A Song of Wraiths and Ruin by Roseanne A. Brown
My rating: 2 of 5 stars I wanted to like it! But the writing… The world could use more African-themed fantasy novels, so I was eager to like Roseanne A. Brown’s debut novel A Song of Wraiths and Ruin (2020). And the world building on one African-esque continent is fine. A thousand years ago, the oppressive Egyptian analogue Kennouan Empire was replaced by the Zirani Empire, which for 250 years has been occupying and exploiting the “backwards” Eshrani people. There are ballads about legendary figures like Bahia, the first sultana of Ziran, and her traitor husband the Faceless King. And a religion with a Great Mother and seven animal deities and their seven elements. And tangible or intangible magic and “grim folk” like wraiths. And a mix of African and fantasy animals, from zebras and lions to chipekwe and serpopards. Blessedly, the narration is not first-person present tense, but third-person past, chapters alternating between two complementary teen protagonists, Malik, an impoverished Eshrani refugee, and Karina, a sad, over-protected Zirani princess. Malik has traveled across the desert with his older and younger sisters to the wealthy city-state Ziran, hoping to earn enough money there to send for his mother and grandmother. Ten years ago, Karina’s beloved father and big sister died in a fire, and as the only heir, she isn’t allowed to do anything dangerous, so, thinking that her mother hates her, she sneaks out at night with her trusty maid to best bards in song competitions in dirty downtown dives. Like other YA teen heroes, Malik and Karina are separated from parental supervision, unappreciated by their families and communities, endowed with special gifts (Malik for stories, Karina for music, both for magic), and good looking (Malik with “tawny brown skin” and “night dark eyes,” Karina with dark brown skin and silver hair in coils). Oh, and they’re drawn to each other while being made to think they’ll have to kill each other! There’s a Hunger Games vibe here. The week-long Solstasia festival held every fifty years when a comet appears above Ziran includes three challenges for seven champions representing the seven deities, losers being eliminated until one winner remains. Each champion has a support team, nice clothes, and fans who cheer for, bet on, and dress like them. In addition to having their patron deity preside over Zirani culture, the winner (even if it’s the sole female champion) will marry Princess Karina. Brown tells a page turning story. There are neat scenes, like when Malik tells a folk tale about the trickster Hyena, when Karina and Malik find a forgotten necropolis full of animated slave corpses working in time-worn rags, and when Karina serves “poisoned” tea to some uppity viziers. Similes are apt, like “Grinning a grin that would put a hyena’s to shame.” There’s vivid description, like “Hidden in a chasm longer than the tallest tower in Ksar Alahari was a city that glittered like a gold gash against the dark stone.” And Brown introduces relevant issues like immigrants, discrimination, and war profiteering. (The novel’s not about race, as Zirani and Eshrani are only told apart by accent and manners.) Unfortunately, Brown’s writing ejected me from her story. Plot contrivance abounds, from the minor (Malik letting his verboten mobile magic tattoo appear anywhere on his body instead of always safely hiding it on the bottom of his foot) to the major (Karina deciding to use a forbidden necromantic rite from the dread Kennouan Empire to resurrect her mother, though it requires cutting out the heart of whoever marries her). Action scenes don’t feel real, as when twelve fierce bush dogs let a champion kill them one by one instead of attacking him all at once. The main characters are by turns unconvincing or unappealing, prone to panic attacks, temper tantrums, and self-castigations, like, “Failure. Failure. Failure” (Karina), and “Let Driss beat him to death. He deserved it” (Malik). One moment Karina is wailing, “This is all my fault,” the next vowing, “This ends tonight.” One moment fretting, “She was a fool to ever have thought he [Malik] had feelings for her,” the next preening, “If she were Tunde, she'd be in love with herself too.” Malik, who has no romantic experience and is cripplingly shy, says to a rival, “Me talking to her isn't a problem, right? I mean, since the two of you aren't involved anymore.” (The de rigueur YA love triangle isn’t compelling.) Brown turns the emotional volume up too high, as when “true terror filled Karina’s veins” before she faces her estranged mother. Teens are histrionic and volatile, but Malik and Karina’s exaggerated and cliched emotions deafened and distanced me. Hearts hammer, millions of questions race through minds, a door takes two lifetimes to open. “Fear screamed at Malik.” “He wanted to curl up into a ball and hide.” “Karina's heart dropped down to her toes.” “Her rage was a living creature beyond her control.” And so on. Brown even uses “literally” nine times to authenticate excessive emotions, e.g., “Karina would have quite literally bitten anyone else for laying a finger on her without permission,” and “Malik was quite literally running in circles.” Finally, the dialogue is too formally stilted (e.g., “I am humbled by your hospitality,” and “On the contrary, I think it is in my own best interest to see how much of a ransom Haissa Sarahel is willing to pay for her only daughter”) or too casually slangy (e.g., “I'm good,” “Show your love to the newest Life champion of Solstasia,” “What the hell is going on?” “You owe me big time, Princess,” and “Come on you guys… We have a princess to find”). Is this an African folktale fantasy or an American TV show? The male and female audiobook readers who read the alternating chapters of Malik (A. J. Beckles) and Karina (Jordan Cobb) over-dramatize the already febrile text. Worse, it’s jarring when Beckles reads the speech of characters in the Malik chapters who also speak in the Karina chapters read by Cobb, because the same characters’ voices sound so different. Beckles’ Karina is more high-pitched and less cool than Cobb’s, Cobb’s vengeful spirit Idir less malevolent and more cartoonish than Beckles’. Cobb speaks American English for all Zirani like Karina—except for Commander Hamidou, who has an African accent. Maybe Malik should have an African accent, because his Eshrani accent threatens to reveal his origin, but even to his sister he only speaks American English like Karina. And then Cobb gives a pseudo-British accent to an Eshrani servant! The readers don’t enhance the story. I was impressed by some cool surprises and intense developments in the climax, wherein the “evil” nemeses reveal interesting motivations, unlike generic dark lords. However, I spent most of my time with the novel listing flaws with bitter relish and can’t imagine going on to the sequel to see how Malik, Karina, and Ziran grow. View all my reviews
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Jefferson Peters
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