Best Book of 2021 (legit) | Thronebreakers by Rebecca Coffindaffer

Rebecca Coffindaffer’s debut novel—and the first book in this space opera duology—was a solid, wildly entertaining read. It was a lot of fun, from beginning to end. As I described in my review last year, Crownchasers is a pitch-perfect YA send-up of George Lucas and/or Jessie Mihalik, complete with all the big Pew! Pew! Pew! energy you could ever wish for. I described the story as “snarky bisexuals in space” and really, need I say more? Plus, if I recall correctly, the only “complaint” I had about the series opener was the lack of depth in protagonist Alyssa Farshot’s characterization (and maybe a few gaps in the world-building).

Thronebreakers does not have those issues.

In fact, not only does Thronebreakers not have those issues, Coffindaffer’s brilliant balancing act between riveting action and a complex emotional arc is a masterclass in genre writing. This is how it’s done, folks. I’ve been writing book reviews since 2010; I’ve read nearly 2,000 books since 2012, when I started tracking my reads. At this point, I’ve become a wee bit jaded, and it takes a lot to impress me. I don’t hand out 5-star ratings willy-nilly. In fact, this is only my second 5-star review of the year, and it’s already November. So please take me Very Seriously when I say: this book is the absolute shit. 

Action-focused plot with an injection of character growth

What I think is so critical in this series finale, and what makes the book successful in a way a lot of sequels aren’t, is that Coffindaffer doesn’t merely present the continuation of Alyssa Farshot’s journey. Rather, she builds onto the blueprints already drafted in the first book and simultaneously digs deep into the foundations of her protagonist’s identity and how that affects her choices. Okay, but what do I mean by that?

First and mainly, the external stakes are so much higher here. In Crownchasers, Alyssa was (reluctantly) participating in a galactic treasure hunt for a chance to win the empire. But Alyssa didn’t actually want the throne—her motivations were to help out her friends. On one hand, helping friends attain their own goals does speak to Alyssa’s character, but on the other hand, Alyssa never had any real skin in the game. Throughout the first book, it was clear that Alyssa wanted nothing more than to wipe the dust of intergalactic politics off her boots and go back to a life of dissolute thrill-seeking. There were a few moments where maybe, just maybe, a larger sense of duty and justice seeped through—like when she encountered members of a marginalized ethnic group on a colonized planet—but overall, Alyssa was only looking out for herself and what she believed to be in her best interests.

Thronebreakers begins just as Alyssa makes a U-turn toward full awareness of how structural inequities and out of touch policies have damaged more people than they’ve helped. And the reason Alyssa even begins to learn that lesson is because, this time, the stakes are personal. Her motivation isn’t to help her friends anymore. Here, she wants revenge, and she’s willing to do absolutely anything to get it. Sure, this is still a selfish motive, but the emotional intensity of blind vengeance gives Coffindaffer a starting point to begin to explore the main character’s growth. Because whereas previously Alyssa was free to walk away from the fight at any moment, with no true loss or injury, she can’t do that here. Instead, when Alyssa is confronted with the ways in which her worldview is too narrowly framed, she has to stay and work it out. Slowly, the reader sees Alyssa’s thirst for revenge against the Evil Emperor morph into a desire to dismantle the inequitable power structures of the empire itself, in which the emperor is just a figurehead. 

I genuinely cannot express how organic and subtle the shift in Alyssa’s perspective is from beginning to end. This is a true coming of age novel, where you see the main character’s ability to emotionally connect with others expand from a small circle comprising just herself and those like her, to others she personally meets throughout her journey, and finally to all those she has a responsibility to protect and advocate for as a consequence of her status as the ultra-privileged child of emperors. 

And, again, this portrayal of Alyssa’s maturation walks hand-in-hand with the high octane, action-packed plot, which is wonderfully full of laser cannons, genetically engineered assassins, advanced AI, and madcap flight maneuvers that would make Han Solo proud. The climax of the story takes place amidst an all-out space battle between the Evil Emperor and a ragtag band of space rebels (who have somewhat begrudgingly thrown in their lot with Alyssa and Company). I hate comparing all science fiction to Star Wars, because it’s not fair to anyone, but the last third of Thronebreakers has very big “battle on the moon of Endor” vibes—only here, the Death Star is (a) fully operational and (b) capable of entering the atmosphere and wreaking direct mayhem. But consistent with Return of the Jedi, the “Death Star” in this book is very satisfyingly blown to smithereens by the final scene, taking the emperor and his associates with it. (Do not speak to me about anything that occurred in the more recent films re: said emperor; I refuse to see any of the alleged “sequels” or otherwise acknowledge their existence.)

I do think it’s critical to highlight that the empire is 100% overthrown by the end of Thronebreakers, through the combined efforts of Alyssa, her fellow “blue bloods,” and the anti-imperial organization that gives Alyssa shelter when she lands on the front page of Galaxy’s Most Wanted. In my opinion, this series hearkens to Polaris Rising by Jessie Mihalik, a recently published trilogy of adult space operas. But Mihalik’s series, which was also focused on a family of hyper-privileged elites, concluded with the exact same power structures remaining in place, just with the younger (supposedly less corrupt) generation  in charge. There wasn’t much true rebellion, and it wasn’t satisfying for me. My reaction to Mihalik’s trilogy was very “Oh yay, the protagonists have been liberated from tyranny, but what about literally everyone else?” NOT THE CASE HERE! Coffindaffer razes the foundations of the empire to the ground, and she makes it very clear that the new government is committed to true reform. Real steps are taken to make sure that in the future, another Evil Emperor won’t have such an easy time subjugating the quadrant.

We need to talk about Edgar Voles

Right, so. The “Evil Emperor” in Thronebreakers. This is the aspect of the story that (a) I found most impressive, (b) absolutely wrecked me, and which (c) I really wanted to talk about in this review. 

If you’re not a follower of my ongoing examination of YA sci-fi/fantasy and its larger implications vis-à-vis the ubiquitous theme of “literal children dying to save the world,” just know that this is a subject I’ve been ruminating on frequently of late. I’d recommend skimming this review to get an idea of my struggles/thoughts. See, also, this review. (I promise I’m getting to the Evil Emperor in a second.)

As you would expect, Thronebreakers is ultimately a story about kids saving the galaxy. Alyssa Farshot and all her friends are 16-18 years old. When this sort of set-up happens, my initial reaction is usually along the lines of “okay but where are the adults in the room?” (see reviews linked above). I didn’t have that hang-up with this book for one very simple reason: the adults in Thronebreakers are all dead. Roughly halfway through the book, the Evil Emperor (allegedly) decides to wipe-out the threat that any other high-ranking family could pose to his rule, so he orders a synchronized, galaxy-wide mass assassination. In the aftermath, the situation isn’t that the grown-ups are letting the babies walk headfirst into danger; rather, it’s that the babies are the only ones left.

But here’s the thing. The Evil Emperor, Edgar Voles? He’s a baby, too.

I’ve always been a sucker for a well-written “sympathetic villain”—someone who does horrible things for reasons that make sense. For instance, I really like Thanos as a bad guy, though I obviously don’t support Snapping people out of existence. Edgar Voles in the Crownchasers series is a highly sympathetic villain.

In fact, I submit that Edgar Voles isn’t a villain at all.

Throughout this duology, and hand-in-hand with her masterful work with Alyssa Farshot’s character development, Rebecca Coffindaffer delves into Edgar’s backstory and the reasons he acts as he does. In the first book, the reader strongly dislikes Edgar, but it’s also clear that he’s a very lonely kid who’s been neglected/abused by his father and alienated by his peers (Alyssa included). He doesn’t necessarily want the throne in order to be powerful; he just wants to be seen. By somebody. Anybody. 

In pursuit of that goal, Edgar commits several morally suspect deeds, including the murder of a fellow crownchase contestant. I’m not excusing him. But, y’know, there is a reason that even in a society as punishment-oriented as the United States, the Supreme Court has declined to hold that capital punishment is constitutional in cases where the defendant is a minor. There are clear mitigating factors in Edgar’s situation.

Of course, and as anybody with a brain might have predicted, Edgar’s coronation doesn’t result in him getting what he wants or otherwise ameliorating any of his trauma. He goes from an invisible, awkward child to a fragile boy-king who’s easily manipulated by the actually villainous powers lurking in the shadows. All Edgar wanted was a family, unconditional love, a parental figure who’s proud of him. But at the end of the day, Edgar Voles is just a puppet, picked up and then discarded by the political power-players whenever convenient.

AND EDGAR FUCKING DIES. ALONE. HATED BY EVERYONE. TRYING TO DO THE RIGHT THING, BUT TOO LATE FOR IT TO REALLY MATTER.

Fuck me.

I thought babies sacrificing their lives to thwart evil was bad enough. Turns out that babies dying utterly abandoned and with the belief that they’re irredeemable monsters is ten times worse.

How very dare Coffindaffer giver readers a villain who is not only sympathetic, but also a devastating object lesson in how corruption and tyranny create such desolating ripple effects? How dare she.

Bringing a long review to a close

To recap, Thronebreakers is the best book I’ve read in 2021, for many reasons, including:

• Riveting and immersive space opera hijinks with the danger-o-meter dialed way up
• A difficult coming-of-age arc that both complements and completes the more obvious “pew! pew! pew!” aspects of the external conflict
• Sharp, irreverent narration from a protagonist with a distinctive and loveable voice
• A complicated (and tragic) antagonist whose downfall is portrayed with nuance and respect
• A satisfying conclusion that’s open-ended yet hopeful and future-oriented

Thronebreakers is so, so, so good. I cannot express enough how much I love this book. I am so impressed with the way Coffindaffer gives her readers exactly what we want/expect/need from the conclusion to Alyssa Farshot’s story, but in a better and smarter and more stylish way than I even hoped for. 

This is why I read books.