Asking the Wrong Questions

Reviewing every installment in a series is a rare accomplishment, even for a prolific critic. Reviewing every installment in a series by Adrian Tchaikovsy, who routinely publishes multiple novels and novellas every year, is surely an accomplishment worthy of note. Few series, however, reward this sort of sustained engagement as much as Tchaikovsky's Tyrant Philosphers series, which I strongly believe is one of the major achievements in fantasy of this decade. I reviewed the first novel in the series, City of Last Chances , in 2023, calling it a resurgence of the New Weird. Then late last year I published an omnibus review of the next two novels, House of Open Wounds and Days of Shattered Faith , as well as the novella Lives of Bitter Rain , which allowed me to observe how the books examine the workings of the fascistic Palleseen empire, and the deterioration of its ideals of "perfection" in the face of a bloody war and the costs of maintaining an empire. It was in res...

Every year, when Hugo nominations open, I put together a preliminary ballot. I jot down the titles of the things that blew me away in the previous year, and the perennial nominees like Strange Horizons (and more recently, the Ancillary Review of Books ). I look over the Hugo Spreadsheet of Doom for titles I might have forgotten or good ideas, and I send that ballot in. Then I put together another list, of books to read, movies to watch, and other things to look into between now and the nominating deadline. With weeks to go, I tell myself every year, I could easily get through all of these potential nominees and compile a diverse and informed ballot. This is not, to be clear, a plan that ever survives contact with real life, but this year has been a special case. It might explain something about my mental state as I prepare to finalize my 2026 Hugo nominations if I say that in the hours since I sat down to write this post, I was disturbed by an alert warning of Iranian missile launche...

"The Prancing Pony" by Tomás Hijo There were also many families of hobbits in the Bree-land, and they claimed to be the oldest settlement of Hobbits in the world, one that was founded long before even the Brandywine was crossed and the Shire colonized. They lived mostly in Staddle though there were some in Bree itself, especially on the higher slopes of the hill, above the houses of the Men. The Big Folk and the Little Folk (as they called one another) were on friendly terms, minding their own affairs in their own ways, but both rightly regarding themselves as necessary parts of the Bree-folk. Nowhere else in the world was this peculiar (but excellent) arrangement to be found. After several chapters spent in the wilderness, the hobbits return to civilization with their arrival at the village of Bree. Which is a rare example in this book of a location that is the home of ordinary people, not royalty or high elves, and which is both familiar and not. On the one hand, it is a pl...

Some Recent Reading Roundups have a theme or a common thread. Some are just grab-bags. This one—the first in quite some time—is definitely the latter. It includes two historical novels that both gesture at the Gothic, but in very different ways and to very different ends. A science fiction novel whose attempts to "solve" the problem of crackdowns on reproductive health through technocratic means is weirdly unexamined. Another science fiction novel with less lofty political aims, but whose mind-bending McGuffin is explored with delectable precision. And finally, a superhero romantasy novella whose real interest is in the dizzying complexity of history (and also, in how to open up your relationship with a hunky superman). There are books here I loved, books I had reservations about, and at least one I was rather unimpressed by. Read on to learn which is which. The Original by Nell Stevens - "The lost heir returns! But is it really them?" has long been a staple of Got...

It's been a long time since I read a novel by Ian McEwan. Some combination of his dwindling reputation among readers in my general vicinity, and plot descriptions that I found unappetizing kept me away from an author who was once one of my gateways to literary fiction. What We Can Know , the 2025 novel through which I've chosen to become reacquainted with McEwan, is a potent reminder of the skill and artistry that once made him a must-read. It is also extremely strange. Its first half is one of the most exciting pieces of writing I've read in months, but the novel only works with its second half, which completely changes what it is and what it's about. The first half of What We Can Know is narrated by Tom, an academic in the early 22nd century. Tom's specialty is literature published between 1990 and 2030, a period known as The Derangement, when runaway technological innovation overshadowed looming climate catastrophe. In the novel's opening chapters, we follow...