Carrying on where the fabulous Gideon the Ninth left off, Tamsyn Muir’s second novel Harrow the Ninth continues to explore the setting and mythos of the Locked Tomb series while taking the narrative in an unexpected direction. Having attained Lyctorhood, Harrow finds life as one of the Emperor’s Saints to be not what she expected. There’s something strange going on with both her memories and her powers, someone appears to be trying to kill her, and of all people the entirely untrustworthy Ianthe is proving (much to Harrow’s disgust) to be the closest thing she has to an ally amongst the deeply dysfunctional family of the Emperor and his Lyctors. To make matters worse, an impending apocalypse is looming over them all in the shape of a deadly Resurrection Beast.
At first, nothing makes any sense whatsoever. Absolutely nothing. It’s very much Muir’s style to start off opaque before slowly revealing how everything fits together, but here she takes this to an extreme with a non-linear structure combining multiple timelines using different perspectives. The ‘present day’ sections of the narrative are told in unconventional second person and jump head-first into the meat of the plot with no explanation, while flashbacks to Harrow’s youth use third person but seem strangely disconnected from what was covered in Gideon. There’s clearly a mystery to be explored and gradually understood for both Harrow and the reader, but there aren’t even any signposts to what the mystery might be, to help navigate through the plot. Well, there are signposts, they’re just so well hidden as to only make sense in hindsight.
It’s a remarkably brave choice to take narrative, structure and style in such an unexpected direction while really doubling down on the ‘it’ll make sense in the end’ approach, but despite causing a fair bit of confusion it does actually work very well. Eventually. As the plot thickens, Harrow appearing decreasingly sane and her fellow Lyctors increasingly psychotic, and Harrow’s memories of Canaan House diverge further and further from the events of Gideon, the shape of what’s happening gradually comes into view. The resolution when it arrives comes wrapped up in a breathtaking expansion of the characters, systems and structures of this world, revealing the complexity of Muir’s storytelling and the emotional depth at the heart of the plot and the setting.
Look past the surface confusion of the plot, and this still has the same brilliant sense of snark and sharpness as Gideon did, albeit filtered through a rather different perspective on life with Harrow now the main protagonist. The tone of voice is a little different as a result, but there are plenty of similarities and Harrow is just as prickly as ever, even if the targets of her ire are now fellow Lyctor Ianthe and the young Ortus Nigenad, who plays a surprisingly large part in this story. The dialogue is consistently razor sharp and often bitingly funny, and with a somewhat reduced cast of characters compared to last time it’s relatively quick and easy to get to know the older Lyctors and the strangely paternal, gentle presence of the Emperor/God, and learn more about Ianthe.
For fans just wanting more of the same after Gideon, this might seem a little disappointing – not to mention baffling – at first, but in hindsight it’s hardly surprising that Muir should take the nonconformist route. For those who loved Gideon for its complexity as much as its tone of voice, however, it’s every bit the natural extension of its predecessor, and there’s no doubt that this is a masterclass in intricate plotting, dense storytelling and rich, deeply-considered world building. It’s a story which unquestionably requires the reader to concentrate and trust in the author’s vision, but it bears out that trust with spectacular results. Be patient with Harrow and it will all make sense in the end!
Many thanks to Tor UK and Tamsyn Muir for an advance copy of Harrow the Ninth, in exchange for this review.
