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A review by brice_mo
A Court of Thorns and Roses by Sarah J. Maas
1.5
Oh! (derogatory)
First, let me say that the prose is a lot better than I anticipated, and for the first few chapters, I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach—I was having a good time.
I wasn’t loving it, but I was enjoying it in the way that one might enjoy The Bachelorplaying in the background while folding laundry. I really understood the appeal of this book and series and genre. In fact, I thought I might I give the TV adaptation a shot when it eventually happens.
But by the time the “romance” kicks into gear, I was struck by how its whole premise is that resistance is a barrier to overcome instead of a boundary to respect. I’m sure that part of this is because chemistry is difficult to write, but I think there are dangerous consequences to glorifying possessive “love” and depicting latent violence just beneath the surface of every interaction.
To get overly autobiographical for a moment, much of my adult life has been unfortunately marked by months-long situations where women who read exclusively YA and fantasy decide we will be together, and nothing will stop it from happening, including me.
That’s not a humblebrag. It’s pretty horrific.
I’ve had people call me hundreds of times, show up at my door at odd hours, and write multi-page letters about what I “owe” them.
While reading A Court of Thorns and Roses I was really shocked to hear the origin of conversations that have echoed in my life, where my “no” is not a “no”—it’s a challenge. Or worse, where I have resorted to unkindness out of desperation, and it has been interpreted as a sign that I am “complicated” or “enigmatic,” that I just “wasn’t honest with myself about what I wanted.” Lest I sound a little too woe-is-me here, I think these books primarily prey upon their readers by lowering their standards for what they deserve. They encourage them to misinterpret relational sharp edges as a narrative arc. Maybe people are less afraid of a broken will than they are of a broken heart.
Is this a melodramatic read for such a lightweight book? Probably. I know a lot of people can read it and enjoy it and move on with their lives, and that’s awesome—but it’s not escapism when it escapes into actual relationships, and A Court of Thorns and Rosesmakes me wonder what authors owe to their vulnerable readers.
I’m not sure, but I think a little more than SJM gives here.
First, let me say that the prose is a lot better than I anticipated, and for the first few chapters, I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach—I was having a good time.
I wasn’t loving it, but I was enjoying it in the way that one might enjoy The Bachelorplaying in the background while folding laundry. I really understood the appeal of this book and series and genre. In fact, I thought I might I give the TV adaptation a shot when it eventually happens.
But by the time the “romance” kicks into gear, I was struck by how its whole premise is that resistance is a barrier to overcome instead of a boundary to respect. I’m sure that part of this is because chemistry is difficult to write, but I think there are dangerous consequences to glorifying possessive “love” and depicting latent violence just beneath the surface of every interaction.
To get overly autobiographical for a moment, much of my adult life has been unfortunately marked by months-long situations where women who read exclusively YA and fantasy decide we will be together, and nothing will stop it from happening, including me.
That’s not a humblebrag. It’s pretty horrific.
I’ve had people call me hundreds of times, show up at my door at odd hours, and write multi-page letters about what I “owe” them.
While reading A Court of Thorns and Roses I was really shocked to hear the origin of conversations that have echoed in my life, where my “no” is not a “no”—it’s a challenge. Or worse, where I have resorted to unkindness out of desperation, and it has been interpreted as a sign that I am “complicated” or “enigmatic,” that I just “wasn’t honest with myself about what I wanted.” Lest I sound a little too woe-is-me here, I think these books primarily prey upon their readers by lowering their standards for what they deserve. They encourage them to misinterpret relational sharp edges as a narrative arc. Maybe people are less afraid of a broken will than they are of a broken heart.
Is this a melodramatic read for such a lightweight book? Probably. I know a lot of people can read it and enjoy it and move on with their lives, and that’s awesome—but it’s not escapism when it escapes into actual relationships, and A Court of Thorns and Rosesmakes me wonder what authors owe to their vulnerable readers.
I’m not sure, but I think a little more than SJM gives here.