Alefret is just another prisoner in the long-running war between Varkal and Med’ariz. The problem is he’s been imprisoned by his own side for starting a pacifist movement in the Empire of Varkal. After losing his leg to a Varkalligan bomb, a mad scientist is experimenting on him when he’s given an opportunity to experience freedom once again. His chance? Infiltrating the enemy’s own resistance group in their flying capital city while being escorted by the bloodthirsty war hero Qhudur. He could refuse and live his life medically tortured, but he might have a chance to end the war. His celebrity may be a weapon, but it could also be a saving grace for the many who still suffer the effects of the war. But can he stand the strain on his principles to do it?
As much as I loved the story and the characters in The Siege of Burning Grass, they can only exist as strongly as they do because of Mohamed’s writing. There is a cadence to every sentence that lends a ferocity to the work that commands the reader’s attention. It has a very clear and distinct voice, giving it a looming gothic horror vibe. Mohamed builds a crescendo throughout the whole book, mimicking a Shepard tone, never releasing a bit of tension. Even the end of each chapter does not offer any respite as they are often finalized with a lack of consciousness, waking up into a different hell. The only thing that stands a chance against the onslaught of Mohamed’s prose is the dialogue, but even then, these are not areas of reprieve. Instead, they are short, sparse, often terse conversations on the nature of the character’s predicament. Bleak would be an easy word to describe the overall atmosphere of the book, but there is an oddly hopeful streak to the constant defeat of absolute pacifism. More on that later.
Mohamed continues to dazzle me with her character pairings. Alefret is a huge man, disabled and missing a leg from a bomb dropped by his own side in the war. He is a giant with a frame built for war but a heart and mind nurtured for peace, though he is a little passive. Qhudur is the ultimate soldier, mainlining his country’s propaganda, and carried forward by his achievements and lust to be the one to end the war. Alefret and Qhudur will never see eye to eye, and while Alefret is resigned to Qhudur’s fanaticism, Qhudur actively despises Alefret, constantly referring to him as a monster. Their conversations are short and to the point as if Qhudur can barely stand to hear Alefret’s voice, though his mission hinges entirely on Alefret continuing to live. It’s a match made in heaven, and Mohamed plays it perfectly. Neither really tries to turn the other, they are both creatures of habit and two different philosophies. Instead, they act as counterarguments, constantly goading each other, finding weaknesses in each other’s sides. It’s weirdly solemn, almost as if they are both tired of having to fight each other, but they do it anyway, they can’t help themselves.
The setting and world is both haunting and magnificent. There are hints of what the world was like before the war between the Meddon and Varkalligan, but that past feels so far away. Everything is a wasteland, and despite the purportedly large size of the empire, it feels burnt out. Alefret and Qhudur wander a vast emptiness, rarely encountering another group of people. When they do, more often than not someone dies, removing what little life remains. The levels of technology between the warring powers is clear, and the numbers are also clear, but both sides feel exhausted, much like Alefret and Qhudur. They will fight to the death for no other reason than they have to. One side must win, and whatever strategy will get them there will be played out.
Some of the themes that Mohamed explores mirror the final book in her trilogy, The Void Ascendant, but it has a different tinge to it. Alefret is a pacifist captured and sent to the other side’s resistance group to help end the war. Though he was the founder of the Pact, his group no longer seems to exist as it has been captured or killed by his government. He isn’t given a choice beyond help your nation succeed or die a long tortuous death for science. And since he abhors the loss of life, no matter the cause, he must persevere and try to maintain his principles despite it aiding one side in a war effort. His conversations revolve around his passive helplessness. How much is he aiding and abetting by joining this mission, by not killing Qhudur? How much can he possibly do on his own, taking no aggression against anyone, even those who threaten other life? His pairing with Qhudur highlights his failure as a member of the Pact, and though he seems haunted by it, there is a tinge of apathy towards it too. What can one man do against an empire? Qhudur stands in direct opposition as a man of action. Instead, he asks what can one man not do for empire. It’s a clever conflict that explores the impotence of both sides, and Mohamed cleverly dances around the argument in the book’s final moments, one that condemns both men, and both countries while offering a vague sensation of hope that spawns from Alefret’s interactions with others.
Even though I red this book in about three sittings, there is plenty more I can go on about. I could dig deep into the technology of each side, the empire’s relative position to each other (both in power and literal 3D space), and the myriad ways Mohamed congeals her themes. My only real complaint is that the ending comes at you a little faster than I was expecting. But even then, it makes sense, as the ending doesn’t seem to be the point. It’s hard not to see this book as of its time in the now, with the consistent presence of war and destruction in the news. If you haven’t picked up Mohamed’s work because the eldritch just isn’t for you, consider instead The Siege of Burning Grass if you want that hard-hitting, darker war fantasy ripe with character and oozing with prose.
Rating: The Siege of Burning Grass – Set up your tents, and make sure your supplies don’t run out as you go for the long haul.
-Alex
