(It was read and finished sometime in June 2016)
Another excellent book, tangentially related to World War II. Again, I found myself liking it. All those things I used to mention about not liking books related to historical military wars, especially revolving around the wars in the 20th century, is turning out to be pretty rubbish.
I learned a lot about Jo Walton on this book, and it opened my eyes about the relationship (or rather, the market perception) about genre writers and their writing prowess is woefully misrepresented. Walton is an excellent writer, and by that I don’t mean story-wise (although that too wasn’t bad, in fact I wasn’t expecting a murder mystery. But then, I didn’t expect anything at all, not knowing much about the book beyond the back cover blurb). No, what I mean about Walton being an excellent writer is her prose is excellent. None of that Cassandra Clare, Veronica Roth level writing (although they are both published and deserve all their fame and success, because they put their work out there, unlike me, your typical armchair amateur book internet commenter).
I actually wrote quite a lot about the book in my book journal, and I’m not about to rehash or reproduce it here. Suffice it to say I was pleasantly surprised by the quality of the writing, and the story.
Moralistic. Read it.