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The fantasy genre is packed with masterpieces, books that have truly changed the way we experience the genre. Think of the usual suspects — The Lord of the Rings, the Stormlight Archive series, the Earthsea Cycle — the books that have shaped fantasy on the page, creating some of the most daring, wondrous, and timeless worlds and allowing us to escape our reality for a few hundred precious pages. Not all fantasy masterpieces are as recognized as the genre's titans; indeed, many become forgotten in the sands of time, which is what could be said of Joe Abercrombie's The First Law trilogy.
This gritty, subversive fantasy saga turns all the genre's usual tropes on their head, focusing on flawed characters in a broken, politically corrupt continent. A defining entry in the grimdark subgenre, The First Law trilogy is not nearly as recognized as it should be, but all that can change if only readers picked up the first book, which will undoubtedly grab their full attention from the opening pages. The first book in the series, The Blade Itself, has some of the strongest opening pages of any fantasy book, throwing the reader directly into the action and refusing to let go. A book is only as strong as its opening pages, and The Blade Itself is a masterclass of how to open a fantasy saga.
What Is 'The Blade Itself' About?
As expected from a grimdark fantasy, The Blade Itself is set in a bleak, corrupt, deeply cynical world. The plot follows three characters as their paths collide, courtesy of a mysterious mage. There's Logen Ninefingers, a barbarian who travels south after losing his companions in the north. There's Inquisitor Sand dan Glokta, once a dashing hero who suffered mutilations as a POW, now a torturer investigating corruption in Adua, the capital city of the Union. Finally, there's Captain Jezal dan Luthar, a vain nobleman whose self-interest clashes with his sense of duty as the loom of war approaches. The three characters find themselves joining the mage Bayaz, First of the Magi, who recruits them to go on a dangerous quest. Meanwhile, the Union is threatened by King Bethod in the north and the Gurkish Empire in the South.
The Blade Itself is primarily a character-driven story. There's not much plot per se, rather the basis for what will eventually become the First Law trilogy. However, the book is exceptionally well-written, particularly regarding the protagonists' characterization. Logen, Jezal, and Glokta are three of the most fascinating characters in fantasy, each one amoral, elusive, contradictory, and endlessly compelling. The Blade Itself also has some unexpected, pitch-black humor, making it a far richer, more engaging read.
'The Blade Itself' Hooks You in From the Opening Pages
The Blade Itself opens with a prologue, ominously titled "The End." Immediately, we are introduced to Logen Ninefingers, and from what we can read, he's a fearsome warrior. The premise of these four pages is simple: in the freezing north, Logen becomes separate from his companions before being attacked by two enemies, whom he refers to as either "Shanka" or "Flathead." Here, Abercrombie's prose is incredibly vivid but economical: in a few well-chosen words, he immerses us in this barren, freezing place, setting the stage by describing key features — the earth, the wind, the trees — but without wasting too much time being overly descriptive.
Similarly, the action is muscular and fast-paced; much like an actual battle to the death, it avoids flourishes and sticks to the facts. Through it all, Abercrombie's writing flows effortlessly; it's sequential, almost messy, but incredibly effective at grabbing your attention and completely submerging you into this arctic hell. Although just four pages long, "The End" successfully makes you feel the stress, the life-or-death stakes; in just over a thousand words, you've come to root for Logen, despite knowing next to nothing about him. There's an incredible effectiveness to this prologue; you don't know anything about this world except that it's dangerous and unforgiving, ideas that spread to the overall worldbuilding. It's tremendously astute, worldbuilding by way of action rather than info dumps.
Two pages then separate the prologue from Part I, a quote from the Greek poet Homer that surely inspired the book's title as the only content here. Then, we jump straight into the aftermath, in the four-episode chapter titled "The Survivors." Logen's journey continues, picking up after barely surviving the Shanka attack. Once again, Abecrombie brilliantly sets the scene, first by describing Logen's battered state, then by putting us in his decision-making process. He survived, but now what? Surviving alone requires tools, the equipment he left at his camp when the attack began. Thus, he goes back to the place where the violence erupted, finding the remnants of the camp he once shared with his companions.
It's here that we see another side of Logen, as he mourns his surely dead companions and expresses a sentimental attachment for an old pot that had accompanied him for the last decade or so, and which somehow survived the attack. There's a haunting melancholy to the scene, as Abercrombie's gloomy prose paints a somber portrait of a veteran of conflict realizing he might never escape the cycle of violence. That Abercrombie manages to do so much character work while actively progressing the plot is genuinely astonishing, and it's something you can expect throughout the rest of the book. In The Blade Itself, the characterization is the main event, and worldbuilding comes through character beats. Not many fantasy books can say that for themselves.
'The Blade Itself' Is a Must-Read for Any Fantasy Fan
The restless, near-harrowing yet immersive quality of these ten opening pages is a perfect testament to The Blade Itself's overall approach and quality. These introductory chapters are a microcosm of what Abercrombie has in store for you: there will be action, ruthless and enveloping, messy yet consciously written; there will be humor, dark, bordering on macabre, but successful at bringing some much-needed levity; there will be a sense of sorrow, a pervading wistfulness that clashes against the bleak, oppressive environment to create a distinctly haunting atmosphere.
Above all, The Blade Itself will offer you a vivid portrayal of survival in the face of near-total amorality. You won't find knights in shining armor here, but rather broken, profoundly flawed, self-serving anti-heroes doing what they can with the hand they've been given, playing a rigged game with one hand tied behind their backs. If you love the war-infested, political intricacy of A Song of Ice and Fire and the melancholy, character-driven storytelling of Kazuo Ishiguro's works, then The Blade Itself and the larger First Law trilogy are perfect for you.
