A Joyful Dance with The Hymn to Dionysus
There’s something undeniably enchanting about picking up a Natasha Pulley book, especially when anticipation mingles with the slight apprehension of past reads. With The Hymn to Dionysus, I approached it with a mix of hope and trepidation, wondering if it would redeem her more recent ventures. Let me tell you—I wasn’t disappointed. Thank you, Natasha Pulley, for the delightful journey. You are redeemed! Please, write 500 more books; I’ll buy them all (except for the two I didn’t like).
Much like her previous works, The Hymn to Dionysus immerses the reader in a rich historical tapestry, but what’s refreshing this time around is the bold shake-up of her established formula. Pulley has given us Phaidros—a protagonist who, despite his skittishness, is anything but useless. He’s got backbone, and the humor in his interactions had me laughing out loud. Meeting him as a child, understanding his struggles, and watching him grow into a flawed adult made my heart swell. He’s reminiscent of Kite from The Kingdoms, but with enough uniqueness to set him apart; he’s like the endearing best friend you wished existed in real life.
Conversely, Dionysus—who is usually a brooding, mysterious type in Pulley’s narratives—takes on an absurdly nice persona. At first, I felt a bit distant from him; he seemed more like a specter flitting through the pages rather than a fully realized character. His kindness is palpable, echoing Pulley’s previous hero, Keita Mori, but I craved more depth. His one-dimensional goodness felt more like a plot device than a layered character, which was a bit of a letdown.
As I savored the story, I couldn’t ignore Pulley’s recurring challenges with female representation. Queen Agave felt recycled from The Kingdoms, maintaining a sense of bitterness that left me wanting more complexity. And yes, the age dynamics in the relationships had me tilting my head in confusion—it’s strange how the characters seemed much older than their years, yet somehow maintained their youthfulness. Nonetheless, Phaidros’ moral compass kept me rooting for him, even amidst the narrative discomfort.
The magic in this tale defies logic, yet oddly enhances the storytelling. Pulley embraces a strange, incomprehensible spell that immersed me in a curious world. I found this beautifully refreshing, feeling as though the magic itself echoed the unpredictability of life.
The romance, while enjoyable, left me longing for deeper intimacy; knowing more about Dionysus would have elevated this part of the story. However, the plot! My goodness—Pulley’s twisty narrative kept me on my toes. Even when the pacing slowed, and I forgot what was happening in the middle, the final act proved to be a rollercoaster of surprises.
I must mention the writing style: Pulley’s choice of first-person narration allowed for a humorous glimpse into Phaidros’ world—his banter with Apophis had me chuckling repeatedly. Despite a few cheesy moments, the overall narrative resonated well.
Reflecting on this experience, The Hymn to Dionysus is likely to enchant fans of Pulley’s previous works and draw in new readers who appreciate a unique blend of humor, history, and intrigue. It may not be my favorite among her fantastic collection, but it certainly ranks high, blending warmth with a touch of challenge.
So—if you’re ready for quirky characters, unexpected plot twists, and a touch of magic woven into historical fabric, don’t miss this one. I myself am already itching to revisit it, perhaps discovering even more joy upon the second read!
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