The Rook, au service surnaturel de sa majesté

I really thought I'd enjoy this. I wanted to like this. I didn't :(

This book features one of the most intriguing opening scenes I've read lately, and it sets the tone for a mysterious dark tale (which is fantastic). Then the entire thing turns into a humorously absurd tale which obviously isn't meant to be taken seriously (which is also fine, I guess, just not the kind of book I prefer reading). The narrative stays uneven, as if the book just can't decide what sort of book it wants to be. Scenes begin with a sober tone only to melt into a pile of giggles. This might appeal to many readers, but unfortunately I'm not one of them.

And the cleverness, oh god, the cleverness. See, this book is imaginative. And clever. Oh so very clever. It's so in love with its own cleverness that it becomes tiresome very, very fast. Everyone's constantly delivering snarky one-liners, everything is either a pun or a juvenile joke, and there's no real way to differentiate the characters because they're all just, well, so damn witty and snarky they basically sound the same.

All in all, this was an overwritten book with a cool premise, some nice ideas and a very tedious execution. I thought I'd give it just one star, but it gets a surprise extra star for the stroke of genius that is the Gestalt siblings.

So, I was in a bookstore in San Francisco and Abby really wanted to recommend a book to me, but nothing really sounded good. I bought the Rook more out of a sense of wanting to buy a book in that particular moment rather than any hope that this specific book would speak to me. And then, it happened to be in my backpack when I found myself caught on a bus without the book I was reading. I got to “The body you're wearing used to be mine” and found myself completely unable to put the book down for the next 450+ pages.

This is really true perfection: a spy novel-y romp of deception and double-crossing, with some lovely world building (on the heavy side of expository, but well-explained by the protagonist's amnesia) and a female character that's nuanced and has agency and kicks butt and takes names. The sort of book that's like a warm cup of spicy cinnamon tea in my hierarchy of comfort.

I also had many lovely existential conversations prompted by the Rook: Is present Myfanwy the same as past Myfanwy? Just without trauma? Is she a totally new person? What does identity mean, anyway?

I'm so in for the series, but I think the framing device of amnesia really made this book shine, not sure how it'll keep up in the future.

I loved this book! It's creative and fun and funny and silly. It's like Christopher Lamb wrote a cross between a Harry Potter & Jason Bourne. And it's not like that. It belongs to itself. I liked the plot device of having the main character wake up with no memory of who she is so that we get to learn about her world as she does. I love the weird and intricate world of the Checquy. I love Ingrid! I love the files that Thomas collected on her co-workers. This is my favorite book this year.