Katabasis by R. F. Kuang

Gorgeous prose, rich worldbuilding, and a “romance” that left me tearing my hair out…

NOTE: This review contains spoilers.

I’ve been sitting with this book for a little over a month, unsure how to even begin this review—or how to rate the novel. My feelings are conflicted because my opinion changes depending on whether I consider Katabasis on its own or as part of R.F. Kuang’s body of work. Her previous books—Yellowface, Babel, and The Poppy War trilogy—were phenomenal. Kuang always felt like a literary renaissance woman: each project completely different from the last, yet all of them so compellingly written.

Judged next to those predecessors, though, this novel would rank much lower for me. Generally, an author’s writing only gets sharper with experience, and that’s what I’ve come to expect from Kuang. That’s where my disappointment with Katabasis begins.

What I genuinely loved here, as always, is Kuang’s writing. Her prose is beautiful and immersive; I’d honestly read a textbook if she wrote it—and at times, this book really did feel like one. The strongest part of the novel is its worldbuilding, especially the structure of the Underworld and the way its magic works. Those elements completely satisfied the Liberal Arts student in me, and I wanted to stay in that world for far longer.

My biggest issue is the marketing. This novel was advertised everywhere as a romance—“Kuang’s first romantasy”—but it is absolutely not a romance. At. All. The supposed love interest dies around the 60% mark, disappears, then reappears for the last 5%. Even setting that aside, I’ve rarely encountered a romance between two characters who are both so deeply unlikeable.

Alice is exhausting—so self-involved it becomes grating—and Peter is the worst kind of typical man. We’re shown them spending time together and seemingly getting along, and then he repeatedly vanishes without explanation. From Alice’s perspective, it reads like indifference, which is completely fair. The truth is that Peter has Crohn’s disease, which obviously sucks, but instead of explaining himself, canceling plans, or telling anyone what’s going on, he just doesn’t show up. And because he’s “hot,” people let him get away with it.

You’d expect this to eventually come to light, creating growth or understanding between them. But no—Alice never finds out. She spends the entire novel assuming the worst of him and then decides she loves him anyway. It’s maddening. There’s no emotional payoff, no satisfying arc—just frustration.

I closed this book feeling irritated and disappointed. Despite the beautiful writing and fascinating worldbuilding, the mismatched marketing and the hollow central relationship left me more annoyed than anything else.

RATING: 3.75/5