The Witcher: Crossroads of Crows or How It All Began

There was a time in Poland when fantasy meant imported dwarves and the occasional attempt to explain why Gandalf sounded like Lenin after three beers. The eighties belonged to sci-fi – hard, ideological, and preferably with a Marxist subtext that everyone could interpret as they pleased. And then Andrzej Sapkowski arrived, wrote the short story "The Witcher" for Fantastyka magazine, and turned a genre that was previously a bit embarrassing into a national treasure.

Today, forty years later, old man Andrzej has sat down at the typewriter again – and no, this time it’s not a contract rewrite with CD Projekt. He has released Crossroads of Crows, a prequel about a Geralt who doesn't yet reek of cynicism or mead. This is Geralt-junior, fresh out of school, heading out into the world for the first time to discover that monsters are just like people. And people are even worse.

On paper, it sounds like a Netflix episode, but surprisingly, it works. Sapkowski still knows how to laugh – mostly at himself, his characters, and his readers. Yet, he remains the same old familiar author: linguistically precise, socially provocative, literarily confident, and occasionally annoyingly clever.

A prequel you didn't ask for, but got anyway

The book takes us to the very beginning of the Witcher's story – before he became Geralt "of Rivia". We learn why he names all his mares Roach, how the pamphlet "The Monster, or A Witcher's Description" came to be, and why so few of them are left in the world. Young Nenneke makes an appearance, along with a few new mutants and some guys who would have had their own side quests in the game.

The main newcomers to the Witcher story are Preston Holt (a witcher with the charisma of an old Clint Eastwood, though he gets less screen time than a cute sidekick pig) and Vrai Natteravn, a sorceress whose name sounds like a death metal band. They could all be major players if the book were twice as long. It isn't.

The three-hundred-page problem

Sapkowski wrote something that should have been a thousand pages long, but it barely hits three hundred. As a result, Geralt evolves from a naive boy into a cynical professional somewhere between two paragraphs. It’s a prequel in fast-forward mode. Some chapters feel like side quests from an average RPG that fill a few evenings but don't change much.

And then there’s the third act – fifty pages of a sprint that ends before you can even catch your breath. Sapkowski has a thing for rushed endings; he did it in The Tower of the Swallow, Viper, and Lux perpetua. Here, it feels more like the "deadline was yesterday".

Sapkowski as we know him – and a little different

Sapkowski remains exactly as we remember him – witty, linguistically polished, sarcastic, and occasionally irritated by reality. His text has a rhythm that could be transcribed into sheet music, and turns of phrase that should be carved into beer coasters. In his new novel, he plays with language with the elegance of a man who knows he can – and knows he’ll get away with it.

He is the same author who once managed to turn an argument between a witcher and a blacksmith into a philosophical debate. He’s just a bit more reconciled today, less biting, more ironically weary. He stabs less, he winks more. Instead of mockery, he uses perspective; instead of anger, a resigned smile. And even when he indulges in linguistic exhibitionism, he still does it with a style that no one else in Central European fantasy can master.

You can tell that Sapkowski no longer needs to prove he’s the best – he just occasionally wants to remind himself that he can still write a sentence that other authors only manage once in a lifetime. You can feel the craft, the confidence, and the years of practice in his text, which knows how to dose sarcasm as precisely as a Wolf potion.

On the other hand, the series' sexual charge has faded. Geralt is young here, but his romantic conquests are limited to hints and subtle smirks. Gone are the days when every chapter had its own sorceress and every sorceress had a wardrobe malfunction. This time, it’s more of a melancholic look back than a hormonal ride – as if Sapkowski realized that even fiction can grow old.

An edition that won't shy away from a griffin

In the Czech Republic, the book was published as usual by Leonardo publishing house, which has been pampering The Witcher for decades. The translation is handled by Stanislav Komárek – and as is his custom, it’s a sure bet. He preserves Sapkowski’s linguistic agility, sarcasm, and that clever mix of dialects and pub wisdom. The edition keeps the style of older paperbacks – practical, readable, with a classic cover that doesn't try to compete with gaming aesthetics or Netflix. Just honest, paper-based Geralt.

Who is this actually for?

Crossroads of Crows probably won't appeal to young readers who know Geralt from CD Projekt games or – God forbid – Netflix. This is a book for the old guard who still read to think, not to scroll. But even they might not be able to shake the feeling that Sapkowski is writing more out of obligation than passion. Or for the money.

Nevertheless, Crossroads of Crows is readable, funny, and still smart enough to remind us why we loved that grumpy mutant in the first place.

What's next?

Sapkowski claims this isn't his last Witcher book. If four years is enough for him to write another three hundred pages, we might see a sequel before CD Projekt releases Witcher 4. Let’s hope he adds a few pages this time; you can't really take any more away.

Writing books has no end – but sometimes it’s just time to have a mead, close Word, and stop. Sapkowski doesn't know how to do that yet, and we don't really want him to. Because even if his world isn't burning anymore, it’s still damn fun to be in it.

author Honza Kohoutek