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A review by orionmerlin
The Way of Kings by Brandon Sanderson
challenging
emotional
hopeful
reflective
tense
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? It's complicated
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.5
Characters – 7.5/10
Kaladin’s depression arc hit me right in the burnout, and I genuinely cared about his path from human disaster to bridge-running sadboy leader. But after a while, it started to feel like I was trapped in a therapy loop, Kaladin fails, broods, makes progress, panics, resets. Again. And again. Dalinar had some great “wrestling with honor” moments, but by the fifth vision sequence and yet another scene of people not believing him, I was like, please. Just punch someone. Preferably Sadeas. Shallan, meanwhile, grated on me like a cheese shredder. Her jokes were trying way too hard, and I felt like I was being cornered by a girl at an awkward con panel who thinks being “quirky” is the same as having a personality. Even Adolin, the golden retriever of Alethkar, felt more like a vehicle for plot than a person for most of the book. Bridge Four was the emotional glue, sure, but outside the main trio? Most characters blurred into “vague grumpy lighteyes” or “guy who dies dramatically.”
Atmosphere / Setting – 9/10
The world of Roshar is a fever dream of evolution and geology, and I’ll give Sanderson this, he absolutely committed. Giant crabs for horses? Shrinking grass? Floating magic spren that emote at you like sparkly emojis? It was strange and specific in all the right ways. I didn’t just picture this world, I practically inhaled it. That said, I also got tired of hearing how alien everything was. By the third paragraph of describing stone color or inverted weather patterns, I started skimming for verbs. I wanted to be in the world, not sit through an orientation video every time a new setting appeared. Still, it’s one of the most distinct fantasy settings I’ve read in years, and I respect that level of commitment to the bit.
Writing Style – 5/10
Sanderson’s prose is the literary equivalent of a sturdy IKEA bookshelf. It’s functional. You know what it’s trying to do. It holds up well under pressure. But it sure ain’t pretty. I was constantly aware that I was reading a fantasy novel written by a man who really wants you to understand how his made-up words work. I’m not anti-accessibility, clear prose can be a strength, but here it felt like every emotional beat was spelled out like a lesson plan. The repetition was brutal. Characters rehashed their internal conflicts so often I could’ve written their therapy notes by chapter ten. And Shallan’s attempts at wit? Someone get that girl a better ghostwriter.
Plot – 6/10
This book is allergic to momentum. I’m serious, nothing happens for 70% of the page count. I kept waiting for the real story to begin, and by the time it did, I was already emotionally sunburned from all the character introspection and crab ecology. Kaladin’s plotline at least had a tangible arc, depression, despair, leadership, hope, but the pacing crawled. Shallan’s plot could’ve been condensed into a novella and still had room for an epilogue. Dalinar’s visions had promise, but they were doled out like cryptic breadcrumbs leading to a reveal I saw coming from orbit. The Sanderlanche? Solid. But one good final act doesn’t make up for a thousand-page build-up that felt like a really long meeting with excellent catering at the end.
Intrigue – 7/10
I wasn’t bored, I was just... stuck. Like pushing a shopping cart with one wobbly wheel. I’d be chugging along with Kaladin, excited to see what bridge trauma came next, and then WHAM, we’re back to Shallan explaining her tragic backstory via drawings and sarcasm. There’s tension here, but it’s buried under so much scaffolding. The interludes, which I suspect were meant to add flavor, mostly felt like someone accidentally changed the channel. I wanted to be pulled in more. But instead of feeling urgency, I mostly felt obligation.
Logic / Relationships – 8/10
Okay, credit where it’s due, Sanderson’s worldbuilding is so internally consistent it practically squeaks. The magic system is nerd-crack, the social hierarchy makes sense in an awful classist way, and the way characters respond to trauma and status? Pretty spot on. Kaladin’s loyalty spirals and Dalinar’s oaths of honor both felt grounded, and their choices flowed naturally from who they were. But the emotional payoff between characters often lagged behind the groundwork. I liked Bridge Four, but their dynamic always felt a bit too tidy. I understood Shallan and Jasnah’s relationship, but I never felt it. And romantic tension? What romantic tension?
Enjoyment – 7/10
I enjoyed myself the same way one enjoys finishing a very long hike: sore, proud, and slightly resentful. I admired the ambition. I cared deeply about some characters. I was even moved, once or twice. But I also audibly sighed at yet another Kaladin brooding scene and seriously considered skipping Shallan chapters entirely (and I never skip chapters). The high points were great, but they were buried in a lot of prose that felt like literary fiber. Necessary. But not exactly thrilling. I’m glad I read it. I might even keep going. But the idea of rereading this beast? Absolutely not. Not without a spren-powered margarita in hand.
Final Rating: 7.0/10
The Way of Kings is a slow, serious slog through fascinating worldbuilding, emotionally earnest trauma, and very uneven pacing. I admired it more than I loved it. It's a commitment, and not the hot, swoony kind. More like the “I guess I’ll train for a marathon because all my friends are doing it” kind. Worth it? Maybe. But only if you like your fantasy with a side of lectures, logic, and lingering bridge metaphors.
Kaladin’s depression arc hit me right in the burnout, and I genuinely cared about his path from human disaster to bridge-running sadboy leader. But after a while, it started to feel like I was trapped in a therapy loop, Kaladin fails, broods, makes progress, panics, resets. Again. And again. Dalinar had some great “wrestling with honor” moments, but by the fifth vision sequence and yet another scene of people not believing him, I was like, please. Just punch someone. Preferably Sadeas. Shallan, meanwhile, grated on me like a cheese shredder. Her jokes were trying way too hard, and I felt like I was being cornered by a girl at an awkward con panel who thinks being “quirky” is the same as having a personality. Even Adolin, the golden retriever of Alethkar, felt more like a vehicle for plot than a person for most of the book. Bridge Four was the emotional glue, sure, but outside the main trio? Most characters blurred into “vague grumpy lighteyes” or “guy who dies dramatically.”
Atmosphere / Setting – 9/10
The world of Roshar is a fever dream of evolution and geology, and I’ll give Sanderson this, he absolutely committed. Giant crabs for horses? Shrinking grass? Floating magic spren that emote at you like sparkly emojis? It was strange and specific in all the right ways. I didn’t just picture this world, I practically inhaled it. That said, I also got tired of hearing how alien everything was. By the third paragraph of describing stone color or inverted weather patterns, I started skimming for verbs. I wanted to be in the world, not sit through an orientation video every time a new setting appeared. Still, it’s one of the most distinct fantasy settings I’ve read in years, and I respect that level of commitment to the bit.
Writing Style – 5/10
Sanderson’s prose is the literary equivalent of a sturdy IKEA bookshelf. It’s functional. You know what it’s trying to do. It holds up well under pressure. But it sure ain’t pretty. I was constantly aware that I was reading a fantasy novel written by a man who really wants you to understand how his made-up words work. I’m not anti-accessibility, clear prose can be a strength, but here it felt like every emotional beat was spelled out like a lesson plan. The repetition was brutal. Characters rehashed their internal conflicts so often I could’ve written their therapy notes by chapter ten. And Shallan’s attempts at wit? Someone get that girl a better ghostwriter.
Plot – 6/10
This book is allergic to momentum. I’m serious, nothing happens for 70% of the page count. I kept waiting for the real story to begin, and by the time it did, I was already emotionally sunburned from all the character introspection and crab ecology. Kaladin’s plotline at least had a tangible arc, depression, despair, leadership, hope, but the pacing crawled. Shallan’s plot could’ve been condensed into a novella and still had room for an epilogue. Dalinar’s visions had promise, but they were doled out like cryptic breadcrumbs leading to a reveal I saw coming from orbit. The Sanderlanche? Solid. But one good final act doesn’t make up for a thousand-page build-up that felt like a really long meeting with excellent catering at the end.
Intrigue – 7/10
I wasn’t bored, I was just... stuck. Like pushing a shopping cart with one wobbly wheel. I’d be chugging along with Kaladin, excited to see what bridge trauma came next, and then WHAM, we’re back to Shallan explaining her tragic backstory via drawings and sarcasm. There’s tension here, but it’s buried under so much scaffolding. The interludes, which I suspect were meant to add flavor, mostly felt like someone accidentally changed the channel. I wanted to be pulled in more. But instead of feeling urgency, I mostly felt obligation.
Logic / Relationships – 8/10
Okay, credit where it’s due, Sanderson’s worldbuilding is so internally consistent it practically squeaks. The magic system is nerd-crack, the social hierarchy makes sense in an awful classist way, and the way characters respond to trauma and status? Pretty spot on. Kaladin’s loyalty spirals and Dalinar’s oaths of honor both felt grounded, and their choices flowed naturally from who they were. But the emotional payoff between characters often lagged behind the groundwork. I liked Bridge Four, but their dynamic always felt a bit too tidy. I understood Shallan and Jasnah’s relationship, but I never felt it. And romantic tension? What romantic tension?
Enjoyment – 7/10
I enjoyed myself the same way one enjoys finishing a very long hike: sore, proud, and slightly resentful. I admired the ambition. I cared deeply about some characters. I was even moved, once or twice. But I also audibly sighed at yet another Kaladin brooding scene and seriously considered skipping Shallan chapters entirely (and I never skip chapters). The high points were great, but they were buried in a lot of prose that felt like literary fiber. Necessary. But not exactly thrilling. I’m glad I read it. I might even keep going. But the idea of rereading this beast? Absolutely not. Not without a spren-powered margarita in hand.
Final Rating: 7.0/10
The Way of Kings is a slow, serious slog through fascinating worldbuilding, emotionally earnest trauma, and very uneven pacing. I admired it more than I loved it. It's a commitment, and not the hot, swoony kind. More like the “I guess I’ll train for a marathon because all my friends are doing it” kind. Worth it? Maybe. But only if you like your fantasy with a side of lectures, logic, and lingering bridge metaphors.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Child death, Death, Genocide, Gore, Mental illness, Physical abuse, Racism, Self harm, Slavery, Suicidal thoughts, Torture, Violence, Blood, Medical content, Medical trauma, Suicide attempt, Murder, War, Injury/Injury detail, Classism
Moderate: Animal cruelty, Animal death, Body horror, Confinement, Emotional abuse, Misogyny, Panic attacks/disorders, Sexism, Xenophobia, Trafficking, Grief, Religious bigotry, Death of parent, Schizophrenia/Psychosis , Gaslighting, Abandonment, Alcohol, Colonisation
Minor: Ableism, Alcoholism, Body shaming, Bullying, Child abuse, Cursing, Domestic abuse, Drug use, Fatphobia, Racial slurs, Suicide, Vomit, Dementia, Stalking, Fire/Fire injury, Cultural appropriation, Toxic friendship, Sexual harassment
While The Way of Kings never tips fully into grimdark, it doesn’t shy away from bleakness. The story deals heavily with trauma, particularly involving war, slavery, and depression. Kaladin’s mental health arc includes vivid depictions of hopelessness, suicidal ideation, and self-loathing. Bridge Four’s sequences are brutal and repetitive for a reason: they feel like a slow-motion meat grinder, and that dehumanizing grind is the point. Meanwhile, Shallan’s backstory unveils slowly, but when it hits, it lands hard—with abuse, denial, and parental trauma all tangled together. There's also institutional oppression, eugenics-coded social stratification, and casual cruelty passed off as “noble necessity.” Sanderson doesn’t dwell on graphic violence, but the emotional consequences? Oh, he marinates in those.