Source of book: NetGalley (thank you)
Relevant disclaimers: nada
Please note: This review may not be reproduced or quoted, in whole or in part, without explicit consent from the author.
I kind of have to be in the right mood for Holly Black. I really like her stuff (and I remember Tithe et al sort of blowing my mind in my late teens because, like, it was a book for people of my age group but it felt so dark and … and *grown up* somehow—and, really, I don’t think there’s anything a teenager desires more than being treated as a grown up) but, as I tried to explained to a friend, she can be quite a cruel writer. Not in a malicious or gratuitous way but, as the friend suggested, since cruel can sound pejorative, she’s a writer who Goes There. And, sometimes, I am weak and fluffy and I don’t want to Go There, you know? I want to Stay Here where it’s safe.
In any case, Book of Night Goes There. In aesthetic, it’s not so very different from Black’s YA work: there’s still intriguing world-building, complicated relationships and morally grey protagonists, all alongside delicate explorations of power, vulnerability, abuse, and damage. There’s perhaps a shade more sex and violence, but I think—and this comes back to what I really admire about Black as a writer—where Book Of Night most strongly comes across as a book for adults is because it’s ABOUT adults. And nowhere is this clearer than its cynical, self-loathing, hot mess of a protagonist, Charlie Hall.
I absolutely adored Charlie. She’s an ex-thief, ex-conperson, trying (and failing) to stay on the straight and narrow by bartending since her last job got her shot and the boyfriend who betrayed her killed. She has a new live-in boyfriend, a slightly mysterious fellow called Vince who doesn’t ask questions of her on the understanding she doesn’t ask questions of him—although maybe she should—and is trying to get together enough money for her younger sister to give up an obsession with magic and go to college. Except Charlie is irredeemably self-destructive: when it comes to men, when it comes to decisions, when it comes to not getting involved in the high-profile theft of a book called the Liber Noctis that might be connected not only to a bunch of murders but a conspiracy involving a ruthless billionaire called Lionel Salt.
The basic premise of the world is that the shadows of certain humans ‘quicken’ for reasons unknown (possibly trauma?). This gives them a substance that can be enhanced by feeding them blood and allows them to be used to perform magical feats, like, say murdering people? One of the interesting facets of the magic system is that the reality of magic has only recently entered public consciousness (following some kind of massacre by a rogue shadow, known as a blight) so information is both sketchy and contradictory. On the one hand, this is kind of fascinating because it keeps the world full of mysteries about exactly what shadows are and what can be achieved with them. On the other, it can sometimes dent its own revelations because, you’re left being like, “oh my God, so shadows can do [x]? Wait a minute, I didn’t even know they could do [y].”
Book of Night is slightly slow to start, but once it gets underway it’s a veritable page-turner of a mystery and a satisfying heist, with a touch of horror, a touch of romance, and a touch of action all expertly rolled into a ball of plotty nomsomeness. Most of all, though, it provides a marvellous stage for its equally marvellous heroine. I could talk about Charlie literally forever but her place in her world is so well-judged: she’s an excellent thief and an excellent confidence trickster, but she’s not a fighter and she’s not magical. This makes her both competent and vulnerable, which such a difficult balance to pull off: neither she, nor the reader, never quite loses the conviction that she’s in over her head, but you don’t have to worry she’s ever going to be anything less than resourceful, quick-thinking and ruthless when she needs to be. Unless she’s drunk, of course. But that’s the thing: even her moments of self-directed failure feel reasonable, understandable and true to her character. (As an aside, I’ll also add she’s tall and curvy, which is nice to see on page, and goes against the trope that all fantasy thieves have to be androgynous waifs).
Oh, and the other thing I think that marks Charlie as an adult character (she’s nearly 30) in a book for adults is just how … resilient her mess is. I think with YA there’s a sort of social responsibility to indicate to young people that there’s hope in the future and the things that may have damaged them, while they won’t magically go away, don’t have to control their lives forever. When you’re adult, you kind of ARE your damage and that’s that. And while it’s a fairly cynical way of thinking about it people, this is a more-than-fairly cynical book.
I think my feeling about Book of Night in general are somewhat dependent on whether it’s going to be a series. It does stand alone, but as a standalone the world-building is slightly too flimsy to fully support the story and, oh dear me, that ending is going to be … controversial. I don’t want to spoil it but it’s a bitter twist indeed, and one that might, to some readers (romance readers in particular) feel like a fuck you. As the first book in a potential series, the world building is just detailed enough to draw you in while preserving plenty of mysteries for future exploration, and the end of the book (while providing a meaningful resolution to the narrative arc) is QUITE the hook.
In NetGalley terms, this means it’s a four-star standalone, or a five-star series opener. In whether you should read it terms, it very much depends on your tolerance for non-happy-endings. And do check trigger warnings before diving in. This is dark AF. But, ending aside, there was a lot I loved about Book of Night: its (anti)heroine, in particular, will stay with me a long time.