Am I the only person out there who didn't find this story cosy and optimistic? What I got from it was basically that the world could be as close to ideal as possible, and you can still be fucking depressed.

I liked the worldbuilding and don't mind that it didn't make much sense; this is more of a whimsical existential parable than a real look at a post-industrial eco-society. I enjoyed the descriptions of the pastoral post-Awakening society.

I didn't like Dex as a protagonist; I found them to be arrogant and whiny and generally lacking in personality. This would be fine if there was any character growth over the course of the novella, but it ends right as any such growth could occur. The novella opens with Dex deciding to become a tea monk, yet completely skips over their journey to becoming one and suddenly they are the best tea monk in Panga. Why not just open the story at that point? As it is, it feels like a whole bunch of potential character development is skipped over.

There's also a really weird section where Dex is objectifying someone who has come to them for their helpful services, and it goes way beyond simply finding them attractive:

Dex swallowed a wistful sigh as they saw their next visitor approaching. Mr. Cody was a good-looking man, with arms that split logs and a smile that could make a person forget all concept of linear time. But the two babies strapped to his torso - one squealing on the front, one dead asleep on the back - made Dex keep any thoughts about the rest of Mr. Cody's anatomy completely to themself. From the circles under Mr. Cody's eyes, it looked as though sex was the last thing on his mind.

If you're going to have a twee society where everyone is nice and kind and happy, maybe don't throw in random sexual objectification just to give Dex a personality beyond "tea monk"? Imagine if they'd said the same about a new mother.

In terms of the actual story/plot, it's thin on the ground, but that's fine by me. But as a slice-of-life piece it wasn't cosy enough, and as a philosophical discussion, it was pretty much the equivalent of a quote you might find on a wine mom's kitchen wall.

This novella frustrated me, but I'm going to read the next one to see whether it improves upon the issues I had with this one. Also Mosscap is precious.

Not for me. I wanted to keep it at that, but I think the last chapter made me realise the story had so much potential that it is worth critiquing. I might consider giving it 2 stars, but I had to talk myself into finishing this book, and I only finished it because it was short. I don’t understand the high ratings.

I liked the overall premise and that one memory of the main character at the end. But for me, the story lacks depth, the writing lacks originality, the main character is too self-absorbed, and the core message is lost in contradictions.

The writing is plain with sudden, odd word choices thrown in, like 'cadaver-colored leaf' or random profanity. It feels like someone tried to 'elevate' the prose to appear 'punk' or 'edgy' during editing rather than letting it develop naturally. A lot of world-building can be done with writing style alone, and that feels like a missed opportunity. From the start, I felt I was reading something closer to a children’s book or a teen’s fanfic: simple at its core but straining to appear profound.

The main character, Dex (whose name unfortunately just made me think of Samsung DeX), comes across as self-absorbed. They read as a petulant one-dimensional teenager (they're supposed to be in their late 20s if I am not mistaken). The resolution to their supposed search for purpose is basically 'it is what it is', which felt simplistic, not profound nor philosophical. Some readers might see that minimalist resolution as intentional, reflecting philosophies like Zen acceptance or absurdist literature, but there is no groundwork for either of those perspectives in the story. More research into Zen or absurdism would have added much-needed depth to the story. There is no character development and very little introspection. I am being generous when I say 'very little'. I'm counting their asking 'why am I like this' as introspection, mind you, there are no further questions, just that one. It reads like a 'man-child' expecting the robot to answer them as if they are the 'manic-pixie dream girl'.

The world-building falls extremely short. This society supposedly treats genderless/nonbinary people as naturally as air, but they still use the title 'Mx'. Why cling to a gender marker in a world that has supposedly moved beyond it? The author could have drawn inspiration from languages without gendered pronouns (like Papiamento or Indonesian) to add depth and show the reader what such an inclusive world could actually look like, rather than simply exchanging gendered pronouns for ungendered ones. It feels a bit like tokenism. Perhaps this is asking too much for an English-written novel. Also, upon further reflection, the way the setting is described makes me think of tourists when arriving at remote rural areas and 'fetishising' or agrandising what to the local populations is normal. The story feels written from the outside in, even though it is written in the first-person perspective.

The theme of human-nature interconnectedness is superficial, not well thought-out, and often contradictory. The author hints at this theme by positively describing the 'wild' nature and negatively describing 'man-made' structures, but fails to see this comparison as a contradiction. There is a constant tug in the story of accepting humans are part of nature, while at the same time separating the things we make as not part of nature. We live in the Anthropocene (and this world, too, it seems), so for better or worse, we are in this together, but that is overlooked in the book. It fails to see that man-made things are also part of the ecosystem. At the basic level, humans and man-made structures are no different from beavers and dams, spiders and webs, termites and their nests. It seems the book tries to celebrate interconnectedness while still clinging to human superiority/exceptionalism. They claim humans are the only species that prepare their food, but we aren't! Even if you allow this because the story doesn't take place on Earth, you still wonder why human exceptionalism is present if the author wants to drive the narrative of 'nature' is best. Another thing that irked me as a scientist was the implication that, because robots had solar panels, they could have chosen to be immortal, as if solar cells were never-ending energy sources (I guess this world has no thermal cycling, humidity, UV exposure, mechanical stress-induced micro-cracks, or corrosion).

I know many readers describe this book as cosy or heartwarming, but I felt left out in the cold. There’s no cosy comfort for me when the foundations of the story feel this shallow and inconsistent. Perhaps I have read too widely (philosophy, literary fiction, non-Western perspectives) and am too scientific, which makes books like this that gesture at big themes but deliver them simplistically feel disappointing.

Overall, a good premise, but it tries too hard to be profound and ultimately loses its own message. Lost potential.

“a monk runs away from civilisation because they’re having an existential crisis and ends up having philosophical conversations about the meaning of existence with a robot” is an interesting premise for a quick and comforting read, except that this comfort falls apart pretty much entirely when you take a closer look at the world in which it’s set.

first, the easy part. this world is meant to be very eco-friendly, a result of the destructive factory age and the oh-so-mysterious transition which is never explained. we’re just meant to accept that there was a huge catalyst one day that caused humanity to restrict themselves to “fifty percent of panga’s single continent” and leave the rest to nature. however, nature still bears the marks of historical destruction: crickets are almost nearly extinct, but it doesn’t seem to have any effect on the ecosystem and seems to mainly serve as a trigger for dex realising their discontent with their life.

we’re also meant to accept that humanity somehow is capable of survival while “barely touch[ing the ocean] at all,” which is wild to me. do seafaring peoples just not exist? or peoples who live by the sea and depend on it for survival? what about salt? surely they don’t just get salt from salt-mines and mineral springs. they clearly eat fish, because it’s mentioned 11 times in the novella, so they must get some of that from the sea as well, no? i don’t think chambers thought this through very well.

and that lack of (meaningful) consideration forms a pattern in this novella! it’s very telling that chambers’ idea of a utopia is a planet on which there exists only one culture, only one language, only one religion—albeit with sects, but the former two have no variants to speak of—and seemingly no disabled people, because of course a utopia can’t have disabled people if it wants to be a utopia. the only diversity present appears to be the existence of queer people, which is an extremely low bar in my opinion. it’s incredibly uncanny to read about a world that is so bland.

also, there is absolutely no suspension of disbelief great enough to make me believe that no cultural, linguistic, or religious diversity exists on an entire planet, or continent, or even an entire country. scholars speak of chinese folk religion as various syncretisations of multiple faiths, belief systems, and religious practices for a reason—it’s because a single chinese religion doesn’t exist; similarly, ancient greek religion is best understood not as a single coherent system of religion, but as a network of beliefs and practices, formalised in cults.

the lack of linguistic diversity is just as bewildering. there are hundreds of chinese topolects alone, let alone the numerous regional forms a single topolect can take, as well as the hundreds of other languages outside china. it is incomprehensible to me that every single person in this world speaks the exact same language. this is especially true in the robots, who have not interacted with humanity for centuries and yet speak with the same pronunciation, register, and vocabulary. languages change and evolve with their speakers, particularly over the course of centuries; the great vowel shift took place centuries ago, if you need a benchmark for that. by all rights, mosscap should be speaking the equivalent of early modern english to dex’s modern english, and why does a robot speak exactly like a human anyway? they aren’t human. they should have their own figures of speech and robot-specific vocabulary and such. language and culture are interconnected, and robot culture is most certainly very different from human culture, even if we assume that there is only one.

furthermore, the very notion of there only being a single language or culture (or, yes, religion) is very much linked to colonialism. colonisers impose their language and culture upon the colonised because they believe they are inherently superior; that’s how you get multicultural nations like my own whose lingua franca is not a pidgin language as the original lingua franca was, but a pre-existing tongue (thanks britain!). this imposition in turn leads to the marginalisation of other languages, which results in their speakers decreasing in number due to the pressure to learn and prioritise the “superior” language—due to education primarily being in that language, to the lack of (well-paying) job opportunities for non-speakers, and such—and therefore furthering their marginalisation. it’s a whole vicious cycle, see? and eventually, that’s how you get endangered languages and language death, and the loss of cultures in turn because again, language and culture are intrinsically interconnected. so much for a comfort read.

the lack of cultures beside the vaguely western-inspired one is also detrimental to dex’s journey. the premise is predicated on the fact that dex drops all their duties to become a tea monk, but we’re not told anything about how it happens, because tea service apparently only requires that the monk figure out their patron’s tastes, blend tea according to them, and offer sympathy when they unload their troubles on the monk. yet if chambers had thought to do a little research into the art of tea preparation, she would have found immense fields of study relating to every little step of the process, including the kind of water that should be used to brew high-quality tea. i’m only familiar with chinese tea culture, but i can assure you that there are multiple steps to brewing tea, with variants depending on the type of tea being brewed and the number of guests being served, and the process itself both enhances the tea’s fragrance and can be very soothing for everyone involved. it’s all about the sense of ceremony, the comfort of ritual, and the meaning implied in each step, and it’s an absolute shame that chambers didn’t think to consider including something similar.

anyway, i don’t even know where i’m going with this review at this point, except that i guess i’m just really disappointed that a book with such potential to be a comfort read ended up being so profoundly disappointing.