At three times its length, Nghi Vo’s The Empress of Salt and Fortune would be a rich book. At 119 pages, its power is distilled to essence, perfection made prose — dense, poetic, powerful, and lean. It’s a book made of details, and the trick is: which details are the ones that make and un-make an empire?
We glimpse the Empress In-Yo, the recently-deceased ruler of Anh, in the opening pages of the book, as the hungry ghosts of Lake Scarlet assemble, not to devour Cleric Chih of the Singing Hills Abbey and their companion, the loquacious hoopoe Almost Brilliant, but to watch the empress’ shade pass:
Now, though, they had eyes for nothing but the palanquin coming down the ghost road from the east, from the direction of Lake Scarlet. It was borne by six veiled men. Their feet did not quite touch the ground. In the moonlight, it was all silvered, but Chih could tell that by all rights, it should be swathed in imperial red and gold, the mammoth and lion of the Empire embroidered in lavish detail on the curtains.
There was only one woman in the world who had the right to show the mammoth and the lion, and she was to be crowned in her first Dragon Court in the capital.
Well, thought Chih, curling their hand around Almost Brilliant for comfort, only one living woman.
— from Chapter 1
Lake Scarlet, the site of the Empress’ exile many years before, is so close, has been forbidden for so long, and is so tempting to a historian cleric, that Chih takes a detour to see if anything is left of the empress’ old palace before they have to be in the capital to witness the new empress’ coronation. So it is that Chih and Almost Brilliant meet Rabbit, once In-yo’s personal servant. The palace, nicknamed Thriving Fortune, is intact and, as a historian in service to their abbey, Chih and Almost Brilliant undertake an inventory of the things In-Yo left behind. Rabbit tells them,
“Now that you are here, and Almost Brilliant as well, I am pleased that the true history of Lake Scarlet will be told.”
Chih smiled at Rabbit’s words. She sounded a little like the former Divine, who had always encouraged their acolytes to speak to the florists and the bakers as much as to the warlords and magistrates. Accuracy above all things. You will never remember the great if you do not remember the small.
— from Chapter 1
History records great events. History is, more than anything else, the study of power, the way that power is shaped and wielded, usually by men whom history names as great and deems worthy of memory.
There is, of course, another history, and that’s the one that is elided. In retrospect, the novella reminds me most strongly (and strangely) of Susan Glaspell’s one-act “Trifles,” especially in the way it showcases men’s disrespect for women’s perspective. The words, deeds, and memories of common people, of the poor, especially of women have to be sought out, but most often are ignored. True of women of all classes and roles — even empresses — especially empresses who are given as war trophies. Especially when their memories are kept by a servant who was sold to the palace in lieu of a barrel of orange dye, and plucked from the ranks to become a personal maid, and more. Much more.
History will say that she was an ugly woman, but that is not true. She had a foreigner’s beauty, like a language we do not know how to read.
— from Chapter 2
“A language we do not know how to read.” The Empress of Salt and Fortune can be a quick book; at 119 pages, you can get through it in one sitting. I recommend you don’t that. This is a story meant to be lingered over, savored, read more than once, and best at a leisurely pace. Dense, poetic, and without a scrap of fat, The Empress of Salt and Fortune is a book we have to learn how to read before we understand its power and heft. The plot reveals itself slowly, the significance of each artifact, each detail, each word of Rabbit’s reminiscences, a discrete part of a puzzle that reveals more than love, more than friendship, more than destiny. In-Yo is an empress, Rabbit her servant, but also her friend and more than a friend. It’s a revolutionary book, a story of women and power and codes and intrigue, and fierceness enough to fight wolves.
Published to rave reviews in March, 2020, Nghi Vo’s debut novella is a rare sensation, worthy of every bit of its hype and then some. It’s Herstory: In-yo’s story, and Rabbit’s, and it moves an empire, but it’s a tale of misdirection, one that leaves it to the reader to tease out the heart, which is filled with courage, rage, love, betrayal, and endurance in the face of tyranny. It’s about women who endure in the face of overwhelming obstacles.
The framing part of the tale, the nonbinary cleric Chih and their companion Almost Brilliant, add another layer, one that interrogates the role of history, the role of the historian as a shaper of tales and their truths. Rabbit asks Chih what they’ll do with what they’ve learned, and Chih’s decision will shape another empire.
This is easily the most profound book I’ve read all year. I can’t go much farther because anything more treads on spoiler territory. I chose it for tonight because winter is a time for reading great books, and The Empress of Salt and Fortune is, in a symphony of seasonal reading, the single violin that cuts through all the noise and rhythm to quicken your heartbeat and make your soul sing.
And because a stand-alone sequel, When the Tiger Came Down the Mountain, will be released tomorrow. Once you’ve read The Empress of Salt and Fortune, you’ll want to read it next. Nghi Vo’s first full novel, a re-visioning of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, The Chosen and the Beautiful, is coming in 2021. It’ll be Something Completely Different — but I trust that it’ll be Almost Brilliant.