like an awesome bedtime story as you're falling asleep: over before you want it to be.What hurly-burly this story was! Filled with beautiful imagery and wit and smexy interludes—honestly, I was in love and in rageface extremis all at once.Because it was too good. I wanted to linger—everywhere—but was not given the chance. The story is lean, and dense, but constrained. As if it were a succulent cut of skirt steak trimmed by an overzealous butcher. Which is what happened, I reckon. Trimming.There's no fat. It's all story. Great story, mind—beautiful, clever, funny, delightful story—but such a meager thing, in the end. A poor meal for a starving reader, and heebus chrahai was I starving.Would this had been 300 pages longer! With more of the Empire, more epic battle, more clever intrigue, more gorgeous settings—and fewer unnecessary (though memorable) side characters in the beginning. If only because those characters—so charmingly-drawn—were never given time to really stretch their legs a bit and be awesome in their own ways before the ruthlessly forward-moving hustle of the tale left them far, far behind. Bah.Maybe I'm just greedy.Maybe, when presented with such wonderfully-imagined fantasy that takes me back to my earliest public library wanderings—plus hot fucking—I can do nowt else but whine, and whine, and whine:More! More! More!