Storyline: 4/5 
 Characters: 4/5 
 Writing Style: 4/5 
 World: 4/5 
 A tale very much worthy of its precursor, this is a sequel that sets a model for how to write a middle volume that works. We take on a mission that appears tangential to the original plot, but Jemisin interlaces the challenge with developments that make it integral for moving on to the conclusion of the Broken Earth trilogy. This is a more bounded tale, perhaps disappointing those looking to revisit the epic scope of the last, but the circumscribed scope is thoughtfully justified through rich characterization and psychological drama. Much like the last volume, we come to a convenient stopping place that settles the pressing concerns of the reader but leaves us with so much to look forward to. Indeed, a middle volume that works. 
 The storyline was more even this time, avoiding some the ebb and narrative circumlocution that stalled the latter half of The Fifth Season. The highs never reach the same heights and the lows never the depths, but it was a story that commanded your interest and delivered a lot to enjoy and digest. The worldbuilding, in contrast, was as weaker as the plot was stronger. That is only a mild criticism given that the envisioned world of the first excelled so. Here we get just as many new ideas but fewer satisfactory and complete answers. It is not clear if so much of this is deliberately obfuscated or if Jemisin believes she has adequately given readers all that we need to know. This is particularly true of the motives of the nemesis; a story so dependent on hate must explain that hate, and there just isn't enough here to understand the emotions and decisions Jemisin presents. One could be more certain of their knowledge at the end of book one, thus the ideas in this second volume are tentative, placeholders until more details or explanations are delivered, hopefully in book three. 
 Jemisin had some of her strongest characterization in this book with the portrayals of the abused and neglected and their search to be loved, in whatever form that love might come. There are still darker themes in this book, building on the last, and these continue to dampen my wholehearted embrace of the story. Our author sets up a believable (and perfectly allegorical) world, clearly and overtly flawed as individuals are denied basic dignity and recognition of personhood. That makes for a dark book, eerily wallowing in the tragic at times with the effective use of the 2nd person perspective. The reservations I have, however are with our protagonist. Everything thus far seems to be directed to justify her angst against the world. Every terrible story about killing and abusing children, every tale of discrimination and unjustified hatred; they all seem to be in place to give warrant to our hero(es) for unbridled and indiscriminate rage. There are some small clues and reservations that indicate that our hero and author know these to be wrong, that our protagonist is just as much antihero as hero. Always, however, after some brief crises of conscience we return to a defense for vindictiveness, a justification for continued mass suffering served by the victims against society at large. Jemisin has not been shy about her activism and that her work carries strong messages. Even if we ignore the real world implications, the fantasy world of The Obelisk Gate continues to defend those victims who, when the tables are turned, deny basic dignity and recognition of personhood in retribution. That is not only dark but deeply unethical, and it troubled me again in this volume to see it so determinedly articulated.