Review: Matt Betts’ ‘Gone Where the Goblins Go’

★★★☆☆

My reviews are always unbiased, but in the interest of transparency, please note I received a free copy of this book ahead of its publication (Manta Press, May 2023).

At 260 pages, Gone Where the Goblins Go is a fast-paced sci-fi adventure. Tilly Coleman, our American protagonist, is an ex-army pilot, rather maladjusted for civilian life. When a private sector contract comes up, she leaps at the opportunity to fly again, agreeing to ferry a team to China in order to track down a group of conservationists who have gone missing in the wilderness. The details are rather vague, but the pay is good, and anything beats drifting aimlessly from hostel to hostel, or so Tilly thinks. It soon becomes obvious this is a rather more dangerous mission than the corporate spiel suggested.

Tilly represents a common character archetype in military sci-fi: the badass tough girl with a streak of hidden sensitivity. With her mohawk hairstyle and fire demon tattoos, she projects an aura of ‘don’t mess with me’, but it is obvious from the first that this is a front. Not far below the surface, she is actually a rather haunted person who copes with her trauma by refusing to acknowledge it. Because, of course, denial is the most healthy, effective way to deal with any problem…

If I’m being completely honest, military sci-fi is not my favourite subgenre. I find it is commonly peopled by characters who lack emotional intelligence. Also, the protagonists tend to be a variation of the same person: a seasoned or former soldier who is unable or unwilling to access mental health services, and who copes with their chequered past by indulging in mild substance abuse. Tilly fits this mould, but I did initially warm to her. There is a sense that she is trying to make a new life for herself. She might not be ready to face up to her demons just yet, but she is more honest about this with herself than many a similar hero. I found her quiet self-awareness rather poignant.

In the early chapters, this book reminded me of Jeff Vandermeer’s Annihilation. The premise – a team of specialists deployed to a weird wilderness in search of missing people – is distinctly similar. Gone Where the Goblins Go is a simpler, less subtle narrative, however, packing more gunfire and action than creep factor. Mashing military sci-fi, fantasy, eldritch horror and the psychology of complex bereavement with a dusting of Chinese mythology, it is fair to say that Betts packs this short text with more breadth than depth. However, once the plot gets moving (a little slowly from the starting gate), Gone Where the Goblins Go is a fun, feisty adventure, reminiscent of H.G. Wells’ The Island of Doctor Moreau.

Unfortunately, I think this book is let down by its characters. Besides Tilly, the cast are cardboard. Also, whilst Tilly shows initial promise, she is ultimately rather a passenger in her own story. Nothing provokes her to action. When she makes discoveries, they are accidental. Even when clues fall into her lap, Tilly is not prompted to actively investigate or to ask meaningful questions. Perhaps there is an element of disillusion, a conviction that ‘if I’m not being paid to deal with it, it isn’t my problem’, but this attitude does not hold water in the face of an increasingly dangerous situation. At several points, Mingmei, the novel’s only Chinese character, literally tells Tilly what is going on, and our protagonist’s indifferent reaction amounts to ‘cool story, bro.’ Given that Tilly never does anything with the information she is given, we can only assume she does not care what happens. This presents a problem, since if the protagonist does not care, why should the reader?

Tilly’s ‘team’ are not the slickest operation. Aside from Tilly and her co-pilot, Saburo, there is a distinct lack of cooperation and basic competence. Forced, reluctantly, to take command (in the loosest, most unenthusiastic sense) before the useless team leader, Harrison, gets everyone killed, Tilly must singlehandedly drag herself and her burden of idiots through hostile, dangerous territory. It would be all very well, if Tilly gave us any reason to believe in her commitment to the mission. I found it hard to root for her success, and it is unsatisfying that the novel never explains why the people sent on this ill-fated crusade are so ill-suited for its demands. This includes Tilly, whose supposed combat experience is rather diminished by the fact that she has never killed anyone, and does not believe she has it in herself to do so – incongruous, I think, with a military career.

Given that the story is set in China, it is also a shame that Betts makes little use of the setting’s rich culture and abundance of unique wildlife. The Yellow River as it is presented here might be, in truth, any river. There is next to no tangible description pinpointing the area Tilly traverses as a real place – we could just as easily be in the Amazon, or the Thames Estuary.

Overall, I think this narrative is decently structured, and Betts clearly has good ideas. For me, it’s a memorable book, since it is such a strange, wild ride. The story and worldbuilding could do with some more meat on the bones, however, and it’s a shame about the weak characterisation. To sum, Gone Where the Goblins Go is a bizarre, beguiling read, in which the scale between good weird and bad weird weighs roughly even.

Review: Sun Tzu’s ‘The Art of War’

★★★★☆

The Art of War is a treatise on military strategy from the 5th century BC. Despite its age, it is credited with influencing many more modern military leaders, from Napoleon to Chairman Mao, Stalin to Fidel Castro.

This Chinese classic is a concise volume, and though military strategy isn’t an obvious genre choice for most of us, I think this book is an excellent suggestion for anyone who finds many classics too dense or intimidating.

I read this text for research, but don’t worry – I’m not planning my march on Westminster. It’s just that I like to write Medieval-style worlds, complete with battles, and the older I get the more I am skeptical of my ability to write such events convincingly. I hoped that The Art of War would enable me to get inside the head of an exceptionally skilled military man of ancient times, and thus improve my capacity to write characters like him.

Military tactics are like unto water; for water in its natural course runs away from high places and hastens downwards. So in war, the Way is to avoid what is strong and strike at what is weak.

It may not be a long book, but this is partly because it is so precisely worded. Though I read the text as an English translation, I appreciated its clarity of expression. There is no meandering, and each of the thirteen chapters raise points of wisdom that I feel have given me more confidence in writing my imagined campaigns.

The philosophy of the author is also admirable. Despite his career, it is clear that Sun Tzu was as anti-war as a military man can be. The text is always clear that war is never a desirable option, and its leans towards defense rather than the attack. Sun Tzu writes with clear emphasis that conflict between armed forces should always be a last resort, and the text is openly critical of using one’s military powers for egotistical posturing or emotional purposes.

If it is to your advantage, make a forward move; if not, stay where you are. Anger may in time change to gladness; vexation may be succeeded by content. But a kingdom that has once been destroyed can never come again into being; nor can the dead ever be brought back to life.

As far as classical literature goes, this has been one of my most enjoyable reads. It is educational, and though I don’t think I’ll be ordering archers to take up their flaming arrows at any point in the foreseeable future, I took pleasure in the escapism.

Poetic in the sparsest sense, I think The Art of War is a valuable text for anyone who writes about soldiering, or who has any interest in the psychology of politics and power. It is an extremely quotable book, and offers enjoyment both as a whole, and when dipped in and out of.

I will be holding onto my copy for reference, and am sure I will refer to it the next time one of my imaginary cities must prepare for a siege.