A weary, mysterious narrator is encouraged to tell his life story. His story starts in abject poverty, and, against all the odds, the narrator learns all sorts of powerful magics and skills. In the framing device, the narrator's notoriety is hinted at, but that's all in the future of the bulk of the story. If that sounds a lot like another rather more famous recent SFF hit... Yeah. Look, it's Name of the Wind, but with some smallish hints of a sort of Hindu-inspired mythology, and the magic school is a monastery rather than a university.

The writing is sometimes awkward, but it's awkward because RR Virdi is trying to affect a certain style. It doesn't always work, but I kind of have a grudging respect for the ambition. Virdi has a weird liking for awkward zeugmas such as: "The poor and well-to-do didn't wear colors like that. The stark vibrancy drew eyes, made a show of wealth, and required the latter to keep clean in a world where road dust inevitably found its way to your clothing." (kindle loc 7994) and "The kind of residence that only the wealthiest of travelers, just short of nobility and the comforts provided to those, could afford" (kindle loc 8136).

Story-wise, it's fairly predictable. About 80% of the way through I realised that this was going to be one of those books that works harder to set up the sequel than it does to give the current book any kind of satisfying conclusion. I was right.

The pacing of the book is kind of clunky. There were long stretches where I didn't feel like anything was happening. There were scenes that, I guess, were trying to build up a picture of Ari and his monastery friends that descended into cringey unnecessary banter. The jumps back to the narrator and his audience seemed oddly timed, and the whole thing just felt a bit flabby.

But, y'know, I finished the book. I liked the world building. When Virdi's prose works, it's nice enough to read. I probably won't read any sequels.