Daughter of the Burning City

Amanda Foody’s Daughter of the Burning City is one of those rare YA fantasies that feels like stepping into a dream you’re not quite sure you want to wake up from. The setting alone—the Gomorrah Festival—is a traveling circus-city that caters to the bizarre and the beautiful, a place where the weird isn’t just accepted, it’s celebrated. But beneath the colorful tents and dazzling performances lurks something far darker. At its heart is Sorina, a sixteen-year-old girl who’s been blind since birth but sees the world in a way nobody else can. She’s an illusion-worker, the first born in hundreds of years, able to create illusions so lifelike they have their own personalities and memories. These illusions aren’t just tricks; they’re her family, her support system, and her livelihood within the Festival’s Freak Show.

But then one of Sorina’s illusions is murdered. Yes, murdered. The idea alone is enough to make you pause, because illusions are supposed to be intangible, ephemeral. Yet Foody doesn’t let you off easy with neat fantasy rules. The murder sets off a chain of events that forces Sorina to question what separates reality from illusion—especially when the illusions she’s created start disappearing one by one. Add to this the political unrest simmering within the Festival’s walls, where power struggles and secrets threaten to explode, and you’ve got a story that’s as much about survival as it is about identity.

Sorina’s blindness isn’t a gimmick or a tragic backdrop; it’s integral to how she navigates the world. She perceives through her illusions and her other senses, making her a uniquely unreliable yet deeply compelling narrator. Her illusions are vibrant characters themselves, each with quirks and flaws, which complicates the emotional stakes. They’re not just figments; they’re family. So when they start dying, it’s a gut punch that’s hard to shake.

Enter Luca, a self-styled gossip-worker with a knack for information and no small amount of attitude. Their relationship starts off as a classic reluctant partnership—he’s annoying, she’s suspicious—but evolves into something more nuanced. Foody handles their growing connection with care, weaving in themes of trust and consent that feel refreshingly grounded amid the fantasy and mystery. It’s not a swoony insta-love; it’s messy, cautious, and real.

The narrative is thick with atmosphere. The Gomorrah Festival is a sensory overload of lights, sounds, and smells that somehow never feels overwhelming. Foody’s world-building is a highlight—there’s a tactile quality to the circus-city that makes it jump off the page. But don’t expect a straightforward fantasy adventure. This is a slow burn mystery wrapped in a dark, moody fantasy shell. The pacing sometimes drags, especially when the plot leans too heavily on the Festival’s politics, but the payoff is worth it if you stick it out.

What makes Daughter of the Burning City stand out isn’t just the originality of the premise but the questions it asks. What does it mean to be real? Can something you create—something intangible—have a soul? And what happens when the lines between reality and illusion blur so much you can’t tell which side you’re on? These aren’t just philosophical musings tossed in for flavor; they’re woven tightly into the story’s core.

The book also shines a light on acceptance and individuality through its cast of characters, many of whom live on the fringes of society, literally and figuratively. The Freak Show isn’t just a setting; it’s a metaphor for embracing what makes you different, even when the world tries to label you a monster. It’s a timely message without being preachy.

That said, the novel isn’t flawless. Some character arcs feel underdeveloped, and a few plot threads could have used tighter resolution or more depth. The mystery, while engaging, occasionally leans on genre tropes that seasoned readers might spot a mile away. Still, Foody’s voice—warm, sharp, and a little sarcastic—keeps the story grounded and relatable.

If you’re in the mood for a fantasy that’s less about epic battles and more about the messy, complicated stuff—identity, love, loss, and what it means to belong—this one’s worth the ride. Just be prepared for a story that doesn’t hand you answers on a silver platter and isn’t afraid to let its shadows linger.