I’ve been putting off writing this review. It’s not just that THE SCARECROW QUEEN was the perfect end to the trilogy, or that it was expertly paced and plotted, or that everything I wanted to happen came to pass and more, or that I devoured it in that obsessive, every-spare-moment way I reserve just for the very special books; it’s also that this is goodbye… and, as with all hard goodbyes, I’m not sure I’m not going to be able to say all the things I should.
THE SCARECROW QUEEN picks up almost exactly where the last book left off, but with a twist – we are now seeing the story through the eyes of Twylla once again. She is adrift in a war-torn kingdom looking for a way to bring together a disparate band of survivors with the aim of wresting back power from the terrible Aurek. But this book, in a gorgeous piece of narrative symmetry, is also told through the eyes of Errin, meaning we are also seeing events from inside the court of the deadly new king, within which Errin is a helpless hostage, controlled absolutely and completely through the use of a blood-bonded poppet. Our fearless heroines are separated, but both are set on rebellion.
So, even if I just stick to the highlights of what I love this is going to be a LONG list: the visceral fear I felt on Twylla’s journey, the terrifying and at the same time sexy (is that just me?) power of Aurek, the arresting beauty of the descriptions of places and people, the pace, the smart plotting, Leif’s arc (shoot me if that’s a spoiler), the imagery of the golems and poppets, the perfect precision of the meaning behind the title, the multi-faceted mythology that ripples out from every page, the nuanced relationships between characters, the tender mortality and strength of the heroines, the many moral messages that resonate beyond the borders of Lormere, the unnerving yet exhilarating uncertainty I felt about how this was all going to end. This book is going to be a tough act to follow, which explains why I have recently found it harder to fall in love with the books I am reading. I’m still on the rebound.
What a book. What a trilogy. I’m not usually a fantasy fan but I’ve a feeling that is all about to change. If there are others out there as smart and original and utterly arresting as this – count me in.
The intriguing back-jacket premise drew me into reading LAMENT when I was cataloguing it ready for the library shelves a few months ago, and I since then I have been recommending it willy-nilly with the following sales pitch: it’s about fairies – not cutesy, end-of-the-garden, sugar-plum fairies though. No, no, these are big, scary fairies. Upon hearing this the client promptly checks the book out, and leaves feeling suitably intrigued.
The world evoked in LAMENT starts out familiar; it’s our world – a world of school and summer jobs and ice cream and stripmalls. What we and our MC Deirdre are soon to find out is that overlaying all of this (or perhaps running underneath like a secret river) is another, far stranger world – one of fairies, with unspeakable powers and ancient grudges, in which Deirdre is about to be irresistibly embroiled, whether she likes it or not.
Taking inspiration from real Celtic faerie mythology, LAMENT weaves a gossamer web of secrets, danger and dark magic. Stiefvater’s human characters are likeable and believable, while her fairies are as deadly and ruthless as they are beautiful and charismatic. The whole adds up to an atmosphere that draws you in and stays with you even when you’re not reading. The drive of the narrative, the questions that need answering, and the completely unpredictable twists in how it unfurls have you suspicious of everyone and everything in the book’s world, with the doomed love that grows at its core making it easy to imagine that there is plenty of excitement to fuel the sequel. This is an addictive, original read that gets you tangled up in its ancient, darkly magical web.
Middles of trilogies are funny beasts. They can so easily miss and end up treading water, while in other cases they are genius – a dark-hearted unfinished symphony which serenades the reader across an ocean of unanswered questions, while also bringing something totally new and unexpected to the overall arc. The masterfully crafted THE SLEEPING PRINCE definitely falls into the latter category.
Not picking up directly from its predecessor but rather plunging us into a new and unknown part of Salisbury’s darkly seductive and intoxicating world, we meet Errin, who is living a simple but troubled life as a countryside apothecary following the disappearance of her brother Leif. When a war tears her world apart, Errin becomes caught up in a series of terrifying events, that bring her closer to the petrifying instigator of the conflict, The Sleeping Prince himself.
As with the first book, I found myself immediately absorbed into this story’s world – the prose is so rich in detail and unusual imagery that reading it is a fully immersive sensory experience. Despite an initial moment of disorientation and fleeting disappointment at not immediately following on with Twylla’s story, I was soon caught up in the exhilaration of coming at the story from a brand new angle and with a new and distinct narrator. The moving parts of Salisbury’s mythology, from the alchemists to the golems to the myth/reality of The Sleeping Prince, are so vividly realised; her characters are so textured and well-drawn in all their light and shade. The love story element lies beneath the narrative like a bassline, or perhaps a beat, handled with subtlety but nonetheless compelling and irresistible. Is it just me who feels there could be any number of fantastic spin-offs from the characters and world that have been created here?
This perfectly plotted middle installment weaves another layer onto the rich tapestry of this wholly absorbing and chilling epic, priming us perfectly for a finale that will bring together the gilded, deepest crimson, grubby, bloodstained strands and take us who knows where. A wholehearted five stars, and a serious case of writer’s envy.
I came to THE SIN EATER’S DAUGHTER with high expectations – there’s the great reviews, the charismatic author and that simply gorgeous cover of course. A little part of me wondered if the contents of this book could possibly live up to the frenzy that surrounds it, but – guess what – it did.
Twylla is a deadly weapon, killing those that betray the crown with a single touch, like an angel of death. Because of this she is kept locked away at the palace, protected from those who may wish to harm her and from those who may be harmed by her deadly touch. While her ties to the crown become deeper and more involved, a new guard is the first person unafraid to approach her and she finds herself intoxicated by this closeness, both physical and emotional, the consequences of which can only be extremely dangerous for them both.
From the very first moments of the novel we are plunged into the dark beauty of Salisbury’s utterly complete world, where opulence and savage beauty meet to create a whole new mythology which is utterly spellbinding from the get-go. Without the need for long explanatory paragraphs or unnecessary backstory, her characters spring to life. The rules of her world are simple and utterly clear, as well as being richly detailed and complex. We are welcomed in as somebody already familiar with the way things work here, and indeed somehow that quickly becomes the case. Truly savage villains, a complex heroine, hints at a mythology and a history that goes far beyond the pages of this novel, sensory detail and description that lift off the page and surround you as you read, THE SIN EATER’S DAUGHTER is an addictive and spellbinding read.
So, in summary, to misquote Public Enemy: do believe the hype. An addictive, darkly beautiful, mesmerising trip into a world that will terrify you, but that you’ll never want to leave.
From the start of this book, told in dual narrative from the perspectives of the Chosen Ones of two rival cities, we are coming at this unusual future dystopia from two distinct mirror-image angles. After some kind of schism in the philosophies that brought them to this post-apocalyptic point, the two societies have been heading in different directions. The vaguely steampunk city above has its ideas about where society should be heading, while that below is more focused on living in tune with nature.
Playing with the Chosen One tropes, we are presented with the super strength of Aula as set against the mute, unharnessed powers of Joomia. They have very little time remaining until the final test that will seemingly decide the fates of their respective worlds.
These worlds are distinct, unusual, fresh and well drawn. I felt I was entering a fictional future that was not as well trodden as some of them have become. Side characters were well employed and had good flesh on their bones; those designed to be likeable were just that, while dastardly villains didn’t disappoint. I don’t know if it’s just my interpretation, but I was a big fan of the androgynous, multi-racial qualities of most of the young cast. It’s a pretty nifty way of allowing all comers to the book to project themselves into and onto your story without turning into one of those super politically correct authors tripping over themselves to incorporate a rainbow into their narrative at its own expense. I don’t mean to come over cynical there (though I probably do) because I felt this aspect worked well, added to the atmosphere, and was entirely appropriate in the context.
What’s most clever and impressive about this debut however is the symmetry of the dual narrative. As I’ve said before, I’m not a big fan of these unless there is a reason for them, and in this case there certainly is. The way the stories of the two heroines intertwine – coming together, moving apart and ultimately colliding, is a smart piece of plotting and in itself a mirror (see what I did there) of the novel’s own themes.
Nicely done, and a pacey, involving read. Thanks to NetGalley and Hachette for the ARC.