From the Publisher
"Mind-expanding fantasy and SF"—Kirkus (starred review)
"Simply put, this is the most impressive debut novel I have encountered since Simon Jimenez’s The Vanished Birds."—Locus Magazine
"Somewhere in the slipstream between science fiction and fantasy—a little to the left of early Chiang, a few degrees south of Miéville—Yaroslav Barsukov has word-painted a world I can see when I close my eyes."—Peter Watts (Hugo Award-winning author of Blindsight) "Masterful. It is action-packed and emotionally rich, delightfully grim and unsettling at times. At the end, I could only sit back and say, “Wow.”"—Beth Cato (author of A Thousand Recipes for Revenge)
"Dreamy and precise, huge in scope and very personal, this is a towering achievement and a genre-busting tour de force."—Daily Mail
"A literary masterpiece"—Before We Go Blog
"Sleeping Worlds Have No Memory is a surreal and ambitious undertaking, surprising at every turn. From the moment the tower appears on the page, a steady sense of dread and wonder builds toward a staggering conclusion, one that may just change the way you think."—Andrea Stewart (bestselling author of The Bone Shard Daughter)
Kirkus Reviews
★ 2024-10-24
A royal minister in disfavor is ordered to complete a tyrannical queen’s prized project in Barsukov’s fantasy novel.
In an unspecified realm where medieval elements combine with a culture approaching (but not quite reaching) a “steampunk” level of development, Lord Shea Ashcroft is a royal minister who has defied an order by the all-powerful but rarely seen Queen Daelyn to use a gas weapon on protesters. Thus, Ashcroft is demoted to an assignment to ensure completion of Daelyn’s ruinously ambitious legacy project: a soaring tower in Owenbeg, a province bordering on the rival nation of Duma. Though ostensibly a defense against “skyrafts,” the massive edifice seems more an arrogant affirmation of royal power than anything else (its toll, in human and financial terms, triggered the protests in the first place). To keep the structure standing and growing, its chief engineer Brielle has had to resort to accepting aid from the “Drakiri”; these are members of a strange, secretive minority—equipped with advanced, incomprehensible technologies—whose origins are now obscure even to them. Among their most prized pieces of tech are “tulips,” oval devices that can counteract gravity. If not wielded properly, a tulip can cause a drastic implosion, destructively pulling everything in range inward. Brielle’s desperate deployment of tulips throughout the tower leads to catastrophic failures and losses of life—but are these accidents or acts of sabotage? Haunted by the death of his sister Lena in a childhood tulip incident, Ashcroft gets close to a Drakiri woman (coincidentally also called Lena) and learns that a Drakiri superstition predicts the advent of a frightful “Mimic Tower” that will materialize if the tulip-assisted tower of Daelyn continues to persist. Assassination attempts and intrigues at court seed a trail ultimately leading Ashcroft into Duma itself, where the Cold War–like animosity between the two kingdoms takes on literally cosmos-bending proportions.
Readers may be tempted to make analogies between the Drakiri and Jews or Romany people, or to compare the Drakiri devices to the nuclear power plant at Chernobyl, another apocalyptic power grimly unleashed in a Slavic setting. But these analogs only go so far as the narrative reaches a metaphysical denouement that goes outside the realm of conventional reality to explicate the tale’s vagueness regarding time, place, physics, and even the reason that Queen Daelyn’s capital remains nameless. Some of this material was originally released as an award-winning novella,Tower of Mud and Straw (2021). In this volume,Barsukov has added a follow-up,City of Spires, City of Seagulls, forming a whole that answers many of the original narrative’s questions, however cryptically. There are similarities to Stephen King’s epic Dark Tower series (though without anything near the marathon page count) as well as to Ursula K. Le Guin’sLathe of Heaven (1971) and the work of sibling Russian masters Arkady and Boris Strugatsky. Barsukov’s storyline becomes quite challenging to follow in the narrative’s latter half, in which plot threads diverge to follow Shea, Brielle, and (via rather conveniently recovered diary entries) the Drakiri Lena, but the payoff is worth the effort. The author’s prose is rarely less than lyrical and poetic (“The balcony windows brought in the smells of autumn’s brandy: smoke from the burning leaves, damp earth, the rotting perfume of forgotten things”). Highly recommended for fans of high fantasy and SF wishing to tread in especially exotic territory.
Mind-expanding fantasy and SF.
