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A review by mamthew42
The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue by Mackenzi Lee
4.0
The distinctive covers of Mackenzi Lee's The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue and its sequels catch my eye pretty much every time I walk past the YA section of the library, but I hadn't really planned to read it. In June, I had it on my Pride Month display for a bit, as it won the Stonewall Honor award, but I replaced it when I stumbled on You Should See Me in a Crown. In July, the title popped up as a book I could use on my Disability Pride Month display, and I did so with some trepidation, as I had trouble finding much discourse on its use of disability and was kinda worried that maybe the book was on the list erroneously. I couldn't tell you why I was so cagey about using it on displays, exactly, except that the clear 18th century aesthetic of the cover had me nervous that it might handle these topics through an 18th century lens. Now that I've read the book, I know I shouldn't have worried.
In the author's note at the end of the novel, Lee discusses the historical context for several aspects of the story, including epilepsy, race relations, and queer culture. She raises the topic of the thorniness of discussing queer history while looking back as far as the 18th century - something I've discussed and thought about often. After discussing what we do know of queer culture at the time, she ends by saying "the optimist in me likes to believe that the twenty-first century is not the first time in history that queer people have been able to live full romantic and sexual lives with the people they love. And if that makes me anachronistic, so be it." To me, that final line sums up much of what works about this novel. Lee writes with an eye toward history, and it's possible to trace the lines of historical research and theory throughout the novel. But she's willing to allow her characters to see this intricately realized world through anachronistic eyes if it serves the story and the message.
And what a story it is. Protagonist Henry "Monty" Montague is the eighteen-year-old son of a lord and monumental fuck-up. He was expelled from Eton college and is now an alcoholic hanging around his father's manor. In a last-ditch effort to set Monty straight, his father sends him on a tour of Europe with his sister Felicity and his longtime best friend Percy, during which they will drop Felicity off at finishing school and after which Monty will take over the estate or be disowned and Percy will begin studies at a law school. Monty is bisexual - though he doesn't have the terminology for it - and hopelessly in love with Percy. At the beginning of the tour, a series of events set the three off their planned course and on an adventure across Europe to find a cure for epilepsy before an evil French duke finds it first.
It's a ton of fun and made more so by Monty's character voice, as he's witty and sarcastic in a swashbuckly kind of way even as he's small-statured and useless in a fight. The novel's told from his perspective, but he's afraid of the vulnerability it would take to be honest with himself, so he often lies to himself in ways that are flattering and easy to catch. It takes time for him to gain enough humility to understand how much privilege he has as a white lordling compared to Percy, who's Black and has epilepsy, or Felicity, a girl who wants to learn medicine and is being sent to finishing school to have these headstrong notions trained out of her. That lack of humility, however, is also an act. Monty deals with the trauma of physical abuse for his queerness by drinking a lot and pretending he doesn't care, and it takes a lot of work to break down that kind of wall. This complexity of character and Monty's own wit combine for a very satisfying narrator. I read this book in two sittings just because the character voice made the book go so much more quickly than most.
There's a lot more I could say about this book, but I might have already given away more than I'd like to. If you want an adventure story about queerness and disability in the 18th century, then grab this book if you haven't. It's a ton of fun, and I'm heavily considering checking out the three sequels at some point, which I usually avoid doing while at the library. Still, if they're anywhere close to as readable as this first entry, the whole series will go by in a flash.
In the author's note at the end of the novel, Lee discusses the historical context for several aspects of the story, including epilepsy, race relations, and queer culture. She raises the topic of the thorniness of discussing queer history while looking back as far as the 18th century - something I've discussed and thought about often. After discussing what we do know of queer culture at the time, she ends by saying "the optimist in me likes to believe that the twenty-first century is not the first time in history that queer people have been able to live full romantic and sexual lives with the people they love. And if that makes me anachronistic, so be it." To me, that final line sums up much of what works about this novel. Lee writes with an eye toward history, and it's possible to trace the lines of historical research and theory throughout the novel. But she's willing to allow her characters to see this intricately realized world through anachronistic eyes if it serves the story and the message.
And what a story it is. Protagonist Henry "Monty" Montague is the eighteen-year-old son of a lord and monumental fuck-up. He was expelled from Eton college and is now an alcoholic hanging around his father's manor. In a last-ditch effort to set Monty straight, his father sends him on a tour of Europe with his sister Felicity and his longtime best friend Percy, during which they will drop Felicity off at finishing school and after which Monty will take over the estate or be disowned and Percy will begin studies at a law school. Monty is bisexual - though he doesn't have the terminology for it - and hopelessly in love with Percy. At the beginning of the tour, a series of events set the three off their planned course and on an adventure across Europe to find a cure for epilepsy before an evil French duke finds it first.
It's a ton of fun and made more so by Monty's character voice, as he's witty and sarcastic in a swashbuckly kind of way even as he's small-statured and useless in a fight. The novel's told from his perspective, but he's afraid of the vulnerability it would take to be honest with himself, so he often lies to himself in ways that are flattering and easy to catch. It takes time for him to gain enough humility to understand how much privilege he has as a white lordling compared to Percy, who's Black and has epilepsy, or Felicity, a girl who wants to learn medicine and is being sent to finishing school to have these headstrong notions trained out of her. That lack of humility, however, is also an act. Monty deals with the trauma of physical abuse for his queerness by drinking a lot and pretending he doesn't care, and it takes a lot of work to break down that kind of wall. This complexity of character and Monty's own wit combine for a very satisfying narrator. I read this book in two sittings just because the character voice made the book go so much more quickly than most.
There's a lot more I could say about this book, but I might have already given away more than I'd like to. If you want an adventure story about queerness and disability in the 18th century, then grab this book if you haven't. It's a ton of fun, and I'm heavily considering checking out the three sequels at some point, which I usually avoid doing while at the library. Still, if they're anywhere close to as readable as this first entry, the whole series will go by in a flash.