Slick, brutal, pointless, painful - all set in the dank North. This is war fiction done right.
It is really battle fiction, a three day slog in the mud. Little fantasy, little overarching story even though some top tier players appear.
The battle itself is phenomenal. So many viewpoints from top to bottom of the hierarchy, and especially on day three where the POV bounces around in real-time within the fight. It's relentless. Abercrombie nails the chaos and the grinding futility of it all.
The introduction of "death tubes" (cannons) is shocking, what an expereince it must have been for the real men who first faced them. And scattered throughout are darkly funny moments a "cheese trap" for a sandwich, something that "tastes like progress." Wirrun taking it like a man and muttering "I'd have worn more armour" had me laughing at a bleak moment. The sword and its lore - and how little he cares about it by the end, "just bury it" – says everything about what this book is doing. It is a little on the nose, the word Heroes must come up a lot. But I was here for it.
Calder is a standout. Quiet fury, properly smart - a political animal through and through. Finree's story is excellent too, with one particularly visceral kill and cool political maneuvering. And then there's the fifteen-year-old Red Beck... what a gut-punch of a storyline about the emptiness of chasing a name. Horrible. Gets worse. Before a little respite at the end.
"The songs might be full of heroes, but the only ones here were stones."
This reminded me of parts of Life and Fate by Vasily Grossman. High praise. Despite the limited scope, the best of the First Law series for me, and the best thing I've read so far this year.
"War as a disagreement over prices." Quite.