Delton Hulbert
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- Joined
- Oct 16, 2015
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N.K. Jemisin has developed a world that shatters the real-world patriarchy in such a casual, unassuming way that, without focusing on those topics directly, I might never have noticed. There are so many fronts on which she wages quiet, clever war against the meta-textual “truths” that exist in our own world.
The three protagonist characters are women of vastly varying ages (a little girl, a young woman, and a middle-aged mother) and geographical locations, all within an empire called Sanze. The world is in constant upheaval, with earthquakes, tsunamis, and year-long winters occurring randomly and frequently. Right from the beginning of the story it is clear that something isn’t quite what it appears- the massive hub city, Yumenes, is alive and thriving in two of the women’s stories, but collapsed in the bottom of a tectonic rift in the third. Nonetheless, it doesn’t begin to feel strange until about halfway through the book, which is either a testament to the author’s subtlety or to my obliviousness. All three women are marred against the world, and it only gets harsher as the story progresses and worse and worse things happen to them.
Race, gender, class, and sex are not the axes of power in this empire—magic is. Or, rather, the lack of magic is the axis of power. Magic users, or “orogenes” are considered subhuman, and are enslaved and discriminated against despite the fact that it’s an innate ability (an aspect of a person’s biology), not a chosen skill. The most interesting, though, is how N.K. Jemisin has woven the axes of power that matter in the real world into her story. The protagonists are female orogenes, and only ever engage with men, but their explicit sexualities are never defined (and are therefore not important). The other characters, however, are as diverse and motley as they come— a bisexual pirate king, a homosexual Orogene, a trans-woman scientist, and several agendered, asexual characters make up only a few representatives of sexual and gender diversity. Race, skin color, and body type are also interestingly portrayed. Sanzed fosters a culture of survival and utilitarianism, and while skin color and racial features are definitely at play (people of different regions are typified by a set of features that are considered either more or less “attractive” by the general populace of other regions, and some features are considered desirable while others are not so), skin color is not a reason to discriminate against another person. The caste system that is employed requires certain physical traits that fulfill the needs of the society.
The caste system is not a class system, per se. Superiority is not engendered by the job a person is born into. That is, members of the Leadership caste are not inherently better or worse than members of the Strongback caste, but there are conceptions and etiquettes associated with it. Leaders demand respect, since they make all the decisions for their respective towns or cities, whereas Strongbacks are used to being bossed around since they work primarily with their hands, doing jobs for the builder caste and the engineer caste. It’s a fascinating play on the idea that everyone has a job to do, and while some jobs are more prestigious than others, that doesn’t make them inherently better or more important.
As I mentioned earlier, all three main, as well as a number of side characters, are orogenes, and mentally or emotionally damaged as well, mostly as a product of the prejudice they face every day. Many of the trains of thought from the protagonists are stark and shocking, especially when they come from the brain of the little girl. It’s unbelievably sad to read about the travesties against humanity that she sees as perfectly normal, everyday occurrences, and it’s the same with the older women, too. They never experience the enlightenment of adulthood that would allow them to hear the lies about themselves and dismiss them. Even the older mother still has the thought that “orogenes aren’t human, they’re monsters,” despite having been one for 40 years and having two orogene children.
N.K. Jemisin does a lovely job of tying the three stories together (I can’t go into it without spoilers, but suffice it to say that the lurking suspicions you have probably had since you turned the first page are true), though I would have liked to see the damages inflicted on the characters earlier in the story (both mental and physical) come back to haunt them a little more. The implied trauma isn’t always enough to convey the pain they must be experiencing.
The author addresses the reader directly, and while the clever anecdotes are frequent and poignant, they never detract from the overall feeling of unease that she sets in this world. In the prologue, N.K. Jemisin sets a wonderful conversational tone while disseminating the fundamental rules of the universe, using the English language as a tool for dark comedy and quipping exposition.
Overall, “The Fifth Season” was a tremendous read. The writing style, the characters and development, the texture of the world, and especially the enormous amount of diversity that N.K. Jemisin employs make me want to read the sequel.
Also, to N.K. Jemisin: Write a sequel.
The three protagonist characters are women of vastly varying ages (a little girl, a young woman, and a middle-aged mother) and geographical locations, all within an empire called Sanze. The world is in constant upheaval, with earthquakes, tsunamis, and year-long winters occurring randomly and frequently. Right from the beginning of the story it is clear that something isn’t quite what it appears- the massive hub city, Yumenes, is alive and thriving in two of the women’s stories, but collapsed in the bottom of a tectonic rift in the third. Nonetheless, it doesn’t begin to feel strange until about halfway through the book, which is either a testament to the author’s subtlety or to my obliviousness. All three women are marred against the world, and it only gets harsher as the story progresses and worse and worse things happen to them.
Race, gender, class, and sex are not the axes of power in this empire—magic is. Or, rather, the lack of magic is the axis of power. Magic users, or “orogenes” are considered subhuman, and are enslaved and discriminated against despite the fact that it’s an innate ability (an aspect of a person’s biology), not a chosen skill. The most interesting, though, is how N.K. Jemisin has woven the axes of power that matter in the real world into her story. The protagonists are female orogenes, and only ever engage with men, but their explicit sexualities are never defined (and are therefore not important). The other characters, however, are as diverse and motley as they come— a bisexual pirate king, a homosexual Orogene, a trans-woman scientist, and several agendered, asexual characters make up only a few representatives of sexual and gender diversity. Race, skin color, and body type are also interestingly portrayed. Sanzed fosters a culture of survival and utilitarianism, and while skin color and racial features are definitely at play (people of different regions are typified by a set of features that are considered either more or less “attractive” by the general populace of other regions, and some features are considered desirable while others are not so), skin color is not a reason to discriminate against another person. The caste system that is employed requires certain physical traits that fulfill the needs of the society.
The caste system is not a class system, per se. Superiority is not engendered by the job a person is born into. That is, members of the Leadership caste are not inherently better or worse than members of the Strongback caste, but there are conceptions and etiquettes associated with it. Leaders demand respect, since they make all the decisions for their respective towns or cities, whereas Strongbacks are used to being bossed around since they work primarily with their hands, doing jobs for the builder caste and the engineer caste. It’s a fascinating play on the idea that everyone has a job to do, and while some jobs are more prestigious than others, that doesn’t make them inherently better or more important.
As I mentioned earlier, all three main, as well as a number of side characters, are orogenes, and mentally or emotionally damaged as well, mostly as a product of the prejudice they face every day. Many of the trains of thought from the protagonists are stark and shocking, especially when they come from the brain of the little girl. It’s unbelievably sad to read about the travesties against humanity that she sees as perfectly normal, everyday occurrences, and it’s the same with the older women, too. They never experience the enlightenment of adulthood that would allow them to hear the lies about themselves and dismiss them. Even the older mother still has the thought that “orogenes aren’t human, they’re monsters,” despite having been one for 40 years and having two orogene children.
N.K. Jemisin does a lovely job of tying the three stories together (I can’t go into it without spoilers, but suffice it to say that the lurking suspicions you have probably had since you turned the first page are true), though I would have liked to see the damages inflicted on the characters earlier in the story (both mental and physical) come back to haunt them a little more. The implied trauma isn’t always enough to convey the pain they must be experiencing.
The author addresses the reader directly, and while the clever anecdotes are frequent and poignant, they never detract from the overall feeling of unease that she sets in this world. In the prologue, N.K. Jemisin sets a wonderful conversational tone while disseminating the fundamental rules of the universe, using the English language as a tool for dark comedy and quipping exposition.
Overall, “The Fifth Season” was a tremendous read. The writing style, the characters and development, the texture of the world, and especially the enormous amount of diversity that N.K. Jemisin employs make me want to read the sequel.
Also, to N.K. Jemisin: Write a sequel.