The Devils

This was my first Joe Abercrombie book, and I know it's a bit of a controversial one among his long-time fans, but I'm not here for the discourse. I'm here to say: I freaking loved this book.

Coming off a long stretch of nonfiction, politics, and philosophy, The Devils was exactly what I needed to rekindle my love for the fantasy genre. I paced myself deliberately, reading around 50 pages a day, like I was watching a gritty fantasy TV show, one "episode" at a time. I could've flown through it in a couple of days, but it was so good, I rationed it just to make the experience last.

The tone is something special: hilarious and horrifying in equal measure. Yes, it's a grimdark novel, full of gore, betrayal, and nihilism, but it's also laugh-out-loud funny at times, thanks to Abercrombie's darkly sarcastic British humor, which, as a Turkish reader, I deeply enjoyed. It reminded me of a mash-up between the Diablo universe (with its religious horror and philosophical dread) and Suicide Squad (with its "doomed mission with terrible people" vibe).

The setting is a reimagined, alternate-history version of Europe, where everything that could've gone wrong in history actually did. Magic and monsters still exist, and magic here is brutal, horrifying, and raw. The holy cities are dens of corruption, decadence, and prostitution, and the Church of the West is ruled by a ten-year-old girl who may or may not be the second coming of the savior. Religious hypocrisy, fanaticism, and existential dread seep through every page, but without being preachy or overbearing.

The story follows a black-ops team from the Church of the West, called the Chapel of the Holy Expediency, on a mission to escort a beggar and thief named Alex to Troy, where she's supposed to be crowned as the new empress. But here's the twist: Alex is actually the long-lost daughter of one of the princesses, a hidden royal who was forced to survive on the streets, living in poverty and crime. She's a princess raised as a beggar, now being shoved into power for reasons that are equal parts political manipulation and divine madness.

What really elevated this book for me was the multiple points of view, each one distinct, intriguing, and full of life. The dialogue feels real, like actual people having conversations in impossible situations. The banter, the tension, the inner monologues, all top-notch. And behind all the blood and violence, there are some surprisingly deep philosophical reflections on power, faith, identity, and morality, many of which felt eerily relevant to the real world.

And let's not forget the pacing: The Devils moves like a well-oiled war machine. No chapter feels too long or like filler. Every scene builds character, tension, or the bizarre alternate-history world around them.

If this book is controversial, then consider me proudly on the "loved it" side of that divide. This was one of the most entertaining, thought-provoking, and darkly funny fantasy books I've read in years. If you love dark magic, flawed characters, sharp writing, and twisted world-building, The Devils is a must-read.

Alexia Pyrogennetos

Alexia Pyrogennetos was probably my second favorite character in the series. She's a survivor, a resilient force trying to stay alive in a brutal grimdark world. Out of nowhere, her long-lost uncle finds her and hands her a monumental responsibility. Suddenly, she must learn to survive and work with a strange and dangerous group that includes a werewolf, a vampire, a monk, a warrior, a well-traveled and well-read woman, and, of course, one of the three greatest magicians in all of Europe.

Alexia is thrown into this chaotic mix and has no choice but to adapt to her new role if she wants to survive. She struggles with deep self-doubt and self-deprecation, yet she's cunning, observant, and quick to adjust to her surroundings. As the story progresses, she not only learns to read and write, but also absorbs history, politics, and the harsh realities of the world, all through lived experience and hard-earned growth.

Crucially, the twist in her character arc ensures she doesn't fall into the "chosen one" trope. What sets her apart is not some hidden destiny, but her resilience, adaptability, and refusal to be broken by the impossible situation she's been thrown into. Her development feels earned rather than foretold.

Over time, she even learns how to lead. Not because she's born to do it, but because she has no other choice. Her leadership grows out of necessity, from watching others, making mistakes, and learning how to command respect in a world where compassion is a weakness and power is everything.

She is part of something much larger than herself, shaped by forces she cannot fully comprehend, and yet, instead of resisting or denying it, she embraces the chaos and finds her place within it. Her transformation into a reluctant, self-made leader was one of the most compelling arcs in the book, and a true highlight of the story.

Jakob of Thorn

Jakob of Thorn isn't just some grizzled veteran trope. Every "death" he's lived through, every year scarred by crusades, battles, and brutal choices, has left its mark. What's left of him is a man driven not by faith or glory, but by oaths he can't break, and a quiet desire for it all to finally end. He's grim, but never a stereotype.

Jakob suffers, obviously and profoundly, from what can only be described as an advanced form of PTSD. His trauma isn't just hinted at; it's etched into everything he says and does. They're not just personality traits, they're symptoms. His condition doesn't make him weak, but it does make him human. Deeply, painfully human.

His regrets aren't about people he failed to save, they're about the things he did. The orders he followed. The violence he unleashed. He's not haunted by ghosts so much as by versions of himself. And he doesn't seek redemption, he seeks death. Not in a melodramatic or suicidal way, but as a quiet release, a final stop after too many miles walked in blood.

Despite this, Jakob becomes a kind of reluctant mentor to Alexia. He doesn't intend to guide her, but his scars, his silence, and his brutal honesty end up shaping how she sees the world. She learns by watching him, his mistakes, his endurance, his hollow victories. He shows her, without ever meaning to, what leadership costs.

Some of the novel's most emotionally resonant and philosophical moments come through Jakob's reflections on war, faith, and regret. His chapters are heavy, introspective, and unforgettable, a slow, burning dive into a man unraveling with dignity.

Jakob of Thorn doesn't want forgiveness. He doesn't want to be remembered. He just wants to finish what he started, and finally rest. And that's exactly what makes him one of the most powerful and tragic figures in The Devils.

Balthazar Sham Ivam Draxi

Balthazar Sham Ivam Draxi is my favorite character. He enters the story as one of the most powerful figures in the Chapel's strange little strike team, a captured necromancer, once deeply immersed in the black arts, now spared execution and put to use by the Church. From the moment he appears, Balthazar insists on respect: his full name, his exact title, his dignity. Even in chains, he corrects people with the pride of a man who still believes he's above all this.

He starts off as arrogant, narcissistic, and painfully self-important, a man who constantly asks, "How could someone of my brilliance end up in this mess?" His ego is immense, and his disdain for the people around him is barely concealed.

A key turning point comes when he repeatedly fails to break the magical seal protecting the ten-year-old Pope's fortress, a task he's certain should be beneath him. Frustrated, he finally attempts a high-level demon summoning, which collapses into utter chaos. It's one of the funniest moments in the entire book, both ridiculous and revealing.

That failure doesn't burn his flesh, but it does scorch his pride. It marks the beginning of a change in Balthazar. For the first time, he confronts the limits of his power and begins to accept his situation.

That moment cracks his armor, allowing something deeper to emerge. He becomes more reflective, less theatrical. Slowly, the man who once demanded respect starts earning it.

Beneath all the ego, Balthazar is searching for purpose, something worthy of his intellect and power.

His arc is the most dramatic in the book, and, in my opinion, the most satisfying. He's a cautionary tale: immense magical power, when paired with arrogance and entitlement, becomes a burden rather than a gift. But watching him wrestle with that burden and come out changed makes him my favorite character in the novel.