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

---

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.”

We are all of us products of when and where we come from.

I’m happy to write to order; get started by filling out the form below!

Or simply send support to https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/elliottrwi!

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

---

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.

If you like the kind of writing I do, hire me to do some for you–written to order and plagiarism-free, guaranteed!

Or simply send support to https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/elliottrwi!

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

---

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.

If you’d like me to write for you–and without AI plagiarism, too!–then fill out the form below!

Or simply send support to https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/elliottrwi!

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

---

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.

If you’d like me to do this kind of writing for you, or any of a number of other kinds, fill out the form below, and we can get started!

Or you can send your support along to https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/elliottrwi!

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

---

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.

If you like what you see here, consider hiring me to write for you–original content with no AI plagiarism!

Or simply send support along to https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/elliottrwi!

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

---

Following a discourse on menopause and aging, “Arrival” begins with Fitz musing on the seeming sense in Molly despite what he perceives as her disordered thinking regarding her pregnancy. Prior discussions about fertility are glossed, as is the continued management of Withywoods amid what Fitz regards as his and Molly’s declining years. The death of Patience receives small comment amid the changes befalling Molly and her family and her long protests of being pregnant despite reason and the evidence available to others.

Dynastic matters also proceed in the world around Fitz, and he finds himself carried along by them once again. As he goes, he notes the changes that have taken place in Buck Duchy and the Six Duchies since the unrest of his youth. The needs of the kingdom take him to the Chyurda and Jhaampe, and he sees again the house where the Fool had dwelt in that city. The sight puts him to musing on his past once again, and Fitz confers with one who had known the Fool for a White Prophet. The conference leaves Fitz somewhat stung, though eased to know the Fool yet lives, and he ruminates upon the matter for a time–until his reverie is interrupted by Nettle, who comes to check on him.

Fitz and Nettle travel together, conferring at length, and he learns much of the state of the Six Duchies and of people he has known from her. Notably, dragons are beginning to become a problem for the Six Duchies as they range in from Chalced, and how to deal with them is an open question. No few other topics are treated, and the pair grow closer together than they had been before, leaving Fitz saddened that their travel together must end as it does. But they arrive at Withywoods in good order and better humor, and they are welcomed warmly by Molly, with whom they exchange news at length.

Fitz and Nettle are also obliged to confront Molly’s continued insistence on her pregnancy and the extent of her preparations for a new child. In a moment of Molly’s absence, they talk together of the seeming ending of her sanity, but they do not conclude their talk before she returns and reacts with indignation neither can claim inappropriate. After some time, though, Fitz and Molly arrive at an accord and more.

In a new section, winter arrives at Withywoods, and Fitz makes a point of commending Revel for his excellent service. Soon after, Molly presses upon Fitz in his study, saying that the pregnancy she has harbored for years is ending, that she is going into labor. After some dithering and rebuke from Molly, Fitz makes himself useful against the event, and he returns with supplies to find Molly has delivered a small, small girl. Molly places the child into Fitz’s hands, and he finds a protective instinct that is partly Nighteyes well up in him as he considers the child. Fitz’s magics tell him that the child is and will be well, and he is greatly eased and enheartened.

The present chapter is unusually lengthy; Hobb’s chapters in the Realm of the Elderlings novels are usually around twenty pages as printed, while the present chapter approaches forty (109-46). Some of the unusual length can be explained by the chapter doing much to situate the novel in the broader scope of the Realm of the Elderlings corpus. I’ve noted before, I believe, the challenge later novels in a series face in introducing new readers to characters and milieu; for a novel such as Fool’s Assassin, published nearly twenty years after the first member of its series and with more than a dozen earlier works to synthesize and address, the challenges are particularly strident. To take a double-length chapter to address a number of points that would be expected to come up, to make notes of what has happened with characters who received more or less attention in earlier works and whose situations could well be expected to matter to the protagonist directly and to the setting in which the protagonist operates, is not out of line. For readers who started their journey in the Realm of the Elderlings with the present novel, I can believe that the extended exposition is helpful. For me, it was a reasonably pleasant reminiscence; even though I have been working on this rereading more or less consistently for some time, it has been some time since I’ve looked at some parts of the corpus. (I do occasionally have to do other things, after all–and I even get to do other things now and again!)

As I reread, I find myself doing so affectively once again. The novel was published in 2014, the same year as my daughter’s birth, and while my wife was not pregnant so long as Molly, our child was born small (and early, by some weeks). I admit to having been worried about her young life (and more than once, in the event; she took pneumonia at a year old, which did not help matters), and I think I am far from alone among fathers in feeling a great sense of duty to protect well up once I saw my child. I also do not think I am alone in seeing no small amount of sass in my newborn daughter’s gaze when she looked at me for the first time. The present chapter speaks to such things, or my reading of it does–although, again, I concede that I read affectively more often than I ought, and no readers fail to bring their own biases to bear on what they read when they read it. We cannot help but do so, of course; we read as an aspect of who we are, and who we are is necessarily a product in part of what we have done and seen. Each of our experiences shapes our understanding in some way or another, and the application of that understanding is itself an experience that helps shape the next–recursive, yes, but not necessarily a bad thing, all told.

As I reread, too, I find myself thinking again about biographical criticism. Just as readers necessarily bring their experiences to the act of reading, such that each will find something different from the other in the same words on the same pages, writers bring their experiences to the act of writing. While it is certainly true, as I recall remarking and as I know many others have, that writers can write of things outside their direct experience, there is a reason “Write what you know” remains advice given to them. Knowing what I do about Hobb’s biography (and while I will admit that that knowledge is incomplete, it does offer enough for me to do simple math), I can readily guess than an author in her late fifties to early sixties as the novel was brought into being would be familiar with such concerns as are attributed to Molly, and I do not think I would be wrong to make such a guess. I do not go so far as to say that it is only that experience that informs the character–I do not believe so much is the case–but I do not think it fitting to ignore that experience, either. Something about a baby and bathwater comes to mind–but, again, that’s my experience showing up in my writing.

If you like the kind of writing I do, know that I’m available to do it for you!

Or support this ongoing endeavor: https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/ElliottRWI

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

---

Following an excerpt from an autobiography by Chade Fallstar, “Preservation” begins with a Skilled conversation between the old assassin and his erstwhile apprentice. Fitz takes care to let Molly sleep where the Skilling from Chade had awakened him as he stalks through hidden corridors to his private study. Conversation between the Skilled assassins turns to writing and potential regrets about it, and Fitz muses on the matter somewhat wryly as Chade lays out his reasons for asking.

An offhanded comment stifles further inquiries about the writing, and Fitz marks the shift in the tone of conversation as Chade asks after the Fool. Fitz reflects on his relationship with the Fool as Chade relates a report of strange visitors in Buckkeep Town who seemed to be searching for the Fool or someone very much like him. Another report ties the pursuit to the messenger Fitz had failed to receive or recover, and Chade leaves Fitz to consider matters.

Ruminating bitterly, Fitz considers Verity’s sword that Dutiful had given him in fulfillment of a promise, and his thoughts turn to other gifts. One of them, the memory-cube given him by the Fool, attracts his attention, and Fitz considers his present situation deeply before returning quietly to bed. There, Molly, having woken to find him absent, invites him to intimacy, after which interlude, she announces her pregnancy to him, and Fitz fears for the coming loss of the woman he has long loved.

The beginning of the chapter is quite the metanarrative commentary; that is, the writing is about writing, something with which a writer must necessarily be concerned. (This webspace is an example of that concern, for reasons I think are obvious to any who look at it for any length of time.) The focus on it is something that has pervaded the Realm of the Elderlings works, not only in Fitz’s own ruminations (attested in no few chapter-beginnings throughout the Farseer and Tawny Man trilogies), but also in the correspondences at work in the Rain Wilds Chronicles and, as I’ve noted, in the novella “Words Like Coins.” There’s not necessarily a consistent position espoused in the metanarrative, to be certain; there are valorizations of the act and demonstrations of the need for record-keeping, of course, but there are also warnings against leaving clear records, admonishments that doing so can lead to ruin. I suppose that, if there is a single underlying message to be found in the thread of discussion about writing that weaves through the Realm of the Elderlings tapestry, it is that writing is a useful tool and a neutral one, affording power to who will use it but imposing no morality upon those who do. And I’m not certain what all to make of such a thought.

I will note, though, that the revelation of Molly’s pregnancy once again struck me oddly, even though I knew this time that it was coming. (It’s a rereading, after all.) Now, the use of what seems to be deus ex machina is not itself a bad thing, as I’ve noted, especially for a work in an avowedly medievalist genre. (Even if there are other readings that might actually be better-supported, as I have argued and will argue again, there’s more than enough in place to sustain a reading of the Six Duchies as partaking of the prevailing Tolkienian tradition of fantasy literature; certainly, she acknowledges her indebtedness thereto, even as she is clearly not circumscribed by it.) But it is certainly a surprise upon first reading.

If you like the kind of work I do here, why not support it by hiring me to do some for you?

Or send your support directly to https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/elliottrwi!

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

Evidently, too, this is the 1500th post to this webspace. Hooray!

---

After a brief quotation regarding secrecy, “The Felling of Fallstar” opens with a shift in season from Winterfest to summer on a day years after that finds Fitz seated in a tavern and reflecting on news from Hearth and Just, two of Molly’s children with Burrich. He considers gifts for family until interrupted by a Skill-sending from Nettle expressing concern for Chade, who has evidently fallen and is comatose. The sending contains a summons from Dutiful, now fully King of the Six Duchies, and an order to travel by portal-stone. Fitz balks, citing earlier experience, but the order is reiterated, and he makes arrangements to comply.

Fitz reluctantly leaves Molly behind to answer his king’s summons and goes trepidatiously through the nearest Skill-stone. He arrives at Buckkeep in as good an order as could be expected and hastens in.

Fitz, in his guise as Tom Badgerlock, reaches Chade’s side, where the halting coterie of which he had been part is assembled, along with Nettle and her half-brother, Steady. Fitz, overstepping, issues orders that Dutiful echoes, compelling compliance, and he assesses Chade’s situation, finding it grim. He confers with those present to learn more details, finding Chade sealed off from the Skill much like Burrich had been. Fitz posits reasons for the action and begins to puzzle at how to address the issue. Kettricken joins the conversation, and suggests that Fitz likely knows or can most likely guess the answer. Fitz makes an initial attempt and fails, after which he and Dutiful confer.

Attempts continue into the night, and Fitz stumbles into the answer to his problem amid continued conversation with Dutiful. Finding it, he pulls Skill-strength from those in his company and works to Chade’s healing, guiding it with the expertise of long anatomical study. Chade regains consciousness and makes some complaints before lapsing into sleep, followed soon by Fitz.

Fitz wakes to Thick tending Chade, and he reports to Dutiful and Kettricken. Kettricken again urges Fitz to spend more time at Buckkeep, which he refuses, and Fitz calls back on Chade. The two converse together for a time, both of them much as they had always been together. Fatigue begins to tell on the old man, and Fitz takes his leave.

The comment from Chade at the beginning of the chapter is an interesting one. The old man is correct, of course, even if it is something of a pat statement; the more people who know a thing, the less of a secret it can be. And I am put in mind of earlier events in Fitz’s narrative, such as noted here, pointing to how much knowledge is and can be lost simply because it is never made available to someone who might keep it. But then, that’s one of the things for which fiction is good; it prompts rumination, and thinking is always a useful thing to do and have done.

Something I notice the chapter doing is musing on the approach of age. There are motions toward it in earlier chapters, of course, explicit mention of Molly passing her childbearing years (to which Fitz’s slowed aging is explicitly juxtaposed) and Patience’s own advancing age. The maturing and going-out of Molly’s younger children is also attested

The present chapter makes note of Kettricken going entirely gray, although the remark is made that it is seemingly early. Chade, on whom the present chapter focuses, had always been older in the series, having been the older brother of Fitz’s grandfather, Shrewd; there had been several comments made about his fading powers in the Tawny Man trilogy, for example. To have him fallen and be unable to rise again, however, points directly toward a commonplace of aging (LifeCall and similar products having made much of it for many years in the consumerist programming typical of the last decades of the twentieth century); even more than in previous entries in the Realm of the Elderlings novels, Chade’s situation in the present chapter comes across as something of a shock. Donne’s Holy Sonnet 6 comes to mind.

Biographical criticism is always fraught–authors can well write of things not in in their direct experience, after all–but it is irresponsible to assert that the circumstances of writers’ lives will have no impact upon the writing they do. I note that the novel is published in 2014, at which point, Hobb was in her 60s. I grew up in Kerrville, Texas, a town that boasts a large population of people at or past retirement age. My own parents, even now, are in their 60s. Experience suggests to me that no few people in that age range give no small thought to their advancing years and the decline of physical and mental capacities that often attend thereupon. I have to wonder the extent to which such was on Hobb’s mind as she composed the text, though I know it is an idle wondering; whether it was, and how much it was if it was, doesn’t much change the effect of the text on the reader or how it is achieved, and that’s really where the focus of criticism has to be.

If you like the kind of writing that I do
Fill out the form below; I’ll do some for you!

Or send your support directly to https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/ElliottRWI!

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

---

Following introductory commentary from an older scribe about the magics in use in the Six Duchies, “Spilled Blood” begins with Fitz rushing to assist Patience, whom he thinks has fallen again. He finds that it is Molly who is in need, however, and attended by both Nettle and Patience. Fitz assists Molly to their bedchambers and into bed amid her apologies, and after she lapses into sleep, he quietly retreats to his private study to contemplate matters.

Fitz is interrupted by Revel, sent by Riddle, who shakingly reports violence in the home. Fitz dispatches him to guard Molly’s room and stalks into a more public study, where he finds Revel amid signs of violence and upset. Fitz issues orders and begins a search that ends up being fruitless, and he confers with Revel again, getting more details about the messenger whose presence he has missed.

The search of Withywoods continues, Fitz communing through the Skill with Nettle as he proceeds. He confers with Riddle, who joins him in the hunt as he offers some rebuke for Fitz having long set aside his recommendations regarding security. The search takes them outside, where queries to staff yield additional details but nothing of immediate use.

Further search yields sign of further infiltration already departed, and Fitz finds himself swept up in his magics by a careless handling of a cube of memory stone that the Fool had carved for him. The experience confirms for him the fate of the messenger he has missed, and he begins to seethe in anger at the violation. But there is nothing to be done at the moment, and Winterfest continues as if nothing had been amiss, time passing ever onward.

The present chapter is still firmly in the explicatory phase of the novel, the first act in Freytag’s Pyramid familiar to many from high school English classes. To my rereading, it does more to lay out social particulars than the previous chapter–but then, it has the luxury of doing so. The first chapter has to do more to establish the broader milieu; the second chapter can be more local because the more global view already motioned towards affords it a context in which to exist. Or, again, so it seems to me; I readily admit to having preferences in my worldbuilding, as well as approaching this novel from a position of familiarity with it and with the broader literary contexts in which it exists.

(I may well be among the expected primary readership, but I do not know that I am necessarily representative of that readership. I would probably be arrogant to suggest as much, and to a degree excessive even for my often-hubristic self.)

I do, as I consider the present chapter, find myself put in mind of the beginning of the Tawny Man trilogy. Here, as there, Fitz has been living a life away from the intrigues of court, out in the country and away from many of the dangers he had previously faced. Here, as there, the habits of mind to which he was trained in his youth have fallen away, and he moves about his day-to-day existence. There is the pleasant counterpoint that his present life is one that, while perhaps not offering more ease, does offer more comfort; he is part of a community, respected and honored, and he is with the woman he has long loved.

But, here as there, there remains an undercurrent of violence in Fitz; when confronted with the threat posed by the infiltrators, although he is unable to meet it, his mind immediately returns to how to do such things. The statement being made about early training is something that can be teased out, I am sure; perhaps those more current in their scholarship than I could attend to such things.

If you’d like me to put my writing skills to work for you, reach out below!

Or send your support along at https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/ElliottRWI