Rarely have I had such incorrect expectations going into a book, and more rarely still have I been so pleasantly surprised to be wrong. I picked up this book based on a shelf-talker at a favorite bookstore (shoutout to Brookline Booksmith!), and because I vaguely knew it had inspired some current authors and readers of queer fantasy romance. So, I went into this expecting magic, perhaps the odd dragon or two, and (as it was first published in the 1980s) a couple of swordsmen with a deeply repressed homoerotic dynamic that later generations would spin into something more textual.
BOY OH BOY was I wrong.
First of all, this is a "fantasy of manners," which I will confess was an entirely new term to me. No magic, no dragons: the alternative nature of this world comes from one particular destabilizing element within an otherwise familiar social organization. Swordspoint takes place a world divided: between the rich and the poor, the politically powerful and the socially downtrodden, between the Hill and Riverside, and most importantly, between the nobility who hire swordsmen to solve their interpersonal and political disputes, and the swordsmen who are employed fighting other people's fights to the literal death. All of the intrigue here is political and interpersonal, yet the sword fighting element of the worldbuilding bathes the "proper" drawing-room talk in a rather unsettling atmosphere of violence. It makes for thrilling reading - the stakes are always literally life or death - as well as cutting social commentary. Pun intended.
Also, this book is set in a DELIGHTFULLY queer-normative, and particulalry bi-normative, world. When I think of queer-normative fantasy, it's often associated for me with a caring, soft, and gentle approach, that gives a sense of safety to both characters and readers of identities that often do not get the benefit of such treatment in the real world or in canonical fantasy works. This is, to be clear, great, and a thing I'm glad exists. But this book is decidedly not that. These characters are not cute or soft; they are gritty and desperately morally depraved, and as violent as could be expected in a world ruled by swordfights to the death. They also all pretty much indiscriminately like getting with people regardless of their gender, a fact which is never once commented upon. Here, proper ladies gossip in their drawing rooms about a politician leaving his (male) lover for political gain, and it's a scandal because of the politics, not the genders. Of our two primary POV characters, Michael is completely obsessed with the Duchess Tremontaine (fair, so am I) but also entertains male conquests; Richard St Vier - Riverside's best swordsman - is in a long-term domestic love affair with Alec- possibly literature's angstiest man - right from the very start of the book.
In short, I found it absolutely fascinating to read a queer fantasy romance that is absolutely chock-full of the genre's angst and suffering and intrigue, without using magic or queer identity as the *sources* of angst or suffering or intrigue. In particular, the harshness of the world Alec and Richard inhabit - and their incredibly muti-faceted imbrication within that world, particularly based on their class positioning - seemed to absolutely refuse any reading in which their suffering is fetishized for the pleasure of the reader on the basis of their gender or orientation. Refreshing.
Reading Swordspoint felt like discovering the foundations of a genre, but also a blueprint for how it might still imagine things differently. It is also, it must be said, just an absolute banger of a good time to read. The writing is witty and brilliantly evocative, unsparing in its violence yet unafraid to make the reader stop and laugh or marvel over a perfect turn of phrase. I'll absolutely be going back to this book again and again - highly recommend.