Not that I’m an expert, but I think that a few core elements that make fantasy novels successful are world-building and character development. On both fronts, I think Stone Serpent works. Right from the prologue, Dineen demonstrates a strength in setting the scene with effective imagery (a little later the “dull green hump of Weya-Nama wore a broken crown of ruins”), and the conflict between slavers and a supernatural snake-man sets up some expectations for the world’s magic. There’s a pretty gruesome moment that establishes the tone of the book—and the potential of the book’s evil forces—and serves as a compelling entrypoint to the conflict.
When the novel starts in earnest, we shift perspective to a young boy, Ta, on the occasion of a local ceremony. Once again, Dineen establishes our understanding of the world, their beliefs, their practices. I appreciated the focused scope in this section; it felt like a nice introduction to the world and the novel explores the broader scope of the world more gradually. It felt inviting and, in my opinion, the more immersive for it.
Ta stands out as one of text’s most memorable characters. He’s a brash young guy whose idealism drives his reckless actions. He longs to be a hero and, later, to claim (if a little preemptively) his destiny in the form of his ancestor’s sword. He reads somewhat like a Don Quixote figure, obsessed with stories of adventure and putting his friends at risk to live out the fantasy. Ta’s friend Lu possesses a similar affliction, but in the draft version he reads a little more one-dimensionally—an enthusiastic yes man for Ta’s misadventures. The two together serve as our initial duo that initiate us into the world and whose interest in stories of old parallels those of the reader.
In the gaming world, there’s a trope in a lot of JRPGs where a young boy goes on a seemingly innocuous adventure only to find himself the one remaining person to resist an unfathomable evil force. I like it and it feels nostalgic to me, so to see the pattern playing out in Stone Serpent has an odd satisfaction for me. Dineen transitions beautifully from a lighthearted call to adventure to an ominous and suspenseful register as Ta and Lu approach some ruins. Ta feels himself being called, drawn deeper into the ruins. I’ll avoid spoiling too much, but the dramatic irony where the audience knows that things aren’t right while Ta follows his intuition builds a great sense of dread. There’s a further double-down on the disaster, but again I won’t spoil too much.
The second phase of the book transitions to a group of other characters—Balkash, Naas, and Hong. Dineen again provides some compelling backstory for the characters and helps to establish their milieu. We see the contrasting philosophies of different people in the world and we see the ‘big city’ context and the exploitation of workers and the group quickly runs into trouble, being transported by boat to their execution. The chapter feels bleak and again there’s a great tension as they come to face-to-face with their cruel executioner.
Around this time, things start getting really interesting for my favourite character in the novel, if for no other reason than his philosophical potential. I may not get this description exactly right, but Polliss is a humanoid feline mage who, thanks to a crushable figurine, can teleport out of danger to a destination not entirely of his will. What I find most interesting about the character, though, is the transience of his identity. Polliss essentially serves as a host for the phoenix Baal, a judgmental companion that speaks directly into Polliss’ mind. There’s a lot of opportunity there to explore what it means to be an individual when constantly hosting another consciousness—this becomes even more complex when Polliss is embodied inside another man’s corpse. Essentially, it’s a body not his own, hosting a consciousness of his own, which itself hosts another consciousness not his own. It’s a rich concept that lands really nicely, especially when he’s considered in contrast to the animated statue villains, described as “soulless puppets of stone pulled by invisible strings.” It’s interesting to see the contrast of multiple consciousnesses crammed into one body in contrast to the animated stone, which seems to operate vaguely as one consciousness spread out between many bodies. There’s a lot to work with here in terms of identity, consciousness, and we could even draw parallels with discourses as diverse as psychoanalysis, trans identities, or computer networking.
The novel operates within an apocalyptic mode, where a godlike snake-man is unleashing unheard-of magic. At his introduction, people are transformed into stone and then reanimated as malicious statues hunting the survivors. Beyond that, much of the book actually presents the environment as the primary threat to survival: the natural world is warping and becoming overgrown. As the story progresses, the party expands and each character has a role to play in surviving and saving the world. I was actually hoping for a bit more of Ta throughout the main body of the text (and more episodes with the central villains to explore their motivations) but there’s enough variety and differentiation between the other sets of characters to keep the story moving. That approach is particularly true for chapter 36, where different storylines are woven together in short bursts, making the chapter feel lively and giving the story a satisfying cohesiveness.
The novel has a balance of action sequences and more meditative moments of connection between the characters. In the final act, there are some great developments with the characters’ relationships and that makes the ending of the book all the more devastating. I admit that I either forgot or didn’t realize that Stone Serpent is the opening of a new series, so as I saw the ending creeping closer I felt the dread of irresolution. Even so, the ending of the book is powerful—but not for the reasons I expected. The book’s early lightheartedness, by the end, has clearly transformed to a more somber tone. There are some painful losses and one character proves himself such a spineless bastard that I can’t wait for him to get his comeuppance in the sequel. The emotional investment I felt in that betrayal is an excellent payoff which, upon review, was clearly foreshadowed and all the more satisfying for it. There’s a lot of dread permeating the end of the book and it was both refreshing and frustrating that the ‘good guys’ failed to have the upper hand.
Dineen’s writing, as I’ve alluded to, is nicely structured around the novel’s key moments. There’s a good build-up to the key plot points and the payoffs generally feel earned (there was one early one with Polliss crushing a statue, but something later in the book justified the moment retroactively). Dineen’s use of strong phrases also gives the work its force. Sometimes, they are phrases embedded in paragraphs to build the moment, like “reality held its breath.” Sometimes, there are standalone lines that punctuate the moment by being their own paragraph. In a moment when characters are forced to keep their heads down and row, and then the following paragraph is simply: “the lash would do the rest.” I’ve alluded already to the imagery like a “dense canopy permitting only token seams of light.” There are lots of lines to like that help enrich the overall project.
I’ve barely scratched the surface of Stone Serpent. There are more characters and more moments than I could possibly cover here—and I wouldn’t want to give away all the key surprises here, anyway.
After all, Tristan Dineen is hosting a launch for the book on June 25th at 7p.m. at Red Brick Cafe in Guelph. You could pick up your copy of Stone Serpent and hopefully take a few moments to engage with its author.
Happy reading!
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