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

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After an excerpt from a translated commentary on killing (one that Dargen seems to have studied), “The Morning After” begins with Bee waking late and ruminating on her displeasure at Fitz’s seeming valuing Shun over her. She also considers how others relate to her, and she fumes as she collects clothing that fits badly and changes in private before seeking Fitz.

Bee finds Fitz at table with Shun and Riddle, and she comments with some aspersion on him having eaten without her. Several barbed exchanges ensue, with Bee aiming at Fitz to some effect–though he does not respond in kind–and Shun to more of it, provoking anger from her. Fitz notes the impending arrival of FitzVigilant, which occasions mild upset from some present and curiosity from others, with Bee remembering his earlier visit to Withywoods. Shun’s continued barbs are shut down, and Bee becomes aware both of Fitz’s approval and the limits of others’ knowledge. More normal conversation follows, with Bee ruminating on preparations and on her status as she excuses herself from the table.

Later, Bee returns to the messenger’s pyre, rekindling the flame and ruminating on the messenger and on bits of prophecy of which she is aware. Returning to her home, she observes a cat at hunt. The successful animal notes the utility of autonomy, and Bee considers the lesson closely.

The present chapter is another brief one, less than ten pages in the edition of the novel I am reading. Again, I am not sure regarding any significance of the chapter lengths or patterns in them, and, again, I am convinced that going through the text and taking page-counts is something that could be done, with some tedium though not with difficulty.

It occurs to me that the idea of some significance associating itself with something like patterns of chapter-lengths runs into the notion of authorial intent. Wimsatt and Beardsley come to mind, of course, as do gallons of ink spilled on reams of paper about curtains being blue. That is, whether Hobb means anything by any patterns of chapter length that exist is immaterial; even if she has attested to it–and I do not know if she has; I’ve admitted that the Fedwren Project is not comprehensive, after all–the attestation would be itself a re/construction of events, a story told about them, subject to the frailties of human memory and perception in the recording and the relation.

What matters is the effect such a pattern has on readers, and whether that effect is in accord with the effects generated by the other features of the text. (Whether chapter length counts as text, proper, or as paratext is something that could be argued meaningfully. It likely has been in other contexts, but , if it has, references thereto do not come to mind.) For me, the shorter chapters stand out no less than the longer ones; the very difference marks them out for some attention. Whether those differences correspond to any particular points of narrative heft, I cannot say at the moment; I’d have to do the data collection and review my notes in a way that composing this entry in the rereading series does not really allow (and, honestly, I should have the notes for the entire body of work ready before I make the attempt). But I can say that anything that sticks out calls for attention, deliberately or not, and even if it is not a deliberate thing on the author’s part, there is some meaning to be gleaned–even if only a little.

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