Sarah's Reviews > Ever

In a world much like historical ancient Sumer, there exist two nearby kingdoms, one monotheistic, the other polytheistic. The gods of the polytheistic kingdom are temperamental, but ultimately have the best interests of their worshippers at heart. The one god of the other city-state, Admat, is jealous and bloodthirsty. The other gods appear in the flesh among their people on festival days; Admat’s omens are ambiguous and his face is hidden.

Atop the magic-shrouded mountain outside the polytheistic kingdom, Olus the wind god is born. As a child, he attempts to befriend a human boy, but his efforts only get the boy in trouble. Guilty, Olus withdraws from the society of mortals.

Until he walks in the city of Admat and meets a lovely girl named Kezi. Kezi is an accomplished dancer and weaver, and she is marked for death. Her mother was gravely ill, her father prayed to Admat, and promised the god that he would offer the first person who congratulated him on his wife’s recovery as a sacrifice.

Kezi has a month to live, but she will never die if Olus has anything to say about it. In order to make her a goddess, he must bring her to the threshold of the Underworld and let her harrow it. Meanwhile he too will be tested. In the Land of the Dead, she almost loses her memory for good, and seeks for proof of Admat’s existence but does not find it.

The more time I’ve had to mull over this book, the more anti-Judeo-Christian it comes across. It could not be clearer who Admat really is—the epigraph from the Book of Judges should make that clear literally from the first page. While Admat is portrayed as perpetually angry and paranoid, Olus and his family are the sweetest little gang of deities you’ll ever meet. Granted, Olus’ mother causes earthquakes when she’s angry, and the god of prophecy (who should have been a much bigger character) is delightfully eerie. But any ancient pantheon, especially Near Eastern, should be far more severe and (for some individuals) grotesque than those shown here.

Like The Two Princesses of Bamarre and Fairest , Levine introduces fascinating concepts halfway through, but runs out of either space, momentum, or ideas, and the best parts of the book are abruptly abandoned in favor of more sweet-but-bloodless teen romance.

Three stars for a cool subject. I give Levine props for tackling these themes: Cupid and Psyche, ancient Mesopotamia, and Old Testament human sacrifice.

However, the book is too short to develop the rich undercurrents beyond a minimum level of analysis. It poses deep theological questions that it can't answer, given the short span of pages, and Levine would rather spend those pages on tender teenage romance. Note, though, that The Queen of Attolia was not much longer and had a great balance of mysticism, romance, political skullduggery, and war (the last two of which don't even figure into Ever at all).

The prose is convincingly ancient in its simplicity (although I do wish Levine wouldn't use the phrase "Adam's apple" which makes no sense in this pre-Judeo-Christian world). The characters are not complex, but likable and sweet anyway - especially Olus the adorable boy-god. The insta-love is less cloying than usual in this mythological context - it comes with the territory here, although few gods were as gentle as Olus, and few mortal girls were as willing as Kezi.

Based on this and Two Princesses, which is probably due a reread, I think Levine's books are good, but could be great given a hundred or so more pages to expand the themes, raise the stakes, and give a little grit to the male leads. Hey HarperCollins editors, would it kill you to let her write a four-hundred-page book?

The content is technically appropriate for upper middle school kids: all the violence takes place off-page, there is no sexual content beyond the chaste but frequent kisses between the young lovebirds, and there’s no four-letter words or substance abuse. There are frightening images but nothing worse than what you’d find in Lord of the Rings or Narnia—a good deal milder than those, in fact.

My only caveat is the anti-religious subtext. Once you see it, you can’t not see it.