The Harp of Kings by Juliet Marillier

The Harp of Kings by Juliet Marillier

I can't believe it took me this long discover Juliet Marillier, and I can't believe this novel came out last year.

I saw someone tweet online that Netflix's adaptation of The Witcher was trying to be the new Game of Thrones but wound up more like Xena: Warrior Princess, and that this was a good thing. I couldn't agree more. There's something about The Witcher that gives it a distinct 90s vibe, for all the HBO-esque emphasis on being a fully-MA nudity-and-swearing fantasy. There's also a kind of playful campiness that reminded of watching the SciFi Channel after coming home from school. It was a delight.

Similarly, Marillier's Harp of Kings seems to me to come from an earlier time, in all the right ways. Maybe this shouldn't be surprising; her first fantasy novel, Daughter of the Forest, came out in 1999. And while it was The Witcher's willingness to go from grimdark intrigue to banter-laden buddy-romp that gave it a Xena-esque vibe, The Harp of Kings benefits from taking its subject matter seriously that kept me turning pages, feeling like a sixth-grader staying up too late to finish the next chapter.

A brief plot outline: Liobhan and her brother Brocc are in training to become "Swan Island" warriors, members of a secretive order of warrior-spies in medieval Ireland. They're also talented bards, because of course they are. They enjoy a tense rivalry with Dau, a young man who sees a future as a Swan Island man as his only chance to get away from his abusive noble family—because of course he does. Though still in training, they are given their first mission: to help retrieve a missing ceremonial harp needed for the upcoming coronation of a young king who is set to come of age and step into his crown. They go to the court in disguise, only to find that there may be—wait for it!—supernatural elements at play, trying to prevent the king-to-be's ascension, since he doesn't respect or seem to believe in the "uncanny."

Okay, that's the plot. And if you go by the plot, that sounds a little cliché. But then again, so does a powerful ex-warlord travelling the land with a plucky bard companion trying to redeem herself by serving "the greater good." So does a taciturn monster hunter traveling the land with a plucky bard companion trying to make a buck and failing to avoid embroilment in political scuffles and ongoing national crises.

What makes any story like this standout is going to rely a lot on tone, and there's no singular tone that's guaranteed to make it successful. What made Harp of Kings a delight, for me, was its absolute, unabashed earnestness.

Juliet Marillier, I've found out is a huge fan of Celtic history and folklore, and it shows. She is able to approach the fantastical elements in the book from a place of complete sincerity, partially because the "uncanny" works in the novel much as it did in ancient Celtic tradition. The book's scale might seem odd for some readers, with the actual area of land that the would-be-king controls undefined but definitely not large—but then Ireland isn't very large, and its wilds defy scale. Druids get wrapped up in the plot, and, again, they feel very authentic. To say more would ruin the book's mystery...

But most of all, there is Liobhan. She's a terrific protagonist because, despite being very young, she knows exactly who she is. And if who she is seems a bit cliché for a fantasy series like this—strong-willed, a capable fighter with a lust for adventure, compassionate towards children, fond of her brother and appreciative of his talents—the trick of it is that this manages to be both a fantasy, a mystery, and a spy story. And Liobhan is a terrible spy. Liobhan is disguised as nothing more than a travelling musician, someone who should be cowed by royalty and high-ranking druids; yet she can't stop herself from speaking her mind, and more than once she reflects that even her posture might give her away. It gets even worse when she ignores the advice of her handlers.

I realize as I write this, I'm not doing the book justice. It might be have less to do with the novel and more to do with me, and the current moment. The Harp of Kings reminds me of the kind of fantasy I loved as a kid: the world is undeniably strange but grounded enough that it feels tactile and real, and most of the novel's complications come from disagreements between the heroes about the best way to achieve their ends—but they all desire to do right for the world. If the novel has any ambition to ask a question, it is simply the question of how one can safely know if they are doing the right thing when it comes to matters of leadership. And it is a question that, I admit, is largely answered for the characters in the form of a minor deus ex machina—though one that is earned, I feel, within the rules in this fantastical setting.

This week, Mr. Trump fired Geoffrey Berman, U.S. Attorney for the Southern District of New York. It's not hard to guess why; the Southern District has been investigating people and organizations close to Trump, including Rudy Giuliani. It is, in short, blatant corruption that motivated Berman's removal. But it's also only one offense in a long string of offenses that are as dispiriting as they are, now, predictable. Former National Security Advisor John Bolton's new book came out this week too; in it, Bolton reveals that Trump asked China for assistance getting re-elected. Four years ago, such a scandal would have rocked the nation. Now, it will likely be forgotten in a few days. And all of this as our nation continues to grapple with its racist history of using the police to oppress and murder Black people.

I don't know the best way to get rid of that of level corruption. Police abolition is a start. Removing Trump from office is a start too, though if I knew a simple, sure-fire way to make that happen in our November elections, I would be working for a Democratic thinktank instead of teaching kids how to punch stuff. To really make any meaningful change on these fronts, we need to read up, we need to work hard. We need to take it to the streets, as so many brave protestors have done since the death of George Floyd (and long before). But after the streets, we also need to go home. We also need to rest.

For all its excitement, with sword fights and magical crow-people, I found The Harp of Kings, at its core, very comforting. It was a brand of earnest, heroic fantasy in which victory is possible, though sacrifice is of course required. It felt like Christmas break circa 1998, with hot cocoa and no limit on how late you can stay up reading—no limit except how long you can keep your eyes open. It felt like home.