Mercedes Lackey’s Arrows of the Queen trilogy is a fantasy series that has garnered a dedicated following. Drawn by the promise of a TV adaptation and intrigued by the numerous Mercedes Lackey books in my childhood home, I decided to delve into this acclaimed series. Despite its popularity, my experience with the trilogy was largely underwhelming. Having approached these books with fresh eyes as an adult reader, my evolved reading tastes revealed several shortcomings, although there were some redeeming qualities.
One of the more progressive aspects of the Valdemar universe, and particularly this trilogy, is its portrayal of women in power. Queen Selenay reigns over Valdemar, a realm where royal lineage isn’t the sole determinant of succession. The crown can pass through the female line, and the current heir is indeed a young woman. Furthermore, the concept of the “Chosen” heir, selected by magical Companion horses, adds another layer of meritocracy, suggesting that queens and royal wives are not merely expected to produce offspring. This progressive approach extends to gender roles throughout Valdemar society, where professions and life goals appear unrestricted by gender. Selenay’s council, composed of both men and women, further reinforces this egalitarian ideal. The presence of lesbian characters and relationships is another positive aspect, contributing to a more inclusive world. The series also attempts to explore the contrast between Valdemar’s egalitarian society and the misogynistic patriarchy of Talia’s birthplace, adding a layer of social commentary.
Within the narrative itself, certain elements stood out positively. The focus on a female main character, Talia, is welcome in a genre that has historically been male-dominated. Talia’s initial love interest, Dirk, is portrayed as kind and good-hearted, challenging conventional romantic archetypes by being considered “ugly” in appearance. The first book introduces Talia and her unique empathy powers, raising interesting ethical questions about such abilities, although these discussions could have been more deeply explored.
However, the trilogy is significantly hampered by several recurring issues. Despite the apparent gender equality in Valdemar, the heralds, elite protectors of the realm, are disproportionately male, outnumbered by women at a ratio of 2:1. This imbalance is never adequately explained and feels like an unnecessary undermining of the setting’s supposed egalitarianism. The introduction of homophobia, seemingly solely for dramatic effect in a late scene in the first book, feels contrived and lazy. This plot device cheapens the narrative and relies on harmful tropes for manufactured drama.
A major detractor is the pervasive brooding and lack of communication among characters. Instead of engaging in dialogue, characters frequently lapse into internal monologues, agonizing over situations and feelings. This is compounded by the omniscient third-person narration, which often revisits the same scenes from multiple perspectives, leading to repetitive brooding and stagnant pacing. The narrative would have benefited greatly from a tighter, third-person close perspective focused primarily on Talia, branching out only when absolutely necessary for plot progression.
The concept of “life bonds” within the narrative also feels poorly executed and underdeveloped in its plot implications. The romantic relationship between Talia and Dirk is another significant weakness. While Dirk’s insecurities stemming from perceived differences in attractiveness and his misunderstandings regarding Talia and Kris have potential, his character devolves into a moody, brooding, and almost stalker-like figure. The supposed “obsession” between Talia and Dirk feels unearned and unbelievable, lacking the necessary development and interaction to justify such intense feelings. Book two, in particular, struggles to find its footing and suffers from excessive angst and problematic developments in the relationship between Kris and Talia.
While the attempt to discuss the ethics of Talia’s powers is appreciated, it remains superficial. More in-depth exploration of these ethical dilemmas, particularly between Talia and Kris, could have added significant depth and engagement to book two, replacing the repetitive angst. Furthermore, Kris’s ethical concerns seem selectively applied, as he grapples with the morality of using his gift but not with the problematic power dynamic of a relationship with someone akin to his student or “intern.” The characters’ motivations often appear driven by a desire for melodrama and angst rather than logical or realistic responses to situations.
One particularly jarring and uncomfortable element is the repeated emphasis on Talia’s emotional and even physical reactions to her magically bonded stallion’s mating activities. The inability to block out these sensations, attributed to her unique empathy gift, feels unnecessary and adds an unsettling dimension to the bond. The pacing across the trilogy is also uneven, with considerable filler and unnecessary introspection. The trilogy, spanning approximately 700 pages, could have been more effectively condensed into a tighter, more impactful single volume or duology of 350-400 pages by streamlining the narrative, reducing the brooding, and focusing on more compelling political intrigue and action. The missed opportunity to depict Talia’s attempt to rescue her sister, relegated to a brief recounting rather than a scene, exemplifies this lost potential for more engaging plot developments.
In conclusion, while Arrows of the Queen trilogy presents some progressive elements and intriguing concepts, it is ultimately weighed down by repetitive brooding, uneven pacing, underdeveloped relationships, and questionable plot devices. While these issues may partly reflect the writing conventions of the 1980s and the author’s early career, they significantly detract from the overall reading experience for a modern audience. Hopefully, Mercedes Lackey’s later works, such as the Vanyel trilogy, will demonstrate growth and address some of these shortcomings.
