SORCERY OF THORNS: A REVIEW

"The library wants to fight back."

STORYTELLING RANK: INCREDIBLE!

4.5 of 5 stars for overall enjoyment

Magic, sorcery, witchcraft, supernatural powers and abilities: they're the bread and butter of fantasy writing. We've created scales and rankings to identify magic systems in novels because there are so many that exist (my personal favorite ranking is Brandon Sanderson's ranking of hard magic versus soft magic). And yet, Margaret Rogerson's novel Sorcery of Thorns still gives to magic a new take.

In the world of Austermeer, sorcery is at its very core demonic. I don't mean that figuratively to say sorcery is evil. In order to perform any type of sorcery, one must literally make a pact with a demon and borrow their powers. But while it is demonic, does that make it evil?

Our main character, Elizabeth Scrivener, faces this very dilemma throughout the novel. She is of an elite group who protect the public from sorcery and demonic influences, keeping citizens safe from demonic powers while also protecting the demonic knowledge from outsiders.

What I'm getting at is that she's a librarian. Yes, seriously, a librarian.

The knowledge of sorcery is imparted into grimoires, spell books with personalities, hearts, and minds. Weak grimoires, class 1, cannot even speak, while powerful grimoires, classes 5 and above, can exert their influence and magic to affect people sometimes even to the point of controlling their minds and tricking them. The final classes, 8 to 10, can destroy entire cities. And if unleashed, damaged, or otherwise tarnished, a grimoire will turn into a malefict, a hulking monster of ink and death that will destroy everything in its path with no emotion, concern, or motive. Their powers and strength as a malefict are determined by their ranking as a grimoire.

These are what the wardens, the most elite of Elisabeth's group, protect both from within and externally. But when a powerful sorcerer named Nathaniel Thorn shows up to the sleepy little library of Summershall, it thrusts into motion events that will change everything Elisabeth knew and threaten the entire world. She will not only have to face this threat, but also grapple with her own understanding of magic, demons, good, evil, and herself.

This novel is what I love about fantasy. It's adventurous and romantic and thrilling and dramatic and so many other genres wrapped into one that can only be described as fantasy. It's not like some fantasy attempts I've seen where mythological creatures are thrown in wildly because "that's fantasy!" There aren't dragons or sexy sea nymphs or minotaurs tossed in to make it seem like fantasy. There are demons, sure. But those demons have a purpose and form the foundation of magic within the story. There isn't a New York City thinly reskinned or a United States that has been given new paint and introduced as a (announcer voice) new and exciting world to explore. It has the feel of an old, classic fantasy without using any cheap tricks. It just IS fantasy. This book's heart, its core, its mind are pure fantasy.

And it comes WITH A MAP! A MAP!

Rogerson does not rely on the map to depict and describe the world. The novel could be written entirely without the map and still would be easily understandable. Granted, I love any book or story that comes with a map, the more detailed, the better. But no story should rely on their maps to tell the story. It should be, as it is for Sorcery of Thorns, a pleasant addition, not a necessity.

Our heroine, Elisabeth Scrivener, is alluring, relatable, interesting, and unique. Often, I find the main character can be boring compared to the more interesting and dynamic side characters or supporting cast. My favorite character in a story is rarely the main character. But Elisabeth Scrivener is just such a fun and good character. One of her greatest struggles is with the loss of her lifelong dream and finding what her purpose is. It's such a relatable struggle, more than losing your entire family and going on a quest for vengeance or discovering you have magical powers and now must learn how to use and control them. Everyone has felt that sting at some point in their lives of losing their purpose or realizing the job they thought they wanted to do is either not a good fit for them or is no longer attainable.

Elisabeth is special, unique and different from all the other characters in the world of Austermeer. For the sake of spoilers, I cannot reveal anything more than that. It's so easy to fall into the Mary Sue trap of creating an overpowered character and then not rooting the reason in the story or world. Suddenly, the main character finds out they were born half-demon! That's why they're so powerful! Oh, the main character is actually a long-lost noble! They're part god! They came from another dimension! They can see the future! These are all cheap tricks to give the character the "main character" vibe, the "I'm special!" card, the "Mary Sue" treatment. But Rogerson doesn't give us anything outlandish. To the observant and intuitive reader, the secret to Elisabeth's strength can be found within the first chapter. But don't worry if you don't pick up on it; providing you with all the information yet still managing to keep the whole picture from you is one of Rogerson's many and greatest talents (more on this later).

The story is not bogged down with an overload of characters and the characters that do exist are witty, fun, and interesting. Special attention is given to the main cast of Katrien, Nathaniel, Silas, and Ashcroft, all of whom are phenomenal characters. AND ONE OF THEM IS PART OF THE LGBTQ+ COMMUNITY!! A main cast member as LGBTQ+, and it's not what their character is based around!

This revelation is done in such a subtle and beautiful way that it doesn't draw unnecessary attention to itself. The character wasn't created to be LGBTQ+ for "representation sake," they are multi-dimensional with this being one of their dimensions and it's beautiful.

Most of the other characters fade into the background, yet still manage to feel multi-dimensional even though their appearances are incredibly brief.

The grimoires in the story provide pleasant character additions themselves. For example, we have a class 1 grimoire who snarls like a dog and will "bite" things it dislikes using its pages as a mouth. Another book on proper etiquette and the like will huff and harrumph being placed on any surface that's dusty or filthy in the attitude of: "How dareth thee touch me, Lady Primrose's handbook, with such filthy barbarian-like hands!" And my personal favorite: Lord Fustian's Florilegium, a grimoire that must be complimented on its importance at least once per day and makes a little: "Ahem." noise every time someone walks in the room. If this isn't done, it will slam itself shut for 100 years and refuse to let anyone read it in a tantrum so legendary, terrible two toddlers turn green with envy.

The dialogue between all characters is smart and witty. You gain a clearer understanding of the characters' traits without the novel ever stating what those traits are. We gain a clear understanding of a characters past without ever doing a cheap flashback or an italicized memory.

Rogerson's descriptions are romanticised beauty. Take the very first paragraph of the story: "Night fell as death rode into the Great Library of Summershall. It arrived within a carriage. Elisabeth stood in the courtyard and watched the horses thunder wild-eyed through the gates, throwing froth from their mouths. High above, the last of the sunset blazed on the Great Library's tower windows, as if the rooms inside had been set on fire--but the light retreated swiftly, shrinking upward, drawing long fingers of shadow from the angels and gargoyles who guarded the library's rain-streaked parapets."

Gorgeous, creepy, dangerous, like a volcano exploding.

"He looked down, where spots had appeared here and there on his shirt, small at first, but spreading, blooming like poppies, soaking through the fabric until his entire chest was slick and red."

Lovely, stunning, like watching a flower unfurl its petals as the sun rises.

"Something drew tight inside of her, like a violin string awaiting the touch of a bow. Looking down at him, her heart ached with a song that did not have words or notes or form, but strained nonetheless to be given voice--a sensation that was not unlike suffering, for it seemed too great for her body to contain."

This one really stole my breath away. What a unique and incredible description of falling in love. I've never heard it described like this, like a song of suffering. But it still resonates within me and I feel it, that same sensation and I know instinctively that I have felt this same feeling myself and that these are the words that describe it best. I have tried to write, myself, complicated feelings into something that resonates with truth and pulls you into the same feeling, but never as beautifully or effectively as Rogerson does here. It's absolutely breathtaking.

What these descriptions do exceptionally well is maintain the atmosphere and immersion. All of the descriptions, similes and metaphors were carefully rooted in their time period. Never once did I feel that a description was comparing anything from our modern time to the medieval-like time which Sorcery of Thorns takes place in. And the descriptions were also filtered through the main character's eyes. Every description and observation had this country, naive or innocent feel to it, which is because we are looking at the world through Elisabeth's eyes and she is all of these things. It gives more to Elisabeth's character without the author ever having to tell us that she is those things.

Rogerson's descriptions may not always paint a picture of the scene, and often times, I did find myself having to supplement details of the scene we found ourselves in. But what they did consistently is give a vibe of the scene, a feeling of the city, a sense of the territory.

It can be difficult to reliably, quickly, and vividly describe the scene every time our characters enter a new area without boring the audience to death. Rogerson relies on feelings of the scene and understands that those feelings we get often times will paint the scene for us. It's a very clever way of writing that I greatly appreciate, though I did sometimes find myself wishing we had a clearer description of where we were.

Every single word in Sorcery of Thorns has meaning and purpose. Everything ties back into itself. This does an excellent job of creating foreshadowing and purpose; Rogerson gives the audience all the pieces yet still creates a scenario where it isn't easy to piece them together before our villain acts on those pieces. I was actually mad at myself time and again because I should have seen it coming! But I didn't! It's not very often that I'm mad at myself and not the characters for not realizing sooner what was being planned. It's a very difficult tightrope that we authors walk between making the plot so obvious that everybody sees what's coming and making it so obscure that it seemingly comes out of left field with no foreshadowing or context. Rogerson doesn't walk this tightrope, she dances across it effortlessly. Every single time a revelation was made, all of the pieces that she gave fell into place and I saw the whole picture for what it was. Yet it was so subtle that, in the moment, I didn't realize what was happening.

However, this does create a difficult environment for the reader who is not looking to hang off every single word. If you happen to miss something because you thought about something else for a moment or accidentally skipped a line and didn't realize, you will find yourself wondering after the plot. For the big plot points, such as the main character inheriting a legendary sword, we are repeatedly reminded of where the sword came from. But, as an example, if you missed at the start of Chapter Four that summer had turned into mid-fall, like I did, you'll find yourself frustratedly wondering for a long time how much time has passed and the "when" of our location in the story. If you're looking for a novel that is easy to digest, I would recommend waiting until you're in a headspace where you can really focus on every aspect of the story.

Now, for the few negative points.

The fight scenes aren't particularly exciting or immersive. They read like the rest of the book does. There are no formatting changes or pacing changes, there are no distinctions between an epic fight scene between good and evil and dancing at a ball or doing research at a library. It sort of reads like, "This is what happened, then this." While it was still interesting to read about, it wasn't the kind of heart-stopping, edge-of-your-seat action that I think a fight scene should be. Even when a character got hurt, sure, the descriptions remained beautiful (see the poppies line above) but it didn't have me screaming or raging or gasping in shock. It just kind of happened. And it wasn't because I had no attachment to the characters, I love all the characters. It was just kind of plainly stated. Even through Elisabeth's eyes, I didn't really feel the urgency or the desperation. It just happened. She leapt through the air in her desperation. She charged forward heedlessly in an attempt to reach him. It just didn't elicit any feelings from me aside from "oh, this is happening, this is interesting."

Throughout the story, I wasn't convinced that Rogerson is the type of author to kill off a character, so the struggles they underwent didn't feel like their lives were in danger. Let me provide an example in Demon Slayer by Koyoharu Gotouge. In Demon Slayer, good people die all the time, and even if the characters don't die, some become terribly injured to the point where they can no longer fight. Actions have severe consequences that affect the characters. So, when one of our main characters' lives was suddenly threatened, it felt so real and frightening. Good people die all the time, and if a main character died, it would only reinforce Demon Slayer's core message: Victory at all costs, no matter what happens, push onwards. I fully believed they were about to kill this main character, and I sobbed my eyes out. Even after I found out the character didn't die a few minutes later, I still sobbed because the flow of the story moving from fear to celebration was stunning.

This is something that I never felt in Sorcery of Thorns, either. I cry when I feel an overwhelming sense of emotions, happy, sad, fear, etc. I never felt that in Sorcery of Thorns. I never felt an overwhelming sense of emotions, I never cried. The characters are relatable, the story is beautiful, the world is interesting. But Rogerson never dug deep enough to elicit a real, severe emotional response from the audience. Things happened, those things were interesting, but were just sort of stated. The formatting throughout the story never changed, it remained a constant, and while that may be a strength in some stories, it was a weakness for Sorcery of Thorns. An author can draw a lot of attention to something by simply changing the formatting, the style of writing, or the pacing. A sudden change in the way a story is being told is often jarring and can provide that heart-stopping reaction of shock for a reader. It made the story buttery smooth, but too safe, too constant.

Let's talk about stakes and consequences. The stakes in Sorcery of Thorns are the end of the world, every fight is a life or death fight and if they lose, the world ends. But the stakes never felt that way. There was never a catastrophic looming sensation, a David-staring-down-Goliath situation. I was surprised several times when the characters lost fights that they could not afford to lose. That was a pleasant surprise. A lot of authors struggle with allowing their villains to win, for consequences to affect the world due to the villain's actions, and for the villains to have a reason for their deeds. Sorcery of Thorns excels at these things. But just like the fight scenes did not feel exciting or epic, the stakes in Sorcery of Thorns didn't feel gargantuan on the scale of a world-ending, life-or-death problem. It was stated, "He wants to sabotage the libraries." Yes, that's bad. But it didn't push beyond the boundary of "Yup, that sure is bad!" And the consequences weren't always respected. One of our main cast makes a sacrifice for the others and for the sake of the world that results in their status being unknown, but unable to return to the group. Later in the novel, this character comes. back.

I cannot begin to describe how much I despise characters coming back from the dead, healing with no scars, banishing themselves to another dimension only to find a way back, or having any other lack of consequences for their actions. When an author does this, brings them back to the story or heals them to completion, it cheapens the sacrifice they made in the first place. Actions. Have. Consequences.

Let me repeat that for those in the back: Actions. Have. Consequences.

When we do not respect that simple aspect of storytelling, we ruin the love our characters show for one another and the world, we cheapen their sacrifice. It's not an act of love if there is no sacrifice, even if that sacrifice is as small as: By giving this to you, I no longer have it.

I once gave a very rare, event-limited (only a week in 2022 could you even get this Pokemon) shiny Pokemon (shiny means it's a different color and very sparkly, the odds are 1 in 4,096) I caught to my darling because it was my darling's favorite color. Even though I can still see it and it still has my name on it as the original trainer, I no longer have access to it. I sacrificed that to give it to my darling because I knew my darling would love it. Is it a small sacrifice that just amounts to a very lucky encounter of tiny pixels? Absolutely. Did it make my darling happy? My darling was ecstatic. Would I have done that for anyone that walked up and asked me for my extremely rare Pokemon? Hell no. It was a small sacrifice, but a meaningful one that was done from my love for Darling.

It doesn't have to be life and death. It can be something much smaller that is just as meaningful. If you do not want your character to die or cannot handle your character's death, do not put them in a situation where they will die in the first place.

There are absolutely characters who have died and come back different than before, worse than they were before, and this I am always in favor of. Bringing a character back without any negative consequences to them is always a mistake.

Overall, Sorcery of Thorns is a beautiful, mesmerizing, amazing story with none of the usual "cheap tricks" or cliches, but it's played out in a way that feels far too "safe" for the subject matter: a story of good versus evil. I wish there had been more emphasis, that the author had pushed just a bit more to elicit that emotional response and be bolder with the way the story was told. Will I read it again? Absolutely, and everything else that Margaret Rogerson writes, as well. This is an author that I will follow for the rest of my life, because, should she continue to keep learning and practicing her craft, she will someday write a story that is legendary.

Sorcery of Thorns came close to Legendary Story status, and is thus being placed in the Incredible Stories category, the pseudo-legendary stories. I give it 4.5 out of 5 stars as far as my overall enjoyment of the story. I highly recommend giving Sorcery of Thorns a read.