Babel, by R. F. Kuang

You a post by Bite Size Reviews, on Substack, that convinced me to read Babel.

By the way, can we talk about Substack? If my site wasn't so beautiful (she says with an air of false modesty), I would almost regret not starting my blog on it. I love the email format: it allows me to keep up with new posts from accounts I like without having to go through the nasty social networks. Plus, it gives me the feeling of having a more privileged link with the author of the email, even if it's totally fabricated on my part: it's like she's writing to me, personally! I strongly invite you to check it out. You'll find some of my suggestions of accounts to follow at the end of this article.

I also send emails with my new publications: if you want to receive them, it's in the right bar.

So Kyle, the author of Bite Size Reviews, was infectiously enthusiastic about Babel. But even if I can understand his opinion, I do not share it completely.

Summary

It is Oxford in the 1830s. Four young adults, all of whom belong to an ethnic or gender minority in the English academic world of the time, have been recruited to study translation. The Oxford Institute of Translation is called Babel (as in the tower of Babel), and those who work there enjoy a tremendous honor, as their work is literally essential to the functioning of the country. It has to do with magic, in a way that I'll let you discover for yourself if you feel like it. They are destined to be among the elite of society. But, there is a but.

Impressions

I had high expectations for this book. Kyle isn't the only one who has been talking about it lately, and I expected nothing less than a masterpiece.

It does indeed have the ingredients to be considered as such: it is long (545 pages), its cover is beautiful, it is full of interesting information about etymology, translation and linguistics, complex and deep relationships are developed, and there are reflections on academia, racism and sexism that tickle our morality. It is an ambitious, rather daring novel that meets the challenge it has set itself.

But there is one major element that prevents me from giving it as much credit: there is no subtlety in the subject matter. The author wants to really make sure that we understand that colonialism is wrong, and seems to forget that this is already the dominant discourse at the moment and that her readers are capable of making deductions anyway. So she makes sure her message is absolutely unambiguous and tells us over and over again (thanks to Books are Life for the quotes):

It was so obvious now that he was not, and could never be, a person in his father’s eyes. No, personhood demanded the blood purity of the European man, the racial status that would make him Professor Lovell’s equal. Little Dick and Philippa were persons. Robin Swift was an asset, and assets should be undyingly grateful that they were treated well at all.

“You have such a great fear of freedom, brother. It’s shackling you. You’ve identified so hard with the colonizer, you think any threat to them is a threat to you. When are you going to realize you can’t be one of them?“

I expected a lot from the book, but the book expected very little from me. It treated me as if I had a good heart, but a failing education and a very average cognitive ability. Sure, I was entertained. But is there anything to get so excited about? I don't think so.

In English only :