In Tessa Gratton’s The Mercy Makers, it is illegal and heretical to use magic on humans—even to heal them. But as the daughter of a powerful criminal, Iriset is able to develop her natural talents for what is known as architecture. She dreams of not only giving people supernatural abilities, but also using magic to combat deadly diseases, infertility and gender dysphoria. But after she and her father are directly targeted by the corrupt, authoritarian empire, Iriset decides to pursue a new goal: destroy the entire system from within.
You cite a 1990s protest in Japan as an influence that (eventually) contributed to the creation of The Mercy Makers. Can you talk a little about that experience and how it contributed to this book?
I lived in Japan from 1994 to1997, during my teens. Though there’s been a history of anti-American protest in Japan since World War II, I wasn’t aware of it until a group of U.S. servicemen raped a 12-year-old in Okinawa in 1995. This set off a more vocal and immediate series of demonstrations protesting the presence of the U.S. military throughout Japan.
One day, I was off base with a small group of friends—all American, though some were half Japanese—when a loud protest rolled down the street like a parade. The protesters were in cars and trucks, with bullhorns, yelling out their message in Japanese. Slowly people started looking at us, especially the couple of us who were obviously white. That clued me in to what the protest was about, even before one of our friends started translating. It was uncomfortable and frightening. Especially because I felt immediately that the protesters were right.
The two pieces of the experience that stuck with me were first the realization that yes, in that situation, I was the bad guy—or at least part of the group blocking justice. And second, that while it was a single horrible crime that started the protests, what was being protested wasn’t the crime or criminals themselves, who were eventually convicted in Japanese court. What was at the heart of the protests was a rejection of occupation. The protesters understood where to direct their outrage and pain: at the system. That was the best way to fight for change.
We hear stories all the time about a single thing, person or action leading to the end of an empire, and though even in those same stories it’s more complicated than that, I saw change happen. It isn’t that the protests ousted the U.S. from Japan, but they did shift opinions. They forced awareness. And the U.S. government made concessions to Japan about accountability and justice.
All of this plays a role in how and why I wrote protests in The Mercy Makers the way I did, and how various characters (on all sides of the protests) react. It also plays a role in the consequences and conciliations (and lack thereof sometimes). The system of oppression is the bad guy, and even those who are a part of it can learn to fight it.
“. . . in a lot of ways I literally trained myself to make this world.”
The world of The Mercy Makers is complex—not just its magic, but its politics and philosophy, too. What was your strategy for constructing the layers of this world? Did the world change substantially as you were writing?
Ha! My strategy was to think about it for 20 years. I do most of my big world research very slowly, and in general—reading a lot about nation-building and city planning, about various histories and cultures and culture clashes that sometimes lead to war and sometimes don’t. My academic training is in gender studies with an emphasis in political science and religion, so in a lot of ways I literally trained myself to make this world.
But it doesn’t become story-formed until . . . well, until the story shows up. For The Mercy Makers, the story came from the feeling I got from the poem: “Failing and Flying” by Jack Gilbert, which opens with the line “Everyone forgets that Icarus also flew.”
I read it and knew I was going to write a book about it. Very quickly that turned into the initial concept of Iriset: arrogant, ambitious, reckless in the pursuit of flying (thematically and literally). (The poem is also about a difficult marriage, which I didn’t realize would be such a fundamental part of Iriset’s story when I started.) I’m also constantly interested in identity and body, as a genderqueer person with a very overtly femme-gendered body, and what it would be like to be a shapeshifter, to be able to reflect through my physical form what my fluid inner self looks/feels like from day to day. So I chose that for the magic.
From this core character, this main emotional location I wanted to write from, I started choosing and crafting the details of my big-picture empire. Some of it was arbitrary (I’ve never written a desert before!), and some of it was very purposeful.
The world didn’t change much as I wrote, though everything shifts in some manner as the story itself is extracted. I also understand that the way people view their own world and their own history isn’t consistent, and so a detail here that contradicts a detail there works within the theme of the trilogy, so long as it doesn’t become confusing for readers. I leaned into that whenever I could. People and perception create history/world/nations.
I once heard a writer say that in every world, there is a lie that everyone has to believe is true in order for their social order to continue working. What is that lie for the people of the empire?
Hmm, I don’t think I agree with that in every case. I want to believe that we can make a world that works through empathy and compassion, not a lie. Though, all borders are invented, so in that sense, I suppose every nation is already built on a lie.
If there’s a singular lie in Aharté’s empire, it’s probably that the empire works. That the system works. And obviously most of the characters don’t believe that lie—even if they pretend to. But the point of the book is that it’s all a lie. Even Lyric knows it’s not true, as he strives to make it true.
The lie could be about the Moon-Eater, I suppose, but to say any more would be a massive spoiler.
The ban on human architecture brings to mind some of the modern debates around technologies like the gene-editing tool CRISPR. How much did you think about these debates as you were writing The Mercy Makers?
I think about it all the time! It’s a good thing, too, because Iriset does not.
The authorial voice of The Mercy Makers often feels both prophetic and personal in its semi-omniscience. What drew you to tell the story in that way?
The simple answer is: I wanted to have fun. I wanted to do what I felt like. And I love parentheticals. The narrative is very much in line with my own thought patterns, and how I tell stories in person, but very helpfully curtailed and refined by my wonderful editor, Angelica Chong.
One of the things that makes Iriset so interesting is how she often inserts chaos into situations, something that’s particularly exacerbated by her tendency towards lust. As a reader, that tension is both exhilarating and terrifying. What is that like as a writer?
It’s awesome. I want to do it again. I usually am writing a main character who is at least trying to do the right thing according to their belief system, and that is just not where Iriset comes from. Another line from the Jack Gilbert poem is “But anything worth doing is worth doing badly.” That is something I think I truly believe, in a weirdly scientific way, and it’s at the heart of who Iriset is. She doesn’t mean to cause chaos, she means to do what is worth doing. Sometimes, oftentimes, that requires disruption. The status quo is everyone’s enemy, but especially Iriset’s.
Read our starred review of ‘The Mercy Makers’ by Tessa Gratton.
Do you think that Iriset’s life would have been substantially different if Amaranth had been the Vertex Seal and Lyric had been Mistress? Or would her arc have been similar?
Absolutely it would have been different—but I also have no idea what the story would be! Under Amaranth the Vertex Seal, I’m not sure Silk [Iriset’s criminal alter ego] would have been targeted so directly, so maybe she and her father would never have been arrested in the first place. At least not until Silk did something so outrageous she found another way to spark a revolution, which might have gotten her killed. But would she ever have met the numen [a magical creature Iriset finds imprisoned in the palace]? Would she ever have discovered her true potential? Hard to say. I think Lyric would have been happier, though also less satisfied because something deep in him craves challenge. And Amaranth would have been terrible! Not a bad leader, but bad for people. She’s ruthless, much more like her ancestor Safiyah the Bloody than she lets on.
As some readers might be aware, you are also a writer of official Star Wars novels. Where do you think that Iriset, Lyric and the rest would have fit in that world?
Amaranth would probably be chancellor by the age 20. Lyric would make an excellent Jedi but that is not really a compliment in this circumstance. Iriset, well, it would be better for the galaxy if she was not Force-sensitive. The Little Cat could give the Hutts a run for their money, though.
Iriset’s father tells her to live and to decide to do something that will make some sort of impact (good or bad, he doesn’t say). We see what Iriset decides to do with that, but what do you think Isidor would have actually wanted?
I think he genuinely wanted her to live well, whatever that means to her. If he was ever honest with anyone, it was with her in that moment. Isidor knew better than anybody that Iriset is powerful and ambitious, but contrary, so he couldn’t be too proscriptive. But if he could have been more specific, he’d have told her to tear it all down. Because of what happened to Iriset’s mother, he does hate the empire and the Vertex Seal, so he would ultimately be fine with Iriset’s choices.
One of the most interesting—and strangest—side characters is the numen. Its presence seems to suggest that the world of magic is far stranger than the empire would have us believe. Has the empire tamed architecture/magic or just restricted its use?
I don’t think it’s possible to tame magic! Restrict, yes, narrowly define, yes. Just like discourse and love.
For a more complete answer, see book two. 😀
Author photo of Tessa Gratton by Natalie C. Parker.