Haunted by his fallen aviator father and his suffocating life in a small town, Aaron Hawk steals a magical wing that catapults him to Solistasia, home to the School of the Skies, where students ride the wind. But this world of wonder has a dark sideâa vicious rival who knows Aaron's weaknesses, treacherous magical materials, and grueling flight training that pushes him to his breaking point. When a reckless flight destroys his wings, Aaron faces an impossible choice: give up or climb cursed Mount Emifra alone. To earn his place in the sky, he must battle mythical beasts, negotiate with a sassy fairy, and forge a new wing from the mountain's heart before a shadow wraith destroys him and his path home vanishes. Along the way, Aaron confronts the painful truth about his father's death. This is a story of forgiveness, understanding the complex bonds between father and son, and learning that true flight means facing your past, not escaping it.
Haunted by his fallen aviator father and his suffocating life in a small town, Aaron Hawk steals a magical wing that catapults him to Solistasia, home to the School of the Skies, where students ride the wind. But this world of wonder has a dark sideâa vicious rival who knows Aaron's weaknesses, treacherous magical materials, and grueling flight training that pushes him to his breaking point. When a reckless flight destroys his wings, Aaron faces an impossible choice: give up or climb cursed Mount Emifra alone. To earn his place in the sky, he must battle mythical beasts, negotiate with a sassy fairy, and forge a new wing from the mountain's heart before a shadow wraith destroys him and his path home vanishes. Along the way, Aaron confronts the painful truth about his father's death. This is a story of forgiveness, understanding the complex bonds between father and son, and learning that true flight means facing your past, not escaping it.
"Hey kid, you all right?"
A gentle prod jostled his shoulder, pulling him from a deep, dreamless dark. Aaronâs eyes fluttered open to a world bleached by a light so bright it hurt. His vision was a blurry mess of gold and blue. As the world slowly swam into focus, he found himself staring up at a boy with dark, almond-shaped eyes and a face full of concern.
The boy's attire was the first thing that registered as truly strange. He was dressed like a pilot from a bygone era, someone lifted from the silver screen of a World War II film. Goggles with leather straps hugged his forehead, zigzagging at the temples, their brass rims glinting in the sun. A brown, one-piece flight suit, weathered and softened with use, covered his body. Atop his head sat a large leather pilot's helmet, its ear flaps unbuckled.
"He's alive," the boy whispered, the words a soft puff of air, relief washing over his features. Then, spinning away in a blur of motion, he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, his voice cutting through the morning air with a clarity that startled Aaron fully awake. "HE'S ALIVE! HE'S ALIVE!"
Aaron tried to push himself up, but a wave of white-hot pain shot through his side, stealing his breath. He grunted, his ribs screaming in protest, a sharp reminder of being bound tightly to his wing during the turbulent, bone-jarring journey through the portal. Slowly, painstakingly, he managed to sit upright. The world tilted and swayed as if he were on the deck of a ship caught in a heavy swell. He squeezed his eyes shut, his head spinning, the warmth of the sun on his skin a disorienting comfort.
For a long moment, Aaron simply sat there, the rhythmic crash of waves the only constant in a world that refused to hold still. He took a breath, then another, trying to clear the fog from his mind. The morning sun bathed the unfamiliar beach in a soft, golden light, filtering through a fine mist that hung low over the horizon. He inhaled deeply, tasting salt and something elseâsomething sweetly exotic and floralâon his tongue. It was a world away from the familiar, briny scent of Port Reedley's shores. The sand beneath him felt different, too; not coarse and pebbly, but fine and silky, slipping through his fingers like powdered sugar. Scattered around him were shells that sparked like scattered gems in the early light, their iridescent surfaces catching the sun. He raked a hand through his damp, tangled hair, the motion pulling at the ache in his neck, as he strained for lost memories against the ocean's rumbling lullaby.
"Dude, I saw you lying here on the beach, not moving," the boy said, circling him with an enthusiastic, nervous energy. "And... and I saw your wing sitting nearby, and I thought you might be hurt or something." He leaned in closer, his eyes wide with a mixture of concern and barely contained excitement. "Are you hurt? You're not hurt, are you?"
Aaron shook his head, a motion he immediately regretted as a sharp pain lanced through his neck. He flinched, fragmented memories of his flight through the portal flashing through his mind like a stuttering film reel: the roar of the wind, the dizzying spin, the feeling of being torn apart and stitched back together.
"I... I think I'm..." Aaron's voice trailed off as his gaze fell upon his wing. It lay a few yards away, half-buried in the sand, the wind having sculpted a soft dune around its form. The sight of itâ the glint of the enchanted silk skin covering the finely crafted strips of wood, and intricate gears and pulleysâtriggered a flood of memories, a cascade of images that finally, blessedly, clicked into place.
His uncle's boat. The magical wing. The storm. The whirlwind journey that now felt more like a distant, feverish dream than reality. He could recall it all now, landing on this very beach with a clarity that was both startling and profoundly relieving.
Aaron turned his face to the boy with the almond-shaped eyes, his own wide with a dawning, heart-thumping disbelief. "Is this... this... Soltsâ?"
"Solistasia," the boy finished for him, a hint of a knowing smile playing at his lips.
"Whoa," Aaron breathed, the word a soft exhale of pure wonder. His heart rate quickened, a frantic, joyful drumming against his bruised ribs. "It wasn't a dream."
The boy tilted his head, his curiosity now replacing his concern. "Are you sure you're okay, dude?"
Aaron took a deep, steadying breath, trying to ground himself in this unbelievable new reality. The air tasted different hereâcleaner, crisper, with that same hint of sweet, unfamiliar flora. He ran his hands over his arms, checking for injuries, feeling the goosebumps that had risen on his skin despite the warm morning sun.
"Yeah," he said finally, a small, disbelieving smile tugging at his lips. "I think so."
As his senses slowly sharpened, he became aware of a group of teens gathered a little further down the beach. They were all dressed in similar flight suits, goggles pushed up on their foreheads, their faces turned towards him with open curiosity. But it was the objects behind them that truly stole his breath.
Resting in the sand amidst sparse, wind-blown grasses were several sleek, mechanical, birdlike wings. The early morning light highlighted their magnificence, glinting off polished silver surfaces, delicate gears, and intricate wiring that seemed to trace the path of unseen currents. They looked almost alive, as if they were humming with a quiet, contained energy.
Aaron felt an inexplicable pull, a magnetic urge that brought him to his feet. He swayed slightly, his legs unsteady after the journey, the soft sand shifting beneath him. As he approached the group, the teens parted slightly, their expressions a mixture of caution and intrigue, allowing him a closer look.
Up close, the crafts were even more impressive. Intricate designs were etched into the metal surfaces, some resembling flowing script in a language Aaron couldn't decipher. Others appeared to be complex mathematical equations or elegant diagrams of wind currents.
"Hey man, you sure you're alright?" one of the teens asked, his eyes scanning Aaron with a detached curiosity.
Aaron could only nod, his gaze locked on the wings. "These are... incredible," he managed, his voice barely a whisper.
A girl with bright green, spiky hair and a mischievous grin stepped forward. "Pretty spectacular, right? These are our wings."
"Your wings?" Aaron repeated, his mind struggling to process the implications.
"Yep," another boy chimed in, puffing out his chest with pride. "We're students of the School of the Skies. These wings are our most prized possessions."
The green-haired girl laughed, a sound like tinkling bells. "This isn't your average school, that's for sure."
Aaron's mind reeled as Neville's fantastical stories about this place came flooding back. Heâd listened to the old man's tales of a school where students learned to fly on magical wings, but heâd always filed them away as the charming ramblings of an eccentric old aviator. To be standing here, seeing it with his own eyesâit was almost too much to comprehend.
Before Aaron could form a response, a new sound cut through the airâthe sharp whoosh of powerful wings displacing air, a sound much closer and more powerful than the others. Heads turned skyward as another wing appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. It careened low over the beach, so close that Aaron could feel the wind of its passing ruffle his hair and sting his cheeks with sand.
The craft landed nearby with a graceful, practiced precision. Its pilot, an older boy, detached himself from the harness and removed his helmet with an air of casual authority. As he approached, the group of students parted, a hushed reverence falling over them.
This newcomer was different. His flight gear was more advanced, custom-made and futuristic compared to the others' vintage-style suits. An embroidered patch on the left side of his jacket caught Aaron's eyeâbrilliant blue and gold framing a winged bird he didn't recognize. But it was the emblem on his left shoulder that made Aaron's breath catchâa stylized version of Icarus, subtly different from the one on his lost medallion, but unmistakable.
The young man stood before Aaron, slipping off his gloves and folding his arms across his chest. His raven-black hair, damp with sweat, clung to his head, framing sharp, angular features. When he spoke, his voice was deep and authoritativeâthe voice of someone much older, someone in charge.
"You're late," he said, his gaze boring into Aaron. "You should have been here two days ago."
Confusion, sharp and cold, rippled through Aaron. How could this stranger have been expecting him? He opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't come.
The young man's face remained impassive. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't send you back."
The words hit Aaron like a douse of ice water. Send me back? The thought made his stomach churn. Images of Port Reedley flashed through his mindâthe loneliness, the perpetual grey sky, the suffocating feeling of being trapped in a life that wasn't his. He couldn't go back. Not now. Not when he'd finally made it to this magical, incredible place.
"I... I don't understand," Aaron stammered, his voice small but steady. "I didn't know I was supposed to be here. I didn't even know if this place was real until... until now." He glanced at the other teens. Their arms were folded, their expressions guarded, their eyes glued to the new arrival. Aaron did his best to maintain his composure, determined not to show the fear that was beginning to coil in his gut.
The young man's expression softened almost imperceptibly, but his stance remained imposing. "This isn't a game, Aaron. The School of the Skies isn't for the faint of heart. We have rules. Expectations."
Aaron felt the weight of the other students' gazes on him, a silent jury. He swallowed hard, trying to find the right words, the ones that would convey the desperate, all-consuming ache in his soul. "Please," he said, his voice gaining strength, fueled by a sudden surge of adrenaline. "I want to fly. I love flying. It's all I think about, all I dream about. It's... it's everything to me."
The young man studied Aaron for a long, silent moment, his eyes seeming to peer into Aaron's very soul, weighing his words, his sincerity. Finally, he spoke again, his voice a little softer. "Where did you get your wing?"
The question startled Aaron. He hesitated, the old, practiced lie rising to his lips. "It... an old man gave it to me." The lie felt thin and flimsy in the face of the young man's intense scrutiny. He saw a flicker of somethingâdisappointment? skepticism?âin the older boy's eyes, and he knew, with a sinking certainty, that dishonesty would not be tolerated here.
His knees began to feel weak, barely able to hold his weight. The ground seemed to rush up to meet him as he sank into the soft sand.
"I... I stole it," Aaron admitted, the words barely a whisper. He could hear the soft murmurs of the other students, feel their eyes boring into him. But now that he'd started, he couldn't stop. The whole story came pouring out in a torrent of shame and desperationâhis lonely life in Port Reedley, his flight from a future that felt like a cage, the terrifying, exhilarating journey through the portal. He recounted every detail he could remember, even the parts he would have preferred to forget, the words tumbling over each other in his haste to be understood.
When he finished, a profound silence fell over the beach, broken only by the gentle lapping of the waves. The young man's face was grave, thoughtful. After what felt like an eternity, he spoke again.
"Who taught you how to fly it?"
Aaron shook his head, looking down at his trembling hands. "I... I just figured it out."
He felt utterly lost, a heavy sense of finality settling over him. This was it. Heâd be sent back. The dream was over.
The older boy crouched down, his firm hand gripping Aaron's arm, the unexpected touch resolving Aaron's uncertainty into a single point of focus. "I know," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "It's hard. I know how challenging life can be sometimes."
Aaron looked up, and for the first time, he saw not just an authority figure, but a flicker of genuine empathy in the older boy's eyes. He struggled to maintain his composure, the weight of his confession, of his whole desperate journey, suddenly feeling very heavy on his chest. He turned his head away, avoiding eye contact, searching for solace in the vast, indifferent expanse of the ocean. Since his fatherâs death, life had been a constant struggle, and he was so, so tired of pretending it wasn't.
The boy sat down beside him in the sand, refusing to let Aaron retreat into his isolation. "My name is Taras," he said softly. "I've been where you are."
Aaron turned back to meet his gaze, a bitter-sweet smile touching his lips.
Taras's face softened further. "You're not the first person to reach for the sky, and you won't be the last. Icarus has been there, and no man has seen his end." A gentle, encouraging grin etched across his face.
"I... I'm Aaron."
"I know who you are, Aaron William Hawk," Taras replied, his voice softer now. "And while I don't condone theft, I can see the passion that drove you here. It takes a special kind of determination to make it through that portal." He pushed himself up from the sand. "You're here now, so let's move forward."
A fragile hope bloomed in Aaron's chest. "Does that mean...?"
Taras nodded, the ghost of a smile finally reaching his lips. "Welcome to the School of the Skies. But don't think for a second that this will be easy. You've got a lot to prove." He glanced over at Aaron's half-buried wing and chuckled. "I remember this one."
Aaron scrambled to his feet, wiping the sand from the seat of his underpants. "No kidding!?" he said, a lightness infusing his words. "Who..."
But before he could complete his thought, a new voice cut through the air, sharp and dismissive. "If you ask me, you should send him away. He looks like trouble."
Aaron turned to see an older teen striding towards them. He was tall and athletic, with jet-black hair and a sneer that could curdle milk. He exuded an aura of arrogance that seemed to suck the warmth from the air.
Taras sighed, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. "Drake, I don't recall asking for your opinion."
Drake's eyes narrowed as they swept over Aaron, sizing him up with undisguised contempt. "Just looking out for the school's reputation, sir. We can't have thieves and runaways dragging us down."
Aaron felt his cheeks burn with shame and anger. Who was this guy to judge him? He opened his mouth to retort, but Taras beat him to it.
"That's enough, Drake," Taras said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I've made my decision. Aaron stays."
Drake's jaw clenched, but he backed down, shooting one last contemptuous look at Aaron before stalking away.
Taras turned back to Aaron, who was still reeling from the exchange. "Don't mind Drake. He can be... difficult. But he's a talented flyer, and you'd do well to stay on his good side."
Aaron nodded, though he had a feeling that staying on Drakeâs good side might be easier said than done.
"Now," Taras continued, his voice lightening, "let's get you properly introduced." He gestured to the boy who had first found him. "Eno, come here for a moment."
Aaron turned to see the boy with the almond-shaped eyes approach. Up close, Aaron could see that Eno was probably around his own age, with a slender build and an eager expression. His face was fair, with only the slightest hint of a tan, and his dark hair was slick, with a slight curl at the ends. His dark brown irises gleamed like shards of obsidian.
Aaron's gaze lingered on the circular patch on the right shoulder of his flight jacket. He tilted his head. "Icarus?"
The boy nodded, a wide, friendly smile spreading across his face.
Taras rested a hand on the boy's shoulder. "This is Eno. Say hi, Eno."
Eno smiled, a little nervously, and gave a polite nod before introducing himself. "My name is really Enoch, but everyone just calls me Eno." He shook Aaron's hand eagerly, his grip firm and his eyes shining with the hope of a new friendship.
"Nice to meet you, Eno."
Eno held Aaron's grasp, his expectant gaze prompting an introduction.
"Oh, right. My name is Aaron⌠Aaron Hawk."
A thrill of excitement passed through Eno. "Hawk! For real? Your name is Hawk?"
"For real," Taras chimed in with a grin.
"Oh, that's such a cool name! We're going to be good friends, I can just tell." The genuine excitement in Eno's voice was unmistakable.
Aaron smiled, but a flicker of his old caution remained. His lonely and bullied past at Port Reedley High had made him instinctively wary of quick friendships, fearing they might just be a prelude to more heartache. Being in this new and strange environment only amplified that caution.
"Now, listen carefully." Taras turned his focus to Eno. "I want you to take Aaron to the admin building, help him get checked in, then get him settled in his room." Eno hung on Taras's every word. "And I'll expect you both at the welcoming dinner this evening." He looked at Aaron. "I'm sure Aaron's starving by now." The word 'dinner' delighted him.
"Sure thing, Taras!" Eno replied, his face beaming with eagerness.
âLetâs hope this young man does as well as his father did,â Taras added, casually sliding on a glove.
The world seemed to stop. The sound of the waves, the cry of the gulls, the warmth of the sunâit all faded into a dull, distant roar. Aaron blinked, the world around him momentarily forgotten as a storm of confusion clouded his mind. His father? So it was true. His father had been here. Walked these same sands, flown these same skies. Why? Why had he never shared this part of his life? A familiar, bitter resentment twisted inside him. For years, heâd been haunted by the whispers in Port Reedleyâ"the son of a fallen flyer." A part of him had always yearned to live up to his father's legend, while another part seethed, feeling cheated by his fatherâs early demise. He didnât want sympathy or whispers; he wanted respect, a name he earned for himself. He was here to escape the shadow of his fatherâs legend, to finally prove he wasnât doomed to the same tragic fate.
The world snapped back into focus. He turned his gaze to Taras, his own eyes burning with a sudden, fierce resolve. âBetter, I hope,â Aaron replied, his voice quiet but firm.
Taras's lips twisted into a grin, acknowledging the fire in Aaron's words.
Eno, oblivious to the emotional undercurrents, turned to Aaron. "You can ride with me... on my wing. I have a rider hook harness."
"Um, that's okay. I'll just follow you on my wing."
Aaron turned, expecting to see his craft resting on the shore. But there was nothing but a large lump of sand where his wing had been. Beside it sat his small backpack, which held his map, the beacon, and the few clothes he had stuffed inside before he lifted off. That was all.
His eyes scanned the beach, a knot of dread tightening in his stomach. "What happened?" Aaron exclaimed. "Where's my wing?"
"Gone," Taras said, casually tightening the straps on his gloves.
"What? What do you mean, gone?"
An amused grin played on Taras's face. "It's done. It fulfilled its purpose."
"Purpose? What purpose? I don't understand."
Taras laid a steadying palm on Aaron's back, the warmth cutting through his tension. "When a retriever wing brings back a potential student, it disintegrates. It's as simple as that."
"That's not fair," Aaron replied, the injustice of it stinging.
Noticing the resentment in the boy's posture as he walked back toward his own wing, Taras called back, "You didn't think you would learn the art of flying with a wing someone else built, did you?"
With a prolonged sigh, Aaron admitted, "No, I guess not."
Eno tugged on Aaron's arm. "Come on, we should go."
Aaron grabbed his backpack and followed Eno to his wing, a massive, crow-like framework that measured only slightly smaller than the one Aaron had flown to this island. Aaron's eyes widened in awe as they approached. Its deep indigo wings glowed faintly, like starlight caught in metal. Upon closer inspection, he noticed intricate designs similar to those on his own wing. The craft's graceful curves and precise details gave it an elegant, mystical appearance. The feather-like tips of its wings rustled in the gentle breeze.
"You built this?"
"Yep."
"How?"
"You'll learn."
Eno adjusted a couple of controls on his wing, then secured his helmet's chinstrap.
"Wait, wait!" Eno spun to face Aaron.
"What?" Aaron asked.
"Um, your helmet!" Eno said with a grin.
Aaron didn't get it. "What are you talking about?"
"Your helmet! You'll have to wear one. It's the rule."
"I already flew here, and I didn't have a helmet," Aaron admitted, noticing Eno's worried look.
Suddenly, a piercing whistle made Aaron jump. Both boys turned toward Taras just as a helmet came sailing toward Aaron like a football. Aaron caught it in the crook of his elbow.
Eno's eyes went wide. "Oh dude, you get to wear Taras's helmet. That's awesome!"
Aaron slipped the helmet on. Its outer shell was a light brown, hand-tooled leather, softened with age and waxed to a dull sheen. It was a perfect fit.
"I'll expect that back at dinner tonight," Taras called out. Aaron returned a thumbs-up.
Strapping on his own helmet, Eno whipped around and locked his gaze on Aaron. "By the way, I heard what that stuck-up jerk Drake Corvus said to you." His voice carried an edge of frustration.
"Yeah, I don't know what I did to ruffle his feathers," Aaron replied.
Eno gave him a hard stare. "That guy doesn't need a reasonâhe's just full of himself."
Aaron laughed, amused at the venom in the younger boy's voice.
Retrieving a harness from beneath the wing, Eno handed it to Aaron. The harness was soft and smelled like the new leather of a sports car. "Here, slip this on and hook into here." He pointed to a loop on the craft just behind where he had strapped in. Eno paused for a moment and looked Aaron up and down. Aaronâs attire, or rather lack of it, gave him cause for concern. Having arrived on the island in only his underpants, Eno chimed in.
"Dude, if you got long pants in that backpack of yours, you best put them on. These straps can chafe you something fierce."
Feeling self-conscious under Eno's scrutiny, Aaron unzipped his backpack and quickly slipped into his jeans and t-shirt. But his embarrassment was short-lived as Eno commented on his clothing.
"Is that all you got to wear?" he asked, eyeing the simple jeans and t-shirt.
Aaron looked down, humbled by his lack of proper flight gear. "Yeah," he replied.
"Don't sweat it, man," Eno chuckled. "You'll get everything you need here. Including some hella cool clothes."
As Eno prepped his wing, tightening straps and adjusting controls, he turned back to Aaron. "Hey, how old are you, anyway?"
Aaron blinked. "Fourteen, almost fifteen."
Eno beamed. "Same here! Cool."
Fourteen. It felt so small in a place like thisâwhere kids flew like birds, where he was expected to prove himself worthy of the sky. His hands clenched. Iâll prove it.
Aaron hooked in and straddled a narrow, bicycle-like seat positioned directly behind Eno's. By now, the other students had gone, including Taras; the beach was empty. Eno took hold of a hook at the end of a long pole with one hand, and with his other, he grabbed a handle sticking out of the hull of the wing. He glanced over his shoulder at Aaron.
"Hold on to me tight, dude. It's gonna be a wild ride."
Aaron placed his hands on the younger boy's shoulders. Eno cocked his head to one side, grabbed Aaron's arms, and wrapped them tightly around his waist.
"When I say for dear life, I mean for dear life." He said with a sense of urgency coloring his voice.
Heeding Eno's warnings, Aaron held on as tightly as he could.
"Hey Eno," Aaron said. "Does your wing have a name?"
Eno grinned from ear to ear as he tapped on the side of the wing just in front of Aaron.
Aaron leaned to one side to get a better look.
Spelled out in hand-painted, soft blue script was the word Godspeed.
"Godspeed?" Aaron questioned. "What does thatâ"
Before Aaron could finish his sentence, the wing shot skyward in one mighty burst, like a skyrocket on the Fourth of July, and Aaron's world became nothing but wind and wonder.
Spoilers: J. Bruno's, The Amazing Flight of Aaron William Hawk vol. 2 Wings of Emifra is another in the trend of a Magical Boarding School but unlike others which teach different magical skills and talents, this one is more specialized. It is laser focused on one particular special skill, the gift of flight.
In the previous novel (unread by me), Aaron grieves the death of his father in a flying crash and is treated as an outcast in his seaside village. He discovers a pair of metal wings and a map to an island called Solistasia. His mentor tells them that there is a place where he can learn how to fly. Not with an airplane, he can build a pair of wings and fly with them.. Aaron takes the wings and map and heads straight for Solistasia.
In this volume, Aaron wakes up on the island and is welcomed to the School of the Skies. Aaron takes many classes taught by some really cool teachers, has some great friends, receives a bully/rival, and tries to fit in this strange place. The students study, train, and practice hoping for the day when they can show their academic excellence by flying a dangerous route to Mt. Emifra, which is a great distance from the school. The mountain is surrounded by unpredictable wind currents, enormous land masses that obstruct flight paths, and unidentified species that live on the mountain.
There are many standards that The Amazing Flight of Aaron William Hawk follows. It carries the usual tropes found in many school stories: the newcomer protagonist, the close friends, the potential love interest, the snobbish arrogant bully, the academic lessons that fit the theme, and the life lessons. The tropes exist and some of them don't do anything new here, but others provide some interesting twists and deviations from the normal procedures in these books.
One of the more interesting aspects to the book is the schoolâs central focus on flying. They revere Icarus from Greek Mythology who in this version survived his plunge to the earth and taught a younger generation the secrets of flight with wings. The School of the Skies teaches classes on how to construct wings. They learn how to use the wings properly, how to let gravity be their accomplice, how to avoid obstacles, and how to manage their speed and distance from the ground. Itâs a fascinating curriculum unless you have aviophobia or acrophobia. But if you ever had dreams of flying with wings and without the assistance of aircraft it brings those fantasies to life.
The teachers know their craft and how to share it with their students. Tarras, a young teacher whom Aaron meets on his first day in Solistasia, acts like a cool big brother mentor figure to the new recruits. Professor Thunderstruck is a thrill seeking aviation instructor who teaches students the basics of flying including the excitement and potential dangers that come with it. Professor Guildenstein not only teaches the students how to make their wings but how to incorporate their own personalities into them like increasing their speed, giving it a more airy design, or increasing elevation properties. Then thereâs mysterious Professor Mangus, an export on wind charting whose Glamour AKA Shape Shifting ability seems out of place in an aviation school but proves to become a key talent later on.
Aaron makes some friends including Eno who shows him the ropes and gives him and the reader much needed exposition before fading into the background,Trevin, his goofy roommate, and Alya, who like Aaron is an outsider invited to Solistasia and acts as the moral center but still can be one of the gang. She is the potential love interest and some of the book falls into a âwill-they-wonât-theyâ subplot. They are good loyal friends but there isnât much that separates them from other similar characters in other similar stories.
What is unique to this book is how the arrogant bully character is written. Drake Corvus at first appears as the typical rival challenging Aaron every chance that he gets. He mocks his background, his deceased father, and his mistakes. He appears jealous of his achievements and potential for success. He is a walking stereotype, almost too much like a stereotype.
There are moments where Drake shows vulnerability like crying when he is alone, quietly analyzing Aaronâs movements, and showing concern for his plight, usually covering it up with a sarcastic remark. In one moment, he actually saves Aaronâs life when he is in a tight spot. It shows more depth to his character, leads to an interesting reveal about his origins, and answers questions about his arrival at the School.
There is a long section where Aaron is left on his own and explores many darker issues from his past, most of which were probably elaborated upon in the previous book so donât make any sense if you havenât read it. It also puts the book into another territory which started out as a school story but became a fight for survival in a fantasy landscape.
This section has some interesting aspects to it particularly the arrival of Emberly, a witty saucy fairy who occasionally saves Aaronâs life while bantering with him making his attractions clear. There are also some interesting cliffhanger suspense like when Aaron faces an opponent who knows more about him than she should. But it all seems to belong to another type of book than the one that we were given so far. It flirts with Fantasy while the academic aspects flirt with Steampunk Science Fiction.
Despite the complexities of the survival subplot, The Amazing Flight of Aaron William Hawk is an excellent YA novel that really takes flight.