2008 steampunk fantasy romance. Taya is an icarus, one of the couriers
who strap on wings and buoyant metal to carry messages and small
packages across the mountainside city of Ondinium. But a mid-air
rescue brings her to the attention of the city's leaders.
I read the first chapter of this in the 2015 Hugo packet, as it
was republished in Lightspeed #44. On its own that was a bit
by-the-numbers; the book as a whole is rather more interesting.
So this is a steampunk world: the city is full of steam engines and
soot, and contains implausibly advanced calculating machines, one of
which is built into the core of the mountain itself (where the mines
for antigravity metal used to be). They don't use that metal for
flying boats or anything combative because they had a bad experience
in the Last War, centuries ago, and someone whose arms are controlling
a flying-frame can't also be holding a weapon. (The smart reader will
instantly think of a number of ways round that.) Like most steampunk
worlds, it doesn't make a great deal of sense if you try to work out
what might be possible but didn't make it into the story, or the
implications of the technology that must be there for the things that
are in the story to exist and function.
It's never quite clear just how these flying rigs are put together.
There's the "armature", which provides buoyancy; the "keel", which is
closed round the body (not like any keel I've ever heard of); the
wings and tail, which are probably connected to the armature and/or
the keel; and the harness straps, which apparently hold something to
something else but mostly seem to exist to be fiddly to get done up or
undone in a hurry. I could really have done with a simple description
of what's going on in this rig rather than snatches here and there.
The romance is heavily signalled: you'll spot the designated hero the
moment he scowls onto the page, and since he is the designated hero,
anyone else must be a distraction. What's worse, the framework of a
standard romance is used as a driver for a Big Misunderstanding that
doesn't serve more than a trivial plot purpose, and makes both of the
principals look frankly rather silly. Still, the distraction is ended
relatively quickly, and we get into the meat of the plot, with
conspiracy, subversion and treason in between the kisses.
And then, about three-quarters of the way through the book, that
plot's all over and a whole separate problem has to be set up to
finish things off. It's a strange pacing decision, feeling as though
the main book came up short on word count and this extra stuff had to
be added. It works, I suppose, but rather threw me out of any
immersion I had in the story.
On the other hand the characterisation is decently nuanced, the
descriptions are suitably gritty, and things do more or less hold
together even if we never seem to hear anything about the "cardinals"
who are the city's middle class between the aristos and the scum.
After its re-publication in 2013, this is followed by Clockwork
Lies, but the story is complete as it stands.
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