Book Review | Star Wars: Labyrinth of Evil by James Luceno

The first thing to strike me about this book was its pace; its energy. I didn’t actually feel like I was reading a novel at all. Labyrinth of Evil possesses a quality that’s inimitably Star Wars, author James Luceno somehow capturing the precise feel of the movies through his widescreen prose. Much of this feat can be attributed to his Lucasian plotting – just like a Star Wars movie, Luceno’s adventure is structured around a number of elating set pieces, with many of the story’s most introspective moments coming during the heat of a stellar dogfight or a frantic lightsaber duel.

The author’s storyline is perfectly in keeping with those of the Star Wars prequels as it focuses as much on mystery and manoeuvring as it does gung-ho adventuring. However, rather than constantly segueing between multifaceted political plotting and almost comically childlike capers as The Phantom Menace did to its peril, Labyrinth of Evil adopts and maintains a more adult tone. Even the book’s focal trailing of Sidious, which owes much to Obi-Wan’s detective work in Attack of the Clones, is much more gripping here as Luceno keeps Obi-Wan and Anakin together in their pursuit of the Sith Lord. When this book was first published, The Clone Wars animated series was still a few years away, and the Clone Wars microseries was far too vapid to be able to properly depict the shift from master and student to brothers in arms. But this was what I wanted from the first couple of prequels – Obi-Wan Kenobi and Luke Skywalker’s dad; wise-cracking heroes with no fear putting the galaxy the rights, blind to the horrors to come.

Despite the novel’s cinematic feel, Luceno still makes full use of the printed word to offer us insight into the protagonists’ thoughts and feelings. Anakin is particularly well-rounded, the author exploring the mounting anger that he feels towards the Jedi Council; his respect and admiration for Palpatine; his irrepressible love and concern for Padmé; and particularly the pain that he feels in having to keep their marriage hidden from Obi-Wan. More peripheral characters are also embellished marvellously – Bail Organa is a real force to be reckoned with here, and it’s intriguing to read about how he, Padmé and the rest of the Loyalist Committee strive in vain to make Palpatine reassess his increasingly aggressive and intolerant policies. Labyrinth of Evil even lifts the veil on the musings of those such as Count Dooku, whose evident (and uncharacteristic) lack of foresight on screen sees him beheaded by the nascent Darth Vader. Here the audience is privy to exactly how much Dooku knows about Sidious’s alter ego, his plans for Anakin, and how Dooku (believes that he) fits into them. Suddenly the plot holes are filled, and the sucker from Sereno is a sucker no more.

Some have criticised the novel’s use of thinly-veiled allegory, as Palpatine uses a few fashionable euphemisms to validate his ongoing accumulation of power and radical liberty-quashing constitutional amendments. However, I’ve always looked at Palpatine as a transparent embodiment of just about every 20th century tyrant that you could name; his stealthily-orchestrated rise to power and fervent, frenzy-prompting oratory reek of Adolf Hitler especially. That's the character’s allure. Borrowing a few stock phrases from George Dubya only adds to his believability.

All told then, Labyrinth of Evil is an unadulterated triumph. Don’t be put off by the Clone Wars microseries’ subsequent subtle warping of these events, or Obi-Wan’s on screen claim that “That business on Cato Neimoidia doesn’t count” – Labyrinth of Evil most certainly does count, and it may just be the closest that we’ll ever get to a Star Wars movie in print.