The Age of Ra | |||||||||
James Lovegrove | |||||||||
Solaris, 448 pages | |||||||||
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A review by Nathan Brazil
It's an idea loaded with promise, as I'd expect from James Lovegrove, and I anticipated a plot which rolled and whispered
like the shifting sands of the desert. Unfortunately, what I found was something that groaned with disappointment. The
self-styled Lightbringer has vowed to break humanity free from the shackles of divine oppression, but as secrets are
revealed we learn that all is not as it seems. Which will surprise no one. Worse is to come, when the author attempts
to write the Egyptian gods as characters. We're asked to accept that these beings have defeated every other pantheon
of gods, and yet there is no explanation as to how they accomplished such a monumental victory.
Moreover, these gods behave like a bunch of dysfunctional teenagers ruled by an immortal old fart, and stuck in some
kind of mythological Groundhog Day. I ended up with no idea what Lovegrove was trying to do with his god sequences,
because so much of it was close to bollocks.
Back among the humans, the main characters of Westwynter and the Lightbringer interact far more interestingly, and in
ways that eventually make sense. But, as the Lightbringer's rebellion gains pace, there are some serious
omissions. Any military novel worth its salt explores technology, especially the weapons systems being used. But
all that's on offer here are ba lances, which are Stargate-style
staff weapons powered by divine essence, fusion bombs
which work by combining the essence of two different gods, and the Scarab Tank, a solar-powered vehicle, which uses
a drive sphere for propulsion. A drive sphere, in the desert, where it would generate virtually zero traction. Then
there's the big idea for infantry; mass-produced zombie mummies. Honestly, if I hadn't read it, I'd have thought
someone was having a laugh.
In summary, The Age of Ra barely hints as to what the author is capable, and is a poor example of his
work. As an attempt to cross military action and SF, it ends up being neither and fails on both fronts. In almost
four and a half hundred pages, there should have been plenty of room for development and imagination, but what
is presented reads more like barrels being scraped. What is most annoying is that the novel hints at a really
interesting idea, and reveals a shadow of what could have been fascinating characterization. But the execution
is botched, and the lead characters are so clichéd they stifle what might have been a saving grace. I don't
know what went wrong here, James Lovegrove is usually so much better.
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