So much of fantasy literature these days has what’s called a “magic system,” a.k.a. the rules of how magic works in the story’s world. These rules are often revealed over the course of a novel/series, and the readers expect to have magic “explained” at some point. The idea is that if magic is systematic, then readers can more fully engage with the plot because they can piece together the information about the magic system — much like gathering and analyzing clues in a mystery novel — and then when it comes time for the characters to use their magic, the readers can anticipate, guess, or otherwise make predictions about how and what and when the magic gets used. Apparently, fantasy readers love, love, love them some magic systems. Me? I’m kinda sick of them. Not that I don’t love Sanderson and Stormlight and all the rest, but there seems to be this expectation by audiences that fantasy *must* have a magic system. I disagree.
I want magic to be, well, magical. I want it to be mysterious and hard to comprehend. I want it to bend and often break the “rules,” whether it’s the rules of physics or the rules of belief or the rules of what the characters thought might be possible. Magic systems have become, for me anyway, akin to mathematical equations: plug in these numbers to the formula and get back an answer. I’m cool with math in my sci-fi, but in my fantasy, I want something a bit more poetic.
Thankfully, the magic in Jesse Teller’s novel, Song, is not systematic or formulaic or anything resembling that. The magic in Song is the good old fashioned kind: levitation, energy blasts, dark ritual magic, third eyes, demon portals, teleportation, disguises, auras, etc., and most of the time, we’re not sure what the characters will do or what they’re capable of. The wizards and witches get to do crazy, powerful stuff, and it’s extremely cool with not a rule or system in sight. I’m sure Teller has his own internal rules for how his magic works, but we as the readers are left to ponder the power and danger of these magic-wielding characters. I like it.
I also like the dream-like way the book is written (at least in the first half; the second half becomes more “standard” fantasy action-adventure). Rayph Ivoryfist must gather a bunch of powerful fighters and mages to help him capture a slew of diabolical criminals and such (the criminals have all escaped from their prison and Rayph feels responsible for apprehending them). But as Rayph travels around, gathering companions and setting up his plan, the story feels like we’re in a dream, following Rayph from place to place, but never quite getting our bearings for where we are, who we are meeting, or what exactly is going on. I was reminded very much of the dream narrative in George MacDonald’s Phantastes. And at times, the writing in Song is lyrical and evocative in the same way that MacDonald’s prose can be. There are some strong images here, ones that I find myself recalling to mind quite often.
However, despite the crazy amounts of magic and the mixture of fantasy lyricism and grotesque horror, I found myself not very engaged in the story. I lay the fault at the fact that I couldn’t connect with any of the characters. Rayph, Konnon, and other key characters often feel very strong emotions, but I never really shared in their feelings. Their hearts would break, they would weep, they would laugh with joy, but half the time, I wasn’t quite sure *why* they were feeling these things. We get told about their feelings, but being told how someone is feeling is not the same as sharing in that feeling. This is where I disengaged with the story. The characters felt thin, a bit flat, especially the female characters. All of the little girls in the story were more symbols of innocence and purity as opposed to real, believable people. The sassy and mysterious barmaid is flirty and street-smart and all-around wonderful, but without any flaws or an inner life of her own; she existed simply to be worshiped by the male characters. Other females are either badass warriors/witches/demons, or ciphers. Because of the dream-like way the first half is written, things felt episodic, and since I never really felt connected with the characters, there was not much to pull me into the book. It isn’t a super-long novel, but it took me a long time to read. For many readers, this might not be a big deal — Song has plenty of action, plenty of gore, and some very cool set-pieces — but without the character connection, I couldn’t stay engaged.
Teller is a highly imaginative writer, and the world in which Song is set is varied and strange and vast. But because the characters never felt flesh and blood to me, I had a hard time making it through. I appreciated the way magic was used, I enjoyed the moments of grotesque fantasy-horror, but I just never felt the emotional connection.
3 stars
Big thank you to Jesse and Rebekah Teller for providing me a free copy of Song as part of TBRindr.
