Two Serpents Rise

This book is in the same universe, but a different city than [b:Three Parts Dead|13539191|Three Parts Dead (Craft Sequence #1)|Max Gladstone|https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1333049511s/13539191.jpg|19101555], and explores the economy there in greater detail. (Spellings are going to be haphazard, since I listened to this as an audiobook and don't have access to the text.)

This is a good place to put down my thoughts about the reader: You guys, he was actually pretty decent, but every once in a while he would make a weird choice that annoyed me out of all proportion to its significance. Early on, he emphasized the word 'cravat' in a sentence. Why 'cravat'? WHY CRAVAT? He did really good work distinguishing the voices of the main characters, but I disagreed with his reading of one character's lines (Tio) in particular. I can't.

In many ways, this book is a conflict between two economic models. The model in place is the thaumaturgical economy in which everything is bought using fragments of one's soul. (This is the same model in place in Three Days Dead, but in this book, it becomes extremely plot-relevant.) This is basically capitalism, but with the soul used as currency. I am undecided as to whether this is a brilliant commentary on capitalism, or sort of trite and obvious.

The competing model is human sacrifice, and it is to the book's credit that it manages to make this seem, if not a reasonable alternative, than at least a compelling one. The people in the book are "Quechal" which is pretty clearly modelled on the Aztecs. Their temples are pyramids, and many of the words used ("coatl", most notably) are from Nahuatl, the language used by Aztecs, and still spoken today.

(Which is why it drove me bugshit that the narrator can't pronounce the 'tl' cluster that is so characteristic of the language. The word 'coatl' (serpent in Nahuatl, used in the book to mean a particular flying serpent) appears approximately eight dozen times in the book, so yes, I noticed. ANYONE FROM MEXICO CITY COULD HAVE GIVEN THIS READING MORE AUTHENTICITY. Okay. I'm fine.)

The book takes place eighty years after the 'God Wars', in which the human sacrifice regime was overturned, Gods were killed and enslaved, and 'craftsmen' became the new ruling class. Craftsmen use thaumaturgy to work craft, using the souls circulating in the economy. (Much like someone on Wall Street does arcane magics using money that does not, strictly, belong to them, but that they control.) The craftsmen and women, however, tend to be outsiders; the Quechal populations of the city still battered from the brutal suppression of riots twenty years ago.

Okay, I think I've give you enough background.

The book's protagonist is Caleb Altemoc. His father, Temoc, was the last priest of the True Quechal, and has been running from the law for the last twenty years. Caleb works for an immense craft consortium, and definitely falls on the 'thaumaturgy' side of the economic argument. Temoc clearly falls on the 'human sacrifice' side.

(Temoc is an awesome character, but you know what would be great? If he had an advice column:

"Dear High Priest

My boyfriend is losing interest in me in bed. I've tried to spice things up, adding edible underwear, asking him to tell me about his fantasies, surprising him with sexy messages sent to his workplace by rat-messenger, but nothing seems to help. What should I do?

Signed, Worrying that My Boyfriend is Gay

Dear WtMBiG

Cut your boyfriend's heart out and sacrifice it on the altar to Quetzi.

Signed, High Priest Temoc"

Don't lie, this would be amazing.)

One of the problems facing the city Dresediel Lex is water. (It is basically Meixco City, again.) Caleb's craft consortium has the contract to provide the city with water, which is a constant process of ranging further and further afield as the city drains all the nearby reservoirs dry. In the world of the book, craft can be used to do many things, but it cannot create fertility; using the craft to try to grow food only accelerates the depletion of the soil. Securing sources of water involves capturing and confining the local spirits and gods of the area from which the water comes, a gruesome process with no end in sight, as the demand for water is unceasing, and will only grow. (Again: is this a brilliant metaphor for capitalism's relationship with the environment, or is it just too pat?)

When Caleb goes to investigate the demonic poisoning of one of the city's reservoirs, he sees Mal, a 'cliffrunner.' (Cliffrunning is basically parkour.) Caleb is instantly fascinated by Mal, in a way I found oddly refreshing. One of my pet peeves, fictionally, is when two people have an instant physical attraction, and two chapters later, they're telling everyone they're in love. I'm open to the possibility that it's different for other people, but it hasn't worked like that for me since I was fourteen. With Caleb and Mal, however, it's very clear that Caleb finds Mal's wildness very attractive, and, as he gets to know her, is willing to allow himself to fall in love. Mal is a little attracted to Caleb's stubbornness, and is willing to give him a chance to persuade her. The book doesn't try to pretend that they're in love, but rather that they could be, and are perhaps starting to be.

The book builds to a nuclear-powered (actually, god-powered, but the God Wars split the continent in half, so it's a pretty good idea of scale) confrontation between the oppressed followers of the old religion (the one that involves cutting hearts out, so uh. You know, you feel that oppression is bad, but you don't quite want to sign up for their protest marches) and the undead machinery of capitalism. So it's hard to pick a side, really, except that human sacrifice is a deal-breaker. Caleb is a decent protagonist; a little bit of an asshole, in the way you'd have to be to work for a giant financial thaumaturgical corporation, but serious about his friends, and his anti cutting-people's-hearts-out stance.

Also, there's a couple of queer ladies who get to do plot-important things. So that's cool.