CW: discussion of addiction and misogyny, references to warfare
Between the worlds of Brandon Sanderson and the characters of Rebecca Kuang, I went searching for a new author to read obsessively over the winter break. Sometime during this compulsive book-buying spree, I ended up with a copy of Xiran Jay Zhao’s Iron Widow.
I have always been a fan of fantasy. Usually, however, it takes significant effort to begin a new series as they are prefaced by maps, epigraphs and dedications. These are joys, but they can be tedious, dissuading many would-be readers from diving head-first into the world of high fantasy.
Those readers should pick up Iron Widow.
The premise may seem complicated: mecha robots are being repurposed for war, but a woman must be sacrificed each battle. These women are designated as ‘pilot concubines’. As a non-binary reader, I was worried this would alienate me, as it seemed magic (or spirit, in this world) would be defined by gender. I soon realised, however, the insanity of this split was very much the point.
Zhao’s sharp yet delicate prose wrestles vengefully with the patriarchy.The reader is guided through an epic journey between the lines of historical fiction, futuristic sci-fi and fantasy. Their re-imagining of the Tang Dynasty in mecha warfare blurs the lines of genre, and misunderstandings are addressed immediately in the foreword. Zhao maintains an authorial distance in order to take artistic liberties, doing so with self-awareness creative non-fiction writers must appreciate.
As someone previously unfamiliar with imperial Chinese history, my ignorance served me well. I could not predict the plot until I did further research, when suddenly the foreshadowing became obvious and exhilarating; I had been rewarded for doing my investigation, rather than punished.
An unfortunate trend in fantasy novels with significant romantic plotlines is a misunderstanding of the reader. I’ll read the next Sarah J. Maas book like everyone else, but I do not expect to be in alliance with the protagonist. It is a rare thing in this niche for an author to trust the intelligence of their readers.
In Iron Widow, Zhao’s contract with the reader is established immediately. We are all aware of how hero movies, books, and stories work, and Zhao does not disservice us by assuming otherwise. Zetian, our protagonist, makes her way out of her abusive home due to unique magical factors, yes, but this would not have occurred without her proactively seeking out vengeance.
This is how you write a multifaceted, slightly villainous character: you align us with them in the tradition of fantasy, and motivate them in the tradition of revenge tragedy. Zetian does not forgive. She does not hide the intrusive side of her thoughts. The readers’ own assumptions are led further in the direction of delinquency until you find yourself rooting for a triumvirate of anti-heroes. It is cathartic, thought-provoking and disturbing in the best way possible.
However, for all these positives, Iron Widow has its flaws. Many on Goodreads describe the commodification of female bodies in the novel as ‘overstated’. I don’t disagree with this. The political agenda is upfront and obvious, but. I don’t believe that’s a bad thing; Zhao’s characters are more complex than their systems.
My discomfort centres more on the relationships between our three main characters. The intimate scenes use a number of cliches, with the man who can “carry me without a sweat” and the couple who “survived to meet each other” sometimes falling flat. If Zhao’s aim was to let these relationships sit in ambiguity, they succeed at the expense of realism.
Similarly, the side commentary on addiction reads as surface-level. Shimin, one of our three central characters, has endured forcible alcohol consumption. The discomfort of others is justified when it is revealed this was due to state torture. The military figures are already our ‘big bad’. To blame them is too easy, and the admission that rehab “takes more than just get[ting] out or just stop[ping] drinking” is undercut. I came away wondering if I was supposed to believe addicts only deserved empathy if it served me to give it to them.
However, as a fantasy kid who had no real queer representation growing up, I am willing to accept this awkwardness as necessary. I knew I would love this book by one specific paragraph in the first chapter: a butterfly with black and white wings flies into view, which means it is both male and female. Zetian reflects on how she feels “as if I’ve got a cocoon shrivelled too tightly around my whole being”. The discomfort of gender dysphoria has never been so acutely described.
Future authors may revise and revisit the shortcomings of modern queer fantasy; I am grateful for what we are writing now.
Iron Widow is a raw epic which grapples with entrenched misogyny with unapologetic vengeance. The gold detailing rubbed off onto my fingers where I grasped the cover, eager to read and read and read.
In the days after I’d finished, I still found gold between my nails.