Review: Crave

Synopsis

My whole world changed when I stepped inside the academy. Nothing is right about this place or the other students in it. Here I am, a mere mortal among gods…or monsters. I still can’t decide which of these warring factions I belong to, if I belong at all. I only know the one thing that unites them is their hatred of me.
Then there’s Jaxon Vega. A vampire with deadly secrets who hasn’t felt anything for a hundred years. But there’s something about him that calls to me, something broken in him that somehow fits with what’s broken in me.
Which could spell death for us all.
Because Jaxon walled himself off for a reason. And now someone wants to wake a sleeping monster, and I’m wondering if I was brought here intentionally—as the bait.

Review

Read: November 2021

Rating: 1.5 stars out of 5

Warning: This review contains spoilers!

I fully expected this book to be a complete trainwreck before I even began reading it. I mean, when the inspiration for a book is so obviously Twilight you can determine that fact from the cover, that’s exactly what you should expect.

At least in this, Tracy Wolff didn’t disappoint. I anticipated trash, and trash I received.

After the horrific deaths of her parents in a tragic car accident, Grace moves to Alaska to reside with her cousin Macy and her uncle Finn, the latter of whom is the headmaster of the boarding school Grace will attend. As Grace’s new guardian, Finn intends to keep his niece safe. So of course he doesn’t tell her that his boarding school is actually a haven for powerful supernatural entities: He just tosses her into her dorm with Macy and acts like her life isn’t in danger – you know, like any responsible parental figure would do. The powerful inhabitants of the school literally have the maturity of teenagers and some of them are just plain assholes who get their jollies from trying to toss the unwitting human girl out into the Alaskan snow in her pajamas; the school is divided into tense ~~cliques gangs~~ factions that clash frequently and sometimes violently. But sure, Grace is so much safer in the dark, right? It’s been more than a month since I read this book, but I’m pretty sure Macy and Finn don’t crack and fess up to Grace until about halfway through, which is entirely too long to actively obfuscate the truth about present perils from anybody.

Since Crave was published fifteen years after the release of Twilight, I at the very least hoped that Jaxon wouldn’t be a bunting of red flags like Edward was. But Jaxon is a big ol’ sack of dicks. Wolff attempts to write him as charmingly mysterious, but Jaxon only achieves half of that. Sorry, it’s not charming to creep up on a girl you don’t know, invade her personal space, and then drop cryptic messages about the world she’s not supposed to know shit about in such a manner that it appears you’re randomly mansplaining chess. Nor is it endearing to send a girl you met two days prior an entire fucking breakfast buffet via room service. Insisting on walking said girl to all of her classes? No fucking thanks. And frequently breaking shit speaks to problematic anger issues. Somehow, though, Grace doesn’t seem too bothered by that stuff. After watching him beat, strangle, and drink the blood of another student, Grace decides that she thinks he’s “responsible.” I’m sorry, what? I don’t care if there are bizarre interspecies politics at play here – that excessive, aggressive behavior reeks of violent tendencies. Here’s the nice little cherry garnish on top: Jaxon mocks the headmaster about fucking the headmaster’s niece for no reason whatsoever other than to be like “What’s up, I’m a douchecanoe and I have sex and I am master of this high school kingdom.”

But surely, you say, the plot must offer some redemption. I hate to disappoint, but Grace and Jaxon’s romance is the main plot, and with a love interest like Jaxon, there’s not much to root for. The subplot of Lia attempting to resurrect Hudson from the dead is infinitely more interesting conceptually, but it’s underbaked and feeble. Wolff really missed an opportunity by sidelining this grieving Lia/Hudson resurrection arc in favor of a handful of days of Jaxon and Grace’s bland romance. Wolff doesn’t exert much effort in worldbuilding either. Sure, we get to hear a bit about vampires and how they’re born and how old and powerful they are and blah blah blah, but what about the witches/warlocks, shapeshifters, and dragons? Information on these other superhumans is minimal: Wolff provides just enough to skate by, but it’s just not enough to be truly in-depth or fascinating.

It’s not that Crave has no improvements over Twilight. Wolff makes a concerted effort to acknowledge the impacts of her parents’ deaths and the move to Alaska have had on Grace’s mental health. Plus, Grace (sort of sometimes) asserts herself in her relationship with Jaxon. Granted, she has to push back against Jaxon more than she should (because he’s a pushy asshole) and she clearly isn’t in the headspace to understand that Jaxon is unstable, but it’s an upgrade from Twilight’s plot of “Bella wants to change for a man who totally doesn’t respect her agency.” And oh my god, don’t get me started on Macy, because I could ramble about what a gem she is all day long. Aside from lying to Grace about the reality of her situation, Macy is a pretty damn supportive cousin who goes out of her way to make Grace feel more welcome at this alien school. Instead of just doing that out of obligation, Macy is actually trying to – and succeeding in – forging a friendship with Grace because she genuinely wants to. In the end, simply being better than Twilight is such a low bar that clearing it really doesn’t mean much, and just as Alice couldn’t singlehandedly save Twilight no matter how lovable she was, Macy can’t singlehandedly save Crave.

Review: Booked for Murder

Synopsis

Life as a bodyguard and driver for the rich, famous, and powerful is dangerous on a good day, and after sustaining a crippling injury while on duty, Janette’s left with few options. Having signed a ‘for life’ contract but unable to work, she uses her skills to disappear. Her new life as a librarian suits her. Nobody cares she limps and sometimes requires a cane to walk. She’s wanted for her knowledge, not her lethal magic. She’s surrounded by books, a woman’s best friend. But when her former employer’s best friend is murdered on the steps of her library, old loyalties and secrets might destroy her – or set her free. Teaming up with her co-workers to find the killer might keep her from being booked for murder, but unless she’s careful, she’ll find out exactly how far her ex-boss will go to reclaim what is rightfully his. Her. For life.

Review

Read: November 2021

Review: 1 star out of 5

Usually my worst reads originate from places where the books are cheap or free, since lower prices make me more willing to take the risk. Booked for Murder is not one such book. I spent a whole $15 Libro credit on it. Do I regret it? Yes. But is that loss mitigated by my chance to vent on this blog? Absolutely.

In case you haven’t surmised from the title, Booked for Murder is about a magical murder – the murder of a senator, to be specific. Should be at least a little bit interesting, right? Oh, if only. There are too many things wrong with this book for it to be even remotely considered passable.

So where do I even start?

The first problem is Janette herself, which is doubly unfortunate since she narrates the book in first-person. Blain tries to depict Janette as this perfect person who is amazing at everything; both in spite of and because of this, Janette is unlikable. I tired quickly of everyone, including Janette herself, rambling about how amazing she is – about how magically talented she is, how clever she is, how sweet she is. Like, congratulations, you figured out via testing on cattle that you can shoot blood a million feet or whatever. Are you proud of your animal cruelty? Janette is so powerful that in order to hide from her boss (whom she obnoxiously calls her “ex-boss” throughout the book even well after readers discover that she is on a first-name basis with the guy), she had to fake having a low magical capacity because her real one is so phenomenally high.

It’s normal to admire someone for their gifts and qualities, but everyone’s appreciation of Janette’s talents errs egregiously into the territory of abject fawning. What exacerbates my irritation, though, is that for as much as everyone effusively gushes over Janette, that lionization doesn’t seem earned to me. Supposedly Janette is so smart that she can hack into police files in just a few minutes and leave almost no trace, but she’s not clever enough to realize that hiding in the same city as Bradley, changing her last name, and wearing glasses like some Perry the Platypus knockoff bullshit will not ultimately conceal her effectively. The author attempts to portray Janette as jocular, but her jokes are awkward and often carried on to the point where a listener questions whether she’s serious. (I kid you not, she spends a whole minute joking about setting politicians – the people she and her group are ostensibly trying to save – on fire, even after it’s become clear that the joke has exhausted its welcome.) But congratulations, bitch, because being a talented store-brand bloodbender who can shoot bovine blood a gajillion meters away apparently compensates for your insipid personality. The only things I can appreciate about Janette are her love for her cat (whom she rescued as a kitten) and her love of books, but that’s not enough to outweigh everything I can’t stand about her.

Really, almost every character is either annoying, straight-up bizarre, or both. Like, the head librarian of the New York Library is randomly and conveniently also mortician or some shit. Bradley’s mom is almost as imperious as her son is, and she thinks it’s cool to “take in” a Black girl as a child and then employ her as a maid, and then adopt her after she’s become an adult. (Author lady, if Jezabela is supposed to be your Black rep, maybe don’t make your only explicitly Black character be a fucking maid.) Janette’s dad is weirdly, creepily obsessed with punishing her with the switch. He rambles about it for minutes at a time. And after not seeing or hearing from Janette for three years, her parents see fit to remark that her cat is an acceptable temporary substitute for grandchildren. Can you imagine being reunited with your child after three years and grousing about how bummed you are that they haven’t popped out grandchildren, let alone shacked up with somebody? Yeah, me neither.

And then there’s Bradley. We the readers are supposed to root for Janette and Bradley to at last admit their feelings for one another and bang it out, but few love interests who are unworthier than this entitled little scum nugget come to mind. This scuzzball thinks he owns the damn world and can do whatever the fuck he wants because he has money and (supposedly) is hot. He is possessive even for a guy who holds a woman’s indentured servitude contract (yeah, we’ll get to that later). He insists on doing everything for Janette, an importunity that breaches the threshold of pesky to lodge itself firmly into creepy territory. Bradley might not make all of Janette’s decisions for her, but he certainly seems that he’d like to. Various controlling behaviors of Bradley’s are excused under the pretense of pampering or doting on Janette. Clearly he has no reservations about telling HIPPA to go fuck itself, snooping through her medical records, or making appointments for her, because that’s exactly what he does. I don’t care if that’s normal for the world they live in; it’s still eerie. These aren’t the only instances of blatant overreach on Bradley’s part; there are so many that I can’t pick many more off the top of my head. What I can tell you is that like half of my notes consist of comments like “What a shithead” and “You fucking pompous iguana,” and you can bet that those are all about Bradley. I know I just spent a gigantic chunk of this review complaining about how simultaneously boring and weird Janette is, but even I think she deserves better than this self-absorbed, toxic-masculinity-riddled asshole. Get the hell out of here, Bradley, you’re not fooling me with your “I’m friends with a eugenicist but I disagree with him” claptrap.

The rest of this book is… I just hate it. Everything is too similar to the real world, and none of the things that set the book’s universe apart from the real world are charming or enchanting or even interesting. The magic system is horrendously bland. I’m also disturbed by how casually the so-called “for-life contracts” are treated. It’s one thing to write your character as accepting of obviously morally reprehensible practices for the sake of the story. But usually when an author crafts a world with a patent injustice baked into it, the voice typically expresses some kind of condemnation for that injustice, even if the characters endorse the abhorrent behavior. I did not pick up that vibe in this book. I’m not saying that the author is pro-slavery/-indenture, just that the narration doesn’t seem to hold the expected tacit remonstrance. Maybe I just wasn’t paying sufficient attention to pick that up, but the notion that my attention might have strayed so seriously is another testament to how good this book isn’t. But how could I possibly be interested when the dialogue frequently runs off on tangents such as how the tax structure of the investigative cell works. (By the way, dear book characters, if your investigative cell has tax laws it needs to follow, it’s probably sanctioned by law; therefore, you are not vigilantes.)

Aside from the presence of a cat, the other thing this book has going for it is physically disabled character representation via the main character, but let’s be honest: You can find solid disabled character representation and lovable characters, an entertaining plot, and an interesting world in the Aurora Cycle. Don’t waste your time with this book.

Review: A Deadly Education

Synopsis

I decided that Orion Lake needed to die after the second time he saved my life.
Everyone loves Orion Lake. Everyone else, that is. Far as I’m concerned, he can keep his flashy combat magic to himself. I’m not joining his pack of adoring fans.
I don’t need help surviving the Scholomance, even if they do. Forget the hordes of monsters and cursed artifacts, I’m probably the most dangerous thing in the place. Just give me a chance and I’ll level mountains and kill untold millions, make myself the dark queen of the world.
At least, that’s what the world expects. Most of the other students in here would be delighted if Orion killed me like one more evil thing that’s crawled out of the drains. Sometimes I think they want me to turn into the evil witch they assume I am. The school certainly does.
But the Scholomance isn’t getting what it wants from me. And neither is Orion Lake. I may not be anyone’s idea of the shining hero, but I’m going to make it out of this place alive, and I’m not going to slaughter thousands to do it, either.
Although I’m giving serious consideration to just one.

Review

Read: July 2021

Rating: 4 stars out of 5

What if the Hogwarts staff one day looked out at all the students in the Great Hall, said, “Fuck these little shits,” and collectively noped out of Hogwarts, leaving the kids to fend for themselves against whatever magical mishaps and whackadoodle, murderous beasties cropped up?

Your answer is the Scholomance. In the Scholomance, though, you’d be so lucky as to have only Hagrid’s blast-ended skrewts and the occasional basilisk out to kill you. The food is sometimes contaminated. Scholomance kids are attacked by deadly maleficaria on a regular basis (at least once per month) – and not all survive. You’re crazy if you go to the bathroom alone. The result is a Machiavellian, hardscrabble milieu that necessitates alliances, business deals, and politicking to boost your chances to survive. Sometimes kids even make friends.

Naomi Novik could’ve easily chosen the most advantaged kid to narrate the story. (That would be Orion Lake, the son of a New York enclave official, who is widely known for his lion’s heart, generosity, and his singular combat skills.) Instead, Novik opts for one of the school’s biggest loners: Galadriel “El” Higgins. El is charming in that she isn’t readily likeable – or at least not likeable in the traditional sense. She’s smart, determined, fiercely independent, and prickly, while also being deeply flawed. Novik lets El’s strengths be her weaknesses and her weaknesses be her strengths; her attributes are neither purely beneficial nor purely detrimental to her survival. El’s echinated exterior at first leaves her isolated and therefore disadvantaged in terms of survival, but later on it does earn her a few real friends and the respect of some efficacious potential allies. Furthermore, El could be extraordinarily powerful, but the moral and physical costs of that power deter her from taking full advantage of it. A refreshingly imperfect heroine, El’s delightfully acerbic stream of consciousness lends a conversational feel to the narration. It’s also wonderful to witness El develop as a person. She begins the book by not really having friends, just folks willing to do business with her, and gradually emerges from her shell. I love how her relationship with Orion blossoms into a friendship instead of just taking off into a romantic relationship right away. I’ll be interested to see further developments on that front (PLEASE!!!!), and I’m hoping for further progress in El’s burgeoning friendships with Aadhya and Liu.

Novik clearly has exerted a huge amount of effort into creating the Scholomance world, and that effort has borne fruit. The world Novik has crafted in the Scholomance universe is assiduously imagined and thoroughly explained. Novik’s worldbuilding, however, is sometimes awkward. She has a tendency to monologue her way through worldbuilding via El, and if the material weren’t so damn interesting I’d probably hate the infodumping. As much as I was enthralled by the subject matter, I often had a sense of… being unmoored. Sometimes I’d be wrapped up in the information and then think to myself, “Wait, where is this going?” However, El’s social status and introverted personality, alongside the isolation of the Scholomance’s occupants in general, allow the hefty information style to fit just a little bit better than it should have. Still, I can’t help but think that so much of the book’s content focuses on worldbuilding that the plot is edged out – or that Novik just wanted to fill more pages than a less heavy-handed approach would have.

Finally, I’d be remiss if I didn’t address the elephant in the room: the racist locs paragraph. Yes, Naomi Novik wrote a whole damn paragraph about “lock-leeches” that lay eggs in locs and whose larvae can kill the host. (I guess my library’s copy is the old version.) Now all racism is stupid, but this instance is especially stupid because Novik had to 1) conceive the idea, 2) write it out, 3) decide that it was fine to have written it, and 4) send in her manuscript to editors, and this somehow all passed the sensitivity read. To her credit, Novik offered a frank apology and made some serious efforts to correct her error, but the unfortunate fact remains that the incident happened and is hurtful.

A Deadly Education begins a potential-packed series in a dark, gritty setting full of characters likeable not because they are perfect, but because they are so very human. While Novik’s worldbuilding can be as much a ballast as it can be an attractant, A Deadly Education is an entertaining read worthy of picking up. Just look for later printings of it – and if you happen to get ahold of the oldest printing, be aware of why that paragraph on locs is problematic.

To learn more about race-based hair discrimination and what you can do, visit TheCROWNAct.org.

Review: House of Earth and Blood (Crescent City, #1)

Synopsis

Bryce Quinlan had the perfect life – working hard all day and partying all night – until a demon murdered her closest friends, leaving her bereft, wounded, and alone. When the accused is behind bars but the crimes start up again, Bryce finds herself at the heart of the investigation. She’ll do whatever it takes to avenge their deaths.
Hunt Athalar is a notorious Fallen angel, now enslaved to the Archangels he once attempted to overthrow. His brutal skills and incredible strength have been set to one purpose – to assassinate his boss’s enemies, no questions asked. But with a demon wreaking havoc in the city, he’s offered an irresistible deal: help Bryce find the murderer, and his freedom will be within reach.
As Bryce and Hunt dig deeper into Crescent City’s underbelly, they discover a dark power that threatens everything and everyone they hold dear, and they find, in each other, a blazing passion – one that could set them both free, if only they’d let it.

Review

Read: July 2021

Rating: ?????

Spoiler warning! Major plot details will be discussed in this review. Turn back now if you don’t want to see them!

After reading the atrocious abomination that is A Court of Silver Flames, I dabbled in negative reviews of both that book and House of Earth and Blood. My plans to read HoEaB were scrapped, at least for the moment. But I decided that my stint of good books had continued long enough, and I wanted some trash. (Reading garbage amplifies your appreciation for the quality material, you know.)

Basically, I picked HoEaB up as a hate read, but I ended up not hating it. I liked it. This book chronicles a substantive mystery with deep personal connections to one of our detective heroes. Bryce Quinlan lost her best friend, her romantic interest, and a whole wolf pack of friends to a particularly gruesome murder and is struggling to cope with the grief and guilt even two years later. Counting on Bryce’s interest in avenging her friends’ murders and in not looking like a suspect herself, Governor Micah Domitus, an Archangel, pairs Bryce up with his slave (yes, you read that correctly), Hunt Athalar. Hunt’s primary motivation – a drastic reduction in his slave debt – is soon joined by his burgeoning feelings for Bryce (which you probably will see coming if you’ve ever been exposed to any kind of romance). If you hate slow-paced stuff, this book isn’t for you, but I found that the pacing fit well with the story HoEaB has to tell.

I didn’t expect to be as invested in the characters as I was. Ruhn is shaping up to be a promising character, and I hope that the next installment will focus more heavily on him. (Bonus: I think Maas is setting up an excellent slow-burn romance between either Hypaxia and Ruhn or Hypaxia and Tharion. Either would be fine.) Also, I love hacker-type characters, and I didn’t know I needed a Fae hacker until Declan Emmett came along. He had better have more point-of-view pages in the next book too, damn it. Even Bryce grew on me. Above all, though, Danika is unquestionably the real star of this book. Her love of animals and sense of justice are eternally endearing. Her friendship with Bryce is so wholesome. Her machinations foil the bad guy, an immortal of several hundred years, for two years after her own death. Micah isn’t exaggerating when he says, “Danika’s the smart one.”

So if you enjoyed so much of the story, why couldn’t you just pick a rating? you wonder. Well folks, between those reviews I read and my own experience reading literally every single one of Maas’s novels – and in particular, the abomination that is A Court of Silver Flames – I noticed stuff that once would have flown under my radar. Here’s my shit list:

Many people have been complaining about Maas’s dearth of diversity in her books, and I absolutely understand where they’re coming from. Juniper, a faun, is basically described as being Black, but she doesn’t really have the page time or character development for her presence to amount to much more than tokenism.

The slapdash tokenism diversity is frustrating. Lack of diversity alone is not usually enough to sink a book, but it certainly can degrade the quality, and it can give the impression that authors are neglecting to raise awareness about minorities and their treatment through their platforms. Many people have been complaining about Maas’s dearth of diversity in her books, and I absolutely understand where they’re coming from. Juniper is basically described as being Black, but she doesn’t really have the page time or character development for her presence to amount to much more than tokenism. What’s more, Juniper is in a lesbian relationship with Fury… and that’s all we hear about it. I mean, I guess it’s nice that being LGBTQ+ is such a non-issue in Crescent City; however, I think that Maas should remember the context in which the real-world audience lives when approaching these sorts of things. Maybe Maas is planning to focus more on Juniper and/or Fury in House of Sky and Breath, but if past behavior is any indicator, she likely will not.
Certain phrases are repeated ad nauseum. I get it. Bryce thinks Hunt is hot. That said, the phrase “her toes curled” does not need to appear as many times as it does. And of course, because this is an SJM book, we got a visit or two from someone’s “considerable length.”
Danika surrenders her eternal life in the Bone Quarter for Bryce’s Ascent. Can’t my girl get a break?
Does Bryce really need to end up with that much power? Stories tend to be more interesting when your characters aren’t living battering rams or nukes. I love seeing characters solve problems with their intelligence, their skills, and/or their grit. Unfortunately, by the end of the book, Bryce is a battering ram. A Court of Silver Flames, as another review points out, has the same damn problem. Bryce already has the Starborn ability and the Horn. Now she gets to be more powerful than the Autumn King? The crappiest part is that Bryce probably would have not needed Danika’s spirit to evaporate in order to survive the Ascent if she’d just stuck with her inborn power level.
Shut the hell up about how hot Bryce is. We get it. A character crushing on another character is bound to remark upon the physical appearance of their crush multiple times. Still, not all thoughts should be shared – or at least, not all thoughts should be shared more than once.
Maas needs help writing men better. “He’d admit it: males would do a lot of fucked-up things for someone who looked like that” seems pretty insulting to men, if you ask me. Maas seems to be under the impression that men have little self-control. Also, what the fuck with “Fucking Hel, his voice – silk and steel and ancient stone. He could probably make someone come by merely whispering filthy things in their ear”? Does Micah have to be a walking talking orgasmatron? That’s fucking ridiculous.
One of the biggest problems with this book is the potential plagiarism at the very end. Other readers have noticed that “like calls to like” is an axiom in the Grisha trilogy. (The Tumblr post in the link includes other examples that I think might be a stretch.) I’d heard about this in relation to the A Court of Thorns and Roses series, but I brushed it off. Those words are relatively common, and maybe it’s toeing the line of copying, but it’s not that huge. Demon-fighting light powers don’t belong exclusively to Leigh Bardugo either; it’s a theme as old as shit. But when those two things – a demon-fighting light power and the phrase “like calls to like” – it definitely crosses the line from “uncomfy but not horrible” to “yikes.” Alina’s power is light that can combat darkness and monsters. Bryce’s Starborn power is basically the same thing. Combined with “like calls to like,” it seems like pretty blatant plagiarism – or at least bad editing.

Overall, this first installment of Crescent City is both intriguing and also… uncomfortable and disappointing at times. I don’t regret reading it, but it’s not my new favorite thing like it might have been three or four years ago. Maas’s various issues can, have, and will diminish the fun that this book, in a less adulterated state, should be.

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Disclaimer: This review contains links to other blogs/social media posts associated with other reviewers. I am not collaborating with them, nor does the appearance of their links in this review imply endorsement of my blog or this post. I have simply included the links to connect my readers with the material to which I am responding.

Review: Truthwitch (The Witchlands, #1)

Synopsis

On a continent ruled by three empires, some are born with a “witchery,” a magical skill that sets them apart from others.

In the Witchlands, there are almost as many types of magic as there are ways to get in trouble—as two desperate young women know all too well.
Safiya is a Truthwitch, able to discern truth from lie. It’s a powerful magic that many would kill to have on their side, especially amongst the nobility to which Safi was born. So Safi must keep her gift hidden, lest she be used as a pawn in the struggle between empires.
Iseult, a Threadwitch, can see the invisible ties that bind and entangle the lives around her—but she cannot see the bonds that touch her own heart. Her unlikely friendship with Safi has taken her from life as an outcast into one of reckless adventure, where she is a cool, wary balance to Safiya’s hotheaded impulsiveness.
Safiya and Iseult just want to be free to live their own lives, but war is coming to the Witchlands. With the help of the cunning Prince Merik (a Windwitch and privateer) and the hindrance of a Bloodwitch bent on revenge, the friends must fight emperors, princes, and mercenaries alike, who will stop at nothing to get their hands on a Truthwitch.
Barnes and Noble

Review

Re-read: June 2021

Rating: 4.5 stars out of 5

The Witchlands is one of those series that I stumbled upon by surfing through the Nook Store’s “$2.99 and Under” section – a favorite place of mine to snag books. In retrospect, I got even more bang for my buck than I originally thought, since Truthwitch would’ve been more than worth its cover price, let alone the measly $3 I shelled out for it.

Two-and-a-half years ago, when I first read Truthwitch, I very much enjoyed it but felt somewhat… adrift. Susan Dennard has built such an expansive world in the Witchlands that readers might feel overwhelmed. But that feeling is the good sort of overwhelm – the kind you experience when something is saturated with intricate detail, yet there are still so many questions that demand answers. Reading the rest of the series and then re-reading Truthwitch dissipates any remaining confusion. This first book of a truly spectacular series proves to be an excellent introduction to the riveting story Dennard has to tell.

The pace of this book could be best described as “barreling” or “breakneck.” Seriously, the action never ceases. It all kicks off with a bungled heist, and Safi and Iseult spend the rest of the book running. Dennard isn’t bad at writing fight scenes either – which is a good thing, because there are plenty of skirmishes throughout the novel. The characters are multidimensional, complex, and dynamic. Each viewpoint character has some hangup to battle with: Safi’s uncontrolled recklessness, Iseult’s failure to live up to the expectations of both her mother and her society as a Threadwitch, Merik’s temper, and Aeduan’s struggle to discern exactly which morals he holds. While Truthwitch decidedly focuses on Safi’s character development, the other characters experience distinct – if slower and subtler – progression of their character arcs.

There is only one reason I knocked off half a star: Dennard’s writing sometimes feels a bit unwieldy, the type of awkward that often accompanies an author still trying to figure out how to best guide readers through their story and illustrate their characters. For instance, I remembered there being sexual and romantic tension between Safi and Merik, but I forgot how ridiculously horny Merik is during the last hundred pages or so. Occasionally, the characters make what appear to be (and sometimes are) completely boneheaded mistakes, but those mistakes usually end up painting them as realistic people who are imperfect and who fuck up, all while keeping the book at a healthy distance from a disastrous “idiot plot” saga. Really, the plot is so amazingly good and the characters are so wonderful that it’s easy to forgive most of the bumps in the road.

Whether you’re reading Truthwitch for the first time or revisiting it, prepare to find yourself in a fascinated daze at the end. Considered in isolation from its successors, I highly recommend Truthwitch. Considered along with its successors, I can’t recommend it highly enough.

Spoiler-Light Review: Rule of Wolves (Nikolai Duology, #2; Grishaverse, #7)

Synopsis

The wolves are circling and a young king will face his greatest challenge in the explosive finale of the instant #1 New York Times–bestselling King of Scars Duology.
The Demon King. As Fjerda’s massive army prepares to invade, Nikolai Lantsov will summon every bit of his ingenuity and charm—and even the monster within—to win this fight. But a dark threat looms that cannot be defeated by a young king’s gift for the impossible.
The Stormwitch. Zoya Nazyalensky has lost too much to war. She saw her mentor die and her worst enemy resurrected, and she refuses to bury another friend. Now duty demands she embrace her powers to become the weapon her country needs. No matter the cost.
The Queen of Mourning. Deep undercover, Nina Zenik risks discovery and death as she wages war on Fjerda from inside its capital. But her desire for revenge may cost her country its chance at freedom and Nina the chance to heal her grieving heart.
King. General. Spy. Together they must find a way to forge a future in the darkness. Or watch a nation fall.
Barnes and Noble

Review (Spoiler-Light Version)

Read: May 2021

Rating: 5 stars out of 5!

Spoiler warning: This review will contain spoilers for all preceding Grishaverse books (Grisha Trilogy, Six of Crows Duology, King of Scars, and possibly even The Language of Thorns). I’ll try to be circumspect about the precise events of Rule of Wolves, but there will be mild spoilers for this book.

Spoiler version: Coming soon!

Two years of waiting have rewarded me with this enthralling, suspenseful, fulfilling masterpiece. Between finishing re-reading Six of Crows (via audiobook with my mother and sister) and reading Rule of Wolves, I’m reminded exactly why I love Leigh Bardugo’s stories so damn much.

This book is emotional. Be prepared for a hurricane of feelings. Be prepared to squeal with joy, and be prepared to sob. I don’t often cry over book character deaths, but the death in this book tore me apart. Yet, in love and friendship, there is still happiness to be found. This is especially true for fans of the canon ships. If you’re a diehard Kanej shipper like I am, even the brief allusions to their relationship will thrill you. And needless to say, the Zoyalai moments are smoldering, even without sex scenes. Bardugo has crafted an excellent romance in which she captures the intimacy between Zoya and Nikolai without much physical contact. Nina’s romance with Hanne, too, is natural, especially given how Bardugo balances Nina’s growing feelings for Hanne with her love for her deceased partner, Matthias.

Leigh Bardugo is skilled at handling multiple plot threads and bringing them together in a cohesive climax – which is fitting, because Rule of Wolves is, as I interpret it, meant to be a quasi-finale of the Grishaverse. (Bardugo has stated that this is a “farewell for now,” although she plans to return to the Grishaverse later.) While Nikolai and Zoya are in Ravka and Kerch preparing for war with Fjerda, Nina is also preparing for war from within Fjerda itself, and Mayu, Ehri, and Tamar head off to Shu Han to extirpate the kherguud. And all of it makes sense. The resolutions to our heroes many, many challenges are realistic and believable.

Rule of Wolves is one of those books in which you should pay very close attention to detail if you want a chance at correctly inferring any of the plot twists. I repeatedly would flip back through the book to refresh myself on details – partially because I’m a pedantic sucker for detail and partially because I wanted to formulate my best guess as to what would happen next. Everything is used – and there’s a lot of material to incorporate. Politicking! Magic! Spying! Mini-heists! War! Slow-burn romances! It’s all here, and Bardugo doesn’t waste a single scrap of it. If you haven’t read Rule of Wolves yet – or any of the rest of the Grishaverse, for that matter – you’re cheating yourself worse than Kaz cheats Pekka Rollins and Nikolai cheats death.

Mini Review: Sightwitch (Witchlands, #2.5)

Synopsis

Sisters with the gift of Sight—Sightwitches, who can see into the future—are of a rare and ancient order. Raised in a secluded convent, they await the invitation of their goddess to enter the depths of the mountain and receive the sacred gift of foretelling.
But for young Ryber Fortiza, that call never comes. As the only sister without Sight, Ryber has devoted herself to the goddess. Surely, if she just works hard enough, she will finally be gifted like everyone else.
Until one day, all Sisters who possess the Sight are summoned into the mountain—and never return. Now Ryber, still Sight-less, is the only one left. Can she, who has spent her life feeling like th weakest, be the one to save her Sisters and the ancient power they protect?
On her journey underground, she encounters a young captain named Kullen Ikray, who has no memory of who he is or how he got there. Together they trek ever deeper, the mountain tunnels filled with mysteries and horrors. And what they find at the end will alter the fate of the Witchlands forever.
Barnes & Noble

Review

Read: May 2021

Rating: 4.5 out of 5 stars

This review contains spoilers for Truthwitch and Windwitch, and mild spoilers for Bloodwitch.

I’d heard that Sightwitch was extremely important to the rest of the Witchlands series. I mean, I never doubted that, but wow. Anybody reading the Witchlands series must read this novella. And when I say you need to read it, I mean you should read either a physical or digital text copy. While I haven’t listened to the audiobook, a friend of mine has, and I can imagine that he might have missed out on quite a bit. Dennard uses different fonts for the beginnings of diary entries and for notes, and without being able to see those fonts, listeners might feel a little lost. The fonts are an excellent choice for both aesthetic and storytelling purposes: They provide an extra means of understanding the characters, and they indicate who the narrator is.

When I read Truthwitch, I was heartbroken when Kullen cleaved and when Ryber mourned his loss and subsequently left Merik’s crew. In my opinion, readers encountered Ryber and Kullen often enough and in sufficient depth to be impacted by those events, but they didn’t know Ryber and Kullen as well as the two of them deserved to be known. Sightwitch is a marvelous explanation of Ryber’s origins and a poignant, bittersweet peek at Kullen prior to his cleaving.

On Ryber and Kullen’s end, this book is far from romance-heavy. Ryber is intent on finding her Threadsister, Tanzi, and the rest of the Sightwitches who have been her family for the majority of her life. Given that fact, along with the time span in which Ryber knows Kullen, it’s much more natural for a few brilliant sparks to fly between them than it is for a fully fleshed romance to form in this story. Eridysi, on the other hand, sees her romantic relationship develop into something solid. Despite Eridysi never writing out the general’s full name, their romance is compelling nonetheless.

Perhaps more than anything else, though, Sightwitch is a vessel of world-building – in the best way possible. Dennard has introduced readers to a variety of fascinating aspects of the Witchlands world, and here she explains the most important lore pieces to readers while telling two riveting stories. Vivia’s underground city, the Paladins, Eridysi, the doorways, Sightwitches, ice, the blade and the mirror, the Rook King – all of them are part of this intriguing tale. This is the kind of tie-in that prompts you to reread all the other books in the series just so you can pick up everything you missed before, and I intend to do just that. Even if you’ve already read Bloodwitch, this book is a major eye-opener that can’t be skipped.

Book Review: A Court of Silver Flames (A Court of Thorns and Roses, #4)

Synopsis

Sarah J. Maas’s sexy, richly imagined series continues with the journey of Feyre’s fiery sister, Nesta.
Nesta Archeron has always been prickly-proud, swift to anger, and slow to forgive. And ever since being forced into the Cauldron and becoming High Fae against her will, she’s struggled to find a place for herself within the strange, deadly world she inhabits. Worse, she can’t seem to move past the horrors of the war with Hybern and all she lost in it.
The one person who ignites her temper more than any other is Cassian, the battle-scarred warrior whose position in Rhysand and Feyre’s Night Court keeps him constantly in Nesta’s orbit. But her temper isn’t the only thing Cassian ignites. The fire between them is undeniable, and only burns hotter as they are forced into close quarters with each other.
Meanwhile, the treacherous human queens who returned to the Continent during the last war have forged a dangerous new alliance, threatening the fragile peace that has settled over the realms. And the key to halting them might very well rely on Cassian and Nesta facing their haunting pasts.
Against the sweeping backdrop of a world seared by war and plagued with uncertainty, Nesta and Cassian battle monsters from within and without as they search for acceptance – and healing – in each other’s arms.
Barnes & Noble

Review

Read: April 2021

Rating: 2 out of 5 stars

Spoiler warning! There are major spoilers in this review!

Content warning: sex scenes, gore, violence, sexual assault, torture. Some of these topics might be discussed briefly in the review.

So I waited the last three years for this? Count me among the disappointed. It took a lot of consideration for me to settle on a rating for this, and even now I’m uncertain about the score I’ve assigned. I have so many thoughts on this book.

A Court of Silver Flames isn’t without its merits. First off, I’ve been a Nessian shipper since Day One, and this book fulfills my dream of seeing them finally get together. Second, I appreciate the emotional healing that Nesta, Emerie, and Gwyn undergo. I love witnessing the blossoming of supportive friendship between these three – and I love how they absolutely kicked misogynist ass in the Blood Rite. Finally, I see a great deal of promise in Emerie’s and Eris’s characters. Steadfast, reasonable, brave Emerie already has earned a special place in my heart, and Eris is fascinatingly flawed. Hopefully both of them will be further developed as characters in the next installment.

Unfortunately, my complaints about ACoSF far outweigh what I enjoyed about it. Much to the dismay of my grammar-loving heart, Sarah J. Maas has evolved a weird predilection for overusing sentence fragments. Sentence fragments can add dramatic effect when used judiciously; once the author begins liberally tossing them in, they become an annoyance that can only be overlooked if the rest of the story is solid. Maas employs them with almost no discretion. They pop up everywhere. Here are just a few examples:

She felt it a heartbeat later. The presence creeping toward them on soft paws.
Nesta seemed to glow with the attention. Owned it. Commanded it.
Nesta let him see it then. That she bore no ill will toward Feyre or the babe.

I actually looked back in some of my old Throne of Glass books to see if Maas has always been so fond of this writing style, and I don’t think she has. I noticed the frequency of sentence fragments really began to rise in Maas’s books around the time of Empire of Storms and A Court of Thorns and Roses. As of ACoSF, it appears that Maas has fully embraced this irksome pattern and doesn’t intend to rein herself in. Imagine it. If I talked to you like this. In these jagged fragments. Fragments that are disjointed. Fragments that interrupt speech and thought.

That’s fucking irritating, isn’t it?

Speaking of reining herself in, fucking hell, Sarah, dial back with the sex and horniness. Yes, I expect sex scenes in a new adult romance, and while I’m personally a bit more conservative about sex than a lot of people are, I don’t consider myself a super-prude by any stretch of the imagination. My problem isn’t that there are sex scenes – it’s that Maas seems to utilize sex scenes as filler content. There is so much sex in this book that I started skipping sex scenes not because I was offended, but because they were repetitive and generally not important. There is so much sex in this book that it gets boring. Even when they’re not having sex, the characters still think about it with such constancy that it’s a bit disconcerting. The viewpoint characters are endlessly, incorrigibly horny, and Maas spends so many words on that fact that the writing suffers because of it. No one can go seven pages without thinking about themselves or someone else gettin’ busy – and Maas absolutely has to tell you in detail about those thoughts. Instead of incessantly rambling about sex and how hot everyone is, Maas should focus her energy on developing the non-viewpoint characters she left to languish in the corner, only to be brought out to prop up our heroes.

This book lacks the intrigue and action I expect from a Maas book. Although I liked the Oorid scene and the Blood Rite, ACoSF is relatively devoid of the excitement that its predecessors had. The politicking and scheming and world-building potentials of this book are painfully underplayed, and Maas tries to compensate for that by contriving bullshit drama. Given the opportunity to delve further into the threat of Briallyn and Koschei or better explain Nesta’s powers beyond nebulous uber-powerful magic, Maas instead fabricates a last-minute sort-of love triangle between Eris, Nesta, and Cassian that lasts for less than a hundred pages and invents a convoluted, phenomenally stupid subplot surrounding Feyre’s pregnancy.

Seriously, the pregnancy nonsense might have been the biggest fault of the entire seven hundred fifty-page book. Feyre conceives a baby with Rhys, but because Feyre was in Illyrian form during the baby’s conception, the baby has wings. The baby’s bony wings will get caught in Feyre’s birth canal and kill her because of her High Fae anatomy. So what? you shrug. Feyre can shapeshift. Problem solved. Cassian had the same thought.

“So let her change back into an Illyrian to bear the babe.”
Rhys’s face was stark. “Madja has put a ban on any more shapeshifting. She says that to alter Feyre’s body in any way right now could put the baby at risk.”

So wait. Let me get this straight. Feyre can shapeshift her damn eggs, and those eggs are still capable of producing a viable zygote. Rhys knows that the baby’s wings will most likely kill his wife (and himself because of that stupid bargain they made to leave this world together). There are documented cases of High Fae women being killed by their half-Illyrian babies, and if they aren’t killed, they almost certainly will never bear another child. Grievous morbidity or death is certain. Yet even despite all of that, it’s still deemed too great a risk for Feyre to shapeshift so much as her pelvis.

Slam Dunk Baby!

How is the pelvis problem solved? Nesta – who has the power to imbue the House of Wind with a soul, Unmake a Made queen, and Make a brand-new Dread Trove, and who is capable of wielding all three components of the original Dread Trove simultaneously – must relinquish most of her power back to the Cauldron because she “doesn’t know how to save” Feyre from bleeding out. She unwittingly Made a new Dread Trove, but she has to “know” exactly what to do to save Feyre? Even with that weakness in her power, Nesta is somehow conveniently able to transmogrify both hers and Feyre’s pelvises to accommodate half-Illyrian babies with her power – never mind that Feyre can transform her own damn pelvis after she recovers from nearly dying in childbirth. This all becomes even dumber and more unnecessary when you consider the Blood Rite and the confrontation with Briallyn could have served as an adequate climax (although the Briallyn arc struck me as underdeveloped to begin with).

One of the worst parts about this whole thing is that Feyre is ignorant of the danger the fetus poses to her, and Rhys chooses not to share this information with her and orders his friends to shut the hell up about it. He loves Feyre and encases her in a fucking shield for much of her pregnancy because he wants to protect her so badly (um, ew), but he actively keeps this knowledge from her at her peril. Nesta tells Feyre, and his reaction is to tell Cassian to get Nesta out of Velaris “before I fucking kill her.” In addition to all of that shit with Feyre, he pulls rank on his brothers for asinine reasons, he’s unsympathetic to Azriel’s romantic situation, and he interferes in Elain’s love life out of concern for politics. In previous books, Rhysand is arrogant, sarcastic, and sometimes a bit too big for his britches, but ultimately he’s compassionate, loyal, and just. In this book, I hardly even recognize Rhys because he’s such a fucking prick.

This book is one of the biggest letdowns I’ve ever read. I consider myself a fan of Sarah J. Maas. Throne of Glass is one of my absolute favorite series, and I thoroughly enjoyed the first three books of A Court of Thorns and Roses. Sadly, A Court of Silver Flames fails to live up to – let alone exceed – my expectations of a Sarah J. Maas book. The pacing is inconsistent, the sex scenes are absolutely absurd, and two-thirds of the plot is stupid and/or underbaked. I’d like my twenty-eight dollars back, please.

Book Review: The Seventh Sun

Synopsis

Thrust into leadership upon the death of his emperor father, young Prince Ahkin feels completely unready for his new position. Though his royal blood controls the power of the sun, he’s now responsible for the lives of all the Chicome people. And despite all Ahkin’s efforts, the sun is fading—and the end of the world may be at hand.

For Mayana, the only daughter of the Chicome family whose blood controls the power of water, the old emperor’s death may mean that she is next. Prince Ahkin must be married before he can ascend the throne, and Mayana is one of six noble daughters presented to him as a possible wife. Those who are not chosen will be sacrificed to the gods.

Only one girl can become Ahkin’s bride. Mayana and Ahkin feel an immediate connection, but the gods themselves may be against them. Both recognize that the ancient rites of blood that keep the gods appeased may be harming the Chicome more than they help. As a bloodred comet and the fading sun bring a growing sense of dread, only two young people may hope to change their world.

Rich in imagination and romance, and based on the legends and history of the Aztec and Maya people, The Seventh Sun brings to vivid life a world on the edge of apocalyptic disaster.

Review

Rating: 2.25 stars out of 5
Read: October 2019

It’s so satisfying to see a fantasy novel with a non-European setting. The representation isn’t the only thing to cheer about, though: There is a bevy of fantasy books written about medieval white people, so a novel focusing on people of color often speaks to some creativity on the part of the author. Lani Forbes’s The Seventh Sun centers on the fictitious Chicome people, whose culture is based on those of indigenous Mesoamericans. While I can’t speak to the Forbes’s historical or cultural accuracy, I can say that I appreciate the change of pace.

For the most part, though, this book is lackluster. The characters are mediocre at best and obnoxiously dull at worst. Mayana struggles with her moral objections to ritual sacrifices, which the religious leaders of the Chicome empire have essentially enshrined as dogma. This powerful internal conflict could have propelled a very interesting narrative had it been paired with a well-constructed character. I don’t despise Mayana – I even connect to her on some level – but she is just kinda bland. Prince Ahkin, the fantastically handsome and high-status love interest, is even emptier. For all of Forbes’s insistence that Ahkin is an intelligent man governed by logic, his behavior doesn’t match her claim. Not only is he apparently prone to tantrum-like outbursts and impetuous behavior, but he also overlooks critical information an alarming number of times, all while sporting the naivety of a child. He literally decides to kill himself immediately after hearing from a captured enemy solider that the sacrifice of his life is what will bring the sun back. He doesn’t bother to even consider this for a day or think about who might have ulterior motives; he just asks the high priest for his opinion and promptly marches off to the pit entrance to Xibalba, the underworld, to stab himself in the gut. The guy is repeatedly played like a fiddle – which is fair to say even if you factor out reasonable trust in the perpetrators. It’s no wonder Ahkin can’t swim: he’s got a head full of rocks. The supporting characters are way more interesting than the main characters. I would much rather hear how Yoli or Zorrah became who they are, or how Yemania has struggled with her father’s mistreatment, or Teniza’s story – a far more intriguing love story than the rushed romance in this book.

The plotlines – both romantic and not – are too foreseeable for my liking. While I enjoy the satisfaction of finding that my inferences are correct, it’s no fun if there’s no challenge to it. I smelled Coatl and Metzi’s game miles away. Maybe I just watch too much Dateline, but when a politically powerful, perfectly healthy man drops dead for no apparent reason, chances are there’s perfidy; who better to execute the crime than the palace healer? And Coatl’s potential motives are quickly elucidated when his sister Yemania arrives in the capital to be a bride/sacrifice and Princess Metzi requests to sit next to Coatl. Once Metzi is introduced, her shady, manipulative behavior promptly singles her out as a suspect. The whole scheme is so transparent that the “big reveal” lacks the wonderful coalescent effect in which the reader sees all of the details that they’ve overlooked crystallizing in one epiphanic moment. Instead, the moment of truth comes as absolutely no shock to anybody who’s been paying attention. Even the battles are unexciting. Honestly, I found the four-way catfight more interesting than the actual skirmish with death-worshippers that Ahkin takes part in.

Neither is Ahkin and Mayana’s romance in any way surprising. It seems crazy that Ahkin and Mayana have fallen madly and irrevocably in love in the course of like six seconds. It’s easy enough to figure out that Ahkin and Mayana end up together, which would be fine – except that the progression of their romance is just as trite and stupid as its beginning. A few tests and couple of illicit makeout sessions later and the deal is sealed: Ahkin and gorgeous, sweet Mayana are meant to be. The bummer is that Forbes could have explored one of a few other romances instead, one of which she herself actually mentions in the book. Instead of focusing on Mayana and Prince Hissyfit the Dumbfuck, Forbes could have written a new version of Stockton’s “The Lady, or the Tiger?” by delving into Teniza’s tragic love story. In my opinion, another more interesting romance would have been Ahkin (if he wasn’t such a mega clotpole) and Yemania, who is the plainest and shyest of the princesses but truly a diamond in the rough. Sadly, she opted for the cliche.

The long and short of it is that a lush jungle setting can’t compensate for a dull plot and equally dreary characters. If you’re a fan of The Bachelor, you’ll probably love this book, since that’s essentially what it is. Otherwise, stay away.

Synopsis and image are from BarnesandNoble.com.

Thank you to Edelweiss+ for the free digital ARC!

Book Review: The Storm Crow

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Synopsis

In the tropical kingdom of Rhodaire, magical, elemental Crows are part of every aspect of life…until the Illucian empire invades, destroying everything.

That terrible night has thrown Princess Anthia into a deep depression. Her sister Caliza is busy running the kingdom after their mother’s death, but all Thia can do is think of all she has lost.

But when Caliza is forced to agree to a marriage between Thia and the crown prince of Illucia, Thia is finally spurred into action. And after stumbling upon a hidden Crow egg in the rubble of a rookery, she and her sister devise a dangerous plan to hatch the egg in secret and get back what was taken from them.

Review

Read: July 2019

Rating: 3 out of 5 stars

It’s difficult not to have high hopes for a book with such a breathtaking cover and such a propitious premise. When my expectations are so lofty, the disappointment when a book fails to meet them is all the more disheartening.

That’s not to say there’s nothing to like about Kalyn Josephson’s debut novel. For her story, she has clearly crafted a colorful setting with rich backgrounds. At the end of her novel, Josephson even provides two brief appendices: one summarizing the culture, politics, and economics of each country; the other covering information on the magical crows of Rhodaire. I’m an incurable sucker for this kind of stuff because it indicates that the author really exerted a considerable amount of effort creating their setting and that they bothered to think outside the box. So those of you who enjoy lore-laden worlds might appreciate this.

Josephson also writes a diverse cast of characters in terms of race and sexuality. Anthia, the protagonist, is heterosexual and brown-skinned. Her sister, Queen Caliza, shares her skin tone but is bisexual (or pansexual, perhaps?) and is wed to the black prince of Trendell, Kuren. Thia’s best friend, Sakiva, is hella pale and hella lesbian, and her romance with Auma, a young Asiatic woman who happens to be a Jin rebel spy posing as a servant in Sordell’s palace, is a prominent subplot. It’s even implied that Thia’s mother is also LGBTQ, and the same-sex partners of a few other characters are referenced. Through Thia, Josephson tackles another aspect of diversity: mental health. If the idea is reminding depression sufferers that they are not alone, two facets of solidarity need to be addressed. Representation is easy enough to pick out, particularly with Josephson’s wise use of first-person narration. A significant portion of the story focuses on Thia’s healing process as she grapples with debilitating depression, a psychological wound stemming from the attack on Negnoch. Although Thia faces some stumbling blocks as the story progresses, she eventually finds the strength to get back on her feet. Knowing that other people wrestle with mental health is a step, but it’s also vital that people feel that they can connect with and rely upon others. Just as important as Thia’s struggle is Kiva’s support. Stalwartly loyal and empathetic, Kiva is the kind of friend that everyone should have. Instead of withdrawing from Thia when she needs her most, Kiva stays by her side, a reminder that friends will not abandon you because of a mental health struggle.

The shortfalls of The Storm Crow truly diminish what could have been a mighty story. In stark contrast to the in-depth world-building, the plot itself sports a detail deficit. For instance, Thia concocts an acid to dissolve an iron lock on a door guarding a room full of crow eggs. There’s no real description of Thia learning how to do this beyond “I decided to help Caylus make this random acid and put on some leather gloves”. Hell, neither the acid nor the ingredients are even given names. Although this might seem like a petty complaint, the use of this acid is rather important to the plot, and it strikes me as lazy to not put more effort into the setup of the plot device. The detail void sucks away the story’s life even as the plot moves forward unhindered by description. The result is a pace that is simultaneously sluggish and rushed.

Character arcs too suffer when details are scant. Fewer details often mean fewer opportunities to explore characters thoroughly without resorting to infodumps. For some characters, Josephson executes arcs quite well. Ericen and Razel both have strong storylines: Razel’s background, discussed in several conversations, elucidates her motives for her cruelty; Ericen’s actions throughout the book illustrate a conflicted character with a desire to do the right thing. Other characters’ stories are not so skillfully carried out. Caylus in particular stands out as an example of this. The concept of him is adorable, but despite his devastating backstory, he’s still rather flat. Interactions involving him divulge something new about him much less often than they reveal nothing about him. Auma’s arc is hurried and thus has a shallow sort of feel to it; however, I grant more leniency in this case as Auma is meant to be mysterious and Josephson would be unlikely to show much of her hand in the first book of a series for such a character.

The Storm Crow isn’t a bad book. It’s no masterpiece either. It certainly isn’t good enough for me to want to read it again, nor is it disappointing enough for me to not read the next installment of the series. I mean, come on, there’s an embattled prince whose fate I need to follow and a gazillion crow eggs that need to be rescued. There’s no way I can’t at least try the next book.

Image and synopsis are from BarnesandNoble.com.