Warning: This review contains major spoilers The Lily and the Crown, by Roslyn Sinclair (and also the Hannibal Lecter books, by Thomas Harris). I can’t analyse what did and did not work for me about this novel without addressing its biggest twist. If you haven’t already read The Lily and the Crown, go and do that instead. Because everyone should get to experience this story fresh. I’m serious. Deadly as an intergalactic pirate queen.
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The Lily and the Crown is one of a kind. This sci-fi lesbian romance began life as AU Mirandy fanfiction, inspired by The Devil Wears Prada. It’s fanfic only in the loosest sense of the word, keeping only the dynamic between a ruthless, refined older woman and a kind-hearted younger one who connects with her in spite of their contrasting values. The setting, the plot, the romance… all of them are uniquely Rosyln Sinclair’s. In fact, the story is dazzling in its originality – you’d be hard pressed to find comparative titles among sapphic romances, even six years after publication.
Like her Truth and Measure series, Sinclair reworked into an original piece of fiction released by Ylva. This is the magic of a lesbian-owned publishing house: stories significant to our community are preserved as part of a growing canon. And though my relationship with this romance isn’t entirely straightforward, I am profoundly glad it exists as a book for current and future generations to enjoy.
As daughter to the Station Master, Ariana Geiker is free to work on her plants in peace. A gifted botanist, the trees, plants, and insects she nurtures are all the company Ari wants. But her father has different ideas about what Ari needs. And when his troops recover a single survivor from a pirate ship, Lord Geiker assigns this majestic older woman as his daughter’s personal slave. Against both their wills, Ari and her new Assistant must find a way to co-exist.
Sheltered Ari is determined to treat assistant as an equal, no matter how eccentric she may appear. And her worldly Assistant knows far more than the average slave, with a keen eye for military strategy and star charts… She’s also well versed in female pleasure, teaching Ari to find as much wonder in her own body as the rare specimens she tends to. But Assistant can’t put down roots with Ari while longing for her own freedom.
I’ve read a lot of sci-fi. I’ve read even more sapphic romance. But never anything quite like The Lily and the Crown. It has space pirates, smut, and so much sapphic yearning – there’s lots to love about this novel. Fitting for a story set in space, the dynamic between these two characters is out of this world. Almost unbearably hot. The juxtaposition between Ari’s naïveté and Assistant’s knowing creates the sharpest sexual tension I’ve yet encountered.
And the spice… While I’d recommend The Lily and the Crown to anybody interested in sapphic romance, I definitely wouldn’t suggest reading this book in public or listening to the audiobook in company. The heat is fierce. Sinclair’s writing is sharp, sexy, and utterly heartfelt. Yes, the sex scenes are delicious. But there’s also an incredible tenderness in this story; in Ari’s love for Assistant.
Sinclair does a remarkable job of having her characters work out an ethical approach to the initial power imbalance between them. Ari is consistently respectful of Assistant’s autonomy, making sure she knows that she has the right to say no at any point – especially when it comes to consent. Not once does Ari use Assistant’s slave status against her to gain leverage within the relationship. And while Assistant is happy to give pleasure, she doesn’t allow Ari to touch her without knowing the full truth of her situation.
That being said, in the novel’s third act there are significant aspects of Ari and Assistant’s relationship which make me deeply uncomfortable. Whereas Ari is fully respectful of Assistant’s rights and freedoms, choosing these principles over her own desires, the same cannot be said in reverse.
Assistant is none other than the dreaded pirate queen, Mir. She kidnaps Ari, insists on sleeping in the same bed regardless of whether they resume a sexual relationship, and – crucially – refuses to let Ari leave:
“Well, then,” she said. “You’ll keep your name. You’ll keep your will. You’ll have your own servants to attend you— you will have everything you ask for.”
– Roslyn Sinclair, The Lily and the Crown
This couldn’t be happening. “No, wait, I don’t—”
“Except for one thing,” Mir said.
Ari froze.
“Don’t ask me to let you go,” Mir said. “Do you understand? Do not ask me.”
I don’t believe it’s possible to respect another human being while treating them as property or denying them the right to leave, never mind love that person. To some Assistant’s possessiveness might be read as hot, but to me it was chilling. Having expressed my discomfort over abduction in straight romance, it would be hypocritical of me not to do the same with regard to sapphic stories.
Mir’s own experience of captivity could have been a learning point, an opportunity for growth in this character. After all, she learns firsthand how dehumanising it to be denied free will; forced to obey by the threat of violence. But she holds her lover prisoner and continues to enslave her fellow human beings. Both of those two points tie in to my frustrations with the novel’s conclusion.
Purely in terms of the romance, Sinclair delivers a gorgeous ending, with Ari continuing her research supported by Mir. And the pregnancy symbolising a bright shared future ahead. But instead of dismantling the empire and all its injustices, Mir takes over to rule as Empress. There are hints sprinkled throughout the book about her true identity, and initially I was thrilled. I anticipated Mir putting an end to imperialist brutality and slave ownership with the same intensity as I longed for the Happily Ever After. But ultimately Mir’s in favour of both so long as they shore up her own power.
Reading the last third of this novel, I felt the same despair Obi Wan did on Mustafar after his duel with Anakin. Broken, he cries: “You were the chosen one! It was said that you would destroy the Sith, not join them! Bring balance to the Force, not leave it in darkness!” I’d have loved Mir forever, to the ends of the universe, if she’d abolished slavery. And perhaps this makes me naïve as Ari, but I really thought she would. Which made Mir’s true arc devastating.
Before going any further: to be clear, I’m not for one second suggesting that Sinclair endorses imperialism and slavery just because Mir does – everything I have seen of Sinclair indicates a firm opposition to socioeconomic inequalities. Furthermore, a character is not an avatar for the author’s personal beliefs; rather, something that exists to play a role within a story and propel the plot forward. Though Thomas Harris wrote one of the most memorable cannibals in history, it’s certainly not a practice he has ever endorsed. And the Hannibal Lecter books create a similar dilemma, with a compelling romantic arc between villain and heroine.
Similar to Lecter, Mir is framed as morally grey at best. Yes, Mir’s hot. And intensely magnetic. But don’t forget: she has murdered and tortured people. And she never regrets this violence, nor shows any real inclination to change beyond appeasing her girlfriend.
Like Clarice Starling initially did, Ari serves as the story’s moral compass – horrified by the violence her lover commits, struggling to reconcile it with the woman she loves. But whereas Clarice gives up her law enforcement career and the principles which fuelled it to be with Hannibal, Ari retains her beliefs about right and wrong. She makes a conscious decision not to look directly at the full extent of Mir’s evils, sustaining the delusion that it’s more or less alright by burying herself in plants and research.
And in a way I felt just as conflicted as Ari. I love Sinclair’s writing, the genius of her worldbuilding, the nuances of her characters. But – given the harms imperialism and slavery have historically visited upon Black people – parts of The Lily and the Crown cut too close to the bone for me. Yes, I got swept up in the romance and eroticism of Sinclair’s writing. And Angela Dawe’s narration is every bit as magnificent. But the logical part of my brain could not to root for Mir, nor consider her worthy of being Ari’s love interest.
The Lily and the Crown is gripping from start to finish. The sleek pacing and fascinating setting make it an intensely readable novel. And – as far as I’m concerned – when it comes to writing sapphic spice, Sinclair has no equal. She has created a truly unforgettable work of science-fiction; a romance I intend to revisit because of, not in spite of, the dilemmas it raises. This story, the central relationship between Ari and Mir, it mesmerises.
Lou Morgan 