Ink Blood Sister Scribe

“Abe had looked up from the fire he’d only just managed to put out, one of the ruined books cradled in his hands like a broken bird. […] Joanna zeroed in on the blackened edges of the book’s pages, the curled and blistered leather cover, the melting glue of the spine. […] Her eyes moved to her father’s face, bleak with a devastation she felt in her bones. When she looked back at her mother, Cecily had tears running down her cheeks. She had already known it wasn’t a question which parent Joanna would choose.”

The simile of the book as a broken bird emphasizes the intimate connection Abe and Joanna feel toward magical books. The quick shift from a detail of Abe’s face to Joanna’s feelings provides a visceral sense of their connection. The author likens the material damage to the books with bodily damage, anthropomorphizing them further.

“Esther cleared her throat self-consciously and read. ‘After the mirror you gave me broke, Doña Marcela demanded it be covered. No one knows how the glass first shattered but she’s convinced that looking in a broken mirror brings bad luck. How horrified she’d be if she knew that last night I lost control and uncovered it. […] Looking at it, I felt the same shiver I’d felt that day in the pavilion—it was as if you were gazing at me through the glass. And when I touched it, I swear it trembled and gave way beneath my fingers like the surface of a lake.’”

The inclusion of a passage from the Gil novel creates a self-aware sense of the book as a book. Several metafictional references throughout the text increase the reader’s awareness of the fact that they are reading a book about books. In this passage, the use of first person and second person—which contrast’s Ink Blood Sister Scribe’s third-person perspective—implicates the reader more closely in the text itself. That the passage concerns mirror magic, which is used throughout Ink Blood Sister Scribe, further tethers the Gil novel to the plotline.

“When Joanna and Esther had shared a room as children, Joanna had sometimes woken from nightmares terrified and wanting her parents but unable to make a sound. She’d had no air, no strength, nothing but a cracked sibilant hiss; yet somehow Esther had always known—had always woken up and screamed on her behalf, rousing their parents from their bed down the hall. She felt like that now, frozen. Her voice, always too quiet, arrested in her throat, but Esther wasn’t here to help.”

Törzs uses asyndeton and complex syntax to reflect Joanna’s sense of panic at the memory of being unable to scream upon waking from nightmares as a child. The image of the sound of her attempted scream as a “cracked sibilant hiss” provides specific and vivid auditory detail, making the passage more experiential.

“He knew Collins was under an NDA, of course, and he recognized the unmistakable hallmarks of trying to speak around the magical gag order. He did not understand, however, why the NDA should stop Collins from explaining an opinion. He wrote all the NDAs himself, though it was Richard and Maram who read them aloud, and they were a tricky bit of magic that allowed for the reader to fill in the exact terms of the enforced silence. For all he knew, employees might be prohibited from saying the word ‘whimsical,’ a word Nicholas knew for a fact Maram did not like.”

The use of modern legal terminology—non-disclosure agreement (NDA)—emphasizes the magical realism of the novel, as Törzs includes magic within a realistic, recognizable setting without extensive explanations of its role in the world of the novel. The word choice of “whimsical” further emphasizes the inclusion of practical details through its contrast with the concept of an NDA.

“It took about twenty-five minutes until, silently, the bookshelf began to blur. At first it seemed merely out-of-focus, but then its edges started to dissolve like a storm cloud fading into rain, and by the time the last word rang out, Nicholas’s hand could pass through with no resistance at all. The bookshelf and the books on it were a vague dark haze and Nicholas could see through that haze to the wall.”

Törzs provides vivid, visual details to describe the effect of the spell that enables Collins and Nicolas to pass through the bookshelf. The use of the simile of dissolving “like a storm cloud fading into rain” relates to the symbolism of sky imagery throughout the novel, which represents distance and transitions. Alongside the transition through the bookcase, the metaphorical transition of learning Richard’s secrets in the form of the immortality book and Nicholas’s eye affect the plot of the rest of the novel.

“There was a part of her, buried so deep in fear she’d need a shovel to clear its face, that was curious to see what would happen when the wards went down. A part of her that felt a strange, soaring interest—almost elation. The wards were a tether as well as a safeguard. What would happen when her tether was cut? The house hadn’t spent a night unwarded since Abe had first stepped foot in it nearly three decades earlier, infant daughter in his arms, the body of his murdered lover hundreds of miles away. What would happen when the protection he and Joanna had so painstakingly maintained, disappeared.”

This passage epitomizes Joanna’s character trajectory, as she moves from being confined to the house by her loyalty to Abe and love of the books to considering what freedom from these confining responsibilities would be like. Törzs uses complex syntax and rhetorical questions to emphasize the complexity of Joanna’s thoughts on the matter.

“Or an eyeball, to be precise, removed from the skull with surgical precision. It was facing them. Nicholas could see the red cloud of veins and ligaments that trailed it like a comet. He was no expert, but the iris so closely resembled the painted version of his own prosthetic that he figured it must have come from a human. Beside him, he felt Collins shift his weight, clearly disturbed by the sight. Nicholas did not feel much better. His own left socket tingled in sympathetic response and his stomach churned. It was uncanny to be stared at, literally eye-to-eye, by something so ghastly yet so recognizable. So familiar. Too familiar.”

The eyeballs of Scribes are necessary for the immortality spell. The syntax of this passage follows Nicholas’s process of being initially disturbed and questioning what he is seeing, toward the final realization that it is his own eyeball. The use of short sentences creates a sense of immediacy and speeds the pace of the passage, as the reader realizes what the eyeball’s presence indicates about Richard’s character alongside Nicholas and Collins.

“She surged into view, her face red, cheeks hollowing as she gasped for air, and Nicholas released his own breath. At his side, he heard Collins do the same. The woman with the gun dropped it and grabbed onto the dark-haired woman with her good hand, both of their mouths moving frantically at one another. Nicholas could not even begin to guess what they were saying, but the blond woman had stopped screaming and was now weeping, her shoulders shaking.” 

This passage is significant, as it is the first time the protagonists’ disparate narratives intertwine, as Nicholas and Collins watch Esther and Pearl’s struggle with Trev through the mirror. The fact that the events take place only through visual, gestural description, with no sound, draws the reader into the narrative and increases both suspense regarding Esther and empathy with Nicholas, as they work to comprehend what is happening without the explanatory benefit of dialogue.

“How many times had Richard helped him with bloodletting? How many times had his uncle’s caring, capable fingers wrapped the pressure cuff around Nicholas’s upper arm and taken the plastic covering off a new needle? How many times had Nicholas sat there and let Richard tap his veins like a miner picking for ore? Those same hands had taken his eye from his head and blamed it on strangers.”

Törzs uses repeated questions in this passage to emphasize Nicholas’s mental state. As he questions his relationship with his uncle after having seen the eyeball, he is forced to question his own identity as well. The use of questions functions as a syntactical performance of the experience of questioning family relationships and thereby oneself, relating thematically to Family, Estrangement, and Personal Identity.

“She started to say more but choked, one manicured hand flying to her throat, her eyes squeezing shut against a sudden coughing fit, and it was as if Nicholas’s entire body was submerged in ice as her rasping went on, and on.”

Törzs employs visceral sensory detail in this passage to increase the reader’s experiential understanding of the effects of a magical gag order. The simile of being submerged in ice highlights Nicholas’s empathy toward Maram.

“At first each bookstore felt magical. Not the kind of magic Esther had grown up with but the kind she’d read about in novels, the kind that was all possibility, the chance that with one right turn in the forest or one fateful conversation with an old woman a person’s life might change forever. She would enter a store and take in the march of spines lined up on the shelves, the dust motes glittering in the sun, the mouthwatering smell of paper and cardboard and glue and words, and think, this is it.”

Törzs provides a description of magic in relation to bookstores and as represented in novels to advance the theme of books as being figuratively, as well as literally, magical. The word choice of “march” anthropomorphizes the books by suggesting human movement, and the visceral sensory details of the “mouthwatering smell” is experiential for the reader. This passage also creates a metafictional experience for the reader, who is aware of reading a book about books.

“‘It looks exactly the same,’ said Esther. ‘Like stepping into a memory.’ She opened the breadbox which held not bread but Abe’s collection of vinegary hot sauces, as it had since they were kids, some of them browned with age. She stood there staring at the red bottles, one hand at her throat. Joanna had to turn away before her own grief rose up and took her over.” 

The quotidian but familiar detail of hot sauces collected in a bread box indicates both sisters’ love and grief for their father. The passage is also indicative of Törzs’s nuanced use of narrative perspective. While the chapter is from Joanna’s perspective, and she experiences grief rising up, Esther’s reaction is represented gesturally, with her “hand at her throat” indicating her grief.

“She felt Joanna reading over her shoulder to recite the Kaddish along with her, very quietly, this mystifying person who had never understood Esther’s ache for belonging, because Joanna had always loved Esther so completely that to her it must have felt like a completion. There were thousands of years of wine and blood shared between them, a lineage of ritual and belief and longing and connection, of magical thinking and real magic.”

Törzs use of word choice—mystifying, belonging, blood, and lineage—in this passage suggests the connection between magic and the bond of sisterhood Esther and Joanna share. The use of asyndeton in the last long sentence of the passage emphasizes the rhythmic ritual of the scene and the layered ideas of magic and family to which it refers.

“Nicholas stared at her—at that dark, arched bow. He had seen that expression before. Seen it nearly every day of his life. He had even practiced it in the mirror. And he knew, all at once, why Esther had looked familiar when he’d first seen her through the spelled glass. It was there, in the sweep of her jaw, the decisive bow of her upper lip, the heart-shaped hairline. Those faint lines in her forehead that would grow deeper as her eyebrows kept up their constant dance. It wasn’t a direct resemblance, less photo-image and more impressionist. But as soon as he noticed, he could not unsee it.”

This passage includes a great deal of specific facial detail, which slows its pace as Nicholas realizes Maram is Esther’s mother. The passage conveys the detail with which he knows Maram’s, and by extension Esther’s, face. The metaphor of art—that it is not photography but impressionist painting—emphasizes the idea of appearance versus reality, as Maram’s real identity, as Isabel, is revealed.

“The book had been written by two Scribes. Two scribes were needed to destroy it. But there was a safeguard written into the spell, a protection that was also a loophole. Only mine own blood can end me. One of the Scribes had to be Nicholas. Esther was leaning toward him now, lifting the book from his hands, and he let her. He had no strength to hold on.”

Törzs shifts from a description of the connection between Esther and Nicholas—namely, their ability to destroy the immortality spell together—to a visual description of their connection. The movement from description to gesture, as Esther takes the book from Nicholas, reflects his shock at the reality of ending his uncle’s life, as well as indicating a movement from theoretical to practical collaboration. The scene foreshadows what Nicholas and Esther will have to do together.

“Her whole childhood she’d devoured stories of children with dead and missing mothers, often easier to find than stories of children whose mothers were alive and well. The absence of a mother was a promise of adventure; mothers made things too safe, too comforting. Children with mothers didn’t need to look outside their homes for affirmation of their supremacy in someone’s story. They didn’t need to write their own protagonism.” 

Törzs emphasizes the theme of complex family relationships as important to identity through Esther’s memory of being drawn toward the adventure that stories with motherless characters often entails. The passage also contributes to the metafictional aspect of this section of the novel through references to protagonists and narratives of the “absence of a mother,” since those aspects are present in the book: Esther’s protagonism and the fact she didn’t grow up with a mother.

“To Esther their talk was noise, buzzing was meaningless. She touched her collarbone, where her tattoo lay inked beneath her sweater—a palindrome. A sentence that could be put through a mirror and come out unchanged. She took the plastic vial of blood and Maram’s mirror-note from her pocket and held them in her hands, thinking about the novel she’d been translating in her spare time for years. In Gil’s world, women found themselves in mirrors: they became hypnotized and stared into their own eyes until they recognized themselves, and once they did, the mirror ceased to be a trap and became instead a doorway. An escape route. A path.”

Törzs connects the mirror imagery present throughout the book with Esther’s tattoo, which is a corporeal, palindromic representation of the same concept. The idea of mirrors as pathways foreshadows the fact that Esther and Nicholas will use mirrors to enter Richard’s study. That Esther realizes this possibility by thinking about a fictional use of mirrors as metaphorical doorways again emphasizes the connection between figuratively and literally magical books.

“Stepping through the mirror was like no physical experience he’d ever had. It was like swimming if the water were made of treacle and also of outer space, sweet and airless and tugging and infinite, and dark in a way that wasn’t a binary to light but rather a different state entirely, complete until itself. The body of the darkness was sound, which was sensation: countless wings brushing against one another, countless blades of golden grass moving in an endless wind, every distant highway ever heard.”

This passage includes vivid imagery that is visual, tactile, and auditory simultaneously. The synesthetic blend of numerous images echoes the overwhelming experience Nicholas has in progressing through the mirror.

“Esther said, ‘Secret passageways, English country houses, malevolent old men. When I was a kid, this is what I thought magic should be like. Not hidden away in a basement, being used only to keep hiding itself.’

‘And? Is this everything you dreamed of?’

Esther let out a sound that, under different circumstances, might have been laughter. ‘Um, it’s scarier in practice.’”

This passage has a dark comedic tone, as Esther jokes about her abstract idea of magic coming to fruition. The detail of her sound almost being laughter, but only “under different circumstances,” emphasizes the fear and danger she and Nicholas are experiencing. The use of “um” as a filler word also adds both levity and realism to the dialogue.

“Every time Joanna had looked at her mother in recent memory, it had been through a veil of suspicion so thick that Cecily’s true outline was blurred. Joanna didn’t know the necessary motions to lift that veil completely: she’d been wearing it for too long to just pick up her hands and push it away.”

The representation of suspicion as a veil suggests the idea of communication and closeness being figuratively and literally obscured. Rather than a brief metaphorical reference, Törzs extends the metaphor by including references to gesture—the idea of lifting the veil by picking it up and pushing it away—which emphasizes the effect of the suspicion in a literal sense.

“Her expression had been attentive, composed, but suddenly her eyes went wide and her hands flew to her throat, her mouth opening as her cheeks went dark with blood and a rattling hiss leaked from her parted lips, like a slashed tire.”

This passage represents visceral sensory detail of the experience of watching Maram’s silencing spell being lifted. The description parallels that of Collins’s NDA being lifted, enabling the reader to anticipate that Maram will soon be able to speak. The simile of the hiss being “like a slashed tire” connects the magical to a more mechanical, banal idea of a car tire, and has a purposefully jarring effect.

“Isabel did not want a child. But both she and Abe were from magical families; both she and Abe were committed, in their separate ways, to carrying on their magical lineage. Any child they had together would almost certainly be born with the gift they themselves had been born with, the ability to hear magic and to carry on the family work. It was this argument that convinced Isabel to keep the baby.”

This passage includes a delayed revelation of its outcome, as “it was this argument that convinced Isabel to keep the baby” comes after the content of the argument itself, rather than opening with it. Törzs therefore echoes Abe and Isabel’s potential experience of discussing the topic without the ultimate outcome having been decided yet.

“Richard fell to his knees and curled forward, his salt-and-pepper hair turning ash-gray, then bone-white, thinking across a scalp that was pink, then mottled, then sepia and taught across his skull. On some vestigial instinct of love Nicholas turned from Esther and went to his knees beside him, not close enough to touch, and Richard turned his face toward him. This was the nightmare. Those familiar features, those gentle eyes, that smiling mouth, all of it twisted in agony, and beneath the agony, a disbelief so pure it was almost innocent.”

Törzs creates stark contrast in this passage, with gruesome images of Richard’s rapid aging toward death paired with Nicholas’s “instinct of love” and the expression of disbelief “so pure it was almost innocent.” The variation between short and complex sentences, including “This was the nightmare” emphasizes the horror of the experience for Nicholas.