The Girl Who Drank the Moon

The Protectorate is founded on lies and maintained by the control of knowledge. Ethyne knows that “controlling stories is power indeed” (307). Sister Ignatia starts all the false stories about the evil Witch in the woods and, in collusion with the Council of Elders, begins the tradition of the Day of Sacrifice. Most of the people in the Protectorate believe the stories, and the first-person narrators assure their questioning children that their stories are true: “What other kinds of stories are there?” (58). But the stories are false, and any “truth they had was twisted and bent” (229). Passing down these deceptive stories ensures that the next generation will submit to the Council’s control. Despite hearing these false narratives as children, both Ethyne and the madwoman doubt them. Ethyne counters their messages of helplessness. She wonders, “If it is impossible to fight that which one does not understand, they why not seek to learn?” (307). The madwoman also strives to learn, collecting knowledge like it’s a “glittering jewel.”

The Sisters believe that “knowledge is a terrible power indeed” (310). Their library and the fruits of their own studies and learning are withheld from the people. Sister Ignatia calls knowledge a “precious commodity” that she does not share or trade. Allowing the Protectorate citizens access to knowledge and learning would destroy the elaborate fictions that support Sister Ignatia’s sorrow farm, as well as the Council’s elevated social status and oppressive rule. Gherland and Sister Ignatia both detest questioning, because curiosity, education, and “big ideas” threaten their lifestyles and the Protectorate’s status quo. Questions can lead to hope, which can lead to change. This is why Gherland originally contemplates “dealing with” Antain, and why, later in the novel, he knows Antain must be killed. When Ethyne declares that the Tower should be a “center for learning, not a tool of tyranny” and gives access to the Tower, especially the library, the people begin their uprising, freed from lies and oppressive sorrow.

Well-meaning characters like Xan and Glerk also tell deceptive stories, or in Glerk’s case, support Xan’s well-intended lies. Glerk reluctantly lies to Fyrian, allowing him to believe he is Simply Enormous. Fyrian naively believes that the people he loves have never lied to him. He says, “No one has ever told me anything but the truth. In my whole life. Isn’t that true?” (257). It is not, and Glerk responds with an unintelligible grumble, knowing he has lied to Fyrian. Or rather, as Glerk uncomfortably backpedals when Fyrian does begin to grow, he has “bent” the truth a little.

Xan also conceals the story of Luna’s true origin. She lies by omission, by withholding knowledge from Luna. Xan lies to protect Luna from the sorrows that come with growing up. By using her magic to control Luna’s will and suppress Luna’s magic, Xan suggests that ignorance is preferable to the sorrow that would come with knowledge about herself, magic, and death (110). Xan later tells Luna that she kept things from Luna “because of circumstance, and things that I kept from you because I didn’t want to break your heart” (234).

Memories can cause sorrow, and Xan does not like to think about difficult, sorrowful, or unpleasant things. Xan even tries to convince herself that false things are true. She repeatedly tells herself that she didn’t notice she was gathering moonlight instead of starlight for Luna “until it felt true” to her (26). Xan assures herself that Luna is just a regular girl once Luna’s magic is partitioned off, and the more she “told herself that it might be true, the more she was able to convince herself that it was true” (109). Xan avoids self-knowledge because the truth can be sad.

Both Glerk and Xan both forget exactly why sorrow is so threatening because “it was easier to forget” (111). They “become accustomed to not remembering things” (68). Memories take work. They can cause pain. But repressed memories have consequences. One consequence of Xan burying her sorrowful memories is that she does not examine why the Protectorate leaves all the babies in the woods, and so the sacrifices persist. In Luna’s case, she has images in her mind that she knows are true, but she can’t remember where they are from. She is separated from the truth of who she is, from her magic, and from her mother. Xan writes to Luna, “You have no idea who you are, and that is my fault, too” (234). When Xan hides Luna’s magic, Luna awakens from the spell and cries for a loss she doesn’t consciously remember yet still feels inside. Luna’s headaches stem from her pent-up magic, and their intensity increases as she gets older. Luna’s frustration and irritation with her lack of knowledge also grows. She fumes that “no one tells her anything” (209), but they do; the problem is the words fly away, and no matter how hard she wishes them to stay, she cannot remember them. Suffering these emotional, physical, and interpersonal consequences, Luna reflects, “It’s awful to be cut off from your own memories” (364). Similarly, the madwoman’s memories of her life as a little girl, caring mother, and loving wife have “flown away,” leaving her broken and nameless.

Others face the consequences of forgotten or repressed memories. Sister Ignatia hides her memories of loss so deeply that she turns into a monster. Even thoughtful Glerk realizes that he has forgotten his purpose, and to an extent, himself. Remembering his deep love for the Bog, he suddenly understands, “I have been asleep. I have been lulled by my love for Xan. I am meant to be in the world—and I have not been” (357).

Xan hides Luna’s magic to protect Luna and others from potentially damaging magical slip-ups. One of the results of Xan’s action is that Luna cannot grow, change, or learn about herself. Although motivated by love, Xan stunts Luna’s development by keeping as a child. Glerk asserts that Luna needs to “know what’s inside her” (110), to be prepared for life, but Xan disagrees. Xan understands that everything grows and changes, but she does not want to lose Luna. Xan sees growing up as a loss: If Luna stays as a “regular” nonmagical child, then Xan would surely “never have to say good-bye” (110).

Xan sees Luna only as a child, even when Luna’s magic begins to leak out and she approaches puberty. Xan’s aging is tied to Luna’s development. As Xan begins to age, she wishfully—and falsely—assures Luna that “nothing had changed nor would it ever change” (183). Both she and Luna know this is patently untrue. Luna is aware that she is changing and nothing can stop it. Glerk observes, “Poor Xan. She did her best to hold on to Luna’s childhood, but there’s no escaping it. That girl is growing. And she won’t be a girl for much longer” (323). The cycle of life is inevitable. Everything grows and matures, and eventually dies. Xan knows this but does not want to accept it. After Xan passes, Glerk observes that Luna is now grown up, and “things are as they should be” (380).

Fyrian also matures out of his lengthy babyhood. Glerk does not know if Xan extended his childhood or if the loss of his mother made Fyrian stay that way, but once he leaves Xan’s homestead, Fyrian begins to grow into his true self. He also gains self-awareness, experiencing complex, adult emotions when he feels fresh grief over his mother’s death and desires to kill Sister Ignatia, and powerful loss when Xan dies. Like sleeping volcanoes, Luna and Fyrian finally erupt into adulthood, “and the world changes. This is the way of things” (371).

Other characters transform and move out of static situations. Antain experiences Ethyne’s love and can envision and work toward a different future for his family and the Protectorate. Glerk recognizes that he left “parts of himself” (237) behind while he lived with Xan, and he returns to the Bog. Ethyne leaves the Sisters and becomes a mother and an agent of change.

The motivating force behind many of the characters’ actions is love. As Xan tells Sister Ignatia, “Some of us…choose love over power. Indeed, most of us do” (364). When Xan names Luna and declares they will be a family, those words are “stronger than any magic” (27). Love for his family inspires Antain so powerfully that he is ready to kill, even though such an action conflicts with his caring nature. Driven by love, parents will do anything to protect and provide for their children. By claiming Luna as her granddaughter, Xan sacrifices herself. She does this willingly, out of love, saying, “Everything, everything is for Luna” (141). Xan’s magic flows to Luna as Luna grows, and Xan declines.

There is an unbreakable bond between mother and child. Separated for 13 years, Luna and Adara remain connected through visions they sense are true. Adara never stops trying to find Luna, even though her grief drives her mad, and her persistent hope is rewarded. The mothers of the Star Children also have visions of their babies that they initially dismiss as dreams until the fog lifts and their dreams become hope, and then reality. Even Xan, though she can’t remember her parents’ faces, remembers the love she felt when she was around them. Fyrian, even older than Xan, still desperately misses his mother.

Looking at her mother and Xan and Antain, Luna recognizes that the heart is infinite, and “there is no limit to what the heart can carry” (364). She knows that she can love all her family—birth family and adopted family—and “allow [her] love to increase” (377). Luna shares this insight with the Star Children and their families. No one must give up love. Rather, love grows and expands to include others.