"The rules of magic, my dear, are best not discussed. For once we understand the illusion, we no longer believe in it."
—Dr. Van Ripple, The Sweet Far Thing, P. 314
Libba Bray built up to the finale of her Gemma Doyle trilogy with a pair of quality novels, but neither compares to the ambitious excellence of The Sweet Far Thing. It's an eight-hundred-nineteen-page behemoth, with enough text for four or five lengthy novels, but Libba Bray works her magic as I've never seen from her before. There's a civil war to be waged over the transformative magic of the realms, a war destined to incur casualties on both sides before Gemma can choose her own path in life and move forward in the resolve that if she fails, it's better to do so living out her ideals rather than those of others. There will be scars from the battle for the heart of the realms, wounds ripped open when Gemma and her friends must turn their backs on beloved companions who are already, in truth, lost. But there is a future for the survivors, and it's up to them to find that future even after the pain they've endured.
Gemma wields the magic that is her birthright, but the inhabitants of the realms grow impatient. The time is at hand for a treaty regulating the magic so no group can oppress the others, but Gemma isn't ready to disperse the enchantment vested within her. Enemies in the realms and the regular world pose a threat to Gemma if she reveals that she has the magic, and she's reluctant to let go of the one thing that ever made her special. What if the magic doesn't work the same way once she freely shares it? Gemma experiments by giving modest amounts to Ann and Felicity, her friends from Spence Academy. She does the same for Pippa, an academy girl who died in A Great and Terrible Beauty but lives on in the realms, lovely as ever but with noticeable decomposition of her soul. Pippa has to be confronted eventually, but Gemma will keep the peace until she learns what's going on in the realms.
"Peace is not happenstance. It is a living fire that must be fed constantly. It must be tended with vigilance, else it dies out."
—Gorgon, The Sweet Far Thing, P. 301
"People have a habit of inventing fictions they will believe wholeheartedly in order to ignore the truth they cannot accept."
—The Sweet Far Thing, P. 52
At their house in the city, Gemma's family is unraveling a year after her mother's death, and her own life isn't going much better at Spence Academy. Kartik, who deals with Gemma on behalf of the secret Rakshana organization, is moodier than before. He wavers between not speaking to Gemma at all and passionately confessing his love for her, though Gemma can't afford to be caught with him. 1890s England is an unforgiving place when it comes to class and race differences between a young lady and any prospective suitor, so there's not much of a future for Gemma and Kartik. He'll do his best to assist her work in the realms, though, for the Rakshana are one of many groups whose future depends on Gemma mediating a deal among the realm's people. Kartik is indispensable to what she's attempting to do: unite the realms for the first time in centuries and prevent future outbreak of hostilities over the magic. But even with Kartik and other keen minds on her side, how is Gemma to navigate the labyrinth of competing interests in and out of the realms?
"It is the scorpion's nature to sting. Just because he has no opportunity doesn't mean that he cannot."
—Gorgon, P. 368
Enemies are everywhere, both openly hostile and secretly working to thwart Gemma. But the worst foe is yet unknown to her, a presence more sinister than Circe ever was. Power in the realms can corrupt a soul beyond recognition, and one twisted antagonist is fighting harder than anyone to stymie Gemma's efforts to restore peace. Uncovering the identity of this vexer is an odyssey in itself, but nothing compared to the ensuing battle, which Gemma and her adversary cannot both survive. And it may not turn out the way you'd expect...
A Great and Terrible Beauty is a solid first book of this trilogy, and Rebel Angels surpasses it, in my opinion. The Sweet Far Thing is at least as wise as its predecessors, but far more emotional. I didn't know Libba Bray had a book like this in her. Gemma is uncomfortable with the constraints of Victorian society, and that conflict surfaces throughout the trilogy. How can she lead the life she wants when society demands she follow the orders of men, even when they're at odds with her own desires? Gemma doesn't know how to tame her inner angst. "Can we really conquer chaos so easily? If that were so, I should be able to prune the pandemonium of my own soul into something neat and tidy rather than this maze of wants and needs and misgivings that has me forever feeling as if I cannot fit into the landscape of things." The heart is a labyrinth of needs and desires, and the hope that there's something tangible to find at its center is an illusion. There is only a winding path perpetually extending however far we choose to run down it. How do we find our heart's desire if it's unattainable in any absolute form? Perhaps by tempering our expectations, aiming for small, achievable happinesses and not stewing over the next goal that will always be just out of reach.
"It is funny how you do not miss affection until it is given, but once it is, it can never be enough; you would drown in it if possible."
—The Sweet Far Thing, P. 209
There is much for Gemma to lose now that she has friends. Felicity leans toward Pippa in the realms, loathe to desert her dearest friend in limbo between our world and the afterlife. Ann is unhappy with her own lack of charisma or physical beauty, verging on despair that her soaring singing voice won't save her from becoming a weary governess disrespected by the children in her care. Gemma knows how much Ann and Felicity mean to her. "Absence is a curious thing. When friends are absent, they seem to loom ever larger, till the lack of them is all one can feel." It's easy to take a close friend for granted, until you're without them. Then life feels empty and tedious, and you wish you were together still. Gemma has sorcery at her fingertips, and can gift her friends with limited quantities of it, but the enchantment doesn't change what they want out of life. Gemma marvels when Kartik dismisses the temporary magic she gives him. He believes that nothing he could conjure would please him more than Gemma. "But," she protests, "you could turn stones to rubies or ride in a fine gentleman's carriage." "To each his own magic," Kartik answers, and his statement validates the desire in each of us for nothing so much as the one we love. Why request new magic when the magic you have is your most cherished fantasy? There's nothing finer than realizing that what you want is already yours.
If you long for something different than what society thinks you should, you'll identify with Gemma's continuing plight, feeling stifled by the corsets and aristocratic manners of Victorian England. She's an adventurer, traveler, experimenter, and being shackled by social custom will never do. Gemma can't imagine being happy living someone else's idea of ladylike contentment. "This is what they have in place of freedom—time and gossip. Their lives are small and careful. I do not wish to live this way. I should like to make my mark. To venture opinions that may not be polite or even correct but are mine nonetheless." Whatever curbs your ability to speak up and be proud of your thoughts, whatever cows you into pretending to hold "correct" opinions and denying you have a mind of your own, you won't be free until you escape the borders of acceptable thought and discover for yourself how far you want to go. People will dictate what you're allowed to think if you let them, and you mustn't fall prey to those who would mug you of the right to make up your own mind. You may find that concepts which go largely unquestioned are less stable than society pretends, and you could be the one to topple them. That's the way Gemma wants to live, and though I don't always share her opinions, I support her unwillingness to take the easy road of life in high society. "How terrible it is to have no cares, no longings. I do not fit. I feel too deeply and want too much. As cages go, it is a gilded one, but I shall not live well in it or any cage, for that matter." It is for Gemma, you, and me to forsake our cage, be it gilded or rusty, and find a realm where we can live beyond the yelling of bitter mankind, a place to commune with loved ones we lost along the way, honoring the sacrifices it took to get us where we are, determined not to let the sadness overshadow the joy still out there for us to encounter. Though Gemma Doyle's future is an unwritten page, I feel sure she will do exactly that.
As good as it is, The Sweet Far Thing does feel eight hundred nineteen pages long, and Libba Bray uses Gemma to poke fun at herself for that on page four hundred twenty-nine: "With a sigh, I resign myself to combing through it page by page, though 502 pages is so many to wade through, and I curse authors who write such lengthy books when a few neat pages of prose would do." Touché, Ms. Bray! I won't complain about the size of your book when you have the good humor to do it for us. There's so much insight, plot, and testing of characters in a book this size that I can't unpack it all in a review, but the emotional resonance of the losses suffered in the story is what lifts The Sweet Far Thing into rare air, one loss in particular that you'll know what I'm talking about if you've finished the novel. It radiates through the final chapters with a sweet sadness that connects with the losses in your own life, guaranteeing you won't forget this trilogy. The Sweet Far Thing is arguably Libba Bray's magnum opus, a lifetime's worth of distinguished contribution to teen literature in a single volume. Few have done better.