Scott Lynch‘s The Lies of Locke Lamora has been on my bookshelf for a long time. I’m sure I picked it up secondhand somewhere. I’ve challenged myself to read more of my physical books this year. So, it finally got some attention.
The Thorn of Camorr is said to be an unbeatable swordsman, a master thief, a ghost that walks through walls. Half the city believes him to be a legendary champion of the poor. The other half believe him to be a foolish myth. Nobody has it quite right.
Slightly built, unlucky in love, and barely competent with a sword, Locke Lamora is, much to his annoyance, the fabled Thorn. He certainly didn’t invite the rumors that swirl around his exploits, which are actually confidence games of the most intricate sort. And while Locke does indeed steal from the rich (who else, pray tell, would be worth stealing from?), the poor never see a penny of it. All of Locke’s gains are strictly for himself and his tight-knit band of thieves, the Gentlemen Bastards.
Locke and company are con artists in an age where con artistry, as we understand it, is a new and unknown style of crime. The less attention anyone pays to them, the better! But a deadly mystery has begun to haunt the ancient city of Camorr, and a clandestine war is threatening to tear the city’s underworld, the only home the Gentlemen Bastards have ever known, to bloody shreds. Caught up in a murderous game, Locke and his friends will find both their loyalty and their ingenuity tested to the breaking point as they struggle to stay alive…
Meh, I mean, it was fine. Everyone seems to love it, and I hoped I would too. But the truth is that, while it is technically competent and I didn’t find it utterly abhorrent like I do the work of some male authors (The Grey Bastards, where women are only good for “fetching and fucking”, for example), I was still somewhat bored and found little to relate to in the book as a female reader. It’s not that I care, in general, if a writer is a man or a woman. But there are books you read, and you don’t have to see the author’s name to know it’s written by a man. The Lies of Locke Lamora is like that, which means there is always a low-level anxiety and distrust as I wait to turn a page and find something horrible about or happening to a woman. (Lynch solved this by not passing the Bechdel test.) I appreciated the world-building, the dry humor, the found family, and the writing itself. Plus, I really did like the Gentlemen Bastards. I don’t regret reading the book. But it didn’t blow me away either. It’s a book I’ve now read. That’s about it.
Other reviews:
Danielle Maurer: Book Review The Lies of Locke Lamora
