Disclaimer: This is a review, and as such will contain opinions, spoilers and (often) general shit talking. (If you talk about what you don’t like about a work, you learn a lot. When you think through a work with the stakes presented to you by the creator, by the context of the work, you learn a lot. I review things, not because I love to dislike things, but because dislike contains rich and vital information for the process of experiencing something, but I cannot access it without interrogating it.) So, if you don’t want to have this thing spoiled for you, or don’t know how to behave when a person on the internet, that you don’t know, has opinions that don’t line up with yours, this review is not for you. It’s also not for the author/creator of the work. Please and thank you.
Book 1: The Lies of Locke Lamora
An orphan’s life is harsh—and often short—in the mysterious island city of Camorr. But young Locke Lamora dodges death and slavery, becoming a thief under the tutelage of a gifted con artist. As leader of the band of light-fingered brothers known as the Gentleman Bastards, Locke is soon infamous, fooling even the underworld’s most feared ruler. But in the shadows lurks someone still more ambitious and deadly. Faced with a bloody coup that threatens to destroy everyone and everything that holds meaning in his mercenary life, Locke vows to beat the enemy at his own brutal game—or die trying.
The Lies of Locke Lamora by Scott Lynch kicks off with a group of elite con artists, called the Gentleman Bastards, working to pull off the biggest heist they’ve ever attempted. This, of course, is only the prelude to something much bigger.
The dark humour and strong language help to lighten the reading even as the story takes darker and darker turns. It’s a multi-layered narrative that is driven by a plot as strong as the characters.
In addition to the main narrative set in the present, there’s a floating narrative set in the past that weaves effortlessly around the main narrative, adding depth to the story.
The juxtaposition of these two narratives allows for a richer exploration of the background, development and personality of the characters and the floating narrative adds to the addictive pacing.
The Gentleman Bastards are one of the most loveable band of thieving, smuggling, lying con artists I’ve ever met.
The characters eschew the conventionally attractive protagonist archetype – as Lynch himself said “the main characters are a fat ugly guy and a skinny forgettable guy” – and they feel more real for it.
Especially books with strong romantic plots or sub plots, the characters tend to always be Beautiful People (or at the very least have pretty privilege), some of it is genre standards, some of it the movie star effect from adapted works, some of it is patriarchy, and all of it is downright boring.
Camorr is a gritty place with a thriving underground criminal society, and the characters from this world don’t look like Ken-dolls in a Gremlins infestation. Not unless one of the Gentlemen Bastards decides that’s the disguise they need to don for a con.
“We’re a different sort of thief here, Lamora. Deception and misdirection are our tools. We don’t believe in hard work when a false face and a good line of bullshit can do so much more.”
The world is delightfully Venician-inspired in a way that feels lived in and authentic, rather than meaningless window-dressing. Camorr has a bloody history and like any bustling city with a flourishing merchant class, the fashion is important in both showcasing wealth and climbing the social ladder. The world is vivid and full of little details, like the spindly bridges spanning the canals, and Falselight which illuminates the city in its trademark glow.
The prose is excellent, witty and layered. The snarking banter is hilarious: “Someday, Locke Lamora,” he said, “someday, you’re going to fuck up so magnificently, so ambitiously, so overwhelmingly that the sky will light up and the moons will spin and the gods themselves will shit comets with glee. And I just hope I’m still around to see it.”
This is by far one of my all time favourite fantasy novels, and an enviable stellar debut novel. The Lies of Locke Lamora is original, engrossing, emotional and incredibly well written. I’d recommend this to anyone who loves adult high fantasy as it’s full of blood and murder. The plot unfolds slowly, is anchored in sold character development and is propelled by political machinations.
Book 2: Red Seas Under Red Skies
After a brutal battle with the underworld that nearly destroyed him, Locke Lamora and his trusted sidekick, Jean, fled the island city of their birth and landed on the exotic shores of Tal Verrar to nurse their wounds. But even at this westernmost edge of civilization, they can’t rest for long—and they are soon back doing what they do best: stealing from the undeserving rich and pocketing the proceeds for themselves.
I’m a Zamira Drakasha stan.
And I love Scott Lynch even more after I saw this reply he gave to this statement; “Real sea pirates could not be controlled by women, they were vicous rapits and murderers and I am sorry to say it was a man’s world. It is unrealistic wish fulfilment for you and your readers to have so many female pirates, especially if you want to be politically correct about it!”
First, I will pretend that your last sentence makes sense because it will save us all time. Second, now you’re pissing me off.
– Scott Lynch
You know what? Yeah, Zamira Drakasha, middle-aged pirate mother of two, is a wish-fulfillment fantasy. I realized this as she was evolving on the page, and you know what? I fucking embrace it.
Why shouldn’t middle-aged mothers get a wish-fulfillment character, you sad little bigot? Everyone else does.
H.L. Mencken once wrote that “Every normal man must be tempted at times to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats.”
I can’t think of anyone to whom that applies more than my own mom, and the mothers on my friends list, with the incredible demands on time and spirit they face in their efforts to raise their kids, preserve their families, and save their own identity/sanity into the bargain.
Shit yes, Zamira Drakasha, leaping across the gap between burning ships with twin sabers in hand to kick in some fucking heads and sail off into the sunset with her toddlers in her arms and a hold full of plundered goods, is a wish-fulfillment fantasy from hell. I offer her up on a silver platter with a fucking bow on top; I hope she amuses and delights.
In my fictional world, opportunities for butt-kicking do not cease merely because one isn’t a beautiful teenager or a muscle-wrapped font of testosterone. In my fictional universe, the main characters are a fat ugly guy and a skinny forgettable guy, with a supporting cast that includes “SBF, 41, nonsmoker, 2 children, buccaneer of no fixed abode, seeks unescorted merchant for light boarding, heavy plunder.”
You don’t like it? Don’t buy my books. Get your own fictional universe. Your cabbage-water vision of worldbuilding bores me to tears.
As for the “man’s world” thing, religious sentiments and gender prejudices flow differently in this fictional world. Women are regarded as luckier, better sailors than men. It’s regarded as folly for a ship to put to sea without at least one female officer; there are several all-female naval military traditions dating back centuries, and Drakasha comes from one of them.
As for claims to “realism,” your complaint is of a kind with those from bigoted hand-wringers who whine that women can’t possibly fly combat aircraft, command naval vessels, serve in infantry actions, work as firefighters, police officers, etc. despite the fact that they do all of those things— and are, for a certainty, doing them all somewhere at this very minute.
Tell me that a fit fortyish woman with 25+ years of experience at sea and several decades of live bladefighting practice under her belt isn’t a threat when she runs across the deck toward you, and I’ll tell you something in return— you’re gonna die of stab wounds.
What you’re really complaining about isn’t the fact that my fiction violates some objective “reality,” but rather that it impinges upon your sad, dull little conception of how the world works. I’m not beholden to the confirmation of your prejudices; to be perfectly frank, the prospect of confining the female characters in my story to placid, helpless secondary places in the narrative is so goddamn boring that I would rather not write at all.
I’m not writing history, I’m writing speculative fiction. Nobody’s going to force you to buy it.
Conversely, you’re cracked if you think you can persuade me not to write about what amuses and excites me in deference to your vision, because your vision fucking sucks.
Fucking legend.
The characters that we know and love (and who survived) from the first book are back and being true to themselves – and not being able to deny their nature and training, they try to pick up right where they left off.
Both Locke and Jean are grieving while trying to figure out how to live life again. That means they’re growing and changing and coming into conflict with both each other and the world around them.
The floating narrative is smaller this time around, but works just as effectively at piecing the puzzle together as we go.
Zamira Drakasaha is absolutely one of the shining stars of Red Skies Over Red Seas and I love her on so many levels, as Lynch summarises above.
In the second book, we get to explore a new part of the world. The writing craft is just as good as before, the detailed descriptions of life at sea are wonderful and really sweep you away. The dialogue has both wit and humour, and you can always count on Jean to call Locke out on his bullshit. It’s delightful.
Lynch is a master of his craft as he juggles the new heist, all the lies, the ever multiplying complications and resulting schemes. The dialogue is eloquent even when it’s crude and filled with that familiar humour: “Any man can fart in a closed room and say that he commands the wind”.
Book 3: The Republic of Thieves
With what should have been the greatest heist of their career gone spectacularly sour, Locke and his trusted partner, Jean, have barely escaped with their lives. Or at least Jean has. But Locke is slowly succumbing to a deadly poison that no alchemist or physiker can cure. Yet just as the end is near, a mysterious Bondsmage offers Locke an opportunity that will either save him or finish him off once and for all.
I think it’s incredible that Lynch has written three books with the same world and characters, yet still managed to produce such vastly different stories.
The third book doesn’t have the high-wire suspense of the first book, nor the deep grief of the second book. It still has all the things I love about this series – the brotherhood, the scheming, the con artistry – but the real gem here is the depth given to Locke Lamora.
This book reaches far, far back and delves into Locke’s personality, his background (even things he himself was unaware of) and the impact growing up in the Gentlemen Bastards had on him. The most memorable part of the story in this book are the chapters dealing with past events; the Gentlemen Bastards have been sent off on a group bonding exercise and are to star in a play called The Republic of Thieves.
We finally get more substance to the elusive Sabetha, who has been a looming ghost over Locke for so long. We meet Sabetha both in the past as well as in the present, and Locke and Jean finally get to start working towards a little closure – though it’s not how Locke had imagined it.
As we spend a considerable amount of time in the past, we get to see the whole crew back together which feels heart-warmingly nostalgic.
The writing is strong as ever. The wit and the humour hasn’t changed. It’s as engaging, complex, and bastardly as ever!
Did I enjoy it?
Absolutely. I was in between longer-running series, and in a bit of a sad place due to it, when I picked up Lies. I’ve blazed through every single book since.
For me these books are what high fantasy is at its best, and they’re familiar comfort reads that are easy to return to.
There isn’t any part of these books that I don’t enjoy; the construction, the language, the world, the wit, and the swearing. Lynch elevates vulgarity to a level of cleverness that is Shakespearean.
And I know that how the characters cuss seems like a little thing, but when done this well it fleshes them out, it builds the world, and it makes the story feel grubby and authentic.
“False names are fun,” said Calo. “Call me Beefwit Smallcock.”
Rapid-fire round.
- Did the book meet your expectations? Better than I could have hoped for.
- Who was your favourite character in the book and why? Locke is a shining star, but I often find myself drawn to the soft-spoken Jean.
- Who was your least favourite character in the book and why? Sabetha is even more frustrating in person than she is in memory.
- Did you relate to any of the characters? Often Jean.
- What themes or messages did you take away from the book? This is why I love high fantasy.
- Was there anything in the book that surprised you or that you didn’t expect? Zamira Drakasha was a breath of fresh air.
- What did you think of the ending of the book? So far the progression from book to book has only ever left me hungry to find out what happens next.
- What do you think the author’s intention was with the book? What message or theme do you think they were trying to convey? A strong friendship can carry you through anything.
- Which part of the book did you find most memorable? Jean and Locke’s relationship.
- Did you find any aspects of the book confusing or unclear? The construction and introduction is done so well that even with a lot of information to learn (a good secondary-world fantasy is never easy to write), it never got confusing.
- Were there any moments in the book that made you emotional or had a strong impact on you? I loved it when they were in a theatre company in book #3, but that’s just my theatre kid background showing.
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