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After a message heralding rewards for information about Alise or Sedric and comments from Reyall to Detozi about new security measures on bird-borne messages, “Opening Negotiations” begins with Hest and his current companion, Redding, together in Cassarick, Hest musing aspersively on the available lodgings. Hest reflects on the businesses that bring him to the remote Rain Wild city and upon his own role in those dealings. He chafes at his traveling companion and rehearses the news that he has been able to glean thus far before dismissing Redding and settling in to wait for an expected meeting. As Redding pries, Hest distracts him with selected truths about his intentions and business entanglements, and he purposes to send him onward in his own place.
Something of the setting, maybe? Photo by Joshua Woroniecki on Pexels.com
Aboard the Tarman, Leftrin sights a dragon, informing him that he approaches Kelsingra. That the dragons have begun to fly pleases him, and as Reyn agitates for haste, Leftrin calms him. He is put ill at ease by signs of pursuit, however, and considers both the implications of that pursuit and the signs of dragons’ presence.
Also aboard the Tarman, Reyn and Malta confer about their son, whose progress and development are described. Reyn urges Malta to care for herself, and they talk together about the area of Kelsingra. Tillamon, emerging quietly, echoes Reyn’s suggestions to her sister-in-law and offers to watch Phron while his parents refresh themselves. The couple note Tillamon’s happiness, and she notes that it comes from her budding relationship with Hennesey, and Malta calms Reyn’s reaction to the same.
As I reread the present chapter this time around, it occurs to me that the novel is still in its expositional phase, presenting materials to help orient readers who join the Elderlings corpus at this point rather than at any previous point in it. While it is the case that such entry does not make for an ideal reading experience, it is also the case that such entries continue to happen. In my own professional life, I am asked to do write-ups of books in series when I’ve not read the previous volumes (and I remain available to do such work for you; see below). It’s sometimes a challenge to do so, of course; series are written with an eye toward readers being broadly familiar with what has happened in earlier-set volumes. But even aside from professional concerns such as mine, with clients asking for book 2 of 3 or 3 of 5, sometimes readers stumble into series later in them, finding a later volume in a second-hand bookstore and having to back-fill. It’s easier now, perhaps, than in my youth, but it still happens, and it’s still to a novel’s credit that it works to ease such readers into their narratives.
I have to note, too, the classist commentary in the final section of the chapter. Being an older brother, I can sympathize to some degree with Reyn’s protectiveness. As I write this, my brother is 35 (I’m 40), and I still feel the call to step in on his behalf. The thing is, I don’t answer it anymore; he’s a grown man, and I’ve long known it. Reyn’s not in a position not to know his sister’s an adult and capable–and he’s got more than enough to worry about with Phron. Too, Malta has things right; the focus of Tillamon’s affection is gainfully employed in a trade not likely to see decline in his lifetime, and there are far worse things than to take up with someone who works a physical job for a living.
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Following a missive with a bitter complaint from Kim in Cassarick regarding investigations from the Keepers of the Birds, “Hunters and Prey” begins with Sintara exiting the river outside Kelsingra to find Mercor awaiting her. The two dragons converse briefly before interrupted by another dragon, Baliper, and Alise as she attends to him, though she is emphatically not his keeper. Sintara considers the effects proximity to humans has had upon her with some disgust, and upset breaks out among the dragons briefly. Mercor quells it and asserts that he will mate Sintara in time, and Sintara is affected by his advances, though she does not accede to them, but flies away.
Elsewhere, Tats calls on Thymara where she, Sylve, and Jerd lodge. The lodgings are described, as are the guests who have called on the young women, and more of Rapskal’s advances towards Thymara are noted. Tats and Thymara discuss hunting assignments that Carson has made, and they head out to hunt, other keepers’ duties and the difficulties of the same noted. They talk briefly of their dragons and the mechanics of the hunt, and, after a time, they talk about their friendship and its changes. The talk does not go well, but it is interrupted by game crashing through the trees, pursued by wolves. Tats moves to investigate, Thymara trailing, and they watch as the wolves make use of terrain to complete their kills. Sintara and Fente then descend upon the wolves themselves. In the wake of the carnage, though, Tats has a revelation of a way to help the dragons yet earthbound achieve flight, and they return.
Still further away, Selden is examined and found wanting, given his described status. His prospective seller continues to praise his dragon-like form, however, even as Selden speaks in his own defense and turns such power as he possesses on his prospective buyer, Chancellor Ellik, and he soon has a new enslaver.
The appearance of wolves in the area of Kelsingra is, to my eye, an obvious nod towards the Farseer and Tawny Man novels, in which one wolf, in particular, looms large, indeed. That the wolves make use of a break in an Elderling road, well, it reminded me powerfully of this, and I continue to appreciate the work done to keep things together as parts of a consistent whole.
As I reread the chapter, too, I once again find myself reading with affect and sympathizing with the difficulty in feeling and expressing the same on the parts of Thymara and Tats. Growing up where and when I did, and among whom I did, I did not experience the degree of repression Thymara attests; although I made an ass of myself on many occasions and to a substantial collective audience, I was largely welcome from birth, and the expectation that I would wed and have at least one child was simply part of things. (I am glad to have wedded and to have my daughter, very much so on both counts.) For Thymara, though, the expectation, as has been noted in the novels (such as here), was that she would die, and even did she not, she would not wed or bear children–and that any such children would, themselves, die, given the Rain Wilds’ effect on people. Even aside from what Thymara has witnessed and been told, she has had ample reason to avoid intimacy, and given the entanglements cropping up around her assignation with Rapskal under the mutual influence of Elderling magic, I can understand her reluctance to engage any further.
As far as Selden goes…slavery of any sort is a horror, and the kind of chattel slavery for which Chalced is known in the milieu is worse. The extension of it into which Selden is being increasingly drawn is worse yet, the formal irony clear from the name of his new enslaver. For Ellik has, of course, already fed some of Selden to the Duke…and I wonder, now, if there is not some parallel to Rawbread and the Forgings at work, though I know that will take other eyes than I currently have to seek out fully.
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Following the text of a public notice from the Bird Keepers’ Guild, “Flight” begins with Heeby and Sintara circling over Kelsingra and its surroundings, along with Fente, for whom Tats is keeper. Tats confers with the dragon, who departs, and he surveys the status of the other keepers and their dragons as the latter work to gain the skies. Mercor’s efforts in that line receive attention, and Tats finds himself responding to Alise’s questions, rehearsing the confrontation that had occurred between her and Rapskal over rights to Kelsingra. The two confer about how to address the dragons as they grow stronger and more capable, and they watch as one dragon, Ranculos, falls into the river and nearly drowns. Ranculos achieves Kelsingra, however, and discussion between Tats and Alise resumes, with her encouraging him to join his comrades.
This comes up again and again… Photo by Uriel Mont on Pexels.com
As Tats heads off, Alise considers herself and her situation as the only human among the keepers-becoming-Elderlings. Outcomes available to her are rehearsed, and she makes efforts to integrate into the society just outside Kelsingra.
The equanimity with which the dragons in the present chapter face the possible death of one of their own is of some interest. Hobb has been at pains at times to present the non-humanity of the dragons in ways that echo or highlight some observable human tendencies; Beloved in the Tawny Man novels remarks to the effect that the dragons hold up a collective mirror to humanity. Alise echoes some of that sentiment in the present chapter, pointing out to Tats that the work of the dragons through the Elderlings of old is “what humans have done for generations” and positing that “Maybe humans will lose some of their pettiness if they have dragons to contend with” (19). Admittedly, there is always peril in assigning to authors beliefs voiced by their characters; it is too much to assume, for instance, that a writer believes the same thing their villains do. That said, it is often the case that protagonists give voice to things their authors would see true in the world, and more than one of Hobb’s focal characters seems to share particular opinions regarding Homo sapien hubris. Whether the opinion can be ascribed to the author remains uncertain, but given that multiple characters voice it with whom readers are encouraged to sympathize, it seems clear the opinion is not one to which the author likely objects–at least at the time of composition.
Things do change across years, after all.
The present chapter is another short one, to be sure. I expect there will be more to say about others as the text continues. I look forward to finding some of it out.
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After Reyall replies with reservation to Erek’s offer, “Ending a Life” opens with Alise waking in discomfort and surveying the total of her scholarship, “all in one stack.” She muses bitterly on her situation and the assertion by Rapskal that nothing of Elderling make ought to be in the hands of a non-Elderling, but soon rebukes herself for her angsty melancholy and is joined in that rebuke by the touch of Sintara’s mind on her own. Sintara signals some approval of Alise’s response, and Alise heads out to forage and survey her surroundings. While out, she encounters a big cat, which she frightens off. That done, she purposes to return to the keepers’ encampment with a warning about the predator, thinking she has earned a cup of tea as part of her own life.
Here, kitty, kitty, kitty… Image is Cburnett’s from the Wikimedia Commons, here, under a CC BY-SA 3.0 license, and is used for commentary with no assertion of endorsement
It is a brief chapter, the present one, and structurally simpler than many in the series, consisting of a single section focusing on a short time in one character’s life–a couple of hours, at most. In that length and simplicity, it serves to ease the reader into reading; even though the novel is but one in a series, and the last rather than the first, it is a new novel, thus a new reading experience, and so an easing-in rather than a dropping-in makes sense. (This is not to say that a novel ought not to start amid action and suddenly; many novels do so, and they do so well. But it is jarring to start such a novel, and jarring is not always the most desirable thing to do to a reader.)
The focus on Alise also calls attention to her ongoing character development. She has clearly had an existence of her own while the narrative has focused on other characters, rather than remaining a static figure against which the others can be measured. To my eye, it is another iteration of the kind of verisimilitude for which Hobb avowedly strives and which she in large measure delivers. (There are exceptions, of course, but, as the adage has it, “Even Homer nods.”) I have certainly had the experience in my life of not seeing someone for a time and being surprised at the ways in which they have changed; I do not think I am alone in it. Accordingly, it rings true for me that Alise has changed a bit since she last occupied Hobb’s pages, and I like even my fantasies to ring true.
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As was the case for the first, second, and third volumes of the Rain Wilds Chronicles, the fourth and final volume, Blood of Dragons, begins with a cast of characters. Keepers and their dragons, Bingtowners, the crew of the Tarman (including the ship’s cat), and a miscellaneous array are described, with reference to previous novels and series where appropriate.
A brief prologue, “Changes” opens with Tintaglia waking to some discomfort due to the ongoing effects of an injury incurred during an attack by Chalcedean forces. Parted from Icefyre, she realizes to her chagrin that she had been following the older dragon, and she considers the humanization of her behavior unhappily as she rehearses her purpose of reaching Malta and Reyn and the demands of travel to them. When she attempts to take off, she falters, aggravating the injury, and when she regains the air, she does so with hardened purpose.
This will not be the first time I have written about the novel, of course; I first read it soon after it was published, and I wrote about it swiftly thereafter. It has been a while, though, since I have reread the novel–not the more than ten years since the initial reading, but far longer than ought to have been the case. I am pleased to be addressing the issue now, however, not only as part of this reading series, but also because a piece of scholarship I have undertaken to do will ask me to revisit the text in some detail. (And, in support of that piece of scholarship, I think this rereading series will be useful, although I can already see places where I could wish my annotation had been better than it currently is. Perhaps some kind of reading guide can come about that will be of help to others who would focus their attentions on Hobb’s work.)
As is ever the case, I look forward to moving through the book again. I don’t have as much luxury of time to read now as I did in the past, for a number of reasons (although parenting is less of one now than previously; I am pleased to have a child who, at least for now, enjoys reading, so it’s something we can do together). Giving myself reason to read, and to read materials I enjoy, is a good thing.
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Following a message from Erek to Reyall in which the former offers the latter a reference for promotion, “Strange Bedfellows” begins with Leftrin awaiting comments from Bellin, apprehensively given the strangeness of her request for private conference. She notes that crewman Hennesey has clearly become enamored of Tillamon despite the class differences, noting the potential difficulties such infatuation poses. Leftrin muses on them, as well, and agrees to address the issue. He is less sanguine when Bellin mentions Skelly‘s infatuation with one of the keepers and the problems attendant upon the same. But after Bellin leaves to return to her duties, Leftrin goes on deck and notes the clear affection present between Hennesey and Tillamon, knowing that the relationship will have to run its course.
Something of the scene… Photo by David Riau00f1o Cortu00e9s on Pexels.com
Elsewhere, Hest’s servant wakes him aboard passenger transport he loathes, and he muses sourly about Trehaug and about his servant’s shortcomings. Sitting to a meal he views with contempt, Hest looks forward to being off ship and about the errand to which the Chalcedean assailant has put him. The thought of the assailant quails Hest, and he considers the effects of having been poisoned and humiliated, the latter of which is detailed. The tasks to which Hest is assigned are also detailed, and Hest ponders their importance. As he does so, his servant presents gossip about Tintaglia and Icefyre he has overheard, and Hest considers the implications of the same.
Aboard the Tarman, Reyn grows impatient, and Leftrin lays out the challenges facing them. He also explains the circumstances of the pursuit that dogs them, and Reyn lays out his own concerns. The two confer for a time before Leftrin espies additional pursuit, a so-called impervious ship, moving upstream with good speed. The new challenge presented by the ship is detailed, and Leftrin notes that more awaits invaders in Kelsingra than they expect.
In Chalced, the Duke of Chalced muses bitterly on the reports of failure brought before him. Ordering the deaths of families, he considers his own worsening situation, and his chancellor, Ellik, confers with him. Privately, the pair drop the pretenses of formality, and Ellik warns the Duke of the intentions Chassim, his daughter, harbors. The spread of potentially seditions materials is noted and described, and Ellik cautions the Duke not to react as he is expected to, but to award Ellik Chassim as a wife. The Duke calmly explicates the potential for treachery, with which Ellik agrees calmly, and the Duke agrees to Ellik’s terms while setting one of his own: dragon blood. Ellik notes that a prisoner is en route who will provide it; a sample of the prisoner’s flesh is given to the duke, and he eats. Eased, he reaffirms his agreement to Ellik’s terms.
The epilogue, “Homeward Bound,” turns to Icefyre and Tintaglia as they hunt. Tintaglia finds herself envious of Icefyre’s more practiced abilities, and her thoughts turn to Selden. The pair fall upon prey, which Tintaglia pursues with difficulty due to her wound. The dragons confer about the injury, and Icefyre notes a silver well in Kelsingra that might be of aid. Tintaglia determines that she will return to the Rain Wilds.
I note with some appreciation the way in which the final chapter of the novel calls back to the first chapter, and the epilogue to the front matter. It does make for a nice roundedness and boundedness to the novel, helping it to feel like a complete narrative in itself despite its clear status as one volume–and neither the first nor the last–of a series.
Less structurally, the decks of the Tarman seem awash in affection, whether of the romantic sort or the more familial. Reading affectively–because I seem always to do so, anymore–I find I do not envy Leftrin the tasks of investigating and discouraging young love that he faces. Admittedly, because Hennesey’s infatuation and Skelly’s do have the potential to affect how the crew of the Tarman operates, Leftrin has a compelling interest in at least monitoring their situations; as the captain, he is ultimately responsible for the behavior and performance of the crew. Too, as Skelly’s uncle, Leftrin has a more personal interest in her love affairs, both in the context of familial affection and in the context of Trader society, in which marriages are contracts. As to the former, the fact of the keeper’s transformation into an Elderling is a potential issue; the differences in life expectancy and, potentially, in species-specific mechanics certainly deserve consideration. As to the latter, Skelly already has some arrangements made on her behalf, which Leftrin’s own romantic interests potentially affect, and while readers might balk at the idea of arranged marriages, they are already established in context as part of “how things are done” among the Traders.
By contrast, the scene in Chalced seems calculated to highlight Chalced as stereotypically evil. There has been motion toward that point already, with the long-established history of Chalced as an enslavement-based society whose practices call to mind the worst aspects of chattel slavery in the earlier United States. In the Liveship Traders series, the rampant misogyny of Chalced is highlighted (and presented as a social contagion, not lease in the characters of Kyle Haven and Satrap Cosgo). In the current series, the willingness of Chalcedeans to harvest parts from the dragons is presented as in keeping with prevailing expectations of their nation and its people; there’s something of the “of course Chalced does that stuff” present in discussions of them. The assaults on Hest, the brutalization of Selden, and the willingness to outright slaughter Malta and Phron for parts, extend it further, making Chalced depraved in a way that goes beyond the kind of propaganda that might be expected of a people about their antagonistic neighbors.
Obviously.
The death-men, however, and the Duke of Chalced’s own (relatively) easy cannibalism cement Chalced as evil in an almost cartoonish way. (Not for nothing do I use the gif from Jackson’s movies above; I have to wonder if there’s not some more or less direct influence there.) It comes off as calculated to present Chalced as irredeemably evil, almost inherently so, and while Hobb has done some of that kind of thing before (I am put in mind of Regal again), she usually embeds at least a Freudian excuse into her protagonists. Not so with Chalced, not anymore. And I find myself wondering how such a society could remain in place as a persistent antagonist for both the Traders and the Six Duchies for so long–although I note something of the common conceptions of Sparta at work in the depiction of Chalced; pervasive militarization would have such an effect, and the yoking of such to depravity could easily be read as a comment on what has become called toxic masculinity…ah, to have time to write papers (and to do the reading for that kind of writing)!
One other thing attracts my attention as I conclude discussion of this novel in this series: the seditious materials Chassim is spreading. I note with glee that the motion towards overthrow of tyranny is undertaken in illuminated verse. It is not to be wondered at that an author would valorize writing, as I have noted, but it remains a delight to see done again, all the same.
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After good news makes its way from Detozi to Reyall, “Shopping” begins with Hest confronting his father, the Trader Finbok. Hest recalls the attack he suffered as his father rebukes and upbraids him for his sloppiness with Alise, bidding him retrieve his wife as a means of securing Elderling goods from far up the Rain Wild river. The Trader Finbok relates information he has come to possess about the Tarman and the keepers’ expedition, and Hest is surprised to be presented with a line of thought he had not considered. He maneuvers his father somewhat, and the Trader Finbok explicates the situation with the keepers and the Councils in Trehaug and Cassarick in more detail, laying out what would be the advantageous position for the Finboks to take. Hest considers messages he, himself, had sent, following the implications thereof, and his father directs him to book passage.
Healthful and restorative… Photo by Julia Sakelli on Pexels.com
The argument the directive would provoke is forestalled by the entrance of Hest’s mother, Sealia, who is described in detail as she takes Hest in hand, to his father’s annoyance. Hest turns over the implications of his mother’s interference in his mind and sides, surprisingly, with his father. Sealia bustles off to make arrangements, and Hest receives further instructions from his father before heading out with his mother on her intended shopping trip.
Their progress to and through the main market in Bingtown is detailed, and Hest muses on his situation as they proceed. His reverie is interrupted by the sight of his assailant, and he urges his mother onto a different route than she had intended. Thinking himself safe, Hest presses his mother to return home, and he calls for tea upon arrival. When it is delivered, Hest finds himself poisoned, his assailant reminding him of his demands and the price for failing to meet them.
I have been accused, on no few occasions and not without substantial merit, of having a lascivious sense of humor. Put more plainly, I like dirty jokes, and I make them (too?) often, so much so that there are online communities in which pointing out or making innuendo is taken as typifying me. Consequently, when Hest makes a crude joke about his and his father’s genital endowments, it attracted my attention. Frankly, it’s a kind of joke I would make–and a kind of joke I have made, more than once. It does seem out of place, admittedly, both in-milieu (it’s not the sort of thing usually associated with the Bingtown Traders as previously depicted in the novels, nor with prevailing depictions of the genteel merchant princes of the early America I still maintain Bingtown evokes and echoes) and in a readerly sense; only one other overt example comes to mind for me at the moment, and it is also marked in the text as being unusual. Again, I don’t mind the joke, but it stands out, and, given the broader context of Hobb’s work, I think it has to serve to reinforce that readers should not like Hest–and that his father’s not a whole lot better, if he is at all.
I note also another bit of humor, subtler and far more pointed, at work in the present chapter. Readers of the Realm of the Elderlings novels will doubtlessly be familiar with a pair of assassins north of Bingtown, Skilled servants of the Six Duchies, Chade Fallstar and FitzChivalry Farseer. While the novels do not shy away from the nature of their work for their kingdom, they also go to great lengths to humanize the pair of them and to make them sympathetic, something aided, certainly, by positioning Fitz as the narrator in more cases than not. The assassin and enforcer that has been assigned to handle Hest is not nearly so kindly portrayed, which comes across to me as a particularly morbid bit of humor. Hest, being more of a stereotype than many other characters in the Realm of the Elderlings novels, gets a more stereotypical treatment than most do, as well. Admittedly, the humor’s less funny than it is sardonic, and there are problems with the use of stereotypes, generally, but that both are true does not mean the humor is not present in the text, the sardonic no less than the vulgar.
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Following a report from Detozi to Reyall about the status of messenger birds in Trehaug that also mentions the Tarman, “Second Thoughts” begins with Thymara waking after her assignation with Rapskal and chastising herself for the indiscretion before surveying her surroundings and gathering supplies. Both she and Rapskal clothe themselves in Elderling robes they find nearby, and they head back out into the city to scout more of Kelsingra. They prepare things for the group on the other side of the river, as well, and Rapskal comments easily about Heeby in ways that leave Thymara stinging at her lack of connection to Sintara. After they find some food, they confer about their assignation, Rapskal affirming affection for the questioning Thymara.
Image from Viridia Lizard’s Tumblr, here, used for commentary
Aboard the Tarman, Reyn and Malta confer about their situation as the liveship is readied for the return to Kelsingra. The condition of their son receives attention, as well, and the pair decide on a name for him: Ephron “Phron” Bendir Khuprus. Malta’s thoughts turn to her absent younger brother, Selden.
Selden wakes in poor condition in captivity, surveyed by his captors and pleading for hot food and drink and a blanket. He confers with a ship’s boy and learns he is aboard the Windgirl, bound for the capital of Chalced, there to be delivered to his enslaver. Selden recalls, in broad terms, his progress into captivity, and he is denied his requests. The ship’s boy leaves him to ruminate bitterly.
Leftrin frets at the delays in getting back underway to Kelsingra. Although Khuprus financial backing is helping him resupply, he is also paying premiums for the speed at which he is acquiring materials, and he is drawing ire from customers whose purchases are being subordinated to his. Crew and family difficulties assemble, legal entanglements threaten, and Leftrin issues orders to accelerate departure. A Council delegation makes to confront Leftrin, and, after some dickering, the Tarman shoves off, evading pursuit at the risk of revealing the clandestine modifications made. As they depart, Malta, Reyn, and Tillamon confer.
In Kelsingra, Thymara and Rapskal rejoin their companions, who watch as they return, Tats jealous and the dragons conferring. Questions are posed and reports made, and Alise chafes at the despoiling done, citing the mercantilism of Bingtown. Rapskal gives answer, suddenly eloquent on the topic, and Tats recognizes that Rapskal has positioned himself as a leader in their company, and it eats at him. His dragon eases him, and Mercor takes overall command of the situation, bidding all focus on helping the remaining grounded dragons to fly.
There is a lot going on in the present chapter–sensibly, since the end of the book approaches and things must be made ready for the subsequent volume. It’s something I recall noting before (although whether it is in this webspace or not, I do not recall), a tendency to rush towards the end, and I tend not to like it as a reader. Somehow, it seems to me to be…off. But, as I also recall I’ve said before, it’s not like I can do any better. Too, I’m sure that it works quite well for some people. That much said, I think I’m allowed to express personal preferences (and it can’t be too far outside them; I am still reading the book, more than a decade later).
Of some small interest is the way in which Selden’s present and his brother Wintrow’s past align. Both have been subjected to enslavement on the Chalcedean model (Selden at present, Wintrow here), and it seems that both have lost parts themselves (Selden here, Wintrow here). Markings and maimings differ, of course, but the fact of the parallel is somewhat striking. Wintrow’s ordeals emerge from the actions of Kyle Haven and his crew, as has been noted, but Selden’s do not seem to have quite such a source, at least not that springs to mind. Perhaps it can be read as a longer-ranging unintended consequence of Kyle’s perfidies.
Also of interest is how Leftrin acts in the chapter. I have opined at great length about the Traders’ society echoing the early United States; reading the text with that in mind, Leftrin’s actions call up, for me, memories of having read Louis L’Amour’s Sackett novels in my teenage years. (I grew up in central Texas; Westerns are a thing.) They seem entirely consonant with the kind of ethos that often gets espoused, in those books as elsewhere, and not only where I grew up; the law is useful to an extent, but sometimes right requires moving outside it–and even more so does need.
I wonder, as I write this, how far that parallel might be taken. I know there are resonances between typical Westerns and the kind of materials from which much mainstream US fantasy literature borrows, of course, and there is certainly more to be done to bear out that kind of connection. The extent to which fantasy literature borrows from Westerns, though, is something I’ve only done a small amount to investigate. (I’m also not the only one, as might well be imagined.) Efforts of which I’m aware have focused otherwise than on the Realm of the Elderlings novels, but if it is the case that the Traders are echoes of US settlers / colonists, then it follows that the milieu in which they operate can be read with an eye towards such a refiguring no less than a mainstream fantasy novel working an amorphously “medieval” milieu can be read with reference to earlier renditions of medievalism (e.g., reading A Song of Ice and Fire to see how it mis/uses tropes from, say, Lord of the Rings). So perhaps there’s another line of inquiry that someone with more time and energy to devote to the life of the mind can follow.
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Following a clandestine message from Kim to Trader Finbok, Hest’s father, “Illumination” begins with Carson rousing with some annoyance as Tats calls on him and Sedric in the night. Tats reports the absence of Thymara and Rapskal, noting his suspicion that they and their dragons are on the other side of the river, in Kelsingra. Carson reports observations that support that suspicion, and Tats confides his jealousy of Rapskal in the older man, encountering a bit of gentle teasing from Carson and receiving a bit of solid avuncular advice. The conversation is interrupted by the clear awakening of Kelsingra, shining light into the darkness and rumbling into the night.
Something like this, perhaps? Photo by William Oris on Pexels.com
Alise is awakened by the commotion. She rushes out to see what has transpired and guesses that Rapskal is at the heart of it. Her scholar’s mind asserts itself, and she begins trying to fix features in memory.
Aboard the Tarman, Leftrin confers with his crew about how to address the issues with which Reyn, Malta, and their child present him. The Chalcedean entanglements attendant upon assisting the Khuprus family receive attention, and Reyn relates what he knows and guesses about the genesis of Elderlings. Reyn pleads to depart, and Leftrin agrees in principle but notes the exigencies faced by the group in Kelsingra. Reyn offers the Khuprus coffers to outfit the Tarman and resupply the expedition. Leftrin agrees to take the Khupruses to Kelsingra pending the resupply, and Reyn suggests employing Althea and Brashen to assist. The idea is commended by Tillamon, whose presence had been unmarked. She rails at the treatment she suffers for being marked by the Rain Wilds as she is, and she purposes to emigrate to Kelsingra, herself. Leftrin gives orders and retires.
Alise wakes in the morning and pines for Leftrin as she attends to beginning the business of the day. After eating breakfast, she heads out and surveys her surroundings, musing on the course of action she will take. Her reverie is broken by the overflight of a dragon–Sintara, who delights in Alise’s appreciation.
A few things attract my attention in the present chapter. One of them is the parallel for race relations that emerges in Tillamon’s monologue aboard the Tarman. The discrimination–not legal, but not less present for not being formalized–she describes seems to me to be somewhat reminiscent of how earlier populations in the United States have been and still are treated. Indigenous peoples and people of Spanish colonial descent (a phrase I acknowledge is somewhat awkward but which has the benefit of being descriptive) predate Anglophone settlers and their descendants in the United States by millennia and centuries, something openly acknowledged, and they still suffer discrimination (that unfortunately often takes the form of physical violence tacitly condoned if not outright sanctioned by state actors) from the more junior populations. And that parallel is in addition to others already pointed out, which, while frustrating some one-to-one correspondences still highlights the ubiquity of the execrable phenomenon.
A couple of others have to do with names. I’ve noted Hobb’s use of emblematic names before, principally among the social elite of the Six Duchies (representative examples here and here), but also among the Traders (representative examples here and here). It strikes me, then, that Hobb seems to favor starting women protagonists’ names with A (Althea, Amber, and Alise come to mind, though only two are noted in the present chapter); what emblematic function is served here? It also strikes me as somewhat interesting that Leftrin seems to put so much stock as he does in Hennessey, whose name suggests a liquor associated with ostentatious consumption in popular culture contemporary to the publication of City of Dragons. Sailors are stereotypically associated with heavy drink, of course, and various forms of brandy not occasionally. Still, it seems a pointed choice of name, the kind of thing that scans to my eye as a quiet joke. (Oh, to have the time to sit and explicate such things again, as I usedto do!)
I look forward to a time in which I have the time to sit and focus on such things more than I do or did. It is perhaps one with my failure to be a “real” academic that I did not do enough to look at and examine such little bits of text and other media, finding the nuggets of joy in them; it is a regret I yet carry, one of many such–not that I did, but that I did not do enough. Things might have been different, else.
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Read the previous entry in the series here. Read the next entry in the series here.
A boat-borne message from Reyall to Detozi and Erek discussing the state of messenger birds among the Traders precedes “Flight,” which opens with Sintara still exulting in having flown and killed from the wing. She takes to the skies again, though she feels a pang of panic, from which she has to work to untangle herself. She soon begins to be aware of the strain on her body of flight and makes to land in Kelsingra, but errant winds push her astray, and she lands in the river to be caught by the currents. She feels Thymara cry out, disdaining it and flattered by it at once, and she struggles to shore in the ancient city, if with some injury.
In Cassarick, Malta carries her child through the storm, reeling from her exertions, and she strives to head downward towards the Tarman. With difficulty, she reaches the foundations of the city, and she achieves the liveship at last. Welcomed by the ship, Malta and her child are taken in by the crew.
Thymara speeds through the streets of Kelsingra, answering to Sintara’s distress and feeling the pull of the memories in the worked stones around her. Reaching the dragon, Thymara is cheered by the report of Sintara’s success, even as she is stricken by her physical condition, and the two make for a shelter that will admit the dragon. Ancestral memories guide the pair along, and Sintara’s presence among the buildings wakens the lingering magic within them in light and warmth, in which Sintara immerses herself with pleasure and Thymara with awe. After a time, Thymara is surprised to be joined by Heeby and Rapskal, and Rapskal notes the changes and strengthening that have come upon both dragon and keeper. He also resumes his pursuit of Thymara, to her annoyance, and she explores more of the city. Rapskal joins her, and, amid their explorations, they fall into an assignation.
Reyn, having been advised of Malta’s presence on the liveship, reaches and boards the Tarman, where Malta relates events to him and notes that their child lives, though he is in dire straits. As Reyn and Malta return to their child, she notes that the liveship is keeping him alive. Leftrin joins them then and demands a report, which begins to be offered by his crew, and Reyn listens greedily to his wife’s words.
The fact that Sintara experiences panic upon crossing a river, even while a-wing, marks an interesting insight into dragon psychology; evidently, Hobb’s dragons can experience PTSD. That a trauma could befall such a creature perhaps strains credulity, except that it seems to have been occasioned by a flood when Sintara and the other dragons could not save themselves as they “ought” to have been able to do. Having experienced flash flooding, albeit not of acidic waters (even if they were somewhat septic, drainage systems being what they are), I well understand the power of such phenomena, and having had my own bit of fun at a place the crossing of which still tightens my chest just a little, I’m strangely sympathetic to Sintara. My affective reading catches me out again.
Too, I find myself sympathizing, affectively, with Malta and Reyn, as well. Again, it’s an issue of experience. My daughter is no Elderling, though I think her marvelous and special, indeed. But she was born before she “ought” to have been, and so she spent some time being assisted in her breathing by outside devices. She’s fine, now, and more than fine (about which I will write soon, I think), but I have felt helpless to give my girl what she needed (as I expect I will again, being who I am), and so I find myself feeling, once again, for fictional characters, despite hearing echoes of others’ words that I am a damned fool (and I onliy paraphrase slightly) for doing so.
One more issue: “ought.” I’ve used it twice in my discussion, both in the context of normalizing things. It’s probably not an ideal use; in the case of the dragons, it could well be read as ableist (insofar as dragons, wholly fictional, can be said to fall under such rubrics), while in the case of my daughter, things seem to have worked out well enough that would “ought” to have been is, in fact, what happened (be it luck or wyrd or some providential hand or whatever). I don’t have a better word ready to hand, which is my problem, but I’m supposed to be trained in and attentive enough to the use of language that I ought–note the lack of quotes on this one–to have a better handle on the words I use and their impact upon others.
So much said, the “ought” with the dragons, no less than the treatment of Thick early on, speaks to a need for disability-studies reading of the Realm of the Elderlings corpus. As I’ve noted before, none of us can do all of the reading that needs to be done, and it may be the case that there has been some treatment of the body of work in the light of disability studies; I’ve not attended to the Fedwren Project in far too long, so there’s doubtlessly stuff of which I’m unaware waiting for me to uncover. (If you know of any, please let me know.)
Ah, to have the time to explore in such ways again!
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Elliott RWI 