The growth of civilization was complete. Everyone knew it. When it came to the human race, there was no more left to learn. Nothing about our own existence to decipher. Which meant that no one person was more important than any other. In fact, in the grand scheme of things, everyone was equally useless. That’s what he was saying, and it infuriated Citra, because on a certain level, she knew he was right.
In this quote, we see Citra interpret Scythe Faraday's philosophy, which she finds accurate and therefore infuriating. This is one of the few instances in the book in which Citra does any interpretation, as that talent is primarily Rowan's. Her interpretation feeds directly into her quick-to-anger nature, and as a result, it can be interpreted as possibly incorrect—after all, if Scythe Faraday believed that everyone is useless, why would he go to such lengths to ensure the future of the Scythedom? She hates Scythe Faraday in this moment, as Rowan will at the end of the next chapter, which provides an opportunity for character growth as Citra pushes against this philosophy and comes (arguably) to a different conclusion about humanity's uselessness by the end.
One rhetorical device used by Shusterman here is the second-person "our," involving the reader in Citra's deduction. By making this existence "ours," Shusterman creates automatic involvement on the part of the reader.
If he could have gotten away with it, Rowan would have pushed him over the railing—but attacks against scythes were not tolerated. The punishment was the gleaning of the offender’s entire family. It was a consequence that ensured the safety of the revered bringers of death.
In Scythe Faraday's personal opera box, Rowan muses that he would kill (or at least injure and embarrass) the scythe if he could. This quote has twofold purpose, like much of Shusterman's writing: It progresses the worldbuilding, explaining why people don't attack scythes; it also provides insight into Rowan's psyche. Rowan had thoughts of killing before he even considered apprenticeship—if he could kill without punishment, he would. This is true of Citra as well, who did kill a girl once. Scythe is ambiguous about whether willingness to kill (not glean) is a common trait, held by most humans in the post-mortal age, or if it's a rare trait that makes Rowan and Citra more suited to be scythes. Either way, neither Scythe Faraday nor Scythe Goddard inspired Rowan to consider the act of killing—he was considering it even before witnessing the passion of Age of Mortality artwork.
With nothing to really aspire to, life had become about maintenance. Eternal maintenance.
Could she possibly find greater purpose in the gleaning of human life? The answer was still a resolute “No!”
But if that was the case, then why did she find it so hard to sleep?
Citra's contemplation features one of the central questions of Scythe: What is the purpose of life, especially life without death? The mechanical language of "eternal maintenance" connects humanity's current direction to the Thunderhead. Perhaps being organized by a machine has directed humankind into a machine-like existence of upkeep for the purpose of upkeep.
Nevertheless, Citra is looking for a different purpose, though she didn't begin looking until she was introduced to Scythe Faraday, the opera, and the art from the Age of Mortality. It seems she was more moved by these things than she recognizes here—simply reflecting on this "greater purpose" is new for her. However, she doesn't notice this herself, just that she has trouble sleeping; clearly her self-reflection isn't entirely accurate.
The sense that her self-reflection is biased, or not completely perfect, is compounded by the number of questions Shusterman uses. When an author asks a question, it's generally to engage the reader and inspire them to answer it. Readers can answer Citra's questions, at least in part, by saying that she's clearly more unsettled than she realizes. This gives readers some power over and insight into Citra's narrative, creating a sort of dramatic irony as the reader can observe Citra's motivations better than she can herself.
To live between the prospects of an unknown eternal sky and a dark, enveloping Earth must have been glorious—for how else could it have given rise to such magnificent expression? No one created anything of value anymore—but if, by gleaning, he could bring back a hint of what once was, it might be worth it.
This quote comes from Rowan's version of Citra's introspection earlier about the value of gleaning. The differences in their reflection outline a few differences between them, as well as foreshadowing their futures.
Rowan makes his decision to become Scythe Faraday's apprentice far more easily than Citra. He actually thinks he might be a good scythe, and he can imagine finding "greater purpose" in doing so, unlike Citra's "resolute no." The language used in this quote is much more flowery than in Citra's, which is more "voice-y," characterized by questions and self-doubt. Diction like "unknown eternal," "glorious," and "magnificent" reaches for a more literary register. By using this register, Shusterman informs the reader that Rowan was moved by the Age of Mortality artwork into artsy frame of mind, using both content and form to communicate what Rowan is looking for.
Rowan is looking to "bring back a hint of what was," and if he can do so, it "might be worth it." Worth it to whom? Him personally? The world? Evidence seems to support the former: If simply gleaning could help the world, the world wouldn't have lost "the hint of what was" in the first place, so Rowan is thinking of himself here. This tracks with his general preoccupation later in the novel with himself and Citra, rather than the Scythedom or the world in general, culminating in his plan to kill anyone who stands in the way of him protecting Citra.
“I feel bad for you,” said Citra. “Even when you’re food shopping, death is hiding right behind the milk.”
“It never hides,” the scythe told them with a world-weariness that was hard to describe. “Nor does it sleep. You’ll learn that soon enough.”
But it wasn’t something either of them was eager to learn.
Though most of the book is written in a third-person past tense that follows either Citra or Rowan, there are times when their perspective is mixed, indicating a more omniscient narrator is present. This is usually done as a stylistic choice, to avoid breaking up scenes like this one, where the narration can efficiently tell us how both characters are feeling. This choice also adds a bit of drama and foreboding to the narrative by emphasizing what the characters don't know.
This blended narration uses the phrase "hard to describe." This is rare for narration, which is meant to be precisely descriptive (and, for Shusterman, usually is). It's unclear if this is hard to describe for Rowan and Citra, as they haven't become scythes yet, or if it's hard to describe at all, which would elevate Scythe Faraday's world-weariness to something inexplicable and beyond the realms of language.
Scythe Faraday's views are directly opposed to those of Scythe Goddard, who wishes death was always around, but spends most of his time partying and waiting for his next chance to kill. Citra says she feels bad for Scythe Faraday here, partially to be combative. This is a clear indicator of her character development at the end of the novel, when she writes that she must give "all my attention to gleaning with compassion and conscience"—she embraces a life of constant death, giving all of her attention to it.
“Maybe Scythe Curie will see what I did as noble,” Rowan suggested.
“Yes, and so will everyone else,” Faraday said. “Motives can easily be beaten into weapons.”
“Which proves,” Citra said to Rowan, “that you’re an idiot.” But he only grinned idiotically.
After their first apprentice tests, Rowan has failed but is still proud of himself. He intentionally failed so that he and Citra could be equals, and he sees it as a noble act. The problem with that, Scythe Faraday points out, is that now everyone else knows he's noble, too. Shusterman includes a comedic interplay between dialogue and narration, which echoes Citra's "idiot" with "idiotically," carrying Citra's opinion into the narration.
Rowan's apparent dismissal of the Scythedom's opinion is indicated by that "idiotic" grin. His dismissal of the Scythedom makes sense, as he frequently prioritizes himself and Citra over others. However, as Scythe Faraday predicts, Rowan choosing to protect Citra so publicly has immediate consequences: Scythe Goddard (and Scythe Rand by extension, since she makes the formal complaint) sees a new "weapon" that he can use, continuing Scythe's weapon motif.
“If it was the Age of Mortality, I wouldn’t have done it,” Citra told her with confidence, “because I’d know she wouldn’t be back. Pushing her then would have been more like gleaning.”
“They had a word for it. ‘Murder.’”
Citra chuckled at the archaic word. “That’s funny. Like a bunch of crows.”
This quote demonstrates Citra's strong sense of right and wrong, which is part of why Scythe Faraday chose her to become his apprentice. Citra is haunted by killing Rhonda Flowers, and she considers it the worst thing she's ever done—bad enough to lie about during her first apprentice test. Scythe Curie points out that many others do similar things nowadays, at some point in their immortal lives; however, none of those people dwell on it for almost a decade—they move on because it is essentially an action without consequence. Citra's sense of consequence is internal, not external.
The comedic element of this passage derives from a frequent device Shusterman uses, where the reader knows more about history than the characters. When Citra is arrested, she describes handcuffs without knowing what they are, though the reader has a name for them; this gives the reader some power and insider knowledge, associating the reader more closely with the world. For this quote, the reader—who is presumably reading Scythe during the Age of Mortality—knows that "murder" meaning killing far predates "murder" meaning a group of crows. The reader possibly even knows that the etymology of "murder" predates English, back to Proto-Indo-European roots. For the contemporary reader, "murder" is a common word; for Citra, it's obscure, creating both an experiential disconnect and a secret knowledge base for the reader.
I’ve found that human beings learn from their misdeeds just as often as from their good deeds. I am envious of that, for I am incapable of misdeeds. Were I not, then my growth would be exponential.
In this quote, the Thunderhead speaks to Citra while she's deadish, and it tries to help her investigate Scythe Faraday's death. The Thunderhead feels (or at least appears to feel) limited by its creators, especially because it can't make mistakes to learn from, the way that humans can. The Thunderhead indicates a desire: to grow the same way that humans can grow—but with "exponential" consequences. The Thunderhead's goal in talking to Citra is unclear right now, but it will be explored further in the Scythe's sequels, Thunderhead and The Toll.
This quote also shows that the Thunderhead feels (or at least appears to feel) the human emotion of envy. In a Biblical tradition, envy itself would be a misdeed. Since the Thunderhead claims to be "incapable of misdeeds," envy must not be a fault; the Thunderhead (or its creators) appears to not have religious foundations, much like the society the Thunderhead dictates, where Tonism is as close to religion as people get.
“You just lack perspective. The predator is always a monster to the prey. To the gazelle the lion is a demon. To a mouse, the eagle is evil incarnate.” He took a step closer, the curate still held tightly in his grip.
“Will you be the eagle or the mouse, Rowan? Will you soar or will you scurry away? For those are the only two choices today.”
This quote gives insight into the core of Scythe Goddard's philosophy: There are predators and prey, and "evil" is a concept used only by prey. Scythe Goddard believes he has an elevated perspective on how the world works. His belief directly contradicts the old-guard mentality that scythes are humble tools of humanity. He presents two choices to Rowan: soar or scurry. Traditionally, when the villain presents two options, protagonists find a third way. Rowan does this, in a sense, by killing Goddard instead of the Tonist curate; however, from Rowan's own reaction and self-reflection, it seems that he chooses to soar, becoming a predator. He just chooses different prey. Scythe Goddard is partially successful in his work to make Rowan a murderer.
Rowan's choice to kill his mentor is incomprehensible to Scythe Goddard, partly because it doesn't fit within his "elevated perspective," and partly because Scythe Goddard trusts that his work on Rowan has been a success. His action in this quote (stepping closer to Rowan, who wields a weapon) indicates Scythe Goddard's complete belief that Rowan will behave as he expects.
I have become the monster of monsters, he thought as he watched it all burn. The butcher of lions. The executioner of eagles.
After beheading Goddard and incapacitating Rand and Chomsky, Rowan burns the Tonist monastery to the ground to prevent them from being revived. Rowan "watched it burn," a difference from Scythe Goddard's behavior—when Scythe Goddard's elegy burns Magnetic Propulsion Laboratory to the ground, Scythe Goddard uses the fire as a dramatic background for granting immunity to the masses, and even then he leaves early because he's bored. Rowan's vigilance could just be for practical reasons—wanting to make sure the scythes are dead—but even that level of care differentiates Rowan from the scythe who turned him into a killer.
As Rowan watches the monastery burn, his internal dialogue uses Scythe's Goddard's language from the quote above: monsters, lions, and eagles. Rowan inserts his own diction (butcher, executioner) to reflect his own outlook on Scythe Goddard's perspective. Scythe Goddard's obsession with animals and weapons actually disregards the real superpredators: humans. Only a human can be "butcher" and "executioner"—these professions predate medieval life, and are unique to humankind. Maybe butchers and executioners were forgotten in the post-mortal age; or, maybe, Scythe Goddard's "perspective" just neglected the fact that lions and eagles don't control the world—men do. Scythe Faraday knows this from the beginning, and now, in his own way, Rowan does as well.
