This book is gorgeous and unsettling and strange and I'm not sure how to even start talking about it. I'm a little obsessed--which is odd, because I wasn't even sure I liked it while I was reading it the first time through. At the time I thought it was ingenious but not necessarily enjoyable, but now I want to put it in everyone's hands and tap my foot while they read so that I can grill them on what they thought about it.
Saints, the divine, and even passed-over prophets are thick on the ground in The Saint of Bright Doors; the world is poetic and immersive but just a few degrees to one side of relatable; it doesn't take turns between the traditional and the modern so much as it shows the chaotic fallout of myth and modernity's collision and messy overlap. It wasn't comfortable to read but I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. It's brilliant even when it's not pleasant.
The pervasive feeling that went with immersion in this book was "unmoored"; the setting, the time, the characters--everything about this story stands out for sitting uneasily in the mind, or at least for being ill at ease with itself. I started out thinking that I was reading a folkloric-leaning fantasy set in a pre-industrial age and was unsettled when Fetter and his mother get into a car and go somewhere; not a carriage, a car. So I adjusted my sense of the world and the time--only to have it jostled again when we find that the gods walking as mortals have not just very earthly yens (and means) for power and control, but also crowdfunding campaigns and televangelists.
"Fetter has seen the convoys of the elite, with their long rows of vehicles, servants, bodyguards, drummers, elephants, spear-carriers, heralds, and motorcycles. Uniforms were a keystone of such displays."
Just *try* anchoring that to an easy referent for place and time.
Our main character--maybe an antihero? though nothing in this book is so clean-cut and uncomplicated--is Fetter. That someone named a child Fetter tells you a bit about the story you're getting into. Fetter is the cast-off son of a man who started out as a pirate and made himself into a messiah before abandoning his child and partner. Fetter's mother is obsessed with his [Fetter's] father and has raised Fetter to be a tool for revenge. She pulls his emotional strings and manipulates him at every turn; both she and his father--though really, a staggering number of the people in this world--are hopelessly self-involved and never bother to see Fetter for who he is.
But who is he? Fetter's not sure either. He is insecure, desperate to be valued (mostly by people whose esteem is safely out of reach); he can be petty and is unsure of himself, painfully uneasy in his own skin and uncomfortably ready to trample anyone who looks like a competitor for the approval he craves, and he's inured against trust and honesty by a childhood full of object lessons in their dangers. For all that it's obvious he came upon his brokenness honestly, Fetter is still a difficult character to sympathize with.
SoBD is lush and layered and gritty and absolutely nothing is simple. Luriat, the city to which Fetter heads to escape his past, seems like a bastion of modernity and decency at first, a stark relief when contrasted with his backwards village, deeply disturbing mother, and her folk magic practices.
"'What do you want to do with your days?' It's a question they ask every week at the support group for the unchosen, the almost-chosen, the chosen-proximate."
"Here in Luriat, foreign prophetic visions are detritus, not destiny."
Luriat offers free services to its residents, so that no one has to work unless they wish to afford nicer things, but that civilized decency coexists with, and in fact requires, overlooking pogroms, waves of refugees, and internment camps.
"It is through responding to these crises and disasters, he learns, that Luriat's free services came into being: small hard-won victories immediately compromised by the frames of race and caste that control access to them."
There's incisive post-colonial criticism to go with the adept social commentary--and oh, goodness, the layers:
Once upon a time, a light-skinned invader from a foreign land showed up on an island with conquest and hegemony in mind, bringing along a shame-based religion. That time was both 10,000 years ago and 20ish years ago. That man stole what he wanted and then brought the old ways and the modern industrial age crashing together and he (literally, in a way only fantasy can realize) stole that island people's land and past from them and erased their memories of the old ways, remaking the world in his image.
Fetter is fascinated with the bright doors in the city of Luriat but it slowly becomes clear that he's something of a door himself, a portal through which the clashing, uneasy relationship between mother & father, tradition & modernity, or myth & capitalist realpolitik is acted out. I still don't know what to make of the way the story ended and whether I think it's the closest this novel comes to having a weak spot or was just right and couldn't have happened any other way.
What a book! 4.5 stars
I received an ARC from Tor and Netgalley in exchange for an unbiased review.
"I see white-armed antigods stalking. Almost nobody here is masked or distancing, so a fresh outbreak of plague is on its way."
P. S.: This is apropos of nothing, but until I was mulling over how to describe The Saint of Bright Doors, I would have sworn it had next to nothing in common with The Archive Undying, a book I read shortly afterward. But the more I groped for words for SoBD, the more I saw broad-strokes parallels in the things that struck me about each book: both have protagonists that are compelling but not comfortable to spend time with, both look at people warped by early close relationships that were exploitative and lacked boundaries, both follow the adult lives of people left behind in the life-altering wake of a god, and they both use narration-POV changes late in the book to startling effect. (SoBD feels decidedly South Asian and AU is set in a world with a Southeast Asian feel and giant robots, so... the parallels do end.)