These aren’t bad books necessarily; some of the plot elements do verge over into space opera territory, and not in a pleasing or fresh way like (for example) the Ann Leckie books. But there’s just something about the overall effect — not a seamless immersive whole but a too-present sense that you can just see and hear the clanking machinery that supposedly makes the whole thing work. I always want to read the next book in the series when I finish, but just in a vaguely curious way, not like I’m bereft at leaving the world or hungry to return to it like some other authors.