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At the end of my review for ‘Silver Phoenix’ I bemoaned the fact that there was probably going to be a ‘totally unnecessary sequel’ (I wrote my review before the white washing debate, which is when I learnt that ‘Fury of the Phoenix’ was going to exist). I remember thinking that the lack of detail that Cindy Pon provided about Zhong Ye and Silver Phoenix’s relationship, left this aspect of ‘Silver Phoenix’s’ plot feeling like an insubstantial after thought. When I read ‘Silver Phoenix’ I wondered where Ai Ling’s power came from. Then it turned out she’d been given the power by a goddess, so that she could end the life of a necromancer, who this goddess once loved, which is a fantastic, original idea. The problem was that this part of the book’s plot was dealt with so quickly it never felt fully realised. I assumed that if the author had put a bit more detail about this romantic relationship into ‘Silver Phoenix’ any sequel need not have existed. I assumed the sequel would feel a little thin and unnecessary.

You know that trite little saying about what happens when you assume...yeah, spot on. Lemme say it loud “I was wrong.” Ok, I still think that ‘Silver Phoenix’ needed to include more detail about Zhong Ye and Silver Phoenix’s to make their relationship feel emotionally real in the context of that book. However, the sequel, ‘Fury of the Phoenix’ is so much more than a weak spin off, add on. It is so fun and satisfying that I can’t imagine it not existing.

‘Fury of the Phoenix’ has two parallel storylines. Ai Ling hurries to board the ship Chen Yong is taking to Jiang Dao because she had a dream he’s in danger. And when I say hurries to board, I mean she engages a fisherman with the seafaring equivalent of ‘follow that taxi’, jumps from one vessel to another and grapples her way up the side of the deck. And just like in ‘Silver Phoenix’ Pon gives us a heroine who is determined, but at the same time is rather daunted by her task, as many of us would be if we had to jump from a boat and climb up the curved side of an effing, great ship, while it is moving:

‘With trembling arms, Ai Ling took agonizingly slow steps upward. The ship rocked across the sea, riding over a large wave so its bow slanted to the heavens. Ai Ling was flung backward and dangled helplessly, the sky filling her vision, then was bashed back into the ship’s side. Unable to breathe, she squatted like a bruised toad against the ship as it slammed down, and the water surged up to meet her. Focus. One hand over the other, then shuffling with her feet. The rough rope bit into her slick palms. The crew would disperse soon. She began to shake with the effort and bit her lip hard. She would get on board this ship or die trying.’

Realistic heroics are my favourite kind.

Ai Ling is swiftly found aboard. Actually she’s found rather too fast, which feels abrupt. The author needs to get Ai Ling into a particular situation quickly, so she has her discovered by chance as soon as Ai Ling boards the ship. This sudden discovery undermines the tension of the whole boarding episode, as that scene set the reader up to become invested in the drama of Ai Ling’s attempt to aid Chen Yong secretly and then ends the tension so hastily.

When Ai Ling is found so quickly by a crew member and taken to the Captain without much drama, the boarding scene feels like wasted effort, like Ai Ling has already failed so soon after spending so much time stealthily getting on the ship. I was left feeling a little flat and a tad resentful that Pon hadn’t found a more natural feeling way to get her heroine where she needed to be for the plot to continue.

However, after Ai Ling is found, her storyline becomes so quietly fascinating. Her travels this time are much less monster filled and dangerous than they were in ‘Silver Phoenix’, although Pon still includes one very cool shipboard battle with some Sea Shifters. Instead Ai Ling spends time training in a martial art called shuen, dealing with her feelings for Chen Yong and making new friends on the ship. And all this is taking part on a ship, which is fabulous. Ship board is a setting that means characters can’t escape from one another so resentments, or loving feelings inescapably bubble to the surface leading to a big emotional payoff for a reader like me. And all the time that Ai Ling is engaged in this almost commonplace, but fascinating ship life she has the feeling that there are memories in her head that aren’t her own, but she doesn’t quite know what to do about them. Pon weaves contemporary and fantasy together without one element taking over the book. By balancing the dynamic, fantasy conflicts and more active plot points with more scenes of quieter downtime, she creates a novel that feels much more comfortable in its pacing, world building and structure than ‘Silver Phoenix’, which was at times so enthusiastic to show off fantastical ideas that it neglected the basic underpinnings of its story.

As Ai Ling struggles with strange memories aboard ship the novel also follow a second historical storyline. The second storyline shows Zhong Ye, the villainous necromancer from ‘Silver Phoenix’ as a nineteen year old eunuch, who wants to increase his standing with the Emperor. To do so he must find a courtesan who can give the Emperor another son. He selects the young Mai Ling, whose lady in waiting is the beautiful former song girl (prostitute) Silver Phoenix. Slowly, as Zhong Ye advances Mai Ling’s interests, he and Silver Phoenix fall in love. Their growing affection for each other is tender and believable. Oh, how I wanted them to be happy, but sadly I already knew how their lives turn out because I’d read ‘Silver Phoneix’.

The real proof of Pon’s skill is that she almost makes the reader forget about the fate of these two lovers. She situates the reader so firmly in the present, by concentrating on humanising both her characters and focusing the reader on their feelings. It’s hard to feel the connection between Zhong Ye, the evil, obsessed character in ‘Silver Phoenix’ and the Zhong Ye of the sequel, because they’re so different and this Zhong Ye is such a simple, yet engaging character. The third person narrative supplies a high level of detail character detail, by describing his past, his ambitions, his feelings and by showing him interacting with characters in a personal way:

‘He grabbed her hand and kissed her fingertips. “I never made a good farm boy.” She smiled, but he suddenly couldn’t return it. He had meant it in jest, but it was a poor joke. His throat closed and he glanced away.

“What’s wrong?”

“I ran away when I was eleven years. Worked, studied, apprenticed, became a palace eunuch.” He waved a hand. “All of this. So I could become better than a farmer and give my mother what she deserved in life.”

“You’re a filial son,” she said.

“Am I? Perhaps what they needed more was for me to be there to plow the fields.” He tried to picture his mother’s face. “I send coin back each month, but not letters. No one can read them.” He could remember only his mother’s eyes, light brown as a walnut shell. “I just wanted to escape. I haven’t seen them in seven years.”

Silver Phoenix bent over him, cupping his face with a cool hand. “We have each other now.” '

The humanisation of Zhong Ye’s character makes it easy for the reader to like him and later when that feeling has been comprimised by his misdeeds, to empathise with him.

That’s not to say that Zhong Ye is a tragic innocent, brought down by circumstances. He’s interested in status; in fact that’s why he became a eunuch (although his greedy interest in status is tempered by the fact that he sends money to his poor family). His desire to rise higher brings him into contact with a foreign alchemist who claims he can grant the Emperor immortal life and this contact sets Zhong Ye on to the evil path that leads to his fate in ‘Silver Phoneix’.

What is so interesting about Zhong Ye’s fall is that even as he loses his soul and becomes a bad person who will kill to extend his own life, his character never degenerates into a monster. Pon could have to make it easy for her readers to hate Zhong Ye, as she does in ‘Silver Phoenix’, but Pon keeps the reader focused on the positive aspects of his personality. His love for Silver Phoenix continues to exist in a pure form and it’s hard not to sympathise with him through his troubles, although it’s obvious that he is being corrupted by alchemy, power and self-interest.

Personally I prefer ‘Fury of the Phoenix’, to ‘Silver Phoenix’ because it feels much more assured, like a second novel by a writer who has really worked on improving their craft. I’m especially glad that I think the repeated word use that I found so annoying in ‘Silver Phoenix’ has disappeared. Pon makes the more complex dual storyline format work for her novel, when it’s a hard structure to get right. Neither of the storylines is ‘the dull one’ that readers will flip through to get to the one that is more interesting and the switches between stories felt like they came at the right point without leaving huge cliff hangers, or unnatural shifts. There are still some odd plotting blips in this book that seem to rely on the reader to unnecessarily suspend their disbelief, when reasoned plot development could have been included to make these moments seem more organically created, for example Ai Ling knows just where to find something of Zhong Ye’s at the end of the book without being told where it was.

‘Fury of the Phoenix’ could be described as a more conventional book than ‘Silver Phoenix’, with its romance and its dual plot line. Sure it has a heroine who battles demons, gets possessed and makes a trip into the underworld (which is vividly described and I can still see images like ‘the wide river of molton lava’ and ‘the warren of endless catacombs, a wasp’s nest hewn from rock.’ in my minds eye) which seem to argue against it being conventional. However, compared to ‘Silver Phoenix’ which is so focused on Ai Ling’s physical and emotional journey the concentration on romance in ‘Fury of the Phoenix’ seems traditional and less subversive than a story of a girl stabbing monsters. I feel obliged to explain that it still doesn’t feel traditional at all when you’re reading it, it’s just more quietly subversive than ‘Silver Phoenix’. We still see Ai Ling eating and solidly doing what needs to be done while being aware of the dangers she faces, it’s just that she’s in love while she gets on with the rest of her life. And there’s this respect between both members of each couples, as well as a joy in their partners when they eventually get together that is charming to see, for example when Zhong Ye walks on his hands around Silver Phoenix. Sensible, secure love doesn’t sound very exciting, but somehow these two couples make it just as interesting to watch as an tortured relationship. Likewise being compassionate to your enemy doesn’t sound as exciting as vanquishing them with balls of fire, but the part where Ai Ling meets Zhong Ye again is full of intriguing emotions:

‘ “The demons are keeping score,” he said with a wry smile, not bothering to glance up. “I’m losing.”

He was glad to see her, she could sense his pleasure. It only terrified her more.’

I’ll leave you with that and a recommendation to read both ‘Silver Phoenix’ and ‘Fury of the Phoenix’ close together, so that you can see the comparison between the special powers of both books.

Other Reviews

Reading in Color
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Can I just say how gutted I am that I did not love Cindy Pon’s Chinese inspired fantasy novel. It sounded amazing (teenage girl, rejected by the marriage market must quest to find her father, who she believes has been taken captive at the Emperor’s Palace) and had a cover that popped graphically. I was ready for some vaguely Allanna reminiscent adventuring antics in a well realised fantasy world and ‘Silver Phoenix’s protagonist Ai Ling, is a charming heroine who evolves from an obedient daughter, unsure of her own abilities to a young women who defeats monsters and saves the day countless times. However, I felt that other aspects of the book, such as Pon’s creation of the fantasy kingdom of Xian, the relationships between some of the characters and the repetitive, unpolished feel to the writing let Ai Ling down.

In the first few chapters Ai Ling and her family are introduced, Ai Ling’s betrothed rejects her, Ai Ling begins to suspect she can hear people’s thoughts, the reader learns that her father left the Emperor’s Palace in disgrace and her father is recalled to the Palace. Time passes quickly and Ai Ling is all of a sudden compelled to go questing to bring her father home, because an odious man is looking to take her as a wife in repayment for an debt he alleges her father owes. So much happens so fast that the deep relationship that supposedly exists between Ai Ling and her parents, which in part makes her feel she must bring her father back, is never fully developed. The beginning of the book feels rushed and while it’s easier for the reader to form an emotional connection to Ai Ling as her thoughts are exposed to them, it’s much harder to understand how the connection between her and her parents goes beyond everyday filial loyalty. This lack of understanding makes her rapid decision to go after her father alone seem rather surprising and abrupt.

It’s the same with Pon’s fantasy The Kingdom of Xian, which is essentially China. Readers are told that the book is set in Xian, but there is never any real distinction made between Xian and China to give Xian a distinct being. It’s hard to work out why Pon felt she needed to create a new world, rather than setting her book in ancient China and just having unexpected fantastical happenings occur there, since Xian is not significantly different from it. It’s obvious that Pon has the required creative powers to bring a fantasy world to life, as she demonstrates when describing the many different monsters Ai Ling battles and the fantasy lands she explores, but Xian is just typical historic scenery that is inserted so Ai Ling isn’t walking on thin air. The lack of detail about what makes Xian, Xian evokes a feeling of constriction, as if Pon has a word limit she can’t exceed and so must cut out much of the development of her world. This sense that her story does not have enough room to breathe within the confines of her book’s structure quickly becomes familiar, as the reader sees Ai Ling find out she has a magical power and adapt to using it with the minimum of effort, angst, or curiosity about this extraordinary new ability.

But this unbelievably swift acceptance of her strange power is really my only criticism of Pon’s heroine. Ai Ling is fearless, as she sneaks out of her house to begin a lonely journey to rescue her father, but as a young girl, from a scholarly family who has not been bought up to fight she’s realistically fearful of the first supernatural encounters she has. As she gains experience and learns to properly control her abilities and weapon, she becomes the heroine, sinking her dagger into monsters, or using her abilities to save her male companions. She leads Cheng Wong and Li Rong capably without it causing conflict because she is a woman, and she makes friends with Cheng Wong, who describes himself as traditional, even though her quest is about as untraditional as it can get for girls in Xian society. And she eats! She loves food, gobbles it up at every opportunity and never worries about how eating will make her appear unladylike, because if she’s going to be an effective warrior she needs fuel and because dumplings taste good. It is ridiculous that I was so cheered to see a female heroine who actually eats her fill and is even comfortable being teased about her appetite, but happy, hungry female characters are so rare that Ai Ling feels like a feminist literary victory. Cindy Pon’s implicit feminist message is really fortifying and while I felt that sometimes her characters explicit conversation about women in Xian society felt like set pieces, rather than natural dialogue, I don’t think you can fault an author for trying to show that girls are human and that girls can fight, physically to save people.

The relationship between the three travelling companions is a valuable antidote to the other half realised relationships throughout the book. Despite Pon’s tendency to describe Cheng Wong’s golden eyes at every opportunity (know that I really want to make a Cullen comparison here, but I don’t want to be accused of playing
Twilight bingo) it’s easy to see that Ai Ling and Cheng Wong’s admiration for each other goes past lust and love at first sight. It’s built on a mutual admiration of the skills and personal attributes that allow them to repeatedly save each other, as well as an interest in what is important to the other. OK there’s a little bit of lust and love at first sight in there as well, but it’s all very sweet and sensible, without a whole lot of overwrought angst. Li Rong, who is part of Cheng Wong’s adopted family is a cute character who acts as a balance to his brother and Ai Ling’s seriousness, but at the same time he isn’t just a structuring tool, he has his own personality. There’s a scene where the brothers spar and I felt a real brotherly history between them, full of all the tensions and joys that a lifetime living together brings.

My favourite aspect of the book other than Ai Ling and her travelling companions are the monsters the author includes. I’ve seen a little chatter about how they’re based on Chinese mythology, rather than being her own made up creations, but being totally unfamiliar with the darker side of Chinese mythology they felt like fresh fiends to me. I was really impressed by the level of imaginative evil that Pon introduces into her book, from the demon made of corpses to the sorcerer who steals life forces to stay alive. I can see she’s a big fan of possession and shape shifting, which I think are two of the creepiest deceptions evil can practise, so I was receptive to her version of evil and found myself interested every time another monster showed up. Her imagination also extends to creating mystical alternate kingdoms and the world of the Immortals, where her descriptions of the different kinds of mystical trees caught my attention. Unfortunately it is these inventive sections that seemed to suffer from a severe case of repetitive adjectives. Nothing is royal blue, or sky blue, everything is cerulean and the same applies to red, as crimson seems to be the only shade of red in these kingdoms.

This doesn’t sound like much but throughout the book repetitive description continued to annoy me. People with black hair, almost certainly had ‘raven’ hair, as I said above Cheng Wong’s eyes are noted as being golden about twenty times and everyone’s clothes and hair are described as soon as they are introduced, which becomes an irritating formula the more people the travellers meet. It might not sound like much, but it grated on me and it did leave me feeling like this book hadn’t reached the polished stage of a final novel. I also think there might be a completely unnecessary sequel coming, which will bug me because a little bit of extra space could have allowed for a much richer story and resolutions to some unresolved plot parts.

By the end of her adventures Ai Ling is a remarkable heroine, stranded in book that just doesn’t quite live up to the potential of the individual elements within it. I do want to recommend that people read it, because of Ai Ling and her friends, but be aware you might hit the same rough spots I did. I think there’s a much better book in Cindy Pon and it is exciting to watch authors develop, so I’ll be keeping my eyes open.

Other Reviews

The YaYaYas
Presenting Lenore
Reading in Color
The Book Smugglers

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