Book Review: A Dubious Clamor by Marissa Lingen

A mixture of whimsy, social commentary and magic.

Jules has a problem. A big problem. Ever since being returned to being a human, Jules has made a living at handling dangerous artifacts in a slightly alternate Victorian London. But when her friend Anthony comes with his own problem, it’s a doozy. Anthony has a whole suite of artifacts inherited from his great-aunt, and one of them has gotten agitated--a sword, a very potent sword that is unhappy with a pending law in Parliament that could affect a great many indeed. Worse, Jules’ old enemy is behind the law. Jules finds herself in need of allies, and her own fortitude, to stand up for those who have no voice. 

This is the story of Marissa Lingen’s A Dubious Clamor. 

The novella runs on some fascinating worldbuilding, but I want to talk first about its social relationship web. Even though we have a number of magicians (including Jules herself) in the novella, what this story really runs on is its social relationships and how those relationships can be leveraged and reinforced, built and be strengthened with mutual aid, and so ultimately shows the power of a small community. Jules has fascinating and sometimes prickly relationships all over the place and in some unexpected locations.. She’s friends with Claudie, whose brother Anthony had the troublesome sword. Jules knows a powerful voice and magic worker, Fru Lind. And Jules, when she was not human thanks to a curse, was a harpy. Jules still has a rather prickly relationship with her former lover, the harpy Wellspring. Wellspring is rather disappointed that Jules was returned to human form, after all. 

And as the novel progresses, as Jules forges and reforges connections and makes new ones, this social power is itself a form of magic and one that Jules learns to wield. In many ways, the point of this novel, and it is a theme that the author does not shy away from is that the power of collective action, of working together, of bringing together diverse voices, powers and skills, is more powerful than a thousand year old sword. 

And even to really make that sword usable, requires allies and help. It takes a village, and more, for Jules to decipher and confront the central problem of the sword. The sword is well over a millennium old, was forged by Weyland Smith, and is worst of all a “dubious” sword--a sword with a mind toward doubt and uncertainty. So when a bill and potential magic working in Parliament would remove that doubt and uncertainty at the cost of hurting millions, it's no wonder that a dubious sword that has been dormant for a long time would get itself rather agitated by such a potential working.

The worldbuiding is a light touch and in complete harmony with the rest of the book. Using a slightly alternate Victoriana does help in some of the heavy lifting of the book. I might have wanted a more alternate world, but I am satisfied with what the author works with, here. 

Sprinkling in some mentions of real life figures like Arthur Sullivan (of Gilbert and Sullivan) hones in a range when the book takes place, without tying it down to an exact day and date. The social customs of this world are more progressive than ours, but recognizably Victorian in many of the little details. Having Jules be from a Swedish immigrant community not only plays to the core theme of the book but also provides a new perspective on that Victoriana. The tropes and characters and stock dramatis personae of a novel set in the Victorian period is well worn even to readers who only have a passing familiarity with the period and works set within it. But having an immigrant community centered in Jules’ life and shared experience added complexity, nuance and the unexpected to that. The author proves that where and on who we point the “camera” of the narrative, particularly people and communities (especially marginalized ones) is vitally important. That has been an underlying theme of previous works of Horned Lark Press and its works, and A Dubious Clamor brings that theme into the forefront.

That is one last bit of the book that a reviewer other than I might appreciate even better. The title A Dubious Clamor is a reference on a couple of levels and directions, but fundamentally there is a strain of music and the power of music in this novella. The chapter numbers have a treble clef and musical stave, with notes on it. Music and singing are important to the harpies, and to Jules herself. This is a novella where the music infuses and is part of the magic that she can and does wield. 

The novella is trim and neat and conforms well to the form and length of the form. I listened recently to a T. Kingfisher/Ursula Vernon podcast where she talked about, at one point, the length and form and purpose of novellas. Novellas, in her view are not long novelettes or shorter versions of novel, they have a set of structures and forms that they not only fit into, but seem to thrive in. Novellas which are simply long novels cut off for length wind up being unsatisfactory to my reading, and novelettes padded out have the same problem. A Dubious Clamor has solid structural bones in its act structure, arrangement of the narrative, which helps propel the reader through it, and it goes down well. The novella does end with the possibility of further adventures for Jules; I’d be more than happy to read them. 

Marissa Lingen’s A Dubious Clamor forges an alloy of magic, enchanted swords, whimsy and social adventure. It brings a modern and cutting edge appreciation for the wild and broad diversity of life. This is a story that ultimately cuts to the quick against those who would simplify and categorize the world at the expense of the individual. Resonant with our own struggles today, A Dubious Clamor holds up a mirror to our own society’s struggles to find acceptance for those who do not fit into neat boxes. Marissa Lingen, in A Dubious Clamor, shows that fighting against the forces that would oppose diversity is not only possible, not only needed, but is also rewarding to the heart and the soul.

--

Highlights:

• Excellent and breezily written
• Musical hints and highlights--the power of music and voice
• Excellent on brand message for the press

Reference: Lingen, Marissa, A Dubious Clamor, Horned Lark Press, 2026

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

We Are Hugo Award Winners in 2026 for Best Fanzine -- Thank You!

 

As LA Con V came to a close with the presentation of the Hugo Awards, Nerds of a Feather, Flock Together found ourselves the grateful recipients of the 2026 Award for Best Fanzine. This is our third win out of eight nominations, and it may be the most trite sentiment in the world, but even being nominated is an honor, and winning...well, hearing our name called was just as thrilling as finding out we had won our first in 2021.

There was a special element to this one -- which two of our UK-based editors got to experience when we won in Glasgow in 2024 -- we got to win at home. Los Angeles was where The G and I began this project fourteen years ago, and to be able to accept the award together in person fills me with more wonder than I can possibly express. Talking Alfred Bester while grilling burgers in our shared apartment courtyard somehow led here. 

I am amazed.

The G, editor Paul Weimer, and myself were there in person to accept, and we each thanked our families. I am including here The G's and my prepared remarks, which we also delivered.

 The G:

Vance and I started Nerds of a Feather, Flock Together in a very different time - way back in 2012. Like many of you, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about the role of our community in this present, disorienting moment. So here goes…

Science fiction imagines futures but is ultimately a commentary on the present - extrapolating our hopes and fears into worlds we briefly inhabit. 

Now, things like agentic AI and autonomous weaponry have slipped from imagination into this world, posing open-ended sociological questions on the future of work, warfare and the organization of human societies. 

The role of a fanzine like Nerds of a Feather, Flock Together, as I see it is not only to celebrate the art we all love, but to shine a light on those imagined worlds and how they contribute to our shared understanding of what it means to be human.

 

Vance K: 

I look at the world through a lens that was shaped by people like Shirley Jackson and Octavia Butler, so I want to thank the people in this room who spend their time imagining worlds other than this. You both warn us of dark places ahead that we can find ourselves when we are not vigilant (like now), but also show us the promise of what we might yet become. Thank you.

The whole editorial team (The G, Joe Sherry, Roseanna Pendlebury, Arturo Serrano, Paul Weimer, and myself) would like to thank the Hugo Award voters who saw fit to nominate, and then select us, as well as all of our readers. I am biased, but I believe we have the best team of writers out there, and that you return to this site to engage with their thoughtful commentary is a gift we don't take lightly. We have always tried to make this a welcoming space to anybody who finds joy or escape or belonging in the community of people who love the speculative and the fantastic. All these years on, as the team has grown, changed, evolved, and continues to do so, I remain ever proud of the work, and am grateful that so many of you are with us.    

Many, many thanks to our entire team of writers: Alex, Phoebe, Clara, Haley, Eddie, Stewart, Christine, Dean, Chris, Ann, Joe, and Gabrielle.

 -- Vance K 

  

 

Film Microreview: Coyote vs. Acme

The little movie that could

Coyote vs. Acme has been saved by a miracle from being deleted for a vulgar accounting trick. Predictably, it turned out to be a very good movie. The classic desert predator who overcomplicates his life to hunt an uncatchable prey has a bigger target now: a megacorporation that knowingly sells defective products for easy money. Coming precisely at this embarrassing moment in the history of Warner Brothers, the resemblance to real life is hard to miss.

But let’s talk about the movie first. It’s clear that the art of combining actors with cartoons has been perfected since the atrocity that was Space Jam 2. If it’s hard for actors to perform next to the empty space where a digital artist will later insert a cartoon character, it has to be even harder to do so when the cartoon character never speaks. Coyote vs. Acme solves the challenge by taking advantage of the exaggerated expressiveness of its protagonist. Wile E. Coyote is relatable in how he never gives up, and at the same time he’s his own worst enemy. He’s both the hero and the villain of his impossible quest to catch breakfast. This single-mindedness would normally make him a flat character incapable of sustaining a movie, but in this story he’s pursuing a more meaningful target. In suing the Acme Corporation, he’s fighting for his dignity.

This makes it inevitable to talk about the real-life evils of Warner Brothers, because the quest to bring this movie to the world was also a fight against the cruelest form of greed. This is the same company that killed the Batgirl movie to pay less in taxes, the same company that is courting the Ellison family and most surely planning to align with their pro-Trump/pro-OpenAI/pro-Tesla/pro-Netanyahu agenda, the same company that is working again with the Dark Queen of Transphobe Island for literal blood money. Warner Brothers has become as deserving of contempt as the Acme Corporation, and the survival of this movie is a small but noteworthy victory in this era of disrespect for art.

Coyote vs, Acme is a nonstop riot of laughs, which helps the viewer forgive a plot that takes a confusing amount of detours. Don’t try to make sense of the court drama or the corporate conspiracy, because it’s all a tangled mess. But that’s exactly the tone that the Looney Tunes franchise has been perfecting for decades: you’re supposed to embrace the absurdity, savor the chaos. This is a world where you make your own ski trail with a refrigerator strapped to your back. It’s a wacky wonderland of portable holes and superfast mice and instant boulders (just add water). The Acme Corporation is what happens when you live surrounded with marvelous fantasy and decide to monetize it. That’s why it’s so satisfying to watch Warner Acme lose this fight. The Road Runner may be unreachable, but humiliating greedy jerks is still a delight we get to have.

And we’re coming for Batgirl next. You just wait.

Nerd Coefficient: 8/10.

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

Book Review: Make Me A Monster by Kalynn Bayron

No sign of Frankenstein here

Bayron has written a number of YA novels now and Make Me A Monster is the latest. Pitched as a retelling of Frankenstein it is, really, anything but that. Sure there are walking dead and lost love but that’s where the similarities end. 

 
The story ostensibly follows Meka a young women who doesn’t seem to study or attend school because she’s actually become qualified at preparing the dead for being buried. 
 
The premise is what captured me but this does not really deliver on that premise. A solidly written YA take on Frankenstein, worrying about hubris and horror and loneliness and creativity and power and gender imbalances and the difference between humanity and monstrousness would be epic. I would love to read that book.
 
Make Me A Monster is not that book. It does not tell that tale and what it does tell is clumsy and disappointing. For me YA comes in a variety of formats, not least very simplified sentence structure and world building all the way through to exceptional depth challenging material, brilliant worlds and full of emotional depth. As a person with two children who are just emerging from the age group this is targeting I’ve read my share of YA and there are some that are great and there are some that aren’t – which is just about normal. YA can come across as poorly written – indeed the quality of the prose is not one that people normally remark upon although I maintain that writing for a target audience such as young adults is a discipline all on its own that is extremely hard to get right. 
 
Bayron’s writing here is at the very simplistic end of the affair which is fine. What wasn’t fine was that she did not seem to know how mortuaries and funeral parlours worked, what the regulations in place are or even what conflicts of interest might be. The language was missing (I ended up looking at what people in this profession called dead bodies and it isn’t the word used in the book). 
 
Add to that a lack of depth to any of the characters and some really odd character decisions and I found myself worried from about a quarter of the way through that this wasn’t really going to end well. That solidified when the inciting incident didn’t arrive until I was solidly half way through the book. 
 
What Bayron absolutely did get right for me was her depiction of the impact of grief on a young person. We all respond differently to loss but the one in this book feels real, feels lived and that’s great even if it’s a choice that ends up impacting significantly on the pacing of the book (until it doesn’t). 
 
I think part of the problem here is that this was sold to me as a YA retelling of Frankenstein. It has none of that classic’s energy, its horror, its existential angst. Instead it’s a romance set in a funeral home where the dead don’t stay dead and, lo and behold, that includes people who are presented as alive at the start of the story. 
 
If it had been pitched as that I would still have picked it up but I wouldn’t have expected the fire and moral muscle of Frankenstein that are so lacking here. That’s only part of the problem for me though. Make Me A Monster lacks any narrative urgency, lacks any moral sensibility except to think through how one can avoid loss and grief and with no reflection on whether that’s a good or a bad desire it feels particularly one note. 
 
It’s a huge shame because this kind of setting could be fantastic if handled with an eye to deeper world building, a wider social setting (this world is so sparely populated it was hard to understand how so many dead bodies kept turning up to be prepared for their funerals) and a decent edit that expanded the second half of the book and condensed the first. This is irritating to reflect upon as a reviewer because part of my criticism here is that I wish it were a different book – notably the book promised on the back cover blurb. I maintain that a decent critic has to review a work on its own merits regardless of what they would have done. 
 
Unfortunately, as it’s probably clear by now, Make Me A Monster doesn’t work for me on its own strengths – its pacing is lacklustre, its story takes far too long to set out what it’s doing, the writing lacks nuance even given that it’s at the simplistic end of YA and the characters are painfully thin. 
 
If it’s Gothic, I want dreadful horror, faded luxury, lost loves and examinations of selfhood and being.  If it’s horror I want something that has body horror or frights or grotesquery. All these things are missing in Make Me A Monster which feels like it can’t ever commit to the horror elements genre. I spent more time thinking this was keener on being The Fault In Our Stars than a version of the dystopian science fiction romance horror that is Frankenstein.

--

The Math

Highlights:

• The undead
• Great portrayal of grief

Nerd coefficient: 4/10, a disappointing YA horror romance that doesn't really land the premise.

Reference: Bayron, Kalynn, Make Me A Monster [Bloomsbury, 2025].

STEWART HOTSTON is an author of all kinds of science fiction and fantasy. He's also a keen Larper (he owns the UK Fest system, Curious Pastimes). He's a sometime physicist and currently a banker in the City of London. A Subjective Chaos, BSFA and BFA finalist he's also Chair of the British Science Fiction Association and Treasurer for the British Fantasy Society. He is on bluesky at: @stewarthotston.com.

Video Game Review: Tunic by Isometricorp Games

Put away the sword and explore.

Stranded on the tiny shore of a minuscule piece of beach, our little fox protagonist awakens. The striking art style, a mix of simple geometry and vivid colors, catches the eye right away. And on an adventure we go. To do what? Well, that’s for you to uncover. Perhaps. But only if you stick with it. Developed by Isometricorp Games, Tunic is an ode to the ye olde days of Zelda, before the Ocarina hit Link’s lips, where exploration is king and secret passages hide around every corner. Armed with a sword and a shield (once you find them), our furry fox friend is thrust into a cheery world of varied biomes and challenging puzzles.

There is a cleverness to Tunic that pervades its puzzle aspects, and this is where the game truly shines. It makes exploration and discovery feel paramount in an enigmatic world. The top-down camera cleverly conceals certain structures and passageways. There are numerous shortcuts one can take on a subsequent playthrough once they find all the throughways. Finding a hidden passage and realizing you could have gone that way the entire time never got old. Though I must admit my disappointment was much higher every time I found a nook with no treasure. The Pavlovian response had become too ingrained by Tunic’s constant rewards. And while I found the discovery of each page of the manual and new item to be a delight (each with their accompanying charming tune), I must admit it took me a while to get to that feeling of delight.

And that is because of the combat. The combat in this game is uninspiring. Fighting through hordes of enemies or fighting a challenging boss did not make me want to overcome the hurdle; it just made me want to put the game down. This is tied to the story. The game lacks much of one by today’s video game standards. And that’s fine; not all games need one to be fun. But the challenge created by the mundane combat didn’t present its own reward (the combat itself being enjoyable), and the story (or lack thereof) didn’t offer enough incentive to push through the bosses to having to retread areas with hordes of enemies. I’m not saying the combat is awful; it’s just that the challenge isn’t worth the reward. So what did I do?

I put on No Fail Mode and finished the game. Mind you, I played more than half of the game with regular combat, and I intended to turn off the invincibility. But I never did. I struggled with the choice because I’m stubborn. It’s not that I couldn’t beat the game; it was that I was starting to not care. Now, I know it seems like a cheat, but I thought it better to actually finish out the game and see what it offered. And I’m glad I did. The dodge doesn’t feel great and the sword swing is very basic. Killing new enemies with a mix of combat prowess and items in your inventory is enjoyable the first time you enter a new zone, but became tedious each subsequent one. I would sometimes just avoid sleeping at a shrine so I wouldn’t have to engage with any re-spawned enemies. This was one of my no-fail mode eye-openers.

Once I made the choice to take no damage, Tunic got magnitudes better. I realized, through not having to deal with all the combat, I could enjoy the best aspects of the game: the puzzles and exploration. From then on, I didn’t think about putting the game down, and I thoroughly enjoyed going to new areas and exploring even more than before.

As I mentioned, the best part of Tunic is its exploration and puzzles. Once I started collecting more and more pages of the manual, the game opened up. How to unlock new passageways and complete certain sets of puzzles, which would then unlock more pages so that I could uncover more secrets. The manual is in the style of the old NES games, each page giving clues on how to play the game. Some pages had maps, others had information on trinkets and charms, while some had handwriting and cheat codes! This gave the game an old-school feel that too few games try to replicate.

As I ventured forth through Tunic’s numerous biomes, I found I enjoyed some much more than others (and for the record; I had visited most of the game’s biomes with damage still active). The art style permeates, lending itself better to some zones than others. I still think the starting area is the most striking. The sound effects in the Quarry are… unpleasant and made me want to zoom through that zone any time I was there. While I enjoyed the juxtaposition of pink on black and its stark difference from the rest of the map, I could never endure it for long. But mostly, discovering each new part of the map brings a sense of wonder that I think the developer nailed. In this, I believe Isometricorp Games pays the most homage to the games that inspired it.

While discovering new items and enchantments brought an early-game excitement to the mix, I couldn’t help but be let down by Tunic’s weak story and repetitive combat. Combined with the pace of the starter manual page reveals, it led to me almost putting the game down. Now, I know this game was built as a nostalgia-inducing trip for those old-school Zelda lovers out there, but if I’m being honest, I only tried a few when I got older. And they weren’t my cup of tea. Had this game advanced with the times and introduced a more thrilling combat system and a tinge more of a story, I think I may have fallen in love, but as it is, this game will appeal to people who loved those old school Zelda games. For others, I’d say so long as you don’t mind the deficits I mentioned, I think there’s enough exploration and discovery here for a memorable experience.

--

The Math

Objective Assessment: 8/10

Bonus: +1 for charming art style and enjoyable melodies. +1 for sense of discovery.

Penalties: - 1 for uninspired combat. - .5 for weak story elements.

Nerd Coefficient: 6.5/10

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

Book Review: The Deep and the Drowned by Ian Green

 The opening volume of an extremely classic-feeling fantasy adventure

Killian is the captain of the Cutlass Hawk, a ship he may or may not have acquired entirely legally, in debt to local crime bosses, and haunted by the his past, both the crimes he's committed and the events that led him to them in the first place. He's charming, violent, clever, impulsive, and has a little bit of access to the skein, the magic of his world. Trying to pay off his debt to some local crime bosses, he's now been shackled with an entirely dubious duo from the culture who killed his mother, and who want to undertake one of the most dangerous sea voyages possible, through the domain of a mad god sea serpent with a penchant for storms and shipwrecking.

If The Deep and the Drowned sounds, from this brief synopsis, like the sort of fantasy story you've read before... well, you'd be right. There is something incredibly old school about it, an familiar too. Its expansive secondary world, its magic that underlies reality, its gods run wild and faded ruins of a once-great civilisation, its hero with a messy past and a yearning for revenge, even its pacing and twist reveals, all of it feels straight out of all the books I devoured as a teenager a couple of decades ago. And straight out of the type of books I haven't read in the last decade at the very least. This is a type of fantasy that just isn't hitting big, and I'm not picking up, these days, and so it was with a strange sense of déjà vu that I ploughed through Ian Green's forthcoming novel.

Is this a good thing or a bad thing? I'm honestly not sure.

In the abstract, I absolutely do not think stories need to be timebound to the trends of the moment: there will always be someone who doesn't like the flavour of the month and yearns for what came before, and they deserve books to read just as much as anyone else does. But... but. The problem with writing something that feels quite so familiar as this does, quite so keenly evokes a mode of fantasy I read so very much of as a teenager, is that it feels like the reiteration of the same mode needs to justify itself. When so much of a thing already exists, there's a sense that the new one has to make a statement about what it brings to the party that the pre-existing novels filling the same niche don't provide. That argument can take many forms, and "it's not new but it's phenomenally well-written" could be one of them. It doesn't have to be a twist (though twists, reworkings and reimaginations of the existing corpus are great fun and make their arguments quite plainly enough). But if there's already a plentiful crop of this one type of thing, the work has a lot of crowd to stand out from. I'm not sure "there's not been any new iterations of this one thing" for a while is quite enough, but maybe that's just me.

In any case, and sadly, I'm not sure The Deep and the Drowned succeeds in making such a case. Which isn't to say it's a bad book - the worldbuilding, plotting, prose and characterisation are all competently done, and while there are things to poke at in some of them (more on which shortly), that's true of many books still well worth reading. But when I put it down, I felt a great sense of it missing something. And I think it comes in at the level of theme, or possibly argument; I'm not sure if the book has something to say beyond having a cool story... and I think it might have needed one.

It's interesting to compare to Green's previous novel, Extremophile, which was shortlisted for the Arthur C. Clarke Award last year. It was a novel of a type I'm not normally excited by (heists) but which managed to lure me into a heap of enjoyment through a mixture of good writing, the sense of a depth of knowledge on the author's part across several of its topics/settings, and just a strong thread, right at the base, of having something the say. It's a novel I ended up really liking, almost in spite of myself, just out of how well it was put together, at every level.

A lot of that same competence is here too, although translated away from near future climate fiction and into a secondary world. The handwriting of the same creator is visible, so to speak, just in a different font. But without the driving force of Extremophile's anger, or something equally forceful, it's not got quite the same magic to it that made the previous novel sing.

Which sounds like a lot of a downer on the novel, but it's not all that way. Some of the disappointment comes precisely because so many aspects of it are handled with the same skilled hand, that the little hole in the centre is felt that much more keenly. The possibility is visible.

One of the great decisions Green has made is to have his protagonist (and his ship full of crew and associates) be genuinely somewhat criminal. It's an unfortunately common issue in stories containing pirates, thieves and other lawbreakers that they don't... actually do any pirating or lawbreaking. The Adventures of Amina al-Sirafi by Shannon Chakraborty is the easiest example that jumps to mind, but is hardly alone in this. Pirates are, to be quite frank, not very nice. They do not very nice things, often to entirely innocent people who just happen to be in possession of cargo. Or people who aren't totally innocent but still don't necessarily deserve to be pirated. If you're going to do a story with pirates in, you should probably accept that they are pirates and embrace it, moral mess and all. And if you can't swallow that... maybe don't write about pirates. Green has not fallen into this trap. His protagonist, Killian, gives plenty of examples of things he's done in his life which are... let's say not great. Certainly not lawful. Quite often not all that moral. But he remains a sympathetic character nonetheless, because people can be complex things. He has a backstory, he has context, that make his crimes make sense, but without feeling the need to constantly excuse and minimise them. It's great, and it gives the story and setting more weight for its premises to be taken seriously in this way.

There's also a sense of stories beyond the one being told, which to my mind is the mark of worldbuilding done right. This especially comes through from several of the secondary characters, with whom there are moments of understanding of their place, and their trajectory, through the world that only intersects with Killian's, rather than being subordinate to it. Whether that's the antagonists Marion and Mournchild, part of two different, temporarily aligned hierarchies, with their own goals and mores, or Silver, who disapproves of some of the plundering but needs Killian for his access to archaeological sites she has an interest in, or Kaikatsu, a member of another species called the Antian, who carries a mysterious creature called a relu in secret, and clearly has goals relating to it that have driven her far from her people. It is, in focus, Killian's story, but Green does enough work on these other threads to make them feel just real enough, just deep enough, to imply the world beyond the borders of the narrative.

It's also a book full of religion. In some ways, religion done much better than in a lot of traditional fantasy: the ones shown on page for any real time definitely give the feel of being institutions that people might actually be part of, which is rarer than it should be. These are religions that make sense as a part of daily life, with rituals and restrictions and hierarchies and internal politics, all hinted at and gestured to, if not explored in detail. It's not the superficial thing of "what if gods, but real", though there are gods walking (and swimming) about in Green's archipelago. Thought has been given to how the metaphysical shapes the societal, and that is so critical to making this kind of worldbuilding work. Religion is never quite enough in the focus to get some moments of real heft, but as a part of the construction in the background, it's pretty well done.

On a plot and pacing level, if we step aside a little from the familiarity problem, there's a lot of skill too. Without going into detail on the specifics, there's a late third act twist which, if you've read a lot of this sort of fantasy is entirely to be expected. But the way Green plots the course towards it, however visible on the horizon, is extremely competent: there's a reveal to the reader just the right amount of time before the reveal to the protagonist, and the gap between them is just right to enjoy the knowledge without getting impatient for the fallout.

But then again, there are some issues in execution too. These predominantly lie in the character of Killian, the hero. Making him have his thirst for blood and vengeance is great, he feels like a genuinely criminal criminal in the grubby mess of the world that it makes sense he'd inhabit. But, at times, he's also... a big softie. And having that genuine criminality puts these two parts of his character at further apart poles. By the end of the novel, I felt there needed to be more work to sell him uniting those contrasts for him to truly make sense to me reading him; the regret he feels for some of his bloody deeds isn't quite enough to make the link work. Likewise, he's clearly meant to be charming, impulsive but persuasive, but I'm not quite sure the writing sells that enough for me to believe in it, especially in his dialogue. He ends up being the thing he needs to be for the story at all points, and doesn't quite succeed in being a character, or not always.

And so, the world is interesting, the writing pretty good, and there's promise for a lot of intersecting lines of adventure in the future installments in what is clearly going to be a series. If you want the sort of secondary world fantasy that was going round in heaps 15-20 years ago, this is doing exactly that, and pretty well. But it's not doing a whole lot more, and after the promise of Extremophile I was hoping for something with a bit more bite to it.

--

The Math

Highlights: fantasy religions that feel like people engage with them; a big, broad world; pirates who actually do crimes

Nerd Coefficient: 6/10

Reference: Ian Green, The Deep and the Drowned, [Head of Zeus, 2026].

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

Review [Video Game]: Nine Sols by Red Candle Games

A parry system to make Sekiro blush

Yi hangs off a cliff as an imposing figure points her energy sword down toward his disheveled form. He eases off into the abyss only to be absorbed and placed in a hibernation state by Fusang (a world-tree-like organism). Fast-forward five hundred years later and our protagonist awakens from his unwanted slumber, wounds healed, hellbent on putting things right. And perhaps a bit of revenge. But what is right? And what is Yi hiding from his friends, from the player?

Nine Sols immediately grabs the eye with its fetching art style. Crisp, bright colors with clean linework. Bold, charming character design and detailed environments fuel this sci-fi tao-punk adventure. The setup is accompanied by a solid score that follows throughout and hooked me right from the get-go. Yi’s bipedal, cat-like character design is, honestly, adorable, even if he can kill hordes and hordes of enemies. Most of the characters have a rather cartoony feel to them, even some villains, which all work within their characterization. The ones that are more serious seem to have a more balanced design that works within the artistic framework. One of the few Metroidvania games I’ve played that rivals Hollow Knight in execution. Red Candle Games has some good artists on staff.

It’s hard not to mention the indie juggernaut Hollow Knight when comparing Metroidvania titles, but alas, when one is at the top, all others shall compete for a bit of that spotlight. But here’s the thing: Nine Sols stands on its own and even surpasses the king in some places. Each takes its own focus and hones it to a sharp point. While Hollow Knight excels in exploration and lore, Nine Sols focuses on story, character work, and combat. Let’s get into each of these.

The story and characters are intertwined, as with any piece of media, though one of my favorite parts of Nine Sols are the extra bits sprinkled in. As you move through your adventure, new characters will join you at your base. Different collectibles will allow you to interact with these characters and grow your relationships with them. Completely collecting almost every item in the game will even give you the true ending (more on this later). Forging a bond with Shuanshuan is as satisfying as offering the conspiracy theorist Shennong a new poison to endure. And boy, does he like his poison. The more, the better. These relationships were satisfying enough to drive me to unlock all the hidden items on the map for a chance at more dialogue. And while I don’t think every character moment is earned, the ones that are land solidly.

Speaking of hits, let’s get to the combat. Fast, intense, precise, challenging. The game, at least on standard mode (there is a story mode that will essentially allow you to breeze through the game), offers the player plenty of trials. The game relies on a parry system, not dissimilar to the highly acclaimed From Software darling, Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice. Parrying is the bread and butter of the game. Every parry fills a ki charge (you can get up to five), and these allow you to do more damage, either through talisman application or through other jade upgrades (for instance, one jade allows every third hit on your three hit combo to use two ki charges to do extra damage). Besides parrying, Yi can dodge, and eventually, use a different type of parry as well. These combined mechanics, along with the traditional sword slashes, create fun, frenetic gameplay that challenges you even against regular enemies. No matter how much I leveled, I always felt the heat.

The boss and mini-boss battles add an extra test of both player patience and mechanical learning. But each boss encounter, while initially frustrating, takes an appropriate amount of practice before you feel you’ve mastered a phase. And each of the battles feels appropriately boss-like without pushing me out of the range of total discomfort. All except one. The final boss is, to put it mildly, a horrendous difficulty spike of massive proportions. You don’t even want to hear what I really think. I respect making the final enemy the most difficult by all means, but that was a nightmare. It left a rather sour taste in my mouth right near the end of a rather enjoyable adventure. I’m surprised that difficulty spike got through play-testing. Unless you’re a masochist, go for the true ending on story mode so you can see the game through without wanting to delete the game (something I actually considered during my multi-hour bout). It’s unfortunate because the combat choreography of the fight is brilliant and would be otherwise enjoyable with some tweaks.

But back to the story. Red Candle Games made a solid effort in creating a flowing narrative, with ancient lore and other worldbuilding. While the translation doesn’t always align perfectly, and there are quite a few expository dialogue interactions, the game is comprehensive and enjoyable. If you prefer an alternative to the more subtle, environmental storytelling like in a From Software game, or the previously mentioned Hollow Knight, Nine Sols may offer what you’re seeking. While there are plenty of chances for exploration, the game focuses on its narrative, creating a slightly more linear feel. Something I preferred over Hollow Knight’s more enigmatic traipsing.

Nine Sols still has some of the Metroidvania staples I could do without, like mindless exploration (towards the beginning). Once multi-way teleportation opens up, everything flows much better. I understand the desire to push the player to explore the map, but it eventually feels a bit like drudgery. For some, this is one of the best parts of a Metroidvania, but I must admit, it is not this humble reviewer’s favorite thing to do. Luckily, Nine Sols isn’t the worst offender in this category, and, like in Hollow Knight, the world is beautiful and the puzzles can distract from the small irritation. Also, toward the beginning, when I ran into a boss that had a small cut scene, or a difficult stretch of enemies between the respawn area and the boss, I was displeased. Thankfully, these issues disappeared as I progressed.

Nine Sols should be revered for its slick, enticing combat, its story, its world, and its fun characters. It’s a great compliment to some of the best in the genre and deserves the attention of any fans of the genre. Considering Red Candle Games only made two horror games before this, I must say this was quite the pivot. My few frustrations with Nine Sols aside, I look forward to seeing what this developer does next. Now go out there and feed Yi’s bloodlust, teach Shuanshuan how to code, and dammit, find Shennong as much poison as you can. He deserves it. And you deserve to hear the stupid drunken conversations that emerge from the transaction.

The Math

Objective Assessment: 8.5/10

Bonuses: +1 for solid, intense combat. +1 for storytelling and character.

Penalties: −1 for final boss difficulty spike. −0.5 for some translation errors. −0.5 for typical Metroidvania exploration irritations.

Nerd Coefficient: 8.5/10.

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