N. K. Jemisin is incapable of writing bad books, that is clear. However, compared to the inspired The City We Became, this sequel is lacking. The reluctance to come back to this duology (meant to be a trilogy at first) is obvious in the writing. The same way some of the characters

stop feeling their respective burroughs for a while, the readers also stop feeling the characters, previously so lively and *real*.

 
I don't think anyone can blame her, especially after reading the author's note at the end. 
That being said, the book is still a good read. Hell, it got me out of a reading slump! 
The imagery is still vivid and cinematographic, you still root for the burroughs, there are still some "heck yeah!" moments. Overall, it's a good book. By any other author, I would probably give it 4,5*. But Nemisin is extraordinary, and it would be a disservice to pretend like this one rivals her other writing. It doesn't, but most authors in her position would either not finish the series altogether or they would put forth a terrible book just for the sake of filling a contract. The fact that she put forth a *good book* should be commanded. I'll still be waiting anxiously for any new releases from her, like always.