johnny dangerously.

This is an excellent book, completely unlike anything I've read before, and in the best possible way. It almost seems wrong to deem it ‘fantasy', for surely a book with no human characters should be ‘speculative fiction'? Regardless of its classification, I highly recommend it to anyone interested in well-written court politics, sympathetic characters, and a reading experience they won't get anywhere else.

Of all the things I would praise most about the book, I would have to consider its treatment of childhood abuse a huge and ambitious success. Too often, characters with abusive or traumatic backgrounds are treated in the most salacious and dramatic fashion possible. In this book, the main character's abusive past is treated with gentle respect, neither leering nor dramatic. The details are never focused on, and instead the most important thing is how it effected the abused character, and how they grow and heal. In this fashion, the entire book uses the metaphor of moving forward, growing past pettiness and cruelty, and– most notably– building bridges, to great effect.

The worldbuilding was similarly an ambitious success, though I found myself at times confused by the byzantine nature of naming conventions and pronunciation among the Goblins and Elves. I was pleased to find a guide at the back of the book explaining my confusion; I only wished I'd found it sooner, or that it had perhaps been at the beginning of the book. At times, all the unfamiliar Elvish and Goblin names bled together, and I would have appreciated knowing sooner that there was a guide. That said, the worldbuilding was still excellent and fascinating, even if I wished it was imparted in a fashion that didn't necessitate a guide quite so much.

If I had to seriously critique anything in the book, it would be how some of the female characters seemed underused. I understand that this is a function of the worldbuilding– they are an oppressively sexist society– but at the same time, the female characters were fascinating, and when they did appear, they shined. I was sad that altogether they only got a handful of scenes, and the subplots involving them and their struggles (in some cases, the collective struggle of all the female characters for more rights and freedoms) were very subtly and quietly dealt with. I would have liked to see them integrated more into the overall plot.

However, overall, I found the novel a tremendous success. I adored all of the characters, the quiet (but never slow) movement of the plot, and the subtle development of the protagonist and his relationships with others. It's a book I'll be rereading in the near future, because there's simply so much life and wonder crammed into it. I would highly recommend it to anyone interested in high fantasy.

I was sent a free copy of this book from NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.

Fine enough. A cute little story that succeeds in having likable enough characters. It's got way too much going on to pay attention to all its parts and develop them equally, but I'd prefer novels bite off more than they can chew, I guess. Highly reminiscent of fanfic in that way, though; it languishes in implication rather than action. It doesn't show or tell, just kind of gestures. Still, it's a first novel, so that's understandable.

What really kills me are the crappy internet jokes that totally undercut the tension of important scenes, and the overreliance on visual cues. You can tell the inspiration for this novel is visual rather than prose (a webcomic and, I assume, from the way the fight scenes work, plenty of anime). The worldbuilding is good enough to stand on its own, but it feels like the author is strangely embarrassed of it unless someone is saying bizznach or yass kwneen. Extremely irritating.

Overall a good first effort, though, and clearly engaging enough that I read every word. Most of every word. I've read enough Naruto that my eyes glazed over the final fight scene.

A lovely novel, there's really nothing negative I can think to say about it. It only missed out on a full five star rating because I didn't find it a transcendent life experience or something with a massive amount of staying power (for me, personally, at least; I know the book is nothing new and stays beloved in the minds of many). I personally found it very touching and heart-warming, and am glad I read it, but if not for its fame I'm not sure I'd remember it. Then again, if not for its fame, I wouldn't have read it in the first place.

This book takes everything I liked about the first book and throws it out the window. I'm not sure why the writer found it necessary to, after writing a book with a tight plot and close inspection of nuanced characters, turn around and write a sequel with neither.

The overwhelming majority of characters in this book either lack depth, or have no motivation beyond ‘wanton cruelty and petty malice borne of ignorance'. While that's a believable motivation, surely, it does get grating when it's literally everyone who doesn't align themselves with the protagonist.

Breq, in the first book, is flawed, interesting, and relatable. In the second book, she's always right about everything, with little subtlety or nuance. She understands human motivations perfectly, can predict everyone's movements constantly, and wins over everyone who is initially skeptical. Those who don't see the light never will, they're lesser and anyway she's always right.

Furthermore, she became totally uninteresting to me as a protagonist, but I'm at least aware this is my personal biases speaking. When you put your character in a position of power, in the military, representing a government with imperialist interests, on a planet that has suffered the horrible ravages of colonialism, it's hard enough to make them sympathetic already. Breq is in this position, but she's supposed to care about everyone and be capable of empathy. Yet, for all her shining brilliance, she's like everyone else: she'll help in small ways, if a problem falls literally in her lap, or if it inconveniences her. But widespread change? Actually fixing systematic problems? Well, that's someone else's headache, surely.

Yes, you can say that's a tall order for anyone, but upholding justice is like pacifism: doing anything less than all you can is tantamount to doing nothing at all. Practicing pacifism sometimes is just selective violence, and justice for some is just another word for injustice. It's not a path for everyone, and not everyone should try, but the book presents Breq's actions as just and necessary, and never acknowledges that she does more than a little, but far less than enough. It's a problem symptomatic of many books tackling themes of social change and systematic injustice: enacting any positive wide scale change is simply not a matter for discussion, it's a foregone conclusion.

I'm not asking for Breq to change the world. I'm asking the book to acknowledge that the tiny little things she's willing to do are not, actually, the shining beacon of hope the book presents them as. She is still a colonizer, and all she's doing is allowing the occasional disenfranchised native who falls into her lap to benefit from her imperialist power and influence.

There's also the matter of the plot, which is stagnant and meandering, to contrast with the straight-forward and unremitting pace of the first book. It sets up plot points for later that require one to empathize with the imperialist forces (who are, again, written as explicitly imperialist) or wonder at the clearly contrived mystery, set obviously up as a hook for the sequel. The first book was fluid, and the progression felt natural. In this one, everything seems constructed for the needs of the moment.

A disappointing read. Perhaps the first book works better as a standalone.

The writing is a bit awkward in places, but once the plot picks up, the slow burn becomes worth it. Recommended to urban fantasy fans who want something more substantial than ‘elves in the subway'. The book has a social conscience, which adds incredibly to its favor; it never forgets that it's primarily concerned with affluent men, which makes the fact that it's primarily concerned with affluent men far, far more tolerable than it would be otherwise.