Alas, poor Hiero!
Never, never trust anyone meddling with a character, setting, or series other than the original author: it’s a guarantee for a huge disappointment. No matter how tickling the concept appears, how tempting a whole new novel of your favorite character looks, how convincing the advertising sounds: it will be a letdown.
It’s a given, a certainty, a truth you can depend on.
And such is the case with «Hiero’s Answer» by Lucy Andrews Cummin, published in November 2025, a textbook example of how poorly an epigone fares compared to the original creator: best of cases, it’s fan fiction. And at its worst, it’s «Hiero’s Answer»: actually, being the granddaughter of the original author doesn’t qualify for writing a solid, convincing story in the spirit of one of your favorite characters, and a lush setting of its own.
And yet, I still had to read it, because I look upon «Hiero’s Journey», the original novel by Sterling Lanier, as one of my favorite, dearest, top-ten books.
And now that I have, I regret all the time I spent over this mess.
Rudiments of a setting
Published in 1973 and 1983, «Hiero’s Journey» and its sequel, «The Return of Hiero» (links to the Italian reviews I wrote years ago), are set some five thousand years in the future, on an Earth – our Earth – that has only just started recovering from a nuclear holocaust that, it’s inferred, took place in our time, somewhen around the turn of the century: this is what the remnants of technology and lost civilization encountered by our hero suggest.
This is a very peculiar take on a post-apocalyptic Earth, as it’s not your run-of-the-mill radioactive waste, low on water and packed with roaming survivors, cannibal mutants and punkish looters, in the manner of Mad Max or Fallout. On the contrary, it’s a lush and very lively world where life took on a different path due to radiations and developed telepathy, mutant beastmen hybrids (some of whom even engineered by mankind), giant and dangerous specimens of formerly small and harmless animal species, and even alien lifeforms like self-aware psionic mushrooms with a harem of dancing flames, shambling psionic mounds made of rotten vegetation, intelligent psionic snails of gargantuan size who feel lonely because they have nobody to talk to. Yes, it’s as wild as it sounds, definitely unlike any other setting you may have found in escapist fiction.
Human settlements are scattered through endless forests of colossal trees inhabited by birdly driad-like women or vast prairies preyed upon by feral catmen, and vestigial pockets of civilization are scattered all over the land: one of these is a confederacy of vaguely Catholic abbeys the titular Hiero belongs to, a warrior monk from the farthest corners of northern Canada who’s a telepath himself and rides a giant telepathic moose – actually, a «morse» – in a struggle against the evil Unclean to protect all the living and restore as much civilization as possible, whereas the Unclean only aim at power, science and, ultimately, destruction.
This, at least, was the original setting, the groundwork the first two novels were built upon: but book two, «The Return of Hiero», ended with a cliffhanger, which suggested a sequel was expected or needed, but it never came out. The series was incomplete, and such remained for over forty years, until a spurious third novel – the one this review is about – by Lanier’s granddaughter was published in late 2025: and this book changed so many things in the narrative that the fictional world – that is, the setting – is now unrecognizable.
More precisely, it seems, looks and even smells the same; but at the same time it also feels different, a lackluster duplicate missing that spark the original glowed with: call it genius, call it creativity, call it whatever you want.
What it sums up to is, it doesn’t feel true to the original anymore.
A novel written just to appease modernity
Actually, the author claims that she based this novel on Lanier’s own notes, to give Hiero’s story a well-needed end: the first three chapters are more or less Lanier’s work, with the addition of a few lines taken from a notebook Andrews also used to expand her own story. But a handful of chapters and a number of notes don’t make a novel, or else they would have already been published as such; and it doesn’t matter how accurate these notes are either. On the contrary, what really matters is how you make use of them – your purpose – and how much you add of your own to them; that is, how much you elaborate on this material.
And this is where the problems with this novel arise: because Andrews candidly states in the Afterword that she added a lot of her own to these notes, as she wished to «catch up contemporary tastes» in order to please herself.
Hence, she turned the original solid setting into a theme park that looks similar but is not the same as before. A new setting, modernized, built to just resemble the original while at the same time aiming at appeasing the contemporary appetites: a constant reminder is her endless preaching about fourth-wave feminism and other woke subjects that feel out of place in an escapist novel set in a fantasy world, as they are so radicated in today’s crazed society that not only do they clash with any other time period, real of fictional, but they also feel anachronistic, a stretch to appease modern sensibilities, and a minority of very vocal individuals.
The world isn’t as much thriving anymore
Just for a start, the world does still feel alive but at the same time it is also less luscious and, even more so, way less wild and dangerous than it used to be: there’s no sense of impending threat, nor that lurking danger behind every corner, nor that slightly dark, opaque curtain that imperceptibly loomed everywhere in the wilderness, halfway between a thin mist and somewhat thicker shadows. It was more of a feeling, something the reader just felt and breathed rather than see or touch: but it was there, and made the world so dangerously attractive.
And yet all of this is gone in this latest novel: now the world looks flattish, mostly like your run-of-the-mill generic high fantasy setting, with endless expanses of unsettled lands that drift idly in the background like matte paintings as the protagonists pass by; but they don’t feel real nor alive, as they did in the previous novels instead. Moreover, you don’t feel any impending threat because there’s no real threat impending, insofar as the merry company of questing characters just strolls leisurely in the countryside, free from time constraints and actual dangers, both to themselves and to the world; that is, their allies. The world is just waiting for them to get ready and take the initiative: and so are the villains, the feared Unclean, whose threat is there, somewhere in the background, vaguely outlined but blurred.
So blurred that they blend with the background and disappear until it’s time to deal with them.
It wasn’t our fault, after all
Actually, by what is finally stated in this book (and there’s no way to tell if this was in Lanier’s notes or is Andrews’ inference, as I suspect), the Unclean are the first real letdown the long-standing reader has to come to terms with: not the biggest, but one of the major ones for sure.
In «Hiero’s Journey» we were told (by Aldo the Elevener) that the Unclean were the descendants of «a certain few survivors of other ancient sciences, principally psychology, biochemistry and physics» who banded together to regain the ancient human domination of the world: this implied willingness, consciousness, and kind of a deliberate twisting of their humanity. Now instead they’re shown as victims as well, because they became what they are now – intrinsically evil beings, no longer human, in constant competition with each other – only due to their ambitious or combative nature; a frame of mind, if you will. They were, and partly still are, the thralls of a huge ball that rained from the sky and caused the Death, as its spores attracted the suitable type of man (men only) and kind of turned them into what they are now.
And this giant ball from space is the second disappointment, even bigger that the previous, because it exempts humanity from any responsibility for the end of civilization like we were led to believe so far: from the same Aldo’s speech in the first book, we were told that that nuclear war was started by human folly, as nations competed for resources due to the constantly increasing overpopulation, until it all escalated into an all-out global war of mass destruction. This explanation betrayed the usual diffidence towards the greedy human nature, and even more so politics and elites: but at least it upheld that the cataclysm was our doing.
Well, now we discover that the Death was triggered by human folly indeed but it was exactly like that: a mental disease, and it wasn’t entirely our fault. Just as with the Unclean, it was caused by this sphere: because it’s a spore – actually, a «Motherspore» – from another galaxy that fell on Earth and, reaching maturity, released further spores in the air, which in turn caused the Death. It was these spores that attracted the ones who would then become the Unclean; that turned people crazy, hence pushing nations to start the nuclear war for no reason; that made slight changes in our environment which triggered mutations like telepathy, developed gigantism and introduced alien life forms.
And we waited over forty years for this?
And now, as for modernizing the setting…
No, actually we waited this long for getting also buckets of soap opera drama; more preaching about the inadequacy of Catholic/Christian morals in the brave new pantheistic world that has developed; and a twist in Hiero’s disposition nobody expected.
That is, we waited this long just to see our beloved hero and setting ripped from the inside.
Like a soap opera
Even after the Death, North America is still huge: settlements are so few and scattered that often they don’t have contacts with each other, and in many cases they don’t even know of each other. And yet now, out of the blue, suddenly everyone is related to anyone else, and new forms of relationship keep popping up now and then.
First of all, Aldo the elderly Elevener confesses in front of everyone that he’s Luchare’s long-lost great-uncle, which makes him Hiero’s uncle as well; that is, family. Was it needed? Absolutely not, because it doesn’t add nor detract a iota from his commitment to their cause.
On top of that, we’re also told that in their youth Aldo and abbot Demero, Hiero’s boss at the Metz Abbey, adventured together with a third companion, a female Elevener named Areth: and, surprise, you already guessed where this is leading us to.
Probably, but if you did you still guessed only half the story: because Demero and this woman had a daughter indeed, Zhironne, who in turn later married a man who became an Elevener. His name was Cart Sagenay: does this ring a bell?
So here we are: Per Cart Sagenay, the skilled priest who appeared in «The Return of Hiero» and now accompanies Hiero in his new journey, is actually Zhironne’s and Cart Sagenay the Elevener’s daughter, Cathrin or Cate; that is, Demero’s nephew. As it befits a female character written by a female writer for, as it seems, female readers, Cathrin isn’t what she appears but disguised herself as a man – and took her father’s name – for a dozen years at the Abbey in order to become one of the best scouts the Abbeys ever trained, even though it’s now stated that the Abbeys have an equality and inclusion policy that seems to come straight from the 2020s, so there would have been no need for the disguise in the first place. Meanwhile, she also guarded her secret (it’s always about secrets with female writers) with a little help from grandpa Demero and her unequaled telepathic skills: nonetheless, she never fooled anybody; at least, not a single female, as they all state they were aware of her secret when it’s finally revealed.
Now openly a woman, Cate rouses the interest of the gruff Maluin – another priest we were first introduced to in the previous novel – who was so burning inside with love for Cart/Cate that finally he states he would have declared his love for her even though she had still been him. That’s it: because «in Metz culture to be attracted to those of your own gender or both or none was no crime». Welcome to the league of woke Abbeys.
But there’s still some touch to add to the drama: in their travels, Aldo and Demero also developed kind of a friendly relationship with Gorm the bear’s forefather. And, before late, Hiero also meets his one-year-old daughter, the fruit of that dreamlike night with the driad Vilah-ree queen, just before confronting the House: this child, named See-la, is extremely intelligent and even Luchare, unresenting her husband’s merry night, has become both friends with the bird woman and kind of a second mother for the little girl.
So very modern and heartening, isn’t it?
Hiero and his pantheistic crisis of faith
All this adjusting and retouching doesn’t affect the setting only but it also concerns our Hiero, heavily: now he’s a phantom of his former self, constantly requiring validation as to overcome his own insecurities. Actually, while reading, I had a feeling that he was there because readers expect him to be there and be the protagonist once again but the author wasn’t of a similar mind and rather wished to downsize both his role and presence, as the frequent jumps to other lackluster side characters standpoints suggest: hence he’s still the nominal leader but other characters – namely Aldo and the scout priest formerly known as Sagenay – often take the lead, decide in his stead, convince him (effortlessly) to go back on his choices, to the extent that Hiero looks like just a parcel that others push here or pull there.
As a result, he isn’t the likable character he used to be anymore: now he’s pretty «liquid» in the Bauman sense, as he never really decides, always tergiversates (being a married man who meets his wife after a long time again doesn’t help) and rather keeps fluctuating between ideas, goals, resolutions and even more so beliefs.
The whole novel is traversed by his crisis of faith, pulses with it: from the outset he’s already doubting his monk’s vows and the Abbeys creed (which means their somewhat Christian-inspired religion) and leans towards Elevenism instead, as he feels «troubled by the narrow-mindedness of my religion» and despises the idea that «humans had some special dispensation, some unique favor granted them from heaven above». On the contrary, now he shares Aldo’s opinion that «the whole planet and every living thing on it has become more interconnected», which reeks of pantheism and ecologism (a religion in itself), that are two faces of the same coin: New Age. And this book drips with both.
Once more, I have no way to tell if Lanier was actually toying with Hiero’s about-turn (and the other unexpected changes in the setting) or if this is just another attempt by Andrews at disseminating modern ideas into the setting just to please herself, but undoubtedly it feels clumsy, and out of character: there was no warning, no reason for Hiero to question his faith, as it was already quite tolerant, liberal, permissive and far from being oppressive or suprematist towards any living thing.
Hiero won’t be the same anymore
As you might have already guessed, I regret having read this book: it’s way too long, way too slow, and a chore to read, as it delights in dragging out the story with pointless scenes and useless dialogues, and never comes to the point. And yet it’s the story what really matters, not the characters and their personal drama: characters are just a tool to tell the story – the more likable the better – but they aren’t (can’t be) the focus of a novel, because they shift the narrative and get the upper hand, killing any interest in the story itself, as it happens with «Hiero’s Answer».
The novel drips with issues that made it unpleasant to me and, I think, to any committed reader of Hiero’s saga: I only mentioned some of the modern themes scattered through it that feel both anachronistic and out of place but there would have been more to address, which I left out for the sake of brevity.
Anyhow, I also am grateful to Lucy Andrews Cummin for taking on writing this final book in the series despite all of its issues: it was much needed. Now we can choose whether we want to stick with this novel as canon or keep on grabbing hold of our own alternative endings, just as I’m told many «A Song of Ice and Fire» fans did a long time ago with the Game of Thrones show: in lack of an «official» book ending by the man himself, the one broadcast by the TV series makes do.
As for me, reading this novel somewhat spoiled the good memories linked to Hiero, both as a character and a book series: it’s a pity but it’s also a risk I knew I was taking when I first started reading «Hiero’s Answer». Now it’s up to you decide what you want to do: I’ve done my best to review it outspokenly and to help the prospective readers choose for themselves.