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Review: Uprooted

UprootedUprooted by Naomi Novik
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I don’t know that I’ve ever boomeranged so intensely about a book. When I started reading, I would have easily given it a 5-star rating. At the end, I wanted to give it a 2. So I’m compromising and giving it a 3.
“Uprooted” is an incredible idea for anyone who likes dark fairy tales—or, you know, the originals. At the beginning, at least, it’s a Eastern European-flavored “Brothers Grimm” (yes, that wonderful/terrible movie!). And it’s rhapsodic! It’s so great! We follow the main character, (who I called “Agnes” in my head because I couldn’t figure out how to pronounce it), a peasant girl without much in her favor, as she is swept up by a stern and mysterious wizard to live for a term of 10 years in his brooding and chilly tower. He is known as “the Dragon,” and the story opens with a clever play on the “dragon abducting virgins” trope. In fact, that’s what I loved about the beginning: it is SO clever, and has such beautiful writing, and is so unexpected in so many ways. Things in the evil Wood were literally downright terrifying in ways you never see in modern fairytales anymore; Novik really knew how to make them scary!

And I was so completely on board—yes, this! Give me more of this! It’s so wonderful!

And then I started to get annoyed. And then really really pissed off.

The following airing of the grievances will be spoilery. Stop now if you’re thinking of reading it and want to be surprised.

It’s not too surprising that Agnes discovers she has magical abilities: she’s the heroine, it happens! But when the story went from “she has magic and it’s really really hard” to “she has magic and also she’s the best in the whole wide world,” I had a problem.

The story takes place over 1 year, and she’s like 16 or 18. She definitively begins the story as a confused young teen girl, all gawky knees and teen confusion and angst. But by the end, she seems… 25? 30? Very knowing and self-confident and instinctively talented at magic. But is there a logical progression between these two points? Hell no. Just 2/3 of the way through the book, Agnes just completely changes personalities. And because she’s the best most magicalist and youngest and suddenly confidentest and whatever, she comes across as a ridiculous Mary Sue character. There’s an early struggle, then other totally unrelated stuff happens, and suddenly she’s the best. Gag me.

Then there’s the forced and utterly unnecessary romance. It feels like someone late in the process said “you know what this book needs? Someone needs to have some sex!” But that is exactly what I found charming about the early part of the book—she had this really interesting (and frankly, rare) teacher-student relationship with the Dragon. It was perfect just as it was, as a deep if perhaps confusing connection. But then they have sex for no good reason…and it is totally inconsequential to the plot. I don’t know why I had to read it! Why did it matter? I don’t care! Plus it is totally creepy that he’s several hundred years old and she is, don’t forget, 16. This weirdness is even mentioned, and Agnes just laughs it off! No, address it! It’s weird! How is it not weird? Give me a reason, make it mean something, don’t just shoehorn a romantic subplot in there because it’s a woman-led story!

Then there’s the whole thing with the royal family. Just everything in that section…I don’t care. You know why? A bunch of characters are introduced and then murdered in very quick succession, and I am never given a chance to understand why they are important. And the Wood was already mysterious and dangerous as it was. Decamping the storyline to another city (and separating the Dragon and Agnes) just felt entirely unnecessary. And I really truly just don’t care what is happening to the royals. That could have been a sequel, but it felt crammed into this novel and for no good reason. It would have been better without it.

And the last thing that annoyed me was purely in the writing: characters seeming to think things to themselves but other characters answering as if they’d been speaking, and characters having multiple names, not always with the new name explained or even introduced in a logical way. The first issue made it seem like characters were reading minds, and that was just weird and unnecessary, and the second issue made it seem like there were a lot more characters than there really were, and then I had to go back and reread to figure stuff out.

I don’t know what to make of this book. I LOVED the first half. It was amazing. I loved the characters, I loved the ideas, I was afraid of the scary things, the writing was beautiful. The end was pretty okay, I guess, even if I disagree with a few nits. But from midway to nearly the end? Throw that right out. Rubbish.

Read at your own risk.

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Review: The Night Circus

The Night CircusThe Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

“Dreamlike” is the best adjective for this book about magic, secrets, and the wonders of the circus. Though the circus is rendered exclusively in black and white and shades of grey, The Night Circus bursts with color. The descriptions are truly the best part, capturing the allure of the circus, the vividness of life, and the way our struggles can make us feel. It’s a scrumptious read particularly suited to a cold winter’s night and a warm fire.

Erin Morgenstern’s tale follows two ancient, rival magicians who sign up two children for a life-long “game.” Without even explaining the “rules” of this game, or the point, or the stakes, the two children–Celia and Marco–learn magic. When they come of age, the arena for the game is set: a circus like no other. This circus, Le Cirque des Rêves (Circus of Dreams) operates only at night, is exclusively decorated in black, white, and greys, and features performances beyond Barnum & Bailey and the restrictions of reality. It is also a platform for the contest of wills between Celia and Marco.

But the original magicians don’t realize that their competitors are actually more similar than different, and what is intended as a fight turns into an all-consuming love, a love that imperils everyone who becomes ensnared in the circus.

The descriptions of late 1880-early 1900 America and Europe, the possibilities created by a circus without limits, the lush designs and ideas: these I love. I hope The Night Circus is someday made into a film, but the only suitable directors would be a) Terry Gilliam, b) Baz Luhrman, or c) Tim Burton, in that order. Those are the only directors I can see capturing the visual scope and detail Morgenstern puts out, so head’s up, guys.

However, I struggled with the plot. The first third of the novel just didn’t capture me, and with even the character’s names not being determined until later in the book–and not knowing what the game is or what the stakes may be–it was hard to “root” for anyone. The story moves forwards and backwards and sideways in time, making it a little confusing to follow. So it takes awhile for The Night Circus to work its magic on you–but magical it is.

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