Once in a while, a writer’s desire to realize a gender-bending female protagonist can lead him astray. Rather than a rounded human being with agency, their hero becomes a fictional embodiment of the masculine stereotype—emotionless (save anger), violent, and unsubtle. In the fantasy genre, where preindustrial, patriarchal societies are the norm and women characters frequently battle against the prevailing culture, this issue is particularly common. Exactly why writers of speculative novels habitually jettison the lessons of their training and experience when writing women is a mystery, although presumably the promotion of a contemporary political point of view is at least partly responsible. Joe Abercrombie pins the hopes of his second novel, Half the World, on just such a character and the result is uninspiring.
Half the World is the sequel to Half a King, a fine fantasy coming-of-age story. Both books are set in a Norse-flavored world composed of kingdoms surrounding a bifurcated inland ocean, called the "Shattered Sea." Magic makes only sporadic appearances in the second book and none at all in the first. Gettland, home of the protagonists, pays homage to a High King, whose violently evangelical monotheism is a point of conflict with the polytheistic Gettlanders. In spite of the kingdom’s rigid patriarchy, its two gods of note are Mother War and Father Peace.
The main character of Half the World is a young woman named Thornhilde, nicknamed Thorn, whose life goal is to become a warrior. Her enterprise is frustrated after she kills another trainee during a practice bout. The master-at-arms and the two-dozen or so trainees who witness the killing try to get her convicted of murder.
A fellow trainee, Brand (a decent, if slow-witted sub-protagonist), has an attack of conscience and tells the King of Gettland’s Minister, Yarvi, that Thorn is innocent. As a result, she is kicked out of the training program, but avoids the death penalty. The master-at-arms punishes Brand’s honesty by denying him a position on a longship, effectively expelling him from Gettland’s soldiery as well. This series of events leaves both Thorn and Brand without employment, until Yarvi offers them work pulling an oar on a diplomatic expedition.
A promising setup. The book, however, founders on the rocky personality of its main character. Thorn is true to her name and deeply unpleasant, a thinner, female Dudley Dursley. She spends most of the book in a seething rage, punctuated by periods of mere irritability. This may be a daring appropriation of "traits typically associated with maleness," but there are only so many times a character can deliver a slashing verbal condemnation to her own mother before readers recoil. Her comrades get their share too, most especially Brand, whose patient kindness underscores Thorn’s unlikeability.
Thorn also undergoes an unbelievable physical transformation. Forget the raging intra-genre debate over the plausibility of women warriors—Thorn goes from being barely able to effect negligent homicide on another trainee to fighting and beating six elite soldiers at once, all in the space of just a few months. The author tries and fails to glue a veneer of plausibility to Thorn’s character arc by basing her success on her training in a different fighting style, one that emphasizes speed and guile rather than armor and brawn.
The final straw is the astoundingly trite romance between Brand and Thorn, who, in spite of Thorn’s abusive nature, begin to develop feelings for one another. The female characters remark on how physically attractive Brand is. On the other hand, the book describes Thorn’s lack of feminine physical characteristics in glowing terms. Why is Brand attracted to a violent teenage harridan? Her prowess in battle, naturally. It’s all a little too pat, and as the two quasi-Vikings begin mooning over one another in perfect accordance with modern courtship mores, a mediocre narrative degrades further. Abercrombie is a promising storyteller, but Half the World does not showcase his considerable talents.