Book review: He Who Drowned the World by Shelley Parker-Chan

 He Who Drowned the World by Shelley Parker-Chan is my first great read of the year. I suspect it will be among my top reads of all this year and is in fact one of my favorite reads of all time.

 

Although “favorite” may seem an odd choice of words here. He Who Drowned the World is dark. Almost unrelentingly dark. It’s the sequel to Parker-Chan’s thrilling She Who Became the Sun, which was also marked by darkness and cruelty as it told the story of Zhu Yuanzhang’s rise to power in a queer, gender-flipped alt-historical and lightly fantastical retelling of the founding of the Ming Dynasty. In the sequel, we follow Zhu and others as they mercilessly plot and fight for the throne. Madam Zhang, the unofficial power behind the powerful Zhang family, is seemingly Zhu’s most formidable threat. In a world where women of her status are expected to be decorative dolls, Madam Zhang takes full advantage of what power she’s allowed, making herself into the most beautiful and entrancing of dolls: wielding her looks and manners and body as a weapon. Because she cannot openly rule in her own right, she seeks to rule through men, using and manipulating them. Wang Baoxiang, the scorned son and scholar from the first book, also operates from the shadows—so deeply hidden that Zhu and others don’t even see him there. Filled with rage, resentment, and unacknowledged grief, Baoxiang wants the throne as a kind of a revenge upon a world that has never accepted him, that scorns him for not living up to the ideals of Mongolian manhood. And General Ouyang wants the throne of the Great Khan—but only to topple it, only to kill the murderer of his family. Ouyang doesn’t care if he lives or dies after the act; in fact, he wants to die. Filled with pain and grief after killing his beloved, he lives only for the moment of revenge.

 

All four major characters are deeply damaged people; all four are consumed with desire. She Who Became the Sun revolved mainly around Zhu’s desire for power; in this sequel, the desires of other characters—all equally intense, and all equally blinkered—are given space. Desire makes these characters cruel: they use and abuse and discard others to get what they want. Consumed with his own pain, Ouyang has no thought for anyone or anything else. Suffering from an implied lifetime of pain, Madam Zhang ignores it, dissociates from physical assaults. . .  and inflicts pain upon others in a kind of deflection. Wang Baoxiang has moments of doubt and conscience but pushes his way deeper and deeper into degradation and cruelty, even as a part of him screams at him to stop. Zhu Yuanzhang is actually the most stable of the characters, and certainly the most cheerful and optimistic. Alone among the four, her pursuit of her goals seems to bring her moments of genuine joy. But in her all-encompassing ambition she also callously uses people, even people she loves, and does terrible things.

 

It’s a testament to Parker-Chan’s writing that we can be horrified at these monstrous characters (and let me tell you: they all do truly monstrous things), but also feel deeply for and with them. You won’t just feel along with these characters; your heart will be shredded. Inhabiting the head-spaces of Ouyang and Baoxiang is particularly painful; both men are self-destructive spirals of self-loathing and despair. They’re both grieving the death of Esen-Temur (even if only one will acknowledge it). They’re complicated mirrors for one another in a number of ways, just as all four characters mirror one another in complicated ways.

 

The darkness of this book can feel unrelenting at times, and it’s so emotionally intense that I had to take breaks. But it’s also propulsive reading, and the plotting is brilliant, breakneck, and masterful. There are twists and twists within twists, betrayals and then more betrayals. Alliances shift and shift again. For long periods of time characters move in separate, parallel plotlines. . . but toward the end, Parker-Chan begins bringing them all together, and the plot threads tighten as initially separate characters collide and interact in surprising (and satisfying) ways. And though some characters are too far gone in their darkness and pain to be saved. . .others begin to change. There’s a glimmer of light. Zhu Yuanzhang finally, finally begins to question the price of her pursuit of power. And for Wang Baoxiang, possible redemption comes from an unexpected source.

 

Parker-Chan has said in interviews that their aim to write books that feel like those “hyper-addictive Asian historical TV dramas you can find on Netflix.” As someone addicted myself to those historical fantasy c-dramas, I can say Parker-Chan has succeeded in spades. The intense emotions, the backstabbing and romance and tragedy, the sprawling plotlines and epic sweep—it’s all here. The way a c-drama can invoke an epic romance and tragedy in the backstory of a passing side character in just a few strokes—Parker-Chan does that, too. Parker-Chan has transplanted the feel of an epic c-drama to book form…but with an unusually strong focus on gender issues within a patriarchal society, and with a cast of queer characters that could not be honestly shown now in any tv production of mainland China. And while the author makes use of classic c-drama tropes, they also add unique and satisfying twists to those tropes.

 

It all comes together in a breakneck conclusion that had me guessing till the final page. It’s a supremely satisfying ending. Parker-Chan has done something special with this duology of books: a historical fantasy series that’s heartbreaking, complex, intense, and gorgeously written. A series that takes inspiration from historical Asian tv dramas, but which is uniquely its own thing.