Hyper-focused on the power of story to the detriment of its plot and characters; although that might not be a bad thing.
Everybody’s different when it comes to taste in stories. For some, this can get as hyper-specific as only enjoying certain tropes in very particular subgenres. Fantasy is by far my genre of choice, but if I were to narrow it down, I’d have to say I prefer fantasy with a bit of grit. Give me battles and strong outer conflicts and plot and books no shorter than six-hundred pages. Of course, I enjoy other stories too, but those tend to be my favourite.
With The Starless Sea, I tried to keep an open mind. It’s a fantasy story, so I knew I’d probably find something to enjoy in its pages, but I could tell from the title alone that this wasn’t the kind of book I usually enjoy. There’s something about stories described as ‘spellbinding’ or ‘enchanting’ that usually fall short for me.
I was determined to give it a go, though—this was the novel my fantasy book club chose for the month, and I wasn’t showing up without anything to say. So, I accepted that The Starless Sea would perhaps be a lighter story than what I was used to and dove in.
Wetting My Toes
When video-game designer Zachary Rawlins stumbles upon a book in his college library that doesn’t have a listed author, he’s curious. But when he discovers that the book contains him as a character, he follows a thread of clues that lead him to an underground, story-filled labyrinth. Under threat from ‘The Collector’s Club’, Zachary is pulled into a quest to defend the Labyrinth—a quest he’s not sure he’s ready for.
The most striking aspect of The Starless Sea is how it blends its narrative with excerpts from various in-story books. Almost every second chapter—sometimes multiple chapters in a row—is a different story that at first feels totally separate from Zachary’s, but the more you read, the more you’ll come to realise how connected they really are.
Books and stories are the heart of The Starless Sea. This is put to excellent use—from using them as narrative devices to working the very idea of stories into the theme and climax—but despite being able to appreciate the craft this required, this aspect of the book just didn’t sit well with me.
Man Overboard
I find there to be something a little pandering about stories about the power of stories—or books or libraries or what-have-you. This is very much my own bias, but there’s a sentiment running through these kinds of books that grinds me the wrong way: “Aren’t stories wonderful!? Aren’t they magical!? Magic is real because stories are magic, and aren’t you and I so wonderful for being able to share this story, dear reader?”
While I agree that there is a real power to storytelling—in their ability to transport the imagination and communicate ideas through characters, etcetera—stories that loudly proclaim how special stories are feels… I don’t want to say lazy, because clearly a lot of work went into The Starless Sea. Maybe ‘low-hanging fruit’ is the right term; surely people who like reading books will like reading a book about how great books are, right?
From the generally positive response to this book, I gather that most people do, and I’ll fully admit to being a grinch in this regard. I guess I don’t want to be told how powerful the medium is; I want to feel it. I couldn’t immerse myself in Zachary’s story because the book kept drawing attention to itself. Ultimately, I want to lose myself in a story, but the way Morgenstern constantly interrupted Zachary’s narrative to tell us another myth or fable kept me at arm’s length.
Lost to the Currents
I liked Zachary well enough despite him becoming quite a passive character after he takes some initial steps to solve the mystery of why he’s a character in a book. The social-outcast academic isn’t anything we haven’t seen before in literature, but there were enough interesting and unique specifics to his character that made him relatable. I also enjoyed Dorian—a mystery man with a compelling backstory. He’s the most conflicted character in the book, and the sections written from his point of view were always engaging.
“Compelling backstory” is actually a term that could be applied to a lot of the novel. Zachary comes to the underground library seemingly at the end of its story, but the snippets of its history frequently feature some rather interesting groups and conflicts. My epic-fantasy-oriented brain couldn’t help but wish that this dynamic backstory was what I was actually reading about—but that would’ve been a completely different novel.
Overall, I think Morgenstern achieved what she set out to achieve. The Starless Sea is purposefully wandering novel that wants you to languish in the power of storytelling and bathe in its imagery and literary references. Some people will adore this novel for Morgenstern’s refined prose and whimsical atmosphere, but the lack of plotting and resolution for some important characters means that this just isn’t the novel for me.
***
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