Source of book: NetGalley (thank you)
Relevant disclaimers: none
Please note: This review may not be reproduced or quoted, in whole or in part, without explicit consent from the author.
And remember: I am not here to judge your drag, I mean your book. Books are art and art is subjective. These are just my personal thoughts. They are not meant to be taken as broader commentary on the general quality of the work. Believe me, I have not enjoyed many an excellent book, and my individual lack of enjoyment has not made any of those books less excellent or (more relevantly) less successful.
Further disclaimer: Readers, please stop accusing me of trying to take down “my competition” because I wrote a review you didn’t like. This is complete nonsense. Firstly, writing isn’t a competitive sport. Secondly, I only publish reviews of books in the subgenre where I’m best known (queer romcom) if they’re glowing. And finally: taking time out of my life to read an entire book, then write a detailed review about it that some people on GR will look at would be a profoundly inefficient and ineffective way to damage the careers of other authors. If you can’t credit me with simply being a person who loves books and likes talking about them, at least credit me with enough common sense to be a better villain.
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So everything I loved about A Psalm for the Wild-Built is present in A Prayer for the Crown-Shy. By which I mean, this is a gentle, healing, beautiful book that also doesn’t shy away from the reality of sadness and lostness, or the general complexity of humans and human relations.
Like, Psalm for the Wild-Built the plot is largely incidental: having returned from their trip to the wilderness, Sibling Dex is now Mosscap’s guide and companion as the pair of them tour the local villages so that Mosscap can ask the question it has been tasked with: what do humans need. Also like Psalm, the book has a light, picaresque quality that makes it a swift, accessible read—though that accessibility should not be taken for simplicity because Prayer builds upon, and is still wrangling with, the same philosophical and existential ideas that gave Psalm such depth and resonance.
Sibling Dex’s mental health—their inability to allow themselves the peace it was once their calling to give to others—continues to play a significant role in the narrative and, once again, I was really comforted by the way this was handled. I think anyone who has ever suffered with any sort of mental health type thing will be familiar with deep alienation that accompanies it: it can very much feel like you live in a perfect world, surrounded by people who love you, and yet there is still something gracelessly, ungratefully wrong with you. For Sibling Dex, of course, this is literally true in terms of the setting itself (a utopia in all but name) but, for the reader, it’s a perfect of allegorical reflection of a very specific mental health moment.
I know I spoke about this a little in my review of the first book, but I need to reiterate it here because it’s so important to me. Without context, it seems bizarrely negative to say I loved that Sibling Dex has mental health issues and exists in a world where human unhappiness is real and allowed to be real, despite the fact that humanity as a whole has learned to live in harmony both with the natural world and (mostly) with each other. I’ve used the word utopian a lot, but I guess the setting would more accurately be described as aspirational. But there’s a danger, in general, I think when we talk about utopian/aspirational settings to kind of *flatten* individual humanity into a kind of consensus of assumptions about what moral virtue is or how happiness can best be found. Which kind of ends up leading to this situation where, say, people with mental health issues have just sorta been … written out of our vision of an optimistic future? And I mean, like, thanks? I don’t think my existence is oppositional to a more compassionate and functional society. And once you’ve ditched the mentally ill you’re in this whole eugenics-ey groove without even noticing how you got there: I mean, what about people with disabilities, and queerness is kind of complicated, and would it just be easier all-round if everyone was white.
Whereas a truly aspirational society—an aspirational society that we don’t need to live on a fictional moon in an nebulous future after a robot uprising to works towards—is one that can accept humanness and humanity as a multifaced thing. Not one that reduces us to less than we are.
Anyway, if I had to say something even remotely evaluative about the book, I’d say it suffers mildly—like a mouse’s squeak of mildly, that’s how mildly—from having a less well-defined journey than the first book. Psalm is a series of strung-together scenes leading to the specific end point at the abandoned hermitage. In Prayer, because Sibling Dex and Mosscap are visiting villages mostly at random, the story is more a collection of incidents. I did come up with a slightly stretched metaphor about the first one being like a series of beads upon a rosary and the second more like a collection of psalms but then I remembered the first one is Psalm and the second one is Prayer, so I was talking nonsense. Point is: this one, arguably, maybe, if you give a damn, might feel a tiny bit less structured than the first one. I didn't give a damn. I loved it anyway.
Also on a purely personal note—because I am obsessed with robots—I was kind of hoping to meet more robots, or at least learn a little more about them … but ultimately, like all books about robots, these are books about people, and it wouldn’t ultimately make sense for the narrative and emotional arcs of the story to introduce more robots to us. So that isn’t really a complaint, just a random public confession about my intense feelings for robots. Sorry about that. But if, like me, you're secretly hoping to meet more robots, you won't. You honestly won't really feel like you're missing anything, but temper your expectations regardless.
We do meet a diverse and interesting collection of humans, though, including a … I hesitate to say love interest … a friendly casual sex interest for Sibling Dex (the way this encounter is handled is so well done: there’s attraction, honesty and mutual respect on both sides, and breakfast, but no expectation of anything more or different between them at this time), a representative of group of humans who have chosen to reject all technology (again, this is handled with the delicacy that is typical of this author’s writing) and we get to meet Sibling Dex’s family. Who are A Lot in the best/worst way.
Much like Psalm, Prayer isn’t really a book in which anything happens per se: there’s no drama, any conflict is resolved through care and conversation, and—as such—as there isn’t really a climax, at least not in the traditional sense. What there is, though, is a intentional non-resolution of the emotional journey of both characters, a non-resolution that encompasses both their togetherness and their individuality, and a non-resolution that is so stunningly tender, so exquisitely hopeful, that I cried when reading it and I am literally crying right now trying to write about it. Which is making it fucking hard to type.
Also I don’t mean to speak of it so vaguely, but I genuinely don’t want to spoil it. Just trust me when I tell you it is perfect, it is beautifully judged, and—if the first book spoke to you in any way—it is everything you need.
The other only thing I’ll say is that I’m going to try to stop thinking of myself as a neurotic, damaged, mentally ill introvert. I’m going to try and say simply that I’m crown-shy. And remember that, once upon a time, an author I’d never met and will never speak to sang a psalm and whispered a prayer for me and everyone like me.