Foils, or characters built for the sake of illuminating particular characteristics, are handy when done well. Actually, I can't imagine them being done badly, unless they were too similar. Lesson: use them in your fiction. Other parallels you may not have noticed before but are probably more familiar with:
Harry Potter: orphan who discovers he is magical, searches for family
Voldemort: orphan who discovers he is magical, searches for power
Eponine: Raised by parents who are cons, shuns their ethics, falls in love with Marius, dies
Cosette: Raised by foster parents who are cons, shuns their ethics and starts new life, falls in love with Marius, marries him
Megamind: Alien with supernatural abilities, raised on Earth, tries to reach potential and realizes it isn't all that great, changes his life
Metro Man: Alien with supernatural abilities, raised on Earth, tries to reach potential and realizes it isn't all that great, changes his life
In case you didn't follow that, the first example is from the Harry Potter series, the second is from Les Mis and the third is from Megamind.
Sometimes authors use the opposite of parallels - I'd call them perpendiculars, but that sounds weird - to much the same effect: It still gives something to compare the character with and measure growth. Also, using parallels and perpendiculars is an easy way to build multiple character arcs that fit well together. A famous perpendicular (I've resigned myself to using the term for now):
Cinderella: Has a terrible stepmother who makes her work like a slave, has to go to ball undercover, has a sweet personality, marries prince
Stepsisters: Mother still alive who treats them well, get to flounce off to ball in grand style, have terrible personalities, then end up with their feelings and pride hurt (or live with their feet all carved up, your choice of ending).
Back to Farrell's book. If you want to study parallels, this is a good one to look at. Be aware that it has a sharp, and I mean sharp, learning curve that may make you want to put the book down. It is a fantasy novel set in another world, and the author has chosen to rename nearly everything. The king isn't a king, he's a kraljiki; mothers aren't mothers, they are matarhs; a guard is a garda; and it goes on and on. Many of the new words have roots in real languages (the castle is the palais, for example), so that may give you a leg up.
Something else I wanted to talk about a bit was the commander of the "good guys." Neither side is all that good or bad. Either way, we are introduced to this character when he tortures someone and we watch him splat someone's hand with a brass hammer of sorts. It was shudder-worthy. Sergei is also dehumanized slightly by his lack of a regular nose; his is a metal one that is silver. With that setup, I was all ready to hate the character. By the end of the book, though, I was looking for ways to defend him. How did the author manage that? I have never seen that done before without the character themselves changing or without being won over by charm and wit. Sergei is not at all a rogue. He reminds me more of Inspector Javere, to bring up Les Mis again. I think we come to excuse Sergei for two reasons: we never watch him torture someone again, though we know he does it, and we come to understand his version of patriotism. My husband says he is in the extreme order quadrant of evil, but I don't think it can to easily be simplified. Keep an eye on Sergei if you read A Magic of Twilight, and keep this in mind when you are building your own casts of characters. Could someone be excusably evil?
This is a book with an innovative magic system, which I always appreciate, and good characters. The possibly unnecessarily thorough world-building (I haven't decided whether it was justified or not, because it does make it feel like a different culture even though it is all familiar) could be a deal-breaker for some, but other than that, I'd recommend it.
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