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There’s some physical abuse in the present chapter.

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The thirteenth chapter of Shaman’s Crossing, “Bessom Gord,” opens on Nevare’s third month of study and the continued adjustments to prevailing patterns of study and life. Political concerns make themselves felt at the Academy, increasing tensions between older and newer noble families even as it offers the cadets unexpected leave-time. Plans for the spending of the same are noted and much in mind as classes proceed.

As the legislative meeting approaches that had occasioned the tensions, Nevare and his cohort are made to stand aside and wait for another group of cadets to arrive at the Academy mess. It is tersely explained that the other group, from Chesterton House, are particularly noble-blooded, Corporal Dent rebuking the cadets in his charge for presuming to equal footing with them. The harangue continues at the mess table, Dent upbraiding putatively upstart youths and focusing on Gord, whose status as a soldier son is called into question. The cadet answers as he can, and Dent finds himself very much the center of his cadets’ ire.

Despite their unity against Dent, tensions remain in place among Nevare’s cohort. Spink and Trist become increasingly antagonistic, and Nevare considers his doubts of Gord, who continues to endure insult to Spink’s frustration. Those tensions culminate in a brief altercation between Trist and Spink in which the latter subdues the former, to the surprise of all assembled and despite attempts to defuse the situation. Matters are put to rights before Dent can arrive and administer punishment, however, and Gord’s absence is suddenly noted.

Nevare works through implications of Gord’s absence as Trist and Spink trade barbs. He also considers the stone Dewara had left in him and the lessons Sergeant Duril had taught him until his reverie is broken by the intrusion of Caulder into the dormitory. He conveys a summons to Nevare and Spink, bidding them come to the infimary to retrieve Gord and occasioning a small outburst from Nevare. Arriving at the infirmary, they confer with campus physician, Dr. Amicas, who reports that Gord appears to have been beaten in what seems a string of assaults on the sons of newly appointed nobles. No reports that he can act on reach him, however, and Gord’s refusal to offer such leaves him frustrated as he discharges the cadet into his comrades’ care.

Returning to their dormitory with Nevare and Spink, Gord offers a cursory summary of events and his reasoning for having left the dorm in the first place. He also upbraids Spink for engaging Trist at his own level, laying out his philosophy regarding people and their cruelties. Nevare reconisders Gord and approaches to leadership, but his reverie is broken again by the appearance of Caulder, trumpeting the assault of another student. Nevare has Spink convey Gord back to the dormitory and moves to investigate, finding Tiber beaten and reeking. Nevare attempts to render aid; Jaris and Ordo join, and Nevare grows wary. Before more can happen, Amicas arrives, taking Tiber into his care and dismissing Nevare back to his dormitory.

Arriving at Carneston, Nevare reports in to Sergeant Rufet, who lets slip an opinion he chokes back suddently before sending Nevare to his rooms. In the dark, he and Spink confer about events, and Nevare slips into a dream of the tree woman. She quizzes Nevare about his progress and is answered with confusion. She then notes moving to act, warning Nevare not to resist the coming call of magic. He wakes in the dark and looks forward to a poor day to come.

To address the chapter-length issue: the present chapter, in the edition of the novel I’m rereading, runs 39 pages in length, approximately 6.76% of the novel. It is the longest yet; if, as has been motioned toward previously, the amount of text bespeaks importance, then the present chapter would seem to be the most important yet in the novel, and by a significant margin. Admittedly, it remains the case that “if” does a lot of work in that assertion, but there are several things going on–almost more than seem as should be yoked together; I have to wonder if the interlude with Tiber wouldn’t’ve worked better in a later chapter than in the present one, for example. It’s somehow rushed, to my reading, although I will acknowledge that that might well be a matter of my own taste rather than one that is an issue of craft.

Also, for indexing purposes, the following: Bejawi, Bessom, Cadet Lieutenant Tiber, Caleb, Carneston House, Carneston House Riders, Carsina Grenalter, Caulder Stiet, Chesterton House, Colonel Stiet, Corporal Dent, Council of Lords, Dewara, Dr. Amicas, Garin, Gord, Herdo, An Introduction to the Houses of King’s Cavalla Academy, Jaris, Keft Burvelle, King Corag, King’s Cavalla Academy, Kort Braxan, Lieutenant Geeverman, Natred Verlaney, Nevare Burvelle, Old Thares, Ordo, Oron, Plainsfolk, Rory, “Selecting Strategy in Uneven Terrain,” Sergeant Duril, Sergeant Rufet, Sharpton Hall, Skeltzin Hall, Spinrek “Spink” Kester, Stone, Tobacco, Tree Woman, Trist Wissom, Varnian, Writ, Yaril Burvelle. Despite the length of the chapter, more of it seems to be more narrowly focused than a number of previous portions of the novel.

A note prompted by the indexing items: I note citations by cadets of seemingly standard texts, the Introduction to the Houses of King’s Cavalla Academy and “Selecting Strategy in Uneven Terrain.” I’ve commented before in rereading the present novel (here and here, as well as in the immediately previous chapter) on the importance of writing within the milieu. As previously, it makes sense that an author, earning a living from writing, would hold to the idea that writing is important and would present such an idea in her work. The more often it appears, after all, the more likley it is to be taken up and believed, and engendering such belief works to an author’s advantage; it’s not only lies that seem more true the more often repeated, after all, and there are truths to be found in fiction. And there is Hobb’s push for verisimilitude to consider, as well. Standardized curricula, with presumably standardized sets of texts, are nothing new, and the West Point after which I contend the Cavalla Academy is modeled used to have a single course of study; it stands to reason that cadets would make reference to works with which they could well consider their comrades to be familiar, and that they do so, that they act in a way that corresponds to readerly experience, does a little bit more to make Gernia an accessible milieu for the reader.

Another note, although not prompted by the indexing items: the thirteenth chapter might well be considered unlucky. Given what happens to several characters in the chapter, I’m not sure “unlucky” is an appropriate descriptor, although “unfortunate” does seem to apply; neither Gord nor Tiber seem to be facing Sajak or Seacrest. How deliberate a thing this is is arguable, of course; authorial intent is chimerical at best, and I’m in good company in having not seldom stated that intention matters less than effect.

An additional note: Gord’s explication of his approach to life, his assertion that the cruel should be made to change more than those upon whom they perpetuate cruelty and that his refusal to engage with his bullies on their own terms serves his purposes and his own ethos, stands out for me. There is nuance in his stated perspective; he does acknowledge that, at root, any military organization is inherently concerned with the application of force and the enactment of violence, even as he argues that he and his comrades ought well to be something more than blunt instruments to enable to enactment of brutality. The discussion touches on deeper ethical issues of the purpose of a military at all, something that has been and remains a fraught issue, and not only in the United States. Violence would seem at some level to be necessarily available; there are always situations that will not admit of reasoned debate, always some things in the world that will not be persuaded by informed discourse. But making it the sole or even primary determiner of right…there is a reason ad baculum has been recognized as folly for a long, long time, and Gord is right to point out the error of such thinking. That Nevare seems to consider it closely should probably not be taken as a comment on the author’s perspectives on the matter; again, authorial intent is not something to pursue much if at all, and the idea that any character, even a narrating protagonist, is necessarily the same as the author is…not one to entertain.* But whether or not Hobb adopts any particular position, the position Gord presents and Nevare considers is certainly one worth considering.

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*I’ve discussed this kind of thing before, here and elsewhere.

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The twelfth chapter of Shaman’s Crossing, “Letters from Home,” starts with Nevare glossing his and his remaining comrades’ accommodation to their reduced post-culling numbers. Nevare does note the disparities in punishment among cadets for their actions, however, with him agreeing with Rory’s assertion that they had been set up to fail. Routines reassert themselves, and Nevare finds himself growing closer in friendship with the members of his cohort.

Tensions between centers of power in that cohort, Spink and Trist, are exmplified in how Caulder Stiet is handled. The youth’s annoying common practices are described, as are some of the illicit proclivities of the corps of cadets, and Spink’s clear disapproval of the boy is made evident. Discussion of their relative fathers ensues, leaving Caulder to embarrass himself through revelation of his thoughts about the new nobles’ sons. Trist, whose casual attitudes and easy charisma are attested, takes the boy in hand and escorts him away, drawn by the lure of tobacco. Other cadets follow, and it is clear that Caulder had been ill on the stairs of their residence hall, to the delight of some cadets. Spink rebukes the prank on the boy and Trist’s evasion of punishment for the same, and he is vexed by Trist’s management of the situation to his own privilege.

The continued association between Trist and Caulder receives comment, and Nevare muses both on the benefits Trist receives therefrom and the disparity of distribution of those benefits. He also remarks on his ongoing academic achievement and the struggles of several of his comrades. Amid those remarks, Nevare reports an uncomfortable conversation with his engineering professor, Captain Maw, who suggests he might take a commission as a scout and leave the Academy. Nevare demurs, but he is unsettled by the exchange.

Nevare also reports the experience of being a guest at his uncle’s home on occasional leave-days. Tension remains in place between him and his aunt, Daraleen, and he remarks on not seeing his cousin, Epiny, but he does forge deeper bonds with his uncle, Sefert, as well as his cousins Horotn and Purissa. He also inadvertently occasions an argument between Sefert and Daraleen that leaves him once again quite uncomfortable.

The Academy’s instructional term continues, and Nevare’s hopes for his mounted drills are thwarted by changes to institutional policy. The differences in experience among the cadets shows up, and Nevare complains of the policy change in a letter to his intended. His epistolary practice towards her is remarked upon, and Nevare finds himself comparing his retained token of Carsina’s affection to his comrades’ similar items. When he receives a letter that carries a scent of gardenia, he exults, finding a secret letter from Carsina tucked inside a missive from Yaril, and he replies to both swiftly, the latter with some tension.

Nevare dreams of receiving more mail from Carsina. One such dream turns odd, presenting his sister’s letter as a leaf that withers in his hands and Carsina’s enclosing pressed flowers that grow into him and begin to consume him as they develop faces. The tree woman confronts Nevare, charging him again to turn back Gernia’s advance. He is aghast at the satisfaction he feels from the dream as Spink wakes him, and he cannot return to sleep. The next day sees him suffer from the lack of rest; it also sees him receive letters from home, including one from Carsina that is supposed to have pressed flowers within. Said flowers, despite the speed with which the letter had reached him, have already decayed to dust.

To address the chapter-length issue: the present chapter, in the edition of the novel I’m rereading, runs 26 pages in length, approximately 4.52% of the novel. Halfway through the chapter-count, the novel has used 294 of its pages, approximately 51% of the total. Even allowing for rounding, the novel is slightly front-loaded, although some front-loading might well be expected in what is avowedly the first novel in a series. Such a work might well be expected to take more time in explication than in direct narrative thrust, leaving the bulk of the latter to the anticipated succeeding volumes. That does not much seem to be the case with the present novel, however, especially not given the presence of a distinct narrative arc being completed in the novel already,* albeit one that has appeared to have effects reaching forward into the rest of the text.

Also, for indexing purposes, the following: Bringham House, Caleb, Captain Maw, Carneston House, Carsina Grenalter, Caulder Stiet, Colonel Stiet, Commander’s table, Corporal Dent, Council of Lords, Daraleen Burvelle, Devlin Kester, Epiny Burvelle, Forget-me-not, Gardenia, Garter Anne, Gernia, Gord, Guide Porliet, Hotorn Burvelle, Keft Burvelle, Kellon Spinrek Kester, King’s Cavalla Academy, Kort Braxan, Lady Midowne’s Historical Society, Lavender, Leaf, Lieutenant Wurtram, Lord Grenalter, Natred Verlaney, Nevare Burvelle, Oak, Old Thares, Oron, Pansies, Peppermint, Plainsfolk, Purissa Burvelle, Rory, Scout, Scout Vaxton, Sefert Burvelle, Sergeant Rufet, Seventeen C, Sirlofty, Skeltzin Hall, Spinrek “Spink” Kester, Tobacco, Tree woman, Trist Wissom, Varnian, Violets, Widevale, Yaril Burvelle. The present chapter finally gives Trist’s surname of Wissom; I have gone back to earlier entries that index him and added that surname. I’ll continue to do such things as I encounter fuller names of characters, as I’ve done before.

As might be expected from a chapter with such a title as the present chapter bears, letters feature prominently. There is, of course, a long epistolary tradition in literature, explication of which far exceeds what can be presented comfortably in the present posting and what should be attempted in the same; that the present chapter makes much of letters, despite not directly depicting much of their textual detail, does help to situate the present novel in that literary tradition, something that serves to make it less remore and thus more accessible, increasing its verisimilitude and thus the correspondence of the narrative sub-creation to readerly experience and acculturation (per Tolkien), easing willing suspension of disbelief (per Coleridge). (You see, I can still ground my musings in formall discursive terms, even years outside academe.) And in keeping with that tradition, the details that do emerge bespeak the characters involved; that Carsina’s letters to Nevare are noted for their childishness and disregard of spelling convention suggests that their writer, herself, is both childish and ill-tutored. While it is the case that the spelling of Carsina’s writing follows sound, and it is the case that early orthographies functioned similarly (which I know from experience, having done a bit of work in early English print history and pre-print literatures), Gernia is not presented as being an early-literate society. The presence of seemingly mass-produced, lowbrow series (as witness this) and, if memory serves, newspapers, strongly suggest an active printing industry, and there’d not be such a thing without a large reading public. Instead, it comes off as something of an infantilization of Carsina, which aligns with the prevailing gender roles presented as at work in Gernia, even though several of the female characters presented thus far–Selethe and Yaril Burvelle come to mind–are less…subjected to that particular bit of acculturation.

To turn to another topic: Hobb, in the Realm of the Elderlings series, does a whole lot of foreshadowing, both directly within works and across the decades of composition by calling back from later volumes to occasional off-handed comments in earlier ones. Prophecy is an orienting principle of that body of work. It bleeds over into Soldier Son, with the present chapter showing more than its share thereof. The conversation between Maw, a preferred instructor who is depicted as even-handed and genuinely concerned with his students’ welfare, and Nevare regarding the possibility of the latter serving as a scout suggests, even without the vantage of rereading, that Nevare is not likely to succeed in his pre-selected path.** The issues with the face-bearing flowers that wither away is another example, both realized in the present chapter and portending much else to come. Other things also emerge that seem to foretell associations–and, given the general shape of Hobb’s writing, misfortunes to come. Some of them, if memory serves, are not unpleasant to see; others are less happy for readers. It will be good to see which is which as I continue to reread the works.

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*To return to this conceit: I remain convinced that the first five chapters would read well as a stand-alone novella, and I have to wonder if they constituted a prospectus for the Soldier Son as a whole. So much said, I do not know if other parts of the novel section off so neatly. I am tempted to read the end of “Initiation” as the end of another such section, although I do not think “Sword and Pen” through that chapter stand quite so solidly on their own as the first five chapters do. Still, were I writing up a lesson plan again, I think that probably would be where I split off a new section; front matter through the fifth chapter, then the sixth through eleventh chapters. I’ll need to reread more to figure out where I’d make the next division; it’s been a while since I’ve gone through this novel and the others in the series, after all. But I do look forward to the work of doing so again.

**Going to the affective again, I once again feel for Nevare in this. I’ve addressed the matter more than once, as witness this and this; I don’t know that I need to rehash it again at the moment, but I think it’s worth pointing out both my reaction and why I have it. I suppose I come down as heavily in reader-response theory in my approach, such as it is anymore.

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The eleventh chapter of Shaman’s Crossing, “Initiation,” begins on Nevare’s comments regarding common scheduling at the Academy; five days see classes, a sixth sees religious study and outside studies, and a seventh serves as a free day occupied by performing necessary tasks. Nevare addresses his comfort with the routines and the deepening bonds among him and his bunkmates, most especially with Spink and thus with Gord, who continues to confuse Nevare. Relationships among the cadets of Nevare’s cohort form and take shape, and Nevare finds himself considering his own place among his comrades. He also questions his own leadership abilities.

Comments about the titular initiation rituals follow, describing hazing that is commonly humorous but moves swiftly towards the injurious. Demands from upper-level students are described, and Nevare reports having some trouble sleeping. The latter, found and addressed by Sergeant Rufet, casuses some embarrassment for him, and Nevare looks forward to an end to the hazing as he remarks upon his cohort’s reactions to the same.

Nevare himself is subjected to particularly humiliating hazing, being obliged by two senior cadets to strip to his underwear and march circles while singing loudly. The hazing is interdicted by Cadet Lieutenant Tiber, who bids him dress and return to his dormitory in haste. Once there, Nevare confers with Rory about the event and learns more of the biases in place against the soldier-sons of such new lords as Nevare’s father. Nevare also learns some of Tiber’s reputation on campus, the young officer having something of a reputation as a proponent of social justice, with data to support the same. More of the social structures at work in the cavalla are rehearsed, and implications of those structures are noted, leaving Nevare uncertain of his future.

Following a strange dream, Nevare begins to take small revenges for the hazing inflicted upon him and his comrades. Some of them earn him rebuke; more of them are successful. Rory sees Nevare in action and begins to accompany him on his errands, adding to the mischief as it escalates toward the end of the prescribed initiation period. Said end is a general melee between first-year cadets of different dormitories, one into which Nevare and his comrades rush foolishly but to good effect. Higher-ranking cadets join the fight, but Nevare’s group remains ascendant until Academy faculty and staff break up the fight. Rebukes follow in earnest, and after, Nevare notes some pride in the achievement alongside concern for its consequences. Injured cadets are returned to their dormitories, and an uneasy night follows for Nevare, in which he again dreams strangely of deforestation and shame.

Nevare wakes the next morning and is hustled to the Academy parade grounds along with his cohort. Colonel Stiet addresses the cadets, lecturing them for their misdeeds and promising that those occasioning the violence would be punished. They find that Jared, Trent, and Lofert are all being expelled, the first culling of their Academy class.

To address the chapter-length issue: the present chapter, in the edition of the novel I’m rereading, runs 24 pages in length, approximately 4.16% of the novel. As with the first chapter and the second, the present chapter is roughly proportional to the novel as a whole, being one of 24 chapters and approximately one twenty-fourth the length of the novel as a whole. It is something of a return to normalcy, which is fitting enough to the chapter as a whole, as said chapter establishes a common routine (243) and asserts a dominant social pattern that, while decried, is acknolwedged as a status quo desired by no few of those in power. While not a happy association, it is an apt one; the combination of the two is a commonplace in Hobb’s writing.

Also, for indexing purposes, the following: Bringham House, Cadet Lieutenant Tiber, Caleb, Carneston House, Carsina Grenalter, Colonel Rebin, Colonel Stiet, Corporal Dent, Culling, Engineers’ Regiment, Gord, Jared, Jaris, Keft Burvelle, King’s Cavalla Academy, Kort Braxan, Laudanum, Lofert, Miles, Natred Verlaney, Nevare Burvelle, Old Thares, Ordo, Oron, Rory, Sergeant Duril, Sergeant Rufet, Sharpton Hall, Skeltzin Hall, Spinrek “Spink” Kester, Tobacco, Trist Wissom. Of note is that Miles might be either Jaris or Ordo; Miles is addressed by name (249), one of two haranguing Nevare whom Tiber upbraids–by surname (251). The text, so far as I can tell at this point, does not identify either of the surnames with the given name.

The opening passage of the chapter, noting the common schedule of the Academy, is of some interest. A seven-day week appears to be in place in Gernia, one with a day dedicated to religious observance–not at all unlike the nineteenth-century United States I maintain Gernia evokes. There is the variance that the religious observations are on the sixth day, not the seventh, although the seventh is distinctly recognized; it has its own name, Sevday, and one that moves away from the kind of pagan identification found in common modern English day-names (and day-names in several other languages, I’ll add, although there are only a few I read and so only those few about which I can reliably comment*). I’ve not done the reading I perhaps ought to regarding religiosity in the nineteenth-century United States to be able to confirm it, but I have the sneaking suspicion that the Great Awakenings are being referenced somehow in the setup.

I’ll note, too, that there is some accommodation of something I point out as being a misalignment in the previous chapter. In my comments thereupon, I remark that Hobb describes the Academy as a four-year institution at one point in the text while portraying it as a three-year institution in the main. The character of Cadet Lieutenant Tiber** offers something of a bridge across that divide. Something like a graduate student, Tiber is noted to have “already graduated from the Academy and achieved a lieutenant’s rank” as one of a select few invited to continue studies after the regular program (250). While it may be taken as something of a retcon (and not the first I’ve perceived in Hobb’s writing, as witness this, this, and to some extent this older piece), I think it reads more as the result of having worked backward, retcons usually being between works rather than witihin them. But I’ll admit to being biased in favor of Hobb’s writing, and that might be at work in my thoughts at present.

Of further note is the hzaing at work in the present chapter. While such activities are, at the time of Hobb’s writing and mine, officially abjured, they continue–and they were rampant in prior decades. I am told that, where I went to graduate school, it was once common practice to oblige first-year students to swim the pond out back of the student union–where the institution maintains a small population of small alligators. (The alligators are usually taken to the wild when they reach five or six feet in length.) Where I attended undergrad, there was less of that kind of thing, but that was as much the nature of the school as it was then as anything else. My high school had an abundance of it, and I’m somewhat uncomfortable to admit my own involvement in it, both being hazed and doing the hazing. There is some appropriateness to rites of passage involving trials, and those who have been in uniform can doubtlessly attest to the prevalence of do-the-stupid-thing-because-I-say-so-and-you-have-to-do-what-I-say in every branch of service; I’ve heard enough about such things. And, frankly, boys in their late teens tend toward the foolhardy, which I know because I was one and was not ahead of the trends. All this is to say that, despite the distaste such practices might now elicit, they fit well within the milieu Hobb stakes out in the novel.

To once again indulge my propensity towards affective reading: I find that I again feel for Nevare. The concern that he may not be fit for command, when he had been trained all his life to be placed into a position of command (if with some caveats and concerns) is one familiar in form to me, if not in specifics. I’ve had to leave off things I had thought I would do, careers toward which I had bent my being, more than once; it wasn’t easier the last time than the first. So I feel for the fictional young man, foolish as it may be for me to do so. For me, there have been fallbacks and support; while the job I’m in now isn’t one I’d’ve thought to take at any point much before I took it, it has its benefits, and I find myself perhaps over-identifying with it (although its prospects are and remain better than most of what I’d thought to do before, and the pay’s no worse and often better). It is good, I think, to be reminded of such things as I am in my affective reading; even if things have been otherwise than I’d intended, they are yet good. I can hope for as much for many people.

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*Spanish comes to mind for me, given where I live. Martes, miércoles, jueves, and viernes all call to mind the Roman pantheon, while sabado is a direct rendering of Sabbath–although domingo, Sunday or Lord’s Day is usually the one on which observances are made. This is not out of line, to be certain; much of the nineteenth century in the United States attended to conflict with and takeover of Spanish-speaking regions, the legacies of which continue to bring about some good and much ill.

**Given the presence of Cadet Captain Jaffers, who appears to be the ranking “regular” cadet, Tiber’s title seems an oddity; a Cadet Lieutenant would, at first blush, be subordinate to a Cadet Captain. Admittedly, Cadet Zeroth-Class would be an awkward construction, and other titles that suggest themselves to my mind (Lieutenant-Specialist, perhaps) are no less so. That’s not without sense, however; being a graduate student is a liminal thing and exceedingly awkward, as I say who have more experience being one (and straight out of undergrad!) than many.

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

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The ninth chapter of Shaman’s Crossing, “The Academy,” begins with Nevare noting being too early deposited at the titular school. The general layout of the facility is described as Keft brings Nevare to check in with the institution’s head, Colonel Stiet, meeting the colonel’s son, Caulder, as they go. Keft and the colonel exchange introductions, and he introduces his son to his new commander. Conversation follows, somewhat awkwardly, with Nevare listening until Caulder returns and is directed to conduct Nevare to his quarters.

Nevare follows Caulder across the Academy grounds to an older building, where he presents him to Sergeant Rufet. The sergeant brusquely takes Nevare in charge, rebuking the new cadet for his reliance on the youth, and Nevare stumbles through his initial interaction with the man before seeing to his billeting. Reporting to his quarters and reminiscing wryly on them, Nevare meets Natred Verlaney and Kort Braxan, exchanging introductions with the other young men as he sets about securing his goods. They are joined soon after by Spink Kester, and the four are contrasted with one another as they begin their acquaintance.

The initial exchanges are interrupted by the arrival of Nevare’s father in his quarters, and introductions are made between the new cadets and the elevated soldier. Keft speaks highly of Spink’s father, the late Kellon Spinrek Kester, the manner of whose death is something of an exemplar in Gernian history. Keft has Nevare accompany him back to his conveyance to make his departure, offering fatherly advice and a warning about Colonel Stiet before giving his son his blessing and heading back to his brother’s estate.

Alone, Keft returns to his quarters and is greeted by his roommates and others of his incoming class of cadets—Rory, Gord, and Trist—who are described in varying levels of detail as they fall in together and begin exchanging stories and experiences. Rory makes note of news from his cousin Jordie of “cullings,” presumptive reductions of Academy cohorts, and the implications of those reductions are traced. Others join the group—Oron, Caleb, Jared, Trent, and Lofert—and are introduced and described.

At length, the dinner bell sounds, and Nevare joins his cohort in heading toward the meal. They are taken in charge by Corporal Dent, a second-year cadet under whose authority they are placed, and he makes a point of haranguing them physically and verbally as they go to and arrive at dinner. Back in their quarters afterward, Nevare and his companions discuss events for a time before some good-natured roughhousing ensues. Dent arrives to break up matters, chiding the new cadets and informing them of expectations for the next day.

So much done, Dent departs, leaving the new cadets to confer. Rory notes that such haranguing is to be expected, and most of the new cadets make ready for bed. A few, led by Trist, go to play dice, meeting with some resistance by the more rules-minded of the soldier sons. Spink, in particular, rebukes Trist, not only for the violation but for putting his fellows into the position of being obliged to report the violation. Trist offers a mocking apology and departs to his own room, followed by Oron and Gord. Nevare reflects on a lesson from Sergeant Duril, and after some further discussion that takes in Trist’s intransigence, Nevare finds his way to bed and sleep.

To address the chapter-length issue: the present chapter, in the edition of the novel I’m rereading, runs 18 pages in length, approximately 3.12% of the novel. The chapter runs long on explication, fittingly enough for the introduction of a new setting, although it must be remarked that there is a lot of explication in place in the novel already. Some of that is the nature of a first volume of an announced trilogy; following the model of Lord of the Rings, it might be better to regard the series as a single work than as a collection of separate works (although the case can be made for separation, as noted previously). In that case, spending so much of the initial novel on explication makes some sense, as it must introduce characters, the milieu as a whole, and specific locations within it. Since the Soldier Son moves away from the Tolkienian tradition in several ways, it cannot rely on quite the same commonplaces and short-hands to familiarize readers as a more “normal” fantasy work, but must explain more things in more detail for a readership that is, presumably, not so familiar with tropes of the American West as some might be. This is true whether that familiarity rises from experience growing up in particular parts of the world (for example) or from doing a lot of reading, whether of history or of Western fiction (although readers of both genres might well find commonalities, as I’ve gestured towards and as others might well have remarked with more force).

Also, for indexing purposes, the following: Antoleran, Caleb, Carneston House, Caulder Stiet, Cavalla, Colonel Stiet, Corporal Dent, Culling, Dewara’s stone, Ebonis, Fit for Command, General Tersy Harwod, Gord, Hare Ridge, Jared, Jordie, Keft Burvelle, Kellon Spinrek Kester, King’s Cavalla Academy, Kort Braxan, Lieutenant Geeverman, Lofert, Natred Verlaney, Nevare Burvelle, Old Thares, Oron, Penny Adventure, Plainsfolk, Red Desert, Roark Kester, Rory, Sefert Burvelle, Sergeant Duril, Sergeant Rufet, Spinrek “Spink” Kester, Trent, Trist Wissom. As noted, there’s a lot of explication going on, so there is a concomitant quantity of items introduced.

Of note in that explication is the assertion not just that there is writing to be found, that Gernia is a literate culture (established previously and reasserted emphatically here), but the identification of specific works of note within it, both highbrow and lowbrow in culture. Harwood’s Fit for Command and the Penny Adventure pieces one new cadet loans out among his comrades are the easy examples in the present chapter. The latter calls to mind the penny dreadfuls originating in Victorian England and soon finding parallels in the westward-pressing United States, especially in dime novels; in both cases, the works evoked are cheaply made and produced, disseminated widely, and generally associated with the lurid if not the lewd, which evocation is affirmed by Nevare’s reactions to his initial perusal of such a volume.

The former calls to mind any number of military histories such as have long graced bookstore shelves, glosses of people and events written by those in command after they have relinquished command, allowing them not only to provide “authoritative” comments on events and so shape understandings of them, but also to allow their authors to continue to profit from their time in service past when that service ends. In effect, it’s the kind of thing that such colonialist powers as Gernia do to provide ongoing ideological justification for their colonialist projects, reaffirming the parallel of Gernia to the manifest-destiny-driven United States despite the occasional motion away from a one-to-one correspondence between the two. And it does return to Hobb’s writerly emphasis on the value of writing (about which some relevant remarks can be found here, here, and here, among others); literacy and its products are held up in the juxtaposition of the two cited in-milieu pieces as pervasive of Gernian culture, reinforcing the importance of the written word within a work of writing.

The present chapter, with its emphasis on a description of a boarding school and new roommates, brings to mind a series of books and movies centered on a certain scar-headed orphan wizard, the popularity of which series were high at the time Shaman’s Crossing was published (and presumably written). While detailed comments on those series exceed what I am willing to give here, and for several reasons, the thought occurs to me that part of what is going on in the present chapter functions as an attempt to capitalize on the aforementioned popularity. (I am not treating intention; I have no way to know what it is, and what is meant to happen is far, far less important than what actually happens.) It’s a sensible enough thing, in itself; selling books helps writers keep writing, and I happen to be glad Hobb has kept writing. But that it is sensible does not mean it does not attract attention; indeed, it would be good if more people paid more attention to what is sensible—myself included.

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