Book Review: Gideon the Ninth
Well, I’m quite glad Harrow the Ninth came out recently, because it gave me an excuse to go back to Gideon the Ninth, one of my 2019 favs, and do a review I missed while on hiatus. So, without further ado…
After growing up in the dreary Ninth House, all Gideon wants is to run away to the army and read her titty mags. But after her latest escape attempt fails, she accepts an offer from her mortal enemy (and also only friend), the Reverend Daughter Harrowhark Nonagesimus: answer the emperor’s call with Harrow, serve as Harrow’s cavalier while she learns to be an immortal warrior, and Harrow will let her leave. Sounds simple, right? Until they land on the First House — and people start dying.
HOO BUDDY.
Look, Gideon the Ninth was definitely wildly hyped, and I’ve read a lot of reviews of folks who disagree with that hype. Let me just get this out of the way right now: I am not one of them, because I love this book with a glee that sits in my necromancer-loving bones.
I’m going to start with the world, because that’s really what sold me on Gideon to begin with. The pitch is “lesbian necromancers in space,” and on top of that, not just necromancers, but necromancers who aren’t really portrayed as evil. In fact, necromancy is very common AND the emperor is also a necromancer. It’s everywhere, and Muir has put together a science behind it, with fancy scientific terms like “thanergy” and “thalergy.”
Apart from the magic, there’s also the classic fantasy political structure to enjoy: nine houses, each known for something in particular. It plays particularly well here, because each one is associated with a planet or moon. (IS THIS FUTURE EARTH / THE SOLAR SYSTEM? I’m not telling but I’d say it’s pretty definitively answered by Harrow the Ninth). Muir only drops in what she needs, and it does leave the book a bit thin in places (for instance, WHY are they fighting this massive war that they need a ton of soldiers and these special immortal necromancer warriors called Lyctors?), but I can confidently tell you now that most of those answers are in Harrow. So don’t worry.
This brings me to our Ninth House protagonists, Gideon and Harrow. And I love them both to pieces.
Gideon is our narrator, a space jock with biceps for days who wants to be a soldier. For all that she’s a jock, she’s definitely not unintelligent (though she is flustered and distracted by pretty ladies). She’s also snarky as hell, which makes the narration a right treat. Her personal arc, as expected, revolves around realizing that Harrow hates herself more than Gideon ever could hate her, and that Gideon, in fact, does not hate her that much at all. Gideon has a surprisingly deep sense of loyalty to the Ninth House, and it’s something she only notices as her life — and Harrow’s life — are increasingly in danger.
Harrow is, of course, the foil: a somewhat sicky necromancer, determined to be academically and magically the best she possibly can. She’s a boss bitch, and I do mean that as a compliment; her sheer determination and willpower are astounding. Oh, and she’s just as snarky as Gideon. While Harrow’s loyalty to the Ninth House is never in question, her arc is about opening up, about realizing that she does not have to do things alone, and that she’s better off with friends in her corner.
This is a classic enemies to friends (not lovers, to be clear, even though they are definitely both into ladies). They have plenty of reasons to hate each other, but as they come to realize, a) they’re each other’s best hope for survival and b) their reasons for hating each other aren’t actually good ones like they initially thought. Their interactions are the book’s best highlights, and by the time we reach the back third, those interactions become heartfelt and even touching.
The supporting cast is A+, but there’s A LOT of them (17 major ones, yikes!). First time readers will be confused at the sudden mass of names to remember, but it’s a lot easier on the second go around. Fortunately, there are some standouts, like the wispy, beautiful Dulcinea Septimus, object of Gideon’s affections, and the Sherlock-Holmes-but-necromancer-style Palamedes Sextus. Or even the terrible teenagers, whose dialogue is hilariously written in tiny, whiny text.
Speaking of which, and as you might imagine, the dialogue is WILD. Snarky, witty, with some hidden references and meme content, there’s so much to enjoy about how the characters speak to each other. Muir does a great job of making the voices sound quite different based on the character: Gideon is playful and foul-mouthed, Harrow is disdainful and arrogant, Palamedes is scientific and clinical, etc. Characters that sound too much alike is a problem for a lot of authors (myself included), but Muir has this voice business nailed down.
There’s also a lot of attention to detail. One of the best examples? Muir did her research on anatomy, and the book is littered with anatomical references that reinforce the necromancer theme. And there’s a ton of tiny hints, here and there, to some big questions sitting behind the book, unanswered. Who are Gideon’s parents? Why did she survive?
If the book has a flaw, it’s this: it’s a little slow in the beginning. It did take me quite a few chapters to really get into it the first time. (It picks up substantially when they reach the First House). Once the competition / murder mystery begins, the action is tight and positively tears through the rest of the book. And WOOF, it is a mystery. People are dying, and I had a guess in the right direction but I wasn’t completely right, which actually makes me super happy. (Going back, there are hints and clues I missed). And that ending — let’s just say it’s a brave choice, not one that many authors would make.
Look, I think everyone who loves necromancers, murder mysteries, extremely snarky protagonists, or SFF in general should pick this one up. It’s really not to be missed.
Grade: 5/5 stars
Memorable Quote:
“Gideon braced her shoulders against the weight of what she was about to do. She shed eighteen years of living in the dark with a bunch of bad nuns. In the end her job was surprisingly easy: she wrapped her arms around Harrow Nonagesimus and held her long and hard, like a scream. They both went into the water, and the world went dark and salty. The Reverend Daughter fell calm and limp, as was natural for one being ritually drowned, but when she realised that she was being hugged she thrashed as though her fingernails were being ripped from their beds. Gideon did not let go. After more than one mouthful of saline, they ended up huddled together in one corner of the shadowy pool, tangled up in each other’s wet shirtsleeves. Gideon peeled Harrow’s head off her shoulder by the hair and beheld it, taking her inventory: her point-boned, hateful little face, her woeful black brows, the bloodless bow of her lips. She examined the disdainful set of the jaw, the panic in the starless eyes. She pressed her mouth to the place where Harrow’s nose met the bone of her frontal sinus, and the sound that Harrow made embarrassed them both.
”Too many words,” Gideon said confidentially. “How about these: one flesh, one end, bitch.””
