Fantasy novels are, commonly, epic in scope. It’s one of their most fundamental characteristics. Oh-so-rarely will you get a fantasy novel that doesn’t change the world it’s set in by the end of it, or have the protagonist undergo dramatic shifts in their life. There might even be fate or prophecy involved. This has become so much of a trope that it’s difficult to do well; there are few ways to make the humans-and-Gods-against-the-Universe theme work in such a way as to make it interesting.
And so it was with some trepidation that I picked up a copy of The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms. To be honest, the only thing that compelled me were the whirlingly fantasmagorical reviews that have been floating around the Internet for the last few weeks. I didn’t have any inkling as to the details of the plot, deliberately avoiding those sections of the reviews. The hype, the collection of excited adjectives and loquacious praise prevalent through every mention of the book had me quite excited.
When the book (finally!) became available in my local, I snagged a copy for myself and settled down to read. Could The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms live up to the hype?
Settling into a comfy armchair, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. It was the first book in a trilogy, I noticed – which immediately raised my base-line of expectations. The bar that N K Jemisin was heroically limboing under got lowered to a point where most debutante authors would be brushing it with their chin.
- – Irrelevant aside – -
Why this resistance? I have a few problems with trilogies or longer series, especially for authors that don’t have a track record.
Too few books can stand on their own feet in the epic fantasy genre – it seems that many authors, newer and established, are incapable of wrapping a story up within a mere four-to-six-hundred pages, and must make us wait multiple years – and novels – for satisfying conclusions. The ambition which this reflects I have a lot more patience for with, say, Robin Hobb, who has proven herself over multiple trilogies.
There are a few other reasons.
- There’s no control over when the next books come out, even at all. What if I love the first book but it’s not well received? What if the author dies or gets bored?
- It necessarily stretches my satisfaction out over a number of years as I wait for the author to catch up (Hi, Pat! don’t worry, we STILL LOVE YOU).
- I’m a cantankerously impatient reader. It’s true. I like to be able to devour an entire storyline in one go, to the point that I’ve steadfastly refused to read the Wheel of Time series until it’s freakin’ finished. (Go, Brian!) So I have a tendency to wait until all the books in a trilogy or set come out, then buy and read them all at the same time. Much more satisfying.
- This last point is reinforced by the speed that I read. Not to brag or anything, but most novels don’t last me longer than half an afternoon. I like to read, absorb, enjoy, reflect and then move on. Hence the whole finishing-a-storyline-in-one-go preference.
- – End irrelevant aside – -
Flicking through the book, back to front, on my way to the first page, I noticed how incredibly light it seemed. The typesetting is gloriously comfortable – an odd thing to comment on, but the book is put together with care and attention having been paid to the typography that it would be remiss not to mention it. There is adequate spacing in the pages that your eye floats comfortably over the lines.
Many fantasy novels have dense, tightly jammed-together text, like the setters want to impress upon you how much reading bang you’re getting for your buck. Orbit have gone the other way, giving the book an open, accessible feel before you even dig into the story.
And what a digging it is! Folks, bring a shovel. Get comfy. Make sure you’re adequately hydrated. Take some snacks, or a light picnic basket. Because you’re not going to want to put this book down.
I was hooked from about thirty seconds in, and didn’t let myself stop until the book was done. Dinner could wait. Yeine, the protagonist, reached out from the book, hooked her fingernails into my corneas and didn’t let go until page 432.
The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms is a superlative book in every sense of the word. From the opening lines, you teeter over the edge of the rabbit-hole:
I am not as I once was. They have done this to me, broken me open and torn out my heart. I do not know who I am anymore.
I must try to remember.
_____________
My people tell stories of the night I was born. They say my mother crossed her legs in the middle of labor and fought with all her strength not to release me into the world. I was born anyhow, of course; nature cannot be denied. Yet it does not surprise me that she tried.
And then you’ve slipped, you’re away, you’re falling into this gorgeous world and the only thing to do is not bump into the walls on the way down.
I’m not going to go into detail about the story itself. It has good men and women (remarkably few!), bad men (a cast of hundreds), love, death, betrayals, promises, Gods, fights, sex, a sprawling world, mind-blowing scale and grandeur, and a plot that unfolds along well-executed if comfortable lines.
Also, almost uniquely for a book with this subject matter and theme, there is little to no world-building. We’re given snatches and hints of the world outside the imediate setting, but there aren’t any rugged, mountainous paragraphs wanking on about where the action’s taking place. This comes as somewhat of a relief.
It strikes me, as I write this, that I’m avoiding writing about the plot itself.
This is because I don’t want to talk about it. I want you to go experience it for yourself.
The story is told in first-person, past-tense by the heroine, Yeine. Right from the start, by her own admission, we know that her narration isn’t going to be one hundred per cent reliable. This is one of my favourite things for an author to do with her narrators, and Jemisin does it masterfully. The narration is tight, witty, elegant, and entirely naturalistic. I felt myself wanting to read the book aloud, just to enjoy the conversational tone of the entire novel.
Yeine narrates from her heart, without seeming to hold anything back. Uniquely, this means her voice manifests in odd little ways. She’s constantly correcting herself over minor details, and going off on seemingly-irrelevant tangents. Done badly, this would be indulgent and messy. Done as well as this, though, Yeine has made friends with you without you even realising it.
That, to me, is how someone talks. Constantly correcting themselves. Going with a naturalistic flow.
Yeine, apart from being a good communicator, is actually likeable. Far too many female protagonists come across as whingers, and that really puts me off. Not so Yeine, who starts off being one tough cookie – leader of a clan in a warlike, matriarchal society – who complains that her removal to a cultured environment stops her perfecting the ‘seven ways of the knife’.
Her mother murdered, her people under military threat from the political fallout of her sudden promotion to potential heir to a vast and powerful empire, what does she do? Sit and cry about it? No, she calmly and brutally smashes her way through the resistance she finds, commanding Gods and mortals to meet her needs with a competence and determination that left me cheering all of her actions.
This is also one of a rare breed of combinations – because as much as the book is high, epic fantasy at it’s most elegant, it’s also a glorious love story. And I don’t mean a romance, in any traditional sense of the word.
The story is about love. All of the story. All kinds of love. It’s full of it, in every interaction, conversation, nuance. The mythology of Jemesin’s world is breathtaking, complex, and feels very, very real – and, with none-too-subtle nods to Hinduism’s pantheonic playfulness, there’s a lot of love and sex involved in the creation and overseeing of the Universe. As well there should be!
The love didn’t drive me away – even though I’m a big, tough, burly guy who hides his emotions under sarcasm… I read the last fifty pages in a state of breathless excitement that I haven’t had matched since my first kiss, aged thirteen, halfway through the Mines of Mordor fight scene in Jackson’s The Fellowship Of The Ring.
The relationships are real, complex, and the story builds to a satisfying climax, right where you’d want it.
In fact, once the story was done, I had to go and re-check the front cover. Was it really part of a trilogy? I’m interested to know how the story’s going to progress from here. And, most deliciously, this has left me in the best of two normally disparate states. I’m exceptionally satisfied with having read a complete, replete story. And I’m excited to know that it’s not over.
It’s about this time in the review that I want to indulge in some hyperbole to convince you to read this book if you haven’t, buy it for everyone you know, and get the front cover tattooed onto your bicep.
I won’t. But, please, don’t believe me. Go out and get it for yourself. If you don’t enjoy it, post here or email me at pip@write-thing.com, and I will personally write a grovellingly apologetic letter to you.
Notice how I’ve managed to review an entire novel and not give you the foggiest clue abuot what happens? Well, I let a couple of hints go. There are other reviews that will tell you what happens to Yeine. I simply want you to know that it’s worth finding out WITH her, not before.
Go. Get excited. Enjoy yourself.
Hats off to Jemesin for living up to the hype, making love cool again, giving us a strong, raunchy protagonist, demystifying the mystical, making the esoteric teric, and the deific defiable.
Rating:
This Book Is: Pure bodacity, smothered in Awesome Sauce:
If You Don’t Read It, I will: whack your face with an oily kraken-tentacle.
I got this book from: my bookstore.
Disclaimer: I make money if you click any of the links in this article, which will take you to pages where you can buy the awesome book as above. I kinda hope you do, because that gives me more time to read, write, and tell you about both.
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