I wanted to like this one, but it disappointed. Maybe it's because I just read an infinitely better novel centering Jewish folklore (When The Angels Left The Old Country by Sacha Lamb) and this one simply paled in comparison, making me rate it lower. Maybe my love of the traditional, Slavic Baba Yaga mythology made me less receptive of this version of her. In any case, I wish I had liked it, but in all honesty the best part of it (the only part that gave me shivers) is the prologue. It went downhill from there, for me.

Nethercott does have a knack with mimicking fables. Whenever a chapter from Thistlefoot's point of view came up, I was swept up by the lyrical, atmospheric writing. However, this backfires when she writes anything set in the real world. From the unrealistic, trope-y way the characters talk and interact, to the underdeveloped worldbuilding (mainly of the mutating houses, and the siblings' magic) that never quite managed to feel believable - things that work well for a fairytale don't translate fluently to a modern world like our own. Several plot threads are underdeveloped or simply forgotten:

the siblings' relationship with their parents is never resolved, or truly explained; Fen's death feels cheap; the aftermath of the final fight doesn't seem to have any long term effect on anyone, least of all Isaac, who found out he got resurrected and never addressed this

- these were some of my biggest gripes. Character development is rushed, Isaac

never truly atones for his treatment of Bellatine

, and the end feels too idyllic, compared to what Thistlefoot's narration seems to foreshadow with the constant "forgive them" interjections. The side characters are frustratingly flat, and feel like the least believable part of the whole narrative - why/how are the Dustbreakers so continuously involved? What do they even add to the plot? What stick does Shona have up her ass? What kind of chemistry is Sparrow cooking up? In the acknowledgements, Nethercott brings up her extensive research on every part of the book, from train hopping to the pogroms, and yet, amid these realistic depictions, there's Sparrow, making antidotes and purple sedative gas in the back of a schoolbus.

Also, I just don't like this version of Baba Yaga. Building her up as a creature of fable only to tear it all down and reveal her as

a normal, grief stricken woman

feels disappointing, to me, though maybe that's my own attachment to stories I heard as a child, clouding my judgement.

Finally, it just dragged. Too long of a work without much happening, a lot of clichés, and a cast of unlikeable characters that don't give us a reason to care, all made this book a slog.