In an era where fantasy literature often retreats into familiar territories, James Islington’s The Will of the Many emerges as a refreshing departure—a novel that marries the intrigue of dark academia with the philosophical weight of systemic oppression. As the opening salvo in the Hierarchy series (with The Strength of the Few awaiting eager readers), this book represents both a return to form for the author of the acclaimed Licanius Trilogy and a bold evolution in his storytelling craft.
The Architecture of Oppression
The Catenan Republic stands as one of the most ingeniously crafted power structures in recent fantasy literature. At its heart lies a deceptively simple yet profoundly disturbing concept: the Aurora Columnae, ancient devices that allow individuals to “cede” their Will—their life force, energy, and very essence—to those ranked above them. This creates a literal pyramid of power, where Octavii at the bottom sacrifice half their vitality to Septimii, who in turn feed Sextii, and so on up through the ranks.
What distinguishes Islington’s worldbuilding is not merely the mechanics of this system, but its insidious normalization. The Hierarchy doesn’t rule through overt brutality alone; it seduces through the promise of ascension. Every person crushed beneath the weight of those above them believes—or wants to believe—that one day they might climb higher. This examination of complicity in one’s own oppression feels uncomfortably relevant, transforming what could have been a straightforward tyranny into something far more complex and disturbing.
The Aurora Columnae themselves remain tantalizingly mysterious throughout. Relics from a pre-Cataclysm civilization that nearly destroyed itself three centuries ago, these devices hint at deeper mysteries about the nature of Will and the catastrophe that reshaped the world. Islington wisely resists the urge to over-explain, allowing these artifacts to maintain their sense of wonder and menace.
A Prince in Hiding
Vis Telimus—born Diago, prince of the conquered island nation of Suus—serves as our lens into this oppressive world. Three years after watching his family executed and his kingdom absorbed into the Catenan Republic, he has survived as an orphan through a combination of street smarts, stubborn resistance to ceding his Will, and a carefully maintained false identity. When Senator Ulciscor Telimus offers him adoption and enrollment in the prestigious Catenan Academy, Vis accepts not out of ambition, but necessity.
Islington excels at depicting Vis’s internal conflict. He is simultaneously a scared survivor trying to remain invisible, a vengeful prince harboring dangerous secrets, and a genuinely talented student discovering abilities he never knew he possessed. The character’s growth throughout feels earned rather than manufactured. His competence never veers into the realm of wish fulfillment; every victory is hard-won, every advancement threatens to expose him, and every relationship carries the potential for betrayal.
The supporting cast enriches Vis’s journey considerably. Emissa Corenius, the brilliant Class Three student who becomes both rival and ally, challenges Vis intellectually while offering glimpses of what genuine excellence within the system looks like. Callidus, the senator’s son who deliberately tanks his own prospects to avoid being caught in a looming civil war, provides fascinating commentary on privilege and sacrifice. Even antagonists like the vindictive Praeceptor Dultatis feel motivated by more than simple malice—they are products of a system that rewards certain behaviors and punishes deviation.
The Academy as Crucible
The Catenan Academy occupies a peculiar space in the Republic. Here, and only here, the use of Will is forbidden. Students compete on supposedly level ground, though of course “level” is relative when some arrive with years of elite tutoring while others have taught themselves to read. Islington uses this setting to explore meritocracy’s illusions, asking uncomfortable questions about what “merit” even means when the tests are designed by and for the privileged.
The academic challenges themselves prove genuinely engaging. Rather than tedious classroom scenes, Islington presents dynamic debates on philosophy, economics, and the ethics of the Will system itself. The Labyrinth—a constantly shifting maze used for physical training and competition—provides kinetic action sequences while simultaneously testing strategy and adaptability. The political maneuvering between students representing Military, Religion, and Governance factions adds layers of intrigue without overwhelming the personal story.
One of the book’s strongest sequences involves the naumachia, a gladiatorial naval battle that becomes the stage for a devastating attack by the Anguis rebellion. Here, Islington demonstrates his ability to choreograph large-scale action while maintaining focus on individual experience and consequence. The aftermath, with its questions about who really benefits from the rebellion’s actions, avoids simplistic heroics in favor of moral ambiguity.
The Weight of Secrets
Mystery pulses through the narrative’s veins. Ulciscor seeks answers about his brother Caeror’s suspicious death at the Academy years earlier. The enigmatic Principalis Veridius Julii searches for a pre-Cataclysm weapon hidden somewhere within the school grounds. The Anguis rebellion, supposedly led by the charismatic Melior, orchestrates attacks that may serve purposes beyond simple resistance. And Vis himself carries the greatest secret of all—his true identity.
Islington proves adept at layering these mysteries without losing narrative momentum. Each revelation spawns new questions, each answer comes with uncomfortable implications. The pacing suffers occasionally in the middle sections, where school routine can feel repetitive despite the author’s efforts to vary the academic challenges. However, the book consistently rewards patient readers, with seemingly minor details from early chapters gaining significance much later.
A World Three Centuries After Apocalypse
The shadow of the Cataclysm looms over everything. Islington resists the common fantasy temptation to fully explain his world’s great catastrophe, instead letting it remain a source of fear and mystery. What caused the event that killed ninety-five percent of humanity? Did those ancient civilizations destroy themselves through their mastery of Will? Could it happen again?
These questions add urgency to the political maneuvering and personal dramas. The ruins scattered throughout the known world serve as reminders that even the most powerful empires can fall. When characters discuss whether certain knowledge or weapons should be preserved or destroyed, the stakes feel genuinely high.
The Hierarchy itself stands as a post-apocalyptic response to chaos—a rigid structure imposed on the survivors to prevent another collapse. This doesn’t excuse the system’s cruelties, but it does add dimension to those who perpetuate it. They aren’t simply power-hungry tyrants; many genuinely believe the Hierarchy is humanity’s best chance at survival.
Where the Foundation Cracks
For all its considerable strengths, The Will of the Many is not without flaws that prevent it from achieving true excellence. The middle section, roughly corresponding to Vis’s time in Classes Six through Four, occasionally feels like it’s treading water. While Islington varies the challenges and introduces new characters, the fundamental structure—class, train, compete, advance—can become formulaic. Readers seeking constant forward momentum may find these sections test their patience.
The romance subplot, such as it exists, never quite catches fire. Islington clearly intends to develop relationships more fully in subsequent volumes, but the connections Vis forms with potential romantic interests like Aequa or Emissa feel underdeveloped here. Given how much time the narrative dedicates to other relationships and political intrigue, this feels less like a flaw and more like a deliberate choice to prioritize other elements.
Some readers may also find the numerous Latin-inspired names and terminology initially overwhelming. While pronunciation guides help, the sheer volume of character names, ranks, locations, and specialized vocabulary creates a learning curve steeper than strictly necessary. Islington trusts his audience’s intelligence and patience—usually an admirable trait—but occasionally this trust borders on demanding readers do homework.
Finally, while the book works perfectly well as the first installment of a series, those expecting significant resolution of major plot threads may feel frustrated. Many mysteries remain unsolved, relationships unresolved, and conflicts unfinished. This is less a complete story than a promising beginning—which may disappoint readers hoping for more self-contained satisfaction.
The Legacy of Licanius
Readers familiar with Islington’s Licanius Trilogy will recognize both continuities and departures in his craft. The intricate plotting, philosophical depth, and willingness to grapple with complex moral questions remain. However, The Will of the Many shows a more disciplined hand with exposition and a tighter focus on character perspective. Where the Licanius books occasionally got lost in their own complexity, this new series demonstrates lessons learned about balancing ambition with accessibility.
The influence of writers like Brandon Sanderson (particularly the Mistborn series) and Patrick Rothfuss shows clearly in Islington’s approach to magic systems and academic settings. Yet The Will of the Many carves its own territory by interrogating rather than celebrating its institutions. The Academy is not Hogwarts; it’s a training ground for maintaining oppression, however gilded its halls might be.
Similar Paths Through Different Worlds
Readers captivated by The Will of the Many will find kindred spirits in several other works. Red Rising by Pierce Brown shares the theme of an infiltrator from a conquered people rising through an elite academy, though with more violent spectacle. The Poppy War by R.F. Kuang offers similar explorations of academia as a site of both learning and trauma. Babel by R.F. Kuang examines academic complicity in imperial systems with comparable philosophical rigor. For those drawn to the intricate magic systems and political intrigue, The Traitor Baru Cormorant by Seth Dickinson and Foundryside by Robert Jackson Bennett provide equally complex worldbuilding with morally compromised protagonists.
The Verdict: A Foundation Built to Last
The Will of the Many succeeds as both an intelligent examination of systemic oppression and a compelling personal narrative. James Islington has crafted a world that feels simultaneously alien and uncomfortably familiar, where the most insidious tyranny is the one people have learned to accept. Vis’s journey from broken survivor to Academy student engaged in multiple layers of deception provides emotional grounding for broader philosophical questions about power, complicity, and resistance.
The book’s flaws—occasional pacing issues, overwhelming nomenclature, and limited romantic development—are real but rarely derail the overall experience. For readers willing to invest in a complex world with no easy answers, The Will of the Many offers considerable rewards. It’s a promising start to the Hierarchy series, laying groundwork for what could become one of the more thoughtful fantasy epics of recent years.
With The Strength of the Few on the horizon, Islington has positioned himself to explore how individual resistance confronts systemic power—and whether one person, no matter how talented or determined, can truly change a structure designed to perpetuate itself. That question alone makes the wait for the next installment worthwhile.