“[Lorists are] still around, though they’ve forgotten how much they’ve forgotten. Somehow their order, if it can be called an order, survives despite the First through Seventh Universities disavowing their work as apocryphal and probably inaccurate, and despite governments down all the ages undermining their knowledge with propaganda.”

It is largely because their knowledge has been undermined with propaganda that lorists are still around. They have “forgotten how much they’ve forgotten,” revealing that their knowledge is both malleable and likely wrong in many instances. However, stonelore inherently projects the idea that it is eternal and unchanging (originally, it was literally written in stone, and its existence throughout the millennia of climate disasters is taken as proof of its truth). For this reason, lorists, the ostensible purveyors of stonelore, will always have a place in the Stillness because they are tools of Ideology and Social Control.

“Like keeping to like is the old way, but nations and races haven’t been important for a long time. Communities of purpose and diverse specialization are more efficient, as Old Sanze proved. Yet Yumenes is slag at the bottom of a fissure vent by now, and the laws and ways of the Empire no longer have any bite. […] Maybe in a few years you’ll have to leave Castrima and find a comm full of Midlatters like you who are brown but not too brown, big but not too big, with hair that’s curly or kinky but never ashblow or straight.”

Prior to the Rifting, the Empire promoted the idea that there were no nations or races to maintain its position of power. If everyone felt unified under one cultural, racial, and national identity, they would have no individual claims to sovereignty. However, this unity was an illusion created and maintained by the Empire (through things like forced “admixture” of all races with Sanzed—in other words, genocidal rape). The Rifting, which literally splits the continent in two, does away with these illusions and makes it clear that social divisions never really went away in the first place.

“Understand: The Schaffa that we have known thus far, the Schaffa whom Damaya learned to fear and Syenite learned to defy, is now dead. What remains is a man with a habit of smiling, a warped paternal instinct, and a rage that is not wholly his own driving everything he does from this point on. Perhaps you will mourn the Schaffa who is lost. It’s all right if you do. He was part of you, once.”

The Broken Earth trilogy is very interested in identity and whether or not a single, unified version of a person even exists. There are numerous examples of people changing names (Damaya, Syenite, Essun), changing forms (Hoa reverting back to his original stone eater form from the childlike form he had adopted, or Alabaster becoming a stone eater), and losing the memories that formed the foundation of their previous identity (like Schaffa does in this chapter). For Schaffa, the text raises questions about whether he should be held accountable for his previous misdeeds or given a chance at redemption.

“Father Earth keeps his own equilibrium […] the real danger lies in what the ash might set off. Enough ash covering the warm surface of the sea, and the ice might grow at the poles. That means saltier seas. Drier climates. Permafrost. Glaciers marching, spreading. And the most habitable part of the world should that happen, the Equatorials, will still be hot and toxic.”

The notion of balance is central to how Jemisin conceives of a healthier, more equitable, and sustainable relationship with the Earth. The cascading effect described here demonstrates how interconnected everything is; one thing thrown out of balance causes a chain of disastrous consequences that render the Earth uninhabitable. This idea of interconnectedness informs the way the text later describes magic. It also ties into the fact that the event that kick-started the Seasons involved throwing the planet out of balance by knocking the moon from its orbit.

“Mama has said occasionally that she loves Nassun, but Nassun has never seen any proof of it. Not like Daddy, who gives her knapped stone kirkhusa to play with or […] who takes her fishing at Tirika Creek on days when he doesn’t have commissions to fulfill. Mama has never lain out on the grassy rooftop with Nassun, pointing at the stars and explaining that some deadcivs are said to have given them names, though no one remembers those. Daddy is never too tired to talk at the ends of his workdays. Daddy does not inspect Nassun in the mornings after baths the way Mama does, checking for poorly washed ears or an unmade bed, and when Nassun misbehaves, Daddy only sighs and shakes his head and tells her, ‘Sweetening, you knew better.’ Because Nassun always does.”

The tone of this quote makes Nassun sound very naive. It emphasizes how resentful she is of her mother and how incapable she is of seeing things clearly. Ultimately, her feelings are as much about what Essun doesn’t do as what Jija does. Nassun never feels loved by her mother, which leads to some deep-seated issues that manifest in dangerous ways later in the text—a prime example of Parent-Child Relationships and Cycles of Trauma. At this point, Nassun also has yet to fully process the extent of her father’s hatred.

“He is ‘Jija’, now in her head. He will be Jija hereafter, forever, and never Daddy again except out loud, when Nassun needs reins to steer him.”

In a single series of acts, Jija has made himself a stranger to Nassun. Her decision to no longer call him “Daddy” signifies an acceptance of truth: He is no longer the person who made her toys or told her stories about the stars. The renaming not only distances Nassun from her feelings of hurt but allows her to cope with her own actions going forward. “Jija” is a tool to be used rather than a person to be loved.

“You think of the feeling that was in your heart as you pressed your hand over Corundum’s nose and mouth. Not the thought. The thought was simple and predictable: better to die than live a slave. But what you felt in that moment was a kind of cold, monstrous love. A determination to make sure your son’s life remained the beautiful, wholesome thing that it had been up to that day, even if it meant you had to end his life early.”

The moment referenced here, which occurs in The Fifth Season but hangs over Essun and Alabaster upon their reunion, draws on a very similar scene in Toni Morrison’s Beloved. In what is likely the most famous example of infanticide in literature, the protagonist, Sethe, kills her eldest daughter so that she can be free from a life of enslavement. Both texts explore themes revolving around mother-child relationships that are effectively destroyed by the dire, oppressive circumstances around them. Moreover, neither text frames the act as objectively wrong. By providing the context that led to the decision (in Syenite’s case, the idea that Corundum would end up lobotomized in a node station) the act is rendered much more ambiguous. It is not Essun who is monstrous but rather the world around her, which continually forces her into positions where she must choose between love and survival.

“It’s meaningless. Just a word. But maybe you can give it meaning somehow. ‘Magic,’ you repeat, memorizing. Then you nod farewell, and leave without looking back.”

There are numerous moments in The Fifth Season where Alabaster and Syenite lament their inability to communicate about orogeny because the necessary words simply do not exist. In The Obelisk Gate, it becomes clear why: The Fulcrum deliberately makes it difficult for orogenes to share ideas and knowledge as a form of control. If there are no words, it becomes harder to create shared concepts and harder to pass down knowledge. Thus, the reason it is important for Essun to know the word “magic” is because it symbolizes something much bigger to her.

“In the months since Uche’s death, she has come to understand Jija better now than ever before in her life, because her life depends on it. She understands that he is fragile, despite his outward strength and stolidity. The cracks in him are new but dangerous, like the edges of tectonic plates: always raw, never stable, needing only the merest brush to unleash aeons’ worth of pent-up energy and destroy everything nearby.”

This is a stark change from the Nassun who first set out from Tirimo. While she hasn’t fully come to terms with Jija’s hatred and still wants his love and approval, she has learned to control him. The geology metaphor—Jija as unstable, dangerous tectonic plates—is apt because of how clearly it implies Nassun’s mastery over him. She is used to dealing with the temperamental energy of the earth as a matter of survival. Dealing with Jija is no different, and her confidence here is the first step in her coming-of-age arc.

“None of them are worth rust. You’d sess that yourself, if you’d bothered to pay any attention to them. It’s not just about skill, it’s also natural talent; that’s the whole reason the Fulcrum made us breed, Essun. And most of them will never be able to get past energy redistribution.”

Alabaster says this to Essun when he learns she is attempting to teach the orogenes of Castrima some basic techniques. He believes it is a waste of time, while she doesn’t. The disagreement reveals a more important point that is central to Essun’s arc throughout the novel. Essun’s natural response to most crises is to do whatever she can to survive in the short-term. By contrast, Alabaster isn’t interested in band-aid solutions anymore: He wants to fix the world through radical change. Thus, he isn’t heartless for not wanting to help the young orogenes in Castrima. Rather, he recognizes that sacrifices need to be made and that he doesn’t have much time to teach Essun what she needs to learn to complete what he started.

“No. If Daddy was Jija, then Mama had to be Essun.”

The decision to refer to her parents by their given names signifies several things for Nassun. First, and foremost, it reveals the degree to which her relationship with both has deteriorated: She does not see either as worthy of their respective parental name because they have failed to demonstrate the unconditional love a parent is supposed to provide. It is also a means for her to emotionally distance herself from them, either as a defense mechanism or because she has started to replace them with Schaffa, whom she now sees as an ideal parental figure. Lastly, it demonstrates a new level of independence. Right or wrong, Nassun is reflecting on her experience and figuring out who she wants to be. Hoa previously suggested that a person is made up of all the relationships they have with other people, as well as their own memories and experience. Nassun therefore takes a decisive step in shaping who she is when she ceases to view her parents as such.

“Who knows when some version of our ancestors first crawled out of the ash and started jabbering at each other? Thirty thousand years? Forty? A long time to be the pathetic creatures we are now, huddling behind our walls and putting all our wits, all our learning, toward the singular task of staying alive. That’s all we make now: Better ways to do field surgery with improvised equipment. Better chemicals, so we can grow more beans with little light. Once, we were so much more.”

Alabaster suggests that humanity’s obsessive focus on survival has caused them to miss the larger picture. He is tired of band-aid solutions that permit the continued suffering and subjugation of orogenes. This is why he caused the Rifting and wants to return the moon to orbit: He understands the necessity of radical change.

“‘Never again,’ he whispers, and twitches with the memory of that, too. Then the feeling changes and his resolve refocuses. What happened before does not matter. That was a different Schaffa. He has another chance now. And if being less than himself means being less than the monster that he was, he cannot regret it.”

Schaffa is shrouded in moral ambiguity throughout the text. Here, he resolves to be better and demonstrates what appears to be genuine emotional attachment to Nassun, refusing to use her for pain relief because she means more than that to him. Moreover, the realization that what he did was wrong, and his confusion around why he ever did the things he did, shows character growth. However, his simple dismissal that “[w]hat happened before does not matter” suggests that he has not fully taken responsibility for his actions. Likewise, the idea that it was a different Schaffa that did these things raises questions about justice and redemption, including whether someone should be held accountable for past acts they don’t remember. All of this is further complicated by the fact that Schaffa’s motives remain unclear, as does the extent of his agency as a Guardian.

“Now she has the freedom to be fully who and what she is, and she no longer fears that self. Now she has someone who believes in her, trusts her, fights for her, as she is. So she will be what she is.”

Prior to leaving Tirimo and ending up in Found Moon, Nassun was taught to fear orogeny. Essun’s harsh teaching methods also led her to resent it. It was something that could hurt her and everyone around her and meant suffering through grueling and often painful lessons; it was a thing to control and keep hidden. However, orogeny was still part of who she was, so she lived with a constant sense of tension and doubt with regard to her sense of self. Life in Found Moon is very different. For the first time ever, she’s encouraged to embrace and practice orogeny. It is not surprising that Nassun takes to Schaffa so quickly, or that she finally feels happy with who she is.

“And my kind—Guardians such as I once was—were complicit in this atrocity. You’ve seen how your father knaps a stone? Hammering at it, flaking away its weaker bits. Breaking it, if it cannot bear the pressure, and starting over with another. That is what I did, back then, but with children.”

Another stone-based analogy describes orogenes on two levels: It captures the brutal, physical nature of how Schaffa and other Guardians literally and metaphorically beat orogenes into the shape they want, but it also reveals how the Guardians see their relationship with orogenes. To a knapper, a stone only has value insofar as it can be turned into a tool. The same goes for orogenes. At best, they are a tool, but if they break before becoming useful, they’re tossed aside.

“It isn’t how the Fulcrum would’ve taught them. There, with years of time and safe walls and comforting blue skies overhead, the teaching could be done gently, gradually, giving the children time to get over their fears or outgrow their immaturities. There’s no time for gentleness in a Season, though […] These children need to be prepared for the inevitable day that Castrima turns on them.”

Essun has reflected on the way she treated Nassun and admitted she would now do things differently. However, with another opportunity to teach children, she opts for the same teaching methods. While this might suggest she has not fully learned her lesson yet, it also reveals how much her hands are tied by the dire conditions she faces: Her instruction could literally mean the difference between life and death, and Essun chooses life every time, even if it entails dislike.

“Ah, this ridiculous war of ours. We use your kind so easily. Even you, my Essun, my treasure, my pawn. One day, I hope, you will forgive me.”

This is not the only instance of Hoa intimating that he is using Essun, and it is not the only time he asks for forgiveness. These clues suggest where things are going and why Hoa is narrating in second person. By the end of the text, it is clear that one side of the war wants to return the moon to proper orbit around the earth, while the other wants to crash it into the Earth. In both cases, using the Obelisk Gate is necessary. It also emerges that using the Gate is what turns Alabaster to stone and eventually into a stone eater whose memory doesn’t appear to be fully intact. After using the Obelisk Gate to destroy Rennanis, Essun’s arm has turned to stone. Considering that she will have to use the Gate again if she attempts to catch the moon, it is reasonable to assume that she too might turn into a stone eater, and that Hoa has known this all along. This would also explain why Hoa is narrating the story in second person: He is telling Essun her own story because she no longer remembers it.

“‘Nice to meet you, Nassun.’ Ajae nods politely, then moves on, walking down the steps toward a terrace. She hums, swinging her bucket. Nassun stares after her, trying to understand.

Orogene name?

Trying not to understand.

Did they break your hand yet?

This place. This…Fulcrum. Is why her mother broke her hand. Nassun’s hand twitches in phantom pain. She sees again the rock in her mother’s hand, rising. Holding a moment. Falling.

Are you sure you can control yourself?

The Fulcrum is why her mother never loved her.

Is why her father does not love her anymore.

Is why her brother is dead.

Nassun watches Ajae wave to a thin older boy, who is busy hoeing. This place. These people, who have no right to exist.”

The staccato rhythm of Nassun’s thoughts as they oscillate between understanding and denial emphasizes how jarring what she learns at the Fulcrum is for her. This is the moment that breaks her. She finally knows why her life has been unending misery and tragedy; all of it can be traced back to the well-oiled system of oppression that is the Fulcrum.

“‘It isn’t giving up to look out for yourself—’

‘Yes. It is.’ She lifts her head. It wasn’t a sob or a laugh. She’s furious. Just not at you. ‘You’re saying these people—my parents, my creche teachers, my friends, my lovers—You’re saying just leave them to their fate. You’re saying they’re nothing. That they’re not people at all, just beasts whose nature it is to kill. You’re saying roggas are nothing but, but prey and that’s all we’ll ever be! No! I won’t accept that.’”

Ykka works as a foil for Essun because she is an orogene who has grown up with a completely different set of experiences. Essun has experienced time and time again that orogenes and stills cannot co-exist and has been forced to start her life over as a result. Ykka, on the other hand, has lived in a single community her whole life. Moreover, since leaving the Fulcrum, Essun has hidden the fact that she is an orogene so she could live a “normal” life, whereas Ykka revealed her true nature to her community and was ultimately embraced for it. As a result, survival for survival’s sake isn’t enough for Ykka because life isn’t worth living if it means giving up hope and losing everything that gives her existence meaning.

“She swallows. If she hurts him because she loves him, is that still hurt? If she hurts him a lot now so that he will hurt less later, does that make her a terrible person?

‘Nassun, please.’

Is that not how love should work?

But this thought makes her remember her mother, and a chilly afternoon with clouds obscuring the sun and a brisk wind making her shake as Mama’s fingers covered hers and held her hand down on a flat rock. If you can control yourself through pain, I’ll know you’re safe.

She lets go of Schaffa and sits back, chilled by who she has almost become.”

The tragedy of this moment is that Nassun is so close to realizing that Essun did all the harsh, harmful things she did because she loved Nassun and wanted to keep her safe. However, because of how traumatic the experience was for Nassun, she comes to the wrong conclusion. Instead of making the connection that her mother was acting from love, she focuses on the fact that she almost did a similar thing and resolves to be different. Ultimately, this deep (and erroneous) belief that people can never hurt the ones they love—and her fear that she inevitably will—is what leads her to help Steel crash the moon into the Earth.

“In the turning depths, I resonate with my enemy—or attempt to. ‘A truce,’ I say. Plead. There has been so much loss already, on all sides. A moon. A future. Hope. […] What comes to me is furious reverberation, savage fluctuations of pressure and gravitation.”

Hoa makes one last effort to parley with Father Earth but is met with hostility. This interlude provides further evidence that Father Earth is alive in the Broken Earth trilogy and foreshadows what is about to happen with Essun as she attempts a similar parley with Rennanis. The idea of Father Earth as angry and hostile toward humanity runs counter to the common depiction of Earth as nurturing, maternal, and benevolent (Gaia, mother earth, for example). Such depictions support the idea that the Earth exists to provide humanity with the resources they need (or, more accurately, desire), and Jemisin highlights that this attitude inevitably leads to climate disaster.

“But what you suddenly understand is this: Magic derives from life—that which is alive, or was alive, or even that which was alive so many ages ago that it has turned into something else. All at once this understanding causes something to shift in your perception, and

and

and

You see it suddenly: the network. A web of silver threads interlacing the land, permeating rock and even the magma just underneath, strung like jewels between forests and fossilized corals and pools of oil. Carried through the air on the webs of leaping spiderlings. Threads in the clouds, though thin, strung between microscopic living things in water droplets. Threads as high as your perception can reach, brushing against the very stars.”

The way Jemisin describes the network of magic here—as an interconnected substance that imbues all things, both living and nonliving, in the world—is reminiscent of the way matter could be described in the real world, with one major difference: Instead of life deriving from matter (as it is in the real world), magic derives from life. This inversion invites a radical shift in perspective concerning how humanity should view its relationship with the natural world. If matter is dead or nonliving, it requires no ethical considerations and thus is ripe for exploitation. This is how the people of Corepoint saw the Earth prior to the Shattering and why they didn’t think twice about drilling down into its core. However, if the Earth and everything that makes up the natural world is imbued with life, it becomes much more difficult to see it as a mere resource. Jemisin’s concept of magic slots in with her other themes about how humanity’s relationship with the Earth relates to climate disaster.

“Alabaster failed to teach it to you because he was like you—Fulcrum-trained and Fulcrum-limited, taught only to think of power in terms of energy and equations and geometric shapes. He mastered magic because of who he was, but he did not truly understand it. Neither do you, even now. Ykka, feral that she is, with nothing to unlearn, was the key all along. If you hadn’t been so arrogant…”

Contrasting Essun and Alabaster’s struggles with magic against Ykka’s relative ease in adjusting to it highlights the power of Fulcrum ideology. Because this ideology limits what Essun and Alabaster can see and even conceive, they have to actively unlearn how they understand orogeny to work. Their arrogance is a part of their ideology too; instilling an attitude of superiority over “ferals” makes Fulcrum-trained orogenes more accepting of their oppression by allowing them to rationalize it as preferable to the alternative.