The Earth, the Moon, and politics
Nov. 12th, 2017 02:14 pmI fell behind on my NaNoWriMo writing because I had a book to return to the library, and I’d be absolutely damned if I didn’t actually finish reading it first. There was a waitlist, so I couldn’t renew, and I don’t think I could have handled having to re-request it and wait for it to circle back around to me while I was only halfway through. The suspense would have killed me.
The book in question was N. K. Jemisin’s The Stone Sky, the eagerly awaited third book in her fantastic Broken Earth trilogy, which I’m fairly certain is going to become a giant of the genre. The first two books each won the Hugo Award for Best Novel the years they came out, and I hope The Stone Sky does as well, because I’ll be very surprised if a better novel has come out all year.
At the end of the last book, Alabaster Tenring died, having been turned into stone by doing magic—not just orogeny, but magic—and eaten by a stone eater known as Antimony. Quite technically, our protagonist, Essun, killed him, turning the last of him to stone and inheriting his power when she activated the Obelisk Gate to save her experimental newfound comm, Castrima-Under, from an invading army of raiders from the city of Rennanis. This had effects not only on the invaders but also on Rennanis, so Castrima, their underground geode now destroyed, set out across the wastes of falling ash toward… the city of Rennanis.
Essun, meanwhile, is turning to stone, just like Alabaster was. And she still has to catch the Moon.
Like the other books, this book has three different timelines/viewpoints that it shifts between. Essun in the present is the main one, narrated in second person by the stone eater Hoa. The second perspective follows Essun’s daughter Nassun, in the same timeline and also narrated by Hoa, as she travels with Schaffa, her Guardian, away from the comm of Found Moon after some really serious stuff goes down there. Nassun’s also on a quest that involves traveling to the other side of the world and activating the Obelisk Gate, but hers is different: She plans to smash the Moon into the Earth, putting the world out of its misery and permanently ending humanity’s ability to oppress each other. It’s a very effective twist on what would otherwise be a traditional James Bond-villain bit of supervillainry, because Nassun’s not evil—she’s a traumatized eleven-year-old girl, the only remaining child of the protagonist, and her loyalties make perfect sense.
The third perspective is also Hoa, but this time he is telling his own story in the first person, tens of thousands of years ago in a civilization that consists of one massive, sprawling, continent-wide city named Syl Anagist. The civilization that created Syl Anagist has advanced plant-engineering skills and believes life is sacred, and they are the ones who built the obelisks. They were for a project. The project, as you may have guessed, went horribly wrong, in a way that resulted in a pissed-off Father Earth and the Seasons and a load of obelisks floating around in the atmosphere for millennia, but this doesn’t give anything away about how the world got to that point or why or what it all means or how to fix it, so it’s still a tense, gripping, unpredictable storyline, a backstory that could stand entirely on its own. But it’s better that it doesn’t, because the story of Syl Anagist is necessary to figuring it out how to end the millennia-long war between the humans and Father Earth.
The story of Syl Anagist is also begging for an hours-long discussion by the nearest group of socialist SFF nerds you can find, but in the meantime, I’m just gonna say that the relationship between Syl Anagist’s belief that life is “sacred” and the stuff they actually do with it is some extremely pointed commentary on commodification and the ways in which unsustainable growth-based economic systems enable horrific abuses on an industrial scale, and the way in which the very industrialization of those abuses becomes itself a way of papering them over so nobody has to see or think about it. It’s about imperialism rather than about capitalism per se but the destructively self-perpetuating expansionism thing should be recognizable to anyone with any grounding in either early- to mid-modern imperial history or modern globalization (which is basically imperialism via finance). There’s also a bunch of stuff in there about civilizational mythmaking, and I wonder if I’m the only reader who thinks “Syl Anagist” sounds kind of like “Los Angeles”—you know, the enormous sprawling city where so many of our myths are made and exported from. I may be overthinking that last bit.
With all of Essun’s family dead except Nassun, who is now basically the antagonist, this book also has a lot of stuff to say about family relationships, but especially about family relationships within wider political contexts, including really uncomfortable stuff like trying to figure out the appropriate ways to prepare your children for facing extreme and life-threatening oppression from the rest of society. I feel like I’m not really qualified to make any sort of coherent commentary on this but from other readings I’ve done, especially when I was doing freelance research on child protection systems, I’ve run into discussions about communities in which parents from marginalized communities are harsher disciplinarians toward their children than is considered acceptable by the sorts of white bourgeois families that judges and lawyers etc. tend to come from, because they know that their kids don’t have as much room to screw up as middle-class white kids, and then this in turn increases the likelihood of the parents being deemed abusive and having the kids taken away from them, and it’s a whole complicated mess of there being basically no good answers (other than, like, for society to stop being oppressive, but we obviously can’t do that, can we). With the orogenes, this kind of reasoning is encapsulated into the ritual of breaking an orogene child’s hand as a test of discipline. Schaffa broke Essun’s hand back when she was first discovered when she was young; Essun broke Nassun’s hand when she was secretly training her as a child in Jekity. One result of this chain of events is that when Schaffa becomes Nassun’s Guardian, he doesn’t have to do quite all the same dreadful disciplinarian things he did to Essun, because Essun has already done them to Nassun—and this has pretty major effects on Nassun’s relationships with her mother and her Guardian.
Anyway, that is just one aspect of things that jumped out at me as being a very clever way of creating distinctive world-building for this series that explores really deep and uncomfortable real-world issues, but frankly, everything N.K. Jemisin writes is like that, all the time. All her books are as serious and complex as a world war. Grad students are going to be writing master’s theses on her stuff centuries from now (if we still have grad programs and aren’t all dead of climate change). If America ever decides to stop being a bunch of total dipshits, we’ll make her more famous than the Kardashians. If the TV series adaptation of the Broken Earth trilogy doesn’t fuck it up, I hope it gets bigger than Game of Thrones and that Jemisin makes dump trucks full of money. In short, I am, in fact, dead now, but in a good way.
And yet for some reason, the second Dreamblood book has just been sitting on my shelf for like two years now. I think it’s because I got it signed and now I’m afraid to touch it? I also don’t want to be in a state of having no more N.K. Jemisin books to read; that would be an empty and barren existence. But I know I’m missing out on an excellent story by not reading it, and I have only myself to blame.