A Journey Through Darkness: My Thoughts on The Sun and the Star (The Nico di Angelo Adventures #1)
When I first picked up The Sun and the Star, co-written by Rick Riordan and Mark Oshiro, I felt a blend of excitement and trepidation. A new adventure set in the beloved universe of Percy Jackson, but through the lens of Nico di Angelo? Yes, please! As a lifelong fan of Riordan’s work, I was ready to immerse myself in the complexities of favoritism towards darkness, inner demons, and, of course, the modern take on mythology. However, what unfolded felt less like an exhilarating quest and more like an unfortunate misstep.
Right from the outset, we dive into a plot that can only be described as bewilderingly simplistic. Nico hears a voice from Tartarus, and with scant consideration, decides to embark on a perilous journey with Will Solace. 🚨 Spoiler Alert: This is perhaps the worst decision ever made in the Riordan universe. The very existence of Tartarus should merit weeks of planning and caution—yet here we have a group of experienced demigods making reckless conclusions after a mere hour of discussion. This plot hole feels not just frustrating, but a bit lazy for a narrative that has thrived on intricate storylines and well-thought-out character arcs.
Characters like Chiron and Mr. D, who often bring wisdom to the table, here seem shockingly dismissive of genuine concerns, adding to my frustration. It felt like Riordan was reluctant to let his characters engage with their own traumas and fears. Characters should be well-rounded and dynamic, not mere puppets acting out a poorly written script. As a longtime reader, I craved the clever dialogue and character complexities that marked earlier works.
And then there’s the portrayal of Nico. A character so rich with potential and backstory, but here, he feels diminished. His inner turmoil—the very essence that makes him compelling—is overshadowed by some rather lackluster romantic gestures and a nebulous sense of humor that feels more like Percy than Nico. Will Solace is even more one-dimensional in this narrative, his supposed sunny disposition pushing Nico’s character development to the wayside.
Thematically, it attempts to tackle heavy concepts of identity and change, but Nyx as the antagonist lacks any real depth or intimidation, rendering her ineffective. If the embodiment of night and chaos feels like a cranky barista at Starbucks, you’ve missed the mark on making her a formidable villain.
As for the writing style, it oscillates between comedic lightheartedness and juvenile seriousness, creating a dissonance that left me perplexed. The charm of Riordan’s earlier narration simply wasn’t present; instead, I often found myself groaning at awkward plot twists rather than laughing at witty quips.
The Sun and the Star does manage to muster a few poignant moments, particularly in exploring themes of love and sacrifice through Nico’s journey. Still, the execution felt feeble, as I found myself wanting to scream, “Stop treating Tartarus like a rite of passage!”
In conclusion, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this book should have been a glorious celebration of LGBTQ+ representation, but instead, it stumbles under the weight of its own confusion. Readers who are die-hard fans of Riordan may find glimpses of nostalgia, but it may alienate those looking for genuine character growth or a gripping plot. To truly enjoy this book, you might need to willingly suspend the high expectations set by previous installments. Personally, I walked away feeling diminished—not just by the story, but by missed opportunities.
Maybe my love for these characters is why, despite its flaws, I’ll still keep this one on my shelf. Perhaps one day, I’ll revisit and find a new appreciation—but for now, I’ll keep waiting for that spark of brilliance that initially drew me to this world.
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