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starladyRemember when I wrote about books regularly? That sure was an age of the world ago, wasn't it.
But, whatever. @rachelmanija has been encouraging people to write about books whenever, and I both read this book recently enough and thought about it enough afterwards that I can write up my thoughts in a semi-coherent fashion. Onward!
From Unseen Fire (DAW, 2018) is the debut novel by Morris, who clearly knows her Roman history, society, and culture backwards and forwards. Basically, this is Rome with magic; that's the big change. The novel opens in the waning days of Sulla's dictatorship (he's not called Sulla here, but he's Sulla) and follows Latona, a mage of Fire and Spirit who hails from a well-connected Senatorial family, and Sempronius, whose career as an aedile was interrupted by being put on one of the proscription lists. The Senate sets about picking the pieces of the republic back up and Sempronius (who has to be Pompey, because he's clearly not Caesar) runs for military tribune. Meanwhile, the locals in Lustania (I'm pretty sure they are Basque? Or Basque analogues? I admit my knowledge of Roman Iberia is not as good as Roman Gaul, Greece, Egypt, or Dacia and the German frontier, because the Roman scholars I hung out with worked on those areas) are restless under the hegemony of Aven, and a leader emerges from among them who is willing to indulge in blood magic and necromancy to try to drive out the Romans, even though his wife isn't happy.
In her review, Liz Bourke basically said she found the novel kind of meh, and while I liked the book, I think I know some of what bothered Bourke, and some of what bothers me. Morris basically has written ancient Rome but a little less patriarchal--magic is enough of a social wedge that women aren't completely subordinated to their husbands, and the magic system she comes up with is admittedly cool. She also obviously knows her stuff, and she tones down the terms of Roman imperialism into more of a suzerain-style hegemony than the way the Romans actually rolled. All fine and good, though I admit I cherish my doubts about whether this is historically plausible in actuality. (Also, she's erased the Social Wars? I think? Which makes sense given the previous premise but also they were Kind of a Big Deal.™ But I digress.)
The sticky wicket comes in with the fact that ancient Rome was a slave society. No two ways about it, no ifs ands or buts. Slaves and slavery exist in the book, but the institution as a whole is undoubtedly soft-pedaled compared to reality. It's true that slavery in the Roman world wasn't exactly like chattel slavery in, say, North America from the 17th to 19thC, but just because it wasn't equally as bad as that abattoir doesn't mean it wasn't absolutely horrific. The converse of the fact that in Roman society freedpeople were very common, that it was relatively easy to become a freedperson, and that the status carried very little social stigma, is that basically anyone could be taken into slavery at any time, especially in war. Not great to say the least. Morris doesn't want to engage with this, which I don't precisely blame her for, if only because I understand her interest in and affection for the Romans. But it is a blot on the novel.
Related to this, as I said to someone after I finished it, the book needs to be about 200% more bisexual. (Insert tangent about how calling people in the ancient world by any of our modern sexual orientation terms is Wrong™ because the ancients didn't think about sexuality the way we do. Moving on.) I say that Sempronius has to be Pompey because he's about as straight as they come, and Julius Caesar was famously "every woman's husband, and every man's wife." But there should be a lot more same sex, particularly male-male, eroticism on the page; it was celebrated and practiced widely in ancient Rome. Particularly on slaves, especially young ones. Yes, this ties into the previous point and Morris clearly not wanting to deal with it, aside from a few stray remarks about dancing boys.
Her interest obviously lies in Latona, who to be clear is an engaging protagonist and who I enjoyed watching as she learned to start taking up the spaces she wants in the world. And the attraction between her and Sempronius is pretty hot, particularly for a het ship. (Even if him performing oral on her was extremely Taboo™ in actual ancient Rome. Yes, I know a lot about the ideology of Roman sexual practices. I'm sure it happened, because people, but it had a hell of a transgressive charge when it did.)
So, yeah. The book is engaging, I like the romance, I hope Latona's asshole husband gets what's coming to him in the next book, I would be very interested to see what the two protagonists are like when their powers are fully combined. (Is Morris going to recreate the First Triumvirate too?) But the book sacrifices some real complexities to tell the story it tells, and I can't help but notice those absences.
But, whatever. @rachelmanija has been encouraging people to write about books whenever, and I both read this book recently enough and thought about it enough afterwards that I can write up my thoughts in a semi-coherent fashion. Onward!
From Unseen Fire (DAW, 2018) is the debut novel by Morris, who clearly knows her Roman history, society, and culture backwards and forwards. Basically, this is Rome with magic; that's the big change. The novel opens in the waning days of Sulla's dictatorship (he's not called Sulla here, but he's Sulla) and follows Latona, a mage of Fire and Spirit who hails from a well-connected Senatorial family, and Sempronius, whose career as an aedile was interrupted by being put on one of the proscription lists. The Senate sets about picking the pieces of the republic back up and Sempronius (who has to be Pompey, because he's clearly not Caesar) runs for military tribune. Meanwhile, the locals in Lustania (I'm pretty sure they are Basque? Or Basque analogues? I admit my knowledge of Roman Iberia is not as good as Roman Gaul, Greece, Egypt, or Dacia and the German frontier, because the Roman scholars I hung out with worked on those areas) are restless under the hegemony of Aven, and a leader emerges from among them who is willing to indulge in blood magic and necromancy to try to drive out the Romans, even though his wife isn't happy.
In her review, Liz Bourke basically said she found the novel kind of meh, and while I liked the book, I think I know some of what bothered Bourke, and some of what bothers me. Morris basically has written ancient Rome but a little less patriarchal--magic is enough of a social wedge that women aren't completely subordinated to their husbands, and the magic system she comes up with is admittedly cool. She also obviously knows her stuff, and she tones down the terms of Roman imperialism into more of a suzerain-style hegemony than the way the Romans actually rolled. All fine and good, though I admit I cherish my doubts about whether this is historically plausible in actuality. (Also, she's erased the Social Wars? I think? Which makes sense given the previous premise but also they were Kind of a Big Deal.™ But I digress.)
The sticky wicket comes in with the fact that ancient Rome was a slave society. No two ways about it, no ifs ands or buts. Slaves and slavery exist in the book, but the institution as a whole is undoubtedly soft-pedaled compared to reality. It's true that slavery in the Roman world wasn't exactly like chattel slavery in, say, North America from the 17th to 19thC, but just because it wasn't equally as bad as that abattoir doesn't mean it wasn't absolutely horrific. The converse of the fact that in Roman society freedpeople were very common, that it was relatively easy to become a freedperson, and that the status carried very little social stigma, is that basically anyone could be taken into slavery at any time, especially in war. Not great to say the least. Morris doesn't want to engage with this, which I don't precisely blame her for, if only because I understand her interest in and affection for the Romans. But it is a blot on the novel.
Related to this, as I said to someone after I finished it, the book needs to be about 200% more bisexual. (Insert tangent about how calling people in the ancient world by any of our modern sexual orientation terms is Wrong™ because the ancients didn't think about sexuality the way we do. Moving on.) I say that Sempronius has to be Pompey because he's about as straight as they come, and Julius Caesar was famously "every woman's husband, and every man's wife." But there should be a lot more same sex, particularly male-male, eroticism on the page; it was celebrated and practiced widely in ancient Rome. Particularly on slaves, especially young ones. Yes, this ties into the previous point and Morris clearly not wanting to deal with it, aside from a few stray remarks about dancing boys.
Her interest obviously lies in Latona, who to be clear is an engaging protagonist and who I enjoyed watching as she learned to start taking up the spaces she wants in the world. And the attraction between her and Sempronius is pretty hot, particularly for a het ship. (Even if him performing oral on her was extremely Taboo™ in actual ancient Rome. Yes, I know a lot about the ideology of Roman sexual practices. I'm sure it happened, because people, but it had a hell of a transgressive charge when it did.)
So, yeah. The book is engaging, I like the romance, I hope Latona's asshole husband gets what's coming to him in the next book, I would be very interested to see what the two protagonists are like when their powers are fully combined. (Is Morris going to recreate the First Triumvirate too?) But the book sacrifices some real complexities to tell the story it tells, and I can't help but notice those absences.