The Siege of Burning Grass by Premee Mohamed
RIYL: war fiction, the philosophical questions around pacifism, biopunk
In the face of the unrelenting death and misery of war, what recourse do everyday people have to try to stop it? If we believe war and violence are abhorrent, would it be better to lose the war than prolong it? Is specific, targeted violence okay if it appears likely to forstall more violence?
The Siege of Burning Grass by Premee Mohamed tackles these questions and more. Set in a war-torn corner of a nameless world, famous pacifist leader Alefret languishes in a prison of his own nation, a nameless scientist experimenting on him to see if his blown-off leg can regrow, using biologically altered wasps to sting the medicine into him. Alefret is used to suffering, having been born with a genetic condition that makes him enormous, with an obviously distinct face and hunchback; he refuses to reveal anything about his fellow members of the pacifist movement called the Pact. But soon a general coerces him into action with a very specific plan: if he and a fierce diehard soldier named Qhudur can sneak their way into the enemy’s floating city, he can ally with the enemy nation’s own pacifist movement, and using their trust, allow Qhudur to sneak in and kill the nation’s leaders. It is an act of deceit and broken trust, but if it works, it would mean the end of the war and the end of all this killing.
Alefret and Qhudur hate each other, but must rely on each other to succeed in their harrowing journey. They spend much of the book clashing ideologically as they make their way across the desolate grasslands between their city and the floating city of their enemy; Alefret denouncing the war as pointless and evil while Qhudur critiques his presumed naivety and cowardice. It’s here in these war-torn fields, living off the land and grappling with difficult questions, where the book is the strongest, evoking other resonant anti-war narratives outside of the world of speculative fiction. Mohamed strikes a difficult balance many lesser writers fail to achieve; she asks difficult moral questions without clear answers, yet never lets us believe that Qhudur’s nihilist and infantile violent worldview is anything but abhorrent.
The secondary fantasy world of the novel is only ever sketched in around the edges of Alefret’s vision, but it’s a fascinating one. Technology appears to be roughly around the war years of the early 20th century, with guns, radios, and planes; yet there are other stranger devices. Alefret’s nation utilizes creatures, perhaps biomedically altered or perhaps native, as technology, from the aforementioned vaccine-hornets to the pteridons that serve as flying vehicles or the lizards that produce bullets.
The Siege of Burning Grass deserves to stand among other great SFF fiction about war; unlike many other books that are granted this comparison, it actually evokes Ursula K. Le Guin, with a magical world filled with wonder and yet burdened by the same horrors as our own, a story told beautifully, and ideas that counter much of the simplistic good vs. evil schemas of classic fantasy. Unfortunately, I found that the book’s rather muddled and sudden ending undercut some of its themes, which wasn’t enough to ruin the book at all but maybe keeps it from true masterpiece status. Regardless, this is a really special novel, once with a profound empathy and righteous anger, that feels especially relevant in our current era.
Rating: **** 1/2
The Siege of Burning Grass is set to publish on March 12, 2024.
Thanks to NetGalley for the advance copy in exchange for an honest review. All thoughts expressed are my own.