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The present chapter also depicts abusive relationships. It additionally details deaths and the physical results thereof.
The ninth chapter of Forest Mage, “Plague,” starts with Nevare waking with the dawn, rising and waiting to be put to work. He watches a messenger arrive from Burvelle’s Landing, and he sees his father and brother follow the messenger away. The scenes distract him from his attempts at study, and he resolves to bide his time, aligning with the alternative self that yet dwells within him, and sleeps again, settling into a tree-like quiescence.
Guess who’s back? Photo by Dmitry Demidov on Pexels.com
Nevare is woken in the dark by the delivery of his dinner, and he presses the servant making the delivery for details of the day, learning that a physician has called on the house. The servant seeks to disregard Nevare, but Nevare disabuses him of the idea, and after the servant leaves, Nevare sets to his meal: a small loaf of bread. Nevare delights in it, savoring the loaf slowly. After, he attempts his studies again, finding little success, and he retires, worried about events.
The next morning, Nevare finds a day much like the last. In the evening, he learns that sickness has beset Burvelle’s Landing. The following day sees no delivery of food, only the sounds of another servant uncertain of how to proceed. Two more days pass in which Nevare has neither food nor drink, and he calls out in vain. The next day, Nevare attempts to escape confinement, without success. More days pass, and Nevare finds himself sinking toward somthing like hibernation. At length, Duril rescues him.
As Nevare makes for the kitchen to eat and drink after his privations, he and Duril confer, the old sergeant reporting events. He had, himself, taken the Speck plague, which had ravaged the Burvelle home, taking Rosse, Selethe, and Elisi. Nevare moves to check on his father and is excoriated by the mourning Keft, who laments the deaths and having sent Yaril and Cecile to the Poronte estate. Nevare then begins to tend to the dead, finding the bodies of his kin and considering them, and searching out the other dead. He begins the work of gravedigging, laboring against the stony soil. And after, he eats.
Duril and another servant, Nita, come upon Nevare as he eats, and after some conference, Nevare goes off to wash. The next morning finds him at work as an undertaker again, burying his mother and brother and sister as best he can, acknowledging the ending that has come upon him.
To address the chapter-length issue: the present chapter, in the edition of the novel I’m rereading, runs 20 pages in length, approximately 2.74% of the novel. In that, it duplicates the previous chapter, and if it is the case that that chapter ends a narrative arc, then beginning a new one in much the same mode seems to work well, as repetition suggests patterns. Or perhaps it is the case that the repetition, coupled with the final line of the chapter–“And that was how my old life ended forever” (202)–indicates the close of a narrative arc, something like playing a single strain again before the stinger in a march. I do still need to do more with matters of chapter-length to see if there’s some there there, admittedly.
Also, for indexing purposes, the following: Bellock, Bread, Burvelle’s Landing, Cecile Burvelle, Croaker bird, Dewara, Dr. Reynolds, Elisi Burvelle, Franner’s Bend, Graves, Keft Burvelle, Nevare Burvelle, Nita, Orandula, Plague, Pomegranate, Poronte, Rosse Burvelle, Selethe Burvelle, Sergeant Erib Duril, Speck, Spond tree, Tulip, Varnian, Warfare, Widevale, Yaril Burvelle. It is a remarkably short list, but that seems fitting to the intensely personal-to-Nevare focus of the chapter and its events.
Once again, Hobb repeats chapters, this time from Shaman’s Crossing‘s 23rd chapter. As ever, one thing that suggests itself to a critical reading (and I do harbor some pretense that my rereadings are in at least some ways critical) is reading the chapters against one another. The present case offers a pronounced contrast to the previous; while Nevare is again surrounded by the plague and its effects, and several characters for whom he cares again die from it, and he suffers, he does not suffer the plague, itself. At one level, this mimics Nevare’s increasingly outsider status; he is separated out from his family by his family, and that separation works at least partly to his benefit, suggesting (if backhandedly) that he very much should leave his background behind.
Again,* however, rereading the chapter and its depictions of pandemic illness in the wake of COVID-19 lends…things to the rereading. Given the work I was doing at the time,** I was not subjected to the prolonged isolation that typified the experience of the pandemic for many, but I was in contact with many who were thus subjected and whose situations were not improved by such confinement. And I can easily, if again affectively, imagine that there were some who, requiring care and losing access to their caretakers, or otherwise dependent upon others no longer able to attend to them, suffered such privations as Nevare experiences in the chapter–and without the benefit of magic that allows subsistence if at the cost of sloth. I do not have to imagine the rapid onset of symptoms, however, or the suddenness of deaths, remembering reports and testimonies of the same, nor yet do I have to imagine the panic caused by them, having felt it, myself.
As a side-note, I know I have not been finding as much to say about recent chapters as about earlier ones in the series. The fault lies with me and not with the text. There is more to be unpacked than I seem at the moment to be able to do…but that is why I have so many scholarly somedays to address already; I can hope there will be time to come back around, and I have to leave something for future projects to do…
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The present chapter depicts abusive relationships.
The eighth chapter of Forest Mage, “Judgment,” begins with Nevare and Duril returning home after their excursion to Dewara. At Duril’s direction, Nevare retreats to the kitchen to clean himself up. Doing so, he is taken aback by the lack of obvious injury to him after having been stabbed, and awareness of magic at work takes him. He ruminates on the matter as he eats some slices of fresh bread, and he is surprised at his father’s sudden appearance.
It does look tasty. Photo by Skyler Ewing on Pexels.com
An argument erupts between father and son, and Nevare relates his experience of Dewara’s magic only to find his father turning further against him. Outwardly, Nevare agrees to his father’s demands, although he inwardly knows that they will not avail.
The next day increases Keft’s imposition of physical discipline on Nevare, in which task he enlists Narl, who is confused at the directions given him but complies no less than Nevare does. When Nevare is allowed to eat, he savors the meal provided to him, revelling in the sensory delights it offers. He also maintains his personal discipline, studying from his retained course materials to pass the time. The next many days pass in similar fashion, their pattern little interrupted.
One of the interruptions is the delivery of correspondence from Spink and Epiny. Spink shows recovery in spirit although tension with his older brother about how the family holdings are managed. Epiny thanks Nevare for helping to reopen her relationship with Sefert, and Nevare writes a long reply to the pair that he discards in favor of a briefer missive likely to pass his father’s inspection. He also replies belatedly to Caulder Stiet and his uncle, thinking to close out that discourse entirely.
The pattern of Nevare’s days resumes, and while he muses with anger on Carsina, he acknolwedges the futility of doing so. He also fails to lose any significant weight, and conversation with Narl proves informative if somewhat stilted. Nevare infers from what he learns that Speck plague approaches the area, and he warns his father about it to no avail. Doing so earns him only rebuke, and his lack of weight loss earns his father’s ire and censure. Keft pledges greater strictness with his son and leaves, ad Nevare considers himself and his situation in the wake of his father’s departure.
To address the chapter-length issue: the present chapter, in the edition of the novel I’m rereading, runs 20 pages in length, approximately 2.74% of the novel. In that, it is only a little short of average, less than one page or one-eighth of one percent under. It does, however, seem to conclude a small narrative arc within the text, so the length is less a concern than it might otherwise be.
Also, for indexing purposes, the following: Bejawi, Bellock, Burvelle’s Landing, Carsina Grenalter, Caulder Stiet, Cayton’s Horse, Cherries, Daraleen Burvelle, Dewara, Doril’s Foot, Epiny Kester, Franner’s Bend, Gernia, Gettys, Kase Remwar, Keft Burvelle, Kidona, Landsingers, Meat pie, Narl, Nevare Burvelle, Orandula, Plague, Plainsfolk, Prairie cat, Pudding, Rosse Burvelle, Sefert Burvelle, Selethe Burvelle, Sergeant Erib Duril, Sirlofty, Speck, Spinrek “Spink” Kester, Tree Woman, Varinan, Warfare. A relatively average chapter might well be expected to have an average number of indexable items in it, and that seems to be the case with the present one.
For a bit of cross-series reading: there is a chapter in Mad Ship with the same title as the present chapter. As is not seldom the case with coincidences of chapter titles, I am tempted to read the two against one another. As is also not seldom the case when I look back at earlier work, I find myself seeing things that I did less than optimally as I carried out the earlier work. It may be that I revisit earlier portions of my rereading series to update them; I do not know that I will, given how sprawling my still-uncompleted rereading already is. But the idea is a tantalizing project, certainly, and I’ll admit to having done some work to move in that direction, if I end up choosing to do so; I have other things that could use revision before I get to that point.
I note with some interest the physical changes Nevare describes in himself as the chapter progresses. His metabolism alters significantly, allowing him not only to heal with astonishing speed, but also to undertake significant physical exertion and to do so with little metabolic byproduct. Being the kind of nerd I am, I’m put in mind of Dungeons & Dragons materials that made claims about draconic metabolisms and their efficiencies, and I have to wonder if something similar is not at work in Nevare. Adipose tissue is energy storage, certainly, and storing more energy suggests that less of what produces that energy would be discarded as waste; magic is involved in the narrative, of course, seeming here to exaggerate natural processes to some extent more than necessarily to enact things that oppose or contravene them. The thought occurs that examining the text, and Hobb’s body of work more generally, for handling of magic might be something worth doing, another scholarly someday to add to an already long calendar.
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The seventh chapter of Forest Mage, “Dewara,” opens with Nevare recognizing his new status as a pariah in his own family home. As Nevare begins to adapt, he learns of the imminent return of his brother and sister-in-law to the estate, and, hurt by the shift in his status, goes fishing in an attempt to ease himsel. Returning from his excursion, however, he is confronted by his father, who assigns him a list of tasks he will address in an attempt to strip him of the fat that has accumulated on him; Nevare notes the generally distasteful nature of those tasks and begins to address himself thereto forthwith.
A bit close to home for me, perhaps. Photo by Unaizat Abdulgamidova on Pexels.com
The next many days follow the pattern of Nevare rising, working through the day, eating alone, and retiring. He finds that, although his physical capabilities improve immensely, he loses no weight. He also finds that the tasks put to him, although intended to be demeaning, satisfy him, although his increasing isolation from his family continues to wound him.
At length, Nevare seeks out Duril, and the two confer about Nevare’s situation. Duril takes Nevare out to the Bejawi village that stands near the Burvelle manor. There, they are to meet with some Kidona who have been settled after actions that Duril relates to Nevare, and some of the Bejawi history and practices are noted in contrast with their current situation. Evidence of tension between the two groups is presented, and Duril concludes an arrangement with some of the local Kidona. That arrangement gets him and Nevare access to Dewara, whose situation is related as the pair encounter him.
Dewara challenges Nevare, the two exchanging boasts and insults. Dewara reminds Nevare of his first failure to destroy Tree Woman, citing Nevare’s present state as effective revenge against Keft; Nevare tells Dewara of his destruction of Dancing Spindle, prompting the older man to violence. Dewara stabs Nevare, and Duril shoots Dewara, leaving him dead as Nevare bleeds. Nevare finds, however, that despite the blood on Dewara’s blade, he is barelyinjured, and he and Duril make their escape from Dewara’s final resting place.
As the pair return to Nevare’s home, they confer about events. Nevare confides his fears to Duril, and the old soldier offers blunt advice for how to proceed.
To address the chapter-length issue: the present chapter, in the edition of the novel I’m rereading, runs 24 pages in length, approximately 3.28% of the novel. Although briefer than the preceding two chapters, it has a fair amount going on, seeming to continue Freytag’s falling action in the first major narrative arc of the novel. A resolution is coming; given the location in the novel and in the trilogy, it is not apt to be a happy one for Nevare.
Also, for indexing purposes, the following: Acorns, Antelope, Bejawi, Carp, Cecile Burvelle, Cheese, Corn, Croaker bird, Dancing Spindle, Dappled People, Darsio, Dewara, Dr. Jakib Amicas, Franner’s Bend, Gernia, Goats, Hog, Hog sty, Jindobe, Keft Burvelle, Kidona, King’s Cavalla Academy, Manure, Manure, Nevare Burvelle, Oxen, Peaches, Pepperpot, Plainsfolk, Potatoes, Rosse Burvelle, Selethe Burvelle, Sergeant Erib Duril, Sirlofty, Swanneck, Taldi, Tree Woman, Wind wizard, Wolves. As befits a shorter chapter than the previous, there are fewer indexable items to find. But there is still much going on in the chapter, and so there is still much to point out as present in it.
The obvious thing, to my mind, is to contrast the present chapter with the previous chapter in the series with the same title, the third chapter of Shaman’s Crossing. This is not the first time that Hobb has reused chapter titles across novels; my rereading of the Realm of the Elderlings novels features numerous examples of her doing so, and each time, the repetition invites such consideration. The present chapter does call back, and explicitly, to the previous novel’s, making explicit reference to the events thereof and directly addressing some of their ramifications. Although the novel‘s initial narrative arc does not conclude, there is a resolution to one narrative thread in the series as the present chapter proceeds; Dewara’s story is decisively concluded, and in a chapter that overtly calls up that in which his story in the series begins. The symmetry is not an unwelcome thing to see.
An item of note: the discussion of Bejawi history, including their antagonism with the Kidona and its recent effect (146-50), attracts attention. There is, admittedly, something of the “noble savage” about the descriptions, although that is something that had been broached earlier in the Soldier Son series (see Shaman’s Crossing‘s “Old Thares”); narrative cohesion among the novels is aided by the invocation of the earlier-presented concept, even as such comments as Nevare’s that he “had come to a deep understanding of Kidona ways” (148)–and that in a relatively brief time–bespeak the fundamentally flawed nature of such viewpoints. The blunt presentation of immediate effects of colonialist practice is perhaps more telling, and I find myself thinking it would be good to reread Helen Young as regards the trilogy. Ah, to have the time to do so, but, alas, that life that would let me has largely left me!
Another item of note: Nevare passingly notes the attempt by his father to put in peach trees on his manor, only to have them fail (142). I have commented before, perhaps affectively, about my rereading of the Soldier Son series being influenced by growing up in the Texas Hill Country (see my remarks on Shaman’s Crossing‘s “Magic and Iron”); one of the things for which some of the small towns I drive through fairly often are noted is the peach crop. Indeed, nearby Stonewall, Texas, hosts an annual Peach Jamboree that does a lot of what keeps the community going. For me, peaches are simply part of the experience of life in the Hill Country; a failure of the peach crop is an issue hereabouts. It’s not a surprise to me that an area I read as reflecting the Hill Country in some ways would seek to install peach trees; it’s a matter of course, really. That the peaches failed…again, I read affectively; I feel some sympathy for the workers who tried to make them happen. Less affectively, given the innuendo that attaches itself to peaches–not for nothing is the peach emoji used as a short-hand for penetrable orifices, for but one relatively current example–and Keft Burvelle’s failure to cultivate it, I have to wonder if there is some kind of backhanded comment made that falls in line with the feminist critique at work in the series. But perhaps I am stretching a point to indulge such wonderings.
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The sixth chapter of Forest Mage, “A Day of Letters,” starts as Nevare tries to avoid encountering the guests in his family’s home following his elder brother’s wedding. While said brother is away on his honeymoon trip, tensions in the Burvelle home escalate, with Keft continually dissatisfied with Nevare and berating him soundly, and Nevare offering only silence in return. Conversations with his mother continue politely enough, but Nevare’s sisters suffer for their father’s dissatisfaction with Nevare, and Vanze makes his escape as soon as he can.
A series of letters arrive, including several for Nevare. One is from Caulder, reporting how matters stand with him as he has been given to his scholar uncle and asking after information about the stone that had been taken from Nevare’s body after his experience with Dewara; said uncle sends an enclosure repeating the request. Another is from Spink, noting Epiny’s affliction by the plague; it is joined by another from Epiny, reporting her recovery. The progress of plague at Bitter Springs is rehearsed, as is that of Epiny’s recovery.
Further reading is interrupted by the angry entrance of Keft into the parlor where Nevare sits reading. His anger accompanies the formal honorable medical discharge Nevare has received; it stems in part from the assertion that Nevare had had sex with one of the Dappled People, as Nevare finds when he reviews the accompanying documentation. And, as he considers the matter, Nevare realizes that the magic he had thought himself done with continues to exert influence on him and in his life. He also assigns blame for his situation on his father, with no real satisfaction, and turns his attentions to a personal letter written him by Dr. Amicas.
The next few days pass in hollow discomfort for Nevare until Selethe takes him aside to talk to him in what seems her sanctum. There, amid offerings of incense, mother and son talk of Cecile and the Porontes, as well as their mutual experience of being trapped by their bodies. She avers that she will aid him in returning to himself, and while Nevare is moved by the gesture, he knows it will not avail.
Nevare returns to his room, contemplating its severity and the desire to flee. He does not heed it, but instead goes to sleep and dreams strangely of magic working in him. Waking in the night, he stalks out through the house and contemplates his future for a time before heading to the servants’ quarters and calling on Duril. The two talk together, Nevare relating his recent experiences with magic and relating in full what he recalls of his time with Dewara. Duril affirms having heard of the Dappled People’s magic-workers, the Great Men and Great Women. The nature of magic comes up, and both men find themselves eased by the conversation between them.
To address the chapter-length issue: the present chapter, in the edition of the novel I’m rereading, runs 28 pages in length, approximately 3.83% of the novel. In that, it parallels the preceding chapter closely, although so much is not the case in narrative terms. It is, rather, something of Freytag’s falling action for what might be called a short narrative arc in the present novel. As I continue to reread, I find myself more and more convinced that the novels do operate as a closely connected series of novellas, even as I acknowledge that “novella” is an ambiguous term.
Also, for indexing purposes, the following: Barrier Mountains, Bitter Springs, Bride’s Gift, Burvelle Landing, Cadet Lieutenant Tiber, Captain Maw, Carsina Grenalter, Caulder Stiet, Cecile Burvelle, Colonel Rebin, Colonel Stiet, Dancing Spindle, Daraleen Burvelle, Dark Evening, Dewara, Dr. Jakib Amicas, Dust Dance, Elisi Burvelle, Epiny Kester, Eron, Gernia, Gettys, Great Men / Great Women, Holy Writ, Incense, Jankship, Kase Remwar, Keft Burvelle, Kidona, King’s Cavalla Academy, King’s Road, Lady Poronte, Nevare Burvelle, Newton, Old Thares, Orandula, Plainsfolk, Rory Hart, Rosse Burvelle, Sefert Burvelle, Selethe Burvelle, Sergeant Erib Duril, Sirlofty, Speck plague, Spinrek “Spink” Kester, Spring water, Stone, Vanze Burvelle, Widevale, Yaril Burvelle.* There is, as might be expected, a lot going on in the chapter.
I note that the title calls back to earlier entries in the Soldier Son series; Shaman’s Crossing‘s “Letters from Home” comes to mind. Readers are once again reminded that Gernia is a largely (though not universally) literate nation, and Hobb exhibits the appropriate-for-a-writer insistence on the importance of writing in it (see for discussion Shaman’s Crossing‘s “The Academy,” among others). Seeing a theme carried forward is a good thing; consistency matters.
I note, too, that the prescription of men’s occupations noted early in the Soldier Son series–see my comments on Shaman’s Crossing‘s “Harbinger“–reinforces a workaround discussed in Shaman’s Crossing‘s “Vindication.” In “Vindication,” sons can be “promoted” if their elder brothers die. In it, as in the present chapter, sons can also be adopted out and put to other work; Caulder has been “given to [Colonel Stiet’s] younger brother, to raise as a scholar instead of a soldier” (114). While Nevare sees this as undesirable, he is also aware of others who have undertaken lives other than those to which they were born–notably Duril, whom he esteems (see Shaman’s Crossing‘s “Sword and Pen“); whether the distaste comes from the persons involved or from a perception of some decline in status, scholar sons being fifth in birth order,** is unclear.
I additionally note the properties of Bitter Springs, the waters of which seem to help with recovery from the Speck plague. It’s not an uncommon concept; Hot Springs, Arkansas, and Mineral Wells, Texas, come to mind as antecedents, though more the latter than the former. Having grown up in the Texas Hill Country (see this and this, for example), I’m familiar with the notion of relocating to otherwise somewhat inhospitable areas† in the interest of improving health, especially after disease; Kerrville, where I grew up, hosted facilities with such a purpose, as witness this and this. It’s easy, within the context, to assert that magic may be at work, but given historical precedent, it need not be so; there’s enough verisimilitude that it’s not needed.
I further note that there is a bit more explication of Gernian religious practice in the present chapter. Incense-burning as a devotional practice is a commonplace, of course, and Nevare’s questioning of it (126) is not at all inappropriate. Having the additional detail, however, is a good thing, giving a more complete picture of the faith’s ways than is common in mainstream fantasy literature. (Again, see “Unchurched: On the Relative Lack of Religion in Tolkienan-Tradition Fantasy Literature” and “Manifestations of Medieval Religion in Robin Hobb’s Elderlings Corpus” for discussion.) That details of other practices are provided, and somewhat evenhandedly, adds to that, to some appreciation.
Yet further, I note some extension of the feminist critique at work in the series (and in other parts of Hobb’s work, it must be noted) in Selethe’s conversation with Nevare. Her reflections on the costs and obligations of motherhood struck me as, again, unusual and good to see. I’ll readily concede, however, that such reflects my ongoing affective reading; I read from where I am and can hardly do otherwise.
Among the critical readings in the Fedwren Project (as of this writing; there may be more later), I think those of Carroll and of (again) Metsäpelto most relevant. I do not know that I need gloss them any more than I have in my abstracts of them, at least not at the moment.
Again, the present chapter is falling action. Matters are moving towards a significant inflection point, one that will come up in the next few chapters. As is usual for Hobb, things do not look like they will go well for her protagonist. But that is part of why Hobb’s readers read on, to see what will happen and how it will resolve.
* The present chapter expands on a name or two. I’ve corrected indexing entries in previous chapters to suit.
** Given the relative rarity of fifth sons, there cannot be many new scholarly lines coming into being in Gernia. So much implies a perceivedly lesser need for scholarship in that nation-state. And as far as the relative rarity, an older paper by Michael R. Haines, “NBER Working Paper Series on Historical Factors in Long Run Growth: The Population of the United States, 1790-1920,” posits that average women in the late nineteenth-century United States could expect to have between 3.87 and 7.58 children (with allowances for incomplete record-keeping and -survival noted). Assuming a roughly even distribution of sons and daughters (and applying then-current standards), while it might well be common that a family would have five children, there is only a 1/32 chance that all five would be sons, and it would not be common among even those families with more than five children. Too, all this discounts infant mortality, which is known to be a concern in Gernia, per Shaman’s Crossing‘s “Bessom Gord”; the number of surviving and not “promoted” scholar sons would be even lower.
† I don’t find the climate inhospitable, certainly, but I did grow up in it and so am used to it. It does tend to take people a bit aback on first encounter, however.
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The present chapter treats what many might regard as animal cruelty.
The fifth chapter of Forest Mage, “Rosse’s Wedding,” opens with Nevare waking on the day of Rosse’s wedding and joining his father and brothers at breakfast. His younger brother, Vanze, has returned home and comments on Nevare’s weight, prompting laughter in which Nevare reluctantly joins. Breakfast proceeds awkwardly, Nevare’s choices of food displeasing his father no less than his lingering over the meager portions he serves himself.
Following breakfast, Nevare joins the rest of his family as they travel to the neighboring Poronte estate for the wedding. Progress thereto is detailed, and the Poronte estate described in some detail as they go. When the Porontes greet the Burvelles, Nevare is again a subject of ridicule, and as he joins his father and brothers in exchanging pleasantries with other guests, that does not cease until he manages to move off to the side and evade much notice. Contrasting his expectations with the presented reality, Nevare remarks his father’s pride in the marriage; he also remarks his brothers’ deportments, finding himself sympathizing greatly with his younger priestly brother.
Nevare considers the coming encounter with Carsina with trepidation as he muses on his physicality and that of those around him. He finds himself moved greatly by Carsina’s appearance, and he is dejected by her reaction to his changed appearance. Conversation with her, as well as with Yaril and with Kase Remwar, proceeds coolly and awkwardly as wedding proceedings begin and are described. Nevare’s ruminations on various matters pervade his description of events, and awards of lands to celebrate the nuptials are reported.
The wedding proceedings turn toward dancing and dining, and Nevare considers the events with trepidation. He finds himself confronted by his father and the Lord Grenalter, forced by manners into a conversation he did not want and that displeases his father. Being asked directly, Nevare reports such experience and knowledge of the plague as he has, which makes him something of a center of attention, to his father’s displeasure. Nevare belatedly realizes his over-speaking, and Keft rebukes him for the same.
Nevare afterward attempts to dance with Carsina, only to be rejected and to have his request for conversation with her refused. He replies harshly to her, which he immediately regrets. He withdraws from the situation and walks the Poronte grounds, finding evidence of a recent anumal sacrifice. It stuns him, and as he attempts to sort his thoughts, he is advised to depart. Returning to the festivities, puzzling over how to proceed, he soon settles at a dining table. Rather than trust himself amid the extravagance, he accepts the offer of a servingman to bring him a plate. As the servant departs, Nevare considers whether he is feeling the effects of Tree Woman and her magic upon him; his reverie is interrupted by his parents’ arrival at the table where he sits and his father’s rebuke. Matters are worsened by the Porontes joining them, and they are worsened further by the return of the servingman with an overabundance of food.
Nevare gorges himself on the food almost unconsciously, delighting immensely in the physical sensations of the food. Keft, quietly and coldly, rebukes him, and he dismisses Selethe from the table as he does so. Nevare offers a retort to his father’s assertions, which momentarily gives the older man pause but is soon followded by a promise of retribution. Nevare turns to drink, musing that excess in that earns him no rebuke.
To address the chapter-length issue: the present chapter, in the edition of the novel I’m rereading, runs 28 pages in length, approximately 3.83% of the novel. It is one of three chapters of such length in the novel, and there are only three chapters in the novel longer than it. That much noted, if it is the case that the present novel is composed of smaller narrative arcs as I think Shaman’s Crossing might be (see my comments on that novel’s chapters “The Return,” “Tiber,” and “Accusations,” for examples), the present chapter does not seem to conclude one so much as to set up what Freytag might call a climax of one; it is something of a turning point, particularly given what comes near and at the end of the chapter.
Also, for indexing purposes, the following: Apple compote, Battle of Dell, Brandy, Brede, Carsina Grenalter, Cartem, Caryton, Cecile Poronte, Colonel Haren, Colonel Rebin, Croaker bird, Dancing Spindle, Doril, Dorota, Dove, Dr. Jakib Amicas, Elisi Burvelle, Epiny Kester, Farleyton, Gettys, Gord Lading, High Temple, Holy Writ, Kase Remwar, Keft Burvelle, King Troven, King’s Road, Lady Poronte, Landsing, Lord Grenalter, Lord Poronte, Midlands, Nevare Burvelle, Old Thares, Prairie fowl, Rely, Rory Hart, Rosse Burvelle, Selethe Burvelle, Sergeant Erib Duril, Sirlofty, Spatterdock, Specks, Spinrek “Spink” Kester, “Stone Endures,”* Tree Woman, Trist Wissom, Vanze Burvelle, Yaril Burvelle. It’s a long list of which many names are mentioned in passing; centering around what must be a major social event in the area, the chapter might well be expected to offer many such details in pushing forward verisimilitude.
A number of issues present themselves in the current chapter. One of them, as might be expected in depicting a wedding, concerns religion. Bits and pieces of the dominant, seemingly official, faith at work in Gernia have been presented at several prior points in the Soldier Son novels (see, for examples, Shaman’s Crossing‘s “Harbinger,” “Dewara,” “Bessom Gord,” “Cousin Epiny,” and “Vindication“), and that this is in some contrast to prevailing patterns in Tolkienian tradition fantasy literature (see “Unchurched: On the Relative Lack of Religion in Tolkienan-Tradition Fantasy Literature” and “Manifestations of Medieval Religion in Robin Hobb’s Elderlings Corpus” for discussion) has been remarked. The wedding ceremony described in the present chapter, including some of Nevare’s commentary about it, fills in more details of that faith’s practices, which is a good thing for world-building and, again, for verisimilitude.
The wedding also contrasts dominant Gernian religious practices, explicitly and in detail, against earlier religious practices, something that both receives attention later in the chapter and that stands as an interesting difference between Gernia and the nineteenth-century United States from which it borrows so much. While it was not the case that nondominant religious practices were unknown to dominant populations in the United States of the time (as witness such things as the Theosophical Society of America and the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn), information regarding specific practices of pre-Christian religions would not have been particularly prevalent.** In Gernia, however, such specifics seem to be commonly accessible, having received remark not only in the present chapter, but in several prior places in the Soldier Son series–and Nevare is not presented as having been a paritcularly diligent student of theology. And they do not seem to have been (excessively) propagandized; while comments about the wantonness of Dark Evening and the present chapter’s comments about flogging and animal sacrifices (90) might well be taken in such a way, the evidence of sacrifice Nevare encounters (101-03) indicates that matters may well not be (much) exaggerated.
Another issue that presents itself in the current chapter, and one that has been present in much of the Soldier Son materials thus far, returns to attitudes toward fatness. (Once again, Metsäpelto is a key resource to consider.) Fatness is seen as worthy of ridicule in the Burvelle household, an attitude Nevare had displayed in abundance in his interactions with Gord throughout Shaman’s Crossing (about which some remark is made in my comments on “Homeward Bound“); it should not come as a surprise that he, having become fat, is subjected to it, even if it can be said that nobody should be ridiculed thusly. It does lead him towards some self-recrimination; although he knows himself to be muscled underneath his fat (87), he also finds himself joining with and agreeing with others as they condemn him for his appearance, including his prospective father-in-law (92-93). But it is not only the fact of the fatness itself that prompts condemnation, nor even yet the implications (erroneous, but still understood) of laziness and lack of care that accompany it; the simple fact that Nevare pays the level of attention to his food that he does earns scorn. At the breakfast prior to the wedding, in which Nevare attempts to moderate himself, he ends up annoying his father and elder brother with the time spent in eating (84-85); after he is overserved and constrained to eat, he revels in the physical experience of the food and is rebuked for it (108-09). Eating little, he is shamed; eating much, he is shamed. There is no good course of action for him to take–although, as Nevare wryly remarks, being overindulgent in drink does not earn him scorn. Some other comment may be embedded in that fact, some other message to be found, some other scholarly someday to explore in time, depending on what else comes.
Yet another issue that presents itself in the current chapter is that of politics. Nevare notes early in the chapter that his father “and Lord Poronte, arms linked, move through the gathering, greeting the guests. They were a powerful duo, and their alliance through the marriage would make them even more formidable in the Midlands. They paraded as if they were the happy couple rather than their offspring” (87). Such might well be expected; in a hierarchical feudal system, marriages among nobles are trade arrangements more than they are anything else, and the expansion and consolidation of power bases is a powerful motivator. Nor yet is it unexpected that there might come letters from the monarch expanding the holdings of allied families, the importance of which does not escape Nevare’s attention: “I suddenly realized that this was how King Troven encouraged alliances between the new noble houses, thus keeping their loyalty safely in his pocket” (91). It also calls back to something Captain Maw had discussed with Nevare (see Shaman’s Crossing‘s “Crossing“), that “The real power lay not in the new nobles and their sons who would folloow wherever the king led, but in the ranks of the military who felt loyalty and alliance to the new nobles” (96). It further, although Nevare does not comment on the idea, keeps the newer nobles focused outward, as increasing the extent of the colonial periphery allows more possibility of their own holdings’ expansion. In the long term, such a strategy is doomed to failure; there is a limit to the land that can be governed in such a way. In the short term, however, it works well, or well enough, for those for whom it works.
A final issue to consider in the present chapter is that of family dynamics among the eastern Burvelles. The sheer vehemence with which Keft regards Nevare is…unsettling to read. That Selethe seems similarly unsettled is…telling, I think. It is a far cry from the reasonable figure present at the beginning of the Soldier Son novels (see Shaman’s Crossing‘s “Magic and Iron“), and the shift in character sits oddly as I reread. I have to wonder if the feminist critiques present in the series (see the present novel’s “Forest Dreams” and Shaman’s Crossing‘s “Séance” for discussion) are finding reiteration and enhancement in Keft, and I have to wonder if this is, in fact, consistent with the early- and already-demonstrated problems in the character (see, again, Shaman’s Crossing‘s “Magic and Iron,” as well as its “Harbinger,” “The Return,”and elsewhere). I suppose it’s another scholarly someday, or an addition to the Fedwren Project, to treat as much.
* A small note: while Hobb is far from the first to comment on the persistence of stone, the fact of stones remaining in place across time is something that pops up an awful lot in her corpus. It is, perhaps, a bit of a joke that she brings it up in the present chapter.
** A couple of things, here: 1) For better or worse, (Protestant to Evangelical) Christianity was the dominant religious practice in the United States in the nineteenth century, particularly as depicted in those venues most likely to be familiar to Hobb’s presumed primary readership; and 2) This is as distinct from knowledge about the practices of the Plainsfolk, who are, because Gernia has problems, not recognized as being really Gernian, their subjugated status making the comparison between their beliefs and the prior beliefs of the Gernian public not really applicable.
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The fourth chapter of Forest Mage, “The Fast,” starts as Nevare, escorted by his elder brother, reports to the work detail led by Sergeant Duril. The surroundings and work are described as Nevare joins the tasks, and Duril privately expresses his surprise at Nevare’s appearance, to Nevare’s shame. But the work continues through the day, and when Nevare returns to his room at the end of it, washes up, and surveys himself, finding himself much changed from even his expectations and puzzled at how the changes have happened.
It’s a little close for comfort. Photo by u0391u03bbu03b5u03beu03b1u03bdu03b4u03c1u03bfu03c2 u039cu03b1u03bcu03bfu03c5u03bdu03b7u03c2 on Pexels.com
Having thus diverted himself from his intention to join his family at dinner, Nevare repairs to the kitchen, thinking to drink only water. He does drink a mugful of milk before trying to fill himself on water, but it does not satisfy him, and he withdraws to his rooms to make a journal entry and assess himself. He compares himself to Gord, noting the latter’s inexcessive eating, and determined to go out for a walk on the property. Along the way, he overhears his father’s displeasure, and goes outside, walking amid property he has helped tend.
While considering a pond he had known to be full of fish, Nevare finds himself beset by Yaril. Her ire confuses him, given their previous closeness, and he attempts to defend himself against her assertions of his ill intent. She presses upon him, upbraiding him with the political ramifications of his appearance, and words grow heated between them surrounding their expected marital prospects. Yaril leaves, and Nevare sits, considering her words and the folly of a fish-pond amid the semi-arid plains.
Selethe soon joins Nevare, speaking softly to her son. She notes her surprise at his appearance and summons him to her sewing room, where she speaks of seamstresses who had been hired in preparation for the coming wedding and takes measurements from which to make Nevare a new suit in haste. Selethe ascribes Nevare’s fatness to bad food at the Academy and his convalescence, and she notes having interceded with Keft for him. Soon after, he takes his leave, drinking water again and again finding no satisfaction from it.
The next day, Nevare reutrns to work, faring badly at it. After the work day, he has to avoid the kitchens despite his hunger, and he washes carefully before reporting to his mother’s sewing room and the attentions of the seamstresses. After an embarrassing interlude there, he withdraws to his bed, dreaming as his other self and recognizing the victory earned at the Dancing Spindle.
The following day repeats Nevare’s work experience, and through his exertions, he arrives at the idea that the Academy had stripped him of his self-discipline. He falls into self-recrimination, but he uses it to return to work with vigor, delighting in punishing himself with the effort. He finds when he returns to his mother’s sewing room for final fittings, however, that his efforts have not changed him, and he despairs of Carsina. Again, he compares himself to Gord, and when he returns to the sewing room as he had been directed, Elisi upbraids him. Selethe admits that having to make a new suit for Nevare has left them with insufficient time to prepare Elisi’s outfit to make an effective presentation to a visiting noble. Efforts to prepare for the wedding continue, and Nevare is, at last, sent off for the evening.
To address the chapter-length issue: the present chapter, in the edition of the novel I’m rereading, runs 17 pages in length, approximately 2.33% of the novel. There is perhaps some irony in so slim a chapter focusing on concerns of fatness to the extent that it does, although it might well be read that the text is being pared down as much as it is hoped Nevare will soon be. I’ll admit, though, that that might be over-inflating something that is merely coincidence, but even if it is mere coincidence, it’s something that bears some comment.
Also, for indexing purposes, the following: Alfalfa, Carsina Grenalter, Cilima Lading, Clover, Derwith Toller, Dr. Jakib Amicas, Elisi Burvelle, Eron, Gord Lading, Honeysuckle, Kase Remwar, Keft Burvelle, Nevare Burvelle, Old Thares, Poronte Family, Rosse Burvelle, Selethe Burvelle, Sergeant Erib Duril, Speck plague, Specks, Tree Woman, Widevale, Widevale Hall, Yaril Burvelle. A brief chapter might well be expected to have relatively few indexable items, and the present chapter meets expectations.
It’s time for affective reading again, it seems. I recently to this writing had a series of medical appointments. In them, I was reminded of being overweight–clinically obese, in fact–and that some health problems are starting to crop up in relation thereto. I don’t have quite the animus directed at me that Nevare does in the present chapter, having quite a bit of support as I begin working in earnest to take care of my overweight and my other incipient (and not-so-incipient, as it happens) health problems. There are challenges, though, and I don’t know that I’d do terribly well without the kindness and compassion of those in my life. I am grateful to have it. The present chapter reminds me that I should be thus grateful.
I will again refer to Metsäpelto here, the present chapter once again putting on display a variety of Gernian attitudes toward fatness that echo those present in the late nineteenth-century United States, echoing those in Victorian England. In the case of the Victorian English, part of what informs attitudes towards fatness is a reaction against Regency norms and excesses, a motion towards self-restraint and “decency” and away from the perceived immoralities of the recent past. Fatness is viewed as an indication of excess, thus of indecency, as attested by William Banting in his Letter on Corpulence, Joyce L. Huff in “Fat,” Peter R. Stearns in Fat History: Bodies and Beauty in the Modern West, Georges Vigarello in The Metamorphoses of Fat, Garabed Eknoyan in “A History of Obesity, or How What Was Good Became Ugly and Then Bad,” and elsewhere. The scholars note that such attitudes arise in force only in the later Victorian period and the post-Civil War United States, Stearns situating it specifically following 1890 (which reinforces some of the suggestions of more specific antecedents for Gernia noted in Shaman’s Crossing‘s “A Ride in the Park,” although the note must be repeated that Gernia borrows from the nineteenth-century United States rather than reflecting it precisely). They contrast in force with both earlier understandings of fatness (being more concerned with mobility than with girth as such) and ancestral regard for obesity as signifying sufficiency of food.* Such makes the Gernian disdain for fatness make more sense; Gernia, as presented, is very much about adherence to norms, to self-control and differentiation from indigenous lifeways, and the Burvelles are presented as being more concerned with such things than most. The vehemence against fatness** is not more comfortable for having such a context, of course, but the context does matter.
I’ll note also a strange myopia as regards how Nevare is expected to address his fatness. While several characters acknowledge that a scant few days is not enough time to lost all of the fat Nevare “should,” most do seem to think there will be a noticeable difference in him in those few days with work and short rations. For his part, Nevare does make a good faith effort to heed his father’s commands, starving himself for days as he does hard manual labor in the sun and heat. Having picked up rocks in the sun, I know it is no easy thing to do. I know, too, that I did not lose weight from it, at least not in the course of a few days. Water weight might be shed so quickly, but even then, doing so comes at costs–including some of the same symptoms that Nevare shows of weakness and fogged thought. It’s not healthy, even in the short term, and it’s not really sustainable.
* Indeed, the evident preference for fatness among the Dappled People is suggestive of their adherence to such regard. Later portions of the reread will treat this.
** There is some vehemence even when encountered in moderation, as in Selethe’s opinion of Nevare’s weight as stemming from the circumstances of his convalescence. She, at least, seems to regard it as a thing that has happened to him, rather than as a thing he has done to himself; she does not decline to regard it as a problem he must solve, however, nor yet does she conceal her distaste for even her supposedly favored child due to his fatness.
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The third chapter of Forest Mage, “Spindle Dance,” opens with Nevare delighting in returning to more and more familiar terrain as he makes his return home for his brother’s wedding. As he progresses, he notices a sign advertising the titular Spindle Dance and takes its direction thereto. Arriving thereat, Nevare reflects upon what he knows of the Dancing Spindle of the Plainsmen as he describes both the imposing object and its surroundings.
A possible model? Photo by Bryan Dickerson on Pexels.com
Approaching the monument, Nevare is confronted by a tour guide hawking his craft, who makes him deeply uncomfortable and provokes a rude response from him. The guide withdraws, and Nevare presses on, his description of the Dancing Spindle continuing as he approaches it. He considers its possible origins and history as he moves ahead, and he recognizes a strange sensation emanating from it as it captivates his attention.
Nevare joins others looking at the Dancing Spindle, most of whom are relatively uninterested in it. As another guide finishes delivering material, Nevare is overcome by what he recognizes as a locus of magical power as his alternative self reawakens. The guide, a Plainswoman, suggests Nevare leave, and he demurs; the earlier guide arrives to mock him for his earlier dismissal. A youth present moves to deface the monument, earning rebuke from Nevare; the youth’s iron knife sends painful messages through the Spindle, and Nevare cries out. The ensuing tumult disperses those present, and the guides rebuke Nevare for his interference as well as for his insistence upon its magic.
As Nevare departs, he sees the vandalizing youth at it again, aided by his friends. He moves to intervene, and the youths panic at his approach. One of them begins to slip downard, and Nevare manages to rescue him, although the youth’s knife cuts him as he does so. Nevare slams the knife away, and it slips to the base of the Dancing Spindle; when it makes contact with it, the knife cuts off the gathering magic of the Plainsfolk. Nevare is stunned by the event, and, befuddled, he resumes his return home.
The remainder of Nevare’s journey home passes reasonably quickly and without incident. His arrival at his family’s estate, however, is unhappy. He is initially not recognized by the staff or even his kin, his body having changed greatly since his departure for the Academy, and his father’s displeasure with him is obvious. When, after Nevare has washed and changed–into ill-fitting clothes–he attends his father in his study, Keft rebukes him for his fatness and what he believes is the laziness associated therewith. He commands him to a three-day fast and manual labor, assigning him once again and immediately to Sergeant Duril.
To address the chapter-length issue: the present chapter, in the edition of the novel I’m rereading, runs 24 pages in length, approximately 3.28% of the novel.* Longer than average, much of the present chapter glosses more travel time; it is principally another bridging chapter in the novel, serving largely to move Nevare to where he needs to be, although the focus on the titular rock formation does both call back to earlier parts of the Soldier Son novels and carry implications for the milieu as a whole.
Also, for indexing purposes, the following: Breg, Burry, Carsina Grenatler, Dancing Spindle, Dark Evening, Elisi Burvelle, Gernian, Hector, Jard, Keft Burvelle, Kidona, King’s Cavalla Academy, King’s Road, Midlands, Nevare Burvelle, Old Thares, Plainspeople, Ret, Rosse Burvelle, Selethe Burvelle, Sergeant Erib Duril, Sirlofty, Skay, Specks, Spindle Dance, Spindle’s Tower, Stone mage, Tree Woman, Widevale, Yaril Burvelle. Despite the relative length of the chapter, there are few indexables, something perhaps appropriate to the overall function of the chapter as a bridge rather than as its own narrative unit.
Several points of interest present themselves as I reread the chapter. One of them is the reaction of the Plainsfolk guides to Nevare’s insistence upon the magic of the Dancing Spindle. Initially, Nevare approaches it with a typically Gernian perspective: skepticism of and derision for stories of the Plainsfolk. This is despite his overt experiences not only with the magics of the Plainsfolk (see Shaman’s Crossing‘s “Crossing the Bridge,” for example), but also of the Dappled People (see not only “Crossing the Bridge,” but also and especially “Plague.”). He has no reason to be doubtful on approach, and he finds himself believing in it as his alternative self reawakens and the vandalizing youths apply iron to the magical locus (see Shaman’s Crossing‘s “Magic and Iron” for one reference; there are several others). That the magic presents itself to him, a Gernian, but not to the Plainsfolk who guide tourists to the Dancing Spindle, offends them; one nearly strikes Nevare for his insistence on the Spindle’s motion and declaims “NO! It did not. It has never turned for me, and it could not turn for you, Gernian! It was a legend. That was all. Those who say they see it turning are fools, and those who claim to be lifted by it are liars! Liars! Go away! Get out of here! How dare you say it turns for you! It never turned for me and I am of the Plains! Liar! Liar” (56). Amid it all, there is certainly some colonialist discourse, the reaction of an indigenous person against appropriative claims made by an oppressor; how dare Nevare make such a claim, indeed! There is also the entirely understandable sorrow of a longed-for thing being given to another; I am put in mind of Molly Grue’s initial reaction to the presence of Amalthea in Beagle’s The Last Unicorn**:
[Captain Cully] burst out laughing, and Molly sprang up, red from hairline to throat hollow. “Where have you been?” she cried. “Damn you, where have you been?”….
[…]
“I am here now,” [Amalthea] said at last.
Molly laughed with her lips flat. “And what good is it to me that you’re here now? Where were you twenty years ago, ten years ago? How dare you, how dare you come to me now, when I am this?”
It is an affective reading, I know, that I am moved by both passages. Less affectively, given the extent to which Hobb is on record as endorsing Beagle (see, for example, Bishop’s interview of Hobb for Five Books, as well as Hobb’s own comments about his work on GoodReads, which will be coming into the Fedwren Project soon [I think]), I think it likely that there is an echo of Beagle’s scene in Hobb’s. Another scholarly someday might well delve more fully into that particular bit of source-study.
Another, touching on something somewhat closer to home but not restricted to it, is the presence and desecration of a balancing rock. Balancing rocks are large rocks or boulders that, through natural processes, perch upon stones or till that look far smaller than should be able to support them. That they can be interpreted as, or made in fictional works into, magical structures is easily understandable. That they attract the attention of vandals is even more unfortunate than it is well-documented. One notable instance of the latter comes from a place near where I live: Fredericksburg, Texas. There was in its vicinity a well-known balancing rock atop what is called Bear Mountain; there are photos of the thing, such as this one from UTSA‘s digital collections:
Alas, the balancing rock is no longer there, having been blasted from its former position, as Michael Barr reports. And it’s not the only such monument thus destroyed; the destruction of one at Goblin Valley, reported upon by Scott Neuman and others, comes to mind,† as does the later destruction at the Brimham Rocks (per Samantha Lui). Similar efforts are unfortunately ongoing, as Joey Martin reports, and I am sure there are others that do not pop up to a quick check into such events. While those in the readers’ world do not carry quite as much heft as that in Hobb’s novel, they do help to connect her work to their world, even if that connection is an unhappy one.
A final point of attention for now centers on Nevare’s return home; while the trope of a person going off to school and coming back changed is a thing, the reactions presented are quite severe in the present chapter. Again, I think rereading Metsäpelto is in order; the animus against fatness is very much on display as Nevare arrives again at Widevale. Keft is clearly angry and offended at the fact of his son’s fatness, unreasonably so, acting and speaking as if done to spite the family and the degree to which appearances must be kept up. Admittedly, given earlier commentaries about the political state of Gernia and the power blocs of so-called old and new lords, Keft has some reason to attend to appearances; he has to work to maintain his and his family’s status in the stratified society. But, if memory serves, he has had reports of Nevare’s illness, and I seem to recall that they include information from Dr. Amicas, who notes the unusual nature of Nevare’s symptoms. A shock might well be expected at seeing what has only been in report so far, but anger at such a thing…it is not a good sign, nor yet is the harsh restriction to which Nevare is immediately assigned. Once again, Hobb points forward to trouble for her protagonist, which this rereading will continue to treat as it emerges.
* To my great chagrin, as I was doing some other work, I realized that my earlier calculations were in error; I failed to account for the front matter of the present and previous volume in the series. This could be waved off as setting aside something that does not matter except that for the previous Soldier Son volume, I focused attention on the front matter (as witness this), and so I followed the model for the present volume (as witness this). Having made a point to include it, I should make a point to include it; I apologize for the earlier error and have made adjustments to the earlier relevant entries in this rereading series that I hope correct the error.
** Quotation is from Peter S. Beagle’s The Last Unicorn, first 40th anniversary edition, printed in 2008, pgs. 96-97.
† It’s even called a hoodoo, calling back to Shaman’s Crossing‘s “Crossing the Bridge” again.
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The second chapter of Forest Mage, “Homeward Bound,” starts with Nevare making ready to depart the King’s Cavalla Academy briefly in the interest of attending his elder brother’s wedding. Preparations at the Academy take longer than he had anticipated, as he is obliged to take assignments with him to complete. Once those are concluded, however, Nevare calls on his uncle Sefert, noting some awkwardness in their interactions in the wake of Epiny’s marriage to Spink, about which Nevare ruminates.
Homework never really ends. Photo by Tima Miroshnichenko on Pexels.com
Nevare and Sefert confer at some length about Epiny, Nevare going so far as to let his uncle read the letters his cousin has sent him. Sefert expresses some pride in her determination to have her way and her accommodation to her life in Bitter Springs. Nevare resolves to rebuke Epiny for her neglect of her father, and Sefert dispatches letters and gifts with his nephew as he sends him along his way.
Nevare takes ship and passage upstream begins. He contrasts it sharply with the downstream trip he had taken to get to the Academy,* and he remarks upon an unpleasant series of exchanges between himself and a small group of other passengers who make much of mocking him for his increasing girth. One of them ends up falling and suffering a compound fracture after an exchange with Nevare in which he remarks on having “suddenly felt that I was in full control of this encounter” (34); Nevare admits to feeling some guilt afterwards.
After disembarking at Sorton, Nevare travels overland towards home. Along the way, he presses further ahead than had been planned, spending one night amiably at a farmstead and intimately with a young woman there. Musing on the experience, he comes a few days later to an inn with more common prostitutes, one of whom he engages in an unsatisfactory exchange that reminds him of his coming obligations and educates him about sex workers.
Pressing onwards towards home, Nevare comes to the King’s Road and follows it, noting the uneven quality of improvements made along its route. He also passes a labor gang, ruminating upon those imprisoned and those who must attend upon them, considering their situation gravely as he continues to adjust to his own changing shape.
To address the chapter-length issue: the present chapter, in the edition of the novel I’m rereading, runs 15 pages in length, approximately 2.05% of the novel–quite brief, honestly, although not the shortest chapter in the novel. (There are four other chapters of equivalent length and one shorter.) As I make the observation, I am finally getting to the point of systematizing some of my length-data, beginning to collect it into some kind of usable form to address one of the more persistent of my scholarly somedays. It will be the work of a few hours, provided I do not get distracted (as happens frequently when I work with Hobb’s writing), to pull together the relevant data from the editions of the novels I have. I still don’t know what to make of it all, but I also still think there’s something there to investigate and interrogate; I still want to see it.
Also, for indexing purposes, the following: Barrier Mountains, Barry, Bitter Springs, Caleb, Carsina Grenalter, Colonel Rebin, Cordelling, Council of Lords, Daraleen Burvelle, Epiny Kester (née Burvelle), Jankship, Keft Burvelle, King Troven, King’s Cavalla Academy, King’s Road, Midlands, Nevare Burvelle, Old Thares, Purissa Burvelle, Rory Hart, Rosse Burvelle, Sefert Burvelle, Sirlofty, Sorton, Spinrek “Spink” Kester, Trist Wissom. As might be expected of a brief chapter spent mostly in travel, there are relatively few indexables.
That the chapter is brief and with few indexables, however, does not mean it does not prompt points of interest. One of them is the reference to cordelling, which I was surprised to learn is a historical practice, and not dissimilar to its description in the present text. In the historical example, barges and keelboats would be pulled upstream by men ashore hauling on ropes;** the practice is attested in the 1830s and predominantly in the United States and Canada,† helping to reinforce Gernia’s mimicry of the nineteenth-century United States. While it is the case that the practice described in the novel (the use of small craft to ferry forward ropes to tie off to trees for hauling-in and thus progression upstream) is more narrowly known as “warping,” it is deployed in a similar enough fashion to allow the term-blending. In addition, the unique term avoids provoking misunderstandings among the likely primary audience of the text; “warping” brings to mind other transportation than a boat on the river, after all.
Another point is a contrast between Nevare’s comment, while engaging intimately with the young woman at the farmstead, that “I was no more prudish than any young man of my years” (37) and what prompts some of my earlier comments in this rereading series. Notable examples are in discussions of Shaman’s Crossing‘s “The Academy” and “Séance.”‡ Despite Nevare’s comment, he is, or at least has been, far more straitlaced than a great many of his comrades, all young men of approximately his own years. His reactions to several of his cohort’s exploits usually ran to scandalization rather than engagement; only in despair at his expectation of discharge, per Shaman’s Crossing‘s “Disgrace,” does he purpose to take part in what he sees as the debauchery to which his contemporaries are prone. While it might otherwise be regarded as something of a watershed moment for him, prompting a break from previous patterns, those same patterns do largely seem to reassert themselves following the events of the Dark Evening and Dust Dance; in effect, Nevare had an off day and returned to his prior self as much as he could as soon as he could. For him to tell himself otherwise in the present chapter is somewhat disingenuous, mitigated only by the likelihood that he, honestly but mistakenly, believes it.
A final point for now: I think I may need to reread Metsäpelto. While earlier parts of the Soldier Son novels have done much to point out prevailing Gernian attitudes towards fatness, the present chapter directs those attitudes sharply towards Nevare, subjecting him to no small discomfort. Given his earlier treatment of the decidedly heavyset Gord Lading, it might be thought that he has some of it coming; I admit to having such an affective reaction, which should come as no surprise, given this. But at the same time (and still affectively), that Nevare acts badly does not excuse others’ bad actions; that he was a jerk to Gord does not mean others should be jerks to him, in turn. However that might be, the attitudes show forth emphatically in the present chapter, making reference to Metsäpelto worth undertaking again.
‡ It occurs to me that I reference “Séance” a lot. I have to wonder if it does not end up being one of the most important chapters in the trilogy. Seems there’s another scholarly someday to consider.
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The first chapter of Forest Mage, “Forest Dreams,” begins with Nevare dreaming intimately of Tree Woman. He is shaken awake by Trist, and Nevare contrasts his present state with how he had been prior to the Dust Dance and plague while Trist relates one of his recurring dreams. Trist bemoans his weakened state and withdraws, leaving Nevare to consider the death of Tree Woman and the situation in which he and the other cadets at the King’s Cavalla Academy find themselves in the wake of the plague.
Yeah, this’ll do. Photo by Paolo San on Pexels.com
Nevare considers both his resistance to the Specks’ attempt to destroy Gernian society and his complicity in the attempt as he reflects on the events of his life. His recollection of the time with Dewara and the trip into the liminal realm where he first encountered Tree Woman receives attention, as well as his alternate self that had been formed at that point. The unification of the corps of cadets in the wake of the plague receives comment, and the fates of the survivors of Nevare’s original cohort are reported. Rory, promoted, is his closest present friend. Kort mourns his longtime friend Nate. Gord, married hastily during the plague, shows and even more powerful intellect than Nevare had thought he possessed. Spink and Epiny both write to Nevare, faring well but differently than either had anticipated.
Changes to classes and instruction are noted, with senior cadets taking over teaching roles to mixed effect. Nevare attends carefully to the lessons in military history, as they begin to treat the Plainsfolk, and one of his fellow cadets, Lofert, asks after the so-called Preservationist movement in Gernia; his queries are answered with patronizing commonplaces. Nevare reflects on the passing of the Plainsfolk’s ways of life, recalling events along his initial trip to Old Thares. The use of iron against magic is noted again, and Nevare muses on what has been gained for all the losses incurred.
Following morning classes, Nevare reads more of a letter from Epiny about the affairs at Spink’s family’s holdings at Bitter Springs until Rory delivers a semi-formal summons from Dr. Amicas in the campus infirmary. Nevare hastens thereto, passing by the mass grave of the plague victims and the marker erected in their honor. When he reports to the physician, he receives a small rebuke before submitting to a repeated examination. Amicas remarks upon Nevare’s increased weight, noting how unusual it is to see among plague victims, before conferring with Nevare about the cadet’s upcoming travel and theories about the origin of the plague.
After leaving the infirmary, Nevare finds himself considering Tree Woman again, contrasting his early impressions of her with his recent dreams. Nevare’s alternate self still manifests at times, and he tries to accommodate the viewpoints he has come to hold. Despite his growing weight, he makes good time and arrives at his dormitory’s study in good wind. Rory notes another letter has arrived for Nevare, this one from Duril, and Nevare reads it with some interest. He also looks forward to rejoining Carsina at his brother’s wedding, and he is taken by longing to return to his home, as well as joy at the prospect.
To address the chapter-length issue: the present chapter, in the edition of the novel I’m rereading, runs 26 pages in length, approximately 3.56% of the novel, a bit larger than average. Given that the present chapter is doing the kind of explication a sequel has to do–glossing many to all of the events of the previous novel and setting up the present–the length is not to be wondered at, unless perhaps to wonder why it is not longer than it actually is. (That said, it is one of the longer chapters in the novel; only six are longer, of which most are only two pages longer, and the longest only five pages longer.)
Also, for indexing purposes, the following: Barrier Mountains, Battle of Pukenshit, Bitter Springs, Bringham House, Burvelle’s Landing, Cadet Lieutenant Bailey, Cadet Sergeant Vredo, Captain Maw, Carneston Hall, Carsina Grenalter, Cilima Lading, Colonel Rebin, Dark Evening, Dewara, Dr. Jakib Amicas, Dust Dance, Elisi Burvelle, Epiny Kester (née Burvelle), Gera Kester, Gernia, Gord Lading, Keft Burvelle, Kidona, King Troven, King’s Cavalla Academy, Kort Braxan, Lady Kester, Landsing, Lofert, Midlands, Natred Verlaney, Nevare Burvelle, Old Thares, Plainsfolk, Plague, Preservationists, Rory Hart, Rosse Burvelle, Sefert Burvelle, Sergeant Erib Duril, Sirlofty, Sorton, Specks, Spinrek “Spink” Kester, Tobacco, Tree Woman, Trist Wissom, Wind wizard, Yaril Burvelle.* As might be expected from a heavily-explicative chapter, there are a lot of points of reference to make.
As might also be expected, contrasting the current first chapter with the previous first chapter, Shaman’s Crossing‘s “Magic and Iron,” suggests itself. (That there will be a number of such backward looks is exceedingly likely.) A number of points made, or at least gestured towards, in the earlier piece are reiterated or glossed in the present chapter, not least the negative effects of iron on the magic of the Plainsfolk, the patronizingly colonialist attitudes at work in Gernia,** and the Gernian revulsion towards miscegenation. Again, it is part of the task of an opening of a sequel to remind readers of the previous volume/s of what has happened, as well as to provide enough information for a new reader, stumbling into a series as it is in progress, to be oriented to major events and features of the milieu. (I comment to that effect when addressing the beginning of Mad Ship, as well as early in my remarks about Fool’s Errand, and again in notes made at the start of Fool’s Quest, and once again in treating an early part of Assassin’s Fate. It’s not a surprise that an author would return to an established pattern.) Here, as elsewhere in Hobb’s body of work, she handles the gloss well.
I’ll note the present chapter’s invocation of an old adage: Men but work from sun to sun, woman’s work is never done (13). It’s an old saw, one I remember hearing no few times from my mother and her mother, although given the kind of hours my dad put in doing HVAC work in Texas Hill Country summers, it was a little tongue-in-cheek. (Mom’s mom lived with us for much of my growing up, and she lived in my mother’s house when she died. I’ve written a little about it.) I’m told that it pops up notably in Jean Little’s Orphan at My Door, but given the relatively late publication date of that novel (2001), I doubt it is a source for Hobb’s own work. I do not doubt, however, that it speaks to the protofeminist parallel that Epiny is (see “Séance” in Shaman’s Crossing for more on this); if Gernian women are held to be less, then it makes little sense that they should do more.†
One other small note suggests itself: Lofert makes mention of a Preservationist movement in Gernia, the description of which echoes somewhat the land-back movements that are and have been at work in the United States (and presumably elsewhere, but I have not followed any outside the US). Given the publication and presumed composition of the Soldier Son novels after the Tawny Man, and the Tawny Man novels’ effective use of such groups as the Piebalds, I have to wonder (because although I have read Forest Mage, it has been a while) about such a group’s intervention in affairs, moving forward. If it does factor in, that’s all fine and good; it’s certainly being foregrounded here, and it was gestured towards at least as early as Shaman’s Crossing‘s “Old Thares.” And if it does not, the recognition of things in the world but not present in the primary narrative is a contribution towards the verisimilitude that Hobb, again, is on record as prizing; Chekhov isn’t neccessarily correct, or at least interpretations of him aren’t.
* I’ll note that a few names, notably Cilima’s and Epiny’s, are changed from the characters’ earlier appearances (see Shaman’s Crossing‘s “Cousin Epiny” for an example); I give them as they are at present. Others needing updating (such as Sergeant Duril), I’ve updated per previous practice.
** Interestingly, Gernia appears to apply this logic towards itself. As Lofert asks his interim military history instructor about the Plainsfolk, he is answered with the following (12):
“That our superior civilization replaces the primitive order of the Plainsmen is a part of the natural order,” he lectured. “And lest you feel too superior, be mindful that we Gernians have been victims of advanced technology ourselves. When Landsing made their discovery that allowed their cannon and long guns to shoot farther and more accurately than ours, they were able to defeat us and take from us our seacoast provinces. Much as we resent that, it was natural thn once they had achieved a military technology that was superior to our own, they would take what they wished from us”
† I note, too, that the passage in which Epiny makes the quip reminds me of remarks by Judith Lanzendorfer in “Reader, Take Thy Adventure” at the 2010 International Congress on Medieval Studies, as well as Joyce Coleman’s Public Reading and the Reading Public in Late Medieval England and France and “Interactive Parchment: The Theory and Practice of Medieval English Aurality.” Why make notes you never look at again?
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The Soldier Son trilogy continues from Shaman’s Crossing into Forest Mage. As is the case with the first volume of the trilogy, the second begins with some front matter. Said front matter again consists of a half-title page with a list of other works by the author on the reverse, a title page with copyright information (citing the novel as belonging to Robin Hobb) on its reverse, a dedication, a map, a table of contents, acknowledgments, and another half-title page.
Goofy again, but still… Image is mine, severally.
There is some contrast between the current front matter and that of the preceding novel in the trilogy. For one, the dedication doesn’t strike me as being as funny this time; it is more sincere and more typical than the quip that precedes so much of Shaman’s Crossing. Too, while Shaman’s Crossing reports only 24 chapters (with an average length right around 24 pages, rounding being an issue), Forest Mage reports 34. Its main text runs to 718 pages; the front matter adds another 13, for a total of 731. Average chapter / unit length, then, is just under 21 pages, or approximately 2.86% of the novel. (I make note of this because I do still want to see if there’s something going on with chapter-lengths. Since I have a set of first editions on the Soldier Son novels, I have a fair standard of comparison for them.) More important, I think, is the shift in the copyright page; the change from Lindholm to Hobb carries some meaning, a reaffirmation of writerly persona* that has seemed, from time to time, to shift a bit.
Also, as I get into the present novel, I do so with less hesitation than I started the last one. Those reading attentively here will likely note that I moved through Shaman’s Crossing relatively quickly and that I gave more, and more detailed, comment on its chapters than I had on the Realm of the Elderlings novels. Some of that is a result of being more comfortable doing the commentaries, particularly than was the case early in the Realm of the Elderlings rereading. (I might, might, go back and review / update / expand upon the earlier rereadings. Maybe.**) Some, I think, is just that I’ve been making more of an effort to add more; it’s worth doing, I think. Clearly. And, equally clearly, I find I have more to say.
So much noted, a fair amount of what I noted in addressing Shaman’s Crossing‘s front matter continues to apply to the present text. I’ve already linked the comments above, so I don’t need to repeat them here. Instead, I’ll focus on getting into the text of the novel, and I’ll see what all comes up as I continue my rereading.
** If it is the case that I do go back and update things regarding the Realm of the Elderlings novels, I’ll be looking at percentages by chapter. Even if I don’t have a cohesive set of books among them, I can figure relative chapter-lengths; the percentages should be relatively consistent across printings, which would allow some useful standard of comparison.
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