Finnikin of the Rock

It would be an understatement to say my pre-reading anticipation of Finnikin of the Rock was intense. In the past month, I worked my way through Melina Marchetta’s collection of YA contemporary novels, marveling at their subtle complexity, depth of feeling, and realistically drawn characters. Several reviewers proclaimed that her Lumatere Chronicles series was even better, and as a lifelong fan of the fantasy genre, my expectations were high. Were they met? For the most part, yes.

Let me begin with the good. Marchetta’s greatest strength in Finnikin of the Rock is how she tackles real life issues in a fantasy setting. I’d actually call it brilliant that’s how clever it is. According to Marchetta, this story originated as she sat observing a multicultural NYC subway car. Everyone was speaking a different language and came from a different homeland. Instead of writing a contemporary novel, she decided to discuss displacement in a fantasy world. I tried to imagine what that contemporary novel would have been like, and well, I probably would’ve at least enjoyed it because, it's Melina Marchetta, but I don’t think I would have enjoyed it as much. By translating these characters to a real-world setting, the messages could come off super preachy. As in Marchetta noticed a hot topic and wanted to capitalize and proselytize on it. In the fictional land of Skuldenore, with magic and princesses and swords, the reader and Marchetta can explore national identity and displacement without it being heavy-handed.

I gravitated heavily towards this novel’s important themes. I already want to reread Finnikin of the Rock to better understand and philosophize on them myself. Most interesting was the gender relations aspect of the story. I’m a sucker for anything gender studies related because these topics are so relevant today and many facets of sexism and misogyny are constructed in the literature we read. Recently, I read the wildly popular fantasy novel Game of Thrones and wondered why fantasy worlds were always so sexist. It seems like fantasy authors often set their stories in medieval based worlds that are obviously insanely misogynistic. Although Skuldenore is relatively medieval, Marchetta has really turned some of the genre tropes on their head here, making a feminist reading of this novel eminently possible (or at least I think so until I reread it). The relationship between Finnikin and Evanjalin is seductively complex and merits analysis.

Now, unfortunately, onto the bad. I wish I could unabashedly love Finnikin of the Rock, slap five stars on it, and call it a day, but there has to be a “but.” I found the world of Skuldenore a bit unbelievable. Don’t get me wrong; I think Marchetta’s worldbuilding was fantastic. In relatively few pages, she develops distinct personalities for each country—Belegonia as the cultured center of arts and learning (it reminded me of Renaissance Italy); Charyn the sneaky bully country; Yutlind the politically weak and divided country. But from the moment I looked at the provided map at the front of the book, I doubted the realism of this land. Any specialist in geopolitics would regard this map as ridiculous because no small island is going to house that many distinctly disparate groups. It was ludicrous that Lumatere still existed when the entire country was the size of a modern metropolis and contained a population the size of a tiny town. In a realistic world, its bigger neighbors Belegonia and Charyn would have conquered it centuries ago. Language is also an important facet of this novel; the fact that languages vary and are used to construct identities and to deem foreign speakers as Others was a crucial part of this story. Yet I could not believe that a different language was spoken in each territory. Linguistically, unless there are huge natural barriers between countries, they are going to share similar language origins, if not the same language. Each country would not have a distinct tongue. More important than the impracticality of Skuldenore, however, is that the small sizes and close borders of these nations diminished the scope of the novel. Fantasies are supposed to be epic in proportion. While the smaller sizes of the involved parties focused the novel on the struggles of the characters, thus preventing Marchetta from committing the mistake many fantasy authors make—overexplaining grandiose battles between thousands of creatures and peoples from faraway lands—I would have appreciated a larger world with more room for our characters to play.

My final complaint includes spoilers, so look away if you haven’t read Finnikin of the Rock yet. How Marchetta wrote Evanjalin/Isaboe annoyed me. Are we honestly supposed to believe that Finnikin fails to recognize a beloved childhood playmate that he’s mourned for 10 years? Are we supposed to believe that it would never occur to Finnikin to ask, “Hey Evanjalin, in our small nation of 6,000 people, I should know almost everyone, so what’s your lineage with the Monts? Who are your parents?” The answer to this question, which in normal circumstances would undoubtedly arise, would have cleared up a lot of trouble. If it was glaringly obvious to me, as a reader, that Evanjalin was Isaboe dozens of pages before the reveal, it should be obvious to Finnikin, her smart, childhood best friend. Furthermore, I don’t understand the reason for Evanjalin’s secretiveness. I realize that if Marchetta had been upfront about the truth of Evanjalin’s past much of the plot would disappear, but that doesn’t mean she can pretend that her past just isn’t discussed until it’s suitable for the story! My last complaint about Evanjalin (and honestly I did enjoy her character, I just think Marchetta made some choices with her that were unrealistic) is that she seemed vaguely Mary Sueish. I understand that she was supposed to be an empowered female character, and I loved that. I love that she was in charge of Finnikin, not vice versa. But Evanjalin was able to do anything! Other women can only walk the sleep of nearby slumberers? Evanjalin can walk the sleep anywhere. No one can break out of the Sorel prison mines? When Evanjalin is around, that’s no problem! We’re all about to die in Yutlind Sud? Of course, Evanjalin can speak the Yut Sud dialect perfectly, in addition to every other language on the island of Skuldenore. Now that I’m writing this I’m realizing how much she bothered me at times, but to end on a positive note, I did appreciate the romance between Evanjalin/Isaboe and Finnikin. It was slow to develop, and I love that Finnikin didn’t dominate Isaboe. In fact, some of my favorite parts were when Isaboe called out Finnikin on his selfishness and "whoring" ways.

Writing this review illuminated a lot of the problems I had with this book, but I think these problems are easy for a reader to overlook. Marchetta has created a fantastic world populated by charming yet flawed characters. Her treatment of xenophobia, refugees, and gender relations in a sexist society is incredible. Prepare to be a little frustrated by some unrealistic elements, but the take-away is worthwhile.
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Summary: Finnikin was just a boy during the Five Days of the Unspeakable - when soldiers invaded his beloved country of Lumatere, seizing power and placing an imposter king on the throne. During this attack, many people fled Lumatere, whose borders were magically sealed shut behind them. Finnikin is the son of the Captain of the Guard, and grew up best friends with Prince Balthazar and other members of the royal family. Now it has been a decade since the terrible events of those times, and Finnikin has been traveling the surrounding countries with his mentor, Sir Topher, attempting to find the Lumaterran exiles and locate a piece of land for them to settle. But when they come across a convent novice, Evangeline, who claims to have had dreams that Balthazar is still alive, they begin to believe that it might be possible to not just find a new homeland, but to reclaim the old.

Review: This was a book that I absolutely should have liked, if not loved. I like YA medieval-based fantasy, I like stories about lost princes and quests and the righting of old wrongs. I've seen this book on lists of read-alikes for books such as Graceling, which I did love. And yet, I had a hard time connecting with this book, didn't really like any of the characters very much, and was just thoroughly ambivalent about the whole experience.

I think a large part of my issue with this book was the writing style and the intended audience. It's YA, but mostly the story struck me as being for a younger set. Even though Finnikin was somewhere in his late teens, something about the sentence structure and the dialogue just felt young to me, and I didn't find the plot particularly complex (I figured out the "shocking twist" well before it was revealed) or morally weighty. But whenever I was settling down to enjoy it at a younger level, Marchetta would toss in an off-handed mention about Finnikin visiting a prostitute, or an scene with an attempted rape. I'm not opposed to either of those things in my fiction, necessarily, but they struck me as out of keeping with the tone of the rest of the story, and therefore were pretty jarring.

I also didn't really love the gender politics in this story. Even in places where I think Marchetta was trying to be progressive with her gender roles, it didn't always work for me. I'm pretty sure this book failed the Bechdel test (there may have been a short part where Evangeline was discussing her dreams or the future of the kingdom with another woman, but I suspect that if there was, it was in the context of Balthazar and/or Finnikin). Again, that's not necessarily a deal-breaker for me, but there was a feeling to the way that the other (male) characters treated Evangeline that I didn't care for, and her reactions were not any better... with the result that I wound up finding both of the lead characters tiring - not an ideal situation for reading enjoyment.

This was also a book that I think suffered from being an audiobook. Jeffrey Cummings does a fine job (although it's hard to separate out how much my dislike of Evangeline is based on what she says, or how Cummings decided she should say them.) But the geography of Lumatere and the surrounding countries plays a big role in the story, and I spent a lot of time wishing I had a map to hand. 3 out of 5 stars.

Recommendation: I actually don't disagree with the "If you like Kristen Cashore or Tamora Pierce..." type of recommendations, even though I like both of those authors yet was only so-so on this book. Plus it's a book that lots of people do seem to love, so if you like medieval-esque YA fantasy, it's probably worth a try. ( )

2.5 stars

Well shit.

Everyone loved this and unfortunately I ended up being the odd man out.

I seem to have an aversion to fantasy in general and I’m thinking that could be the reason for my disinterest in the novel as a whole. I wish I could say I liked it more because I was really looking forward to this one for a very long time.

The country of Lumatere has been shrouded by a curse for years. Finnikin was hardly more than a child when the unspeakable happened, closing off his homeland and making most of the Lumaterans into exiles. He travels with the old king's counselor, Sir Topher, seeking Prince Balthazar--the only member of the royal family rumored to have survived the tragedy. Instead, he finds a novice priestess named Evanjelin, and a young thief called Froi. But the stories and prophecies of Lumatere don't tell the whole truth, and Finnikin and his compatriots will face grave danger in their attempt to set Lumatere to rights.

If you think the summary is complicated, you haven't seen anything yet. The dense story occupies 400+ pages, and it's easy to lose track of who's who and what's where. (I found myself flipping back to the map in the front of the book over and over.) Finnikin's journey takes him through just about every corner of their continent, gaining allies and enemies along the way. There's an attempted rape and a lot of sexual violence alluded to during the years that Lumatere was cursed.

The story is very good overall, and I'll probably pick up the next book in the series. The ending is really too talky, but it might be the way the plot was designed--of course Finnikin doesn't know what happened during his exile, but does everyone have to tell him EVERYTHING all at once? It made it difficult to really finish the story, since most of the action was already over by that point. (Except for the resolution of the love story, which was worth sticking around.)

Recommended for fans of intricate fantasy worlds. ( )

There are few stories that revolve around the politics and fate of nations that have touched my heart, but those who do leave an indelible memory. As I cried with the people of TIGANA, so too did I cry with the citizens of Lumatere. Do not be fooled, however, into thinking FINNIKIN OF THE ROCK is only about politics. Love, pain, cruelty, the perception of childhood and the realizations of adults.

All of those sweet realizations and touching moments were, as most good things, slow to come to fruition. It took me awhile to lose myself in the pages, struggling to understand the geography and history of the world Marchetta had created. Once I had reached that tipping point (for me, as for Finnikin and Evanjalin, it on a rock overlooking the countryside), I gulped down the story in gasping, laughing mouthfuls. Marchetta could have written this story about any heartbreak, any displacement. Though her characters inhabit a world where magic and goddesses shape their lives, neither of these facts is ever used to insulate them from the human condition.

In the end, though this book takes place in a fairytale kingdom, with horses and swords and mysticism, it FINNIKIN OF THE ROCK achieves pathos and realism through its characters. My heart broke for them, bled for them, and in the end, swelled with their joy and hope.

Reread (7/12): Beautiful the second time through, read this to gear up for FROI. ( )