A Dark and Drowning Tide saw the untapped potential of Sapphic Romantasies and finally thrust open the door to whimsical, fantasy-heavy stories of lesbian knights and magic. Indeed, Saft’s idea and general plot felt like a breath of fresh air, gearing up to compete with straight romatasy novels and even holding its own against the genre’s colossi (not that it is such an impossible task). The queer representation, too, was wholly refreshing, portraying the two main characters without relying on stereotypes, but, rather, placing a lot of importance in their fluid gender expression and fully abandoning heteronormative portrayals—for example, in this novel, Sylvia, the femme co-protagonist, has all the innate traits of a brave and honorable knight, adept with her sword and combat skills, while the masc character is more of an avid academic, whose strength lies in their mind and their magic.
Furthermore, the narrative seemed to be brimming with potential: part quest, part murder mystery, with a specific attention to the power of folktales and a political intrigue undertone (we will be unfortunately circling back to this shortly). The cast of characters, as well, looked to be promising: a motley team of six academics (most of which noblemen from one of the five regions of the newly unified country of Brunnestaad), all with very conflicting personalities and hidden political beliefs (while outwardly putting up a front of support and loyalty to the unified crown). It’s in this arena that our protagonist (in whose head the reader is stuck in for the entirety of the novel), Lorelei, gets involved in; what precludes her from being wholly accepted by the elitist members of the expedition is her otherness, which is apparent and scorned as her appearance and name betray her ethnicity: indeed, Lorelei is Yevani—this world’s fantasy equivalent of Jewishness—and, therefore, not only is she supposed to be relegated to Ruhigburg’s (the capital of the kingdom) Yevanverte (the Jewish ghetto), but is also feared and abhorred for her identity. In this respect, here is where one of the book’s outermost conflicts lie: A Dark and Drowning Tide is, indeed, a (not so) veiled exploration of antisemitism and prejudice, delving in the tragedy of having to be precluded from all manners of life outside of the ghetto and fighting tooth and nail to survive. Indeed, throughout the book, Lorelei struggles with being used as a scapegoat, being outwardly denied access to all manners of establishments, and being distrusted and hate-crimed by everyone, even her own research team. She, herself, having been raised in such a situation, displays a staggering level of self-hatred and recrimination, sentiments that are only partially addressed and deconstructed throughout the novel. Despite this fantasy device having been employed plenty of times as an apologue for historical Jewish struggles, Saft’s take felt original and like a powerful reclamation. Despite this, it has to be said that, especially in the latter part of the novel, the genuine exploration of antisemitism gave way to a much more muddy and individualistic narrative of personal freedoms and self-redeemings, rather than the impassioned denunciation of the early novel. Indeed, though Lorelei struggles openly with the injustices that befell her own people, in the end, she happily takes her own freedom and conveniently forgets that nothing has truly changed for those that, unlike her, have not embarked in an extraordinary feat. Indeed, the very end of the novel shows her living outside the ghetto, but forgets to mention or even cast its look to the rest of the Yevani, who we must assume have in no way been liberated, remaining disenfranchised and persecuted while Lorelei walks free, accomplished and happy.
Herein lies one of the biggest issues of this book: the fact that Saft refuses to properly commit and carry out anything more than what is superficially shown to the reader. She does not deliver on her characters’ desires and aspirations (Lorelei, who initially joins the expedition to gain the king’s favor and free her people, stops short of doing just that and finds herself contented with her own freedom as the king’s lackey, and Ludwig, who desperately sought out lands and titles gives up the pursuit for no reason whatsoever and last we know of him he is perfectly happy being an academic with no explanation for his change of heart), but she also doesn’t fully commit to her narration and logical cause-effect relationships: starting with the absolute lack of effort put into the worldbuilding, in which every aspect (except the magic) is a 1:1 scale model of imperial Germany disguised with mere different names unconcernedly glued on. The narration, too, sometimes suffers from this half-hearted curse, causing massive rifts in the immersion and requiring a lot of suspension of disbelief, because of the author’s predilection for running changes (such as when the reader is told that Character A cannot have gone far, because he left his tarp where they’ve all made camp, but later on in the novel said Character A is discovered in a remote location, sheltered in his tarp… you know, the one we were told he had left behind? Or when the reader is told that the party has lost most of its equipment and luggage at the bottom of a lake, but then everyone still has their backpacks and clothes and instrumentation) or leaps in logic (such as when one Character B takes off their jacket to be able to properly dive into an underwater cave, while still keeping on the backpack that conveniently later on holds furs, FURS, a change of clothes and all the requisites to make yet another tent).
Despite all of this and the elementary revelations, the book proved to be a pleasant read, magnified by the lovable dynamic between Lorelei and Sylvia: their banter is quick-witted and compelling, their interaction are hilariously entertaining and, together, they hold their scenes perfectly, immediately grabbing the spotlight whenever they’re made to work unitedly. In this aspect, A Dark and Drowning Tide succeeds in what many sapphic novels fail: their relationship unapologetically drives the story, without sparing any thought to any discourses regarding their sexual identity, the slow burn isn’t there because they’re lesbians and it’s forbidden, rather, because they’re two giant idiots. Furthermore, Saft doesn’t shy away from making her characters unpleasant and difficult, forgoing all propriety and decency that is oftentimes conventionally expected from female characters.
It is especially because of this, that I found the choice of villain(s), events and consequent denouement of the story so sourly disappointing. Indeed, it is now time to talk about the aforementioned political undertones of this novel: this book’s uttermost sore point (one that, in this past year especially, cannot be overlooked or done away with a slap on the back) is, to me, the fact that it reads as openly pro-colonization in the name of choosing the “lesser-of-two-evils” because that would “maintain peace”. Matter-of-factly, this very reasoning is at the base of the king’s initial call to action that brings about the pivotal quest: in the wake of major annexations (that the book discusses as “unifications of the kingdom”, but the reader later on discovers that it’s more so a matter of conquest and subjugation), the king seeks out a power (called the Ursprung, the source and origin of all magic) that will make him so powerful that no one will be able to challenge his reign and, therefore, will allow him to stabilize (yes, this is the term chosen) the regions (yes, the author is, of course, American). The reader, of course, isn’t presented the matter in these terms, instead, they’re fed a much mellower narrative of a desperate king who wants to protect his justly secured reign from outside attacks. As Lorelei, and thus the reader, slowly uncover the truth about this endeavor, I wholeheartedly expected the story to take on a more proactive condemnation of the task, even going so far as to hinder the expedition and this plan. Instead, while recognizing the threat and danger of delivering such a weapon to what essentially is an imperialist, both Lorelei and Sylvia convene that the king possessing such a tool would be much better than assassinating him and rendering independent the new annexed regions, because that would cause unrest, and unrest is dangerous—indeed, in one instance, Sylvia jumps on a stage and speaks to a crowd of what, had Brunnestaad not colonized her country, would have been her subjects, and essentially propagandizes the importance of following the king, because only by remaining under his rule will they find peace, prosperity and (wait for it)
civility
.
Essentially, then, the major conflict of this story rests on the fact that, among the six-party expedition, there is one (or more) people trying to sabotage it to not surrender Brunnestaad’s regions to this enforced and coerced unity. The crux of the conundrum, thus, lies here: while Lorelei and Sylvia admit that the king isn’t a good person and his quest for absolute power is concerning, they argue that sacrificing everyone’s freedom is definitely better than a civil war/war for independence essentially dubbing it the “lesser of two evils” (it is thus a true mockery when, very quickly in the epilogue, the author lets us know that some civil wars still happened, but they were quashed quickly so that is what matters)—going even so far as to killing two of their companions (one of which we indeed discover to have been planning to assassinate the king and extricate her country from the empire) to ensure this plan—and while the narration doesn’t technically vilify the character trying to liberate their country from colonization, it also very clearly offers a skewed assessment of imperialism. But, let me make this clear: in no world, no time, no context, can colonialist subjugation ever be the better option between two and, I believe, that such a position (be it unintentional, which I think it must have been, given the author’s stance on certain political issues) warrants a much-needed reassessment of one’s own worldview, positions and indoctrinations. In the end, I believe that Saft’s blunder was caused by her inability to properly delve in the complexities that such a discussion requires, choosing to instead maintain the topic at surface-level and wanting to quickly resolve it. It completely ruined the book for me, because an ending such as this, where the characters (even though we’re made to believe that their hands were tied by a, very very very invisble force) essentially quell all the options for dissent of multiple regions, does not warrant even a bitter-sweet ending, let alone a happy one. Instead, this is exactly what we get! Lorelei and Sylvia are in love and this is what matters, please ignore all the people still in the Jewish ghetto, please ignore the two colonized countries, please ignore that now the king has a weapon of mass destruction. Please ignore that all of this has been the price for their happiness.
And maybe some people might be happy to ignore these glaring issues in message and theme to enjoy the wholesome and well written romance (one which the sapphic community dearly deserved), citing that “it is not that deep”, but I think it is. If an author does not have the bandwidth to properly write about political issues, then they should not write about political issues, it’s that simple. It wouldn’t have been difficult to make the villain of the story someone else, wouldn’t have been difficult to write the same story without these appalling implications and yet, somehow, they ended up here and it genuinely soured the experience for me. To me, my enjoyment of everything else wasn’t worth it.
But, sure, love live the lesbians, I guess.
“By the time King Willhelm is through, this country will be ruined. Whatever influence you have will be gone. What culture you cherish will be diluted when we are all forced to assimilate. Some of us will be snuffed out entirely. Open your eyes. We are relics already. Can you bring yourself to hasten our demise?”
My thanks to NetGalley & Daphne Press for the advanced copy in exchange for an honest review.