Am reading Gladstone's Two Serpents Rise, which is possibly not the best choice when one is afflicted with dark night of the soul malaise, but I can't leave it alone. One reason I'd like to read Aliette de Bodard's Obsidian and Blood series is the possibility that it might provide a new take on our culture's repulsion to what Barbara Mertz called 'the morning prayers of the Aztecs.' The Aztecs seemed to think their prayers were reasonable, so one wonders.... Gladstone doesn't, exactly, so far, (malaise does nothing to speed up my reading) but the matter remains complex.
If only I wasn't so kerblonxed by Gladstone's melding of what one's mind insists are disparate genres: Grisham and magic in Three Parts Dead, I'm not even sure what here, since I don't read novels about big corporations. Someone who does might be able to parse this better than I. But that assumes Gladstone works in genre tropes, which is not certain at all.
But I have to ask: if someone is reduced to a living skeleton, without flesh of any kind, how can he smile?