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sassmistress 's review for:
Nettle & Bone
by T. Kingfisher
DID NOT FINISH: 29%
Dark and sad so far. Just gloomy. Full of despair, futility, oppression, abuse, abortion, miscarriage, death, etc. Blugh.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Domestic abuse, Infertility, Miscarriage, Pregnancy
Moderate: Child death, Cursing, Death, Emotional abuse, Infidelity, Misogyny, Physical abuse, Sexual content, Blood, Grief, Sexual harassment, Injury/Injury detail, Pandemic/Epidemic
Minor: Terminal illness, Dementia, Abortion, Murder, Alcohol, War
The below are mostly quotes that have been poorly scanned; expect typos.
Spiritual Content
Princess stays at a convent.
The goddess--or saint, no one was quite sure-- did not care for complex theology. No one knew what she wanted, only that she was generally kindly disposed toward humans. "Were a mystery religion," said the abbess, when she'd had a bit more wine than usual, "for people who have too much work to do to bother with mysteries. So we simply get along as best we can. Occasionally someone has a vision, but she doesn't seem to want anything much, and so we try to return the favor."
Multiple prayers to this "goddess" / "saint"
The eyes of the dead, Marra thought, and then, Damia's eyes must bave looked like this. Then Elspeth blinked and her eyes were normal again. She dropped Marra's hand and rubbed at her face. "Well," she said, almost to herself. "Well then. So that's how it is. "Tm sorry?" said Marra. "The dead could help you," said Elspeth. "But you need a real dust- wife, one married to clay and bone and grave dirt, not an old herb witch good at digging holes." She squinted and winced, as if the brightness of the day pained her. Marra watched a tear leak from the corner of her eye and run down her cheek.
Sexual content
When she was eighteen, Marra fell passionately in love with a young acolyte from the monastery who was apprenticed to the Brother Cellarer. He had beautiful eyes and skilled hands and she was utterly lost. They had four or five frantic, awkward couplings, and then Marra overheard him boasting to the other acolytes that he had bedded one of the king's by-blows. It did not matter that they jeered at him and didn't believe him. She went to her room and curled into a ball of misery and decided that she would die of a broken heart.
He hasn't touched that end of a woman since he slid out of one.
Marra took a deep breath. "Then you must kill him," she said, her own voice barely above a whisper. Could the guards on the door hear her? She dropped it even lower. "Stab him when he's asleep. Kania looked at her with pity and despair. "He does not sleep with me." "Then ... when he ... you know ..." Marra felt herself turning bright scarlet. Kania's face softened as she looked at her sister. "His guards are with him, even then," she said very gently. "I think it excites him to know they watch."
Childbirth / loss / abortion
... The Sister gave her a tea to bring her courses on, just in case, and went to the abbess, and the young man was reassigned to another monastery a week later.
Unpleasant depictions of childbirth. Lots of news of miscarrying a number of unhealthily back-to-back pregnancies. News that a child has died (if you stop to do the math, 10yo) and the grieving family.
"You get used to it," the Sister told the infant, and handed the child to Marra, who stared at it with intense horror. It was bloody and wrinkly and reddish gray and looked like the sort of thing you would drive back to hell with holy water. "Um,' said Marra.
The labor went very much the same way that Kania's had, which seemed strange to Marra. Then again, peasants and princesses all shit the same and bave their courses the same, So I suppose it's no surprise that babies all come Out the same way, too. Having thus accidentally anticipated a few centuries' worth of revolutionary political thought, Marra got down to the business of boiling water and making tea.
She saw babies born and mothers die. She saw mothers have an easy birth and then the bleeding simply never stopped, until they died white and bloodless against the pillow. She saw a birthing hook and how it was used to extract babies who had not survived long enough to emerge.
Both mother and child had lived, although it had been a harder labor than anyone was happy with. Just .. Lady of Grackles! We lie on our backs or sit in a chair and push out a thing that's too big to fit so that everything's torn bloody! What a stupid, stupid way to bear!"
Had they used a birthing hook on Kania, for the child who had gone much too long without being born? "Ways?" The Sister glanced around, as if someone might really be eaves- dropping in a remote hedgerow in the hour before dawn. "Ways," she said. "Herbs, mostly. Sponges soaked in lemon juice. None of them work perfectly, and anyone who says they do is lying to you. Most of them are dangerous, Sometimes everyone dies anyway, and there's nothing to be done. But there are things that can make pregnancy less likely. Marra's heart leapt. Could she find out? Could she tell Kania? The entire point t of queens and princesses was to act as broodmares for royalty, but if there were ways to prevent it of them. "I want to know," she said. "All The Sister Apothecary sighed. "It can be done,"' she said. But not tonight."
The Sister was as good as her word. It was all rather abstract at the moment for Marra, but she memorized the methods and even brewed an entire vial of extract, with the Sister standing over her to make certain she did it correctly.
Teenage older sister dies and not fully grieved until years later because it doesn't seem real.
Pandemic
It laid Marra Low for many days, and when Ishe struggled to her feet at last, it was to discover that the abbess was near death. For nearly a week, it was touch and go. Because she had recovered, Marra was allowed to tend to the older woman. In truth, there was not much to be done except to sit in the room and practice her needlework and listen to the rattle of breathing that would not quite be still.
The abbess recovered, but there was white in her iron-gray hair, and she moved more cautiously than she had done, She needed a cane to go up stairs and it clearly infuriated her. The abbess had never been patient with her own weakness. Marra herself recovered well, though there were days when she only dozed at the window and could not will herself to move. Even the view from the window reminded her of plague. They lost two novices, and the old man who sold goat milk was replaced by his son, who told them quietly that his father would not be coming back.
Domestic Abuse
The prince is physically abusing MC's sister in secret, excessively controlling of her privacy / freedom, and humiliates her in public. She knows he will kill her if she does not continue to try to produce an heir for him, but one he has a male heir he will have little incentive to continue trying not to kill her. Her family and kingdom are hostage to this situation, so she can't leave.
Other
If she were a man, no one would force Kania to try to bear child afier child. If I were a man, I would not be the next in line to be married be kills her. If we were men... She stared at her fingers curled in the dirt. It did not matter. They were not and the history of the world was written in women's wombs and women's blood and she would never be allowed to change it. Rage shivered through her, a rage that seemed like it could topple the halls of heaven, then vanished under the knowledge of her own helplessness. Rage was only useful if you were allowed to do anything with it. "Did you see Archbishop Lydean?' Marra spread her hands helplessly. "I don't know. Did I?" "A young person," said the abbess. "The youngest ever named archbishop. They would have been with the Archimandrite, a very old man in blue robes.' Marra vaguely remembered the old man, who had been a blaze of cerulean in the crowd. Yes, she had seen him. He had coughed and coughed and looked like a shaking bit of sky. "Ah!" said the abbess. "We have heard his health is not good. When he dies, Lydean will take the mitre and become Archimandrite, but there will be resistance because they are so young."
The king has dementia, with lucid days and "wandering" days. We eventually receive news that he has died.
Spiritual Content
Princess stays at a convent.
The goddess--or saint, no one was quite sure-- did not care for complex theology. No one knew what she wanted, only that she was generally kindly disposed toward humans. "Were a mystery religion," said the abbess, when she'd had a bit more wine than usual, "for people who have too much work to do to bother with mysteries. So we simply get along as best we can. Occasionally someone has a vision, but she doesn't seem to want anything much, and so we try to return the favor."
Multiple prayers to this "goddess" / "saint"
The eyes of the dead, Marra thought, and then, Damia's eyes must bave looked like this. Then Elspeth blinked and her eyes were normal again. She dropped Marra's hand and rubbed at her face. "Well," she said, almost to herself. "Well then. So that's how it is. "Tm sorry?" said Marra. "The dead could help you," said Elspeth. "But you need a real dust- wife, one married to clay and bone and grave dirt, not an old herb witch good at digging holes." She squinted and winced, as if the brightness of the day pained her. Marra watched a tear leak from the corner of her eye and run down her cheek.
Sexual content
When she was eighteen, Marra fell passionately in love with a young acolyte from the monastery who was apprenticed to the Brother Cellarer. He had beautiful eyes and skilled hands and she was utterly lost. They had four or five frantic, awkward couplings, and then Marra overheard him boasting to the other acolytes that he had bedded one of the king's by-blows. It did not matter that they jeered at him and didn't believe him. She went to her room and curled into a ball of misery and decided that she would die of a broken heart.
He hasn't touched that end of a woman since he slid out of one.
Marra took a deep breath. "Then you must kill him," she said, her own voice barely above a whisper. Could the guards on the door hear her? She dropped it even lower. "Stab him when he's asleep. Kania looked at her with pity and despair. "He does not sleep with me." "Then ... when he ... you know ..." Marra felt herself turning bright scarlet. Kania's face softened as she looked at her sister. "His guards are with him, even then," she said very gently. "I think it excites him to know they watch."
Childbirth / loss / abortion
... The Sister gave her a tea to bring her courses on, just in case, and went to the abbess, and the young man was reassigned to another monastery a week later.
Unpleasant depictions of childbirth. Lots of news of miscarrying a number of unhealthily back-to-back pregnancies. News that a child has died (if you stop to do the math, 10yo) and the grieving family.
"You get used to it," the Sister told the infant, and handed the child to Marra, who stared at it with intense horror. It was bloody and wrinkly and reddish gray and looked like the sort of thing you would drive back to hell with holy water. "Um,' said Marra.
The labor went very much the same way that Kania's had, which seemed strange to Marra. Then again, peasants and princesses all shit the same and bave their courses the same, So I suppose it's no surprise that babies all come Out the same way, too. Having thus accidentally anticipated a few centuries' worth of revolutionary political thought, Marra got down to the business of boiling water and making tea.
She saw babies born and mothers die. She saw mothers have an easy birth and then the bleeding simply never stopped, until they died white and bloodless against the pillow. She saw a birthing hook and how it was used to extract babies who had not survived long enough to emerge.
Both mother and child had lived, although it had been a harder labor than anyone was happy with. Just .. Lady of Grackles! We lie on our backs or sit in a chair and push out a thing that's too big to fit so that everything's torn bloody! What a stupid, stupid way to bear!"
Had they used a birthing hook on Kania, for the child who had gone much too long without being born? "Ways?" The Sister glanced around, as if someone might really be eaves- dropping in a remote hedgerow in the hour before dawn. "Ways," she said. "Herbs, mostly. Sponges soaked in lemon juice. None of them work perfectly, and anyone who says they do is lying to you. Most of them are dangerous, Sometimes everyone dies anyway, and there's nothing to be done. But there are things that can make pregnancy less likely. Marra's heart leapt. Could she find out? Could she tell Kania? The entire point t of queens and princesses was to act as broodmares for royalty, but if there were ways to prevent it of them. "I want to know," she said. "All The Sister Apothecary sighed. "It can be done,"' she said. But not tonight."
The Sister was as good as her word. It was all rather abstract at the moment for Marra, but she memorized the methods and even brewed an entire vial of extract, with the Sister standing over her to make certain she did it correctly.
Teenage older sister dies and not fully grieved until years later because it doesn't seem real.
Pandemic
It laid Marra Low for many days, and when Ishe struggled to her feet at last, it was to discover that the abbess was near death. For nearly a week, it was touch and go. Because she had recovered, Marra was allowed to tend to the older woman. In truth, there was not much to be done except to sit in the room and practice her needlework and listen to the rattle of breathing that would not quite be still.
The abbess recovered, but there was white in her iron-gray hair, and she moved more cautiously than she had done, She needed a cane to go up stairs and it clearly infuriated her. The abbess had never been patient with her own weakness. Marra herself recovered well, though there were days when she only dozed at the window and could not will herself to move. Even the view from the window reminded her of plague. They lost two novices, and the old man who sold goat milk was replaced by his son, who told them quietly that his father would not be coming back.
Domestic Abuse
The prince is physically abusing MC's sister in secret, excessively controlling of her privacy / freedom, and humiliates her in public. She knows he will kill her if she does not continue to try to produce an heir for him, but one he has a male heir he will have little incentive to continue trying not to kill her. Her family and kingdom are hostage to this situation, so she can't leave.
Other
If she were a man, no one would force Kania to try to bear child afier child. If I were a man, I would not be the next in line to be married be kills her. If we were men... She stared at her fingers curled in the dirt. It did not matter. They were not and the history of the world was written in women's wombs and women's blood and she would never be allowed to change it. Rage shivered through her, a rage that seemed like it could topple the halls of heaven, then vanished under the knowledge of her own helplessness. Rage was only useful if you were allowed to do anything with it. "Did you see Archbishop Lydean?' Marra spread her hands helplessly. "I don't know. Did I?" "A young person," said the abbess. "The youngest ever named archbishop. They would have been with the Archimandrite, a very old man in blue robes.' Marra vaguely remembered the old man, who had been a blaze of cerulean in the crowd. Yes, she had seen him. He had coughed and coughed and looked like a shaking bit of sky. "Ah!" said the abbess. "We have heard his health is not good. When he dies, Lydean will take the mitre and become Archimandrite, but there will be resistance because they are so young."
The king has dementia, with lucid days and "wandering" days. We eventually receive news that he has died.