Location, location, location
The influence of place and setting in N.K. Jemisin’s ‘The City Born Great’
In The City Born Great by N. K. Jemisin, place isn’t just a stretch of earth: it is alive. The short story follows our protagonist, New York, as he awakens as the personification of his namesake. With help from Sao Paulo, he defeats Lovecraftian horrors and becomes his city’s guardian. With such a high-concept, and even higher stakes, it would be a struggle to keep the story grounded and retain audience investment, but Jemisin’s writing bursts with life and intimacy. How does she do it? Anthropomorphism — the attribution of human characteristics or behaviour to a god, animal, or object.
New York is never treated like an object; instead, it is endowed with human anatomy and all of its trappings. As our protagonist paints holes onto buildings, New York is not only shown to have a mouth, but the ability to breathe.
‘It’s like a throat that doesn’t start with a mouth or end in lungs; a thing that breathes and swallows endlessly, never filling…’ (Jemisin 2016, line 66)
This simile is much more than skin-deep imagery. All of Jemisin’s stylistic choices brim with purpose; that purpose being connection — empathy.
The study Social Cognition Unbound: Insights Into Anthropomorphism and Dehumanization by Adam Waytz, Nicholas Epley, and John T. Cacioppo (2010), unveils the true value of Anthropomorphism.
‘The Greek philosopher Xenophanes was the first to use the term anthropomorphism when describing the striking similarity between religious believers and their gods… It is no accident, we assume, that environmental activists frequently speak of “Mother Earth” when trying to encourage more environmentally responsible behaviour.’
The study goes through examples of people caring for places they had anthropomorphised, showing how we feel deeply for objects that hold within them a reflection of ourselves. This is Jemisin’s goal when she uses anthropomorphism: to have us empathise with the city.
This empathetic connection serves an important purpose; when New York is threatened, we fear for its survival. If New York was just a collection of buildings, we wouldn’t be as invested.
‘The FDR is an artery, vital with the movement of nutrients and strength and attitude and adrenaline, the cars are white blood cells and the thing is an irritant, an infection, an invader to whom the city gives no consideration and no quarter…’ (Jemisin 2016, line 285)
Jemisin reveals New York’s inner workings and exposes its vulnerabilities through this metaphor. The image of an infection portrays the city as defenceless, just like a human; sickness is a threat we can relate to and know the dangers of. Through elevating the setting, Jemisin has elevated the stakes and made the readers more invested in the story. But the setting isn’t treated as a hapless victim.
‘[New York’s] slums grow teeth; its art centers, claws’, and fights against the Lovecraftian threats in unison with the protagonist (Jemisin 2016, line 145). It’s not weak, and we feel a surge of pride when it is victorious. This level of emotional investment would be impossible if the setting was treated like a prop or a vibrant set piece. New York is alive in every sense of the word.
Through anthropomorphism, New York is no longer just a setting, but a living being with agency, feelings, and a body. Jemisin has not only created a masterful setting but has demonstrated the importance of empathy in the very bones of storytelling. Without anthropomorphism, this story would not be the same.
I have never written a living setting before, but subtle anthropomorphising can still be a useful tool. Lending human characteristics to a setting — especially if the setting will be destroyed or threatened at some point — deepens a reader’s connection to it and creates greater emotional stakes.
