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gilroi's reviews
534 reviews
Sheever's Journal, Diary of a Poison Master by K. Ritz
I haven't really liked any straight up fantasy books (as opposed to fantasy horror or historical fantasy) in a few years. They just didn't vibe for me. I'm so glad I read this one, so glad it was published, because it's what I've been waiting for: someone using fantasy as an excuse to do an anthropological deep dive on a culture they made up, but without getting self-consciously pretentious about it like most Le Guin descendants tend to. Essentially, I applaud K. Ritz for having the determination to write something that is kind of unmarketable, and having read it, it's more than understandable to me why it came through a vanity publishing micropress.
To be clear, this book is great. I think it's amazing. I loved it. But I can readily admit it's not for everyone, and the necessities of its shape and style mean it loses the easy audience a more conventional novel would have. I'm not saying it's too deep for normies to understand-- much the opposite, in fact. This book is fantasy, but it's not epic fantasy about world changing events, so it loses the Sandersonian crowd; there are stakes, but no battles and all the sex and violence is off screen, so it loses the ASOIAF crowd; it's fantasy about small events and bucolic experiences, but some very not cozy things happen in it, so it loses the Legends & Lattes crowd; it's got incredibly intricate aspirations in its construction, theme, and pacing, but it's written with very accessible and at times simplistic prose, so it's going to lose out on the literary fantasy crowd.
To be clear, of it changed any one of these things, it would fail to achieve its goals, but in doing so it makes itself very difficult to find a ready-made audience. I firmly believe if this was published ~20 years ago, it would have made a huge splash, but in the current landscape of over-genrefied marketing, it doesn't fit easily into a prescribed box.
What the fuck am I talking about?
Sheever's Journal is the journal about a man named Sheever, who is a poisoner, and it details a huge chunk of his life as he works in the kitchens of a noble house in a fantasy land of the author's creation. You would think this means it's a book about court politics and intrigue. It's not. It's about being Sheever, and what that means to Sheever, written as though it was a normal human's journal. I've read diary-fiction, and most of them cut corners with the diaryness to make themselves more literary; nobody has that good a memory, and almost nobody would write novelesque prose in their diary, but we expect it because we all know it's a novel and this is what we want to read, in the same way that even the most 'grounded' movies still star the world's most beautiful people. K. Ritz has no interest in this. Her novel refuses to ever forget that it's Sheever's Journal-- sentences are simple and short, written quickly, several scenes don't make sense, and things are frequently unexplained. The political situation of the world Sheever inhabits is extremely multilayered and complex, and you're not supposed to understand all of it-- if someone from another world read your journal, would they know the difference between Christianity, Christ, a Christian, and Christina Aguilera? In this book, you'll meet Dyns, Drays, and a man called Dyn; good luck keeping them straight. In the end, you don't really need to. It's supposed to be confusing. Indeed, multiple questions the novel asks, mysteries the characters entertain, are unresolved.Is Sheever in love? Is the prophecy real (and what about his visions? His horoscope)? Is magic real? How does Mearan culture work? What is Tiarn rebuilding from? Who is the man in the prologue? How was this journal discovered? Is Sheever even running from a real thing? These questions are never fully answered, either because Sheever doesn't know, because he already knows, or because it will be covered in the next book.
And that's what makes it great, for me. It's a book that's unflinchingly itself, and damn the consequences. It's also frequently heartbreaking and deeply evocative; some scenes in this book are going to be tattooed on my memory for years to come.
If any of this sounds remotely interesting to you, don't walk but run to read this novel. But if it sounds like it's not for you, don't force it. This book exists for itself, and in a world with an eternally shrinking quantity of midlist authors-- especially in genre fiction-- I think that's a fantastic accomplishment.
dark
emotional
funny
mysterious
reflective
relaxing
sad
tense
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
5.0
To be clear, this book is great. I think it's amazing. I loved it. But I can readily admit it's not for everyone, and the necessities of its shape and style mean it loses the easy audience a more conventional novel would have. I'm not saying it's too deep for normies to understand-- much the opposite, in fact. This book is fantasy, but it's not epic fantasy about world changing events, so it loses the Sandersonian crowd; there are stakes, but no battles and all the sex and violence is off screen, so it loses the ASOIAF crowd; it's fantasy about small events and bucolic experiences, but some very not cozy things happen in it, so it loses the Legends & Lattes crowd; it's got incredibly intricate aspirations in its construction, theme, and pacing, but it's written with very accessible and at times simplistic prose, so it's going to lose out on the literary fantasy crowd.
To be clear, of it changed any one of these things, it would fail to achieve its goals, but in doing so it makes itself very difficult to find a ready-made audience. I firmly believe if this was published ~20 years ago, it would have made a huge splash, but in the current landscape of over-genrefied marketing, it doesn't fit easily into a prescribed box.
What the fuck am I talking about?
Sheever's Journal is the journal about a man named Sheever, who is a poisoner, and it details a huge chunk of his life as he works in the kitchens of a noble house in a fantasy land of the author's creation. You would think this means it's a book about court politics and intrigue. It's not. It's about being Sheever, and what that means to Sheever, written as though it was a normal human's journal. I've read diary-fiction, and most of them cut corners with the diaryness to make themselves more literary; nobody has that good a memory, and almost nobody would write novelesque prose in their diary, but we expect it because we all know it's a novel and this is what we want to read, in the same way that even the most 'grounded' movies still star the world's most beautiful people. K. Ritz has no interest in this. Her novel refuses to ever forget that it's Sheever's Journal-- sentences are simple and short, written quickly, several scenes don't make sense, and things are frequently unexplained. The political situation of the world Sheever inhabits is extremely multilayered and complex, and you're not supposed to understand all of it-- if someone from another world read your journal, would they know the difference between Christianity, Christ, a Christian, and Christina Aguilera? In this book, you'll meet Dyns, Drays, and a man called Dyn; good luck keeping them straight. In the end, you don't really need to. It's supposed to be confusing. Indeed, multiple questions the novel asks, mysteries the characters entertain, are unresolved.
And that's what makes it great, for me. It's a book that's unflinchingly itself, and damn the consequences. It's also frequently heartbreaking and deeply evocative; some scenes in this book are going to be tattooed on my memory for years to come.
If any of this sounds remotely interesting to you, don't walk but run to read this novel. But if it sounds like it's not for you, don't force it. This book exists for itself, and in a world with an eternally shrinking quantity of midlist authors-- especially in genre fiction-- I think that's a fantastic accomplishment.
Small Things Like These by Claire Keegan
dark
emotional
hopeful
inspiring
sad
tense
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.0
Fortune's Favorites by Colleen McCullough
adventurous
relaxing
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
1.75
The First Man in Rome by Colleen McCullough
adventurous
relaxing
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
1.75
Was Ancient Rome a cancerous state built on oppression? Can a 'good' state exist if it requires slavery and colonialist expansion to function? Are the patrician nobility of Rome good people, even if they are to a man slave owners? Did women within Ancient Rome's patrician class feel empowered by their wealth or held back by contemporary sexism?
Colleen McCullough confidently answers: Uh, iunno.
Look, I didn't love Robert Harris' Cicero trilogy either, but it at least played with a few of these questions. It cared about the historiography of Rome. It was told from the perspective of a slave who loved his master and had no particular opinions about being an enslaved person, but it was at least in conversation with I, Claudius and, like, scholarship. It engages with the legacy of Rome. That's really all I'm asking for, here. What are we talking about when we talk about Rome?
The First Man in Rome functions as a romance-- not a romantic romance, but the original meaning of a romance, an adventuresome story about heroes, told in a vernacular style. (I can't say McCullough's prose is ever particularly sparkling.) I don't really understand why these books are as popular as they are, but I don't generally understand why generational stories that have extremely simplistic morality are popular (Sorry, Mr Follett).
This is a story about heroes fighting a justified battle against savage barbarians (who are given no characterization) for the glory of their country (the nature of its glory is not considered); the generals of this war are brave and enterprising men (who own slaves) with wives who love them (even though they're sometimes selfish bitches) and deserve good things. It has the morality of a pulp story by Edgar Rice Burroughs, but it was published in 1990.
Colleen McCullough confidently answers: Uh, iunno.
Look, I didn't love Robert Harris' Cicero trilogy either, but it at least played with a few of these questions. It cared about the historiography of Rome. It was told from the perspective of a slave who loved his master and had no particular opinions about being an enslaved person, but it was at least in conversation with I, Claudius and, like, scholarship. It engages with the legacy of Rome. That's really all I'm asking for, here. What are we talking about when we talk about Rome?
The First Man in Rome functions as a romance-- not a romantic romance, but the original meaning of a romance, an adventuresome story about heroes, told in a vernacular style. (I can't say McCullough's prose is ever particularly sparkling.) I don't really understand why these books are as popular as they are, but I don't generally understand why generational stories that have extremely simplistic morality are popular (Sorry, Mr Follett).
This is a story about heroes fighting a justified battle against savage barbarians (who are given no characterization) for the glory of their country (the nature of its glory is not considered); the generals of this war are brave and enterprising men (who own slaves) with wives who love them (even though they're sometimes selfish bitches) and deserve good things. It has the morality of a pulp story by Edgar Rice Burroughs, but it was published in 1990.
The Mercy of Gods by James S.A. Corey
dark
informative
mysterious
sad
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
2.0
This is a weird book, but not because of anything the book itself does (or does not do). In a vacuum, The Mercy of the Gods is a fairly boilerplate, run of the mill 'hard' SF novel; if you like SF door-stoppers that focus more on plot minutia, passably plausible future-tech and encyclopedic worldbuilding detail, than characterization, emotion, or cultural worldbuilding detail, this book is perfect for you. Ignore the rest of this review and read it now.
However, when viewed within the body of work the authors have published beforehand, The Mercy of the Gods is kind of bizarre. The previous series written by James SA Corey, The Expanse, is radically different than TMoG, and not just in terms of thematic tropes. It's also structurally differnet, and not really in a good way. Thematically, the Expanse was notable (to me) and enjoyable (for me) for focusing on cultural and sociological worldbuilding, being concerned with the politics of class, having dense characterization. Structurally, the books used changing POVs to move the plot forward and show different perspectives on plot development, and while the books were never briskly paced, they never wasted their time or felt like a slog (to me).
None of this is true of TMoG, which has a huge cast of largely identical characters (there are three categories of character, of which there are three to four examples of each: Leader Guys In Conflict, Women Who Are Emotionally Unpredictable / Ambiguous For A Tragic Reason, and Support Guys Who Are There For The Other Two Types Of Characters To Bounce Ideas Off) all from the same profession and class background, from a world with no discernible difference from Earth save that it has different country names and a higher technological level. As such, every POV feels roughly the same except Jessyn's, because her mental illness is very deftly written (I suspect this is because she is based on a real person in the author's life, and while I also suspect I can guess exactly who that person is because I've read several interviews with them, I'm not going to out and say it because that sounds extremely creepy). As such, it's not clear who'se POV it is in almost all chapters.
The plot is extremely meandering but also emotionally distant-- monstrous events like the colonization of Earth take place, but everything feels very detached. This is especially strange because these chapters feel very much like the part of the Expanse where Earth is bombed from orbit, but it lacks all emotional resonance or feeling. Same with a section where the main cast is held captive by the aliens-- there is striking resemblance to an excellent part of Cibola Burn where colonists on an alien world are trapped underground, but there is again no real emotion present in these sections because there's no sense of perspective. While every chapter is told in the third person from the POV of a named character, things frequently feel like they're written in omnipotent POV because the main cast has so little discernible difference in perspective from each other.
It's also horribly paced, with several (very very long) chapters in a row that don't really move the plot along or acclimate the characters to their surroundings; it just feels like they're there so the writers can figure out the plot and the worldbuilding as they go along, but they forgot to edit the extremely bland chapters out. This book would be 2x stronger if it was half its size.
I don't know why they changed so much, why it's so different on every level. I strongly suspect, though, that the writing duo that is James SA Corey benefited hugely from their first few Expanse books detailing a structured TTRPG adventure. At almost all times, it feels like the Expanse knew where it was going; TMoG never really does, and every plot development feels like it just appeared there suddenly, with very little buildup or foreshadowing despite having a wealth of paged in which to do so. I also think James SA Corey benefited from being less well-known when the Expanse came out, and thus they were more heavily edited-- the books ended up more polished. Now that the Expanse is extremely well-known in SF circles, James SA Corey are probably edited less, and can throw their weight around more to keep in things that an editor might want them to cut.
In a nutshell: if you loved the Expanse for any other reason than it was long and moderately hard-SF, you might still like The Mercy of Gods! But if you like both, you'll probably like them both for very different reasons, because they are such different book with such a variant level of quality that if I didn't know better, I'd assume TMoG was written years and years before Leviathan Wakes. It feels, at best, like a sophomoric attempt made by authors who have the capabilities to do much, much better.
However, when viewed within the body of work the authors have published beforehand, The Mercy of the Gods is kind of bizarre. The previous series written by James SA Corey, The Expanse, is radically different than TMoG, and not just in terms of thematic tropes. It's also structurally differnet, and not really in a good way. Thematically, the Expanse was notable (to me) and enjoyable (for me) for focusing on cultural and sociological worldbuilding, being concerned with the politics of class, having dense characterization. Structurally, the books used changing POVs to move the plot forward and show different perspectives on plot development, and while the books were never briskly paced, they never wasted their time or felt like a slog (to me).
None of this is true of TMoG, which has a huge cast of largely identical characters (there are three categories of character, of which there are three to four examples of each: Leader Guys In Conflict, Women Who Are Emotionally Unpredictable / Ambiguous For A Tragic Reason, and Support Guys Who Are There For The Other Two Types Of Characters To Bounce Ideas Off) all from the same profession and class background, from a world with no discernible difference from Earth save that it has different country names and a higher technological level. As such, every POV feels roughly the same except Jessyn's, because her mental illness is very deftly written (I suspect this is because she is based on a real person in the author's life, and while I also suspect I can guess exactly who that person is because I've read several interviews with them, I'm not going to out and say it because that sounds extremely creepy). As such, it's not clear who'se POV it is in almost all chapters.
The plot is extremely meandering but also emotionally distant-- monstrous events like the colonization of Earth take place, but everything feels very detached. This is especially strange because these chapters feel very much like the part of the Expanse where Earth is bombed from orbit, but it lacks all emotional resonance or feeling. Same with a section where the main cast is held captive by the aliens-- there is striking resemblance to an excellent part of Cibola Burn where colonists on an alien world are trapped underground, but there is again no real emotion present in these sections because there's no sense of perspective. While every chapter is told in the third person from the POV of a named character, things frequently feel like they're written in omnipotent POV because the main cast has so little discernible difference in perspective from each other.
It's also horribly paced, with several (very very long) chapters in a row that don't really move the plot along or acclimate the characters to their surroundings; it just feels like they're there so the writers can figure out the plot and the worldbuilding as they go along, but they forgot to edit the extremely bland chapters out. This book would be 2x stronger if it was half its size.
I don't know why they changed so much, why it's so different on every level. I strongly suspect, though, that the writing duo that is James SA Corey benefited hugely from their first few Expanse books detailing a structured TTRPG adventure. At almost all times, it feels like the Expanse knew where it was going; TMoG never really does, and every plot development feels like it just appeared there suddenly, with very little buildup or foreshadowing despite having a wealth of paged in which to do so. I also think James SA Corey benefited from being less well-known when the Expanse came out, and thus they were more heavily edited-- the books ended up more polished. Now that the Expanse is extremely well-known in SF circles, James SA Corey are probably edited less, and can throw their weight around more to keep in things that an editor might want them to cut.
In a nutshell: if you loved the Expanse for any other reason than it was long and moderately hard-SF, you might still like The Mercy of Gods! But if you like both, you'll probably like them both for very different reasons, because they are such different book with such a variant level of quality that if I didn't know better, I'd assume TMoG was written years and years before Leviathan Wakes. It feels, at best, like a sophomoric attempt made by authors who have the capabilities to do much, much better.
Penance by Eliza Clark
dark
emotional
funny
informative
mysterious
reflective
sad
tense
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
5.0
Penance is the rare book that's compulsively readable while also being delicate and insightful about its subject-- at least for me. Everyone has different standards about what is and isn't impossible to put down, but for me, after reading the first chapter, every moment spent not reading this felt wasted.
It's deftly written while always having incredibly clear prose that is neither 'invisible' or bland-- every word is chosen thoughtfully, even if the vocabulary and sentence structure is often simplistic. It reminds me of my favorite Palahniuks and Pat Barkers: a book that never talks down to its readers, trusting them to understand the complexity of thought found in its straight forward (and occasionally blunt) packaging.
And the messages this book sends are very complex and well thought out: is it possible to cover true crime in a moral way? What type of people bully and what type people are bullied? What's the cost of not 'fitting in' as a child? How does the internet warp young minds? What kind of person is a 'good' victim? Are 'good' victims real, or an invention of narrative convenience? Can children's play and imagination build up to murder? What kind of child is capable of murder, and is that capability innate, or does it grow over time? When does bullying become criminal? What amount of bullying is acceptable or 'normal'? And, perhaps most importantly, the question the book tackles in its final section with one of the most richly layered and consequential plot twists I've ever seen:Is there really any difference between true crime journalism and true crime fanfiction? Is everyone engaging in true crime discussion just writing a different kind of fanfiction?
Even if they're not doing it in prose, everyone is forming a narrative in their heads. No one in these forums and blogs and chatrooms and social media accounts was an actual witness to the events they're compelled to discuss. Is all of that just a different kind of fanfiction? And if it is, who has the moral high ground? Who is engaging in these topics in a respectful way?
Is anyone?
Is the only way to answer these questions in a way that's respectful to the victim, this book seems to say, is to just write fiction. So Eliza Clark did, and I think it's one of the most engaging, creative, layered and thoughtful books I've ever read.
...At least, I think so. I don't know much about true crime, but Eliza Clark clearly does.
It's deftly written while always having incredibly clear prose that is neither 'invisible' or bland-- every word is chosen thoughtfully, even if the vocabulary and sentence structure is often simplistic. It reminds me of my favorite Palahniuks and Pat Barkers: a book that never talks down to its readers, trusting them to understand the complexity of thought found in its straight forward (and occasionally blunt) packaging.
And the messages this book sends are very complex and well thought out: is it possible to cover true crime in a moral way? What type of people bully and what type people are bullied? What's the cost of not 'fitting in' as a child? How does the internet warp young minds? What kind of person is a 'good' victim? Are 'good' victims real, or an invention of narrative convenience? Can children's play and imagination build up to murder? What kind of child is capable of murder, and is that capability innate, or does it grow over time? When does bullying become criminal? What amount of bullying is acceptable or 'normal'? And, perhaps most importantly, the question the book tackles in its final section with one of the most richly layered and consequential plot twists I've ever seen:
Even if they're not doing it in prose, everyone is forming a narrative in their heads. No one in these forums and blogs and chatrooms and social media accounts was an actual witness to the events they're compelled to discuss. Is all of that just a different kind of fanfiction? And if it is, who has the moral high ground? Who is engaging in these topics in a respectful way?
Is anyone?
Is the only way to answer these questions in a way that's respectful to the victim, this book seems to say, is to just write fiction. So Eliza Clark did, and I think it's one of the most engaging, creative, layered and thoughtful books I've ever read.
...At least, I think so. I don't know much about true crime, but Eliza Clark clearly does.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Bullying, Child abuse, Child death, Murder, and Fire/Fire injury
Moderate: Racism
Minor: Sexual assault
A Deadly Education by Naomi Novik
adventurous
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
1.5
It's fine.
I don't read a lot of YA, or any really, but every summer I get intensely bookblocked and need to read something out of my usual genre to get out of it. And this did the trick, mostly. It's kind of like feeding on cardboard, there's no nourishment there, but my body can basically digest it. And that's fine! This genre isn't for me! Whatever.
The narration style is kind of terrible for action scenes, which had me skimming a lot of the final 10%. A lot of it felt like it was written in-the-moment as Novik came up with the idea, and it made a lot of the plotting clunky. The prose was fun though and I liked what Novik was trying to say about complicity. This is a good baby's-first-grimdark, or a way to microdose young readers to books with darker, if not particularly more challenging, themes.
I don't read a lot of YA, or any really, but every summer I get intensely bookblocked and need to read something out of my usual genre to get out of it. And this did the trick, mostly. It's kind of like feeding on cardboard, there's no nourishment there, but my body can basically digest it. And that's fine! This genre isn't for me! Whatever.
The narration style is kind of terrible for action scenes, which had me skimming a lot of the final 10%. A lot of it felt like it was written in-the-moment as Novik came up with the idea, and it made a lot of the plotting clunky. The prose was fun though and I liked what Novik was trying to say about complicity. This is a good baby's-first-grimdark, or a way to microdose young readers to books with darker, if not particularly more challenging, themes.
A History of Fear by Luke Dumas
dark
reflective
sad
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.0
Very fun with great ideas, but poorly paced; things only really get going 50% of the way into the book, which is a long wait for a horror novel.
Universal Harvester by John Darnielle
sad
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
2.0
I think Darnielle is trying to do something very intentional with the pacing of this novel, the denial of closure and satisfaction, and it just does not work for me. I have other quibbles with its choices - for a novel about mothers, it seems to only be able to envision women as distant helpmeet who uphold the virtuous and unquestionable nuclear family - but all of those pale in comparison to how boring I found reading it. Danielle's prose is astoundingly good, but in service of what?
The Silence of the Lambs by Thomas Harris
dark
mysterious
reflective
tense
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
3.0
Far, far better than I expected given it's basically an airport novel. Stylistically shares a surprising amount of DNA with Stephen King.