I had a lot of fun with this book, which has an entertaining protagonist and is also very funny—at least, if you enjoy a faux-Victorian writi3.5 stars
I had a lot of fun with this book, which has an entertaining protagonist and is also very funny—at least, if you enjoy a faux-Victorian writing style and the wry humor that comes with it. There are some definite plotting issues, but the book overall left me with warm feelings.
In a fantasy world bearing some resemblance to 19th century England, Dellaria (Delly) Wells grew up in poverty and is a generally disreputable, scrappy, foul-mouthed fire witch and sometimes petty criminal, who can’t be bothered to hold down any job for long and enjoys drinking gin and casual sex. Her portrayal is leavened by her amusing habit of making up big words that she thinks sound fancy when talking to higher-class people (who are generally unimpressed), her devotion to her neglectful drug addict mother, and the tendency of the narrative itself to mock Delly’s shortcomings—because the narrative is inflected with Delly’s voice and even sometimes uses her made-up words, it gives the impression of self-awareness from her and of a book that isn’t above laughing at itself.
I enjoy flawed characters, and I really enjoyed seeing a character type usually confined to male protagonists on a woman. At the same time, Delly is a more realistic portrayal than usual in fantasy of someone living in generational poverty, and her strategies for dealing with her social “betters” come across as very realistic, as is her preoccupation with money and with establishing some security for herself and her mother. This being a fantasy book there is of course some effort to have her grow into a hero, to which my response is somewhat mixed—some of Delly’s choices seem a little over-the-top (view spoiler)[she’s giving the money at the end to Mrs. Totham, really? The same Mrs. Totham who abandoned her mother in a burning building and later tricked Delly into agreeing to a fatal curse if she failed to carry through Mrs. Totham’s revenge? (hide spoiler)], but mostly I think it’s a good balance of the better side of her nature coming out without transforming the character beyond recognition.
The plot I was less thrilled with. The first third is very fun, as Delly takes a short-term job on a team of female bodyguards protecting a lady targeted by mysterious assassination attempts. However, it later bogs down in a slow-moving quest to capture the culprit, based on a bizarre plan to apprehend a drug addict by taking down her suppliers root and branch, which seems a bit like killing a spider with an 18-wheeler—major overkill, and also there’s a good chance you’ll miss the spider altogether. (This comparison is very much in the spirit of the book, by the way, except it’s a quasi-Victorian world so doesn’t actually have trucks!) The end, when it comes, is rushed and feels devoid of a truly exciting climax. The same is true of Delly’s romance with fellow bodyguard Winn: starts off interestingly due to the social divide, but bogs down in repetitive interactions before tying off somewhat abruptly. (view spoiler)[Delly spends most of the book telling herself she’s chosen Winn for her money, from which I expected much more drama than actually occurs; Winn herself is strangely unperturbed by this. (hide spoiler)]
I did enjoy the worldbuilding, which is in the background rather than explained: the world feels three-dimensional, and the use of at least four different ways of speaking depending on context and social class is particularly striking. Those who have already read the companion book, Unnatural Magic, might have an easier time understanding the world: there doesn’t seem to be any connection between the plots though I believe Winn’s mother was a prior protagonist, but some cultural concepts were perhaps explained further there. It took me a good chunk of the book to deduce that “householding” can refer to either adoption or to some sort of civil union (the difference between this and marriage is never explained; given that no one in this world seems to attach any significance whatsoever to the choice of same sex vs. opposite sex relationships, I wouldn’t have guessed they had separate institutions, yet it does appear to be the case).
At any rate, this book is worth a read if you enjoy fantasy with quasi-19th century settings and language, bands of female adventurers, rough-and-tumble female protagonists, or sapphic romance. The plotting issues make me hesitant to recommend, but I definitely did enjoy it....more
I am starting to wonder if fantasy novellas—at least of this particular length, these tiny books that would be easily under 100 pages if not for blankI am starting to wonder if fantasy novellas—at least of this particular length, these tiny books that would be easily under 100 pages if not for blank pages between chapters, generous formatting, and numbering sleight of hand—don’t entirely work for me. I like the idea of novellas, having an entire compact little book that you can read in an evening and feel accomplished. But this is the fifth I’ve read so far this year, and four of them—this book, Burning Roses, The Black God's Drums and Of Sorrow and Such—I think are quite good. (Fireheart Tiger is the only strike-out thus far.) But we’re talking a 3- to 3.5-star version of “quite good,” where the tale is interesting, the prose well-crafted, the setting textured and the setup mostly free of holes, but I can’t claim much engagement with the story or characters and don’t expect it to stick with me.
This particular one is a story-within-a-story, along the lines of Wuthering Heights, in which a servant tells her former mistress’s dramatic tale to a passing guest. In this case the passing guest is a cleric historian, visiting a villa where the recently-dead empress was imprisoned by her husband for several years before initiating a coup. The setting seems to be an alternate version of imperial China, and the elderly maid uses a series of objects the empress left behind to chronicle her mistress’s early years in the country and rise to power.
The story is well-written and evocative, making good use of its limited scenes to tell an epic tale. The characters come across fairly clearly, and there’s a lot of emotion bubbling beneath the relatively calm surface; while not giving us direct access to the principals’ feelings does place distance between the story and the reader (it reads almost like the retelling of a myth), there’s something to be said for that restraint, allowing the reader to intuit emotions rather than having them all spelled out. Another advantage of the brief length is that readers don’t have to like the empress, In-yo: we can empathize with the ways in which she’s vulnerable and admire the intelligence behind her machinations while also realizing that she’s ultimately sacrificing a lot of people in a quest for her own power. The novella feels very in control of that tension.
On the other hand, the frame story takes up so much page time that this might more accurately be described as having past/present dual narratives, with the present one feeling fairly disposable. I see the artistry in including the frame, but it feels a bit like it’s crowding out the painting; I’m not sure we would have lost much if the maid had simply told her tale directly to the reader. And a plot point at the end beggars belief: (view spoiler)[surely In-yo’s entourage was aware that Rabbit was pregnant, and gave birth, and that In-yo herself was not pregnant, and yet no one questioned the provenance of the baby In-yo claimed as hers? If everybody actually knew but said nothing, which seems more likely, then why do the characters behave as if it’s a great secret? (hide spoiler)]
I also was less impressed with this novella’s feminism than many other readers. In-yo’s (view spoiler)[abandoning her 6-year-old son to be exiled and ultimately murdered by his caretakers, without apparently ever even attempting a reunion with him (having preemptively replaced him with Rabbit’s child), apparently motivated by her desire for a female heir—or perhaps just an heir untainted by anyone else’s influence? but the gender issue is definitely there— (hide spoiler)] is treated so casually that it’s unclear whether readers are even supposed to consider this when weighing up her actions, versus taking it as feminism. And then there’s that tagline, repeated twice in the book and all over people’s reviews: “Angry mothers raise daughters fierce enough to fight wolves.” Sure, it sounds all fierce and feminist, but it collapses in the face of experience. Angry parents actually tend to raise children trained from birth to make themselves small in order to manage and placate other people’s anger. And unconventional, opinionated women with big personalities more often than not have far more conventional, socially-conforming daughters. Fantasy right now is quite socially aspirational, which has its merits, but I prefer it not to actually contradict what I know of human psychology.
At any rate, this isn’t a bad choice for those who enjoy fantasy novellas, stories nested within stories, or quasi-mythological tales of women gaining power by unconventional means. I liked reading it well enough, but I don’t think I enjoyed it well enough to seek out more in the series....more
For some reason I didn't enjoy this volume as much as the others. Maybe it's because the plot is more self-contained but also less of a complete arc, For some reason I didn't enjoy this volume as much as the others. Maybe it's because the plot is more self-contained but also less of a complete arc, introducing new characters while leaving out most of the ones we already know, and without a big battle at the end. Maybe it was the obnoxious trope of Maika’s growing a conscience just long enough to rescue one of her most dangerous foes. Maybe it was just my mood. But I felt like the character motivations in this one were a bit too simple, and as always, the beauty of the art is matched only by the gruesomeness of many of the images. But that said, I moved on quickly to the next volume and found it back to its usual standard....more
This series continues to be very enjoyable, action-oriented but with a complex political backdrop, and gorgeous art. Still quite violent. In this voluThis series continues to be very enjoyable, action-oriented but with a complex political backdrop, and gorgeous art. Still quite violent. In this volume I got frustrated with Maika and her general “fuck everyone, I have power!” attitude—I know, she’s a traumatized teenager, but for this reader her behavior skirts the line of losing sympathy. That said, there are a lot of cool characters here, it’s fun to see fantasy with lots of female characters in powerful roles, and I’m definitely on board for the next volume....more
Like the first volume, this is very pretty, a fun though dark action-based fantasy story set in a complex world. This volume is perhaps slightly less Like the first volume, this is very pretty, a fun though dark action-based fantasy story set in a complex world. This volume is perhaps slightly less gory than the one before, and for me it didn’t require quite as much attention to understand, likely because so much of the heavy lifting was done in the first volume. I missed many of the characters introduced in the first volume, as this one is more of a self-contained journey. Still rather violent for my overall taste, but I enjoyed this a lot and was quick to move on to the next....more
This book is a good example of why I wait a couple days between finishing a book and reviewing it. This one immediately swept me up, and I lo3.5 stars
This book is a good example of why I wait a couple days between finishing a book and reviewing it. This one immediately swept me up, and I loved it for about the first half. Around the midpoint I hit a wall, in the section featuring a character much less interesting than our protagonist. Then the plot picked up again and I still enjoyed the book through the end, but upon reflection, its ideas and characters ring a bit hollow.
In 1714, Addie LaRue is desperate to escape her small village life, and in particular an unwanted marriage, and to experience the world. So she makes a deal with a devil, in which she becomes immortal and untethered—at the cost of being forgotten by everyone the moment she’s out of sight, and being unable to make any physical mark on the world. In parallel plotlines, the book follows Addie’s historical life, most of it in 18th century France, and her “present day” in New York City, 2014, when for the first time she meets a young man who remembers her.
While the premise didn’t grab me in the plot summary, it immediately did when I started reading. Addie’s emotional life is vividly drawn, as are the consequences of her gift/curse, and I was fascinated to see how she managed it. What an idea: what would you do if everyone forgot you the moment you left? What would you be unable to do? How would you live? How would you find meaning? These are the book’s big questions, which unfold in its first half, alongside the poignant story of Addie’s early life. “Poignant” is a good word for this book, really; I wouldn’t call the writing style literary but it is successfully emotive, and it’s very much a story about art and beauty.
Along the same lines, Addie isn’t a complex personality, but she works well as a lead because her inner life is richly drawn: her yearning for freedom and wider experience, her love of art, her sorrow for the human connection she’s lost, are palpable. Crucially, for all the pain that it’s brought her she doesn’t actually regret her choice, and she remains able to savor the beauty and novelty of a moment even though she’s lived more than 300 years. So, I can see why both this book has been so loved (it’s deeply emotional) and why some have hated it (you have to be in the right headspace).
That said, I enjoyed the second half less, as its focus shifts from the premise of Addie’s situation to her romance. Her human love interest, Henry, is mundane by comparison—he’d be at home in a regular contemporary novel—and the focus of the novel and Addie’s life turn inward at precisely the moment when fantasy is so good at shifting outward. Fantasy allows characters a broader canvas on which to live than ordinary reality does, but in the end Addie’s life seems small in comparison to its potential. I don’t think Schwab’s choices were objectively bad—the story she wanted to tell just wasn’t the one I wanted to read—but they did leave me dissatisfied.
First, the book largely glosses over history, and the question of what it would be like for a person born in 1691 to still be around in 2014. At first I didn’t notice the lack—Addie marvels at new inventions and lives through wars (not shown)—but then, well, that’s it. I didn’t want a simplistic montage of Addie reacting to the best-known historical events, and it’s OK that she seems uninterested in politics and world news. But there are deeper changes that have occurred in 300 years, and we see nothing of it. Addie came of age during the reign of Louis XIV and she’s now living in the presidency of Barack Obama: this represents profound changes in how human society is organized, what a country is, what it means to be a person in the world, and Addie apparently has thoughts and feelings about none of it. She was raised in the heart of an empire built on slavery and conquest, that accordingly convinced itself people of color were a lesser form of life, and now she’s attending dinner parties thrown by black grad students, and she has no reflections on this either. She sold her soul for freedom and independence that were entirely out of reach to her as a French village girl, and now she lives in a world where women can travel and create art and live independently with no supernatural intervention required—surely she must have feelings about this? She reached sexual maturity in a homophobic world, dreaming of handsome men, and now she occasionally hooks up with women too—her views must have been challenged and changed, but when? How?
Bizarrely, Addie’s outlook seems to alter not a whit in 300 years—not because she clings to the values of her youth, which could have been interesting, but because she doesn’t seem to have a worldview to change, because she evidently absorbed no attitudes or ideas from her surrounding culture either before or after her deal. In fact, the historical settings seem quite surface-level, making me suspect uncharitably that the author did little research into the world that shaped Addie and so sort of stuck a modern character into a historical setting without thinking much about it.
The rest of my commentary includes SPOILERS, so you’ve been warned.
The same lack of engagement with the world is evident in Henry, whose decisions are quite boring. He sells his soul to be loved by everyone, quickly concludes he doesn’t like that after all, and then it never once occurs to him that he could use his supernatural gifts to benefit anyone else. Congratulations, you now have incredible powers of charisma and persuasion, possibilities for unlimited access, everyone has time for you and wants to please you: perhaps you have laws or policies you’d like to see changed? Causes you want supported? Other people feeling alone and unseen in whose lives your attention might make a difference? Henry thinks of none of it and does nothing, and it's unclear why he even wanted all these people to love him when he can't be bothered to spend more time with them once they do. (Which is, perhaps, why they were ambivalent about him to begin with.) Similarly, while there are a couple of references to Addie’s using her deal to benefit others, these are brief and vanishingly rare.
To questions about the meaning of life, this book has two clear answers. One is love, which is uncontroversial, and I appreciate that although Addie desires Luc and cares for Henry, she also realizes the limitations of these relationships, that ultimately she’s engaging in them because they are the only ones available to her. But I think the reader is still supposed to see meaning in Addie and Henry’s deeply solipsistic romance, in which each gazes into the other’s eyes primarily because they see themselves reflected there. Even in saving Henry’s life, it’s preserving his memory of her that Addie seems to value most.
The book’s championing of art is similar. There’s a lot to be said for art, which brings beauty and meaning to the world and can outlast its creator, but Addie derives her sense of meaning primarily from being depicted in art—she isn’t a creator or a teacher; she’s a model, and she cares for these works because they prove her own existence when all memory of her has vanished. It all just seems to come back to a narcissistic place, where Addie’s sense of meaning in life derives entirely from being seen, not from what she’s done or who she's chosen to be. (Okay, works depicting her often seem to be artists’ breakout pieces, but it’s unclear to me why this would keep happening when she doesn’t seem to be offering ideas; on multiple occasions she’s actually painted without her prior knowledge.)
Overall then, I enjoyed reading this book, especially at the beginning, but it seems to me to have bitten off more than it could chew, particularly for a book that takes itself so seriously. What began as a 5-star experience turned into a 4-star, and now I find myself mostly agreeing with the 3-star reviews—which is still a long way from bad, but it’s disappointing when a book that emotionally engages you turns out to have far less to say than it pretends....more
This is a fun, sweet novella that I read in a single sitting, enjoying the fairy tale mashup and reimagining, as well as the family stories at its heaThis is a fun, sweet novella that I read in a single sitting, enjoying the fairy tale mashup and reimagining, as well as the family stories at its heart. It features two older queer women, estranged from their wives and kids, who are on a quest to stop some rampaging monsters, but that winds up functioning mostly as a frame story for the two of them working through the issues in their own pasts. The story is told from the POV of Rosa (Little Red Riding Hood grown up and now a recovering zealot), who’s running from her past by fighting firebirds with Hou Yi, an archer from Chinese legend who in this version is female.
The story moves quickly, and although practically everybody in it belongs to some fairy tale or other, it feels natural and Huang is quick to alter the fairy tales in service of her story (this is important in retellings, which can wind up unsatisfying if the author sticks too slavishly to the original material). I found the story enjoyable and interesting, and appreciated the complex look at prejudice early on. As a child, Rosa knows her mother is a bigot toward the “grundwirgen” (talking animals or animal-people), and she’s trying so hard to prove she’s not like that, she deliberately overlooks warning signs about the Big Bad Wolf, with tragic consequences. But this in turn leads to a vendetta in which she kills some grundwirgen who aren’t in fact doing anything wrong. There’s also a fair amount of complexity in the relationships for such a short book, and I appreciated that Rosa and Hou Yi both have made bad choices, and their stories are largely about their willingness to try to make up for them. So often fictional women are written as boringly perfect, but these have the sharp edges that make characters interesting and worth reading about.
The book didn’t quite blow me away. The quest frame story didn’t capture my interest as well as the backstory bits did, and the ending, while sweet, feels a bit rushed. But I enjoyed it and would read more from this author.
(Also, because I'm seeing it in other reviews and it bugs me: no, Rosa is not Latina. It appears that Spanish may be her native language, though it's a bit unclear because while she calls her grandmother abuela, she also grows up talking about grundwirgen, a word that sounds extremely Germanic and which a native Spanish-speaker would struggle to pronounce. But given the technology level, presence of kings and ability to walk to China, I think it's safe to say she's from an alternate version of Europe, not Latin America and certainly not from Latin American immigrants living in the U.S. - therefore, not Latina. My best guess is that she grows up in Germany with a grandmother from Spain.)...more
Interestingly, when this book was published in 1997, it won the Nebula, over such contenders as King's Dragon and A Game of Thrones. While I 2.5 stars
Interestingly, when this book was published in 1997, it won the Nebula, over such contenders as King's Dragon and A Game of Thrones. While I didn’t think much of this book, I also don’t necessarily disapprove: a literary award shouldn’t be a popularity contest, and this book—about the Enlightenment as seen through the plight of a captured “sea monster” (mermaid) at the court of Louis XIV—definitely broke the mold of most fantasy published at the time, and perhaps also has more to say than its competitors. Or maybe it just feels like it does because it declares all its opinions with such simplistic boldness.
But certainly, The Moon and the Sun is chock-full of themes, from the way humans treat other creatures, to the cult of the king (which gets a lot of play here in all its bizarre weirdness, people genuflecting to his portrait and so on), to the perfidy of organized religion (I’d have found this more meaningful in 1997—when making one of your most moral characters an atheist was a striking statement—than in 2021), to the ways women’s talents in early modern Europe were suppressed, to the falseness of appearances.
In 1693, a young lady-in-waiting new to Versailles, Marie-Josèphe, is thrilled when her Jesuit brother arrives, having successfully captured one live sea monster and brought one dead one for dissection and study. Marie-Josèphe takes responsibility for feeding and training the sea monster, which she assumes to be akin to a dolphin. But when she suddenly starts understanding its songs, she is on a mission to save it from the king, who believes eating it will assure him immortality.
A couple of positives. First, the author has clearly done her research into her setting. Second, she can keep a scene moving even when there isn’t a lot of action. The first half of this book is basically all setup, with Marie-Josèphe going about her business interacting with various people, but I did at least keep reading, if sometimes reluctantly. The second half, with its higher stakes, is more entertaining. On the other hand, it’s rather melodramatic; as a couple other reviewers have noted, the characters sometimes feel as if they’re over-acting. Marie-Josèphe’s sudden magical ability to understand another language (in a book without magic) is better glossed over entirely, and the flurry of mysterious-parentage revelations, none of them crucial to the plot, is bizarre.
Marie-Josèphe, in particular, is a heroine that does very little for me. She’s your typical naïve, idealistic, beautiful, multi-talented, yet bland young woman, who combines blushing shyness with a propensity to loudly declare her convictions without a thought for strategy or consequences. This being a default heroine type in historical fiction, with spillover into fantasy, obviously many readers do enjoy it. But defaults bore me, and this character is no exception. If she must heedlessly speak truth to power, she’d be more interesting if she were generally bold and daring, well-acquainted with the birds and the bees, the one introducing the young ladies of Versailles to tobacco rather than the one silently hoping they’ll offer her a puff (they don’t). Or if she must be a naïve people-pleaser, then how about having her work to convince the king of the sea woman’s humanity through a subtler strategy that a shy young woman might actually use? Publicly challenging him is actually a terrible plan, though I suppose readers tend to value that sort of thoughtless boldness.
Also unhelpfully, while we’re told Marie-Josèphe wants a wide variety of things (a brilliant marriage, a career as a scientist or mathematician, brand-new fancy dresses, children of her own, recognition for her artistic skills), I didn’t really feel her yearning for any of it. While the idea of a woman “having it all” is much-discussed, this probably makes more sense as a goal for a character who’s on her way to at least having some of it. Marie-Josèphe has nothing and references to these various, disparate goals and dreams mostly left me confused about her real priorities. But then, prioritizing some goals over others would perhaps work against the point of a default character, which is that everyone relates to her (I’ve never really understood this one. I don’t relate to boring people).
Back to the simplistic treatment of themes, there’s also a bizarre subplot dealing with Marie-Josèphe’s family’s slave girl, Odelette, with whom Marie-Josèphe is close. Odelette reappears in Marie-Josèphe’s life at the beginning of the novel for the first time in several years (they were in a convent and kept apart from ages 15 to 20). Despite their purported closeness, they don’t seem to feel any need to actually catch up with one another. Odelette, who seems awfully self-actualized and full of righteous indignation for a slave in 1693, eventually confronts Marie-Josèphe about her status. Marie-Josèphe suggests for approximately 30 seconds that Odelette might be better off as her slave than on her own, but when Odelette scorns that idea, Marie-Josèphe promptly agrees to free her. Her brother’s later argument that this girl is their only asset spurs no regrets or second thoughts. Well, I’m glad to know that slavery is such an easy and simple matter that it can be resolved in a conversation. Odelette then decides to stick around for the moment anyway, but in her next scene, announces that she’s now a Muslim and her new name is Haleed. Marie-Josèphe accepts this without any reaction whatsoever, never messes up the name even in her own thoughts, and has no feelings or reservations about the Muslim thing even though she’s a sheltered young Catholic woman in 1693 who’s presumably never met a Muslim (for that matter, has Haleed?). I think Marie-Josèphe must be intended as an avatar of wokeness (from before that was a word), but it mostly comes across like Odelette/Haleed is just a childhood friend she wants to do right by but doesn’t actually have the bandwidth to spend any emotion on. The book would’ve been fine without this weird subplot.
For that matter, it also would’ve been better without the Pope appearing in person, officially visiting Versailles to confirm a treaty, but in plot function, to repeatedly denounce Marie-Josèphe’s unwomanly ways. I don’t buy an innocent young convent-bred girl backtalking the Pope, publicly and repeatedly, after he’s already shot her down.
At any rate, I don’t exactly recommend this, but if you’re looking for a work of plot-driven if leisurely-paced historical fantasy that wears its heart and its opinions on its sleeves, it might be what you’re looking for....more
When this book first came out, I tried and abandoned it at 50 pages. That would have been that, but for my absolutely loving everything Novik3.5 stars
When this book first came out, I tried and abandoned it at 50 pages. That would have been that, but for my absolutely loving everything Novik has written since; Spinning Silver and A Deadly Education are among my all-time favorites. So I decided to give this another try, and give it 100 pages this time. And good thing, because up through page 99 I’d have DNF’d all over again, but it hooked me just in time and I ended up enjoying the read quite a bit. I’d still rank it well below Spinning Silver and the Scholomance trilogy, and a bit below His Majesty's Dragon, but it’s a fun book.
What fascinates me about this is how different Uprooted’s strengths and weaknesses are from Novik’s other work—while at the same time, there are thematic similarities: see how the Wood recurs in very different form in Scholomance, for instance, and there’s always a consciousness of class and social hierarchies in her work even when it isn’t the focus. However, this book is by far the weakest character work Novik has done, before or since; she hadn’t quite mastered the use of first person, which she uses to brilliant effect in later books; and the worldbuilding and detail can be sloppy.
And yet, it turns out to be a fantastically fun and exciting story, with an expertly crafted plot that just keeps getting more interesting and exciting as it goes. There’s a lot of tension, the world opens out in interesting ways, the style is accomplished, and it’s told with a level of compassion and thoughtfulness that I always appreciate in fantasy. The ending is perfect in every way, in its answers to mysteries and solutions to problems and its vision of humans’ relationship to their environment (which the forest as antagonist had me doubting midway through), and in where it leaves its characters, which left a smile on my face.
I’ve broken down a bit more of my thoughts below:
THE CHARACTERS: Two-dimensional, as mentioned above. Agnieszka, our narrator, is your typical cookie-cutter heroine, her defining trait being clumsiness (ugh, yes. This was published in the Twilight era). She is the Heart and her antagonistic mentor/love interest is the Head, and now you know all there is to both of them. I probably felt most for Agnieszka’s best friend Kasia, until I realized she had no personality either. But I have to suppose, this being Novik’s most popular book thus far, that to many readers this blandness is a feature rather than a bug.
THE FRIENDSHIP: Speaking of Kasia. In returning to this book I was most excited for the promise of a strong, plot-relevant female friendship, and technically the book has that, but it disappointed me. Yes, the girls are affectionate, loyal and supportive of one another, and Kasia remains a presence throughout, all of which is rare in fiction. But there’s no depth to the relationship. They rarely actually speak to each other on-page. The characterization being weak, they’re hard to distinguish from each other personality-wise. And while one magic-involved scene infodumps a bunch of tensions and small resentments that supposedly exist in their relationship, none of this is ever shown through interactions, and they never address any of it. As a result their friendship never grows, it just is, which isn’t very interesting.
THE ROMANCE: By contrast, I was surprisingly fine with this. Novik has a talent for introducing love interests who initially seem to be the height of awful, and then slowly changing the reader’s perspective as the relationship develops and the characters get to know each other better and the heroine gains enough power to participate in the relationship as an equal. The sex scene is surprisingly sexy and the end is just right. (view spoiler)[I like to imagine them keeping a thing going for awhile, as Agnieszka pursues her new life, without making any ultimate commitment. She is really young, after all, and I think there will be other men in her life eventually, if only because of the age difference. (hide spoiler)]
THE VOICE: Generic first person at its height. You’d never guess from this that Novik would in her next book write six first-person voices and pull it off without even having to label them, or that she’d go on to write a trilogy that is a master class in understanding how every word in first person is characterization. There’s something subtly off about this voice for Agnieszka: she definitely doesn’t sound like a medieval peasant girl (contrast with Wanda in Spinning Silver), but there’s also no sense of a present-day Agnieszka looking back on this story from a place of greater maturity and sophistication.
THE WORLDBUILDING: Speaking of which, this is also weak compared to Spinning Silver, where I had the sense Novik had researched relevant aspects of medieval life. So many details are off: 17-year-old peasant girls having no responsibilities but just hanging out in the woods all day; Agnieszka comparing battle sounds, in a single scene, to “the door of an oven slamming shut” (wouldn’t the ovens she knows look more like this?) and a crab’s leg cracking (she lives an awfully long way from the ocean to have ever encountered a crab large enough to eat the legs this way). That said, in the macro sense I found the world satisfying—the royal court is well-done, the politics make sense, and it is fun to see the larger world. Scene-setting is vivid, and the Wood is appropriately unsettling and memorable.
THE MAGIC: This book is very magic-heavy, both in the degree to which it’s wielded by the protagonists to solve problems and in the amount of time spent on learning and explaining it. And while all the Slavic spells are fun, mostly I found this aspect dull. It’s clear early on that Agnieszka is Special and that her abilities will be fueled by plot requirements, with her always able to pull out some new spell in times of need.
THE PACING: The first 100 pages, focused as they are on the bland characters and Agnieszka’s magic training, are weak. But it only improves from there, getting more and more intense, playing out the unexpected consequences of character actions that seemed quite reasonable and even necessary in the moment, and continuously raising the stakes. It’s because this is ultimately a plot-driven book that it works as well as it does. It’s a great plot and the book is exactly the right length for it.
THE FAIRY TALE: What fairy tale? Why is anyone calling this a retelling? Spinning Silver riffs on a fairy tale a bit but the closest this gets is visiting a couple of common fairy-tale motifs, like the girl locked in a tower. It is its own story and better for it.
Overall then, while I did enjoy this in the end, it would be the last Novik I would recommend to new readers—unless those readers are fans of YA, looking for something more mature but with similarly bland character archetypes. While the tone, setting and style are similar to Spinning Silver, that book by contrast is much stronger in its characters, much lighter on the magic, lighter on the romance and more consistent in pacing and tension, if a bit less heart-pounding in the end. I strongly recommend giving it a try even if Uprooted underwhelmed you....more
This is a fun book about suffragist witches. It definitely has its issues, but if you’re an easily pleased reader and like the idea of suffragist witcThis is a fun book about suffragist witches. It definitely has its issues, but if you’re an easily pleased reader and like the idea of suffragist witches, don’t let me rain on your parade; you’ll probably enjoy it.
Set in an alternate 1893 America, this book follows the adventures of three sisters trying to bring back witchcraft, while repairing the damaged bonds amongst themselves caused by a long estrangement. It’s a plot-heavy book with an evil villain and a lot of captures and rescues, also including a bunch of social justice content that melds together the issues of our day and theirs. I definitely enjoyed the plot and had fun reading the book; though it has a lot of pages, they turn quickly. There’s plenty of solid adventure of the urban fantasy type (the city of New Salem is extremely self-contained) and a strong ending. And the writing style is vivid and creative, while the dialogue rings true. I did however have mixed feelings about much of the execution.
As far as the plot, this one suffers from the all-too-common fantasy problem of stories that start to fall apart when you think about them. Its magic is intended for practical application, and is so powerful and lacking in limits that half the difficulties the characters face, particularly in the latter half, seem like they could be solved much more easily and painlessly than they actually are. Meanwhile, the magic is democratic, which is absolutely right for the book’s themes: there’s no actual difference between “women’s magic” and “men’s magic,” though people think there is; and anyone can work it if they have the right items and words, with no need for special gifts or lineage nor extensive study and practice. No one ever thinks through what this means for the world long-term though: they blithely share it amongst marginalized groups with the assumption it’ll stay that way, when as the stigma falls away there’s no reason the powerful can’t just add it as another tool to their arsenal.
The characterization is mixed. For the first half or so of the book, I was satisfied: after all, there are three female protagonists (all intended to be sympathetic!), which means they have to be distinguished from one another, which means they get some non-generic traits. However, they’re all ultimately quite simple characters, which by the second half of the book held back my enjoyment. Bella is bookish and timid, Agnes cold and determined, Juniper reckless and wild, and that’s pretty much it. I appreciate the portrayal of three very different reactions to their abusive childhood—Bella becomes self-doubting, Agnes self-isolating and Juniper angry—but they’re all a bit paint-by-numbers. Which makes it particularly easy to become frustrated by their weaknesses—Bella’s timidity, Agnes’s selfishness, Juniper’s short attention span—where in more complex characters these would have added depth. I do agree with what seems to be the common opinion that Agnes is the most compelling of the three, but Bella’s a bit of a wet blanket and Juniper as the wrecking ball ought to have been more fun to read about than she was. The problems in Bella and Agnes’s relationship also felt more swept under the rug than resolved.
The secondary characters are flat as well, and the romances uninspired—my favorite part of this aspect was that Juniper doesn’t have one and the book doesn’t give a reason. Agnes’s love interest turns on a dime from being cheeky and patronizing toward women to submissive and worshipful, which didn’t sit quite right. Bella, meanwhile, has Cleo, an African-American woman I can’t help but think of as a white-guilt character: the author piles on all the positive traits (beautiful, dignified, intelligent, determined, knowledgeable, self-assured) and then to avoid the Magical Negro trope, has her be sort of deliberately unhelpful for the first part of the book despite the fact that she knows everything and is always right, and also she frequently snipes at the nearest white person about racism. Unfortunately the nearest white person is usually Bella, a kicked puppy who never has so much as an offensive thought and is supposed to be Cleo’s love interest. The scene in which Cleo retorts that Bella’s “I’m sorry” is meaningless beside the horrors of her grandmother’s enslavement (when there’s no indication Bella thought this somehow made up for it) sat particularly ill with me—it didn’t seem like Cleo was capable of separating Bella herself from the totality of white oppression sufficiently to have a healthy relationship with her.
My reaction to the social justice content was also mixed. Some of it felt a little too well-worn and obvious to me: the authorities treat the African-American neighborhood badly! The trans character was rejected by her family! The author pulls back from ever allowing a protagonist to hold a non-woke opinion: where they do, we only learn about it in a couple of sentences before they promptly change the opinion. I did like the Native American bit (in which a minor character tells Juniper that they can be comrades when the white ladies come help her people against the U.S. Marshals), though it is very brief. And I particularly liked the focus on workers’ pay and conditions, the inclusion of female mill workers (many of them at that time recent European immigrants), and their alliance with the union boys. If you’re trying to be timely, in a country of ever-increasing economic inequality, it’s hard to get more so than this.
On the book’s biggest “issue” though—women’s rights—my thoughts are again mixed. The book is more holistic in its feminism than most and its focus on women banding together and helping one another is fun. It’s also simplistic, though. Men are often blamed for things to the exclusion of female responsibility (I wanted Agnes to feel more regret than she does for what she did to Bella; no, it wasn’t entirely her fault, but she still played a crucial part). And I couldn’t help wondering how much the author knows about women’s history: while fiction necessarily does simplify, her portrayal of the 19th century women’s movement has no male allies and never mentions its previous alliance with the abolitionist movement (which did not end so well for women, with the 14th Amendment adding the word “male” to the Constitution for the first time as a qualifier on whom the equal protection of the laws applied to). Her constant repurposing of historical male folklorists as female (the Sisters Grimm, Charlotte Perrault etc.) is a quick and easy way to indicate alternate history, but ignores the female writers who actually existed and seems to imply that they didn’t.
Overall then, I did have fun with this book, and there are certainly aspects the author executed well. But I won’t be in any rush to read her other books....more
A pleasant steampunk novella, set in an alternate 1880s America, with a generally engaging plot and characters, this nevertheless didn’t quite grab meA pleasant steampunk novella, set in an alternate 1880s America, with a generally engaging plot and characters, this nevertheless didn’t quite grab me. The world is complex for a novella, with a depth that makes it feel real, though perhaps too much of the 102-page text is spent on exposition; this world and amount of explanation might have been better suited to a full-length novel. The New Orleans setting feels vivid and the alternate-history-with-magic is interesting and fun. The characters are also enjoyable, though I was more interested in the Haitian airship captain Ann-Marie than the narrator, 13-year-old street urchin Jacqueline aka Creeper. The voice and dialogue work well, including some colorful patois.
A couple of minor points: I happened to be reading this at the same time as a Harriet Tubman biography, and so the reference to the captain “help[ing] supply old General Tubman in her guerilla war, blowing up Confederate munitions and smuggling out slaves” particularly tickled me. This might seem like an author just repurposing a well-known figure willy-nilly for his alternate history, but in fact Tubman actually did lead a military raid to burn down some plantations and rescue hundreds of slaves, and John Brown (of Harpers Ferry fame) actually referred to her as “General Tubman.” So, points to the author for cool historical background. Meanwhile, I found the idea of slaveowners using a mind-control gas to keep slaves working irksome because it seems to suggest that real-world threats and social constraints didn’t achieve the exact same goal, but (view spoiler)[Ann-Marie making off with a canister of it at the end for Haitian scientists to study makes for a hopeful ending, broader than just averting the crisis at hand (hide spoiler)].
At any rate, this is a perfectly pleasant novella and those who love New Orleans and magical alternate histories in particular should enjoy it, though perhaps the plot could have used a little more space to breathe. I would read more by this author....more
This is a lovely little story. There’s something of the fairytale about it, the ordinary young woman caught up in a story of kings and magic and sea-pThis is a lovely little story. There’s something of the fairytale about it, the ordinary young woman caught up in a story of kings and magic and sea-people, especially when delivered in McKillip’s polished, timeless prose. But there’s also an essential groundedness to her writing, particularly here, that makes it all feel real: the sensory details of life at the edge of the sea, the practicalities of cleaning.
I loved the sheer ordinariness of our heroine, Peri, a 15-year-old girl from a small fishing village. Her father was recently lost at sea and her mother sunk into depression; Peri has responded by moving into an abandoned house, and rarely interacts with others except as required by her job scrubbing floors at the local inn. Most fantasy protagonists are portrayed as better than those around them, whether through lineage or abilities or personality or some combination, which is a rather toxic worldview if imbibed too often and uncritically. Peri is decidedly not, though some unusual things happen to her and she does discover her magical talent (which is not the story’s focus). She’s believable as a poor villager: she doesn’t have a big dreams, she doesn’t read for enjoyment, she works for a living and is often seen doing so. Her firmer and more articulate coworker, Mare, seems perhaps the more natural heroine. But in the context of this story, Peri’s baffled acceptance of whatever comes works well; she’s endearing and easy to sympathize with. The supporting characters meanwhile are deftly drawn and engaging, and their dialogue brings them to life despite the book’s short length.
Though at 137 pages this is a very short novel, it feels complete, and probably double the length of recent novelettes that are stretched through various formatting tricks to reach that same page count. It also has that ageless quality of books written from before YA was an established genre with its own expectations and tropes. Peri is 15, but I think this could be enjoyed at any age and isn’t written specifically to teen concerns. (view spoiler)[Indeed, Peri ultimately moves back in with her mom, rather than out as one might expect in a teen novel! (hide spoiler)]
Notably for me, this is my fifth McKillip, and her writing hasn’t gone sour for me yet! The climax and ending here make perfect sense, unlike some of her others, although I wasn’t thrilled with the idea of (view spoiler)[Peri’s getting romantically involved with Lyo; the age and experience gap feels very large. (hide spoiler)] I’d rank those of her books I’ve read as follows:
While I don’t expect this book to stick with me, it’s beautiful and bittersweet and expertly written, and I didn’t want it to end. A little gem of a story....more
I have mixed feelings about abandoning this, since each of its three sections was written by an entirely different author, and IRead through page 107.
I have mixed feelings about abandoning this, since each of its three sections was written by an entirely different author, and I like Elliott's writing at least. I remember liking Melanie Rawn well enough as a kid, but... ooof. All of the characters came across as annoying: perhaps because of the dialogue, full of repetition, interruptions, constant use of invented faux-Italian words, and stilted prose, or perhaps just because few of these people are sympathetic and none of them interesting. Waiting until a full chapter after first introducing Sario and Saavedra (a chapter they spend talking and thinking like people in their 20s) to tell us that they're actually aged 11 and 12 was too late, and also entirely unconvincing, since they're written as adults. I could almost believe the author aged them down at the last minute without making any supporting changes, especially alongside Alejandro, who's supposedly 10 but comes across as more like 5 by comparison.
Meh. Perhaps I'll come back one day, but if I do it'll be to skip the rest of Rawn's section and move on to the next....more
Maybe I should know better than to read bestsellers. But seeing this taken for either feminism or literature just makes me sad.
Madeline Miller, of couMaybe I should know better than to read bestsellers. But seeing this taken for either feminism or literature just makes me sad.
Madeline Miller, of course, is the biggest name in Greek mythological retellings right now, and this book purports to tell the tale of the nymph/goddess/witch Circe from her own perspective—Circe being best-known from Homer, who had her turn Odysseus’s men into pigs, then become his lover for a year and help him on his way. As it turns out there are other stories about Circe as well, and this book links them together, along with various myths about her relatives.
The one thing I can say for this book is that it has a good storytelling flow; it’s certainly the type of writing that can reach a wide audience, being smooth and easy to read. Even though Circe spends most of the book exiled on a lonely island, there is always something new happening. It pulls you along, and during a stressful week it turned out to be a nice little piece of escapism, demanding little from the reader. And it’s nice that it lacks the tragic ending so common to Greek myths—you’d be fine reading it on vacation.
Now on to the problems! There will be SPOILERS below so read at your own risk.
First off, our protagonist. Raise your hand if you’ve seen any of this before:
- Despised from birth for no reason by all the beautiful, cruel people surrounding her.
- Actually there is a reason, which is that she falls short of the weird beauty standards of her milieu while living up perfectly to those of the readers (because Zeus forfend we should tolerate physical imperfections in a heroine!). Circe’s so-called flaws? Natural highlights in her hair, and a human voice rather than a ringing godlike one. The horror.
- Our put-upon heroine is nevertheless the purest of the immortal bunch, the only one to offer comfort to Prometheus after he’s been tortured. Later on, she proves to be the only person the immortal sea monster has ever met willing to truly sacrifice for another! “Another” means her son because she is naturally an ideal mother.
- Not Like Other Girls, to the max! (More on this below)
- But mostly, just a naïve milquetoast, with whatever character traits the plot currently requires. Even her big moments feel inauthentic, fleeting and unearned.
- Compounding this, the book is written in the first person generic. Sure, Miller is a somewhat above average writer, but there’s so little individuality to the voice that I suspect any first-person book she writes will sound exactly like this.
Sound like standard YA so far? Yeah, to me, too.
How about Circe’s journey? Well, oddly for a “feminist” book, she journeys from focusing her life around men who let her down, to focusing her life around better men! Her happy ending is…. giving up her immortality for a guy she’s known for a month! Hooray for Circe?
So, the so-called feminism. This book includes a bunch of little zingers about men and patriarchy begging to be pull-quotes, and Circe gets done wrong by a bunch of men. Funny thing, then, that women other than Circe are virtually all portrayed as nasty bimbos (Perse, Pasiphae, Scylla….) or ignored entirely (all the nymphs sent to the island to serve Circe, whom she can’t be bothered to even speak with despite falling all over herself to serve the shiploads of men who wander in). Overwhelmingly, the most sympathetic and interesting characters are male. Here’s a list:
- Prometheus: The most heroic, admirable and selfless character in the book. A brief encounter with him shapes Circe’s moral judgment ever after.
- Daedalus: Talented, hardworking, kind, generous, a devoted father shown doting on his adorable son, a lover Circe never forgets. His only “flaw” is not predicting that Circe’s evil sister would copulate with a bull and I think we can agree that’s forgivable.
- Hermes: Not kind, but charming and useful and Circe’s lover; contrast him as the primary male Olympian in the book with the primary female one, Athena—primarily seen trying to murder Circe’s infant son.
- Odysseus: Not good exactly—he’s the book’s most complex character—but clever, successful, a worthy lover, a father to his men, with an interesting mind and a genuine devotion to his wife. Even as Circe comes to understand later just how brutal he was, she always remembers him fondly. And his decline after returning home is attributed to a woman (Athena) trying to drive him back toward war and violence for her own amusement.
(Interestingly, many people seem to have interpreted Miller as trying to “excuse” Odysseus’s actions with PTSD. I read this speech from Penelope as Miller specifically trying to foreclose that reading: “I am from Sparta. We know about old soldiers there. The trembling hands, the startling from sleep. The man who spills his wine every time the trumpets blow. My husband’s hands were steady as a blacksmith’s, and when the trumpets sounded, he was first to the harbor scanning the horizon. The war did not break him; it made him more himself.” In the real world, of course, Penelope’s insistence that PTSD only has one presentation is both incorrect and harmful, but this struck me as a pretty clear statement of the author’s intent.)
- Telegonus: Circe’s son may be a nightmare of a toddler, but once old enough to control himself, he’s earnest, caring, charismatic, and determined, with a yearning for family. He tries to protect even someone attacking him. His only flaw is wanting to get out from under his mother’s wings, i.e., he is a teenager. Circe is willing to sacrifice everything for him and he lives up to her love (one wonders if she would love a daughter half so much).
- Trygon: A sea monster, but referred to as “he” so let’s go with it. Rewards Circe’s uniquely self-sacrificing nature by giving her part of his body to help solve her problems. Also contrast with the primary female monster in the book, Scylla, who is depicted as mindless and irredeemable.
- Telemachus: This one should be a stretch—see the murder of Penelope’s maids—but Miller whitewashes that as hard as she possibly can, and portrays him as patient, intuitive, hardworking, caring, an all-around man of integrity who rejects violence in favor of a simple, productive life. Circe gives up her immortality for him and this is portrayed as a happy ending.
How about sympathetic women besides Circe, you might ask? It’s a short list:
- Ariadne: A sweet kid. Not much more to say here, as she’s a child, mostly used to show how awful Circe’s sister is.
- Penelope: Finally, one solitary sympathetic adult woman! She appears only at the end and is shown as clever and mature. Influence on Circe’s life is minimal.
Some readers have understood this as Circe’s internalized misogyny; me, I think it’s Miller’s. First, because the women themselves are portrayed as plainly awful and unworthy of notice; there’s no indication that Circe is missing something. In a book that tends to state its themes and takeaways quite bluntly, Circe never reflects—even upon reaching an understanding with Penelope, a natural moment for it—that she has shunned female company and missed opportunities for solidarity and friendship. She never notices her isolation from other women at all.
Second, I suspect this vision of internalized misogyny—one in which women are completely isolated from each other—arose with the social and professional mixing of the 20th century, rather than being native to rigidly patriarchal societies. In a world where women are property and social roles strictly delineated, women can’t shun each other this way. Besides, internalized misogyny itself is more complicated than that.
Take for instance Elizabeth Blackwell (America’s first woman M.D., in the 19th century). By today’s standards, this lady had serious “not like other girls” energy: she wrote disparagingly about women as a group; she distanced herself from the feminist movement of her day; she forgave men’s faults more readily than women’s; she sought out male mentors. You know what else she did? She drew heavily on the support of all four of her sisters, one of whom she encouraged to follow her to medical school and later join her in her practice. She hired and worked with other women doctors, encouraged young women to pursue medicine, befriended Florence Nightengale (although they disagreed about everything). She adopted a young orphan girl as a companion. As it happens, if you can make an exception for yourself to your contempt for your own sex, you can make it for others, too.
And this book at times goes to ridiculous lengths to avoid introducing other helpful women: for instance, rather than learning herblore the expected way, from a mentor (some myths make Circe the protégée of Hecate, goddess of witchcraft), Miller has her heroine discover it all on her very own. Even though she doesn’t make a proper start until she’s alone on an island, at which point I didn’t believe it: how is she supposed to learn that a particular herb needs to be cut at a particular time of a day with a particular knife, then prepared in a particular way? She lacks not only a scientific mind and any resources to refer to, but a way to test her concoctions and any reason to learn about healing herbs at all (as a goddess, she can’t get sick and quickly self-heals injuries. So how does she even know if this stuff works?).
Nor is this the only logical weirdness. The disdain Circe’s father, Helios, has for mortals is shown through—of all ways—his sometimes bringing the sun in late, which apparently gets astronomers beheaded because the sun can’t be late. Well, if Helios just does this sometimes, then the sun can be late, but more importantly, how do they know it’s late? The only way to tell the sun is late is to have a highly reliable clock that doesn’t depend on the sun. The western world didn’t get clocks so sophisticated until about the 18th century. This book is set centuries before the rise of classical Greece.
I could probably keep going but this is enough! I’ll definitely avoid this author’s work in the future....more
I loved this! It’s a lovely fairy tale-inspired story with a tough, prickly, well-drawn heroine—or arguably 2-3 heroines, and they’re all great yet diI loved this! It’s a lovely fairy tale-inspired story with a tough, prickly, well-drawn heroine—or arguably 2-3 heroines, and they’re all great yet distinct from each other—an exciting plot, a textured setting that feels real and vivid, and a heartwarming end from which the reader can conclude that all the bad stuff really did happen for a reason (though the book doesn’t belabor that point).
This is something of a historical fantasy, set in a fictional Eastern European kingdom that I would peg as medieval Russia or Bulgaria, beset by occasional raids from an icy fae people hunting gold. Miryem Mandelstam is a Jewish village girl who begins the story poor, but gradually takes over the family moneylending business from her warmhearted father who can’t bear to collect from people. (The plot description had me think this an awfully capitalist fable, but I don’t actually think so in the end—though I would happily have read a whole book of Miryem buying and selling stuff and negotiating her role within her family, because the story is so compelling even before supernatural events come to the fore.)
The (loose) retelling of Rumpelstiltskin comes in when the raiders get the idea that Miryem can turn silver into gold. And the story also draws in two other young women: Wanda, a peasant’s daughter trying to stop her father from selling her off for booze; and Irina, a coolheaded young aristocrat whose father is determined to marry her to the tsar, who has something seriously wrong with him. I wouldn’t quite call it a female friendship story because the personal relationships among the three are limited, but I enjoyed their interwoven stories. The multiple first-person narrators even work here, despite the fact that there are six (6!) of them; Novik makes a bold choice in not labeling sections with the narrators’ names, but between differences in voice and obvious cues provided at the beginning of each, you can easily tell who’s talking. And the three minor POVs flesh out the story and characters in interesting ways.
Other stuff that I loved: a grounded, realistic setting, with attention to details like medieval housework and household implements, alongside the fairy-tale elements; an adorable sequence midway through in which two characters unwittingly pass fiber work back and forth through a magical house; an expert slow build in which the author sets up expectations only to subvert them later; a story that encompasses moments of humor as well as tension and real-world consequences. Overall, I loved this book and plan to return to it again in the future....more
A lovely, fascinating little book. Everyone says you should go in without spoilers and I agree—I’m not sure that’s any more true here than with many oA lovely, fascinating little book. Everyone says you should go in without spoilers and I agree—I’m not sure that’s any more true here than with many other books, as you can guess much of it early on, but I respect the community’s commitment to making it happen with this one. So I’ll just say it’s about a man with apparent memory problems living in a very strange labyrinth (an endless classical temple with the ocean inside). The story gives us a slow unfolding of what’s really going on, with readers often able to see far more than the narrator does.
And it’s an evocative, atmospheric book, with a bizarre and somewhat creepy setting, and a very engaging and endearing narrator. He has a unique voice, and a great mix of practical good sense and human warmth alongside naivete and lack of curiosity, and a unique outlook, with the potential to make readers see the world differently, if only for a moment. His situation is not the point-of-view from which you’d normally expect a novel, which just makes it all the more memorable. And it’s well-written and expertly paced; I read it far more quickly than I expected.
I’m intrigued to see people reading the novel in some non-obvious ways, and it has the thematic depth to be open to that. There are a lot of deliberately unanswered questions: (view spoiler)[I particularly wanted to know how long a person had to stay in the labyrinth to lose their memory, and why it seemed so selective, with the narrator apparently remembering years of experience within it after quickly losing track of everything outside. Or did he? How exactly did things go down in the evocatively-named Year of Weeping and Wailing? Does the labyrinth typically change people’s personalities—as I assume it must have changed the narrator’s, replacing the critical thinking skills one presumes he had as a journalist with unquestioning acceptance of weirdness? (hide spoiler)] And I’m still not quite sure how I feel about the ending: (view spoiler)[it’s so damn sensible, it almost feels like it doesn’t belong in a novel! Choosing to return to the real world because he knows he’d be lonely in the House? And yet, returning occasionally to visit? This isn’t what fictional protagonists do! Fictional protagonists’ ultimate life choices, aside from their obligatory romantic pairing-off, are so often bizarre, irrevocable things that perhaps suit them but that you’d never encourage in real life. By which I mean that I fully expected the narrator to stay in the labyrinth, while agreeing that leaving is the better choice; there’s something anticlimactic about it, even while it is fulfilling. (hide spoiler)]
For me I don’t think this will be a new favorite, but I absolutely see why it is for others. It’s an excellent book. Really, I’ll just read anything Clarke writes; she’s a fantastic writer and it’s great to see her branching out and writing such truly different books....more
I like historical fantasy novels a lot, and so this one – drawing heavily on various 19th century novels, including the works of Jane Austen,2.5 stars
I like historical fantasy novels a lot, and so this one – drawing heavily on various 19th century novels, including the works of Jane Austen, The Turn of the Screw, and Jane Eyre – seemed an ideal fit, especially given a rather charming writing style that draws on the style of works from the period, while still moving fairly quickly for the modern reader. Unlike other reviewers, I don’t take issue with how heavily this novel draws from its sources, which are at least varied, and it seems to me there’s plenty from the author’s own imagination here. (Any claim that any of the male characters resemble Mr. Darcy, in personality or situation or plot function, is absurd.) Unfortunately, too many plot elements are contrived or stupid or rely on characters being stupid, and there’s some serious dissonance between where the book seems to think our sympathies ought to go, and where mine actually went.
Warning: spoilers below, so read at your own risk!
The book follows three protagonists. Ivy, the most prominent, is clearly based on a combination of Elizabeth Bennet and Elinor Dashwood; she’s the sensible young woman who keeps her household running in spite of her silly mother, unworldly younger sisters, and a father who seems to have gone insane from magical causes and spends his days in the attic muttering to himself. Rafferdy is the frivolous elder son of a lord, who does his best to bury any sense of responsibility he may have in fashion and parties. Eldyn, Rafferdy’s friend, is a young man who has fallen into poverty and wants to restore his family’s fortunes. Eldyn doesn’t have much to do with the rest of the story, which is perhaps fortunate because he’s both an idiot who falls for obvious scams and refuses for no apparent reason to consider using the magical talent he clearly has, and an asshole who leaves his younger sister locked up alone all day, then when he returns and she begs him to take her out, leaves to go carousing by himself instead. And yet it appears we’re supposed to sympathize with him.
The plot moves somewhat slowly, as you’d expect for period fantasy. The first third sets up some magical troubles while following the characters through the not!London social scene. The second part switches to the first person and follows Ivy’s adventures as a governess at a remote estate; this part is a bit creepy, the influence of The Turn of the Screw obvious even to me (who hasn’t read it), with shades of Jane Eyre and Rebecca. The third part returns to sharing time between the three protagonists and builds up to a magical confrontation. I did find the book to be entertaining reading throughout, with a polished style and a well-developed and varied setting. Its fictional country is clearly based on England, and the author has clearly done some research, touching on issues like the policy of enclosure that I wasn’t even aware of.
That said, it’s riddled with plot holes. The whole existence of Part 2 depends on Ivy apparently forgetting a major revelation in Part 1: on visiting her father’s house, she learns that it can’t be opened, despite the fact that numerous magicians have tried, and not only that, when she tries a mysterious masked man appears, temporarily paralyzes her, and warns her that opening the house would bring great evil into the world. Then on a change in the family fortunes, she blithely sets out to work a few months as a governess to save up for the family’s moving costs to that very house. Um…? Some never-mentioned memory charm must have been worked on the girl, since she then proceeds to learn that she’s adopted, but never mentions or thinks of it again once reunited with her (now known to be adoptive) family.
Also really dumb: Ivy’s marrying a man who has consistently manipulated and withheld information from her for his own gain, despite her being warned by multiple people. The masked man providing Ivy with only the most cryptic possible information despite the fate of the world supposedly being at stake. At a crucial moment, when time is of the essence, he appears only to tell Ivy to go home, causing her to lose precious time as she rushes off to read a conveniently-timed letter informing her of a certain person’s villainy – if the masked man cares about the fate of the world, why didn’t he just tell her? The character who’s revealed to be a villain showing up for no reason but to helpfully confirm that he in fact is villainous, then promptly leaving. Ivy not having the sense to ask her two young charges alone and with any modicum of patience about the disturbing things they’ve been seeing and clearly want to talk about.
Then there’s the weirdness about whom we’re supposed to be rooting for. Eldyn is presented as a victim but acts like a douche. Mr. Quent is presented as a Mr. Rochester, while exposing the unconsenting Ivy to dangers far more serious than a hidden first wife – and all while Ivy has a better romantic alternative. You can tell from the title who she marries anyway. In the macro plot, we’re first presented with a world in which the rich and powerful are perpetrating great injustice… only to see the rebels demonized and our heroes inexplicably siding with the status quo. I felt more sympathy for the rebels.
So, although I had high hopes for this at the beginning, I doubt I’ll read the sequels. It’s good mindless fun, though, if you’re looking for a fantasy beach read....more
This has gotten a lot of love and I was honestly surprised by how basic it is in all respects: charactFailed the 50-page test. I read through page 51.
This has gotten a lot of love and I was honestly surprised by how basic it is in all respects: characters, writing style, setting. Even the plot scenarios aren’t particularly gripping, though I’m more than willing to give a pass on that if the rest is good. Unfortunately, of the four or five main characters, only one (Tané) sparked even a smidgeon of interest in me, and it was only a smidgeon. We’ve also been introduced to two characters who embody a couple of my most hated secondary-character tropes. There’s the bullying rival who appears to exist entirely to make mean remarks to Tané at every opportunity. Which first, big yawn, and second, I too was a middle schooler once (the characters in question are presumably in their late teens, but that’s a separate issue) and I have never met anyone like this, who constantly picks on someone who 1) excels at the things their society values 2) has friends and 3) neither engages, nor responds in a way that encourages the behavior. Admittedly, bullying is not a subject that interests me much, but this isn’t even how bullying works. It’s just the world’s laziest strategy for drumming up audience sympathy. And in addition to that character, there’s another of the old, “let me give you a woman whose only personality trait is love of gossip, so that you can feel smugly superior” variety—and by the way, the main character who instructs us to feel this way then immediately slips out to sneak into someone else’s room and read their love letters, because, huh, at a royal court knowing what’s going on is actually important! But don’t let that interfere with your contempt for Shallow Gossipy Woman, obviously. She is just like that because she’s an airhead. And okay, I’ve met plenty of people I have little in common with, but I’ve never met a real person who had gossip as their entire personality.
I was also surprised to find myself irritated by the fact that the four countries met so far are clear analogues of England, the Netherlands, Japan and China. I’ve often said that any real culture is so much more textured and believable than an author’s artificial creation that I prefer to see fantasy cultures drawing on real ones. I think the issue is that there doesn’t actually seem to be any culture here—or rather, it all seems to be Standard Fantasy—and so the analogues are evident mostly just through naming conventions and geography. It feels very shallow.
At any rate, while the first 50 pages annoyed me too much to want to continue, I can see this working out much better for those who like standard-issue epic fantasy and want to see diversity in it (which seems to be this book’s primary marketing point). And I did appreciate that the author seems to have done at least cursory research into what a European queen’s household looks like, which is more than a lot of fantasy authors do—I was getting definite “Queen Elizabeth I and her ladies” vibes from this one. Still, I was surprised by how disappointing it was, mostly because of the extraordinary amount of praise it seems to have received, and realized only when I went looking how many others have also DNF’d. Perhaps the rating is so inflated precisely because the book is gigantic and those who disliked it quit long before the end and didn’t rate. Now here I am doing the same....more
This is a light, fun fantasy very much in line with its prequel, Sorcerer to the Crown. I’d forgotten most of that one, which was fine becaus3.5 stars
This is a light, fun fantasy very much in line with its prequel, Sorcerer to the Crown. I’d forgotten most of that one, which was fine because this is a new story with a new set of protagonists, though with some overlap in characters. It begins with sisters Muna and Sakti, who wake up on a beach in Malaysia with no idea who they are – but who soon learn that they’ve been cursed. Muna makes her way to Regency England, but Sakti is stolen away to the Fairy Court, leaving Muna responsible for rescuing her.
It’s a quick, entertaining, and at times humorous read, though the plot meanders a bit in the first half and only really picks up in the second. In a neat trick, all of the most important characters in the book, heroes, villains, and mentors alike, are female – a nice touch in a genre where female characters are still noticeably in the minority, and done without lampshading, so that I only realized this at the end. There’s also some racial and cultural diversity; in another nice touch, Muna and Sakti are clearly Muslim, without the author making a big deal of it. And yes, there's a lesbian subplot, but it's so understated that if you're reading just for that, you may be disappointed.
Meanwhile, if you’re looking for deep and complex characterization, this is not your book. This is fun escapist reading, an unambitious novel that sets out to entertain and then does exactly that. Early on I found myself wanting more depth, but by the end I was happy with what it was and wished I could find more books like this – books that are lighthearted and enjoyable without being stupid. I’d recommend it, though best to start with the first book to avoid being spoiled....more
I had a lot of fun with this book, a plot-driven historical fantasy novel whose fantastical elements are based on Chinese conceptions of the afterlifeI had a lot of fun with this book, a plot-driven historical fantasy novel whose fantastical elements are based on Chinese conceptions of the afterlife. Admittedly, I found part one (of four) a little tedious: this segment is more historical fiction than fantasy, and doesn’t play as much to Choo’s strengths – which are plot and imagination – as the remainder of the book. Once it gets going though, it’s a great adventure, and I really enjoyed reading a fantasy based on non-European mythology. Readers should be aware that, as with most historical fantasy, it shouldn’t be taken literally as a guide to anyone’s belief system: Choo explains in the afterword that she meshed together various strains of thought and invented elements of her own. But it was still a lot of fun to see certain cultural practices, like burning paper objects for the dead, made real and carried to their logical conclusions. And meanwhile it’s a lively and accessible adventure that should appeal to a lot of western readers who might be intimidated by books from other cultures.
That said, it can come across as a little too explanatory sometimes – while set in 1890s Malaysia (and its associated afterworld), it’s clearly pitched at a western audience. The characters are not particularly complex or unique, and the writing style is perfectly functional but not notable for its own sake. But as a lighthearted, fun historical fantasy, it’s great, and I’d definitely be interested in reading more from this author....more
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