This is hands down one of the best fantasy trilogies I’ve read. Ever.
Sorry Sarah J. Maas and Leigh Bardugo and to all the other super popular series that have defined the market for the past decade, but none of you hold a candle to S. A. Chakraborty’s Daevabad trilogy.
That’s it that’s the review.
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Okay, no, it’s not. I have a lot I want to say about this series, but to do so, I’ll need to break my usual, unspoken rule and reveal a bunch of spoilers, so reader beware! Spoilers ahead!
One last disclaimer before I dive in: I won’t gush about how I still think Chakraborty’s world is one of the most lush and vivid fantasies I’ve sunken into in years. (If you were going to look up atmospheric in a dictionary, a picture of the Daevabad books would be listed as the definition.) I already said much of that in my first review of the first installment, The City of Brass, which you can read to set-up what I’m going to share here about installments two and three, The Kingdom of Copper and The Empire of Gold, respectively.
Let’s begin, then, shall we?
The City of Brass ends with equal parts of betrayal and tragedy and defiance. Its cliffhanger is enough to make you immediately pick up the second book, The Kingdom of Copper, and continue. After a prologue which sets up our main three characters—Nahri, Dara, and Ali—after the events of the preceding book, we skip ahead five years.
Nahri has been trying to be a dutiful servant and healer of her cruel overlords, especially since she is now the king’s daughter-in-law through his schemes of arranging her marriage to his eldest son. Younger son Prince Ali, who was banished for his supposed attempts at a coup to overthrow his father and brother, is now aiding his tribesmen’s survival in their desert homeland with his new found magical powers thanks to a certain vengeful marid who possessed him to slay Dara at the end of book one. Except Dara has been resurrected—again—to serve Nahri’s long lost, thought to be dead, mother who is seeking her vengeance by taking back the throne which is her birthright.
Through the events of this book, we see the threatened, almost ruined, friendship of Nahri and Ali rekindle into something fiercer, stronger as they seek to rebuild Nahri’s ancestral hospital where all can seek healing regardless of their tribe, their bloodline. However, little do they know her mother’s plans for reclaiming the throne are sure to destroy whatever hopes they had in its restoration. Those plans are enough to even cause Dara to doubt his allegiance to the Nahid family, but he cannot sacrifice his loyalty. Not yet.
During the opening of a centurial festival, all comes to a head. The newly opened hospital has sown discord between the tribes, leading to an attack on Nahri and her fellow Daeva tribesmen. Unfortunately, as Ali and his siblings try to protect their all people, regardless of tribe, by using the ensuing chaos to do what they know is right in removing their father from the throne—Dara and his Daeva warriors lay siege to the city.
After a horrendous battle which results in the genocide of thousands, Nahri and Ali steal the item which her mother seeks, which would give her the power to rule, and escape to Egypt.
The Empire of Gold begins with Ali and Nahri waking in Cairo to find they were magically transported across thousands of miles away from Daevabad, and all magic is gone. Back in the djinn city, after seeing the loss of his people, both his tribesmen and other djinn, Dara is shaken. The doubts which were planted in book two take hold and choke his loyalty.
All three are set on a path to remove Nahri’s cruel mother from the throne.
Along the way, Nahri learns the truth of her parentage as much as Ali, who discovers his new powers are because he is the descendant of an ancient line from a Nile marid like the one who possessed him. They travel to Ali’s mother’s city fortress and tribe in Ta Ntry where they hope to find refuge as they recover and plot how best to save Daevabad. What they didn’t expect was to fall in love along the way. Meanwhile, Dara’s attempts at making peace between the remaining royals and Nahri’s mother fail. Believing him to be a traitor, Nahri’s mother enslaves him again.
When her mother makes her first move at negotiating their surrender, Nahri is spurred into action to stop her mother by any means necessary.
I cannot even begin to describe the final battle as it meticulously wove together all the different threads—both core and supporting characters (or creatures) as well as miniscule details—to reveal a masterful tapestry of exquisite artistry I admire and aspire to achieve. One could even say there were necessary multiple endings, much like the film adaptation of The Return of the King.
This is where I’ll have to insist you read the books because I cannot do them justice by my summary alone. (Though, maybe if I tell you I am still suffering from the worst reading hangover and haven’t been able to pick up and stick with another book since, that could convince you.) I haven’t even begun to describe the pantheon of characters and creatures and magic Chakraborty built within her world. If you know me at all, then you know I do not say this next compliment lightly nor often: it was a Tolkien-level mythopoeia.
There are two comments I wish to make about specifics of her book which I find unparalleled in other works I’ve read:
- If you are a fan of slow burn romances, Chakraborty’s Daevabad trilogy is a masterclass. It is the slowest burn I have ever read in my life, and it is worth every page. There’s even hints of a love triangle at times, but it is tastefully executed;
- For the character of Dara in particular, he is the apotheosis of an antihero, but the redemptive arch Chakraborty develops through him culminating in the merciful ending she gives him, one which he has so distinctly earned—it is so poignant, so perfect. It is what I wept over most.
The plethora of tears I shed whilst reading these books were because of my investment as a reader in the characters, like Dara, in how alive they felt and how much I wanted them to succeed—a rare experience. I shed more now in memory of how extraordinary, how magnificent, splendiferous, lavish, and resplendent Chakraborty’s work is; how unequal I find it to others in its field.
Thus, I shall end this review with what I would hope Chakraborty would take as the highest compliment I can offer her beyond my kvelling.
There is only one modern author who I admire enough to say that I hope one day I can write as well as her. I now have two modern authors I aspire to evoke, and Chakraborty is one of them.
I recently read on Twitter someone sharing their advice to aspiring authors. It was advice they once were given from writer Amy Hempel. They said that the biggest mistake writers make is wanting to publish more than wanting to write well.
It struck me because how often have I been guilty of just wanting to hurry up and get published instead of taking the time to master my craft?
I think now I know that if I ever want to write with as much skill and artistry as Chakraborty, I need to stop focusing so much on getting published, and instead be diligent in my craft so I can compose my own mythopoeia as exquisite as I can.
Thank you, Chakraborty, for writing something so compelling it is a work of art I aspire to match in my own way. It was an honour to read.
What about you? Have you read anything as inspiring as the Daevabad trilogy? What was it? Share your new discovered favourites in the comments below!
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