Realm of the Elderlings Project: Fitz and the Fool, book 3: Assassin's Fate

Why couldn’t the dragons just fly the ring to Clerres?

Cover illustration by Alejandro Colucci

Ok, I’m going to confess something. I’ve been calling this whole project a ‘reread’, but in fact, I’ve never actually read this last trilogy. So I didn’t know what was coming when I wrote the last two posts, and I feel VERY SILLY now that I’ve gotten to the end about my ignorant comments blithely asserting that Hobb mellowing in her cruelty, softening her blows, pulling her punches. 

She wasn’t. She was just taking a deep breath before this last book. Be aware: I'm going to abuse italics. I'm very worked up about this.

And although I’ve seen the kinds of blows she can land, still – this book seems the worst, because it was all unnecessary. In the Farseer trilogy, Fitz getting tortured to death in Regal’s dungeons was part of the path to extract himself from his identity as a Farseer bastard, freeing him up to do things like find Verity and help him build his Skill-dragon to defend the Six Duchies from the Red Ship raiders. In the Liveship trilogy, Vivacia had to become a slaver so that she’d get taken by Kennit, which would send her (and Paragon) on the path to recovering their draconic roots, thereby enabling them to guide the serpents to their spawning grounds and start a new nest of dragons. In Tawny Man, the Fool getting flayed alive in the Pale Lady’s ice cave was necessary to bring the other dragons back from extinction. These were horrible things that happened, yes, but they served a purpose. They made the world better.

What did we accomplish here in this book? Yes, we rescued Bee (although, honestly, she was doing a pretty awesome job of rescuing herself), but that’s personal. The Farseer line is doing just fine without her: Nettle’s got a baby, Elliania’s got a baby. On the large scale, rescuing Bee is a good thing for Fitz to do as a father, but it’s a very small story for a Robin Hobb trilogy.

But wait! you might say. What about the destruction of Clerres? you might say. That’s a huge thing! That’s incredible! That’s an amazing improvement in the world at large! you might say.

Yes. But Fitz and the Fool didn’t do it. First of all, it was Bee who burned the archives, and second of all, it was the dragons who finished the job. Fitz and the Fool didn’t even need to go to Clerres! For that matter, the Fool didn’t even need to go to Fitz! He could have sicced the dragons on Clerres, left poor Fitz out of it, and everything could have ended happily. Properly happily. Not whatever this together-forever White Prophet and Catalyst nonsense is. Clerres would be rubble, Fitz would be Tom Badgerlock, raising his little daughter Bee and meeting his grandbaby, and the Fool would be  . . .

Well, probably dead. But as I consult my feelings about this book, I find that I don’t really care about the Fool as a character on his own. We have a good few chapters at the end when he’s trying to be a father to Bee, because they both think Fitz is dead and he’s all she has left, and everything about that attempted relationship just falls flat. The Fool on his own is not an interesting person. He only works with Fitz. 

I don’t think that’s an accident. I think that’s actually a masterful bit of character work. By seeing how grim and lonely and empty the Fool’s life will be without Fitz – denied even by his own child (for a given value of ‘his own’), bereft of purpose – it is satisfying to see him come to his end, united forever with Fitz (and Nighteyes) in the Skill-wolf. 

But I still don’t like him. I cannot forgive him for the misery he brought. The unnecessary misery. In the previous sub-serieses of this saga, it was possible to argue that there was no other way to bring about the events that had to happen.  But here, after all we’ve endured, the dragons rock up and just . . . tweet it out destroy Clerres to the bedrock, and it’s hard to ignore that big smoking sign trumpeting THIS WAS THE OTHER WAY. 

Yes, fine, we’ve had 15 books so far establishing that Fitz will do whatever the Fool asks him, and the Fool loves Fitz and their relationship is complicated and deep and there are layers, and I get it. And also, yes, fine, the Fool was desperate and dying and going to the only person who could help him, the person who knew more of him than he had ever revealed to anyone else who breathed. He wasn’t thinking straight, so it’s understandable he wouldn’t think to ask why the eagles dragons couldn’t just fly the ring their vengeance to Mordor Clerres.

And, yes, we’ve had 15 books in which these sorts of character motivations have been key supporting elements of the plot, resulting in a united, coherent through-line of motivation to justify the troubles. But notice my phrasing there: the character arcs supported the plot.  They united with the plot to produce motivation. They were not the sole load-bearing components. Until now. 

It’s a cruel author who gives us dragons, shows how the dragons can easily right the most hideous wrongs -- and then chucks Fitz into the meatgrinder anyway.

All throughout the book, I was taking notes for a very different write-up. I had all sorts of thoughts about the differences between identities that are assigned to you, versus identities you take on yourself. Gender, of course: Fitz trusts the Fool, but not Amber. But also not just gender. Is Bee the Destroyer or the Unexpected Son? Is Beloved or the Pale Lady the true White Prophet? Are liveships liveships, or dragons?

But I don’t have the heart. I am disheartened. Hobb has stolen my heart, enchanted my heart, and then crushed it in her claws. I knew she had it in her. I just didn’t think she would do it to me.

--

Reference: Hobb, Robin. Assassin's Fate [Del Ray, 2017]. 

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

TV Review: Paradise season 2

A welcome jump in quality over season 1

Season 1 of the Hulu post-apocalyptic mystery show Paradise left me with rather tepid expectations for whichever continuation the story would have. The recently released season 2 has been a happy surprise with deeper characterization, tighter worldbuilding and more cohesive plotting.

A big part of the reason for this improvement is the change in focus toward life outside of the city-sized survival bunker where season 1 was set. Now that our protagonist Xavier has found evidence that his wife survived the fall of civilization, we follow his quest to the coordinates she sent from a makeshift radio transmitter. On the way there, his small airplane crashes, but he’s rescued by Annie, a former medical student who happened to be working as a tour guide at Elvis Presley’s house in Memphis when the world-ending disaster happened. Annie’s presence on screen is brief, but she turns out to indirectly play a major role in subsequent events.

It’s impressive how well delineated Annie’s character gets to be during the short time we spend with her. The neglectful way she was raised left her avid for structure, which makes her a good fit for a job where she has to recite the same script in the same order every day. This personal history equips her well for the boring routine of surviving alone, but after a few years without human contact, its resumption takes huge effort and patience.

Which brings us to Link, another character newly introduced in this season. He leads a loose band of survivalists who want to invade the titular Paradise bunker, but first he has a short encounter with Annie that results in pregnancy. The flashbacks about Link reveal that he used to research advanced quantum physics, which is connected to the vaguely alarming weirdness that starts to gradually creep over the story. I won’t spoil the details, but if you thought that Samantha, the over-prepared creator of the bunker, was a bit too paranoid about securing every avenue of survival, in this season we discover that those measures were nowhere near paranoid enough—she has backup plans inside backup plans, and the flashbacks about those preparations fill the gaps about how she became the ruthless control freak we know her as.

As you can surmise by now, the show continues its tradition, firmly established in the previous season, of delivering half the story via flashbacks. This is a story about saving the future, but its version of the future is never free from the pervasive, life-defining influence of the past. In fact, this time the flashbacks are used more effectively, with a more solid connection to the themes of each episode. Whereas they sometimes intruded in the flow of narration in season 1, here they serve a more intentional function.

The main plot threads of this season have to do with Samantha finding her way back to a dominant position in the bunker microcosmos state after the political shocks that ended season 1, Xavier making it alive to the remote place where his wife has been living after the disaster, and the common people in the bunker coming up with clandestine ways to oppose the authoritarian turn in their government. A theme that unifies much of the plot is motherhood: just as Annie, as well as our favorite psycho murderer Jane, were shaped by the destructive parenting style of their respective mothers, the survival bunker is an incarnation of the extreme opposite: Samantha’s obsessive urge to protect her children at literally any cost. The healthy equilibrium is to be found in Annie herself, whose wish to protect her daughter has to be coupled to her need to trust that Xavier will be a good caretaker for her; and in Xavier’s wife Teri, who unexpectedly finds herself in the position of a substitute mother to a lost child, and whose judgment of character with regard to motherly tasks gives Xavier an accurate hint about someone’s secret sinister side.

The emphasis on motherhood is related to a persistent argument made through the season: the end of the world will not be survived by rough macho warriors, but by compassionate caretakers.

Sadly, a few key characters from season 1 are greatly diminished this time, in particular Xavier’s children, Secret Service agent Nicole Robinson, and former First Son Jeremy Bradford, who get basically no inner development and are reduced to plot levers. Even Jane Driscoll, the fascinating secondary antagonist of season 1, ceases to be interesting in season 2 after all the mystery about her is lost.

The story ends with another cliffhanger: a new mission for Xavier to try to fix the world permanently with the help of the quantum weirdness that the season slowly develops. This means that season 3 will, once again, focus away from the bunker, which has already proved to be the right choice. The future trajectory of this show seems bound to eschew political drama in favor of world-breaking technobabble, certainly a tough target to aim for, but if the writing of season 2 is any indication, we can trust that this story is in good hands.

Nerd Coefficient: 8/10.

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

Interview: Peadar Ó Guilín

In September 2007, Irish writer Peadar Ó Guilín published his first novel, The Inferior, which the Times Educational Supplement called "a stark, dark tale, written with great energy and confidence and some arresting reflections on human nature." Foreign editors liked it too, and over the following year it was translated into eight languages, including Japanese and Korean. His fantasy and SF short stories have appeared in numerous venues, including Black Gate magazine and an anthology celebrating the best of the iconic Weird Tales. He also writes for George R. R. Martin's Wild Cards series. His latest novel, The Sword Garden, is set to release in April, 2026 from Wizard's Tower Press.

NoaF: Congratulations on the release of your latest book! What was the seed of the idea that led to The Sword Garden?

Peadar: I'm always interested in the idea of two worlds overlapping. It happens quite a lot in Irish legends, and I've enjoyed the cool ways the concept has been dealt with before in works by Jack Vance, China Miéville and others. The Sword Garden is just one of several stories of mine where I've squeezed it for fun and profit.

NoaF: Your YA duology The Call is also making a resurgence. Can you tell us a little about the paths those books have taken? What's the wildest thing that's happened for you as a result of their success?

Peadar: The Call duology was about the biggest success I've ever had at anything in my life.

That book brought me all over the world. I had a small tour of the States. I was flown to Australia. I was a guest in Poland. It was an amazing time.

About the wildest thing that happened, though, was this: a friend of mine loved The Call when it first came out. She brought a copy with her when she was visiting a friend in Australia and she gifted it to his teenaged daughter. The daughter, it turned out, was a very talented screenwriter, who went on to win an award for one of her first scripts. Then, she pitched The Call so enthusiastically that it was picked up by a major streamer. They paid for a writers room. They paid for a season full of scripts… And that's where the adventure came to a halt. But it was very exciting while it lasted.

I'm really thrilled that new people are still finding the book, having never heard of it. That never gets old.

NoaF: You've been published by large presses and small. What have been the differences in the big/small press experience for you?

Peadar: Big presses do everything for you. Shops are way more receptive to the idea of trying to sell your book if it comes from a big publisher, and individual hard copies of the novel cost less, so more people can afford them. Media outlets will take you more seriously if a big-time publicist is standing behind you.

A small press, on the other hand, just feels more personal. You are part of the team, rather than the product. It's cozy.

NoaF: You've also self-published. Do you think it's valuable for an author to experience all three paths?

Peadar: Experience is rarely wasted. However, I do think that most writers just want to write their books, send them off to a team that will do everything else, and move on to the next idea. I would prefer that myself, to be honest.

NoaF: Do you have any talks or convention appearances coming up where people might find you?

Peadar: I'll be at EasterCon in the UK (Birmingham) from 3-6 April. That's where we will be launching The Sword Garden. Two weeks later, I'll be in Luxembourg—always a good time. On 8-9 of May, I'll be in Belfast for NornCon—come and say "how's about ye."

NoaF: What are you reading for fun these days? Who else should Nerds of a Feather readers put on their TBR list?

Peadar: I always love Adrian Tchaikovsky's work, but his recent, ongoing fantasy series, The Tyrant Philosophers, is a thing of real beauty. I also had a great time recently with a book called There Is No Anti-Memetic Division, which is a huge recommendation.

6 Books with John Chu

John Chu is a microprocessor architect by day, a writer, translator by night. He has been a finalist for the Hugo, Nebula, Locus, and Ignyte Awards, won the Best Short Story Hugo for "The Water That Falls on You from Nowhere" and won the Best Novelette Nebula for "If You Find Yourself Speaking to God, Address God with the Informal You." The Subtle Art of Folding Space is his first novel.

Today he tells us about his six books.

1. What book are you currently reading?

Matching Minds with Sondheim by Barry Joseph. Stephen Sondheim, of course, is one of greatest writers of musical theater of all time. He was also a great creator of games and puzzles. This book explores this aspect of his work to give us more insight into his creative process. Also, it has some of the puzzles and games he created. As you read the book you are, in fact, also matching minds with Sondheim.

 2. What upcoming book are you really excited about?

I was lucky enough to read an advance copy of What We Are Seeking by Cameron Reed, the author who wrote The Fortunate Fall. It’s a bit lengthy, but I absolutely devoured it. The novel is unabashedly and unapologetically queer. It is an unflinching exploration of gender that takes place on a world whose native living beings have a genuinely alien lifecycle that defy our implicit categorization of living beings. ((I apologize for the awkward wording of that last sentence. I’m trying to avoid spoilers.) All of this takes place in an epically far-future milieu. There is so much to unpack with this novel and it is all fascinating.

I believe both Cameron Reed’s novel and mine have the same release date [April 7th]. Buy both!

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

I don’t generally re-read books. I’m not the world’s fastest reader. Also, the day job and writing doesn’t leave much time for reading. So, I prioritize works that I haven’t read over works I have. At this point, my (virtual) to-be-read pile is so large that I don’t know whether I will ever make my way through. And yet, I keep adding to it.

That said, there are books like The Palm-Wine Drinkard by Amos Tutuola that are so far outside my lived experience, I feel like perhaps I need to read it again before I can claim with a straight face that I have read it. In grad school, I rushed through The Book of the New Sun in my spare moments and I would love to experience those novels again at a more leisurely pace. While I’m at it, by sheer coincidence, I read A Fire Upon the Deep while I was studying network architecture. (A novel computer network is a tangential part of my PhD dissertation.) So much of that book referenced what I was also learning about and researching at that moment. It might be nice to revisit that book in a context where that is not the case.

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

I read Arkady Martine’s A Memory Called Empire and was instantly smitten. It is a gorgeously written novel and very much the novel about assimilation that I wanted to write. The book is trenchant about the effects of imperialism and the contradictions it inevitably creates. Mahit is so true to life in that she both admires the culture of the empire, seeing its value, and understands viscerally the cost of that culture. She does this through, in part, the context of language, which is a topic near and dear to my heart.

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

I’m going to mention two because I can’t decide. 

The first is The Phantom Tollbooth by Norman Juster. Malka Older, who read it recently, posted about it on social media and from that I have to conclude, sadly, that the Suck Fairy has gotten to it. Fear of this is one reason why I never revisited or passed it on to my nieces when they were the right age for it. I gave them more contemporary books. The Phantom Tollbooth, I should note, was already pretty old when I read it. So, maybe the right time to read it was when both you and the world was young enough not to know better.

That said, baby me was absolutely delighted by the sheer invention of all the places Milo visited. I ate up all the absurdity and wordplay. 

That brings me to the second book, The Westing Game by Ellen Raskin. It’s another book that I’m afraid to revisit, lest I find out the Suck Fairy has gotten to that, too. This book almost sparked the love mysteries and sheer wordplay that I still have today. Again, tiny me eeked and gasped at every revelation. Tiny me reveled in the clever way Ellen Raskin manipulated words. 

There is a Chinese translation. One day, I may have to get my hands on it just to see how the translators navigated some potentially thorny issues as the wordplay is very much part of the mystery. (Again, I’m being vague so as to avoid spoilers for a novel that’s nearly 50 years old.) Maybe I should have mentioned this as a novel that I’m itching to re-read. (It depends on whether you call reading it in a different language re-reading.)

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

My latest (read: first) book is called The Subtle Art of Folding Space and it comes out on April 7th from Tor Books. To reference question 4b, this is, to some extent, the book about assimilation that I did write. Right off the bat, the main character, Ellie, is accused of being insufficiently Taiwanese by her sister and, throughout the book, Ellie finds herself navigating the expectations of not just her family but multiple cultures. 

That, however, is the context for a story about the sometimes thankless job of making sure the world keeps working. Ellie is sent off by her sister Chris to the skunkworks, the machinery that generates the physics of the university, to replace a worn part. Chris can’t do it as she insist on being the one and only person to take care of their comatose mother. However, her cousin Daniel shows her that physics has been deliberately modified to keep her mother alive. It’s also causing spurious errors all over the universe. Right at the start, she is forced to make a decision no one should ever be forced to make: the life of her mother or the proper functioning of the universe.

The novel deals with family, assimilation, and the responsibility to make the world work, but it’s also a lot fun. It has both a secret cabal that threatens to topple the order of the universe and a man who makes food appear out of thin air on command. It has both a library with too many physical dimensions and a librarian who is a giant tree trunk mounted on top of a giant spider. It encompasses both the messy aftermath of a death and a car that spontaneously turns into a rhinoceros. I hope the novel captures the absurdity and joy of life and I hope people have as much fun reading it as I have writing it.

Thank you!

Thank YOU, John. 

You can also read a review of The Subtle Art of Folding Space here.

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

Video Game Review: Cocoon by Geometric Interactive

A world within a world within a world...

You may or may not have heard of Matryoshka dolls, those stackable dolls that can be nested within one another. What Geometric Interactive did with Cocoon was take that concept and turn it into an adventure puzzler, but instead of dolls, you stack worlds. That’s right, worlds (or, levels represented as worlds, to be more precise). Hard to imagine, but bear with me here.

Part of Cocoon’s beauty is its simplicity. You use the left stick to maneuver and the X button (on PlayStation) for everything else. That’s it. Want to pick something up? X. Want to activate something? Hold X. In doing this, Cocoon begins with no tutorial. You start the game and get to work. But what are we doing exactly?

Cocoon is a clever adventure/puzzle game, novel in its approach. The protagonist is a little bug with wings exploring a weird set of worlds. It uses orbs to activate different events and solve puzzle mechanics to discover more about the universe. These orbs, when placed on a proper pedestal, can be accessed, a level within a level. The puzzles range from rudimentary to moderate. There were a few times I found myself stuck on a puzzle for more than a few minutes, and those were the moments where the game shone. They made me consider the game, the world, and the mechanics. I’d overcomplicate the solution and find myself running around with orbs for no reason, putting them everywhere and anywhere I could. When it clicked, the game was satisfying, and using the stacking mechanic set the game apart.

Besides the stacking, the game continues to introduce new mechanics throughout its short runtime. By keeping the game brief (maybe five hours), the game stays fresh, pushing the player forward. The new mechanics themselves are not anything earth-shattering, but within the evolution of the game’s progress, they help to maintain curiosity. Once you advance past a puzzle, the game locks off any unnecessary areas so you don’t waste time unnecessarily backtracking. That Geometric Interactive thought of the player in this regard is a significant treat. Even the music, which is serviceable for the needs of the game, tells the player when they’re on the right track to solving the next puzzle.

The worlds themselves are intriguing, if typical. A sci-fi desert world, a world with shifting phases of matter, and a biological world that looks like the anatomical innards of some creature comprise the main playable areas. The brilliance comes into play when you hop between these worlds to move forward, sometimes using one world to activate puzzles in another. Difficult to explain until you see it in action. Cocoon’s puzzles become even more enjoyable toward the end when the player has to juggle multiple orbs and moving components to proceed.

My primary issue boils down to the lack of narrative depth each of these worlds provides. Besides paring down the complexity, the game also completely shuns any sort of narrative above the base-level gameplay and discovery. As I mentioned, you play as an insect exploring the world. But why should I care? What is the purpose? Is this some kind of rite of passage for this insect’s species? The closest thing the game has to lore exists in the “side content”. Small puzzles in not so hidden areas that allow you to release a trapped entity. But there is no information about them, why they were trapped, or how freeing them impacts the world as a whole. It’s just something else to do, and doesn’t provide any challenge.

I am uncertain whether this was the intent of the developer. The game doesn’t provide any true challenge, and is interesting enough to keep you hooked through the gameplay and environment alone. Sure, backtracking can sometimes be a bore, but overall the game moves at a steady pace. There is no story here to intrigue, but there’s also not enough challenge to make someone quit. Is this the perfect balance for an adventure/puzzle game that does not want to include any story elements? Honestly, I think it is.

Depth does not guarantee fun. Sometimes maintaining someone’s interest for a short time is enough. Cocoon does just that. It’s a game that doesn’t impose. It doesn’t ask too much of the player and, in return, it provides an enjoyable experience that allows its novelty to pull you through to the end. Would I have liked more story? Sure. Was it necessary? Not at all. In fact, when I think of the term palate cleanser (regarding video games), Cocoon is an apt example. I may not come back to Geometric Interactive's darling in the future, but I still think it’s worth a play through. For those seeking a game that won’t eat all of your time, something a little different without too much of a challenge, an intriguing (if not deep) world, and some clever puzzles, Cocoon is a perfect fit.

--

The Math

Objective Assessment: 7.5/10

Bonus: +1 for world stacking mechanic. +1 for staying fresh.

Penalties: -1 for no lore. -1 for over simplicity at times.

Nerd Coefficient: 7.5/10

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: Ode to the Half-Broken by Suzanne Palmer

Traumatized but healing mechas and humans building community in a ‘cozy’ post-apocalyptic setting

Suzanne Palmer’s Ode to the Half Broken is, somehow, a cozy post-apocalypse near-future science fiction story about a former military mecha. And, unlike some extremely valid recent critiques of the ‘cozy’ genre in general, Palmer manages to take seriously the traumatic events in the past of her characters as well as what might be required for them to heal.

The story begins with the former military mecha, our protagonist [1], injured and awakening alone in a “highly degraded urban interior space”. It quickly becomes clear that they were attacked by mysterious assailants. A cyberdog named Atticus, who is an organic-mecha hybrid, becomes their sidekick and helps our protagonist begin to acclimate to actually talking to other beings, which they have not willingly done in nearly 20 years.

As we are introduced to the world, we learn that things are not great. Through flashbacks and some past Global News Feed alerts, we are shown glimpses of how most of the planet was destroyed: proto-fascist paramilitaries with nuclear weapons; storms with radioactive, toxic airborne particulates; misinformation tearing people apart; global pandemics, some of them human produced; and engineers creating sapient mechas which are being used on the battlefield. 

Some humans do survive, but the mechas created by humans thrive in various types of bodies: from trains to carts to gravedigger bots to humanoids like our military mecha protagonist. There are also a lot of single purpose ‘internet of things’ bots that are not necessarily intelligent, but have at least a basic sense of self, like, for example, a smart toaster. At some point in the past, the mecha declared their independence. Now, some live independently and some live cooperatively with humans. But something seems to be going wrong: there are reports of antisocial behaviour from some mecha and rumours of shadowy forces gathering in old abandoned shopping malls.

The plot of the book follows our protagonist, with their cyberdog friend, looking for repairs and finding out who attacked them. They are also looking for some long-lost sibling bots: other mecha that were built, along with the protagonist, by a past engineer named Dr. Milton. The plot is fun! Our protagonist is joined by excellent supporting characters, like a human mechanic named Murphy; a drone called Teal-A3-Charp (“Charp” for short), and eventually a train mind named 44-Mongoose that gets transplanted into the body of a vintage 1966 Volkswagen van that was retrofit with a steam engine.

I think this book falls pretty neatly into the cozy sci-fi subgenre. There has been some recent debate about cozy sci-fi. What even is cozy sci-fi? On a recent episode of The Coode Street Podcast [2], Jonathan Strahan and Gary K. Wolfe traced the origins of the term back to the 1950s and British science fiction author Brian Aldiss. Aldiss described works like John Wyndham’s Midwich Cookoos, as “cozy catastrophe” because they portrayed a disasters in a small village. Cozy fiction tends to focus on a small group of people, a manageable scale, not the whole world. On Coode Street, they contrasted this with “large management fiction,” like Isaac Asimov’s Foundation trilogy.

There seems to be part of a bigger movement towards ‘cozy’ as a reaction to The Times We Live In. John Rogers, well-known producer of the tv show Leverage, recently commented on Bluesky that, right now, “the biggest movie is about science bros and the power of friendship and sacrifice[;] the biggest TV show is about good people doing their best under impossible circumstances to help suffering people[;] even under our culture’s institutionalized greed and cynicism, people are desperate for fellowship.” I agree with this.

Cozy is not limited to science fiction, of course. It was probably a reaction to the popularity of cozy mysteries. But the focus on building community in the face of larger disasters makes a good story engine for sci-fi. I very much enjoy cozy fiction and I want people to be able to enjoy things! But I have also been convinced by some excellent critiques that I need to ask for my cozy fiction to do a bit more. If nothing else, it needs to take seriously the trauma done to the characters within the world.

Palmer absolutely does this. What might look like simply a fun story about some robots and humans working together also tells a deeper story about trauma, building community, and resisting the desire to demonize the other. Our protagonist mecha was so traumatized by events in their past that they literally hid out for twenty years doing research on insects and speaking to no one. Then, of course, they were forced out of their hiding because they were violently attacked. This is not a recipe for having a great relationship with the world! But we get them see them figuring out how to reenter the world. How to build trust. How to enjoy companionship. And how to heal. But Palmer also shows us that not all trauma victims can do this. We also get to see characters who are absolutely too traumatized to forge a new path.

In the acknowledgements, Palmer notes that she wrote this book during a period of personal grief. She wanted to tell the story of a near-future apocalypse, but needed that story "to still communicate hope and friendship, have humor, allow for light, without being crassly slapstick or flippantly dismissive of the days we are all now currently living in.” I think she succeeds in this; and it’s an approach where she’s excelled in the past. I am a longtime fan of her Finder Chronicles, which follows a character named Fergus Ferguson who travels the galaxy finding lost things. If you liked Finder, you will absolutely like Ode to the Half Broken. If you've never tried tried her other work, Ode is a good place to start.

[1] I am going to be referring to the main character as the protagonist throughout this review because, well, they declined to provide a name for themselves until nearly the end of the book. 

[2] Episode 716: Dystopias, Cozy Fiction, and Other Dilemmas

--

The Math 

Highlights: 

• Found family with mechas and humans building community
• Dealing with trauma and loss in a world of technological change
• Sarcastic cyberdog sidekick for comic relief

Nerd Coefficient: 8.5/10 Well worth your time and attention edging towards very high quality/standout in its category.

Reference: Ode to the Half Broken. Suzanne Palmer. [DAW Books, 2026].

POSTED BY: Christine D. Baker, historian and lover of SFF and mysteries. You can find her also writing reviews at Ancillary Review of Books or podcasting about classic scifi/fantasy at Hugo History. Come chat books with her on Bluesky @klaxoncomms.com.

Book Review: The Works of Vermin, by Hiron Ennes

 Dirty, low down, corrupt and lush in the best possible way

Cover Art: Deb JJ Lee

Weird is a category that exists for marketeers but because of that has come to mean some specific things. Personally I think that’s a huge shame because it seems to suggest that only stories with these tropes qualify as weird and, let’s be real for a moment, reading about elves and spaceships and enchantment and massive battles is absolutely weird. Perhaps it’s just me wanting to qualify as weird for being a run of the mill nerd. 

 

Hiron Ennes’ The Works of Vermin is studiously in the marketing brochure as ‘weird’, probably even ‘New Weird’. It has a maddeningly bizarre city named Tiliard, protagonists that are overwhelmed by said city and its workings, branching stories, odd unexplained events, multiple factions all grappling with one another and the city itself, and a use of language that is the literary equivalent of a finely tailored silk shirt. In paisley.

 

Its closest comparators are probably Miéville’s Perdido Street Station and Vandermeer’s Finch with a side order of Noon’s Chronicles of Ludwich. As with each of those books, Ennes explains nothing, expecting the reader to pick up what they need to know from the story and its characters. A kind of ritual osmosis that, if your mental membranes are imporous, is going to leave you cold. 

 

I hit the end of the first twenty pages both excited but also quite suspicious. In some ways it’s so consciously inspired by those comparisons that I was worried it was simply trying too hard, but I was excited because I love New Weird with all of my bones. If I could read New Weird every other book I would. That either makes me the wrong person to review this or exactly the right one. 

 

This isn’t going to be for everyone – alongside the ‘catch up you dunce’ approach to exposition and context provision, Ennes’ writing is flowery and pretentious and consciously overwrought. These two facts, even and perhaps especially in the opening, are a hill the text demands you climb, an investment it’s asking you to make. All weird fic makes that demand (I’m thinking of Feersum Endjinns by Banks for example that does NO explaining at all) in a way that is, essentially, part of this micro-genre. It is its own gatekeeper. 

 

However, there are reasons for this that I think Ennes largely succeeds in making work on the page and in the structure. The first of them is the language. It is gothic, full of neologisms and frequently full of the fantasy equivalent of milsim’s obsession with make and model of gun. Except here it’s about fungus and spores. And yet it works because of the nature of Ennes’ world which is one in which performance – opera, music, drama, dance and more are an essential part of the expression both of Tiliard as a city and Ennes’ world as a whole. 

 

For example – when an opera demands a character dies in a duel? Well in Tiliard you’ll be looking for a new actor for that part after the show. When it calls for an orgy or a battle? You better believe that the boundary between performance and reality is blurred intentionally by Ennes but also by his characters. Everyone is an artisan. Everyone has a view about fashion and art and trends and acceptability based upon your artistry. That artistry might be drenched in violence but without poetry it is nothing and you are nobody.

 

It is a remarkable achievement to weave the concept of performance into the text and the world so thoroughly. It saturates not just the story but the structure and the world building too. More than that, it saturates the language. Coming back full circle – Ennes’ language is of his world; it is drenched in the performative flourishes that are in the DNA of his characters and the lives they’re leading. It’s a brilliant approach and this book would be something altogether more mundane without this commitment to gilding every leaf and illuminating every letter. At times it’s like a drug addled medieval monk has got his hands on the Voynich manuscript and I mean that in a good way. 

 

It doesn’t always work – such ambition never lands consistently – but I’d rather this ambition than something more staid. In particular there’s a structural sleight of hand with the novel that is both incredibly ambitious and doesn’t quite stick the landing. When I say ambitious, it had me stop and put the book down to think through what it meant when the nature of the story is finally revealed. That’s immensely satisfying in conception but it’s not quite so good in execution. It’s pulling a rabbit out of a hat only for the rabbit to bite you and run away. 

 

Regardless, Ennes’ work here is exciting and strangely comforting. It’s world in which people are strangely wrought but familiar enough we can follow along with their longings, their passions and their tragedies. And make no mistake, despite it all, this book is very much Shawshank with precious little Redemption although what it does offer is gratefully received. 

 

Among it all is a world which, despite its despotism and casual disregard for human dignity is nevertheless sex positive in a way I really appreciated not simply with regard to the act itself but in regards to sexuality more broadly and gender specifically. There are some beautiful moments on this front and here Ennes is faultless in showing that love and passion do not discriminate.

 

The Works of Vermin is a story about performance, about the luxury of choosing to be someone, about the struggle of making that stick when the world wants something very different from you and how performance can be the making of not only us but the world too. It’s a literary opera that knows how to wield tragedy and triumph and sets it all within a deliciously weird and fecund world. I am very excited to see what Ennes does next.

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Highlights:

• Theatre and fungus
• Revolution, cults, monsters and the weirdest tech immaginable
• A mythic cycle that is built around performance and decadence

Nerd coefficient: 8/10, an exceptionally ambitious novel with an eye on the weird and its heart in the right place.

References: Ennes, Hiron, The Works of Vermin [Tor Nightfire, 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.