A Stranger in Olondria

Books that are highly stylized, enamored of their own language, are hit or miss with me. Sometimes they just feel false and contrived. (E.g. The Night Circus.) Sometimes, though, the linguistic acrobatics work for me and bring me into a unique world that only exists through this combination of sounds and verbal color. Another time, I might not be in the mood and the whole performance might fall flat.

A Stranger in Olondria worked for me, this time. I just floated along with the rapturous prose and didn't worry overmuch about details like a coherent plot or believable characters. I'm not sure what will be left to me of it after a few weeks or months have passed, but in the time of reading it was a unique experience.

DNF at around 50%. Not sure I'd really call this a fantasy; it is more an invented travelogue. There is definitely some great prose (at times reminding me if A Movable Feast), however, much like sugar, too much is not necessarily a good thing. The story never really feels like it is going anywhere, other than document an apparent psychological breakdown. Apparently things become more focused towards the end, but I'm not inspired to find out.

This was such a strange reading experience for me. I'd be absolutely bored and about to give up on it, and then some spark would engage my interest for a chapter or two before I'd get utterly bored again. In the end, I feel like nothing really happened and there was no character development. It's entirely possible the book was too smart for me, though.