In a famine-stricken village on a dusty yellow plain, two children are given two fates. A boy, greatness. A girl, nothingness…
In 1345, China lies under harsh Mongol rule. For the starving peasants of the Central Plains, greatness is something found only in stories. When the Zhu family’s eighth-born son, Zhu Chongba, is given a fate of greatness, everyone is mystified as to how it will come to pass. The fate of nothingness received by the family’s clever and capable second daughter, on the other hand, is only as expected.
When a bandit attack orphans the two children, though, it is Zhu Chongba who succumbs to despair and dies. Desperate to escape her own fated death, the girl uses her brother’s identity to enter a monastery as a young male novice. There, propelled by her burning desire to survive, Zhu learns she is capable of doing whatever it takes, no matter how callous, to stay hidden from her fate.
After her sanctuary is destroyed for supporting the rebellion against Mongol rule, Zhu takes the chance to claim another future altogether: her brother’s abandoned greatness.
I’ve talked a lot about this book – so much that it feels like I’ve reviewed it already several times over, but it seems once again that flailing on social media and sharing memes is not a review per se so I’ll try to be more coherent.
Simply put, it was the first book I read in 2021 and I almost felt bad for the rest of my TBR of the year, because oh boy, what a high bar it set. I couldn’t put it down, and now, months later, I find myself still thinking about the characters.
She Who Became the Sun puts the epic in epic fantasy. It has been comp’ed with The Song of Achilles, and it’s pretty clear why very early on – the pull of fate in the story is inexorable, almost as a law of physics. The hubris displayed by the mortals is so brazen that you expect a Greek chorus to make an appearance, pointing out just how fucked those impertinent bastards are about to be.
Chief among the Brazen Bastards, Zhu. Zhu is a magnetic character, a survivor through and through. She was told her future amounted to nothing; fine, she’ll steal her brother’s future. Her ambition has edges sharpened by survival; she will cut anyone on her way up. She doesn’t have a choice. The stakes get higher and higher, it’s an all-or-nothing hand: either greatness or dirt, and Monk Zhu isn’t dirt. Motivations aside, she reminded me a lot of Baru Cormorant, this moral greyness where every action, every reaction, is guided by one unique purpose. Following Zhu is heady and exhilirating, she will keep you on your toes, wondering just how far she’ll go. And, since it’s a retelling of the rise of an emperor, I’m gonna hazard a guess and say: pretty far.
And, across the chessboard, facing her, is General Ouyang. Voted “Sexiest Incel Alive” by Medieval China Red Pill magazine, he on the other hand is motivated by a bright furnace of hatred. Self-hatred, primarily. He serves his prince, Esen, who comes from the family that killed his own off and castrated him. He is attracted to said prince, and is in denial about it, and hating himself for it – a hatred that always threatens to boil over and destroy everything, including and starting with himself. I said “hate” a lot. But you have to understand just how corrosive his feelings are. His mutilation left him with a load of baggage related to gender, and when you add that to his confused feelings for Esen, jock supreme with an actual harem…*extremely Powerpuffs intro theme voice* Thus, virulent misogyny was born.
The face-offs between Zhu and Ouyang are beautiful, the way a natural disaster is beautiful. Ruthlessness against ruthlessness, survival against survival. They recognize something in each other, this thing inside that’s clawing its way out. I cannot emphasize how delectable they are as foes, because they are the embodiement of opposing forces. Not just on a battlefield – even their respective worldviews are in stark contrast. Ouyang hates women; Zhu almost accidentally empowers them (in a brand of feminism that can only be described as “gender? I barely know her”).
While these two are tangled in the complex web of self-identity and feral ambition, another character shines through (she says, unbiasedly). Wang Baoxiang is Esen’s adoptive brother. Under-appreciated by his family, he carries within him the seeds of resentment that every grudge helps nurture into full bloom. And honestly? It is magnificient. What is more attractive than a booksmart nerd letting his inner petty bitch take the wheel, to destructive consequences? I love him and want to see so much more of him (hi Shelley, if you’re reading this…).
Of course, it’s not all inappropriate homoerotic yearning, obsessive confrontations, and petty revenges (although, to be fair, I would have still been very into this book if it were). The story also gives the space for camaraderie, friendships, and even romance. It has one of the most beautiful examples of genderqueer/himbo solidarity in fiction. It has a sweet sapphic love story, featuring the one and only genuinely good person in the character cast – who deserves the world and is too pure for it.
She Who Became the Sun is a masterpiece. Everything is immense – the intensity of feelings, the fallouts of a single decision…It strikes the perfect balance between intimate and epic. The characters are the very definition of morally grey, but you will root for them because, well, the chaos they create in their path is way too entertaining, but also because they’re, in some strange way, relatable. They are deeply human in their monstrosity. Add that to a rich tapestry of rebellions and powerplays, and you’ve got yourself what’s undoubtedly one of the best books in the genre of the past years.
And it’s only the beginning. She Who Became the Sun is the first part of a duology, and I am looking forward to more Wang Baoxiang.
