Book Review: The Empire of Gold
Sorry for the unintended hiatus, dear readers. I had some computer troubles which are (thankfully) now resolved, and I’m ready to get back to reviews. Speaking of which, I love getting my hands on the final books of trilogies. So much anticipation to see how the series turns out, and it was no different with The Empire of Gold, last book of the Daevabad trilogy.
After barely escaping the fall of Daevabad, Nahri and Ali are on the run with Suleiman’s Seal. Lost in Egypt, with nowhere to go and no allies to rely upon, they’re about to make some startling discoveries about Nahri’s past and Ali’s mysterious connection to the marid. Meanwhile, in Daevabad, Dara struggles to come to terms with the horrors commanded by Manizheh. A war for Daevabad is coming, and the city will never be the same again.
One of the best parts of this trilogy, and possibly the most compelling, has been the throughline of the main character arcs. Seeing those come to fruition here is the main reason I couldn’t put the book down; it kept drawing me back, forcing me to read “just one more chapter” — and we all know how that turns out.
Poor Nahri. All she’s ever wanted is to be a healer, to be left alone, and to help her newfound people. Instead, she got effectively held hostage, forced into a marriage she didn’t want, and then discovered that her mother is a monster. No wonder she fled, and her respite in Egypt at the book’s beginning is a direct temptation. She’s even offered her dream — an apothecary of her own, with Ali to help her. But Nahri has grown into being Banu Nahida, and she knows that neither she nor Ali will be happy in Egypt. She knows she has to stop Manizheh, even if it seems impossible.
On top of all that, we get some big revelations about who she is She is, definitely, a Nahid, but the revelation of the circumstances of her conception is a relief to Nahri and readers alike. By the end of the book, Nahri knows where she belongs, and she’s found her family, both by blood and by choice.
Ali’s tale has been one of slowly loosening up, of learning that the world isn’t black or white but mostly gray. And he’s also been learning that the focus on his father’s heritage has made him neglect his mother. That changes here, as he explores the depth of his connection to the marid. It turns out that his mother’s people are called crocodiles for a reason, let’s just say. Ali also demonstrates a strength that I don’t think his father had, the strength to sacrifice for his people. He makes a choice here that can’t be undone, but his choice is a huge component of what eventually saves Daevabad.
And let’s not forget Dara. Dara has been working with Manizheh and determinedly ignoring her flaws, but here he realizes he can’t do that anymore. Manizheh has committed atrocities, and while Dara himself is sitting in a glass house and shouldn’t throw stones, he at least recognizes that. (We even get more details about how he earned his monikers). And, most importantly, he finally decides that he doesn’t want to be the terrifying afshin; he doesn’t want to be a weapon.
Also, I’d be remiss if I didn’t give Chakraborty props for the resolution of Dara’s story. She doesn’t let him take the easy way out; he has to put in the work, and he has to atone in order to be worthy of forgiveness. The “noble sacrifice” is a lazy trope for villain redemption, and I couldn’t be happier at how Chakraborty chucks it in the bin.
As if I haven’t babbled enough about the characters, HERE is the romance I wanted the most. Nahri and Ali are so precious. It’s the best kind of slow burn; their friendship is so strong, and Ali’s conservative reservations so great as Nahri slowly overcomes them. Ali’s promise to come back to Nahri just seized my heartstrings and pulled them out of my chest. And that promise actually kept him alive when he could have given up. This is the romance Nahri always deserved, with a man who loves and respects her, who is her friend not just her lover, and who can treat her like an equal.
Like the rest of the Daevabad books, this is a slow burner until it reaches its climax, when everything moves at fever pitch. But please don’t confuse slow-burner with boring; I said above I couldn’t put it down. There is so much excellent focus on characters that the story still feels tight. Chakraborty has the same gift Melissa Caruso does for making political conversations thrilling, and there’s a lot of fascinating worldbuilding to explore as the main action (by which I mean Nahri) leaves Daevabad for the first time in one and a half books.
Speaking of which, THE WORLDBUILDING. It’s absolutely bonkers good here, particularly with the marid — there’s so much to learn and uncover. The rest of the supernatural world considers them monsters and they are, but they’re also so much more. Props to Chakraborty for making Sobek and Tiamat marids; I love that she went for regional deities that, apparently, have a basis in reality. There’s also a lot of digging into the founding of Daevabad and a much more critical look at the Nahids of the past. There are still unanswered questions, and plenty of places Chakraborty could go if she wants to return to this world, but what a rich setting.
And the ending is full of hope for Daevabad and its people, hope that the wars of the past can be reconciled, that the cycle of vengeance can be ended. It doesn’t pretend that everything is perfect, because it isn’t. But it does promise that things will be better, and that’s about as good an ending as I can hope for.
A wild ride, from start to finish, and an excellent trilogy overall.
Grade: 5/5 stars
Memorable Quote:
“And then she saw them. Subha in the infirmary they’d rebuilt, forcing a cup of tea on her. Jamshid laughing in the infirmary on his steed of cushions. The shafit children in the school at the workcamp. The Daeva children grinning at her in the Temple.
The Geziri children who died with sparklers in their hands. The people who, like Ali had irritatingly pointed out, did not have their choice.”
