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language: English
country: USA
year: 1975
form: novel
genre(s): science fiction
dates read: 24.1.23-26.1.23
(cw: ableism, homophobia)
the theme of this year’s reading so far is “vibes-driven”, and John Crowley’s The Deep fits the bill exactly. a mysterious, genderless — though addressed as “he” by both narration and other characters — Visitor arrives in a feudal kingdom in the middle of a civil war (apparently loosely based on the War of the Roses, but fortunately I know nothing about English history prior to the Reformation, and little enough after that). the Visitor knows that he came from the sky — where he was “made” — and that he has some purpose, but remembers nothing else of his past, including, say, what that purpose is. what follows is the intricate politicking of a civil war with new intrigue at every turn, interwoven with the Visitor’s quest for his purpose, interwoven with the work of “the Just”, a secret organization dedicated — at least officially — to the liberation of “the Folk” from feudal rule.
also, the world is a circle set upon a pillar that descends into the infinite abyss of the Deep, inhabited only by the being called Leviathan.
The laws and records of inheritance filled musty floors of the Citadel. Inheritance was the chief business of all courts of the Grays. Inheritance was the slow turning of this still world, and the charting of its ascendancies and declinations took up far more of the wold’s paper and ink than the erratic motions of its seven moons.
in its interweaving of so many threads it engages with so many things: class struggle, the pointlessness of the aristocracy, the politics of inheritance and property, the nature of love (familial, romantic), the nature of duty, the ways the powerful will bend love and duty to serve their own ends, the tension between stagnation and change. the world is trapped in a cycle of violence that even those who hope to escape it cannot end, because they cannot convince anyone else to follow them out of it. it’s about people trying to seize power, and people trying to turn away from power and make something different possible instead. it is both stylistically and conceptually fascinating, and I desperately need to get a copy so I can reread it in a space that’s not a too-loud reading room that’s full of people for some reason even though it’s usually pretty empty.
this was immensely satisfying in all ways but two that I have reservations about. one is that one of the like five kings over the course of the novel — one of the last, and the one whose reign occupies the most pages — is gay. there’s fully a sex scene (fade to black, but still), and he gathers a cadre of handsome young men around him as lovers, advisors, and minions; he’s also got some of the classic stereotypes: he’s a patron of the arts, he likes the theater (but also architecture), he spends all his time giving decadent parties in the city and neglecting the needs of the Folk, etc. there’s also some active homophobia about this — in part because of the social and political (and economic) importance of inheritance — and I don’t love that his primary lover is murdered partway through partly because he’s gay, or that after the king dies the narration says that “their flawed love [is] made so perfect in their tomb”, as if only by dying did it cease to be flawed.
but we also get this:
“Sweet, come to bed.”
None sees but the eyeless Stag’s head, thrown upon a chair.
“I will not be mocked.” Young Harrah drinks off the last of a cup, naked by the curtained bed.
“No one mocks you.” The King puts off the Grove robe, lets it fall with a rustle. “Come to bed.”
“Redhand.”
“Redhand,” the King says. “Redhand is a man of mine. He will love you for my sake.”
“He would be your master.”
“I have no master.”
The room is smoky with incense; the bed hangings Harrah draws aside are fine as smoke. “None?”
“None other.” He moves impatiently within the bed. “Love. Master me.” He reaches out and draws Harrah down amid the clothes. “Master me. Master me…”
and I wasn’t expecting any sign of gay characters, so honestly I’m not even that mad about the homophobia.
my other reservation is the Richard III-like way people with obvious physical disabilities or unusual appearances are treated — much is consistently made of Sennred’s being weird and ugly and small and having one arm noticeably larger than the other (plus the “people being mean to him because he’s ~deformed~ only made him stronger!” classic), for example. Little Black’s small size is connected by the characters to his dubious character, as is the Queen’s unusually large size. the incident that created the conditions for the civil war, likewise, is the deposal of a previous king to ensure that his son, a “foul cripple”, doesn’t take the throne. this was an actual bad vibe. really wish it hadn’t been there.
with these reservations, though: holy shit.
They said that this rotunda must be all that the Citadel was, once; that it was built up on older, smaller places that had left traces in its walls and doors. They said that the center of its figured stone floor was the exact center of the world; they said that the thousand interlaced pictures that covered the floor, once they were themselves uncovered of centuries of dirt, and explained, would explain all explanations…
also just to add to the mystery, my genre tags here on Storygraph are going to be “sci-fi” and “sci-fantasy”.
moods: mysterious