What Is The Plot Of The Broken Kingdoms Novel?

Think of 'The Broken Kingdoms' as a tightly wound, emotionally precise novel that wears a mystery cloak. At the center is Oree Shoth, a blind street artist whose sensory world is richly imagined—her blindness isn’t used as a mere plot device but as a unique vantage point on a society where deities and mortals are tangled in toxic exchange. The inciting incident is gruesome and inexplicable: a death that reads like the work of something magical and malicious. From there the narrative follows Oree as she pieces together clues, crosses paths with otherworldly beings, and learns that political and spiritual corruption can be as lethal as any blade.

On a structural level the book alternates intimate, inward-facing scenes with broader, almost mythic revelations. Characters who seem peripheral at first gather meaning as the layers peel back; familiar elements from 'The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms' give the stakes context without making prior reading essential. Thematically, Jemisin (and yes, I say that because the voice and craft are unmistakable) interrogates what it means to be worshipped, the commodification of divinity, and the ethics of survival. I find the book quietly devastating and very humane—it’s full of small, sharp human moments that counterpoint the cosmic violence, which is why it still lingers in my mind long after the last page.

I get oddly excited talking about 'The Broken Kingdoms' because it’s the kind of book that sneaks up on you—what looks like an urban fantasy murder mystery soon becomes a meditation on worship, art, and what it costs to be seen. The story centers on Oree Shoth, a young blind woman who ekes out a living as a street artist in a city full of secrets. Oree’s particular way of perceiving the world gives her an unusual relationship with the divine: she doesn’t see gods the way everyone expects, but she senses their effects and their wounds. When a violent, inexplicable death occurs on her street, she gets pulled into an investigation that forces her to confront dangerous, hidden forces.

Along the way familiar threads from the series reappear—gods and godlings, the residue of the power plays from 'The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms', and the troublesome, grieving Trickster, Sieh, who turns up and complicates things. The plot mingles a detective’s sleuthing (who killed whom and why) with intimate, character-driven beats: Oree’s internal life, the moral murk of people who worship power, and the uncanny ways art and faith overlap. There are betrayals, small mercies, and a creativity in worldbuilding that makes the city feel lived-in.

What I love most is the book’s heartbeat: it’s tender toward damaged people, and ruthless toward institutional cruelty. It’s not just a plot about gods being murdered; it’s about how power fractures ordinary lives and how unlikely relationships can become lifelines. Reading it felt like wandering a city at dusk—shadows everywhere, but also moments of terrible, beautiful clarity.

If I try to sum up 'The Broken Kingdoms' in plain terms: it’s a dark, intimate urban fantasy about a blind young woman, Oree Shoth, who can perceive the world’s magical fractures in ways others can’t. A brutal, supernatural murder on her doorstep propels her into a dangerous investigation that uncovers poisoned faith, hidden gods, and the ugly human bargains that sustain them. The book mixes detective beats with mythic underpinnings and keeps the focus tightly on character—Oree’s resilience and vulnerability are the engine of the plot.

What makes it stand out for me is how it treats disability, art, and religion with nuance; it never reduces Oree to a stereotype, and her artistry becomes a form of seeing. Sieh, the Trickster god from the earlier book, appears and complicates things, but the novel’s heart is Oree and the people she touches—some kind, some cruel. It’s bleak at times, luminous at others, and left me thinking about sacrifice and the cost of power for days afterward.

If you're curious about 'The Broken Kingdoms', here's the kind of dark, intimate fantasy ride that grabbed me and didn't let go. It's the second book in N. K. Jemisin's loose Inheritance Trilogy and shifts focus away from the epic palace politics of the first book to a quieter, grittier corner of the same world. The protagonist, Oree Shoth, is a young, blind woman trying to make a life in the city of Sky: she survives by painting and doing odd jobs, and she has a strange, uncanny relationship with the divine — she perceives the presence of gods differently than others do, and the everyday holiness and hostility of the gods saturates her world. That set-up feels small-scale compared to the huge stagecraft of the first novel, but it gives Jemisin room to do really vivid, human-scale work about faith, art, and what power does to people.

The plot really kicks off when Oree gets pulled into a mystery that’s both violent and morally messy: gods and godlings start being attacked or killed, and Oree somehow finds herself at the center of that chaos. She becomes entangled with a group of people — some ordinary, some divine in varying and worrying degrees — while trying to figure out who or what is behind the killings, and why a blind street artist would be connected to such big, dangerous forces. Along the way she meets strange allies and enemies, and the story slowly peels back layers of the city and the gods' place in it. The mystery element is strong, but the book never treats it as just a whodunit; each revelation lands with emotional weight because Oree's perspective is so tied to how the gods affect people's lives on the ground.

What I really loved is how the novel blends murder-mystery pacing with deep philosophical undercurrents. Jemisin explores what it means to worship, to be used, and to be seen — or not seen — in a world where gods can literally intrude on people’s lives. Oree’s blindness is written with empathy and originality: she experiences the world and divine encounters in ways that feel fresh, and the prose leans into sensory detail that isn't just visual. Characters are complicated and rarely pure villains or saints; loyalties shift, and the truth about who holds power is messy and costly. There’s also some genuinely eerie, imaginative worldbuilding: the book is full of strange rituals, unsettling divine remnants, and scenes that made me sit up and reread because they were so potent.

Bottom line, 'The Broken Kingdoms' trades sweeping court intrigue for a tight, morally dense tale about a woman caught between gods and people. It’s atmospheric, occasionally brutal, and surprisingly tender — with one of those central characters who sticks with you long after the last page. If you like fantasy that leans emotional and philosophical while still delivering a twisting plot, this one’s a real treat; I finished it feeling both unsettled and strangely soothed by how honestly it treats its world and its characters.