By Samreen Khan
The Kingdom of Copper is the second book in the Daevabad trilogy, and it is mesmerizing.
Assuming you have already read the first book, you know that it ended in a bloody battle between Prince Alizayd and the dashing warrior Djinn Dara. Jump forward five years to where the second book begins—in which we see an exiled Alizayd, a married Nahri, and an allegedly dead Dara.
As Nahri is learning how to navigate court politics while being married to Alizayd’s elder brother Muntadhir, we see an exiled Alizayd reluctantly return to Daevabad due to the political machinations of his maternal family. Upon his return, Alizayd is unable to control his outrage at the treatment meted out to the shafit population of Daevabad (who are of mixed human and Djinn heritage). As a result of his outrage, he commits to partnering with Nahri to help fulfill her dreams of opening a magical hospital that would offer treatments to everyone, regardless of their blood status. Meanwhile, in another part of the kingdom, Dara has been returned to his original Daeva body without his consent by Manizeh (she is the long-assumed-dead magical healer) who has been biding her time to return to Daevabad and exact vengeance on King Ghassan. All this culminates in a genocidal attack on the city and palace during the Navasatem celebration, which is the celebration of a new century in the magical world. This wreaks havoc on the magical city of Daevabad and its residents, who ultimately pay the highest price they ever could: the loss of all magic.
The Kingdom of Copper sets forwards three different character arcs: that of the trapped, restless yet brilliant Nahri; the forever kind, humanitarian Alizayd; and the honourable yet helpless Dara who has been resurrected from the lap of death to be used as a weapon without his consent. Nahri’s character becomes more pragmatic as the book progresses and she learns that her position entrusts her with far greater authority than she could ever bargain for. Alizayd’s character slowly realizes that while his faith keeps him grounded no matter what, the definition of good versus evil isn’t rigid—these two polarities are in fact very fluid. Dara, on the other hand, realizes that consent is of utmost importance when your agency is lost. He also comes to acknowledge that his loyalty to his tribe cannot take precedence over the humanitarian treatment of others.
This book is much more intense than the previous installment due to its emphasis on different points of view and the parallels it draws in from contemporary world history. You can see the impact of colonial powers overtaking Nahri’s human world while her own world is being ruined by megalomaniacs with whom she plays deadly court politics. Through Alizayd, Chakraborty weaves in the much-needed perspective on the injustices of the magical world—the treatment being meted out to the shafit population is very reminiscent of our world’s refugee crisis. All the while, Dara’s character is a stark reminder of how single-minded devotion to certain leaders or ideologies can cause even the best of intentions to be meaningless.
Chakraborty not only weaves contemporary political issues into her books’ characters, she also seamlessly imbues the concepts of consent and othering in a rich tapestry of storytelling and worldbuilding. What attracts me the most in this book is that Chakraborty enmeshes her characters completely into their faith, from which they draw strength and solace. This is not a common trait in many books, and it resonates with readers like myself, for whom faith is a source of comfort and resilience. This book is a must-read if you like non-Eurocentric plot lines with complex characters and earth-shattering magical beings.