Reviews with content warning for Religious bigotry - The Wolf and the Woodsman

I was in the mood for something a bit magical and escapist, but not quite ready to start/pick back up in a longer series. This standalone novel has been sitting on my TBR shelf at home for awhile, so I decided to give it a go.

Évike is the only woman without power in her pagan village (the villagers blame her corrupted bloodline—her father was a Yehuli man, one of the much-loathed servants of the fanatical king), making her an outcast in the small community. When soldiers from the Holy Order of Woodsmen arrive, to claim a pagan girl for the king’s blood sacrifice, Évike is betrayed by her fellow villagers and surrendered. But the route to the city is deadly, and eventually only Évike and the cold, one-eyed captain are left alive. Except he’s no ordinary Woodsman - he’s the disgraced prince, Gáspár Bárány, whose father needs pagan magic to consolidate his power. Gáspár fears that his cruelly zealous brother plans to seize the throne and instigate a violent reign that would damn the pagans and the Yehuli alike and the two make a fragile pact to stop his brother. Over their journey, their mutual loathing and cooperation necessary for survival turn to affection, bonded through danger and mutual understandings of what it's like to be an outcast. However, their newfound closeness is threatened as they reach the city, and as Évike reconnects with her estranged father and discovers her own hidden magic, she and Gáspár need to decide whose side they’re on, and what they’re willing to give up for a nation that never cared for them at all.

Well, for one, I loved all the folklore and mythology that is woven into this tale. The Jewish inspiration for the Yehuli people/stories, the central/eastern European monsters/magical creatures and pagan systems, and the influx of monotheism - Christianity - as the power of the city/ruling elite that is sweeping the land (though this was by far my least favorite, personally) worked together in an approximation of history, but with a clear fairy-tale retelling style, that was familiar, intriguing, transporting and well-grounded. I actually got a lot of Grishaverse vibes from the world-building side of things, though the characters were clearly older and the politics/plot was a bit more complex, similar more to Pike's The Lost Queen series (The Lost Queen and The Forgotten Kingdom, to date). Also, Reid definitely doesn't shy away from gore and violence in clear description. There was a lot of it. And it was absolutely not light or subtle or glossed over. However, it also never felt gratuitous, but rather it just realistically fit the story as it developed.

As I mentioned, the world-building and politics were really complex and well-developed. A lot of that, I assume, can be attributed to the base this novel has in well-established folklore, as well as some real traditions and historical facts/events. Specifically, the stories of each cultural tradition, the mythology of where their beliefs and powers came from (and thus the keys to understanding and tapping into that power), were liberally woven through. Perhaps to the point where it slowed the greater story down, sure; however, while there is quite a bit of action and drama, this is also not written with a high-octane feel or pace. Once I settled into the deliberate speed and style of the writing, it fit. There were some aspects of the story were a bit confusing/unclear (as far as why they were necessary), particularly some of the choices made related to the turul, and some that were frustrating to read (in the way that, as a reader, you want to yell at the character that they're making the wrong call). Maybe they were questionable edis on the author's part, but maybe it comes down to Évike being a bit sheltered and Gáspár being timid, both due to how they grew up. Since both really never felt like they belonged, and deep down wanted nothing more than to find a space for themselves, to be needed and cared for, they had to learn some things the hard way, as they went. Sometimes, reading as a character works though all those tough lessons can be frustrating, but it was reasonable to their character development(s). So.

The conflict between belief systems - Yehuli, pagan, Prinkepatrios - was an absolute highlight. What a commentary on the many ways the same beliefs/religions can be interpreted, in actual piety and in a grotesque and dangerous imitation of that (twisted to subdue alternative POVs and minority groups, which is ridiculous if you consider how similar the beliefs actually are). *And* the way they can be re-“interpreted” to support the most convenient story/ruling of the elite and powerful is infuriatingly familiar. The bloody results of religious intolerance are shown to the extreme they deserve/entail IRL here - which is to say, horrifyingly. And hats off to Reid for the way they portray how being raised within one system/POV makes it so hard to break free and cross lines to find common ground with others, as humans, even when both parties want to. Just, quietly heartbreakingly, but the emotionality it pulls from the reader is part of what made this book so good.

Finally, speaking of that difficulty in and yearning to find common ground... The romance between Évike and Gáspár was solidly built and believable. Their development and growth towards each other was slow-paced, as it should be considering it was against both their wishes and beliefs, but keep that in mind if you are looking for a spicier romantasy vibe. It was steadfastly there and so real; it’s always the individual human connections, in this case a bond over a shared history of alienation and the abuse outcasts face (some quite viscerally, both physical and verbal), that overcome cultural prejudices. Plus, the moment Gáspár describes going to his knees for Évike had me *feeling* things. But, it was never overly present or too primary a focus of the way the plot played out.

This was a sweeping retelling, told with classic storytelling/fairy tale rhythm, and building in the respect for stories and the power therein along the way. Layering history and folklore and romance and archetypal conflicts of belief-systems, I was lulled into this world and slow-paced, ineffable vibes.

“We would have called it power, magic. They called it piety. But what is the difference, if both fires burn just as bright?”

“Can you believe in something while still running your hand over its every contour, feeling for bumps and bruises, like a farmer trying to pick the best, roundest peach? / That is the only way to believe in something [...] When you've weighed and measured it yourself.”

“When winter is one long haze of white, snow weighing down your roof and the cold lining your marrow, it is the dream of a green, bright spring that keeps you from despair.”

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