In this sequel to the completely badass Gideon the Ninth, Harrow has become an immortal lyctor by consuming Gideon’s soul. Or has she? Harrow is haunted and mad and even the Emperor seems uncertain of just what she’s capable of. There are moments where the narrative seems confused, but Muir is no fool: madness may not see straight, but it does see clearly, and so will Harrowhawk. It took me two reads to piece it all together, but what spectacular reads! Muir’s prose is so sharp I swear she must be chewing glass as she writes. A rare gift—a book that’s so rewarding you can’t wait to read it a third time.
What thoughts are you thinking with?