Vonda N. McIntyre did something weird back in 1997. She wrote a book about the court of Louis XIV, added a literal sea monster, and somehow walked away with the Nebula Award, beating out George R.R. Martin’s A Game of Thrones. Think about that. The King's Daughter—originally published under the title The Moon and the Sun—is one of those rare literary anomalies that blends rigid historical accuracy with the kind of high-concept fantasy that usually feels out of place in a ballroom. It’s a book that people often stumble upon in used bookstores and wonder why they haven’t heard of it before, especially considering it was eventually turned into a Pierce Brosnan movie that sat on a shelf for years.
Honestly, the publishing history of this story is almost as dramatic as the plot itself.
What Actually Happens in The King's Daughter?
The premise is straightforward but deeply unsettling once you get into the grit of it. We are in the 17th century. King Louis XIV, the "Sun King," is obsessed with his own mortality. He's at the height of his power, but he’s terrified of dying. To solve this very human problem, he sends a Jesuit naturalist, Father Yves de la Croix, to find a mythical sea creature whose flesh is rumored to grant immortality.
He actually finds one.
He brings back a female mermaid, captive and miserable, to the fountains of Versailles. This is where the story shifts from a typical "monster hunt" to a complex character study. We see the world through the eyes of Marie-Josèphe de la Croix, the priest's sister. She’s a brilliant composer and mathematician, but because she’s a woman in the 1600s, she’s basically relegated to being a lady-in-waiting for the King’s legitimate daughter.
It's a claustrophobic setting. The opulence of Versailles is described with such thick detail you can almost smell the rotting food under the heavy perfumes. McIntyre doesn't shy away from the grosser parts of history. The filth. The casual cruelty. The way Marie-Josèphe realizes the "monster" in the fountain is actually an intelligent, sentient being capable of language and song—while the "civilized" men around her just see a source of meat.
Why the Title Change Confuses Everyone
If you go looking for this book, you might find it under two different names. This isn't a sequel situation. It’s a marketing pivot.
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The original 1997 title was The Moon and the Sun. It won the Nebula for Best Novel. It was a critical darling. Fast forward to the mid-2010s, and a film adaptation starring Pierce Brosnan and Kaya Scodelario was finally moving through production. To align with the movie, the book was re-titled The King's Daughter.
The movie had a rough ride. It was filmed in 2014, disappeared for nearly eight years, and finally hit theaters in 2022. Because the movie leaned heavily into the "princess" aesthetic and YA tropes, the book often gets miscategorized. People expect a light, fluffy fairy tale. What they get instead is a dense, scientifically-minded historical critique of religious dogma and gender roles. It’s a bait-and-switch that actually works in the reader's favor if you like stories with meat on their bones.
The Weird Science of 17th Century Biology
McIntyre was a powerhouse in the sci-fi world—she wrote some of the best Star Trek novels ever penned—and that analytical brain shows up here. Even though the book has a mermaid, it reads like hard science fiction.
Marie-Josèphe doesn't just "bond" with the creature through magic or feelings. She uses her knowledge of music theory and mathematics to bridge the communication gap. She treats the encounter as a biological puzzle. She observes the creature’s anatomy. She notes the frequency of its songs. It’s a fascinating look at how the Enlightenment era's budding scientific curiosity clashed with the stifling weight of the Catholic Church.
The conflict is real. Her brother, the priest, loves her but is blinded by his mission. He has to believe the creature is a "soulless beast" because if it isn't, he’s a murderer. That tension drives the second half of the book into some pretty dark places.
Historical Realism vs. Fantasy Tropes
Most historical fantasy cheats. They give the protagonist "modern" thoughts to make them likable. McIntyre avoids this trap. Marie-Josèphe is a woman of her time. She’s devout. She respects the hierarchy. She’s terrified of the King. Her rebellion isn't some "girl boss" moment; it’s a slow, painful realization that the systems she trusted are fundamentally broken.
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The book captures the specific insanity of Louis XIV’s court.
- The ritualized dressing of the King.
- The intense social pressure of being "in favor."
- The absolute power of a monarch who thinks he is literally chosen by God.
When you drop a sea creature into that environment, it acts as a mirror. The mermaid’s imprisonment reflects Marie-Josèphe’s own social imprisonment. It's subtle, and it's brilliant.
Why Did It Beat Game of Thrones?
This is the question every fantasy nerd asks eventually. In 1997, A Game of Thrones was the underdog. George R.R. Martin was a veteran writer, but the "grimdark" revolution hadn't fully taken over yet.
The King's Daughter (The Moon and the Sun) won because it was a perfect "literary" fantasy. It appealed to people who didn't usually like dragons and wizards. It felt sophisticated. It dealt with the history of science, the philosophy of the soul, and the politics of gender in a way that felt fresh. Looking back, both books are masterpieces, but McIntyre’s win shows how much the genre valued prose and thematic depth over sprawling world-building at the time.
Critical Reception and Modern Relevance
Today, the book holds up remarkably well. While the movie version was panned for being too generic, the source material remains a staple for anyone interested in "Silkpunk" or historical speculative fiction.
Reviewers from Publishers Weekly and Kirkus Reviews at the time of release praised its "lush prose" and "vivid reimagining" of the French court. It doesn't feel dated because it isn't reliant on 90s tropes. It’s a period piece that happens to have a sea monster in it.
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The central theme—the ethics of using a living being for one’s own gain—is arguably more relevant now than it was thirty years ago. We talk about animal rights and personhood all the time now. In the 90s, McIntyre was using a mermaid to talk about those exact same things under the nose of the Sun King.
How to Approach Reading It Today
If you’re going to pick up The King's Daughter, forget everything you saw in the movie trailer. The book is slower. It’s more contemplative.
- Don't rush the beginning. The first fifty pages are heavy on the etiquette of Versailles. It’s intentional. You need to feel how stifling the environment is to understand why the mermaid is such a threat to the status quo.
- Pay attention to the music. Marie-Josèphe’s compositions aren't just background noise. The way McIntyre describes the intersection of math and music is key to how the humans and the sea creature eventually communicate.
- Look for the "immortality" subtext. The King’s fear of death is the engine of the plot. It makes every character's decision feel desperate.
The ending is bittersweet. It’s not a "happily ever after" where everyone gets what they want. It’s a realistic conclusion to an impossible situation. Marie-Josèphe has to make a choice between her status, her family, and what she knows to be morally right.
Next Steps for Readers
If you've finished the book or are looking for something similar, check out Dreamsnake by the same author. It’s another Nebula winner that deals with biology and ethics in a post-apocalyptic setting. Also, look into the real history of Louis XIV’s "Menagerie" at Versailles. Many of the animals described in the book—minus the mermaid—were actually kept in those gardens, and the accounts of how they were treated are just as wild as the fiction.
For those interested in the film versus book comparison, seek out the 1997 hardcover edition of The Moon and the Sun. The cover art and the original formatting capture the "baroque" feel of the story much better than the movie-tie-in paperbacks. It’s a piece of fantasy history that deserves a spot on your shelf next to the more famous epics of the era.