CW: mentions of child abuse and ableism
Disclaimer: The author of this book has confirmed to have been inspired by the "Sixties Scoop," the removal of Indigenous children from their homes before being placed in residential schools, for the creation of some aspects of this book. The author of this article has felt it was important to recognize the issue behind such "inspiration" as we, at IntroSPECtion, do not wish to glorify the atrocities done to Indigenous peoples. After discovering the issues surrounding the novel, we have chosen to include the review, as the author of this article, feels strongly toward the neurodiverse and queer characters, and wanted to highlight this positive representation of disabilities seen in the story and how other bodies of work with neurodivergent and/or disabled characters should be represented. While the author of the article holds a strong place in their heart for this novel, we at IntroSPECtion would like to take a moment to recognize that this novel, should not be praised because of the allusion to the "Sixties Scoop," written by a non-Indigenous author and recommend that you read it at your own discretion.
The House in the Cerulean Sea, released alarmingly close to when COVID-19 was declared a pandemic, is quite the opposite of the bleak and harrowing circumstances it was born into. Author, TJ Klune, immerses readers in a well-rounded, low fantasy world which is set in an ambiguous time in history, yet features modern touches such as the presence of computers and buses.
The story revolves around a caseworker for DICOMY, the Department in Charge of Magical Youth, who is tasked with ensuring that the orphans who are supernatural beings—and are often quite humanoid—are safe and healthy. This dutiful service that the protagonist—40-year-old, Linus Baker—shows through his detailed and focused reports earns him the chance to travel to an orphanage that DICOMY says is strictly confidential and even a little dangerous. Linus packs his life into suitcases for a month-long trip to Marsyas Island, opposite to the bleak grey of the English city, with its wide—and well—cerulean, sea.
Despite their subtle problematic qualities in viewing these children as inherent threats, in terms of the range of exceptional, unusual, and potentially dangerous magical abilities being present on Marsyas Island, DICOMY was not lying. The island is home to an orphanage which has a gnome girl who is hundreds of years old, a young boy who can shapeshift into a dog with a contagious bite, a wyvern, the combination of a bipedal jellyfish and sea cucumber, a forest sprite, and the literal Antichrist, under its roof. Additional to this list of supernatural beings, there are also two adults who are, respectively, an island sprite—the ‘owner’ of the island, bearing wings and the ability to materialise at will and survey her territory—and a phoenix, with the latter being a secret until much later in the novel.
Despite this level of danger, Marsyas Island—at least on the orphanage’s side—is increasingly pleasant, with all of the children bearing their own unique personalities, complemented by the house’s master, Arthur Parnassus. Linus quickly grows fond of every resident of the orphanage, even Lucy, the aforementioned Antichrist. Lucy, whose name has been affectionately shortened from Lucifer, is a menacing young boy with incredible powers, such as blotting out the sun for select individuals, shape shifting, telekinesis, and more. The child utters death threats to Linus while also missing his two front teeth, and he has to stand on a stool to reach the kitchen counter, where he performs domestic tasks that he visibly enjoys. Marsyas Orphanage is heart wrenchingly tender, a safe haven for all of its at-risk inhabitants.
The importance of both the orphanage itself and the unconditionally forgiving and kind personality of its master is a stark contrast to the nasty attitudes of the local residents on the outskirts. The island is home to many non-magical beings, many of whom hold prejudiced attitudes towards all magical individuals, even the young children a few minutes away. The beach town, like many cities within this universe, is littered with signs funded by DICOMY that encourage the public to "out" people if they are suspected to possess magical abilities. There are powerful systems in place to ensure that magical people are registered and tracked, even when they are adults.
Upon arriving on the island, Linus asks the island sprite, Zoe, if she is registered once he realises her status. Zoe grimaces and outright rejects even the idea of being included in the flawed system. Since the common reader is unbiased towards being registered within DICOMY’s system due to the 1984-esque way it is presented, it is easy to see Zoe’s perspective. However, perhaps it takes a more serious case study to fully understand the detriments of being registered and thus controlled by DICOMY.
Arthur Parnassus, the master of the Marsyas Orphanage, is nothing if not undeniably lovable and charming. Upon first meeting him, Linus thinks of him as being unlike anybody he has met or seen before. Despite being a few ages older than the caseworker, he has a youthful charm about him and never seems to be down about anything. That is, unless it is related to DICOMY or the perpetual oppression of magical beings. As the two men are (originally) on opposite sides of the debate, with Linus working for DICOMY and Arthur being somebody who helps protect these children, they have many passionate debates about the importance (if there is any) of the organization the caseworker is employed by. This discussion comes to light many times throughout the novel, even as Linus and Arthur begin to develop romantic feelings for each other. However, it soon becomes clear to readers that Arthur’s feelings on this matter are not impersonal, and he is not moved to protect these kids purely out of an unbiased perspective.
After realizing that Linus is a little too fond of the supposedly dangerous inhabitants of the orphanage, DICOMY sends the caseworker a letter, with the key to the mysterious cellar behind overgrown greenery near the home. Within the cellar lies a precious secret–the secret that a phoenix once resided in there, locked away from the world because he burned too brightly. That phoenix is Arthur Parnassus.
And so, the secret of the master being a magical being himself is revealed. Are the children aware? Of course not. DICOMY gave the phoenix this large home as part of a deal struck with him long ago: he must keep his status a secret from the world in order to protect these young children. Seeing as he is not a jellyfish like one of the children, Chauncey, or a forest sprite with wings, like Phee, he is able to keep his powers under wraps and appear as normal as a human. He is able to mask.
Being autistic myself, the analogy presented within the chapter where the big revelation takes place was not lost on me. The book was already filled with many themes of feeling like a misfit among society, and people not liking what they don’t understand. The entire novel feels as if it could be about neurodivergent people, but it is my belief that the role that Arthur’s past plays in the story, as well as how it ironically benefits him, is the most obvious and heartfelt analogy for autism presented in this novel.
Masking, in the autistic sense, is described as masquerading obvious neurodivergent traits, such as stimming (not making eye contact) using neurotypical body language and expressions, and more. It is just as it sounds: putting on a mask for the benefit of others, in order to be understood and liked. It costs plenty of energy that should be used for self-regulation and everything else it takes in order to function. Masking for a long period of time can be detrimental to autistics, as it deprives them of their natural functions and self-expression. Masking, though harmful, can earn us friendships, job opportunities, and the ability to blend in with the neurotypical population. We sacrifice our own well-being for the tolerance of others. Hiding one’s magical abilities is not easy, but one can learn how if the end result is rewarding enough.
“‘I couldn’t control it,’ Arthur said, looking down at his hands. ‘Not when I was a child…”
The old master at the orphanage was nothing like the one holding the position now. He is described as having hated the children for being what they were, for their inability to assimilate. Through years of abuse, Arthur learned to mask his phoenix status in order to comply with DICOMY’s demands —months of which were spent alone in a cellar that he attempted to burn his way out of. Without going into brutal detail, abuse rates among neurodivergent populations are high as a result of eugenics and ableist mindsets. Presenting oneself as having autistic traits can cause them to be bullied or harassed, especially if the individual is a person of colour. The cycle of using masking as a means of survival is a perpetual one which often costs many their mental wellbeing.
The story has a happy ending, though. At one point, Arthur spreads his wings before a crowd, as they stare in awe. Later, when asked by Linus about how he felt during the occurrence, Arthur replies “like I was free for the first time in a very long time,” (page 326). In the epilogue, the children have since become well aware of their caretaker’s magical abilities, and Lucy even celebrates the fact by making rather rambunctious remarks about setting things on fire. Arthur no longer has to mask, and DICOMY cannot control him. Truly, The House in the Cerulean Sea is a story that showcases excellent autistic analogies, and better yet, gives them a happy ending. It allows us to visualise what the world would look like if we welcomed each other’s differences instead of stuffing them into ‘socially acceptable’ boxes, or worse, cellars.
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