Promises Stronger Than Darkness is the third and concluding volume of Charlie Jane Anders' Unstoppable trilogy. I previously reviewed the first volume on my blog, and the second volume here on Goodreads. Promises provides a strong ending to the series. It has less exposition and more heart-pounding suspense than the earlier volumes; after setting everything up in the previous books, here Anders is able to just let the action fly. The fascist Marrant (a figure in the line of Donald Trump and Benito Mussolini) is in control of the galaxy; and a time bomb (or perhaps I should say, black hole bomb) originally set up millenia ago by a now-extinct civilization threatens to extinguish all the stars in the galaxy that have planets supporting sentient life. Our teen heroes have to stop this apocalypse, while at the same time avoiding Marrant's forces, not to mention preventing Marrant from taking control of the doomsday machine and converting it into a weapon for selective genocide. There is less reflection here on LGBT+ themes than in the previous volumes -- we now simply have to take such multiplicity for granted, as we rush through one attempt after another to save the galaxy.
I think that in her entire trilogy, culminating with this volume, Anders takes us back to the origins of science fiction, only to twist it through the looking glass. I started reading science fiction when I was nine years old; my uncle gave me a copy of the first volume in E. E. 'Doc' Smith's Lensman series. These books, published starting in the 1930s, were the beginning of what is now known as space opera, and set many of the parameters for the Golden Age science fiction of the subsequent decades. As a nine year old, in the 1960s, I devoured Smith's volumes, thrilled by his vistas of infinity and his ability to deliver one rip-roaring story after another. It wasn't until much later that I recognized the defects in Smith's books; he wasn't exactly a great prose stylist, and he never questioned his straight-white-cis-male presuppositions (not to mention his idealized portrait of the engineer who thinks all problems are merely technical ones) -- instead, he took his narrow presuppositions entirely for granted, and assumed his readers would do so as well.
Sixty years later, Anders gives us something like a revision and updating of Smith's original space operas, only written in much better prose, and with a far more enlightened (as well as more contemporary) sensibility. What I mean is that we have the same excitement and thrills, the same marvelous twists and turns, and the same exhilarating sense of roving freely through the galaxy; but we also have a broad multicultural and multisexual sensibility, one that celebrates the vitality and creativity of which people (and other sentient species) are capable, rather than just romanticizing the somewhat narrow skills of white male nerds (Smith's original audience in the 1930s, and an accurate description of me as a child and teenager in the 1960s as well). The narrow straight-masculinist perspective is replaced by a rainbow coalition, and the figure of the engineer gives way to that of the artist (my favorite character through out the series is Rachel, a visual artist but also a sensitive soul in the way that my inner teenage nerd can still totally relate to). (No criticism of engineers is implied here, by the way; but rather a broadening of aesthetic sensibility). If science fiction was mostly read by shy cerebral white boys in the 1930s, and still in the 1960s, then today it especially appeals to BIPOC and LGBT+ people, because it combines the same thrills as previously with new sorts of inclusion and recognition. Charlie Jane Anders is one of the standard-bearers of this transformation.