At its simplest, Hyperion is a collection of captivating short-stories, and at its most complex a portal to a whole new universe I am itching to explore.

I’ll be honest, I had high expectations from this book, having seen it in countless “must-read” sci-fi lists. Even so, it exceeded them by a large margin. Each pilgrim tells their own story, and each of them is immensely captivating. Every scene, every emotion is vivid, theatrical, raw. Reading it is like watching a bizarre season of Black Mirror.

I can only hope that the sequels are as bewitching as this one was.

She had always felt that the essence of human experience lay not primarily in the peak experiences, the wedding days and triumphs which stood out in the memory like dates circled in red on old calendars, but, rather, in the unself-conscious flow of little things—the weekend afternoon with each member of the family engaged in his or her own pursuit, their crossings and connections casual, dialogues imminently forgettable, but the sum of such hours creating a synergy which was important and eternal.