I dislike fantasy. But Joe Abercrombie does two things far better than most fantasy writers:1) He's very funny. His penchant for gallows humor is nearly unmatched, and the quality of his comedy stands out even more when compared to the humorless, stodgy lot that are contemporary writers of fantasy.
2) He writes incredible characters. In a sub-genre defined by inch-deep cardboard cut-outs given life by unextinguished, unrealized teenage power-fantasies that read as if they're written by 12-year old boys, Abercrombie's deep, interesting, human characters from various, unique demographics are a joy to read.
Neither of these qualities are any less than you'd expect from his newest work, but he does add something I haven't yet seen from him: He builds an incredibly interesting world.
Abercrombie's "Circle of the World" setting has always felt simply like it existed so that he could populate it with interesting characters. It was always rather pedestrian as far as fantasy worlds go—it's not poorly constructed, it's just sort of by-the-book. There are guys with swords here, other guys with swords there, there are some barbarians, there's some magic, etc. Nothing too extraordinary. But with A Little Hatred he's taken this opportunity to progress the technology level of his world into an Industrial Revolution, and the skill and education with which he's done so has made all the difference.
The nobility of Adua reeks of the heights of the Holy Roman Empire, the politicking of which is legendary. Toss in a bit of Dickensian poverty and an uppity, socialistic peasantry torn straight from the French Revolution and you've got the setting for A Little Hatred. The setting became the chief character for me, something that hasn't happened in any of his books thus far. That's not to say that the human characters are lacking, either. They're solid, interesting, and witty, with their own quirks and faults to keep things honest. The easy violence of newcomer Gunnar Broad is particularly my taste, and Savine dan Glokta's gleeful lack of a social conscience made her chapters endlessly entertaining when she begins to experience the events of the story.
Abercrombie surprised me with his quality several times through my reading of A Little Hatred.
Early on, a revolt is presented as a typically socialist Utopian action, with all the rah-rah propagandist one-liners you'd expect. I rolled my eyes at this portion of the plot, wondering if Abercrombie's personal politics had polluted his storytelling—Until it turned out like nearly every other socialist revolution in history has; with the replacement of the old regime (if you will) with starving, rioting, chaos, and eventually a new regime altogether too familiar to what was just toppled. He had deftly set me up and knocked me down, perhaps expecting all the while that I'd have a reaction like I did. Looking back, I admit that I probably should have seen such a development coming, but I'd rather credit Abercrombie's skill as a writer than admit my own gullibility.
Another occurrence was towards the end, featuring a character being an on-the-nose, close-minded nationalistic racist. His depiction as such grew a little too anachronistic and cliche for my tastes, until our perspective changes and another character accurately appraises the first as simply a little too 'provincial' and casually racist.
Abercrombie demonstrates his education and self-awareness in these instances, and it's quite refreshing. His characters are nuanced and they feel like real people because of that nuance. Abercrombie regularly demonstrates the expertise with what motivates human beings that great writers consistently possess, and the world-turning events which take place in his fiction feel like real history, demonstrating an education in such matters that writers of fantasy frequently lack. He doesn't give in to the masturbatory, 'this-is-what-the-world-should-be-like' tendencies that lesser fantasy writers do, and thus doesn't suffer the same penalties to your suspension of disbelief that other fantasy novels do. I've seen readers paint him as a relentless cynic, but you know what they say: 'A cynic is what an idealist calls a realist' and all that.
This book does suffer a bit from first-episode-of-a-trilogy-syndrome. I was so enthralled by Valbeck's social strife that I found myself struggling to care about the conflict in the North beyond revisiting its interesting characters—some of whom we're already well acquainted with from the prior books in the First Law series. It all feels a bit too sprawling, but I would be surprised if this sprawl isn't justified in the events of later books. I guess I've just got to wait and trust for now, something I have no problem doing considering the way this book comes together and ends on a superb note.
I once read someone say that Haruki Murakami 'feels like he writes books just for me'. That's how I feel about Abercrombie. His cynicism, humor, and characters always seem to hit the bulls-eye of what I'm looking for in modern fiction. If you're familiar with Abercrombie then you know what you're going to get: It's pulpy, campy, morbidly hilarious, and oddly relateable. The former two are found—mostly unintentionally—in nearly every fantasy novel penned today. But the latter two are what make Abercrombie special, and his surprisingly improved ability to craft an intriguing, genuine setting has provided a new angle to chew on.
I'm definitely looking forward to next book.
⭐⭐⭐⭐
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