I’m sorry to bring up the recent US election, but I also have to bring up the recent US election. Its aftermath is certainly a fitting time to be reviewing a book which, set fifty years in the future, presents a world in which North America and Europe have gone their separate ways—after America abolished and then later reinstated democracy. Beyond the Light Horizon is the third and final volume of Ken MacLeod’s evocative Lightspeed Trilogy, and I was delighted to review the first book some two years ago. Beyond the Hallowed Sky enthralled me with its combination of geopolitics, conspiracy, and interplanetary colonisation, standing out for its engrossing and comprehensive worldbuilding.

To recap, the series is set in a multipolar world which has long been divided into regional power blocs. First we have the Alliance (which comprises the US, the rest of the Anglosphere, and India), which is largely defined by the power of capital and its concept of “free speech”—a freedom that includes misinformation and conspiracies. In contrast, the Union (which contains much of Europe, including Scotland) defines its own freedoms in terms of equality, solidarity, and economic democracy. Then we have the Co-ord, a collaboration of China, Russia, and their allies, a bloc which receives less direct attention but doesn’t seem too different to today. Each power has its own objectives, outlook, and even its own internet.

Beyond the Hallowed Sky opened the trilogy with the Union lagging behind its competitors. The Alliance and Co-ord discovered faster-than-light travel decades previously, and have since been colonising a planet dubbed Apis (often with non-consenting refugees abducted and then abandoned on the planet to fend for themselves—a point I want to come back to later). The incredibly fast-paced opening story presented us with an omnipresent socialist AI, a rock-based alien life-form, implied time travel, a robotic British spy, and the introduction—and subsequent destruction—of an entire floating city. It speaks to MacLeod’s talent that such a bombastic list still managed to feel grounded and believable on the page, which was helped by a large, well-realised cast of characters from both the Union and the Alliance.

I won’t go into more detail on the plot of the first two books, partly because I encourage reading them for yourself, and partly because if I did then this review would be approximately half the length of the book itself. There’s a moment from the second instalment I’d like to mention, though, simply because it has stuck with me for its imaginative horror: A group of humans have been trapped on a planet where the only substance is a type of hallucinogenic mushroom; when two of the lead characters finally find them, the inhabitants have entirely lost their grip on reality, having been doomed to a never-ending mushroom trip. (At least they don’t have to endure a comedown?)

This is pretty much the impression I was left with before this final entry: The Lightspeed Trilogy as a fascinating, grounded geopolitical vision punctuated by standout moments of horror, drama, and the odd bit of comedy. The story moves so quickly, and the characters are so numerous, that cradling every single plot point from the previous two books becomes difficult-to-impossible, even with the helpful summary at the opening of Beyond the Light Horizon: There are three sides, three hundred characters … and an entire universe out there that’s ripe for colonisation.

All planets and systems are open to all explorers. International lawyers are dusting off concepts like terra nullius, the doctrine of discovery, the law of the sea, the Outer Space Treaty, and all the usual imperialist and colonialist crap.

If there’s one overarching theme running through the Lightspeed Trilogy, it’s colonisation. From the very first book we’re presented with two very different approaches to space exploration: while the Alliance and Co-ord were secretly colonising Apis, the Union built Cloud City, a utopian habitat hovering above Venus. One approach involves seizing land and abducting unwitting civilians as non-consenting colonists; the other is an act of creation and scientific discovery. Yet the first book ends with Cloud City destroyed, and Union colonists heading for the new planet. The contrast is gone, a fact that’s made clear in this final instalment: “Likewise inevitably, the Union government has rescinded its opposition to settlement of terrestrial planets, put all its plans for space habitats on the back burner … ”

But the race to the colonies doesn’t end there. In fact, there are so many different instances of colonisation in the trilogy that it’s difficult to remember them all. Aside from the superpower settlements, we have the aforementioned “kidnap colonies” formed of abducted refugees (I hope you’re still keeping them in mind for later), the murderous mushroom-high colonists, a bunch of Union citizens stranded generations ago due to malfunctioning time travel, alongside all the research stations and military complexes filled with soldiers and scientists. And that’s all before we get to Beyond the Light Horizon, which introduces three brand-new planets and three new sentient species.

The main new addition in this book comes in the form of a distant new solar system. The protagonist, Grant, finds himself in a far-off galaxy, and comes across a preindustrial human society mostly populated by people of African ancestry—who, it turns out, are the descendants of Union-sympathising revolutionaries who were accidentally sent through time. This society is one of my favourite elements of the book, and provides a fascinating exploration of an anachronistic form of left-wing politics which features a centrally-planned economy with technology little more advanced than a printing press. This multilayered society is our first real insight into Africa’s place in the Lightspeed Trilogy—and foregrounds the story’s introduction of the African Union.

Yet these distant humans aren’t alone. So far, the trilogy has introduced us to few extraterrestrials, and the only ones of advanced intelligence are the Fermi—who are too mysterious and rock-based to offer us much insight into them. Yet this new solar system also contains two new sentient species: the first are hominids, evolved from an alternate mammalian ancestor. The second …

The second is my biggest problem with this book. It’s a problem involving dinosaurs. 

A problem involving dinosaurs which speak French.

The jaws gaped, baring a mouthful of fangs. Like daggers, like broken glass. A gust of foul breath.

“Mon Dieu!” said the dinosaur, from deep in its throat. “C’est l’étranger extra-mondiale! Et un être humain, en plus.” The head cocked sideways. “Parlez-vous français?”

This is where my credulity started to tear. Of course this is subjective, but so far the alien intelligences presented in these books have been within the borders of believability. The Lightspeed Trilogy has been imaginative, and yes, the boundaries of belief are stretched, but the dinosaur society was a step too far, at least for me. Evolved millions of years ago and having maintained civilisation since, these dinosaurs possess—we’re repeatedly informed—highly advanced intellect and wisdom, though the only one we really see close up is a haughty dino who introduces herself as Mrs. Newton. Many of the details of their society are told to us rather than shown—though given how much I disliked every word they took up, I can’t even say this is a bad thing.

I have to be clear: despite my hatred of the dinosaurs, this wasn’t enough to stop me reading. The factors that made me fall in love with the trilogy are all still here: Each of the powers is shaped by its systems and ideas, and we’re often shown them through the distorted lens of others. We’re told that the Co-ord’s research methodology is laced with “materialist dogmatism,” and that the Alliance takes a more speculative approach reflecting its imaginative and conspiratorial society. This ideological worldbuilding extends to every element of its societies: I love that it’s made clear that Union residents tend toward “ridiculous and colourful” clothing.

There’s also a healthy amount of representation among the wide cast of characters. We follow people from several Earth-based locations, and it’s revealed that Lakshmi is queer. She even has a relationship with an informant from Cuba, which is part of the Co-ord, and the two begin a sometimes-strained relationship. Sadly for this big ol’ enby there’s no non-binary representation, and it’s clear the society of the early 2070s includes only men and women. (I like to think the rest of us ran off to form our own interplanetary society.)

Those African rebels discovered by Grant are a similarly missed opportunity: They’ve maintained a low-tech Union society for centuries, and seem to have formed for themselves a detailed, unique culture. Theirs were by far my favourite parts of the book, and I wanted more of them. Sadly, we only get to know a single named character from their society of—ugh—Saurienville, and though we’re introduced to an intriguing conflict between the wealthy “Families” who own the port and the socialist “Karray” who form a sort of underground government and their own elite, it’s a conflict that mostly lurks in the background. Given everything we’ve learned about Saurienville’s ideas and tensions so far, I would have loved a whole book dedicated to how they play out in a technologically-limited society separated from Earth—especially as they become the focus of “great power” territorial ambitions.

I felt the same way with the kidnapped refugees of Apis (I hope you remembered them!), who were quite pivotal to the second book but who’ve vanished by Beyond the Light Horizon. Even though their leader was central to the story arc in Beyond the Reach of Earth, he makes no appearance here. We never really learn of these refugees’ fate, nor gain any further insight into what life has been like stranded on a hostile alien planet for decades. The same applies to Apis’s time-travelling Union colonists. The residents of Saurienville do in fact feel like a stand-in for these groups, and they’re one of the more compelling plot points MacLeod gives us. Unfortunately, much of their story is sidelined in favour of the talking dinosaurs.

In other words, the inclusion of new elements to the plot means less page-space is devoted to elements already introduced, and means that even elements I enjoyed felt rushed. Even Lakshmi’s relationship feels fleeting, with crisis introduced and averted almost immediately. The characters we’ve followed for over a thousand pages are too busy and numerous to be given meaningful conflicts, let alone conclusions. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that every single character needs focus and development, but I’ve grown attached to these people, and was looking for more satisfying resolutions.

Instead, increasingly bizarre elements keep being introduced at the expense of better-established and more detailed subjects. And I haven’t even covered the plan, introduced toward the end of the book, to hunt a giant squid. (“Giant squid. Pfft! We’ll have them for breakfast!”)

The main victims of this scattered approach are the book’s themes of power and colonisation. Not every story needs to be neatly wrapped, nor does it need a clear moral message (in fact, I’d much rather stories didn’t do that). But, without spoiling the later chapters, Beyond the Light Horizon ultimately leaves us with not much of anything. The ideas and arguments of the three powers ultimately come to nothing, and the introduction of the African Union to even less. They’re just one more element that’s excitedly introduced, only to be seemingly forgotten once enough pages have passed.

Having said all of that … I did still enjoy Beyond the Light Horizon, despite my disappointments. Yes, I much preferred the first two books, but the third instalment of the Lightspeed Trilogy is absolutely another page-turner, and I was compelled, as ever, to read on. It’s just that this time I frequently had to tear my eyes from the page to indulge in a thousand-yard stare. If I sound more negative than that, it’s because I genuinely and truly love the more grounded aspects of MacLeod’s worldbuilding, and wanted more. This is still an imaginative and intriguing book; it’s simply that in the end it couldn’t quite live up to the promise of Beyond the Hallowed Sky.

And I truly wish it had.