Shadowhunters and Downworlders

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