Adjustment Costs in the Cosmere

1. The Cosmere
2. The Emberdark
3. Assessment
4. Technology and Conflict
5. Notes

The Cosmere

I hesitate to write a blog post about the Cosmere, given that it is unfinished. Then again, Sanderson’s ambitions are monumental, and most projections estimate that it will take another 25 to 30 years to finish all (or even most) of his planned books. Who knows how life will be by then?

There is a lot to say about his Marvel Cinematic Universe-style project, both good and bad. Overall, I remain deeply impressed by the vision behind the Cosmere, and each new world having both its own unique flavor yet fitting within the broader Cosmere structure. Writing is (so far) uneven and a work in progress; not every character sticks memorably; and magic systems can sometimes become too mechanical or superhero-like for my taste. All in all, though, I am a fan, and will continue reading the books as they appear.

I was prompted to write this blog after finishing Isles of the Emberdark, his latest novel(la). The book has interesting things to say about the upheaval wrought by technology, but it also exemplifies a very Sandersonian trait: to assume away social conflict.

The Emberdark

I won’t try to summarize the entire premise of the Cosmere; go read and (gradually) find out.¹ Isles of the Emberdark takes place in the spacefaring future of the series, far beyond the timelines of any of the series currently published; but comparable to Tress, the Sunlit Man, and Yumi. Most of the action takes place on (and around) a world called First of the Sun, in the Drominad system. In Arcanum Unbounded, it is speculated that this system was inhabited by an avatar of the Shard Autonomy; actions in the novel (where this avatar is called Patji) corroborate this hypothesis.

First of the Sun is inhabited by island-faring people, who until very recently had a social organization comparable to the Polynesian peoples (which provided the inspiration for the culture). The main inhabited islands – homeisles – are (at the start of the story) on steampower, while the mystical islands of the Pantheon resist technological change. These islands are the domain of trappers – (mostly) men who groom the magical parrots Aviar, who provide symbiotic powers to their human companions. We follow the travails of one trapper, Sixth of the Dusk, who traps the main island of Patji.

Dusk is thrown headfirst into planetary conflict with the arrival of the Ones Above (Scadrian spacefarers). This arrival plunges the world into rapid technological catchup and (some) political change; but curiously, no serious political upheaval. Together with his friend, President Vathi, Dusk races to save his world from intergalactic colonization. In so doing, he rediscovers the mystical past of his people, magic powers granted by Patji only to his people, which eventually make the inhabitants of First of the Sun indispensable and therefore give the potential to stave off enslavement.

Assessment

I liked the book, and I think its transformation from the original novella Sixth of the Dusk is convincing. The world is colorful, the Aviar are nice; I like the exploration of the Emberdark, and I found that this adds more depth and flavor to Shadesmar, which felt a bit bland to me in Stormlight. Remarkably, I think the best part of the book is its main character. Sanderson’s characters tend to suffer from a chirpy talkativeness that feels very millennial-American to this European reader; Dusk is refreshingly taciturn.

Its broader place within the Cosmere remains to be seen; yet the hints are intriguing. The book seems to provide evidence for the long-hypothesized transformation of Harmony into Discord, tells us more about dragons and Yolen, and also gives more information about aethers and the Sleepless. All in all, a good book to have.

Technology and Conflict

Sanderson is good at treating magic like technology²; in this novel, he gives his most serious attempt to date of exploring what technological change means for society. Dusk is a trapper on a canoe, outpaced by steamboats and guns; the steamboats and guns are outpaced by the Malwish spaceships and the vast technological change they bring. The analogy to the Patji flora and fauna in the zoo, defanged of their danger and hence of their potency, is on the nose but apt. Many of us, when faced with innovation that threatens to uproot our way of life in the space of years, are left dizzy and uprooted, at risk of drowning in a world that cares nothing for skills that were relevant just a decade ago.

Nowadays, we look to AI or the computer as primary exhibits of this upheaval. But none of this is new; technology has created and destroyed for thousands of years. The speed of upheaval, too, is not new. Phillipp Blom’s magisterial Vertigo Years is a convincing account of how technology completely disoriented European society on the eve of World War I. Where physical strength was the primary basis in producing output for thousands of years, the introduction of electricity made physical labor – and therefore men’s social status – radically uncertain. This sense of displacement manifested itself in various ways; the arms race, the sudden crackdown on homosexuality in the German empire, the renewed concern with birthrates and racial purity. I could go on, but the parallels with present times should make this sufficient, even if the ultimate tragedy of that period does not repeat itself.

Ultimately, this struggle with modernity comes out too clean in Sanderson’s works. I applaud his earnest efforts to focus on mental health and self-development in his novels; many readers will recognize part of their struggle in his depiction of Steris, Shallan, Kaladin, or Dusk. Nevertheless, while group therapy might be a very healthy thing for real-life conditions, it does not make for convincing or satisfactory conflict resolution at societal scale. While Emberdark isn’t the most egregious offender in this regard (looking at you, Wind and Truth), watching Dusk candidly reflect on his personal strengths and weaknesses felt a little too cognitive behavioral therapy for me.

Sanderson has a difficult relationship with power structures. In most of his works, there is an absolute monarchy; if there is some form of elected position (like in Emberdark or the Wax & Wayne novels), the plot’s driving conflict always provides an excuse to consolidate power in the hands of the ruler. Elend Venture, angsty aristocrat tween turned Lord Ruler in the first Mistborn trilogy, idealistically tries democracy before sadly concluding that the time isn’t right. Dalinar Kholin is a tyrant by admission, yet believes that necessary to combat Odium. There is a power fantasy inherent in these setups; simply wishing for absolute power shouldn’t mean that you’ll get it. This is something that the Wheel of Time does beautifully. Rand al’Thor is the most powerful channeler in existence; he commands nations and most of the Aiel. Yet, he never has absolute power; he is always curtailed, countermanded, sidelined. The Aiel, his most loyal following, never unconditionally do what he says; the Maidens mother him, the chiefs and Wise Ones speak back to him even during the worst of his madness.³

This is of course how the world is; even the most personalistic dictatorship has its factions, personal power bases, and feuds. More, perhaps, than a well-functioning democracy. What is missing from Sanderson’s books is this layer between the guys (and girls) at the top and the broader population. Elend’s misadventures with parliament and Vathi’s impending loss of parliamentary support represent about the sum total of meaningful inter- and intra-elite conflict.⁴ Moreover, we never really get the common man’s perspectives in these books. Wax ponders paternalistically how economic downturn puts pressure on his industrial empire to lay off workers; we never really see the workers’ perspective. This great potential source of social unrest never materializes, because we get inter-planetary conspiracies and a world-destroying bomb instead; a very Marvel-like plot resolution that I fear will detract from the Cosmere’s humanity as its scope expands.

Emberdark does this both better and worse than his earlier works. Better, in the sense that he takes time to think about powerlessness and displacement from the downtrodden’s perspective, rather than from an idealized king’s. Worse, because the entire planet collectively decides to industrialize in the space of five years and this produces no major social conflict whatsoever. Occasional trappers detained by police do not count; the adjustment cost function in Sanderson’s books is not only smooth, it might even be concave rather than convex.⁵

In the end, Sanderson pulls a rabbit out of his hat by bestowing unique powers on the Drominad people which are non-transferable (their ability to feel the pulse of the Emberdark and thus navigate parts of Shadesmar nobody else can). This deus-ex-machina, which vastly increases their bargaining power, fits with Autonomy’s way of doing things, so is fine to tie off the story; however, on a broader scale, it reduces the novel’s way to speak to the upheaval caused by technology in the real world. Add to that Sanderson’s reluctance to explore social conflict in any shape, and we have a sanitized view of creative destruction, where the creation is recognized broadly through mind-positive communication, and the destruction is reduced to one or two plot points that neatly resolve themselves through the actions of the all-powerful and all-important main characters. This is not wrong per se, but is a missed opportunity; and I hope that Brandon develops his writing for the remaining 30 years to more meaningfully incorporate the darker sides of technology and societal conflict. His writing will be the better for it.

Notes