John

Rating: 5/5 stars

“You are like a man who—finding a fence in the wilderness—tears it down to clear the land, and doing so releases a lion from its pen.”

It's been a long time since a series made me feel this way. Approaching the last book was bittersweet, I almost didn't want to start it because I didn't want to be done with Hadrian and the Sun Eater saga. That hesitation alone tells me how much I truly loved this series. I was nervous about whether Ruocchio could land the ending, but he absolutely did. Shadows Upon Time delivered in every aspect.

From the beginning of book one, you knew where this story was ultimately headed. The mystery was always in the journey, and here that journey reaches its conclusion in epic fashion. This book is a roller coaster of emotion and action, with pacing that rarely lets up. It's all gas and no brakes, and I often found it hard to put down at night.

Hadrian's arc is the centerpiece, and it's executed with remarkable commitment. By this point, he is fully bought in on the Absolute's path, a zealot for the cause. That means he makes choices that aren't always rational or “right” in the conventional sense. Some readers may be frustrated by that, but for me, it's exactly what makes the story so good. Hadrian doesn't take the “right answer,” he takes Hadrian's answer. We may disagree with him, but that tension is what gives his journey weight and authenticity. It is impressive to watch his growth as a character through his centuries of life, while he still maintains some of his character traits that makes him who he is, deep down. Some of his traits that are viewed as flaws are his greatest strengths, and its nice to see them leaned into other than polished out as you see with some many other series protagonists.

Ruocchio excels at making you fall in love with the characters, flail against what you know is coming, hope against inevitability, and still deliver an ending with a twist that leaves you smirking and wanting more. Without spoiling specifics, the reveals in this book are clever and satisfying; the kind that, in retrospect, make perfect sense. You learn a lot more about the universe and galaxy you've been living in, particularly about the factions who truly hold the power in the galaxy, and what mankind's true history has been. This invokes a lot of dialogue and discussion about the role of religion in society and the control of society through the narrative of history and religion. I will be interested to see how this lands with readers.

Side characters do suffer a bit here, as the plot is laser‑focused on Hadrian's mission. A2, for example, felt somewhat shelved. But others gain deeper insight and “stage time,” and the trade‑off worked for me given the sheer scale of what had to be accomplished. You can feel Ruocchio pushing to keep this a seven‑book series rather than stretching it into eight, and while that makes the pacing relentless, I appreciated not having another volume hanging on the horizon. At some point, the story has to hit critical mass and steamroll forward, and that's exactly what happens here.

All told, Shadows Upon Time landed the ending with extreme satisfaction. This has been one of the best series I've read in a long time, and I would recommend it wholeheartedly to any sci‑fi or fantasy fan. Now I'm in that melancholy phase of finishing a journey I loved being on, already looking for the next one to fill the void.

Rating: 5/5 stars

“A common enemy does not a friendship make. You can only ever be as good as the people you are willing to fight beside.”

I'll admit, I was curious how Islington was going to wrap up this trilogy. Time travel plots can easily get messy or feel cliché, but he really stuck the landing here. Even in the final pages, he managed to deliver huge plot‑twist reveals that kept me surprised and engaged.

Yes, he still sneaks in some Marvel‑style dialogue that occasionally pulls me out of the story, and “bemused” remains his favorite adjective - but it was far less prominent this time around. The prose felt tighter, more confident, and better balanced overall.

This final book was the strongest of the three. The character arcs were all well done, and I felt like Islington finally evened the playing field. In the first book, there were clear front runners and “weak links” I didn't look forward to reading. Here, every story line mattered, and each perspective carried weight.

Caeden/Tal'Kamar's arc was excellent, layered, emotional, and deeply satisfying. His relationship with Davian was truly special across the trilogy, culminating in moments like: “There is no point in life for the sake of living.” That bond gave the series its heart, and it's what I'll remember most.

Not everything was perfect. Aelric and his sister's interaction with Wirr toward the end felt a bit deus ex machina to me, and I suspect some readers will be frustrated that certain threads remain unanswered. Personally, I think that's okay. Not every story needs a bow tied neatly around every detail, and the ambiguity here felt earned.

Looking at the trilogy as a whole, Islington pressed the bounds of what could be accomplished in three books. Honestly, it might have benefited from being four volumes, there's that much packed in. But the choice to keep it a trilogy gave the series a swift, action‑oriented pace that I really enjoyed.

All in all, this was a fantastic conclusion to a trilogy that grew stronger with each book. I would wholeheartedly recommend The Licanius Trilogy to just about any fantasy fan.

Rating: 4/5 stars

“Understanding what is at stake will change you, change how easy it is for you to be the man you aspire to be.”

This second entry in The Licanius Trilogy pulled me in far more than the first book. The plot twists and reveals here made me genuinely invested in the larger story, and I found myself much more bought into the trilogy as a whole. Islington leans on familiar tropes: memory loss, time travel, foreknowledge, but he uses them well, turning them into suspenseful devices that feel fresh in a world where Augurs already have foresight of things to come.

The lore and worldbuilding expansions were a highlight. Through Caeden's arc, as his memories slowly return, the history of the world unfolds in ways that deepen the stakes and broaden the scope. You begin to understand the gravity of what's at play, and it makes the trilogy feel much larger than the first book suggested.

Caeden/Tal'Kamar remains my favorite character by far. His storyline carries both mystery and moral weight, and I especially appreciated how his relationship with Davian shapes him. One line captures this perfectly: “The people with whom we are friends should never affect our morality; rather, our morality should affect with whom we are friends.” It's a statement that reflects Caeden's struggle and growth, showing how his choices and friendships are guided by principle rather than convenience. That moral clarity, even in the face of his darker nature, is what makes his arc so compelling.

The other characters' plotlines are strengthened here too. Ashalia, whose chapters I enjoyed the least in The Shadow of What Was Lost, became much more engaging in this book. Her storyline felt more purposeful, and I appreciated the growth. The ensemble as a whole feel more balanced, with each perspective contributing meaningfully to the narrative.

In terms of pacing and development, this is a strong second book. It carries the trilogy well, keeps you engaged, and builds momentum toward the finale. I also think Islington's prose is much improved here and better suited to the scale of the story.

Ironically, though, the prose is also the one thing that kept me from giving these a full 5 stars. At times, the dialogue slips into a YA, almost Marvel‑movie style of banter that feels tonally out of place in the rest of the book. It's jarring when it happens, and it pulled me out of the story. On top of that, I couldn't help but notice the repetitive use of certain adjectives, “bemused” in particular shows up so often that I started counting. Call me picky, but once I noticed it, I couldn't unsee it.

Still, those quirks don't outweigh the strengths. This book made me excited to dive into the conclusion of the trilogy. The nature of the story means you know pieces of the destination, but not the journey, and that keeps me hungry to read more.

I also see a lot more of the Wheel of Time parallels now: Kan and Essence echo Saidin and Saidar, the Boundary feels like the Blight, the Banes resemble Trollocs and the Eyeless, the Venerate are akin to the Forsaken, and El/Shammaeloth mirrors the Creator and the Dark One. Whether intentional or not, those echoes add another layer of familiarity to the world.

Rating: 4/5 stars

I went into this one curious, since it's often hyped as “for Wheel of Time fans.” I'm not entirely convinced by that comparison. Sure, there are parallels; a young cast, an ancient evil looming, a world bound by rules and politics, but it doesn't feel like a clone. If anything, those comparisons set expectations a little too high. This book has its own style, and I appreciated that.

What really hooked me was the setting. Andarra is a society that's both oppressive and weary of its magically inclined population. The Treaty and the Tenets hang over everything, shaping how the Gifted live and how the rest of society treats them. That tension between the Andarrans and the Tols adds a sharp political edge, and the looming Boundary with Tol Golan in the north gives the whole story a sense of dread. It feels like a world waiting to crack.

Characters were a mixed bag, but in a good way. Caeden's arc was easily the most compelling. His story line carried a weight and mystery that pulled me in, and I found myself most invested whenever the narrative shifted to him. One line in particular stuck with me: “Everyone has a darker nature, Caeden. Everyone. Good men fear it, and evil men embrace it.” It's a simple sentence, but it captures both the prose style and the heart of Caeden's journey; the tension between who he is, who he fears he might be, and who he could become. That kind of thematic punch is what made his chapters stand out.

Elocien and Ashalia, on the other hand, felt like they were written in a slightly different register. Their interactions had a “YA” tone that didn't quite mesh with the rest of the book. Not bad, just jarring at times. Still, I enjoyed following the different perspectives, and the variety kept the story moving.

Prose‑wise, Islington keeps things accessible. It's straightforward and easy to read, though occasionally uneven in tone depending on which characters are on the page. But when it hits, like with that Caeden quote, it lands.

Overall, I enjoyed this as a solid start to the trilogy. It didn't grip me the way some first books do, so I'm glad it's a trilogy and not a sprawling 10‑book epic. Three books feels like the right scope for this story, and I'm looking forward to diving into the sequel.

Finishing Disquiet Gods left me with a mix of excitement and unease. The whole book is mixed with stretches of political maneuvering, philosophical reflection, and tension. It's not a book that hits the gas like the last few have felt, but instead one that builds a heavy, inevitable momentum. That slower rhythm works here, because it mirrors the sense of a galaxy unraveling and a man nearing the end of his story.

The character development is one of the book's strongest elements. Hadrian feels older, more burdened, and more self‑aware than ever, his narration carrying the melancholy of someone who is just “over it”. His relationships are layered with history and regret, and the introduction of Cassandra adds a fascinating new dynamic. She's sharp, competent and challenges Hadrian in ways that force him to confront truths about himself he might otherwise avoid and leave buried. Her presence injects freshness into the narrative especially in how she recasts Hadrian's role as both father, widow and flawed man.

The Empire is weakened by plague, the Cielcin are ascendant under their Prophet‑King, and humanity's future feels more fragile than ever. But it's the Watchers who leave the real challenge. Their presence shifts the series from a tale of war and politics into something far more cosmic and terrifying. The Watchers are not just distant, godlike beings, they are active forces shaping events, and their influence makes the galaxy feel small, fragile, and haunted. Every revelation about them raises the stakes beyond human survival, suggesting that Hadrian's struggle is not only against alien empires but against powers that exist outside time and comprehension. The Watchers give the book its sense of dread.

Ashes of Man is a powerful continuation of the Sun Eater saga, and for me it struck the perfect balance between introspection and momentum. The pacing is deliberate, never rushed, but it avoids the heaviness of Kingdoms of Death. It feels like a book that takes a deep breath in the first half, slowing down to let you sit with Hadrian's scars, then hits the gas as the galaxy itself teeters on the edge of collapse.

Hadrian finally grows from being the psuedo annoying immature person that he is. Hadrian is no longer the brash, uncertain figure of the early books; he's a man marked by grief and endurance, more self‑aware, more haunted, and yet still driven by a sense of duty that makes him deeply compelling. His relationships, especially with Valka, are handled with more maturity, showing growth.

The world building continues to amaze me. Ruocchio expands the scope of the galaxy once again, showing us an Empire under immense strain, the Cielcin unified under a terrifying new leader, and the fragile balance of power unraveling. The cultural and political details add richness without bogging down the story, and the looming presence of the greater cosmic threat keeps the tension simmering in the background.

When I picked up Kingdoms of Death, I knew it had a reputation for being the darkest entry in the Sun Eater saga, but I wasn't prepared for just how heavy and relentless it would feel. The pacing is slower than the Demon of White, and much of the narrative is consumed by Hadrian's captivity at the hands of the Cielcin. It's not a book you breeze through, it's one you endure with Hadrian.

Hadrian has always been a fascinating narrator as a literary device, equal parts philosopher, warrior, and unreliable narrator. The grandeur of his legend is gone, and what's left is a man clinging to survival, questioning his own worth, and confronting the limits of his resilience. Watching him break, and then slowly rebuild himself, gives a lot of gravity to the book. It's painful, but it's also the kind of character development that makes the series feel so much more than just another space opera.
The world building takes on a new dimension in this book. For the first time, we get a sustained look at the Cielcin not just as enemies, but as a people with their own fractured culture, traditions, and politics. The rise of Prince Syriani Dorayaica as a unifying figure among them raises the stakes for humanity in a way that feels ominous. I appreciated how Ruocchio balanced this plot escalation with the intensely personal story of Hadrian's suffering, it's a reminder that the fate of empires often turns on the survival of a single individual.

By the time I reached the end, I was emotionally drained. I think when I finished the book I just closed it and looked at the wall for a few minutes. Kingdoms of Death isn't the most action-packed or politically intricate of the series, but it's the most emotionally devastating. It's a story about endurance, about what it means to be broken, and about the cost of becoming a legend.

I burned through this book. I feel like the series really starts to hit its stride in this book. Ruocchio puts the gas pedal on the floor and never looks back. If you felt like you had any pacing issues with the first book or the second, there aren't any in this, its break neck speed compared to those.

The world expands greatly, Hadrian grows as a character and as a man, the development is great. I continue to really enjoy the world building and atmosphere of this setting. It still gives off really good modern Dune vibes. So far the series is shaping up to be one of the best I've read in a long time and I am excited to binge the rest and hopefully time it just in time for the release of the last book.

I -almost- DNF'ed this book, and I'm so glad I didn't. The first few chapters felt like a bit of a slog for me for some reason. Hadrian was being unreasonably childish and the conflict felt a bit engineered to advance the plot, but after that hurdle the story really smoothed out and the book grabbed me. And I'm SO glad I kept reading because the ending of this book really hooks you.

It has been a long time since I've dabbled in Sci-Fi. Suneater keeps getting recommended to me so I figured I would give it a try. It definitely feels.....a bit modern Dune/Greco-Roman culture. I really like the world building that Christopher Ruocchio is establishing in this book. I admittedly was a bit unsure at the beginning of the book as it felt a bit slow, but it ramped up quickly with some good hooks and plot twists. I found Hadrian to be a good character and overall enjoyed the book. Excited to see where the series goes!

The Thousand Names was an enjoyable but uneven read for me, and I gave it 3.5/5 stars. Its flintlock setting and well‑drawn characters stood out, though the pacing kept it from being a book I tore through quickly.

What I appreciated most about The Thousand Names was its distinctive atmosphere. The book has strong French Foreign Legion and Indiana Jones vibes, with its desert setting and colonial military backdrop. It felt like being dropped into a fantasy version of North Africa, complete with dusty outposts, long marches, and tense clashes with local forces. This gave the novel a unique flavor compared to more traditional medieval‑style fantasy.

The characters were a highlight, particularly Marcus and Winter. Marcus, the steady and pragmatic officer, brought a grounded perspective to the military campaign, while Winter's story line was both compelling and layered, especially with her personal struggles and the way she navigated her identity within the ranks. Both felt authentic, and their arcs carried much of the emotional weight of the book.

The military scenes were clearly well researched. From the logistics of moving troops to the tactics of battle, Django Wexler captured the feel of Napoleonic‑era warfare with impressive accuracy. The culture of the army, the chain of command, and the camaraderie among soldiers all rang true, which made the book feel immersive and believable.

I also appreciated the low fantasy approach. Magic is present, but it is mysterious. Instead, it lingers in the background, vague and occult, adding mystery without overwhelming the military and political focus of the story. This restraint worked well, giving the world a sense of depth while keeping the spotlight on the human conflicts.

That said, the pacing was slow at times. While I liked the book overall, it took me longer than expected to get through. Some sections dragged, and I occasionally found myself setting it aside before picking it back up again. It is not that the story was uninteresting, but the momentum sometimes faltered.

In the end, I am glad I read The Thousand Names. It was a solid introduction to Wexler's Shadow Campaigns series, with strong characters, a distinctive setting, and well‑researched military detail. However, it is not a series I feel compelled to rush through. I will probably continue with the sequels, but they are not at the top of my TBR list.

“However, I detected a sour undercurrent that, later in life, I would recognise as youthful idealism confronted by experience.” That line from The Pariah resonates deeply now that I have finished The Traitor and with it, Alwyn Scribe's journey. The Covenant of Steel trilogy has been a remarkable ride, and this final volume earns another 5/5 stars from me.

From the very beginning, Alwyn's story has been about growth, compromise, and the hard lessons of loyalty and survival. In The Traitor, those themes come full circle. Alwyn has become one of my favorite characters in recent memory, not because he is flawless, but because he is so human. His wit, his weaknesses, and his conflicted loyalties make him endlessly compelling, and his arc concludes in a way that feels both satisfying and true to the character we have followed since his outlaw days.

The Dark Mistress serves as the trilogy's final antagonist, and while she reminded me at times of the Ally from the Raven's Shadow trilogy, she is handled far more effectively. Where the Ally felt abstract and disconnected from the world, the Dark Mistress is woven into the narrative with purpose and menace. She is mysterious without being hollow, and her presence adds weight to the conflicts Alwyn faces.

One of the greatest strengths of this trilogy has been its commitment to a single point of view. By staying with Alwyn throughout, Ryan avoids the dilution that plagued some of his earlier work. The result is a story that feels focused and personal, even as it expands into larger battles and political struggles. Watching Alwyn navigate his relationship with Lady Evadine, his shifting loyalties, and his own conscience has been a highlight of the entire series.

Ryan's prose has also improved noticeably. His writing here is sharper, more confident, and more evocative than in his earlier works. The battle scenes are vivid and well‑paced, the quieter moments are thoughtful, and the dialogue feels authentic. It is clear that he has grown as an author, and The Traitor benefits from that maturity.

As a trilogy, Covenant of Steel has been consistently excellent. Each book built on the last, and the conclusion delivered on the promise of the beginning. I finishedThe Traitor both satisfied and a little sad to leave Alwyn behind, which is the mark of a great series.

Mossflower has always been my favorite of the Redwall series, and rereading it as an adult reminded me why, it's a story that balances adventure, warmth, and depth in a way that few childhood favorites manage to retain.

When I first read Mossflower as a child, it was pure magic: brave woodland creatures, an evil wildcat queen, and a quest that felt larger than life. Coming back to it as an adult, I was struck by how well it holds up, not just as a nostalgic comfort read, but as a genuinely well crafted fantasy novel. The pacing is brisk without being rushed, moving seamlessly between moments of high adventure, quiet humor, and the kind of cozy, food laden interludes that Brian Jacques was famous for. Even knowing the outcome, I found myself pulled along by the rhythm of the story, never feeling bogged down or impatient.

Jacques creates a living, breathing Mossflower Wood, filled with mice, mischievous thieves, stoic moles, and villainous stoats and weasels. The setting feels both mythic and homely, a place where epic quests and simple pleasures coexist. As a child, I was enchanted by the idea of woodland creatures living in castles and embarking on quests; as an adult, I can appreciate how Jacques layers in themes of community, resistance, and the founding of Redwall Abbey itself. It's a world that feels timeless, and one that rewards rereading.

The character development is surprisingly rich for what is often labeled a children's book. Martin the Warrior is not yet the legendary figure he becomes in later tales. Here, he's still raw, still learning, and that makes his journey all the more compelling. Gonff, the irrepressible mouse thief, remains one of the most charming companions in the series, and Tsarmina, the cruel wildcat queen, is a villain who manages to be both larger‑than‑life and chillingly believable. As a child, I loved the clear lines between good and evil; as an adult, I can see how Jacques gives his heroes flaws and his villains moments of cunning that make them more than caricatures.

What struck me most on rereading was the nostalgia woven into the experience. The same passages that once thrilled me as a child now carry a warmth and familiarity, like revisiting an old friend. Yet the story also resonates differently now, I can see the themes of sacrifice, leadership, and the building of something lasting (the Abbey) as more than just plot points; they're reflections on legacy and community. And perhaps the most exciting part of this reread is knowing that in a few years, I'll be able to share Mossflower with my own child. The thought of introducing them to Martin, Gonff, and the world of Mossflower Wood fills me with anticipation, it's the kind of story that begs to be passed down, and I can't wait to see it through their eyes for the first time.

The Martyr was great, and I gave it 4/5 stars. I was relieved and happy to see Anthony Ryan deliver a sequel that not only lived up to The Pariah but built on it. I was very nervous after reading his previous trilogy.

One of the things I appreciated most was the continued single character point of view. Following Alwyn Scribe exclusively keeps the story focused, and it allows Ryan to dig deeply into his growth. Alwyn remains a fascinating protagonist; flawed, and constantly shaped by the world around him. He's willing to grow and redefine himself by what he experiences and learns. His weakness regarding Lady Evadine is particularly compelling. His loyalty and conflicted feelings toward her add layers of tension and vulnerability to his character.

The low fantasy setting continues to be a strength. I read another review that referred to this as an “analogy medieval fantasy” and that seems to ring true. The world is grounded in politics, faith, and human ambition, with only subtle touches of the supernatural. The magic system exists, but it remains vague and mysterious, never overwhelming the narrative or being used as a convenient solution to problems. This restraint makes the world feel more believable and keeps the focus on the characters and their choices.

The battle scenes are another highlight. Here the clashes are both visceral and strategic. They carry weight, not just in terms of action but in how they shape Alwyn and the people around him. The battles feel taxing and with gravity, and they serve the story rather than existing for spectacle alone.

The Martyr was everything I hoped for in a sequel. It maintained the strengths of The Pariah, a focused perspective, a compelling protagonist, and a grounded setting while pushing the story forward in meaningful ways. I'm looking forward to the near release of the finale of the trilogy.

The Pariah was a fantastic start to the Covenant of Steel trilogy, and I give it 5/5 stars. Despite my initial apprehension after how the Raven's Shadow trilogy declined, this book restored my confidence in Anthony Ryan's storytelling.

Going into The Pariah, I was cautious. I still remembered how Blood Song had been such a strong debut, only for the sequels to falter. But the positive reviews for this new series had me optimistic, and I am glad I listened to them. From the opening chapters, I could tell this was a return to form.

The single character point of view was exactly what I wanted. Following Alwyn Scribe throughout the entire story gave the book a focus and intimacy that reminded me of what I loved in Blood Song. Alwyn is a compelling protagonist; quick‑witted, flawed, and constantly shaped by the harsh realities of his world. Watching him grow and mature through betrayal, hardship, and shifting loyalties made for a deeply engaging read.

I also appreciated the low fantasy setting. Instead of leaning heavily on magic or grandiose battles between gods, the story is grounded in human conflict, politics, and survival. The touches of the supernatural are subtle, which makes them feel more mysterious and impactful when they appear. This grounded approach gave the book a gritty realism that worked perfectly with Alwyn's journey.

The pacing was strong throughout. The book balances action, character development, and quieter moments of reflection without dragging. Every chapter felt purposeful, and by the end I was fully invested in both Alwyn's personal arc and the larger conflicts beginning to unfold.

Ryan's prose felt sharp, his dialogue believable, and his world building immersive without being overwhelming. It is clear he has refined his craft since Raven's Shadow, and The Pariah benefits from that maturity.

Overall, The Pariah was a reminder of why I was drawn to Anthony Ryan in the first place. It delivered a focused, character‑driven story in a grounded setting, with a protagonist I am eager to follow further. I am excited to continue the Covenant of Steel trilogy and hope its strength carries through the next installments.

Holy Sister was a powerful conclusion to the Book of the Ancestor trilogy, and I gave it 5/5 stars. The tone remained dark throughout, but Mark Lawrence executed it with precision, tying together the threads of Nona's journey in a way that felt both satisfying and earned.

“Your foes shape your life more than friends ever could.” That line resonates deeply with the way Holy Sister closes out Nona Grey's story. From the very beginning, Nona has been defined not only by the bonds she forged at the Convent of Sweet Mercy, but also by the enemies who tested her resolve, sharpened her instincts, and forced her to grow into the woman she becomes by the end of the trilogy.

The dark tone that has defined the series is present here in full force. Lawrence never shies away from the brutality of his world, nor from the impossible choices his characters must make. Yet, rather than feeling oppressive, it feels purposeful. The darkness is balanced by moments of loyalty, friendship, and sacrifice, which shine all the brighter against the bleak backdrop.

What makes Holy Sister so effective is how it completes Nona's character arc. In Red Sister, she was an orphaned girl, angry and uncertain, thrust into a world of training and survival. In Grey Sister, she began to find her place, learning to balance her fierce independence with the bonds she formed. Here, in Holy Sister, she is fully realized: a leader, a warrior, and a woman who has learned to carry both her scars and her responsibilities. Her growth feels authentic because it is hard‑won. Every loss, betrayal, and victory has shaped her, and by the end, she embodies the idea that strength is forged through struggle.

The world building also comes together in this final volume. The mysteries of Abeth, the dying sun, and the Corridor are explored more fully, and the stakes of the larger conflict become clear. Lawrence has a gift for revealing just enough to keep you hooked, and here he finally pulls back the curtain in a way that feels satisfying after two books of hints and foreshadowing.

The pacing is stronger than ever. Where Red Sister had moments that dragged for me, and Grey Sister hit a stride of action and revelation, Holy Sister combines both into a relentless but balanced narrative. The battles are intense, and the climactic sequences gripping. I found myself unable to put the book down, staying up late to see how it all resolved.

Looking back, the trilogy feels remarkably cohesive. Each book builds on the last, and while the tone is consistently dark, the execution is sharp and deliberate. Lawrence's prose is lean but effective, his characters flawed but believable, and his world harsh but fascinating.

Overall, Holy Sister delivered exactly what I hoped for in a finale. It tied together Nona's story with weight and emotion, maintained the dark tone of the series without overindulging in it, and left me satisfied with the journey. The Book of the Ancestor trilogy is grim, gripping, and ultimately rewarding, and Holy Sister is the excellent capstone.

Assassin's Quest was a frustrating conclusion to the Farseer Trilogy. I gave it 2/5 stars. While Robin Hobb's talent as a writer is undeniable, the character development, pacing, and contrived conflicts left me unsatisfied, especially compared to the promise of the first book.

The line “I wondered if there was any way to live amongst other people and refuse to be harnessed by their expectations and dependencies” captures the heart of my experience with this finale. Fitz's journey is defined by the weight of others' demands, yet the way those expectations play out often felt forced rather than organic. Instead of being drawn into a nuanced exploration of loyalty and freedom, I found myself frustrated by how many characters acted in ways that seemed unrealistic or engineered simply to prolong conflict.

Robin Hobb's prose remains a strength. Her ability to evoke atmosphere, to render the quiet despair of Fitz's inner world, and to create a sense of history for the Six Duchies is impressive. There are passages of genuine beauty, and moments where her skill as a storyteller shines through. On a sentence‑by‑sentence level, she is a gifted author.

However, the character development faltered. Fitz, who began as a compelling and conflicted protagonist, often felt stagnant here. His decisions seemed repetitive, and the supporting cast rarely grew beyond their established roles (and generally as a rule of thumb if they could be a dick, they would be a dick). Instead of evolving naturally, many interactions felt contrived, as though characters were pushed into certain behaviors to generate drama rather than because those choices made sense for them.

The plot itself suffered from pacing issues. At over 800 pages, the book moved painfully slowly. Long stretches of travel and introspection dragged, while key confrontations and revelations were underwhelming. The balance between quiet character moments and forward momentum was off, leaving me impatient rather than immersed.

I also struggled with what felt like glaring plot holes and inconsistencies. Characters often responded to events in ways that defied logic, and the resolution of certain threads felt forced. Given the widespread acclaim this trilogy receives, I found myself confused. Clearly, many readers connect deeply with Fitz's struggles and Hobb's world building, but for me the flaws overshadowed the strengths. I acknowledge this may come down to personal taste, but I could not ignore how often I was pulled out of the story by my inability to suspend disbelief.

“The fight isn't over until you win it, Fitz. That's all you have to remember. No matter what the other man thinks.”

So, honesty time - that quote sums up my reading journey of the Royal Assassin. I had a serious love/hate experience on this one; which really surprised me, given the strong start to the trilogy in Assassin's Apprentice.

Don't get me wrong, Robin Hobb's writing, prose, pacing, etc were all solid.

World building and expansion? Check. Decent exploration into the world and lore you're initially exposed to in Assassin's Apprentice.

Side character development? Excellent. Love me some Burrich - definitely my favorite character to this point. Kettricken get some good work in this one as well. The Fool continues to get fleshed out, and given the titles of future novels, I've no doubt he'll grow to play a more integral role.

Fitz's plot development? Pretty good. The romance story is a bit ridiculous in my opinion, but it think it's a fair depiction of hormonal teenage love. He makes realistic decisions based on his life circumstances, and I think the story line pertaining to his Wit progression and his relationship with Burrich are some of the true highlights of this book.

But.....(and I'll try to keep this spoiler free, but there might be some minor ones, so be warned)





Regal.

Regal, Regal, Regal.

Fitz knows he's evil. Verity knows he's evil. Shrewd knows he's...a wayward son. Everyone knows he's evil. If you've read book one you know he's evil. However, despite the fact that he literally plotted to overthrow Verity's heir apparent status, spark war with he Mountain King, kill Fitz, and a billion other terrible things, the entire cast of the series seems fairly resigned to leave him to his own devices for the entirety of the novel, while they KNOW he is plotting against Verity and the King, and THEY DO NOTHING ABOUT IT UNTIL IT IS FAR TOO LATE FOR NO APPARENT REASON. It was too much for me, I spent a good 75% of this book wanting to the slam my kindle against the wall because you literally just read page after page of the cast of characters uncovering all the terrible things that are going on, and Regal being the nexus of it all, and just sitting around on their hands for no reason. NO REASON. Almost anyone, Verity, Fitz, Kettricken, Chade, the Fool, etc could've have done literally anything short of killing Regal (which I understand why they felt they couldn't have) and it would've preventing a vast majority of the issues.

The entire book felt like an unnecessarily, and unrealistically forced conflict device that just made me shake my head and roll my eyes at the utter stupidity of the characters' logic and reasoning sometimes.

“Hi, I'm Verity. I'm actually a really good dude and a great character, but I need a flaw, so I'm terrible at my marriage. How am I terrible at my marriage? I'm so busy that I can't take 20 minutes to go tell my wife that I love her or visit her in the gardens she dedicated to our love; way too busy for that for no reason, so she's going to continue to feel neglected and lonely. I also am the most powerful and skilled Skill user in the world right now, and I know there are a bunch of Regal aligned Skill spies in the castle right now or are trying to spy on me, undermine the war to defend our kingdom, and likely kill my father the King, but I'm arbitrarily not going to do anything about it.”


I don't know, if I had to describe the book in a word, it'd be frustration. I was frustrated when I was reading it, I was frustrated when I put it down, and I was frustrated when I finished it. I enjoyed Fitz's developmental arc, but it was overshadowed but the glaring plot device issue described above, which is really disappointing. The completionist in me is definitely going to read the next book, because I need closure, but I hope the plot is a bit more.....easy to swallow.

I will also admit that maybe this is the long con that Robin Hobb is playing on her first time readers (i.e. me right now) and that after reading the next book, it'll all make sense. We shall see. If that's the case, I'll come back and write a quick update, but I don't think its wise to string out plot angst across books. That's just my personal opinion as a reader, and I don't anything about the actual writing of a novel and what it takes, and how it sells, and it seems that plenty of people had no issues whatsoever with it. So I wholeheartedly acknowledge I may just be in the minority here.

“I have since come to know that many men always see another's good fortune as a slight to themselves.”

I think that's a great quote to sum up the story.

I went into this story a bit worried. This is my first Robin Hobb book. I've been very intrigued to read her works for a while now, as they've come extremely highly recommended. I've been let down in the past by fandom hype, and I really, really wanted it to hold up. /r/fantasy can be a bit “echo-chambery” sometimes, and I've found I'm not always in line with the general consensus. However, I was thrilled that I really enjoyed my initial foray into Robin Hobb's work, and my introduction to Fitz.

I initially became interested due to the overwhelmingly positive reviews of her latest works, and all my initial research into the Realm of the Elderlings (her overarching universe), pointed to starting at the beginning if you wanted to understand what was going on. So here we are, and I'm glad I started here!

The pacing, prose and plot are right on point. I never felt overburdened with too much exposition or world building, or annoyed with not enough. I often had to force myself to put the book down and turn out the light and good to sleep, which is generally my metric for a 4-star book. I've already purchased the sequel, The Royal Assassin, and I've very excited to see where the story goes. I plan to dive right in.

I always enjoy the coming-of-age trope, and Robin Hobb does it very well. Our main character Fitz is certainly not handed anything via deus ex machina, and often has a rough go of it through his early years. The support cast of characters are well-fleshed out, believable, and a mixed bag in terms of who you'll love and hate, making it all that more realistic.

I can't speak to the rest of the series yet, but I'd definitely recommend this book.

“Murder the wrong man and he'll kill you.”

Whew, I burned through this one! Whatever issues I had getting into Red Sister did not exist for me in Grey Sister. I think I put my finger on it, however. It is not pacing. Mark Lawrence does a really good job of not drowning you in exposition and world building, unlike a lot of authors in the genre - which some just accept as a necessary evil of reading fantasy.

He writes in a way that makes you feel like he assumes you already know what's going on, which infuriates the hell out of you at times, but then sprinkles in explanations along the way. Its like giving micro-doses of drugs to addicts, and it keeps them fiening for more - or at least, that's how it is for me. The problem in Red Sister was, I wasn't addicted yet. I wasn't invested. But Grey Sister, I was 100% hooked, and I couldn't put it down.

The story jumps a few years from the end of the first book, and you retroactively learn what transpired in the years between as you go. Reading some reviews about this book after I read it, some people complain about going back to “training” in this book, which yes, is the case for a portion of it, but I found a lot more action in this book than the first. Much more of the world is revealed to you (finally). You get an idea of what's going on in the larger picture, and you are able to start piecing to together how the characters you've been spending so much time with may be tying into this larger storyline. However, having read some of Mark Lawrence's other stuff, I'm sure we'll get thrown through some loops. He's really good at making you think you have an idea of where something is going, then yanking the rug out from under you.

On another note, now that we are learning more about the larger world, I particularly enjoy the setting and world that Mark Lawrence has built. While he sure does seem to love a post-apocalyptic undertone, I always find his take on world building and settings unique and enjoyable. Avoiding fantasy tropes is all but impossible, but I like that Mark Lawrence embraces some of them, and twists them in his own way to make them feel new and exciting.


I won't spoil anything in this book, but if you found yourself a bit unsure after this first one book, you won't feel that way after this one.

I enjoyed this book immensely and I'm very excited to see how the whole trilogy plays outs. Mark Lawrence delivers with a fantasy setting with some very unique elements that serve to drive the overarching plot. The story and plot are definitely dark, and will take a lot from you emotionally, but it pulls you into its grips slowly and latches on tight.


“The hardest lesson I ever learned was that every bad thing you see a friend do to someone else they will some day do to you.”

- Nona Grey


The first book to embark you on a trilogy based in a world around a society surviving a slowly dying sun, Nona Grey is an orphaned girl taken in by the Convent of Sweet Mercy and raised to become a killer nun. While it normally takes ten years for this journey of knowledge and training, Nona learns many life lessons while at the Convent, under the guidance of Abbess Glass, all the while avoiding the false accusations of murder the Convent saved her from.

The majority of the book is centered around the coming of age of Nona, as she finds her way through her new life as a Nun and at the Convent. With most of civilization being shoehorned into the equator for warmth, and obvious signs of a previous advanced civilization existing or having been present, the people of the world generally don't know why things are the way they are, they are just fighting to exist and survive. Humanity is preserved by means of a ‘focus moon' that reflects the sun and its heat along the “Corridor” to keep back the ever impending ice shelves. Magic takes a bit of a back seat, but is present in the form of certain individuals being born with certain types of genetic traits and giving them specific abilities.

As I previously stated, I really enjoyed this book, and I'm very excited to see how the whole trilogy plays outs. However, I admitted I struggled getting into this book. I don't know if I read too much hype about the book before I started it or what. Don't get me wrong, Mark Lawrence opened strong and hooked me early, but for some reason, about a third of the way into the book, I just kept finding myself just not really into it. I ended up putting it down and reading something else entirely (the entire Covenant of Steel trilogy, for example) before coming back to it. I committed to finishing it, so I could see what all the hype about it was about, and I'm really glad I did it. I don't know if it was a pacing issue or what, but there was a period of the book during the middle where it slumped for me, I'm not sure why. Perhaps it was a bit of pacing, and perhaps it was my personal issue of tolerance for grimdark. I like grimdark, I just can't binge it. Once I muscled through that, it picked up again and I was right back on track staying up way too late reading again. Your mileage may vary here, and this may have just been a personal issue.

I really enjoyed the setting that Mark Lawrence developed for the trilogy; it feels unique for a lot of what I've been reading lately and it's fun to explore through the eyes of the characters he writes. He does an excellent job of showing and not telling, and it leaves you wondering what the hell is going on in the world a lot of the time, but in a good way. He keeps feeding you little tidbits, and leaving you ravenous for more.

Having read his Broken Empire trilogy many years ago, I thought I knew what I'd be getting into, but I feel like Mark Lawrence's style has manifested into something else entirely, and in a good way. He writes flawed and believable characters so well, in my opinion. There is no clear cut right or wrong answer, in his worlds there are only the answers that enable you to survive or die. He relentlessly puts his characters in difficult situations where they have to choose between the lesser of terrible choices and then live with those decisions.

I look forward to jumping into the next book, Grey Sister.

This is admittedly the second time I read this book. The first time I read Starship Troopers, was in middle school, right after I watched the movie in the theaters. I had fond memories of the book, and I think the early-teen me enjoyed it for the fun Sci-Fi romp that it was at the time, naïve to a lot of the larger undertones in the book.

I'm not sure what gave me the itch to re-read it this year. Sharing a bit of personal information of myself, I'm wrapping up a long career in the military next month, and I randomly watched the movie as it came on HBO on TV and just decided to open it up on my Kindle again and see how it held up. I tell you what, looking at it 20 years later, on the other end of a military career, it may as well have been another book entirely.

I loved this book, but not for the reasons people seem to find it most polarizing. I found the political undertones, the military “propaganda” (if you can even really call it that in this day and age) to not really be a the central point of the story that resonated with me. To me, this is coming of age story of a boy transitioning into a man. While he chooses a path in the military, it could have really been anything. However, its ultimately about him finding his own way in life (forsaking a rather rich inheritance), finding out who he truly is, what his true ideals are, what his limits are, and how far he is willing to go to pursue his goals and defend his ideals. I found this to be the true story, and it touched me a bit more than I was expecting it to.

Sure you can find undertones and debate the politics and propaganda that Heinlein laces through the rest of the book, but it was written in 1959, when society was in a very different place. Being a veteran, I can see past “typical recruitment propaganda” fairly easily, and still laugh at some of the dry/dark military humor and enjoy it at face value - but to me, it never came off as the central theme of the book. I admit, I may be in the minority here.

I read a Sci-Fi coming of age story of a boy becoming a man in a war, and enjoyed it.

The Blinding Knife was a strong continuation of the Lightbringer series, and I gave it 4/5 stars. It built well on the foundation of The Black Prism, shifted the spotlight more firmly onto Kip, and continued to showcase one of the most inventive and well‑structured magic systems I've read in fantasy.

What stood out most to me in this second installment was the shift in focus toward Kip. In The Black Prism, he often felt like a secondary figure orbiting Gavin's story, but here he begins to step into his own as a central character. His growth, struggles, and gradual acceptance of his role in the larger conflict gave the book a strong emotional coming-of-age tone. Watching Kip wrestle with his insecurities while still rising to meet impossible challenges made him a compelling protagonist.

Another highlight was Andross Guile. He is one of the better written supporting characters in the series, and I appreciated the nuance in his portrayal. While the main characters often interpret his actions as malicious, it becomes clear that Andross is a man of intent and vision, executing his goals with uncompromising relentlessness. That kind of character, someone whose good intentions are obscured by their methods, adds depth and complexity to the story, and I found myself fascinated by every scene he was in.

The magic system remains a standout feature. Brent Weeks' chromaturgy is one of the most creative and well‑implemented systems I've encountered in fantasy. The rules are clear, the applications are inventive, and the way it ties into both the world building and the characters' arcs is seamless. It never feels like a gimmick or a shortcut; instead, it enriches the story and raises the stakes in meaningful ways.

The plot itself continues to escalate from the groundwork laid in The Black Prism. The political intrigue, the looming threat of the Color Prince, and the personal struggles of the Guile family all intertwine to create a narrative that feels both epic and personal. The pacing is brisker than in book one, and while it still takes its time to explore character dynamics, the momentum rarely falters.
If I had one critique, it is that the book occasionally feels like it is juggling too many threads at once. With Kip's rise, Gavin's struggles, and the broader conflicts unfolding, there were moments where the narrative felt stretched thin. Still, the strength of the characters and the clarity of the magic system kept me engaged throughout.

Overall, The Blinding Knife was a worthy sequel. It deepened the characters, expanded the world, and delivered on the promise of the first book while setting the stage for even bigger things to come. Brent Weeks has crafted a series that balances inventive magic, layered characters, and high stakes with impressive skill.

This book is just plain fun. It doesn't take itself too seriously, and there's a lot of tongue-in-cheek humor. Roving mercenary bands styled after 80's metal bands? What's not to love? Its the perfect palate cleanser between some of the beefier, darker, series I've been reading lately.

If you want an entertaining, light (in a good way), campy fantasy read, definitely grab this one. Its full of snarky humor, a solid story, good characters, and tons of quotes that'll stick with you, case in point:

“Look here at a warrior born, a scion of power and poverty whose purpose is manifold: to shatter shackles, to murder monarchs, and to demonstrate that even the forces of good must sometimes enlist the service of big, bad motherfuckers.”

While I admit I don't feel a burning need to immediately jump into the next book in the series, I look forward towards when I do pick it up. Thanks for a refreshing entry in the fantasy genre, Nicholas Eames, I really, really enjoyed it.

Queen of Fire was a disappointing conclusion to the Raven's Shadow trilogy. I gave it 2/5 stars. I nearly set it aside unfinished, but I pushed through out of a need to see the story completed. Unfortunately, the finale felt disjointed, with an antagonist that never fit the world and character perspectives that continued to decline after the brilliance of Blood Song.

The multi‑POV structure, which already felt uneven in Tower Lord, became even more scattered here. Instead of deepening my connection to the characters, the shifting perspectives diluted the narrative and left me detached from the people I once cared about. The intimacy and emotional weight of Blood Song were gone, replaced by a sprawling structure that lacked cohesion.

The antagonist, the Ally, was the weakest element of all. In a world that had been built on grounded conflicts of faith, politics, and loyalty, the Ally felt out of place. The character was more an abstract force than a believable villain, and the lack of depth made the central conflict feel hollow. At times, the story leaned on lines like “She was learning the appearance of omniscience could offer as much power as omniscience itself”, which hinted at clever themes of perception and manipulation, but these moments were rare and not enough to anchor the narrative.

The pacing also dragged. At over 600 pages, the book often meandered through travel, exposition, and political maneuvering without urgency. The climactic moments, when they arrived, felt rushed and unearned. Even the more striking lines, such as “Only in war does the madman become sane”, stood out less as part of a powerful whole and more as isolated flashes of insight in an otherwise uneven story.

What makes this decline so frustrating is how strong the trilogy began. Blood Song was one of the best debut fantasies I have read, and it set expectations high. Tower Lord stumbled but still had moments of intrigue. Queen of Fire, however, failed to bring the threads together in a satisfying way. The fall off from the first book to the last is baffling, and it left me more disappointed than anything else.

I do not regret finishing the trilogy, because Vaelin remains a character with weight and presence, and there are glimpses of Ryan's talent throughout. But as a whole, the Raven's Shadow trilogy feels like a case study in diminishing returns, starting with brilliance and ending with frustration.