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A review by tachyondecay
A Memory Called Empire by Arkady Martine
adventurous
challenging
mysterious
tense
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.0
This book worked its way into my brain. I’m not sure how else to describe it. I slept on this one, but when I finally started reading it, I did not want to put it down. So what did I do? I put it down to save it for a road trip later that week—but I immediately messaged my local indie bookshop so they could order the sequel for me, which I will read as soon as I get it. A Memory Called Empire isn’t a perfect book. I don’t even know if I would settle on “amazing.” But Arkady Martine’s storytelling did something to me, and that’s worth talking about.
Mahit Dzmare is a citizen of Lsel Station. Stationers are humans born into the lower gravity of a space station and fiercely independent from larger, sprawling political entities like the Teixcalaanli Empire. However, Mahit has been fascinated by the empire for years, and her proficiency has led to her selection as Lsel’s next ambassador. Her first mission? Find out what the hell happened to the previous ambassador—the Teixcalaanli just sent a ship demanding a new ambassador with no explanation. In addition to her enthusiasm for Teixcalaanli literature and language, Mahit brings with her an out-of-date imago of the previous ambassador—a memory recording of his personality that should, in theory, integrate with her own personality, augmenting her. Everything goes wrong, of course, and Mahit finds herself in the middle of a political crisis, maybe even an attempted coup, relying far too much on the questionable largesse of an important player in the empire.
This book hits like a Charles Stross novel with even less infodumping. Don’t get me wrong—I love a good Strossian exposition—but Martine plays a lot of the empire’s culture and history close to her chest, and I’m cool with that. However, I really like how the main character, while competent, gets thrown into the deepest of ends without even a lifejacket. The entire book is a scramble from start to finish with nary time for Mahit to catch her breath. In a lesser author that might feel exhausting—who doesn’t love a protagonist finally hitting their stride?—but Martine makes it work.
Teixcalaan itself is a lush mixture of Byzantine, the Mexica, and others from history (which is Martine’s profession). Probably the most obvious cultural difference is in their naming: all Teixcalaanli have a two-word name comprising a number and a noun, like Six Direction. I have to say, the moment that crystallized how much I would enjoy this book came when Mahit bonded with her Teixcalaanli liaison, Three Seagrass, by laughing at someone who had named themselves “Thirty-Six All-Terrain Vehicle.” I laughed too.
But seriously, the ways in which Martine contrasts Teixcalaan with Lsel (the two main human cultures we get to experience in this book) is so well done. Lsel is obviously meant to seem closer to our baseline experience as readers, though there are plenty of hints it would feel alien too—stringent population control, a heavy focus on scholastic tests and test-based career determinism, etc. Teixcalaan, on the other hand, is portrayed as intensely alien (but still definitively human, unlike actual aliens). And in some ways it is more recognizable than Lsel—whereas Lsel is built on hereditary memory and function, Teixcalaan is about literary memory and cultural institutions, something far more familiar to most of us. It’s a very “Homer, but art deco” kind of vibe.
To that end, it’s clear that in many ways this book is a love letter to language and storytelling—so naturally I am a sucker for that. Yet it avoids descending into ponderousness, mostly through slick humour and characters like Twelve Azalea. Martine knows how to balance banter with moments of tension, and the result is something truly straddling space opera and planetary romance. In addition to Stross, I detect notes of Asimov, Reynolds, Le Guin, and other science fiction heavyweights here. Standing on the shoulders of giants, Martine reaches far—and, more impressively, doesn’t overreach.
Much of the book meditates on the nature of mortality and aging. I’m turning thirty-five this year—not old, I know, but of an age where I am starting to notice age in a way I didn’t when I turned thirty. Starting to look back and realize certain eras are truly behind me. Whether it’s Mahit bantering with the younger Yksander or Six Direction’s desire to preserve himself (ostensibly, of course, for the good of the empire), A Memory Called Empire can be very solemn at times in acknowledging that the good times do, in fact, end.
On a broader level, this is a book about the continuity of civilization. Like so many empires, Teixcalaan is vast and has, in its vastness, conflated its size with civilization. Mahit is a “barbarian,” albeit a nearly tolerable one. Teixcalaan’s annexation of Lsel, culturally if not politically, is spoken of as nearly a fait accompli, for that is the power of empire, here and now as well as in the future—just like at how the United States flexes imperial muscle and quite literally distorts other countries as a result. Martine portrays outsize imperial influence, the conflicts that spring up around colonization as well as from it, with admirable deftness.
I don’t know what else to say. Again, this is far from a perfect book—I can totally see some people putting it down for feeling “difficult” or having too much narration and internal monologuing and not enough dialogue or snappy action sequences. This is a book in which you immerse yourself—I’m glad I saved it for a summer read—though I wouldn’t call it difficult or challenging in the way Dhalgren or Too Like the Lightning is. I think the actual narrative and characterization here are quite straightforward, though if you are not in the mood for political machinations and speculations thereof, you won’t enjoy it.
Fortunately, I was in precisely that kind of mood, and A Memory Called Empire was decadence itself. What a fulfilling read.
Originally posted at Kara.Reviews.
Mahit Dzmare is a citizen of Lsel Station. Stationers are humans born into the lower gravity of a space station and fiercely independent from larger, sprawling political entities like the Teixcalaanli Empire. However, Mahit has been fascinated by the empire for years, and her proficiency has led to her selection as Lsel’s next ambassador. Her first mission? Find out what the hell happened to the previous ambassador—the Teixcalaanli just sent a ship demanding a new ambassador with no explanation. In addition to her enthusiasm for Teixcalaanli literature and language, Mahit brings with her an out-of-date imago of the previous ambassador—a memory recording of his personality that should, in theory, integrate with her own personality, augmenting her. Everything goes wrong, of course, and Mahit finds herself in the middle of a political crisis, maybe even an attempted coup, relying far too much on the questionable largesse of an important player in the empire.
This book hits like a Charles Stross novel with even less infodumping. Don’t get me wrong—I love a good Strossian exposition—but Martine plays a lot of the empire’s culture and history close to her chest, and I’m cool with that. However, I really like how the main character, while competent, gets thrown into the deepest of ends without even a lifejacket. The entire book is a scramble from start to finish with nary time for Mahit to catch her breath. In a lesser author that might feel exhausting—who doesn’t love a protagonist finally hitting their stride?—but Martine makes it work.
Teixcalaan itself is a lush mixture of Byzantine, the Mexica, and others from history (which is Martine’s profession). Probably the most obvious cultural difference is in their naming: all Teixcalaanli have a two-word name comprising a number and a noun, like Six Direction. I have to say, the moment that crystallized how much I would enjoy this book came when Mahit bonded with her Teixcalaanli liaison, Three Seagrass, by laughing at someone who had named themselves “Thirty-Six All-Terrain Vehicle.” I laughed too.
But seriously, the ways in which Martine contrasts Teixcalaan with Lsel (the two main human cultures we get to experience in this book) is so well done. Lsel is obviously meant to seem closer to our baseline experience as readers, though there are plenty of hints it would feel alien too—stringent population control, a heavy focus on scholastic tests and test-based career determinism, etc. Teixcalaan, on the other hand, is portrayed as intensely alien (but still definitively human, unlike actual aliens). And in some ways it is more recognizable than Lsel—whereas Lsel is built on hereditary memory and function, Teixcalaan is about literary memory and cultural institutions, something far more familiar to most of us. It’s a very “Homer, but art deco” kind of vibe.
To that end, it’s clear that in many ways this book is a love letter to language and storytelling—so naturally I am a sucker for that. Yet it avoids descending into ponderousness, mostly through slick humour and characters like Twelve Azalea. Martine knows how to balance banter with moments of tension, and the result is something truly straddling space opera and planetary romance. In addition to Stross, I detect notes of Asimov, Reynolds, Le Guin, and other science fiction heavyweights here. Standing on the shoulders of giants, Martine reaches far—and, more impressively, doesn’t overreach.
Much of the book meditates on the nature of mortality and aging. I’m turning thirty-five this year—not old, I know, but of an age where I am starting to notice age in a way I didn’t when I turned thirty. Starting to look back and realize certain eras are truly behind me. Whether it’s Mahit bantering with the younger Yksander or Six Direction’s desire to preserve himself (ostensibly, of course, for the good of the empire), A Memory Called Empire can be very solemn at times in acknowledging that the good times do, in fact, end.
On a broader level, this is a book about the continuity of civilization. Like so many empires, Teixcalaan is vast and has, in its vastness, conflated its size with civilization. Mahit is a “barbarian,” albeit a nearly tolerable one. Teixcalaan’s annexation of Lsel, culturally if not politically, is spoken of as nearly a fait accompli, for that is the power of empire, here and now as well as in the future—just like at how the United States flexes imperial muscle and quite literally distorts other countries as a result. Martine portrays outsize imperial influence, the conflicts that spring up around colonization as well as from it, with admirable deftness.
I don’t know what else to say. Again, this is far from a perfect book—I can totally see some people putting it down for feeling “difficult” or having too much narration and internal monologuing and not enough dialogue or snappy action sequences. This is a book in which you immerse yourself—I’m glad I saved it for a summer read—though I wouldn’t call it difficult or challenging in the way Dhalgren or Too Like the Lightning is. I think the actual narrative and characterization here are quite straightforward, though if you are not in the mood for political machinations and speculations thereof, you won’t enjoy it.
Fortunately, I was in precisely that kind of mood, and A Memory Called Empire was decadence itself. What a fulfilling read.
Originally posted at Kara.Reviews.