Review of Devils Like Us by L.T. Thompson
From the moment I caught wind of L.T. Thompson’s Devils Like Us, I knew I was in for something special. The tantalizing blend of magic, adventure, and the complex emotional landscapes of its characters captured my attention right away. Let’s face it—who could resist a story that promises both salty pirate escapades and heartfelt explorations of identity? As someone who often seeks solace in the pages of queer fantasy, this book felt like a breath of fresh, salty air.
At its heart, Devils Like Us tells the story of three beautifully flawed characters: Remy, Cas, and Finn. Remy is on a mission to uncover the truth behind her father’s mysterious disappearance, armed with nothing but a dagger and an unyielding determination. Then there’s Cas, a sickly trans boy with the haunting gift of foresight—his visions often leave him wrestling with the weight of destiny and his own health. Rounding out the trio is Finn, a fierce protector caught in a web of the devil’s dealings. Their dynamic unfolds with a refreshing complexity, ebbing and flowing between camaraderie and romance, encapsulating the beautifully messy reality of finding oneself amidst the chaos of life.
Thompson’s writing style is akin to a dance—fast-paced and fluid yet intricately layered. The plot zips along from clandestine visions to daring pirate escapes, making it hard to put down. But what truly struck me were the emotional undercurrents that anchored the characters. For example, I was deeply moved by moments like Cas binding his chest, feeling the rush of the sea air as he navigates his own dysphoria—a beautifully crafted scene that resonates deeply and feels real. And how can I forget the poignant line, “Cas didn’t believe in destiny. He believed in decisions,” which succinctly captures the theme of agency against the backdrop of external expectations? It gripped me by the throat and didn’t let go.
While the fantasy elements ride softly in the background, they are effective in setting a threatening atmosphere—think more “vague menaces” than a heavy-handed magic system. The Order of Lazarus serves as a sinister foil, reminding us of the consequences of power and the shadows that loom over our heroes. The balance of real emotional stakes against the backdrop of magic makes Devils Like Us not just a fantasy, but a poignant reflection on growth, grief, and community.
It’s incredibly refreshing to see such care put into the representation of trans characters. Cas isn’t merely a symbol; he’s a vividly drawn person whose experiences resonated with me in unexpected ways. Thompson’s nuanced understanding of identity allows for moments of joy amidst themes of guilt and trauma, particularly in Finn’s arc, which explores the struggles of Catholic queer shame with depth and sincerity.
In conclusion, I wholeheartedly recommend Devils Like Us to anyone searching for a blend of thrilling adventure with emotional depth. Whether you’re a fan of found families or seeking stories that reflect the intricacies of queer identities, Thompson’s novel offers both laughter and heartache, balanced with sword fights and supernatural intrigue. It made me think deeply about the paths we choose and the ghosts of the selves we left behind. If, like me, you find yourself enchanted by fierce characters named Remy and spellbinding journeys, you’ll want to add this one to your shelf. I know I’ll be eagerly awaiting a sequel, ready for another round of adventure on the high seas!