I dearly loved parts of this book, but I didn't love this book. There are books that are greater than the sum of their parts, and there are books whose parts are greater than their whole. This book is one of the latter.

Deeplight is a story of stories, of gods, of family, of belonging, of friendship, of fear, and of hope. All of these stories are almost all at play, and for most of the book, it feels loud and disjointed, unfocused. It seems Hardinge has a bunch of things that she wants to say with this book, but there's just a little too much. There are toxic lifelong friends who aren't who they used to be anymore, family that tries to keep you stuck in their mold even if you longer fit, nationalists terrified of the world expanding and the fears of others that come with it, priests longing for the world they used to fit in which had left them suddenly, islands obsessed with their monstrous gods long after they have departed, and a boy who loves stories and longs to tell his own rather than be forced into the background of others. All of these individual stories and ideas are so so good, and I honestly really liked how they ended up coming together in the end! It was just that for the majority of this book, I felt like I was an fragile egg being roughly tossed from one story/theme to the next, and it wasn't always clear why there needed to be as much as there was. Perhaps if this had been a series and explored a few of these themes per book? I don't know.

I still found this book to have a lot of soft strengths, beyond being fascinated on an individual level with each part of the overall story. The prose was in my favorite style (story-telling/fairytale), and there are so many quotes that gave me goosebumps while I was listening. The characters were also fantastic, and their relationships with each other felt real and solid, even if they weren't always positive. I fell in love with Hark, his quiet strength and determination in the face of everyone who put him down for not being like them. I fell in love with Selphin and intense ferocity and her desire to control her own life (and death). I even fell in love with Quest, a wizened priest who had joined religion for a girl and found a purpose in life instead. I could go on and on about the little things in this book I loved, and yet, I still can't wholly say I loved this book, even though I desperately wish I could.

Even though this book didn't wholly work for me, it has only made me want to read more of Hardinge's work. I loved what she attempted, how she wrote, and the characters she used to tell the story, and I'm really curious how the things I love come into play in her other stories, and if they have the same issues I had with this one.