42

Another year, another birthday I didn’t expect to see.

The number 42 is important for nerds like me. Douglas Adams immortalized it in his The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy series, and geekdom picked it up from there. It’s the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe, and everything. What’s the question? Nobody knows. What I do know is that I’m exhausted, and I have no answers.

I also don’t have much to say for the last year. I worked. I even got paid for it sometimes. But those times seem to be over, so it’s back to the torture of trying to get a tech job, now with the added weight of being too old to hire. Impossible odds, as I see it, and yet more likely than the other big event that may or may not be looming in the future.

About two months ago, I proposed. And she said yes. That joy, like all other joys in my existence, was short-lived. The wedding is still planned for next October, six days before I would be writing another post like this, but my lack of income (or prospects or hope or anything like that) is leaving that very precarious indeed. We don’t know if we’ll be able to pull it off. Even if we do, we don’t know what the future will hold. And that’s just not the way to enter a marriage.

So that’s where I stand at the start of my 42nd year: uncertain and, to put it mildly, frightened. I only have two realistic options, as far as I can see. I’m not good enough (or brown enough, which is more important in today’s world) to pull a job out of thin air, and I’m not brave enough to break this off before the point of no return.

Happy birthday to me. Yay.

Point of no return

I’ve written a lot about the idea of the Third Dark Age, my belief that we are stumbling into a time of technological and social stagnation or even regression to rival those of the sixth century AD and the 12th century BC. A time when the flames of the Enlightenment go out, sending our Western world into the dark depths of tyranny, dogma, and destruction.

The last flicker of flame may have died on Wednesday.

I don’t hold up Charlie Kirk as any sort of intellectual powerhouse. I never listened to anything more than brief clips of his debates, and only really paid attention to him when screenshots of his Twitter posts appeared where I could see them. But I do know that he was a moderate. Indeed, a centrist, which is already a rare breed in this polarized times. Most of all, he truly believed in one of the core values of "classical" liberalism and the Enlightenment: that the free marketplace of ideas is where progress happens.

He attempted to face the anti-human forces in our modern world using a tried and true weapon, the same weapon wielded by Milton, Jefferson, and so many other luminaries. Through his work, he aimed to use rationality to debunk the claims of the irrational. He stated unequivocal truths—that a man cannot become a woman, for example—as his opinions, then offered to let anyone change his mind. For being moderate, he was branded an extremist. For showing tolerance, he was deemed a bigot.

For wanting to talk, he was killed.

That is what rattled me. Not out of any love for the man himself; I would claim indifference on Charlie Kirk as a person, not disinterest. But his legacy is as a man who tried to walk the same path I walk. That makes me acutely aware of the danger of the world for those of us who carry the light of wisdom in our hearts.

The danger, however, truly does come from both sides. Progressives have now demonstrated beyond any doubt that they will gleefully kill those who disagree with them. And I do mean gleefully: hundreds of thousands of messages on Twitter, Facebook, Reddit, Bluesky, Mastodon, and other hotbeds of anti-human thought illustrate this perfectly.

Yet conservatives are showing that they’re willing to destroy the foundations of modern civilization itself in retaliation. Prominent right-wing speakers on Twitter, for instance, are calling the alleged shooter and his ilk "literally demon-possessed". Which is, of course, nonsensical on its face. Demons don’t exist. It doesn’t take a Descartes or Kant to understand that someone can’t be literally possessed by something which doesn’t exist.

People who deny basic truths aren’t afflicted by a supernatural being—well, some of them are afflicted by their belief in one, but bear with me—they are victims of society, of a civilization that fails to protect its own. Morality is not only a virtue, but a necessary part of any functioning state. To prevent an inevitable decay into anarchy or tyranny, we must have a shared set of values.

In the United States, the foundation for that is supposed to be the works of our Founding Fathers: the Declaration of Independence and Constitution, the Federalist papers, and so on. Yet children are now taught to hate them, to vilify them for not being sufficiently left-leaning for certain modern types. When that link to the past, to who we are, is lost, we as a people are left adrift.

Charlie Kirk wanted to do what the Founding Fathers did. He wanted to live in a country where matters of import were solved through debate, voting, through the processes that great men created to break free from the vicious cycle of tyrannical kings. For that, progressives believe he deserved to die.

If so, then any right-thinking American deserves the same fate. Anyone who would dare to champion the ideals of liberty and justice for all, of the free marketplace of ideas, of a free press and the protection from Establishment, we all deserve death, do we not? For our crimes of standing strong in the face of darkness, for defending what we believe in, we would all be made martyrs to Lady Liberty herself.

So be it.

Those who would seek to destroy my country, I name them my enemy. Those who would grant me no quarter shall receive none in turn. Those who wish to bring about the Third Dark Age, know that I carry the light, and I will not relinquish it until my dying breath.

To be a libertarian is not, as many would claim, to be against government in all its forms. No, it is to understand that liberty itself is a value worth fighting for, that freedom is the first and most basic prerequisite to progress. Our country, if it is to regain the mantle of greatest, must have a populace who is free and secure, able to work towards the goal of betterment of all without fear of retribution. This I believe with all my heart.

To be an agnostic is to understand that, while there are things we do not yet know, there is nothing in this world that we cannot know. Knowledge is the light that casts aside the darkness. Rationality is our best protection in what Carl Sagan so eloquently named "our demon-haunted world". Yet all those demons are nothing more than men in costume. This I believe with all my heart.

To be an American is not merely to inhabit the territory of the United States. It is to carry on the legacy of George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Ben Franklin, Patrick Henry, and so many other great men. It is to cast aside the notion of kings and accept the idea that we are all responsible for our country. Its survival, its prosperity, its very existence is owed to every American. Kennedy’s famous proclamation, "Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country," did not refer to civil service or sacrificing rights to the state. It meant bearing the weight of history, which far too many see as a burden, to carry America to ever greater heights. This I believe with all my heart.

I know I am all but alone in these beliefs. Many will share one or two, but few share all three. I’m okay with that. For four decades, I have walked the lonely path. I expect I’ll keep walking it for however many years I have left.

But at least that path will have light.

Summer Reading List 2025: Third

Under the wire once again. Today’s the last day, and I finished the last book last night. At last. I have reasons for my tardiness, and I hope to explain them in the near future. For now, let’s worry about reading.

Fantasy

Title: A Crucible of Souls
Author: Mitchell Hogan
Genre: Fantasy
Year: 2013

I think I’m starting to experience fantasy burnout. I was very critical of Brandon Sanderson’s latest book a few months back, and he’s my favorite author. Mitchell Hogan might be a great writer, but this book ensures he’ll never get high up on my list.

A Crucible of Souls is a fantasy novel. Usually, I’ll be able to qualify "fantasy" with some other subgenre. Martin and Jordan wrote epic fantasy. Sanderson sometimes veers into science fantasy, if of a different bent than Star Wars. Brian McClellan? Riflepunk. Peter Brett? You could almost call his post-apocalyptic fantasy.

Here, I’m just calling a book a plain, vanilla fantasy novel without any further qualifiers. I feel comfortable doing that because it’s a very…generic story. There are few cases where I just never got interested in a book—The Waking Fire is one such—but I can’t remember the last time I was genuinely bored by fantasy.

And that’s because there’s just nothing here. A lot of words, almost no substance. A plot that barely goes anywhere. A cast of characters that sometimes seems like D&D pregens. (The orphan boy with hidden talents, the female fighter to show diversity, the necromancer anti-hero…) This really is the most generic novel I’ve read in probably 30 years. And the ones back then were Magic: the Gathering tie-ins!

Just so I don’t spend the whole post bashing the novel, let’s talk about the good points. First of all, the magic system Hogan describes is built around wards and runes inscribed into various materials. It’s similar to the wards of Brett’s Demon Cycle series, but they feel a lot more science-y. Although the descriptions were barebones, my imagination visualized them as something more akin to schematics than anything. And the narrative does reinforce that image in a few places. Very cool to my rational and geeky brain.

Another aspect of the magic of this created world is the perceived difference between destructive and creative sorcery. Many of the "craftings" (my ebook copy inexplicably had this word italicized in every occurrence) are made from wood or metal, and they have a constructive purpose. They’re lights or security systems, in effect, which only adds to the engineer-like flavor. On the other hand, "destructive" magics are banned, prohibited, verboten, and considered downright evil.

Here’s where the author had a chance to make a positive statement, but punted. The sorcerers of the major city that is the focus for the book’s action have a secret police dedicated to stamping out any embers of alleged destructive sorcery. Naturally, they have to use this same forbidden knowledge to fight against it, but what they consider destructive is…odd, to say the least. Elemental magic is prohibited, because someone could use magical fire to commit arson, for example.

It’s the typical progressive argument against gun ownership, merely transplanted into a fantasy world. At multiple points, in fact, Master Simmon, the teacher character who leads this covert ops team—that’s not even an exaggeration—states that destructive sorcery is banned despite its positive benefits, because some people might use it for ill. In other words, because a random thug decided to shoot someone, the rest of us can’t defend ourselves.

Indeed, the idea of disarming the populace extends beyond that, as denizens of the city of Anasoma, even including their cops, are barred from carrying a sword in public. Civilians can’t even carry a club. It’s a liberal paradise, really, but Hogan doesn’t do much to show why that’s a dystopia to anyone with any sense. Even those seeking to invade don’t care about the politics.

But that’s because he doesn’t do much to show anything. The city is depicted as a cesspool of crime and violence; the main protagonist, Caldan, is mugged in his first week there. It’s a place where everyone is out for himself, everything is bleak and depressing, and we’re somehow supposed to care about it. By the end of the book, I didn’t mind if it was razed to the ground, along with the rest of the empire.

If I sound harsh, it’s because I expected more. A Crucible of Souls got great reviews, and was recommended by people I usually trust. I figured it would be a titanic clash of sorcerers, an epic setting, and all those nice things. Instead, it’s a very generic story. The characters are cookie-cutter. There’s very little worldbuilding. The subplots don’t really go anywhere, yet somehow get bundled up at the end in a bit of deus ex machina.

There’s nothing bad about this book. (Well, maybe some of the prose, but I’ve become a terrible critic of that in recent years.) The problem is, there’s nothing really good about it, either. Except for the magic system, which is genuinely interesting and would give me enough material for an entire series of my own, very little actually stands out. At times, it feels like an RPG campaign that got carried away.

And that’s fine, if that’s what you’re after. I prefer distinctiveness. I prefer books, even fantasy novels, that make me think, that make me consider angles and aspects I may have dismissed before. Failing that, give me a story that’s a fun ride.

Maybe Mitchell Hogan can pull that off. From what I saw in A Crucible of Souls, however, I doubt it. This is a rare miss, and the only reason I finished it is because I didn’t have time to read a different book. So the Summer Reading List for 2025 ends on a down note, alas. Fortunately, the rest of my life makes up for it, as you’ll see soon enough.

Summer Reading List 2025: Second

I know I’m cutting it close. I have real-life things I’m dealing with right now that are just a little more important, so bear with me. And wait a week or so for the details on those.

History

Title: The Storm of Steel
Author: Ernst Jünger (tr. Basil Creighton)
Genre: Military History/Autobiography
Year: 1920 (tr. 1929, reprinted 2019)

War is one of the most pointless and wasteful endeavors humanity has ever invented. And World War I was quite possibly the most pointless and wasteful of them all. But the tens of millions of men fighting in the trenches of France, the mountains of Italy, or the dozen other fronts didn’t think so.

They believed they were fighting for a righteous cause, and that cause was, to put it simply, nationalism. The French fought for France, to throw back the invasion. The Germans fought for Germany, for the Kaiser’s honor and to right the wrongs of 1870. The Americans, latecomers as we were, fought to show that America belonged on the world stage.

Much has been written about the strategies of the war, of the machines and machinations it spawned. I could fill my room with accounts of the Central Powers and the Allies, of the 40 years of alliances and deals that led a simple assassination to set the whole world ablaze. (I even read one of these, The Guns of August, last summer.)

As well, reams of paper and gigabytes of now-digitized data can paint the tactical picture. Which divisions went where, which trenches were attacked when. What happened each time new technology entered the battlefield, whether tanks, airplanes, or gas attacks. There’s so much information out there that Indy Neidell could make a 10-minute video for each week of the war, and he almost never went into any more than the most cursory detail.

But so much media—and, therefore, so much public perception—focuses on these high-level accounts, these broad, sweeping depictions of trench warfare as a new variant of Risk, that we forget a very important truth. These were soldiers, not pawns. Men, not machines.

We know the Kaisar and the Tsar. We know Hindenburg and Ludendorf, Foch and Joffré. We know Winston Churchill before his later glory days. But we don’t know much about the millions upon millions who served under them, the unnumbered dead buried in unmarked graves throughout the French countryside, or the ones who made it home and got to see the world turn upside-down. Only a scant few heroes ever rise enough to make a dent in the public consciousness: Alvin York and the Red Baron are probably the only two the average American can even name.

Ernst Jünger tells the story of these forgotten masses through his own experiences of the war. He’s German, and that means two things. One, since he writes from his post-war home, his narrative is laced with the knowledge that his side lost. Two, his is a story not often heard in Allied countries. Some of that is through ignorance. Some comes from outright malevolence.

Jünger served through almost the whole war, showing up in early 1915 and taking his final action only a few weeks before the armistice. His tale winds through 18 chapters, but only a few actual battles. He was at the Somme, for instance, just as one of my favorite authors had been. He took part—indeed, showed heroism—at Cambrai and during the Germans’ last great offensive in 1918.

His is an account of the war from a small perspective. Never rising higher than lieutenant, he wasn’t invited to division-level strategic conferences. He didn’t know what the Kaiser was thinking. And that’s what makes The Storm of Steel so impactful. Here is the account of a soldier. This is a man who didn’t have the whole story. All he knew was that Germany was fighting, he was German, and he was honor-bound to defend his home. Even if they were the attackers.

It’s an almost too-simple belief system, we might think today. Our society has been conditioned over the past 80 years to reject nationalism. Indeed, national pride is outlawed in some of the same countries that were victorious over Jünger’s 73rd Fusiliers, and he would weep with the knowledge that his glorious Fatherland wants to ban the only political party that remembers what it used to be.

World War I marked a change in the way warfare itself was done. It marked the last true use of cavalry, and the first of a mechanized military. But it also illustrates how the culture of war changed in modern times. We know of the Christmas Truce of 1914, when hostilities paused for one night on the Western Front, and the soldiers of the respective sides greeted each other in No Man’s Land. Something similar happens to Jünger’s unit in 1915, and he recounts that he and the British commander finished the night by formally re-declaring war.

That might not make sense. They were already at war, weren’t they? And they didn’t have the power to stop it. But this is Ernst Jünger’s central theme: honor. The soldier, he believes, should have a sense of honor. As a good Prussian man, he felt he could best illustrate by doing, and his narrative accounts in the book are full of asides about which actions were honorable and which were the mark of a coward. He’s his own biggest critic, too, pointing out where he failed to live up to the standard he set for himself, even when it made no difference at worst, or saved his life at best.

Honor is dead, according to the Sanderson book I read last year. In the real world, we would probably consider it on life support. But World War I gives us our last good look at battlefield honor in action. Part of that is because of the parties involved. The English and German soldiers were cousins, in a sense, while the French were neighbors. Yes, they had names for each other (I actually didn’t know "Tommy" was the German nickname for British soldiers until I read this book!) and traded insults, but they did so in the knowledge that they were fighting…fellow men.

After WWI, that changed. Propaganda was able to reach the critical levels of today. Even by World War II, not even two full generations after Versailles changed the world, dehumanization through mass media had already begun its work, and the 80 years since have only made things worse. This has even altered perceptions of the Great War itself; The Storm of Steel is considered a dangerous book by leftists, precisely because it shows what a German patriot believes. And we all know that German patriots are evil, right?

In the end, this was not the book I wanted to read this summer. I was sick all week, I saw it on my tablet, and I dove into it during my convalescence. And I’m glad I did, because it really is a great book about what, I must admit, has always been my favorite war from a historical perspective. Ignore the people claiming that it’s fascist, or that it promotes Nazism. Ernst Jünger doesn’t do any of that. All he does is tell it like it is. Soldiers fought for four years, killing each other by the millions, because they believed they were part of something greater than themselves. The reason that sounds crazy to us is simple: we just don’t believe that anymore.

Summer Reading List 2025: First

And here we go. The first of the three this year was a total slog, and…well, you’ll see why. It’s not only because the last five weeks have been downright hectic.

Philosophy

Title: Republic
Author: Plato (tr. Sir Henry Desmond Pritchard Lee)
Genre: Philosophy/Political Science
Year: c. 360 BC

Consider essentially the founding document of political thought in general, Plato’s Republic has been considered a classic for centuries, and it is now the oldest book I’ve read. (I never actually finished anything of Homer, and even the Old Testament technically wasn’t written down until around the 2nd century BC.) Although it’s not on the official "Great Books" list, most people would probably assume it was. I did.

This is, in a way, the origin story of a lot of philosophy we simply see as background noise today. The allegory of the cave, which has become popularized in meme format the past few years, derives from Plato, and specifically Book VIII of this work. Many of the concepts of the Platonic ideal also find their genesis in Republic, or they are simply spelled out best here.

That’s really all there is to the work as a whole. It’s crafted as a conversation between Socrates and some of his pupils, patrons, and general audience members, with the idea that the master philosopher is, in effect, debating Thrasymachus, who serves as a kind of foil to get the action started. The subject of the debate? Who has the better life: a just man or an unjust one.

Simply looking at the world around us would lead us to assume that Thrasymachus has a point when he says that the unjust man is richer and more well-off. Name a billionaire whose money isn’t at least a little dirty.

Socrates, serving as the author’s insert—prose wasn’t as fully developed 2400 years ago—counters by saying that, while the unjust man may seem to have it all, he’s actually poorer in his spirit, and thus he will never truly be happy. From there commences a long and sometimes tedious dive into philosophy as Socrates converses with Adeimantus and Glaucon, two of his host’s sons; their purpose is sycophantic for the most part, offering little in the way of argument but much mumbled agreement with their illustrious guest.

You might be thinking, "Isn’t this book called the Republic? So where does the republic part come in?"

Well, I wondered the same thing. Part of the roundabout course Socrates takes to make his point is a digression into the forms of government, and a thought experiment of making a "perfect" state. His—rather, Plato’s—ideal is a monarchy run by a philosopher king. (You’ve probably heard that phrase bandied about lately, too.) In the Platonic ideal of State, everyone knows his place, no one is grasping or cheating, and it’s a very communal atmosphere.

It’s also joyless, as Plato explicitly ejects any worldly pleasures from his state, all the way down to the simple joy of familial love. In a way, Plato depicts a dystopia, then tries to sell it as a utopia.

That should be enough to disgust you, but bear with me. The part that people, including a lot of modern philosophers, don’t get is that it’s an allegory, the same as the cave. The ideal state represents the Platonic man. Not a system of government, but conceptualization of the perfect man. It’s at odds with the Aristotelian ideal of eudaemonia, and it’s very…call it proto-Stoic, because I see a lot of parallels from when I read Meditations a few years ago. There’s that same emphasis on eschewing the worldly for some nebulous "perfect" source of wisdom.

I can get behind that part a little bit, to be honest. But the language it’s couched in is opaque at best, and it shows how underdeveloped philosophy was in those early days. Plato has first-mover advantage, and that’s why his works are given a higher dose of respect than we would probably allow if they were more modern.

I’m not saying Republic isn’t worth reading. It is, if only because it’s a justifiable classic. You’ll learn from it, because you’ll see where so many concepts we almost take for granted originally came from. The Allegory of the Cave, after all, is the ultimate source work of everything from the Gospel of Thomas to The Matrix. The Myth of Er, which rounds out the book, served as inspiration for Dante’s Inferno and Milton’s Paradise Lost, among many others.

Republic is not, however, political science. It doesn’t describe how to achieve a perfect state, but a state of perfection. While that’s as unattainable as any Platonic ideal, it won’t stop us from trying.

What’s in the pipeline – June 2025

As usual, I have a ton of different things I’m working on in my spare time, but I’m prioritizing some of them. I really do think these few are "big" enough to deserve being called out now, so here goes.

Altidisk

Altidisk is my latest and now greatest conlang project. In about a year and a half, it’s grown to a lexicon of almost 6000 words and a corpus of nearly 15,000, which makes it far bigger than Suvile, Virisai, or any other language I’ve created. And this is the first one I’ve seriously constructed for other people to speak, which is one reason why I’m able to be so productive with it. I have incentive.

I also have the relative ease of Altidisk being derived from Proto-Germanic in a lot of ways, and thus more of a cousin to English than something completely a priori. That means a great amount of overlap in grammar and vocabulary, although there are some "false friends" in there, owing to linguistic evolution over the past couple of millennia. (As an example, quick in Altidisk is pronounced the same as in English, but doesn’t mean "fast" so much as "alive". This is, in fact, the original connotation of the English word, too.)

At the moment, I’m about 75% of the way through a personal translation of The Little Prince, thanks to seeing someone on the old mailing list doing that. It’s the biggest translation project I’ve ever done by a wide margin, clocking in at nearly 12,000 words already. I probably won’t release it publicly, but I may post snippets and use extracts for the grammar sketch that I want to get out by the end of this year.

Pixeme

I’ve talked about Pixeme before, and it’s something I’ve been kicking around for years now. The basic idea is similar to Tatoeba, in that it’s a crowdsourced translation site. But Pixeme is different because it’s image-based. Instead of a simple word or phrase or sentence, you’ll see translations of a sentence with an image associated.

The more I think about the concept, the more I’d like to develop it. One important aspect is the "topic" of the image, and that’s something I’m not quite sure how to convey. For example, if you see a picture with a woman walking a dog through a park on a sunny afternoon, which part of that are you highlighting? Yes, "all of them" is an acceptable answer, but it complicates the structure, and it can lead to ambiguity.

But the basic principle is one I’ve tested on myself. Granted, I don’t learn in the same way as most people, but I’m also old enough that I can’t properly learn a new language, so I’d say that evens out.

What I still haven’t decided—and this is the reason Pixeme has never really gotten going—is which tech stack I want to use. I’m tired of Python and FastAPI. I deal with them at work all the time, and I want to try something different. Unfortunately, most of the other good options are equally flawed, whether it’s from being shackled to a horrible server-side language (Nest.js, Phoenix) or developed by people who promote the genocide of my race (Django Ninja).

Board With It

Out in the real world, I don’t do much, but that’s something I’d like to change. Over the past couple of years, I’ve considered an idea that…well, it’s out there. I’m calling it "Board With It", because I like puns, and it’s a fairly simple concept. Basically, it’s a nonprofit that helps children and teens (and possibly young adults later on) to learn critical thinking and social skills through playing board games.

Okay, not just board games. Since I initially thought of it, I’ve expanded the scope of Board With It to include RPGs and card games. Tabletop, in general, though definitely not a TCG or CCG like Magic: the Gathering. I want to teach kids how to socialize, not get addicted.

It’s not a bad idea. It just takes a lot to make it work. Time, mostly, which is something I’m perpetually short on. Space, preferably a public or semi-private space. (I’ve even considered looking for a church around here that would offer a classroom or something!) Oh, and volunteers: the beta test I’ve envisioned is a four-week trial run consisting of eight sessions, each about 1-2 hours long. The first few sessions would introduce the kids (ages 8-12) to tabletop gaming in general, as something more than just playing Monopoly or Risk with your family. Then would come the emphasis on gaming as a social hobby that also trains your brain. Simple.

Microcosm

Last, and most recent, is Microcosm. This is kind of an umbrella project, and isn’t yet well-defined. My hope for it is that it becomes a community project for retro computing, low-level programming, microcontroller-focused maker work, and things like that. Basically anything running on the really, really low end. Think 6502s, or tiny MCUs that cost a buck apiece. There would be tutorials, dev tools, links to articles, and so on.

Really, because this one is so vast and nebulous, there’s not much I can say about it yet. On the other hand, it feels like the one that’s the most fun, and fun is something I desperately need these days. So keep watching microcosm.works for that…once I put something up, that is.

Summer Reading List 2025

Sometimes I forget things. As I grow older, that’s becoming more and more common, much to my dismay. Fortunately for all of us, I didn’t forget that today’s Memorial Day, the start of the Summer Reading List challenge!

I was talking about it over the weekend, and I commented that I started doing it "maybe around 2019". That’s the forgetting part, because I didn’t start it in 2019. No, the original post is dated 5/30/16. 2016. That means this is the 10th Annual Summer Reading List! Hard to believe I’ve been doing this for a decade.

In that time, I’ve read a lot of interesting books, and a few that were…not very interesting. I’ve enjoyed the experience most of all, however, whether I’m reading Jules Verne, Marcus Aurelius, or some random book I spotted on Libgen. My self-imposed rules (which I’ll recap below, as always) are great for pushing me to try new things, and my changing tastes are evident in the "safe" picks I use each time around.

Looking back on the last ten years has also shown how I’ve changed. Early on, you can see the excitement of finding new things, of discovery and exploration. During the dark years of the fake pandemic, my bitterness and despair showed in both what I read and how I talked about it. And the most recent entries paint me as a curious mix of romantic and cynic, which isn’t far from the truth, I’ll admit.

Anyway, on to the rules. They’re a familiar sort by now, with only minor changes as I’ve tweaked them over the years.

  1. The goal is to read 3 new (to you) books between Memorial Day (May 26) and Labor Day (September 1) in the US, the traditional "unofficial" bounds of summer. Southern Hemisphere readers get a winter challenge, probably a better idea because of the long nights.

  2. A "book", for the purposes of the challenge, is anything non-periodical, so no comics, serialized graphic novels, or manga. Anything else works, including standalone graphic novels and light novels. If you’re not sure, just use common sense. Also, audiobooks are acceptable as long as they’re books, not something like a podcast.

  3. One of the books should be of a genre you don’t normally read. For example, I’m big on fantasy and sci-fi, so I might read a romance, or a thriller, or something like that. Nonfiction, by the way, also works as a "new" genre, unless you do read it all the time.

  4. You can’t count books you wrote, because they obviously wouldn’t be new to you. Even if they’re still being edited. Before you ask, this rule exists solely to keep me from just rereading my books.

That’s really all there is to it. I’ll post my thoughts on my selected books here, as usual, and on whatever fediverse account is actually working this summer. (Seriously, I’ve gone through 5 of the things since I started this challenge!) Feel free to post on Facebook, Twitter, or whatever you like, too. Use the hashtag "#SummerReadingList2025" to spread the word. Most of all, have fun. This isn’t an assignment.

Enjoy your summer, enjoy your books, and keep reading!

Review: The Hidden Queen by Peter V. Brett

The Hidden Queen is the second book in Peter V. Brett’s series The Nightfall Saga, a trilogy that serves as a sequel to the five-part Demon Cycle. I spotted it at a bookstore a few weeks ago, and I’m so out of the loop on fantasy books these days that I hadn’t even known it was out. So I picked it up, and I finished it off about a week and a half ago. (This review is delayed because I took last week off from…pretty much everything. For mental health reasons, to be specific.)

This book picks up right where its predecessor, The Desert Prince, left off, in the mostly ruined city of Fort Krasia, called Desert Spear by its inhabitants. Our protagonists are the same as in the previous book, and are the children of the major players from the Demon Cycle. Olive functions as your traditional "girl pretending to be a boy so she can fight" trope, but with the added twist that she’s actually a hermaphrodite, so technically is a boy. Darin is…well, kind of a wimp, and a self-admitted coward, but he has what can best be described as superpowers: a magic akin to that of the demons who are the enemies of the series.

More specifically, the enemy in this case is the often-unnamed demon king. (Incidentally, the finale will be titled The Demon King.) He was a prisoner way back in The Core, the last book of the Demon Cycle. He found a way to sneak out during the climax of that book, spent a generation in hiding, and is now trying to create a new demon queen to finish off the free peoples of humanity once and for all. And if he can get some revenge on those who wronged him way back when, that’s even better.

The big reveal of The Desert Prince, then, was that he was working towards that goal. After a devastating battle, a number of prominent leaders of the Free Cities and the Krasians were taken prisoner. And that’s where the troubles with this book start.


The Nightfall Saga really is a direct sequel. If you didn’t read the previous series, you won’t know or care who these older people are. Sure, you can tell that Leesha is Olive’s mother and the duchess of the largest free city, that Darin’s father Arlen was a hero who saved the world, then went on to be worshipped as a literal Second Coming.

But that’s about it. So many important backstory details are left unsaid, and this has to be because it’s assumed that you’ve read the Demon Cycle. If you didn’t, you’re going to be completely lost on most of the worldbuilding, most of the geopolitics, and most of the magic system. The Desert Prince doesn’t help, nor does this book.

Part of the reason The Hidden Queen doesn’t do much exposition about the events that came before is because it’s too busy doing…nothing at all. Nearly the first half of the book serves as little more than a way to get the main characters back into position for a new campaign. Lots of overland travel, a few scenes of political intrigue, and a couple of demon attacks fill 200 pages or so, with a relatively brief stop in New Krasia, the conquered lands bordering the Free Cities of Thesa.

Only then does the action get going, except that it doesn’t quite yet, because there’s a power vacuum to be filled. Here lies the second of the book’s major troubles. While the woke mind virus has made "gender identity" an issue—it’s really not—a character like Olive, who is, due to magical shenanigans before her birth, a natural hermaphrodite at the age of understanding what that entails really does present narrative problems with the English language.

A good author might tie this into a larger narrative structure, a tale of adolescent confusion and acceptance. To be fair, Brett does manage some strides in this direction: Olive has an interrupted fling with a girl and a more protracted affair with a young man in The Desert Prince, for example. But he can’t quite pull it off with depth. Instead, he comes across as tiptoeing the minefield of identity politics, constantly talking about "identifying" and "presenting". Honestly, I’ve seen authors of hentai who handled it better.

Darin, by contrast, is better written. His primary conflict is within himself, the struggle of a physically weak young man trying to live up to his idealized mental image of the father he never knew. His powers make him a pariah, as well as a perfect sneak, and he’s the driving force behind most of the plot; this contrasts with Olive, whose only abnormal abilities are super-strength and Wolverine-level healing. She leads by force of will. Darin tries not to lead at all, but ends up being listened to because he’s insightful.

He’s also autistic. That wasn’t something that came through much in The Desert Prince, but it’s a lot clearer here. He doesn’t like crowds or hugs. He doesn’t understand emotions. His response to a young woman’s "I love you" is, "Why?" (I’ve asked the same question before, though, so call that one necessary but not sufficient.) It’s one of those cases where you have to read between the lines a bit, and that’s perfectly fine. Autism is a diagnosis that is purely modern. The Renaissance-to-Baroque setting wouldn’t have a word for it. And unlike Olive’s hermaphroditism, the author manages to make Darin’s autism click. Once you realize it, things make a lot more sense.


But some things don’t make much sense at all. This isn’t a fault of The Hidden Queen specifically, so much as it’s an issue with Brett as an author. And it’s a consistent issue, one that has been a feature of every book since The Warded Man.

Most readers would complain about his choice of dialect for dialogue—and also narration in this series, since it’s written in first-person present tense, presumably to avoid any pronoun issues regarding Olive—but I’ve never had trouble understanding it. I can only assume that’s because I’m a Southerner who speaks an Appalachian dialect, which is pretty close to the rural speech of the book. "Ent" instead of "ain’t" trips me up, but that’s about it.

No, Brett’s biggest failing is one that has risen in prominence as his books have gone on, and they’re only more glaring in today’s world. The Krasians are bloodthirsty savages, barbarians who combine the worst traits of Sunni Muslims, Ottoman sultans, and Chinese courtiers. They conquered one of the duchies of Thesa 15 years ago—in book time and real time—and killed or enslaved those who fought against them. They tried to do the same to two of the other Free Cities, Lakton and Angiers, but were stopped in what was a major arc of the Demon Cycle series. They not only practice slavery, but have a rigid caste system, a warrior culture practically based on rape, and a prickly sense of pride in all of it.

That wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t so obvious that the author idolizes them. Krasians are shown as smarter and stronger, more powerful and more pious than their counterparts in the Free Cities. Worse, they’re believed to be all of those by the very same people they spent multiple books attempting to conquer. Yet the evidence quite clearly shows that they’re a culture in the same way that ISIS is. They never create, but only destroy. They have no philosophers or scientists, nor would they want them. Their proudest moment was a full three millennia before the books even start.

Somehow, this doesn’t bother any of the characters from more civilized lands. Krasians have a number of slurs directed at the "soft" people of Thesa, and Olive often finds herself nodding along with them, only to get ready to pick a fight when her best friend’s father doesn’t immediately fall to his knees before her kidnappers. The only character who genuinely seems as put off by their presence as any sane person should be is Lord Rhinebeck. He gets chewed out by Olive for saving her from being killed by one of them, and somehow that rational act is enough to end her brief infatuation with him.

"But they’re Muslim ninjas," you can almost hear Peter Brett saying in response. Because that’s pretty much all they are. As far as readers are concerned, that’s all they’ve ever been. They’re a gimmick that spiraled out of control, I think. The alternative is that I’m reading books by an author who really does venerate the sort of culture that gave us rape gangs, Christmas market stabbings, and beheaded journalists.


I’ve rambled on long enough. The Hidden Queen is a decent read if you can ignore its flaws. If you can let yourself escape into the world—reading the previous books in both series is a prerequisite to that—then it has its fun moments. And Darin is a well-written, well-rounded character who is the genuine bright spot. Other than that, it’s half a book of wandering around, a few dozen pages of hype for barbarians, and a payoff that’s just too short.

I’ll read The Demon King once it’s out, just to say I finished the series, and because the overall plot really is interesting. I like the struggle of humanity against an implacable foe. Brett actually does a decent job of imagining what a civilization dealing with that struggle would look like, and those worldbuilding gems are worth it.

But they’re diamonds in the rough, I have to admit.

Nightfall

I’ve written before on the topic of what I call the Third Dark Age, the hypothesis that our current Western society is on the same trajectory as those of Europe in the 6th century AD and the Mediterranean coast in the 12th century BC. I’ve also written about my belief that the only way to stop—or, at least, to cut short—the Third Dark Age is with a Second Enlightenment.

Both of those posts were written before the 2024 election. Now that we’re five months into the fallout of that election, the picture is becoming a little clearer…and a little darker.

It’s no secret that America is becoming increasingly divided. The fractures between political left and right have become gaping fissures that are busy swallowing all of us who profess allegiance to neither extreme. Battle lines are being drawn in the culture war, the race war, the war for control over hearts and minds for generations to come.

Truth is, both sides have a fatal flaw. This isn’t my natural contrarianism coming out. It’s not the fallacy of false equivalence, because—in this instance, anyway—leftists and rightists truly are equally bad. They both have the goal of dragging Western civilization into a time of darkness and regression. They just have different motives.

The left-hand path

The Left’s modus operandi is well known by now. The woke mind virus has long since taken root, and taken control of its host. Progressivism is dark and anti-human by its very nature: an erasure of all that makes humans, and human societies, unique and great. The idea that a man can become a woman simply by force of will, that anyone can become an American in the same fashion. A reduction of our status to mere numbers and the diversity boxes we check.

That sort of social rot has been in place for over a decade. We see its effects everywhere we look. We see the statues of our heroes being torn down because they were "colonizers" or "slave-owners", only to be replaced with nameless, shapeless figures who are exceptional only by virtue of being unexceptional. Monuments to mediocrity, an uplifting of those ugly in flesh and spirit. What better way to celebrate an ideology that encourages sterilization, than by creating something that lacks any sense of humanity?

In the progressive version of the Third Dark Age, we fall because we are dragged down to the level of the worst of us, Harrison Bergeron on the scale of a civilization. Whites and East Asians have higher intelligence on average, so we must not be allowed to use it. Men are stronger on average than women, yet we must only use that strength in service to the fairer sex. And even the word "sex" becomes a slur, because it implies the biological reality whose denial is crucial to the entire enterprise: if we recognize that there is an unbridgeable gap between men and women, what other innate barriers must we admit?

More than merely social, however, the woke darkness is one which transforms science into dogma, turning scientists into priests or heretics, depending on whether or not they toe the line of what the regime considers orthodox. We witnessed this firsthand over the past five years, watching as noted physicians, epidemiologists, biologists, physicists, climatologists, and many others were ostracized, fired, deplatformed for coming out—with verifiable evidence, in accordance with the scientific method—against the various tyrannies of the 2020s. Whether the tyrannical response to a mild flu, the pushing of a deadly genetic experiment in the guise of a vaccine, or the continued de-industrialization of our world in response to a fictitious claim of higher temperatures, people’s lives were ruined simply because they questioned the prevailing narrative.

This is the communist type of bad ending, an Orwellian Dark Age where the masses are kept sick and stupid, living in pods and eating bugs and being told that it’s for their own good. Rather than being denied the light, we are told that it’s bad for us. That we are creatures of darkness, and to aspire to anything better is offensive to those who lack the courage.

The right turn

One way to read the results of last year’s election is as a rejection of such progressive ideals. That’s not to say it’s necessarily the correct reading, but there is an element of truth. Enough people truly were tired of the status quo that they flipped.

Unfortunately, some are taking that to mean they would prefer the opposite extreme.

This is becoming an increasingly popular opinion among the farther segments of the Right. Rather than restoring our constitutional republic, the norms and values that made our nation great in the first place, they seem willing to reject it entirely. Worse, they’re ready to reject the Enlightenment itself.

Their reasoning, as much as there is reasoning involved, seems to be a case of mistaken identity. Progressives call themselves liberals, and actual—called "classical"—liberals are too few and too scattered to push back. Thus, these extremists consider those extremists to define what it means to be liberal. Following that twisted logic, they then deem that liberalism itself is at fault, and must be destroyed.

Of course, liberalism is the foundation of America in the first place. It’s what led to the Revolution. Without the bedrock of the liberal Enlightenment, there is no free speech, no free press, no free religion. Without liberty, equality, and fraternity, we cannot have the Red, White, and Blue.

And some people genuinely don’t seem to care.

Right-wing Twitter, for example, is becoming crowded with people who would gladly trade our Republic for a theocratic dictatorship, as long as that dictatorship was whites-only. These are people who reject the premise of the Declaration of Independence, that we are all endowed with certain inalienable rights. They reject the notion that there is room for debate. They even reject the verifiable fact—I can verify it myself—that it is possible to have a strong moral compass without religion.

The nationalist-conservative Dark Age, then, looks a lot more like the Medieval Dark Age: a land of kings using their subjects as pawns, of priests keeping the masses in check with nonsense such as "divine right" and "original sin". Of power unchecked, because people are taught to believe that power in itself is the goal.

On this road, we come into darkness because we reject the progress we have made, throwing the baby out with the bathwater. Because the Left pushed mRNA "vaccines", we must toss aside germ theory. Because the Left facilitated an invasion of illegal immigrants, we must throw away equal protection for our citizens. Because Reddit-tier atheists convinced teens to question their biology, we must rip out secularism by the roots.

This, then, is the theocratic version of the bad end, and it’s Islamic in the literal sense of the word islam: submission. Here, we are not creatures of darkness, but creatures stuck in darkness through no fault of our own. We are not allowed to strive for the light, because that light is reserved only for the chosen few. But if we debase ourselves enough, believing all the right unbelievable things, saying all the right platitudes, we might be permitted a glimpse of that light as we die. For, in the world of the far right, a human is worthless when he is alive, but downright holy before and after.

The third way

I reject both extremes. To the Left, that makes me little better than a fascist. To the Right, it makes me little better than a progressive. And I don’t particularly care.

America was founded on liberal ideals. This much cannot be denied. We were a refuge for the oppressed from the start. We understood multiculturalism and diversity were important…within reason. On that, I must disagree vehemently with the nationalists.

Humans are diverse in many ways. Although theories like Sapir-Whorf have long since been debunked, we do know that cultures have differences that can be inscrutable, and nearly indescribable, to others. And some of these cultures are, to put it simply, incompatible with the ideals of the classical liberal. On this, I disagree with the progressives.

Some of the incompatibility does share its roots with religion, but only in the vaguest sense; even among the Christian nations of Europe, there are distinct variations between, for example, the Germanic peoples and the descendants of Rome. There have been closed or backward Christian societies and open, cosmopolitan Muslim ones. There is, for example, nothing innate about Hinduism that leads its adherents to reject modern sanitation. Tribal religions are not fundamentally opposed to technological progress. And a lack of religion does not imply a lack of spirituality or a lack of empathy.

Liberalism, however, is very much an ideology of plenty. When there are few pressing demands, when survival is largely routine, we have the ability to grow as a people. That is why the seeds of republicanism were born in the fertile period of Ancient Greece, and why the Enlightenment took root only after the Age of Discovery.

I believe it’s also why the liberal ideals are so foreign to the invaders in our country today. Sub-Saharan Africa is a dangerous place, as is most of South America. The Middle East is largely a wasteland. China, of course, is now a communist nightmare, though it wasn’t always so. The Indian subcontinent is so crowded and despoiled that a nuclear war might make things better.

In none of these places do we see the lack of scarcity that proved necessary for philosophical thought to flourish. Only with that sort of wisdom can we see beyond ourselves, to look at society and humanity from a wider angle and draw conclusions from what we find. That is why the time immediately following World War II, when there was such a push to reach a state of post-scarcity, gave rise to such rapid progress in America and Western Europe. We were on the cusp of a Second Enlightenment, even though we didn’t yet need it.

Progressivism failed us then, tearing down our lofty ideals, and we’re only now, a lifetime later, clawing our way out of that mire. But we must beware not to fall into the other extreme. The nationalist version of the Third Dark Age will serve us no better.

A warning about Amazon

Amazon has very quietly made the unfortunate decision that those who purchase books through the Kindle Store are not entitled to basic customer rights under the doctrine of first sale, and will no longer be allowed to copy those books to anything other than another Kindle. Since this is a violation of the fundamental expectations of a storefront, I feel I must act as someone whose wares are available through that storefront.

If you have purchased one of my books in digital form through Amazon at any point, and you are not able to copy or transfer it to your PC, tablet, or other device, please reach out, and I will send you a DRM-free copy of the book or books you have purchased.

In the meantime, I will be looking for other platforms and storefronts to make my works available as widely as possible, and as freely as possible. Innocence Reborn is already available as an ebook through Barnes & Noble, so that will be the first site I intend to focus my efforts on.