What Fury Brings (Wrath and Fury, 1)

I only pick a handful of romance, dark romance, or romantasy books each year. This is not because there’s anything wrong with the genre or the stories they tell, honestly, the few well-written ones I’ve read are deeply precious to me, but because many in this genre tend to glorify abuse, endorse stereotypes, and fail to acknowledge that we are not defined by our gender, but are uniquely individual, capable of strengths and flaws beyond dictated gender norms. To start, if you are considering this book, be prepared to confront any internalized sexist values you may still hold, no matter how deeply buried they might be. I cringed at every mention of "Good boy," until I realized that the phrases "good girl" or "insert adjective-girl" used towards grown women in numerous books, movies, and everyday conversations didn’t elicit the same reaction from me. It’s important to think critically and not dismiss your discomfort without analyzing its aspects and understanding why it bothers you enough to dislike it. This discomfort may reveal the gendered conditioning embedded in how we are taught to perceive power, desire, and coercion. Finally, be sure to read the author’s note before diving into the story. What Brings Fury is a dark fantasy that tackles one of those classic tropes and makes it uncomfortable for readers. It takes the typical "beastly captor" dynamic and flips it: in this story, the woman kidnaps a man to make him her husband - an act that, when performed by a male character in countless beloved stories, is often romanticized, symbolic, or even mythic. The book loudly and categorically asserts that power can corrupt either gender, and that cruelty or kindness are not exclusive to one gender. The world within this book depicts a radical reversal of power between the FMC’s Amarran matriarchy and the toxic patriarchy of Brutus of the MMC. It also explores the magic of the Goddess's Gift and the shocking systems of "justice" grounded in institutionalized vengeance. Through its narrative, the book delves into brutal politics and character psychology, posing the central question: Can love and empathy survive in a world defined by fury? What really struck me was how effectively Levenseller highlights the double standards in the genre. Many systems and traditions within Amarran society reflect our own culture and history. If we aren’t shocked and disgusted by our real world, and we aren't actively working to change it, yet feel offended by a reflection of it in a book, some introspection is necessary to understand why that might be. For years, stories like Beauty and the Beast, Wuthering Heights, and various Hades–Persephone retellings have glorified coercive male behavior as something tragic or profound. However, when Levenseller flips the script and assigns a woman that same power, it feels risky in a way we aren’t accustomed to. The book examines how much we overlook in male characters and how quickly we react when a woman displays dominance or aggression. This discomfort appears to be intentional, and it contributes to the novel’s strength. Ultimately, it reveals that society seems to accept men displaying hostile sexism, only to redeem them when they switch to benevolent sexism. But finds it more challenging to do so when the roles are reversed. Overall, while the story and plot are somewhat typical of the genre, and the writing is decent and engaging, what I gained from this book is a perspective and an opportunity to think past my knee-jerk reaction.