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Aftermath: Star Wars: Journey to Star Wars: The Force Awakens Hardcover – September 4, 2015
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“Star Wars: Aftermath [reveals] what happened after the events of 1983’s Return of the Jedi. It turns out, there’s more than just the Empire for the good guys to worry about.”—The Hollywood Reporter
As the Empire reels from its critical defeats at the Battle of Endor, the Rebel Alliance—now a fledgling New Republic—presses its advantage by hunting down the enemy’s scattered forces before they can regroup and retaliate. But above the remote planet Akiva, an ominous show of the enemy’s strength is unfolding. Out on a lone reconnaissance mission, pilot Wedge Antilles watches Imperial Star Destroyers gather like birds of prey circling for a kill, but he’s taken captive before he can report back to the New Republic leaders.
Meanwhile, on the planet’s surface, former rebel fighter Norra Wexley has returned to her native world—war weary, ready to reunite with her estranged son, and eager to build a new life in some distant place. But when Norra intercepts Wedge Antilles’s urgent distress call, she realizes her time as a freedom fighter is not yet over. What she doesn’t know is just how close the enemy is—or how decisive and dangerous her new mission will be.
Determined to preserve the Empire’s power, the surviving Imperial elite are converging on Akiva for a top-secret emergency summit—to consolidate their forces and rally for a counterstrike. But they haven’t reckoned on Norra and her newfound allies—her technical-genius son, a Zabrak bounty hunter, and a reprobate Imperial defector—who are prepared to do whatever they must to end the Empire’s oppressive reign once and for all.
Praise for Aftermath
“The Force is strong with Star Wars: Aftermath.”—Alternative Nation
“The Star Wars universe is fresh and new again, and just as rich and mysterious as it always was.”—Den of Geek
“[Chuck] Wendig neatly captures the current states of the Empire and Rebel Alliance and does so through flawed, real, and nuanced characters. His writing gets you up close and personal. . . . Wendig does wonders with dialogue and voice and carving out space for everyone to breathe. Aftermath is a strong foot forward into unexplored territory and puts down just enough foundation that you can start picturing the Resistance and First Order of The Force Awakens taking shape.”—Nerdist
“If the opening chapter of the Wendig’s Aftermath trilogy is any indication, the ‘Journey to Star Wars: The Force Awakens’ will be every bit as exciting as the movie.”—New York Daily News
“A wonderful Star Wars adventure by a gifted author.”—SF Book Reviews
- Print length400 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherDel Rey
- Publication dateSeptember 4, 2015
- Dimensions6.5 x 1.25 x 9.5 inches
- ISBN-10034551162X
- ISBN-13978-0345511621
- Lexile measureHL630L
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Editorial Reviews
Review
“The Force is strong with Star Wars: Aftermath.”—Alternative Nation
“The Star Wars universe is fresh and new again, and just as rich and mysterious as it always was.”—Den of Geek
“[Chuck] Wendig neatly captures the current states of the Empire and Rebel Alliance and does so through flawed, real, and nuanced characters. His writing gets you up close and personal. . . . Wendig does wonders with dialogue and voice and carving out space for everyone to breathe. Aftermath is a strong foot forward into unexplored territory and puts down just enough foundation that you can start picturing the Resistance and First Order of The Force Awakens taking shape.”—Nerdist
“If the opening chapter of the Wendig’s Aftermath trilogy is any indication, the ‘Journey to Star Wars: The Force Awakens’ will be every bit as exciting as the movie.”—New York Daily News
“A wonderful Star Wars adventure by a gifted author.”—SF Book Reviews
About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
“Whoa, whoa, no,” Owerto says, half laughing. He looks up at her—one half of his dark face burned underneath a mottled carpet of scars, scars he claims to have earned with a different story each time he tells it: lava, wampa, blaster fire, got blitzed on Corellian rum and fell down on a hot camping stove. “Miss Susser—”
“Now that I’m home, I’m going by my married name again. Wexley.”
“Norra. You paid me to get you onto the surface of that planet.” He points out the window. There: home. Or was, once. The planet Akiva. Clouds swirling in lazy spirals over the jungles and mountains. Above it: Two Star Destroyers hang there like swords above the surface. “More important, you ain’t the only cargo I’m bringing in. I’m finishing this job.”
“They told us to turn around. This is a blockade—”
“And smugglers like me are very good at getting around those.”
“We need to get back to the Alliance—” She corrects herself. That’s old thinking. “The New Republic. They need to know.”
A third Star Destroyer suddenly cuts through space, appearing in line with the others.
“You got family down there?” She offers a stiff nod. “That’s why I’m here.” That’s why I’m home.
“This was always a risk. The Empire’s been here on Akiva for years. Not like this, but . . . they’re here, and we’re gonna have to deal with it.” He leans in and says: “You know why I call this ship the Moth?”
“I don’t.”
“You ever try to catch a moth? Cup your hands, chase after it, catch it? White moth, brown moth, any moth at all? You can’t do it. They always get away. Herky-jerky up-and-down left-and-right. Like a puppet dancing on somebody’s strings. That’s me. That’s this ship.”
“I still don’t like it.”
“I don’t like it, either, but life is full of unlikable things. You wanna see your family again? Then we’re doing this. Now’s the time, too. Looks like they’re just getting set up. Might could be more on the way.”
A half-mad gleam in his one good eye. His other: an implacable red lens framed in an ill-fitting O-ring bolted to the scarred skin. He grins, then: crooked teeth stretched wide. He actually likes this.
Smugglers, she thinks. Well, she paid for the ticket. Time to take the ride.
The long black table gleams with light shining up from it—a holo-graphic schematic of the Vigilance’s docking bay and surrounding environs. It incorporates a fresh droid scan and shows damage to two of the TIE fighters, not to mention the bodies of the stormtroopers— those left there as a reminder to others what can happen when you tussle with rebels.
The pilot of the Starhopper? Most definitely a rebel. Now the question: Was this an attack? Did he know they were here? Or is this some confluence of events, some crass coincidence that led to this intersection?
That, a problem for later. The problem now is figuring out just where he went. Because as she thought, the ship contained no body.
Best she can figure, he rigged the proton torpedoes to blow. Before they did, however, he . . . what? She taps a button, goes back to the Starhopper schematic she pulled off the Imperial databases. There. A stern-side door. Small, but enough to load small parcels of cargo in and out.
Her new pilot friend ducked out the back. Would’ve been a considerable jump. Jedi? No. Couldn’t be. Only one of those out there—and zero chance the rebels would send their golden boy, Skywalker.
Back to the bay schematic—
She spins it. Highlights the access ducts.
That’s it. She pulls her comm. “Tothwin. Our pilot is in the ducts. I’ll bet all my credits you’ll find an open vent—”
“We have a problem.”
The problem is that you interrupted me, she thinks but does not say. “What is it?”
“We have a blockade-runner.”
“Another terrorist?”
“Could be. Looks like a bog-standard smuggler, though. Flying a small Corellian freighter—an, ahh, let’s see, an MK-4.”
“Dispatch the TIEs. Let them deal with it.” “Of course, Admiral.”
Everything feels like it’s in slow motion. Norra sits, frozen in the navigator’s chair next to Owerto Naiucho, the scar-faced smuggler—flashes of light on his face, green light from the incoming lasers, orange light blooming from a TIE fighter meeting its untimely end. Outside, ahead of them, a swarm of TIEs like a cloud of insects—the horrible scream as they pass, vibrating the chair beneath her and the console gripped in her white-knuckled hands. In the moments when she blinks, she doesn’t see darkness. She sees another battle unfolding—
“It’s a trap!” comes Ackbar’s voice over the comm. The dread feeling as Imperial TIEs descend upon them like redjacket wasps from a rock- struck nest. The dark of space lighting up with a crackling beam of viridian light—that coming from the half-constructed Death Star, just one more shovelful of dirt on the Alliance’s grave as one of their own capital ships is gone, erased in a pulse of light, lightning, and fire—
The freighter dives toward the planet’s surface. Turning like a screw. The ship shuddering as laserfire scores its side. The shields won’t hold forever. Owerto’s yelling at her: “You need to handle the guns! Norra! The guns.” But she can’t get up out of that chair. Her bloodless hands won’t even leave the console. Her mouth is dry. Her underarms wet. Her heart is beating like a pulsar star before it goes dark.
“We want you to fly with us,” Captain Antilles says. She objects, of course—she’s been working for the rebels for years now, since before the destruction of the first Death Star, but as a freighter pilot. Carrying message droids, or smuggling weapons, or just shuttling people from planet to planet and base to base. “And that doesn’t change the kind of pilot you are,” he says. “You outran a Star Destroyer. You forced two TIE interceptors to crash into each other. You’ve always been a great pilot. And we need you now for when General Solo gets those shield generators down.” He asks her again: Is she in? Will she fly with the red and the gold? Yes. She says yes. Because of course she does—how could she say otherwise?
Everything, gone dizzy. Lights inside the cabin flashing. A rain of sparks from somewhere behind their chairs. Here in the Moth, everything feels balanced on the head of a pin. Through the glass, the planet. The clouds, coming closer. TIE fighters punching holes through them, vapor swirling behind them. She stands up, hands shaking.
Inside the bowels of the beast. Pipes and hissing steam. Skeletal beams and bundles of cord and conduit. The guts of the resurrected Death Star. The shields are down. This is their one chance. But the TIE fighters are everywhere. Coming up behind them, hawks nipping at their tail feathers. She knows where this goes: It means she’s going to die. But that’s how things get done. Gold Leader comms in—Lando’s voice in her ear, and his Sullustan copilot’s just behind it. They tell her what to do. And again she thinks: This is it, this is how I die. She accelerates her fighter. The heat signature of the core goes left. She pulls her Y-wing right—and a handful of the TIEs break off and follow her deeper. Away from the Millennium Falcon. Away from the X-wings. Laserfire frying her engines. Popping the top off her astromech. Smoke filling the cabin. The smell of ozone—
“I’m not a gunner,” she says. “I’m a pilot.”
Then she pulls Owerto out of his pilot’s chair. He protests, but she gives him a look—a look she’s practiced, a look where her face hardens like cooling steel, the look of a raptor before it takes your eyes. The smuggler gives a barely perceptible nod, and it’s good that he does. Because as soon as she’s down in the chair and grabbing the stick and throttle, she sees a pair of TIE fighters coming up fast from the front—
Her teeth clamp down so hard she thinks her jaw might break. Lasers like demon fire score the sky ahead, coming right for them.
She pulls back on the stick. The Moth ceases its dive toward the planet’s surface—the lasers just miss, passing under the hind end of the freighter, continuing on—
Boom.
They take out two of the TIE fighters that had been following close behind. And even as she continues hauling back on the stick, her stomach and heart trading places, the blood roaring in her ears, she loopty-loops the ship just in time to see the remaining two TIEs clip each other. Vertical wing panels smashing together, prying apart— each of the short-range Imperial fighters suddenly spinning away, pirouetting wildly through space like a pair of Republic Day firecracker pinwheels.
“We got more incoming!” Owerto hollers from somewhere behind her—and then she hears the gears of the Moth’s twin cannons grinding as the turret spins into place and begins barking fire.
Clouds whip past.
The ship bangs and judders as it kicks a hole in the atmosphere.
This is my home, she thinks. Or was. She grew up on Akiva. More important, Norra then was like Norra now: She doesn’t much care for people. She went off on her own a lot. Explored the wilds outside the capital city of Myrra—the old temples, the cave systems, the rivers, the canyons.
She knows those places. Every switchback, every bend, every nook and cranny. Again she thinks, This is my home, and with that mantra set to repeat, she stills her shaking hands and banks hard to starboard, corkscrewing the ship as laserfire blasts past.
The planet’s surface comes up fast. Too fast, but she tells herself that she knows what she’s doing. Down there, the rise of lush hills and slick-faced cliffs give way to the Canyon of Akar—a winding serpentine valley, and it’s there she takes the Moth. Into the rain-forested channel. Drizzle speckling her view, streaking away. The wings of the freighter clip branches, tearing up a flurry of leaves as she jukes left and jerks right, making the Moth one helluva hard target to hit.
Laserfire sears the canopy ahead.
Then: a bank of fog.
She pushes down on the stick, takes the freighter even lower. Here, the canyon is tighter. Trees stretching out like selfish hands, thrust up from rocky outcroppings. Norra deliberately clips these—again on the left, then on the right. The Moth’s turrets belt out cannon fire and suddenly a TIE comes tumbling end-over-end like a flung boulder— she has to bank the ship hard to dodge it. It smashes into a tree. A belching fireball.
The freighter shudders.
More sparks. The cabin goes dark. Owerto: “We’ve lost the turrets!”
Norra thinks: We don’t need them.
Because she knows what’s coming. One of the oldest temple complexes—abandoned, an artifact of architecture from a time long, long ago, when the Ahia-Ko people dwelled here still. But before that: a cascading waterfall, a silver churn of water leaping over a cliff ’s edge. A cliff they call the Witch’s Finger for the way it looks like a bent and accusing digit. There’s a space underneath that bridge of stone, a narrow channel. Too narrow, she thinks. But maybe not. Especially not with the turret gone. Too late to do differently now—
She turns the freighter to its side—
Ahead, the gap under the rock. Waterfall on one side. Jagged cliff face on the other. Norra stills her breathing. Opens her eyes wide.
That mantra comes one last time, spoken aloud:
“This is my home.”
The freighter passes through the channel.
It shakes like an old drunk—what’s left of the turret shears off. Clangs away, spinning into the waterfall spray—
But they’re out. Clean. Alive.
On the console, two blinking red blips.
TIE fighters. Behind them.
Wait for it.
Wait . . . for it . . .
The air claps with a pair of explosions.
The two blips flicker and are gone.
Owerto hoots and claps his hands. “We’re clear!”
Damn right we are.
She turns the freighter and sets a course for the outskirts of Myrra.
Product details
- Publisher : Del Rey; Original edition (September 4, 2015)
- Language : English
- Hardcover : 400 pages
- ISBN-10 : 034551162X
- ISBN-13 : 978-0345511621
- Lexile measure : HL630L
- Item Weight : 1.4 pounds
- Dimensions : 6.5 x 1.25 x 9.5 inches
- Best Sellers Rank: #478,057 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #1,581 in Galactic Empire Science Fiction
- #7,146 in Space Operas
- #10,236 in Science Fiction Adventures
- Customer Reviews:
About the author

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Chuck Wendig is the New York Times bestselling author of Star Wars: Aftermath, as well as the Miriam Black thrillers, the Atlanta Burns books, and the Heartland YA series, alongside other works across comics, games, film, and more. A finalist for the John W. Campbell Award for Best New Writer and the cowriter of the Emmy-nominated digital narrative Collapsus, he is also known for his popular blog, terribleminds.com, and his books about writing. He lives in Pennsylvania with his family. (photo by Edwin Tse)
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So how was it?
Aftermath keeps a good pace, and is easy reading. Some reviewers lament the jumping around and interludes but I did not find them difficult to navigate. This book contains a long list of characters with different trajectories into the plot and the author stitches their stories together with use of flashbacks and by dedicating a chapter to this character, a chapter to the next, and so on, eventually weaving them together as the book progresses. The deviations from the linear timeline for dream sequences and reminiscing are well-constructed and not confusing. They help fill out backstory and give the reader insight into historical events such as the Battle of Endor and the destruction of the second Deathstar from the perspective of new characters. For example, I read with great interest a bounty hunter’s account of being a hair’s-breadth from fulfilling a contract on Leia at the bunker door on Endor. A chance encounter in the forest between the hunter and an Imperial Loyalty Officer comes to bear years later, where the primary action of the story takes place. These flashbacks connect the events of the films up to now with future events by stamping the past with the new characters.
The major players arise from far different backgrounds and yet they each bring something essential to the plot. The author is able to make the reader accept that these people could come together in the ways they do and he does not require any major suspension of disbelief to get through the story. A few people are introduced and then not really explored. I assume they will play larger roles in future works. Wendig handles characters from previous canon carefully and faithfully, coloring in the existing sketches of a few lesser known characters with authentic shades, bringing them to life in a fuller way.
I found most of the characters immediately compelling, particularly the pithy and self-interested Sinjr Rath Velus. He has several laugh-out-loud lines that inject the right amount of humor into the story. I was also intrigued by Jas Emari, who is somehow believable as a crafty yet honorable bounty hunter. Wendig gives a scheming Imperial Admiral sufficient depth and shading to keep her from being a cliché. Notice that the Admiral is a woman. Aftermath has several female principals. A strength of the book is that Wendig’s use of female characters does not feel forced. To save spoilers, I will not go over all of the well-developed women characters here, but there are several.
The obligatory angsty teenage hero can be a bit tiresome, rather in the same way that young Anakin Skywalker, Luke Skywalker and, to a lesser degree, Ezra Bridger, are sometimes annoying to me. However, this character type is almost a requirement; it seems that the journey-to-manhood saga is something one can not omit from Star Wars lore. Similarly, all Star Wars stories require an adorable droid sidekick. It took some time for the battle droid “Bones” to grow on me. For example, I found his repetition of the phrase “roger roger” a little tedious. That might have been because I did a fair amount of my reading of Aftermath by way of the audiobook version. Perhaps it is less irritating in print. Nonetheless, I felt that Bones’ character was too aimed at children. Meanwhile, there are elements of the book that make it decidedly not for kids– notably when one of the heroes coldly shoots a man in the back, or a subsequent scene in which Akivan citizens are manipulated with fabricated propaganda by our protagonists. Both are dirty dealing, I think.
Stylistically, I have very few complaints about the book. The author employs simple, descriptive language and judicious use of metaphor. The constructs of writing– words, punctuation, grammar– are scaffolding for the story. They are tools to create immersion and should never call attention to themselves. I mention this because Wendig’s choice of third person present tense bothers some readers. A good friend of mine who is an English teacher and an avid Star Wars enthusiast had to step away from the book because the tense bothered him so much. Even though it is not inherently wrong, if using present tense is a persistent distraction, it might be best to avoid it. That being said, writing from this point of view gives a feeling of the here and now. As in, these events are unfolding as we speak and the outcome is not yet written. That can potentially lead to a more immersive and active experience for the reader. Screenplays are written in third person present tense, a notable fact. When it comes to literature, ultimately it’s the author’s art and his choice.
Sometimes I find the climax of books and movies, well, anticlimactic. It’s often difficult to really cash in on expectations that are made throughout the story’s development with a clean, solid resolution. High-speed pursuits, explosions and that unavoidable mano a mano battle at the end are far too rote at this point. In this case, however, I feel that the climax, while perhaps somewhat expected, dispenses with the more obvious contrivances and delivers a crisp finish. Of course the epilogue opens new questions, but then, it’s part of a trilogy and it’s a movie tie-in so one can hardly complain.
Wendig draws us into a Star Wars world full of new people and places. He skillfully gives us enough familiar context so that we are sufficiently comfortable to relax and believe. Then he shows us into the lives of some new characters that did not exist until he made them breathe. And in the final analysis, these rich new characters do not threaten the corners of my heart occupied by Mara Jade and Grand Admiral Thrawn. Not at all. They light up new corners of my heart and imagination. The book has humor and excitement, moral and philosophical conflict and a little good old-fashioned space combat.
Don't let angry people steal a chance from you to experience this slice of Star Wars for yourself. I recommend the book for young adults and adult readers.
I've had a couple of his books for a while, sitting there simmering away on my reading list. But it was his Star Wars book that finally got me to crack open a cover and say right, time to read some Wendig.
And that was a mistake on my part. But let me tell what kind of a mistake in a while. First, the book.
Star Wars Aftermath bridges part of the gap between Return of the Jedi and The Force Awakens. We see an Empire in disarray, trying to regroup in the wake of the destruction of the Death Star, and meet a group of characters destined to play a part in this new changing world. Among those are a couple of familiar faces - Wedge Antilles and the admirable Admiral Ackbar - but mostly this is a new cast.
We have a Rebel pilot who took part in the assault on the second Death Star returning to her home planet to seek out her son once more, a bounty hunter with a history that touches on crucial moments in the war, and a man with a past in both uniforms trying to find a future in drinking his way out of the conflict.
And we have Mr Bones. Who is brilliant. A reprogrammed Battle Droid with a look crafted by that pilot's genius son and a personality filled with loyalty, brutality and snark.
All the elements are in place for a rollicking piece of space opera - and yet, I struggled with this book. First off, the writing is in a very particular style, that can be off-putting. Wendig writes the story in the present tense, with a short, punchy style filled with sentence fragments that gives it the feel of an action screenplay or a noir thriller. It makes it feel like the script has been pounded out by two fists, one to thump the words down on the page, one to hit them again when they try to get back up.
It's a deliberate choice to write this way and some readers will like the style, some won't. It certainly adds zing, but for me felt too stylised, particularly in a section partway through the book where every grouping of characters had a sequence of events which included someone saying "We have a problem". It felt too clever by half, taking me out of the book, and that's never a good thing. In addition, that short, sharp style of writing is also how every character talks, and it feels bogus. Some feel like they should be wordier, more verbose, but they all end up speaking in this clipped fashion.
What detracts from it, too, is that the book is filled with interludes - which take you off to characters that you meet only briefly and give you glimpses of elsewhere around the Star Wars universe, including some familiar names. Honestly, if I were to read it again, I'd skip all but the first interlude and come back to them at the end, as if they were deleted scenes from a BluRay. They distract, rather than contribute.
Even without those, there are more characters than it feels there should be. Ackbar is largely superfluous, feeling shoehorned in to provide a familiar name and to allow him to wonder if it's a trap. Wedge too doesn't feel like he has a key role to play, and we also get a hefty amount of time spent over on the Imperial side while they bicker and dither and don't really do very much. There's also a Rebel commando who gets a very dramatic introduction but does so little that he feels like a character that could easily have been written out,
There's one other criticism that Wendig has been getting a lot of with this book - in that the book also features characters who are gay. Frankly, I can't see what there is to complain about here - the characters are very natural, and if you can accept a world of Wookiees and Twi'lek dancers but can't accept gay characters, I don't think the problem is on the author's side of the equation.
Overall, I felt disappointed, so the book only gets 3/5 from me - one of those added purely on the strength of the fabulous Mr Bones. Really, get this character into a movie somewhere. Heck, give him a franchise, the Deadpool of the Star Wars universe. Less sweary, more inclined to repeatedly hit things just for fun.
So disappointed was I by Star Wars: Aftermath that I thought no, this can't be how Wendig rolls, let me just read the first few pages of Blackbirds to see if I'm missing a trick. And that's where I discovered my mistake.
I should have been reading Wendig a long time ago. He's brilliant.
Blackbirds is astonishing. Before I knew it, I was sucked in and zipping through page after page. This was one of those books that I just had to speed through.
It has the same style as Aftermath - written in the present tense, filled with sentence fragments and short, sharp, spiky paragraphs. Even the interludes are here too - but in Blackbirds, it works perfectly.
The smaller cast helps immensely. Instead of a bloated amount of characters floating around the periphery of the story, here you have a narrow, driven plotline which thunders along at the unstoppable pace of an 18-wheeler truck on a night highway.
There's lots of swearing, plenty of violence, raw sex scenes, and there isn't a character to be found who isn't messed up in some way. This is seedy America, in which lead character Miriam Black has lost herself in a bid to get away from her screwed-up decisions of the past, and to hide from the horrible futures she sees every time she touches someone skin-on-skin. You'll find her propping up a bar in any one of a string of anonymous highway stops, slugging rotgut whiskey and making Jessica Jones look like a high achiever.
Miriam, you see, is a psychic, but her gift - and her curse - is that the futures she sees for people are the last moments in their lives. Whenever she meets someone new, she sees how they are going to check out. And she's never been able to stop those things from happening. Worse, sometimes she thinks she's responsible. Imagine that. Imagine knowing the end of every person you shake hands with, or brush past, or love. That's Miriam's penance to bear - but when she meets a relative innocent in this world, a trucker who treats her well and shocks her with such a basic kindness, she sees his death, and her part in it.
What follows is the stumbling journey of someone who has no control over her life, bounced from one person's agenda to another, with ruthless assassins on her heels until she's finally forced to make a stand, to choose something to believe in, and to determine what she can really do with her talent.
The interludes here serve as exposition or back story and are short and sweet. One particular interlude features one of those assassins telling her back story and absolutely made me laugh out loud.
So read Chuck Wendig - but don't start with Star Wars. Start with Blackbirds, it's a cracker of a book.
Top reviews from other countries
The story itself is fine – I'm glad to find out more about what happened after the original Star Wars trilogy. But they really should have found somebody better to write it. Chuck Wendig writes in a very basic, hugely distracting way that reads like a child wrote it.
For starters, his idea of detail means hammering in similes every other sentence. I can count how many there are in just two paragraphs: 11. Similes are of course useful, but Wendig demonstrates the restraint of a schoolboy. Somebody's arm goes up like a Corellian slot machine? Surprise hits somebody like a galeforce wind?
When he's not spamming the similes, Wendig often just repeats himself. When he's not content with one adjective, he'll follow it up with another and another, and you can almost hear him flick through the thesaurus. The book reads as if this is your first book and big words need to be explained to you. For the reader, this can be frustrating.
Then there's his writing style, which is somewhere between pretentious and awkward. When he is not mixing up his tenses, jumping between past and present tenses), the book reads like a screenplay. Often, you don't even get complete sentences, just a location and a noun. There are any reasons to write in short, sharp sentences, often for effect. But when you only do that, this just comes across as pretentious, as if Wendig wrote the book's outline and decided it was good enough to publish.
As much as it pains me to miss out on canonical Star Wars tales, I will not be picking up parts two and three of Aftermath. I barely made it to the end of the first.
It's a great shame, because Disney's grand plan for the franchise beyond the original trilogy is clearly full of great ideas and characters. Sadly, Wendig is not the one to deliver this vision. Disney has used far superior writers for the other Star Wars books – check out Bloodlines by Claudia Grey or Phasma by Delilah Dawson. They'll show you how it is done.
Chuck Wendig's style of writing is incredibly juvenile. The opening chapter or two comprise mostly short sentences, cutting down what could easily be one sentence into four or five to (I assume) try and represent urgency? It doesn't work. It's borderline unreadable. Thankfully he calms this down as the book progresses, but constant use of real-world terms are always there and really misplaced in a galaxy far, far away. One character even references "space diapers"...
The structure of the novel is to break away from the story every few chapters for an interlude; a brief tale from somewhere else in the galaxy. Some of these are good, some aren't - and some will clearly link back into the main story at some point - but I felt these interludes ruined the pace. Just as you were getting into the story -BOOM - "interlude".
The story itself is passable, but really focuses on a meeting of surviving imperial hierarchy. Not the most exciting premise. There are some interesting side characters like the Sullustian gangster, but the main characters are pretty dull. I didn't long to find out more about them, although Mr Bones is a fun concept.
There are also -SPOILER- two separate moments for the same character, where they are apparently killed , and you pause to think "wow" .... only for the author to say "actually no, not dead" on the next page. It really was a ridiculous thing to do twice to the same character.
I can't recommend this book. The only real moment of intrigue came in the last couple of pages. I wish I'd skipped the rest. The story, characters and writing style made it hard work.
So why two stars? The story suffers from the same problem that has ruined the new movie trilogy in that the Imperials are so hopelessly inept and the New Republic characters so capable that it all becomes a bit silly. If, for example, a wounded special forces sergeant with a broken arm is so superior to Storm Troopers, a young teenager can outwit the Empire, TIE pilots are shot out of the sky with ease and Imperial Moff's so inept then it begs the question of how did the Empire ever rule the galaxy after growing out of the force that destroyed the Jedi order? If they were as incompetent as this lot (even noting the story device that the Empire's best have been lost) then it wouldn't have needed much of a rebellion to overthrow the Empire.
The Imperial characters are somewhat odd too in that whilst Admiral Rae Sloane is constructed as a human being and an individual with a moral compass and values and who is intelligent, and General Shale is presented as a perspicacious individual most of the other Imperials are just cartoon caricatures, a blend of pure evil and idiocy.
After a while the illusion breaks down and I found that rather than being immersed in the story (any sci-fi needs you to just accept the alternative reality created by the writer, and if well done even fantastical and ridiculously outlandish alternative realities can suck you in) I was just left observing that the Imperial's needed to hire some soldiers who knew a little about soldiering.
One of the reasons that the movie "Rogue One" and the Thrawn stories worked was because they told stories of an Empire that was powerful and frightening and not just made up of dumb dominoes waiting to be knocked over.











