Swordheart (The World of the White Rat) by T. Kingfisher

I think we've discussed before how utterly befuddling I find The World of the White Rat saga by T. Kingfisher, right? There's a duology, then this novel, Swordheart, then a quartet? And they're all in the same world? It's confusing, but it's so worth it because T. Kingfisher is a living legend.

Halla's a respectable widow who has been taking care of her dead husband's elderly uncle. When the uncle dies, he leave her his estate, but that means that the uncle's relatives want her to marry cousin Alver with the clammy hands so they can get the money and they lock her into her room until she'll agree to this plan. Well, Halla draws a sword in a clueless attempt to kill herself, she finds out that Sarkis, an immortal swordsman who lives in the sword, is enchanted to protect the wielder of the sword. Hijinks ensue. 

What a delightful treasure Kingfisher is. Truly. She writes these absolutely improbable circumstances, but somehow it all seems fitting for the world she's built. She writes these characters who are real, with genuine warts and attitude problems, but it's all so lightly done with humor and character interactions that you don't realize she's creating problems and characters you genuinely care about and then all of a sudden you're tearing up because you want good things for these unperfect people.

So, you know, if you're a fantasy reader who hasn't gotten on the Kingfisher train, what are you waiting for? Get on board!  5/5 stars

Lines of note:

She didn’t want to die. She quite liked living. Even when it was bad, it was interesting. There was always something fascinating going on. (page 14)

We knew from this line that Halla wasn't going to actually kill herself. And we also knew that Halla was going to make some awesome observations.

Halla had no illusions about her grip on reality. (page 15)

I find myself questioning what reality is far more often than you might think. Am I really standing in line at the post office? Or is this all just a figment of someone else's imagination? 

One of the grimmer realizations of Sarkis’s youth had been the discovery that knowing you were being an ass did not actually stop you from continuing to be an ass. (page 124)

Ha ha ha ha ha. Right?  My mom sent me a tshirt with a bear on it for Christmas that says "I'd like to apologize for the things I said when I was hungry" and oh, boy, does that say it all? Why can't we just be adults?  

"I can keep house for an eccentric old man and keep a farm running on the edge of disaster. I can nurse someone dying of fever. It’s just my luck I’d end up with one that doesn’t need any of those things.” She expected the very sensible priest of the very sensible god to agree with her. Sensibly. Instead, Zale tilted their head, a small smile on their lips. 
“Perhaps that’s why you like him. It must be very dreary, being needed all the time.” 
“Oh god,” Halla heard herself say. “Oh god, you have no idea.” (page 275)

I was reading this while reading a few blogs from (mostly) women talking about just how hard it is to be the person who makes Christmas magic happen in their family and this scene really resonated. It must be hard to be needed all the time indeed. 

Hat mentions:

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