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

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Unsigned comments seemingly from Fitz about Chade precede “Belief,” which begins with Brashen asking Fitz what Tintaglia wants from him amid a short break from the tasks setting out aboard the Paragon for Clerres demands of all who will sail thither. Those tasks are glossed, and the irritations felt at continued delays are rehearsed. Fitz loses his temper with the Fool.

After a couple of days, Sorcor, Wintrow, and Etta return to the Paragon, described in detail as they reluctantly allow Kennitsson to travel with the ship and Brashen and Althea’s crew. The matter is discussed, and permission for him to join the crew is given, with conditions applied. Work to ready the ship resumes in earnest, now aided by the vessel. Tintaglia arrives and summons Fitz to attend upon her. She rails against Icefyre, and she confirms that the Servants had done dragonkind some injury in the past for which vengeance must be taken–but she allows that Fitz may kill those in Clerres that he finds before hunger overtakes her and she gorges on Divvytown’s offerings.

Conversation ensues but is disrupted by the arrival of Heeby and Rapskal. Kennitsson falls under Heeby’s compulsion as Rapskal relays additional information to Fitz. Dragons’ eggs will soon hatch on Others Island and will need protecting; after that, the dragons will proceed to Clerres. The depredations of the Others and the Servants on prior generations of dragons are noted, and visits to that place recalled. Rapskal gifts Wintrow Elderling jewelry for his aid with She Who Remembers, and discussion of likely outcomes ensues.

Rapskal excuses himself, and Wintrow attends to him to defuse tempers. After their departure, Etta addresses Fitz with some concern.

The reminder in the prefatory materials that Chade was the brother of Shrewd, something noted early in the Realm of the Elderlings novels, is another one of the touches Hobb includes in the more recent works to remind readers of the narrative continuity at work. The reminder of Chade’s multiple magical talents is also a useful thing, reinforcing to readers the notion I explore in my old thesis that he is very much the Merlin to what Arthur Fitz can be considered to be. Too, I’m put just a bit in mind of Mary Stewart’s Arthurian Saga novels, which I still have on my shelf after having read them many years ago, now. I’ve not done the work to know if Hobb read Stewart (and I don’t think I’ll ever be in position to do so, things being as they are), but I’d not be surprised either way.

I suppose, in terms of narrative structures, that the present chapter is something of a climax. That is, it seems to be a turning point in the narrative, something like the first peak of a roller coaster before gravity takes over and sends the cars hurtling down the track. Matters have been set up, characters put into place, stakes established, tensions heightened, and the necessary course of events suggested sufficiently clearly that progress seems clear. (Too, it’s roughly halfway through the book; in the copy I’m rereading, the present chapter ends on page 399, while the whole novel runs to 846 pages. It’s the place to put such a thing, really.) An increase in pacing might well be expected to ensue in the next few chapters, as the narrative moves toward its resolution and denouement for the novel, its trilogy, and the main line of the Realm of the Elderlings corpus.

I look forward to rereading what’s coming. It’s been a while, certainly, and I have some need for the reminder. Too, it’s pleasant to be carried away by a story again; it used to happen for me a lot more than it does, and I miss it, anymore…

Fewer weeks remain, but there is still time to get your bespoke writing for the holidays!

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Read the previous entry in the series here.
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The chapter discusses genital mutilation and other objectionables.

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A “Report to the Four” regarding the Fool precedes “Another Ship, Another Journey.” The chapter proper begins with Bee rehearsing her situation and the changes to the same as she is forced to accompany Dwalia and Vindeliar towards Clerres aboard ship. The deception they work upon the ship’s crew is noted, as is Vindeliar’s lessening power in the wake of his being dosed with serpent saliva, and he bemoans the work he must do for her. Bee unsuccessfully resists the impulse to sympathize with her captors as she learns more of Vindeliar’s personal history, and she finds him in her mind.

Wolf-Father moves within her to defend her, presenting memories of Nighteyes’s earliest torments. It is successful, but Wolf-Father cautions Bee against allowing further intrusions. Bee takes the lesson she learns from the exchange and applies it to Vindeliar, lashing out at him through the Skill. They are interrupted from further tumult by a summons from Dwalia, which they move to answer. As they complete their assigned tasks, Vindeliar claims to Dwalia that Bee has stolen power from her, which Dwalia denies before beating Vindeliar again.

Bee realizes as Dwalia confronts her that she does, in fact, have the Skill, and she attempts to ply it against her as Dwalia makes to assail her again. At Wolf-Father’s urging, Bee feigns defeat, and Dwalia’s abusive attentions soon return to Vindeliar. Bee learns yet more of her captors and begins to slot that information together, including how Dwalia had come to know of her father and begun to move against them. She also realizes that she has made an enemy of Vindeliar, more than he already was.

I‘ll note that, as I was doing the rereading for this write-up, I got lost in doing the reading again. It’s something that happens to me fairly often when I am doing work with Hobb’s writing; I often find myself swept along by the prose, and I have done so for years. It complicated the work of writing my master’s thesis, in fact; I’d be looking through the Farseer or Tawny Man novels for quotes from which to construct my argument and realize, chapters and an hour or so later, that I’d gotten entirely sidetracked. That ease of immersion is one of the reasons I keep returning to Hobb’s writing, all these years later; it continues to draw me in. It’s nice to be so drawn; I don’t let it happen as often as I used to and as often as I probably ought to do, one of the changes in my life occasioned by my leaving academe.

I’ll also note that the explicit mention that Vindeliar is a eunuch is 1) unsurprising in the context of a society that practices eugenics (note here and elsewhere), and 2) an invocation of a standing trope of eunuchs as evil (and not seldom associated with magic powers). While there is some motion towards sympathy with Vindeliar, both within the narrative and between it and the reader, I have to wonder about the figuration at work in this case. As noted, the trope makes sense in context, and for the (dehumanizing) reasons the text has asserted directly and less so throughout discussion of Clerres. Still, I have to wonder how much, if any, is a response to Hobb’s contemporary, George RR Martin, and his use of the trope in Varys. I also have to wonder if Vindeliar is somehow being used as an inversion of Thick…something that makes more and more sense to me as I think on it again. Both might be true, of course. And it might well be true that the deployment of the trope serves other functions, perhaps helping to keep the Realm of the Elderlings connected to the Tolkienian tradition from which it has decided distinctions…among others.

More scholarly somedays await, it seems.

Scant weeks remain, but there is still time to get your bespoke writing for the holidays!

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Read the previous entry in the series here.
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An old letter from Shrewd to Desire regarding the Fool precedes “Silver Ships and Dragons,” which opens with Fitz ruminating on the comparison between meetings of his family and the assemblage of the intertwined Vestrits and rulers of the Pirate Isles. Fitz assesses and describes those present at the meeting, and conversation about events and the coming changes to the liveships ensues. The looming end of Brashen and Althea’s mercantile careers is also reported.

Conversation is interrupted by the arrival aboard the Paragon, not entirely welcome, of Paragon Kennitsson. The brash heir to the Pirate Isles is described as he arrives, and after a tense exchange, the young man is summoned by the ship to the figurehead. Althea and Brashen confer over her difficulty with Kennitsson, due to Kennit’s mistreatment of her, and the whole group moves to the prow of the ship. There, they find Kennitsson and the ship plotting for the former to sail with the latter, and Wintrow argues against it, joined by Sorcor.

Kennitsson takes his leave, and the others confer about him, noting their failures with the young man. Fitz observes and ruminates on the difficulty and undesirability of having so much companionship on his errand of destruction. Conference continues until interrupted by the arrival of Etta, herself, in a royal dudgeon. It is quickly clear that she is aware of the current situation surrounding the Paragon and her son, and she voices her displeasure with how events are unfolding. Brashen pleads for assistance in sending along what can be sent of the goods they had carried in trade to their originally intended destinations, to which Wintrow agrees, but the notion of sailing without Kennitsson provokes anger from the Paragon; the threat to Althea and Wintrow provokes the Vivacia to anger.

In the ensuing tumult, Fitz offers to find another way for he and the Fool to proceed, but he is rebuffed, the Fool citing aspects of his prognostication in support of his assertions. This occasions upset among Fitz’s party, and Fitz voices his anger, but the Fool persists nonetheless. Fitz absents himself from the ongoing discussion between the liveships, considering Silver and trying to sort out more of his understanding of the Skill. Implications of using such of the substance as he carries occur to him, although his reverie is disturbed first by Lant, then by the need for his labor, and finally a sending from Tintaglia, whose approach is imminent.

As often, I find my attention taken by the prefatory materials of the chapter. For one thing, the revelation of an aspect of Shrewd’s character is a welcome thing. When he appears directly in the Farseer novels, he is a necessarily remote figure; it makes sense that a child and youth of disfavored parentage would not be terribly close to a ruling king of a grandfather, and even in closer relationships along family lines, there is often a distance between children and adults that is not easily bridged. To get a glimpse into Shrewd, then, is informative. It is also revealing, showing how besotted the man was with Desire–and it speaks again to the delight of emblematic naming in the Realm of the Elderlings, here making the clear point that desire can overwhelm even a shrewd mind, ultimately to bad ends.

The prefatory materials also connect back to the very beginnings of the Realm of the Elderlings novels, with the Fool’s first recorded words to Shrewd being a maxim Regal complains to Verity of him repeating upon his first meeting Fitz–to paraphrase, don’t do what you can’t undo without knowing what you can’t do after doing it. There are some minor variations in phrasing between what Shrewd gives in his letter and what Regal quotes his father as saying, differences between contractions and not, so nothing that much alters the meaning of the quip…which is, itself, very much in keeping with the Fool’s prognostications and recognition of the butterfly effect in enacting and avoiding them. To my rereading, it comes off as a nice bit of binding-up, a back-threading that makes a more cohesive narrative whole, and it’s something I appreciate seeing.

On the topic of prognostication, I note the Fool’s insistence that he cannot guide Fitz, that Fitz’s foreknowledge would taint his actions and skew the Fool’s visions. Here, again, the resonance with Asimovian psychohistory comes out for me, an older correspondence. While it’s been a while since I reread the sequence of the Robot, Empire, and Foundation novels, it used to be the case that I would reread them (and The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings) annually, doing so starting at age ten or so; they’re in me pretty deeply, even now, and so they do inflect my readings of other works. That’s to be expected, however; we all exist in a multilayered environment, and any interactions with any part of that environment will necessarily be influenced by the other parts of it–including the legacies of environments that were but no longer are. That I see a thing is a result not only of something being present to be seen, but also my predilection to look for that kind of thing; that I understand a thing in a given way means not only that the thing is available for that understanding, but also that I am apt to apply such an understanding. It does not mean other things are not present and other ways cannot be followed, which is something that I think many people run into, but I am digressing more than I ought to at this point.

There will be other days.

The holidays continue to draw closer, but there is still time to get your bespoke writing!

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Read the previous entry in the series here.
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After a report from Rosemary to Dutiful, Elliania, and Kettricken that follows up on Fitz’s work in Kelsingra, “Serpent Spit” returns to Bee in her captivity. The effort of Dwalia and her followers, with Bee still captive, to depart from Sewelsby is reported, and Bee begins to be taken by her dream-visions. Vindeliar attempts to offer some comfort to Bee, and she steels herself against it as best she can.

Vindeliar continues to suffer under Dwalia’s attentions, begging for magical aid, as Bee watches and considers the straits in which she has found herself. She notices that, underneath her flaking skin, she is paler than she had been before. At length, Dwalia finds a victim upon which to focus her attentions for passage to Clerres, and she harshly pushes Vindeliar to work upon that victim. As he does, Bee becomes aware that he plies the Skill, and he pulls from her for his working. It succeeds, however, and the group finds a ship to take them onward.

Aboard, Dwalia plies Vindeliar with an intoxicating substance that amplifies his abilities. Vindeliar reaches out through the Skill to Bee, and she reaches into him in turn, learning much of his background. She begins to be moved to sympathy for him but rejects the notion as she is dragged onward.

The present chapter returns to an idea that has come up before in the series, that more successful White Prophets become less white as they increase in success. I believe I most recently address it, if perhaps only glancingly, here (and I am again confronted with my lack of proper indexing!); the idea is noted at several points in the series that, as a White Prophet moves the world closer to their vision, they darken as their skin peels away. The Fool shows it several times, and the present chapter presents the inversion. Bee cannot be considered to be advancing towards the future she envisions, or does not seem to consider herself doing so (prognostication is always a tricky thing), so she grows whiter as she goes. Again, the inversion of the usual trope is present, and, again, it makes things more interesting than a more common treatment would be apt to be. It’s one of those details I appreciate in Hobb’s writing.

I should comment, I think, that I do not think the use of tropes in themselves to be bad things. I don’t think I’m the only one who remarks that what works gets used until it doesn’t anymore, and for reason. I also don’t think I’m the only one who appreciates having the touchstones that many tropes represent; I like that there are “straight” productions of Shakespeare, for example, and that there are unironic re-presentations of standard fare. I sometimes return to such things for comfort. I also find them useful; having a baseline for comparison, however arbitrary, is necessary for much discussion, and while I can certainly acknowledge the fraughtness of asserting that any one work is the standard, I still find a measuring stick a good thing to have.

The holidays draw yet closer, and bespoke writing still makes a great gift–that I can help you get!

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

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Following an excerpt from Symphe’s papers, “The Pirate Isles” begins with Fitz mulling over his continued voyage aboard the Paragon as the liveship obliges Althea, Brashen, and the crew to proceed past their intended and agreed-upon destination towards Clerres. The ill regard in which the crew holds him and his company is noted, and the routines into which Fitz and his company settle further are described.

One evening, Fitz disguises himself in Elderling garb and reconnoiters the liveship. Unseen by the crew, he overhears Clef teaching Per, as well as Lant and Spark discussing romantic entanglements. The latter gives Fitz cause to ruminate, and he retires.

The voyage continues, and matters worsen aboard the Paragon. Fitz confers with the Fool about the matter, as well as about how he feels himself treated by the Fool as Amber. The conference leaves Fitz angry, and he walks the decks to try to ease himself. An earlier argument with the liveship is rehearsed, and Kennit’s exploits are glossed to Fitz as the Paragon enters the Pirate Isles and is spotted by one of their ships. A conference about that ship is begun among Amber, Fitz, Althea, and Brashen, and the perils that present themselves at that juncture are noted.

The liveship shudders and shifts as the other ship approaches, and Paragon determines to make for Divvytown. Matters grow tense as the other ship draws closer, and the liveship consents to follow it, finding mooring near the Vivacia. As the ship is tied off, Fitz urges Lant to take Spark and depart, but is rebuffed once again. Fitz prepares messages for Buckkeep as ship’s matters are conducted, and he is aboard as the Paragon makes to confront the Vivacia. The two liveships confer at some odds, and Fitz is nearly overwhelmed by the magical energies that flow between the craft, and he is roused by a messenger bespeaking the return of Amber, Althea, and Brashen to the Paragon. Althea and Brashen’s son joins them, and Fitz muses on the complications that surround them all.

The present chapter is one of the longer ones in the novel thus far, running to thirty pages in the printing I am re-reading. The length does allow for a fair amount of material to be presented in a way that makes sense, in context; exposition is always a challenge to address well, but using time aboard ship with little else to do to address it picks up the gauntlet with relative ease.

That noted, I do find the introduction of the romance between Lant and Spark a bit abrupt. It does seem to surprise Fitz, admittedly, so I can accept it as a thing that had been going on “off-screen,” as it were, but I think I would have liked a bit more lead-up to it, a bit more foregrounding. In a series of novels that largely predicates itself on prognostication, I don’t think that’s too much to ask. (At the same time, I note something of a back-handed joke in the relationship, a spark setting off a lant[ern]. [Yes, it’s FitzVigliant, not Lantern, but still…]) Not that I could do better, admittedly; I do not claim to be able to do so much, and I do not want to be understood as doing so. But that does not mean I cannot point out what I see–or what I would have liked to have seen, even in a series of works I have repeatedly affirmed and demonstrated that I very much enjoy and appreciate.

I’ll note that my issue with the romance is not the romance itself. It makes sense that those who are in close proximity for extended periods of time would get to know one another better the longer they are together, and it does not exceed belief that that greater knowing would lead to greater affection leading towards love. Hell, I met my wife in graduate school, and while that’s not quite as sequestered an environment as Spark and Lant have shared, being in a post-baccalaureate program together does mean you see an awful lot of a relatively restricted number of people, the more so when you share office space as my wife and I did (about which a bit here). And it’s not like amorousness is new to the Realm of the Elderlings; Fitz has had his share, as have Althea and Brashen, as well as others who figure prominently in the milieu. It’s part of life for many people (I see you, aro folks), so it should be present in the work of an author who prizes verisimilitude, even if it’s not the protagonist’s focus at any given point in that work.

The holidays draw closer, and bespoke writing still makes a great gift–that I can help you get!

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

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A brief excerpt from Bee’s dream journals precedes “Trader Akriel.” The chapter opens with Bee dickering with a merchant aboard the ship where she has been captive. Bee offers to indenture herself to the merchant, her situation rehearsed, and the merchant lays out some of her own situation before agreeing to take her on.

The agreement made, Bee assesses her situation again, and she is taken by the merchant, the Trader Akriel, to her own quarters. There, Bee is given instructions and follows them, although not entirely to Akriel’s liking, and the pair begin to settle into a routine. Bee takes the opportunity to learn about her putative owner, and Akriel tests certain of Bee’s skills in order to market her better.

At length, Akriel takes Bee ashore in the port of Sewelsby. There, as Bee notes her surroundings, she takes lodgings and goes about her business, leaving Bee to see to her comfort. Bee accomplishes this, and she makes to greet Akriel upon her return, only to find her ensorcelled by Vindeliar and preceding him, Kerf, and Dwalia. A brief fracas ensues, leaving Akriel dead and Bee recaptured.

Bee wakes to find herself chained and dragged by Dwalia and Vindeliar, who have left Kerf behind as they continue to flee. She begins to offer resistance but is dissuaded therefrom decisively, and she reluctantly accompanies Dwalia as they depart.

The present chapter recalls to me my assertions regarding Bingtown mirroring the early United States; this piece fairly encapsulates them. Akriel calls to mind figures I recall being discussed without irony, “kindly” slavers who were “nice” to the humans they held as chattel and were “dispossessed” in the wake of the Emancipation Proclamation and the 13th Amendment. From that perspective, it is a challenge to read her sympathetically, to feel even as much pity for her death as Bee reports. And for those who might contend that Bee made to indenture herself, for one, she is yet a child, and for another, she is in such exigent circumstances as do not admit of truly free choice–and I have to think there is a parallel there to the also-unironically-discussed indentured servitude of Irish populations in early US history, as well. But I’d have to do some more reading to be as certain of that as I’d like to be to discuss it at any greater length.

So much said, it remains the case that Dwalia is far worse an evil than Akriel represents, with the clear and continued implication that those she serves are yet more evil for accepting and encouraging that service in the manner of its delivery. Akriel is foul, certainly, for trading in human lives without regret, but the rapaciousness with which Dwalia proceeds, coupled with what is attested by the Fool and others about the conduct of the Servants…I suppose I also need to look further into ponerology, which though continues to provide morbid amusement for me even after Halloween has happened. And I think that the Realm of the Elderlings novels could well sustain an extended inquiry in that line; there is enough treatment of evil in a variety of forms and degrees that there would be much to say, I think, although, again, I’d need more background to address it well. Despite the regard in which I’ve been told I’m held more than once, I’m not so good at evil as to have that work ready to hand.

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Read the previous entry in the series here.
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After a somewhat extended commentary from the Servant Symphe regarding the Fool, “Paragon‘s Bargain” begins with Fitz trying to fill his days aboard the liveship with useful tasks, only to find himself wracked with regrets regarding Bee. Fitz does learn some details about the Rain Wild river and how the liveship operates upon it, and the patterns of his days aboard and of his company’s are related.

An evening comes that interrupts the regular pattern, with Brashen and Althea requiring Fitz to dine with them. They explain their concerns about the Paragon‘s behavior on the trip to him, relating some of the ship’s history and expressing unease at the increasing association between the liveship and Amber. Their talk together is interrupted by upset from the liveship, the visage of which has transformed to something more draconic. The Fool as Amber had administered Silver to the liveship, which surges with power and unrealized desires. Fitz realizes the truth of the ship’s words about its draconic nature, and he and others begin to be overwhelmed by the latent power in the dragons that make up Paragon.

A brief fracas ensues, after which conference is undertaken about events. The Fool as Amber explains the reasoning behind the events; the Paragon has been to Clerres and can return there, willingly in exchange for the opportunity to drink enough Silver to become the dragons that should have been. Brashen and Althea recognize that they will be professionally undone by such an event, contracts they had made broken by the preemption of their vessel and work, and the Fool asserts that Bee yet lives, so that the haste for Clerres becomes important. Fitz is obliged to reveal more of himself and his daughter than he would have done, to his cold anger, and he finds himself confronting the liveship again, if briefly.

Returning to his cabin, Fitz finds that the Silver he had been given remains intact, and he returns to Brashen, Althea, and Amber. More difficult discussion follows, and Fitz is convinced, at last, that his daughter yet lives.

The present chapter makes use of the deus ex machina trope, and pointedly. It’s not the first time the Realm of the Elderlings novels have engaged in it–examples present themselves here, here, and here, among others–and it’s not necessarily a bad thing that it happens, as I’ve noted elsewhere. I am somewhat struck by it in the present chapter, however, because it appears to contradict earlier in-milieu assertions, and without enough cause to excuse it. That the Silver the Fool-as-Amber administers would have powerful effects upon the Paragon is to be expected; the substance is repeatedly asserted to be singularly potent, and the wizardwood of which the liveship is made is itself more than moderately magically active. That it would have transformative effects is not beyond expectation, either; it is noted earlier in the Realm of the Elderlings works that the dragons were themselves enhanced by access to it, that enhancement doing much to explain their possessiveness regarding it.

The notion that it could restore to life creatures long dead from their reshaped and incomplete cocoons–because that is what wizardwood is, and it surpasses expectation that every scrap of both cocoons made into the Paragon is present within the vessel–is, to my reading, too much, however. I find myself wondering if the bargain that has been struck is an authorial oversight or a lie on the part of the Fool-as-Amber. In the former case, it would be an unfortunate lapse, one that diminishes the quality of otherwise excellent work. In the latter case, it would seem to be a substantial deviation of character behavior, and while that might be explicable as a result of urgency, it is still strange to consider against more than a dozen novels that don’t exactly lack for urgency in their events; it still comes off as a weak point in the writing, which is always sad to see.

I’ve spent a lot of time reading Hobb’s writing. I’ve spent a lot of money to get to do so. I point both of these out as support for the idea that I am fond of Hobb’s work; I return to it again and again for reason. I do not make comments against it because I dislike it; I make the comments that I do because, despite my overall enjoyment of and appreciation for the work, there are places where it does not do as well as others, and it would be dishonest of me to ignore them.

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This is another chapter that discusses sexual assault and torture.

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After an excerpt from Bee’s dream journals, “Full Sails” begins with a return to Bee as she remains Dwalia’s captive. She assesses her situation aboard ship and her confinement, noting overheard conversations and plotting to escape Dwalia and her company. Part of the plot involves accommodating Vindeliar, who reveals more of Clerres’s organization and beliefs. Bee almost exposes herself to his magics in a moment of inattentive compassion, but she masters herself and learns more of the limitations of his abilities.

As Bee considers further what she has learned and overhears yet more, some news of the Pirate Isles and what faces merchants traveling through them, Vindeliar makes to join her. Bee presses the man for more information, and he reluctantly admits that the Unexpected Son is a potential threat to Clerres. Vindeliar comes to believe Bee is using the information to change things unacceptably, however, and soon has Kerf restrain her, taking her below. In confinement, she challenges Dwalia again, only for Dwalia to relate what she did do the Fool and what awaits Bee in Clerres.

The ship on which Bee travels as Dwalia’s captive, beset by weather, pitches, knocking Vindeliar unconscious. Bee attempts to suborn Kerf and attacks Dwalia. Vindeliar regains consciousness, however, and resumes control of Kerf, who removes Bee from Dwalia. In the ensuing fracas, Bee escapes into the bowels of the ship.

The present chapter is helpful in laying out more of the structure of Clerres. The detail that the Servant in the north tower passes down a name is of interest–although it must be noted that the character providing the information, Vindeliar, is not wholly reliable as a narrator. The novels in which he appears make clear that his perceptions and understandings are sharply limited and curated, so it is not necessarily the case that what he says can be taken entirely at face value, even aside from Vindeliar being Bee’s direct captor, whose words should not be trusted for that reason alone.

I am reminded as I reread the chapter of the idea of the butterfly effect. It’s a common enough concept that I don’t think I need to elucidate it here, but, as I have looked back over the bits of this rereading, I find that I have not noted it earlier, and I really ought to have done so. The Fool, as memory serves, remarks at many points throughout the Realm of the Elderlings novels that small changes end up making big differences; a metaphor used at one point (where, exactly, escapes me at the moment; there are many conversations between Fitz and the Fool) is a small rock put in the path of a wheel that forces the wheel’s path to shift (with admitted unpleasantness for the rock). That is, the Fool makes much of small changes exerting ongoing effects–the butterfly effect, in brief.

There’s enough related imagery in the novels to further the reading, of course. There is, for one example, Bee’s whispered verse to Fitz in “My Own Voice” in Fool’s Assassin, and there’s Nettle’s handling of Tintaglia at the end of Golden Fool; both associate Fitz’s daughters with butterflies, their wings making storms happen far away and later on. The life-cycles of the dragons are strangely mimetic of butterflies (and, admittedly, other insects), and I recall that the Fool seems to employ such imagery from time to time. I’ll admit that I wasn’t reading for such details and that I probably ought to have been…but I doubt this is the last time I’ll work through the Realm of the Elderlings novels, so I may well return to it again.

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---

Following some commentary by a Bingtown Trader about the origins of the liveships, “The Liveship Paragon” begins with Fitz considering his own image on the figurehead of the eponymous vessel. The Fool as Amber claims to be able to explain, something about which Fitz expresses doubt before returning to his contemplation of Trehaug as he approaches it aboard Tarman. The liveship barge docks alongside what had been the Ludlucks’ ship, and Amber, the Paragon, and the ship’s crew exchange greetings.

As the Paragon makes to take Fitz and his company aboard, Fitz examines the figurehead closely, his magics taking in the liveship and his thoughts returning to his journey to the Out Islands with Thick. Perseverance finds himself rapidly integrated into the ship’s company as Fitz and his other companions are taken into conference with Brashen and Althea, with whom introductions are made. After a brief talk, in which Spark is easily accommodated, Althea is called away by ship’s business, leaving Brashen to give something of a tour of the vessel to his passengers. Fitz learns some of the crew’s background and histories, including some of the tensions ensnaring the Vestrit family, and he finds himself uncomfortably the focus of the ship’s attention.

Afterward, Fitz returns to conference with Althea and Brashen, and more of the liveship’s history is rehearsed to him. He accepts rebuke for his carelessness, and he confides in the Fool his increasing propensity towards error. The Fool offers some comfort, but Fitz continues to berate himself for his perceived follies. The Fool, however, accepts the finality of their quest together.

There is more to say about chronology in the present chapter. The Paragon asks Amber “Where have you been for the last twenty-odd years?” (214), a reasonable question that offers a useful but inexact report of the time that passed between the end of the Liveship novels and the present chapter. The question of Fitz’s age emerges again, as well (229), giving some explicitly inexact indication of how many years have passed (note this and this). There is some use in having a general sense of time, of course; there is also some use to the author in keeping things general. Fandom can be…difficult…as I’ve noted in passing. (I’m minded of Jeffrey Ford’s “The Fantasy Writer’s Assistant,” as well; it’s a good read, worth the time.) Pegging down exact dates for events in the main narrative invites readers to look for places where they do not line up, and even if verisimilitude would suggest that keeping track of specific dates is not always doable, such misalignments are hooks upon which complaints can be hung easily. Avoiding them reduces some negative commentary by denying the opportunity for it to arise.

The actions of the liveship Paragon in the present chapter also bring to mind some of the earlier work I’ve done, looking (in perhaps less detail than deserves to be done, but there’s only so much that fits into a conference paper) at sites of memory in the Elderlings corpus. I make the argument, among others, that the liveships themselves function as ongoing memorials, but in a particularly fraught fashion. The Paragon, given the circumstances of the ship’s construction and the treatment of the last Ludluck crew aboard (for information about which, see the Liveship Traders novels, my rereading of which begins here), is even more fraught than the rest of the liveships, and the fact that decades do not seem to have eased the ship’s being may have uncomfortable implications. (I had the sudden thought of comparing the liveships, generally, and the Paragon in particular, to the creature in Frankenstein. If someone’s beaten me to it, please let me know.)

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

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A lengthy passage relating one of Bee’s dreams precedes “Passage,” which begins with Bee delighting in Dwalia’s seasickness after her recapture from incarceration. Bee notes her own earlier problems, as well as her explorations of the ship on which they travel. Bee also observes closely and notes her own shifting goals.

How Dwalia’s company, more generally, fares is noted amid Bee’s gloss of shipboard life, and she notes that Vindeliar takes particular care to keep Kerf docile. Bee reaches out with her magics to see the extent of Vindeliar’s work and gently plies him for information. He surprises her with evidence of his own machinations, but he also relates information to her about his own prophetic dreaming–and others’, which notes the fulcrum for the world that is the Unexpected Son.

Vindeliar composes himself for sleep, and Bee ruminates on what she has learned. Considering it, however, leads her to a dark conclusion from which she realizes only she can extricate herself.

As I reread the present chapter, I am put strongly in mind of Magnifico Giganticus–and not the one from the television series (I don’t have that particular streaming service, thanks). I’ve made explicit reference to Asimov’s psychohistory once or twice in the course of rereading Hobb, and I continue to think that the Realm of the Elderlings novels do make some use of what might be termed psychohistorical concepts–although, as with the Tolkienian tradition, Hobb moves somewhat aside from the Asimovian while retaining enough of its features to be considered conversant with it. (I’d be interested in seeing if others have already done explicatory work in this regard; please let me know in the comments below if there’s something I need to put into the Fedwren Project about it.)

Here, the dreams of the White Prophets are…vague, probabilities only. They may or may not come to pass, coming down to inflection points that Asimov refers to as Seldon Crises and that the Prophets term…less concretely. Here, one of the perceived inflection points–the Unexpected Son–can disrupt or maintain the whole structure of future prophecy. This, to me, (partially) echoes the Mule, whose gangling and surprisingly athletic frame (a description that applies to the Fool and, to a lesser extent, Bee) conceals a powerful mind that can directly manipulate the emotions of others (which seems something that the Skill and similar powers such as Vindeliar’s can do, and Bee is Skilled).

It’s not an exact parallel, I’ll allow. The Mule is something of an anomaly; Bee and the other Whites are rare outside eugenicist programs, but they are not anomalous. They are also not sterile as the Mule purports to be. And the inflection point that Bee represents is anticipated, while the Mule is distinctly not; the Mule is an object lesson in the need to verify assumptions, while Bee is, to my reading, more. But even with the variances, there is a case to be made that Hobb does borrow from Asimov in this (as in a few other things; I’ve long commented on at least one).

(And, yes, there may be some Herbert in there, too. I’ve mentioned it before. It seems I have more and more that I can do…)

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