Bizarrely enough - my thoughts having taken some time to percolate - Land of the Beautiful Dead was almost more moving and more poignant through its exploration of grief just as pronouncedly its romance. Or rather, it’s an excellent demonstration of how romance, part-character study, part-mystery, part-horror, part-whateverthefuck, can be used to explore ideas in really unique and special ways...
it’s so heartbreaking and beautiful, like, in the name Land of the Beautiful Dead - you get this idea that, oh, there’s Azrael’s idea of beauty, which is this type of incorruptible yet necroromantic influence, and everybody who has arisen fucking hates his guts, but he loves them desperately - and he can’t let go - but then you realise as the book unfolds what is beautiful is death, which he actually spurns. He doesn’t let people die. And to die is horrible, but it is also necessary, and it is also beautiful, sweet relief, and because he cannot die he cannot understand how to live, but Lan turns up.
All those little heroes who wanted to kill him could not understand his wound (and he’s literally a walking wound - he carries deep and plentiful pains), and obviously - major spoilers - she comes to intimately understand him by the end and become just like him, deathless, but appreciative of life. Azrael, because he cannot die, you’d think, would never be able to understand life and how precious it is, but through Lan he does, and he appreciates her death equally too, but they can also have their cake and eat it and be together forever. He has finally learnt his lesson, and so too has Lan: people, even dead, aren’t really gone, as they name their new home after her mother, and she can finally confront the wound of her mother’s death, the wound that had equally helped her heal the world and help Azrael.
Such a devastatingly beautiful book.