Have you ever thought to yourself, “Gee, I wish Buttercup from The Princess Bride had more autonomy and also a taser”?

That’s how this book was pitched to me. (Well, almost. The taser part is my own flavoring. You’re welcome.)

“That sounds amazing!” I said to my sister-in-law and her husband. “I can’t wait to read it!”

However, as days passed, I stared at the borrowed volume on my shelf and grew skeptical. The author, Brandon Sanderson, has written what seems like every single high fantasy novel in the modern day. Over 40 books bear his name. Is he the fantasy version of James Patterson? I wondered. Does he have good concepts but no idea how to execute them? Is he completely jaded?

Despite the rising trepidation, I opened the book. And immediately fell in love.

Tress of the Emerald Sea follows the young woman of the title as she (and her prized collection of teacups) sets sail on a heroic (and crazy) quest to save her friend love of her life (Charlie) from the Sorceress of the Midnight Sea. Along the way she will befriend pirates, rescue a talking rat, negotiate with a dragon, and try to glean information from the narrator of the story (who, unfortunately, is experiencing a bout of madness during the events of the tale. We’ll get to that.)

From page one, Sanderson subverts expectations—especially with worldbuilding. Tress lives on an island, but the ocean is made of green spores that act as sand and react violently to liquid. If you breathe in a single spore, you can end up dead with a vine growing out of your mouth, The Last of Us style. Other spore oceans on her planet react differently—like the Crimson Sea, which produces crystals when met with water.

Rain is nearly deadly. Tress begins her quest so afraid, and understandably so.

However, another element that accompanies her surprisingly whimsical but dangerous world is her personal growth. As Tress learns the secrets of the spores, fear turns into curiosity. You can feel her character arc take shape: her thoughts, actions, responses—the ebb and flow of that growth as she faces new obstacles. Yet Sanderson does not insult the reader by telling you so. It’s evident through how her growth affects the plot.

The plot also hinges on a handful of side-characters, who intrigue, frustrate, enchant, and confuse you—especially Hoid, the cabin boy and the novel’s narrator. Sometimes, he mentions hints about his life, but usually just a single sentence– just enough to tickle the reader’s interest (Why were you in a bout of madness during the events of this book, Hoid? When did you chant “This is for your own good” with 16 other people, Hoid? What do you mean you went on a quest to kill God, Hoid?). I love the idea that the person who holds the answers is literally too cursed to solve the problem (and is convinced that tiny hats will be all the rage in a year). Yet his funny and philosophical tone is one of my favorite parts about this book. His voice alone subverts what a high fantasy novel is expected to sound like.

To conclude, I highly recommend this book to any current fans of Brandon Sanderson, those who want to explore one of his worlds, or anyone ready to enter a world of daring adventure, planet-moving compassion, and (yes, I promised it, didn’t I?) spore-tasers.