Wall of Storms is the second in the Dandelion Dynasty series
from Ken Liu. I quite enjoyed the first in the series when I picked it up last
year, and Liu has recently put out a top-flight short story collection as well.
Wall of Storms opens in a world somewhat changed from that
of Grace of Kings. One of our protagonists is now Emperor of the archipelago of
Dara, and so we spend a bit more time looking over the political side of things
and, at least initially, a little less in epic battles. Part of those politics,
though, is changing Dara. The Emperor is in favour of a meritocracy,
instituting an examinations system which will, in theory, allow the rise of a
meritocracy. There’s a tension and debate around what exactly defines merit
though, and that helps shape some of the discussions in the text. Alongside this
another discussion is running about gender within the Empire – with the rise of
women into key positions, and efforts to propagate this change further down in
the institutional hierarchy. The Empire is
still in a state of flux – now that it has been spun into being, it’s trying to
work out what exactly it is. These discussions around worth, the role of gender
and – as an overarching theme – the cost and benefit of institutional
government compared to one tied together by personal ties of loyalty – are intriguing,
and the characters which one finds on all sides of the arguments are given the
room to make their points plausibly and in interesting ways.
But it’s not all exciting philosophical debates – we’re also
shown new parts of the world, and Liu has an eye for the intimate and the grand
which make his locales feel like a lot more than words on a page. From the
towering cyclones of the aforementioned Wall of Storms, to the plants flowering
on the banks of a dormant volcano, we’re shown Dara in splashes of living
colour. It’s interesting to note how circumscribed the world of Dara really is –
as the story gets rolling, we’re shown that the way things are is, firstly, not
the way it has always been, but part of a political and social process – and that
there may be other things in heaven and earth than the Empire of Dara can dream
of.
The characters – well, the cast is, as it was in the first
novel, sprawling. There’s a lot of old favourites here, but they’re running alongside
new characters. The ever enjoyable Kuni Garu is back, settling into his role as
an incisive Emperor. There’s some screen time for some of his companions from
the previous text as well. Jia and Risana are back as Kuni’s wives – both with
children of their own, and both trying to shape those children, and in some
instances the Empire around them, to reflect what they think is best for their
people. Jia in particular gets time on the page – a woman determined to do what
she thinks is right, and also prepared to do some fairly despicable things in
order to make that happen. She’s
contrasted, in a sense, with Gin Mazoti, now Marshal of Dara – a hard-hitting
general with a talent for war, an ironclad sense of honour – though she doesn’t
have much in the way of talent for politics. Still, her clashes with Jia make
for compelling reading, as both are determined to do what they think is best –
they’re just in disagreement over what that would be.
There’s a fair bit to smile about in this book, but it does
approach matters with a less comedic tone than its predecessor. This is perhaps
seen best in the rise of the Imperial children. They all have their parts to
play – and the novel spanning several years allows the reader to see the
children grow up, to see them moulded by the pressures that they, their family
and their Empire are under. It feels like women have a bit more room to grow in
this sequel – and the Emperor’s daughters are a good example. Watching Thera,
for example, shift from an impulsive, intelligent child into a collected,
focused teenager is a complex delight. That she has a serious amount of narrative
agency, and struggles to define herself to, well, herself, keeps it
interesting. She’s joined by a scholar, a survivor of the Imperial
examinations, having come from a less than privileged background – watching the
two work through matters of class and gender, filling their previous
certainties with doubt – ell, the dialogue is smart, punchy and well written,
but the relationship between the characters, the burgeoning warmth, the moments
of coolness, the misunderstandings and understandings – they make the
relationship feel real.
Those two are by no means the only interesting members of
the cast – the antagonists are given plenty of room to establish themselves as
well. To keep things spoiler-free, those we see can be utterly appalling, but
there’s a context which makes them possible to empathise with, and I’m hoping
we’ll see more of them in future.
The plot is a jigsaw, filled with smaller sub stories. It
has a rhythm to it, a lyricism. There’s parts which are perhaps gentler, where
the fate of nations is decided by a word, or by force (or otherwise) of
personality. There’s also moments of tension, of raw peril, of betrayal – and the
sweeping strokes of burgeoning warfare. Like a lava flow, the plot begins
slowly, carefully, but builds momentum, and by the close it’s unstoppable, and
the world of Dara is changing dramatically.
In the end, this is a book to pick up if you enjoyed The
Grace of Kings. Coming to it without that context, it works, but you’re missing
out. Wall of Storms though is a worthy sequel – a detailed world, interesting
characters with real depth, and a plot with something of both truth and
consequences.
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