The problem with having too much to read is that… well, there’s just too much to read. And not enough time. If you’re anything like me, your TBR pile is stacked precariously high… or your TBR “pile” is actually a TBR bookcase.

Some books/authors are able to jump the queue and not sit, unread, as long as others. But let’s face it – I’m not the world’s fastest reader. So reading everything in a timely fashion is just impossible.

And so it is with Sarwat Chadda’s City of the Plague God, the latest entry in the magnificent Rick Riordan Presents lineup. It actually came out back in January, which feels like three lifetimes ago now.

If you’ve been paying attention (or read any of our previous coverage here), it should come as no surprise that the Rick Riordan Presents imprint has been a runaway success. After Percy Jackson, Magnus Chase, and The Kane Chronicles, Rick Riordan could have easily explored more of the world’s mythologies and made them his own.

But that didn’t sit right with him. The rich tapestry of the world’s mythologies weren’t his stories to tell. Instead of doing the obvious thing, Rick Riordan instead chose to do the right thing. And with Rick Riordan Presents, he is curating a library of stories from underrepresented cultures written from an Own Voices perspective.

City of the Plague God is a modern-day adventure based on aspects of ancient Mesopotamian mythology. Thirteen-year-old Sikander “Sik” Aziz is a normal kid living a normal life in Manhattan – going to school, helping out at his parents’ Iraqi deli… well, that’s pretty much it. Since his older brother died, Sik hasn’t had much time for anything else. He’s been spending all his time at the family deli, struggling to keep his immigrant parents’ dream alive.

Still, from page 1, you just KNOW that even this small semblance of normalcy and peace won’t last. Quickly, Sik’s life gets turned upside down as he gets tangled up with a few gods – notably Nergal (the god of war and disease who is, obviously, our antagonist) and Ishtar (the magnetic goddess of love and, again, war).

Nergal is convinced Sik’s bother stole an invaluable treasure from Iraq and is set on recovering it. And if he doesn’t get it, he’ll unleash a supernatural plague on the city. Along the way, Sik joins up with Belet, Ishtar’s adopted daughter, travels to the land beyond death, meets Gilgamesh, and… becomes immortal? Maybe?

If you can’t have fun flying over Manhattan in a magical chariot drawn by four massive winged cats, then when can you?

The book is oddly prescient in that Nergal (spoiler) unleashes a pandemic on New York that spreads like wildfire. As Chadda explains, however, the book was written in 2018, long before a very real pandemic crippled our conception of “normal.” Therefore, ironically, one of the main plot points that was intended to be pure fantasy instead reads like a commentary on our current reality. (Thankfully, COVID-19 doesn’t turn us into unrecognizable demons… yet.)

In many ways, though, City of the Plague God is about more than ancient Mesopotamian mythology in a 21st century setting (obviously). It’s about fighting pervasive stereotypes that… ahem, plague those with a Middle Eastern heritage (Iraqi, especially). And it flips many of those preconceived notions on their heads.

On the surface, we see this play out in Sik’s cousin Daoud, who is a struggling actor desperate to break free of the “Terrorist #3” type roles. And we see it in the dichotomy that defines Ishtar, a god of both love and war. But dig a bit deeper, and we find the most striking of upended stereotypes – one that speaks to the very soul of the book: a pacifist Gilgamesh.

“So you gave up being a hero?” asked Belet.
“I gave up madness,” said Gilgamesh.
“But you’re the greatest warrior the world has ever seen!” I exclaimed. “You can’t give up fighting!”
“I can, and I did. And if I can, so can everyone else,” he said.

Because if Gilgamesh, perhaps history’s most notorious warrior hero, can leave behind the temptations of war and power and take up gardening, then – indeed – so can everyone else. If Gilgamesh can refuse to bow to others’ expectations of him, then so can Sik. And so can everyone looking at Sik and his family with hate in their eyes. And so can you. And so can I.