Hammajang Luck by Makana Yamamoto, the first in at least two books (The Obake Code is forthcoming in 2026), was a fun, lovely, and incisive read. Fans of heist stories generally, and Leverage (2008-12) or Leverage: Redemption (2021-) in particular, will love the references, genre conventions, and elements of the con found throughout. However, what I loved the most, and what made this a thoroughly enjoyable novel for me, was its emotional core: the societal commentary, character introspection, and emotional growth that Edie and the rest of the crew undergo.
A “one last job” heist story set in the literally stratified society that is Kepler Space Station, Hammajang Luck is a story of complicated feelings and relationships, second chances, and finishing an unfinished job. It’s also about gentrification, unrestrained billionaires, and the necessity of money in a capitalist hellscape. Having spent eight years in prison after the job of a lifetime went wrong, Edie finds that going straight is almost impossible when the partner who betrayed them wants to finish that last job, their family is struggling financially, and the richest man in the quadrant—Joyce Atlas—wants even more control and wealth at the expense of everyone else. What else is a runner meant to do?
As more of a connoisseur of heist movies and shows than novels—apart from titles such as Leigh Bardugo’s YA heist fantasy Six of Crows (2015)—I wasn’t quite sure what to expect from this novel’s pacing. After all, a book is longer and lengthier than forty-minute episodes or even a two-hour movie, and so the pace and focus is generally different. Here, my enjoyment increased when I focused on the other aspects of the story, such as Edie’s character growth and the worldbuilding that proceeds from surface-level to intricate with every chapter. As with any good speculative story, the character growth and the worldbuilding are closely tied with the author’s societal commentary on wealth, status, life fulfillment, and one’s relationship with their home. That is, whereas with a show or a movie, such as Ocean’s Eleven (the 2001 George Clooney version, at least), the driving force of such a story is the heist itself and the reasons behind it, with character development—while integral to the story—happening in liminal moments, Hammajang Luck uses the preparation for the heist (getting the crew together, deciding on a course of action, leaving fundamental questions of what to do with the dangerous technology up in the air) to make room for its complicated relationships and themes.
There is one twist/surprise at the very end, which works quite well, but the author largely chooses to forgo the usual bluffs played on the audience by thrillers. The reader knows from the beginning that there is a deeper reason behind why Angel betrayed Edie and left them imprisoned, and so the two characters acknowledging this and finally discussing the matter is entirely expected. Instead, Yamamoto uses the worldbuilding and the stratified society to create tension, as the crew prepares and implements the heist, providing plenty of heart-pounding moments and surprises. Perhaps it is that the book shines by subverting or forgoing some of the usual tropes that can often feel contrived and frustrating. There is a past betrayal, but Edie tries to put it aside so that they can still pull off this heist for the sake of themself but mostly for their family; there is the possibility of a present-day betrayal, but the characters are firmer in their convictions and responsibility toward family and partners-in-crime. The effect, when taken as a whole, is satisfying while also a bit unexpected, and it makes for a fun and gripping read.
I must admit, though, that I found the first quarter of the book a bit difficult to get through. I wasn’t getting much out of the story, emotionally or intellectually, and kept wanting the storyline to go in a different way (I still think it would have been interesting to have Edie actually be done with crime, but it wouldn’t have been the same story, and that would’ve meant letting the actual bad guys get away with it). I’d just been rewatching Leverage and Leverage: Redemption, to prepare myself for Leverage: Redemption Season 3, and the book does appear to take a lot of inspiration from that series in particular—the “one last job” thing, the way the crew is constructed and referred to, the “steal from the rich and powerful to prevent further damage and to get revenge”—and I just wasn’t quite feeling either show or book.
It is also true that perhaps I struggled slightly with the unfamiliar culture and dialect taken from the author’s own Hawaiian background. The pidgin the characters spoke danced on the edge of the familiar/unfamiliar, and I couldn’t quite understand some of the concepts that were referred to. I also wanted to know more about the worldbuilding of the station, why there was such a large Hawaiian diaspora there, and how exactly did they get from the homeworld to Kepler, and yet the author never quite dug deep enough to satisfy my curiosity. Of course, I could have looked up some of the terms and words, and next time I will. In my defence, I was never the look-it-up-in-the-dictionary child, and that habit has a way of sticking to me despite my best efforts, like lint on fabric or glitter on skin. Nevertheless, my usually reliable and time-honed skill of using context clues, and simply rolling with it when faced with new words and concepts, was not quite as sharp as it ought to have been this time around.
At my first Can*Con, in 2023, I attended a panel on which Suyi Davies Okungbowa was speaking, and he said something that both opened my eyes but that I also 100 percent resonated with. I forget the exact context, but it was about unfamiliar worldbuilding and context to the reader, and whether authors should make it easier to cater to a certain audience and so on. Okungbowa said something along the lines of, when he was a kid, he’d read about people going to train stations, which is something he’d never actually seen. Yet he kind of figured out what was happening, and took it on faith that one day he’d actually know what it was; so when he finally saw a train station, he could then say, “That’s a train station!” (Please forgive my paraphrasing, but that was the gist of it.) And, while I knew what a train station was when I was younger, even before I’d ever been to one, there were a lot of real-world things I didn’t actually know or couldn’t properly visualize, and thus I learned to just roll with it. As I always say, part of the reason I love SFF so much is the discovery—you’re not necessarily supposed to know what everything is or looks like or means, whether it’s completely made up or a real-world thing you’ve never seen.
As such, I consider myself someone who can be comfortable in the not knowing—even if a context or element in a story is unfamiliar to me, even when I’m not the target audience. So it was a bit frustrating to me that part of my inability to get into the book may have been this crucial aspect. I don’t want to be the person who, when not 100 percent familiar with everything and may not be the core target audience, makes it the story’s problem. Moreover, while I have no compunctions in writing an honest review even in the rare times I don’t actually like the story I’m reading, it’s a bit more useful when I’m able to articulate the why. Long story short: since I was simply not enjoying the book, nor was I in the right mindframe for it at all, I decided to put the book aside for a bit, and come back to it later with hopefully a fresher perspective. I am a mood reader, after all, and sometimes it is simply not the right time to enjoy a certain book or movie or show.
In the end, it was likely just that—not the right mood or mindframe—because I binged the rest of the book in two or three sittings. The entire beginning, which to me felt simply okay, turned out to be crucial setup and background for the rest of the story. I even forgot to wonder when the “big reveal” regarding Angel’s motivations for that past betrayal would finally come into play. Part of this was due to the increased focus on Edie’s interiority as they were confronted with the development of the con, which created the perfect friction in which to explore questions about belonging, choices, and motivations—such as why Edie became a runner (that is, a thief) rather than remaining a mechanic. This takes place in passages such as:
How could I explain the betrayal I felt when Kepler took my father? How could I explain the hate I felt, the day it turned on us? How could I make her understand that I couldn’t bear to care for it, heal it, after what it did to me?
And:
Rattling the casino chips in my jacket pocket, I felt like a fraud. A fraud because the only way a lowlife like me would end up in a place like this was to lie and steal—there was no place for me here.
These moments are raw, honest, and act as fundamental assumptions for Edie to explore, learn, and grow from. At the same time, as the novel proceeds, the entire crew comes together, and this was an aspect I’d originally been missing. A lot of the heist stories I read and watch have multiple points of view, allowing for a larger overview, conflicting priorities, and more insight into the con. Because Hammajang Luck is told completely from Edie’s first-person perspective, it takes until the entire crew is present, assembled, and beginning to set the stage for this dynamic to really liven up the character interactions and the story’s themes. The different moving parts and motivations, the conflict between the old guard and the new, Edie taking on more of a leadership role, learning more about the world from the other characters and their own backstories and motivations—all of these elements were delightful, and clicked into place as the story progressed. There is banter, there is the grudging found-family bonding aspect as the con progresses, and each member of the crew has their own backstory, motivations, and relationships with each other.
Finally, this entire book is delightfully and unapologetically queer. The world itself is very queernormative. Different identities and pronouns are common and respected. While being trans, for example, is not without its challenges, those challenges often seem to be related to class and money; for instance, Cy, Edie’s childhood friend and partner in crime and one of the current crew members, is in debt due to the many modifications he’s made to achieve his desired body. Most of the main characters—Edie, Angel, and various members of the crew—are queer. More importantly still, the queerness is drawn from the author’s own culture and background:
Grasping for words for what we were—not women, but not men either. Dad called us Māhū—in the middle. We would’ve been special, back on the homeward, a long time ago. Now though, we were scraping together anything we could just to be.
The representation in this book is authentic, new to me, and unapologetic. It is simply an integral part of the characters, their story, and the world, without need for explanation or justification.
In the end, I did Google “hammajang” after finishing the book, to ensure I actually knew what it meant when writing this review, rather than a vague understanding cobbled together from context clues. (I also want to state that I only saw the definition in the Goodreads blurb after finishing the book). According to the source I found, the definition is: “messed up, mixed up, confused, unorganized.” While I believe the vibe is a bit different when used in the context of this story, the definition does track. Edie and the rest of the crew are all a bit messed up: in debt, angry, lost, bored, or all of the above. Edie was in prison for eight years and is unable to get by without turning to crime once more, especially if they want to support their sister and her children; Angel, despite apparently going clean and working for one of the richest men in the quadrant, is planning a devastating heist against him. These two grifters are the kind of people who want to help make the world a slightly less cruel place, and everyone could use the huge promised payout. Throughout the course of the novel, all the characters face various close calls, shenanigans, and high-stakes encounters, and only through sheer luck, teamwork, and a hell of a skillset are they able to succeed. As the blurb says: “What could possibly go all hammajang about this plan?”
While Hammajang Luck is more in line with the more straightforward plotlines and perspective of Leverage and Ocean’s Eleven than the complex, multiple cons and POVs of Six of Crows, it is nonetheless a fun, emotional, and satisfying heist story with a deep core of love for one’s home and family. With the sequel slated to be released next year, now is the perfect time to dive into an unusually cathartic story of pulling off one last job.