Music as Magic and Control in Ruthless Vows: A Theme Analysis
The Dual Nature of Music in Ruthless Vows: Binding, Controlling, and Freeing
In Ruthless Vows, music is not merely an art form—it is a divine force that can bind gods, control armies, and liberate the oppressed. The novel’s central claim is that music operates as a form of magic whose power is inherently double-edged: it can be wielded as a weapon of coercion and enslavement, yet it also holds the potential for resistance and release. This duality is woven through the plot, from Enva’s ancient lullaby that imprisons Dacre for centuries, to Dacre’s flute that commands eithrals and erases soldiers’ memories, to Attie’s violin that becomes a tool for rebellion. By tracing these threads, the novel reveals that music’s magic is never neutral—it reflects the intent of the wielder and the vulnerability of the listener, making it both a cage and a key.
Music as a Binding Spell: Enva’s Lullaby
The prologue establishes music as a force of imprisonment. Enva, the goddess of music, sings a lullaby over Dacre’s grave for a full year, through all four seasons, to keep her former lover buried for centuries. The outline notes that “the spell had kept her former lover buried for centuries by mortal reckoning,” and that she “felt the ache in her swollen knuckles, the cost of swallowing so much power.” This moment introduces music as a divine magic that can physically bind a god, but it also shows the personal sacrifice required—Enva’s body bears the toll of sustaining the spell. The lullaby is not a gentle melody; it is a prison, a deliberate act of control to prevent Dacre from waking and wreaking havoc.
Yet the prologue also hints at the fragility of this control. Enva knows “all songs end,” and that Dacre will eventually wake. This foreshadows the theme’s complexity: music’s power is not absolute. Even a goddess’s lullaby cannot hold forever, and the very act of singing carries a cost that weakens the singer. This sets up the central tension—music can bind, but it also exhausts the binder, and its effects are temporary.
Music as an Instrument of Control: Dacre’s Flute and the Ban on Strings
Dacre’s use of music is far more sinister. In chapter 33, Roman observes that the eithrals—the wyvern-like creatures used in warfare—are “controlled by an instrument. By music.” Val, one of Dacre’s followers, plays a small flute to command the creatures, and Roman notes that “the eithral was beholden to the flute’s three notes, even after they had faded into shadows.” This demonstrates that music can exert control over even the most fearsome beasts, bending them to a single will. Dacre’s tactics extend beyond animals; he uses music to manipulate humans as well. In chapter 5, Forest explains that Dacre heals wounded soldiers and then “scrambl[es] their memories to make them feel beholden and subservient to him.” This memory-scrambling is a form of psychological control, and it is tied to the same musical magic that commands the eithrals.
The novel also shows how institutions attempt to control music itself. In chapter 12, Iris reflects on the chancellor’s ban on stringed instruments, which was “the chancellor’s way of curbing Enva’s magical abilities with her harp.” The ban is a political act, an attempt to suppress the divine power that music can channel. Yet Iris sees it as “a restriction built on fear—fear of losing control and power.” This reveals a paradox: the very act of banning music acknowledges its power, but it also drives the magic underground, making it a tool for resistance rather than a public force.
Music as Liberation: Attie’s Violin and the Lullaby’s Reversal
The theme shifts toward liberation when Attie and Iris discover the potential of “Alzane’s Lullaby.” In chapter 39, Attie reveals that she has dreamed of the same song as Iris, and she theorizes that if Enva’s harp could put Dacre to sleep, then any stringed instrument might do the same. She says, “Maybe that is the true reason why the chancellor outlawed everything with strings. Not out of fear of Enva recruiting us to war, but because we ourselves could tame a god with our music if we only knew how to reach the realm below.” This insight reframes music as a weapon of the oppressed—a way to neutralize a tyrant without direct combat. Attie’s violin, hidden in a safe and played only in secret, becomes a symbol of resistance against both Dacre and the chancellor’s ban.
The climax in chapter 52 tests this theory. As Dacre attacks Iris, Attie plays the lullaby on her violin, but it seems to have no effect—Dacre continues his assault. Iris begins to believe that Enva has deceived them. However, the music does have an effect on Roman, who hears it from a distance and is “coaxed” into a dreamlike state, his strength fading. The lullaby’s power is not immediate or uniform; it works on some listeners but not others. It is only when Enva herself appears, radiant and commanding, that Dacre is finally stopped. Enva’s presence, combined with the lingering music, breaks Dacre’s control. This moment suggests that music’s liberating power requires both the right instrument and the right divine presence—it is not a simple spell but a collaborative act.
Complexity and Contradiction: The Fragility of Musical Magic
The novel refuses to present music as a simple good or evil. Enva’s lullaby, which imprisoned Dacre, is also the same kind of magic that Attie hopes to use for liberation. The difference lies in intent and context. Enva’s song was a protective measure, but it also kept Dacre from facing justice; Attie’s song aims to end his reign. Yet the climax shows that even the “good” use of music is not guaranteed to work—Dacre resists the violin’s lullaby, and only Enva’s direct intervention saves Iris. This suggests that music’s magic is not a deterministic force but a tool that can be resisted or amplified depending on the wielder’s power and the listener’s will.
The epigraph from Keats’s “Ode to a Nightingale” adds another layer. The stanza describes the nightingale’s music fading as the speaker moves through meadows and valleys, ending with a question: “Was it a vision, or a waking dream?” This echoes the novel’s treatment of music as something ephemeral and ambiguous—its effects can be real or illusory, and its power can vanish as quickly as it appears. The epigraph also foreshadows the ending, where Enva descends into the under realm with her harp, sensing “soldiers’ graves awaiting her music.” This final image suggests that music’s magic persists beyond the main conflict, but it is also a reminder that music can be used to raise the dead or to control them—a continuation of the theme’s duality.
The epilogue further complicates the theme. Enva, bound by a bargain to remain in Oath, uses the iron key to unlock the lavatory door and descend into the under realm. She retrieves her harp from a charmed pocket, implying that her music will continue to have power below. This act is both a liberation (she escapes her captivity) and a potential new form of control (she may use her music on the soldiers’ graves). The novel leaves this ambiguous, reinforcing that music’s magic is never wholly benevolent or malevolent—it is a force that can be wielded for either purpose.
Study Questions and Answers
1. How does Enva’s lullaby in the prologue establish the theme of music as a binding force?
Enva’s lullaby is a divine spell that keeps Dacre buried for centuries, demonstrating that music can physically imprison a god. The outline notes that she sang for a year through all four seasons, and that the spell cost her physical pain (swollen knuckles). This establishes music as a powerful, sacrificial magic that can control even the most powerful beings, but also shows that such control is temporary and costly.
2. In what ways does Dacre use music to control both creatures and humans?
Dacre uses a flute to command eithrals, as seen when Val plays three notes to make an eithral fly (chapter 33). He also uses music to scramble soldiers’ memories after healing them, making them subservient (chapter 5). This shows music as a tool for coercion and enslavement, extending from beasts to people.
3. Why does the chancellor ban stringed instruments, and how does this reflect the theme?
The ban is an attempt to curb Enva’s magical abilities with her harp, as Iris notes in chapter 12. It reflects the theme by acknowledging that music holds real power, but it also suppresses that power out of fear. The ban ironically drives music underground, turning it into a symbol of resistance and a secret weapon for characters like Attie.
4. How does Attie’s violin challenge Dacre’s control, and what limits does the novel place on its effectiveness?
Attie’s violin is used to play “Alzane’s Lullaby,” which she hopes will put Dacre to sleep. In the climax, the music affects Roman but not Dacre, showing that its power is not universal. Only Enva’s appearance finally stops Dacre, suggesting that music’s liberating potential requires divine intervention or a stronger wielder.
5. What does the epilogue’s final image of Enva descending with her harp suggest about the future of music’s magic?
Enva’s descent into the under realm with her harp implies that music’s power continues beyond the story’s main conflict. She senses “soldiers’ graves awaiting her music,” which could mean she will use her music to raise or control the dead. This leaves the theme open-ended, reinforcing that music remains a double-edged force—capable of both liberation and further control.