Saladin Ahmed’s THRONE OF THE CRESCENT MOON lost the 2013 Hugo Award for Best Novel, and I think that’s one that the SFF community should regret.1 George R.R. Martin praised THRONE as “a rollicking swashbuckler,” and even that does the book a disservice, in my opinion.
It’s sword-and-sorcery fantasy, sure, but steeped in the flavors of home and history. Dr. Adoullah is an aged ghul hunter who is both empowered and burdened by his own experience, and whose grumblings and observations give delightful charm to the narrative. The story takes place within the city of Dhamsawaat, which feels more real and lived-in than most other fictional cities I’ve read in the genre. Early on, the text observes, “Despite Adoullah’s dark thoughts, trading the familiar insults with Yehyeh felt comfortable, like a pair of old, well made sandals.” Reading THRONE feels a lot like stepping into those old, well made sandals; Adoullah and Dhamsawaat feel simultaneously real and storied from the get-go.
That level of immersion is the backdrop for an exciting hero’s quest against supernatural forces, and gives the dimension and texture that makes the novel great. But the aspect of THRONE that really makes me think is Ahmed’s treatment of God.
Gods in fantasy are too often strangers to the characters, the distant engines of an author’s magic system and the proper nouns to be plugged into worldbuilding documents. Sometimes it feels like the default setting for gods is to act as the wrongful justification of overbearing authoritarian institutions. Other times, the gods are like Greek pantheons, providing all of the power, fun, and scandal of such an approach while sidestepping any semblance of divine morality. Authors are happy to grant their fictional gods the power of miracles, but won’t concede the powers of moral authority or intimate spirituality. In short, the gods of SFF are often several levels shy of how the majority of humans view higher power in reality.2
And that’s fine. There are plenty of good reasons to approach things that way. But THRONE’s treatment of divinity feels more authentic. Adoullah banters with God with the familiarity of an old married spouse, similar to Tevye in “Fiddler on the Roof.” His relationship with God is just like the old, well made sandals of the earlier metaphor: comfortable, informal, and lived-in. As such, it reads a lot more like the thoughts of an actual person who actually believes in God.
All that being said, THRONE is not a story about religion, per se, even with the main characters invoking “Almighty God” on every other page.3 While Adoullah is a servant of the Almighty and considers himself such, the true God of THRONE is not the Almighty but the city of Dhamsawaat.4
To compare anything with divinity is obviously a problematic enterprise from the start; history is filled with bloody debates just over the definitions. But I find comparing the city of Dhamsawaat to THRONE’s Almighty God is productive for understanding the book, the main characters, and the main engine of conflict that churns the story forward.
Like a god, the city wields an external power over the lives of everyone — not just politically, but through seemingly random interventions that mirror what we often call “acts of god.” I’m thinking mostly of the Horrible Halt, which is essentially a traffic jam which delays our heroes and entangles them with the Falcon Prince. Adoullah reacts to such things with the same fond frustration of his complaints to God. The city also holds a kind of moral authority similar to that often attributed to deity; the ultimate stakes of the book are about the good of the city. Additionally, the city is itself both metaphorically and literally the nexus of power in THRONE; the corrupt Kalifs wield political power from the Throne of the Crescent Moon that gives the book its title, and the most extreme supernatural powers come literally from that very same throne.5
The political dilemmas mirror the spiritual ones. The Falcon Prince is a complicated political figure who bounces between authentic goodwill and brutal political expedience. Meanwhile, religion is shown as both an earnest and empowering force for both Raseed and Zamia, but a corrupting one via the Humble Students. Raseed bin Raseed’s conflict of “Am I doing right by the Almighty?” is mirrored by Adoullah’s conflict of “Am I doing right by this city?” It’s fitting that the final two climaxes of THRONE are, in order, (a) Raseed coming to terms with his standing before the Almighty, and (b) Adoullah choosing Dhamsawaat’s political future. Both conflicts are resolved literally upon the Throne of the Crescent Moon as it ascends at the end of the book.
There’s a lot to think about there, and I appreciate Ahmed’s juxtaposing community and deity so tightly here in THRONE. There is also some interplay between them: sometimes Adoullah wonders if a choice he is making for the good of the city would see favor from the Almighty, and other times Raseed is in danger of upholding his honor with the Almighty rather than performing a positive deed for his community. These kinds of character decisions between conflicting values are all over fiction. What makes these conflicts stand out to me, and THRONE stand out to me, is how the text shows the many similarities between those two values. It’s not apples to oranges; it’s orange-like apples to apple-like oranges.
I posited earlier that the “true god” of the book was the city, Dhamsawaat. While the text and the characters pay much service to the Almighty, the heart of the book is still the countless backdrop individuals who are portrayed lovingly and with great character. Just as the gods of fantasy are too often, as I said, “the distant engines of an author’s magic system and the proper nouns to be plugged into worldbuilding documents,” fantasy settings are too often preoccupied with magic systems, customs, and architecture instead of the actual people. You could argue that THRONE’s setting is its people.6 It is the people of Dhamsawaat who hold the moral authority of what is right and best, represent the greatest stakes, and ultimately win Adoullah’s decision between condoning spiritual corruption and the good of the city.7
THRONE OF THE CRESCENT MOON is a fun adventure novel, and me finding excuses to put New Testament scriptures into the footnotes is probably as good a sign as any that I’m overworking the dough. But I’m delighted that such an entertaining book can also be so thoughtful and intentional with its themes.
- The winning novel, REDSHIRTS, was a forgettable and unserious satire written by a community ringleader who also happened to be the president of SFWA, the organization that runs the Hugos.
- Max Gladstone’s Craft Sequence explores the relationship between mortals and divinity in a fascinating way, and I heartily recommend it.
- While Ahmed based the magic and belief systems of his book on Islam, he uses “God” instead of “Allah” for the sake of greater resonance, as he noted on Writing Excuses: “I think language is naturally an important thing with this. When I did a first draft of my novel, I used a lot of kind of quasi-Arabic terms for a lot of things. I realized that, okay, this doesn’t need to be a zulfikar, it can just be a sword. It doesn’t need to be some tweaking of Allah, it can just be God. I think that there is a fetishization of weird language in a lot of fantasy, and I think as little of that as possible…”
- The idea of community as god isn’t new, of course; look no further than the religious devotion found in tight military companionship, the “band of brothers” syndrome. In addiction recovery groups such as Alcoholics Anonymous, addicts are encouraged to hold themselves accountable to and find inspiration and healing from a Higher Power; for those who don’t believe in divinity, the addiction recovery group itself becomes that Higher Power.
- In fact, the throne’s supernatural powers come from the old gods of a dead civilization.
- To be clear, I’m not actually making that argument; it is just a very neat sentence to write, and to look at, and so I am leaving it here.
- Not to stray too far into religion here, but this raises some interesting theological points about God being community. “In as much as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me,” Jesus says. There is also that whole bit about rendering unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s, of course.