Book Review: Six of Crows

Spoilers!

World-building: Renaissance Fantasy

I have thought to myself that it would be interesting to read or write a renaissance fantasy story, and I think Bardugo did a fine job making one. Her originality in the combination of magic and guns, as well as in making a world that deliberately resembles our own (Amsterdam, Russia, China, etc.), makes up for her unoriginality (making a world that deliberately resembles our own). The book takes into account how Grisha magic would affect economics (tide-makers keeping Ketterdam isolated from the mainland), and it allows for a host of differing views or treatment of Grisha magic (Grisha who hide their powers, Fjerdan witch-hunters, Ravka’s second army, and slavers), and how that impacts both countries on a grand scale and her characters on a deeper level. Her decision to have a sea in the middle of the main countries, and to portray her world in maps only as a “known world” where apparently many countries could lie outside of it, creates an intriguing world with many unexplored places and with real obstacles like a vast body of water. I think that in my own worldbuilding and in some of the worlds I see others make, places like Europe, Great Britain, Australia, the US, etc. have influenced us so that we imagine countries surrounded by water (Middle Earth; Narnia, Archenland, and Calormen; Prydain; Roshar). I have never read any fantasy from the eastern hemisphere, but even then I imagine many of them would be influenced by the geographical aspects of China, Japan, Russia, etc. Bardugo’s world, however, resembles the Mediterranean, with a sea at the centre of the interacting countries, and much more land beyond those countries which may be unexplored. This was new and fresh for me. I realise that A Song of Ice and Fire has two main land masses divided by water, so that’s cool. And in Six of Crows, everything takes place either on the island of Ketterdam (which is only an island by magic tidebending) and the landmass in which lie Ravka, Fjerda, and Shu Han. A character is from Novyi Zem, but we never go there. So it’s not so much about where the characters go—it’s the fact that this is the world in which the story takes place. Also, unlike in A Song of Ice and Fire, the sea occupies almost the centre of the map, which reminds me of the Mediterranean. 

Characters

Nina & Mathias

Six of Crows is, as a friend of mine said, a gem among YA (Young Adult). It is YA, not only because of the characters’ ages, but because of their goals and arcs. While they have undergone many significant experiences (which does not typify any particular genre), they are still immature (though clever) and trying to find their place in the world. Nina and Matthias contradict this somewhat, since they have each already found an identity as soldiers and devoted countrymen. If the novel followed them only, I think it might appear almost like an adult novel, in which two persons are not finding their place in the world, but questioning it and rediscovering it. Even they, however, fit in a YA genre since their story involves a questioning of identity for the first time (since the aforementioned identities were given them at a young age), and exploring for the first time life experiences that generally appear early in one’s life (romantic love, betrayal). Moreover, they are immature and childish at the beginning of their stories (which begin before the novel does) and they mature into a man and woman through self-sacrifice, acceptance of suffering, and actively finding identity (even if someone keeps the identity they were raised with or given—and indeed identity must be received—still there comes a time where it is “owned” or received actively, instead of passively). 

Inej Ghafa

The other four “Crows” display these same motifs in their stories or arcs. Inej wrestles with two identities fighting one another, the Inej of her childhood and the Wraith. Her decision, though not my favourite, makes sense based on her experience of love since her childhood. After years of abuse, with no affirmation of her innate worth since her being sold into slavery, and in a world of buying and selling, an eye for an eye, and little to no reliability even in Kaz, it makes sense that she would choose a life which echoes these same messages: I will cause pain in those who caused me pain, I will gratify my deepest desire and create a cohort of like-minded fighters, I will be my own mistress and rely on no one but myself. Bardugo created an interesting plot with a sympathetic character who reacts to uncontrollable events but also chooses her own destiny insofar as she is able. This echoes reality. We do not get to choose most of the things that happen to us, especially before reaching adulthood. But free will exists, and we choose to respond to life events or take initiative in a way that we think will make us happy. That does not mean that we will become happy, just as Inej does not. And it does not mean we will like it. I see Inej’s arc as a tragedy—that is, she might have chosen a path that didn’t resemble the “eye for an eye” pattern she’d experienced, but she didn’t choose it. However, a friend of mine said that the classical tragedy occurs when the character has a fatal flaw, and wasn’t merely driven by external forces with no way out. I don’t know much about classical tragedies. But given she was kidnapped while taking a nap, and bought by Kaz with no say in the matter, did she really have the opportunity to choose otherwise? Perhaps she didn’t. But I think that, given the motif in other characters’ arcs of being forced into bad situations, and then choosing to give in to revenge and hatred (like Kaz) or forming one’s own path (like Nina and Matthias), I could argue Inej had a choice, and chose the darker path. Either way, I don’t think that’s a bad mark in the book, unless her decision were portrayed as good, and I don’t think it is. Whether a tragic character or a victim of external forces, her arc is consistent and interesting.

Kaz Brekker

Kaz was my favourite character in the end, partly because of Inej’s decision to become a pirate (which I think makes sense—I just don’t prefer it) and partly because his arc is so interesting. As with all the characters, Bardugo gives us a premise that might intrigue us: the former prostitute turned deadly spy, the former farm boy turned marksman—and we dive into the characters as the story unfolds. For Kaz, we start off with a three-dimensional character—he has physical weaknesses and strengths, a cunning mind but an often candid mouth, and great self-possession as well as compulsions and obsessions. His psychological need for companionship becomes clear as the story unfolds, as well as his moral need to become vulnerable with others (he has many moral needs, of course, but this seems primary to his arc). And this is where I think his arc is so well-designed—because he fails. Kaz loses both the primary conflict and the secondary conflict in the story (the heist deal, and winning Inej, respectively), but while also having perhaps improved as a person. He does become a bit more vulnerable, enough to communicate his affection to Inej. Yet in spite of his growth, or rather because of its insufficiency, he fails in his secondary conflict to win her. There is a positive note even in this dual failure: that he fails in his primary conflict partly because of his growth and vulnerability (looking at Inej and thus revealing his weakness). It shows that he has become more capable of feeling instinctively. Still, his trauma is so deep-rooted and his fear has so long been fed and strengthened that it will take a long time for him to heal enough to have an intimate relationship, even if he did his best by effort of will to do so. And in the end the fact that he has so little growth, that his arc is so little of an arc, while his character retains a realistic dynamism throughout the story, this story which he controls so much of and remains close to the centre of—all this makes him in my opinion a well-constructed character and my favourite. While Inej arguably also lost both the primary conflict and secondary conflict, I found it less compelling since she became stronger by becoming harder; whereas Kaz became stronger by becoming weaker, a much more interesting, moving, and eternal theme. 

Jesper

I did not care much for Jesper and even less for Wylan. I did think Jesper’s gambling addiction interesting, and a little refreshing since, while older books contain characters with gambling addictions, it seems that lately everyone is focussed largely on drinking and drugs. (I once heard that the addiction most difficult to rehabilitate is gambling—more than any drug.) Bardugo did a good job of showing a good-natured youth justifying his addiction (if I can just be lucky this time. . . .), discovering his potential (as a Grisha) and possibly going after it, and then seeing in the end his own selfishness and cowardice (in not taking the Jurda parem, and, arguably, in worrying less about Nina and more about his loss of a trainer). And in the end he has no firm resolution to overcome that selfishness. He might have given in to selfishness or ignored it, or else have made a firm resolution to love others more than himself—but I think he did none of these. Jesper is a good example of someone seeking fulfilment in pleasure, in popularity, and power—specifically, in “making something of oneself,” in the belief that as yet one is nothing—and how all of these lead to unhappiness and failure in what matters most: virtue and love of the other. As I write this, I like him more now. Although I disliked the romance between him and Wylan. It felt like more “woke” representation. It did nothing for the story.

Wylan

As for Wylan, he’s not a bad character either. But there are good reasons we never get this “crow’s” perspective. We’d have all those times where Wylan looks at signs and thinks, “I wonder what that says.” But also, does he have an arc? Does he have any weaknesses besides being “average” at demolitions, and not being able to read? He’s just sort of sensitive and somewhat nice, but doesn’t have any real strengths, moral needs, or a fleshed out psychological need. It might just be me, but why did he join the Dregs? Was it just out of rebellion? And why did he go on the suicide mission? Was it all just to find out if his father would kill him in order to be the richest and most powerful man in the world? I guess it’s possible, but I didn’t feel it was very fleshed out, so I think he’s the weakest character. It might have been explained and I missed it. 

Plot & Themes

Bardugo does a good job writing a novel strong in plot as well as character-driven. This is an important balance, though not necessary in every novel. It doesn’t feel fatalistic or nihilistic: many events are beyond the characters’ control, but they can still respond to them and govern their own actions. I suppose it is in a way humanistic—the main events are always determined by humans in the story, and there is no sense of providential justice or authority. Still, the characters cannot fully self-determine. They cannot live alone. Living with others requires compromise, vulnerability, and trust. And their plans often go awry due to unforeseen events. In Kaz we see these different elements come together: orphaned at a young age, and subsequently taken advantage of, he responds to these events (which are out of control) by attempting a self-deterministic, independent life. However, he comes to depend on Inej, and grows enough to attempt to gain this avenue to happiness, yet being prevented by events outside of his control (see second-to-last chapter), and even more so by his own wounds. Thus, though humanistic (Inej’s doubting the saints and whether they were not just Grisha is one aspect of this), Bardugo balances on the one hand man’s inability to control his own life and to be self-sufficient, and on the other hand the very real possibility of changing one’s moral trajectory through taking responsibility and action. Matthias is a good example of the latter: an apparent victim of death and hatred through Ravka’s attacks and Fjerda’s anti-Grisha indoctrination, he is able to grow and, through his personal decisions in response to these events, and without shrugging personal responsibility, he becomes a better man. 

I mentioned this in some of the character analyses above, but there’s a theme of ‘becoming’ in the characters which I liked, and which suits a YA novel. Most of the characters have a label attached to them, a thing they are, and there’s a question of them becoming something else, and whether it is possible for them. Is Inej separated eternally from her childhood? Can she ever really be her parents’ daughter? Must she always be a murderer, a thief? And if she could be otherwise, would she choose it? Can Jesper be anything but a selfish gambling addict? Can Nina and Matthias change from being a Ravkan 2nd Army loyalist and a Fjerdan Witch Hunter? It would have been silly and simplistic if the book had told a superficial theme covering them all: You can be anything you want to be! Instead, different characters make different decisions—or none at all, like Jesper. And the reader gets to feel what the characters feel, walk in their shoes a while, and reflect for himself on their actions. 

As mentioned above, some of the characters’ biggest obstacles come from their own past. I think this is why the frequent expository returns to the past do not upset the story. We learn of Kaz’s traumatic experience with the bodies just in time to understand and empathize with his anxiety in the prison truck. Had the exposition been too early, we’d have lost the mystery of his gloves and wouldn’t have desired to know about him (take note, writers). Had we learned too late, we’d have lost the ability to empathize with him at that key point in the book. In Nina and Matthias’ stories also, we are first hooked with mystery and intrigue, then gradually filled in as their present story continues. This expository placement did a good job of sating our growing desire to know the characters without intruding upon, but rather complementing, the present plot. In other words, intrigue on the reader’s part should precede exposition on the author’s, and exposition must serve the plot.

As for the plotline itself, I very much enjoyed it. It started at the right point in time (a question not everyone asks), flowed nicely with several good twists, and had, somehow, a good resolution. I thoroughly enjoyed the book, but have no strong desire to read the sequel. (I would like to read it mostly in order to read a book similar to Six of Crows; but I’m told that while Six of Crows was a good book in itself, the sequel is really only good as a sequel.) I really don’t have a lot of interest in what happens to any of the characters next, not because I lost interest in them or never had any, but because each of the characters’ arcs and storylines reaches a clear resolution. They aren’t happy resolutions, but they are resolutions still. For example, Nina and Matthias, especially the latter, have good arcs and end up together, despite the sad outcome. It’s up in the air what’ll happen next, but I suppose this is where my melancholic temperament shows up: Even if they had ended happily, maybe in the back of my mind I still would have thought, “Sure, but are they really gonna live happily ever after? Are they gonna be on the run all their lives? Even if they retire to a nice country or farm house, what if Witch Hunters find Nina one day?” I can’t say for sure that that’s why I’m satisfied with the sad resolutions to the characters’ arcs, but it’s a guess. After all, my two favourite characters couldn’t get together even if I’d wanted them to (they, especially he, are far too emotionally unhealthy right now). To me it was a great step for Kaz to make a somewhat selfless resolution in the end, to save the girl that couldn’t be his. 

Audiobook Narrators

A final note regarding the narrators of the audiobook. It’s been a while since I listened to it, but I think I recall them well enough. There’s a different narrator for every character whose perspective we read through, which wasn’t bad. Some folks complained about having a different voice for Kaz in different scenes because of this, but it didn’t really bother me. The only problem is not all the narrators are very good. A couple were good, some okay, and one or two poor. I remember the narrator for Jesper had just about the same voice for everyone, which made it difficult to keep track of who was talking. The narrators for Nina and/or Matthias might’ve had a similar problem. I realize some folks don’t have great diversity in what their voices can do, but a skilled narrator should also be changing tone and the way they speak. In such a case, the problem is removed. The narrator for The Mysterious Benedict Society is such a one whose voice doesn’t change, but his tone and way of speaking do, so I was never confused as to who was speaking. 

All in all, I really liked it. Would I read it again? Maybe. If I did, would I listen to it again? Maybe.