Belated though this review is (everyone else in the fantasy blogosphere seems to have devoured this one long before it was officially released in the US), I did feel the need to review it, however briefly. Joe Abercrombie's style is hard-boiled, and surprisingly unpretentious.  Unlike some other modern authors of serious fantasy, he doesn't seem to be consciously trying to cross the line into the realm of Capital-L-Literature, which, ironically, lends his work literary merit. A pulp Literature, if you will.

True to that form, the conclusion of The First Law will not leave you feeling warm and fuzzy. 

The one major mystery of the trilogy--the identity and motives of the elusive Valint and Balk and the driving force behind the war--is finally unveiled.  The reveal is anticlimactic in the sense that we should have seen it coming all along, but it also underscores the story's true antagonist.

Bayaz, First of the Magi, is never treated as a point of view character by Abercrombie, but (much like George Lucas' Emperor Palpatine) it turns out he is even more the puppetmaster than the reader was at first led to believe. He is revealed as essentially evil: a tyrant willing to use any means to justify ends dictated by his own personal (and deeply flawed) sense of morality and order. His is an arguably good intent gone horribly awry, and in a happier novel he might have met a just end. In a happier novel, Good King Jezal might have justifiably tossed him off a balcony and founded a new era of goodwill and trustworthy leadership under a robust rule of law. But Joe Abercrombie does not do happy, and he does not do idealism.  He does realism (or at least, a very pessimistic, medieval version of it).

In the reality of the First Law, the king and his fairy tale kingdom are propped up by bureaucratic thuggery, and instead of nobility, chivalry, and brotherhood, the values of pragmatism, ruthlessness, and absolute power are prioritized.  The glossy facade presented to the common people is just that: a clever illusion designed to lull their simple, grasping minds into a necessary sense of security. Not a terribly revolutionary conceit, but a well-executed one. By the end of the novel, Mr. Abercrombie has you wondering whether the honesty of the impending invasion of the Union would be preferable to life under the cruel, ever-vigilant eye of Bayaz's puppet regime.

The characters seem to sense this comparison of two evils as their personal experiences merge both thematically and practically with the turmoil that has engulfed their world. Each character, without exception, arrives at the end of this story with either greater responsibilites or greater goals, however dark and pragmatic they may be, than when he started. The denouement is a mixture of surprised disillusionment, grim responsibility, and renewed loss for the characters.  Abercrombie's realism shines through strongly here, focusing on the cost of war, the toll it takes on the lives of those who wage it, at every level. Even survival can be a burden when the world has changed, the author seems to be saying; even continuing freedom a hard price to pay.

As with the first two novels, Mr. Abercrombie consciously crafts his story with an eye toward the reader's preconceived notions of plot, only to intentionally turn those notions on their head. The aforementioned Jezal Luthar is a perfect example. Despite Luthar's history of preening narcissism and overt self-interest, he finds himself king, due to Bayaz's incessant scheming. He finds being monarch not all it's cracked up to be, and discovers right off the bat that his high-level bureaucrats have no intention of allowing him to run his country. At this point the slow, steady rise of Jezal's character from the depths of egotism to the foothills of service to others reaches its crescendo.  We see the new king begin to step into his role more confidently.  We see that he has a gift for oratory, a knack for gallantry, and a newfound obsession with helping those in need.  We see that there is a righteous anger growing within him, and we are on the verge of applause when he shows his ministers that it is his hand, and no other's, that will rule his kingdom.

In a more classic fantasy novel, Luthar's character arc would continue its rise, culminating in the creation of a great monarch and the beginning of a prosperous era. We would see him steer his nation in the right direction, see him face Bayaz in a contest of wills and win. In Joe Abercrombie's novel, however, we see him try and fail. The ruthlessness of a more powerful opponent ends up crushing his burgeoning authority and Bayaz retains his hidden control over the nation he founded. Abercrombie lets us see the potential for Luthar's reign before he cuts it off without mercy. That's what sets him apart: in the world of the First Law, power will out, and power will win. And that power need not be good.

The story is gripping and enjoyable despite the relatively unfortunate end it meets. If you are looking for a novel that will challenge your expectations, then this is the one for you. But Mr. Abercrombie's sometimes crushing pragmatism is always offset by a good sense of humor, and cynicism whenever possible. The story is even bookended by the same, slightly comical image. The story begins, in The Blade Itself, with Logen Ninefingers tumbling off a cliff. Reaching the end of Last Argument of Kings, already knowing no one is going off to live happily ever after, it is heartwarming to seen Logen go off another cliff, falling again into blackness as his bloody journey continues.