Let me get this out of the way: this isn’t a review. I don’t really like reviews. I used to love them back when looking for reference points on what I could consume, on what would be the recommended media for my oh-so-weird taste at the time. Nowadays, I think I have developed enough of an instinct, a particular scent, in order to trust myself when something catches my eye.
This is what happened when I stumbled upon Lincoln Michel’s newsletter, and found out about Metallic Realms.
I impulsively purchased the book and anxiously waited for it to arrive at my humble abode in Barranquilla, Colombia (hardly a literature hub, let alone a science fiction one). I was afraid that, like other books before it, I would start reading it and leave it halfway, in no small part thanks to my dwindling attention span these days (something I have focused on correcting these past few years).
However, this book hooked me from the get go. Surprisingly so. So much that finishing it wasn’t really an effort. It was something I couldn’t help doing. An obligation to my soul, to my inner child.
Look, a run of the mill review will give you a plot synopsis of the book, throw a bunch of labels at you (Striking! Amazing! Intense! Raw!) and finish up with a very arbitrarily defined rating system in an attempt to quantify quality. I know this sounds like a complaint, but it really isn’t. It’s how the game is played, and hey, if we’re measuring Metallic Realms by this metric, it seems to be doing pretty well, and deservedly so!
What I’m writing here isn’t really a review. It’s more of a thought out reaction to what it made me feel.
I’m not really sure if it’s meant as an accurate depiction of science fiction geekdom, a satire full of hyperbole, or perhaps a carefully measured mix of both. What I know is that it made me feel seen, to an almost uncomfortable degree.
See, growing up as a geeked out, physically stale but cerebrally overstimulated introvert in a city like Barranquilla can quickly become an exercise in resilience. Sure, the usual bullying and mocking scenarios play out much like they do in coming-of-age fiction, but I think the resilience I talk about goes deeper than that. It has to do with our place in the world.
Barranquilla is a city that favors the explicit, the act of screaming out your points to make them stick, the colorful rituals of dancing until your muscles disintegrate in the unfathomable year-long heat of a coastal town that desperately wants to be seen as a landmark of third-world urban development. It is hardly the space for an introspective, taciturn and reflective individual to flourish. I can see now, with the astounding clarity that looking back can give you, that I came of age against overwhelming odds, against social forces that were constantly threatening with sucking up what little I had to claim as my identity.
Luckily, my life would eventually take happier turns and I can now say that I feel content where I am, with who I am, and with what I am. I can pronounce my love for underground fiction with passion and without the fear of judgement that permeated my adolescence.
Those memories do come back sometimes, though, especially in times as nostalgic as Christmas. And they come hand in hand with a lot of the emotions that characterized those days where a youthful Nando asked himself whether his personality had a place at all in this world.
Reading Metallic Realms triggered those memories. I have, at different points in my adolescence and early adulthood, been both Mike Lincoln and Taras K. Castle. I know what it feels like to dedicate every fiber of my being to the development of a project where its members hardly recognized my efforts, where my worst sin was perhaps caring too much. I also know what it feels like to be so focused on creation, on the act of trying to bring other worlds to life, to the point of quickly slipping into frequent bouts of melancholy and self-loathing, that I miss the blessings of loving company I have right in front of me.
2025 was a year in which I strengthened my bonds with people I love very dearly, both in my family and in my small but emotionally profound social circles. Metallic Realms brought me back to a time where those weren’t guaranteed, where the future I imagined looked bleak. It makes me happy, then, that the book ends with a hopeful note:
Yet while I may not know what my future holds, I have hope. Because I have characters who inspire me. Bold characters. Dashing characters. Characters who are ready to face any challenge that arises in a world of wonder, meaning, and adventure. I have the crew of the good ship Star Rot and the entire Metallic Realms.
And now you do too.
Perhaps some readers will interpret Mike’s last written words as the lasting echoes of a delusional individual. I can certainly picture people in my hometown coming to this conclusion. I, on the other hand, choose to believe that Mike will find the solace he desires. I believe his dedication will eventually be rewarded, against all odds. I believe his desperate, and very human, need for the tender warmth of genuine company will be satisfied.
I believe this because the young Nando eventually found it too.