conflict – One Thousand And One Parsecs

Fantasy from A to Z: W is for Worldbuilding

What is the biggest thing that sets fantasy apart from all other genres? Without a doubt, it has to be worldbuilding. In every other genre (even science fiction, to some extent), the writer can get away with a loose or surface-level understanding of the world. But in order to do fantasy right, you have to build the world from the ground up, and include such an immersive and visceral level of detail that the reader feels like it’s a real world that they can lose themselves in. That is the feeling that readers want when they pick up a fantasy book.

At the same time, I think that most writers put too much emphasis on worldbuilding. It’s become trendy in writerly circles to talk about worldbuilding, almost as if it’s something you do for its own sake. In the best books, though—even in the best fantasy books—the worldbuilding is always in service to the story, and not the other way around.

For many of us writers, the act of dreaming up a world is the thing that immerses us the most in it. Daydreaming about our fantasy worlds and working out all of the details about it—that’s often the fun part, and the thing that got us into writing fantasy in the first place. But it doesn’t translate very well to the page. The things that seemed so cool to us when we were dreaming them up often come across as dry and boring when we write them out in a huge info dump.

In order for a reader to feel immersed in the world, they need to have a character that they can follow through it. The character’s experience of the world becomes the reader’s experience. But the character needs to be in motion—they need to have some sort of goal or objective that they’re working toward, even if they don’t consciously realize it yet. And it needs to be a struggle for them, at least on some level. Even in cozy fantasy, where the stakes are typically pretty low, the characters still have to put some effort into getting the things they want.

That’s because characters show us who they really are through the trials and struggles that they face. Just like in real life, hard times make us see what people are made of. Without that, readers have a difficult time connecting with the characters through whose eyes we want to show them our fantasy worlds. It’s through a character’s struggle that we find that we can relate to them.

Another thing I’ve noticed, particularly in some recent big-name traditionally published fantasy, is that the viewpoint characters are often just terrible people. If I met them in real life, I often think that I would find them petty, narcissistic, and repulsive. At best, they are amoral, and at worst, they are little better than the villains who oppose them—and yet, from the way they’re written, it’s clear that we’re supposed to latch onto them simply because they are the main character.

As a reader, that doesn’t work for me. If I’m going to connect with a character deeply enough to get that immersive fantasy experience, I want them to either be the kind of person I can admire, or the kind of person I feel like I can hang out with. Preferably both. And if the character is going to do something morally repulsive early on in the book, I need to see them wrestle with the ethics of it first, and perhaps feel some remorse afterward. Otherwise, it’s going to throw me out of the book.

Anything that throws the reader out of the book is also going to kill that immersive experience, rendering all that worldbuilding utterly ineffectual. In some ways, the reader first has to feel immersed in the characters before they can feel immersed in the world.

This is why the characters in the best fantasy books often have more depth and nuance to them than the characters in any other genre. When the book is set in our own familiar world, the characters themselves are often larger than life. The heroes are billionaires or ex-Navy SEALs, the love interests are supermodels or billionaires, and the villains are criminal masterminds or rival billionaires. But in fantasy, the larger-than-life element is the world itself, so the characters (or at least the viewpoint characters) often feel much more like real people, so as to ground us in the story.

I’ve often heard people say that worldbuilding is a bit like an iceberg, in that only 10% or so should be visible. But I think it’s more precise to say that worldbuilding should be grounded in the character (or characters) through whose eyes we get to see it. Of course, those characters are grounded in the conflict or plot of the story, since that’s what shows us who they really are. And the plot itself is grounded in time and space, which brings us back full circle to setting and worldbuilding. So ultimately, it’s all a virtuous cycle.

I don’t think I’ve ever found an author who does character better than Ursula K. Le Guin. I haven’t read much of her fantasy, but I did read Powers, and I felt so totally immersed in that world because I felt like I knew the main character even better than I know myself. It was an incredible reading experience, just like the best of her science fiction, which I adore.

Brandon Sanderson also tends to buck the current trend of morally ambiguous main characters who never really earn our sympathy or admiration. In almost all of his books, his protagonists strike me as good people—the kind that I can admire and hang out with. That fact, combined with how his books tend to be much cleaner than most contemporary fantasy, go a long way toward explaining his tremendous success (though of course, Sanderson’s greatest strength is his ability to write killer endings).

Bottom line, the best worldbuilding in fantasy is only as good as the characters through whom we experience it. Worldbuilding should always serve the story, and not the other way around.

Fantasy from A to Z: All Posts

U is for Universal Translator

In science fiction, whenever two characters from different planets or different alien races have to interact with each other, they almost always speak the same language or have some sort of universal translator that magically makes them able to communicate with minimal misunderstandings. This is especially common in Star Trek, though it happens in just about every franchise involving a far-future space opera setting of some kind.

I’ve got to be honest, I think this is a cheap plot device that almost always weakens the story. As a writer, it’s tempting to have something like this so you don’t have to deal with any pesky language barriers, but when you do this, you remove a major potential source of conflict, thus violating the rule of drama. Also, you make your fictional universe feel a little less grand, your aliens a little less alien. After all, if everyone can perfectly understand each other, then there must not be a huge difference between Earth and the far side of the galaxy.

There are some times when having a universal translator allows you to broaden the story and focus on other conflicts. For example, if some sort of interstellar legislation is under review in the grand galactic council, you can’t spend all your time focusing on basic communication difficulties.

However, if this is the case, then you can usually overcome the language barrier through other means–a galactic lingua franca, for example, or translation tools that may or may not misfire on occasion (much like Google Translate). Of course, if you’re writing a comedy like Galaxy Quest (or parts of Star Control II), then falling back on a universal translator is forgivable. But if you’re going for believability and a sense of wonder, this trope isn’t going to do you any favors.

While linguists and technologists have been working on translation programs for some time (and admittedly making some significant breakthroughs), I’m extremely skeptical that we will ever develop a perfect universal translator in real life. If we do, I expect we will have to develop a sentient AI as a prerequisite, since the nuances of language are so inseparable from the things that make us human.

Here’s how translation services like Google Translate work:

They amass an enormous database of language material by scanning websites, newspapers, and other documents.
They analyze this database to look at word combinations and frequencies, observing the likelihood that any one word will appear in combination with any others.
They compare these combinations and frequencies with those in other language databases to match words and phrases.

This data crunch method of translation works fairly well for simple words and phrases, but it falls apart in the more complex grammatical structures. I see this any time I try to use Google Translate with an Arabic source. Arabic is an extremely eloquent language, with all sorts of structures that simply don’t work in English. One mistranslated word can completely change the meaning of the entire text, and even when it works, the technically correct English translation sounds as if it’s full of errors.

The methodology also falls apart for languages that are too small to have much of an electronic database. The Georgian language is a good example of this. It’s spoken by only about 4.5 million people worldwide, most of them in the country of Georgia, which is predominantly rural. Internet access for most of the population is very limited, and most Georgians who do communicate online tend to use the Roman or Cyrillic alphabets more often than their own. As a result, Google Translate for Georgian is utterly useless–seriously, you’re better off just sounding out the letters and guessing at the meaning. There are some other sites like translate.ge that try to fill the gap, but they seem to rely on actual lexicons, not databases and algorithms.

All of this is between entirely human languages that developed in parallel on the same planet–indeed, languages between human cultures that have traded and shared linguistic influences for thousands of years. What happens when we encounter an alien race whose biology makes it impossible for them to make human-sounding noises? Or an alien race that communicates through smell or electromagnetic impulses instead of sound? What happens when humanity is spread out across hundreds of star systems, each of which periodically becomes isolated from the others for hundreds or even thousands of years? When our definition of human is stretched so thin that we would not even recognize our far-future descendents as anything but alien?

There is so much wasted potential whenever a science fiction story falls back on a universal translator. Case in point, compare Halo I, II, and III with Halo: Reach. In the first three games, the Master Chief’s universal translator enables him to hear exactly what the enemy Covenant troops are saying. This is great fun when you’re chasing down panicked grunts, but it tends to get old after a while. In Halo: Reach, however, the human forces haven’t yet developed a universal translator, so everything the Covenant say is in their original language. All of a sudden, the game went from a hilarious joyride to a serious war against aliens that felt truly alien. That one little change did wonders to the tone and feel of the entire game.

Needless to say, you won’t find a universal translator in any of my books. In Star Wanderers, the language barrier is the heart and soul of the story–it’s a science fiction romance between two characters from radically different worlds who don’t speak the same language, and yet overcome that to develop a strong and healthy relationship. In Sholpan and Bringing Stella Home, Stella knows a language that is fairly similar to the one spoken by the Hameji, but there are still words and phrases that elude her. This detail is critical because it impedes her ability to understand and adapt to the Hameji culture, leading to some major conflicts later in the book.

As someone who’s lived for significant periods of time in Europe and Asia and learned languages very different from English, I can say that the language barrier is not something that we as writers should avoid, but something that we should embrace. There are so many interesting stories that can be told when two characters don’t speak the same language. Please, don’t be lazy and write that out of the story through a cheap plot device! Let your aliens be truly alien, and your worlds and cultures so fantastic that we can’t help but feel hopelessly lost in them.

Trope Tuesday: Rebellious Princess

You know that innocent and beautiful fairy tale princess, with the tricked out dress and the power to summon woodland creatures? The one with a tendency to get kidnapped, but who always ends up happily ever after with her prince charming?

Yeah, that’s not this princess.

A rebellious princess would just as soon puke if she were any of those things. She hates being royalty–she’d rather be one of the common folk, or at least be out doing something (which is why she’s often involved in politics). She hates all those frilly dresses and tends to wear her hair in a tomboyish ponytail. Rather than wait for her white knight to save her, she’s much more likely to be an action girl in disguise, or at least something of a badass. When she grows up, she may become a lady of war. Invariably, she hates whatever marriage has been arranged for her and often scandalizes those of her class to marry for love (if she even marries at all).

As you might have already guessed, this trope is extremely common, not the least because the princess classic has largely been discredited (at least, outside of Disney). There’s a lot of variation on it too, with some stories featuring the rebellious princess as the love interest, and others showcasing her as the hero.

George R.R. Martin (Song of Ice and Fire) deconstructs the trope with Arya, who eventually becomes something of a sociopath, and Brandon Sanderson (Elantris) subverts it with Sarene, who very much has the personality but uses her royal position to her advantage. Frank Herbert (Dune) zigzags with Lady Jessica, who is undylingly loyal to the Atreides family but rebels against the Bene Gesserit. As you might expect, J.R.R. Tolkien plays it straight, not once but twice: Éowyn in Lord of the Rings, and Lúthien in The Silmarillion.

It transcends cultures, too. In Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, Jen might not technically be royalty, but she is the governor’s daughter and she does reject an arranged marriage to run away and become a wandering warrior. And in classic RPGs, especially the old Japanese ones from Square, this trope is everywhere. The princess in the picture above is Marle from Chrono Trigger, who fits this trope to a T.

So why is this trope so prevalent nowadays? Probably because the modern feminist movement led us to discard most of our old-fashioned feminine ideals, as well as the characters who were held up as shining examples of them. That, and rule of drama. Everything ultimately comes down to rule of drama.

In my own work, Hikaru from Stars of Blood and Glory is an example of this trope, though she’s more of a president’s daughter than a hero or a love interest. She does have her own story arc, though, and I’ve got a sequel in the works with her as the main character. Scientists aren’t exactly royalty, but they do consider themselves elites in Genesis Earth, which means that Terra has echoes of this trope. And in Heart of the Nebula (as-yet unpublished), I’ve got a character who isn’t exactly rebellious, but she does qualify as a badass princess (though the society in question is a perfect techno-democracy and not a monarchy).

Trope Tuesday: Arcadia

What happens when you cross the Ghibli Hills with the Call to Agriculture? You get Arcadia, a simple, uncomplicated utopia where people keep to the good old ways and live in harmony with nature. As home sweet home for the farm boy and the country mouse, it’s often the starting point for the hero’s journey, though you’ll also see an occasional retired badass or old master take up residence after their adventuring days are over. Then again, it might just be a ten minute retirement before they’re back in harm’s way.

This is NOT a town with a dark secret or any other kind of twisted dystopia. There are no knights templar who believe that Arcadia justifies the means. If there is any sort of moral or message behind this place, it’s a green Aesop. If there’s anyone who fights to defend this place, it’s usually the good shepherd.

Because of the Rule of Drama, it seems almost paradoxical that a place as peaceful as Arcadia would exist in any story. However, sometimes it’s good to have the contrast. It also helps to raise the stakes by giving the hero a home like this to fight for. By keeping this in the back of their minds, it can be an effective way to keep them from crossing the despair event horizon.

The hero can visit Arcadia at any point in the story, but it tends to fulfill different roles depending on when they go there.

If the hero starts out in Arcadia, it’s usually the known, familiar world which he leaves behind after getting the call to adventure. He may or may not be able to go back once the adventure is over, depending on how much he’s changed and whether he can adjust to a boring, peaceful life after so much adventure. A good example of this is The Shire from The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings.

If the hero ends in Arcadia, then it’s usually a way to show that everyone lived happily ever after (more or less). Tolstoy was a big fan of this one, though he was also sure to show that living in Arcadia can be hard work–but in his view, the work is part of the reward. In Lord of the Rings, Samwise Gamgee ended in Arcadia on this note. Frodo didn’t.

If the hero visits Arcadia during the middle of the story, it’s usually part of an Arcadian Interlude. The down time may give him a chance to rest and recuperate, as with Medwyn’s realm in The Chronicles of Prydain, Resembool in Full Metal Alchemist, or Tom Bombadil in Lord of the Rings. Alternately, it may be a leave your quest test–because really, who wouldn’t want a nice, peaceful life when faced with the hardships of adventure?

While the idyllic rural setting of Arcadia seems great to us now, this wasn’t always the case. In all the old stories, when characters strayed into the country, they tended to find themselves in the Lost Woods. And while Vice City is normally considered the exact opposite of Arcadia, the Shadowland, which may or may not be rural, also qualifies.

In the end, the thing that makes Arcadia great isn’t just the rural, agricultural setting, or the simple way of life, or the lack of poverty (or extravagant wealth, for that matter), it’s the combination of all three, combined with a sense that the place is truly incorruptible. It may be full of simple-minded, naive little people who have no idea what’s going on in the rest of the world, but it’s a place where you can feel safe.

In my own work, Terra 4 Dome from Desert Stars probably qualifies as this. Even though it’s an archipelago of small islands rather than the rolling farmlands most often associated with Arcadia, it fulfills the same role more or less. I don’t think I played with this trope at all in Bringing Stella Home, though in Stars of Blood and Glory, there are a couple of places that qualify. And in Star Wanderers, various examples pop up from time to time, some more relevant than others.

As someone who dreams of settling down in a real-life version of Arcadia at some point, you can definitely expect to see me play with this trope in the future.

Yesterday’s Gone: Episode One by Sean Platt & David Wright

Imagine you wake up tomorrow, and find out that everyone around you has vanished. Well…not everyone. But the ones who are still around claim to see strange things that you can’t see. And then, you get an eerie feeling of a presence…something dangerous, something coming at you right now. And then, things get really weird…

Yesterday’s Gone is a post-apocalyptic serial thriller: basically, a novel divided into six parts or “episodes,” the first of which is free. Since I’m interested in doing something similar with my next project, I decided to check it out.

From the very start, I was hooked. The conflict was intriguing, the pace was fast and gripping, and the characters were interesting, with reactions that were spot on. I wasn’t intending to finish the whole thing in one sitting, but once I’d started, there was no way I could put it down.

A couple of things jolted me out of the story, though. The first was the sheer immensity of the cast of characters. Literally, the first half of the episode was just introducing new ones, and none of them got more than two viewpoint scenes in the whole ebook. I was on board for the first three or four of them, but around number six or seven, I just wanted to skip them and get back to the first guy.

Two of the later characters were just painful to read–not only did I not care about them, I vehemently hated who they were and wanted them to die or get out of the way so I didn’t have to read their viewpoints anymore. The first was an eight year-old boy who had some mystical connection with animals…I just couldn’t sympathize with him at all. The other one was a serial rapist and/or murderer who saw the apocalypse as just an opportunity to run around raping and killing the other survivors. I skipped his scenes, but then had to go back because there were some clues hidden there and I didn’t want to miss them…ugh.

The other thing that really bothered me was the very last scene in the episode, where the authors made the mistake of showing the monster. I won’t spoil it for you, but the image on the page clashed so strongly with the image in my mind, it deflated almost all the tension for me. What was supposed to be a cliffhanger instead turned out to be a big “huh?”

Your mileage may vary, however, so if you’re into post-apocalyptic fiction, I think it’s definitely worth checking out. Just like the happy pills in the empty lot behind the school, the first one is free: you can pick it up on Amazon or Smashwords. And in spite of its problems, there was a lot in this story that I really liked. Maybe you’ll enjoy it more than I did.

In terms of the serial format, I think it worked very well, except for those two problems: too many characters to keep track of, and an ending that booted me out of the story. Otherwise, I think it’s a great way to publish, and I’ll probably experiment with something similar in the future.

Quarter Share by Nathan Lowell

Ishmael Wang never thought he would sign up with the crew of a solar clipper, traveling the stars as part of a merchant collective. But when his mother unexpectedly dies, leaving him with barely enough money to pay next month’s rent, he finds himself without any other choice. Fortunately, the starfaring life suits him quite well–surprisingly well.

I picked up this novel because it appeared in the “customer’s also bought” section of my own novel, Genesis Earth. It was a fun read, though to be honest I put it down for almost seven or eight months before finishing it. The reasons for that should be clear by the end of this post.

Don’t get me wrong; there are things that I liked a lot about this book. The beginning set up is excellent–I really felt drawn into the story, and felt for the challenges that Ishmael was facing. As he started to make friends and explore his new world, the wish fulfillment factor became a major draw. I mean, who wouldn’t want to sign up with the crew of a solar clipper and travel across the stars?

But somewhere in the middle, the book started to lose steam. Ishmael’s internal conflicts with the death of his Mom faded into the background until they completely disappeared. Everything that he set out to accomplish, he did so successfully after the first or second try. The story took on a sort of video game quality, where the main focus was leveling up: from quarter-share to half-share, from this test to that test, etc. Even some of the aspects of the world-building became mundane, with mushroom-growing asteroids and space station flea markets becoming just another way to make a profit.

While there were aspects of the trading game that I liked, the lack of any real conflict made me lost interest in the story. The beginning is very strong, and the middle, though weaker, is still okay, but the ending just sort of fizzled without a real climax. If you’re only reading for wish-fulfillment, that probably isn’t a problem, but if you want something else, you’re probably better off looking elsewhere.

Wolfhound by Kindal Debenham

Jacob Hull may be just a spacer’s son, but he’s not afraid to dream big. As an ensign in the Celostian Navy, his biggest dream is to pilot a destroyer like the Wolfhound, the brand new ship on which he receives his first assignment. But when pirates attack on their training exercises and drive them far from the rest of the Celostian fleet, Hull realizes that his dream might be more than he asked for…

Full disclosure: Kindal Debenham is actually a good friend of mine–we were both members of Quark in college and still keep in touch as alpha readers for each others’ books. That’s not why I’m saying that I loved this book, though. I’ll admit, I had a few doubts when I first started it. The descriptions are a little wordy, the formatting isn’t perfectly clean–but none of that really matters, because the story is AWESOME.

Why is it so awesome? Because it’s full of characters you want to root for, facing one impossible conflict after the other, each one bigger and more daunting than the one before. The story gets off to a decent start, but it really starts to take off after the first third or so, and just keeps getting better and better right up to the end.

Seriously, this is the kind of book I used to hunt for in the library as a kid. It reminds me a little of the old Star Wars novels by Timothy Zahn, Kevin J. Anderson and Michael A. Stackpole. Forget dark, dystopian futures and boring, high-concept stuff–this is some rip-roaring space opera, with stations you wish you could visit and starships you wish you could fly.

So yeah, I loved this book. Great read; once I got into the second half, I couldn’t put it down. If you’re a fan of space adventure stories, you should definitely check out this book. It’s available from both Amazon and Smashwords as an indie published ebook, and it’s actually holding it’s own quite well on the Amazon bestseller lists. It definitely deserves the spot! Oh, and if you want to check out Kindal’s blog, you can find him here.

Flash Gold by Lindsay Buroker

All Kali McAlister wants is to leave Moose Hollow far, far behind–and with her dogless sled, the $1,000 prize for the sled race is just her ticket. But with pirates, gangsters, and thugs in the Yukon after her late father’s alchemical secrets, she’ll be lucky to make it to the finish line alive. And then there’s that striking man by the mysterious name of Cedar–why is he helping her?

This was a fun steampunk adventure story. It was fast-paced, well-written, and quite enjoyable; Buroker knows how to hook a reader with interesting characters and conflicts. I’m looking forward to reading more books set in this universe.

That said, I did have a few issues with this book. At some parts, the dialog came across as wooden because the characters’ words and reactions didn’t match the intensity of the scene. For example, Kali and Cedar got caught up in a couple of friendly discussions during gunfights, one about her automatic reloading rifle (which was somewhat excusable) and one about the status of their relationship (which felt a little contrived). Also, the climax of the story revolves around a late third act info dump, which is a pet peeve of mine. It didn’t bring the story to a screeching halt, but it did feel a little clumsy.

None of those kept me from enjoying the story, but they were definitely things I noticed. My biggest issue was probably a lack of real dept or thoughtfulness; what I like to call a “stuff happens, the end” kind of story. The main character had good internal motivations, but no real internal conflict. For example, she had this whole history with a previous lover betraying her trust, but she didn’t really struggle much with learning to trust again; all that old baggage was just a part of her background.

Overall, though, this was a fun action-adventure romp. The steampunk setting was great, one that I’d like to come back and revisit. And in spite of my critiques, I didn’t feel cheated by this story at all; it really was an enjoyable read. For $.99, what do you have to lose?

You can find Flash Gold at the author’s site here, or at Smashwords and Barnes & Noble (for some reason, the Amazon link appears to be broken).

Trope Tuesday: Lawful Good

Lawful Good is the character alignment that is the most unambiguously heroic. These are the white hats, the caped crusaders, the knights in shining armor who fight for Truth, Justice, and the American way. They might not always be smart, and they might not always be nice, but you can always count on them to do the right thing…always.

From the easydamus character alignment page:

A lawful good character acts as a good person is expected or required to act. He combines a commitment to oppose evil with the discipline to fight relentlessly. He tells the truth, keeps his word, helps those in need, and speaks out against injustice. A lawful good character hates to see the guilty go unpunished.

Although most Lawful Good characters are unambiguous, their conflicts are often quite complicated. This is because their dedication to the moral code is itself a weakness which an intelligent villain can exploit. Typically, this is done by putting them in a situation where they have to choose between being lawful (catching the bad guys) or being good (saving all the innocent people who will die in the process). A smart Lawful Good character, however, will come up with a third option that turns the ethical dilemma on its head, though it might require a heroic sacrifice.

Very often, these kinds of characters appeal to us because they represent some higher ideal which we wish we could follow. However, that’s not always the case, especially in more cynical works like A Game of Thrones, where the most lawful good characters also tend to be the most stupid. Ultimately, it all comes down to the bias of the writer; even when you’re trying not to be didactic, it’s hard not to use the Lawful Good character as a vehicle for some sort of message.

A shallow Lawful Good will be little more than a paragon for whatever virtue they’re meant to represent. A more nuanced Lawful Good will have some sort of a flaw (besides the backhanded ones), or some sort of internal conflict connected with their moral code to make them more human and relatable.

My favorite Lawful Good would probably be Sir Galahad from Le Morte d’Arthur, but mostly because of the sharp counterpoint he provides next to all the ~~thugs and criminals~~ other Knights of the Round Table. Carter from Halo: Reach is a pretty cool Lawful Good, though he wasn’t my favorite (that would be Jorge). And even though he’s a complete idiot, Ned Stark is still the only adult character from A Game of Thrones that I found remotely likable.

In my own work, Jalil from Desert Stars starts out as Lawful Good, though he shifts to Lawful Neutral in the middle and up to Neutral Good by the end. In Bringing Stella Home / Sholpan, Lars and Narju definitely fall under this alignment, putting a lot of pressure on Stella to live up to their ideals. I explore Lars’s idealistic character a bit further in Heart of the Nebula, a direct sequel to Bringing Stella Home which I hope to release later this year. And in Star Wanderers, Noemi tends to fall under this alignment–though the story is not so much about saving the world as it is about saving each other.

Skye Object 3270a by Linda Nagata

It’s not easy being a teenager in the orbital colony of Silk–especially when all the adults are functionally immortal and anyone under one hundred is considered an adolescent. To make matters worse, Skye fell to the city in an escape pod when she was just a baby, with no idea who she is, where she’s from, or how long she was drifting in space.

Fortunately, she’s a tough girl with several close friends and a determined spirit. One way or another, she’ll find out where she’s from–and whether there are any of her people still out there.

I thoroughly enjoyed this book. It combined the best of both science fiction and young adult: likeable teenage characters struggling to find their place in a high-tech alien world. In particular, I found it fascinating how the widespread nanotech shaped both the society and the universe.

But the story isn’t about the technology, it’s about the characters, their adventures, and the friendships that form between them. This was what really made the story come alive for me. There’s a small amount of wish fulfillment, which may or may not be your thing, but overall I found the characters to be both believable and likeable. It was a lot of fun to watch them grow and learn together.

At times, though, it felt as if the characters weren’t challenged enough. The friendship and relationship issues were well done, but it wasn’t until the end that they started to have any significant try-fail (or try-almost fail) cycles in their adventures. Also, while the ending was quite satisfying, it was also a little abrupt.

Those didn’t detract much from the rest of the story, though. Overall, I thought it was a very satisfying read–the sort of book I wish I’d found when I was twelve or thirteen. If I wasn’t already hooked on science fiction by that age, I have the feeling that this book would have turned me into a lifelong fan.

As a footnote, I’d like to add that this is EXACTLY the kind of book that indie publishing was made for. It’s a great story, but the science-fictional setting is so unconventional that most publishers wouldn’t take a chance on it. Even houses like Tor and Baen are focusing more on sub-genres like urban fantasy and military sf, which both have large, proven readerships. For something that’s a little more niche or experimental, it’s good to see that there’s still a way to get it out to readers who would love it.

So yeah–if you like young adult books and you’re not turned off by space elevators, nanobots, or alien planets, you should totally try out this book. I think it will surprise you just how much you enjoy it.