This novel follows on from Children of Time, about which I wrote a couple of weeks ago. That first book set a standard of originality which almost inevitably relegates any sequel to the minor placings but the two, taken as a whole, are an astonishing feat of imagination (and I understand that a third volume is on the way). Together they comprise a tribute to, a celebration of, the almost unlimited possibilities of evolution, the interface between biology and technology. the creation of tradition and the power of compromise working across scarcely imaginable separations (of time, of space, of species).
Don't think, though, that Mr Tchaikovsky's works are simply tracts or displays of scientific erudition for its own sake. These are genuine novels, inhabited by genuine individuals and if you think Charles Dickens has a wide range of characters, wait until you've finished Children of Ruin.
Even more than Children of Time, this second book requires the reader to be aware of the passage of time. The consequences of an event only become fully apparent after an interval of some thousands of years. Part of the magic of these novels is that the reader is coaxed into accepting that "thousands of years" is a legitimate perspective in which to observe and consider the implications of decisions made by fallible creatures like us.
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