This was, in some ways, more of the same, with the familiar prose style and the familiar extraordinarily detailed world and cosmology. Yet the narrative was different, far more of a quest, and the focus was less on the narrative itself but on metaphor and the philosophical musings of Corbin which, I highly suspect, mirror those of the author, who is clearly no solipsist and unlikely to be a practising Buddhist.
These kinds of surreal and thoughtful passages, of which there are many, manage to succeed by dint of a strong prose style and some philosophical substance, but there’s a sense that the author is doing this to break out of the genre ghetto into the foothills of literary fiction in a rather self-conscious manner.
It’s not all philosophy, though: big things happen, and a satisfying ending is ultimately reached with, incredibly, no dangling plot threads. This is, perhaps, the weakest instalment, but that’s a relative statement. The Amber Chronicles are superb.
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