Is 'Some Desperate Glory' Being Adapted Into A TV Series?

In 'Some Desperate Glory', the main antagonist isn't just a single villain but a system—the oppressive regime that molds the protagonist and her fellow soldiers into weapons. The story's true conflict lies in the ideological war between indoctrination and free will. The regime's leaders, like Commander Jole, embody this ruthlessness, enforcing brutal hierarchies and punishing dissent. Their control is psychological as much as physical, making them far more insidious than typical antagonists. What makes them compelling is how they mirror real-world authoritarian structures, where loyalty is demanded, and individuality crushed. The protagonist's struggle isn't just against a person but against the very beliefs drilled into her. The regime's lies, propaganda, and manipulation create a pervasive sense of dread, turning former allies into enemies. This layered approach to antagonism elevates the narrative beyond simple good vs. evil, offering a scathing critique of power and conformity.

I’ve been obsessed with 'Some Desperate Glory' since I finished it last week, and that ending? It’s the kind of gut-punch that stays with you for days. The protagonist, Kyr, starts off as this hardened soldier, brainwashed by her fascist society, but her journey is all about unraveling the lies she’s built her life on. By the end, she’s not the same person—and thank goodness for that. The climax hinges on a brutal choice: either perpetuate the cycle of violence she’s been raised in or burn it all down. And she chooses the latter, but not in the way you’d expect. It’s not some grand, heroic sacrifice; it’s messy and painful. She turns against her own family, her own beliefs, and in doing so, loses almost everything. But here’s the kicker—she gains something too. A shred of hope, a chance to rebuild. The final scenes show her stepping into the unknown, no longer a weapon but a person, flawed and free. It’s hauntingly beautiful. The way the author ties Kyr’s emotional arc to the plot is masterful. Her growth isn’t linear; she backslides, she rages, she grieves. The ending reflects that. There’s no neat resolution, just the quiet understanding that change is possible, even if it costs you. The last line—I won’t spoil it—but it’s a whisper of defiance that gave me chills. If you’re looking for a happy ending, this isn’t it. But if you want something real, something that makes you stare at the ceiling at 3 AM? Yeah, this delivers.

I’ve been following 'Some Desperate Glory' closely, and it’s been thrilling to see it gain recognition in the literary world. The book has been nominated for the Hugo Award for Best Novel, one of the most prestigious honors in science fiction and fantasy. It’s also made the shortlist for the Nebula Award, which is a huge deal because it’s voted on by fellow writers—a testament to how deeply it resonates with peers. The way it blends gritty space opera with raw emotional depth clearly struck a chord. Beyond the big names, it snagged a Locus Award nomination for Best Science Fiction Novel, which is like the Oscars for speculative fiction fans. The novel’s unflinching exploration of trauma and identity in a militarized future also earned it a spot on the Arthur C. Clarke Award longlist. I remember how the book’s themes of redemption and defiance sparked endless debates in my reading group. Some critics compared its impact to 'The Left Hand of Darkness,' which is high praise. The fact that it’s been translated into over a dozen languages speaks volumes about its global appeal. What’s fascinating is how it’s been embraced beyond traditional SF circles. It popped up on the Goodreads Choice Awards for Best Science Fiction, where it went head-to-head with mainstream hits. The book’s relentless pacing and morally complex characters even landed it a mention in The Guardian’s annual roundup of standout genre-defying works. Whether it wins more accolades or not, 'Some Desperate Glory' has already cemented itself as a modern classic.

I’ve been obsessed with 'Some Desperate Glory' since the moment I cracked it open, and let me tell you, the plot twists hit like a freight train. The biggest one? When the protagonist, Kyr, realizes the so-called 'glorious war' she’s been raised to fight is nothing but a fabricated lie. The entire narrative builds her up as a fanatical soldier, indoctrinated to believe her people are the last bastion of humanity against alien annihilation. Then—bam—she discovers her commanders have been manipulating history, erasing dissent, and sacrificing their own for a war that ended decades ago. The moment she uncovers archived footage of peace talks her leaders buried? Chills. It’s not just a twist; it’s a gut-punch that reframes every sacrifice she’s made. The brilliance lies in how the twist isn’t just about shock value. Kyr’s entire identity crumbles because her loyalty was her core. Watching her grapple with the truth—questioning whether to expose the lie or keep playing her part—is heartbreaking and electrifying. The story doesn’t let her off easy either. Her brother, the one person she trusted, knew the truth all along and chose silence. That betrayal stings worse than any battlefield wound. And the aliens she’s been taught to hate? They’re not monsters; they’ve been trying to negotiate while her side kept firing. The twist forces Kyr to choose between the propaganda she’s lived by and the ugly, complicated truth. It’s a masterclass in how to dismantle a character’s worldview without cheap tricks.

As far as I know, 'Some Desperate Glory' doesn't have an official sequel or spin-off yet. The novel stands pretty strong on its own with its gritty space opera vibes and complex characters. The author, Emily Tesh, hasn't announced any follow-ups, which makes sense given how neatly the story wraps up. That said, the world-building leaves room for expansion—especially with its blend of militaristic sci-fi and queer themes. I wouldn't be surprised if fans start clamoring for more stories set in this universe, maybe exploring side characters like the enigmatic Commandant or the fallout of Kyr's choices. The lack of a sequel doesn't detract from the book's impact, though. It's a self-contained punch of rebellion and redemption that lingers long after the last page. What's cool is how the story's structure resists a straightforward continuation. Kyr's arc feels complete, and forcing a sequel might dilute its power. Spin-offs could work, though—maybe diving into the other Glory battalions or the alien perspectives hinted at in the background. Until then, readers can savor the novel's tight narrative and speculate about untold corners of its universe. The silence on sequels might just be a blessing; some stories thrive as singletons.

Greg did something pretty wild out of desperation. He made a huge scene at the school assembly, just to get people to notice him. It was embarrassing, but he felt like he had no other choice. He wanted to prove he was cool and fit in, even if it backfired horribly.

The antagonist in 'Desperate Measures' is a character so layered that they practically steal every scene they’re in. Let me dive into why this villain stands out—because trust me, they’re not your typical mustache-twirling bad guy. The story pits the protagonists against Victor Hale, a corporate tycoon with a god complex wrapped in a charming, philanthropic facade. Hale’s brilliance is terrifying; he’s the kind of villain who donates millions to hospitals while secretly funding bioweapons research. His moral ambiguity is what makes him so compelling. He genuinely believes his actions are for the greater good, even if it means sacrificing thousands. The way he justifies his cruelty with cold, calculated logic makes my skin crawl in the best way possible. Hale’s power isn’t just his wealth or influence—it’s his ability to manipulate. He preys on vulnerabilities, turning allies into pawns with a few well-placed words. One minute, you’re sympathizing with his tragic backstory (orphaned, built an empire from nothing), and the next, you’re horrified by his willingness to poison an entire city to ‘test’ his latest invention. The story does a fantastic job of showing his descent into madness, too. Early on, he hesitates to cross certain lines, but by the climax, he’s orchestrating chaos with a smile. His final monologue, where he compares himself to a surgeon ‘amputating’ society’s flaws, is downright chilling. What I love most is how the heroes beat him—not with brute force, but by exposing the hypocrisy in his own ideology. The scene where his loyal assistant turns on him after realizing she’s just another expendable asset? Pure cinematic justice. Now, let’s talk about his enforcers, because Hale isn’t working alone. The twins, Silva and Lynx, are his personal attack dogs. Silva’s a former special ops soldier with a penchant for torture, while Lynx is a hacker who can ruin lives with a keystroke. They’re terrifying because they’re loyal to Hale’s vision, not his morals. The story hints at their twisted admiration for him—Silva calls him ‘the only man who sees the world as it really is.’ Their dynamic adds another layer of tension, especially when Lynx starts questioning orders mid-way through. Hale’s downfall comes when his own creations rebel, proving even he can’t control everything. The irony is delicious. If you’re into villains who make you question whether they’re entirely wrong, Hale’s your guy. He elevates 'Desperate Measures' from a standard thriller to something genuinely thought-provoking.

The ending of 'Desperate Measures' left me emotionally drained in the best way possible. The protagonist, after a relentless series of betrayals and moral compromises, finally reaches a breaking point where they have to choose between personal survival and redemption. In the final act, they orchestrate a daring plan to expose the corrupt system that’s been manipulating them, but it costs them everything—their allies, their reputation, and nearly their life. The last scene shows them walking away from the wreckage, physically scarred but spiritually unbroken, hinting at a quieter but more purposeful future. What struck me was the realism—the victory isn’t clean or glorious, just hard-earned and bittersweet. The author masterfully avoids clichés. Instead of a shootout or a courtroom triumph, the climax is a tense, silent exchange where the protagonist outsmarts the antagonist using information they’ve painstakingly gathered. The fallout is messy, with collateral damage that makes you question whether the ends justified the means. The final pages linger on the protagonist’s face as they watch the sunrise, symbolizing both exhaustion and a sliver of hope. It’s the kind of ending that stays with you, making you rethink the entire story’s themes of sacrifice and justice.