Red Rising by Pierce Brown imagines a far future where humanity has spread across the solar system. There’s just one problem: a rigid, color-coded caste system ensures the constant oppression of those at the bottom for the benefit of those at the top. Ruling Golds strut around their mansions in command of vast fleets, while lowly Reds toil in the mines and are paid in scraps. Between these two extremes, a host of other colors are genetically engineered to fit specific roles, from Obsidian supersoldiers to Violet artists.
Let’s get one thing out of the way up front: Red Rising is a very bad book. The protagonist is driven entirely by toxic masculinity, the plot doesn’t start until nearly 20% of the way in, and conflicts are only ever resolved via a hidden plan reveal. Just hidden plans over and over again until the book is completely devoid of tension and satisfaction. Brown, I’m begging you, learn another way to resolve your conflicts! We have a whole list for you. There’s also a lot of rape, which is very bad and not nearly as much fun to critique.
I wasn’t originally planning to write about this book, but then I noticed two things. 1: It’s very popular, and 2: In addition to the mediocre plotting and one-note characterization, the worldbuilding is bad in interesting ways. Red Rising is a story of systemic oppression, class struggle, and revolution, all topics that are on a lot of people’s minds these days. With luck, Brown’s poor choices can serve as a cautionary tale for the rest of us. And before you head to the comments section, please remember we’re only looking at the first book today. If some of these problems are addressed in later books, and that’s great if so, it still doesn’t retroactively fix them in this book.
As eager as I am to pick this color-themed mess apart, it’s important to start by acknowledging where Red Rising’s worldbuilding is actually good. Even the worst books usually have some gems if you know what to look for. Still, it’s not a long list.
An Alien Martian Underworld
Red Rising starts with protagonist Darrow working on his mining drill along with a team of other Reds. Plot-wise, this section is deadly dull, as a bunch of bad things happen that Darrow has no agency in. However, from a worldbuilding perspective, this is probably the most interesting part of the story. It’s a subterranean world where Reds are born, live, and die without ever seeing the surface, something inherently alien.
Brown doesn’t skimp on the details here. We get lots of sensory data about the environment, from the pungent smells of hard labor to the dangerous heat produced by Darrow’s equipment. The dangers of gas pockets and cave-ins are ever present, and Brown uses disagreements between the miners as a natural way to explain how things work.
Even better, we see the effects of class marginalization right away. The Reds’ equipment is not only uncomfortable but also prone to failure. The aptly named “frysuits” are supposed to provide protection against the elements, but the best they can usually manage is to turn a fatal injury into a debilitating one. There’s also an obvious sense of desperation, as many Reds feel the need to take dangerous risks so their families won’t starve.
These themes continue even when Darrow clocks out for the day. Those Reds who don’t work the mines still have to put in a full work week in addition to their domestic labor. In the day cycle,* they weave cloth from genetically engineered silkworms. In the night cycle, they pool resources or hit the black market for critical supplies like clothes and medicine. It’s an excellent combination of an alien environment with a familiar system of marginalization. Of course, once we get to the surface, it’s far less interesting: terraforming has basically turned it into Earth but with lower gravity, which the book seems to forget about most of the time anyway. Still, it’s nice while it lasts!
Songs and Dances
Something a lot of stories about poor people forget is that no matter how poor someone is, they’re still humans with desires and wants. There’s always more to a group of people than the horrible conditions under which they work, but stories often gloss over that in the rush to drive home how bad a situation is. Fortunately, Red Rising is not one of those stories!
Even though we spend less than a fifth of the book with the Reds, Brown still finds time to show us what they do for fun: namely, singing and dancing. This is another aspect of worldbuilding that’s often neglected, perhaps because it’s not sufficiently badass, but how a culture sings and dances can tell you a lot about them.
Right away, we see that with few material luxuries, the Reds have to make their own entertainment. Their music is mostly vocal since they have few instruments, and the few they do have are highly prized, often handed down from parent to child. The Reds brew their own drinks from Martian fungus and always try to save up enough food for the occasional celebration, despite how little they have to work with.
Their dancing is highly acrobatic thanks to Mars’s low gravity, another way in which Brown lets culture flow from the environment. Granted, there is a section about how Reds always dance solo because “only alone can a boy become a man,” which is that toxic masculinity I mentioned rearing its ugly head. Despite that, it’s pretty unusual for a super masculine protagonist like Darrow to have any dance or music in his backstory, so I’ll take what I can get.
Finally, there’s a political aspect to the Reds’ music and dancing as well, just as often as in real life. Despite being constantly monitored, the Reds have songs and dances of resistance, one of which is a catalyst for some major events in the plot. The song itself is pretty catchy, especially if you listen to it in the audio book.
Evil Space Romans
Enough about the Reds, let’s talk about our villains: the privileged Golds. These folks are a society of genetically engineered super-aristocrats, and despite expressing admiration for historical figures like Hannibal and Alexander, they have exactly one cultural inspiration: Rome.
The Golds nearly all have Latin names like Augustus, Octavia, Cassius, and the like. Their military is made up of legates, praetors, and legionaries. They have a senate, complete with the more obscure ranks like quaestor. They’ve even got the Roman system of patronage going, or at least something that looks similar on the surface.
Rome is a fantastic culture to base your evil empire on for a few reasons. First, Rome is fairly well known among English speakers, so a lot of readers will automatically recognize the tropes you’re using, saving you a lot of worldbuilding time. Second, Rome was an expansionist empire heavily dependent on slave labor, so it’s earned a nock or two. Third, as Rome is the antecedent of most Western cultures in one way or another, you don’t have to worry about cultural appropriation or playing into harmful stereotypes.
Perhaps more importantly, creating a Space Rome is a clear signal for the type of story you plan to tell: one that has turned all the dials up to eleven. If the scifi bad guys are so lacking in subtlety as to name themselves after an empire famous for conquering and enslaving people, readers will know they’re in for a story with lots of over-the-top tropes. For the most part, that’s exactly the mood Brown needs for his story about a muscle-bound Adonis punching class oppression directly in the face.
And that’s it for the good stuff. I told you it wouldn’t be a very long list. Now, settle in – it’s time to talk about everything else. Even though the plotting and character development are atrocious, I promise to stick to worldbuilding as much as possible, since we’re all busy people.
Impractical Oppression Tactics
While Brown does a fairly good job describing the Reds and their culture, once he gets to the mechanisms by which the Reds are marginalized, things get a lot flimsier. First, there’s the Laurel, a prize that the various Red clans compete for by trying to mine the most Helium-3. Whoever wins the Laurel gets gifts of incredible luxury like sugar and antibiotics from their Gold overlords. Sometimes, the Golds even throw in some instant coffee. How generous!
It’s pretty clear that the purpose of the Laurel is to keep the Reds fighting with each other for scraps while the Golds jet around on spaceships and eat bioprinted T-Rex steak. That’s all fine, but then there’s a big plot point about how the Laurel is always given to the same Red clan, no matter who mines more Helium-3. This is described as being a brilliant move on the Golds’ part to crush the Reds’ spirit, but it’s actually an act of major incompetence.
The whole point of competitions like the Laurel is to get poor people to play a game they can’t win. If they just do well enough, they’ll surely get ahead! In real life, this is the purpose behind the idea that anyone can become a billionaire if they work hard. So long as everyone is focused on the game, they don’t stop to ask why the rich have such an outsized share of resources. By rigging their own game in such an obvious way, the Golds are encouraging Reds to not buy into the system. It’s the same reason why on the rare occasion when someone does actually break into the upper classes in our own world, they are hailed as an example of the system working. It’s such a rare occurrence that it’s no threat to entrenched elites, and it keeps the rest of us believing that we don’t need universal healthcare since one day we’ll strike it rich and get all the antibiotics we can eat.
A similar event occurs when Darrow is finally taken out of the mines by his new resistance friends. Reds are raised to believe that all their hard work and sacrifice is in the name of terraforming Mars. Once that’s done, they’ll supposedly get their well-earned reward. But surprise, we find out that Mars is already completely terraformed, and the whole story is an elaborate fabrication.
First, this strains credibility to the breaking point, even in a setting with evil space Romans. We see a lot of non-Reds work in the mines too; are we supposed to believe they all strictly adhere to infosec protocols? The more people who know something, the harder it is to keep secret, as anyone with experience in high school gossip can tell you. Plus, all it would take is one Good Samaritan from the surface, and the whole story would be blown wide open. Darrow’s resistance friends say they haven’t spilled the beans yet for strategic reasons, but is there really no one else who feels differently?
More important than the masquerade’s practical issues, it’s completely unnecessary. All the Golds needed to do was invent some propaganda about how the Reds must earn their place on the surface, and then arrange the economic system so only a tiny handful ever qualify. That’s what real elites do, and it works great!
This is pretty much all we see of the Reds’ situation, and shortly after, the story transitions to focus entirely on the Golds. Strange choice for a story that purports to be about class warfare in its early chapters.
Unprepared Evil Space Romans
The actual plot of Red Rising is about Darrow infiltrating Gold society so he can one day bring it down from the inside. To do this, he has to go through a bunch of surgeries to have the physical capacity of a Gold,* and then he has to attend the Institute, which is basically a murder school. Promising Gold teenagers are brought together so they can fight to the death in what even the characters admit is an elaborate game of capture the flag, but with swords and castles. This is all in the name of not falling into “decadence,” a problem the Golds seem obsessed with.
Now, in real life, rich parents would never send their children to a school where half the students die on just the first day. Facing the constant threat of death is a job for poor people! But these are evil space Romans, who also embody a hefty dose of Ayn Rand’s objectivism and Star Trek’s honor-obsessed Klingons, so it’s easy to suspend your disbelief. Given the premise, it’s totally believable that Gold teenagers are raring to go for murder school.
Except that they aren’t. In fact, the Institute’s brutal nature is as much a surprise to the genuine Golds as it is to Darrow. Most of them are horrified at the idea of having to kill their classmates, and the early scenes are like something out of Battle Royale. Apparently, what happens at the Institute is a closely held secret. The only people who know are those who went through it, and they never talk, not even to their own children. We find this out in no uncertain terms when Darrow is put into a death match with his friend Julian, who helpfully exposits that he and the other Gold kids knew nothing about this. Then he dies.
If you believe that, I have a bridge to sell you. From what we can tell, Gold parents generally care about their children and wouldn’t want them to die if there was another option. More importantly, doing well at the Institute is a major boon for amassing influence and wealth later in life, something the power-hungry Gold families are always after. They can’t reap these benefits if their kids die at murder school.
Given that set up, you’d expect Gold children to be trained for the Institute practically from birth. In particular, they would be trained to kill, probably practicing on some expendable Reds. Even if it was officially against the rules, the stakes are so high that no Gold family would ever send their kid to the Institute without a ton of preparation. Instead we have the opposite situation.
Militarists With No One to Fight
Another strange wrinkle of Gold society is the military. Like the evil space Romans they are, the Golds are obsessed with martial service. Both the official government and the great houses maintain huge fleets, along with massive ground armies of Obsidian supersoldiers. Much like Prussia in the late 1700s, nearly all of Gold society seems to revolve around the armed forces. In fact, Darrow’s main goal is to rise through the ranks until he’s in a position of military authority.
There’s just one problem: the Golds have no one to fight. What’s more, they haven’t had anyone to fight for centuries, not since they conquered Earth from their evil moon base. They run the entire solar system. Gold society is also supposed to be stable, remaining relatively unchanged for hundreds of years.
This combination is incredibly unlikely. States do not possess large militaries and then just leave them lying around. If an army isn’t fighting, it’s little more than a pit into which you throw money. The Golds would have either greatly reduced their military, since they don’t need a hundred battleships to keep the lower colors in line, or more likely, they’d have started fighting each other. Instead, we’re told that while Golds are constantly competing with each other, they almost always do it subtly. The characters do mention a rebellion that took place about 60 years before the story starts, but it’s apparently an exception to the rule.
An easy solution to this would have been for the Golds to have some external enemies, which is the reason militaries exist in real life. It would have fit with the evil space Roman aesthetic too. Even at the height of its power, the Roman Empire always had enemies on the frontier to deal with. This necessitated large armies, which were in turn used by various claimants to the throne during Rome’s many civil wars. Basically, why aren’t there any evil space Persians or evil space Germans?
It’s possible Brown thought that adding additional factions to the solar system would have made the worldbuilding more complicated, but it’s actually the opposite. We didn’t need to learn the other space faction’s entire history, just know they existed. That would have fit much better with the premise of a Rome-inspired empire in space, and we’d have to spend fewer brain cells puzzling over it.
Bland Murder School Houses
After the first day at the Institute, when half the students kill the other half, the survivors are sorted into houses for their game of hard-core capture the flag. There are twelve houses in all, each of them named after a Roman god: Mars, Jupiter, Venus, Minerva, etc. These houses exist outside the Institute too, as something between social clubs and political parties. This is how loyalties are determined in the game.
Dividing your spec fic students into themed houses is a serviceable trope, but there’s just one problem: Red Rising’s houses are incredibly bland. After over 140,000 words, I can barely tell you anything about them. I know that Mars, the protagonist’s house, is supposed to be heavy on aggression and low on staying power, but that’s about it. The other houses are completely interchangeable, all eleven of them. The only other pattern I noticed was that the houses tended to have leaders that matched the gender of their assigned god, but I can’t say if that was intentional.
Other than that, the murder school houses completely blur together. I can barely remember which house is supposed to have done what, and it doesn’t seem to matter. You could rearrange the houses with a random number generator, and it wouldn’t change the story at all. This is especially annoying because the houses are based off of the Roman gods; you couldn’t ask for a richer thematic vein to mine. Each of the gods come prepackaged with their own schtick, and while some of them wouldn’t translate directly,* there’s still an incredible amount to mine.
It’s possible this was even Brown’s intent. House Diana starts in a forest, which would fit with her role as a goddess of the hunt. We also get a passing line about House Vulcan starting out with forges that they use to make weapons early on, which fits with their patron god. But that’s it. Other than that, the houses use essentially the same tactics and equipment, some are just better at it than others. Even House Mars, which gets the most development, eventually fades into the same generic beige.
Rigged Murder Games
While the Institute’s 12 houses may be bland and hard to remember, one aspect of the competition is crystal clear: the whole thing is rigged against House Mars, which just so happens to be the house that Darrow is a part of. They start with no supplies, a poorly positioned castle, and only the most basic of tools and weapons. They don’t even have matches to start a fire!
Meanwhile, every other house they run into has loads of stuff, from food to weapons and even horses. The book also makes a point that most of the other houses have better castles than Mars. From a storytelling perspective, this is meant to increase tension. Darrow has to do well at the Institute so he can go on to infiltrate the Gold military, and that’ll be harder to do when every other house is better fed and equipped.
But from an in-character perspective, it makes no sense. Remember, House Mars exists outside the Institute as well, and it directly benefits from how well its students do. So why aren’t the Mars leaders raising hell over this? They’re being cheated out of a chance at power and influence, something no Gold would tolerate according to Red Rising. Did someone tell them that Darrow is a protagonist and needs to be challenged?
Later in the story, when we discover that certain parties are actually trying to rig the murder games, the book makes a huge deal about how careful they need to be. If it comes to light that the nearly sacred Institute is being tampered with, heads will roll. And yet, somehow no one objects to one house starting at an obvious disadvantage. Maybe the idea is supposed to be that Mars gets more promising students in exchange for a worse start, but if so, it’s never properly explained. Instead, it feels like Brown can’t make up his mind: Is the Institute a free-for-all between competing organizations, or is it a school specifically designed to teach House Mars the value of overcoming hardship?
Red Rising is an extremely sexist story. Partly, this is down to the plotting. Despite a seemingly never-ending roster of major characters, very few of them are women. Naturally, the one woman who does get significant screen time is Darrow’s love interest, and even she ends up getting damselled at the end. It also just so happens that the female-associated houses get taken out first and usually without much trouble. Ceres, Minerva, Juno, and Diana all bite the dust before Darrow takes action against any of the boy houses, and we never find out what happened to Venus.
But the worldbuilding is also sexist, sometimes in very strange ways. The Reds seem to practice a strict division of labor, the only purpose of which is so that Darrow can think about his wife with lines like “Without me, she would not eat. Without her, I would not live.” Nevermind all the domestic work his wife does, in addition to her full-time job. It’s the men who make material contributions, while women… are hot, I guess? Darrow is never shown to be wrong, and since the Reds are portrayed as the noble victims of marginalization, it’s hard to see the book as doing anything other than endorsing their misogyny.
It gets way weirder with the Golds. About 50% of their culture seems to be sexist insults, and it’s a rare event when more than a couple lines of dialogue go by without someone yelling a variant of “you hit like a girl.” Gendered slurs are the norm, complete with heavy doses of slut shaming. One of the more badass dudes, a guy named Pax, apparently has a feminine sounding laugh, whatever that means, and it’s the cause of much hilarity.
That’s annoying enough on its own, but then it seems like the Golds are supposed to be egalitarian along gender lines? Based on my count, there seem to be about as many women in positions of power as there are men. The women are less important to the plot, but setting wise they seem equal. The highest Gold leader is a woman, and the Institute’s murder school is totally coed.
This is baffling. Somehow, Gold society is even more hostile to women than our own, and yet they have a nearly 50/50 split in the halls of power. How does that work? Are Gold women powered entirely by rage and that’s how they’re so prominent?
All the Colors of White
We like to answer reader questions here at Mythcreants, and every once in a while, someone will ask us about using nonhuman colors like green or purple for their sapient humanoids. There’s an idea that doing this would eliminate race as a consideration. I always recommend against it, and Red Rising is a great example of why.
Left to their own devices, readers have a bad habit of assuming that a character is white by default. Sometimes, they’ll do this even when it’s explicitly stated otherwise. The white-as-default assumption is strong, and authors need to be extra clear if they want to counteract it.
Red Rising does the opposite. Its description is very vague about what most characters look like, even the important ones. Usually we get no more than an indication of their general body shape. Sometimes it’s even less than that. When we first meet the love interest, her only description is about hair length.
This is already a prime situation for readers to assume every character is white, and the color-coded worldbuilding makes it worse. The most prominent facet of every character’s description is their caste color, and since none of them are colors humans actually have,* it makes the white-as-default impulse even stronger. A Red is imagined as a white person tinged with red. A Gold is imagined as a white person with extra-blond hair. Google Red Rising fan art if you want to see this in action, with a few notable exceptions.
Pierce Brown could have addressed this with proper description, but since he didn’t, we’re left with a rainbow world that somehow still has only white people in it.
What We Can Learn
The bright side of Red Rising’s shoddy worldbuilding is that there’s a whole lot we can learn from it. At least, that’s how I got myself through the last few chapters. I haven’t been able to draw any positive lessons from this mess, but there are plenty of cautionary ones.
Stick to Your Themes
Themes are what makes your world feel cohesive and well formed. If you don’t have strong themes, the world will be easily forgotten. If you establish a theme and then break it, readers will immediately notice. Despite the damage it causes, authors are often tempted to break theme for the sake of a juicy plot point or character moment, and that’s exactly what happens in Red Rising.
This is most apparent in the murder school contradictions. This is a society that’s so into violence that they send their children off to die, and yet they also don’t prepare their kids as much as possible? The only reason for this break in theme seems to be so that Brown can squeeze some extra angst out of Darrow killing Julian. If the world followed its themes, Julian would have been ready to kill or be killed. Instead, Brown wrote Julian like a regular rich kid told he has to kill his classmate, all so that Darrow can feel like a monster. So dark, very grim, wow.
Other thematic breaks include the Golds’ shoddy systems of oppression and the lack of anyone for this huge military to fight. That first one is particularly irritating in a story about class oppression. In real life, a major obstacle in the fight for equality is people thinking there must be some overly elaborate conspiracy manipulating things from behind the scenes. Even when such ideas aren’t blatant antisemitism, they miss the important truth: rich people don’t need to sneak around behind the scenes; they work right out in the open where everyone can see them.
If Brown wanted Julian’s death to be extra emotional without breaking theme, then he needed to build a stronger connection between Darrow and Julian. That way, the drama would have come from Darrow killing his friend instead of Julian switching from an evil space Roman to a regular rich kid.
Fewer Factions Means More Development
There’s one main reason the factions in Red Rising are bland: there’s too many of them. Even with several Houses destroyed offscreen, there’s no time to give the remaining ones more than a cursory glance. Jupiter feels the same as Apollo and Pluto because there isn’t enough page space to show their differences.
If I were hired to edit a book like Red Rising, I’d slash the number of houses in half, at least. Six is still a lot of factions, but it’s theoretically manageable. With 12 houses, we often have no more than one or two encounters with each house before Darrow defeats them. Sometimes it’s even less. If there were only six, that would leave room for more back-and-forth battles, rather than having to check each house off the list so we can get to the ending. If it’s important for there to be 12 houses in later books, just say that half of them are going through murder school at a different location.
Of course, that still leaves the issue of actually making each house distinct. This would also be easier if the kids were trained for the Institute, like they would be in a more consistent setting. Different houses might have established traditions and tactics, either based on their patron god or invented from whole cloth. We could actually develop the building-focused tactics of House Vulcan, while Diana’s excellent scouts would be the envy of other houses.
That way, the factional differences would be plot relevant. The best way to make sure readers remember something is to make it relevant in whatever the protagonist is doing. It’s not just exposition; it actually matters.
Make Your Villains Competent
The competency of your villains is usually more about character and plot than setting, but Red Rising shows us how it can have worldbuilding implications too. Remember how the entire scenario is set up to put House Mars at a disadvantage? The book does that because Darrow is drowning in candy, and no enemy stands a chance against him. Seriously, the book spends chapter after chapter building up a mysterious enemy called the Jackal, and Darrow defeats him without even realizing it.
With such incompetent antagonists, Brown’s only option for maintaining tension is to put Darrow’s team at a huge disadvantage. That way, readers might imagine Darrow is in trouble even though none of his enemies can find their ass with both hands. This does significant damage to the setting, as readers are left wondering why House Mars is the only one without weapons and mounts.
Just as important, Brown’s strategy isn’t very effective at building tension. Partly, this is due to repetition in the plot. Darrow is constantly defeating enemies who have better stuff than he does, and it never seems particularly difficult. But at a more basic level, readers don’t have a mathematical understanding of how big an advantage characters get from better gear. You can tell a reader that one guy has a bronze sword while the other has an iron one, but that doesn’t mean much unless your reader is already versed in the metallurgy of swordsmithing.
With work, it’s possible to help readers build an understanding of what advantage a piece of gear provides, but Red Rising doesn’t do that work. Fortunately, there’s a much easier way to build tension: show your villains winning sometimes! Granted, this would be easier if Red Rising didn’t have 12 houses to get through, but the point remains. Having Darrow’s enemies win a few battles would have been far more effective than all the talk of them having better weapons.
Ironically, Brown does use this tactic, but only when Darrow is facing members of his own house. This happens twice, and both opponents are far more threatening than anyone else Darrow crosses swords with.* Unfortunately, neither competent opponent amounts to much. One dies early in the story, whereas the other is irrelevant after the halfway point.
Leave the Misogyny at Home
Content Notice: Sexual violence in fiction
Whenever I work with clients, my advice on bigoted settings is always the same: unless challenging that bigotry is the point of your story, leave it out. If challenging the bigotry in question is your goal, there are still a lot of pitfalls to avoid, but if it’s not, all you’re doing is making the story hostile to anyone who experiences that bigotry in real life. Worse, there’s a good chance your story will come off as endorsing the bigotry in question, either through inaction, or because your heroes actively participate in it.
This is always important, but for a novel like Red Rising, it’s doubly so. Brown’s story is explicitly about fighting against class oppression, so including all this unchallenged sexism creates the impression the story is furthering one cause at the expense of another. Now, in real life, sexism and classism often intersect,* but that isn’t what Red Rising shows us. Instead, the extreme focus on how Darrow is marginalized for his caste creates the impression that when liberation finally comes, it will only be for a certain kind of people.
Because it would be irresponsible to leave this out, I want to show you just how low Red Rising sinks in this department. Until now, I’ve tried to keep the descriptions of sexism abstract, but for this I have to get into some detail about rape.
One of the House Mars antagonists I mentioned earlier is this guy named Titus, a towering brute that Darrow must contend with for leadership of his house. Titus is a brutal man, and to illustrate this, Brown has him maim several prisoners as an act of intimidation. This is something no other character has done, and it’s very effective at showing how much worse Titus is than the other students.
Apparently that wasn’t enough, because Titus then rapes a number of female prisoners as well. This goes on for a while. Fortunately, it mostly happens offscreen, but the book still manages to include some incredibly gross description that I won’t repeat. Already, this has all the hallmarks of gratuitous rape in fiction. It doesn’t make us hate Titus more than we already did, and it risks causing real harm to survivors. Plus, it doesn’t at all fit with the book’s over-the-top atmosphere of evil space Romans, and it raises questions about why their elite murder school is coed.
But wait, it gets worse! After Titus is defeated, it’s revealed that, like Darrow, he’s a Red infiltrating Gold society. Those were revenge rapes, you see, after some unrelated Gold men assaulted someone close to Titus. Darrow, upon hearing this, spends a lot of time feeling sorry for Titus. Isn’t it totally understandable that he’d want to commit rape in the name of class solidarity? In the end, Darrow has Titus executed not because Titus is a rapist, but because he’s bad at maintaining his cover and might give the game away.
This is why I say that Red Rising flubs class conflict. Brown had all the pieces to write a rip-roaring story about standing up to evil space Romans, but instead the story goes full grimdark and ends up treating women as acceptable losses in the fight for revolution. When authors take on important topics like class conflict, they have a responsibility to engage with care. When they don’t, the best possible outcome is readers like me getting mad at the obvious failures. The worst outcome is a less aware reader thinking that rape jokes are fine so long as they’re only about well-off women. This care must be taken at all levels, but it usually starts with worldbuilding. If your story has a rotten foundation, the rest will never hold up.
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