A review by mereas
Babel by R.F. Kuang

dark emotional slow-paced
  • Plot- or character-driven? A mix
  • Strong character development? Yes
  • Loveable characters? Yes
  • Diverse cast of characters? Yes
  • Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated

5.0

A contemporary classic in literature. By the end, I felt simultaneously ruined and astonished by Rebecca F. Kuang's work. She covers the most existential questions in the frame of language and translation. The foundation of etymology and epistemology in the scene of colonialism and systematic oppression are narrated under one boy, Robin Swift, who is half-Chinese and half-English. I found the saddest aspect to this novel being that we never truly know his native name, of which was chosen by his late (Chinese) mother, and I cannot fathom the weight immigrants hold when they are told their names are too hard, complicated, or otherwise foreign for the English man. This also includes the erasure that colonial structures translate upon the foreign body, for they are left with no name nor grave. Rebecca F. Kuang leaves us to question whether protest and resistance should be violent or nonviolent to produce systematic change, in similar vein to the Civil Rights Movement.

Besides the foundation to this historical fantasy, the found-family trope touched my soul. I am a sucker for the most of unlikely friends to become a group of four. Between the lines, there are undertones of queer sentiments that also resonated with me, though they do not go further than just that. This, I did not mind because the characters are constantly in survival mode whether physically or emotionally. The reality underneath Rebecca F. Kuang's words is like a goldfish peaking above the water's surface--the social arguments always felt natural and fluid, which hurt the most.

Language holds so much power, yet it can just as easily be lost.
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On a side note, I love to find authors' favorite diction. Rebecca F. Kuang is biased to: teeter, tranquility, translation.
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"'What you don't understand,' said Ramy, 'is how much people like you will excuse if it just means they can get tea and coffee on their breakfast tables. They don't care, Letty. They just don't care'" (356).

"'Because you're a good translator.' Ramy leaned back on his elbows. 'That's just what translation is, I think. That's all speaking is. Listening to the other and trying to see past your own biases to glimpse what they're trying to say. Showing yourself to the world, and hoping someone else understands'" (535).

"Oxford relied on silver, how without the constant labour of its translation corps, of the talent it attracted from abroad, it immediately fell apart. It revealed more than the power of translation. It revealed the sheer dependence of the British, who, astonishingly, could not manage to do basic things like bake bread or get safely from one place to another without words stolen from other countries" (471). This, made me question what else can stand in for silver. Oil. Petroleum. Fast fashion. And, at what cost?
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