Anna Smith Spark is a bit of a nightmare. I mean that in the best possible way, obviously. When she released The Court of Broken Knives back in 2017, it didn't just land on the grimdark fantasy scene; it basically set the curtains on fire and refused to apologize for the smoke damage. If you’re tired of "chosen ones" who have a moral compass and a clean set of clothes, this book is probably your personal brand of chaos.
It is grim. Truly.
People often compare it to Joe Abercrombie or R. Scott Bakker, but honestly, that's a bit of a lazy shorthand. Spark’s prose is something else entirely. It’s rhythmic. It’s repetitive. It feels like being trapped in the mind of someone having a very poetic fever dream while standing in the middle of a battlefield. You've got sand, blood, bronze, and a lot of very sharp things being stuck into people who probably didn't deserve it. Or maybe they did. In the Sorreland, it’s hard to tell who the "good guys" are because, frankly, there aren't any.
What actually happens in The Court of Broken Knives?
The plot is deceptively simple for a book that feels so dense. A group of mercenaries, led by a tired, cynical man named Tobias, is hired to sneak into the richest, most decadent city in the world: Iltar. Their mission? Kill everyone in the government. Simple, right? Except nothing is ever that easy when you’re dealing with a crumbling empire that is basically a gold-plated corpse.
Then you have Marith.
Marith is the heart of The Court of Broken Knives, and he is a terrifying human being. He’s beautiful, he’s a drug addict, he’s a prince in exile, and he might be the reincarnation of a god of death. Or he's just a psychopath. It depends on which page you’re on. When Marith starts fighting, the prose shifts. It becomes staccato. It pulses. You feel the "red mist" right alongside him, which is a testament to Spark’s ability to make extreme violence feel strangely intimate and horrifyingly beautiful.
There is also Orhan Emre. He’s a politician. If you think the mercenaries are the ones doing the most damage, you’ve never met a man who thinks he can save an empire by betraying everyone he knows. Orhan is trying to "fix" the world through a coup, believing that the bloody end justifies his noble means. Watching his idealism slowly erode under the weight of his own decisions is one of the most grounded, painful parts of the narrative.
🔗 Read more: Shamea Morton and the Real Housewives of Atlanta: What Really Happened to Her Peach
Why the writing style is so polarizing
Some people hate this book. They really do. If you go on Goodreads, the reviews are a wild mix of five stars and one star, with very little in between. Why? Because the style is experimental.
Spark uses a stream-of-consciousness technique that ignores traditional grammar rules. You'll see fragments.
Sentences that go on for an entire paragraph.
Repetition of words like "gold" and "blood" and "yellow" until they lose meaning and then suddenly regain it.
"The world is blood. The world is death. The world is a screaming mouth."
It’s a vibe. It’s maximalist fantasy. If you want a standard, transparent prose style where the writing gets out of the way of the story, you will hate The Court of Broken Knives. But if you want to feel the psychological weight of the characters' trauma, the style is the only way to get there. It forces you to stay in their headspace, even when it’s a very dark, wet, and unpleasant place to be.
The setting: Not your average medieval Europe
Iltar is a city of yellow stone and ancient, rotting glory. It’s heavily inspired by the Bronze Age and classical antiquity rather than the tired "Knights in Shining Armor" trope. Think more along the lines of the Persian Empire or the decline of Rome, but with more dragons that are essentially flying extinction events.
The dragons here aren't your friendly Eragon companions. They are ancient, alien, and terrifyingly powerful. Their presence in the world feels like a natural disaster that just happens to have wings.
💡 You might also like: Who is Really in the Enola Holmes 2 Cast? A Look at the Faces Behind the Mystery
The world-building isn't delivered in info-dumps. You learn about the history of the world—the Ruin, the ancient kings, the gods—through the scars it has left on the landscape and the people. The empire is dying. Everyone knows it. The tragedy of the book is watching people try to build something new on top of the rot, only to realize they are just adding more bodies to the pile.
Understanding Marith Alanthans: Hero or Monster?
Most fantasy protagonists have a "save the world" arc. Marith has a "burn the world because I'm sad and powerful" arc. It’s a fascinating look at how addiction and mental instability would actually play out in a high-fantasy setting. Marith doesn't want to be a hero. He barely wants to be alive.
His relationship with Thalia—a high priestess who is forced to perform ritual sacrifices—is the emotional core of the series, and it’s deeply toxic. It’s a romance built on shared trauma and the desperate need to be seen by someone, even if that person is a monster.
- Thalia is the "High Despotara," basically a prisoner of her own religious status.
- She spends her days slitting throats in the name of a god.
- She sees Marith as a way out, but he’s really just a different kind of cage.
The way Spark writes their connection is uncomfortable. It should be. These are two broken people clinging to each other in a world that is actively trying to grind them into dust.
Is it actually "Grimdark"?
The term "grimdark" gets thrown around a lot. Sometimes it just means "there is mud and people swear." But The Court of Broken Knives earns the label through its nihilism. It asks if change is even possible, or if humanity is doomed to repeat the same violent cycles forever.
It’s not just about the gore—though there is plenty of that. It’s about the psychological darkness. The characters are constantly justifying their atrocities. Orhan tells himself he’s a good man. Tobias tells himself he’s just a soldier. Marith tells himself he has no choice.
📖 Related: Priyanka Chopra Latest Movies: Why Her 2026 Slate Is Riskier Than You Think
The book is a heavy lift. It’s emotionally exhausting. But it’s also one of the most unique voices in the genre from the last decade. It doesn't care about your comfort. It doesn't care if you like the characters. It just wants you to see the world as it is: beautiful, cruel, and utterly indifferent to your survival.
Practical tips for reading the Empires of Dust trilogy
If you’re going to dive into this, don't try to speed-read it. You’ll miss the rhythm.
- Read it aloud. Seriously. Some of the battle scenes read like epic poetry. If you find yourself confused, reading the words out loud helps the cadence click.
- Pay attention to the color motifs. Spark uses color to signal shifts in tone and character perspective. Yellow usually means Iltar and corruption; red is Marith’s influence.
- Don't expect a map to save you. There is a map, but the geography is often secondary to the emotional landscape.
- Check your triggers. This isn't a joke. The book deals with sexual violence, extreme gore, and self-harm. It’s "grim" for a reason.
Once you finish The Court of Broken Knives, the story continues in The Tower of Living Gold and The House of Sacrifice. The scale only gets bigger, and the stakes get much more apocalyptic. By the time you hit the third book, the personal tragedies of the first novel feel like a distant, fond memory compared to the total carnage on display.
Final insights on the Sorreland saga
The real takeaway from Anna Smith Spark’s debut is that fantasy can be more than just "history with dragons." It can be a visceral, stylistic exploration of the human shadow. If you want a book that will haunt you and maybe make you want to take a long shower after finishing it, this is the one.
To get the most out of your experience with the series, focus on the character arcs of the secondary cast like Orhan. While Marith is the flashy, dangerous center of the storm, the political maneuvering in the background provides the necessary context that makes the violence meaningful. Track how Orhan’s "necessary evils" eventually become just "evils." It's a masterclass in character degradation that rivals anything in modern literature.
Stop looking for a hero. There isn't one coming to save the Sorreland. There is only the knife, and the person holding it.