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orionmerlin 's review for:
The Maid and the Crocodile
by Jordan Ifueko
adventurous
emotional
hopeful
inspiring
reflective
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
Characters — 8/10
Sade completely stole the show for me. She’s not some chosen-one princess swanning around in silk; she’s a cane-using, trauma-scarred maid who literally cleans curses for a living. Her resilience and dry humor made her one of the most grounded YA fantasy heroines I’ve read in ages. The Crocodile, on the other hand, is a mess of tragedy and self-inflicted suffering, which should’ve been exhausting but instead came across as layered and magnetic. And the Amenities—the found-family crew of workers—are the kind of ensemble that makes you want to start a revolution with them. Their banter and solidarity felt like the real beating heart of the book.
Atmosphere/Setting — 9/10
The class divide in Oluwan City wasn’t just backdrop—it was practically a character. Ifueko paints the luxury district in sterile, scentless perfection, then plunges us into the slums where life is loud, dirty, and real. The Balogun Inn, with its opulent façade and cramped servant’s quarters, is a perfect microcosm of exploitation. And those bone houses? Creepy, icy shrines that screamed loneliness and decay every time they appeared. Every setting felt like it was whispering about inequality, making the social critique unavoidable.
Writing Style — 8/10
Ifueko writes like she’s weaving a spell out of soap suds and plantain ash. The prose balances accessible YA readability with moments of pure lyrical punch, never drifting into preachy territory even when tackling classism head-on. I loved the rhythm of the Amenities’ dialogue—it crackled with real humor and warmth. And Sade’s narrative voice carried this undercurrent of weary tenacity that gave the story such grit. Ifueko knows when to drop sensory details that stick in your head: the sting of sweatmill ink, the scent of soap, the chill of cursed bone.
Plot — 8/10
The story sets itself up as a romantasy fairytale and then pulls the rug out by saying, “Actually, the real magic is worker solidarity.” Sade’s journey from survival to defiance felt tight and purposeful, and the beats of her arc—job at the inn, the grotesque “Sin Salon,” the deepening bond with Zuri—hit with both emotional weight and political sharpness. The ending, where the workers claim the inn and reforge it into their own cooperative space, was such a better payoff than any royal wedding could have been. Ifueko plays with tropes just enough to keep me invested while still driving her themes home.
Intrigue — 9/10
I couldn’t stop flipping pages. Was it the mystery of the Crocodile’s curse? Absolutely. Was it the question of what Sade’s power really meant? Definitely. But it was also the steady drumbeat of revolution: will the workers rise, or will they get crushed again? And yes, the romance thread was delicious in that prickly “he’s a god-monster, she’s a maid, can this even work?” way. Each layer of intrigue added just enough tension to keep me on edge without feeling cluttered.
Logic/Relationships — 9/10
The curse-eating magic system was so tidy and clever—turning domestic labor into literal world-saving power is genius. The Crocodile’s backstory and the way his curse was constructed all lined up cleanly with the established rules, which I appreciated. And the relationships? Believable and beautifully messy. Sade and Zuri’s shift from captor/captive dynamics to true partners actually felt earned, which is rare in romantasy. The Amenities’ bond was equally well-done, built brick by brick out of in-jokes, shared pain, and eventual radical trust.
Enjoyment — 9/10
This book gave me everything I wanted: aching romance, a badass found family, and a big “eat the rich” energy that made me want to start singing protest songs in my kitchen. It’s rare for a book to leave me both swooning and fist-pumping, but Ifueko managed it. Even the darker parts, like the Sin Salon confessions, landed with emotional weight (though I did side-eye that internet meme line—it pulled me out for a second). Overall, I walked away hopeful, satisfied, and a little misty-eyed about how ordinary people can actually change the world.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Ableism, Child abuse, Death, Domestic abuse, Emotional abuse, Homophobia, Self harm, Slavery, Suicidal thoughts, Toxic relationship, Violence, Trafficking, Grief, Suicide attempt, Death of parent, Pregnancy, Lesbophobia, Injury/Injury detail, Classism
Moderate: Addiction, Alcoholism, Body shaming, Chronic illness, Confinement, Hate crime, Infidelity, Misogyny, Sexism, Sexual assault, Sexual content, Sexual violence, Blood, Vomit, Medical content, Kidnapping, Medical trauma, Murder, Fire/Fire injury, Gaslighting, Abandonment, Sexual harassment, War
Minor: Animal cruelty, Animal death, Cursing, Mental illness, Racism, Forced institutionalization, Xenophobia, Excrement, Deportation
This story contains frequent and unflinching depictions of violence, abuse, discrimination, and systemic oppression. Ableism/Disability Discrimination is central: Sade lives with a permanent injury causing chronic pain, walking only with a cane, and is judged and hired because of her misfortune. Child Abuse and Child Labor are deeply described—Sade’s father abused her mother, and Sade herself worked in a sweatmill where unsafe conditions left her permanently maimed; the narrative draws explicit parallels to modern cobalt mining and factory exploitation. Classism and Exploitation underpin the Realmhood’s entire structure, contrasting poor “ants” with wealthy “giants.” Death and Familial Loss recur, including Sade’s mother dying of illness in exile, Zuri’s entire family assassinated, and Zuri himself killed by mob spearing . Domestic and Emotional Abuse appear in both Sade’s family and in Kwabena’s coerced marriage, with threats, slaps, coercion, and manipulation. Grief defines Sade and Zuri’s motivations, tied to guilt and despair. Homophobia/Lesbophobia surfaces when Mamadele violently rejects her daughter Dele’s relationship with Ye Eun, hiring thugs to burn her shop . Injury and Medical Trauma include Sade’s chronic foot pain, Zuri’s infected cursed arm, head wounds from falling rubble, and Kwabena’s harrowing childbirth after her husband sabotaged contraception . Pregnancy/Reproductive Coercion is highlighted as a real-world parallel in the author’s note. Self-Harm, Suicidality, and Suicide Attempts appear both literally (Sade punishing herself until she bled; Zuri admitting he searched for ways to die) and symbolically (Zuri’s orchestrated death in his revolution, framed as intentional suicide ). Slavery and Trafficking are referenced through body bazaars, lifelong servitude contracts, and labor exploitation. Toxic Relationships are woven throughout, from Mamadele’s coercive control of her daughter to Kwabena’s abusive marriage. Violence occurs in both domestic and political contexts—beatings, arson, spearing, and vandalism. Additional moderate concerns include abandonment, chronic illness, misogyny/sexism, kidnapping, arson, infidelity, and the constant threat of sexual exploitation or harassment in a patriarchal, class-stratified world. The book also contains depictions of vomiting linked to magical “spirit silt” contamination, as well as references to historical war and revolution. Minor but notable mentions include animal death, cursing, forced institutionalization in orphanages, racism/xenophobia, and excrement in daily life. Throughout, the text directly ties its injustices to real-world issues like child labor laws, reproductive coercion, and systemic inequality, encouraging the reader to recognize their contemporary parallels.