The standard going around now is that America needs to be deeply afraid. China and other countries are on the rise, the terrorists are waiting to get us, and the world is, basically, about the end. This is a scary, scary poison, whose effects can be felt throughout the political world.

The Next American Century: How the US Can Thrive As Other Countries Rise presents a calming antidote to this draught of fear. Nina Hachigian and Mona Sutphen have combined forces to create an excellent primer on the present international climate, and argue convincingly that this present moment is actually pretty goshdarn great. The text encompasses a concise overview of terminology, a brief history of US relations with the countries under discussion, and a thorough analysis of the present political climate nationally and internationally. Hachigian and Sutphen offer a clear discussion of several complex issues. Their ultimate conclusion – that we’re existing in a moment of great potential — emerges from their years working within the field, and their assumption that the people over there aren’t that different from the ones over here. Sutphen is actually one of Barack’s foreign policy advisors. I find this reassuring, since she and Hachigian present a careful, well-thought treatment of the present international moment.

The five pivotal powers these authors identify (Japan, India, Russia, the EU, and China) aren’t threats to the US, so we’re no longer in a Cold War moment. The things we’re afraid of (terrorism, nuclear war, massive pandemics) are all things they’re also afraid of. We’re not having massive ideological conflicts, and our economies are so intertwined that no one actually wants anyone else to crash. Hachigian and Sutphen are suggesting that the US has a lot to look forward to – as long as we respectfully approach our foreign partners, we have a lot less to fear than Fox News may suggest.

That’s the present. What about the future?

Well, Sutphen and Hachigian suggest that it’s not the OTHER powers we need to beware. Right now, the US’s paranoia is making everyone else a wee bit nervous. Plus, we’re spending so much time on nebulous threats that we’re neglecting our home-front. The reason China and India feel like such competition is that we’ve been systemically neglecting our school system and healthcare system, and have been letting our “innovation engine” (math and science programs in public schools) go to shambles. We’ve also been scapegoating. As the authors note, ‘[S]capegoating a foreign country for a largely domestic problem is one of the oldest tricks in the book’ (215). Their final conclusion points out that blaming the Other for the troubles of the self is a common, but flawed, bit of political rhetoric.

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This week’s flashback book is Daughter of the Bright Moon, featuring Rifkind, a warrior-healer whose character inspired Xena, the warrior princess herself!

This was such a fun book. Rifkind’s one of the few lady sword-slingers coming out of this sword and sorcery genre who doesn’t have sexual assault as a part of her origin story. She’s brash, bold, and completely cool with how totally awesome she is. It’d be easy to tip this into Mary Sue territory, since she’s basically  an awesome healer, a powerful potential witch, and a seasoned swordswoman, but Abbey’s careful to remind of the reader of Rifkind’s character flaws. Rifkind doesn’t ask for help, she doesn’t look for subterfuge, and she often reacts without thinking, all of which constantly put her in danger.

What I found especially interesting is that Rifkind’s not white. She’s Asheeran, described as having golden skinned, high cheekbones, dark and almond-shaped eyes, and dark hair. After her clan’s destroyed, she has to journey across a barren wasteland to get to Dro Daria, where she plans to make her fortune. When she arrives, she discovers an evil wizard is looking for her mother’s ruby necklace so that he can use to take over the world. In order to thwart these diabolical plans, Rifkind joins forces with the Overnmonts, a noble family in it to win it — they want Rifkind to help them unseat the wizard (who’s presently dividing the court politically) so that they can rise to a position of power. Umm. Also, they want to save the country from ruin. That’s totally a secondary goal, tho.

Anyways, to get Rifkind to the court, they have to find a way to explain why she’s so brown/exotic looking. They end up passing her off as a country cousin from near the Asheeran border, the product of what they insinuate is a mixed coupling. There are several other points where Rifkind’s race matters; when she first arrives in Dro Daria, she’s immediately marked as being Asheeran, a member of the hated foreign hordes constantly threatening the country’s borders. All her attempts to pass as a non-Other are awkwardly successful at best, involving her using magic to hide the mark of the Goddess (a silvery crescent moon embedded in her cheek) and to cloud her racial identity.

I find it fascinating that something so impacting this character’s view of herself didn’t make it into the television series inspired by her adventures. Part of what I found so compelling about Rifkind was her understanding of herself as a loner, underscored by both her racial and gendered identities. She’s not a normal Asheeran woman, what with being sworn to the Goddess as a mage-healer and having earned her own sword and warhorse. When she leaves Asheera, she’s marked out even more — now she’s not only a woman/healer/warrior, but is also an Asheeran woman/healer/warrior/witch. She gets to a point where only Turin, her empathic war-horse,* is able to truly know her. That’s one of the underlying themes of the novel. Ultimately, Rifkind’s only able to beat the baddies by owning these multiple identities. They intersect, but that doesn’t mean they have to clash.

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File this in books that make you go, “Hmmm.” Dean opens with Arry, a 14 year old Physici. She’s got this role within her community because centuries ago, wizards seeking peace decided to parcel out knowledge and knowledge roles. The Gnosi knows, and understands, facts, concrete ideas and methodologies. Only the Akoumi understands about death and what can kill — injuries and the like. Everyone else gets a random bit of magical talent/knowledge — like the ability to know what’s beautiful.

Only Arry, the present Physici, knows about pain. But what is pain? Arry’s been wrestling with the borders of her knowledge province since her parents left her and her siblings alone. Given that this is an incredibly fragile system based around the denizens’ acceptance of the wizards’ spell-born doubt, Arry’s parents’ disappearance and the sudden arrival of stalking werewolves speaking about the knowledge of food, good, and evil rocks the community to its foundation. It’s hard to describe the plot without giving away spoilers; suffice it to say that the characterization is brilliant, the villagers are witty, and Arry herself a compelling narrator. It’s rare that an author so aptly capture the voice of a mature child, who’s trying hard to handle a responsibility much bigger than her years. Arry’s struggles, combined with the constant air of doubt created through that long ago magicking, make for a stirring, and beautiful, text. Arry’s meditation on pain and its emotional content make for a startling analysis for what you know that you don’t know you know, a meditation that critiques the roles of society in knowledge formation.

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