When even the cedars wither Boughs browning not from the vigor of their love But from a loss mourned without tears What then?
No, there’s not a fire. It’s worse than that. Photo by Malcolm Gillanders on Pexels.com
So far
They yet show green and strong
Feathery fabric still enfolding limestone hills
But there are tatters beginning to show at the edges
And many still look only at the center mass
Refusing to recognize that
It is not only the single shot that kills
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The dying stalks of grass beside the highway
Barely stir as traffic passes
Sibilant whispers hissing through the double glass
I look through from where I sit
Staring at the choking face whose
Lone unblinking eye stares out
Such that the glover’s son might call him Hugh
When he first makes his score
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After lyrics from HapGladheart, “The Fool’s Tale” begins with Fitz returning to Chade’s old hidden rooms, where he inadvertently wakes the Fool into a trauma response. The two confer for a time together, the Fool asking about Bee and relating some of the circumstances of his imprisonment and abuse before resuming his account of his life since his ragged parting from Fitz. Passing through Skill-pillars to Kelsingra and beyond, the Fool and Prilkop made for Clerres, and the Fool interrupts his account to muse on one moment in his torment and the arrival of one of his messengers to Fitz.
The present chapter has a lot to do with these. Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
Conversation pivots to the Fool’s encounter with Bee, which he had misunderstood, and falters in favor of Fitz’s medical attentions to the Fool. His Skill reaches into the Fool, and the extent of his injuries and underlying illness is made clear to him once again. He bends his magic to the task of healing, only to find himself roused out of a stupor by a frantic Chade and Nettle. Discussion of events ensues, and Fitz is given additional assignments; after Nettle leaves, Chade and Fitz confer more closely, including about Ash. Once Chade leaves, Fitz makes to see to himself, noting strange wounds whose source confuses him. Setting the matter aside, he retires for what sleep he can get.
The lyrics that introduce the chapter draw my attention, as might be expected for an old English major. I reproduce them here to facilitate discussion (they’re on pg. 57 of the edition of the text I’m reading, the first edition hardcover from 2015); the words, of course, are not my own:
When winter’s clutch is cold and dark
And game is scarce and forest stark,
This songster to the hearth retreats
To warm his cheeks and icy feet.
But on the hill and in the glen
Are hunters hardier than men.
With lolling tongues and eyes that gleam
They surge through snow with breath like steam.
For in the hunt there is no morrow,
Time does not wait. There is no sorrow
As blood spills black and snarls are rife.
For life is meat, and death brings life.
The lyrics given are in iambic tetrameter couplets, which would “normally” indicate some light or satiric thrust due to the long-standing association with Hudibras. The subject matter belies the association, however, particularly in the final line presented (which, it must be noted, may not be the final line of the song); it does call to mind–appropriately, given the generic associations–some of the verse penned by JRR Tolkien and included in, say, The Silmarillion. (The Lay of Leithian is an example.) The line-structure suggests, further, that the kind of minstrelsy in which Hap is trained follows a common 4/4 pattern; each line suggests a measure of music, with each stanza being a single verse in a song, such that a brief musical refrain can be imagined easily between the stanzas. In the former case, the association with generic standards reinforces the notion that, despite Hobb’s divergences from it, she remains rooted in the Tolkienian fantasy tradition (which she acknowledges); the reinforcement helps keep her work accessible to readers. Similarly, the implied musical structure at work in Hap’s song is one likely to be familiar to Hobb’s presumed primary readership; its inclusion, then, helps with accessibility. Her readers are presented with something new that is also familiar, allowing them to more easily engage with the text–something about which Hobb has expressed concern. That concern would appear to be addressed in the introductory material to the present chapter, as elsewhere in the Elderlings corpus.
There’s also a lovely bit of additive foreshadowing at work. The messenger that had reached Fitz at Withywoods, whose body he had burned, had reported being infected in such a way as to make contact with her a peril. In the present chapter, Fitz has had prolonged physical contact with a gravely injured and long-ill Fool. He also shows up with strange wounds whose source he cannot recall, and he makes an assumption about them he does not pursue. Hobb being Hobb, and Fitz being Fitz, it is clear that he is in another poor position, and once again through a lack of vigilance that may be understandable in the situation but which still does not argue in his favor.
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Dark is this day, though it dawned long since, Saw the light of the lamp lifted on high That some say is swung by a seraph– The blinded and bragging one bold among them– Far from a feast of the fair love-goddess, Unless the love lauded is given to lucre. Those who will gather go forth in greed, Bickering, bargaining, coming to blows In search of a sale to delight them this season– While I must wait for my time in the world yet longer, Keep out of the crush until the day comes That I will fare forth, ere I, too, will feast.
Tis the season… Photo by Ivan Samkov on Pexels.com
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She is, as she sits now, a slip–not mere, As any whom my voice will reach will hear, And as who speak with her will find quite clear. Though young, and small with youth, she is of will Quite strong, of insight keen, and thinks no ill Of those who do no ill. To them, she still Behaves with grace to far surpass her years– Although her tongue will redden many ears, Such is the skill it has. I have my fears For her, of course, as I could hardly not. The evils of the world, I’ve not forgot; I worry that she will be by them caught. But who might think my daughter to restrain Will soon rethink that thought, I still maintain.
She likes this kind of thing. Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
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Following a set of instructions from one of the Servants that touches on their designs, “The Taking of Bee” begins with Bee returning to self-awareness and awareness of her situation after her seeming ensorcellment. She assesses herself and her surroundings, and considers the attack on Withywoods and its effects. Watching others under seeming domination, she purposes to remain as secret as she can, considering her captors and the nascent dissension among them. Seeing what appears to be a chance to escape, she sets out again, only to find herself stymied by the powers of her captors–especially Vindeliar, who is the source of the ensorcellment at work.
Not quite the same thing, this… Image is Ich’s on Wikipedia, here, used under a CC BY-SA 4.0 license
Bee watches as Shun begins to be assailed, the voice of Wolf-Father sounding in her mind as she does. Preparations for departure are made, and Shun fights against her prospective assailant, and Bee announces herself to interdict retribution against Shun. Her announcement has the desired effect, revealing her to be of particular value to her captors: Kardef, Kindrel, Soula, Reppin, Alaria, the aforementioned Vindeliar, and Lingstra Dwalia. Shun is ordered tended to and protected, and some discussion ensues about her fate that Dwalia quashes. Bee is taken, and she considers both the lack of response from the people of Withywoods and her separation from them and her father. As they leave, however, Bee notes Perseverance, watching clandestinely.
I note with some interest that one of the characters depicted in the present chapter is Ellik, whose depredations are known. As ever, I do appreciate gestures to show that a unified milieu is, in fact, unified. I also appreciate seeing Ellik reduced, although it is not quite as much as would satisfy; although he is not Chancellor of Chalced, and although he seems to have had to hire himself out, he yet remains in command of others. How he managed to escape the wrack of Chalced and the fall of Andronicus is not clear, although it is not implausible that he would do so; I do not recall as I reread the present chapter that his death was depicted, so…
I note, too, that the present chapter does a fair bit of additional exposition, both showing that the Servants have magics other than the prophecies of the White Prophets available to them–something like the Skill, perhaps, if not actually that magic (consider the Pale Woman)–and giving quite a few names to follow. The former reinforces the danger that the Servants present; the latter, while presenting a challenge to some readers in introducing a number of characters in rapid sequence, does offer more possibilities for narration. Each character, after all, allows for another set of interactions, and it is in interactions that stories inhere. Further, since it’s early in the text, there is plenty of time to learn the characters better–or to watch them die; it is, after all, a novel by Hobb, and she’s not exactly averse to introducing characters only to kill them off…
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While some will say they seek gold eagles there behind a long gray line, Others looked to Callard and Bowser and got along just fine. In cooling spice and lance’s kin, and others, it abounds In kitchens, and at holidays, it makes its starlit rounds. Standing off the causeway road, it presses queens and kings; Its condition is desirable for a great many things.
Not a Jim Carrey portrayal, to be sure… Photo by Julia Filirovska on Pexels.com
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As I was, after too long a delay, reading pieces to update the Fedwren Project, I looked at a chapter of Kim Wilkins, Beth Driscoll, and Lisa Fletcher’s Genre Worlds: Popular Fiction and Twenty-First-Century Book Culture, “Genre Sociality Online and in Person.” I’ve got a summary of the chapter here, so I’ll not repeat it, but it is the case, as with much of what I’ve read to work on the Project, that there’s more to be said than just a summary. My contribution to that is below.
There’s a lot in the chapter I appreciate, so much so that I am seriously considering buying the book. One thing that attracted my particular attention, however, was the section “Conventions and the Importance of Being There.” Again, I’ve already written a summary and so won’t recapitulate it here, but I will note that I found myself in mind of my own experience as part of a fandom (see here). The issue the authors raise about concerns of being participant-observers is one I have considered at times as I have worked on the Project and on my Hobb reread, as well as on some of the other work I’ve done (for example, this).
There remains, certainly in popular conception, an idea that making knowledge about a thing requires a distance from that thing, that engagement and its concomitant emotional investment in a thing skews the knowledge to be made about that thing to an extent that it becomes unusable. (I do not agree with the position, as such, but I do not have to agree with it to recognize its existence or its effects–which all too often are rejection of the knowledge made.) It tends to be voiced disingenuously, of course, and rarely outside the context of academic research (and, more narrowly, the academic humanities, but one more way in which prevailing discourse devalues consideration of what it is and means to be human); a current or former baseball player, for example, will be taken more seriously when discussing the game because of experience playing the game than will a researcher who has never thrown a pitch, but a con-goer who writes about cons has to foreground that attendance and apologize (or nearly so) for the subjectivity of reporting.
As if all reporting is not subjective, at least to some degree. After all, selecting what details to convey is a choice, and it will necessarily reflect biases, inherent and otherwise.
I want to make clear that I do not fault the authors for this. As noted, I find much of value in what I’ve read of theirs, and I want to read more of theirs. They’re not to blame for gesturing towards a problem that preexists them–and, to be honest if pessimistic, will likely last long after they, and I, and you are dust and ash. It is a problem, though, and one with which I have some experience, hence my attentions. And if that is yet another example of my affective reading…well, again, it’s not faulted in readers in other areas than mine, so that I think there’s something else going on with it in those areas.
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Following an in-milieu commentary on secrets, “Lord Feldspar” begins with Fitz tidying up from the meal and preparing himself to assume the role of Lord Feldspar that has been laid out for him. After he dresses, Chade enters upon him, and the two talk together of access to the hidden corridors of Buckkeep. Chade rebukes Fitz somewhat for his inattentions at Withywoods, and Chade offers details of the assignment as Feldspar and a briefing in support of the same. After a brief consultation regarding the Fool and Bee, Fitz begins his work for Chade again.
It fits Fitz. Photo By: Kaboompics.com on Pexels.com
Fitz emerges as Feldspar into the hubbub of Winterfest preparations and celebrations, moving easily through the throng as he observes his surroundings. He does mark the presence of Witmaster Web, working to avoid contact with the man and following his assignment as he can. The procession of Six Duchies royalty–the former queen, Kettricken, as well as King Dutiful and Queen Elliania and their sons–and Fitz notes changes in their appearances and demeanors since he last met with them. He also works to immerse himself more fully in his role, finding persons of interest and relaying information about them through the Skill to Chade. His mind turns to his daughter, and he thinks of her, partly through the Skill, before retiring for the evening.
Something that occurred to me suddenly (and belatedly, I concede) is that the cover illustration on the edition of the text I’m reading presents Fitz as backhandedly angelic. He has a halo provided by the O in Hobb’s name, and shadowy wings spread from his shoulders. Both are darker than is typical of “angels,” but then, I’ve long since noted the ways in which Fitz is atypical (here, among others), and I find myself thinking that, if he is an angel, Fitz is an angel of death–still angelic, sure, but hardly a “light” figure. Not a stunning observation, I admit, and one reliant on paratext rather than text (however, this seems relevant), so hardly authorial or narrative, but still something to attend to.
More germane to the present chapter, however, there is some interest in the choices surrounding Fitz’s current alias as Lord Feldspar. The name itself refers to one of the most common minerals to be found, noted for its use in glassmaking and ceramics, among others. (Sometimes, Wikipedia is useful, and this page seems to cite its sources, which helps.) Hobb’s often-evidenced predilection towards emblematic names shows up in this; it’s…appropriate for an ostensibly nondescript observer to have the name of a common thing used in something designed to let images pass through. Similarly, Feldspar is reportedly at Buckkeep to negotiate regarding a new vein of copper ore, and copper is associated both with metalworking from early through current incarnations of it and with money, being the traditional primary component of the most basic currencies. It’s effectively everywhere and in everything, and if it’s more useful in conjunction with others, it’s far from useless on its own…and that’s hardly an inaccurate description of Fitz. Funny how that works out.
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It occurs to me that I did not provide the answer to this riddle; it’s “pen.”
Once again, I write a little song
While sitting at my desk. I have not long
In which to do the task, but there’s no wrong
In spending idle moments shaping lines
That some might read while sipping at their wines
Or in which some might see un-thought-of signs
That all may yet be well. There is a hope
In writing, though each written piece might grope
Ineptly towards some unseen hanging rope
By which it might itself and readers haul
From out that pit into which many fall:
Despair. Each verse becomes another call
To stand up, rise up, take up noble task,
Give all therein; nothing more is asked.
Looks about right. Photo by Emmanuel Ikwuegbu on Pexels.com
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Elliott RWI 