The sight which greeted her was so incredible that the breath stalled in her throat.
The Brobdingnagian conclusion to a Brobdingnagian trilogy.
Just finishing this is an accomplishment (tap on shoulder). If you manage to make it through the trilogy you will have read more than 1.1 million words (this instalment alone contains more than 400,000 words and weighs in at almost 1,300 pages). Relevance? Well, if you are going to be spending so bloody long reading a SF trilogy it had better be damn good!
As challenging as it was to read all of this, I have to marvel at the mental fortitude required (or whatever one would call it) to write something like the Night’s Dawn. This is a huge story with characters, factions, races, ideas and tech enough to fill encyclopedias. While predominantly a Space Opera (albeit with scientific flourishes) it contains elements of Horror and even Fantasy. I simply couldn’t read the novels back to back (it would probably have rendered me catatonic), but I possibly missed out because of this. A few characters I simply didn’t remember, even though their storylines were clearly carried over from the previous books.
Dark wings slowly spread wide, sweeping eagerly, sending motes of interplanetary dust swirling in his wake. He shook his neck, blinking huge red eyes, flexing his talons. In this state, he was perfectly at one with himself and life.
As edgy as this story is (and it’s pretty damn edgy), Hamilton still manages to casually chuck in sense of wonder elements that will take your breath away. From artefacts to parallel dimensions, and a whole lot in between, it’s as if he was bent on seeing how far he could push the boundaries of (cosmic) plausibility, while retaining the focus on a character driven narrative, and without neglecting the basic plot. Often, with big idea Sci-Fi, characters take back seat, but not so here. In fact, it’s the very act of trying to indulge both aspects (plot/ideas vs characters) that bloats these books so much (for better or worse).
[It] exploded out of the top of the lift shaft at near-sonic velocity, a comet of anti-light.
During the course of the trilogy I was horrified, awed, perplexed, anxious, stunned, thrilled, [add synonym / antonym of choice here] …in equal measure. Arguably, by this point I was getting a bit fed up with all the “possessed” politics and brouhaha. After thousands of pages depicting the abuse and violation of their host bodies, their justifications just ring empty (“It’s because they’re lonely”, “it’s because they want to feel something” – pffft). Also, unremittingly omnipotent antagonists make for frustrating and futile reading. Anyway, the author touches on some philosophical questions regarding the nature of “souls” and religion etc. The reality dysfunction isn’t an external threat, it’s a good hard look at what it means to be human.
Occasionally the grimness crosses a line (this holds true for the whole series). The author does a good job of glossing over dressing up what is essentially a pretty unsettling and uneasy premise, but some of what happened in the overall story just gave me the creepy crawlies, and not always in a good way. An obvious issue: IT’S.DAMN.LONG. I suffer from attention drift and I really struggled not to let everything fall apart in my mind like a bag of marbles torn open. Some sequences dragged a bit which is a cardinal sin in a novel of this length.
Real worry began to seep into [his] thoughts. It was the visitor who was causing this part of the affliction. Almost an anti-presence, soaking up life and heat like some hazy event horizon. This was alien at its extreme.
One of my favourite sequences (by far) detailed the search for the Sleeping God, which is essentially a journey across and beyond the Orion arm of the galaxy with some awesome visual descriptions and a few gobsmacking revelations. The whole thing is an exercise in extremes: the exciting bits are very exciting, the grim bits are very grim, and when the novel slows down it stands completely still (the philosophical meanderings won’t be to everybody’s taste). In the end, I do believe that the whole trilogy is still a remarkable achievement, especially in its world building and sprawling scope. I would recommend it to people who are serious about their Space Opera, but with two provisos: (1) these books, and this last one in particular, are ridiculously thick, so reading stamina is required and (2) there is a certain amount of dark and ugly uneasy in here which you will need to process.
[He] saw it then, a delicate haze of light, like God had wet his thumb and smeared a star across the canvas of space.
Inevitably, the resolutions at the end were never going to be to everybody’s liking. However, there’s no denying the spectacle of the main event. Is it Deux Ex Machina? To qualify, it needs to be a previous unknown, and yet there has been foreshadowing from book 1. In fact, the climax is the conclusion of one of the main storylines of this novel. So, not necessarily god-in-the-machine, by definition, but it's the way it happens that gets you. I will concede, it is OTT in the extreme, and it does sort of make everything moot. Leaving us to ponder the question: what was the point of all this? Ah, but there’s the rub. Looking forward and not backward.
Right out on the very edge of visibility, there was a perturbation in the curtain of darkness. Faint shadow-shapes moved sinuously, the surface distortion of something stirring deep inside.