Book Review: The Wine-Dark Daughter (The Wine-Dark #1) by Damien J. Coluccio

The Wine-Dark Daughter by Damien J. Coluccio

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Series: The Wine-Dark #1

Genre: Mythology, Fantasy  

Pages: 419 pages (e-book edition)

Publish date: 28th August 2024 (self-published)

Cover Art Illustration by: Pop Type Studio in collaboration with Author’s Own Publishing

A good red wine, to this reviewer’s mind, is lush, velvety, and smooth with a bold profile. The layers of rich, nuanced taste should unravel slowly, with each sip revealing a new depth and complexity. This is the reading experience one can expect from Coluccio’s debut novel, The Wine-Dark Daughter, which captivates the senses and immerses readers in a story suffused with only the boldest of flavours.

“History is littered with the fates of mortals who rose too close to the gods.”

Returning triumphant from the cursed city of Urruc — where even the divine dare not tread — Desma has brought wealth, power, and victory to her home kingdom of Apasa. Among the treasures is the revered Belt of Turan, said to have adorned the hips of the Goddess of Love herself.
Desma’s mother, the High Priestess Timothea, calls for a celebration in the temple to honour the priceless find. But when unwanted visitors attempt to lay claim to the treasure, the High Priestess is brutally slain. To save her distraught father from eternal shame, Desma commits an unforgivable sin that saves his soul — and damns hers.
Pronounced unclean by the King and banished from her home, Desma is forced to live by a punishing set of rules that set her apart from society. Her only hope of reclaiming her life is to be cleansed by a merciful kingdom.
But Desma’s path to redemption is littered with the dark truths of love and power…

The Wine-Dark Daughter is Coluccio’s debut novel as a self-published author. Unfortunately for the rest of us would-be authors still labouring away at our first novels, Coluccio has set the bar exceedingly high. It is, in all likelihood, a fear that resides deep in the heart of every novelist who wants to pave their own way to publishing that their novel will come across as exactly that: self-published. It is an intrinsic feeling readers can manifest, given how saturated the book market is, that the novel they have in front of them is not quite of the same calibre as a traditionally published work—whether it be something intangible about the language, the pacing, the characters, or the world. And so, I will lay it out in no uncertain terms: The Wine-Dark Daughter does not read as self-published. There is no esoteric layer of meaning, subtext, or response from this reader’s mind attempting to suggest that the work is anything other than its best self or somehow lacking the shaping and professionalism that traditional publishing provides. This novel is a sensation out the gate, Coluccio’s work lovingly infused with the flourish, crispness, and undeniable presence of an experienced author.

“Desma and Cela joined in upon the second cycle of the song. Cela was silver bells and harps. Desma was thrumming strings and echoing halls. The song was a rope flung out to the city and Apasa caught it with both hands, gladly pulling them into her safe shores, always the welcoming mother and protector.”

Coluccio’s greatest strength, to my mind, is the pervasive style and lyricism that underpins the novel. Unafraid of luscious descriptions, Wine-Dark is defined by its vivid details, the sensory experiences of its characters, and a sense of poetry to its prose. From descriptions of hair and clothing to food or the temples of ancient gods, Coluccio does not let opportunities to paint his world in the brightest colours pass him by. This effect is so pervasive and integral to the story that I would even assert that the novel’s sense of pace is tied to these descriptions. They pulled me in and through any given scene, the pages disappearing beneath imagery of incandescent skies or moon-lit temples, scents of rose-water, apple and myrrh, and evocative character descriptions that belong not to the written word but to the artistic renderings of the Renaissance. Here’s but a small description of some food: ‘Soon, the table was filled with a delicious spread. Mint-crusted lamb, soft bread spiced with cassia, eggs boiled with rosemary, the peppery goat cheese, lashings of lemon juice, and honey-soaked oranges, all accompanied by wine that tasted like wildflowers’. Try not to get saliva on your electronic device. How about describing someone’s hair as, ‘the colour of ambrosial wine, of crushed berries, of the deep sea alight with a drowning sun.’ Or, if physical description is not your preference, try this description of being denied entry to the afterlife due to one’s own act of sin: ‘They were locked out and forgotten. Drifting in fog and dark waters, held together by their own memories until they too forgot who they were and faded into a fate worse than death — being forgotten by mortal and deity and earth.’ These are but small examples of Wine-Dark’s compelling prose, filling the spaces between its dialogue and primary plot with gorgeous embellishments, depicting a world only possible inside the heart of classic lore and myth.

And what world it is. Evidently inspired by Greek and Roman mythology but with a flavour all its own, Wine-Dark creates a world and pantheon of gods that simultaneously feels familiar yet distinct. Coluccio makes winks and nods towards the mythology any Percy Jackson or Circe fan would adore—I see you, Phersipnai, wife of the Under-God Aita, and I’m sure you’d get along swimmingly with Cisra’s sister who lives on her own island but has an unfortunate tendency to turn strangers into livestock. Moreover, the map at the front of the novel indicates that the world is, in fact, an alternate universe of sorts to our own, complete with the distinctive boot-shaped peninsula across the Middle Sea from a sharp collection of inlets that Alexander would just love to covet. Beyond these references, however, the depth and breadth of the unique worldbuilding is impressive, especially in the interplay of the pantheon in relation to the cities and societies that sprang from it. Readers will have the pleasure of experiencing three societies in this novel: the sincere and lush portrait of Apasa and its temples dedicated to Turan, the goddess of love; the far-flung shores of Trilos, devoted to the forge god Sethlans; and the towering pines of Koriithos and its harbour of rocky islands, covered in statues committed to the God of the Deeps, Nethuns. These societies, their people, their beliefs, and the look of their cities are all delicately carved. They portray a diverse and textured world that (while born of a shared pantheon) feels lived-in and well-defined.

So how does this story, with its lush descriptions and profound worldbuilding, actually read? What experience can a reader expect? I think the feeling this novel evokes is best portrayed by my personal favourite descriptions of this world, describing places that are (largely) off-page. Firstly, there is Aventinus: ‘a city of lacework bridges and slender spires, red and pink quartz domes, golden statues, streets paved with white and grey marble and lined with walls of silver and sea glass… known as the City of Birds… the sky was filled with sparrows that flitted and chirped from the first hint of dawn.’ Secondly, the lost city of Urruc: ‘From the shifting sands and howling winds, under the blistering sun and by the untamed sea … they built Urruc … Ruled by Dune-Kings and Wind-Queens who worshipped a Being who was the Light in the Night, a city never before seen and ever after sought, rose from the dust and clay … It was a city that would be the first and be the last. Everlasting.’ And third, but certainly not least, the realm of the Gods, primarily the Forge of Sethlans: ‘She entered the dark, sulphureous workroom, choking on the stench and soot in the air. Following the sound of a heavy hammer falling endlessly, metal ringing on metal, and the fierce crackle of fires that never grew cold … she knew a number of baths would be required to clean the oil and smoke from her feathers. Creation was a messy and dirty business. But a necessary one.’ Each of these descriptions I felt compelled to share, for they highlight just how clearly Coluccio sees and understands his world. These details, combined with rich descriptions teeming with life and nostalgia, means that the worldbuilding of this story does not sit idly by, waiting to be called upon, but boldly declares itself and launches readers into a world of sensory delight.

“Wine as dark as the sea. As dark as Desma’s hair. As dark as her father’s blood.”

I could wax poetic on the author’s prose until the cows come home, settle into their beds of hay, and sit back with a glass of red to read the book I so enthusiastically described. However, we all know beautiful words such as these are nothing without a story. Luckily for us, Wine-Dark does not disappoint. Without getting deep into spoiler territory, the novel is ultimately a story of redemption. Desma, although her acts were committed for all the right reasons, is cast from her society for an unforgivable sin. This ignites a quest across the continent to seek her atonement. However, Coluccio doesn’t let the story stagnate into the familiar or trope-filled quest for personal betterment. Instead, he interweaves nuanced subplots with strong thematic material, such as righteousness, religion and accosted belief systems, meddling gods, found family, greed, institutional corruption and political intrigue. It is so refreshing to read a quest plot and not feel burdened by the often trite or overworked sequence of typical quest plots. The story is alive with Coluccio’s words, crafting something that stands out as new while embracing the familiar.
My only critique of this novel is that some of the storylines didn’t round out as I felt they should have. Primarily, the revenge plot and the corresponding schemes of Bishop Camillus and the Belt of Turan didn’t eventuate as strongly as I hoped they would by the end of the novel. The level of hatred Desma derives from Camillus’ acts and the loss of faith she experiences as a result were the initial drivers of Desma’s quest for redemption. I felt that these plots should have come back in stronger force as the story drew to its conclusion in order to wrap up Desma’s redemption plot, or even only to up the stakes further in preparation for the next book. They don’t quite play out that way, left instead to simmer in the background. However, that groundwork is there—Camillus and the schemes of Aventinus will become apparent as the series progresses, of that I am certain. Moreover, this lack of resolution was not enough to dissuade me from this book, nor even lower its rating. Why? Because the thematic work at play throughout the novel created a layered story that invigorates the reader, even where some things are left unresolved. Desma and her crew are forced into situations that challenge them but also challenge the reader to think critically and see past the familiar to the distinctions that lay beneath. Does a goddess of love only ever use love for good? How does one forgive a person they love for an act of destruction that destroys everything they know? How do you reconcile your faith when your very existence is rejected by the god you had dedicated your life to? There is also a lingering sense of fluidity in sexuality which is diffused through the story, opening the reader’s mind to the normative conditions of the world the story resides inside of. So, while this story is a quest that bears the hallmarks of a tried-and-true plot type (and in my opinion falls slightly short on wrapping up the expectations of that plot), that is my only issue with this story. For all other purposes, Wine-Dark fills in between the lines of its plot with shade and shadow, propelling the characters through a nuanced and satisfying adventure.

And I would be remiss to write this review and not mention the exceptional cast of characters that Wine-Dark introduces the reader to.
Desma’s perspective is the primary perspective of this novel—a daughter of a high priestess and an adventurer in her own right, her story sees her soaring from the highest highs and plummeting to the lowest lows. Interestingly, the story is multi-POV, but only switches POV when deemed necessary to further the plot. This was not a detriment to me at all, but added much needed clarity and conciseness of plot without having to ‘jump heads’ inside a scene. It gave the main character, Desma, the space to breathe and substantiate her own storyline without bogging her perspective down. This is especially important as her character arc is deeply personal. Redemption is no easy task, especially for someone with an innate level of righteousness such as that which she possesses. But where she is embittered by her expulsion from society, she too also finds her grace and strength of character in the people that surround her. With banter, humour, a level of wisdom, and an unexpected number of boxes full of snakes, the found family surrounding Desma breathe life into this story. They provide a level of comic relief, help push the plot forward in interesting ways, and contribute to the thematic tension, providing contrasting and distinct perspectives. This approach is revitalising in the age of ‘banter for banter’s sake’ friendship groups that pervade a lot of fantasy works at present, forcing character dynamics that make some characters indistinguishable from one another. How does Coluccio navigate a large cast? By way of explanation, let me highlight my favourite side characters. There’s Mynta, a plus-sized, body-positive politician’s daughter who breaks free from societal expectations of her body and her mind. Or perhaps you prefer Cosmas, the humorous and enigmatic quartermaster who disappears for days at a time, only to reappear with a quip and unexpected knowledge on his lips. Then there’s Timothea, Desma’s mother, a conflict-ridden and deceitful high priestess whose god has abandoned her and who would do anything to bring them back. While these are just some of the characters amongst a diverse cast, Coluccio takes great effort to create characters you can believe in.

In all, Coluccio's debut novel, The Wine-Dark Daughter, is a masterclass in immersive storytelling and lyrical prose, showcasing Coluccio's remarkable ability to craft a richly detailed world and intricate, compelling characters. Coluccio has set an impressive standard for self-published works, making this book a must-read for fans of mythology and epic fantasy.