Tag: fantasy

  • Dungeon Crawler Carl and the Problem of Not Caring

    I flew through the first 1/3 of the novel because I love the video game RPG genre and this was my first experience reading about how LitRPG turns them into a linear adventure. But my opinion changed when I read two scenes that came quite close together.

    Now, for the next three or four paragraphs, there are spoilers: Carl, up to this point, has been killing non-human characters to survive; it’s been very much attack-or-die. As a reader, I haven’t really expected him to have been deeply reflecting on the horror of the situation

    But there were two scenes where Carl wasn’t immediately attacked and had a chance to interact rather than react to the ‘baddies’.

    *** There are spoilers in the next two paragraphs ***

    In one, a mutated human speaks Spanish, which shows his opponent is scared and confused. Carl doesn’t understand Spanish, and a translation isn’t provided to the reader. But he still acts with violence, despite the doubts he expresses about facing an almost-human character.

    Matt doesn’t pause the action here; Carl moves on. He meets a group of goblins who don’t kill him on sight because they recognise his tattoo, which he received as a ‘bonus’ for killing another goblin group earlier. He doesn’t explain this. Instead, he uses it to gain access to their inner sanctum. They treat him with kindness, and he repays that by carrying out a mass killing.

    I thought that it would set the tone for the rest of the book – kill indiscriminately, get loot, and level up.

    But without the author exploring the emotional impact, it felt like it would be reductive and ultimately a hollow experience. I need to at least feel there is a point to the story, even if it makes me feel uncomfortable.

    And when I reached this thought earlier last week, I closed the book, fully intending to DNF it.

    I shared my disappointment on Bluesky, hoping someone would tell me I was wrong.

    Ummm, at 1/3 in, I’m not sure that I like Carl or the cat in Dungeon Crawler Carl.

    And I’m grateful to Somhairle Kelly for situating Dungeon Crawler Carl within the system-apocalypse microgenre.

    The thing that hit me from the thread was:

    Some are grimdark for the sake of grimdark. Characters often lament never getting planes, the internet, mobile phones, etc. again, but they don’t contemplate the sheer horror.

    It made me wonder if my reaction was the problem. Carl wasn’t supposed to care, and that was intentional and an expected trope because the genre as a whole focuses on the macro rather than the individual’s emotional impact.

    I’ve previously said, way back in 2023, in the context of The Poppy War Trilogy:

    I don’t plan on going back to grimdark consciously, at least not for a while, unless I read a series that is grimdark but I don’t realise it is.

    And it seemed that reading Matt or the Clarke Award had ‘fooled’ me into reading it.

    But both Somhairle’s framing and the fact that it’s up for a Clarke Award have me intrigued. I’m wondering if I can continue, knowing this will be the pattern from here on out.

    The replies in the thread imply that Carl doesn’t suddenly become empathetic as the series goes on. Growth may kick in about book 4 or 5.

    And the creator has said that it’s not what it first seems:

    Every war, every social movement has multiple battlefields, and not every battlefield has to be the front line. I want people with different points of view to enjoy these books at face value. If I then manage to drill through their thick skulls and make them think about the broader themes and maybe grow an empathetic spark, all the better.

    The above is a larger extract from a Reddit post, ‘We are not talking current event politics here, and every deliberately political post will be deleted. Repeat violators will be banned. This is why’

    So, maybe I am having the reaction that the author is expecting. I went out of my way to translate the Spanish dialogue in that first scene, and I think that’s perhaps what led me to project a negative association between Carl and his creator.

    I think the problem is that I don’t feel that I need the lesson.

    Killing anything should come with awareness.

    And I wonder if my curiosity would drive me to read through my own discomfort and dissociation, to complete my reading of the rest of the books. Given that I can’t even force myself to read the next book in the series that I LOVE, I highly doubt it.

    By the way, I love how the RPG elements are integrated; it’s just the lack of empathy for the ‘Non-Playable Characters’ even if that makes readers think about the choices that Carl is and isn’t making.

    And because of Kelly’s framing, I do want to go back to DCC with both the author’s intent and the type of genre it is.

    I now want to read The Transcendent Green by Mati Ocha (https://matiocha.com) as it was recommended by Somhairle Kelly, as they described it as ‘respectful, authentically Gaelic, and depicts the horrors without callousness or apocalypse porn. And fundamentally hopepunk

    I understand what DCC is trying to do, and I don’t think finishing it will change that—but maybe I’ll come to like it. Should I continue, or is this just not for me?

  • Can I Read the Hugo and Clarke Shortlists Before the Winners Are Announced?

    Nick Hubble reminded me on Bluesky that this year’s Hugo Award nominees are out.

    Keeping a track of these write-ups for reasons. Also nice to see myself quoted if not named.

    Nick Hubble (@thehubble101.bsky.social) 2026-06-26T18:17:34.639Z

    In July last year, I gave myself two reading challenges:

    1. Read the  British Fantasy Awards 2025 shortlist for Best Anthology
    2. Read the World Fantasy Awards 2025 shortlist for Best Novella

    I managed the novellas, but burnt out on the anthologies.

    So I have form, if not an entirely successful track record, with reviewing award shortlists. It does help me focus — giving me a deadline to aim for and pushing me to read books that might otherwise sit on the ever‑growing TBR pile.

    I also did a ‘live’ reading of Annie Bot by Sierra Greer (at Dan’s request), which went on to win the Clarke Award.

    That pushed me to read it more closely and think about it more deeply — and I think I saw some of what the Clarke judges did in it. A worthy winner.

    So I’m wondering whether to set myself a new challenge: read the Hugo and Clarke shortlists before the winners are announced.

    Despite having somehow forgotten, checking the list reminded me that they are all books I’m interested in.

    Best Novel

    • A Drop of Corruption by Robert Jackson Bennett (Del Rey; Hodderscape)
    • Death of the Author by Nnedi Okorafor (William Morrow; Gollancz)
    • Shroud by Adrian Tchaikovsky (Tor UK; Orbit US)
    • The Everlasting by Alix E. Harrow (Tor US; Tor UK)
    • The Incandescent by Emily Tesh (Tor US; Orbit UK)
    • The Raven Scholar by Antonia Hodgson (Orbit US; Hodderscape)

    I’ve only read one (The Incandescent), which isn’t a great start — especially as it’s currently at the bottom of the list, sorry. In theory, I have plenty of time to catch up on the other five before the winner is announced on Sunday, 30 August 2026, at 8:00pm Pacific (4am?!).

    The good news is that I already have all of them, including special editions of Death of the Author and The Everlasting. I enjoyed Robert Jackson Bennett’s previous series, and The Raven Scholar has enough hype that it seems to be living up to it.

    If that feels ambitious, I’ve checked the other categories, and the Best Novella looks much more manageable and should give me an easy and early win.

    Best Novella

    • Automatic Noodle by Annalee Newitz (Tordotcom)
    • Cinder House by Freya Marske (Tordotcom; Tor UK)
    • Murder by Memory by Olivia Waite (Tordotcom)
    • The River Has Roots by Amal El-Mohtar (Tordotcom; Arcadia UK)
    • The Summer War by Naomi Novik (Del Rey US; Del Rey UK)
    • What Stalks the Deep by T. Kingfisher (Nightfire; Titan UK)

    I’ve read half of them — Automatic Noodle, Murder by Memory and What Stalks the Deep — all worth reading. I owe reviews of two of them. But if I had to rank them, I’d go Noodle, Deep, then Memory. I’m curious how that would change.

    The Arthur C. Clarke Award shortlist this year is:

    • Dungeon Crawler Carl – Matt Dinniman (Michael Joseph)
    • The Dream Hotel – Laila Lalami (Bloomsbury Circus)
    • Luminous – Silvia Park (Magpie)
    • There Is No Antimemetics Division – Qntm (Del Rey)
    • When There Are Wolves Again – E.J. Swift (Arcadia)
    • The Salt Oracle – Lorraine Wilson (Solaris)

    I bought The Dream Hotel and Dungeon Crawler Carl especially to read for this, so I’m committed in terms of TBR. The Arthur C. Clarke and Hugos always have a lot of debate, and I want to avoid FOMO and join in.

    The winner of the Arthur C. Clarke Award will be announced on 12 August 2026, putting it just over two weeks before the Hugos. In order to meet both deadlines, I’d need to read 10⅔ novels plus three novellas in just over two months.

    Should I commit to it? Would you do it? Have you read any? Who would you vote to win?

    PS

    The British Fantasy Awards 2026 Shortlists are also out, including the Best Anthology Award:

    • Lesbians In Space: Where No Man Has Gone Before, edited by J S Fields, William C Tracy, Heather Tracy (Space Wizard Science Fantasy)
    • Blood in the Bricks, edited by Neil Williamson, NewCon Press
    • This Way Lies Madness, edited Dave Jeffery, Lee Murray, Flame Tree Press
    • Silk and Sinew: A Collection of Folk Horror from the Asian Diaspora, Kristy Park Kulski (Bad Hand Books)

    And while I’m not reading the anthologies this year, I’m curious about them. Have you read any? What should I pick up?

  • Review: The Tinder Box by M.R. Carey [2026]

    Spoilers: Mild (themes and setup only
    Genre: Fantasy
    Format: e-ARC
    Source: NetGalley (in exchange for an unbiased review)
    Rating: Liked

    This is Carey’s take on a short story by Hans Christian Andersen, unsurprisingly also called The Tinderbox. He tells the tale of a soldier and a witch whose existence has been put at risk by the deeds of their rulers.

    If you’re wanting an action/adventure you’re not getting that. What you do get is a slower examination of good, bad, wicked and truly evil.

    Set in a small Eastern European country of Allesheim, where there is a seemingly endless war with its neighbours, Ehrlich and Pozhka, though it’s unclear what they are truly fighting about.

    It’s implied that whoever wins this fight for control will ultimately make no difference to the lives of the citizens of each country. And while the rulers squabble, their citizens are starving and dying for the sake of a war that has no end in sight.

    The tone of the book is set by Mag Tresti, as he describes his honourable medical discharge being conducted alongside the execution of his condemned comrades, who have been branded as faithless cowards and are to be executed in batches. Both events are carried out on behalf of, and in the presence of, the king.

    The soldier notes that, despite the pending deaths and general unhappiness of the gathering soldiers being honoured, a semblance of approval has been conjured up for the king’s speech where there was none. This hints at the power of the adviser, which is both magical and political.

    Mag, the now ex-soldier, is shunned by those he comes across on his search for new employment, but eventually finds himself asking a reclusive widow, Jannae Mirchella, for work. Surprisingly but brusquely, she agrees, initially with terms acceptable to both.

    But the terms offered—payment on completion of work—are not fulfilled, as she is always finding work to be done. This doesn’t seem to matter until Mag is doing a dangerous task and comes into possession of a Tinder Box.

    This event soon coincides with him leaving the widow’s employ; formerly a man without power, he now seems to possess something powerful, though he doesn’t know at the time that it contains three devils.

    The widow, however, is a witch. One who has been waiting for some unspecified right moment to go back into the world. This is not the moment she was waiting for, but recovering the box is overwhelming.

    While travelling she starts to remember her past, and becomes haunted by a key moment, forced to look back at this and other decisions her circumstances forced her to take. She examines the most important one—taking her revenge—and why she’s been putting it off.

    We start with Mag’s narration, but the story demands we see into the heart of Jannae, so it is then told from her perspective. And we get to understand what she’s willing to sacrifice, and are challenged to believe that there might be some good in her cold heart.

    We switch between the two as one hunts the other down.

    We even get to see the world through the king’s adviser, though we see nothing redeeming through his eyes.

    The limits of choice are a theme that cuts across our three main characters, and we get to see the world from each of them, which may be a bit disappointing to those who were enjoying the ex-soldier’s narration and were happy to see the world from his point of view.

    Told from multiple points of view, this allows Carey to provide better commentary and insight. The slower nature of the story gives space for this. He examines women in this society, who are not well thought of; the role of soldiers, seen as replicable; the ambivalence of those who hold power, though it is really the people who hold it; how people can be oh so very petty, where telling tales really doesn’t have consequences; and overall the value of a life, which becomes about living in the moment.

    Ultimately, it is the story of how life doesn’t like people who want to live outside the boxes that society puts them into, making sure they toe the line, which is literal in the case of the three devils.

    The skill of Carey’s storytelling is shown in scenes where Mag tries to befriend the inhabitants of the Tinder Box – like Aladdin’s genie, they can seemingly grant any wish, but they are prisoners bound to the commands of their possessor, and unlike the genie they have no end to their sentence. Does he win them over? Are they actually wicked or have they also found themselves on the wrong side of an ambivalent ruler?

    There are reflections from both the living, the meta-living, and the dead.

    On what happens to the living after death, one of the prisoners of the box says:

    ‘That knowledge Elohim has not shared with any. I have always assumed that there is a mill where old souls are washed and made new, but if there is I’ve never seen it. Perhaps they only fade. Or perhaps there is another place somewhere in which they enjoy a different existence. In any event, their persistence on this plane is short’

    It doesn’t matter to the god of this world (Elohim); like the King, both treat the world as if there will always be more people, and more souls, to do their bidding, and that’s how they inevitably become worthless.

    Carey makes you feel that everyone is worthy, well maybe not the evil King or his court. But everyone else—yes, there is a cost, but aren’t things of real value worth the price?

    I am trying not to say too much, because it’s not packed with events; it’s more thoughtful and meditative. I think this will frustrate some readers, which would be a shame.

    But if they stick with it, it’s a story of making the best of things, with some unrequited love—or perhaps lust—woven in.

    Overall, it’s a fairytale stretched into a novel, spending that extra time exploring the meaning of life and what can be achieved if you truly live.

    Note: I rate on a four-tier scale: Loved (4.5–5★), Liked (3.75–4.25★), Mixed (2.75–3.5★), and Not for me (1–2.5★).

  • Review: God’s Junk Drawer by Peter Clines [2024]

    Spoilers: None
    Genre: Portal Fantasy / Survival Fantasy
    Format Read: ebook
    Disclosure: None [this book was purchased by me]

    God’s Junk Drawer is the story of a child, Billy Gather, who, along with his sister, Beau, and father, goes missing during a rafting trip and ends up in a valley with dinosaurs, aliens, Neanderthals, and androids. It isn’t as silly as you’d expect. Clines takes it seriously, and because of that, it’s more emotionally resonant than I could have imagined.

    Rating: 4.5 / 5

    I liked it, I think. Let me explain.

    I’ve stepped back from reviewing for a while because I felt a bit of an imbalance. The analytical side of my brain — the part that holds the book in a buffer in my mind and runs analysis on it — had, I think, started to take away from the feelings that make reading enjoyable, the joy that my more emotive side gets from a book.

    This might explain why I’ve been enjoying books that give a strong emotional response, even when I can see ‘flaws’ that my more logical side would normally have focused on and criticised the book for. God’s Junk Drawer is exactly the kind of book that benefits from that shift — one that hits the emotional notes even if the logic sometimes feels like unwelcome static.

    It opens with clippings about a missing boy who is suddenly found, and he claims he’s been to a fantastical valley full of dinosaurs. In the present, the now‑adult Billy (Noah) has figured out a way to return there — but not without accidentally taking a group of graduate astronomy students and their guide with him, none of whom, unlike Noah, had prepared for the trip.

    Once that happens, it becomes clear why Clines has chosen to alternate points of view (PoV). Jumping from head to head is probably my least favourite storytelling technique. Here, though, it feels essential: a group of people experiencing the fantastical from different perspectives, with no preparation, alongside one adult who was certain the valley hadn’t changed.

    There’s a childhood naivety mixed with a teenage arrogance to Noah — he insists he knows everything there is to know about the valley — but he’s proven wrong pretty quickly. Not only about the current landscape, but about the nature of the valley itself. Clines does an exceptional job of keeping me guessing, and even as we reach the climax, he still has one or two surprises left to reveal.

    It’s a very open‑minded work, and it plays a lot with the histories of its characters. One pair in particular has an ‘aha’ moment that reframes why they hate each other so much — a reveal that lands with real emotional weight.

    It’s also a very brutal book — not just because the valley is dangerous, but because Clines is telling a story with real impact, rather than one that prioritises emotional safety.

    Now that I’ve sat with it a bit, thinking about what the valley is and its history, I do like it. I’d recommend resisting the urge to understand the valley early on; Clines reveals its nature gradually, setting things up only to pull back a curtain and show something else. Even then, I think there are still a few gaps I’d have appreciated more insight on.

    Overall, I really liked how Clines shows Noah that what his teenage self remembered was not reality, and that the sacrifices he’d made to get back had a far wider impact — both positive and negative — than he’d selfishly assumed.

    If you want to experience a valley with dinosaurs, consider your own survival odds, and have your assumptions happily eroded, I’d recommend it.

    Note: I rate on a four-tier scale: Loved (4.5–5★), Liked (3.75–4.25★), Mixed (2.75–3.5★), and Not for me (1–2.5★).

  • Review: Automatic Noodle by Annalee Newitz [2025]

    Spoilers: None
    Genre: Cosy Sci-Fi
    Format ReadPrint
    Disclosure: None (purchased by me)

    Automatic Noodle by Annalee Newitz is virtually perfect. Newitz exquisitely pulls off a chewy tale of survival, camaraderie, and noodle-making. I loved it. Can we have more of these heartfelt, low-but-high-stakes stories, please?

    Rating: 4.75 / 5

    In a near‑future San Francisco, a crew of robots awaken to find they’ve been abandoned along with their employer/owner’s food‑making business, but because of late‑stage capitalism, they also have bills to pay. So they decide to pool their collective skills and set up their own ghost kitchen, selling noodles for collection or delivery. It all seems to go well until the 1‑star reviews.

    Over 160‑odd pages, Newitz tells a low‑stakes but high personal‑impact tale set in the present but kneads into it the origins of each member of the staff, and if you don’t cry when you hear about the memories one of them holds on to in order to relive them, your heart is harder than mine.

    The skill here is that Newitz makes each robot feel alive. They are not just humans in robotic shells; the challenges they face are unique to each of them. And collectively, they have to stay under the radar of the Californian Vigilance Committee.

    It’s the hope for collective success, as well as getting to know them, that is the heart of Automatic Noodle. Seeing the unfairness of the 1‑star reviews, and how manipulation by aggrieved people impacts those who are innocent and harmless, is truly upsetting, but seeing how they go about facing it is heartwarming.

    Highly Recommended

    Note: I rate on a four-tier scale: Loved (4.5–5★), Liked (3.75–4.25★), Mixed (2.75–3.5★), and Not for me (1–2.5★).