Sometimes, you read a book you love so much it takes you a couple of weeks to process it.

I’ll confess – I wasn’t expecting much when I picked up Brandon Sanderson’s Tress of the Emerald Sea. I know Sanderson has a big fan following, and some of my closest friends love his work. But I just can’t get into the epic scale of the Cosmere. (I often find myself running out of steam on extensive fantasy series – too many plot threads to trace and many that feel left too open for too long…)

Still, I’d heard that Tress was deliberately written differently, and I needed something in a shared universe for part of my 52 Book Club Challenge this year. So I decided to give it a shot (along with Yumi and the Nightmare Painter, another of the Secret Projects).

I’m a fast reader, but I don’t remember the last time I read anything so quickly. My day of reading passed in a blanket-covered blurred as I turned page after page. My partner – who’s becoming more and more of a reader – finished all 486 pages in a week. And I’ve recommended it to basically everyone who’s asked me for a book since then.

In a world of epic fantasies, “cozy” fantasies and romantasy novels, Tress of the Emerald Sea stands out as uniquely heartwarming and adventurous. And I can’t stop thinking – what makes it so special?

Ship-scale problems

Well, there’s the fact that Tress takes place primarily on a pirate ship, for one thing.

I’ve gotten more and more into fantasy pirate stories lately. They tend to have the scale and scope of fantasy adventure that I find most engaging. Characters on a ship can explore a vast world and have endlessly variant adventures. New ports may mean new worlds, new cultures, and new challenges for the crew to overcome. Yet stories of travelers almost never have to end, and never have to escalate unless the author decides it’s time to raise the stakes. Pirate ship stories, in other words, have ship-scale problems.

People come to fantasy as a genre for different reasons. I, personally, love the alternate worlds, and the economic and cultural exploration they afford. It’s fascinating to imagine what might happen to a government faced with, say, a population of mind-readers or general-purpose magicians. (Discworld’s Industrial Revolution series is one of my favorites here…)

However, introducing new cultures in most fantasy stories typically involves heroes choosing to visit those new lands. And when those heroes are embroiled in some kind of epic conflict, that happens either because 1) they’re racing the Big Bad to reach some mystical object; or 2) they’re running away with the Big Bad in hot pursuit. Neither of these situations leave much room for fun cultural exposition (as opposed to world-saving plots)…

…but pirate ships and exploration vessels can run into plenty of dire problems without the world having to end. New cultures, cautious of intruders. Government pursuit of our (presumably misunderstood) cast. Storms and sea monsters and unexpected lands can all pose survival-level threats without the kind of power escalation that other fantasy faces. This, in turn, leaves room for characters to learn to explore together and collaborate, growing over the course of their stories. Ships allow for exploration and character growth without the world ending – which is a lovely change of pace. And Tress exemplifies this character-driven element…

A tale of character

So many fantasy stories follow the monomyth for their protagonists, and Tress is no exception. But the story stands out because of its dedication to the importance of character and choices, rather than inherent power.

So many modern fantasy novels grant their protagonists some magic force that renders them important or worthy of attention. In Harry Potter, Harry’s the “Chosen One”, protected by his parents’ love. In Mistborn, there are characters with access to special magic. The characters in A Song of Ice and Fire use lineage and bloodlines to access power, both political and magical. And even in cozy fantasy like The Spellshop or Legends and Lattes, the protagonists rely on magical MacGuffins that help them create community value. In so much fantasy, power and value come (at least in part) from external sources.

But Tress‘s titular protagonist succeeds entirely on her own merits, and through her strength of character. When she responds to the call for adventure, she makes her own choice to do so. When she joins a pirate crew, her success is due to her character and curiosity. Any duplicity on her part is unintentional and fills her with unease; she shines brightest when she’s honestly herself. Tress’s successes are mostly due to her thoughtfulness, cleverness, and kindness.

So often, the fantasy genre reinforces the power of the “special people”. Even when a common person takes down the elites, they’re able to do so because of some God-given talent. These are stories of one set of elites replacing another. But in uncertain times, it’s critical to have stories where being good, brave, smart, and thoughtful are lauded. And Tress shines in this regard.

Poking fun at fantasy

This may all sound as though it’s a bit preachy… and it would be, if not for the entertaining narration. Sanderson explicitly set out to mimic the style of The Princess Bride. Tress is a triumph of just the right amount of narrative snark, blended with clear love for its protagonists and their story. The following quote, for example, made both me and my partner literally laugh out loud:

“And then, Tress took the singular step that separated her from people in most stories. The act, it might be said, that defined her as a hero. She did something so incredible, I can barely express its majesty.
‘I should consider this more,’ Tress thought to herself, ‘and not jump to conclusions.”

Brandon Sanderson, Tress of the Emerald Sea

The hyperbolic tone contrasted with the sheer common sense of the action is both funny and deeply true. It’s a trick that Terry Pratchett mastered and one that I haven’t seen many writers play with since. It’s not just that Tress is funny or snarky. What sets this apart for me is the usage of observational humor, applied equally to fantasy tropes and human character.

That’s not to say it’s perfect. Tress is full of these one-liners, and some fall flat. Plus the density of them can, at times, get a little overwhelming. But it’s a joy to read someone having so much fun in fantasy, while adding some thoughtfulness to the mix. Sanderson is clearly enjoying himself – inventing new worlds, snarking at the reader, loving his characters – and it’s hard not to enjoy yourself with him.

A truly cozy fantasy

There are few books that I recommend to basically everyone I know. But if you’re reading this blog, you like cozy stories as much as I do. And no book has made me feel cozier in recent memory than Tress of the Emerald Sea. Its scale, setting, and narration all create a world that feels full of hope, adventure, and – most importantly – agency. It’s a book I can see myself coming back to again, and again, and again. And it’s a book I can wholeheartedly recommend every reader of this blog give a try.

It’s almost time for another monthly roundup. See you next week for that – and until then, stay cozy, and stay curious!