I’m so glad you’re back, Star Wars, I really missed you.


After the absolute, unmitigated disaster of The Rise of Skywalker, the bland disappointment of the painfully focus-group-workshopped High Republic project, the shameless fanbro pandering and general monotony of the “Filoniverse” (The Mandalorian, Bad Batch et al) and the exercise of safety-in-brightly-coloured-mediocrity of the Visions shorts (and so on), this novel has finally restored Star Wars to life in my heart again.

It’s very authentically jidaigeki; considering that, as a licensed novel, this was probably knocked up in a year or so, thus not allowing much time for research, Candon seems to have a deep understanding of Japanese historical fiction and mythology, which is in evidence in her interviews about the book. More remarkable than the typical trappings of Japanese mythic fiction with which most readers will recognise (witches, ghosts, demons, oni, kitsune, magic mirrors, tea houses, straw hats and sandals), the novel follows the four-act kishotenketsu structure, relying on the characters’ interactions and emotions to create narrative tension and momentum, rather than the typical Western three-act structure of external conflict and resolution.

Everyone has a mysterious past, they hide their names and/or faces; the motive for recruiting them to go on this quest is rather hazy – the characters may like each other (or want to like each other, or wish they didn’t like each other), but can they trust each other? The person who seems the kindest is blatantly sketchy and thus probably Up To Something; everybody has switched allegiances in the past at least once. All of this makes for a deeply thoughtful novel which is much more interested in exploring and testing the moral beliefs of its characters than it is in creating shallow action spectacles, and which values emotional consequences equally with physical ones.

The characters are familiar and mythological – the wandering swordsman, the tricky old master, the shapeshifter, the ex-trooper turned smuggler with a heart of gold – but they are all exceptionally likeable in their best moments, and at least understandable in their worst. They feel like real people rather than caricatures, complex and troubled, and the author’s genuine care and sympathy for them radiates from every page. Each character has a very distinctive POV voice which really brings them to life.

Much like The Last Jedi, this is a story that speaks about what Star Wars has been, is, and could become. Although it is (at least for now) a complete, standalone novel in a new, isolated pocket-dimension of continuity, it somehow manages to condense into itself contrasting or mirror images of many of the major events of the film trilogies – the Sith rebellion against the Jedi republic, the clash of the last survivors, the confrontation and betrayal of a former master, and so on – and thereby offer different perspectives and different commentary on those events without being weighed down by the baggage of pre-existing continuity (and long-time fandom’s overattachment to old-established characters, and historical misinterpretations of the old materials that have stuck too well). In particular, the recurring primal trauma of the Skywalker Saga – the separation of young children from their parents – is sharply in focus throughout this novel.

This is how the Force should work

Candon’s concept of the Force is something much closer to the Taoism that Lucas originally drew inspiration from than the version which made it into his films, and most other Star Wars media aside from The Last Jedi.


Life. Death and decay, that feeds new life. Warmth. Cold. Peace. Violence.

The concept of “balance” in Star Wars tends to be rather muddled, where (from the Jedi point of view), “balance” is generally equated with eliminating the dark side, or at least keeping it under severe check. Despite continued interest from fans, the “Grey Jedi” are yet to make an appearance under Disney canon. Even when alternative dark side cults are featured, the general division and treatment of characters as teams of light side “heroes” and dark side “villains” is maintained, and post-TRoS seems to have been simplified even further, with dark side characters such as Kylo Ren being brought under the banner of “Sith” for marketing simplicity.

In Ronin, there is a true sense of balance, with the Force being visualised in the aspects of a “white flame” (yang, used in combat), and a “black current” (yin, used for subtle abilities such as Jedi mind tricks and telekinesis). These two aspects are regarded as part of the whole, and both Jedi and Sith characters utilise each as the situation requires. The duality of the Force (and thus, the whole of nature) is shown to be multi-layered, with the main Sith character being very strong with the “white” side (and a woman, where the “yang” character would typically be expected to be a man), and the main Jedi character being almost entirely dependent on the “black” side (and a nonbinary being of indeterminate sex/gender).

With regard to diverse representation, this is the way. Candon really went the whole nine yards - each of the POV characters is some stripe of queer sexuality or gender identity. The central romance is very dignified and slow and subtle, but didn’t feel lacking at all, and I was rather thrilled that there was a romance at all, considering the dire lack of it in the Visions shorts and Disney Star Wars in general.

I felt perceived by this novel – not just as a queer person, but as a person who loves stories, loves mythology, loves Star Wars for the best of what it can be - a galaxy of stories where compassion is the greatest power, and where belief in redemption is real. 

This was the one I’d been waiting for.