Kushiel’s Dart is a casserole; a French-Latin derivative meaning food you might otherwise enjoy lumped together and then baked until it smells and tastes awful.
Based on the abundance of positive reviews gushing and glowing about this book on IO9, I decided to read it; I won’t be making that mistake again. Is this novel a superlative work of literature? A harlequin romance that got a little full of itself? Is it just snuff p*rn? Let’s not kid ourselves; to create this book, the author took a large, hardbound work of historical fiction, carved a hollow space within, and then crammed a trashy romance novel inside.
If you enjoy blasphemy, bondage, and bureaucracy, this novel will be a trifecta for you. For myself, I’m sorry to say this book contains another “b;” for boring. Words on a message board cannot convey how mind numbing an experience plodding through this novel was for me. Kushiel’s Dart is perhaps the lone, shining example of sex made dreary. Half way in, I found myself wondering if this turd was thick enough to enable me to beat myself to death with it.
As the thread already contains the word spoiler, I’ll consider the following synopsis encapsulated under the “fair warning” clause:
The story revolves around the character Phaedra, who from here on we’ll simply reference as “super-whor*.” Super-whor* is sold by her parents to a brothel at the tender age of…six…if I remember right, to be raised until she reaches the age of ten, at which time she’ll be sold to someone else for serving and pimping once she reaches fourteen (the age of consent around these parts). Not just any old brothel, though, because the houses of pseudo-historical France consider prostitution a high art, the holiest of professions, following in the ways of their patron goddess, a follower of the non-born son of Jesus (it’s complicated). The great houses are all descended from fallen angels, and act much like you’d expect fallen angels to act (childish, gratuitous, and violent), despite the fact they are held to be the archetype of perfection.
Reaching the age of first sale, the matron of her brothel recognizes some potential in her, and decides to offer her to a hom*osexual dilettante poet (how original), who immediately deduces super-whor*’s special ability: the god-given talent of genuinely taking pleasure in having the absolute crap kicked out of her. Ayep, you heard correct, super-whor* is special because you can beat the hell out of her and she loves it and keeps coming back. What an awesome role model for underage girls!
From here, we have a whirlwind of political backstage maneuvering, a glut of deviant sexual experiences, a number of off-stage hom*osexual encounters, which appear to have been thrown in simply to sell books, a staggering number of genuine rapes, and a little plot movement to keep us from falling asleep.
The actual book starts a little over halfway through, after the hackneyed experience of being abducted by Norsem*n who show them the decadence of their ways (No,…you are the true barbarians…oiy) and put super-whor* and her companion on the true path to following in their pantheon’s footsteps.
From here out, any crisis in the novel deus ex machina cannot solve for super-whor*, she simply resolves with her vagin*, when she isn’t busy being cut up or having the hell knocked out of her for laughs.
If I have any authentic grievances aside from the above, it would have to be the following:
More than once, a character in the novel will refer to another as a “whor*” in the pejorative, despite the fact they consider prostitution a sacred act.
The use of Flechettes to refer to sexual cutting blades (might want to leave this bad boy on the shelf if you have a weak stomach, as this happens more than twice) instead of…well…flechettes.
The writing style screams of Neil Gaimen. If this book didn’t receive influence from or didn’t influence American Gods, I’ll eat both books.
Painstaking, tedious, tiring attention to scenery, filial relationships, back-story, and detail.
It’s difficult to form an attachment to the secondary characters in the first half of the novel. When they meet their end, it’s no surprise whatsoever.
Rape: This is supposed to be the most heinous crime in the nation, sacrilegious even, and yet, nothing ever seems to come of it when the characters (habitually) become victims.
Foreshadowing: less is more. Sometimes, surprise can be fun!
The verb tenses: Three quarters of the novel reads as a memoir. Then the tenses begin to shift with no transition and you’re living her life in the present. Then they shift back and forth, at random.
It’s in France; we get it already. We don’t need the constant, “LOOK AT ME, I SPEAK FRENCH!” reminders thrown in. Many people speak French, thank you.
The token Italian-amalgamates are Mafioso (my personal death knell in an already substandard work).
The escape of the BBEG (big-bad-evil-girl) power behind the throne. Talk about a worn-out contrivance to sell sequels. Have some guts and kill off someone important!
A number of tertiary characters were vivid and interesting, especially the admiral and the Irish / Welsh representations, right up until the author discards them in a casual way with a glut of wanton fornicating and stabbing others with sticks. There’s so much of this going on, one has to wonder if leprechauns built the boats, towns, and infrastructure of Ireland.
Flippant discarding of a secondary character’s love interest in order to keep them from developing an attachment, or perhaps spare putting thought into character development.
Things I liked about the novel:
Well written. So much so that the author should be mortified at squandering such considerable talent on this novel. The author demonstrates a true mastery of language.
The Master of the Straights: well executed plot device, and contained an interesting history, though encounters felt a bit rushed.
Outstanding combat imagery.
The story solidifies after the middle of the book, becomes interesting, and almost makes up for the pure, unadulterated hell of the previous sections.
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In all seriousness, how did this book ever make it past the “Think of the Children” people? I mean, holy crap, we have Child Prostitution, Pedophilia, and Pederasty, and that’s just in the first couple of chapters, before things go downhill.
If you do decide to purchase this novel, do yourself a favor and purchase a meat cleaver at the same time. Cut the book cleanly in two along the spine, and throw the first half into a recycle bin. Otherwise, the temptation to use the cleaver on yourself may prove overwhelming. Then take the second half of the book and put it on a high shelf, where no one else will see you own it, especially anyone under 18.
This novel is not empowering to women; it is demeaning.
