n a world not ours, two lands coexist uneasily side by side. The nation of Altima seems to hold the upper hand in the international relationship. Technologically superior—to the extent of possessing primitive biplanes, radio, cars and similar early-1900s stuff—the rich nation relies on the natural resources and cheap labor of its neighbors, the largest of which is Bartokhrin. The culture of Bartokhrin is highly religious, rural and clannish. After centuries of being on the short end of the stick in their dealings with the Altimans, the denizens of Bartokhrin—or at least a forceful minority of them—have embarked on a terror campaign against Altima.
Using a religious ritual known as "mortiphas," the priests and terrorist leaders take willing volunteers and prime them with malign psychic energies, turning them into living bombs. These "Blessed Ones" are then sent to Altiman cities such as Victovia to wreak destruction.
It's in Victovia that one of our protagonists lives, the teenage boy named Chamus Aranson. Chamus harbors the normal interests of an average boy, with the desire to fly being his one outstanding trait. After all, his grandfather Thomex and his father Kellen were both great fliers, and the family business revolves around airplanes. But when his whole class is slaughtered by a terrorist attack, Chamus' life becomes warped, with revenge against Bartokhrin filling his mind.
Meanwhile, in Bartokhrin, we observe the life of the rebellious young girl named Riadni Mocranen. Paying token allegiance to the constrictions inhibiting females in her country, Riadni most enjoys tomboyish pursuits, such as riding her beloved horse, Rumbler. But when the terrorist faction known as Hadram Cassal sets up a training camp on her family ranch, with her father's reluctant permission, Riadni begins to be immersed in the problems of the larger world.
As Chamus and Riadni go about their separate lives, bigger events are in motion that will ensnare them. The Altimans intend to launch an inhuman attack on Bartokhrin, while the Hadram Cassal are out to destroy the pivotal Aranson clan and their crucial aircraft company. The paths of the two teenagers intersect when Chamus, on a training flight, makes a forced landing on Mocranen land. First encountering Riadni, the boy is soon on the run from the terrorists, with his only "friend" a girl who cannot understand Chamus' culture, thinks the city boy is a wimp and is direly conflicted about her own loyalties.
And not only their own fates are at stake, but those of both nations.
A balanced, suspenseful parable
This book is being marketed as part of Tor's "Teen Editions" line: in other words, as a Young Adult novel. Yet what a shame it would be if only that limited segment of the reading audience discovered its pleasures. There is nothing particularly "juvenile" about it, unless it be the age of its protagonists. (And since when did that criterion automatically make a book YA? Is the tale of Romeo and Juliet now YA as well?) In fact, this book remedies a lamentable lack in the SF genre: novels that attempt to deal with the post-9/11 landscape in a thoughtful fashion. It's actually shameful that a greater number of "adult" novels treating the same subject matter are not easier to adduce.
In any case, McGann pulls off his project tremendously well. Let's examine how he does so.
First, in the style of Ursula Le Guin, he creates truly tangible cultures that are just differently similar enough, or similarly different enough, to their real-world models to stand in for them while still generating the proper distancing effects that allow the reader to see an old situation in a new light. Altima is not the United States (or Israel), and Bartokhrin is not Afghanistan (or Saudi Arabia or Iraq or Iran). For instance, the deity worshipped by the Bartokhrins is Shanna, a female (although, ironically enough, Shanna's theology still results in female subjugation). And the Altiman culture is less progress-driven than the United States'. They've had flight for 200 years but haven't progressed beyond prop-driven planes. In any case, both countries assume an independent life, which encourages empathy over knee-jerk responses in the reader.
Also, McGann strives for balance. No faction gets all the best lines; neither is purely good or purely evil. The Altimans are willing to devastate a country with illegal weapons, but the leader of the Hadram Cassal is likewise willing to let them do so to encourage a more virulent jihad. Each nation is acting to protect its way of life—but the trouble is that they are locked in a cycle of violence with no way out.
So McGann's politics are subtle and deep. But that would not matter if he did not deliver deft characterization and suspenseful action—which he does in spades. There are many moments of pathos here, from small-scale to large, and even some wry humor in spots. McGann's prose is plain but sturdy, and his sense of pacing good. I was worried at the end that he was going to succumb to the hokey horror-movie trope of the seemingly dead assailant springing back to life, but he brought even that off in a resonant fashion that contributed to the moral and lesson of the book. No doubt McGann's Irish upbringing has acquainted him firsthand with the tarnished nobility, idiocy and waste of sectarian violence, and this experience shows through.
What this novel reminds me of is a less grim version of Adam Roberts' Salt (2000), with its planet wracked by uncompromising ideological rivals. And as such rare parables seek to tell us, we need to be constantly on our guard to avoid getting trapped in such hellish scenarios ourselves.
