76 pages • 2-hour read
Dark Age
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Themes
The Consequences of Power and Its Abuse
Content Warning: This section of the guide includes discussion of death, emotional abuse, graphic violence, addiction, child death, and sexual violence.
Dark Age is an exploration of power—how it is seized, sustained, subverted, and abused. Across the novel’s multiple narrative threads, Brown interrogates what happens when individuals and institutions prioritize control above all else, including ethical leadership, community welfare, and personal integrity. Characters who pursue power for its own sake often fall victim to its corrupting influence, while those who attempt to wield it responsibly face impossible moral compromises. The novel presents no easy answers but rather a grim meditation on the cost of power in a fractured universe.
This theme is particularly visible in the character arcs of Lysander and Atalantia. Lysander, initially an ethically and politically ambiguous figure, increasingly adopts the manipulative and hierarchical strategies of the old Society to advance his claim to leadership. Though he insists on his noble intentions, his actions become increasingly violent and self-serving. His decision to kill Alexandar and to deceive Darrow’s forces from within marks a shift from conflicted ideals to calculating usurper. In contrast, Atalantia operates without pretense. Her grip on power is ruthless, and she uses chemical warfare, assassination, and psychological torture to maintain control. Her declaration that she will murder Lysander after their victory exemplifies how, in her world, power is transactional. She instills fear rather than earns loyalty, illustrating that tyranny cloaked in charisma is no less brutal.
Power and its abuse are also central to the novel’s examination of the Solar Republic and its internal fractures. Though conceived as a democratic alternative to the Society, the Republic devolves into infighting, political sabotage, and betrayal. Publius, once revered as “the Incorruptible,” becomes a puppet manipulated by Lilath and Adrius. His descent into authoritarian ideology mirrors the oppressive ideals the Rising was meant to eradicate—ironically, given that he dreams of a world without private property or class distinctions. The Republic’s vulnerability to corruption suggests that revolutions can reproduce the injustices they sought to undo when the allure of dominance outweighs the commitment to justice.
Even Darrow, the series’ protagonist and former liberator, is not immune to the distorting effects of power. As war drags on, Darrow becomes more isolated and brutal, sacrificing Orion, allowing Alexandar to stay behind, and launching ethically questionable attacks to preserve his forces. His self-awareness of this moral decay is acute, and Brown uses Darrow’s internal conflict to show how good intentions can erode under the weight of power and responsibility. The symbolic destruction of his slingBlade—a gift from his wife and a representation of his ideals—further underscores his fall from grace.
Through complex characters and morally gray conflicts, Dark Age presents a cynical reflection on power. The novel suggests that power, even when wielded with noble intent, carries the potential for its abuse and depicts unchecked ambition as inevitably leading to betrayal, suffering, and the erosion of ideals.
The Impact of War on Society and Individuals
War saturates Dark Age—not just as a backdrop, but as a driving force shaping character, society, and ideology. The novel’s title evokes the chaos that results when war becomes endless, internalized, and generational. Characters are shaped—often irrevocably—by their proximity to violence. The narrative does not romanticize battle or heroism; rather, it examines how war destroys lives, corrupts values, and tears at the fabric of identity and civilization.
Brown uses a multi-narrator structure to underscore the individualized toll of war. Darrow, for instance, is a man hollowed out by endless sacrifice. Despite his ongoing leadership, he dreams only of peace: “I had this picture in my head where I would wake beside Virginia…” (702). The reality of his position constantly thwarts these quiet, personal desires. The physical and psychological toll becomes most apparent when he witnesses the devastation of his army, internalizing the suffering of others as his own burden. Likewise, his confrontation with Atlas illustrates the degradation of ethics in warfare—Atlas, a product of relentless conflict, represents the transformation of man into machine, functioning solely through cruelty and fear.
Secondary characters, too, are emblematic of war’s collateral damage. Though not a soldier in the traditional sense, Ephraim’s addiction, detachment, and ultimate death all stem from trauma and disillusionment. The intimate portrayal of his final moments—focused on Volga, the Snowball, and Trigg’s ring—imbues his arc with tragic weight by revealing the ultimate futility of his longing to belong and protect. Similarly, Lyria’s journey from survivor to fighter is punctuated by acute trauma. From surviving a massacre to being infected by a parasitic intelligence, she carries both visible and invisible scars. Her transformation into a guerrilla-style freedom fighter illustrates how war consumes innocence and reconfigures moral boundaries.
Brown also engages broadly with war’s impact on civilians and societal institutions. The novel does not shy away from depicting wartime atrocities, including child death, torture, and sexual violence. Kalindora’s remark, “Thirty million soldiers fought in that battle […] Even if they could, you try picking up all those pieces” (292), emphasizes the impossible task of healing or reconstructing societies after such systemic devastation.
The generational toll of war is also evident in the experiences of Pax and Electra, children born into conflict and conditioned by its omnipresence. Both are adolescents, yet they take on the responsibilities and moral burdens of adults: Electra interrogates enemies, Pax performs rescue operations, and both risk their lives for a cause they barely had the chance to choose. While they show signs of idealism and courage, their actions also reflect their world’s normalization of violence. Pax, despite his intellect and empathy, channels both his parents’ traits into a pragmatic readiness for war. Electra, raised among Howlers, is equally desensitized. The fact that these children are not only participants but strategists in warfare illustrates the depth of generational damage.
The Complexities of Leadership and Loyalty
Leadership in Dark Age is not defined by clarity or heroism but by burden, compromise, and the constant friction between personal loyalty and public duty. The novel portrays leadership as a crucible, exposing the weaknesses and convictions of those who attempt to wield power in a fractured, war-torn universe. Characters often face decisions that force them to choose between the people they love and the larger causes they serve, blurring the line between noble leadership and self-serving ambition. Through its major players—Darrow, Virginia, Lysander, and even Ephraim—Dark Age interrogates the emotional, moral, and political costs of leadership and explores how loyalty, both given and received, is constantly tested by the shifting tides of war and ideology.
Darrow’s brand of leadership is shaped by sacrifice and personal loss. Despite his mythic reputation, he is increasingly isolated, burdened by the weight of responsibility. At the same time, his loyalty to his allies often supersedes strategic logic. When given the choice between sacrificing a mission or saving a single friend, Darrow frequently chooses the latter. His refusal to abandon Alexandar, his trust in Harnassus and Thraxa, and his desperate hope that Virginia will come for him all speak to a deep emotional loyalty that complicates his role as a commander. This is particularly evident in his final stand on Mercury, when he chooses to defend his soldiers and the citizens of Heliopolis rather than retreat. Leadership, for Darrow, is an act of personal accountability: He cannot lead without feeling the consequences of his decisions on an individual level.
Virginia’s leadership is colder and more pragmatic. She is constantly balancing her loyalty to her ideals with the expectations of her political office. Her internal conflict—articulated in her reflection, “I have never equaled my husband’s spirit…I led for guilt, for duty, seldom for love” (150)—underscores how leadership can become performative and emotionally distant in a system that demands constant strength. Her loyalty is not driven by emotion but by principle and vision, even when it costs her dearly. Her decision to leave Sevro and the Howlers behind haunts her, yet it reflects the impossible calculations she must make. While Darrow leads from the heart, Virginia leads from the head—and Dark Age does not offer an easy judgment on which is better.
Lysander’s path reveals how leadership and loyalty can become corrupted. Once an idealist with philosophical reservations about violence, Lysander becomes a self-declared architect of a new world built on order, legacy, and the illusion of justice. His leadership is rooted in rhetoric and history, but his loyalty is ultimately to his own vision rather than to any individual. His betrayal of Alexandar—his own cousin—marks a moment where his personal ambition eclipses human connection. Though he justifies his actions as necessary for stability, the hollowness of his victories and his emotional disconnection (particularly from Kalindora, whose loyalty he ultimately betrays as well) suggest leadership driven by ego rather than principle.
Finally, Ephraim’s reluctant role as a mentor to the Obsidians and protector of children reveals a different dimension of leadership—one born not of position but of necessity. Ephraim never sees himself as a leader, yet he earns the loyalty of characters like Pax, Electra, and even Ozgard through acts of vulnerability, humor, and quiet integrity. His final stand, in which he faces certain death to protect Volga and warn Sefi, marks a redemptive arc grounded in found family and sacrifice. His leadership is deeply personal and informal, contrasting sharply with the institutional authority exercised by Virginia, Darrow, and Lysander.
Across these narratives, Dark Age explores how leadership is inseparable from the question of loyalty—whether to a person, a cause, or an ideal. The novel refuses to provide easy answers, instead presenting leadership as a space of constant ethical negotiation where every decision has the power to inspire, betray, or destroy.
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