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babel, or the necessity of violence -- 59% review
Monday, June 19th, 2023 17:11i've been sitting on this for far too long. and i know i won't cover everything this book made me feel, but. i need to try to get some thoughts down while it's still fresh.
babel is a story that doesn't pull punches. the machine of empire is, despite being speculative fiction interacting with the magic of silver, whole and complete. it's the stuff that all the textbooks leave out when we learn about the british empire in school. it's the emotion, it's the disgust, it's the hatred and violence and the desires to survive, to assimilate, to blend in. and love. it's so very full of the love of the illusion created by empire to justify its own perpetuity. how tantalizing it is to live on the outskirts of its promises. it doesn't pull punches. this book is not for the faint of heart. every heartbreak experienced in this book is escalated by a footnote that drives that hurt further, systematizes the mindset that makes these hurts possible.
where even do i begin?
i think i want to frame this book as a story about survival-- especially because of how it ends, but also because that thread exists. i've been rereading the book after finishing it and i'm surprised now at how many spaces have been left to talk about what survival inside the empire looks like. so let's talk about how the topic of survival in this book makes itself known.
( spoilers within. )
so much of this book hinges on robin's desire to survive by any means necessary. he loses his friends' respect for doing so, but he can't apologize for it. and... i don't know. i understand why he's so scared all the time. how can you function on your own if you're only ever scared of fucking up so bad you're sent off somewhere to wither and die? can you really ever act in violation of that instinct?
babel is a story that doesn't pull punches. the machine of empire is, despite being speculative fiction interacting with the magic of silver, whole and complete. it's the stuff that all the textbooks leave out when we learn about the british empire in school. it's the emotion, it's the disgust, it's the hatred and violence and the desires to survive, to assimilate, to blend in. and love. it's so very full of the love of the illusion created by empire to justify its own perpetuity. how tantalizing it is to live on the outskirts of its promises. it doesn't pull punches. this book is not for the faint of heart. every heartbreak experienced in this book is escalated by a footnote that drives that hurt further, systematizes the mindset that makes these hurts possible.
where even do i begin?
i think i want to frame this book as a story about survival-- especially because of how it ends, but also because that thread exists. i've been rereading the book after finishing it and i'm surprised now at how many spaces have been left to talk about what survival inside the empire looks like. so let's talk about how the topic of survival in this book makes itself known.
( spoilers within. )
so much of this book hinges on robin's desire to survive by any means necessary. he loses his friends' respect for doing so, but he can't apologize for it. and... i don't know. i understand why he's so scared all the time. how can you function on your own if you're only ever scared of fucking up so bad you're sent off somewhere to wither and die? can you really ever act in violation of that instinct?
