I once saw a book described as “Fantasy for people who don’t like Fantasy,” and I think something similar could be said about The Unicorn Hunters. This is Historical Fantasy for people who don’t like History.

Or rather, this will appeal more to those who don’t know the real history.

I like historical fiction and I like history, too. I can’t claim to be an expert on the history of France, but I do know enough that I didn’t like The Unicorn Hunters at all precisely because of how both real and fictional history were handled. I’ll try to divide my observations on the novel into three main areas: the modernisation of real history, the internal narrative inconsistencies, and the whitewashing and villainisation of real historical figures.

From the outset, there was a whiff of historical revisionism in this book, all too common amongst authors incapable of accepting that the past is ugly and problematic, especially for women, who suffered greatly under rigid legal, cultural, and moral constraints. When these authors face these terrible historical realities during research, their reaction is that they cannot engage the past on its own terms as their modern sensibilities refuse to accept that reality as it was and want to change it at all costs, generally with weak arguments such as “history is written by men” or “the victors,” and so on. The result is that they either create characters (usually female) who are anachronistic in personality, mentality, and behaviour, or they simply alter real history to appease their modern conscience.

Katherine Arden has done both in this novel, and I, who until now adored her ability to blend Fantasy with History whilst respecting the reality of a past era, ended up losing all faith in her as an author after this.

She took a real person, Duchess Anne of Brittany, and completely reshaped her, portraying her as an “empowered woman” who lost the battle to preserve her duchy’s independence from France’s greed. According to sources, Anne of Brittany was a brilliant and educated woman, the last female ruler of her fiefdom, that did everything she could to prevent its annexation by France. However, because she was politically and militarily weak, and that her father was defeated and died, she was forced into marriage twice, to two kings of France, ultimately losing the duchy despite her lifelong struggle for independence.

Ah, of course. Americans love Braveheart-style underdogs fighting tooth and nail for independence from a larger, more powerful neighbouring kingdom. After all, that’s the American founding mythos, their own origins as a nation. So it doesn’t surprise me that Katherine Arden read the history of Anne of Brittany and thought, “I feel sorry for the poor girl. What if I change the ending and have her win her war against the bad Frenchies?”

But to beat the Redcoats the bad Frenchies, you need money, soldiers, and strong allies. Everything Anne of Brittany lacked, and on top of that, she was a 12-year-old girl without a father or a powerful man to command troops to win her wars. Of course she was going to lose, what did you expect? What Katherine Arden came up with to “make her win” was rather ridiculous: she made her older than she actually was (in the novel, Anne is around twenty), gave her magical powers thanks to the Korriganed (a fairy folk from Breton folklore), made a unicorn appear that clearly shouldn’t have appeared to help her, and gave her a man to help her.

In other words, Anne of Brittany ended up winning thanks to magic and a man.

Oh, and the author also made the bad Frenchies, her rivals, look stupid so Anne could take them down at will.

How empowering.

In this 15th-century version of Brittany and France, people know about the korriganed of the mythical Forest of Brocéliande and accept magic and divination as if it were no biggie; they have no moral or religious conflict with magic, as would have been the case in reality. So when Anne proposes the unicorn hunt in Brocéliande as a way to delay her inevitable marriage to Charles VIII of France, no one questions it and everyone agrees, even though there haven’t been any unicorns in twenty years. And of course, during the hunt, a unicorn appears out of nowhere, and it’s Anne who sees it and “frees” it so that the hunters in her entourage won’t kill it.

Very convenient, indeed, and contrived. The problem is that it makes no sense that the one-horned creature appears to Anne of all people, no, sir. Why? Well, because Anne is no longer a “maiden.” She secretly married Maximilian of Austria by proxy in Brocéliande.

Yes, yes, I know! She insists she’s “still a virgin.” But the thing is, being a virgin isn’t enough to summon a unicorn; the unicorn requires purity, and that purity is both physical and spiritual. And Anne is already married, and on top of that, she’s a shameless liar for personal and political needs. Following the inner rules of the legend, a unicorn wouldn’t have gone near her.

And to top it all off, the same unicorn appears to her again and carries her on its back after she’s already had her fill of the amorous attentions of married man Louis d’Orléans. So, the unicorn that demands purity now accepts a double adulteress without a second thought, and to Hell with the logic of the legend.

Not to mention that before all this, Anne and Louis were rubbing together their private parts and sticking fingers in private holes whilst she insisted, “I have to stay a virgin,” and he spoke like a womaniser from a 1980s erotic novel with his “spread your legs for me” and her “you won’t hurt me” lines (yes, he really says that). Quite a way to stay pure for that unicorn, isn’t it?

And besides, the description of the korriganed doesn’t make much sense compared to the Breton folklore. According to the Breton tales, a korrigan is a mischievous, harmful faerie of ambiguous morality, and they can’t be trusted. But here, even though it’s “said” that can’t be trusted, they’re “shown” as helpful magical beings, and despite claims that they fear the Holy Cross and churches, they sneak into Christian holy places as if nothing was amiss (the abbess where Anne got married is an obvious example). Everything about them is convenient, and as if it wasn’t enough, the only truly evil “korrigan” turns out to be human.

Let’s not even talk about Isabeau, Anne’s younger sister, who in real life was already dead, but in this novel wanders round alone like a commoner girl playing with another commoner girl. Look, Isabeau was Anne’s heir, the one who would reign in Brittany if anything happened to Anne, and considering they’re at war with France, the heir to the duchy should be moving round with an escort of ladies and guards at all times, not alone with a peasant brat and a cat. Arden not only neglected internal consistency but also completely disregarded historical court protocol because she needed Isabeau to be easily kidnapped by the evil French and the Korriganed.

Perhaps my biggest complaint is the Manichean characterisation, with characters divided between “good” (all the Bretons, even the traitor Rieux) and “bad” or stupid (all the French). I had already resigned myself from the beginning to the fact that Anne of Brittany would be a whitewashed Mary Sue because the author liked her, but what was the need to whitewash the rest of them? The most whitewashed character of them all is Louis of Orléans. In real life, d’Orléans:

• Became Louis XII of France and annexed Brittany to France against Anne’s wishes after her early death (but in the novel, he’s a staunch supporter of Breton independence and Anne’s desires).
• Had at least one illegitimate child, but didn’t acknowledge nor legitimise it (but in the novel, he’s oh so loyal and faithful to the love of his life, Anne).
• He mistreated and humiliated his disabled first wife, Jeanne of France, during their marriage and especially during their acrimonious divorce, in which he made ableist and cruel remarks about his wife for her congenital health issues, and argued he couldn’t touch her because his wand went limp at her physical deformity, and his humiliated wife fought back (but in the novel, he doesn’t even notice Anne has one shorter leg and limps, he’s so respectful of the disabled, and nonchalantly tells Anne he’ll divorce his wife to marry her and that Jeanne will accept it readily because all she wants is to be a nun and a saint. What a hero, uh?)
• He invaded Italy to claim the Duchy of Milan and the Kingdom of Naples for France, with Anne’s full support, and was embroiled in long wars there (but in the novel, both are oh so great warriors for autonomy and independence from neighboring kingdoms, when in reality Anne only supported autonomy for her duchy and was fine with invading and colonising other independent countries; and the same goes for Louis despite his fictional platitudes in favour of the independence of Brittany and Orléans.)

The whitewashing here is truly excessive, but the “blackening” of the villains’ reputations is no less. What I disliked most was the way Anne de Beaujeu, Princess Regent of France and elder sister to Charles VIII, was dragged through the mud. As far as we know, Anne of France was a brilliant woman, formidable as a stateswoman and regent, and highly respected to the point that she was nicknamed Madame la Grande for her competence. She was in reality all that Arden wishes Anne of Brittany was in fiction.

But Katherine Arden changed Anne de Beaujeu’s name to Marguerite because “it was confusing to have two Annes at the same time” (her words, not mine). Wow, so this author can’t even differentiate between two people with the same name living and interacting at the same time, and her solution is to change the name of the more intelligent woman. Seriously? Doesn’t Katherine Arden have any friends, family, or sees people online with the same name?

I’m frustrated by this habit some authors have of treating readers as if we were dumb and changing names “because people would get confused.” With all due respect, please don’t be so condescending as to think we’re all like you and can’t tell one Anne from another. We handle people with the same name or username all the time these days, we have practice enough. And here there are only two, not a dozen Annes. Besides, if you wanted to make things easy for the reader with the names, why didn’t you do what people of the time did to differentiate so many people with the same name? Anne of France could have stayed Anne by simply calling her Madame la Grande or Anne de Beaujeau, as people at the time called her.

And apart from changing the name of this powerful woman, Arden made her seem more foolish, and easily outfoxed and outmanipulated by another woman who was an inexperienced little girl. What kind of empowerment and feminist messaging is this? The “other woman” has to be less competent and more wicked so that the Special Snowflake girl can shine.

The entire true history is altered solely to prevent Anne of Brittany from marrying Charles VIII, who here is a complete fool that only likes hunting and tournaments (contrary to how he was in reality). This is because the author didn’t like him and conjured up a magical “What If?” scenario in which Anne wins the war against France, but still marries Louis, who will eventually annex Brittany. The author also changes this, because the novel ends with Anne and Louis walking away to their HEA after winning and securing the independence of Brittany and Orléans from the French, and achieving peace and harmony with the Korriganed of the Lost Lands of Brocéliande.

And what about unicorns? Well, the author doesn’t like unicorns being killed in stories and legends; she’s sensitive about it. So she has Anne decree that unicorns will never again be hunted in her duchy. Oh, and by the way, that unicorn turned out to be a female unicorn. Please, forget that legend says unicorns are male; this author is so sensitive and feminist that she changes everything retroactively because that’s how you fight the patriarchy, huh?

If she had at least incorporated the theory that Anne of Brittany commissioned the Unicorn Tapestries into the plotline, it would have been lovely, but the author only mentions the theory in her endnotes and doesn’t say anything about it in the novel itself.

For all the choices she made, one has to wonder why Arden didn’t go for plain Fantasy or used fictional characters if she wanted to stick with historical fiction. She could’ve done like in Winternight: historical fantasy with fictional characters. It could’ve worked better than this second dud in a row, which makes me ask myself whether the Katherine Arden that enamoured me with Winternight is gone.

I received an ARC through NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.