A Memory of Song: First Verse of the Last Ballad by Scott Palmer

Blurb:

In a dying land, the armies of the dead hold sway. And those who rule them are more god than human.

James Culdaine, the last heir of the Northern Throne, was just a young man when the armies of the South murdered his parents and subjugated his lands. He has never forgotten those responsible, nor has he forgiven. He has spent the last ten years living in isolation with The Feldarra; a sacred Northern clan of fierce warriors, led by the fearless Wulfee who, still reeling from the loss of her own children, finds new meaning in protecting what only family she has left.

Now, an ancient order of warlocks has returned to the North, singing dark songs composed of blood magic that null the elements and threaten all that is living.

With nature depleted and the Southern armies returning to the North, James struggles to embrace the unique power he has long tried to repress; the ability to commune with the spirits of the dead. In the bitter heart of a growing war, with the world dying around them, James and Wulfee desperately seek answers, vengeance, and a way to save the ones they love... No matter the cost.

Fires refuse to burn. The skies are thirsty and breathless. The earth won’t eat its rot…

Welcome to Ardura.

Review:

When the world itself seems to be gasping its final, ragged breaths, where do you find the strength to keep moving?

A Memory of Song by Scott Palmer, is High Fantasy stripped of its glitter, a Grimdark journey so somber and weighted with misery that it makes even the most desolate settings I’ve encountered feel like a summer stroll. As a long-time traveler through the darker corridors of SFF, I thought I was prepared for anything, but Palmer has crafted something that truly tests the limits of endurance.

Ashes of Reality

If you’ve ever ventured into the world of Scadrial from Brandon Sanderson’s Mistborn, you’ll remember the suffocating sensation of ash falling 24/7, a world so bleak that even the sunlight feels like a distant memory. Now, imagine taking that oppressive atmosphere and cranking the dial up to eleven. In Palmer’s vision, the very fabric of reality is decaying. We are witnessing a world that is not just struggling, but actively dying. Fires refuse to light, children are lost before they can even draw their first breath, and a profound, metaphysical rot seems to have taken hold of existence itself. The writing style is incredibly effective here; it describeS the gloom, it wraps it around you like a wet shroud, driving home a moody, heavy atmosphere that is nearly impossible to shake.

The Machinery of the Soul

We navigate this dying landscape through the eyes of two primary perspectives: James, the fallen heir of the northern crown who has been stripped of everything, and Wulfee, the hardened leader of a clan of sacred warriors. Both of these characters are profoundly broken, operating under the heavy shadow of PTSD. They are multifaceted, complex humans haunted by the traumatic events of their pasts. Their decision-making and mindsets are completely colored by these internal ghosts. As a reader, you can’t help but relate to that feeling of being haunted by your own history, forced to face the guilt of past choices while the current of the world drags you forward. Palmer excels at making these characters feel painfully real, even when their struggles are almost too much to stomach.

The Fog 

I have to be honest with you: for a significant portion of the book, I felt as lost as the characters themselves. Palmer employs a narrative technique that many SFF fans associate with the Malazan series: he throws you headfirst into the deep end without a lifejacket. There is no hand-holding and, quite frankly, almost no initial exposition. For several hundred pages, I found myself in a state of constant confusion regarding the setting, the background of the protagonists, and the ultimate goal of their journey. While the characters clearly understand the stakes, the reader is kept at a distance, peering through a thick, narrative fog. It’s an interesting sign of how Epic Fantasy has evolved, moving away from traditional information-gathering, but here, the vagueness permeates the text so deeply that it becomes a barrier to entry.

Overlapping Echoes

The structural choices in the first half of the novel made the experience even more of a "mixed bag" for me. The writing style doesn't always signal when the timeline has shifted, leading to scenes that overlap in a way that can be disorienting. When you combine this chronological complexity with the lack of worldbuilding establishment, it creates a First Act that is incredibly difficult to navigate. I’ll admit, I was very close to putting this one aside around the 25% mark because I was struggling to find a hook to hang my empathy on. It is hard to connect with a struggle when you don't yet understand the "why" or the "where" of the conflict.

A Distant Horizon

However, if you can weather the storm of the first few hundred pages, the narrative landscape begins to clear. By the second half, the world becomes much more fleshed out, and a sense of purpose begins to crystallize. While the book is relentlessly disheartening for a long stretch, a sliver of hope for a positive resolution starts to emerge the further you progress. This book is a dense, consistent, and highly accomplished work that demands a high level of patience. The author clearly intended to incite a somber reflection on our own relationships with the past, and in that regard, he succeeded brilliantly. It is a coherent piece of art, even if the path to its heart is paved with jagged stones and shadows.

Atmospheric Consistency

Ultimately, my respect for A Memory of Song comes from its unwavering commitment to its own vision. Even when I was frustrated by the lack of clarity, I could appreciate how well-thought-out the underlying structure was. The prose remains elegant throughout, maintaining that heavy, somber tone without ever wavering.

Seriously, some passages are masterfully written, and endlessly quotable.

Palmer has created an expansive and fascinating piece of worldbuilding, even if he chooses to reveal it with an agonizingly slow hand. For lovers of Grimdark and those who enjoy being challenged by a narrative that refuses to explain itself, this is a phenomenal achievement. It’s a difficult meal to digest, but the flavors stay with you long after the plate is cleared.

This is a book that will undoubtedly spark debate among SFF fans regarding how much mystery is "too much," but there is no denying Palmer's talent for creating a world that feels hauntingly terminal.

Beyond the pages of this specific story, there is something deeply exciting about witnessing the emergence of a voice like Palmer’s in the current SFF landscape. The man is clearly operating on a level of technical skill and atmospheric control that many veteran authors strive for years to achieve. Even when the narrative pushed me to my limits, I couldn't ignore the sheer talent radiating from the prose; he has an uncanny ability to make the intangible weight of despair feel like a physical presence in the room. Keeping an eye on his authorial journey feels less like a casual recommendation and more like an investment in the future of the genre. We are seeing the foundations of a writer who isn't afraid to take massive risks or to trust his readers with profound complexity, and I, for one, am eager to see how his craft continues to evolve as he refines this already formidable talent.