Content Warnings: Book contains depictions/mentions of sexual assault, genocide, oppression, racism, and misogyny.
“It’s a steampunk Snow White,” said Julia Blake.
“Sold! I’ll take a copy,” I said.
This brief conversation happened at a small suburban Comic Con. I spent far too much money that day, but I was still delighted to be taking this book home alongside keyrings, posters, and metal dice. I’ve long enjoyed edgy retellings of fairy tales, and steampunk fantasy novels, so this seemed like a perfect combo.
I was also pleased because this is a beautiful book. The front cover is brooding and fairly subtle, featuring a blood red apple, a mirror, and lots of gears. The back cover is limned with frost. Inside, each chapter page features a black and white drawing outlined in an ornate pattern of keys and cogs.
Okay, here’s the setup. Snow White, of House White, doesn’t convince the hunter (actually a soldier) to take mercy on her—she stabs him to death after he tries to assault her. Then she falls in with the Seven Dwarvians, seemingly ordinary humans who hide magical powers and knowledge of advanced steampunk technology. Most of the Dwarvians were massacred by the Contratulum, an evil and tyrannical religious organisation bent on world domination, leaving only these seven. With the help of this ragged band of survivors, Snow White will take the war to the Contratulum (despite some lingering distrust a few of the Dwarvians have for a member of the royal family that presided over the genocide of their people, albeit because of the manipulations of the Contratulum).
Onto the plot. If you’ve read any modern reimaginings of fairy tales before (or any steampunk novels for that matter), you might be expecting this Snow White to be a whip smart action-girl, or a grimly driven revolutionary.
She is neither. She is a Disney style princess—kind, caring, romantic, naïve and innocent. It just so happens that this fairy tale princess has been dragged into a tale of oppression, intrigue, war, dark magic, mind control, and airships. Much of the plot concerns Snow learning about the world and herself, while a shadowy war of secret agents and evil oppressors carries on around her. This culminates in some big airship battles and moments of high action towards the end of the book.
While Snow is never an entirely passive character (she does begin the story with a brisk spot of murder after all), much of what happens in the plot is precipitated by other characters.
Revolutionaries, spies, Dwarvians, and the royal family of a neighbouring nation are often more active than Snow herself. From beyond the grave, the machinations of Snow’s own mother, Raven, have more to do with Snow’s path than her own intentions. It’s a curious take on the trope of the Chosen One, where instead of fate, destiny, or the will of the gods pushing a character forward, it’s the influence of other mortal characters.
In fairness to her, a lot of Snow’s energy is devoted towards her star-crossed romance with Ronin, the heroic leader of the surviving Dwarvians. This novel is as much a romance as it is a tale of action. This is not a tempestuous romance, more of a sweet one (friends to lovers, if you will). The only real barrier to Snow and Ronin’s romance is their mutual belief that a humble warrior cannot marry a queen. (That and the Contratulum forces conspiring to murder them.) It’s here however that Snow acts more like a traditional protagonist, taking the lead in pushing the romance forward.
A secondary romance between two of the Dwarvians is a bit sharper edged, with survivor’s guilt and general stubbornness serving as the main obstacle to this couple’s happy-ever-after. Romance is not the novel’s only source of sweetness. There are wholesome family scenes, cosy feasts and grand parties, cute animal companions, and even an impromptu wedding. The villains, by contrast, are absolutely, irredeemably, operatically horrible—slimy, cruel, scenery-chewing, like villains from The Princess Bride.
Magic in Black Ice, often appearing in the form of specific gifts and powers rather than spells, feels closer to the powers of superheroes than the working of mages. Which is fine, a band of superheroes is always fun.
The steampunk elements have an unusual presentation. Since anyone with advanced technology keeps it a secret, the kingdoms of the setting just function like standard faux-Medieval fantasy realms. The airships, motorbikes, mechanical birds, and other weird devices are layered on top of the Medieval world the way magic often is in epic fantasy, or in comics when super-gadgets are added to our modern world without necessarily changing anything about it. This does make for an interesting interplay between science and magic—for example, supernatural healing is not always enough and must sometimes be supplemented with medicine and surgery.
There are modern ideas in the setting, mostly brought in by the Dwarvians or by the very progressive kingdom of House Avis. This includes some queer representation, and a quite nuanced representation of a character who has been deeply affected by a traumatic brain injury. The book’s progressive tone is emphasised by the fascist-supremacist tendencies of its villains: the Contratulum. This is great, I will always applaud queer visibility, disabled visibility, and anti-fascist messages in books.
I do feel that one plot arc is a misstep in terms of queer representation, however.
[SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS]
Kylah, who I believe to be the only confirmed lesbian character in this book, indeed the only surviving lesbian Dwarvian in the setting, dies in the course of the narrative. It’s a glorious and important death—she is mortally wounded but survives long enough to crash her airship into the Contratulum’s super-weapon, destroying both airships. Kylah is guided by the spirit of her dead wife (who has been haunting Kylah’s airship throughout the novel). Kylah’s wife shows her the beautiful heavenly afterlife they will share together once she completes her final task.
Now, canonically stating a gay character has gone to heaven is good. Giving a gay character an awesome, meaningful and romantic end is good. When the only one of the seven Dwarvians who dies in the course of the novel is also the only one confirmed to be gay, that’s not so good. I don’t think this was intentional on the author’s part. But it is an unfortunate example of “bury your gays”.
[END SPOILERS]
The novel’s writing style felt a bit clunky to me, and that kept me from losing myself in the story.
“He smiled back, enjoying her uncomplicated merriment.”
Looking back over it though, I couldn’t put my finger on why the writing didn’t gel for me, it was just some phrases didn’t have a good mouthfeel, so this may simply be a matter of personal taste. It might have been to do with the sweetness and naivety of the main character. It could also have been because the characters all tend to act and talk in a very modern way, like in a Disney film, which didn’t really jibe with the pseudo-Medieval setting for me. But then, this is fantasy, we don’t need historical realism because we’re not writing real stories!
And there are some nice turns of phrase in the novel.
“A breeze whispered through the forest and flirted with the branches of the trees above their heads”
Overall, I’d liken this novel to a black forest gateau—the glazed cherry sweetness of fairy tale romance contrasting with the bitter chocolate notes of monstrous oppression. If you’re here for the romance, the steamtech, the mixed-up fairy tale, the clash of cottage-core superheroes and moustache-twirling supervillains, you’ll want to give it a look.
If you’re after grimdark fantasy, folk horror, gritty political steampunk, a warrior heroine, or snarky dialogue, look elsewhere. But, if you enjoyed films like Disenchanted, The Princess Bride or Into the Woods, or shows like Once Upon a Time, check out Black Ice, particularly if you’re also a fan of steampunk romances, or airships and clockwork creations in general.
Jennie Ivins