I began reading A Court of Thorns and Roses, by Sarah J. Maas, with a semi-open heart and two goals in mind: Firstly, I wanted to read it to connect with a coworker, who was and is generally unpleasant to me. I considered that if I had something to talk about with her, we could become friends. Secondly, if the book was indeed as low quality as some have said, I wanted to be informed in my haterdom, not simply parroting the opinions of others. Perhaps the book was secretly good, and the critics were just philistines who hate to see a girlboss winning. It has been known to happen.
In my first goal, I must admit a resounding but, perhaps, Phyrric, failure. I simply cannot use this book to make a friend. To speak honestly on this book to my coworker would mean immediate and lasting hatred. However, I no longer want to be friends with that coworker, for two reasons: She is mean, and she likes A Court of Thorns and Roses.
My failure or success in the second goal is a more complicated situation. There is much to hate in A Fort of Worms and Woses, though it requires a subtle hand and a great deal of analysis to tease out actual reasons from a general dislike. The matter of its faults will be covered later though, in great detail. Yet, though I have many unassailable intellectual reasons for my haterdom, I cannot consider myself an informed hater.
Far more than it has enlightened me, this book has baffled me, for one reason: I cannot understand why so many people like it. I fear I never shall understand, until the Judgement Day. I have read glowing reviews; I have spoken with friends who like it (for it is possible to retain friendships with such people); I have pored over the blurbs on the back cover. They all seem to speak of a book entirely different than the book that I read. I might hold the position, as unscientific as it may seem, that there is in fact a secret version of a Moat of Ferns and Moses which is good, and I would feel it more rational than the reality.
Fans speak of its amazing worldbuilding, which consists entirely of the fact that there are 7 fairy courts themed after the seasons and times of day (overlaid on a copied map of the british isles), and an utter confusion of time-period blending senselessly the 10th century and the 17th century. Fans speak of the deep characters, whose dialogue at best matches the level of a marvel movie. Fans speak of the magical atmosphere, which lacks the whimsy and mythicism of a single Grimm's Fairytale.
Most utterly confusing is when fans speak of the sexiness. I understand that I am a man, reading a book meant for women. However, I will be transparent that I am attracted to men. The main love interest of the book (whom I shall derisively call "Elf-Darcy", so as not to shame his fairytale namesake, to which he bears no relation familial or narratival) is even what I might call my type, in any other story. I may honestly say that neither he, nor the sex scenes in which he appears, nor any other sex scenes in the story, aroused me in the slightest, no matter how many times the protagonist ogled his muscles while his tunic was slick with blood. In fact, I have several times used this book as an aid to maintaining my self-control, like the literary equivalent of Kellog's Corn Flakes.
I hope you, dear reader, may understand the level of confusion this book has cast me into. Those who laud the book are as the prophet Isaiah said: those who call evil "good", and call good "evil"; who call darkness "light, and light "darkness". I feel more alienated from such people than from any other creed or class of men on the earth. We seem to see the world with opposite eyes, to understand it with opposite minds.
That is why I cannot call myself an informed hater. The informed atheist may, at least, understand the allure of religion, and vice versa. The informed democrat may comprehend why a young man may be seduced by the alt-right. But I, try as I might, cannot understand why anyone likes A Boat of Corns and Toeses.
If any man, woman, or other being living on the earth can search out this profound mystery, I will give them a kiss straight on the lips. You have my word.*
An Account of All Awfulness, for the Morbidly Inclined.
This book begins with our protagonist, a depressed huntress who likes painting, killing a giant wolf out of fear for her life. The next night, a giant "fairy" monster tears down her house and demands her life in exchange for the wolf's, who was also a fairy. The monster, who as it turns out is actually Elf-Darcy, takes her to live with him on his vast enchanted estate (the main enchantment of which is being blandly pretty).
The whole first half of the book consists of Protagonist falling in love with Elf-Darcy as he and his friend berate her constantly for their friend's murder, for her petty humanity, for her hatred of fairies (who are of course holding her against her will and under duress). She does try to escape. In one of the few good scenes in the book, Elf-Darcy's Friend tells her of a fairy that can answer any question if you trap it (which takes the form of a gigantic, shrouded, skeletal maiden), and she does, only to find it tells her to just stay with Elf-Darcy.
But Elf-Darcy's charms, muscles, and secret heart of gold slowly win her over, as does his various gifts of painting supplies and fun picnics. But! All is not as it seems, for he sends her back to her family (which he has secretly provided for in absurd, and very 17th century, luxury) to protect her from a vague threat. In the other good scene of the book, for there are only two, it turns out her awful sister Nesta (who is a good enough character to merit a proper name) actually has depth and strength of character, saw through the fairy glamor over her memories, and tried to go into the deadly fairy lands to save her sister. I wish that the story followed that instead.
Protagonist makes up her mind to go back to her true love, Elf-Darcy, only to find that! Horror! The estate has been ransacked! Her maidservant, in a plot twist that takes up a whole chapter of pure exposition, tells her that the scheming Fairy Queen had cursed Elf-Darcy 50 years ago that if he didn't marry a human girl who killed a fairy within 50 years, he would be her slave or something. And also he couldn't talk about the curse so everyone had to lie the whole time. Protagonist is aghast! Anguished! How sad for Elf-Darcy! Also the maidservant berates her and calls her a stupid human for not figuring it out.
At this point, the astute reader may observe that this plot twist makes Elf-Darcy's coldness and derision in the earlier part of the book not only crueller and more meaningless, but actively suicidal, and that Protagonist's entire love-arc has been completely engineered and manipulated from the beginning. Also, the prophetic plot-device fairy she captured lied in almost every particular. Be assured! The narrative has no interest in acknowledging this, and, far from feeling betrayed, Protagonist only feels more tender towards Elf-Darcy for being forced into making his fairy sentinels raze towns in hopes that a girl would murder them so that he could then coerce her into marriage.
Protagonist has no choice but to go to confront the Fairy Queen in her dungeon. She is quickly captured, but makes a deal that if she beats three challenges to prove her devotion or solves a really garbage riddle, Elf-Darcy and all his court go free. You may think that this is a good opportunity to have some fairy whimsical cruelty, classic fairytale impossible tasks, and you do get them here: Theres a scene for sorting lentils from ash, and a scene for washing the floor with only a dirty bucket. But these are not the actual challenges.
No, the actual challenges are such mythopoeic masterpieces as "Try to kill a giant worm in a big maze" and "Solve a riddle by picking between three levers, or you and your friend get crushed by spikes!". Elf-Darcy, of course, cannot help her, and Elf-Darcy's Friend can only help a little. But, Darkelf-Darcy, who is even more brooding, hot, and morally grey, steps in to make a deal with Protagonist so that she doesn't die. Also he makes her dress up like Princess-Leia-in-Jabba's-Palace and give him drugged lapdances in front of the fairy queen every night. For some reason.
With the help of Darkelf-Darcy, she survives both the challenges and being confined in the oubliette between challenges, until the final test where she has to! Horror! Trolly-problem three innocent fairies! To be clear, the Fairy Queen is a usurper who tricked all the courts into giving her their power, and will probably try to enslave and torture humanity if she goes unchecked. Even one Elf-Lord (which Elf-Darcy is one) could overpower her, if they had their power. So if Protagonist does this the Fairy Queen is basically dead.
And she does, with much anguish and inner turmoil, until! Horror! The last innocent fairy is Elf-Darcy himself! But, she figures out that, since the Fairy Queen wants Elf-Darcy for herself, she's probably not going to put him in a situation where he actually dies, so she trolly-problems him. He does not die, but due to obvious and even lampshaded loophole, they are not freed until she solves the garbage riddle.
The Fairy Queen tortures her, slamming her against the ground like Saruman in the movies, until she realizes the answer to the riddle, which she croaks out with her final breath: "Love..."**. With that the spell is broken, and Elf-Darcy turns into a big monster and tears the Fairy Queen's throat out. But, oh no! Protagonist is dead! For the span of a single page, until all seven of the elf-lords give her their power out of gratitude.
Protagonist is resurrected, but what's this! Not as a human, but an elf! Shock! She has sex with Elf-Darcy to soothe the horrors she has undergone, including becoming an elf. Darkelf-Darcy still has his deal with her though, setting up the sequel. But Protagonist and Elf-Darcy go home, and live happily ever after.
(Except that, I read spoilers for the next book, which I shall never read even on pain of death, and Elf-Darcy turns evil and she has to go with Darkelf-Darcy, and the number of plot-twists and random events rivals Supernatural, and nothing means anything and the stakes go up and up and there are no themes at all.)
Let the reader note that, if this sounds fun, that is an inaccuracy on my part.
An Analysis of All Awfulness
Firstly, the prose of the work is bad. It can be read, sure. It is grammatically correct, sure. But every line is full of obviousness and cruft. I am a wordy author, but I know I am not being hypocritical when I say that it is full of useless adjectives. In a "pivotal" scene near the end of the book, Darkelf-Darcy asks "A quiet, curious question". Are questions not assumed to be curious by default? What is happening??
A skilled writer may describe the beauty of a bed of flowers without refering to their beauty once. But, in the writing of Saas Jaas Maas, no such paragraph is complete without talking about their incomparable fairy beauty, unlike anything that Protagonist had ever seen, that drove her soul to new heavenly heights of ecstatic, joyful happiness.
Often, in scenes of anguish, she will switch to a "punchy" style, describing almost exclusively Protagonist's feelings and sensations in fragments. The effect of this is primarily that my eyes glaze over, and secondarily that Sarah Jarah Marah uses the phrase "watery bowels" in around half the chapters.
Secondly, it never feels like fairies. There is no mythicism in this book. Folkloric elements are few and far between, used completely at random. The prophetic fairy that Protagonist captures is called a "Suriel", apparently after an enochian Watcher angel. Soon after she is attacked by "Naga", which are more like reptilian goblins. All the "High Fae", the proper fairies who are the ruling class, are essentially Dungeons and Dragons elves. Despite being immortal embodiments of magic, they essentially just act like rich human jerks.
I feel, though I do not know, that SJMAAS (pronounced "Suh-juh-mass") is drawing water from woefully shallow wells. The books would be infinitely improved if she read Grimm's fairytales, or Hans Christian Andersen, before she wrote her book about fairies. I do not think she knows what good writing looks like. I do not think she knows what myths or fairytales or even most fantasy books contain. I may be going to far here, but I believe these books sprung purely out of the mid-2010s tumblr-and-AO3 obsession with "You thought that fairies were little guys with wings, but actually they are the Spooky Fair Folk".
I also feel that this book is afraid of children, and of childishness. The protagonist is young (19 by the start of the book, in comparison with Elf-Darcy's 500+), but she can't act like a child in any way, or even like a teen, even when her grizzled fight for survival has a respite. The book desperately wants you to know that she is not a virgin at the start of the book, despite being barely legal by modern standards. I mean, if she were a virgin and acted childishly, you might realize that this romance is deeply wrong!
None of the fairies act childishly either. Every action they make is dour, or earnest, or straightforwardly cruel, and they are all hot adults. In the west, in our modern world, to seperate fairies from a kind of childishness essentially makes them not fairies. What would be the difference in this book if they were instead (mildly) capricious gods? What makes them fairies? When you become afraid of childishness, you become afraid of whimsy and arbitrariness, and you cannot write a good myth.
When your story about fairies would fracture under its own self-seriousness at the inexplicable appearance of Father Christmas, you have written a bad fairy story.
(It is immaterial to my criticism of the book, but it seems salient to me that this romance book seems to fear children. For the modern conception of romance, what are children but an occasional and unfortunate consequence to the sex? But I'll say no more, and let my gentle reader of modern temperment ignore this aside.)
Putting fairy matters aside, what are the the themes of this book? Are there themes of this book? Are there themes of this book? Can you tell me?
This book is ill-planned, if there was any planning at all. I have heard that Saaaaaaaaaas writes by the seat of her pants, and I believe it. As I tried to convey in the synopsis, every new plot-twist, so far from being foreshadowed, resolving mysteries, or adding new ones, instead almost purely contradicts what was laid out before, messing up her characterization and whatever malnourished themes she evokes. Everything lacks weight, with the exception of Nesta's character development and Protagonist getting turned into a elf (which, as my wife could attest, was such a bad development writing-wise that I recoiled as though punched, and could do nothing but writhe for around 30 seconds).
And, if the spoilers for the later books are true, the planning is so bad that the entire first book, and whatever themes it could be charitably said to have attempted, basically don't matter at all. Which brings me back to my original question, since I've heard people say that the second book is better, despite having no indication of that, and WHY is this series popular is the first book is so awful?? How did someone read this and think, "I must finish reading the next book. In fact, the whole series!" Who was that first person, that patient zero? What is happening???
Conclusion
A Mort of Loans and Noses is a readable book, as demonstrated by the fact that I have read it. I cannot find any reason that another person should read this book, but it is possible to read it. If you do read it, which I recommend strenuously against, we may be joined in that eternal mystery that shrouds the virtues which others find so plain in it. We will be brothers in our infinite unknowing. Join me Don't join me it sucks.
If you want a "Dark, lush, sexy fantasy" like the blurb on the back (which I assume was written by some prophet of the Tzeentch the Deceiver to mess with Slaanesh), you should read the Tales of the Otori (or the Tale of Shikanoko if you want something shorter and more fantastic). I turned to rereading those immediately after I finished the Other Book, and was relieved to discover that books can still be good, and that my entire epistemology of literary merit was not overturned.
God bless you, dear reader.
*Let this promise not be interpreted as an encouragement to read this book
**The riddle here is 1) Not a good riddle 2) Does not scan and 3) The answer, by all accounts, should be "Fortune". Love doesn't even make sense as the answer.
