Source of book: NetGalley (thank you)
Relevant disclaimers: None
Please note: This review may not be reproduced or quoted, in whole or in part, without explicit consent from the author.
And remember: I am not here to judge your drag, I mean your book. Books are art and art is subjective. These are just my personal thoughts. They are not meant to be taken as broader commentary on the general quality of the work. Believe me, I have not enjoyed many an excellent book, and my individual lack of enjoyment has not made any of those books less excellent or (more relevantly) less successful.
Further disclaimer: Readers, please stop accusing me of trying to take down “my competition” because I wrote a review you didn’t like. This is complete nonsense. Firstly, writing isn’t a competitive sport. Secondly, I only publish reviews of books in the subgenre where I’m best known (queer romcom) if they’re glowing. And finally: taking time out of my life to read an entire book, then write a detailed review about it that some people on GR will look at would be a profoundly inefficient and ineffective way to damage the careers of other authors. If you can’t credit me with simply being a person who loves books and likes talking about them, at least credit me with enough common sense to be a better villain.
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I was kind of excited to see a YA dystopia pop on NetGalley because I thought that trend was, like, super dead—although I think I myself had drifted away from it somewhere towards the middle. There’s a video essay by Sarah Z about the rise and fall of YA dystopia which, I think (it’s been a while since I’ve seen it, so apologies if I’m mis-summarising this), reaches the conclusion that the genre keeled over, partly due to over-saturation and the natural ebb and flow of the market, but also because it stopped making any fucking sense. As in, instead of, you know, instead of exploring a theoretically plausible dystopian settings things had degenerated into a kind of “what if teenagers had to [something impractically unpleasant]”, for which I think Divergent is something of the poster child. Anyway, where I’m going with that tangent, is that I think what really struck me about The Stranded is that it feels like a very, very believable dystopia.
The premise is a mysterious, and an ensuing war, has basically wiped out most of Europe. America, meanwhile, has fractured, with the Federated States being the established power, a wall dividing it from whatever lies on the other side. Our teenage heroine is one of the stranded, a descendent of one of the original travellers who took refuge on the cruise ship Arcadia when the virus broke out and—despite having had no incidents of the virus for literally decades—are still being denied entry to the Federated States. That this setting is clearly derived from, err, shit that was going on in the world a few years ago (with Trump in the White House and stories of stranded cruise ships, like the Diamond Princess or the Zaandam getting some media attention during the pandemic) is probably what renders The Stranded such an effective dystopia (compared to, y’know, ‘what if teenagers were only allowed one personality trait’) but I could also see—given how close we still are to living in our dystopia—a certain … opportunism, perhaps, that may to some people feel slightly distasteful.
For what it’s worth, I didn’t personally feel that way. I think that, while the setting is clearly influenced by the pandemic and its broader political context, the book was also at pains to establish differences between the real past and the fictional present: the virus, for example, originates in Europe (not Asia) and then there’s the war that has turned the continent into a wasteland, and while there’s a wall down the middle of the US now, the details of how and why it came about are left vague. Anyway, YMMV is what I’m saying.
The book is multi-viewpoint, but I’d personally say the main protagonist is Esther. Raised on the Arcadia, she is currently training to be a doctor as part of a programme that is supposed to get top candidates in highly skilled profession (like doctors and military officers) admittance to the Federated States. The Arcadia is currently a sort of panopticon, run under a martial law imposed by officers from the Federated States, ostensibly to protect citizens from the gangs that previously threatened the ship, but mostly about enforcing control. When Esther, previously unassuming and diligent, is present at an illegal leaflet drop she gets pulled into a rebellion that has brewing for generations. The other POV characters are Nik, one of the rebels, who is in love with Esther’s sister, and Hadley, the sadistic representative of the Federated States who has been assigned to the Arcadia as punishment for a previous indiscretion.
Of the three POVs, I found Esther the most compelling, perhaps because she had the most significant emotional journey to undertake. Nik felt a bit more utilitarian, his personality slightly subsumed by his narrative function, which was allowing the reader to see what was going on with the rebels. And Hadley … well. I honestly feel a bit ambiguous about villain POVs, especially if they become glamorised, but there’s no danger of that with Hadley. He’s legitimately terrifying—this mixture of entitlement and grievance that renders him ruthless, unpredictable, and absolutely irredeemable. I confess to being slightly fascinated by his perspective, not because there was anything particularly special about him as a person (his villainy is always banal, stemming from unchecked power and contempt) but because we get to understand his goals, see his perspective, even his vulnerability, and the forces he himself is in conflict with (he is as desperate to get off the Arcadia as the citizens) and he is still not only monstrous but monstrously uncool. That feels like quite an accomplishment.
The Stranded, in general, pulls no punches. Some pretty terrible shit and dramatic shit goes down over the course of the book. And, given the high stakes and escalating tension, I’m somewhat surprised by some of the more negative reviews that found the book slow. For me, it had a thriller-like compulsiveness that kept me tearing through the pages. In fact, the book was so relentlessly plot-driven that I felt some of its character moments got a little lost in the action—I think I felt more emotional connection between Esther and the bloke who servers her coffee in the opening chapter than I did between any of the romantic couples. Basically, The Stranded asks us to take a lot of pre-existing relationships for granted—especially between siblings and between lovers—before the story kicks off and doesn’t always do the best job of allowing us to invest. For example, Esther’s boyfriend Alex is clearly made of red flags from top-to-toe but the book doesn’t give us time to believe in him as someone who is NOT made of red flags from top-to-toe which makes Esther’s commitment to him and everyone else’s willingness to just trust him a bit frustrating. On the other hand, I really appreciated the way The Stranded allowed its characters to behave non-heroically. A grieving Nik says some truly terrible things to Esther. And Esther herself, while she comes through in the end, is given space to be scared and overwhelmed, and make bad decisions—as, I think, most people would in the same position.
In any case, I enjoyed The Stranded a lot, finding it both gripping and oddly grounded for a YA dystopia (it even makes a degree of sense why the rebellion is resting on the shoulders of young people instead of, y’know, actual adults). While it faltered occasionally in its characterisation, it shines it terms of its plotting, its setting and its risk-taking. If nothing else, book 1 ends in a wildly different place to where it began, which gives me hope for book 2 maintaining its momentum and its breakneck pace.