Babel: An Arcane History

Babel is a good book. I’m stating this at the outset because what comes after is mostly negative. It’s not because I dislike the book, but because I see so much potential in it that could very easily have been fulfilled but was not.

The author had a very promising setting, situation, and set of characters, but she decided to forget all about them. Instead of seizing every opportunity to further the plot and develop the characters, she seizes every opportunity to hammer home the message that colonialism, racism, imperialism, white superiority, etc., is wrong. There is nothing wrong about this, but the author sacrifices the story and the characters on the altar of her message. So although parts of Babel were enjoyable, I failed to find this a substantial work of literature because the author did not have her priorities clear and nearly ruined what could have been an almost flawless story (“nearly” ruined because it was partly salvaged by the ending).

Characterization: Robin

On some very obvious points, the author of this book seems to think that one explanation is not enough; the reader must be told, again, again, again, again, again, and yet again, in every way possible, that Colonialism Is Bad, that Colonialism is the worst form of evil in this world. But when the protagonist (Robin) kills a man, no explanation is offered. It’s as if the author wants the reader to understand Robin’s motivations immediately: a click of the fingers, and eureka! This seems to have been the case with Robin’s friends; they apparently understood his motivations immediately, and immediately after that they’d found very good reasons for covering up the crime, and immediately after that they’d decided that there was no need to talk about why Robin committed murder. Well, our eureka is slower. We cannot think like the protagonist's friends not because we’re narrow-minded people who can’t sympathize with Robin's psychologically grim childhood or his experience of racial discrimination in 1830s Oxford, or because we’re simply not as good at inference as these Oxford-trained minds, but because the author did not built the character up in such a way that we would be ready to understand his motivations without authorial comment.

My interpretation is that Robin committed murder because the treatment he has received is just too much for him, and he was so torn between two irreconcilable set of values that things tipped over the edge. Both are good reasons. The “buildup” to the first is the understanding that in 1830s Oxford a Chinese-British young man would be discriminated against. And this was a pretty good buildup insofar as we are given a couple of examples, but there is a flaw that could easily have been avoided: most of the discriminatory episodes in the book actually involve discrimination not against Robin the protagonist but against Ramy, Victoire, or even Letty. During the Oxford episodes, mentions of Robin’s status as a Babbler (which means that he receives special treatment and special respect and special funds and have special access to special libraries and facilities and whatnot) and his ability to “pass for white” appear more frequently than instances of discrimination against him. It is true, however, that if he wasn’t a Babbler, he would not have been welcome at Oxford, and he was only accepted there because even though the British despise him, they still want to use him against his homeland. This reason is, in my opinion, pretty sufficient for Robin to commit an impulsive murder, especially when (a) the murder victim is part of this oppressive system and has given him an untold amount of emotional damage, and (b) he has just seen the Chinese suffering from opium in Canton and how the British traders behaved towards them. But there is a gap between these reasons and the reality of the book. What I mean by this is that while all the basic “ingredients” for murder are there if you do some digging, they never quite seem to add up in a realistic, coherent, and convincing way,¹ because these “ingredients” are organized and spaced in such a way that the reader’s line of thought while reading is often distracted by other, less relevant, issues, including

(a) different ways of saying “studying at Oxford is wonderful”;

(b) different ways of saying “studying at Oxford is hard”;

(c) Ramy and Letty biting each other’s heads off;

(d) forays into Robin’s mind that only skim the surface;

(e) historical and narrative elements on the evils of colonization;

(f) historical and narrative elements on the evilness of the British;

(g) an abundance of footnotes on both e and f.

All this is good and in some cases indispensable to the plot, but the book would have been better if the author had actually used most of these points to further illustrate Robin’s character, motivations, fears, desires, etc., instead of using it to say Colonialism Is Bad, because the protagonist of this book is supposed to be Robin, not Colonialism. We as readers already know that colonialism is bad, that racism is bad, that white superiority and self-interest are bad, that what the British did to its colonies and colonized is unjustifiable, but we don’t know who Robin is, and we want to.² I for one really wanted to, and I really tried to.

At the risk of oversimplifying things, I would say that when it all boils down, there are two Robins in this book: Robin before Ramy died, and Robin after Ramy died. Kuang does a good job showing us who Robin became after Ramy died (though even that could have been better if she spent more time in Robin’s mind or showed us Robin’s actions or let us listen in on Robin’s dialogues instead of dwelling, again, on e, f, and g). But we barely know who Robin is before Ramy’s death. Too often we are distracted by e, f, and g, and we spend too little time exploring Robin in depth. I would argue that Robin as a character did not even have any depth until Ramy died. There was so much potential to Robin and most of that potential, especially before Ramy’s death, turned out to be just potential and nothing more. The book could have been much more like a human story and less like an aggravating lecture if Kuang had used some of her footnote space to develop character. Don’t get me wrong, some of her footnotes were interesting and instructive. But repetition kills enjoyment. And it kills the point because I don’t think readers picked up this book to be lectured about something that is already widely accepted as truth or could be easily inferred from the events in the book, but to see how this issue would play out in an alternative world and how the characters would deal with it in a fictional setting.³

Characterization: Supporting Characters

Even though Robin becomes a full-fleshed person after Ramy’s death, Victoire Desgraves⁴ is never salvaged as a character because she never becomes more than an abstract idea of perfection. As a black Haitian woman in 1830s Oxford, her story probably had the most potential of all. But yet again, none of this potential is realized. Victoire has no dimensions or depth whatsoever. She never makes a mistake and never shows a flaw. The reader can never fathom her motivations or thoughts because nothing is ever said about them. All the way to the end, when she becomes the only person left of the friend group, we still know nothing about Victoire. I fail to understand this almost unseemly authorial neglect, unless… the author really does not care about Victoire because Victoire is merely in the story as a symbol of black womanhood, or because she has more important things to do (such as writing footnotes), or because she does not understand the experience of a black woman in 1830s Oxford and did not bother to find out.

Another equally disappointing character is Professor Croft (actually, most of the good characters in this book are disappointing because the author accompanies all the bad characters’ actions with footnotes or deprecating authorial comments but does not confer this honor on morally commendable characters). 

Professor Croft makes a stunning U-turn: from the forbidding, tight-lipped, no-nonsense professor who droned out her lectures in monotone and rebuffed Letty’s questions on sexist discrimination in academia, she all of a sudden becomes the only white person on the protagonist's side, one of Robin’s staunchest supporters and the first person who volunteers to stay with him and destroy Babel. It’s almost as if she and Letty had exchanged places. But why? Did she get tired of teaching? Did she just want a bit of watered-down tea? We will never know, because in the long chapters full of repetitive descriptions of British stubborness in the face of cities crumbling from lack of silver maintenance, Kuang never found the opportunity to mention it.

And never mind introducing four new characters who immediately become the only Babblers who would join Robin and Victoire’s revolution, with no context, no buildup, no explanation, just a line of something like “they talked and talked and realized that they had so much in common because all of them had been discriminated against in similar ways”. Why not show us what they talked about? Needless to say, the revolution is a very important part of the story (in fact, it’s the reason the story exists, because the book purports to be a history of the revolution), but the players in this revolution are random people pulled from Babel according to a random list. We’ve got an Arab, check. We’ve got a professor, check. We’ve got someone in Legal, check. We’ve got a hint of an interracial love story, check. Now let’s get on with the revolution. Did it never occur to the author that she could easily have “nurtured” more characters during the “golden” Oxford years and used them as revolutionaries later on? Couldn’t she introduce them in-between Robin’s rowing sessions? Couldn’t she at least mention their existence? No, she thought that Colonialism Is Bad⁵ was much more important than making the vital revolutionaries anything more than placeholders. Let's not think about the wasted potential here⁶.

Language

It is my opinion that every book with a historical setting should do something to make its language period-specific. Granted, not everyone can write like Susanna Clarke—many end up sounding overly-superficial and constrained, like a woman struggling to breathe in an (historically speaking) inaccurately tight corset—but at least one should make an attempt. While R. F. Kuang writes strong prose, she does not try to move the story into the 1830s; the story is premised on the changes and nuances of language, but ironically, she does not change 21st century language into anything remotely 1830s. Kuang is a good enough writer that, for the most part, it is not very jarring, but suffice it to say that if the dialogues between Robin & Co. took place in a 2020s online class on British Imperialism, no one would notice anything unusual.