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translation state
The beginning of Ann Leckie's Translation State is in the best tradition of romantic adventure stories. We have Enae, the put-upon unmarried relative who receives an unexpected inheritance on hir grandmaman's death, Reet, the adopted child whose birth family might have more-than-human powers, and Qven, the child of an aristocratic family drawn into danger by a charming friend. Reet isn't sure where he comes from, or why he feels a disconcerting urge to peel the skin off the people around him and see what's inside. Qven, on the other hand, is clearly alien, raised (and specially designed) to become one of the Translators who interpret human experience for the inscrutable and dangerous Presger.
It would be easy to collapse the various differences into one grand binary--to contrast human love for family with Translator coldness, or to make the Translators' strangeness a metaphor for human neurodivergence--and I admire Leckie's refusal to do anything of the sort. Enae's relatives don't care about hir, while Reet's adoptive parents love him dearly. His blunt, awkward Nana won my heart with a cynical observation on group dynamics that will be familiar to geeks the world over:
I was settling in for a book balancing lighthearted tropes and acutely observed social commentary when the story shifted. Enae, who begins by discovering small luxuries and gaining confidence, finds hirself at the edge of violent civil unrest. Qven's arc moves through tragedy to something rather like what you'd get if you put arranged marriage and fuck-or-die in a blender with a lot of alien goo.
And then something goes wrong with the station--something Presger levels of wrong--and all the acutely observed social tensions turn into a desperate struggle to communicate before the clock runs out. The precise details reminded me of the mathematical concept of monodromy, and specifically an old page of monodromy life advice:
If your personal monodromy entails reading this book multiple times, I suspect you will be richly rewarded!
It would be easy to collapse the various differences into one grand binary--to contrast human love for family with Translator coldness, or to make the Translators' strangeness a metaphor for human neurodivergence--and I admire Leckie's refusal to do anything of the sort. Enae's relatives don't care about hir, while Reet's adoptive parents love him dearly. His blunt, awkward Nana won my heart with a cynical observation on group dynamics that will be familiar to geeks the world over:
"You know how it is with clubs and such," Nana continued. "Everyone loves the idea, and they love to come to the parties or whatever, but no one wants to do the work to keep things going and make the parties happen."
I was settling in for a book balancing lighthearted tropes and acutely observed social commentary when the story shifted. Enae, who begins by discovering small luxuries and gaining confidence, finds hirself at the edge of violent civil unrest. Qven's arc moves through tragedy to something rather like what you'd get if you put arranged marriage and fuck-or-die in a blender with a lot of alien goo.
And then something goes wrong with the station--something Presger levels of wrong--and all the acutely observed social tensions turn into a desperate struggle to communicate before the clock runs out. The precise details reminded me of the mathematical concept of monodromy, and specifically an old page of monodromy life advice:
Do you feel that you are going around in circles and not getting anywhere? Things may not be as bad as they seem. You might be getting somewhere, but not realizing it because you aren't aware of your personal monodromy.
Do you think you are exactly the same person you were half your lifetime ago? If not, it is almost certainly because you are aware, at some level, of your personal monodromy. Think how much richer and more fulfilling life would be if you were completely aware of all the monodromy which surrounds you.
If your personal monodromy entails reading this book multiple times, I suspect you will be richly rewarded!
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