Science Fiction
Midway through Scorpio Invasion and it’s still very much Dray Prescot in full old-school mode: big premise, fast movement, and that slightly ridiculous sense that the universe itself is annoyed with him.
Which, honestly, is part of the appeal. Not every fantasy needs to pretend it’s above pulp. Sometimes you want the momentum, the friction, the feeling that the story has already decided to sprint and you’re just hanging on. Slightly battered, but hanging on.
Which, honestly, is part of the appeal. Not every fantasy needs to pretend it’s above pulp. Sometimes you want the momentum, the friction, the feeling that the story has already decided to sprint and you’re just hanging on. Slightly battered, but hanging on.
That’s the bit these books do well when they’re working. They don’t apologise for being pulpy, they just keep moving.
What I like about Prescot as a series is that the scale can be absurd, but the pace is usually honest about it. You’re not here for delicate ambiguity. You’re here for momentum, trouble, and the sense that the next page will probably make things worse in a very direct way.
What I like about Prescot as a series is that the scale can be absurd, but the pace is usually honest about it. You’re not here for delicate ambiguity. You’re here for momentum, trouble, and the sense that the next page will probably make things worse in a very direct way.