Even being the massive Faction Paradox fan that I am, I'd be remiss not to admit that it can be a bit much at times. The dense worldbuilding, the symbolism, the intricately-designed plotlines, the deep-cut references – it can be hard to keep up as a reader, much as I try my best for the sake of understanding and enjoying these books to their full potential. Especially when you get into books like Against Nature, mired in dense cultural and historical context and spread across multiple storylines that blur the lines between the real and the mythological... it can be quite the headache. A very worthwhile headache, mind you, but a headache nevertheless.

As it turns out, the author of Against Nature felt much the same way. Hence, Golden Age.

As the development of Against Nature dragged on through publication limbo and production hell of various flavors, author Lawrence Burton started to feel bogged down by the writing process. Looking to find something to offset the tedium, Burton decided to pen a book with a completely different modus operandi to that of the meticulously planned Against Nature, yet written parallel to it. Where Against Nature's plot was rigorous and overdesigned, Golden Age's was largely improvised, new elements being thrown in wherever Burton felt they were needed. Where Against Nature tied itself up in the lore of both Faction Paradox and Aztec mythology, needing a decent amount of context to fully appreciate, Golden Age served as a largely independent work. And where Against Nature took itself deeply seriously, Golden Age's main priority was just to have fun.

The resulting novel is – what else? – a book that wears its writing philosophy on its sleeve. Individuals from 15th-century Mexico, Texas of the near future, an alien planet known as Ganda Mnemma, and so on collide on a journey to explore a mysterious cave system where time doesn't work right and realms from all over the universe are connected – and over time it's revealed just how little of a right to exist in this universe the caves really have. It's a chaotic, unpredictable journey through a variety of alien worlds, featuring fish people, gnomes, and whatever a "Space Plum" is. (Spoiler: it's the spindly guy on the cover.) To call Golden Age a "romp" almost feels like underselling it, mostly because any given monosyllabic word doesn't seem eloquent enough to describe the joyful, wide-eyed exploratory energy contained within these pages.

And it somehow all fits together, thematically and plot-wise. The book's universe and its storyline are both sprawling yet cohesive – Burton manages the impressive feat of constantly introducing new elements while ensuring that none of them feel like they've come out of nowhere. It's just about as madcap as a novel can get while retaining this level of coherency, which is commendable in and of itself. When any given element started tiring me out, the book moved on to something new and interesting, without ever really blindsiding me with all its twists and turns. It's a rollercoaster from start to finish, which is a sentiment meant in the best way possible.

The book's biggest weakness in focusing on introducing new elements and keeping the plot moving forward is that its characters are rather bland, serving mostly as vessels through which the story and worldbuilding can be expressed. The cast is pretty big, and yet very few of them do much to stand out – for most I could only name one character trait, and for some I could barely name any. The cast is relatively likeable, but mostly because there's not much there to dislike. The characters that worked for me most were probably the Aztecs, Icnopilli and Teuhmatl, but even that was more for how their world was reflected through them; it was a good time seeing the duo work out what was going on around them through their own cultural and scientific understanding of the universe.

On the other hand, the fact that the worldbuilding carries the characters speaks to the strength of that worldbuilding. This is a quality notably shared by Against Nature, where cultures real and fictional feel equally fleshed-out, and like there's a real attempt to make each world feel just as alive as every other regardless of how fantastical any one of them is. The worlds of the various Earthbound cast members feel just as lived-in as the alien realms they visit, realms which feel more alien and more engaging than those of other scifi series I might be able to name. That's simply thanks to Burton's lack of interest in making these realms' denizens at all human-like, and the amount of consideration given to how civilizations would vary based on the resident species' physiology and culture. Very few settings feel lacking here.

The one major exception to the pattern of uninteresting characters and fleshed-out settings is the supporting character of the Raumclown and the reality he inhabits – oh, yes, this guy warrants his own paragraph. The Raumclown is a traveler in space and time who's been reduced to a parody of himself, enshittifying all of his surroundings. Nonsense follows him, and he follows in nonsense's stead, turning everything into pointless, substanceless adventures. And through it all, he's reasonably aware of the existential nature of his situation. It's a character idea with potential, but doesn't really go anywhere other than serving as an obvious satire of Doctor Who and, more broadly, franchises bogged down in their own continuity. It's interesting as a reaction to Against Nature and to Faction Paradox as a whole, but the depth of the commentary does not warrant the sheer amount of pages and snarky comments spent on it. Golden Age at large is making its best effort not to be as aimless as its writing philosophy would suggest, and the Raumclown's sections are those where it does succumb to pointlessness. He doesn't even get an interesting ending. I guess Burton succeeded in making me feel as tired as the characters do when in the Raumclown's presence, but that's not necessarily a good thing.

Still, in the release announcement for Golden Age, Burton made it very clear that the intention was never to make the thing a crowdpleaser. He wrote whatever came into his head, made sure it was interesting to him in particular, and gave as little of a shit as possible about the opinions of potential readers. By and large this attitude serves the book very well, giving it an airy and adventurous atmosphere; and at the points where it doesn't, it's hard to blame a publication whose entire purpose is self-indulgence for being self-indulgent. In that respect, I'm largely just surprised and impressed that I enjoyed it as much as I did. By the time I was making my way through the final chapter, I felt a combination of fascination and joy at the way the main characters' stories ended – and given the smile on my face as I finished the last couple pages, I think it's safe to call this one a success.