As Quentin tries to make sense of a life without Fillory, a mysterious bird summons him to pull off the heist of a magical lifetime.
I got so much reading pleasure out of the trilogy that concludes in The Magician’s Land that I won’t wallow too much in my disappointment.
Let me make one thing clear–my theological differences with Grossman have nothing to do with my criticisms of the ending of the story. Sure, his worldview is about as far from mine as I can imagine, but I don’t consider that a necessary prerequisite for enjoying the story. It just means it won’t kick any of my favorites out of place.
No, my beef with this book is that it’s all deus ex machina and reset buttons and I’m just supposed to believe that Quentin has gotten his shit together? I’m not buying it. His dissatisfaction has gone nowhere but underground. Maybe I’m just sad about Robin Williams, but it seems to me that Grossman did such a good job creating Quentin’s depression that I don’t trust him when he says he’s left his sadness behind. I’m worried about him. He rode off into the sunset and I think 5 minutes later he’s going to be disappointed. It just didn’t work for me and I’m supremely bummed about it.