So, in Gideon the Ninth, a cavalier comes to Canaan House. Our cavalier is largely uninterested in necromancy, on account of being a huge jock with too many muscles who would rather be playing with swords or talking about playing with swords, and frequently mocks the weirdos who get worked up about things that aren’t swords.
Our cavalier has a rocky relationship with their necromancer, who, it must be said, is kind of a terrible person. But by the end of the book, they’ve achieved true unity, just as Jod intended.
It’s surprising to me that up to my most recent read, I hadn’t realized how much Babs is clearly meant as a foil for Gideon, down to the sense of humor. Gideon loves Magnus’s puns, but “anyone goes missing, we assume they’re having a nap in the incinerator” is the kind of thing you can actually imagine Gideon saying.
So their differences become really interesting. His reflexive insistence on being called Prince Tern whenever his ego is threatened throws Gideon’s indentured servant status into sharp relief. His shock and anger when rules are broken contrasts with her experience of rules as threats she has to manage. And while they both instinctively dislike most people, she rapidly makes a surprising number of friends. He looks down on everyone too much for that. (She distrusts. He disdains.)
And, of course, in the end, she chooses her fate, while he gets lyctored in the back.
The contrast between them definitely works with the themes of the book, but I think I missed it because it speaks even more to the the larger series: how cozy are you with power and privilege? How do you decide to navigate your bonds with others in a world that turns human relationships to horrible ends? For what cause are you willing to work with the systemic violence that animates everything around you?
Gideon makes her choices with open eyes. Babs turns away into a warm cocoon that turns out to be a bag over his head.