“Son of a Witch” is Gregory Maguire’s follow-up (more “companion book” than sequel) to “Wicked,” his phenomenally popular adaptation of “The Wizard of Oz” by L. Frank Baum from the point of view of the Wicked Witch of the West (AKA Elphaba). Here we follow the exploits of young Liir, who may or may not be the Witch’s son, as he tries to piece together his life following the death of his maybe-mother. His ostensible conflict is to find Nor, Liir’s friend who was kidnapped by the Wizard’s military; and to help an Elephant (yes, capitalized) Princess named Nastoya; but the central focus on the story is on Liir finding himself.

Here’s a good example of my hopes and expectations getting the better of me. Before I read “Son of a Witch,” I had heard that protagonist Liir was gay, so I was looking forward to a gay fantasy novel. I then read and read and read, all the while wondering, “Hey, where’s the gay?” When the gay finally showed up, and then went away again, the book clarified itself to be a fantasy novel with a bicurious protagonist who has a gay fling as a minor and brief subplot.

Maguire himself says:

“he has never felt obligated to write gay characters or situations simply because he himself is gay. ‘I’d always thought Liir had a gay side,’ Maguire says. ‘But it wasn’t going to show up just to titillate me. I could do that in the privacy of my own bedroom!’ In ‘Son of a Witch,’ Liir’s same-sex desire serves to sharpen his conflict with Oz’s religious regime. ‘This book was … more and more about the way governments can harness false piety in order to preserve their own power,’ Maguire explains. ‘And one of the things piety does best is to issue pronouncements about what constitutes moral behavior. Plus,’ he adds, ‘it was fun and I liked it and I found it romantic and sexy.’” (1).

Hm. Romantic and sexy? Try fleeting and unexplored.

On the plus side, the novel is populated by many interesting characters, and Liir’s journey is fast-paced and twisting as circumstances around him continually shift. The book also contains much thinly veiled political commentary, including a despotic leader called only the Apostle who may remind many readers of a certain contemporary world leader. The book even contains imagery of a military campaign that was partially inspired by the images from Abu Ghraib, according to Maguire.(2)

Liir makes for an unusual hero. Not only does he not know his own destiny, he seems to actively resist possessing one. The reader might see him from two perspectives. One, he is a young man struggling to understand and make a place for himself in the world with absolutely no one to support or guide him. On the other hand, Liir occasionally comes across as willfully naive, if not just plain dumb.

The novel’s single greatest flaw is the lack of a compelling central story. At several points the book seems to approach a narrative that readers can sink their teeth into, but most of the plot threads are like the depiction of Liir’s relationship with Trism: frustratingly brief and shallow. Meanwhile, the plot developments that sometimes seem twisty, will then meander into aimless narrative wandering.

Despite its flaws, I liked it. It was entertaining, like an unusually sophisticated fairy tale, but unfortunately some of the story elements (plot and character, notably) fail to captivate.

In all honesty, a big reason I read the book in the first place was that I had heard Liir was gay, and I wanted to read a fantasy novel with a gay main character. Unfortunately, the sole gay relationship is an all-too-brief and isolated affair, and Liir’s sexuality is far from clear cut. One senses the relationship with Trism was as much experimentation as genuine longing.

Check it out if you’re a fan of Maguire’s previous work or starved for gay content in fantasy fiction. I have to admit, the many allusions to Elphaba and the previous book have seriously tempted me to read “Wicked” next.

——————————–
(1) Regina Marler, “Back to Oz,” The Advocate, 27 September 2005, http://findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_m1589/is_2005_Sept_27/ai_n15654046 (4 April 2008)

(2) Bob Minzesheimer, “‘Wicked’ author Gregory Maguire casts his spell,” USA Today, 12 October 2005, http://www.usatoday.com/life/books/news/2005-10-12-gregory-maguire-interview_x.htm (3 April 2008)

Summary

Mélusine is a Paris-esque city, set in quasi-Medieval times. A magical creation, the Virtu’, helps protect the city and its central structure, the Mirador. But evil Malkar destroys the Virtu’ by using the power of one of the principal viewpoint characters, wizard Felix Harrowgate, against his will. Unfortunate, Malkar’s actions drive Felix Harrowgate insane; and no one believes that Felix didn’t willfully destroy the Virtu’ himself. Meanwhile, the second viewpoint character, Mildmay, a thief, lives among the poorer sections of the city, called the Lower City. Through Mildmay, the reader comes to better understand the culture and contradictions of Mélusine.

Clearly, “Mélusine” comprises the first act of a larger story. The novel traces one important storyline (Felix’s madness), but the central issues – Malkar, the destruction of the Virtu’, the ensuing chaos in Mélusine – await the next book(s) for resolution.

Quality

At its heart, “Mélusine” is a character study focusing on two divergent fellows with a secret connection: the wizard Felix Harrowgate and the thief Mildmay the Fox. Monette does an absolutely fantastic job of characterization. These characters breathe. Jasper Fforde has written a series of clever, tongue-in-cheek mystery novels which postulate that characters from books actually have a real existence in some kind of alternate dimension. Characters like Felix and Mildmay have enough breadth and depth I can imagine them in that vision, with lives outside the scope of this book.

The reader penetrates deeply into their histories and psyches; but the author doles out the information in a natural, organic fashion. It rarely feels that she’s “telling” about these guys as opposed to “showing.” Her lovely grasp of language benefits the character study: Felix and Mildmay, though they come from similar backgrounds originally, occupy different social strata at the time of the story. Monette paints that fact vividly, from the way they speak to the way they think. Felix and Mildmay are two of the most interesting fantasy characters I’ve met. I think it also says something that I enjoyed reading about Mildmay, the straight character, as much or more than Felix, the gay character. Usually it’s the other way around, because I tend to automatically identify more with the gay characters. Of course, that may have something to do with Felix being insane for most of the book; and Monette conveying the madness quite effectively.

Ah, but the beauty of her character study doesn’t stop there. The deep and well-presented characterizations provide a foundation for Monette to explore relationships in all their multitudinous forms. We encounter romances that sour, that end in tragedy, that go unrequited; rivalries exploited, intensified, resolved; attacks that are vicious, other times half-hearted, sometimes ignorant; aid rendered out of love, self-interest, or even revenge; familial relationships which bloom, twist, and fail. The most interesting, and unexpected, relationship exists between Felix and Mildmay.

Of course, the novel has its weaknesses. It’s truly dark fantasy as it not only incorporates dark themes but also portrays acute suffering at length. In fact, I had to take a break from reading the book after about 100 or 150 pages because the beginning is just so bleak. Poor Felix. But after I resumed reading, I realized the beginning is the worst as far as that goes.

I can’t say I’ve read too many novels where my favorite part was the middle third, but that’s the case with “Mélusine.” The beginning is important in introducing the characters and the conflict. But the middle really settles into some exciting and suspenseful action. The last third was tedious at points; much of that portion follows a journey across a country, and it gets repetitive and old. Monette’s meticulous attention to detail did not serve her so well here; she would have done better to edit this section so the action would have moved at a faster clip. The ending picks up, though, and I was satisfied with the conclusion. Although, as I’ve already indicated, not all the plot questions find resolution.

I encountered two more serious weaknesses, as well.

First, Felix and Mildmay get the lion’s share of the author’s attention and consideration. Secondary characters sometimes get the puppet treatment, i.e., they exist to serve the plot. As a result, they make sudden choices that do not make sense in terms of their history. For example, one of Felix’s romantic interests rejects him bitterly at a certain point; it’s an important plot development, but it doesn’t make any sense. It doesn’t fit the romantic interest’s personality, or his relationship with Felix. Similarly, another character advocates for Felix, but then suddenly turns around and becomes an antagonist, and it doesn’t make any sense to me why. It’s just what the plot called for.

Second, a related complaint: the plotting itself is occasionally contrived. Again, the author really focuses on characters and relationships, with the plot taking second priority. Certain scenarios that arise hold a strong whiff of, “because that’s what needed to happen.” Even if it’s silly and/or out of place. The worst example comes towards the late middle section of the book, when the author needed to separate a group of characters from each other.

Gay Content

This book falls into a relatively new breed of genre fiction where major gay characters and content populate the novel without any indication of anti-gay sentiment. In other words, gay relationships are fully accepted components of the social milieu, with no adverse consequences to the characters who pursue them. Some novels in this category, like “Swordspoint” by Ellen Kushner, never even mention the word “gay.” “Mélusine” does distinguish between straight and “molly;” nevertheless, no one seems to care whether a person prefers opposite-sex or same-sex romantic partners.

I really enjoy that laid-back and easy-going approach to including gay characters, a far cry from the attitude that a story should only incorporate gay content if it’s somehow directly and explicitly relevant. That attitude, while sometimes understandable, inherently differentiates gay relationships from straight ones, which creates a slippery slope into value judgments about the relationships. At best, it creates a gay-as-issue-of-the-week situation. It’s also artificial; gay people don’t show up in real life only when expected or when “relevant.” We’re just a part of the social fabric of civilization, like it or not. It’s nice and refreshing to see that kind of portrayal in a fantasy novel; but it’s the fact that the author has apparently decided not to incorporate social and institutional homophobia into the representation that really makes a novel like “Mélusine” stand out in terms of gay positivity.

That helps compensate for the fact that the main gay character, Felix Harrowgate, has a really awful time during the novel. Ordinarily, a gay character being put through the ringer recalls one of the two fundamental stereotypes that play out with disproportionate frequency in media portrayals of gay people: if you’re gay, bad things are going to happen to you. But the way homosexuality fits into the framework of the world of “Mélusine,” it’s easy to recognize that the bad things that happen to Felix (and there are a lot of them) in no way relate to his being gay. That’s incidental; it’s just part of who he is. It’s also very important to note, lots of bad things happen to the other main character, who’s straight; so the author is not singling out the gay character for mistreatment.

I’m still including this novel in the category “The Victimized Gay.” Even though Felix is not victimized because he’s gay, it’s still another image of a disproportionately large pile that says, “Bad things happen to gay people; sucks to be gay!” But the way Monette handles homosexuality in the novel largely offsets this stereotype, so its impact on the Gay Positivity score is muted.

I can’t exactly call “Mélusine” a gay fantasy novel; and I really like that. It’s a mainstream, wide-release fantasy novel with major gay content that’s treated on parity with the heterosexual content. That alone is an innovation. Kudos to Sarah Monette and her publishers.

Overall

I definitely recommend this book. Despite its weaknesses, it’s a strong story with a fascinating array of characters. If you like dark fantasy, you’ll enjoy the book from the get-go. If not, steel yourself for a hardcore first 100 pages or so before the story really turns into an engaging action-adventure.

I scare easily. Chalk it up to vivid imagination. As a result, I don’t like the horror genre for the most part. But I guess the impetus that drives other people to scary stories and death-defying rollercoaster rides is still present in me, because I do enjoy atmospheric and haunting tales, like “The Uninvited” (a 1944 haunted house movie) or “All Souls’” (the last entry in “The Ghost Stories of Edith Wharton” (1997)).

“The Historian” succeeds admirably in creating a haunting, creepy mood without crossing the line into all-out horror. Particularly in the first half of the novel, the author slowly crafts the atmosphere through a series of eerie incidents. For example, early in the novel the protagonist Paul and his daughter are traveling in Europe, and at an outdoor cafe he tells her part of his experience with vampires. They’re both spooked already (and the reader along with them). Then a native artist walks up and tries to sell them a portrait he painted of them. The daughter notices in the painting a dark figure dressed in black sitting at the table behind them; but she distinctly remembers that table had been empty the entire time they were at lunch.

The second half the novel is less about spooky moments and more of a dark adventure interspersed with a lot of history. Indeed, Kostova has incorporated an amazing amount of historical information into the story. You might say this book is the “DaVinci Code” of Dracula.

Kostova is also a master of ending the chapter on a dramatic high, leaving the reader thirsting for more. Yeah, this is one of those books I stayed up too late reading because I had to know what happened next.

But! The pacing of this book is VERY slow, and it does not speed up as the book progresses. It … is … slow. It will take a relatively dedicated reader to plod through the whole damn thing. Or a willingness to skim. Is it worth it?

Kostova backs herself into a narrative corner. Because she spends so much of the novel building up the villain, it’s virtually impossible for the villain or the dramatic climax to meet our expectations. And indeed, when I finally met him and proceeded through the climactic scenes, I felt let down. Don’t get me wrong – the book had a satisfying ending. I was just expecting (hoping for?) more.

That’s my major criticism. A minor criticism concerns the plot structure. Several viewpoint characters contribute to the story in flashbacks scenes (via letters, postcards, etc.) that the protagonist’s daughter is reading. The daughter (whose role is so unforgettable I can’t even remember her name) seems to be the protagonist herself, but ultimately, she doesn’t actually DO anything over the course of the story.

She’s just a plot device – and that’s my criticism. Except for the very end, the whole story takes place in someone else’s past. The story would feel more balanced if the “present day” characters (the daughter and her companion Barley) had beefier, more integral storylines.

Ultimately, don’t read this story for the characters. Don’t even read it for the history (unless you absolutely adore fifteenth century Central European history, with emphasis on pilgrimage routes). But do pick up “The Historian” if you enjoy the same kind of atmospheric supernatural story-telling I do. Although the atmosphere begins to dissipate about mid-way through, by that point the plot should have you hooked.