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I recently reread Gideon the Ninth and Harrow the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir, in part because Nona the Ninth was coming out and in part because I just wanted to see if I could understand them any better.  And I did, so that was reassuring — these books really repay close reading.  I also realized how cleverly Harrow was put together; some memories are false, some events are hallucinations, some people are lying, and the trick is separating what is real from what never happened. I was ready, I thought; bring on the new book!  And then I read it…

And we’re pretty much starting over.  There’s a new setting, the planet of the Sixth House.  Nona is new as well — or is she?  She seems to have become conscious about six months ago, though she appears older than that.  She’s being helped, “raised” in a sense, by three people, the necromancer and cavalier of the Sixth House, Palamedes and Camilla Hect, and Pyrrha Dve, the Emperor’s lover.  Or there are only two people; Camilla and Palamedes are time-sharing Camilla’s body, though neither one is conscious while the other person is in charge.  Muir shows how tragic this is; they have a true necromancer-cavalier bond, each respecting and admiring the other, each with talents the other needs.  But they are unable to communicate, and the only way they can connect is by taking turns to record their thoughts or write them down.

In fact Muir expands her range a lot in this book.  Nona is nothing like the power-hungry or unhappy people we’ve seen in the earlier books.  She’s a child thrilled by the world, excited by everything, in love with everyone.  She is wonderfully believable despite the fact that she lives in a kind of hellhole, with slums and food shortages and gangs, and in addition to all of that a blue Resurrection Beast is hovering in the sky, causing some people to go mad.

But who is she?  The other inhabitants of the household seem to think she might be Harrow, and they keep a close watch on her and ask her questions about her dreams.  Meanwhile everyone has an agenda, and Nona, with only a few months of experience, is unsure who she can trust.  Not because she thinks they might harm her, but because she loves all of them.

As with Harrow, there’s a section in second person, where John Gaius, also known as God, tells his story to … someone.  I very much liked getting some explanations for a change, instead of more mysteries.

Because I have to admit I didn’t understand parts of this book either.  I was pretty sure some of these characters had died in earlier books, and yet here they are, if not alive then managing to hang on in some way, like Camilla and Palamedes.  Others are, as Miracle Max says in The Princess Bride, “only mostly dead.”  What happened to them?  How did they get to that point?  Guess I’ll have to reread this one too, probably around when Alecto the Ninth comes out.

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This was the year I discovered that fantasy and science fiction will never run out of great women writers.  The following is a list of my favorite books of the year, but it was only after setting them down this way that I realized they have something else in common…

Maria Dahvana Headley, trans., Beowulf: I reviewed this in my last blog post.  Gorgeous writing, startling takes on some of the characters, gutsy choices, and very readable.

Arkady Martine, A Memory Called Empire: Mahit Dzmare becomes Ambassador to the planet/ city Teixcalaan, the center of a vast empire.  Something has happened to the last Ambassador, Yskandr Aghavn, but no one on Lsel, the space station where she lives, is sure what.  Yskandr’s imago, a record of his knowledge and memory of Teixcalaan, has been implanted in her brain, but unfortunately it’s from fifteen years ago and out of date.  Even worse, it stops working when imago-Yskandr learns something shocking about his life.

There’s a lot of intrigue, which I always enjoy, especially when Mahit pretends to be a simple barbarian from the provinces, and the Teixcalaanlitzlim let their guard down around her.  The characterization is great — we meet the people around Mahit at the same time she does, knowing nothing about them, so their personalities are revealed gradually, by the things they do and not by an initial expository lump.

There’s more to the book than that, though.  Mahit arrives on Teixcalaan already half in love with the culture, based on the poetry and planetary epics she’s read as a child.   But she is also a Stationer, and the empire has their eyes on Lsel Station as their next conquest.  And in a sense Lsel has already been conquered, by the cultural artifacts they receive from Teixcalaan.  How do you hold on to your sense of mission, to yourself, when faced with the splendor of the empire, when the Teixcalaanlitzlim call you “barbarian” and insist that they have the only civilization?

And how do you hold on to yourself when you have the memories of someone else inside your head?  Do you start to believe the same things?  Which thoughts are yours, and which are the other person’s?

A Memory Called Empire does a lot with the concept of identity.  I don’t mean that people wander around having long, boring discussions on the subject, but that the question is woven through the book and turns out to be vitally important.  Mahit, for example, has to examine her feelings closely before she does anything, including fall in love.

I read reviews where people hated the Teixcalaanli names, which are of the order of Three Seagrass and Two Calendar.  To me they sound like Aztec or Mayan naming systems, with their different calendrical cycles of names and numerals, so that a person gets a unique name based on the day they were born: Seven Crocodile or Twelve Flower.  The people of Teixcalaan look sort of Mayan too; classical features include “lush mouth, low forehead, perfectly hooked nose, eyes like deep brown pools.”  If there is some Mayan connection, I have to say I love the modern updates, like Six Helicopter or Thirty-Six All-Terrain Tundra Vehicle.

The writing is somehow straightforward and poetic at the same time.  I had a very minor quibble with it, which is that way too many words are italicized.  “It was nevertheless very much a place someone had lived in…,” to take a random sentence.  How can the concept of “lived in” be heightened beyond what it already is?  But this is a tiny problem, and I can’t imagine too many people even noticed it.

Tamsyn Muir, Gideon the Ninth: For a book about reanimated skeletons and grisly deaths, this is a lot of fun.  Harrow, the heir of the Ninth House, and Gideon, her cavalier and the best swordswoman on the planet, are summoned by the Emperor, who is looking for replacements for his Lyctors.  Then people start dying.  Meanwhile, Gideon and Harrow have to work out their difficult relationship, made more complex by the fact that Harrow is a necromancer and can raise armies of the dead when she gets annoyed.  Longer review here.

Muir’s Harrow the Ninth is on this list only provisionally.  It raised a lot of questions, or, to put it another way, it confused the hell out of me.  Based on Gideon, Muir seems to know exactly what she’s doing, so the second book in the series will probably turn out to be as brilliant as the first, but I’m waiting for the third book before I commit myself.  Longer review here.

———

Weirdest character name of 2020:  A cop named Marcel Duchamp in Stephen King’s "If It Bleeds."

lisa_goldstein: (pic#11299236)
When I write a review I usually try to do what everyone else does: give a summary of the book and then some idea of what I thought about it.  So I guess this isn’t a review of Harrow the Ninth, because my reaction when I finished it was, “What the f*ck did I just read?”

Harrow revisits some of the events in Gideon the Ninth, but it’s a weird, funhouse version of what happened, where instead of Gideon it’s Ortus, her old cavalier, who accompanies her to the meeting of the Houses.  Meanwhile, in the present, Harrow meets the Emperor himself, disconcertingly called God, and three other Lyctors, and trains for the Emperor’s war against the Resurrection Beast.  Her fellow newly created Lyctor, the opportunistic Ianthe, is there too.  This part is told in the second person — “You went to your room” —which I really hate a lot: it has the precious quality of literary fiction without actually having to be literary.  Also, for the first chapter or so, I usually find myself thinking, Nope, still right here.

Harrow has deeper problems than just her memory, though.  She sometimes sees the Body from the Locked Tomb of the Ninth House, though no one else does, and she reads letters that to other people are just blank pages.  In other words, she is the most untrustworthy point-of-view character in the history of untrustworthy p.o.v. characters: I wouldn’t rely on her to give me directions to the end of the block.

In addition to that, the three older Lyctors are extremely powerful, and one of them keeps trying to kill her.  Or does he?  I mean, can we really trust Harrow’s perception here?  Is the body of a dead Lyctor really getting up and walking around, and if so, why doesn’t Ianthe see it too?

And everyone keeps having cryptic conversations —

“He’s fine.”
“You call that fine —”
“ — sudden access of sympathy a little uncharacteristic when —”
“Not difficult to imagine that maybe —”
“Don’t,” God said, sitting back down with some difficulty.

—  and dead people keep coming back to life, and the older Lyctors keep changing allegiances, or reality.  Those Lyctors are so powerful, in fact, that at the end things seem to pop up out of nowhere, with no reason, though sometimes, thank God, they’re explained later.  (God himself doesn’t give a lot of explanations, though.)  And if you ask me to clarify what happened in the last chapter I would probably stare blankly, or start reciting from The Nonniad, Ortus’s multivolume work of epic poetry.

And yet.  Some things are answered.  Other things probably would be, if I had read more carefully.  There turns out to be an actual reason for the second-person viewpoint, which happens so rarely I nearly cheered. *  And I’m eagerly looking forward to the third book, which means this one succeeded on the most basic level, that of telling a good story.  Maybe it’ll clear some things up.  I hope so, anyway.

——
* Other books that use the second person for reasons other than the fact that it sounds cool are Complicity, by Iain Banks, and The Fifth Season, by N.K Jemisin.
lisa_goldstein: (pic#11299236)
The philosophy of many of the characters in Gideon the Ninth is not so much “Life sucks, and then you die” as “Life is filled with nameless, gibbering horrors, and even death will not release you.”  But for a book filled with horrible situations nearly guaranteed to end in death, Gideon the Ninth is a lot of fun.

Take Harrowhark, for example — All but one of the children in the Ninth House died before she was born, and her parents died when she was ten.  That made her the head of the House, an order of decaying great-aunts, nuns praying rosaries made out of knucklebones, and reanimated skeletons.  She also finds herself in charge of the Locked Tomb, making sure that whatever’s in there doesn’t get out.

Then there’s Gideon, the child who survived.  Harrow, the only person her own age, hates her for reasons Gideon doesn’t understand.  Unfortunately for Gideon, Harrow is a necromancer, someone who can (and does) raise an army of skeletons just to torment her.

But they don’t sit around wringing their hands and crying “Woe is me.”  Harrow preserves her dead parents and works them like puppets; that and painting her face in the traditional skull mask and speaking in cryptic utterances convinces the people of the Ninth to follow her, even at her young age.  Gideon trains to be the best swordswoman on the planet.  So when the Emperor summons them and the heirs of the other seven houses to the planet of the First House, they are actually in a good position to survive what’s waiting for them

The Emperor died ten thousand years ago and resurrected himself, becoming enormously powerful.  Then he and those who served him, the Lyctors, disappeared.  Now most of those Lyctors are dead or nearly so, and he is looking for their replacements.  The Lyctors are strong necromancers and very long lived, so naturally there is a lot of jockeying for the position.

But when the representatives of the various Houses get to the Emperor’s planet, they are given a key and almost no further instructions.  Some of them join with other Houses and work together; some go off alone, opening various locked doors.  And one House (or several?) starts killing their rivals.

What we get at this point, among other things, is a sort of murder mystery — though, since the suspects are all necromancers or experts with a sword, the murders are pretty gruesome.  There’s also the complication that several people aren’t who they claim to be.  Gideon suspects Harrow, who Gideon knows to be ruthless and who seems to adapt to the situation far too easily.  But what can she do about it?  Her life has taught her to distrust everyone, so who can she tell?

There’s more than just the mystery, though. After so many years of hated you’d think that nothing could possibly change between Gideon and Harrow, but their relationship is nuanced and believable.  And the writing is supple and startling, creepy when it needs to be but also funny and even tender, moving fluidly between the speech of ancient houses and modernistic idiom.  “Crux advanced like a glacier with an agenda.”  “…it hurt like hell.  It was like having a headache inside her teeth.”  “Harrowhark looked as taut and distant as a hangman’s rope.”  Of a dying woman:  “When she breathed, she sounded like custard sloshing around an air conditioner.”

There are problems with this book, but they’re minor.  One of them is that we’re introduced to all seven houses at once, and I had trouble keeping them straight.  Their surnames do tell you who they are, but they don’t use their surnames all the time.  It’s like one of those Russian novels with their nicknames and patronymics; you’re constantly flipping to the front of the book to find out who’s talking.

Also, Gideon herself is pretty unobservant.  When Harrow goes missing, it takes her two days to notice.  Not exactly the person you want to rely on as the point-of-view character.

Despite this, the book is pretty great.  It’s complex and repays close reading, or several close readings.  I’m not sure I understand all of it even now.  But another pass will have to wait, because I just got my hands on the new book, Harrow the Ninth.

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