This is one of those books that doesn’t just tell a story — it breathes it. Reading it feels less like moving from page to page and more like drifting, like being carried across water by language that knows exactly where it’s going, even when you don’t.

The writing is the heart of this novel. It is mesmerising, poetic, and deeply intentional in a way that feels rare. The prose moves effortlessly between registers: at times it reads like an academic paper, precise and observational; at others like a folktale passed down by firelight, mythic and intimate; and then suddenly, achingly human, slipping into first-person voices that feel like confessions. These shifts never feel gimmicky. Instead, they mirror the way memory, history, and storytelling actually work — layered, fragmented, communal. The structure itself becomes meaning.

What struck me most is how confident the writing is. It trusts the reader to sit with ambiguity, to pause, to breathe, to remember. It allows silence and slowness. It invites you to stay. There is a hypnotic quality to following the story this way, as perspectives rotate and overlap, as we sometimes observe from the outside and sometimes find ourselves uncomfortably inside the story, implicated simply by reading. It is a deeply unique approach to fantasy — not driven by spectacle, but by voice, by rhythm, by interiority.

Thematically, this book is an exploration of found family, sisterhood, loneliness, and the quiet devastation — and beauty — of letting go. It asks what it means to belong, who gets to decide that belonging, and what it costs to love when love does not guarantee permanence. Relationships are not framed as possessions, but as moments of choosing: choosing to stay, choosing to leave, choosing to remember. There is a tenderness to the way connection is handled, paired with an understanding that love does not always mean proximity, and that sometimes the deepest acts of care involve release.

The worldbuilding unfolds gently, almost sideways. Rather than overwhelming the reader, it reveals itself through myth, memory, and lived experience. Characters feel less like constructs and more like echoes — people shaped by place, by community, by fear and hope and longing. They linger long after the page is turned, not because of grand gestures, but because of the emotional truth they carry.

This is not a book you rush through. It’s one you live inside for a while, one that asks you to slow down and feel — grief, wonder, connection, ache. It’s a story about stories, about the way we hold onto each other, and about what remains when we cannot. By the time it ends, it feels like you’ve spent a lifetime there.

And somehow, you’re grateful for every second.

I really enjoyed this! I think one of my favourite things about The Familiar was the setting. Historical Spain during the Inquisition was such an interesting backdrop for this story, and I loved how the historical setting and the magical elements were woven together. The world felt very vivid and atmospheric without the descriptions becoming too much, and I really enjoyed slowly learning more about the magic and how it worked within this world.

I also really liked Bardugo’s writing in this. There were so many lines and smaller moments that stood out to me, and I found myself stopping quite a few times just to think about a particular sentence or detail. I especially liked how much could sometimes be communicated through relatively small moments rather than everything having to be explicitly explained.

The characters were probably another highlight for me. I really liked Luzia as a protagonist and genuinely enjoyed following her throughout the book. She is ambitious, stubborn, clever, sometimes makes choices where I desperately wanted her to do literally anything else, and she definitely isn't always interested in choosing the safest option. I also really enjoyed some of the more morally grey women around her, especially Hualit and Valentina. Neither of them is particularly easy to put into a simple "good" or "bad" category, and my feelings about both of them changed quite a bit while reading. I really liked that complexity and getting to understand more about why these women behave the way they do in a world that gives them very limited ways to have any kind of power.

The plot itself was probably the part I was slightly less invested in compared to the characters, setting, and themes, but I still enjoyed it and especially liked how everything developed towards the end. There were also quite a few moments where I genuinely wasn't sure where the story was going, which I really appreciated.

Overall, this was a really interesting mix of historical fiction, magic, morally complicated characters, power, religion, ambition, and survival. I came for the historical fantasy setting, but I think the characters and all the questions around who gets to have power, and what people are willing to do to gain or keep it, were what made the book really work for me.

I love T. Kingfisher so much. There’s just something about the way she writes that immediately pulls me in. I feel like I’m there the moment I start reading, I feel immersed, comfortable, and strangely welcomed into the world she creates, even when I barely know what’s going on yet.

The atmosphere she creates in her books is one of my favourite things. It’s so vivid and alive, even in such a short story like Thornhedge. I don’t really understand how she manages to build something that feels this complete in so few pages, but it works so effortlessly. The world feels real, lived-in, and consistent in a way that’s really impressive.

I also really love her fairy tale style. The way she reimagines classic fairy tales and twists them into something new, but still emotionally familiar, is just so satisfying to read. This Sleeping Beauty retelling felt especially strong in that way, completely transformed, but still somehow recognisable in its bones. And I really love her use of fae and folklore elements. I always enjoy stories that lean more into traditional, slightly unsettling folklore fae!

The pacing felt really nice too. I wasn’t reading it for high stakes or tension, but more for the experience of the story itself and being in the main character’s perspective. And that was one of my favourite parts, her inner voice and how we experience everything through her felt really immersive and intimate. The characters were beautifully done. The main character especially felt so real, and her thoughts and insecurities were incredibly compelling to follow. And I also really loved the interactions with Halim, so gentle, so careful, and surprisingly funny at times in that very understated way.

Overall, it was just such a comforting, atmospheric, and immersive read. It felt soft, a little eerie at times, but ultimately very warm.