Migration by Steph Matuku is another electrifying addition to the young adult science fiction genre, blending futuristic world-building with deeply rooted cultural traditions. Matuku takes readers on a thrilling journey with Farah, a privileged yet flawed young woman, as she navigates her way through a military training wānanga, grapples with her burgeoning powers as an ‘Intuitive’, and confronts both internal and external threats to her people.
The novel is set in a far-flung future where military academies—styled as wānanga—train young people in combat and mental abilities to defend their world from a recurring, devastating invasion. As an ‘Intuitive’, Farah is gifted with the ability to see moments into the future, a talent that grows more potent as she undergoes training. Alongside her, Lase, her surly combat partner, complements her mind skills with his physical prowess. Their fractious relationship provides much of the tension in the early stages of the novel, with sparks flying between them in a way that’s both antagonistic and captivating.
One of Migration's greatest strengths is its world-building. Matuku constructs a vivid and immersive universe that seamlessly incorporates aspects of Māori culture. The references to familiar cultural markers—kete, wānanga, karakia, and the concept of ngāti as a form of social structure—root the futuristic story in something recognisable, making it accessible yet distinct. This blend of the familiar with the foreign gives the novel a unique flavour, making it stand out from other YA dystopian or sci-fi novels.
Farah’s character arc is also compelling. She starts the novel as a somewhat entitled young woman, eager to escape her overbearing māmā and the privileges that have shaped her life. However, her journey through the wānanga—both the training and the relationships she forms with fellow trainees—forces her to confront her biases, challenge her assumptions, and learn more about herself. Her growth feels organic, with Matuku striking the perfect balance between action-packed sequences and moments of introspection.
The novel tackles heavy themes, including colonisation, war, and cultural survival, in a way that feels relevant to contemporary readers. The invasion that threatens Farah’s world echoes the historical and ongoing experiences of colonised peoples, and Matuku doesn’t shy away from drawing parallels to real-world events. However, this political and social commentary never feels didactic or heavy-handed. Instead, it emerges naturally from the characters’ experiences, particularly through Farah’s growing awareness of the world around her and her role in defending it.
Matuku’s prose is fast-paced and accessible, yet layered with depth. Her descriptions of the world of Aowhetū are excellent, from the pink sands of the beach to the birds and bugs that populate the environment. The narrative is both visually and emotionally rich, keeping readers engaged from start to finish. The action scenes are dynamic, while the quieter moments of reflection provide weight and substance.
If there’s a critique to be made, it’s that the romantic tension between Farah and Lase sometimes feels a bit predictable. However, this doesn’t detract from the overall impact of the story. Migration is more than just a love story; it’s about self-discovery, the power of community, and the fight to protect one’s culture and way of life.
Reviewer: Chris Reed
Huia Publishers