CBR16 BINGO: Part 2, for the second book in the Locked Tomb series
I look back fondly on the days when, in my innocence, I thought Gideon the Ninth was a complicated novel. I read that book twice, thank goodness, because if I hadn’t, I would have either been even more confused by Harrow the Ninth, or I’d have shrugged off details that didn’t make sense thinking I was simply misremembering them. After finishing Harrow the Ninth, I am spent. I’m as weak and cowed as a baby Lyctor confronting a Resurrection Beast as I face the prospect of reviewing this work of mind-boggling creativity.
It’s inexplicable yet magnificent is what I’m saying.
At the start of the novel, Harrow has achieved Lyctorhood, as she had planned in Gideon. Unfortunately, she’s failing at it spectacularly–she feels ill whenever she touches her sword, she might be seeing things, and she’s generally no use to anybody, certainly not to the Almighty Emperor, who has his hands full fighting monsters. Mercymorn and Augustine, two senior Lyctors who have thousands of years of experience on Harrow, write her off as hopeless, but at least they aren’t trying to murder her, like Ortus, the other senior Lyctor, is doing (Note: Ortus the Lyctor has the same first name as Harrow’s old cavalier back home, Ortus Nigenad, which is the least confusing thing going on here). To make matters worse, the Emperor (God, John, he goes by a few names) stands passively by and deflects whenever Harrow asks him to intervene on her behalf, which does fuck all for Harrow’s confidence and dignity. To really put the humiliation cherry on top of the ignominy sundae, the only other necromancer to achieve Lyctor status is our old friend Ianthe (of creepy necromancer/cavalier trio fame). She’s not a prodigy or anything, but at least she’s moderately competent, which really grates Harrow to the bone.
That’s a lot, and we’ve barely gotten through the Prologue.
The most confusing thing about this novel is that Harrow’s memory of past events doesn’t jibe with the reader’s (again, thank goodness for that re-read). When she talks about Ortus, the cavalier who served her at Canaan House, I scratch my head. When she alludes to another young girl born on her planet who died as a child, I get anxious. At a certain point, I start thinking, “If everything that happened in Gideon was a dream, I’m going to be really pissed.”
The only acceptable “It was a dream” scenario in fiction
Describing any more of the plot would drive us all mad, so I will merely say that you and Harrow will both have to figure out what is going on as she tries to pull herself together and stay alive.
One remarkable aspect of Harrow the Ninth is how different it is in tone to Gideon. Somewhat less glib and irreverent, this book delves into Harrow’s psyche and reveals aspects of her to a degree that would completely mortify her. We learn Harrow’s reason for going to Canaan House in the first place: “They needed a resurrection. They needed a miracle. Harrowhark had been studying miracles for years, and then one landed squarely in her lap: the chance to become a Lyctor. . . . Another long and snaking line of Reverend Mothers, Reverend Fathers. Harrow took the unready cavalier from her House, and she snatched the chance with both hands. But like falling in love the first time, becoming a Lyctor had all gone wrong.”
Seeing the fierce and indomitable Harrow reduced to a subject of mockery and scorn is painful (though, Mercymorn’s running joke about her age–she’s 15, she’s 6, she’s 3–is pretty amusing). She’s so vulnerable at times, it feels like you are betraying her by seeing her deepest insecurities (“Harrowhark knew that she was being unfair. . . . But when she was scared, she was a child again, and she was more afraid of being a child again than anything else in her life. Almost.”).
All one can do was push through the novel and hope that a) the plot will become clear and b) Harrow will get her shit together. Both these things do happen, sort of, though to what degree is certainly a subject for debate.
My only complaint is that the story requires close to 400 pages before things start to demystify. Along the way, there are murder attempts, highly detailed descriptions of necromancy, mysterious notes, and a scene where Harrow makes soup that’s almost a mash-up between Alien and Titus Andronicus.
If thou knowst, thou knowst.
Still, 400 pages is a lot to hold out before giving the people what they want. Though, when that moment comes, it is truly spectacular.
The people, upon reaching page 404.
I am still struggling with the details of this novel, and though I desperately want to read the next in the series, I’m uncertain whether I should soldier on or give myself time to reread this one first. Either way, I’m awed by the intricacy of the world that Tasmyn Muir has created.
