Another about Aestas

She performs so exuberantly
Every time she is in residence here
Shining brightly on the pale stage with its
Crooked wooden pillars and its
Fading verdant hangings
And the audience sweats in the lights held aloft

Looks like it’ll be a hot time…
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Those in attendance at her show
Must like what they get from her
Year after year
Seeming to invite her again and again
Although she rarely varies her set-list
And there are complaints when she does

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In Response to Kristina Busse and Shannon Farley

I did not stop work on the Fedwren Project when I addressed Matthew Oliver’s “History in the Margins” not too long ago. Indeed not; I have a number of other articles to read and annotate, bringing them into the bibliography I’m happy to be maintaining and to which I hope to make more contributions, both in itself and in producing items to add to it. One of them I read recently, Kristina Busse and Shannon Farley’s 2013 “Remixing the Remix: Fannish Appropriation and the Limits of Unauthorised Use,” is summarized in the Project here. As with other pieces I’ve read, the summary matters; the summary’s useful for other researchers, and I know that there are and have been some doing intellectual work on Hobb’s writing who make use of the Project–which is at least part of the point of my maintaining it. But, also as with a number of other pieces I’ve read, the summary is not enough on its own; I feel the need to offer some response–which I do, below, in the hope that it will be useful.

sound of record scratching
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As with Oliver’s piece, I want to stress that I found Busse and Farley’s piece to be a good one. While I am not as up on fandom studies as, say, Kavita Mudan Finn (whose work I wholeheartedly recommend) or Shiloh Carroll (whose work I also wholeheartedly recommend), and I am not necessarily part of fandom communities as such (as I explain here), I found the piece to be well written and easy to follow. It’s never a bad thing for a specialist text–and, to be clear, academic journal articles are specialist texts, written by scholars to other scholars working in the same or in closely adjacent fields of inquiry–to be accessible to those outside its anticipated primary readership. (For reference, I follow Richard Johnson-Sheehan’s four-fold readership model. It seems to work pretty well.) As someone who, despite lapsing, works in fantasy literature, I am likely in one of the “closely adjacent fields of inquiry” to fandom studies, although I think they run more toward the sociological than the literary (I’m minded of reading Gary Alan Fine in the past), and there is a gap between the social sciences and the humanities, even if it is not so broad as some might want to make it out to be. But however that may be, the clear breakdown of topics Busse and Farley provide works well, it explains its terms and their use, and it offers manageable chunks of information, all of which argue in their piece’s favor.

I note above that I read the article recently to the time of this writing; it will also be close to the time of this post’s release into the world. Both are in 2024. The article dates to 2013, and it discusses an event in 2006. Consequently, there are things in the article that come across to a current reading as somewhat dated. For example, the article makes some reference to Tumblr, and while that platform is, to my knowledge, still extant as I write this (I certainly use it enough in my Hobb reread), it also–again, to my knowledge–does not function anymore in quite the same ways now as it did then. Busse and Farley do note that the community standards they reference–again, at length and with clarity–in their article are evolving and changing, so they allow for the possibility of datedness, and it is the case that it is not fair to fault an article for failing to address what occurred after it was published. (To be clear, I am not finding fault with the work.) So much said, I have to wonder if any of the authors’ conclusions would change when assessed against newer standards of conduct among the communities they investigate, and how.

This is, after all, a reaction piece, and I can only react as I have it to do.

In any event, the reason “Remixing the Remix” came to my attention to begin with is that it makes reference to Robin Hobb–specifically, the “Fan Fiction Rant.” Theirs is not the only article to do so, of course; indeed, one of the major threads of research into and commentary on Hobb’s body of work (with the understanding that the Fedwren Project is not complete; I have other articles to read and annotate into it, and there is doubtlessly more work being done in that line of which I am not yet aware) is specifically on that piece. Something about that blog post appears to have caught the interest of a number of commenters, some of them scholarly, and I think there’s more to it than simply the intersection of the fanfic and scholarly communities. (There is overlap, of course, but not congruity.) What that something is, I do not know; again, I am not a scholar of fandoms, nor yet am I a sociologist, and I think it would take a sociologist working in fandom communities to untangle it (or else an ethnographer with an interesting focus). That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t appreciate knowing, once it’s known.

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A Robin Hobb Rereading Series, Entry 409: Fool’s Assassin, Chapter 19

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


A fragment of recorded prophecy regarding the Unexpected Son prefaces “The Beaten Man,” which begins with Fitz considering that fragment in detail. How the prophecy had been thought to apply to him is noted, and Fitz glosses his long friendship with the Fool. Amid his reverie, Fitz realizes that the Fool had reached out to him before, that he had failed to see it, and he sorrows deeply.

There are joys in working with such things.
Photo by Maria Orlova on Pexels.com

As Fitz considers further and prepares to still his mind for sleep, he is disturbed by a Skill-sending from Chade. FitzViglant, having narrowly escaped being killed, will be sent to Withywoods, and circumstances surrounding both the attempt on his life and his sending out are discussed. Chade also notes something is amiss with Fitz and asks after him, only to be deflected.

Taken wholly out of sleep by Chade’s Skilling, Fitz stalks through Withywoods, assessing its condition and his next steps. He makes some arrangement’s for Bee’s things, then finds himself in the kitchens. There, he eats and manages to fall asleep.

Fitz is woken the next morning by baking in progress. He confers with the baker, then takes himself off to bathe and shave. While bathing, he receives word of some itinerant campers on the land, and he frets about their intentions.

The present chapter is another brief one, some twelve pages in the edition I am reading, and I am reminded that I really need to do the intellectual grunt-work of tracing page-counts across the Realm of the Elderlings novels. It wouldn’t be hard to do, I know, just somewhat tedious–though it would have, for me, the concern of distraction. Often, when doing the kind of work I do, I find myself starting to read again–which seems like no big deal when working with books, but there’s a difference between reading to find something and reading to read, and I slip all too often into the latter while trying to engage in the former. It’s not a problem, as such; reading is good, after all, and even though I am in another line of work, now, it is the kind of thing I trained to do for years. But it is a distraction from work I try to do, sometimes even for money.

In terms of narrative effect, the present chapter seems to me to be doing two things. The first is to set up juxtaposition. Consider one antecedent (among many): Macbeth 2.3, the porter scene (to l. 44). Between intense moments of high drama, the play features a comic, bawdy passage; the function of it, as others have attested, is to highlight the intensity of the drama, the juxtaposition between a whiskey-dick joke and the revelation of a royal murder making the latter hit harder.

The second, more overt, is to bring back into the main narrative a character who had been discussed before. It had been a while, both in chapter-count and in in-milieu time, since Lant had been a factor in the text. That he would be bound to come back seems sensible enough; while there is some utility in introducing a concept or character and not bringing it up again in the same novel–I’m minded of comments about Tolkien’s Legendarium and the “deeper history” mentioned in passing at various points in Lord of the Rings–there is also the issue of Chekhov’s Gun, and FitzVigilant is resonant in a narrative centered on FitzChivalry.

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Hymn against the Stupid God 222

How great the ill that Stupid God has wrought
All through its avatars, as might be thought,
And great the sorrow from those in it caught
Who sought to make their world a better place!
Yet though they strive, the ill still grows apace,
And still of hope there seems but little trace,
A scanty path that leads through looming wood
And by stark cliffs. Who would follow it should
Be wary as they work to do some good
Yet in a world, not fallen, diving down
Into the Stupid God; it tries to drown
Out light and thought and wisdom. Who can sound
The depths to which the Stupid God will sink?
O, none will find the bottom, so I think.

Deep, I know.
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Written in Idle Hours as Documents Are Assembled Elsewhere

I sometimes daydream of the cleansing flame
Calling in at the house I have made my home and
Poor guest, bringing no gift
Feasting past fulfillment not only on
What I would lay out for any at my door
Whom I would welcome in
But also on what I keep from my visitors
Things of which I am but a custodian
Keeping them for worthier hands than mine
Heirlooms laid up for those few I see
Who will come after or have arrived
Little enough of a legacy without
Flapping red tongues being put to it

It’s a hot time on the old blog tonight!
Photo by moein moradi on Pexels.com

It is not that I am eager
To lose so much
The results of the work of years
Decades
And not only mine
But the notion of starting again
Doing it right
This time
Has appeal
And a clean break is better than a ragged as
Leaves bone protruding through skin
Shards moving through flesh
Tearing and hemorrhaging
Killing in pain and quiet from within

I am not looking for matches
Brimstone striking to cauterize the wound
Or even for the knife to
Make the cut
But
I know where the cutlery is
And my whetstone is well used
And the matchbook is not so far from my hand as all that

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A Robin Hobb Rereading Series, Entry 408: Fool’s Assassin, Chapter 18

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


An incomplete letter from Fitz to the Fool precedes “Invisibility,” which begins with Bee fuming at Fitz’s attention to Shun. She changes into new clothes, noting her late mother’s handiwork upon them, and she stumbles onto a strange cloak left by the now-dead messenger. Taking it up, she finds another entrance to the hidden corridors of Withywoods. There, she attends to a cat that she had bidden hunt for her and secrets it away in her hiding-place. Fitz finds her there, and he takes her to what had been Molly’s sitting room, where they will both spend the night.

The girl of the hour.
GerdElise’s Bee on Robin Hobb’s Realm of the Elderlings Wiki, used for commentary

The present chapter is startlingly brief, only six pages in the edition I am reading. Following immediately after another brief chapter, it creates the impression of accelerating towards some event of import–sensibly enough, since the book is closer to its end at the end of the present chapter than it is to its beginning. To put it in terms of Freytag’s Pyramid, the falling action is clearly underway–although what the climax of the novel is in that sense is not entirely clear to my reading. Is it the arrival of the messenger? The arrival of Shun? Fitz’s agreement to take her on? The death of Molly, even? And, to expand to the whole of the Fitz-focused portion of the Realm of the Elderlings corpus, where is the overall climax? Is it even appropriate to apply Freytag’s pyramid to such an overarching narrative structure?

Many questions, of course, and it is good to have so many; it means there’s more work to do with the texts. So much is, perhaps, a self-serving assertion; I do, after all, do such work, and it is in my best interest to note there’s more of it to do. But the electrician who sees room for more circuits to be installed is not held to blame for it, nor yet the mason who sees where stonework could be built to benefit. And if it is the case that the work I do does not have the immediate benefit that that done by tradespeople carries, it is also the case that any ill done by my work is less harmful–while the good it does may well endure longer.

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Why Not another Sonnet?

I write to leave a record of my days
I write in hopes of earning people’s praise
I write that I might delight and amaze
All those who read the lines I leave each time
I put a pen to paper, whether rhymes,
Alliteration, free verse, prose, and I’m
Yet pleased to have the time to write I need.
That voice that says I’m privileged, I heed,
For having time to sit and write and read
Is luxury that many, sadly, lack.
It may well be that I remain a hack
Despite the written pages that I stack
On shelves of wood and bits and bytes, but still
I write, and as I do, I yet do thrill.

Truer than might be preferred…
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Regarding a Library Book I Borrowed Recently

The due date was stamped in
Red ink, only the
Fourth such stamp to mark the
Slip stuck into the
Back of the book
And more than a decade
After the last one

If only…
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Seeing the spread, I
Have to wonder who
Bought this book for the
Library in the first place
Who read it before I did
Who will read it next
And if they and I got
Something like the same thing
From doing much the same thing
Years apart

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A Robin Hobb Rereading Series, Entry 407: Fool’s Assassin, Chapter 17

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


After a passage from an assassin’s instruction manual opining on the inherent cruelty of the profession, “Assassins” begins with Fitz killing the messenger that had reached him, musing that, despite the endorsement of the victim, it was his worst killing–and that he was involving Bee in the worst of his business. But with the killing accomplished, he bears the messenger’s body to a woodpile, Bee trailing behind him. The pair prepare the body and set the pile alight, making a pyre of it, and they confer about their cover story. They confer, too, if somewhat obliquely, about Fitz’s quiet work for the Six Duchies.

Picture related.
Katrin Sapranova’s The Messenger, from her Tumblr feed, used for commentary

Fitz finds himself puzzling over the message the Fool had sent to him, trying to suss out the parentage of the Fool’s child. Garetha, who had provided flowers for Lord Golden and thereby shown her knowledge of his identity, is offered as one possibility; she is not the only one. At length, Bee interrupts his reverie, and the two proceed back inside, Fitz rebuking himself for his many follies along the way. His thoughts turn dark, and Bee has to lead the pair of them back home.

Within, Fitz begins to see to Bee, considering ramifications of his actions, until interrupted by shrill screaming from Shun. She has woken form a dream in guilt and terror, and Riddle sees to her as Fitz searches her rooms. Finding himself dissatisfied with Shun and confused by Chade’s interest in her, Fitz stalks on to settle matters. When he returns to where he had left Bee, however, he finds her gone, and the search for her begins.

The present chapter is relatively brief, some fifteen pages in the edition of the book I am reading. I have yet to puzzle out any consistent pattern in the chapter-lengths, although I admit that I have not been doing enough work on that issue to have come to any conclusions. It is the kind of thing that could underpin a decent study, I know; I actually recommend it as an exercise for students when I write lesson plans as a freelancer (which happens less often anymore than I might prefer, although I’ve got a couple such jobs on my plate at the moment, so it’s fresh in my mind).

In those long-ago days when I had students and the audacity to think I was doing a decent job with them, I would suggest such an approach or a similar one to those of my pupils who thought there was no “real data” to be found in literary pages. (A few scholars, noted here, here, and here, might have been good to be able to reference then, as well, but I did not know about them at that point.) There is information in the paratext of a work no less than in the text, and that in one certainly influences the other. I’ve long known it, and Oliver, among others, cites a number of scholars in confirmation thereof.

As I’ve been getting back into more scholarly work–and I have been, and not only on the Fedwren Project–I’ve noticed my reading is shifting again. I am still decidedly affective when I read, something for which I know several of my professors would rebuke me were I still under their supervision. (Since I am not, I doubt they are aware of what I am doing. Such is life, I suppose.) But I have also begun to remember more as I write, which prompts me to review again those sources I have so often handled to find where it is I remember the remembered from and to link back to them (because this is an online composition, and linking is the preferred citation method, even when it is the case that many things thought stably and permanently online are…less so). I have begun to remember what I had wanted to make myself become, and I have begun to remember the joy and animation of it–strange as it might well seem to those who have not felt elation at puzzling out some knotty set of references or allusions or the like, who view the work of literary criticism as dry and dull and dreary.

Such long sustained me, though, and it is good to feel it move within me again.

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In Response to Matthew Oliver

As I continued my Robin Hobb Rereading Series into the middle of July 2024, I noted resuming work on one of my efforts to keep at least a toe in the great flow of scholarship: the Fedwren Project. As part of that resumed work, I read Matthew Oliver’s “History in the Margins: Epigraphs and Negative Space in Robin Hobb’s Assassin’s Apprentice.” While the Project contains a summary of the piece, here, and I’m happy to have the summary, I’m not happy to have only the summary. No, as has happened to me more than once before–such as here–I feel I have to respond in some way to what I have read. Not because it is bad, no, but because it is good–if limited.

As before, Untitled (?) piece by Marta on Tumblr, used for commentary.

I want to stress that I do find Oliver’s article to be a good one. I agree with the central idea–that the epigraphs in Assassin’s Apprentice and Fitz’s own unreliability as a narrator serve as reminders of or parallel the constructed nature of “history.” What is recorded about what happened in the past is very much a function of those doing the recording (an adage about writing and winners comes to mind). A number of the secondary points also ring true for me. The epigraphs do add to the “authenticity” of the text, yes, contributing to the verisimilitude Hobb is on record as prizing and helping to fix Hobb as a participant in dominant literary traditions even as she moves away from them in decided ways. Too, there is no small irony in an overtly fictional text making much of its realism. (Whether this makes it Frankfurtian bullshit, I am not certain; I think it is a question worth considering. But then, I would, as witness this and certain items here.)

That I think Oliver’s article good, however, does not mean I find it without issue. The chief one I find with it is its limited scope. While I am well aware that a journal article can only take in so much and still carry out the kind of discussion it needs to, I am also well aware that there are many more novels in Hobb’s corpus than Oliver treats. There are many more Fitz-centric novels than Oliver treats. Even just the two sequels in the Farseer trilogy move away from some of the details Oliver relies upon in making his argument. For example, Oliver makes the comment that the epigraphs in Assassin’s Apprentice are all Fitz’s, and this is not the case with Royal Assassin (as witness the epigraphs to chapter 8, “The Queen Awakens”; as well as chapters 26, “Skilling”; 27, “Conspiracy”; 30, “Dungeons”; 31, “Torture”; and possibly some others) or Assassin’s Quest (as witness the epigraph to chapter 25, “Strategy”, and possibly others). It is certainly not the case with the Tawny Man novels–and the Fitz and the Fool novels throw that completely out. Nor yet is it necessarily the case with Assassin’s Apprentice, itself. The introduction to chapter 18, “Assassinations,” is a partial subversion, with Fitz quoting Chade’s notes at length; that to chapter 20, “Jhaampe,” is not partial, being explicitly taken from another in-milieu document. Further, while some of the materials Oliver cites in making his argument about the introductory frustration of narrative objectivity are right at the time, later events in the Realm of the Elderlings Corpus (this and this come to mind) belie them, at least to some extent; Fitz has more memories than he necessarily wants to face.

(Admittedly, there are questions about the order of composition within the milieu to address. My impression–which gets some confirmation here–is that the texts of many of the Fitz-centric novels are private writings–one option Oliver admits of [45]–with much of the Farseer novels composed before the events of the Tawny Man books, and those composed in advance of and into the Fitz and the Fool novels. The last series does confound that impression to some degree, although the extent to which it does escapes me at the moment. I’ll stumble into it, I’m sure.)

Had Oliver’s article been earlier than it is, the restriction of its discussion would make more sense. But it is relatively late against the Realm of the Elderlings corpus; the novels that belie many of his details were well in circulation when the article was released. Even taking into account commonplaces about academic production–journal articles can take years to hit print from acceptance–leaves at least the Tawny Man novels available for consideration and comment. And, for me, the omission of so much other material seems…other than optimal.

There is some justification for the restriction to the first novel, however. Again, as noted above, there’s only so much a journal article can take in; there is always necessarily some selectiveness at work in doing that kind of scholarship. Too, and this goes to discussion from the Tales after Tolkien Society’s paper session at the 2024 International Congress on Medieval Studies, in which Sylwia Borowska-Szerszun asked an excellent question about whether the dragons can be considered parallels to indigenous North American populations,* Assassin’s Apprentice is…not as…willing to move away from the dominant Tolkienian tradition of fantasy literature as later entries in the Realm of the Elderlings Corpus are. It’s a first effort, and a fine one, well worth reading (and amply read, not just recreationally, and not just by scholars of fantasy literature within scholarly circles when read as an object of study), but it is, in some ways, finding its way. Even the structural concerns on which Oliver focuses echo Tolkien’s work–while Oliver points out that Tolkien largely eschews epigraphs in Lord of the Rings (46), it is a commonplace that the text and its companions, The Hobbit and The Silmarillion are, in fact, in-milieu compositions “translated” by Tolkien, not at all unlike the personal narrative Fitz provides and supplements. In brief, Assassin’s Apprentice is more derivative than its successors, and to a substantial degree. That separation perhaps justifies the narrowed focus in an article that, again, makes an excellent central argument that is well worth attention.

*For the record, my answer then was “no,” and it remains “no.” During the discussion, I made comments much like those in the paragraph–namely, that the North American-ness of the Realm of the Elderlings corpus was not something initially meant (insofar as authorial intent ever matters), but something that grew up and emerged in the texts as the series continued.

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