Review: The Poppy War

ALRIGHT, time for me to GO OFF about The Poppy War.

If I could somehow make my pupils heart-shaped (💖💖), I would, just to better demonstrate the passion I have for this book. But honestly, if I were to die tomorrow and couldn't say anything else profound, just know that my last words will always be about how much I love this book.

The Poppy War begins with Rin, a downtrodden orphan trying to break free from her station in life. Unlike the typical “chosen one” story, Rin gets into the prestigious Sinegard military academy by studying her ass off for the Keju test. She’s not picked for her magical powers or divine right—she gets in by sheer determination.

The first part of the book feels a little lighter—Rin’s school life is full of bullies, racism, and oppressive authority figures who don't want a “dirty-skinned” orphan in their school. But Rin doesn’t care. She prevails and kicks some serious ass. Along the way, she befriends a few of her classmates and encounters quirky teachers who like to get high on opium. There are secrets here, secrets about the shamans who can summon gods and wield their power—secrets that seem like myths...right? Right?

But outside the academy’s walls, war is brewing. The stakes are about to get very, very real.

“If she went with him, she would help him to unleash monsters. Monsters worse than the chimei. Monsters worse than anything in the Emperor's Menagerie—because these monsters were not beasts, mindless things that could be leashed and controlled, but warriors. Shamans. The gods walking in humans, with no regard for the mortal world.” (goodreads.com)

There’s no romance here (at least not in the traditional sense), but there's an absolutely gorgeous enemies-to-friends relationship with three of her classmates that had me absolutely hooked. And this is only book one.

By the time you get to the last half of the story, everything turns brutal. War is no longer a far-off concept—it’s a crushing weight. The intensity of this book doesn’t let up, but it’s necessary. Every moment, every fight, every choice Rin makes matters. She’s shaping herself into something powerful, and there’s a cost to that power.

“It was not the world she had dreamed of. But that did not mean it was not hers to shape.” (goodreads.com)

After finishing, I started thinking about The Burning God (book 3) and the series' conclusion. It didn’t end how I expected. The catharsis wasn’t there. I had built up this grand idea in my head—an epic, gut-wrenching Greek-style tragedy—but it just didn’t arrive the way I wanted.

I had high expectations after The Dragon Republic, which tore my heart apart in the best way. But The Burning God? It left me feeling drained, exhausted, and strangely numb. It wasn’t apathy, but it wasn’t the emotional release I was hoping for, either. It was like staring at the ashes of everything I loved, without the energy to care anymore.

But then I started thinking more about it and, honestly? R.F. Kuang is a genius. She didn’t give us the most satisfying or cathartic ending—at least not the kind I was expecting—but she captured the real essence of history. History isn’t neat. It’s messy, frustrating, incomplete. We want resolution, we want closure, but most of the time, we get bits and pieces—unanswered questions, unsatisfied desires, fractured narratives. This is what Kuang showed us.

In a way, the lack of catharsis was exactly the point. There’s a resolution, yes, but it’s a resolution that mirrors how history feels—never as perfect as we want it to be.