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A letter from Selden to Keffria and Ronica in which he glosses developments in his life precedes “Summer,” which opens with the continuation of discussion between the crews of Tarman and Paragon. Events in Chalced are glossed, and some future plans are floated. Difficulties are also attested. The dispositions of the dragons after the defeat of Chalced are also attested, and Chassim’s installation as Chalced’s ruler receives remark. Selden’s condition is also reported, and thoughts of his future are voiced.
Looks about right… Mating Battle, by Toad, from the Realm of the Elderlings Wiki, here, used for commentary
Sedric and Carson see to the disposition of messenger birds that have been sent to Kelsingra. Neither has much experience with the birds, but they do find a message appended to one of them. Opening it, they find a request for news of Hest and a reward for information about him. After a brief conference, the two set the message aside as irrelevant and return to their work.
Tats and Thymara confer as they look out over Kelsingra and its surroundings. They note, too, the continued enthusiasm for mating fights and flights among the dragons, now that matters have settled. The pair are surprised to see Sintara at the center of such a tangle, from which she and Mercor emerge in union. And in exultation, Thymara, herself, flies, and she at last accepts Tats’s entreaties.
The present chapter, last in the book (there’s an epilogue, though) and thus the last in the tetralogy, does a good job of summarizing and resolving a number of plot points that earlier chapters had not quite addressed. It’s a sensible enough thing for the chapter to do, given where it is, even if I do still think it’s a bit rushed. Still, that much of the resolution is presented as a thing done previously and only reported some time after the fact does a fair bit to help it sit better with me, and there’s doubtlessly some determination to the effect of “Readers won’t be interested in seeing, oh, Selden and Chassim falling more fully in love, and the novel’s already long enough, thank you” involved in glossing developments.
(Look, I’m a sucker for some of this kind of thing. And I remain a nerd–obviously, since I’m writing about the book and about this kind of thing in the book more than a decade after the fact–so I want details and information, even if I can’t spend time on them the way I used to could.)
I will note that I appreciate the passage with Sedric and Carson in particular. That Hest has simply gone without a trace, or an obvious one, and that it’s accepted along the lines of “Eh, what you gonna do?” is something of a playful thing; that there is a clear implication that the pair know what happened, even without more or less direct evidence, only enriches it. Petty as it is, though, and subject to deconstruction (seriously, follow the implications), it’s a little bit of amusement for me, and I appreciate it.
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When wordsmiths no more will wonders attest; Pen-pushers finding their pages no longer, Leaving off leaf-work, the labor of scribes Put forth as prayers in previous days; When singers are silent, their stages left empty; And all that emerges in every art Is a mishmash made up of masters since lost, Nothing new coming, noting made fresh; Will people weep and wail in their mourning, Start forming seas from their souls’ windows, Or will they instead, inured to the injury Done them for dollars in deepening hoards, Grin and go on and gladly set by What once they valued, held worthy as treasures? Might well those many, motion eschewing, Sigh once and settle, sullen in mind, Fearing to fight, fates accepting That others will offer, put off their own?
Gather who will in greed their gold… Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
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A missive from Kerig to Erek “unofficially” noting the latter’s impending elevation to Master status precedes “Chalced”, which opens with Reyn borne aloft by Tintaglia again and considering the differences between the earlier experience and the present one. The dragons’ progress in anger towards Chalced is described, and the changes that have continued to overtake Rapskal are noted. The relative dispositions of the keepers and the dragons are attested, as well, with tensions emerging. Reyn also notes the differences between the mores that have grown up among the keepers and those with which he still holds, considering how they will affect him and his family. Talk of the coming battle is held, as well, as is talk of Thymara.
…by any other name would smell as sweet… Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
In Chalced, Chassim wakes Selden, bidding him rise and eat. The two talk together fatalistically, planning their mutual exits. Their discussion is interrupted by the sound of horns in the city.
The dragons approach Chalced in haste, preparing their attack. Plans that had been made are related, along with the discussions that surrounded them. Messengers go out, noticed but unchased, and the attack commences.
Sedric, riding Relpda, urges the dragon to caution, only to be mocked for it. The dragons project fear onto their oncoming victims as they approach.
Selden and Chassim continue to eat and confer, and Chassim begins to notice the tumult in the city below. They watch the oncoming attack, and Selden recognizes the approach of death. Chassim joins the recognition, and the two, believing themselves condemned, kiss among the spreading ruin. Seeing the dragons’ intent, Selden calls out to Tintaglia again.
Reyn watches sickly as the attack continues and flesh melts against dragon venom. He marvels at the dragons’ precision for a time until Tintaglia turns beneath him and races to an unknown target.
Selden sings Tintaglia’s praises as she comes for him, and both he and Chassim are lifted away from the ruin of Chalced. Reyn rejoices in the recovery of his brother-in-law, and Chassim introduces herself to him.
As befits a chapter focused on an instance of combat–slaughter, really–the present chapter is fragmented and disjointed, shifting with increasing speed among its focal points as the dragons fall upon and lay waste to the fortress of Chalced. While it does make the narrative harder to follow–at least for me as I reread the chapter at this point, probably more tired than I ought to be to do such a thing–it also works toward the ultimate unutterability of a fight. Others, unfortunately more learned than I in the matter, might well be able to say more, but from the experience I have had in fights, I can attest to the ways in which conscious memory fails to fully encompass any physical contest, and words do not suffice to the task of making real what happens to those who are not there for it. Given the fiction that dragons are, readers must look for parallels in their own world, of which there are far too many and far too readily applied to populations that do not deserve it. And perhaps that is the greatest fiction at work in the present chapter, that the onrushing forces work so diligently to contain the damage they do, even if only out of self-interest, as the dragons themselves comment in their approach to Chalced.
The exchanges between Selden and Chassim in the present chapter sit strangely with me as I reread the chapter. It is not the fatalism both display, to be sure; both of them have reason, as the chapter begins and continues, to expect that they do not have much time left living, and Chassim certainly has reason to expect that, if life continues, it will not be a good thing for her. Rather, it is the sudden motion towards what seems to be romance between them as the dragons make their attack. I know that the imminence of death does strange things to people; so much is amply attested. And it is not necessarily the case that a kiss is romantic, although it is overwhelmingly coded as such in the dominant social paradigms in which Hobb writes and, presumably, the majority of her audience reads. (Indeed, I believe I’ve remarked upon Hobb’s more or less explicit use of such coding, and not only in the Rain Wilds novels. Others have, as well.) Still, the specific reaction seems a bit odd to me; I can’t necessarily pin down why, but then, this is not a formal paper that requires I do so. Nor is it necessarily a bad thing; even for things for which I am very much part of the expected primary audience (and after having written and published on Hobb’s work even before the novel hit print, I think I solidly established myself as part of that audience), it is too much to ask that all parts of such things cater to my specific interests.
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So many of the threads show blue where Some might have expected to see red Looking again on something seen in August days And first in February But time and distance have shown that The blue is a better color The threads more tightly woven and The fabric better fitted Than any other hue To cover the yellow underlying it all
Sure. Why not? Photo by Steve Johnson on Pexels.com
It hangs on display yet Showing to all the world For whatever reason Even though few eyes will look And those that do are often bored Searching soon enough for More dynamism Which is hardly hard to find
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While it is the case that I’ve posted to this webspace on Valentine’s Day before (here, here, and here), I’ve not yet given a post to the observance, as such. It seems a rare thing; I often post about holidays on holidays, about observances on observances, so to have missed one…it’s a rarity. And it’s something I need to correct.
There is no shortage of commentary on the event, of course, and no small amount of it critical, often pointedly so. As with so much in the world, it is and has been made crassly commercial, and I confess that I am not immune to its presentation as such; I know where and when I grew up, and I know that one of the accepted and encouraged ways of demonstrating affection for a person is spending money on that person, often on some consumable that will not last / will need to be replaced in short order. I also know that some of those for whom I care are similarly steeped in such ways, such that, even if they know intellectually that affection and expenditure do not necessarily correlate, their feelings would be hurt if I didn’t do at least a little something for them.
I care about them. I don’t want to hurt their feelings. (Find fault with me for it if you must, but if you must, I must assert unpleasantries about those who act with disregard towards those they claim to value.) So I do what I do.
So much said, though, I don’t think it’s wrong to set aside a day to celebrate romantic love. (Yes, I know there’s a lot of cultural focus on such things already; “Why do you need a day for something that’s praised all year?” is a question worth asking, to be sure. There are issues with setting anything as a norm, of course.) I also don’t think it’s wrong to set aside days to celebrate other forms of love, and there are many other such. The love I feel for my wife is not the same as the love I feel for my daughter is not the same as the love I feel for my mother is not the same as the love I feel for my brother is not the same as the love I feel for what of The Work that is still mine to do, et cetera. But “love” is a bad word, not just because it’s a four-letter one, but because the translation’s so…squishy; there’s too much that it covers for it to be as useful as it really could be.
And there’s less of it out in the world than it would be useful to have. But that’s another matter entirely.
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Following an announcement from the Bird Keepers’ Guild that Kim has been stripped of authority and dismissed, with others possibly to follow, “Dragon Decisions” opens with Thymara considering the work and accoutrements necessary to handle Silver. Progress on Kelsingra in the absence of the dragons is related, and she, accompanied, makes trial of the Silver, and rediscoveries of lost techniques begin, but only barely begin.
Oddly enough, something like this… Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
Later, Malta muses on the departed dragons and keepers, considering Phron as she tends idle gardens. She and a keeper, Alum, confer, their talk turning to Trader life and the possibility of the creation of other Elderlings. Some of the events of the Liveship Traders novels are glossed, and Malta thinks wistfully on her family. She offers such counsel as she can to the younger keeper, and, gifted with seeds, makes a new start to the gardens.
Thymara repairs to the map room, considering it and the work that has been done on it. Tats joins her there, and the two confer, largely about Rapskal and their own relationship. They walk through Kelsingra, considering it further, and Thymara leads them to the quarters her memory-self, Amarinda, had had. There, she puts the memories to rest.
Approaching Cassarick, Alise and Leftrin confer, their progress downriver noted. Tillamon joins them and notes her plans. An upset among the Chalcedean captives is also related, and the Tarman ties up and begins to disgorge cargo and passengers. The Chalcedeans opt to choose their own deaths in the caustic water of the Rain Wild rather than face what will come, and the attack by dragons on Chalced is reported.
The end of the book is approaching, and along with it, the end of the Rain Wilds Chronicles. It makes sense, then, that Hobb would work in the present chapter to address a number of plot threads and work to bring them towards conclusion. The resolution of the trouble among the Bird Keepers noted in the opening missive is one such thing; the various reflections on relationships among the Kelsingrans and Traders offer other examples. Not all of the plot threads are addressed, of course, but there are yet pages in the text to treat, and it isn’t the case in any event that all plot threads have to be tied off. Indeed, a more verisimilitudinous novel will deliberately leave matters unfinished, as it is rare in real life that matters are completed, let alone completed neatly–and even a less “realistic” one may well leave space from which sequels can emerge, especially when it is itself such a sequel.
I do appreciate the motion in the earlier sections of the chapter towards the idea of work to be done. It is often the case in fantasy fiction, not least in cases where old realms are restored, that the work of that restoration is glossed over, if it is mentioned at all. Consider Lord of the Rings, where the work of rebuilding the Shire is passed over in fits and starts (and the hobbits from whose work the book is “translated” would, as they are described in prefatory materials, likely be at least as concerned with the rebuilding as they would have been with the quest that preceded it), and the restoration of Gondor is relegated to appendices whose composer lamented them. Hobb admittedly has the leisure of more time in the Realm of the Elderlings than many authors; there are years between series that take place in the same areas of the milieu, but it is also clear that things are not hand-waved as restored to their full former status even in those years. In the present chapter, the slow work of manipulating Silver and the bare beginnings of gardens under Malta’s care both point to the efforts to be expended, and not all in one burst.
I have to note, too, the resignation of the Chalcedean prisoners at the end of the chapter. The parallels to historical events should be clear. The reminder that there is pain and misery at the foundation of things is one that needs making; there are certainly enough people who try to forget it again and again…
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Somehow, the wrinkled citrus thrown away By many hands still stands in light of day And rocks as many look on in dismay At thoughts that its foul roots still spread and sprout, That they yet linger, that none can rip out Each shoot that springs up from the soil. No doubt Remains that that invasive plant endures, That, festering, it for itself secures A foothold, fed by dozens of manures That many yet will all too gladly spread. They shovel out what falls from every head Among them, feast, and think themselves well fed. No wonder, then, such stink is in the air As leaves behind all hog-farms in compare.
Something like this, yes Photo by Daniel Dan on Pexels.com
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A good while back, I made some comments (here and here) about an exercise class I’d started and was taking. In the time since, I’ve moved to a different county and through more jobs than I care to recount, and I’m not in that class any longer, although I remember it fondly and wish the instructor (who is still in the business as of this writing, here) well.
So, where’s the pot-bell? Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
I’ve also done what I could to keep going to the gym. It hasn’t been in organized classes, as such, although I did join a gym and was reasonably diligent about going a couple of times a week. As my work situation shifted, I had more or less trouble keeping up, although I did feel guilty about missing gym time when I did. Even so, my weight rose, my waistline expanded, and I felt myself becoming…less capable.
More recently, with the newest shift in my working situation, I made an adjustment to my gym-going. Since I don’t regularly work in a town with the other gym I was a member of, I disenrolled from it and took up with a local place; it’s a lot easier for me to make a five-minute drive than a thirty-five minute one. Since my schedule has moved a bit, I’m now able to go to the gym more days, and with my family having the schedule it does, I have a block of time many mornings or most in which I would be alone at home or too early to the workplace; I have time to get some exercise in more often now than before, and I’ve been working to take advantage of that time.
I’ve never been in the best shape, to be honest. I was a scrawny kid, and I have always been a paunchy adult. I don’t expect that I’ll ever lack a flabby belly or jiggling jowls. (Part of why I wear a beard is to minimize the appearance of the latter.) But I can be better and do more, and I think it might well be the case that, over the coming weeks and months, I’ll write somewhat about the efforts I’m making to that end. If nothing else, I do have to show that I can do more than hammer out summaries and snippets of verse in this webspace.
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Elliott RWI 