Sometime during the bleak 11th century, 17-year-old Roscille’s father sends her away to marry Macbeth, the fact that she does not wish to leave the land of her birth inconsequential to father’s need for allies. The large, brutish Thane looks “born right from the land of Glammis itself, right out of the earth,” and Roscille senses no warmth from him—only deep, unending cruelty.
Macbeth wants to marry Roscille for one reason: her magic. Roscille wears a veil at all times to hide her eyes, which can compel mortal men to do as she wishes. That power, combined with the witches Macbeth keeps chained beneath his castle, can help him fulfill the numerous prophecies about him and improve his political position. But Roscille does not wish to be his partner nor share his marital bed, to “submit herself to him like all the world’s women have before,” and as she fearfully starts to try and pull the strings of power, it sets off a chain of events that could both destroy the few people she cares about and force her to join the witches in the cold and the dark.
Author Ava Reid (Juniper and Thorn, The Wolf and the Woodsman) seems unconcerned with exploring the original themes and dynamics of the Scottish play. Instead, Macbeth is used as set dressing for a story about a young girl wed into terrible circumstances, a decision that will please fans of historical-inspired horror more than it will Shakespeare aficionados. Roscille’s main goal is to manipulate her way out of sharing Macbeth’s marital bed; unlike her theatrical counterpart, she is not concerned with power outside of how it keeps her safe. Despite the signs of distress and uncertainty Macbeth shows early on, any nuances in the Thane’s character vanish as he becomes a leader consumed by foolish and cruel ambition, a misandrist caricature that feels vaguely anti-Scottish and eradicates any moral complexity in Reid’s retelling.
Reid’s attention to stark, dark historical details combined with Roscille’s constant fear and anxiety (“her mind writhes with possibilities, like maggots in rotten meat”) gives Lady Macbeth an unearthly, nightmarish quality. Fans of the romance in Reid’s previous works will not find it here. Though Roscille does get a few moments of reprieve in her conversations with a spindly yet protective hagseed prince—”hagseed” meaning the son of a witch, and thus immune to Roscille’s eyes—Lady Macbeth is a horror novel about survival. Roscille has heard stories about sexual assault, spends the entire book fearing it and ultimately endures being raped by her husband as well as threats and physical abuse from men she once considered manipulable allies. Roscille feels herself going mad, though mileage may vary on whether readers find this ever-present danger thematically appropriate or wearying. Only in the last few chapters, as Roscille begins to understand her power, does retribution both magical and personal arrive.
Readers seeking stories of abuse survivors finally conquering their abuser and fans of grimdark historical fantasy will find Lady Macbeth elegantly written and right up their alley.
