Last year with The Storm Crow, I felt its theme of depression due to my own past. This year, re(3.5 ★’s)
“You only fail if you stop trying.”
[image]
Last year with The Storm Crow, I felt its theme of depression due to my own past. This year, reading the sequel, I feel it because I’m experiencing it this very moment.
Depression is a funny thing (pardon my insensitivity) because in every single person it haunts, it brings a different battle; an ocean of self-doubt, a blanket of exhaustion, a mist of loneliness, a well of pointlessness, suffocating, suffocating, always suffocating you. And it never, ever really leaves. You feel better, you feel worse. You win, but you feel it there every once in a while, poking its head in, luring you with bitter words.
“Some cracks couldn’t be mended; they only became a part of you instead, forever places that left you unsteady. “It feels impossible,” he said. “Like trying to reform shattered glass.”
And what I’m most thankful for when it comes to this duology, is Kalyn Josephson’s acknowledgement of this trickster and its tricky nature. So. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
[image] (there is a map now!)
This is an action-packed second installment (the opposite of its predecessor) peppered with moments of fresh air, bonding, friendship, self-discovery, unity, doubt, guilt, and forgiveness, with a gem named Ericen and only one true hero aka Res, my precious magical crow—no one can convince me otherwise.
I loved this sequel, and I wish, oh I wish I could give five winged stars to The Crow Rider, but sadly it could’ve done so much more, been so much more. I feel like this series could’ve easily been a trilogy and should’ve been a trilogy. It’s no secret that I prefer slow-paced to fast-paced, but I can love the latter too, as long as it doesn’t sacrifice its potential for in-depth development just to put you on the edge of your seat. Sadly, The Crow Rider does just that.
“Decisions take courage. It’s so much easier to just let things happen.”
There is so much happening in these 350 pages that certain parts start to feel rushed, underdeveloped, and out-of-the-blue. Namely three things which each took away half a star for me: the beginning, Caylus, and Ericen (I’ll talk about them separately).
[image]
Beginning: How About You Take A Breath?
Even your very heart is armed, Auma had said. It must have peace before you can expect to bring it to others. But I didn’t want peace right now. I wanted war.
The Crow Rider hits the ground running and does not slow down, and while that in itself is a good thing, it can also take away from the book if written in a rushed manner. It’s not that Kalyn isn’t good at action scenes (the ending battles were very well written and I loved the strategies and descriptions), it’s only that the beginning fights and chases were happening too fast, finished in a blink, the next one quickly dumped on you.
Starting the book, I was slightly put out, thinking I would not end up loving it. I am truly glad that it got better as the book progressed, and I hope the author works more on developing all scenes in her future novels (which I’m looking forward to).
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Caylus: Where Did THAT Go?
“When they asked him whether he was lost, he said he was. When they offered to give him directions, he said he knew the way home. ‘Well then,’ the ship’s captain asked, ‘how can you be lost?’ And the man replied, ‘Because no matter where I am, it’s never where I should be.’
I’d said in my review of the previous book that Thia and Caylus’s romance felt more like a temporary reprieve and solace, confined to four walls, and I didn’t see it as solid enough to hold strong. So I completely understand why it took the path it took in the sequel BUT, it was barely explored and explained. I’d have especially loved more on the aromantic angle.
[image]
Ericen: What Are You Doing?
“Love doesn’t make you weak.” He looked at me, his piercing eyes pinning me to the spot. “It makes you stronger.”
By now everyone knows Red Queen is one of my favourite series and one of the reason that is so is because of the extraordinary and thoroughly developed character arcs; like Cal’s. And since Ericen’s circumstances and struggle constantly reminded me of that of Cal’s, I was hoping for a similar slow path—if not three books of doubt and and questioning your beliefs, then at least one! I don’t know, maybe Victoria Aveyard has raised my expectations of YA, but I was left extremely unsatisfied with the sudden shift in belief.
I believe The Crow Rider would’ve benefited much from being split in half into two books, then spending more time working on the twists and giving time for scenes to brew before moving past them. And to prevent a long drawn out plot in case of the split, more subplots could’ve done wonders, perhaps laying the groundwork for the ultimate reveal.
[image]
“You cannot be afraid to see what you see,” Auma replied. “If you are, you only end up lying to yourself.”
Criticisms aside, I still did love this novel.
I loved it for the even stronger female friendships. For Res the magical crow’s charm and bravery and naughtiness. I loved it, because of the bird and rider’s relationship. Ericen’s arrogance and teasing. And because of the way he pushed Res in all their similarities (and no wonder they are my faves, I do have a type it seems). I loved it for Kiva’s developed romance and her precious presence and support. And the cat ruining her intimating image. I loved the myths and stories sprinkled throughout. The easy LGBT+ representation. The light politics and strategic talk. I loved the banter and bonds and Elko’s fierceness. And I lovednd Thia’s growth and attempts to be a leader, making me feel like a proud parent.
Books in series: ➴ The Storm Crow (The Storm Crow, #1) ★★★★☆ ➴ The Crow Rider (The Storm Crow, #2) ★★★✯☆
Merged review:
(3.5 ★’s)
“You only fail if you stop trying.”
[image]
Last year with The Storm Crow, I felt its theme of depression due to my own past. This year, reading the sequel, I feel it because I’m experiencing it this very moment.
Depression is a funny thing (pardon my insensitivity) because in every single person it haunts, it brings a different battle; an ocean of self-doubt, a blanket of exhaustion, a mist of loneliness, a well of pointlessness, suffocating, suffocating, always suffocating you. And it never, ever really leaves. You feel better, you feel worse. You win, but you feel it there every once in a while, poking its head in, luring you with bitter words.
“Some cracks couldn’t be mended; they only became a part of you instead, forever places that left you unsteady. “It feels impossible,” he said. “Like trying to reform shattered glass.”
And what I’m most thankful for when it comes to this duology, is Kalyn Josephson’s acknowledgement of this trickster and its tricky nature. So. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
[image] (there is a map now!)
This is an action-packed second installment (the opposite of its predecessor) peppered with moments of fresh air, bonding, friendship, self-discovery, unity, doubt, guilt, and forgiveness, with a gem named Ericen and only one true hero aka Res, my precious magical crow—no one can convince me otherwise.
I loved this sequel, and I wish, oh I wish I could give five winged stars to The Crow Rider, but sadly it could’ve done so much more, been so much more. I feel like this series could’ve easily been a trilogy and should’ve been a trilogy. It’s no secret that I prefer slow-paced to fast-paced, but I can love the latter too, as long as it doesn’t sacrifice its potential for in-depth development just to put you on the edge of your seat. Sadly, The Crow Rider does just that.
“Decisions take courage. It’s so much easier to just let things happen.”
There is so much happening in these 350 pages that certain parts start to feel rushed, underdeveloped, and out-of-the-blue. Namely three things which each took away half a star for me: the beginning, Caylus, and Ericen (I’ll talk about them separately).
[image]
Beginning: How About You Take A Breath?
Even your very heart is armed, Auma had said. It must have peace before you can expect to bring it to others. But I didn’t want peace right now. I wanted war.
The Crow Rider hits the ground running and does not slow down, and while that in itself is a good thing, it can also take away from the book if written in a rushed manner. It’s not that Kalyn isn’t good at action scenes (the ending battles were very well written and I loved the strategies and descriptions), it’s only that the beginning fights and chases were happening too fast, finished in a blink, the next one quickly dumped on you.
Starting the book, I was slightly put out, thinking I would not end up loving it. I am truly glad that it got better as the book progressed, and I hope the author works more on developing all scenes in her future novels (which I’m looking forward to).
[image]
Caylus: Where Did THAT Go?
“When they asked him whether he was lost, he said he was. When they offered to give him directions, he said he knew the way home. ‘Well then,’ the ship’s captain asked, ‘how can you be lost?’ And the man replied, ‘Because no matter where I am, it’s never where I should be.’
I’d said in my review of the previous book that Thia and Caylus’s romance felt more like a temporary reprieve and solace, confined to four walls, and I didn’t see it as solid enough to hold strong. So I completely understand why it took the path it took in the sequel BUT, it was barely explored and explained. I’d have especially loved more on the aromantic angle.
[image]
Ericen: What Are You Doing?
“Love doesn’t make you weak.” He looked at me, his piercing eyes pinning me to the spot. “It makes you stronger.”
By now everyone knows Red Queen is one of my favourite series and one of the reason that is so is because of the extraordinary and thoroughly developed character arcs; like Cal’s. And since Ericen’s circumstances and struggle constantly reminded me of that of Cal’s, I was hoping for a similar slow path—if not three books of doubt and and questioning your beliefs, then at least one! I don’t know, maybe Victoria Aveyard has raised my expectations of YA, but I was left extremely unsatisfied with the sudden shift in belief.
I believe The Crow Rider would’ve benefited much from being split in half into two books, then spending more time working on the twists and giving time for scenes to brew before moving past them. And to prevent a long drawn out plot in case of the split, more subplots could’ve done wonders, perhaps laying the groundwork for the ultimate reveal.
[image]
“You cannot be afraid to see what you see,” Auma replied. “If you are, you only end up lying to yourself.”
Criticisms aside, I still did love this novel.
I loved it for the even stronger female friendships. For Res the magical crow’s charm and bravery and naughtiness. I loved it, because of the bird and rider’s relationship. Ericen’s arrogance and teasing. And because of the way he pushed Res in all their similarities (and no wonder they are my faves, I do have a type it seems). I loved it for Kiva’s developed romance and her precious presence and support. And the cat ruining her intimating image. I loved the myths and stories sprinkled throughout. The easy LGBT+ representation. The light politics and strategic talk. I loved the banter and bonds and Elko’s fierceness. And I lovednd Thia’s growth and attempts to be a leader, making me feel like a proud parent.
Before I say anything about what this book is or how I wanted to pull its fabric apart and dro(4.5 ★’s)
“Is it monstrous to want what is owed you?”
Before I say anything about what this book is or how I wanted to pull its fabric apart and drown in its strings of layered characters and delicious world, I just have to say: Why is this series Young Adult?
I’ve always found Aveyard’s tendency toward detailed exploration of intricate politics, plot movements, and character motivations to be misplaced in YA, weighing down what her audience would expect to be a more breezy, fun read. And honestly, even the 3 teens in the cast of 9 MCs and the occasional YA-ish plot clarifications can’t stop me from saying this should just be Adult. Bc this is an adult world that rarely forgets to remind our few teens how young they are, and that is the opposite of what YA is. BB still has YA elements, and I wish Aveyard had abandoned the genre, but I feel the need to note the more mature tone of this series bred by the depth and complexity of its themes and characters, which leads it away from what one would expect from a “YA Fantasy Adventure.”
“Men are so unsuited to power.” Corayne laughed darkly. “Women aren’t terribly good at it either.”
Moving on from the ridiculousness of boxes we use to categorise ourselves, Blade Breaker is a sequel that perfectly follows in the footsteps of its predecessor, carrying the magic and madness of rising myths with the same subtlety and attention to the human complexities involved, while adding a grander scale as chaos spreads across the land, politics march to the front, and every prince and king we meet decides if they will war to main peace and seek a hero’s glory.
We have our Companions, the Ward’s last hope, saviours only because—being the merry band of criminals and betrayers that they are—they’re the only ones willing to go against the realm to save it; in BB, we see their characterisation expand with the true weight of fear and grief and their bonds fall into its place vibrantly. We also have our villains, hungry and angry, scorned pair that they are, warring and politicking as they understand each other in their mutual plays for power; through them and their court drama, Aveyard explores the themes of power, conquest, and never-ending greed, the fickleness—or value—of our constructed social boundaries, or the moments of clarity after realising you are taking what is not yours, and seeing if your righteousness outweighs the hate you earn. And let’s not forget our side soldiers and clan leaders and vain royals, their presence and choices a testament to the allure of glory or the power of belief, giving us strength to fight another day. All these characters and their respective themes are so well written that I stopped trying to pick a side and simply drank them all in.
Let your fear guide you.
But mostly, I think this series’ lesson is the best reflection of its entire progression. Bc this is not an exhilarating run into battle or constant action; this is a tale of caution, of watchfulness, written with the same calculating pen. They say fear is paralytic, tell you to ignore it in a message of reckless bravery. Aveyard disagrees—she thinks fear is foolish to ignore, that one should listen to it and take control of it in a message of cautious consideration. In BB, she writes the same way, too.
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Characters: Haunted Heroes & Hungry Villains
“A girl, barely more than a child. Too small for the sword, too small for the task put in front of me.”
✦ Corayne: To me, this refreshingly realistic chosen one is foremost a resourceful nerd; a girl whose power lies in her sharp, level-headed wisdom and observant, unyielding mind; a girl who operates on knowledge, trading it and wielding it even as she struggles to wield steel with the hotheaded bravery of renowned warriors. But she is not a coward, and it’s so rewarding to watch her try to channel her mother’s commanding action-taking and sturdy boldness to expand her own steel-spined, in-control nature beyond just her words and thoughts.
Still, Corayne is but a teenager, and Aveyard never forgets that. She might be a thoughtful quick-learner rising from quietly leading her mother to becoming a leader with more presence, but she’s ultimately a child from the end of the world who only wants to see the rest, and she’s always learning from the adults around her and slowly growing.
I find the most exquisite part of her arc, though, to be her struggles to adapt to this new heritage, this responsibility and looming threat. A struggle that is beautifully symbolised in her feelings about her inherited sword—sometimes a comfort holding her up, sometimes a weight dragging her down. Nothing reflects her youth as much as her journey of finding her own path even as she goes through the motions of following the path in front of her. What is it? Is it the pirate path of her mother’s, the path she was told she was not strong enough for? Is it this unasked-for destiny, a destiny so heavy and full of death she finds herself too small in its face and seeks to escape? Or is it the life of a curious wanderer, someone who wants to find a place, or people, she belongs with? Her character’s struggle with these questions is woven quietly through all these pages and I can’t wait to see who she comes out as by the end.
“Remember this moment, Marguerite. Remember that tear.” Erida watched the single drop fall. “It is the last one you will ever shed as a girl. You are a woman now, the last of your childish hopes and dreams bleeding to death before your own eyes. [...] There are no fairy tales in this world,” Erida said, her eyes going soft. “No charming prince will come to save you. No god hears your prayers.”
✦ Erida: Anyone who knows me knows I love a well-written villain, and I think Erida being just that is one of the main reasons this series captured my attention. Her greed, her rage, her ruthlessness—they are so understandable.
Erida is every woman’s suffocated dreams and silenced strength and caged potential—prisoner to more rules than the boy beside her—given form. A creature of rage and control and jealousy, born high enough to think she has a right to everything, but female enough to be underestimated in her arrogance, cunning, resourcefulness, and hunger. In many things she reminds me of GRRM’s Cersei, grown cold to survive, burying her care and pain, “wrestled back into the box where she kept her useless things.” But where Cersei’s forwardness allowed her anger to explode and command everything, Erida is more of a contained performer, wanting and failing to unleash her festering fury and only just learning to stop hiding and let go.
He had no skill in hiding his emotions, and Erida knew exactly why. He is a man. His emotions are not considered a burden or a weakness. Not like mine, which I must keep hidden, so men might feel a little less threatened and a little more strong.
I think Erida’s greatest weakness is how lost she is in her self-righteousness and rage. She does not feel the weight of the crowns she seeks, or understand the people she rules. Too lost in what she was denied and thinks she deserves, so desperate for being unchallenged that she doubts and alienates everyone as power bleeds paranoia. She is smart, smarter than her co-villains, but she is still fooled as easily as the rest of them. Because power is a treacherous thing—it haunts and it blinds, and she is haunted by its slippery nature just as she is blinded by its alluring rush that fools one into thinking you can cross any line without consequences. She is reaching too far, destabilising too much, and with how well the reality of her situation is written, I can’t help but feel her castle shaking.
“You have steel in your spine, Your Majesty. Hold on to it. But bend when you must, lest you—and your crown—break.”
✦ Sorasa: It’s rare to read an assassin and have them feel like one the way Sorasa does, and even more rare to simultaneously have them feel like a complex person as she does. And she does, bc the contrast of her bitter irrelevance and selfish lack of mercy with her hidden values and steadfast loyalty is one of the most precious things in this entire series.
She might have been taken and indoctrinated to become an obedient weapon, but she is still so vibrantly a person—someone behind whose unrelenting guard is a patient, exasperated mother and an unexpectedly understanding, devoted friend. And it’s so painful to see how unseen this part of her is, how afraid and distrusted. Aveyard shows perfectly how estranged Sorasa feels as she tries to hold on to the comfort of company but also denies it. How she believes her life is worth nothing to no one but herself, and has to survive alone using whatever and whoever she can. It makes me simultaneously want to punch her and give her a hug.
“Perhaps you should stop worrying about their hearts, and tend to your own instead.”
✦ Dom: This bloodstained nursemaid, this brooding, sympathetic immortal, surprises me every time he digs a little deeper into my heart. I don’t even know if I have a thing for cold warriors, but I definitely have a thing for Dom. It’s the way his removal from emotions makes him cluelessly naive despite his age, so adorably honest despite his silence. The way his off-beat view of the world makes for unexpected humour and clearly establishes how out of touch he is with this fickle life. He feels like something other than human and yet is so humane in his guilt and grief, haunted by the death he’s now become familiar with. I can never stop praising the way this balance is written in him.
“You’d think I’d be used to this by now.” “Sorasa?” “Death,” Dom clipped. “Though I suppose they are interchangeable.” Andry tried to smile, if only for Dom’s sake. “There’s no getting used to it,” he said quietly. “Not even for us mortals.”
✦ Andry: The fugitive squire’s tale in this book is, in a way, what remains when pain stays and guilt spirals. Like all those this honourable and righteous, he tortures himself with every life lost, only adding to the already drowning pain of his uprooted life. And it changes him. Noble, caring Andry might be too strong to let his back break from the memories tainted by betrayal, but festering pain builds anger—an explosive desire to fight and not lose anything else. It erodes his gentleness, honing his bravery into something sharper. And it’s both tragic to watch, and undeniably sobering.
“Let the fires wash us clean. Blessed are the burned.”
✦ And then there is Valtik, so unassuming and jaunty yet viciously clever in her attempts to spread herself and help as much as she can. Or Sigil, the proud, untamable, casually fierce warrior who is unabashed in confronting anyone with her thoughts or steel. And Taristan, a man of sharp edges, born of suffering, all brute force and vengeance and honed rage, contained and ready to explode in service of a single path. And oh, my messy yet precise Charlie with a weird sense of honour for a man with none, his irreverent teasing and genius cheating so at odds with his prayers, wisdom, and skeptical faith. And many, many other side characters who carved a place in my memory and make me want to turn this into an even more long-winded character study that will lul you to sleep. But I will stop.
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Relationships: Lonely Souls Seeking to Belong
“Maybe we belong to each other, we who belong nowhere.”
✦ Friendship, But More: The Companions have become one of my fave groups of MCs, and I think the main reason is that we saw their natural bonding, going from strangers filled with suspicion while mutual trust creeps up on them as they survive and plot together in book one, to something more than friends, sharing an easy camaraderie with a deep understanding and even appreciation of their quirks. Their inside jokes, the rhythm in their teamwork, how they know to comfort each other in their own ways—be it teasing or pushing or busying—they all take form right on the page, written with the subtle flow of a master.
I’m especially grateful that Aveyard gives each their own role and dynamics. In a way, they are a stiched together family of 7, the adults taking care of the children as romance blooms between some: Dom, the overprotective dad keeping the children decent and ignoring his brewing attraction to the teasing assassin. Sorasa, the exasperated, tough mum teaching the girl how to survive. Corayne, the quick-witted daughter that brought them together. Andry, the tortured knight in muddied armour smitten with her. Charlie, the round uncle with the fun secrets. Sigil, the boastful aunt looking for trouble. And ofc, Valtik, the badass grandma with her head in the clouds. They’re all so tangible, so lonely. But now, despite all the mess, they do not feel alone.
The tea was the hearth in their cottage. It was a cup of mulled wine back home in Lemarta, the winter sea gray in the harbor. The tea was Dom’s shadow and Sorasa’s sneer and Andry’s eyes. Her mother’s laugh. All things that held her up, even when the world tried its best to knock her down.
✦ Blood Family: When you put aside the more evident theme of found families, you find undertones of the meaning and complexity of the family you’re born with—family that is only shared history blood, and family that is the surface of the drowning sea of life. In her uncle, in her father, and most importantly in her mother. Cause parents...they shape us and haunt us, they make us into children no matter how far we go. And to Corayne, her mother will always be a shadow she cannot escape and still mean the world. She will always look to her for strength as her mother looks to her for a path. Yes, we might have so few scenes of them together, but their bond is already living and breathing, full of history and pain, and I’m astounded by it.
“Too much power. It rots, and we will rot with them.”
✦ Villain Romance: I won’t even try to deny that this is the reason I fell into this series’ thrall, bc their chemistry and the depth of their interactions is decadent. Erida and Taristan are two sides of the same coin of anger, ambition, jealousy, and self-righteousness, understanding each other despite their opposite upbringings. Neither of them is a hollow puppet of evil; both are filled with pain and suppressed longing, surprised to find one other.
Theirs is a war of a relationship, constantly testing the other’s strength in small battles of will and choosing each other as they meet the challenge and prove to be equals in all—be it power or desire to rewrite the world to their whims. And in that war, they come to know who the other really is, to connect and, to their surprise, care. She is the brain and he is the blade, she is the cunning politician and he is the unstoppable storm, both impressed by the other but held back by their reservations even as they comfort and worry for each other. I just wonder if they will dig their graves together too, or betray one another before the end.
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Writing: Storytelling, World-Building, and Pacing
“This world will eat you if given the chance.”
Coming down to what I think can make or break a book, have it feel truly a fantastical tale or a washed out attempt, I find Aveyard’s writing continues to perfectly hit the mark. Her storytelling technique and subtle metaphors summon colour that flows as a thread between a skilled weaver’s hands; beautiful enough to be worthy of an old epic yet simple enough to not overwhelm.
The way she pinpoints the right details to set the scene atmospherically; how she jumps between characters, playing on contrasts and similarities, or is so well thought-out in painting behaviours that every gesture is telling of who the character is and how they move in the world; the customs and cultures, elevating every event with grand, rich history; the kingdoms with personalities of their own (my faves being the witchy, savage raiders of Jyd and the peaceful, aesthetic artists of Madrence); all this is why I find Blade Breaker so immersive, so alive.
“Very well, Corayne an-Amarat,” he said, and her smile flared like a sunbeam. Behind her, all but Sorasa smiled too. “I will sleep and dream of victory.” Domacridhan slept and dreamed of death.
My only complaint? I think entire paragraphs of this book can be replaced with a sentence. I don’t mean descriptions—they were never too much—and I don’t mean explanations—Aveyard has a great tendency to urge you to think on implications by yourself. I mean the overthinking; I know it shows the pain haunting Dom and Andry and serves characterisation, but after a point it becomes repetitive enough that it feels like filler. If a character is going to keep falling into the same spiral of trauma, you can imply it with an emotional sentence instead of writing every thought. Yes, it doesn’t do the trauma justice, but if you’re writing a fantasy adventure on the road, already bogged down by the wait for the next destination, and are doing your best to make the journey itself captivating, cutting down on repetition can go a long way.
But this is one criticism in a sea of praise, so we can safely say I’m still in love.
You asked how large my sorrow is, And I answered, like a river in spring flowing east. —Li Yu (李煜)
The Dragon Republic is a tale of many things—(4.5 ★’s)
You asked how large my sorrow is, And I answered, like a river in spring flowing east. —Li Yu (李煜)
The Dragon Republic is a tale of many things—festering anger and broken trust, learning to fight for hope and bearing failure’s inevitable rust, yes, but more than anything else, it is a tale of rankling inequity and unspeakable iniquity, of looking at the colour of one’s skin or the size of their head or the shape of their eyes, and deeming them lower, lesser, inhuman and primitive and stupid; of declaring a person chosen and evolved and another, unformed mud; of feeling righteous in reaching for what they have and carelessly trampling them beneath your shining heels.
As a Middle Easterner, I know first hand that stories like this are too common in Asia. We bear that legacy of pain on our shoulders—our backs are bent beneath their weights and our heads beaten down. Too often does the world gloss over the atrocities of the past, too often the response to history is “but that’s all in the past.”
Well, it is not.
You can tell the world to move on, you can shout it and chant it and point to the silent weapons and loud reforms promising freedom and equality, but how can one move on when we still live in an unfair world revolving around privilege, a world where the colour of your skin or the soil you were born on decide what you can and cannot have? The promises and well-intended declarations of “look to the future because what’s passed is in the past”? All they do is veil the injustice that forms the roots of this world, and by forgetting our history there is no way to shape a better future.
That is why The Poppy War trilogy matters. That is why this Chinese inspired military fantasy should be read and discussed and remembered. With The Dragon Republic, Rebecca Kuang aims to make you, dear reader, terribly uncomfortable. This is a book that is grim and dark and sucks your energy away like a black hole devouring all light. It’s not a wickedly delightful grimdark fantasy relishing rage and revenge, but one that unveils the leeches feeding and growing on your vengeance and makes you so furious yet so helpless that you are crushed underneath the weight of the world, exhausted and powerless even as you know that there is no fate, only choice.
“Happy New Year,” Kitay said. “May the gods send you blessings and good fortune.” “Health, wealth, and happiness. May your enemies rot and surrender quickly before we have to kill more of them.”
I’m not sure if I love or hate that Kuang can take glorious concepts such as ethereal worlds and gods and a revolution, and drag them down to earth so viciously that they turn into tangible, worldly, manageable affairs of everyday life. It’s rather frustratingly admirable, I admit.
But with a plot that does not fall into the passivity trap of TPW, added intrigue, improved writing, and awe-inspiringly deeper dive into intended themes like trauma and addiction, TDR managed to steal my heart in the way I’d been all but begging for, despite slightly lacking in development of some relationships (not characters, which were all stunningly layered and shaped)—but we’ll get to that in time.
If you write a book inspired by true events, you bet I, the history nerd, will dedicate an entire section to analysis of its influences and themes. Forget the characters and relationships and whatnot, this is the real reason why TPW trilogy is worthy of note. From civil war to western colonisation, Kuang unflinchingly tackles every dark nook and cranny of its Chinese influence to the ground, taming it and capturing it and putting it on disturbing display for our guarded eyes.
In my review of The Poppy War, I mentioned how I believed these books were largely inspired by the Qing dynasty which was the last imperial dynasty of China, and this sequel further strengthens my conclusion.
For one thing, the book’s Poppy Wars and their Hesperian relations are reminiscent of the Opium Wars, which were Europe’s early attempts at western colonisation of China during the reign of the Qing dynasty. Not only that, but Kuang also shows the shift in Europe’s attempts at colonisation through history, from forceful penetration in the 19th century to the economical coercion and civilising mission of the following years. The racism and greed inherent in those intervening, invasive hands seeking control of the resources of prosperous eastern lands excused by beliefs in the superiority of the White race is an infuriating and uncomfortable topic to witness for anyone of any ethnicity, and Kuang fearlessly lays its every preposterous audacity bare.
However, she has also jumbled the timeline of events and mixed nations’ and figures’ roles enough that I had to spend an insane amount of time piecing this puzzle together. To share my findings, I’ll have to give you a quick history lesson touching upon a few needed prominent moments:
Once upon a time the Qing dynasty ruled over China from 1636 to 1912. During its later years, the British who love tea bought their supply from China—but because they didn’t want to pay for it with their silver, they made up for it with cotton and opium exports from India, in which they’d just gained control. As opium addiction became an issue in the land though, the Chinese government declared a ban on all opium trade. The Great Britain was obviously bothered so, you guessed it, they showed up with their ships and guns in June of 1840 and demanded unjustified rights. The following years brought suffering and two Opium Wars for China as it was overpowered by the west, the US, France, and Russia all taking advantage of its weakness to press for favourable trade treaties and generally getting away with whatever the hell they wanted.
Eventually, people got fed up and, with various revolts, the 1911 Revolution succeeded in overthrowing the Qing. After more civil war and unrest, the Beiyang government was established as China’s central authority with Yuan Shikai being the first formal President of the Republic of China. But, seeking more of the ever-alluring power and monopolising the power of the new national government, Yuan made a short-lived attempt to make himself Emperor, died, power struggles ensued, and China ended up with two warring governments: the Communist Party of China (or CPC, based in North China) and the Nationalist Party of China (or KMT, based in South China, created by Sun Yat-sen who had previously opposed and then compromised with Yuan).
History is complicated and confusing, but there is one thing you need to know whenever it comes to the affairs of the east: that, after a point, you will always find the west peeking its head. So as China fought to unify itself, two things relevant to this historical fiction series were happening: on one hand, the foreign armies stationed in North China that had been brought in to suppress the rebellion were in danger of warring to gain power over the divided land for their “advanced nations” and on the other hand, the Soviet Union proceeded to pledge its assistance for unification of China. Thus, while everyone sought to retain both a compliant native government and equal opportunity for investment, the Soviet leadership initiated a dual policy of support for both Chinese parties, backing CPC with money and spies and aiming to reorganise KMT along the ideals of the Comintern—an international organisation founded by Russia that advocated world communism.
After years of division, Japan’s invasion of China in 1937 due to its decades-long imperialist policy to become a colonial power itself, led to a temporary unification of KMT and CPC as China fought the Second Sino-Japanese War with the help of the Soviet Union and the United States. And then there was death and tragedy and the Rape of Nanjing and WWII and the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki...and you know how it goes—lives were destroyed, crimes were committed, and history was tainted and painted in black.
What happened with the Chinese Civil War after that is not in the domain of this book, so I’m leaving the story there.
As is evident, Kuang has taken events spanning across two centuries, shifted them and changed them and summarised them in a few decades: Mugen (Japan) became the main enemy in the Poppy Wars instead of Hesperia (Europe) and the Second Sino-Japanese War became the Third Poppy War, happening years earlier during the Qing dynasty instead of after its collapse. Vaisra is a Yuan Shikai (a Qing military strongman establishing the first modern army and a more efficient provincial government in North China) who did as Sun Yat-sen had done and sought foreign help, sending his people to learn from the Hesperians. The Consortium is the Comintern, observing and meddling in the precise same way. I could go on, matching every character and action with its historical counterpart because I am mad enough to have spent hours doing just that, but I will spare your poor braincells.
Despite the changes that brought the fiction to the historical, TDR ultimately maintains the main themes of its inspirations and boldly explores their implications. From fear and eradication of rumours of sorcery, to anti-Christianity and the cold treatment of western ambassadors during the Qing dynasty; from the colourism dividing North and South China with a line of prejudice and privilege, to idealist liberal movements that are in truth hypocritical and blind to the reality of the depth of injustice; from arrogant civilising missions, colonisations, and rapacity of the west, to beliefs in the superiority and chosen status of a race over the lowly and inhumane view of another, Kuang pours heart and soul into ink and parchment to develop each facet of the picture she draws.
“Do not shirk from war, child. Do not flinch from suffering. When you hear screaming, run toward it.”
And that, my friends, is why this book matters. It matters because it does not let you ignore what was and what is, still, laid in our foundations.
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Characters: Development & Relationships
If you strip away the powerful themes and exquisite world, you will be left with the characters—and they are just as faceted as the aforementioned aspects of the book.
“When you have the power that you do, your life is not your own.”
✿ Rin: It’s quite rare to read healing journeys gone wrong, weaving the ways characters slip instead of succeed in their battle with mental illness, so I appreciate how Kuang delves into Rin’s mentality, her excuses behind addiction, and her immediate flight when encountering grief and guilt. With Rin’s internal struggles, we soberingly witness the philosophy of violence and watch as its haunting consequences unfold.
But in all honesty, even as I love Rin’s lethal, unapologetic quickness and zero tolerance, she’s too much of a follower—needing to be disciplined, craving her abusers, picking paths rather than carving her own—to capture my heart yet. I do love that her incompetence is acknowledged, though; something that has me very hopeful for the path the story seems to be taking.
✿ Nezha: This idealistic, clueless, privileged, haunted, idiotically loyal baby boy has me so conflicted I want to simultaneously hug him adoringly and pummel him angrily. It’s a pity that his character and his dynamic with Rin did not get the time and attention they deserved, because they could’ve been my new obsession. But sadly, this relationship ended up being as lackingly developed as Rin and Altan in TPW.
Considering how impressively Kuang’s writing has improved though, with Altan’s promised theme of destructive tendencies now finally being shown and thoroughly written, I cannot wait to see Kuang grow even more and steal my breath with Rinezha as well as Nezha himself.
✿ Kitay: You know that character who walks through trauma and emerges as a bitter bastard on the other side? Yes, that one, the one I, however disturbingly, love—that is my Kitay going from an uptight, moral cinnamon roll to a viciously practical scholar slaying me with his sass. It was a little sad to see his righteousness come bite him in the arse, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say it was also satisfying; what can I say, I’m evil.
✿ The Cike: Last but not least, tiny, innocent, brilliant, and dangerous Ramsa, sarcastic, irreverent, and thrill-seeking Baji, hypocritical, tragic Chaghan, and all of the Cike’s forced companionship and solid comradeship left a mark on my heart. They might not be warm, they might not be friendly, they might constantly hit one another, never pulling punches...but to me, they are a testament to the unlikely friends, no allies, that one can stumble upon in times of pain and crisis when all you have is one more broken soul who might hate you for the mirror you are of their own doomed predicament, but they would have your back if you have theirs because, really, you’re all the other’s got.
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CW ➾ racism, colourism, colonisation, abuse, misogyny, PTSD, grief, substance use and addiction, self-harm, nonconsensual human experimentations and medical examinations, torture, rape, burning, genocide, mutilation, gore and violence
Books in series: ➴ The Poppy War (The Poppy War, #1) ★★★★☆ ➴ The Dragon Republic (The Poppy War, #2) ★★★★✯ ➴ The Burning God (The Poppy War, #3) ★★★★★...more
I'm proud of how different communities are supporting #BlackLivesMatter in the current climate.
ATTENTION!
Thanks to Cath, I've found out Fairyloot has a limited exclusive edition of this book, all of the profits for which go to the Thurgood Marshall College Fund, which supports the Black College Community and thousands of Black college students.
It's hardcover and comes with green sprayed edges and a signed book plate. For more info, go HERE....more
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