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Dark Star
The city of Vox survives in darkness, under a sun that burns without light. In Vox’s permanent night, light bulbs are precious, the rich live in radiance and three Hearts beat light into the city. Aquila. Corvus. Cancer.
Hearts that bring power to the light-deprived citizens of the city of Vox whilst ghosts haunt the streets, clawing at headlights. Prometheus, liquid light, is the drug of choice. The body of young Vivian North, her blood shining brightly with unnatural light, has no place on the streets.
When Cancer is stolen, the weaponisation of its raw power threatens to throw Vox into chaos. Vox needs a hero, and it falls to cop Virgil Yorke to investigate.
But Virgil has had a long cycle and he doesn’t feel like a hero. With the ghosts of his last case still haunting his thoughts, he craves justice for the young woman found dead with veins full of glowing. Aided by his partner Dante, Virgil begins to shed light on the dark city’s even darker secrets.
Haunted by the ghosts of his past and chased by his addictions, which will crack first, Virgil or the case?
Hearts that bring power to the light-deprived citizens of the city of Vox whilst ghosts haunt the streets, clawing at headlights. Prometheus, liquid light, is the drug of choice. The body of young Vivian North, her blood shining brightly with unnatural light, has no place on the streets.
When Cancer is stolen, the weaponisation of its raw power threatens to throw Vox into chaos. Vox needs a hero, and it falls to cop Virgil Yorke to investigate.
But Virgil has had a long cycle and he doesn’t feel like a hero. With the ghosts of his last case still haunting his thoughts, he craves justice for the young woman found dead with veins full of glowing. Aided by his partner Dante, Virgil begins to shed light on the dark city’s even darker secrets.
Haunted by the ghosts of his past and chased by his addictions, which will crack first, Virgil or the case?
224 pages, Paperback
First published March 10, 2015
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737 people want to read
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 62 reviews
September 15, 2020
The one thing that drew me here to this book happened, in the final estimation, to be the least important aspect:
The fact that it is SF written as Poetry.
I read it in audio format but after the fact, I kinda wish that I had read it as print. I'm probably going to get a copy soon.
Why?
Because even though the core story seems to rely almost entirely on a Noir mystery with an investigator who is addicted to a drug that makes a person emit light, but it comes with addictions and a rather strange murder, with some rather big consequences -- it is also deceptive.
As a fan of poetry, I'm also overly aware of the fact that there are many layers to any text. Do you think that metaphor is dead? Ha! Iambic Pentameter is also used in Shakespeare to illustrate high importance and major turning points. Anyone reading this 5 hours long Noir SF mystery should certainly enjoy it on the surface-level, but it's the heart of it that makes me RAVE about it.
In this dark world, light is a drug. Heat radiates everywhere, but it's light (and here's where the metaphor is very, very strong) that causes tremors, creates an underground market, throws people into paroxysms of drug-addled numina, and is ultimately the grand reversal of the tale.
Have a partner named Dante and you can figure out the rest. Is light love? Maybe God's love in the bowels of hell? If it's such an addictive substance and the whole idea of getting off the drug or fighting the crime syndicates is such a huge deal, then the whole FLAVOR of this far-future SF becomes... something else entirely.
I really don't need to spoil it. This is a book that lends itself to many different interpretations.
Just rest assured that every word is important and carefully placed, as is most good poetry. :)
The fact that it is SF written as Poetry.
I read it in audio format but after the fact, I kinda wish that I had read it as print. I'm probably going to get a copy soon.
Why?
Because even though the core story seems to rely almost entirely on a Noir mystery with an investigator who is addicted to a drug that makes a person emit light, but it comes with addictions and a rather strange murder, with some rather big consequences -- it is also deceptive.
As a fan of poetry, I'm also overly aware of the fact that there are many layers to any text. Do you think that metaphor is dead? Ha! Iambic Pentameter is also used in Shakespeare to illustrate high importance and major turning points. Anyone reading this 5 hours long Noir SF mystery should certainly enjoy it on the surface-level, but it's the heart of it that makes me RAVE about it.
In this dark world, light is a drug. Heat radiates everywhere, but it's light (and here's where the metaphor is very, very strong) that causes tremors, creates an underground market, throws people into paroxysms of drug-addled numina, and is ultimately the grand reversal of the tale.
Have a partner named Dante and you can figure out the rest. Is light love? Maybe God's love in the bowels of hell? If it's such an addictive substance and the whole idea of getting off the drug or fighting the crime syndicates is such a huge deal, then the whole FLAVOR of this far-future SF becomes... something else entirely.
I really don't need to spoil it. This is a book that lends itself to many different interpretations.
Just rest assured that every word is important and carefully placed, as is most good poetry. :)
August 21, 2015
Originally reviewed at Bookwraiths Reviews
I have to admit epic poems like the Iliad, the Odyssey, the Aenid, Beowulf, Paradise Lost, and The Divine Comedy have never been my favorite reads. In fact, I pretty much hated them back in my college days. So when I first discovered that Dark Star utilized that same metered writing form, I was concerned. Terrified almost. But, after giving Oliver Langmead’s sci-fi verse a try, I found Dark Star a fresh, and easily readable novel.
The story itself begins as a moody, noir tale focusing on Detective Yorke. This downtrodden and gloomy fellow is a cop in the city of Vox. What makes his life so unusual is that upon his world there is no light. Instead Yorke’s world is covered in perpetual darkness; an all encompassing and smothering blackness of both the senses and the spirit. Naturally, light is treasured above all else: it is money; it is happiness; it is a recreational drug worth dying for!
A fact that Yorke already knows, but which is reinforced when he and his partner arrive at a murder scene, discovering a young woman’s corpse; her cold body on fire with light; her veins pulsing like a human light bulb. Her state announcing to all that a new light drug has hit the streets; one of such power that our detective is both terrified and tantalized by. But as powerful people try to sweep this death under the rug, world weary Detective Yorke doubles down, determined to investigate the crime even if it entangles him in an even bigger conspiracy – one so massive, so unbelievable that he could never have envisioned it!
As other have already observed, Dark Star is an intensely visual experience told in rhythmic language. Yes, it has many characteristics of a cyberpunk noir, but that is not what it is. Rather it is a science fiction story that folds more than one literary genre into its concoction, using the perfect flow of its lyrical narrative to take a reader into the haunted life of Detective Yorke, deep into the grimy alleys of the city, through the halls of the mighty, and ultimately to an ending that asks many deep philosophical questions.
Even with that being said, this isn’t a novel that every sci-fi fan will warm too. Its epic verse narrative will put many off. Its philosophical quandaries will infuriate some. The limits to the characterization will disappoint others. But instead of focusing on the dislikes that I personally had with it, I prefer to recall the positives. For without a doubt, Dark Star is a truly fresh and original science fiction story that is entertaining, visually compelling, and lyrically engaging. Oh, poetry starved fans will love it more than others, but everyone can appreciate the slightly different path that Oliver Langmead traveled with his sci-fi epic in verse. And I for one applaud his herculean effort.
I have to admit epic poems like the Iliad, the Odyssey, the Aenid, Beowulf, Paradise Lost, and The Divine Comedy have never been my favorite reads. In fact, I pretty much hated them back in my college days. So when I first discovered that Dark Star utilized that same metered writing form, I was concerned. Terrified almost. But, after giving Oliver Langmead’s sci-fi verse a try, I found Dark Star a fresh, and easily readable novel.
The story itself begins as a moody, noir tale focusing on Detective Yorke. This downtrodden and gloomy fellow is a cop in the city of Vox. What makes his life so unusual is that upon his world there is no light. Instead Yorke’s world is covered in perpetual darkness; an all encompassing and smothering blackness of both the senses and the spirit. Naturally, light is treasured above all else: it is money; it is happiness; it is a recreational drug worth dying for!
A fact that Yorke already knows, but which is reinforced when he and his partner arrive at a murder scene, discovering a young woman’s corpse; her cold body on fire with light; her veins pulsing like a human light bulb. Her state announcing to all that a new light drug has hit the streets; one of such power that our detective is both terrified and tantalized by. But as powerful people try to sweep this death under the rug, world weary Detective Yorke doubles down, determined to investigate the crime even if it entangles him in an even bigger conspiracy – one so massive, so unbelievable that he could never have envisioned it!
As other have already observed, Dark Star is an intensely visual experience told in rhythmic language. Yes, it has many characteristics of a cyberpunk noir, but that is not what it is. Rather it is a science fiction story that folds more than one literary genre into its concoction, using the perfect flow of its lyrical narrative to take a reader into the haunted life of Detective Yorke, deep into the grimy alleys of the city, through the halls of the mighty, and ultimately to an ending that asks many deep philosophical questions.
Even with that being said, this isn’t a novel that every sci-fi fan will warm too. Its epic verse narrative will put many off. Its philosophical quandaries will infuriate some. The limits to the characterization will disappoint others. But instead of focusing on the dislikes that I personally had with it, I prefer to recall the positives. For without a doubt, Dark Star is a truly fresh and original science fiction story that is entertaining, visually compelling, and lyrically engaging. Oh, poetry starved fans will love it more than others, but everyone can appreciate the slightly different path that Oliver Langmead traveled with his sci-fi epic in verse. And I for one applaud his herculean effort.
January 24, 2024
Science fiction/noir written in verse. (The narrator of the audiobook did not emphasize the verse.). This was a very imaginative story about people living under a sun that gives off no light. Only the rich have adequate lighting, the rest rely on 3 Hearts for their limited illumination. When one of those Hearts is stolen, Detective Virgil Yorke is assigned to find it, but he is more obsessed by the murder of a young woman found with glowing blood.
There were elements of this book that I have read before, but mostly is was a very original concoction and I enjoyed it. I think this author should get more attention. His fantasy novel “Glitterati” was a real treat.
There were elements of this book that I have read before, but mostly is was a very original concoction and I enjoyed it. I think this author should get more attention. His fantasy novel “Glitterati” was a real treat.
September 15, 2020
So this is an author I had never heard of before. The novel was suggested because of its unusual form (the entire story is told as a poem which you don't see too often, especially nowadays).
The story is rather simple: a girl from an upper class family is found dead, her entire blood exchanged for a luminous drug. A detective is trying to solve the case, hindered by his own addiction and some outside circumstances.
Except for the luminous drug, this could be your run-of-the-mill crime noir story. And to some extend it is. However, there IS the scifi element to consider what with this most definitely not happening on Earth () and the science behind the drug / society.
Add to that the fact that this entire novel is a poem, as mentioned before, and you get one hell of a combination. True, the poetic form didn't shine through too much in the audio version I went for (it's not your typical rhyming poetry so it sounded as if the detective of a movie was telling you his story of this particular case), but the book was so good that that only made me consider getting the printed edition. And yes, the gorgeous cover is adding to that desire.
Don't let the shortness of my review mislead you: this was a very fun and entertaining read and the writing style flowed nicely and was beautiful. But I also don't want to give away too much, instead you need to experience the story and its form of delivery for yourself.
The story is rather simple: a girl from an upper class family is found dead, her entire blood exchanged for a luminous drug. A detective is trying to solve the case, hindered by his own addiction and some outside circumstances.
Except for the luminous drug, this could be your run-of-the-mill crime noir story. And to some extend it is. However, there IS the scifi element to consider what with this most definitely not happening on Earth () and the science behind the drug / society.
Add to that the fact that this entire novel is a poem, as mentioned before, and you get one hell of a combination. True, the poetic form didn't shine through too much in the audio version I went for (it's not your typical rhyming poetry so it sounded as if the detective of a movie was telling you his story of this particular case), but the book was so good that that only made me consider getting the printed edition. And yes, the gorgeous cover is adding to that desire.
Don't let the shortness of my review mislead you: this was a very fun and entertaining read and the writing style flowed nicely and was beautiful. But I also don't want to give away too much, instead you need to experience the story and its form of delivery for yourself.
March 22, 2015
“My lighthouse is no longer lit, Virgil,
Because there are no more boats to warn off.
Five hundred years ago we landed here,
And five hundred years ago we, well… stopped.”
They say that nothing is original anymore, and oftentimes I am hard pressed to agree. Until now.
The past year has seen little in the way of “knock my socks off” debuts. Truth be told, I’ve found there to be very few debuts on my radar, and even less available to me off the bat. (See Jen William’s The Copper Promise.) But I digress. I could sum this whole review up into one word, but then, that does this story no justice at all. Calling it brilliant is like calling a candle in the darkness refreshing.
It’s something more than that at its core; it’s something haunting and beautiful. Moving. Without a doubt, Oliver Langmead’s Dark Star is one of the most inventive and interesting debuts I’ve read since starting this blog. In short words, it’s a soon-to-be classic, I’m sure of it.
“I inhale, and it’s like tasting colour,
Brilliant, deep, rich, and impossible.”
Vivian was a bright girl. Too bright, in fact. Burned her blood and her bulbs out by the local drug on the streets, Prometheus. Virgil, our resident down on his luck cop, is last on the scene with his partner Dante leading him there. It’s a gruesome case, no doubt. Potential wasted and all that jazz. But a bigger hit goes off later that cycle.
In a world without stars, one of the big three light generators has been stolen. Guess who got called into work early? Our protagonist.
Written in a minimalistic style, this epic verse—wait, did I forget to mention that? Kinda important in fact, because the words (or lack thereof one might say) is what makes or breaks a…novel, if you could call it that. This glorified poem walks on the feet of giants, apparent in the choice of naming his duo after the great writer of the Aeneid, the Divine Comedy, and yeah there’s even a nod to Bladerunner, where this Science Fantasy Noir gets its influence most of all.
But as I was saying. Written in sparse sentences (or verse, as I should say), this understated prose is magnificent in detailing the scene in so few words. Such vividness in parsed down style, nothing is minced. Everything is evoked, from the dust on the lamplights to the drip from the rain to the darkness clouding like claustrophobia, eating between the pages. Langmead does the old adage right: Leave something to the reader’s imagination.
This crisp style stays with the dialogue. Plays off the stiff conversations well and adds words in-between, like tone or ticks in body language just in which adjective he chooses to use. It’s remarkable. How an author can create such impactful characterization in such few sentences still astounds me as I’m writing. Of course, Virgil our narrator steals the show as we struggle right along him, taking a journey like the above quoted trip to Troy with his coworker Dante heading the way. He fights with addiction most of all, finding his own light and dealing with obsession. Because anything in this hell is twisted. Who’s to say the junk swirling round his veins is any different than the hope that springs from Dante visiting church.
While most epic stories would show the best in its characters, Langmead dives deep into the psyche of every stage hand. Writing them not at their highs, but at their broken lows most of all. It’s what sets his people apart from the regular detective mulling over life and praying for another bullet in his chamber or another fix in his arm. Everybody is scared, shown off in the abyss once or twice, and why not? It’s a scary world.
“And I find myself longing for shadows;
For a place to hide myself from the light.”
The population of Langmead’s creation is not the most startling thing here. His dark infested streets are awe-inspiring as well, with a literal immersion of blackness for the denizens and our narrator most of all. Vox is no normal place, no camping trip or vacation spot. It’s a living hell, where decadence and time has stripped away most currency to hand us broken lamps and not enough batteries. Light deprived ghosts flitter here and there, people read topographical pictures or braille, while the rich are the only literate in the place.
Even the drug reflects the current air. Prometheus is the literal light of the city, filling the body with a warmth and a clear head it could remind you of heroin it’s so addicting.
In a land dominated by albino rats and eyeless cows, you would think the work would stumble around like the characters. But in some regards, it trips.
The staples of noir are all here. The narrator is a member of the law, with the only crime worth investigating being homicide. He’s a drug addict fallen to the ground almost already, and he has a natural disinterest in religion. Class divides come beside weird dreams or strange passages. The plot has double crosses and more betrayals that a soap opera. A lot of things presented here at face value are predictable. The understated, poignant ending has been shown numerous times, just like the climax staring off into the distance.
But like the lighthouse he climbs to get to his resolution, is the journey spiraling up? Or down?
There are a lot of tropes at play, but as Langmead does with the look at Dante and the Divine Comedy’s descent into Hell, there are minor twists on the usual trick. The plot is not so straight forward as one might guess, having reread it. The one you think does exactly the opposite of his so-called, stereotypical Big Bad plans.
Other notable examples are the excessive uses of a cigarette, but then, there sources of light in these hard times. And what I loved most of all was the backdrop. While there was rain and snow and silence, the real weather permeating the bones of our protagonist was the darkness drifting in—nay, settling for forever! The blackness is the rain, and it’s the little things like this that send me squealing.
The Devil’s in the details.
“For the next few moments I’m at the edge,
Hanging on to my last seconds of light
And looking down at the oblivion,
The blackness waiting to swallow me up.”
But he’s also in the themes.
I’ve already talked about obsession and searching for salvation, so no need to dwell there. Bigger than that, however, is the start. Dante is the escort to this trip, and as I said earlier, is the Lighthouse going down into Hell, or up?
From reading the ending, I would say that the Heaven we all know can very well be Hell after we awaken. All the sin sliming through our lives can be brought to the light and terrify us. Although, the reverse could be argued. It’s the minor feats of greatness that can make Hell not so scary. Though Virgil might be despicable in some of his appearances and self-descriptions, could he not very well be a fallen angel? Perhaps an angel of Justice?
“It’s what a sunrise is like:
A gentle emergence of brilliance.”
While Virgil may take the wander, Dante flipping in this tale as the guide, one theme gets to me still. It’s blatant near the end, expressly spelled out. I didn’t want to ruin readers about the insight I had getting there, but suffice to say it’s a doozy. Great conceit to round at the story.
And rounding out this review, I’m more than happy to say this debut blew me away. I can see plenty of rereads in the future, helping me shake my interpretation and leaving room for more themes to unearth between the lines.
Because while some may be dark and hidden, I want to make sure Oliver Langmead’s debut is not.
“Way I saw it, the darkness made him mad;
He thought he was doing them a favour,
Saving them from the dark before they grew.”
August 29, 2015
Imagine a world orbiting a dark star. Imagine a city where light is scarce; where light is the currency, the drug and the religion. Imagine a girl found dead down a dark back street, with brightly glowing veins. Could you leave that mystery unsolved? ©
Начать стоит с того, что Dark Star – это фантастика в форме эпической поэмы. Мой внутренний компас завертелся как сумасшедший, когда услышал «sci-fi» и «epic poem» в одном предложении. Вероятность встретить что-то ранее неизведанное в плане формата или содержания с каждой следующей книгой утекает сквозь пальцы, поэтому я тысячу раз благодарна звездам за знакомство с этой.
Уже в первых главах стало понятно, что хорошо и светло не будет. Повествование затягивает в свою депрессивную пучину, раз за разом пытаясь потопить главного героя, а заодно и весь мир. Это квинтэссенция боли, темноты и пустоты. Кошмарный Sin City, у которого забрали свет и сделали из него наркотик для миллионов. В городе всплывает сияющий труп девушки, отпечатывающийся на сетчатке глаза неподготовленного зрителя. Исчезает один из трех основных источников света. Власти пытаются замять оба дела. Но есть в этом проклятом городе инспектор, которому нечего терять, кроме жизни. Последняя надежда человечества? О нет. Наркоман, которому надо чем-то себя занять в перерывах между.
Хотелось придраться к некоторым деталям и неточностям, но каждый раз меланхоличный мир без света меня останавливал. Безразличные шаги навстречу опасности в полнейшей темноте, жестокость на каждому углу, пространные философствования на наболевшую тему. Странный сплав детектива и драмы, в котором первого от силы 5%. Лирическая направленность всего повествования не позволяет даже слово сказать против кажущихся излишними зависаний. Они не лишние, они прекрасные и четко выверенные. Потому что сейчас взорвется маленькое солнце, но перед этим надо успеть вдумчиво покурить. И концовка точно такая же – размеренная и закономерная. С чего начали, к тому и пришли. Света в конце тоннеля НЕТ.
Потрясающе переплетаются моменты полной темноты и ослепляющего света. Серая масса людей удивительно похожа на нас, сегодняшних зомби, которые не оторвутся от каждодневных мелких забот даже чтобы лицезреть чудо. Один Йорк как сито пропускает через себя и свет, и тьму, только в первом случае на выходе ничего нет. Его извращенная Удача капризна и выкидывает карты по настроению, хотя исправно сохраняет ему жизнь. От этой книги надо бы плакать, но вслед за Йорком пробирает нездоровый и неправильный смех, разбивающий тишину. И темноту.
annikeh.net
March 6, 2015
The epic poem is rarely seen in modern literature as it is a difficult art form to master. Oliver Langmead's Dark Star is an elegantly written, raw and moving example of the form. The format does not detract from or make the narrative awkward, rather it smoothly draws the reader in more deeply.
In the a world of darkness, light is a precious commodity. When a young woman is discovered, her dead body filled with unnatural light, Virgil and his partner are assigned to investigate. What begins as a not so simple murder turns into much more as Cancer, one of the three irreplaceable hearts powering the city, is stolen.
Langmead pays homage to his predecessors, Virgil (The Aeneid) and Dante (The Divine Comedy) in the naming of his characters. Virgil is an unlikely hero, a disenchanted cop and addict. His one saving grace is his persistence and desire to see things through. Dante is his erstwhile partner, his backup, guide and support in a world of darkness.
Langmead combines the dark essence of classic detective noir with speculative science fiction in an enthralling read. The story makes Dark Star worth reading, but when combined with the elegance of epic verse, it makes the book into a gorgeous and unique work of art. In a word - WOW!
I would highly recommend Dark Star to any reader of science fiction or detective noir, as well as readers and writers of poetry.
I received a copy of Dark Star from the publisher and Netgalley.com in exchange for an honest review.
--Crittermom
In the a world of darkness, light is a precious commodity. When a young woman is discovered, her dead body filled with unnatural light, Virgil and his partner are assigned to investigate. What begins as a not so simple murder turns into much more as Cancer, one of the three irreplaceable hearts powering the city, is stolen.
Langmead pays homage to his predecessors, Virgil (The Aeneid) and Dante (The Divine Comedy) in the naming of his characters. Virgil is an unlikely hero, a disenchanted cop and addict. His one saving grace is his persistence and desire to see things through. Dante is his erstwhile partner, his backup, guide and support in a world of darkness.
Langmead combines the dark essence of classic detective noir with speculative science fiction in an enthralling read. The story makes Dark Star worth reading, but when combined with the elegance of epic verse, it makes the book into a gorgeous and unique work of art. In a word - WOW!
I would highly recommend Dark Star to any reader of science fiction or detective noir, as well as readers and writers of poetry.
I received a copy of Dark Star from the publisher and Netgalley.com in exchange for an honest review.
--Crittermom
September 22, 2020
Αν ο Φίλιπ Ντικ συνεργαζόταν με τον Βιργίλιο για την συγγραφή ενός μυθιστορήματος το αποτέλεσμα που θα προέκυπτε μάλλον θα έμοιαζε με αυτό το εξαιρετικό αυτό αστυνομικό επικό ποιήμα δυστοπικής επιστημονικής φαντασίας(τι έγραψα ο άνθρωπος!). Γραμμένο σε ιαμβικό πεντάμετρο, και με ιδιαίτερη προσοχή στην επιλογή λέξεων, αποκτά έναν καταιγιστικό ρυθμό που ενισχύει την αίσθηση του σασπένς και κάνει αυτή την μίξη δύο εντελώς ετερόκλητων ειδών ανέλπιστα επιτυχημένη και απολαυστική στο διάβασμα ακόμα και σε άτομα που δεν είναι εξοικειωμένα με την ποίηση(όπως πχ ο γράφων).
Εντυπωσιακό ντεμπούτο για τον Όλιβερ Λάνγκμεντ που αφήνει πολλές υποσχέσεις για το μέλλον.
Εντυπωσιακό ντεμπούτο για τον Όλιβερ Λάνγκμεντ που αφήνει πολλές υποσχέσεις για το μέλλον.
December 15, 2017
È stata una lettura gradevole, ma l'autore è molto ingenuo sia nella scrittura che nell'uso dei trope dei generi a cui si ispira, dunque il romanzo risulta un po' derivativo e poco credibile alle volte. Il fatto che il romanzo sia scritto in versi comunque non ostacola la lettura, anzi la rende più scorrevole, di questo ha senz'altro merito (lui e il traduttore Nicola Manuppelli).
February 11, 2025
Recensione apparsa su Leggere distopico.
Vox è una città dove l’oscurità la fa da padrone, non esiste un sole che ne rischiari il cielo, ma una stella nera, la Dark Star, vi si staglia imponente … Eppure uno scorcio di luce c’è infatti Aquila, Corvus e Cancer sono i tre cuori da cui Vox ricava quel tenue bagliore, di cui però solo gli abbienti dei quartieri alti ne beneficiano. Malgrado ciò gli uomini non si riescono a rassegnarsi; sebbene siano stati capaci di adattarsi a questo habitat ostile, continuano a bramare la luce ricercandola in sostanze stupefacenti – come il Prometeo - o supplicando il dio Phos affinché ascolti le loro preghiere.
Col favore delle tenebre è chiaro che il crimine abbia trovato terreno fertile, circolano droghe e le strade pullulano di brutti ceffi.
Il detective Virgil Yorke, fiancheggiato dal suo amico e assistente Dante, si trova ad indagare su un caso di omicidio che ha dell’incredibile: il ritrovamento del cadavere di una giovane donna brutalmente assassinata, Vivian North, riverso in una pozza di sangue luminescente forse causato da una massiccia dose di Prometeo.
Sarà questo tragico avvenimento l’innesco per un pericoloso viaggio fra le tetre strade della città, una discesa nell’averno più nero che mai.
Il buio è tutto uguale, a meno che tu non lo guardi meglio: allora ti accorgi che non ci sono più mura e il buio diventa quello degli spazi aperti.
Un noir in chiave futuristica capace di tenere sulle spine, la cui punta di diamante è il protagonista, Virgil Yorke, un personaggio complicato: assistiamo all’alternarsi di due poli psicologici, momenti di sagacia e forte senso del dovere e momenti in cui a prevalere è la dipendenza da Prometeo.
[…] ricado di nuovo dentro me stesso, nei recessi più oscuri dentro di me, perso nella mia enorme fame che pare strillare. E il dolore che si fa strada attraverso le mie vene.
Di spunti innovativi Dark Star ne è colmo, a partire dalla sua intelaiatura stilistica che ce lo presenta sotto forma di poema, una scelta davvero coraggiosa. Non vi nego che proprio per questo all’inizio ho nutrito forti perplessità. I poemi epici che conosco sono i capisaldi del genere stesso: Iliade, Odissea e Eneide… Vi si è avvicinato anche J. R. R. Tolkien narrando la gesta di Sigurd e Gudrún, ma un poema “epico” collegato al genere fantascientifico per me era inimmaginabile.
Non ho le competenze adatte per riuscire a cogliere nel dettaglio gli aspetti metrici e qualitativi del verso (in questo caso non in rima) pur avendo riconosciuto – grazie alla mia infarinatura classicista – il pentametro giambico; da appassionata di poesia quale sono ho rilevato una certa musicalità, in particolare nel prologo, anche se l’uso eccessivo dell’enjambement conferisce un ritmo sincopato alla narrazione. Sebbene limitato dalla struttura in versi e dalla divisione temporale in “cicli” - che sembra lasciare alcuni punti irrisolti - si riesce a dare risalto non solo al worldbuilding così inconsueto, ma anche ai personaggi e allo sviluppo dell’intreccio mantenendo la sua immediatezza.
L'aspetto che primariamente colpisce è come l’autore abbia voluto, con questo suo romanzo d’esordio, esprimere gratitudine verso alcuni dei classici che hanno fatto la storia, ricavandone il necessario pur restando lontano anni luce da quel rigore stilistico e optando per un approccio più moderno e composito.
La scelta di etichettare come “Prometeo” la droga altresì definita “luce liquida” non sembra essere casuale, è un chiaro rimando alla mitologia greca. Prometeo è una figura chiave della cosmogonia, fu il titano che trafugò il fuoco agli dèi per donarlo agli uomini, subendo un brutale supplizio eterno; nel romanzo questo stupefacente ha valenza di impalpabile fonte di luce, non infuocato ma dagli effetti comunque devastanti. Non sfugge l’omaggio a due pilastri della letteratura mondiale, Virgilio e Dante, nomi che l’autore ha voluto dare ai due personaggi principali che anche in questa nuova veste spiccano per la loro genuina complicità. Potremmo quasi considerare “Dark Star” come un retelling - in chiave futuristica - dell’inferno dantesco, perché già la conformazione stessa della cittadina di Vox non è che uno specchio dell’indole dei suoi abitanti; viene spontaneo associare la popolazione, costretta a brancolare nel buio aggirandosi per le strade – quasi fossero dei gironi infernali - come anime in pena, riporta alla memoria la sublime desolazione dei dannati. La donna assassinata dal sangue rilucente ha tanto del “celestiale” per la tangibile aura luminosa sprigionata. Sul loro cammino incapperanno anche in una sfuggente e fascinosa Beatrice.
[…] lei è una frazione di luce, una stella solitaria nel cielo nero dei miei pensieri.
Oliver Langmead stupisce assemblando una graduale tensione all'interno di una storia apparentemente lineare i cui contorni, pagina dopo pagina, acquisiscono complessità e un quid di graffiante.
Servendosi di uno stile avulso da vuoti artifici letterari, che dà vita ad un noir sperimentale, la storia è composta da tante tessere che, come in un mosaico, alla fine trovano la giusta collocazione. La trama non è eccessivamente ingarbugliata e, anche se l’imprevedibilità e l’effetto sorpresa non toccano vette altissime, l’aspetto investigativo è adeguato.
Una menzione d’onore va fatta al traduttore di questo romanzo in versi, Nicola Manuppelli, che è riuscito, egregiamente, a preservare nell’edizione italiana quest’inusuale armonia di suoni.
Un romanzo saturo di buio come buio è il cuore del protagonista.
[…] la pelle sulle mie mani sembra più scura, come se avesse perso il bagliore prima presente. Ed è rimasto invece una sorta di vuoto nero. Come se qualcuno avesse preso tutto quello che avevo dentro e lo avesse gettato fuori. Come se mi si potesse aprire e non ci fosse più altro da vedere che il buio.
L’autore sigla così il suo esordio letterario delineando un microcosmo vivido e intriso di un orrore sottile, avvolto costantemente da una densa oscurità. È stato capace di trasportarmi in una dimensione nuova, un luogo difficile da raccontare, ma che sa essere di grande impatto a livello psicofisico soprattutto per me che soffro di acluofobia.
Sono arrivata all’ultima pagina con la consapevolezza che da questa lettura ne sono uscita con il cuore “annerito”, proprio per la sua forza narrativa incredibilmente travolgente.
June 23, 2025
That was a really pretty book! The lush visuals really left me feeling like I experienced these events. For a world with no light, there sure were a lot of beautiful images. Bonus points for being written in verse like a Greek epic, but without being hard to read.
June 14, 2015
I was sent this free from the publisher, but that in no way affects my review.
This book is a tough one to rate but I think it just about gets a 3.5* rating. It's a very cool world with a lot of interesting and fairly original ideas. I haven't before encountered a book quite like it, but then I haven't read a huge deal of Sci-fi.
The city that we focus on for this story is called Vox. It's a dark place with very few sources of light and no Sun which brightens the way. The world is dark, dark, dark and there are all sorts of criminals and drugs running rampant. People have little hope, and it's a fairly nasty way to live or imagine living. I have to say that I thought the concept of a world without a Sun to be pretty bleak, but highly interesting.
The city of Vox is powered by three 'Hearts' which give out power. They're the main source of energy, and one of them is stolen at the beginning of this book leaving our main character, and Investigator, to try and figure out how it was stolen and what's happened. The plot reads a lot like the early Dresden Files books in that it's fairly crime focused with fantastical elements incorporated into the story.
The main character is called Virgil and he's well known around the City for a big case which he solved a while back. He's slowly gone down hill since his big break though, and has gradually slipped from grace and fallen into the world of Phos (a drug) and decline. He's a good investigator, but he;s clearly no longer respected by that many, and he has to face the reality of his own living situation and lifestyle if he faces any real chance of figuring out exactly what happened.
The only niggle I did have with this book was the structure. The story is written in Verse which would be pretty cool if it was rhyming (as I do think rhyming verse is always pretty exciting) however unfortunately all that the layout served to do in this one was be a BIG distraction. Because each line is capitalised whether or not it's the start of a sentence it makes it very disjointed and you get taken away from the message of the sentence often by the layout and format. I really struggled at first with this, and as it went on I became more adjusted. The other major issue was with the speech because whereas in a 'normal' book this would be laid out on different paragraphs for different characters, it was just thrown in one after another on the lines, making it once more very confusing, especially with the random capitals. Overall I felt that the formatting was added as an attempt to make this book different and interesting, but this backfired on the author and it wasn't really a good addition to the story. If this had been an average book, formatted in the usual way for a sci-fi, I think it could easily have been a 4* read, but it joust couldn't get that rating for the irritation I suffered from the layout.
On the whole I'd say that the story and characters were decent and that the concept was solid and interesting but the book let itself down with the layouts. The cover is beautiful and represents aspects of the book well, and the book is pretty good, but I just couldn't give it any more than 3.5*s for the style. An interesting read, worth checking out if you don't mind the formatting.
This book is a tough one to rate but I think it just about gets a 3.5* rating. It's a very cool world with a lot of interesting and fairly original ideas. I haven't before encountered a book quite like it, but then I haven't read a huge deal of Sci-fi.
The city that we focus on for this story is called Vox. It's a dark place with very few sources of light and no Sun which brightens the way. The world is dark, dark, dark and there are all sorts of criminals and drugs running rampant. People have little hope, and it's a fairly nasty way to live or imagine living. I have to say that I thought the concept of a world without a Sun to be pretty bleak, but highly interesting.
The city of Vox is powered by three 'Hearts' which give out power. They're the main source of energy, and one of them is stolen at the beginning of this book leaving our main character, and Investigator, to try and figure out how it was stolen and what's happened. The plot reads a lot like the early Dresden Files books in that it's fairly crime focused with fantastical elements incorporated into the story.
The main character is called Virgil and he's well known around the City for a big case which he solved a while back. He's slowly gone down hill since his big break though, and has gradually slipped from grace and fallen into the world of Phos (a drug) and decline. He's a good investigator, but he;s clearly no longer respected by that many, and he has to face the reality of his own living situation and lifestyle if he faces any real chance of figuring out exactly what happened.
The only niggle I did have with this book was the structure. The story is written in Verse which would be pretty cool if it was rhyming (as I do think rhyming verse is always pretty exciting) however unfortunately all that the layout served to do in this one was be a BIG distraction. Because each line is capitalised whether or not it's the start of a sentence it makes it very disjointed and you get taken away from the message of the sentence often by the layout and format. I really struggled at first with this, and as it went on I became more adjusted. The other major issue was with the speech because whereas in a 'normal' book this would be laid out on different paragraphs for different characters, it was just thrown in one after another on the lines, making it once more very confusing, especially with the random capitals. Overall I felt that the formatting was added as an attempt to make this book different and interesting, but this backfired on the author and it wasn't really a good addition to the story. If this had been an average book, formatted in the usual way for a sci-fi, I think it could easily have been a 4* read, but it joust couldn't get that rating for the irritation I suffered from the layout.
On the whole I'd say that the story and characters were decent and that the concept was solid and interesting but the book let itself down with the layouts. The cover is beautiful and represents aspects of the book well, and the book is pretty good, but I just couldn't give it any more than 3.5*s for the style. An interesting read, worth checking out if you don't mind the formatting.
May 31, 2019
i love epic poetry and science fiction and noir and detective novels, but this little tract was not enough of any one of them to satisfy me... echoes of other narratives will be recognized by many readers, which is quite handy from a relational standpoint yet ultimately left me thinking this was a bricolage of sorts, not an actual and unique tale... kudos for utilizing a form not often wielded to craft a tale... whispers of things past, haunted alleyways, flashes of brilliance, amorphous background machinations... the book equires oodles of imagination and diversionary thinking and tangential supposition and mental wandering to be effective... nothing wrong with any of those, obviously, but as a book in and of itself this is too indeterminate, or something...
April 1, 2023
Dystopian sci-fi meets murder novel in an epic poem format. An odd combination but it works. The poem structure - in non-rhyming quatrains with ten syllables per line and a metre I didn’t recognize but someone more expert likely would - arguably allowed the author to use tricks of grammar and vocabulary that a reader might find odd in prose. It also seemed to reflect well the hero’s frenetic and staccato lifestyle as a drug addicted detective.
The plot centres on two seemingly unconnected crimes in a world struggling to survive in an endless night: the murder of a young women left glowing brightly and unnaturally, and the theft of Cancer a “heart”, one of the only sources of light and power in the city. The author describes his dystopian society well, thinking carefully through what being starved of daylight and most other sources of light would really mean for an average person. Batteries, bulbs, matches and cigarettes are items of great value; the most popular drug is one which pumps light into an addict’s veins; the slums are black and filled with ghosts - people destroyed mentally and physically by light starvation.
The motive and the crime investigation are as unusual as the structure of the book. As a crime novel it works well. However it can also be read on a deeper level with light as a metaphor for life, love and optimism. I liked the way the author combines all these themes.
There are plenty of playful literary references to amuse the more literary minded reader, the most obvious being that our detectives are called Virgil and Dante.
All in all a nice change of tempo from my normal comfort zone
The plot centres on two seemingly unconnected crimes in a world struggling to survive in an endless night: the murder of a young women left glowing brightly and unnaturally, and the theft of Cancer a “heart”, one of the only sources of light and power in the city. The author describes his dystopian society well, thinking carefully through what being starved of daylight and most other sources of light would really mean for an average person. Batteries, bulbs, matches and cigarettes are items of great value; the most popular drug is one which pumps light into an addict’s veins; the slums are black and filled with ghosts - people destroyed mentally and physically by light starvation.
The motive and the crime investigation are as unusual as the structure of the book. As a crime novel it works well. However it can also be read on a deeper level with light as a metaphor for life, love and optimism. I liked the way the author combines all these themes.
There are plenty of playful literary references to amuse the more literary minded reader, the most obvious being that our detectives are called Virgil and Dante.
All in all a nice change of tempo from my normal comfort zone
March 15, 2025
A washed up heroic detective, living on a planet orbiting a Dark Star, which gives heat but no light. It's written in verses like a poem, I bought this book completely blind. It took me a couple weeks to read this relatively short book, I did it in bursts and let it sit in my head, where I thought about the world they lived in, the mystery of the stolen heart, the dead girl with veins full of light and the darkness.
March 17, 2015
Let's talk first about Langmead's audacious decision to write his debut novel in the form of an epic poem. I have to confess to being unfamiliar with the form, and my potential appreciation was further hampered by the fact that I read the novel on my Kindle using an over-large font (all the better to not have to get out my reading glasses, my dear), which messed with the way the verses are intended to appear on the page. Still, it didn't slow me down in the slightest. One might argue that the use of an epic poem form was unneccessary, as the story would flow just as easily in verses or in conventional prose form; but then, one could also argue that Langmead's achievement both satisfies starved poetry fans and demonstrates an astonishing facility with words and storytelling.
Either way, it's a kick-ass story.Think Bladerunner (I wonder if the character of Rachel is a nod to the aforementioned movie), only much, much bleaker. In this world, light is currency, light is a drug, light is treasured and elusive. The darkness is both metaphorical and real (this story is noir in all senses of the word), all-pervasive and claustrophobic. The thought and detail that goes into realizing this perpetually black world - print books are an extravagance when most "writing" is in braille, there are no days but only 'cycles', and even the cattle have evolved into strange, blind, albino creatures - is razor sharp. Langmead makes no secret of his influences in naming two main characters Virgil and Dante, and indeed the hellish atmosphere is almost palpable, leaving me breathing deeply and turning on all the lights by the time I got to the end.
This is the third title I have reviewed from Unsung Stories, the first two being the outstanding The Beauty by Aliya Whiteley and Déjà Vu by Ian Hocking. With the addition of Dark Star, Unsung Stories is cementing its burgeoning reputation as a publisher of intelligent and provocative speculative fiction.
If you like poetry (especially epic poetry) - you need to read this. If you like classic noir detective stories - you need to read this. If you like imaginative science fiction/fantasy - you need to read this.
Either way, it's a kick-ass story.Think Bladerunner (I wonder if the character of Rachel is a nod to the aforementioned movie), only much, much bleaker. In this world, light is currency, light is a drug, light is treasured and elusive. The darkness is both metaphorical and real (this story is noir in all senses of the word), all-pervasive and claustrophobic. The thought and detail that goes into realizing this perpetually black world - print books are an extravagance when most "writing" is in braille, there are no days but only 'cycles', and even the cattle have evolved into strange, blind, albino creatures - is razor sharp. Langmead makes no secret of his influences in naming two main characters Virgil and Dante, and indeed the hellish atmosphere is almost palpable, leaving me breathing deeply and turning on all the lights by the time I got to the end.
This is the third title I have reviewed from Unsung Stories, the first two being the outstanding The Beauty by Aliya Whiteley and Déjà Vu by Ian Hocking. With the addition of Dark Star, Unsung Stories is cementing its burgeoning reputation as a publisher of intelligent and provocative speculative fiction.
If you like poetry (especially epic poetry) - you need to read this. If you like classic noir detective stories - you need to read this. If you like imaginative science fiction/fantasy - you need to read this.
September 15, 2015
I came to this book because it's shortlisted for the Guardian Not The Booker, which I read each year. I was somewhat terrified by the prospect of a blank-verse novel, but much to my surprise, I enjoyed DARK STAR enormously. It is, curiously, the second SF gumshoe noir I've read in as many months - and much my favourite of the two. Clearly this sub-sub-genre is "having a moment'.
To be sure, many of the things I dislike about noir are here - principally, the absence of any female character who isn't either a moll, a doll, or a corpse. (DARK STAR's female cast is almost exclusively the latter; there aren't even enough living women to have a conversation to fail the Bechdel test.) The plot is both obvious and silly, with a North Sea's-worth of red herrings.
I was often unconvinced by the specifics of how the world worked. Why are candles so expensive? They have animals and some plants, so surely = tallow and wick. Why do candles burn visibly, but not cigarettes? The opaque worldbuilding means these sorts of trains of thought depart on a regular timetable, and they break the mood when they do.
But where DARK STAR really excels is its oppressive atmosphere - and a truly impactful final sequence. I was reading this section on the Tube and (i) nearly missed my stop and (ii) emerged blinking and full of gratitude for the sight of our grey-blue sky. To cleanse perception and make us see the world with fresh eyes is a huge achievement. I also found the brief coda of Virgil's memories a poignant final dart.
In my prejudgmental way, I'd feared DARK STAR would be a pretentious mess. Instead, I was totally drawn in, impressed both with the versatility Langmead wrings from his verse and the striking images he conjures: the dead girl with her "veins full of glowing", and Virgil's ascent from the ruined spaceship through the depths of the marsh.
Of everything on the shortlist this year, this is the book that has most exceeded my expectations. It is in the hope of discovering unexpected treats like this that I do NTB each year. If there was a Spirit of the Not the Booker Award, it would already be in Langmead's hands.
To be sure, many of the things I dislike about noir are here - principally, the absence of any female character who isn't either a moll, a doll, or a corpse. (DARK STAR's female cast is almost exclusively the latter; there aren't even enough living women to have a conversation to fail the Bechdel test.) The plot is both obvious and silly, with a North Sea's-worth of red herrings.
I was often unconvinced by the specifics of how the world worked. Why are candles so expensive? They have animals and some plants, so surely = tallow and wick. Why do candles burn visibly, but not cigarettes? The opaque worldbuilding means these sorts of trains of thought depart on a regular timetable, and they break the mood when they do.
But where DARK STAR really excels is its oppressive atmosphere - and a truly impactful final sequence. I was reading this section on the Tube and (i) nearly missed my stop and (ii) emerged blinking and full of gratitude for the sight of our grey-blue sky. To cleanse perception and make us see the world with fresh eyes is a huge achievement. I also found the brief coda of Virgil's memories a poignant final dart.
In my prejudgmental way, I'd feared DARK STAR would be a pretentious mess. Instead, I was totally drawn in, impressed both with the versatility Langmead wrings from his verse and the striking images he conjures: the dead girl with her "veins full of glowing", and Virgil's ascent from the ruined spaceship through the depths of the marsh.
Of everything on the shortlist this year, this is the book that has most exceeded my expectations. It is in the hope of discovering unexpected treats like this that I do NTB each year. If there was a Spirit of the Not the Booker Award, it would already be in Langmead's hands.
April 5, 2016
Great in many aspects, a bit deficient in others. I think it's mostly my own fault, I had no music to listen it to, and it's definitely a moody piece that would benefit from a proper accompaniment.
**edit** after a few months now, I've got to say this books grows on me in retrospect. I'll probably re-read it. It had enough meaning and depth for me to still think about it months after.**
The plot was good - and dark. But Virgil felt a bit too much like a piece of drift wood, not so much following cases as being pushed and pulled around.
Some amazing sentences, but also places where they jarred, because of the pentameter format. Mostly you hardly notice, then it snags... I believe this needs to be read in an amazing, deep voice audiobook, so that the meters fall right.
I liked it a lot, but didn't love it at first, now 4 months later I reckon I love it, and want to dive back in.
Since it's a debut (I think?) I'll definitely keep an eye out for this guy's work.
**edit** after a few months now, I've got to say this books grows on me in retrospect. I'll probably re-read it. It had enough meaning and depth for me to still think about it months after.**
The plot was good - and dark. But Virgil felt a bit too much like a piece of drift wood, not so much following cases as being pushed and pulled around.
Some amazing sentences, but also places where they jarred, because of the pentameter format. Mostly you hardly notice, then it snags... I believe this needs to be read in an amazing, deep voice audiobook, so that the meters fall right.
I liked it a lot, but didn't love it at first, now 4 months later I reckon I love it, and want to dive back in.
Since it's a debut (I think?) I'll definitely keep an eye out for this guy's work.
March 5, 2016
Perhaps too loyal to the washed-up-noir-detective narrative, but that familiarity, plus tasty epic poetry styling makes this go down fast and easy. Wrestle with the metaphor while Virgil and Dante as they enter the various circles of Vox (the bar, the wealthy home, the university...) to investigate a woman's death by light, and the mysterious disappearance of one of three central power keys in this city of darkness, all while Virgil struggles with his own addiction to an injectable form of light. Reminiscent of Neil Williamson's The Moon King, but less clumsy.
January 3, 2016
Langmead's ambitious verse delivers a synergy of Blade Runner and Tron, forged beneath a Dick Tracy hammer. It's well written, well paced, and the world of Vox is imaginative. Looking forward to reading more by this author.
January 17, 2016
Science fiction (!), noir (!), epic poetry in iambic pentameter (?!?!?!!!). while the plot has some holes (how do you have crops on a planet with no sun?), the atmosphere, characterization, & writing are absolutely stellar.
September 5, 2018
The hook: iambic pentameter noir.
I can’t recall my initial reaction, beyond bewildered curiosity, but the more I looked into the book, the more it tempted me. It helped that The Guardian shortlisted it for Not the Booker prize, and that their review, though with a negative slant, was comprehensive enough to convince me this one experiment in modern fiction I wanted to judge (enjoy) for myself.
May my review prompt you to do the same.
Vox is a city on a planet with a dark star—the star is there, it just doesn’t shine. The city is powered by three Hearts, but light is scarce for all except the wealthiest. And so light becomes a drug (called Prometheus or Pro or Promo, which makes your blood glow), a god (called Phos, who has the Face of a star, arms spread in welcoming), and a fantasy, a dream, a hallucination. Fake candles can be seen in the swanky parts of town; real candles, real flame are a rarity. The rich families and institutions like the university can afford to light up their premises; the poor scrabble around in total darkness, reading newspapers with their fingers (And try to imagine reading with eyes. / It strikes me as difficult and clumsy); the poorest turn into (food-light) starved ghosts, who wander the streets, assaulting cars for the headlights that they throw. Times passes in cycles.
Aside from the new terms and premises, the technology is essentially 1920s Earth.
That’s the setting—no astrophysics or sci-fi, no social philosophy, no grand tropes fantasy tropes beyond the cuteness of the premise. Enter the story—yes it’s what you expect of noir.
Detective Virgil Yorke is the typical protagonist: drained, drug-addicted, damaged. He’s weighed down by baggage and barely functioning but he’s righteous and desperately persistent, which constantly brings him to the brink of death. He’s got a sidekick, Dante, and he get’s assigned a case or two, and then we’re off, chasing through the corrupt, blind darkness of Vox looking to uncover the bad guy.
What of that innovative iambic pentameter form?
Here’s a sample:
There are two ways to look at this.
Firstly, had the book been written in prose, I think the setting would have been interesting enough to bear out the (standard, in a good way) plot. Of course, it would have required more words, more depth, more characterisation—all of which are forbidden, or at the best, restricted by the current form. With a bit of luck, the result would not have been worse; with a bit of luck, it might have been better.
Secondly, had the author chosen a more standard setting or a more convoluted plot, I’m not sure the iambic pentameter would have born it out as well. As it stands, the mystique of Vox is enhanced by the condensed images almost on the level of iconicity (darkness is congealed and dense, mirroring the congealed, dense verses). On the other hand, the poetic form can plausibly offer only a certain degree of complexity (of a detective style plot) before becoming too convoluted or too difficult to parse (you’d need to be able to distinguish between poetic licence and factual nuance).
In summary, perhaps I wish Yorke had been turned into the anti-hero of serialised detective prose, just because the setting is too good to let go off. That said, the strictures of noir and the fact that physics would have to come into it at some point mean it’s perhaps better to leave it as a one-off—and in that sense Langmead chose the format adequately and created something interesting and unique.
Five stars for the uniqueness, for the experience—it kept me reading and curious. Thank you. (I’m not going to rather the poetry or plot; that wasn’t the point.)
Quibble: I wish the book had a more memorable title. I keep thinking Black Star, Death Star, Dark Star or forgetting it entirely.
A quibble about a quibble: the book mentions coffee and cows. The review by The Guardian, titled Taking noir too far, wonders about the well-being of these cows and the plants from the which the coffee presumably derives. I mean, really, I could wonder too: how do these bioforms subsist on this lightless world? There are so many plausible answers (mutation, underground lit up green houses, magic, alien tech etc), but the relevant one is: it doesn’t matter. It’s the wrong genre to answer these questions; asking the questions in the first place is taking nitpicking too far.
I can’t recall my initial reaction, beyond bewildered curiosity, but the more I looked into the book, the more it tempted me. It helped that The Guardian shortlisted it for Not the Booker prize, and that their review, though with a negative slant, was comprehensive enough to convince me this one experiment in modern fiction I wanted to judge (enjoy) for myself.
May my review prompt you to do the same.
Vox is a city on a planet with a dark star—the star is there, it just doesn’t shine. The city is powered by three Hearts, but light is scarce for all except the wealthiest. And so light becomes a drug (called Prometheus or Pro or Promo, which makes your blood glow), a god (called Phos, who has the Face of a star, arms spread in welcoming), and a fantasy, a dream, a hallucination. Fake candles can be seen in the swanky parts of town; real candles, real flame are a rarity. The rich families and institutions like the university can afford to light up their premises; the poor scrabble around in total darkness, reading newspapers with their fingers (And try to imagine reading with eyes. / It strikes me as difficult and clumsy); the poorest turn into (food-light) starved ghosts, who wander the streets, assaulting cars for the headlights that they throw. Times passes in cycles.
Aside from the new terms and premises, the technology is essentially 1920s Earth.
That’s the setting—no astrophysics or sci-fi, no social philosophy, no grand tropes fantasy tropes beyond the cuteness of the premise. Enter the story—yes it’s what you expect of noir.
Detective Virgil Yorke is the typical protagonist: drained, drug-addicted, damaged. He’s weighed down by baggage and barely functioning but he’s righteous and desperately persistent, which constantly brings him to the brink of death. He’s got a sidekick, Dante, and he get’s assigned a case or two, and then we’re off, chasing through the corrupt, blind darkness of Vox looking to uncover the bad guy.
What of that innovative iambic pentameter form?
Here’s a sample:
Away through the dark, his voice following:
‘Double-cross me and I’ll see the next knife
Tears that smile across your neck right open.
I hope to hear from you soon, Mister Yorke.’
Looks like I’m making a fine collection
Of threats this cycle. So many nooses
Around my neck it hurts to bow my head.
Inside, I’m hanging, choking already.
There are two ways to look at this.
Firstly, had the book been written in prose, I think the setting would have been interesting enough to bear out the (standard, in a good way) plot. Of course, it would have required more words, more depth, more characterisation—all of which are forbidden, or at the best, restricted by the current form. With a bit of luck, the result would not have been worse; with a bit of luck, it might have been better.
Secondly, had the author chosen a more standard setting or a more convoluted plot, I’m not sure the iambic pentameter would have born it out as well. As it stands, the mystique of Vox is enhanced by the condensed images almost on the level of iconicity (darkness is congealed and dense, mirroring the congealed, dense verses). On the other hand, the poetic form can plausibly offer only a certain degree of complexity (of a detective style plot) before becoming too convoluted or too difficult to parse (you’d need to be able to distinguish between poetic licence and factual nuance).
In summary, perhaps I wish Yorke had been turned into the anti-hero of serialised detective prose, just because the setting is too good to let go off. That said, the strictures of noir and the fact that physics would have to come into it at some point mean it’s perhaps better to leave it as a one-off—and in that sense Langmead chose the format adequately and created something interesting and unique.
Five stars for the uniqueness, for the experience—it kept me reading and curious. Thank you. (I’m not going to rather the poetry or plot; that wasn’t the point.)
Quibble: I wish the book had a more memorable title. I keep thinking Black Star, Death Star, Dark Star or forgetting it entirely.
A quibble about a quibble: the book mentions coffee and cows. The review by The Guardian, titled Taking noir too far, wonders about the well-being of these cows and the plants from the which the coffee presumably derives. I mean, really, I could wonder too: how do these bioforms subsist on this lightless world? There are so many plausible answers (mutation, underground lit up green houses, magic, alien tech etc), but the relevant one is: it doesn’t matter. It’s the wrong genre to answer these questions; asking the questions in the first place is taking nitpicking too far.
September 10, 2017
I was searching for Noir; and I found it.
In Oliver Langmead͛s Noir Sci-Fi novel, ͚Dark Star͛, I found a city where light is as precious a
commodity as water.
Vox is a dark city that͛s filled with ghosts, those people who are addicted to light. Those who are
starved and need its glow.
People trudge along their lives and some fall into the madness of the dark sun plaguing their skies.
Into this setting we meet Virgil Yorke, a washed-up cop addicted to a drug called Prometheus or
colloquially known as ͚Pro͛. Virgil is a hero with scars both within and out; haunted by the memory of
his biggest case and the death of a loved one.
In the streets of Vox, the body of Vivian North, a murdered young woman is found. Nothing unusual
about that except from the fact that her blood glows white, almost as though it͛s made of light.
It falls to Virgil and his partner Dante to investigate the murder, but then One of the three hearts
(ancient artefacts/machines that power the city) is stolen and Virgil is called upon again, to solve the
mystery and retrieve it.
To begin with I wasn͛t sure if I would enjoy this story, looking at the previous reviews did not fill me
with confidence, but I still decided to give it a go.
And I͛m glad I did.
I really loved the atmosphere the author created, noir almost in its literal sense. I felt the despair,
the craving that the citizens of Vox felt for the light that was long denied them by their ineffective
sun.
Somehow the novel felt as though it was both slow and fast paced.
The main character seemed to hardly get any rest and that came across quite clearly, as the hero
was thrown from one parulis situation to the next.
Add to that was the poetic introspection of the character as well as the almost lyrical descriptions;
reinforced the idea that the novel was both progressing at a slow and at breakneck speed. What I
call slow speed…
Virgil York is a flawed hero who does not consider himself a hero.
Initially I thought that there was going to be a major character arc that would lead the protagonist to
abandon his addiction, but oh how mistaken I was.
As he travelled through Vox, I travelled through Vox; as he felt the madness, I felt the madness, the
yearning for the light.
Every twist and turn made me wonder further about this world. One thing I do appreciate is when an
author adds little titbits of information about the world as the story progress͛s. And Langmead does
that all throughout.
We learn a little bit about the history of Vox, it͛s inhabitants and their society.
In the end, the story came full circle leaving the reader almost spent as if returning back to
mundanity.
I was fascinated by that world and haunted almost felt nostalgia for that strange world in shades of
black and grey.
I would also like to add that Toby Longworth; the narrator of the audiobook did a brilliant job. His
voice added that extra washed-up tiredness to the main character. It is largely because of his dark
hardboiled stile of narration that I enjoyed the story as much as I did.
Somehow, he managed to make every character sound distinct without particularly changing his
accent or overcompensating in the voice acting department.
This is a solid 4 stars for me.
In Oliver Langmead͛s Noir Sci-Fi novel, ͚Dark Star͛, I found a city where light is as precious a
commodity as water.
Vox is a dark city that͛s filled with ghosts, those people who are addicted to light. Those who are
starved and need its glow.
People trudge along their lives and some fall into the madness of the dark sun plaguing their skies.
Into this setting we meet Virgil Yorke, a washed-up cop addicted to a drug called Prometheus or
colloquially known as ͚Pro͛. Virgil is a hero with scars both within and out; haunted by the memory of
his biggest case and the death of a loved one.
In the streets of Vox, the body of Vivian North, a murdered young woman is found. Nothing unusual
about that except from the fact that her blood glows white, almost as though it͛s made of light.
It falls to Virgil and his partner Dante to investigate the murder, but then One of the three hearts
(ancient artefacts/machines that power the city) is stolen and Virgil is called upon again, to solve the
mystery and retrieve it.
To begin with I wasn͛t sure if I would enjoy this story, looking at the previous reviews did not fill me
with confidence, but I still decided to give it a go.
And I͛m glad I did.
I really loved the atmosphere the author created, noir almost in its literal sense. I felt the despair,
the craving that the citizens of Vox felt for the light that was long denied them by their ineffective
sun.
Somehow the novel felt as though it was both slow and fast paced.
The main character seemed to hardly get any rest and that came across quite clearly, as the hero
was thrown from one parulis situation to the next.
Add to that was the poetic introspection of the character as well as the almost lyrical descriptions;
reinforced the idea that the novel was both progressing at a slow and at breakneck speed. What I
call slow speed…
Virgil York is a flawed hero who does not consider himself a hero.
Initially I thought that there was going to be a major character arc that would lead the protagonist to
abandon his addiction, but oh how mistaken I was.
As he travelled through Vox, I travelled through Vox; as he felt the madness, I felt the madness, the
yearning for the light.
Every twist and turn made me wonder further about this world. One thing I do appreciate is when an
author adds little titbits of information about the world as the story progress͛s. And Langmead does
that all throughout.
We learn a little bit about the history of Vox, it͛s inhabitants and their society.
In the end, the story came full circle leaving the reader almost spent as if returning back to
mundanity.
I was fascinated by that world and haunted almost felt nostalgia for that strange world in shades of
black and grey.
I would also like to add that Toby Longworth; the narrator of the audiobook did a brilliant job. His
voice added that extra washed-up tiredness to the main character. It is largely because of his dark
hardboiled stile of narration that I enjoyed the story as much as I did.
Somehow, he managed to make every character sound distinct without particularly changing his
accent or overcompensating in the voice acting department.
This is a solid 4 stars for me.
March 18, 2019
Dark Star is a sci-fi noir novel written in blank verse.
It is set on a planet circling round a star which emits heat, but no light; you can only tell day from night by the temperature, and the fact that on a cloudless day, the sun can be seen as a darker patch in the otherwise starry sky:
“It’s that time in our cycle when our sun
Is visible, or rather, its absence.
On a clear cycle like this, you can see.
There’s a black hole moving across the sky,
Taking up space where there should be star-shine,
Like someone’s taken a piece of the sky
And painted it black or hollowed it out.” p.126
Humans colonised the planet centuries ago, then lost contact with home, and have since become desperately light-starved, craving electric lamps like drugs and praying to Phos, their God of light.
Though the setting is unique and its psychological impact vividly described, the story Langmead sets here is pretty standard sci-fi-noir, as a junkie cop investigates the death of a student whose blood was replaced with overwhelming blue liquid light – so in other words, the first half of the novel is basically the first season of the Expanse, but written in verse.*
The quality of Langmead’s verse is overall pretty good – as with most long narrative blank-verse poems, it does occasionally feel like prose that’s just been cut up into lines, though not too often. There are a few places where he’s had to put in redundant words to fill each line to pentameter length. For example, in the following stanza, the word “warehouses” is annoyingly unnecessary, given that he’s already let us know we’re in a warehouse district via synecdoche:
“Eventually, the traffic starts moving
And Montana steers us down a dark street,
Headlight illuminating stacks of crates
And weather-beaten storage: warehouses.” p.157
On the other hand, there are some really good pieces of poetry, particularly when Langmead describes the psychological effects of living in a light-less world:
“I wonder what it’s like to be born blind,
Like rats are; evolved to live without light.
They live out their whole lives on smell alone,
On touch, taste, sound. They don’t need sight to live.
I guess maybe the rats are better off,
Living blind. Not knowing what light is like.
The blind seem to thrive in Vox. They live well,
Unencumbered by our communal greed.” p.59
Besides being both a narrative poem and a sci-fi novel about an unusual planet, Dark Star is also a mystery story, and in this sense, like all mysteries it’s going to stand or fall on how impressive the Truth behind the mystery is, and how it’s revealed. And Langmead really delivers on this count: the detective’s eventual uncovering of the conspiracy leads up to an awesome, frightening and beautiful climax.
*I know that The Expanse is in turn adapted from a series of novels, but I haven't read Leviathan Wakes so I can only compare Dark Star to the show.
It is set on a planet circling round a star which emits heat, but no light; you can only tell day from night by the temperature, and the fact that on a cloudless day, the sun can be seen as a darker patch in the otherwise starry sky:
“It’s that time in our cycle when our sun
Is visible, or rather, its absence.
On a clear cycle like this, you can see.
There’s a black hole moving across the sky,
Taking up space where there should be star-shine,
Like someone’s taken a piece of the sky
And painted it black or hollowed it out.” p.126
Humans colonised the planet centuries ago, then lost contact with home, and have since become desperately light-starved, craving electric lamps like drugs and praying to Phos, their God of light.
Though the setting is unique and its psychological impact vividly described, the story Langmead sets here is pretty standard sci-fi-noir, as a junkie cop investigates the death of a student whose blood was replaced with overwhelming blue liquid light – so in other words, the first half of the novel is basically the first season of the Expanse, but written in verse.*
The quality of Langmead’s verse is overall pretty good – as with most long narrative blank-verse poems, it does occasionally feel like prose that’s just been cut up into lines, though not too often. There are a few places where he’s had to put in redundant words to fill each line to pentameter length. For example, in the following stanza, the word “warehouses” is annoyingly unnecessary, given that he’s already let us know we’re in a warehouse district via synecdoche:
“Eventually, the traffic starts moving
And Montana steers us down a dark street,
Headlight illuminating stacks of crates
And weather-beaten storage: warehouses.” p.157
On the other hand, there are some really good pieces of poetry, particularly when Langmead describes the psychological effects of living in a light-less world:
“I wonder what it’s like to be born blind,
Like rats are; evolved to live without light.
They live out their whole lives on smell alone,
On touch, taste, sound. They don’t need sight to live.
I guess maybe the rats are better off,
Living blind. Not knowing what light is like.
The blind seem to thrive in Vox. They live well,
Unencumbered by our communal greed.” p.59
Besides being both a narrative poem and a sci-fi novel about an unusual planet, Dark Star is also a mystery story, and in this sense, like all mysteries it’s going to stand or fall on how impressive the Truth behind the mystery is, and how it’s revealed. And Langmead really delivers on this count: the detective’s eventual uncovering of the conspiracy leads up to an awesome, frightening and beautiful climax.
*I know that The Expanse is in turn adapted from a series of novels, but I haven't read Leviathan Wakes so I can only compare Dark Star to the show.
June 4, 2017
A fascinating sci-fi noir thriller, that really takes you for a ride. Yorke, the protagonist, is battered,bruised and beaten and often himself feels more like a witness to events than an active participant.
The world without light is evocatively created and leaves a striking image. The people are incredibly familiar, a theme the novel touches on; that despite changing circumstances people don't really change. We have corrupt cops, addicts, mobsters, killers who are convinced their ends justify their means. In a way it all feels very familiar, but there is more than enough originality in there to keep things interesting. Seeing the way that old tropes interact with the darkened city of Vox is a lot of fun.
The entire novel is written iniambic pentameter. Despite having to acknowledge the feat of creative writing that this is, I'm not really sure what it added. The prose itself was not especially lyrical, and only in a few places was the meter really stressed, so overall it felt unnecessary at best and distracting at worst. The grit and realism of the noir genre would seems to be at odds with the form, although in some cases it forces the use of short, sharp sentences which do effectively set the tone. Can't help but wonder if without this constraint we might have ended up with a more detailed novel.
The world without light is evocatively created and leaves a striking image. The people are incredibly familiar, a theme the novel touches on; that despite changing circumstances people don't really change. We have corrupt cops, addicts, mobsters, killers who are convinced their ends justify their means. In a way it all feels very familiar, but there is more than enough originality in there to keep things interesting. Seeing the way that old tropes interact with the darkened city of Vox is a lot of fun.
The entire novel is written in
June 19, 2025
Nice concept, SF in poem form.
The story is quite a quick read and flows really well, however, it is a somewhat basic detective noir story, with not much you can could call SF (other than being set on another world which has a 'black sun' and exists in darkness), no character development and very little substance really. Some interesting concepts but much of the verse is just repeating the flowery description of the dark world. If told in prose with minimum descriptive words (but without taking anything from the story) I think the story could be told in 40 pages rather than the 220 or so it took.
No doubt I could read it again at a slower pace and find many more nuances but the book would need to offer much more substance before I could read it again.
Definitely worth reading once though, if just for the novel experience alone. I listened to it while listening to some hip hop tracks in the background - adding some cadence to the rhymes definitely helped!
The story is quite a quick read and flows really well, however, it is a somewhat basic detective noir story, with not much you can could call SF (other than being set on another world which has a 'black sun' and exists in darkness), no character development and very little substance really. Some interesting concepts but much of the verse is just repeating the flowery description of the dark world. If told in prose with minimum descriptive words (but without taking anything from the story) I think the story could be told in 40 pages rather than the 220 or so it took.
No doubt I could read it again at a slower pace and find many more nuances but the book would need to offer much more substance before I could read it again.
Definitely worth reading once though, if just for the novel experience alone. I listened to it while listening to some hip hop tracks in the background - adding some cadence to the rhymes definitely helped!
November 7, 2019
The only thing that stopped me from giving this a five star rating was the ending. The book overall was beautiful. I was captivated and addicted to it from the beginning and the characters and plot developed wonderfully up until the final "cycle".
I feel like the writing managed to make the verse very accessible; my kind of poetry that isn't pretentious or overly wordy and flowery.
The ending did fall a bit flat for me. It felt like it was a bit too intended to be metaphorical and so fell out of place with the rest of the book that was so vivid and real - this was the real appeal it had for me. I would love to see more stories set in this awesome world and will be looking out for any more works from the talented Oliver Langmead in the future!
I feel like the writing managed to make the verse very accessible; my kind of poetry that isn't pretentious or overly wordy and flowery.
The ending did fall a bit flat for me. It felt like it was a bit too intended to be metaphorical and so fell out of place with the rest of the book that was so vivid and real - this was the real appeal it had for me. I would love to see more stories set in this awesome world and will be looking out for any more works from the talented Oliver Langmead in the future!
October 5, 2023
It's a detective noir set in a future world in a city that exists under a sun that emits no light. Light bulbs are precious, so the rich live in a brightness that the poor are deprived of, and some lives are made bearable by the drug, a liquid light called Prometheus. It all sounds good but by the halfway stage I suddenly became aware that I didn’t care and never had cared about the two crimes at the center of story, the murder of a young woman and the theft of one of the three hearts that pumped light into the city. Maybe not enough had been invested in them at the outset and that spoiled it. The Poetry didn't work for me. Not great for me, but I had a strange feeling that it could have been and I wouldn’t avoid other works by the same author.
April 25, 2022
I can't recall the last time I read a poem quite this long. Langmead blends traditional noir beats with novel science fiction concepts in verse that has its own haunting moments. Each of the three major components is fine in isolation, but the way Langmead weaves them all together results in a story oozing with character and a suffocating atmosphere. While it isn't for everyone, Dark Star is a relatively light read with a fairly straightforward plot. If you like noir detective stories, bursts of dramatic poetry, and science fiction in general, you owe it to yourself to read this thoroughly enjoyable work.
September 15, 2024
En god premiss, på ett gott språk. Men det når inte hela vägen fram, och jag vet inte riktigt varför. Att skriva SciFi som poesi funkar förvånansvärt bra, och jag gillar huvudpersonen (trots att man är trött på traumatiserade polis-junkies). Jag gillar också, rent generellt, böcker som inte lägger massor av tid på världsbyggande, som tar saker för givna och litar på att läsaren fattar. Men här kanske det faktiskt hade kunnat vara några sidor till...? Det blir lite korthugget, hela "vår mörka stjärna"-grejen. Och intrigtrådarna är liksom lite för få, för korta och för o-ihopknutna.
Men ändå. SciFi som poesi. Kan tänka mig fler sådana.
Men ändå. SciFi som poesi. Kan tänka mig fler sådana.
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