Damien Ober wrote for The OA. You know the show? Weird, spiritual, stuck in your head. So you can probably guess his debut novel won’t play it safe. Voidverse comes out from Saga Press. It sits in your hand with a cover dark as onyx.
The book is a space western. Or a sci-fi fairy tale. It happens on falling rocks. Imagine planets stacked vertically in an endless black void. You don’t fly ships. You Rise or Sink. People live on these stone shelves.
One girl, named Sinker, teams up with a mother. The mom wants a cure for her son. Together they find out something is eating their world. A bad thing. It destroys the stone lands systematically.
“‘Voidverse’ first came to me… way back in 2010,” Ober tells Space. He wrote chapter one right after the dream. He carried notebooks everywhere. Side projects. Scribbles.
He had the story mostly figured out when The OA started filming. He moved to LA. He brought a typewriter. Think about that. In Los Angeles. He woke up early. He pounded the keys. He stayed up late too.
Did the neighbors appreciate the noise? Probably not.
The OA suited him. The show demanded strange ideas. Structure? Tone? Everything had to be different. Fans loved it. Everyone from football players to cat ladies watched.
Ober isn’t new. He writes for Paramount+. AMC. Warner Bros. This novel is “Dune” mixed with “Wool.” High energy. Eternal forces are about to smash into each other.
He studied weightlessness. He looked into sensory deprivation. He read Japanese legends. Fairy tales from around the world.
“Holding my hand out the window… staring into darkness,” Ober says. “How does it feel?”
He wanted the prose to match the place. He tried to make the language primal. Flatland changed his brain. V.A.L.I.S. did the same. These books force you to think differently. To feel new shapes.
Voidverse has an adventure core. Like The Beastmaster. Like Krull.
But the mood? That’s Zelda. There’s a mystery. Western vibes. Samurai logic. He cites Kurosawa. Sergio Leone. The old Hulk TV show. Two Lane Blacktop. Even Come and See. The scary kind.
Saturn 3. Event Horizon. Stalker. Lone Wolf and Cub.
He didn’t plan the comparisons. A reviewer said it was The Little Prince on steroids. With an R rating.
That tracks.
Here is a detail that feels unnecessary but isn’t. Voidverse smells incredible. It really does. Like old leather. Like sweet charcoal. The pages are edged in black. It feels heavy in your hand.
Read a bit.
The Deciding
The rock had gathered for the Deciding. Most of the rock. Five boys stood on the edge platform. They looked clean. Tidied. Put on display.
The instructor smiled. His face was pocked and beefy. Gray beard. He nodded.
The boys stepped forward. Friction rippled around them.
Their faces shined with fear. Like apples.
You could see them breathing. Lungs heaving. Ribs expanding. Contracting.
Then a cry. One boy turned. His face twisted. Eyes wild. Cheeks red. He ran back to his mother. They clutched each other. Sobs. Scuttling away.
Silence returned. Only the roar of friction left.
The others moved fast. Hands trembling. Pulling down straps. Clip them tight. Nobody wanted to be next.
They jumped. Four boys. One by one. Arms out. Legs spread. Kolatchi position.
They hovered.
The void decided.
Friction caught them. They rose. Slowly at first. Then faster.
Their faces blurred. Bodies shrunk. Specks. Tiny specks in the overvoid hard to see.
But a fifth speck appeared.
Getting bigger.
“A sinker!”
Someone shouted. The crowd shifted. Mumbled.
The sinker came down. Impossible speed. Arms pinned tight. Chin tucked. Matte black helmet.
A clear circle opened. She swooped. Landed smooth.
Her helmet wasn’t matte. It was scratched. Dulled. Dented. Only the visor stayed polished. She scanned the crowd. Reflected us back.
She was thin. Lean. Leather suit tight. Straps everywhere. Buttoned pockets. A sword hilt stuck out from her back. Beside a pack tight as an angry fist.
Then the visor flipped.
It was a woman. Had been since the start.
Silence. Total stillness. She moved through the people. Studied faces.
She stopped. Looked at me. Her eyes held the empty black of the void.
She pulled a paper from her suit. Held it up.
“I call upon the code,” the Sinker said. “I have a letter.”
