I have something shocking to tell you. I read a book that does not contain magic!

Gasp.

That gasp is fitting for another reason: Velvet Was the Night lives in an interesting space between noir and historical fiction. Written by the author of Gods of Jade and Shadow (a heart-breaking favorite of mine) and Mexican Gothic (one of the best plot-twists I’ve read in a long time), this book’s atmosphere is relentlessly gloomy, full of the violent political underworld of one protagonist and dreams of Aztec sacrifice and dramatic romance in the jungle from the other.

Neither young protagonist of Velvet Was the Night have much of a future. There is El Elvis, an early-twenties (ish?) local tough taken in by a charismatic leader of the Hawks, a covert suppression group in late-1960s-early 1970s Mexico, and Maite, a deeply lonely secretary with money problems and an obsession with romantic comic books.

Maite also loves pilfering items from her unsuspecting neighbors, specifically because she’ll have a piece of their (better, in her imagination) lives. For Maite, part of the thrill of having a stolen object—everything from a single earring to a statue of a saint—is knowing her neighbor will never miss it.

Attention-starved and cash-strapped, she is easily pulled into her beautiful neighbor Leonora’s life when asked to watch her cat last minute. When Leonora doesn’t return and things get fishy, Maite gets sucked deeper into the mystery of her neighbor and a missing camera. Elvis, meanwhile, searches for both from the other side. Elvis and Maite are on a collision course, the depiction of which will feel pleasantly familiar for fans of Gods of Jade and Shadow.

Despite the violence of Elvis and the casual but elaborate lies of Maite, neither character is unsympathetic (though Maite crosses the line into pathetic for much of the book). Neither Elvis or Maite have families you could call supportive, or even nice, so it keeps them from being unlikable, if not particularly likeable, either. Maite is full of negative self-talk wants reality to be lovely and syrupy, and Elvis longs to earn the sophistication of his cultured leader, El Mago. The two characters earn the reader’s sympathy through their missteps.

Though I found the search for Maite’s rebellious, privileged neighbor wasn’t quite enough to sustain the whole book, as usual, Moreno-Garcia’s writing is wonderful and her characters are unforgettable. Read it on a rainy day, when you don’t mind sinking in to a bit of gloom; skip it if you need your mood to be brighter. But if you choose to go along for this book’s occasionally drawn out ride, the strangely moving, reservedly hopeful ending will leave you glad you did.

To learn more about this author, visit Silvia Moreno-Garcia’s website.

Read on!

Review: Gods of Jade and Shadow (Moreno-Garcia)

Review: Throne of Sand (Rookwood & Vince)

Review: Snowblind (Velfman)

Review: Ariadne (Saint)

August 31, 2021August 23, 2021

Ariadne, by Jennifer Saint (Myth Retelling/Fantasy, 2021)

Oh, Ariadne. Not quite the hero you were advertised to be, and not forgettable, either. This story is uneven but has the ability to truly move the reader.

That’s because Ariadne the book contains beautiful, emotional prose and some aggravating plot points. This female-centered retelling of the Theseus and the Minotaur Greek myth was not what I expected. If you are also expecting a feminist retelling (as I did from the first few chapters), there are hints of that—often whole segments of it—but Ariadne and her sister Phaedra, two powerless princesses of Crete, never become the heroes of their own tale. This is a retelling sparing of no one, with the unforgiving nature of ancient Greece’s views on women (and perhaps on all women in general) on full display.

Ariadne ultimately portrays a woman who’s content with being a wife and mother—something not often featured in fantasy novels or myth retellings. As a child, she tries to see the human side of her half-bull brother, who becomes an infamous monster, caring for him as her mother did and illustrating her tender nature; yet she’s also willing to help Theseus kill Asterion to save herself. Though she debates about doing it, she acts swiftly when it’s asked of her.

Abandoned on Naxos and fearing both her father and the backlash of her betrayal, Ariadne commits to a life as Bacchus’s “priestess,” securing a safe place for herself. She later shares her home isle of Naxos with women escaping their lot in life, who live in peace on Bacchus’s isle.

Her sister Phaedra, on the other hand, becomes a true stateswoman (by convincing the men of Athens that she’s only sitting in for her husband, Theseus, who’s always off doing “heroic” deeds). She suffers from postpartum depression, which is written with convincing and sensitive detail.

However, Phaedra’s conclusion that she can’t really form an attachment to her sons because they resemble their father waters this down: her depression becomes a product of her hatred for her husband. Her political future goes down the drain when she insists on caring for her firstborn herself, so she can hide that she doesn’t love her baby. This, in turn, isolates her and makes her despair all the more. She’s stretched thin and becomes emotionally brittle, no longer the strong-willed and level-headed girl who wanted to save the tributes from Athens.

The men of the book are greedy, self-centered and often cruel, though nobody’s hands stay clean in the story (then again, it is a Greek myth). I kept rooting for Ariadne to be her own person for longer than a couple chapters, but alas, the origin story was against her. (For a different take, I highly recommend The King Must Die, by Mary Renault.) It can be jarring, though, comparing Ariadne’s moment of action to the rest of the book. By the time she chooses to act again, she’s clearly out of practice.

I wanted more from this book, but at the same time, I’m glad I read it. That’s because of the beautiful writing. The early chapters read like a crash-course in mythology, which can be slow at times, but enforces the message that women always pay the price for men’s deeds or other women’s jealousy. While that may be important to read—and again, Jennifer Saint’s writing!—it can also be trying.

To learn more about this author, visit jennifersaint.com.

Review: Throne of Glass (Maas)

August 24, 2021August 23, 2021

Throne of Glass (Throne of Glass #1), by Sarah J. Maas (YA/New Adult Fantasy, August 2012)

This was not 100% my kind of book…yet I found myself reading it for hours on end!

At 18, Celaena Sardothien is the Queen of the Underworld, the most accomplished assassin in Adarlan and a prisoner at the Endovier death camp. She’s physically weak and scarred—but mentally she’s unbroken. Her mantra is “I will not be afraid.” Yet when the son of the King she hates arrives with an offer to win a place as the King’s Champion, it’s one she can’t refuse. It’s a miracle she’s survived a year in Endovier as it is.

Life at the palace isn’t easy. Celaena is torn about working for the man who cost her everything, but has few alternatives. Surrounded by guards at all times and with the threat of being sent back to Endovier hanging over her, she must face other champions in a series of tests, and there are some very strange markings on the castle grounds. Those markings prove to be Wyrdmarks, symbols with strange properties no one can quite agree on, in a kingdom where magic is outlawed.

Things get trickier still when she meets the ghost of Elena, a long-dead queen of Adarlan. She has a message for Celaena, and naturally it’s a cryptic one.

The early part of the story reads like more traditional fantasy, with a stony protagonist skilled with weapons ready to square off with injustice. It proves far more nuanced than that, thankfully, and conflicted characters abound. Throne of Glass walks the line between multiple fantasy genres, so can appeal to many types of fantasy readers.

Technically, Throne of Glass is impeccably written. Celaena’s story is riveting, too, with a highly skilled assassin who ends up as an underdog because of physical and political circumstances. Though I wasn’t sold on the premise early on, it had an uncanny ability to keep me wondering what happened next.

Since I love monsters and paranormal elements in fantasy, I really got absorbed in the story once Elena entered the picture. The Wyrdmarks are creepy and fascinating, and I am team Chaol all the way. A female protagonist who is notably arrogant, not to mention equal parts skilled and confident (perhaps overconfident, given her uphill battle to return to her old Adarlan’s assassin form…but just a little) was different and refreshing.

This is partly because, strong and unbreakable as she is, Celaena has a softer side, too (she loves books and dogs, after all!). She cries at times and has traumatic memories she can’t allow herself to think about. I felt that she could do anything, but was please that her story involved so many understandable struggles. There were no half-hearted challenges here or hero’s problems that were actually easy to overcome. Celaena is a strong woman who still needed–and could accept–help.

I can see why so many people love this series! There is the promise of more magic (though Wyrdmarks are somehow outside of it) and multiverse involvement, plus those paranormal plotlines. Though I thought the climax to be a bit drawn out, it allowed all Celaena’s strengths and weaknesses to come together. I also wanted to shake her a few times (of course you should figure out where that scent is coming from, Celaena!), but that’s a sign of how deeply invested I was in her story.

I look forward to seeing what Celaena Sardothien will do next, and what (or should that be who?) she’ll turn out to be.

To learn more about this author, visit her website at sarahjmaas.com.

Review: The Poppy War (Kuang)

August 3, 2021July 26, 2021

The Poppy War (The Poppy War #1), R.F. Kuang (Fantasy; May 2018)

Warning: Moderate spoilers ahead. This book also requires several trigger warnings.

“War doesn’t determine who’s right. War determines who remains,” says Fang Runin (“Rin”), heroine of The Poppy War, long before the horrors of war reach her. Her journey is jarring, unexpected and progressively darker in this remarkable but flawed book.

Early in The Poppy War, Rin’s journey takes on a (far grittier and a lot less magical) Harry Potter-like quality as she enters Sinegard, Nikan’s top military academy. Rin becomes a student through ridiculously hard work, self-harm (she uses hot wax to keep herself awake as she crams for the national exam) and against the odds. She’s a war orphan living with a family of opium dealers, and her only way out of an unwanted marriage is to pass the exam and go to school. She aims for Sinegard, where only the best and brightest go, because it does not require tuition.

“The creation of the empire requires conformity and uniform obedience. It requires teachings that can be mass-produced across the entire county.”

–Jiang in The Poppy War, explaining why shamanism has all but died out in Nikan

The girl nobody expected to reach Sinegard, let alone succeed there, ends up on a strange path. Forced out of martial arts class, where she is woefully unprepared, she tries to teach herself, a move that earns her the notice of the mostly absent lore teacher Jiang.

The relationship between Jiang and Rin is unexpectedly beautiful. The eccentric master, brushed off as a madman by most people, opens the door for her to the true nature of things. Rin is the rare student who learns how to be a shaman, which involves psychedelic drugs, meditation, the existence of Nikan’s natural gods and the ability to call down their power. The girl who despised the opium addicts in her hometown changes her tune when she realizes those drugs can help her get power.

And Rin is obsessed with just that. Filled with anger and a drive for vengeance, she quickly becomes entangled with the Phoenix, a dangerous god with all-consuming power. The more powerful she becomes, the more power she desires—and that begins to scare her.

As war arrives in Nikan via the Japanese-like Mugen Federation, Rin’s days of struggle become idyllic by comparison. Author R.F. Kuang, a modern Chinese history scholar, includes deeply disturbing factual incidents when she writes about war, particularly from the Rape of Nanjing. There’s no humanity in her depiction of war, and Rin responds accordingly.

The writing and storytelling in The Poppy War is superb. Even so, it becomes difficult to read, though she handles the subject matter more sensitively than many fantasy authors. I had to think twice about whether I want to continue with the series, and wondered whether including selective parts of history is a disservice. The topic of comfort women, for example, is given a single scene, in a single location, that does not at all capture the systematic nature of sexual slavery by Japanese forces in World War II. One book (even a history book) couldn’t possibly encapsulate all the horrors and events. It’s my personal feeling that, in fantasy, there needs to be a wider gap between history and imagined worlds than this, so that victims’ real life suffering isn’t used as a plot element or given a perfunctory nod.

The evolution of Rin’s character also makes me reluctant to continue reading. Rin’s quote about war proves both prophetic and oversimplified. Her character becomes unpalatable through the choices she makes and how she justifies them (not to mention that she uses her abilities in a senseless way; there were other, more precise options that would have achieved her goals and still granted her vengeance, but that is barely discussed). If I continue reading the series, it will be in the hope that Rin can claw her way back toward some semblance of redemption and sanity—but that would be hard to believe.

To learn more about this author, visit rfkuang.com.

Review: The Chosen and the Beautiful (Vo)

July 27, 2021July 26, 2021

The Chosen and the Beautiful, by Nghi Vo (Fantasy; June 2021)

In The Chosen and the Beautiful, the author of The Empress of Salt and Fortune loosely retells Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby through the eyes of a very different Jordan. This Jordan, who is identified in the book blurb as queer (though she never labels herself), was adopted by the religious but not exactly well-meaning Bakers of Louisville from Tonkin (Vietnam). The opening scene, in which Jordan and Daisy literally float around the latter’s mansion on a hot summer day, positions The Chosen and the Beautiful on a creative, magical path that kept me turning pages.

Jordan occupies a ritzy and often lonesome world shaped by magic, parties, demons and xenophobia. Add to this her mysterious ability to make cut paper come to life and The Chosen and the Beautiful becomes a completely unique book. Change the names and places, and it would be one.

“There are women who will forgive a great deal for a moment of kindness from a handsome man, but Daisy and the other older girls who had taken me under their wings had taught me not to be one of them.”

–Jordan in The Chosen and the Beautiful

In Vo’s world of dark magic and recreational demon’s blood, the relationship between Daisy and Jordan is as complex as Jordan’s relationship with her country. Daisy leans on Jordan for unending support, often at great cost. Jordan, with the blasé attitude that helps her survive in a strict home and a city with few people who look like her, goes along with what Daisy wants, and often seeks out her companionship. Her involvement with Daisy’s tangled affairs becomes inevitable.

Certain scenes from The Great Gatsby are dropped into The Chosen and the Beautiful with faithfulness. Other intrusions by Gatsby, who may have sold his soul to attain wealth instead of becoming a bootlegger, take on a shape unique to the book.

Vo’s Gatsby himself is queer (again, no labels in the actual text), and something of a cad despite his love for Daisy; when Jordan meets him a magically hidden club where members of the LGBTQ community can be themselves, she isn’t shy about pointing out Gatsby’s recent encounter with a “rent boy” in crude terms. He sets his sights on Nick, too, putting him at instant odds with Jordan.

Gatsby’s other relationships and liaisons make his declaration of love for Daisy feel forced, but also color it as the obsession Fitzgerald may have intended it as (the original Gatsby has a naive quality, despite being a World War I veteran and a bootlegger, and though he never appears ruthless like Vo’s Gatsby, his innocence and belief in true love is more of a wish to turn back time than a reality). The scene where Gatsby knocks over the clock is even included in Vo’s version, though how he gets to Nick’s house is far messier and more awkward.

Needless to say, Nick’s character is also different. His relationship with Jordan is closer—Vo’s Jordan is also less detached, and less on a society pedestal, than Fitzgerald’s Jordan, making the attachment natural—though it’s no secret that Nick sees other people when he’s not with her. She does, too, but has far more feelings about his lack of devotion that he does, hinting at her vulnerability even as she claims she doesn’t care. I thought the eventual big reveal about Nick’s personality and nature effective and moving. Coupled with Jordan’s reaction, it made the book for me.

Vo also delves into other long-standing societal problems (namely xenophobia and racism), leaving immigrant Jordan, who is essentially a Dreamer, in a bad and unexpected position. Her interactions with other Vietnamese paper magicians are uncomfortable and leave her feeling like an outsider in two different cultures. Jordan also admits to avoiding Chinatown and other people who look like her, preferring to be a novelty on her own while fearing how white Americans, many of whom are hoping to expel foreigners with a pending bill, would view her in a cluster of Asian immigrants.

Jordan is really the best part of The Chosen and the Beautiful—and to be honest, I think she deserved her own story without Gatsby butting in, a tale inspired by The Great Gatsby rather than a retelling. By The Chosen and the Beautiful‘s poignant end, I wish there had been more Jordan, and maybe no Gatsby at all.

To learn more about this author, visit nghivo.com.

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Review: Between Jobs (Gingell)

July 20, 2021July 12, 2021

Between Jobs (The City Between #1), W.R. Gingell (2018; urban fantasy, quirky fantasy)

Madcap is a word often associated with Gingell‘s writing. The beloved City Between series kicks off with a new take on her unique writing style, in which the absurd is juxtaposed onto the ordinary, with extraordinary results.

The narrator of Between Jobs is known only as Pet—and that’s what she becomes for three non-humans who enter her family home. That home isn’t really hers. Pet’s parents were murdered in that house, and being underage, she couldn’t inherit. So she squats in the well-hidden room that saved her years ago, and saves money by working under the table at a local cafe. When Atelas, Zeno and Jinyeong purchase the family home, Pet—who refers to them as her “three psychos”—gets accustomed to other people being in the home again. It’s sort of comforting.

Until they find her. Set in Hobart, Australia and full of local dialect (Pet’s catchphrase is practically “Flaming heck!”), Pet gets enmeshed in the supernatural murder investigation conducted by her “three psychos.” With the promise of a little endearingly awkward romance on the horizon, Pet’s plucky outlook and enthralling world-building, the book takes readers on a sometimes violent and often hilarious adventure through Hobart Between and Hobart Behind.

The gruesome opening, in which Pet finds herself next door to another murder, was a shock after reading Gingell’s other work, and sets a darker, grittier tone. The deeper I got into Between Jobs, the more I loved it. I came very close to binge-reading with this one, and certainly lost hours of sleep. I am firmly team Jinyeong (they have to get together, right? Never mind the part about him being a vampire who will only speak Korean until he masters English) and can’t wait to continue the series. Keeping the “three psychos” as enigmatic characters is also genius; reviews of later books on Goodreads promise a serious twist.

This is an unforgettable book that’s wonderfully strange, dark and endearing all at once. I hope you’re not as behind as me on this series, but if you haven’t started yet, you should pick this one up. Immediately.

To learn more about this author, please visit her website.

Review: A Trial of Thorns (Rookwood & Vince)

July 13, 2021July 12, 2021

A Trial of Thorns (A Court of Fairy Tales #2), by Helena Rookwood and Elm Vince (June 17, 2021; fantasy, fairytale retelling)

(Note: I received a free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.)

A Trial of Thorns departs from its roots as a Beauty and the Beast retelling as a major plot twist plays out, dropping Aster in the middle of court fae trials to determine who will be the next king or queen of the fae. Best of all, Aster, whose character is drawn from Belle/Beauty, continues to forge her own path.

Caught in a contest of fae heirs as an unwilling champion, Aster flounders more desperately in A Trial of Thorns. And it’s no wonder: she’s in unfamiliar territory. Everything about the fae of this series sets them apart from humans, from their unearthly beauty to their superhuman abilities and lifespans. Aside from Thorn and the Forest Court, humans don’t mean much to the average fae—and are treated accordingly. Worse still, Aster’s abilities as a greenwitch and enchantress are rendered null in the Sky Court, where the only plants are contained in greenhouse.

I appreciated but did not fully love A Trial of Thorns at first (excepting the parts with the wonderful brownie Mosswhistle, who is perfect in all scenes). The last third to quarter of the book, however, is superb. The authors don’t let Aster and Thorn have a mindless happily ever after that ignores their problems. Instead, they lean in to the severe issues between humans and fae.

It’s a pleasure to see Aster not let Thorn and her other fae friends off the hook, and to take charge of her situation. The serious conversations between them are well-rendered and everything you’d want from an independent and compassionate heroine.

The descriptive writing is not as strong in this book, largely because Rookwood and Vince excel at writing about the natural world—especially when it skews toward dark fantasy. The Sky Court is almost clinical in nature, full of marble and character-less luxury (the House Hunters crowd would be unimpressed, but hey, Faolan’s got his own style). The Trials themselves are creatively designed, and reminded me pleasantly of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, with a dash of Greco-Roman mythology. Which means there’s always a clever twist for readers to enjoy. Those are my kind of trials.

I did miss the authors’ forest descriptions and the constant danger of the Folkwood. The dangers Aster faces in A Trial of Thorns come more from brutal, conniving fae plots and politics; those who enjoyed reading about Tyrion and the other Lannisters in George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire series will be happiest, while fans of Alexis Henderson’s The Year of the Witching will be rooting for Aster to find her way home.

A Trial of Thorns is something of a transitional book, as so many second books are (I’m looking at you, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets!), and that usual means some growing pains. But I put down this book satisfied with the direction the series is going in, happy with Aster’s evolution (get ’em, girl!) and excited for whatever happens next.

To learn more about these authors, please visit helenarookwood.com and elmvince.com.

Review: Witches Steeped in Gold (Smart)

July 6, 2021June 30, 2021

Witches Steeped in Gold (Witches Steeped in Gold #1), by Ciannon Smart (Dark Fantasy; April 2021)

Aiyca, the witch-led world of dueling narrators Jazmyne and Iraya, is absolutely fascinating.

Iraya (“Ira”) is the rightful heir to a toppled throne, sent to prison like so many of her Obeah sistren. Jazmyne is the heir to the Alumbrar usurper (or liberator, depending on how you look at it). With the Obeah imprisoned, subjugated and used for their talents, a rebellion is imminent. And Iraya is just the witch the Obeah rebels been waiting for.

“Trouble doesn’t give signs like rain, so we must always be ready for it.” – Witches Steeped in Gold

Jazmyne, meanwhile, wants to see her mother’s rule end, too. With no magic of her own (she can’t inherit the throne or her family’s magic until her mother’s death), she is stuck with politicking and plotting behind closed doors. Against gold conduit-fed magic and ruthless rule, her only weapons are loyalty and plans. She comes off disappointingly weak at times, but is also easy to root for.

Readers are dropped into the magic system and receive piecemeal information along the way, so it can be hard to get into at first. In certain sentences, plentiful clauses took me out of narratives I truly wanted to sink deeper into. I did eventually, and I thought the Jamaican-inspired world, and the system of gold conduits/inheritance were wonderful. The Obeah’s abilities to summon the help of the dead also ticked a few boxes for me in my Sabriel-loving heart.

Fantasy fans searching for female-led narratives and LGBTQ characters should also take a look at this one. In Aiyca, there’s not a dominant man in sight, and same-sex relationships are written of matter-of-factly and without any hints of social stigma (though note that these are relegated to peripheral characters and not the narrators themselves).

I found myself rooting for both heroines of Witches Steeped in Gold, knowing all the while (and eagerly anticipating that) they would one day face off. The snafu in everyone’s plans that is pirate society was also a great addition—and makes for some of my favorite chapters. As much as I appreciated this book, I do wish it had gotten to all the good stuff faster!

Don’t overlook the fact that a sequel is coming, either. I sadly didn’t realize this and expected a more satisfying wrap-up. I also found the major decision of a certain character to be more unlikely than unexpected, though it sets the stage for future conflict. I’m undecided, at this moment, whether I’ll continue with the series (which could be a nod to my impatience with longer books more than anything), but it may be too hard to stay away from Jazmyne and Iraya’s world.

It’s just that good.

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Review: Tempests and Slaughter (Pierce)

May 18, 2021June 9, 2021

Tempests and Slaughter (The Numair Chronicles #1), by Tamora Pierce (YA Fantasy, 2018)

This is the story of how Numair, a beloved character in The Immortals series, became the (ahem; nerdy but a touch amorous) sorcerer we know and love. It’s the story you didn’t know you needed, with a quieter approach to a Hogwarts-like school and a simmering undercurrent of the disaster that is to come. It has a different tone than some of Tamora Pierce’s other YA novels, and I think it would be enjoyable for readers of fantasy as well as YA fans, and to newcomers to Pierce’s work.

Gladiators aside, this is not the violent story you’d expect from the name. The key word, in fact, is in the series name: The Numair Chronicles. There are animal gods, two kinds of magic, first love, dedicated friends, puberty and one prodigiously talented little boy who is about to grow up.

Origin story

Tempests and Slaughter tells the story of a young Numair (Arram Draper) and Ozorne, the “leftover prince” who will become the villain in The Immortals series.

Arram Draper has a Harry Potter-like knack for finding conspiracies and trouble. What he lacks that Harry excels at is the ability to fully pursue them. The future Numair is often told to stay out of it and keep quiet by his trusted teachers, who vow they’ll handle it. But the trouble and foreshadowing just keep coming. Sound frustrating? It is! But this also makes it realistic, interesting and very, very tense.

Arram’s first friend at a school for older mages-in-training is another prodigy: the “leftover prince,” Ozorne. There are peeks at a temper, but his bad side, including his biases, get written off due to his family’s tragic history. And after all, he’s just a boy mage. What’s the worst that could happen?

Tempests and Slaughter is full of slow-burn foreboding like that. It allows the reader to know better without begrudging the characters for not putting two plus two together; they can’t see the future, and the vast majority of the time, Ozorne is no different than any other good-natured but burdened kid. He’s is a protective, wonderful friend to Arram, like the perfect older brother for the vulnerable young mage.

Another perk of being friends with Ozorne is that Arram meets Varice, a sensible and increasingly elegant young woman whom Arram risks ruining their trio of happy friends over: he doesn’t know Varice for long before he has his first real crush. To Arram, the far more mature Varice seems unattainable, even as he takes on a slew of tasks meant for older teens or an adult.

This book left me eager to read more, ready to re-read The Immortals series and, sometimes, very annoyed. There is no satisfying wrap-up in sight: readers of The Immortals know more trouble is down the road, and nothing that happens in this series will change it. The future is literally already written.

But the looser structure of the story, flying through Arram’s years of training and many growth spurts, leaves room for a lot of action and milestones. Very little of the problems he comes across get resolved (or can be resolved) in one book.

This is a story that just keeps opening further and had to pause somewhere, which means I feel a little tortured between books. Fortunately, it’s a great thing to be tortured by Tamora Pierce’s characters, and I will absolutely have to read what happens next.

Tempests and Slaughter is a classic coming-of-age tale with a dark, magical twist. While Arram undergoes many rites of passage throughout the story, his status as a prodigy (and friendship with a river god) means he also takes on many roles suited for an older teen or adult.

Tempests and Slaughter is never overly violent and focuses mostly on relationships between the characters. Fans of fantasy in school settings will really take to this one. Fans of The Immortals series will be happily glued to it.

To learn more about this author, visit tamora-pierce.net.

Review: The Empress of Salt and Fortune (Vo)

May 11, 2021June 9, 2021

The Empress of Salt and Fortune (The Singing Hills Cycle #1), by Nghi Vo (Fantasy, 2020)

“The Empress of Salt and Fortune belongs to all her subjects, and she was romantic and terrible and glamorous and sometimes all three at once. There are dozens of plays written about her, and some are good enough that they may last a little while even after she is gone. Older women wear their hair in braided crowns like she did, and because garnets were her favorite gem, they are everywhere in the capital.

“In-yo belonged to Anh, but Thriving Fortune only belonged to us.”

– Rabbit, telling her story to Cleric Chih and Almost Brilliant

If you read any book this month, let it be The Empress of Salt and Fortune. It won’t take long. This beautifully written, surprisingly short book is as tidy as cleric Chih’s records, and as wonderful and heartbreaking as the story of the Empress of Salt and Fortune herself.

The writing leans toward prose (lovely, fast-moving prose), the ending is a bit abrupt, and I felt one of the key emotional moments in The Empress of Salt and Fortune was a bit too underplayed. Yet reading over the ending and some of my highlights, I feel that same heartache the story left me with all over again. I’m happy to overlook my grumblings about those things, and I think many other readers will be, too, precisely because of that writing and the emotional punch it carries.

“…You could also find a beauty in it, a kind of peace even in something that was at first so very unsettling. I’d cried the first time I saw the luminescence of the lake. Now most nights, I slept on the porch, bathed in its red glow. If it was a monster of some kind, it was a monster that watched over me, and, at the very least, it had not devoured me yet.”

– Rabbit, on Lake Scarlet

The Empress of Salt and Fortune is a story full of uncommon elements. The opening chapter is packed with world-building, without pausing to explain it; protagonist Chih is in a hurry, after all. Instead of grand battle scenes in this tale of revolution, there a plot twists. The title character appears only once as a ghost, treated reverently by other ghosts on a road, and Chih, who is at first mistaken for a girl by part-time narrator Rabbit, is a cleric from the abbey at Singing Hills and not a girl. In the world of The Empress of Salt and Fortune, clerics, who are charged with traveling the world to record its history and events and locations, are they and them.

Throughout the book, chapters often begin with Chih and Almost Brilliant’s inventory of the house at Lake Scarlet, the sarcastically named Thriving Fortune. This is part of Chih and their neixin companion’s work. “The abbey at Singing Hills would say that if a record cannot be perfect,” Chih tells Rabbit, the now-elderly servant she meets there, “it should at least be present. Better for it to exist than for it to be perfect and only in your mind.” Pride drives Chih on this detour to the newly declassified Lake Scarlet; she desires to be the first cleric to record Thriving Fortune’s details. “Welcome to your place in history, grandmother,” Chih tells Rabbit as the now-elderly woman begins her story.

And that story matters a lot, because of its famous former resident.

In-yo, the Empress of Salt and Fortune, and Rabbit meet in the capital, where Rabbit is a palace servant and In-yo has become the new wife of the emperor. As a northerner, from a country known for mammoths and being bullied by Anh, In-yo is ill at ease in the south, where mages keep winter at bay and mammoths can’t survive. She isn’t well-received, either. The ladies and servants of the court fear her at first, “because the women of the north were all thought to be witches and sorceresses. Then [the noble ladies] discovered her great secret, that she was only a heartbroken and lonely girl, and she became of no account at all.”

Though In-yo is exiled to Thriving Fortune after producing an heir, clearly she plays a long game. The beginnings of the revolution trickle into the story with details not even Rabbit, devoted to the Empress as she is, could make sense of at the time. In-yo is a complex character, seen only through the eyes of others but depicted sympathetically and unflinchingly by Rabbit. In The Empress of Salt and Fortune, revolution is told through relationships rather than battles.

There is more to Rabbit herself, too. “For a single faraway moment, she looked like something other than a simple servant woman, but it was there and gone so fast that Chih could not say for sure what it was.” Naturally, Rabbit is more entwined with history than anyone knows. She suffers for her association with In-yo, and without it, too.

Rabbit’s life with In-yo is also easier and less formal than at court. There are fewer risks, too, for many of the years they reside there. But later experiences that could have left her bitter and angry never affect the choices she makes, though they leave her feeling worn and older than her years. She’s an understated, constant and lovable presence in the story.

“She had a foreigner’s beauty, like a language we do not know how to read…her face was as flat as a dish and almost perfectly round. Pearl-faced, they call it where she came from, but piggish is what they called it here.” And “as far as In-yo was concerned, she had no equals in all the empire.”

– Rabbit on In-yo, the Empress of Salt and Fortune

Rabbit sums it up best, in one of her recollections, with one of the most quotable lines in the book (and there are quite a few): “One drunken evening, many years on, In-yo would say that the war was won by silenced and nameless women, and it would be hard to argue with her.” Alone at Thriving Fortune, having outlived the Empress and so many others but still carrying their secrets, Rabbit could easily have been one of those women without Chih’s arrival. It’s this sad reality that brings a quiet joy to Rabbit’s story of loss, revolution and betrayal.

The world-building of The Empress of Salt and Fortune is lightly sketched but creative. Rather than spend a lot of time on the details, key aspects are revealed in matter-of-fact conversation, from the glowing Lake Scarlet’s origin as the resting place of a dying star, to a carp that became a calico dragon, and the ghostly imperial palanquin that Chih encounters on the road to Thriving Fortune. There are hidden dangers from creatures we never quite see, and ghosts are omnipresent. It made me want to continue journeying with Cleric Chih and Almost Brilliant—and Vo’s beautiful writing—just to see more of it.