theravenkingx's Reviews (336)

OMG!!!! I won't be able stop thinking about this book. This is one of the best books I’ve read this year. It’s a work of speculative sci-fi set in a dystopian world where humanity teeters on the brink of extinction. Structured as a collection of 14 short stories, the book offers a series of snapshots into this world. The stories are easy to read, but each one leaves behind a fragment of a larger puzzle that gradually comes into focus (patience is the key.)

The final stories reveal a lot more, which is something the book has been criticized for—but I didn’t mind it. They helped clarify my theories and gave me the satisfaction of finally understanding everything. The last story is deeply metaphorical, and the ending felt philosophical. It left me with so many thoughts. As someone who likes to make sense of things, the ending kept me up at night—but when I finally understood the metaphors, they almost felt obvious in hindsight.

The only part that didn’t sit well with me was how the author seemed to simplify humanity’s extinction down to religion. But removing religion isn't the solution. It's like when kids fight over a toy and instead of teaching them to share, you just take the toy away. It sidesteps the real issue: helping people learn to coexist.

That said, this wasn’t a dominant theme in the book—it was only implied. I was able to look past it and still found the stories to be deeply human and thought-provoking.


Spoilers

The ending was metaphorical and i think i have finally figured it out.

Lama embodies "memory". Her recurring dreams of humanity’s destruction, along with her refusal to accept Eli’s creation—a bird—symbolize the weight she carries and her loyalty to the old world. These dreams aren't just nightmares; they’re warnings. By turning down Eli’s offering, she affirms her role: to remember the painful truths of the past. Because without memory, there’s no learning. And without learning, there’s no true evolution.

Eli, on the other hand, represents new beginnings and the next phase of human evolution. The new humans she raises appear to live in harmony with both nature and technology. But without memory, they are bound to repeat the same mistakes as their predecessors.

The Presence, as the consciousness of dead humanity, acts as a bridge between worlds. It stores collective memory and experience—linking what was with what might still be.

It may also be interpreted as representing the Holy Trinity in Christianity.

I understand the hype—it's a well-written book with an important hidden message. Since I’m not a fan of romance, I was more intrigued by its sci-fi aspect. In a way, it reminded me of Elizabeth I and Mary, Queen of Scots. The cousin sisters had never met, but through their letters, they began to understand each other despite being part of opposing churches and faiths. However, duty eventually forced them to confront each other, leading to a choice between personal bonds and political allegiance.

Let me give you a brief, spoiler-free synopsis:

This book follows two female agents, codenamed Red and Blue, who work for rival factions with contrasting ideologies and visions for the future. The Agency—the red side—seeks to accelerate technological advancement by altering timelines to create a more technologically advanced world. Meanwhile, The Garden—the blue side—believes in unity with nature and sharing consciousness as a way of life.

Red and Blue have been locked in a long-standing war, constantly trying to outmaneuver each other. When Red leaves Blue a letter intending to incriminate her, Blue responds with another letter that cleverly backfires the plan. What begins as an exchange of strategic messages slowly transforms into beautifully written letters—culminating in a confession of love. It’s a forbidden, Romeo-and-Juliet-esque love story.

Why You Should Read It
You should read this book for its unique narrative style, its exquisite prose, and its lush, thought-provoking setting. 

At its core, the story is about finding hope and love in the midst of chaos and destruction.

This quote accurately captures the themes of the book. When everything is lost to oblivion, what remains is memory - but memory is never free of prejudice.

Our brains work in mysterious ways: while some dwell on the trauma of their past, others transform their pain into purpose, rewriting their own narratives. And then there are those who live in blissful ignorance-like the tormentor of the author's father, who does not remember his brutal acts.

"Who loves more?" Chekhov asks - a question that opens the door to emotional reckoning beyond numbers and headlines. In an age where history is simplified into statistics, we risk losing sight of the human cost. The first USAAF airstrike on German-occupied Europe missed its target, killing 52 civilians. It was still deemed a success. 

When lives become collateral, we cannot see the ripples that follow into the lives of the tormented.

Freeman, the man who dropped the atomic bomb, was asked how it made him feel. But no one asked him about those 52 civilians. Or the devastation he caused in Vietnam, which was more horrific then Hiroshima. Or of Tokyo, where more people died from convenitional bombing than those who died from atom bomb. What we choose to focus on - and what we choose to forget - shapes the narrative of history.

We all experience moments of epiphany - flashes of true awakening - but they are fleeting. Human nature's tendency to forget and to ignore is the "why" of Kafka's Harrow: a machine of relentless punishment, where suffering was staged as spectators stood by and watched. This moral indifference is the force bebind every genocide and brutality.

When we speak of World War II, we speak of Hiroshima. But we rarely speak of the atrocities committed by the Japanese, or the brutal conditions of the Death Railway, where the author's father was held as a prisoner of war. We do not speak of the genocide of the Tasmanian people by British colonizers - history that has faded and what remains is just scars and memories.

And here lies the central dilemma the book quietly wrestles with: How can we acknowledge the suffering of the Death Railway without also acknowledging Tokyo and Hiroshima? And how can we confront the devastation of Hiroshima without also remembering the cruelty of the Death Railway? The moment we give weight to one trauma, we risk diminishing another - yet silence, too, is a kind of violence. This book walks that tightrope with care, refusing to look away from either side.

This book maps the invisible threads that connect personal grief to global events. It begins with a kiss between H.G. Wells and Rebecca — an act that, improbably, leads to the birth of an idea. The atomic bomb began not in a laboratory, but in a novel. And had America not dropped that bomb, the author's father may have died as POW. But this book is not an argument for Hiroshima. It is a cry against war itself. 

The genocide of the Tasmanians happened. It is happening. It will happen again. History repeats; only the names of the victims and their tormentors change — Tasmanians, Jews, Palestinians. However, the inevitability doesn’t make the questions less relevant. 

Who loves more?
Who remembers?  
And who decides what is worth remembering?

This book isn't just a story; it's a moral awakening. It is eye-opening and fascinating. It's the most beautifully written nonfiction you will ever read- one that everyone should experience.

However, I too am bound by human nature. The impact it had on me was profound, yet I can already feel it fading away.

How do we sustain empathy-hold on to it not just in moments of revelation, but in the quiet, ordinary hours that follow? That is the question I'll be asking myself for a long time.

<b>3.75 ★★★★
It’s like biting into a stale donut—technically edible, but chewy and harder to swallow.</b>

I have so many brutal criticisms—the review is going to be juicy! If you can’t handle criticism, look away now.

I was ready to rate this book three stars until I reached the final 150 pages, where it resolved most of the issues I had. That’s when the world-building and character development truly shine, showcasing Joe Abercrombie’s signature character work. However, slogging through 400 pages for the plot is a bit much. I imagine most readers will be tempted to DNF before reaching the payoff. The book's structure feels weird—the first 400 pages are essentially one continuous action scene after another. While the action is well written, it’s also predictable and low-stakes, with little variation to keep it engaging. Usually, I devour Abercrombie’s work, but this one took me more than ten days to finish.

I still enjoyed it. It’s better than a three-star, but pales in comparison to his older works.


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<b>The Premise Had So Much Potential</b>

A group of eight unlikely characters, Suicide Squad-style, is ordered by the church to escort a princess safely to the city of Troy—all while fighting deadly hybrids. The cast had everything one could ask for: a cunning vampire, a deadly werewolf, a cocky necromancer, a soft-hearted immortal, a sneaky elf, a struggling priest, and a clever thief. What could go wrong? Well, the answer: ALOT


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<b>Dialogue and Character Development: A Missed Opportunity </b>

The banter between characters was fun—for the most part. But eventually, it became exhausting. Abercrombie never passed up an opportunity for one-liners. In fact, the book wouldn’t feel like such a slog if the dialogue had been toned down or replaced with actual character work. He could’ve used the downtime between battles to develop his characters through explorations of their pasts and current motivations.

Take Vigga, the werewolf—she was constantly horny. If she wasn't tearing flesh, she was riding meat or harassing men.  Her arc didn’t extend beyond that. She embodied everything certain liberals think a "modern woman" should be.

I don’t mind strong female characters - In fact enjoy reading them-  but it’s frustrating when an author goes out of their way to scream, “Look! She’s strong and independent!” instead of simply showing it.

Baron, the vampire, only existed for one-liners. He, especially, played no role in any battle scenes, and there was no explanation for his absence during the fights. It felt as though Abercrombie wasn’t quite sure how to utilize him until the final battle, where he outshines every other character. That scene was easily the most epic moment in the entire book. Perhaps Joe intended to save him for that grand finale? Still, I would have liked some explanation of his whereabouts during the earlier fights. His conversation with the magician toward the end made me chuckle—Baron Rickard is a cunning sadist, and I love him for it, lol.

Then there’s Alex—the thief who suddenly discovers she’s a princess and the rightful heir to the throne. She accepts her fate without question. Initially, I suspected she had a hidden agenda—perhaps stealing from the rich to pay off debts? But I soon realized she was merely a plot device to set off the journey and to bring together the band of "The Devils". Fortunately, she did receive some development toward the end, though by that point, I had already lost interest.

I also felt that three massive battle scenes were a bit overkill. Those pages could have been better spent developing character arcs from the get go, rather than delaying for 400 pages.

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<b>The Political Intrigue? Barely There</b>

The political world-building emerges only in the final few pages—and even then, it’s poorly constructed. The politics are reduced to a gender war: one religious sect ruled by men, the other by women. Men refusing to bow to women and scheming against them. The most *typical* and predictable approach to portraying female empowerment.

Most of the events and historical context were merely hinted at, with the expectation that the reader was already familiar with them. For example the mention of the Twelve Virtues, but never actually explaining what they are. Similarly, the origin of "The Devils" remains unexplored, leaving a frustrating gap in the world-building. Why are the way they are? Why do people like them exist in this world? Is it because of some lab experiment like the hybrids, or are they the chosen ones? Banished ones? 

Another typical trope I had anticipated was the portrayal of the church and religion as inherently negative. The message seems to be that you are your own savior, God doesn’t exist, and to be a good person, you must abandon your faith. While I don’t mind stories that explore the complexities of belief, I prefer when authors present multiple perspectives rather than pushing their own viewpoints onto the reader. 

I’ve read other books where religion is handled with far more nuance. For instance, Brandon Sanderson frequently uses religion as a plot device, but he always presents both sides of the arguments. He never dictates which path is "correct." Instead, he allows the reader to interpret the moral and philosophical dilemmas on their own terms.

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This book had potential, but its execution made it difficult to enjoy. It wasn’t terrible, but it certainly wasn’t Abercrombie at his best. 

 
What started as a heart-wrenching tale of Taiwan under dictatorship turned into a dull family saga. The book could have been 100 pages shorter, with a more streamlined storyline. However, instead of a compelling narrative, we got less of a story and more of a history lesson, covering Taiwanese events from the 1947 massacre to the SARS epidemic of 2003. The characters and plot merely served as devices to educate the reader about history. The storyline didn't progress naturally; it somehow got lost in the middle and lost its momentum. As a reader, I felt detached—like a passive observer taking note of their uninteresting daily lives —until the book ended abruptly, with no resolution or information about the end of dictatorship in Taiwan.

The book spans five decades, with the last chapter set in 2003. We jump straight from 1982 to 2003, which felt anti-climactic. This massive time skip overlooked the most compelling parts of Taiwanese history, like the first democratic election in 1996.

Overall, it was an okay book. I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone

This book had so much potential, but unfortunately, it ended up disappointing me. The premise was strong, but the execution felt lackluster. If the story had been told from Heathcliff’s perspective, it would have been much more compelling. I would have loved to see what was going on in Heathcliff’s mind as he committed all those atrocities in the name of love. The story could have been darker and deeper if only we had a first-person perspective. 

Funny enough, people were dropping like flies for the sake of plot progression, but their deaths had no real impact—mainly because there was no character development. No character had any distinguishing characteristics, making it difficult to connect with anyone. Catherine and her daughter were practically the same person: helpless, naive, and frustratingly whiny. Their lack of individuality made the story feel repetitive rather than dynamic. I wanted the younger Catherine to be much stronger and rebellious but she was just as naive as her mother.

Despite these flaws, I still think the plot has potential and could translate well into a movie, especially with a shift in perspective and stronger character development

Another five-star book from Malcom Gladwell. I love how his books are filled with engaging anecdotal evidences and unique perspectives. "The Revenge of The Tipping Point" is a follow-up to his most famous and my all-time favorite book, "The Tipping Point" released almost 20 years ago. In TROTP, he goes a step further and investigates how tipping points can be manipulated and engineered by those in positions of power, whom he refers to as 'superspreaders.' 

He debunks his own earlier ideology about epidemics, realizing they are not as uncontrollable as he initially believed 20 years ago. Epidemics don't spread like wildfire; instead, they tend to remain contained within what he calls 'small area variation.' This concept explains why regions with similar populations, income levels, and social structures can experience vastly different outcomes when faced with the same contagion or social trend. In Miami, a surge in bank robberies occurred, but instead of becoming a nationwide trend, the crime wave remained concentrated to Miami. Why do they not cross boundaries? Well, it has to do with the overstories. Every place has a story that it tells itself—an underlying narrative that shapes its identity, values, and perceptions. These stories determine how communities respond to external influences, deciding which ideas, trends, and behaviors take root and which ones are rejected. 


There was one part about WWII and Jews that I skimmed through as I no longer see the war criminals as victims, and it was difficult for me to read about them—especially considering what's happening currently. However, that part really showed us how they manipulated and changed public opinion overnight through media. They went from being the most hated people in America to the most beloved. Even now, they continue to use similar techniques, amplifying certain voices to reshape the narrative (overstories) surrounding the current war. Despite all their atrocities, they are still being perceived as victims, thanks to their systematic and epidemic-like engineering of public perception.

The author also delves deep into how the show "Will & Grace" played a vital role in humanizing the LGBTQ community and how the same-sex marriage bill empowered individuals to come out and truly be themselves—without fear, for better or worse.

It was truly fascinating to read how even a small change can tip the balance and transform societies.

The book raises thought-provoking questions such as: How do small shifts in behavior trigger widespread social change? How much opposition do you need to tip the balance of power? What role do media and influential figures play in shaping public perception? How do certain individuals act as 'superspreaders' of ideas, accelerating cultural transformations? And how can understanding these tipping points help predict and influence future societal shifts?

It lived up my expectations, but in doing so, it sacrificed the elements that made this series unique for me. The story leans on familiar tropes, which play a crucial role in diminishing its distinctiveness - a quality that the previous book had so effectively established. It's not necessarily a flaw, it's just that I was expecting it to be a little different from what it turned out to be.  With that said, I had a great time with this book. It's no doubt one of my all-time favorite series now, and I can't wait to get my hands on the third book.

I truly appreciated the depth of the lore, but I couldn’t help but notice certain gaps that left me wanting more. Questions about the dragons—where they come from, what they feed on, where they live, and why they remain indifferent to humans unless summoned—remain unanswered. I hope future books delve deeper into the origins of magic and dragons.

The writing is dull and some of the worst I have encountered in a while. However, there are a few quotable gems scattered throughout.

"Life itself is a spectrum disorder, where each of us vibrates at a unique frequency in the continuous rainbow."