Liz Bourke Reviews A Fire Born of Exile by Aliette de Bodard
A Fire Born of Exile, Aliette de Bodard (JAB Books 978-1-6256-7652-8, $9.99, 406pp, tp) October 2023. Cover by Ravven. (Gollancz 978-1-47322-343-1, £18.99, 432pp, hc) October 2023. Cover by Alyssa Winans.
A Fire Born of Exile is Aliette de Bodard’s second novel-length Xuya universe space opera. It’s a compelling, atmospheric tale of consequences, romance, and revenge. (I should note that I’m mentioned in the acknowledgements, which may cause you to consider me a biased observer.)
Minh is the daughter of the prefect of the Scattered Pearls Belt, raised in sheltered luxury, her future laid out for her regardless of her own desires. Her mother is emotionally distant at best, though it would be more accurate to categorise her as abusive. A brief moment of rebellion sees Minh, in disguise, attending the Tiger Games to enjoy the entertainment: in the aftermath of a riot, she’s rescued from a kidnapping attempt by the mysterious ‘‘Alchemist of Streams and Hills,’’ the cultured, cosmopolitan scholar Sương Quỳnh and her companion, the mindship Guts of Sea.
Thiên Hoà is a struggling engineer keeping a business going with her sister, Thiên Dung. Hoà’s elder sister, a scholar, was disgraced in the aftermath of a rebellion, the Ten Thousand Flags Uprising, and is years dead, while Dung, whose skills include working on mindships, is very ill. Dung was supposed to take a job repairing a very badly wrecked mindship, Flowers at the Gates of the Lords, but her illness means Hoà needs to go in her place, pretending to skills she doesn’t have, if they’re to keep going. When she visits her dead elder sister’s grave, she encounters a cultured, attractive upper-class stranger who corresponded with the elder sister before the Uprising making offerings there: Quỳnh. Quỳnh offers to help Hoà with the mindship job, and Hoà accepts. But Hoà suspects that Quỳnh is ‘‘hurtling along some private path to some disastrous, distant conflagration.’’ Hoà doesn’t really want the risk of associating with someone who might well set others on fire along with herself.
Quỳnh had a different name, once. A survivor of the Uprising – from the wrong side – she’s planned for revenge for years: Revenge on the prefect who put down the rebellion and on the general, General Tuyết, who stood by her side. Tuyết, who had once denounced Quỳnh to the magistrate to be condemned to death. Now she and Guts of Sea are putting their plans into motion, and she has left her toddler child (also a mindship) in another person’s care in order to execute it. Quỳnh does not expect to survive her revenge, but she plans to ruin the lives of all the wealthy, powerful people who were happy to condemn an innocent woman to death before she dies. She didn’t expect to meet Hoà. She didn’t expect to be attracted to her. There’s – just barely – room for a small kindness to Hoà in her plan. There’s no room at all for attraction.
There’s a saying about best laid plans and how often they go awry. In this case, it definitely applies.
De Bodard has said that A Fire Born of Exile was inspired by The Count of Monte Cristo, and while I can’t remember much of the original (it was not formative literature for me, I do not recommend reading it aged ten), the revenge plot that teeters a little off the rails because the avenger catches an unfortunate case of compassion for the collateral damage – and because other people’s choices tilt the scales – is a fascinating one. This doesn’t mean that Quỳnh abandons her revenge, but it does end up looking different than she anticipated. That happens in part because her burgeoning relationship with Hoà, and Hoà’s resolute determination not to be part of Quỳnh’s revenge, pushes her off-balance. And in part because Minh, and the choices Minh makes as she tries to navigate a way out from underneath her mother and her stepmother without losing herself, end up having consequences Quỳnh didn’t entirely take into account.
De Bodard’s work is often concerned with power: with the indifference or cruelty of people who hold it and the difficulties of finding ethical paths to any kind of real justice or fair dealing in societies that enforce hierarchical structureswith exemplary legal violence and call it just; with the problems posed by power differentials in interpersonal relationships even when all parties try to act with kindness and good faith; with the responsibilities owed by parental figures to their children and the power that parental figures and teachers have to help or harm those children by action or omission. In A Fire Born of Exile, Minh’s family situation mirrors in microcosm the greater injustices of her society, a smaller and perhaps more intensely personal version of the injustice that Quỳnh once suffered at Minh’s mother’s hands. Hoà, who has never expected either justice or revenge but who has not let the injustice in her make her cruel or cynical, changes them both.
Minh’s growing recognition of her mother’s cruelty, her longing to be valued, to be loved, and her eventual realisation that she’ll never get this from her mother, is painfully well-drawn. So too is the romance between Hoà and Quỳnh, a romance that is against each of their better judgement. For Quỳnh, Hoà is a breath of happiness but a terrible vulnerability, and though she knows that her commitment to revenge means their romance is doomed, she can’t quite draw back from it either. For Hoà, Quỳnh is unexpectedly compelling, fascinating, someone who makes her feel something new, but she’s afraid of the consequences of Quỳnh’s revenge, for Quỳnh and for her. Their relationship is fraught with that push-and-pull, but the ultimate resolution feels decidedly earned.
A Fire Born of Exile opens with a riot and doesn’t let up from there. Poisonings, intrigue, terrible secrets and tense confrontations combine in a tense, accomplished space opera, told with de Bodard’s usual vividness and verve. For my money, it’s an even better novel than The Red Scholar’s Wake, which I loved.
Liz Bourke is a cranky queer person who reads books. She holds a Ph.D in Classics from Trinity College, Dublin. Her first book, Sleeping With Monsters, a collection of reviews and criticism, is out now from Aqueduct Press. Find her at her blog, her Patreon, or Twitter. She supports the work of the Irish Refugee Council and the Abortion Rights Campaign.
This review and more like it in the September 2023 issue of Locus.
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