He looked at the stonework. “It’s all just fake because it was built to be a ruin. It’s not real. It tells you all you need to know about people. They don’t want the real deal. People built a fake castle over a fake lake because it looks nice. They don’t care if it doesn’t mean anything.”
I moved away from him, my fingers brushing the warm, rough stones. “It tells you everything about people. It shows that even in the mundane heart of a municipal park, we want drama. We want stories and legends and a sweep of wide colour. I think it’s perfect.”
I loved Charlie N Holmberg’s Paper Magician series so I was really excited to dip into her new series. I devoured the book in an afternoon and decided I had to write a review.
This is so much darker. Ms Holmberg paints the world beautifully, giving the right combination of detail and hints. The complex setting gradually unfolds as the characters progress through the smoky, polluted city, a metaphor for the corrupt and desperate society.
This dystopian setting is a wonderful backdrop for the two main characters. Sandis, the slave mystically linked to something dreadful from another plane of existence, and Rone, the rogue who tries to make the right decisions and gets things dreadfully wrong at times. The layers of their respective backgrounds and the stories that have made them are gently peeled back through the course of the well paced story.
And, darn it, the story ended on a cliff hanger and I can’t wait to read the next book. I totally recommend this story.
So long ago as I rushed back from college and whirled into the kitchen before whirling out again I scooped the instant granules and boiled the kettle and added a slurp of milk from the fridge as I shocked my mother with my latest stories.
Then it was the cafetiere, feeling sophisticated as I took my one treat, the slowly savoured french blend, mild roast with warmed milk as my darlings napped.
I remembered how grown up I felt, sitting at the dinner parties, discussing the different pods to the machines and lacing my frothed cup with brandy to keep me numb.
I got the fancy machine and stack of pods in the divorce, but I threw them out. Now I look down at my solitary cup, custom roast and slow dripped, encased in elegant china and wonder what I am defining.