Review: God’s War, Kameron Hurley

God’s War (Bel Dame Apocrypha, volume 1)

Kameron Hurley

Night Shade Books, 2011

ISBN 978-1-59780-214-7

Nyx sold her womb somewhere between Punjai and Faleen, on the edge of the desert.

From the very first words of God’s War, Kameron Hurley plunges us into the raw desert world of Umayma and throws us in with her sharp-witted, dirty-mouthed protagonist, Nyxnissa so Dasheem (a.k.a Nyx). What follows is a gritty, adrenaline-filled ride that isn’t scared to careen outside the box. Science fiction mingles with fantasy as well as a heavy dose of weird – a combination that will appeal to fans of all or any of those genres, and especially to readers looking for something different, dark, and daring.

One of the things that stands out most about the novel is its departure from the Western-inspired settings and cultures that SFF seems to gravitate towards. With God’s War, Hurley tears us off this well-travelled course, depositing us instead on the war-torn planet of Umayma thousands of years from now. This is a world first and primarily colonised by Muslims (though Hurley never mentions the religion by name – or, at least, not by its present name). In the ensuing years, various nations have formed on the planet, notably Chenja and Nasheen, whose different forms of religious practice have propagated a centuries-long war. Still ongoing, it is this horrifying conflict – fought with deadly chemical weaponry and organic technology – that serves as the backdrop and incitement to the novel’s action. Conflicting loyalties, religious disagreements, and societal differences are crucial to the characters’ motivations, relationships, and decisions.

The result is a complex, well realised – if extremely grim – creation. God’s War is certainly not for the faint of heart. Umayma holds horrors besides the war: with giant insects swarming about and sunlight so intense that it causes cancers, the characters are beset with trials left, right, and centre. But it’s not all doom and gloom; Hurley’s worldbuilding also makes room for some extremely nifty concepts. The combination of insect-fuelled technology, shape-shifters, and ‘magicians’ who run boxing gyms and can reconstitute human bodies is heady and ambitious. What’s more, it works.

The characters, too, are a varied and potent mix. First up is Nyx, a Nasheenian, and one of a government-funded group of assassins known as bel dames. It’s their job to hunt down men who flee from the front or dodge their drafts, and to punish such deserters with death. Nasheen is hard-eyed in its wartime politics: the men are shipped off to fight at 14 and are not permitted to return until they’re 40, if they return at all. Nasheen, therefore, has grown into a state governed and dominated by women. Conservative gender politics have gone out the window; women are not required to wear the hijab and are anything but submissive. Indeed, men are considered ‘the weaker sex’ – Nyx, speaking of her front-line service, refers protectively to the ‘boys’  who served under her.

In contrast to Nasheen, Chenja is a pious nation that retains its conservative religious dogma. There, men still dominate while women are expected to remain in a submissive role.

Building a far-future world inspired by a modern-day religion not the author’s own is, you might think, a recipe for disaster. However, I’m pleased to report that by dint of extensive research, powerful empathy, and consummate skill, Hurley avoids the many pitfalls that God’s War may have pitched into (though, admittedly, as a white, atheist Brit I am not the best person to judge this…). The author does not judge either of her fictional nations; neither is demonised, nor upheld as perfect – far from it. Instead, Hurley uses her diverse characters to explore the nations’ conflicts and frictions in small-scale, nuanced ways. Rhys, for example, acts in many ways as a foil to Nyx. He is Chenjan, a male ‘magician’ whose ability to control insects (via some not-wholly-explained deployment of pheremones) makes him invaluable when it comes to operating the organic tech of Umayma. To Rhys, Nyx is a brazen, ‘godless’ woman; to the atheistic Nyx, he is a self-righteous chump who needs to grow a stronger backbone. Their bickering provides some great (and much-needed) humour in the novel, while their increasing respect and liking for one other affords us some of God’s War’s most heart-rending moments.

But Hurley’s novel does not only explore the tension between Nasheen and Chenja; its scope is broader than that, and indeed it’s impressive how much detail Hurley manages to cram into one book without it becoming overwhelming. On Nyx’s team there is also Khos, a shape-shifter from a neutral country called Tirhan. Evolved from some kind of biological oddity unique to Umayma, Shifters are accepted by some, treated with suspicion by others. And then there is Hurley’s inclusion of homo- and bisexuality. Umayma’s various countries and religions have different takes on these relations. Nasheen accepts homosexual relations between women while outlawing those between men ‘for no better reason that that it made people uncomfortable’; in Tirhan, men and women are segregated and men are encouraged to satisfy their desires amongst themselves. Once again, Hurley portrays the factions warts and all; indeed, one of God’s War’s major themes is the fact that no one side has it all right.

It is this realisation that creates the overarching tension behind the main narrative. For when Nyx is sent after a woman from off-planet who may have the means to end the Nasheenian-Chenjan war – but only to one side’s benefit – she must decide which course to take. But only if she can keep herself and her team alive for long enough to find the cursed target in the first place…

Hurley’s writing is sharp and clean. Despite the complexity of her world, she does not indulge in info-dumps. Instead, the reader is given information about the world as and when they need it, and not before. Like the characters, you’re expected you to fend for yourself (as it were), putting the pieces together as you go. I expect some readers might not like this – mileage varies, after all – but, personally, this is how I like to experience a science fictional world: as a traveller, an explorer.

Hurley also has an eye for irony and detail – often unpleasant, sometimes dryly amusing. It is this injection of humour that really vitalises the book, with the wit and snark of the characters helping to offset the novel’s more depressing moments. Nyx always gives back as good as she gets, and the secondary protagonists are also very sympathetic despite their various flaws. Rhys is the best example here – despite his somewhat judgmental opinion of Nyx, he is a gentle soul and probably the most easily likeable of the main bunch.

The bad guys, on the other hand, are truly terrifying. Hurley does not pull punches and, accordingly, neither do they. Rasheeda, in particular, gave me the shivers. I will be having nightmares about white feathers and snickering. (You’ll see what I mean… Oh, you’ll see…)

Other reviewers have pointed out a bit of a pacing problem in the novel – i.e. that the beginning section was rather slow, and that it takes a while for the main storyline to kick in. I suppose that’s true, but I honestly didn’t think this was a problem whilst reading. For me, the beginning section gave a solid grounding from which the novel then took off in the second part. The pacing really ramped up, and the ending certainly didn’t disappoint: God’s War finishes with a stirring, action-packed climax. Indeed, in the final quarter I couldn’t turn the pages (OK, click the pages… I have a Kindle edition) fast enough.

God’s War is the first book in a trilogy – Hurley’s wonderfully named ‘Bel Dame Apocypha’ – but it wraps up well and can be enjoyed as a stand-alone (in case you’re chary of plunging into a trilogy right now). As for me, I’m curious to see where Rapture will take me… if also a little nervous! But what is SFF for, if not to take us places we never expect to go, force us out of our comfort zones, and show us things beyond our own imaginings…

Review: Miserere, Teresa Frohock

Miserere: An Autumn Tale

Teresa Frohock

Night Shade Books

ISBN 978-1-59780-289-5

Miserere: have mercy. Well might the characters of Teresa Frohock’s dark debut beg for such a thing. Some of them might even receive it… but not before Frohock drags them through a gauntlet of emotional, physical, and spiritual trials. This grim fantasy is certainly not for the faint of heart – but despite its darkness and the ugly challenges its characters face, Miserere contains a core of beauty and hope.

In the parallel realm of Woerld, divided from present-day Earth by a mysterious Veil, life is hard, to say the least. For Woerld is the last line of defence between Earth and Hell. Peopled by warriors called Katharoi, Woerld’s bastions of faith are in constant battle with the Fallen: the angels expelled from Heaven who now languish in Hell. The Fallen’s attempt to escape their prison is never-ending; their aim is to break through Woerld’s defences, taking over Earth so that they can return in force to Heaven. Only by remaining true to God, and thus channelling their own spiritual species of magic, can the Katharoi hold the Fallen back, and save both Earth and Heaven from conquest.

Frohock’s cosmos, split into the four dimensions of Heaven, Earth, Woerld, and Hell, is a fantastic concept, made all the better by the way Frohock skilfully transforms these celestial/abstract realms into palpable, realistic settings. The majority of Miserere’s action is set in Woerld, and as such the reader has abundant opportunity to explore this fascinating locale. A quasi-medieval realm infused with a gloomy, purgatorial atmosphere, it departs from the standard epic fantasy setting in many ways, but notably in the manner that it interacts with Earth. For whilst the denizens of Earth are blissfully unaware of Woerld’s existence, the same is not true of Woerld’s citizens. Indeed, many of them actually come from Earth, having been drawn through the ‘Crimson Veil’ that occasionally opens between the realms. Consequently, although the magical resonances in Woerld interfere with modern technology (there’s a cool moment involving a mobile phone), the characters are aware of modern advances despite their own medieval-style living conditions. Not only does this add an interesting complexity to the worldbuilding, but it also gives Frohock logical reason for the characters to express modern sensibilities and to use contemporary language that in a standard quasi-medieval fantasy would be anachronistic and/or evidence of lazy writing. In Miserere, however, the occasional ‘okay’ is by no means out of place.

I also admired the way that Frohock’s novel, whilst obviously grounded in theology, did not become preachy at any point. The existence of a higher power (God, if you will) is a given in Woerld, and his power is the basis for the Katharoi’s magic system. Nevertheless, this is not ‘Christian fiction’ in the sense that I understand it (i.e. actively promoting Christian faith and teachings). Religion forms the foundation of the cosmos and the magic, but it is not present for any overt didactic reason. Miserere’s concept reminds me more of Pullman’s His Dark Materials than anything else, though it lacks the actively atheist sensibilities of that series as well.

What makes this novel all the more impressive is that despite its sweeping, epic outlook, the story is character-driven. Long-suffering protagonist Lucian is held hostage by his twin sister Catarina, for whom he betrayed his lover, Rachael, abandoning her to Hell’s torments years before. In doing so, Lucian became tangled in his sister’s machinations, becoming complicit in her scheme to help the Fallen to gain a foothold in Woerld, and consequently exiled from the Katharoi’s Citadel. But when, at the start of Miserere, Lucian escapes his sister’s clutches, he unexpectedly gains a companion: Lindsay Richardson, a child from Earth who has been sucked through the Veil with her brother. Such children are known as ‘foundlings’ – those with the potential to become Katharoi – and Lindsay’s sudden entrance into Lucian’s life changes everything. Pursued by his sister’s minions and tracked by his resentful ex-lover on behalf of the citadel, encountering demons and dark spells, travelling through the Wasteland with a crippled leg and a weight of guilt, and all the while trying to protect Lindsay and teach her about this strange new world… Lucian is forced to reassess his life. Can he keep Lindsay safe and uncorrupted? Is there the slightest chance Rachael will forgive him? Is redemption even possible for him anymore, after what he’s done?

That cast of Miserere is a particularly strong one. Lucian is a brilliant protagonist, simultaneously noble and culpable, tortured and determined. Rachael is similarly awesome: struggling with her conflicting feelings towards Lucian, wracked with memories of her horrific time in Hell, and possessed by a demon known only as ‘the Wyrm’, she is hard-as-nails but also emotionally (and physically) scarred and vulnerable. Catarina, meanwhile, is appropriately terrifying, but Frohock gives us enough insight into her past to understand why she has turned to the Fallen. Lindsay worried me slightly at first, as I wasn’t keen on the ‘girl drawn through portal between the realms’ thing, but I needn’t have fretted. Frohock handles her adroitly and without the usual clichéd pitfalls, and I really warmed to Lindsay as the novel went on. She and Lucian made a great duo, and their interactions made for some truly affecting scenes.

Frohock does not flinch from being cruel to her characters – which, personally, I think is crucial to crafting an effective tale (cf. Robin Hobb!). Miserere is dark stuff, and the level of threat remains high throughout. Between the Wyrm, the Barrens, the Sacra Rosa, Catarina, and Catarina’s truly hideous henchman Speight (*shudder*) the reader is kept in a state of constant tension and fear for the characters. There are also enough action sequences to satisfy any thrill-seeking reader – sequences made all the more effective by the attention Frohock pays to her characters’ emotions throughout.

There’s little to fault with the writing style either. Frohock’s prose is accomplished and relentless, and both settings and characters are luridly realised.

All in all, Miserere gets a fervent recommendation from me. It’s harsh, bleak, and often twisted, but as its title suggests, it’s not completely merciless. For within the darkness of its world, a light resides – and its that spark of hope that keeps you turning the pages, rooting for Lucian and his cohorts as they battle through their numerous tribulations. I can’t wait to follow it into the next instalment.

Review: Never Knew Another by J. M. McDermott

Never Knew Another (Book 1 of the Dogsland trilogy)

J. M. McDermott

Night Shade Books, 2011

ISBN 978-1-59780-215-4

Fugitive Rachel Nolander is a newcomer the city of Dogsland, where the rich throw parties and the poor just do whatever they can to scrape by. Supported by her brother Djoss, she hides out in their squalid apartment, living in fear that someday, someone will find out that she is the child of a demon. Corporal Jona Lord Joni is a demon’s child too, but instead of living in fear, he keeps his secret and goes about his life as a cocky, self-assured man of the law. Never Knew Another is the story of how these two outcasts meet.

(Blurb source: author’s website.)

So reads the blurb of J. M. McDermott’s Never Knew Another, the first instalment of his Dogsland trilogy. This description, however, does not do justice to the compelling and skilfully woven tale that lies between the book’s covers. Whilst Never Knew Another is indeed about the meeting of Jona and Rachel, that is only one facet to its intricate narrative – a narrative that surpasses much of the ‘traditional’ fantasy genre in its emotional depth, stylistic and structural crafting, and understated elegance. In that regard, I would say that the book’s cover is a better indication of its contents than its blurb. Julien Alday’s artwork conveys just the right combination of magic, threat, and sophistication – a near-perfect match to the strange, eerie, and enticing tale that McDermott has created.

Never Knew Another is a novel that is not content to ride the wave of convention. Shorter and sleeker than your average fantasy offering, it nevertheless delves deeper and more relentlessly into its characters than most. Its prose, too, is a departure from the easy, (and sometimes rather lazy) straightforward style we often witness, instead possessing a maturity, deftness, and economy that is more common to short stories than novels. The story’s structure is similarly artful, with McDermott using foreshadowing, flashbacks, and layered perspectives to tell his tale. Restless, ruthless, unsettling – and yet with a core of very human warmth and feeling – Never Knew Another is an ideal pick for someone looking for a novel that reaches beyond your ‘standard’ fantasy.

What lends the story much of its success and potency is the perspective McDermott chooses to tell it from. At first, the reader is introduced to a straight first-person narrative – nothing new about that, you might think – but then we get the twist: this narrative becomes in itself a framing device. This is made possible through the viewpoint character’s nature and profession: she is a ‘Walker’, a shapeshifter from a religious sect whose job is to hunt down and eradicate ‘demon children’ (i.e. people with a demon ancestor, whose blood literally corrupts and decays the world around them). In order to track her prey, she draws upon a mysterious power: she is able to access other people’s memories, experiencing their most intimate thoughts and feelings, their aspirations, loves, and fears. In the novel’s first chapter, she and her husband (also a Walker) discover the dead body of Jona, a demon child and once King’s Man of Dogsland city. Via a ritual involving Jona’s bones, the narrator enters his memories – and it is through this channel that the reader encounters demon child Rachel Nolander, her brother Djoss, the criminal Salvatore, convent girl Aggie, and the rest of the book’s cast. The reader watches the narrator, who watches Jona, who watche(s/d) the other characters. But far from distancing us from the characters, this multiple layering takes the reader deep into each and every one. By embedding their experiences into the predatory Walker’s first-person narrative, McDermott not only cultivates a constant sense of menace, but also weaves a dense emotional tapestry which allows the reader access into the intimate, inner lives of his characters.

In fact, one of the most mysterious characters is the narrator herself. Although she is the first figure we encounter, and acts as the conduit through which we view all the others, her own story remains enigmatic. Revealed to us slowly and delicately in short snippets and references, it’s both fascinating and eerie – perhaps even more so because of the way McDermott withholds details from us. I found myself particularly drawn to this woman and her often silent husband: on a religious mission to hunt down all demon children, and with the power to shapeshift into wolves (in the classic Norse style, using wolfskins), they are in many ways a frightening pair. And yet, they also think constantly of their peaceful forest home, longing to finish their hunt so that they can return there. At once utterly committed to their cause – ruthless and unmerciful when it comes to carrying out their duty – and simultaneously sympathetic towards victims of injustice, the Walkers are complex and intriguing. It’s not often you come across characters so human and yet inhuman, so frightening but still compassionate. Having one of the principal antagonists as the first person narrator was an inspired choice – and McDermott executes it superbly.

As the Walkers track the demon children through the chaotic and fetid streets of Dogsland, McDermott serves us many horrors: the poor starve on the streets, the King’s Men are violent and corrupt, convent girls go missing in the darkness, and the Night King carries out dirty work in the shadows. It’s a harrowing tale, dealing with isolation and prejudice and fear and loneliness, but is not without its moments of hope and light. Friendships form, kin stick together, and sympathy kindles in unlikely places. The Walkers hunt… but they also feel.

For me, Never Knew Another was a marvellous find – and if you too are a fan of fantasy that takes you to weird, dark, and uncanny places, then I highly recommend it. It’s not a light read, but out of the suffering and sorrows of this characters McDermott weaves a startlingly human – and yet constantly otherworldly – tale, where people endure through adversity and hate, and hope still glimmers in grime-stained corners. I look forward to reading the next instalment.