After reading the three books that make up R.F. Kuang’s The Poppy War trilogy—The Poppy War, The Dragon Republic, and The Burning God—I believe Kuang’s strengths lie in her complex and engrossing worldbuilding, plot development, and characterization. More often than not, what draws me into a book is a writer’s delicate and precise control of language—how they weave words together into sentences worth highlighting. Kuang’s prose, despite prioritizing plot momentum over craft, creates such a fascinating world that it nonetheless drew me in immediately.
The series, at its core, is a fantasy retelling of 20th-century Chinese history, drawing primarily on the lasting influences of the Opium War and Second Sino-Japanese War, as well as the conflict between the Chinese Nationalist and Communist Parties. Coming into the series as someone who has grown up in China and also possesses an elementary understanding of 20th-century Chinese history, I debated how I felt about the historical and cultural elements of the story. At times, the plot was eerily similar to moments in the history I was familiar with. Kuang separated this world from our own, but the parallels remained clear: “Nikan” is The Poppy War’s version of China, “Mugen” is Japan, and “Hesperia” is Europe. The three novels did not completely align with history, but I thought it was a worthy trade-off for a series so ambitious and largely succeeds in doing so. It is, after all, still fantasy. One gripe I had with Kuang’s approach was the cultural inconsistencies, such as her portrayal of “gutter oil,” which is a contemporary phenomenon of reused oil rather than a historical use of oil actually from the gutter, as Kuang described it to be. Still, Kuang maintains many historical parallels, and I believe that a fantasy novel format is undoubtedly an effective medium to popularize and shed light on this part of Chinese history, which is important even if it means losing some accuracy.
With its portrayal of martial arts and shamanism in addition to its historical background, The Poppy War could be loosely labelled as a wuxia story—stories about martial arts set in a historical background. Simply viewed in this way, however, Kuang’s writing falls short of classics like The Legend of the Condor Heroes. That said, The Poppy War shouldn’t be seen as just a wuxia story. It is special in how it grapples with politics and morality. The characters, like the setting, mirror figures in 20th-century Chinese history. The protagonist, Fang Runin (or Rin), for example, possesses similarities to Mao Zedong, though the parallel is far from one-to-one. Indeed, like Mao, Rin cannot be described as a hero in any sense; like all the characters and regimes Kuang describes, she is flawed in many ways. Among other moral failings, she considers human life to be like pieces on a chessboard and necessary sacrifices, becoming an antihero as the story progresses. Yet, as a reader, I still felt drawn to her character, both rooting for her success and condemning her actions. This is truly a testament to Kuang’s successful characterization, painting complex and morally ambiguous characters similar to actors in real-life geopolitics.
The Poppy War implores us to interrogate our humanity, the consequences of war, and colonialism, urging us to weigh the importance of personal ambition versus collective good. Kuang’s intricate characterization, plot development, and historical portrayals were what compelled me to finish the entire series over three weeks. I encourage anyone looking for something to read to give this trilogy a try, and keep thinking critically as they do!