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

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After an excerpt from an in-milieu conduct manual, “Search for the Son” begins with Fitz conferring with his steward, Revel, about coming changes and the standing décor of the guest suites in Withywoods. Fitz endues the steward’s gentle rebuke for his negligence and ignorance, and he authorizes repairs. He reaches out then through the Skill to Nettle, seeking approval for the use of funds and finding some exasperation from his elder daughter about it. The pair also confer about FitzVigilant for a bit before Nettle retires.

Fitz muses then on Bee and her reluctance to be with him and on Shun’s many complaints. He contrives an errand to buy himself and Bee some time of peace at the estate, and he recognizes what Bee is learning about him from reading his papers. He further ruminates on the messenger that had reached him and the clear signs that she and her pyre had been observed; more rumination about how to proceed on the Fool’s request and how to secure Bee follows. Fitz confers with Chade through the Skill about the matter, after which he revels in Skilling for a time.

Nettle catches Fitz at his lingering, rebuking him harshly and at some length. Her comments about Bee leave him stunned and considering his mistakes once again.

The prefatory bit for the present chapter offers a singular bit of delight; the excerpt from Lady Celestia’s Guide to Manners comes off as a biting comment on etiquette guides, generally, and I have to wonder if there is something biographical at work in the offering. The title of the excerpted piece–which does carry the function Oliver asserts in his comments about similar bits in Assassin’s Apprentice–suggests that the work will be some genteel, kindly thing, and the suggestion is utterly belied by the text itself, which is…certainly a thing, coming off as underscoring methods of manipulation and control rather than as a guide to getting along well with others. Therein, I think, lies the commentary. To what extent is etiquette merely the means of securing control from and over others? To what extent does it follow Frankfurt’s assertion at the end of On Bullshit? Fredal’s in College English? Or is it simply the juxtaposition of content and expectation–since the author and title follow the scathing passage–that produces effect? Such questions are the kinds of which critical inquiry is made, and they add to the large pile of such things that I have to think upon–later on.

The last part of the chapter, in which Nettle rebukes Fitz for his seeming willingness to die and his neglect of Bee, resonates with me, affective reader that I am. I’ve not made any secret of having a child–a wonderfully precocious daughter for whom I feel great affection. I don’t think I’ve hidden that I am and remain markedly insecure about how I parent her. I worry fairly often that I do not challenge her enough; I worry just as often that I push her too hard. In both cases, I worry about whether or not I am teaching her what she needs to know to be a person in the world and to be able to find happiness for herself, and I am concerned at pretty much all times that I am working against both of those simply by being the person I am. It’s probably overthought, in the event; to all appearances, my daughter thrives, and if she faces some problems, they seem to be the kind endemic to children in the Texas Hill Country. But there is still a voice in my head that nettles me about it, even though I have little enough wit or skill or magic about me, and so I find myself once again feeling right along with Fitz, flawed though I know such reading necessarily is.

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