“The Raven Tower” by Ann Leckie

Ann Leckie’s Imperial Radch trilogy of space opera novels won her the Hugo, Nebula, Clarke, Locus, and BSFA Awards. After this stunning success, she branched out to a completely different genre with The Raven Tower, a standalone fantasy novel. When Mawat’s father, the ruler of Iraden, becomes gravely ill, he naturally assumes that he will ascend to the throne (or bench, as it’s called in the setting) after the older man’s death. But by the time he arrives at the capital city of Vastai, his uncle has already taken the bench. Perhaps even worse, an important ritual meant to sustain the protection offered by a local god hasn’t been performed. With the help of his loyal retainer Eolo, Mawat must navigate political intrigue and a building threat from a foreign power to set things to rights.

Much of the book is narrated in second-person by a different local god, known as Strength and Patience of the Hill. I find that second-person doesn’t generally work well in long-form literature, and the second-person sections in The Raven Tower are more extensive than they are in Jemisin’s The Broken Earth trilogy. That said, Strength and Patience is an intriguing character. Despite being very old, he starts off fairly childlike, not knowing much about the world or even about his own nature. With the help of his friend The Myriad, he gradually learns how to be a god—not just in the mechanical sense of how to make things happen, but what it means to have people who depend on you.

I liked the human characters as well. Mawat is impulsive and hot-headed, but he also accepted Eolo when many people unfortunately wouldn’t have. (Eolo isn’t a cis woman, but it’s unclear whether they’re a nonbinary person or a trans man; when asked whether they’re a man or a woman who dresses as a man in order to join the military, they answer, “I’m not a woman” rather than “I’m a man,” so nonbinary identity is also a possibility.) Eolo is thoughtful, clever, and loyal, although their gratitude toward Mawat may have blinded them to some of his less admirable qualities. Zezume, the high priestess of yet another local god, takes some actions that are unwise but understandable. The characterization is strong, although I did think that two minor characters—the twins Oskel and Okim—were introduced too late in the story.

Like most of Leckie’s fans, my first introduction to her was through her science fiction books. (For me it was Provenance, which is set in the Imperial Radch universe but isn’t part of the trilogy.) I’m happy to report that The Raven Tower is also a strong novel propelled by fascinating characters. I would love to see her write more books set in this world.

“Lone Women” by Victor LaValle

Thank you to NetGalley and the publisher for sending me an eARC in exchange for an honest review.

I loved Victor LaValle’s The Ballad of Black Tom and The Changeling, so I requested this one from NetGalley as soon as I heard about it. It surpassed my expectations, and I liked it even better than the two previous LaValle books I’d read. Set in 1915, it follows Adelaide, a Black woman who has left her home after a family tragedy. She sets up in Montana as a homesteader, carrying with her a monstrously heavy steamer trunk. Contained within that trunk is something that must never, ever be released.

Contrary to what I thought going in, the title doesn’t mean that all the women featured in the story are truly alone. Some, like Adelaide’s nearest neighbor Grace, are widows with children. Others, like Bertie and Fiona, who live in the nearest town to Adelaide’s homestead, are part of lesbian couples. What makes these women “lone” in the eyes of society is that they’re unaccompanied by men. The society they live in expects that women will be supported—and led—by men, but the women in LaValle’s book don’t have and/or don’t want that option. Instead, they form a network of mutual support that grows into friendship. That portrayal of female friendship is one of the most powerful parts of the novel.

Lone Women is something of a mashup between the Western and horror genres, which I’ve sometimes seen referred to as Weird Western. As one would expect from LaValle, the horror elements are very well-done. There’s one particular scene, where Adelaide and Fiona visit a ghost town, that was beautifully creepy and unsettling. LaValle is an amazing writer, and he knocked it out of the park with this book.

“The Terraformers” by Annalee Newitz

Thank you to NetGalley and the publisher for sending me a free eARC in exchange for an honest review.

Annalee Newitz is an accomplished writer of both fiction and non-fiction. Their science fiction novels Autonomous and Future of Another Timeline won the Lambda and Sidewise Awards, respectively. Meanwhile, their nonfiction book Scatter, Adapt, and Remember: How Humans Will Survive a Mass Extinction was a finalist for the L.A. Times Book Prize. Their latest book, The Terraformers, is a far-future sci-fi novel following a long-term terraforming project on a planet called Sask-E. While investigating unexpected activity at a volcano, lead terraformer Destry makes a discovery with the potential to reshape everything she thought she knew.

The setting of Sask-E is, for lack of a better word, cool. It’s full of uplifted animals, nanotechnology that allows terraformers to sense the overall health of the environment, and sapient AIs with a variety of body plans. In many ways, the interstellar society of which Sask-E is a part is much more progressive than our own: people commonly introduce themselves with their pronouns, and decision-making on Sask-E follows a collaborative model (with minority factions being granted a concession from the majority so they aren’t completely locked out of the final decision). But it isn’t perfect. As the founding document of the terraforming collective’s Environmental Rescue Team says, “Homo sapiens will always find new ways to implement caste structures.” The Terraformers treats the struggle for justice as something that may never be completely finished, but it’s still an optimistic story because it asserts that progress can be made.

I did feel the interlude section titled “Interregnum” wasn’t really necessary to the story. It did hint at a future conflict between villains that the heroes might be able to manipulate, but I had been expecting a good look at the larger society outside of Sask-E and was disappointed that I didn’t get that. But overall, Newitz has created an innovative setting, a compelling plot, and characters I could cheer for. I expect The Terraformers to end up on my Hugo and Nebula ballots.

“The Haunting of Hill House” by Shirley Jackson

I’ve read most of the classics of horror literature, but somehow I had missed the haunted house story, Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House. A paranormal researcher, two people with reputed psychic talents, and a member of the family who owns the titular house commit to spending a summer there to investigate the strange phenomena that have been known to occur. All of them—and particularly the main character, Eleanor—get more than they bargained for.

The opening paragraph of the novel is renowned for its poetic and sinister description of the house. It sets up the atmosphere for the rest of the story, but it also presents a couple of subtle hints whose implications might escape the reader until later in the book. First, we’re told that “no live organism” can exist purely in reality and remain sane; then we’re told that Hill House is “not sane.” Although it isn’t stated outright, this implies that Hill House is a “live organism.” There’s already a hint of something wrong here, since houses aren’t supposed to be alive. On an even larger scale, the paragraph asserts that Hill House’s problem is that it exists “under conditions of absolute reality.” As we progress through the book and see more and more frightening things happen, we might come back to that assertion. If this is what “absolute reality” does to a living entity, what does that say about the nature of reality? It’s reminiscent of another famous opening to a horror story: Lovecraft’s “The Call of Cthulhu,” which tells us that if humanity truly understood the nature of the cosmos, it would either “go mad from the revelation” or voluntarily revert to the Dark Ages in order to avoid the knowledge.

There are a number of masterful scenes in Hill House. My favorite of these is the one that culminates in Eleanor asking “Whose hand was I holding?” I also loved the early scene in which Eleanor and Theodora, shortly after arriving at the house, see something moving in the grass on the other side of a brook. Although they both assert that it was just a rabbit, they were unsettled enough by it to hurry back inside. Much later, they see a vision of a family picnic in the house’s extensive gardens. Eleanor, whose home life is very unhappy, is transfixed by the domestic bliss she’s never had. But Theodora turns to look over her shoulder and sees something. We’re never told what it is, but it terrifies her. There are a lot of moments like this, where something is felt but remains unseen, or is only seen from the corner of a character’s eye, or the characters have different interpretations of what they see. This is a great way of keeping tension high throughout a long-form horror piece.

Jackson also creates a wonderful main character in Eleanor. Eleanor has spent most of her adult life caring for her sick mother, a task that her overbearing sister and brother-in-law didn’t do much to help her with. It’s understandable that she feels stifled and jumps at the chance to go to Hill House. It feels like an adventure to her, and it’s notable that the fantasies she entertains on the long drive to the house are all about living alone in an isolated rural cottage. But when she gets to Hill House, she’s enthusiastic about sharing meals and conversations with the other guests, and she quickly becomes very attached to Theodora. At first, these two impulses might seem contradictory, but they actually make perfect sense. Eleanor has never had much space or time to herself, which also means she’s never had a chance to make friends of her own. Her eagerness to develop a relationship with Theodora (and, to a lesser degree, Luke and Dr. Montague) is perfectly consistent with her desire to finally have a life of her own.

In short, there is a lot of depth packed into this relatively short book, and it’s easy to see why it’s considered such a seminal work in the horror genre.

Reading Summary, 2022

My reading total increased slightly in 2022, from 51 to 52. Genre breakdown:

Fantasy: 20

Science Fiction: 8

Horror: 20

Historical Fiction: 0

Mystery: 2

General Fiction: 1

Nonfiction: 0

Mixed Genres: 1

I had thought I read more sci-fi this year than last year, but it turned out to have been the exact same number. I read a bit more horror this year than last year, but didn’t manage to read any nonfiction.

Favorite: This was a tough choice this year, but I think I have to give it to When Things Get Dark: Stories Inspired by Shirley Jackson, edited by Ellen Datlow. Most of the stories in this were very good, and a few were phenomenal.