Eyes of a Hawk

The sheer amount of breadth, passion, and inventiveness in this novel was apparent from the very first page, which was, as it happens, a list of figures. To be completely honest, my eyes glaze over when I'm confronted with things like lists of figures, introductions, acknowledgements, and things like that. But it soon became very clear to me that this wasn't actually a list of figures from our world. If we've had an Arch-Sister Melodial VI or an Arnabi Tomb Blessed-Box in this world, that would be very interesting indeed. But we don't. And THAT is when I knew I was in for a treat.

Honestly, the beginning of this narrative was a bit intimidating. It is presented as a scholarly translation by a fictional university that tells the mythical tales of a hero named Hawk. There were a lot of terms thrown at me in the introductory passages- the Valestian Primacy, the First Albensian Imperiality, the Casidians, the Berosians- but all this really served to give me the sense of something vast. Reading Eyes of a Hawk genuinely felt like I was reading some ancient history tome from a half-forgotten land. There was a rant/essay about the Valestian and Ristos war written by a king in the beginning as well, and this was not only a very cool example of political dogmatism, but also a great piece of worldbuilding that served to introduce the major conflict in a way that felt true to the book as a whole. I also enjoyed the way aspects of Norse mythology (i.e. Yggdrasil, Jotunhall, etc) were incorporated without absolutely taking over the setting. I find that a lot of authors decide to 'take inspiration' from a real life culture/pantheon/mythological legacy and then just make their fantasy world a cut-out of that culture/pantheon/mythological legacy. But Sean Crowe managed to avoid that, and almost every location in this novel felt fresh and interesting.

The illustrations (presumably author-done) were also an awesome text that made me feel immersed in the depth of this story. The 'notes from an unorganized archivist' and the different maps were among my favorites.

As for the story itself, I will say that the prose was somewhat too purple-y. There was more figurative language than was strictly necessary, and there were a lot of moments where the same thing could've been said better with fewer words. But, that said, I definitely loved a lot of the descriptions. The prose was something else that was made it feel very mythological and old, even if it was a bit stylistically inaccessible. Hawk and Ilyia and their relationship and adventures were delightful, and the ending of this story was wonderfully chilling. I enjoyed reading this a lot.

Firstly, wow, I can tell so much went into the making of this as even in the beginning list of figures the world building was stunning and vast.
At first I was a bit tentative I thought this would be a lot to take in from the amount of knowledge to absorb and the writing, I thought it might be too scholarly to fully enjoy, however I was completely wrong. This was a beautifully written transportative story with amazing illustrations throughout which just add to the effect of being transported to another world. I loved all the Norse mythology and thought it worked really well with the rest of the story and this world. I also loved just seeing these characters go on an adventure - overall I thought this was an incredible, fun read that everyone should give a chance, especially if you big on fantasy you’ll be blown away.

How people tell stories is a fascinating topic, as old as humanity itself. The tools the tellers use to add emphasis and veracity live alongside the executive decisions translators make to emphasize (or de-emphasize) certain aspects of the story for this generation's retelling. Look no further than Cornelia, history's perfect woman—the nature of whose perfection depends broadly upon who is translating her story and in what era.

Eyes of a Hawk: Yggdrasil's Gaze is a story of stories: not just the tale of Hawk, its legendary central hero, but of the people who come after. The book is bookended by fictional notes by fictional scholars, making reference to other figures of this real world. While we spend most of our time with Hawk, following him on his century-spanning adventures, these future readers are always in the backs of our minds.

Sean Crowe's writing style for Eyes of a Hawk is not only intriguing, but also shows a legitimate deep knowledge of early poetry. Much of the book, while not arranged in verse (a decision noted in the fictional translator's prologue), maintains alliterative meter for emphasis. What's intriguing, though, is that this Old English writing style butts up against decidedly modern verbiage. Fictional items of our own world—such as adamantium and Silmarils—are blended into the metaphors. Brash language takes the reins, and occasionally falls into the alliterative verse itself. Several other modes of wordplay are all at work, weaving in and out of each other.

I haven't mentioned the actual story yet, which is because (as interesting as it is) it feels almost secondary to itself. Hawk is a mighty warrior in the employ of the Guild. His world contains dragons and dragon riders, magic alongside an awareness of some version of quantum physics, and has regrown after multiple ice ages. There are ancient legends that sound like and unlike our own. He fights literal and figurative monsters, gets wound up in politics, and—by the end—is in well over his head as he and his equally mighty wife Ilyia see her colossal aspirations through to the end.

Hawk's stories may well contain the fingerprints of centuries of translation and interpretation in his own world, as is hinted at in the prologues and epilogues. But it also, whether ironically or deliberately, has a COVID Chapter. Plagues are nothing new in either fiction or reality, but—much like the adamantium and Silmarils—the treatment of this chapter's subject matter claws its way off the page, reminding the reader of the here and now. Considering how deft Crowe is with mimicking this aspect of ancient literature in the fiction itself, I would like to believe that this was a deliberate move. The metaphor clawing its way through layers of worldbuilding to flick us in the forehead, to remind us that no translation will ever be pristine, that every modern writer will always lean into The World Now while interpreting The World Then. After literal months of reading the expected wave of COVID Books, each less cathartic and more depressing than the last, I want to give him that credit. So I shall.

As I was reading, I noticed something: I was desperate to understand how this setting came to be. The anachronistic metaphors, characters with names just slightly similar to mythological figures I knew, ice age upon ice age... I began to wonder what the deep, rich prehistory of this world was. But the more I looked for clues, the less I found. And I realized that I was becoming another of these historians, desperate to inflict my own meaning on the book rather than to engage with it. Again, I have no idea whether this was a purposeful move, but I will give Crowe the benefit of the doubt here.

Eyes of a Hawk: Yggdrasil's Gaze is a lot. If you're not a fan of ancient mythology and legend already, you may find yourself adrift in the words. But I still recommend giving it a try. If you are well-read in these areas, it's a must. Crowe shows a deft eye and hand for the writing of both the ancients and their modern interpreters, creating a work of fiction that simultaneously lauds and critiques its source.