I always believed reading held a particular magic, witnessed by only those willing to see it.
I always believed books held the key to worlds we could only ever dream of and store in the deepest and most cherished parts of our minds.
Reading is magical; finding a book igniting that magic is even more special.
It has been a few hours since I finished reading ‘
by Leigh Bardugo, the second instalment in the Six of Crows duology. The book follows the aftermath of the Ice Court heist, previously and brilliantly executed in ‘Six of Crows’ and right when you think the story couldn’t get more interesting, here is where the first trap of this intricate and mischievous reading mechanism activates. I am still in awe at the execution and the perfect depiction of a story so far from being over. Reading this book has been one of the most entertaining experiences of my life, as I was a prime spectator of such a genius play.
I was scheming alongside the best and worst thieves of Ketterdam, the monsters children fear in the dark, but in those self-proclaimed monsters, we find the most delicate humanity that makes us root for them through the numerous fights and challenges life throws at them. As I was scheming with them, I also got played, finding myself audibly laughing in disbelief every time a con of Kaz Brekker broke the fourth wall of reading (if one does exist) and reached the reader, proving that the bastard of the barrel never failed to strike.
'This city's price is blood and I'm happy to pay with yours'
Leigh Bardugo is a master of narration, almost like controlling the plot through a marionette string at her likings, and we, the audience, cannot help but wonder and gasp and sigh in contentment at every action, every witty dialogue and every heart-wrenching moment.
The characters were the heart of the story. They were coming alive on every page and my imagination couldn't have been more grateful to be able to ignite life in every single one of them. They were all truthfully human, their traumas and hardships did not drown them as we might expect them to do, instead, they were the guiding force to owning their narrative and wishing for a better ending. Whether by revenge or hopes for a brighter future, by owning their past by rewriting their future.
The way every one of them could shine thanks to their pov chapters made the story incredibly real and relatable to the audience. Rooting for them was already established from the get-go and as the crows themselves said, they remember the faces of those kind to them and tell each other who to trust. We learned to trust them with each word, with a plot twist and a plan always ready to unfold.
Every fragility, despite how deep they run, made them shine in a way I find difficult to put into words. Trust me when I say that by the end of it, there will be an immense sense of heartache in leaving behind those characters, almost like the feeling of leaving your hometown with only the uncertainty of when you will see your loved ones again by your side.
There was so much hope, kinship and respect between these pages, so much resilience and courage in the most tortured hearts. If there is one thing this book taught me is that no matter where hope may be rooted, between a wavering future or unforgiving past, it is up to us to reach for its guiding light and trust that no matter what, as long as we believe in it, we will be able to take control of our narratives.
'But what about the rest of us? What about the nobodies and the nothings, the invisible girls?We learn to hold our heads as if we wear crowns. We learn to wring magic from the ordinary. That was how you survived when you weren't chosen, when there was no royal blood in your veins. When the world owed you nothing, you demanded something of it anyway.'
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