Deathless Divide (Dread Nation #2) by Justina Ireland

Thank God for Katherine! I was pretty fond of her in the first novel of the series too, and am so, so glad she gets entire viewpoint chapters in this novel, alternating with Jane’s.

Deathless Divide begins with the girls fleeing Summerland and trying to figure out, with their small band of survivors, where to go next. Jackson, Jane’s sometime lover, is cagey about their original plan to head to the nearby utopia of Nicodemus, and wants to press on to Fort Riley, further away but more heavily fortified with military and escape routes along the Mississippi. Given that they have barely any supplies tho, the closer destination wins out.

Tragedy strikes before they even reach the safety of Nicodemus, which appears a welcome balm after the horrors of Summerland and their journey. Jane and Katherine are surprised to discover that Gideon, the young scientist who is their occasional ally, is already well established here — perhaps too well established. A suspicious set of circumstances leaves the town open to the shambling horde, causing Jane and Katherine to go on the run again.

Fast forward nearly a year and Katherine is ready to leave the relative safety of ocean travel for a shot at establishing herself as a seamstress in San Francisco. But the California promised land isn’t quite as welcoming as expected, so she must fall back on her still sharp martial skills in order to find a haven… and to bring a killer to justice.

The strength of this series lies in the unshakeable, at least on Katherine’s end, bond of friendship between her and Jane. Katherine is aro/ace and it’s so great to have her be such a kickass main character, a woman of principle and a steadfast friend. She’s just as awesome as she was in the first book, if not more so. Sue also gets more time on the page and is also fun to be around, especially when she’s telling off Jane and Katherine for being ninnies.

Unfortunately, the other main characters from the first book suck really hard here. Gideon, I imagine, sucks by design: the evolution of his character is fascinating to see. I don’t remember Jackson being quite this annoying in Dread Nation tho, picking idiotic fights at the worst times.

And Jane. Oh, Jane.

Jane spends most of this book being angry and mean, focusing on revenge and pushing away the people who love her. And while she’s 100% entitled to her rage, and 100% correct in wanting to stop scientists who experiment recklessly and unethically, it is also 100% no fun to be in her head while she’s stalking around the country, so bitter that she can barely string coherent thoughts together. If it weren’t for Katharine’s more even-handed chapters, I doubt I would have been able to finish this book. Jane hates science, hates Chinese people and Native Americans, hates Black people who think they can live in harmony with people of other races. Jane thinks everyone else is stupid but won’t tell them why. Someone else in the book points out that Jane is a huge hypocrite, like that’s a charming character trait. While hypocrisy is hardly the worst fault known to man, when it means our heroine is essentially a Jane supremacist whose idea of dealing with situations is to get angry and go off instead of informing the other person why they’re wrong so they stand a chance of correcting themselves — and we’re not talking about microaggressions here but situations like trying to save the lives of hundreds of people — it’s really hard to care about, much less sympathize with, such a self-centered petty tyrant.

So thank goodness for Katharine, who manages to care about Jane and to make readers like myself care about what happens in this novel, which is worthwhile even with one of the main characters sucking the joy out of everything with her incessant “everyone sucks except me” attitude. While there are no plans for more books in the series, and it has a good ending, there’s still room for more of Katharine’s adventures, which I’d like to read. I’m just baffled and annoyed still that Jane went from being so much fun to spend time with in the first book to being an absolute chore here, as incoherent and malevolent as the zombies she strikes down and just as uninteresting.

Deathless Divide by Justina Ireland was published February 4 2020 by Balzer + Bray and is available from all good booksellers, including

Want it now? For the Kindle version, click here.

Permanent link to this article: https://www.thefrumiousconsortium.net/2021/03/25/deathless-divide-dread-nation-2-by-justina-ireland/

The Mirror and the Light by Hilary Mantel

More than any other book I can think of Wolf Hall impressed upon me the number of people constantly present in a pre-modern household of any size. The first book of Hilary Mantel’s trilogy about the life of Thomas Cromwell, it teems with people coming in and out the main character’s presence, from its unforgettable opening — the novel’s first words “So now get up” on one billboard in Picadilly Circus in 2019 were enough to announce that the long-awaited third book was on its way — through Cromwell’s relentless rise, first into service of Cardinal Wolsey and eventually close service of King Henry VIII himself. People and relentless, swirling thought and action by Cromwell are what have remained in my recollection of Wolf Hall, which I read in 2010. Bring Up the Bodies, which I read in 2012, was less vivid to me, for all that it was a more concentrated dose of Henry’s court, conveying the rise and fall of Anne Boleyn.

The Mirror & the Light begins the moment after Anne’s beheading, with Cromwell remembering not just to pay the executioner, but to pay him a compliment. “The [executioner] has performed his office with style; and though the king is paying him well, it is important to reward good service with encouragement, as well as a purse. Having once been a poor man, [Cromwell] knows this from experience.” (p. 3) Returning to the book some months after finishing it, I am struck again by how vivid every moment seems, how quickly I get caught up again in Mantel’s intense present-tense rendering of Cromwell’s final years.

Because I bought the book the first day it was available in Berlin, the lovely folks at the bookstore gave me a tote bag to cart it away with me — a welcome present to go with the 900-page novel. The bag bears the quotation, “Your whole life depends on the next beat of Henry’s heart.” That knowledge hangs over practically everyone at court, and Cromwell most especially. He has seen Wolsey’s fall, and he helped to engineer Anne Boleyn’s. As a commoner raised to dizzying heights, he knows that all of his authority is borrowed from the king; it is one of the things that Henry likes about him. But Henry’s heart is most inconstant.

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Namesake (Fable #2) by Adrienne Young

Deeeeeep sigh.

So I was sent this book without having read the first one, and when I went to read Fable to get myself up to speed, I was Not Impressed. That was a book that romanticized immature people making irrational choices. This sequel has the dubious virtue of being utterly consistent with its predecessor.

Here’s the deal: Fable has managed to make her way back from the cutthroat island where her father Saint left her to fend literally for herself as a pretty young 14 year-old (!!). She’s found a new, accepting family with the crew of the Marigold, helmed by her lover West. Only, as the first book ended, she was kidnapped by her father’s arch-rival Zola, for purposes unknown. Adding insult to injury is the presence of one of her parents’ closest friends on Zola’s crew. At first frantic with worry that West will think she’s abandoned him, she soon discovers that there are greater threats to her health and happiness on her new, unwanted vessel, as enemies old and new come out of the woodwork to menace her.

Not a terrible premise on its own, and Adrienne Young’s prose is lively and engaging. But honestly, it’s like this book was written with the sole purpose of showcasing several cool scenes, barely strung together by any writing as connective tissue, and certainly given no depth beyond the flashy set pieces. I didn’t understand Fable’s antipathy to Holland, which was couched as “oh no, Holland is such a good trader that she’ll stifle all competition” like, that’s not how trade works? Even inclined as I am to think that unfettered capitalism is bad, you HAVE to give me something more to work with than “she’s so rich therefore she is evil.” Yes, Holland is a murderer but so is everyone else in this stupid book! I didn’t understand why Fable had to be a mean, wasteful brat any time she was given a new dress — at least the pink one got repurposed! — and I didn’t understand… no, actually, I did understand all the West-Saint nonsense because it was really clear that Fable had daddy issues that she was transferring to her boyfriend, which was just weird and creepy to read.

Namesake felt like a book written for small-minded, shallow people, the kind who’ll agree with Fable when she calls her mother — who died when Fable was 14, mind — a liar because Isolde didn’t tell her about a certain detail from Isolde’s past that never came up in conversation. I don’t know who needs to hear this, but people are allowed to have secrets, y’all. They’re not liars until they actively dissemble when asked about something. It was also really hard for me to believe that no one knew Saint was her dad given how all Fable’s flashbacks were of how he doted on her aboard ship. Saint’s crew must have been too dumb to live… which is awkward of me to say since all the ones who “didn’t know” actually did die.

On the plus side, at least the sailing bits here didn’t feel as egregiously offensive as they did in the first book, but boy am I glad I don’t have to read any more of this nonsense.

Namesake by Adrienne Young was published March 16 2021 by Wednesday Books and is available from all good booksellers, including

Want it now? For the Kindle version, click here.

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Die Olympiasiegerin by Herbert Achternbusch

There’s a scene in “Before Sunrise” where the young couple encounters two Austrian guys who tell the visitors about a play they are putting on, an eye-rolling bit of Continental pretension.

Man with tie: This is a play we’re both in, and we would like to invite you.
Céline: You’re actors?
Man with tie: No, not professional actors uh, part-time actors, for fun.
Man with jacket: It’s a play about a cow, and an Indian searching for it. There are also in it politicians, Mexicans…
Man with tie: Russians, Communists…
Man with jacket: Russians.
Jesse: So, you have a real cow on stage.
Man with tie: No, not a real cow. It‘s an actor in a cow costume.
Man with jacket: (Gesturing.) And he’s the cow.
Man with tie: Yes, I am the cow. And the cow is a bit weird.
Man with jacket: The cow has a disease.
Man with tie: She’s acting a bit strange, like a dog. If someone throws a stick, she fetches it, and brings it back. And she can smoke, with her hooves (motions with his hand, as if smoking with cow’s hooves), and everything.

Imagine a whole book of that level of imagination and dialogue, and that’s Die Olympiasiegerin. Think I’m kidding? Here’s a bit from the chapter “Plattling-North” (a place name).

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Skyward Inn by Aliya Whiteley

The most rational part of my brain understands exactly what I’ve just experienced with this book, but every other part of me, the emotional, the lizard brain, the higher consciousness etc. is absolutely 100% going, “What the fuck did I just read?!” and not in a bad way either.

Inspired by Daphne du Maurier’s Jamaica Inn, Skyward Inn tells the tale of its owners: Jem, a local girl who ran away as a teenager to serve for a decade spreading propaganda for the Earth Coalition as it conquered the planet Qita, and Isley, the Qitan partner she met while she was away. Once her tour of duty was over, Jem persuaded Isley to come home with her to the Western Protectorate, a closed-off area of Earth with throwback values hearkening to a pastoral idyll, located roughly in Devon, England. At the Skyward Inn, Jem and Isley sell the intoxicating Jarrowbrew that allows Jem’s tongue, so often weighted when there isn’t a script to follow, to finally loosen when it’s just her and Isley, and she can tell him stories of her travels on his home planet. Isley is the only alien of his kind around, but the locals have taken to him, despite murmurs of xenophobic violence from surrounding areas. But when another Qitan arrives needing help, the new arrival sets in motion a chain of events that seems small at first but could change everything Jem thinks she knows and loves.

Interwoven with Jem’s first person narrative is the story told in third person of her son, Fosse, whom she left with her parents and brother in her youthful determination to escape the Protectorate. Fosse is an angry young man of sixteen, and he and Jem barely have any relationship, till the arrival of newcomers prompts him to question his own origins as well as his destiny.

This is a book about life and grief and connection and moving on, or perhaps forward, and it is definitely not for the faint of heart. Even as the most rational part of me is thinking, “That absolutely makes sense scientifically”, the rest of me is flapping its metaphorical arms about, sputtering, “Do not want!” This is, perhaps, the most uplifting book involving body horror that you’ll ever read.

But more importantly, it’s also a book about what changes us, what exposure does to all parties involved and how, in the end, not even The Cheese can stand alone. With its deeper philosophical and sociological underpinnings, it well deserves the comparisons to Ursula K LeGuin’s most thoughtful works. It’s also very modern: there’s a hilarious “what are those” reference in there for those who appreciate a good meme, as I do.

Skyward Inn is weird and wonderful, as only Aliya Whiteley can write. It’s a work of terrifying genius, depicting an alien future that seems equal parts desirable and repulsive, founded entirely on very human observations and truths. If you enjoy speculative fiction and can handle a little horror with your sci-fi, then you absolutely must pick up this book.

Skyward Inn by Aliya Whiteley was published March 16 2021 by Solaris Books and is available from all good booksellers, including

Want it now? For the Kindle version, click here.

Permanent link to this article: https://www.thefrumiousconsortium.net/2021/03/19/skyward-inn-by-aliya-whiteley/

The Empress Of Salt And Fortune (The Singing Hills Cycle #1) by Nghi Vo

I’m so glad I managed to sneak in this novella between work assignments! It’s a swift read, tho the first few pages require the reader to make several quick adjustments as Nghi Vo drops us directly into her Asian-inspired milieu. It’s well worth it tho, as Ms Vo packs a whole lot more into this slim volume than most fantasy novels can manage in three times the page length.

We open on Chih, a cleric from the Singing Hills abbey, sent to the capital to record the eclipse that will mark the ascension of Anh’s latest ruler. Accompanied by their near-immortal hoopoe bird Almost Brilliant, their task is to chronicle whatever they come across without fear or favor, a shared mission that has often brought the wrath of the powerful down on their remote abbey. Still the order and its remarkable birds survive, tho not even political favor can ascertain the day-to-day safety of its intrepid chroniclers as they traverse the empire, braving omnipresent ghosts and more prosaic perils in their journeys.

Passing by a seemingly abandoned estate on the banks of Lake Scarlet while on their way to the capital, Chih is surprised to be invited inside by the elderly caretaker. They had known that the building had been the home-in-exile of the previous Empress In-yo, but had thought it destroyed once the titular ruler returned to power some decades ago. Apparently there’s still one person left to fend off looters, an old servant who introduces herself as Rabbit and who seems determined that Chih not only records what’s left of the villa but also understands what happened here so many years ago, as In-yo successfully plotted her way back to the throne.

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Black Panther: Tales Of Wakanda edited by Jesse J. Holland

Being a comic book fan from way back, it’s often difficult for me to find prose-form entertainment featuring my beloved comic book characters that is as compelling as the comic book versions themselves. But I love what Titan Books does with its short story anthologies and, like much of America, I’ve been made a Black Panther stan by the excellent Ryan Coogler film, so I leapt at the chance to read and review this volume. And y’all, I have Thoughts.

So if you’re just wanting a taste of Wakanda in the form of short pieces where T’Challa and his circle have various interesting adventures, incorporating other parts of the Marvel Universe that have yet to appear on-screen (Namor, heyo!) then this is the collection for you! And if America is all you know of the world, then you might enjoy this collection unreservedly. But as a first-generation immigrant, I winced through a first part, especially, that didn’t seem to grasp the delicate balance that Mr Coogler et. al. achieved with their vision of a proud nation that had never known the yoke of imperialism, showing the way forward to a future of Black excellence, yet still needing to reckon with the costs of its isolationist past. Ofc, lots of people came out of the movie thinking Killmonger was right, so I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised by the need for Americans to flex on Wakanda here?

The first few stories are all about how America(ns) can fix Wakanda and while I guess this was necessary to draw in the America First crowd, I was put off by the joy taken in American exceptionalism, as if that kind of nonsense isn’t the driving force behind our own colonialist past and present. It was a relief to get a story thrown in here from Killmonger’s point of view, in Cadwell Turnbull’s excellent Killmonger Rising. At least Killmonger comes by his desire to change Wakanda out of genuine pain, and not just from a concept that would be deemed white saviorism were the protagonists a different color. I guess it’s just weird to me that authors feel the need to tear down Wakanda, a fictional nation, in order to make themselves feel better about America, an actual place where change, however slow and painful, can be affected. “See, it’s not that great!” is an unproductive attitude when it comes to a place meant to be an ideal to work towards.

The jingoism fades as the book progresses, but oh golly, do I wish more attention had been paid to detail, especially by the American authors. At one point, Okoye gets a report that kidnappers (who all had very Muslim names, like, okay, thanks) were speaking “Nigerian” and my eyes rolled so hard. You mean English, the official language of Nigeria? Or Hausa, Igbo, Yoruba, or one of the many languages spoken by one of the many ethnicities of that country? Even in another story, that I otherwise enjoyed, Troy L Wiggins’ What’s Done In The Dark (featuring a very awesome guest star,) I was boggled by the idea that you’d have to fly south from anywhere in DC, through Capitol airspace, to get to Lanham, where my husband works (an especially weird error given that editor Jesse J Holland lives in Bowie, which is basically a town over from Lanham!)

Things definitely pick up by the time we get to L. L. McKinney’s Legacy. I’ve loved her short story work, even if I find myself much iffier about her longer-form prose, and was so pleased to find here another of her trademark kickass stories about a brave young woman, in this instance on her way to Wakanda for the first time. Linda D Addison’s Shadow Dreams was also a great story about a young woman who’s just been accepted to the Dora Milaje, who finds herself falling behind in training till given an opportunity that comes with shadowy strings attached. Harlan James’ Bon Temps was also a really fun, really lived-in tale that showcases Shuri’s struggles with her self and position without making her come across as a completely self-absorbed brat (also the guest stars were too awesome!) Bon Temps also brought up issues that dovetailed nicely with Mr Holland’s own entry in this volume, Faith, where I enjoyed T’Challa’s conversations with the Reverend Rutherford far more than his “banter” with the deeply annoying Neffie. Thankfully, Neffie seems to have been created solely for the purpose of this book, which is something I can’t say for the guest star of Tananarive Due’s Return Of The Queen. I guess other people bought into the whole Storm + Black Panther thing, but I think it’s weird when supes get together like that, like a Black version of Superman and Wonder Woman, which I also found deeply uninteresting. What’s grodier to me in the T’Challa & Ororo pairing is the whole royal lineage “mystique”: as I grow older, my impression of hereditary monarchy continues to dim, to the detriment of my poor best friend, who just wants to play Lord Of The Rings Online with me without having to hear me scold the Rohirrim for sacrificing themselves for a family of overconfident dumbasses, followed by my musings on how the entrenchment of wealth and education in olden times meant that the best leaders often came from the ruling classes simply because they had the resources to learn such skills… but that’s another rant for another time.

The last two stories of this volume are among my favorites, tho I think it would have been better to end the book with Suyi Davies Okungbowa’s thoughtful, hopeful Stronger In Spirit than with the downer ending of Temi Oh’s Zoya The Deserter. Interestingly, those tales were also written by non-American Black writers, providing an altogether different perspective from how the book began. In general, the stories I enjoyed here were the ones that didn’t have a strong implication of how Wakanda needs America in order to matter. I actually enjoy the critiques of Wakanda — in matters of history, politics and faith — but the whole “only I, an American, have the answers that will save you” missed the entire point of a Wakanda unbeholden to foreigners. Save the nationalism for the Luke Cage collection (which I’m hoping will be a thing if I put that thought out into the universe!) (Maybe not so much with the actual nationalism tho.)

Black Panther: Tales Of Wakanda edited by Jesse J. Holland was published March 9, 2021 by Titan Books and is available from all good booksellers, including

Want it now? For the Kindle version, click here.

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All The Murmuring Bones by A.G. Slatter

So many times have I picked up a fantasy novel promising to be a modern fairy tale, only to be disappointed almost an equal amount of times by what I’ve just read. Nevertheless the allure persists. I’m fascinated by all myths and fairy tales, all these delightful archetypes and variations, but so few modern authors manage to capture that particular blend of mundane and mystical that sets the fairy tale genre apart from, say, the urban fantasy (which is a genre I also very much enjoy!) It has a lot to do, I think, with a lack of depth in world building, where the fairy tale bits are merely a skin on the real world, a glamour easily seen through by the discerning reader, or even more jarringly, by an inelegant fusion of fantasy with modern sensibilities, usually in the form of clunky dialog/exposition. The ones that do succeed tend to be either Young Adult or novellas; nothing wrong with either of those forms or formats, but sometimes you just want a nice meaty, adult novel to sink your teeth into.

Here in A. G. Slatter’s book of merfolk and witches, kelpies and shapeshifters, I finally feel like I’m holding something at once timeless and refreshingly of the now, perfectly blended to satisfy all my old-fashioned hungers and new. It likely helps that Ms Slatter has written several volumes of fairy tales and cites some of those here, each adding to the rich tapestry that makes this world of monsters and curses seem vibrant and real, as our heroine, Miren O’Malley, must find her way out of a marriage arranged for her by her scheming grandmother Aoife. And can I say how much I appreciate the inclusion of full, lively fairy tales within the narrative? There is nothing more annoying than books that reference fictional storybooks as being foundational texts for the protagonists but then never quote more than a paragraph or two: bonus disappointment when the text quoted is dishwater dull, as is definitely not the case here.

All The Murmuring Bones avoids all the pitfalls of its kindred, presenting us with a truly absorbing Gothic/fairy tale where Miren, the last of the pure-blooded O’Malleys (or at least the most pure-blooded of the last O’Malleys) is betrothed to a rich relative in order to restore the fortunes of the dilapidated Hob’s Hallow, her ancestral home. There she was raised by her grandparents, Aoife and Oisin, who fought each other constantly, and their servants Maura and Malachi. Each loved her and taught her what they knew as best they could, but Oisin’s death forces Aoife to gamble on one last desperate plan to uphold the O’Malley name.

Unfortunately for Aoife, Miren quickly sees right through the urbane facade of her intended to his violent, avaricious heart, and makes plans to escape. The discovery of hidden letters in Oisin’s study will give her something to run to, even as she runs away from a life she never asked for.

Telling any more would be to spoil the many wonders of this story, but I can safely say that Miren is one of the most engaging, feminist heroines I’ve had the pleasure of reading in a long while. She doesn’t shrink from the pleasures of sex or the necessities of violence and, more importantly, she stands in solidarity with other women and with anyone taken advantage of and mistreated by the societies and strictures they’re trapped in. I spent a lot of time rooting for her as she furiously thought her way out of trouble, and as she dealt with the complicated emotions that necessarily arise from being part of her strange, some would say cursed, family. Best of all, she never had to do anything stupid in order to advance the plot: it’s so, so great to be able to unreservedly root for a heroine who isn’t perfect but who definitely feels real and not merely a vehicle for the author to get from point A to point B in her own narrative. Also great is the lack of tortured romance: she has a love interest but he’s not the be-all and end-all of her existence, which adds to the refreshing factor of this book.

This was a really great, absorbing read, and I’m desperate to read more of Ms Slatter’s work (she also writes as Angela Slatter, and I’ve loved some of the short stories I’ve read of hers previously.) I’m hoping this is the book that shoots her to global and popular renown, as it deserves to.

All The Murmuring Bones by A. G. Slatter was published March 9, 2021 by Titan Books and is available from all good booksellers, including

Want it now? For the Kindle version, click here.

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Der ewige Spießer by Ödön von Horváth

Ödön von Horváth was born in 1901 in what was then the Austro-Hungarian port city of Fiume and is now known as Rijeka, Croatia. His name and his family background reflect a Mitteleuropa that was thriving (at least for some people) when he was born, was damaged by the First World War, and practically destroyed in the fires of the Second. His father was an Austro-Hungarian diplomat; his mother came from a family of military doctors. Before Ödön — the name is the Hungarian form of Edmund — finished school, he had also lived in Belgrade, Budapest, Munich and Vienna. He began writing at an early age, and a play of his was staged when he was 20. It’s good that he did, because his would not be a long life.

Horváth’s family resources enabled him to keep writing through the turbulent early 1920s. He moved between Munich, Berlin, and his parents’ home in the picturesque small town of Murnau in southern Bavarian Alpine foothills. He built on his early success with more plays that found their way to stages across Germany and Austria. In the later 1920s, he warned increasingly of the dangers of rising fascism. Murnau would not have warmed to Horváth. Numerous men from the town had taken part in Hitler’s attempted coup in 1923. One-third of Murnau’s voters chose National Socialists in 1924, making them five times or ten times more popular there than in Germany as a whole, depending on which of the year’s elections is meant. Soon after Hitler came to power, the SA searched the Horváth family villa in Murnau.

Ödön, now over 30, took that as a cue to leave Germany. He had enjoyed great success with his plays, including his most famous piece “Tales from the Vienna Woods” (titled after the Strauss waltz), but the rest of his life would be a struggle with encroaching Nazism. He first moved to Hellersee, near Salzburg. Production of his plays was forbidden in Hitler’s Germany, depriving Horváth of most of his income. He had published just one novel by that time, in contrast to more than a dozen plays. In 1937, he published the novel Jugend ohne Gott (“Youth without God,” published in English as A Child of Our Time) in Amsterdam; that, too, was soon banned in Germany.

Following the Anschluss in 1938, Horváth left Austria, traveling to Budapest and Fiume, and then onward to Paris. On the evening of June 1, after a meeting about filming Jugend ohne Gott, he was walking along the Champs Élysées in a storm when a branch fell from a tree and struck him dead.

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The Return of the King by J.R.R. Tolkien

I would like to think that Tolkien, if questioned about how he handles race in his tales, would say what Éomer says when confronted over his harsh words about Galadriel: “I spoke only as do all men in my land, and I would gladly learn better.” (The Two Towers, p. 37) For Éomer does learn, and meets Galadriel after the War of the Ring when so many of the great of Middle Earth visit Minas Tirith and King Elessar. He does not deem Galadriel the fairest in the world, and yet his quarrel with Gimli is mended. “Then Gimli bowed low. ‘Nay, you are excused for my part, lord,’ he said. ‘You have chosen the Evening [Arwen Evenstar]; but my love is given to the Morning. And my heart forbodes that soon it will pass away for ever.'” (RotK, p. 305)

And for all that The Lord of the Rings is full of male characters, with female characters relegated to the sidelines, one gives voice to the injustice involved:

‘Shall I always be chosen [to govern the people until their lord’s return]?’ [Éowyn] said bitterly. ‘Shall I always be left behind when the Riders [of Rohan] depart, to mind the house while they win renown, and find food and beds when they return?’
[Aragorn says some things.]
“And she answered: ‘All your words are but to say: you are a woman, and your part is in the house. But when the men have died in battle and honour, you have leave to be burned in the house, for the men will need it no more. But I am of the House of Eorl and not a serving-woman. I can ride and wield blade, and I do not fear either pain or death.’ (RotK p. 55)

True to her words, she — along with the hobbit Merry, whom the big men have also tried to banish from the battlefield — dispatches the Witch King, the chief of the Nazgûl, second only to Sauron in power. On the other hand, after she recovers from the effects of that struggle, she chooses a different path. “I will be a shieldmaiden no longer, nor vie with the great Riders, nor take joy only in the songs of slaying. I will be a healer, and love all things that grow and are not barren.” (RotK, p. 292) She no longer desires to be a Queen; she is content to marry Faramir and be Princess of Ithilien. The men, too, would rather build in peace than fight forever, so I suppose Éowyn does not take on that much of a lesser role, certainly not compared with practically all of the other female elves, dwarves, hobbits and humans who are off stage throughout the trilogy, unnamed.

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