Ancillary Mercy (Imperial Radch #3)
by Ann Leckie, Adjoa Andoh (Narrator)
I really liked this. Not sure what I did during the first read, but I definitely did not pay enough attention, because I barely remembered any of this. Great fun, I loved all the AIs and their dynamics. And Translator Zeiat was precious.
I would love to read another book in this setting, to find out how it all turns out.
Review from 2017:
Lovely. I am sad that this is the end for the Imperial Radch. But then…
“Every ending is an arbitrary one. Every ending is, from another angle, not really an ending.”
Direct continuation of Ancillary Sword. A nice and fitting conclusion to the trilogy.
The humour and tongue-in-check of the dialogues was great and right down my alley. And Translator Zeiat made this novel, what a great character!
Loved Breq and how human she became in the last book. And not.
Loved the development of her relationship with Seivarden, who definitely did not have enough page time.
Loved the action sequences, loved the conversation about what makes one a significant being.
I will miss these characters, Athoek Station, the Undergarden… I would have loved to go through the ghost gate and meet the Presger.
Ancillary Sword and Ancillary Mercy felt like one book and I think I liked them more than Ancillary Justice. The plot and characterizations were more intricate. Although I did like the plot of Ancillary Justice a lot, too, and the early days of Seivarden and Breq. I’ll need to think on that some more.
Some fish sauce in the meantime?
“Thank all the gods,” said Sphene. “I was afraid you were going to suggest we sing that song about the thousand eggs.”
“A thousand eggs all nice and warm,” I sang. “Crack, crack, crack, a little chick is born. Peep peep peep peep! Peep peep peep peep!”
“Why, Fleet Captain,” Translator Zeiat exclaimed, “that’s a charming song! Why haven’t I heard you sing it before now?”
I took a breath. “Nine hundred ninety-nine eggs all nice and warm…”
“Crack, crack, crack,” Translator Zeiat joined me, her voice a bit breathy but otherwise quite pleasant, “a little chick is born. Peep peep peep peep! What fun! Are there more verses?”
“Nine hundred and ninety-eight of them, Translator,” I said.
“We’re not cousins anymore,” said Sphene.”