The Magicians: A Novel (Magicians Trilogy) (alkuperäinen julkaisuvuosi 2009; vuoden 2009 painos)

I first came across this in a list of "books for people who have finished Harry Potter" or something like that. There were three books: this, The Lost Estate (which I haven't read yet), and The Secret History by Donna Tartt, which became one of my all-time favorites. In a way, this book's inclusion on the list makes perfect sense, as it feels like the elevator pitch for this could have been "What if Richard from The Secret History went to Hogwarts instead of normal college?". Grossman pulls off an extraordinary feat here, both tenderly embracing and savagely dunking on CS Lewis and JK Rowling. The gradually-built-up magical world feels vibrant and lush, and all of the characters are sharply drawn. Really, really interested to see where this goes from here. ( )

This strikes me as a blend of Catcher in the Rye with Harry Potter. Morose characters who over think every thing that happens and won't be happy no matter what you do. Jarring final scene to set up a sequel which, I hear, is much better. ( )

Ik heb dit boek ergens in april 2010 eens gewonnen via een wedstrijd, waarbij het boek werd opgestuurd door de uitgeverij. Toen was er nog lang geen sprake van vervolgverhalen; 'De Magiërs' was dus als alleenstaand verhaal verkocht. Het heeft lang geduurd eer ik het boek wou lezen en dan nog was het niet het meest perfecte moment (lees: ik had mezelf verplicht om het die dag te lezen; nooit een goed teken) om ermee te beginnen.

Soit, ik had het meegenomen op/in de trein op weg naar het werk (enkele jaren geleden, precieze datum weet ik niet meer; de ingevulde is puur om statistische redenen), maar na enkele hoofdstukken vond ik het welletjes. Het boek lag snel terug op de stapel, maar ik was enigszins bereid het later een tweede kans te geven. Die tweede kans... heb ik weggegeven, samen met het boek (najaar 2016).

Was het de stijl? Niet direct. Eerder de personages (tieners) en omgeving (te hedendaags?) waar ik geen voeling mee had, waardoor ik me dus niet in het verhaal kon inleven. ( )

Dear The Magicians,

We enjoyed a blazing little romance when we first crossed paths. The reviews for your story contained in your front cover glowed almost as hot as the excitement that ran through my chest when I finished your first chapter. You offered so much to my heart, picking at wounds that I hadn't even realized existed until you arrived - when was the last time that I had read a magic series that truly engaged me? You even had the bravado to boast that you were the "adult" Harry Potter, a statement whose ridiculousness only dawned on me far too late. Simply put, the Magicians, you were intoxicating. I had never felt so bowled away.

Were we ever apart? You came with me to the dentist. The bathroom. My car. Other people's cars. Snow. Rain. I needed to know what would happen next. The magic contained within Brakebills was interesting and complex. Quentin was interesting and complex, and so were the rest of your characters. I found myself often putting you down just to relish in a particularly awesome scene, or to digest your beautiful prose. It was too much for me to handle at once - you were almost too perfect.

Maybe the honeymoon phase came to an end between us. Maybe it was because I made the (in hindsight, very wise) choice to read some non-spoiler Goodreads reviews, finding quickly that they were not nearly as wonderful as those in the cover. Maybe it was the most dangerous magic of all - you simply went downhill, losing steam. Something lifted the veil above my eyes, though, and suddenly, you looked very different to me.

Quentin went through the story in a daze. Nothing was ever enough for him. In the beginning, this was conducive to his personality and situation - how could a boy as smart as he, a magician waiting to be awakened, possibly be content in the "normal" world? This attitude persisted even in his admittance to magic school. Fine. Just because you get your wildest dreams fulfilled doesn't mean you'll automatically be happy. Fair point. Two hundred fifty pages in, and Quentin is still unhappy, but now, he's really acting on it - in vastly more unforgivable ways than just brooding. It's become less acceptable. But, as many people in failing relationships do, I decide to ignore this problem. Maybe it's just in my imagination. Maybe I'm just too stupid to see where the book is going with this. After all, it isn't going to let Quentin get away with his unforgivable actions. It's the adult Harry Potter! And even Harry Potter didn't let its heroes get away with doing crappy things without a scolding or lesson taking.

But no such thing ever happened. You did worse than letting Quentin stomp around like a little sex-addled Holden Caulfield, the Magicians. You made it seem like he was right - and even at the sacrifice of your likable female character. You even thought that I would villianize her actions because she was no longer sucking off your joyless protagonist.

I sat at the breakfast table with my mother over a stack of blueberry pancakes. You were at my right, alongside a reasonable tower of new literary purchases that she was now inquiring about. I gave a brief cursory overview of each, poking at my pancakes aimlessly.

"And what about that one with the tree on the cover?" she asked.

I don't know what came over me, but all of a sudden, a great flood of hatred came pouring out of my mouth. I told her everything. I told her how you fancied yourself an "adult" book because you contained sex, drugs, and drinking - subjects Harry Potter and Narnia never breached because they were for children. You didn't want to say that you were better than those books (who would?), but it suddenly became evident to me just how clearly you thought you were, all the same, as if the readers of those books had to "graduate" onto your's. I talked about how miserable your main character was. I talked about how the reviewers in your front cover were so full of hot air that it was a wonder they hadn't floated away. George R.R. Martin claiming that Harry Potter was never this "dark" drove me to sickness, as was his instance that it was a series for children. So many other reviewers fell into line, speaking only of how "adult" you were. As if it was your saving grace. As if you were making some deep statement by writing a fantasy novel where the characters fucked and also used magic.

Something broke within me when I told her all of that. There was no more pretending that there wasn't something inherently flawed about you. I just didn't want it to be true.

I started putting you down more and more, and not because of giddy excitement - I had to escape you. I kept looking for tiny pockets of hope that our main character would turn out alright in the end, that he would pull himself upwards and save this miserable shell of a book. What I got was a character whose convictions began to flip flop and chance the further the story got on, to the point where I wasn't even sure I was reading about the same character anymore. One minute, his adventures will change everything. The next, he's in a depressive state and hates magic. Then he's practicing to become the strongest magician. Then he leaves magic behind to rely on his own instincts. Sometimes, he's the most intelligent magician in the room. Others, he's suddenly useless, for no good reason that the text can muster. None of it made sense.

Your other characters did not escape unscathed either. The ones you wanted me to hate, I could only pity for being in such close contact with the miserable Quentin Coldwater. And all of them slowly became miserable themselves, too! And you tried to justify this with some paltry excuses - magicians, you argued, are all depressed. Maybe that makes sense within your lore, but guess what? It's a shit lore, and a bore to read. It was like you thought the "adultness" of your book would suddenly disappear like smoke if they weren't depressed, and when they weren't, it was because they were sleeping with one another or drinking.

I kept reading you only because I felt like I had devoted so much mental energy to you. It was a waste to leave you on my shelf. I pressed forward. Even when the prose began to turn dangerously broody. Even when Quentin complained like a child. Even when you introduced a female character's physical appearance by saying that she "looked like a lesbian".

Your dour attitude made all of your interesting twists and exciting moments flat. How am I supposed to enjoy the world you so beautifully crafted when the characters in it are so miserable, and reading about them saps every bit of enjoyment I otherwise felt? You can have your tense moments, book. That's absolutely fine. But your horrid main characters made every moment tense, making it hard to appreciate anything else you put forward. And what a shame, too, when you had so many good ideas!

I reached your end in silence in my bedroom. When I emerged, my mother had a look on her face like someone had just died.

"Did you finish it?" she asked. I could only nod.

Do you know what CS Lewis himself once said about the very children's books you kick sand in the face of, the Magicians? That if a children's book is only enjoyed by children, it's not a very good children's book. What you seem to have failed to grasp is that adults enjoyed those books. Do you know why? Because they were every bit as dark as you. They didn't need to include sex and drinking to be dark, putting it far above the maturity plane that you so claim to exist on. Your book only ends on a message of slight hope on its last line, drilling it into our heads line after line that there is no hope to be had, how stupid are you for thinking you could ever be happy, reader? You think that misery and adultery makes you adult. You have a lot of growing up to do.

Be happy with your three stars. You only got it because of your prose.

Sincerely,

The Book Sale Scrounger
( )

People have pinned this series as an adult Harry Potter but I thought it was more like a dark, adult version of Narnia... The world building was done very randomly and and it seems that the author really wants the characters to be "real people with real people's problems" (magic apart of course) and that's OK but it feels forced.

Over all I kind of liked the book and will read the second one, but it wasn't wat I expected at all.... ( )