The Broken Kingdoms

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.

I got completely wrapped up in the cast of 'The Broken Kingdoms' — the heart of the story is Oree Shoth, and she stuck with me long after I finished the book. Oree is a young, blind artist living in a city full of gods and grudges; Jemisin writes her with so much texture that you can feel the world through the way she perceives it rather than sight. Her life is messy and dangerous in ways that slowly unfold, and the narrative spends a lot of time inside her head, showing how resourceful and stubborn she is even when everything around her is collapsing.

Alongside Oree, Sieh is the other central figure. He’s this small, eternally childlike trickster-god who carries centuries of mischief and grief in his grin. Their dynamic — the blunt, guarded humanity of Oree against Sieh’s capricious, ancient impulse — drives most of the emotional weight of the novel. Beyond those two, the story is essentially built from interactions with gods, godlings, and a handful of key mortals who orbit them: priests, artists, and a few dangerous secret-keepers. The supporting cast isn’t just background; they change the stakes for Oree and help reveal different faces of godhood and power.

Reading it, I kept thinking about how Jemisin uses character to explore empathy, violence, and art. Oree and Sieh aren’t just plot pieces — they’re the lenses through which the whole city is examined, and that made the book linger with me. I loved the way their perspectives clash and converge, and I still find myself picturing small moments from their scenes when I’m daydreaming.

Jumping into Jemisin's Inheritance world, my top recommendation is simple: follow publication order because the emotional and narrative payoff builds deliberately across the three books. Start with 'The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms'—it sets up the world, the political stakes, and introduces a cast whose histories and grievances echo throughout the rest of the trilogy. Then read 'The Broken Kingdoms', which moves to a quieter, more intimate street-level perspective and rewards readers who already know the broader cosmology. Finish with 'The Kingdom of Gods', which brings cumulative revelations and shifts perspective in ways that land best if you’ve already met the characters and history.

Reading this way keeps spoilery reveals intact and preserves the tonal shifts Jemisin uses to deepen the world. The second book reads almost like a companion that expands the world sideways rather than just forwarding a single linear plot; that’s why reading it after the first feels so satisfying—the mystery and the stakes have context. Also, if you enjoy audiobooks, the different narrators really sell the change in mood between books. Overall, publication order kept my sense of wonder intact and made the trilogy feel like a single, layered experience rather than three disconnected novels. I still smile thinking about how the middle book quietly changed my view of the whole series.

Totally — the short version is yes, but it's tidier than you might expect. 'The Broken Kingdoms' sits in the middle of a small, self-contained set of novels, so if you enjoyed its vibe, there are direct companions to dive into.

The trilogy starts with 'The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms', moves into 'The Broken Kingdoms', and wraps up with 'The Kingdom of Gods'. Each book shifts viewpoint and tone: the first leans into court intrigue and the shocking politics of gods and mortals, the middle drops you into a darker, more intimate street-level mystery, and the third circles back to the divine in ways that feel both surprising and inevitable. Reading the three in order gives you the emotional payoff of character threads and worldbuilding that thread through the series, and you'll appreciate recurring motifs and tiny cameos much more.

Beyond those core novels there aren't a flood of official sequels that continue the saga decades later; the trilogy is meant to be a closed arc. That said, the author has written other short pieces and has shared extras in interviews and collections that expand on lore or offer glimpses into the setting. If you loved the atmosphere and mythology here, the trilogy plus a few ancillary short works will scratch that itch — I still find myself thinking about certain scenes weeks after finishing 'The Kingdom of Gods'.

If you're hunting for a copy of 'The Broken Kingdoms', I've found the best starting points are the big audiobook and ebook storefronts plus your local library apps. Audible almost always carries mainstream fantasy audiobooks, and you can use a credit or a purchase; their app makes offline listening easy. For ebooks, Amazon Kindle is a safe bet—search the Kindle Store or the Kindle app and you'll usually find it available. Apple Books, Google Play Books, Kobo, and Barnes & Noble's Nook are the other major ebook sellers where I check price and format compatibility before buying.

I also lean on library services a lot: OverDrive/Libby and Hoopla often have both audiobook and ebook copies you can borrow for free if your library owns them. It can take a bit of luck and holds time, but borrowing saved me a ton of money. If you prefer indie-friendly options, try Libro.fm for audiobooks (it supports local bookstores) or Scribd for a subscription model where some books appear within the monthly access.

A practical tip: check the publisher's page—Orbit (Hachette) handles a lot of fantasy titles—plus the author's official site or social media for links and narrator info. Prices, narrator editions, and regional availability vary, so compare a few shops. I usually sign up for price-drop alerts or wait for Audible/Chirp deals; snagging the audiobook on sale feels like a tiny victory. Happy listening—it's one of those books I always enjoy revisiting on slow evenings.

I picked up 'The Kingdoms' on a whim after seeing it recommended in a few book clubs, and wow, it completely sucked me in. Natasha Pulley’s blend of historical fiction with a twist of speculative elements is just my kind of thing. The way she weaves together time travel, alternate histories, and deeply personal stories feels so fresh. It’s not your typical time-travel novel—it’s quieter, more introspective, and the emotional stakes hit hard. If you’re into books that make you think while tugging at your heartstrings, this one’s a gem.

What really stood out to me was the relationship between the main characters, Joe and Kite. Their dynamic is so layered, with this slow-burn tension that’s both heartbreaking and beautiful. Pulley doesn’t rush things; she lets the connection simmer, and when it finally boils over, it’s utterly satisfying. The prose is gorgeous too—lyrical without being pretentious, and the historical details feel meticulously researched. I found myself stopping just to reread certain passages because they were that good. If you enjoy books like 'The Watchmaker of Filigree Street' or 'The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo,' this might be right up your alley. I finished it weeks ago, and I’m still thinking about it.

The first thing that struck me about 'A Kingdom of Ruin' was how it blends dark fantasy with raw emotional depth. The story follows a fallen kingdom on the brink of collapse, where the last heir, a princess stripped of her title, fights not just to reclaim her throne but to survive in a world that’s actively hunting her. The author doesn’t shy away from brutality—political betrayals, magical corruption, and the cost of vengeance are central themes. What really hooked me, though, was the protagonist’s moral ambiguity. She’s not a typical hero; she makes ruthless choices, and the book forces you to grapple with whether her actions are justified.

Another layer I loved was the world-building. The kingdom’s ruins are almost a character themselves, filled with cursed relics and forgotten magic. There’s a subplot about a rebel faction trying to repurpose ancient spells, which adds this fascinating tension between progress and destruction. If you’re into gritty, character-driven fantasies like 'The Poppy War' or 'Prince of Thorns,' this one’s a must-read. It left me thinking about it for days after finishing.

I just finished 'The Kingdoms' last week, and wow—what a ride! Natasha Pulley’s writing is so immersive, blending historical fiction with subtle speculative twists. The ending is this beautiful, bittersweet resolution where the protagonist, Joe, finally unravels the tangled timeline he’s been trapped in. After jumping between alternate histories where Britain is under French rule and his own reality, he makes a choice that feels both inevitable and heartbreaking. The way Pulley ties up loose threads is masterful; you’re left with this lingering sense of melancholy but also satisfaction. The final scenes with Joe and Kite, the mysterious ship captain, are especially poignant. Their relationship, built across fragmented timelines, culminates in a quiet moment that’s more about what’s unspoken than what’s said. It’s the kind of ending that sticks with you for days, making you flip back to earlier chapters to piece together all the clues you missed.

One thing I adore about the ending is how it respects the reader’s intelligence. Pulley doesn’t spoon-feed explanations; instead, she leaves just enough ambiguity for you to wonder about the 'what-ifs.' Like, did Joe truly alter the timeline for the better, or is history just looping again? And that last letter—oh, it wrecked me! The way it echoes the novel’s opening but with a shifted perspective is genius. If you love stories that blend emotional depth with mind-bending concepts, 'The Kingdoms' delivers in spades. I’m already itching to reread it just to catch all the foreshadowing I glossed over the first time.

If you loved 'The Kingdoms' for its blend of historical intrigue and speculative twists, you might dive into 'The Watchmaker of Filigree Street' by Natasha Pulley. It has that same enchanting mix of alternate history and delicate, almost magical realism—where tiny details ripple into huge consequences. The protagonist’s life gets tangled with a mysterious watchmaker, and the story unfolds with that same quiet, creeping tension that 'The Kingdoms' does so well. Both books play with timelines in a way that feels organic, not gimmicky, and they share a knack for making the past feel alive and slightly uncanny.

Another gem is 'The Shadow of the Wind' by Carlos Ruiz Zafón. While it’s more Gothic mystery than alternate history, it shares that lush, atmospheric prose and a plot that hinges on lost books and hidden pasts. The way Zafón builds Barcelona as a character reminded me of how 'The Kingdoms' makes its settings breathe—every alleyway feels like it has secrets. If you’re after something with more outright fantasy but similar emotional weight, 'Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell' by Susanna Clarke is a must. It’s slower-paced, but the historical texture and dry wit are perfection. I still catch myself thinking about Clarke’s footnotes months later.

The main character in Natasha Pulley's 'The Kingdoms' is Joe Tournier, a fascinating and deeply layered protagonist who starts the story with no memory of his past. He wakes up in a world where England lost the Napoleonic Wars and is now a French colony, which is such a wild premise to explore. Joe's journey is this gripping mix of historical fiction, time travel, and mystery, and I love how Pulley crafts his personality—confused, determined, and quietly resilient. His amnesia makes every discovery feel fresh, both for him and the reader, which keeps the tension high.

What really hooked me about Joe is how his search for identity intertwines with larger political and personal stakes. He’s not just trying to remember who he is; he’s uncovering secrets that could change the world he’s stuck in. The way Pulley writes his relationships, especially with the enigmatic Captain Missouri Kite, adds so much emotional weight. Joe’s vulnerability and grit make him incredibly relatable, even in this surreal, alternate-history setting. By the end, I felt like I’d been on this exhausting, exhilarating journey right alongside him.