If you had to choose between living in a world filled with hyper-intelligent spiders or one ruled by PhD level octopuses which would it be?
Would negotiating with arachnids be preferable to appealing to a mollusk’s better nature?
Why, you might ask, am I entertaining such thoughts?
I just finished Adrian Tchaikovsky’s, Children of Ruin, the sequel to his groundbreaking novel, Children of Time, that’s why.
Good sci-fi should force readers to contemplate the imponderables, to think beyond previously constructed boundaries, and Tchaikovsky has given me more to contemplate than my little brain can handle right now. My mind is blown, and that’s a good thing.
Peace, people.
