The Fifth Season

“[H]e reaches forth will all the fine control that the world has brainwashed and backstabbed and brutalized out of him, and all the sensitivity that his masters have bred into him through generations of rape and coercion and highly unnatural selection. […] He takes all that, the strata and the magma and the people and the power, in his imaginary hands. Everything. He holds it. He is not alone. The earth is with him. Then he breaks it.” 

The above passage describes the creation of the continental rift that destroys Yumenes and kick starts a potentially world-ending Season. It also introduces readers both to orogeny and (though this only becomes clear much later) to Alabaster, whom Jemisin here depicts as a broken man lashing out at the society that has hurt him. What is especially noteworthy, however, is that Jemisin portrays Alabaster’s actions as the all but inevitable result of extreme oppression and injustice; it’s only because the Fulcrum spent years enslaving, training, and selectively breeding orogenes that Alabaster has the power (and, of course, the motive) to do what he does here. This is one reason the world Jemisin depicts is trapped in a constant cycle of apocalypse and rebirth: Societies like Sanze continue to pave the way for their own downfall through their actions. It’s also noteworthy that the passage depicts orogeny as a means of “breaking” things. In addition to being literally true, the description points to the kind of power that all oppressed people have—that is, the power to destabilize the existing social order.

“Nothing about [Schaffa] makes racial sense.”

Damaya’s response to Schaffa’s strange (by Sanzed standards) appearance is one of the first indications of the rigid hierarchy that governs life in Sanze. In addition to sorting people by caste, Sanze operates on a complex racial classification system in which different ethnic groups are judged against the “Sanzed mean” (112)—that is, the physical characteristics associated with the Sanzed people, which supposedly promote survival during Seasons. This way of thinking is so ingrained that Damaya reacts with confusion and discomfort when she encounters someone whose physical features—pale skin, dark hair, and icewhite eyes—do not map clearly onto any single ethnic group.

“You’re still trying to decide who to be. The self you’ve been lately doesn’t make sense anymore; that woman died with Uche. She’s not useful, unobtrusive as she is, quiet as she is, ordinary as she is. Not when such extraordinary things have happened.” 

The above passage is significant in terms of both character and theme. For one, it deepens general understanding of Essun by suggesting that her “quietness” and “unobtrusiveness” are at least partly pragmatic; it therefore lays the groundwork for the eventual revelation that Essun is the same person as the (much more outspoken and rebellious) Syen. Relatedly, it reveals Essun as highly resourceful and capable of reinvention when it suits her purposes. This shedding of no longer “useful” identities is one way in which cycles of apocalypse and rebirth manifest in the novel. Relatedly, Essun’s emphasis on usefulness echoes but also deviates from the broader Sanzed idea of utility; where Sanzed culture treats people as tools who are useful only insofar as they help society survive in its current form, Essun’s idea of usefulness emphasizes adaptability in the face of changing circumstances.

“[W]hen an orogene is born from parents who weren’t, from a family line that’s never shown the curse before, that’s how they think of you. A wild mutt to my domesticated purebred. An accident, to my plan. […] What it actually means is that they couldn’t predict you. You’re the proof that they’ll never understand orogeny; it’s not science, it’s something else. And they’ll never control us, not really. Not completely.” 

Alabaster’s speech about “feral” orogenes born outside the Fulcrum gets to the heart of what Sanzed society finds so threatening about orogeny. To a large extent, the Sanzed social hierarchy hinges on stability and predictability; it’s not simply that those in power impose a particular social order on everyone else, but rather that its promises of order and safety are compelling in a world as dangerous as the Stillness. The unpredictable way in which orogeny manifests is therefore a problem for Sanze because it reveals the limits of its ability to deliver on its promise of control.

“‘Never say not to me,’ he says. The words are hot against her skin. He has bent to murmur them into her ear. ‘Orogenes have no right to say no. I am your Guardian. I will break every bone in your hand, every bone in your body, if I deem it necessary to make the world safe from you.’” 

The moment Schaffa breaks Damaya’s hand marks a turning point in their relationship. Up until this point, Schaffa seems to be a wise and benevolent character, rescuing Damaya when her own family turns on her and promising her an education that will hone her orogenic abilities. As he makes clear in this passage, however, Schaffa’s primary concern is not Damaya’s welfare; in fact, he is more than willing to hurt or kill her if doing so would serve the greater good. The passage also encapsulates the power dynamics at the core of Sanzed society. Despite (and in fact, because of) the enormous power they wield over the natural world, orogenes lack the most basic powers as individuals, including permission to “say no”: Since orogenes could easily use their abilities to bring about the destruction of Sanze, it’s imperative to those in power that orogenes be kept in a state of total subservience.

“There’s a reason Tablet Two is so damaged: someone, somewhere back in time, decided that it wasn’t important or was wrong, and didn’t bother to take care of it. Or maybe they even deliberately tried to obliterate it, which is why so many of the early copies are damaged in exactly the same way. […] For all we know, the admonition against changing the lore is itself a recent addition.” 

Stonelore provides a particularly dramatic example of the ways in which different civilizations use history and storytelling to maintain their grip on power. Its name derives from the fact that those who originally wrote it quite literally recorded their words in stone, and the idea that it constitutes a source of eternal and objective knowledge is one that later societies have exploited; Sanze’s claims to cultural superiority connect with the idea that the teachings around which it has structured itself to represent the pinnacle of all human wisdom. In other words, as Alabaster here points out, the emphasis Sanze places on stonelore’s permanence is in and of itself a reflection of Sanze’s values.

“Children are the undoing of us.” 

Alabaster says the above shortly after the discovery of the dead node maintainer, thereby confirming Syen’s suspicions that the boy was his child. The moment is therefore significant in terms of both character and theme. For one, it’s the first indication that Alabaster cares a great deal about having children, and foreshadows his later adoration of and devotion to his son Coru. At this point, however, Alabaster can’t imagine a future for any child of his that would be worth living: As he tells Syen a few moments later, even a “still” born to orogenes would be kept in the Fulcrum as a Guardian. He describes having children not as a source of joy or meaning in one’s life but rather as a source of vulnerability—intentionally or not, the Fulcrum breaks orogenes like Alabaster in part by forcing them to have children they know will grow up to be slaves.

“That’s the real problem: not his inability to say it, but the fact that words are inadequate to the task. She nods to show that she’s understood. Maybe someday someone will create a language for orogenes to use. Maybe such a language has existed, and been forgotten, in the past.” 

Alabaster talks about how being “in the earth” affects his appetite; he “grimaces” as he says this, knowing as Syen does that the phrase doesn’t really capture the experience (161). Syen’s response—to wish for a vocabulary that could convey the experiences of orogenes—further underscores the ways in which language, knowledge, and politics intersect in the novel. The most generous reading of the absence of such a vocabulary is that Sanzed culture reviles orogenes to such an extent that it doesn’t consider their experiences worth communicating. Alternatively, it may have even “forgotten” that language on purpose in order to limit orogenes’ ability to understand and talk about their own abilities

“[Kirkhusas] eat leaves—until they taste enough ash, which triggers some instinct within them that’s normally dormant. Then they change. Everything changes during a Season.” 

The behavior of kirkhusas and other herbivorous animals during a Season is a reminder of how brutal the struggle to survive can become. Many kirkhusas are pets, but when they sense an oncoming Season, they’ll attack humans out of necessity: As Essun says of the kirkhusa she, Tonkee, and Hoa encounter: “Maybe it remembers its human master fondly. Maybe it hesitated when the others attacked […] Now it will go hungry if it doesn’t rethink its civilized ways” (186). The question of whether humans should hold themselves to a higher standard is central to the novel: Sanzed society generally prioritizes survival at any cost, and individual characters often make difficult choices, but Jemisin ultimately suggests that some practices (e.g. the exploitation of orogenes) are simply unjustifiable.

“All at once Damaya wonders: Is Crack’s control really a problem? Or is it simply that her tormenters have done their best to make her crack?” 

The episode involving Crack, Maxixe, and Jasper is significant for several reasons. First, it helps explains Syenite’s later standoffishness; although Damaya was always somewhat reserved and solitary, it’s Crack’s betrayal that persuades her she can’t afford (and doesn’t “deserve”) to have friends (297)—an attitude that only begins to change once she meets Alabaster and Innon. Crack herself, meanwhile, is an example of the ways in which societal mistreatment of orogenes actually makes them, in Alabaster’s words, “become monsters and try to kill everything” (123)— as both he and Syen/Essun eventually do. As Damaya realizes here, it’s unlikely Crack would have so much difficulty controlling her orogeny if she hadn’t been pushed to her breaking point.

“What does bother you is that Hoa won’t talk about [not being human]. You ask about what he did to the kirkhusa and he refuses to answer. You ask him why he won’t answer, and he just looks miserable and says, ‘Because I want you to like me.’” 

Hoa is one of the most enigmatic characters in The Fifth Season. Although he’s a stone eater, he mimics human shape and movement more persuasively than characters like Antimony, who strikes observers as statue-like. This human quality also extends to Hoa’s behavior, which often resembles that of a child despite the fact that he’s much older than any human; in this particular passage, Hoa becomes withdrawn after turning the kirkhusa to stone, as though he expects Essun to punish him. Jemisin doesn’t reveal the entirety of Hoa’s backstory until the final novel in the series, but passages like this one work to establish him as a sympathetic character rather than simply a function of the story’s fantasy setting.

“How dare you expect anything else? You’re just another filthy, rusty-souled rogga, just another agent of the Evil Earth, just another mistake of sensible breeding practices, just another mislaid tool. You should never have had children in the first place, and you shouldn’t have expected to keep them once you did.” 

Essun’s bitter response when she learns Nassun isn’t in Castrima partly stems from internalized prejudice. Although Essun is generally confident in who she is and critical of the stigma society attaches to orogeny, even she lapses into self-hatred during especially difficult moments. With that said, her sense that she “should never have had children in the first place” also reflects the question the novel poses about the morality of bringing a child into a world where they’re likely to experience enormous suffering—in this case, because of the way society treats orogenes.

“It isn’t right, what they’re doing to her. What this place does to everyone within its walls. What he’s making her do, to survive.

‘Will you do it? For me?’

She still loves him. That isn’t right, either.”

Although Damaya has previously felt hurt or confused by the treatment she receives from her parents, Schaffa, the Fulcrum, etc., this is first time she fully articulates that there’s something unjust about the way she and other orogenes are treated. More specifically, she suggests that it’s unfair that her right to live isn’t simply a given; instead, she has to fight for her survival by passing her first ring test and “prov[ing] herself useful” (330). Because Schaffa is, at this point, the closest thing Damaya has to a family, the knowledge that he’s mistreating her isn’t enough to override her love for him. Nevertheless, the passage marks a change in her development, so it’s fitting that this is also the moment when she renames herself Syenite: a character who is entirely aware of the immorality of the Fulcrum, even if she initially feels she can’t do anything about it.

“Allia’s destruction represents a betrayal of everything the Fulcrum promises the Stillness: tame and obedient orogenes, safety from the worst shakes and blows. Freedom from fear, at least till the next Fifth Season comes.” 

The above passage, though theoretically just about the destruction of Allia, in many ways encapsulates the implicit bargain Sanze makes with its citizens: Those who accept Sanzed authority and the restrictions it carries with it are guaranteed “safety” in return. This is why, as Alabaster and Syen quickly realize, the Fulcrum will be ruthless in its pursuit of them; by blaming them for the eruption and then punishing them for their supposed actions, the Fulcrum (and Sanze more broadly) can reassure the public that Allia’s destruction was an aberration, and that they should therefore continue to buy into Sanze’s claims of legitimacy.

“‘Now, now. Everyone sees that you are the stronger of the pair.’ Syenite blinks at this, but he’s completely serious. He lifts a hand and draws a finger down the side of her face from temple to chin, a slow tease. ‘Many things have broken him. He holds himself together with spit and endless smiling, but all can see the cracks. You, though; you are dented, bruised, but intact. It is kind of you. Looking out for him like so.’”

Innon’s words to Syen when she goes to bring him to Alabaster are crucial to understanding not just Alabaster and Syen’s relationship, but also the role that Innon plays. Although Syen is aware of just how “broken” Alabaster is, she’s too used to indulging Sanze’s “polite fictions” (348) to acknowledge it as openly as Innon does. Relatedly, she’s reluctant to admit that her actions stem from genuine affection and concern for Alabaster: Doing so would not only mean admitting that Alabaster needs “looking out for,” but would challenge the unspoken idea (which Syen has to some extent internalized) that orogenes don’t deserve love or friendship. By openly commenting on the affection that already exists between Alabaster and Syen, Innon implicitly affirms that Syen has a right to her feelings for Alabaster (and for Innon, as well).

“Perhaps you think it is wrong that I dwell so much on the horrors, the pain, but pain is what shapes us, after all. We are creatures born of heat and pressure and grinding, ceaseless movement. To be still is to be…not alive.” 

The above passage is critical to understanding why Jemisin structures the novel the way she does. By splitting the main character’s storyline into three distinct sections, Jemisin applies the theme of survival to a personal context; each narrative thread focuses on a crisis in the character’s life, from which she emerges transformed and carrying a new identity.

“Corundum is always clean and well fed. She never wanted a child, but now that she’s had it—him—and held him, and nursed him, and all that…she does feel a sense of accomplishment, maybe, and rueful acknowledgment, because she and Alabaster have managed to make one beautiful child between them. She looks into her son’s face sometimes and marvels that he exists, that he seems so whole and right, when both his parents have nothing but bitter brokenness between them. Who’s she kidding? It’s love.” 

Jemisin’s depiction of motherhood is complex, particularly in the sections of the novel devoted to Syen’s story. The above passage describes Syen’s response to Innon’s accusation that she seems to “feel nothing” for Coru, and it initially appears as though Innon may have a point: Syen slips into referring to Coru in the way she presumably viewed him before he was born—as an object (that is, an “it”) with which she had been saddled. As she admits here, she never wanted a child at all, and certainly not an orogenic child who would be vulnerable to abuse and exploitation. By the end of the passage, Syen has come to embrace motherhood—if not on Innon’s terms. Syen is content knowing Coru’s needs are being met and feels no desire to spend every minute around him; the fact that this is an attitude more commonly associated with fathers than with mothers helps explains Innon’s reaction, but it doesn’t mean that Syen loves Coru any less.

“Then people began to do horrible things to Father Earth. They poisoned waters beyond even his ability to cleanse, and killed much of the other life that lived on his surface. They drilled through the crust of his skin, past the blood of his mantle, to get at the sweet marrow of his bones. And at the height of human hubris and might, it was the orogenes who did something that even Earth could not forgive: They destroyed his only child.” 

Although the nature and significance of “Father Earth” will become clearer in The Fifth Season’s sequels, the legend Syen recalls here provides some clues. Initially, she says, Father Earth’s relationship to humanity was a more conventionally parental one: “[H]e was pleased and fascinated by [life], and proud to nurture such strange wild beauty upon his surface” (379). This nurturing attitude, however, gave way to anger the more that humans exploited the earth’s resource: a process that culminated in the destruction of Father Earth’s “only child.” The idea of the earth as an abused and grieving parent implicitly connects its suffering to that of characters like Alabaster and Essun, who also seek vengeance against a society that has killed their children. This suggests that the oppressive social structure of a culture like Sanze goes hand in hand with its exploitation of the earth, and that both contribute to its downfall.

“‘It’s where they built them.’ Binof-Tonkee comes forward quickly, her face alight. ‘The socket in the Fulcrum. That’s where the obelisks come from. And it’s also where everything went wrong.’” 

The full significance of the obelisks is still very much a mystery by the time The Fifth Season ends, but passages like this one make it clear that they aren’t simply a plot contrivance to get characters like Alabaster and Syen out of dangerous situations. Rather, their existence is key to explaining why the Stillness is the way it is: Tonkee’s remark that “everything went wrong” at the Fulcrum foreshadows the revelation that the obelisks played a role in kick starting the cyclic Seasons that now dominate life on the Stillness. It’s therefore even more striking that nearly everyone in Sanze considers the obelisks unimportant, and the fact that they do so is one reason why—with Alabaster’s actions—the obelisks have once again facilitated an apocalyptic event.

“[I]t occurs to you that the goal is survival, and sometimes survival requires change. Just because the usual strategies have worked—building a wall, taking in the useful and excluding the useless, arming and storing and hoping for luck—doesn’t mean that other methods might not.” 

Although The Fifth Season often critiques Sanzed society for its preoccupation with survival, the novel’s criticism actually centers on a particular understanding of what it means to survive—specifically, the idea that surviving means continuing to exist unchanged and at any cost. This passage highlights some of the problems associated with this kind of survival, including the ruthless way in which Sanzed comms make decisions about who will live or die based on their perceived “usefulness.” Essun notes, however, that this isn’t the only way of thinking about what survival entails. In some cases, survival might involve “change”—adopting new “methods” as the world at large evolves, as Essun herself has done throughout her life.

“[T]hat Season is when the Sanzeds developed a taste for certain rarefied delicacies. And even after the Season ended and green things grew and the livestock turned herbivorous or stopped hibernating, they kept at it. They would send out parties to raid smaller settlements and newcomms held by races without Sanzed allies. All the accounts differ on the details, but they agree on one thing: Misalem was the only survivor when his family was taken in a raid. Supposedly his children were slaughtered for Anafumeth’s own table.” 

The story of Misalem and Shemshena is a good example of the way in which those in power use narratives—especially about history—to justify their authority and maintain the status quo. In the popular version of the story, which Damaya heard from Schaffa, Misalem is a “monstrous” figure “who decided to declare war against a whole nation and off the Sanzed Emperor for no particular reason” (416). This plays into the perception of orogenes as dangerous not simply because of the abilities they possess, but because they’re inherently evil in some way. By contrast, the story Alabaster tells makes it clear not only that Misalem had a reason, but that his actions were a response to extreme violence and exploitation: The Sanzed emperors were quite literally preying on those they conquered, even once the end of the Season rendered any possible justification for their cannibalism irrelevant.

“She feels it, when it happens. Not just in her sessapinae. It is a grind like stone abrading her skin; it is a crush along her bones; it is, it is, it is everything that is in Innon, all the power and vibrancy and beauty and fierceness of him, made evil. Amplified and concentrated and turned back on him in the most vicious way. Innon does not have time to feel fear. Syenite does not have time to scream as Innon comes apart.” 

The particular method Guardians sometimes use to kill orogenes—turning their power back on them so they break into pieces—is in many ways symbolic of the entire system that oppresses orogenes. As Alabaster tells Syen earlier in the same chapter, orogeny is “a gift if it makes [them] better” but “a curse if [they] let it destroy [them]” (418). Sanze, however, all but guarantees the latter, both by stigmatizing orogenes rather than encouraging them to develop their skills (thereby exposing them to retaliatory vengeance when they accidentally reveal themselves), and by forcing trained orogenes to use their powers in the service of an unjust society. Innon’s death is therefore a figurative extension of the ways in which Sanze (and the Fulcrum in particular) turns orogenes’ abilities against them.

“[Y]our eyes are drawn away from the horror that remains of your mentor, your lover, your friend.” 

The above passage encapsulates both the intensity and complexity of the relationship that develops between Alabaster and Essun (then Syen). While neither of them would have freely chosen the other as a “lover,” their common relationship with Innon causes their own bond to take on quasi-romantic or sexual overtones: “Baster doesn’t want her, not that way, nor she him. And yet it’s unbelievably arousing for her to watch Innon drive him to moaning and begging, and Alabaster also clearly gets off” (372). Likewise, describing Alabaster as a parental figure or “mentor” seems inaccurate given that he and Essun have and raise a child of their own together. However, the ambiguity of the bond between Alabaster and Essun makes it such a powerful and subversive force in a society that demands that everyone adhere to a well-defined social role.