I’m shamelessly plugging my new Fantasy Romance serial in the intro to an unrelated post. Join the new Patreon tier or my Ream page , or read it on Kindle Vella.
As promised, I’m importing the A Court of Thorns and Roses recaps here from Patreon. These were originally written beginning in August of 2020, so there will be references to upcoming or seasonal events that won’t fit with our current timeline. I am not a time traveler and you’ll never be able to prove that I am. I will also include editors notes like this every now and then as we go, mostly to amuse myself but to give re-read value to those who’ve already been on this awful, awful journey with me.
We did it. We got to the sex. We got to the…
Didn’t BookTok and BookTube and BookTwitter and everywhere else assure me that this was gonna “spicy”? Like, I just got Indian food today and the guy warned me not to put too much of the chili sauce in my food because it’s spicy, so I listened to him, and of course, he was right. It was really spicy. So, I listened to the internet when they warned me that ACOTAR would be spicy and, well, frankly…
We’ll get to it. I don’t want to jump the gun. ed.—The guy who warned me about the chili sauce did so by relating a story about someone who didn’t listen to him, and who ended up having cardiac issues. This will not be the case for you while reading the sex scene in this book. Your heart rate won’t increase even just a little bit.
Chapter twenty-seven opens with Feyre laying in bed, trying not to think about how Tamlin reacted when Rhysand left. His reaction was…bad:
It was even more of an effort to not recall the roaring that rattled the chandelier or the cracking of shattering furniture that echoed through the house.
It’s nice to have yet another hero who reacts to things with violence. I like to keep things generally same-y. I don’t like change.
But we all know what the most important detail is. Come on, Feyre. Tell us. You know you want to tell us.
And I couldn’t bring myself to paint.
Now that we’ve established Feyre’s painting status, let’s move on.
The house had been quiet for some time now, but the ripples of Tamlin’s rage echoed through it, reverberating in wood and stone and glass.
I guess I might could be reading this a little too literally, but what I’m getting is that he yelled so much the echo is still going on hours later? I don’t get this description or how I’m supposed to take it, but also, autism, so this one might be on me and my tendency to think too literally.
Which, coincidentally, makes “Piano Man” an incredibly difficult song to listen to.
I didn’t want to think about all that Rhysand had said—didn’t want to think about the looming storm of the blight, or Under the Mountain—whatever it was called—and why I might be forced to go there.
Wow, the rare triple em dash. And so entirely unnecessary, considering “whatever it was called” was literally in the sentence, capitalized and everything. Brava.
And Amarantha—at last a name to go with the female presence that stalked their lives.
At last, another opportunity for blatant misogyny has entered the story. But Feyre is pretty scared/impressed about Amarantha’s power:
To hold Rhysand’s leash and make Tamlin beg to keep me hidden from her.
Glad to see we’re still going with the accidental horny gay stuff because let me tell you, autism literalism or not, Rhysand on a leash is some leather club visuals.
Tamlin comes into the room and sits on the bed to apologize to Feyre.
“It’s fine,” I lied, clenching the sheets in my hands. If I still thought too long about it, I could still feel the claw-tipped caresses of Rhysand’s power scraping against my mind.
Let’s talk about strong female characters and our perception of what, exactly, makes them strong. I’ve noticed a running theme in the books we read as Jealous Haters: from Ana Steele to Feyre Whose Last Name Escapes Me, the heroine’s strength always seems to come not from her actions, but her ability to keep her reactions to herself. In Fifty Shades of Grey and its sequels, Ana would often brush off things that bothered her or hide how situations made her feel, and then she would almost always be described as “brave” right after. For example, wanting Christian not to worry about her after she’s hospitalized following the time she foiled a violent kidnapping. That’s what made her strong and brave: not acknowledging her trauma. In Apolonia, the heroine is strong and brave because she’s walking around with untreated PTSD after she’s the sole survivor of the gruesome murder of her family. And here, we have Feyre, who just had her mind violated, putting that trauma aside to reassure the male main character that she’s fine, even though internally she says it’s very much not fine.
And that’s what makes her tough, more than any of the rough and tumble stuff we’ve seen her do. And whe know that’s what makes her tough because we see it more than we see the rough and tumble.
The more I think about books I’ve read with Strong Female Characters™, the more I see this pattern. It’s in books I’ve written. At some point, genre fiction just kind of banded together and unconsciously decided that the best way for a female character to be strong is for her to achieve toxic levels of emotional repression.
Moving on.
Tamlin tells Feyre that he’s sending her home.
“What about the terms of the Treaty—”
“I have taken on your life-debt. Should someone come inquiring after the broken laws, I’ll take responsibility for Andras’s death.”
Editor’s note: Didn’t the Suriel, a creature who cannot lie, tell Feyre there’s no way around the Treaty? Tamlin also seemed to be under this impression.
Sarah:
“But you once said that there was no other loophole. The Suriel said there was no—”
A snarl. “If they have a problem with it, they can tell me.” And wind up in ribbons.
Translation: Yes, Maas absolutely laid down rules of her own creation that unequivocally set the parameter that there is no way for Feyre to go home, no matter what. But then she decided not to go with that after all and editing isn’t something you do after you sell Throne of Glass.
My chest caved in. Leaving—free. “Did I do something wrong—”
Yes, Feyre. It’s all about you. It’s not about the blight or the fact that you’re in danger.
Well, I mean, that Clare girl is in danger. You’ll probably be fine. I mean, Clare will also probably be fine because the author will probably forget about her. ed.—The author does not, in fact, forget her.
He lifted my hand to press it to his lower cheek.
JAW SAY JAW FOR THE LOVE OF GOD BECAUSE I THOUGHT YOU MEANT HIS ASS CHEEK.
Tamlin reassures Feyre that she’s perfect and has never done anything wrong ever and she asks why she has to go even though her safety in Prythian has been a plot point this whole god damn time.
“Because there are … there are people who would hurt you, Feyre. Hurt you because of what you are to me. I thought I would be able to handle them, to shield you from it, but after today … I can’t. So you need to go home—far from here. You’ll be safe there.”
Makes sense, right?
NOT TO FEYRE BECAUSE SHE’S A KICKASS HEROINE.
“I can hold my own, and—”
“You can’t,” he said, and his voice wobbled. “Because I can’t.”
THANK YOU. For fuck’s sake, Feyre. You spend the whole god damn book talking about how dangerous fairies are, you get into a bunch of situations you have to be rescued from by fairies because they’re stronger than you are, but you think you can hold your own? I wish I had the powerhouse of self-esteem and disproportionate self-confidence Feyre has. I’d be as unstoppable as a young white man who knows that you know who his father is.
“When you get home,” he cut in, “don’t tell anyone the truth about where you were; let them believe the glamour. Don’t tell them who I am; don’t tell them where you stayed. Her spies will be looking for you.”
Her spies will be looking for that Clare person. We’ve covered that already.
Feyre is still like, oh, I don’t understand, why do I have to leave and like, Feyre. He covered this pretty extensively already. You have to leave because he can’t protect you from the blight or Amarantha so he has to send you back home. There’s not a lot more for him to explain.
Home. It wasn’t my home—it was Hell. “I want to stay with you,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Treaty or no treaty, blight or no blight.”
There’s that pesky hell word again, in a world where, and I cannot stress this enough, there doesn’t seem to be any religion in which hell is a concept at all.
Tamlin tells her there’s no use in arguing about it, he’s sending her away.
“Rhys was the start of it. Do you want to be here when the Attor returns? Do you want to know what kind of creatures the Attor answers to? Things like the Bogge—and worse.”
Isn’t Rhysand worse than the Bogge, really? We didn’t see the Bogge or the violence it’s capable of. We saw it turn into stuff at the gate and we saw Tamlin after he fought it, but it was all off-the-page. And the Attor spooked Feyre but it didn’t really do anything other than hiss at Tamlin and Lucien. The way this sentence is worded implies that Rhysand isn’t actually as dangerous as those things when we’ve seen him inflict worse brutality upon Feyre than any of the other creatures she’s encountered. He’s also the only one with power over Tamlin and Lucien, and we already know that Amarantha killed that one fairy by ripping his wings off. Honestly, now that you’ve got those heavy hitters in your rotation, Sarah, it’s time to forget the fucking Bogge, which wasn’t that scary, to begin with.
“So you’re sending me away because I’m useless in a fight?”
Yes, Feyre, that’s why he’s sending you away. After pages of being told, hey, you have to go because you will get killed, you’re finally able to grasp the point: you have to go because you will get killed.
She asks Tamlin how long she has to hide, because she can’t stand the thought of being away from him for years or longer:
“But not forever, right?” Even if the blight spread to the Spring Court again, even if it could shred me apart … I would come back.
Far be it from me to suggest that intelligence is a strength and that Feyre doesn’t appear super strong by insisting that she’s gonna run straight into the arms of death so she can be with the guy who kidnapped her but…
Choo choo, here comes the self-pity train:
“I suppose it’ll be easier if I’m gone,” I said, looking away from him. “Who wants someone around who’s so covered in thorns?”
“Thorns?”
“Thorny. Prickly. Sour. Contrary.”
GET IT BECAUSE THORNS IS IN THE TITLE OF THE BOOK THIS IS CLEVER BECAUSE IT’S IN THE TITLE OF THE BOOK.
I like that Tamlin doesn’t get her metaphor at all, giving the author the chance to explain what she means and why it’s so clever.
Tamlin responds to this by saying that they won’t have to be apart forever, and then he kisses Feyre and guess what?
*porn music*
Awww yeah. You know what time it is.
They get all kissy and gropey and she straddles him.
My entire world constricted to the touch of his lips on my skin. Everything beyond them, beyond him, was a void of darkness and moonlight.
Darkness. You know. The kind that has light in it. That kind of darkness.
He breathed my name onto my chest, one of his hands exploring the plane of my torso, rising up to the slope of my breast.
For all we know he’s got one hand in her ditch and the other in her game park. We’ve already established that Maas isn’t good at geological features.
With one long claw, he shredded through silk and lace, and my undergarment fell away in pieces.
Through the scene so far, her “undergament” is mentioned three times. It’s described as having a waist that runs across her hips. Maas will throw “Hell” around like a fucking dodge ball but she’ll be damned if she just says “panties,” even when the “undergarment” she’s describing is clearly PANTIES.
I ground against his hand, yielding completely to the writhing wildness that had roared alive inside me, and breathed his name onto his skin.
That’s right. She used “breathed [his/her] name onto [his/her] [body part]” twice on the same page. It’s not like using “hands” or “sit” too much. It’s such specific wording you can’t just recycle it. This is not a Merry Gentry book where the heroine gets to “glow like I swallowed the moon” nine times per chapter.
So, he’s vaguely fingering her because what’s the point of writing a sex scene if you have to name actual body parts and actions, and he stops. And Feyre is like, don’t stop, and Tamlin starts quoting shit from 1980s historical rapemances:
“I—” he said thickly, resting his brow between my breasts as he shuddered. “If we keep going, I won’t be able to stop at all.”
Uh-huh. Well, you fucking better be able to stop or you need to not be engaging in any sexual activity whatsoever. This isn’t Calanmai, you’re not possessed by magic or something. You don’t have a get-out-of-consent-free card anymore.
I hate that “I won’t be able to stop” is making a comeback. I keep seeing it pop up in all these Facebook ads for those jackass little manga apps targeted to teenagers. If you wanna write a romance, make it romantic. If you wanna write stuff with reluctant/dubious/no consent, write erotica and for god’s sake, put it in the right genre.
Feyre answers him by getting naked and showing him her pussy, but obviously that particular body part must not be named in any way:
Utterly naked before him, I watched his gaze travel to my bare breasts, peaked against the chill night, to my abdomen, to between my thighs. A ravenous, unyielding sort of hunger passed over his face. I bent a leg and slid it to the side, a silent invitation.
Not “between my thighs!” That’s almost as filthy and explicit as “…down there!” I’m sorry, I need to go to church. This is too much for me.
There’s another “between my thighs” when he eats her out until “[…]I shuddered and fractured.” Then he “sheathed” himself in her (that’s P-in-V intercourse, dear Patrons) and that “[…]had me splintering around him.”
We moved together, unending and wild and burning, and when I went over the edge the next time, he roared and went with me.
So, for as hot and sexy and edgy as this book is supposed to be, it’s really just a standard, mild sex scene from an author afraid to use the sex words. And this really isn’t a fault with the book, but with the hype. If I had never heard about how unrelentingly explicit it was and I read it and somehow didn’t DNF before this point, it wouldn’t have appeared so laughably tame. But I did hear the hype and frankly, most of the hype isn’t around what a great fantasy novel this is (because it’s not) but how it’s basically the Fifty Shades of fairyland. And it is, but not in a complimentary way. It’s just further proof of how sexually repressed our culture is, that any sort of vague, brief sexuality is considered oh my god, so groundbreakingly controversial.
It’s annoying and I hate it.
There’s a section break followed by:
I fell asleep in his arms, and when I awoke a few hours later, we made love again, lazily and intently, a slow-burning smolder to the wildfire of earlier.
“Lazily” and “intently” aren’t adverbs that compliment each other. They’re not directly contradictory in terms of definitions, but the idea that you can focus on something intently and do so lazily is difficult to reconcile.
So is:
Once we were both spent, panting and sweat-slicked, we lay in silence for a time, and I breathed in the smell of him, earthy and crisp.
They fucked so lazily that they ended up “sweat-slicked?” How does that work?
Also, how does this work?
I would never be able to capture that—never be able to paint the feel and taste of him, no matter how many times I tried, no matter how many colors I used.
No shit, you can’t paint a smell or a feel or a taste. But at least we’re once again reminded that Feyre paints. It’s such a subtle detail of her characterization that I had almost forgotten.
Tamlin tells her that she needs to rest for the journey home. They’re going to leave at dawn tomorrow. I’m a little confused about that because it was nighttime when he came to her room and they’ve now slept and fucked for hours, so it should be almost dawn, right?
But Feyre tells Tamlin not to leave her alone, and he stays and holds her until she gets real sleepy.
I was leaving. Just when this place had become more than a sanctuary, when the command of the Suriel had become a blessing and Tamlin far, far more than a savior or friend, I was leaving. It could be years until I saw this house again, years until I smelled his rose garden, until I saw those gold-flecked eyes. Home—this was home.
At what point did Tamlin become her savior? He kidnapped her. He tore her away from her family. How on earth did that save her? Yeah, he intervened and stopped her from getting killed by stuff but she would never have been in danger if he hadn’t kidnapped her in the first place.
I get super angry when people say Disney’s Beauty and the Beast is about Stockholm syndrome. Belle is never happy being locked up at the Beast’s castle, and even though she starts to fall for him, she’s happy to return home. She knows her father needs help and she wants to leave the Beast’s castle. When he asks her if she’s happy to be there with him she’s like, yeah BUT I want to see my father. And when the Beast frees her, she leaves RIGHT THEN. It takes her like two seconds to change out of that ballgown and she’s on the next horse out of there. She’s like, thanks for understanding, bye, and takes off. She doesn’t ask if she can come back, she doesn’t express any desire to, she just is like, it’s been real, it’s been fun, but it hasn’t been real fun and walks out of his life. She only realizes she loves him after he lets her go and she can’t bear the thought of him being murdered by Gaston and his angry mob. Nothing about her character or who she is as a person changes at all. The Beast does all the changing and that’s what earns Belle’s love.
But pop culture feminism decided at some point in the ’10s that Disney’s version of this story is toxic, abusive, and a horrible example to women, while A Court of Thorns and Roses was touted as a new wave of feminist-friendly fantasy. Because Feyre is a Strong Female Character™ in a genre that, despite featuring classic characters like Éowyn, Brienne of Tarth, Ciri, Anathema Device, et. al., allegedly doesn’t have any of those. ed.—And all of those characters are allowed to be frightened and fragile at times.
And what was I saying about Stockholm syndrome? Oh yeah. This retelling of “Beauty and the Beast” really is sending up a lot of Swedish flags.
If you weren’t around for the dawning of the age of Maas domination, you might not realize just how prevalent the social media praise for this book was. You could not get it out of your face and while a lot of people didn’t fall for the “It’s feminism!” word-of-mouth marketing, critics weren’t in the majority. I’m still not sure they are. There were people who pointed out how misogynistic and weird this book is, but most readers kind of just decided, well, there’s a sexy scene in it so…yay? It’s empowering?
Where have we run into that before, I wonder?
This is at least the second time in this recap Feeree’s chest has “caved in,” which I know because it’s at least the second time I’ve startled the animals by shouting “IF ONLY!”
Every subsequent reference to her chest was super extra sexy, lemme tell ya.
Does the fact that Feyre paints ever become like … actually relevant to the plot? In any of these books? I might forgive her for constantly bringing it up if she somehow cures the blight with her painting skills or something.
Jenny, that’s such a good observation about what tends to make Strong Female Characters “strong.” It always seems to be some variation of “behaves like a man” and men are never, ever supposed to show their emotions. (Sarcasm, obvi.)
Does she ever actually paint? Maybe Jenny skipped all the times Fayray does actually put brush to canvas, but from the recaps all we ever hear is how Fayray CAN’T paint this, or can’t paint that. I’m really doubting that she can paint at all. She’s probably just one of those posers who think’s it’s “cool” to be a painter so walks around with paint splatters on her tee shirt and a brush sticking out the back pocket of her jeans.
And I agree totally about the “strong” female character lie that seems so prevalent these days. No, being a defiant little brat who hides her feelings isn’t “strong”, it’s stupid and childish.
Fayray is an extremist. From “I must leave this place and take care of my family back home” to “This is my home and my family can stuff it. I wanna bang the hot fairy!” with, what was the impetus to that? Abs? oh, wait, no, it was almost being raped by hot guys, meaning she’s worthy in this world. *puke*
She painted! It gets glossed over a bit because Maas doesn’t delve into technique or anything remotely more detailed. So Feyre painted Tamlin and Lucien as pigs, she painted a bunch of other random shit (including a picture of Egg Boy’s hand holding a lock of her hair in the hair; Jenny referred to it as a practice piece because yeah lol.) She shared her paintings with Tamlin shortly after the pig painting and then at some other point it was mentioned Feyre painted for several weeks to build up the small “gallery” offering she ends up nervously showing to Tamlin who’s impressed and Feyre is humble about it or whatever.
But it makes no impact on anything. It’s just a hobby. I get it though. It’s hard describing details without going hardcore into research or doing it yourself. It’s just annoying because she’s so repetitive about not being able to do it that the only reason I remember when she did paint was because I knew I’d be disappointed and of course I was correct. The most distinctive thing she says is how Alis insists on stripping Feyre out of her paint splattered clothes and into a nice fancy dress for the shitty Summer party she was actually invited to and got drunk at because she decided to get hammered. Which is… yes, about the same but also kinda gross. Poor Alis. Poor, poor, empty shell of an NPC Alis who could be so much more beyond “my sister had kids and I apparently have to dress you like you’re a child.”
er lol I meant about the same as what you said, deciding that being an artist is cool and pretending to be one by having fake paint splatter. She gets it honest but Maas is definitely taking this approach herself, which is why Feyre acts like one of those.
Oh, right, I forgot about the painting of the hands, and her showing Tam her drawings. I think it is my brain trying to save me from this insanity, and yet, here I am, back for more.
I don’t blame you. It’s does nothing to enhance her character or anyone else’s. I legit only remembered because I’m bitter as hell.
I’ve also realized it’s something I have to keep in mind if I write about any characters with a hobby I don’t know a lot about: doing research and trying to make it feel like they really enjoy it and know something about it. Even if it’s just a job I don’t know much about, I try to keep that in mind. Then again, I tend to research any time I have the question “does this make sense?” or “how does this work?” and the internet is full of forums with people talking about their personal experiences, so it’s not too hard to find info. I’m probably better than most about hunting stuff down (and realizing my idea might not work after all) but I’m certainly not perfect lol.
And Feyre really overuses the “can’t paint” thing in two really repetitive phrases as you noted, to the point that’s way more memorable. It also doesn’t really express her mood enough to feel useful so it’s infuriating!
Apparently in later books, she gives out her paintings as gifts to people at court.
That’s cute! And a little bit weird but I like it. I’m sure Feyre doesn’t approach them very well and makes it all about herself but I like the idea of Feyre becoming sort of a Court Painter, doing portraits and stuff, and giving people paintings that she thinks they’d like or even as bribes lol. Could add some fun things like smut too, or using it for flattery, or experimental, or impressionistic, or whatever distinctive genre (surrealism) but it’s just gonna be vaguely impressive/realistic and nothing else, I’m sure. You could do so much with such a little thing like this, including express how she’s gotten better or still struggling with techniques or how she’s just in a bad headspace about her work from time to time (or in general.) So much missed opportunity, I’m sure but correct me if I’m wrong.
What is up with this girl and her obsession with paint? Like does she need to document every little thing in some tangible way?
Also, “had me splintering around him.” does not sound sexy at all.
I don’t really look at genres, I just read whatever looks interesting, but Jenny’s comment about romance and erotica caught my attention.
I think myself and many others have been confusing romance with erotica then. Maybe, just maybe if people understood the difference in genres, there would be a lot less b*tching in forums over certain series toxicity then.
If I understood correctly, romance is for healthy relationships, and erotica is for the questionable ones?
“(I’m oversimplifying, I know, but is that the basic gist of things?).
Basically, romance is for ROMANCE focused books, and erotica is for SEX focused books (which might be dark and upsetting and nonconsensual or might also have romance in them but with the hot sex as the narrative focus rather than the romantic development, or anything in between).
I think there’s some kind of Dark Romance subgenre for books that are primarily romance focused but involve a purposefully unhealthy romance (and I also think that subgenre has people who think it shouldn’t exist but that’s beyond the point) but I think Jenny’s comment about romance and erotica was basically saying if you want to write dubiously or non-consensual sexual relations there’s a genre for that but it isn’t Romance. Also Dark Romance might be a new subgenre, it may not have been as much of a thing when these reviews were first written.
I wouldn’t mind Feyre just sharing her hobby if she had something interesting to contribute but Maas definitely didn’t do enough research so it ends up irritating. She uses it more to describe if Feyre is depressed, I think, and does a bad job of it too.
I agree with what you, Ace Dragon, and Jenny have said but want to add my own takeaway as well. The things that get people off can be pretty weird or wild and it doesn’t necessarily follow narrative sense. Dreams pull from our subconscious and so does what helps us orgasm. You can explore the reasons and sometimes there’s a source but essentially plot and sex are on separate, parallel spectrum.
You can have both, they can complement each other incredibly well, but there are some people who want the bare minimum of a plot and that’s kind of where erotica comes in. People could theoretically orgasm over random ass shit within five paragraphs if you hit the right mental triggers. It still might take some time (and one hand free ahem) but the plot requires processing, while the sex and the immediate build up to it doesn’t necessarily, nor does it need to make the most sense. So erotica can have a plot, it can have a healthy relationship, and it can be entirely consensual but it has more freedom to ignore those things for sure because it just has to be erotic and sexual. Romance is selling itself on a happy ending to the relationship they’ve built up (this used to be a requirement in the genre for some decades) and it generally focuses on that; they don’t even have to get super spicy if that’s not required.
Think of it as the difference between a porno and any movie, not just a romantic one. Pornos don’t need to make sense, although given how supposedly more people in the US are taking them as “how-tos” because proper sex education is barely taught in some states and some sex ed books like “It’s Perfectly Normal” are banned for being inclusive and informative about consent and LGBTQA+++ topics, perhaps more pornos should take an ethical stance for that and many, many other reasons. Anyway… it’s kind of like how fairy tales are short, use tropes, and don’t really try to explain everything lol.
I’m not saying all erotica is on the same level as any given porno btw that’s why I just said it’s on its own track and it has different parameters for what it needs to sell you on than romance. I hope that made sense and if I got anything wrong, please feel free to correct me, folks.