. It's very clear that Lucas had this scene in mind while filming Attack of the Clones, as Anakin and Padme similarly share a moment of joy in the flower field on Naboo. (Another fun reference? Darth Vader's helmet is 100% influenced by samurai helmets. The list goes on and on when it comes to Lucas' love for Kurosawa.)

2. Kambei's easy smile makes me want to be a better person

The first time we meet Kambei, he's shaving his ceremonial chonmage, or top knot, so he can disguise himself as a monk to go undercover and rescue a kidnapped child. This isn't something that's taken lightly, as a samurai's haircut was not only practical (it helped to keep his helmet securely on his head in battle) but also symbolic, identifying him to all the world as a warrior. He is, as we'll see throughout the movie, a total good guy. His decision to help the struggling villagers is the only reason the others join him, as he's a natural leader. But what I love most about him is how kind he is — his smile is contagious and very pure. He doesn't raise his voice, he doesn't get impatient, and he's always, always cool, calm, and collected. I aspire to take his approach to life, and smile more to the world. 

3. The villager choreography definitely had an influence on Mad Max: Fury Road

To understand Seven Samurai, you have to know a little about the life of a farmer in this era. It's the 1580s, in rural Japan, and life is hard. Like, really hard. Farmers are the lifeblood of the empire, but they're also vulnerable to droughts, famine, and pillaging attacks from bandits. Daily life is full of toil and hard work, and their bodies are rough for the wear. Kurosawa depicts his villagers in an interesting way in this movie, and the "villager choreography" as I call it always sees them moving together en masse, whether they're planting, harvesting, mourning, fighting, or celebrating. I think this is a nod to the communal nature of their existence, as it you can't do literally anything by yourself when you're a farmer. 

While watching, I was reminded of the poor souls known as The Wretched who eke out a sad existence outside Immortan Joe's Citadel in Mad Max: Fury Road. They have a much worse life, it's true, but the way the move together, down to the stick baskets they wear strapped to their backs, very clearly resembles the villagers in Seven Samurai. And like the samurai, Mad Max and Furiosa help deliver them from evil and restore abundance.

Oh! And another way George Miller included an homage to Seven Samurai? Remember when Max ventures into the (former) Green place swamp, all you hear is shooting, and then somehow miraculously returns with a ton of guns and ammo? Kurosawa did it first, only with Kyūzō volunteering to go steal a musket from the bandits in the dead of night and comes back with it a few hours later, with two more dead bandits to add to Kambei's tally. Kyūzō is the stoic and skillful swordsman, and watching him on screen is absolutely mesmerizing. Even though he's a samurai, he gives kung fu hero vibes. 

4. The sheer likability of the samurai is just mind-blowing

The world loves a "we're putting together a team for a job" movie and I am certainly no exception. From The Dirty Dozen and The Magnificent Seven to Ocean's 11 and The Italian Job, these kinds of movies are just incredibly watchable. Why? I think it's because you get a super diverse array of characters (all with unique skillsets that are fun), witty banter, and a sense of camaraderie that's extremely FOMO-inducing.

Kambeo assembles a crew to protect the villagers that's got everything: a skilled and stoic sword master, a woodchopper that can help them through dark times, an old friend, a hot head, a youngster eager to prove his worth, and a skilled archer. And the best part is, when these guys are on screen, the actually seem like they like hanging out with each other. Some are in it for the glory, some for the rice, and some for revenge, but they're all also in it for the sense of belonging they get — even the blustery and crass Kikuchiyo, who starts the movie out as an annoying hanger-on but who comes full circle as a hero. No joke, I would kill to have lunch with these guys.

5. This time around, Kikuchiyo's story choked me up a little

Comic relief in Seven Samurai comes in the form of Kikuchiyo, a peasant-born street fighter that longs to be a samurai. He is loud, crude, almost always nearly naked, and constantly scratching himself. He only makes it on to the team thanks to his sheer persistence as he trails along beside the heroes on the way to the village, refusing to take no for an answer. It isn't until well into the movie that we learn about his origin story, and it helps us understand why he's choosing to fight for these trod upon people. It's his past.

In the final battle scene, he rushes towards burning buildings to help those trapped inside, and a dying mother hands him her child before collapsing. He grabs the baby and then absolutely just falls apart, confessing "This child was me!" It is at this point that we learn about his trauma-filled past. He too was an orphan, the victim of violence against his small community. In a movie this old, and about samurai warriors, you wouldn't expect this level of emotionality, and it's refreshing to see with modern eyes. Kikuchiyo goes on to fight bravely and sacrifice himself for this village, and in the process helps to break the cycle of trauma for many others and giving them a chance to escape a fate like his.

Overall

Seven Samurai is three and half hours long, but there's not a wasted minute or any filler. I even found myself waiting until the brief intermission to run to the bathroom so I wouldn't miss a single scene, and this despite the fact that I'd seen it before. The film is a somewhat shocking 70 years old, yet it still looks incredible and is compulsively watchable. I think it's because it's the classic battle of good versus evil, filled with universal archetypes that all know and love, from the one-eyed bandit to the clear-eyed hero who can make it all right. It's long run time is thus a feature and not a bug, as it can freely spend time letting the audience get to know the characters and their struggles. Somehow, it's still relatable for modern audiences, too — from the jaw-dropping action scenes and forbidden romance to the potty humor jokes.

Everyone should see Seven Samurai, I fully believe this. I'm still riding the high of seeing it on the big screen. Be right back, going to look into ordering a T-shirt with the samurai flag on it...

POSTED BY: Haley Zapal, NoaF contributor and lawyer-turned-copywriter living in Atlanta, Georgia. A co-host of Hugo Award-winning podcast Hugo, Girl!, she posts on Instagram as @cestlahaley. She loves nautical fiction, growing corn and giving them pun names like Timothee Chalamaize, and thinking about fried chicken.

Realm of the Elderlings Project: Intro and Book 1: Assassin's Apprentice

Missed opportunities for love, with POISON to fill the gaps

Cover illustration by John Howe

Hey, remember Robin Hobb? Remember the Realm of the Elderlings (ROTE), a sprawling, magnificent 16-book epic saga, neatly divided into trilogies (plus one quartet) that each stood reasonably well on its own? Remember how great it was?

I’ve been thinking back on it fondly recently, especially after Book 2 in the series got me through a particularly bad night in early November last year. So, in a flurry of skilled Ebay searches I managed to collect the whole lot – and in mass market paperback, which is the Superior Book Format, don’t @ me, I will not be taking questions at this time. Instead, I will be doing the talking here, the first Wednesday of every month (except today, which is the second Wednesday, but starting a new endeavour on New Year’s Day is a recipe for failure, so this is absolutely a planned scheduling event and in no way a consequence of my decision to take on a 16-month reviewing project in a haze of jet-lagged ambition on January 2nd, 2025.)

My approach will be as follows: I want to remind people how great these books are as I revisit them myself. I will not be entirely blind to their faults as they emerge, but my attitude is going to highlight all the things these books do well. These books got me through a rough time, I’m going to be leaning on them as rough times continue, and only a fool picks nits when the lice are load-bearing. Or something. Look, at least it's not as bad out here (yet) as it is going to get in there. Hobb has never built a sandcastle she doesn't crush under her merciless feet.

So, how does the saga begin? 

It begins with a boy, unloved and inconvenient to his family, so unloved and inconvenient that he does not even have a name. What he does have, though, is lineage: He is the bastard son of Chivalry Farseer, the oldest son of the king of the Six Duchies. His maternal family, lacking capacity for another mouth to feed, drop him off with Chivalry’s men when they swing back through town six years after the boy’s conception. Chivalry, being off on an errand somewhere, is not around, so the boy is given to Chivalry’s stable man, Burrich, to look after. Burrich, not terribly imaginative, calls the boy Fitz, short for FitzChivalry (‘Chivalry’s Bastard’), and thus is FitzChivalry Farseer named.

And ok, yes, FitzChivalry Farseer is a silly name. In fact, all of the names in the Six Duchies are pretty silly. Virtue naming is very in vogue, you understand, especially for royalty, and so we’ve got King Shrewd, with three sons: Chivalry, Verity, and Regal, borne of ancestors with names like Victory, Graciousness, Desire, all the way back to King Taker, the first settler to claim power in the land that became the Six Duchies. By the time you’ve spent several hundred pages in this world, these naming conventions make such perfect sense that you have difficulty seeing what it is that makes your best friend raise a dubious eyebrows at 'King Shrewd??' when she reads the synopsis of the book as you plan your buddy-read with her.

The plot of the book is one of the most coherent and self-contained of any of the ROTE books: political intrigue, magic, supernaturally baffling attacks from a previously unknown enemy, last-ditch political alliances, assassination, treason, betrayal, quite a lot of poison, etc, wrapped up with a reasonable bow at the end, which leaves the reader feeling like they've gotten a full story, with a conclusion and a path to resolution, but no need to keep reading if they're happy with what they've had already. (This is, as I recall, the last time it happens. The rest of the ROTE sub-series are much more like one tale split into three volumes.) All very good – but also, rather typical fantasy plot stuff. No, what makes this book brilliant is characterization and relationships – all of which are built upon a foundation of betrayals and missed opportunities for love. Remember, the book opens with a boy so unwanted that he does not even have a name. Hobb began as she meant to continue. Not for nothing is her work described as ‘misery porn’ on r/fantasy. But it’s so good! It’s such well-constructed misery porn! Again and again and again, Fitz is presented with people whom he could love, and again and again, something comes in to prevent it, to interfere with it, to make it weaker and less comforting than it might otherwise be.

You’d think, would you not, that Burrich, who does most of the work raising Fitz, would become a foster father sort, no? No. At first, Burrich treats Fitz like one of his dogs – which is to say, he keeps him fed and safe and teaches obedience. But the relationship between them is strained, because Burritch knows how to deal with dogs, and with men, and 6-year-old Fitz is neither. Also, Fitz has a magical ability to bond with animals, which Burrich regards as unnatural and obscene. When Burritch learns that Fitz has bonded with a puppy named Nosey, he rips that puppy away from Fitz, severing their bond in a single act of pain and shocking cruelty. (Yes, yes, I know, but that’s hundreds of pages later, and I didn’t know about it my first time through!) 

Well, then, what about this titular assassin, whom Fitz is recruited to serve in the role of titular apprentice? Chade Fallstar, a scarred, reclusive man, teaches Fitz secretly about poison and manipulation and politics, and could be another possible mentor, another source of possible affection. But his mentorship is also conditional. He tests Fitz’s loyalty to King Shrewd, and he abandons Fitz during a truly harrowing sequence when Fitz is sent to be trained in the use of his ancestral magical ability, called Skill. 

But Fitz has family, has he not? Yes, and they suck too. His father, Prince Chivalry Farseer, abdicates almost immediately and Fitz never meets him. His younger uncle, Prince Regal, sees him entirely as an obstacle to Regal’s own political machinations. Prince Verity, next in line after Chivalry’s abdication, could become a mentor, a teacher, could undo the damage caused by his disastrous Skill training – but by then the kingdom is under attack and Verity cannot be spared.  King Shrewd manages to win Fitz’s loyalty by the simplest possible means: a transactional bargain. Shrewd will give Fitz a home and protection, and in return Fitz must serve him. This is not a great deal, but it is the best Fitz is offered, and his loyalty to Shrewd is ever after unshakeable. 

There is only one friend whose affection is not conditional: the court jester, the Fool. A strange person, childlike and inscrutable, albino-like in appearance, prone to odd statements and insights, and incapable of articulating his meaning in anything other than riddles. But he does not betray Fitz the way Burritch does in taking Nosey away; the way Chade does in deserting him during his Skill training; the way Shrewd does in using him as a tool rather than providing for his well-being; the way his father does in deserting him. And the relationship between Fitz and the Fool will structure every other book in the series, to a greater or lesser extent.

Oh, it’s so good, NOAFers! I’m so glad to be reading these books again! Thank you for listening to my ravings as they unfold over the next 16 months!

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References:

Hobb, Robin. Assassin's Apprentice. [Harper Collins, 1995].

CLARA COHEN lives in Scotland in a creaky old building with pipes for gas lighting still lurking under her floorboards. She is an experimental linguist by profession, and calligrapher and Islamic geometric artist by vocation. During figure skating season she does blather on a bit about figure skating. She is on Mastodon at wandering.shop/@ergative, and on Bluesky at https://bsky.app/profile/ergative-abs.bsky.social

Book Review: Sorcery and Small Magics, by Maiga Doocy

 A whimsical romp combining familiar tropes with inventive charm.

Tropes are not rules, and they are not poison. They are tools, shortcuts to simplify some elements of plot construction by using familiar component parts. They are pieces of mating plumage, which signal to the reader that the author is engaging with a particular set of expectations. Maiga Doocy has a deft hand at deploying tropes to advantage in Sorcery and Small Magics, so that the story felt comfortable without being stale, full of familiar bits of structure that guided my expectations along familiar paths, while allowing me to be surprised by inventive bits of character or world-building that filled out the details.

We open with a Magic School™ setting, in which Leovander Lovage and Sebastian Grimm are Rivals™, nearly Enemies™, who have been snarking at each other their entire time at school. In full fairness, this is on Leo, because Leo is kind of a jerk who can’t resist picking on straight-laced and reserved Grimm; and indeed his juvenile shenanigans have put him on the edge of expulsion if he doesn't shape up. Now they are in their last year of studies, preparing for the Trials™ which will determine their magical futures. Leo, with an aristocratic and respected magical lineage, is skilled at small magics (charms and cantrips), but useless at Grandmagic, as larger spells are called. They always go wrong, someone gets hurt, and so he’s sworn off them, which means his career options are limited. Nevertheless, he’s rich and privileged, so that’s not really going to be a real problem for him. Meanwhile, Grimm is serious, highly skilled, and fully invested in making a name for himself – which is important, since he comes from a much less privileged background.

Through a reasonably plausible but also entertainingly contrived accident, Grimm inadvertently casts a spell on Leo that renders Leo subject to every one of his commands. Whatever he orders, Leo must obey, and if Grimm gets too far away, Leo suffers increasingly agonising discomfort that becomes life-threatening. Such spells are highly, highly illegal, so rather than go ask for help, our boys decide to keep it secret while trying to work out how to undo this curse on their own.

This premise could absolutely be a paint-by-numbers enemies-to-lovers forced-proximity magic-school romantasy. But because Doocy uses the tropes as tools, rather than crutches, instead it’s something a bit more inventive. For example, the Quest™ to undo the spell takes Leo and Grimm out of school, so really only the opening scenes make use of the familiar Magic School trappings. Further, every element of the world-building is constructed to reinforce their character arcs, which lends a really pleasing coherence to the story. This is most obvious in the magic system. In this world, magic requires two types of people to cooperate in order to cast a spell: scrivers, who write the spells, and casters, who actually cast them. Leo is a scriver, and Grimm is a caster, so in addition to the Forced Proximity™ of the curse, their complementary skills also add a structural component of Working Together™.

This magic system is itself deeply intertwined with the best bit of the setting: the Unquiet Wood, a wild forest whose dangers are walled off from the domain of humans by a boundary that is constantly refreshed by governmental magician teams. But the boundary is not perfect, and when magical influences slip through, the results can be deadly: blights that destroy crops and ruin whole towns, poisonous flowers that will kill a person in hours. Yet the magic can also be wondrous, and a whole economy of Unquiet Wood foragers makes its living by venturing past the boundary and collecting magical artifacts. A single wing feather of a griffin can be a vitally important magical tool in spell casting.

So naturally – naturally – Leo and Grimm find that the only path to undoing their curse takes them into the Unquiet Wood, where various eventualities cast light upon their magical capacity, their relationship, and the true nature of the Unquiet Wood.

One thing I quite liked about this book was the absence of any real antagonist. Leo and Grimm get into their current situation through a genuinely innocent misunderstanding, and the solution that they seek is accomplished by acting in good faith with everyone they meet. Sometimes they are collaboratively working together to solve mutual problems, but sometimes people just help out out for the sake of helping.  The baseline assumption of this book is that most people are Good, Actually. It's not quite the same as Cozy Fantasy, which tends to focus more on importing rituals of self-care into fantasy land (coffee, baking, books, cushions, cats, hygge, etc.), but it's still a comfortable worldview to spend a few hundred pages with.

And it's worth noting that this theme — that people are Good and Cooperative, Actually — serves as a structural glue to many elements of the plot and setting. It underlies the duality of the magic system; it shows up in the actions Leo and Grimm take, and the bargains they strike with other people they meet during their quest; and I would bet folding cash that it will also turn out to be the solution to the current deadliness of the Unquiet Wood. This world is built on combining unlike things to build something larger, not walling them off from each other. So despite the crossbow bolts that start flying in the climax, no one is really operating out of malice here. It’s a kind book, peopled with basically good folks — yes, even the ones that need to get fed to monsters have Reasons. It is entertainingly written, tightly plotted, and not (quite) as predictable as you’d expect from its component parts. I expect to read the next books in the series with great pleasure.

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Nerd coefficient: 7/10, an enjoyable experience, but not without its flaws

Highlights:

• Slow-burn stormcloud/sunshine order/chaos romance
• Whimsical, charming setting and magic
• Effectively deployed tropes
  

Reference: Doocy, Maiga, Sorcery and Small Magics [Orbit 2024].

CLARA COHEN lives in Scotland in a creaky old building with pipes for gas lighting still lurking under her floorboards. She is an experimental linguist by profession, and calligrapher and Islamic geometric artist by vocation. During figure skating season she does blather on a bit about figure skating. She is on Mastodon at wandering.shop/@ergative, and on Bluesky at https://bsky.app/profile/ergative-abs.bsky.social

Wallace & Gromit Return in Vengeance Most Fowl

The quirky inventor and his trusty four-legged pal are dragged into a rematch

After a brief scare that apparently threatened the end of the business of Aardman Animation, the claymation studio is back with a bang: the treacherous penguin who tormented the adorkable duo Wallace and Gromit in the 1993 episode The Wrong Trousers is now the main villain of his own feature-length film, Vengeance Most Fowl, streaming now on Netflix. (Hmm, a forgotten enemy from an old episode returns in a film? And it happens to be the second film in the franchise? Yes, the pattern is clear. Vengeance Most Fowl is the Wrath of Khan of the Wallace & Gromit universe.)

The setting where our clay heroes live appears to remain frozen in its vaguely mid-20th-century state, but as an embodiment of the eccentric inventor archetype, Wallace got a big update for the 2020s. The central joke about Wallace, the recurring flaw that reveals his character, has always been that he expends more effort in building an absurdly complicated machine that washes, dresses and feeds him than he'd expend in actually washing, dressing and feeding himself. So he presents a useful case scenario for our ongoing discussion about the tasks that people ought to be doing but prefer to delegate to machines.

This time, long-suffering Gromit's cause for consternation du jour is Wallace's invention of programmable garden gnomes. Whereas Gromit keeps a colorful garden that vibrates with life, the robotic gnome turns it into a geometrically perfect nightmare of topiary sameness. The message isn't subtle or original, but our era needs to be reminded of it: automation and standardization are extremely useful for saving time, but they cannot replace the pleasure of deliberate creative choices. As you may recall, one of Gromit's hobbies is knitting. He may take a whole day to finish one sock, while the robotic gnome spits out an entire suit in seconds, which is the opposite of what making your own clothes is about. Results-oriented methods are a bad fit for tasks where having to do an effort is the whole point. (At the meta level, this is an effective argument for the worth of claymation in a world of digital magic.) To stress the same point, the plot has Wallace introduce still another redundant machine: one that pets his dog for him. One would think people don't need to be reminded that interpersonal connection cannot be replaced with machines, but... alas. Such are the times allotted to us.

However, the film doesn't just tell us what we already know. There are more sides to the issue of dangerous machines. When the evil penguin once again hijacks Wallace's invention to turn it against him, the way Wallace wins is by making another machine. That's who he is; that's how he solves all his problems. Even Gromit learns to love the garden gnomes when they help save the day. What's going on?

To understand what Vengeance Most Fowl seems to be saying, it's worthwhile to look more closely at the subplot with the police officers who are trying to recapture the escaped penguin. In a nutshell, we have an experienced senior who has accumulated a vast repertoire of time-tested heuristics (which he calls trusting one's gut) and an enthusiastic rookie who has the textbook fresh in her head and prefers to solve cases by sticking to procedure. Their disagreement mirrors the film's core conflict between spontaneity and algorithm. And yet, it's the rookie cop who figures out the truth by insisting on following the logical rules of evidence (despite her superior believing she listened to her gut). Again: what's going on?

What I suspect is going on is that the opposition between spontaneity and algorithm doesn't need to be resolved, but dissolved. It was never a real opposition. The two need not be enemies. You can pet your dog by yourself while a robotic gnome assists you with the form of gardening you prefer.

This embrace between passion and technique is visible in the very fact that this film exists. Aardman is known for its very high standards of animation quality with immensely complicated materials. One could use computers to animate Wallace & Gromit in a fraction of the time, but the studio's choice to go for the painstaking effort it takes to make inert clay come alive, and make it look no less eye-catching than today's ubiquitous digital creations, is a beautiful demonstration that the medium is the message. Vengeance Most Fowl excels in overcoming unthinkable technical challenges: a dozen tiny gnomes walking in perfect synchrony to carry a van; a boat chase on a navigable aqueduct; an arsenal of boomeranging boots (it makes sense in context).

And then there is, of course, the brilliant choice to give the villain a malleable face that nonetheless stays expressionless no matter what. It's terrifying how we can always tell when he's angry, when he's content, when he's disappointed, when he's defiant, even though his face doesn't move even once. This is a welcome comeback for one of the best characters ever created by Aardman Animation.

Nerd Coefficient: 8/10.

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

Review: Coyote Run by Lilith Saintcrow

A near-future quasi-urban fantasy where the titular Coyote takes on fascists in a nearby state

Sometimes, you just need to punch fascists. That’s not quite what Coyote’s job is, but you might call it a happy side benefit. In a near-future broken and remixed North America, Coyote lives in Federal Mexico. Among other odd jobs she does to make a living (including some light thievery), she works to get people and things across the border into, or out of, the breakaway state next door: Neo-Texas, a.k.a. Lindyland. It’s not the most pleasant of neighbors; it’s in fact a straight up fascist state, complete with a blond-haired blue-eyed army of clones. But when Marge, a top flight mechanic, hires Coyote to get across the border and rescue her sister, she realizes that all paths are leading back to Distarritz, a prison facility especially designed for people like Marge’s sister... and for Coyote. For, you see, Coyote isn’t just an ordinary smuggler and border crosser. She is, in fact, a shapeshifter... and once was a prisoner in Distarritz herself.

The story of Coyote and Marge is the story of Coyote Run by Lilith Saintcrow.

Coyote, our protagonist and point of view character, is tough as nails, living close to the border between Federated Mexico and Lindyland. This near-future North America is broken in many ways, but Coyote is holding on by her nails. In the wake of civil wars, plagues, and the emergence (or possibly re-emergence) of real-life shapeshifters into the world, Coyote is, in fact, a shifter of her namesake. She’s a survivor, a scavenger, and mostly a loner. The author has a lot of fun exploring the consequences and nature of shapeshifting in her main character, as well as giving us looks at other shifters in the course of the novel. Coyote does not have a comfortable life, but she’s doing okay. Certainly better than she would over in Lindyland. Shifters like her don’t have it easy anywhere.

Or shifters such as Marge. Saintcrow has another lot of fun with her second protagonist, giving her to us on a plate for us to figure out things about the world, and giving us a puzzle to work on as we follow Coyote’s story. Marge is by nature a character whom the reader can warm to immediately, and over time, the loner and grumpy Coyote can warm up to as well. One could even say that the character arc of this novel is Coyote learning that she doesn’t have to oppose fascists and bedevil Lindyland all on her own.

As opposed to Coyote being a tough loner who punches fascists, Marge is a tinkerer, a builder, a creator. She may not get her hands as dirty as Coyote in fighting fascists directly, but she definitely wants to hurt the fash any way she can. We get an excellent bit of characterization that really establishes her character when, as part of her upfront payment to Coyote for the job of rescuing her sister, she lovingly fixes and repairs to operational status Coyote’s illegally obtained military robot, DONQ-E42 (better known as Chicken).

Saintcrow also gives us a number of interesting secondary characters, ranging from other prisoners at Distarritz that Coyote encounters on her mission to free Marge’s sister, to a pack of werewolves, and of course the Lindyland antagonists. While the fascists are there in the end to be punched, they are detailed and described well enough so that one can visualize, and cheer, when Coyote does what she does best. This is an excellently inhabited and populated world, helping set the table for the setting.

Speaking of which, let’s talk about the worldbuilding, shall we? This is a relatively tight and localized story, taking place in a border town, the badlands across the border and the ferociously evil prisoner camp. But we get dollops of information leavened in, as much as Coyote knows, anyway, about why and how shapeshifters are back or just emerged, as well as the geopolitical situation. It’s a lean and mean worldbuilding—I have no idea what happened in this novel to what was the east half of the United States; it never comes up. We have Lindyland, the Federated Mexico, and mentions of things like Cascadia and Transcanada. On a more grounded level, we have all sorts of speculative worldbuilding on technology in this endless civil war, but it all feels grounded as an extension of the present. This might not be twenty minutes into the future, but it certainly could be two hours.

And I did mention punching fascists? This is a novel that unapologetically puts its politics on its shirt sleeve, and then puts that politics into practice. There appears, having read a bunch of her novels, to be a couple of “gears” to the various kinds of writing Saintcrow has done. You can get the patient slow burn of works such as A Flame in the North, which build like a thunderhead toward their conclusion, with occasional lightning strikes along the way. And then there are her novels which launch hard so the reader simply has to try and hold on.

In Coyote Run, Saintcrow has elected the latter approach. The result is a balls to the wall, pedal beyond the metal and into the next level story that grabs from the word go and does not let up till the finale. The action moves quickly and briskly, only pausing when it needs to for our characters, and the reader, to catch their breath. This is a novel designed for page-turning, fast-paced entertaining reading. This is the kind of book you read on your lunch break and curse when your lunch timer goes off and you have to clock back to your job, because you are having too much damned fun reading it.

And that is where the book lands for me. This is an intensely fun, kinetic, potent read where fascists are there to be opposed and punched. Or sometimes run over. Or shot. You get the picture. Is it a crazy and dangerous plan that Coyote has, with danger and high stakes? You bet. Are you cheering for Coyote and Marge the whole way? Absolutely yes. As an early book out of the gate for Kevin Hearne’s Horned Lark Press, Lilith Saintcrow’s Coyote Run starts off with a crowd-pleasing bang. Come for the punching fascists, stay for the strong characterization, rich worldbuilding and intense action beats.

Highlights:

• Punching fascists for fun and profit.
• Excellent pair of main characters
• Fun and kinetic writing keep the pages turning.

Reference: Saintcrow, Lilith. Coyote Run [Horned Lark Press, 2025].

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

Review: Dune Prophecy

We travel back in time 10,000 years before the Kwisatz Haderach to learn about the origins of what would become the Bene Gesserit—and get Game of Thrones-level chicanery and angling. (Spoiler-free)

In both Denis Villeneuve's and David Lynch's film versions of Dune, we get fleeting glimpses of the witchlike Bene Gesserit. We can see that these dark-clad, mysterious women are controlling the puppet strings of emperors and the great houses, but we don't real insight into their machinations.

An origin story focusing on why, and how, they came to be is the focus of Max's new series Dune Prophecy, which is set about a century after the Butlerian Jihad in which humans defeated thinking machines and banned AI technology. The planet Wallach IX is home to the Sisterhood's school, where women are trained in truthsayers to serve the great houses of the Imperium.

The show centers on Valya Harkonnen, the Reverend Mother of the Sisterhood. Played immaculately by Emily Wilson, she is ambitious, conniving, and Machiavellian in her approach to not only extending the influence of the Sisterhood but also in taking personal revenge against House Atreides, whom she blames for her family's fall from grace and exile.

When a Sisterhood-arranged marriage between the emperor and a great house falls apart due to treachery, chaos threatens the order, resulting in a series of plots, subplots, and flashbacks concerning Valya and Tula. It all gets very confusing—not unlike watching Game of Thrones for the first time—and Max very clearly is trying to launch this as the next Game of Thrones (despite already having one in the form of House of the Dragon).

What I love most about this show is how the Sisterhood is portrayed like the Jedi Order in the prequel Star Wars movies, and it's made me think more critically about both. This description, for example, can literally apply to either: "A quasi-religious organization with no external oversight that puts members of its order in positions of great power throughout the galaxy."

To be clear, I still think that the both the Jedi and Bene Gesserit are awesome, but it'd be naive to think that they're unproblematic. Modern storytelling has gotten really good about morally gray characters—the days of Pure Good Guy (Batman) vs. Pure Bad Guy (Joker) are long gone, and in their stead are the Jamie Lannisters, Walter Whites, and Omar Littles of the world.

As we learn more about the Sisterhood, we see that they are engaged in galaxy-ranging eugenics (I'm calling it as I see with their breeding program), covert political manipulation, and, sometimes even murder. This, of course, doesn't mean I won't root for these space witches, but it is something to think about. Truly good characters are boring, as we have learned from prestige TV over the years.

In terms of look and feel, it's no Villeneuve Dune—but the sets and product design feel futuristic enough that it's not a distraction. There's a scene in episode 6 where we finally see space folding around a heighliner for the first time and it's absolutely incredible. The only scenes where I'm taken out of the universe are the ones set in the bar/nightclub. It feels chintzy and like something out a Syfy original movie from the '90s.

The pacing is a bit hit-or-miss (I had to rewatch the first episode twice to really get into it because it's so exposition-heavy), but each successive episode picks up steam and gets you more invested. Overall, though, it's an enjoyable watch and a different take on Dune for those who, like me, have read one Dune book and really enjoyed the movies, but aren't as well versed in all the lore from Frank Herbert's other books. Hell, I'm now inspired to pick up Dune Messiah.

Nerd Coefficient: 7/10.

POSTED BY: Haley Zapal, NoaF contributor and lawyer-turned-copywriter living in Atlanta, Georgia. A co-host of Hugo Award-winning podcast Hugo, Girl!, she posts on Instagram as @cestlahaley. She loves nautical fiction, growing corn and giving them pun names like Timothee Chalamaize, and thinking about fried chicken.