Bloomsbury, £7.99, ISBN 978-1-4088-9032-5
Fantasy, 2018 (Reissue)
The young adult genre is basically shorthand these days for two things: fake wokeness and non-stop consumer milking. While Sarah J Maas managed to tone down both elements admirably in the previous three books in the A Court of Thorn and Roses series, she goes completely down for the count in this novella, A Court of Frost and Starlight.
The fact that it is a plot-free novella designed solely to make more money places it squarely in the milking the fans territory.
Okay, I may be fudging a bit there. There is a plot here: how the heroine Feyre finally lives up to her Tumblr Sue name and shines as the most precious, amazing, snowflake woobie-woo darling in existence ever.
Okay, after A Court of Wings and Ruin, the fae are trying to rebuild. This gives Feyre plenty of opportunities to shed fake tears and angst about how the world sucks for oppressed fae, so she is now generously donating part of her salary to the rebuilding efforts. Don’t ask me what she is getting a salary for, or where the salary is coming from. There is some parallel to how war veterans in real life are often left to fend for themselves despite having sacrificed so much for the good of all, but at the same time, the author also has this weird portrayal of how women are the ones that suffer the most in a war, despite the male fae being the majority of the army that clashed in the war. Yes, expect lots of women weeping and pontificating inanely about how they name a weaving called “void” to indicate the void in their lives after the hubby croaked in the war, and another weaving is called “hope” because it represents… yes, hope. Will I win an award for a sketch of a toilet bowl called “toilet bowl” because it represents my need to sit on one after a guzzling down a big meal?
Throughout it all, Fyre keeps telling me how she feels so terrible for all, and she doesn’t deserve her current state of luxury, her current adored-by-all status, and her constant having great sex after being impaled on her beau Rhysand’s big dong. She can protest all she wants, but this doesn’t change the fact that Feyre is still rolling around in luxury and being buggered into happiness while making everyone’s more serious issues all about her. In other words, she’s a genuine young adult genre heroine, so I don’t know whether I should praise the author for this or give her a blurred finger for it. Despite trying very hard to impress me that she’s the most selfless person that has ever existed, Feyre almost had some hapless people’s homes destroyed when she and Rhysand have sex while in the air – please don’t ask – and almost crash into some roofs. Oh, war has left so many people homeless, so let’s screw in the sky and nearly make a few more lose their homes!
Oh, and the male fae, under Rhysand’s big male feminist dong-waving lead, declare for my benefit that male fae folks will now help to cook and clean too, because equality is important, blah blah blah. That’s why Rhysand then gifts Feyre a hot dress because we don’t practice gender stereotyping anymore, so it’s groundbreaking to have the woman wear a sexy dress that turns the man on now. Oh, and in return, Feyre gives her true love some painting of herself, because she’s truly the self-absorbed me-me-me young adult princess that has finally emerged from her cocoon.
The rest of the story is filled with pointless roll calls of various characters, discussions on public toilet habits that are meant to be humorous, snowfall fights, and more incessant gushing about how Feyre is the biggest bleeding heart that has ever bled. Sure, she doesn’t really do much other than to tell us how selfless and emphatic she is to everyone’s bad feelings, but this is a young adult story, people. The heroine only has to tell us what she is, and thus, she is.
Oh wait, she’s an artist, so Feyre opens an art school to teach people not to hurt so much in this time of distress, because yes, a freaking art school is what we need in such a time. This is quintessential Tumblr privileged-dumb-girl fake wokeness in display, people. “I’m a good person because I teach wartime survivors origami!”
The story ends with a most horrifying sex scene, which, judging from what I am reading, the heroine has such a powerful orgasm that she loses control of her sphincter. Asteroids, stars, and what not just start gushing all over the place like some pink-and-purple frosted diarrhea supernova. Meanwhile, our hero sees in his sex-fueled mind the vision of the boy – it’s a boy, because we are progressive, gender-blind, and sexy now – he will be begetting from this torrid buggery and, at the sight of that infant, immediately climaxes so hard that I’m pretty sure the fae version of the FBI will be coming for him soon.
“Look at how I fuck you, Feyre!”
“Gods!”
God.
And with that, here’s my farewell to Feyre and Rhysand forever, and I can only thank the deities that I bought this thing from a bargain bin instead of paying full price for it.
