The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms

Recently, I finished reading N. K. Jemisin’s debut fantasy novel The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms.  This was a bit of a change for me since I don’t usually read fantasy books set wholly in other realms (I’m more of a contemporary fantasy guy).  But I’m glad I stepped out of my comfort zone and picked up Kingdoms.

Here’s the blurbage from the back of the book:

Yeine Darr is an outcast from the barbarian north. But when her mother dies under mysterious circumstances, she is summoned to the majestic city of Sky, seat of the ruling Arameri family. There, to her shock, Yeine is named an heiress to the king. But the throne of the Hundred Thousand Kingdoms is not easily won, and Yeine is thrust into a vicious power struggle with a pair of cousins she never knew she had. As she fights for her life, she draws ever closer to the secrets of her mother’s death and her family’s bloody history.

With the fate of the world hanging in the balance, Yeine will learn how perilous it can be when love and hate — and gods and mortals — are bound inseparably.

For me, one of the best parts of the book was the rich mythology that underlies it.  Jemisin has managed to come up with something vaguely reminiscent of real-world mythology without a]resorting to pastiche.  Her gods are striking too because of their humanity: they fight, make up, and have sex with each other just like mortals (according to the story, humans were literally made in the gods’ image, so mortals are basically the gods writ small).  Jemisin also makes her divinities memorable by turning them into slaves.  Bound in human form by another god, they are forced to serve the ruling Arameri family much like demons serve human magicians in Jonathan Stroud’s Bartimaeus Trilogy.  It’s an unusual approach and it ends up making the gods more believable since they’re forced to interact with other characters more often than your standard fantasy gods.

My enjoyment of Kingdoms was almost curtailed by the sex scene that appears toward the end of the book.  I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not a fan of sex scenes in literature.  More often than not, they tend to be poorly written.  But the scene in Kingdoms is both brief and relevant to the plot.  It’s also notable for being one of the few sex scenes I’ve read where the writer calls a penis a ‘penis’ rather than resorting to one of the many flowery euphemisms that abound.  Although it might seem overly clinical to some, I think Jemisin’s word chocie had the effect of making the sex scene seem less like a low-grade attempt at smut and more like basic narration.

I don’t want to spoil the book for anyone, but I’ll conclude by saying that Jemisin manages to produce a twist ending that doesn’t leave the reader feeling gypped.

Kingdoms is the first book in a trilogy.  According to Jemisin’s website, the second book will be coming out this Fall.

OVERALL GRADE: A