I am totally late to the party on Gideon The
Ninth. But I’ll join quite a few people in saying that I really enjoyed it.
This is a story with far more of a sense of style and sense of fun than you
might expect from space lesbian
necromancers.
Because, well, that’s the opener. The dead can
be raised, if you need someone to do your fetching and carrying for you, or if
you want your enemies brutally murdered for interfering with your nefarious
plots.The world of Gideon the Ninth is a world build on bones, on the shattered
carcasses of broken worlds, and on the lies people told each other to make it
happen. In a sense, it’s a far larger space than our own world - the habitats
of various groups are spread throughout a solar system. In another, it’s far
smaller. There are nine great houses, each with their own responsibilities -
but all of them we see appear to be in a state of slow decline. There aren’t
thriving millions here, as much as there are scattered hundreds, clinging to
their rocks in the ever-darkening shoals, keeping the candle-flames of their
houses alive as the night draws ever closer. There’s an intimacy to it. These
people all know each other, or know of each other, in their little bubbles,
filled with old grudges and older broken promises.
But opportunity beckons, as a necromancer from
each house is summoned, with their bodyguard-companion, to the First House. The
invitation is mysterious, its purpose doubly so. But still, these inward
looking houses must look out once again, at least at each other. What a gaggle
of bone-summoners with varying sociopathic tendencies, and their heavily armed
goons, will do to each other in close proximity, in search of power, is
anyone’s guess.
The world...doesn’t live, exactly, but it’s
there, a burial wrapping wound around the characters. As Gideon, our
protagonist, gets a wider perspective, we pick up alongside them. The
atmosphere isn’t exactly funereal, but it’s clearly a system in decay. There
are hints that this was a thriving empire once, that there was once more than
bones and remnants. Hints of splendour, of soaring ambition, and of terrible
bargains made in service of that ambition. The prose is haunting and delicate
one minute, unflinchingly robust the next - and in each case, it gives us a
real, multi-faceted, fully-formed world. In many instances, that world is
melancholy. In others, outright terrifying. But it feels real anyway.
And into that world steps Gideon, of the Ninth
House. In a world laced with the tattered remnants of majesty, Gideon is a breath
of fresh air. Gideon is blunt, forceful,
and unwilling to take any crap. She’s lived in a mausoleum for her entire life,
a life encompassed by bones, by endless rituals of the dead, surrounded by
skeletal automatons, and the spiteful venom of the slowly dying gerontocracy of
the Ninth House. But Gideon, ah, Gideon is alive. She’s foul mouthed, happier
with a sword in her hand than a book, willing to fight dirty, and fiercely
vital. It's that energy, that life that makes her sparkle on the page. It helps
that she’s willing to fight hard, and her skills are definitely a sight to see.
I won’t lie, watching a smart-mouthed, expletive-laden sword-master lend their
arm to a cause, and exercise their mind around the mysteries of the First House
was always going to be a joy, but Gideon’s sheer energy gets her extra points.
That and her relationship with her necromancer - the only other young-ish
person in the Ninth House, the greatest necromancer in a house of the dead, and
a general pain in Gideon’s arse. Their squabbling, their loathing, their
efforts to one-up each other, and to strive together in service of a common
goal, is wonderful. It, well, sparks joy. The air crackles with the dialogue,
and it keeps your attention - the wit and artistry on display is wonderful, and
also, it’s a great deal of fun.
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