Book Review: “A Brightness Long Ago” (by Guy Gavriel Kay)

KC Winters

I’ve been a big fan of Guy Gavriel Kay’s for a long time now. He has such a command of language, and his books always manage to pierce the heart with their beauty and their engagement with the deeper, philosophical questions.

A Brightness Long Ago, set in the same world as several of his other books (The Lions of Al-Rassan, The Last Light of the Sun, Sailing for Sarantium and Lord of Emperors, Children of Earth and Sky), is a true gem, a pleasure to read from beginning to end. It is, in many ways, a prequel to 2016’s Children of Earth and Sky, and some of the characters make repeat appearances.

It is set in Batiara, a country splintered into dozens of squabbling city-states, most of which employ large groups of mercenaries to conduct proxy wars with one another. Into this nest of vipers fall several characters, two of the mercenary captains (who hate one another), the son of a tailor, the niece of one of those captains, a pagan healer, the High Patriarch, and the son of one of Batiara’s wealthiest families. Each of them ultimately finds themselves tested by this world in which they live, and while not all of them survive, those that do find their lives irrevocably changed.

One of Kay’s greatest strengths, I think, is his ability to convincingly conjure up a world that feels truly real. You almost believe that this is the Renaissance Italy of our world, even as you also recognize that this a world one step (or maybe a few more) away from our own. With each new novel set in this world, we get a stronger sense of the layers and textures that Kay is working with as he tells these fantastical tales. This cosmos is one with its own consistency, and it’s always sort of thrilling to see allusions and call-backs to earlier books, such as the mosaics from “The Sarantine Mosaic,” some of which continue to exist even several centuries in the future.

Thus, Kay remains concerned with the intertwining of memory and history, in how the choices that individual people make have consequences far beyond what they originally intended. Each of the characters in the book, even if they appear for only a short time, find that their actions reverberate across the nation they call home, both in the present and in the future. Likewise, each character grapples with how they make sense of a life lived, and this is especially true of Guidanio, the tailor’s son who eventually becomes one of the ruling Council of Twelve of his home city of Seressa. The only character whose part of the story is told in first person, and it his grappling with the events of that time in his life that provide the shape of the story and give it its emotional heft.

I would go so far as to argue that Kay’s books–more so, perhaps, than almost any other fantasy writer working today–are a philosophical rumination on what it is that makes us human and how we make sense of the chaotic and dangerous world in which we find ourselves. Certainly, Renaissance Italy/Batiara is a world away from our current moment, but there are surprising similarities. Like Guidanio, we all have to make choices about how we live in a fundamentally unjust world, and what we do (or don’t do) to make that situation better.

No review of A Brightness Long Ago would be complete without mentioning the fall of Sarantium. Anyone who knows me knows of my enduring fascination with and love of all things Byzantine, and I’ve always felt a particular ache at the thought of Constantinople falling to the Turks. Though Sarantium is a fictional version of it, its fall to the Asharites sends shockwaves through the world this fictional world.

There are many other things that I could talk about: the brief (yet touching) same-sex romance, a bi/pansexual character, the exquisite prose. These are all things that really set this book above so many others, and I cannot recommend it enough.

The worst part about finishing a Kay novel, however, is that you realize that it’s going to be at least two (possibly three) years before you get another one. Whether his next outing is set in what I would suggest is his best world or in some other, I have no doubt that, whatever it is, it will dazzle and enchant us as only Kay can do.

Reading Tad Williams: “Empire of Grass”

KC Winters

Warning: Some spoilers for the novel follow.

It’s finally here!

That was my first thought upon hearing that the second installment of his new trilogy, entitled “The Last King of Osten Ard” was soon to be published. I’d loved The Witchwood Crown so much, and I’d become very impatient of the release of the continuation of the story. It takes a truly great author to take a well-established (and well-loved) fantasy world and do something new and exciting (and even, sometimes, devastating) with it, and I don’t think that anyone but Tad Williams could really pull it off. Luckily for us, there’s still a lot of the old magic in the splendid kingdoms of Osten Ard.

Empire of Grass finds our various characters scattered to the many corners in Osten Ard. Morgan struggles along in Aldheorte, Simon and Miriamele try to keep their fragmenting kingdom together, Tiamak discovers new and unsettling secrets about the monarchs’ deceased son, Unver solidifies his hold on the Thrithing, the Norns Viyeki and his daughter Nezeru, as well as his mortal mistress Tzoja, pursue Queen Utuk’ku’s dreams of destroying mortals, and the Hernystirmen Eolair, Aelin confront dark realities in both the north and the south of Osten Ard, the Sitha Tanahaya does her best to help the mortals, and the enigmatic Jarnulf sets out to kill the Norn queen herself.

As this brief (and very incomplete) summary suggests, Empire of Grass is truly kaleidoscopic, providing us multiple perspectives on the chaos that threatens Osten Ard (and perhaps existence itself). Furthermore, we also get a far more robust cast of characters than in “Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn.” For one thing, we get the perspectives of not one but two Norns, Viyeki (the High Magister of the Builders) and his half-Norn/half-mortal daughter Nezeru, and this allows us a glimpse into not only Norn society, but also how the Norns make sense of their world. As alien as they are, however, Williams does a great job making them seem at least a little relatable.

One of the things that I have always loved about Tad Williams is his sheer command of language. He’s one of the best actual writers out there, and I’ve always thought it’s a shame that he doesn’t get more recognition. His prose is almost poetic in its power to truly paint a scene, and his characters are as rich as and layered as his language. Though they may be frustrating at times, you can’t help but find yourself utterly bound up with their struggles to contend with the world around them.

Though this trilogy takes place in the same world as its predecessor, it definitely feels very different. There is a certain existential angst here, a sense that all of being itself is possibly under threat. Though it isn’t spelled out, I get the distinct impression that Utuk’ku will be quite satisfied in bringing about the destruction of reality itself if that means that it will rid the world of the mortals that she hates so deeply. The repeated references to Unbeing, the fell darkness that swept away the long-lost homeland of both the Sithi and the Norns, hints at a new dark age to come. One got a little of this existential dread, I think, in Williams’s last epic fantasy outing, “Shadowmarch,” but it’s a little jarring to see it in the context of this world. The thing is, though, is that it feels very tonally consonant with the world that we, outside the novels, are living in. As he did with “Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn,” Williams is able to capture moments of genuine horror, as when Utuk’ku sets out to resurrect a long-dead relative in an effort to bring about the apocalypse. It’s unsettling, but it also feels very much in keeping with her past behaviour and motives.

This new series also raises the perplexing question of history. In most epic fantasy, once the end arrives we’re usually fairly certain that things will get better going forward from that endpoint. Certainly that was the case when we came to the end of To Green Angel Tower, with Simon and Miriamele safely enthroned and both the Storm King and his mortal puppet Pyrates fully vanquished. Now, however, that doesn’t seem to be the case. Whether it’s the fall of Naglimund to the nefarious Norns (again) or the relentless malice of their queen (who still seems determined to bring about the end of mortals, no matter how much damage it might cause to her own people), or even the possible existence of Pyrates’ shade haunting the Hayholt, history’s relentless drive toward chaos puts pressure on the concept of the fantasy happy ending. By the end of the book, we’ve had to see each of the characters, major and minor alike, put through the wringer as they’re forced to watch chaos loom. The fact that so much of this chaos has been fomented by bad actors with their own agenda just makes it that much more excruciating, both for the characters and for us.

And speaking of endings…whew, lads. The fact that Simon believes his beloved Miri is dead when she isn’t (or, at least, I don’t think so), fills this scene with such pathos that it is truly wrenching to read, all the more so because we have already been to love and care for these characters. It’s hard to say what Simon will do now that he thinks the love of his life is dead, but I daresay that it isn’t going to be good for the well-being of either his reign or for the kingdom at large.

All in all, I was very pleased with Empire of Grass. Tad Williams continues to be one of those authors you can rely on to tell you a story that is both heartbreaking and beautiful. And, best of all, you know that it’s going to be wrapped up in three (more likely four) volumes at the most. Given how long some of us have been waiting for a certain fantasy author to finish up his sprawling epic, that’s a breath of fresh air.

The real question now is: will Williams really be able to wrap up this sprawling story in just one more book? My guess, based on past experience, would be no. But you know what, if it means that I’ll get one more Osten Ard book, I’m totally fine with that. I just hope I don’t have to wait another two years!

Fantasy Classics: “The Wicked Day” (by Mary Stewart)

KC Winters

And so we come at last to The Wicked Day, Mary Stewart’s masterful retelling of the story of Mordred, the ill-fated bastard son of King Arthur by his half-sister Morgause. It’s a novel full of all of the lyrical (almost poetic) prose that we’ve come to expect from Mary Stewart, coupled with a truly tragic tale of two men bound together by the relentless weaving of fate.

The novel opens with Mordred, having been raised by two fisherfolk in the Orkney Islands, encountering (by chance, it seems) Prince Gawain, which sets in motion a chain of events that sees him drawn closer and closer to power. First it is to Morgause and, after he finally meets his father and learns his parentage, it is to Arthur and the court at Camelot. Unfortunately for them both, however, the wheels of destiny are set in motion, leading them both to the desperate day when they shall be one another’s bane.

It’s worth pointing out at the outset that Mordred is not, as Merlin was, a hero. The novel doesn’t shy away from pointing out his less than savory qualities, and he is a rather difficult character. Some of this stems from Stewart’s choice to tell the story in third person (rather than the first of the Merlin books), but it also comes from the fact that Mordred, with his troubled past and upbringing, is necessarily a damaged soul.

Many of Mordred’s essential problems arise, of course, from his mother (one can tell that this was a book written in the 1980s). As was the case with the Merlin books, Morgause emerges in The Wicked Day as the chief villain, a woman determined to wreak havoc on all of Arthur’s kingdom, no matter the cost. Despite the novel’s attempt to paint her as a witch and a cunning schemer who gets her comeuppance (when her own son kills her in the middle of an amorous liaison), I actually found her to be one of the novel’s more interesting characters. Say what you will about her, but Mordred’s story would be a much duller affair without her in it (thankfully, the novel also gives her several interludes where we get her own perspective on what’s happening).

Throughout The Wicked Day, Mordred maintains a sort of clinical detachment from the world around him and the dramatic events that unfold. His troubled relationship with Morgause ultimately stains everything he attempts to do, and though he loves his father Arthur, he gradually grows to resent him and, as is inevitable when a young prince starts to stretch his wings, he attracts followers. Stewart does a fine job showing us the ways in which Mordred, often despite his own wishes, becomes the architect of not just his father’s demise, but the ultimate downfall of the golden age of Camelot and all that it represents.

For, of course, neither Arthur nor Mordred are able to subvert the fate that has been woven in the stars for both of them. Stewart is actually quite brilliant in how she brings this to pass. Rather than taking the easy route of painting Mordred as a villain maddened by his brush with power, she instead situates the entire tragedy against the politics of the period: the resurgent Eastern Roman Empire (led by Justinian), the political fragmentation on the continent, the avarice of the Saxon invaders and, not least, the dissatisfaction of Arthur’s own subjects. When, in the end, both Mordred and Arthur are fatally wounded, we are led to see it as not just the tragedy of a son and father turned against one another by the brutal illogic of chance, but also as the end of the last gasp of Rome in the British Isles, a moment of light before the shadow of the Saxons descends on everyone.

The Wicked Day is one of those books that leaves you with a profound feeling of melancholy, a mourning for a world that might have been (but maybe never really was). That seems entirely appropriate, as there has always been a little bit of that about the Arthurian legend in general. In Mary Stewart’s capable hands, we at least get to embrace a little bit of the beauty of the sun before the dusk falls.

Fantasy Classics: “The Last Enchantment” (by Mary Stewart)

KC Winters

The book picks up where The Hollow Hills left off, with Arthur newly ascended to the throne. He is immediately confronted with the continuing menace of the Saxons, his need to procure a wife and an heir, and, of course, the permanent threat of Morgause, his villainous half-sister, who ultimately poses the greatest challenge to his life and his kingdom. She also bears Merlin a grudge both because his powers are so much greater than hers, but also because he outmaneuvered her and banished her from court after he discovered her seduction of her half-brother and the child that she would one day bear. Ultimately, Merlin falls victim to her drugs and magic and, though he survives, it ultimately sows the seeds for both his eventual replacement by his student NimuĂ« and Arthur’s later fall at the hands of his son Mordred.

This book is by far the most elegiac and melancholy of the three Merlin books. By the time that Arthur takes the sword from the stone, Merlin knows that his days of greatness are numbered. Thus, as the novel progresses, he retreats ever further from the day-to-day functioning of Arthur’s court; as the king’s might grows, so Merlin’s ultimately diminishes. Nevertheless, he still manages to play a prominent part in the affairs of the kingdom, most notably by rescuing the king’s second wife Guinevere (his first was named Guenever) from the depredations of the villainous King Melwas. And, of course, hovering over all is the inescapable knowledge that not only will Merlin ultimately be buried alive, but also that Arthur will victim to his own son.

As with the other volumes in the series, Stewart’s prose is as enchanting as the magic of her narrator. It’s not just that she brings is into this world with her lush descriptions of landscapes, manners, and clothes (though she does that with a grace that is truly extraordinary), but also that she has such a keen eye for those parts of the myth that are necessary for any Arthurian tale to work. Thus, we have the abduction of Guinevere, the doomed love between her and Bedwyr (this novel’s Lancelot), and even Arthur’s sister Morgan and her traitorous attempt to steal the sword Caliburn. Stewart knows just how to tread the fine line between being true to the heart of the Arthruian story and adding enough of her own personal touch to make it a unique story.

What really struck me, however, is Merlin’s acceptance of his fate. While part of him no doubt wishes that he could once more enjoy the intimacy with NimuĂ« that they once shared, as he says, you cannot enjoy the same draught twice. It’s a startling confession, all the more so because it is so phenomenally true. We tend to resist the idea that anything is truly gone; we always yearn for the possibility that a lost love might be regained. Merlin’s tale gives us a way of thinking beyond that, of embracing the inevitability of loss and the peace that can come from accepting it.

Merlin’s story, however, reminds us that such endings needn’t necessarily be sad. Indeed, there can be something quite liberating about accepting the finitude of various aspects of our lives. The novel ends, not with his death, but instead with that final moment when, after a lifetime, he finally hears the music of the spheres and, content at last, he returns to his warm hearth and the peace that it promises. The novel invites us to see this, not as an unhappy conclusion to a life spent in royal favour, but instead as the rich reward for one who has done so much to bring about this brief golden age in Britain before the descent of the Saxon darkness.

There are few novels that leave you feeling utterly satisfied with their resolutions. I’m happy to say that Mary Stewart’s The Last Enchantment is one such novel.

Now that I’ve finished the three books focused on Merlin, it’s time to move on to The Wicked Day, which tells the tragic story of Mordred, Arthur’s bastard son who is doomed to bring about the destruction of all his father has built.

The Madness of Queen Dany

Kellen Darcy

Hey, everyone! Now that Game of Thrones is approaching its final episode and, given the very mixed reception the penultimate episode has received, we thought we’d share some of our thoughts about that “twist” in Dany’s character.

KC: Well, it’s no exaggeration to say that the fans (and some critics) have taken vehement issue with the transition of Dany from savior to Mad Queen. I know that I’ve been seeing this coming since the very beginning, but clearly others haven’t been watching the same show.

Kellen: I can understand some of the problems people have had with everything being rushed this season- it WOULD have been nice for a lot of the other arcs to have had a little more time to play out than they were given. But I feel like this is the obvious and inevitable conclusion to an arc that started way back in Season 1. I’m starting to feel like maybe I’ve been watching a different show this whole time or something.

KC: Exactly. Like, yes, it is a bit rushed but, frankly, I’d rather have things be a bit rushed than have to endure the interminable side-tracks that have really damaged the quality in the most recent two books. Because, let’s be real, both A Feast for Crows and A Dance with Dragons were not, despite the retconning by some of the fans, in any sense “good.” So, if that means that the pace is a little breathless in these last two seasons, I’m personally fine with that.

Kellen: I know the fandom keeps going on and on with “subverting expectations” jokes both in reference to the way some arcs are playing out and the pace, but honestly I would have been more shocked if Dany didn’t do at least SOMETHING horrible by the end of the show. How many time has she been on the edge of something and she only gets talked down because of one of the supporting characters? And it become more and more common for her to NOT get talked down by them in the last couple of seasons- see burning the Tarlys.

KC: OMG, so much this. I’ve been thinking a lot about the fans’ reactions to “The Bells,” and I’m actually rather disturbed by the way they’ve justified Dany’s actions in prior seasons. Basically, it seems to boil down to some variant of: “Yes, it was awful that she crucified the Masters, torched one (whether or not he was innocent), burned the supply wagons, and burned the Tarlys and the khals, but they DESERVED their horrible, ugly deaths for opposing her.” I, personally, find this line of reasoning repugnant and disturbing, and I think that it reveals a lot more about how we justify violence than it does about the strengths and weaknesses of the show or its writers.

Kellen: I think if nothing else the Tarly Torching should have been everyone’s big clue if they hadn’t figured it out yet. I mean yeah, I probably would have torched at least Randyll, but 1) I know precisely what kind of jerk he is in general and how he treated Sam, and 2) I am well aware that I am not suited to being a wise and noble ruler who just wants to make everything better for everyone. Tyrion tried to tell her it was a bad idea, but it didn’t work. Which brings me to another point about her: everyone complaining Tyrion and Varys got dumber. I feel like Tyrion and Varys realized they were past a point where Dany would only listen to them up to a certain point before she executed them next.

KC: I think, honestly, that part of the reason that people are responding so violently to this narrative turn is because it forces them to acknowledge that, all along, Dany has been a cypher for what they wanted her to be, rather than what she actually was. Relatedly, I also think that her turn into Mad Queen really challenges our deeply-held desire for a hero that will save us, either in the fictional worlds that we invest our energies in or in the real one. When that fantasy comes crashing down, either in fiction or reality, the response is often anger, both at the failure at the fantasy and at ourselves for failing to see it for what it was in the first place.

Kellen: I think the big failure and the big success of both books and shows is that everyone is either grey, fallible, an idiot, or a combination of any and all of those. Sure, Dany in the books and until the last season of the show- all of her Essos parts- is the Good Guy because it’s easy to say “Well, she burned slavers. So that’s a net good.” and coming up with reasons that it’s ok that innocents also got caught up in that. Through all of that, Dany has always said she wants to break the wheel, and she feels a little bad here and there, locks up her dragons, and so on. But she does nothing to actually change these things about herself. Like, ever. She just says she wants to be a good person and goes on mucking everything up. Maybe if she had stayed in Astapor for a little while instead of just kind of dipping out and leaving everyone in the lurch, Cleon wouldn’t have taken the city over almost immediately.

KC: Right. And, speaking of breaking the wheel. It’s worth pointing out that, brutal as her actions are, the reality is that the Westerosi are reluctant to ever acknowledge anything other than brute might. So, even though her actions are horrific, the reality is that burning King’s Landing to the ground and rebuilding may, in fact, be the only way for her to start over. I think that, at least in part, is what she realizes when we get that great look at her face as she gazes at the Red Keep. While some have read it as the moment when madness takes hold, I think it may also signify that this is the moment when she realizes that nothing less than absolute destruction will ever cement her undisputed claim to the throne.

Kellen: I think it’s at least the moment when it really cements for her that what she said to Jon about people loving him and fearing her was the best she’d ever get and she completely loses what little rein she had over some good old fashioned Targaryen madness. It’s also when we come back again this season to Season 1, as it turns out Robert was right about pretty much everything. Robert has been a better prophecy than any of the actual prophecies. Dany turned out to be precisely what everyone said she would turn out to be, and no one wanted to believe it because they were the bad guys or the drunk king with no interest in ruling. I don’t think that it’s a coincidence that the two biggest characters to have defended Dany to others in Westeros are Ned and Jon, both of who are idiots completely blinded to anything else by honor. All the rest of the Westerosi in Westeros have been saying this exact thing would happen all along, people. Foreshadowing.

Well, it seems we’re at least in agreement about Dany! We don’t know about y’all, but we’re pretty psyched for the final episode. Stay tuned for our thoughts on that, as well as other Game of Thrones stuff!

Kellen and KC

Fantasy Classics: “The Hollow Hills” (by Mary Stewart)

KC Winters

As promised, I’m back to talk about the second volume of Mary Stewart’s classic series of novels about Merlin, The Hollow Hills.

This book picks up right where the last one left off, with Merlin having conspired with Uther to Merlin goes on many journeys in the course of the book, even going as far east as Constantinople before returning to Britain. Ultimately, he both discovers the ancient sword Caliburn and plays a key role in ensuring that Arthur ascends to the throne that is rightfully his.

Once again, Stewart demonstrates her tremendous command of language. Though her prose does tend to be on the formal side, it nevertheless has an elegance and sensuousness about it that conjures up the world of Late Roman Britain in all of its dying splendour and brutality. As always, I was particularly struck by the powerful way in which she describes Merlin’s experiences with the divine, not just the magic itself, but the way that his body responds to these encounters.

I noted before that Merlin is a bit of a prig, and Stewart doesn’t go out of her way to mitigate that through most of The Hollow Hills. Until, that is, he finally comes face-to-face with the boy who will be king. One can detect just the slightest shift in the way that Merlin dictates his story once he meets Arthur, and it’s clear at once that here, for the first time since the story begins, he might actually feel something approaching warmth for this young man who will become his most important charge. And it is just as clear that Arthur returns that love in kind, and the tight relationship between the two characters is one of the novel’s most endearing charms.

What I also enjoy about Stewart’s Merlin books is the extent to which they so deftly weave together the fantastical and the historical. There is no question that magic plays a significant role in the book. It’s not just Merlin’s ability to see the future (and events in the present for which he is not present), but also his ability to command some elements of nature (especially fire) to bring about the miraculous. Given the novel’s historical setting, it should come as no surprise that magic is still very much a part of this world, though there are hints that, with the rise of Christianity, it will gradually fade away.

At the same time, we get a very real sense of history in this book. By this I mean not just the setting–the years immediately following the withdrawal of Rome from Britain–but also the ways in which the past continues to influence the present and impacts the future. Merlin, as the one person who can see the way they relate to one another, has to shoulder an unusual burden. As a result of this knowledge, Merlin must do all that he can to see to it that the inevitable forces of history, made manifest in the repeated invasions by the Saxons, are beaten back.

As much as I really do love this book, I’m not blind to the fact that, like Mary Renault (with whom, I’ve noted elsewhere, Stewart has many similarities), Stewart’s book do have a faint whiff of misogyny about them. It gets less true as the series goes on, but there’s no question that women play either a marginal role in the story or are outright villains. Even this early, we get a sense that Morgause (here the bastard daughter of Uther by one of his many lovers) has aspirations that Merlin deems unseemly in a woman and that this will play a role in her ultimate villainy. Despite the novel’s attempts to paint her as a villain, however, IMHO she comes across as one of the novel’s most compelling and dynamic characters, a worthy foe of Merlin (though he doesn’t seem to think so).

That little quibble outside, I found The Hollow Hills to be a mesmerizing exploration of the ways in which one man can be both the agent of historical change and also its object. As such, it is very much worthy of its accolades as one of the finest additions to the Arthurian legend to come out of the 20th Century.

John Gwynne’s The Faithful and the Fallen and the Pleasures of Genre

KC Winters

I recently had the pleasure of reading John Gwynne’s epic fantasy quartet (or tetralogy) The Faithful and the Fallen. I’d been intending to read it for a while, and when I did, I was blown away by how effectively Gwynne managed to marshal all of the requisite epic fantasy elements into a story that kept me up past my bedtime for several nights running.

The series’ central protagonist is Corban, a young man who (of course), finds out that he is the one destined to become the savior of his world. He is joined by the requisite band of epic heroes, including a renegade angel, his sister, a wolven (basically a giant, wolf-like creature), as well as sundry others. He is opposed by all the traditional types of villains, including another renegade angel, a brutal pirate captain, and a god of destruction bent on bringing the entire world under his dominion.

Narratively, The Faithful and the Fallen hits all the right notes: the epic quest narrative (there are actually several), the titanic clash between good and evil, deeds of villainy and heroism, soaring triumphs and dark moments of despair. There are the various fantasy archetypes already mentioned. And it’s solidly told, with each character coming to inhabit their own space; even the villains get a few chapters of their own. As a result, we are drawn inexorably into this world, caught up in the sweep of the great and terrible events that are unfolding right before our eyes.

What really struck me as I read the series was how much it was able to accomplish within the confines of the genre of epic fantasy. Indeed, in many ways the series is a textbook epic, hitting all of the right notes in all the right places. There were a few key places where The Faithful and the Fallen colors outside of the expected lines, but for the most part there weren’t too many surprises in terms of either plot or character. There was a bit of a plot twist toward the end of the series, but nothing on the scale that we have seen in other epic series of late. All in all, The Faithful and the Fallen is exactly what it sets out to be: a thoroughly entertaining fantasy epic.

That is not in any way an insult. Quite the opposite. Sometimes it seems to me that we valourize works of fantasy that somehow transcend the perceived “limits” or “shortcomings” of fantasy as a whole. Those who praise A Song of Ice and Fire, for example, frequently do so in terms that emphasize its iconoclastic tendencies, its willingness to focus on the blood and gore and drudgery of the medieval fantasy setting and on the foibles and shortsightedness of humanity. This line of praise (and criticism) has extended to its television adaptation, and it has, I would argue, reshaped the expectations that many people have about what constitutes successful (or at least “interesting”) epic fantasy.

What series like Gwynne’s show us, however, is that it is okay if you want to write, or read, works of fantasy that don’t really break the rules. It’s okay if you want a story about a young person who sets out to save the world from a dark and pressing evil and has to journey through all of the parts of his world to do so. It’s okay if you want to have a fair amount of certainty that most of your main characters won’t die (though a few major ones do in The Faithful and the Fallen). It really is okay if you want to read an old-fashioned epic fantasy that is a celebration of the essential nobility of the human spirit rather than an exposure of the darker, more cynical parts of the human condition. It’s okay to take pleasure in the conventions of genre.

Indeed, that’s precisely the point of a designation like genre in the first place. Working within its confines lets us know what we’re in for. And, in a case like The Faithful and the Fallen, or for that matter any number of other epics (Terry Brooks’ Shannara series comes to mind), part of the pleasure is in feeling those familiar beats. To my mind, it’s about time we stopped feeling ashamed of the pleasures of genre and instead embraced them as a key part of why we read fantasy.

Who’s with me?

Fantasy Classics: “The Crystal Cave” (by Mary Stewart)

KC Winters

There’s always been something about the Arthurian legends that call to me. I can’t precisely say why, except that they have a quality about them that is at both timeless and yet bounded within that uncanny realm between the historical and the fantastic.

For a long time, I was content to read the straightforwardly fantasy interpretations of the myth, and T.H. White’s The Once and Future King remains one of my favourites.

Then, around 1999 or so I was introduced (by, of course, an honors English teacher) to Mary Stewart’s trilogy. All of a sudden I discovered a whole new way of thinking about the legends surrounding King Arthur. Now, he was not merely a mythical king, but someone who might actually have existed in Dark Age Britain, in that crucial period of time between the exit of the Romans and the Saxon conquest. I was instantly hooked, and I’ve re-read Stewart’s Merlin books several times in the subsequent decades, gaining new sorts of pleasure each time.

The first volume, The Crystal Cave, narrated in first-person by Merlin himself, follows him from his youth as the bastard son of the daughter of a Welsh king who ultimately discovers that he is, in fact, also the son of the general (and exiled king) Ambrosius. Gifted with the Sight, he aids his father as he sets about reclaiming the kingship from the deceitful Vortigern and, ultimately, helps his uncle Uther onto the throne and facilitates the conception of the baby who will one day grow up to be King Arthur.

Stewart has a phenomenal grasp of the evocative power of language. As I’ve been re-reading the book, I’m struck by the similarities between her style and that of one of my other all-time favourite authors: Mary Renault. Both have an uncanny ability to construct sentences that are, for lack of a better word, beautiful. She somehow manages to be both economical and lush in her descriptions of landscapes and settings, of the trappings of royalty and the brutality of warfare.

At the same time, because she uses first person perspective to get us inside Merlin’s mind, she also has to convey the complicated spiritual and intellectual movings of a brilliant mind. This she also accomplishes with grace. The sequences in which Merlin encounters the power of the God are some of the most exquisitely and intricately wrought in the entire book, and they come very close to transporting us to exactly the same sort of magical space that Merlin himself inhabits.

Thus, what I particularly enjoyed about the story was its ability to create a Merlin who is both thoroughly human and also uncanny. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that he is a particularly sympathetic character; he’s far too mystical and preternaturally gifted for that. Nevertheless, his words have a hypnotic beauty that draw us into the story and keep us there. This is the world that is always on the brink of collapsing into barbarism, and it is Merlin’s mission to see to it that there is at least a brief period of beauty before the ultimate fall.

Stewart manages to breathe fresh life into some of the most enduring of legends in the history of English literature. That is no small accomplishment, especially given how many interpretations there have been of Merlin. Her main character is a mystic, it is true, and he has more than a touch of magic, but he is far more human than he typically appears in the myths.

What’s more, Stewart somehow still manages to keep to the familiar beats while infusing them with her own flare. There are also all of the requisite characters of the myth: Niniane (here Merlin’s mother rather than the woman who seals him away), Uther (here Merlin’s uncle and brother of is father Ambrosius), the villainous king Vortigern (here a misguided king who is brought down by his own misguided efforts) and, near the end, Duke Gorlois and his wife Ygraine (both of whom become pawns in the delicate game Merlin must play in order to bring about the vision bequeathed to him by the gods).

Fate, it this world, is inexorable, for better and for worse.

Stay tuned for my review of the second volume, The Hollow Hills!

We Ride the Storm Review, Part Two

KC Winters

Thanks everyone, for stopping by. Kellen and I are about to continue our ongoing review of We Ride the Storm. Feel free to chime in with your own thoughts in the comments section!

KC Winters: Hello, everyone, and welcome back to our collaborative review of We Ride the Storm.

I don’t know about you, but I REALLY enjoyed this second set of chapters, as so many pieces begin to click into place and the plot begins to move along at a faster pace.

Kellen Darcy: I’m really getting into it. All of the parts are starting to come together and we’re seeing how they interact with each other, and we’re starting to get a glimpse of the overall plot arc. Maybe. I got at least one big surprise in this batch of reading.

KC Winters: What I find really compelling about this book is the ways in which it manages to shift in tone from chapter to chapter, from the brutality of captivity to the no-less-deadly (if more suave) dance associated with politics.

For that matter, I’m still not entirely sure which characters I am really cheering for, since they all seem so complicated and often unpleasant.

Kellen Darcy: I’m kind of into not just how it manages to shift in tone, but how the characters themselves shift from part to part, and how they each have their own distinct voice. They’re all definitely different people from different cultures with their own distinct personality; I don’t get the feeling that any of it is just shoehorned in for the sake of having them, though

I WILL fight you about Miko, though. I haven’t encountered a character I enjoyed so much out of the gate in a long, long time. She is brilliant and wonderful and shining and I will hear no different.

KC Winters: LOL! I, too, like Miko. I’m always partial to politics in fantasy novels. The wheeling and dealing, the backroom plotting and scheming, that’s the stuff that draws me and keeps me interested. I definitely agree with you that Miko is a fascinating character.

But, can we talk about what a gut-punch it was to see her brother killed so offhandedly? I honestly didn’t see it coming, and while he wasn’t a particularly bright fellow, I was still shocked at his death.

What I also enjoy about this book is the way that there are a lot of enigmas, both large and small, that are slowly being revealed as we make our way through the plot.

Kellen Darcy: I was mostly surprised when he got snuffed because I assumed from early on he was the obnoxious character that’s mostly required of fantasy. You know, the one that we get stuck with through an entire series for, as far as I can tell, the express points of both annoying us and making all of the other character’s lives difficult.

Which isn’t to say that he wasn’t a well-written character, because he was (while he lasted), but whew. I’m not sure whether he just wasn’t the brightest or he was just so wrapped up in himself it stunted his growth.

Let’s talk about Cassandra. We’ve found out a little more about her in this part, but I feel like of the three main characters she’s still the most mysterious.

KC Winters: Ah yes, Cassandra. I have a feeling that there’s something deeply significant about her name (referencing the Greek character, of course). But that scene where she withdraws Her from the dead body was deeply unsettling. It’s yet another sign of this book’s strength, that it manages to bring in a note of the horrifying to spice up the fantasy.

Kellen Darcy: I find Her to be pretty unsettling all on Her own. What is She, anyway? I assume from the things Cassandra thinks and a few others have said that She has been around since at least Cassandra was a child, but absolutely nothing that clues me in on what She actually is.

She’s like some hysterical Victorian woman who is somehow possessing an assassin in a fantasy world. I approve. I hope there’s a spectral fainting couch following her around. She seems to need one.

KC Winters: It was rather surprising that Cassandra seemed to feel so empty without her, suggesting that a symbiotic relationship has emerged between them.

And that moment when they reconnect was…unsettling. However, I did like that Cassandra’s storyline began to intersect with that of the Empress and, by extension, Miko. I can’t wait to see what happens!

Kellen Darcy: Yeah, the last few chapters we finished seems to throw some of the last few connecting points for the main characters in. I suspect Miko and Cassandra would actually get along rather well, even if it starts out bumpy while they tell one another how the other one is just awful.

Although I don’t think they’d ever admit it, they’re kind of similar people at the base of things, even if Cassandra is suspicious of everyone and Miko is only suspicious of what so far seems to be the wrong people to be suspicious of.

I think the big rub between them would be that Miko seems to care more about things that are bigger than her, while Cassandra is suspicious of everything. I’m seeing the odds being very good for Cass telling her that Miko thinks she’s a better person because she cares about the Empire, but that she’s just as selfish because she cares more about the Otako than Kisia itself. I also suspect the odds are good that Cassandra wouldn’t like me calling her Cass.

KC Winters: Lastly, I just wanted to say how much I also enjoyed reading Rah. He’s just such a compelling character, and the brutality of his scenes are refreshing in their own way, even as they show us a very different picture of this world.

Kellen Darcy: It looks like this is where we’re going to end this one. We’ll be back soon with the next part of the review. See you then!

We Ride the Storm Review, Part One

Kellen DarcyLeave a comment

Hi everyone, and welcome to the first installment of our review of We Ride the Storm, the first book of The Reborn Empire by Devin Madson. First, we’d both like to thank the author for writing such a compelling book, and second, we’d like to thank Mark Lawrence for creating the Self-Published Fantasy Blog-off (SPFBO), through which we discovered this book.

KC Winters: I have to say, I REALLY enjoyed these first six chapters. There’s a gritty realism to the opening chapter that drew me in at once, but I’m also very intrigued by the complicated politics that are already emerging.

And besides, who doesn’t like a kickass assassin who also happens to be a courtesan?

Kellen Darcy: I’m honestly surprised at how much I enjoyed the first six chapters, and how invested I already am in what happened. It’s not unusual for it to take me half a book or more to get into something, and I was definitely in by the end of the third chapter.

I’ve abandoned a few series that I ended up enjoying later in just the first bit- some of the more popular examples being The Wheel of Time and A Song of Ice and Fire- but I made it through our allotted first part with pretty much a lack of drama on my part.

KC Winters: I feel like this is one of those stories where the enigmas are only gradually going to be revealed, and I like that. I relish the feeling of always feeling on the edge of my seat, wondering when the next shoe is going to drop, when the next aspect of the mystery is going to be revealed.

I also like that there is clearly a vast history to this world, one that is only gradually being revealed to us.

Kellen Darcy: I agree with that feeling of a vast world still coming out, and I want to add that I appreciate the pace that it’s unfurled so far. I love fantasy, but one thing that I think a lot of fantasy writers have a hard time with is a decent pacing when they’re unfurling that world in their writing.

I feel like quite a chunk of works I’ve read go too fast or too slow with relatively few hitting that sweet spot in the middle. I’m reading fantasy for the world building as much as the plot, to be clear. But you can’t dump a thousand years or more of your world’s history in my lap all at one and expect me to keep up or not abandon ship in frustration. At the same time, you can’t just leave the entire scope of the world out until halfway through the series.

KC Winters: Exactly. Like you, I find that it is very hard to find that in a lot of fantasy. Tad Williams is one who does it very well, and of course the greats like Robert Jordan. I also find it to be one of the things I struggle the most with as a writer, juggling the generic demands of fully-realized alternate world and engaging present-day plot.

Obviously, you’re going to discover aspects of your world that you didn’t know before (when you started writing), but you also have to make sure that you have a firm enough handle on your own mythos to bring it into your own work. Madson seems to have the knack of it.

So, who was your favourite character so far?

Kellen Darcy: I don’t honestly know yet. Miko, so far, especially by the end of Chapter 6. She seems so confident in herself and what she’s doing at so many points, but then at other times it’s obvious that she’s a flawed person and realizes that she doesn’t have all of the pieces.

I feel like I know more about her than I do the other POV characters at this point, so I feel more of a connection with her. That may or may not change as we go further through the book.

KC Winters: Yeah, I agree. She definitely seems cut from the Arya Stark mold, and it’s precisely because she’s so innocent (compared to the other POV characters) that I feel like she has a lot of room to grow. And, since I’m partial to the political part of a lot of fantasy, I always find myself drawn to those particular parts of a given novel.

Kellen Darcy: If we’re going with an ASoIaF comparison here, I don’t know that it would be Arya I’d compare her to. She seems much more aware of the reality of things than Arya was in the earlier parts of the series; of course, it turns out she isn’t as clever as she thought, but still. She lacks that almost innocence Arya seemed (at least to me) to hang on to until much later in the series, long after she should have lost it many times over. (I feel like it was hard for the lesson to soak into Arya’s thick skull all the way.)

I can’t actually think of a good ASoIaF comparison character. She’s tough like Arya, sure, but she also has a kind of naivetĂ© like early Sansa did, but without the constant whining and victim complex even before she was a victim. And a lot less yammering about lemon cakes.

I feel like so far, ALL of the main characters have been lacking that poor judgement of literally everything pretty much everyone in ASoIaF exhibited for too long. Thankfully.

KC Winters: Oh, that’s definitely all true. I didn’t really mean to draw a one-on-one comparison, just to point out that she’s a certain TYPE of character, one that I usually find more appealing.

I really feel like Madson has a control over her characters that very few other authors of epic fantasy (ahem, Martin and Jordan) don’t seem to have. She allows us into their heads, yes, but she doesn’t allow them to be as self-indulgent as so many other epic fantasy characters. Which, let me tell you, is like a freaking breath of fresh air.

Kellen Darcy: Fair enough.  Even though it’s been over two decades I’m still easily irritated by how dense some of the ASoIaF characters were.

I enjoy the way Madson is presenting her characters to us. They’re not stuffed shells of blandness, they’re not acting like they’re in a vacuum, they’re not the only thing happening in the world. I like them as characters, even if I don’t know them well enough to like or dislike them as people.

KC Winters: I completely agree. I can’t wait to see where they go from here and, really, isn’t that the best thing about a fantasy novel?

Kellen Darcy: It’s precisely why I enjoy fantasy, especially compared to historical fiction- which I also really enjoy. I never have an idea where it IS going to go- I always know the world didn’t end with historical fiction. I don’t think.

I think this is as good of a spot as any to cut off this time- unless I have been reading historical fiction wrong and the world is over. Join us soon for the second installment!