The Merciful Crow by Margaret Owen

 

“How much more, the prince had asked, will you let them take? This was the dance. This was the game. The one she wasn’t meant to win.

But now – she had fire. She had steel. She knew her road” (Owen 2019, pp. 331-332).

I absolutely adored this book! While it might’ve been a little difficult to get into at first (the language and world are complex and not immediately explained), once I was hooked I found it almost impossible to put down. Owen has built a fantastic world, jam-packed with interesting characters and complex lore. Even better, the lore is based on types of birds and their strengths, putting this book right up my alley.

The Merciful Crow transports us to the fictional kingdom of Sabor, where people are divided into castes based upon their Birthrights and individual powers. Phoenixes, for example, are the ruling class, and have the ability to both create and resist fire. Similarly, Vultures are given the ability to hunt, while Owls are given scholarly wisdom. Fie, a young Crow, is used to being the lowest of the low, destined only to follow plague beacons and offer a merciful death to their victims. As Crows are impervious to the plague, they are looked down upon and persecuted by the other castes despite the useful service they provide.

Fie, who has trained her entire life to be the chief of her clan, has her world flipped upside down one night when her band of Crows is called to the palace to dispose of the bodies of the prince and his trusted guard. To her shock and horror, however, the two are only pretending to be dead, and strike up a bargain with Fie’s Pa to escape the murderous queen: transport them safely to their allies, and Crows will be protected by appointed Hawks in the future. For a caste frequently targeted by Vultures and other groups, this offer seems too good to pass up. Though Hawks and Phoenixes have traditionally never spoken to or interacted with the lowly Crows, Prince Jasimir and his friend Tavin must now live like Crows… or risk dooming the entire kingdom to the reign of a cruel and ruthless queen.

As I said before, this book is chock full of interesting lore, from the Birthrights of each caste, to the ancient wisdom of the old gods and the Covenant. There are even old songs and stories passed down from each generation to the next, something I’m sure that Owen has written and stored in her own personal database somewhere. What results is a world that feels very rich in detail, a world that pulls you in and makes you want to know more. One such example of rich detail can be found in the names of the characters, as all Crows are traditionally named the first foul word spoken to them. Thusly, characters like Fie, Swain, Hangdog, and Wretch exist alongside those with more ordinary names.

The story does not hold your hand at all, however; it throws you right into the action and challenges you to fill in the blanks of this universe as you go. The book includes both a map and a basic description of each caste and their powers in the front, which serves as a helpful guide while tracking the story’s action, but this might prove to be a little much for the reluctant or uninitiated reader. For me, however, this was immensely fun and fulfilling, as it kept me interested in slowly piecing the puzzle together.

Another thing I really enjoyed was the romance, which I felt was incredibly well-developed. I have always been a huge fan of romance, both as the main plot and as a sub-plot, and am a well-known sucker for a well-written love interest. I especially love a romance that develops slowly, and give bonus points if that romance turns from mutual dislike to love (also known as the “love-hate” relationship). Fie and Tavin fulfill this role perfectly, butting heads in the beginning while having excellent chemistry and an obvious attraction to one another. Their journey from enemies, to friends, to lovers felt very natural and well-deserved, and I appreciate Owen’s ability to really get me attached to the characters and their romance as I read.

In addition to excellent lore and romance, this book is also full of subtle yet poignant political commentary about classism and the abuse of power. As a Crow, Fie and her fellow clan members have gotten used to being treated lower than dirt, and don’t even blink at their mistreatment. Tavin, on the other hand, has been raised as a Hawk his entire life, and takes great pride in his caste’s call to protect others and uphold the law. He is horrified, however, when he sees how Crows are treated, often having to bite his tongue to keep from speaking out against the injustice from his own caste. Prince Jasimir, as a Phoenix, has to learn to humble himself in order to understand plights he has never had to face. In essence, he is forced to “check his privilege” in order to gain empathy for those beneath him. I think this is important for teens to grasp, as many of them may have grown up with privileges they’re unaware of. The Merciful Crow confronts these privileges (privileges such as knowing help will be offered when seeking it from those sworn to protect you) in a way that never feels preachy or overt, and I appreciated the subtlety of the writing.

At the risk of praising this book into oblivion, I also really enjoyed both the cultural and sexual diversity in this book. Several characters, including Prince Jasimir himself, allude to being either gay or bisexual, and no big deal is ever made of this fact. For example, Tavin mentions that all of the lords and ladies of the land had been “throwing their sons at him” in the hopes of marrying into the royal family, demonstrating that one’s sexuality is inconsequential in the face of wealth and power. As always, I really appreciate seeing the LGBT community represented casually, and I hope Jasimir is given a love interest of his own in future books.

Along with LGBT representation, there is also a great deal of racial and cultural diversity in this book. The Crows speak in what seems to be a Scottish accent, with words like “ken” and “aught” being thrown around frequently. Fie is described as having brown skin, though it is never clear exactly what her ethnicity is. The rest of the Crows are also seen as having darker skin, and while it is never expressly stated, I believe Jasimir and Tavin are this universe’s version of Middle Eastern in appearance. Though some might take issue with the fact that most of the characters of color are the ones looked down upon in this universe, I think this is making yet another political statement about how people of color are treated by those in power in our own society.

I could honestly go on and on about this book for pages, but I don’t want to give away more of the plot than is strictly necessary. Suffice to say, this was an immensely enjoyable ride from beginning to end, and I’m extremely glad I picked it up. It’s full of magic, suspense, romance, adventure, and intrigue. The characters are complex and lovable, the story is compelling, and the world-building is both complex and extremely well done. I would recommend this book to fans of both fantasy and romance (though maybe not to reluctant readers due to its complex language), and I’m eagerly awaiting the release of the sequel next year.

Reference:

Owen, M. (2019). The merciful Crow. New York: Henry Holt and Company.

The Surface Breaks by Louise O’Neill

“My grip on the dagger tightens as I stare at Oliver. I have sacrificed so much for this man; I have given up my family, my home, my identity. I have mutilated my body, carving it into something unrecognizable, just so he will find me beautiful. Not even beautiful, but acceptable. And I was silenced forever in the name of ‘true love.’ I wish grandmother had never told me those stories, duped me into believing that a happy ever after was possible for women like me” (O’Neill 2019, p. 285).

This book was an incredibly heavy read, and one that made me both angry and uncomfortable at times. To the author’s credit, this seemed intentional; in fact, every aspect of this book seemed designed to evoke some sort of reaction, as the writing was very direct and heavy-handed in portraying its message. It quite honestly SMACKS YOU IN THE FACE with the fact that the women in this universe are highly oppressed, with their voices literally and figuratively being taken away from them. While I didn’t see much feminism in this book until the very end, I still think it and the fairy tale it was based on have the potential to spark many discussions about feminism and the treatment of women in both literature and reality.

The Surface Breaks is essentially a feminist retelling of The Little Mermaid, focusing on a young mermaid who falls in love with a human, and seeks the help of a sea witch against her father’s will. Much like the original Hans Christian Anderson fairy tale, this version does not shy away from the grittier aspects, and adding a few new ones to really make the reader squirm with discomfort. The story follows 15 year old Gaia (known to everyone else as Muirgen), a mermaid who dreams of going to the surface to find clues about what happened to her mother years ago. Her father has always insisted that she was captured and murdered by humans, but Muirgen is not so sure. As the youngest and most beautiful of the Sea King’s daughters, Muirgen will soon be bonded to her father’s general Zale, a man old enough to be her father. When she ventures to the surface and saves the life of a human boy named Oliver, however, Muirgen finds herself pining for him and wishing to escape her dire circumstances. Desperate, she seeks the help of the Sea Witch Ceto, who turns her into a human and gives her a month to earn the human’s affections. If she fails, the Sea Witch warns Muirgen that she will die. As the story goes, Muigen is forced to give up her voice and bear excruciating pain while on the land, making her task that much more difficult to achieve.

From the very beginning, I found myself feeling both enraged and uncomfortable as I read this book. In Muirgen’s world, mermaids are treated like prized animals, meant only to look pretty, stay silent, and breed. Her father is a manipulative, greedy, narcissistic man, who has banned all of the “undesirables” in his kingdom to the outskirts, where there are little resources and no support from the elite. These undesirables are merfolk who have failed to conform to his rules in some way, whether because they were unable to bear children or simply weren’t thin or beautiful enough. Among these condemned merfolk are the Rusalka, what we would think of as sirens. Rusalka are powerful, green-haired mermaids who lure unsuspecting human men to their deaths, seeking eternal revenge for the hardships they faced when they were human women. The king, who is frightened of their power, banished them along with the Sea Witch, and tensions run high between the two groups.

Aside from the king, most of the men in this book (both human and merman) are absolute pieces of work, and I found myself wanting Gaia/Muirgen to murder all of them at the end. Zale, her betrothed, stops short of actually raping her, but sneaks into her room at night to have his way with her and force himself on her like she’s his property. Oliver seems sweet at first, but is selfish and entitled, treating his grieving mother like garbage after the loss of his father. While his actions seem understandable at times (he has serious PTSD, and is lashing out due to his guilt and grief), he still does things in this book that make you want to slap some sense into him. Rounding out the group of horrible men are Oliver’s friends, who range from kind (George) to complete monsters (Rupert). My reaction to most of this book was similar to the reaction I had when watching the movie Taken; I rooted so strongly for the hero that I wanted to see all of the villains brutally murdered in the worst ways. In this sense, Louise O’Neill succeeded in writing a feminist fairy tale, though it never feels very feminist until the very end.

I found it hard to believe this book was feminist for a majority of the story because the female characters don’t really ever win. Gaia and her sisters are treated terribly, and even the human women have trouble earning respect. The only characters who stand out as feminist icons are the Sea Witch and Eleanor (Oliver’s mom), two strong women who are scorned by society for daring to be independent. I actually really loved the Sea Witch in this book, as she’s a heavyset woman who is extremely positive about her own body, and refuses to bow down to the king’s whims and wishes. She warns Gaia at the beginning not to give up her voice and comfort for a man she doesn’t know, but the desperate mermaid wants only to escape the pain of having to live the rest of her immortal life with a merman who uses and abuses her. Eleanor, similarly, has taken over a thriving family business, and struggles to get the men in her industry to respect her. Even Oliver, her own son, refuses to take her seriously, wanting nothing to do with the family business. While Eleanor can sometimes seem like a villain, I understood that she only wanted to protect her son from harm, and was wary of anyone intruding upon what’s left of their family.

At every turn in this book, women and mermaids alike are being stepped on, from Muirgen to her frail grandmother, forced to sew pearls into her tail, which is ripping apart from years of carrying their weight. Mermaids are given no voice, and expected to shut up and make babies while looking pretty and singing on command. They are essentially trophies for mermen to fight over, which left me wondering, “Where on earth is the feminism in this?” On the contrary, this book made me realize how decidedly UN-feminist the original fairy tale is, as it forces a woman to give up her voice in order to please a man, a man who ends up marrying someone else anyways, thus killing the poor woman vying for his affections.

Every time someone made a sexual advance towards Muirgen (who is, I will remind you, only FIFTEEN), or any time the extent of her sacrifices is mentioned, I felt the need to put the book down for a bit. O’Neill does not play around with the sheer brutality of this story, from the witch cutting out Muirgen’s tongue to the way Muirgen wakes up every morning as a human to find that her skin is falling off of the bones on her false legs. On the one hand, I admire O’Neill’s commitment to revealing the true horrors of this fairy tale, but on the other I worry that this might be deeply triggering to anyone who has survived sexual assault or similar trauma. Though Muirgen is never raped, two separate men attempt to force themselves onto her, one of which doing so while she has no voice to scream for help. O’Neill, as I said before, does not hold back in describing everything in graphic detail, making it uncomfortable even for readers who have not experienced such trauma. It made me want to put a trigger warning on the front of the book, though as a librarian I completely understand why libraries are against labeling books in any way.

At this point, you might be wondering why I rated this book so highly if I felt there was no feminism in this feminist retelling of a classic fairy tale. My rating is owed entirely to the final chapter, where Muirgen FINALLY gets tired of the way she’s been treated and decides to fight back against her abusers. Instead of merely disintegrating into sea foam as in the original fairy tale, Muirgen stands up to her father, empowering her sisters (who have sacrificed everything to try and save her) and forcing him to admit that he was the one who killed their mother for disobeying him and falling in love with a human herself. Realizing that she has powers that have been kept dormant her entire life, Muirgen unleashes them on the Sea King, striking him down and promising to do the same to Zale. She chooses not to kill Oliver for Eleanor’s sake, instead vowing to become a Rusalka and seek vengeance against the kingdom that has supressed women for so long. After a long and painful story in which not one woman was able to succeed against a man, it felt SO GOOD to see Muirgen fight back and regain her voice.

After reading the final chapter, I soon realized that elements of feminism had been sprinkled throughout the entire book, from the sea witch’s blatant defiance to Muirgen’s realization that Oliver was not worthy of her love because of his selfishness and immaturity. There is even a hint of LGBT representation in Muirgen’s sister Nia, who prefers mermaids but is forced to repress her very identity in fear of her father’s retaliation. In the end, Muirgen explains to her sisters that they are worth FAR more than just their beauty, and that they should be brave and use their voices to fight back. Even though Muirgen must die at the end as in the original fairy tale, the book leaves us with a sequel hook as she promises to become Rusalka and seek revenge on Zale and her entire kingdom. After finishing the chapter, I found myself on an adrenaline high, feeling extremely proud of this character I’d grown attached to and wanting her to burn everyone who’d harmed her to the ground.

In this respect, I think O’Neill succeeded in bringing light to a lot of issues involving misogny, and the sheer shocking nature of her elaborate writing style forces the reader to really pause and think about what’s going on in our real world today. This is by no means a perfect book, but I appreciate it for daring to take the reader out of his or her comfort zone, forcing us to look more deeply at issues affecting women.

As I said before, I also admire O’Neill’s ability to inject feminism into what is perhaps the LEAST feminist of all of the fairy tales, bringing new life to a story we were all sure we knew already. While I would warn teens who had been through sexual assault that this book might be very upsetting, I also think it has the potential to help them through the healing process, as Muirgen learns to fight back and refuses to be defined by what has happened to her in the past. I think this is a very powerful book that is extremely well written, and also incredibly relevant in the time of #MeToo and #TimesUp. I truly hope O’Neill continues this story, as I would really love to watch Muirgen/Gaia pull a complete Liam Neeson on all of the men who wronged her in this book.

Reference:

O’Neill, L. (2019). The surface breaks. New York: Scholastic, Inc.