Mordew (Cities of the Weft, #1) (2024)

Longlisted for The Republic of Consciousness Prize for Small Presses 2021

Book 9/10

First of all, I want to express my happiness that a genre book was nominated for a literary award. I would like to think that finally people realized that fantasy/SF can be well written but I am afraid the nomination was due to the author previously experience in literary fiction.

My rating is for the novel and does not reflect my opinion on the audiobook narrator, Kobna Holdbrook-Smith*. He deserves all the stars and he was the reason I did not give up on the book in the middle when the plot became stale. He is the best narrator I’ve had the pleasure to listen to so far. He is an undisputed master of giving characters a unique voice and accent. I cannot recommend enough listening to his audiobooks. However, I am reviewing books here so I will do my best to ignore the narration from my final judgement.

The novel started well, although predictable, with a young boy living in a slum together with his sick, bed-ridden father and his prostitute mother. Obviously, the boy has some special powers but he is forbidden to use them by his father. The world building was the most interesting part of the novel. The slum was covered by a living mud, from where some strange half-formed creatures emerge. One day his mother sells the boy to the Master of Mordew, who uses kids for some secret tasks. The Master’s magic was the only one who stood between the wrath of the sea and from the firebirds sent by the Mistress of Malarkoi to destroy the island. Things do not go as plan, he ends up in a gang and then back to the Master.

I enjoyed the first part, the pace of the plot combined with world building were mixed just right. Then, around the middle of the book when he goes back to the Master a started to get very, very bored and I had moments when I wanted to give up. The narration was what made me continue. In contrast to the middle section, the last 25 % of the novel was like an explosion. Too many things happened, some questions were answered, some new ones appeared, and some actions made sense, other not. At the end of the book there is an extensive glossary and it might explain some of the history and the magical world of Mordew but I did not have the patience to read it. The writing was sometimes excellent and other times it felt sloppy and confusing, just like the plot and characters’ decisions. Most of the characters were unlikable, which is not a problem in general but I think it might be in epic fantasies.

I do not regret reading Mordew but I do not think I will continue with the series.

P.s. I really do not understand why the blurb mentions the corpse of God, a detail that we find out about only at the end of the novel.

*For a sample of his talent I found a short story written by Derek Owusu and narrated by the actor. https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/m000...

About The press (as per their website): GALLEY BEGGAR PRESS is an independent publisher committed to publishing daring, innovative fiction and narrative non-fiction. Founded in 2012, we are particularly keen to support writers of great literary talent writing outside the norm, who push the boundaries of form and language. Over the past six years, our authors – from Lucy Ellmann (Ducks, Newburyport), Preti Taneja (We that are young), to Eimear McBride (A Girl Is A Half-formed Thing), Alex Pheby (Lucia), and beyond – have gone on to be longlisted, shortlisted, and the winners of over twenty of the world’s most prestigious literary awards, including the Women’s Prize for Fiction, The Wellcome Book Prize, The Goldsmiths Prize, The Desmond Elliott Prize, The Jan Michalski Prize, The Folio Prize, The Geoffrey Faber Memorial Prize, and the Frank O’Connor Short Story Prize.

I was a big fan of Alex Pheby’s previous two novels but approached this one with some trepidation. Fantasy is not my favourite genre (as a benchmark Lord of the Rings I abandoned in my younger days and more recently The City And The City and A Song of Fire and Ice I found ridiculous) and I also have a strong aversion to long novels - my ideal length is 100 pages and for anything over 250 pages the author has to work very hard to justify their demand on my time. Further the author himself had implied this was very much not aimed at the fans of innovative literary fiction, such as myself, who appreciated his previous novels.

But, to my surprise, I really enjoyed this, particularly the Dickensian story of Nathan and gang of thieves he joins. Pheby also has a lot of fun, as does the reader, with his world building, particularly at the micro level.

The book comes with an extensive Glossary at the end which is, in reality, part of the story. This Glossary contains information unknown to the main protagonist, some of which is revealed to him as the story progresses and some of which isn’t. The narrator suggests the reader should defer reading the Glossary until after they have finished the story, which obviously I took as a strong hint to do the opposite, and I think the book’s experience is definitely enhanced by reading the Glossary entries in parallel as various objects or people enter the story, although that may reflect my personal preference that welcomes so-called “spoilers” (“reading experience enhancers” would be a better term.)

Indeed the Glossary almost constitutes a novel in itself, albeit that device has been done rather better by the magnificent Dictionary of the Khazars: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...

Some of the meta-world building did get a little silly, culminating in a final piece of the novel, an self-important exposition of the theology of the “weft.” Given Pheby’s previous works I took this as more of a satire on the genre rather than something to be taken seriously, although that may not have been the authorial intent.

The book’s other flaw for me came when, after a slow paced but beautifully controlled story of Nathan’s rise from the slums and his gradual realisation of his history, it is as if the author gets a bit bored and suddenly allows Nathan to cut loose with his inherited Godly powers, and pretty much destroy Mordew and many of the characters. As the narrator comments, seemingly equally bemused:

They did see him, though none of them could speak he was so bright and loud, like an angel, too powerful to be denied but too powerful to be conversed with, or understood.

But ultimately there are two key tests for this book.

- did it, unlike most long novels, hold my interest for 600 pages?

- will I, again unlike other fantasy novels, read the other parts of the trilogy?

And the answer is a strong “yes” on both counts.

Another winner from Galley Beggar Press.

Well, first of all, I want to thank the people at Tor and NetGalley for providing me with a copy of Mordew to read in exchange for an honest review. And also many thanks to Alex Pheby for writing this wonderful novel.
In Mordew we bear witness to the story of Nathan Treeves, a child of the slums that has to earn a living in a harsh environment, with a mortally sick father and a mother who "blacks his eyes", meaning she earns a living by prostitution. Nathan tries to sell himself to the mysterious Master, who rules the entire city from afar. Hundreds of children are sold for him to use as workers, but Nathan has something that distinguishes him from the rest: he can "Spark", he can use magic, albeit in a limited way. The city is built over the corpse of God, and it's constantly under the assault of the Mistress of Malarkoi, who sends thousands of firebirds against its walls.
As a starting point, this seems hardly original. But there is a lot more to it.
The storytelling is superb. The first part of the book is a little slow, but things get definitely interesting in the second, and they blow out in the third, with a finale that will leave you asking for more. The book gives a deliciously gothic vibe, reminiscing of works like Gormenghast, by Peake. Dead Gods, ghosts, talking dogs, secret libraries in the sewers, and a Living Mud that can give life to the inanimate are some of the unbelievable things you will find in it.
The magic system is well defined, though it remains a secret for the reader (unless you read the amazing glossary, which I only did after finishing the story). The characters are well thought out, even the secondaries, and all are morally grey, very like Abercrombie's characters, in fact. No white knights, wise mages and damsels in distress.
The language is beautiful, and very dreamlike, giving the book sometimes the air of a nightmare. Very nice to read, captivating and original. Recommended to all fans of Grimdark and noir fantasy in general. I myself will be looking forward to a second part!

4.25⭐️
Well with that ending I will most definitely be continuing.

When I was a young man in my teens and twenties (so, about 35-40 years ago), I read a lot of fantasy novels. It was never a conscious decision, but by the time I hit thirty, I had stopped reading those books and moved on to other things. This was purely a sign of my changing tastes in what I read: I didn’t have to plan it and I wasn’t even really aware of the change at the time and only realised when I looked back at what I was and had been reading.

Mordew is a fantasy novel. So, it represents a genre I have not read for at least 30 years. I really was not sure how I was going to feel about it as I went into it. But it comes from Galley Beggar Press, so I was willing to give it a go with what I felt was an open mind.

This is a novel that I can see will appeal to a lot of people. Here, I am going to explain why it didn’t work for me. But that is a personal view. I think there will be lots of lovers of fantasy who will enjoy the world that Alex Pheby has created. And, if this is your first experience of a fantasy novel, it could well prompt you to investigate the genre further.

Mordew is Part 1 of a trilogy. The book presented to us here is in two parts: the first part of the trilogy and a glossary. This is worth mentioning because the glossary is a significant thing to which I will return in a while. First the story.

I think it is perhaps unfortunate that the book blurb largely describes the final hundred pages of the novel (and, possibly, although I obviously can’t know this, all of parts 2 and 3). A reader drawn in by the bold phrase “God is dead” will wait for over 400 pages before that becomes in any way relevant to the story. We begin with Nathan Treeves who lives in the city of Mordew. The streets are coated in the Living Mud which continuously spawns short-lived creatures that die and rot. Nathan and his parents are eking out some kind of existence by picking treasures out of the mud, but Nathan’s father is ill and his mother sells her body to help make ends meet. In the end, Nathan’s mother sends him to The Master which is where the real story kicks off. Nathan has a gift which threatens the Master, but he does not know how to control it. The battle between Nathan and The Master is joined…

This is fantasy with everything turned up to 11, especially the second half after Nathan and The Master meet. In the first half, we live in the dirt and grime of the city and it’s almost a story about a band of young children getting up to mischief, but there is a rumbling below the surface (I’m talking about more than things living in the mud) that tells you more is coming. When it takes off, it really goes for it.

For me, it was too much. This is a personal taste thing, but I found the explosion of violence and drama to be more than I could enjoy (Pheby himself has referred to this as a “maximalist book” i.e. he has crammed a lot into it and given free rein to his imagination). My journey with this book was from feeling the first half was a bit dull through feeling that it was actually starting to build an interesting world through to being slightly bored as Nathan pootles around in The Master’s house for a while through to being turned off by the over-the-top drama of the second half. So very mixed feelings.

But what about the glossary? There is a note on the very first page of the novel telling you that it is there but it might not be the best idea to refer to it. As the introductory note says ”Be careful. Some entries contain information unknown to the protagonist.” This is the understatement of the year. The glossary is very, very long. Whilst it looks like a traditional glossary with a list of terms arranged in alphabetical order, it functions more like the Silmarillion does for The Lord of the Rings. If you piece together the information in the glossary in a different order (I haven’t done this, but it quickly becomes clear it should be possible), there is a whole other story being told which is a fairly detailed history of the world in which Mordew is set (no spoilers!), along with, I believe, a lot of information that will be assumed in the second and third parts of the trilogy. So, whilst the starting note might suggest you don’t need the glossary in order to read the book, I would suggest that you do need the glossary after reading the book (which I guess is why it is at the back).

I think there is something to be admired in Mordew. For me, most of the admirable stuff takes place in the glossary and there’s a good case for just this part of the book being submitted to the Goldsmiths Prize as some kind of re-invention of the format of the novel. It’s not really the content of the glossary that impressed me (a lot of it seems overly complicated and fancy), but the structure is fascinating. Unfortunately, Alex Pheby is not eligible for the Goldsmiths Prize, so that will never happen.

The real question, though, is do I want to read the next two instalments of this trilogy? I have to, unfortunately, say that as things stand, I don’t. I don't think "maximalist novels" and I get on together very well. I’m not sure I can cope with another 1000 pages of writing at this volume.

This is a 2.5 star book for me. I hover between rounding up and down. I want to round up because of the inventiveness, especially in the glossary. I want to round down because it feels unnecessarily over-the-top to me.

Fascinating world-building paired with cartoon like evil characters. Rot, corpses, living mud, talking dogs and overall very Dickensian vibes coalesce into a weird, but enjoyable reading experience
Even a magic dog is bound by the laws of physics

In terms of protagonist this book gave me The Neverending Story vibes, while the faux Dickensian feel reminded me of The Vorrh. The whole concept of a supernatural being under a city then again screams Neon Genesis Evangelion. It's a many headed beast Pheby presents to the reader.
An interesting book, quite uneven at times, but very propulsive in its short chapters.

At times Mordew feels rather like a fairytale, but this is offset by the fascination with corpses and rot. The cartoon like evil characters, emphasized by narration, add to the feel, but we also have a mother being a sex worker.
There are heists in a youth gang, very Dickensian.
There is a veritable "I am a talking dog" scene, very clumsily told, that info dumps a lot onto the reader.

The Chosen vibes are a bit heavy handed and offer a convincing warning against teenagers having superpowers. Our main character turns fully Anakin Attack of the Clones in his reaction to the elephant.

There is a mega interlude at the end of the book which is rather weird, but we are also provided with a talking book (full on Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets but more benign, one could argue). The mix is heady, and definitely uneven, but also intriguing. Through the short chapters one is drawn into the world of Alex Pheby and I am curious what the Master is going with in the next instalment.

Quotes:
There is a price to pay for a clear conscience

If this is a trap, we are already trapped and we can’t get more trapped

Sacrifices must be made

Why, because you think they are weak? They are not weak, they have the strength to struggle, to sacrifice.

Its a misapprehension that only the reader reads

But I am not an generous man

Weird fantasy. It's an odd mix of fresh and tired, full of pieces that shouldn't work but somehow come together in a cool way.

There's some interesting magic woven into this bleak Britishy world, even in bits of familiar story shapes about apprentices and evil masters. Any kind of nightmare thing can pop up, but so can glorious things like chivalrous talking dogs.

The narrative voice is pretty distant throughout, like it was always pushing me back and away from the city. Sometimes I liked that, but whenever the voice got closer I liked it more.

It's interesting that this one is getting literary attention. I'll be thinking about it from time to time. In the end I found it unsatisfying in a way I'm struggling to really explain. Maybe that's why the lit people like it...?

Longlisted for the Republic of Consciousness Prize 2021

Let me start with a disclaimer - I am not normally a fan of fantasy fiction, and this book is unashamedly set in a fantasy world, with many familar fantasy tropes. So I am not the best person to judge it, particularly relative to other fantasy writers - I read it because as a Galley Beggar subscriber I read all of their books. For all that, I found it a very enjoyable book to read, and never really got bored with the detail. Pheby is a versatile writer, and his work is never short of big ideas.

I won't attempt to describe the plot or more than a few details of Pheby's imaginary world. Our protagonist is Nathan Treeves, born in the slums of Mordew (the name is a pun on Mort Dieu). Nathan only understands a small part of the destiny he has inherited. The device of having most of the story told from the perspective of a boy works rather well (as it did in Gormenghast), enabling Pheby to reveal the nature of his world gradually. In addition to the main narrative, there is a lengthy glossary afterwards that should not be read too early by those readers who don't like spoilers as it describes events and ideas that either do not get revealed in the main narrative or only become clear very late on.

Dark, enthralling and very different. I was surprised how engrossed I became in this adult fairy tale, probably because of the way it's narrated. The language used is so vivid that I could almost feel and see in front of me the strange magical objects being described and their fascinating ways of functioning. This is the story woven from lies and fractured plot lines that the reader needs to put together to understand what is really going on in this novel. The story begins with Nathan, a 13-year-old boy trying to get food and medicine for his seriously ill father living in the slums. At some point the only ray of hope seems to be getting from the premises belonging to the Master ruling over the town of Mordew. Nathan after being rejected to work for the Master finds new group of friends who help him discover who he really is.
At the end of this novel I was lost with so many questions so I am looking forward to the next installment. And the ideas presented here were so extraordinary: speaking dogs, enchanted books, theatrical objects helping to see the past, God and his magical body, witches, magical sparks and many many more. The world building definitely made me think of New Crobuzon from China Miéville. So twisted but also so magnetic.

I would not have continued listening to this audio book if it had not been narrated by Kobna Holdbrook-Smith. I enjoy hearing his voice and the way he differentiates the characters, but that was pretty much all I enjoyed about this book. As the beginning of a trilogy, this too-long book tells less than a third of the story.

The book is full of the usual fantasy tropes. A boy has special powers, he is presented with challenges, he must defeat a powerful enemy, etc. This also has the trope of a group of children formed into a criminal gang. The blurb emphasizes the Master of Mordew, the villain of the book, who gets his powers from the body of God. Well, the Master doesn’t appear until about half way into the book, and the body of God plot line does appear until the last hour and a half of an audio book that is 18 hours 30 minutes long. The story is basically incoherent and the book ends with a giant cliffhanger. The book is a collection of creepy and often disgusting creatures, capers, battles, escapes, a talking dog and a talking book. There’s just a lot of random stuff. Maybe the next book will be better, but I don’t think even Kobna can get me to continue with the series.

Tedious read with very few understanding on the author's part on how to realize narrative tension. I enjoyed the worldbuilding, the overall construction of the fictional landscape: rainy, slimy Mordew with its slums, deadlife and Living Mud, protected by a Sea Wall against Firebirds, as opposed to green Malarkoi, with its strangely silent inhabitants and Mistress. The storyline was meandering, certain stories are picked up and left off at random, characters appear and disappear without further ado. Moreover, the main character Nathan is utterly dull and a highly stereotypical embodiment of the good/evil dichotomy inherited from morally ambiguous parents (Star Wars anyone?). Other characters were equally onedimensional and boring (Prissy as a love/hate utility, the typical slum boy Gam and - oh, yeah - a talking, intelligent dog). I was glad to finish this one and will not be reading the sequels.

First 3/4s really had me going and then it just screeches to a halt for the end. Bit too long in the tooth for me.

In the past I have noticed that any books where there is a poor young boy with super powers-particularly those set within a fantasy world-will be cliché, drawn out and ultimately boring. It’s an obvious plot and an easy one to write and making sure it isn’t the same as every other can be quite tricky.

I am reticent to begin a new book of a planned trilogy, because it means I’ll have to re-read it again when the other books come out. Sometimes that’s a wonderful thing, but usually it means I can’t re-read Discworld again for the hundreth, which makes me sad. When it comes to Mordew, however, I am very much looking forward to those re-reads.

Whilst the plot might be the same as all the other fantasy novels out there, the rest is scintillatingly different and enticing. Mordew follows that young, poor lad with those unknown magical powers, Nathan, as he is sold in to the possession of The Master, who slayed God and has bestowed all of God’s powers upon the city of Mordew-and himself.

The writing depicted something that reminded me of Yharnam from Bloodborne crossed with Gormenghast, mixed in with every other fantasy world out there. It’s a delightful soup of misery, despair and dilapidation that also shines with hope and a small dose of reality. The city of Mordew is a character all on its own, writhing with life and magic, hiding secrets and memories as it lays over the corpse of God.

I thoroughly enjoyed the world and the characters-some more than others-and following Nathan as he learns more about himself and the world. It had a Dickensian flavour that I enjoy immensely and felt like a fairy tale of tradition.

I hesitated between giving 'Mordew' two or three stars, but upon consideration the flaws outweighed the virtues and I finished it feeling disappointed. That's a real shame as there's great potential in the concept, which convinced me to read it in the first place: god is dead and the city of Mordew is built on his corpse. Such a gothic idea is hard to resist. The city is on a peninsula and surrounded by a protective sea wall. Within the wall are slums full of living mud, overlooked by a wealthy city, glass road, and citadel of the Master, a wizard. The sea and dangerous firebirds continually menace the city, or rather its slums, as the Master is locked in distant conflict with the Mistress, who rules another city far away. So much the reader knows from the start. The narrative follows a thirteen year old boy named Nathan, whose life in the slums changes dramatically with implications for the whole city.

Let's start with what I liked. The living mud is a pleasingly weird concept and the strongest world-building element. Children have to be specifically divided into 'womb-born' and not, as some just emerge from the mud. The life-giving properties of this mud are thanks to the corpse of god buried under the city. The magical talking dog is excellent, by far the best character in fact. I also found the style readable, with the exception of the glossary, even when the plot was getting on my nerves. I sped through it with little effort, albeit mostly because I was hoping it would improve. The cover design is lovely and reminded me of Mervyn Peake's illustrations for The Gormenghast Novels. And I enjoyed some odd details like the ship powered by a mutant fish and the fact that Bellows' brother got turned into a book.

Unfortunately, I think the characters, plot, and structure are all deserving of critique. Firstly, Nathan is a very frustrating narrator as he doesn't know what the hell is going on. Constantly following him soon becomes tedious, as he is dragged from here to there and manipulated by various people into theft, murder, and dark magic. The single chapter from the talking dog's perspective was a breath of fresh air by comparison, despite its mannered style. I think it would have been better to tell the story via multiple adult protagonists, including Nathan's mother (a very underdeveloped character). I found young Nathan hard to sympathise with, as he had little personality and kept looking up the skirt of the only girl his own age he's apparently ever met. In general, the character development was greatly limited by everything being told from his perspective. A comparison could be made here with the His Dark Materials Trilogy: The Golden Compass/The Subtle Knife/The Amber Spyglass, which has much better realised teenage protagonists and allows adults their share of narration duties.

My difficulties with the plot are linked to Nathan's narration. He's so clueless and reactive that events appear arbitrary. They also drag on for too long. Whole episodes seem to exist purely as excuses for gruesome imagery, for example of rats consuming corpses. After several scenes of Nathan's father disgustingly coughing up worms, we learn at the end that he could have cured himself with magic at any time. So what was the point! On the other hand, Nathan spends a remarkably short time visiting the Mistress' pyramid and killing her - surely this is more important and interesting than tweenage burglary shenanigans and making elephants extinct in a fit of pique? He seems to shrug off murdering her with remarkable ease. I wanted to know what was going on, but the book didn't want to tell me. Similarly, Nathan's limited understanding of magic cramps the world-building considerably. Why wasn't Dashini the protagonist? She has agency, magical knowledge, and motives, despite being trapped in a bubble.

This brings me to my structural critique, which is what tipped the book down to two stars. I have never previously come across a fantasy novel with more than a HUNDRED pages of glossary and appendices. (The Silmarillion doesn't count as it is an entire book of appendices.) Not only is the information in the glossary required to make sense of preceding events, it also throws the entirety of the world-building into a totally different light. Mordew was formerly Paris?! There's a whole atheistic crusade going on? And a tontine of magicians? These are not incidental details, so why aren't they included in the main narrative! I simply do not understand why all the most interesting story elements were relegated to short glossary entries, while the main narrative followed a boring tweenager around. Moreover, the glossary has an unnecessarily superior tone that is rather annoying, while the subsequent appendix verges upon incomprehensible. The latter deals with the concept of the weft, which intrigued me until I read this type of thing:

Since we know that the weft is the state of all things possible that are and all things possible that might be, enacted in the material realm by Spark energy in the form of the will of the impossible organism that men call God, or the weftling, and we also know that the material realm is very much like an intermediate realm except in minor to very major particulars, and that the consciousness of the weftling operates in the network of the impossible through the Spark energy of light solidified (and that all of this is alike to 'magic' as it is called in the material realm, or alike to miracles), so can a person by manipulation of that part of the weft that is proper to them - their thoughts, for instance, as they exist in the immaterial realm and the movement as an object in the material realm (which is the body) - then they can transfer their consciousness, if they know how to do it, using Spark energy...

That sentence continues for a further eight lines, which I cannot quite bring myself to type out. It is truly baffling to me why a really promising fantastical idea would be executed in this way. Picking a single narrator who is young and ignorant, consigning vast amounts of crucial and fascinating world-building to an afterthought in the glossary, and only focusing attention on the plot as it relates to the dull narrator all undermined my enjoyment of 'Mordew'. A real pity.

This book is definitely up there as one of my favourites of the year .. actually ever!

Mordew is just the most wonderfully crafted gothic feeling adult fantasy.
Even though it is very much an ADULT read, it was also full of the imaginative fun & quirkiness you often find in a middle grade read which made for such a brilliant combo! .. It kinda gave me all the Tim Burton/Henry Selick/Neil Gaiman (Night before Christmas, Coraline, Corpse bride, Frankenweenie, Beetlejuice etc) vibes!!
It was dark, gritty, twisted & grotesque .. & totally weird … it won’t be for everyone that’s for sure but it was definitely a bit of me … Halloween baby after all!
Once I started I could not stop, I absolutely bloody loved it.

I will be forever grateful to lovely lady working in @watsalisbury who recommended this book to me. I hadn’t even heard of it beforehand.
I did originally buy it in paperback but 3 chapters in I knew it was going to be one I NEEDED in hardback so I immediately got it ordered

4.25 stars.

Thank you to Tor Publishing for allowing me the opportunity of reviewing this book.

“To be God, Nathan, is to be the Devil. Better to die than to be God.”

Reading, and reviewing, this book has been nothing short of an experience and I find myself at the end of it still being conflicted as to the best way to approach it. Overall, my emotions over this book are complicated and warring at best and muddled at worst, so I will endeavor to make my points as clean and clear as I possibly can.

Mordew, in general, is a very curious book that from the first moment gives you a profound sense of mystery and solemnity that is very appropriate for this city filled with magic and the raw understanding of the hardships that living at the bottom of the social hierarchy entails. It's quite visceral and brutal and fascinating through and through.

The fact that our protagonist is Nathan Treeves, a twelve-year-old is a great entry point to the arduous work of discovering the many secrets scattered around the city.

Seeing as how my own feelings towards this book are a complicated mess I decided that breaking it up would be the most serviceable way to truly get into all of it.

“These shelves contain the wisdom of the ages, which the Master has curated and archived, which, if only we could contain it all, would allow us to know those things that have been known by the greatest thinkers of the past. Imagine. If we could only let their words pass into us, to understand and hold them, would not we, then, be as great as they were?”

By nature, Mordew is a very magical and wondrous place, a dark sort of wondrous but wondrous nonetheless. This really comes across on the rich details that we are granted.

Everything, really, about the way that the world around Mordew is constructed is nothing short of well-cared-for and intricate. Mind-bending, too, in many aspects as the central idea of the book is established around the power of creation and the many bizarre and mutilated products this can generate. All the bits and pieces that amplified and connected Mordew with the rest of its world were nothing short of fascinating and deeply intriguing.

The way the world was constructed made it feel complex and massive in a very reassuring way.

Most of the time I just wanted to see what more was possible to be done and what else was there to discover.

“Self-sacrifice id noble, we are told, but when it is unnecessary? When that sacrifice has effects on those around one? Then it is something else. There is a seduction in pain, as well as in pleasure, and if there is no need to suffer, can we not say that those who choose to do so, those who choose to make others suffer with them, have they not made a mistake? Or perhaps they do not have the perspicacity that would allow them to see other ways?”

Now, strong characters make for a more interesting and engaging story all around and a good factor of a strong character is how well we get to know them and explore them; I believe that Pheby wrote a plethora of strong characters and presented them to us in a nicely executed subtlety that was most pleasant.

Motivation, intent, and personal feelings are all factors that need to be explored in order to reasonably understand any character. If I cannot understand why someone is acting the way they are then how can I relate to them?

There are many ways to go around doing this, of course. Pheby chose a very understated and organic manner that enriches the complexity and the dynamics established. It may not be as easy as simply stating why everyone is doing what they are doing, though it certainly is a resource that is used but actually showing it letting actions speak louder than any words.

It made them feel all the more real.

That being said, I would have appreciated some characters to get more light shed over them.

“His vengeance would be acted out on the blameless, never on the prime mover, never to any effect, only loss.”

“Where there is power, Nathan, there is conflict. such a thing is a tautology, for what is power, after all, but the power to overcome that which stands in one’s way?”

A strong beginning for a story, though not always necessary on, say, films, is a necessity on books, after all, they are the ones that will propel us to dive into a new world with excitement. It is also the one that will set the tone for the unfolding narrative.

Sadly the one we can find in this particular story is floundering and inconsistent making it hard to get swept off your feet right away.

The proposed idea, this magical city and the Master that rules it, are introduced and glimpse early enough in the story that I was sure we were gonna have one kind of story, reinforced by the synopsis of the book, only for the plot to veer so hard to the left that it left me confused and lost for the next big chunk of the book.

Plot twists are fun and something I generally look forward to in a story, but when they affect so much the whole tone of the story it makes them harder to digest.

It felt like I was reading one book through that first 10% of the book only to be reading a completely different one for the next 50 or 60 percent and return to the original idea at the end of it all. It was interesting, to a degree, but I would have certainly appreciated a gentler easing into these wildly different plot points.

Of course, once you have gone through the squigglier bits of it all and things start to connect it becomes a lot more fun. Because, yes, the plot is solidly built and it all makes perfect sense and adds up at the end but that does not subtract from the necessity of it all to not feel like three different books.

“… since isn’t feeling nothing close to being dead? Isn’t feeling less more deathly than feeling even unpleasant things? And since death is worse than life, then numbness is worse than sensitivity, regardless what of.”

Certainly my least favorite part of this book.

This one links heavily with the plot and the prose and can be helped by a very intriguing one of the former and an engaging and enveloping of the latter. Neither of which added much in this particular instance.

It was really hard to get through most of the book because the pacing was just so incredibly slow, even in the parts where some important information was being given I found that I couldn't quite enjoy them because the pacing ruined them.

Details are, of course, important and vital in order to submerge the reader into the story help create a solid mental image of what's going on. There are no visuals to aid, after all. Too much detail, however, is distracting and makes a story drag quite heavily.

Mordew had entirely too many details.

Taking paragraphs upon paragraphs to describe a new setting, and sometimes even a room we had already explored or expending too much time to set an especific exposition by making it sound rather clever and articulate and scholarly, well, it made me want to skip them.

While I would not make the argument that there were unnecessary scenes, though there may certainly have been a select few - because the immense majority of the scenes we get drive the plot further and become relevant in due time - I would argue that they could have been sped up and we would have not lost any important meaning.

After all, when talking about pacing, it is the small details that make all the difference.

The addition of too many details seems to be, however, quite on the spirit of this specific model of High Fantasy; reminiscent of authors such as J. R. R. Tolkien or George R. R. Martin, both of whom have the same archetype though handled with different degrees of success.

Unfortunately, the rhythm in which this story was told made this 600 pages-long book about double that and then some.

“You can tell a lot from tears. There’s magic in the tears of a young boy, as you’ve heard.”

The way Pheby describes everything is nothing short of mesmerizing. Really articulate and elegant using a more selective vocabulary, and though it's fitting and it enhances the gorgeousness and rawness of each scene it has the side effect of making the whole thing heavy to read and pulling you from the all surrounding ambiance of the story.

It was just this unconsciously slowing feeling that was a bit off-putting.

Even though it did make me have a harder time getting lost in the story I do have to give credit where credit is due, because it had some quotes that with the very specific wording given to them became whimsical and gorgeous even though the general tone of the idea was anything but. It really surprised me in that regard.

Not only that but the philosophical and near-clinical way in which we explore deep thoughts and ideas, such as the nature of power, is so clearly complex and yet so accessible and comprehensible that they quickly became some of the parts I looked forward to the most.

“Can a prisoner be lovely? Can the tortured be? These creatures speak endlessly of their misery. If you only knew their language.”

Overall, I did enjoy the book, the story in itself has me, still now, curious as to its development and the characters cemented themselves quite firmly in my brain but, well, all the particular elements have made my total experience a bit more complicated than I would have wished.

It is a world that has a lot to give; that is without doubt and so expansive that it can be already felt, even throughout this first book. That is enhanced by the ending, which was such a twisted cliff-hanger that it took me a good deal of time to process.

Pheby is without a doubt a talented writer who created a beautiful world, in all its twistiness, and I'm sure that any continuation is going to be fantastic.

“But even good boys do wrong, now and again, don’t they? Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference between good and bad, anyway, between right and wrong.”

This book has me really conflicted regarding the emotions I feel towards it.

I mean, I liked the story but it was excruciating to get through it.

One thing I have clear, so far, and that is that I'll need a second to decide how I ended up feeling towards the whole book.

At least the ending part was really interesting.

RTC.
_____________

My God, that first line in the synopsis has me hooked! The whole premise is just so intense that I cannot wait to see where this book takes me.

It looks really good and it's one of the few non-manga things I actually really want to read and has managed to call my attention.

As for expectations, well, I don't think I really have any seeing as I don't even really know what the book is supposed to be about. It looks dark-ish and epic and like a gigantic world is about to spill on my lap but that is all very vague... which just makes me more excited.

This is a tough one.

Nathan Treeves is twelve-years-old and lives in the slums of the city of Mordew. Mordew is ruled by the Master, a God-like man with awesome magical power living atop the city. However, Nathan lives with his father, dying and infected with lungworms, and his mother, selling her body to men, in the weft-infected slums. Where the Living Mud rots, writhes, and produces strange monstrosities and curiosities. Nathan makes a living going on heists with other street children, but a chance encounter will lead him to something greater. Or worse.

Oh, also God's corpse is buried beneath the city of Mordew. But only the back blurb of of the book tells you that. It's not even revealed or touched upon until near the end of the book. In fact, God isn't mentioned that much despite how obsessed the Master is with having that God-like power.

It's really hard to process my thoughts on Mordew for there are things that I liked about it, but also things that really needed to be ironed out and frustrated me. I'll mention both as a I go along. For one, Alex Pheby's prose is nicely done. It's that British fairy-tale-like prose mixed with the secretly know-it-all-ness of Angela Carter, the whimsicalness of Charles Dickens, with the slight weirdness of H. P. Lovecraft, and a little of the unreliable narration of Gene Wolfe. Pheby's prose fits the theme, tone, and setting of the story. You can feel the near-constant wetness of Mordew and the sludge of its Living Mud and the chill that surrounds the city. The descriptions of certain characters' appearances are detailed and give us a proper picture of their weirdness and, well, character. Now, there is a bit of unreliable narrator going on here and although I used Wolfe as comparison, I wouldn't say that Pheby is quite to that level. Mordew is not that dense in its writing, but, as Pheby himself informs us with his author's note in the beginning, Nathan doesn't know everything that's going on and that provides both an interesting perspective and some problems.

Nathan's situation is interesting along with the rest of his journey, but he himself is only marginally interesting. He's not a bad character or person, but Pheby does a disservice to his own main character. Nathan does not always question what he witnesses and does and part of that can be explained that he just does not understand his new found powers and is just doing things in the moment. However, sometimes he just has no thoughts or emotions whatsoever. He's blank.
This is Mordew's biggest problem. We get very little if any interior thoughts from Nathan. Hell, he doesn't even speak that much beyond the first part of the story. This, additionally, is what makes the unreliable narrator part of the writing a bit difficult. How much of it is Nathan just going along with things and how much of it is Pheby's forgetting to flesh Nathan out and provide him some consciousness?

Another brief note about the unreliable narration: Pheby provides a glossary at the back of the book for certain terms and entities that appear in the book. He states that one can refer to it if they are confused, but he suggests going in blind. I only referred to it once or twice because the text truly doesn't explain much in terms of world-building or magic system (for the lack of a better word, for I don't think "magic system" can quite define what Pheby does here), but I was able to figure the rest out on inference.

Nathan's lack of interiority also makes the book's already slow pace a bit of a chore to get through. Having a slow pace is not a writing crime or sin, many slow-paced books can be good; however, most of that progression is just watching Nathan watching and listening to other people. So, does that mean that progression and its end goal are without merit or meaning?
Actually, no. Quite a lot of interesting things happen along the way!

Mordew's saving grace is its weird world and plethora of other weird and unique characters. This world is populated by more than just Nathan. We've Gam Halliday, one of the slum boys who takes Nathan under his wing with his own secrets and slyness. When you read him the voice of a co*ckney orphan from Victorian England with fill your ears. There's Prissy, a girl Nathan falls for who is tough as nails, but sweet, fighting to get her sister and herself out of prostitution. There's Bellows, the Master's chief servant who, albeit devoted to the Master, does have a more sensitive side and tries to teach Nathan and befriend him. Padge is a scummy criminal, but he just leaps off the page. And then there was Joes, a non-binary character who was a pair of twins fused in the womb by the Living Mud WHO I AM VERY UPSET ABOUT!
Personally, my two favorite characters were the dogs. Yes, the dogs! Anaximander, whose government/pet name is Bones, who can talk and is actually quite intelligent. The things he says, often dryly, are just damn funny. One section of the book follows his perspective. The other dog is Sirius; government/pet name, Snap. Sirius begins as a vicious guard dog, who conveys to Anaximander who, for him, politely asks Nathan and Prissy if Sirius can eat their faces. But then he becomes the BEST OF GOOD BOYS!

Anyway, interesting developments are made on the way after Nathan is taken under the Master's wing. Mysteries as to the whereabouts of God--we already know this from the blurb and, once again, God's not mentioned much--who the Master is and what is his exact struggle with the Mistress of Malarkoi are genuinely interesting. But once again, it's impact is weakened by a lack of interiority from Nathan. I hate repeating this because Nathan interests me as a character, but there's just so little from him. The final arc of the story brings some interesting revelations that kept me interested. Also, the ending is very weird and made me go "Oh damn!"

So, this is just such a tough book to rate. I will be reading Malarkoi once it gets published in the US (this October I believe), but I hope Pheby improves on some things.

I would actually suggest instead of reading this review you read my much better written review of the outstanding, intellectually stimulating “Lucia” – joint winner (with the equally brilliant “Murmur”) of the 2019 Republic of Consciousness Prize

https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...

When I heard Alex Pheby author of “Lucia” was writing a fantasy novel – I had originally anticipated a cutting edge dystopian novel – perhaps a world where cancel culture is reversed and artists embed NFTs in their work that prevent those with political opinions they disapprove of from being able to consume their work.

Instead this is, at least to me, was rather disappointing – a rather standard young adult style fantasy novel – which I felt drew far too heavily on Harry Potter (I recognise that may simply be both books drawing on an older tradition – but it came across to me as very derivative)

And it has all of the drawbacks of that genre. A TLS review that Neil drew my attention to sums this up well “And Pheby is by no means immune to the clichés and pitfalls of the genre. These include (but are not limited to) a surfeit of exposition, a disorientating Sargasso Sea of characters, a general sense of second-handness or pastiche, a dalliance with kitsch, an over-reliance on Capital Letters as a slightly lazy way to ramp up the significance of a thing, and an enervating lack of jeopardy, given that everything’s ultimately just about who’s better at magic – given, moreover, that this whole world, as rough as it may be for some of the characters who people it, has been created with its author’s convenience a little too much in mind.”

I was also I have to say not convinced at the world building (or should that be World Building) – perhaps here I am judging against way too high a benchmark (and I also acknowledge that books which are filmed have an unfair advantage in world building), but the only fantasy novels I have ever enjoyed – Lord of The Rings (although I preferred the films), Harry Potter (ambivalent between film and book) and particularly A Song of Ice and Fire (where the TV series was great until it overtook the books and then was not so much) – had worlds which seemed, for all their fantastical nature, fully realised and existing outside of the immediate context of the book.

To use another analogy my children had a Nintendo Switch for Christmas and I shortly intend to buy WRC9 when released (as pre children I loved playing the early WRC games on my PS2 – between watching rallies in the flesh). Reviews of that are mixed – its clear the PS5 version is better – and the Switch one suffers from “texture pop in” – where countryside is being clearly drawn as your rally car passes it. Here despite the 100 page glossary (which was a fascinating concept) I felt the world was being written at the same pace at the book – in other words that there was too much texture pop in.

I would actually suggest instead of reading this you read the outstanding, intellectually stimulating “Lucia”

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/4...

Mordew was a rather interesting novel. it is the first book in a trilogy.

God is dead. His corpse lies under Mordew and is fed upon by the Master of Mordew. This gives him special powers. But sometimes, God's corpse has some of its power leech out into the world. One of the individuals that seem to have this power (called the Spark) is Nathan Treeves. But Nathan is from the slums and the son of poor parents.

However, there is a connection between Nathan and the Master. As Nathan comes to him for training, we learn more about Nathan's background, as well as some world-building. It seems the Master is at war with the Mistress of Malarkoi and Nathan is a key part of his plans.

As the story develops, we find out more about Nathan. The world of Mordew is a strange one. The book has the feel of a child's story, but most certainly is not one. There is a scene where Nathan finds a woman's corpse floating in the sewer with a rat nest in the groin. It is dark imagery such as this that makes this an adult fairy tale. The book also has a large appendix that explains many of the terms used in the book.

A very different story. One I enjoyed, though parts of it were a bit confusing. I shall be interested in this series as more volumes come out. A very different story. If you are looking for an interesting adult fairy tale-then this one is for you.

Early Teens Fantasy

Alex Pheby's Mordew is a good example of how the smoke and mirrors of publishing in the UK can create something from very little. It is an extremely well made book with wonderful cover art as well as elegant packaging as well as bookmarks and lungworms. All very impressive and is a great example of a book that will look great on the shelf as well as a gift.

The problem is that the several clearly paid for reviews on this site are masking a fundamentally average and at times terribly slow and boring read - Mordew is teen fantasy and the humour and relationships suggest I am spot on. It is all very well getting the marketing right but in reality it is like putting make up on the UK's fattest pig - it is still a over weight pig. The Dramatis Personae is one of the most useless additions I have seen in a fantasy book for years if not ever. Often I needed to flip back and see just how little relevance some of the entries were. It is unbelievable pointless and showoffy and to be honest a bit arrogant with the 'unfamiliar things' entry.

It's biggest issue is the slow pace and lack of enough recognisable action. I literally have had enough of hearing about Nathan's father and his lungworm as if its the first time we have heard about it. Later on Bellows is used as another vehicle to tediously discuss the lungworm in the most drawn out manner that it still sticks in my mind - it is not that exciting to constantly mention it alongside the mud, the rats (rats here, rats there, rats everywhere), the tedious light weight suggestions of abuse and gentleman callers.

What this needed to be was a grim sensory assault on the readers decency. An attempted honey trap doesn't get any more saucy than a slight off the shoulder blouse for Prissy and all in all it's a bit young reader much to its detriment.

Gormenghast is mentioned in the reviews but that is miles off. This is a meek blend of high fantasy with the gang element of The Lies of Locke Lamora and Sanderson's Mistborn thrown in a half hearted teenie sort of way with an Abercrombie's Half a War twist.

All the dialogue bar Chapter 12, which feels like it was written by a different person, is explanatory and clunky and seems to treat the reader like they are slow readers where as chapter 12 has a noticeable zip and sparkle that is amiss from much of the rest of the book. A clear 4 stars as a first novel but since Alex Pheby is no stranger to writing this is a workable book that is absolutely just a tell not show exercise, 200 pages over weight and sinking slightly into the living mud under the weight of how pleased it is with itself. Nathan wouldn't have even have bothered to pick this out of the mud to sell.

I can't see this appealing to many people by the end and I am simply amazed that we are looking at as high a rating as it is and that is certainly going to fall as people clock onto that what they have is an attractive looking book filled with padding. Paid reviewing in the lit world is getting as stupid as movies reviews on IMDB.

The concept of the 'spark'/magic system is inconsistent. Details like the glass road work well but the living mud is under appreciated and only here and there depending on whether it was needed it or not.

An optimistic 2 stars for this one but stacks of potential for later books.

I think this is a love-it or hate-it sort of book and I fall in the middle. It's a very ambitious fantasy with inventive world-building but it took days for me to finish it (which is a lot for me) and I just couldn't get into it. Then again, I sort of felt the same about Lord of the Rings and people f*cking LOVE LOtR so maybe take my review with a grain of salt.

DNF.

I honestly don't know how this got published.
Masturbatory and pointless. The author got too caught up in his supposed clever world building to actually write a good book.

It's not really a story, or at least not a decent one. Extremely bloated, unfocused and dull.
Much like the main character...

I kept reading, hoping for something to redeem the book for me, but after seventy or so chapters of stuff happening to this dumb, ignorant dullard, I just gave up.

If you're someone who likes fantasy, skip this one.
If you're someone who hasn't read a lot of fantasy before, there are too many wonderfully written books in the genre for you to waste your time on this one.

3.5 of 5 stars at The BiblioSanctum https://bibliosanctum.com/2021/10/03/...

Oppressively dark and deliciously Gothic, with shades of Oliver Twist or maybe The Lies of Locke Lamora, Alex Pheby’s Mordew is the opener to a new epic fantasy trilogy called Cities of the Weft. In it, we follow protagonist Nathan Treeves, a 13-year-old boy living in desperate poverty in the slums of the titular city. His father is very ill, suffering from the late stages of a parasitic infection called lungworm, which is as terrible and disgusting as it sounds. His mother has resorted to selling her body just to pay for his care and for food, but it is still not enough. As a last resort, Nathan is sent to the Master of Mordew, their mysterious ruler from afar said to derive his magical powers from feeding on the corpse of a God, upon which the city is built. Children are periodically sold to him as “workers”, though not all are accepted. Nathan, having special magical abilities, is thought to be a shoo-in, but for whatever reason, the Master declines to take him.

Driven to find some other way to pay for his father’s life-saving medicine, Nathan turns to stealing, falling in with a group of street urchins to form their own little gang. Soon though, he realizes there are other more powerful, hidden forces pulling the strings behind the scenes, and now he must make a difficult choice. His whole life, Nathan has been told to keep his “spark” hidden, but when all the world’s cards are stacked against you, sometimes you just have to work with what you have.

On its surface, Mordew is the epitome of a literary fantasy novel, featuring complex and convincing characters who develop in multilayered yet natural ways. The themes of the story appear equally heavy and intricate, ostensibly carrying within them a deeper meaning or message. The norms of the fantasy genre are also followed, but not always in the ways we expect, and while there are certainly plenty of familiar tropes, there are many instances where the “rules” or patterns are broken as well.

Magic also plays a prominent role in the novel, but it’s relatively less important compared to Nathan’s journey. Our protagonist is an outcast of society, downtrodden and destitute, but through pluck and sheer determination manages to make something of himself and achieve his goals. But this general description of his story arc doesn’t really do it justice either. The trajectory of his life is intersected by so many people, events, experiences that it would be impossible to cover them all in one review.

That said, all the elements that make Mordew feel so lush and rich are also those that weigh it down at times. The plot suffers from slow pacing, particularly at the beginning as you’re trying to gather your bearings and orient yourself to these strange new surroundings. The prose comes across as very dense and bloated as a result, due to the vast amounts of information to take in and process early on (not to mention, the fact that the glossary adds about 100 more pages to the end of the book should probably tell you something).

To be fair though, world-building is absolutely phenomenal. The setting is vaguely Dickensian, characterized by Victorian era vibes as well as class disparities and the differences in living and working conditions. However, Pheby’s world is definitely more gruesome and visceral. For instance, the slums of Mordew are covered in a magical sludge called Living Mud, and in the opening pages, our young protagonist fishes from the banks something called a “limb baby”, or a mass of writhing arm-like appendages somehow manifested with his “spark”. The corpse-ridden streets and canals are a literal breeding ground for rats that feed on the rot. And of course, the less said about the symptoms of lungworm the better. Still, amidst the grotesque and the despair, there are also moments of levity in the form of playful banter between Nathan and his crew while they are attempting to pull off their daring capers, and even some talking dogs.

Ultimately, I enjoyed Mordew despite its excess. Admittedly, it’s quite rare to get a dark fantasy novel that places such an emphasis on world-building, but as much I appreciate what the author wanted to accomplish, it’s clear that he would sometimes get carried away with it. This ended up hurting the story, though thankfully, the effects are not too severe. I confess I’m still curious about the next book and where Nathan’s future will go from here, and the sequel’s definitely going on my watchlist.

Mordew is a dark fantasy novel that tells the complicated tale of Nathan Treeves, a slum boy with mysterious powers who apprentices to the Master of Mordew, the magical land built on the corpse of God.

This is the major selling point highlighted in the blurb: the corpse of God.

First off, Mordew is entirely fictional; it's hinted at that this is a post-apocalyptic future. With an enticing premise and some strong initial writing, the introductory passages in the novel are alluring, a treat. The world-building is tasteful, even though the characters do not seem as interesting or fleshed out at first.

But then Alex Pheby clearly loses control of his narrative. There are parts which are exquisitely detailed, but other sections of the novel flash by and leave no imprint on the reader whatsoever. Consider, for example, that an entire long chapter called 'Interlude' is dedicated to the thoughts of Anaximander, the talking dog tasked with protecting Nathan, and juxtapose this with an intense scene containing the description of the corpse of God (which the blurb seems to focus on), which gets a mere cursory paragraph. If anything, the latter should have had multiple pages dedicated to it. No, we just get the paragraph involving a strange ladder that takes our protagonist to the dead deity.

This is even more frustrating when upon finishing the 512-paged novel, we are met with another hundred pages of glossary, which seems entirely unfair to the reader (especially when the intro suggests you shouldn't read this before dipping into the novel) - this is frustrating because the glossary contains entries (such as the Ankuretic and The Atheistic Crusade), which should have been included in the narrative world-building of Mordew, but unfortunately were not.

Mordew's narrative also becomes confusing when Pheby decides not to be too liberal with important plot points, such as when they involve Nathan's mother, which we learn in page 400-or-so is actually named Clarissa Delacroix and is not originally a slum-dweller.

The magic and fantasy elements in the novel contain a mixture of snooze-fest, run-of-the-mill tropes such as spells, magic books, ghosts and so on but also a smorgasbord of interesting ideas, such as the corpse of God, which sadly aren't as fleshed out in the novel. This turns out to be the case for the characters as well. After 512 pages, we still don't know what to think about Prissy, Gam, Dashini, Nathan's mother (a very obscure character), or Nathan himself.

Not to mention that some things just don't make much sense either, and despite the impressive size of the glossary, some things just need a strong narrative and a controlled pen to draw out, something Alex Pheby lost way too early in the novel.

This is a shame because the world and how it works and the power dynamics in the novel were bursting with potential in the first 200 pages. When Nathan befriends Gam and joins his gang, the plot is propelled forward and it's exciting to read through, but the novel reaches a certain momentum and never goes past that point in the last 300 pages. Scenes whiz by (another frustrating scene involves the Mistress of Malarkoi, who dies immediately after a few paragraphs), magic seems to come out of nowhere and it's overpowered and changes everything in the world Alex Pheby built but isn't detailed enough to earn that power in the eyes of the reader and ultimately isn't detailed enough to make it interesting.

As things stand, I find it hard to justify buying the next two books in this planned trilogy. I don't quite care about the characters or the world enough even though the writing was, at times, beautiful.

When Tor Books approached me and offered their new release Mordew for review I instantly agreed because of the blurb.

Nathan Treeves is a young boy eking out a meagre existence in the slums of a sea-battered city called Mordew, by picking treasures from Living Mud and the half-formed, short-lived creatures it spawns. Until the day he is sold by a desperate mother to a Master. The Master of Mordew, who derives his magical power from feeding on the corpse of God, that has been hidden in the catacombs beneath the city.
But Nathan has a power of his own. One great enough to destroy everything the Master has built, if only Nathan discovers how to use it.

'Nathan was a good boy … But even good boys do wrong, now and again, don’t they? Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference between good and bad, anyway, between right and wrong. His father needed medicine, and the Itch wanted to be used.'

The book was off to a solid start and had me instantly hooked with the predicament of a little scared boy. Especially since the world he was living in seemed so unique and delightfully creepy. Nathan had a special talent and was forbidden to use it. That got me intrigued, particularly because of the 'WHY?' behind it. And this is just the beginning.

What starts as a seemingly predictable zero-to-hero tale, rapidly turns into an unusual and fascinating dark tale of extremes.
The city and magic powers, the living mud and the creatures, each and every one of them is downright fascinating. Creepy and occasionally quite a bit disgusting, but nonetheless fascinating.
The plot and wordbuilding beautifully complement each other in the first quarter of the tale drawing the reader in and setting the stage for something more. The middle of the book however seems a bit drawn out. But then the pace kicks up again towards the end, practically turning into a whirlwind and ending with a blast. The cliffhanger type unfortunately.

Overall, the narrative is outstanding and incredibly descriptive. 'Terrifyingly alive' would be the perfect description for a good number of scenes in Mordew. They are simply exceptional through their strangeness and hair-raising creepiness.
And yet, we do stumble upon the occasional hitch here and there, when both prose and plot feel confusing and lacking.

Mordew - a city where God was murdered, and darkness reigns. Dark, vicious and brutal to the extreme. And the very same can be said for the tale itself.

This is one tale where every single thing is brought to the extreme. From violence and brutality to the darkness within human nature, everything is emphasized and taken to the max. And this is precisely why Mordew may not be everyone's cup of tea. Saying that it's dark and brutal may be the understatement of the year.
It is a testament of the author's talent the fact that certain scenes can downright get under a reader's skin.

‘It will corrupt you. It will pervert you. You will come to degrade those things you love. Without knowing it. And, in your ignorance, you will relish it. Do you understand, Nathan, my love? Do you?...'

The addictive lure of power and it's effects on any being, alongside a nicely blurred line between good and evil, right and wrong, are two of the main themes of this tale. Unfortunately however, they fell a little short for me. Partly because of the characters that seemed a tad too dark and strange. Despite being morally grey, each and every one of them in a different shade, one darker than the other, they lacked that little something which makes them relatable and I couldn't quite get myself to either care or root for any of them.

Speaking of strange, I really need to mention yet another peculiar particularity of this book. The fact that the blurb describes events that are NOT known to the characters themselves. And readers are warned of it right at the beginning.

'Be careful. Some entries contain information unknown to the protagonist.
There is a school of thought that says that the reader and the hero of a story should only ever know the same things about the world. Others say that transparency in all things is essential, and no understanding in a book should be hidden or obscure, even if it the protagonist doesn’t share it. Perhaps the ideal reader of Mordew is one who understands that they, like Nathan Treeves (its hero), are not possessed of all knowledge of all things at all times. They progress through life in a state of imperfect certainty and know that their curiosity will not always be satisfied immediately (if ever).
In any event, the glossary is available if you find yourself lost.'

If you decide to read Mordew, this is one thing you need to keep in mind. You as a reader will know, from the blurb, a lot of things the MC doesn't and you'll be able to follow how Nathan discovers them himself and, perhaps more importantly, how he reacts to those discoveries. Here the how is just as important as the why and the journey may reveal more than the goal.

All in all, Mordew is hands down one of the most unusual tales I have ever read. Strange, dark, and unsettling. I didn't really love it. In fact, I even disliked it at times. And yet, I found it fascinating.

Thank you to the publisher Tor Books for the gifted copy.

This review was conducted based on an uncorrected advance proof, provided by the publisher (who I am very grateful to!). It originally appeared on my blog, www.infinitespeculation.wordpress.com.

Before young hero Nathan's journey even begins, we find ourselves beguiled with promises of mysteries and wonders. We have a cast of characters, as well a list of some of the strange sights we will see as we turn the pages. The character descriptions have a wonderfully poetic, offbeat logic to them – one man was supposedly carved from a pat of rancid butter, with a personality as unpleasant as this implies, while another was apparently birthed from a forge after a horse evacuated its bowels into it. There are quirky origin stories like these behind many of the characters, displaying a huge breadth of imagination and attention to detail. Mordew feels like the perfect candidate for a full voice cast to bring such vividly drawn characters to life. But if the characters are well realised, the city itself is something else altogether.

Mordew is a place of power, and not just the magical kind. While the mysterious Master observes the city from a lofty position, Nathan is not so lucky. His story begins in the slums of Mordew, where the rain is constant and the mud ever-present. But not just any mud – this is the Living Mud, swept down from the Master’s Manse. It writhes with dead-life, and has the power to transform seemingly innocuous objects into burdensome children. At the deepest part of it, Nathan fishes for flukes, creatures spawned by its magical properties, hoping to catch some wretched creature to sell to the local tanner. But Nathan has an edge over the other children fishing in the mud – the Spark. With this magical gift, he hopes to catch enough flukes to be able to afford medicine for his father, who lies sick with lungworms in their shack, whilst Nathan’s mother entertains gentleman clients behind the curtain which divides their ramshackle home. Social inequality is rife in Mordew, with young thieves like Gam Halliday lending things a distinctly Dickensian air. Even when the scenery changes and we see how the other half live, we’re never far from a nightmarish reminder of those things that lurk just below the surface.

Speaking of which, it’s probably time we discussed God, whose corpse lies beneath Mordew, and is the source of the Master’s power. There is a wealth of explanation behind how these circ*mstances came about, some mentioned in the main story but much of it contained in the expansive glossary, which both elucidates and foreshadows. The detail here is nothing short of staggering, going well beyond the notion of “just” a magic system. It’s more like a kind of dark science derived from a combination of arcane and divine lore and philosophy, and it’s even more blasphemous than Pullman at his most Christian-baiting. Whilst the city might have warrens of sewers and tunnels beneath it for Nathan to scrabble through, the novel itself has some truly labyrinthine world-building underpinning it. It might seem like a fairly straightforward story at first, with its setup of the poor young protagonist coming into their power. But dig a little deeper and get further under its grimy skin, and you’ll realise just how far down its foundations go.

What really sets Mordew apart from so many other works, however, is the writing. World-building and the magic system (if it can be called that) are, as already stated, exemplary, but the prose in Mordew is so evocative that it borders on synesthetic. When Pheby writes rain, you can almost feel it pattering on your skin and drumming on your head. When it’s machinery, you’d swear you felt a rumble in the earth, perhaps heard the far-off squeak and clank of gears. There’s the magic he writes about, but then there’s the spell he weaves in the telling itself. This is literary, mature fantasy; it’s audacious and edgy, yet steeped in tradition, with a bleak and majestic beauty that’s all its own. For all the darkness and destitution of this miserable city, I didn’t want to leave it.

I will admit I am not a big reader of fantasy. In fact, probably the last time I read it was back in 2010 when I decided to read all seven Narnia books. Saying that I was VERY excited to read Mordew as I knew it would take me out of my comfort zone and explore a genre where my knowledge of it could fill a thimble and leave room for the thumb.

As I expected Mordew is complex and to describe everything that is going on could create spoilers and ruin one’s fun in discovering all the secrets the book reveals. Also due to intricate details, I could write long paragraphs focusing on every nuance of this world that Alex Pheby created but I don’t want to bore the reader either. In other words I going to simplfy the novel’s plot.

Nathan Treeves lives in the slums in the country of Mordew. His father is dying and he needs to earn money to buy medicines. Nathan also has the ability to spark, that is he can destroy things and give them life, something a lot of people envy. After a failed attempt to work for the master, who is the creator of Mordew, Nathan joins a gang of teen criminals. This does not work out either and the Master, with the help of his consultant, Bellows takes Nathan under his care and educates him.

As Nathan grows wiser, especially when the secrets of Mordew and his father are revealed to him, he is sent to kill the master’s enemy , the mistress of rival country Malarkoi. Nathan succeeds, but at a price as he discovers more secrets about his powers.

On the way back he finds out that the mistress’ daughter, Dashini, has been kept by the master as a prisoner. He meets up and he finds out that the master is not as innocent as he seems, which leads to an epic escape act and a journey into the very heart of Mordew. Obviously I won’t say the ending but be prepared for a stunning conclusion that is grandiose in every way possible,

Mordew is a novel of talking dogs, magic creatures and clever world building but it’s also rich in other ways. There’s definitely a Dickensian vibe going through the whole book, especially in the first part. The unbound creativity reminded of Terry Gilliam’s film Brazil and Jeff Vandemeer’s Borne. The whole idea of Mordew’s structure as a country has whiffs of Nietzschean philosophy and the glossary at the back, which delves into more detail about Mordew and it’s characters borrows aspects from Plato’s theory of forms. Not to mention that the book is also a coming of age novel of sorts.

Personally, to say I enjoyed this book is an understatement. I had a ton of fun reading Mordew. I was able to be transported into another world and I felt like I was a part of it. I loved discovering all the secrets which helped Nathan grow mentally. I liked all the characters, good or bad. I thought the creatures where brilliantly described. At points I was thrilled and my heart was thudding, at other points, especially the last part. I appreciated the fact that there was a glossary and a detailed addendum about Nathan’s spark. I was flabbergasted from the first page to the last. Furthermore this is the first part of a trilogy (or is it a hexology?) Anyway I’m definitely on board.

I had high hopes for this book. The marketing blurb sounded terrific - a city built over the dead body of God. The problem is that it's not very well written.

An enormous amount of work has gone into the world building. There is a glossary almost as long as a novel that describes the world in great detail. I found the world building fascinating and the world very convincing, so in this respect the book is excellent. The problem is that the story itself wanders around all over the place will little obvious direction and no shortage of inconsistencies. The language is extremely flowery in places, and I have to confess skipping paragraphs when it became obvious they were just an extended ramble to little end. There were times when I found myself wondering if this was a parody rather than a serious attempt at a novel, though I suspect not.

The book is stuffed with great ideas and I think with some ruthless editing it could have made a great story. But as it is I didn't enjoy it and I cannot recommend it.

Alex Pheby has created something incredible in Mordew. I don't read a lot of fantasy so I may be wrong but Mordew is truly unlike anything I've ever come across, it feels like a disservice to make the obvious comparisons to Gormenghast. It's so much more than that, the first of a trilogy Mordew follows the story of Nathan Treeves - a slum dwelling 13 year old living in the city of Mordew ruled over by the mysterious Master. I was fortunate enough to receive an advance proof so unillustrated but the descriptions within the book paint a spectacularly vivid picture that even now I close my eyes and I can almost see a blue light sparking behind my eyelids (Alex Pheby has a way with words like no other) I await my pre-ordered, beautifully illustrated copy eagerly on publication day.

This… is hard to rate correctly. And that never happens for me. If it weren’t for one scene of animal cruelty and the abrupt, unbalanced ending, this would be a 5/5 star read. The audio book was 5/5, 10/10, A+!

4.5⭐️ This might change as time goes on… that ONE scene really was unnecessary.