Eleanor

I’ll admit, I approached *Eleanor* skeptical of yet another ‘plucky servant saves the day’ narrative, but Cogman’s writing disarmed me within chapters. The novel’s strength lies in its *specificity*—Eleanor isn’t a generic underdog; she’s a woman who’s scrubbed floors, memorized her betters’ secrets, and now wields that knowledge like a dagger. The League of the Scarlet Pimpernel here isn’t a band of dashing nobles playing at heroism; it’s a fractured, desperate alliance where trust is a liability. Cogman’s blend of historical detail (the stench of Paris, the weight of a forged passport) and fantasy (cursed relics, spectral informants) feels organic, never jarring. Schepmann’s narration elevates the material further. Her Eleanor is weary but never whiny, her French accents consistent without veering into caricature, and her handling of the novel’s darker moments—particularly a scene involving a possessed guillotine—is chillingly effective. My only critique? The mid-book pacing drags slightly during a subplot involving alchemical experiments; the intrigue feels necessary for worldbuilding but slows the momentum. And while the ending lands emotionally, a few threads (like a rival spy’s motives) are resolved too neatly. Still, these are quibbles. For fans of *The Golem and the Jinni*’s historical depth or *The Lies of Locke Lamora*’s heist energy—but with a heroine who’d roll her eyes at both—*Eleanor* is a standout. Just don’t listen while operating heavy machinery; the last act’s tension had me gripping my steering wheel like a cutlass.