Empire of Silence Incel is a BookTok popular science-fmantasy bildungsroman written by Christopher Ruochhio. Its protagonist, Hadrian Marlowe, an extremely white (he brings this up several times) genetically engineered übermensch scion of Space Roman nobility, will eventually commit genocide on the alien Cielcin “without apology,” leading to their subjugation alongside his empire’s 48 other slave races. I can only recommend this unentertaining, 786-page derivative banality in prose form as a doorstop or bludgeon.
The creative deficit of Ruochhio’s debut novel rivals that of Eragon. (I doubt that, and the authors being 22 and 19/20 when their novels were first published, is coincidental.) A reversion to feudalism/Space Rome for its main polity, the resurgence of contact warfare via personal force fields, and a ban against certain technologies/artificial intelligence are from Dune. Said state’s ludicrously powerful state religion, its enforcement arm having Christian nomenclature and possessing the power to commit torture and planetary genocide, is Warhammer 40k’s Inquisition. Empire’s framing device, that it is an English translation of the protagonist’s recounting, is stolen from Gene Wolfe’s Book of the New Sun. The recurring conlangs and a shithead polyglot scion of the upper-class who understands them, who I’m supposed to care about and take seriously, is straight from Rothfuss’s The Kingkiller Student Loan Chronicle.
Like The Neckbeard Chronicle, Empire is narrated in 1st person past by the protagonist. And like the former’s protagonist, Kvothe, Hadrian Marlowe’s recounting is interspersed with pretentious, verbose faux-poetic waxing and occasional offenses against figures of speech.
- [Love interest] sang to me in a chemical language beneath and beyond poetry.
- There were steps, but they were only the steps of a dais—three of them—that fronted the . . . the mural on the wall opposite.
- The weight of [the lightsaber knockoff] was a kind of poetry. Its shining blade shimmered in the light of the sun, sending silver highlights flashing. Extended, the balance was so exquisite that it felt more than a part of me and less than weightless.
Maybe Ruocchio would’ve been better spent reading poetry to learn of its beauty than rehashing aspects of genre fiction so superior he’ll never be able to approach in any aspect.
Marlowe’s monologues aspire for the depth, coherence, and entertainment of r/im14andthisisdeep and r/iamverysmart; the less said of his “philosophical” digressions, the better. Their only merit was that I caused mild conniptions by showing them to (now former) friends.
Empire largely follows Marlowe’s inconsequential meanderings unrelated to his infamous and allegedly interesting deeds. (I can see why Ruochhio is complimented at being compared to Rothfuss. That is not a good thing.) Those trials and tribulations have little effect on him; he’s most affected whenever his love interest calls him a “barbarian.” She’s right – he’s a noble of Space Rome with few feelings about his empire’s enslavement of 48 alien races – but given he’ll eventually, unapologetically commit genocide, I doubt it sticks.
The plot (and Cielcin) practically crash near his locale roughly 4/5ths of the way through the book. Marlowe, the only human able to speak their language in the entire solar system for some reason (it’s because he’s the author’s Very Special Boy), convinces them to surrender. The Inquisition tortures their captives, forcing Marlowe to translate their confessions. He then sets off to investigate the extracted information, hoping that whatever he discovers will lead to peace between humans and the Cielcin; the framing story makes his failure a foregone conclusion.
And to be honest, even without the narrative device spoiling the climactic ending, something I’d entirely expect Marlowe to be fine with. He’s a noble of Space Rome, and gave little to no shits about his empire committing genocide and slavery on the multiple other seemingly intelligent alien species under his people’s command. Not that he cares much about the injustices Space Rome commits on humans, given his Manic Pixie Street Waif friend (not girlfriend – Marlowe is a bit of a neebish moid around women) died of a disease his designer genetics gave him immunity to, without any thought in his stupid head about how the oligarchy by design is fine with such deaths.
Empire has two organically unique points*.* The first is when Marlowe thinks of his Manic Pixie Street Waif, who suffered a slow death to plague, which “arrested my desires” for his love interest. Essentially, he used her death via illness to kill his boner before the woman he “M’lady’s,” dressed in a robe, having freshly fucked a man who might have been a slave. The other is Ruochhio’s admiration of Jordan Peterson, whose work he considered “groundbreaking.”
I didn’t say they were good points.
Empire’s banal setting, story, meandering plot, and insipid narration by its boring protagonist (all of which makes Twilight’s Bella Swan look restrained) don’t compel me to continue the series. The only merit I took from it is that I should never read traditionally published SF/F by those 25 and under again, which I should’ve learned from reading Eragon and The Poppy War.
Though it could be worse: I didn’t need to write several bricks to reach this conclusion.
