It kills me to give a LaValle this low of a score, it really does. And it's not a low score either--3.5 is more than the likes of Sanderson or Goodkind are ever seeing on my page. But here's the thing: for all the snappiness of LaValle's prose, for all the wonderful ideas he brings out in this novel, and for all the strength of the setting, the whole thing felt so half-baked that I never really got the space to appreciate any of it. A dazzling meal with oddly small portions that's over before you know it, the waiter rushing you out the door, stomach growling