Might be the only Tchaikovsky I’ve read so far that is not entirely bleak in its conception of the human race, so that’s a new one. Other than that … what’s there to say? It’s a solid little book. It’s just … kinda lazy? I feel like Tchaikovsky is better than this; this is him taking a not terribly novel genre, and giving us his not super creative take on it, but because he’s just a good author, the result is still nice enough.
The part that I liked most was none of the obvious science fantasy shebang; it was how Tchaikovsky describes depression. Because, yes, very much like that. Nearly pushed the whole thing up to four stars, might actually do so once I re-read it for book club soon.
This book is part of the 2022 Backlog Incident.
