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347 pages, Paperback
First published October 29, 2013
"You're infatuated."
"I'm not. I want to help her."
"Because she's pretty."
"Because it's the right thing to do," he said. "And pretty is not even the right word. She burns. She's a verb."
"There is one thing you must understand about destroying gods, boy."While Three Parts Dead took place in the still-god-blessed city of Alt Coulumb, in Two Serpents Rise, we get to see the true impact of the God Wars. The real problem with revolutions, as visionaries have discovered over and over, is what to do once the revolution is complete: once the world has started turning, how can one bring it back to rest, to stability?
"Only one?"
"You must be ready to take their place."
"Sixty years ago, these men and women broke the heavens, and made the gods weep. They had spent the time since learning how hard it was to run a world."In the case of Dresediel Lex, the King in Red stepped in and effectively assume godhood, maintaining the city's delicate equilibrium through a complex web of contracts in place of "divine grace". But while it's tempting to "put a fence around history and hang a plaque and assume it's over," not everyone is willing to forget. Civil unrest focuses on restoring the eminence of the gods, with the last of the priests--Caleb's father-- at the epicenter of the chaos.
"Once we sacrificed men and women of Quechaltan to beg rain from the gods. We do the same today, only we spread the one death out over millions. We no longer empathize with the victim, lie with him on the slab. We forget, and believe forgetfulness is humane."
"Your system kills, too. You've not eliminated sacrifices, you've democratized them--everyone dies a little every day, and the poor and desperate are the worst injured [...] Your bosses grind them to nothing, until they have no choice but to mortgage their souls and sell their bodies as cheap labor."The religious zealots argue that modern times have lost the meaning of sacrifice. As one character puts it,
"My problem isn't that we no longer sacrifice, it's that we're no longer conscious of the sacrifices we make. That's what gods are for."Actually, it felt to me that everyone had lost the meaning of sacrifice, since in both cases, the sacrifice was required from other people. Caleb's definition of sacrifice--that discovering the ugly underside and then accepting it is necessary-- is an insult to the very meaning of the word.
"We come out here, learn the price of our world [...] You wander through this city, and wonder if anything you do will make up for the horror that keeps the world turning. To live, you rip your own heart from your chest and hide it in a box somewhere, along with everything you ever learned about justice, compassion, mercy. [...] And if you yearn for something different: what would you change? Would you bring back the blood, the dying cries, the sucking chest wounds? The constant war? So we're caught between two poles of hypocrisy. We sacrifice our right to think of ourselves as good people, our right to think our life is good, our city is just. And so we and our city both survive."That's not a sacrifice; it's an ugly form of pragmatism. It's entitlement. It's exploitation. And we all do it all the time. But we do it because it's the easy thing to do. It's the polar opposite of sacrifice, and this becomes a central theme of the book.
"There's no more priesthood, and what are kids to do these days when there are no more reliable careers involving knives, altars, and bleeding victims?"He may disapprove of his son's lifestyle, but he tries to be supportive in his own special way:
"You're my son. I love you. You work for godless sorcerers who I'd happily gut on the altar of that pyramid"--he pointed to 667 Sansilva-- and you are part of a system that will one day destroy our city and our planet, but I still love you."(Aww. Thanks, Dad.)
Dresediel Lex sprawled below: fifteen thousand miles of roads gleaming with ghostlight and gas lamps. Between boulevards crouched the houses and shops and apartment buildings, bars and banks, theaters and factories and restaurants, where seventeen million people drank and loved and danced and worked and died.The interesting thing about the world of the Craft Sequence is that it’s very much like our own reality, except almost everything about it, from laws to institutions to money to mundane everyday things like public transportation, has a weird magical bent. People there live like we do. The over-populated, desert city of Dresediel Lex is also run by corporations; it used to be run by gods, priests, and ceremonial human sacrifices. The legal system is a tangled mess. The water system is like that as well. There’s nightlife, there’s an art scene, and soul-sucking corporate jobs. Their police force is made up of cloaked, ghoul-like figures that ride barely-tamed flying serpentine creatures.
We put a fence around history and hang a plaque and assume it’s over. Try to forget.The post-revolution atmosphere in this Aztec-inspired city, on the other hand, is well portrayed in the book. I particularly like how everyday life is shown as normal and mundane with the general masses going about their daily business, and no one seems to be aware of the undercurrents of the side that lost the God Wars simmering beneath the surface. Just because the fight part of the revolution is over doesn't mean the revolution is actually over.
Sixty years ago, the King in Red had shattered the sky over Dresediel Lex, and impaled gods on thorns of starlight. The last of his flesh had melted away decades past, leaving smooth bone and a constant grin. He was a good boss. But who could forget what he had been, and what remained?[...]
“You live in a grim universe.”The book opens up with the main character, Caleb, a risk management manager for the King in Red who currently runs the city, at a poker game. Then he is called to investigate a death at a water reserve, which kicks off the central mystery. For about 40% of the book, we follow him around the city while not much is happening. We do get to see the city up close and hear about all the things that make it tick though.
“That’s risk management for you. Anything that can go wrong, will—with a set probability given certain assumptions. We tell you how to fix it, and what you should have done to keep it from happening in the first place. At times like these, I become a hindsight professional.”
“Should I be worried that it takes demons to break you out of your funk?”It seems someone has poisoned the city’s water with demons, and Caleb is tasked with fixing this problem before the city runs out of water, the demons escape, and people take to the streets. During the investigation, Caleb runs into an attractive but elusive cliff runner, Mal. His instinct tells him she is somehow tied up in this thing, but his hormones persuade him to look the other way and not to dwell on the details.
“Everyone likes to be needed,” he said.
Caleb almost refused on principle, but principle had no place on company time.I realize now the reason I couldn’t get into this book in the past was because Caleb reminded me too much of myself back when I used to work for a similar soul-sucking corp. Didn’t know the meaning of “soul-sucking” until I left that job. So Caleb’s narration, the monotony of the work, the gradual grinding down of one’s self, sounds awfully familiar. The moment he chased after Mal, I got it and the book started making sense for me. He wasn’t chasing after her per se, but after a spark that made him feel something again.
Sixty years ago, these men and women broke the heavens, and made the gods weep. They had spent the time since learning how hard it was to run a world.
You are comfortable when violence is done by others on your behalf—when gods are imprisoned, when men are slain or reduced to slavery, you do not blink. But faced with the need to dirty your own hands, you shudder.
“The trouble with atheism," Temoc said, "is that it offers a limited range of curses.”