⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️¼ (4.75/5) — Riddle, writes a Labyrinth.. it was always surely meant to be then! But this effort by one of my Favourite contemporary authors is no pun, it’s a potential classic. One other riddle is what happened to my original review I thought I’d published weeks ago.. 😡
A.G. Riddle has long been one of those reliably inventive authors whose blend of science, speculation, and high-concept plotting scratches the exact itch I look for in modern sci-fi. I’ve covered much of his bibliography here on Goodreads — from the globe-spanning viral intrigue of The Atlantis Gene to the cerebral, quietly affecting ambition of Winter World and its sequels — and I’ve always admired his ability to fuse accessibility with scale. But Labyrinth is something altogether different: both recognisably Riddle and also, intriguingly, a departure. In this sprawling, meticulously constructed novel, he veers into more overt thriller territory, weaving tension, mystery, and a distinctly propulsive energy through the narrative without sacrificing the intellectual heft that defines his earlier work.
What’s most surprising, and most rewarding, is how seamlessly this hybridisation works. Labyrinth is a long book — properly long — yet it doesn’t waste a single page. Every chapter feels intentionally placed, every reveal carefully measured, and every moment of stillness purposeful. Riddle has always been good at pacing, but here he shows a newfound precision: even when the narrative detours, it does so with deliberateness, as though the reader needs that slight spiral to appreciate the ultimate straight line.
Part of that sharpness is no doubt the result of what Riddle himself reveals in the afterword. He speaks candidly about the difficulties he experienced while writing the book — the doubt, the rewrites, the endless reshaping of a story that refused to settle until it became the version we now hold. You can feel that struggle in the best way possible: the prose has a density to it, a refined quality suggesting that everything extraneous was pared away in the crucible of revision. The book carries the imprint of labour, of someone wrestling a complex idea into something both gripping and gracefully accessible. It’s rare to see that kind of vulnerability from an author, and it adds a layer of appreciation for the craft behind the narrative.
The thriller elements — the heightened danger, the knife-edge pacing, the claustrophobic sense of not knowing who to trust — are where the book’s evolution truly shines. Riddle experiments with structure and tension more boldly than in his prior works, often favouring immediacy over slow world-building. Yet he never abandons the intellectual spark that long-time readers (myself included) look for. Instead, he melds his signature SF frameworks with temporal puzzles, psychological complexity, and the kind of breathless momentum that keeps you turning pages long past midnight.
For me, Labyrinth falls just shy of a perfect 5-star rating, but only because there are a handful of moments where its sheer ambition threatens to spill over its narrative edges. These are minor quibbles — barely scratches, really — but enough to stop me from committing to the absolute top score.
Still, this is Riddle at his most daring, his most polished, and arguably his most emotionally resonant. It feels like the work of an author who pushed himself into discomfort and emerged sharper for it.
A labyrinth worth getting lost in — and one I’ll be thinking about for a long while after closing the final page.