I already told you goobers that I threw away my old journals. My goal was to shed the relentless negativity that filled every page of every one of those overpriced notebooks. So far, it’s working. Like Patti LaBelle, I’ve got a new attitude. And in that vein, I’m saying yes to all sorts of new things, like reading the romantasy genre.
I can’t speak for all the romantasies that monopolize the bestseller list, but The Familiar by Leigh Bardugo gets a hearty thumbs-up. This might be less romantasy, more magical-historical-fiction, but I can’t stop saying romantasy. The novel is about Luzia, an orphaned scullion in 16th century Spain who, like Samantha in Bewitched, uses her magic to help her get through the day. Like a 1500s version of ChatGPT–it’s a handy tool to make her workday more efficient.
When the lady of their somewhat down-on-its-luck house finds out, she orders her to essentially do magic tricks at their dinner parties. It improves the lady’s social standing and exposes Luzia to the opportunity–or risk–of competing to become the King’s assistant. This is all during the time of the Inquisition so her very existence (and her secret Jewish heritage) is an affront to the Church. Or something like that. Sometimes with an audiobook I kind of lose track of important plot points. But whatever, I loved it. The tournament between the magicians gives strong Harry Potter triwizard tournament energy, and Luzia is witty, confident, and heartily lusted after by her dashing older magic tutor, Guillén Santangel. He’s immortal thanks to a centuries-old curse. I realize how hokey this must all sound but trust me, it was a lot of fun, and Bardugo’s writing is terrific.
In the NYT Book Review podcast, Bardugo talked about how important it was to her to get it right because some of her ancestors were conversos from Spain. That’s the real magic to me–how vividly she created their day-to-day life. I recommend the interview too, because anytime a writer defends genre fiction I want to cheer. The literary world rightly focuses most of its attention on the “important” literary works that reflect our time and culture back on us; meanwhile, great writers are putting out wonderful fiction. Books can serve as pure entertainment, too, after all.
Our own Torquemada
I know the world building is what draws most readers in to the romantasy genre, but I like things to be somewhat rooted to reality. What I’d like to see is a romantasy novel about a plucky reporter who reveals that a Supreme Court justice is proudly flying alarming right-wing anti-democratic flags in front of his house. Maybe in her reporting, she meets a gorgeous wizard who has the ability to turn back time. They go back decades, where he can convince school boards across the nation to not do away with civics as a required course in high school, thereby helping to stem the tide of catastrophic ignorance amongst the populace. This crusading reporter and the magical social justice warrior (played by Brad Pitt in the movie, naturally) also go back to the early aughts where they cast a spell over the tech bros in the Silicon Valley, who, thus mesmerized, don’t build social media platforms. Instead, the bros push up the sleeves of their hoodies in order to apply their brilliance toward the public good. Without social media, America’s young people’s brains are spared, and our nation’s discourse isn’t devastated by partisan fuckery. Trump is never elected, angry fascist hordes don’t storm the Capitol, and Brad Pitt and our intrepid reporter go on a sexy beach holiday to finally uncork the lusty passion that’s been bottled up through the entire novel. Sigh. There’s a novel I’d buy in hardcover.
The news about how Alito is letting his freak flag fly1 really steams my buns. I know journalists who won’t even put a school board candidate lawn sign in their yard for ethical reasons. And they don’t even report on our town. And this chump is a Supreme Court Justice! Remember Thurgood Marshall? Jeesh. Those were the days.
So thank you, Ms. Bardugo, for taking me back to a simpler time–the Spanish Inquisition.
I know he’s gallantly blaming his wife, but c’mon.