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jaedia's review against another edition
challenging
dark
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? N/A
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
2.25
Content Warnings
Graphic: Colonisation, Death of parent, Hate crime, Misogyny, Murder, Racism, Sexual harassment, Toxic relationship, Violence, and War
Moderate: Alcohol, Blood, Death, Emotional abuse, Genocide, Gore, Grief, Injury/Injury detail, and Medical content
Minor: Abandonment, Drug use, Fire/Fire injury, Infertility, Rape, Self harm, and Torture
fiveredhens's review against another edition
mysterious
tense
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.5
favorite quotes:
The night was dark and windy, the crowns of the surrounding pine trees rustling steadily and melodiously, their limbs and trunks creaking in the wind. There was no malevolent fire, no screams, only this gentle lullaby. Beside her the campfire flickered with light and warmth, its reflected flames glowing from harness buckles, gleaming red in the leather-wrapped and iron-banded hilt of a sword leaning against a saddle on the ground. There was no other fire and no other iron. The hand against her cheek smelled of leather and ashes. Not of blood.
"Who is this child, Wolf? Who is this girl?"
"She's my ..." Geralt suddenly stammered. She felt his strong, hard hands on her shoulders. And suddenly the fear disappeared, vanished without a trace. The roaring red fire gave out warmth. Only warmth. The black silhouettes were the silhouettes of friends. Carers. Their glistening eyes expressed curiosity. Concern. And unease ...
Geralt's hands clenched over her shoulders.
"She's our destiny."
"I wanted to ask you something. May I?"
"You may."
"If you know magic and spells ... If you can cast them ... Can you turn me into a boy?"
"Haaa! Ha! Haaaaa! Got you! I got you, you griffin! Geraaaalt! Did you see that?"
"Don't yell. Control your breathing."
"I did it! I really did it!! I managed it! Praise me, Geralt!"
"Well done, Ciri. Well done, girl."
"And the girl?" Yarpen indicated Ciri with his head as she wriggled under the sheepskin. "Yours?"
"Mine," he replied without thinking. "Mine, Zigrin."
Geralt, you promised to come. Come.
Your Ciri
PS Come, come.
PS Mother Nenneke told me to end with Praise be to Great Melitele, may her blessing and favour always go with you. And may nothing happen to you.
Ciri
During the warm, still afternoons the air grew thick with the scent of flowers and grass, pulsating with peace and silence, broken by the buzz of bees and enormous beetles.
Before we part to finally meet the one I miss. The one she misses. The one who no doubt misses us.
Vesemir was really very old...
Witchers decorated the walls and doors of their quarters with the skins of animals they killed when hunting—stags, lynx, wolves and even wolverines. On the door of Ciri's little room, however, hung the skin of an enormous rat with a hideous scaly tail.
The enchantress turned her gaze on Ciri. The girl was sitting on a bearskin with Coën, tucked away in the far corner of the hall, and both were busy playing a hand-slapping game. The game was growing monotonous as both were incredibly quick—neither could manage to slap the other's hand in any way. This, however, clearly neither mattered to them nor spoiled their game.
"I'll manage."
"From what I've heard about you"—the knight's lips twisted—"I have no doubt you would. But bear in mind you are not alone. You have a gravely sick woman on your shoulders and this brat ..."
Ciri, who was trying to clean her dung-smeared boot on a ladder rung, raised her head. The knight cleared his throat and looked down. Geralt smiled faintly. Over the last two years Ciri had almost forgotten her origins and had almost entirely lost her royal manners and airs, but her glare, when she wanted, was very much like that of her grandmother.
Triss tossed in her sleep, shook the compress off and talked indistinctly to herself. She demanded that someone called Kevyn kept his hands to himself, and immediately after that declared that destiny cannot be avoided. Finally, having stated that everyone, absolutely everyone, is a mutant to a certain degree, she fell into a peaceful sleep.
"And you're just a nuisance, too, little madam," he snorted angrily. "All we need are ladies and girls, damn it. I can't even take a piss from the box—I have to stop the cart and go into the bushes!"
Ciri put her hands on her hips, shook her ashen fringe and turned up her nose. "Is that so?" she shrilled, enraged. "Drink less beer, Zigrin, and then you won't have to!"
"My beer's none of your shitin' business, you chit!"
"Don't yell, Triss has just fallen asleep!"
"It's my wagon! I'll yell if I want to!"
"Stumpy!"
"What? You impertinent brat!"
"Stump!"
"I'll show you stump ... Oh, damn it! Pprrr!" The dwarf leaned far back, pulling at the reins at the very last moment, just as the two horses were on the point of stepping over a log blocking their way.
I have nothing against witchers. Let them hunt vampires. As long as they pay taxes.
Radovid the Bold, King of Redania
Again I have some time so I will write what happened. When we were feeding the turkey hens, I, Iola and Katye, One Enormous Turkey attacked us, a red neck it had and was Terrible Horrible.
"The boundary between Redania and Temeria runs through the centre of the Pontar current."
"And how the shit do you measure a current?"
ciri o'clock
The night was dark and windy, the crowns of the surrounding pine trees rustling steadily and melodiously, their limbs and trunks creaking in the wind. There was no malevolent fire, no screams, only this gentle lullaby. Beside her the campfire flickered with light and warmth, its reflected flames glowing from harness buckles, gleaming red in the leather-wrapped and iron-banded hilt of a sword leaning against a saddle on the ground. There was no other fire and no other iron. The hand against her cheek smelled of leather and ashes. Not of blood.
"Who is this child, Wolf? Who is this girl?"
"She's my ..." Geralt suddenly stammered. She felt his strong, hard hands on her shoulders. And suddenly the fear disappeared, vanished without a trace. The roaring red fire gave out warmth. Only warmth. The black silhouettes were the silhouettes of friends. Carers. Their glistening eyes expressed curiosity. Concern. And unease ...
Geralt's hands clenched over her shoulders.
"She's our destiny."
"I wanted to ask you something. May I?"
"You may."
"If you know magic and spells ... If you can cast them ... Can you turn me into a boy?"
"Haaa! Ha! Haaaaa! Got you! I got you, you griffin! Geraaaalt! Did you see that?"
"Don't yell. Control your breathing."
"I did it! I really did it!! I managed it! Praise me, Geralt!"
"Well done, Ciri. Well done, girl."
"And the girl?" Yarpen indicated Ciri with his head as she wriggled under the sheepskin. "Yours?"
"Mine," he replied without thinking. "Mine, Zigrin."
Geralt, you promised to come. Come.
Your Ciri
PS Come, come.
PS Mother Nenneke told me to end with Praise be to Great Melitele, may her blessing and favour always go with you. And may nothing happen to you.
Ciri
During the warm, still afternoons the air grew thick with the scent of flowers and grass, pulsating with peace and silence, broken by the buzz of bees and enormous beetles.
Before we part to finally meet the one I miss. The one she misses. The one who no doubt misses us.
Vesemir was really very old...
Witchers decorated the walls and doors of their quarters with the skins of animals they killed when hunting—stags, lynx, wolves and even wolverines. On the door of Ciri's little room, however, hung the skin of an enormous rat with a hideous scaly tail.
The enchantress turned her gaze on Ciri. The girl was sitting on a bearskin with Coën, tucked away in the far corner of the hall, and both were busy playing a hand-slapping game. The game was growing monotonous as both were incredibly quick—neither could manage to slap the other's hand in any way. This, however, clearly neither mattered to them nor spoiled their game.
"I'll manage."
"From what I've heard about you"—the knight's lips twisted—"I have no doubt you would. But bear in mind you are not alone. You have a gravely sick woman on your shoulders and this brat ..."
Ciri, who was trying to clean her dung-smeared boot on a ladder rung, raised her head. The knight cleared his throat and looked down. Geralt smiled faintly. Over the last two years Ciri had almost forgotten her origins and had almost entirely lost her royal manners and airs, but her glare, when she wanted, was very much like that of her grandmother.
Triss tossed in her sleep, shook the compress off and talked indistinctly to herself. She demanded that someone called Kevyn kept his hands to himself, and immediately after that declared that destiny cannot be avoided. Finally, having stated that everyone, absolutely everyone, is a mutant to a certain degree, she fell into a peaceful sleep.
"And you're just a nuisance, too, little madam," he snorted angrily. "All we need are ladies and girls, damn it. I can't even take a piss from the box—I have to stop the cart and go into the bushes!"
Ciri put her hands on her hips, shook her ashen fringe and turned up her nose. "Is that so?" she shrilled, enraged. "Drink less beer, Zigrin, and then you won't have to!"
"My beer's none of your shitin' business, you chit!"
"Don't yell, Triss has just fallen asleep!"
"It's my wagon! I'll yell if I want to!"
"Stumpy!"
"What? You impertinent brat!"
"Stump!"
"I'll show you stump ... Oh, damn it! Pprrr!" The dwarf leaned far back, pulling at the reins at the very last moment, just as the two horses were on the point of stepping over a log blocking their way.
I have nothing against witchers. Let them hunt vampires. As long as they pay taxes.
Radovid the Bold, King of Redania
Again I have some time so I will write what happened. When we were feeding the turkey hens, I, Iola and Katye, One Enormous Turkey attacked us, a red neck it had and was Terrible Horrible.
"The boundary between Redania and Temeria runs through the centre of the Pontar current."
"And how the shit do you measure a current?"
ciri o'clock
Content Warnings
Graphic: Ableism, Blood, Body shaming, and Emotional abuse
Moderate: Pedophilia, Rape, Sexism, and Violence
Minor: Cursing, Death of parent, Homophobia, and Pregnancy
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