Gideon the Ninth (Tor Books, September 10, 2019). Cover by Tommy Arnold

The back cover of the hardcover edition of Gideon the Ninth features this assessment from writer Warren Ellis: “The author is clearly insane.”

Three things made me shunt Gideon the Ninth to the front of my TBR stack. First, both my older son and his girlfriend read it, and, once finished, they promptly named their cat Harrow after one of the two main characters. Second, the cover art jumped out like an All Hallows spotlight. Third, that Ellis quote grabbed me by the frontal lobes. A novel featuring skeletons and sword-wielding necromancers written by a writer five cans short of a six-pack? Sign me up, buttercup.

Finally, in the interests of truth-telling or perhaps over-sharing, I must add that a fourth element convinced me to delve into Gideon the Ninth, and that was when I spotted a copy on the shelves at Chaucer’s Books in California, and cracked the cover to explore the opening paragraph. It reads as follows:

In the myriadic year of our Lord –– the ten thousandth year of the King Undying, the kindly Prince of Death! –– Gideon Nav packed her sword, her shoes, and her dirty magazines, and she escaped from the House of the Ninth.

I was hooked. There’s nothing like a practical protagonist. Sword and shoes, check. Dirty magazines? Clearly a must. Next stop, adventure!

Gideon’s author, Tamsyn Muir, hails from New Zealand, land of the flightless kiwi, and perhaps her nation’s geographic (indeed, geologic) isolation is what prompted her to cast the requisite bones to write this dark but often hilarious tale. (The dialogue, in particular, is a hoot.)

Without going into a dull, useless, and surely uninspiring plot summary, let’s just say that Muir begins on a haunted planet where necromancy is the norm, and where just about nobody alive seems to live –– except for Gideon, who is training to be the galaxy’s best sword-arm, and her much-hated nemesis, Harrowhark Nonagesimus.

Harrow, after all, commits daily sacrilege by referring to proud Gideon as Griddle.

Griddle’s –– sorry, Gideon’s –– daily goal: to get off-planet. Anyplace elsewhere will do. Harrowhark’s goal: to foil Gideon, because –– well, Harrow knows what Gideon does not, that in the very near future, the Nine Houses will convene for a lethal tournament, and Harrow will need Gideon to become her right-hand girl, her one and only cavalier, in order to…

Dag-nabbit, I said I wouldn’t do a plot summary, and look what just happened. Plot! Summarized.

At rock bottom, the hook is that Gideon and Harrow are going to have to work together, because if they don’t, the really nasty side of all things necromantic will seize control of the Emperor’s depleted band of revenant Lyctors, and Lyctors are –– no, sorry, you’ll have to figure that out for yourself.

This could be disastrously simplistic in another writer’s hands. Long-time rivals, forced to work together? Yawn.

But Muir has read her Dame Agatha, a la And Then There Were None, and she takes flight from there, bending the tropes of the “locked room mystery” into a “locked tomb mystery.” Sounds cheesy? It isn’t. Muir leavens the super-sharp, bite-me dialogue with creepy grossness straight out of Clive Barker. The action sequences are top-notch, with swords and magic and tricks and traps and self-sacrifice of the highest order. The climactic battle rages for no less than thirty-five pages, and it never flags, not once.

Speaking as a writer, that’s a particularly impressive high-wire act. Action sequences force their authors to forgo most of the tricks in the creative writing toolbox. Asides have to be strictly limited; musings and recollections even more so. Metaphors must be kept to a tidy minimum. Basically, combat scenes are a tight, focused series of “And then, and then, and then, and then!” No letting up allowed, and the ultra-efficient description required has to be vivid, dead-accurate, and electrifying. A great many very well-known authors can’t keep this particular kind of balloon aloft for long, but Muir can, and does. It’s frankly thrilling.

For those ready to frown on yet another book featuring necromancy, never fear. Muir trades in specifics. Each of the Nine Houses has its own specialty. Harrowhark’s particular focus is bones, such that skeletal material is, for her, plastic, expandable, shrinkable. At her will, bones animate. Her Sixth House rival, Sextus (who claims to be the greatest necromancer of his generation) brings a skill set more akin to a D&D cleric, allowing him to impact flesh, living, dead, and in between. The Eighth House channels (and sometimes siphons) departed souls. And so on.

The tournament commences. Each house couplet, necromancer and attendant cavalier, sets out to discover the path to becoming a Lyctor. Their hosts claim not to know the answer. We the readers certainly don’t know the answer. But Muir does. Even when the book leaves a few dangling questions at story’s end, I never had the sense that I was in the hands of, say, the makers of Lost, where in fact nobody knew what was going on.

The second and third books in The Locked Tomb series: Harrow the Ninth and Nona the Ninth
(Tor Books, August 4, 2020 and September 13, 2022). Covers by Tommy Arnold

By choice, I treated Gideon the Ninth as a highly enjoyable one-off, but in fact it’s a quartet, with Harrow the Ninth following next, then Nona the Ninth, to be rounded off by Alecto the Ninth (coming, we are told, soon). The evidence so far suggests that Muir has her universe knitted together and under control, and the fact that she’s still exploring it is a bonus round, not a charlatan’s dodge.

Meanwhile, I suppose it’s only mete and proper to address the front-cover quote, from Charles Stross:

Lesbian necromancers explore a haunted gothic palace in space!

This is all factual enough, but a tad gratuitous, since Gideon never pursues either long-term romance or specific sex scenes. True, Gideon’s particular predilections influence how she interacts with a handful of her fellow tournament contestants, but mostly, her preferences matter about as much as her shoe size. Honestly, this is a relief. How pleasant to discover a book where sexuality, of whatever type, is just one part of the larger whole, and not something to be exploited for the sake of titillation, bodice-ripping or otherwise.

I expect I’ll catch up with Harrow (the book, not the cat) later in the year. Although come to think of it, perhaps I’ll visit my son, too, in which case, I’ll have the opportunity to read Harrow the Ninth with Harrow the Cat purring on my lap.

Now that’s a sequel worth anticipating.

Onward.

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Mark Rigney is a writer and long-time Black Gate blogger. His work on this site includes original fiction and perennially popular posts like “Adventures in Spellcraft: Rope Trick.” His new novel, Vinyl Wonderland, dropped on June 25th, 2024. Reviewer Rich Horton said of Vinyl Wonderland, “I was brought to tears, tears I trusted. A lovely work.” His favorite review quote so far comes from Instagram: “Holy crap on a cracker, it’s so good.” A preview post can be found HERE, while his website lives over THERE.