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Ancillary Justice is a science fiction novel by the American writer Ann Leckie, published in …
A fascinating exploration of colonialism, gender, and the question of human agency told through a remarkably human, arguably nonhuman protagonist. A must-read for anyone who enjoys outside-the-box thinking and sci-fi worldbuilding.
Content warning Rape, slavery
It took me two years to finish this book, and no, it was not because of its length, which is a bit below average. Rather, it was because the book did little to grab my attention. I read it off and on, a handful of pages at a time, for so long, that if the only somewhat-engaging early events of the story hadn't been referenced and discussed by the characters throughout, I would have forgotten them entirely. The only reasons I persisted were twofold: One, I have a tenuous personal connection to the author and setting, and two, there were a handful of genuinely interesting story elements which I deemed worth the slog - at first, at least. By the end, I was disappointed.
All that said... Canaveral Light does have its strong points: D. D. Argo beautifully depicts Civil War-era Florida. My first instinct was to say "paints a beautiful picture of", but that would not do his work here justice; not only are the sights described, but the sounds, the smells, and both the tactile and psychological feelings of the setting all enjoy a lushness rarely found in such period pieces. If you have never been to mideastern Florida, and want to experience it, or have, and wish to return, Mr. Argo will take you there with aplomb. The characters who inhabit it, too, are more than colorful in personality - they each have their own mannerisms, voices, even smells. The sole exception to this rule of colorful personality, the protagonist Mills Burnham, is fun in his own way instead - calm, collected, intelligent, doing his best while out of his element, and more moral than any frontiersman need be. In its subject matter, Canaveral Light is rather problematic: A large portion of the plot revolves around the woes of a (supposed) couple, slaveowner Douglas Dummett (arguably the deuteragonist), his enslaved wife Leandra Fernandez, and the clash between societal conventions, their flaws, their beliefs, and their love for one another (though the nature of their relationship does not receive nearly the scrutiny it should, in that the power dynamics involved render any relationship between them rape by default, no matter how ostensibly consensual).
Despite what I said about the early events of the novel not especially engaging me, the late beginning and most of the middle piqued my interest, with the buildup of the conflict surrounding Dummett and Leandra taking center stage. The intrigue of the situation and my engagement with the characters kept me going, to the point where I was making time to pick the book up regularly, just so I could see if they made it, if they succeeded in making a good life for themselves.
Which only made the events of the final third of the book profoundly disappointing. The chicanery pulled in the final 120 or so pages is what turned this read from a joy to a slog. Suddenly, the enchanting imagery just felt like bloated purple prose. I didn't care what happened to Burnham or Dummett anymore. I just wanted to be done with the thing, but I had come too far to quit, so I stuck it on my nightstand and devolved to cracking it open and reading a page once every couple weeks. In the interest of spoiler management, I will say here that while the first two thirds of Canaveral Light are a worthwhile read, the metaphorical carpet which the author pulls out from under the reader is quite distressing, and that, paired with disappointment in the development of the plot after so much positive expectation, prevents me from recommending it.
Specifically, Leandra is violently raped and dies from the injuries she incurred in the process - out of nowhere, at the hands of a random bandit with no prior weight in the plot whatsoever. It's like the author had no idea how to work out a relationship in a narratively satisfying way so he just jotted down an erotic dream he had (the scene is way too detailed for my taste), stuffed her into a fridge, and called it a day. Seriously, what the hell? That's not a plot twist, that's a load of nonsense. What a waste of a lovable character and an interesting-til-then story, however problematic. Leandra deserved far better.
In conclusion, I suffered so you don't have to. After all that, if you still want to experience Florida in all her majesty, stop reading after Leandra gives birth. It's all downhill from there.