A dark, dangerous, intriguing world... which we rarely get to sink into properly thanks to the anime tropes which distract from the central gothic fantasy story. Spoilers ahead.

Let me give props where due, the concept of books having a life of their own is a gorgeous extended metaphor. In fact, a whole world of inanimate objects with personalities - like the statues which move - is both romantic and spooky, exactly the niche this book strives to occupy. Perfectly fairytale-like.

However, I was waiting for another twist of the screw. The grimoire covers are made of leathers (i.e. skins from living beings) and imbued with the magic and minds of the sorcerers who authored them. When exposed to certain stimuli (exactly what is left vague and particular to each book), the grimoires literally come to life as giant monsters... I was waiting for the Attack on Titan twist of these monsters, these books, are real, living beings - not all of them evil - who are trapped, and want to be healed. The author /almost/ gets to that conclusion, but not quite, instead having a very Beauty and the Beast battle at the end, where the books in book form give the enemy... papercuts. A goofy conclusion to a scary premise.

Sorcery of Thorns has an obvious sentimentality for libraries in general, the entire plot centering on the heroism of books and librarians. It's cute, I love books too or I wouldn't be reading this... But - and this is entirely my personal opinion - I have an aversion to books which taught the majesty of books (with the exception of A Series of Unfortunate Events) because they sound pretentious (and ASoUE knows it's pretentious and makes fun of itself throughout, making it fun). The middle of SoT drags, as Elisabeth visits a library, reads some books in the parlor for days, visits another library, reads a book in bed, has some food brought to her, reads more books in the parlor... The actual plot of a librarian /being/ a librarian to save the day is... boring.

But nitpickiness about sentimental bookishness aside, my big problem with this book is that it's a beautiful, dark fairytale... struggling to get free from a WAY overused collection of anime and YA tropes:
- Male protagonist/love interest shows affections for female protagonist/love interest by insulting her and keeping his distance.
- Male protagonist appears callous and shallow, but is actually deeply traumatized and is healed by the female protagonist's optimism and unconditional love.
- Female protagonist/love interest has an immediate attraction towards the male lead, and blushes, squeaks, is clumsy, or analyzes her feelings/his behavior for romantic possibilities, even as something dangerous or depressing is happening.
- Female protagonist is tall, strong, a berserker, righteous... and proceeds to faint, get distracted by her tummy rumbling, gets carried around by men, gets groomed by servants, and is pampered with sweets and new clothes.
- Super magically strong male protagonist receives life-threatening injuries from enemies/overusing magic, and female protagonist worries by his bedside. Male protagonist recovers, and has full faculty of his powers, as if the incident never happened. Female protagonist gets distracted by half-naked male protagonist. Somehow, near-death and near-sexual experiences lead to a discussion of male lead's dead parents.
- Animal sidekick.
- Demon butler.
- Monologuing villain.
- Black best friend who is largely not included in the central plot.
The spooky fairytale is interrupted by banter, cartoon physics, steamy star-crossed lovers, and cheesy villain dialogue, borrowed straight out of Black Butler, or any of a thousand other animes. It's clear that this is what the author knows, and finds funny or cute; we all strive to emulate our heroes, right? But it's not what makes this book /original/. The original content of this book is /strong/. The Otherworld, the grimoires, Elisabeth navigating Right and Wrong in a world built on lies when all she has is her own wit and gumption - all /strong/ subject matter! I wish this book had been about a revelation about The Otherworld, about what demons /are/, what grimoires are, how Elisabeth's natural connection to the Great Libraries gave her the ability to empathize with the plight of the magical slaves and free the demon race... It almost was that book. Almost. This book could have said some amazing things about social justice, or maturing into oneself instead of inheriting society's prejudices. But instead, it told us a story we've heard a million times before: Girl meets boy, boy likes girl, they whack some monsters in the head, and live happily ever after.

My last thoughts on this book are spoilerific: How did Penderghast keep a vial of blood in a non-physical dimension? How did Ashcroft mind-control Directors when he didn't renew his contract with Lorelai and therefore had no magic? Why does Elisabeth have super strength and super healing? How is Nathaniel able to summon multiple storms in the finale, when he was supposed to be on bed rest and also weakened by iron exposure? Remember how I just said that original content of this book is strong? Yeah... there were also a lot of confusing parts. It took me three times as long to read this book as it would a YA fantasy of similar page length, because so often I was confused about the layout of a scene, or the rules of magic. Even something as simple as, "Elisabeth hid behind a bookshelf. A book bit her dress. She yanked her dress away, and toppled the bookshelf," gave me endless grief. How does a girl fit behind a bookshelf that's flush to the wall? Is it an open-backed shelf, because how else could the book reach her? How does someone yank backwards, but fall forwards? To get up on a soapbox for a minute, it is the author's job to use words to make us see their world. They have to explain the layout of a room, there is no camera to do it. They have to explain the structure of magic if they're going to reinvent how it works. I felt that the movie in the author's head wasn't always effectively communicated to the audience, which is sadly a capital sin in writing; it is literally the entire point of a book.

A solid YA read, but not a revolutionary one.