octavia_cade's Reviews (2.64k)

One of the favourite books of my childhood. (I can't tell you how often I bawled about poor Cafall.) I read it again today, and it's still wonderful. I think The Dark Is Rising edges it out as the best in the series, but only barely. There's just something so lovely and lonely and evocative about it. I particularly enjoy that it continues to push the idea that Absolute Good can, in its own way, be as destructive as the opposite. That's John Rowlands' belief, of course, and I've long thought that he was the true hero of this series for all he's only a supporting character in two of the five books. Still, his introduction here is a highlight of the series for me.

I do love this series! Loved it as an adolescent, and still love it today. It's not perfect - there are bits of archaic phrases where I think Pierce is too self-consciously writing Fantasy with a capital F - but for sheer beauty of imagery it beats out nearly every other fantasy setting I've ever read. The world is so lush and beautiful and imaginative...

I also really appreciate the relationship (or lack thereof) between Aerial and Irrylath. So often in fantasy, the rescued princess is the love interest. It's almost taken as read, that she's there as a reward for heroic behaviour. But here the prince is rescued and in this book it becomes clear not only that his captivity has left him with an enormous amount of trauma, but that he is in no way a reward and absolutely refuses to be a love interest. It doesn't matter that she rescues him, it doesn't matter that she returns him to his family. It doesn't even matter that she loves him, because he doesn't love her and that's the end of it. I'm not nearly as interested in Irrylath as I am in, well, any other character, but he's there on his own journey, a person and not a prize, with his own story and his own agency and that is really refreshing to read, even gender-flipped from the usual script as the story is.

Interesting collection here, I liked it a lot. The blurb on the back says the collection "conjure[s] a post-cataclysmic, pre-apocalyptic world", but in all honesty it didn't come across that way to me. I do think there's a focus on isolation here, on missed connections in a busy world, and the brief moments where things slot into place before slipping out again. I think that's something reinforced by the forms the author chooses to use - every so often there's a rhyming poem, and while I'm usually pretty picky with those I almost universally liked Levine's efforts here. In fact I think these rhyming interruptions are my favourites, with poems like the titular "Enola Gay" really catching my attention ("They're burning the kindling. They're baking. They're dwindling. / Their spines are ringing. Their hooves splashed with fat.") Love it.

The cover is one of the best I've ever seen! That paper art is fantastic.

This is such an easy-read version of the Brothers Grimm... I gobbled it down it went so smoothly. Pullman's little comments at the end of each tale were quite interesting too; I especially liked the short catalogue of similar stories that went with each.

I got this from the library, but it's such a good quick reference that I think I'll go get my own copy.

The end of one of my favourite fantasy series, and I want to love it so much more than I do. In fairness, it does have what is probably the most outstanding moment of the series (and my personal favourite): John Rowlands, having to choose between his wife and his conscience. He's the real hero of this series, to my mind. Another aspect that I really do like is the contentious relationship between Jane and Bran. That's something I would have loved to see more of, and I can never read Silver on the Tree without feeling a piercing regret that Jane never went to the Lost Land with Will and Bran. I always feel that's a missed opportunity.

Also a missed opportunity, I think, is the whole forgetting thing. The reason for it is thin. Really frustratingly thin, and I would have liked the kids to remember. Remembering wouldn't have impacted the "It's up to you now" message at all, and it would have left them with some agency in the matter. As it is, forcibly taking their memories sort of undercuts the passing on of responsibility, making the ending both poignant and disappointing.

I've reviewed all these separately, so this is just a quick note on the collected sequence, which is one of my all time favourite series and has been since I was a kid. I really want to give it five stars, on the grounds that the whole is more than the sum of its parts, but I don't give five stars often and I'm forced to admit that there are parts of this favourite that don't quite stand up.

The Dark Is Rising and The Grey King are absolutely five star reads, the staples of my childhood. I love them beyond reason. And the more I read it as an adult, the greater grows my appreciation for Greenwitch, which is a solid four stars. The remaining volumes garner three stars each - Over Sea, Under Stone because it is enjoyable fun but distinctly average in all respects, and Silver on the Tree because it is, at the end, affecting but deeply flawed.

So, an average of four stars it is - but a book can be a favourite without being perfect. The Dark is Rising sequence isn't perfect, but it's still a favourite, and I still read it every year, flaws and all. I can't see that changing.

I'm afraid I rather feel as if a lot of the associations here are going over my head. The poetic tradition behind the Rubáiyát is not one I'm familiar with, so that could be colouring my view. That being said: I enjoyed reading it and there were moments of real loveliness in here. (There were a lot more moments about wine, but every collection has its peccadilloes...)

In which Magrat gets replaced by a girl with very good hair and the ability to shatter glass at 100 paces. I've always liked Agnes, if only because she's an excuse for another Witches novel, but I've never quite thought she was as distinctive as her predecessor. Magrat might have been a wet hen, but she was absolutely different from both Granny Weatherwax and Nanny Ogg, whereas Agnes is clearly going to turn out a witch in the Granny mould, I reckon.

Still, this is a fun outing and the double act of Nanny and Granny is as sharp and delightful as ever. I did think the book got a little muddled at the end, and the referential gags went on a little too long for my taste, but when you've got something as good as a Witches novel these are small complaints.

"Really liked" can mean a multitude of things. I mean, I probably won't read it again, but for a philosophy book, I really liked it. Primarily, I think, because it was short, a conversation, and half the participants were drunk or on their way to being so and therefore felt less inclined to pontificate in the most boring manner possible, as does seem to be the usual wont of the philosopher-species. I don't know whether or not I agreed with any of their opinions on love, to be honest (having just finished this book five minutes ago I can feel it all slipping away like water - but I don't recall any moments of profound identification on my part while reading). But I was relatively entertained reading it and that is something.

Specific to this edition: I found Waterfield's endnotes very helpful in deciphering the allusions in-text, though I do wish he'd chosen to use footnotes instead. (It gets deeply irritating constantly having to flip to the back of the book.) His introduction, fantastically enough, was lucid and interesting. My minimal experience with philosophy books counts this as a welcome rarity, so well done that man.

Enjoyable read, but hopelessly overlong I think. It does not need the end material (all the glossaries and character lists and so on) and it certainly does not need the annoying multiple introductions, done in even more annoying different fonts. None of these added anything.

What really made it feel overlong, though, was the point where it became really, blindingly obvious who the Snake was - hundreds of pages before Beka or her Dogs figured it out. These people are supposed to be clever. Yes, trick them, have them misdirected, but if you drag out their realisations too long, they come across as being stupider with every passing page. There were a lot of pages, is what I'm saying. I think my favourite characters were Beka and Goodwin, and I don't like to think of them as thick, but damn did Pierce do her best at presenting them that way. At length.

What I did like was the world-building and the characters and the community of people that Beka built around her. And the cat; he was great.