Graham McNeill
2006
Grade: D+
The author largely succeeds in making this story feel like a direct continuation of the previous work, Horus Rising. This is no mean feat when considering that two separate writers working on a single overarching story is likely to create vast discrepancies in character and style. One has to look very closely to see these discrepancies, and though I will discuss them as weaknesses later, I don’t want the overall success in this area to go unremarked.
Though it’s perhaps unfair to use its predecessor as a benchmark, this work does have a stronger plot than Horus Rising. Focusing, in the main, on the return to the once compliant, now traitorous, planet of Davin and its moon, the crusade seeks to destroy Eugen Temba and his policing force which had been corrupted by a pestilential force referred to as Nurgh-leth. The arc of the narrative shows the growing influence of the warrior lodge within the expedition force, the abandonment of the crusade, and the fall of Horus. It is hard not to use the word fall here without irony as the series thus far has not succeeded in painting the primarch as someone whose devolution into tyranny should be considered anything but a matter of course (see Anakin Skywalker in the prequel trilogy for reference).
The insinuation that the Emperor’s ultimate goal is to ascend to a sort of god-hood is a fascinating one even if the character who delivers the narration certainly can’t be trusted.
Some of what follows will not be directed at this novel in particular but rather the series as I have experienced it so far (understanding that two novels is hardly a fair sample of such a library).
For the novel itself, one particular weakness is the dramatic change in the characterization of Horus. In the first novel he is charming, cordial, relaxed, and mostly rational. Ostensibly the justification for his transformation into a detached and forlorn figure is caused by the multiplying requests on his time by the needs of the crusade, the growing influence of the bureaucracy, and the failure of the negotiations with the Interex. However, that transformation is presented as complete at the beginning of the novel, and inane phrases such as, “Wars are not won by thinkers”(132) are put into his mouth so that there is hardly a recognizable link between the Horus presented in both novels.
Furthermore, the treachery of Erebus which maneuvers the primarch throughout the novel is farcically transparent such that when it ultimately succeeds in causing Horus’ turn against the Emperor, the warlord is not nearly the tragic figure the novel hopes for but rather a foolish one.
Lastly, there is a vein of subtly juvenile thought running through this work that I don’t remember striking me from its precursor. This is most glaring in the depictions of female characters who are sexualized constantly. This is not in and of itself an issue except that it amounts to nothing. A female character even propositions Karkasy for the sake of personal advancement and then promptly disappears from the narrative altogether.
The remaining comments I have here should not be viewed as particular to this work, but flaws in the series. These would be comments on the architects of the works rather than the individual writers as I’m certain these authors are working under very strict guidelines from Games Workshop.
Though it is early in the series, I can’t help but notice a rampant immaturity in the major characters which is frustrating at the best of times and insufferable at its worst. With very few exceptions (Loken, Karkasy, Sindermann, Torgaddon, etc.) the astartes, primarchs, and soldiers are shown to be petulant, thoughtless, bloodthirsty, and irrational. Their value (as defined by themselves as well as the text) is based solely on being the biggest, strongest, and most murderous. It’s almost as if the behaviors of these grown men is driven by the imaginings of small boys.
I’m also finding that the theming of the work often seems to argue with itself. I had a sense of it in the first volume, but it is much more pronounced here. The story at some points will champion secular thought and decry superstition and simultaneously have Euphrati Keeler banish a demon with a spontaneous power granted by her faith in the Emperor. The search for truth is celebrated by associating that search with the characters the novel holds in high esteem (Loken, Sindermann) then proceeds to punish them for that proactive behavior (ie. Sinderman’s research summons a demon) as though ignorance is the safer and preferable choice.
In Lovecraft, the search for truth does not cause the horror; it reveals its scope and inevitability. In Herbert, the dedication to a charismatic leader of any sort is portrayed as a stark warning not a matter of correct choice. In paying homage to these and other sources the parroted themes have become hopelessly mangled. Strangely enough there is one thematic moment that lands solidly even though it completely undermines humanity as a protagonist in the story. After Temba is killed by Horus, the animating force of the zombie army ceases and the battle with the expeditionary force immediately ends. It’s an annoying and criminally overused trope, but as it brought a tedious battle scene to an immediate end I can only be grateful. The irony of the situation is that like the plague infested zombies, the armies of the Imperium completely cease to function when the warmaster becomes incapacitated. I actually laughed, though I’m sure this was not the intent, to see all of these battle hardened Astartes warriors tearing their hair and gnashing their teeth at the mere thought of the loss of their leader. Tens of thousands of people, administrators, soldiers, civilians, and all others else completely grind to a halt and become in every sense as incapacitated as their grotesque enemies. It suggests that humanity is already no different than the chaos with which it is suddenly being confronted. This is an interesting and compelling thought, sobering as well as a comment on human behavior.
This is not to say that populating a fictional world entirely with contemptible characters is beneath value (ie The Godfather), but the struggle comes in trying to sustain that narrative over such an extensive time period. As this story progresses I am forced to continuously ask myself what outcome I’m meant to be hoping for, which characters I would wish success upon or spared from harm, and, to my continued frustration, the narrative provides so very little. In effect, Captain Loken is meant to be the narrative tether, but even he becomes an out and out murderer here such that even he hardly deserves the reader’s sympathies. The reader is in turn left with a few options each as unsavory as the last; to believe Horus’ conception of the emperor and wish for the overthrow of the latter or to hope for the good intention of the emperor (of which we are given no indication). In either case the assumption is that an ultimately positive outcome is one that involves the success of humanity not because it is good but because it is human.
Certainly none of this overanalysis is fair to the actual goals of the work itself which seeks to simply expound on the lore of the tabletop wargame. The reason these characters are incapable of any thought or action that does not directly involve or lead to violence is that the game itself offers no alternative. On the table, no part of the 40k universe is represented other than its battlefields completely substantiating its tagline, “in the grim darkness of the far future there is only war.” The thematic confusion is also an outgrowth of an attempt to literate the mechanics of the game such as psychers, demons, and the warp. From this vantage point these novels should be credited for what success they have against the weight of their restrictions. If nothing else, it’s created a desire to know the outcome of the events even if there’s no emotional attachment to what those events are.
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