Gideon the Ninth

How many stars you give a book can be big drama in the book community. Give it one and (according to some) you might as well be sledgehammering the author in the face, give it five and it feels like you are judging a werewolf romance you greatly enjoyed as on par with Austen and Harper Lee.

I have a rating system that works well enough for me (one for unfinished, two if it's meh, three if it was fine, four if I loved it, five if it resonated with my soul) but I still catch myself out on occasion. A book I cheerfully rate four stars can, with a bit of distance, have a bitter aftertaste that makes me feel cheated. With some space and thought, a book I didn't appreciate can grow and mature.

Gideon the Ninth [Tamsyn Muir] is the first book I've read that left me with no idea how I truly felt about it. In one light it's fascinating and unique, and in another it's all style and no substance. Is it cleverly plotted or just several shocking moments in a trench coat? Is the world-building unique or do we all just really love Gormenghast castles with Jason and the Argonauts style reanimated skeletons serving tea?

Basically it's the perfect subject for a blog post.

Released in 2019, it quickly became a BookTok/Book Blogger darling with its gothic setting, Hunger Games-ish plot, and queer rep. It's an adult book (and is gorily violent at times, even by my standards) but it packs enough Young Adult tropes in to make you forget that. It was marketed heavily as 'Lesbian Necromancers in a Haunted Palace in Space', which I strongly suspect the classical lit-minded author resented. 

So what is Gideon the Ninth about?

Gideon Nav is mistreated orphan, raised on the Ninth planet in the system, which acts as a prison and graveyard to the Emperor’s enemies. It's populated by animated skeletons and a cast of twisted gothic nuns and nobles. All Gideon wants is to escape her indentured service and leave.

But the Emperor has called for a necromancer from every house to attend the first planet in the hopes of transforming them into a Lyctor (a god-like eternal guard to the emperor). They must also bring a cavalier, a soldier who is sworn to them in a way that borders on marriage.

Unfortunately for Gideon, the Ninth's necromancer Harrowhawk is her sworn enemy and lifelong tormenter. Even more unfortunately, Harrowhawk's original cavalier flees, and Gideon is drafted into service. They arrive at the first planet, meet their rivals from the other houses, and chaos promptly ensues when what starts as a glorified escape room descends into bloodthirsty violence.

At its heart this is a murder mystery, with nods to And Then There Were None, as the large cast is picked off brutally and they realise just how isolated and helpless they are. However, unlike murder mysteries, the goal here isn't staying alive but ascending into Lyctorhood and saving their home planet - which means that even while fearing for their life, there is no talk of rescue or escape, only alliances and tactics.

So, why did I struggle with my feelings for this book?

Firstly, I found this a hard read. Big casts, complex worldbuilding, and old-fashioned words aren't a problem for me, but it required a close reading. Me and the character list at the front became very close friends. Skimming a line could mean missing a vital reveal and there were sections I read several times before understanding them - which may be partly my intelligence and partly a clunky writing style.

I am aware of the sunk cost fallacy, where you believe that because you have put the effort in, the thing you are doing is worth that effort. Between that and the hype, it's hard to say 'hey, this actually isn't perfect'. But it's not perfect. There's a lot I liked, loved even, and I'll cover that shortly, but to an experienced, adult reader, this book has serious weaknesses.

Characterisation is the one reviews have repeatedly bought up - accusations of cardboard cut-outs who exist only to die. For me, that was less of a problem. It's a murder mystery, it's to be expected. And the characters we do get to know are well drawn. Gideon is a delight to follow around, Harrowhawk is a mean-girl enigma who only grows more interesting, and the rest of the cast is likeable enough that when they died, I felt the loss.

Character arcs are a different matter. As the plot and tension ramps up, the characters stay more or less the same. Gideon and Harrow are fascinating individually and I expected pure magic when the walls between them broke down... but instead of enemies-to-lovers, or even enemies-to-frenemies, the plot was more enemies-to-prickly-colleagues which is the least satisfying trope ever. It felt like Muir was trying to have her cake and eat it - invoking popular YA/fic tropes and then trying to outsmart them rather than give the audience the payoff. When it comes to emotions, you have to fill in the blanks yourself.

Likewise there are some essential characters who are undeveloped. The book kindly provides character pronunciations and notes on their naming - stuffed with mythological and biblical references and all sorts of fascinating linguistic trickery. Yet several of those key characters were so badly drawn (second and eighth houses, I'm looking at you) that I didn't truly understand their motives, even at the end. One of the main characters was supposedly in love with another - enough to commit an unspeakable act - and I hadn't even noticed this supposed love until he was already in avenging mode.

Now you may think my feelings are clear, based on the above. I've given it a savaging, or at the very least a gentle mauling.

Yet Gideon the Ninth is a frustratingly likeable book.

A lot of this is down to Gideon herself, who is impossible to keep down. She's a rebel, but a fair-playing one with minimal bitterness. She's been treated terribly her whole life, but she's still joyful enough to pop a pair of sunglasses on over her creepy skull facepaint and make a tension-releasing sex joke in a bleak moment. She eats with relish, enjoys a dirty comic, and isn't above appreciating a half-naked woman. She's instinctively kind when she has no reason to be, and loyal even when she protests that she's not.

She's also funny, which makes all the difference during some of the relentlessly heavy plot elements. She's self-aware and petty and that often translates into lines and descriptions that startled me into laughter.

The mystery itself works well, and uses the rules of the universe to its advantage - you might guess the murderer based on the somewhat obvious 'ooh they probably did it because they seem least likely' vibes, but it would be impossible to figure everything out until the larger magical reveals at the end.

The worldbuilding is complex, but the trick here is that because we are in Gideon's POV, we aren't expected to understand it all. She's grown up as little more than a slave in a dying house on a isolated planet - and as a cavalier she can tune out the boring stuff and have it explained in easy terms. It's only at the end that we leave the safety of Gideon's POV and it feels very much like the training wheels have come off when we do.

The end is one of the reasons I liked it best. That's not a universal opinion by any means, and I can see why. Without going into spoilers, the end of the book might as well say 'ok, that's the set-up finished... who is ready for the main story?' Gideon is revealed to be little more than a backstory. She is - metaphorically - the person who forges the magical weapon rather than the questing hero who rescues it. I liked the darkness of that, to be quite honest.

It remains to be seen what Gideon's full role is in the larger story - there are several more books - but I will confess that until that ending, I wasn't sure I cared enough to read the next one. Now I'll be sure to pick it up.