Review of The Light Pirate by Lily Brooks-Dalton

Lily Brooks-Dalton's Good Morning, Midnight caused a bit of a stir upon release. (The publishing world being what it is, this was naturally in a teacup.) An effective character study informed by major sf tropes, there were people who got out the old saw of “those literary writers stealing our science fiction ideas”, while the open minded swathe of sf readers tended to be more positively affected by the fully realized stories of two people living out solitude in different ways, one onboard a space ship and another in an Arctic research base. While extrapolating on our current reality in a different manner, Brooks-Dalton's follow up novel The Light Pirate (2022) once again brings into view the personal, inner worlds people while applying “science fiction tropes”, near future climate change in coastal USA the “stolen idea” this time. As successful?

Opening in Florida in the present day, The Light Pirate sees a major hurricane blowing in. A woman named Frida, now nine-months pregnant, nags her husband Kirby to stack sandbags and board the house in preparation for the winds and rains they know are coming. Intensifying the situation, Kirby's two boys by a previous marriage, Flip and Lucas, complain about Frida behind her back, increasing her stress levels. Stuck between home and work, Kirby awaits the call he knows is inevitably coming: to leave the house and repair downed electrical lines. Sure enough, the call comes just as the hurricane blows in. In the chaos the two boys go missing, leaving Frida feeling guilty and Kirby on dangerous roads to find them. The rest, they say, is history.

While that summary describes the opening quarter of The Light Pirate, the book covers significantly more ground in its characters' lives. Generational in fact, readers float in and out of the lives of Frida, Kirby, and those who come after. Throughout the book there are major jumps in time, and while this is predominantly used to identify how the characters have matured and evolved, it likewise develops the story's setting, specifically that of a Florida in which global warming steadily floods the Sunshine State, cutting it off from the world physically, civilly, and socially.

In terms of the book's mode, Brooks-Dalton creates a narrative in which the reader's perspective is like that of an alien hovering above Florida. Touching the screen, you drop silently into the head of one character, take in the view for a while to get an understanding what is happening, then touch another screen, silently dropping into the head of another character. The smooth, easy manner in which this shift occurs defines the page by page float of The Light Pirate.

And it's precisely inside the characters' inner worlds that the substance of The Light Pirate tries to present itself. (More on “tries” in a moment.) While the hurricane and its aftermath certainly add elements of drama, the real drama is in the characters' psychologies and emotions. As with Good Morning, Midnight, Brooks-Dalton goes deep inside Frida, Kirby, and the others to search for the triggers of their actions and behaviors, regardless whether they can be found. My assumption is this is where Brooks-Dalton wanted the novel's emphasis to be.

I say “assumption” because it's not clear. The Light Pirate is not a tight, focused novel whose soul is laid bare. While time is spent on the characters' inner lives, there are elements of contrived drama reminiscent of a made-for-tv movies (the hurricane is not the only game changer), as well as the interruption of the book's reality with elements of magic/the fantastic—at least a liminal reality—toward the conclusion. These narrative choices, while not entirely ejecting the reader from the book, do exert their influence on the book's direction, making the reader question the narrative's core the deeper they go rather than solidifying their understanding. Even the book's title, particularly as it is explored in the final pages, is not a domino which falls, triggering a thread of understanding that winds its way backwards through the novel, creating an “aha”. Put simply, I'm not sure the book's structure and approach have the desired effect.*

In the end, The Light Pirate adds to the growing legacy of cli-fi novels that focus on the human side of the changes we see happening in the environment, regardless the responsibility of humans or nature. The story's arc is for readers who enjoy character-based dramas with light extrapolation on present day realities. Given the arc's final resting point, the book is also strongly recommended for readers of Ursula Le Guin. While I believe the novel would have worked significantly better focusing on Wanda's adult journey, with bits of backstory edited in as needed, it's a decent read as it stands.

*If Brooks-Dalton had focused on Wanda's adulthood, I can't help but feel the soul of the novel would have had a better chance of revealing itself. For example, the reader would not question why the narrative is lending equal weight to secondary characters when it becomes clear that Wanda is supposed to form the novel's prime thrust. The answer to: Is this a generational story or a character's story, becomes clear, not to mention the novel's title and cover come into stronger focus. Much of the made-for-tv drama would likewise disappear, making the overall plot feel less cheap.