N.K. Jesmin - The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms

“We don’t call them gods,” Viraine smiled faintly. “That would be an offense to the Skyfather, our only true god, and those of the Skyfather’s children who stayed loyal. But we can’t call them slaves, either. After all, we outlawed slavery centuries ago.”

That was the sort of thing that made people hate the Arameri – truly hate them, not just resent their power or their willingness to use it. they found so many ways to lie about the things they did. It mocked the suffering of their victims.

“Why not just call them what they are?” I asked. “Weapons.” (p. 44)

The story that we start with seems fairly standard. Yeine is an out of the way heir to the empire’s throne, and she’s thrown into the battle for succession. The fact that she’s a barbarian to boot just adds another touch of familiarity. When she gets there, we meet the scheming, evil sister and the nonchalant brother, and we’re introduced to the various nations and various plots.

All of that, however, soon becomes almost a side story. Intertwined with the main story and buried under the various political machinations is a drama on a far greater scale. The Arameri have three enslaved gods in their palace, the super weapon that’s given them their preeminence, and those gods are planning to make a bid for freedom and strike back at the god who betrayed them. And Yeine is their key to freedom and the vengeance that goes with it.

The mortal and immortal dramas play off one another brilliantly, and the dichotomy between them is reflected in the prose. Jesmin’s writing is clear and fast paced, but, for all that, it’s got a twisting, digressive quality that hides greater depths than are at first apparent. Yeine’s narration is always factually accurate, but she plays with chronology and the difference between the Yeine narrating and the Yeine of the novel is a stark one, felt strongly as the prose debates with itself:

In a child’s eyes, a mother is a goddess. She can be glorious or terrible, benevolent or filled with wrath, but she commands love either way. I am convinced that this is the greatest power in the universe.

My mother –

No. Not yet. (p. 90)

For two plots to play off of one another, both have to succeed. As such, it’s a shame that the politics in The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms fails to live up to the grand backdrop that it’s been given. Towards the beginning of the novel, Yeine asks another character:

“It might be wise for me to meet with others in the palace who are influential. Who would you suggest?”

T’vril considered for a moment, then spread his hands. “You’ve already met everyone here who matters, except Relad.”

I stared at him. “That can’t be true.”

He smiled without humor. “Sky is both very large and very small, Lady Yeine.” (p. 64)

That sentiment sums up the politics of the novel fairly well. The important players are brought on stage quickly, and everything else is glimpsed from such a distance that it might as well not exist. Of course, it’s fine to have a more focused novel; there’s no city state minimum requirement to be considered an epic fantasy. 

But the small feel of the world hampers Jesmin’s themes. She tries to show us how the Arameri are so dominating, how they trod across other cultures without even being properly aware of it, but those other cultures are so one dimensional that it’s hard to really care.

The disconnect between theme and content is most apparent with the Darre, the barbarian people that Yeine comes from. The Darre are set up as a fiercely matriarchal society. We are told that females fulfill the important and dangerous roles and that men are weak and to be protected. And yet, with the Arameri, Yeine surrounds herself entirely with men. She references Darre and compares the Arameri to it constantly in her thoughts, yet her actions don’t seem even remotely traceable to that background.

Of course, what we know about the Darre feels like enough to fill an encyclopedia when you compare them with their neighbors. The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms is a title that makes you think of a vast world, but what we actually see of it is so small that the novel could have been written about two cities without much loss of content. We hear of the city’s politicians ordering vast territories around at a whim, but the game has no more weight than a game of Risk. This was, perhaps, intentional – it would, after all, be a powerful image to see the society’s leaders bossing around whole cultures like they did not matter. But, without first having gotten a sense of the nation’s they’re leading, it’s hard for the reader to humanize them any more than their rulers do.

In the end, it’s simply hard to care about the politics when there are gods on stage. At one point, Yeine goes to try and stop a war with the night god, Nahadoth, in tow. In the process of intimidating them, Nahadoth kills half of their delegation in a horrifying, effortless, and incomprehensible way. From that point on, it’s a it hard to be terrified of the soldiers.

Still, the gods stealing the show has some advantages. The various gods are a joy to read about, and, for all that they’re immortal and all that, they’re the most comprehensible and sympathetic characters of the cast. The trickster god, Sieh, is as adept at inserting himself into the reader’s confidence as the characters, and the others are all as vibrant on the stage as he is.

Of course, with the gods we come to the book’s biggest point of controversy: the romance. From the first time we see Nahadoth, the relationship can be seen coming. Now, it certainly is a tad (or more than a tad) over the top, but I think it’s relatively believable that a love affair involving an all powerful deity might be a bit melodramatic at times. But as the book continues and Nahadoth’s character grows more multifaceted, his relationship with Yeine remains shallow. Whatever genuine chemistry there might be between them is so buried by Bad Boy clichés that it’s hard to see their romance in any other terms, and it doesn’t help that it’s all capped off with a sex scene that involves potentially supernatural genitalia. 

The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms tries to accomplish a lot. It delves into the history and metaphysics of its world to a degree that you’d think impassable in a novel so (comparatively) slim, it parallels two larger than life conflicts, and it’s got (some) fascinating characters. A good many of those interesting ideas fail to reach their true potential, but enough do that Jesmin’s debut is interesting overall. How much you’re willing to forgive for ambition is, ultimately, up to you; for myself, I’ll be reading another of Jesmin’s books at some point, but I’ll be hoping that she manages to match her aims with her ability more closely next time.

Reading in November

A very good, but not great, Culture novel. This was my third Banks book, and I’ll happily admit that I’m quite converted, now. Review here.


I was a bit worried going into this one. I’d heard that it was less focused than Thunderer, less plot driven, and I’d already found Thunderer’s pacing and resolutions to be a problem. I needn’t have worried. Gears of the City is an excellent novel with some of the best prose that I’ve ever read. Review on the way.


The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms set itself up as a traditional fantasy, but soon abandoned that and went off to do something far more interesting. I can’t say that it totally succeeds, but I’m glad that it tried, and the read was generally a good one. Review coming.


Though I have yet to review any of his work on the Rack, Martin is one of my absolute favorite authors. Which is probably obvious considering the amount of time I spend on Westeros, but whatever. I’ve been meaning to go through his short story collections for a while now; this is the first one that I’ve gotten to. The stories that were in Dreamsongs were, for the most part, just as good on reread, and several of the new stories were certainly worth the price of the collection. There was a weaker tale or two, but that’s something to expect in every collection.


To me, Year One was a disappointment. It traded depth for style, and what style it had was generally lost due to the artwork. Review here.


The only thing stopping me from making another comics epiphany post about V for Vendetta is that I’d already Watchmen, so it didn’t hit me quite as hard. Still, Moore is absolutely without peer from what I’ve read of the format. I’ll be writing more on this.


Murakami is one of those authors I’ve had on my list to be read someday for a while now, but the Westeros book club helped give me a kick in the ass. I considered a review, but the discussion that was already done on the book covered most of the points I would’ve, so, if you’ve just read the novel, I’ll direct you there instead. As for my own impressions in brief: Murakami conveyed complex and thought provoking ideas with clear and readable prose. I’ll definitely be reading more of his work.


This was an amusing epistolary novella about power and ideology, but it was stopped from being great by the format. Deprived of the space to circle around the events and give them the context that they deserved, the twists were interesting, but not gut wrenching. An enjoyable read, though I don’t know if it’s worth the thirty plus dollars that you’re likely to find it for.


I enjoyed Devices and Desires, but I wasn’t without my reservations. Evil for Evil takes most of my points of contention and rips them to pieces. I think the most remarkable thing about this trilogy is the almost ridiculous degree of plot motion. Each of the two books so far could easily have been multi volume sagas. Review coming after I finish the final volume, The Escapement.


Honestly, I’m underwhelmed, and I’m not sure if it’s a fault in the book that caused it or just that I’ve read so much more (and more widely) since I read the first eleven volumes straight and loved (almost) every word of it. Yes, this book had a lot of plot motion compared to other Wheel of Time books. But Wheel of Time books aren’t the only standard out there, and, compared to much of what I’ve read lately, the plot was bloated beyond comprehension, the characters so plot shielded that danger can’t get within the same zip code, and the pacing so ugly that clusterfuck barely begins to describe it. I didn’t dislike the book, mind you, but I certainly didn’t love it. I ranted about some of my (spoiler filled) thoughts upon finishing it here; there won’t be a review because, really, I think most people have heard of the Wheel of Time by now and have a decent idea where they stand on it.


Cycles was fast paced, decently clever, and good fun. I’m still not wow by Y, but the series has been very enjoyable so far. And the quasi-review of the first volume is coming soon. Really.