Q: ... tomorrow things get interesting. (c)
So, Harry Potter and James Bond seem to have met. And exchanged lessons, which is why JB is such a douche and HP a total dumbass. Both adorable disasters in progress, of course.
I admit that I almost chucked this one at sign but something stopped my hand. Like providence? ... Or maybe the fact that I was reading it on an e-reader which might not have survived the procedure.
Anyway, this volume hasn't escape my rating approach unscathed:
(1) star for the fugly cover. What's on it, a guy with a headful of smoke? I can see how that could fit a brainless MC. Anyway, one could have thought of something even more fitting and less gray.
(1) star for the bleak start of the book.
+1 star for the original magic scenery and +1 another whole star for the Athenaeum in particular. Athene must rule!
(1) star for the Mundanes vs inferiors discussion. Today, I'm not fond of magic-based arrogance.
(1) star for the Chosen thingy and Allegra's takedowns and everyone treading on poor Jason - and all the other plot vehicles that I couldn't just not find cheesy!
+1 star for some dialogues that I liked
+1 star for some cleverish ideas that I liked as well
(1) star for that harebrainedness, which feels to have been borrowed from comics. I hate comics. I like my characters to use their braincells.
(1) star for the doors, happening everywhere all the time. I've just realized I'm not too fond of them.
(1) star for the magic that evaporates overnight in the 'real' world without any effects whatsoever, other than death. I do get that its a nifty idea to get all the messes our characters keep amassing to clean up themselves. You don't need to clean up things, Obliviate anyone (or change memories), repair stuff, think about people who wake up and realize they rode dragons yesterday... And it's newish. And I can't imagine just how boring it must be for heroes to go around doing magic that would evaporate by tomorrow. Why bother at all?
(1) star for ageism and something like snobism. I think we all have met those winsome people that start buying their funeral shrowds at some age like 15, or maybe 21, or 22.5, since in a year they expect to become ancient and are bothered by this perspective. They keep expecting to become ancient all the time, they keep whining about it and panicking and inventing all kinds of 'clever' ideas of how to ward off time and its effects and everything. This way they manage to be simulateneously boring, exasperating and entertaining. They will tell everyone they meet, non-stop, just how horrible time is, how cruel its pace. They preach everyone their 'true' age, call everyone 'old' to their face and, frankly, step on many toes. Each year is a tragedy for them. They keep private cemeteries of years and spend all their waking (and quite possibly, dreaming) time metaphorically buring all kinds stuff there: possibilities lost, years past, etc, etc, etc. Well, our MC is like that: let's look at Jason and some of his ideas.
The MC, well, he's like James Bond that has skipped on becoming James Bond and became a bartender instead. His father is also a Mr. Bond but way better with cards (think cholling a person with cards, not even Tarot ones).
Some maudlinish stuff:
Q:
You never really forget the most important places and moments in your life no matter how much you sometimes wish to forge. But the memory remains, if you dig deep enough for it. (c)
Some nostalgia, perfectly warranted:
Q:
The summer after they graduated from high school, Jason, Owen, Carla, and Carla’s friend Ally took a trip to New York. They roamed the streets, got tossed out of Don Hill’s, and ended the day at the Empire State Building. As they stood there, gazing out over the glittering expanse, they all felt the endless possibilities before them in that magnificent landscape. (c)
That's quite a scene:
Q:
He told her everything. ...
Finally, she did speak.
“You need help,” she said.
“I was afraid you’d say that.”
She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him toward her.
“You need help,” she said again.
“Tell me about it—”She squeezed him tight. “You need help.”
And she kept squeezing, tighter and tighter, her shoulder thrusting into his windpipe.
He gasped.
“Winnie—I can’t breathe—”...
“You need help. But it won’t come in time.”
She grasped him around the throat and tightened her grip. ... she flicked her wrist and the coffee table leapt through the air like a discarded newspaper caught in a gust. It slammed into the bay window, radiating fissures across it, and fell to the floor with a mighty crash. Wind screeched through the cracks in the glass, and the hard moonlight that fell through it bathed Winnie’s face, making her cruel smile a jagged nightmare.
“You should have listened to Carter Block,” she said. (c)
Mr. Potter. Welcome to the Athenaeum (love this term):
Q:
“This is the Athenaeum, the gateway into and out of the Citadel... “And yes, after all these years it still takes my breath away. I grew up in libraries; to me, every book on every shelf was a portal to another world. The shelves of the Athenaeum, however, do not hold books; they hold doors, and each door is a portal to a different place on this earth.” (c)