Passionate complications of love and hate elevate N.K. Jemisin’s novel The Obelisk Gate / Complicaciones apasionadas de amor y odio elevan la novela de N.K. Jemisin, The Obelisk Gate

obelisk_When I reviewed The Fifth Season, the first novel in N.K. Jemisin’s Broken Earth trilogy, I focused on what the violence in the novel was telling us and how the idea of violence shaped the story and the reader. The second novel in the series, The Obelisk Gate, is about love and hate, the fundamental motivations for all actions. So, if you’re up for a conversation about that, read on–just know that there will be spoilers.

Our hero from the first novel, Essun, is still in the underground community of Castrima where we left her at the end of the first novel. She’s a bit lost herself because she lost her daughter’s trail and doesn’t know how to find her, but she also has found a few people (and others) who care for her, and a place in a community that knows she is an orogene and tolerates her presence nonetheless. Her old love Alabaster has made it to Castrima as well. He is dying after having caused the rift that has brought on a season of destruction, but he tries in his impatient, imperfect way to teach her what she needs to know to finish what he started. No, the objective is not destruction of the world. The objective is an end to the seasons and re-establishing the planetary balance that will make it possible for humans (and others) to thrive again.

The novel also follows Nassun, Essun’s only daughter and surviving child, on her journey south with her homicidal father. Nassun is just leaving childhood, physically, mentally and emotionally, and Jemisin does an outstanding job of portraying the capacities and vulnerabilities of a girl that age. We see her navigate the unstable terrain that is her father’s mind–a man who could bludgeon her three-year-old brother to death because he discovered the boy was an orogene, yet tenuously hangs on to Nassun to take her somewhere he’s heard she can be cured. Why? Love. Twisted, damaged and smashed love. Nassun valiantly attempts to keep the image of her father in her heart and mind despite what she knows about him. Why? Love. The other parent, Essun–the one who pushed her as a child, hurt her so she would know how to protect herself, the one who is not there–becomes an object of hate, though the child does not clearly acknowledge this as her fear and desperation turns her in that direction. Continue reading

Family and females feature prominently in the Nebula short story nominees / La familia y mujeres aparecen prominentemente en los cuentos nominados a los Premios Nebula

It’s been a great month of reading and thinking about this year’s short story nominees for the Nebula Awards. (My reviews of the nominees can be found in the March and April 2015 archives on this blog.) I hope I’ve learned something about writing speculative fiction from seven impressive writers, but I’ve definitely enjoyed the trip to seven different, fully imagined worlds that drew me in, carried me along and left me a happy reader.  I thought it was interesting that the concept of family featured so clearly among the nominees. It is a prominent theme for five of the seven stories, maybe six, if you accept that the love of an undead man and woman meets the criteria of a family.

The obligation to ancestors, the loyalty of siblings, the pain of familial betrayal, secret inheritance, the process of maturing, fear for the well-being of children–it’s all here in these stories. For those who turn up their noses at speculative genres and think that science fiction, fantasy and horror are only about space ships, aliens, elves and vampires, there’s no better rebuttal to this prejudice than a critical read of these nominees. Continue reading