Babel, or the Necessity of Violence: An Arcane History of the Oxford Translators' Revolution

Took me a while to get through the first three hundred pages, but then it really gets moving. This is not a complaint, just saying it didn't pull me in like the the Poppy War trilogy or Yellowface. I will venture that the author doesn't write male characters as well as the protagonists (or anti-heroes, depending how you read them) of her other books, but I like to see authors stretch and this is I think is a more ambitious work, almost a treatise on linguistics (kind of show-offy in a Neal Stephenson way, shades of Cryptonomicon but without the Asian stereotypes).

While there is a big Chinese allegorical alternate history element here too as with the Poppy Wars, this is more about British colonial history (a sort of love letter to her alma mater Oxford). Some readers may feel bludgeoned in an enough-already way about all the racism, that's the point, this happened (happens), stop whining like you're the real victim, enjoy your buttered scones.

What first struck me was how this book used a smidge of magic to allow certain aspects of themes to be easier to comprehend. The writing does something with themes where it makes them recognizable and able to be investigated in more profound ways by shearing off the sides, so to speak. Yet while I noticed this up front, I was surprised how deep the book went as it reached its zenith and turned toward a conclusion. There were comments about colonialism and empire that I recognized, but the way they were delved into thanks to the aforementioned tactic struck me more deeply than I could have expected. The characters, despite being somewhat symbolic in their deployment, also grew on me immensely. It made me think, and it made my eyes tear up a few times. And that's without mentioning all the fun translation, history, and cultural movement details the writing wove in so elegantly! As a professional translator, it captured my intellect, my heart, and my imagination.

This memorable novel is both ingeniously creative and importantly timely in its message. R.F. Kuang weaves together a story that injects magical realism into a novel that is both historical and revisionist. That is, this is a story that asks us to imagine the road not taken at a certain time in history, and the ethics of the decisions of those in power–and question how and why such power came to be, in the first place.

I felt that the characters were well-developed and realistically complex, making it possible for the reader to feel the emotion in their stories. The plot was also well crafted and paced.

Instead of summarizing the plot, I want to simply recommend this novel, which I knew nothing about before I started reading. Part of the magic, for me, was simply reading on to discover the shape of the world as it is created by this author.

Bravo!

Like #TedChiang's ‘Seventy Two Letters’, Babel is set in a fantastical alternative history of England during the Industrial Revolution. In Kuang's universe, the revolutionary tech is yínfúlù, silver talismans engraved with a word in one language and it's translation in another. When a bilingual utters the words, the subtle differences between their meanings are released by the silver, working magic on the physical world. “The power of the bar lies in words. More specifically, the stuff of language the words are incapable of expressing - the stuff that gets lost when we move between one language and another. The silver catches what's lost and manifests it into being.” Like in #UrsulaLeGuin's Earthsea, words have magical power, but also like Earthsea, the magic is taught to adepts in cloistered academies, in Kuang's case the Royal Institute of Translation. Translators are not only key to great leaps in productivity for British Industry, but also at the nexus of Britain's project for empire and colonisation. The empire's next target is China, and the novel opens with a boy, the only survivor of Asiatic Cholera in his Canton household, is rescued and cured with silver-work by a mysterious Englishman, Professor Lovell. The professor spirits the boy off to London, forcing him to choose an English name (Robin) and abandon his native Cantonese in favour of the more ‘useful’ Mandarin tongue. Like #PhilipPullman's The Golden Compass, the hero is a youth of ambiguous parentage, growing up in an Oxford college, mentored by a distant, dismissive father figure. He's brought up studying Latin and Greek, and afforded a ‘opportunity’ to enter the Royal Institute of Translation, with a small cohort of foreign-born multilinguals. Like the Le Guin's academy, the he finally finds recognition and love amongst his peers, and a long lost sense of belonging, a salve for his lifelong alienation. Robin loves student life, but glossing over the underlying racism of Britain in general and Oxford in particular, and ignoring the growing realisation that silver-work is a tool for oppression in the colonies and a weapon of imperial expansion, become increasingly unsustainable. He realises the ‘opportunity’ is slavery wrapped in a false promise. The novel's civilised beginnings are misleading. The tension, violence, and stakes rise inexorably amongst revelations about his origins, shadowy resistance groups, betrayal, excruciating torture, and sudden death. Ostensibly about English colonial hegemony in centuries past, the novel has a lot to say about Silicon Valley's global imperial projects of similar magnitude, digital and linguistic sovereignty violated by today's magic: machine learning in general, and natural language processing in particular. Kuang's 'Babel' is action packed, and also bristling with etymological curiosities and translation theory. I loved it not only because of its germane themes and because I'm a nerd linguist, but also because it was a great, heartrending adventure, with a great deal of resonance not only presumably for colonised people and immigrants everywhere, but anyone who's spent time bathed in alienation or crises of identity.