A Robin Hobb Rereading Series: Entry 364: City of Dragons, Chapter 14

Read the previous entry in the series here.
Read the next entry in the series here.


After good news makes its way from Detozi to Reyall, “Shopping” begins with Hest confronting his father, the Trader Finbok. Hest recalls the attack he suffered as his father rebukes and upbraids him for his sloppiness with Alise, bidding him retrieve his wife as a means of securing Elderling goods from far up the Rain Wild river. The Trader Finbok relates information he has come to possess about the Tarman and the keepers’ expedition, and Hest is surprised to be presented with a line of thought he had not considered. He maneuvers his father somewhat, and the Trader Finbok explicates the situation with the keepers and the Councils in Trehaug and Cassarick in more detail, laying out what would be the advantageous position for the Finboks to take. Hest considers messages he, himself, had sent, following the implications thereof, and his father directs him to book passage.

Healthful and restorative…
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The argument the directive would provoke is forestalled by the entrance of Hest’s mother, Sealia, who is described in detail as she takes Hest in hand, to his father’s annoyance. Hest turns over the implications of his mother’s interference in his mind and sides, surprisingly, with his father. Sealia bustles off to make arrangements, and Hest receives further instructions from his father before heading out with his mother on her intended shopping trip.

Their progress to and through the main market in Bingtown is detailed, and Hest muses on his situation as they proceed. His reverie is interrupted by the sight of his assailant, and he urges his mother onto a different route than she had intended. Thinking himself safe, Hest presses his mother to return home, and he calls for tea upon arrival. When it is delivered, Hest finds himself poisoned, his assailant reminding him of his demands and the price for failing to meet them.

I have been accused, on no few occasions and not without substantial merit, of having a lascivious sense of humor. Put more plainly, I like dirty jokes, and I make them (too?) often, so much so that there are online communities in which pointing out or making innuendo is taken as typifying me. Consequently, when Hest makes a crude joke about his and his father’s genital endowments, it attracted my attention. Frankly, it’s a kind of joke I would make–and a kind of joke I have made, more than once. It does seem out of place, admittedly, both in-milieu (it’s not the sort of thing usually associated with the Bingtown Traders as previously depicted in the novels, nor with prevailing depictions of the genteel merchant princes of the early America I still maintain Bingtown evokes and echoes) and in a readerly sense; only one other overt example comes to mind for me at the moment, and it is also marked in the text as being unusual. Again, I don’t mind the joke, but it stands out, and, given the broader context of Hobb’s work, I think it has to serve to reinforce that readers should not like Hest–and that his father’s not a whole lot better, if he is at all.

I note also another bit of humor, subtler and far more pointed, at work in the present chapter. Readers of the Realm of the Elderlings novels will doubtlessly be familiar with a pair of assassins north of Bingtown, Skilled servants of the Six Duchies, Chade Fallstar and FitzChivalry Farseer. While the novels do not shy away from the nature of their work for their kingdom, they also go to great lengths to humanize the pair of them and to make them sympathetic, something aided, certainly, by positioning Fitz as the narrator in more cases than not. The assassin and enforcer that has been assigned to handle Hest is not nearly so kindly portrayed, which comes across to me as a particularly morbid bit of humor. Hest, being more of a stereotype than many other characters in the Realm of the Elderlings novels, gets a more stereotypical treatment than most do, as well. Admittedly, the humor’s less funny than it is sardonic, and there are problems with the use of stereotypes, generally, but that both are true does not mean the humor is not present in the text, the sardonic no less than the vulgar.

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Still Another Rumination on Labor Day

I have been remarking on what today commemorates for some years, now, not only in this webspace (here, here, and here), but also in others. Having been a union man, and still being one in some ways, I know well the value of organized labor, and I note with some…vexation the repeated refusals by those who claim to want a return to the practices of decades past to align with the organizing principles that informed many of those practices. What made things great wasn’t what many want to believe. (That things weren’t great for a lot of people does not escape me, either, even if it does many–although I know that many don’t bother with pursuit.)

Keep it going!
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As I think on things this time around, I find myself somewhat caught. I suppose it’s a symptom of too much thinking that conundra emerge, and I suppose it says something about me that I encounter them as often as I do, but I recognize there is a tension at work between the potential ennobling effects of work and the fact that having to work is, in some ways, a curse. For those who value Genesis (the book, not the band or the up-jumped Hyundai), work is one of the things with which the fallen Adam is cursed (1:17-19); I am not up enough on other ideologies to remark on whether a similar burden is imposed from on high, which is my failing and not that of said ideologies. I can remark, however, that there are few in my experience or of whom I have heard report who do not, at least on occasion, complain about their work, even those who say that they love their jobs (and there are many who affirm very much the opposite). Much as I enjoy writing, there are times when the blank page taunts me, and while I meet some of those taunts bravely, there are some from which I have turned away.

I can also remark, though, that I am improved by working, and not only in terms of my bank accounts. Such work as I have done and still do–and I know there are some who will say that I do not “really” work and never have–has sharpened my mind. Used to be that it strengthened by body, too, until I had my jobs that are inside work with no heavy lifting. I’m not the only one, either; my family’s been full of such people, almost all of them better at what they do than I am at what I do, and my family is but one of many such. So there is nobility in the work that is done, even if it is otherwise than ought to be that the work has to be done.

But the work does have to be done, and I remain grateful for those who do that work. As should we all be, even as we work to ensure that those who do the labor upon which we rely are treated as they ought to be, as we would ourselves hope to be treated, did we do that work.

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Odd Days

A holiday looms
An extra day off
For some people
But not as many as should be
And never enough
And some are content with the way things are
While others are certainly not
And have started their celebrations early

I, too, use a shovel, but not for that, as might well be understood.
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Who can blame them
Really
As would not do the same
Had they not thought of it in time?

But that I do not blame them
Does note mean I am not struggling
Making sure my work gets done
And some of theirs
When they are not here

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All Ahead Slow

I dare not follow Farragut closely
My hull not so sound as to shrug off mines blithely
And the sonar and spotters I sport are
Fogged and faulty, failing to find a
Clear course I might cruise that
Does not run me aground, and
I am not built for beaching

Iconic.
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Each bark that braves such waters and blasts
Has its hull hit a time or two
I know
But with fresher crew and more in reserve
Than I have on deck or in hold

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