Babel

by R.F. Kuang

‘You can find your way out?’ Pendennis asked. ‘I’m sure I’m fine,’ Robin called over his shoulder as he left. ‘This place isn’t that large.’

THE TEA HATH BEEN CLOCKED. I love man being put in his place.

‘You can’t change things if you’re dead, Birdie.’

Our deaths are thus great acts of rebellion, a wretched lament that highlights their inhumanity. Our deaths become their battle cry. But I don’t want to die, Robin.’ Her throat hitched. ‘I don’t want to die. I don’t want to be their Imoinda, their Oroonoko.* I don’t want to be their tragic, lovely lacquer figure. I want to live.’

Then there was nothing to do but wait for the end.

‘That’s just what translation is, I think. That’s all speaking is. Listening to the other and trying to see past your own biases to glimpse what they’re trying to say. Showing yourself to the world, and hoping someone else understands.’