Quentin Coldwater is a genius. His GPA is a higher number than most people know a GPA can be, his prospects for college entry are just about limitless, and he’s entirely unhappy with his lot in life. He’s been searching for some extra level of fulfillment for as long as he can remember.
Time and again, he returns to his worn paperback copies of Fillory and Further, a series of children’s fantasy novels that he’s never quite been able to let go of – the only thing in his life that seems to hold any meaning. Fillory, the idealistic realm in which the children’s stories take place, has always made the reality of his life in Brooklyn seem dismal in comparison, but he’s resigned himself to the fact that it will never be quite good enough.
When Quentin shows up for an entry interview for Princeton, things don’t go quite as he expected. Without explanation, he’s quietly shuffled into a classroom, where two hundred other people are taking a written exam for Brakebills: a real-life school for people with magical aptitude. Incredulous though he may be, he gets in.
Quentin very quickly realizes that magic is nothing like he expected it to be. There is no wand-waving, no accidental success and no time to waste – magic is very hard work. Spurred by his former academic determination and the deep-seated knowledge that his real life has finally begun, he gradually develops his capacity as a magician.
Although life at Brakebills is strenuous, Quentin knows what to expect from himself and his surroundings. Until one day, when the boundaries of reality are breached by a being known only as The Beast. The unidentifiable entity takes the life of an unsuspecting student and leaves Brakebills in a state of unrestrained chaos.
Brakebills never quite recovers from the horror of The Beast’s intrusion. Still grieving for their lost classmate, Quentin’s class graduates quietly and without fuss. Thrust into the real world once more, Quentin and his friends find themselves somewhat at a loss. But their monotony is broken when Penny, a Brakebills outcast shows up, breathless with excitement, on the group’s doorstep with a revelation: Fillory is real…and he knows how to get there.
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Lev Grossman is a well-respected literary critic, renowned for his work for Time Magazine. While The Magicians isn’t his first foray as a novelist, it is, arguably, his breakout. The Magicians is a polarizing novel: readers tend to either passionately love or absolutely hate it. It’s hard to put a finger on what it is exactly that seems to cause such oppositional responses, but one aspect does tend to stand out.
The Brakebills characters are, by and large, unlikeable. Quentin himself is abhorrently superior, and looks down his nose at non-magical people, his parents, and his classmates…pretty much everyone, actually. Quentin’s peers, the prodigious Alice and awkward, hateful Penny, are equally as distasteful. Alice is entirely uninterested in socializing, to the extent that she rejects most human contact in favour of reading. Penny, on the other hand, longs to be a part of an exclusive clique, but his barbed personality forces others away. The reader’s immediate response is one of discomfort, because naturally, it’s difficult to invest yourself in the trials and tribulations of characters you don’t like.
But before you write this book off, consider this: you, as a fantasy reader, are reading about characters that are obsessive fantasy readers, ultra-conscientious students, socially awkward, often struggling with depression, who simply feel that there’s something better for them out there. Now, these characters, as a direct result of their personality types, are admitted to a modern, real-world Hogwarts. And then, because of their personalities and their obsessions, they build and develop their skills as magicians. It’s a hopeful concept – if you want it badly enough, you too, might be a magician.
The characters in The Magicians resonated with me in a way no others had. It’s nice to think that I share certain traits with Hermione, for example, but despite her flaws, I know that in the end, she’s idealized. Not so the Brakebills magicians. The characteristics I share with Alice and Quentin are not just similar interests or apparent likenesses, but the fundamental base of my identity. Because I identified so strongly with the characters, it was frighteningly easy to feel that their experiences were my own. It wasn’t that I was drawn into the story, intrigued to find out what happened next – it felt as though I were privy to an alternate reality, where a version of myself was living out Quentin’s and Alice’s lives. It’s a powerful reading experience, to say the least.
In The Magicians, Quentin lives out his fantasy, and it’s not quite what he expected. The quiet intrusion of The Beast at Brakebills is frightening and disturbing, and completely unique. The abrupt ending will make your blood run cold, and have you questioning your very reality. And the characters, of course, are flawed and trouble. They’re recognizable on a deeper level than your standard protagonist, particularly if you’re a seasoned fantasy reader.
The Magicians is a meta-fantasy. The characters live in a world where their expectations of magic have been shaped by Harry Potter and the Chronicles of Narnia. When they are exposed to the “reality” of magic, they compare it to these standards – just like the reader. It may not be a happy read, granted, but this book will shift your expectations of genre fiction – recommended.
