Review of Fall of the School for Good and Evil (Rise, #2) by Soman Chainani
From the moment I cracked open Soman Chainani’s Fall of the School for Good and Evil (Rise, #2), I felt an odd mix of excitement and trepidation. As a long-time fan of the series, I was eager to see where this whimsical yet dark journey would take us. However, as the pages turned, I found myself once again entangled in the same web of frustration that I’ve experienced with Chainani’s work before. Each encounter has left me pondering: can it really get worse? Spoiler alert: it can!
The narrative is undeniably ambitious, blending familiar fairy tale motifs with a deeper, often darker exploration of good and evil. Yet, I often felt as if the spine of the plot was barely present for the majority of the book. Important themes are hinted at—gender roles, toxic masculinity, and representations of LGBTQIA characters—but they felt scattered and sometimes mishandled. The climax left me feeling more confounded than satisfied, with more questions than answers, especially regarding the character dynamics and their histories.
One character that stood out, or rather stumbled into the narrative, was Kyma, the token female figure who, despite being painted as "not like other girls," often seemed to merely exist for the male characters to cast aside her agency. I couldn’t help but wonder if this was meant to serve as commentary, but it often veered into uncomfortable territory, especially with the "bully romance" dynamic that led to a muddled message about empowerment.
Furthermore, the portrayal of Midas—who wields the literal power to turn kisses into gold—felt frustratingly underutilized. His struggles with insecurities under the lens of toxic masculinity were interesting at first but ultimately became repetitive. I was left shaking my head at the choices he made, especially when his powers could have dramatically altered the stakes in the narrative.
Chainani’s writing style maintains its trademark whimsy, but the pacing often felt as if it were stuck in molasses. The first two-thirds of the book seemed almost aimless, leading to a rushed resolution that lacked the emotional weight the story needed. It’s strange to think that a book over 300 pages could feel so empty at times, with only the plot twist towards the end offering a moment of genuine surprise—a moment I had already guessed due to foreshadowing.
One thing I appreciated, albeit begrudgingly, was the absence of Tedros, though it felt like swapping one brand of misogyny for another with different male characters. The attempts at representation and exploration of LGBT themes were stark but underwhelming, leaving me wondering if they were merely window dressing rather than meaningful plot devices.
In conclusion, I must say that while Fall of the School for Good and Evil had its moments of intrigue, it struggled significantly with pacing, character development, and a coherent narrative. Readers who are devoted fans may still find some glimmers of the charm that drew them to the series, but for those seeking a rich, equal representation and a thoughtfully woven plot, this installment may fall flat.
For me, it was a tough read—a test of endurance in the face of narrative challenges. If you’ve previously enjoyed Chainani’s whimsical yet provocative world, this could be worth your time. But for newcomers, I would recommend starting elsewhere—this book may leave you more bewildered than enchanted, and, quite frankly, I think I’ll need a moment before diving back into any further escapades in this universe.
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