The first book in this series was about how easily people who are given power become complicit. The book did not shy away from the fact that many who proclaim to provide allyship are quick to abandon their ideals once personal sacrifice is on the table. This book continues to explore the complexities of complicity and power, talking about prison labour and the policing of queer and racialized bodies.
Despite really enjoying this book, my criticisms are surprisingly plentiful. We return to London after a 5-year time jump since the previous novel. In this time, the fascist Virtuis party has begun amassing power through their "tough on crime" policies. To protect Britain from the escalating Cold War tensions, they have begun using prisoners as human batteries to power a cloth magic spell that will protect the country in the event of a nuclear fallout. The narrative does a good job of making it abundantly clear that this is an incredibly evil thing to do. To get a large enough prison population to power the spell, the government has been cracking down on the queer community to feed its growing prison industrial complex. Those that return from the prisons are shells of their former selves, their life-force sapped away by the demands of the cloth magic.
This is a very strong opening and premise. However, this book has a few issues. One of the major ones, that bordered on world-breaking, was the power-creep. In the first book, cloth magic was not very powerful. While there were certainly interesting things that could be done, much of the magic amounted to party-tricks: like walking on water or altering your appearance so people have difficulty recognizing you. Even within that, there were often drawbacks that prevented cloth magic from being supremely useful. For example, the aforementioned walk on water outfit only worked with both feet firmly placed on the surface of the water, forcing the characters to scoot along in a decidedly inelegant and un-Jesus-y way. The magic of the first book felt incredibly scrappy, in part due to the financial troubles faced by our main characters.
If cloth magic in the first book felt scrappy, here it feels god-like and inescapable. The characters are teleporting, stalking people through mirrors, yanking out eyeballs, redirecting planes into the ocean, and cutting people in half with invisible threads without having to lift a God-damn finger. The most egregious work of cloth magic has to be the totally-not-plot-MacGuffin outfit that allows the wearer to switch injuries with a person through a mere touch. I won't spoil it, but obviously this is just a convenient way for the main character to circumnavigate his "I can't directly attack anyone because I'm cursed" spell as he passively gets stabbed to death.
While this book gets a lot of things right in its examination of the rise of fascism, there's a few things that didn't quite land for me. For example, Thomas, my absolutely-based-girlboss-queen brings up prison abolition, but once we get to the "having to fight the fascists part", a lot of the revolutionary zeal fades as compromises are made. While this felt realistic, it was a bit disappointing how quickly the characters were willing to sacrifice their values. Even Thomas, the eternal pessimist, abandons his lofty ideals in the span of a one minute conversation.
Unfortunately my main gripe with this novel, and the thing that prevented this from being an instant favourite, has to be credited to one specific character. Their late-book betrayal gave me pause. I couldn't see a good reason for it, and it turns out neither could the author, because she explains it all away with a simple "this character is a psychopath", which feels antithetical to much of the messaging of the rest of the book. This falls somewhere between a lazy depiction and actively harmful for me, and completely misses the point of everything that came before.
My other major critique has to be the behaviour of our main character, Paul, in the final chapters of the novel. The entire climax of the novel kind of unravels in a telenovela style series of "I can't believe that happened" events. None of Paul's choices made a lot of sense to me. He basically hands himself over to the fascists in order to save his landlord love-interest (yuck) and despite having no plan, manages to land on his feet faster than a white Youtuber addressing black-face allegations. Reasonably, the narrative and messaging really fell apart for me here. One particularly egregious scene had him involuntarily teleporting back and forth between the aforementioned love-interest and a man who literally has a gun pointed at him and wants him dead due to a malfunctioning cloth magic shirt. TAKE. OFF. THE. SHIRT. PAUL.
Despite my many issues with this book, it remains a mostly compelling exploration of power, complicity, and the insidious rise of fascism. The shift in tone and scope from the scrappy, intimate magic of the first book to the grand, almost overwhelming stakes of this book mirrors the story's escalation in theme and scale. However, the uneven execution—particularly in its worldbuilding leaps and over-reliance on ridiculous plot contrivances—hinders it from fully reaching the heights it aspires to. That being said, this sequel's willingness to grapple with complex and uncomfortable questions about systemic oppression and moral compromise makes it a worthy, if imperfect, continuation of the series. It left me pondering my own complicity in unjust systems and the messy realities of resistance, even if it faltered in delivering satisfying answers.