A Robin Hobb Rereading Series, Entry 449: Fool’s Quest, Chapter 27

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


Following Dwalia’s comments about Prilkop, “Aftermath” begins with Fitz considering the fallout from the fight with Ellik and his few surviving subordinates. Fitz issues orders to Foxglove and his own guards, and a search for Bee and Shine ensues. As Fitz goes about his part of it, Riddle assists him and confronts him about Lant and about his own inclusion in the drugged group Fitz had left behind, and, after some discussion, the two are accorded.

Cue Peer Gynt
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The results of Fitz’s and Riddle’s search are noted, and they are unhelpful. The pair call at nearby Ringhill Keep, which is described as they receive accommodations. Fitz, drug-addled, muddles through the meal, after which he and Riddle are taken aside by the resident Skill-user and informed that they are to return to Buckkeep with all due haste. Fitz apologizes to Riddle for having led to his rebuke, which apology Riddle sets aside, and the pair prepare to return to face Nettle and Dufitul.

The next morning, Fitz, Riddle, Lant, and Perseverance set out for Buckkeep, Fitz’s guard in tow. Reports of the previous night are offered, and Lant voices his complaints to Fitz for ill-treatment. As they proceed, Fitz and Riddle confer, and discord breaks out among the guard. They also find Shine along the way, and Fitz learns to his sorrow that Bee has been taken through a Skill-pillar.

The introductory material to the chapter once again attracts my attention. I find it interesting that Dwalia describes Prilkop as “the Black Prophet,” a description echoing that under which he was introduced to the Realm of the Elderlings corpus (see here and here). I find it also interesting that the description comes amid commentary that casts some aspersion onto Prilkop: “Since he was discovered as a natural-born rather than bred at Clerres, his time at our school was too short to be certain of his loyalty” (523). Both lead me once again to think about Manichean allegory at work, as well as the ways in which portions of the Realm of the Elderlings seem to me to refigure early US experience (about which some comments are here). I imagine that some additional updates to my earlier work will be in order, and I imagine also that I may have to review some of my older notes to reground myself in some of the prevailing theoretical discourses in which I’d need to work to follow up on this particular set of scholarly somedays.

There’s some there there.

In any event, the text of the main chapter is relatively brief, some thirteen pages in the printing I have (I really need to sit down for a while with a cohesive print-run of the Elderlings novels; there’s something in the chapter-lengths). It reads to me as being a pivot, separated out from other materials for sense and to allow greater focus on other events but still needing more development than a simple gloss would permit. Fitz’s recognition of his errors, his faults, and the ways in which those faults impact both others and the regard others have for him deserves attention, certainly, and I am put in mind of “filler episodes” in a number of television series. I note that many such episodes become some of the most favorite, though, as they tend to permit the kind of character development that receives much approval and that, frankly, many “literary” novels focus on.

I’m not upset to see it.

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A Small Piece Written beside a Fire Pit on a Weekend Evening

I recently had occasion once again to lay a fire in in my fire pit. It’s something that happens less often than might be thought for someone who has made much of living in the Texas Hill Country, and it is true that I don’t take *every* opportunity to do it that I might. Then again, it’s been pretty dry ’round these parts, so there’s been a burn ban on for a lot of the year. A little bit of recent rain, however, meant that the yard needed mowing and that the burn ban was lifted, so I took care of the one with my daughter’s help, and I took advantage of the other.

The pit in question.
The image is mine.
The food was tasty.

I’m not the first to find a fire a congenial thing, I know, nor yet to find cooking over one a joy. But that I ain’t the first doesn’t make either untrue; I *do* find cooking over flame–this time as often, kindled from wood I cut myself and left to season in this kindly Hill Country air–a pleasant way to spend a good bit of time, and just sitting beside a crackling pile of logs as the fall through char into ash eases quiet contemplation.

I’ve felt the need for it of late.

I’ll not get into great detail about what all’s been on my mind. A lot of it’s got to do with the work of my day-job, and while I don’t make a secret of working as a bookkeeper and tax preparer, I know well the minutiae of the work glazes a lot of eyes, and specifics of my clients are decidedly *not* appropriate topics for discussion here. And I say that knowing full well the ways in which I was loquacious in this webspace and just exactly how prone I am to four-letter words and uncouth talk in my day-to-day life.

So much being said, and even true, I do find a fair bit of peace doing such things as sitting in the shade of an oak tree as wood from another oak burns under my tending. It helps me to slow down for a while, to take my time with something l, as opposed to my normally having to plow through tasks with some speed. Too, it helps me think of myself as actually doing something decent decently; I know I’m not the only one who has some hangups surrounding the divergence between some of what used to be and some of what is, and I don’t believe I’m alone in wanting to take down some of them. Sitting at the fireside gets things off of those hooks for me, at least for a little while.

I know each time I lay in a fire that I can’t stay beside it forever. If nothing else, I need another cup of coffee or another beer, or I have to get rid of one of them I’ve had–and there’s always something else. But I do enjoy it while I can, when I can, and I always look forward to when I can do it again.

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A Robin Hobb Rereading Series, Entry 448: Fool’s Quest, Chapter 26

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

Another content warning for the chapter: discussion of child abuse / neglect, torture.


After a Servant’s commentary about the Fool, one noting his youthful intransigence and certain measures attempted and suggested to address the same, “The Glove” returns to Bee and Shun as they flee the fracas between the Servants and their Chalcedean hirelings. Shun directs Bee as they flee, and they come at last to take a tentative rest. A cold night passes for them.

Something like this, perhaps?
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In the morning, Bee and Shun press on after some disagreement about what path to take and why. They proceed with difficulty and in cold hunger, and Shun divulges some of her personal history. Bee ruminates on it as she takes a turn breaking trail for Shun, and they come at last to a place to rest for the evening.

Bee wakes in the night, prompted by the echo of Nighteyes within her. One of the Chalcedean hirelings, Kerf, approaches in seeming kindness, offering escort and food. Kerf relates some of his own history and makes to attend to Bee and Shun, and they sleep.

The next day dawns with Kerf providing more food for Bee and Shun, and the trio set out again. Reluctantly, Bee and Shun follow Kerf as he leads them along, and they realize that he has led them back to Dwalia under Vindeliar’s power. Dwalia takes them in hand, noting the end of Bee’s deception, and she bids them be taken through a Skill-pillar. Bee acts, allowing Shun to slip free before she is dragged into the stone of the portal.

The present chapter does quite a bit. For one thing, in its prefatory materials, it brings back to mind the ways in which the Fool had been marked by those in Clerres, tattooed in his youth. In the earlier discussion of those marks, the Fool reports them as inflicted in an attempt to render him not-White. (As I write the words, I recall some earlier comments that motion towards Hobb’s use of tattooing as a trope, and I have to wonder about Manichean allegory and race politics–more scholarly somedays, I think.) While he might well have recalled them as thus inspired, the broader issues of control that are reported in the prefatory materials remain…chilling.

It’s not the only thing in the present chapter that is so. Aside from the weather depicted, there is a more to indicate the ruthlessness of the Servants and their ilk in dealing with those who resist them. As Dwalia and her company prepare to take Bee through the Skill-pillar, she produced “a single strange glove. [Bee] could not tell what it was made from. The hand of it was pale and thing, almost translucent, but to three of its fingertips a shriveled silvery button had been attached” (521). Another of the injuries inflicted on the Fool is accounted for in the description; in Fool’s Assassin, Chapter 30, Fitz notes when he surveys the Fool’s injuries after stabbing him that the fingers with which he had touched the Skill had been damaged, the magic-tinged tips taken away. It would seem they found another home–a macabre little touch that I do not think I caught in my earlier readings.

It’s a good sign when a book gives you something new upon rereading.

Another note, and on another topic entirely: I’ve remarked many times before about Hobb’s use of emblematic names in the Elderlings novels, something overtly discussed as at work among the higher social strata of the Six Duchies and seemingly present among other social groups in the milieu, as well. With that, I have to reflect on Kerf, whose name Merriam-Webster reports as meaning either “a slit or notch made by a saw or cutting torch” or “a slit or notch made by a saw or cutting torch.” In either event, the name indicates that something is missing because it has been removed, and I have to think, given the character’s self-report of his personal history and what has been done to him both by his native society and by Vindeliar at Dwalia’s command, it is an apt name.

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Another Rumination on Cinco de Mayo

Two years ago, I wrote a rumination on Cinco de Mayo, the commemoration of the Mexican victory over France at Puebla. I’ve had a chance to look back over the piece, and I stand by the assertions I made in it. I remain pleased to celebrate a portion of my wife’s heritage and my daughter’s, and I acknowledge the fraught history that underlies such of my own (trained, not inborn) heritage as I do so. Too, I will be going to look for tacos for dinner tonight; I do still love me some tacos.

Gotta love the classics…from Giphy, here.

As I write now, though, I have to think things are even more fraught than they were before. The prevailing political rhetoric at work–not only where I am and have been, but also more broadly–is not one that would seem to lend itself to any kind of multiculturalism, even that which was subsumed into something of a gestalt cultural identity decades and more ago. I know I am not the only one who was taught with pride about the six flags to have flown over Texas, and it continues to boggle my mind that groups of people who in so many other ways have not advanced beyond the understandings inculcated into them in fourth grade have moved away from one of them that might actually have some good in it. But then, many things do boggle me.

For my own part, I do what I little I can to learn more about that history, including the unpleasant parts of it that are often elided in the name of “teaching true history,” the parts that proceed not from Great Man narratives traditionally promulgated because they present a whitewashed vision of events such as conduce to the formation of particular opinions. And even if we assume, as many do, that the Great Man narratives presented are reasonably accurate insofar as they go, they are not representative; the records left behind in diaries and journals, in the logs of junior soldiers and on the backs of kitchen cabinet doors, do more to describe how things were for the majority of people, the kind of people among whom I would have been had I been then and not died young from some malady that modern medicine and vaccines easily address (I have never been the kind of medievalist who longs to live in the bygone days I studied, in large part because I have studied them, and I’m not much more fond of many more recent times). It is less easy.

It is less convenient to learn such things than it is to learn others. It does oblige me to look at myself and my background more carefully and closely and to deal with the ways in which those I have succeeded succeeded because others were made to fail. It is also a fuller and more accurate thing, and it does give me some hope that, rather than failing to live up to the examples of the past, I might well be able to move beyond them.

Trite as it is to say, things can’t get better if they stay the same.

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A Short Reflection on #NaPoWriMo

It is no secret that I made an attempt at National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo) last month, putting together a poem in each of the thirty days of April 2025. The first one is here, itself a response to a long-standing thing and one I’ve indulged in in previous years, while the last is here and is much less structured, much less formal, and much less embedded in traditions in which I participate happily. So much noted, I am glad to have made the attempt, even if on my own and in my own small way, and I am glad to have actually seen it through amid the busy time that April is for me, what with tax day and my daughter’s state-mandated high-stakes testing and all.

It’s a computer instead of a typewriter, and I’m both bearded and bespectacled rather than shaggy-headed, but, yeah.
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I think I might well do it again (circumstances permitting, of course), although I think I will approach the task differently if I do so. I feel I tend to do better work if I work within a structure, so I think the next time I do NaPoWriMo, I will do so as a series of a particular kind of poem. Sonnets come to mind for me, of course, since I seem to be able to write them, and there’s a long tradition of sonnets in sequences that I can look to for inspiration and guidance. But they’re not the only form in which I’m conversant, and form is not the only structure that I can use to help direct and focus my efforts.

The thought also occurs that I might use a particular theme to guide my writing. So much has been recommended for compiling chapbooks and the like, if my readings are any accurate reflection of things, I’ll admit, too, that I already do something very much like that; those of you who read much of what I write will notice some series of poems, a few of which even get numbered from time to time. I don’t know that I would use those themes for new projects–it feels a little bit like double-dipping, and I’ve long been trained against such things–but I’ve no doubt that I can look to other themes for inspiration, and it would be good to stretch myself a bit.

There are other events like NaPoWriMo to be found. National Novel Writing Month is one that comes to mind, and I’ve attempted it before, although without success. (I can still help you with your writerly efforts, though, and gladly.) There have, evidently, been some things happen over that way (I’ve been busy and haven’t kept up), so I don’t know that I’d do anything formal with it, but I didn’t do anything really formal with NaPoWriMo, either; the idea’s good, even if the surrounding organization may not be so. And I might try to do something parallel to it in a kind of NaSchoWriMo, insofar as I do any kind of scholarship anymore…hell, the Robin Hobb Rereading Series might get a month of solid focus.

I probably ought to write something for its anniversary, anyway.

So, yes, I am glad to have done NaPoWriMo this year, and I look forward to the opportunity to do it again–as well as to do other, similar projects, as time and circumstances allow. Whether they will, of course, I cannot say; I am familiar with the past but can only guess at the future. But, if they do, I will do–and I hope you’ll come along for the ride!

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A Final #Poem in What Seems to Be a Successful Attempt at #NaPoWriMo

The old wounds scrape open often enough with
My stumbling into walls and doorframes or
Brushing up against the thorns hiding under more flowers than you’d think
Ripping open again to bleed and stain my shirts and pants
That I then have to throw away because
I cannot show myself as I must appear
If such stains linger where they can be seen
So I do not need to pick at them to keep them open
Although my bitten fingernails are drying red beneath
And I certainly do not need
Other hands tearing at my still raw skin
Flaying me a little bit at a time

These’ll do for now.
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A #Sonnet Written for the Penultimate Day of #NaPoWriMo

As out into the world this verse does come,
I go, as I too rarely do, for some
Conversing lunch. I seldom brave the scrum
That comes with ev’ry workday’s afternoon,
And seldom spend the cash to fill a spoon
With soup or fork with meat from cattle hewn,
More often eating at my desk from home
Than daring from my office out to roam.
As staid and stolid, I am rightly known,
Both plain and proper such as well enough
Will serve those I am often near. Such stuff
As tales are made of, I from me rebuff,
For I know I am not of such a kind
As greater stories keep in their designs.

Poet not pictured
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A Little Lament Written as Part of an Attempt at #NaPoWriMo Nearly Concluded Successfully

That my coffee for the day is done, I know,
Yet still I reach for a cup I expect to find there and filled,
And when I do not find it because,
Responsibly, I rinsed it out and put it away,
The tide rolls in from the sea without which I cannot see,
And I cling tightly so that I am not swept away,
Small and weak against the world

Given that I swim less well than some stones…
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A Robin Hobb Rereading Series, Entry 447: Fool’s Quest, Chapter 25

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

Got another content warning on this chapter: torture.


Following a report to Chade that discusses the end of Andronicus Kent and the ascent of Chassim, “Red Snow” begins with Fitz and Fleeter proceeding at speed, Fitz detailing their progress through the night and into the dawn. He notes passing “a rare shrine to Eda” (474) as he and his horse move ahead, and Fitz tries to puzzle out his quarry’s path. His thoughts are interrupted by the arrival of the crow, Motley, who croaks out a warning that Fitz heeds, and he is more cautious as he approaches the remnants of violence.

This is probably closer than it should be…
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Fitz surveys the scene, searching for Bee and finding no sign of her. Fleeter’s sudden fatigue reaches Fitz through the Wit, and though he sees to her, he still hardens himself as the assassin he had been trained to be, reflecting on the quiet work he did for Shrewd. Fitz skulks through the terrain, considering implications of the evidence that presents itself to his senses, and he finds the results of the fracas that had broken out between the Servants and the Chalcedeans.

Fitz also finds there are survivors, and he watches for a time before advancing with fatal intent. Seeing the spoils of his own home on display, he questions one of them, Ellik, and secures his person before settling in to extract information. It is forthcoming, and it details how the Chalcedeans were hired and brought into the Six Duchies to effect the raid on Withywoods. It also details the lead-up to the violence that had erupted, and the escape Dwalia and Vindeliar had achieved. It does not report on Bee and Shine.

Securing Ellik, Fitz moves to confront another Chalcedean. He is not more merciful with him, and what he learns confirms what Ellik told him. And then he is beset by Ellik, melee ensuing until interrupted by the onrush of fleeing Chalcedeans and Six Duchies soldiers in pursuit. Perseverance is among them, and his untrained efforts save Fitz from death at Ellik’s hand. The general melee is soon concluded, and Fitz commands a search be organized in haste.

The mention of the shrine early in the present chapter brings to mind some work I have done explicating how Hobb works with concepts of medieval religion in the Realm of the Elderlings corpus. (The short answer is “not a whole lot, but not not at all.” The actual answer is more complex, as the paper bears out.) I am a bit embarrassed to admit that I had missed in the paper the mention of the shrine in the present chapter, as well as its description: “The goddess slumbered under a mantle of white snow, her hands open on her lap. Someone had brushed her hands clean and filled them with millet. Small birds perched on her fingers and thumbs” (474). I’m sure there is something to trace out in the description–there’s enough medievalist resonances in the Disney princesses the shrine’s description evoke that something could be plumbed–but I think it would not be something to stand on its own. Perhaps if I were to rework the conference paper into a longer piece…but that’s just another scholarly someday for me.

I note that Hobb returns again to the theme of torture that pervades her work–and not only her Elderlings corpus, as this rereading series will hopefully address at some point; it factors into the Soldier Son series, as well as some of the out-of-series works such as are in the Warriors anthology edited by Martin and Dozois. A quick glance at available scholarship–which reminds me that I need to do more to update the Fedwren Project–suggests that there is some attention being paid to the topic, which I am glad to see (even as I am somewhat jealous that I’m not the person doing the work). I’m not seeing an extended, systematic study, however, although I will concede that that might be simply a matter of my not having / taking the time to look more closely through the available scholarship at this point. I think I have already noted that such a project is among my many scholarly somedays; I should do so if I haven’t already. Perhaps, as things slow down a bit for me in my “real” life and in the more formal scholarly work that I am, somehow, still doing, I will have time to attend to some of them.

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So What If It’s another #Poem Written in an Ongoing Attempt at #NaPoWriMo?

They gave me back the words I had sent to them,
Put their pens to my pen’s work
And written that they thought that they were good,
But
If some things could be changed,
They would be better yet,
And I thought for a little while before
I decided they were right

They’re not always out to get you, you know…
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