A review by maises
The Salt Grows Heavy by Cassandra Khaw

3.0

“How do you kill any religion? You convince its flock that their shepherds are wolves.”

I didn’t expect this to be a retelling going in, until the tidbit about the mermaid’s Hans Christian Andersen-esque story being told incorrectly across the land. I’d prefer to read or reread the original work when I know I’m about to get into a retelling, but I’ll let it slide here since it seems like Khaw is pulling it in as a very loose inspiration. Instead, it’s an amalgamation of many different tales to create a new, broader storyline. Just like Shrek. 

Regardless of whether or not it’s a retelling, I find it difficult to pin down what sort of world this is supposed to be. Is it a divergent world from ours that includes harpies, mermaids, magic? It’s not a full fantasy universe separate from our own. They talk about a Hippocratic oath—implying the Ancient Greek civilization once existed, and seemingly the World Medical Association currently does—and “Judas” in context of a traitor, which hauntingly implies that one of the many religions mentioned by the characters in this world include Christianity for some reason (ignoring the use of “saints” here)? Someone brought up the French language. Yet there are also kingdoms and nondescript wars between civilizations. Where’s France in all that? I probably shouldn’t be prodding this much, but if it really is our world with the same human events it can explain how we get the Hans Christian Andersen’s version of The Little Mermaid mentioned in-story dismissed as an inaccurate autobiography. It’s a little too on the nose, but I guess that element of it doesn’t detract much from the plot.

This next critique is likely preferencial, even though it’s the sole reason I couldn’t fully enjoy this book. To preface: I love pedantic writing. I love indulgence. I think it’s fun to be whimsical. Educational, even. I expect this style to be what Khaw has endeared to as a writer and I respect that, but really: “rotate the polished rostrum,” “I gave him another koan,” “minute paroxysms,” “rheumatic gaze,” “epauletted by amethyst”, “its inchoate apex,” etc. I adore my in-app dictionary function as much as the next guy, but in excess this much archaic and obscure phrasing is plain distracting. And weird. It’s uncanny because no one on earth talks like this, not even individuals who make a living off of being pedantic themselves. When looking up most of these words, the known definitions don’t quite match the context either. How can a gaze be rheumatic, which refers to rheumatism or rheumatoid arthritis, the inflammation of bone joints? I actually went on a Google rabbit hole and found that arthritis can plausibly affect the eyes with dryness and some redness, so there might be something there, but having to do actual homework for a throwaway descriptor is unreasonable. I also figure it’s used inaccurately anyway. 

I would never tell a writer to change their preferred style, and I’m always partial to when a writer lets loose; I only suggest putting down the thesaurus every few sentences to read the occasional poetry chapbook or something. Whatever it takes to cleanse the soul. In my opinion, stories have a singular duty to the reader: to be understood. The awkward, unnatural speech was something that legitimately interrupted my reading flow. How can I be compelled during a thrilling scene when I’m thrown off by the casual (and not quite right) use of the word “antumbra”? I already had to face “penumbra” on page one.

I want to leave on a positive note. Despite what I wrote above, I still did enjoy the narrative that played out in The Salt Grows Heavy. The main characters are interesting and have depth to them. I liked the plague doctor, who became my favorite, and I thought the mermaid’s general apathy was quirky and entertaining. In their delusion, the doctor-saints were memorable antagonists. I thought the entire latter half has the right amount of cool and nasty and horrific that I usually like to watch unravel. But again, a lot of this is bogged down by the execution. Overall, it’s a relatively straightforward story with an interesting premise and ghoulish, heart-wracking icky bits. I thought the epilogue was a nice touch, too, including the prequel vignette at the end. I just don’t see myself reading it again, let alone picking up any other work of Khaw’s.