Tuesday, March 17, 2026

6 Books with Aubrey Sitterson

Aubrey Sitterson is a comic book man. Based in Los Angeles, he is recognized for his ferociously idiosyncratic creator-owned work, blending literary aspirations with genre exploration. His best-known works of fiction include the geopolitical space opera Free Planet, fight comic character study No One Left to Fight, and populist superhero series BEEF BROS. Additionally, he is the writer of the exhaustively researched nonfiction tome The Comic Book Story of Professional Wrestling.

Today he tells us about his Six Books

1. What book are you currently reading?


Recognizing the importance of a balanced diet, in addition to contemporary comics and other periodicals, I try to always keep a nonfiction and a historical comics read going simultaneously. Right now, the former is Peter Hopkirk's The Great Game, a detailed, personality-based exploration of the 19th century military and intelligence sparring undertaken by the British and Russian Empires in Central Asia, particularly Afghanistan. In addition to being the beginning of a dynamic that would continue through the Cold War with significant impacts today, it's also a rollicking, imperialist adventure story.

On the comics front, I'm finally reading Elfquest, which has always been an embarrassing gap in my comics knowledge; it's as wonderful as everyone says it is. Wendy Pini's control of gesture and character design are unparalleled, functioning within a newspaper and European comic strips tradition that, because of its remove from most contemporary US comics, hits like a ton of bricks today; not to mention how outrageously sensual all the character interactions are, without ever feeling salacious. Plus, like The Great Game--I'm discovering a theme--it's also a ripping adventure story.

2. What upcoming book are you really excited about?

The Daniel Freedman anthology Stimulus. Daniel sent me a PDF of it months and months ago and I adored it, despite being keenly aware that--because we share a similar comics philosophy--reading it digitally was a pale imitation of the real thing. Working with a murderer's row of artists, all chosen for their specific talents, Daniel presents a collection of sci-fi stories that reward slow, careful reading and deliberate thought, with interlocking and recursive themes. And, as evidenced by how stoked I am to get the physical edition, it also rewards rereading.


3. Is there a book you’re currently itching to re-read?

Dave Sim's sprawling, experimental, abrasive, and controversial Cerebus isn't just one of my favorite comics of all time, I think it's the best comic of all time and one of the best works of written English in any medium. Sim accomplished what I aspire to: A comic that achieves novelistic depth not despite the medium but through it, utilizing, dusting off and innovating formal approaches that are always tied to his overarching fixations and the work's byzantine thematic layering. I read the full thing in college and it blew the top clean off my skull; over the past few years, I've been going back through the collections and am even more impressed than I was as a younger man. After I finish this volume of Elfquest, I'm planning to tackle the acclaimed Jaka's Story volume.

4. How about a book you’ve changed your mind about – either positively or negatively?

It took me at least three running starts, over the course of half a dozen years, to make it through Dune. Well before the movie, I knew it was something that--on paper--I should love; in addition, I wanted to love it; I wanted to be a Dune guy. Not just because of the high regard in which it was held but because it was this big, sprawling, uncompromising text, so deep and complex as to feel esoteric. But on the first few reads, I found it punishingly dry; I think it was down to two things: 1) Trying to read it like an essay that has to be fully digested as opposed to a work of art meant to wash over you, and 2) Reading it--like a fool--digitally.


Eventually, something clicked for me and I devoured all of the Frank Herbert books. While I'm still torn on my opinion of the individual volumes, I adore them all as part of a whole; it's the platonic ideal of a long-running series, reveling in the freedom to explore different approaches, settings, tones and characters, while remaining in disciplined service to the work's overarching themes, layering in depth and complexity along the way.

5 What’s one book, which you read as a child or a young adult, that has had a lasting influence on your writing?

My favorite author in high school was Aldous Huxley; he still ranks extremely highly. While I dug Brave New World and Island was probably my favorite, the one that stuck with me the most is Point Counterpoint. It's a stunning piece of work, with a sprawling cast generally freaking out about the convulsions of the early 20th century. The character work is flawless, with Huxley simultaneously constructing and deploying instantly relatable archetypes, such that it feels both prophetic and timeless. But the aspect I've never stopped thinking about is the interplay between the characters' lengthy conversations, the larger issues lurking around the edges, and their relationships with one another, including the romantic.

Point Counterpoint is big, messy soap opera but it's also about big, messy ideas; concepts and challenges so complex and complicated as to defy the simple explanations found in parable and direct metaphor. Instead, Huxley mirrors the complexities of these challenges--political, social, economic, and moral--with the characters' ardently held but often inconsistent worldviews. I've always aspired to create work this challenging, with this type of depth; work brave enough to admit that there aren't any simple answers to questions worth asking, with complexity and ambiguity that inspire rumination in readers.

6. And speaking of that, what’s your latest book, and why is it awesome?

My latest book is Free Planet, an ongoing series from the legendary Image Comics. Free Planet is space opera about what happens after the revolution is won. The Freedom Guard, a group of revolutionary heroes, is tasked with safeguarding the freedom of Lutheria from threats without and within. The problem, however, is that--just like in this great nation of ours--they all have completely different ideas about what complete freedom entails. It's informed by extensive research into real world revolutions and civil wars, with what Robert Kirkman calls "rich, intricate worldbuilding"; think "Cordwainer Smith meets Noam Chomsky" and "Sci-fi G.I. Joe defending space Venezuela" and you're partway there.

Throughout Free Planet's creation, cocreator/artist Jed Dougherty and I have aspired to utilize the comics medium to the utmost, attempting to match Huxley's depth and complexity through the use, not just of prose, but images, design, and their communication with one another on the page. It's a holistic approach to comics; rather than creating a story and breaking it into issues, panels, and pages, the book is ideated and written as an art object, built of overwhelming spreads featuring maps, graphs, charts, and infographics on top of all the sci-fi action and soap opera drama. It's not to be read quickly; it's a world you're meant to slow down and luxuriate within. And best of all? There's a full graphic novel waiting for you, with new issues landing at your local comic shop every single month.

--

Thank you, Aubrey!

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

Monday, March 16, 2026

TV Review: Starfleet Academy

A more than worthy successor to Discovery, somewhat undercut by mixed messaging

Starfleet Academy is proof that a six-decade-old ongoing story can still find ways to feel fresh if it dares try the unusual. Prodigy already showed how the same elevated ideals that sustain the Federation can be adapted for child protagonists, and Lower Decks brought much-needed levity to the franchise’s sometimes suffocating self-importance. The newest iteration, set in the 3000s after the United Federation of Planets has been broken apart and reforged, blends the thrill of space adventure with the angst of teen drama. But the most unusual aspect of Starfleet Academy isn’t even the soap opera side of it; it’s that, extremely rarely for a Star Trek series, it’s driven more by the internal exploration of characters than by clever plot-solving. So I think it may be a worthwhile exercise to analyze the show in the same manner: by focusing on the characters.

Caleb. The show’s protagonist had a childhood traumatized by the Federation, after his mother was sentenced way too harshly for having been at worst an accessory to murder. This defining incident shapes all his relationships: he’s learned to expect to end up alone, so he’s reluctant to bond. This is made evident from the big gestures, like the way he lashes out at his new friends each time they get too close, to the small ones, like his habit of hoarding food (which is a real behavior in children who were abandoned). This issue gives him both a clear direction and a weakness: he has a mission to find his mother, but everything else is secondary to it, so he doesn’t allow himself to experience life. He can’t commit to his girlfriend because he feels too emotionally exposed with her (it doesn’t help that she’s a literal mind-reader), and he can’t participate in a Klingon bonding ritual because he’s still waiting for the family he lost. This is interesting characterization, but it gets resolved too neatly by the end of the season.

Genesis. Our favorite obsessive overachiever has a simpler but harder drama to deal with: as the daughter of a Starfleet admiral, she enters the Academy having already a mountain of second-hand expectations dumped onto her. She’s definitely talented, as well as a quick learner and a natural leader, but she can’t bring herself to believing that her successes are her own, even after she’s proven multiple times that she can improvise resourcefully, notice the details that matter in a moment of urgency and somehow always know the right thing to say to comfort a friend. That’s her tragedy: she treats everyone with much more care and understanding than she’s willing to give to herself.

Darem. This one is fascinating to watch evolve. We first meet him as an arrogant child of aristocrats (we eventually learn he’s literally engaged to a princess), used to being the center of attention and not above hurting others to get his way; over the course of the season, he realizes he doesn’t need to keep putting up an image of flawlessness for parents who don’t even care enough to answer his calls. This frees him to start searching for who he is in reality, and it turns out he’s a loyal friend with a bottomless capacity for empathy—that is, unless you’re dating his crush, in which case he can still be a pain to deal with. His newfound willingness to make fun of himself still needs more practice.

SAM. What can I say about this bubbling avalanche of positivity, our beloved Queen Sam Samallina of Samonita? On one hand, she has an unquenchable thirst for life, an earnest curiosity for a universe she can’t get enough of. On the other hand, she has an entire species’ fate in her hands, being an envoy from sentient holograms with the assignment to study us squishy organic beings and report on whether we’re still a danger to artificial lifeforms. That’s a massive responsibility for someone only four months old, which comes back to bite when she suddenly has to deal with violent trauma without having the emotional resources that come from actually having lived. In a beautiful case of metaphor turned literal, she almost dies because she’s literally too pure for this world. After she quickly-but-not-really (there’s some serious time dilation involved) gains the maturity she needs to maintain a stable personality, she becomes an even more compelling character to watch: now she has enough perspective to critically examine both the person she used to be and the way her friends responded to that version of her.

Jay-Den. Once again there’s only one Klingon in Starfleet, and this time he’s a pacifist studying medicine. This is a refreshing change from the repetitive way this species has been portrayed in Star Trek. Of all the colorful and strange cultures we’ve seen across the decades of this franchise, Klingons have been among the ones that make the least sense. I always wondered how their civilization lasted all the way to the space era without exterminating itself. Now that we’re in the 3000s, the Klingons’ situation is much different: they’ve lost their empire, they’re reduced to a handful of clans, and their collective survival is in question. Jay-Den’s family drama (about being a son of hunters who eschews violence) gets resolved fairly early in the season, and from then on he’s relegated to something of a background role, which is a pity because he’s just the sweetest and his romance subplot is adorable.

Tarima. Ah, Tarima. What shall I do with you, you Manic Pixie Dark Phoenix. This was the character I struggled the most to understand. Her backstory is that, in a species of born telepaths, she’s an exceptionally (even alarmingly) gifted one, and the medical treatments she’s had to live with in order to keep her powers within safe limits have prevented her from fully knowing herself. Frustratingly, this also prevents the audience from getting a sense of what her deal is. She’s reserved, but impulsive, but apprehensive, but uninhibited, but distant, but bold. To be fair, her best scenes are those where her directness cuts through Caleb’s tendency to lie to himself.

Captain Ake. As a centuries-old being who has seen everything, it makes sense that she has little patience for Starfleet’s excessive love of formality and protocol. I love the way she commands respect as a captain without bothering to perform the part. Because the show is mainly focused on the younger characters, we learn about Ake’s personal drama late in the season (she once made a tactical decision that cost her son’s life), but the additional fact that it was her fault that Caleb grew up without his mother gives us enough to chew on in the meantime. The only regrettable moment with her is the finale, where it feels like the Federation comes off as too implausibly clean-handed for the times of hardship that followed the Burn.

With equal parts romance, comedy and technobabble, Starfleet Academy is remarkably well directed, acted and written (I want to single out Kirsten Beyer, who is proving to be by far the best writer in New Trek), although it shares with Discovery a questionable plotting choice: in the 3000s, with the Federation in pieces and the galaxy in dire need of new leaders, why try to remake the same old Federation that already failed, instead of coming up with something different and more suited to the new political reality? Aside from that oversight inherited from its predecessor series, this is a laudable step forward for the franchise, especially after recent disappointments like the nostalgia vomit that was Picard season 3, the inconsistent mess that was Strange New Worlds season 3, and the unforgivable calamity that was the Section 31 film. More of this, please.

Nerd Coefficient: 7/10.

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

Friday, March 13, 2026

Six Books with Alex Shvartsman

Alex Shvartsman (Brooklyn, NY) is the author of The Best of All Possible Planets (2026), Kakistocracy (2023), The Middling Affliction (2022), and Eridani’s Crown (2019). Over 150 of his stories and translations from Russian have appeared in Analog, Asimov’s, Clarkesworld, F&SF, Nature, Reactor, Strange Horizons, and several Year’s Best volumes. He won the WSFA Small Press Award for Short Fiction, was a three-time finalist for the Canopus Award for Excellence in Interstellar Fiction, and was a two-time finalist for the BSFA Award. Read his work at alexshvartsman.com.


Today he tells us about his Six Books.

1. What book are you currently reading?


I tend to read or listen to a couple of books at a time: one in English and one in Russian. I’m finishing up Operation Bounce House, a standalone sci-fi adventure by Matt Dinniman (of Dungeon Crawler Carl fame), where a colony is invaded by remotely operated drones and mechs controlled by gamers from Earth. Although set in the far future, it has plenty to say about current gamer culture, politics, and AI.

I’m also reading Tunnel by Yana Vagner, the author whose novel The Epidemic was adapted into the To the Lake series which aired on Netflix. Tunnel is a thriller where hundreds of people are trapped in a tunnel underneath Moscow, the entry points shut due to an unknown catastrophe on the surface.

2. What upcoming book are you really excited about?


Children of Strife by Adrian Tchaikovsky, coming out later this month. Children of Time is one of my favorite SF books of the past decade or so and I’m excited to see where he takes the series next.

3. Is there a book you’re currently itching to reread?


The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov, which is my favorite Russian-language book. I reread it every decade or so and it always feels fresh, benefiting from added perspective.

4. A book that you love and wish that you yourself had written?


Birthright by Mike Resnick; it’s not one of his better-known books, but it’s fantastic and quite ambitious in its scope. It tells the story of the human species from the moment we reached the stars and until humanity’s demise, spanning tens of thousands of years, and he does it through interconnected short stories that set up the universe he’s written many novels in.

5. What’s one book, which you read as a child or a young adult, that holds a special place in your heart?


The Snow Queen and Summer Queen duology by Joan Vinge. I love those books dearly and really enjoy her other novels as well. That’s another set of books I need to reread!

6. And speaking of that, what’s your latest book, and why is it awesome?


The Best of All Possible Planets is a space opera comedy. This book is inspired by Candide and structured as a series of Futurama episodes. It is full-on absurd and funny, and the sort of thing I love writing the most. The audiobook is narrated by Eli Schiff (Succession, The White Lotus) and Lewis Black (The Daily Show, Inside Out)! Plus there are corgis.

This book is presently on Kickstarter, and you can snag unique rewards as well as copies of the book itself in four different formats.



Thank you, Alex!

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

Thursday, March 12, 2026

Interview: J.M. Frey


J.M. is an author, screenwriter, and lapsed academic. With an MA in Communications and Culture, she’s appeared in podcasts, documentaries, and on radio and television to discuss all things geeky through the lens of academia. She spent three years as the entertainment contributor on AMI Radio’s Live From Studio 5 morning show, and was an occasional talking head in documentaries and on the SPACE Channel’s premier chat show InnerSPACE, as well as dozens of other radio programmes, documentaries, and podcasts. She has also lectured at conferences and conventions all around the world. She also has an addiction to scarves, Doctor Who and tea, which may or may not all be related. Her life’s ambition is to have stepped foot on every continent (only 3 left!).

Her debut novel Triptych was nominated for two Lambda Literary Awards, won the San Francisco Book Festival award for SF/F, was nominated for a 2011 CBC Bookie, was named one of The Advocate’s Best Overlooked Books of 2011, and garnered both a starred review and a place among the Best Books of 2011 from Publishers Weekly.

Her queer time-travel novel A Woman of the Sea was named a winner of the 2019 WATTY Award for Historical Fiction and was published in Fall 2024 with Penguin Random House Canada and W by Wattpad Books as Time and Tide, and named one of the New York TimesBest Romances of the year. She followed that up with her first fully self-published novel, Nine-Tenths, which was voted one of the best reads by the reviewers of N.N. Light Book Awards.

NoaF: Tell me about your latest book, and the accolades it’s received so far!

I started Nine-Tenths in 2019, but I was unsure what I wanted to do with it or where I wanted to go with it. I was feeling pretty defeated at the time; I’d just been fired from my day job (no surprise, I’d only been there 6 months and it was a bad fit from day one), my grandmother was dying (she passed within weeks of me starting the book), and my agent and I were no longer sympatico (she’d declined to represent two full books I’d delivered, and wasn’t enthusiastic about others I had pitched. Our relationship had run its natural course).

After my agent and I parted ways, the funeral was over, I decided I wanted to use the lockdown while being unemployed to write the most J.M. Frey book possible.

I made a list of everything my former agent had critiqued in my writing (too long, too Canadian, too queer, too genre-blendy), as well as a list of all my favourite tropes and moments in other books and fanfics I loved (accidental/arranged marriage, coffee shop AU, grumpy/sunshine, etc.). The idea was that if I queried and signed with a new agent with an extremely J.M. Frey book, then there would be no mistaking who I was and what I did as a storyteller, and my agent wouldn’t be asking me to tone it down or change my voice. I finished Nine-Tenths to these specifications in 2020, and began to query it in 2021.

I guess I J.M. Frey’d it too hard, because by late 2023, I’d amassed 348 rejections. It felt like there was nobody left in the industry to query. I’d had a few close calls, a few in-depth rejection letters or conversations with agents about why the book wasn’t working for them, and even an R&R which I declined to pursue because I thought the requested changes would result in the exact same problem I’d had previously—it would strip the book of its Canadianness and genre-blendyness, two things which define me as a writer.

My 2024 New Year’s Resolution was to self-publish Nine-Tenths. The story and characters had really seized my heart, and though I was working on other manuscripts to take back to the query trenches, I wasn’t ready to abandon this one to the dusty depths of the manuscript trunk. I reached out to successful local indie authors for guidance, hired an illustrator for the cover, made a massive 200-line checklist, set the paperback publication day for my birthday (which meant that to have it complete 90 days on KU, the ebook dropped on my friend’s birthday!), and dove in.

I had hoped that the book would resonate with readers, that people would admire the detailed worldbuilding and the fun voice, and I thought I might earn out what I invested in a year or two. Instead I earned enough to pay back what I spent for the book within three-ish months, have been invited to talk about the book at dozens of bookstores, podcasts, and websites, and have the highest star rating of any of my books on GoodReads. I’m so proud that I didn’t trunk this book, and so pleased that people leaving reviews (nearly a hundred!) and naming it to their favourite book of the year lists are really getting the story.

My proudest accolade with the book is every review that mentions how intrigued and engaged they were by politics and worldbuilding I wove into the love story. Awards are marvelous, and I appreciate every one, but I am most happy that readers are outwardly praising the J.M. Frey-ness of the book.

NoaF: As a writer who’s done it all, how have self-pub, small press, and mainstream publishing been different experiences for you?

In many ways, they’re not very different at all. Regardless of the size of the publisher, every book needs to go through substantive editing, revisions, proofreading, page-setting/interior design, cover design, publication, and marketing. The only difference is who does those things, how many people are on the team, and who pays for it! With the bigger publishers, it’s a different person at every stage; in smaller presses, fewer people wear more hats; and of course, in self-pub, I wear all the hats alone.

I’ve always had great editors and engaged designers, so it’s been overall a pleasant experience no matter which publisher I’ve worked with.

All the things that I deem important for a successful marketing campaign—book launches, reading appearances, podcast appearances, merch, signing events, social media drives and reader review pushes—these are largely the realm of the author, no matter what the size of the publishing company. In larger presses, my book was featured in bigger campaigns and some pre-publishing influencer events/ARC distribution, and giveaways, and of course they were able to leverage their relationships to get the book into big chain stores that I’ve only been dreaming about up until now (Hudson in the airports, Walmart, Target!) But that was pretty much the only difference in terms of marketing. Even in a big press, with Big Five distribution channels, the moment the book is published, any and all marketing falls pretty much solely on the shoulders of the author. There’s exceptions of course, but you have to be a big, big name for those exceptions to happen. Which I’m not. Yet!

In other ways, it’s completely different.

I am unbelievably Type-A, so having complete control over the timeline, the budget spend, the interior design, cover design, illustrations, and marketing rollout has been a dream. I’ve re-published all of my backlisted and discontinued books through my self-publishing imprint, and prior to Nine-Tenths, I’d hired interior typesetters and cover design experts. I found communicating my vision took a lot of mental energy. It wasn’t frustrating, but it made for a very drawn-out process and a lot of back-and-forth. So this time, I did a lot of research and found cover (Canva) and interior (Atticus) software that I could learn and use myself. It meant I wasn’t waiting on anyone to complete the work, didn’t have to give notes, etc. I just did exactly what I wanted, when I wanted (usually at 2 am), and could control the deadlines.

For as much work as it was, mostly a lot of fiddly stuff that took a hundred different upload attempts to get approved on the printer’s websites, it was a lot more relaxing because I didn’t have to stress out about what other people were doing, how their vision might not align with mine, and when I would be seeing things given back for review, or even if I would be included in the process at all. I didn’t have to worry I wouldn’t like the cover they made, or whether I would even have a say, or when they planned on dropping it (it’s a common joke that authors see their covers for the first time as the readership, and that authors find out their release dates the same way the audience does—when it’s listed for sale). I had all the time I wanted to prepare, put things in place before any announcements were made, to complete things in their entirety so I wasn’t scrambling against a clock or other people’s deadlines, and to approach the release efficiently and calmly.

However, any irritation I may feel when having to wait on others and compromise my vision is usually wonderfully outweighed by how much better my manuscripts become when there are other cooks in the kitchen. Every editor I’ve worked with has elevated the story in ways that I would never have thought of or been able to achieve on my own. Every marketing team I’ve worked with has found new and interesting hooks that I wouldn’t have considered. And every cover I’ve been given has helped me understand the genre of the book (and the marketing that works better in said genre) than I could have, or taps into marketing trends that I hadn’t been aware of at the perfect moment to hit the zeitgeist. It’s worth stomping down on my Type-A impatience and being a team player, because the end result is always worth it.

The downside to self-pub is, of course, that I had to pay for all of it out of pocket, and up front—software and image licencing, editor, illustrations, marketing materials, marketing campaigns, etc. I took out a small bank loan to fund that, and luckily my perseverance was rewarded, and I was able to pay it off in its entirety within months of the ebook release (thank you to everyone who bought and read it!). One of the nice things about working with a publisher is they sink their own money into all the up front costs. Sure, that means my cut is smaller when it comes to profits, but it also means it didn’t cost me a dime of my own to make the book.

All in all, I’ve enjoyed both processes. I wouldn’t self-pub again, I don’t think, unless it was a another project that I was really, really passionate about, like Nine-Tenths. I really need to love something to be willing to invest all that time and money again.

Oh! I guess the pubday gifts, if there are any, are more elaborate the bigger the publisher, but I still treasure and wear the tiny dragon pendant that my first-ever small-press publisher sent to celebrate my debut novel. The gifts are nice, but also not the point. (I sure did enjoy that bottle of bubbly Wattpad sent me when Time and Tide landed on the NYT Best Of list, though, NGL!)

NoaF: What’s been your biggest career honour to date?

Nobody even knows it happened except for my former agent, because nothing came of it. But I guess it’s been over a decade, so I can talk about it: I took a meeting with one of the executives at The CW to discuss the possibility of a television adaptation of the Accidental Turn series. The series wasn't complete then, I think I was working on final revisions for book two, and had begun drafting book three. While the series was never optioned, that meeting helped me figure out how to structure the series so it didn’t suffer from what the exec called “Mushy Middle Syndrome”—where the second book in a trilogy only exists to pull readers along into the third and final book, where all the payoffs will be. She begged me to provide them with a story that was complete and satisfying in and of itself in the second book, as that would correlate to the second season of the show, and that’s when a lot of adaptations get cancelled.

I also added the epilogue in The Silenced Tale about Pip and her family moving to Newfoundland so she could be the script consultant on a film adaptation of the faux fantasy books in the Accidental Turn series. I thought it would be a funny wink at the audience, if at the end of the TV show, they pulled back to reveal they were filming a TV show. Alas, it never happened.

As we say in this industry, “Everything is nothing until it’s actually something.” It was great to rate the meeting, but I’m not annoyed the show never happened. That’s showbiz.

NoaF: Do you have a pie-in-the-sky publishing dream? Let’s manifest the big dreams for the new year!

I want what C.S. Pacat has! 😄 I want a massive Tumblr following, with people making fanart and fanfic. I want the readers to grab it and love the world and play in its sandbox. More important to me than big marketing campaigns from a large publisher is that the fangirlies like it. I started in fandom, I wrote fanfic for years before my theatre TA encouraged me to try my hand at original fiction, and I still engage in fandom every day. I would love for Nine-Tenths to flourish in fandom spaces, for people to make up their own stories, write songs, put together cosplay, draw art. The deep-running ocean of creativity that is fandom gave me drink when I was parched for creativity during the lockdown, and it is the well from which Nine-Tenths sprung. I would love for this book and its world to water other people’s creative gardens in turn.

I also want a fully produced, multi-actor audiobook dramatization of the novel to happen. I know I can’t afford to make or produce it myself, so I am manifesting a production house reaching out to me to obtain the rights. Does someone have an in with Michael Sheen? I feel like this would be right up his alley—he can play Owain, and I’m sure he can locate a bright young Welsh actor who needs a big break to play Dav. I’ll let my readers fancast the rest of the book ;)

NoaF: What was the strangest (publishing-related) opportunity you were glad you took?

Well, in April of 2008, I was at a SFF Book Convention in Toronto, and a writer-actor buddy of mine scooped up a group of folks from the hotel bar and invited us up to her hotel room to keep the party going. I was tired and it was noisy, but I liked these folks and I wanted their advice about the rejection letters I was receiving for my first novel. A stranger I had never met overheard us talking about my woes, came to sit with us, and asked about my book. Turns out she was the acquiring editor of Dragon Moon Press, and she ended up signing my very first novel and shepherding me not only through the publication of my first book, but to award ceremonies in New York City. She continues to be a good friend, and an invaluable beta reader on whatever novel I'm writing next. (Thanks, Gabrielle!)

The point I’m making is: go to the events, visit the bookstores, attend other people’s book launches, support your local indies, and have fun. You don’t have to be in networking mode the whole time, but participating in the scene and supporting other writers is the reason I even have a career. When you are kind and generous with your time and expertise, decision-makers and opportunity-creators will remember you at the right moment.

NoaF: What do you read for fun? Who else should we put on our TBR piles?

I am really loving all the queer or queer-coded cozy romantasy fabulist/magical-realism-esque books right now, where everyone gets a happy ending, because *gestures at the world*. Recent faves are: When the Tide Held the Moon, The Sweet Sting of Salt, The Nightmare Before Kissmas, One Last Stop, The Almost Wedding of John Barron Grey, Carry On, Howl's Moving Castle. I wish I had more time to read!!

Wednesday, March 11, 2026

Film Review: Hoppers

Totally not like Avatar. It’s both more and less than that

The core conflict of Hoppers is fairly standard kid movie drama: protecting a piece of nature before a heartless urbanizer paves over it. What’s not so standard is the movie’s gimmick: a new mind transfer technology that lets humans pilot animal-shaped robot bodies to communicate with real animals. This invention could be used to convince the local fauna to retake the landscape they’ve been pushed out of. As soon as the protagonist learns about this machine, she makes the inevitable connection to the Avatar franchise. The inventor of this technology protests that there’s no resemblance to Avatar, but by that point in the conversation, the viewer is already primed to think of that connection and read Hoppers in the context of what Avatar has tried (and failed) to say.

To recap: in the setting of Avatar, humans have found an exomoon rich in resources that Earth wants, but there’s also intelligent life for whose culture those resources carry sacred significance. Humans invent a technology that lets them inhabit native-looking bodies so they can infiltrate the local society and persuade it to trade. As early as the first movie, humans realize that the natives don’t want anything from Earth and aren’t willing to give up their sacred spaces. So humans opt for war. One human defects and starts fighting on the side of the natives against Earth forces. Rinse and repeat for the next two movies.

The first major difference that can be noticed between Avatar and Hoppers is that in the case of Hoppers the human who infiltrates animal society is already on the animals’ side, which somewhat moots the point the movie is trying to make about the need to put oneself in the position of the threatened party in order to have empathy for their suffering. Our girl Mabel is introduced as a passionate believer in animal liberation since childhood, frustrated with people’s indifference and personally attached to a pristine glade near her grandmother’s house, through which a highway is now being planned. Mabel doesn’t need to be convinced of the importance of protecting the glade, which probably makes her the wrong character to put in a beaver’s body to talk to the other animals and experience life from their perspective.

The second major difference has to do with the type of rights in dispute. Avatar pits two civilizations against each other, which we’re meant to view as having equal worth and capacity for agency; but Hoppers tells a conflict between humans and animals, and those tend to be resolved by purely human decisions. For all the discussion that has emerged about the rights of nature (see here, here, here, here, here, here, here and here), so far it’s been human activists which push for their recognition, and human tribunals which agree to enshrine them. Avatar points in a different direction, with the pantheistic figure of Eywa taking her own initiative to defend Pandora. However, Eywa is still an impersonal force whose will is hard to discern. Hoppers goes much further. In Hoppers, the animals behave as persons with intentions and agendas of their own. When Mabel walked into the forest under the guise of a beaver, she was hoping to inspire the animals to reoccupy the glade; she wasn’t prepared for a wrathful declaration of retaliatory war.

Which brings us to the third major difference between Avatar and Hoppers: the ethics of the use of force on the resisters’ side. Whereas Avatar views the conflict between Earth and Pandora as a simple matter of who has the bigger guns, Hoppers seems to want to question the practicality of responding to aggression with more aggression, favoring empathetic discussion and teamwork instead. And in general, I favor that approach, because self-reinforcing spirals of violence are very hard to deescalate, but the movie’s moral stance is not kept consistent through the whole plot, because the leader of the animal resistance (a) can’t be reasoned with and (b) ends up being eaten by another animal without consequence. If the movie’s allegory of settler colonialism and the struggle of displaced communities was already strained by the use of animal characters, the way the story ends breaks any useful parallels that could be drawn. You can’t have your antispeciesist cake and eat it too: if you’re going to treat your animal characters as having human-level intelligence and dignity, you can’t just condemn them for the methods of their resistance while dismissing their casual predation as a joke.

Hoppers has its heart in the right place, but the mechanics of its plot are based on a flawed assumption that it never questions: that true empathy requires inhabiting the same body and seeing through the same eyes. Science fiction has already addressed that viewpoint. In the Babylon 5 season 2 episode “Confessions and Lamentations,” a deadly plague threatens the Markab aliens, who are confined to a sealed chamber while a cure is researched. The Minbari ambassador Delenn chooses to join the Markab in their quarantine, which prompts the station commander to chastise her because she’s not a Markab herself. To this she gives the brilliant reply, “I didn't know that similarity was required for the exercise of compassion.”

Right now Pixar is dealing with bigger problems than a confused plot. But perhaps Hoppers is a symptom: it points to a creative team that can’t commit to being too confrontational or too radical or too unyielding. They’re still making pretty-looking movies (although, by past Pixar standards, Hoppers doesn’t show us anything spectacular on that front), but they need to make up their minds about what they want their movies to say.

Nerd Coefficient: 6/10.

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

Tuesday, March 10, 2026

Book Review: The Misheard World by Aliya Whiteley

 A story of misdirection that refuses to be pinned down, even to the last

A young woman, Elize, stuck in a dreary fortress far from the front of the war, is given a strange task. It's a break in the monotony of her days, but one she doesn't fully understand, and that no one will really explain to her. Each day, she must sit in the tower room as a famous magician and escape artist is interrogated by an equally famous socialite. She herself must not speak, must not draw attention to herself in any way, only observe and report back to the commander of Crag what these two strange visitors discuss. Their conversations are cryptic and unfathomable, relying on a shared history she cannot access, but they all seem to circle around the city of Droad - destroyed by a likewise unfathomable weapon, leaving a ragged chasm and a poisoned earth to which no one can return. They're supposed to be ending the war. But are they?

The Misheard World, Aliya Whiteley's new novel, is a story of misdirections and subversions, where the unfolding of the story pivots the reader's understanding of the world again and again.

While the story begins in a vaguely described alternate world, one with elements that seem potentially fantastical - the magician whose tricks defy understanding, the giant cat of legend befriended by a socialite - as Elize listens to the stories of these two strange people and to the possibly mad pronouncements of her old tutor, it becomes clear that some power is operating on the world beyond her scope of understanding. Eventually, the story moves out of her observations into the world into several other characters narrations of their own perspectives, each of which shows the reader something about the world that upends their previous understanding of it, and its relationship with genre likewise. The story slips between the speculative and fantastical, and between worlds, as well as between points of view.

Those points of view - and how well they're captured - are for me what really sells this novel. The opening section, in Elize's viewpoint, has a clear, direct voice, of someone who knows her own mind but not her purpose. She's a keen observer but not knowledgeable about the wider context of the story. She presents little nuggets of information the reader can pause over because they think they can add something to it to make it make a little more sense - while Elize may not know about radiation, the blinding and sickening of the remains of Droad definitely give some hints to someone in our 21st century. Her life is episodic, constrained by timelines apart from her own, a rhythm of days and duties well captured in her short, to the point chapters.

This contrasts with the second POV, Mondegreen, the magician. His section has no breaks, forming one extremely long run on chapter. His voice too is easily distinguished, more self-assured, more charismatic, more meandering... and yet conversely more purposeful. Where he is now, he knows what he wants to achieve, and the whole of his story bends towards that purpose. It is also one with a much richer set of familiar details.

Well... familiar to the reader. When the narrative shifts back to Elize, we are once again confronted by the difference in levels of knowledge between her and us. And I loved this. It is not uncommon that I read a book in which a character fails to spot some critical piece of information, one that I myself have spotted any number of pages earlier, and find myself frustrated by the artificiality of it, and by the constraints of extra-narrative information weighing down on the plot. I know stories, and apply the metalogic I read into them, so of course I will make assumptions about the direction about the plot, of course I am willing to believe in aliens and magic as a solution easily - I know the parameters of the story and so can intuitively judge in a way the characters are constrained against. Whiteley takes that tension and makes a deliberate plaything of it. The POV shifts back to Elize and reflects on pieces of information provided by Mondegreen - things that are entirely unremarkable to the reader - and renders them once again incomprehensible. By opening a crack in the fourth wall in this way, the frisson of ignorance/knowledge becomes a shared game, rather than a source of frustration.

But it's also entirely the point of the story. The entire crux of it rests on - who correctly understands the parameters at work here? Who has the right meta framing for what's going on? And so by introducing that in the first two sections, Whiteley primes us for what will be one of the primary pillars of the story as a whole.

And then of course, by priming us in this way, she likewise sets us up to ourselves be unsettled, to have our own assumptions subverted. It is not only the characters who don't quite know what's going on, and the clarity of character voice can become a tool just as easily of confusion when deployed unexpectedly out of context. If Elize suddenly no longer sounds like Elize... what are we supposed to think about all the sections that came before, in which we relied on her obvious distinctiveness, her simple forthrightness?

Alongside all of this playing with perspective and framing, there's a parallel set of assumptions about technology, superiority and reality occurring, feeding into the question of exactly which viewpoint is the "real" one. Multiple characters offer their own viewpoint, framing their world, their understanding the be the default one, the one with power to enact upon the others in the story, with the secret knowledge that underlies the flawed understanding others have. First Mondegreen takes this role, viewing Elize as some pseudo-historical bumpkin - never saying it but clearly communicating it in how he narrates his own story to her. But then someone else comes along and sets forth their own stall on exactly who has the power to shape the story, and introduces their own contradictions. Mondegreen is just as ignorant as Elize? Maybe.

Nothing in this story is presented as unimpeachable fact, and that is quite possibly its greatest strength. Whiteley asks the reader to think around the gaps, to compare and contrast multiple flawed approaches to the events we have witnessed or been informed of, and create connection points of our own. The ending is the culmination of this, offering not one but three separate possibilities. Which, if any of them, is right? That is for the reader to decide, based on their own interpretation of the events as presented.

I don't always like ambiguously ended books, but Whiteley has done the groundwork throughout the story to reinforce that ambiguity is the point, at every stage, that it felt not only right but inevitable that it would continue right to the last page. The story is so heavily grounded in different people's telling of their stories - with their own agendas, points of view, prior knowledge and relationships - that to offer something absolute at the last would have been a betrayal of every page that went before. Every chapter asserts: "you do not know the whole story". Why would the story as a whole suggest any different?

It's skillfully done, reminiscent of the careful patience of her previous novel Three Eight One, which likewise used perspective to excellent effect.

But what is it all for? At one point, a character says: 

"When everyone has a story of loss to tell, nothing is worthy of the grand title of tragedy. Each tale contributes only to a mound of sadness: heaped, unclimbable, the stories slowly bleeding into each other until they are impossible to tell apart".

I would argue that this is also the crux of it - it is both an absolutely true statement about the story as a whole, and one that the novel seeks to refute. Because the tragedy of the stories - all of them, however much we choose to believe their narrators - never leaves. This is a story of a war going on for decades, manipulated by those who do not themselves suffer in it. It is a story of lives disrupted by tragedy and death, for a gain we never really see or fully understand. But it is also a story in which a myriad lives are lost off page, where tragedies are blurred together, and where narrators actively do confuse and manipulate the stories, making them harder to distinguish.

Somewhere, under the careful artifice of players who think they know the game, who think they set the rules, there is something deeply, powerless and human going on here. There are moments where we can connect with it. But it is just as human that it is buried deep, inaccessible even to those who are suffering the most in a war whose terms remain incomprehensible. Whiteley crafts a story precisely around this paradox. The argument occupies all levels of the storytelling, right down to chapter length and voice, right up to the title of the book itself, and it is from this totality that it finds its power. When you reach the end, all of them, it becomes clear how thoroughly this has been the point all along. No answers, of course, but a definitive question. Questions are sometimes more fun anyway.

The Misheard World feels, at every moment, intensely carefully crafted, and it is a delight to be left unsettled by it, all the way to the last.

--

The Math

Highlights: absolute mastery of differing character perspectives, superb unsettlement of reader comfort, productive ambiguity

Nerd Coefficient: 9/10

Reference: Aliya Whiteley, The Misheard World, [Solaris, 2026]

POSTED BY: Roseanna Pendlebury, the humble servant of a very loud cat. @chloroformtea.bsky.social

Sunday, March 8, 2026

Film Review: The Bride!

A smart, visceral, unapologetic cry of rebellion

The rules of the game are ambiguous from the beginning. Speaking from beyond the grave, Mary Shelley addresses the audience directly, bored with the endless void of the afterlife where nothing ever happens, and frustrated at not having had enough time for telling the stories she still had in mind. This theme of a woman’s voice tragically silenced will reoccur through the film. What sets things in motion is Shelley’s impossible feat of self-necromancy, as if applying the forbidden arts of Victor Frankenstein to her own life’s spark to find a way back into the world of the living.

We’re brought to 1930s Chicago, with its blinding lights and its sordid dark corners, its charm and its promise and its disillusions. There Shelley has sensed a spirit that resonates with hers, another woman exhausted of playing appendage to a certain breed of men; and their joining, rather than a possession in the way we’re used to seeing in horror cinema, is a two-hour-long primal scream, a verborrheic burst of irrepressible wrath and ecstasy and dread and revulsion and despondency and grievance all at once. Through this new woman, whom death itself is powerless to silence, Shelley completes the story she confesses to us she’d been meaning to write for centuries: the tale of the Bride of Frankenstein.

A motif keeps playing on a loop across Western myths, a Freudian fixation we can’t seem to outgrow: in one iteration after another, the creation of Man is a worthy end in itself, but the creation of Woman has to satisfy an instrumental justification. When God builds Adam, it’s for his own sake (and my bifid usage of “his” here is fully intended), but when he builds Eve, it’s solely for Adam. So it goes with every artificial woman from Galatea to Alexa: she exists to be put in the service of someone else, to fulfill a function. Whereas Frankenstein’s creature’s curse is that no one is willing to love him, Frankenstein’s creature’s Bride’s curse is that her willingness to love is already assumed. That’s the whole point of her. Whatever she may want for herself isn’t part of the equation.

This Bride, however, won’t play along with the plan. After her death and reanimation, she may be a blank slate with no traces left of her former identity (and that’s exactly how Frankenstein’s Entitled Incel wants her), but she still has Mary Shelley whispering inside her head. Even more dangerously, she carries the names and stories of many other women that 1930s Chicago has killed. She’s bound to attract the wrong kind of attention soon.

The rules of the game are kept ambiguous. The setting of The Bride! never pretends to be our 1930s Chicago; it has the gangsters and the neon signs and the ubiquitous cigarette smoke, but it also has clandestine clubs with strobes and modern beats. It’s a world where Mary Shelley lived, wrote and died, but somehow Victor Frankenstein existed too, and his masterwork is known to other researchers of fringe science. So Shelley’s ghost is aware of us in the audience, and on top of that she can access a world where her fictional creation really happened, and there she reenacts Bride of Frankenstein (to the point of adopting its gimmick of casting the same actress as both Shelley and the Bride), with a stint under the false name Penelope, the name of a mythical character whose whole deal consisted in putting her life in pause for a man (and to further highlight the point, The Bride! features a real-life actress by the name of Penélope in the role of a woman who has been denied a career of her own).

To this erudite pile of allusions The Bride! adds a side wink toward the crime spree of Bonnie and Clyde plus explicit callbacks to the victim-turned-criminal-turned-revolutionary-symbol strain of social commentary that 2019’s incel hagiography Joker tripped over and fell on its face attempting—which has got to be a deliberate choice, given that writer/director Maggie Gyllenhaal once played a woman murdered by the Joker, and then took the Batman from that same film and cast him here as the 120-Year-Old Virgin. The Bride! juggles a dozen flaming daggers of intertextual connections and metafictional layers while tap-dancing backwards in high heels.

Movies have always loved monsters. So it’s only appropriate that this time, the monsters love movies. This version of Frankenstein’s creature is infatuated with a star of musical cinema who has conquered the devotion of the masses despite living with a physical deformity. It’s easy to see how the creature takes the actor as an aspirational symbol, even though the nature of this affection is not appreciated in return. In another of the film’s many tricks that blur the boundaries between levels of fictiveness, we see the creature and his Bride superimposed on the screen within the screen, replacing the protagonists of whatever movie they’re watching. They see a glamorous world of conventionally beautiful people and dare to see themselves in it. The Bride! couldn’t be more unsubtle in its plea to the audience: this story is about you. Try seeing yourself in it. Try letting its spirit possess you.

The Bride! is a movie about the power of movies, and about the trope of the instrumentalized woman, and about the injustice of being robbed of your voice and the exhilaration of seizing it back. It’s the protest against heartless callousness that Joker wished it were. It’s the anthem to unhinged feminine power that Cruella wished it were. It’s supremely uninterested in pleasing everyone. It dances to its own rhythm.

Nerd Coefficient: 8/10.

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