A Marvellous Light

“It was the resigned expression of someone on whom jokes were often played, and who knew he was expected to laugh afterwards even if they were more cruel than funny. Robin had seen the candle-flicker of this expression at his parents’ sumptuous dinner parties, when the person making the joke was most often Lady Blyth herself.”

This scene emphasizes that Robin is highly observant about people—he senses Edwin’s discomfort with jokes as a kind of deeper pain, merely from his expression. The description of Blyth family dinners underlines a connection between luxury and cruelty. Robin’s thoughts of his mother are clearly not warm, hinting that, like Edwin, he has personal experience with familial cruelty.

“Edwin’s collection of small enjoyments was carefully cultivated. When he exhaled his worry he imagined it going up in the snap of the fire. He thought about the meticulous cogs of the Gatlings’ clock, and the particular hazel of Sir Robert Blyth’s eyes.”

The narration here presents Edwin’s hobbies almost clinically, as a kind of museum exhibit or garden of his own choosing. The things he chooses to enjoy emphasize his love of order and mysteries—the “meticulous cogs” of a clock. The reference to Robin comes last, as if desire is a reluctant addition to an otherwise orderly universe.

“‘Oh, the hell with it, Robin,’ Maud exploded, ‘they’re gone,’ and then shut her mouth and cast a stricken look at the half-open door. Robin’s mind filled in the unsaid words: They’re not here to object. To insist that their only daughter follow the stepping-stones of the peerage, schoolroom to social season to marriage, and not soil her hands or her mind with the enlarging independence of the middle class.”

The verb “exploded” underlines the social restraint placed on Maud—it is both unseemly and disconcerting for her to admit that being orphaned is liberating. Robin “fills in” their objections, as if his parents are absent characters in a play about the importance of gender roles. Robin’s sense that education would “soil” Maud in the eyes of their parents underlines his acute awareness of the gender norms in their society, perhaps because his own sexuality is a similar threat his parents never confronted.

“Robin swallowed both an unmanly squawk of Tests? and the instinctive groan of someone to whom research had always felt like pushing a lump of marble uphill. ‘All right. Books are at least somewhat less likely to hurl insults at one,’ he said. ‘It is one of their major appeals,’ said Courcey, and Robin found himself unexpectedly smiling.”

Robin’s inner monologue emphasizes his urge to squash his fears and conceal his dislike of intellectual pursuits, implying that he wishes to impress Edwin even if he does not trust him. Both Robin and Edwin dislike spending time with the arrogant Hawthorn, and the books offer a refuge. Robin’s smile at Edwin’s joke points to the ways their trip will thaw the tensions between them.

“Edwin was momentarily startled at the fear crowding in Robin’s eyes, behind the anger; then he was startled that this was the first time he’d seen it. Stubborn sportsman Robin Blyth. Physical courage he clearly had in handfuls, but this was something else. Edwin swallowed a wash of guilt and climbed to his feet, feeling his own fatigue seep through him as he did so.”

This moment illustrates the projection behind Edwin’s assumptions—because he sees Robin as unlike him, he assumes he does not feel fear or doubt. The insistence on Robin as a “sportsman” is a deliberate contrast to Edwin’s self-identification as a retiring bibliophile. Edwin’s realization of Robin’s fear signifies that he has begun to see him as a real person, one he has responsibilities to.

“‘Remind me not to make an enemy of you, Edwin Courcey,’ he said, smiling to show he meant no sting. ‘I think yours is probably the kind of brain that could run a country.’ Edwin wasn’t smiling, but something about the way he ducked his head suggested that he was pleased, and not sure how to handle being pleased.”

In this scene, Robin is already careful of Edwin’s feelings: smiling as he praises his intellect as almost threatening, to disarm his trauma over being mocked by his family. Robin, unlike them, respects Edwin, and Edwin’s uncertainty in the face of his family is another demonstration of his trauma and vulnerability. Freya Marske telegraphs the coming romance here, since Robin admires Edwin for the things about himself that others denigrate.

“With the abrasive surge of guest-in-danger gone, all he could feel was the same old itch of disappointment. Not Courcey enough. Not anything enough. He looked down. The edge of a grass blade had sliced the pad of his forefinger open, forming a red line thin as thread. “All right,” Edwin said, soft. “All right. I’m keeping him safe. I’m trying.”

This passage juxtaposes Edwin’s insecurities and feelings of inadequacy with his growing protective instincts toward Robin. Although he still believes that a romantic relationship is impossible for the two of them, he finds himself feeling both comforted and valuable through his ability to help protect Edwin.

“He’d had that thought, about the blood-sensing fish, before. All these casual currents of game-playing were a smaller version of the social world that his parents had built around themselves—their own carousel, full of sparkle and mirrors and meanness, all too ready to collapse in the end.”

Robin’s willingness to compare the Courceys and his own family to piranhas illustrates his fundamental decency in contrast to their use of mockery as a hobby. He sees both his parents and Edwin’s family as living in a world of illusion with no real soul, as easily dissolved as a magic trick. Cruelty, for Robin, is universal, with magic as only another manifestation and method of disguise.

“Yes: one had to be careful. It was over a decade since Wilde’s trial, but one still had to face the possibility of being pulled up before a jury, and considering oneself lucky if the charge was merely gross indecency and not buggery. If one weren’t someone like the Baron Hawthorn, with enough money and clout to make such problems go away, anyhow.”

The allusion here to a real historical episode—Oscar Wilde’s criminal trial—demonstrates that even magicians are not safe from legal discrimination. The legal terms are their own form of cruelty, not unlike the mockery of the Courceys. Social norms were heavily policed in the Edwardian era, and LGBTQ+ people were subject to both social discrimination and legal sanction. The casual reference to Hawthorn’s wealth is a reminder that class privilege was its own kind of magical shield.

“‘I was raised by liars, Mrs. Sutton. I’m afraid you’ll have to do better than that.’ Edwin looked at Robin, startled. Mrs. Sutton was doing the same. Robin looked apologetic and charming and yet, somehow, like a rock planted amongst crashing waves. He was already shrugging off his jacket, unfastening his shirt cuff.”

Robin’s reference to his parents here is stark, with no reference to love or respect, only a survivor’s ability to recognize deceit. Here, Robin is both “charming” and implacable, as the comparison to a rock underscores. He undresses as though preparing for battle, unwilling to leave without the information he needs. Edwin’s surprise at this demonstrates that they are still learning about each other.

“‘Are you sure you don’t want to go back to London?’ said Edwin, wheezing mildly. ‘I’m collecting near-death experiences, me,’ said Robin. ‘Though I am giving serious thought to that suggestion about hitting you in the face.’ ‘Oh, no.’ Edwin straightened. His tone was dry. Gingerly he wiped a hand over his scratched face. ‘And ruin these good looks?’”

Robin and Edwin’s ability to joke with one another is proof of their affinity, for all that they seem different. Both are clearly working to dispel their fear and adrenaline. Edwin’s choice to casually mock himself indicates the comfort he feels—he can be in on the humor and trust Robin to understand him.

“Edwin tried to meet it with a smile of his own, and didn’t manage to look away from Robin’s mouth, and the thought struck him like the fall of an icicle into a snowbank: Lethe-mint. You’re helping him get free of the magical world, and then you’re going to help him forget it. Don’t get entangled. Pull the threads clear.”

This moment emphasizes that Edwin’s choice to acknowledge that desire is not the same as emotional trust, as he cannot match Robin’s ebullience even as he is still drawn to his charisma. The metaphors here are winter ones, as though Edwin is trying to freeze his heart to protect himself. The thread metaphors relate Edwin’s magical methods to his emotional dilemma—he is trying to avoid entanglement and hold himself apart.

“And admission, even in his own head: I am nothing like you, and yet I feel more myself with you. The word inked by a certain hand on Edwin’s heart was affinity. It was almost enough to make him bolt from the room.”

Edwin’s inward admissions illustrate how much his sense of himself, and Robin, has begun to change— their differences are now a reason to feel comfort, not fear. The reference to “inking” presents Edwin’s feelings as a kind of text, one he is afraid to read and analyze. As drawn as he is to Robin, Edwin continues to resist vulnerability.

“Perversity made Robin say the name that Edwin hadn’t. ‘Not even Hawthorn?’ ‘No, he didn’t want me to do magic around him. He liked that I didn’t.’ Robin felt warm all over at the idea that Edwin had done this with nobody else; only with him. His whole body was still coming down from the effects of it, his heart going rapidly, still trying to live out the last of the dance.”

This exchange illustrates that for Edwin and Robin, sexual intimacy and emotional bonds reinforce each other. Robin welcomes the knowledge Edwin has been more passionate with him than Hawthorn, indicating his growing interest in a more durable role in Edwin’s life. The description of their intimacy as a “dance” underlines Robin’s joy and sense of fun in Edwin’s presence, in contrast to Edwin’s lingering fears.

“She was going to watch them react if she had to wield the prod herself, and revealing the game was now the easiest way to do it. ‘Lemonade.’ Maud’s voice was quiet and tight. It was how she’d talked in company when their parents were alive, and it sent another skewer of anger through Robin’s heart.”

This description emphasizes Trudy’s callousness, as she wields her words like a tool designed to make animals perform according to her will. Maud’s tone and its echo of memory reinforces the sense that the Courceys and their friends have much in common with Robin’s parents. Marske underscores that as much as Robin cares for Edwin, he is also a devoted and protective brother, as angry for Maud as himself.

“Even with or without all the magic in the world, you couldn’t charm a person to stay. Not for long. Not truly. Not and keep yourself safe. And there was nothing at all safe about Robin. Edwin wanted to take his clothes off and beg to be touched, and held, and whispered to. He might as well have handed Robin a knife and tilted back his throat.”

Here, Edwin still thinks of relationships as power transactions—one where power fails to create the emotional invulnerability he craves. He admits his longings to himself, his real desires for passion and openness. At the same time, he casts them as threats, imagining such admissions as a kind of death.

“Because if even a single woman was involved, they wouldn’t have decided that a man who’d been working there one day was a more likely source of information than a woman who’d been there for years.”

Adelaide’s sharp tone reveals her lack of patience with the patriarchal assumptions around her. She, like Flora Sutton, values her own expertise despite the world’s dismissal of her. This scene, and her honesty, showcases her budding friendship with Robin compared to her earlier reserve.

“That, too, had its own sting. It meant that Edwin, who’d always assumed he faded into the background when not being teased for general entertainment, had been observed and understood, at least on one level. It meant that this recruitment wasn’t as clumsy as it appeared.”

Edwin sees Billy’s scrutiny as a kind of weapon, an injury to his self-image. He is not inscrutable or distant, but rather known for what he has always desired most. Edwin is uncomfortable becoming an object of study, as he prefers to think of himself as the one who studies others.

“‘You’re hardly nothing,’ said Robin. ‘You made me see the future.’ ‘I think we’ve established that wasn’t me,’ said Edwin. ‘We don’t know if it was even—them. I think it was latent. Triggered.’ Robin smiled at him. ‘I wasn’t talking about the visions.’”

Here, Robin reiterates that, unlike magical society, he has faith in Edwin. Edwin takes him literally, retreating to academic explanations of foresight, only for Robin to remind him, gently, of the growing love he feels and that this, too, is its own power.

“Would he have clung, pathetically grateful, to the chance to finally be on Walt’s side, and thereby break their old and exhausting pattern of hurt and response? Would he have stood by and watched a curse of pain laid on Sir Robert Blyth and told himself, dispassionate, that it was a means to a worthwhile end?”

The hypotheticals here emphasize Edwin’s emotions about his family—he has yearned for his brother’s acceptance since early childhood, and he fears that this deep-seated longing might have led him to betray Robin. Edwin sees the dangers of his analytical side, knowing he could have justified harming Robin if he were a stranger.

“‘You think, somehow, that you’ve still got a chance of taking this back from me, because that’s how it should end.’ His smile was friendly. ‘It’s not. And you don’t.’ ‘Lust for power,’ said Edwin. ‘That’s old enough to be dull, Walt.’”

Walt mocks Robin’s desire to thwart him, seeing it as a belief in a story that cannot come true. He smiles, betraying his arrogant confidence. Edwin’s riposte that power-hunger is no more compelling is a sign of his own refusal to give in to fear. This underlines Edwin’s growing sense of his own agency, which will, in the end, prove his brother wrong.

“In the spirit of enquiry, he sat back on his heels and tried to identify what he was feeling. Somewhat to his shock, he decided it was joy.”

Marske’s wording here illustrates that Edwin’s approach to his emotions remains clinical, an “enquiry” almost like an experiment. Edwin, even in turmoil, is determined to classify and understand his world. He is taken aback by joy, as if unprepared for positive feeling, but his willingness to embrace it showcases his growth.

“Robin pulled back enough to focus, and recognised in a crash of heat and wonder the vision he’d had that very first night. Edwin a painting of pleasure, laid out on pale sheets. Edwin’s face, the obscene O of his mouth—the agonised and beautiful line of his neck, like a tortured saint. Looking at him made Robin feel reverent.”

Robin’s “wonder” at seeing his vision come true underscores how far both protagonists have come. Robin’s vision was once an impossibility, or something they both fared. Instead, Edwin is now in front of him, like a work of art, perhaps even sacred, as if he has shown Robin a new reality. The similes here underline both Robin’s passion and Edwin’s abandon, and the trust they now have for one another.