The Killing Moon

Written by N. K. Jemisin, The Killing Moon is a compelling page-turner: a fantasy novel with big ideas, strong narrative arcs, and good character development. It introduces the reader to a fantastical world, based on dreams and religion, where war and corruption are supposed to be extinct. Its main characters, however, start to discover that those are elements intrinsic to human nature, and that a society that claims itself free of them is just a hypocritical one.

The protagonist is Ehiru, a priest of the Goddess of Dreams, Hannanja, who has the task to bestow peace – death – to those deemed tainted by corruption or who are in desperate need to escape life in a painless way. Ehiru is known as a Gatherer; those who come silently in the dead of the night, in the holy city of Guajareeh, to collect the essence of their targets’ dreams, killing them in the process – although any Gatherer would flinch at the word “killing”, claiming that they are just delivering people to the peace of their goddess. The book starts when Ehiru is performing a gathering one night and is surprised by the response of his victim, who claims that Ehiru is not doing Hannanja’s work but actually being used by his order. This disturbs the priest, who ends up mishandling the gathering and letting the man’s soul fade away in agony. However, the Gatherer soon discovers that he doesn’t have time to even chastise himself for his mistake, for another task is expected of him: to gather the soul of a foreign ambassador living in Guajareeh,  a woman called Sunandi.

The Killing Moon has three main characters. The priest Ehiru, his apprentice Nijiri, and the young female ambassador Sunandi, each with their own narrative arcs. Ehiru is a Gatherer who eventually finds out that his righteousness – as it is often the case – makes him an easy target for manipulation. He has always lived believing in the idea that Guajareeh is a city devoid of corruption and madness. After all, it is the sacred duty of his order, the Hetawa, to uphold its goddess wish for peace. In Guajareeh, justice is a religious matter: it’s harsh, swift, and sacred. There is almost no attempt of reformation or redemption, only the surprise night calling and the subsequent punishment: “Omin was corrupt. There was no taming something like that,” it’s explained at the beginning of the novel.

Believing that he and his order are morally right, Ehiru is shocked by the accusation that they may be corrupt as well, partaking of the same evil that they fight against.  How can the people tasked to uphold peace be corrupt as well? His initial reaction is to dismiss these terrible accusations, but they still do their job, making him more alert: “Have you ever questioned your commissions before, Erihu,” someone asks him. It becomes a matter of time, then, for Ehiru to understand his problem: to see that he never questioned; he simply obeyed. And, by doing so, he allowed himself to become a tool for injustice. Ehiru starts to grasp the problems of his faith, discovering that it is – as most things in The Killing Moon – a double-edged sword.

His character arc, then, is one of awakening, and Ehiru can feel in his own skin the effect of the lies that he was fed all his life – for the substances he gathers from dreams can be used to cure and pacify, acting much like magic, but they also have dark properties, causing serious withdrawal problems if the Gatherer stops using them. Magic in this book has two sides to it: it can heal the mind, but also twist it; it can heal the body, but only if its essence was taken in a moment of death; it can provide satisfaction to the Gatherer, but also drive him mad, acting like a highly addictive drug. Ambivalence is the bedrock of the systems that form the city of Guajareeh, making the righteousness of their leaders feel immediately disturbing to any attentive reader.

To make matters worse, the whole system of power in Guajareeh stinks of corruption. “Even the Hetawa accepts the cruelty that is necessary to gain and keep power – so long as a Prince uses it to maintain peace for thereon,” is said at a certain part of the book. Ehiru must face the hypocrisy of his religion and understand the problem of “the greater good”: the concept is often just an excuse for personal gain, preserving privilege. Killing is forbidden in Guajareeh, but not for everyone. Corruption is forbidden in the city, but not for everyone. Some people are above Hannanja and her grasp. Her sacred justice is reserved for only those who are not in power: the nobodies; the poor; the outcasts; the foreigners. They don’t have the luxury of the “greater good” to protect them. In The Killing Moon, peace is portrayed as a fluid, dangerous concept. Peace is the most important element that the Hetawa must preserve, but what that entails is kept in the shadows for a purpose. The problem of “the greater good” is that, quoting The Handmaid’s Tale, “better never means better for everyone.”

Ehiru’s apprentice, Nijiri, has a different emotional journey to go through. Nijiri is a young man, who looks up to Ehiru as a role model for reasons not disclosed at the beginning, and who, being very young, is full of pride. He’s still naive enough to say something as “every account that I have read of war speaks of its terrible destruction and suffering. No one would start such a thing deliberately.” Nijiri lives in a protected world, knowing war only by historical accounts, where it remains an abstract concept, and he doesn’t even begin to understand its causes. He knows his religion, and acts as a true believer, but doesn’t understand a man’s heart yet. His narrative arc deals with his romantic and forbidden love for his mentor, Ehiru, which gives both of them tragic undertones, and with his increase in knowledge on how things actually work – and how, with that knowledge, one matures, but also becomes hurt and somewhat bitter.

The final main character is the female ambassador. Sunandi may be young, but she is still a clever, capable woman, who can read people well and conduct conversations so they end in her favor. She is still young, though, and so prone to misjudge how imminent is the threat that Guajareeh poses to her. Character development here is seen in her actions: she is strong not because she says so, but because she can remain calm when facing her assassins and even stand up to them as an equal.

Sunandi fights a moral battle with Ehiru and Nijiri, based on their cultural differences. The narrative asks the question “Is morality a universal thing?” since Ehiru and Nijiri believe they are doing good – that they are bestowing a blessing to their targets when they send them to their goddess embrace – but, for Sunandi, that is just cold-blooded murder. She calls them “well-meaning scavengers,” who “sound like a vulture.” She simply can’t allow herself to trust them in any shape or form, warning a friend about Ehiru: “You can’t believe anything he says! Even he doesn’t realize how evil he is.” But soon she starts to see that there is a good side to the Gatherer’s work as well. Things are not as black and white as both of them think.

That leaves us with their main antagonist. Without revealing their identity, it’s sufficient to say that they’re a scary character in a way that precisely resembles the Gatherers: they appear calm and easygoing, but at the same time are ruthless and cold. They usually speak “casually”, in a “gentle voice”, always boasting a smile that can be warm or sharp: they often dispense formality to bring their victim closer to them, luring with the truth and a good dose of pity and understanding. They are able to keep their voice “gentle, soothing” just as they are sending a man to a horrible, agonizing death. They have a noble goal: they seek power, yes, but only to bring “peace and prosperity to all.” Despite Hetawa’s teachings, evil here is not presented as madness. It’s not stupidity. It’s not malice. It’s cold intent.

The Killing Moon is a book that revels in the ambivalence of its systems and organizations. Guajareeh is considered peaceful, but it’s described as a city where “politics was half religion and half riddle,” a place with little privacy and security, “where only custom and curtains kept a bedroom secure.” Its society reveres women, since their main goddess is a female one, but that doesn’t stop strict gender roles to constrict their actions. Gatherers are men. Women’s role in Hetawa is related to sex. One can have hundreds of wives, but a woman certainly can’t have more than one husband. “The waking world belonged to the sons of the Sun,” the antagonist claims, revealing the masculine dominance in Guajareeh. In the city, women are still related to seduction, household, and motherhood. There can be a Prince, but never a Princess.

If we are being picky, the narrative – very fast-paced, with lots of twists and revelations – only falters when it comes to developing one of its themes. The concept of dreams is a bit wasted here, almost to the point of being replaceable without damaging the book’s main discussions. A city where everyone remembers their own dreams, for example, it’s a city where the subconscious remains no longer protected and hidden. The consequence of this problem, however, is never touched by the narrative. Delving fully into the idea of dreams, with all that they entail, would have enrichened the book’s story. But it’s a nice touch that one group of the nobility is called “sonha” in the novel, which means the verb “to dream” in Portuguese.

Finally, it’s also worth highlighting that this is a fantasy novel that escapes from the hundreds of European-centered fantasy worlds, taking instead its influences from Egypt, and presenting characters whose misfortune in their color is due to it not being dark enough.

The Killing Moon discusses religion, cultural differences, and the fundamental problem of righteousness in a memorable and innovative setting. In short, it’s a fantastic fantasy novel, boasting an action-packed story that never forgets to focus on its characters’ personal struggles and journeys.

April 08, 2019.