Against Nature

The first Faction Paradox novel I reviewed, This Town Will Never Let Us Go, was perhaps the most introspective and philosophical in Mad Norwegian Press's line of seven Faction books. As someone just getting started with the franchise, and to be honest just getting back into the habit of reading in general, it was a lot for me to unpack. Large portions of the book were taken up by commentary on society, and as the plot developed it turned out to be much more symbolic than it was interested in telling a neatly-ordered, easy-to-understand story. Certainly I ended up with takeaways from the book, and boy oh boy did I write about them, but it was one that really had to sit with me; over time, my perception of the book, its plot, and its messaging changed dramatically. I'll be a Tiffany Korta stan til the end of my days, but generally speaking I've disavowed the majority of what I wrote in that review. It's simply a book that's impossible to judge on first glance, and one so interpretive that it might as well be impossible to paint a full, coherent, definite picture in a single review.

Anyway, Lawrence Burton's Against Nature was overtly inspired by This Town. So that gives you an idea of what I'm in for here, in my attempt to review this thing.

This was the first Faction Paradox novel published by Obverse Books, but in my mind it very much belongs in the same era as the book directly before it, Newtons Sleep from Random Static Ltd. The two were both developed there, and it very much shows: they're both incredibly dense with lore, time travel shenanigans, and opaque prose styles. Against Nature in fact takes it a step further from Newtons Sleep, having full sequences set in pseudo-imaginary realms, alter-time states, and so on. And it commits to culture-specific narration styles even more than its antecessor, jumping between characters from all sorts of cultures (modern Texas, modern Mexico, pre-colonial Mexico, the Great Houses) and taking culture-specific terminology as givens, whether it's "radio", "Huixachtepetl", or "Kithriarch". This makes some sections a lot more readable than others on first glance, but as the reader settles into the book it eventually just helps the immersion; after all, why would characters overexplain deeply-ingrained cultural concepts in their own internal monologues? And the narration style helps a lot, being surprisingly relaxed a lot of the time. The content isn't leisurely, but Burton's prose style often is, somehow not feeling tryhard or overindulgent in spite of its density.

What is the book actually about, though? That one's up for interpretation. One plotline sees a character grappling with the realization his entire life isn't real anymore, and struggling to find a sense of belonging and purpose regardless; I'm not really sure what its climax was aiming for, but there's definitely something on the bone there. Another involves a group of hybrid Homeworlders, as they come to terms with their world becoming both increasingly mythological and biological; there's three other plotlines, but I don't think I could describe their storylines with any level of assuredness. And surprisingly, that attitude worked for me while reading – after a while, I stopped trying to follow along perfectly, instead focusing on the grand strokes of what was going on, the atmosphere and the theming, and understanding that I was simply along for the ride.

And the impressive thing is that I still got a lot from it! Relatable characters, touching moments, stressful climactic scenes, jaw-dropping plot twists, moments that make you sit back for a sec and think about life – this book has it all. Some characters were more developed than others (between the two brothers Primo and Todd it's not hard to say who was more memorable) but each plotline is vividly written and has moments and characters peppered in that stand out. It speaks to Lawrence Burton's talent that he's able to craft such a fascinating and gripping narrative even though the specifics can be somewhat muddied; there's salient themes of what it means to be human, our relationship with mythology, our relationship with reality, the difference between the two, the meaning of life and death and so on and so on. I couldn't tell you what my exact takeaways were, but as with This Town it's stuck with me, and will be stewing around in my mind for a while yet. If that was my experience on a baseline first readthrough, I can only imagine what it's like after a reread or two, where the reader knows what they're in for and can really dig into it. Or maybe just what it's like to someone who's an Aztec scholar like Burton is.

Whatever else I can say about it, Lawrence Burton is an incredibly talented man for this book alone. He mashed This Town Will Never Let Us Go (an introspective book that maybe needed more structure) and Newtons Sleep (an overly structured book that maybe needed more introspection) into an Aztec culture–flavored broth, and it worked out very well. I can't call it perfect – it focused a lot on the philosophy and mythicality of its storyline, occasionally to the detriment of the characters and structure. Some of the perspective characters stick with you, while others rolled through my mind and back out, mostly serving as vessels for the plot; and near the climax, some characters suddenly start understanding the plot for reasons entirely unclear to me, which struck me as a little underbaked way of doing it. Still, Against Nature goes for the grandiose and the mythical over anything else, and I can't fault it for deprioritizing characterization a little bit, especially when it's still got a serviceable batting average in that regard.

The moment I finished this book, I decided to put off reviewing it for a few days; it seemed like the sort of thing that needed a lot of time to stew in my brain. But truth be told, I don't think I'm ready to write a proper review still, because I don't think it'll ever stop stewing on it. Perhaps even more than This Town Will Never Let Us Go, Against Nature is a book with a lot to say, one that doesn't give you answers at first glance, and in fact I doubt it ever will no matter how many times I come back to it. The best any reader of this book can do is to keep stirring that stew in their heads, watch the chunks of veggie rearrange into different places and configurations, and admire whatever comes out, knowing it's only one way of seeing it and that it'll keep changing and growing and getting just that little bit more delicious over time.

Epic. Inscrutable. Oddly beautiful. Would read again.