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A review by esthereve96
The Lies of Locke Lamora by Scott Lynch
adventurous
funny
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
4.0
Reading The Lies of Locke Lamora felt like stepping into a world that is equal parts dazzling and dirty — a city where beauty and filth live side by side and no one is ever quite what they claim to be. From the first pages, I knew I was in the hands of a writer who relishes the craft of building a world you can almost smell: salt, sewage, smoke, and secrets.
Camorr is alive — grotesque and glittering like a gem dropped in a gutter. I love books that drag me so fully into their shadows that I start to imagine the canals beneath my own feet. There were nights when I’d put the book down and feel like my dreams were tinted with the city’s green glass and blood-red betrayals.
What struck me most was how easily I cared for these con men — these Gentlemen Bastards. They are liars, thieves, swindlers, yet somehow more honest than any noble or priest in Camorr. Locke Lamora himself is everything I want in an anti-hero: reckless, brilliant, infuriatingly arrogant, and yet fragile in ways he’d never admit. He’s the kind of character who makes you want to reach through the page and shake him, then sit beside him and say, I understand.
The friendship between Locke and Jean especially got under my skin. I’m drawn to stories about loyalty that holds even when the world conspires to break it. There’s something deeply moving about the way they stand back to back in a city that eats its own young. Their banter made me laugh out loud — their loyalty made my chest ache.
I won’t lie — there were moments when the plot felt like a labyrinth designed to show off its own cleverness. There were times I had to reread passages just to follow the threads of the con, to untangle who was deceiving whom and why. It slowed me down, but I didn’t mind too much. This isn’t a story you can rush through; you have to let it wrap itself around you like a silk rope — beautiful, dangerous, binding.
What lingers most for me, now that I’ve turned the last page, is the feeling of loss that runs beneath all the tricks and disguises. Beneath every twist of the knife, there’s a raw question: how far will we go to protect the people we love? And what happens when the mask you wear becomes the only face you know how to show?
For me, The Lies of Locke Lamora is a reminder of why I read fantasy — not for dragons or magic (though there’s magic here, strange and unforgiving) — but for the way it reflects the real world through a sharper lens. It’s about survival and betrayal, love and grief, hope that flickers in the darkest alleys.
Is it perfect? No. At times it’s too clever for its own good, the plot knots itself into places that feel a little indulgent, and some scenes drag when they should slice clean. But I don’t mind the imperfections — I love books that leave their teeth marks behind.
This was a 4-star read for me — not flawless, but so alive, so brimming with wit and danger and rough-edged beauty that I know I’ll carry Camorr in my bones for a while yet. I’m already planning when I’ll return for the next scheme, the next betrayal, the next toast among thieves who keep their hearts hidden beneath lock and lie.
Because that’s what this story gave me: a world to lose myself in, characters who feel like old friends I never really trusted but loved anyway — and the reminder that sometimes the best stories are the ones that steal from you while you’re too busy grinning at the trick.
Camorr is alive — grotesque and glittering like a gem dropped in a gutter. I love books that drag me so fully into their shadows that I start to imagine the canals beneath my own feet. There were nights when I’d put the book down and feel like my dreams were tinted with the city’s green glass and blood-red betrayals.
What struck me most was how easily I cared for these con men — these Gentlemen Bastards. They are liars, thieves, swindlers, yet somehow more honest than any noble or priest in Camorr. Locke Lamora himself is everything I want in an anti-hero: reckless, brilliant, infuriatingly arrogant, and yet fragile in ways he’d never admit. He’s the kind of character who makes you want to reach through the page and shake him, then sit beside him and say, I understand.
The friendship between Locke and Jean especially got under my skin. I’m drawn to stories about loyalty that holds even when the world conspires to break it. There’s something deeply moving about the way they stand back to back in a city that eats its own young. Their banter made me laugh out loud — their loyalty made my chest ache.
I won’t lie — there were moments when the plot felt like a labyrinth designed to show off its own cleverness. There were times I had to reread passages just to follow the threads of the con, to untangle who was deceiving whom and why. It slowed me down, but I didn’t mind too much. This isn’t a story you can rush through; you have to let it wrap itself around you like a silk rope — beautiful, dangerous, binding.
What lingers most for me, now that I’ve turned the last page, is the feeling of loss that runs beneath all the tricks and disguises. Beneath every twist of the knife, there’s a raw question: how far will we go to protect the people we love? And what happens when the mask you wear becomes the only face you know how to show?
For me, The Lies of Locke Lamora is a reminder of why I read fantasy — not for dragons or magic (though there’s magic here, strange and unforgiving) — but for the way it reflects the real world through a sharper lens. It’s about survival and betrayal, love and grief, hope that flickers in the darkest alleys.
Is it perfect? No. At times it’s too clever for its own good, the plot knots itself into places that feel a little indulgent, and some scenes drag when they should slice clean. But I don’t mind the imperfections — I love books that leave their teeth marks behind.
This was a 4-star read for me — not flawless, but so alive, so brimming with wit and danger and rough-edged beauty that I know I’ll carry Camorr in my bones for a while yet. I’m already planning when I’ll return for the next scheme, the next betrayal, the next toast among thieves who keep their hearts hidden beneath lock and lie.
Because that’s what this story gave me: a world to lose myself in, characters who feel like old friends I never really trusted but loved anyway — and the reminder that sometimes the best stories are the ones that steal from you while you’re too busy grinning at the trick.