The Library at Mount Char

“Carolyn rose and stood alone in the dark, both in that moment and ever after.”

The deaths of Isha and Asha mark a pivotal point in Carolyn’s life and character arc. It can be viewed as the moment in which her innocence is lost. The savage murder of the animals she loves opens her eyes to Father and David’s cruelty. It sparks her hatred for them, as well as an intense desire for revenge that forms the basis of her character’s motivation. Standing in the dark metaphorically represents this loss of innocence, and Carolyn’s choice to adapt to the horrors of her new life by closing her heart, becoming cold and calculating.

“The things he had done and, worse, the things he hadn’t done back then were always circling, never far from his thoughts.”

Steve’s self-identity is defined by guilt and regret. Hawkins doesn’t reveal the specific things Steve regrets right away, giving readers room to wonder and to recognize the influence of Steve’s feelings without judgment. His guilt and regret make him want to change but also convince him he’s inherently bad and incapable of change. This informs his inner conflict in these early chapters: continue his journey of self-improvement or go back to doing something he’s good at and make a lot of money.

“As far as she knew, no one—not Father, not David, not even Emily—could see into her sleeping mind, so it was only there that she did her real planning. But when she was fresh out of sleep it was difficult to keep the truth of her heart from tangling in the lies of her conscious mind, and her fingertips often trembled.”

Carolyn’s inner conflict also revolves around identity. She’s had to hide her thoughts and emotions, even from her conscious mind, for so long, and the toll is beginning to show. Her fortitude has enabled her to hide her true self successfully, but it has changed her, at her core, in ways she didn’t foresee. This tangling between her heart and conscious mind represents these changes, developing a message about The Emotional Toll of Wearing a Mask.

“She thinks that if her son were to come home now it would be like waking from a dream. She would feel again. But the boy will not come home, and though she will not allow herself to know this, she knows it anyway. And so she makes brownies for the memory of her baby. She can’t help herself—faint comfort is better than no comfort at all, you see? Her world is very cold, and this is the thing she warms herself over with.”

Jennifer’s description of Mrs. McGillicutty’s son as her “heart coal” demonstrates keen insight into human psychology. This is ironic, given the librarians’ ignorance regarding many aspects of human societal norms. Beyond adding depth to Jennifer’s characterization, these lines introduce the “heart coal,” a concept that will have major significance later in the story. Carolyn’s ambiguous feelings for Steve make sense when it’s revealed that he is her “heart coal,” the idealized memory that she longs for and that brings her comfort.

“Another time Father pierced her heart with a stiletto, but only after telling her what he would do, setting the knife before her on a silver tray, and letting her contemplate it for three full days and nights.”

This quote exemplifies Father’s cruelty, developing the theme of The Human Capacity for Cruelty, Compassion, and Change. The practical purpose of killing Margaret is to allow her to explore and learn about the forgotten lands, but making her anticipate being violently killed for three days is a form of torture. She responds, over time, by dissociating from reality, so that by the dramatic present, she has a twisted relationship with pain, both physical and emotional.

“The look in his eyes as he climbed inside the bull brought to mind another Atul phrase, ‘wazin nyata,’ which was the moment when the last hope dies.”

Carolyn uses her expertise in language in this scene to develop several ideas. Giving a name to the moment when hope dies highlights the depth of anguish and despair David is feeling. Though in the dramatic present, he’s depicted as monstrous and seemingly impervious to pain or fear, this description is a reminder that he wasn’t always that way. The Atul phrase also marks it as a pivotal moment in David’s transformation into the killer he is now. It elucidates a motivation for David to kill Father, but this turns out to be misleading. Carolyn offers a clue to the truth, however: Her use of the Atul phrase connects this scene to her memory of the first time she contemplated killing Father herself, described by another Atul phrase.

“When he got back from the war, his ability to love was in serious doubt—all you had to do was take one look at the smoking ruin of his marriage or maybe ask his half-forgotten family. In the civilian world, the volume was a lot lower, but he was still shouting. He knew that, he just couldn’t seem to do anything about it. It crossed his mind to eat a shotgun.”

Erwin’s self-assessment after leaving the Army was that he “wasn’t post-traumatic or anything” (86). These lines demonstrate that he has been severely affected by his time in combat, whether he chooses to consider himself traumatized or not. This contradiction reveals much about his character and the similarities between him and Carolyn. Both have built their self-identities around their strength, and both have endured horrors that they could only survive by hardening themselves. Erwin’s experiences after the war, described here, are what enable him to understand Carolyn later in the book and to help Steve understand.

“On the bench in front of him sat the newspaper picture of Carolyn on the water slide. In the background of the twenty-five-year-old photo someone who looked an awful lot like Steve Hodgson, aged about ten, waited for his turn.”

Hawkins has dropped sporadic hints thus far that there’s more to Carolyn’s choice of Steve as an accomplice than she’s let on. This photograph reveals more, suggesting that they knew each other as kids, but it doesn’t illuminate the details. Hawkins uses this technique of withholding information throughout the novel to make the plot unpredictable and keep readers engaged. As a result, the novel’s conflicts, characters, and themes continue to develop deeper layers of connection and meaning with each new revelation.

“If he had known that this sunset would be the last he would ever see, he probably would have taken a couple of seconds to savor it.”

This line offers an example of two techniques the author uses to escalate suspense and tension. There’s no subtlety to the foreshadowing here: It’s an outright statement that must be interpreted to mean Steve will die. He provides no other information about this shocking forecast, encouraging readers to keep turning the pages to find out more. Secondly, it’s a misleading bit of unreliable narration. The narrator uses a common euphemism for death intentionally, but the line actually refers to the loss of the sun—something made possible by Carolyn’s acquisition of godlike power.

“Gradually he came to understand that this particular nothing was all that he could really say now. He chanted it to himself in cell blocks and dingy apartments, recited it like a litany, ripped himself to rags against the sharp and ugly poetry of it. It echoed down the grimy hallways and squandered moments of his life, the answer to every question, the lyric of all songs.”

Steve’s silence in response to Jack’s mother calling him an asshole is significant: It implies that he isn’t bothering to deny her accusation, because he agrees with it. Like her, Steve blames himself for Jack’s death, and these lines further reveal the lasting impact of his guilt. The figurative language used in this description portrays Steve’s feelings of guilt, represented by “this particular nothing” as a tangible, violent, and omnipresent force. The implication is that Steve never forgives himself for Jack’s death, and his belief that he’s a terrible person has defined him and his life ever since.

“‘The Buddha teaches respect for all life.’ 

‘Oh.’ She considered this. ‘Are you a Buddhist?’ 

‘No. I’m an asshole. But I keep trying.’”

These lines encapsulate Steve’s overarching inner conflict. He’s done terrible things that he deeply regrets and recognizes that he has a long way to go in his journey to become a better person. His self-identification as an “asshole” is influenced by this and by his inability to forgive himself for past mistakes. His embracing of Buddhist ideals illustrates the values he holds and paints a picture of the kind of man he aspires to be, hinting at his character arc development and transformation. Additionally, the tenet of respect for all life reflects a broad tension in the novel regarding the way animals are treated and portrayed.

“‘I don’t get it.’ 

‘I’m not sure I do either, honestly. I mean, I know what he did to us, but I really don’t have any idea why.’”

Carolyn’s inability to understand Father’s motives forms the basis of her inner conflict and her external conflict with Father. His abuse changed her in profound ways. It made her what she is, but without knowing the reasons, she’s unable to develop a healthy sense of her identity and purpose. His abuse also made her hate him, which motivated every choice she’s made for the last 10 years or more. She does want knowledge and power, but overthrowing Father is just as much about revenge. This quote elucidates the reasons for everything that happens in the narrative because it all revolves around this central conflict.

“‘Father is crafty. I imagine he was quiet at first, planning, arranging things, gathering his power. […] Then, eventually, when he was ready’—she tapped the bar with one lacquered fingernail—‘he turned his attention to the author of his misery. He understood, I think. The only real escape from hell is to conquer it.’”

Carolyn must speculate about how Father went about conquering the Emperor, and what she imagines reveals a great deal about her. She draws parallels between Father’s experience and hers as a way to explain and defend her actions. Everything she’s plotted for the last 10 years is her version of taking on the author of her misery. Her words make it apparent that her life under Father’s rule has been, metaphorically, hell, and she’s overthrowing him to escape it. This adds depth to her motive and the theme of The Succession Conflict and Parallels to Greek Mythology.

 “‘It’s about the Library,’ Carolyn said. ‘Right now the only thing that matters is who takes control of Father’s Library.’”

The narrative’s succession conflict is further developed by this concise statement of Carolyn’s. By boiling down the chaotic events that are occurring and the machinations of her scheme to this one variable, she illuminates the immeasurable amount of power that is up for grabs and the immensity of what’s at stake. Language plays a role in disguising this reality, as few things sound less threatening than a library and its librarians. As the plot arc advances, the library gradually takes on more and more importance as the center of world-changing, perhaps world-ending, power.

“‘With this particular species of crazy, you stop trying to make things better. You start trying to maximize the bad. You pretend to like it. Eventually you start working to make everything as bad as possible. It’s an avoidance mechanism.’ Jennifer looked Carolyn directly in the eyes. ‘It can’t actually work. That’s why they call it crazy.’”

Through the characters of Steve, Carolyn, and the other librarians, The Library at Mount Char explores the various ways in which people respond to pain, fear, cruelty, and trauma. Carolyn must navigate a fine line between closing herself off enough to survive and hardening herself to the point of losing her humanity. Jennifer’s warning to Carolyn helps make sense of Margaret and David’s behavior, and it’s also important to Carolyn’s arc and what it reveals about The Human Capacity for Cruelty, Compassion, and Change. She ignores this warning at age 16, and it takes both Steve’s compassion and seeing herself in Margaret to convince Carolyn that she needs to change.

“A long time ago, there was a…sort of homecoming party. A feast. The main course was two deer. That’s the reissak’s trigger. No one who tasted of their flesh can approach the Library. And that’s everyone of consequence. You’ll be safe there.”

Without directly stating that Carolyn is the one who set the barrier, these lines create that implication, acting as a significant plot reveal. This is foreshadowed by a description in Chapter 1 of Carolyn’s secret, blazing hatred for Father and David, prompted by their murdering and cooking Isha and Asha. Additionally, the fact that this trigger works on all the other Librarians implies they all ate the deer. Her choosing this as the trigger suggests that deep down, she resents them for it and feels justified in letting them die as part of her plan to overthrow Father.

“She let a scream slip loose—just one. It was necessary, it was the bait she needed to draw him in that one final inch, but it cost her, too, in a way she hadn’t expected. There was a note of truth in that scream.”

This description reveals quite a bit about Carolyn and the book’s themes. While raping her, David sadistically tells her to scream for him, saying he’ll stop if she does. She uses his enjoyment of her fear and pain—evidenced by a scream—against him, knowing he can’t resist it and will fall into her trap. To Carolyn, screaming when being tortured is a sign of weakness. Staying silent is a form of defiance and therefore a show of strength. That is why the scream costs her: It diminishes the perception of her strength and power. Finally, the “note of truth” in the scream means she’s revealing her true self and being vulnerable, which she hates.

“‘I don’t know that there are any rules,’ Carolyn said. ‘I won. That’s the only rule I’m aware of.’”

Carolyn’s environment, ever since Father brought her to the Library, has been one of brutal violence and fear in which having the physical strength to bend others to one’s will equated to having the right to do so. There were no rules to protect Carolyn or the other Librarians from rape, torture, or murder, and Father raised them to see themselves as gods, above the laws of society. Carolyn reflects this view of the world and her place and authority in it: To her, if she’s clever and strong enough to overthrow Father and kill anyone who gets in her way, then she can and should. This view creates an ironically simplified perspective on complex succession conflicts.

“‘I think she might be out of her fucking mind.’ Hearing himself say this, the thought came to him fully formed as from the void: The vocabulary of such a creature would be different from what I am used to, different from what I know. It was in that moment that he first began to understand what he had to do.”

Steve has overestimated how much Carolyn is like him because until now, he didn’t realize how differently she was raised. This quote alludes to an important relationship between cognition and language. Hawkins notes that he was inspired by the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis, which holds that the structures of one’s language influence or even determine how one perceives the world. Carolyn can’t relate to Steve’s concerns because he hasn’t experienced anything like what she has, so he’s not expressing himself in a way that fits with how her brain works. Erwin’s experience with post-traumatic stress disorder allows him to understand this. It’s ironic because Carolyn has learned nearly every spoken language throughout history. This irony portrays compassion as a different kind of language.

“I can’t think of a word for it. It’s like you’re living at a different scale than the rest of us. Normal things—fear, hope, compassion—just don’t register with you.”

Steve’s insights into Carolyn reveal several aspects of character and theme. His effort to understand her, rather than condemn her, demonstrates the depth of his compassion. His character is a foil to hers in that he embodies the traits she’s suppressed in herself, like fear, hope, and compassion. His recognition that these things haven’t registered with her allows him to draw the connection between language, thought, and worldview. Conceptualizing it as a matter of language and communication enables him to comprehend the effects of trauma on Carolyn, encapsulated in her character arc. These effects, like the erosion of empathy, are the price she paid for strength, survival, and power.

“‘Yeah. I mean, it sucks. But you adjust.’ She looked up at him, awed. To Carolyn, eight years old, that one sentence seemed to contain all that might ever be known of courage.”

Carolyn has talked about adjusting to hardship throughout the narrative, making it a sort of mantra. Adapting is a choice she made, over and over, as she survived and developed the strength she’d need to conquer. She’s beginning to realize the cost of that choice as the text explores the factors that shaped her. The “Adoption Day” memory reveals, however, that Steve’s childhood bravery inspired her too, perhaps just as much. Remembering this sets her on the path toward parsing the hardened, traumatized parts of her identity from the parts inspired by courage and love.

“‘You shall be the thing she fears above all others, and conquers,’ Father said in Pelapi. He touched David gently, with real love. ‘Your way shall be very hard, very cruel. I must do terrible things to you, that you may become a monster. I am sorry, my son. I had thought you might be my heir, but the strength is not in you. It must be her.’”

Carolyn’s “Adoption Day” memory of Father shows a gentler side of him than she’s ever seen. The fact that he disliked torturing the librarians and only did it to make them strong enough to guard the secrets of the universe may not be enough to exonerate him in Carolyn’s eyes. It makes enough difference, however, for her to resurrect him and to right the wrongs she’s done to Steve and the rest of the world.

“For a moment she imagined the three of them together, Father and Nobununga and Mithraganhi, hanging out, maybe playing volleyball or something. It seemed outside of his nature. But she was coming to understand that Father’s nature was, perhaps, something other than what had been presented to her.”

In the book’s final chapters, ironic parallels between Carolyn and Father continue to emerge. Carolyn’s identity crisis is the result of having to hide her true self for so long, which, in turn, resulted from her fear of what Father—violent and sadistically cruel—might do to her if he sensed the truth. Seeing that the version of him she knew was a facade, one which mirrors her facade, she realizes how much she’s become like him and is prompted to try to make wiser choices than he did.