Grossman, Lev. The Magicians.
Pour J.K. Rowling and C.S. Lewis into a bowl, spice it up with a few other authors, stir, but don't expect the cake to rise.
A mighty dreary fantasy, this. Neither plot nor characters enchanted, inspired, or even motivated concern. Poor Quentin. Over and over. Somebody kick him. Didn't care for any of the other characters, either.
If I'd had any initiative, I would have put this aside before getting to that ridiculous world of Fillory, and its equally unbelievable inhabitants. When Quentin first mentioned his fascination with the novels of his childhood and its inhabitants, I was uncomfortable. I'm sure he meant to honor C.S. Lewis' role in his own life, but it didn't come across that way for me--more like parody. The Brakesbill/Hogwarts was less derivative, but still no improvement.
A depressing book that has little to do with fantasy, or in my opinion, coming-of-age.
What a mean-spirited review. If you loved it, please forgive me. Maybe I was just in a bad mood.... Nahhh.
Fiction. Fantasy? 2009. 402 pages.