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The Twilight of Briareus
In this tale England has been transformed, through a disruption in world weather caused by a supernova explosion, into a snowbound Arcadia; from the same apparent source later come psychic influences which lead to complex interaction between humans and aliens.
256 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1974
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Displaying 1 - 26 of 26 reviews
June 27, 2020
DAW Collectors #158
Cover Artist: Kelly Freas
Name: Murry, John Middleton, Jr., Birthplace: Abbotsbury, Dorset, England, UK, (09 May 1926 - 29 April 2002).
Alternate Names: Colin Middleton Murry, Colin Murry.
In this tale, England has been transformed, through a disruption in world weather caused by a supernova explosion, into a snowbound Arcadia. From the same apparent source later come psychic influences which lead to complex interaction between humans and aliens.
Cover Artist: Kelly Freas
Name: Murry, John Middleton, Jr., Birthplace: Abbotsbury, Dorset, England, UK, (09 May 1926 - 29 April 2002).
Alternate Names: Colin Middleton Murry, Colin Murry.
In this tale, England has been transformed, through a disruption in world weather caused by a supernova explosion, into a snowbound Arcadia. From the same apparent source later come psychic influences which lead to complex interaction between humans and aliens.
July 1, 2025
The Twilight of Briareus is an absolute stunner of a science fiction novel by Colin Murry, who most famously wrote under the pseudonym Richard Cowper. His work appears to be quite polarizing in the SF readership—somewhere between Christopher Priest, Michael Coney, and Keith Roberts lies Cowper's writing. His style is understated and wrapped in exceptional prose, with both a poetic tenderness and a tame violence. Briareus is among the most literary SF I've encountered, and his writing represents an interesting demarcation from most SF of the period in that it is decidedly English, without postmodern execution, pastoral and concerned with character and story.
Briareus is not a novel idea, but where Cowper stands apart is in his expression and craftsmanship of the plot. That's really the key thing in SF and any literature: can the author use tropes to assemble a story that is their own in the telling? Briareus is a stand-out example of this quality, particularly in how Cowper approaches horror—not through explicit revelation but through spectral suggestion. His horror lies in things that might be there, not in what demonstrably is.
The novel follows humanity's response after a supernova occurs in the constellation of Briareus, an explosion so intense that Earth is bombarded by extreme solar radiation unlike anything in recorded history. Worldwide auroras appear in gorgeous blue and green pastel arrays swallowing the global horizon. The solar radiation renders the entire populace sterile and transforms a subset of humanity into "Zeta mutants"—morphing the story into both sociological critique and a first contact tale.
Here we see Cowper's understated approach at work: the horror accumulates slowly, seeping through implications rather than arriving as immediate devastation. This beauty-wrapped catastrophe draws from a deeper well of English supernatural tradition—the unsettling power of things that hover just beyond the frame of understanding.
Cowper's handling of not only the global stage reaction to such an event but also the lives of various protagonists is done with serious intelligence and awareness of the human condition. By "sociological critique," I mean that Cowper sets the world stage dynamics with sensibility about how governments and individuals behave—particularly how governments often operate in the shadows at the expense of humanity. This political dimension operates through the same spectral quality as the cosmic threat: power exercised through misdirection and concealment rather than overt control.
Cowper's first contact is ethereal in execution, a haunting of preternatural arrival. Neither the reader nor the world inside the narrative can understand what exactly is happening, even those who are most intimately involved in the supernatural machinations. There is a dreamlike glamour that floods the world, held up only by an evolving and delicate mystery. This approach represents philosophical honesty rather than authorial evasion—any truly alien intelligence would resist our interpretive frameworks.
I've found that some of the most effective SF abides by this plot device. It's an egotistical flaw of our species to presume that we would reach out for even a modicum of understanding about a truly foreign intelligence. Cowper's visitations are spectral, abiding under the skin, somewhere locked away in the drivers of intelligence, or even the soul, hidden away by the very fact that we don't understand the thing they are clinging to. Brilliant. In the recesses of our own being there is an answer, but it is permanently masked inside a soul of which we know nothing.
This spectral quality extends across every level of the narrative. The Zeta mutations operate "under the skin," transforming consciousness rather than merely flesh. The most disturbing changes are internal, psychological, spiritual—alterations that cannot be easily catalogued or understood. The "dreamlike glamour" becomes more unsettling precisely because it's beautiful and ambiguous rather than obviously threatening.
I do question the ending of the novel—arguably one of the most difficult things to do for any writer. Cowper almost falls into a trap here, but by the way the story at large successfully dodges the reader's attempt to call motives malevolent or benevolent, I believe the author had two paths and just chose the one they wanted. The understated approach that governs the rest of the work preserves the essential mystery even as narrative resolution approaches.
A few years ago I read Cowper's Kinship trilogy; his prose did not dodge me then. And although this is my first SF novel by Cowper, if this thread is adhered to in all of his writings, he is surely one of the great writers of our beloved and forgotten genre. The Twilight of Briareus stands as proof that the most effective speculative fiction emerges not from answers but from the quality of questions it preserves. Cowper reminds us that some mysteries are most powerful when they remain mysteries—that consciousness itself exists in perpetual twilight, forever illuminated by lights we cannot fully comprehend.
Briareus is not a novel idea, but where Cowper stands apart is in his expression and craftsmanship of the plot. That's really the key thing in SF and any literature: can the author use tropes to assemble a story that is their own in the telling? Briareus is a stand-out example of this quality, particularly in how Cowper approaches horror—not through explicit revelation but through spectral suggestion. His horror lies in things that might be there, not in what demonstrably is.
The novel follows humanity's response after a supernova occurs in the constellation of Briareus, an explosion so intense that Earth is bombarded by extreme solar radiation unlike anything in recorded history. Worldwide auroras appear in gorgeous blue and green pastel arrays swallowing the global horizon. The solar radiation renders the entire populace sterile and transforms a subset of humanity into "Zeta mutants"—morphing the story into both sociological critique and a first contact tale.
Here we see Cowper's understated approach at work: the horror accumulates slowly, seeping through implications rather than arriving as immediate devastation. This beauty-wrapped catastrophe draws from a deeper well of English supernatural tradition—the unsettling power of things that hover just beyond the frame of understanding.
Cowper's handling of not only the global stage reaction to such an event but also the lives of various protagonists is done with serious intelligence and awareness of the human condition. By "sociological critique," I mean that Cowper sets the world stage dynamics with sensibility about how governments and individuals behave—particularly how governments often operate in the shadows at the expense of humanity. This political dimension operates through the same spectral quality as the cosmic threat: power exercised through misdirection and concealment rather than overt control.
Cowper's first contact is ethereal in execution, a haunting of preternatural arrival. Neither the reader nor the world inside the narrative can understand what exactly is happening, even those who are most intimately involved in the supernatural machinations. There is a dreamlike glamour that floods the world, held up only by an evolving and delicate mystery. This approach represents philosophical honesty rather than authorial evasion—any truly alien intelligence would resist our interpretive frameworks.
I've found that some of the most effective SF abides by this plot device. It's an egotistical flaw of our species to presume that we would reach out for even a modicum of understanding about a truly foreign intelligence. Cowper's visitations are spectral, abiding under the skin, somewhere locked away in the drivers of intelligence, or even the soul, hidden away by the very fact that we don't understand the thing they are clinging to. Brilliant. In the recesses of our own being there is an answer, but it is permanently masked inside a soul of which we know nothing.
This spectral quality extends across every level of the narrative. The Zeta mutations operate "under the skin," transforming consciousness rather than merely flesh. The most disturbing changes are internal, psychological, spiritual—alterations that cannot be easily catalogued or understood. The "dreamlike glamour" becomes more unsettling precisely because it's beautiful and ambiguous rather than obviously threatening.
I do question the ending of the novel—arguably one of the most difficult things to do for any writer. Cowper almost falls into a trap here, but by the way the story at large successfully dodges the reader's attempt to call motives malevolent or benevolent, I believe the author had two paths and just chose the one they wanted. The understated approach that governs the rest of the work preserves the essential mystery even as narrative resolution approaches.
A few years ago I read Cowper's Kinship trilogy; his prose did not dodge me then. And although this is my first SF novel by Cowper, if this thread is adhered to in all of his writings, he is surely one of the great writers of our beloved and forgotten genre. The Twilight of Briareus stands as proof that the most effective speculative fiction emerges not from answers but from the quality of questions it preserves. Cowper reminds us that some mysteries are most powerful when they remain mysteries—that consciousness itself exists in perpetual twilight, forever illuminated by lights we cannot fully comprehend.
January 13, 2021
I have no idea what the point of this book was, despite reading 150+ pages of it.
A supernova turns the world sterile, and suddenly loads of students are magnetically drawn to their professor (the protagonist).... it’s like a weird fantasy the author wanted to live out through this book.
A supernova turns the world sterile, and suddenly loads of students are magnetically drawn to their professor (the protagonist).... it’s like a weird fantasy the author wanted to live out through this book.
March 8, 2016
I read this book as a teenager and parts of it have stuck with me since then. The opening chapters are very vivid and it's certainly the strangest kind of alien invasion tale you will come across, but after a promising start it becomes very static and 'telling' as it adopts more of a diary style, which really drags the pace down and puts a distance between the reader and narrator.
I'm glad I read it again, but I'm probably won't return to it in years to come.
I'm glad I read it again, but I'm probably won't return to it in years to come.
May 14, 2025
I read this novel for the first time about 30 years ago. The second reading revealed many flaws, but I am still very, very fond of the novel's elegiac tone.
Actually, the part after the super nova should, IMHO, be expanded.
Also, this book presents an interesting variation on the Christ myth.
All in all, definitely worth my time.
Actually, the part after the super nova should, IMHO, be expanded.
Also, this book presents an interesting variation on the Christ myth.
All in all, definitely worth my time.
December 1, 2020
A slightly reluctant 3 stars, rounded up from 2.5. It's a bit derivative (John Wyndham is better) and somewhat dated (why is it always the older men that get to sleep with teenage girls, I wonder?) but it's an interesting idea and well paced until the final few chapters. I found the ending hard to understand and unsatisfying.
May 19, 2021
une vraie bonne surprise et une fin aux petits oignons. On fonce !
February 4, 2018
I picked this up while enduring a bout with an awful cold and fever, just needing something to distract me, not expecting very much, and I was pleasantly surprised when it drew me right in. It became a bit of a feverish read. In the end I can't be certain it wasn't the fever which made it so, because there were some dissatisfying things about the book (in particular, poor or missing explanations, some untied loose ends and the way the conclusion was handled.)
But the first three-quarters, I couldn't put down, which speaks to the power of the concept and the vision - Earth, 1983-1999, the total cessation of all human fertility after a nearby supernova. When sci-fi written in 1970 and set in our *past* holds one's attention, that means it must be half-decent, mustn't it. It's not quite 1984, Brave New World or Childhood's End, but it is in that vein.
I have a couple of pointed criticisms: at times this read like a teenage boy's fantasy, and perhaps it simply hasn't aged well. The author surely would have used different language today when approaching certain scenes.
And I had to chuckle when I read the back cover of my edition: "On the murky outskirts of our solar system, a lonely star has exploded...132 light years away..." I'm going to assume it wasn't the author who wrote the blurb. Very basic astronomical blunder, there.
But the first three-quarters, I couldn't put down, which speaks to the power of the concept and the vision - Earth, 1983-1999, the total cessation of all human fertility after a nearby supernova. When sci-fi written in 1970 and set in our *past* holds one's attention, that means it must be half-decent, mustn't it. It's not quite 1984, Brave New World or Childhood's End, but it is in that vein.
I have a couple of pointed criticisms: at times this read like a teenage boy's fantasy, and perhaps it simply hasn't aged well. The author surely would have used different language today when approaching certain scenes.
And I had to chuckle when I read the back cover of my edition: "On the murky outskirts of our solar system, a lonely star has exploded...132 light years away..." I'm going to assume it wasn't the author who wrote the blurb. Very basic astronomical blunder, there.
September 29, 2008
Forgettable science fiction novel by John Middleton Murray, Jr. using his Richard Cowper pseudonym.
December 22, 2014
Writing was fine. Themes were wrong. A Frankenstein of a book. As a Science Fiction it failed. No sense of the other. Yorkshire Post "One to put a Star against". I put one star against it.
October 27, 2025
Twilight of Briareus feels like a gentle dream of the end of the world. Or is it the beginning of a new one?
A slow, pastoral apocalypse told in quiet tones and long memories. The setting and mood reminded me a lot of John Wyndham’s work: the gentle English countryside, the world unraveling in the background, and its characters taking it all in with a stiff upper lip. The prose sits somewhere between Michael G. Coney and Keith Roberts: literary, elegant, and deeply resonant. The plot? Think Children of Men, Greybeard, or Childhood’s End if they’d been written with a transcendent vibe.
The majority of the book unfolds mostly as a flashback which is a unique way to start your book. Cowper lingers. His pacing wanders. You can feel Cowper really taking his time, letting his universe breathe. What happens next isn’t really the focus. It’s how people live when the world is turned on its head. There’s a strange calmness to it all.
That said, it doesn’t always land perfectly. The middle especially drifts in places, and when the climax arrives, it doesn’t quite land. It’s more of a whisper than a bang.
Also, as a trigger warning for modern readers, there’s some big age-gap relationships/romances that read awkwardly today. Enough to make you wince.
Still, Cowper wrote a beautiful, melancholic book. It’s a “cozy catastrophe” in the truest sense: gentle, eerie, and oddly comforting. I kept thinking about it long after I finished.
A slow, pastoral apocalypse told in quiet tones and long memories. The setting and mood reminded me a lot of John Wyndham’s work: the gentle English countryside, the world unraveling in the background, and its characters taking it all in with a stiff upper lip. The prose sits somewhere between Michael G. Coney and Keith Roberts: literary, elegant, and deeply resonant. The plot? Think Children of Men, Greybeard, or Childhood’s End if they’d been written with a transcendent vibe.
The majority of the book unfolds mostly as a flashback which is a unique way to start your book. Cowper lingers. His pacing wanders. You can feel Cowper really taking his time, letting his universe breathe. What happens next isn’t really the focus. It’s how people live when the world is turned on its head. There’s a strange calmness to it all.
That said, it doesn’t always land perfectly. The middle especially drifts in places, and when the climax arrives, it doesn’t quite land. It’s more of a whisper than a bang.
Also, as a trigger warning for modern readers, there’s some big age-gap relationships/romances that read awkwardly today. Enough to make you wince.
Still, Cowper wrote a beautiful, melancholic book. It’s a “cozy catastrophe” in the truest sense: gentle, eerie, and oddly comforting. I kept thinking about it long after I finished.
March 6, 2021
Vous connaissez les éditions Argyll ? Peut-être pas encore, il est plus que temps de vous en parler ici. C’est une maison d’édition toute récente, basée à Rennes, qui souhaite mettre en avant les auteurs dans la chaîne du livre et rien que pour ça, ils méritent que l’on parle d’eux ! Je suis tombée sous le charme de leur façon de voir les choses, de leur dynamisme, de leur gentillesse, des couvertures de leur graphiste Xavier Collette et depuis quelques jours... de leurs parutions ! Ils m’ont fait confiance avec Le crépuscule de Briareus, de Richard Cowper, à paraître le 18 mars prochain, et j’ai beaucoup aimé.
C’est un roman de science-fiction qui date de 1974, paru en France pour la première fois en 1976, et qui a, à l’occasion de cette réédition, bénéficié d’une nouvelle traduction. Je n’avais jamais rien lu de Richard Cowper avant, c’était donc pour moi une découverte totale. En 1983, la supernova Briareus Delta, située à 132 années-lumière de la Terre, explose. À l’échelle de l’univers, c’est juste la porte à côté alors autant dire que notre petite planète bleue va en subir les effets directs. Non seulement le climat est complètement perturbé (typhons, tornades puis gigantesque vague de froid) mais pire encore : l’humanité ne tarde pas à s’apercevoir qu’elle est devenue stérile !
On est clairement dans un roman post-apocalyptique même si la civilisation n’est pas encore tout à fait anéantie. L’extinction est en marche et comme on peut s’y attendre, elle bouscule pas mal de choses. Le récit nous est raconté par Calvin Johnson, professeur d’Anglais, qui a vécu une drôle d’expérience suite à l’explosion. Il nous relate les événements, la manière dont il les a perçus, ses inquiétudes pour l’avenir, l’apparition d’une onde "zêta" dans le cerveau de certaines personnes et ses conséquences. Un homme dont je me suis sentie étrangement proche, dont les réflexions faisaient souvent écho en moi.
Car si le récit ne manque pas de dynamisme, il fait aussi la part belle à l’introspection, à la littérature ou à la poésie, et ce n’est pas dérangeant, loin de là. Il soulève des questions que je trouve très actuelles sur le sens de la vie, jusqu’où on est prêt à aller pour la préserver, les expérimentations, sur l’environnement et l’écologie aussi. Bref, j’ai trouvé qu’il avait fort bien vieilli et je suis très contente de l’avoir lu. Un seul petit bémol pour le final, un poil trop rapide à mon goût. Pourquoi ?
Au final, une lecture prenante et plaisante que je recommande bien volontiers aux amateurs de science-fiction comme aux autres, je me suis régalée. Un énorme merci aux éditions Argyll pour cette très belle découverte !
C’est un roman de science-fiction qui date de 1974, paru en France pour la première fois en 1976, et qui a, à l’occasion de cette réédition, bénéficié d’une nouvelle traduction. Je n’avais jamais rien lu de Richard Cowper avant, c’était donc pour moi une découverte totale. En 1983, la supernova Briareus Delta, située à 132 années-lumière de la Terre, explose. À l’échelle de l’univers, c’est juste la porte à côté alors autant dire que notre petite planète bleue va en subir les effets directs. Non seulement le climat est complètement perturbé (typhons, tornades puis gigantesque vague de froid) mais pire encore : l’humanité ne tarde pas à s’apercevoir qu’elle est devenue stérile !
On est clairement dans un roman post-apocalyptique même si la civilisation n’est pas encore tout à fait anéantie. L’extinction est en marche et comme on peut s’y attendre, elle bouscule pas mal de choses. Le récit nous est raconté par Calvin Johnson, professeur d’Anglais, qui a vécu une drôle d’expérience suite à l’explosion. Il nous relate les événements, la manière dont il les a perçus, ses inquiétudes pour l’avenir, l’apparition d’une onde "zêta" dans le cerveau de certaines personnes et ses conséquences. Un homme dont je me suis sentie étrangement proche, dont les réflexions faisaient souvent écho en moi.
Car si le récit ne manque pas de dynamisme, il fait aussi la part belle à l’introspection, à la littérature ou à la poésie, et ce n’est pas dérangeant, loin de là. Il soulève des questions que je trouve très actuelles sur le sens de la vie, jusqu’où on est prêt à aller pour la préserver, les expérimentations, sur l’environnement et l’écologie aussi. Bref, j’ai trouvé qu’il avait fort bien vieilli et je suis très contente de l’avoir lu. Un seul petit bémol pour le final, un poil trop rapide à mon goût. Pourquoi ?
Au final, une lecture prenante et plaisante que je recommande bien volontiers aux amateurs de science-fiction comme aux autres, je me suis régalée. Un énorme merci aux éditions Argyll pour cette très belle découverte !
January 9, 2022
aw, that Classic Dudelit Scifi. no babies are being made and humanity IS DOOMED but luckily the main character slept with his 16yo student that one time (a supernova made them!) so the species can procreate again
July 25, 2023
An intriguing 1970s novel about first contact and climate change which also reflects on humanity’s fear of the Other. The themes, narrative pacing and writing style reminded me of Wyndham and Ballard. Palpably of its time but the assured prose is a delight.
July 18, 2025
4.5 stars. My first Cowper and most definitely not my last.
November 9, 2025
I do enjoy older science fiction and can find it quite refreshing compared to modern sci-fi. It can be light and short while still having substance. Unfortunately some of the dated views can be quite off-putting. Let's just say a school teacher is the protagonist, the major plot point is that everyone is now infertile, but there are a special few 'Zetas' where the women of those outnumber the men ten to one and are aged sixteen to seventeen, and the 'Zetas' seem to have a special connection with one another. You can imagine that this reads like he's exploring a fantasy scenario he should have kept to himself...
As the story winds on he spends more and more time on this, whereas I'd have preferred to explore the snowy post-apocalyptic Britain introduced in the first chapter and visions. It's a shame, as that was engaging, and his prose is easily digestible and at times somewhat poetic. I was surprised that everyone took the news of infertility at face value and there was no conspiracy theories going around in the way they do today!
As the story winds on he spends more and more time on this, whereas I'd have preferred to explore the snowy post-apocalyptic Britain introduced in the first chapter and visions. It's a shame, as that was engaging, and his prose is easily digestible and at times somewhat poetic. I was surprised that everyone took the news of infertility at face value and there was no conspiracy theories going around in the way they do today!
March 14, 2022
Abandonné p.86/231.
Je pensais lire un bouquin de science-fiction, je me suis retrouvée avec un personnage de prof qui est un peu trop à l'aise face à l'idée (et pas que l'idée d'ailleurs) de coucher avec ses élèves de 16 ans.
Le début laissait entrevoir quelque chose d'intéressant, mais cet aspect du roman est rédhibitoire pour moi.
La vie est trop courte pour lire des romans qui me donnent de la tension.
Je pensais lire un bouquin de science-fiction, je me suis retrouvée avec un personnage de prof qui est un peu trop à l'aise face à l'idée (et pas que l'idée d'ailleurs) de coucher avec ses élèves de 16 ans.
Le début laissait entrevoir quelque chose d'intéressant, mais cet aspect du roman est rédhibitoire pour moi.
La vie est trop courte pour lire des romans qui me donnent de la tension.
December 28, 2025
Reminiscent of a Wyndham story, a world wide event and a crisis for humanity seen from the perspective of a middle class Englishman. The themes of climate change, alien contact and the sterilisation of the human race are handled well. The latter switch to diary format jars and the quasi-religious tones feel like they're thrown in when the author runs out of ideas.
The teenage girls throwing themselves at the middle aged protagonist is kind of creepy.
The teenage girls throwing themselves at the middle aged protagonist is kind of creepy.
April 30, 2021
I read this book as a youngster, several decades ago, in german. In german this was an easy read, and a nice story. Too much was lost in translation. Years later, and in english, it was a difficult and deep language, thus a very deep and difficul story.
Seldom do I give three stars, and I almost gave four to this one!
Seldom do I give three stars, and I almost gave four to this one!
December 12, 2021
A quintessentially English sf author, a little like Aldiss, an unusual premise, and a slow reveal of unfolding events, it will stay with you long after you finish it. Cowper deserves a reappraisal, an excellent writer.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
December 30, 2021
Bellissimo libro e divinamente scrirto.
Cowper; un autore ingiustamente poco conosciuto da noi, ma che per la qualità di scrittura e i temi trattati andrebbe assolutamente riscoperto.
Cowper; un autore ingiustamente poco conosciuto da noi, ma che per la qualità di scrittura e i temi trattati andrebbe assolutamente riscoperto.
August 25, 2022
Odličan seting i atmosfera, sami početak i kraj su mi odlični. Sredina se malkice razvlači
February 8, 2024
Pas forcément emballé ... il y avait matière à faire mieux je pense.
August 1, 2016
Very much of its time. Apocalyptic, reminiscent of 'Day of the Triffids' 1970's science-fiction. It was ok but not particularly gripping. It tries to ask some big questions (isn't that what science-fiction is about, rather than spaceships? it is for me) but fails, at least for me, in proposing them in an engaging manner.
September 2, 2015
Deep and meaningful book all about a nova that imbues certain folk with psi powers. Very densely written and not immediately enjoyable.
November 11, 2014
1981 grade A-
Displaying 1 - 26 of 26 reviews