Book Review: Chalice

When you open this book, you immediately find yourself in an unusual land. You never know the name of the country; just the name of a few of its many demesnes, including Willowlands, where the story takes place. You are standing on the front steps of the House with Mirasol, the inexperienced Chalice, and the rest of the guiding Circle, waiting for the arrival of Willowland's new Master. And you find yourself as nervous as she is--for while the new Master is the previous Master's younger brother, and the old families of the demesne have always felt that he would have been the better Master from the start, his reprobate brother sent him away to the Priests of Fire several years back.
And while he is willing to return and tend his damaged land, the Priests of Fire themselves are not so sure he can live among ordinary humans anymore.
This is an extremely poignant story, told entirely from Mirasol's point of view. And while you never actually enter her mind, there is no doubt in the reader's mind what she is thinking, feeling, or wishing at any given moment. And you follow in her footsteps: relieved when an invocation goes right, overwhelmed by the enormity of a task for which she has not been prepared, grimly determined to support her unusual Master in the face of any odds, or relaxing at home in the presence of her bees and enjoying her honey.
And the bees are all through the story: swarming a few hundred times when the task of the Chalice comes to her in the beginning, cheerfully clustering about her in the evenings and mornings when she is home, and coming in a rousing force at the climax--all in a manner that may well insure you never look at bees quite the same way again. I know I haven't. I'm certainly not afraid of ordinary honey bees anymore.
Just as important as the bees is their honey. Mirasol's vessel of her Chalicehood is honey, something entirely unique in the history of the demesnes, and the honey her bees produce becomes unusually potent, and filled with special properties. And while you understand that some of the things her honey is good for is made up, the reality is that honey is actually healing, good for putting on wounds and burns. And if you are like me, make sure you have honey in the house when you sit down to read this, because I craved it when I finished the story!
This is not a book to just flip through casually. The plot is well-woven and intricate, and while individual scenes may be enjoyed on their own--after you've finished the book the first time--trying to read them separately beforehand is confusing. Nor is it a book to read on a day where you may be constantly interrupted, because if you're like me, you won't want to put it down and interruptions will be irritating.
For those who like stories to go from point A to point B without any stops: this is not the book for you. The story rambles along its way, occasionally telling events after the fact, or going back and looking at them before continuing on. But even with the rambles, the story never loses track of its end, or even of its current scene. To me, this actually makes it read more authentically. Who among us, when we are telling a story to someone, manages to stay completely on track and not stray here and there on a relevant tangent? I sure know I can't, not when I'm talking.
The 'earthlines' that run through the land and can be heard by those with a strong tie to the demesne had me bothered at first. It seemed somewhat New Age-y, which I tend to be wary around. But the theme of the book is not environmentalism, which usually goes with New Age trappings: it's stewardship, a Catholic ideal, and something I support wholeheartedly. I thought about it for a while, and realized that the idea of the earthlines--mankind being able to hear what needed doing to properly keep the earth--is possibly in keeping with an idea of an unfallen world. Now, the world of Willowlands and the other demesnes is hardly unfallen, easily seen in the actions of some of the people, but the concept is the same.
In a relatively unusual twist for a Robin McKinley story, Chalice does not involve any scenes that could be truly described as battle scenes. It is a fairly calm, even gentle story--which does not mean there is no suspense, nor that the fate of a land does not rest on the outcome. But it is the rituals of the Chalice, the unity of a land, and yes, the presence of the bees and a special honey that are the deciding factor, not skill with a sword or even the heroine's stubbornness. Though, to be fair, Mirasol has more than her share of stubbornness!
All the characters in Chalice read as actual people, even when you don't learn much about them. Mirasol and the Master are some of the most empathetic characters I've come across, in their struggles to come out of their previous places and fill the tasks their land needs them to fill: Mirasol from her place as a beekeeper and a woodsman, and the Master from his Fire. I love the numerous times Mirasol breaks a political game by refusing to play it, and her dismay when asked to state a blunt statement subtly. And the Master perfectly mixes all the qualities I like in a hero: he is vulnerable, good, needs the aid of the heroine--yet, oh my word, there is no denying how dangerous he is! The crotchety Grand Seneschal proves to be a straightforward man, struggling to stay afloat in a dangerous political sea, and also trying to keep the land together after the spectacularly bad previous Master all but ran it into the ground. Even the minor villain--so obviously a tool for the scheming and truly vicious Overlord--is less despicable than he is pathetic.
In closing: though I can't make a sweeping recommendation for all of Robin McKinley's stories, I heartily endorse this one. Just don't forget the honey for afterwards.