Too Like the Lightning (Terra Ignota, #1)

by Ada Palmer

There was one sure way to heal the mood. “How many of you want ice cream when this is over?” Four hands shot up, then eleven, then all.

This was the moment the book lost me: when the joyous slaves cheerily begged for ice cream.

Even we down in the kitchens danced.

Yeah, I kept expecting this book to try and tear down the society and show why it was bad but it never did.

She is his wife, in a sense, in the World Order, the gentle but all-powerful Mom caring for the one-point-seven billion members of Earth’s second-largest Hive, a share of the household duties surpassed only by the Father’s three-point-one billion Masons. How could they not fall into the habit of debating over the others’ heads? Or meeting after the others quarrel to gripe in private about ‘kids these days.’

This made me cringe.

“Bryar, you must agree with me that the King’s word is enough.” See how the children turn to Mom when Father seems too strict? Chair Kosala shook her head. “Rules are rules.

A tent of Griffincloth need not blemish the landscape, and a cop in Griffincloth need not fear being shot on the approach, but these wondersmiths would not leave it at that.

Thank heaven someone has thought of the police.

“Thisbe Saneer! Oscar winner, 2451, Best Smelltrack for Blue like Thursday! I knew I knew that name. And you won it another year for that one about the three sets of kids in different time periods who all tried to build a boat and sail around the world, what was it called?” “The Horizoners,” Thisbe supplied, beaming. “I didn’t think anyone but my ba’sibs sat through that part of the Oscars anymore.” “I never miss them.” Chagatai was all smiles now, her warm, narrow-eyed suave. “You’ve won more than twice, haven’t you? How many times?” “Four.”

Was expecting there to be some revelation that the Oscars are fixed, but it was not forthcoming.