Let me start by saying the title is a little misleading. I do have something nice say for each of these books. But just one thing. I could probably think of more, but as a whole I found these to be lackluster reads. I’m definitely not going to put in the effort of giving each a full review.
I feel that I should give reasons for why I read these particular books. For the Sanderson one, I’ve liked everything Sanderson. Until now. For the Riggs one, I’ve read the three prior Miss Peregrine’s books and have enjoyed them. But the arc ended with book three. This was the start of something new. And the McGough one, I’ve played Magic The Gathering since middle school, and recently decided to read all of the novelizations of the sets.
Each of these books is in a series. I don’t intend to read additional Alcatraz or Miss Peregrine. I will read more of the Magic books, because they change authors, characters, worlds, etc. That, and nostalgia goes a long way in relation to entertainment. Why do you think Ready Player One was so successful?
But, the one good thing about each:
Alcatraz Versus the Evil Librarians: The magic system is super neat, which is no surprise coming from Brandon Sanderson. I want to know more about how it works. Unfortunately, I actively don’t want to deal with Alcatraz so much that it overshadows the magic.
A Map of Days: We got glimpses into a bunch of new time periods and settings, and their relation to the present day of the story was interesting.
Outlaw: Champions of Kamigawa: The description of how spell-casting and various magics worked was neat, especially knowing the cards those spells are based on, especially in conjunction with the characters wielding them, coming to life as opposed to a picture on a piece of cardboard.
And I’ll leave it at that. Hopefully I won’t have too many more of these posts, but unfortunately not all books can go the distance.
When I told one of my tenth graders I was reading this book, she was scandalized. We were on the topic of books because I saw her reading The Belgariad, which I was shocked by as I haven’t seen anyone reading that since I’d read it over twenty years ago. Apparently her dad’s making her read it. Good for him. And her, too.
Anyway, the idea that a dude, especially a grown-up dude, was reading that book was almost too much for her to take. I can only guess at her ideas as to why I was reading New Adult Romantasy (too sexually graphic for YA, IMO). Part of the reason was that I’d seen so much about the series across social media that I knew I’d have to give it a go at some point. Part was that Jacqueline Carey teed up the genre for me back in my Belgariad days. The third part of the equation was there were no holds on it in the Libby app. The stars aligned (and not just in the Rhysand sort of way).
Warning for book one (A Court of Thorns and Roses) spoilers. Obviously, in a book review for a sequel, there will be spoilers for book one. If you haven’t read it, stop here. If you have, here we go.
A Court of Mist and Fury picks up with Feyre and Tamlin, she newly fae and he once again fully empowered. They’re engaged, they’re in love, just what’d you’d expect following the ending of the first book.
But things are not as they seem. Feyre had made a deal with Rhysand to spend one week a month with him in the Night Court (sans John Larroquette), where she’ll learn exactly who Rhysand is, and what life is like for the fae when not under Amarantha’s thumb.
Feyre not only has to deal with that bargain, but also the fame that comes with being the one to stop Amarantha. Everyone knows, and everyone is very, very grateful. And I’m not just talking about her Summer Court subjects (she is engaged to Tamlin, after all), but the fae across all the courts.
I don’t want to get into spoilers, and because the narrative structure of this book is different than A Court of Thorns and Roses, it’s hard to say more than what I already have without giving away surprises. What I will do is offer comparisons between the two.
More magic? Yes. More of the hot and sticky? Yes. Higher and clearer stakes? Yes. More fun action? Yes. More Feyre acting illogical? No, thankfully. All around, it’s a better book than the predecessor.
I spent most of the first section afraid that it would be nothing but illogical Feyre, but as soon as it switched gears I was on board. Tons of fun character development, world building, and contextualizing moments from the first book that enriched the narrative and made me like the first book more than I initially did.
Some of the non-perspective character motivations were a little shaky at times, but with so many characters, it’s hard to make everything fit snuggly. It has been the most fun read of the year so far, but it’s not without its flaws.
Which brings me to the craft subject of the day: foreshadowing.
Foreshadowing is a fairly common concept, but also very broad. Simplistically, foreshadowing is a warning or indication of a future event. But that definition implies we recognize the foreshadowing. Sometimes that’s the point, to purposefully clue the reader into something. Concrete foreshadowing. When Romeo dreams of seeing Juliet dead, the audience knows that’s how he’s going to find her. When Chekhov overtly draws attention to the gun, we know it’s going to play a role.
Other times, we’re given hints that only make sense after the reveal. Prophecy foreshadowing. Like in Sixth Sense, when the kid says he sees dead people, and they don’t know they’re dead. When we find out Bruce Willis is dead, that line carries a lot more meaning. Or even in A Court of Thorns and Roses, when there’s the line about Tamlin’s stone heart, we think it’s a common metaphor about being cold, or callous. Then we find out it’s a literal stone heart which is the key to defeating Amarantha.
Flashbacks and flash-forwards are another common medium for foreshadowing. In Hunger Games, we get the flashback of Peeta giving Katniss bread, essentially feeding her when she’s in need. Later, when Peeta needs feeding, Katniss feeds him, balancing out that act of kindness.
Next up is abstract, or symbolic foreshadowing. This is often used with setting. It was a dark and stormy night, or, a fog settled over the town. It can also be used with objects that have cultural meanings/baggage. In American Beauty, there is the iconic scene of the young girl lying in a pile rose petals, with more falling on her. Roses are often a symbol of romance and lust. In the same movie, you see the main character’s wife methodically pruning the roses in her yard. This will give us expectations about his relationship with both those women.
Lastly, we have fallacy foreshadowing, or a red herring. This is similar to the concrete foreshadowing, except it is supposed to trick the reader, as opposed to give them insight. When Obi-Wan tells Luke that Vader killed Luke’s father, that sets up the surprise reveal that Vader is Luke’s father. In Game of Thrones, Littlefinger pits Arya and Sansa against each other, readying us for a sister vs sister showdown, but they join forces and turn on him.
Foreshadowing is effective in that we have learned how to interpret the various types, and when the reveal comes, we are pleased or satisfied. When foreshadowing doesn’t work is when it tries to be one type, and ends up falling flat, or turns into another type. When you set up a proper foreshadow, you essentially make a promise to the reader. If you don’t fulfill that promise, the moment falls flat, and you lose that reader’s trust.
As I mentioned earlier, Sarah J. Maas handles foreshadowing well in the first book, especially with that stone heart moment. There are good instances in A Court of Mist and Fury as well (the one that stick out involves her sisters), but also a mishandled one that, for me, kept me at arm’s length the rest of the story. I won’t give it away, I’ll just say it involves “merfolk”, so you know what I’m talking about when it happens.
So how does A Court of Mist and Fury fare with the Author’s Arsenal?
For world-building and setting, A Court of Mist and Fury earns The Scroll. We had a taste of the fae world in the first book, and we really delved deep and explored so many new locations and cultures, in addition to expanded on what we already knew.
And for character building, it earns The Seal. Many of the characters were presented in new light, and grew to be much more than they were before. The relationships between Feyre and her companions (and their relationships with each other) are was drive the narrative and suck the reader into this world Maas has created.
Unlike some other books I’ve read recently, I’m looking forward to the next installment. I’m just hoping Elain becomes more than just a pretty mannequin.
Side note: If I had the time and energy, I’d have tied The Belgariad into the review’s ending, a sort of foreshadowing. But it has been twenty-plus years since I’ve read them and it’s hard to remember specific details. Forgive me. 🙂
A few weeks ago I did a reading at a coffee shop that got me thinking about public speaking. Or, more specifically, public reading.
When I got on stage, in front of the mic, everything was fine. I introduced myself, totally off the cuff and not rehearsed. Then I started reading and remembered why I like to sit for stuff like this.
Halfway through my first piece, my right leg got a nervous jiggle, sort of like restless leg syndrome. I didn’t feel nervous, wasn’t stumbling over my words or anything. But the jiggle came, increasing nearly to the point of Yankee dancing.
This typical sign of nervousness is particularly strange because I have a theatre background. I’ve been in stage shows and have performed in front of much larger audiences than at that coffee shop, all with no leg jiggles.
So what’s the deal? I really have no idea. The reading went well. People laughed where they were supposed to, and the applause didn’t sound like merely polite clapping. But as I read through the three short pieces, that leg would not stop.
Eventually, to hide it (which apparently worked, based on what my fellow readers told me), I just put all my weight on that one leg, letting my mass stick it in place. The jiggling didn’t switch legs, but I could tell it was still there. By the time I got done though, my hip was not pleased about that stance.
So how do I fix this moving forward? Is it simple a matter of more practice? Maybe. Hopefully. Because without a conscious feeling of stage fright, I don’t have a good answer. The subconscious on the other hand… the subconscious is weird. It does what it wants.
The difference could stem from the fact that I was reading my own work (ignoring the fact I’ve written things that I’ve later acted out). The difference could also be that I didn’t view it as acting. That seems the most likely to me. Maybe I just need to pretend to be a reader, or the actual narrator of the piece. Act it out.
Regardless, that jiggle needs to go away. Not just for the sake of my hip, or the fact that I’d never Yankee dance (or Yankee anything). How about this: from now on, I’ll just insist on having a nice, padded leather chair. Sit down, cross my legs, and be at peace. Completely reasonable. It worked well enough in my kid’s kindergarten class. 🙂
I read a lot of books. A lot. Most of the time as I’m reading, I’m simply enjoying the words in front of me. Sometimes I’m slogging through them. Infrequently I’m blown away by what’s in my hands. When I read Olivie Blake’s The Atlas Six last year, I was blown away. Yes, as you’d expect, the writing was good. But what thoroughly engaged me was the breadth of knowledge across fields of study and the application and integration of that knowledge in the story.
I immediately burned through the second book, The Atlas Paradox. It built on much of what had been established in the first book, upped the stakes, contextualized and humanized some characters, and was a worthy successor to the first one. Then I was sad because I had to wait until the third one was published.
And so here we are now, The Atlas Complex is out, and I have thoughts. As always, I strive for spoiler free reviews, but I do want to note that the only way to talk about this book is to spoil parts of the first two. If you’ve read them, then you can proceed safely. If you haven’t, and the blending of the psychology and morality and philosophy of magic sounds interesting, then go get a copy of The Atlas Six. Right now. Like, stop reading, and do it.
The Atlas Complex follows our favorite sextet (and their add-ons) as they try to make sense of their new (sort of) freedom. Libby is back from the past and a newly minted mass murderer, Parisa is shacking up with Dalton and scared of her own mortality, Reina and Callum are off playing God and trying to fix the world (good luck with that), Tristan’s trying to figure out where the hell Atlas went and how he’s supposed to handle the Archives, and Nico just wants everyone to be friends.
As with the first two books, the entire narrative focuses on the characters and their journeys. The plot is their relationships with each other. The story is their relationships with each other. The trouble is their relationships with each other. You get the idea.
Some of our questions from the prior books get answered. Libby and Nico: Will they or won’t they? Callum: Does he care about anything? All of them minus Libby: Who hates themselves the most?
One of the more interesting aspects of the third installment is how much more screen time side characters get. We get inside Dalton’s head (in a non-literal sense this time). We get to see how Gideon’s handling everything with his mom and Nico and Libby and a few other issues rearing their ugly heads. And, we get brief snippets from members of The Forum.
What does this mean? The driving force of the trilogy is the character work Blake presents us with. In the afterward of this book, she talks about how her goal was to write a story where the characters and their relationships became the plot and story. That strategy was what made the first book so novel (at least to me), and the second and third followed suit. The problem is that when something novel is done repeatedly, it starts to lose that novelty.
Ultimately, while the characters were still engaging and interesting, their stories alone weren’t enough to conclude a trilogy. Blake easily compels us to invest in her characters, but we end up lacking reason to invest in a greater conflict.
What is the greater conflict, you ask? That’s a very good question. I wondered that too as I read this. And that brings us to today’s topic: stakes.
Why does Frodo need to destroy the One Ring? To prevent Sauron from ruling Middle Earth. Why does Elizabeth need to get married? So the Bennett family won’t go bankrupt. Why does the Cat in the Hat need to clean up his mess? Because mother will be very angry when she gets home if it’s dirty.
Regardless of the perceived severity, stakes drive narratives and characters, and are the reason characters do what they do. There are several levels of stakes that can be at play: public, personal, and philosophical. If we look at the Elizabeth example, the public stake is her family’s wealth. Pretty straight forward. The personal stake is her own pride. She believes Mr. Darcy looks down on her family for being lower rank and accepting his proposal will wound her pride. The philosophical stake is losing her belief that society shouldn’t care so much about wealth and rank.
It’s not enough to have a world-ending catastrophe to avert. It’s also not enough to overcome personal demons. A good narrative will have multiple levels of stakes, often connected or reliant on each other. Elizabeth isn’t the only person with stakes in Pride and Prejudice. Each character needs something, some motivation and something that motivates them.
An easy way to to establish stakes, at least early on as you’re figuring out your story, is to take your character, figure out what makes them great or wonderful or happy, and then decide how to destroy those things. Doing bad things to protagonists inherently creates stakes. You can tweak them or think of new ones throughout the process, but attacking their comfort zones is a great place to start.
Based on what I’ve mentioned with The Atlas Complex, it shouldn’t be a surprise that it’s lacking in the stakes department, but how did it fare otherwise with the Author’s Arsenal?
For exceptional character development, The Atlas Complex is awarded The Seal. Character is what drives this whole series, and The Atlas Complex in particular relies on character to engage the reader and advance the story.
That about wraps this up. Happy reading, have a great weekend, and stay tuned for more. And as always, if you have a book you’d like reviewed, add a comment and I’ll try and fit it in.
It’s been a while (exactly twelve days) since I’ve written anything, be it here or on a project, and I can lay the blame solely on my wife. Okay, maybe not solely. I maaaay have had something to do with it. Regardless of blame, I’d like to introduce the newest distraction in my house, Kara.
What I’ve learned so far about her is she very strong, thinks sleeping is for the daytime, and gives a wicked side eye. We still like her anyway. 🙂
Eric Taveren 