“Heart of Thorns” is a recently published YA trilogy about Mia Rose, a girl from the kingdom of Glas Ddir, betrothed to a prince against her will, a girl who believes that witches, the Gwyrach, are utterly bad. As you may predict, this is only the beginning and everything Mia Rose thinks will be turned on its head. There will be also a lot of journeys, a couple of well-described cultures, and hell bunch of traumas and difficult family bonds. And guess what? I’m totally buying it!
The series, especially it’s installment, has been criticised for being a typical young adult stuff of our times. The bad king is an utter tyrant and sexist, Mia and her prince are bisexual, and the fear of witches has come from misogyny. And, honestly, what’s bad in these tropes? Is there something bad in criticizing sexism or in being queer? Surely, sometimes such tropes are delivered poorly, in a tokenistic way, or with phrases which sound too contemporary to us as for a pre-industrial setting. But I think that the “Heart of Thorns” trilogy isn’t that case, not in the most moments and parts of it. Of course that there are references to our situation and to our social theories, for example, connecting the fear of witches to patriarchy. But Bree Barton never expresses it in that journalist or quasi-academic way. Her characters speak of homophobia, sexism, abuse, and colonialism the way people unfamiliar with our terms would speak. Her message is no weaker because of it.
However, there’s one thing which disappointed me somehow in her books. It’s queerbaiting. Not to give you spoilers, Mia and Prince Quinn are bisexual, and same-sex romantic relations play a role in their life, either in the present or in the past. Their story, however, ends NOW THERE’LL BE SPOILERS with them being with each other again. SPOILERS’ END. So you’ve got two bisexual people who SPOILERS in the end look like a square straight couple, SPOILERS but you’ve been suggested that there would be more queer relations in the series. And they are, but, strangely, they are shown as something destructive, something which can leave only revenge and ashes, as it is in the case of Mia’s mother. I think, however, that such depiction isn’t a sign of some hidden homophobia in the author. And why? Because in Quinn’s arc, there’s still an important message about accepting one’s queerness. You see, Quinn was punished by his father for having fallen for another boy, and only after leaving Glas Ddir he discovers that being bisexual, or queer overall, can be something socially acceptable. As a person from a country which has, literally, institutional problems with homophobia, I’m glad that in the series, the very question of parental rejection and self-rejection has been raised.
Bree Barton writes about other difficult things, such as sexual abuse and PTSD, and it has nothing in common with your Standard Fantasy Trauma. Here, the trauma is true and painful, and uneasy as it is, I’m happy that such topics are talked about in a fantasy series. “You are not to blame and you aren’t your trauma” is a simple message, but also a very, very important one. It gives you comfort, it gives you self-reassurance. In many other fantasy series, trauma is something sketchy, or something unrelatable to our world and experience. Here, it is by no means so. And I’m more than glad that Bree Barton has raised the topics of abuse and mental health.
Her approach to culture and diversity is equally interesting to my mind. She’s created several cultures, taking inspiration from many elements and weaving them neatly and consistently. In her trilogy, you get not only your standard British-derived elements (such as the monarchy and the remnants of Celtic naming) but also references to the societies of Saami, Brazil, India and Subsaharan Africa. Of course, such a vision is, after a way, simplified, but it is, at least, diverse not only nominally. It gives people of colour in the series something more than colour, it gives them back their own traditions and customs tied to real and under-appreciated non-Western cultures, instead of bringing everybody and everything down to your stock quasi-medieval setting.
Also, I know that outside the leftist bubble theres a notion that diverse books are all unfamiliar and that straight white people can’t see themselves in them, that men are portrayed as bad there, and that such values as family, friendship and love aren’t celebrated there. I think that’s untrue and unjust to such books, and “Heart of Thorns” is a good example of it. Introducing new voices doesn’t erase old familiar tropes. Introducing queer love doesn’t erase heterosexual love. Introducing people of colour doesn’t erase white people. And writing about difficult topics doesn’t erase heart-warming or funny moments. In “Heart of Thorns”, you can find all this.
Left Hand of Fiction 