Book Review: He Who Fights with Monsters: Book Twelve by Shirtaloon
As a long-time fan of progression fantasy, it’s hard not to feel a blend of anticipation and apprehension with each new release, especially in beloved series like He Who Fights with Monsters. I’ve been riding this rollercoaster since its inception, and with Book Twelve, the author Shirtaloon has finally answered my calls for a time jump—something I’ve long seen as necessary to break the monotony. But, as with many things in life, changes bring mixed feelings.
Let’s dive in!
First and foremost, the long-awaited time jump is indeed one of the highlights of this installment. After spending what felt like an eternity within the silver grade (was it six books, or did I lose count?), it felt refreshing to finally leap forward. However, just as I relished that leap, I found myself muddled in what I can only describe as a filler novel—and not one of those charming fillers that enrich the narrative. Instead, this felt like just setup for the next four-book arc. The excitement was quickly dampened by a torrent of exposition.
The essence of progression fantasy has always been about witnessing our protagonist’s journey and the thrill of their growth. Yet, rather than a focus on combat and clever world-building, much of the book leans heavily into the lives of side characters—characters I struggled to remember. Imagine being given a menu of digestible intrigue, and instead, someone serves you a detailed history lesson on the dish’s less savory ingredients. Couldn’t we have been thrust into this new world filled with new faces, allowing the mysteries of character interactions to propel us forward? Instead, there was a meandering pace that sometimes summoned impatience.
Shirtaloon’s writing style remains engaging and fluid, but it often feels as though he has taken a detour from the fundamental pillars that underpin the genre. As someone who relishes escapism through exhilarating combat and robust character growth, I found myself yearning for the thrill of tension and stakes that made earlier books so captivating. The mundane plot of good versus evil can be exciting, but here, it felt scripted and played-out, reducing a once vibrant narrative into a comfortable yet uninspired space.
And can we just talk about the romantic relationships? They often read like an awkward screenwriter’s imagining of love: heavy on fantasy and light on realism. I couldn’t help but feel that the author—the one crafting these relationships—has either never experienced the messiness of love or is working from an outdated script that echoes the fears of the socially awkward. These moments, instead of drawing me in, often seemed too one-sided, lacking the genuine connection that brings characters and readers closer.
Despite all this, I can’t completely dismiss the novel. After all, the time jump earns it a few stars in my book, even if it’s a lukewarm recommendation. For fans of the series, Book Twelve is sure to provide familiarity—I just wish it had delved deeper rather than lingered in the shallow end.
In conclusion, if you’ve followed this series faithfully and are eager to see where it leads next, you’ll likely find moments of enjoyment. However, if you’re new to this world or seek that rich tapestry of progression and combat, you might feel disheartened. It’s a complex mix of nostalgia and critique, and while my journey with Shirtaloon continues, I find myself wrestling with my expectations as a reader who yearns for the grandeur of progression fantasy.
Happy reading!
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