Jelena Dunato’s Ghost Apparent is not at all what I expected — indeed, it very consciously sets out to be not what one might expect it to be. the novel follows Orsiana, the daughter of the “gospodar” of the city-state of Abia, a merchant republic that is an autonomous tributary of the Amrian Kingdom. as Dunato is Croatian, I suspect this is inspired by the history of Ragusa (a long-time autonomous vassal; now Dubrovnik), which in and of itself is a refreshing setting inspiration: I am always saying that there should be more fantasy inspired by the Mediterranean merchant republics.
the novel begins with the assassination of Orsiana’s father by her ambitious uncle, and follows her quest to retake her home — first from her uncle and ultimately from the Amrian king himself. it approaches this narrative through a fairy-tale lens, as Orsiana is saved (or manipulated, depending on your perspective) by four gods, each of whom gives her a fairy-tale gift in exchange for an appropriately fairy-tale price. her encounter with Korab, the sea god, sets the tone for this: having saved her when she almost drowns trying to escape the slave-ship her uncle intended to send her off on, Korab returns her to land so she can free her city — but takes away her voice as payment. at this point, I thought, “ah, so we’ll do a kind of Machiavellian Little Mermaid! neat!” — only for Orsiana to nearly die again, meet another god, regain her voice, and receive another ambivalent gift: a new face that allows her to hide but also removes her from the sphere of political power by making her seem a “mere” servant. further divine “gifts” add further complications.
the book is quite short and so very fast-paced, which I think is its main weakness: I never felt like I quite connected with Orsiana; exacerbating this was the fact that she’s only eighteen — there’s a certain YA flavor here at times, though I wouldn’t say the novel as a whole feels like YA. having said that, the gleeful dismembering of fairy-tale conventions absolutely makes up for this, and as a result, even though it’s a story about restoring a hereditary ruler to her rightful position (sort of), I really, really enjoyed it.
there are a bunch of things I can’t elaborate too much on without spoiling the ending, but I will say that while there is what seems like a fairy-tale romance here, Dunato subjects the fairy-tale happily-ever-after to the same critical eye as other aspects of the novel. in a way, “Machiavellian Little Mermaid” is an apt description, because despite its fantasy elements it is the balance and distribution of power in an early modern-esque world that the novel is most concerned with: Orsiana manipulates the city’s early print culture, circulating a murder ballad about her father’s assassination in order to stir the people of Abia and its governing Council to act; the Council debates the best way to preserve the city’s autonomy as the king threatens to absorb it fully into his kingdom; and Orsiana is painfully aware that her gender and age mean that even if she is able to overthrow her uncle her political position will still be decidedly precarious. the romance(?) is shaped by Orsiana’s encounter with the goddess of love, but it, too, is shaped by Orsiana’s material and political circumstances.
I was especially interested in the way the book is thinking about the relationship between rulers and subjects: Orsiana’s father’s defining characteristic is his refusal to separate himself from the people of the city, through which he and Orsiana walk freely, without guards or other accompaniment. this shapes Orsiana’s view of Abia, and in turn it sets her against not only her uncle and the Councillors but also the king: if Orsiana sees her position as “gospa” as inherited (i.e., as her father’s daughter she has a “right” to the position), she also sees — or perhaps comes to see — the power and status of that position as deriving from the city and its people, rather than from the Council or her family history. there’s obviously a certain idealism here — Orsiana is a Good Hereditary Aristocrat™ — but there’s also an opening, even within the narrative world, for thinking critically about the basis of political power (including some attention to class, albeit here to the tension between the aristocracy and the incipient bourgeoisie; laborers are still mostly in the background).
all in all, a fun, well-executed book! definitely recommend.
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