Anathema

“Unwed girls without a father to protect their claim suffered one of two fates. They were either promptly forced into marriage. Or sent to serve the church as one of the Red Veils—clergy women ordered to worship obediently until death. Even if I’d wanted to be married, and I certainly didn’t, the whole parish looked upon me as a pariah, so the odds of a respectable suitor were slim.”

In Foxglove, women’s choices are limited, oppressing Maevyth by forcing her into one of two forms of submission. This passage explains why Maevyth’s independent mindset is problematic to her life in Foxglove, as she sees neither option as appealing nor even manageable. However, it is clear from her focus on marriage here that submitting to a man is preferable to submitting to the religious hierarchy, establishing the theme of The Price and Power of Social Exclusion.

“It would’ve been principle for Governor Grimsby. He once had two men, lovers, hunted down and humiliated, tying them naked to a post in the town square, before he’d banished them to the woods. Two insolent women escaping marriage, what he considered to be a holy union of souls, would enrage the man. It would inspire a holy crusade after the two of us.”

This passage highlights how both sexual and gender identities lead to discrimination and violence in Foxglove. Maevyth’s understanding of the governor is that he will punish people more to maintain social order than to truly adhere to religious values. The fact that the two lovers were “humiliated […] in the town square” shows that punishments for defying the status quo are used to enforce compliance among the villagers.

“What had made her such a coveted choice at the brothel was, although her magic was weak in her drugged state, she possessed the ability to absorb pain and emotions. For the depressed, the stressed, the physically tormented, she served as something of a tonic herself. Allowing a moment when they might experience sheer ecstasy and bliss for the first time in their lives. Pain eaters, her kind were called, as they literally consumed the agony with a particular touch, or kiss.”

Continuing the pattern of magic as a dark or dangerous element in Anathema, Rykaia’s power is a harsh version of empathy, in which Rykaia must experience the pains of another person to heal them. Critically, this passage does not dwell on Rykaia’s perspective, instead focusing on the feelings and experiences of her clients. Later in the novel, this focus on the clients becomes a source of trauma for Rykaia, who feels disregarded.

“Branimir had always served as a source of unrest for Zevander, torment, unless he had something to pull him out of it, to distract his mind from the black vortex that threatened to pull him under. The more his attacks had evolved over the years, the stronger the poison required to break him of it, and the more Zevander began to believe his brother’s fate could very well be his own one day. No. He’d sooner cleave out his own fucking heart than risk what’d happened to Branimir.”

Branimir and Zevander have the same curse, though Branimir suffered the curse later in his development. This passage shows how the curse drove a wedge between the brothers, even though they are the only people with whom each can sympathize. Zevander’s use of toxins to prevent the spread of the curse, as well as his preference for death over becoming a monster, ignores the pain that Branimir must feel as he is shunned by the only person who can understand him. This passage highlights the double-edged nature of Magic as Both a Gift and a Curse.

“‘I know. It’s a sin.’ Worse than murder in the eyes of some.

‘What are you thinking?’ She didn’t answer, instead wiping tears from her eyes. ‘You can’t have this child here. Even if they don’t send you to the woods, it will be shunned. Rejected. Agatha certainly won’t care for it.’

‘She won’t. But you would, wouldn’t you, Maeve?’”

Aleysia’s pregnancy invokes the misogyny of Foxglove, in which her relationship with her step-uncle is taboo. Most important in this passage is Aleysia’s understanding of Maevyth, who would support her sister regardless of social norms, highlighting the strength of her character and the power that comes from social exclusion. Even though Maevyth urges Aleysia not to have the child in Foxglove, Maevyth is sufficiently independent and creative to at least try to come up with other solutions.

“‘The governor said no one has ever returned from the woods.’ It wasn’t that I meant to challenge her. On the contrary, I wanted to know he was wrong.

‘Yes. And so he calls me The Crone Witch. He tells you that I lure children into the woods with fantastical stories, and share their flesh with the beast.’ Our own governor, whose son she’d saved from death, had branded her with that horrible rumor.”

Much like the punishment of the lovers, the Crone Witch’s story shows how the government across Vonkovya is focused on suppression. Whenever someone deviates from the norms, they are either publicly punished or shunned, even, in the Crone Witch’s case, when they have proven themselves to be useful members of society.

“‘If my vision is correct, the mortal I sent you after may be the first, or the last, of the Corvikae bloodline. She may carry the blood of the death goddess. And while I may be many things to many people, I am not the vehicle for mortalicide.’ Lips pressed to a hard line, he shook his head. ‘I certainly don’t want to fuck with the daughter of a death goddess.’ A flash of the girl’s goddess-like face slipped through Zevander’s mind and tensed his muscles.”

Dolion’s argument establishes Maevyth’s importance in the broader world of Anathema, in which she is the last of an almost extinct bloodline. However, Zevander also reveals his ulterior motive for protecting Maevyth, which is his attraction to her, establishing the theme of The Struggle of Developing Close Relationships Under Hardship. These two motives then become the driving force for Dolion’s and Zevander’s actions throughout the novel.

“‘I was enamored with the idea of these dangerous, wild women. I wanted to capture one. Tame it into my own little pet. I was a little disappointed to learn that the women at the fair were nothing more than a parlor trick. So, I decided to make my own collection.’ Nausea twisted inside of me like poisonous worms in my belly. In that moment, I decided Uncle Riftyn and even Agatha were far less terrifying.”

Moros’s horrible experiments highlight, as Maevyth notes, the depths of depravity in Foxglove. While Agatha is abusive and Riftyn is a lecher, Moros shows how wealth can mask even the most horrible of crimes. His experiments, paired with his dismissal of religion at lunch, show how little Moros cares for the same social norms that govern the rest of the Vonkovyans.

“It was the unknown which clawed at me, perhaps worse than having seen Moros, or whatever he’d become, haul her off, because at least then, however devastating as that would be, I could’ve let go. I might not have cared what lay in store for me with these men, at that point, because without my sister, nothing mattered to me. I hadn’t seen her die, though. And because of that, however small, there remained a sliver of hope. A reason. The will to fight.”

Breaking through the Umbravale, Maevyth’s only concern is Aleysia, which frames Maevyth as a selfless character. She acknowledges how unlikely it would be for Aleysia to survive the beast’s attack but holds on to the possibility of Aleysia’s survival as a form of protection. Even if the guards abuse or kill Maevyth, she can at least hold onto the comfort that Aleysia might survive.

“He removed his mask, revealing the black veins over his face that had begun to branch out along his jaw. ‘Should that become my fate, I’d sooner plunge a dagger through my heart.’ Dolion’s brow flickered with the sort of empathy Zevander could no longer summon for his brother. He trailed his gaze toward the spider and Zevander sent a blast of flame over it, setting it ablaze.

‘Why not…’

‘Kill the spiders? I have. Each time I do, the nest grows bigger and bigger. I tried to kill him once, as well.’

‘You couldn’t do it.’

‘He didn’t ask for this. Neither of us asked for this.’”

Zevander’s acknowledgment of his curse, which he shares with Branimir, shows more compassion than earlier in the novel, including the fact that neither he nor Branimir are at fault for their curse. Nonetheless, Zevander maintains that he would rather die than become like Branimir, emphasizing both his pride and his determination to find a cure for him and his brother.

“When girls reached the age of fertility, roughly seventeen years old, or so, a Becoming Ceremony was thrown, and young men would fight for the right to claim her virginity. At times, the coupling resulted in marriage, but most often, it was simply a rite of passage to celebrate the fertility goddess, who’d ironically been raped and plundered at a young age. Zevander had long thought it a vicious custom, particularly when Rykaia had gone through it. She’d cried for days after, but it was believed that a virgin was bad luck and would result in the decline of a bloodline.”

Though Aethyria is generally less misogynistic than Mortasia, the Becoming Ceremony is a notable exception. The ceremony is a “loss of virginity” spectacle, which is problematic on its own, but it takes on a more serious degree of sexism with specific terms like “claim” and “plundered,” which frame women, and even a goddess, as objects to own with no will of their own. Like the traditions of Foxglove, which are understood as ways to curry favor with the Red God, this harmful practice is to prevent “bad luck.”

“‘Yes, you have. And you are not a man who entertains the requests of others, so I have to believe it is not for myself that you have made these concessions, but out of your own curiosity.’ Again, Dolion’s words rang true. Since the night he’d snuck into the girl’s room with every intent to kill her, she’d roused a maddening plague on his mind. Why couldn’t he kill her? Why had the flame that he’d known his whole life turned on him?”

Dolion begins to understand that his vision of Zevander and Maevyth being “mates” is accurate, and he confronts Zevander with his suspicion. Though many romances that follow a slow-burn, enemies-to-lovers trope involve both parties denying an attraction they know they feel, Zevander seems genuinely confused in this passage. Asking why Maevyth is so significant to him contradicts his knowledge about mates, making this passage an instance of foreshadowing.

“‘Where I come from, the only women who wear trousers are the ones who live on the streets.’

‘Have you ever trained in your life?’

It occurred to me that her question only seemed ridiculous because I’d been taught my whole life that women were weak and incapable of fighting. That only wild women, tainted by the devil, longed for skills such as hunting and fighting. Troubled by that, I shook my head.”

Two elements in this passage highlight the motivations behind the oppressive social norms of Vonkovya. On the one hand, restricting clothing prevents any bending of gender norms, forcing people to always appear as society deems they should. On the other hand, demonizing women who act with their own agency prevents disobedience, implying that any woman who tries to follow any ambitions is inherently evil and deserving of punishment.

“He was a man who commanded attention, and I found it nearly impossible to avert my gaze. As he strode toward me, my heart drummed a frantic rhythm against my ribs, like the erratic creature might break right out of its cage. The mask he wore only enhanced the strange curiosities tickling my thoughts. It irritated me, the way he consumed my attention. I didn’t even have to be skilled in fighting to know it was already a weakness. Stay focused, my head warned.”

This passage shows that much like Zevander, Maevyth tries to resist her attraction. While he sees her alternately as a threat and a solution to his curse, Maevyth sees Zevander as both a captor and a protector. She is irritated by her attraction to him because it would be simpler to just hate Zevander for getting in the way of finding Aleysia, but, again, the slow-burn nature of their romance relies on delaying their inevitable embrace.

“I could scarcely draw in a breath as I watched him. Waiting for the moment when he’d snap and dangle me from those bony hands, while he clawed away my skin. He didn’t, though. Instead, he merely lay across my legs, and I felt a bead of moisture slip over my shin. Tears. His tears. Weeping, as I sang to him. My pulse slowed. My breaths calmed. He no longer looked terrifying to me. In that moment, he reminded me of a child. A sad and desperate child who longed for contact.”

Up until this point in the novel, Branimir is depicted as a monstrous, fearful creature, whom both Zevander and Rykaia fear. However, Maevyth’s contact with Branimir subverts this expectation, recalling Zevander’s assertion that Branimir’s monstrous figure is not his fault. Instead, Maevyth compares Branimir to a child, reflecting the fact that Branimir was denied a normal childhood by Cadavros’s curse.

“Never in his life had he felt such a loss of control. As if she were commanding the flame herself. And never had he felt the hum of excitement vibrating through his blood, as he had in that training room. Every nerve ending had sprung to life, desperate and eager to connect with every inch of her skin. The very thought of it, of her, had him breaking into a sweat all over again. Whatever poisonous spell she’d cast over him had stirred a dark and dangerous craving for more. At the same time, it enraged him.”

Though Zevander is disturbed by Maevyth’s ability to control the sablefyre, he is also aroused and curious. Zevander has spent his entire life trying to control the flame himself, and having Maevyth take over that responsibility, even for a moment, is a freeing experience. At the same time, Zevander has always relied on the flame as a form of protection, making the loss of control dangerous for his sense of well-being.

“Zevander couldn’t argue with him. He’d always been put off by the king’s greed. How the wealthy were supplied with much needed vivicantem, while the poor withered, their bloodlines dying off like a frosted vine. Tears formed in Dorjan’s eyes. ‘They hate me as much as they hate him.’

‘They’ve no idea you’re not like your father.’

‘I hate him for this.’ Tears fell down his cheek. ‘I hate him.’”

Zevander’s relationship with Dorjan is grounded, in part, in opposition to the king. Dorjan, though privileged by his wealth and status, sees how the aristocracy and royal family are draining the lives of their people. Zevander tries to comfort Dorjan, but they are both awake to the issues facing Aethyria as the wealthy continue to hoard vivicantem. This exchange frames Dorjan as incompetent but well intentioned.

“‘Spindlings,’ she said, nodding toward them. ‘Their families can’t afford vivicantem, so they have no magic. Without power, they live in poverty.’

‘Power determines wealth?’ My cheeks blushed with the silly question. Power had always equated to wealth. I knew that firsthand, having watched the governor rule over Foxglove from the comfort of his sprawling manor.

‘Unfortunately, yes. And the more useful your skills, the more wealth you acquire.’

‘That’s terrible. They don’t really have a chance at all, then.’”

Rykaia explains the classism of Aethyria, and Maevyth immediately makes a connection back to Foxglove. She compares Foxglove’s governor to wealthy Aethyrians since he is the head of government. However, Moros and Sacton Crain offer a similar paradigm, in which wealth and religious hierarchy also disenfranchise the people by gathering power in the hands of the few.

“‘My goodness, the library has so many books and scrolls. I could get lost in them.’

‘I was never allowed to read anything outside of our Bible.’ I made my way toward the bed and sat down on the edge of the mattress. ‘Grandfather Bronwick would tell us stories sometimes, but we’d have to sneak books.’

Her brows tightened with a frown. ‘How awful. I couldn’t imagine a world so…small.’”

Another form of power, knowledge, comes to the forefront in this passage. Allura has always been an academic, and she struggles to compare her own experience to Maevyth’s, which was restricted to purely religious indoctrination. The phrasing of a “small world” reflects the way that knowledge and experience can expand the possibilities a person may find. For Maevyth, there were only two possibilities in Foxglove—marriage or clergy—and she is only now beginning to see the possibilities available to her in Aethyria.

“‘I have no one else to ask. Everyone seems to have some reason to keep me here, but you’re all forgetting this isn’t my home.’

‘This is your home!’ she snapped, quickly looking away. ‘You’ve said it before, your home is cruel and punishing. You came here for a reason, Maevyth. It’s your fate. There’s a plan for you.’

‘It’s not my fate!’ That time, I was the one who snapped. ‘I don’t believe in fate. It’s done nothing but curse me my entire life. So, forgive me if I don’t give a damn about what it has planned for me.’”

Maevyth’s outburst mirrors Zevander’s discussion with Dolion, in which he rejects the idea of the destiny that Dolion sees in his visions. Fate takes on a specific meaning with Zevander and Maevyth, though, as they are “mates,” fated lovers destined to be together. Additionally, Rykaia sees herself as a kind of fated friend to Maevyth, making the idea of Maevyth leaving horrendous to her.

“‘If she’s breathing by night’s end, it’ll be by the grace of the gods, not me.’

‘She could only hope the gods would spare her a merciful thought.’

Kazhimyr gave him a subtle pat on the shoulder. ‘Do not let her rattle you, Brother. That is her favored torment, after all.’”

Kazhimyr’s insight in this passage reflects the dynamics of the novel as a whole, in which the antagonists often try to psychologically weaken the main characters rather than attacking them directly. Melantha, Moros, Cadavros, and Loyce all try to manipulate Zevander and Maevyth, using deception and temptation instead of harming them. Kazhimyr’s advice to resist these psychological attacks and focus on the physical suggests that he is familiar with this kind of manipulation and can help Zevander through it, developing their friendship.

“In what felt like an endless trek through a dimly-lit passage, Zevander’s mind churned a violent storm of thoughts—how complicated things had gotten with Maevyth. Having to tear Rykaia from General Loyce’s clutches was bad enough, but the idea of being forced to choose between Maevyth and Rykaia enraged him. It was precisely the reason he’d longed to stay away from her. In his world, the slightest show of affection for someone served as a dangerous bargaining chip, and the less Zevander had to barter for, the better.”

Though Zevander appears callous throughout the novel, his distant attitude is explained in this passage as a method of protecting both himself and others from the “violent storm” of his thoughts. Developing close relationships is a liability for Zevander since those he loves could always be used as a way to control Zevander’s behavior. In this case, Loyce is exploiting the fact that Zevander loves both Maevyth and Rykaia, controlling him by forcing him to choose between them, and the careless way she is using them is represented through language like “bargaining chip,” something that Zevander “ha[s] to barter for.”

“It was then I remembered my own scars.

‘Someone struck you,’ he said, his jagged voice brimming with tension.

‘When I was young. Soldiers from my village. Seemed my mouth got me in trouble again.’ He made a gruff sound of disapproval in his throat, but said nothing more, and I slipped into the oversized tunic that reached my knees. […] Once settled under the covers, I faced the wall and dared to point out the obvious. ‘Someone struck you, as well.’ […] The room fell to quietness, with only the sound of my unsteady breaths.

‘Seemed they didn’t like the mouth I had on me, as well,’ he said, breaking the lingering silence between us.”

Maevyth and Zevander see each other’s scars and find that they have experienced a similar isolation from the rest of their respective societies, highlighting the theme of the price and power of social exclusion. Maevyth and Zevander were not only outcasts from society but also beaten and abused. Their sarcastic responses to their abuse, that their “mouths” got them in trouble, offer a point of connection, allowing them to start healing their trauma through humor together.