Peter V. Brett's best book yet. Brett handles the expansive scope of one of this era's biggest epic fantasies with considerable skill. Highly enjoyable.
[Two disclaimers: This review refers to an ARC version, which means I got it for free. It also means the copy I read may contain errors the final, printed book does not. Also, importantly, I count Peter Brett a friend. I will, however, give a forthright, dispassionate review. Peter’s career isn’t at a place where an honest critique on a few points will hurt it, and I consider discussing the one of this decade’s foremost fantasies to be a rare opportunity to talk about fantasy in general.]
Maintaining control of a huge cast of characters is something that challenges all epic fantasy writers. The danger of an expansive cast is that rather than each new character bringing new and necessary flavor to the plot, instead, the whole thing becomes a tasteless mush, with each seeming like every other. Brett's characterization is a consistent strength: his characters stay distinct throughout.
Peter Brett writes an intriguing postmodern epic fantasy. He delights in setting up a character you despise in one book, and then telling their story in the next book from their own point of view. Each time, their actions seem justifiable to them, given their culture and personal history. This can give an odd parallax. If it's been several years since you read the previous novels, you may feel déjà vu as you read the same scene from a different point of view. (It can also be a welcome refresher.) Brett command of this technique has both grown and changed. Inevera’s story is told in significantly more condensed fashion than Jardir’s was. I felt that made it more effective, and found these portions of the book engrossing.
The parallax structure Mr. Brett has chosen has drawbacks. Readers who read mainly for plot have now read some plot points from the Warded Man three times. Readers who read for character may rejoice as they get to see what each person at a momentous event was thinking and feeling, but three times is a lot of repetition for some readers. Brett is clearly aware of this: Inevera's backstory moves much more quickly and takes up fewer pages than Jardir's did in The Desert Spear, but some readers will object to not seeing significant forward progress for a big chunk of the book.
A huge problem for all series is how to handle each volume and the overarching story at the same time. Some authors make each book stand alone, which is a fine structure. The tradeoff is that you can't tell a complicated overarching story. Consider how lots of detective novels work: incremental changes to the detective's life, but not too much concern for backstory, maybe by book 12 he's quit drinking, and if he runs across Mr. Carbonacci who he crossed in book 3, he mentions they hate each other from way back. (But the reader isn’t expected to remember the exact details of that dispute in order to understand their current conflict.)
If you don't choose that thin overarching structure, you must instead have big repeat sections of "What's Gone Before" in every novel (think of Ann McCaffrey's Pern books)--or five pages of action followed by ten of refresher at the beginning. It often gets quite cumbersome. “Gee, Tom, how did we get here?” “Well, Joe, as you know, it started when we…” Ugh.
Another approach to a series, which works if the plots are more complex, is to not repeat much plot summary at all. (Obviously, there are permutations and balances between approaches.) If this approach is taken, it means necessarily that the Big Conflict of the overarching story is introduced in book 1, but it can't be resolved in book 1. If you manage to destroy the One Ring in The Fellowship of the Ring, what are the next two books going to cover? Numerous modern epic fantasy writers have made a different compromise: to have each volume be about smaller problems that are (one hopes!) connected directly to the overarching story problem. If you can't remember what happened in the last book, tough. You can re-read or you can read summaries on Wikipedia.
Taking this approach is directly related, though, to how readers experience the ending of a book. (I will attempt to discuss this without spoilers.) Here, my opinion of The Daylight War differs from many readers'. A common complaint is that the ending is a cliffhanger. (When his book tour brought him through my city, I told Peter he should have known better than to put a literal cliff in the final scene.) Peter Brett has announced from the beginning that the Demon Cycle will be five books and a stand-alone novel set in the same world.
The overarching story of the Demon Cycle is that demons are intent on destroying humanity. The question is: Can humans fight them off, or not? You KNOW it's going to take five books to answer this. So Brett makes it clear that this particular volume is about another, smaller, but related question: Can humans make it through this month's new moon, when demons are at their most powerful? THAT question is answered, for both those in the north and those in the south. Does this book--within the constraints of being a non-final volume of a continuing series--tell a complete narrative? Yes.
And yet it has frequently been accused of ending on "a cliffhanger."
The problem with the term "cliffhanger" is that it can refer to two things: a story that offers no resolution at all, demanding that you buy the next volume; and a story like this, that leaves you with big questions. For the first, think of a book in which the bad guy shoots at the unarmed good guy and... The End. You don't see whether he hits, you don’t know anything. A book like that, the book that offers no resolution, is a cheat. The Daylight War isn’t a cheat. It does tell a full story, and it tells the whole story that it said it was going to tell you. At least four times, and probably more like six or seven, the reader’s attention is pointed to the problem of this month’s new moon. Can we make it through this? What Brett does instead is, indeed, something I’ve done in my own series. (Not to make this review at all about my own work, except to say I understand the machinery working behind the scenes.) You end this book’s conflict, and then introduce a new conflict related to the overall conflict before the book ends. Or, ideally, you use how this book’s conflict was resolved to set up new conflict for the next book--both related to the series conflict, and hopefully, making it worse.
Conflating The Daylight War's teaser ending with that other definition of cliffhanger isn't fair.
Now, having defended the ending, let me critique it a bit.
Functionally, I see why Brett chose to bring the characters together as he did at the end. (Speaking vaguely to avoid spoilers.) This ending helps to stitch what might feel like disparate plots together into one volume. However, the style of those last chapters seemed rushed. Momentous decisions were made quickly. (Those decisions were consistent with the characters as presented thus far, but they happen very quickly, with little discussion of the repercussions that all of society would feel--which is not an approach we've come to associate with Peter Brett.) I would have simply ended the book somewhat earlier, with the letter being delivered and its contents acknowledged, and the challenged character saying, "Hell yes, it's on." If the book ended there, I don't think Brett would have been accused of the cliffhanger. To put on my marketing hat, were I Brett, I would then have posted the "cliffhanger" scene on my website as a teaser for the next book--but that is neither here nor there.
So I've called this Brett's best book, but I'm giving it 4.5 stars while I gave The Warded Man/The Painted Man 5 stars. Why? Because these are very different kinds of books. The Warded Man was excellent and stood out from its peers partly because of the novelty of the premise. Bad guys who just rise out of the ground, rather than invading from the north? That you can't stop, period? That give legitimate reason to fear the dark? That's very cool. I also enjoyed The Warded Man’s tight, tight thematic focus on fear. The Daylight War attempts a much more difficult challenge. It's a bigger, more challenging book to write. In truth, I find it difficult to confidently assert a star-rating for a middle book in a series. I haven’t seen the whole tapestry yet, so it’s impossible to tell if niggling little sidebars are tangents, or whether every word is necessary for the totality.
In this book, Peter Brett steps fully into Tolkien-Jordan-Martin arena. Stepping onto that stage invites all the fierce judgments of competing with the best. I, for one, wish Peter V. Brett the best, and will await the next volume of the Demon Cycle with great anticipation.