Review: Dungeon Crawler Carl

Dungeon Crawler Carl Cover Art

NEW ACHIEVEMENT: You found a book that sounds utterly ridiculous on paper and somehow turns out to be one of the most entertaining, emotionally effective, and unexpectedly addictive audiobooks you’ve listened to in years. Reward: existential dread, uncontrollable laughter, and a sudden urge to explain loot tables to confused friends.

Dungeon Crawler Carl by Matt Dinniman is an absolute riot from beginning to end. The premise feels like it was engineered in a laboratory to sound absurd. Earth is destroyed by an alien corporation, the survivors are forced into a galaxy wide reality television death game, and our protagonist must descend through an increasingly deadly dungeon accompanied by his ex-girlfriend’s prize-winning cat. It should be nonsense. In many ways it is nonsense. It is also brilliantly written, consistently hilarious, surprisingly brutal, and far more emotionally engaging than I ever expected.

At the centre of the chaos is Carl, who could easily have been written as a generic sarcastic action hero. Instead, he feels refreshingly human. He is bewildered, angry, frequently out of his depth, and often making decisions based on stubbornness and sheer survival instinct. His growing relationship with Princess Donut, who rapidly evolves from comic relief into one of the most entertaining characters in the book, becomes one of the novel’s greatest strengths. Their dynamic is genuinely funny, but it also develops real emotional depth as the story progresses.

What immediately stands out is how perfectly the book captures the feel of both MMORPGs and tabletop roleplaying games. Anyone who has spent far too many hours in World of Warcraft, Diablo, Final Fantasy XIV, or similar games will instantly recognise the mechanics. Loot drops, increasingly absurd item descriptions, skill trees, dungeon bosses, party management, crafting systems, min maxing, grinding, and wildly unbalanced encounters are all lovingly mocked while still feeling like genuine celebrations of gaming culture.

The tabletop influences are just as strong. There is a heavy Dungeons & Dragons energy running through the entire novel, particularly in the way absurd encounters can spiral into unexpected chaos because of player choices. It often feels like a dungeon master who has completely lost control of their campaign while the players somehow continue succeeding through luck, creativity, and reckless decision making. That chaotic energy gives the story an unpredictability that makes it incredibly difficult to stop listening.

What surprised me most was how dark the story becomes beneath the humour. The alien entertainment system at the heart of the dungeon is deeply disturbing, and Dinniman never lets the reader forget the human cost of the spectacle. Characters die horribly. People break under pressure. The satire of reality television and corporate exploitation becomes increasingly sharp as the story unfolds.

The audiobook is elevated to another level entirely by the phenomenal narration of Jeff Hays. This is genuinely one of the best audiobook performances I have ever heard. Hays does not simply narrate the story. He performs it with extraordinary energy, emotional range, and comedic precision.

His portrayal of Carl perfectly captures the character’s frustration, sarcasm, and vulnerability. More impressively, his performance as Princess Donut is extraordinary. He gives her a larger than life personality that could easily become irritating, yet somehow makes her endlessly entertaining. Her dramatic declarations are consistently hilarious.

Hays also handles the dungeon AI announcements, bizarre monsters, and enormous supporting cast with astonishing versatility. Every voice feels distinct and memorable. More importantly, he understands when to let the humour breathe and when to lean into the darker emotional moments. That balance is what makes the performance truly exceptional.

By the end, I was stunned by how much I loved this book. Dungeon Crawler Carl is clever, chaotic, heartfelt, and relentlessly entertaining. It embraces absurdity while delivering genuine stakes and surprisingly rich character development. Combined with Jeff Hays’ spectacular narration, this became one of the most enjoyable audiobook experiences I have had in a very long time.

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Review: Dragondrums

Dragondrums Cover Art

Dragondrums by Anne McCaffrey holds a particularly special place in my memory because it was the very first Dragonriders of Pern novel I ever read as a child. Long before I understood the wider chronology of the series or fully appreciated the depth of McCaffrey’s world building, this was my introduction to Pern. Revisiting it now as an adult carried a unique sense of nostalgia. I was returning not just to a novel, but to the doorway that first introduced me to one of my favourite fictional worlds.

That personal connection made the reread especially interesting because Dragondrums feels quite different when approached with adult eyes. As a child, I was immediately captivated by the dragons, fire lizards, Harper Hall politics, and the simple thrill of discovering a world that felt so vast and lived in. Those elements remain deeply enjoyable, but what stood out to me now was how thoughtful and character driven this novel really is.

Unlike Dragonsong and Dragonsinger, which focus on Menolly’s struggles to find acceptance and recognition, Dragondrums shifts its attention to Piemur. He had always been an entertaining supporting character in my childhood memory, largely because of his humour, confidence, and occasional talent for causing chaos. Revisiting the novel now, I found him far more layered than I remembered. His frustration over the loss of his singing voice feels genuinely painful, particularly because music had defined so much of his identity.

McCaffrey handles that transition exceptionally well. Piemur’s bitterness, embarrassment, and eventual adaptation all feel believable. He does not immediately embrace his new role, and his resentment is understandable. Watching him slowly realise that his talents extend far beyond singing creates a compelling emotional arc. His intelligence, curiosity, and ability to navigate difficult situations become increasingly important, and his growth feels earned rather than forced.

One of the most enjoyable aspects of the novel remains its sense of adventure. Piemur’s increasingly dangerous assignments and secretive tasks add momentum to the story, creating moments of tension that balance the more reflective character development. These sections remain highly entertaining and capture much of the excitement that first drew me into the series as a child.

The world building remains one of McCaffrey’s greatest strengths. By this point, Pern feels fully realised, with its social hierarchies, traditions, and evolving political tensions all contributing to the sense of a living world. Because this was my first introduction to Pern as a child, I remember feeling overwhelmed in the best possible way by how large everything seemed. Returning to it now, I was struck by how efficiently McCaffrey introduces these elements without overwhelming the reader.

The relationships between characters also feel richer than I remembered. Menolly remains a strong presence, and her friendship with Piemur adds warmth to the story. Their interactions feel genuine and supportive, helping ground the larger narrative in personal relationships.

The audiobook is significantly enhanced by the narration of Sally Darling. Darling once again proves herself an excellent match for this corner of the Pern universe. Her narration carries genuine warmth and emotional depth, particularly during Piemur’s more vulnerable moments.

She captures his frustration and insecurity with real sensitivity while also embracing his mischievous energy. That balance is essential to making Piemur as engaging as he is, and Darling handles it beautifully. Her performance ensures that his humour never undermines the more serious emotional beats.

Darling’s pacing is excellent throughout. She allows quieter moments of reflection to land while maintaining tension during the more adventurous sequences. Her character voices remain distinct without becoming exaggerated, helping preserve the grounded emotional tone of the novel.

Revisiting Dragondrums was both nostalgic and genuinely rewarding. There was a risk that the first Pern novel I ever read might feel diminished by time and memory, but the opposite proved true. The story remains engaging, emotionally honest, and full of charm.

While nostalgia certainly shaped my return to this book, it also reminded me why Anne McCaffrey’s world captured my imagination so completely as a child. Dragondrums remains a wonderful entry point into Pern and a deeply satisfying novel in its own right. With Sally Darling’s heartfelt narration adding even more emotional texture, this revisit felt like reconnecting with an old friend.

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Review: Dragonsinger

Dragonsinger Cover Art

Dragonsinger by Anne McCaffrey was one of those novels that lived vividly in my memory from childhood, even if many of the finer details had faded over time. Returning to it now for the first time in decades was both a nostalgic experience and an unexpectedly rewarding one. There is always a degree of risk when revisiting books that meant a great deal to you when you were younger. Sometimes they do not hold up in quite the way you hope. Thankfully, Dragonsinger not only survives that revisit, but in many ways feels richer and more emotionally resonant when read as an adult.

Picking up shortly after the events of Dragonsong, the novel follows Menolly as she leaves the restrictive environment of Half-Circle Sea Hold and begins life at Harper Hall. After spending so much of the previous book watching her talents be dismissed or actively suppressed, there is something deeply satisfying about seeing her enter a space where her musical gifts can finally be nurtured. That does not mean her journey suddenly becomes easy. McCaffrey wisely avoids making Harper Hall an idealised sanctuary, and Menolly quickly discovers that jealousy, hierarchy, and entrenched attitudes still create significant obstacles.

What makes the novel so effective is the way it balances external conflict with quieter emotional development. The dramatic tension here is far less about life threatening danger and more about belonging, confidence, and self worth. Menolly remains an immensely likeable protagonist because she never transforms into an effortlessly confident hero. She continues to doubt herself, struggles with loneliness, and often feels overwhelmed by the expectations placed upon her. Those insecurities make her triumphs feel genuinely earned.

Revisiting the novel as an adult, I found myself appreciating these emotional beats far more than I did as a child. When I first read Dragonsinger, I was naturally drawn to the fire lizards, the music, and the wider sense of adventure. Those aspects remain delightful. The fire lizards are still wonderfully charming, often providing moments of humour and warmth, and McCaffrey’s descriptions of music retain a sense of passion that makes Menolly’s gift feel tangible.

What stood out much more this time was the social complexity of Harper Hall. The rivalries between apprentices, the insecurities of those who feel threatened by Menolly’s talent, and the institutional traditions that shape behaviour all feel more nuanced than I remembered. McCaffrey does an excellent job of portraying how progress often happens unevenly. Menolly may have escaped one form of restriction, but she still has to navigate people who are resistant to change.

The world of Pern continues to feel wonderfully immersive. One of McCaffrey’s greatest strengths has always been making the setting feel lived in. The halls, holds, and traditions all possess a sense of history, and even smaller moments help reinforce that depth. Dragonsinger may be more intimate in scale than some of the larger Pern novels, but that narrower focus allows the world building to feel particularly personal.

The audiobook is elevated significantly by the narration of Sally Darling. Darling delivers a wonderfully warm and emotionally intelligent performance that feels perfectly suited to Menolly’s story. Her narration captures the protagonist’s vulnerability without ever making her seem weak, and she handles moments of triumph with genuine warmth.

There is a real emotional sensitivity in Darling’s performance that strengthens the quieter scenes. Moments of embarrassment, isolation, and joy all feel authentic because she allows them space to breathe. Her portrayal of supporting characters is equally effective, creating clear distinctions without becoming exaggerated or theatrical.

Her pacing is particularly strong during scenes involving music. She manages to communicate the emotional importance of these moments in a way that feels natural and heartfelt. That is no small achievement in a story where music is so central to the protagonist’s identity.

Returning to Dragonsinger after so many years reminded me why Anne McCaffrey’s work left such a lasting impression on me as a child. It remains a thoughtful, heartfelt coming of age story wrapped in a richly realised fantasy world. While nostalgia certainly played a role in my enjoyment, the novel’s emotional honesty and enduring charm proved that my childhood affection for it was entirely deserved. Combined with Sally Darling’s excellent narration, this was a genuinely rewarding revisit.

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Review: Dragonsong

Dragonsong Cover Art

Dragonsong by Anne McCaffrey was one of those formative books I encountered as a child, the kind of novel that quietly embeds itself in your imagination and remains there for decades. Returning to it now for the first time since childhood was a fascinating experience, not simply because of nostalgia, but because I found myself responding to the story in very different ways as an adult. What once felt like a straightforward tale of adventure and self discovery now reveals deeper themes about autonomy, gender expectations, and resilience that I simply did not have the perspective to fully appreciate when I first read it.

The story follows Menolly, a gifted young woman living in a small fishing hold on Pern, where her musical talent is dismissed and actively suppressed because of rigid social expectations surrounding what women should and should not do. After an injury threatens her ability to play music and her family continues to stifle her ambitions, Menolly flees and carves out a life for herself in isolation, eventually forming a remarkable bond with a group of fire lizards.

As a child, I remember being captivated by the dragons, the fire lizards, and Menolly’s independence. Those elements remain every bit as compelling today. McCaffrey’s world building is as immersive as ever, and Pern still feels wonderfully unique in the way it blends science fiction foundations with the aesthetics of fantasy. The natural ecosystem, social structures, and traditions all feel lived in, and Dragonsong serves as a particularly effective entry point into that wider world.

What struck me far more on this reread, however, were the themes of patriarchy and misogyny that shape Menolly’s life. As a child, I understood that she was being treated unfairly, but I lacked the life experience to fully appreciate how insidious those attitudes were. Reading it as an adult, the restrictions placed on her feel far more frustrating and sadly recognisable. Her father’s rigid beliefs, her mother’s internalised acceptance of those beliefs, and the wider social norms of her community create an environment that feels suffocatingly believable.

What makes the novel so effective is that McCaffrey never allows these themes to overwhelm the sense of wonder at the heart of the story. Menolly’s struggle is painful, but it is also deeply empowering. Her journey towards self worth feels earned because it emerges through perseverance rather than sudden transformation. She remains vulnerable, frightened, and uncertain throughout much of the story, which makes her eventual growth all the more satisfying.

The emotional heart of the audiobook is strengthened enormously by the narration of Sally Darling. Darling delivers a performance filled with warmth and emotional nuance that perfectly suits Menolly’s story. Her narration captures the protagonist’s vulnerability during moments of rejection and loneliness, while also conveying her growing confidence as she begins to recognise her own worth.

Darling’s performance is especially effective in scenes involving Menolly’s music. She communicates the emotional significance of these moments with genuine tenderness, helping the listener understand why music means so much to the character. Her pacing allows quieter emotional beats to land effectively, and she handles the wider cast with clarity and subtle distinction.

There is also a sincerity to Darling’s narration that complements the novel’s emotional core. She never overplays dramatic moments, instead allowing the feelings already present in McCaffrey’s writing to emerge naturally. That restraint makes the audiobook feel deeply intimate.

Revisiting Dragonsong after so many years could easily have been disappointing. Childhood favourites do not always survive adult scrutiny. Instead, I found a richer and more emotionally layered story than I remembered. The adventure remains delightful, the world of Pern remains captivating, and Menolly remains an inspiring protagonist.

What changed was my understanding of the themes beneath the surface, and that only deepened my appreciation. Combined with Sally Darling’s heartfelt narration, Dragonsong proved to be both a nostalgic return and a genuinely rewarding new experience. It remains a deserved classic and one of Anne McCaffrey’s most enduringly powerful works.

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Review: A Wind in the Door

A Wind in the Door Cover Art

A Wind in the Door by Madeleine L'Engle is a thoughtful and imaginative sequel to A Wrinkle in Time, one that leans even further into abstraction, philosophy, and the strange beauty of its ideas. While it may feel more complex and at times more unusual than its predecessor, it rewards patience with a story that is rich in meaning and quietly profound.

The novel returns to Meg Murry, now slightly older and facing challenges that are more internal than external. Her younger brother Charles Wallace is once again at the centre of events, this time threatened by a mysterious illness that seems to operate on a level beyond ordinary understanding. From this intimate starting point, L’Engle expands outward into a narrative that spans not just space but scale itself, moving into the microscopic and conceptual realms in a way that feels both daring and original.

What sets A Wind in the Door apart is its willingness to embrace complexity. The introduction of concepts such as farandolae, mitochondria, and the nature of naming as a force of order may initially seem daunting, especially for younger readers. Yet L’Engle presents these ideas with a sense of wonder that encourages curiosity rather than confusion. The story asks the reader to engage actively, to accept that not everything will be immediately clear, and to find meaning through experience rather than simple explanation.

The depth of character remains a central strength. Meg continues to be a compelling protagonist, defined as much by her insecurities as by her determination. Her struggle with self worth is particularly resonant here, as she is forced to confront not just external threats but her own perception of her abilities. Charles Wallace, meanwhile, is portrayed with a vulnerability that adds emotional weight to the story. His condition creates a sense of urgency that underpins the more abstract elements of the narrative.

New characters such as Proginoskes, the cherubim, bring a different kind of presence to the story. These beings are not easily understood, yet they are imbued with a warmth and wisdom that makes them memorable. Their interactions with Meg and the others highlight the novel’s emphasis on connection, compassion, and the power of language.

The world building in this instalment is less about physical locations and more about conceptual space. L’Engle explores the idea that the universe operates on multiple levels simultaneously, from the vastness of the cosmos to the intricate workings of a single cell. This layered approach gives the story a unique texture, even if it occasionally feels challenging to grasp fully. For readers willing to engage with it, however, it offers a deeply rewarding experience.

The audiobook, narrated by Jennifer Ehle, enhances the novel’s accessibility and emotional impact. Ehle brings a calm, measured clarity to the text, which is particularly valuable given the density of some of the material. Her narration helps ground the more abstract passages, making them easier to follow without diminishing their sense of wonder.

Ehle’s performance captures Meg’s emotional journey with sensitivity, conveying both her frustration and her growing confidence. Her handling of dialogue is subtle yet effective, giving each character a distinct presence without resorting to exaggerated voices. This approach suits the tone of the novel, which often relies on quiet moments of realisation rather than overt drama.

Her pacing is another strength. She allows the story to unfold at a steady rhythm, giving listeners time to absorb the ideas being presented. In moments of tension, she gently increases the urgency, maintaining engagement while preserving the reflective quality that defines much of the narrative.

Overall, A Wind in the Door is a bold and imaginative continuation of L’Engle’s work. It may not have the immediate accessibility of its predecessor, but it offers greater depth and a willingness to explore challenging ideas. With strong character work, inventive world building, and Jennifer Ehle’s thoughtful narration, it stands as a rewarding and memorable addition to the series.

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Review: A Wrinkle in Time

A Wrinkle in Time Cover Art

A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle remains a landmark of imaginative children’s literature, blending science fiction, fantasy, and philosophical reflection into a story that continues to resonate across generations. It is a novel that invites readers to embrace curiosity, courage, and individuality, all while exploring concepts that feel surprisingly expansive for a book of its size.

At its heart, the story follows Meg Murry, a young girl struggling with self doubt and a sense of not fitting in, as she embarks on an extraordinary journey across space and time. Accompanied by her gifted younger brother Charles Wallace and their friend Calvin, Meg is drawn into a mission to rescue her father from a dark and oppressive force. The narrative unfolds with a dreamlike logic, moving between familiar domestic settings and strange, otherworldly environments that challenge both the characters and the reader.

One of the novel’s greatest strengths lies in its sense of wonder. L’Engle introduces complex ideas such as tesseracts, higher dimensions, and the nature of good and evil in a way that feels accessible without being simplistic. The world building is imaginative and distinctive, with each new location offering its own atmosphere and underlying philosophy. From the warmth of Mrs Whatsit, Mrs Who, and Mrs Which to the unsettling uniformity of Camazotz, the settings are vivid and memorable.

The depth of character is equally notable. Meg is an especially compelling protagonist because of her flaws. She is often impatient, uncertain, and prone to anger, yet these qualities make her growth feel genuine. Her journey is not just about travelling through space but about learning to trust herself and accept her own worth. Charles Wallace, with his precocious intelligence, and Calvin, with his quiet empathy, provide strong contrasts that enrich the emotional dynamics of the story.

The audiobook presentation adds another dimension to this already rich narrative. The inclusion of multiple narrators, including Hope Davis, Ava DuVernay, and Charlotte Jones Voiklis, creates a layered and engaging listening experience. Each voice brings a slightly different texture to the story, reflecting its shifting tones and perspectives.

Hope Davis provides a grounded and expressive narration that captures Meg’s emotional journey with sensitivity. Her delivery conveys both the vulnerability and determination of the character, making it easy to connect with Meg’s struggles and triumphs. Ava DuVernay’s contributions add a sense of clarity and gravitas, particularly in passages that touch on the novel’s broader themes. Her voice lends weight to the more philosophical elements of the text, helping to emphasise its enduring relevance. Charlotte Jones Voiklis, as L’Engle’s granddaughter, brings a personal connection to the material that feels both respectful and intimate. Her narration carries a warmth that complements the story’s underlying message of love and resilience.

Together, this ensemble approach enhances the storytelling rather than distracting from it. The shifts between narrators are handled smoothly, and the variation in tone keeps the listening experience fresh. It feels almost as though the story is being passed between voices, echoing its themes of connection and shared understanding.

What makes A Wrinkle in Time so enduring is its willingness to engage with big ideas while remaining deeply human. It explores darkness and conformity without losing sight of hope and individuality. The narrative may at times feel unconventional in its structure, but this only adds to its charm, reinforcing the sense that the universe it depicts operates beyond ordinary rules.

Overall, this is a beautifully imaginative and emotionally resonant work that continues to captivate new audiences. With its rich world building, memorable characters, and the added dimension of a thoughtfully performed audiobook, A Wrinkle in Time stands as a timeless and rewarding experience.

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Review: The Chronicles of Pern: First Fall

The Chronicles of Pern: First Fall by Anne McCaffrey offers a rewarding return to one of science fiction’s most beloved worlds. Rather than focusing solely on the sweeping, dragon filled epics that define the core novels, this collection of short stories turns its attention to formative and sometimes overlooked moments in Pern’s history. The result is a volume that deepens the mythology and enriches the emotional texture of the wider saga.

For long time readers of the Pern series, one of the great pleasures here is the way these stories fill in gaps in the established lore. McCaffrey explores the early days of colonisation, the struggles of adaptation, and the incremental discoveries that shaped the society later generations would inherit. Events that might once have been referenced only in passing are given space to unfold. Seeing how certain traditions began, how dragons and riders evolved in response to Thread, and how political and social structures solidified adds depth to everything that follows in the chronology.

It is especially satisfying to witness relatively minor events take centre stage. In the main novels, history often looms large and dramatic, dominated by major crises and heroic figures. In this collection, McCaffrey allows quieter developments to matter. Scientific breakthroughs, logistical decisions, and personal sacrifices that might otherwise have been footnotes are treated with care and narrative weight. These glimpses into lesser known corners of Pern’s past make the world feel lived in and organic. They remind the reader that history is not only shaped by grand battles but also by incremental choices and everyday courage.

This window into smaller scale moments makes for much richer world building. Pern has always stood out for its convincing blend of science fiction and fantasy, and these stories reinforce that balance. The colonists’ technical ingenuity sits alongside the wonder of dragonkind. The tension between preserving knowledge and adapting to necessity feels authentic. By illuminating transitional periods and behind the scenes developments, McCaffrey strengthens the internal logic of the setting. The world feels layered, with cultural memory and hard won experience underpinning every later triumph.

The audiobook narration by Meredith McRae brings clarity and warmth to the text. McRae handles the shifting perspectives competently and differentiates characters with subtle vocal changes. Her pacing is steady and measured, which suits the reflective tone of many of the stories. There is a calm assurance in her delivery that complements the historical nature of the material.

My only minor niggle is that the narration occasionally feels a little flat. In moments of heightened drama or emotional intensity, I sometimes wished for greater variation in tone. The performances are always clear and professional, but they do not always capture the full sweep of feeling that some scenes seem to invite. That said, this is a small reservation in what is otherwise an engaging listening experience.

Overall, The Chronicles of Pern: First Fall is a valuable and satisfying addition to the Pern canon. It rewards dedicated fans with deeper context and offers a richer understanding of the world’s foundations. Even the quieter stories resonate, proving once again the enduring strength of McCaffrey’s creation.

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Review: The Sword of Shannara

Long ago, the world of the Four Lands was torn apart by the wars of ancient Evil. But in the Vale, the half-human, half-elfin Shea Ohmsford now lives in peace - until the mysterious, forbidding figure of the druid Allanon appears, to reveal that the supposedly long-dead Warlock Lord lives again.

Shea must embark upon the elemental quest to find the only weapon powerful enough to keep the creatures of darkness at bay: the fabled Sword of Shannara.

This is the first time I've read Sword of Shannara in many years and I can still remember when I first encountered it as a very small Waylander almost forty five years ago. At that time readers and Tolkien fans like my father threw a lot of criticism at Terry Brooks along with accusations of plagiarism due to perceived similarities with The Lord of the Rings. Well... they were and to some extent still are inevitable. With that being said I'm going to attempt to write my review with as little bias as ten year old Waylander had.

I've always thought that a good review should have a few things I liked, a few things I didn't and a conclusion so let's get on. To begin with Brooks' world building is very good but I found the distances covered in the stated times to be somewhat unrealistic. Brooks' descriptions of Tyrsis are some of the best I've seen in fiction but I can't get away from Shae moving from the environs of Paranor to the Skull Kingdom in what seems like the blink of an eye.

The story itself is engaging with realistic believable characters but is so vanilla I can see where the Lord of the Rings rip-off accusations come from. Not that I think it in any way is a rip-off, influenced by most certainly but a rip-off not at all. It's the classic poor farm boy hero story we've all seen a million times by now. This doesn't make it bad, Sword of Shannara is an extremely well written tale, it's just that with it being the kind of story it is and Brooks' first novel shows... a lot.

With all that being said I do recommend Sword of Shannara with the caveat that it's a first novel and a tiny bit vanilla.

So, there we have it my thoughts on Sword of Shannara. I hope this prompts you to try Brooks as an author and Shannara as a setting, I promise you won't regret it.

Love your face - Waylander

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Review: Raybearer

Raybearer by Jordan Ifueko

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Nothing is more important than loyalty.

But what if you’ve sworn to protect the one you were born to destroy?

Tarisai has always longed for the warmth of a family. She was raised in isolation by a mysterious, often absent mother known only as The Lady. The Lady sends her to the capital of the global empire of Aritsar to compete with other children to be chosen as one of the Crown Prince’s Council of eleven. If she’s picked, she’ll be joined with the other Council members through the Ray, a bond deeper than blood. That closeness is irresistible to Tarisai, who has always wanted to belong somewhere. But The Lady has other ideas, including a magical wish that Tarisai is compelled to obey: Kill the Crown Prince once she gains his trust. Tarisai won’t stand by and become someone’s pawn—but is she strong enough to choose a different path for herself? With extraordinary world-building and breathtaking prose, Raybearer is the story of loyalty, fate, and the lengths we’re willing to go for the ones we love.

I was made aware of Raybearer through Dominic Noble's YouTube channel and as I understand it Jordan Ifueko was inspired to write the book due to not seeing much, if any, fantasy fiction where the protagonist was like her and was intrigued to say the least and I can understand why a publisher jumped on it sadly for me though it didn't work. I think it's mainly to do with this being Ifueko's debut novel and what I found to be a bit of a "and then, and then, and then" style. I can see massive potential in both the story and Ifueko's writing so will probably at least check out the next stories in the series where I hope the writing style develops into something I can really get my teeth into.

Talking about the story I did find two aspects of it rather on the disturbing side: Tarisai's conception and the night time activities rules of the council (to put it delicately). I understand that having a protagonist conceived through coercion can be a powerful image and I've read stories where sexual assault has been used in this way (looking at you Stephen Donaldson) but it's a bit out of place in a YA novel to my mind. Likewise the you can only boink the Emperor rule for the council.

As I read the Audible edition I would like to heap a little praise on the narrator, Weruche Opia was sublime and really brought the book to life... even the singing bits... there's quite a few singing bits by the way and if you're like me reading Lord of the Rings you'll be tempted to skip them... don't

If you like fantasy give it a try, maybe get it from the library first though because I'm not going to be responsible for you spending cash on a book I didn't much enjoy personally

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