With The Incandescent, Emily Tesh has delivered a sharp, cerebral, and utterly mesmerizing novel that reshapes what we expect from both dark academia and fantasy fiction. Set within the arcane halls of Chetwood Academy, this 2025 release fuses atmospheric dread with emotional insight, producing a story as intelligent as it is unsettling. At its heart is Dr. Saffron Walden—a protagonist unlike any other in the genre—who navigates magical instruction, institutional failure, and the slow disintegration of her own identity with a mix of dry wit and battered dignity.
This review explores the novel’s core themes, Tesh’s literary style, and the story’s resonance within today’s evolving fantasy landscape. It also critiques the novel’s few missteps while celebrating its triumphs—making this a must-read for fans of complex characters, grounded magic systems, and queer representation that refuses to follow formulas.
Meet Dr. Walden: Guardian, Educator, Time Bomb
Dr. Saffron Walden, known simply as “Walden” throughout the book, is the kind of character we rarely see centered in fantasy literature. She’s not young. She’s not glamorous. And she’s not chosen. Instead, she’s seasoned, disillusioned, and dangerously close to burnout. As the Director of Magic at Chetwood Academy, she is both revered and quietly resented—a guardian of tradition and a firewall between the school and the demonic entities that threaten its sanctity.
Walden is a brilliant study in contradictions: principled yet secretive, deeply empathetic but socially isolated. She embodies the emotional core of The Incandescent, and Tesh crafts her inner world with a rare level of maturity and restraint. Her interactions with students and colleagues, especially her tenuous partnership with the school’s enforcer Laura Kenning, are threaded with unresolved history and unspoken emotion. What makes Walden particularly compelling is her awareness of her own fallibility—she knows she’s a risk, and that knowledge is as frightening as the demons she keeps at bay.
Chetwood Academy: An Institution Under Siege
The setting is not just atmospheric—it’s alive. Chetwood, with its ancient corridors, creaking pipes, and incantation-woven boundaries, feels like a cross between a crumbling Oxbridge college and a haunted labyrinth. Its infrastructure is steeped in magical theory and bureaucratic inertia. It houses over 600 students, many of whom are oblivious to the full extent of the dangers lurking beneath the school.
At the root of the threat is Old Faithful—a demonic entity that has, for centuries, coexisted with Chetwood in a precarious truce maintained through magical containment and institutional ignorance. When a class of sixth formers, led by the tempestuous and gifted Nicola Conway, accidentally breach the boundary, all of Chetwood’s neatly ordered systems begin to collapse. And so does Walden’s carefully cultivated self-control.
Themes: Education, Containment, and the Ethics of Power
One of the novel’s most arresting achievements is how it frames education not as a neutral process, but as a battleground of competing ethics. Tesh interrogates the role of teachers not just as knowledge-givers, but as protectors, gatekeepers, and sometimes—willing or not—sacrificial lambs. The magic in The Incandescent is not romanticized. It is bureaucratic, exhausting, often thankless, and always dangerous.
This theme crystallizes in Walden’s relationships with her students. She sees their brilliance, their volatility, and their pain. But she also sees the system failing them—sometimes through neglect, sometimes through overreach. The pressure to “contain” their power echoes real-world anxieties about education systems that prize order over individuality and legacy over lives.
Strengths That Make This Book Shine
Mature, layered characterization: Walden is a rare literary creation—a queer, middle-aged heroine carrying both trauma and expertise. Her emotional depth is matched by her professional competence, and her moments of failure never undercut her authority.
A realistic magic system rooted in logic: Invocation magic in this world is practical and rule-bound, requiring years of study, contract negotiation, and fine control. It avoids the hand-wavey convenience of many fantasy spells and reinforces the novel’s intellectual tone.
Queerness as texture, not trope: There is no performative queer angst here. Walden’s identity is part of her history, not the focal point of her narrative. Her brief romantic history with Roz, her complicated tension with Laura Kenning—these relationships add color and weight without defining her entire arc.
Dialogue that crackles with wit and restraint: Tesh’s prose is elegant but never flowery. Conversations—especially between Walden and Kenning—are laced with subtext, fatigue, and professional antagonism. It’s compelling without being melodramatic.
Tonal balance between horror and humor: Possessed photocopiers, magical migraines, and school-wide crisis meetings exist alongside moments of chilling intensity and grief. The book somehow makes a scene of negotiating with a demon feel both terrifying and bureaucratically plausible.
Weaknesses Worth Mentioning
No book is without its flaws, and The Incandescent occasionally suffers from:
Narrative Overload in Midsections: The second act bogs down slightly under the weight of administrative concerns and inter-departmental arguments. While these moments are tonally consistent, they can sap momentum during a crucial buildup.
Underdeveloped Peripheral Students: While Nikki, Mathias, and Will are memorable and well-written, several other students fade into the background. Given the narrative’s investment in group dynamics, a fuller picture of the cohort could have enhanced the stakes.
Ambiguity as a Double-Edged Sword: The ending is emotionally impactful but leaves several threads intentionally unresolved. For some readers, this will feel satisfying and realistic. For others, it may read as evasive or incomplete.
What Sets This Apart from Its Peers
If Naomi Novik’s Scholomance trilogy explores the cost of magic in a world of relentless danger, and Plain Bad Heroines delves into queer horror through postmodern metafiction, The Incandescent finds its own space: a book that treats magic as labor, queerness as lived reality, and education as sacred duty. Tesh’s talent lies in making the stakes feel personal, not just magical. The question isn’t “Will the school be saved?”—it’s “What will saving it cost the person trying?”
Readers who loved:
Gideon the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir (for its dense magic and queer voice)
The Secret History by Donna Tartt (for its exploration of academic isolation)
A Deadly Education by Naomi Novik (for the education-magic-death triangle)
…will likely find The Incandescent a worthy and perhaps more grounded successor.
Final Verdict
Emily Tesh has written a novel of rare intelligence and restraint—one that understands how magic works, how institutions fracture, and how people carry the weight of both. The Incandescent is not interested in grand heroics or explosive battles. It’s a book about the quiet heroism of showing up, day after day, even when you’re afraid you’ve become the monster.
The Incandescent is not just a dark academia fantasy—it’s a story of survival, mentorship, and integrity in a world built on forgotten bargains and broken promises.