Taboo as Titillation

Taboo (noun): a custom prohibiting or restricting a particular practice or forbidding association with a particular person, place, or thing

When Jace is shown to be Clary’s brother, the two have been falling in love for the better part of a book. The reader has invested in them. But the introduction of incest still should throw up a significant barrier for romantic enjoyment. It should stop us in our tracks, turn us 180 degrees, give us that slimy feeling we get when we remember that time we accidentally watched Flowers in the Attic on TV.

This is not the reader response it evoked. Readers wanted Jace and Clary together anyway. The question is: Why? And the answer lies in the very fact that they aren’t supposed to be.

Everyone loves a good taboo. Tell a person they can’t or shouldn’t do something, and well, you know what happens. As many people as the taboo discourages, it seems to encourage that many more. Even when it’s incest. If you need evidence, just Google “incest stories” and watch the hits roll in.

But what is it about taboo that makes it so appealing? Why are we so much more desperate for Jace and Clary to be together simply because they can’t be? The simple (probably oversimple) answer is human nature. People have a tendency to want what they can’t have and to want to do what people tell them they shouldn’t. It’s the old Pandora’s Box problem. “Don’t open that,” someone says, and instantly, a box you might never have looked twice at becomes much more interesting. Why can’t we open it? What would happen if we did? What’s in there? It’s curiosity, and the need to learn for ourselves, and before we know it, the box is wide open. Or maybe humans just have a deep-seated need for suffering and strife. The impact of taboo is complicated, and mired in layers of psychology.

When we see Jace and Clary struggling with their urge to be together despite knowing that it’s “wrong” and that they shouldn’t feel that way, we identify with it on a basic level. We want to know what is in them. We want to know what would happen if they were together. But the function of taboo when it comes to Jace and Clary’s romance is more complex than just that. Every literary relationship has to have conflict. The incest taboo heightens this conflict, introducing a new dimension that wouldn’t be present if the characters were grappling only with inner demons and neuroses—say, a fear of commitment or a fear of intimacy. The obstacle that Jace and Clary face is outside of themselves, something they believe they cannot change. Incest is no minor taboo. It’s a genetic imperative to avoid disease and defects due to inbreeding. It’s illegal in most countries and carries a hefty prison term, and rules against it have been in place in some shape or form for the entirety of recorded history. Historically, people have been executed for it. It’s a real hurdle, one that can’t be overcome by a heart-to-heart or a good cry.

Okay, so the incest taboo functions as an effective romantic obstacle. But really, it’s not just that incest is forbidden that matters here. It’s the reason that incest is forbidden. It comes down to the nature of love and—prepare to be titillated—the nature of sex.

Sex is like the mother sauce of taboo. So many taboos find roots in sex and manage to grow so many interesting branches. Think about it: Sex in itself is a complicated thing in our culture (and in most), twisted through with guilt and consequences as well as ideals and passion. On one hand it is held as necessary and exalted, something to be celebrated, but on the other it is introduced to us as something whispered about behind closed doors, something denied to us until we are older, wiser, and not biologically related. “You’re going to do it, but not until you’re older.” “You can do it, but not until you’re married.” “You’re doing it, but don’t talk about it!” The limits placed on sex increase our curiosity about it tenfold! And sex wouldn’t be half so appealing if this weren’t the case. Filmmakers, artists, and writers have delighted in breaking down barriers of the sexually and romantically forbidden practically since the invention of film, art, and writing. If sex and love were simple, straightforward concepts, why would we care to explore them, in art or in life? They would be completely uninteresting. And so the incest taboo works to complicate and elevate Jace and Clary’s relationship in this respect as well. The two dance around feelings of what should and shouldn’t be, alternately standing firm against the taboo and giving in to their desires, until it seems that the pair will be doomed to yearn indefinitely. Luckily, they’re granted a last-minute reprieve, but by then the taboo has already done its work, investing the reader in them completely by keeping them apart for so long.

It’s worth noting that Cassandra Clare uses the incest taboo as intrigue only. There is no real transgression between Jace and Clary, since they don’t engage in a (voluntary) physical relationship while thinking of each other as siblings. This doesn’t mean that the taboo is less relevant; rather, it breaks the taboo down to its purest form. It’s not an act, it’s an idea. It’s an impression of utter wrongness, an ever-present invisible barrier that attracts at the same time that it repels.

To Incest or Not to Incest? Depends on Whether You Left the Nest

But why doesn’t it repel, in Jace and Clary’s case, any more than it does? Speaking as a reader myself, when it seemed that Jace was Clary’s brother, I blinked a moment, then thought, “So what? You’re in love, and it’s not like you grew up together. Shack up already, and what the heck, have little babies who will be superstrong Shadowhunters with an uncanny talent for the banjo.” It might seem a strange reaction, and indeed it would be easy to become desensitized to the theme of sibling incest with the growing frequency that it is presented in pop culture, most notably cable television. Dexter and Boardwalk Empire both recently introduced incest plots. Showtime’s The Borgias hints at it pretty heavily between brother Cesare and little sister Lucrezia. Perhaps we’re all watching too much Game of Thrones, where sibling incest between Jaime and Cersei Lannister, twins who have been lovers since reaching sexual maturity, is treated largely as a love affair.

Wait, nope. That’s still gross.

So why is watching Jaime Lannister make googly eyes at Cersei so much creepier than seeing Luke and Leia kiss in The Empire Strikes Back? The key is in the phrase “grew up together.” Jace and Clary didn’t. Time to introduce some science.

Sexual aversion to our siblings is often attributed to something called the Westermarck effect, which states that humans are unlikely to view individuals with whom they are raised from a young age as sexually attractive. Whatever it might be called, this knowledge is intuitive to most people. You don’t lust for someone who broke your toys and vied with you for your parents’ attention. Jace and Clary didn’t break each other’s toys. They met as young adults, as strangers. Hearing Isabelle tell Clary that Jace is “damn sexy” and then refer to him as her brother is far more disturbing than an entire book of Jace and Clary’s tortured pseudo-incestuous longing, because they were raised together in the same house as siblings.

Jace and Jonathan have shared an upbringing. Both were raised by the same father, and this is why Jace feels more sibling empathy for Jonathan than for Clary. It’s also why the pseudo-incest that keeps Jace and Clary apart in the first three books can serve as a romantic obstacle rather than being a creepy bucket of yuck.

The Blood Tie

Some might say that the theme of incest in the Mortal Instruments is a nonissue, since it is revealed that Jace and Clary are in fact not siblings but rather that Jace is the son of Stephen and Celine Herondale. But to this I say: Nay. For the better part of two novels—the ending of City of Bones, the entirety of City of Ashes, and a majority of City of Glass—the reader is led to believe that Jace and Clary share Valentine Morgenstern as a father, and this pseudo-incest becomes the main obstacle in their relationship. But is the relationship between Jace and Clary really pseudo-incest? Or is it incest-incest?

When it is discovered that Jace and Clary are in fact not siblings, the romantic in us sighs in relief. Finally! They can be together. But nearly at the same time, the reader is informed that Jace and Clary share the blood of the angel Ithuriel, injected into them undiluted by Valentine when they were still in the womb. With the idea of incest so fresh in mind, this revelation is enough to bring the taboo back to the forefront. One type of pseudo-incest is traded for another. “I gave my blood to Valentine Morgenstern, and he put it in his baby boy,” says the demoness Lilith in City of Fallen Angels, referring to Clary’s biological brother, Jonathan Morgenstern. “You might almost say that in a way, I am Jonathan’s mother.” By the same logic, the angel Ithuriel could claim paternity over Jace and Clary, and we’re back in the incest boat. This new claim asks us to look back over the course of the previous novels; it practically begs us to examine what the blood tie means and the ways it may have influenced Jace and Clary’s dynamic. “Blood calls to blood,” the Queen of the Seelie Court says in City of Fallen Angels. And indeed it does, within the Mortal Instruments series, and elsewhere.

The theory of genetic sexual attraction postulates that we are predisposed to find those individuals with similar genetic material particularly attractive, if this predisposition has not been suppressed by the Westermarck effect. It makes sense. The narcissist in all of us finds similarities attractive. We delight in common traits and preferences. So two siblings who don’t know they’re siblings may find themselves attracted to each other on a basic genetic level. Similar pheromones in an unknown sibling may trigger reactions in the brain, as can similar notes in a relation’s voice. Siblings who were separated at a young age and later reunited often report strong and almost instant feelings of attraction, even euphoric crushes so extreme that it seemed impossible not to act on their urges. This is no small phenomenon; according to an article in the Guardian, as many as 50 percent of these reunions result in strong or obsessive feelings. Couples who break the incest taboo and become intimate insist that the intensity of their relationship trumps every other, that it is heightened by their genetic similarities and can’t possibly exist outside of those similarities. Jace and Clary seem to have this level of affection and intensity. Could it be due to their shared angel blood?

From the moment Jace meets Clary, he is unable to stay away from her. It is he, not the other Shadowhunters, who identifies the Shadowhunter blood within her, almost as if he senses it. Throughout the books we (and the characters themselves) are made aware of certain similarities. Both are strong-willed and unlikely to do as they’re told. Though Clary has red hair, their appearances are both described as “golden” in various degrees. And not long after their first meeting, Clary makes note of Jace’s hands and that they are “slim and careful, like the hands of an artist.” Much like her own hands. She also notes a subconscious similarity to her mother in one of his facial expressions, which she calls “scary-calm.” This might not seem relevant, since Jace and Clary’s mother aren’t related, but it is often said that Clary strongly resembles her mother, making Jace’s resemblance actually a resemblance of herself.

Blood’s tendency to call to blood may have a lot to do with Jace and Clary’s fast connection. Within the theory of genetic sexual attraction is the idea that the bond is further strengthened by a subconscious need to form a connection to the genetically similar person in a way that might have been formed during a shared childhood. On a subconscious level, the longing for the intimacy missed with this person who is so linked to you asserts itself. This is more evident in Jace than in Clary, possibly because he had an abusive childhood with no real bonds. When Jace meets Clary, although initially aloof, he quickly breaks down and tells her things about his childhood and his father that would seem out of character for such an untouchable guy, were the connection with Clary not already there, in his subconscious and in his blood.

So what? you say. So Jace and Clary are siblings in the eyes of the Angel. Aren’t all Shadowhunters essentially one big inbred clan? It probably helps their case as a couple, rather than hurts it, because Shadowhunters don’t breed with mundanes. They’re purists, preserving the blood, and while that might seem a bit exclusive, it certainly seems to be in their best interest. Undiluted angel blood is strong. Jace and Clary are the only two Shadowhunters to have it straight from the source, and they’re the strongest Shadowhunters of their generation. There is no such thing as pseudo-angel blood incest. The idea doesn’t bring up strong feelings of aversion, and there are no immediate psychological roadblocks to Jace and Clary’s relationship. It should all be roses and ponies from here.

But it won’t be.

The entirety of the Jace/Clary dynamic has been rooted in the incest theme. Their blood is what called them and bonded them together; the taboo is what forced them apart. Now that the taboo is gone, count on the other blood issues between them to contribute to significant problems.

At the conclusion of City of Fallen Angels, the blood of Jace and Jonathan Morgenstern mixed, and Jonathan speaks inside Jace’s mind. They are one, become more truly brothers. And Jonathan was the only one to truly violate the incest taboo, when he kissed Clary in City of Glass, posing as Sebastian Verlac but knowing full well that she was his sister. Even after his identity is revealed, many interactions between them are peppered with instances of him standing creepily close or finding excuses to touch her. Within the pages of City of Lost Souls he goes even further, to the point of sexual assault. For the purposes of this essay, the assault isn’t the issue. Rape is about power, about victimizing someone, not about forming a connection. And before he committed the assault, Jonathan Morgenstern wanted a connection. He wanted to see similarities between him and Clary, for her to be his true sister. He says: “When I first met you, in Idris, I had hopes—I had thought you would be like me. And when you were nothing like me, I hated you. And then, when I was brought back, and Jace told me [that you killed our father and didn’t care], I realized that I had been wrong. You are like me.”