Harrow The Ninth __top__

In the landscape of modern science fiction and fantasy, few novels have managed to polarize and captivate an audience quite like Tamsyn Muir’s Harrow the Ninth . Released in 2020 as the sequel to the viral cult hit Gideon the Ninth , this book takes the expectations set by its predecessor—razor-sharp banter, swashbuckling action, and lesbian necromancers in space—and systematically dismantles them.

For readers coming fresh off the first book, the premise is jarring. Gideon Nav, the butch, sword-wielding protagonist who carried Gideon the Ninth with her charisma and internal monologue, is gone. In her place is Harrowhark Nonagesimus, the Reverend Daughter of the Ninth House—a gloomy, uptight, and deeply traumatized necromancer. Harrow the Ninth

The Mithraeum is a claustrophobic

The narrative splinters into two timelines: In the landscape of modern science fiction and

The book is largely written in second person, with “you” referring to Harrow. It’s jarring at first, but it becomes a powerful tool for empathy and mystery. You feel her dissociation and her desperate love for someone she can’t remember. It’s jarring at first, but it becomes a

Harrow the Ninth is a bold, baffling, brilliant middle chapter. It sacrifices immediate accessibility for deep emotional and structural rewards. If you trust Tamsyn Muir, you’ll be rewarded with one of the most unique fantasy/horror/SF blends in modern literature.