Six of Crows

As mentioned in my previous review, this new two-part series by Leigh Bardugo, also set in the Grishaverse, more than fulfils all the promises that the Grisha trilogy failed to fully deliver. Somewhat more than that, even. I absolutely love it!

The Six of Crows duology—whose title both refers to card games and the Crow Club, the gambling house run by Kaz Brekker—takes place two years after the events of the Grisha trilogy (unlike the Netflix TV series, which set them at the same time, whilst deviating significantly from the original storyline) and focuses primarily on Ketterdam, the capital of Kerch, an island nation inspired by the 19th-century Dutch Republic and, to a lesser extent, by New York (New Amsterdam), Las Vegas and Victorian London.

Leigh Bardugo, 2015 - Macmillan - 1059 pages

Welcome to the Crooked Kingdom

The underworld of Ketterdam is ruled by rival gangs. Kaz Brekker, the youngest and most ambitious player in the local mob, who combines intelligence, secrecy, charisma and danger, is best known for being a master thief. Willing to do anything for money, he is tasked by wealthy merchant Van Eck with rescuing a Shu scientist from the Ice Court, an unbreachable stronghold in Fjerda. The prisoner is the inventor of jurda parem, an extremely addictive and deadly drug that greatly enhances the abilities of Grishas. Should it fall into the wrong hands, it could have devastating consequences.

For this heist of a lifetime, in great Ocean’s Eleven style meets Game of Thrones (according to the author), Kaz aka Dirtyhands—quite an ironic nickname for someone who never takes his gloves off—starts recruiting his dream team: a spy who defies the laws of gravity, a runaway with a privileged past, a sharpshooter who can't walk away from a wager, a convict with a thirst for revenge, and a powerful Grisha.

The storytelling is structured around the different points of view of the Crows—a motley crew of battered teens who, at first glance, may have nothing in common, but are driven by a shared desire: taking revenge on life.

Crows remember human faces. They remember the people who feed them, who are kind to them. And the people who wrong them too.

Not only does such a narrative choice provide the essential psychological depth to understanding the characters and their interactions by allowing us to get inside their heads, it also enables the author to withhold certain details in order to preserve the element of surprise surrounding her many plot twists. 

And despite these glimpses into their past and wounds, the story never loses momentum and maintains a brisk pace. For in Ketterdam, anything can be traded. Not just blows. People too.

When Everything and Everyone Has a Price

Ketterdam is, quite literally, a city built on trade, but one in which commercial logic ultimately comes to encompass even human beings.

Kerch had been built on trade, but how much of that trade had been the human kind? 

Young Grishas, snatched from their families in their homeland by Kerch slave traders, are sold into brothels in Ketterdam; while others, fleeing the civil war in Ravka, get exploited in different ways, under the guise of contracts and unrepayable debts. And the more one pays, the more they believe they own the other person.

The Menagerie was one of the most expensive pleasure houses in the Barrel, but its customers were no kinder than those who frequented the dollar houses and alley girls. In some ways, Inej came to understand, they were worse. When a man spends that much coin, said the Kaelish girl, Caera, he thinks he’s earned the right to do whatever he wants.

A child unfit to take over the business empire? No problem: you get rid of them as if they were a faulty appliance and father a new one to replace them.

Sickening political correctness and corruption go hand in hand. Wealth breeds impunity. The Merchant Council governs in the name of prosperity, with the blessing of the gods. Any resemblance to our present-day society may not be entirely fortuitous.

A minister of Ghezen might stand at that altar and rail against slavery, but how much of this city had been built on taxes from the pleasure houses? How many members of his congregation employed boys and girls who could barely speak Kerch, who scrubbed floors and folded laundry for pennies as they worked to pay off a debt that never seemed to grow smaller?

In te, Domine

The gods in this series are not mere symbols. In the Grishaverse, every society has its own beliefs, and these can be used to justify behaviour that ultimately has little—if anything—sacred about it.

Thus, whilst in the Grisha trilogy Leigh Bardugo explored how faith could transform people into saints or monsters, in Six of Crows she pushes this much further by showing how beliefs can serve as a moral veneer for a deeply corrupt system.

Sacred is Ghezen and in commerce we see His hand.

Not only in Kerch, but also in Fjerda, where faith is used to breed and legitimise hatred.

What stands before you is the next generation of drüskelle, the holy order charged with protecting the sovereign nation of Fjerda by eradicating your kind.

In te, Domine. Who truly dominates? Djel through the Drüskelle, or the Drüskelle in the name of Djel to justify their savagery?

For hatred is a poison. A fiery blaze that consumes from within and requires constant nurturing, like an insatiable demon, forever demanding more offerings to keep it under control.

An illusory sense of control that traps you in a spiral of violence and pain until the vessel implodes. Hell is an inner prison that we hold within.

The Prisons We Hold Within

What wounds had his commanders exploited to put that look in his eyes?

Of all the things that hold us captive, hatred is rarely innate. It often stems from a wound that is exploited to fuel this dependence.

So as mentioned in my review of the Grisha Saga, behind the hatred for Grishas is envy, a sense of being deprived of something, and the need to destroy what one cannot possess: “What did it mean to aspire to serve Djel, only to see his power in the gifts of another, to know you could never possess those gifts yourself?”

And, of course, drugs as a literal poison—jurda parem, which alters perceptions and disrupts the body’s chemistry, ultimately destroying it.: “Once the drug has run its course, it leaves the Grisha’s body weakened and the craving is intense. It’s quite debilitating.”

But addiction does not arise solely from a poison, whether real or metaphorical, that enslaves the individual. One can also get hooked on something that momentarily gives them the impression of regaining control.

Thus, the characters spend their time trying to break free from something, whilst stuck in their own wounds, obsessions or needs, which they seek to numb or channel: violence for the gangs, gambling for Jesper, or revenge for Kaz. “Brekker, his Wraith queen, his rotten little court of thugs. A fearless breed, hard-eyed and feral, hungrier for vengeance than for gold.”

And, of course, the most powerful of them all: fear—particularly the fear of death.

Zoya used to say that fear is a phoenix. You can watch it burn a thousand times and still it will return.

No Mourners, No Funerals

The Crows' motto is a cynical reminder of their invisibility in the eyes of society. Outcasts who struggle to survive, against all odds, in the lawless grey areas of the underworld, and who, upon their death, are piled up like dregs onto a funeral barge.

We learn to hold our heads as if we wear crowns. We learn to wring magic from the ordinary. That was how you survived when you weren’t chosen, when there was no royal blood in your veins. When the world owed you nothing, you demanded something of it anyway.

“Stop treating your pain like it’s something you imagined”, Inej tells Jesper. “If you see the wound is real, then you can heal it.”  

It is only by taking a clear look at the Real that we can free ourselves from the illusion.

Wounds and scars are not exclusive to the nobodies. Kings bear them too, as King of Scars—the title of the next instalment in the Grishaverse which I’ve only just started reading—already suggests.

© La Pensine Mutine. All rights reserved. Reproduction prohibited.

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Don't Throw the Baby out With the Bathwater!

New Age spirituality teaches us that we choose. That there's no such thing as fate. That we are responsible for everything that happens to us. It calls this ‘empowerment’. A promise to reclaim our sovereignty, under which we are led to believe that, since we are the cause of our own ‘misfortunes’, we also have the power to ‘turn things around’.

In theory, it’s brilliant. But in practice, there’s a snag. A serious pitfall.

Indeed, assuming that we are living within a vast simulation—a structured matrix rather than a cosmic accident—the idea that we are the architects of our own programming is a futile illusion. A dead end that can only wear us down in an endless loop. We are not the action; we are the reaction.

And whilst we struggle with guilt and discouragement, whilst we waste considerable energy trying to ‘fix’ things, accepting our fate as ‘karma to be paid off’—we are merely powering the dynamos of the system, like hamsters in cages with invisible bars. In believing that we are working towards our liberation, we are simply providing the emotional fuel—the famous loosh—that keeps the simulation running.

On the one hand, some look for esoteric drama behind the slightest pain, in order to peddle decoding and guilt. On the other hand, in reaction to this, others prefer to reject all dogma, shifting to a cold, mechanical view in which the body is nothing more than a vehicle needing an MOT, thereby denying what science itself recognises about the links between mind, body and stress.

Moving from blind faith to the cynicism of a dehumanised engineer is by no means a form of empowerment. Quite the contrary: it is simply swapping one mask for another. Once again, extremes are nothing more than poles activated to power the circuit. The Real lies elsewhere.

So what should we do?

Wrong question! Don’t wait for external solutions. Become aware and start thinking for yourself. I know this is a worn-out cliché, but nothing is black and white. So don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater on the pretext that everything is corrupt.

Offering a turnkey method for flattering a spiritual ego or posing as a spiritual guide would be a complete sham. In fact, I have no solutions to offer you—only an observation. Providing you with set answers would mean substituting myself for you and thereby fuelling the system. In the long run, this could only be detrimental to both you and me. 

Ultimately, trust yourself and let your own judgement sort things out.

This sorting doesn't involve your mind (which is itself a programme designed to doubt and analyse), but your spirit. No need for meditation or lengthy introspection. Mere fractions of a second of raw clarity that hit you like a lightning strike and cut through the scene before the mind even has time to step in and start decoding.

Dare to break out of your echo chambers to hear the silence of the Real.

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Move on—but Where to?

In these troubled and uncertain times, most people are overwhelmed by confusion and anxiety and no longer know who to turn to. This is a godsend for self-proclaimed gurus of all kinds. Remember, there’s no shame in being fooled. The key is to accept the times when we lose our way, and move on.

Move on, okay—but where to?

Moving from devoting ourselves to a spiritual figure or guru to relying on AI to do the thinking for us, or rejecting New Age to embrace a new, pseudo-scientific dogma, is by no means breaking free from control, but merely changing the narrative or the master.

The question we need to ask ourselves is: have we really developed our own discernment? Or have we simply swapped one crutch for another?

Also, when a dogma or an external tool begins to think for us, it always comes with its own defence mechanism, labelling any criticism as ‘cognitive dissonance’, ‘Matrix attack’, ‘egoic reaction’—or even 'animic'reaction'. And ultimately, the individual refrains from examining the consistency of the facts for fear of being ‘invalidated’.

But recognising a factual trap is neither a sign of victimhood nor of cognitive dissonance: it is simply a matter of using common sense.

True autonomy does not lie in adopting complex jargon in order to create the illusion of knowing, nor in redefining dictionary terms to suit one’s purpose. It begins on the day when we no longer need any filter or third party—be it an entity, an AI or a proprietary concept—to validate what we observe for ourselves.

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The Grisha Trilogy

After suffering from a severe bout of literary indigestion caused by cheap, disposable domestic thrillers, immersing myself in Leigh Bardugo’s Grishaverse was truly delightful. This rich world, which I discovered through the Netflix series Shadow and Bone, comprises a trilogy and two duologies, along with a handful of short-story collections and a graphic novel. A fictional world largely inspired by early 1800s Europe—particularly Tsarist Russia as the model for Ravka, where most of the Grisha trilogy takes place.

Grisha are considered sorcerers, although they themselves refer to their gifts—which they call Small Science—as extensions of the natural world, since they cannot create anything, but only use and alter what already exists. Both feared and revered, they serve the war-ravaged kingdom, fighting in the Second Army under the command of the Darkling, a Shadow Summoner. Ravka is cursed. It is split in half from north to south by the Shadow Fold (or Unsea), a swath of malevolent darkness populated by monstrous creatures known as volcra, which feast on human flesh.

While crossing the Unsea with her First Army regiment to resupply the eastern part of the country—which has been cut off from its shipping ports—Alina, a young orphan and cartographer, discovers her power as a Sun Summoner while trying to save the life of her childhood friend, Mal. A discovery that will change her fate—and that of the entire nation—forever. For what do we do when faced with something we don’t understand? We either fear it, fight it… or turn it into an object of worship. And in the Grishaverse, these three different responses can sometimes overlap.

Leigh Bardugo, 2012 - Macmillan - 1248 pages

Otkazat'sya and Grisha

Alina goes from being an ordinary citizen to becoming a Grisha and discovers what goes on inside the Little Palace, where members of the Second Army—regarded as an elite force by the Ravkan masses—are trained and prepared.

One thing did stand out to me: the word the philosophers used to describe people born without Grisha gifts, otkazat’sya, “the abandoned.” It was another word for orphan.

Certainly, the term Otkazat’sya, used by Grisha to refer to the ‘ungifted’, speaks volumes about how this minority views the majority. But this distinction works both ways, thereby creating a grey area that allows for a better understanding of the motivations and stakes of both opposing forces. For while Grisha consider themselves a class apart, their difference also becomes, in the eyes of others, a source of mistrust and fear, even as defects to be eradicated: “When they were in their cups, some of the nobles made it clear they think all of the Grisha should be rounded up and executed.”

Except for Ravka (and for a very specific reason that I cannot reveal without spoiling the plot), reactions range from rejection to persecution, including exploitation, slavery, and human experimentation, but the underlying mechanism remains the same: the other becomes a thing simply because they are different—a difference that inspires both fear and envy.

Most rogue Grisha ended up in Novyi Zem. Aside from Ravka, it was the only place where they didn’t have to fear being experimented on by Shu doctors or burned by Fjerdan witchhunters. Even so, they had to be cautious about displaying their power. Grisha were valued slaves, and less scrupulous Kerch traders were known to round them up and sell them in secret auctions.

The Fjerdan Drüskelle take this logic to the point of absurdity by justifying their barbarism in the name of faith, even though their behavior contradicts the moral principles they claim to defend: “There are witchhunters who don’t eat animals, won’t wear leather shoes or kill a spider in their homes, but they’ll burn Grisha alive on the pyre.”

The Lives of Saints

But faith isn't just about targeting enemies. It can also produce saints. And when Alina herself becomes the object of a cult, the line between belief, devotion, and manipulation becomes much harder to define.

Peasants love their Saints. They hunger for the miraculous. And yet they do not love the Grisha.

Once again, the polarising clichés of good vs. evil and light vs. dark are brought to the fore. Alina becomes the chosen one, the object of a collective projection of hope, fear, faith, and a longing for miracles: “There is a fine line between fear and veneration.”

Ultimately, deifying a person is not so different from demonising them. In both cases, the human being disappears behind the symbol. This is illustrated by the account of the martyrdom of Sankt Ilya, who was drowned in the river by the villagers for bringing one of their own children back to life after a tragic accident while ploughing:  “Maybe it was not just horror or righteousness that drove them, but anger as well.”

Likewise, this so-called devotion to Sankta Alina is also beginning to take on predatory overtones: “The bodies pressed tighter, pushing and shoving, shouting at each other, each wanting to get nearer. My feet lost contact with the ground. I cried out as a chunk of my hair was ripped from my scalp. They were going to tear me apart.”

Faith does not merely produce saints. It can also become a powerful means of mobilising crowds, for good or for ill, ultimately transforming sacrifice into a virtue and death into a reward. As the Apparat points out: “They will make war without fear and die rejoicing. There is no greater power than faith, and there will be no greater army than one driven by it.”

The Black Heretic

What is infinite? The universe and the greed of men.

The lust for power does not stem solely from those who lack it. Those who hold it may, too, come to crave more, as illustrated by the Darkling’s journey—a man whom injustice transformed into a blind avenger, to the point of committing acts from which there is no going back. At the outset, however, his intention was both honourable and legitimate: he wanted to protect the Grisha, who had long been persecuted and forced to live in fear: “We would be Ravkans, not just Grisha. That dream was the seed of the Second Army.”

But in his determination to protect his own, the line between defence and domination eventually became blurred. And when power over matter was no longer enough, the temptation was to draw upon what is forbidden: Merzost.

In Ravkan, the word for magic and abomination was the same. Basic Grisha theory stated that matter couldn’t just be created from nothing. But that was a tenet of the Small Science. Merzost was different, a corruption of the making at the heart of the world.

However, it would be too convenient to reduce the Darkling to the embodiment of darkness in direct contrast to the Sun Summoner. His journey is also that of a man shaped by persecution, fear and anger, who ultimately ends up replicating some of the very violence he sought to combat. And here, we can clearly see the extent to which fiction mirrors the reality of the Matrix. Suffering may explain actions, but it does not justify them.

Shadow and Bone

Behind its apparent contrast between light and darkness, the Grisha trilogy ultimately questions our relationship with power, difference and faith. It is, however, a pity that the romantasy elements and the heroine’s endless dithering all too often prevail over the rest of the plot, at the expense of its narrative flow.

The Darkling would also have benefited from deeper characterisation and a greater presence in the story. But my judgement is probably biased by Ben Barnes’s excellent performance in the TV adaptation, which, for once, does the story justice, even if it doesn’t always strictly follow it to the letter.

I also think that combining the Grisha trilogy with the Six of Crows duology was a brilliant idea, even though Netflix ultimately decided to cancel the series after two seasons. Fortunately, Six of Crows—which I’m currently reading—fulfils all the promises that the Grisha trilogy failed to fully deliver.

© La Pensine Mutine. All rights reserved. Reproduction prohibited.

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WTF?!

In order to cope with its hosting costs, the Crowdbunker platform decided, without prior notice, to clean up its servers and remove videos that aren't financially supported. From an economic perspective, this decision is logical. However, it's difficult to deal with when you create content for free and then have to pay to host it.

Given that this isn't possible for me, I find myself with my back against the wall. So I simply pointed out that volunteer work already takes up a considerable amount of time, and that this situation raised a real question about the sustainability of what we share.

And then, surprise! Instead of a constructive exchange, here’s the completely off-the-wall response I received: 

“Well, your personal life is going to be swept under the rug then! If you even have one, that is! Everyone decides how to manage their own time as they see fit. You could also sell all your belongings, your home if you have one, go begging, and flagellate yourself… At some point, I think it’s good to find a balance for yourself… Have a nice day.”

Just look at the reaction—which doesn't even try to be funny—consisting of twisting the other person's words, attacking them over their private life, and politely explaining that they have “an issue with balance” or “no life.” Always the same old story of that damned pot calling the kettle black.

From Audiard’s “jerks who’ll stop at nothing” to Dirty Harry’s “opinions are like assholes” (sorry for the vulgarity, I’m just quoting)—I’d rather picture myself as Obelix when he sees Roman soldiers. After all, if you hand me a whip to flagellate myself…

Don't worry, I remained polite and called him out on his hypocrisy by wishing him a good day as well (which I hope matched his level of crassness).

A classic case of apparent kindness that, in reality, masks deep toxicity and a form of unhealthy self-absorption.

This kind of cruel cynicism reflects a desperate need to believe that life is “fair” and that if somebody struggles, it must be their own fault. It’s a way of reassuring themselves about their own lot by belittling others.

People like this often claim to be system-resistant, spiritual, or awake. Yet, beyond forms and feelings, their cold judgment and total lack of empathy carry the same vibrational signature as the very predation they pretend to be fighting.

And of course, pointing this out to them will inevitably brand you as someone who’s oversensitive and imagining things. Unbeatable! There’s even a term for this particular kind of manipulation: “gaslighting.”

True balance (since he brought it up) doesn't mean imposing your definition of success on others. It begins with respecting each person’s path, with no judgment and no false compassion.

Sharp words may indeed reopen old wounds, but they do not cut through the fog of ignorance.

The light of your spirit, however, needs no eclipse to shine.

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Heart of Ice

During this brief summer break, I'd like to share a yummy, healthy, low-calorie recipe you can make at home without an ice cream maker. Trust me, it’s absolutely delicious!

Ingredients

Makes 8-10 servings:

Ice cream

-  150 g cashews
-  90 ml coconut cream (21% fat content)
-  20 g coconut oil
- 1½ tbsp peanut butter
- 1½ tbsp agave syrup

Coating

- 125 g dark chocolate
- 1-2 tbsp coconut oil

Instructions

Soak cashews overnight or for at least an hour in boiling water, then drain well.

Transfer to a mixing bowl or blender jug with the other ingredients and blend for several minutes until you have a smooth, creamy consistency that is not runny.

Pour into silicone moulds and leave to set in the freezer for a couple of hours.

Melt chocolate in a double boiler. Add oil to make it smooth and runny.

Unmould ice cream lollies and dip thoroughly in chocolate coating. Use a fork to drain and place on a sheet of baking paper.

Wait a few minutes for the chocolate to set completely, then put them right back in the freezer.

It’s best to take them out at least 15 minutes before serving.

NOTE: Feel free to adapt the recipe by trying other flavours. Personally, I’ve tried praline (using hazelnut purée) and coffee (using strong coffee),  but definitely have a preference for the toffee-like flavour of peanut butter.

As for moulds, I’ve also tested different shapes and sizes, and it turns out that the cereal bar ones are the most convenient for me, since I don’t have any proper popsicle moulds with wooden sticks.

Enjoy!

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The Thirteenth Hour

Thirteen valleys lying silent in the haze,
Filled with promises
And spirits that we raised.
But the spirits all are ghosts
Of the ones we hurt the most
And they wander thirteen valleys crying out.

"Broken Heart (Thirteen Valleys)", Big Country (1988)

Considered ill-fated by some and magical by others, the number 13 undeniably carries strong occult symbolism.

For alchemists, it can turn lead (Saturn) into gold (Sun), matter into light.

Kabbalists associate it with the Hebrew letter Mem, the Great Mother or Mater—matter.

As for taromancers, it corresponds to the Card with No Name (related to Scorpio, believed to cover part of the thirteenth hidden sign of the zodiac). In modern versions of the Tarot of Marseilles, it is the Death card, which stands for nothing more than a change of state, a transformation—and, for occultists, purification.

To put it more simply, today (Transfiguration Day) marks the thirteenth anniversary of this blog. Having completed a twelve-year cycle of observing the mechanisms of illusion, reaching the thirteenth year is by no means a coincidence. It is the exact moment when you finally break the cycle, transforming leaden beliefs into golden silence—the voice of your spirit.

But thirteen is also the number of muscles it takes to smile—as opposed to forty-seven needed to frown.

Perhaps that is where the real treasure lies: observing the theatre of this world with the light-heartedness of those who are no longer falling for it.

Thank you for being one of them.

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