I Wanted to Love The Devils by Joe Abercrombie—I Didn’t
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There’s a certain thrill when Joe Abercrombie releases a new fantasy book—especially one that promises a return to blood-soaked roads, sharp-tongued outcasts, and the kind of grimdark storytelling that leaves a bruise. The Devils opens with a premise that hums with danger: Brother Diaz, a holy man summoned to the Sacred City, expecting honor, and instead handed a flock of monsters. Literal ones. Murderers, mages, and men twisted by their pasts, all bound together on a mission that demands more violence than virtue.
There are greedy princes playing politics in gilded rooms, elves sharpening their teeth beyond the borders, and a world quietly rotting beneath the weight of ambition and comfort. It should be thrilling. It should be chaos incarnate.
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*side note* Let’s talk about dark epic fantasy for a second. It’s not just about brooding landscapes and blades slick with blood. It’s about scale—kingdoms in crisis, ancient magic with a cost, and characters fighting wars on the battlefield and inside themselves. There’s beauty, yes—but it’s shadowed. Choices are rarely clean. And when the light shows up, it usually limps in too late.
Now, back to your regularly scheduled review.
And for a moment, it almost is. But as I turned the pages, I felt it—that subtle shift. Not a descent into madness, but a dulling of the edge. And that’s where my reading experience began to change.
Title: The Devils
Author: Joe Abercrombie
Publisher: Tor Books
Format: Physical ARC and Audiobook (ALC)
Genre: Fantasy, Dark Fantasy
Release Date: May 13, 2025
Pages: 592
Star Rating: 3 stars
Spice Rating: 0 chili peppers
We All Need Something to Hold On To
When Tor reached out about reviewing The Devils, it was an immediate yes. No hesitation. It felt like the perfect way to begin my descent into Joe Abercrombie—a standalone entry point into a writer whose name constantly circles the upper tier of dark epic fantasy. I’d heard the praise. I’d seen the hype. And this? This just felt…serendipitous.
I started off reading physically—cracking open the spine, highlighter in hand—but then I remembered I’d received an ALC from Libro.fm. I swapped formats midstream and opted for an immersive read. Before long, the physical copy was collecting dust on my nightstand. I’m not usually one to go all in on audio, but this time, I didn’t look back. The audiobook swept in and took the reins.
And here’s where it gets complicated.
As I read, I found myself stuck in a conundrum—equally bored and entertained. Some moments I wanted to DNF the whole thing just to save my sanity. Other times I was cackling so hard my cheeks ached. Even now, as I sit writing this review with the final hour of the audiobook playing in the background, I’m still torn. It feels like I’m standing in the center of a veil—hovering in the between—unsure whether to push through or simply…drift.
“Fuck ’em she’d always said. You’ll find enough folk want you to suffer; there’s no need to help the bastard.”
*ehm let me just skooch in right here*
*Side note*: I can see why people love Abercrombie. There’s something undeniable here. But as a first read? I know I’ll need another to really decide if he’s an author for me. This one left me unsure—not in the mysterious way, but in the almost-there way. Close, but not close enough.
Still, let’s lay it all out.
What this book does well, it does really well. There’s a tone here that reminded me of The Bloodsworn Trilogy—though not as war-driven, and far more irreverent. It’s dense, for sure, but if you’ve read Bloodsworn, you know that density isn’t a deal-breaker. In fact, that’s what kept it on the right side of the line for me.
And the narration? *Chef’s kiss*. A single voice, but every character carved out with clarity. The narrator doesn’t just perform—he becomes the cast. And that’s what built the atmosphere for me, more than the words themselves.
“I am a great admirer of the tenets of your religion. I merely find it a shame that the Saved are, as a rule, so little like their Saviour.”
So what didn’t work?
Let’s start with this: The Devils often felt like a mashup of fragmented pieces—moments that could’ve been brilliant, loosely strung together in the hope that their collective weight would carry the whole. But the seams showed. And for me, the cracks started with Brother Diaz.
He’s framed as the spiritual anchor of the story—a monk-turned-vicar plucked from the quiet solitude of his monastery library and thrown into chaos. But here’s the thing: he never actually anchors anything. He cowers. He stumbles. Prays to Saint Beatrix in every corner, but never commands the space he’s given. His “flock”—the so-called devils—steamroll every scene, and Diaz simply exists beside them, never really within the narrative in a meaningful way.
And I kept waiting. Kept hoping for a pivot. Flipping pages, scribbling in the margins: What is the point of Brother Diaz? Eighty-five percent in, and I still haven’t found an answer. And to be fair? I don’t see redemption coming in the final stretch.
“Everything Ends in Tears.”
That lack of narrative clarity bleeds into the plot as well. Now, not every book needs to be a sweeping masterpiece with five subplots and a moral twist. I’m not asking for that. But when the central mission is to escort a thief-turned-princess to the city of Troy… it begs the question: Then what? The road is gritty. The dialogue cuts. But there’s a lingering sense that we’re just wandering. I don’t need a thousand threads—I just want a destination that feels earned.
The adventure is fine. There are moments that pop—conversations that sing, fights that crackle—but once they reach Troy, if that’s all there is… what was the point of the journey?
“Sweet Saint Beatrix…” whimpered the priest, then he released the door and ran for it.
There’s a particular kind of pacing that feels like wading through molasses, where each chapter feels like it should matter, but the urgency never quite arrives. That’s what The Devils felt like for me.
There were bursts of brilliance—sharp dialogue, sudden chaos, and a few laugh-out-loud moments that caught me off guard—but they were strung together with long stretches of fog. The kind of wandering that doesn’t feel purposeful. The plot itself (escort the princess-thief to Troy) could’ve carried weight if the stakes had ever truly settled in. Instead, the journey often felt circular, like we were stuck spinning instead of pressing forward.
Momentum would build, and then… fade. I’d lean in, thinking, Here it is—this is the moment it all clicks, only for the narrative to retreat again into abstraction or awkward pacing. It’s not that every book needs to sprint, but this one never decided how fast it wanted to walk.
“The Universe holds no mysteries for me any longer.”
But what shines—gleaming like gold catching the sun just right—are the characters. And no, definitely not Brother Diaz. I mean the real heart of the story: the devils themselves. Vigga. Sunny. All of them carved from grit and shadow and ridiculous bravado. They take center stage with the kind of unapologetic presence that reminds you exactly who this book was written for. And let’s be honest—the title doesn’t lie. This isn’t about Diaz. It never was. It’s about them.
Every time the plot thinned or the pacing stumbled, they pulled me back in. Their banter. Their bloodlust. The strange, crooked bonds. They’re messy and monstrous and oddly endearing, and even when I wasn’t sure what we were fighting toward, I was still invested in them. That’s rare. That’s something.
So, who is The Devils for? This one’s for the character lovers. The found-family-of-murderers crowd. The readers who thrive on banter laced with blood and bite. If you’re someone who can sit through a meandering plot so long as the voices in your ears are wild, wicked, and weirdly endearing—The Devils might be your thing.
If you loved the raw energy of Kings of the Wyld but wished it were a little darker, a little more cursed, you’ll likely find a kindred spirit here. And if you come for the morally gray, not the morally grounded? Step right up.
But if you need tight pacing, a clear arc, or a protagonist who commands rather than disappears… this one might test your patience.
“Pretend to be what you want to be, one day you might find you’re not pretending anymore.”
In the end, The Devils is a fantasy book that walks a jagged line between chaos and charisma—between clever content and the kind of narrative drift that makes you question your own ambitions for reading it. Joe Abercrombie may be known for his grimly charming prose and blood-soaked worlds, but this standalone doesn’t fully deliver the punch I was hoping for. The devils themselves—this riotous group of monsters, misfits, and mayhem—are what kept me tethered. But Brother Diaz, our would-be guide through the dark, never steps into the light of purpose. Greedy princes plot in comfort while others count the cost in blood, but without a central pulse driving it all forward, much of the journey feels as directionless as Diaz himself.
That said, I’m not writing off Abercrombie just yet. This was my first entry to his work, and though it didn’t quite hit, I can see the sharp edges that make readers loyal. I’ll be back—perhaps with a different book, a different Brother, and a bit more care. Until then, if you’re here for a fantasy where princes care only for power, and devils do the dirty work in their place, The Devils might still be worth the read… just don’t expect it to lead you anywhere holy.
Thank you so much to Tor for sending me an ARC of The Devils for review. Don’t forget to support your local bookstore when you purchase a copy of The Devils, releasing on May 13, 2025!
The Devils Audiobook on Libro.fm
A brand-new epic fantasy from New York Times bestselling author Joe Abercrombie, featuring a notorious band of anti-heroes on a delightfully bloody and raucous journeyHoly work sometimes requires unholy deeds.Brother Diaz has been summoned to the Sacred City, where he is certain a commendation and grand holy assignment awaits him. But his new…
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