Since the release of the Disney animated film Mulan (1998), the title character has been heralded as a strong, independent “princess” who doesn’t need to wait for a man to save her. Yet, though Mulan resists social norms, she never seeks to overturn existing power structures. She goes to war not for herself, but out of love for her father and duty to country; at the war’s end, she returns home, “content to resume life as conventional woman.” Similarly, in many Chinese versions, Mulan is “summoned by the emperor to become a concubine after the war. Forced to choose between duty and honor, she commits suicide on her father’s grave, thereby preserving her unyielding virtue.” [1] Mulan’s tragic story led diaspora writer K. X. Song to question what would happen if a woman in Mulan’s position desired to live freely—and how society would respond if she dared to aspire for more. In her debut fantasy novel, The Night Ends with Fire, Song delivers a feminist retelling of Mulan that examines the cost of such ambitions in a time when a woman enjoyed limited freedoms.
Song explores the realities of life as a woman in this historical period through the lens of the fictional kingdom of Anlai. In this world and time, a woman’s body and beauty are her most valuable assets. Women are told to make sacrifices for their families and to be incurious, for “beauty is the wisdom of women” (p. 13). From childhood, Meilin has been told that women cannot lead, fight, or govern—because they are “too easily swayed, prone to hysteria and fitfulness” (p. 127). As the precious property of men, they must preserve their purity. Lest they be mistake as a courtesan, women are urged against traveling alone; noblewomen forbidden from it. Yet even the home poses dangers. Men can assault a woman without consequences, whether she is his wife, daughter, or serving girl. A woman leaves her father only to fall under another master. If she bears a son, that son will one day rule over her. As Meilin comes to realize, a man will forever dictate where she goes, where she sleeps, what she eats, what she says, and perhaps even what she thinks. She will never have freedom to make the smallest decision for herself.
Ironically, it takes a man to show her another possibility. After Prince Liu glimpses her prowess at martial arts, he tells her, “If only my men riding out to war tomorrow could be half as fast and clever as you” (p. 24). These words change Meilin’s worldview. Suddenly, she realizes that she has skills that allow her to make a life for herself—if only she were a man. Once she realizes this, she can never be content submitting herself to another abusive patriarch.
It comes as no surprise, then, that Meilin would rather die free than live enslaved as a man’s possession. Spurred by Prince Liu’s compliments, Meilin decides to try living for herself for once and escapes to the battlefield. There’s just one problem (well, problems): the people she leaves behind. Meilin’s departure would be understandable if her actions impacted herself alone, or if she had a poor relationship with her entire household. She leaves behind, however, a stepmother who is like a sister to her and younger half-siblings whom she adores. These are family members in desperate need of the betrothal gifts that just arrived from the man to whom she was recently matched. What will happen to them when her betrothed learns that his promised bride has run away? But perhaps the sudden promise of freedom eclipsed such thoughts.
Once she allows herself to think about them, Meilin realizes that she has many desires. She wants Xiuying to be pleased with her, her father to regain his sanity, her young half-brother to receive an education, her betrothed to release her—and most of all that she wasn’t born a woman. Although she acknowledges her desires, however, Meilin lacks the imagination to pursue her ambitions. Bound by her gender, she has been trained since birth to know her place; society has instilled within her a helplessness and hopelessness. As a result, Meilin limits her initial ambitions to the simple desire for a little more time. Thinking that her options as a woman are either marriage or death, she seeks to choose where she dies (i.e., on the battlefield). While living disguised as a man, however, Meilin learns the falsity of the lies she was told as a woman. As Hai Meilin, she was stereotyped as a woman, governed by flighty emotions. Under the alias “Ren,” a bastard son of the Hai family, she is told by a fellow soldier: “You use your head in battle. And you don’t let emotions cloud your judgment” (p. 127). Finally acknowledged as a rational being, she learns to aspire to power—a power that is available only to men. This creates internal conflict when Meilin develops romantic feelings for Prince Liu and begins dreaming of a life in which she could live freely as a woman, surrounded by her loved ones and acknowledged by society.
As she comes to enjoy the freedom that posing as a man brings her, however, her avarice grows. She begins to desire proving herself more capable than the average (male) soldier. As the novel progresses, and she also begins to hear the voice of the dragon spirit that once haunted her mother, the dragon’s greed entwines with Meilin’s ambition, until the two become inseparable. At first, Meilin’s burgeoning desires seem understandable, natural. She only wants a chance at the privileges that her fellow male soldiers enjoy. As her greed grows, however, her desire for everyone’s recognition gradually threatens to swallow her whole, and her greed becomes indistinguishable from the dragon’s greed. But the introduction of another vessel for one of the cardinal spirits—one that feeds off the human desire for vengeance—raises the question of how much comes from the human person and how much has been influenced by the spirit.
One of the highlights of this book is that women support women. As fellow victims of the Hai patriarch’s anger and abuse, Meilin and her stepmother, Xiuying, form a sisterly bond. When Meilin meets the matchmaker, Xiuying dresses her in one of her dowry pieces with the hope that Meilin will make a good impression and get matched with a kind, decent man. When Meilin decides to go to war, Xiuying, unprompted, helps Meilin run away. Much later, while serving as a soldier, Meilin remembers Xiuying’s quiet strength and seeks to follow her example. Other women aid Meilin after learning about her biological sex. The doctor Autumn comforts Meilin when the latter is injured and alone in enemy territory. They grow close enough for Autumn to admit that she doesn’t like men; Meilin, in turns, confesses that her mother also loved women. The courtesan Diaochan risks her life to help Meilin defeat her adversary.
Song gives due recognition to the inner strength of common women who work within the confines of the system, doing what they need to do to survive. Xiuying marries a fallen noble to escape poverty. The courtesan Peizhi adapts to life under enemy rule. Neither has control over their life, yet both express gratitude for the small joys in their respective situations. Although she is married to an abusive opium addict, Xiuying finds thanksgiving in having met Meilin. Peizhi was captured as a trophy of war, but the courtesan recognizes that she still has silks to wear and food to eat; most importantly, her captor is never violent, unlike some of her previous customers. Despite the good in the women’s lives, however, Song never lets the reader forget that they lack ownership over their lives. Xiuying belonged first to her father and then to her husband. And though Peizhi now lives in a palace, her life has not changed from her previous time in a brothel; she still uses her body to serve a man at his whim.
Infused throughout the book is a longing to belong. Whereas other women make do with their allotted portions, Meilin finds herself in a unique position to consider what she could be—if only women were allowed to make full use of their talents. Despite her skill as soldier, Meilin never forgets that her ambitions render her a perversity, a failure as a woman. And, as much as she covets power, she also longs to be accepted. Her desires are childlike, perhaps in part because she never received approval from her own parents, after losing her mother to madness and her father to opium. Having lacked security at home, she seeks surety from society. Yet, Meilin knows that her hard-won belonging in the army is “as delicate as a hummingbird’s wing” (p. 98). This is most apparent when her friend and fellow soldier Sparrow remarks, “Women and children are like garments, but brothers are like limbs. If you lose a piece of clothing, you can get another one. But if you lose a limb, you’ll always feel its loss” (p. 101). Despite the constant reminders that society rejects her for being born a woman, Meilin is nevertheless chained by her desire to belong, and she reaps the consequences.
Readers will enjoy the many nods to the 1998 Disney film. Highlights include the protagonist’s meeting with the matchmaker, the late-night trainings, the romance with a commanding officer, the hot spring scene, and the use of women’s dress to enter the enemy camp. There is also the triumphant procession back to the emperor’s palace—but with a different tone. Whereas Mulan immediately humbles herself before the emperor and offers the spoils of war to him, Meilin fantasizes about gaining recognition for her own achievements. Mulan receives the praise and honor that she never expected, and she is welcomed home by the father she loves. In contrast, Meilin experiences a low point when she realizes that those in power will never allow a woman to hold on to it themselves. Her fall from grace raises the question of what it takes to effect real societal change.
The Night Ends with Fire examines the large-scale historic events that affect kingdoms. It is broad in scope with spirits, emperors, and princes. But it also explores the personal lives of common soldiers, women, and the people affected by war. It concedes the prejudices and biases toward women and marginalized groups—and the hatred that division breeds. And it reveals the consequences of concentrating power in the hands of a few, a few who can dictate the fate of countless lives and determine the course of a kingdom. More poignantly, it examines the lives of those who will never be recorded in history, at least not in any proper manner—people like Meilin, who is villainized in Anlai’s annals for overstepping her bounds as a woman. In doing so, the author invites readers to reflect upon the line from Cao Xueqin’s Dream of the Red Chamber that provides the novel’s epigram: “All those whom history called great left only empty names for us to venerate.” [2] Song invites readers to question who the real heroes (and heroines) might be.
Endnotes
[1] K. X. Song, “Author’s Note,” in The Night Ends with Fire pp. 415-416. [return]
[2] Song opens The Night Ends with Fire with this epigraph. [return]