This second volume of the Raven of the Inner Palace novels brings us to the point where the anime adaptation concluded, more or less. There are still plenty of details left out of that version to keep us reading the book, of course, but even more positive is the fact that the translation for this novel feels much more polished than the first. The awkward turns of phrase and slightly repetitive nature of the first book’s language are largely excised from this one, making it even more of a joy to read.
The only real complaint to be made here is very possibly out of both translator Amelia Mason’s and publisher Seven Seas‘ hands: the decision to use the Japanese readings of the characters’ names rather than the Chinese. For every name that reads naturally, there’s one that simply looks odd, such as “Shihitsu” and “Shukuko.” While these do work with the story’s fantasy genre, they also are just unusual enough to be a little distracting, particularly if you’re coming to this familiar with the Chinese readings from the anime’s subtitles. It’s certainly not an objectively wrong choice, but it inhibits reading a little.
The story continues to develop Jusetsu as a character as it deepens the mythology of the series’ world. When we left her at the end of the previous volume, Jusetsu had somewhat unwillingly taken in two ladies-in-waiting and a bodyguard, although the latter is only technically working for her, still being officially under the command of Koshun’s chief eunuch Eisei. Jusetsu is uncomfortable with this new normal, both because she’s used to doing everything herself, but also because Reijo, the previous Raven Consort, explicitly warned her against taking in servants or companions. When Koshun arranges for Jusetsu to meet Reijo’s old friend Gyoei, the Winter Minister, he also tells Jusetsu that she shouldn’t be spending so much time with other people. No one seems to have a clear reason why, but that doesn’t lessen her discomfort, nor can she shake the idea that she’s somehow doing something wrong.
This underlying theme is one of the strongest elements of the book. Jusetsu is truly torn between being a good girl who does what she’s told and following her own idea of what she wants and needs, and this seems to fit in nicely with the role of the Raven Consort and how it has changed over the years. As you may recall, the Raven Consort was once the Winter Sovereign, the female counterpart to the Summer Sovereign, who is now known as the emperor. Centuries ago, a Summer Sovereign decided to imprison the Winter Sovereign, and every Raven Consort since has dealt with the repercussions of that choice. Many of the rules governing Jusetsu’s role, therefore, can be read as something designed to keep all of the power in masculine hands, and making sure that Raven Consorts are socially isolated within the crowded world of the Inner Palace helps to accomplish that. After all, if no one is there to help her, she can’t break free of the constraints, at least not easily.
But this volume reveals that there’s something more going on as well: that first Raven Consort somehow trapped the goddess Uren Niangniang inside her own body. Now each new Raven Consort houses the goddess while making offerings to keep her largely subdued; in turn, they use her spiritual powers as we see Jusetsu doing, helping ghosts to move on. While this knowledge doesn’t lessen the sting of turning a ruler into a concubine, it does indicate that she’s incredibly powerful – but also likely a danger to herself and others. The fact that each new Raven Consort is chosen exactly eight years before the old one dies shows that Uren Niangniang is aware of the deterioration of her host bodies, and the pain each one feels on moonless nights when the goddess can escape and fly free tells us that this is not a symbiotic relationship. In fact, Uren Niangniang may be actively cutting Raven Consorts’ lives short.
The entry on the scene of the goddess’ brother, known only as the Owl (and represented by that bird), helps to make clear that something went down centuries ago that wasn’t just the suppression of the Winter Sovereign’s power. The Owl seems to feel that his sister was warped somehow, although whether that was due to her imprisonment or the reason she was imprisoned in the first place isn’t clear. We also don’t know if he was ever linked to the Summer Sovereign, which would certainly be interesting and may be implied by the endgame of this volume. (It may be worth considering that many ancient pantheons have brother/sister romantic pairings, unpleasant as that can sound to us today.) In any event, there are some links between the Owl’s actions and Koshun’s, particularly when we consider Koshun’s wish to help Jusetsu, whatever that may mean.
There’s also a brother/sister storyline present in the novel that begins in chapter one but isn’t resolved until chapter four, involving a woman who wants Jusetsu to bring her beloved brother back from the dead. Jusetsu refuses, saying that’s not a power she has, but the woman is determined, bringing about calamitous results. It’s a tragic storyline no matter how you look at it, and any romantic subtext you see in the siblings’ relationship does appear to be intentional, which feels significant when we consider the two deities. But it’s also about how love can be warped or cause people to do foolish things, a theme we see in all four cases Jusetsu is involved in this volume. Koshun’s burgeoning feelings for this consort he’s not meant to interact with (much less sleep with) take on a more foreboding air when looked at in this context.
Raven of the Inner Palace is a fascinating dark fantasy, just as good in its second volume as it was in its first. Jusetsu is slowly coming to terms with the fact that she’s not Reijo, and her world is both changing and expanding around her. It’s a story that knows how to blend its plot with its thematic elements, and even if you’re familiar with the basics from its adaptation, picking up this book is still a rewarding experience.
