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Hopeland
They met while London burned. A encounter during a riot brought Amon Brightbourne together with Raissa Hopeland on a mad rooftop hunt for a family heirloom: a Tesla Coil. But there is no such thing as chance where Amon is concerned: he's been exiled from his family home because he's both cursed and blessed with the Grace — he lives a charmed life, but at the expense of those closest to him. The Grace made him fall in love with Raissa, and with her family, the extraordinary Hopelands — a family like stars in the sky, scattered but connected in constellations of affection, parenthood, love and responsibility.
But a terrible misunderstanding tears them apart, and sends Amon on a journey through the ever-extending Hopeland family, touching lives and shaping the course of the unfolding 20th century. Raissa's life is also changed by that moment, from free spirit to major player in the unfolding story of the 21st century in an Iceland transformed by the Artic thaw.
Over twenty years their lives and loves orbit around each other, through climate change, new religions, economic and technological revolution, resource wars and mass migration as Raissa tries to unite her family. there is — and always will be — Hope in her name. They love each other but they can never be with each other — until Amon must choose between family and his fear of what the Grace will do to the woman he has always loved.
Hopeland is a sprawling, picaresque, magical, marvelous novel — love story, family saga, tech thriller, science fiction — that takes you to the heart of the woes and promises of this most astonishing of centuries.
But a terrible misunderstanding tears them apart, and sends Amon on a journey through the ever-extending Hopeland family, touching lives and shaping the course of the unfolding 20th century. Raissa's life is also changed by that moment, from free spirit to major player in the unfolding story of the 21st century in an Iceland transformed by the Artic thaw.
Over twenty years their lives and loves orbit around each other, through climate change, new religions, economic and technological revolution, resource wars and mass migration as Raissa tries to unite her family. there is — and always will be — Hope in her name. They love each other but they can never be with each other — until Amon must choose between family and his fear of what the Grace will do to the woman he has always loved.
Hopeland is a sprawling, picaresque, magical, marvelous novel — love story, family saga, tech thriller, science fiction — that takes you to the heart of the woes and promises of this most astonishing of centuries.
464 pages, Hardcover
First published February 16, 2023
105 people are currently reading
1245 people want to read
About the author
Ian McDonald
282 books1,257 followersIan Neil McDonald was born in 1960 in Manchester, England, to an Irish mother and a Scottish father. He moved with his family to Northern Ireland in 1965. He used to live in a house built in the back garden of C. S. Lewis’s childhood home but has since moved to central Belfast, where he now lives, exploring interests like cats, contemplative religion, bonsai, bicycles, and comic-book collecting. He debuted in 1982 with the short story “The Island of the Dead” in the short-lived British magazine Extro. His first novel, Desolation Road, was published in 1988. Other works include King of Morning, Queen of Day (winner of the Philip K. Dick Award), River of Gods, The Dervish House (both of which won British Science Fiction Association Awards), the graphic novel Kling Klang Klatch, and many more. His most recent publications are Planesrunner and Be My Enemy, books one and two of the Everness series for younger readers (though older readers will find them a ball of fun, as well). Ian worked in television development for sixteen years, but is glad to be back to writing fulltime.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 117 reviews
April 16, 2023
One of the best SF novels I've read in the last year.
Looking at the challenges of a non-traditional disaster like climate change through the perspective of people from non-traditional families who lead pretty unusual lives, is quite a brilliant idea. The inclusion of people with genders outside the Western binary is a brilliant added touch. While I was aware of Samoan faʻafafine (fafa), I wasn't as familiar with the Tongan term fakaleitī, in this case translated to the fictional country of Ava‘u.
This is one of those relentlessly hopeful books on climate change that remind me of Kim Stanley Robinson's work, only I think it's much better done here. There are some magical realism touches here and there, which is going to turn some people off, but frankly, I don't think it's any worse than werewolves on the Moon as in the author's previous series.
Looking at the challenges of a non-traditional disaster like climate change through the perspective of people from non-traditional families who lead pretty unusual lives, is quite a brilliant idea. The inclusion of people with genders outside the Western binary is a brilliant added touch. While I was aware of Samoan faʻafafine (fafa), I wasn't as familiar with the Tongan term fakaleitī, in this case translated to the fictional country of Ava‘u.
This is one of those relentlessly hopeful books on climate change that remind me of Kim Stanley Robinson's work, only I think it's much better done here. There are some magical realism touches here and there, which is going to turn some people off, but frankly, I don't think it's any worse than werewolves on the Moon as in the author's previous series.
February 7, 2023
I was sent this by the publisher, Tor, at no cost. It's out in late Feb, 2023.
My first reaction was and is: What. On. Earth.
What did I just read?
I mean, aside from "something wonderful", which is easy and true, but gives no information.
Seriously though I was a third of the way through this book and still had no idea what sort of book I was reading. I was barely even sure of the genre.
Fantasy? - maybe?
Science fiction? - basically yes, but only once I was about halfway through?
Maybe just... fiction? But there were definitely some bits that were too weird to entirely count as mainstream, not-speculative, fiction. Also, it's Ian McDonald.
I'll admit I hadn't read the blurb. It's Ian McDonald, and it's called Hopeland... why would I read the blurb? So part of my confusion is my own fault. But having now looked at the blurb it's actually of little to no use in explaining what on earth this is about, so I don't feel too bad.
So... the story starts in London, in 2011, during the riots. It's not about the riots, but they certainly set a scene. Raisa meets Amon entirely accidentally - she's racing across roof tops, he's looking for a micro-gig he's meant to be playing at. He helps her win, she invites him to a party with her family, and... it basically goes from there. Occasionally together, often apart, Raisa and Amon live through the next several decades. And see, it's not like they become hugely important politicians or scientists or celebrities - this isn't the story of hugely significant people. It's a story of two people - and their families - living through the consequences of climate change and everything else in the world right now. They have their impact, it's true, and sometimes on a large scale, but more often in the pebble-and-avalanche way.
It's utterly, utterly compelling.
Raisa's family are the Hopelands - more than a family, really; not a nation, certainly not an ethnicity or religion although with aspects of the latter. It takes the notion of 'found family' to extraordinary and glorious places and challenged a lot of how I think about family, how it's constructed and what it's for. Amon is a Brightbourne, a very different family but with its own legacy to contribute (and his family is where I started wondering if this was a fantasy of some sort).
I want more stories like this. It's about the very near future so it deals with climate change - and manages to come out hopeful, ultimately, but not saccharine in any way. It's about people and their failures and their determination to do better, to make themselves and the world better and leave it better for their kids. England, Ireland, Iceland, Polynesia; young people, old people, challenging gender binaries, and playing with Tesla coils. This book is just amazing.
My first reaction was and is: What. On. Earth.
What did I just read?
I mean, aside from "something wonderful", which is easy and true, but gives no information.
Seriously though I was a third of the way through this book and still had no idea what sort of book I was reading. I was barely even sure of the genre.
Fantasy? - maybe?
Science fiction? - basically yes, but only once I was about halfway through?
Maybe just... fiction? But there were definitely some bits that were too weird to entirely count as mainstream, not-speculative, fiction. Also, it's Ian McDonald.
I'll admit I hadn't read the blurb. It's Ian McDonald, and it's called Hopeland... why would I read the blurb? So part of my confusion is my own fault. But having now looked at the blurb it's actually of little to no use in explaining what on earth this is about, so I don't feel too bad.
So... the story starts in London, in 2011, during the riots. It's not about the riots, but they certainly set a scene. Raisa meets Amon entirely accidentally - she's racing across roof tops, he's looking for a micro-gig he's meant to be playing at. He helps her win, she invites him to a party with her family, and... it basically goes from there. Occasionally together, often apart, Raisa and Amon live through the next several decades. And see, it's not like they become hugely important politicians or scientists or celebrities - this isn't the story of hugely significant people. It's a story of two people - and their families - living through the consequences of climate change and everything else in the world right now. They have their impact, it's true, and sometimes on a large scale, but more often in the pebble-and-avalanche way.
It's utterly, utterly compelling.
Raisa's family are the Hopelands - more than a family, really; not a nation, certainly not an ethnicity or religion although with aspects of the latter. It takes the notion of 'found family' to extraordinary and glorious places and challenged a lot of how I think about family, how it's constructed and what it's for. Amon is a Brightbourne, a very different family but with its own legacy to contribute (and his family is where I started wondering if this was a fantasy of some sort).
I want more stories like this. It's about the very near future so it deals with climate change - and manages to come out hopeful, ultimately, but not saccharine in any way. It's about people and their failures and their determination to do better, to make themselves and the world better and leave it better for their kids. England, Ireland, Iceland, Polynesia; young people, old people, challenging gender binaries, and playing with Tesla coils. This book is just amazing.
February 7, 2023
3.0 Stars
In terms of concept, I loved the idea of this one. I wanted to fall deeply into a speculative fiction story mixed with a family epic.
The narrative structure and storytelling just did not work for me. A story like this is so dependent on character work and yet I found myself struggling to connect to this family. While this novel still some it's good points, I was overall left disappointed from initial expectations.
Disclaimer I received a copy of this book from the publisher.
In terms of concept, I loved the idea of this one. I wanted to fall deeply into a speculative fiction story mixed with a family epic.
The narrative structure and storytelling just did not work for me. A story like this is so dependent on character work and yet I found myself struggling to connect to this family. While this novel still some it's good points, I was overall left disappointed from initial expectations.
Disclaimer I received a copy of this book from the publisher.
May 15, 2024
Yeah, no. This did not work for me. It seemed promising at first, I was open to the characters, I wanted to like it, but ultimately this took forever to go nowhere.
It's more a chronicle than a story. There seemed no point to the more outlandish elements of the story. Lots of them could have a place in a much better novel than this, but for every idea that made me go oh! where's this going? the answer was nowhere.
The biggest failure for me though was the characters. Little paper dolls cut out of onion skin, disolving in a lukewarm bowl of instant soup.
McDonald has joined Reynolds on my list of SF authors I once thought reliable, but whose new releases are now to be regarded with suspicion.
It's more a chronicle than a story. There seemed no point to the more outlandish elements of the story. Lots of them could have a place in a much better novel than this, but for every idea that made me go oh! where's this going? the answer was nowhere.
The biggest failure for me though was the characters. Little paper dolls cut out of onion skin, disolving in a lukewarm bowl of instant soup.
McDonald has joined Reynolds on my list of SF authors I once thought reliable, but whose new releases are now to be regarded with suspicion.
September 9, 2023
This book was a mess. The first 1/3 was a completely different book from the other 2/3. I was really drawn into the first few chapters and the excitement of the race and challenge and trying to figure out the dynamics of each of the characters. But then things got really weird; I’m a pretty smart person but it’s like the book was written in gibberish—nothing in the middle made any sense. Then suddenly we’re in Iceland and then Greenland and worried about climate change. I wanted the first story—the one about Raisa and Amon and Finn with the Tesla coils and mages in London, not some weird half-mythology half-political migration nonsense in the north Atlantic. It felt like a bait and switch. I should have just dnf’ed it, but I had gone to a lot of trouble to get it from the interlibrary loan system.
June 3, 2023
I've enjoyed Ian McDonald's fiction for a long time: Desolation Road is a favourite from my teenage years and I also remember Chaga very fondly. So when I discovered he'd written a long climate novel, I was excited to read it. Although climate change is very important to the narrative, I found Hopeland happier and more fantastical than I expected. Perhaps I should have paid more attention to the title! I read the whole thing in one day, while feeling under the weather on the sofa. It lifted my mood overall, while also making me cry. This is unusual, as it seems to require sincere solidarity and hope amid disaster. Tragedy alone doesn't move me to tears. But at the core of Hopeland are community, love, and human persistence, which apparently do. And it isn't just me: Cory Doctorow cried over it too and at a livestreamed event Iain McDonald gleefully claimed that every reader cries at three points.
The novel opens in 2011 London during the riots. The initial sections had shades of The Invisibles and Rivers of London, with their cool and stylish depiction of mysterious quasi-supernatural organisations. The main characters are introduced as adventurous youths and as avatars for the spiritual-familial organisations they belong to. Their meeting is quite brief then they split protagonist duties for much of the remaining narrative, which sprawls decades into the future. I enjoyed following Raisa and Amon (all the names in this book are great), both excellent characters with fascinating families. Raisa settles in Iceland, while Amon ends up on the island kingdom of Ava' u. Once the narrative reaches the future, a more whimsical Kim Stanley Robinson style prevails and both protagonists' lives are significantly shaped by climate change. There is limited focus on technology and more on human connections via family (of birth and/or choice), spiritual belief, co-operative projects, music, and culture. Hopeland is a wonderfully rich novel, full of vivid images and memorable moments. The fantastical elements are made wonderfully meaningful by their grounding in relationships, communities, and cultures.
Hopeland wasn't the depressing climate change epic I vaguely anticipated, with the result that I had much more fun than expected. I hadn't read an Iain McDonald novel for a long while, so had forgotten that he is above all playful when approaching concepts like terraforming (Desolation Road), contact with aliens (Chaga), or, here, surviving climate change. Hopeland is a sprawling epic full of beguiling and skillfully explored ideas. Perhaps my favourite themes were the persistence of music over time and family as choice not blood. What a lovely reading experience. Why should climate change fiction always make me feel doomed and hopeless, anyway?
The novel opens in 2011 London during the riots. The initial sections had shades of The Invisibles and Rivers of London, with their cool and stylish depiction of mysterious quasi-supernatural organisations. The main characters are introduced as adventurous youths and as avatars for the spiritual-familial organisations they belong to. Their meeting is quite brief then they split protagonist duties for much of the remaining narrative, which sprawls decades into the future. I enjoyed following Raisa and Amon (all the names in this book are great), both excellent characters with fascinating families. Raisa settles in Iceland, while Amon ends up on the island kingdom of Ava' u. Once the narrative reaches the future, a more whimsical Kim Stanley Robinson style prevails and both protagonists' lives are significantly shaped by climate change. There is limited focus on technology and more on human connections via family (of birth and/or choice), spiritual belief, co-operative projects, music, and culture. Hopeland is a wonderfully rich novel, full of vivid images and memorable moments. The fantastical elements are made wonderfully meaningful by their grounding in relationships, communities, and cultures.
Hopeland wasn't the depressing climate change epic I vaguely anticipated, with the result that I had much more fun than expected. I hadn't read an Iain McDonald novel for a long while, so had forgotten that he is above all playful when approaching concepts like terraforming (Desolation Road), contact with aliens (Chaga), or, here, surviving climate change. Hopeland is a sprawling epic full of beguiling and skillfully explored ideas. Perhaps my favourite themes were the persistence of music over time and family as choice not blood. What a lovely reading experience. Why should climate change fiction always make me feel doomed and hopeless, anyway?
April 11, 2023
I seldom get actual goosebumps at the end of a book.
I did with this one.
I take issue with the summary on this page billing this book as a romance. It is a love story, but it's so much more than a will-they-or-won't-they. The main couple aren't even the main focus of the book. The focus is humanity itself and how we can evolve, adapt, and deal with the future we have dealt ourselves.
It is beautiful and brutal and inspiring, with a gratifying section on hydroponics. (I like books with hydroponics). Wonderful characters, epic scope, and just a staggeringly good book.
I did with this one.
I take issue with the summary on this page billing this book as a romance. It is a love story, but it's so much more than a will-they-or-won't-they. The main couple aren't even the main focus of the book. The focus is humanity itself and how we can evolve, adapt, and deal with the future we have dealt ourselves.
It is beautiful and brutal and inspiring, with a gratifying section on hydroponics. (I like books with hydroponics). Wonderful characters, epic scope, and just a staggeringly good book.
June 21, 2023
I’ve said it before and, sadly, I’ll probably say it again: I’ve got to remember not to take Corey Doctorow’s book recommendations. This is fine, as optimistic solar punk goes, but the problem with optimistic books about humans is that without an antagonist they’re just meandering series of events. In a book this length (as contrasted with anything by the wonderful Becky Chambers) it’s just a slowly emmiserating slog.
April 14, 2024
Zdecydowanie inna niż dotychczasowe powieść Iana McDonalda. Sam nie wiem, czy mi się „tylko” podobała, czy jest w niej coś więcej. Powinienem odczekać kilka dni i przemyśleć stanowisko. Oceny jednak bym nie zmienił. Zdecydowanie wolę McDonalda z „Rzeki bogów”, czy „Domu derwiszy. Ostatnich dni Cyberabadu”. Mimo to zaskoczyła mnie przystępność tej powieści i tempo czytania. Tyle ogólników. Może kiedyś dopiszę więcej.
June 11, 2023
“Love falls from the summer sky.”
Beautifuly written, masterly delivered, and I just couldn't care less about the people and the (quite epic and eventful) plot. I'm pretty sure it's me.
As I said, the writing is simply peerless: “His hand goes to the leather satchel, soft as kisses from age and love.” (...) “Soho ignores helicopters, breaking glass, rattling shutters, jeering voices, the fact that this is the year 2011.” (...) “for the night is dark and we must have soup” (nice one!) “Wandsworth was evaporating house by house; whole streets bought up and embalmed for investment.”
On another note, I found the gender approach ridiculous, the mandatory Elon Musk bashing superfluous, the blockchain dress down unintelligent, the stupidity of the billionaire class a bit over emphasised.
There are two Heinleinian principles well developed and welcome, from which we get that hope and love are nice and good and we'll be ultimately able to save ourselves. These are (a) that people are fundamentally good and decent (“I believe in my fellow citizens. Our headlines are splashed with crime yet for every criminal there are 10,000 honest, decent, kindly men. If it were not so, no child would live to grow up. Business could not go on from day to day. (...) I believe in the unseen and unending fight against desperate odds that goes on quietly in almost every home in the land. I believe in the honest craft of workmen. (...) I believe that almost all politicians are honest ... there are hundreds of politicians, low paid or not paid at all, doing their level best without thanks or glory to make our system work. (...) And finally, I believe in my whole race. Yellow, white, black, red, brown. In the honesty, courage, intelligence, durability, and goodness of the overwhelming majority of my brothers and sisters everywhere on this planet. I am proud to be a human being.”) and (b) that “we have come this far by the skin of our teeth. That we always make it just by the skin of our teeth, but that we will always make it. Survive. Endure. I believe that this hairless embryo with the aching, oversize brain case and the opposable thumb, this animal barely up from the apes will endure.”
I should have liked this much more than I did, that's for sure. Anyway...
Beautifuly written, masterly delivered, and I just couldn't care less about the people and the (quite epic and eventful) plot. I'm pretty sure it's me.
As I said, the writing is simply peerless: “His hand goes to the leather satchel, soft as kisses from age and love.” (...) “Soho ignores helicopters, breaking glass, rattling shutters, jeering voices, the fact that this is the year 2011.” (...) “for the night is dark and we must have soup” (nice one!) “Wandsworth was evaporating house by house; whole streets bought up and embalmed for investment.”
On another note, I found the gender approach ridiculous, the mandatory Elon Musk bashing superfluous, the blockchain dress down unintelligent, the stupidity of the billionaire class a bit over emphasised.
There are two Heinleinian principles well developed and welcome, from which we get that hope and love are nice and good and we'll be ultimately able to save ourselves. These are (a) that people are fundamentally good and decent (“I believe in my fellow citizens. Our headlines are splashed with crime yet for every criminal there are 10,000 honest, decent, kindly men. If it were not so, no child would live to grow up. Business could not go on from day to day. (...) I believe in the unseen and unending fight against desperate odds that goes on quietly in almost every home in the land. I believe in the honest craft of workmen. (...) I believe that almost all politicians are honest ... there are hundreds of politicians, low paid or not paid at all, doing their level best without thanks or glory to make our system work. (...) And finally, I believe in my whole race. Yellow, white, black, red, brown. In the honesty, courage, intelligence, durability, and goodness of the overwhelming majority of my brothers and sisters everywhere on this planet. I am proud to be a human being.”) and (b) that “we have come this far by the skin of our teeth. That we always make it just by the skin of our teeth, but that we will always make it. Survive. Endure. I believe that this hairless embryo with the aching, oversize brain case and the opposable thumb, this animal barely up from the apes will endure.”
I should have liked this much more than I did, that's for sure. Anyway...
October 2, 2024
Graeber and Wengrow wondered in The Dawn or Everything how it was possible that so much of North America was once covered by a clan system. If you decided your society didn’t serve your needs, you could walk for a hundred or a thousand miles, into worlds with a totally different governance structure and language family and means of food production, and still be welcomed as a person of the Bear and find your place in the world.
And more importantly, they wondered: how did we lose that flexibility? When did we get stuck?
Hopeland shows us people who kept that alternative alive. A hundred thousand person family that treat each other as family: you believe what you believe and you do what you do, but you are family and you show up at my doorstep and you are part of my life now. And I commit to you and your goals.
In the beautiful world of Hopeland, this sentiment ripples outward to affect many people, and give us hope in the climate crisis, and shape the fates of entire peoples.
It is a lovely and important philosophy. The prose presents it strangely, maybe—I love that the people are still flawed and pained, there is no absolute solution here. But there is a lot of choppiness, even in 600 pages, moving across a lifetime and a world map in weirdly small chapters. Perhaps I will experience it again in two or three long chunks of reading; I think it would give a more satisfying experience that way.
And more importantly, they wondered: how did we lose that flexibility? When did we get stuck?
Hopeland shows us people who kept that alternative alive. A hundred thousand person family that treat each other as family: you believe what you believe and you do what you do, but you are family and you show up at my doorstep and you are part of my life now. And I commit to you and your goals.
In the beautiful world of Hopeland, this sentiment ripples outward to affect many people, and give us hope in the climate crisis, and shape the fates of entire peoples.
It is a lovely and important philosophy. The prose presents it strangely, maybe—I love that the people are still flawed and pained, there is no absolute solution here. But there is a lot of choppiness, even in 600 pages, moving across a lifetime and a world map in weirdly small chapters. Perhaps I will experience it again in two or three long chunks of reading; I think it would give a more satisfying experience that way.
May 27, 2023
This is a book full of wonderful ideas, prose, characters, but it is also a slog to get through.
It’s not quite a novel, more like a collection of micro narratives with recurring themes and characters, the whole thing connected together mostly by the passage of time.
There is a beginning, a middle and an end, but the beginning is too slow, the middle devoid of significance and the end is too long in coming.
As a novel it simply doesn’t quite work, a discussion of pacing seems almost besides the point. Overall it’s never quite clear why you should care.
All that being said, it has a quiet, patient music all of its own that I think will stay with me for a while. It’s not a waste of time, but it asks much of the reader and gives back only slowly and on its own terms.
It’s not quite a novel, more like a collection of micro narratives with recurring themes and characters, the whole thing connected together mostly by the passage of time.
There is a beginning, a middle and an end, but the beginning is too slow, the middle devoid of significance and the end is too long in coming.
As a novel it simply doesn’t quite work, a discussion of pacing seems almost besides the point. Overall it’s never quite clear why you should care.
All that being said, it has a quiet, patient music all of its own that I think will stay with me for a while. It’s not a waste of time, but it asks much of the reader and gives back only slowly and on its own terms.
February 6, 2024
Pretentious. Ponderous. Long. Sweeping. I started this what feels like a long time ago, according to goodreads it was almost 4 months ago. I read 60 pages and put it down. I picked this back up a couple of days ago. There is a lot in here. Long time. Climate change. Climate migration. Definition of family. Of gender. I read somewhere that this book was started twenty years ago, I haven't been able to confirm whether that was true. The book definitely changes. And then changes again. And again. Mostly we follow the two started with. Raisa and Amon. Presumably this could have been edited down. Presumably the arcmagery and tesla coils were extra. And this didn't completely work.
April 29, 2023
At 3/4 of the way through I have only briefly cared about anyone or anything the author has presented. The stakes are clearly supposed to be massive and yet are massively unclear. Every now and then a beautiful idea appears, and then we run way from it. I have loved some past Ian McDonald books, but this one put him on the "buy only at a discount" list. DNF.
Read
January 22, 202323 years in the writing. The first section is all London riots, Tesla coils and eccentric families. When you get past that you’re presented with a visceral and dramatic novel about the anthropocene and climate refugees. Recommended.
January 20, 2023
Incredible.
February 3, 2023
Coming off the back of Ian’s Luna Trilogy – a sort of Game of Thrones on the Moon – I was really looking forward to another complex and intelligent science fiction novel.
Hopeland is certainly that – a big story of a secret community, with an emphasis on relationships not bound by geographic boundaries or time.
As I expected, the prose is lyrical and dense, at times mimicking James Joyce in its near-stream of consciousness, referencing pop culture and complex ideas often in the same sentence. It is also wide-ranging, going from London to Polynesia and Iceland, amongst other places. It is definitely a book you need to focus on.
There are also some wonderfully invented ideas too – whether it be electromages or Euston, Ian describes things in considerable detail and with great enthusiasm. It is a well-thought-out novel. My immediate thoughts were that it reminded me of Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere in its visual descriptions and Michael Moorcock’s Dancers at the End of Time or even the character of Jerry Cornelius in its joyous enthusiasm.
For all that I can see Hopeland as perhaps being Ian’s best work – and I am sure that there will be other readers who love it – I liked it, rather than loved it. Frankly, there were times where it became a slog, where I just wanted the plot to get on with it.
Midway through I found myself intimidated by the book’s length, the dense prose, the randomness of the plot, the number of characters. I found many of the characters stubbornly unmemorable, and worse, there were times when I didn’t care what happened to them, or the situations they were in.
And for all of its detail and flair, its complexity and its widescreen vision. at the end, having read it, I doubt I will ever go back to it, even when I can see it being nominated for - and winning – future awards.
In short, I had high hopes for Hopeland, but in the end I felt strangely deflated.
But I do look forward to his next one!
Hopeland is certainly that – a big story of a secret community, with an emphasis on relationships not bound by geographic boundaries or time.
As I expected, the prose is lyrical and dense, at times mimicking James Joyce in its near-stream of consciousness, referencing pop culture and complex ideas often in the same sentence. It is also wide-ranging, going from London to Polynesia and Iceland, amongst other places. It is definitely a book you need to focus on.
There are also some wonderfully invented ideas too – whether it be electromages or Euston, Ian describes things in considerable detail and with great enthusiasm. It is a well-thought-out novel. My immediate thoughts were that it reminded me of Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere in its visual descriptions and Michael Moorcock’s Dancers at the End of Time or even the character of Jerry Cornelius in its joyous enthusiasm.
For all that I can see Hopeland as perhaps being Ian’s best work – and I am sure that there will be other readers who love it – I liked it, rather than loved it. Frankly, there were times where it became a slog, where I just wanted the plot to get on with it.
Midway through I found myself intimidated by the book’s length, the dense prose, the randomness of the plot, the number of characters. I found many of the characters stubbornly unmemorable, and worse, there were times when I didn’t care what happened to them, or the situations they were in.
And for all of its detail and flair, its complexity and its widescreen vision. at the end, having read it, I doubt I will ever go back to it, even when I can see it being nominated for - and winning – future awards.
In short, I had high hopes for Hopeland, but in the end I felt strangely deflated.
But I do look forward to his next one!
March 18, 2023
Hopeland is a fierce storm of a book, a story on an epic scale - covering thousands of miles and centuries of time, and also satisfying chunky in the hand. Yet it still has plenty of space for the personal and the small. No, it is the personal and the small - used to tell a big story.
We begin in 2011 as riots engulf London. Amon Brightborne - aka Tweed Boy - a young Irish musician from a wealthy, old established family, is booked for a select gig but unable to find the address. Instead he find Raisa Peri Antares Hopeland - or perhaps she finds him. Raisa is engaged on a sort of parkour selection challenge against the shadowy Finn, the winner to receive a sought-after role in the extended Hopeland clan. Each is to cross London, one from the north, one from the south, not deviating more than 50 metres from an invisible line, the aim being to reach a certain rooftop first. And Raisa is losing - until she enlists Amon to help.
And there, at one level, you have it - like a system of three stars in motion, Raisa, Amon and Finn will weave complex, unpredictable paths through two decades and more, and their perturbations will ring down the centuries. That's the book. At another level of course we have only just begun. We will learn about the Hopelands - a chaotic, sprawling "family" ('Don't fall in love with my family!') which anybody can join, across time, space and cultures and which has its own centres, or 'hearths' everywhere, its own ways of doing things, even its own religion. We will also learn about the Brightbornes, a formidably eccentric clan whose house can't be found unless somebody shows you. Some magic there, surely, but it's matters of fact magic.
When Brightbornes encounter Hopelands, what might happen?
The setting in which that encounter takes place is a world that's increasingly restive as weather, populations and trends are increasingly disrupted by climate change. The book takes us to Iceland, to Greenland, to the Pacific kingdom of Ava'u and to points in between as humanity struggles to move into its future. I might use the term "sprawling" for this book except that might imply something less disciplined and focussed than Hopeland actually is. Better perhaps to say that McDonald is happy to set things off in one direction, then jump several years and three continents to pick up the story elsewhere, trusting the reader to make the leap with him - which I always did, not least because of the gorgeous writing and command of emotion and pace that Hopeland displays.
I'm not going to quote bits to illustrate that, I don't know where I'd even begin, you just have to read this and experience the rhythms, the lists (THE LISTS! They are nothing short of poetry!) the almost sneaky way the text comes back to the same point from different directions, the range of reference (McDonald calmly suggests that the word "Padowan" used in Star Wars lore for an apprentice may actually have been lifted from the Hopelands...) The book is like a feast and simply gives so much (my favourite section perhaps being the one where a whisky soaked and self pitying Amon, exiled in Ava'u like a figure out of Jospeh Conrad, or perhaps Graham Greene, becomes involved in political chicanery, a subplot that many writers would base a whole book around).
What else? Corporate and geopolitical shenanigans, the squabbles of gods and an element of possible fantasy or magic that is very much part of the texture of the story but kept as subsidiary theme. Again, any other author I can think of would make 'electromancers' fighting duels with Tesla coils across the rooftops, and declaring themselves the protectors of London, the centre of the story. Or else the cursed family with its own haunting spirit. Or... Instead, here those things are real and important but very far from being at the centre of things, rather they deepen and add weight to what is a glorious, complex and engaging story, one that creates an entrancing world of its own and one that it is simply a joy to visit.
And McDonald dares not to give answers to some of the mysteries here. It's just the way things are, alongside all the other marvels of Hopeland - the water driven musical engine playing its thousand year melody, for example. In short, Hopeland is a book that simply draws one in, a wonderful book full of so much. I strongly recommend it.
We begin in 2011 as riots engulf London. Amon Brightborne - aka Tweed Boy - a young Irish musician from a wealthy, old established family, is booked for a select gig but unable to find the address. Instead he find Raisa Peri Antares Hopeland - or perhaps she finds him. Raisa is engaged on a sort of parkour selection challenge against the shadowy Finn, the winner to receive a sought-after role in the extended Hopeland clan. Each is to cross London, one from the north, one from the south, not deviating more than 50 metres from an invisible line, the aim being to reach a certain rooftop first. And Raisa is losing - until she enlists Amon to help.
And there, at one level, you have it - like a system of three stars in motion, Raisa, Amon and Finn will weave complex, unpredictable paths through two decades and more, and their perturbations will ring down the centuries. That's the book. At another level of course we have only just begun. We will learn about the Hopelands - a chaotic, sprawling "family" ('Don't fall in love with my family!') which anybody can join, across time, space and cultures and which has its own centres, or 'hearths' everywhere, its own ways of doing things, even its own religion. We will also learn about the Brightbornes, a formidably eccentric clan whose house can't be found unless somebody shows you. Some magic there, surely, but it's matters of fact magic.
When Brightbornes encounter Hopelands, what might happen?
The setting in which that encounter takes place is a world that's increasingly restive as weather, populations and trends are increasingly disrupted by climate change. The book takes us to Iceland, to Greenland, to the Pacific kingdom of Ava'u and to points in between as humanity struggles to move into its future. I might use the term "sprawling" for this book except that might imply something less disciplined and focussed than Hopeland actually is. Better perhaps to say that McDonald is happy to set things off in one direction, then jump several years and three continents to pick up the story elsewhere, trusting the reader to make the leap with him - which I always did, not least because of the gorgeous writing and command of emotion and pace that Hopeland displays.
I'm not going to quote bits to illustrate that, I don't know where I'd even begin, you just have to read this and experience the rhythms, the lists (THE LISTS! They are nothing short of poetry!) the almost sneaky way the text comes back to the same point from different directions, the range of reference (McDonald calmly suggests that the word "Padowan" used in Star Wars lore for an apprentice may actually have been lifted from the Hopelands...) The book is like a feast and simply gives so much (my favourite section perhaps being the one where a whisky soaked and self pitying Amon, exiled in Ava'u like a figure out of Jospeh Conrad, or perhaps Graham Greene, becomes involved in political chicanery, a subplot that many writers would base a whole book around).
What else? Corporate and geopolitical shenanigans, the squabbles of gods and an element of possible fantasy or magic that is very much part of the texture of the story but kept as subsidiary theme. Again, any other author I can think of would make 'electromancers' fighting duels with Tesla coils across the rooftops, and declaring themselves the protectors of London, the centre of the story. Or else the cursed family with its own haunting spirit. Or... Instead, here those things are real and important but very far from being at the centre of things, rather they deepen and add weight to what is a glorious, complex and engaging story, one that creates an entrancing world of its own and one that it is simply a joy to visit.
And McDonald dares not to give answers to some of the mysteries here. It's just the way things are, alongside all the other marvels of Hopeland - the water driven musical engine playing its thousand year melody, for example. In short, Hopeland is a book that simply draws one in, a wonderful book full of so much. I strongly recommend it.
February 10, 2024
3,5. Bardzo ciekawe połącznie steampunka i SF bliskiego zasięgu, z istotnymi wątkami muzycznymi (między innymi). Koncepcyjna różnorodność jest jednak imponująca na krótką metę, na dłuższą poszczególne wątki i motywy trochę zjadają się nawzajem. Niemniej, było to bardzo ciekawe doświadczenie czytelnicze.
Lektura Hopelandii okazała się przeżyciem fascynującym i frustrującym zarazem. Ponoć ta powieść powstawała przez wiele lat, co stanowi pewne wyjaśnienie jej wewnętrznej niejednorodności. Ale niewystarczające, przynajmniej w moim odczuciu. O ile tekst ma w sobie sporą dawkę chaosu, to ja swoje czytelnicze refleksje spróbuję mimo wszystko uporządkować.
Przede wszystkim mamy tu do czynienia z kilkoma odrębnymi opowieściami, z których każda ma własną stylistykę. Już to może być dezorientujące, zwłaszcza dla czytelnika przywykłego do obcowania z literaturą gatunkową i w przypadku tego autora nastawionego na otrzymanie SF. Zanim bowiem zacznie się SF bliskiego zasięgu, mocno zanurzone w kontekście nieuchronnych zmian klimatu, dostajemy steampunkowe love story, splecione z wątkami magii elektryczności i czaru wieczystej muzyki. Z szeroko otwartymi oczami śledzimy pojedynek o cewkę Tesli między dwojgiem elektromancerów, koligatów w ramach przedziwnego quasirodzinnego tworu, opartego na wyborze przynależności, a nie na więzach krwi, jaki stanowi tytułowy klan Hopelandów. W ten pojedynek całkiem przypadkowo zostaje wmieszany Amon, młody muzyk, który natyka się na Raisę Hopeland w trakcie wyścigu po londyńskich dachach.
Ten początek ma w sobie niesamowity magnetyzm i dlatego tym bardziej szkoda, że oba te niezwykłe wątki - elektromancerów i naznaczonej przekleństwem Łaski rodziny Amona - bardzo szybko schodzą na dalszy plan. Autor wraca do nich na moment, gdy jest mu to fabularnie potrzebne.
Cała reszta to SF bliskiego zasięgu, w której pierwszoplanowe role odgrywają kwestie transformacji energetycznej, klimatycznego uchodźctwa i jego politycznych konsekwencji, przetrwania niewielkiej wyspiarskiej społeczności, którego ceną okazuje się rezygnacja z narodowej tożsamości. Wszystko to są kwestie bardzo ciekawe i ważkie, podobnie jak problem niejednoznacznej genderowo tożsamości płciowej (Hopelandowie także do tej kwestii mają nieortodoksyjne podejście - ich dzieci są po prostu dziećmi, póki same nie dorosną do tego, by określić, kim chcą być - chłopcami czy dziewczynami).
Niemniej, jedna część do drugiej średnio przystaje konstrukcyjnie, mówiąc łagodnie. Co samo w sobie nie dyskwalifikuje całości, bo nikt nie mówi, że powieść musi być ortodoksyjna formalnie. Ale mam wrażenie, że na tym niezdecydowaniu cierpi kreacja postaci (poza Raisą, która oba wątki splata, i pojawiającą się na późniejszym etapie leiti Kimmie, której indywidualność jest bardzo silna).
W efekcie całość mogę podsumować jako interesującą i niezłą, ale zdecydowanie bardziej doceniam pomysły i wątki niż samo wykonanie. Niemniej, ta powieść, zarówno z uwagi na poruszone tematy, jak i strukturę, niewątpliwie pasuje do założeń Uczty Wyobraźni.
Lektura Hopelandii okazała się przeżyciem fascynującym i frustrującym zarazem. Ponoć ta powieść powstawała przez wiele lat, co stanowi pewne wyjaśnienie jej wewnętrznej niejednorodności. Ale niewystarczające, przynajmniej w moim odczuciu. O ile tekst ma w sobie sporą dawkę chaosu, to ja swoje czytelnicze refleksje spróbuję mimo wszystko uporządkować.
Przede wszystkim mamy tu do czynienia z kilkoma odrębnymi opowieściami, z których każda ma własną stylistykę. Już to może być dezorientujące, zwłaszcza dla czytelnika przywykłego do obcowania z literaturą gatunkową i w przypadku tego autora nastawionego na otrzymanie SF. Zanim bowiem zacznie się SF bliskiego zasięgu, mocno zanurzone w kontekście nieuchronnych zmian klimatu, dostajemy steampunkowe love story, splecione z wątkami magii elektryczności i czaru wieczystej muzyki. Z szeroko otwartymi oczami śledzimy pojedynek o cewkę Tesli między dwojgiem elektromancerów, koligatów w ramach przedziwnego quasirodzinnego tworu, opartego na wyborze przynależności, a nie na więzach krwi, jaki stanowi tytułowy klan Hopelandów. W ten pojedynek całkiem przypadkowo zostaje wmieszany Amon, młody muzyk, który natyka się na Raisę Hopeland w trakcie wyścigu po londyńskich dachach.
Ten początek ma w sobie niesamowity magnetyzm i dlatego tym bardziej szkoda, że oba te niezwykłe wątki - elektromancerów i naznaczonej przekleństwem Łaski rodziny Amona - bardzo szybko schodzą na dalszy plan. Autor wraca do nich na moment, gdy jest mu to fabularnie potrzebne.
Cała reszta to SF bliskiego zasięgu, w której pierwszoplanowe role odgrywają kwestie transformacji energetycznej, klimatycznego uchodźctwa i jego politycznych konsekwencji, przetrwania niewielkiej wyspiarskiej społeczności, którego ceną okazuje się rezygnacja z narodowej tożsamości. Wszystko to są kwestie bardzo ciekawe i ważkie, podobnie jak problem niejednoznacznej genderowo tożsamości płciowej (Hopelandowie także do tej kwestii mają nieortodoksyjne podejście - ich dzieci są po prostu dziećmi, póki same nie dorosną do tego, by określić, kim chcą być - chłopcami czy dziewczynami).
Niemniej, jedna część do drugiej średnio przystaje konstrukcyjnie, mówiąc łagodnie. Co samo w sobie nie dyskwalifikuje całości, bo nikt nie mówi, że powieść musi być ortodoksyjna formalnie. Ale mam wrażenie, że na tym niezdecydowaniu cierpi kreacja postaci (poza Raisą, która oba wątki splata, i pojawiającą się na późniejszym etapie leiti Kimmie, której indywidualność jest bardzo silna).
W efekcie całość mogę podsumować jako interesującą i niezłą, ale zdecydowanie bardziej doceniam pomysły i wątki niż samo wykonanie. Niemniej, ta powieść, zarówno z uwagi na poruszone tematy, jak i strukturę, niewątpliwie pasuje do założeń Uczty Wyobraźni.
Read
July 31, 2024This, I started three times before getting into it properly. All it took was a camping holiday, apparently! It is essentially science fantasy, speculative problem-solving fiction in the Kim Stanley Robinson vein with an added hit of urban fantastic in the form of “electromancy”. It takes a long time for the plot, which is about the repatriation in Greenland of a Polynesian island nation that loses its lands to climate crisis, to kick in. Perhaps this is because all is filtered through the eyes of our protagonists, Raisa and Amon, who have personal romantic history and who assist in the repatriation effort from either end. McDonald is good at not making this a tale of white or Western saviourism, though; the Greenlanders, who have become sovereign, hold real political power and at one point force the USA into compliance, while the hereditary monarch of the Ava’u archipelago leads her people with courage, dignity, and tenacity. In some ways, the fantasy elements pull against the speculative ones; I’m not sure we needed the tension between the Grace (Amon’s inherited good luck) and its Price (he brings disaster to everyone around him), for example, or the amount of detail we get on an electromantic battle, which seems to exist in plot terms pretty much entirely so that characters later have the skills needed to calm a storm. All that said, though, McDonald is a super-compelling writer. Hopeland is perhaps a kind of solarpunk, a vision of the world where we actually pull together and fix some things, and as that, it’s an achievement.
February 7, 2024
4.5 stars
'Hopeland' is the sort of book we need so much in these troubled and fractious times. It dares to imagine connections beyond the tired violent tribalism of nation states. What if there were connections that supplanted and superseded those, which were on a person to person level rather than one mediated by representatives or tyrants who come to believe their own mythologies?
'Hopeland' does this by following the trials and trepidations of two souls. Of Raisa Hopeland and Amon Brightbourne. And their families. There are curses and boons aplenty. There is electricity and Tesla coils where the lightning is summoned and controlled.
The reader navigates the twined stories which, whilst they may start off in London (though on the rooftops in a riot), afterward they take us to many unexamined places. To Iceland and to a melting Greenland. Through climate change and vegetable growing business startups to reforestation. To harnessing the energy of volcanoes. And also to the islands of the South Pacific and the threat of devastation caused by an ur-cyclone in the fictional country of Ava‘u (based on Tonga). And all of these unusual families have diverse ways of living and building their connections. And it is joyful and hopeful.
As Raisa on at least one occasion warns her suitor. 'Don't fall in love with my family'. It is enough to fall in love with this book.
'Hopeland' is the sort of book we need so much in these troubled and fractious times. It dares to imagine connections beyond the tired violent tribalism of nation states. What if there were connections that supplanted and superseded those, which were on a person to person level rather than one mediated by representatives or tyrants who come to believe their own mythologies?
'Hopeland' does this by following the trials and trepidations of two souls. Of Raisa Hopeland and Amon Brightbourne. And their families. There are curses and boons aplenty. There is electricity and Tesla coils where the lightning is summoned and controlled.
The reader navigates the twined stories which, whilst they may start off in London (though on the rooftops in a riot), afterward they take us to many unexamined places. To Iceland and to a melting Greenland. Through climate change and vegetable growing business startups to reforestation. To harnessing the energy of volcanoes. And also to the islands of the South Pacific and the threat of devastation caused by an ur-cyclone in the fictional country of Ava‘u (based on Tonga). And all of these unusual families have diverse ways of living and building their connections. And it is joyful and hopeful.
As Raisa on at least one occasion warns her suitor. 'Don't fall in love with my family'. It is enough to fall in love with this book.
February 7, 2023
This was such an interesting sci-fi read! I’ve been reading a bit more sci-fi books lately and I thought this was a pretty good one. I really liked the author’s writing style and I liked the characters in this book. There were times where this book felt a bit long, but overall it’s a good one that I think sci-fi lovers should enjoy 😊
September 30, 2024
Absolutely brilliant novel that justifies the many many pages with a fascinating story and characters. I was very confused in the early pages and often doubted that it could be worth sticking with this thing that was wrenching my left wrist whenever I picked it up. Put on a wrist brace and fully committed to what may be McDonald's masterpiece. Obviously the product of years of research into cultures, myth and the sciences it stuck in my head and wouldn't let go. All the passion and prediction in the near future was leavened by McDonald's sweet heart and wit, with at least one perfect Laugh Out Loud (thanks to the book designer). This one goes on the shelf next to the Luna series.
February 26, 2023
Part secret history urban fantasy, part near future SF, all written in wonderful prose, how this book starts is not where it ends. It’s a picaresque novel of climate change, taking us from the South Pacific to Greenland, via a riot torn London and a sprawling Irish family estate that isn’t always there. Deep and complex, but powered by likeable and well drawn characters, it’s quite the journey, and one you will not regret taking. Has to be in the conversation when awards time comes round.
May 11, 2023
I love the way it starts with a “hidden London” trope but surpasses all expectations with its tilt into a beautifully written exploration of joyous survival in the Anthropocene
June 16, 2024
Beautiful connection of magic, physics, engineering and our social challenges embedded in climate crisis, crypto and cultural issues. You see, you get the full package of SF+F
July 19, 2023
What a wonderful book. I've liked McDonald since his Luna series, and when I saw that he had a new book out, I had to give it a try.
This takes several threads and concepts from other recent books and spins them in a different way. You have some of the social organization ideas from the Terra Ignota series, and what feels to me like a definite influence of Kim Stanley Robinson's utopian near future ecofiction. It's all spun together with a little touch of magic, and some exploration of parts of the world that most people are less familiar with. I love how it deals with gender, and climate change.
I also love some of the digs at some recent trendy technologies like crypto. It treats them with the suspicion that they deserve.
Altogether an engrossing read.
This takes several threads and concepts from other recent books and spins them in a different way. You have some of the social organization ideas from the Terra Ignota series, and what feels to me like a definite influence of Kim Stanley Robinson's utopian near future ecofiction. It's all spun together with a little touch of magic, and some exploration of parts of the world that most people are less familiar with. I love how it deals with gender, and climate change.
I also love some of the digs at some recent trendy technologies like crypto. It treats them with the suspicion that they deserve.
Altogether an engrossing read.
January 21, 2024
I think the best way to summarise this is that is it showing how two very different families, each with their own obsession, try to find a way to prosper in a turbulent 21st Century. The Hopelands are trying to build a multinational 'family' where kinship is based on choosing to join the family rather than any biological connection while the Brightbournes are trying to create things that will last for generations. Throughout the book there is a love triangle between members of the two families, I think the actual question of who ends up together is not the interesting part of the book but it does drive most of the plot due to the characters taking inspiration from each other's families. As the book goes on an increasing amount of it is focused on the impact of climate change, particularly on the Arctic and the Pacific Islands, with the Pacific plotline becoming the most compelling part of the story. It is a long book with a lot happening in it, including some occasional fantasy elements, but I thought it did justify the long length.
September 4, 2023
We don’t look at time right. We’re chronologically lopsided. We can think about millions of years in the past but not millions of years in the future. We can think about the age of the dinosaurs, or the Romans, but we can’t push our minds two thousand years ahead, let alone millions... We can think about the time when we were not, but we can’t think about the time when we will not be. [loc. 1726]
Hopeland begins in Soho during the London riots of 2011 and ends in Greenland in 2033. Or perhaps in Eirin (once Ireland) in 2981. Or perhaps it does not end.
Amon Brightbourne is a particular kind of composer, his creations a mosaic of found sound and samples, tailored for an audience of one. In the summer of 2011 he's trying to find the gig he's meant to be playing at, but instead he meets Raisa Peri Antares Hopeland, a member of Hopeland, which is 'a nation within all nations, a religion with no belief, a family with no marriage': effectively, a non-geographic nation. Raisa is competing with another Hopelander, Finn, to find a mystical artifact, which turns out to be a gigantic Tesla coil: whoever brings it to life will become an Arcmage, an Electromancer. Amon is captivated, even before Raisa introduces him to Hopeland: but when Raisa visits Brightbourne itself and discovers the secret of Amon's improbable luck -- his Grace -- she flees.
Raisa heads north, to Iceland; Amon heads south, to Ava'u, a Polynesian island group (where, a century before, the founder of Hopeland began to think about self-selecting families.) There he plays music, meets princesses, and encounters the redoubtable Kimmie Pangaimotu. Amon's life is one of quiet melancholy, until reality crashes into him in the form of Hurricane Velma. Ava'u becomes a climate-orphaned nation on the move, and it heads north -- with, in a uniquely McDonald flourish, its ancient gods in tow, tethered by a weather balloon.
Which is nothing like all of the story, but enough to give you a taste of its blend of steampunk, fantasy and climate-crisis SF. Only a taste, because there is so much here: William Blake and Peter Ackroyd; volcanos and constellations; the KLF and a musical composition that lasts a thousand years; the Hopeland kids that don't have a gender until they're ready to choose and the fakaleiti Kimmie who's chosen a gender at odds with the sex she was assigned at birth; ephemeral enthusiasms and deep time; and storms, storms everywhere, tropical and Arctic, stronger by the year.
Climate change is real.
It took me a while to appreciate the balance between Amon, with his Grace, and Raisa the Unfinisher. (Despite one element of the conclusion, I'm not convinced that Finn is an equal part of the balance.) Amon and Raisa, between them, create a possible future that's more hopeful than anyone in the earlier chapters of the novel could reasonably expect: and in the final chapter, 'All is Full of Love', we see the fullness of the world(s) they have brought into being. Not alone -- it takes a nation -- but not without them.
The future described in this novel is not always bright, but Hopeland finds joy even in the darkest of times. McDonald's prose is often exuberant, sometimes lyrical, and has as many registers as the perpetuum mobile of Brightbourne's Music. I loved this novel and found it tremendously cheering. You can see for centuries from here, and the view is a delight.
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May 7, 2024I picked this on Octothorpe 109, out Thursday 9 May.
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