The Will to Battle is the third book in Ada Palmer’s Terra Ignota series. I enjoyed Too Like the Lightning, the first book, for the glittering possibilities of its worldbuilding and its (apparently) utterly unreliable narrator; for the sense that it was setting up a great thematic argument between fate and free will in a technologically-driven society. I liked Seven Surrenders less, and felt did not live up to the promise of its predecessor.
Now The Will to Battle has clarified a number of things for me about Palmer’s work—not least of which is that Palmer has not actually written a series of novels, but instead, an extended philosophical commentary couched in science fictional language and using science fictional furniture.
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The Will to Battle: Book 3 of Terra Ignota
The Will to Battle is part political manifesto; part theological tractatus (I use the Latin advisedly); part constructed dialogue between Thomas Hobbes, the book’s narrator, and an imagined reader; part romantic reinvention of Homer’s Achilles (there’s a literal mystically-reincarnated version of Achilles); part gratuitous use of self-indulgent archaisms; and part recognisably novelistic elements. Counting political manifestos, theological treatises, and philosophical dialogues as separate genres, which are again distinct from the novel as a genre*, The Will to Battle is therefore a veritable patchwork quilt in one volume, and its coherence suffers enormously from the lack of willingness to prioritise one genre over the others. One might call it an ambitious failure, if one had the slightest idea that its ambition was aimed at anything specific.
When I read Too Like the Lightning, Palmer’s worldbuilding glittered. It dazzled, in fact, enough distract me from the book’s flaws and the suspicion that this style lacked substance. I took the references to 17th and 18th century philosophers as invitation to a conversation on the nature of modernity, and suppressed my inclination to look for references to 19th and 20th century philosophers: references that weren’t there. But Seven Surrenders made it clear that Palmer’s engagement with humanity and modernity would take place entirely within the framework of Renaissance and early Enlightenment thought, and that the philosophical references, intentionally or not, would serve more to mystify than demystify the book’s matter, when it comes to its readers.
The Will to Battle led me to the conclusion that Palmer is not writing novels. She’s writing science fictional commentary on historical (Enlightenment) philosophers in the mode of historical (Enlightenment) philosophers. Complete with the tendency to show off one’s erudition that Enlightenment philosophers, if they did not invent, certainly popularised.** Do I contradict myself, then, when I say that The Will to Battle is a patchwork quilt? Is science fictional philosophical commentary a genre of its own? Perhaps, but if so, The Will to Battle is a chameleon, its philosophical points concealed (or overshadowed, or obfuscated) by its other elements.
The Terra Ignota books look just enough like novels—and the first two were structured sufficiently like novels—that at first glance it seems the philosophical elements should inform the novels thematically, that they should fall seamlessly within the thematic argument that Palmer sets up on Too Like The Lightning’s first page: an argument between fate and free will, between Providence and Chance. But Palmer comes down on the side of Providence and changes the terms of that argument to one about the nature of God (a unitary, monotheistic god), and The Will to Battle abandons the coherence of a novel’s structure for a structurally and stylistically confusing mixture of set-pieces and dialogues that—while still recognisably novelistic in places—are explicitly engaged in the process of philosophical commentary. They are novel-mimics, much like the viceroy butterfly mimics the monarch.
You may notice I’m not talking about The Will to Battle in terms of traditionally novelistic characteristics, such as its plot, its character, its tension, and so on. Insofar as these exist, they appear to me to exist to serve the project of philosophical commentary and philosophical point-making. So the question of The Will to Battle’s success (or not) as a work in its own right becomes a question of the success (or not) of its philosophical discussions.
While the approach to philosophy here employed by Palmer is interesting and indeed, in this day and age, quite novel, The Will to Battle’s success as a work in and of itself is hampered by its tendency to distract itself from making a point by haring off in new stylistic directions, or chasing after shiny things without ever settling on what those shiny things mean. One can evoke productive uncertainty, a tension of definitions held in opposition and waiting to collapse into singular meaning, but one must do it sparingly if one expects one’s audience to follow. For philosophical discussion to be accessible to the general reader, one must make one’s theme and questions plain, and offer appropriate context. It is on this point that Palmer fails more often than succeeds, by virtue of her scattershot approach to philosophical and theological argument.
I tried to read the philosophical references as informing the novel’s theme. And then I tried to read the novelistic elements as informing the philosophical discussion. I’ve been giving both of these things the benefit of the doubt since Too Like the Lightning, hoping that at some point the way in which this dialogue between elements informed the whole work would become clear. And yet now, to me, it seems as though all along it has been a Franken-dialogue, not philosophical part illuminating novel nor novelistic part illuminating philosophy, but both parts played against each other at once with equal emphasis and thus illuminating neither.
What, then, in the end, is The Will to Battle? Ambitious, certainly. Interesting? Yes. Successful? Not, at least, as a novel. I leave it to philosophers to offer qualified judgment on its success as philosophy, but for my part, the answer here is also no.
As books deeply invested in exploring new political systems go, I think Malka Older’s Infomocracy and Null State are a lot more successful as novels.
* We shall leave aside the question of whether the novel is a genre rather than a form, or a genre and a form, as a separate discussion.
** I’m a fan of showing off one’s erudition. But if it makes it harder, rather than easier, for your readership to follow your aims? One may need to put a little more effort into making it accessible.
The Will to Battle is available from Tor Books.
Liz Bourke is a cranky queer person who reads books. She holds a Ph.D in Classics from Trinity College, Dublin. Her first book, Sleeping With Monsters, a collection of reviews and criticism, is out now from Aqueduct Press. Find her at her blog, where she’s been known to talk about even more books thanks to her Patreon supporters. Or find her at her Twitter. She supports the work of the Irish Refugee Council and the Abortion Rights Campaign.
This sounds right up my bailiwick. I shall check it our pronto!
Hey, Liz!
The Terra Ignota series wouldn’t get to educate me if I already knew everything I need to understand it. By showing me the holes in my historical, philosophical, psychological, legal, and theological knowledge, and maybe even in other areas I haven’t noticed yet, it encouraged me to patch said holes. I don’t mind putting the hours in; it will help me grow. It doesn’t even have to be a cohesive series; I feel like there are hundreds of little puzzles, each one of them delightful. Like, what did she want to say with Hobbestown? And where did the idea for Brill numbers come from? Why do gag-genes exist? How can I be more like Madame IRL? Why is there an Anonymous, and why is s/he so important? What the hell does Dominic even mean? What’s this thing about Rome and the myth of power? What’s the deal with Utopia anyway? All those questions barely scratch the surface of everything I was left extremely curious about. It’s like a huge Professor Layton game in book form, about human history itself.
That said, I agree that many elements like plot and character arc and try/fail cycles are a bit of a mess, to put it mildly. I’m just enjoying myself too much to care.
I am not surprised to hear this, given that Palmer teaches early modern European history at UChicago (and is affiliated with the gender and sexuality faculty as well)–and I believe specializes in history of philosophical thought. She’s writing what she knows! I say this having read only Too Like the Lightning (which I’ll point out is another early modern historical reference, this time to Romeo and Juliet) but I do intend to get to the rest of the series at some point.
My reason for not reading this is extreme series fatigue. Started reading the first volume, which wasn’t exactly gripping as a story. Then found out it will be a four volume series, without the publisher being upfront about that, and gave up reading it.
If it coheres by the time series concludes, maybe, just maybe, I’ll reconsider. Just too tired of investing time in a series that doesn’t pay off. Too many other interesting works (including some proven series) out there to read.
I adored Too Like the Lightning, but I found Seven Surrenders a grave disappointment. It seemed to me that Palmer had lost interest in what she’d spent the whole first novel setting up and just decided to dismantle it, rather than resolve it. I decided at that point that she didn’t care about playing fair with her readers, and so I shall no longer be one of them.
Thanks for letting me know that I do NOT want to read Book 3.
I loved the first two, and I loved TWTB too! I think the plot, characters, worldbuilding, pretty much everything about it is as good as the first book and better than the second. But I think you have a fair point about the difference in theme between the first two volumes and this third one; there was certainly a lot more discussion about Fate and Providence in TLTL/SS, and much more debate about the nature of god(s) (but also a lot more about what makes a just society and a good ruler) in TWTB. I think part of that is for plot-related reasons (the ‘conversation’ between This Universe’s God and JEDD took an abrupt turn in SS, and there’s less of a chance that one person is literally directing the entire nature of the universe). I’d disagree that this is a *more* philosophical volume than the first two, though. My impression of TLTL was that there was a lot more reference-dropping and eloquent monologues about some philosopher or another. And TWTB puts a bit less emphasis both the themes and the philosophy in exchange for a focus on plot and character. A lot more happens in this book than in SS, and Mycroft is possibly the most impressive/immersive character work I’ve ever read.
@Corylea, I can understand the disappointment with SS, but I think that book 3 does a lot better about expanding the world and growing the story. I’m surprised about the playing fair with the readers thing, though – she’s talked specifically about author-reader contracts and honoring the implicit promises that authors make as they write a story (and how that’s vital to keeping readers invested) so that’s an interestingly on-the-nose comment.
Spot-on review (he said, half-way through TWTB and not likely to finish it). TLTL was good, well-written, with some interesting characters. Most of those characters are forgotten or almost forgotten by TWTB. A novel without good characters or a good plot (TWTB) is not a good novel, in my opinion.
Even in TLTL, Bridger was an unbelievable cartoon-character to me. Simply assuming there is a divine provenance that constructed this whole universe as the stage for a morality play may have worked in the Renaissance but it doesn’t work for me.
Still, TLTL proves that Dr. Palmer could write a pretty good novel (with a better premise).
I am good with the philosophising and I can grudgingly accept the voice the series is written in, but my suspension of disbelief about a couple of things just will not kick in and let me fully enjoy the books.
First, I can’t accept the transit model. We know that building wider highways doesn’t in general reduce commute time. People seem to have an upper limit on how long they are willing to travel; if there are faster means available, it just means more people can use it and/or live more remotely. There’s also the unbelievable energy use of such a transport system.
Secondly, I can’t accept that in only three hundred years society will forget how to wage war. Militaries are some of the most conservative and tradition-bound societies that we have. There is no way that they would forget war in only two or three generations, even if the militaries of countries are disbanded. We know that at least one Hive has a large proportion of former soldiers.
That said, I have read Too Like the Lightning and Seven Surrenders (which should really be read as a single book) but have only just started on The Will to Battle.