I didn't have many expectations when I first sat down with "Fireborne," other than the requisite knee-jerk response to its stunning "HERE BE DRAGONS" cover. But almost immediately, I found myself surprised and intrigued by the depth of Munda's world-building as well as her cultural touchstones. Was that a ... Plutarch reference? What you doing here, bro? Friends and enemies alike know that I've been drawn to deep dives into Roman history and ancient theories of government of late; I can probably blame Robert Harris for kicking me off on this trend, what with his amazing Cicero trilogy, but I have also been making my way through Mary Beard's body of work, too. This is all in addition to and separately from my pleasure reading in science fiction and fantasy, so behold! My surprise! At a fantasy world for young adults inflected with rich allusions to the cadre of ancient Roman thinkers among whom Plutarch was one of many. Better still, this was a fantasy world that had learned from the thought experiments of narratives like "Game of Thrones" (which creates a world in which human nature is inevitably self-interested, and in which each relationship is a negotiation between survival and the exertion of power) and even that other Roman-history-inflected fantasy series ("Red Rising," I mean) which mostly uses its Roman references to create a unilaterally bad empire in need of overthrowing. Both are useful thought experiments, but I am personally drawn to Munda's nuanced take on empire and regime change. Each character has a personal stake in the rise or fall of a regime, and each has to come to terms with relationships across those schisms. This isn't a simplistic approach to its roots in Roman thought; there is no EMPIRE = BAD, REPUBLIC = GOOD equation here, or its other common alternate, EMPIRE = SEXY GRANDEUR.
Readers familiar with other major young adult series will note some synergy with works like "Divergent," where people self-segregate according to personal aspiration and personality traits; there are also comparisons to be made to the world of "The Hunger Games," which explicitly tackles a rigidly enforced class system. The central events of "Fireborne" take place in something much more like a city-state (a la the Italian city-states or the post-apocalyptic Chicago of "Divergent"), with hints at a larger world. It depicts a nascent republic organizing itself along meritocratic lines, but again, it doesn't hold back from commenting on the potential dangers and abuses inherent in this system of government. In the world of "Fireborne," empires and republics alike are both open to despotism, and to the suppression of the Other, and it is the central struggle of characters from both regimes to figure out how to behave ethically in a time of war.
Can a person behave ethically in a time of war? Munda is brave to ask this question of teenagers, and braver still not to set aside the question in favor of shiny epic battle scenes. When I think of the other recent depictions of teenagers forced into wartime decision-making in science fiction or fantasy, so often good questions get asked, then suspended while teenagers moon over each other or make some "F*** it, it's time for FIGHT TIME" decision so that authors (or directors) can make use of all those swords and dragons. "Fireborne" doesn't go in for cheap thrills, and wartime decisions are as often about forcibly centralizing food distribution to stave off famine as they are about shooting down an enemy on the battlefield. Although this book isn't totally lacking in romance, the teenagers make tough decisions that aren't just about which romantic partner they'll pursue. As is believable to me, a distant-past teenager once upon a time who never privileged romance over my future vision of my own career and et cetera, these kids regularly put romance below upholding justice and loyalty to country in the list of priorities.
It is worth noting that this book's central through-line for both of its main characters is the struggle to cope with the lifelong effects of childhood trauma. Both Annie and Lee are orphans, and the book does flash back occasionally to the events which orphaned them. Readers who find themselves triggered should know that, while I personally think Munda deals gracefully with these traumas and gives them a nice relationship to the book's more fantastical elements (that is, their interactions with their dragons), one should never feel bad for setting aside a book because it touches upon such triggers.
I often find that a fantasy book shrinks in my estimation if it doesn't at least make room for LGBTQIA+ people in its universe. Those who follow my reviews will know that I am myself a member of the LGBTQIA+ community, and I find representation a vital ingredient to my enjoyment of a book. And "Fireborne" certainly makes room for other marginalized groups (touching as it does on race relations and hinting at ancient Rome/Israel conflicts). It does not include any queer folk, which is a shame, but I find that this may just be that ONE book where it truly wasn't necessary to the plot, and wasn't left out because the author made a decision it didn't matter. I'll be watching for hints in future installments of this series, but for now, the lack of LGBTQIA+ representation was not a glaring flaw—yet, at least.
Basically, this is a fun and fast read with a lot more going on underneath the surface than I at first thought A) possible or B) likely. It's rich with detail, its character development is strong, and its pacing is about as perfect as can be. A powerful debut, my friends!
Readers familiar with other major young adult series will note some synergy with works like "Divergent," where people self-segregate according to personal aspiration and personality traits; there are also comparisons to be made to the world of "The Hunger Games," which explicitly tackles a rigidly enforced class system. The central events of "Fireborne" take place in something much more like a city-state (a la the Italian city-states or the post-apocalyptic Chicago of "Divergent"), with hints at a larger world. It depicts a nascent republic organizing itself along meritocratic lines, but again, it doesn't hold back from commenting on the potential dangers and abuses inherent in this system of government. In the world of "Fireborne," empires and republics alike are both open to despotism, and to the suppression of the Other, and it is the central struggle of characters from both regimes to figure out how to behave ethically in a time of war.
Can a person behave ethically in a time of war? Munda is brave to ask this question of teenagers, and braver still not to set aside the question in favor of shiny epic battle scenes. When I think of the other recent depictions of teenagers forced into wartime decision-making in science fiction or fantasy, so often good questions get asked, then suspended while teenagers moon over each other or make some "F*** it, it's time for FIGHT TIME" decision so that authors (or directors) can make use of all those swords and dragons. "Fireborne" doesn't go in for cheap thrills, and wartime decisions are as often about forcibly centralizing food distribution to stave off famine as they are about shooting down an enemy on the battlefield. Although this book isn't totally lacking in romance, the teenagers make tough decisions that aren't just about which romantic partner they'll pursue. As is believable to me, a distant-past teenager once upon a time who never privileged romance over my future vision of my own career and et cetera, these kids regularly put romance below upholding justice and loyalty to country in the list of priorities.
It is worth noting that this book's central through-line for both of its main characters is the struggle to cope with the lifelong effects of childhood trauma. Both Annie and Lee are orphans, and the book does flash back occasionally to the events which orphaned them. Readers who find themselves triggered should know that, while I personally think Munda deals gracefully with these traumas and gives them a nice relationship to the book's more fantastical elements (that is, their interactions with their dragons), one should never feel bad for setting aside a book because it touches upon such triggers.
I often find that a fantasy book shrinks in my estimation if it doesn't at least make room for LGBTQIA+ people in its universe. Those who follow my reviews will know that I am myself a member of the LGBTQIA+ community, and I find representation a vital ingredient to my enjoyment of a book. And "Fireborne" certainly makes room for other marginalized groups (touching as it does on race relations and hinting at ancient Rome/Israel conflicts). It does not include any queer folk, which is a shame, but I find that this may just be that ONE book where it truly wasn't necessary to the plot, and wasn't left out because the author made a decision it didn't matter. I'll be watching for hints in future installments of this series, but for now, the lack of LGBTQIA+ representation was not a glaring flaw—yet, at least.
Basically, this is a fun and fast read with a lot more going on underneath the surface than I at first thought A) possible or B) likely. It's rich with detail, its character development is strong, and its pacing is about as perfect as can be. A powerful debut, my friends!