
Cairo. The late 18th century. Nahri, a young girl who makes a living by swindling people and using her healing abilities, is struggling to make ends meet despite this combination. She doesn’t even believe in magic. Then, by accident, she summons a djinn! Of course, the djinn is furious. To calm him down, Nahri must accompany him to the City of Brass. The City of Brass is hidden in the middle of the desert, completely camouflaged—good luck finding it, even with Google Maps.
Nahri and Dara (the djinn) head eastward, bickering along the way. They quarrel, make up, and repeatedly sabotage their own journey—Nahri is particularly adept at this. They also face numerous threats trying to devour them. This adventure is framed by Eastern mythology and folklore, offering an unusual flavor to readers accustomed to Western-style fantasy. However, some creatures from Arabic lore appear almost laughably fairy-tale-like, such as the twelve-eyed, gluttonous giant pigeon (imagine how much stew you could make from that!).
Fairy-tale elements are fine within their own context, like in the Arabian Nights, but it’s disappointing when a story that starts as a fantasy devolves into a children’s tale. This uncomfortable feeling is compounded when characters magically conjure food and drink out of thin air, like in Harry Potter, including quality alcohol that they then get drunk on. Such things can make a story feel increasingly cheesy. S. A. Chakraborty’s City of Brass is no exception.
Meanwhile, in Daevabad, the City of Brass, events unfold, mostly revolving around political intrigue. But the author struggles to convey this effectively—you cant’t understand a thing. There are numerous factions, but it’s hard to keep track of who is allied with whom. I even reread an entire chapter, thinking I had missed something, but I still couldn’t make sense of it. Essentially, if you’re not born a djinn but a half-blood, the grand city of Daevabad is a pretty lousy place.
Once our protagonists arrive in the City of Brass, nothing significant happens. NOTHING. Nahri is to be married off, learns to heal and perform magic. She and Dara continuously pine for each other with the kind of chasteness you’d find in a young adult novel, reminiscent of Twilight. They just pant and stare at each other like calves at a new gate. And Dara isn’t simple either; he has a badly communicated massacre in his past, but who cares about that?
That’s about it. A young female author. A unique premise. An exotic world. No sex! And a deflated balloon. (This situation eerily mirrors R. F. Kuang’s The Poppy War, where instead of Arabic flavors, the story was stir-fried in a wok—but at least Kuang managed to put together half a book before the whole thing collapsed.)
S. A. Chakraborty, beyond her initial idea, fails to fill the framework of City of Brass with meaningful content. Occasionally, characters duel for variety, but you have no idea why. The characters talk, argue, reconcile, and now and then the half-bloods striving for emancipation organize for appearances (this being the only subplot with any coherence, albeit exaggerated and clumsy).
You do learn a thing or two about djinn physiology. For instance, when they get old, they burn out quickly—literally. (A fire extinguisher might be essential there.)
Then, Chakraborty’s characters suddenly, inexplicably, start killing each other, leaving you baffled as to what the heck just happened. Their actions don’t stem from their personalities or previous events. S. A. Chakraborty simply drags in a ridiculous conflict by the hair to make something happen or to finally wrap up this wretched book, perhaps because she was utterly bored with it herself.
6,3/10
The City of Brass (The Daevabad Trilogy #1) by S.A. Chakraborty
532 pages, Hardcover
Published in 2017 by Harper Voyager