He was everything the Ospies hated: brown-skinned, boy-loving, and crooked as a kinked zipper. Queen Yaima was happy to give him a home, casually displaying her stance against Gedda like someone newly affianced might let their ringed hand rest, just so, in a patch of sun. [loc. 639]
It's three years since the events of Amberlough. The One State Party (the Ospies -- xenophobic, homophobic, repressive) are in power in Amberlough, and a number of people are living in exile. The setting of Armistice is mostly Porachis, a matriarchal monarchy (not shown on map at front of book). Aristide Makricosta, sans stutter and with short hair, is now a lauded film director, mingling with the rich and shameless: he prefers not to think about the political situation, or Cyril DePaul (missing, presumed dead), and alcohol helps.
Then Cordelia Lehane, former burlesque dancer turned terrorist, turns up looking for work: and Lillian DePaul, press attache at the Geddan embassy, turns out to be implicated in a complicated game of loyalties and betrayals with a former colleague of her brother's. And worst of all, Aristide's sponsor Pulan Satri, queen of the Porachi movie industry, is embroiled in some underhand deals of her own. Aristide has managed to remain ignorant for years, but he can no longer refuse to see what's happening around him.
My structure-loving soul wants to class this as Cordelia's book, but I think that's just because she was one of the 'original cast', the trio at the heart of Amberlough. The focus in Armistice, though, is certainly more on powerful women than on deceptive men. In Porachi culture it's men who are regarded as weak, decorative, frivolous: 'a pretty boy is the fruit peel beneath a woman's shoe', teases Lillian. Several of the Porachi men introduced in Armistice chafe, in one way or another, under the restrictions of their society.
In Amberlough, many of the characters avoided arguments (and indeed honesty) in favour of maintaining their masks and their composure. Here, there is more openness: disagreements, all-out shouting matches, some appalling behaviour -- and that's just at Pulan's dinner table. The stakes are high, both personally and politically, and most of the protagonists act with some degree of self-interest. But there are also affection, loyalty, friendship, and many flavours of love. (I was especially moved by Aristide's growing vulnerability, and Cordelia's empowerment, and the changing relationship between the two.)
And it is all beautifully observed: the ache of an inhaled lungful of smoke when a critical piece of information is revealed, the soft slipperiness of applying lipstick in a tropical climate.
Armistice is a switchback chase, full of reversals and new dangers. I am so very glad I had the third volume ready to read as soon as I'd finished it.
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