The Empress of Salt and Fortune demonstrates that genre fiction can be remarkably beautiful. Admittedly, maybe I was fooled by the marketing and you shouldn't really think of it as genre fiction at all. It's praised for winning the Locus Award for Best Novella, but there are barely any fantastical elements. Maybe what I want to say is that it would be deserving of wider cultural recognition (though I don't think that in the following I'll be able to explain why).

Reading the little novella is a wonderful and refreshing experience, not the least because your usual SFF categories won't apply. After the first couple of chapters you suspect that there won't be an epic journey, no intricate motives, or even shocking reveals. The very brief chapters are often somewhat self-contained, so for the most part there aren't even any underlying themes to discern in the course of the story. I don't think there are even spelled-out dialogs.

It was only when I was done that I fully understood that it's really all about the story it tells (if you know what I mean). Maybe the beauty lies in its simplicity. Or in the fact that there is richness and significance in the more mundane relationships, objects, and events. It's a relationship with an empress, yet somewhat that barely matters. There is love, tension, and even war, but it's told in this amazingly unagitated prose that mirrors the calm and withdrawn nature of its narrator, an old woman named Rabbit.

Though I think I remember the plot fairly well and maybe to some extent I also understand what it's "saying", the novel remains not fully tangible. It tells you what is happening, but maybe in the somewhat vague sense that newspapers do. Nghi Vo won't describe what happened in detail, which creates rather underdetermined ideas and images. Maybe it's because she uses the most colorful words that dwelling on these images leaves you feeling all warm inside.

You should experience this yourself, is what I'm saying.

Rating: 4/5