The Midnight Bargain is a romantic fantasy set in a magical version of Regency England. Everyone has the capability to do magic (which is here based on rituals and spirit possession), but only men are allowed to become fully-fledged magicians. Due to the risk spirits would pose to fetuses, women are only allowed a rudimentary magical education and upon marrying they are forced to wear collars that dampen their magical gift.
The protagonist, Beatrice Clayborn, has her heart set on becoming a magician, even if it means forgoing marriage and children. Unfortunately her family, thrown into financial difficulties by her father’s bad investment, banks everything on her marrying well. And Beatrice’s own resolve starts to falter when she meets Ianthe Lavan, a kind and intelligent heir to a powerful trading dynasty...
My first association upon reading the synopsis was The Harwood Spellbook series by Stephanie Burgis – a fantasy romance also set in a magical Regency England and dealing with women being prevented from pursuing magic. The similarities, however, are very superficial. The Harwood Spellbook, while not lacking in drama, is explicitly written to be fluffy and uplifting. You can see that even in the structure of society, which has strict gender divisions, but is actually matriarchal, with women dealing in politics. The Midnight Bargain deals with similar themes of women’s agency and right to pursue their calling, but in a more serious manner, with women being subjugated based on their reproductive capabilities. And C.L. Polk doesn’t pull punches; the very concept of a marriage collar is upsetting, but it gets even more visceral when at one point we get a description of exactly how it feels to wear one. It was hard reading for me as a person who isn't subject to reproductive oppression in real life. But there are other aspects to Beatrice’s situation, too: the way she has to grovel in front of potential suitors who are well aware of the power they hold and lord it over her; or the way her family completely dismisses not just her ambitions, but the notion that she could propose other solutions to their problems, not to mention the full-on emotional abuse from her father.
You might have noticed I described The Midnight Bargain as a “romantic fantasy” and The Harwood Spellbook as a “fantasy romance” – this is because I agree with the notion that a romance needs a happy ending (whether a happily-ever-after or a happily-for-now) and for a large stretch of TMB I wasn’t at all sure what Beatrice was going to choose and whether she would end up with Ianthe at all. (Spoiler: they do end up together.) That doubt is, I think, a testament to how well-constructed the central dilemma is and how skillfully Polk manages all the developments and complications: Beatrice wants to become a magician in order to realise her ambitions, but also help her family at the expense of marrying. Her family, however, puts pressure on her by staking everything on a financially successful marriage. As Beatrice fights to achieve her own aims, her prospects dwindle, making the situation more and more desperate.
Ianthe represents a seductive possibility: he’s kind, intelligent, values Beatrice as a person, and he comes from unimaginable wealth. She could have a fulfilling marriage to him, solve her family’s financial problems, and even (since Ianthe comes from a culture more enlightened than the barbaric Chaslanders who control their wives’ magic permanently) perform magic in a limited capacity once she has children. That option starts to look more and more tempting as the complications start to pile up, but the big question that Beatrice has is: should she have to compromise at all? Is “slightly less oppresion” an acceptable – reasonable – alternative to “more oppression”? I’m writing this review in Poland, where the struggle for abortion rights had been stuck for decades in “reasonable compromise” mode (i.e. abortion is forbidden, except in some cases) before the conversation has been hijacked by right-wing extremists, so the question that Polk poses in the book feels as vital as the answer obvious.
I talked about the love interest, but I think it would be a big disservice to the book not to talk about the women surrounding Beatrice. At the very start of the book, she clashes with Ianthe’s sister, Ysbeta: they both crave a book that would help them expand their magical abilities. The struggle over a limited resource eventually gives way to an uneasy alliance, but that first scene is emblematic of other relationships, too, with Beatrice’s mother and sister, and other characters. The supporting cast offers a complex look at how women struggle to adapt and find a place for themselves in a precarious, oppressive system; how they might choose to risk their position to help others or hinder them in order to preserve their own sliver of security.
In the end, The Midnight Bargain offers a forceful answer to the problems it presents, even if there are certain aspects that feel glossed over and that I would like a little more engagement with (like the questions of consent and bodily autonomy surrounding spirit possession, or the resolution to Beatrice and her father’s relationship). At the same time as weighty matters relating to women's liberation, there is also a lot of suspense and humour (as in the scenes where Beatrice acts under the influence of Nadi, the spirit of chance) that makes it an energetic, breezy read. A most successful marriage of elements, I would say.
I received an electronic review copy via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.
The protagonist, Beatrice Clayborn, has her heart set on becoming a magician, even if it means forgoing marriage and children. Unfortunately her family, thrown into financial difficulties by her father’s bad investment, banks everything on her marrying well. And Beatrice’s own resolve starts to falter when she meets Ianthe Lavan, a kind and intelligent heir to a powerful trading dynasty...
My first association upon reading the synopsis was The Harwood Spellbook series by Stephanie Burgis – a fantasy romance also set in a magical Regency England and dealing with women being prevented from pursuing magic. The similarities, however, are very superficial. The Harwood Spellbook, while not lacking in drama, is explicitly written to be fluffy and uplifting. You can see that even in the structure of society, which has strict gender divisions, but is actually matriarchal, with women dealing in politics. The Midnight Bargain deals with similar themes of women’s agency and right to pursue their calling, but in a more serious manner, with women being subjugated based on their reproductive capabilities. And C.L. Polk doesn’t pull punches; the very concept of a marriage collar is upsetting, but it gets even more visceral when at one point we get a description of exactly how it feels to wear one. It was hard reading for me as a person who isn't subject to reproductive oppression in real life. But there are other aspects to Beatrice’s situation, too: the way she has to grovel in front of potential suitors who are well aware of the power they hold and lord it over her; or the way her family completely dismisses not just her ambitions, but the notion that she could propose other solutions to their problems, not to mention the full-on emotional abuse from her father.
You might have noticed I described The Midnight Bargain as a “romantic fantasy” and The Harwood Spellbook as a “fantasy romance” – this is because I agree with the notion that a romance needs a happy ending (whether a happily-ever-after or a happily-for-now) and for a large stretch of TMB I wasn’t at all sure what Beatrice was going to choose and whether she would end up with Ianthe at all. (Spoiler: they do end up together.) That doubt is, I think, a testament to how well-constructed the central dilemma is and how skillfully Polk manages all the developments and complications: Beatrice wants to become a magician in order to realise her ambitions, but also help her family at the expense of marrying. Her family, however, puts pressure on her by staking everything on a financially successful marriage. As Beatrice fights to achieve her own aims, her prospects dwindle, making the situation more and more desperate.
Ianthe represents a seductive possibility: he’s kind, intelligent, values Beatrice as a person, and he comes from unimaginable wealth. She could have a fulfilling marriage to him, solve her family’s financial problems, and even (since Ianthe comes from a culture more enlightened than the barbaric Chaslanders who control their wives’ magic permanently) perform magic in a limited capacity once she has children. That option starts to look more and more tempting as the complications start to pile up, but the big question that Beatrice has is: should she have to compromise at all? Is “slightly less oppresion” an acceptable – reasonable – alternative to “more oppression”? I’m writing this review in Poland, where the struggle for abortion rights had been stuck for decades in “reasonable compromise” mode (i.e. abortion is forbidden, except in some cases) before the conversation has been hijacked by right-wing extremists, so the question that Polk poses in the book feels as vital as the answer obvious.
I talked about the love interest, but I think it would be a big disservice to the book not to talk about the women surrounding Beatrice. At the very start of the book, she clashes with Ianthe’s sister, Ysbeta: they both crave a book that would help them expand their magical abilities. The struggle over a limited resource eventually gives way to an uneasy alliance, but that first scene is emblematic of other relationships, too, with Beatrice’s mother and sister, and other characters. The supporting cast offers a complex look at how women struggle to adapt and find a place for themselves in a precarious, oppressive system; how they might choose to risk their position to help others or hinder them in order to preserve their own sliver of security.
In the end, The Midnight Bargain offers a forceful answer to the problems it presents, even if there are certain aspects that feel glossed over and that I would like a little more engagement with (like the questions of consent and bodily autonomy surrounding spirit possession, or the resolution to Beatrice and her father’s relationship). At the same time as weighty matters relating to women's liberation, there is also a lot of suspense and humour (as in the scenes where Beatrice acts under the influence of Nadi, the spirit of chance) that makes it an energetic, breezy read. A most successful marriage of elements, I would say.
I received an electronic review copy via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.
