In the City of Saint Ghost, life revolves around an imposing statue, the Colossus, a god cast in bronze. Here is the creator of an alchemical world of priests and soothsayers. But if even the lowliest who live in His shadow are sacred, why is the Titan unable to stem the onslaught of horrors that seep through stone, tunnel in the earth, and bubble in the veins?Why do withered homunculi chew catacombs beneath His streets? Why do golems rise from His clay? Why do devils in copper outthink even the most learned of His priests? And why does a blood-boiling plague spare not even the most prosperous of His children?In this tumult, Calpurnia, Mistress of the Temple of Bastet, slits the caul of her existence, finding the origin of this cataclysmic scourge. She'll learn one thing above all: this is how the world ends.
As the story unfolds, layers are steadily peeled away to reveal the larger world, shaped by the quirks and motivations of its key figures, as well as tantalizing glimpses of what lies beyond the scope of the story and the lives led by those in it who aren't movers and shakers. This further solidified the aforementioned sense of place and authenticity such that by the book's end, I felt as though I'd spent a meaningful amount of time in the world and been made privy to the details of pivotal events that profoundly altered it.
In "Colossus with a Poison Tongue," Hall's collapsing far-future world contains a mishmash of otherwise incongruous elements, surviving remnants of our possible near-future, present, and antiquity, cobbled together into a society that "functions," or at least serves to delay the entropy seemingly taking place outside its walls.
The story's central themes are those of power, specifically that cultivated and lost via religions and the trappings of the occult. The author makes several interesting observations about such things but in ways that feel organic and not too heavy handed, which results in a satisfyingly thought-provoking tale that feels less like it's trying to suggest how the reader should think about such things and more that it would be wise and beneficial for them to do so for themselves.
"Colossus with a Poison Tongue" isn't what one might call a "feel good" story, with its weighty premise and tone, but it isn't completely hopeless or nihilistic either, offering the reader far more to ponder than the utter display of pointless and perpetual despair it so easily could have devolved into. Ultimately, for me, that's the real magic of this tale, and why I'd wholeheartedly recommend it to just about anyone who enjoys any sort of speculative fiction. Thus, if you've never experienced Coy Hall's unique style and voice as an author, I believe this would be an excellent place to start.