The Broken Kingdoms is damn good. It's driven by relationships and conversation in a way that could slow down a lesser book, but here every interaction is filled with the weight of the past, whether spoken or unspoken. It knows when to rest and to move

Everyone has a past in a way that makes them feel real, like we have a snapshot of their lives and they were here before and will continue on afterwards. This, to me, is a hallmark of a well-written story with complex characters. Oree and Madding had a relationship in the past which has echoes now, but their current dynamic is clearly different than what it must have been before the story started. Shiny knows various people and gods in ways that speak to past relationships, whether casual or intimate, and we have enough information to inform our understanding of what is unsaid, but without constantly explaining backstory.

In trilogies, especially in series that are intended as trilogies by the time book two is written, there is usually a problem where book two isn't complete enough to stand on its own. Even in series I love, I've noticed this problem, and usually book three makes up for it in terms of the strength of the trilogy as a whole. But not here, book three won't have anything to atone for; The Broken Kingdoms is rich, complex, full enough to stand on its own while also building on the history from The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms.

Oree feels like a distinct voice from Yeine, in book 1. Her focus is different, her concerns are different, and her approach to obstacles is grittier, more direct. She is functionally blind, and I appreciated how her comparison between the magical sight she does have and what she guesses ordinary sight must be like made sense in context. It would have been easy for her (as a character written by a sighted person) to continually opine on what seeing must be like, but instead she only discusses it when she has magical sight and uses parts of the language around ordinary sight to try and get a better description of the unique manner of her sight.

It felt so good to read this book. I loved every minute of it and I'm very excited for The Kingdom of Gods.

Blood of Elves is methodical and languid, slowly building the picture of a dark world torn by war. I enjoyed this one, I completely see how it spawned a game series if the rest of the series is like this first book. 

It has a feel of a world already in progress that doesn't really have the time to pause and catch you up on what's happening right away, but it balances this by giving just a few key events or people at a time. The exposition comes in the middle or end of various sequences rather than at the start, and it creates a feeling that you can just relax and not worry about all the picky details for a minute. We have a few obvious protagonists and then kind of a sea of shifting loyalties and petty players in some larger game that we'll hopefully understand more as the series progresses.

Overall I liked it and I'm going to keep reading these, but part of that is because I want to see where it goes, rather than there being anything particularly gripping or amazing in this book. Geralt's dynamic with Ciri is brusque but nice, and I'm looking forward to more of them.

There's a lot of frank discussion of sexuality, specifically sexual expectations and stereotypes for women and girls. I think this is balanced by the generally sex-positive angle of the series so far, but I'll be paying attention to this topic as I continue reading the series. It's a little too early for me to tell whether it's heading somewhere creepy, but so far it's good.

Throne of the Crescent Moon features a city stalked by nightmarish creatures, protected by the weary and the young, brave in the face of monsters the officials deny. Excellent ensemble, thrilling action, and much conversation.

The characters are well-balanced, the mix of the two young warriors with several older comrades/mentors is a nice mix of zeal and experience. The monsters are suitably creepy when shown and menacing when half-viewed. There are several antagonists, operating at different levels in the story. It's enough to mean that the heroes keep facing danger without constantly running into the exact same villains/obstacles at every turn.

I like the pacing, the beginning was exciting, the middle was tense in a "need to figure out how to manage this, many fetch-quests" kind of way, with a few confrontations and an action-heavy conclusion. The slower middle sections were well managed and never were boring, just as one person's goals were stymied we followed a different member of the group as they solved their piece of the whole situation. It made it feel a bit like a mystery without really being a mystery story, and the overall effect worked well.

Stories that have a lot of discussion, a lot of "figuring out", and complicated politics to navigate are a particular favorite of mine, and this has all of that. I care about that stuff more than the action scenes, usually, so to me this book feels dialog-heavy. But as I flip back through the book to refresh my memory, I keep coming across action scenes so I suspect that it's more balanced and will appeal to people who like more action than conversation, as well as people like myself.

The Vicious Deep introduces Tristan to a dangerous and watery world with nightmarish enemies and ancient grudges, a divide between the sea and the shore. A solid start to a great series, with a quest too grand for a single volume.

I already knew the author is good at describing creatures and inhuman characters, and The Vicious Deep does not disappoint. It has many opportunities to showcase this, while keeping the number of important named characters low enough to be distinctly memorable. I'm glad that the quest is suitably difficult, matching the stakes in case of failure. It would have felt too easy to wrap things up in this book, so I'm glad it's a "to be continued" situation. 

While this book technically fits in the mold of "reluctant hero discovers they have a destiny", in this case he's not the only one it could fit and he has to compete for it. It works well, since the shift from "reluctant hero" to "hero with a sense of responsibility/duty" feels pretty natural. He's not a shoo-in, but he starts to want it and take it seriously.

I find myself in the strange position of very much disliking the pov character while also liking most of the people around him and enjoying the book as a whole. His narration is filled with physical descriptions of everyone around him in a way that frequently seem sexist. Usually not leering, but just that he's a teenage boy who (as of this book) appears to be straight and that's very much on his mind. Probably part of that is it mixes badly with my own stuff and I don't think it detracts from the book overall, but if it hits you the wrong way when it shows up, know that it isn't going to go away in this book if you continue to read. He doesn't seem to understand the effect that his actions have on other people, but it's very clear that the author does (several characters keep trying to call him out on it), so I'm hoping that he'll grow out of some of his casual sexism (and associated possessiveness) as the series continues. It's a good setup for character growth, so maybe later books will take advantage of that.

The book flew by, I enjoyed reading it and I'm excited to read the rest of the series. I want to spend more time here, part of that is because I love sea creatures, especially magical ones, and this book has many of those.

Dear Martin is really fucking good. Justyce is writing letters to MLK Jr. as a way of processing what's happening around and to him... lots of racism and also normal teen stuff. Mixing letters, transcripts, and normal narration to tell a story of one Black teen's life.

He's a teenage boy (17) trying to figure out dating, worried about going to college, the stuff you're supposed to have to figure out. His friendships feels messy and genuine, his interactions with Manny and SJ have different vibes and it helps show what he likes about hanging out with them. The adults in his life (Doc, Justyn's mom, Manny's parents, SJ's parents) have very different kinds of advice to give and they help him to process what's happening in his life, even if he doesn't always agree with what they say about it.

It's also a book about racism, racial profiling, systemic racism, and police violence against Black people, because that's just as much a part of his life as his friendships and crushes.

The story is told through a mix of third-person narration focused on Justyce, his letters to Martin Luther King Jr., and various transcripts and letters not written by Justyce. The mix of narrative devices allows for "show not tell" when necessary, and to get Justyce's voice directly through the letters when he's had time to reflect on whatever just happened. It also means that a variety of levels of conversation on the same basic topics happen throughout the text. 

It feels a bit like, narratively, Melo was in the story just to mess with Justyce (starting with the incident with Castillo, being repeatedly mentioned as on-again/off-again but not actually being in the story much). I wish she'd existed as more than someone to mess up his other relationships, there's a lot more of him explaining why he likes her than us actually seeing them together. But hey, sometimes it's like that, and ultimately this isn't a book about him and Melo.

Make time to read this one, I'll definitely be reading the sequel.

The book is inspired by real incidents but the specific details are fictional. 

Soul of the Fire is the kind of bad that happens when someone who hasn't ever listened to what other people think decides to write a story with more than one character. It's sexist, full of colonialist attitudes about indigenous people, and excuses for genocide (depending on who is doing the killing). 

Book CWs: Sexism, slavery, sexual assault, assault, murder, transphobia, genocide, death.

I should disclaim that I started with this book, fifth in the series, and the constant barrage of infodumps and backstory ensured I wasn't ever lost, just angry and exasperated. I hesitate to call Richard the point-of-view character because in the early sections this book rotates perspectives so rapidly without demarcation that it felt like the author was rolling dice to see whose thoughts we'd be listening to in each successive paragraph. That eventually settles down so that we mostly follow his new bride, Kahlan, but almost all of what she does is narrate what Richard is doing, so he’s nearly the pov character anyway. When she is on her own, her thoughts bend endlessly towards him. After several hundred pages we start following other characters in a different country (Anderith) and it takes until the final third of the book before these storylines meet. This wouldn't be a problem, except that the time spent in Anderith isn't balanced with the rest of the text. There's so much time spent there that some of the characters in Anderith feel more like main characters than Richard and his companions, but when they ultimately meet up he completely dismisses them, they're merely obstacles to his strategic goals.

Richard is a Mary Sue; good at absolutely everything he attempts, except that no one seems able to express the frustration that bubbles beneath their praise of his effortless prowess. There are little hints of it in the text, but they don't go anywhere because even when they express their frustration to Richard he tells then why they're wrong. Even the "strong" female characters constantly in his orbit oscillate between 1) asserting their individuality and genuine expertise or prowess and 2) fawning over Richard in a manner that is flirty but without any of the fun of good flirting. 

The author must have once heard the maxim, “show, don’t tell” and decided it was clearly better to always do both. This, when combined with the simplest of essay structures (tell ‘em what you’ll tell ‘em, tell ‘em, then tell ‘em what you told ‘em) seems to guide most of the narrative style. There’s no chance to infer anything because everything is sloppily foreshadowed, then experienced, then immediately explained (often in the very next sentence). It deflates all tension immediately, preventing most circumstances from being dramatic enough to be interesting. 

The word choice is flat and repetitive. While occasionally there are some genuinely interesting turns of phrase, they stand out out mostly because the rest of the prose is so dull. Most of the pithy sayings are just deepities, sounding profound but ultimately meaningless and unhelpful. The book also has a disturbing tendency for the prose and pacing to get noticeably better (but still not great) right before scenes with violence against against women. 

You can portray cruel systems and terrible characters, but when the main character of the series justifies actions which are nearly or more horrific as the supposed villain(s) by saying it's fine because it's him... that's a problem. It changes from portraying toxic characteristics to endorsing them, and the overall result was sickening to read. If I were reading this for pleasure instead of as a reviewer I would have stopped after page eleven.

Rhapsody is a slowly burning epic where the stakes are deeply personal, with friendships tense though absolute, the battles scarce but vivid. Frequently dark, refusing to despair. I'm glad to be on the side of time where I don't have to wait for the sequel. 

In high fantasy I'm used to grand stories where the actions of a few protagonists somehow shift the fate of nations... and this book relentlessly bucks that trend. What change they are able to effect is in scale with their efforts, and the disaster whose resolution might have consumed whole books in some other series is instead revealed through tales after it's all over. The journey through the Root in more mesmerizing than monotonous, it has a lot to carry when they make it out and if any less of the narrative had been devoted to that phase of their journey it would have spoiled everything after. 

If you read this book and like it you will be driven to read the sequel, this is is a fairly complete story but it definitely is a "to be continued" situation. The story is grander than this volume, almost so much that it can't quite stand alone in terms of emotional resolution, but the main plot threads are tied off where they need to be.

This book does contain a lot of derisive language about sex workers and sex work, as well as racism in a fantasy setting. It's consistently handled well, and it's clear that the author disagrees with the disparaging views of the characters in question (they are immediately rebuffed almost every time), but that language is present, so please take care of yourselves.

Girls of Paper and Fire is a love story between concubines to the Demon King, dealing with genocide, sexual assault, and murder. It's also strong, tender, funny, sensual, and focused, knowing exactly how much horror to show and what to leave unsaid.

This book deals repeatedly with the aftermath of sexual assault, and it definitely needed the cw from the start of the book (cw for sexual assault and violence). It may be a difficult read for survivors of violence (sexual or otherwise), but it does not dwell on those scenes. It does a good job of depicting the aftermath of trauma, and how not everyone has the same reaction, and it feels like a lot of care was taken in the text.

The social hierarchy is interesting (Moon Caste are visually mostly demon, Paper Caste are fully human, and Steel Caste are in-between). None of the groups are monoliths, the caste system at first seems to indicate both relative levels of status and oppression, but as the story continue and Lei learns more, she finds out that what matters more than people's skins are the whims of the Demon King. I like the slow unraveling of her assumptions, since they become nuanced as she gains information. It doesn't feel like an unreliable narrator, but one who is doing the best she can with whatever information she possesses.

The romance is tender and sweet, I'm very excited to see how it plays out in the next book. I'm very grateful that the most descriptive scenes were saved for the contact Lei wants with her (eventual) lover, rather than her forced contact with the Demon King (there is no romance for Lei there).

We Set The Dark on Fire centers intrigue, uncertainty, and revolution in a struggle for survival. The politics are interesting, the revolution is enigmatic and I want to see more in the next one. The dynamic with Claudia is great.

This book sets a class struggle on an island, where the elite rely on dividing women's lives in two, designed to give men access to everything while their wives suppress different parts of who they could be. The divide between Primeras and Segundas, when strictly observed, ensures that their husbands have someone to help with every part of their lives, while the Primeras are used for their minds and the Segundas are used for their bodies. The division is more complex than that, with girls training from ages 12-17 for their wedding, then going straight into marriage with one partner they might know (the Primera or Segunda to complement them) and one they will have never met before (their mutual husband).

I like how this book explores gendered expectations, with quotes from the Primera handbook reminding the reader how Dani ought to behave, even if she is diverging from those prescriptions. This is the second book of revolution that I've read in short succession (refer to my review of Beneath The Citadel), but while some small things overlap, the tone and plot are completely different. Dani's status as a continual outsider means that there is an uncertainty behind her thoughts and actions, and it helps to remind me that she's approximately seventeen at this point.

I can't leave this space without saying that this book explores queer romance (specifically lesbian romance) within this space of mistrust and uncertainty. Because this is the first book of an ongoing series I don't know yet how it'll play out and I'm not ready to decide how I feel about the relationships portrayed here. This is definitely not their final form.

This book reminds me of the Trickster saga by Tamora Pierce (Trickster's Choice / Trickster's Queen), I hope to review that here at some point, but the main thing is they share romance and island revolution against class structure. The Trickster saga has active involvement of deities, so I'm interested to see whether the gods in this series remain as a mythological backdrop or if it's the sort of story where they will take on a more active role.