There are those who like to be the first on the scene, the early adopters at the head of the line, right up front, in the thick of it, at the start of everything. And there are those of us who prefer the periphery of a more delayed approach, who take ownership of our alienation, who've learned to use it as an advantage, who've learned to appreciate the vantage of being on the outside looking in. Any introvert worth their weight in cancelled plans will tell you, it's easier to slip out early when you've learned to sneak in late. The best part of every guilty pleasure, is the pleasure you get from not feeling guilty when you know nobody sees.
Maybe like me you were late to Leigh Bardugo's series of books that comprise the Gishaverse. Maybe like me you got there quietly, casually. Without any prying or watchful eyes. We doubled back and covered our tracks, made sure no one was looking. We knew we weren't who the books were intended for, we weren't quite who the author had in mind, but we couldn't deny that there was something there. Some part of it had our attention. So we walked in inconspicuously.
The core Shadow and Bone trilogy didn't wow me as far as plot and characters go. The reluctant chosen-one of humble beginnings, the outlier that defies convention, that doesn't belong, that doesn't fit in, is an industry standard. It's a fleece blanket and an elastic waist band. It's well-worn. It's comfortable. Something you can curl up in. Something we love. But, it's also overdone. Sometimes you need to get off the couch. Sometimes you need to go outside, or at least open the blinds.
The lover's lament, the best friends always on the brink of finally being together, the 'will they?/won't they?' tension, is something we could have done with less of, or maybe even without. It might bring a special tingle to the twitterpated hearts of the hopeless romantics, but it didn't do a damn thing for those of us with at least one divorce under our belts, and a string of failed relationships since. We were rolling our eyes harder than a demon possessed epileptic.
Some of the cast seemed one-dimensional and underdeveloped. Some of the lines between good and evil too clear. Maybe like me, you like heroes lingering close to the edge of villainy. Maybe you like monsters that incite empathy. But don't get the wrong impression. When it comes to the good news/bad news decision tree, my opinion is, always lead with the bad news. There's plenty to hold on to, plenty enough to get you through.
The good news is that Bardugo's world-building is elaborate, impeccable, and impressive. And, her writing is superb. History, folklore, fairytales, societal structures, religion, philosophy, landscape, geography, all the things that make a human civilization turn, are well thought out, well constructed, and well conveyed. You get a sense of not only the fabric and the texture of the cultures, but also the creases and the folds. The way they each reveal issues of class, politics, race, power, privilege, and wealth. The rules that must be played. The one's that must be bent, that must be broken, and the ones that must never be obeyed.
It's a good story, it's well told, and no matter how much I inwardly groaned at the barrage of youthful angst and pettiness, I had to keep reading. I had to know.