In the thirteenth chapter of Magic Steps, NO. NOOOOPE. Intrigued? Then it’s time for Mark to read The Circle Opens.
Trigger Warning: For talk of drug addiction and child death.
I’m gonna start this by saying that I am often irritated by the need for people to denigrate YA fiction as being childish or immature. That also manifests in the strange way that some people will praise certain YA fiction because it’s apparently the only YA that actually deals with important stuff. Most of the literature I’m reading these days, even on my own, was intended for a younger audience. So why is it that at 31 years of age, I’m still drawn to narratives that are for people much younger than I?
Well, first of all, I don’t know that YA is only for young adults. Anyone can derive meaning and substance from works of literature regardless of any sort of intended audience. Again, I find it derogatory to assume that there’s no blurring of the lines between these different ideas or perspectives or age groups. I could write a novel about how many professional or official science fiction/fantasy groups and communities look down upon YA as being frivolous or not “real literature.†I don’t think it’s any coincidence that many of these same people decry the ways in which popular SF/F works are challenging what is considered canon, or how shit like gender or sexuality or race affect our understanding of what we love. That’s not to suggest that young adult books are necessarily more progressive, as I don’t have nearly the amount of evidence to back up a statement like that. But in the works I’ve read for this site? In my own life? I’ve seen more of a willingness to dispose of or subvert tropes. I’ve read books that I consider intensely progressive and groundbreaking. I’ve read works that have touched my life in a way that’s unparalleled to – what I’ll call for lack of a better term – adult fiction.
I often hear the claim that young adult works are inherently about identity, since the protagonists are in that tender period of life where most of us try to figure out what sort of person we want to be. I don’t think I disagree with that, but I think it’s ultimately reductive. Identity issues are (UNSURPRISINGLY) important to me, of course, and I have definitely written extensively in the last six years about that. That was a huge part of my love for Harry Potter and The Hunger Games and PRACTICALLY ALL OF THESE BOOKS BY TAMORA PIERCE. But I think that there are issues far removed from identity that appear in young adult works – and are in Magic Steps – that perfectly demonstrate why this massive “genre†is so important. (I hesitate to call all YA a genre. It’s more of an umbrella term, no?)
I opened this review like this because I wanted to give some important context for what I’m about to say. I didn’t want to give the impression that I believed in this notion that YA lit is saccharine or meaningless or unimportant. I’d argue in a heartbeat that it’s just the opposite. What I wanted to say about Magic Steps, though, was that it dealt with mature and upsetting issues without hesitation, something that you’d not necessarily expect from a book geared towards a younger audience. (And I’m sure you can see the struggle I’m having typing that shit out. I know that the world of YA has tackled any number of upsetting and uncomfortable issues and has done so for a long time.) The story here is about murder. Assassination. Drug addiction. Duty. It’s relentlessly upsetting and visceral, and while Pierce doesn’t linger on the gory details like many “serious†fantasy authors might do, this is still immensely disturbing.
But it’s not disturbing for the sake of it being shocking or obscene. Sandry faces an evil here that’s fully human, perhaps only comparable to the pirate invasion in Tris’s Book. Sure, the portrayal of drug addiction could be more nuanced; addiction doesn’t lead to murderous rampages, though it’s important to note that both Nurhar and Alzena killed plenty of people before they decided to take dragonsalt themselves. And what these people have done in the name of the Dihanurs is monstrous, y’all. They’ve exploited and manipulated a mage through the man’s addiction to dragonsalt, which they’ve only made worse over time. They’ve murdered countless people, including a newborn child. They have consistently treated humans like nothing more than foliage in the jungle, something to be hacked away thoughtlessly.
And unfortunately, none of that is unrealistic in our own world.
It’s amidst all of this that Sandry and Pasco complete their duty, both of them rising to the occasion and beautifully so. Pasco’s dance was nerve-wracking until he actually started it, and then, like Sandry, I was transfixed by his skill and mastery. Of course he’d perfected the dance, and of course YazmÃn had made the dance more complex and powerful. In hindsight, I don’t think I even should have been worried. This is what Pasco does well; it’s what he wants to be good at, especially since it allows him to still pursue harrier work.
What I should have realized? That he wouldn’t accept being asked to leave once his part was done.
And now, that’s the tension that’s all over this book. The trap that’s set by Vedris and the others is obviously working, since we get to see things from Alzena’s perspective. She and Nurhar have fallen for the bait. But the scenes from her point of view aren’t simply to confirm that the plan worked. It’s a chance for Pierce to get inside the head of a murderer, something that I found bold and frightening. Again, I don’t want to view YA fiction as something closed-off or childish, but I was still blown away by lines like this:
Every instinct clamored for her to go after the old man. Her Dihanur masters had taught her that as one of her first lessons: take the weak and easy prey first.
and this:
A killing today would improve her mood.
This is the sort of casual depravity that these killers practice, made worse by the dragonsalt. Ultimately, that’s my worry. With Pasco hidden from sight, I am concerned what might happen if the Dihanurs discover him. Their magic is much more powerful than his. What if he touches unmagic? What if the mage spots him? Lark nearly spots him, but Sandry has no idea how close he is.
I’m scared. SO SCARED.
The original text contains use of the word “mad.â€
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NACDZ2u3aY4
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