The Gilded Compass points somewhere braver than its map suggests
Vashti Oyelaran's debut arrives dressed as a treasure hunt and quietly turns into something far stranger — a novel about what happens after the treasure is found.
Enough with the prophecies
A prophecy is a promise that the ending has already been decided. We have spent thirty years reading books that spoil themselves on page nine, and we have somehow agreed to call it structure.
Nine Winters Deep at forty, and the quiet it taught the genre
Kestrel Adeyemi-Vance's novel of a frozen archive has outlived every book it was shelved beside. Four decades on, its refusal to raise its voice looks less like modesty and more like nerve.