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The Etched City: A Novel Paperback – November 23, 2004
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Gwynn and Raule are rebels on the run, with little in common except being on the losing side of a hard-fought war. Gwynn is a gunslinger from the north, a loner, a survivor . . . a killer. Raule is a wandering surgeon, a healer who still believes in just—and lost—causes. Bound by a desire to escape the ghosts of the past, together they flee to the teeming city of Ashamoil, where Raule plies her trade among the desperate and destitute, and Gwynn becomes bodyguard and assassin for the household of a corrupt magnate. There, in the saving and taking of lives, they find themselves immersed in a world where art infects life, dream and waking fuse, and splendid and frightening miracles begin to bloom . . .
“The plot, with its stories-within-stories and its offhand descriptions of wonders and prodigies, brings to mind the works of Italo Calvino and Jorge Luis Borges.”—Locus
- Print length400 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherRandom House Worlds
- Publication dateNovember 23, 2004
- Dimensions5.23 x 0.83 x 8.2 inches
- ISBN-100553382918
- ISBN-13978-0553382914
The chilling story of the abduction of two teenagers, their escape, and the dark secrets that, years later, bring them back to the scene of the crime. | Learn more
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“The plot, with its stories-within-stories and its offhand descriptions of wonders and prodigies, brings to mind the works of Italo Calvino and Jorge Luis Borges.”—Locus
From the Inside Flap
About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
There were no milestones in the Copper Country. Often a traveller could only measure the progress of a journey by the time it took to get from each spoiled or broken thing to the next: a half day's walk from a dry well to the muzzle of a cannon poking out of a sand slope, two hours to reach the skeletons of a man and a mule. The land was losing its battle with time. Ancient and exhausted, it visited decrepitude on everything within its bounds, as though out of spleen.
In the south of the country, arid scrubby plains alternated with stretches of desert. One road crossed this region, connecting the infrequent hamlets and oases, following the line of a derelict stone wall built long ago by a warlord. Along it, at distant intervals, were the remains of watchtowers and small forts. The greater part of the wall and its fortifications lay in complete ruin, but occasional sections remained intact enough to provide shelter.
One evening, late in the Husk Month, as the sun was getting on towards the horizon and the bite was at last starting to go out of its rays, the road brought the physician Raule to a tower with three standing walls. At this promising sight her dark features lifted out of the scowl they had settled into during the stifling, monotonous afternoon. Earlier that day, she had traded tales with the Harutaim nomads whose way took them along the road, or rather beside it, for they held man-made paths in low esteem. They never camped near the wall, and had cautioned Raule not to do so either. They believed the ruins were haunted by evil spirits, the ancient and acrimonious undead. But Raule preferred the stone places to the empty land outside.
Inside the tower she found the ashes of someone else's campfire, a bottle, an empty meat can, and a wad of blood-soiled bandages. She alighted from her camel and left it to graze on some thorny plants that had taken root in the gravel around the stonework. After kicking the rubbish into a corner, she pitched her small tent against a wall, and built a fire on the remains of the litterer's. She ate, chewing down some strips of dried goat meat she had bought from the Harutaim. With more relish, she devoured a handful of dates, spearing them on the point of an old knife and cooking them over the flames until they were hot and soft. Her small meal finished, she stayed seated in front of the fire, wrapped in a blanket and her thoughts, tired but unable to sleep, as night came on.
The temperature dropped sharply after the sun set, and a fierce wind blew up and went hooting back and forth across the sky. As Raule listened to it she thought it might be easy to imagine djinns and ghouls out in the darkness, or to fancy that you heard the camel bells of a phantom caravan passing along the road.
When she slept at last she had dreams about the dead. These days, she saw them whenever she closed her eyes.
The wall ended at the town of Proof Rock. The sun was a late-afternoon bonfire, the earth overcooked and flyblown. Raule slouched in her saddle. Sweat glued her shirt and breeches to her skin, and her feet were baking inside her boots. She looked around without excitement.
Like most settlements in the Copper Country, Proof Rock was seemingly assembled from the detritus of other, defunct habitations. The only visible souls were a few old men and women, dozing on porches and balconies, as still as pegs of wood. Closed doors and shuttered windows completed the picture of an empty nest.
At the edge of the town there was an inn built of motley scrap metal. It had a brick porch, shaded by a tarpaulin and a mangy palm tree. A blanket slung over a wire served as the door, while sacking covered the windows, concealing the interior. Four camels were tethered to a rail in front of the porch. Raule appraised them. They were fit-looking mounts, handsomely caparisoned, but conspicuously lacking bells.
Raule dismounted, tied her camel to the palm tree, and went up to the doorway. She carried the medicine satchel that advertised her peaceable trade, while keeping her right hand near the scattergun she had made by sawing a shotgun short of most of its barrel.
She pushed the blanket back. Inside there was gloom, a sawdust floor, and buzzing flies. The air was searing, almost unbreathably hot. The temperature outdoors felt pleasant in comparison. The only customers were four men sitting at cards around a table crowded with bottles, glasses, and piles of banknotes. All four were clad in sombre-coloured outfits, decked out with weapons and ammunition bandoliers, and wore wide-brimmed hats that hid their features in shadow. Spectres of trouble. They all turned and looked at Raule.
One of them, a slim man, was fully muffled in a black domino, with a dustveil over his lower face. Raule smiled inwardly at such a graphic caricature of a ne'er-do-well. Then a sword hanging at his left hip, with its point resting behind him on the floor, caught her eye. The long, slightly curved scabbard was familiar to her.
The man tugged the brim of his hat down, as though he was wary of her eyes. But then his fingers, clad in black gloves, drummed on the table in apparently idle fashion, and Raule read their movement:
Nice to see you. Wait till later.
The other three gave her looks that plainly said "later" as well, but with different intent. She was unconcerned about that; later they'd be dead drunk.
Excepting the ghosts in her dreams, Raule hadn't seen a face she knew, either friend or foe, for more than half a year. Though she thought about leaving then and there, life had been too lonely lately, and so she chose to stay. Wanting a drink, and water to wash with if any was to be had, she walked to the bar. No one was there. Her nose picked up a raw smell.
Looking over the counter, she saw the body of an elderly man, who was no doubt the innkeeper. Something sharp and heavy had broken his skull open like an egg. The blood around him was still wet. A shelf behind the bar held a few bottles, but Raule decided to forgo alcoholic refreshment for the time being. There was a gap between two sheets of tin in the back wall, with another room visible beyond. Without looking at the men again, Raule moved towards the gap.
"Woman, stop."
It wasn't the voice of her acquaintance at the table. It was of iron and clinker. Raule halted.
"How would you say that man died?" the voice drawled.
"I would say," Raule answered, not facing around, "that he fell and hit his head."
There was ugly laughter, briefly. Then the shuffle and snap of cards signalled the resumption of play.
Just teasing.
Raule went through the opening and found herself in a bedroom-cum-storeroom. The shelves held a few sacks of beans and some hoary sausages. On the floor lay a strongbox, broken open and empty. An unlikely leadlight door of yellow-and-green glass roundels led out to an open yard. Raule squinted in the sudden light. In a corner of the yard there was a pump with a bucket beside it. She tried the pump, which yielded brown water. She cupped some in her hands and splashed it on her head and neck. A muddy residue stayed in the lines on her palms. She wasn't going to try drinking it, but in case the camel was thirsty she filled the bucket and walked back around the side of the building. The camel drank a few mouthfuls, then gave the bucket a disdainful kick, spilling the water, which the dry ground rapidly swallowed.
Raule drank from one of the several canteens she carried, then settled under the palm tree and let her eyes close. However, she kept her ears open.
The sun inched down the sky. Shadows lengthened. An emaciated, three-legged hound limped across the road. Brass-coloured ants that were half as long as Raule's thumb came crawling out of a hole in front of her feet. She kept count of them.
Nine hundred and thirteen ants later, gunfire erupted indoors.
Even though Raule had been half-expecting it, the sudden earsplitting noise gave her a jolt. She jumped off the porch and lay flat. She heard several pistols being rapidly emptied and men bellowing like bulls.
Then all went quiet again.
Raule crept to the doorway. Squatting, she lifted the bottom edge of the blanket a little and peered into the room. Dark figures lay prone on the floor amid overturned chairs and broken glass. Only the veiled man was standing, wreathed in gunsmoke, lit by a cat's cradle of thin sunbeams threading through new bullet holes in the walls and roof. He reloaded the pair of long-barrelled revolvers he had in hand and holstered them. Then from the curved scabbard he drew a yataghan sword and swung it down three times, severing each fallen man's head. That had always been his preferred way of making sure of a kill. Raule thought it was something of a comforting habit, too, like some people's habits of straightening crooked-hanging pictures, or always wearing a certain item of clothing.
She got to her feet. As she went to move the blanket, the wire fell down. The man started, and brought the sword up. Seeing only Raule there, he lowered it again.
Raule stepped inside and took a few paces into the smoke, stopping several feet short of the man and the mire of sawdust and blood he stood in. She glanced down at the bodies. "Who was cheating?"
"Who do you think?" The voice from behind the dustveil was pleasant, with the slight breathy timbre of a northern accent.
"It seems you've still got your sweet touch, Gwynn."
"You use it or lose it," he said dispassionately. He wiped the sword on the nearest corpse's sleeve, then sheathed it. He removed his hat, then the domino and the veil, disclosing foreign features: a white, finely tapered face, graced by an expression of urbane serenity. His eyes were waterish green, as though they held brine. His hair was black, long, braided in a queue. "It's good to see you, Raule," he said. Locating an unbroken bottle and glass on the table, he poured himself a drink. "One for yourself?"
"Maybe later."
When he had quenched his thirst, he stepped over the bodies and held out his hand, smiling. With that smile the strange peace in his looks dissolved, and a baneful quiddity showed itself.
Raule had a moment of hesitation. There were other people she would have preferred to meet. But Gwynn had once been a comrade, and in some ways one of her better friends. She didn't have so many of those left that she could afford to be choosy. She took his grip.
"I had thought you must be decorating a gallows by now," she said. Their old foe, General Anforth and his Army of Heroes, liked leaving enemies alive no more than Gwynn did.
He cocked an eyebrow. "I? A jig was never my favourite dance, you know."
Raule heard less bravado than self-mockery in his words. Having become famous, or at least infamous, Gwynn had always professed amusement at the disparity between the grandeur that myth demanded of a famous man's life and death, and the bathos and indignities that actual circumstances tended to force upon both.
"Is Anforth still after you? I can't imagine he's given up," said Raule.
"Oh, he never will. The old bulldog pursues me as ardently as ever. He's made me worth a fortune. If only one could buy shares in oneself, I could be a rich man. You must have been keeping well to the backblocks if you haven't seen my face on a reward notice lately."
"I'm afraid I've dropped out of the social circuit."
The unpleasant smile crossed Gwynn's face again. "I've heard all the parties are deserted this year. Even people of quality only want to hobnob with the lynch mob of an evening. I take it you're doctoring in this territory?"
"Around and about. There's enough work."
"Of the paying kind?"
"No, not really."
In fact, Raule was close to destitution. Few of the people she treated had the means to pay for her services with anything more than a night's shelter and a frugal meal. When they did manage to scrape up a little money, she couldn't always bring herself to take it. Not wanting to dwell on the subject of her poverty, she asked Gwynn whether he had news of anyone else.
"I saw Casvar at Flat Mountain," he answered. "He was rotting in a cave, with gangrene in a broken leg. He asked me to do the decent thing, and I obliged him. In Quanut I saw a grave with Red Harni's name on the marker. Have you seen anyone?"
"Evoiry, a few months back. He was selling firewood at a souk. He looked all right."
Gwynn nodded. His left hand fingered the hilt of his sword. Raule's eyes went to it. Gwynn had brought it with him from the north. It was of Maghian manufacture and its true name was Heron's Wing Scythes Over A Mountain Lake, but Gwynn had given it another name in his native Anvallic: Gol'achab, meaning Not My Funeral.
Raule noticed that the gemstones that had decorated the hilt were no longer there. Gwynn saw her looking. "I traded all that rock candy for a few necessities a while ago," he volunteered. "She may have lost her beauty, but she still works, and she saves me bullets from time to time."
Raule glanced in the direction of the late innkeeper. "Was that one?"
"No." Gwynn stepped back and nudged one of the bodies with the toe of his boot. "This fellow took exception to something the man said, and was somewhat overenthusiastic in his response." Looking down at the corpse, he shook his head. "Poor bastard. His nerves were wound up like piano wires. I never saw him look happy. Life must have been a burden to him."
"They all must have been pretty high-strung, to get in a four-way firefight over cards," Raule commented.
"I daresay."
"What are your plans, then?"
Gwynn walked past her. "Sleep. I want to leave at nightfall." He disappeared outside, and returned carrying a knapsack. He took off his gloves and rolled up his shirtsleeves, and began stripping the corpses and gathering up what money had escaped drowning in the blood on the floor. Raule left him to it and went out into the comparatively fresh air. She squatted on her heels under the palm tree, surveying the street, where the old-timers slumbered on. I know how they feel, she thought.
Product details
- Publisher : Random House Worlds (November 23, 2004)
- Language : English
- Paperback : 400 pages
- ISBN-10 : 0553382918
- ISBN-13 : 978-0553382914
- Item Weight : 10.4 ounces
- Dimensions : 5.23 x 0.83 x 8.2 inches
- Best Sellers Rank: #284,473 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #2,037 in Science Fiction Crime & Mystery
- #5,518 in Paranormal Fantasy Books
- #6,964 in Science Fiction Adventures
- Customer Reviews:
About the author
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Learn more how customers reviews work on AmazonCustomers say
Customers find the characters vivid and complex. They describe the book as compelling and enjoyable. The imagery is described as beautiful and evocative. Readers praise the writing style as riveting and smooth. The plot is considered thought-provoking, philosophical, and inspiring. However, opinions differ on the plot - some find it intriguing and surreal, while others consider it disjointed and wishy-washy.
AI-generated from the text of customer reviews
Customers enjoy the vivid and complex characters. They find the settings engaging and fun to follow. The author's skill in drawing characters, especially minor ones, is appreciated.
"...The characters are deep, complex and their interactions are simply some of the best dialogues I have ever read, watched or played...." Read more
"...It makes for a really fascinating and fun to follow character, but it also means I was constantly feeling disappointed in him because I wanted him..." Read more
"...The characters are pretty complex and well developed, too. If you're into that sort of thing, this is the book for you, no doubt about it...." Read more
"...didn't really seem to go anywhere from there and the two main characters had little interaction...." Read more
Customers enjoy the book. They find it engaging with character development throughout. Many describe it as a good first novel that deals with experiences like sights, smells, and so on.
"...inspiring, surreal, poetic, dark, harrowing, delicate, beautiful, entertaining...." Read more
"...Suffice to say that they all add up to something big and strange and wonderful, even if they don't make sense in the larger context...." Read more
"...moments I found ironically and/or genuinely humorous, and it was a fun ride, but over all I can't say I recommend it." Read more
"...Lovely folks the both of them. Really. All in all, a good first novel that would have benefitted from better pacing at the beginning...." Read more
Customers enjoy the visual quality of the book. They find the world enigmatically beautiful and vivid. The imagery is striking and evocative, making bizarre things tangible and real. The fantasy is subtle and unnerving, but it's thought-provoking.
"I fell in love with this book. Philosophical, metaphorical, mystic, alluring, intriguing, inspiring, surreal, poetic, dark, harrowing, delicate,..." Read more
"...He is a Bad Guy. He's also fashionable and polite and way, way, wayyyy too easy to like...." Read more
"...Jeffrey Thomas's 'Punktown', K.J. Bishop has created a world so surrealistically beautiful and yet so sordidly vile that I can't wait for her to..." Read more
"...It is beautiful to the point of astonishment. This is, basically, the fastest way to get a top review from me...." Read more
Customers find the writing style riveting and smooth. They appreciate the lyrical weaving of details and memorable characters. The tales are written with a distinct literary style that readers love. Readers enjoy the imagery and vibe of the book. They mention the dialogues are some of the best they've read.
"I fell in love with this book. Philosophical, metaphorical, mystic, alluring, intriguing, inspiring, surreal, poetic, dark, harrowing, delicate,..." Read more
"...describes the heat and the rain and the mosquito is so visceral and evocative, I loved it...." Read more
"...fleshed, even though some completely lack in any emotion, her use of prose is riveting and yet smooth, and her imagination vividly wonderful...." Read more
"...Recommended for lovers of language and strong characters. *** ½" Read more
Customers find the book thought-provoking and intriguing. They describe it as philosophical, metaphorical, and mystic, opening doors of perception. Readers enjoy the delight of discovery and savory voyeurism into struggle.
"I fell in love with this book. Philosophical, metaphorical, mystic, alluring, intriguing, inspiring, surreal, poetic, dark, harrowing, delicate,..." Read more
"...There is a great deal of philosophizing, interspersed with murdering, lovemaking, drinking, and throwing open the doors of perception...." Read more
"I've read it multiple times and each one is a delight of discovery and savory voyeurism into struggle. Enjoyable if you like Jordan, feist, modisett" Read more
"Strange, weird and thought provoking..." Read more
Customers have different views on the plot. Some find it intriguing, inspiring, surreal, poetic, and dark. They describe the world as imaginative, detailed, and magical. Others feel the plot is disjointed, with a wishy-washy epilogue. While some readers appreciate the amazing confrontations, others feel the book lacks action and is not an action-packed dark fantasy.
"...It makes for a really fascinating and fun to follow character, but it also means I was constantly feeling disappointed in him because I wanted him..." Read more
"...My verdict: It's bizarre, it's trippy, it has some moments I found ironically and/or genuinely humorous, and it was a fun ride, but over all I can't..." Read more
"...'The Etched City' is a dark fantasy, finding this treat was like finding a rich, overripe plum hanging heavy from a decaying branch, one that I..." Read more
"...through which characters travel, and an inventive, detailed, magical world...." Read more
Top reviews from the United States
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- Reviewed in the United States on August 27, 2020I fell in love with this book. Philosophical, metaphorical, mystic, alluring, intriguing, inspiring, surreal, poetic, dark, harrowing, delicate, beautiful, entertaining.
It's not an action packed dark fantasy, even if there are some amazing confrontations, this is a slow-paced gaze at two fundamentally opposite characters, their daily struggles and minds. This novel blew my mind. I don't know how to describe it, I simply have no complains, perhaps because I had no expectations and no knowledge of the author and I just embraced it as what it is.
The characters are deep, complex and their interactions are simply some of the best dialogues I have ever read, watched or played.
Below I paste a simple paragraph, it's not a spoiler nor is it even one of my favorite parts, but I just love the vibe of this book and every chapter has so many interesting passages and conversations that showcase said vibe.
《 From a pouch on his gun belt, he freed one of the spare loaded cylinders he customarily kept handy. He slipped three bullets out and placed them on the table. “If your burdens are too heavy, there is the solution,” he said. “Were we in a less public place, I could do more to help you. As it is . . .” He shrugged—“That is the most charity I can spare.” 》
Hope you enjoy it as much as I do.
- Reviewed in the United States on February 26, 2018You can file this one away under 'books told from the bad guy's point of view,' because our hero, Gwynn, hoo boy. He is a Bad Guy. He's also fashionable and polite and way, way, wayyyy too easy to like. I don't often get too philosophical in why I like what I like when I'm reading, but this book really had me questioning my morals. What does it say about me that even after the many awful things Gwynn does, I still couldn't help but root for him to win?
He's just so refreshing, in a way. He lives by a simple code; either everything is forgivable, or nothing is. Either is doesn't matter how heinous your actions because you can still be forgiven, or you'll never be forgiven for your minor transgressions so why stop at just minor ones? Basically the dude just does what's most practical and best for him without a moment's guilt. It makes for a really fascinating and fun to follow character, but it also means I was constantly feeling disappointed in him because I wanted him to do the right thing and he so rarely did. There's a hint of character growth for him by the end, but when I say hint I really do just mean a hint. He sure was entertaining though.
Which is handy, because the plot of the Etched City is not so easy to follow, mostly because it doesn't really have one. You could almost call it a slice of life? The setting is amazing. It's this decaying city built between a river and a jungle, and the way the author describes the heat and the rain and the mosquito is so visceral and evocative, I loved it. Much of the book is just Gwynn working for his awful slave trader boss, doing nasty henchmen things to people, leaving a trail of innocent and not so innocent corpses behind. He also meets and falls into a relationship with a women who may or not be a literal sphynx? At about the sixty percent mark the book seems to realise that it's supposed to have a plot and makes a half-hearted attempt at it, but it quickly goes back to multi-page debates about the existence of God and the like.
There is a second POV character, who at first seems is going to be the main character but she quickly fades away almost entirely. I'm not entirely sure why she was even included, but then I'm not sure why a lot of the things in this book were included. Like the dude with the flower growing out of his belly button? Even for a new weird book, this book gets weird. Suffice to say that they all add up to something big and strange and wonderful, even if they don't make sense in the larger context.
If you read books for the characters and the prose I think you should give this one a shot. If you're someone in the game just for the plot, this one might frustrate you. It's definitely more concerned with ruminating on ideas and describing jungle riverboat rides than with any kind of standard plot arc, but sometimes such deviations can be fun, no?
- Reviewed in the United States on February 24, 2011The jacket blurb of this book describes it as a combination of Stephen King's Dark Tower series and China Mieville's Perdido Street Station. I'm a big fan of both, so I knew I had to buy it. Upon reading it, however, I was rather disappointed. The reason I loved The Dark Tower and Perdido Street Station was because they took place in unique fantasy worlds, and discovering what made those worlds unique was a joy. The Etched City takes place in a fictional setting, yes, but aside from the bizzare, unbelievable events that start to happen with increasing frequency later in the book (part of the plot, you see) there's hardly anything "fantastic" about it. Aside from the made up names and the "romantic" (that's a better description, I think) occurences, it might as well just take place in the plain old Wild West. Basically, you have no fantasy races, no magic (well, hardly any), no cool creatures, and no fantastic technology. Fans of Perdido Street Station and The Dark Tower are likely to disappointed.
That is not to say that The Etched City is not without merit. The imagery and symbolism is some of the richest and deepest that I've ever seen; THE richest and deepest in any "fantasy" novel I've ever read. The characters are pretty complex and well developed, too. If you're into that sort of thing, this is the book for you, no doubt about it.
A few more nitpicks (or perhaps, serious issues not as damning as the "not very fantastic" one): The plot is quite disjointed. As I was reading it, I was wondering when this wierd desert-city dream quest would congeal into something resembling a cohesive narrative, and it doesn't, really. I felt more that it had several small plots in sequence rather than one big overarching one. Another nitpick: Perhaps I'm spoiled by Perdido Street Station, but I didn't really feel Ashamoil like a living, breathing city like I did with New Crobuzon. Mieville would make little asides about daily life in the city, or little tidbits of its history. The Parliament and militia were major players in Perdido Street Station, but the government of Ashamoil gets hardly any mention. My last problem with it is probably the smallest: The blurb talks about both Gwynn and Raule, bound together in the saving and taking of lives and what not, but it's not really about them, it's about Gwynn. Gwynn gets far more attention than Raule, and while I bemoan the lost potential for more thorough juxtaposition, that decision may be for the best. After all, a gunslinger thug's life is probably more exciting than that of a doctor.
My verdict: It's bizarre, it's trippy, it has some moments I found ironically and/or genuinely humorous, and it was a fun ride, but over all I can't say I recommend it.
Top reviews from other countries
- Annika HowellsReviewed in Australia on March 30, 2015
4.0 out of 5 stars An intoxicating fever dream of a book
This is a weird book, but I mean that in the nicest of ways. The pace is slow, the plot minimal. It paints a beautiful picture of a strange world full of odd characters. I found it quite reminiscent of Mervyn Peake's Gormenghast novels. It does have flaws - Sometimes the pace was a little too stagnant, and I felt one of the main characters ended up pushed to the side too often. However, I have to commend KJ Bishop for creating something so unexpected and unique. We need more interesting stories like this.
- mjsReviewed in the United Kingdom on September 15, 2008
3.0 out of 5 stars plotless, but still good
the etched city is a book almost entirely without plot and there is no connecting thread, character's motivations are often unconvincing. somehow though this is still a great book, the type i could not put down and i finished it in three days. that is due to the superb writing skills of bishop.
fans of china mieville will enjoy this work, inferior though it is, because of gothic grossness that marks both writer's books. the etched city has it all; action, love, gore, intensity and wonderful concepts. the problem is that it's more of an "adventures of" book than anything else. you don't feel that there's any resolution at the end, the lives of the protagonists don't really affect the world they live in much and not even their own lives much either
despite the critism it's still a good read, something light and easy, ideal for when you just want to absorb a book rather than struggling to make sense of it
- Alter CucaReviewed in the United Kingdom on March 19, 2013
5.0 out of 5 stars One of the best out there!
This is a must for the sci-fi enthusiasts. The amazing city jungles and convoluted characters are so delicately portrayed that you won't stop reading this until you reach the back cover. What makes it more amazing is that the author actually draws too, and to see, after reading the book, the portray of the main character and find out that beautifully drawn picture in your head has a real-life tween it's just amazing. I really enjoyed the book, it has created a perfect little world I can rover into from time to time.