47 pages • 1 hour read
Literature, in particular poetry, symbolizes how Imperialism and Cultural Assimilation function in A Memory Called Empire. Poetry, from imperial epics to more pedestrian works such as The Buildings, cements Teixcalaanli identity, working as an indirect form of imperialism, replacing indigenous forms of cultural expression. In her criticism of Yskandr, Aknel Amnardbat highlights the poisonous effect of imperial poetry—drawing young people from Lsel Station to the Empire, without them knowing the City’s dangers. Mahit sees poetry as a marker of Teixcalaanli identity and thus, a symbol of imperialism. At the Palace banquet, she watches Three Seagrass and others take turns creating a new poem. Representative of the order that determines imperial citizenship, these poems demand expertise and lived experiences. Mahit “spent half her life studying Teixcalaanli literature and she was just barely good enough to follow this game” (183), understanding if she played, she would be considered “the poor, ignorant barbarian playing so hard at civilization” (183). While Teixcalaanli poetry reinforces imperialism and cultural assimilation, the local literature of places like Lsel Station, such as the graphic novel The Perilous Frontier, is a defense of individuality and cultural diversity.
Lsel Station’s imago technology is central to the Construction of Identity Through Memory, symbolizing how memory works with one’s endocrine system to create identity. While One Lightning characterizes the technology as immoral and unfair, Mahit knows imago devices work like poetry or history, offering lessons to guide the present and future. For example, Aknel Amnardbat’s device “allows her to carry in her mind the recorded memories of six prior Councilors for Heritage” (15), giving her the knowledge to protect the legacy of Heritage. Mahit’s first imago device offers a similar advantage, “a repository of instinctive and automatic skill that Mahit hadn’t had time to acquire for herself” (28). The Teixcalaanli fear these devices, despite their similarities with their own memorized poems. At the end of the novel, Nineteen Adze asks how Mahit handles Yskandr’s presence in her mind, and she responds “we wouldn’t match, I wouldn’t be his successor, if I wasn’t going to mostly agree with him” (448). Likewise, Three Seagrass follows Eleven Lathe’s example, allowing his poetry to live forever through her, guiding her.
The cloudhook symbolizes The Collectivism of Information and Artificial Intelligence, especially in the City, controlled by AI systems and policed by the Sunlit. Except for the Sunlit, cloudhooks seem identical—a common facial feature, an eye cover, that unites the Empire’s citizens. The Sunlit’s cloudhooks are also identical but exclusive to themselves, covering their faces to fully obscure individuality; these devices are controlled by the City’s AI systems. Mahit first notices these cloudhooks when she meets Three Seagrass, her device “full of the ceaseless obscuring flow of the imperial information network” (26). This barrage of information allows access to select spaces, but again, doesn’t support individuality. Mahit finds cloudhooks stressful, but understands the allure of being part of a technology-fueled collective. Wearing a cloudhook and accepting the privileges of citizenship means belonging to a hive mind, where the same barrage of information creates the same, loyal citizen.
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