I usually write up a little blurb for the books I read, but I knew very little about The Raven Tower before I started it, and for this book that felt right. If you want to know more about it, check out the Goodreads description!
Also, quite honestly, I read this book because it was written by Ann Leckie. Had someone tried to explain it to me beforehand, it would have been a bit baffling. But I was super excited for her first novel length foray into fantasy, regardless of what it was about.
(This is mostly because over the course of Leckie’s novel-writing career, I’ve come to trust her as an author. I know she writes books that I like, that touch me deeply, and that stay with me. Not every author gets the same trust from me. This isn’t something we talk about a lot when we review books, but it’s there all the same. And sometimes authors know this enough to use it in really interesting ways–yes, I’m thinking of Megan Whalen Turner. Other times, it can be eroded or broken, by a series of less-resonant books, or by things like bad representation.)
The thing is, I wasn’t instantly on board with The Raven Tower. It’s in second person, which is my least favorite narrative style. And because we’re dropped right in and trusted to keep up, it didn’t immediately have the deep emotional resonance that draws me so much to the Raadchai books. (Another thing we don’t often talk about is how a smart author can build up emotional connections over the course of a series, so that by the later books they can just telegraph a moment and it will hold so much more weight of meaning than it could in the first book.)
But something about the story, the insistence of the narrative voice, the things that didn’t quite line up with what I thought was happening pulled me in. Besides the fact that I trusted Leckie to write a story that ultimately would deliver. And by the end I did feel rewarded in that decision. There are some clever, slippery things that happen in the narration. They reverse assumptions about the shape of the story, even the characters. They kept me on my toes, and made the story so much more interesting than it would have been without them. But they also add in feeling as details are shaded in, as the world becomes clear, as the characters resolve. We begin to see the subtlety of the cruelness but also the strength of the kindness.
This story is the most like Ancillary Justice out of all the other Leckie stories I’ve read. But they’re not the same. As I was writing this review, I remembered James Tiptree Jr writing about Joanna Russ: “It smells revolutionary—no, wait, not “revolutionary.” Not the usual. It smells and smoulders like a volcano buried so long and deadly it is just beginning to wonder if it can explode. Fantastic anger. Like the writer is watching every word, saying, Cool it, cool it, don’t say it.” That’s what this books feels like. Cool it, cool it. Don’t say it. Fantastic anger.
Until at last, there is that ending, one of those endings that are far more powerful than the simple words on the page, because they are exactly where the story needs to end: still half formed, still with the taste of them in your mind. I still feel almost as though I can taste the last line on my lips, as though I shouted it myself.
I’ve been struggling to think of readalikes for this one. A little bit For a Muse of Fire, a little bit Tess of the Road, a little bit Persona and Icon. But not quite any of them. If you’ve read it and have ideas, please let me know!
Previously, on By Singing Light:
Chime by Franny Billingsley (2011)
Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry by Mildred Taylor (2014)
Jinx’s Fire by Sage Blackwood (2015)
Ursula K Le Guin Reading Notes: Voices (2016)
In the Great Green Room by Amy Gary (2017)
H is for Hawk by Helen MacDonald (2018)