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Star Wars: Alphabet Squadron-Review

Alexander Freed resurrects the X-Wing novel in Alphabet Squadron, a rousing and emotionally complex adventure that ranks among the best in the current canon.

(Review contains minor spoilers)

The second Death Star is destroyed. The Emperor is dead. The Empire is falling and its forces are scattered and desperate. For the first time since the Galactic Civil War began, the Alliance, now the New Republic, is winning. However, as a galactic government collapses and a scattered militia group begins to take its place, it turns out that the waning days of the war may be more chaotic than anyone anticipated. Among those caught in the chaos is Yrica Quell, a former Imperial TIE pilot of the infamous 204th Imperial Fighter Wing aka “Shadow Wing,” who herself just one of thousands of other former soldiers looking to escape to the otherside of a losing war. After Yrica attracts the attention of New Republic Intelligence agent Caern Adan, she is drafted into a makeshift working group to hunt down and eliminate her former wingmen, whom have become a major thorn in the burgeoning Republic’s side. Overseen by Adan, New Republic general Hera Syndulla, and a reprogrammed Imperial torture droid, Yrica helps to form a group of misfit and war addled pilots to help save the New Republic from dying before it even begins.

At Celebration Chicago, Alexander Freed said that he was inspired to write Alphabet Squadron by the classic Expanded Universe X-Wing novels written by Michael A. Stackpole and Aaron Allston. While Freed’s pilot focused narrative and thrilling action sequences are sure to evoke memories of this series, the book that Alphabet Squadron seems to brush shoulders with most after first read is Chuck Wendig’s Aftermath trilogy. Like Aftermath, Alphabet Squadron is the first in a trilogy following an ensemble of misfit characters in the waning days of the Galactic Civil War and the fallout of the Battle of Endor. Wendig’s trilogy always boasted an impressive scope and stylistically impressive prose, but the first installment of Aftermath struggled due to characters that failed to make an impression and an unfocused narrative. Each novel in the trilogy improved on the one that preceded it, but it is hard to deny that Aftermath got off to a rocky start. Conversely, while Alexander Freed’s dense prose may not appeal to some readers, Alphabet Squadron launches out of the gate with fully formed characters and a sense of purpose and place.

Like his previous Star Wars novel, Battlefront: Twilight Company, Freed excels in making the Galaxy Far, Far Away feel lived in. As previously mentioned, his dense writing style may turn off some readers, but it does an incredible job in helping this setting come to life. It’s clear that Freed put extensive thought into helping to realize a galaxy in this degree of turmoil. In the months immediately following the Battle of Endor, there truly wasn’t a seat of power in the galaxy as both The Empire and the New Republic are each in periods of transition and internal upheaval. The Empire finds itself lacking in direction and leadership and facing a long collapse that seems unlikely to turn in their favor. The New Republic must not only contend with forming a new government but transitioning from a guerilla military to an expansive force capable of finalizing a war it never really prepared to win. Alphabet Squadron in the process evokes such classic pieces of desperate military science fiction like Battlestar Galactica and even The Last Jedi. In the aftermath of such devastating canon events as Operation Cinder, Freed captures the fluctuating and unstable state of the galaxy with descriptive settings, well thought out dips into everyday life of the average galactic citizenry, and first and foremost the characters at its center.

As any good novel should do, it is truly the characters of Alphabet Squadron that make this book sing. Freed brings together an ensemble of damaged and diverse pilots to make up the titular Alphabet Squadron. Fittingly each of these characters not only feel as unique and varied as the ships they fly, but they all realistically bear the scars of beings who have spent their last years embroiled in war. For better and for worse, Freed frames much of the narrative around the reader and the characters gradually learning about the pasts and motives of the different pilots and their commanders. While Freed maintains a rotating third person limited point of view, it becomes quickly apparent that what we learn from each of the characters isn’t necessarily to be trusted. These are damaged people that are hiding things not only from their teammates but from themselves and it is this obscuring, while at times perhaps a bit too illusive, that adds a larger sense of discovery and engagement to a narrative that by and large follows the familiar “learning to work as a team” structure.

Of the five main characters, Yrica is undeniably the most intriguing and fraught. Unlike many classic Imperial defectors, Yrica joined after the Battle of Endor when Palpatine’s regime was already collapsing. While her motives for seeking out the New Republic are mostly self-serving, Freed succeeds at making Yrica a sympathetic protagonist, if an undeniably flawed one. Her narrative becomes one not only of finding a purpose or direction in a galaxy that wants nothing more than to cast her aside, but of deprogramming from fascist doctrine. “Think like a rebel,” becomes a mantra that carries its way not only in the cockpit but to the cantina, to her therapy sessions, and in learning to be a leader to her team.

The rest of Alphabet Squadron are similarly impressive. Nath Tensent is a classic Star Wars style rogue, a mix of pirate, rebel, and early Imperial defector, with a charisma that easily wins over reader and co-pilots alike. He’s the type of lovable bastard whose true intentions are often hard to read and frequently underhanded but nonetheless is capable of incredible moments of humanity and empathy for others.

Wyl Lark and Chass na Chadic hail from two formerly paired squadrons, whose long, tortured final mission takes up a large portion of the first act of the novel. Lark becomes Alphabet Squadron’s heart, bringing a boyish sense of naiveté but also empathy to his fellow pilots. Smartly, Freed knows how to show the dangers of this though and demonstrates how Lark’s inherent good nature sometimes leads to personal danger and overstepping his bounds in the care of his teammates. It avoids cynicism while also teaching the value in trusting the independence of others. In particular, this is demonstrated with Wyl’s relationship Chass na Chadic, the music blasting Theelin pilot, who joins Alphabet Squadron alongside him. Given their shared trauma and different manners of coping, Freed frames the frayed relationship between these two particular characters as a central arc of the book and it works well, especially given how well drawn both characters prove to be.

And Kairos? Kairos is the resident, silent badass. Cloaked in rags, armor, masks, and mystery, Kairos remains the closest to an enigma at the novel’s conclusion. What little we learn of her hints at a past filled with trauma and strife which not only comes about in cold mystery but short bursts of intense violence. She feels not unlike the fan favorite animated bounty hunter, Embo, with a dash of Wolverine-esque tragic past. It makes her brief moments where she opens up to the other members of Alphabet Squadron linger for pages afterward.

Even supporting cast members spark with their own sense of personality and life. Caern Adan tows the line between grandstating jackass and pragmatic foreward thinker in a way that makes him feel realistic if not empathetic. Chass and Wyl’s former squadmates before joining Alphabet Squadron shine through with individual quirks and personalities and their presence becomes particularly haunting and painful despite their relatively little time on the page. Even Adan’s mechanical assistant, an Imperial Torture Droid turned team therapist, is a standout with an unexpectedly endearing sense for emotional sensitivity.

Fans of Star Wars Rebels are also sure to enjoy Hera Syndulla’s meatier than expected role here. Freed paints a picture of a war weary Hera that is driven by duty and longs for the days of Ghost family. Her maternal caring for those under her command shines through and her moments of guidance to the Alphabet Squadron team rank as some of the most emotionally affecting beats of the novel as a whole. Those hoping to see Jason Syndulla or some of the other members of the Rebels may be disappointed, but any fan of the Spectre Two is sure to get a lot out of this book.

Freed also succeeds in bringing these characters into action. While his prose while the characters are grounded is often dense with detail and minutiae, Freed somehow finds an incredible balance when his characters step into the cockpit and begin fighting off TIE Fighters. Dogfights feel energetic and kinetic and Freed manages to block these with a sense of action and pacing that feels clear and exciting. Alphabet Squadron even gets creative in just how a squadron of five different types of ship would function and the resulting set pieces feel both imaginative and surprisingly practical. Given the strong work done to fleshing out these characters and their chaotic world in the quiet moments, it gives the beats where blaster bolts are flying and starships are exploding an extra oomph of tension and emotion.

It may not be immaculate, but Alphabet Squadron is a truly engrossing and affecting read. Between Freed’s incredible sense of setting to his well-drawn characters, it’s hard to find a more satisfying book in the current Star Wars canon and the wait for the next installment of this series in 2020 feels like an eternity away. The sequels may be ending this winter with The Rise of Skywalker, but the next great Star Wars trilogy may have already just started.

Score: A-

[marialilllitharrowwild]

back (n.)

Old English bæc "back," from Proto-Germanic *bakam (cognates: Old Saxon and Middle Dutch bak, Old Frisian bek), with no known connections outside Germanic. In other modern Germanic languages the cognates mostly have been ousted in this sense by words akin to Modern English ridge (such as Danish ryg, German Rücken).

Many Indo-European languages show signs of once having distinguished the horizontal back of an animal (or a mountain range) from the upright back of a human. In other cases, a modern word for "back" may come from a word related to "spine" (Italian schiena, Russian spina) or "shoulder, shoulder blade" (Spanish espalda, Polish plecy).

By synecdoche, "the whole body," especially with reference to clothing. Meaning "upright part of a chair" is from 1520s. To turn (one's) back on (someone or something) "ignore" is from early 14c. As a U.S. football position by 1876, so called from being behind the line of rushers; further distinguished according to relative position as quarterback, halfback, fullback.

To know (something) like the back of one's hand, implying familiarity, is first attested 1893 in a dismissive speech made to a character in Robert Louis Stevenson's "Catriona":

If I durst speak to herself, you may be certain I would never dream of trusting it to you; because I know you like the back of my hand, and all your blustering talk is that much wind to me.

The story, a sequel to "Kidnapped," has a Scottish setting and context, and the back of my hand to you was noted in the late 19th century as a Scottish expression meaning "I will have nothing to do with you" [see Longmuir's edition of Jamieson's Scottish dictionary]. In English generally, the back of (one's) hand has been used to imply contempt and rejection at least since 1300. Perhaps the connection of a menacing dismissal is what made Stevenson choose that particular anatomical reference.

back (v.)

mid-15c., "to keep something back, hinder," from back (adv.). Meaning "cause to move back" is from 1781. Intransitive sense "move or go back" is from late 15c. Meaning "furnish with a back or backing" is from 1728, from back (n.). Meaning "to support" (as by a bet) is attested from 1540s. Related: Backed; backing.

back (adj.)

"being behind, away from the front, in a backward direction," Middle English, from back (n.) and back (adv.); often difficult to distinguish from these when the word is used in combinations. Formerly with comparative backer (c. 1400), also backermore. To be on the back burner in the figurative sense is from 1960, from the image of a cook keeping a pot there to simmer while at work on another concoction at the front of the stove.

back (adv.)

"to or toward the rear or the original starting place; in the past; behind in position," literally or figuratively, late 14c., shortened from abak, from Old English on bæc "backwards, behind, aback" (see back (n.), and compare aback). To give (something) back is to give it again, to give it in the opposite direction to that in which it was formerly given. Adverbial phrase back and forth is attested by 1814.

page (n.1)

"sheet of paper, one side of a printed or written leaf of a book or pamphlet," 1580s, from French page, from Old French pagene "page, text" (12c.), from Latin pagina "page, leaf of paper, strip of papyrus fastened to others," related to pagella "small page," from pangere "to fasten" (from PIE root *pag- "to fasten").

Earlier pagine (c. 1200), directly from Old French or Latin. The word is usually said to be from the notion of individual sheets of paper "fastened" into a book. Ayto and Watkins offer an alternative theory: vines fastened by stakes and formed into a trellis, which led to sense of "columns of writing on a scroll." When books replaced scrolls, the word continued to be used. Related: Paginal.

Page-turner "book that one can't put down" is from 1974; earlier (by 1959) an apparatus or person who turns the pages of an open book, as for a performing musician.

page (n.2)

"youth, lad; boy of the lower orders; personal servant," c. 1300 (early 13c. as a surname), originally also "youth preparing to be a knight" (beneath the rank of a squire), from Old French page "a youth, page, servant" (13c.), possibly via Italian paggio (Barnhart), from Medieval Latin pagius "servant," perhaps ultimately from Greek paidion "boy, lad," diminutive of pais (genitive paidos) "child."

But OED considers this unlikely and, with Century Dictionary, points instead to Littré's suggestion of a source in Latin pagus "countryside," in sense of "boy from the rural regions" (see pagan). Meaning "youth employed as a personal attendant to a person of rank" is first recorded mid-15c.; this was transferred from late 18c. to boys who did personal errands in hotels, clubs, etc., also in U.S. legislatures.

page (v.1)

"to summon or call by name," 1904, from page (n.2), on the notion of "to send a page after" someone. Related: Paged; paging.

page (v.2)

"to turn pages, look through the pages of" by 1943, from page (n.1). Earlier it meant "put numbers on the pages of" a book, etc. (1620s). Related: Paged; paging.

case (n.1)

early 13c., "what befalls one; state of affairs," from Old French cas "an event, happening, situation, quarrel, trial," from Latin casus "a chance, occasion, opportunity; accident, mishap," literally "a falling," from cas-, past participle stem of cadere "to fall, sink, settle down, decline, perish" (used widely: of the setting of heavenly bodies, the fall of Troy, suicides), from PIE root *kad- "to fall."

The notion is of "that which falls" as "that which happens" (compare befall). From its general nature, the word has taken on widespread extended and transferred meanings. Meaning "instance, example" is from c. 1300. Meaning "actual state of affairs" is from c. 1400. In law, "an instance of litigation" (late 14c.); in medicine, "an instance of a disease" (late 14c.).

The grammatical sense, "one of the forms which make up the inflections of a noun" (late 14c.) also was in Latin, translating Greek ptōsis "declension," literally "a falling." "A noun in the nominative singular ..., or a verb in the present indicative ...,

is conceived as standing straight. Then it falls, or is bent, or

declines into various positions" [Gilbert Murray, "Greek Studies"]

U.S. slang meaning "person" (especially one peculiar or remarkable in any way) is from 1848. Meaning "incident or series of events requiring police investigation" is from 1838. In case "in the event" is recorded from mid-14c. Case-history is from 1879, originally medical; case-study "study of a particular case" is from 1879, originally legal; case-law "law as settled by previous court cases" is from 1861.

case (n.2)

"receptacle, box, that which encloses or contains," early 14c., from Anglo-French and Old North French casse (Old French chasse "case, reliquary;" Modern French châsse), from Latin capsa "box, repository" (especially for books), from capere "to take, hold" (from PIE root *kap- "to grasp").

Meaning "outer protective covering" is from late 14c. Also used from 1660s with a sense of "frame" (as in staircase, casement). Artillery sense is from 1660s, from case-shot "small projectiles put in cases" (1620s). Its application in the printing trade (first recorded 1580s) to the two shallow wooden trays where compositors keep their types in compartments for easy access led to upper-case for capital letters (1862), so called from its higher position on the compositor's sloped work-table, and lower-case for small letters.

The cases, or receptacles, for the type, which are always in pairs, and termed the 'upper' and the 'lower,' are formed of two oblong wooden frames, divided into compartments or boxes of different dimensions, the upper case containing ninety-eight and the lower fifty-four. In the upper case are placed the capital, small capital, and accented letters, also figures, signs for reference to notes &c.; in the lower case the ordinary running letter, points for punctuation, spaces for separating the words, and quadrats for filling up the short lines. [The Literary Gazette, Jan. 29, 1859]

case (v.)

"enclose in a case," 1570s, from case (n.2). Related: Cased; casing.

Meaning "examine, inspect" (usually prior to robbing) is from 1915, American English slang, perhaps from the notion of giving a place a look on all sides. Compare technical case (v.) "cover the outside of a building with a different material" (1707), from case (n.) "external portion of a building" (1670s).

crypt (n.)

early 15c., cripte, "grotto, cavern," from Latin crypta "vault, cavern," from Greek krypte "a vault, crypt" (short for krypte kamara "hidden vault"), fem. of kryptos "hidden," verbal adjective from kryptein "to hide," which is of uncertain origin. Comparison has been made to Old Church Slavonic kryjo, kryti "to hide," Lithuanian kráuti "to pile up." Beekes writes that krypto "is formally and semantically reminiscent of [kalypto]; the verbs may have influenced each other." For this, see calypto-. But he adds, "However, since there is no good IE etymology, the word could be Pre-Greek." Meaning "underground burial vault or chapel in a church" is attested by 1789.

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The Rabbit, the Monkey, and the Tiger