9/10

"Not sure I really feel like fucking someone who's part god and part suicidal drunk, you know"

I received an advanced copy of The Court of Broken Knives via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review. I would like to thank Anna Smith Spark and Harper Voyager. This will be posted on Fantasy Book Review shortly.

2017 has been a stunning year for adult fantasy debuts and the trend absolutely continues with The Court of Broken Knives (book one of Empires of Dust) which will surely become a grimdark classic. The beginning sees readers following a crew of mercenaries as they approach Sorlost, the empire's richest and arguably, most important City to complete a mission that could change the world.

I loved the manner in which the writing is surprisingly poetic throughout the tale, aiding to create beautiful prose. The novel includes grimdark fans favourite elements such as betrayal, battles, brutal deaths, characters who are bastards that I loved to hate, Gods with strange motives, and dragons! If anything, many of the gory scenes hit harder because of how stunningly pretty some of the writing is. The narrative sometimes has as infectious, trance-like flow that I thought was excellent. In addition, occasionally the action is so fast and intense that my eyes weren't able to keep up with the reading pace that my brain wished to employ which left me feeling utterly breathless.

To begin with, this story reminded me of C.F. Iggulden's Darien with the political unrest and potential overthrowing of an Emperor and like Iggulden's story, I thought The Court Of Broken Knives would all take place in one impressive and giant City. I was incorrect. We explore what I imagine is a vast and diverse amount of this world, seeing different races, mythological creatures, and expansive settings. The history and religions seem expertly created. The map presented within the book looks gorgeous too (although I couldn't zoom in on my advanced e-version.) Great cartography by the artist and a well-crafted world by Anna.

There are four main characters that readers follow, and I won't say too much about them as they are the main drawing point for grimdark classics, but they don't disappoint. The four major individuals are a mercenary captain, a new recruit, a priestess and a politician. I really liked three out of the four characters. Although they all have merits, I didn't like reading about one of them as much. They are all presented in the third person perspective sometimes switching between multiple characters views smoothly in the same chapter. A few, what seems like short interludes, have one of these four characters occasionally speaking in the first person. Slightly confusing but I have faith that this is a device that has been utilised for a reason. We are also presented a few mysterious interludes featuring a dark-haired boy and a light-haired boy and these were really engaging.

Like some epic fantasy, the peculiar names given to characters and places can be confusing so I hope the finished book includes a dramatis personae. It wasn't much of an issue but is worth pointing out that and in addition, if you don't read the book for a few days you might find yourself slightly lost and have to re-skim previous chapters. These aren't really negatives and if anything they are familiar issues with the highest calibre fantasy releases. The more effort you put in the greater the affinity with the ensemble and their final outcomes. The ending of this book is fantastic and if I am reading it right, a potential action could go one of two very diverse ways. Whatever the outcome is, I will 100% own book #2 as soon as I can. Anna and this world have so much to offer. Although the story is self-contained it leaves more questions, intrigue and loose threads than the majority of debut books this length. I guess that just means I will think about it more which can't be a bad thing.

This book truly is grimdark of the highest order with one of the most complex, beautiful and destructive characters ever written. Queen of Grimdark is a pseudonym well earned. If you mixed beauty, darkness, complexity, death, and poetry then you would have something that is a lot like Smith Spark's debut.

Sorlost: undying and unconquered, the grand, decaying capital of an ancient empire. In its tattered magnificence, the empty titles of its aristocrats, its wealth and its erosion it recalls Venice and Byzantium in their dotage, or Viriconium. Samarkand, too, and every other fabled desert city whose dusty reality rather undermined the legend. A dash of Lhasa, for the Emperor is chosen not by successon but reincarnation - the current one perhaps not being up to scratch. And Tenochtitlan, of course, for the city’s religion revolves around a lord of life and death who demands human sacrifice, if not so many now as when the empire was in its pomp. The absence from this list is notable too, of course; one way or another most fantasy cities remind me of London, but Sorlost really doesn’t, except perhaps for the faintest echo of the post-Brexit city still running on the memory of its former power, convinced that history owes it a living even as the vultures begin to circle.

If I’m fixating on one of the book’s settings, that’s because it was only once we reached Sorlost that I was convinced I’d get on with this. The sheer horror and blood and shit of the opening combat was a bit much for me, and I say that as someone who enjoys (non-Lapham) Crossed, read Palahniuk's notoriously nauseating 'Guts' over dinner, and made it through I Was Dora Suarez without quite the same explosive reaction as its original editor. When Broken Knives is described as ‘grimdark', that’s entirely accurate. Now, I’m not altogether sure exactly what does and doesn’t count as ‘grimdark’ fantasy; I’ve read a fair few recent fantasy novels which were both grim and dark in places (GRRM, Joe Abercrombie, Daniel Abraham, Seth Dickinson), but I suspect that this might be the same as telling a proper hardcore punk that you like the Knack, the Undertones and Never Mind the Bollocks. Part of me wonders if the opening chapter doubles down on the charnel for the same reason as the opening chapter of Voice of the Fire turned the inaccessibility up to 11 – an entrance barrier, a ‘you must be this hardy to ride’, a way of making sure there are no complaints later. But be assured that things do improve. Never consistently, of course, and sometimes not by much. Indeed, the citizens of Sorlost are no less vicious than those mercenaries in the desert, but they have a subtlety about them - more pointed remarks and whispers in the dark than hacking and slashing – which is much more my speed. Though of course, there’ll be hacking and slashing in Sorlost too later, because inevitably the strands converge.

The protagonists, then: some of that mercenary band, or such of it as survived the initial carnage. A noble of Sorlost, plotting regicide with the best possible motives. And the high priestess of Great Tanis, who for me was by far the most sympathetic of them all, the whole ’sacrifices children’ thing notwithstanding. Another intermittent strand, set a millennium earlier, follows Amrath, a legendary ruler who makes Genghis Khan look like the runner-up in a Lib Dem leadership election - though against the bronze walls of Sorlost, even Amrath's armies shattered. Needless to say, this too will become relevant in the novel’s present, though I have no intent of giving away how. And part of me is reluctant to say much about the plot at all, given how many of the reversals did take me altogether by surprise, though I especially enjoyed the melancholy beauty of the brief romantic idylls, one of which in particular is fabulously implausible until it happens and you realise it couldn’t have been any other way, and is then snatched away far too soon, just as romantic idylls too often tend to be. And despite my initial reluctance, by the end I was thoroughly gripped by the whole carefully orchestrated mess everyone ends up in. Because this is a tale of pride, and expediency, and how it’s always easy to make difficult choices so long as you’re not the one at the sharp end of them. But more than any of that it’s a story about how absolutely nothing ever goes quite to plan.

(Declaration of interest: I read this as a Netgalley ARC, though I have already pre-ordered it. But then I pre-ordered it because I know the author, having met her and her astonishing shoes at a convention. As such, I’m not entirely impartial, but then I have given far more critical reviews to books by people I know much better, so)

The Court of Broken Knives is a strong fantasy debut by Anna Smith Spark. It’s got absolute gads of cynicism, characters who range from the pragmatic through conflicted and into monstrous, and a world which encourages and rewards that sort of approach.

Speaking of the world – well, it’s complicated. There’s the remnants of a global empire – reminiscent of Rome in the late medieval period. They assert sovereignty over the world at large, and have a degree of social and cultural capital – but don’t control almost anything outside of their capital city. Still, that city is a monstrosity of wealth, still gilded by centuries of ruling the world. The street urchins dress in silk, and the decay is, whilst obvious, still masked by the urban grandeur. The mood of sorrowful decline is, I suspect, intentional – as is the feeling of self-inflicted wounds, of coiled vipers, of personal politics poisoning an imperial perspective. Of course, this is an empire in a desert, which doesn’t seem to have much of a sanding army – but does have a religion requiring the sacrifice of children. The cultural attitudes are expertly played here – saddened, but accepting of the necessity.
The empire is surrounded by its more vibrant successor states, which seem to have a more medieval mindset. There’s a fair amount of fortifications and stone walls – and a royal family put in place by a historical ruler who may also have been a demon. They’re prone to bouts of ecstatic madness, entwined with violence – and their people fear and love them for it. This is a tumultuous, often nihilistic world – but also one where there is potential for great beauty, and for the realisation of the better traits of humanity.

There’s a rough quartet of protagonists. Two of them sit within the remaining Imperial city. One is the High Priestess of their somewhat brutal god – a woman circumscribed by circumstance, with the potential to be more, restricted by her own power and position. She’s clever, observant, and, for someone who sacrifices children on a regular basis, surprisingly sane – but there’s twinges of visible damage there, and a recognition that perhaps the world isn’t limited to the walls of her temple. The contrast between her and one of the others, a hardened politician, a noble of the empire, is, I suspect, intentional. He’s wry, jaded, and not at all surprised by the worst in people – but at the same time, driven by the dream that was once his home, in an effort to sustain and create something better. There’s a vivid characterisation here, of a man in power, who has no interest in his wife sexually, but cares for her; who is prepared to enact horrors on old friends in the service of an ideal; who can be tormented by their own success, and justify it as failure being the worst option. Both of the imperials are vividly, cleverly portrayed – they certainly feel like people, if perhaps not people you would want to take out to dinner.

The others – well, I have great affection for Tobias. A mercenary squad leader, he’s thoughtful, always has an eye on the main chance, and is not at all afraid to turn his reflections into brutality if that’s what’s required. He’s ever-so-slightly conflicted, a everyman with more than an edge of darkness about him – surviving in a world which caters to and demands the use of his worst instincts. For all that he makes abhorrent choices, they are plausible, logical ones – and his tarnished view of the world is at once strange and familiar.

Then there’s another – one of Tobias’s band of mercenaries, he’s an enigma at first. Tormented by unknown demons, driven by unknown curses. If there’s a space here, it’s one of emotional distance or connection, switching from a need to escape the world to being bathed in it – usually in blood. This is a man who is sure of what he could be, but trying to escape it – through drugs, through drink, through murder. This last is one that is more difficult to sympathise with – but a complex, believable character, one whose emotional intensity and validity rises out of the prose, and makes it into something special.

The plot – well, there’s all sorts. Here are high politics, and low murder, often in one. Political assassinations as knife fights, gutters and blood, coarse language and red in the gutters. There’s also magic – explosive, typically, unpleasant, almost always. There’s plots, counterplots, and appallingly visceral battles. There’s something for everyone here, if you’re not squeamish about how you get it. The dialogue is typically snappy, with moments of emotional transcendence; the pacing is spot on, and I had to keep on turning pages to see what happens next. There are highs and lows here – the latter perhaps moving to contempt or to tears, the former transporting to joy.

I guess what I’m saying is, it’s good stuff. This is smart, self-aware fantasy. The characters make sense, are easy to invest in, and reward that investment. The world is complex and believable. I’m really looking forward to seeing where this series goes, and I urge you to give it a try.

I don't know how I feel about this book, in all honesty. I really wanted to love it, but I just didn't. I know that there will be a lot of people who do love this book, however. I think it ticks all the boxes to become a favourite for a lot of people, but it just wasn't for me.

One of the main problems that I had was if I took a break from reading, I found the story incredibly difficult to get back into. I didn't really like most of the characters, and even the characters that I did like, I ended up hating at the end. Marith, for example, I really enjoyed his chapters at the start of the book, but by the end, I didn't like him anymore. The same with Thalia. I feel like Thalia became weaker throughout the book.

Well, by Jove, I wanted to find out what grimdark was and I think The Court of Broken Knives is more or less a one-novel definition of the term. Searingly brutal, full of political intrigue, without a single purely good character, but plenty of fascinating ones, this debut fantasy gripped me with the tenacity of a cutthroat in a dark alley. It isn't without its issues, as you'd expect in a first novel, but it has a fearless, blood-drenched flair. 

The time is coming, and the pieces are falling into place. In the middle of a bleak, barren desert, a small band of mercenaries slogs through the sand towards their next job, led by their captain Tobias. In the city of Sorlost - centre of the empire, centre of civilisation, centre of the world - elegant, jaded aristocrats plot the assassination of their emperor. In the Temple, the High Priestess fulfils her duties and waits for the unknown day when her successor will be drawn by lot, starting the countdown to her own necessary death. And, among the ragtag men who stumble after Tobias through the endless sands, the beautiful youth Marith struggles to control the shadows and strange compulsions in his mind. 

Smith Spark's world definitely feels further along the fantasy spectrum than that in K.J. Parker's Engineer Trilogy, for example: I would say there's probably the same amount of fantasy as there is in A Song of Ice and Fire. But the magic is, for the most part, treated as normal by the world's inhabitants: mages use their powers to do street tricks, or work charms on noblewomen's litters to make them fireproof. Magic, such as it is, has been tamed. But, from the very earliest part of the book, there's a sense that something has changed and the rules are shifting. Here be dragons - sometimes nothing more than large and viciously destructive animals - but sometimes more enigmatic creatures, with the ability (of course) to speak an ancient and almost forgotten tongue. Don't let the idea of 'magic' put you off, though. The main thrust of the drama comes from human actions, even if those are sometimes amplified by powers slightly beyond the normal. And the drama itself is, more often than not, of the gritty bloodshed variety.

This is not a book for anyone who's squeamish about fight scenes. We're talking about Jacobean levels of blood and bodies here. If you like a good bit of battle writing, though, it's a veritable feast of ambushes, skirmishes, murder, incineration, war and probably a hundred other ways that people can messily dispose of other people. It wears its credentials very cheerfully on its sleeve (not for nothing is Smith Spark's Twitter handle @QueenofGrimdark). Yet, even if you quail a bit at the thought of blood, be assured that (despite all the spilled guts, dismemberment and frequent swearing), the characters are vibrant enough to keep you engaged and eager to know what happens next.

I was hooked by the first few chapters in Tobias's third-person narrative voice: a no-nonsense, contemporary, down-to-earth, here-we-go-again soldier's commentary that felt pitch-perfect. He felt so vivid at times that I was reminded of Mildmay in the Doctrine of Labyrinths series, who remains my narrative voice to beat; and the interaction between the men in Tobias's troop had the kind of easy, incidental banter that I enjoyed in Ben Kane's Eagles novels. There's a marked and appropriate contrast in voice between these chapters and the more languid, louche, yet fastidious narrative of Orhan's chapters within the walls of Sorlost. In fact, had the book stuck to alternating Tobias and Orhan I'd have been completely happy. For me the weaker parts were those of Thalia's narration. She's the only really prominent woman in the novel and yet, unfortunately, I didn't feel she was interesting enough to warrant the space she had, especially once she started doing little more than gushing about another character. (I'd have liked a smart, shrewd, ruthless woman to match the men.) I also thought it a misstep to have some of Thalia's chapters in third person narration and some in first. Ideally they'd all have been in either one or the other, which would have helped with the flow. 

The book ended up being a more conventional kind of fantasy novel than I expected from the first few chapters but, nevertheless, I enjoyed it hugely. I don't mind a bit of bloodthirstiness now and again, although I think I've had several months' quota here, and I enjoyed the hints of the backstory slowly unfurling and coming together. We finish in an interesting place - new powers, new chances, new dangers - and I'm keen to see where Smith Spark takes this in her next book. (Hopefully there'll be plenty of Tobias in the next one, and Thalia will be less repetitive on the subject of irresistible beauty.)

I must finish, however, by stressing that this is a hard one to put down. I only opened it to have a quick flick through, get a feel for it, and two days later I've read the entire thing and am itching for more. It's a strong and impressive debut and, incidentally, it's great to see a woman taking on the male-dominated world of grimdark with such aplomb. So do give this a go if you like your fantasy on the dark side: it's a compelling, bleak and deliciously twisted tale to savour. 

To see the review on my blog, where it will be published on 9 June 2017, please follow this link:
https://theidlewoman.net/2017/06/09/the-court-of-broken-knives-anna-smith-spark