In A Song to Drown Rivers, a magnificently sweeping tale of legendary romance, Ann Liang retells the story of Xishi. A fabled beauty of the Yue Kingdom, Xishi poses as devoted concubine to the king of China's Wu Kingdom in a treacherous ploy to take revenge on the Wu and conquer them. It is a heartbreaking tale of the duplicities and brutalities of war, but one that illustrates the power of women to subvert the grasp of kings.
Xishi despises King Fuchai of the Wu Kingdom. His victory over her people in the Yue Kingdom ended with bloodshed, her sister murdered, her impoverished village in ruins. Daily, a grieving Xishi scrubs silk, fingers blistering, to support her shattered parents. "Sometimes it felt like that was all my life was, all it ever could be: the repetition of tasks necessary for survival until I grew older and my time expired." It is in this state that Xishi is approached by Fanli, the 22-year-old political and military adviser to King Goujian of Yue. Their king wishes to gift the lovely Xishi to Fuchai as a symbol of peace, yet the true plan is for Xishi to serve as spy--to earn Fuchai's love, distract him from his duties, and facilitate a Yue invasion of Wu. "The choice was this: a kingdom, or my happiness.... Happiness was a side dish.... But revenge--that was the salt of life. Necessary. Essential." She agrees.
Xishi is whisked from her home and thrust into training. She balks at the absurdity of traditional etiquette, at "hollow gestures" like not raising a wine glass higher than the king's and the expectation to chew food noiselessly. Deception techniques help her control the emotions worn on her face. Yet they do little to mask her attraction to Fanli: "What am I thinking at present?" she asks him. "You are thinking... of something you know you should not." Think of him she does, of his "mind sharper than blades and beauty finer than jade," of the "brutal map of scars" on his back, of how his presence is "warmth, safety, an anchoring."
To that anchor Xishi bids a sorrowful goodbye as she enters the Wu Kingdom, fully trained to deceive Fuchai. The king of Wu is "disturbingly handsome" with "the sharp, assertive features of a wolf" that require all her willpower not to destroy. This simmering rage is mildly satiated, at least, by rebuffing his initial advances in feigned disinterest, a ploy to build his desire for her. When finally she allows his touch, "his hands do not feel like a killer's hands," yet he "taste[s] like treachery." Xishi slinks into a special rapport with Fuchai--gaining access to a court meeting, hinting at ways to please her that in fact serve to weaken the Wu--that has "the truth buzz[ing] like a wasp in [her] stomach." She fears death if she slips--"like holding your neck out for an execution, not knowing exactly when the axe head would fall"--but what disturbs her more is the feeling of only half-pretending and being not as cold as she wanted to be. Forgiving Fuchai's wrongs is impossible; this lie of love, however, brings a guilt that threatens to break Xishi's already sorrow-stricken soul.
This incantatory tale of Chinese historical fantasy glistens with tearful attraction and bloody betrayals against a transportive backdrop. The strife of living is vivid in Xishi's village, where she tracks time as "the stretch between two meals." Liang then surrounds Xishi with a lush setting of "ponds and gardens, water and earth, fishing boats and floating lights," and feasts of "roasted lamb and glazed duck and sweet congee sprinkled with golden osmanthus flakes and goji berries." The juxtaposition isn't lost on Xishi, who in mournful cadence recalls "sleep[ing] earlier just to escape the pinch of hunger in our stomachs, the rationing of a single yellow millet bun into thirds, and then fourths, and then fifths."
Xishi speaks eloquently, too, of legend ("This is how the story goes; these are the roles we have chosen for ourselves") and the future she is generating ("History seemed to be holding its breath, gazing down upon us"), as her own story unfolds. This awareness perhaps serves to upend the stories that accompanied her birth--tales of her beauty causing fish to forget how to swim, which Liang pulls from Chinese history. "In these stories," Xishi reflects, "I am reduced to someone barely even human, a creature of myth." Men's idea of beauty, Xishi recognizes, rests upon a woman as a "dull shell who has no personality and makes no sound." But her actions throughout her time with Fuchai dismantle this idea through Liang's brilliant inversion of a concubine's typical role.
This clever setup allows for breathtaking court intrigue, which in turn intensifies the deep passion that underlies romantic moments. Xishi's forbidden yearning for Fanli etches her heart: "When his gaze drifted lower, down to my nose and lips, there came a fierce rushing in my chest, like the howl of wind over a sheer cliff." Xishi knows, though, that these desires will see her the victim while cunning will carve a certain path to victory. To achieve her aim--to "burn this kingdom down to ashes"--she must rely on her wits to topple men who believe everything belongs to them. This formidable strength of a woman thought harmless brings together every gut-wrenching moment of this spectacular novel. --Samantha Zaboski