"It's something much harder to kill than a lie: it's a story"
The Sky On Fire is... a puzzle.
Its individual elements are all things that should work, and work for me, specifically. This is a competently written book, with decent worldbuilding and an interesting take on the dragon/dragonrider dynamics. I love a book that drops you in the middle of the action and leaves you to figure things out, demanding your attention. I love a heist. Love dragons. Love a band of misfits on a quest. Love a queer-normative world. Absolutely adored the narrator and her different voices for every single character.
And yet. Here we are with another two star rating. No one is more distraught about this than myself.
To start off, the pacing is absolute whack. You get dropped in the middle of the action (love), and after all the exposition-laden dialogue (don't love) you're left thinking oh this is a political drama. But then it's a jungle adventure. Then it's a band of misfits on a journey? THEN things get horny out of the blue? Then for some reason the protagonist joins a ship crew? Then it's a heist. Then... I don't even know. This book jumps you from situation to situation, from place to place to place in so short a span that none of it even feels distinct anymore. This felt direction-less for a huge part of the narration, and it didn't help that by the halfway point a main motive for the protagonist (who, I have to say, made me doubt my own degree of comfort with silly names in fantasy with a name such as Anahrod) had not yet been established. To this day I am not entirely sure Anahrod has something she wanted, or if she was just getting carried by the plot to wherever she needed to be next.
The directionless-ness comes to a climax in the last 20%, where so much happens: there are revelations, lore drops, deep dives into a magic system previously ignored, character deaths, kind-of-sex-scenes apropos of absolutely nothing, huge battles and new characters introduced, and there's virtually no time to let any of it have the gravitas it deserves. I'm still reeling.
I maintain my opinion that this book should either have cut significantly on a lot of elements to focus on what was really important, or been a trilogy. Or at the very least a duology. There is so much that suffers from the massive under-development of this unfocused mess, first amongst them all the characters and relationships. I mentioned Anahrod having no real characterisation or motive to speak of, but what bothered me most were her relationships to other characters, especially the romantic ones. The insta-lust was insta-lusting, so to speak. Half the time I forgot characters were supposed to be in their thirties (or older), because they kept acting like horny teenagers. Calling the relationship with Ris "rushed" would be paying it a compliment, truly: entirely based off of attraction (which I was not feeling, but that may be me), and yet after a couple of days Anahrod was acting as though they had known each other forever and she could read Ris's innermost thoughts.
The spice level was so inconsistent I almost ragequit for that alone. Throughout the narrative there is some teasing, some flirting, some much appreciated conversations about sex, a tasteful fade-to-black threesome, and then, just when the story is coming to its climax, genuinely out of the blue there is this public quasi-sex scene with explicit dirty talking that made me want to close this book and never open it again.
But more than the insta-lust, more than the inconsistent pacing, more than the protagonist with no driving motivations... My biggest gripe is how this "queer-normative" world handles queerness. Nobody is more surprised and disappointed than myself, I promise you.
I cannot begin to tell you how much I HATED the whole concept of garden rings. Social rings I could absolutely get behind, ones indicating one's profession, place of origin, marital status, all that jazz. Wearing rings that tell all about your sexual or romantic preferences, down to your kinks, for everyone to see? Miss me with that. No, the existence of a "prefer not to say" ring does not make it better. This may be down to personal preference, but my favourite aspect of queer-normative fantasy is the total absence of labels, the non-issue of categorising one's gender identity or attraction. The sheer freedom of that is, for me, the absolute pinnacle of what queer-normative means. Repurposing labels and making them into neat shiny rings defeats the purpose, especially if displaying them is *expected*. And they came up so much, too! I don't care about the preferences of a random guy on the sky ambership if that's never going to come up naturally, or have any bearing on the plot or characters! What even!!
Worse, any instance of trans people being mentioned ("late-blooming", in this world, which I actually don't hate) is coated in so much virtue signalling and tokenisation to be cringeworthy. For instance, Anahrod finds out one of her parents came out as trans while she was gone, and goes to see him for a brief scene. They don't talk. She sees him and runs away. This never comes up again.
So... what was the point? Was there meant to be a reflection on changing, on finding your place, on how Anahrod's father found himself while she herself was not allowed any of that, on how she doesn't even know her own parent anymore? Because there was absolutely NONE OF THAT ON THE PAGE.
Another minor trans character is later introduced. This was my second almost-ragequit. It is so patronising to see the mental gymnastics the PoV character demonstrates to correct herself, to note that "admittedly, the girl was late-blooming, but still a girl". I feel like if you have to constantly remark upon the fact that your society has trans people and is allegedly soooooo good at accepting them, and yet the trans girl still needs to ask the equivalent of "but... But you know I'm trans, right?" when she's asked on a date (out of what? Fear of rejection? Repercussions?)... Then is your world really queer-normative? I don't know. It feels clumsy, it feels patronising and virtue-signalling.
(Note: the queer community is not a monolith. Some people may appreciate this kind of narrative device and storytelling, and if you do, that's valid and I'm happy for you. I still fucking hate it though)
I'll conclude with some things that I actually liked.
I love everything about the main gang. Don't care if they're not revolutionary in characterisation. They feel like a DnD party: goofy, edgy, nerdy and tropey in the best possible way. There's a reason if the formula works, and it's that it WORKS.
The last 30% of the book, when the action gets really going, is actually quite enjoyable.
The sections that were specifically about the heist had me giggling and cheering, sitting at the edge of my seat in anticipation.
That's the most frustrating thing about The Sky On Fire, I think. When it's good it's great! When it's bad, it's TERRIBLE.
Thank you to NetGalley and Macmillan Audio for providing an advanced copy in exchange for an honest review!