The Fifth Season by N.K. Jemisin: A review

I was captivated by the imagined world created by N.K. Jemisin in this novel, first of a trilogy, as I had not been since I first read Tolkien or Herbert all those many years ago. Jemisin's achievement might even be more remarkable because my imagination has grown somewhat deadened and jaded in the intervening years and it probably takes more to "captivate" it these days.

Jemisin's world is called Stillness but it is anything but still. It is Earth but an Earth riven by constant earthquakes and volcanoes and apocalyptic events. The world still has the four seasons known to us, but when one of these apocalyptic events occurs, it can trigger a Fifth Season which may last years, centuries, millennia and which is a near-extinction event. Imagine a world where George R.R. Martin's winter has come - to stay.

Jemisin's world-building is amazing in its detail. There is evidence of past civilizations everywhere in ruined cities and in the "stonelore" that is handed down from one generation to the next. There are also strange, unexplained obelisks that float in the atmosphere like satellites. What purpose do they serve? Are they from another world, another civilization?

The Stillness civilization that exists as we encounter it is called the Sanze Empire and it has learned to survive by harnessing the power of special humans called orogenes. Orogenes are born with an innate ability to control their environment. They are able to start or stop earthquakes and to save cities. The Empire has developed a caste called Guardians who serve as controls for the orogenes and can neutralize them if they become a threat.

In spite of their power, orogenes are held in contempt by ordinary humans (called stills) and orogene children, when discovered, are often abused or killed by them. Moreover, the stills have a derogatory name for orogenes. They call them roggas. If the children are discovered or sussed out by the ruling power, they are sent to a place called the Fulcrum (think Hogwarts) to be trained.

We learn all of this through the experiences of three female characters: Damaya, a child who is given to a Guardian and taken to the Fulcrum when she is discovered to be an orogene; Syenite, a powerful Fulcrum-trained orogene; and Essun, an orogene mother in a post-apocalyptic world who is searching for her lost daughter. It took me longer than it should have to figure out that all three of these characters are actually personas of a single individual. (There, I hope I haven't spoiled it for you!)

In my defense, let me say that the three intertwining narratives are confusing at first and they don't match up because they are not told in sequential order. The writer jumps back and forth in time. I can see how this might be irritating and even daunting to some readers but my advice is just to stick with it; after a while it all begins to make sense. Well, a kind of dystopian sense anyway.

The writing is quite visionary and creative and it is not at all surprising that the book was nominated for so many different awards and actually won the Hugo Award for Best Science Fiction Book of 2016. Overall, I found it to be a very rewarding read with a lot to tell us about the darkest human motivations, a story quite applicable to what may be the beginning of our own "Fifth Season."

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Poetry Sunday: Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

How about we share another Mary Oliver poem? After all, you can never have too many of those. In this one, the poet seems to acknowledge that it is often hard to simply live in and enjoy the moment, perhaps because we are afraid it can't last. She urges us to give in to that moment and fully experience the joy. Although "much can never be redeemed, still, life has some possibility left." Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is no...

Poetry Sunday: Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney

My mother was a farm wife and a prodigious canner. She canned fruit and vegetables from the garden, even occasionally meat. But the best thing that she canned, in my opinion, was blackberry jam. Even as I type those words my mouth waters! Of course, before she could make that jam, somebody had to pick the blackberries. And that somebody was quite often named Dorothy. I think Seamus Heaney might have spent some time among the briars plucking those delicious black fruits as well, so he would have known that "Once off the bush the fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour." They don't keep; you have to get that jam made in a hurry! Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red, green, hard as a knot. You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust ...

Poetry Sunday: Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman

You probably remember poet Amanda Gorman from her appearance at the inauguration of President Biden. She read her poem "The Hill We Climb" on that occasion. After the senseless slaughter in Uvalde this week, she was inspired to write another poem which was published in The New York Times. It seemed perfect for the occasion and so I stole it in order to feature it here, just in case you didn't get a chance to read it in the Times . Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman Everything hurts, Our hearts shadowed and strange, Minds made muddied and mute. We carry tragedy, terrifying and true. And yet none of it is new; We knew it as home, As horror, As heritage. Even our children Cannot be children, Cannot be. Everything hurts. It’s a hard time to be alive, And even harder to stay that way. We’re burdened to live out these days, While at the same time, blessed to outlive them. This alarm is how we know We must be altered — That we must differ or die, That we must triumph or try. ...

The Nature of Things

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