Ace Book Review: "Firebreak" by Nicole Kornher-Stace

"You can't go where you want if you don't have rights, which you don't if you're not human - or if someone has convinced the rest of the world that you aren't."

Something no one tells you about being an aspec adult – especially a sex-repulsed aromantic asexual adult like me – is that some things you used to love suddenly become harder to like. For me, one of those things is, rather tragically, reading. I’ve always loved reading and as a child was known to devour lengthy series and books that were aimed at far higher reading levels, plowing through them with joy and anticipation. But I admit that this feat was far easier to achieve when I was a child and a young adult because, even when I was reading above my grade level, I was still reading books tailored to adolescents.

That’s not to say books for young adults are always easy to navigate when you’re aspec. It’s an unfortunate reality that publishers for YA books often believe that romance is the only thing that teens will relate to, sometimes making it difficult for aromantic representation to find a footing. However, because YA novels are geared towards younger people, they’re often still less explicit than adult books. As such, much like with other media, I’ve found it increasingly difficult over the years to want to engage with many books that are marketed towards the age bracket I’m in now. This is unfortunate, because it means I often bypass looking for new reads altogether simply because I’m not willing to take a chance.

All this to say: imagine my surprise and delight when I discovered that aspec author Nicole Kornher-Stace had an adult release called Firebreak. If you’ve read my previous reviews of her novels Archivist Wasp and Latchkey, you’ll know that I have come to deeply admire this author and her work. Not only are these books fierce and brilliant, but they also portray the relationships that the author longs to see more of in the world, which just so happen to be the types of relationships I long to see too – platonic “ride or die” male/female friendships full of loyalty and dedication. Naturally, I was excited to read an adult novel that I knew would not only avoid sex and sexual situations, but would give me those aspec friendly vibes that I so desperately crave in any media.

Beyond it being an aspec-friendly adult novel, I was first drawn to Firebreak because of two things: first, that it related to the Archivist Wasp books; and second, that it was described by Kornher-Stace as featuring a platonic crush. If you’ve ever read any of my posts related to BTS and the group’s leader RM (Kim Namjoon), then you’ve seen a platonic crush in action, but this is not a type of relationship that I often see portrayed in media. Therefore, I was extremely excited by the notion of a book whose protagonist feels this emotion like I do, and to have it be written by an author I admire to boot, tying into the rich mythology and worldbuilding I’ve come to really enjoy.

Firebreak takes place in the year 2134. The United States has been replaced by a sprawling mess of supercities, all controlled by one of two mega-corporations – Greenleaf and Stellaxis, who exist in a constant state of war. The main character, Mal, lives in the only supercity that is constantly fought over, where she and her friends eke out a living how ever they can. For Mal and her friend Jessa, one of their sources of income is playing a virtual reality game called “Best Life” and livestreaming the footage to their subscribers. Part of Best Life’s popularity is due to in-game analogs of real-life operatives created by Stellaxis to help win the war. These operatives are superhuman celebrities and are considered to be bio-tech created by the company as far as anyone is concerned. Therefore, streaming the game and getting footage of these operatives is a good way for people like Mal and Jessa to earn essentials.

Within the game, the operatives are adored by fans, coveted as allies by players, and used by streamers to bring in millions of views and subscribers; in real life, they’re literal war heroes, used in marketing campaigns for products sold to the “customer-citizens” of Stellaxis cities. But over the years their numbers have dwindled until only three remain alive and soon our characters begin to suspect they’re not bio-tech after all, but real people abducted as children to be turned into weapons. Mal herself has unique feelings for one of these last living operatives – the stoic, taciturn supersoldier known only by his number, 22 – and longs to help him however she can. 22 and his partner 06 will be delightful to anyone who has read Archivist Wasp or Latchkey, but Mal’s feelings for him are especially glorious to me.

Mal’s attachment to 22 is made all the more powerful by her first-person point of view, because we can see and feel her emotions all the more clearly. As such, we can see that what she feels is a complex, emotional, inexplicable feeling, one she herself even struggles to quantify, and one that she acknowledges can leave her feeling lonely, like looking at something in the distance she knows she’ll never reach. In chapter seven, she even describes it in her narration by saying: “Have you ever felt drawn to someone for no reason that makes sense to your rational mind? I don’t mean like a crush… no, what I get to deal with is this situation where you don’t want anything from the person in question at all; you just find there’s something in them that speaks to something in you, and all you want in all the world is to figure out how to reply.”

This paragraph gets me misty-eyed every time I see it because I have quite possibly never seen anything that describes my own experience more than this bit of writing. I consider myself lucky that I figured out my aspec identity comparatively early, but even so, I’ve had to do a lot of work over the years to strip away societal expectations and assumptions about “normal” life. In my experience, society is not exactly good at accepting certain kinds of platonic relationships full stop, let alone the unique phenomenon of the platonic crush. As such, I’ve spent a long time lacking the language to be able to discuss or justify such a thing, and I find that both frustrating and disappointing.

Earlier, I mentioned my own platonic crush, an emotion which can be perfectly summarized by the above paragraph from the novel. It’s an emotion I’ve spent a lot of time, energy, and words trying (and often failing) to quantify. The worst part is that this emotion often feels like it gets absolutely annihilated in online spaces, which makes it even more appropriate that much of Firebreak takes place in online spaces too. As I’ve discussed many times before, fandom spaces can become especially tough for aspec identities, especially when it comes to things that most people find desirable or worthy of sexualization. To try to exist in that space in a non-sexual way becomes even harder and interfacing with these things through an aspec lens often feels as if it’s actively discouraged.

This is something Firebreak addresses well. Because the operatives are celebrities and are considered just a bit of bio-tech created by the company, many people consider it okay to sexualize them – and to even do sexual things with them in game. Mal, of course, is completely turned off by this, despite the fact that it’s largely waved away by other people. In my own fandom life, I’ve quite frequently experienced people and/or characters I relate to being claimed by other parts of the fandom simply because they can be sexualized, and I’ve often been dismissed or pushed out of my safe spaces for just that reason. Therefore, my own comfort characters remind me even more of Mal’s feelings for 22.

This has gone on for me for a lot longer than just my three-year platonic crush. For instance, one of my favorite Dragon Age characters – one I feel speaks to something in me the way 22 speaks to something in Mal – is also a bit of a highly sought-after romance option. As such, my often aspec way of conceptualizing him is very different from the way most people choose to conceptualize him, and it makes my fandom life that much harder. When it comes to my platonic crush on RM, even a fandom that prides itself on inclusivity like the BTS fandom does can be a battleground for someone like me. As such, my emotional and intellectual attachment to RM feel like they get lost amid a sea of people who desire physicality instead, often vocally hoping their opinions will win the day while mine feel as if they’re run through the buzzsaw of the internet.

Again, a lot of this comes about because people like me lack the words to describe what we feel. The world at large already disrespects a lot of aspec tendencies, and when we either don’t have, aren’t given, or are stripped of the language we can use to speak about these things, it’s nearly impossible to understand or be understood. People like to throw around terms like “parasocial relationship” or try to steer people towards their own definition of “normal,” so I love that Mal’s feelings for 22, while difficult to describe, are portrayed in the novel as valid. Something else that I really appreciate about the story is Mal’s friend Jessa, who occasionally teases Mal or sometimes struggles to understand exactly what she’s feeling, but is nevertheless extremely supportive.

Something I've discussed with other aspec books is whether the aspec character(s)’s friends are supportive or not, because non-aspec characters can serve as examples for real-life non-aspec friends and family members. Therefore, Jessa being supportive of Mal is very important. In fact, Jessa does a lot of things that aren’t super common in media and make her, in my opinion, a great ally. For instance, when Mal is hoping to ally with 22 in the game, people in their livestream chat begin making lascivious suggestions, but Jessa insists they need to keep it clean because Mal “isn’t into it”, and thus people aren’t allowed to make those assumptions on their stream. In a world where I’ve seen countless aspec or aspec adjacent characters harassed by their own supposed friends, Jessa’s behavior is downright saintlike.

You may also recall I mentioned that part of the story features Jessa and Mal beginning to uncover the truth about where the operatives came from. As their suspicions mount, Jessa thinks about the sexual things that people will sometimes do to the operatives in game and the thought horrifies her, imagining this sexualization of people who had no choice in the matter. Because fandom spaces can be full of sexualization, even for real people, I really enjoyed seeing this alternate, aspec-friendly take – and especially appreciate that it actually didn’t come from the book’s presumably aspec character, Mal, but rather from Jessa. It seems to me like Jessa, even if she doesn’t always understand, does her best to broaden her horizons and understand a more aspec point of view. She even calls Mal’s feelings for 22 a “friendcrush” in dialogue, something I really enjoy hearing.

In general, I think part of what makes Firebreak so special and its representation so important to me is that level of normalization of what are otherwise oft-overlooked emotions. As I said earlier, I’ve experienced my fair share of being made to feel strange for my non-quantifiable attachment to certain characters or real people, lacking the words to describe the depth of these feelings adequately. In fact, that lack of being able to justify myself and the lack of visibility these things have has proven to be a huge source of negative emotion in my life. Therefore, experiencing Mal’s story left me feeling seen and recognized in a way that, quite frankly, felt affirming.

I’m a huge fan of one of the scenes later in the novel where Jessa says that what Mal feels for 22 is a kind of love. Mal wants to bristle against this at first, but Jessa makes it clear she doesn’t mean romantic love or something that can be satisfied through sex; rather, what Mal feels is a willingness to support, sacrifice for, and protect 22 if she can. This emotion runs throughout the entire story, is allowed to be given value, and is clearly portrayed as genuine. More than that, the way the operatives are portrayed and seen through Mal’s lens offers just as valuable a take for me as well.

As someone who has frequently been made to stand by and watch while people take my safe spaces, I have often been left to feel like my style of interpretation is wrong. Therefore, I love that Mal’s interpretation of the operatives – while very different from that of most people – is ultimately allowed to stand as vital. Brief spoilers: at one point, Mal is actually talking to 22, who wonders why he and the other operatives are famous. In her narration, Mal notes what she wants to say deep down: “Because you’re pure, I want to say. Because everything else is corruption to the horizon and you and 06 are the rock around which it passes.”

This is how I often feel about my own platonic crush and my own platonic attachments, but I’m used to being made to feel stupid or naive for thinking of these things as pure. But as Mal describes, sometimes things are corrupt and desolate as far as one can see, and “purity,” therefore, becomes something noble and vital, rather than something to be mocked and disparaged. It’s a very rare thing indeed to see this type of attitude be treated as beautiful and valuable, and it’s definitely something I needed to hear. This, and many other lessons from Firebreak, are ones I’ll take with me for a long time to come. If you need to hear these things too, I think you can likewise find some visibility through Mal’s story.

Disclaimer: like other stories that take place in this world, there are descriptions of things like torture and violence, even against children. I’ve mentioned in previous reviews that I’m a very squeamish person and I found myself actually pretty good through a large majority of the book (except for the parts that squick out my eye phobia a bit); however, your comfort level may vary on many of these topics, so exercise caution when reading. If you’re concerned about anything in particular, this site that discusses triggers in books is a good thing to consult. Additionally, because this is an adult novel, it has far more flexibility when it comes to F-bombs, which are liberally sprinkled throughout both Mal’s narration and regular conversation. If foul language is a concern for you (including occasional gendered slurs), that’s something else to consider.

Aside from that, I love this book and literally can’t recommend it enough. While I’ve enjoyed all the aspec or aspec-adjacent books I’ve read and reviewed for the blog and they’ve all contained valuable aspec stories, this book is easily the one I’ve related to the most. The gift of being seen – really seen – is not one I’ve often been afforded when I interact with media, so to be seen here is something I’ll always treasure. This book and the larger created world it fits into remind me so clearly why representation matters and why these things are important. Indeed, the story of her own aspec experiences that the author has shared on her website reminds me of those things even more clearly, as she didn’t have the words or media she needed to describe herself and it left her feeling lost.

Like her, I too have spent a long time feeling lost and strained. Like Mal, I’ve spent a while looking out into the distance at the things that I long for and know I’ll probably never have. But this story gives me hope that I’m not a freak for wanting these things and that I’m also not alone. In her dedication for the book, Nicole Kornher-Stace says the following: “For everyone who has been here and didn’t have the words, I’ve spent my whole life looking for a few of them. Here they are.” As someone who has likewise spent my life searching for the words, there are only two words that I think are sufficient in reply, limited and small though they may be:

Thank you.