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Following an in-milieu commentary about the Catalyst Wildeye, “A Full House” begins with the arrival of Shun at Withywoods; her reception is detailed, along with Fitz’s wonderings about her situation and circumstances. Fitz also ruminates on the shifts in his relationship with Bee, as well as on the work that has been done on the estate to bring it back into full operation. Shun is visibly displeased with the setting; Riddle, who accompanies her, is somewhat amused. Bee, in the thrall of one of her visions, enters and draws Fitz away, where he finds the Fool in dire straits.

Fitz takes up the Fool and begins to attend to him–finding him a her, and not the Fool, though much like him. She rouses under his ministrations and reports being sent as a messenger to him. Amid the report, Riddle intrudes, and Fitz tasks him with finding assistance. As Riddle departs on the errand, Fitz assigns tasks to Bee, as well, though she remains to confer briefly with him. The messenger delivers what of the message she can, although she notes that she has likely preceded danger.

Fitz leaves off the messenger to attend to Shun, who is verbally displeased at her situation and lays out her objections at length. Fitz realizes the depths of Shun’s despair, and he reaches out to her–only to be interrupted by Bee, who reports that the messenger has departed in haste. Fitz begins to puzzle out the issue as Riddle returns, and he and Bee move to investigate. Wariness begins to settle onto Fitz once again, and Bee begins to take it up, as well.

The present chapter does a fair amount of foreshadowing–it can hardly not, what with prophetic figures at play and the overt discussion of coming dangers from multiple sources, as well as Fitz’s admission of his lapsing wariness and assassin-appropriate paranoia (although it’s not paranoia if there are people out to get you). Too, it is the second appearance of a strange, pursued messenger in the narrative, and simple narrative structure suggests that a third will arrive. (Interestingly, the first messenger was almost completely missed, while the second was received but not fully. Narrative tropes suggest that the third messenger will deliver the message in full, but some other break will occur; typically, the first two set a pattern that the third violates. Admittedly, however, there is precedent for a decline in threes; the example of Lancelot’s judicial combat defenses of Guinevere comes to mind as an example for me for what may be an obvious reason.) Consequently, there’s some forward-looking at work, and at both narrative and structural levels, something I appreciate seeing.

I note, too, that the present chapter returns to something identified by several sources (as attested here) as something of a motif in the treatment of the Fool and his people: gender fluidity. While the term is not used within Hobb’s work (so far as I recall), the concept it describes very much is, and it surfaces in the present chapter in confusion about the messenger. Bee predicts that a man has arrived, and Fitz accepts the prediction as stated until presented with physicality that belies it–although the Fool had noted (and had been depicted as) being flexible in the expression and presentation of gender, something about which Fitz knows (and should know better than to assume). The notion of physicality determining gender, then, is not a stable one among the Fool’s people (nor necessarily among Fitz’s), and, given the foreshadowing at work already, it has to be thought that that flux will be of some moment, moving forward.

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After a passage from Bee’s dream journal, “Dreams” begins with Bee receiving her first visit from Wolf-Father. The latter confers with Bee at length, guiding her through her fear and the corridors she had meant to explore before losing her light, exhorting her to use other senses than sight to find her way. She manages to return to her starting place, where she finds Fitz frantically searching for her. Angry in his fear for her, he forgets for a moment to wall himself off, and she detects his fear and the love that underlies it. As he tends to her, she lays out some–but not all–of her exploits, and Bee allows Fitz to put her to bed.

Bee fights sleep, then, first because she seeks to find the place in her bedroom from which she could be covertly observed, second because she does not want to dream. She ruminates on her dreams, images that transcend time, and falls asleep–into a prophetic dream. She wakes from it with a new determination to record what she sees, stalking about Withywoods to collect what she needs to begin to do so. She surprises some of the household servants as she does so, and when Fitz, somewhat vexed at not finding her in her bedroom, speaks with her, she voices reluctance to burn candles her mother had made. He agrees, and he lays out the impending arrival of Shun. Discussion thereof ensues, and Bee lays out her need for writing materials in details Fitz cannot mistake. The revelation shocks him, and he assents to hre request.

Preparations for Shun’s arrival ensue, and Bee takes the opportunity to ferret away supplies for her own use, both in her rooms and in the hidden corridors. Her own preparations are detailed, and she works to record the prophetic dreams she recalls. Her own studies also receive attention, including Molly’s emerging writing and Patience’s acerbic marginalia in gift-volumes given her and Chivalry. She also reads old letters Patience had kept, puzzling out details of the tangled histories of her forebears, and she stumbles onto Fitz’s written ruminations as she continues searching for writing materials. Among them is a consideration of his early days in Buckkeep with Nosy, and what might well be his earliest encounter with the Fool. Bee muses on the implications of what she finds, and, when she asks him, Fitz lays out some of his history with the Fool. It leaves some awkwardness between them.

There is a bit of retcon in the present chapter, in that it establishes Fitz’s awareness of the Fool earlier than that character’s first mention in the text as published. It is, admittedly, not to be wondered at that such a detail might slip a bit in the years between compositions–both in-milieu and in the writer’s world. And it is not a large slip; it’s a difference of one chapter only (out of some 400 between). But it is still a small vexation, a slight inconsistency that frustrates analysis somewhat, and if it is the case that I don’t do a lot of that work anymore, I still do some, and others also have such work to do.

More generally, however, the present chapter seems to make much of metacommentary–here, writing about writing. It’s something of a recurring topic in Hobb’s work, as witness this, this, and this, doubtlessly among others. The present chapter fairly dwells in it, Bee musing at some length on the utility of writing as a means of organizing one’s thoughts and sifting through information to arrive at understandings. (I’m minded of the “write to learn” thrust of much of my own writing instruction, as well as my instruction in teaching writing.) The attention paid to Molly’s writing and its development in form and content, as well as to the marginalia Patience left behind also speaks to it, pointing usefully to the ways in which writing and its changes bespeak characters’ development, even if out of narrative sight. Affective reader that I am, I perceived similarities between what Bee reports and my own experiences owning the physical objects of texts and working with the words and ideas contained within them. (There are differences between the two, as well as to the studies of the two.) I’ve noted marginalia in copies of books that I own; I’ve made no few margin-notes, myself, over many years of study within formal programs and without. And even the contents of this rereading series, in addition to my papers, are of similar thrust, if likely not of similar extent (even assuming the unshown realities within the milieu; of course the instantiated thing is of greater extent than the uninstantiated). Consequently, I found myself in the pages…again. It does seem to happen to me a lot. I’m not entirely sure what it says about me that I do.

In any event, as I have remarked elsewhere–the links’re above–it is not a strange thing that a writer would attend to the work of writing within the writing. “Write what you know” is old advice and often repeated; a writer, especially one with a long publication history, presumably knows writing. I do have to wonder how much emerges from the writer’s personal practice, as opposed to observed and reported practices of others; biographical criticism is, of course, always fraught, but I maintain that ignoring the contexts of composition is not the best way to approach any text–or any work in any medium, really.

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Following a letter from Fitz to Nettle that warns against much investigation of the Skill Pillars, “Chade” begins with Fitz reminiscing about his erstwhile mentor’s tendency towards drama as he answers his summons. While he waits, he is approached by a young woman who makes seeming advances towards him, the which he rebuffs gently until Chade arrives, with Riddle assisting. Fitz reminisces about his long experience with Riddle, as well, and he and Chade confer for a time, not entirely pleasantly. Fitz realizes Nettle is Skill-riding Riddle, and he accompanies the men to a room prepared for them.

The woman from before greets them in the room, and Fitz is somewhat surprised to find Chade including her in their activities. Fitz intuits that she is of Farseer blood, and he is embarrassed to realize that she has duped him thoroughly. A casual comment comes from her that Fitz perceives as a threat to Bee, and he reflexively moves to eliminate the threat. Chade partially defuses the situation by noting the need to test Fitz again, citing the effects of grief upon him. He also notes his plan to place the woman, called Shun, in Fitz’s household, ostensibly as an aide for Bee, but more fully as a guard for her and a means of providing for her.

Discussion of Shun’s background follows, and Fitz puts questions to Chade through the Skill that the latter deflects. Shun expresses her distaste at the situation, which Chade validates, but he also lays out her situation as a bastard Farseer–which Fitz knows well. Fitz agrees to assist Chade with Shun, and Chade claims Shun as his own, calling her by his own surname of Fallstar. Fitz then makes to return home, deflecting attempts to keep him present; as he leaves, he and Riddle confer, Fitz averring that matters are well with him and Bee. And as he departs, Fitz ruminates on his erstwhile mentor further.

Given my comments about the past few chapters of the novel, I feel I have to note that the present chapter is a more “normal” length, not quite thirty pages in the edition I’m reading. And it does focus narrowly on a single scene, so that more “normal” length makes sense to my reading.

A couple of things strike me about the present chapter aside from the length. In it, Shun is described as being some nineteen years of age, which prompts Fitz to consider her origin. Some of that is confirmed, or at least heavily implied, by Chade’s recognition of her by surname, assigning Fallstar to her; it might well be thought that Chade, himself a Farseer bastard put to ungentle use by the Farseers, would be more careful about generating more such. (Given that Chade has access to a hangover cure, as well as any number of other fantastic concoctions, and given the attested existence of silphium, it would not be beyond imagining that Chade could have contrived birth control or an abortifacient. Indeed, Chade remarks upon several of the potential effects of his chemistries, suggesting that they might well be able to prevent conception.) However that might be, Shun’s age seems to my reckoning to put her conception between the events of Assassin’s Quest and Fool’s Errand, although, on reflection, it might have been during the former. I’m not at this point aware of any formal chronology, although I don’t doubt it could be sussed out from what is in the text, and I’m sure that some explication of the dating involved could be done to some effect; it’s the kind of thing that makes for a good short essay, really (and if the essay’s already out there, please let me know).

I wander once again, of course. I often do when I work with Hobb’s writing, getting lost in rereading as I look for things I remember. While it did, admittedly, complicate the work of writing my master’s thesis, one conference paper or another, a book chapter and a follow-up essay, an early publication, and teaching materials, I think it also speaks to the quality of Hobb’s writing. If it is so easy to get back into reading it, after all, it would seem to be doing something right.

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Once another piece from Badgerlock’s Old Blood Tales concludes, “Explorations” returns to Bee’s point of view and follows her progress towards her bolt-hole after Fitz’s departure to answer Chade’s summons. She begins to make plans for the space and to search out the other spaces connected to it. Her explorations take some time, enough to consume the candle she had carried with her, and she is left in darkness between the walls. The loss of light begins to panic her, and she calls aloud for the lost Molly before sinking into wordless fear.

The present chapter is remarkably brief, a scant seven pages in the edition I’m reading. It marks a sharp contrast from the sprawl of the previous chapter, although it is at a good length. It focuses narrowly on a single event, and it leaves the focal character in a place from which she will have to be extracted. The break in action occurring where it does prompts further readerly engagement with the text. That is, readers are almost compelled to read on to see what happens next, and if it is the case that the “cliffhanger” is a commonplace, it is also the case that it is a commonplace because it works.

Too, the chapter does well at presenting both the childlike joy of exploring tunnels and the like and the fear of being lost in what would otherwise be a familiar place. It is, perhaps, my affective reading once again that I note as much, but for me, the chapter conveys the feelings authentically, and the sudden juxtaposition of them highlights the fear admirably. It’s not horror, as such, but it certainly moves that way, and it does so effectively–more effectively, in some ways, than the gorier presentations often associated with acts of horror, because it is a more common experience and therefore one that lodges more fully into the mind. (Although Hobb also handles the more “normal” horrific in the series, as witness here and elsewhere.)

Perhaps it is being played for pathos, but novel-reading isn’t necessarily a strictly intellectual exercise–nor is it the case that more formal pieces are exempt from such play.

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Following a short entry in Bee Farseer’s dream journal, “My Own Voice” opens with a shift in narrative perspective to Bee as she recounts having “freed” her tongue. The day she did so is recounted in great detail, along with Bee noting her position in Withywoods relative to the other children on the estate. Similarities between her and Fitz are also noted, and Bee’s isolation from the other children is attested. So, too, is the beginning of her ability to see branching paths ahead of her, and she begins to exert agency by choosing among them. The choice allows another, larger child to abuse her in such a way that a strip of flesh holding her tongue awkwardly in her mouth is severed; the abuse enacted, she flees from them and recovers.

Having recovered and begun to familiarize herself in private with the formation of words, Bee returns to her attempts at finding fellowship with the other children on the estate. The attempt goes poorly, with the other children assailing her with murderous intent. A servitor on the estate saves Bee and rebukes the other children harshly, and Bee learns their fear of her. She gives them more occasion for wariness by speaking clearly before and to them, and she begins to settle into new routines, the which are described. Some of Bee’s apprehension about Fitz is explained, and he tries to begin to bond with her over games similar to those he had used to play in Buckkeep. Bee’s performance exceeds expectations.

On another day, Bee accompanies Molly as she tends her flowers. Molly dies during doing so, and it is some time before Fitz comes looking for her. Finding them, finding Molly dead, grief pours out of him through the Skill, and Nettle realized what has happened. Bee is overwhelmed by the outpouring, and they recognize one another in their grief. She also whispers a verse from her dreams.

When I first read Fool’s Assassin, many years ago, now, I found myself confused by the present chapter. I had long been accustomed to Fitz’s first-person narration, and I had seen Hobb attempt to use a similar perspective with Nevare Burvelle in the Soldier Son novels. (I’ll get to them at some point, I know, but it will be a while, yet.) For the novel to shift to another narrative perspective, though, and one that is not much dissimilar from Fitz’s, was somewhat jarring for my initial reading. It took me a while to realize what was going on, which annoyed me–not because of the writing, but because my arrogant self chafed at not knowing. (It still does, but that’s another issue, entirely.) It was easier this time around, to be sure, but I recall it being a sticking point in the initial reading.

Yet again, as should not be a surprise at this point, I found myself reading affectively as I read the present chapter. Molly’s death–which, as things go, is a good one; we should all be so lucky as to pass in such peace–made it seem to me like somebody was cutting onions nearby. It’s not the first time, of course, even if I do feel somewhat silly at being moved (again) in such a way over a work of fiction. After all, “it’s just a book,” “it’s not like it’s real,” and “there’re things in the world worth weeping over” without looking for them in fiction. Each of those is true, certainly, and my eyes often water despite no allergen’s effect, and yet I am affected.

More “normally” or formally, I note a slight Shakespearean movement at the end of the chapter. It’s not the first time I’ve marked such a thing, as witness this. (I might have to post the paper here sometime, probably after I work on it some more. There’s a difference between a conference paper and a more developed work, and it might be good to see if I still have what it takes to do the more developed work.) It’s a commonplace in Shakespearean narration that the ends of scenes will rhyme; it’s also a commonplace in Shakespearean narration that supernatural workings rhyme. (I’m put in mind of Oberon in Midsummer Night’s Dream, for one example.) The “poem” Bee whispers into Fitz’s ear at the end of the chapter–“When the bee to the earth does fall, the butterfly comes back to change all”–though presented as prose (there ought to be a line-break at the comma), and though not strictly metrical (both “lines” can be read as trimeter, with three stressed syllables each, but the counts of unstressed syllables are irregular), seems to partake of that kind of thing (Oberon’s incantations–especially in 2.2.33-40–are in tetrameter rather than the accustomed Shakespearean pentameter, after all). I’m not going to ascribe some grand motive to the coincidence; rather, I think this is an instance of Hobb being a writer of her background, presenting the “poem” in a way that “that kind of thing should be done.”

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After a missive concerning Lant, “A Childhood” opens with Fitz lamenting Bee. He notes the slow progress of Bee’s growth, Molly’s deepening fixation on her younger daughter, and his own unease and difficulties. Fitz and Molly confer about their daughter, and Fitz remains puzzled by Bee’s seeming lack of development despite a good appetite. He also remains vexed by her clear rejection of him, and he and Moly discuss what is to be done with Bee when they grow old.

Time passes, and Bee continues to grow as Molly and Fitz keep her to themselves. Hap visits at intervals, as his life as a minstrel permits, bringing gifts for his foster-sister, and Nettle calls in often, although she also despairs at her sister’s status. Molly takes Bee with her about her daily routines, however, and teaches her as she did her other children, and Bee begins to attempt speech.

More time passes, Bee growing, and Fitz’s and Molly’s lives centering more and more fully on her, although Fitz recognizes himself as being at some remove from his daughter. At length, Bee approaches Fitz while he works on a manuscript, and, through Molly, she asks for paper, pen, and ink. Provided them, she illustrates a lifelike bee and writes her name, to the surprise of both her parents. Fitz considers some of the implications thereof, and he Skills to Chade a request for more writing supplies.

The present chapter, brief though it is (some twelve pages in the edition of the text I’m reading), glosses several years, bringing Bee from swaddled infancy to the age of seven and the evidence of some agency. Among the events presented in the chapter, the visits from Hap are of particular interest to me. Since the introduction of Starling Birdsong in Assassin’s Quest, the Six Duchies novels have made note both of the itinerant lifestyle of the minstrels and of the relaxation of mores with regard to them. In effect, they have license to be different than the general populace; it follows, then, that they are more apt to be tolerant of and respectful of difference than are members of the general populace. That Hap would be one of Bee’s favorites early on, then, does not seem so strange a thing.

I am struck, too, by the invocation of Thick in the present chapter. Although the current text speaks of the character with some respect, it was not always the case, as noted here. The invocation comes in the context of Bee’s depiction in ways that read to my eye as glosses of descriptions of behaviors associated with the autism spectrum. (The phrasing is as it is in part because I am the wrong kind of doctor to offer any diagnoses–and even if I were the right kind, diagnosis from narration is chimerical at best.) And it joins discussion of the Rain Wilds Chronicles’ dragons, here, in suggesting the usefulness of a disability-studies reading of the Realm of the Elderlings corpus. I’ve noted before, of course, that my own expertise does not lend itself toward undertaking such a project, although I’d be thrilled to see how it might be or has been addressed.

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Following a rumination by Fitz upon the Fool, “The Spider’s Lair” begins with Fitz glossing the passage of time and Bee’s slow growth before moving to confront Chade about Lant. Fitz’s progress to Buckkeep is described, as is his passage into the castle itself, and he arrives in Chade’s rooms and what had been his laboratories unmarked. There he waits, first surprising Lant with his appearance, then Rosemary, who has succeeded Chade as the court’s assassin. Fitz recalls his earlier experiences with her, and Chade emerges into the room.

Discussion of the attempted infiltration by Lant ensues, Chade attempting to set Fitz’s concerns aside and addressing some of his own about the potential Farseer heir that Bee is. Rosemary and Lant are dismissed, and discussion between Fitz and Chade continues. Chade asks Fitz to accept Lant into his household in time, knowing that he must either be placed or eliminated, given his training, and he urges Fitz to consider Bee’s possible futures. Gaps in Skill instruction are also treated in the discussion, and Chade attempts without success to prevail upon Fitz to rejoin life in Buckkeep. He seems to accept it at last, even as Fitz agrees to continue his scholarly work on Chade’s behalf.

The opening commentary, as often, attracts my attention. I am fortunate that my daughter, though born small, throve from her earliest days and thrives even now as I write this. She remains a marvel and a wonder to me, and if it is the case that I have had hopes for her that seem as if they will never come to be–I think many parents hope to see what they think the best of themselves reflected in their children, and my daughter is very much her own person–there are and have always been so many other excellences in her that I marvel daily that she is in my life. So I have not the concerns that Fitz voices for Bee. (I do know well that many parents do have such concerns or greatly similar, and I know that there are all too many parents who have and have had to have greater concerns yet; I do not wish to be taken as minimizing those experiences for lack of sharing them directly.) But that I do not have quite those same concerns does not mean I do not have concerns at all, and there are some that, like Fitz, I do not voice to others, knowing that my roles in life and the positions I must occupy to those others means I cannot let them hear such words from me. What that says about Fitz’s relationships or mine, I cannot well say, although I imagine the words would not themselves be kind, even if true. But, again, I read affectively and sentimentalize too much.

I note, too, the predilection for bastards in the Six Duchies to receive training as assassins. Chade is a bastard; Fitz is rather overtly so, and so is Lant. (Rosemary’s legitimacy does not come to mind as having been treated in the text, although that may be as much my oversight as anything else.) And on the topic of Lant: there’s more to be said about the character, and I’m certain I’ll treat some of it, but having an illegitimate child receiving training as an infiltrator named as, in effect, a lapse in vigilance is a bit on the nose even for a writer such as Hobb detailing a group such as the nobility of the Six Duchies that runs towards emblematic names. There’s humor to be found in it, certainly, but it’s a backhanded kind of humor–which is, admittedly, the kind of thing that tickles my fancy and attracts my attention.

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An “old Buckkeep tale” about pecksie-born children precedes “The Presentation,” which opens with Fitz fretting about how he will confess his actions to Molly. He takes measures to do so, and he is rightly rebuked for having dissembled. The parents discuss their child and her differences, and Fitz begins to make known the fact of his second daughter’s birth, enduring Nettle’s rebuke through the Skill as well. Molly also broaches the topic of Kettricken with Fitz, and after some more talk, Molly passes their child to Fitz and steps out. He attempts to connect with the child in her absence, testing names for her, and finding her strangely reluctant. As he continues to attempt the connection, Fitz finds his daughter open to him, and she wails at the magical contact, which sound prompts Molly’s swift return. She soothes their child, and the pair name her Bee, though Fitz hesitates to seal the name to her.

Later, Nettle arrives at her parents’ home from Buckkeep, rushing to her mother’s side and taking Bee in her arms with some surprise. Nettle notes that Kettricken follows not far behind her. The purpose of Kettricken’s visit is discussed, and Fitz muses on the tensions between Molly and Kettricken. Molly upbraids him for not having reported his prior knowledge of Kettricken’s imminent arrival to her, and matters are arranged to receive Kettricken. Nettle regards her sister with concern in advance of the arrival, and Bee cries again when Nettle makes to hold her. Molly intuits that the magics she and Fitz wield occasion upset from the child, and both Nettle and Fitz make some essay to test the idea. Molly lays Bee down, and the three adults proceed to receive Kettricken.

Fitz notes the precautions Revel has taken against Kettricken’s arrival, approving of them as he sees them, and he takes a moment to step clandestinely aside to return to the nursery where Bee is. There, he finds an uninvited visitor looking in on Bee, and he takes him, searching and interrogating him. Fitz satisfies himself that the visitor, whose name he learns is FitzVigilant (“Lant”), is reasonably benign, sent by Chade as a test for one of them, and sends him off under threat. He then inspects his daughter, at which task Molly finds him, and they return to the reception–carrying Bee with them. Fitz, in his guise of Tom Badgerlock, makes easy conversation with his guests.

After a meal, Fitz, Molly, Nettle, Kettricken, and a select few others retire to consider Bee. The youngest of them is shown and inspected, and Kettricken finds herself taken aback at the child and her appearance. Molly maneuvers herself and Bee away from public attention, leaving Nettle to address social ramifications and Fitz to handle the political fallout that will come. Kettricken soon takes her leave, followed by all save Nettle, who remains with her parents and sister for a few days. And Fitz considers how he will address matters with Chade and others.

The opening folk-tale about pecksies brings to mind another of Hobb’s works, Words like Coins. I’ve treated the novella before (here), and I expect that I will (eventually) get to it in this rereading series. In the wake of a recent discussion (and a good one, about which I’ll be posting more in coming days), I have to wonder about their presence and existence within the Six Duchies; they read to my eye as variations on the Fair Folk amply attested in European folklore (and employed in no few other fantasy novels, as well; Kerr’s Deverry novels come to mind). But then, I have asserted that the Realm of the Elderlings does have enough in it to mark it as part of the Tolkienian tradition, even as it moves beyond the “normal” boundaries for it; the pecksies are, to my mind, one of the tradition-fixing features of the milieu.

I note, too, that the present chapter is another of the longer chapters among the novels thus far. Like “Arrival,” “The Presentation” comes in at close to forty pages (159-98). There is not as much explication of milieu and updates going on in the present chapter as in the previous over-length one, although there is some discussion of the dynastic politics at work in the Six Duchies and surrounding nations. (That there is some lie given to the “happily ever after” seemingly in the offering for Dutiful and Elliania is a lovely bit of authenticity for the work; that there is tension surrounding Dutiful’s Chuyrda heritage in the present chapter is another.) Nor is it the case that the passage of years is glossed in the chapter, as is the case for earlier chapters. Clearly, then, there must be some other function at work in the chapter, although what the function is is not immediately clear to me at this point in my rereading. (Admittedly, as I have noted, it’s been a while since I reread the work.)

One thing that I might have liked to have seen in the chapter, and I did not as I reread or as I reviewed to be able to do this little bit of writing, is the forewarning that sent Fitz skulking to Bee’s room. Admittedly, it is good that he did so; as the father of a daughter who was, herself, quite small, I find nothing but sympathy for him in his concern for her, however affective such a reading might be. Too, I find nothing but sympathy for his treatment of Lant when the latter intrudes, uninvited and unannounced, into the child’s room; I don’t think I’d much cotton to someone treating my daughter in such a way, either. But I’m not seeing anything that occasions the specific iteration of concern, no premonition through either of the magics Fitz wields or even some overheard or scarce-noticed comment about someone being absent who should be present. I guess I’m saying that I would have liked to have seen a bit more overt foreshadowing of the intrusion, especially since Fitz’s–I hesitate to write “paranoia,” both because diagnosing a character is a chimera and because there have been people out to get Fitz on more than one occasion in his life–wariness has been…inconsistent in the novel so far. As I think I’ve noted before, so much is understandable, given the circumstances. But with it being so, it would have been nice to see something a bit more direct to prompt the (admittedly useful) behavior.

So much doesn’t mean I’m not enjoying rereading, of course. The work I’ve done with Hobb’s texts over the years should show that enjoyment. But enjoying something doesn’t mean ignoring its problems.

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After an admonishment for Masters of the Skill to observe solo practitioners closely against the possibility of destruction, “The Secret Child” begins with Fitz considering his newborn child and thinking ahead to glorious futures for her. Fitz laughs at himself for his doubts as he pictures how matters will unfold around his second daughter, but his laughter soon dies as he considers further implications; his daughter is another Farseer, and that begins to raise uneasy possibilities in his mind.

The next morning sees Withywoods begin to adjust to the presence of a new child, however strange to many people’s eyes, among them. Fitz’s Wit-borne instincts see threats, but more of his attention is given over to marvel at his daughter and his wife who bore her. In a dream, he recalls his youth in Buckkeep, seeing the Fool made sport by the other children in the castle, and he is unable or unwilling to intervene as the other children assail him.

Fitz wakes from his dream and is afraid he has harmed his small child, against which Molly soothes him. He considers the reality of his treatment of the Fool in his childhood, as well as that of the other children in the area, and he realizes that his daughter will be as alone as the Fool was, possibly abused as he was, if he does not act to hinder such a thing.

The opening commentary on Skillmaster Clarity and the Cowshell Village Tragedy points, for one, to a possible horror story set in the Six Duchies. Whether or not Hobb will write such a thing, fleshing out an incident originally mentioned in passing as with the Piebald Prince, I do not know. I can hope for such a thing, however; I am not normally a horror reader, but the kind of deconstructive exploration that the commentary suggests possible is very much the kind of thing I enjoy seeing in those properties for which I can still be said, in some ways, to be a fan.

That same commentary also bespeaks the United States-ness from which Hobb writes. Perhaps it is another of my affective readings, but I cannot help but see a parallel between what is suggested–not only in the current chapter, but elsewhere in the corpus–about the developed community of Skill users and the US Judiciary. I also cannot help but note that there is, in the present chapter as elsewhere in the corpus, an explicit check on political power. The monarch of the Six Duchies loses the ability to appoint a major court and governmental functionary, and the body undertakes to police itself by adopting policies that explicitly constrain its highest member. The dangers of autocracy, growing greater as the power to enforce autocratic dicta and views of morality and ethics increases, are clear; how much of a comment on the world of the novel’s composition, or on the ongoing world of its reception, is to be found is an open question, but that there is one to be found is certain.

And as far as affective reading goes…my own daughter was born small, though she was born early (rather than after a two-year gestation, as Fitz and Molly’s second daughter is). I recall, and I read in my own journals, thoughts about my daughter not unlike Fitz’s about his. I still have some of them; I worry about how the other children in our part of the world do and will regard my girl. But I think it’s not something that needs forgiving that I do. There’s much in my life as does beg forgiving, but that’s not part of it.

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