A Court of Jealousy and Haters: ACOTAR chapter 23 or “Handsome powers, powerfully activate!”

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As promised, I’m importing the A Court of Thorns and Roses recaps here from Patreon. These were originally written beginning in August of 2020, so there will be references to upcoming or seasonal events that won’t fit with our current timeline. I am not a time traveler and you’ll never be able to prove that I am. I will also include editors notes like this every now and then as we go, mostly to amuse myself but to give re-read value to those who’ve already been on this awful, awful journey with me.

Note: This is an extra super bad pain week for me, so if my thoughts seem scattered, please understand it’s not that we at Trout Nation Inc. don’t care about quality control. We just don’t care about it right now. ed.—That note is from the original recap. I’m actually fine right now.

Welcome back to… wait, what? Did we skip a huge chunk of book? Other than skating past any relationship development that could have occurred over the hallway scene? Because this chapter opens with Feyre and Tamlin lying in some grass together like they’re dating. ed.—Or in Twilight.

Lucien, claiming that he had miserable emissary business to attend to, had left Tamlin and me to our own devices, and the HIgh Lord had taken me to yet another beautiful spot in his enchanted forest.

Lucien is to this book as Tiger was to The Brady Bunch.

If you don’t get that reference you’re either too young or never had Nick at Night. ed.—As a still outdated, but more recent, example, one could say that Lucien is to this book as the older sister was to Family Matters.

But there were no enchantments here—no pools of starlight, no rainbow waterfalls. It was just a grassy glen watched over by a weeping willow, with a clear brook running through it.

Shut up, Feyre, you could be on the side of a mountain for all we know. You have some kind of neurological disorder that makes you incapable of describing geological features.

Tamlin mentions that the singing of the willows always makes him sleepy, and Feyre assumes he’s pulling her leg when he insists that yes, willows do sing.

“You’re human,” he said, and I rolled my eyes. “Your senses are still sealed off from everything.”

I’m interested to know who, exactly, did the sealing. I find the wording here…suspect. If their senses are “sealed off,” then who sealed them? Or who broke the seal on the fae?

Ah. Yet another point in a recap where I realize that something interesting could be explored, but probably won’t. ed.—It is not.

I made a face. “Just another of my many shortcomings.” But the word—shortcomings—had somehow stopped finding its mark.

Technically, this would be your second shortcoming, Feyre. The other time the word was used described your inability to read. But I find it interesting that once a dude wants to fuck her, formerly insulting descriptions are no longer insulting coming from that dude.

“I could make you able to see it,” he said. His fingers lingered at the end of my braid, twirling the curl of hair around. “See my world—hear it, smell it.” My breathing became shallow as he sat up. “Taste it.” His eyes flicked to the fading bruise on my neck.

I wonder if magic will taste better once she gets her seal broken. We always hear about how she can taste it. Maybe it won’t be gross and metallic now.

Tamlin tells Feyre that every gift comes with a price, and that price turns out to be a kiss. And of course, Feyre won’t let him kiss her! With her consent?! That would be so UNSEXY! The only way Feyre will deign to be kissed is whilst being slammed up against a wall, I guess.

But of course, she rationalizes why it’s okay to want to kiss him by saying that not being able to see things the way he does puts her at a disadvantage.

You see, she MUST kiss him, to be a strong female character. Otherwise, she OBVIOUSLY wouldn’t do so.

They get up on their knees and he tells her to close her eyes.

I braced myself at the brush of his mouth on one of my eyelids, then on the other. He pulled away, and I was left breathless, the kisses still lingering on my skin.

Ho ho, what is this bit of fae trickery? Methinks Tamlin was jesting about the kiss in payment; he merely needed to lay his lips upon her eyelids.

And since the place he kissed her was her eyelids, sight is, of course, the first heightened sense introduced.

SIKE!

The singing of birds became an orchestra—a symphony of gossip and mirth. I’d never heard so many layers of music, never heard the variations and themes that wove between their arpeggios.

Wow, Feyre knows music theory as well as painting. Truly, a renaissance poor person.

The world had become richer, clearer. The brook was a near-invisible rainbow of water that flowed over stones as invitingly smooth as silk.

Ah, yes. So different from the OPAQUENESS THAT WATER IS @#$%ing KNOWN FOR.

The trees were clothed in a faint shimmer that radiated from their centers and danced along the edges of their leaves. There was no tangy metallic stench—no, the smell of magic had become like jasmine, like lilac, like roses.

Oh my god, I am laughing at myself so hard. Between reading the chapter and writing the recap, I totally forgot that the smell of magic changed. So, above, when I was like, “I wonder if the smell of magic will be different,” I already knew the answer and had forgotten it and I was SO EXCITED to see my question answered.

Until I realized I already knew the answer and forgot it.

Trust me, if you’re inside my head, it’s hilarious.

As is the fact that this:

I would never be able to paint it, the richness, the feel …

came directly after the above sentence, in the same paragraph, suggesting that Feyre is gonna try to paint smells.

But yeah, just in case you were wondering if Feyre could paint this. I know that any object or setting mentioned in this book, I’m like dang, I hope Feyre can paint this, so I’m glad they didn’t keep me—or you, dear Patron—in suspense for long.

Then Feyre looks at Tamlin and if you thought there was no way he could possibly get hotter, well. I have horrible news for you.

It was Tamlin, but not. Rather, it was the Tamlin I’d dreamed of. His skin gleamed with a golden sheen, and around his head glowed a circlet of sunshine. And his eyes—

Not merely green and gold, but every hue and variation that could be imagined, as though every leaf in the forest had bled into one shade. This was a High Lord of Prythian—devastatingly handsome, captivating, powerful beyond belief.

Ma’am, the currency of “oooh, he’s a high lord, so powerful and handsome” is buying less and less lately. Every single time we’re meant to be impressed/horned-up by this description, I lose a little more interest. And that’s pretty fucking difficult, considering I DNFed this book at least three times prior to these recaps due it being uninteresting. Yes, we get it. Handsome. Powerful. Lots of power. Powerfully handsome and handsome with power. Why? Because High Lord. Handsome High Lord Powerful. Power power handsome power.

WE KNOW MOVE ON

Feyre tries to Christine Daae the mask off his face but it won’t move because, you know, Feyre isn’t more powerful than the powerful magical power power that’s powering magically (and handsomely) all over the place. Then, she suddenly can’t see how powerfully handsome and handsomely powerful Tamlin is anymore. He’s back to operating at only 90% handsome power. When Feyre asks him why, he says he glamoured himself again.

“To look normal. Or as normal as I can look with this damned thing,” he added, gesturing to the mask.

Lotta The Phantom of the Opera movie, “woe is me, I am Gerard Butler with pink-eye” vibes coming off this line. Curse this beautiful, bejeweled mask that obscures my powerfully handsome face. I am a monster.

“Being a High Lord, even one with … limited powers, comes with physical markers, too. It’s why I couldn’t hide what I was becoming from my brothers—from anyone. It’s still easier to blend in.”

Wait. This cannot possibly be Tamlin’s inner conflict. I won’t allow that to be the case. He’s tortured because he’s too pretty? Sorry, too handsome? Too powerfully handsome and so he has to tone down his handsome powers? POWERFULLY?!

Weep for him, sweet Feyre. He’s POWERFULLY HANDSOME and his HANDSOME POWERS must be hidden but not by the bejeweled mask that currently hides his handsomeness.

Feyre, a human Facebook post comment section, questions whether he’s really done all he can to get that darned mask off. Is he sure the curse can’t be broken? Did he check with the other courts?

Feyre is your friend from college who answers every single one of your venting posts with “helpful” suggestions like, “THAT’S ILLEGAL YOU SHOULD GET A LAWYER” and “GO TO THE ER IF YOU’RE HAVING CHEST PAINS!”

Thank god you’re here, Feyre. The immortal, powerful, handsome being made out of pure magic might not have thought to ask for help with this whole mask thing. You’re right, he probably just woke up, went, huh, wish I could take this mask off, oh well, and gave up until you arrived.

“I just … just want to know what you look like.” I wondered when I’d grown so shallow.

Previous to the beginning of this book, from what I can tell.

This leads to an unbearable exchange in which Tamlin asks Feyre what she thinks he looks like and she begins to describe how handsome he is to him. Lucky for us, she gets sleepy and the subject gets changed.

“What about your part of the bargain?”

“What?”

He leaned closer, his smile turning wicked. “What about my kiss?”

If Feyre were smarter than she is horny, she’d point out that he actually kissed her twice already, one for each eye, and he owes her for that second one. But Feyre is not as smart as she is horny, so it’s a “cute” and “funny” moment:

I grabbed his fingers. “Here,” I said, and slammed my mouth against the back of his hand. “There’s your kiss.”

And of course:

Tamlin roared with laughter, […]

I just want to sit Tamlin down in front of some Gabriel Iglesias stand-up and see what the fuck happens.

So, that sentence ends with Feyre thinking about how sleepy she is. So, the willow is getting to her, too. Tamlin says he should take her back to the house but instead they just lay in the grass being sleepy.

The most riveting three paragraphs I have ever read, let me tell you. Then this happens and I’m confused so I need input, Patrons:

This was such a lovely dream. I’d never slept so wonderfully before. So warm, nestled beside him. Calm. Faintly, echoing into my world of slumber, he spoke again, his breath caressing my ear. “You’re exactly as I dreamed you’d be, too.” Darkness swallowed everything.

If you have a copy of this book handy, will you do me a favor? Will you read back and see where in this chapter Feyre said he was exactly as she dreamed he would be? Because I’m not understand the “too” despite several re-reads. What the fuck is he talking about?

That’s the chapter. They laid in the grass and she can see magic now. Which really does seem like a big fucking deal for the story, so I’m glad it happened, but I think that with more build up it could have felt like (and been) a much bigger deal. Here, it’s “oh, look how beautiful everything is and how hot Tamlin is and WOW HE GAVE ME FAIRY EYE SMOOCHES NOW EVERYTHING IS EVEN MORE BEAUTIFUL AND HOT,” without much substance otherwise. Feyre doesn’t wonder what this means for her now or how this will change her existence in Prythian. She doesn’t think about why Tamlin didn’t give her this ability before, when it would have given her more of an advantage against the dangers around because she’d be able to perceive them.

And it makes no sense to me that this whole experience didn’t devolve into, “everything was beautiful… except for me because I am plain and human and unremarkable.” I don’t want to read that because it would be terrible writing, but it would have at least been consistent. So far, Feyre has shown very little character development. Most of it has been centered around coming to terms with the fact that she doesn’t have to honor her vow to her dying mother. 

Feyre’s lack of self-esteem hasn’t improved while she’s been in Prythian; if anything, it’s become so much worse. It makes no sense that her “woe is me, I’m not beautiful like other girls are” nonsense wouldn’t rear its head here. But I don’t want to read it. I just want consistency. So I’m faced with the impossible choice between wanting them both but knowing that either would cause me suffering.

Like when I go to Cold Stone Creamery.