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highlanderajax 's review for:
No Gods, No Monsters
by Cadwell Turnbull
challenging
dark
emotional
mysterious
reflective
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Complicated
Oof. Right. Ok. So.
There are things this book does very well. Very VERY well, in fact, possibly better than almost all books in its genre. It is fantastic at playing with conventional narrative, structure and convention. It has a cerebral, introspective and nuanced take on a common urban fantasy idea, and it examines a lot of the issues that this idea would raise through a much more grounded, human lense than almost anything else I've observed. Turnbull has written an intriguing take that examines how communities and groups can and would build and adapt to this fantasy world, with a delightfully tangled viewpoint letting us observe an awful lot of very interesting discussions at once. The intersectionality is beautifully and meticulously crafted, the use of language superb, and the characters vivid. Like I say, this book does some things very well.
It's a really interesting take. It's a genuinely enticing proposition. It's a bloody slow and awkward book.
The thing is, for all the incredibly interesting things Turnbull has done here, the emphasis is SO heavily on specific aspects of discussion, introspection and reflection that there seems to be sod-all actually HAPPENING. 75% of the book is so removed from actual events and plot and forward motion that it just feels disjointed, a series of vignettes that connect sporadically and tangentially, discussing the same events but at a constant distance. It's like reading all the reviews of the book in lieu of reading the thing itself. You get some great information, some fascinating world views, but it's not the same as actually reading it. Same goes here - there are so many points that I just wanted to shake the book until it ordered itself into something resembling an actual story, rather than a saga of groups of people discussing a story.
This, in itself, is not a huge problem. This could still be a stunningly good take, but it just...isn't. The main problem isn't that the structure is confusing and hard to stay engaged with (it is, but not unmanageably so), nor that the world & fantasy is ill-defined (it is, but that also forms part of the mystery of the book). The main problem is that quite simply, I have no reason to care about most of what these characters talk about. Sure, I can connect with them and care because they have emotional concerns and are people, but as far as the actual concerns of the book go...nope. They're discussing the ramifications of events of which I have been told only in passing. They're talking about the impact felt by characters that have barely nodded at me. The story tells me this character is sad, or tense, or angry, but I have been kept so strictly as an observer, so rigidly held at bay from the central plot contrivances, that I have almost no connection to understand why they feel that way. Why do they care? Why should I?
I can get a sense of things that are happening and things that the characters are feeling, but the framework to tell me why it matters - the meat of the plot - is conspicuously absent. Just like reading reviews.
Now, this book does pick up considerably in the last quarter or so - but it does so in a way that doesn't really feel built on the last three-quarters. Everything kind of tightens together out of nowhere, there's not a feeling of everything drawing inexorably to a point; there's a lot of disconnected scenes that suddenly exist together. It's not a smooth join, everything doesn't just fall into place, it just starts being more coherent. For the most part, though, this book seems to sacrifice compelling plot and progress in favour of philosophical discussions that start to feel repetitive after the eighth one, deliberately keeping the reader away from the action in a way that feels like it will eventually pay off, but never truly does.
Overall, Turnbull is a great wordsmith. He is a truly gifted writer of people and philosophies - Percival Everett-esque in his playing with narrative and structure. However, No Gods No Monsters just doesn't quite hit the way it could. The lack of connection between the beautifully-written scenes and discussions and the actual underlying plot and events means that while I thought this was a well-written book, it never felt like a good one.
It earns its stars by being compelling and interesting, but while I'd maybe recommend this to someone who was lookig for a very specific read, the chances of me picking up a sequel are negligible.
There are things this book does very well. Very VERY well, in fact, possibly better than almost all books in its genre. It is fantastic at playing with conventional narrative, structure and convention. It has a cerebral, introspective and nuanced take on a common urban fantasy idea, and it examines a lot of the issues that this idea would raise through a much more grounded, human lense than almost anything else I've observed. Turnbull has written an intriguing take that examines how communities and groups can and would build and adapt to this fantasy world, with a delightfully tangled viewpoint letting us observe an awful lot of very interesting discussions at once. The intersectionality is beautifully and meticulously crafted, the use of language superb, and the characters vivid. Like I say, this book does some things very well.
It's a really interesting take. It's a genuinely enticing proposition. It's a bloody slow and awkward book.
The thing is, for all the incredibly interesting things Turnbull has done here, the emphasis is SO heavily on specific aspects of discussion, introspection and reflection that there seems to be sod-all actually HAPPENING. 75% of the book is so removed from actual events and plot and forward motion that it just feels disjointed, a series of vignettes that connect sporadically and tangentially, discussing the same events but at a constant distance. It's like reading all the reviews of the book in lieu of reading the thing itself. You get some great information, some fascinating world views, but it's not the same as actually reading it. Same goes here - there are so many points that I just wanted to shake the book until it ordered itself into something resembling an actual story, rather than a saga of groups of people discussing a story.
This, in itself, is not a huge problem. This could still be a stunningly good take, but it just...isn't. The main problem isn't that the structure is confusing and hard to stay engaged with (it is, but not unmanageably so), nor that the world & fantasy is ill-defined (it is, but that also forms part of the mystery of the book). The main problem is that quite simply, I have no reason to care about most of what these characters talk about. Sure, I can connect with them and care because they have emotional concerns and are people, but as far as the actual concerns of the book go...nope. They're discussing the ramifications of events of which I have been told only in passing. They're talking about the impact felt by characters that have barely nodded at me. The story tells me this character is sad, or tense, or angry, but I have been kept so strictly as an observer, so rigidly held at bay from the central plot contrivances, that I have almost no connection to understand why they feel that way. Why do they care? Why should I?
I can get a sense of things that are happening and things that the characters are feeling, but the framework to tell me why it matters - the meat of the plot - is conspicuously absent. Just like reading reviews.
Now, this book does pick up considerably in the last quarter or so - but it does so in a way that doesn't really feel built on the last three-quarters. Everything kind of tightens together out of nowhere, there's not a feeling of everything drawing inexorably to a point; there's a lot of disconnected scenes that suddenly exist together. It's not a smooth join, everything doesn't just fall into place, it just starts being more coherent. For the most part, though, this book seems to sacrifice compelling plot and progress in favour of philosophical discussions that start to feel repetitive after the eighth one, deliberately keeping the reader away from the action in a way that feels like it will eventually pay off, but never truly does.
Overall, Turnbull is a great wordsmith. He is a truly gifted writer of people and philosophies - Percival Everett-esque in his playing with narrative and structure. However, No Gods No Monsters just doesn't quite hit the way it could. The lack of connection between the beautifully-written scenes and discussions and the actual underlying plot and events means that while I thought this was a well-written book, it never felt like a good one.
It earns its stars by being compelling and interesting, but while I'd maybe recommend this to someone who was lookig for a very specific read, the chances of me picking up a sequel are negligible.