Man, right in the feels!
I'm so glad we got one last trip to the divine cities and I think this series is due a reread soon since it's so fascinating. And well written. And captures the epicness of epic fantasy without the faux medieval crap.

One of the things that Bennett does, and he's not alone in this, is he attempts to talk about the problem of righting a broken world. Which, yeah, tell me about it. And I can't decide whether the model of the individual who can make the right choices in the right place to break the cycle of violence is meant as inspirational hope or as one of the fiercest fantasies to which we cling.

These books are straight-up epic fantasy. No apologies, no twists into unexpected narratives that don't seem to belong to the genre, no redefining the genre (looking at you, Jemisin and Bear, but looking with awe and amazement) - Meadows is writing epic fantasy with all the weird names and weird cultures and magic intact. She does occasionally lapse into the realm of "how many made-up words are you allowed in one book anyway?" Although she never commits the greatest sin, which is biting off more characters than she can chew.
Anyway, what makes Meadows so enjoyable is what she leaves out of her epic fantasy. She successfully creates a series of worlds that leave behind the misogyny, queerphobia, and racism of our world. Notably, she still manages to tell a story that's all about conflict and rising above one's perceived lot in life, and speaking truth to power. You can still tell a story about bodily autonomy and self-hood and even assault and violation without situating it in a context that unthinkingly replicates our world's specific prejudices as if they are stamped on all of existence by some godly hand.
I'm glad to see this take on epic fantasy - it's reassuring to know that the problem is not the genre itself, but the way that specific versions of the genre have glommed on and taken over. You should be able to write good, appealing epic fantasy without getting kyriarchy all over it. And as much as I love the books that completely blow open what the term even means, I like seeing something done right and done well. (Martha Wells is another name that comes to mind as someone who knows how the genre works and takes advantage of all the good bits.)
Meadows is particularly good at recognizing the failure of portal fantasies to have consequences (I imagine this is why this series gets compared to McGuire's "Every Heart a Doorway" and someone should really talk about how completely different they are) and, DAMN, the scenes where Saffron is just done are exquisite. Painful, but exquisite.

Bennis takes the 18th and 19th century war story and borrows all the fun bits--derring do, snarky one-liners in the middle of the battle, ever so slightly larger than life characters--and some of the serious bits--the fighting and the dying--and uses it to craft a very entertaining novel about fighting airships. This isn't a story about the futility of war to the men on the ground or the role of women in the army, but those elements are an important and compelling part of the narrative. The story is about, so to speak, what a fighting blimp would look like. Bennis tells that story admirably and, if the characters occasionally feel a little like larger than life sketches as opposed to meticulously rendered figures...well, airships! derring do!

How have I missed this series for so long? I've seen Hobb's work around for ages, but I've been leery about getting into older books because sometimes they are terrible and don't live up to readers memories.
This book...this book does. Somewhere in between sword and sorcery and epic fantasy, Hobb's series is everything I like about both, working within the larger traditions of the genre and telling a gripping story that had me torn between unable to keep going out of concern for the characters and unable to stop.
The nice part about getting into a series right at the end of its life is not having to wait for the next book. Well, maybe at least waiting until tomorrow morning.

Hugo reading!
Hugo reading that probably would have benefited from even a passing familiarity with Lovecraft. I'm considering reading the story it's based on for my own edification, but it's not like I've been making an effort to read Lovecraft until now so why start now.
Without the context, Dream-Quest lacks the sense of structure i would expect, but honestly, Professor Boe is a gift and a joy and I would take maths for her.

Re. my last review for this series: I changed my mind, it's definitely racist.
Blah blah Anne Bishop, blah blah one-trick pony, blah blah weird gender stuff that gets more and more gender essentialist the longer it goes on, blah blah I just realized I've basically read the same book five times for each of the Others Books.
So much for the review.
As I was saying: the thing about the imperialist and racist undertones when it comes to the terra indigene is that reading them as an examination thereof and a response to colonialism rather than solely an appropriation and erasure of indigenous people's experiences is predicated on presuming that Bishop is not the kind of insensitive author who would, oh, I dunno, code teh bad guy as such using black stereotypes.
(Aside - Bishop has NO idea about the world building in Namid and how it works. Like, the sheer number of technological advances predicated on the existence of an industrial revolution that would have destroyed both the terra indigene and the open spaces of Namid, not to mention on widescale cooperation between humans necessary to create things like the US highway system, is mind boggling. Also, given the altered history of the world, was there a slave trade? If so, how the hell does that fit into the world building and power dynamics and, if not, why does racism look the same in Thaisia as it does in North America?)
No, but seriously. There's a good, black police officer and his daughter and then there's his mother and she basically exists to be The Help and mentor everyone in some kind of tough love situation because black women get to do everyone else's emotional labor (and also be a cleaning service). And then there's his brother, who refers to his girlfriend as a bitch and speaks in what I can only describe as a white lady's idea of what a hip hop fan who uses SAV grammar rules sounds like. He also talks about wanting to hump her (FFS, if you're going to have a character insult and degrade women, why not have them think the word fuck inside their own head?) But it's so obviously a "black people are great as long as they act just like white people" that I can't even with it. Also, let's be fair, there was no need to differentiate between the two brothers like that. I assume it wasn't intentional, but it says a lot about the pervasiveness of racism in this country (and, as many indigenous peoples know from the history of imperialism) that even when it's ostensibly not about skin, it's about assimilating into the dominant culture and erasing all markers of different culture and society to lose your self in order to gain approval.
He also brings into focus a certain sameness about Bishop's villains: they are all entirely selfish and entirely evil. She never writes about people driven by sincere belief, or misunderstandings of scenarios, or the desire to protect those they love AS VILLAINS. Her villains are always just evil and selfish and shallow and, while I won't deny such people exist (in the first year of the reign of the 45th president of the united states, how could I?), it is really boring to read about such shallow villains with no interiority over and over again AND Bishop writes evil as just...something that happens in the world. Like Namid's teeth and claws, some people are inherently dangerous. But her writing, by and large, absolves the conditions of society that shape cruelty and selfishness. Evil feels both inevitable and random; everyone is either doing the best they can for the right side OR a cartoon villain twirling their mustache.
The longer this series goes on, the more shallow and less satisfying it feels. Probably a good thing this is the last book.

As much as I enjoyed the final book in Kowal's Glamourist Histories, I was still iffy about reading her in Regency England because I spend too much time there. Kowal is at her best outside of the drawing room, taking her research and giving it room to expand.
Basically, this book seriously played to her strengths. The idea was delightfully clever, the execution was excellent, the story had me guessing and thinking I knew what was going on, but now how it would happen. And Tolkien made an appearance because of course he did.
Also, is Kowal contractually obligated to include a Doctor Who reference in every book? Not that I'm complaining or anything.

Working my way slowly through the TBR pile. As one does.
This book was fun and flashy and fast-paced (and clever) enough to mostly gloss over the fact that the world building felt more like window dressing than deep engagement with how things grew to be the way they are.
It's space opera and well within the boundaries of the genre to just say "This is the way things are, let's watch it go boom!"
Also...impressed? is impressed the right word? that the Wagers managed to create a matriarchy that doesn't really alter gender socialization as such. But this also gets into the sense that the book is a delightfully exuberant play where you shouldn't really check the scenery because obviously it's all pasted on.
This barely registered while I was reading it, naturally. If one could dump space opera on a continuum with, say, Star Wars at one end and The Expanse at the other, Wagers is definitely on the Star Wars end. So enjoy it! I certainly did enough to want to read the next book.

Every time I get back to this world, I am reminded how WEIRD it is and how insistent Cogman is on telling a reasonably coherent and almost formulaic plot with it. It's as if DWJ's Magid series and Jasper Fforde's Thursday Next books had a baby that was desperately trying to escape its origins and pass as normal.
Still, it works surprisingly well once you accept the premise.

Tam Lin! Tam Lin! Tam Lin!
I realize that "this book is a retelling of Tam Lin" is not actually enough to sell a book to everyone (just me, apparently), but I will add that Howard does an incredible job of taking the underlying narrative and rules for Faerie trades and dealing with the Fair Folk and changes it into something that feels deeply contemporary and beautifully brutal. It was glorious.
The premise was right up my alley and the execution never faltered. It's so nice to find a book that feels like the author somehow knows what you like and delivers.
If you grew up on Fire and Hemlock, Roses and Rot should delight.
Also, question, is the author Ellen Sherman a reference to Ellen Kushner's Thomas the Rhymer (given that Ellen is married to Delia Sherman)?