James Islington’s The Strength of the Few doesn’t merely continue the story that began with The Will of the Many—it shatters it across three parallel realities and reassembles the pieces into something far more ambitious and audacious. This second installment in the Hierarchy series takes everything compelling about its predecessor and multiplies it exponentially, forcing readers to grapple with questions of identity, power, and sacrifice on a scale that few fantasy novels dare to attempt.
The Strength of the Few picks up immediately after the cliffhanger ending of Book One, where Vis Telimus—having survived the brutal Iudicium competition at the Catenan Academy—activated an ancient device called the Gate. The consequence? He’s been replicated across three parallel worlds: Res (his original reality), Obiteum, and Luceum. Three versions of Vis, three separate bodies, three distinct lives unfolding simultaneously. Each must navigate vastly different challenges while sharing a consciousness that spans dimensions.
Three Worlds, Three Struggles
Islington’s genius lies in how distinctly he renders each world while maintaining the core essence of his protagonist. In Obiteum, Vis finds himself in Duat, a massive enclosed city ruled by an ancient being called Ka who commands armies of iunctii—the reanimated dead. Here, the narrative takes on elements of survival horror mixed with espionage thriller, as Vis must hide among the living while learning to control the very beings that terrorize the population. The oppressive atmosphere of this fallen world, with its poison rivers and pyramid of light that marks the passage of time, creates a sense of claustrophobic dread that permeates every scene.
Luceum presents an entirely different challenge. This world resembles ancient Celtic culture, complete with druids, warriors, and a mystical connection to nature that stands in stark contrast to both Caten’s imperial might and Obiteum’s necromantic nightmare. Here, Vis becomes Deaglán, navigating political intrigue among chieftains and discovering that even in a world without the Hierarchy’s rigid structure, power still corrupts and demands sacrifice.
Meanwhile, in Res—the original timeline—Vis continues his dangerous game within the Catenan Republic, where political machinations threaten to tear the empire apart from within. The revelation that senators conspired in the naumachia attack that killed his friends forces Vis into impossible moral choices about revenge, justice, and the greater good.
The Weight of Consciousness Divided
What makes this narrative structure particularly powerful is how Islington explores the psychological toll of being three people at once. Vis doesn’t simply control three separate bodies like a video game player switching between characters. Each version experiences genuine emotions, forms authentic relationships, and makes choices that feel both necessary and devastating. When one version suffers, the others feel echoes of that pain. When one learns something crucial, the knowledge ripples across dimensions—but application remains frustratingly context-dependent.
The author excels at showing how memory and experience shape identity. The Vis in Duat, learning to command iunctii and grappling with the moral horror of using reanimated corpses, begins to see the world differently than his counterpart in Caten navigating senate politics. Yet they remain fundamentally the same person, creating a fascinating tension between unity and divergence that Islington mines for both philosophical depth and narrative suspense.
The Magic of Moral Complexity
The Will-based magic system introduced in The Will of the Many expands here in revelatory ways. We learn that the Rending—the ancient event that split the world into three—also fractured Will itself, distributing different capabilities across the parallel realities. This isn’t mere worldbuilding decoration; it’s integral to understanding both the plot and the thematic concerns about power’s nature and cost.
In Res, Will allows people to cede their energy to those above them in the Hierarchy, creating pyramids of power. In Obiteum, it animates the dead. And in Luceum, it seems to work through more mystical, nature-aligned channels. Only someone existing in all three worlds simultaneously—someone Synchronous—can access Will’s full, pre-Rending potential. This makes Vis simultaneously the most powerful person in existence and the most vulnerable, as the ancient enemy Ka will stop at nothing to eliminate this threat to his millennia-long dominion.
The moral implications are staggering. Vis must use iunctii—essentially enslaved corpses—to infiltrate Duat and stop Ka. The narrative doesn’t shy away from the horror of this choice. Through Vis’s internal struggle, Islington forces readers to confront uncomfortable questions about ends justifying means, about what we’re willing to sacrifice to save the many, and whether becoming monstrous to fight monsters leaves us any better than those we oppose.
Character Development Through Multiplication
Supporting characters shine with renewed complexity in this volume. The revelation that Vis’s father survived the invasion of Suus—albeit as an iunctus himself—provides some of the most emotionally resonant moments of The Strength of the Few. Their reunion in Luceum, where a dead king counsels his surviving son about the nature of power and sacrifice, carries genuine emotional weight despite the fantastical premise.
Caeror, Ulciscor’s brother previously thought dead, emerges as a crucial mentor figure in Obiteum. His guidance of Vis through the basics of surviving in this hostile world parallels Lanistia’s training back in Res, creating interesting symmetries across dimensions. The relationship between versions of the same people existing in different contexts adds layers of dramatic irony that Islington exploits masterfully.
Ostius remains delightfully enigmatic—a character who can traverse worlds and whose motivations remain tantalizingly unclear. His manipulation of events across realities suggests a larger game at play, one that Vis is only beginning to understand. The dynamic between Ostius and Vis crackles with tension born of necessity forcing alliance despite fundamental distrust.
Pacing and Structure: Ambitious but Occasionally Unwieldy
Here we encounter the most significant challenge in The Strength of the Few. Juggling three parallel narratives, each with its own cast, conflicts, and contexts, requires extraordinary skill. Islington largely succeeds, but the sheer complexity occasionally works against momentum. Certain sections, particularly in the middle third, feel like they’re treading water while waiting for plot threads to converge. The dense worldbuilding—necessary for understanding three distinct cultures—can slow scenes that would otherwise pulse with urgency.
The political intrigue in Res, while intellectually engaging, sometimes feels less immediately compelling than the life-or-death stakes in Obiteum or the culture-clash drama in Luceum. Readers invested primarily in one storyline may find themselves impatient during chapters focused on another. This is less a failure of execution than an inevitable consequence of such ambitious structural choices.
Additionally, the mechanics of how information transfers between Vis’s three selves occasionally feel inconsistent. Sometimes knowledge flows seamlessly; other times it seems blocked by narrative convenience rather than logical rules. Establishing clearer boundaries for what can and cannot be shared across dimensions would strengthen the internal logic.
Thematic Resonance: Power, Identity, and Sacrifice
Beneath the spectacular action sequences and intricate plot mechanics, The Strength of the Few grapples with profound questions about the nature of self. If three versions of you exist simultaneously, which is the “real” you? If they make different choices based on different circumstances, at what point do they become different people? Islington doesn’t provide easy answers, instead letting the complexity of these questions enrich the narrative.
The title itself carries multiple meanings. On one level, it refers to the hierarchical structure where a few at the top draw power from the many below. On another, it speaks to how individual choices—Vis’s choices—might determine the fate of millions. Yet there’s also a darker reading: that strength concentrated in the few inevitably corrupts, that even heroism can become tyranny when one person holds too much power.
The novel’s treatment of death and resurrection through the iunctii provides fertile ground for philosophical exploration. What does it mean to exist but not live? To have consciousness restored but no true agency? The iunctii serve as both horror and tragedy, victims of a system that views bodies as mere resources to be exploited. Vis’s revulsion at using them wars with his recognition that refusing to do so might doom entire worlds.
Prose and Style: Clarity in Complexity
In The Strength of the Few, Islington’s prose remains admirably clear given the density of information it must convey. His first-person narration through Vis maintains a consistent voice even as circumstances change dramatically. The writing balances exposition with action, though the sheer volume of worldbuilding occasionally requires info-dump passages that halt forward momentum.
Action sequences pulse with kinetic energy. Whether Vis fights to survive in Duat’s claustrophobic tunnels, navigates political maneuvering in Caten’s senate chambers, or trains with warriors in Luceum, the writing creates vivid, visceral scenes. Islington has a particular gift for conveying the chaos of combat while maintaining spatial clarity—no small feat when supernatural abilities complicate what’s already complex choreography.
Dialogue feels natural and distinct to each culture. The formal, politically coded speech of Catenan senators contrasts sharply with the more direct communication in Luceum and the oppressive silence of Obiteum’s controlled population. This linguistic diversity helps ground each parallel narrative in its specific context.
Connections to Broader Fantasy Traditions
Readers familiar with Islington’s Licanius Trilogy will recognize similar themes of time, causality, and the weight of knowledge shaping destiny. However, the Hierarchy series feels more overtly political, more concerned with systems of power and their human cost. The influence of Roman history remains strong in the Catenan sections, but Islington avoids simple historical transplantation, using familiar elements as springboards for genuinely alien social structures.
The parallel world premise invites comparison to works like Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials or even Michael Moorcock’s Eternal Champion stories, but Islington’s approach feels more grounded, more concerned with practical implications than metaphysical abstraction. The worlds diverge based on logical extrapolation from a single catalytic event rather than representing archetypal variations.
Critical Perspectives: Ambition and Accessibility
The greatest strength of The Strength of the Few—its scope and complexity—also presents its primary accessibility challenge. Readers who haven’t read The Will of the Many will find themselves completely lost. Even those who have may need to refresh their memories on the intricate web of political relationships, magical mechanics, and historical background established in Book One.
Furthermore, the three-world structure means any given reader might connect strongly with one or two storylines while finding the third less engaging. This isn’t necessarily a flaw, but it does mean different readers will have significantly different experiences with the same text. Some will find the political maneuvering in Res compelling; others will prefer the survival horror of Obiteum or the cultural exploration in Luceum.
The Strength of the Few also requires sustained attention. This isn’t light reading or a quick page-turner despite its moments of propulsive action. Islington demands that readers engage deeply, remember details, and make connections across hundreds of pages and multiple narrative threads. For those willing to invest that attention, the rewards are substantial. For those seeking more straightforward entertainment, the experience might prove frustrating.
Looking Forward: Setting the Stage
As the middle volume of what appears to be a trilogy, The Strength of the Few succeeds at its primary task: expanding the canvas while deepening the stakes. By end of The Strength of the Few, Vis has grown significantly in power and understanding, but the path to stopping Ka and preventing the next Cataclysm remains unclear. The political situation in Res grows increasingly volatile, suggesting that even if Vis succeeds in Obiteum, his original world might tear itself apart before he can return to save it.
The revelations about the true nature of the Cataclysms, the Concurrence, and the ancient war that split reality promise even greater scope in the trilogy’s conclusion. Islington has laid groundwork for a climax that will likely span all three worlds simultaneously, forcing impossible choices about which version of himself—which world—Vis must sacrifice to save the others.
Similar Reads for Further Exploration
Readers who appreciate Islington’s blend of intricate worldbuilding and philosophical depth in The Strength of the Few might enjoy:
Pierce Brown’s Red Rising series – Similar examination of hierarchical power structures and rebellion from within
Brandon Sanderson’s Stormlight Archive – Complex magic systems and epic scope with political intrigue
Mark Lawrence’s Book of the Ancestor trilogy – Dark academia setting with morally complex protagonist
R.F. Kuang’s The Poppy War – Military academy leading to larger conflicts with philosophical undertones
Robert Jackson Bennett’s Divine Cities trilogy – Reality-warping magic and colonial power dynamics
Seth Dickinson’s The Masquerade series – Political intrigue and moral complexity in empire-building
For those specifically drawn to the parallel worlds concept, consider Blake Crouch’s Dark Matter or Stephen King’s The Dark Tower series, though these approach the premise from different generic traditions.
Final Verdict
The Strength of the Few represents fantasy fiction at its most ambitious. James Islington has crafted a sequel that refuses to play it safe, instead expanding his canvas to dimensions—both literal and figurative—that risk overwhelming both author and audience. That he largely succeeds speaks to his considerable skill as a worldbuilder and storyteller.
The Strength of the Few stumbles occasionally under the weight of its own complexity, and pacing issues in the middle sections prevent it from achieving the consistent momentum of its more focused predecessor. Some readers will find the three-world structure exhilarating; others may find it exhausting. The moral complexity that gives the story its thematic weight might feel oppressively dark to those seeking more traditional heroic fantasy.
Yet for readers willing to engage deeply with Islington’s vision—to track multiple narratives, sit with uncomfortable moral questions, and trust that sprawling threads will eventually weave together—The Strength of the Few offers rewards few others in the genre can match. It’s intelligent without being pretentious, action-packed without sacrificing depth, and philosophical without becoming preachy.
The Strength of the Few confirms that the Hierarchy series represents one of contemporary fantasy’s most intriguing works. It’s not perfect, but its flaws stem from ambition rather than carelessness. In an genre often content with familiar formulas, Islington continues pushing boundaries, asking hard questions, and trusting readers to rise to the challenge. That alone makes this essential reading for anyone seeking fantasy that respects their intelligence while delivering genuine excitement.
The wait for the trilogy’s conclusion promises to be agonizing. But if Islington can stick the landing, the Hierarchy series may well be remembered as one of the defining works of 2020s fantasy fiction.