An Unkindness of Magicians (The Unseen World #1)

by Kat Howard

Her slate-grey eyes flicked up toward some unmarked window in one of the buildings scraping the sky, as if to be sure someone was watching. Her lips, red as blood, quirked up at the corners, and Sydney stepped off the curb and into traffic.

Okay this is not a great start. Just say skyscraper. And "quirked" as a verb is always irksome to me. Ruh roh.

She knew by now what a Turning involved, the rules and the stakes—she had been through them before—but details were homes for devils, and no more so than here.

I can't tell if these twists on normal turns of phrase ("the devil's in the details") is clever or irritating. It's definitely rubbing me wrong so far.

“Oh, she looked that kind of good, did she?” Grey leered. “Not everything is about getting laid, you player.” Laurent shook his head in mock disapproval.

This (particularly the "you player") made me cringe.

On a table by Shara, a pen, the contract, and a knife, bone-handled. Its blade as dark as shadow, its edge as sharp and fine as truth.

Wow that's cheesy.

Flashy magic was all well and good, and she would certainly require a demonstration of ability before she made a decision, but the fact of the matter was the champion would represent the House. She wanted to be sure the House liked them. She also wanted to be sure that she was able to—if not like—at least respect them. They and their magic would represent Prospero, would be the face of the House. Power, ability—those mattered, but character did as well, particularly as the champions’ decisions during a challenge were final. There was always the risk that someone whose goals did not fully match with hers would choose poorly, or in service of their own ends.

This feels repetitive. Also I got tripped up on the two last sentences twice each. Seems like the flow could be a bit better? I swear I'm not trying to complain.

The House didn’t actually speak with a voice. Rather, Miranda had made a series of spelled mirrors when she became its Head. They were keyed to her voice and presence, and if the House wanted to say something to her without being addressed first, the words that appeared on the mirror’s surface would be accompanied by a faint chime. No one else in the room would see the words or hear the chime ring. The spell also allowed her to respond mentally, thus enabling a completely secret conversation, if necessary.

I don't know why exactly but this reminds me of the scene in The Office where Dwight is a co-owner of a hotel in hell (but not the manager). It's like this mirror enchantment is half-cool but also very pedestrian. You have to go look at the mirror if it chimes? That sounds kind of incovenient considering there is also silent mental communication ? Like, why not go all the way with it?

But the mirror was proof that not everything went as planned in a Turning, was a reminder of what had been stolen from him. A piece of a spell that had gone wrong—cracked and come apart.

Oy this writing. I think the first sentence would be stronger if she dropped the second "was" -- I get that this sort of repetition can be of grammatical use but here it just feels heavy-handed.

Merlin ate as he read, cutting sliver-thin pieces of rare steak.

I usually like food details but the "rare" here feels clunky.

Ian made himself a caprese sandwich and took his laptop to his rooftop garden, where he could sit high above the city, above the noise and the crowds, surrounded by the fading flowers of late summer, Central Park green and blooming below him.

Another weirdly awkward feeling food detail (again from someone who likes food details usually) - just saying sandwich would have felt less clunky. Also, holy run-on sentence, Batman.

When I did, he very kindly explained to me that ‘wizard’ was the wrong word.” “Very kindly,” Sydney repeated, climbing out of the window seat to pour herself more blood orange juice. It had been a breakfast meeting, and Laurent had provided a generous spread. “I’m sure.” “Well, for certain values of kindly.

I cannot parse the "Well, for certain values of kindly." sentence here.

Mortality could be invoked if both parties agreed beforehand, but only the last round required that it be. Sydney was sure Grey would fall out of competition by that point. And if he didn’t, well, she’d discuss that with Laurent when she had to.

Foreshadowing?

A group of girls passed by her on the sidewalk, leaning into one another, as close as secrets. Laughing, smiling. Hands in each other’s pockets,

Ugh (re: the "as close as secrets" line). Also hands in each other's pockets sounds very awkward.

He finished gathering the bones, tucking them in a bag that he stuffed into his jacket pocket, then squeezed the girl’s empty fingers to be sure he hadn’t left any behind. He was fairly certain this would give him enough of a supply that he’d have power until the challenges turned mortal. He’d see how things went—he didn’t like not having some in reserve. Although—he could always get more. That was another thing he’d learned: There was always another girl no one would miss. He cut a door into the air and stepped through, leaving the dead girl behind him.

What the fuck? You have to kill her to get her finger bones? Okay so this is a big red flag for Grey..

She continued to make her way through the crowd, looking for Miranda Prospero.

Not sure how it took me until page 38 to notice her name is Miranda Prospero. Listening to The Night Circus at the same time as this could easily get confusing, but it made a similar Prospero and Miranda joke and thankfully The Tempest is the one work of Shakespeare I've read multiple times (though years ago), so I got it.

she walked past the warmth and light of restaurants and bars, past beautifully decorated store windows. She slowed a bit passing those, looking at their jewel-box designs, color and pattern like a fairy tale on acid, dressed up in this season’s fashion.

"[L]ike a fairy tale on acid" made me groan. I'm not a writer but it just feels so uncreative.

She kept her killer heels on until she was inside her door. No weakness, even here.

The repetition of killer seems wholly unnecessary. Just say heels. They were called killer two (short) paragraphs before.

Paused for a moment to ground herself: There were blankets piled at the foot of the bed, topped with a quilt embroidered in stars. There were glasses in every richness of blue in the cupboard, because even glasses could be beautiful, and so why shouldn’t they be? There was a sofa, dark red velvet, and a sculpture of leaves—brass and bronze and copper—on the wall above it. Her own tiny jewel box of beauty, a longing made real.

Aside from the weird start and end of this passage, the imagery is nice. The blankets and glasses details both appealed to me (for once).

There were rumors—Sydney had heard them; she had spent her first month out of Shadows learning how to function in the mundane world and her second month learning everything she could about the Unseen World—that there was something wrong with magic.

These long asides make these sentences hard to read. I feel like you could make the statement and then emdash section the follow-up/aside afterward to much better effect. This is not the first very long aside I've seen.

“Did you hear about that woman who was murdered and had all her finger bones removed? Maybe that was where she was found.” “Huh,” Grey said. “Maybe.” “So creepy, right? Like, who steals someone’s finger bones? That is, like, Brothers Grimm shit.” “Seems like,” Grey said, turning back around.

So I guess the power of finger bone magic isn't well known? Is this like performance-enhancing drugs for magicians? Are those allowed..?

You want to deny, to deflect, to try to draw one more layer of ‘don’t see me’ around yourself. I’d be willing to bet that the only reason you haven’t warded this conversation is that you don’t want it to be important.

I wish wards would have been better explained. I would not have guessed conversations were ward-able.

But I know how you filtered your influence spell during the first challenge—you set it up so that it would affect only the magicians who use the magic from Shadows to pay their cost. I think, perhaps, you were looking for allies.” And that was close, very close. Sydney had set up the spell that way, though with the intent of counting enemies rather than of finding allies.

Ahhhhh okay.

But the magic that came from Shadows didn’t give extra power. It made no one stronger. All it did was make things easier, because the pool of magic was always there, and ensure that those who used it faced no consequences for their magic use because someone else had paid them already.

Is this a metaphor for capitalism?

Informal alliances of Houses—both candidate and established—formed and broke apart and re-formed as the first hints of where power might shift to when the Turning was ended appeared.

This sentence falls apart at the end.

“I’ve been in Trusts and Estates at Alexander, Harad, and Hill for a little over two years now. It was time to let the wheel turn,” Harper said. The cadence of her voice changed as she spoke, overemphasizing the last four words. “There really needs to be a better identifying phrase,” Madison said, and laughed. “I always feel like I’m in the parody of a spy movie instead of interviewing someone. But since you knew it, I assume you’re also able to demonstrate some ability.”

The atrium’s ceiling was three stories high, an embossed pattern of geometric shapes decorating it. The walls were dark green, and all the fixtures were rubbed brass. Everything designed to imply prosperity and power by a decorator with no imagination. Or a decorator who realized their clients had no imagination.

Thick patterned carpets placed at precise intervals on the polished wood floor and leather-bound books shelved in the walls. Laurent wondered if they were actually read, or if they had been bought by the yard because the bindings matched the décor. He murmured a quick spell that would let him read the titles from this distance: Springtime for Poets; Boll-Weevil Eradication: Best Practices; The Proceedings of the Congress of Vienna. Definitely unread.

So bleak, yet so HGTV. Buying books just for aesthetics is so oddly depressing.

There were no women to be seen, not even as staff. Hard to tell if it was an officially segregated establishment, or if the lack was because—even now—so few women held Houses. The Unseen World could be as small-minded in its conception of what power looked like as the mundane one it shadowed, and Houses still almost always passed from father to son.

“Well, I’m just sorry I didn’t find her first. Another drink?” Laurent looked deliberately at his still-full glass and stood up. “I’m afraid I have a social engagement this evening. But thank you again. I do feel this was a very useful meeting.”

Is this sarcasm? Unless I missed something, the meeting was just Merlin asking questions about Sydney..?

She was bird-boned and sharp-eyed, a raptor with short, Ziggy Stardust–red hair.

“I haven’t beaten you at chess since you were nine, Lara. It’s not like I think today’s going to be my lucky day.” He knocked over a rook. It shattered into words on the board. Magic is failing. Lara’s hand paused, but only for a moment, before tipping a pawn. Dad’s fault? And that was the crux of it: Because of their family’s connection to the House of Shadows, because of Miles’ connection in particular, it could be. It was House Merlin that maintained the spell. A knight cracked and dissolved. Not sure. Ideas?

... Why are they writing out messages with broken chess pieces while also talking? It's like texting someone you're also speaking with in person. If one can't be overheard by others, I guess maybe it could make sense but they're still saying sensitive information out loud, sooo..?

A castle melted into words. Be careful.

They have castle pieces in chess??

She also knew, knew in her bones, what the Unseen World did not.

The repetition here seems heavy-handed. Just say she knew in her bones.

Like you always say, if tradition holds us back, we need to think outside of it.” They came to a stop, and Laurent bent down to fix a loose shoelace.

Like the tradition of not murdering people for a moderate amount of magical power?

And there was only one reason for such basic spells to fail: He was losing his magic. Unacceptable, of course. No one could hold a House if they didn’t have magic. Once he had realized what was happening, he had taken steps, made changes. So much magic came out of Shadows, and the Angel of the Waters was the perfect conduit. It hadn’t taken that much to set some aside. To collect the magic and store it against need. His need.

Sooooo.. the premise of Office Space?

The duel had gone poorly. No. The duel had been a fucking mess. It was the heir to House Morgan. Violet, her name was. Or Daisy. Something like that. All the girls in that House were named after flowers. He hadn’t thought anyone there knew anything about his relationship with Rose, but someone must have suspected because what should have been a fairly easy challenge had turned bloody. Marigold or Peony or whatever had wrapped him in a Briar Rose illusion—a forest of thorns he’d had to fight his way out of. He’d been able to do it, but they’d sunk in and cut deeply before he’d finally broken free.

It seemed obvious that we should suspect Grey in regards to Rose's death but I did not expect him to be the one to mention it first.

After his apartment almost looked normal again, and not like someone had performed surgery in his front hall. After the blood was gone from everywhere except his memory. After he washed his hands one more time. After things were clean, he could start thinking about what had happened. Maybe then he could look at it straight on.

Ugh the repetition again.

After the takeout Laurent had ordered arrived—because this was a thing he could do; he could order warm styrofoam containers of hamburgers cooked rare and covered in mushrooms and caramelized onions, thin French fries with some sort of truffle sauce, and he had to do something. After he had poured them both glasses of whiskey, Laurent said, “You could have died.”

This weird repetitive crap makes this much more confusing than it needs to be. Also these food details are so unnecessary (again, as someone who likes these things when they are well done, no burger pun intended).

Sydney poured more coffee. “And second?” “Special Projects doesn’t have a criminal division.” Sydney’s face went blank. Madison sighed. “What I mean is, even under normal circumstances, the Unseen World doesn’t have a criminal justice system. What they have is a bunch of people with extraordinary power who take matters into their own hands. When the Unseen World decides that someone has crossed a line, there’s either social and economic sanctions—disinheritance being a popular one—or there’s the equivalent of vigilante justice. And this is a Turning, which means it’s not normal circumstances; it’s an entire event presaged on the ideas of upheaval and change.

This seems like a pretty big oversight.

And now the reason for the visit was clear. Merlin, with his fingers full of threads, was shaking his spider’s web and hoping to catch her in it.

It had been a rather large amount of magic she had taken in. An entire season. Could magic be measured in seasons? Would a winter’s worth feel different—colder, perhaps, and more crystalline—than this heated spring blooming in her?

Besides, it felt like there were fireflies in her blood, which was perhaps not the most optimal set of circumstances for casting death magic. She could wait.

With the door open, he could taste the magic he had gathered, burnt metallic at the back of his throat, could feel it hum in his teeth. He counted jars, checked seals. It was all there—glass-contained and silver-bound. Here, alone, he allowed his shoulders to relax forward in relief, and then he closed the door, locked it. Enough, for now, now while he still mostly trusted his own power, to have it. There would—he was certain now—come a day when having it wouldn’t be enough.

I don't understand the "Enough […] to have it." sentence. Does this mean it was enough for him to know that he had this magic store for when he needed it? Or is it trying to say it is enough for now but not the future? The repetition (that I am becoming repetitive about in my comments) seems meant to be a stylistic flourish but instead it is, for me, impeding meaning. Oh just kidding this last sentence helps explain the intended meaning of the previous one, but it shouldn't feel that obscure in the first place.

Then he swore and broke the spell a second time. Something was wrong. The magic that should have been there, just at the ends of his fingertips, wasn’t. There were trickles, yes, but less than half—perhaps even less than a third—of what normally flowed through the statue’s hands. This wasn’t his magic misfiring. There was something wrong with the spell that was anchored in the Angel. There was something wrong with magic. Not his, specifically. All magic.

How would he know this? He has been losing magic up to this point so I am curious what the distinction here would be.

She watched Sydney turn in a slow circle on her porch, face lifted to the falling snow, and tried to reconcile this woman who looked scarcely out of her teens with the terrifying avatar of power Ian had described to her when he’d visited earlier this week. “It was like channeling all of that magic was nothing to her. I could see the effects of it—she was shedding actual fucking sparks from her hands—but she was . . . fine,” he had said, his eyes focused far away, as if he were still in that room that had gone from living forest to stone statues in the time it took Sydney to stop a woman’s heart. The images didn’t mesh, but Verenice knew well how little images mattered.

Her voice was bitter as salt.

.... Is salt bitter?

Verenice took off her gloves and half-closed her eyes. She whispered something, her voice rising at the end like a question. Then stumbled back, sliding on the snow, and fisted her hands closed, breaking the spell. “What is that?”

Okay so this is the second use of "fisted" I've seen in this context and I may have the immaturity of a middle schooler about things like this, but this does not seem like a use of the word I have ever heard before, much less twice in relatively quick succession. It's one thing to describe someones hands as "fisted by their side" (a future use in this book) and another to use it as an active verb.

“Fine,” he said. “Fine. If House Merlin is ranked at the top of the Unseen World at the end of the Turning, I will insist on Shadows being brought in, given full power.” “Excellent,” Shara said. House Merlin had held the Unseen World for every Turning since Shadows had been established. If her other plans were unsuccessful, aligning herself with her brother’s House was a good option, even with Miles as diminished as he was. “There’s just one more necessary thing.” “What else could you possibly want?” “I need you to sign this contract.”

So Shara is Miles's sister??

“I am always happy to serve the House.” Expected words, required sentiments. “Which is why the House has given you this opportunity—vengeance on the House that cast you aside. That is what you feel, isn’t it?” An expression that some might have called a smile, overlarge and too sweet. “That you were cast aside and thrown away.”

So Sydney is a member of Prospero?

Shara’s request itched at her. Not that it was unexpected, or that Shara or Shadows had ever bothered explaining things—you don’t explain things to a gun; you simply aim and fire—but she wanted to know what Shara was getting out of the deal.

“I’m just trying to plan for everything.” Sydney liked plans. She liked to have many of them, so their pieces could be switched apart and replaced when necessary.

This is familiar.