I'm disappointed.
I can't say I expected miracles from the book. Indeed, my first and strongest motivations were the cover, by an artist i am very fond of. Hey! It looks awesome! I am shallow.
Unfortunately, it looks like the ride isn't promising.
John Clute at
SciFi Wire That, on the other hand, Lake’s savagely pollarded heroine never seems to shut her mouth should come as no surprise either, I guess: because it is clearly not part of Lake’s belief system, or of his writerly strategy over the long consolatory pages of Green, to treat the savageries of immurement Green suffers as a child as ultimately deforming. Wolfe, whose example has clearly shaped Green, may be the only contemporary author of American fantastic literature consistently to treat damage as damaging; Lake adheres to a sunnier version of the costs of being born in prison: that spunk will unlock the barred door.
[...]
It is here we come to something of a sticking point, which is rage. The young peasant girl Green (she refuses to use the name her owner gives her), who has spent most of her life in a deep Skinner Box being shaped, refuses to accept her destiny. After all her travails, she tells us, “I was still me“, and my heart sank. The person we have thought she was—the aleph self gaining some dark noumenousness from her immurement in the heart of the Wolfean world she had been selected for as an infant—turns out to be a cloak that only half conceals a moderately sophisticated Liberal Humanist teenager from California with anger issues. Made berserk by the thought that she—a simple illiterate peasant lass from a subsistance rice paddy—has been bought and educated by immortals whose nature and purpose on the plate of the world we have not yet learned, Green kills one of her teaching Mistresses, scars her face so she cannot become a concubine, and escapes with Dancing Mistress into the City.
Kyra Smith at
Strange Horizons: Specifically, there are two ways in which we can interpret Green’s sadomasochistic lesbianism. We can see it as the sort of empowering lesbianism practiced by apparently kick-ass fantasy heroines or we can see it as yet further evidence that Green has been completely broken by her time of enslavement. Either reading is discomforting, the former because it strikes me as a fundamental misunderstanding of the nature of homosexuality to view it as more legitimising than heterosexuality, and the latter because it implies a direct causal relationship between abuse and ‘aberrant’ sexual behaviour. In both cases, Green’s sexual preferences are reduced to something illustrative rather authentic. The upshot is that there is no sense of emotional reality to her attractions beyond shared orientation and the possibility, perhaps, that the author finds the idea of two girls getting it on a bit hot. Or one girl and a catgirl. I’m not joking.
[...]
I think I would have had less of a problem with Green had I been able to shake the suspicion I was meant to think she was awesome. She does kick-ass fantasy heroine things like kill people, sleep around, win fights and be Chosen By The Gods (yes, she’s that too) and her only flaws are the sort of flaws it is acceptable for a strong woman to have—i.e. she is a little bit impulsive, a little bit ruthless and just too gosh darn stubborn sometimes. Because of this, and her general disinclination to give a damn about anyone else, she never felt like a real person to me.
I am especially tired of this. I am tired of being fed the archetypes, either the Girlfriend or the Tough Chick (or
fascimilies thereof). And yes, even today they dominate, though simply having the Tough Chick can be seen as a step forward. In more varied, subtle forms--and in their base forms, both are stories that very much deserve to be told, and that I want to read--but they dominate the field. Either the woman is the love interest, or she is the Faux Action Girl, possessing traditional "male" skills, almost always portrayed as emotionally ackward, lacking or wounded, with a tragic past or downright inhuman callousness. Now, I love these kinds of girls--but the point is that largely
no other kind of Action Heroine is allowed to be. She can't be chirpy and happy and still kick ass. She can't be a soldier, tough and dangerous on the battlefield, that comes home and is just an ordinary human. There must be something
wrong with her for her to be dangerous and tough in a physical (or mental) way.
She can't be strong as a woman, with only traditional "female" traits; if she is, critics and readers (usually female readers) alike revile her. If she does posess traditional "female" traits, she is relegated to the role of the girlfriend, who can't "understand" what the hero goes through, and is generally relegated to unfailing, selfless support on the sidelines. (There are exceptions! I know there are exceptions! But that is
exactly what they are--exceptions to the rule.)
Either way, all too often I'm given stereotypes, or archetypes. I want to read about
people.
Female people.
There are a variety of reviews. Some are very good. But the good--and this is key as I consider them as a whole--simply
do not address the important issues that the critical reviews do, or if they do they gloss them over.
Daniel Hemmens at
FerretBrain: It gets worse, considerably worse, when she returns to her home. Suddenly Copper Downs goes from being not merely more affluent than her homeland but objectively better. Green states, quite clearly, that:
My captors had been right. Rather I should have been on my knees thanking the Factor for what he had taken me from.
Now I know that this is partly Green giving in to despair, but nothing in the text challenges this conclusion. It’s rather an object lesson in the dangers of taking on too many genre stereotypes at once.
Had this been the story of a white man who was taken away from his pseudo-European farming village and conscripted into the armies of the Dark Lord of Evil then I would have been overjoyed to find him returning home to realise that his long lost homeland was a poverty stricken shithole and his father was a bastard who never cared about him. It would challenge the assumptions of a genre that frequently glamourises poverty, and it wouldn’t have any creepy overtones (unless you want to make a big thing about militarism).
Make the white man a south-Asian woman, however, and you start getting into difficulties, because now you’re not saying “being poor sucks” you’re saying “being foreign sucks”. Turn conscription into slavery and you’re not saying “you might be better off in the army than on a farm” you’re saying “you might be better off as a slave in Europe than as a free man in your own country.” Add in the courtesan angle and you’re saying “it is a good thing for south-Asian women to be sold as sex slaves to European men.”
I hope I don’t need to point out that this really isn’t okay.
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