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A review by banksyhater
The Atlas Six by Olivie Blake
3.0
“So whadda we? Some kinda Atlas Six?”
I keep waiting for this book to become what it believes itself to be. It boasts a cast of six +3 characters, who despite their diverse and unique backgrounds all manage to be the same shade of insufferable.
The author has a clear grasp of tone. A vibe that i can only describe as Tumblr Dark Academia permeates the prose, but the characters themselves and the events that unfold fail to feel interesting or consequential.
We are told at the end of the novel that the six ( ish ) of the main cast are actually in an Ender’s Game scenario, having been groomed meticulously by the titular Atlas ( who I could not stop envisioning as Giancarlo Esposito ) to be a world-changing and possibly world-ending squad of Medians— this world’s magicians.
The only remarkable plot development was when Libby’s recently-dumped beau revealing himself to be a time traveler and also Atlas’s newly-sworn enemy.
Parisa, despite being the most insufferable character, seconds Libby as the most sympathetic. She gets the most narrative love and is fleshed out due largely to her being the only character who does anything.
Others, like Tristan and Callum and Raina, are little more than set dressing for them, to highlight their features and make their shadows more distinct. This is especially unfortunate for characters such as Raina, who is alluded to be able to control life itself.
Given that this book takes place over the course of roughly a year, we learn shockingly little about the characters’ interpersonal dynamics. Libby and and Nico love to hate each other, Tristan and Callum have a Holmsian tension, Parisa and Tristan are in a largely one-sided situationship, everyone hates Callum, and Dalton’s just Ken: These dynamics are chiseled into the narrative’s supporting columns, but none of it feels real or visible enough to be meaningful. The brief death of Libby feels inconvenient rather than landing the blow it was clearly intended to deliver.
I really, really wanted to love this book. In fact, I’m so in denial of disliking it that i fully intend to read the sequel. However, my expectations are high— this meandering, unfocused and impersonal (yet effectively atmospheric and dramatic) narrative has either set up a devastatingly beautiful sequel, or a predictably tepid follow-up.
I keep waiting for this book to become what it believes itself to be. It boasts a cast of six +3 characters, who despite their diverse and unique backgrounds all manage to be the same shade of insufferable.
The author has a clear grasp of tone. A vibe that i can only describe as Tumblr Dark Academia permeates the prose, but the characters themselves and the events that unfold fail to feel interesting or consequential.
We are told at the end of the novel that the six ( ish ) of the main cast are actually in an Ender’s Game scenario, having been groomed meticulously by the titular Atlas ( who I could not stop envisioning as Giancarlo Esposito ) to be a world-changing and possibly world-ending squad of Medians— this world’s magicians.
The only remarkable plot development was when Libby’s recently-dumped beau revealing himself to be a time traveler and also Atlas’s newly-sworn enemy.
Parisa, despite being the most insufferable character, seconds Libby as the most sympathetic. She gets the most narrative love and is fleshed out due largely to her being the only character who does anything.
Others, like Tristan and Callum and Raina, are little more than set dressing for them, to highlight their features and make their shadows more distinct. This is especially unfortunate for characters such as Raina, who is alluded to be able to control life itself.
Given that this book takes place over the course of roughly a year, we learn shockingly little about the characters’ interpersonal dynamics. Libby and and Nico love to hate each other, Tristan and Callum have a Holmsian tension, Parisa and Tristan are in a largely one-sided situationship, everyone hates Callum, and Dalton’s just Ken: These dynamics are chiseled into the narrative’s supporting columns, but none of it feels real or visible enough to be meaningful. The brief death of Libby feels inconvenient rather than landing the blow it was clearly intended to deliver.
I really, really wanted to love this book. In fact, I’m so in denial of disliking it that i fully intend to read the sequel. However, my expectations are high— this meandering, unfocused and impersonal (yet effectively atmospheric and dramatic) narrative has either set up a devastatingly beautiful sequel, or a predictably tepid follow-up.