I couldn’t really think of another book to compare with Alexander Chee’s second novel, The Queen of the Night. Chee’s writing is reminiscent of Angela Carter’s ornate style, but lacks her decidedly satirical edge. The novel is set during the period of France’s Second Empire—the reign of Napoleon III—and features historical figures like Turgenev and Bizet, and forces like the Paris Commune as ornamental features. Indeed, the story is set almost exclusively in brothels, palaces, and, of course, the theatre. Only Pedro Almodóvar, the Spanish director known for his melodramas, brought the closest comparison. While Chee’s novel certainly isn’t as campy as the aforementioned director’s films, there’s a certain grandiose element to the proceedings that never loses focus of its human core.
The novel focuses on Lilliet Berne, an American frontier girl turned opera singer (it’s a long, long story—almost 600 pages’ worth), who learns that someone, almost certainly from her past, knows her darkest secrets. Determined to figure out who it is, Lilliet plunges into her memories of the time she spent as a farm girl, circus performer, courtesan, handmaiden, spy, and opera singer in order to figure out the one responsible. Equal part hero’s journey and psychological study, the novel’s focus never wavers from Lilliet who proves to be an entertaining and magnetic narrator.
The novel’s biggest strength is its writing. Chee’s prose is turgid, but not in an entirely unpleasant way. No matter how many descriptions of dresses I read, I held on to every word like it was a jewel. It sometimes bogs down the narrative, especially when the novel takes the time to explain various operatic tropes or plots, but it helps the novel retain a picturesque quality that made reading it thoroughly enjoyable.
While some of the characters can seem thinly sketched, partially as a result of Lilliet’s narration, this is probably due to the massive influence opera seems to have had on the novel. Using various opera stock characters (virginal ingenue, fiery male lover, the cruel older woman, etc.) with a wink and a nod, the novel does little to deconstruct or examine said characters.
In addition, the plotting is similarly archetypal of opera. This would be a problem if Chee’s writing wasn’t sincere, which is why the Almodóvar comparison is necessary. Chee could have kept an ironic distance in the writing but chose not to, like Almodóvar in his movies. There’s a sincerity to the text, which makes the use of archetypes feel more like a revival and appreciation of tropes instead of using them as an easy way out.
This book is ultimately a hit or miss experience. If you’re the type of person who liked Moulin Rouge, or is unironically into shows like Dynasty, this is the book for you. It’s sprawling and elegant, but never loses its sense of fun.
