A Memory Called Empire

I was sold on this book when I first heard the premise: a brand-new diplomat to a star-system spanning galactic court is enmeshed in intrigue at the highest levels of power while learning the ways of their foreign culture. I knew that there was lots of linguistic and historical invention involved too, and I think also that there was some special neurosurgery going on. I was happy when this was chosen as the Hugo award winning novel this year, even though I thought the premise seemed to occupy a somewhat specialized niche compared to some other winners. Now that I've finished the book I am satisfied and impressed by what the author had put together for her first novel, with only some secondary quibbles about the way the tale unfolded. There were plenty of places where I felt treated to a fresh new insight into what was happening so I didn't mind too much when I noticed points of discomfort on the journey.

The characters are the standout part of the novel I liked the best, even the minor ones present for one or two scenes. There are lots of names, all of them unfamiliar, and I think somebody unprepared to put in some effort might feel a little overwhelmed by them. At the end of the book there is a list of them, but I didn't know about this until I'd already finished the ebook version I had. That didn't bother me, really, because there was nearly always enough detail present to keep them straight anyway, at least the ones who are onstage and not just featured in an interlude or in one of the chapter heading bits as allusions. There are a couple of big revelations, one concerning the neurological interventions and one concerning the vaguely sketched-out menace from outside the Empire, and a bunch of small revelations regarding the involvements of the major characters, which required some extra suspension of disbelief.

Still, there are lots of scenes where we see the characters just talking, waiting for something, hanging out, plotting, and I think if this went even further in that direction I would find it annoying. It gave the book kind of a nineteenth century feeling now and then, in between episodes of frantic action or futuristic technology. Most of the featured characters were pretty likable too, even when they are doing questionable acts, something which is on full display at the big climax which felt wrenching to me (though, again, more dialogue than not).

I am a person who spends a lot of time writing poetry, and I don't revere poetry as much as the citizens of Teixcalaan, or use it as an essential part of business or anything like that. I am sure this was one part of the writing process that required some special care to make plausible, so far from anything in the world we know, and it's quite an accomplished to manage to make it seem more natural than clunky or bizarre or even just as something that would get in the way of the story. It also wasn't used as the only important aspect of the culture, used to explain the events at the climax or the motivations of key players, which would have been implausible in its own way. The short bits of verse aren't anywhere near as intrusive as the paragraphs of songs dropped into Tolkien and I found the style to be elevated without being too affected. If the other books in the series spend a lot of time away from Teixcalaan I'll be interested to see whether the poetry gets downplayed too.

The story was composed well before the tumult of 2020 but is odd to read during a time of pandemic and political riots and signs of naked unchecked ambition on high. I think the blurbs will already have warned off readers looking for a cozy little escapist yarn, at least. I wonder whether this will be looked at as the kind of fiction which is emblematic of our time. It's too hard to tell right now, but I think there's a chance of that.