Review: Laura R. Samotin’s ‘The Sins on Their Bones’ (ARC)

★★☆☆☆

My reviews are always unbiased, but in the interest of transparency please note I received a free copy of this book ahead of its publication (Random House Canada – 7th May, 2024).

It has taken me far too long to write this review, but finally, here it is. Though I can’t decide exactly what genre to shelve The Sins on Their Bones under, I would say the vibe here is YA dark fantasy meets porno. Two stars is perhaps a rather generous rating, but the book did manage to hold my attention through to the end, and I think a portion of my distaste is owed to my personal reading preferences.

Dimitri, or Dima, is an emperor without an empire. Deposed and defeated on the battlefield by his traitorous husband, Alexey, Dima has fled, and now lives in hiding with his flirtatious spymaster, Vasily, and a handful of other loyalists. With the betrayal still raw, Dima dreads the possibility of capture and reunion with the abusive, controlling man he failed to kill when he had the chance, and who he does, even after all that has happened, still have feelings for.

The intended focus of the book seems to be the relationship between love and trauma, both in the sense that true, patient love can help us heal, and in the sense that misguided romantic feelings can sometimes trick people into staying or remaining emotionally invested in relationships that are inherently destructive.

Unfortunately, The Sins on Their Bones palpably lacks the maturity to handle this heavy subject matter with any delicacy. Though the characters are in their 30s, they read like young teenagers, and the book dwells more on the shock of sex and violence than on the surrounding psychology.

Smut is all well and good when it comes packaged in a robust surrounding plot, but on its own it is not the stuff of narrative substance. That’s even when it’s well-written, which is not the case here. It is impossible to discuss The Sins on Their Bones without addressing the sex, however, mostly because there is so much of it, but also because there isn’t much else here to talk about. The Slavic-inspired fantasy setting remains largely unexplored, the characters have few dimensions, and because so much is told to us through memories rather than immediate circumstances, the narrative is weak and lacks momentum.

Of the 400 pages, about 300 consist of angsty reflections, sex, and scenes of sexual domestic violence. The latter are made all the more unpleasant by the lack of clearly delineated boundary between Dima’s masochism and the abuse inflicted on him by Alexey. The sexual aspect of the romance between Dima and Vasily is also uncomfortable, as this relationship leans towards sexual exploitation and enabling. The blurred lines between what is meant to be amorous and what is objectively abusive mean the true focus of the book is the common ground between sexual violence and rough sex. This is exacerbated by the lack of clear expression when it comes to illustrating the fundamental differences between true consent and the illusions created by psychological manipulation and abuse.

I do think this book is the product of good intentions, and the queer-normative setting will appeal to a certain audience. I am usually a receptive reader when it comes to stories about found family and healing, but in this case I don’t think the writing actually does the work of exploring these themes. The focus on bodies and bruises feels lurid rather than provocative and psychological. Though there is far too much explicit content for this book to be classed as anything but adult, the characters do not have the depth for it to feel like a mature read in any other context.

The one thing I did like about the novel was the Jewish folklore. I found it refreshing to read about a magic system grounded in lesser-known religious myths and traditions. The Jewish practices and beliefs woven throughout the narrative do lend the book some character.

To sum, The Sins on Their Bones is easy enough to get through, but this wasn’t a read I can say I truly enjoyed. In my opinion, the manner in which this book deals with sexual trauma is both clumsy and vaguely sordid. The worldbuilding does have good bones, and the novel’s worst flaws might have been obscured had other themes been more developed, but because sexual violence is so much the main subject matter, it is hard to ignore the feeling that this book reads in rather poor taste.