- Was out of town this past weekend, so I wrote my Saturday Miscellany post a day early and then scheduled the posting. You’d have thought that I’d be clever enough to schedule something containing “1/17/2015” in the title on 1/17/2015, wouldn’t you? Well, you would be wrong.
- While out of town, had some extra reading time — which means I’m even more behind on reviews now. Hope to chip away at that soon.
- Part of that reading was Harry Connolly‘s A Key, an Egg, an Unfortunate Remark — I’ll spoil my review here: if you like Urban Fantasy, particularly a-typical Urban Fantasy, read this book. Releases on March 3. You can order it from Amazon or Kobo here.
- I’ve noticed that I’m far less forgiving of typos/proofreading flubs in e-books (particularly those that are self-published) than I am of those in hardcover/paperback. Is it just me? (no, there’s no link between the last two items)
Category: Fiction Page 294 of 341
We all know we’re not supposed to judge a book by its cover (yet, publishing companies spend big bucks on cover design/art). But, the opening sentence(s)/paragraph(s) are fair game. Technically, I’m cheating here — I skipped the first eight lines (Chapter 1), this is from Chapter 2, but it’s my blog so I can ignore my own rules, right?
Dare you not to read the rest of the book
—–
This used to be a city of locks.
Every home, at least five, down the door, like a vault.
Chain lock.
Rim lock.
Fox lock.
Knob lock.
Deadbolt.
Funny name, that last one.
Dead. Bolt.
Neither word exactly conjures security.
But no one bothers with that many locks in New York anymore. City’s safer. Or at least emptier. No end of vacancies. And no one bothers to burgle anymore. Nothing left to burgle. Everything’s picked clean, and anyone who still lives in Manhattan and has something of real value to protect — family, dignity, vintage baseball-card collection — does it with a shotgun, not a deadbolt. So the real problem, for the burglar, isn’t getting in. It’s getting back out.
After all, if you apply enough force, deadbolts give.
Shotguns take.
from Near Enemy by Adam Sternbergh
Foxglove Summer
by Ben Aaronovitch
Series: The Rivers of London, #5
Mass Market Paperback, 323 pg.
Daw Books, 2015
Read: January 9 – 10, 2014
“Hail the conquering hero,” said Beverly and held up her bottle to clink.
“Sic transit Gloria mundi,” I said, because it was the first thing that came into my head — we clinked and drank. It could have been worse. I could have said, “Valar Morghulis” instead.
It’s always a pleasure to spend some time in the pages of a Peter Grant/The Rivers of London novel, but Foxglove Summer is probably the most pleasurable entry in the series since Midnight Riot (The Rivers of London for non-US types). I’m not sure I can put my finger on why that’s the case, but that’s not something I’m going to worry about. Unlike Peter’s mother, who
never saw a gift horse that she wouldn’t take down to the vet to have its mouth X-rayed — if only so she could establish its resale value.
Two young girls have vanished in a small village slightly north of London, and Peter’s sent to make sure that the (supposedly) no longer active wizard in the area had nothing to do with it. Having done so, he decides to stick around and see if he can help with some of the routine/mundane work needed.
Naturally — well, I should say, Supernaturally, it’s not long before The Powers That Be ask him to see if there’s an angle to the case that’s more up his alley than theirs. Peter finds some undeniable evidence of magic at work and things get going from there.
Nothing against London — but loved this breath of fresh air in this novel. For example, Peter’s dealing with different superior officers to not want to deal with magic/supernatural — these don’t have the antagonism that usually shows up in London, they just don’t want anything to do with it. The town is full of interesting types — including traveling fair ride owners, tavern keepers, farmers, and vacationing journalists.
As always with this series, the sheer amount of British Police acronyms and assumed knowledge of structure and procedures are a hurdle many US readers won’t want to try (I’ve been told this by a few who I’ve tried to get to read these books) — it’s a little effort, and easily worth it to overcome.
My major — only? — gripe is that Peter’s not making a lot of progress with his magic, he seems to be pretty much where he was three novels back. Yes, he’s more confident, yes, he’s able to apply his knowledge of magic with some good old-fashioned police ingenuity — but his abilities and skills are still rookie-level. Without Beverly as magic back-up, he’d be in trouble. The two of them — plus one local cop out of his depth, but committed to work — are able to handle things.
Yeah, it was nice not to focus on Lesley and the Faceless One (which isn’t to say their shadows don’t loom over a good chunk of the book), but it’s clear that they’ll be back in a really big way soon. Which I’m looking forward to, as nice as it was to have this mental palate cleanser here. Foxglove Summer was great mix of police procedural, Urban Fantasy and Folklore — both traditional and contemporary (the area’s obsession with UFOs is great) — with Aaronovitch’s deft humor, pop culture references and tight plotting. We’ve got ourselves a winner here.
—–
Low Midnight
by Carrie Vaughn
Carrie Vaughn
Series: Kitty Norville, #13Mass Market Paperback, 309 pg.
Tor Books, 2015
Read: January 7 – 8, 2015
Ahh, the fans (some of them, anyway) get what they’ve been wanting — a novel featuring everyone’s favorite retired monster hunter (and the deceased Victorian witch who’s living inside his brain). The thing Vaughn did that makes this stand out is that unlike most authors, rather than give Cormac some side story, she gives his solo adventure a central place in the overall storyline — what happens here will play a big part in what happens in future Kitty novels.
This is honestly not at all what I expected from a Cormac novel. I expected more violence — not necessarily a blood bath, but more guns, more offensive magic — and less discussion of meadows. But he’s grown — moreover, he’s doing what he can to live as a law-abiding ex-con (especially one with Ben looking over his shoulder all the time). So no guns. Brains over brawn, which seems to be stranger for Cormac than it is for readers.
The plot was meager, honestly. The story was mostly just an excuse to see Cormac in his element — get to know him better, get a fuller picture of his past and to watch the way that he and Amelia work together. And as such, the novel succeeded. As a story about Cormac and Amelia investigating a century-old death by magic, it was tolerable.
The strongest part of the book was their relationship, the way they’ve learned to work — and exist — together. There’s genuine affection between the two — a little mistrust (which makes sense, given their unusual situation), but genuine affection. Given how we’re introduced to Cormac, that’s pretty serious growth.
At the end of the day, this was a nice diversion — a good way to get a different look at things, to see the people who aren’t Kitty engaged in her crusade, and to get to know these characters better. I’d probably enjoy another book focused on Cormac and Amelia, but I’m looking forward to getting back to Kitty’s POV.
—–
The Gods of Guilt
by Michael Connelly
Series: Mickey Haller, #5
Mass Market Paperback, 464 pg.
Vision, 2014
Read: January 1 – 6, 2015
Getting a not-guilty verdict was a long shot. Even when you knew in your gut that you were sitting next to an innocent man at the defense table, you also knew that the NGs came grudgingly from a system designed only to deal with the guilty.
Which is why most novels about lawyers are about defense lawyers — there’s more drama when they win (Mickey’s cynicism/realism also says something about our judicial system — but that’s a matter for another kind of blog). Note how little time Rachel Knight, the prosecutor, spends in court in her novels.
But from Perry Mason to Ben Matlock to Andy Carpenter to the real life attorneys, we want to read about and watch defense attorneys. We want to see them work within (and outside) the system, up to the point where the jury, the “Gods of Guilt” decide the fate of the defendant. Sometimes these “Gods” choose correctly, sometimes not. We rarely think of the consequences of these verdicts — in fiction, we almost never see them.
This novel is practically all about those consequences — and the events spiraling out of them. Almost a decade ago, Mickey Haller used some information one of his client’s possessed to get her a good deal. Which worked out nicely for all concerned (except the guy she had the information about), until she winds up dead — after telling her accused killer that if he’s in legal trouble, Mickey Haller is the only name to call.
Mickey’s dealing with some more immediate consequences — a man he successfully defended went on to get drunk and run down an innocent mother and child. Mickey’s blamed for this — which derails his D.A. campaign and derails his relationship with his daughter (who knew one of the victims).
So, when Mickey is presented with a prospective client he believes is innocent, he grabs at the chance for a little public and familial redemption. But before these “Gods” can weigh in, there’s a long road to be walked, prices to pay, deals to be made, and secrets to uncover.
I’d forgotten how slow these books start — Connelly’s masterful and putting the pieces together in a way that makes the ending seem inevitable — once you get there. But man, at times the build up can bog you down. Sure, there were other things going on — but it took me 3 days to get through the first 200-250 pages, and then 1 day for the next 150-200, because as slow as things start — when it all starts to come together, it’s a smooth and fast ride.
Aside from the twisty and tricky plot, is, of course, character — which is really what brings readers back to this kind of series. And there’s a lot to think about in this one.
For one, there’s the new character, David “Legal” Siegel, Mickey’s father’s law partner. He’s living in a fairly totalitarian retirement home (probably for good reason, not that Legal or Mickey seem to care), but still has fantastic defense instincts and helps Mickey and his associate, Jennifer Aronson, with some of their more clever strategies. He’s a fun addition to the cast, and I hope to see more of him.
I wasn’t quite as impressed with Jennifer Aronson’s characterization. I don’t care how new she is to the whole criminal defense thing, there’s no way that someone with any kind of experience — or a TV — needs to have the concept of “burner phone” explained. I get that Jennifer Aronson needs to have some things explained to her — and the reader via Aronson — but c’mon, really? Still, it’s good to see Mickey mentoring someone, and having someone else in the firm to do some legwork does open up narrative possibilities for future novels. Although, Mickey keeps talking about Aronson leaving him and being more successful than him — is this Connelly setting up a spin-off series?
Cisco, Earl, Lorna 2 and Maggie were along as well — nothing both notable and not-spoilery to say about them. They played their narrative roles well, and as they should. There’s a notable exception to this, but can’t talk about it now.
Naturally, the focus is on Micky Haller, in the courtroom (and associated areas), he’s a shark. He’s a pro. He’s a wiz. And he knows it — which sometimes makes you groan, other times you relish it. Connelly’s honest enough to make Mickey’s confidence come back to bite him — it happened once during this trial, and even though I pretty much saw it coming, I still gave him a sympathetic wince. There was another point where I was actually talking back to the book, begging Mickey not to be so cocky. Fairly sure that things were going so well for him that he would screw things up with a witness/suspect.
As (almost) always, his personal life is in shambles. Mickey’s relationship with his daughter, Hayley, is always one of the more endearing aspects of this series, and to see the estrangement between them is rough. Connelly isn’t a guy that typically gets emotional reactions (other than suspense, and satisfaction from victory) from a reader — but Mickey having to covertly watch his daughter’s soccer practice through binoculars? No way that doesn’t tug on a heart string (while you hope no one catches him in the act and thinks he’s some sort of predator).
Throughout The Gods of Guilt there’s a Palpable sense of loneliness to Mickey, he’s always looking for people to be watching him in court. Thanks to the election loss, the DUI, etc. people’s perceptions of him are really damaged, really negative. All Mickey wants is someone, anyone really, to see him doing well, to see him doing something good. Sure, it’s better if it’s someone he cares about seeing him do that, however, and he’s always looking for it.
Naturally, things wrap up in a satisfying manner, and then we’re treated to one of the best closing paragraphs that Connelly’s written (if not the best, and he’s written too many of them for this lazy blogger to verify). The last four paragraphs cement in the reader’s mind just what kind of person the Lincoln Lawyer really is beneath the headlines, the courtroom antics, and the car.
A slow-burn of a read, like I said, but once you reach the tipping point, the reader is hanging on every word — just like the jury, Mickey’s Gods of Guilt are to the drama unfolding before them.
—–
Us
Hardcover, 398 pg.
Harper, 2014
Read: November 14 – 27, 2014
There’s a saying, cited in popular song, that if you love someone you must set them free. Well, that’s just nonsense. If you love someone, you bind them to you with heavy metal chains.
While not popularly endorsed, I can’t imagine many people who haven’t thought that at one point or another.
Connie Peterson has decided that it’s time for her marriage to end. She and her husband, Douglas, have finished their work — raising their son, Albie — inexplicably nicknamed “Egg” — (you tell me: why would you call your son Egg?). She’s not angry, she’s not been betrayed, she just thinks they’ve run their course — they’ll go on the big tour of the Continent they’ve been planning to celebrate Albie finishing school, then come home and probably wrap things up.
Douglas wasn’t prepared for this, can’t imagine living life without his wife, so he latches on to the probably nature of his wife’s wishes: he’s going to pull out all the stops on this trip, be the best dad, the best husband, the best version of himself and convince her to stick with the “’til death do us part” bit.
There’s a few problems with his plan: he’s not entirely sure what it is that he’s not doing right (the readers will pretty much suss it out from flashbacks); his son is a snot who won’t help his dad out at all with repairing their relationship; Douglas is somewhat klutzy and really can’t express his emotions in any way to his family; and Connie’s just an unpleasant person, seemingly mercurial, and the reader (well, this reader, anyway) can’t see why Douglas would fall for this woman. I can see initial infatuation/attraction — but as far as I can see, the only reason to stick with her is Douglas’ own belief in the meaning of commitment.
So, starting in Paris, the Peterson’s embark on a tour of Europe, and things almost immediately fall apart (with occasional moments where you think Douglas will win Connie back). But Albie clearly doesn’t want to be with either of his parents — although he has no problem spending their money. Connie frequently seems to be toying with Douglas. And Douglas just seems hapless.
Alternating with the narrative of a European tour to make the Griswolds’ look fun and relaxing are a series of flashbacks chronicling the courtship and early marriage of Douglas and Connie. Like I said earlier, it’s sort of the male perspective of Landline without the phone.
Here’s where I’m torn: the novel is told with heart, wit and understanding. The Petersons — and others they meet — come across as real people, warts and all (“all” being mostly other warts). There’s tragedy, hope and laughs — here’s a few of my favorite lines:
I found myself sitting between two actors on drugs, a position that, a number of peer-reviewed research papers have since confirmed, is precisely the worst place a biochemist can be.
[Albie] refuses to wear a coat, an absurd affectation, as if coats where somehow ‘square’ or un-cool, as if there were something ‘hip’ about hypothermia. What is he rebelling against? Warmth? Comfort?
( I’m glad to know I’m not the only father who’s had to wonder this.)
The problem with telling people they can do anything they want to do is that it is objectively, factually inaccurate. Otherwise the whole world would just be ballet dancers and pop stars.
On the same page Nicholls can elicit a chuckle or at least a smile, he can turn on a dime and give you something like this:
In short, my son makes me feel like his step-father.
I have had some experience of unrequited love in the past and that was no picnic, I can tell you. But the unrequited love of one’s only living offspring has its own particular slow acid burn.
Really, really, really well-written. I’d give it 4-5 stars just on that. But there’s more to a book than just the writer’s skill — there’s characters and story. And Us just doesn’t pull those off successfully (and I know Nicholls is more than capable of it — see One Day)
I liked Douglas — both in flashback and the present — I was pulling for him, wishing his family would take a minute to understand him. Albie, I could understand. I thought he was an ungrateful twerp, but I could believe it as a stage in life, and see glimpses of the decent adult he’d become — but really, I didn’t want to spend a whole lot of time with him. Connie I liked (mostly) in flashback, and could barely tolerate in the present — for all his flaws, she’s throwing away a good, devoted husband for no real reason.
The story was problematic, too. Nicholls really seems to point in one direction, and even seems to resort to a couple of clichés to get to his destination. But then he veers off to the real resolution that he wants — and gets his characters there by sheer force of his will. There’s a missing link or three between where the story is going and where it ends up. In the end, at least one character acts in a manner contrary to everything we’ve seen — and we’re given no real justification for it just to get to the conclusion Nicholls wants.
I just couldn’t buy it.
So there we are — a wonderful depiction of horrid people acting in ways that ultimately don’t make sense. I can’t recommend it, as much as I want to/expected to. Your results may vary, of course. I’d love to hear from people in the comments who disagree with me — what did I fail to appreciate?
—–
I somehow failed at this exercise last year, but I managed to pull it off for 2014. Phew, starting the year off with one in the Win column! Before we get to The Best of, if you’re really curious, here’s a list of every book I read in 2014.
While compiling the best, I started with what I’d rated 5 stars — just 11 novels. I could take just the best 10 of those — piece of cake, right? Wrong. There were titles I expected to see there that weren’t, and a couple that I was surprised to see listed. So I looked at the 4 and 4½ books — and had a similar reaction.
Now, I stand by my initial ratings — for honesty’s sake as much as laziness. But I did put some of my lower rated books in the best, knocking some 5-star books out. They might have been impressive workds, doing everything I wanted — but some of these others stuck with me in ways the 5’s didn’t — emotional impact, remembering details/stories in more vivid detail, that sort of thing.
Eh, it’s all subjective anyway, so why not? I did try to account for recency bias in this — and pretty sure I succeeded, but I may owe an apology or two.
Later today, I’ll post the Honorable Mentions list and the Worst of List — as well as what I’m looking forward to most in 2015. The Day of Lists, apparently. With one exception, I limited these lists to things I hadn’t read before (it shows up in the Honorable Mention post). Enough jibber-jabber, on to the Best Novels I read in 2014:
(in alphabetical order)
Red Rising
by Pierce Brown
My Review
This was exciting, compelling, devastating, thrilling, and occasionally revolting. I can’t tell you the number of people I’ve recommended this one to this year.
Skin Game
by Jim Butcher
My Review
It almost feels like a cheat to put this on the list, but I don’t know if any of the books since Changes would’ve made a year end list, so it’s not like Butcher/Dresden owns a spot here. I laughed, I got pretty darn misty a time or two, I’m pretty sure I audibly reacted to a victory also. Best of this series in awhile.
The Girl With All the Gifts
by M.R. Carey
My Review
This probably would’ve gotten 5-star rating from me if it hadn’t had to overcome genre/subject prejudice. Still, freakishly good.
Robert B. Parker’s Blind Spot
by Reed Farrel Coleman
My Review
Coleman knocked this one out of the park, erasing the bad taste that his predecessor had left, and making me look forward to reading this series in a way I hadn’t for years. As good as (better in some ways, worse in others) Parker at his best.
Those Who Wish Me Dead
My Review
Not the best Koryta book I’ve ever read, but something about this one has stuck with me since I finished it. Solid suspense, exciting stuff.
Endsinger
by Jay Kristoff
My Review
I knew going in that this was going to be a. well-written, b. brutal and c. a good conclusion to the series (well, I expected that last one, expected tinged with hope.). It didn’t let me down. I admit, I shed a tear or two, felt like I got punched in the gut a couple of times and didn’t breathe as often as I should’ve while reading. Such a great series.
The Republic of Thieves
by Scott Lynch
My Review is forthcoming
Can’t believe I haven’t finished this review yet — it’s 80% done, I just can’t figure out how to tie the paragraphs together in a way to make it coherent and (I hope) interesting. A lot of this book is a prequel to The Lies of Locke Lamora and yet there was genuine suspense about those parts. Lynch had a big challenge introducing us to a character here that had achieved near-mythic status, and she ended up living up to expectations. Just a gem of a book.
The Winter Long
by Seanan McGuire
My Review is forthcoming
Again, I’m not sure how I haven’t finished this review yet. McGuire takes a lot of what Toby’s “known” since we met her (all of which is what we’ve “known,” too) and turns it upside down and shakes the truth out. Every other book in the series has been affected by these revelations — which is just so cool. There’s also some nice warm fuzzies in this book, which isn’t that typical for the series. McGuire’s outdone herself.
Wonder
by R. J. Palacio
My Review
Heart-breaking, inspiring, saved from being cliché by the interesting narrative choices Palacio made. Yeah, it’s After School Special-y. So what? Really well done. I have no shame saying this kids’ book made me tear up (even thinking about it know, I’m getting bit misty-eyed).
The Martian
by Andy Weir
My Review
Very science-y (but you don’t have to understand it to enjoy the book); very exciting; very, very funny. Only book I’ve recommended to more people than Red Rising — I think I’ve made everyone over 12 in my house read it (to universal acclaim). Not sure why I haven’t made my 12-year old, yet.
Broken Soul
by Faith Hunter
Series: Jane Yellowrock, #8
Mass Market Paperback, 329 pages
Published October 7th 2014 by Roc
Read: December 27 – 30, 2014
In many ways, Broken Soul functions merely to clear the deck of lingering plot lines, tie up a few loose ends, and set things up for the next few novels. But wow – what a way to accomplish all that!
There’s murder, mayhem, romance, torture, destruction, intrigue, a whole new supernatural species, bombs, tattooed vamps, a whole lotta secrets revealed, and Sabina cracks up at something Jane says (which is as strange and creepifying you’d think).
While everyone’s adjusting to the new status quo after the shakeup in Black Arts, the New Orleans vampires receive word that the Europeans are coming for a visit. And maybe to invade and take over a more hospitable part of the world for the Mithrans. So Jane, Del and the rest start to prepare — when said new species (new to us readers, not to the vampires) attacks. And honestly, all the most powerful vampires in The Big Easy and everyone’s favorite skinwalker are no match for the beastie.
Then things get worse. Possibly the best fight scenes that Hunter’s given us are here — two or three of them, actually.
While her professional life is getting even more interesting than usual, Jane’s personal life gets put in order — and shaken up, but in a good way.
On the tamer side of things is a section of the book where Jane realizes two things about herself: 1. She’s put down roots in New Orleans (and in the lives of people like Eli and Alex) and 2. (her words) she’s become a girl — with girly tastes and clothes. This was some good, earned character development that Hunter pulled off with a lot of humor.
For my taste, the sexyfuntime was a bit too prolonged and detailed — we could’ve left those two a little more privacy. Then again, it never came close to The Wise Man’s Fear, so I shouldn’t complain.
There was a point or two that I was a little worried Hunter was going to back to the ‘I realized I’d said that out loud” well too often. But the line worked every time, so, who am I to say what’s too often?
Hunter’s clearly got some big things in store for Janie and the rest — I can’t wait to see what that’s going to be. So glad there’s only a few months until the Dark Heir. This would work as a jumping on point to the series if you’re looking for one, but you’d be better off going back to the beginning.
—–
Broadchurch: A Novel
by Erin Kelly
Hardcover, 448 pg.
Minotaur Books, 2014
Read: December 25 – 26, 2014It’s difficult for me to get the proper perspective on this one. I’ve watched the series this novel is based on multiple times, I watched all of the FOX adaptation, Gracepoint, I’ve thought and talked about the events surrounding the death of Danny Latimer (or Solano) more than people should. Which makes me either the ideal reader for this, or the worst. I’m not sure. Honestly, when this book came out, I was intrigued, but not that compelled to give it a shot until I read that hints for the second series would be included.
I’ve got a few ideas what those hints might be, but really, there’s not much here that wasn’t on the screen (which is as it should be). Still, it was a good use of time, I thought.
The advantage of Kelly’s novel over the series is in the details, the little things she can point out that the viewer might miss, or that the camera couldn’t show. We see the Ellie’s blowup about Hardy’s ubiquitous lists building up. There’s breathing room for small, quiet moments like those early on between Rev. Coates and Danny’s grandmother. You can tell there’s a relationship between them in the show, but we get to see some of it here, which is nice.
Kelly nails — absolutely nails — the relationships between the characters, in all the nuances, all the humanity these characters were imbued with. The loves, the friendship, the banter, the . . . distrust, the antipathy, the suspicion . .. all of it.
The biggest things the novel has going for it is that we get a get a better sense of the effect this death has on the community. We’re told that it is in the show, but here we’re told, but we also see it in ways beyond Becca’s inn being too vacant.
Kelly does make a few tweaks — notably when things happen, honestly, the timeline makes a bit more sense to me — and is definitely clearer, we get a much better sense how long things go along. One change is that Chloe (the sister) isn’t in school when she takes off and goes to hang out with her boyfriend (it seemed to early for her to be in school, but a good way to demonstrate her trying to get back to normal life). Anyway, the changes she made were small — almost unnoticeable — and entirely forgivable (when they weren’t improvements).
Kelly gives almost no physical descriptions of anything or anyone. I wouldn’t know what Rev. Paul Coates looked like if I didn’t know what Arthur Darvill looked like. You get a tidbit or two about Hardy’s height, Tom Miller and Danny Latimer’s hair (and Joe Miller and Nige Carter’s lack of it), Becca Fisher’s looks. But on the whole, there’s practically no physical description of the characters. Which is fairly annoying — especially for those who read the book while skipping the series, I’d think.
At the end of the day, this is a gripping story about the first murder in a small town’s living memory and what happens to everyone it touches. There’s hope, there’s despair (lots of it), there’s love, there’s . . . eh, I said it before, I’ll just say it again: humanity.
Watch it, read it — do both. This is a heckuva story.
—–
Endsinger
by Jay Kristoff
Hardcover, 432 pg.
Thomas Dunne Books, 2014
Read: Dec. 16 – 23, 2014
Let me show you what one little girl can do.
Of course, if you’ve read the first two novels in The Lotus War, you’ll know the list of what this one particular little girl can’t do is probably much shorter. The only question at this point is, can one little girl survive?
Kristoff has quite the wringer to put you through before you get the answer to that. For example, within the first thirty pages — thirty — Kristoff reveals something about a character I’d grown to have a certain affection for, and pitied after what happened to them in the previous book which makes me question everything I thought about them. And then he does something to that character I’m not sure I’ll forgive him for (will still read him, don’t get me wrong, I’ll just bear a grudge).
On the other hand, Endsinger is filled with so many fist-pumping moments, and fun sentences — like
Hiro laughed like a man who’d only read about it in books.
that you can keep pressing on — and actually enjoy the book. Another example of this:
Michi’s foot connected with the Inquisitor’s groin like a redlining goods train. It was the kind of kick that made one’s testicles throw up their hands and move to a monastery in the Hogosha mountains. It was the kind of kick that made orphans of a man’s grandchildren.
I mean, that’s something that Bruce Willis should be saying as he takes on Hans Gruber’s second-cousin or whatever.
I’m not going to describe much plot-wise here. It’d be too difficult to do it justice at this point — if you haven’t read the first two books anyway, there’s not a lot you’ll understand here without a lot of effort on my part. And if you’ve read the first two, you don’t need that to be an inducement to read the this one. It’d be easy in a book like Endsinger to just point every character at the final battle, throw in an obstacle or two along the way and let that be that. Heck, just coming up with an excuse to have Yoshi and Buruu travel around for 70-100 pages as the best buddy comedy pair to come along lately would’ve been a very satisfying way of spending time before the big battle. Instead, we get character development — a lot of it. We get mysteries explained. We get new characters, we learn new things about characters that we’ve known really well since book one (or thought we did, anyway). And they’re all thrown at a couple of really big battles, with some obstacles to overcome along the way.
The themes of the first two books continue to be explored here. The two that stuck out the most for me were: what makes a hero, what do they look like and what’s worth fighting for — honor, family, love, something else. Heroes aren’t what you think they are, don’t look like you think they should like — even (especially) to themselves. But everyone knows one when they see and/or hear one. As for what’s worth fighting for? That’s different for every one.
You don’t think people should know what happened here?”
“Oh, I think they should know, no doubt. I just don’t think they’ll care.”
“How could they not?”
“Because it will be different next time. It always is.”
“Different?” Akithito frowned at the cloudwalker captain.
“Different,” the Blackbird nodded. “Whatever they fight over. It’ll have a different name or a different shape — religion or territory or black or white. People will look back on us and say ‘we could never be that blind.’ People don’t learn from history. Not people who count, anyway.”
There’s a measure of cynicism, realism and idealism in Kristoff’s exploration of these (and other) themes. It’s tough, and probably ill-advised, to try to pin one of these viewpoints on Kristoff. But it seems to me that idealism’s voice is a bit louder than the rest.
Kristoff is great at keeping you on your toes. Things are bleak, but you start to think that hope is on the horizon, that one cavalry or another is coming — and coming soon. And then the hope is dashed. Or you start to think that all hope is gone and things are going to fall to ruin, and this is going to turn into a YA historical dystopian series, but then a new source of hope, a new rabbit gets pulled from a hat. He blindsides you time after time, from every direction.
Kristoff is great at his pacing, there are many moments he lets breathe, lets the readers and the characters observe everything going on, taking in all the sensory information and the thoughts of everyone. But he’s also capable of throwing in a sudden scene to grab the reader. The quick scenes bouncing around between the various characters in the heat of battle really work well to keep the tension high (though that can be a bit confusing unless you force yourself to slow down and read carefully — which is the last thing you want to do at that moment).
After awhile — about three-quarters through the book, after all the death, destruction, and (seemingly) climactic confrontations and battles getting you to that point, you simply can’t believe Kristoff can keep it going. How can the book last so many more pages? Is he going to give us a Peter Jackson’s Return of the King-style multi-epilogue? Probably not, it really seem to be Kristoff’s style. And then Kristoff shows you how he’s going to fill the rest of the book, and you pity all his characters, even those you’ve grown to despise, because that’s just not right.
In the end, Endsinger is a very satisfying conclusion to one of my favorite series in recent years. It’d have been easy for him to go for a “Everybody lives, Rose” kind of thing, where Hiro and the Lotus Guild are destroyed, Yukiko and Buruu are universally hailed as heroes, the Kage take over, and happily ever after. But he doesn’t give us that. Instead, we get the kind of conclusion promised in the first two books: it was emotionally satisfying (and induced a wide range of emotions, and may have involved a Kleenex or two on my part), it gave characters real conclusions to their arcs (not all happy endings), it tied up what needed to be tied up and it pointed towards the future. I’m going to miss this world and most of these characters. But I’m glad Kristoff didn’t try to milk this longer — it’s great as it is.
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