In Katabasis, R.F. Kuang serves dark academia as literal hell

Mint

27-07-2025

Dark academia is a sub-genre in fantasy fiction, often involving schools of magic, secret societies and evil experiments in the backdrop of a scholarly environment. But the darkest of dark academia novels is not fantasy at all—in Donna Tartt's The Secret History, the darkness comes not from magic but from human frailty. R.F. Kuang's much-awaited novel Katabasis (HarperCollins India) has much in common with Tartt's—ambitious, jealous, secretive academics; classical allusions; a growing grimness. But it's a hardcore fantasy novel that does something daring: it takes dark academia to its logical conclusion, literal hell.
'I am getting close to the end of a draft of 'Katabasis,' which comes out in 2025. It's another fantasy novel…," Kuang had told The Harvard Crimson back in 2023. 'It started as this cute, silly adventure novel about like, 'Haha, academia is hell.' And then I was writing it and I was like, 'Oh, no, academia is hell.'"
Even without this useful cue card, I could tell that's where this novel—part satire, part adventure tale—was going with within a few pages. Set in an alternate universe where magic is an acknowledged though increasingly suspect force, Katabasis (which, in Greek mythology, refers to a hero's descent into the underworld) begins in Cambridge University, which has a department of 'analytic magick" ruled over by the talented and somewhat unscrupulous Professor Jacob Grimes. When Professor Grimes dies a gruesome death during a magical experiment, his PhD students Alice Law and Peter Murdoch decide to perform some forbidden and extremely risky magic of their own to descend into hell and fetch their adviser—so that he can sign their recommendation letters.
This is not as far-fetched as it sounds—finishing a PhD, a culmination of years of tedium and insanely hard work, can seem like a matter of life and death to those brave enough to aim for it—and students of analytic magick have the added pressure of needing to find their footing in a world that scorns their discipline (like, say, students of literature in the real world today).
Kuang does not shy away from drawing attention to the absurdity inherent in the situation. The most esoteric and philosophical descriptions of magic are bookended by ruminations on what the actual practice of it in academia entails—publishing papers, squabbling with peers for conference seats, vying for fellowships, gossip, backbiting and bitchiness.
'Success in this field demanded a forceful, single-minded capacity for self-delusion. Alice could tip over her world and construct planks of belief from nothing. She believed that finite quantities would never run out, that time could loop back on itself, and that any damage could be repaired," writes Kuang. In the same breath, she adds: 'She believed that academia was a meritocracy, that hard work was its own reward… that department pettiness could not touch you, so long as you kept your head down and did not complain." Talk about being delulu.
It is an immutable law of fantasy novels that no matter how absurd the premise sounds, notwithstanding what the fantastic elements are an allegory of, the narrative has to be convincing enough for the reader to be enthralled by the hero's journey. We know that the predicaments Swift's Gulliver finds himself in are stand-ins for the evils in British society and politics, but we still care what happens to Gulliver. Susanna Clarke's astounding Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell is a send-up of Victorian-era social structures, but it has edge-of-the-seat tension. Katabasis pulls this off, but only to a certain extent. It reminded me a few times of Sophie's World by Jostein Gaarder, a treatise on the history of philosophy thinly veiled as a novel, in which the stakes never quite feel high enough—though Sophie, like Alice in Katabasis (and her namesake from Lewis Carroll's work, signposted by the author early), have many thrilling adventures and near-escapes.
Still, Kuang has dreamt up a fresh version of hell that feels both unfamiliar and not. Spoiler alert: it manifests itself to Alice and Peter as a university, with its eight courts or circles representing one aspect of academia: a sinister library that initially seems enchanting but is ultimately an exercise in tedium, a student residence with continuous, mind-numbing sex, and so on. Our protagonists chart hell using the accounts of Dante, Orpheus and, in an admirable intellectual stretch, T.S. Eliot—Kuang posits that The Wasteland is basically a description of hell—taking them as literal descriptions rather than allegory. The book is endlessly inventive, much like Kuang's most celebrated novel, Babel, again an epic fantasy about a group of magicians in an alternate Oxford that is ultimately a critique of colonialism.
Kuang is a very skilled writer who can layer these multiple, complex themes and narratives into coherent plots (though sometimes at the cost of character ) that are immensely readable and fun in spite of their length and denseness. Still, her best work, according to me, is the relatively slighter Yellowface, a contemporary novel about publishing that satirises the industry's penchant for trending ideas and themes. It is her most self-aware work, in a way that doesn't draw attention to its cleverness like Babel and Katabasis often do.
Read this genre-defying, intellectually stimulating and often weird novel for its story, then, especially the glimpses of life before hell for its protagonists when they grapple with more mundane challenges than crossing a river of eternal oblivion. Hell is other people, said Sartre. No, hell is a college, says Kuang.
The novel is forthcoming in August.