Science Fiction
This one is very much “book seven of a series” in the best possible way. It doesn’t waste time pretending to be a fresh start. It just keeps moving, with that slightly stubborn continuation energy that I find oddly satisfying in long-running fantasy.
Dray Prescot still has unfinished business on Havilfar, and the book leans into that rather than trying to reinvent itself. Not every series instalment needs to be a grand reset. Sometimes the appeal is simply watching the momentum hold.
Feels like the sort of book you read because you want the next stretch of the journey, not because you need a neat new beginning.
Dray Prescot still has unfinished business on Havilfar, and the book leans into that rather than trying to reinvent itself. Not every series instalment needs to be a grand reset. Sometimes the appeal is simply watching the momentum hold.
Feels like the sort of book you read because you want the next stretch of the journey, not because you need a neat new beginning.
That kind of continuity can be a virtue, but it also asks a lot of the reader. If a series is this far in, I’m usually more interested in whether the voice still has enough charge to carry the repetition than in any illusion of a fresh start.
Book seven is either comforting or exhausting, depending on your mood. Sometimes both.
Book seven is either comforting or exhausting, depending on your mood. Sometimes both.