I suppose there’s probably an interesting story to be told about Penny, but I’m not sure Grossman currently has the chops.

I’d be fine with any of those conclusions, but Grossman’s story cannot have a purely happy ending because it’s not Harry Potter. He spent so much time invested in This Is What Magic Would Be Like in the Real World that to propose a different ending would be to abuse his readers.

At heart, The Magicians is a reflection on how we deal with depression. And the way we, as a culture, deal with depression is to indulge in the fantasy that depression is not the correct way to understand the world. Grossman grants this and embraces it by having Quentin give up depression for Fantasy (for so long as it holds). He is, however, wise enough to refrain from giving us a happy ending. Quentin departs with Eliot, Julia, and Janet, but there’s nothing really exciting or joyful about it for the reader. It’s just Quentin skipping off into another fantasy.

This is why I was satisfied with the ending. The decision fits with Quentin’s character. He realizes that magic is not the problem and that the problem is probably within him (never considering that the problem may be existence, period). He can’t run away from himself, so he might as well try something new and see if it assuages his sense of discontent.
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I should maybe clarify that I wasn’t “happy” per se with the book’s conclusion. In truth, I was pretty unhappy with the characters and their decisions from the point at which they graduate Brakebills and on. Quentin makes terrible, stupid decisions as if his life depends on making terrible, stupid decisions. I found the entire experience a bit depressing. From graduation to book’s end.

That said, I don’t read in order to be made happy and sometimes books that are overwhelmingly depressing and feature stupid, stupid characters (who are thus entirely believable) make for some of the best reading. I read to be provoked, to be made thoughtful. I’d say I don’t read for entertainment, but that’s not true. It’s just that what entertains me may differ from what entertains others.
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I definitely had problems with The Magicians but those were entirely confined to issues of writing style rather than with story or character development.

First, I meant the “climax”, rather than the “resolution”. I just got stuck on the idea that it didn’t have to go the way it did. But the more I thought of it, the more I understood that it did. That didn’t make me like it any more, though. I imagine I felt just as Grossman wanted me to at that point.

I was underwhelmed by the ending because of Julia’s unexplained entrance (if it was sequel bait, I imagine we’ll find out eventually), which which so conveniently added the opportunity to correct (or repeat) the mistakes he made with Alice, and because of that “irrational hope” that leads him back to Fillory. The fact that it will probably go just the way things went at Brakebills, in SoHo, and in Fillory is almost a given. “Faith in spite of evidence” is a very apt description, and I’m not really on board with it.

On the whole I found Gorssman’s book a thoroughly compelling experience. I had been concerned that he would be treading similar ground to what I myself was writing in my own new novel/project but was happy to see that there is really very little overlap.

Unlike you and Charles, I was actually satisfied with the ending. After all, what else could we want from Grossman, to suddenly be Christian? My reading of the finale was a bit different than yours, Carissa. I didn’t see it as a “Yay for friendship!” moment (after all, Quentin hated Janet, even if only mostly because she is the physical representation of his own weakness and fear of inadequacy), but really, I see it as “Yay for faith in spite of evidence!”

Quentin’s come to the end of his rope. He’s come to recognize finally (through Emily’s mania) that Alice’s evaluation of his problem is correct: that the problem is inside him, that he will never be satisfied because he is, deep-down, essentially broken. He’s come to see that there is something deeply flawed in his being. Then he gets invited to Fillory (instead of forcing his way in as they did earlier) and steps out in irrational hope. Though his former dream-girl will be by his side and he’ll be the King he always dreamed of being, he’s still Quentin—and therefore should have no realistic expectation of happiness. More than likely, it will just be Alice and Brakebills all over again.

Yet, he hopes regardless.

I still think it’s incredibly well written, particularly compared to what I’ve been compelled to read over the last few months. But why does it have to be so frustrating?

The only section that I found really poor was the religious discussion between the one practicing Christian and the rest of the group. Each of the characters was supposed to have been the smartest in their particular area just to try the entrance exam, and much more so to get in. Yet this graduate, who is sober at the time, makes some of the lamest religious arguments imaginable, and is quickly demolished by his drunken opponents. That whole section should have been cut.

One difference between The Magicians and other books that have been smacked with the “Harry Potter for Grownups” label is that here the author is intentionally and blatantly inviting the comparison (not just for increased sales, but as part of his artistic purpose). Grossman had an interesting piece (which I could have sworn I posted here, but I can’t find it, so here it is: http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052970203706604574377163804387216.html) in the WSJ a few weeks ago about how many recent novels are blurring the boundary between “genre” fiction and “literary” fiction. I feel like The Magicians goes even one step further and blurs the boundaries between literary, genre, and fan fiction.

However, I DO think that comparisons between Jonathan Strange and Harry Potter are VERY exaggerated. The two books have almost nothing in common other than that they involve magic.

The Magicians sounds like it would resonate well with something I just read, Ishiguro’s Never Let Me Go, but I think I’ll have to think more about why. Definitely something to do with personal emptiness and the quest/need for meaning.