I really wanted to enjoy this book more than I did. Conceptually, the idea of the wuxia (kung fu fantasy) genre is exciting and fresh to me. The works of Jin Yong specifically are regarded with similar esteem in China as we in the west ascribe to Tolkien. After living in China for seven years, many of the characters from these stories were already on the periphery of my awareness (Guo Jing, Yang Kang, even the historical Qiu Chuji), so I wanted to read this basically as soon as I learned that an official English translation had been completed.

But it just feels so hollow. The book oscillates between contrived action scenes and expository dialogue. I rarely have a sense of place and the characters all feel like “types” more than people. I realize, of course, that the original audience for this book would have been younger: More along the lines of Harry Potter than Lord of the Rings. I probably would have loved this book at the age of 12, with the caveat that I wouldn’t have understood any of the historical and political intrigue that undergirds the story without ever really forming a compelling subplot.

For what it is worth, this translation is excellent. The translator includes footnotes on historical context that might not be familiar to western readers, with the result being that this edition feels really lovingly-crafted and respectful of the immense popularity of the author in China. I just wish I had enjoyed the story more. It felt less like a novel and more like the novelization of a run of mediocre superhero comics.