October is the season of falling in love. Spiralling Autumn leaves seem to mimic my friends as they fall for each other, for their classmates, their mutual acquaintances, their blind dates. Over puddle soaked sidewalks and windblown cups of chai, we escape from the biting cold into each other. Or into books. Bored of the classics prescribed by my major’s required classes, I craved romance. Not the real kind—–reader, I wish—–but the twisted, soul-catching kind that only exists in fiction. As the earth slowly died around me, and as I was sucked into the monotony of day to day life, I needed to satisfy this itch—to leap from the shackles of my subconscious into the pools of another world. To escape from the decay of Fall and impending job applications into a place where imagination dominates the landscape. Where adventure sparks from chance encounters around a turned corner. Where love blossoms through bumped shoulders and grazed hands. I knew a book would bring me this sort of escapist bliss. So, I opened my mind to the agony: what to read next?
The book industry is over saturated with recommendations. Given the rise of #BookTok, which has garnered over 370 billion views, books churn through trend cycles. Book influencers shout at each other about tropes and bland settings, about plots they hated, and characters they would kill for. Amid the noise, a glittering, gold and black cover caught my eye. Though it was published five years ago, Book-Tokers high and low rave incessantly about Olivie Blake’s The Atlas Six. Five years ago, Alexene Farol Follmuth, known by her pen-name Olivie Blake, wrote The Atlas Six. Not believing the book had any commercial potential, she decided to self-publish it. Much to her disbelief, its lush, dark-academic setting, coupled with its sarcastic characters and doomed romances captured the hearts of those most prolific on #BookTok. The novel’s viral success led to a seven-way bidding war between all major US publishers; in the end, in line with every young adult writer’s Cinderella story dream, it was acquired by Tor, an imprint of MacMillan.
The premise of the book is undeniably exciting to all who crack its spine. The world’s six most talented medeians—magicians who have unique specializations—are chosen to compete for a place in The Alexandrian Society. Thought to be lost in the fire of Alexandria, this society has preserved the world’s most coveted research material in secret. Being a member means unlimited access to not only the archives, but to the society’s connections, who happen to be the most rich and powerful people in the world. The book follows the six medians as they spend their trial year at the society: perusing manuscripts, arguing inside and outside of the classroom, and repressing their attraction towards each other. At the end of the year, only five of the six can be fully initiated as members. The library’s magic requires a sacrifice. As such, the sixth member, the one shunned by the rest of the group, must be murdered.
Though I was caught by the ruthless intelligence of the characters, the story ultimately falls. Each chapter reads like a disconnected conversation. Severed in part by the lack of emotional connection between the six initiates, the stakes of the conversations are lost with the turn of the page. Even in the most gripping scene, there are no consequences of the character’s decisions. They move through the story as if speaking to a void. The scene opens with a debate between the Atlas Six as they wrestle with who is theoretically more powerful: Parisa, who can read thoughts, or Callum, who can manipulate emotions. Turning theory into practice, the group arranges for a duel between Paris and Callum. The conversation between the two characters is thorny, sharp, as they circle each other in the same library in which they study. Laced with flirtation and wit, Callum seems to take the upper hand. He whispers Parisa’s greatest fears and sadnesses into her ear, compelling her to walk from the room in a trance-like state. The other four initiates follow, led by a smirking Callum. They break out onto the house’s balcony, where it is pouring rain. Callum draws a hand across Parisa’s rain-slicked temple. Her eyes darken. She leaps from the roof, driven to suicide by Callum’s influence.
Except, not really. Through her telepathy, Parisa had secretly brought the entire group into the astral plane inside another initiate’s mind. So, Callum did not kill her, but rather, he killed the version of her that existed inside the other initiate’s mind. I was surprised by how quickly I fell into this scene. The cleverness of it, the vivid description—Blake put me onto the rain-soaked cobblestoned roof, taut with suspense, as Parisa and Callum battled intellects. Despite the mounting stakes and Parisa’s near death, in the next chapter, the characters simply move on. I did not. I wanted to know how Parisa could be killed in another character’s mind. Did that mean the other character no longer had the capability to think about her? Did it erase his memories of Parisa? Why did the other characters not stop Callum even when they believed him ready to commit murder?
Without an answer to these questions, I began to read the book with less interest. Even when I did choose to meander out of my head and into the world of The Atlas Six, October’s dreary loneliness trailed behind me. The character’s palpable dislike of each other welcomed the very winds and stuffy coats I wanted to shrug off by reading. There was no love here, in this house filled with manuscripts and power. Upon completion, I was left wanting: for warmth, for something greater than stale lust and debate, for a book to weather Autumn’s wither.
