Yes, Paul Weimer already delivered a ‘squee-tastic’ review of Arkady Martine’s debut novel, A Memory Called Empire, here earlier this week. But this novel is so notably brilliant that it’s worth fueling that hype with even more squee. Martine’s debut includes nearly all of the elements I would potentially look for in a great science fiction novel, balancing each of them to hit so many positive notes that I suspect other readers will find it just as elegantly captivating. Until now, I’ve never gotten to read a new release and think: This deserves to win all of the awards. I cannot fathom anything else coming this year to approach this level of achievement.
Compared to Paul, I’m not as broadly read in the genre, and I’m ashamed to say I still haven’t even read Dune! I did, however, grow up adoring the novels of Asimov, and the space opera setting of A Memory Called Empire immediately drew my thoughts to his linked series. Martine takes the philosophical and political-historical intellect underlying the best of Asimov and refreshes the out-of-date social and cultural perspectives of his works. Several others have also drawn comparisons to the more modern Imperial Radch novels by Anne Leckie. While I liked Leckie’s Ancillary Justice, the narrative voice of Martine’s novel and the themes addressed through its plot resonated even stronger with me.
A Memory Called Empire has a straightforward plot with an ocean of political intrigue and cultural analysis intricately mixing beneath its surface. Yskandr Aghavn, Ambassador to the Teixcalaanli Empire from the independent, molybdenum-mining Lsel Station has died from unknown circumstances. The station government appoints young Mahit Dzmare to replace him, sending her to Teixcalaan with a newly implanted imago of Yskandr’s memories according to traditional station practice. Mahit eagerly begins her political service, propelled by a deep appreciation for Teixcalaanli art and expression. However, the state of the imago technology she has received hinders her progress. The last backup of Yskandr’s mind occurred well in the past. Even worse, this imago of the younger Yskandr appears to be malfunctioning, going silent before integrating properly into Mahit’s psyche. On her own in the land of a dominant culture that views her as a simple barbarian, Mahit must try to discover what has happened to Yskandr and how that fits into the growing threats within the Teixcalaanli Empire that could bring calamity to her station home.
Martine’s background in the history of the Byzantine Empire and in city planning form the foundation of what makes the setting her own. She makes Teixcalaan a character in itself with world-building that matches the best of epic fantasy. Like Mahit, readers are immediately drawn into the richness of Teixcalaanli culture, particularly with the romance and import of its language, one where the word for empire, city, and civilization are all one and the same. A logosyllabic tongue written in glyphs that permit poetic artistry and playful wordplay, Teixcalaanli seduces Mahit with its refinement and its challenge. Yet, no matter how proficient she becomes, Mahit knows that as an outsider, becoming “one of them” will always be unattainable. Martine highlights such internal conflicts of cultural identity for Mahit during a scene where she interacts with a famous Teixcalaanli poet named Nine Maize:
…liking Teixcalaanli poetry was just being cultured, especially when one was barely an adult and still spending all one’s time getting ready for the language aptitudes. Nevertheless she disliked Nine Maize’s acknowledging smile, the condescension in his nod: of course new works were celebrated in backwater barbarian space.
This brief passage directly connects to Martine’s dedication of her novel “to anyone who has ever fallen in love with a culture that was devouring their own.” It recognizes that systems of political or cultural power can be simultaneously attractive and repulsive — as can the national pride they engender. Martine builds A Memory Called Empire on this sort of central observation that will be recognizable to anyone who has been an outsider looking in on the grandeur of a larger power. The empire of this novel is not a lifeless, amorphous sprawl or a centralized melting pot; rather, it is an evolving organism of influence and proudly distinct beauty. Admirably, Martine scrutinizes such colonialist themes of empire, and the varied individual responses to such a system of power, without judgement or simplification of the contrasting emotions behind senses of national identity and home.
As the title of the novel implies, themes of empire here are also close knit to themes of memory. Martine draws comparison between the limits of memory and the limits of physical domains with lines such as this: “To stretch the continuity of memory just a bit farther, out on the edges of human space where it feathered away into the black.” In linking the far-reaching political construct of “empire” with the small-scale of individual “memory,” Martine succeeds in making her book equally about specific people as it is about the broad culture in which they exist. The characters become defined not just through their particular personalities and history, but also through their collective experiences as part of empire. Where the Teixcalaanli experience this in a conventional sense of empire, the population of Lsel Station achieves a collective nature through the imago technology that allows memories of closely-related individuals to become merged with others even after death. As good science fiction often does, the plot of A Memory Called Empire directly relates to the convergence of technology and society by following the implications of the introduction of Lsel imago capabilities into Teixcalaanli society: a merging of one kind of biotech collective (memory) with political institution (empire).
In this way, A Memory Called Empire shines in its nuanced and intelligent explore of matters of philosophy and ethics. What makes it work so well is that Martine can write about such thought-provoking issues while still making the story immensely readable and enjoyable. This novel could easily become the focus of a number of academic studies or essays as scholars delve into its complex themes. But it can just as easily be read through to impart those themes at their most basic, intuitive level. That is what the best, and most timeless, pieces of fiction do.
Like the best fiction, Martine’s debut novel also includes an engaging protagonist and a fantastic supporting cast of characters. Mahit is immensely relatable to the reader as a relative stranger to Teixcalaanli society. Like her, we are experiencing it for the first time along, too. Though always bearing a certain measure of self-confidence, she progresses through the novel with greater clarity and acceptance of her strengths and limitations. An immediate close and loyal friend appears for Mahit in her cultural liaison, Three Seagrass. Twelve Azalea, a member of the Teixcalaanli Information Ministry and long-time close friend of Three Seagrass, soon joins as an essential support for Mahit. The relationship between Three Seagrass, Twelve Azalea, and Mahit is one of the most joyful parts of A Memory of Empire — a relationship filled with witty, friendly banter that brings a nice dash of humor to the novel.
Any criticism that these two Teixcalaanli individuals are too immediately helpful and loyal to Mahit is balanced by uncertain relationships that Mahit inherits from Yskandr in the form connections to key people from the very top of the Empire. Soon after arriving, she meets Nineteen Adze, a member of Emperor Six Direction’s personal advisory council. Even from the fragmentary connections to Yskandr’s memories, Mahit realizes that the former ambassador was romantically involved with Nineteen Adze, a relationship of intensity equal to danger. While uncertain of Nineteen Adze’s intentions, Mahit also discovers that Yskandr had some sort of deal with another member of the emperor’s council: the suave and assured Thirty Larkspur. And whatever that deal was, it involved personal meetings between Yskandr and Emperor Six Direction himself. One of the things I loved about A Memory Called Empire is that the Emperor, though aging and waning, is neither inept nor evil. He genuinely wants what is best for the empire and its people.
Also notable in the relationships between the characters is that they extend across a full spectrum: platonic, homosexual, heterosexual, and polyamorous. Moreover, none of these are treated differently from one another in suitability or merit. The relationships between people are taken to boil down to simple love for another. I particularly appreciated how well Martine subtly holds these relationships to the background of the plot but gives them tremendous impact on character motivation. The relationships are given a gentle grace of intimacy which is obvious in the undertones of Martine’s writing and illustrates her skill in making something intuitively obvious to readers even if not overtly stated or driving the plot.
However, for all that I adore in this novel from its thematic complexity, its engaging characters, and its playfulness with language, there are still criticisms that could be made. Some readers might not enjoy the elements that I loved. Though a space opera, it is not of the kind that emphasizes action, particularly the first half. I didn’t mind this, as the slow building of Mahit figuring out her predicament permitted the reader to also adjust to the invented universe, particularly the Teixcalaanli language. A very useful glossary is provided at the end of the novel to help readers navigate proper names, which Teixcalaanli practice forms using a number followed by a noun. (In his review, Paul requests his own Teixcalaanli name. So I’ll point out that Martine and Tor Books offer just such a generator here)
Readers should also not go in expecting the focus of the novel to lie in a murder mystery. Solving Yskandr’s death may appear from plot summaries to be hugely important, but it actually becomes minor as the story progresses. Nonetheless, aspects of mystery still remain. As the plot picks up in the second half of the novel, readers may begin to suspect where things are ultimately headed. Martine nicely throws in some plot twists that will likely give readers some surprise and a satisfying ending. Of course, as the first in a series, the ending does leave some plot threads unresolved. While Mahit deals with internal issues of empire, a threat from outside is shown building through interludes that appear throughout the novel, which will clearly be the focal point for the books that follow.
The next volume in this series can’t get to me fast enough. Though my expectations are now high, Martine’s expert handling of this debut make me hugely optimistic for continued fulfillment. Any readers looking for smart, engaging science fiction and who don’t need constant action should pick up A Memory Called Empire. Like some of the poetry written by Nine Maize, the novel can be read with many interpretations, engendering in many that familiar sensation of simultaneous fulfillment and emptiness in a dominant culture:
Every skyport harbor overlows
Citizens carry armfuls of imported flowers,
These things are ceaseless: star-charts, disembarkments
The curl of unborn petals holds a hollowness.
A Memory Called Earth by Arkady Martine is published by Tor Books. It is available where all good books are sold.
