It has become so commonplace to plot a novel by following seemingly unrelated characters along individual plot lines until they all merge together into some seemingly fated event as to be cliche. Unless you’re Alexander Yates. Then, it works. A stunning debut novel, almost as magical as the bruho who populate it. The difference is that each thread could be an actual novel in itself, not just a device to tie it all together. The finale wraps up not as we expect it, or as we think it should, or even how Yates thinks it should; it ends the way it must.