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Iron Circle (Yellow Locust #2) by Justin Joschko
Publication Date: March 26, 2019
Publisher: Month9Books
The path west is long, but despite Selena’s progress, New Canaan is never far
enough behind her. It was there that her parents were killed, forcing her and her
little brother Simon to flee the tyrannical state. Now, New Canaan wants control
over every last inch of America-That-Was. Only the Republic of California can stand
against it—but not without the data stick in Selena’s pocket, rumored to contain
vital information about New Canaan’s deadly new weapon.
As winter closes in, Selena races south in search of an open passage to the coast.
She must pass through Nuevo Juarez, where a ruthless leader named Thorin has
seized power. Selena runs afoul of Thorin’s men and is separated from her brother,
captured, and auctioned off at the city’s thriving slave market.
Her only way out is through the Iron Circle, a fighting ring where the city’s most
fearsome warriors pit their skills against one another. As the populace and Thorin
watch Selena rise through the ranks, Selena earns a reputation she doesn’t want and
the attention of man with the power to destroy her and what’s left of America-That-Was.
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Excerpt:
To think just a few days before, Simon had caught himself missing the cold.
It was with him now, a handsy admirer running its fingers along every inch of
exposed skin, panting gusts of rime-flecked wind into his ears, tugging on him with its relentless, smothering embrace.
This was no frigid blast of New Canaan winter—the temperature hung well above freezing, while the sparse foliage of the roadside
shrubs and the small birds flitting about their branches clung doggedly to autumn.
A good jacket and woolen cap would have been plenty. But Simon had neither, only
the chambray shirt and cotton pants he’d worn the day he fled The Mayor’s manor,
plus a crude shawl they’d bartered for on the road—patchy and musty and sewn from the hide of an indeterminate animal. The outfit left
him fighting a war of attrition with the weather, and the weather had him hopelessly
outgunned. It picked off his body heat degree by exhausted degree, left his face chapped
and peeling, filled his bones with ground ice.
As his outside chilled, his insides burned. His empty belly sizzled like a kettle boiled dry,
its brittle metal warping under hunger’s relentless heat. The canteen dangled from his belt
loop, a useless appendage tapping out a ragged march beat on his thigh. He’d drunk its last
dregs that morning; the food he’d finished two days before. The provisions he’d taken from
the pueblo shop, so seemingly bounteous at the outset, had been laughably meagre in practice.
He’d never realised how much food a person ate in a day. It didn’t seem like much when
parcelled into meals and snacks, but it went fast.
Never before had he felt such hunger, such thirst, such utter exhaustion. Even on his long
trek through the Middle Wastes, when Fallowfield had risen from the desert of yellow
locust and saved them, he'd never gone a day without at least some small bit of sustenance. Supplies had been meager, dwindling as they went into little more than a handful of mealy fruit or flavorless grain boiled into gruel—
but there'd always been something. Selena's rationing kept their supplies in check, and her bartering ensured they left every outpost or passing
merchant with something to show for the encounter.
locust and saved them, he'd never gone a day without at least some small bit of sustenance. Supplies had been meager, dwindling as they went into little more than a handful of mealy fruit or flavorless grain boiled into gruel—
but there'd always been something. Selena's rationing kept their supplies in check, and her bartering ensured they left every outpost or passing
merchant with something to show for the encounter.
She’d kept them going for months as the road grew worse and the outposts sparser.
And here was Simon, alone barely a week and already stumbling onto famine’s doorstep. Pathetic.
And here was Simon, alone barely a week and already stumbling onto famine’s doorstep. Pathetic.
His helplessness filled him with a corrosive blend of disgust and self-pity. Selena was better off without him.
Overcome with exhaustion, Simon slumped against a knuckle of basalt rising from
the hardpan. He glanced back the way he'd come and noticed with a pang of despair that he’d lost the road. Not that it was much of a road to begin with, just a few ruts scored into the dirt by passing waggons. At some point he must have veered to one side or another and carried on unknowingly. God only knew how far he'd strayed. He cupped his face in his hands and sobbed.
the hardpan. He glanced back the way he'd come and noticed with a pang of despair that he’d lost the road. Not that it was much of a road to begin with, just a few ruts scored into the dirt by passing waggons. At some point he must have veered to one side or another and carried on unknowingly. God only knew how far he'd strayed. He cupped his face in his hands and sobbed.
Top 10 Fav Reads
1. We Have Always Lived in the Castle – Shirley Jackson: A masterpiece of
gothic fiction laced with dark humor. Merricat Blackwood is probably my
favorite narrator in all fiction, her voice intimate and untrustworthy at once.
gothic fiction laced with dark humor. Merricat Blackwood is probably my
favorite narrator in all fiction, her voice intimate and untrustworthy at once.
2. Blood Meridian – Cormac McCarthy: I still think at his core, McCarthy is
more of a southern gothic writer than a western writer, but there’s no arguing
that Blood Meridian is the most singular achievement of an unfailingly singular
author. He writes like a sun-parched prophet, his prose biblical and bombastic and divinely mad. Judge Holden is his greatest villain, perhaps the greatest villain.
more of a southern gothic writer than a western writer, but there’s no arguing
that Blood Meridian is the most singular achievement of an unfailingly singular
author. He writes like a sun-parched prophet, his prose biblical and bombastic and divinely mad. Judge Holden is his greatest villain, perhaps the greatest villain.
3. The Book of the New Sun – Gene Wolfe: The firsthand account of Severian’s
journey from journeyman torturer to Autarch of a vast realm under a wan and
dying sun. Combines fantasy and science fiction into a strange new blend
(yes, Jack Vance did it first, but his stories were a bit silly).
journey from journeyman torturer to Autarch of a vast realm under a wan and
dying sun. Combines fantasy and science fiction into a strange new blend
(yes, Jack Vance did it first, but his stories were a bit silly).
4. The Third Policeman – Flann O’Brien: A story of dreamscape absurdity
told by a narrator who remains nameless, even to himself. Feints and jolts
keep the reader constantly off-balance. At Swim-Two-Birds is the book that makes all the “100 Best” lists, and deservedly so, but for my money The Third Policeman is even better.
told by a narrator who remains nameless, even to himself. Feints and jolts
keep the reader constantly off-balance. At Swim-Two-Birds is the book that makes all the “100 Best” lists, and deservedly so, but for my money The Third Policeman is even better.
5. Wise Blood – Flannery O’Connor: Shows us the tragic dissolution of
Hazel Motes, a God-denying preacher slowly torn in two by the countervailing force of his faith and faithlessness. O’Connor is best
remembered for her short fiction, and as a result her novels tend to get
short shrift. This is a mistake, because her longer works are as strong as
her short stories.
Hazel Motes, a God-denying preacher slowly torn in two by the countervailing force of his faith and faithlessness. O’Connor is best
remembered for her short fiction, and as a result her novels tend to get
short shrift. This is a mistake, because her longer works are as strong as
her short stories.
6. The Stand – Stephen King: King at his finest. An epic tale of good and
evil battling over the fate of a plague-ravaged America. Shades of it trickle into Yellow Locust, among about a thousand other books. I think the ending works fine, thank you very much.
evil battling over the fate of a plague-ravaged America. Shades of it trickle into Yellow Locust, among about a thousand other books. I think the ending works fine, thank you very much.
7. The Dispossessed – Ursula K. Le Guin: A meditation on politics
and clashing cultures. Le Guin writes thoughtfully on the corrupting
influence of capitalism without succumbing to knee-jerk reactions or blanket endorsement of alternatives.
8. The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid – Bill Bryson: A peerless
humorist, Bryson is at his finest here, possibly because he knows this
subject better than any others. Using his own childhood as a jumping off
point, he paints a vivid and hilarious picture of life in America in the
1950s. This book is a comfort blanket of sorts for me, and if I’m feeling
low it never fails to cheer me up.
humorist, Bryson is at his finest here, possibly because he knows this
subject better than any others. Using his own childhood as a jumping off
point, he paints a vivid and hilarious picture of life in America in the
1950s. This book is a comfort blanket of sorts for me, and if I’m feeling
low it never fails to cheer me up.
9. Songs in the Key of Z – Irwin Chusid: In this collection of essays,
Chusid scours the outer fringes of the musical universe, compiling a
motley of oddballs and misfits whose output ranges from the unlistenable
to the sublime.
10. A Confederacy of Dunces – John Kennedy Toole: My favorite novel,
hands down. A scathing portrait of pomposity and ignorance that is at once
local and universal. Ignatius Reilly is the Don Quixote of the 20th century, a
literary creation that defies contemporary comparison. When Fortuna spins
you downward, pick up this book and get more out of life.
About the Author
Justin Joschko is an author from Niagara Falls, Ontario. His writing has
appeared in newspapers and literary journals across Canada. Yellow Locust
is his first novel. He currently lives in Ottawa with his wife and two children.
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