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noamberg's review against another edition
challenging
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? It's complicated
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
3.0
sandygx260's review
2.0
More like "The Ruin of the Craft Sequence". I barely finished this weird mess of a novel. I swear a Max Gladstone impersonator wrote this one. Truly sad at how this novel did not mesh for me.
drajon's review
5.0
I am left stupefied with how brilliantly Max Gladstone has managed to use elements I learned in previous books and tie them into a beautiful struggle that captures the elements of his writing that I love so much. I am happy to see returning characters and I cried to see their pain and the growth that comes from it. I feel like I am getting to know a intricate, intelligent, and important author here. (Sorry I failed to determine a solid alliterative last word for that trio. Empathetic is what I mean, but important will have to do)
danrosan's review
adventurous
dark
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
4.0
collacentaur's review
5.0
The Craft Sequence has fascinated me since it started, with its magic and religions and legal system and politics all inextricably enmeshed. In this latest installment, a truly urban fantasy, the city is not just setting but also character and conflict. I strongly recommend the series, and this story in particular, to anyone who appreciates unconventional world building.
arachnichemist's review
4.0
This was another wonderful entry to the Craft Sequence world. It feels like this one was heavily influenced by The City and The City and I just loved the setting. Gladstone built some outstanding characters and I feel in love with all of them. Kai, Izza and Ley with her group of friends are the primary focus of this one. Tara is present but not that often. Although she does play a major role in the end. Gladstone I believe is setting up the upcoming villain for either the series or the current arc of books. I am not sure if he is doing another 5 book arc or is just going to be ongoing.
So why 4 stars? This book suffers from some serious pacing issues that turned this into a slog at points. I am not sure if it was the prose or what, but it just read like molasses. I felt books 1, 4 and 5 did this in a much better manner. Perhaps it was due to all the world building going on, but I really hope the pacing issue is fixed in the future. I love the books a lot but I don't like how long it takes to chew through them. Regardless, it is a smaller problem in the grand scheme of a truly original series.
So why 4 stars? This book suffers from some serious pacing issues that turned this into a slog at points. I am not sure if it was the prose or what, but it just read like molasses. I felt books 1, 4 and 5 did this in a much better manner. Perhaps it was due to all the world building going on, but I really hope the pacing issue is fixed in the future. I love the books a lot but I don't like how long it takes to chew through them. Regardless, it is a smaller problem in the grand scheme of a truly original series.
elzabetg's review
3.0
This book was too long and too complicated to listen to again. I liked it the first time which is why I tried to reread all of the Craft Sequence, but frankly, On the second go around I think Gladstone was trying to do too much. I'm bored.
3.5 stars
3.5 stars
casualdarings's review
5.0
Hands down, my favorite fantasy series. I read them in the internal chronology order which I very much recommend. The world building is rich and complex, all the characters are really well-developed, and compelling and with each book, the plot feels like it's building to something bigger. It's just a magnificent series and this entry was the best yet.
_b_a_l_'s review
5.0
I adored this.
More Tara. More godpunk fractured worlds. Magic corporations and nightmare powered telecoms. Artists and angels and squid-borg-parasites.
Max Gladstone's writing is the perfect balance of poetry and story; both dreamy painterliness and fast-paced action.
And I'm pretty sure that this is the most beautiful and true paragraph about being trans ever published in a fantasy novel:
"“I understand that during initiation Kavekanese priests and priestesses rebuild themselves around their soul, which allows the smooth and complete correction of many . . . bookkeeping errors. Not all of us have such access, and medical Craft has certain path-dependent limitations: physical transformations of any sort are trivial if you don’t mind dying in the process. I happen to enjoy my independence—not to mention my heartbeat. I’m happy to share a moment later, but can we focus on business for now?”
“Of course,” Kai said. She did not look at Eberhardt Jax in the brief pause as he lifted his briefcase to the table and spun the wheel locks on its latch. That much she could offer, even in this room, even chained and buttressed by their roles of venture-priest and pitchman. The pool let her rewrite herself from the inside out, but she still felt a stab of anxiety meeting mainlanders who knew: do they see me, or are they looking for something inside me that isn’t there at all? Jax must have felt the same. Worse. But they weren’t meeting to discuss that."
Other bits of beauty and squee-ing and tears:
"It answered in a language she didn’t understand, that sounded like the death of something beautiful."
***
"There, in the sky, approaching a foreign city beneath the belly of an ancient beast, tossed by winds, stuck in coach because the priesthood didn’t think this side trip rated business class, she felt the touch of a cool blue hand upon her brow. The touch melted against her forehead and rolled down her skin like honey tears, hot and sweet and deep, to bead and tremble on her lips, then slip within. She tasted salt and sand and volcanic rock. Root musk rolled down her tongue into her throat. She burned all over at once, and exhaled the beauty worming through her veins."
***
"So easy to look out at the world through warped glass and think the world was warped itself. Easy, too, to live in a warped world and forget that, with effort, you could make crooked lines straight."
***
"The city changed—buildings changed, streets changed, languages changed—but people adapted, and endured."
***
"The boy with the flowers blocked her path. His eyes were big and wet and needy, and that need ran deeper than the sale. The scar on his cheek drank sunlight. He offered her a flower."
***
“I do not understand you. But neither do I understand fire, or starlight, or storms, and I love them."
***
"The flood reared, cobra-like and vast, slavering mouths and crooked claws and burning eyes, and struck.... She fought to remain herself in the flood. A reflex, the oldest battle: she knew who she was, she knew her body, knew her past and her home and her family and her soul. She clung to them."
***
"She was larger than the limits of her skin."
***
“I heard—legs. Skittering closer. Whispers older than time. They speak in the pulses of distant suns. They’re so, so hungry. And they smell us.”
More Tara. More godpunk fractured worlds. Magic corporations and nightmare powered telecoms. Artists and angels and squid-borg-parasites.
Max Gladstone's writing is the perfect balance of poetry and story; both dreamy painterliness and fast-paced action.
And I'm pretty sure that this is the most beautiful and true paragraph about being trans ever published in a fantasy novel:
"“I understand that during initiation Kavekanese priests and priestesses rebuild themselves around their soul, which allows the smooth and complete correction of many . . . bookkeeping errors. Not all of us have such access, and medical Craft has certain path-dependent limitations: physical transformations of any sort are trivial if you don’t mind dying in the process. I happen to enjoy my independence—not to mention my heartbeat. I’m happy to share a moment later, but can we focus on business for now?”
“Of course,” Kai said. She did not look at Eberhardt Jax in the brief pause as he lifted his briefcase to the table and spun the wheel locks on its latch. That much she could offer, even in this room, even chained and buttressed by their roles of venture-priest and pitchman. The pool let her rewrite herself from the inside out, but she still felt a stab of anxiety meeting mainlanders who knew: do they see me, or are they looking for something inside me that isn’t there at all? Jax must have felt the same. Worse. But they weren’t meeting to discuss that."
Other bits of beauty and squee-ing and tears:
"It answered in a language she didn’t understand, that sounded like the death of something beautiful."
***
"There, in the sky, approaching a foreign city beneath the belly of an ancient beast, tossed by winds, stuck in coach because the priesthood didn’t think this side trip rated business class, she felt the touch of a cool blue hand upon her brow. The touch melted against her forehead and rolled down her skin like honey tears, hot and sweet and deep, to bead and tremble on her lips, then slip within. She tasted salt and sand and volcanic rock. Root musk rolled down her tongue into her throat. She burned all over at once, and exhaled the beauty worming through her veins."
***
"So easy to look out at the world through warped glass and think the world was warped itself. Easy, too, to live in a warped world and forget that, with effort, you could make crooked lines straight."
***
"The city changed—buildings changed, streets changed, languages changed—but people adapted, and endured."
***
"The boy with the flowers blocked her path. His eyes were big and wet and needy, and that need ran deeper than the sale. The scar on his cheek drank sunlight. He offered her a flower."
***
“I do not understand you. But neither do I understand fire, or starlight, or storms, and I love them."
***
"The flood reared, cobra-like and vast, slavering mouths and crooked claws and burning eyes, and struck.... She fought to remain herself in the flood. A reflex, the oldest battle: she knew who she was, she knew her body, knew her past and her home and her family and her soul. She clung to them."
***
"She was larger than the limits of her skin."
***
“I heard—legs. Skittering closer. Whispers older than time. They speak in the pulses of distant suns. They’re so, so hungry. And they smell us.”