"Magnificent." (Publishers Weekly (starred review))A spiritual quest unfolding in an awe-inspiringly imagined dystopian world. (Kirkus s)Recommended for fans of Lev Grossmans The Magicians (2009) and other literary fantasy. (Booklist)About the AuthorJames Treadwell is the author of Advent and Anarchy. He was born, brought up, and educated within a mile of the Thames and has spent much of his life further reducing the distance between him and the river. He studied and taught for more than a decade near the crossing at Folly Bridge, Oxford, and now lives within sight of the Tideway in West London. He holds passports from the UK, US, and Canada.Excerpt. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.Arcadia 1 From the top of Briar Hill he can see the whole world. Once upon a time there was a stone plaque up here. Rory remembers it, mostly. There was a map on it which told you what you were looking at, which island in which direction. Why youd need a map when you can see all the islands just by turning aroundHome lying right next to Briar, blackened Martin peeking over its shoulder, Maries and far-off Aggies across the Gap, and then the two bleak mounds of Sansen where no one but the gulls ever lived, even beforehe cant now imagine. Anyway, the plaques gone. Or its still there but buried forever under the gorse, so it might as well be gone. Everyones been telling him how fast hes growing but the gorse is growing faster. He perches on tiptoes at the highest point of the clearing and surveys the world. As always, he looks for the Mainland first. On very clear days, if you face the north end of neighboring Home and then stare over it and way way across the sea, theres a smudge on the horizon. That smudge is the Mainland. Its the only sign of anything beyond the world: another world. Its not much even on a clear day. It looks like smoke, or something you could blink out of your eye. He remembers bits of it, but the memories are also turning into smoke. A year and a halfs a long time when youre ten. He remembers the helicopter most vividly, the noise it made and the smell of it, and the grass buffeting underneath. Other things come in flashes. Big square signs beside wide roads, glittering when lights hit them. The red and green people who told you when it was safe to cross. A paper cup full of stripy straws. You cant see it this afternoon. There are no clouds at all, but an autumn haze blurs the horizon despite the breeze. Everything there is in the world is arranged in a ring around him, islands and rocks. The rest, in every direction, is just the sea. He remembers watching boats from up here, in The Old Days. In the Gap separating Briar and Home from Maries and Aggies, where the other people live there used to be boats all the time, little boats, medium-sized boats, sometimes boats as big as islands (which doesnt seem possible but he asked Laurel once and she said yes, there really were). There isnt a single boat out of harbor. Hes never seen so many birds. The blackberries are never as good around the top of the hill. Hell have to go back down in a bit and start picking. Hes only climbed all the way up because its such a nice afternoon, and (secretly) for the chance to see what he sometimes sees out amid the foam and spray and rocks on the far side of Briar. A glimpse of a whiteness which stays, instead of dissolving into mist. Just thinking about it makes him feel guilty. He fingers the plastic bags rolled up in his pocket. He cant go home until hes filled one with blackberries and the other with sloes. Hed better get started. If Laurel and Pink see him standing around on top of the hill not doing anything theyll tell on him, or at least Pink will, though the two of them should be busy at the Farm and its out of sight from here. On the other hand, the later he gets back to Home, the less likely it is hell have to do another job before bedtime. For some reason this idea makes him remember sitting in the classroom at school staring at the clock. This memory isnt fuzzy at all, even though its been summer and winter and now another summer finished since he last set eyes on that clock. He spent a lot of time staring at it, in The Old Days. He remembers, exactly, which configurations of its thin and thick hands meant happiness (end of lesson, time to go home) and which meant despair (less than halfway through the lesson, less than halfway through the day). Somethings missing from the memory, though. The key to it. What the clock was for, what it was about. Whatever it is, its like the plaque with the map. It must still be there somewhere but it might as well not be. Once his mother took him to watch Scarlets class do an assembly at their school, the big school on Maries, where Scarlet and Jake went by boat across the Gap every day. The assembly was about somewhere called Germany. Scarlet had learned lines about sausages and said them aloud; then the whole class stood in a lineScarlet was between her friends, who were Tilly and Adamand sang a song which went O Christmas tree O Christmas tree. Scarlet was so nervous about doing it she cried and shouted at their mother for days beforehand when she was supposed to be learning her lines about the sausages; thats why Rory still remembers. But what he cant remember anymore is what they meant: Germany, sausages, Christmas, Tilly, Adam. Theyre to do with a different world, when there were things other than what you can see from here, on top of Briar Hill. Theyre gone. Like Scarlet and Jake. Someones coming. He can hear huffing and rustling up the steep track through the brambles. Laurel or Pink, it must be, though they crossed from Home at the same time he did so they shouldnt nearly be finished getting milk. If they find him standing around not working hell be in trouble. He pulls one of the bags from his pocket and unrolls it hurriedly. Theres nothing to pick up here at the top of the hill but hell have to pretend he thought there was. But its not Laurel or Pink. Its Ol. This, Rory knows straightaway, is not good at all. Ol stops as soon as he comes into the clearing. Whatchya doing here? Instinctively, Rory glances across the narrow Channel towards Home. If anyone was looking across to Briar theyd see the two of them. Youre not supposed to be here, he says. Youre not supposed to be here, Ol mimics, in a whiny voice. Howd you get across? Flew. Rory stops scanning the shore of Home to look at Ol and immediately wishes he hadnt. Ol is grinning a Got You grin. Whatchya think, stupid? Rowed, didnt I? In a boat? Rory says. Thats how bad hes starting to feel. No, in a tractor. In a boat? Whats wrong with you? Rorys never liked Ol much. Hes supposed to like Ol because theyre the boys so they play together a lot, but Ol arranges the games so he wins every time, and hes always talking like he understands all sorts of things Rory doesnt just because hes three years older. This time, though, Rory doesnt care about Ol being rude. Hes much more worried about the fact that hes here at all. Who said you could take a boat? No one. You just took one? Dont be such a girl. Whatchya doing, anyway? Picking? Better get on with it, I bet your mums gonna want that whole bag full. Rory reddens. Ols mother is Molly and everyone in the world knows that Molly is Nice. She doesnt badger Ol all the time. Rory often sees Ol playing by the pond while hes bicycling past on his way to do whatever boring job his own mothers told him to do. Its always Molly who comes by to ask if Rory can play with Ol for a bit instead of working. His own mother never goes to ask if Ol can play. If someone sees Oh, shut up. I dont care. Anyway theyre all over on the far side. Some stuff washed up. Theyll be busy with it for ages. Ol advances up the clearing, gazing around like hes daring anyone to look at him. Rorys hands are beginning to feel clammy. Ol not being allowed on the water isnt like Laurel not being allowed to touch anything after shes been in the chicken coop until shes rinsed her hands, or Rory not being allowed to use more than a speck of toothpaste. Its proper not being allowed. Its frightening and serious and to do with the things the women talk about in lowered voices in other rooms. Its to do with Them. The very moment he has that thought he cant help looking over Ols shoulder towards the spiky rocks beyond the far side of Briar, and, as if its his fault for thinking of Them, he sees it: a glimpse of whiteness at rest. Youre not going to tell, are you? Ol says. You better not. Youre not a sneak. Its unmistakable. The sea froths and spits where it meets the rocks, but above the turmoil a still white shape has settled. If you sneak on me Ill put your head down the toilet. One of the old toilets. I mean it. I wont. Rory can feel his cheeks going stiff and heavy and hot, like his face knows hes trying to hide something. Lets go down, he says. I told you, no ones going to see. Come on. Laurel and Pink are at the Farm. So what. Lets go see what theyre doing. This is desperation. He hates it when hes with Laurel and Pink and then Ol shows up. Ol always tries to act older in front of Laurel and the two of them whisper and giggle and he ends up stuck with Pink. But Rorys bad feeling is getting worse. Its really important that Ol not be here. Really, really important. Ol has to go back to where hes supposed to be. Everythings always got to be where its supposed to be, thats one of the Rules they live by since What Happened. I know what theyre doing. Ol makes squeezing motions with his hands, grinning. Sticking their hands under goats. No thanks. I like it up here. He stretches and makes a show of admiring the view. Dont! Rory squeaks. Dont what? Youre not supposed to look. I know Im not supposed to, Ol says, exaggerating the words and fixing his most contemptuous sneer on Rory, which at least stops him staring around. You know what? Im fed up with it. Its stupid. Youre allowed on Briar, why shouldnt I be? Im fed up with everyone acting like Im a prisoner. Over his shoulder, across the little rocky scoop of bay between Briar and the Western Rocks, the glistening white shape makes itself upright. Rory knows he has to get Ol back down the hill right now, before something very bad happens. But how can he? You cant make someone do something when theyre older, thats not how it works. I think Theyre gone anyway, Ol says. No ones seen one of Them for ages. If they ever did. Its all a story old women made up to stop me doing what I want, thats what I think. Lets go, Rory says. Please. Ol sighs. Youre such a pussy. I wont tell anyone you were here if we go now. I bet youre scared youll get in trouble. Im not. Liar. I know, lets play something. We could have a war for this hill. Ol turns around quickly, inspecting the lie of the land. No! Rorys head is a fog of panic. Go on. You start at the bottom and Ill be the defenders. Ols studying the clumps of gorse, eyes down. We can use pebbles for ammo. Ten hits and youre dead. By some miracle Rory spots his one chance through the fog. You go down, he says. I want to be defenders. Youre crap at it. Ol crouches and scratches up a handful of pebbles. You always give up. I wont this time. Yes you will. I swear I wont. Ols not really listening. Hes thinking about places for ambushes. And no saying I missed you when I didnt. Itll be all right as long as he concentrates on the earth and the gorse and the crannies he can hide in, as long as he doesnt look out across the bay. Theres more than one way up here, isnt there? he says, straightening, shading his eyes against the bright water beyond Briar, looking out across the bay. Ol, Rory says, but thats all he says. Hes not Molly. Hes not an adult. He doesnt know how to tell someone to do something so they have to. Hes the youngest person in the world apart from Pink, and he cant even order Pink around because she only listens to Laurel. Ol, he says again. Lets go. Ols stopped looking around. Hes standing there, both hands shading his eyes now, squinting into the distance, where the white shape is. None of this is actually happening. Its not allowed. It cant be. Whats that? Ol says. He sounds funny. Nothing, Rory says. Come on. He tries to tug Ol around. Ol almost loses his balance before he notices what Rorys doing. Oi! He smacks Rorys hand away. Leave off. You mustnt look, Rory says. You cant. But Ols looking. Hes looking with his eyes and his mouth and his whole chest. Hes sort of swallowing. His mouths hanging open and the top of his sweaters going up and down, up and down. Is that... he says. He sounds a bit confused. No, Rory says. Its just waves. Ol looks down at him, then back towards the scattered jagged islands in the bay. He spots the place where the other path descends the hill, down its far side. He pushes Rory away and sets off in that direction. Ol? Rory trails after him. Any moment now an adults going to appear out of the bushes and fix all this. Any moment now. Ol? Wherere you going? Theres something over there, Ol says. Fingers of gorse scratch at his heels. Weve got to go home. Its getting late. Everything Rory says just bounces off Ols back. Something bad is now actually happening, and all hes doing is following it, watching it skid and slip down the path, telling it to stop though it wont listen. The paths suddenly steep. He tries to grab Ols coat but he cant, or he doesnt try hard enough. If you dont go back now everyonell know youre gone. Theyll kill you. Theyll kill you. Hes said it aloud. He meant something else, but the words came out. Rory loses his footing, drops to the ground in shock. Only be a minute, Ol says, vaguely, going on ahead. Rory looks at his scuffed and dirtied hands. Thats when he realizes hes not holding the plastic bag. He must have let go of it at the top of the hill when he tried to grab Ol. Hes got to go back and get it. He cant go home without filling it up, both of them. It might have blown away by now or got caught in the gorse and been torn. He remembers his mother saying: Whatever you do, dont let the bags get torn. Understand? His mothers not Nice like Molly. Ol slips around a spray of bramble ahead and goes out of sight, just like that. The brambles thick with purple fruit. Rory stares at the space where Ol used to be, breathing hard. Stop, he says, not very loudly. He can hear Ol slipping his way down the hill. Now hes on his own again. No ones in sight. Hes got two bags to fill before he rows back across the narrow Channel between Briar and Home, and he might even have lost one of them. You cant lose anything useful, thats another Rule. You just cant. In The Old Days you could buy another one but now if you lose something, thats it, its gone forever. He stands up. Below him he can see rooftops of houses where people used to live, mostly covered in ivy. Beyond them, hidden behind trees, is the Farm, where Laurel and Pink are busy doing the things they have to do. Everyones got to do the jobs theyre given, or none of them will survive. Nothing else is to do with him. Its not his fault. He scampers back to the top of the hill. The plastic bags impaled on a fist of gorse. A pair of dunnocks are flitting around it; they dive away as he approaches. Its been punctured below the handle but its still usable. Rory doesnt want to look over towards the Western Rocks but he does anyway. The slender white shape has moved. For a moment he thinks its gone, but then he sees a wave with a white crest coming towards the Briar shore, a white crest which never breaks. Something about the shape of the crest makes his palms tingle and his mouth feel dry. The gulls on Sansen are screeching by the hundreds. All the best berries are around the foot of the hill, and sloes are on the shoreline near the church. He hasnt even started picking and the lights already thinking about turning yellow. He sets his face away from the west and concentrates only on where hes putting his feet. how do i get my book on bookbub Arcadia (Advent)
0 of 0 people found the following review helpful. Five StarsBy Bray Russell FordAn excellent completion to a pretty incredible trilogy.0 of 0 people found the following review helpful. ArcadiaBy J. HambyTreadwell wraps up his series in a most satisfying manner. Maintaining tone and style with which he started, this is an almost cynical and certainly much more pragmatic approach to modern fantasy. Magic here is not "magical" but dark, threatening and grim. And Treadwell does a great job in not just conveying such a tone but providing the reasoning and logic for such a reaction to magic entering (or re-entering) our world.The pace is great and the plot with detail is rich enough to support the length of not just this concluding novel but the conclusion of the series as whole as well. This is definitely a third book despite the fact that Treadwell nicely takes the time to explore some different facts of his overall world with some new looks and characters. But make no mistake. His main purpose to tie everything together and deliver it as a series. New readers will want to start with book one for the full experience and Treadwell delivers in that regard here in my opinion.It is a nice entry to a stronger field of fantasy that includes not just more modern looks at the genre but also a determination to explore different aspects that are ignored for more traditional approaches. Yet this is also not one of the new style over substance works that I find pretentious at times or even have a slight self-loathing for the genre (Like the Magicians series).0 of 0 people found the following review helpful. Solid conclusion to a very satisfying series (though I preferred books 1 and 2 :))By A. AllenReview based on an ARC (Advanced Reader's Copy received for free in exchange for an honest review).I re-read the first two books in the trilogy in order to "prepare" for the third and final installation. I again enjoyed Advent and continued to be impressed with Treadwell's creation of the world we know so well, as affected by magic in a way that we could not predict. I love some of the people and non-peoples he created, and the depth he gave some of his characters.I again particularly enjoyed Anarchy. I thought Treadwell did an excellent job of showing the chaos experienced by the reintroduction of magic in our world. I loved the new stories and new characters he introduced, and I liked how it all tied together in some way or another.So I was a bit disappointed with Arcadia. Arcadia begins about a year and a half after Anarchy ends, so magic has been well-incorporated into our world, and we have well screwed ourselves almost completely trying to deal with it. It's a sort of post-apocalyptic story in that sense, which is definitely my speed. But then Treadwell focuses our attentions on a single small island off the coast of England and we don't really experience the chaos of the world. Not that that is a bad story, it's just not what I was expecting. After the development in Anarchy, I was expecting Arcadia to be a bit more... exciting.Instead, we follow a ten-year-old boy who knows that he is likely to be the next (and last) "man" to die in his universe (the island), as a result of Them. If you have read the first 2 books, it is clear rather quickly who They are. If not, I can imagine this might actually create some uncertainty that could have been interesting. For me, though, it felt like the first 50-60% of the book was just repetition of how boring life on the island is; how scared everyone is of Them; how likely it is that the main character is going to go off to Them anyway; how crazy his mom is; and how frustrating the rest of the characters are. Treadwell's gifted writing is still rather evident, but it was just a bit of a (long) lull.That being said, when we get to the mainland and see more of the after-effect of the introduction of magic, and especially when we arrive in the Valley, the magic (heh heh) of Treadwell's writing is fully exposed. I *loved* the Valley and I loved how uncertain and creepy that whole part is.Ultimately, I felt that the end was a bit of anti-climax as well, but I also felt that Treadwell did a very good job of wrapping up... much. (but not all) All in all, I still definitely recommend the book as part of the trilogy. It is worth completing the trilogy and, overall, the trilogy is a great one. I like that it is involved and hearty and satisfying.So, overall, 3 1/2 stars (four on sites without halves) of five. Thanks to NetGalley for the copy!