The House in the Cerulean Sea by T.J. Klune

A magical island. A dangerous task. A burning secret.

Linus Baker leads a quiet, solitary life. At forty, he lives in a tiny house with a devious cat and his old records. As a Case Worker at the Department in Charge Of Magical Youth, he spends his days overseeing the well-being of children in government-sanctioned orphanages.

When Linus is unexpectedly summoned by Extremely Upper Management he’s given a curious and highly classified assignment: travel to Marsyas Island Orphanage, where six dangerous children reside: a gnome, a sprite, a wyvern, an unidentifiable green blob, a were-Pomeranian, and the Antichrist. Linus must set aside his fears and determine whether or not they’re likely to bring about the end of days.

But the children aren’t the only secret the island keeps. Their caretaker is the charming and enigmatic Arthur Parnassus, who will do anything to keep his wards safe. As Arthur and Linus grow closer, long-held secrets are exposed, and Linus must make a choice: destroy a home or watch the world burn.

An enchanting story, masterfully told, The House in the Cerulean Sea is about the profound experience of discovering an unlikely family in an unexpected place—and realizing that family is yours.

What a lovely story.

The House in the Cerulean Sea was the right book at the right time, a ray of sunshine in a pretty bleak and dreary real world.

The story develops around a well-established trope of dystopian SF: the reliable cog in an inhumane machine slowly being driven to revaluate their beliefs (I would have gone with the red pill/blue pill imagery if it hadn’t been hijacked by some Internet assholes). While The House in the Cerulean Sea is not openly set in a dystopian world, it leans on its aesthetics, from the heavy bureaucracy to the propaganda posters.

Linus Baker is a good little bureaucrat. He does what he’s told, he follows the rules scrupulously, and if the occasional snide comment about his supervisor crosses his mind, he’s quick to squash it. The only colour in his life is some planted sunflowers, his neighbour is an annoying busybody, his coworkers are the worst, and his cat is a grump. He’s self-conscious about his weight and his thinning hair, and is generally a pretty awkward and forgettable man. Linus Baker joins the ranks of unlikely SFF heroes thrown into an adventure they didn’t ask for, among the likes of Bilbo Baggins, Thomas Senlin, and others.

The thing is, Linus cares. He’s not some detached pawn, he follows the rules because he genuinely believes they are for the good of the children. Assigned to inspect the Marsyas Island Orphanage, his life is slowly but thoroughly upended. He meets the children of the orphanage, at first full of preconceived notions, but the more they draw him into their shenanigans, the more he starts questioning the system. And he’s not immune to the charm of the master of the orphanage, with his enigmatic smiles and colourful socks…

The House in the Cerulean Sea is brimming with positivity. I adored the children (Lucy – yes, short for Lucifer – was my favourite. Basically a more wholesome version of Wednesday Addams, but the same gory, dark imagination); they have dreams and hopes and a solid sense of humour. Everyone is so endearing in this book, I was thoroughly in love.

I listened to the audiobook, and Daniel Henning does a remarkable job conveying Linus’ starchiness, Arthur’s playfulness, and the kids’ vivacity.

This is a story about finding yourself and your people. About the power of kindness and compassion.

Is it a bit cheesy at times? Yes. Do I care? Hell no. Give me the cheesy, give me the fluffy, give me the sweet, the world is a mess. And this book is the very definition of feel-good.