R. F. Kuang’s Babel is a powerhouse of a novel—dense, brilliant, and unapologetically critical of empire, language, and resistance. At its core, the book argues that language is never neutral; it is wielded by those in power to maintain control, and breaking free from that system often requires violence as uncompromising as the oppression itself. It is the kind of book that grabs you by the collar and refuses to let go. It’s not just a story—it’s a sharp, unflinching commentary on power, colonialism, and language as both a weapon and a battleground. Kuang makes this argument not just through her characters and plot, but in the very language of the novel itself.
Language as Power: A Genius System
Let’s start with the world-building, which is pure genius. In Kuang’s version of 19th-century England, translation has literal power through the mechanism of magic silver bars that amplify the gaps and nuances between words in different languages. The British Empire, naturally, has turned this into a monopoly, using translation as currency to fuel their domination of the world. What makes this so clever, however, is how Kuang ties the mechanics of her magic system to the broader theme of exploitation whereby language isn’t just a means of communication, it’s a weapon of control, assimilation, and destruction.
Moreover, the novel doesn’t sugarcoat the violence inherent in this system. The translators, many of who are from colonised countries, are simultaneously exploited for their linguistic skills and instrumental in maintaining the empire’s power. It’s a brutal paradox that Kuang explores with precision: how do you fight back when the very tools you use to resist are tied to the system oppressing you?
Kuang also takes readers deep into the weeds of linguistic theory, from untranslatable words to the cultural weight embedded in etymologies. But, most impressively, it never feels like a lecture; it’s woven into the plot so naturally that even if you’re not a language nerd, you’ll find yourself completely engrossed. She forces you to think about how much meaning is lost, twisted, or stolen in the act of translation, and how empires have always exploited that gap.
The Necessity of Violence
What makes Babel hit so hard is Kuang’s unapologetic stance on the necessity of violence in resistance. This is not a book about peaceful protests or gradual reform. Kuang makes it crystal clear that the machinery of empire—its extractive, dehumanizing systems—doesn’t stop just because you ask nicely. For Robin and his friends, the choice becomes stark: either accept their complicity in a system that thrives on their suffering or destroy it by any means necessary.
And here’s the thing—Kuang doesn’t shy away from the costs of that choice. Resistance in Babel is messy, brutal, and heartbreaking. But it’s also honest. There’s no moralizing about whether violence is justified; Kuang flips the question and asks why we’re so quick to condemn those who resist while excusing the violence of the oppressors. The title itself, Babel, or The Necessity of Violence, is a thesis statement for the entire book. Kuang argues—and she’s right—that when the system itself is built on blood, dismantling it isn’t going to be clean.
The Characters: Mirrors of a Fractured World
Robin Swift, the novel’s protagonist, is the perfect lens through which to explore these ideas. Born in Canton and brought to England as a child, he’s caught in a no-man’s-land between the colonizer and the colonized. His journey is gut-wrenching, as he grapples with his complicity in the empire’s exploitation and the impossible choices it forces upon him.
The supporting cast—Ramy, Victoire, and Letty—each brings something unique to the table. Ramy and Victoire, like Robin, are from colonized backgrounds, and their experiences add depth to the story’s critique of empire. Letty, the lone white woman in their group, is a brilliantly uncomfortable character—she’s both a friend and a symbol of how white privilege persists even in the face of supposed allyship. Her arc is infuriating but essential, driving home the point that even well-meaning individuals can uphold oppressive systems when their privilege is threatened.
A Few Bumps in the Road
If there’s one critique to be made, it’s that the book can occasionally feel heavy-handed. Kuang has a lot to say, and sometimes the narrative pauses to make space for long, essay-like reflections. While these moments are fascinating, they can slow the pace, especially in the first half. That said, once the story picks up, it’s relentless.
Another potential sticking point is the way some characters, particularly Letty, feel more like symbols than fully fleshed-out people. But honestly, it’s a minor issue in the grand scheme of things—this is a book that’s more concerned with ideas than individual arcs, and it’s so successful on that front that you’ll hardly mind.
Babel is a ferocious, intelligent, and unapologetic takedown of empire and its tools of control. Kuang doesn’t flinch from showing the cost of resistance, but she also doesn’t let the reader forget the cost of inaction. It’s a deeply political book, but it’s also deeply human, filled with raw emotion and the kind of moral questions that stick with you long after you’ve turned the last page.
R.F. Kuang has written something truly extraordinary here—a novel that doesn’t just entertain but demands that you sit with its truths, no matter how uncomfortable they are. For anyone interested in the intersections of language, power, and resistance, Babel is not just a recommendation—it’s essential reading.
Featured Image by Hans Isaacson on Unsplash
