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A review by dashie
Royal Assassin by Robin Hobb
5.0
There's just something about the way Robin Hobb writes, that rather than reading words she wrote on a page, you are sat by the fireplace listening to her tell it to you. You can hear the snowstorms shrieking behind the closed windows, battering the wood to stone in a steady, almost comforting staccato. You can hear the hiss and crackle of the firewood, burning itself out on the grate behind her. Your fingers are warm, wrapped around your mug of hot cocoa and the steam warms your cold nose, the only part of you that is not trussed up in wool to keep away the chill.
For most of the story, her voice is a steady drone, building the lives and passions and fears of Fitz, Molly, Patience, Regal and Burrich so that every decision they make later, when the stakes are high, you can understand. Because you know these people. And suddenly towards the end of the story, her voice picks up, her gloved hands move up and down and you follow them with your eyes, seeing swords flash and teeth bared, shouts of anger, ecstasy, pain. A wolf howls and tears spring to your eyes. You hold your breath. The story is over. She sinks back into her seat with a smile, but you are still on the edge of yours, the anticipation yet to dissipate.
When the silence drags on you have no choice, you bring yourself back to the real world with a sigh and pick up the next book, knowing you can go back into that warm, castle room and Robin Hobb will be there waiting like Chade would wait for Fitz, smiling, another tale ready to transport you.
For most of the story, her voice is a steady drone, building the lives and passions and fears of Fitz, Molly, Patience, Regal and Burrich so that every decision they make later, when the stakes are high, you can understand. Because you know these people. And suddenly towards the end of the story, her voice picks up, her gloved hands move up and down and you follow them with your eyes, seeing swords flash and teeth bared, shouts of anger, ecstasy, pain. A wolf howls and tears spring to your eyes. You hold your breath. The story is over. She sinks back into her seat with a smile, but you are still on the edge of yours, the anticipation yet to dissipate.
When the silence drags on you have no choice, you bring yourself back to the real world with a sigh and pick up the next book, knowing you can go back into that warm, castle room and Robin Hobb will be there waiting like Chade would wait for Fitz, smiling, another tale ready to transport you.