When I finished 2034 and 2054 by Elliot Ackerman and Admiral James Stavridis USN, I felt like I’d been on a journey—twice. These aren’t just speculative thrillers; they’re plausible futures that left me unsettled in the best way, like I’d glimpsed something just over the horizon and wasn’t sure if it was sunrise or fire.

In 2034 the international order is much less stable than you think. Crisis can quickly escalate to nuclear conflict.

In 2054 AI is already disrupting democracy, but an AI singularity could create a tectonic shift in all areas of humanity—for better and worse.

I normally find books with shifting perspectives hard to follow, but both 2034 and 2054 did something rare: they gave each character enough definition that I never got lost. The narrative structure worked. I was able to stay immersed, even as the scope expanded globally.

2034 is frighteningly prescient. The escalating tension between China and the U.S. over Taiwan felt more like tomorrow’s headlines than fiction. The way Russia opportunistically takes advantage of global instability rang especially true. That geopolitical tension was eerily current.

2054, while more speculative, tackles something even bigger: the singularity. The authors don’t just flirt with AI—they go deep into a future where intelligence surpasses humanity. But they cleverly anchor this theme alongside another one that’s already destabilizing us: the fragility of American democracy. You can feel the shadow of January 6th shaping that part of the narrative. At times, though, I could see the stitching—certain ideas felt so directly drawn from recent headlines that they momentarily broke the illusion.

In 2034, Wedge stood out—a grounded, believable pilot caught up in more than just one high-stakes situation. In 2054, it was Sandy Chowdhury and B.T. who stayed with me. Overall, the characters were credible and textured, which helped the political and technological themes feel more personal.

Both books walk that tightrope between realism and imagination. 2034 could happen today, and that’s what makes it so gripping. 2054 pushes further into speculative territory but still keeps its feet on the ground—barely. I appreciated that neither book wore a flag on its sleeve. They resisted the usual trap of American exceptionalism and instead offered a more grounded, global lens.

2034 confronts the ethics of nuclear escalation—when, if ever, does one push the button? And how does one manage an ever escalating situation where the inevitable outcome seems to be to just drop more and more nukes. 2054 wrestles with how democracy survives in an increasingly polarized society and the growing omnipotence of AI. Both books avoided easy answers, and I respected that.

2034 hooked me more, probably because it felt so immediate—and because I’ve been immersed in similar material lately (like Defense Protocol from Andrews & Wilson and the upcoming Red Tide by M.P. Woodward). Still, 2054 left me thinking about AI in a new, deeper way, conscious of how little most people grasp about the singularity and what it could mean.

I will certainly be picking up the next title coming in the series and look forward to finding out what it will focus on.