The review that initially hooked my interest in this book called it a Harry Potter for adults, and I’ve since seen many others use the same description for it. I don’t find that apt, as the only real thing the two have in common is a hidden world of magic-users tucked away within the modern one, with much of the story set in a school. Beyond that surface (and not uncommon) similarity, though, this is an entirely different tale. The school is a college, for one, set in the U.S., with a perfectly well-cared for protagonist from a good background with two parents and an entirely different launching point, and Grossman has developed a magic, mythology, and world all his own, going quite a different direction than Rowling did with Harry Potter. Also, I find Rowling has a lighthearted touch for telling a tale that captures the magic, fun, and wonder in it, while Grossman feels significantly weightier, as though he wants his writing to manifest the pensive ennui of the late teen years and early adulthood. He uses a dense, loquacious—though articulate—verbosity, describing the physical, abstract, and emotional at great length and in exacting detail, never substituting a general or simple word when the thesaurus provides a more precise and evocative one (or two or three; ex:
they were their usual blithe, oblivious, glassine selves.)—regardless of its rarity—to delineate the described’s particulars, to the extent that it seemed the audiobook’s reader often had to pause to catch his breath midsentence in order to finish a given thought and I had to work to hold onto the thread of the actual narrative while the scene—or one of the frequent asides—was ever more precisely set, expounded upon, or delved into (that is my feeling based purely on an audio experience; perhaps it reads better than it speaks). And—as with this review—I felt I had to wait for the good stuff, give the book some time for its appeal to build, instead of being immediately drawn into it.
More to the point, if he borrowed the
magical boarding school concept from Harry Potter, Grossman has created an entirely new Narnia and I see a much stronger comparison to Lewis's books than Rowlings's. To say more would be to head into spoiler territory, but Grossman's story hinges on the very British 1930s children's
books about
Fillory. Like most of his peers, Quentin read them as a child and has always longed for that kind of magical adventure, always hoped he might be lucky enough to stumble upon the right cabinet that--just like the ones in Narnia and Fillory--will transport him to another world where he might end up as king and leave all of his real world disappointments behind. So imagine his astonishment when, one random day during his senior year of high school, he finds himself transported to a magical college and offered the chance at a rigorous entrance exam. Magic is actually real and he is finally going to live his Fillory-inspired dreams.
But, again, this is an adult version of those dreams. These are not unjaded children able to embrace the wonder of magic and adventure because they have not yet been beaten into submission by life, these are adults who find no pleasure in existence because they never experienced the magic promised by their childhood dreams yet who cling desperately to them, refusing to fully mature and face reality in a most un-Peter Pan-like way. Quentin realizes before long that learning magic is more grueling, rote, and, at times, humdrum than the most intense Ivy League studies and doesn't really hold any more promise of adventure than life without magic. So he gets everything he's always wanted, but he still has to figure out how to find meaning in life for himself not automatically granted by things like advanced learning, adventure, power, relationships, magic, sex, drugs, and Fillory.
So I found myself often exasperated with Quentin, but that’s kind of the point. While being a very real, multi-dimensional (no magical pun intended) character, at his essence he represents that shallow, self-obsessed part of ourselves that refuses to find the magic in the mundane all around us. The periodically episodic storytelling mirrors Quentin’s outlook and experience of the world, sometimes feeling like it lacks energy, drive, and joy, but it all serves a purpose.
Having now expanded upon some of the frustrations I experienced reading this book, let me go back to the 4 stars at the top (well, in
Goodreads). This is a very good book and I’m glad I read it. The further I went, the more wrapped up I became and the less I wanted to spend time away from it. Sometimes it felt like work, but it was worth getting to the resolution. Perhaps most importantly, I now want to check out all of the supplemental websites (linked above) for their added depth, then go back and read it again. At times I wonder if my nearly exclusive reading of children’s and young adult literature has spoiled me for more grown up fare, but once I allowed myself to make the transition I had a good time. If you’ve ever been enchanted by the promise of Narnia, Hogwarts, Middle-Earth, Dungeons & Dragons (Grossman works in fun references to all of these and more), or any other magical adventure, I strongly recommend you give this one a try.
Like most people Quentin read the Fillory books in grade school. Unlike most people . . . he never got over them. They were where he went when he couldn’t deal with the real world, which was a lot. . . . It was almost like the Fillory books . . . were about reading itself. When the oldest Chatwin, melancholy Martin, opens the cabinet . . . it’s like he’s opening the covers of a book, but a book that did what books always promised to do and never actually quite did: get you out, really out, of where you were and into somewhere better.
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"I think you’re magicians because you’re unhappy. A magician is strong because he feels pain. He feels the difference between what the world is and what he would make of it. Or what did you think that stuff in your chest was? A magician is strong because he hurts more than others. His wound is his strength.
"Most people carry that pain around inside them their whole lives, until they kill the pain by other means, or until it kills them. But you, my friends, you found another way: a way to use the pain. To burn it as fuel for light and warmth. You have learned to break the world that has tried to break you."
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In a way fighting like this was just like using magic. You said the words, and they altered the universe. By merely speaking you could create damage and pain, cause tears to fall, drive people away, make yourself feel better, make your life worse.
