We stan good boys only in this house; or, a review of The Red Palace

So, another June Hur book, which means court intrigue, feminism that doesn’t suck historical realism out of the story like a vacuum, lots of murder, and a light at the end of the tunnel. Silence of Bones was very good, but I love this one a little more. The Red Palace kept me going when my cat was poisoned last year, so this book will always be number one in my heart.

Also, I’m a romance junkie, RIP, RIP. And this one has one of the best OTPs of the year. I can say this because 2022 is already over, even though I started this review MONTHS ago. I read it last January, and no ship has done it better since. (Someone tell me what Hyeon and Eojin’s ship name is. Hyeonjin?)

Hyeon is a palace nurse who has made the most of herself while maintaining financial independence, which is quite an accomplishment for an illegitimate daughter in eighteenth-century Joseon (modern day Korea). Her dad still isn’t impressed, because emotionally abusive dads never are.

The life she has meticulously created comes to an painful pause, however, when several palace women get murdered and her mentor becomes a suspect and gets tortured under government interrogation. Eojin, a police inspector whom no one else takes that seriously, either, is the only one who believes her when she tells him that her mentor isn’t guilty.

Pretty much everything about this book is perfect. The family relationships, the treatment of Prince Sado as an ambiguous historical figure, the mystery, the romance…

Speaking of family relationships, June Hur brings her usual sensitivity and insight to the neglect, disinterest, and sexism that Hyeon experiences from her father. I appreciate her take on family conflicts–family dysfunction causes aching psychological wounds that may never truly heal, and there’s no guarantee that the abuser will ever see the light and be the perfect relative of your dreams. Instead, a suitable resolution is entirely up to you, the aggrieved party. Whatever contact you decide to have with the problem relative, whether you decide to forgive them completely or never see them again, only you can decide the best way to heal. Either way, the only person you owe is yourself. I won’t spoil Hyeon’s decision, but it’s completely satisfying and I couldn’t ask for more.

Now, the elephant in the room, Sado. For those not familiar, Sado was a real-life serial killer/rapist prince whose guilt is debated by historians. Most historians agree that he committed the crimes, but it’s difficult to determine how much of a role his insanity played. On the one hand, the historical records seem to indicate Sado suffered from some form of mental illness, but on the other, an author doesn’t want to imply that he did those things because of mental illness (well, most authors…). June Hur states in her author’s note that she decided to leave his mental health issues vague because it’s not her area of expertise and and she didn’t want to fall into the trap of tying violent behavior to mental illness. I think it was a good decision, not least because Sado is such a polarizing topic and I didn’t want him to overpower the other characters. Also, if I want an entire book about serial killer rapists, I can just read Game of Thrones. Instead, June Hur focuses the narrative on actual nice people? Which, after this year full of twists and turns, was very welcome. This book got me started off on a good note in 2022, and it was one of the things that stayed with me throughout the joys and horrors of the last twelve months.

As for the mystery, I did NOT see the plot twist coming. Anything I say will be a spoiler, so I will refrain, but TRUST ME.

Finally, the romance is so, so good. The Red Palace asks the question why not go for it, if you like them? Sure, they might be like your problematic parents, but what if they’re not? How do you know? You simply have to find someone who values you and wait for them to reveal themselves. The ability to rewrite your parents’ history is always in your grasp. Eojin and Hyeon are a team first and foremost, there is no weird misogynist bullshit, and I love that for them. Eojin is very hardline but treats everyone ethically, which is my FAVORITE kind of hero from years of watching historical K-Dramas. I also thought it was a nice refresher that Eojin disregards social status and respects women because his unconventional parents raised him that way, as opposed to being a 21st century alien in a family from hell. Here’s to normal in-laws in historical fiction!

Finally, I’ll close with my favorite quote, which kinda changed my life:

Chewing nervously on my lower lip, I could imagine the days ahead unfolding before me. I would bid him farewell, promise to perhaps see him again, then avoid him for weeks, and weeks would turn into months. Growing distant, severing the ties myself before I could get hurt. We would go our separate ways, and years later, I would see him passing down the street one day and wonder–Why were you so afraid, Hyeon?

20,000 Leagues of Homoerotic Science; or, HOW Long Was that Elephant Seal Again?!!!?

The face of all evil. In an environmentalist novel. Somehow.

20,000 Leagues under the Sea is one of those books that seeped so deeply into the cultural conscious I never bothered to learn what it was about. I knew Captain Nemo was a person (probably a villain?) who lived underwater (maybe with a kingdom?). That was it.

It was so much more. It was so gay. It had so much good science. It had so much bad science. And just the sheer–I cannot even DESCRIBE the antiheroism of it all. Google thinks that’s not a word, but Google can suck it. At one point Captain Nemo sails to Antarctica, which is an oasis with improbably big elephant seals for some reason, plants a black flag with a gold N on a cliff or whatever, and I’m just gonna quote it in full, honestly–

“I, Captain Nemo, on this 21st day of March, 1868, have reached the South Pole on the ninetieth degree; and I take possession of this part of the globe, equal to one-sixth of the known continents.”

“In whose name, Captain?”

“In my own, sir!”

Saying which, Captain Nemo unfurled a black banner, bearing an “N” in gold quartered on its bunting. Then, turning towards the orb of day, whose last rays lapped the horizon of the sea, he exclaimed:

“Adieu, sun! Disappear, thou radiant orb! rest beneath this open sea, and let a night of six months spread its shadows over my new domains!”

Jules Verne, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, Part Two, Chapter Fourteen

This is so sexy, and I mean that unironically. A bunch of shippy things also happen, like Nemo installing his favorite captive audience member, M. Aronnax, in the room next to his own so that M. Aronnax can come in at any time and look at the submarine’s “machinery,” which just so happens to be located in Captain Nemo’s bedroom. Hmmmm.

Oh, I didn’t even get to the plot, which is the most harlequin setup ever, wait for it: The world is aghast at some strange new oceanic entity which seems impossibly large and has already sunk a ship by making a giant hole in it. NICE. It’s an iceberg! It’s a Narwhal! No, it’s CAPTAIN NEMO, come to ram imperialist boats with impunity and maybe slaughter sperm whales because sperm whales oppress the virtuous right whales. No, really.

As an acclaimed naturalist, M. Aronnax sets sail to prove his thesis that the Unexplained Phenomenon is a narwhal, BUT THEN his ship starts sinking, he ends up overboard, the world goes dark, and he wakes up in a dark place with sailors who speak an unknown language. So far, it’s your standard nineteenth century adventure, no harlequin in sight. Fine. Wait till Captain Nemo walks in:

Whether this individual was thirty-five or fifty years of age, I could not precisely state. He was tall, his forehead broad, his nose straight, his mouth clearly etched, his teeth magnificent, his hands refined, tapered, and to use a word from palmistry, highly “psychic,” in other words, worthy of serving a lofty and passionate spirit. This man was certainly the most wonderful physical specimen I had ever encountered. One unusual detail: his eyes were spaced a little far from each other and could instantly take in nearly a quarter of the horizon. This ability—as I later verified—was strengthened by a range of vision even greater than Ned Land’s. When this stranger focused his gaze on an object, his eyebrow lines gathered into a frown, his heavy eyelids closed around his pupils to contract his huge field of vision, and he looked! What a look—as if he could magnify objects shrinking into the distance; as if he could probe your very soul; as if he could pierce those sheets of water so opaque to our eyes and scan the deepest seas . . . !

Jules Verne, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, Part One, Chapter Eight

Yes, “Most wonderful physical specimen ever encountered,” whatever THAT means. Also, there’s this:

“No doubt, sir, you’ve felt that I waited rather too long before paying you this second visit. After discovering your identities, I wanted to weigh carefully what policy to pursue toward you. I had great difficulty deciding. Some extremely inconvenient circumstances have brought you into the presence of a man who has cut himself off from humanity. Your coming has disrupted my whole existence.”

Jules Verne, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, Part One, Chapter Ten

Waaaah, it’s so inconvenient that I punched a hole in a British ship and have to hold survivors hostage, waaaah. But then it turns out that M. Aronnax has written Captain Nemo’s favorite academic text ever (about Captain Nemo, incidentally), and THEY’RE MORE THAN WELCOME TO STAY, BUT THEY CAN’T EVER LEAVE because secrecy or whatever. I guess Captain Nemo doesn’t mind having his whole existence disrupted THAT much. HMMMMMMMM. DOES THIS SOUND FAMILIAR? It’s the classic captivity narrative with the chivalrous kidnapper and if M. Aronnax were a hot girl there would be no questions asked.

And the rest is history. They have a first date in Atlantis, which is super cool, but also kind of a side quest. They catalogue every underwater species known to man and try the Ocean Diet, because anything from land suuuuuucks. It sounds like I’m making this all up, but no, I’m not, and there are even more absurdities that I’m forgetting about. Please read it. It will save your year. It saved mine. I’m not going to spoil the ending (you might know it), but to me, it’s suitably open. Like a deranged fanfic author, I like to imagine that Captain Nemo and his professor still sail the seas, maybe ramming an imperialist ship or two, but majorly laying off the sperm whale homicide.

And that’s all.

2020 is DEEEEAAAAD! And a review of The Silence of Bones, because why not start the year with productivity

I can’t tell if depression took everything from me or if there’s still something left. I don’t care. I’m going to live either way. I’m going to keep doing the things I love and find new ones. I’m going to write again. Without further ado–

You know that thing where two murdery angstbots use state-mandated violence to inflict their daddy issues on the rest of the world (and each other, ooh la la! I can’t stay emo for long)? This is not that quite that book. In fact, I didn’t even realize it was about that until I exited out of my nookbook (because fuck Amazon, that’s why). This is a classy book. With a few exceptions, classy books do not typically honor this blog. Ever since college wrung my brain into shreds, I have been incapable of comprehending anything more complex than Twilight. When I do read ‘classics,’ they’re the trashfires of last century. Or I’m just incapable of admitting that anything I like is literary.

Plot: Seol is a damo, a female indentured servant who was sometimes used as a police officer in Joseon-era Korea. As the book explains, when crimes involve women, men’s investigations are limited by propriety. In a strict Confucian society, women are needed to go places and ask questions men can’t. Seol has already tried to run away back to her sister and has been branded for it. Enter Inspector Han, Seol’s superior and patron, who admires her deductive skills and drive to find the truth. Inspector Han seems like Seol’s second chance to prove herself, but she starts to doubt herself and everyone else as Catholics are being murdered in seemingly unsolvable cases. And the queen is about to launch a new spate of religious persecution.

This is actual good, literary historical fiction, which I haven’t read since I was a high schooler on a mission to devour the entire contents of a tiny library in a dead-end Texas town. It feels like old-school Katherine Patterson, and that is one of the highest compliments I can give. The reason it’s not a trashfire is that it’s not about the murdery angstbots, it’s about the underling who deals with them. In most stories about beautiful men who do bad things, they’re so glamorized and justified that even condemnation from characters who have no reason to put up with their bad behavior is obligatory, or not there at all.

This book feels more like a deconstruction of Beautiful Men Doing Bad Things and Getting Away with Them. The heroine (and me, I always go for honorable stoic types) is taken in by the glamor at first and completely idolizes one of them and highly respects the other until it becomes apparent what these two are willing to do and WHY OH JESUS CHRIST THAT IS SO (again, state-mandated violence to solve daddy issues. Not a good look unless you’re the romance novel heroine in love with them). I’m trying really hard not to spoil it! I foresaw NOTHING about the plot, I legit had no idea who the villain was until the heroine figured it out.

So, two things: June Hur is so skillful that I only realized this after I finished reading: Inspector Han has the exact same goals as the villain, with maybe more of an emotional stake (but not really). The only difference is that he only pursues legal means. Literally, that’s it. Ordinarily, that would be a satisfying cop show (“vigilantism has no oversight and therefore there’s more chance of getting the wrong person” or some other moral). But what about when the state itself is killing the innocent? In a situation like that, legality and righteousness are all in the timing. The villain murders and tortures people sooner than Inspector Han is ordered to. That’s it. In the beginning of the book, Seol wants to be like Inspector Han and follows him around like a puppy. But to succeed in a system as brutal as this, you can’t be just and righteous ALL the time, and Inspector Han begins to show cracks. Seol begins to suspect him instead…

Second: This book is about family members who disappoint you, who disagree with you, who hurt you. Does that mean they’re not family? Does that mean you abandon them? Again, no spoilers, but the resolution to these questions is so beautiful, understated, and real. Seol takes a path that I might not (or maybe I absolutely would), but it’s something I could see someone else doing and it’s a choice I respect.

I want to say a lot more, but I can’t because spoilers. So go read it! And tell me what you think if you’re still here and not a tumbleweed.

Realistic (?) vampires, finally; or, a review of What We’ll Do for Blood

Contrary to what you might expect based on my reviewing habits, I’m not always in the mood for vampires who act more like typical Evanescence fans than sociopathic monsters. Sometimes it’s nice to take a break from romance for a while and return to the roots of the genre.

You know, back when vampires looked like this. Also, why is he on a boat? I still need to see this movie.

If I recall correctly, Dracula had no redeeming qualities whatsoever and was a symbol of Class Conflict or Subversive Sexuality or STDs or the Dangers of Immigration and Foreign Influence depending on which academic interpretation you go by. Whatever the preferred diagnosis, though, I think one thing is indisputable: Dracula has no charm. True charm is genuine, even if it’s used to manipulate. There has to be a sense of humor in there somewhere. Dracula is a blood-drinking machine and his politeness is purely a means to an end. I can’t remember a single memorable thing Dracula said, though I remember the story in general. I think this is because Dracula is a force of nature or a symbol rather than a character. Still not sure what he’s supposed to be a symbol of.

In What We’ll Do for Blood, Maria (the vampire) is similar. She exists to drink blood. This is her only motivation. This may sound like Maria is overly simplistic, but no, Maria is an accomplished predator who excels at manipulation, deception, and brutality. Maria is terrifying because she works in the system to get what she wants. Like many real life abusers, she makes her victims seem unreasonable and dangerous when they defend themselves. If your neighbors aren’t vampires, of course, breaking and entering and trying to stake them is rather antisocial. Maria has a network of people she threatens and hypnotizes into donating blood; some of them know what she is, and some don’t. When she sets her sights on high school student Scott’s dad, the plot begins. It’s never clear whether Scott’s dad is having a genuine affair or is brainwashed by Maria’s vampire hypnosis (maybe both), but his constant visits to Maria’s house late at night throw Scott’s family into a tailspin.

So far, so good. My problem with Scott’s family is that, perhaps in an attempt to make them interesting, Mannarino skews too far in the other direction and makes them unsympathetic social climbers who never seem very distant from their son. Not that unsympathetic victims aren’t okay! But because Scott’s parents seemed to have few human moments, I never really felt Scott’s concern for them. I loved his sister Nikki, but that was it.

The ending, though, made up for it. I didn’t see it coming at all, but no spoilers. I just wish less time had been spent on Scott’s family and more time telling the story at the end. All the same, I look forward to the sequel. 🙂

At last, a good Dystopia, or, a review of Perfect Ruin

The mark of a perfect Dystopia is a world that the reader falls in love with despite its horror. Perfect Ruin is one of those rare, delightfully lovely books in which the setting is its own character–perhaps the main one. The darkness of Internment unfolds slowly, like an exquisite origami, but I never fell out of love with it. Maybe because there’s something wrong with me (but you already knew that, right?).

Ahem. Internment is a floating island in the sky. How it stays afloat, no one knows for sure, but most believe it’s due to the benevolence of the sky god. Although I’m notoriously bad at paying attention to things like location, chronology, and technology within story (preferring instead to focus on cuteness and fluff), I feel like I could describe Internment with some accuracy. Lauren DeStefano, I love you. For finally getting me to pay attention. So, I may get a few things wrong, but hopefully I’ll be mostly right. Internment is the perfect toy city surrounded by a railroad that hosts a forever punctual train. Just don’t cross the railroad and gaze into the edge, for that way lies madness and death…

Into this world is born Morgan Stockhour, a boring girl in love with Basil, her boring fiance selected by Internment’s government for her. At least, that’s what I thought the first three times I started this book. I mean, a girl in YA who’s actually in love with someone she starts out engaged to?

Me: “Is it, like, opposite day? What the hell is going on, I thought she was going to fall in love with the mysterious guy in the summary?” *skips ahead* “Seriously, she’s still in love with this dude? The guy the state chose for her? WHAT THE HEEEEEELLL.”

You know…as much as I love to make fun of love triangles, dark and mysterious love interests, etc, I-sort-of-maybe-love-them. I’m sorry. I’m a hypocrite.

But! Everyone on Goodreads said it was excellent, so I kept trying to get through it, and I did! And it was amazing. And there is way more to Basil and Morgan than I thought, and I learned to appreciate every single word Lauren wrote. Absolutely lovely.