I have now finished reading all the nominees for the Hugo Award this year. For once, I’m not too out-of-sync with the official vote, which took place two weeks ago. This means that I can say if the right book won or not (it didn’t), but that I didn’t know the official result until after I both finished reading and writing about the nominees. Here are the nominees in the order I read them (which was haphazard):
- Emily Tesh – Some Desperate Glory
- John Scalzi – Starter Villain
- Ann Leckie – Translation State
- Vajra Chandrasekera – The Saint of Bright Doors
- Martha Wells – Witch King
- S. A. Chakraborty – The Adventures of Amina al-Sirafi
Like last time, I will review all books and also rank them by how worthy I think they are of a Hugo. This is of course relative, so I’m not too interested in discussing the option that no novel should receive the award (which is an option on the official ballot). I’ll review the books in order from least to most worthwhile, according to my tastes and preferences.
6. John Scalzi – Starter Villain
I have read almost a dozen novels by John Scalzi over the years, ranging from the competent but mildly uninteresting, such as The Old Man’s War, to the outright excellent, such as Red Shirts. His novels have been nominated for the Hugo Award seven times, including both last year for The Kaiju Preservation Society and this year for Starter Villain.
Unfortunately, both these books seem to be stuck in a subgenre I have no interest in. They focus on everyday people who stumble upon something unusual or supernatural. In The Kaiju Preservation Society, it was a zoo pocket dimension with big monsters, and in Starter Villain, it’s a club of rich supervillains. Both books are banal to the point of being boring, and contain few or no original ideas. The characters, including the main character, are one-dimensional and mainly there to engage in flippant dialogue and occasionally to move the plot forward. This is not helped by the fact that both audiobooks are narrated by Wil Wheaton, who for some reason mostly annoys me. Maybe some people find this type of dialogue interesting, but I’m not one of them.
Starter Villain is essentially about a man who wants to run a pub, but ends up running a global business empire, richer and more powerful than most governments. Along the way, he needs to deal with genetically enhanced cats, striking dolphins and other villains. What he does most, though, is engage in the above-mentioned flippant dialogues.
It should come as no surprise that I didn’t like this book. I don’t know why it was nominated for a Hugo. It contains nothing interesting, and unless you’re an avid Scalzi fan, don’t read it. Starter Villain is not outright bad, just so bland that it doesn’t belong on a list of nominations for the Hugo Award.
5. Emily Tesh – Some Desperate Glory
Reading a novel by an author I have never even heard about is always interesting. If I have decided to read a novel, I actively avoid reading any information about it, wanting the experience to be as pure and unbiased as possible (a bit naïve, I know). Thus, I threw myself into Some Desperate Glory by Emilly Tesh.
After having recovered from an initial shock of technobabble, the story settles down, orbiting a small space station called Gaea. It’s the last fragment of human civilisation, a remnant left from a war that destroyed Earth and killed all its inhabitants. Life on the space station is tough, and everything is controlled by the military command, but that’s okay, because everything is done with a purpose: revenge, to strike back at the alien race that killed Earth.
Valkyrie, the protagonist, is the product of her environment. Efficiency, purpose and discipline are everything; individual freedom, rights and emotions mean nothing. There are signs that not everything is right, such as her sister, who escaped Gaea many years ago, betraying humanity for seemingly no good reason, but she chooses to ignore them. Then, one day, her brother is gone, too, and she starts digging deeper.
At first glance, and after reading maybe one third of the book, the above summary gives a good idea of what this novel could have been. It would have been an unoriginal story about propaganda, subterfuge and maybe a coup at the end. After about one third of the book, however, it’s clear that the book is way too long to be only about these things, however.
And that’s a good thing. The novel could have been about half as long, but would then also have been half as interesting. I’m not going to spoil how things turn out and what the extra layer is in the story, but I will say that it made the second half of the book more worthwhile. A major drawback is that characters and setting are often driven by plot convenience and that some things don’t really make much sense if you consider them from outside the story itself.
In general, I found the extra layer to the story somewhat interesting, but the basic setup made for a slow and somewhat boring start. I like the basic idea, but not the execution. I don’t regret that I read the book, but I wouldn’t recommend it either.
4. Martha Wells – Witch King
Witch King is something as unusual as a fantasy novel that is perhaps too strange for its own good. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a fan of weirdness in speculative fiction. I love authors like China Miéville and Yoon Ha Lee. And since I also love Martha Wells’ The Murderbot Diaries, it seemed like a foregone conclusion that I would enjoy Witch King too. But I didn’t. Let me explain why.
The story begins with Kai-Enna, the titular Witch King, waking up in a tomb and realising he’s been held captive there, and now someone is attempting to bind him as a familiar. Being far more powerful than the intruders anticipated, he kills everyone but a street urchin named Sanja, frees his companion Ziede, and together they set off to uncover who captured them, why, and what has transpired while they were entombed. These events, the present, are interwoven with a second storyline that takes place in the past.
Let’s talk about two aspects of the novel: one that’s great and one that’s mediocre at best. First, the worldbuilding is genuinely interesting. If this setting were presented to me in a role-playing game or as an idea someone pitched, I would find it fascinating and full of potential for great storytelling. The (literally) multi-layered world is intriguing, and the novel touches on many compelling ideas.
However, the problem is that the story set in this world is poorly executed. I’m not sure whether the issue lies with the story itself or the way it’s told, but it’s probably a combination of both. The prose is so dull that it becomes distracting. I found it genuinely difficult to keep track of who was who, what they were doing, and why. By the time I was a third of the way through the novel, I stopped caring about what happened to the protagonists.
Now, compare this to authors like China Miéville and Yoon Ha Lee. In Perdido Street Station, Miéville introduces an endless array of weird places, things, and people that aren’t explained but still fit into the setting. Not only that, these elements enhance the story, where I care about what happens; the strangeness adds flavour rather than distracting from the characters and plot. In The Ninefox Gambit, Lee introduces magic that’s integral to the plot but largely bizarre and unexplained. Yet again, this adds to the story rather than detracting from it, and even though it took me two reads to fully appreciate the novel (and its sequels), it was worth it.
So, if Marth Wells would have dealt with weirdness the way those two authors do, Witch King could have been awesome. But alas, it was not to be. She gets full marks for the setting, zero marks for the story. Generally, I don’t think a novel’s final impression should be an average of its different aspects, but in this case, I think the novelty of the setting somewhat remedies the bad story and writing, but far from enough to make this a good novel.
3. S. A. Chakraborty – The Adventures of Amina al-Sirafi
While mainstream fantasy based on Western European folklore and mythology doesn’t interest me much these days, I still find stories rooted in other traditions intriguing. I’m not alone in this, as there have been many Hugo Award nominations in the past decade for such works, especially when it comes to works inspired by Middle-Eastern lore, like Throne of the Crescent Moon by Saladin Ahmed and A Master of Djinn by P. Djèlí Clark. And now, we have The Adventures of Amina al-Sirafi by S. A. Chakraborty!
This novel shares much in common with the others I mentioned, not just in its Middle-Eastern sword and sorcery tradition, but also in being a tale of action and adventure. The eponymous Amina al-Sirafi is a retired pirate captain who has worked hard to protect her young daughter and keep her sheltered from her mother’s violent past. But one day, the past catches up with Amina, and she’s forced to leave home, gather her crew, and embark on one final adventure.
While this sounds like a straightforward action-packed adventure novel, the perspective is refreshingly different from many similar stories. Amina and her crew are not as young as they once were, she has a daughter who means more to her than anything, and though her name still inspires fear and awe, she is more than just an adventurous pirate captain. Themes of parenthood, loyalty to companions, freedom, and responsibility make the novel more engaging than it might have otherwise been, though not enough to truly make it stand out.
The issue with the novel is that it relies too heavily on well-known tropes, making certain parts of the story predictable. Additionally, some of the characters, excluding the main ones, also feel like one-dimensional extras in a low-budget movie or a role-playing game campaign. While the author attempts to add some spice, it’s not quite enough to elevate the book to greatness, in my opinion. It’s entertaining, yes, but only for as long as the novel lasts.
2. Ann Leckie – Translation State
Ann Leckie’s Translation State offers readers a return to the intricate world she’s known for (but somehow doesn’t appeal to me; more about this later), blending political intrigue with a thoughtful exploration of identity and communication
We follow three characters: Enae, a bureaucrat, is sent on a mission to find a person who went missing hundreds of years ago, but more as a way to get her out of the way than to solve the mystery. Reet, an outsider with mysterious origins, struggles with his place in society. Qven, a translator in training for the alien Presger who struggles to fit in.
You can almost see the outline of the plot right there, but Anne Leckie is a competent author and doesn’t take you for an idiot; you figure out things roughly at the pace you’re meant to (or at least I did).
While the characters are quite interesting and the setup seems good, I’m not sure I like how it’s all woven together. The novel feels a bit like a recipe where the ingredients are first described and seem fine by themselves, but then when they’re mixed together, the result is not as interesting as one might have hoped.
I find it hard to decide what I think about this book. On the one hand, the setup is intriguing and the plot works well, except for my perceived disconnect between the first and second half of the novel. On the other hand, I somehow rarely feel drawn into Leckie’s world-building. I’ve read at least five books by her, yet I remember almost nothing of the setting in any of them. I remember some of the characters and the plots they’re involved in, but I just find the setting somewhat bland.
On the whole, if you like Leckie’s other books, by all means, read this one; you’ll probably like it. If you haven’t, read Ancillary Justice instead. All this doesn’t make Translation State a bad novel, far from it, but it’s not brilliant either.
1. Vajra Chandrasekera – The Saint of Bright Doors
The Saint of Bright Doors gets off to a stronger start than any other of this year’s Hugo nominees. The protagonist, Fetter, was raised by his mother, Mother-of-Glory, with a singular purpose: to kill his father, The Perfect and Kind, a cult leader. Even though we learn that he possesses supernatural powers and assassin’s training, these details feel natural, almost casual, conveyed in a lyrical style reminiscent of folk tales where even the most absurd events seem normal.
But Fetter isn’t interested in killing his father, he just wants to live a normal life. He arrives in a bustling city and attempts to settle down, far removed from powerful curses and murderous plots. The setting is a skilful blend of modern-day reality and speculative fantasy, almost as if traditional fantasy elements were extrapolated into the present day, but with Sri Lankan and Buddhist influences instead of Western European ones. Vajra Chandrasekera accomplishes this without making the setting feel overly exotic; it’s simply an excellent backdrop into which the story fits seamlessly.
The bright doors mentioned in the title are a unique feature of the city: sometimes, ordinary doors vanish on one side of the wall they’re in and can no longer be opened. By tradition, these one-sided doors are then painted bright. Where do they go? What do they signify? How do they appear? No one knows, but Fetter stumbles upon an opportunity to research these doors, which sets off a series of events leading him back to where he started: his mother’s plot for him to kill his father. Because, even if he tries to deny it, Fetter is no ordinary boy.
Overall, I found The Saint of Bright Doors refreshing, interesting, and entertaining. I read fantasy and science fiction primarily because I enjoy encountering things I haven’t seen before. While I loved long fantasy series as a teenager, I’ve come to dislike anything that feels too familiar. And The Saint of Bright Doors definitely doesn’t feel like something I’ve read before. The setting and style vaguely remind me of Roger Zelazny’s Lord of Light, and some elements of the city bring China Miéville to mind, but neither comparison is particularly close.
As I’ve now finished reading the rest of the nominees, my choice for this year’s Hugo Award for Best Novel is clear: The Saint of Bright Doors by Vajra Chandrasekera.
Thoughts and reflections
Just like last year, few of the nominees impressed me. The only book I consider good and can happily issue a recommendation for is The Saint of Bright Doors. I could recommend some of the others too, but only with caveats. Last year, I wondered if my tastes were drifting further from the mainstream, and this suspicion is not weakened by this year’s crop.
However, I don’t think that’s what’s happening here. While I can understand that some differences in taste are because of fundamentally different preferences (such as Starter Villain this year or Project Hail Mary in 2022), where it seems I’m reading a different novel from the people who like them, Starter Villain is really the only book that felt like that this year. In the other nominees, it feels more like I put more emphasis on some things other people don’t, or I am less forgiving than some other readers when it comes to certain other things.
So, who won the Hugo Award for Best Novel in 2024 then?
- Emily Tesh – Some Desperate Glory
- Shannon Chakraborty – The Adventures of Amina al-Sirafi
- Vajra Chandrasekera – The Saint of Bright Doors
- John Scalzi – Starter Villain
- Ann Leckie – Translation State
- Martha Wells – Witch King
Did the right book win? No, but I can imagine people liking Some Desperate Glory, and some other readers not liking the style of The Saint of Bright Doors as much as I did. The rest of the books were pretty even for me, except for Starter Villain, as I’ve already mentioned. I’ll still read all the nominees in 2025 because I find it refreshing to read new authors and explore new stories, and at least one nominee per year is actually good!
Leave a Reply