This Sci-Fi Epic Promised Wonder — But Delivered Exhaustion

I’ve got to be honest — Pandora’s Star was a slog. This book was far too long, with way too many subplots that felt unnecessary and half-baked. It honestly felt like Peter F. Hamilton had one big idea for a first contact story, but wanted to write a sprawling space opera, so he padded it with filler just to make it feel “epic,” rather than actually delivering something focused or compelling.

I picked this book up on a whim. I saw it at the bookstore, recognized the title, and thought, why not? I was in the mood for a fun sci-fi read. Unfortunately, this didn’t deliver. Yes, some moments were genuinely well done — but they were few and far between. In some ways, I almost wish there hadn’t been any good parts, because then I could’ve put it down guilt-free. Instead, I kept convincing myself it might get better... and kept pushing on, long after I should’ve stopped.

By the time I realized it wasn’t going to get better, I was too far in to quit. But I’ve learned my lesson — I need to get better at DNF’ing books that aren’t for me.

And the prose — I don’t even know where to start. It’s painfully bland. The writing is dry, mechanical, and completely devoid of rhythm or personality. Hamilton’s prose feels like reading a spreadsheet with the occasional action verb tossed in. There’s no elegance, no style, and worst of all, the dialogue is painfully stiff and robotic. It’s flat, forced, and completely unnatural — like listening to two chatbots awkwardly read from a script. For a book that aims to feel massive and immersive, the writing utterly fails to breathe life into the world.

I believe this book will appeal to a specific type of reader. If you enjoy expansive space operas filled with politics, large ensembles, and intertwined plotlines, this may (or may not) be the book for you.

Early on, I felt optimistic. It gave me vibes reminiscent of The Expanse — and while space operas aren’t typically my favourite subgenre, I truly appreciated The Expanse. What sets it apart? In The Expanse, each character feels unique and relatable. They’re personable, flawed, and unforgettable, even if the emphasis is more on action and plot. That made the reading experience enjoyable for me, despite it not being my usual preference in sci-fi. Hamilton, on the other hand, presents us with flat characters who deliver stiff lines and exist solely to embody simplistic, binary political views. No subtlety, no depth — just mouthpieces for ideas and exposition.

I tend to prefer more philosophical, open-ended sci-fi — books that leave me thinking long after the last page. I love Roadside Picnic, Philip K. Dick, Arthur C. Clarke, and Hyperion by Dan Simmons. Actually, Pandora’s Star reminded me a bit of Ilium by Dan Simmons — another huge, multi-threaded sci-fi novel. The difference? Ilium is bold, weird, literary, and thought-provoking. Every plotline feels like it’s pushing boundaries and playing with big ideas. Pandora’s Star felt like it was trying to do the same but got lost in its own bloat. It’s ambition without direction.

There was one bright spot: the aliens. Chapter 18, in particular, was excellent — the motiles and immotiles were imaginative and fascinating. If the book had focused on that storyline, stripped away the fluff, and told a tight first-contact story from both alien and human perspectives, this could’ve been something special. But instead, it buried the good stuff under mountains of filler and deadweight.

A great book shouldn’t hinge on one standout chapter. The fact that I know specifically Chapter 18 was a highlight is a flaw. While having memorable moments is important, the best stories are cohesive — every chapter building naturally on the last, all contributing to a larger, well-crafted narrative. When a single chapter shines far brighter than the rest, it exposes the weakness of the surrounding material. Instead of feeling like part of a masterpiece, it feels like stumbling across a gem in a pile of clutter. Truly great novels don’t rely on isolated highlights; they maintain consistent quality, purpose, and engagement from start to finish.

I won’t be reading Judas Unchained. Even if it supposedly improves the story, I refuse to wade through more stiff prose, flat characters, and mind-numbing exposition dumps.

I’m sure there’s an audience for this — readers who love enormous, plot-heavy space operas and don’t mind clunky writing or shallow characters. But if you’re looking for tight storytelling, natural dialogue, thoughtful ideas, and prose with any kind of spark or soul — avoid this one.