The Confectioner's Guild

So... both bouquets and brickbats, here.

It was an enjoyable read, kept me entertained and interested through the whole story and I do intend to read the rest of the series.

BUT

I hate the constant “everyone betrays me! I'm always alone!” whining
I hate the “you lied to me!” “technically not...” “yes, you did!” “Ok, I'm sorry I lied to you”. He didn't. And why he didn't spread out his life on you on the first meeting was totally understandable and rational, and absolutely no reason to get your knickers in twist for. You are being unreasonable, Wren.
I hate the “it's my life so I need to push my nose into it! I can't let people who know better do their jobs without me interfering, because it's my life!” No!
I hate the “I can't forgive him, because he thought I was lying!” Come on, why wouldn't he think you were lying? He's known you for a week!
I hate the “how dare you believe that of me!” He wasn't “believing” anything of you.
Or “Could she truly set aside all resentment at — for the part they'd played” Excuse me, what? HOW DARE YOU!!!
I hate the “she bit back a sarcastic comment” - always protesting against any negative said about her, how ever justified. Never taking responsibility of her own actions and choices.

I hate it that she's always the one who's right, righteous, in the right, when it's obvious to me that she isn't. To me Wren comes across as an entitled, self-centered bitch, quite often, and I hate that. I hate that attitude, and it's shown in so many YA novels, romance novels, TV-series... I don't want to be right because I'm a woman, I want to be right because I'm right!

Also, she's 16. SIXTEEN. Just google “16 years old girl” if you have forgotten how it was when you were 16. SHE IS SIXTEEN YEARS OLD!!! She's not a woman, she's a kid!


There were a lot of funny bits, some delicious descriptions that tickled my imagination, and she seems to really love food :-D (Though I would love her to expand her ideas of confectionery. I was expecting Marie Antoine Carême, and I got a home confectioner. Seriously. Not even the chocolate raspberry tart was anything spectacular.)

“Wren had heard that the inquisitor had once served a man a plate of ladyfingers in an effort ot break him. Not the spongy biscuit kind. The kind that came from the man's own wife.”

“from aristocratic Apricans swathed in silk and leather to a dark-haired Centu clansman heading to his ship nestled in the Port Quarter to grubby Tamrosis in their flowing patchwork cloaks, refugees from the Red Plague or Aprican occupation. She even saw to Magnish children, their dark skin and inky hair decrying their heritage even more than their matching starched uniforms.”

The Sower, first among the gods, plowing fields to provide for humanity, and his wife, the Beekeeper, the goddess worshiped by her guild, collecting nectar and pollen from the flowering things of the earth. The Carpenter and the Seamstress, providing shelter and clothing for humanity, and the Midwife and the Brewer, presiding over swelling life and birth and celebration. And then there were the panels with the gods who presided over death - the Piscator and the Huntress with her hellhounds, keeping balance in the world, pulling those who did wrong into the furnace of hell.”