Last year, I was looking for a fantasy read. I’m steeped in science fiction most of the time, but I’ve been toying with some fantasy world-building of late, and so I wanted to switch genres for a bit. I first saw Babel in a marketing email from Barnes & Noble and, while I almost always opt out of any and all marketing emails, I’m glad that one specifically escaped my opt-out attention because this novel was a fascinating read.
Part of what made it fascinating is the background of the author. Kuang is a scholar as well as a best-selling novelist, and her writing carries the weight of academic rigor that one might expect with that background. I’ll also admit that I was living vicariously somewhat, because I miss the days of being a student and writing, although none of my published work ever became best-selling.
That’s the sort of the nostalgia that the dark academia subgenre dives into, though…a wish for the simplicity and exercise of the mind that comes with the life of the university student. Books, libraries, close friends and late nights studying or writing papers…these were experiences that I, and many others, ached to reclaim once we graduated and entered this dreadful thing known as the “real world.” Mix in some magic and alternative history, and already one has a compelling world in which to base a novel. That’s only the beginning, though…Kuang gives us so much more in Babel.
Part of what is so engaging in this story is that the academic life that the reader may remember so fondly is critiqued so heavily here. Kuang gives no quarter in her critique of an ivory tower elite refusing to engage in the lives of the rest of the world at a meaningful level. If anything, the real world in which most academics find themselves upon graduation is the more meaningful reality for Kuang, as, in Babel, the academic elites shape that world for their own gain, and at the expense of those who live and work there. Read into this a critique of capitalism if you wish…one easily could…or simply sit with the encapsulating phrase from the book jacket’s summary that “knowledge obeys power,” and you begin to look back and question not only so much of your own education, but also ponder what is happening in the halls of academia today.
What is admirable is that Kuang doesn’t approach this from a condemning viewpoint, or at least not at first (it is fair to say she becomes a bit heavy-handed later). After all, we’re experiencing a higher education through the eyes of students, albeit students who arrived at Oxford through less than conventional means. Our protagonist, Robin Swift, is raised by a mysterious professor after being seemingly rescued from certain death in his homeland of China. As we progress through the first half of the novel, we discover that this rescue does not make him unique, nor did it occur with benevolent intent.
This part of the book moves slowly, perhaps too slowly at times. I’ll confess that I began reading the book in earnest over summer vacation, and ended it just in time for the new year to begin, after putting it down several times in between. This may be seen as a weakness, but its also a symptom of its strength. Kuang delivers not only an engaging fantasy story here, but also an academic treatise on translation as a discipline. This is complete with footnotes throughout the novel, which I’ll admit were a bit jarring to me in a work of fiction, but succeeded as a structural device in returning me to my grad school days of citing sources. The exploration of language here is beyond fascinating, both at a micro-level (I journaled multiple insights as to etymology as I read), but also at a broader, philosophical level. People and cultures are to be experienced through their languages here, and the impossibility of knowing someone deeply without engaging their language is made evident in a way that I had not previously considered.
A through-line of the novel, for good or bad, is violence. Every translation is seen as a betrayal, an act of violence against the original language (and yes, that is a concept that I had to sit with for a while). As the pace picks up dramatically in the last third of the book with Kuang unpacking a thesis of colonialism, our characters ultimately arrive at the conclusion that change to a corrupt power structure can only occur by means of violence. This is not accomplished in a one-dimensional sense. The characters involved in the final struggle wrestle deeply with this idea, and we walk through their thought processes with them in ways that make a reader question themselves, regardless of which side of the debate one might hold. Not every character arrives at the same conclusion, and this is part of what makes Babel a remarkable piece of fiction. Where I fault the novel is in its ending, for it is the final conclusion, and indeed the final act, in which violence is deemed as necessary, and enacted. Initially my reaction is one of deeply held pacifism…this doesn’t solve the problem! my mind screams in protest as the final chapters progress. I think, though, that this reaction is the point. As I’ve unpacked Babel over the subsequent days, I think that the goal is to present a tragic story of people desperate for change who are unable to see any other way. As their gifts of language are discovered to be turned against them, I’m reminded of a quote about the connection between language and conflict:
“War is what happens when language fails.”
– Margaret Atwood
Ultimately, we are meant to grieve at the end of Babel, not celebrate. There is no cause for celebration…a victory for our characters is no victory overall, but rather a loss for everyone. For all of their gifts and knowledge, their languages have failed them, because they were forced to weaponize what was meant to only ever be good.
Dark academia, indeed.
Babel is a heavy read, coming in at around 500 pages. While the pacing is a bit slow in the beginning, this makes way for meticulous world-building that creates a brilliant backdrop for the story. Rarely do I say that a novel is unlike anything I’ve read in the past, but I can truly say this about Babel. While the ending leaves me torn and unsettled (which I believe is the point), I would find it difficult to not recommend this novel. Babel should find a place on your bookshelf.