Perhaps one of the most underrated traits a character can have is the ability to take a beating. There’s something admirable about watching a character take a licking and keep on ticking. ‘I can do this all day,’ says a diminutive, pre-super serum Steve Rogers at the beginning of Captain America: The First Avenger as he gets the living snot beat out of him by some tough guy. He’s lying to himself and to us, and yet we want to believe him. But even without cool one-liners and an incredibly motivational self-confidence, there’s something relatable about seeing a character get physically (and emotionally) pummelled. ‘Yeah,’ I say, as scrawny Locke Lamora gets stabbed, kicked, punched, poisoned, and drowned. ‘That’s me.’
The Lies of Locke Lamora by Scott Lynch follows the trials of the ‘Gentlemen Bastards’, a gang of thieves masquerading as priests in the slums Camorr—a city of canals and small islands where the divide between the rich and poor is woven into the worldbuilding in the form of the Secret Peace—the unspoken pact between the government and criminal underworld that allows organised crime to flourish, so long as the nobility and public servants are untouched.
Camorr is almost a character in its own right. Imagine if Venice were shrouded in mist, shark-infested, and littered with impervious glass structures left behind by a mysterious ancient race. Each island of Camorr has its own name, history, and personality, all which is woven seamlessly into the narrative. Lynch uses the atmosphere of the city with a deft hand to drive home the constant states of deprivation and danger most of the city lives in—undercut by the Gentlemen Bastard’s particular living situation.
If watching a character get repeatedly beat down is one form of reading pleasure, watching a character excel in their field is another. Locke and his Bastards are filthy rich. Importantly, they got this way by breaking the Secret Peace, something they keep hidden from ‘Capa’ Barsavi—the murderous head of the criminal underworld whom all gangs in Camorr pay tribute to. Breaking the Secret Peace can’t be done overtly, hence the novel’s main hook: The Gentlemen Bastards are as much actors as they are thieves and plan elaborate ‘heists’ in which they rob the nobility by concocting elaborate backstories, often befriending their mark before defrauding them. It’s wonderful to watch this novel’s primary heist play out. It’s so elaborate and smart and well-thought out (both by Lynch and his characters), incorporating various elements of worldbuilding with such startling efficiency, I found myself having an extremely grounded knowledge of this world without realising it.
Most of this knowledge came from the storytelling in the main plot, but some of it also came from the book’s many interludes. These interludes are the most interesting thing about the novel’s pacing and structure. Lynch made the decision to put them between almost every chapter, and they serve a variety of functions. Initially they provide a space for flashbacks to Locke’s youth, but soon they start spinning out to include the perspective of other characters, tales about the city of Camorr itself, and seeming non-sequiturs that serve as set-up for later events. The frequency of these diversions from the main plot can be a bit jarring initially, but after several repeated instances of Lynch proving just how entertaining these interludes could be, I found myself leaping into them with anticipation.
While I mentioned that the main hook of Locke Lamora are the heists, I should point out that these aren’t what the story is about. In fact, the real antagonist of the story is a long time coming. Without giving too much away, there seems to be someone coming for Capa Barsavi’s job as head of the criminal underworld, but for the first half of the novel, this is mostly a subplot—something our main characters hear mutterings about while they go about their business of pulling off their most impressive heist yet. In this sense, I struggled to figure out where the novel was going for a good chunk of it—I didn’t know what the author was trying to say with it all. This all became apparent later on, though, and really, I’m not sure I can fault Lynch for this when all of his set up was just so damn entertaining.
Circling back to my first paragraph, this story is about perseverance. It’s also about revenge and brotherhood and power, but I would maintain that Locke Lamora’s ability to never stop trying no matter how many disasters fate and consequence throw at him is what makes this novel so compelling. I didn’t realise when I first picked up this book that it was the first novel in a series, and I have to admit being a bit disappointed when I figured that out—I hadn’t been looking to start a whole new series! But by the end, I couldn’t get enough of Locke Lamora and his Gentlemen Bastards, and found myself eager for book two.
Side note: This novel tells a complete story by itself--it's worth reading even if you're not looking to get into a series, in my opinion!
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