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

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The tenth chapter of Shaman’s Crossing, “Classmates,” starts with Nevare waking to drums in the darkness. He is informed by Kort that the night is ending, and he and his fellow cadets begin to make ready to face the day. They joins others in assembling before dawn on the Academy’s parade grounds, where Corporal Dent greets them and harangues them for their slovenly appearance, focusing much of his attention on Gord. It is only the formal opening of the Academy’s day that halts his tirade against them.

With the group of cadets formed up, Nevare takes stock of himself and his surroundings, noting the uniformity of the cadets and their dispositions. Inspections proceed, with upperclassmen identifying deficiencies for corrections. That done, colors are posted to a martial tune, and Colonel Stiet addresses the cadets en masse. His speech is followed by those of cadet officers, including Cadet Captain Jaffers, who leads Nevare’s dormitory.

Breakfast follows, and the school day ensues. Nevare is, with his cohort, directed from class to class. Military history begins the day, followed by mathematics. A prank on Corporal Dent by his own cohort leads to Nevare’s group being made late to the following Varnian course, and a hurried session of cleaning following a failed room inspection follows, then lunch and a two-hour block of engineering and drafting. An afternoon of drill then takes place, along with additional marching to work off indicated demerits. So much done, Nevare proceeds to independent studies, at which he and Gord assist Spink, whose mathematical acumen is lacking; Nevare notes Gord’s proficiency in mathematics with appreciation.

Dinner follows, after which the Academy’s colors are retired for the evening and the cadets are dismissed to their quarters. Some are caught out of sorts by lights-out, and Nevare retires wearily after prayers.

To address the chapter-length issue: the present chapter, in the edition of the novel I’m rereading, runs 19 pages in length, approximately 3.29% of the novel. It is not the first to do so, the fifth and eighth chapters being earlier examples. The present chapter does seem to function differently from the others, however, being (still) largely explictaory rather than serving as a section-break or a simple bridge.

Also, for indexing purposes, the following: Cadet Captain Jaffers, Captain Infal, Captain Maw, Captain Rush / Rusk, Carneston House, Carneston Riders, Caulder Stiet, Colonel Stiet, Corporal Dent, Gernia, Gernian, Gilshaw, Gord, “Into the Fray,” Journal of a Varnian Commander, King’s Cavalla Academy, Kort Braxan, Lofert, Mr. Arnis, Natred Verlaney, Nevare Burvelle, Rory, Sergeant Duril, Sergeant Rufet, Skeltzin Hall, Spinrek “Spink” Kester, Trist, Varnian. Although the present chapter is also heavily explicatory, it does not introduce much in the way of new places, focusing on routines and people, many of the latter already familiar. Among the explication but not necessarily needing indexing is the organization of the cavalla into “patrols, troops, regiments, brigades, and divisions” (226); this largely follows historical United States breakdowns, although there are always oddities to be found.

I have to note what appears to be a typographical error. When Nevare’s mathematics professor (and given that the school is a military academy teaching young adults, I default to that term) is introduced (229), he is referred to as Captain Rusk, a reference repeated while Nevare is in his class that day. Later, however, as Nevare and his cohort address their assignments, he is referred to as Captain Rush (238). It is a small thing, the confusion between the two, and one I’m not unlikely to have happen; those who’ve seen my handwriting know it’s not the easiest read, and my cursive hs and ks do look a lot alike. Too, it’s a small enough shift that even a diligent proofreader, working through the text in a large block, might well miss. For whatever reason, however, it caught my eye, a blemish on a text I really do want to like–and so far do.

It’s not the only blemish that attracted my attention. Earlier in the novel, the remark is made that Nevare expects to study at the Academy for four years (164), yet the present chapter notes that “Each dormitory [at the Academy] housed cadets from all three years” (225). The former is a sensible enough thing; the current military academies in the United States, as well as many of the colleges and universities operating undergraduate programs at this time, work on a four-year curriculum, so that a four-year course of study would align to the likely expectations of the novel’s presumed primary readership. The latter is, from the vantage of rereading, the notion with which the novel proceeds (for the most part; there’s an adjustment that comes up later on). The mismatch annoys somewhat.

More happily, I note with some interest the inclusion, again, of in-milieu works into the present chapter, “Into the Fray” and Gilshaw’s Journal of a Varnian Commander. Aside from increasing the verisimilitude Hobb values, military bands and old-language military commentaries being things, I take delight as an old bandsman and as an erstwhile student of Latin in seeing such things as I did in my college years being represented. It’s a small, affective-reading thing, but I like it, nonetheless.

I also note some of what Metsäpelto discusses in the treatment of Gord. In the previous chapter, Gord (whose name does partake of the emblematic, the word evoking to my reading the Spanish gordo, meaning fat, although usage has it more as a neutral descriptor than a term of disparagement) is fat-shamed, belittled by Dent and others. In the present, Dent and others harangue the cadet for his weight, Dent calling him “Gorge” (224) amid other insults. Even Nevare finds himself wanting to deride the youth for his form, something placed into tension with his obvious scholarly acumen (240-41). There’s more to come, of course; Metsäpelto would not have been able to say so much were there not. But seeing where things emerge has its attractions.

To return to the affective: I spent more years in college than most people do, and I spent quite a few of those years living on campus. Even though I was not an academy student–I’ve never had the athleticism to be one, and there are other qualities I lacked and still lack–I’ve certainly had the experience of being rushed from class to class in confusion. I’ve had the experience of being talked at for a solid block of time. I’ve had the experience of being urged into competition against classmates. I’ve had the experience of being singled out for being late. I’ve had the experience of finding a favorite professor, clearly. I’ve had the experience of finding out just how smart I am (not). And all of this is to say that I find Hobb’s depiction in the present chapter convincing, which is a good thing.

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