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A review by princessrobotiv
King of Scars by Leigh Bardugo
2.0
Revised to a flat 2 after consideration
--
I have emotions about this book, and almost none of them are positive.
Let's be frank for a moment: King of Scars suffered from poor pacing, weak character development, and some supremely BAD narrative choices.
Now, stylistically, Bardugo is roughly on par with some of her lesser previous works--Siege and Storm, for example. The first half of the book, titled The Drowning Man, boasts tight and atmospheric prose. So-called miracles are happening all across Ravka, and a remnant of the Darkling's power begins to take hold of Nikolai. With Ravka still recovering from a series of devastating wars and the establishment of a new king (without a clear line of succession and of questionable birth himself), the story was poised for some delicious, high-stakes political intrigue. There was a real sense of tension building through these first 250 pages, and I was excited to reach the inevitable breaking point.
Additionally, the themes that Bardugo introduced were strongly reminiscent of the original trilogy. One thing I loved about TGT, and what made me rate most of the books so highly despite their flaws, was the rather unprecedented discussion of martyrdom and sainthood, especially as such concepts cause, sustain, and support so-called righteous wars, often at great casualty. TGT possessed heavy commentary on the glorification of powerful political or military figures as well as the glorification of war as a whole, and it seemed like Bardugo was setting herself up to explore these concepts again. I was really intrigued by the way she inverted the discussion of sainthood and idol worship to include a newly-established cult of pilgrims worshipping the fallen Darkling. I enjoyed the Darkling's character in TGT and really fucking respected how hard Bardugo committed to his monstrousness. I even lowkey shipped him and Alina despite it all because, what the hell, I like dark themes! But I can't lie that I was also vibing with her condemnatory tone, and the way she seemed ballsy enough to shade her own fans for "missing the point" and woobifying her villain, as it were.
From a character standpoint, the narrative focused heavily on disillusionment, betrayal, grief, and trauma (both physical and emotional) in the aftermath of war. Some of the sections, especially in Nina and Zoya's chapters, were particularly well-done. I loved the imagery of the endless well and the falling stone, for example. Nikolai's struggle with the dark force inside him should have been an excellent opportunity for exteriorizing his actions during wartime . . . should have been.
The second half of the novel, titled The Witch in the Wood pretty much destroyed my enjoyment, though. Character development stagnated, which I'll discuss in a moment, but mostly, I am seriously annoyed at the direction Bardugo is taking with her world-building and her magic system.
If this were a simple case of weird pacing and a handful of storylines that didn't mesh with my personal interests, whatever. It probably would have gotten a solid three stars from me just from being in the Grishaverse and featuring beloved characters.
But I am astonished that more fans are not concerned with the direction King of Scars took the series in. The magic system has always been one with limitations and cost of use. The affinities Grisha express have sometimes blurred around the edges (in the case of Genya) or even transformed when manipulated by new developments in chemical/biological science (as in the case of Nina and the khergud), but even in these situations, there were boundaries to those powers. The Darkling's manipulation of merzost literally tore the fabric of the world apart, catastrophically altering the natural landscape for centuries. Jurda parem, though a powerful stimulant, results in terrible addiction and, often, the death of the user. Alina--arguably one of our more OP heroines--suffered because of her power and ultimately sacrificed it.
Yet in King of Scars, this balance is entirely eradicated, right alongside Bardugo's original conception of the Ravkan saints. No longer are the saints representative of a desperate and violent world's fear of the unknown, or even representative of the eagerness of a war-torn country to create meaningful stories of hope and endurance out of tragedy. No, instead, they were uber-powerful Grisha closer to gods than humans. Oh, and the only reason current Grisha have affinities is because they've been corrupted by time or some shit, and if they just try hard enough during a two-week long training montage, they can be a fucking DRAGON because that is, also, a thing that's possible now.
Why not!
So, what does this mean for the world at large? If Zoya is, as the story claims, to usher in a new order of classless Grisha, how exactly will this impact the Grishaverse? The khergud are already incredibly powerful Grisha, and their power makes them a menace to innocent people, particularly those without Grisha power. How is it supposed to be a GOOD or DESIRABLE thing for every Grisha to possess that sort of strength, without any of the consequences we were told must result if the "making at the heart of the world" is misused? Didn't we have an entire trilogy expounding upon the corrupting influence of unshackled power?
Man, I dunno.
Other small things really bummed me out, too. Nikolai's chapters were pretty uniformly weak, the weakest of all the POVs, despite this being his duology and his conflict having the most potential. Zoya's journey was diluted and cheapened by the above issues, and I just am so not interested in her becoming what King of Scars foreshadows she will become. Nina's chapters were too removed from the other storylines, and though Hanne was a good character and the attraction between them well-represented, it still felt cheap and WAY too fast after Matthias's death. It was a serious disservice.
AND FINALLY, the big reveal:.
--
I have emotions about this book, and almost none of them are positive.
Let's be frank for a moment: King of Scars suffered from poor pacing, weak character development, and some supremely BAD narrative choices.
Now, stylistically, Bardugo is roughly on par with some of her lesser previous works--Siege and Storm, for example. The first half of the book, titled The Drowning Man, boasts tight and atmospheric prose. So-called miracles are happening all across Ravka, and a remnant of the Darkling's power begins to take hold of Nikolai. With Ravka still recovering from a series of devastating wars and the establishment of a new king (without a clear line of succession and of questionable birth himself), the story was poised for some delicious, high-stakes political intrigue. There was a real sense of tension building through these first 250 pages, and I was excited to reach the inevitable breaking point.
Additionally, the themes that Bardugo introduced were strongly reminiscent of the original trilogy. One thing I loved about TGT, and what made me rate most of the books so highly despite their flaws, was the rather unprecedented discussion of martyrdom and sainthood, especially as such concepts cause, sustain, and support so-called righteous wars, often at great casualty. TGT possessed heavy commentary on the glorification of powerful political or military figures as well as the glorification of war as a whole, and it seemed like Bardugo was setting herself up to explore these concepts again. I was really intrigued by the way she inverted the discussion of sainthood and idol worship to include a newly-established cult of pilgrims worshipping the fallen Darkling. I enjoyed the Darkling's character in TGT and really fucking respected how hard Bardugo committed to his monstrousness. I even lowkey shipped him and Alina despite it all because, what the hell, I like dark themes! But I can't lie that I was also vibing with her condemnatory tone, and the way she seemed ballsy enough to shade her own fans for "missing the point" and woobifying her villain, as it were.
From a character standpoint, the narrative focused heavily on disillusionment, betrayal, grief, and trauma (both physical and emotional) in the aftermath of war. Some of the sections, especially in Nina and Zoya's chapters, were particularly well-done. I loved the imagery of the endless well and the falling stone, for example. Nikolai's struggle with the dark force inside him should have been an excellent opportunity for exteriorizing his actions during wartime . . . should have been.
The second half of the novel, titled The Witch in the Wood pretty much destroyed my enjoyment, though. Character development stagnated, which I'll discuss in a moment, but mostly, I am seriously annoyed at the direction Bardugo is taking with her world-building and her magic system.
If this were a simple case of weird pacing and a handful of storylines that didn't mesh with my personal interests, whatever. It probably would have gotten a solid three stars from me just from being in the Grishaverse and featuring beloved characters.
But I am astonished that more fans are not concerned with the direction King of Scars took the series in. The magic system has always been one with limitations and cost of use. The affinities Grisha express have sometimes blurred around the edges (in the case of Genya) or even transformed when manipulated by new developments in chemical/biological science (as in the case of Nina and the khergud), but even in these situations, there were boundaries to those powers. The Darkling's manipulation of merzost literally tore the fabric of the world apart, catastrophically altering the natural landscape for centuries. Jurda parem, though a powerful stimulant, results in terrible addiction and, often, the death of the user. Alina--arguably one of our more OP heroines--suffered because of her power and ultimately sacrificed it.
Yet in King of Scars, this balance is entirely eradicated, right alongside Bardugo's original conception of the Ravkan saints. No longer are the saints representative of a desperate and violent world's fear of the unknown, or even representative of the eagerness of a war-torn country to create meaningful stories of hope and endurance out of tragedy. No, instead, they were uber-powerful Grisha closer to gods than humans. Oh, and the only reason current Grisha have affinities is because they've been corrupted by time or some shit, and if they just try hard enough during a two-week long training montage, they can be a fucking DRAGON because that is, also, a thing that's possible now.
Why not!
So, what does this mean for the world at large? If Zoya is, as the story claims, to usher in a new order of classless Grisha, how exactly will this impact the Grishaverse? The khergud are already incredibly powerful Grisha, and their power makes them a menace to innocent people, particularly those without Grisha power. How is it supposed to be a GOOD or DESIRABLE thing for every Grisha to possess that sort of strength, without any of the consequences we were told must result if the "making at the heart of the world" is misused? Didn't we have an entire trilogy expounding upon the corrupting influence of unshackled power?
Man, I dunno.
Other small things really bummed me out, too. Nikolai's chapters were pretty uniformly weak, the weakest of all the POVs, despite this being his duology and his conflict having the most potential. Zoya's journey was diluted and cheapened by the above issues, and I just am so not interested in her becoming what King of Scars foreshadows she will become. Nina's chapters were too removed from the other storylines, and though Hanne was a good character and the attraction between them well-represented, it still felt cheap and WAY too fast after Matthias's death. It was a serious disservice.
AND FINALLY, the big reveal: