I have struggled to write this review of The Raven Scholar for one simple reason: Every time I begin to think about The Raven Scholar, I want to pick up the book again. The book is nearly 700 pages long. This is not a reasonable wish. I cannot reread a 700 page book every time I think about it. But this does say something about the kind of book it is: propulsive, compelling, engrossing, cleverly plotted, devastating, and also, yes, quite fun. If, that is, your kind of fun involves a whole kitchen sink full of fantastical possibilities, murders, court intrigue, scheming, unwilling combatants, fractious factions, mysterious powers, and a gaggle of godlike beings with animal appearances whose return may or may not herald the end of the world.
But before Antonia Hodgson gets into all that, she starts with a girl. Sixteen-year-old Yana Valit is summoned, along with the rest of her family, for a middle-of the-night chat with the emperor. She, her twin brother Ruko, and their younger sister are the children of a traitor, Andren Valit, who failed in his attempt to overthrow Emperor Bersun. The family was spared; the baby sister was born while their (mysterious, slightly terrifying) mother was still in prison. At 16, though, Ruko has officially become a man, and the emperor wants to see them.
This first part of the book—which is called “An Invitation” even though the summons cannot be refused—is a gorgeous setup. Every detail counts, from the twisting hallways of the palace to the status of each person Yana meets. The young sergeant who escorts the family is affiliated with the Hounds, like most soldiers. People affiliate with one of the Guardians; Yana leans toward the Monkey, “Guardian of the Arts, of Festivals and Games.” Yana’s mother was “raised by Dragons,” while their ancestor Yasthala was the last Raven Empress. Ruko wants to be a Tiger warrior. The importance of the factions becomes clear via character: The emperor is a Bear, a warrior, while the good-natured man who does the practical work of keeping the palace running is an Ox. There are eight Guardians, and they’ve saved the world seven times. If they return an eighth time, the world will end. Supposedly. But not everyone believes in the Eight.
Hogdson weaves her fantastical history tightly; there’s hardly a wall or a walkway on the emperor’s nameless island that Yara doesn’t recognize for its role in the creation of this land and this world. The density is rich but never overwhelming, beautifully sketched but not overly detailed. It’s a masterful balance, which probably shouldn’t be a surprise: Hodgon is a former editor who is also the author of historical crime novels. She knows how stories work.
And she knows how to spin a surprise. The Raven Scholar is full of them, the first of which is that this is not a story about Yara Valit at all. It’s a story she haunts. The first section ends with two revelations. One is about who is narrating this story, though Hodgson doesn’t fully make the narrative voice clear until a bit later. The other is about who its focus is. In the Raven Palace, a junior archivist named Neema Kraa is instructed by the emperor’s men to write out an Order of Exile. Her Fox lover, Cain, argues against it. But, Neema thinks, the subject of the Order would die no matter who wrote the Order. The emperor decreed it. She does the job, Cain leaves, and everything changes.
And we jump forward eight years.
This, I wish to be clear, is brazen. It is brazen, breathtaking, and delightful. The Raven Scholar is one book for 50 pages, and then it’s another. Emperors in this land only rule for 24 years, and Bersun’s time is nearly over. The new emperor will be chosen via a series of Trials; each temple sends forth a single contender. The whole setup makes for a dramatic collision of egos and histories, made all the more potent by the fact that the contenders include Neema’s beloved Cain; Ruko Valit, grown into the Tiger warrior he wanted to be; Shal Worthy, the very Hound who led Yara and Ruko into the palace eight years before; and a Raven who happens to be Neema’s nemesis. There is also a contender from the mysterious and powerful Dragon contingent, and no one quite knows what to make of him.
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The Raven Scholar
The Trials are generally fairly civilized—not just several rounds of people beating one another up, though that is part of it—and people don’t have to die. But when someone is murdered, and the emperor assigns Neema to find out who did it, everything quickly begins to go haywire.
This is, I hasten to emphasize, only the barest bones outline of the plot, which is full of revelations and surprises and the steady drumbeat of joy that is the feeling of characters growing on you as you read. Cain feels practically custom-made for a certain kind of reader, to be a person you love, hate, or love to hate; I felt all of these things before coming down on the side of love. Neema gets an assistant who is a breath of chipper air amid all the threats and near-poisonings. There is also a chameleon named Pink-Pink.
The Raven Scholar is rendered compulsively readable through a stellar blend of ticking-clock plotting—both in terms of the structure of the Trials and the way Hodgson deftly moves things along—and these characters and their relationships to the past. Yes, you want to know whodunit; yes, the question of who is going to win the Trials looms, especially as things get ever more out of hand. There is hardly a person who isn’t involved in something shady, except for those solid, stubborn folks who just keep trying to do the right thing. (There are a few.)
The people who matter most rotate around the specter of Yara. Neema, Ruko, Shal, Yara’s mother, even the emperor himself—all of them were part of what happened to her, and all of them have a role to play in what is going to happen at the end of these Trials. This is a book haunted by history in many forms. Neema is a scholar whose knowledge frequently proves very useful; she is also a self-aware pedant, prone to correcting people when they get something wrong, even when she knows she should keep her mouth shut (those are often the most enjoyable times). Our narrator(s) have their own historical perspective, which slips through sometimes.
The effect is like a tapestry: Every inch is full of excellent craftsmanship, admirable in detail, and the overall effect is breathtaking. This isn’t just a book about rulers and murders and details and how it’s sometimes important to correct people when they call something by the wrong name, though all those elements are present and exceptionally well-done. It’s a story about class, and power, and the kind of selfishness that might destroy a nation. It is at times almost difficult to read, as the machinations of its power-hungry characters become more and more clear. It’s a book about wealthy, comfortable people who are willing to sacrifice anything to stay that way—and, by association, a book about heartlessness and the lie of status, about how being tolerated by those with real power is never the same as being one of them.
It’s also, in a more intimate way, a little bit of a romance, and a story about friends supporting each other, and about taking real joy in the work you love. Amid all the chaos and competition, there’s a continual thread of appreciation for work that matters, for the satisfaction of a task well done, a story well-told, even a party well-thrown or a prank well-devised. (Not all the Trials are about physical dominance. Never underestimate the wiles of a Fox.)
Mysterious courtly deaths, turnabouts, loathsome characters who turn out to have sympathetic secrets, court intrigue, epic tournaments, people divided into houses—much of what Hodgson is working with here is familiar cloth for fantasy readers. But The Raven Scholar still feels fresh. Partly this is due to Hodgson’s careful worldbuilding and her ability to keep a complex story clearly laid out and every piece in play without ever letting the reader lose track of who’s who. Partly it’s due to Neema, an infuriating wonder of a character, focused, nerdy, awkward, and yet really good at doing what she puts her mind to (her on-again, off-again thing with Cain is also really very endearing, in its way. Much like Cain). And partly it is due to the voice telling this story, which is polyphonic, bossy, pompous, prone to leaving footnotes and making asides even before we really understand who or what is talking.
The Raven Scholar is the first book of a trilogy, and the ending promises a trip out into the wider world, where presumably the cast of characters will expand beyond courtiers and contenders and connivers. It will be most interesting to see what Hogdson does without the structure of the Trials, which provide an effective framework for putting a bunch of very different people up against one another and seeing what shakes out. Outside the palace there will be a whole different adventure. Bring on the next doorstopper, and quick.
The Raven Scholar is published by Orbit.
What a great review! I now hope the actual novel is as thoughtful and well-written as Molly’s review.
I’ve read the book; the review is completely deserved. This is the best thing I’ve read in years and I can’t wait for Book 2.
Yeah this book is really good. I found it constantly surprising in a good way. Neema and Cain are delightful, as are a number of other characters that I wont mention as to avoid spoilers :)
Wonderful review. This book is fantastic. I finished the book’s last sentence and thought, “Well, f**k, I want to flip to page one and start again.” I found myself smiling and giggling in delight throughout the book because it was so delicious, so entertaining, and so beautifully written. I am beyond excited to read what Hodgson has planned for book 2.