analysing the labour conditions of dusty libraries

for the empire on which the sun will finally set

Fiction, 2022

I have a confession to make. When the term “dark academia” flooded the internet, I was the biggest sucker for it. This was several years ago, and at the time, I would spend all day studying for my final school exams. The setup was crucial to the success of the study session: I would play a dark academia soundscape, light at least three candles, jot down my notes on parchment, and write with a calligraphy pen that would leave my nails stained for days. This is precisely the excessive yet ridiculous substance of Babel: Or The Necessity of Violence.

It’s 1836, and I’d like to introduce you to Robin, Ramy, Letty, and Victoire. They’re all troubled university students from different backgrounds and have congregated in Oxford with a sole purpose: translation. Though we get a glimpse into all of their points of view, we’re rooted in the eyes of Robin, a child from Canton who was shipped away to London with no warning. He struggles with his abusive pseudo-father, thinks thoughts, and decides to destroy the British Empire. 

We’re placed in a lightly magical world (like reality with an Instagram filter) that runs on silver bars. When engraved with certain “match-pairs”—etymological companions from different languages—the bars start to reflect the words’ meaning in reality. This isn’t slap-dash magic, and we must trudge through pages of linguistic tracing with our fellow students. Babel is a gorgeously researched book, and the explanation of how the Empire profits off colonies (and lower classes within Britain itself) condenses a year’s worth of history classes. Babel is a story of racism, power, and the gatekeeping of knowledge. In all of it’s 546 pages, I never felt like space was wasted. But for me, the best part was the extensive etymological research—I felt like I was at university again!

This is the kind of book you read in the middle of the night, with a concentrated cup of black coffee, and sharp moonlight. In other words, it’s a story that begs to be romanticised—which 17-year-old and 21-year-old me can both enjoy.

Song - The Love Club - Lorde

Film - The Man Who Knew Infinity (but sadder)