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jefferz's reviews
133 reviews
Set My Heart to Five by Simon Stephenson
funny
hopeful
lighthearted
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
4.5
Easily one of the most creative and whimsical novels I’ve read in many years. Simon Stephenson’s Set My Heart to Five is a thoughtful (and occasionally edgy) commentary on human behavior and societal culture wrapped up in a seemingly light-hearted, meandering AI bot adventure. Despite being compared to Vonnegut’s ideologies and writing, the book’s content reminded me a lot of Daniel Keye’s Flowers for Algernon (which is one of my all-time favorite novels) in which both stories feature an innocuous narrator who does not understand the complexities of human behavior and terrible people around them. Set My Heart to Five’s premise of an AI bot developing feelings admittedly isn’t new territory, but the style of delivery and humorously dry character voice puts it in an entirely new area.
First and foremost, Set My Heart to Five is not going to be for everyone, nor does Stephenson make an attempt to be mass-appealing. Jared’s character voice is somehow both frank and dry, yet also entirely comical in a witty, dark humor kind of way; you know that one friend who always talks about the unspoken elephant in the room that’s not socially acceptable, yeah that’s Jared. Full of fun wordplays and paradoxical situations inspired by the idiosyncrasies of human behavior, this is smart and classy humor. It’s impossible to not find Jared’s bamboozled descriptions of events funny, and the book easily captures the amusement of childhood innocence that’s compared to bots’ lack of feelings. The premise is clever. By utilizing a grown, autonomous adult, the book is able to explore places and plot threads that a typical young character could never do (ie. the bafflement of getting drunk in Vegas, staying at a sketchy motel used by prostitutes and drug-dealers, etc).
The writing is also incredibly distinctive to Jared and unlike anything I’ve read, to the point where I have no idea what Stephenson’s actual writing style is like. As the book progresses, some of Jared’s recurring phrases become dad-joke style humor (or should I say, bot-joke humor) become jokes in and of themselves, one of which is “Humans, I cannot!”. I’ve seen a bunch of reviews critique these recurring phrases as lazy or lame, but the repeated use is by design. Bots follow predetermined logic and thought processes, and Stephenson uses that awareness to purposely use Jared’s signature phrases in increasingly outlandish situations. There’s a recurring theme of movies, scriptwriting, and formulaic composition that's very detailed and effective (no surprise given Simon Stephenson’s experience with screenplays for Pixar and other Hollywood studios), I’m convinced every repetitive phrase is by design. On that note, having worked on Luca, Set My Heart to Five also captures the unique humor, insightful meaning, and Pixar-esque tone while having adult themes and edgy jabs that would never be greenlit for production. This novel actually feels like it could be a love child between Pixar and A24.
What I liked most about the Set My Heart to Five is the surprisingly deep cutting commentary made about human behavior. Despite the lackadaisy pacing and sunny tone, there’s some pretty harsh commentary hidden in there that I thought was amazing. I can see a good number of them being offensive to those with conservative views (this is a generally left leaning if you want to look at it politically, which you shouldn’t, though it also pokes fun at socialist culture), but that’s only because Jared can hit so close to home with the tact of an AI chatbot. In this world, Elon Musk vaporized the moon and North Korea was erased by nuclear explosions… along with New Zealand by accident; four years after publication, this book is surprisingly prophetic. Despite the book having a loose plot and progression, the bulk of the novel consists of behavior analysis. Below is a quote that represents both the unique tone of commentary as well as the unhinged dark humor involved (yes Jared went there):
"...sometimes after our evenings clinics he invited me into his consulting room across the corridor ‘to shoot the shit’. ‘To shoot the shit’ means ‘to patiently listen while a human drinks alcohol and complains about their concerns and grievances.
Nonetheless, I always cheerfully accepted the invitation. When a human invites you somewhere, the polite thing to do is to accept. Unless they are inviting you for the sake of politeness itself. On those occasions, the polite thing to do is to decline! Human interaction can be best understood as a never-ending arms race of politeness. Holding a door open too long can all too often lead to the next Hiroshima. Or Auckland! Or Pyongyang! Ha!"
Objectively, the writing, creativity, and delivery knocks it out of the park. If I had to critique anything, it would be that the pacing sometimes felt like it dragged in places and sometimes Jared’s bot babbling can bat a bit wide and run on off-topic tangents for too long. I’m a patient reader as long as the writing is doing something ambitious or creative, but I can easily see many readers tiring of the tone and unfocused chatter. Set My Heart to Five was more enjoyable for me when read in several short sessions, which gave me time to think about the commentary it was making and to avoid getting fatigued from Jared’s often excitable circuits. Although I’m not sure what I would’ve changed or cut, something about Jared’s journey to the west coast felt like it was longer than it needed to be and there was a bit of a slump once he got there.
While a lot of five star ratings are due to enjoying the reading experience or connecting with the characters, this one was more so for the wildly ambitious premise and objective quality of Stephenson’s writing. I was torn between a 4 and a 5 star rating (mostly due to the novel dragging at times while being solid on paper), but ultimately the last 60 pages or so sealed the deal for me. The less you know about the book’s storyline the better, but I found the ending to be near perfect and done in such an on-brand, Jared-written kind of way. Consistent with its warm tone (despite the situation and underlying Vonnegut-styled views), I was pleasantly surprised at how well it balanced being nuanced and emotional with being funny and sharp compared to similar stories that end on a wistful, exclusive sad note. This is an odd one that I would only recommend for intuitive readers or those interested in off-beat, sociology psyche, but it’s worth giving a try if nothing else to see how unique and creative it is.
First and foremost, Set My Heart to Five is not going to be for everyone, nor does Stephenson make an attempt to be mass-appealing. Jared’s character voice is somehow both frank and dry, yet also entirely comical in a witty, dark humor kind of way; you know that one friend who always talks about the unspoken elephant in the room that’s not socially acceptable, yeah that’s Jared. Full of fun wordplays and paradoxical situations inspired by the idiosyncrasies of human behavior, this is smart and classy humor. It’s impossible to not find Jared’s bamboozled descriptions of events funny, and the book easily captures the amusement of childhood innocence that’s compared to bots’ lack of feelings. The premise is clever. By utilizing a grown, autonomous adult, the book is able to explore places and plot threads that a typical young character could never do (ie. the bafflement of getting drunk in Vegas, staying at a sketchy motel used by prostitutes and drug-dealers, etc).
The writing is also incredibly distinctive to Jared and unlike anything I’ve read, to the point where I have no idea what Stephenson’s actual writing style is like. As the book progresses, some of Jared’s recurring phrases become dad-joke style humor (or should I say, bot-joke humor) become jokes in and of themselves, one of which is “Humans, I cannot!”. I’ve seen a bunch of reviews critique these recurring phrases as lazy or lame, but the repeated use is by design. Bots follow predetermined logic and thought processes, and Stephenson uses that awareness to purposely use Jared’s signature phrases in increasingly outlandish situations. There’s a recurring theme of movies, scriptwriting, and formulaic composition that's very detailed and effective (no surprise given Simon Stephenson’s experience with screenplays for Pixar and other Hollywood studios), I’m convinced every repetitive phrase is by design. On that note, having worked on Luca, Set My Heart to Five also captures the unique humor, insightful meaning, and Pixar-esque tone while having adult themes and edgy jabs that would never be greenlit for production. This novel actually feels like it could be a love child between Pixar and A24.
What I liked most about the Set My Heart to Five is the surprisingly deep cutting commentary made about human behavior. Despite the lackadaisy pacing and sunny tone, there’s some pretty harsh commentary hidden in there that I thought was amazing. I can see a good number of them being offensive to those with conservative views (this is a generally left leaning if you want to look at it politically, which you shouldn’t, though it also pokes fun at socialist culture), but that’s only because Jared can hit so close to home with the tact of an AI chatbot. In this world, Elon Musk vaporized the moon and North Korea was erased by nuclear explosions… along with New Zealand by accident; four years after publication, this book is surprisingly prophetic. Despite the book having a loose plot and progression, the bulk of the novel consists of behavior analysis. Below is a quote that represents both the unique tone of commentary as well as the unhinged dark humor involved (yes Jared went there):
"...sometimes after our evenings clinics he invited me into his consulting room across the corridor ‘to shoot the shit’. ‘To shoot the shit’ means ‘to patiently listen while a human drinks alcohol and complains about their concerns and grievances.
Nonetheless, I always cheerfully accepted the invitation. When a human invites you somewhere, the polite thing to do is to accept. Unless they are inviting you for the sake of politeness itself. On those occasions, the polite thing to do is to decline! Human interaction can be best understood as a never-ending arms race of politeness. Holding a door open too long can all too often lead to the next Hiroshima. Or Auckland! Or Pyongyang! Ha!"
Objectively, the writing, creativity, and delivery knocks it out of the park. If I had to critique anything, it would be that the pacing sometimes felt like it dragged in places and sometimes Jared’s bot babbling can bat a bit wide and run on off-topic tangents for too long. I’m a patient reader as long as the writing is doing something ambitious or creative, but I can easily see many readers tiring of the tone and unfocused chatter. Set My Heart to Five was more enjoyable for me when read in several short sessions, which gave me time to think about the commentary it was making and to avoid getting fatigued from Jared’s often excitable circuits. Although I’m not sure what I would’ve changed or cut, something about Jared’s journey to the west coast felt like it was longer than it needed to be and there was a bit of a slump once he got there.
While a lot of five star ratings are due to enjoying the reading experience or connecting with the characters, this one was more so for the wildly ambitious premise and objective quality of Stephenson’s writing. I was torn between a 4 and a 5 star rating (mostly due to the novel dragging at times while being solid on paper), but ultimately the last 60 pages or so sealed the deal for me. The less you know about the book’s storyline the better, but I found the ending to be near perfect and done in such an on-brand, Jared-written kind of way. Consistent with its warm tone (despite the situation and underlying Vonnegut-styled views), I was pleasantly surprised at how well it balanced being nuanced and emotional with being funny and sharp compared to similar stories that end on a wistful, exclusive sad note. This is an odd one that I would only recommend for intuitive readers or those interested in off-beat, sociology psyche, but it’s worth giving a try if nothing else to see how unique and creative it is.
A Novel Love Story by Ashley Poston
funny
hopeful
inspiring
lighthearted
reflective
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
5.0
Charming, cozy, and exceedingly clever, I thoroughly enjoyed Ashley Poston’s A Novel Love Story that delivers on its creative premise. Beyond Eloraton’s warm vibe, this book is filled to the brim with numerous book references and has a lot going on beyond the focal romance plot thread. I generally liked The Dead Romantics and thought The Seven Year Slip was great, however A Novel Love Story is easily my favorite and has solidified Ashley Poston’s work for me. Well-written and lovingly crafted, this is an easy recommendation for anyone who like romance (particularly high-concept ones), cozy/easy reads, or even light touches of magical realism (a genre I typically do not care for).
When this book was announced, I automatically added it to my reading list purely based on the premise which is one of my favorite tropes if done well. From the start, the story reminded me a lot of the BBC’s miniseries Lost in Austen which also features the main character being transported into their favorite literary world, in that case being Pride and Prejudice. A Novel Love Story doesn’t have the luxury of working off a popular established piece and has to work a lot harder with its exposition and planning, however I thought it was done remarkably well. The level of detail and thought put into the fictional Eloraton town and Quixotic Falls series had me interested in reading the world's lore books themselves. Besides Elsy/Eileen and “Anders”, Poston also had to write at least four additional couples with varying backgrounds and dynamics. I was impressed with how distinctive all four of the Quixotic Falls heroines and their love interests were as well as planning out both Elsy’s story as well as each of their own. Each story has a unique storyline, conclusion, and one is even mysterious absent in Elsy's presence, all fitting perfectly into Quixotic Falls' establishment lore.
Beyond the feel-good, almost perfect nature of Eloraton and obligatory romcom hijinks/banter, what kept me invested was the soft mystery and investigative element. As Elsy explores Eloraton and discovers what is similar and different from what she’s previously read as a fan, there’s a lot of interesting mini mysteries beyond the romantic development. Where in the timeline of Quixotic Falls is Elsy, is this a figment of her imagination (or did she comically crash her car and is dying in a ditch on the side of the road? Her words , not mine), why does each day move forward yet the town seems trapped in a state of suspended animation, and who is Anders really? A character that Elsy cannot recall ever being referenced in the original book series, was he meant to be a character in the ill-fated final book the fictional author never finished before she passed away? Why does he have knowledge of events seemingly outside of Eloraton? Why does he insist that Elsy not disturb the town or cause ripples in the story? I didn’t expect these surprisingly compelling mystery elements when I originally picked this up to read and I was thrilled at how ambitious Poston went with it. Without giving away any spoilers, the courtyard of statues introduced mid-way through was a plot element that I loved and thought was genius in execution.
Like Poston’s previous novels, I also liked that these books are not just about finding romance in places where you least expect it, but also having her characters go on a journey of self-discovery in the process. I appreciated that A Novel Love Story not only had Elsy discover herself and heal throughout the story, but to a lesser extent, also Anders. Despite being told entirely from Elsy’s POV, Poston was able to have a good amount of character growth in Anders as well and I found it refreshing that his backstory didn’t hinge heavily on a traumatic childhood or past ex-partner (I’m getting really tired of this common and typically poorly written trope of a embarrassment prone and heart on her sleeve girl fixing these seemingly broken and edgy guys). The plot twists involving his identity and involvement in Eloraton pleasantly surprised me, as well as the reveal of the haunted toilet in the renovated Daffodil Inn (at one point I guessed the deceased fictional author Rachel Flowers was secretly haunting the toilet of her own written setting, wouldn’t that be a wild development).
Like her past books, the writing is a nice balance of quality without being overly flowery or excessive. I found a lot of Elsy’s internal thoughts and Poston’s writing to be perfectly catered to millennial/older genz young adults, with many resonating strongly. Here are few select quotes:
"(Obviously you can rely on your friends. Obviously I’m not saying you can’t, but there is always a limit of how much before you’re a burden.) And in the end you just… sit on the couch, and cry. At least alone, no one is there to watch.” -Elsy
“I hated him, I realized. No vehemently, but just a light hate. A casual dusting of hate. Enough hate that, if he were standing at the edge of a cliff, I’d seriously debate pushing him over. I wouldn’t, but the temptation would be there.” -Elsy
“She scowled. “Ghosts should stay dead. It was a total cop-out. And they fell in love way to fast. It was too insta-love-y for me. And? No one says doggo anymore.” -A bookclub member
The last one is not a particularly insightful quote, but a fun Easter egg jab at her own book The Dead Romantics. I don't know if it was intentional or not, but it also sounds exactly like so many hilariously and poorly-written Goodreads reviews (swap ghosts for Anders' green eyes and you have some exact reviews for this very book). Speaking of Dead Romantics, while it’s not a required read to enjoy A Novel Love Story, there are several fun references that will reward the faithful readers (oddly, I didn’t notice any major references to The Seven Year Slip for comparison, though I may have missed them). Both Florence Day and Benji Andor make cameo appearances (Florence is a published author and Benji is friend and member of Elsy and Prudence’s online book club, putting this book chronologically after the events of Dead Romantics) as well as references to Ann Nichols and other authors within Poston’s established literary world. Anders’ bookstore selection and commentary on romance novels also has a few subtle nods to Poston’s other books.
Most of the important outline for the fictional book series is established well and is seamlessly interwoven with the present narrative as the book progresses. However, occasionally it sometimes feels like we’re introduced to revelations in the book series as they are happening, while the same events could have had more impact if the reader was aware of these details ahead of time. For example, a reveal that one of the core couples may not be as happily-ever-after would be more surprising had I been more familiar with the characters and relationship as written in the book. Some of Elsy’s early fan-freak-out moments as she encounters her favorite books’ settings and characters in real life would feel more relevant with more of a background introduction. However, I think Poston ultimately played it right and at a safe happy medium, with just enough background into the books given without the exposition and beginning getting weighed down by excessive details. I personally would’ve like more time with the books prior to Elsy being trapped in them, but I realize that some readers with less patience or a short attention span wouldn’t feel the same way; particularly since this is foremost a romance novel, not a mystery/fantasy/living Westworld type of book.
With a fun and creative hook and a plot that delivers on it, A Novel Love Story is one of the easiest books I’ve read this year to hit the five star rating early-on, and to maintain it through its conclusion. I loved the high-concept premise and the excessive attention to detail with the book within a book planning. This is the ideal romance novel for my taste that has an original plot, doesn’t rely on pop culture speak/references, elements beyond straight romance, and has a satisfying, and at times, unpredictable conclusion. It’s so well-crafted, any romance reader who doesn’t like this has to be blind to quality and deserves to be banished to Eloraton’s perfect fantasy town for a week, cursed with Gail’s slightly burnt burgers and hot sauce that's slightly too hot to be pleasant.
When this book was announced, I automatically added it to my reading list purely based on the premise which is one of my favorite tropes if done well. From the start, the story reminded me a lot of the BBC’s miniseries Lost in Austen which also features the main character being transported into their favorite literary world, in that case being Pride and Prejudice. A Novel Love Story doesn’t have the luxury of working off a popular established piece and has to work a lot harder with its exposition and planning, however I thought it was done remarkably well. The level of detail and thought put into the fictional Eloraton town and Quixotic Falls series had me interested in reading the world's lore books themselves. Besides Elsy/Eileen and “Anders”, Poston also had to write at least four additional couples with varying backgrounds and dynamics. I was impressed with how distinctive all four of the Quixotic Falls heroines and their love interests were as well as planning out both Elsy’s story as well as each of their own. Each story has a unique storyline, conclusion, and one is even mysterious absent in Elsy's presence, all fitting perfectly into Quixotic Falls' establishment lore.
Beyond the feel-good, almost perfect nature of Eloraton and obligatory romcom hijinks/banter, what kept me invested was the soft mystery and investigative element. As Elsy explores Eloraton and discovers what is similar and different from what she’s previously read as a fan, there’s a lot of interesting mini mysteries beyond the romantic development. Where in the timeline of Quixotic Falls is Elsy, is this a figment of her imagination (or did she comically crash her car and is dying in a ditch on the side of the road? Her words , not mine), why does each day move forward yet the town seems trapped in a state of suspended animation, and who is Anders really? A character that Elsy cannot recall ever being referenced in the original book series, was he meant to be a character in the ill-fated final book the fictional author never finished before she passed away? Why does he have knowledge of events seemingly outside of Eloraton? Why does he insist that Elsy not disturb the town or cause ripples in the story? I didn’t expect these surprisingly compelling mystery elements when I originally picked this up to read and I was thrilled at how ambitious Poston went with it. Without giving away any spoilers, the courtyard of statues introduced mid-way through was a plot element that I loved and thought was genius in execution.
Like Poston’s previous novels, I also liked that these books are not just about finding romance in places where you least expect it, but also having her characters go on a journey of self-discovery in the process. I appreciated that A Novel Love Story not only had Elsy discover herself and heal throughout the story, but to a lesser extent, also Anders. Despite being told entirely from Elsy’s POV, Poston was able to have a good amount of character growth in Anders as well and I found it refreshing that his backstory didn’t hinge heavily on a traumatic childhood or past ex-partner (I’m getting really tired of this common and typically poorly written trope of a embarrassment prone and heart on her sleeve girl fixing these seemingly broken and edgy guys). The plot twists involving his identity and involvement in Eloraton pleasantly surprised me, as well as the reveal of the haunted toilet in the renovated Daffodil Inn (at one point I guessed the deceased fictional author Rachel Flowers was secretly haunting the toilet of her own written setting, wouldn’t that be a wild development).
Like her past books, the writing is a nice balance of quality without being overly flowery or excessive. I found a lot of Elsy’s internal thoughts and Poston’s writing to be perfectly catered to millennial/older genz young adults, with many resonating strongly. Here are few select quotes:
"(Obviously you can rely on your friends. Obviously I’m not saying you can’t, but there is always a limit of how much before you’re a burden.) And in the end you just… sit on the couch, and cry. At least alone, no one is there to watch.” -Elsy
“I hated him, I realized. No vehemently, but just a light hate. A casual dusting of hate. Enough hate that, if he were standing at the edge of a cliff, I’d seriously debate pushing him over. I wouldn’t, but the temptation would be there.” -Elsy
“She scowled. “Ghosts should stay dead. It was a total cop-out. And they fell in love way to fast. It was too insta-love-y for me. And? No one says doggo anymore.” -A bookclub member
The last one is not a particularly insightful quote, but a fun Easter egg jab at her own book The Dead Romantics. I don't know if it was intentional or not, but it also sounds exactly like so many hilariously and poorly-written Goodreads reviews (swap ghosts for Anders' green eyes and you have some exact reviews for this very book). Speaking of Dead Romantics, while it’s not a required read to enjoy A Novel Love Story, there are several fun references that will reward the faithful readers (oddly, I didn’t notice any major references to The Seven Year Slip for comparison, though I may have missed them). Both Florence Day and Benji Andor make cameo appearances (Florence is a published author and Benji is friend and member of Elsy and Prudence’s online book club, putting this book chronologically after the events of Dead Romantics) as well as references to Ann Nichols and other authors within Poston’s established literary world. Anders’ bookstore selection and commentary on romance novels also has a few subtle nods to Poston’s other books.
Most of the important outline for the fictional book series is established well and is seamlessly interwoven with the present narrative as the book progresses. However, occasionally it sometimes feels like we’re introduced to revelations in the book series as they are happening, while the same events could have had more impact if the reader was aware of these details ahead of time. For example, a reveal that one of the core couples may not be as happily-ever-after would be more surprising had I been more familiar with the characters and relationship as written in the book. Some of Elsy’s early fan-freak-out moments as she encounters her favorite books’ settings and characters in real life would feel more relevant with more of a background introduction. However, I think Poston ultimately played it right and at a safe happy medium, with just enough background into the books given without the exposition and beginning getting weighed down by excessive details. I personally would’ve like more time with the books prior to Elsy being trapped in them, but I realize that some readers with less patience or a short attention span wouldn’t feel the same way; particularly since this is foremost a romance novel, not a mystery/fantasy/living Westworld type of book.
With a fun and creative hook and a plot that delivers on it, A Novel Love Story is one of the easiest books I’ve read this year to hit the five star rating early-on, and to maintain it through its conclusion. I loved the high-concept premise and the excessive attention to detail with the book within a book planning. This is the ideal romance novel for my taste that has an original plot, doesn’t rely on pop culture speak/references, elements beyond straight romance, and has a satisfying, and at times, unpredictable conclusion. It’s so well-crafted, any romance reader who doesn’t like this has to be blind to quality and deserves to be banished to Eloraton’s perfect fantasy town for a week, cursed with Gail’s slightly burnt burgers and hot sauce that's slightly too hot to be pleasant.
Evocation by S.T. Gibson
dark
mysterious
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
2.0
Described as an urban fantasy (or rather urban supernatural?) novel with a polyamorous setup between the main characters, I spent the entire first half of the novel baffled at what I was reading and what the book was trying to accomplish. Despite an intriguing synopsis detailing a plot with a demon contract, the occult, and a secret society, all of these seemingly interesting plot elements felt sidelined for character relationships and drama. I had to ask a friend who also read this to see if this would be considered romantasy or rather, romance-supernatural since it kept making bizarre relationship-focused choices that sacrificed time that could’ve been spent on the main plot. That’s fine if a book commits and does a deep dive into that, after all the romance crossover genres are thriving. However, despite spending almost all of its time on its poly relationships, Evocation unfortunately fails to make that focus interesting to read or care about.
I will be the first to admit that I am not well-read in the dynamics or structure of polyamorous relationships (watching a few Anthony Padilla interview videos on the matter probably isn’t enough to count). However, my problems and disinterest with the content had little to do with the poly aspect and fully to do with the individual relationships. Structured initially as a love triangle with Rhys married to Moira and previously entangled with David years before, both relationships with Rhys felt poorly constructed and described. The book constantly hammers the reader with reminders of Rhys and David’s past on and off, rough relationship but fails to mention anything about the relationship itself. There’s aspects of control and addiction that are lightly touched on, but the connection to their relationship is sparse at best. There’s also very little information about what they found appealing in each other in the first place (apart from being polar opposites, attracted physically to each other, and craving the “wild ride” of the other) or why they still have lingering feelings four or five years later. They originally met due to Rhys’s interest but lack of natural talent with the supernatural, and there was so much potential to revisit these early years to contrast with how strained their relationship is now. A lot of stories focused on ex’s rekindling their romance highlight the high’s, low’s, and moments of the original relationship in order to give the reader context to why the characters want to get back together. Evocation makes the mistake of only showing some of the low’s with none of the other aspects, resulting in poor character motivations for the reader to get behind. The book makes a point to highlight how toxic their past relationship was to each character (which are frankly surface level at best), but this is also simply stated rather than being shown through experiences or evocative flashbacks (couldn’t resist the bad pun).
Rhys’s other relationship with his wife Moira feels even less developed than David’s. Admittedly I didn’t realize there was a short 80-90 page novella previously written that covered the events of David’s attempted exorcism of Rhys and Moira’s house, perhaps there were more details included in that short story. However there is very little time and effort spent in Evocation to detail their relationship and marriage which should be included here, considered the limited print and availability of Gibson’s Odd Spirits (in the US it’s not even available for purchase in the Kindle bookstore until late 2024 despite its original release in 2018). There’s almost nothing covering how they met, how their relationship grew to marriage, apart from Rhys constantly throwing her compliments about her gorgeous she is/was, and less post-marriage. A lot of their relationship falls back on “we’re married and very happy” but does little to elaborate on why they feel it to be so. Rhys’s character experiences a lot of guilt for his betrayal of Moira behind her back but without a solid base of their existing relationship, this guilt doesn’t have the impact that it should (not to mention the general reader reaction of finding Rhys to be a terrible person, no amount of guilt will fix that impression). The fact that this book is told from the perspectives of both husband and wife and still fails to show the reader the intricacies of their relationship is a notable misstep. On that note, Rhys’s perspective was also the most bland and tiring to read of the three. I’d go as far to say that the book may have been stronger with only David’s and Moira’s perspectives, with more time devoted to each..
These weak relationships were likely exacerbated due to my lack of interest in Rhys as a character. His personality, character development and psyche felt bland at best, polarizing at worst. I’m not going to judge his questionable choices and obvious repeated betrayals of both Moira and David as I believe characters are allowed to be flawed in the context of a strong narrative, however the internal voice and character logic at times swing wildly in different directions based on what’s needed to create the most angst and drama, rather than a proper staged setup. In general, I found Rhys’s character to be the facilitator of all the conflict and drama within Evocation’s plot. Gibson has Rhys constantly make poor decisions to move the plot rather than using the various other plot threads for a less contrived approach. But going back to Rhys, it feels like a major blunder if the love interest in the triangle is unlikable and boring. Not only did I not care about who ultimately ended up with Rhys, I also didn’t care about any hurt feelings for him (which obviously is quite a lot of the book’s content).
The one positive note is that I did enjoy reading about David’s and Moira’s growing friendship and emotional intimacy. In an enemies to friends to something more arc, David and Moira’s connection was the most interesting and intriguing couple to read about by far. Not only does Gibson highlight their insecurities, each acting as a foil and mentor to the other in that regard, but the supernatural elements are also applied well to this pairing. David’s ability to scry and observe the dead vs Moira’s abilities of an empath and defensive warder were interesting to read about and provided much needed lore to the story. David’s guilt and Moira’s concern over his well-being during the demon possession arc were easily the best written character moments in the whole novel. This arc perhaps was also more enjoyable due to the complete absence of Rhys and the effective incorporation of David’s backstory.
I’ve spent a lot of this review talking about relationships despite this book being advertised as an urban fantasy book. That’s because there’s so little of the urban fantasy and supernatural content actually in there. I thought the demon contract and possession plot to be interesting, particularly the history of the Aristarkhov family and fortune, but it’s severely underused apart from the beginning and end of the book. The occultist society is another element that had a lot of potential to be interesting, but is merely used to provide a friend group for David to gossip about boys with and the high priest succession as a position for him and Rhys to spar over. David’s childhood and abusive training as Evegni’s heir and skilled user of the dark arts had the basis to be great, but was seemingly included only to serve as a source of childhood trauma for David and Moira to bond over. It’s frustrating how laughably poor Evocation incorporates and uses its fantasy/supernatural content. In particular, the demon possession plot progresses so slowly that you almost forget it’s a thing in the middle of the book, only for the plot to throw it into crisis mode with only 50 pages left with little finesse.
Planned as a start to a new series, I can see a lot of compelling elements that can work in future novels and necessary groundwork being laid in Evocation. But as an individual book, I’m still baffled at what I just read (at least it was an easy and fairly quick read). There were brief moments where the story felt like it was showing signs of life (or should I say, signs of the dead) such as David and Moira’s lessons on their respective forms of magic, only to cut it short by going back to its tiring relationship drama. ST Gibson tried to write this book as an urban fantasy story but spends all the time on a poly relationship that is lackluster, poorly constructed, and perhaps most damning, not even romantic or spicy (hey if the relationship and romance isn’t the best written, at least make it hot to read as a saving grace, no?). This last point can best be highlighted by a sex scene between Rhys and David that feels throw-in as a necessity in the last 30 pages that not only has poor timing and context, but is also rushed compared to his scene with Moira. And to top it all off, I don’t know if you can even consider this a poly relationship if one couple is connected only on an emotional level, that frankly feels more like friends than anything more intimate. Either that or I simply didn’t get this book despite picking it up with an open mind.
I will be the first to admit that I am not well-read in the dynamics or structure of polyamorous relationships (watching a few Anthony Padilla interview videos on the matter probably isn’t enough to count). However, my problems and disinterest with the content had little to do with the poly aspect and fully to do with the individual relationships. Structured initially as a love triangle with Rhys married to Moira and previously entangled with David years before, both relationships with Rhys felt poorly constructed and described. The book constantly hammers the reader with reminders of Rhys and David’s past on and off, rough relationship but fails to mention anything about the relationship itself. There’s aspects of control and addiction that are lightly touched on, but the connection to their relationship is sparse at best. There’s also very little information about what they found appealing in each other in the first place (apart from being polar opposites, attracted physically to each other, and craving the “wild ride” of the other) or why they still have lingering feelings four or five years later. They originally met due to Rhys’s interest but lack of natural talent with the supernatural, and there was so much potential to revisit these early years to contrast with how strained their relationship is now. A lot of stories focused on ex’s rekindling their romance highlight the high’s, low’s, and moments of the original relationship in order to give the reader context to why the characters want to get back together. Evocation makes the mistake of only showing some of the low’s with none of the other aspects, resulting in poor character motivations for the reader to get behind. The book makes a point to highlight how toxic their past relationship was to each character (which are frankly surface level at best), but this is also simply stated rather than being shown through experiences or evocative flashbacks (couldn’t resist the bad pun).
Rhys’s other relationship with his wife Moira feels even less developed than David’s. Admittedly I didn’t realize there was a short 80-90 page novella previously written that covered the events of David’s attempted exorcism of Rhys and Moira’s house, perhaps there were more details included in that short story. However there is very little time and effort spent in Evocation to detail their relationship and marriage which should be included here, considered the limited print and availability of Gibson’s Odd Spirits (in the US it’s not even available for purchase in the Kindle bookstore until late 2024 despite its original release in 2018). There’s almost nothing covering how they met, how their relationship grew to marriage, apart from Rhys constantly throwing her compliments about her gorgeous she is/was, and less post-marriage. A lot of their relationship falls back on “we’re married and very happy” but does little to elaborate on why they feel it to be so. Rhys’s character experiences a lot of guilt for his betrayal of Moira behind her back but without a solid base of their existing relationship, this guilt doesn’t have the impact that it should (not to mention the general reader reaction of finding Rhys to be a terrible person, no amount of guilt will fix that impression). The fact that this book is told from the perspectives of both husband and wife and still fails to show the reader the intricacies of their relationship is a notable misstep. On that note, Rhys’s perspective was also the most bland and tiring to read of the three. I’d go as far to say that the book may have been stronger with only David’s and Moira’s perspectives, with more time devoted to each..
These weak relationships were likely exacerbated due to my lack of interest in Rhys as a character. His personality, character development and psyche felt bland at best, polarizing at worst. I’m not going to judge his questionable choices and obvious repeated betrayals of both Moira and David as I believe characters are allowed to be flawed in the context of a strong narrative, however the internal voice and character logic at times swing wildly in different directions based on what’s needed to create the most angst and drama, rather than a proper staged setup. In general, I found Rhys’s character to be the facilitator of all the conflict and drama within Evocation’s plot. Gibson has Rhys constantly make poor decisions to move the plot rather than using the various other plot threads for a less contrived approach. But going back to Rhys, it feels like a major blunder if the love interest in the triangle is unlikable and boring. Not only did I not care about who ultimately ended up with Rhys, I also didn’t care about any hurt feelings for him (which obviously is quite a lot of the book’s content).
The one positive note is that I did enjoy reading about David’s and Moira’s growing friendship and emotional intimacy. In an enemies to friends to something more arc, David and Moira’s connection was the most interesting and intriguing couple to read about by far. Not only does Gibson highlight their insecurities, each acting as a foil and mentor to the other in that regard, but the supernatural elements are also applied well to this pairing. David’s ability to scry and observe the dead vs Moira’s abilities of an empath and defensive warder were interesting to read about and provided much needed lore to the story. David’s guilt and Moira’s concern over his well-being during the demon possession arc were easily the best written character moments in the whole novel. This arc perhaps was also more enjoyable due to the complete absence of Rhys and the effective incorporation of David’s backstory.
I’ve spent a lot of this review talking about relationships despite this book being advertised as an urban fantasy book. That’s because there’s so little of the urban fantasy and supernatural content actually in there. I thought the demon contract and possession plot to be interesting, particularly the history of the Aristarkhov family and fortune, but it’s severely underused apart from the beginning and end of the book. The occultist society is another element that had a lot of potential to be interesting, but is merely used to provide a friend group for David to gossip about boys with and the high priest succession as a position for him and Rhys to spar over. David’s childhood and abusive training as Evegni’s heir and skilled user of the dark arts had the basis to be great, but was seemingly included only to serve as a source of childhood trauma for David and Moira to bond over. It’s frustrating how laughably poor Evocation incorporates and uses its fantasy/supernatural content. In particular, the demon possession plot progresses so slowly that you almost forget it’s a thing in the middle of the book, only for the plot to throw it into crisis mode with only 50 pages left with little finesse.
Planned as a start to a new series, I can see a lot of compelling elements that can work in future novels and necessary groundwork being laid in Evocation. But as an individual book, I’m still baffled at what I just read (at least it was an easy and fairly quick read). There were brief moments where the story felt like it was showing signs of life (or should I say, signs of the dead) such as David and Moira’s lessons on their respective forms of magic, only to cut it short by going back to its tiring relationship drama. ST Gibson tried to write this book as an urban fantasy story but spends all the time on a poly relationship that is lackluster, poorly constructed, and perhaps most damning, not even romantic or spicy (hey if the relationship and romance isn’t the best written, at least make it hot to read as a saving grace, no?). This last point can best be highlighted by a sex scene between Rhys and David that feels throw-in as a necessity in the last 30 pages that not only has poor timing and context, but is also rushed compared to his scene with Moira. And to top it all off, I don’t know if you can even consider this a poly relationship if one couple is connected only on an emotional level, that frankly feels more like friends than anything more intimate. Either that or I simply didn’t get this book despite picking it up with an open mind.
The House in the Cerulean Sea by TJ Klune
hopeful
lighthearted
relaxing
slow-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
The House in the Cerulean Sea has a plot, genre and tone that ordinarily isn’t quite my taste, but T.J. Klune’s execution and lowkey sarcastic humor kept me going. Hopefully optimistic, sweet, and a very comfortable easy read, this is not my typical genre but it’s still a novel I don’t regret picking up. The plot is predictable and some extended metaphors and social commentary are a bit on the nose (this has a tone and approach better suited for YA, apart from a few rare adult-natured jokes), but it’s unapologetically warm and has so much mass-appeal.
Other reviews describing The House in the Cerulean Sea as a modern fairy tale are quite appropriate. The style of narration told from the perspective of the main character Linus Baker evokes that nostalgic fairy tale feel that’s felt through Klune’s descriptive visuals and dialogue (the house for example screams fantasy fairy tale aesthetic, including the gorgeous interpretation on the cover). While reading this, I could instantly see this being adapted as either an animated or live-action miniseries. Linus Baker is a refreshing, atypical main character aged 40, overweight, uptight, queer, no frills government worker who serves as the perfect foil to the otherwise fantasy-filled story and cast. His constant freak-out or groaning reactions are quite funny, and Klune does a particularly good job at writing humor derived from innocently honest kid-adult interactions. The cast of “orphans” are diverse and were the highlight of the read for me, particularly Lucy’s hilariously dark humor.
As expected, there are good themes and metaphors included such as prejudice or ostracization of those that are different (magical beings are an obvious parallel to the queer or really any minority group). Nearly all the conflict and resolution has to do with this prejudice and bigotry, though the portrayal is still imo mild and only just negative enough to serve its narrative and thematic purpose. At the end of the day, this is still a cozy and comforting book that feels like a warm hug against the harshness of society. In fact, I’m convinced TJ is clever and purposely writes scenarios where as an adult jaded reader, you would expect something really bad to happen in certain situations. Repeatedly the book feels like it knows where the reader’s fears will go, and then goes in an unexpectedly positive direction (this purposeful tactic is something Heartstopper also utilized very successfully, likely contributing to why kids, teenagers, and adults all love both series).
Negatively critiquing this novel feels like kicking a puppy due to how sweet and well-meaning it is, however I cannot deny that the story occasionally felt slow for me. I likely would’ve been fully invested had I read this when I was 14-17, but as an adult, I felt like the plot and pacing was a little too rosy for me (then again, I’m heartless and love dark, hard-hitting works). Despite the stakes being high for Arthur’s orphanage during Linus’s investigation, it still felt like an overly casual and mild affair. This is the kind of read where you know everything will somehow work out perfectly, which is fine since it commits to it, but it still takes away some of the urgency for me. The synopsis also makes a point to highlight the romance in the book, but I personally felt like the romance is quite minor and serves as a small bonus rather than being a main plot point. The focus is primarily on the kids and their well-being while any romantic development is only lightly touched on occasionally. I don’t think the romance is badly done by any means, just that it’s not in the forefront and probably shouldn’t be the reason why you pick up this book to read (and ofc it’s vanilla based on the book’s content, any spice would absolutely not work with this book so you’re not going to get anything beyond a sweet kiss).
Overall though, this was a pleasant and quick read. This was obviously not going to be a favorite of mine based on the genre and style, but I thought it was successful in what it was trying to do. Well-executed, consistently paced, subtly funny with a sophisticated sarcastic kind of humor, I understand and get why The House in the Cerulean Sea is a beloved book. It also functions well as a decisive and resolved standalone novel, so I’m curious to see where T.J. Klune goes with the sequel novel due to be released soon in a few months (total coincidence that I read it now). I hear it’s written both as a sequel and as a companion novel told from Arthur’s perspective instead, I’m definitely going to give it a try when it’s out in September.
Other reviews describing The House in the Cerulean Sea as a modern fairy tale are quite appropriate. The style of narration told from the perspective of the main character Linus Baker evokes that nostalgic fairy tale feel that’s felt through Klune’s descriptive visuals and dialogue (the house for example screams fantasy fairy tale aesthetic, including the gorgeous interpretation on the cover). While reading this, I could instantly see this being adapted as either an animated or live-action miniseries. Linus Baker is a refreshing, atypical main character aged 40, overweight, uptight, queer, no frills government worker who serves as the perfect foil to the otherwise fantasy-filled story and cast. His constant freak-out or groaning reactions are quite funny, and Klune does a particularly good job at writing humor derived from innocently honest kid-adult interactions. The cast of “orphans” are diverse and were the highlight of the read for me, particularly Lucy’s hilariously dark humor.
As expected, there are good themes and metaphors included such as prejudice or ostracization of those that are different (magical beings are an obvious parallel to the queer or really any minority group). Nearly all the conflict and resolution has to do with this prejudice and bigotry, though the portrayal is still imo mild and only just negative enough to serve its narrative and thematic purpose. At the end of the day, this is still a cozy and comforting book that feels like a warm hug against the harshness of society. In fact, I’m convinced TJ is clever and purposely writes scenarios where as an adult jaded reader, you would expect something really bad to happen in certain situations. Repeatedly the book feels like it knows where the reader’s fears will go, and then goes in an unexpectedly positive direction (this purposeful tactic is something Heartstopper also utilized very successfully, likely contributing to why kids, teenagers, and adults all love both series).
Negatively critiquing this novel feels like kicking a puppy due to how sweet and well-meaning it is, however I cannot deny that the story occasionally felt slow for me. I likely would’ve been fully invested had I read this when I was 14-17, but as an adult, I felt like the plot and pacing was a little too rosy for me (then again, I’m heartless and love dark, hard-hitting works). Despite the stakes being high for Arthur’s orphanage during Linus’s investigation, it still felt like an overly casual and mild affair. This is the kind of read where you know everything will somehow work out perfectly, which is fine since it commits to it, but it still takes away some of the urgency for me. The synopsis also makes a point to highlight the romance in the book, but I personally felt like the romance is quite minor and serves as a small bonus rather than being a main plot point. The focus is primarily on the kids and their well-being while any romantic development is only lightly touched on occasionally. I don’t think the romance is badly done by any means, just that it’s not in the forefront and probably shouldn’t be the reason why you pick up this book to read (and ofc it’s vanilla based on the book’s content, any spice would absolutely not work with this book so you’re not going to get anything beyond a sweet kiss).
Overall though, this was a pleasant and quick read. This was obviously not going to be a favorite of mine based on the genre and style, but I thought it was successful in what it was trying to do. Well-executed, consistently paced, subtly funny with a sophisticated sarcastic kind of humor, I understand and get why The House in the Cerulean Sea is a beloved book. It also functions well as a decisive and resolved standalone novel, so I’m curious to see where T.J. Klune goes with the sequel novel due to be released soon in a few months (total coincidence that I read it now). I hear it’s written both as a sequel and as a companion novel told from Arthur’s perspective instead, I’m definitely going to give it a try when it’s out in September.
Content Warnings
Minor: Child abuse, Confinement, Homophobia, Xenophobia
The Last Murder at the End of the World by Stuart Turton
mysterious
tense
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? Yes
1.5
The Last Murder at the End of the World feels like it should’ve been something directly catered to my taste which is a murder mystery investigation wrapped up in a post-apocalyptic, science fiction (borderline dystopian) dressing. This one is hard to talk without giving away crucial spoilers that would heavily affect the reading experience. The novel had all the right elements and pieces to work with and Stuart Turton had a lot of creative and intriguing concepts included. In an alternate universe with some tweaking, this could’ve been a knockout hit. Unfortunately for me, the novel’s science fiction flavor gets a bit out of hand and is frankly a mess. Numerous unexplained apocalyptic elements weaken what should’ve been a well-done murder investigation story.
Set on a protected island where the last survivors of an apocalyptic fog inhabit, the setup for the plot was good. There’s a clear timeline of events dictated by a countdown to extinction that separates each section of the book. The first 40% of the story focused on introducing various villagers on the island, their relationship with three revered scientists, and the dynamics of the island. The book has a long-running metaphor of equating the villagers to an ant colony; each villager has their part to play to keep the group going. Each villager is also connected mentally to an AI named Abi, who gently acts as a guiding conscious, informant of happenings on the island, and general mental support. This entire section hammers home the village culture of not asking questions, doing what you’re told, making personal sacrifices for the greater good, which conflicts with the FMC Emory’s questioning of the status quo. The novel also takes the time to introduce a variety of villagers, shifting to each of their perspectives told via a 3rd person narrative. Turton cleverly has the story conveyed via Abi who describes most of the story in 3rd person, only occasionally switching to 1st person when Abi is directly speaking or conveying their thoughts (I laughed at reviews confused by the shift in pronouns and tense, it ain’t hard to follow folks).
Truthfully, I struggled to get through this section that felt incredibly slow and devoid of interest. Running with the ant metaphor, I felt like I was watching one of those home artificial ant colony kits. You can see the characters playing their roles and Turton tries to humanize them, but like ants they all felt simple-minded, dispensable (opposite of what the novel wants you to feel) and I really didn’t care what happened to them. The plot and perspectives eventually stabilize, choosing to focus on Emory, her daughter Clara, her father Seth, and the three scientists. The story also shifts to other villagers’ perspectives, but they ultimately contribute little to the story. There are chapters told from certain characters such as Hephaestus (the youngest of the three scientists) and Adil (an exiled villager) that I felt actually detracted from the reading experience, as they gave far too much information and took away some of the unknown suspense. I understand that this introductory arc was designed to be extensive to pull its major plot-twist that upends the entire civilization introduced, but it hinders the book’s core enjoyment in two ways. One, for fans of the actual murder mystery, it goes on way too long and derails any interest that was building from the strong start, with the actual murder taking place almost halfway in. Two, for fans of the science fiction apocalyptic genre, it gives the reader a false impression of what the book is about. The back-half of the book is almost entirely investigation based and I’ve seen numerous negative reviews comment on how they liked the first half and got lost in the second half.
I personally fell in the first camp of liking the murder investigation but not the science fiction elements. This may go without saying, but in order to function as “science fiction”, there needs to be some sort of actual science involved with the fiction. I’m baffled that some people classify this as speculative fiction which is science fiction that is grounded, plausible, near-future style. Nothing in this novel is grounded or science-based. Nearly all of the intriguing science fiction elements don’t get an actual explanation, some examples being the origin of the fog, how the insects in the fog kill people, where all of the scientists’ advance technology comes from, how Abi even works in practice, etc. Nearly all these elements are explained as merely existing because it is so. Humans created the technology as a weapon which somehow got out of control and destroyed the world. How do we know it has killed people and threw society into chaos and anarchy? We don’t, we’re told it did and that is that. There’s technology for altering, extracting and wiping memories, yet no explanation on how this works (I would love a nice summary of how a machine can extract memories and put it into a gemstone that someone can then hold and relive the memories imbued in it). There are weaponized flowers, the killer insects in the fog, heavy machinery for drilling and creating waves, life-creating plans, blight-causing chemicals, there’s so much random things going on. And Abi’s AI function and origin is perhaps one of the most baffling and random reveals in the book’s epilogue.The AI is an underground sentient root spread across the entire island? And it’s connected to the villagers how? And how do new villagers spawn from a similar vine with dew? I have so many questions, I don’t even know where to start. Unlike other readers, I could fully follow what was happening and carefully read into all of the science fiction details, but the more I thought about it, the more ludicrous they seemed.
On the positive side, the murder mystery and investigation are solid. There were lots of good plot twists in the back half of the book and despite having some obvious culprit suspicions, it came together in a surprisingly solid timeline of events for the crime. The clues are good, the back-and-forth suspicion was effective, and the various dystopian elements start to form a picture. It certainly isn’t enough to redeem the first half’s explained mess, but it was the better executed element of the story vs the science fiction. I originally picked up this book as I was already interested in Turton’s earlier mystery novels, The 7 ½ Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle and The Devil and the Dark Water, but I decided to try this one first since it was a recent release. From this, I got the impression that Turton is probably a far better mystery writer than a science fiction writer. The acknowledgement section appears to confirm that his works are fundamentally murder mysteries flavored with different genres for style, in this case post-apocalypse.
All in all, this was a bit of a letdown. I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a disappointment (I wasn’t invested enough to care that much), but it certainly was not an enjoyable read. The ideas and concepts were there, but the lack of explanations and details give the impression of throwing stuff at a wall to see what sticks and creates a picture. I suspect that if you like the characters or the village’s roles/day to day activities, you’ll rate this higher.
Set on a protected island where the last survivors of an apocalyptic fog inhabit, the setup for the plot was good. There’s a clear timeline of events dictated by a countdown to extinction that separates each section of the book. The first 40% of the story focused on introducing various villagers on the island, their relationship with three revered scientists, and the dynamics of the island. The book has a long-running metaphor of equating the villagers to an ant colony; each villager has their part to play to keep the group going. Each villager is also connected mentally to an AI named Abi, who gently acts as a guiding conscious, informant of happenings on the island, and general mental support. This entire section hammers home the village culture of not asking questions, doing what you’re told, making personal sacrifices for the greater good, which conflicts with the FMC Emory’s questioning of the status quo. The novel also takes the time to introduce a variety of villagers, shifting to each of their perspectives told via a 3rd person narrative. Turton cleverly has the story conveyed via Abi who describes most of the story in 3rd person, only occasionally switching to 1st person when Abi is directly speaking or conveying their thoughts (I laughed at reviews confused by the shift in pronouns and tense, it ain’t hard to follow folks).
Truthfully, I struggled to get through this section that felt incredibly slow and devoid of interest. Running with the ant metaphor, I felt like I was watching one of those home artificial ant colony kits. You can see the characters playing their roles and Turton tries to humanize them, but like ants they all felt simple-minded, dispensable (opposite of what the novel wants you to feel) and I really didn’t care what happened to them. The plot and perspectives eventually stabilize, choosing to focus on Emory, her daughter Clara, her father Seth, and the three scientists. The story also shifts to other villagers’ perspectives, but they ultimately contribute little to the story. There are chapters told from certain characters such as Hephaestus (the youngest of the three scientists) and Adil (an exiled villager) that I felt actually detracted from the reading experience, as they gave far too much information and took away some of the unknown suspense. I understand that this introductory arc was designed to be extensive to pull its major plot-twist that upends the entire civilization introduced, but it hinders the book’s core enjoyment in two ways. One, for fans of the actual murder mystery, it goes on way too long and derails any interest that was building from the strong start, with the actual murder taking place almost halfway in. Two, for fans of the science fiction apocalyptic genre, it gives the reader a false impression of what the book is about. The back-half of the book is almost entirely investigation based and I’ve seen numerous negative reviews comment on how they liked the first half and got lost in the second half.
I personally fell in the first camp of liking the murder investigation but not the science fiction elements. This may go without saying, but in order to function as “science fiction”, there needs to be some sort of actual science involved with the fiction. I’m baffled that some people classify this as speculative fiction which is science fiction that is grounded, plausible, near-future style. Nothing in this novel is grounded or science-based. Nearly all of the intriguing science fiction elements don’t get an actual explanation, some examples being the origin of the fog, how the insects in the fog kill people, where all of the scientists’ advance technology comes from, how Abi even works in practice, etc. Nearly all these elements are explained as merely existing because it is so. Humans created the technology as a weapon which somehow got out of control and destroyed the world. How do we know it has killed people and threw society into chaos and anarchy? We don’t, we’re told it did and that is that. There’s technology for altering, extracting and wiping memories, yet no explanation on how this works (I would love a nice summary of how a machine can extract memories and put it into a gemstone that someone can then hold and relive the memories imbued in it). There are weaponized flowers, the killer insects in the fog, heavy machinery for drilling and creating waves, life-creating plans, blight-causing chemicals, there’s so much random things going on. And Abi’s AI function and origin is perhaps one of the most baffling and random reveals in the book’s epilogue.
On the positive side, the murder mystery and investigation are solid. There were lots of good plot twists in the back half of the book and despite having some obvious culprit suspicions, it came together in a surprisingly solid timeline of events for the crime. The clues are good, the back-and-forth suspicion was effective, and the various dystopian elements start to form a picture. It certainly isn’t enough to redeem the first half’s explained mess, but it was the better executed element of the story vs the science fiction. I originally picked up this book as I was already interested in Turton’s earlier mystery novels, The 7 ½ Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle and The Devil and the Dark Water, but I decided to try this one first since it was a recent release. From this, I got the impression that Turton is probably a far better mystery writer than a science fiction writer. The acknowledgement section appears to confirm that his works are fundamentally murder mysteries flavored with different genres for style, in this case post-apocalypse.
All in all, this was a bit of a letdown. I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a disappointment (I wasn’t invested enough to care that much), but it certainly was not an enjoyable read. The ideas and concepts were there, but the lack of explanations and details give the impression of throwing stuff at a wall to see what sticks and creates a picture. I suspect that if you like the characters or the village’s roles/day to day activities, you’ll rate this higher.
Content Warnings
Moderate: Violence
Minor: Xenophobia
Funny Story by Emily Henry
funny
lighthearted
reflective
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
5.0
My history with Emily Henry’s books has been a bit all over the place so I was hesitantly optimistic picking up Funny Story. For context, my scale varies from loving Beach Read, frustrated and almost insulted by Happy Place, and finding Book Lovers competently solid in-between. Fortunately for me, Funny Story ended up on Beach Read’s side of the spectrum, even covering a few of Happy Place’s themes executed with more finesse (the fake dating trope + adult friendships). In many ways Funny Place feels like Henry’s most polished and cohesive novel yet that’s an easy read with mass appeal. I really enjoyed the story, although the title may be a bit deceiving as this novel definitely isn’t Henry’s funniest and is a much slower yet rewarding read compared to her past books (minus People We Meet On Vacation, the only one I haven’t read yet).
Henry’s books are always well-written works laced with clever modern humor, but my enjoyment of her novels tend to hinge heavily on each book’s protagonist and the central themes introduced; separate from the romance and core couple which I would imagine is often the draw for many of her other readers. Besides the obvious fake dating trope already covered in the synopsis, Funny Story also includes themes relating to adult friendships, isolation, detachment as a defense mechanism, relationship expectations and dynamics, and taking control of one’s life. These secondary focuses besides the fake dating trope add a lot of substance to pad out the novel’s relatively sparse plot (an upcoming Library community event has much lower stakes than Beach Read’s draft novel deadline, Nora’s career in Book Lovers, or Happy Places’ last group vacation of their lives setup). Emily Henry has attempted in the past to add more character growth to each of her novels to varying degrees of success ranging from decent but underdeveloped in Beach Read, mixed in Happy Place (pretty good for Harriet, terribly done for Wyn), and finally well-meaning but poorly paced in Book Lovers. Funny Story fixes that from the get-go, immediately drawing you into both Daphne’s devastation/rage at Peter’s betrayal and her insecurities and isolation (previous books typically introduce these secondary themes much later, if at all).
What I found Funny Story to be surprisingly great at is its portrayal of modern adult loneliness. I’m sure a lot of us have friends who make their significant other their entire personality, being, and life, but if things don’t work out, what do you have that’s left? After inadvertently allowing her fiancé Peter’s life to overtake her own, she’s left with a massive hole in her heart and her entire life. Her friends became Peter’s friends and now they’re stuck between both sides, unwilling to pick one over the other. She’s evicted from their shared house, which is in Peter’s name only, and is forced to move in with Peter’s new fiancé Petra’s ex-boyfriend on short notice. She uprooted her life to move to the scenic yet unfamiliar town of Waning Bay (loosely inspired by Traverse City, Michigan) where she knows nobody except for her coworkers who she maintains professional relationships with only. The internal turmoil and realization that she has almost nothing left in Warning Bay is a harsh reality, and I loved the way the book shows her struggles and growth over time. Yes, there are quite a few situations that are heavily facilitated and pushed forward by Miles, but at the end of the day, it’s up to Daphne to take control of her own life. This all comes full circle with the book’s satisfying resolution.
Another theme and area Funny Story covers well is the unconscious tactic of defensively protecting yourself from emotional harm. This was one of the main themes of Book Lovers’ second half that I originally critiqued as being jarring and messy in execution. Funny Story takes a much quieter, less dramatic approach that has a better setup and resolution. Daphne spends most of her time (and really most of her life) keeping friends and family at an emotional distance, as it’s often the ones that are closest to us and those you trust the most who can hurt us with disappointment or betrayal. This personal demon of Daphne’s is a recurring theme that looms just under the surface and is the primary factor contributing to the book’s climax and eventual resolution. Henry does a great job with Daphne’s slow growth and trust in others (both romantically and platonically) after the pain she experienced from Peter and other family members. By the end of the book, it’s hard not to root for her as she turns her life and relationships around by being vulnerable and putting herself out there. Miles likewise has a similar, albeit less developed growth (as expected for a love interest vs the protagonist), of allowing himself to express how he feels after years of suppressing personal wants or things he feels he doesn’t deserve.
If the summary above sounds serious or too touchy-feely, there’s nothing to worry about as Funny Story generally stays light and sunny. Despite the romance genre and fake dating trope, a lot of Funny Story reads like a slice of life book as Miles shows Daphne the best of what Waning Bay has to offer. Scheduled weekly outings that could act as potential dates instead serve as quiet opportunities for them to get to know each other, occasionally going through the fake dating motions to get revenge on their exes. While Daphne has a wandering eye (and nose for Miles’ spicy signature scent), this isn’t an explosive passionate romance but instead a slow and meticulous one that feels organic. Her relationship with Miles is seamlessly interwoven with her job as a librarian (the obligatory book-related focus, every Henry book has one somewhere) planning for a fundraising/community event night and her navigating around her ex-fiancé, often in hilariously awkward situations. While it never feels like Funny Story hits the intense page-turning of some of her other books, I found the novel quickly breezing by. There’s an underlying optimistic “I got this” feel even when Daphne feels like all hope is lost, and that gave it a very comfortable, cozy feel to me while reading.
As for the characters, Daphne and Miles are easily some of my favorites of Henry’s. I sometimes felt January and Nora were a bit on the extreme ends of the spectrums while Daphne feels a bit more grounded and realistic (I’m going to skip Happy Place’s characters which I found to be consistently mediocre). Miles is also a nice departure from Henry’s go-to pretty boy holding underlying trauma with an edgy and pessimistic outlook on life trope (both Augustus and Charlie). He’s described to be the opposite of her usual as a scruffy, disheveled young man covered with terrible tattoos who can connect with everyone, despite looking like he could be a drug-dealer (courtesy of Ashleigh’s description). Both Daphne and Miles feel like regular people rather than romance novel tropes and the way they converse, while less laugh out loud funny like in past Henry couples (Nora and Charlie come to mind), has a lot of lowkey witty banter. The cast is also rounded out by Daphne’s intimidating coworker and recent divorcee Ashleigh and Miles’ young and unhinged 23 yr old sister Julia.
What makes Daphne and Miles relationship work well is that they function more as a friends to lovers trope underneath the fake dating trope. There is romance and two(?) steamy sex scenes in Funny Story, but the characters take a while for their feelings to grow beyond a surface level physical attraction. These two are strangers that are suddenly thrown together for monetary convenience’s sake once Daphne is evicted, and Henry goes to great lengths to show how awkward and uncomfortable it is to get to know someone, especially if you social insecurities like Daphne. They’re both also recovering from having their hearts broken by their exes, readers expecting them a steamy romance from the get-go need to have their expectations checked. The challenge with social interaction is also on fully display as Daphne gradually befriends Ashleigh outside of work which was lovely to read about. In general, Funny Story does a considerably better job with its portrayal of platonic relationships than whatever went so horribly wrong during my read of Happy Place, and that was supposed to be a novel focused on a core friend group. Another reviewer also commented that in order for each character to love each other, they have to learn how to love themselves first. That takes time to do, as well as skill and finesse to portray well.
While I did find the plot to be entirely predictable and I could call the ending, I didn’t find it disappointing as the actual execution was well done. If I have to find some faults in Funny Place, one would be that certain key plot threads felt like they weren’t quite capitalized on. The premise’s wedding between Peter and Petra feels like a missed opportunity for huge comedic horrors (though I understand that would’ve affected the original plot’s resolution) and while Miles’ backstory with his family is good on paper, it feels underdeveloped. I believe Miles’ family problems are meant to compliment and mirror Daphne’s family problems with the takeaway that nobody has the perfect upbringing in contrast to Peter’s, but the point gets a little lost with how much the book tries to do at the end (a confrontation with Miles’ mother could’ve been a huge moment for his character). Speaking of the end, I personally also felt that the book’s climax was too brief. Covering only about 3 chapters out of 38 chapters, I got the impression that the book sacrificed digging deeper to keep the book accessible and easy to read for its intended readers (which I’m not likely one of). The resolution, while satisfying and well planned, also felt a bit rushed, though the library night event was a great concluding chapter. And for a book titled Funny Story, perhaps it could’ve been funnier? I don’t think the story is the problem here, I think the title sets an inappropriate expectation that the book will be laugh out loud funny. It is quite humorous at times, but not Henry’s funniest or craziest story.
As whole, Funny Story could potentially be my new favorite Emily Henry novel. While I loved parts of Beach Read (particularly Agustus’ cult and dark research element), I found Funny Story to be far more cohesive and better executed. I’ve seen some reviewers comment that they found Funny Story’s romance and plot in general to be boring, slow, or criminally unfunny. While the last statement I can slightly get behind, I personally appreciate how slow-paced and deliberate Funny Story is. Perhaps it’s because I read a variety of genres and do not consider myself a pure romance reader, but I loved how many different themes Emily Henry is able to pack into this sub-400 page book. I would go as far to say that Daphne and Miles’ romance could be second to Daphne’s personal growth throughout the book; she unquestionably has the best journey and character development of all of Henry’s protagonists that I’ve read so far. And that’s what I liked to see in my kind of romance novels, dramedy or romance books that aspire to be more.
Henry’s books are always well-written works laced with clever modern humor, but my enjoyment of her novels tend to hinge heavily on each book’s protagonist and the central themes introduced; separate from the romance and core couple which I would imagine is often the draw for many of her other readers. Besides the obvious fake dating trope already covered in the synopsis, Funny Story also includes themes relating to adult friendships, isolation, detachment as a defense mechanism, relationship expectations and dynamics, and taking control of one’s life. These secondary focuses besides the fake dating trope add a lot of substance to pad out the novel’s relatively sparse plot (an upcoming Library community event has much lower stakes than Beach Read’s draft novel deadline, Nora’s career in Book Lovers, or Happy Places’ last group vacation of their lives setup). Emily Henry has attempted in the past to add more character growth to each of her novels to varying degrees of success ranging from decent but underdeveloped in Beach Read, mixed in Happy Place (pretty good for Harriet, terribly done for Wyn), and finally well-meaning but poorly paced in Book Lovers. Funny Story fixes that from the get-go, immediately drawing you into both Daphne’s devastation/rage at Peter’s betrayal and her insecurities and isolation (previous books typically introduce these secondary themes much later, if at all).
What I found Funny Story to be surprisingly great at is its portrayal of modern adult loneliness. I’m sure a lot of us have friends who make their significant other their entire personality, being, and life, but if things don’t work out, what do you have that’s left? After inadvertently allowing her fiancé Peter’s life to overtake her own, she’s left with a massive hole in her heart and her entire life. Her friends became Peter’s friends and now they’re stuck between both sides, unwilling to pick one over the other. She’s evicted from their shared house, which is in Peter’s name only, and is forced to move in with Peter’s new fiancé Petra’s ex-boyfriend on short notice. She uprooted her life to move to the scenic yet unfamiliar town of Waning Bay (loosely inspired by Traverse City, Michigan) where she knows nobody except for her coworkers who she maintains professional relationships with only. The internal turmoil and realization that she has almost nothing left in Warning Bay is a harsh reality, and I loved the way the book shows her struggles and growth over time. Yes, there are quite a few situations that are heavily facilitated and pushed forward by Miles, but at the end of the day, it’s up to Daphne to take control of her own life. This all comes full circle with the book’s satisfying resolution.
Another theme and area Funny Story covers well is the unconscious tactic of defensively protecting yourself from emotional harm. This was one of the main themes of Book Lovers’ second half that I originally critiqued as being jarring and messy in execution. Funny Story takes a much quieter, less dramatic approach that has a better setup and resolution. Daphne spends most of her time (and really most of her life) keeping friends and family at an emotional distance, as it’s often the ones that are closest to us and those you trust the most who can hurt us with disappointment or betrayal. This personal demon of Daphne’s is a recurring theme that looms just under the surface and is the primary factor contributing to the book’s climax and eventual resolution. Henry does a great job with Daphne’s slow growth and trust in others (both romantically and platonically) after the pain she experienced from Peter and other family members. By the end of the book, it’s hard not to root for her as she turns her life and relationships around by being vulnerable and putting herself out there. Miles likewise has a similar, albeit less developed growth (as expected for a love interest vs the protagonist), of allowing himself to express how he feels after years of suppressing personal wants or things he feels he doesn’t deserve.
If the summary above sounds serious or too touchy-feely, there’s nothing to worry about as Funny Story generally stays light and sunny. Despite the romance genre and fake dating trope, a lot of Funny Story reads like a slice of life book as Miles shows Daphne the best of what Waning Bay has to offer. Scheduled weekly outings that could act as potential dates instead serve as quiet opportunities for them to get to know each other, occasionally going through the fake dating motions to get revenge on their exes. While Daphne has a wandering eye (and nose for Miles’ spicy signature scent), this isn’t an explosive passionate romance but instead a slow and meticulous one that feels organic. Her relationship with Miles is seamlessly interwoven with her job as a librarian (the obligatory book-related focus, every Henry book has one somewhere) planning for a fundraising/community event night and her navigating around her ex-fiancé, often in hilariously awkward situations. While it never feels like Funny Story hits the intense page-turning of some of her other books, I found the novel quickly breezing by. There’s an underlying optimistic “I got this” feel even when Daphne feels like all hope is lost, and that gave it a very comfortable, cozy feel to me while reading.
As for the characters, Daphne and Miles are easily some of my favorites of Henry’s. I sometimes felt January and Nora were a bit on the extreme ends of the spectrums while Daphne feels a bit more grounded and realistic (I’m going to skip Happy Place’s characters which I found to be consistently mediocre). Miles is also a nice departure from Henry’s go-to pretty boy holding underlying trauma with an edgy and pessimistic outlook on life trope (both Augustus and Charlie). He’s described to be the opposite of her usual as a scruffy, disheveled young man covered with terrible tattoos who can connect with everyone, despite looking like he could be a drug-dealer (courtesy of Ashleigh’s description). Both Daphne and Miles feel like regular people rather than romance novel tropes and the way they converse, while less laugh out loud funny like in past Henry couples (Nora and Charlie come to mind), has a lot of lowkey witty banter. The cast is also rounded out by Daphne’s intimidating coworker and recent divorcee Ashleigh and Miles’ young and unhinged 23 yr old sister Julia.
What makes Daphne and Miles relationship work well is that they function more as a friends to lovers trope underneath the fake dating trope. There is romance and two(?) steamy sex scenes in Funny Story, but the characters take a while for their feelings to grow beyond a surface level physical attraction. These two are strangers that are suddenly thrown together for monetary convenience’s sake once Daphne is evicted, and Henry goes to great lengths to show how awkward and uncomfortable it is to get to know someone, especially if you social insecurities like Daphne. They’re both also recovering from having their hearts broken by their exes, readers expecting them a steamy romance from the get-go need to have their expectations checked. The challenge with social interaction is also on fully display as Daphne gradually befriends Ashleigh outside of work which was lovely to read about. In general, Funny Story does a considerably better job with its portrayal of platonic relationships than whatever went so horribly wrong during my read of Happy Place, and that was supposed to be a novel focused on a core friend group. Another reviewer also commented that in order for each character to love each other, they have to learn how to love themselves first. That takes time to do, as well as skill and finesse to portray well.
While I did find the plot to be entirely predictable and I could call the ending, I didn’t find it disappointing as the actual execution was well done. If I have to find some faults in Funny Place, one would be that certain key plot threads felt like they weren’t quite capitalized on. The premise’s wedding between Peter and Petra feels like a missed opportunity for huge comedic horrors (though I understand that would’ve affected the original plot’s resolution) and while Miles’ backstory with his family is good on paper, it feels underdeveloped. I believe Miles’ family problems are meant to compliment and mirror Daphne’s family problems with the takeaway that nobody has the perfect upbringing in contrast to Peter’s, but the point gets a little lost with how much the book tries to do at the end (a confrontation with Miles’ mother could’ve been a huge moment for his character). Speaking of the end, I personally also felt that the book’s climax was too brief. Covering only about 3 chapters out of 38 chapters, I got the impression that the book sacrificed digging deeper to keep the book accessible and easy to read for its intended readers (which I’m not likely one of). The resolution, while satisfying and well planned, also felt a bit rushed, though the library night event was a great concluding chapter. And for a book titled Funny Story, perhaps it could’ve been funnier? I don’t think the story is the problem here, I think the title sets an inappropriate expectation that the book will be laugh out loud funny. It is quite humorous at times, but not Henry’s funniest or craziest story.
As whole, Funny Story could potentially be my new favorite Emily Henry novel. While I loved parts of Beach Read (particularly Agustus’ cult and dark research element), I found Funny Story to be far more cohesive and better executed. I’ve seen some reviewers comment that they found Funny Story’s romance and plot in general to be boring, slow, or criminally unfunny. While the last statement I can slightly get behind, I personally appreciate how slow-paced and deliberate Funny Story is. Perhaps it’s because I read a variety of genres and do not consider myself a pure romance reader, but I loved how many different themes Emily Henry is able to pack into this sub-400 page book. I would go as far to say that Daphne and Miles’ romance could be second to Daphne’s personal growth throughout the book; she unquestionably has the best journey and character development of all of Henry’s protagonists that I’ve read so far. And that’s what I liked to see in my kind of romance novels, dramedy or romance books that aspire to be more.
Iron Gold by Pierce Brown
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? No
4.5
I wrote in my review of Morning Star that Pierce Brown had a monumental task then to conclude the staggering uprising premise introduced in his original trilogy in a decisive and satisfying manner. Perhaps an even bigger challenge is to build on the original trilogy’s work and segue the series into its next arc; rebuilding and running a society after it was torn down. As such, Iron Gold had dual purposes to transition the series to a new direction as well as recapture the page-turning intensity that made the first three novels impossible to put down. I consider Iron Gold a resounding success at the former by somehow expanding the solar system society further and using many clever strategies to jumpstart new plot threads. When it comes to the latter however, I found Iron Gold to be competently solid but a bit touch and go with its pacing and reader interest.
I was initially hesitant when I started reading Iron Gold, expecting an extended lull and flood of information dumping to bridge the ten years that pass between Morning Star and Iron Gold. I also expected Darrow to experience a shift in priorities or mindset, similar to the beginning of Morning Star after he was captured by the Jackal. Both of these concerns were surprisingly proven wrong with Iron Gold immediately taking off from the get-go in several different directions.
Unlike the past three novels that are primarily told from Darrow’s perspective, Iron Gold splits its chapters amongst four different characters’ perspectives. While I was at first thrown off and confused due to the sheer number of characters, affiliations, and locals involved (a lot of information was a bit foggy since I didn’t brush up on past books after taking an extended break from the series), I soon realized why Pierce Brown likely chose to write the novel in this manner. Morning Star (and to a lesser extent, Golden Son)’s beginning noticeably lagged and had a tough recapping events that happened off-the pages, re-orienting the reader in the present, and providing context in an engrossing way. By spreading the narrative across four different characters of completely different backgrounds, locations, and political affiliations, Iron Gold can convey a huge amount of information and context from different angles, without drowning the reader in excessive monotonous detail. As each of the four stories progress and start to intertwine, you can start to piece together the situation, all the opposing parties involved and the growing turmoil hidden below the past ten years of liberation (or as some would say, tense peacetime). While Darrow’s initial chapters are focused on his family, as expected based on the concluding chapters of Morning Star, the other perspectives provide immediate action and energy to help propel the story forward until the Reaper dawns his armor and heads back to the battlefield.
Apart from Darrow’s perspective, Iron Gold introduces three separate perspectives told from three distinctively different characters. Cleverly, all three of these characters have direct ties to other notable characters from the past trilogy and each almost embody previous tones or plot arcs of the past novels. Lyria is a young Red from the Gamma mines (if you remember back in Red Rising, the Gamma were the prized mines of Mars who received preferential treatment compared to Darrow’s mines), liberated the underground world she knew only to be dumped into a poor and miserable refugee camp. Ephraim is a Gray freelance thief who was engaged to a certain slain Son of Ares member in Morning Star, and is ex-member of the Uprising working off seedy contracts on Luna. And finally, the third is Lysander Au Lune, the grandson of the past Sovereign Octavia Au Lune. Now a grown young man, he’s figuring out his place in society and his opinion of the new Republic, all under Cassius’ brotherly guardianship near the Outer Rim.
Lyria’s perspective feels like a callback to Darrow’s mining and carving years, followed by confusion and disgust for how the wealthy live compared to the poor. Her frustration, anger, and inevitable pain when she loses people dear to her closes mirrors Darrow’s experiences in Red Rising from an alternative scenario where he didn’t become a fighter or soldier. I found Ephraim’s self-preservation and “to hell with honor, slag the Senate” mentality to be incredibly refreshing and my personal favorite of the four due to how different his character’s personality and thoughts were (not to mention he’s the jaded, broken queer antihero character I didn’t know this series had been sorely lacking). His current career as a thief is a direct parallel to the infiltration and spy arcs in the first half of Morning Star, with bits of Golden Son’s cut-throat political warring on Luna. Lysander’s early chapters recapture the space epic feel of the back half of Golden Son and his stay in the outer rim echoes Darrow’s trials with Sefi and the Obsidians in Morning Star. One of Iron Gold’s strengths is that if you liked any of the past books in the series (which is to be assumed if you’re going to read book #4), there’s something to like somewhere here.
On top of the different stories, every one to two chapters Pierce Brown times the shift in perspectives perfectly; having a skill at cutting the scene right at the perfect cliffhanger repeatedly. It’s all the more impressive that the actual content of characters’ perspectives is solid and has very clever plot twists, as is the norm for his books. I feel like I keep saying the novel is clever, but it really is, and Iron Gold accomplishes so much in only 600 pages.
The drawback to this ensemble approach is that not all of the perspectives are equally exciting to read, and I found my interest jumping up and down based on each particular arc. While the cliffhanger cuts are great at keeping the reader hooked in theory, I often felt like the cuts were disrupting the flow of the story, preventing Iron Gold from reaching the relentless, frenetic highs that this series is known for. I found the book to be a gradual slow burn that objectively was great on paper, yet somehow felt just a hair underwhelming in practice while in the moment.
Due to the four perspectives split, despite learning a huge amount about information about Virginia/Mustang’s reformed Republic, not much time or action actually passes narrative-wise. 600 pages split more or less four ways comes out to only about 150 pages devoted to each perspective, and at the end of the book I had a nagging feeling that I didn’t get enough progression from each. For example from Darrow’s perspective, there’s political maneuvering done on Mars, followed by two major operations in a command and conquer style. But for the scope of the political unrest and coup, these two operations feel like they barely moved the story forward. Lysander’s perspective feels very similar where we barely scratched the surface of what’s going on in the outer rim. Lyria and Ephraim’s perspectives fair slightly better as they physically move a lot more, have their perspectives cross about half-way through, but it still felt like my time with them was too brief.
However, perhaps that feeling of wanting more is a sign that Iron Gold was successful at transitioning the series into its new sequel saga. It covered an incredible amount of ground and summarized the past 10 years without resort to info-dumping. It established multiple new plot threads and a collection of new major characters for Pierce Brown to work with. And with Lyria and Lysander being aged close to Darrow’s age in Red Rising and Pax/Electra aged similar to Lysander in Morning Star, we have a new generation to that could takeover as main protagonists should Pierce Brown decide to humble both Darrow and the reader’s expectations by offing him dramatically. I doubt he’d go down that route considering how involved and aware he is of his #Howlers fanbase, but the possibility is still a threatening option to up the ante (just look at how dramatic Sevro’s fake death was in Morning Star as an example). It’s all solid on paper, it’s just a bit unfortunate all the strengths of the book don’t quite carryover into the reading experience. Don’t get me wrong though, Iron Gold is an excellent, well-written book with the usual great plot that I still enjoyed. But like many other readers have reviewed, this one felt mixed due to its place and role in the series.
I was initially hesitant when I started reading Iron Gold, expecting an extended lull and flood of information dumping to bridge the ten years that pass between Morning Star and Iron Gold. I also expected Darrow to experience a shift in priorities or mindset, similar to the beginning of Morning Star after he was captured by the Jackal. Both of these concerns were surprisingly proven wrong with Iron Gold immediately taking off from the get-go in several different directions.
Unlike the past three novels that are primarily told from Darrow’s perspective, Iron Gold splits its chapters amongst four different characters’ perspectives. While I was at first thrown off and confused due to the sheer number of characters, affiliations, and locals involved (a lot of information was a bit foggy since I didn’t brush up on past books after taking an extended break from the series), I soon realized why Pierce Brown likely chose to write the novel in this manner. Morning Star (and to a lesser extent, Golden Son)’s beginning noticeably lagged and had a tough recapping events that happened off-the pages, re-orienting the reader in the present, and providing context in an engrossing way. By spreading the narrative across four different characters of completely different backgrounds, locations, and political affiliations, Iron Gold can convey a huge amount of information and context from different angles, without drowning the reader in excessive monotonous detail. As each of the four stories progress and start to intertwine, you can start to piece together the situation, all the opposing parties involved and the growing turmoil hidden below the past ten years of liberation (or as some would say, tense peacetime). While Darrow’s initial chapters are focused on his family, as expected based on the concluding chapters of Morning Star, the other perspectives provide immediate action and energy to help propel the story forward until the Reaper dawns his armor and heads back to the battlefield.
Apart from Darrow’s perspective, Iron Gold introduces three separate perspectives told from three distinctively different characters. Cleverly, all three of these characters have direct ties to other notable characters from the past trilogy and each almost embody previous tones or plot arcs of the past novels. Lyria is a young Red from the Gamma mines (if you remember back in Red Rising, the Gamma were the prized mines of Mars who received preferential treatment compared to Darrow’s mines), liberated the underground world she knew only to be dumped into a poor and miserable refugee camp. Ephraim is a Gray freelance thief who was engaged to a certain slain Son of Ares member in Morning Star, and is ex-member of the Uprising working off seedy contracts on Luna. And finally, the third is Lysander Au Lune, the grandson of the past Sovereign Octavia Au Lune. Now a grown young man, he’s figuring out his place in society and his opinion of the new Republic, all under Cassius’ brotherly guardianship near the Outer Rim.
Lyria’s perspective feels like a callback to Darrow’s mining and carving years, followed by confusion and disgust for how the wealthy live compared to the poor. Her frustration, anger, and inevitable pain when she loses people dear to her closes mirrors Darrow’s experiences in Red Rising from an alternative scenario where he didn’t become a fighter or soldier. I found Ephraim’s self-preservation and “to hell with honor, slag the Senate” mentality to be incredibly refreshing and my personal favorite of the four due to how different his character’s personality and thoughts were (not to mention he’s the jaded, broken queer antihero character I didn’t know this series had been sorely lacking). His current career as a thief is a direct parallel to the infiltration and spy arcs in the first half of Morning Star, with bits of Golden Son’s cut-throat political warring on Luna. Lysander’s early chapters recapture the space epic feel of the back half of Golden Son and his stay in the outer rim echoes Darrow’s trials with Sefi and the Obsidians in Morning Star. One of Iron Gold’s strengths is that if you liked any of the past books in the series (which is to be assumed if you’re going to read book #4), there’s something to like somewhere here.
On top of the different stories, every one to two chapters Pierce Brown times the shift in perspectives perfectly; having a skill at cutting the scene right at the perfect cliffhanger repeatedly. It’s all the more impressive that the actual content of characters’ perspectives is solid and has very clever plot twists, as is the norm for his books. I feel like I keep saying the novel is clever, but it really is, and Iron Gold accomplishes so much in only 600 pages.
The drawback to this ensemble approach is that not all of the perspectives are equally exciting to read, and I found my interest jumping up and down based on each particular arc. While the cliffhanger cuts are great at keeping the reader hooked in theory, I often felt like the cuts were disrupting the flow of the story, preventing Iron Gold from reaching the relentless, frenetic highs that this series is known for. I found the book to be a gradual slow burn that objectively was great on paper, yet somehow felt just a hair underwhelming in practice while in the moment.
Due to the four perspectives split, despite learning a huge amount about information about Virginia/Mustang’s reformed Republic, not much time or action actually passes narrative-wise. 600 pages split more or less four ways comes out to only about 150 pages devoted to each perspective, and at the end of the book I had a nagging feeling that I didn’t get enough progression from each. For example from Darrow’s perspective, there’s political maneuvering done on Mars, followed by two major operations in a command and conquer style. But for the scope of the political unrest and coup, these two operations feel like they barely moved the story forward. Lysander’s perspective feels very similar where we barely scratched the surface of what’s going on in the outer rim. Lyria and Ephraim’s perspectives fair slightly better as they physically move a lot more, have their perspectives cross about half-way through, but it still felt like my time with them was too brief.
However, perhaps that feeling of wanting more is a sign that Iron Gold was successful at transitioning the series into its new sequel saga. It covered an incredible amount of ground and summarized the past 10 years without resort to info-dumping. It established multiple new plot threads and a collection of new major characters for Pierce Brown to work with. And with Lyria and Lysander being aged close to Darrow’s age in Red Rising and Pax/Electra aged similar to Lysander in Morning Star, we have a new generation to that could takeover as main protagonists should Pierce Brown decide to humble both Darrow and the reader’s expectations by offing him dramatically. I doubt he’d go down that route considering how involved and aware he is of his #Howlers fanbase, but the possibility is still a threatening option to up the ante (just look at how dramatic Sevro’s fake death was in Morning Star as an example). It’s all solid on paper, it’s just a bit unfortunate all the strengths of the book don’t quite carryover into the reading experience. Don’t get me wrong though, Iron Gold is an excellent, well-written book with the usual great plot that I still enjoyed. But like many other readers have reviewed, this one felt mixed due to its place and role in the series.
Content Warnings
Minor: Suicidal thoughts, Violence, Xenophobia, Police brutality
The Ministry of Time by Kaliane Bradley
funny
informative
mysterious
reflective
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
5.0
The Ministry of Time is an ambitious, creative, and wonderful blend of different genres that could’ve easily ended up as a convoluted misfire if not for Kaliane Bradley’s thoughtful and carefully executed prowess with the various elements involved. Despite the obvious science fiction time-traveling elements, when you strip the story of its otherworldly themes, The Ministry of Time feels like a straight contemporary fiction drama novel that heavily explores the immigrant experience and assimilating into the Western English lifestyle. The five individuals pulled into the 21st century across time is a clear metaphor for the immigrant experience. TLDR, you do not have to be a fan of science fiction to enjoy this book. On a more basic level, The Ministry of Time was a homerun for me with a tone and sophistication I’ve been severely missing in most recent trending booktok novels (not that I would consider this one booktok's norm).
Right from its synopsis, the summary highlights its genre-bending elements well. The Ministry of Time is 100% part historical Fiction due to Commander Graham Gore being a real-life figure who was deemed lost as part of John Franklin’s Lost and tragic 1845 expedition to the arctic. Familiarity with the material is helpful (as is with following British pop culture references), but not required to enjoy the story. Between every chapter in the 21st century, a short chapter told from Graham Gore’s perspective is included which highlights the quiet dread and mortality of the expedition as they slowly realize there is no help coming to free their trapped ships in ice. The novel has clear science fiction and time-traveling themes (particularly in the back-half of the novel) with clearly established lore and temporal rules in place (though this shouldn’t be the sole factor if you’re considering reading this as its more a fictional drama vs scifi epic). I’m not sure if it’s a term commonly used in the literature field, but this is 100% a reverse-isekai story chock full of the fish out of water trope executed brilliantly in the first half of the novel. Yes, the story has romance (albeit a light romance) touched on in the 2nd half of the book, though it is decidedly not a traditional “romance” genre novel.
All these elements sound like they shouldn’t work together, and yet they do. Bradley seamlessly weaves slice of life moments living with Graham and their buddy banter with government-related research, spying, and a potential conspiracy theory looming just below the surface. The story just works so well and I have to purposely try and pull it apart to try and summarize its different elements. The banter and interactions between Graham and the FMC feel natural and grow as the novel progresses, inevitably also sparking some romantic interest along the way. The novel then abruptly pivots harder into the science fiction spy thriller section 3/4 through to address the book’s base premise. If I had to fault the novel anywhere, it would be the abrupt shift in tone and pacing at this section. Without giving away any spoilers, the time-travel concept is solid but feels a bit rushed with a bit of info dumping from the future. This section felt like it easily could have been double the length or its own sequel novel, though I appreciated the quiet and thoughtful epilogue chapter that follows it. That chapter even pokes fun at popular tropes of the genre, stating there’s no happily ever after or grand cinematic conclusion; life just goes on and you’re left to figure out what to do and fill your time with after a huge part of your life is taken away from you. I was impressed by Bradley’s choice to end the story on this reflective and quiet note rather than a contrived happy ending. Despite not having a happily every after ending, the novel’s underlying tone is still quite hopeful. Certain characters and historic elements are grounded despite being portrayed through a slightly romanticized lens. For example, Graham Gore portrays all of the chivalry one would expect based on romanticization of the Victorian era but conveniently has limited dated “quirks”. The novel walks a fine line between being realistic and well-researched, yet also comfortable and accessible to read.
On a surface level right from the get-go, I fell in love with this book and its style. Chock full of English mannerisms, slang, and pop culture references all delivered with a dry tongue-in-cheek humor, I found The Ministry of Time to be hilarious when it chose to be. The humor and comedic elements were incredibly tasteful and sophisticated that go beyond slapstick boisterous overreactions that feel like a common fallback strategy.
“You can send dioramas through the ether (TV), and you’ve used it to show people at their most wretched (EastEnders)… Any child or unmarried woman of virtue might engage the machine and be faced with lurid examples of criminal behavior (Midsomer Murders)… Or deformed monstrosities against the will of God- (Seasme Street)”.
Even mundane activities such as cooking dinner or going shopping are interesting to read and lot of that has to do with the strong character work in The Ministry of Time. Both Graham Gore and the FMC (who I can’t remember the name of at the moment since the book is written in a first-person perspective) have great chemistry and are instantly likable. Gore is obviously charming (other reviews exclaiming how down bad they were for this man who disappeared almost 200 yrs ago had me rolling, and I concur) but is well-rounded and flawed. His dialogue is incredibly clever in that it doesn’t go overboard on the Victorian mannerisms but is distinguished just enough to feel like he’s from another world. The other cast of expats (two from the 17th century and another from the early 20th century) provide a wide variety of personalities and better yet, mannerisms and culture beliefs that are believably based on their original eras. Views on courtship and marriage, women’s role in society/the workplace, racism, oppression of the queer community (or lack of back then, there are at least two characters that are clearly queer), first world mentality; these are all areas that are thoughtfully explored and varied. I absolutely hate books that have historical fiction elements that either ignore or poorly research the culture and mannerism of the eras they’re portraying; The Ministry of Time felt like a breath of fresh, quality air. That being said, it does help if you read this novel via an ebook edition or have a dictionary on-hand as there are some dated obscure phrases and word-choices used that added a bit of authenticity to the dialogue (nice to also to flex the mental English chops).
Beyond the characters, Bradley’s writing style is beautiful. I wouldn’t go so far as to say the writing style is flowery or particularly visual, but it screams quality and finesse. Phrases are thoughtfully constructed, and the style can best be described as being casually smart and reflective. When she’s not actively portraying characters from the Victorian era or 17th century, Bradley’s writing is varied both in phrasing and in word choice. There are complex words that I have not seen in contemporary novels in some time (many of them skewing, again, towards English phrasings) that I enjoyed. The FMC’s introspective thoughts and descriptions of what she experiences around her are also constantly changing, never falling into the horrible “I did this, I did that, then I saw this” writing hole.
The one element I don’t see quite as many reviews or even the synopsis highlighting is the theme of ethnic differences. The extended metaphor between time-traveling expats and their bridges tasked to assimilate them into society is an overt reference to many immigrants and their families attempting to assimilate or find themselves surrounded by a foreign country and people. The concept of government “bridges”, or effectively handlers tasked with observing and guiding these people pulled through time and space, is an intriguing concept particularly when it’s applied to real-world migrants. At first I was concerned that the novel would portray this bridge concept as a quick fix to many of the immigrant and racial discrimination issues prevalent today, however my worries were thankfully unjustified. Despite doing what she believes to be best, the FMC if revealed to have failed Graham at times or has even unintentionally pushed her own unrealized preconceptions of who he is and what would be best for him to keep him safe. Even the Ministry’s own handling of the system is shown to be heavily flawed (or worse, motivated for their own interests). If anything, the takeaway message is that any systematic approach to such a nuanced and personal area will never realistically work however well-researched and planned on paper it is.
The FMC’s ethnic background of being half English white and half Cambodian from her mother’s escape from Cambodia is also heavily discussed. However, it’s the manner in which Bradley discusses these topics to which I found the most refreshing and impressive. The Ministry of Time portrays different opinions or thoughts on minority suppression via different plot mechanics or characters. The FMC uses her externally ambiguous look to her benefit (just enough to look White but still distinctively different) but grapples with the uncertainty of where she belongs or who she is, consisting of two seemingly dueling cultures. She also carries a great deal of baggage and conscientiousness knowing the pain her mother experienced while she herself lives a rather comfortable and privileged life. Her coworker and fellow bridge Simellia who has African roots (and clearly does not pass as white) takes the route more commonly seen with the younger generations calling out how she’s one of the few government workers who are of color, is working against the system and pushes her outlook of society’s future forward (in general much of her perspectives seem to capture and emulate the passionate and politically-outspoken younger millennial/gen z idealism). Meanwhile FMC’s sister is journalist/researcher(?) who publishes papers meant to bring the Cambodian immigrant experience, plight, and oppression to the forefront of society much to the uncomfortableness of her sister who feels her family is getting dragged into the spotlight unflatteringly. The Ministry of Time never makes an overt statement supporting or discouraging any of these different views, but instead ponders about each and inspires the reader to consider how someone of a different perspective may experiences the same world.
I feel obligated to mention the elephant in the room which is the accusation that BBC is blatantly plagiarizing a Spanish drama of the same name with its announced adaptation of this novel. The related news and gut-reaction backlash resulted in this book being reviewed bombed before it was even released (this book should at least be a 4.0-4.25 or higher on goodreads or elsewhere), not to mention some outlandish claims against Bradley being a seemingly unpublished scapegoat to blame. Despite having the same name, the two stories have very little in common apart from both having some sort of regulatory/government agency involved in the time-travel continuum (a plot device and theme that is very commonly utilized). Bradley’s The Ministry of Time is almost entirely a character-driven narrative that mostly focuses on the expats who were pulled into the 21st century (similar to immigration) and has very little to do with a time-space continuum or future. There’s a bit of this used at the very end of the novel, however that is to be expected based on the premise of a time-traveling door/device. I frankly think that Netflix’s The Umbrella Academy or NBC's Timeless treads heavier into the Spanish drama’s territory than this novel does. Apart from that one similarity, the accusations feel entirely unjustified if you actually take the time to read this novel first. I for one am eagerly looking forward to this adaptation, there are so many qualities that make this story a prime choice for a miniseries.
Needless to say, I loved the Ministry of Time. The creative concept, plotting, fusion of different genres, and the exceptional quality of the writing made the pages fly by for me. I knew going into it that the genre and plot would be something I would like but I did not expect the thoughtful discussion around different ethnic cultures to be so prevalent, and more importantly, seamlessly integrated. I often find that when other novels attempt this discussion, it comes off as overly negative, angry, condescending, or worse, off-putting if the reader does not share the same views or cultural background. The Ministry of Time facilitates the topic effortlessly and its transitions between genres makes the entire reading experience very comfy and easy to pick-up. I realize that this novel had a lot of elements that specifically catered to my taste, but there’s a lot to like and it’s an easy recommendation even for readers who do not like the science fiction genre (Graham Gore is probably charming enough to carry the book even if you don’t like the plot, just google his portrait). This story is all about the journey one goes on and the plot is extra bonus points to an already great reading experience.
Right from its synopsis, the summary highlights its genre-bending elements well. The Ministry of Time is 100% part historical Fiction due to Commander Graham Gore being a real-life figure who was deemed lost as part of John Franklin’s Lost and tragic 1845 expedition to the arctic. Familiarity with the material is helpful (as is with following British pop culture references), but not required to enjoy the story. Between every chapter in the 21st century, a short chapter told from Graham Gore’s perspective is included which highlights the quiet dread and mortality of the expedition as they slowly realize there is no help coming to free their trapped ships in ice. The novel has clear science fiction and time-traveling themes (particularly in the back-half of the novel) with clearly established lore and temporal rules in place (though this shouldn’t be the sole factor if you’re considering reading this as its more a fictional drama vs scifi epic). I’m not sure if it’s a term commonly used in the literature field, but this is 100% a reverse-isekai story chock full of the fish out of water trope executed brilliantly in the first half of the novel. Yes, the story has romance (albeit a light romance) touched on in the 2nd half of the book, though it is decidedly not a traditional “romance” genre novel.
All these elements sound like they shouldn’t work together, and yet they do. Bradley seamlessly weaves slice of life moments living with Graham and their buddy banter with government-related research, spying, and a potential conspiracy theory looming just below the surface. The story just works so well and I have to purposely try and pull it apart to try and summarize its different elements. The banter and interactions between Graham and the FMC feel natural and grow as the novel progresses, inevitably also sparking some romantic interest along the way. The novel then abruptly pivots harder into the science fiction spy thriller section 3/4 through to address the book’s base premise. If I had to fault the novel anywhere, it would be the abrupt shift in tone and pacing at this section. Without giving away any spoilers, the time-travel concept is solid but feels a bit rushed with a bit of info dumping from the future. This section felt like it easily could have been double the length or its own sequel novel, though I appreciated the quiet and thoughtful epilogue chapter that follows it. That chapter even pokes fun at popular tropes of the genre, stating there’s no happily ever after or grand cinematic conclusion; life just goes on and you’re left to figure out what to do and fill your time with after a huge part of your life is taken away from you. I was impressed by Bradley’s choice to end the story on this reflective and quiet note rather than a contrived happy ending. Despite not having a happily every after ending, the novel’s underlying tone is still quite hopeful. Certain characters and historic elements are grounded despite being portrayed through a slightly romanticized lens. For example, Graham Gore portrays all of the chivalry one would expect based on romanticization of the Victorian era but conveniently has limited dated “quirks”. The novel walks a fine line between being realistic and well-researched, yet also comfortable and accessible to read.
On a surface level right from the get-go, I fell in love with this book and its style. Chock full of English mannerisms, slang, and pop culture references all delivered with a dry tongue-in-cheek humor, I found The Ministry of Time to be hilarious when it chose to be. The humor and comedic elements were incredibly tasteful and sophisticated that go beyond slapstick boisterous overreactions that feel like a common fallback strategy.
“You can send dioramas through the ether (TV), and you’ve used it to show people at their most wretched (EastEnders)… Any child or unmarried woman of virtue might engage the machine and be faced with lurid examples of criminal behavior (Midsomer Murders)… Or deformed monstrosities against the will of God- (Seasme Street)”.
Even mundane activities such as cooking dinner or going shopping are interesting to read and lot of that has to do with the strong character work in The Ministry of Time. Both Graham Gore and the FMC (who I can’t remember the name of at the moment since the book is written in a first-person perspective) have great chemistry and are instantly likable. Gore is obviously charming (other reviews exclaiming how down bad they were for this man who disappeared almost 200 yrs ago had me rolling, and I concur) but is well-rounded and flawed. His dialogue is incredibly clever in that it doesn’t go overboard on the Victorian mannerisms but is distinguished just enough to feel like he’s from another world. The other cast of expats (two from the 17th century and another from the early 20th century) provide a wide variety of personalities and better yet, mannerisms and culture beliefs that are believably based on their original eras. Views on courtship and marriage, women’s role in society/the workplace, racism, oppression of the queer community (or lack of back then, there are at least two characters that are clearly queer), first world mentality; these are all areas that are thoughtfully explored and varied. I absolutely hate books that have historical fiction elements that either ignore or poorly research the culture and mannerism of the eras they’re portraying; The Ministry of Time felt like a breath of fresh, quality air. That being said, it does help if you read this novel via an ebook edition or have a dictionary on-hand as there are some dated obscure phrases and word-choices used that added a bit of authenticity to the dialogue (nice to also to flex the mental English chops).
Beyond the characters, Bradley’s writing style is beautiful. I wouldn’t go so far as to say the writing style is flowery or particularly visual, but it screams quality and finesse. Phrases are thoughtfully constructed, and the style can best be described as being casually smart and reflective. When she’s not actively portraying characters from the Victorian era or 17th century, Bradley’s writing is varied both in phrasing and in word choice. There are complex words that I have not seen in contemporary novels in some time (many of them skewing, again, towards English phrasings) that I enjoyed. The FMC’s introspective thoughts and descriptions of what she experiences around her are also constantly changing, never falling into the horrible “I did this, I did that, then I saw this” writing hole.
The one element I don’t see quite as many reviews or even the synopsis highlighting is the theme of ethnic differences. The extended metaphor between time-traveling expats and their bridges tasked to assimilate them into society is an overt reference to many immigrants and their families attempting to assimilate or find themselves surrounded by a foreign country and people. The concept of government “bridges”, or effectively handlers tasked with observing and guiding these people pulled through time and space, is an intriguing concept particularly when it’s applied to real-world migrants. At first I was concerned that the novel would portray this bridge concept as a quick fix to many of the immigrant and racial discrimination issues prevalent today, however my worries were thankfully unjustified. Despite doing what she believes to be best, the FMC if revealed to have failed Graham at times or has even unintentionally pushed her own unrealized preconceptions of who he is and what would be best for him to keep him safe. Even the Ministry’s own handling of the system is shown to be heavily flawed (or worse, motivated for their own interests). If anything, the takeaway message is that any systematic approach to such a nuanced and personal area will never realistically work however well-researched and planned on paper it is.
The FMC’s ethnic background of being half English white and half Cambodian from her mother’s escape from Cambodia is also heavily discussed. However, it’s the manner in which Bradley discusses these topics to which I found the most refreshing and impressive. The Ministry of Time portrays different opinions or thoughts on minority suppression via different plot mechanics or characters. The FMC uses her externally ambiguous look to her benefit (just enough to look White but still distinctively different) but grapples with the uncertainty of where she belongs or who she is, consisting of two seemingly dueling cultures. She also carries a great deal of baggage and conscientiousness knowing the pain her mother experienced while she herself lives a rather comfortable and privileged life. Her coworker and fellow bridge Simellia who has African roots (and clearly does not pass as white) takes the route more commonly seen with the younger generations calling out how she’s one of the few government workers who are of color, is working against the system and pushes her outlook of society’s future forward (in general much of her perspectives seem to capture and emulate the passionate and politically-outspoken younger millennial/gen z idealism). Meanwhile FMC’s sister is journalist/researcher(?) who publishes papers meant to bring the Cambodian immigrant experience, plight, and oppression to the forefront of society much to the uncomfortableness of her sister who feels her family is getting dragged into the spotlight unflatteringly. The Ministry of Time never makes an overt statement supporting or discouraging any of these different views, but instead ponders about each and inspires the reader to consider how someone of a different perspective may experiences the same world.
I feel obligated to mention the elephant in the room which is the accusation that BBC is blatantly plagiarizing a Spanish drama of the same name with its announced adaptation of this novel. The related news and gut-reaction backlash resulted in this book being reviewed bombed before it was even released (this book should at least be a 4.0-4.25 or higher on goodreads or elsewhere), not to mention some outlandish claims against Bradley being a seemingly unpublished scapegoat to blame. Despite having the same name, the two stories have very little in common apart from both having some sort of regulatory/government agency involved in the time-travel continuum (a plot device and theme that is very commonly utilized). Bradley’s The Ministry of Time is almost entirely a character-driven narrative that mostly focuses on the expats who were pulled into the 21st century (similar to immigration) and has very little to do with a time-space continuum or future. There’s a bit of this used at the very end of the novel, however that is to be expected based on the premise of a time-traveling door/device. I frankly think that Netflix’s The Umbrella Academy or NBC's Timeless treads heavier into the Spanish drama’s territory than this novel does. Apart from that one similarity, the accusations feel entirely unjustified if you actually take the time to read this novel first. I for one am eagerly looking forward to this adaptation, there are so many qualities that make this story a prime choice for a miniseries.
Needless to say, I loved the Ministry of Time. The creative concept, plotting, fusion of different genres, and the exceptional quality of the writing made the pages fly by for me. I knew going into it that the genre and plot would be something I would like but I did not expect the thoughtful discussion around different ethnic cultures to be so prevalent, and more importantly, seamlessly integrated. I often find that when other novels attempt this discussion, it comes off as overly negative, angry, condescending, or worse, off-putting if the reader does not share the same views or cultural background. The Ministry of Time facilitates the topic effortlessly and its transitions between genres makes the entire reading experience very comfy and easy to pick-up. I realize that this novel had a lot of elements that specifically catered to my taste, but there’s a lot to like and it’s an easy recommendation even for readers who do not like the science fiction genre (Graham Gore is probably charming enough to carry the book even if you don’t like the plot, just google his portrait). This story is all about the journey one goes on and the plot is extra bonus points to an already great reading experience.
Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir
adventurous
lighthearted
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? It's complicated
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
1.5
Reading and now reviewing Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir felt like one of the greatest tests of my patience as a reader and my ability to separate the book's objective and subjective strengths/weaknesses. The writing style and presentation resulted in one of my least favorite reading experiences of the last year and would rightfully deserve a 1-star rating if not for the book's concept and attention to probable scientific theories. I've since learned a lot of my distaste for Project Hail Mary is mostly due to Andy Weir's signature (or potentially infamous) writing style, with only the following character-related items being Project Hail Mary-specific points. However, after taking some time to review the material after finishing the book, I can appreciate some of its strong technical qualities that no doubt contributed to its popularity and nomination for a 2022 Hugo Award.
I was not previously familiar with Andy Weir's past novels and had only seen short clips of the theatrical adaptation of The Martian, however what was immediately obvious is Weir's strength for writing geeky science reactions and creative sci-fi concepts. The premise's catastrophic phenomenon and its implications for life on Earth is not only creative, but also fascinating in theory. The concept of solar-dimming in and of itself is nothing new (I recently read the opposite scenario a few weeks ago in Robert Charles Wilson's Spin, but the cause and potential solution is unique and out there. I often have personal gripes with novels advertised as speculative science fiction that end up utilizing technology or methodology that's entirely unrealistic. Project Hail Mary on the other hand feels extensively researched with a constant overload of scientific principles applied at every turn aboard the Hail Mary (that is until Rocky's introduction that throws most of the realism out the window). The idea of using centrifugal force applied to a traditional shaped spacecraft that can be disassembled and spun with low-grade rocket fuel (as opposed to real proposed wheel-shaped station designs) I thought was incredibly clever as well as the constant experiments Dr. Grace performs at Tau Ceti. Various aspects related to 40 Eridani with an alternative ecosystem for life based around ammonia and heavy metals were also well-thought out. In general, the technical aspects of Project Hail Mary are objectively excellent and solid.
Where everything went wrong for me personally is with the actual reading experience and execution of the story itself. While the premise is solid, I was simultaneously apathetic and irritated by the story and tone. Despite having a more serious premise, Project Hail Mary is similar to The Martian in that it feels like there's no plot. The story primarily takes place aboard the Hail Mary and utilizes the amnesia trope where Dr. Grace slowly regains his memories, recounting the events leading up to Hail Mary's launch. However, the entire book can be surmised as being entirely reactive. Something happens, Grace freaks out, hypothesizes a solution, then fixes it. Rinse and repeat this process over and over and you essentially have the story of Project Hail Mary. At first this technique felt interesting and raised the stakes in Grace's life or death isolated situation. However, this repetition quickly grew tiring to read, which was further exacerbated by the character voice and tone used.
That leads directly into my 2nd note of criticism which is the writing style itself. Andy Weir's writing style is simplistic and surface-level at best, juvenile and stilted at worst. It vaguely feels on brand with the trend of contemporary novels written as if someone were speaking or thinking aloud, full of um's, whaaat's, ohhh's, ...'s mid-sentence, and countless unnecessary exclamation points. This is combined with an issue often seen in poorly phrased first-person present tense books that are full of "I do this. I do that. Then I do this. I do that." The general style felt overly casual and hyped, and without any variation or dynamics over the course of almost 500 pages, it quickly tired me out and couldn't win me back. Worse is the fact that so much of its content felt unnecessary and lacking of substance. Nearly every page is full of Grace's sensory observations and reactions to things around him, but they're devoid of any sort of introspection or internalized thoughts, resulting in a scattered and disconnected journey. It's all loud external thoughts (which is quite ironic when you realize that Grace is alone aboard the Hail Mary for over half the book) featuring the dialogue of a teenager mixed with technical science jargon. I never knew the idiom "think out loud" to be so literal.
Speaking of the science, I've read quite a few reviews that either love the science or hate it for being confusing or contributing little to the story. I have a BS in Env. Science and as such, took collegiate level physics, geology, calculus and organic chemistry classes which were useful for digesting the various science principles highlighted constantly. To give Weir some credit, they are introduced in a way that's largely accessible, and he gives decent enough explanations on how they work with their implications to the situation at hand. However, I still lean slightly towards the latter opinion of feeling like they were excessive. Despite being able to understand nearly all the science topics utilized, I still felt like less would've been more, and more emphasis on Grace and Rocky's characters would've benefited the story (their buddy banter was one of the few highlights in the latter half of the book for me).
As for the characters, there's nothing much to note apart from Grace and Rocky. Every single character introduced in Grace's flashback memories felt like they had paper thin characterizations that largely relied on cultural/national stereotypes. A project involving multiple countries and agencies is obviously going to have a lot of individuals involved, however the reader is given so little time and details for each that they just become random names on paper. Characters may have a particularly unique quality (for example someone is frank about wanting sex, another likes to drink, one is cocky, one cares about the environment), however their dialogue and actions entirely blur together. A particular unforeseen event that occurs leading up to the Hail Mary launch has detrimental consequences that affect Grace and the team, however I couldn't have cared less about any of the characters involved. Across the board most characters’ dialogue felt awkward and unnatural (apart from Rocky’s which is purposely unnatural). This book doesn’t have a lot of "plot" to begin with, however these flashbacks easily felt like the weakest moments in the book across the board and were the most bland chapters to read.
An interesting theme involving Grace's history of avoidance or fear of failure is touched upon near the story's climax, but there's not enough of a setup to make this feel impactful. I feel like there were ample opportunities during the project's research and development phase to explore Grace's psyche or factors that led to his decision to walk away from his research background. Instead, the novel wastes countless pages entirely focused on reactive outbursts or his constant "this is crazy, what in the world!" which again, wears thin fast. Perhaps the climax of the story had the greatest potential for a strong character moment when Grace is faced with a monumental decision, yet the novel tosses the situation away nonchalantly. Worse, it happens in-between chapters off the page with almost no explanation to how Grace reached his choice in the life-or-death moment.
As the story progressed, notable plot holes started to grow and the story felt increasingly less grounded. Rocky becomes the greatest engineer to ever exist and the novel leaves just how they make things left to the imagination (aka Grace does not understand what he sees Rocky doing, therefore neither does the reader). The super computer system that seemingly feels like an AI system (despite being explicitly stated to not be AI by its developer) somehow has entirely fantastical skills that can emulate a nurse caring for a coma patient for years on end. The system that Grace develops to converse with Rocky initially feels realistic, systematic, and ingenious in concept. However a very brief time skip later, you're made to believe his system is suddenly good enough to produce a near word for word translation in real-time. Finally, the last chapter's resolution felt like one of the most outlandish direction the story could've taken with the novel explicitly explaining earlier why it can't be done as so. Yet the solutions to these problems are again conveniently "invented" off the page between chapters because Rocky can make anything based on the entirety of everything possibly known to mankind that is somehow stored on a single laptop hard drive.
I know a lot of people love this book and Andy Weir's nerdgasm geek reactions, and if it works for you, that's awesome. I'd recommend giving it no more than 30 pages as a test run (don't make the same mistake I did thinking that the tone or dialogue will improve once Grace's amnesia hysteria passes, it doesn’t). Needless to say, I was unimpressed and decidedly dislike reading Project Hail Mary from beginning to end. I found the character work to be mediocre (and the plot not strong enough to compensate for it) and I honestly cannot remember the last time I actively disliked an author's base writing style to such a degree (not including translated works which can be heavily colored by the translator/adaptor). However, the technical elements of the book are quite strong and if I'm rating this book as a whole package instead of my only personal experience with it, I can't go lower than a 2-star rating despite how much I was looking forward to book ending while I was reading it.
I was not previously familiar with Andy Weir's past novels and had only seen short clips of the theatrical adaptation of The Martian, however what was immediately obvious is Weir's strength for writing geeky science reactions and creative sci-fi concepts. The premise's catastrophic phenomenon and its implications for life on Earth is not only creative, but also fascinating in theory. The concept of solar-dimming in and of itself is nothing new (I recently read the opposite scenario a few weeks ago in Robert Charles Wilson's Spin, but the cause and potential solution is unique and out there. I often have personal gripes with novels advertised as speculative science fiction that end up utilizing technology or methodology that's entirely unrealistic. Project Hail Mary on the other hand feels extensively researched with a constant overload of scientific principles applied at every turn aboard the Hail Mary (that is until Rocky's introduction that throws most of the realism out the window). The idea of using centrifugal force applied to a traditional shaped spacecraft that can be disassembled and spun with low-grade rocket fuel (as opposed to real proposed wheel-shaped station designs) I thought was incredibly clever as well as the constant experiments Dr. Grace performs at Tau Ceti. Various aspects related to 40 Eridani with an alternative ecosystem for life based around ammonia and heavy metals were also well-thought out. In general, the technical aspects of Project Hail Mary are objectively excellent and solid.
Where everything went wrong for me personally is with the actual reading experience and execution of the story itself. While the premise is solid, I was simultaneously apathetic and irritated by the story and tone. Despite having a more serious premise, Project Hail Mary is similar to The Martian in that it feels like there's no plot. The story primarily takes place aboard the Hail Mary and utilizes the amnesia trope where Dr. Grace slowly regains his memories, recounting the events leading up to Hail Mary's launch. However, the entire book can be surmised as being entirely reactive. Something happens, Grace freaks out, hypothesizes a solution, then fixes it. Rinse and repeat this process over and over and you essentially have the story of Project Hail Mary. At first this technique felt interesting and raised the stakes in Grace's life or death isolated situation. However, this repetition quickly grew tiring to read, which was further exacerbated by the character voice and tone used.
That leads directly into my 2nd note of criticism which is the writing style itself. Andy Weir's writing style is simplistic and surface-level at best, juvenile and stilted at worst. It vaguely feels on brand with the trend of contemporary novels written as if someone were speaking or thinking aloud, full of um's, whaaat's, ohhh's, ...'s mid-sentence, and countless unnecessary exclamation points. This is combined with an issue often seen in poorly phrased first-person present tense books that are full of "I do this. I do that. Then I do this. I do that." The general style felt overly casual and hyped, and without any variation or dynamics over the course of almost 500 pages, it quickly tired me out and couldn't win me back. Worse is the fact that so much of its content felt unnecessary and lacking of substance. Nearly every page is full of Grace's sensory observations and reactions to things around him, but they're devoid of any sort of introspection or internalized thoughts, resulting in a scattered and disconnected journey. It's all loud external thoughts (which is quite ironic when you realize that Grace is alone aboard the Hail Mary for over half the book) featuring the dialogue of a teenager mixed with technical science jargon. I never knew the idiom "think out loud" to be so literal.
Speaking of the science, I've read quite a few reviews that either love the science or hate it for being confusing or contributing little to the story. I have a BS in Env. Science and as such, took collegiate level physics, geology, calculus and organic chemistry classes which were useful for digesting the various science principles highlighted constantly. To give Weir some credit, they are introduced in a way that's largely accessible, and he gives decent enough explanations on how they work with their implications to the situation at hand. However, I still lean slightly towards the latter opinion of feeling like they were excessive. Despite being able to understand nearly all the science topics utilized, I still felt like less would've been more, and more emphasis on Grace and Rocky's characters would've benefited the story (their buddy banter was one of the few highlights in the latter half of the book for me).
As for the characters, there's nothing much to note apart from Grace and Rocky. Every single character introduced in Grace's flashback memories felt like they had paper thin characterizations that largely relied on cultural/national stereotypes. A project involving multiple countries and agencies is obviously going to have a lot of individuals involved, however the reader is given so little time and details for each that they just become random names on paper. Characters may have a particularly unique quality (for example someone is frank about wanting sex, another likes to drink, one is cocky, one cares about the environment), however their dialogue and actions entirely blur together. A particular unforeseen event that occurs leading up to the Hail Mary launch has detrimental consequences that affect Grace and the team, however I couldn't have cared less about any of the characters involved. Across the board most characters’ dialogue felt awkward and unnatural (apart from Rocky’s which is purposely unnatural). This book doesn’t have a lot of "plot" to begin with, however these flashbacks easily felt like the weakest moments in the book across the board and were the most bland chapters to read.
An interesting theme involving Grace's history of avoidance or fear of failure is touched upon near the story's climax, but there's not enough of a setup to make this feel impactful. I feel like there were ample opportunities during the project's research and development phase to explore Grace's psyche or factors that led to his decision to walk away from his research background. Instead, the novel wastes countless pages entirely focused on reactive outbursts or his constant "this is crazy, what in the world!" which again, wears thin fast. Perhaps the climax of the story had the greatest potential for a strong character moment when Grace is faced with a monumental decision, yet the novel tosses the situation away nonchalantly. Worse, it happens in-between chapters off the page with almost no explanation to how Grace reached his choice in the life-or-death moment.
As the story progressed, notable plot holes started to grow and the story felt increasingly less grounded. Rocky becomes the greatest engineer to ever exist and the novel leaves just how they make things left to the imagination (aka Grace does not understand what he sees Rocky doing, therefore neither does the reader). The super computer system that seemingly feels like an AI system (despite being explicitly stated to not be AI by its developer) somehow has entirely fantastical skills that can emulate a nurse caring for a coma patient for years on end. The system that Grace develops to converse with Rocky initially feels realistic, systematic, and ingenious in concept. However a very brief time skip later, you're made to believe his system is suddenly good enough to produce a near word for word translation in real-time. Finally, the last chapter's resolution felt like one of the most outlandish direction the story could've taken with the novel explicitly explaining earlier why it can't be done as so. Yet the solutions to these problems are again conveniently "invented" off the page between chapters because Rocky can make anything based on the entirety of everything possibly known to mankind that is somehow stored on a single laptop hard drive.
I know a lot of people love this book and Andy Weir's nerdgasm geek reactions, and if it works for you, that's awesome. I'd recommend giving it no more than 30 pages as a test run (don't make the same mistake I did thinking that the tone or dialogue will improve once Grace's amnesia hysteria passes, it doesn’t). Needless to say, I was unimpressed and decidedly dislike reading Project Hail Mary from beginning to end. I found the character work to be mediocre (and the plot not strong enough to compensate for it) and I honestly cannot remember the last time I actively disliked an author's base writing style to such a degree (not including translated works which can be heavily colored by the translator/adaptor). However, the technical elements of the book are quite strong and if I'm rating this book as a whole package instead of my only personal experience with it, I can't go lower than a 2-star rating despite how much I was looking forward to book ending while I was reading it.
Whispers Under Ground by Ben Aaronovitch
adventurous
mysterious
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
3.0
Reading Ben Aaronovitch’s Rivers of London series is usually a good, but often mildly frustrating time for me as they’re decently fun reads that are so close to being excellent. Book number three, Whispers Under Ground, is unquestionably the most tonally consistent and focused story so far that improves upon all my biggest criticisms of the previous installments. While Midnight Riot/Rivers of London (I’ll be referring to book 1 as Midnight Riot for consistency) and Moon Over Soho suffered from overly loose, meandering plots that attempted to weave together two separate cases, Whispers Under Ground smartly focuses on just one case and allows its dry, tongue-in-cheek British style to be front and center. Despite the improvements across the board, unfortunately I found the core mystery investigation to suffer from inconsistent pacing yet again and the culprit/reveal to be rather random which holds this back from a higher rating.
Each novel in the series so far has had an underlying theme that’s tied to the magical crime case and some type of fantasy element/being; Midnight Riot was themed to the theatre while Moon Over Soho was heavily Jazz-focused. Whispers Under London’s thematic flair is the visual fine arts (though one could also make a case that the theme could also be the London railway system), specifically pottery, though the art angle is less prominent than the previous two themes utilized. Despite being arguably slower-paced and more lowkey that the previous two novels (this one has the least action and magic thus far), I personally loved Whispers Under Ground’s conception and progression. I’ve critiqued previously stories for suffering from too large of an ensemble cast or unnecessary plot threads that seem to rely on Peter Grant’s humorous narration to keep things going off the rails. Here, nearly the entire narrative is focused on Peter and (surprisingly) Lesley May who has unofficially transferred to the Folly following the plot twist at the end of Moon Over Soho. Book three finally feels like Aaronovitch nailed the buddy cop banter that felt off (and uncomfortably mildly sexist) in Midnight Riot and their verbal sparring was a highlight for me. While I didn’t notice it at first, the story felt a lot better here with Lesley back in action compared to when she was sidelined in Moon Over Soho (I did not care for Peter’s chemistry and investigations with Simone Filtzwilliam, I don't know how some anti-fans thinks Lesley was worse). It’s hard to describe but Peter and Lesley feel like actual Police Constables here and the inter-agency investigation with the Murder Investigation Team, British Transport Police, and the FBI feels more cohesive and polished than previous books.
As required for a new case and storyline, new characters are inevitably added but their additions feel more purposeful and restrained, keeping the cast at a size that’s comfortable to follow. British Transport Police Jaget Kumar and American FBI officer Kimberly Reynolds each are given considerable amounts of pages and chapters to contribute to the story and to leave a memorable impression compared to past side characters. Refreshingly, Peter Grant also does not thirst over any new random female characters for a change which had previously felt jarring and juvenile in Moon Over Soho. Aaronvitch’s character writing feels like it gets better with each outing and Whispers Under Ground is by far the strongest.
As typical with previous novels, the tone and humor are a highlight. I will never get tired of Peter Grant’s dry, smart and hilarious commentary (which admittedly took me some time to warm up to in Midnight Riot). The character voice manages to make even mundane activities like target practice or random drives across town to be a fun and enjoyable time. As per the norm, Whispers Under Ground continues to series incredible on-the-ground details of the great London area and historical details that despite not being required for the story, greatly enhance the material. I have yet to read another series that commits and delivers so hard on the “urban” aspect of the urban fantasy genre and it makes you feel like you’re living and breathing London. As usual, the heavy slang is an absolute treat.
The only aspect that I wasn’t quite sold on was the resolution to the magical crime case and the direction in the last one third of the book. The first two thirds of the story focus on Peter and Lesley’s investigation into murder victim and American art student James Gallagher and his connection to locals in the area. The investigation portion uncovers corporate connections, smuggled goods, railway secrets that all feel quite grounded. Then in the last third, the novel pivots suddenly by introducing a new form of being/group that feel like they come out of left field. Additionally, the arrest and confession of the culprit comes right on the heel of this reveal which is similarly tied to this new group. The killer’s motive, movements and the new group technically make sense on paper, but to me it all felt a bit random. Unless I missed crucial details during the initial read, it felt like more hints at these plot threads were needed for a proper setup and more intentional conclusion. Despite finding it's resolution and culprit underwhelming, Moon Over Soho did a much better job with leaving breadcrumbs that hinted at the magical elements throughout the case. Whispers Under Ground ironically only has whispers and faint hints of magic suggested via vestigia flashes of pottery and kiln work which indicate this group's purpose, but does not hint at any of their fantasy background. The culprit’s motive also felt a bit weak and a letdown compared to Midnight Riot, but at least the conclusion felt more satisfying then Moon Over Soho’s convoluted trainwreck on morality.
On a side note, a major point in my review on Moon Over Soho was the episodic, interim nature of its conclusion that felt like it was setting up the series for a larger, overarching plot. Whispers Under Ground has trace mentions of it and a minor side story where Peter and Leslie interview an individual connected to the Faceless Man, however this book’s plot and case are largely self-contained. As far as the trajectory of the series is concerned, Whispers Under Ground feels like its primary purpose is to get Lesley back up to speed as there’s little time directly devoted to the Faceless Man, the Folly, Molly, or Nightingale’s backstory (or even Nightingale in general).
For most of the read I was convinced that Whisper Under Ground would be the “ah-hah” novel that finally nails the huge potential of this series’ premise with how solid the tone and character work felt but alas, the plot didn’t quite stick the landing for me. However, despite having a similar rating as previous novels in the series, Whispers Under Ground is without question my favorite book so far and at the very worst, Rivers of London is always a fun (albeit sometimes a messy) time.
Each novel in the series so far has had an underlying theme that’s tied to the magical crime case and some type of fantasy element/being; Midnight Riot was themed to the theatre while Moon Over Soho was heavily Jazz-focused. Whispers Under London’s thematic flair is the visual fine arts (though one could also make a case that the theme could also be the London railway system), specifically pottery, though the art angle is less prominent than the previous two themes utilized. Despite being arguably slower-paced and more lowkey that the previous two novels (this one has the least action and magic thus far), I personally loved Whispers Under Ground’s conception and progression. I’ve critiqued previously stories for suffering from too large of an ensemble cast or unnecessary plot threads that seem to rely on Peter Grant’s humorous narration to keep things going off the rails. Here, nearly the entire narrative is focused on Peter and (surprisingly) Lesley May who has unofficially transferred to the Folly following the plot twist at the end of Moon Over Soho. Book three finally feels like Aaronovitch nailed the buddy cop banter that felt off (and uncomfortably mildly sexist) in Midnight Riot and their verbal sparring was a highlight for me. While I didn’t notice it at first, the story felt a lot better here with Lesley back in action compared to when she was sidelined in Moon Over Soho (I did not care for Peter’s chemistry and investigations with Simone Filtzwilliam, I don't know how some anti-fans thinks Lesley was worse). It’s hard to describe but Peter and Lesley feel like actual Police Constables here and the inter-agency investigation with the Murder Investigation Team, British Transport Police, and the FBI feels more cohesive and polished than previous books.
As required for a new case and storyline, new characters are inevitably added but their additions feel more purposeful and restrained, keeping the cast at a size that’s comfortable to follow. British Transport Police Jaget Kumar and American FBI officer Kimberly Reynolds each are given considerable amounts of pages and chapters to contribute to the story and to leave a memorable impression compared to past side characters. Refreshingly, Peter Grant also does not thirst over any new random female characters for a change which had previously felt jarring and juvenile in Moon Over Soho. Aaronvitch’s character writing feels like it gets better with each outing and Whispers Under Ground is by far the strongest.
As typical with previous novels, the tone and humor are a highlight. I will never get tired of Peter Grant’s dry, smart and hilarious commentary (which admittedly took me some time to warm up to in Midnight Riot). The character voice manages to make even mundane activities like target practice or random drives across town to be a fun and enjoyable time. As per the norm, Whispers Under Ground continues to series incredible on-the-ground details of the great London area and historical details that despite not being required for the story, greatly enhance the material. I have yet to read another series that commits and delivers so hard on the “urban” aspect of the urban fantasy genre and it makes you feel like you’re living and breathing London. As usual, the heavy slang is an absolute treat.
The only aspect that I wasn’t quite sold on was the resolution to the magical crime case and the direction in the last one third of the book. The first two thirds of the story focus on Peter and Lesley’s investigation into murder victim and American art student James Gallagher and his connection to locals in the area. The investigation portion uncovers corporate connections, smuggled goods, railway secrets that all feel quite grounded. Then in the last third, the novel pivots suddenly by introducing a new form of being/group that feel like they come out of left field. Additionally, the arrest and confession of the culprit comes right on the heel of this reveal which is similarly tied to this new group. The killer’s motive, movements and the new group technically make sense on paper, but to me it all felt a bit random. Unless I missed crucial details during the initial read, it felt like more hints at these plot threads were needed for a proper setup and more intentional conclusion. Despite finding it's resolution and culprit underwhelming, Moon Over Soho did a much better job with leaving breadcrumbs that hinted at the magical elements throughout the case. Whispers Under Ground ironically only has whispers and faint hints of magic suggested via vestigia flashes of pottery and kiln work which indicate this group's purpose, but does not hint at any of their fantasy background. The culprit’s motive also felt a bit weak and a letdown compared to Midnight Riot, but at least the conclusion felt more satisfying then Moon Over Soho’s convoluted trainwreck on morality.
On a side note, a major point in my review on Moon Over Soho was the episodic, interim nature of its conclusion that felt like it was setting up the series for a larger, overarching plot. Whispers Under Ground has trace mentions of it and a minor side story where Peter and Leslie interview an individual connected to the Faceless Man, however this book’s plot and case are largely self-contained. As far as the trajectory of the series is concerned, Whispers Under Ground feels like its primary purpose is to get Lesley back up to speed as there’s little time directly devoted to the Faceless Man, the Folly, Molly, or Nightingale’s backstory (or even Nightingale in general).
For most of the read I was convinced that Whisper Under Ground would be the “ah-hah” novel that finally nails the huge potential of this series’ premise with how solid the tone and character work felt but alas, the plot didn’t quite stick the landing for me. However, despite having a similar rating as previous novels in the series, Whispers Under Ground is without question my favorite book so far and at the very worst, Rivers of London is always a fun (albeit sometimes a messy) time.