Just finished Richard K. Morgan’s The Steel Remains last night. (And yes, that's an Amazon Associate link. Troll's gotta eat!) I enjoyed it and could hardly put it down while I was reading it. That said, once I was done with the book, it left me with an odd, and not entirely pleasant, taste in my brain.
One reason I think I enjoyed it is because The Steel
Remains wears its Sword & Sorcery love on its sleeve. In the Acknowledgements (interestingly placed
at the end of the book in an attempt, I suppose, to not encourage readers to
prejudge) he thanks Moorcock, Karl Edward Wagner, and Poul Anderson. While I would totally recommend this book to
readers looking for S&S fiction written with a modern touch, the feel is
more Glen Cook (especially his Instrumentalities of the Night series) and Steven
Erikson’s Malazan books.
But having said that, let me throw in a HUGE caveat:
the world-building in this book is pretty light and comes across as lazy compared
to Cook and especially Erikson. If you
read for incredible world-building, the first book in the series is not for
you.
But having said that, I’m not sure the world-building
really was lazy. I suspect the author
just took the whole iceberg metaphor about world-building too much to
heart. For instance, there are, I think,
three religions that play important roles in this novel. One is a shamanic polytheism. One is a noble-savage-esque Islam pastiche
that’s had an opulent and decadent empire grow up around it.
The third is a real mystery. It might be a variation of the Islam
pastiche, but they don’t use the same terms to describe it, so I don’t think it
is. It might also not actually be a
religion, but more a moral philosophy along the lines of Confucianism. About the only concrete thing we learn about
it is that it considers homosexual sex to be a crime worthy of execution by
days-long public torture. And they have
the civil authority to carry it out.
Now, that really is the only thing about it that
matters to the main character (one of three) that comes from this culture. So talking only about this aspect can be
considered extremely efficient storytelling.
But I think fans of intricate worldbuilding can be excused for wondering
if that’s all the author bothered to come up with. I certainly wouldn’t have minded a little
more seasoning along the lines of Lovecraft’s cabbages of Ulthar.
All of the priest(ly) characters are raving assholes
out of Hawthorne novels. At least two
are vicious moral monsters.
And just to completely drive a certain sort of
reader screaming for the hills, the worldbuilding we do get is almost entirely
designed to alienate our three protagonists from the cultures in which they
live. None of them are the Portlandia reader-insert
cat-savers that the main character from Leckie’s Ancillary novels is. For instance, all three are unapologetic (if
sometimes angsty) killers who’d be right at home in a Brust novel or one of
Wagner’s Kane stories. But two of them
come across as the only people in the entire world who feel slavery is so
morally repugnant they want nothing to do with it.
The book is fairly unrelenting in its darkness. Everyone is morally soiled; there is no
virtue in poverty, and civilization and barbarism are just different sides of the
same debased coin. The only moment of
moral purity is held up as an unattainable slap-in-the-face to showcase just
how ugly this world is.
And yeah, I couldn’t put it down. Discovering, at the end, that this was the
same author who did Altered Carbon made me more interested in checking that
out. If you’re longing for a raw and
gritty novel about killers wading ankle-deep in blood through battlefields and
back alleys because godlike beings are moving them around like pieces on a
chess board, you should absolutely give this novel a look.