On one level, this is a rocking adventure, complete with shark attacks, cannibals, and a duel. On another level, it’s a gorgeously philosophical exploration of religion, science, and colonialism:

“Hah, you fall silent,” said the priest. “You are a good child, the women say, and you do good things, but the difference between the trousermen and the Raiders is that sooner or later the cannibals go away!”
“That’s a terrible thing to say!” said Daphne hotly. “We don’t eat people!”
“There are different ways to eat people, girl, and you are clever, oh yes, clever enough to know it. And sometimes the people don’t realize it’s happened until they hear the belch!”

It has some touches of Pratchett’s trademark nonsense, just enough to keep things light, but this is not a silly book. It is a brilliant book that I’m going to be thinking about for awhile, and you should all go read it so you can think about it with me.

It doesn’t hurt that it speaks to one of my literary kinks. You know I have a thing about fantasies in which people defy their destinies, and this is the ultimate anti-destiny book. Mau’s entire character arc has to do with discovering who he is when he can’t be what the culture of his people expected. He left his boy’s soul behind, but he never had the ceremony to give him a man’s soul. So who is he? His people’s gods and revered Grandfathers are always speaking in his head, ordering him to recreate the Nation as it was. Much of the book is about Mau learning to ignore those voices and think for himself, while still appreciating the value of ritual and tradition.

Read-alikes: Honestly, this reminds me of nothing so much as The Princess Bride. The His Dark Materials trilogy and Kenneth Oppel’s Airborne have a similar feel as well (self-reliant girls bucking society’s expectations; a magical touch of new science), and of course you can’t beat Bloody Jack for 18th century high seas adventure.

Also reviewed at: the Washington Post, the New York Times, and Teen Reads.

Comment here

The Resistance was the most interesting part of the first book for me, so I was pleased to get a look inside their “organization” (which, as we see in this book, definitely requires quotes). I’m intrigued by the story of ordinary people fighting back against the totalitarian rule of the magicians, all the more so because the freedom fighters aren’t the sort of people I’d want running my government, either.

It’s a good thing these books are funny, because if they weren’t, they’d be damned depressing. I’m looking forward to making time for Ptolemy’s Gate!

Also reviewed at: Reading Matters, Grumpy Old Bookman, and Seasonal Plume.

Comment here

Anyway, Nathaniel is eleven, supposedly not ready to summon even the lowliest of demons — but of course he summons one anyway, a powerful (and entertainingly snarky) djinni named Bartimaeus, thus setting in motion a destructive chain of events.

Boy learning magic, corrupt government, scorn for non-magic-wielders… it will be impossible to review this book without comparing it to Harry Potter, so let’s get that out of the way right now. This is a very different book. It’s far darker, far more claustrophobic. Nathaniel leads an isolated life with no access to friends, in a world full of back-stabbing, cold adults — his magical training doesn’t save him from his misery, it causes it.

Even more notably, Nathaniel is a pretty unlikeable character. He’s so full of hubris that he can’t see the mistakes he makes, and can’t figure out any way to solve his problems other than to pile on more magic.* What’s more, none of this changes much by the end of the book. It’s a trilogy, so I imagine his emotional growth will be a continuing theme, but he’s starting from a much darker place than most YA fantasy protagonists.

The big win is Bartimaeus’s voice. The story is narrated in turn by Nathaniel and Bartimaeus, and what the former lacks in engaging personality, the latter makes up for and then some. Bartimaeus’s snide, world-weary tone — with footnotes! (man, I love footnotes) — made the book for me. Unfortunately, that meant that Nathaniel’s chapters were a harder slog. Maybe that’s partly because Nathaniel’s chapters are in the third person; not sure why Stroud made that decision, but it makes Nathaniel seem even less a match for Bartimaeus.

Also reviewed at She Reads Books and The Christian Fantasy Review.

*Thankfully with no drug metaphors, Buffy fans.

Comment here