A Court of Thorns and
Roses is not one of those versions. I know. High praise.
The story follows Feyre, a young woman whose family has
fallen from prestige. Her sisters, Nesta and Elain, still behave like nobility
despite their crushing poverty, and their father has fallen into an apathetic daze.
So it’s on Feyre to provide for them with her honed hunting skills. Her life changes
when killing a wolf lands her at the mercy of a hairy and horned creature called
Tamlin. He demands that she repay the life she’s taken with her own.
Instead of death, as Feyre expects at the hands of what she realizes are
fairies, her punishment is to live the rest of her life in the Spring
Court, Tamlin’s domain, north of the Wall that separates humanity from the fae
realm Prythian. Feyre slowly learns not only that her High Fae captors are more than monsters, but a secret threatens both Fae and
humans, and only she can save them.
So, the heroine is taken by a beast to live in his home,
unaware she holds the key to saving him? Sounds like the expected formula for a
Beauty/Beast story. However, pigeon-holing the book as a pure BatB remake is a setup for disappointment. To start with, Tamlin, the Beast character, assumes his animal form
only a handful of times throughout the book. Most of the time he’s a
golden-haired beefcake that could make Chris Hemsworth feel inadequate.
(Hems will probably end up playing him in the inevitable movie
adaptation.) Beast fans looking for a straight-up monstrous love interest might
find the bountiful references to Tamlin’s rippling physique and supernatural
beauty, with one sparkly gold mask covering his face, grating at best.
Maas sometimes walks a dangerous line between YA fantasy
adventure and harlequin romance. She likes to bring up again and again how
attractive not only Tamlin is, but how the High Fae, Tam’s race, are generally
photoshoot-worthy. Thankfully, Feyre doesn’t go weak-kneed for that
buff figure right away. Her attention is first fixed on how deadly Tamlin’s strength
makes him. The gradual progression from racial prejudice to interracial sexual
tension keeps the emotional landscape of the novel largely realistic. As realistic as a story with fairies, dark curses and sexy men with
superpowers can get.
These sexy men are not completely gratuitous.
When you look closely, Tamlin and Feyre’s story isn’t strictly based on
the one created by Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve and popularized by
Disney. He’s a godlike entity, she’s a mere mortal—together they’re more like Cupid
and Psyche from Greek mythology. Psyche is a beautiful mortal woman taken
to a magically-concealed palace and becomes the god of love’s wife, although
she is not allowed to see his face. Later, having unintentionally forfeited her
husband, she endures tests from by the jealous Venus, Cupid’s mother, to win him back. As well as Court,
this story might have inspired “East of the Sun, West of the Moon.” I have not
read, it, so I can’t say how much it and Court
have in common, except that the heroine has to save her love from a marriage he
doesn’t want. More obviously, Maas borrows Tamlin’s name from the Scottish
ballad “Tam Lin,” in which a girl rescues her cursed lover from the Queen of
the Fairies.
By the end of the book, I found yet another potential Greek
influence, this time in the complicated relationship between Feyre and Rhysand,
the High Fae Lord of the Night Court. In case his title didn’t make it obvious,
they quite nearly mirror Persephone and Hades. Their relationship is still in
an early stage of wary trust and unresolved attraction; Feyre needs to
land at least a happily-for-now ending with Tamlin. I don’t doubt Maas will dig
into the Feyre/Rhys dynamic in future thanks to a magical arrangement they set up. Bear that in mind, Beast lovers. Maas has meshed in many facets of BatB’s long history, and in doing so is introducing many
readers to inspirations for their favorite fairy tale they might not have known.
When all else fails, blame the ancient Greeks for the abundance of
fae Fabios.
Aside from a not-so-beastly Beast and a cast of likewise hunky helpers, A Court
of Thorns and Roses has plenty to recommend it. The settings are well
illustrated, the pacing is solid (the first few chapters drag a bit), and the
characters become compelling and nuanced as you learn more about them. But you
will have to face another possible irritant: the first-person narrative. Prythian
lies beyond Feyre’s intimate knowledge prior to the novel, so it makes sense to put the reader in her perspective as she learns about the realm and the
mysteries that need unraveling. A couple “twists” might take you by surprise,
while some might be painfully obvious long before she has figured them out.
Does first-person assuage Feyre’s obliviousness? In a way, yes, but a close
third-person can also convey a character’s thoughts and feelings and introduce
the readers to a foreign world. First-person has a grim rep from too many
novels that waste its potential, particularly in the young adult category. Enjoying
it even when done well can be a challenge if you’ve had enough bad experiences.
I wouldn’t say Maas utilizes it to its best advantage, as
Feyre’s mind isn’t very lively. There
are a couple gruesome dreams and a stretch of time she spends locked up and has
nothing to do but think, but her mind’s eye is usually externally focused. This
doesn’t make her an unlikable or uninteresting character. There just isn’t much
that direct access to her thoughts offers that third-person couldn’t provide, too. Her imagination starts out as dry as the slow introduction
with her hunting in the woods—adequate, but not very colorful. Once she leaves
her drab home for the enchanting and dangerous land of Prythian, the change of
scene and the tension from living among creatures who had
previously enslaved, tortured or killed humans brings out new shades of
Feyre’s personality until she’s blossoms into a complex character. Then the
first-person gains more traction with the reader. Even so, I wouldn’t have
minded some third-person omniscience to let the reader see more of the world outside Feyre’s
awareness. There is much world-building that still needs addressing.
Maas does well to avoid too much info dumping, but the
trade-off is the questions left unanswered by the book’s end. For example, why do
the High Fae physically resemble humans, pointy ears and unearthly beauty
notwithstanding, when other “lower” fairies look more monstrous? What does this
suggest about the relationship between humans and High Fae? The book leaves us hanging with what reeks as sequel baiting. Series are big
these days, but first installments should stand on their own merit.
Unless you’re Tolkien. Or J. K. Rowling. Or C.S. Lewis. Or—never mind.
Before you rush out to buy the book, another word of
caution. For those unfazed by supernatural studs and the word “I,” brace yourself for repetitive descriptions of the characters. Maas doesn’t gush over Feyre’s appearance,
surprisingly, which is a nice contrast to how often a heroine’s beauty is
emphasized in romance-driven stories. The same can’t be said of Tamlin, his
fox-masked courtier Lucien (his sass saved me from gagging on a couple romantic
scenes between Tamlin and Feyre), and Rhysand, our token shady “bad boy” who *SPOILERS* isn’t as bad as he seems—or is
he? You will not forget that
Tamlin has bulging muscles and radiant golden hair and vibrant green eyes
flecked with sunlight. Or that Lucien has a fake eye that whirs around and a
scar that stands out when he gives a foxy smile (hur hur). Or that Rhysand
comes in and out of shadows with stars in his eyes. Seriously, the
Rhysand one really got to me:
The walls weren’t
moving, and the room was open—gaping. No colors, but shades of darkness, of
night. Only those star-flecked violet
eyes were bright, full of color and light. He gave me a lazy smile before
he leaned forward.
“. . . Do you want me
to offer another week of my life?”
“Not unless you feel
compelled to do so,” he said, his eyes
like stars.
Yes, we get it. Rhysand’s eyes are freaking galaxies. SO
amazing.
You’re probably not going into YA fantasy for
Shakespeare or Austen. Sometimes Maas does craft vivid figurative
language, like here:
“Two trials lie
behind you,” Amarantha said, picking at a fleck of dust on her blood-red gown.
Her black hair shone, a gleaming darkness that threatened to swallow up her
golden crown.
The only problem with this example is that Amarantha’s hair
is described as “red-gold” when Feyre first meets her. Did I miss Amarantha pulling
a Ramona Flowers by dying her hair every couple weeks? I put this more on the
editor. Forgive my poking fun instead of offering error-free
snippets of Maas’s more imaginative prose, but it was an Easter egg of a
mistake—rare and easy to miss.
General YA problems are Court’s
most prominent issues. Even for an adult audience it’s respectable. I do
wish some side characters had been better utilized, such as Lucien. He’s
awesome in the first two-thirds of the book, then is reduced to a plot device,
and Rhysand essentially takes away his “snarky ally” title. Also, while the
central threat is dealt with by the closing chapter, it’s not addressed if the
humans, including Feyre’s family, are still in danger. And out of personal
preference, Feyre’s eldest sister Nesta needs to come back. Feyre works as a
very human protagonist, flawed yet full of heart, but Nesta is ripe to be a
foil to the fairies with her uncanny resistance to their glamours. She’s just
badass once you look beneath the icy, bitchy surface in the first few chapters.
Now there’s an idea. If Maas has yet another BatB-type
relationship involving Nesta, I need to read the sequel as soon as possible. If
not, I still might be curious enough to check out the next book. Just one
condition: you can keep your fan service, but stay away from unneeded love
triangles. Learn from Twilight, Maas.
Rating: 3.5/5
Rating: 3.5/5
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