Vitriolic Book Review Time!
Today I am going to bitch about a book. And that book is The Sweet Far Thing by Libba Bray.
The first striking difference between this book and its two (pretty good) predecessors is the length. Somewhere along the line, as with the Harry Potter series, somebody stopped editing these books. The first two, A Great and Terrible Beauty and Rebel Angels, are about 400 and 550 pages respectively. The Sweet Far Thing is over 800 pages. And it is not at all necessary.
There are about three hundred pages in the middle that consist largely of Gemma, the main character, swearing not to use her magic in cruel and petty ways, using her magic in cruel and petty ways, feeling horribly guilty about it, and promptly...doing it again. It makes her extremely hard to like. And this is meant to be our heroine. Another hundred pages consist of her putting off a major promise to the creatures of the magical realms until she has basically broken the promise. Also really not a pleasant attribute, although it has the major consequence of turning them against her when she really needs them. I'm just not convinced she actually learned a lesson there.
I'm not saying protagonists need to be perfect, but they need to be understandable. Gemma using her magic to try and cure her father's laudanum addiction: Okay. That's a really sympathetic move, and my heart broke a little when the magic failed. Gemma using magic to make her grandmother buy her a fabulous debut dress? Causing her school rival to sprain her ankle in a ballet rehearsal? Not so much.
But I enjoy Libba Bray's action sequences, so I was willing to forgive her the boredom and the unsympathetic heroine when things finally ramped up in the last 200 pages or so. The heroines storm the Winterlands with a gorgon in tow, all set to destroy this evil tree and save the realms forever.
And then the only non-white main character heroically sacrifices himself for the sake of the white main characters.
I don't even know where to start. Okay, yes I do. Sexism! Gemma is the heir to all this super magic, but she can't save the world without a man to strike the final blow. Strike one. Racism! The heroic sacrifice of the non-white character for the white characters gives me heebie-jeebies like nothing else. It's very Noble Savage-y and squicky. Strike two. And did I mention that Kartik, the now-sacrificed former love interest, is Indian? In a series set in 1895? So there's classism and imperialism and colonialism for strikes three, four, five, and--yeah, she's out.
Oh yeah, and I don't think any of the other named non-white characters survive the novel, either.
The lesbian gets a fairly positive ending--she comes into her fortune and plans to skip off to Paris and be bohemian. She doesn't end up with her girlfriend, but that's probably because the girlfriend died in the first book way before we (or maybe even Bray) knew she was a girlfriend. That's not nearly enough to save the book from my ire, though.
The worst part is, I really liked the first two books. I liked the magic and the setting and even the shallowest of the characters. But now even thinking about the books leaves a sour taste in my mouth. I feel betrayed, and I would like those several hours of my life back, please. I could use them to sleep, or write smutty fanfiction.
The first striking difference between this book and its two (pretty good) predecessors is the length. Somewhere along the line, as with the Harry Potter series, somebody stopped editing these books. The first two, A Great and Terrible Beauty and Rebel Angels, are about 400 and 550 pages respectively. The Sweet Far Thing is over 800 pages. And it is not at all necessary.
There are about three hundred pages in the middle that consist largely of Gemma, the main character, swearing not to use her magic in cruel and petty ways, using her magic in cruel and petty ways, feeling horribly guilty about it, and promptly...doing it again. It makes her extremely hard to like. And this is meant to be our heroine. Another hundred pages consist of her putting off a major promise to the creatures of the magical realms until she has basically broken the promise. Also really not a pleasant attribute, although it has the major consequence of turning them against her when she really needs them. I'm just not convinced she actually learned a lesson there.
I'm not saying protagonists need to be perfect, but they need to be understandable. Gemma using her magic to try and cure her father's laudanum addiction: Okay. That's a really sympathetic move, and my heart broke a little when the magic failed. Gemma using magic to make her grandmother buy her a fabulous debut dress? Causing her school rival to sprain her ankle in a ballet rehearsal? Not so much.
But I enjoy Libba Bray's action sequences, so I was willing to forgive her the boredom and the unsympathetic heroine when things finally ramped up in the last 200 pages or so. The heroines storm the Winterlands with a gorgon in tow, all set to destroy this evil tree and save the realms forever.
And then the only non-white main character heroically sacrifices himself for the sake of the white main characters.
I don't even know where to start. Okay, yes I do. Sexism! Gemma is the heir to all this super magic, but she can't save the world without a man to strike the final blow. Strike one. Racism! The heroic sacrifice of the non-white character for the white characters gives me heebie-jeebies like nothing else. It's very Noble Savage-y and squicky. Strike two. And did I mention that Kartik, the now-sacrificed former love interest, is Indian? In a series set in 1895? So there's classism and imperialism and colonialism for strikes three, four, five, and--yeah, she's out.
Oh yeah, and I don't think any of the other named non-white characters survive the novel, either.
The lesbian gets a fairly positive ending--she comes into her fortune and plans to skip off to Paris and be bohemian. She doesn't end up with her girlfriend, but that's probably because the girlfriend died in the first book way before we (or maybe even Bray) knew she was a girlfriend. That's not nearly enough to save the book from my ire, though.
The worst part is, I really liked the first two books. I liked the magic and the setting and even the shallowest of the characters. But now even thinking about the books leaves a sour taste in my mouth. I feel betrayed, and I would like those several hours of my life back, please. I could use them to sleep, or write smutty fanfiction.