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On a number of occasions, I have commented about going back into my own archives,* pulling up materials I’d developed for one purpose or another across what I had intended to be an academic career. In many cases, that pulling has had to do with teaching materials, and I do remain available to generate that kind of thing, moving forward. Less explicitly, that pulling takes the occasional form of my posting the texts of papers I’ve delivered; the present example is in that line. A recent post to this webspace, “Harping on Hanlon,” reminded me that I had this in my records, and a review of those places where I put my academic records up for public view showed me that it hadn’t yet gotten out to where other people can look at it. The time seemed right to address that deficit.
The piece below is abstracted here. What is not noted in my comments there is that this piece emerged from some 2021 continuing education I did, noted here. (Sourcing shows the age of the piece, I know.) Emerging from it is a conference talk, the remarks for which are repeated here. As with previous re-presentations, I have only lightly edited the text as I originally have it, mostly to suit concerns of medium.**
The fifth edition of Greg Stafford’s Pendragon1 is a fantasy tabletop roleplaying game (RPG) published in 2005 by Arthaus, a subsidiary of White Wolf Games2–a publisher most notable for Vampire: The Masquerade and the related World of Darkness games.3 RPGs are generally neomedievalist; the ur-example of the genre is Dungeons & Dragons (D&D), which Lawrence Schick notes has its origins in historical miniatures wargaming and “rules for monsters and nonhuman races drawn mainly from Tolkien,”4 so that it looks to interpretations of the medieval for its materials, just as other RPGs look to D&D. Pendragon is more avowedly directly medievalist, purporting to look back to “Facts (or at least what are widely considered facts) drawn from [chronicles such as Geoffrey of Monmouth’s]” and “parts from all literary versions” of Arthuriana5–or, at least English / Malorian, French, Welsh, and more modern and radical takes, eschewing such visions of Arthur as the German and the Spenserian.
The cover of said fifth edition of the game, from my copy. It is no longer the current edition of the game. The image is used for purposes of commentary.
Even in that grounding, though, the game begins to run into commonplaces of treatments of the premodern: a focus on upper social strata and time-compression.6 The game flatly announces itself as focusing on knights, describing them as the chosen elite;7 while it makes some sense to do so–as I’ve noted elsewhere, “Peasant life is unattractive, particularly to those whom depictions of it might point up their own equivalent status”8 and many others have attested far more eloquently to the same–to set as of little importance the deeds and doings of a majority of people is no boon to understanding or getting things right. For a game that purports to encapsulate “brutal reality,”9 it is hardly a commendation. Nor yet is the collapsing of the Middle Ages into a short span–“fifteen years of game time approximate a hundred years of real-world medieval history,” so that the noted game-span of 485-565CE subsumes the late fifth through late fifteenth centuries,10 roughly Gildas to Malory.
Of course, it is to be expected that RPGs like Pendragon, as simulations, will necessarily reduce and compress their sources in the interests of treating them conveniently and in allowing players, most often not specialists in the source materials,11 entry into the narrative milieus in which Mackay notes the extemporaneous, collaborative, rules-assisted storytelling of RPGs operates.12 Similarly, the comment that “the rules and laws of Pendragon are generally based on the considerably more well-known laws of Europe in the 12th and 13th centuries, not those of 6th-century Britain”13 makes some sense in context; making a game accessible, and therefore playable and more likely to be fun, usually means going with what players can find. While there is substantial overlap between RPG players and people with institutional access (and the time to enjoy it!), the two groups are far from congruent; many players, perhaps even most, cannot get into the deeper details of setting that breed more accuracy and richness. In effect, they have to take what they can get.
Despite the note that “Knights are sheriff, judge, and jury for all matters of Low Justice on their own domains,”14 a comment (inaccurate as it is) that would suggest there be some substantive representation of the reams upon reams of parchment and paper that detail early English law, in Pendragon, law, as such, is reduced to some six two-column pages.15 Among that all-too-brief treatment is a short call-out that purports to present an image of Arthurian central legal dicta; it appears below as Figure 1.
Figure 1. The Laws of Arthur16
The note regarding the source from which the text is modified gives every indication of being accurate; a glance at The Statutes of William the Conqueror shows that the putative laws of Arthur do seem to emerge from it.17 But there are clear changes. For one, “Saxon” in the game-text replaces what a translation from the original calls “English,” while “Briton” replaces “Norman” or “Frenchman,” although such changes make sense in the Arthurian context. Less sensible are such omissions as the religious thrust in the first clause and the nod to the laws of Edward. The latter may perhaps be excused in the same way as the shifts in demonym, although a shift in nomenclature to something like Lex Molmutina might have been a way to preserve some sense of the thing. The former, though, is confusing, given the assertion of Christianity’s dominance within the game world,18 unless it lies perhaps in the unease with which RPGs generally regard real-world religion.19
A few other comments about law attract attention, as well. One is that “Anyone who commits violence upon the roads commits treason and incurs penalty as if having violated the sanctity of the king’s own feast hall,”20 which comment seems to place the roads under the king’s own jurisdiction–an attitude that seems to be at work in WoBT,21 among others. While not rising to the force of legal dicta, the Chaucerian Arthurian parallel does at least ground the comment in the documentary representation of medieval England; if the detail is wrong, it is wrong for the right reason. And more specifically grounded is the comment that, as in concerns of early English law, “reputation is critical in the game.”22 Indeed, the accumulation of Glory is a central mechanic, and what gets mechanical attention necessarily becomes a focus of play; “worship” is a central concern of Malory’s knights, of course, and the preoccupation with reputation evidenced in a variety of early English legal documents indicates that the game gets at least some of the general sense of its sources right–which is better than might be said of other neo/medievalist work.
There are other implications to trace, of course, but it seems on an initial glance that the things Pendragon gets right(ish) and wrong are in place to facilitate player access to the kind of agglutinated, accumulated Arthurian setting demonstrated in Malory and followed upon by no few later authors. Enough detail is “correct” to satisfy at least some desire for “accuracy” among players; certainly, enough detail is “correct” to offer the kind of verisimilitude that aids in fostering Coleridgean willingness to suspend disbelief and allow the immersive narrative performance of the RPG to occur. What is glossed seems to be glossed for conformity with context, for the simplification of simulation, for minimization of distraction, and from concerns of limited access to information. This is not to say the errors should be passed over; the game continues to be played, and more information allows for a deeper, richer immersion. Too, while “it’s just a game,” Sturtevant notes that such popular cultural products as Pendragon, as other RPGs, as the medievalist sources from which they stake out their neomedievalist positions, do much to shape public understandings of what the medieval is.23 Given the rampant misuse of the medieval by execrable groups, fixing those understandings is more and more important–and any avenue for such correction has to be pursued.
** As a piece originally meant only for spoken delivery, the work has citations and notes to allow for response to anticipated questions and for potential future development. The accuracy of those citations to any particular style manual is not guaranteed; the accuracy as to sourcing and location, however, is as I had it at the time I wrote the remarks. Most of the links still work, or did when I checked.
Although not “correct,” the convention of italicizing the game’s title is one the game itself uses; I follow it in reference to Pendragon in this document.
Note, however, that there are no few people who get into their areas of study in part because they started studying to be able to play their RPGs better.
Daniel Mackay, The Fantasy Role-playing Game: A New Performing Art (Jefferson, NC: McFarland & Co., 2001), 4-5.
Read the previous entry in the serieshere. Read the next entry in the seriessoon.
The seventh chapter of Forest Mage, “Dewara,” opens with Nevare recognizing his new status as a pariah in his own family home. As Nevare begins to adapt, he learns of the imminent return of his brother and sister-in-law to the estate, and, hurt by the shift in his status, goes fishing in an attempt to ease himsel. Returning from his excursion, however, he is confronted by his father, who assigns him a list of tasks he will address in an attempt to strip him of the fat that has accumulated on him; Nevare notes the generally distasteful nature of those tasks and begins to address himself thereto forthwith.
A bit close to home for me, perhaps. Photo by Unaizat Abdulgamidova on Pexels.com
The next many days follow the pattern of Nevare rising, working through the day, eating alone, and retiring. He finds that, although his physical capabilities improve immensely, he loses no weight. He also finds that the tasks put to him, although intended to be demeaning, satisfy him, although his increasing isolation from his family continues to wound him.
At length, Nevare seeks out Duril, and the two confer about Nevare’s situation. Duril takes Nevare out to the Bejawi village that stands near the Burvelle manor. There, they are to meet with some Kidona who have been settled after actions that Duril relates to Nevare, and some of the Bejawi history and practices are noted in contrast with their current situation. Evidence of tension between the two groups is presented, and Duril concludes an arrangement with some of the local Kidona. That arrangement gets him and Nevare access to Dewara, whose situation is related as the pair encounter him.
Dewara challenges Nevare, the two exchanging boasts and insults. Dewara reminds Nevare of his first failure to destroy Tree Woman, citing Nevare’s present state as effective revenge against Keft; Nevare tells Dewara of his destruction of Dancing Spindle, prompting the older man to violence. Dewara stabs Nevare, and Duril shoots Dewara, leaving him dead as Nevare bleeds. Nevare finds, however, that despite the blood on Dewara’s blade, he is barelyinjured, and he and Duril make their escape from Dewara’s final resting place.
As the pair return to Nevare’s home, they confer about events. Nevare confides his fears to Duril, and the old soldier offers blunt advice for how to proceed.
To address the chapter-length issue: the present chapter, in the edition of the novel I’m rereading, runs 24 pages in length, approximately 3.28% of the novel. Although briefer than the preceding two chapters, it has a fair amount going on, seeming to continue Freytag’s falling action in the first major narrative arc of the novel. A resolution is coming; given the location in the novel and in the trilogy, it is not apt to be a happy one for Nevare.
Also, for indexing purposes, the following: Acorns, Antelope, Bejawi, Carp, Cecile Burvelle, Cheese, Corn, Croaker bird, Dancing Spindle, Dappled People, Darsio, Dewara, Dr. Jakib Amicas, Franner’s Bend, Gernia, Goats, Hog, Hog sty, Jindobe, Keft Burvelle, Kidona, King’s Cavalla Academy, Manure, Manure, Nevare Burvelle, Oxen, Peaches, Pepperpot, Plainsfolk, Potatoes, Rosse Burvelle, Selethe Burvelle, Sergeant Erib Duril, Sirlofty, Swanneck, Taldi, Tree Woman, Wind wizard, Wolves. As befits a shorter chapter than the previous, there are fewer indexable items to find. But there is still much going on in the chapter, and so there is still much to point out as present in it.
The obvious thing, to my mind, is to contrast the present chapter with the previous chapter in the series with the same title, the third chapter of Shaman’s Crossing. This is not the first time that Hobb has reused chapter titles across novels; my rereading of the Realm of the Elderlings novels features numerous examples of her doing so, and each time, the repetition invites such consideration. The present chapter does call back, and explicitly, to the previous novel’s, making explicit reference to the events thereof and directly addressing some of their ramifications. Although the novel‘s initial narrative arc does not conclude, there is a resolution to one narrative thread in the series as the present chapter proceeds; Dewara’s story is decisively concluded, and in a chapter that overtly calls up that in which his story in the series begins. The symmetry is not an unwelcome thing to see.
An item of note: the discussion of Bejawi history, including their antagonism with the Kidona and its recent effect (146-50), attracts attention. There is, admittedly, something of the “noble savage” about the descriptions, although that is something that had been broached earlier in the Soldier Son series (see Shaman’s Crossing‘s “Old Thares”); narrative cohesion among the novels is aided by the invocation of the earlier-presented concept, even as such comments as Nevare’s that he “had come to a deep understanding of Kidona ways” (148)–and that in a relatively brief time–bespeak the fundamentally flawed nature of such viewpoints. The blunt presentation of immediate effects of colonialist practice is perhaps more telling, and I find myself thinking it would be good to reread Helen Young as regards the trilogy. Ah, to have the time to do so, but, alas, that life that would let me has largely left me!
Another item of note: Nevare passingly notes the attempt by his father to put in peach trees on his manor, only to have them fail (142). I have commented before, perhaps affectively, about my rereading of the Soldier Son series being influenced by growing up in the Texas Hill Country (see my remarks on Shaman’s Crossing‘s “Magic and Iron”); one of the things for which some of the small towns I drive through fairly often are noted is the peach crop. Indeed, nearby Stonewall, Texas, hosts an annual Peach Jamboree that does a lot of what keeps the community going. For me, peaches are simply part of the experience of life in the Hill Country; a failure of the peach crop is an issue hereabouts. It’s not a surprise to me that an area I read as reflecting the Hill Country in some ways would seek to install peach trees; it’s a matter of course, really. That the peaches failed…again, I read affectively; I feel some sympathy for the workers who tried to make them happen. Less affectively, given the innuendo that attaches itself to peaches–not for nothing is the peach emoji used as a short-hand for penetrable orifices, for but one relatively current example–and Keft Burvelle’s failure to cultivate it, I have to wonder if there is some kind of backhanded comment made that falls in line with the feminist critique at work in the series. But perhaps I am stretching a point to indulge such wonderings.
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Following up from two weeks ago, comments about last Friday’s observance needing to be made, there are things to say about last week and about yesterday. For the first, I came into the session expecting to start actual play with the participants at the table, characters have mostly been built across the initial two 90-minute sessions (with some “homework” assigned); anything that hadn’t been built yet, I thought, could be compiled during play, and it seemed to me to be important to get things moving in earnest. That more or less seemed to be the case, albeit with some stubmbling along the way, but the players at the table gave every sign of enjoying what was presented to them and looking forward to what was to come.
They see me rollin’… Photo by DS stories on Pexels.com
For the second, yesterday, the adventure got underway in earnest. I can now (because the game is going, so this is not a spoiler) report that the primary plot for the game (tabletop roleplaying games generally being narratives means that such terms apply) has the players’ characters herding a group of jimothies* from a rural village to a regional trade center. I’ve got procedures and events set up for the group; they’ve made a start on them, already having some success and encountering some challenge. The latter was not concluded by the end of the brief session (I’ve only got an hour and a half with the group each week), but that’s not such a bad thing; there is a clear and engaging beginning point waiting for the next session, for which I and my players are eager.
Something that stood me in good stead in my preparations for the event was my development of some in-milieu lore at both the local and regional levels. Character creation had assumed that the characters were all from the same region; characters had the opportunity to select specific districts of origin within that region. This had some in-game effects, allowing characters who selected the district of origin in which they found themselves to bypass certain rolls. As the game develops, it will also allow them to face particular challenges; I’ve not yet worked out all the details, and, out of concerns about metagaming, I’d not give many of them if I had. Still, the players at the table seemed to appreciate being able to learn things, and the returning players were able to explain some of the jokes to the new ones, helping to bring them into the game, as it were. I consider it a success.
As I continue to develop game materials, I keep falling back on my experience playing in and running play-by-post games.** I know I’ve commented as much in the last several entries in this series of posts, but it remains true, and there is some delight in my bringing something back around; play-by-post gaming emerges from tabletop gaming, and bringing its practices back to the table is a nice little cohesive progression for it.
* I use the term as a genericized reference to Seattle’s Jimothy, for which in-game statistics are available here. Hanlon is a fictional milieu; Jimothy need not be a unique thing within it, and it makes sense to me that jimothies in Hanlon would be a species related to but distinct from raccoons. That there are implications of such a distinction, I am aware (such as situating a setting at some removal from the Tolkienian fantasy tradition from which D&D emerges [see here], as witness this, this, and this, among others); some of them are apt to come up in the game.
** In addition to brief references throughout my Hanlon posts, I discuss play-by-post games here, here, here, here, and here, among others. And I’m reminded that I probably ought to get another existing piece up onto this blog at some point that currently lives in my notes.
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Whether I have any readers for whom this is an observance, I am uncertain, but, being aware that where I live used to be Mexico and having been raised to regard those who cast off colonial rule as heroic, and being aware that I am late to the Grito de Dolores, I may still raise such voice as I have in acknowledgment and celebration of the independence of Mexico from Spain. And I do!
It befits the day. Photo by Tim Mossholder on Pexels.com
It’s not like I’m any stranger to marking such holidays, as I’ve shown (here, most recently). But given my background and what’s happened in my part of the world in the past couple of years…I’ll say that I hope for dry weather for my southern neighbors, or if there is rain, in even measure and at a steady, unhurried pace.
That’s it, really: just a thing I remembered and thought worth noting. I offer my small celebration here, as I do on most holidays; others, doing more, I hope will find joy in it and make things all the better for doing so!
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Read the previous entry in the serieshere. Read the next entry in the serieshere.
The sixth chapter of Forest Mage, “A Day of Letters,” starts as Nevare tries to avoid encountering the guests in his family’s home following his elder brother’s wedding. While said brother is away on his honeymoon trip, tensions in the Burvelle home escalate, with Keft continually dissatisfied with Nevare and berating him soundly, and Nevare offering only silence in return. Conversations with his mother continue politely enough, but Nevare’s sisters suffer for their father’s dissatisfaction with Nevare, and Vanze makes his escape as soon as he can.
A series of letters arrive, including several for Nevare. One is from Caulder, reporting how matters stand with him as he has been given to his scholar uncle and asking after information about the stone that had been taken from Nevare’s body after his experience with Dewara; said uncle sends an enclosure repeating the request. Another is from Spink, noting Epiny’s affliction by the plague; it is joined by another from Epiny, reporting her recovery. The progress of plague at Bitter Springs is rehearsed, as is that of Epiny’s recovery.
Further reading is interrupted by the angry entrance of Keft into the parlor where Nevare sits reading. His anger accompanies the formal honorable medical discharge Nevare has received; it stems in part from the assertion that Nevare had had sex with one of the Dappled People, as Nevare finds when he reviews the accompanying documentation. And, as he considers the matter, Nevare realizes that the magic he had thought himself done with continues to exert influence on him and in his life. He also assigns blame for his situation on his father, with no real satisfaction, and turns his attentions to a personal letter written him by Dr. Amicas.
The next few days pass in hollow discomfort for Nevare until Selethe takes him aside to talk to him in what seems her sanctum. There, amid offerings of incense, mother and son talk of Cecile and the Porontes, as well as their mutual experience of being trapped by their bodies. She avers that she will aid him in returning to himself, and while Nevare is moved by the gesture, he knows it will not avail.
Nevare returns to his room, contemplating its severity and the desire to flee. He does not heed it, but instead goes to sleep and dreams strangely of magic working in him. Waking in the night, he stalks out through the house and contemplates his future for a time before heading to the servants’ quarters and calling on Duril. The two talk together, Nevare relating his recent experiences with magic and relating in full what he recalls of his time with Dewara. Duril affirms having heard of the Dappled People’s magic-workers, the Great Men and Great Women. The nature of magic comes up, and both men find themselves eased by the conversation between them.
To address the chapter-length issue: the present chapter, in the edition of the novel I’m rereading, runs 28 pages in length, approximately 3.83% of the novel. In that, it parallels the preceding chapter closely, although so much is not the case in narrative terms. It is, rather, something of Freytag’s falling action for what might be called a short narrative arc in the present novel. As I continue to reread, I find myself more and more convinced that the novels do operate as a closely connected series of novellas, even as I acknowledge that “novella” is an ambiguous term.
Also, for indexing purposes, the following: Barrier Mountains, Bitter Springs, Bride’s Gift, Burvelle Landing, Cadet Lieutenant Tiber, Captain Maw, Carsina Grenalter, Caulder Stiet, Cecile Burvelle, Colonel Rebin, Colonel Stiet, Dancing Spindle, Daraleen Burvelle, Dark Evening, Dewara, Dr. Jakib Amicas, Dust Dance, Elisi Burvelle, Epiny Kester, Eron, Gernia, Gettys, Great Men / Great Women, Holy Writ, Incense, Jankship, Kase Remwar, Keft Burvelle, Kidona, King’s Cavalla Academy, King’s Road, Lady Poronte, Nevare Burvelle, Newton, Old Thares, Orandula, Plainsfolk, Rory Hart, Rosse Burvelle, Sefert Burvelle, Selethe Burvelle, Sergeant Erib Duril, Sirlofty, Speck plague, Spinrek “Spink” Kester, Spring water, Stone, Vanze Burvelle, Widevale, Yaril Burvelle.* There is, as might be expected, a lot going on in the chapter.
I note that the title calls back to earlier entries in the Soldier Son series; Shaman’s Crossing‘s “Letters from Home” comes to mind. Readers are once again reminded that Gernia is a largely (though not universally) literate nation, and Hobb exhibits the appropriate-for-a-writer insistence on the importance of writing in it (see for discussion Shaman’s Crossing‘s “The Academy,” among others). Seeing a theme carried forward is a good thing; consistency matters.
I note, too, that the prescription of men’s occupations noted early in the Soldier Son series–see my comments on Shaman’s Crossing‘s “Harbinger“–reinforces a workaround discussed in Shaman’s Crossing‘s “Vindication.” In “Vindication,” sons can be “promoted” if their elder brothers die. In it, as in the present chapter, sons can also be adopted out and put to other work; Caulder has been “given to [Colonel Stiet’s] younger brother, to raise as a scholar instead of a soldier” (114). While Nevare sees this as undesirable, he is also aware of others who have undertaken lives other than those to which they were born–notably Duril, whom he esteems (see Shaman’s Crossing‘s “Sword and Pen“); whether the distaste comes from the persons involved or from a perception of some decline in status, scholar sons being fifth in birth order,** is unclear.
I additionally note the properties of Bitter Springs, the waters of which seem to help with recovery from the Speck plague. It’s not an uncommon concept; Hot Springs, Arkansas, and Mineral Wells, Texas, come to mind as antecedents, though more the latter than the former. Having grown up in the Texas Hill Country (see this and this, for example), I’m familiar with the notion of relocating to otherwise somewhat inhospitable areas† in the interest of improving health, especially after disease; Kerrville, where I grew up, hosted facilities with such a purpose, as witness this and this. It’s easy, within the context, to assert that magic may be at work, but given historical precedent, it need not be so; there’s enough verisimilitude that it’s not needed.
I further note that there is a bit more explication of Gernian religious practice in the present chapter. Incense-burning as a devotional practice is a commonplace, of course, and Nevare’s questioning of it (126) is not at all inappropriate. Having the additional detail, however, is a good thing, giving a more complete picture of the faith’s ways than is common in mainstream fantasy literature. (Again, see “Unchurched: On the Relative Lack of Religion in Tolkienan-Tradition Fantasy Literature” and “Manifestations of Medieval Religion in Robin Hobb’s Elderlings Corpus” for discussion.) That details of other practices are provided, and somewhat evenhandedly, adds to that, to some appreciation.
Yet further, I note some extension of the feminist critique at work in the series (and in other parts of Hobb’s work, it must be noted) in Selethe’s conversation with Nevare. Her reflections on the costs and obligations of motherhood struck me as, again, unusual and good to see. I’ll readily concede, however, that such reflects my ongoing affective reading; I read from where I am and can hardly do otherwise.
Among the critical readings in the Fedwren Project (as of this writing; there may be more later), I think those of Carroll and of (again) Metsäpelto most relevant. I do not know that I need gloss them any more than I have in my abstracts of them, at least not at the moment.
Again, the present chapter is falling action. Matters are moving towards a significant inflection point, one that will come up in the next few chapters. As is usual for Hobb, things do not look like they will go well for her protagonist. But that is part of why Hobb’s readers read on, to see what will happen and how it will resolve.
* The present chapter expands on a name or two. I’ve corrected indexing entries in previous chapters to suit.
** Given the relative rarity of fifth sons, there cannot be many new scholarly lines coming into being in Gernia. So much implies a perceivedly lesser need for scholarship in that nation-state. And as far as the relative rarity, an older paper by Michael R. Haines, “NBER Working Paper Series on Historical Factors in Long Run Growth: The Population of the United States, 1790-1920,” posits that average women in the late nineteenth-century United States could expect to have between 3.87 and 7.58 children (with allowances for incomplete record-keeping and -survival noted). Assuming a roughly even distribution of sons and daughters (and applying then-current standards), while it might well be common that a family would have five children, there is only a 1/32 chance that all five would be sons, and it would not be common among even those families with more than five children. Too, all this discounts infant mortality, which is known to be a concern in Gernia, per Shaman’s Crossing‘s “Bessom Gord”; the number of surviving and not “promoted” scholar sons would be even lower.
† I don’t find the climate inhospitable, certainly, but I did grow up in it and so am used to it. It does tend to take people a bit aback on first encounter, however.
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Twenty-five years have passed since the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, a quarter-century in which things have been different here than they were before, more like they are there, and with many saying that it is a good thing that they are as they are now rather than as they were then. I do not know that I agree; I remember many of the calls for measures that, had they been in place, might or might not have hindered or halted the attacks, I remember many of the arguments against them, and they seem to me to be echoed quite closely in a lot of commentary that has slightly shifted topic but has never really stopped. I have to wonder if they oughtn’t’ve worked by this point, but I also have to wonder what I do not know, which I know exceeds what I do.
Once again, no picture
I have written about the anniversary before: here, here, and here. I still recognize that I regard it from a place of privilege, frightened as I was on the day it happened, and I still think it the duty of those who are thus privileged to mark the occasion, to reflect and remember what happened to others and maintain some sense of mourning for them. I still maintain that there is some sense in the event carrying less emphasis now than before, with so many other wrongs occurring in the world and crowding it out of daily consideration. Having, as noted before, spent my entire adult life in the context of 9/11 having happened, I have a sense of before even now, but that before is conflated with childhood, and so as I think back on things, I have trouble untangling what of that before is only the change of childhood ending and what is, in fact, a result of the terrorist attacks. But that’s just me, and that’s little enough.
So, once again, I mark the day, and I do what all who were not there must do: move ahead with the days that are mine. How fitting a tribute to those who have no more days, whose days were ended on that day, that can be, I do not know, but there is no other path open to me. All I can do is the best I can do, and I struggle enough with that as it is.
Read the previous entry in the serieshere. Read the next entry in the serieshere.
The present chapter treats what many might regard as animal cruelty.
The fifth chapter of Forest Mage, “Rosse’s Wedding,” opens with Nevare waking on the day of Rosse’s wedding and joining his father and brothers at breakfast. His younger brother, Vanze, has returned home and comments on Nevare’s weight, prompting laughter in which Nevare reluctantly joins. Breakfast proceeds awkwardly, Nevare’s choices of food displeasing his father no less than his lingering over the meager portions he serves himself.
Following breakfast, Nevare joins the rest of his family as they travel to the neighboring Poronte estate for the wedding. Progress thereto is detailed, and the Poronte estate described in some detail as they go. When the Porontes greet the Burvelles, Nevare is again a subject of ridicule, and as he joins his father and brothers in exchanging pleasantries with other guests, that does not cease until he manages to move off to the side and evade much notice. Contrasting his expectations with the presented reality, Nevare remarks his father’s pride in the marriage; he also remarks his brothers’ deportments, finding himself sympathizing greatly with his younger priestly brother.
Nevare considers the coming encounter with Carsina with trepidation as he muses on his physicality and that of those around him. He finds himself moved greatly by Carsina’s appearance, and he is dejected by her reaction to his changed appearance. Conversation with her, as well as with Yaril and with Kase Remwar, proceeds coolly and awkwardly as wedding proceedings begin and are described. Nevare’s ruminations on various matters pervade his description of events, and awards of lands to celebrate the nuptials are reported.
The wedding proceedings turn toward dancing and dining, and Nevare considers the events with trepidation. He finds himself confronted by his father and the Lord Grenalter, forced by manners into a conversation he did not want and that displeases his father. Being asked directly, Nevare reports such experience and knowledge of the plague as he has, which makes him something of a center of attention, to his father’s displeasure. Nevare belatedly realizes his over-speaking, and Keft rebukes him for the same.
Nevare afterward attempts to dance with Carsina, only to be rejected and to have his request for conversation with her refused. He replies harshly to her, which he immediately regrets. He withdraws from the situation and walks the Poronte grounds, finding evidence of a recent anumal sacrifice. It stuns him, and as he attempts to sort his thoughts, he is advised to depart. Returning to the festivities, puzzling over how to proceed, he soon settles at a dining table. Rather than trust himself amid the extravagance, he accepts the offer of a servingman to bring him a plate. As the servant departs, Nevare considers whether he is feeling the effects of Tree Woman and her magic upon him; his reverie is interrupted by his parents’ arrival at the table where he sits and his father’s rebuke. Matters are worsened by the Porontes joining them, and they are worsened further by the return of the servingman with an overabundance of food.
Nevare gorges himself on the food almost unconsciously, delighting immensely in the physical sensations of the food. Keft, quietly and coldly, rebukes him, and he dismisses Selethe from the table as he does so. Nevare offers a retort to his father’s assertions, which momentarily gives the older man pause but is soon followded by a promise of retribution. Nevare turns to drink, musing that excess in that earns him no rebuke.
To address the chapter-length issue: the present chapter, in the edition of the novel I’m rereading, runs 28 pages in length, approximately 3.83% of the novel. It is one of three chapters of such length in the novel, and there are only three chapters in the novel longer than it. That much noted, if it is the case that the present novel is composed of smaller narrative arcs as I think Shaman’s Crossing might be (see my comments on that novel’s chapters “The Return,” “Tiber,” and “Accusations,” for examples), the present chapter does not seem to conclude one so much as to set up what Freytag might call a climax of one; it is something of a turning point, particularly given what comes near and at the end of the chapter.
Also, for indexing purposes, the following: Apple compote, Battle of Dell, Brandy, Brede, Carsina Grenalter, Cartem, Caryton, Cecile Poronte, Colonel Haren, Colonel Rebin, Croaker bird, Dancing Spindle, Doril, Dorota, Dove, Dr. Jakib Amicas, Elisi Burvelle, Epiny Kester, Farleyton, Gettys, Gord Lading, High Temple, Holy Writ, Kase Remwar, Keft Burvelle, King Troven, King’s Road, Lady Poronte, Landsing, Lord Grenalter, Lord Poronte, Midlands, Nevare Burvelle, Old Thares, Prairie fowl, Rely, Rory Hart, Rosse Burvelle, Selethe Burvelle, Sergeant Erib Duril, Sirlofty, Spatterdock, Specks, Spinrek “Spink” Kester, “Stone Endures,”* Tree Woman, Trist Wissom, Vanze Burvelle, Yaril Burvelle. It’s a long list of which many names are mentioned in passing; centering around what must be a major social event in the area, the chapter might well be expected to offer many such details in pushing forward verisimilitude.
A number of issues present themselves in the current chapter. One of them, as might be expected in depicting a wedding, concerns religion. Bits and pieces of the dominant, seemingly official, faith at work in Gernia have been presented at several prior points in the Soldier Son novels (see, for examples, Shaman’s Crossing‘s “Harbinger,” “Dewara,” “Bessom Gord,” “Cousin Epiny,” and “Vindication“), and that this is in some contrast to prevailing patterns in Tolkienian tradition fantasy literature (see “Unchurched: On the Relative Lack of Religion in Tolkienan-Tradition Fantasy Literature” and “Manifestations of Medieval Religion in Robin Hobb’s Elderlings Corpus” for discussion) has been remarked. The wedding ceremony described in the present chapter, including some of Nevare’s commentary about it, fills in more details of that faith’s practices, which is a good thing for world-building and, again, for verisimilitude.
The wedding also contrasts dominant Gernian religious practices, explicitly and in detail, against earlier religious practices, something that both receives attention later in the chapter and that stands as an interesting difference between Gernia and the nineteenth-century United States from which it borrows so much. While it was not the case that nondominant religious practices were unknown to dominant populations in the United States of the time (as witness such things as the Theosophical Society of America and the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn), information regarding specific practices of pre-Christian religions would not have been particularly prevalent.** In Gernia, however, such specifics seem to be commonly accessible, having received remark not only in the present chapter, but in several prior places in the Soldier Son series–and Nevare is not presented as having been a paritcularly diligent student of theology. And they do not seem to have been (excessively) propagandized; while comments about the wantonness of Dark Evening and the present chapter’s comments about flogging and animal sacrifices (90) might well be taken in such a way, the evidence of sacrifice Nevare encounters (101-03) indicates that matters may well not be (much) exaggerated.
Another issue that presents itself in the current chapter, and one that has been present in much of the Soldier Son materials thus far, returns to attitudes toward fatness. (Once again, Metsäpelto is a key resource to consider.) Fatness is seen as worthy of ridicule in the Burvelle household, an attitude Nevare had displayed in abundance in his interactions with Gord throughout Shaman’s Crossing (about which some remark is made in my comments on “Homeward Bound“); it should not come as a surprise that he, having become fat, is subjected to it, even if it can be said that nobody should be ridiculed thusly. It does lead him towards some self-recrimination; although he knows himself to be muscled underneath his fat (87), he also finds himself joining with and agreeing with others as they condemn him for his appearance, including his prospective father-in-law (92-93). But it is not only the fact of the fatness itself that prompts condemnation, nor even yet the implications (erroneous, but still understood) of laziness and lack of care that accompany it; the simple fact that Nevare pays the level of attention to his food that he does earns scorn. At the breakfast prior to the wedding, in which Nevare attempts to moderate himself, he ends up annoying his father and elder brother with the time spent in eating (84-85); after he is overserved and constrained to eat, he revels in the physical experience of the food and is rebuked for it (108-09). Eating little, he is shamed; eating much, he is shamed. There is no good course of action for him to take–although, as Nevare wryly remarks, being overindulgent in drink does not earn him scorn. Some other comment may be embedded in that fact, some other message to be found, some other scholarly someday to explore in time, depending on what else comes.
Yet another issue that presents itself in the current chapter is that of politics. Nevare notes early in the chapter that his father “and Lord Poronte, arms linked, move through the gathering, greeting the guests. They were a powerful duo, and their alliance through the marriage would make them even more formidable in the Midlands. They paraded as if they were the happy couple rather than their offspring” (87). Such might well be expected; in a hierarchical feudal system, marriages among nobles are trade arrangements more than they are anything else, and the expansion and consolidation of power bases is a powerful motivator. Nor yet is it unexpected that there might come letters from the monarch expanding the holdings of allied families, the importance of which does not escape Nevare’s attention: “I suddenly realized that this was how King Troven encouraged alliances between the new noble houses, thus keeping their loyalty safely in his pocket” (91). It also calls back to something Captain Maw had discussed with Nevare (see Shaman’s Crossing‘s “Crossing“), that “The real power lay not in the new nobles and their sons who would folloow wherever the king led, but in the ranks of the military who felt loyalty and alliance to the new nobles” (96). It further, although Nevare does not comment on the idea, keeps the newer nobles focused outward, as increasing the extent of the colonial periphery allows more possibility of their own holdings’ expansion. In the long term, such a strategy is doomed to failure; there is a limit to the land that can be governed in such a way. In the short term, however, it works well, or well enough, for those for whom it works.
A final issue to consider in the present chapter is that of family dynamics among the eastern Burvelles. The sheer vehemence with which Keft regards Nevare is…unsettling to read. That Selethe seems similarly unsettled is…telling, I think. It is a far cry from the reasonable figure present at the beginning of the Soldier Son novels (see Shaman’s Crossing‘s “Magic and Iron“), and the shift in character sits oddly as I reread. I have to wonder if the feminist critiques present in the series (see the present novel’s “Forest Dreams” and Shaman’s Crossing‘s “Séance” for discussion) are finding reiteration and enhancement in Keft, and I have to wonder if this is, in fact, consistent with the early- and already-demonstrated problems in the character (see, again, Shaman’s Crossing‘s “Magic and Iron,” as well as its “Harbinger,” “The Return,”and elsewhere). I suppose it’s another scholarly someday, or an addition to the Fedwren Project, to treat as much.
* A small note: while Hobb is far from the first to comment on the persistence of stone, the fact of stones remaining in place across time is something that pops up an awful lot in her corpus. It is, perhaps, a bit of a joke that she brings it up in the present chapter.
** A couple of things, here: 1) For better or worse, (Protestant to Evangelical) Christianity was the dominant religious practice in the United States in the nineteenth century, particularly as depicted in those venues most likely to be familiar to Hobb’s presumed primary readership; and 2) This is as distinct from knowledge about the practices of the Plainsfolk, who are, because Gernia has problems, not recognized as being really Gernian, their subjugated status making the comparison between their beliefs and the prior beliefs of the Gernian public not really applicable.
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The time has come once again* for me to muse on work while I sit in my home office, in the air conditioning, doing little heavy lifting. How much work that can be, my typing things up and reviewing emails and treating bank feed data coming in (because all that does need done despite the holiday), is an open question, and I am well aware that there are good-faith arguments to be had about what work is. (I’m also aware, thanks to an undergraduate education many might well argue makes me useless for actual work, that there’s a collection of poetry titled What Work Is. It’s been since undergrad that I read it, however; I don’t remember how well it addresses its titular topic. Perhaps another rereading is in order.) There are also a lot of bad-faith arguments had about it, dividing workers in fields from each other and inhibiting their abilities to organize to effect.
Kind of the point. Photo by Tyler Mascola on Pexels.com
Although it is the case that I am currently management (technically; I don’t have a staff, working a largely seasonal business as I do for my day-job), I remain sympathetic to labor unions, having benefited from being in one (UAW Local 2110) and from growing up in then-current and formerly union households. I know well what a union contract can mean for a working person and for the family of the working person, and while I can readily acknowledge there are problems in unions as there are in any human organizations, I have also spent a long time working in at-will states without contractual protections, and I’d happily take the union problems over the other set.
(For reference, my day-job is a family business, and my parents are the owners. While it’s technically at-will employment, it would take a lot for me to walk away from my folks on this. The dynamics are different, and I acknowledge that my current situation is atypical; I do not expect to stand as a standard for anyone else’s experience. Just so it’s said.)
Given my union experience, I tend towards a broader view of labor, if only because it does allow more effective unionization. As noted above, I was a member of UAW Local 2110; I was not and never have been an automotive worker. Through some historical quirks, the entire working staff of a school at which I taught in New York City was represented by that union; everyone from the janitors and kitchen workers through administrative assistants and faculty up to the teaching heads of departments was part of a single collective bargaining unit. Only upper administration–deans, the provost, the president, and the like–stood outside of it. Accordingly, when it did happen that the contract needed renegotiating, it was a supremely unified effort at the school, and we did end up getting pretty decent deals for ourselves while I was on the payroll. Again, for me, it worked well; looking back, I could have and should have done more than I did with what I had at the time, but so much is true for a great many things in my life.
Yes, again, there are problems with the ways many unions are set up and operate. I’m not blind to them; I was on the receiving end of them, and more than once. (Seniority matters, time on task matters, but they are not the only things that do, especially in fields that do, in fact, evolve over time.) But there are, again, problems in any human systems. Self-interest and self-aggrandizement stain human experience, and peccadilloes and perfidies pervade it. I need not rattle off a litany of even this long weekend’s events to show so much. I’ll note, though, that the sometimes severe problems present in a great many systems do not dissuade a great many people from taking part in them; for many, the price of indulging such flaws is worth paying for what is received thereby. How broadly such a lesson might be applied…I suppose it is, for now, for others to say.
* Oh, yes, it’s again. I mention the observance here, and I ruminate upon it here, here, here, here, here, and here. That the observance always falls on a Monday and I try to post each Monday makes it easy to mark the event.
Following up on last week, I continued to work with the students taking part in the Dungeons & Dragons game at my local public library o get their characters built for the game, moving forward; it was, in effect, Session Zero and a Half. With as many as were at the table, and as relatively few sets of materials as were present, it took some doing, but I feel like good progress was made. It helped that one of the stated goals of the program is to develop players who can run games of their own; since dealing with building characters is part of running games, having one or two of the more senior participants work to help others build their own characters seemed a useful part of training.
It’s a good result. Photo by Lucius PK on Pexels.com
I’ve had my own building to do, as well. While I was able to get a lot of information put together in advance of the previous session, there was still more I needed to have ready to go for the players; that is now completed, to my great comfort. It helped that I was able to leverage a fair amount of my expertise participating in online play-by-post games, something I think I noted, and I’m minded that the kind of adventure I have planned for the young players at my table is one that would work, with some adjustment, for a more mature group (and a larger one, although I had nine people at my table last week, which is a pretty damned big group, all told). It is something of an escort mission, one resonant with local history and that makes use of silly internet memes–so a good kind of thing. For another group, a less-memed such mission might work; similarly, one that faces multiple challenges of the sort I have planned for the kids, and on a more predetermined than dice-driven schedule, might well work. (And, honestly, for a play-by-post game, it would be better to have things scheduled out; there is an expectation of scheduling rather than spontaneity in such a setting.)
I know that escort missions often annoy in video games. The escorted often have poor pathfinding and action trees, making them unwieldy to play around. That’s part of why I’m working with the memes at my youth table*; my thought is that the silly nature of what the players and their characters have to address will offset at least some of the annoyance, given how often people are willing to put up with vexations if there’s a laugh to be found (or something cute, which I think is the case for what I’m having the youths treat). In the case of what I’m offering to my current players, the common patterns of escort missions make sense; I can’t give too much detail here against the possibility that one or more of my players will do the work of looking up what I write,** but silly things of limited wisdom and some intelligence can be expected to act in…odd ways. And that can work with adult groups no less well than with younger ones, honestly.
Too, the escort mission does allow for a particular narrative focus. While railroading remains problematic at best, as I’ve noted, younger groups often do need a bit more overt direction than older ones. More open-ended things, while rewarding player initiative and creativity, offer ample opportunity for distraction and, in my experience, character and player conflict. Older goups tend to handle such conflicts better, in addition to being more willing than younger ones to let stories form around them. For larger groups–and I have a larger group at present–it’s more helpful, as well, to have the greater focus; with many people working together, things can go well, while having them work at cross-purposes means things don’t go much at all. And having them go really does make for a better time for all involved.
It is a game, after all, and even if it, like all works of art,† does other things, it has as its purpose working toward making a good time for all involved.
* Another part is to amuse myself. I get to have fun at the table, too, after all.
** Given that one of the players is my daughter, I know at least one of them is aware of my blogging in this webspace. I would not be surprised to learn she’d mentioned as much to her friends at the table, and I’d honestly welcome it if one of them tried to do the kind of metagaming that looking at what I write here would entail; it would show engagement with the game and its materials. I would have to address the matter, of course, for reasons I’ve discussed previously, but I can appreciate the initiative and investment. To avoid the need to address, then, I keep things somewhat obscure here. Perhaps sometime I will post the narrative materials here. Maybe.
† I follow Daniel Mackay’s The Fantasy Role-playing Game: A New Performing Art for this. I’ve referenced him more than once before, as witness this, this, this, this, and this.
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The fourth chapter of Forest Mage, “The Fast,” starts as Nevare, escorted by his elder brother, reports to the work detail led by Sergeant Duril. The surroundings and work are described as Nevare joins the tasks, and Duril privately expresses his surprise at Nevare’s appearance, to Nevare’s shame. But the work continues through the day, and when Nevare returns to his room at the end of it, washes up, and surveys himself, finding himself much changed from even his expectations and puzzled at how the changes have happened.
It’s a little close for comfort. Photo by u0391u03bbu03b5u03beu03b1u03bdu03b4u03c1u03bfu03c2 u039cu03b1u03bcu03bfu03c5u03bdu03b7u03c2 on Pexels.com
Having thus diverted himself from his intention to join his family at dinner, Nevare repairs to the kitchen, thinking to drink only water. He does drink a mugful of milk before trying to fill himself on water, but it does not satisfy him, and he withdraws to his rooms to make a journal entry and assess himself. He compares himself to Gord, noting the latter’s inexcessive eating, and determined to go out for a walk on the property. Along the way, he overhears his father’s displeasure, and goes outside, walking amid property he has helped tend.
While considering a pond he had known to be full of fish, Nevare finds himself beset by Yaril. Her ire confuses him, given their previous closeness, and he attempts to defend himself against her assertions of his ill intent. She presses upon him, upbraiding him with the political ramifications of his appearance, and words grow heated between them surrounding their expected marital prospects. Yaril leaves, and Nevare sits, considering her words and the folly of a fish-pond amid the semi-arid plains.
Selethe soon joins Nevare, speaking softly to her son. She notes her surprise at his appearance and summons him to her sewing room, where she speaks of seamstresses who had been hired in preparation for the coming wedding and takes measurements from which to make Nevare a new suit in haste. Selethe ascribes Nevare’s fatness to bad food at the Academy and his convalescence, and she notes having interceded with Keft for him. Soon after, he takes his leave, drinking water again and again finding no satisfaction from it.
The next day, Nevare reutrns to work, faring badly at it. After the work day, he has to avoid the kitchens despite his hunger, and he washes carefully before reporting to his mother’s sewing room and the attentions of the seamstresses. After an embarrassing interlude there, he withdraws to his bed, dreaming as his other self and recognizing the victory earned at the Dancing Spindle.
The following day repeats Nevare’s work experience, and through his exertions, he arrives at the idea that the Academy had stripped him of his self-discipline. He falls into self-recrimination, but he uses it to return to work with vigor, delighting in punishing himself with the effort. He finds when he returns to his mother’s sewing room for final fittings, however, that his efforts have not changed him, and he despairs of Carsina. Again, he compares himself to Gord, and when he returns to the sewing room as he had been directed, Elisi upbraids him. Selethe admits that having to make a new suit for Nevare has left them with insufficient time to prepare Elisi’s outfit to make an effective presentation to a visiting noble. Efforts to prepare for the wedding continue, and Nevare is, at last, sent off for the evening.
To address the chapter-length issue: the present chapter, in the edition of the novel I’m rereading, runs 17 pages in length, approximately 2.33% of the novel. There is perhaps some irony in so slim a chapter focusing on concerns of fatness to the extent that it does, although it might well be read that the text is being pared down as much as it is hoped Nevare will soon be. I’ll admit, though, that that might be over-inflating something that is merely coincidence, but even if it is mere coincidence, it’s something that bears some comment.
Also, for indexing purposes, the following: Alfalfa, Carsina Grenalter, Cilima Lading, Clover, Derwith Toller, Dr. Jakib Amicas, Elisi Burvelle, Eron, Gord Lading, Honeysuckle, Kase Remwar, Keft Burvelle, Nevare Burvelle, Old Thares, Poronte Family, Rosse Burvelle, Selethe Burvelle, Sergeant Erib Duril, Speck plague, Specks, Tree Woman, Widevale, Widevale Hall, Yaril Burvelle. A brief chapter might well be expected to have relatively few indexable items, and the present chapter meets expectations.
It’s time for affective reading again, it seems. I recently to this writing had a series of medical appointments. In them, I was reminded of being overweight–clinically obese, in fact–and that some health problems are starting to crop up in relation thereto. I don’t have quite the animus directed at me that Nevare does in the present chapter, having quite a bit of support as I begin working in earnest to take care of my overweight and my other incipient (and not-so-incipient, as it happens) health problems. There are challenges, though, and I don’t know that I’d do terribly well without the kindness and compassion of those in my life. I am grateful to have it. The present chapter reminds me that I should be thus grateful.
I will again refer to Metsäpelto here, the present chapter once again putting on display a variety of Gernian attitudes toward fatness that echo those present in the late nineteenth-century United States, echoing those in Victorian England. In the case of the Victorian English, part of what informs attitudes towards fatness is a reaction against Regency norms and excesses, a motion towards self-restraint and “decency” and away from the perceived immoralities of the recent past. Fatness is viewed as an indication of excess, thus of indecency, as attested by William Banting in his Letter on Corpulence, Joyce L. Huff in “Fat,” Peter R. Stearns in Fat History: Bodies and Beauty in the Modern West, Georges Vigarello in The Metamorphoses of Fat, Garabed Eknoyan in “A History of Obesity, or How What Was Good Became Ugly and Then Bad,” and elsewhere. The scholars note that such attitudes arise in force only in the later Victorian period and the post-Civil War United States, Stearns situating it specifically following 1890 (which reinforces some of the suggestions of more specific antecedents for Gernia noted in Shaman’s Crossing‘s “A Ride in the Park,” although the note must be repeated that Gernia borrows from the nineteenth-century United States rather than reflecting it precisely). They contrast in force with both earlier understandings of fatness (being more concerned with mobility than with girth as such) and ancestral regard for obesity as signifying sufficiency of food.* Such makes the Gernian disdain for fatness make more sense; Gernia, as presented, is very much about adherence to norms, to self-control and differentiation from indigenous lifeways, and the Burvelles are presented as being more concerned with such things than most. The vehemence against fatness** is not more comfortable for having such a context, of course, but the context does matter.
I’ll note also a strange myopia as regards how Nevare is expected to address his fatness. While several characters acknowledge that a scant few days is not enough time to lost all of the fat Nevare “should,” most do seem to think there will be a noticeable difference in him in those few days with work and short rations. For his part, Nevare does make a good faith effort to heed his father’s commands, starving himself for days as he does hard manual labor in the sun and heat. Having picked up rocks in the sun, I know it is no easy thing to do. I know, too, that I did not lose weight from it, at least not in the course of a few days. Water weight might be shed so quickly, but even then, doing so comes at costs–including some of the same symptoms that Nevare shows of weakness and fogged thought. It’s not healthy, even in the short term, and it’s not really sustainable.
* Indeed, the evident preference for fatness among the Dappled People is suggestive of their adherence to such regard. Later portions of the reread will treat this.
** There is some vehemence even when encountered in moderation, as in Selethe’s opinion of Nevare’s weight as stemming from the circumstances of his convalescence. She, at least, seems to regard it as a thing that has happened to him, rather than as a thing he has done to himself; she does not decline to regard it as a problem he must solve, however, nor yet does she conceal her distaste for even her supposedly favored child due to his fatness.
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