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

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The next chapter, “Traders and Traitors,” begins with Ronica hiding and observing a hooded figure approach her door, her home having been ransacked by Chalcedeans and Bingtowners alike. She rehearses the events leading up to her present from her last appearance: the upset after the Summer Ball, her flight, fighting in the town and in the harbor. Following the fracas, in the brief interval in which Bingtown was free, she had made to flee with Rache for her old family farm, pausing only briefly to pay feeble respects to the slain Restart. Meanwhile, civil unrest had broken out, and neighbors had turned on one another in short order, even harassing Ronica and Rache as they fled. The depredations she saw along the way persuaded Ronica to return to her home, Rache accompanying her, and the two had settled in and hunkered down in an outbuilding, holding up as best they could.

The hooded figure is revealed to be Cerwin Trell when Ronica confronts him. He reports on public perception of the Vestrits, that they had turned traitors to Bingtown along with Restart, and he notes his own father’s increasing anger at the Vestrit family. Ronica notes that Malta had escaped Bingtown, and Cerwin reports on the current state of the city. It is still free, although supplies are running low, and there is still violence in the streets at night. Old and New Traders are at odds, with others caught between them, and no negotiations are ongoing. Ronica reassures him that his work to remain outside the fray is wise, and she asks if she would be well served to meet with Serilla, who is still working as the Satrap’s representative; Cerwin has no good answer. As he leaves, Ronica takes stock of her ruined home and moves forward.

In Restart’s home, Serilla is disturbed in her ruminations by Ronica’s arrival; she tries to put the older woman off as she rehearses her own tenuous situation, but can only delay for a short time. She realizes that a conspiracy against the Satrap had long been in place and that the rash actions of Bingtown Traders had hindered but not completely overturned it, but she is not ready for Ronica to confront her with her demands for adherence to local statute and protocol. When she calls for aid from other Traders, she finds them stymied in large part by the force of Ronica’s personality; she rebukes one of the Traders for Davad’s death, which he does not deny. Nor yet are her accusations regarding the injuries to her family denied, even as she argues against Serilla’s authority. At length, she makes her exit, and the other Traders take council from Serilla regarding how they will proceed. One of them, Roed Caern, is asked to return later; Serilla will send him after the Vestrits.

The present chapter includes quite a bit of explication, which makes sense for the early part of a novel–and more so given the relative gap in time between the presented characters’ previous appearances and the present ones. Put simply, there is a lot of catching up to do, as would be the case were the characters people being encountered again after several busy weeks away. (One of the few advantages of spreading a re-reading out as I am doing with this one is that it affords time between entries; reading serially is a different experience than reading in single sittings, as I well know and as I expect many of my readers–if you are many, as I hope you are–also know. The time offers greater similarity between the readers’ experience and the characters’, which, even if it is part of an affective reading, does help with immersion and verisimilitude. So there’s that.)

I am again put in mind of various independence movements in North America (the continent for reasons), where colonies rebel against colonial powers at some cost to themselves–and with no small amount of fractiousness within themselves, as well. Bingtown had not been a unified community leading up to the tumult at the Summer Ball, and the tension within it was bound to increase with the events of that evening–not only because it makes narrative sense that they do so, but also because people tend to exploit outside stresses to act in their own interests. Prevailing upset allows opportunity for realignment, after all, and why wouldn’t someone–especially someone heavily invested in a mercantile, transactional socioeconomic situation–take the chance to avail themselves of it?

If you like what I’m doing, can you spare a bit to help me keep doing it?

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

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The first chapter of the novel, “The Rain Wilds,” opens with Malta rehearsing recent events as she paddles herself, the Satrap, and Kekki down the Rain Wild River. Her passengers complain as she works, and her regard for them sours further than it already had. Their ineptitude hampers her efforts, and the three are swept past Trehaug and on down the Rain Wild River; Malta begins to despair of their situation.

Keffria frets about her younger children as she continues to assist as she can with rescue and recovery efforts in Trehaug. Jani Khuprus joins her in concern for the younger children, noting that the situation below ground is untenable and that crews have been redirected following a mandated rest. Some rescues have been effected, and help is on the way. Too, Jani notes her slim hopes that Reyn has found the Vestrit children and is guiding them out by another way. Later, as the rest proceeds, Keffria’s injuries are tended to and Jani notes commonplaces for quakes in the area. Keffria considers who she is against the possibility that her husband and children are all gone or dead, and her conversation on that point with Jani is interrupted by reports of a dragon having been sighted. The two proceed to where they hope to find Reyn and Malta.

Reyn and Selden take stock of themselves and the changed situation in the wake of the dragon’s departure. Having witnessed the emergence of the dragon, they find their perspectives on the world altered. Their situation remains dangerous, however; the chamber in which they yet remain is filling with mud, but Reyn begins to enact a plan of escape. But the instability of the chamber tells upon their efforts, even so.

The first section is what strike me most as I read the chapter again. Malta’s mental commentary about the Satrap and Kekki rings true for me; I have often thought that those ostensibly in power are more venial and less effective than might be hoped. I am also certain that similar thoughts are and have been held about me, seldom as I might be in others’ thoughts. Certainly, the Satrap’s obloquy sounds authentic, particularly in the wake of continuing violence against women and BIPOC. (Yes, I know I should read with more of an eye towards the novel’s contexts of composition and publication, but I inhabit my own context, and it’s not a happy one for a great many people who act as entitled as the Satrap, and with much less cause for it. Not that he really has much cause.) And it does seem to reinforce a character trope of which Hobb seems to be fond; I note the parallels between Cosgo and Regal, as I think all must who read both Farseer and Liveship Trader works…

Now that spring has sprung, can you lend a hand?

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

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The prologue, “She Who Remembers,” begins with the titular serpent rehearsing her history to herself after being freed by Wintrow Vestrit. She muses on Wintrow’s efforts and her own efforts on his behalf, as well, as she considers the mystery of the liveship she follows and calls out to others of her kind, to no avail. When she does encounter another serpent that responds to her, she is shocked by the bestiality of those responses, and she forcibly awakens the memories dormant within him. The gesture is not appreciated, and the awakened serpent bemoans consciousness before swimming off to die. In her despair, she casts about, catching the echo of a call and responding, but finding none who could have uttered it.

As might have been expected, the current chapter flows smoothly from the end of the previous novel, functioning more as a continuation of a single book than as the beginning of another. And it does an admirable job reminding readers of–or introducing readers new to the series to; I’ve been known to suggest students start reading series with their ends, and I’ve been dropped into a given series midst any number of times by my freelance writing–the stakes involved in the milieu of Hobb’s Realm of the Elderlings novels. Extinction of a sentient species is not something to take lightly, nor yet are the implications, as Hobb’s later work reminds, of another sentience being present and active in the world. (Another take on such comes to mind.) Being reminded of it–along with the gloss of recent events that has typified serial publication throughout its modern history–brings readers swiftly (back) into the narrative world, the issue made immediate through the sudden immersion in its importance even as an Otherness that rings of but does not quite coincide with the post/colonial is emphasized by the nonhuman intelligences on display as at work in the world.

So, yeah, no big stakes or anything. Just another good read getting underway.

New book, new request for support…

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

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As an epilogue, “The Memory of Wings” begins with the serpents that follow Maulkin conferring about their urgent haste. They are weary with the speed Maulkin urges from them. Maulkin bids them rest, and they reflect on what they have learned. It reminds them that matters have changed substantially, and they puzzle out that an environmental cataclysm has confused them–and the depredations of the liveship builders have robbed them of guides who should have awaited them. The serpent Tellur proposes hunting liveships; Mauklin restrains him and offers to take such liveships as they find but notes that hunting them is not ideal. They have to migrate or die.

The serpent Wintrow freed from Others Island rehearses circumstances as she moves to follow the Vivacia towards the mainland and her intended purpose. She Who Remembers must return her memories to her kin, sharing what she knows with them.

The epilogue makes a neat bookend with the prologue, the titles of the two selections mirroring one another no less than the brevity and non-human focus of the materials. Once again, the novel is re-grounded in the narrative milieu, the chapter serving as a reminder that there is a non-human intelligence very much at work in the story and reminding readers that that intelligence is increasingly concerned with the tiny hairless things that cluster about the cast-off casings of its dead.

Whether the opening of the next book in the series offers as smooth a transition as the prologue of the present novel does, I do not recall at present. Fortunately, I will have opportunity to remind myself as the rereading series continues; thank you for following along with me!

I could sure use some more support.

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

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The following chapter, “Dragon Rising,” opens with Reyn considering the sunrise from his imprisonment in the collapsed Crowned Rooster chamber, where Selden sleeps. When the boy wakes, Reyn suggests a plan for getting out of the chamber, digging out the one place where the sunlight makes its way in and hope of egress shines down; Selden notes the plan will not work, as the wizardwood upon which they would have to stand is “melting.” Reyn puzzles at the phenomenon, noting that liveships do not fare thus; Tintaglia enters his mind to announce herself as she emerges from her cocoon.

Tintaglia’s efforts to free herself imperil Reyn, who is torn between fascination at her beauty and self-preservation, and Selden as they enact their own escape. Reyn’s thoughts turn with hope to Malta as he and Selden do more to effect their return to the surface. Tintaglia, meanwhile, exults in her freedom and thinks to fly off–but she is dissuaded by some stray thought and makes to redeem both Reyn and Malta, who have aided her.

It is a brief chapter, another bit of denouement for the present novel and setup for the next. The separation from the preceding chapter does serve 1) to help keep the narrative threads separated and 2) allows for spacing between chapters in the narrative sequence that promotes suspense; the previous entry in Reyn’s story does appear to leave him as if for dead. So there are reasons to have the chapter broken out, although I do not know that they make the chapter more effective than consolidation of the various stories would have done. Still, as a brief, penultimate section of the novel, it does well–and I do look forward to getting into the next one soon!

Your kind contribution remains appreciated.

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

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The following chapter, “Paragon‘s Captain,” begins with matters returning to normal aboard the Paragon in the wake of the encounter with the serpent. With some caveats: Brashen calls for combat training to begin among the crew, and the ship is strangely pensive–almost mourning–following the encounter. After some tense discussion, in which Lavoy is embarrassed, Brashen’s status as captain is absolutely affirmed, and he puts Lavoy, Althea, and Amber to tasks to assist in the search for the Vivacia. Amber also discusses her work on the figurehead, repairing the scar that mars the figure’s chest; Brashen is a bit put off by it but bids the work continue–carefully. After dismissing Amber, Brashen has a few words for Althea, as well, before she is dismissed, in turn, and Brashen wonders if things will ease.

Amber continues her work with the Paragon, the figurehead noting to her its dual nature. They discuss questions of identity as the ship muses on her fragility, and Amber remarks upon self-determination. The ship frightens Amber and Althea, who keeps watch, for a moment, but Amber asserts that things are well with the Paragon and with her.

The chapter serves, appropriately enough, as something of a denouement, following after the falling action of the Paragon storyline in the present novel. And it does serve to help set up the next volume in the series–fittingly enough, since but one chapter and a numbered epilogue remain in the present one. It also presents an interesting irony, one that becomes clearer in a rereading and that requires knowledge confirmed in other places to make sense; as such, I’ll not detail it, only to point out that it is present. In truth, as I reread the chapter this time, I have to wonder if ideas about Amber’s origin and the friend she reports having and conversing with in absentia were forming as Hobb wrote it, if they had not been before–or if, perhaps, they had been, and she realized more needed to be done to bring out such a connection.

Such considerations do range outside what can be ascertained, of course; at best, reports of process would be available, and there are always issues with reports. Even those filled out with an intention of honest transparency will necessarily omit details, recollection being imperfect and mediation always bringing about changes. But it is an interesting thing to think on, at least for a little while.

Can you help me keep this going? Will you?

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

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The succeeding chapter, “Death of the City,” opens with Keffria awake in the night already when an earthquake convulses under Trehaug. She makes to check on Malta and tell her of her imminent departure for Bingtown, rehearsing her nervousness about Trehaug, only to find Malta is not in her chambers. She casts about for her daughter, and is taken to the Khuprus home. Jani demonstrates that Malta is not with Reyn, and their following conversation is interrupted by the brazen bell of a collapse alarm. Jani answers the summons it conveys, leaving Keffria alone to find her children.

Malta, still somewhat addled by her experience sharing memories with Tintaglia, strives to find an exit from the collapsed city,the Satrap and his Companion in tow. They do not recognize her from Bingtown, and she struggles to retain her sense of self as she deploys the memories she has shared to try to find egress. With some struggle, and no few complaints from her followers, she succeeds, although the effort leaves them lost in a swamp. Malta declares herself to the Satrap and Companion as they continue to upbraid her, and she stalks off to see if a usable boat is available. She does get one free with minimal assistance, and when the Satrap attempts to command her, she rebukes him, arriving at a better understanding of her grandmother as she drifts off to sleep. She wakes to the Satrap ordering her again. She swiftly wearies of him and moves away, finding a makeshift paddle. Slowly, they head off.

In Trehaug, Jani and Bendir roust Reyn from his drunken slumber against the collapse alarm, citing a need for his knowledge of the city as the work to secure it goes on. Reyn frets about Malta, and Bendir reminds him that the Satrap is imperiled–and his loss would be disastrous for the Traders. Jani realizes that Reyn’s earlier rantings about Malta going into the city are true, and it is in a tumult that the Khupruses proceed to the rescue efforts already underway. Reyn contributes as he muses on circumstances and upon the now-escaped Satrap and his inadequacies, and he comes across the frightened Selden. Asking the boy about his sister, he takes him along as he continues into the city, recognizing the catastrophic extent of the damage caused by the earthquake and soon despairing of Malta’s life. Tintaglia taunts him as he approaches her, and Reyn, realizing that the city is doomed, enlists Selden to help him make an attempt to free the dragon at last. The chamber begins to collapse around them.

The bit about Malta understanding Ronica better stands out in my mind from this reading. I’ve often seen it noted that one of the marks of growing up is better understanding parental figures, and I’ve noticed in myself a tendency to apprehend my parents’ actions better and better as I get older and am a parent longer. It’s another bit of affective reading, to be sure, but I do think that more readers read with affect than avoid it or seek to do so, and it’s certainly the case that I switched to literary study out of love for it (although I switched out of another field for different reasons). It’s also something I notice as I reread that I seem to be affected by different things than I recall. Admittedly, I did not take great notes on earlier readings, certainly not so good a set of them as Luke Shelton has, and I am finding that my memory is not as good as it used to be (although it still rebukes me for mistakes made long ago…), but it feels different this time. Whether that is a good thing or not, I am not sure.

I suppose I should keep reading and find out.

Spring Break is coming; help me give my daughter a better experience with it?

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

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The next chapter, “Dragon and Satrap,” begins with Malta languishing in the damp underground cold. She calms herself, pressing onward to follow a sound she is uncertain she hears and a light she is uncertain she sees, soon coming past the cave-in that had trapped her and igniting magic lights that show her the fallen glory from which the Rain Wilds derive their wealth. The setting is familiar to her from dreams with Reyn (here, here, and elsewhere), and she finds herself confused by both the motion of the ground and the fleeting visions of others she sees around her. Pressing on, Malta comes to a chamber carrying the crowned rooster of the Khuprus family; sounds of merriment reach her from behind it. The sounds are illusory, though, as Malta finds when she breaches the chamber, accidentally lays her hands on wizardwood, and hears the voice of the dragon in her mind again.

Elsewhere in Trehaug, Jani and Bendir Khuprus confer about Reyn and the wizardwood log they do not realize Malta has found. His status and scandal are remarked upon, and Bendir offers to send him back to work in the city; Jani refuses, and the two head to Reyn’s chambers. They find him frantic and restrain him as he raves that the dragon has Malta and has abandoned him. Jani manages to calm him, along with the effects of sleeplessness and drink, and she and Bendir steal out of his chamber.

Meanwhile, Malta has been dickering with the dragon for noninterference after retrieving her father. She manages to wrangle the dragon’s name, Tintaglia, and a solemn promise to do the things named. Tintaglia communicates the need for her release and conveys a method for effecting it, sharing memories with Malta and guiding her to yet others. The input overwhelms her until the dragon drags her back into herself, and Malta attempts to open the chamber to the outside world. The initial effort is unsuccessful, and Tintaglia dispatches Malta to retrieve Selden to assist; as Malta makes to obey, she encounters the Satrap and his Companion, Kekki. In disdain, they move off; Malta corrects their course, bringing them with her as she begins to effect her own escape from the unstable city.

Among the other things going on in the present chapter is reference to the Farseer books, namely the stone garden where Verity carves his dragon (here and following). In earlier readings, I had seen the matter as something of a retcon, evidently having glossed over the present chapter in memory when I did the earlier reading; the present chapter bids me reconsider that somewhat. If nothing else, Hobb noted the divergent dragons earlier than I had remembered, which is my problem and not the author’s. I am not pleased to have been wrong, as such, although I do appreciate the opportunities afforded by rereading; getting more things right is always a pleasure.

The comments from Tintaglia about the inadequacies of males of her species and Malta’s are of interest, especially against the ongoing feminist critique the Liveship Traders novels offer. The assertion that “Males are timorous creatures at best. They think only to feed and breed….Males will quiver in the shadows, fearing their own deaths. [Females] know that the only thing to be feared is the end of the race” presents an entertainingly divergent perspective that puts me in mind of LeGuin’s later Earthsea materials–although I do not recall them well enough to be able to speak to more direct connections than my having read both. Others who know more would doubtlessly have somewhat to say about it, and I would happily listen.

Care to send some help my way?