Not Your Orientalist Fantasy: The Inner Palace in The Apothecary Diaries
Ok my Apothecary fam, this is gonna be a long post but a positive one, so bear with me :3
I’ve loved historical fiction since forever, especially when it’s not centered around Western/white history. But loving the genre comes with a lot of frustration too. Depending on who’s writing, when they’re writing, and how well they researched (or didn’t), it can easily fall into stereotyping or misinformation.
Recently, I read two historical novels set in empires that depicted versions of a harem:
📖 Alamut by Vladimir Bartol, set in medieval Iran, and
Both stories include spaces where women live together, sometimes as concubines, nobles, queens, wifes. Sometimes as political actors, sometimes just as plot devices. And both got me thinking: why did I hate those depictions, but love the inner palace in The Apothecary Diaries? Honestly, the way this story handles gendered spaces of power feels smarter, more complex, and more real than a lot of so-called “serious” historical novels.
⚠️ I'm manga + anime only (for now), and this is based on that part of the series (I’ve read up to ch. 80.2 and watched both seasons). Please do not spoil me in the discussions <3
Orientalism vs nuance — how fiction fails (and why this manga doesn’t)
"Harem" is a loaded term in the West. It’s shaped far more by the Western colonial imagination than by actual historical realities. Yes, polygynous systems existed in many empires : Rajput and Mughal India, Qing China, the Ottoman empire, Persia, Egypt, etc. The word harem once meant protection, intimacy, and even a form of soft power. But colonial narratives twisted it into a fantasy, full of sex, silence, and subjugation.
In Alamut, women are brainwashed playthings in a pleasure fortress. Drugs, alcohol, and softcore orgies make it feel like a colonial fever dream. This doesn't surprise me because Vladimir Bartol, the author of the novel, never went to Persia and everything he wrote was inspired by Marco Pollo's writing. Oh ! Another white traveler.
In The Architect’s Apprentice, things are less cartoonish, but still... uneasy. The harem remains this mysterious closed space, romanticized and framed through the male narrator’s gaze. Eventhough the author Elif Shafak, is turkish and a women, I feel that some of her writing does carry stereotypes. And honestly? Even when we’re part of the cultures being depicted, many of us still carry a Western gaze. That’s colonization. That’s the power of dominant narratives.
So I always feel tense when fiction tackles these gendered spaces — especially when it exoticizes women of color as either voiceless victims or sexualized enigmas. Queerness is often fetishized in these depictions too — as a kind of Orientalist fantasy layered over the women’s bodies.
But The Apothecary Diaries? It avoids all that. It doesn’t pretend these systems were fair or ideal. But it also doesn’t pretend they were empty cages.
The inner palace is a social world, not an orgie in disguise
What I love in Apothecary Diaries is that the inner palace isn’t just a backdrop for seduction.
It’s full of life, of power games, alliances, daily routines, and deeply human connections. You see friendships, rivalries, maternal bonds. You see court ladies trained in arts, etiquette, sometimes even politics. Gyokuyou helping Lihua when they are both pregnant. The bond between Lishu and Ah Duo, as a mother-daughter relationship. Maomao’s friendship with Xiaolan and Shisui. All of it builds a world where women are active agents, even in constrained roles.
So many stories rely on shock value when depicting women in these systems : rape, abuse, trauma. Not to say these things didn’t happen, but they’re so often presented in voyeuristic, almost titillating ways.
The Apothecary Diaries shows us something rarer: the real problems and emotional costs of those systems, without sensationalizing them.
The quiet pain of Gyokuyou, who knows she’ll never have the emperor to herself.
Fuyou, a princess who uses the inner palace as a hiding place, waiting for her beloved, and cleverly tricking the emperor into leaving her alone.
Lihua’s illness, shaped by the grief of losing her child.
These stories show us that suffering here isn’t always loud or dramatic. Sometimes it’s slow, soft, made of waiting and quiet resignation.
And yes, even the deeply disturbing behavior of the previous emperor is part of this reality. His pedophilia was known and frowned upon, yet tolerated, simply because he held ultimate power. No one could stop him. That’s part of the horror too.
The ecosystem of the inner palace and the lives of its women reflect the world outside: sorority, friendship, sisterhood, but also rivalry, violence, loneliness, and class divides.
It’s complex. And that’s exactly what makes it such a compelling story.
Women navigating patriarchy with intelligence and strategy
Yes, the system is patriarchal. Of course it is. The emperor decides, men rule. But within this system, women still find ways to carve out space — to survive, to strategize, sometimes even to thrive like Gyokuyou.
Some rely on wit, alliances, or sheer luck to stay afloat. Others, like Shenmei, actively choose this world, seeking honor, influence, and status, even when their heart lies elsewhere. They become part of the palace’s political machinery, navigating its codes and ambitions like anyone else trying to rise within empire.
And then there are those like Lishu, quietly protected — not because of their own agency, but because the palace, for all its rules, still offers more safety than the world beyond its walls.
And what I found particularly brilliant is how the series draws parallels between the inner palace and the pleasure quarters.
Both are systems where women are sexualized, yes. But both also offer women a kind of agency. The courtesans of the red light district, much like Indian tawaifs or Japanese geishas, are shown choosing who to marry, managing their careers, teaching the arts — even sexual education.
Remember when Maomao teaches a noblewoman about sex based on what she learned from the brothel? That’s cultural memory, feminine expertise, and class intersection all in one.
Class, gender, and masculinity deconstructed
I also love how the story explores declassed masculinities.
By that, I mean men who don’t sit at the top of the patriarchal hierarchy. They don’t hold full institutional power, nor do they always benefit from sexual or social dominance.
Take the eunuchs, for example. In a lot of Western fiction, eunuchs are mocked, caricatured, or reduced to tragic figures. But The Apothecary Diaries offers a much richer range of portrayals.
We have two doctors: one naïve and kind, Guen and, the other competent and respected, Luomen. There’s also Gaoshun, who has a family — something rare to see in fiction for an eunuch but historically accurate ! These characters are layered, each have different stories. Some are influential and respected. They represent a masculinity that exists outside the norm — marginalized, yes, but far from powerless.
Even Jinshi, with his complicated background, plays with gender expectations. He’s perceived as delicate, elegant, “too beautiful to be taken seriously” — which creates a tension between his apparent softness and his hidden political strength. He performs fragility to disarm people, while holding real authority.
Lihaku, on the other hand, is more of a traditional male figure but his tenderness, his devotion to Pailin, and his friendship with Maomao make him stand out. As a man from a lower class, he also faces barriers and prejudice. He doesn't coast on masculine privilege alone — he has to fight for space in this strategic, stratified society.
Even the current emperor isn’t reduced to a brutish patriarch who exploits women. He cares for Lishu, Gyokuyou, and Ah-Duo in different ways — as a father, a companion, a partner in trust. He’s witty, clever, emotionally attuned. But he too is trapped by his role. He has to marry for political reasons. We see this when he visits Lolan because her family is powerful — despite clearly having no physical interest in her and no admiration for her personality. It’s duty, not desire.
None of these men fit the traditional mold of patriarchal power.
And that’s what makes it so refreshing. The Apothecary Diaries doesn’t just explore how women survive under patriarchy. It also shows how men who don’t fit the dominant script navigate it too.
Some of this is clearly designed to appeal to modern audiences — no, this isn’t 100% historically accurate. But it still breaks many stereotypes about men in palace life with harems. They’re not just simping 25/7 for the women. They’re not defined solely by desire or power over the harem. They have their own lives, their own griefs, and their own constraints. And that’s rare to see.
When the Gaze Isn’t Male or White
Western historical dramas like Versailles, The Tudors, or The Crown are full of royal mistresses, political marriages, lovers used as pawns. And yet. We don’t exoticize Anne Boleyn the same way we exoticize, say, Hürrem Sultan or Nur Jahan.
The reason? Racism. We romanticize white women’s sexuality and political maneuvering, but frame women of color in imperial settings as either victims or temptresses. It’s tiring.
I honestly think this complexity in The Apothecary Diaries and how it breaks stereotypes, is one of the reasons the anime is so popular. It has layers. And one major reason is that the story is told through the eyes of a woman.
Maomao doesn’t romanticize or demonize the Inner Palace or the Pleasure District. She observes with curiosity, empathy, and sharp analysis. It brings in a rare kind of female gaze: one that sees both pain and resilience, both survival and ambition.
That’s the beauty of Maomao’s narration. It doesn’t flatten or moralize, it understands.
These types of point of view are essentials in fiction. Because how we tell history affects how we see each other. Because stories like The Apothecary Diaries offer us a view of the past that isn’t filtered through a white, Christian, male lens.
Because these systems were patriarchal — but they were also complex, dynamic, and full of real human lives. And fiction that gets that? Is precious.
