The Daughters’ War is an unconventional fantasy novel—it’s more a series of vignettes, written like an autobiography of a woman at war. Galva’s story The Daughters’ War is an unconventional fantasy novel—it’s more a series of vignettes, written like an autobiography of a woman at war. Galva’s story is predictable in many ways, but I believe the appeal lies in the vividness of each moment, good and bad, and the quiet but undeniable strength of the main character, her resilience and faith, how much she loves (a trait humble Galva is careful not to mention but one that is evident in the devotion her friends show her). The most interesting part of the book wasn’t what I expected, which was Galva’s relationship with Mireya—it was Galva’s family dynamic, and her understated narrative style that depicts much through what it leaves out. Even though her life is extraordinary, it is still a life—there is no hero’s journey here, no questing, and I think that makes it feel very real. Every layer of this story is about women; maybe that’s why I like it so much.
Princess of the Broken by Jasmine K. Swinburne is a Rapunzel retelling following the princess Raylin, who has been isolated for years in a tower. Her Princess of the Broken by Jasmine K. Swinburne is a Rapunzel retelling following the princess Raylin, who has been isolated for years in a tower. Her aunt claims to be protecting her because of the threatening sun and moon magic she possesses, which endows her with the ability to conjure objects from anywhere, among other powers. But after an encounter on one of her getaways from the tower, Raylin finds herself in the royal court, impersonating a princess vying for the hand of Prince Malakai, who happens to already be in love.
The premise of Princess of the Broken asked me to suspend my disbelief too much. It was difficult for me to become immersed in the story when I was left incredulous from the early plot setup, in which a lieutenant not only prevents the arrest of a thief (Raylin) but also meddles in the foreign affairs of his ruler by disguising her as a princess—a potential political match for the prince—and sends the intended princess home. I couldn’t imagine what he has to gain from this.
In addition, I wish more focus were given to the particularly thought-provoking aspects of the plot, such as the question of how a relationship survives between a servant and a king forced to choose a wife. Teddy, Malakai’s lover, exists as a figure, not a character with his own personality and story. This was a letdown for me. And how did Raylin’s time in captivity change her? I hoped this would receive more attention in the story, since I think it’s an important part of the foundational Rapunzel story.
In general, Princess of the Broken left me confused, particularly in relation to magic. Its limitations were inconsistent. The abilities of characters stayed dormant and then became powerful in certain scenes with little justification. Raylin’s powers—as well as each ability’s stipulations—seemed to change without reason. I think the requirements for conjuring and the more abstract facets of her magic could have been explored in a clearer way. For example, it’s mentioned that she must imagine an object perfectly to conjure it, but she later conjures seemingly whatever she wishes without already having seen the object. A soft magic system can work well, but it often becomes a crutch in this book.
Another trend in Princess of the Broken that I didn’t care for was how characters who first seemed morally gray always became either completely likable or completely evil by the end of their stories. Overall, I was unsatisfied with the antagonists and their motives. To me, lust for power isn’t a convincing enough reason for the convoluted nature of the villains’ plot. In fact, it almost seems like they lost power along the way instead.
That being said, this book does feature very sweet friendships between women, which I wasn’t expecting given the Selection-type setup. This was a pleasant surprise. The narration is fast-paced and easy to follow. Princess of the Broken subverts tropes related to the Rapunzel story in an interesting and dark way. However, I wouldn’t call it a hopeless story—although Raylin’s situation is arguably worse than the original Rapunzel’s, this time, she has the solidarity of a band of princesses at her side.
Although this book is a cut from SPFBOX, readers who like fairytale retellings and court-based fantasy may enjoy Jasmine K. Swinburne’s Princess of the Broken. It didn’t click with me, but there is still a compelling story within these pages.
In Qing’s Quest, a LitRPG novel by Henrik Saetre, gamer Qing Baker is transported to Elrydisan, a world whose imminent destruction is inexplicably conIn Qing’s Quest, a LitRPG novel by Henrik Saetre, gamer Qing Baker is transported to Elrydisan, a world whose imminent destruction is inexplicably connected to the fate of Earth. He lands in a village called Shadowgrove, which is being invaded by the rising undead. As in the video games he plays, Qing now has access to a stats window, an inventory, and quests that give him the steps to carrying the burden of saving two planets.
Qing’s Quest is full of fight scenes that showcase Qing’s exploration of his new powers. Since there is so much action, often against similar opponents, I found the book a bit repetitive, especially in the latter half. This is compounded by the unchanging scale of the worldbuilding: Qing starts and ends the novel in Shadowgrove, a small and medieval-style town, and he never explores other areas of Elrydisan. I think Qing’s Quest would benefit from broadening its scope as the plot progresses, forcing Qing to adapt to new social and environmental surroundings as well as the physical challenges the book is already adept at presenting.
Often I found that Qing was not held accountable or questioned for actions I expected would lead to confrontation, i.e., choices that I don’t think certain side characters would be so quick to let slide like they do in the novel. This first becomes an issue at the beginning of the book, when a villager shows romantic interest in Qing almost instantly, romantic interest that’s presented as being deeper than seems reasonable, considering the way he fell out of nowhere and indirectly led to the deaths of her friends. This is just one example. I think part of what makes a dynamic between the main and side characters feel real is the way they clash against one another and work past their differences—the side characters in Qing’s Quest seem to accept many of Qing’s actions with much less protest than feels natural. As a result, they tend to feel contrived.
Overall, I was hoping for more intrigue and complexity, both from the characters (especially the antagonists) and from the RPG system itself, which frequently appears to be governed by convenience.
The greatest strengths of Qing’s Quest lie in the breakneck pacing and brutal, vivid imagery, especially the descriptions of the various horrific monsters. This book is easy to fly through, immersive, and very entertaining, and the RPG aspects complement the fast pace nicely. In addition, Qing’s character arc is quite compelling.
Although this novel is a cut from SPFBOX, I would recommend Qing’s Quest by Henrik Saetre to readers who like having fun with action-packed books and are fond of the LitRPG genre.
Seeds of Inheritance by Aimee Kuzenski is a gripping intergenerational sci-fi-fantasy following a mother and daughter in the aftermath of a lost rebelSeeds of Inheritance by Aimee Kuzenski is a gripping intergenerational sci-fi-fantasy following a mother and daughter in the aftermath of a lost rebellion. In Foss-Karan, outlaws fight for the reproductive rights of spacefaring elves harmed in the course of the emperor’s single-minded expansion. Their former leader is Berenike, now enslaved after the rebellion failed when her son was killed. Her surviving daughter, Evrim, was a child created against the law, whom Berenike signed away her freedom to protect. With Berenike under oath to the emperor, the only way to advance the liberation of the empire is to use her child once again. But Evrim has fallen in love with the empire’s princess, Hypatia, and has no desire to comply with her mother’s wishes.
This mother-daughter relationship is the beating heart of the book. Berenike and Evrim have some vestiges of care for each other, but Evrim’s is tempered with bitterness and resentment, and Berenike’s is pushed down for the sake of the cause to which she’s devoted her life. Evrim is the perfect playing piece, so Berenike—who reminds me sometimes of Lady Jessica from Dune—refuses to let her feelings get in the way. This is an endlessly fascinating dynamic to follow.
However, I wish Evrim experienced more stepwise changes as a character; her development felt abrupt starting around the middle of the book, like a few steps were missing. I also would have liked to have seen more of Hypatia and Evrim’s history—I didn’t quite buy their connection, as no part of how they came to love each other was revealed. This was exacerbated by the occasional use of too-strong diction and overreaction incongruous with a scene, such as Evrim “cursing” Hypatia when seeing her calmness during a stressful situation. Ultimately, I wasn’t convinced of their love for each other, which detracted from my enjoyment of Evrim’s point of view chapters.
The plot was well-structured, with plenty of intrigue and twists. It’s ultimately fueled by the constant tension between the characters. It’s evident just from the summary how much resentment is bound to come between these characters, whether it’s between a former mentor and a disgraced student, or a woman in power and her effectively enslaved lover, or a mother who won’t give up and a daughter who wants to let go.
I liked how Berenike was always planning and putting herself in the middle of things, even while restricted by her oath. However, I wish the rebellion had a clearer game plan, which would have made that specific subplot more exhilarating. In addition, the ending came a bit too easily for my liking.
Despite these few issues, I enjoyed Seeds of Inheritance. I liked this novel because its motifs echoed some of my favorites from literary fiction, particularly those of fraught relationships between familial generations. What makes this book stand out is its union of an interstellar setting with traditional elven nature imagery and magic; it feels very intentional. I don’t know yet if the author has a sequel planned, but I would love to know what comes next in this world.
In the prologue of Gates of Hope, a dragon—the Watcher—destroys the gates, the only link between the planet Lieus and its two moons. This leaves the pIn the prologue of Gates of Hope, a dragon—the Watcher—destroys the gates, the only link between the planet Lieus and its two moons. This leaves the people on the moons stranded without any means of getting back to their home planet. The three protagonists of Gates of Hope live in this shattered setting.
Elissa is trapped on Tebein (one of the moons of Lieus) under the tyranny of the awldrin, the sworn enemies of humanity. The intragalactic war between humans and awldrin was the conflict over which the Watcher closed the gates. She becomes the hope of Tebein when she stumbles upon a shard of one of the old gates, which could enable escape from the awldrin’s rule.
Darin and Suriin live on Lieus. Darin, a mage (or So’Dal) in training, is one of the rare men to have been chosen as a bondmate to a moonhound. Suriin is a child of So’Dal, raised in isolation, who takes it upon herself to find a cure for her father after he was gravely injured defending her life.
The world of Gates of Hope is quite creative. The magic system is unique, with songs and emotions as the roots of magic. For example, in the process of mastering her power, Suriin must learn to understand and control her feelings.
This is a solid novel, but it never pulled me in. Although I felt as if the ending of Gates of Hope were only the middle of the rising action, I still thought the book was too long, perhaps because the plot moved slowly thanks to the division among three point-of-view characters, all of whom had their own stories. This phenomenon was compounded due to the frequent repetition of similar scenes. I love a slow book, but I didn't think there was payoff at the climax that would justify the length of this one.
In my opinion, Gates of Hope lacked character development that was firmly connected to the themes of the book, resulting in a feeling of disjoint that pervaded the story. I didn’t experience a sense of motion and momentum, and I think that’s because the characters didn’t feel essential to their own stories. I would have liked a wider view of the characters’ journeys, with each chapter conveying something meaningful and active instead of getting stuck in the minutiae. Each page must truly count in a book following three separate stories.
I hoped for more memorable, complex side characters. The lack of them, especially in Elissa and Darin's chapters, made the world feel flat to me. There were many opportunities for interesting relationships that I wish were explored.
Although Gates of Hope wasn’t for me, I still appreciated the polished writing and enjoyed reading about Suriin in particular. This is a novel with appeal to a wide audience of all ages and preferences in the fantasy genre. There was clearly a lot of thought put into Gates of Hope, so I hope the book finds its people in this SPFBO run.
In The Magicians by Lev Grossman, gloomy, disillusioned Quentin Coldwater is transported to a vaguely British magic school in Upstate New York called In The Magicians by Lev Grossman, gloomy, disillusioned Quentin Coldwater is transported to a vaguely British magic school in Upstate New York called Brakebills. Magic is a dry, complicated art, relying on minute details from the position of the moon to the contortion of the hands. In other words, it’s utterly tedious, nothing like the wondrous wish-fulfillment magic of the stories Quentin has read. In this story, no fantastical escape can pull Quentin from the grip of his own self-inflicted misery.
The Magicians would be significantly better if it allowed itself to stop being jaded on occasion. It fails at most points to be a compelling story because it reads like it exists to prove a point, almost like satire, not like something meant to be loved and cherished by a reader. There’s little to hold onto emotionally in this book. The friendships are shallow and dysfunctional, the magic dry, distant, and fatigued. To an extent, this is the intention, as The Magicians is about a person who can’t find wonder in anything, even the most wonderful things—but a story with all lows and no highs doesn’t encourage attachment. The Magicians is good when it focuses on original material and not just subversion. Subverting tropes at every turn is not original; it’s still derivative, and it risks becoming a gimmick. Even worse, it makes a tiring and uninspired story.
The Magicians is a tongue-in-cheek, gritty foil for the whimsical, fantastic magic schools we all know and love. However, it doesn’t feel like adult fantasy as intended, but “adultified” fantasy. It has drinking and drugs and excessive self-importance and philosophizing, but it doesn’t have meaningful relationships, character development, or layers of complexity.
It’s difficult to empathize with these characters, these very pretentious teenagers who are passively miserable and horrible to each other, who’ve unlocked the magic of the universe but never for a minute dream of doing anything greater with it. The characters are witty but superficial, stereotypical, and unchanging. In this case, the pitfall of making commentary by means of subversion is that the book fails to separate itself from the characters’ affectedness. At some point, it ceases to be satirical, succumbing to the pull of Quentin’s pseudo-profundity, and thus becomes insufferable.
Just as the characters don’t come across as real, neither does Brakebills. To me, the school feels like the set of a play, a front attempting to convince the viewer that a more complete world exists behind it, when it’s apparent that it hides only a curtain. A school is a place where characters grow up, make friends, fight, and change as people. Even though Quentin spends years at Brakebills, I don’t get the feeling that this changes him, or that he’s made any genuine connections.
After all these years, Quentin only learns enough about himself to realize that he’s the one making himself miserable, but his realizations never go deeper than that. His character gives the impression of existing to make this one point. Ultimately, this is a theme that doesn’t go anywhere. It’s quite obvious from the start that Quentin refuses to be optimistic, so when he’s called out for his attitude but never develops as a character, the whole book feels like a meandering ramble in Quentin’s psyche that doesn’t go beyond surface-level or affect anything about him. Quentin ends up in the same place as he was at the beginning, which is supremely unsatisfying.
However, some parts of this book are genuinely good. Like many other readers, I enjoyed the Antarctica adventure, and any scene with Alice was great. The concept of this novel is a clever idea. The progression of the plot is just escapism at increasingly extreme levels for Quentin. He tries to convince himself that he’ll finally be happy once another one of his wishes is fulfilled. Unsurprisingly, this doesn’t happen. The Magicians gets especially interesting in the final quarter, when threads from the beginning start to connect. When the writing is good, it’s clever and witty and easy to read. With more sincere and consistent storytelling, more earnest emotion paired with this cheeky writing style, The Magicians by Lev Grossman could be stellar. Unfortunately, it never quite reaches that level....more
Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint, the web novel by SingShong, embodies everything I love about reading. This isn’t the story I thought it would be—it’s sOmniscient Reader’s Viewpoint, the web novel by SingShong, embodies everything I love about reading. This isn’t the story I thought it would be—it’s so much more than I ever could have imagined.
The following is a spoiler-free review of all volumes of ORV and my attempt to express how grateful I am for this novel.
For a decade, 28-year-old Kim Dokja has been the only reader of his favorite web novel, Ways of Survival. In the novel, the apocalypse descends upon Seoul in the form of the scenarios, brutal challenges that humans are forced to endure. Immensely powerful beings of legend called Constellations watch from above, entertained by the bloodbath. The thousands of chapters of Ways of Survival follow the regressor Yoo Joonghyuk, who is transported back to the beginning of the apocalypse every time he dies. Through Yoo Joonghyuk’s story, Dokja survives his own life, comforted by the fact that the protagonist suffered worse and kept going despite it all.
Dokja’s aimless life grinds to a halt on the day when Ways of Survival is meant to end. Suddenly, the story he’s used to escape from reality for much of his life merges with the real Seoul, and Yoo Joonghyuk himself appears, along with the carnage of the scenarios. As the city descends into the apocalypse, the reader Kim Dokja is the only one who knows how to reach the epilogue of this ruined world.
Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint succeeds on every level. This story is plot-driven, character-driven, and theme-driven, and it never lets up on any front. In fact, these three aspects are inextricably intertwined in ways deeper than I could have anticipated in the beginning.
Even without delving far beneath the surface, Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint is a masterpiece. The action is exhilarating, intense, and unexpectedly clever, but balanced with plenty of memorable gentle and comedic scenes. Many of the most powerful emotional moments are placed within the choreography of an action scene, and that adrenaline elevates them to impossible new heights. The plot is so satisfying that it almost feels self-indulgent in that it kept evoking emotions I didn’t even know I wanted to feel. Looking back, I can see how every twist is connected in logical but shocking ways that reveal how deliberately the story was plotted from the very beginning.
The core of Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint lies in its themes. ORV is a love letter to the power of stories, both regenerative and destructive. The worldbuilding and power system are built on these themes. Likewise, the plot twists are imbued with incredible thematic foreshadowing. Every single scene is thoughtful on levels that aren’t fully apparent until the conclusion. This novel has scenes that are some of the most impactful moments I’ve read in a book, and that’s due in part to the impressive thematic continuity of the story.
Kim Dokja, with his motifs of sacrifice and salvation, is a complicated character. He’s cunning, always scheming and scamming, always prepared to get on someone’s nerves. He’s completely dedicated to creating the ending he’s always wanted to read. He only trusts a select few people, but he loves those companions deeply and will do anything for them. Despite this, he is always unsure of his place among them. He downplays the value of his own presence. He’s very good at some things and terrible at or oblivious about other things. In the scenarios, in his element, he’s brazenly confident and justifiably so. His knowledge gives him an edge, but he can also improvise scarily well, even under immense pressure. From a storytelling standpoint, his power is written very well. He doesn’t have the fighting skills of a regressor or the talent of a protagonist, but his ability to find loopholes is unmatched. He surprises and scares me at every turn. Dokja is an amazing character, so fun to follow, hard to understand, and easy to love.
Dokja’s first-person narration is one notable aspect of Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint. It’s unclear just how reliable he is, or if he’s more unreliable than he appears to be. The writing frequently played with my expectations and blinded me to the things to which I should have paid more attention. It’s a sneaky type of foreshadowing that I appreciate a lot upon rereading. In addition, Dokja’s narration of his interactions with the other characters is full of subtleties, especially with Joonghyuk (with whom he apparently cannot have a straightforward conversation). Their intentions are not always written out, and on top of that, Dokja often misunderstands their meaning. Trying to understand these characters’ true feelings based on context and knowledge from the amount of time we’ve spent with them is fascinating.
The more I read ORV, the more I appreciate Yoo Joonghyuk. He’s cold and ruthless but probably the biggest idealist of the book, and he cares more profoundly than is immediately apparent. He’s very proud but also honest with himself; he’s willing to work behind-the-scenes if he believes he isn’t the best person for a task. He fights ceaselessly to save the world, even though he feels less and less like a part of that world as he falls into the regressor’s mindset of being the only human in a landscape that continually resets around him. It’s easy to pass him off as a killing machine who’s lost his humanity, especially in the beginning, but there’s much more to him than that. He’s written exactly like a protagonist—stoic, undaunted, stubborn, blunt, somehow still heroic—although he isn’t really the protagonist anymore. We only get glimpses of Joonghyuk in his element, but I think I can understand why Dokja read about him for a decade. In other words, the character work in ORV is outstanding.
There’s a great cast of complex side characters, including many incredible female characters whom I could go on and on about, as well as powerful young and elderly characters. The ways in which they interact with each other are all distinct. Each gets their time to shine and their own driving philosophy; even if they’re not always in the spotlight like Dokja is, they feel like real people with essential roles in the story. Together, they make up my favorite part of ORV, the found family at its heart. I really love them. They’re unlikely companions who would never have befriended each other before the scenarios, but they fit together so well regardless. The growth of that bond of trust is both softly and incisively beautiful.
ORV works because it makes the reader feel everything it expresses, all the emotions around which it revolves: love for a story, desire to see the ending, imagining past the conclusion. This full immersion is possible because the novel is about someone who loves reading. The resonance between Dokja’s feelings and ours as his readers makes the world come to life in electrifying and heartbreaking ways.
As excellent as this web novel is, it’s definitely a commitment. It has 551 chapters and is well over one million words long. I can’t call it anything less than an epic. The epilogues alone are the length of an average book. It’s so long that I feel like I’ve been living it. However, despite its length, this is the only story I’ve started to reread immediately upon finishing. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of it. Whenever I think about this book (which is often), I realize something else about it that amazes me once more. Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint gives my imagination limitless fuel in a way that nothing else has before. It calls out to be read.
Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint by SingShong is a story that means everything to me and so many other readers. Filled with an invigorating sense of defiance, optimism, and fearlessness, it’s often tragic but also unwaveringly hopeful. When I reached the ending for the first time, I was devastated, overflowing with wonder, and overwhelmed by appreciation for the care put into this work. There’s nothing more I could say, except that ORV is truly meant for everyone who’s ever seen themselves in a story. It completely changed the way I consider storytelling itself. I think it will always linger with me.
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