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

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Following an exceptionally brief entry in Detozi’s log, “Kidnapped” begins with Malta and Reyn conferring about Leftrin and the Tarman and the message Malta had received. Reyn departs to confer with the captain, leaving Malta to pick her way back to their home with some difficulty. After he does, and as a storm builds, Malta begins to experience contractions and calls out for help.

Reyn hustles towards the Tarman in the growing storm, worried about Malta but pressing on from the urgency of his errand. He is able to find Leftrin, and the two confer aboard the liveship. Noting Leftrin’s maneuvering with his crew, Reyn recalls a kinship bond between himself and Leftrin, and the two reminisce briefly before Reyn presses for news of the dragons and their keepers. Leftrin attempts to defer a visit to the Khuprus holdings, and Reyn reflects on his wife’s insights. Leftrin’s niece inserts herself into the discussion, and Leftrin reluctantly accedes to her request and Reyn’s.

Malta continues to struggle to shelter, trying to comfort herself amid the storm as her incipient labor reminds her of the changes to her physiology occasioned by becoming an Elderling. She calls for help again and is answered by a man with a Chalcedean accent who hustles her along to a shelter of which she disapproves.

Reyn chafes at Leftrin’s delays and makes arrangements to hasten their travel to his lodgings. When they arrive thereat, they mark Malta’s absence, and the search for her begins.

In her “rescuer’s” room, Malta continues to undergo labor, and that “rescuer” ducks out. When he returns, he is accompanied, and the two men–Begatsi Cored and Sinad Arich–confer about her as her labor pains continue. Their plan–to harvest Malta and her child and present them as if parts of dragons–is laid out as Malta delivers and attempts to conceal her child. Arich departs, and Begatsi makes to slaughter Malta and her newborn; she takes the chance of attacking him as soon as she can, stabbing him in the throat. At length, she is able to regard her newborn son, and she sorrows at his appearance. Bundling him up, she flees back into the stormy night.

This is not, of course, the first time that Malta has been captured by Chalcedeans; she spends a fair bit of Ship of Destiny in such circumstances, beginning here. It is therefore not a surprise to me, not only because I have read the book before (even if it was a while back), but because I have much more recently reread the earlier-published novel, that Malta has the reactions she does. That Chalced is openly, belligerently misogynist is long-established, not least by Malta’s experience; that it has no real regard for human life, engaging in chattel slavery as it does, is similarly long-established (that part goes back to Assassin’s Apprentice, in fact, if obliquely; it is clearer at the beginning of Assassin’s Quest). The level of depravity involved is not quite as clear–or as deep–in the earlier works, however, and I wonder as I reread the text if Hobb is not reaching for some new sensationalistic overture here or if this is not how Chalced has “always” been.

(Yes, I am aware that I am writing about a fictional place as if it is a real one. Yes, I know it is affective at best, and that things are not at their best. I have been many times accused of not knowing what “the real world” is like–but then, I never have gotten a straight answer from those I’ve asked what “the real world” is.)

(Yes, that is distinct from the MTV reality series. Quotes and no capitals rather than italics and title case.)

If I wanted to read the chapter as a commentary on current concerns–which reading would be doable, certainly; looking at how works speak to times that follow their release is a commonplace, after all–I might note that the presence of a brothel in the Rain Wilds (and presumably more than one, though only one appears in the present chapter) and its easy acceptance or of failure to see the depravity looming in its own chambers can be interpreted as a natural outgrowth of the mercantilist tendencies at work not only in the primary milieu, but also in the real-world (that term again) societies of which that milieu is analogue. While there are certainly many who control wealth in the Rain Wilds, most of that wealth derives from the exploitation of graveyards and the slaughter of nascent children–something that might well be read as mimetic of abortions. (It’s not much of a stretch, really, from a society that quietly but unashamedly practices eugenicist infanticide.)

The question always does arise, of course, when reading fictional analogues of real-world groups of how much is commentary on the source and how much is differentiation from it. Are the practices depicted rebukes of the society upon which the primary milieu is based, or are they deliberate insertions that proceed, perhaps, from necessity within the milieu and which serve to frustrate the one-to-one correspondence between “real” and “fictional” cultures that overly-simplistic readings (and writings!) would suggest?

Such answers exceed the confines of a single blog post, necessarily. The medium does not invite the kind of reflection and interpretation such answers require for their derivation. Length alone becomes an issue; this post is approaching 1,000 words at this point and already seems to drag on, while fuller investigation gets verbose. This paper is a short example at around 2,200 words. But that the answers need to be elsewhere and that they need to have time and space to grow do not mean they do not need to be given.

Maybe, someday, I’ll work on them.

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

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Following a short, sharp rebuke of Kim by Detozi, “Return to Cassarick” begins with Leftrin approaching a Cassarick aware that he is inbound due to the Tarman having encountered fishing boats that raced ahead of them with news for the city. Leftrin’s preparations for return to Cassarick and reporting to the local Council are noted, and the local terrain and conditions are glossed as Leftrin approaches his home port. So are other ships afloat as the Tarman comes into a berth and is moored, and Leftrin issues a series of orders to his crew. And, buoyed by his crew’s confidence, he sets out to collect the fees the Council promised.

Elsewhere, Malta regards herself and her burgeoning pregnancy as Reyn tends to her. The two tease one another as they confer until interrupted by news of the Tarman‘s return. Thus informed, the pair proceed towards the meeting of the Traders’ Council they know will ensue, proceeding with care due to Malta’s pregnancy.

Leftrin purposefully makes slow progress towards the Council meeting, his dealings along the way summarized. At length, he arrives, and the arrayed Council that greets him is described–including Sinad Arich, whom he remembers meeting and whom he suspects of perfidy. Being recognized, Leftrin makes his initial report and presents his claim for agreed-upon payment. Questions and challenges from the Council follow, some of which are pointed, and Leftrin’s response to certain of them is decidedly legalistic but technically correct, emerging from conference with the close-reading Alise.

The emergent uproar among the Council is quieted and the meeting continues, with more questions for Leftrin that he addresses. Insinuations of foul play follow, and Leftrin bristles at the insult but does not avenge it in the moment. The questions being raised, however, the Council is obliged to determine that Leftrin’s success must be affirmed before payment can be released. In the wake thereof, Leftrin presents a message to Malta, along with a token that affirms his report. Amid the ensuring tumult, he departs.

Leftrin’s legalistic refusal of the Council’s demand for a report, concocted with Alise’s assistance, calls to mind The Merchant of Venice 4.1. For all its anti-Semitism (and there is no shortage of ink spent to the discussion thereof, such that I do not need to contribute to it) the scene points out that a society that binds itself by explicit contracts does well to mind the particulars of those contracts–including what is omitted from them. It also points out, however, that there is peril in relying upon such legal niceties; Shylock, remember, comes to an end he would not prefer for insisting upon the letter of his contract against advice and remuneration. And Leftrin does find himself somewhat stymied by legalistic maneuvering, so there is some small part of that at work.

Whether Leftrin will suffer more…well, in many narratives, he would be certain not to do so, but Hobb does not hesitate to make her characters suffer, and greatly.

One of the things that I and others note in Hobb’s writing is a marked effort towards verisimilitude. It’s something about which she comments (and which, I admit, I often reference). People manipulating legal proceedings and documents is certainly enough of a commonplace, in the United States and elsewhere, that it carries with it the Tolkienian “inner consistency of reality” that fosters Coleridgean willingness to suspend disbelief; that is, it carries verisimilitude. To my mind, the wrangling with the local Council rings true not just of the type, but also of the US-parallel I’ve noted in this reread series I see the Traders’ society as being. Considering the things that I’ve seen happen in local and larger governments and government-like entities, Hobb’s depiction is not just true to life, but true to my life; affective a reading as it is, it is something that makes the text work better for me.

(It’s not a secret that I work with reader-response criticism to a fair degree. I’m not necessarily strongly theoretically grounded in it, to be sure. I’m too far outside academe at this point to be able to maintain such a grounding, given the amount of ongoing reading necessary to do so and the reading-time I must dedicate to other things, not least the primary sourcing for this rereading series. But I digress. Again.)

I don’t imagine, though, that I’m alone in having such a reaction. Hobb’s had enough works published that it’s clear someone keeps buying them, and not only me. While I do have multiple copies of some of her books on my shelf, it’s not enough to keep a publisher producing them. I’m glad there are others doing the work.

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

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As another hateful missive from Kim in Cassarick reaches Detozi in Trehaug, this one treating infestations and allegations, “Other Lives” begins with Carson and Sedric conferring about the reasons behind the choice of Kelsingra’s location. The shifting shape of their life together receives some attention, as does their living situation–the latter of which rankles against the cleanly Sedric as Relpda’s hunger begins to press upon his mind. Sedric notes differences between his current and former lovers, and he and Carson confer together about their relationship and about the dragons that are in their care.

Thymara and Rapskal elsewhere confer abut Heeby’s increasing carrying capacity, which Rapskal demonstrates with little regard for Thymara’s wishes. Thymara arrives at realizations bout herself as Rapskal conducts her to Kelsingra. After an awkward dismount, Thymara surveys the city, Rapskal explaining his understanding of it and his inability to accurately convey that understanding to the others in their party. Thymara struggles to process the information and her place within it, and she comes to accept Rapskal’s assertions that they have but to remember the magic available to them as nascent Elderlings. That magic inheres in memory stone, and Thymara recoils at engaging with the material and the memories within, but Rapskal is able to persuade her to make the attempt at doing so.

Sintara grouses at having not been tended by Thymara, and her vexation is interrupted by the realization that Thymara is no longer accessible to her. Sintara reasons this means Thymara is dead, and she considers what other keeper she would take. She also reasons that Thymara’s death is Heeby’s fault, and she rages against the other dragon, and in her anger, she takes to the sky, exulting for a moment in doing so before becoming aware of doing so and faltering for a moment. In panic, Sintara makes a pair of shaky kills, taking heart and finding rest in doing so.

An interlude of a shared memory of long-ago lovers falling into an assignation follows. Thymara begins to emerge from the shared memory as Rapskal, still caught in it, presses forward with the assignation. A chance comment snaps Thymara fully from the memory, and she rebukes Rapskal bitterly as he attempts to explain matters. The explanation fails to satisfy, and Thymara stalks off, the prospect of falling into memories again calling to her until she realizes, belatedly, Sintara’s peril.

The present chapter reinforces the connection between the Elderlings and the Skill that I have noted, not only in my recent discussion of “Dragon Dreams,” but also in earlier entries in this series. Tintaglia’s connection to Nettle in the Tawny Man novels suggests the connection quite strongly, as does Selden Vestrit’s behavior in Buckkeep, and so does the propensity of Skill-users to find their way to the old stone-quarry and carve themselves into dragons. Thymara’s immersion in the memories of the long-dead Amarinda echoes the dangers of Skill-euphoria against which Fitz is warned and the perils of which he knows well, and Rapskal’s conduct is hardly a commendation. (I must note, though, that Rapskal, being under the influence of another stored personality, may not be wholly responsible for his actions. It’s not unlike intoxication in some regards, but there is an active sentience at work in the memory stones that is not found at the bottom of any cup or in the smoke of any toke.) So there is more thematic unity to be found in the Elderlings corpus, which is to its good.

The interchange between Sedric and Carson at the beginning of the chapter attracts my interest for a number of reasons, most of which have to do with my continued affective reading. Living where I do as I do (the rural Texas Hill Country), and being the kind of person that I am (a nerd, and a particularly bookish one), I understand Sedric’s…misalignment with the demands of living in the outskirts of Kelsingra. I, too, prefer to bathe regularly and to dress in clean, dry clothes; I, too, know that I would not do well if I were left to my own devices to find food and shelter outside of the comforts of civilization, that I would need assistance that I have nothing approaching a right to expect. At the same time, I also understand Carson’s attitude; I, too, want to make sure that those I love have what they want, and I grow frustrated at my all-too-limited ability to provide it to them. Again, I know it to be affective and therefore not necessarily desirable reading, but I am who I am. Clearly.

I note, too, amid Rapskal’s discussion of the Elderling civilization centered on Kelsingra a certain…parallel to another still-too-present feature of life in the United States: segregation. Rapskal remarks that “That side over there, all those huts and things, those were built for the humans….This side, all of this, this is for us” (149-50); it reads to me like a clear physical separation of people, and one distinctly unequal in application and benefit. It reads to me like a ghettoization of the have-nots within eyeshot of the haves, where each must look upon the other with something not apt to be love. A person might wonder what might end up being tried in what passes for the small towns thereabouts.

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Read the previous entry in the series here.
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Following a brief missive that warns of illness among the cotes, “Dragon Dreams” opens with Sintara dreaming of easy flight and a full belly as she returns to Kelsingra. The dream consists of ancestral memories, tantalizingly incomplete, from which she wakes amid a storm, cramped and cold and hungry. Grousing about Thymara and the other keepers, and the arrangements they have made, she reviews the current situation and stalks out into a nearby meadow. There, she reflects further, and she begrudgingly attempts to practice flight in the pre-dawn dark.

Meanwhile, Alise huddles against the inclement weather, reflecting on her situation (taken regularly to Kelsingra by Heeby) and the likely whereabouts of Leftrin (aboard the Tarman, nearing Cassarick), mourning for the changes she know will come. She determines to wander and take in all she can of the city, and her progress through it is described. Exploring, she finds a room carved in figures of jesters and performers, which she accidentally activates with a touch upon a vein of magic in the stone. It startles her momentarily, and she soon mourns for what she knows will be lost.

Alise leaves the room, finding the weather cleared and herself recalling Leftrin’s words to her upon his parting a month previously. She settles in to eat lunch, forcing herself away from thoughts of material comforts that intrude upon her, and her continued survey of Kelsingra is detailed. Proceeding further, Alise finds herself surrounded by the memories embedded in the stones of the city, losing some time amid them. As she goes yet further, though, she finds a room that seems to have been despoiled already, which revelation angers her, and she blames Rapskal for it. She does realize, however, that the room in which she finds herself shows a map of Kelsingra, which revelation brings her hope, and she makes her way out to where Heeby awaits her.

The present chapter reflects at some length on the likelihood of destruction in the interest of moneymaking. I cannot help but see a number of parallels at work, both to the early United States (to which I have long held the Traders are akin) and to contemporary events. Alise’s lament that the statues of Kelsingra will be pillaged, the worked materials separated from their contexts and auctioned off a piece at a time, is one that echoes comments about older (and still too-current) museum and antiquary practices, such things as have led to bits and pieces of grave offerings and monuments being taken across countries and continents, displayed as showcases for passers-by to gawk at them or hoarded in collections so that dragon-like collectors can gaze upon them in greedy delight, taking them as evidence of their superiority. And they also seem to ring to me of the kind of comment I hear from folks who’ve lived in the Hill Country longer or more continuously than I have, that people coming in and building up what had previously been rolling hills of oak and cedar and mesquite that echoed flatly in the still heat of summer air ruins the very thing that they seek who come here.

It is a mark of good artwork in any medium that it speaks both to contexts of composition and contexts of reception clearly.

It is of some interest to me that, for all the work that the Rain Wilders did to harvest the leavings of the Elderlings’s other settlements, they seem to have little understanding of what those things harvested do. Admittedly, the Skill seems to be largely a thing of the Six Duchies, but, given broader contexts, it does seem bound up with the Elderlings, and it is strange that the calling-ritual conducted in the Six Duchies would have found no respondents among the Rain Wilders and Bingtowners, especially given that those touched by the Rain Wilds are suggested to have some sensitivity to the Skill. It’s another instance, to my eye, of problems attendant upon canon-welding, but, while I might note that a thing is there and causes some issue, I acknowledge that I have not the insight or ability to offer any advice. And it would be presumptuous as all hell to think that I ought to, anyway.

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