The West Passage was everything I hoped it would be and nothing I could have dreamed, at the same time. I think this is perhaps one of the first fantasy books I've read that I would truly call in the legacy of Tolkien. A complex, storied world, well past its heyday as you follow the protagonists through it? A book woven through with poem and song and rituals, many of which have unclear meaning now? A story of people stumbling along to do what is right, despite the great burden on their shoulders, and their great confusion about how to accomplish it? Yeah, I'd say this bears some resemblance to Lord of the Rings. I think the most striking one is the empty, but incredibly once-lived-in world. 

Enough of that, though. The West Passage is a story about the incredible weight of history, that wheel that turns uncaringly on whether the details of the past are properly remembered or those in the future are prepared for the repetitions or not. The wheels of history have turned so long in the palace here that you can see the deep, deep ruts. Our two protagonists wander through this world, grasping at the edges of a vast tapestry of knowledge that no one can fully see or recall, trying to find their way to fulfill their duties as they understand them. In many ways, this is a book where a whole lot of absolutely nothing happens! In other ways something incredible is happening every few pages. I loved it. 

In addition to all of that, this book threads through it a pressing question: can anything ever change when exploitative power is in reach at all times? Will would-be rulers ever fulfill their promises or merely ascend the throne and become lost to their own whims?