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The following chapter, “Satrap Cosgo,” begins with the titular monarch whining at the Companion Serilla, who does not accept the pleading well. She rebuffs his bumbling advances and rebukes him; her doing so has the effect of altering his behavior in the moment, and she briefs him on her understanding of relations with Bingtown. His conduct has worsened them, and he offers to put a Chalcedean in charge of the territory. Serilla expresses revulsion at the idea, pleading her case to handle matters in a way that might well work.

Cosgo is unmoved by her arguments, however, and Serilla reflects on her experience with the present Satrap. She also reflects on the just and now subverted role of the Companions, and she is surprised when Cosgo purposes to take her to Bingtown–rather than sending her, as she had proposed–and to Chalced afterward.

I have elsewhere discussed the worship of Sa and its focus on the sacral monarch, the Satrap. The initial appearance of that monarch in the present chapter is far from impressive (although it does correspond to some presentations of similar figures in history; Julius Excluded from Heaven comes to mind as one such presentation, and Popes Benedict IX, John XII, and Stephen VI offer other examples). There is some small mitigation in the institution of the Companions–Jamaillian Satraps are not expected to be celibate, evidently–but a markedly power-unequal polygyny is not exactly poised to read as “moral” and “upright” to Hobb’s presumed audiences, nor yet is a dissolute ruler. (Indeed, Cosgo seems somewhat in the model of Regal, and I am certain something could be made of the connection.)

And it is certain that the power-relationship between the Satrap and his Heart Companions is markedly unequal. Aside from civic control, the incumbent Satrap has arrangements with a foreign power that has a demonstrated disdain for human life; the Liveship Traders novels reinforce the assertions in the Farseer books that Chalced makes use of and relies upon slave labor, and the rampant misogyny of the region has also received overt and oblique comment–such as that which concludes the chapter. It is not a good place, a clear (and, surprisingly in Hobb, not-nuanced) evil. Taking a subordinate there and noting “There is much you can learn” to that subordinate is a threat, and threats do not make for equal relationships.

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The next chapter, “The Liveship Ophelia,” opens with Althea coming off watch to confer with the figurehead of the titular ship. The latter chides Althea for longing after things that cannot be corrected and presses her about Grag Tenira, for whom she is standing in as mate. The ship also teases Althea about Brashen, and Althea excuses herself to call on Grag. When she does, she is reminded of her father, painfully, and the two confer about Althea’s situation with the Vivacia.

Grag also notes some of Brashen’s history, being old enough to remember more of it than Althea does. His reports of Brashen’s earlier dissolution leave Althea pondering, and Grag comments that her behavior is atypical of the women of her status in Bingtown anymore. Their talk turns toward his attraction to and appreciation for her, although he maintains a level head as they talk. Althea recognizes that, while she likes the man, she would not marry him.

Their discussion is interrupted by a summons to the deck. Chalcedean mercenaries are demanding to be allowed to board the Ophelia to inspect her; the captain refuses. The galley begins boarding action, and the liveship herself responds decisively; her crew scrambles to defend her, as well, but there is little need. Though she sustains injury, she inflicts far more on the mercenary galley as she makes her escape.

A couple of interesting points occur as I reread the chapter. One is the narrative turn at work; the escalation between the Ophelia and the Chalcedeans who are supposedly in the employ of the Satrap to which Bingtown owes at least nominal loyalty signals a sharp increase of antagonism in the colonial relationship at work between the Traders and Jamaillia. It would seem to mark the rising action on Freytag’s Pyramid, at least for one of the narrative threads at work in the series; there are more, of course.

Another point returns to the feminist critique that can be seen at work in the series. Much is made in the present chapter of the divergence between former and current expectations of Bingtown femininity, with the current the clearly inferior. And it is not only on the part of Althea, either; Grag expresses dissatisfaction with the current gender roles, although he still frames his perspective in the sense of the traditional gender roles presumed to be at work among the readership. While he clearly does not devalue the typically feminine sphere as so often happens, he still clearly regards it as a separate space–and seems to expect that Althea would conform to it, despite her earlier assertion of her sailcraft instead of her domesticity. So that remains an issue…

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The chapter that follows, “Bonds,” opens with Wintrow approaching Kennit’s chosen commander of the Vivacia, one Brig. Wintrow asks Brig for information and assistance; it is forthcoming until the Vivacia comes under pursuit from Chalcedean mercenaries in the Satrap’s employ. The liveship and the Marietta, following, evade pursuit, after which Kennit summons Wintrow to his cabin. The pirate captain is in poor shape, wracked by pain. Wintrow tries to calm him, and Kennit demands that the amputation be performed post-haste. Wintrow agrees, and Etta offers her assistance.

Elsewhere, Brashen confers with his own captain, Finney, as the two share drinks and cindin. Finney speaks of clandestine deals, which Brashen takes to mean piracy until Finney purposes to use Brashen as a contact in Bingtown, thereby to get more money for them. Brashen tables the idea, citing his bad relations with family in the town, but he does not refuse it.

Aboard the Vivacia, Wintrow prepares to perform the amputation. Supplies are lacking, but Wintrow draws strength from the ship and takes stock of the situation as Sa’Adar looks on. Etta persuades the priest to summon the medical supplies, and they are forthcoming, although her methods breed enmity with the priest. When Wintrow is able to proceed, communion with the ship and with the pirate almost overwhelm him, but with the help of the ship, he is able to complete the procedure.

After, when Kennit has been returned to his cabin, he returns to the figurehead to confer with the Vivacia. The ship remarks that the nearby serpent that has eaten the amputated flesh feels somehow like family. She also notes that Kennit and she are forming a bond, through which the pirate is able to sense Wintrow’s doubt, to their peril. Wintrow tries to redirect his thoughts, but Kennit stops breathing, even so.

I confess to being uncertain why the interlude with Brashen appears where it does. I know that, in one sense, the placement is meant to convey the idea of contemporaneity; it is happening at the same time that Wintrow is preparing to amputate more of Kennit’s leg. But it need not be, and the brief passage intruding seems to me to disrupt the flow of the narrative at that point. Nor is it strictly necessary to present it there to cover “idle” time while Wintrow fares poorly at finding materials; there are other breaks in the chapter, sub-sections denoted by an extra space and more capitalization. (Paratext has meaning, too, as I told students repeatedly when I had them.) The information in the passage–Finney is a cheat, Brashen would like to be able to have some standards still–is useful for the plot, yes, but the placement and the pacing…I am not certain. But that’s just me, and it’s not like it puts me off the novel…

Trick or treat?

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The following chapter, “The Crowned Rooster,” opens with Jani Khuprus making her way through tunnels to her son, Reyn. He waxes poetic on the beauty that must have suffused them in days gone by, and the two fall into an old argument about the rule from Jamaillia. Jani tries to shake him from a partial reverie as he hints at a life within the wizardwood log in the chamber where they stand.

Their discussion continues, revealing that it is the casing of a dragon, kept away from sunlight and possibly dead–but maybe not, maybe waiting to be freed, and possibly not happily when and if it is released. All of the wizardwood that has been found and sold has been such, the pupal dragons contained within dumped out unceremoniously as their chrysalides were harvested as lumber to be sold away.

Their talk turns thence to Reyn’s intended courtship of Malta. He seems set on marrying the young Vestrit, although Jani does not think it will go so smoothly as he does. Still, the family seems well disposed to his efforts in that line.

Another expository chapter, the present section takes readers away from the Vestrits, although not quite as far as might be thought; the Rain Wild Traders and the Bingtown Traders hold themselves akin, and Reyn purposes to wed Malta. The chapter also reminds readers of the colonialist discourse at work in the series; Bingtown and the Rain Wilds are colonies of Jamaillia, and the latter, particularly, serves to exploit natural resources on the periphery for the benefit of the core–which does not always recall the agreements under which it receives those benefits.

Prior to the present chapter, the exploitation was of natural resources only. What the present chapter introduces to the discussion is that the exploitation comes at the cost of other intelligent life. Although that particular issue is kept from the world at large, the Rain Wild Traders are all aware that their wealth is had only because they have desecrated the graves of thinking beings–and, Reyn argues, not necessarily only their graves. Pulling unclaimed resources is one thing; despoiling tombs is another; killing what amounts to teenagers–pupal states being roughly analogous to adolescence–is something altogether different and far more reprehensible.

The relatively sudden twist serves to nuance the entire setting further than it already had been by the involvement in the slave trade. More than before, it is clear there are no “good guys” in the work, although the Vestrits seem to remain the primary protagonists.

Your kind support continues to be greatly appreciated.

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The next chapter, “The Pirate’s Leg,” begins with Wintrow conversing with the Vivacia about the need to amputate Kennit’s leg again, as well as his apprehensions about the same. Their discussion is uneasy; Wintrow knows he faces the possibility of his death and his father’s, and the ship faces uncertainty in the lack of her blood kin.

Wintrow muses on his situation further. The tumult that the ship still feels hinders his ability to center himself. The micro-political tensions between Kennit and his crew and Sa’Adar and the freed slaves grates upon him. The deaths of the Vivacia‘s former crew weigh upon him. The burden of caring for his father tells upon him. Thinking through it leads him to places that are strange to him.

The Vivacia herself considers her situation, as well. Owing to her nature, she is preternatually aware of the goings-on aboard her. She makes contact with Kennit’s wizardwood charm, the experience confusing and frightening her.

Kennit struggles to consciousness through fever and sends Etta to fetch Wintrow. In her absence, the charm torments him; it leaves off when she returns with Wintrow. Nervously, the would-be priest examines Kennit’s leg, searching out how much more of the limb will have to be removed to save the rest of the pirate’s body. Wintrow arrives, with some trepidation, at a plan of treatment, to which Kennit agrees.

The chapter serves largely as exposition, laying out current states of affairs and reminding readers who might be new to the series with the present novel or who might have been away from the reading for a while of how things stand aboard the Vivacia. It also appears to foreshadow conflict between Sa’Adar and Kennit, setting up a confrontation to follow the promised amputation.

About that: Hobb is on record as favoring verisimilitude in her writing, remarking that “I think the best way to convince a reader that I know what I’m talking about when I recount the habits of dragons is to know what I’m talking about when I recount the details of raising chickens or putting a roof on a house.” As such, the eliding of many details about the surgery comes off as a way to cover gaps in her knowledge–gaps which are not themselves problematic, of course, as someone not a physician need not be expected to know how to take a leg off with some measure of safety. And it is handled well, covered by Kennit’s musings; I know that I have wandered into my own thoughts even at times when vitally important information is being relayed, so I can easily imagine characters who have already been humanized and shown to be flawed doing so, as well.

It’s almost Halloween; help me treat my daughter?

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There is discussion of suicide in what follows.

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The first chapter, “The Mad Ship,” begins with the titular ship, the Paragon, sitting sullenly on the beach where he has been left over the past decades, trying to stonewall Amber as she cooks and tries to converse with him. She pleads with him for help, relating her endeavors to save him and the stern response she got from his owner, Amis Ludluck. Amber also notes that the Ludlucks appear to be ready to have the ship towed away and dismantled.

The Paragon‘s resolve breaks at the comments, and he finds himself asking Amber if she will visit him when he is taken away. He then asks her to help him die in flame rather than face a dismemberment that may well leave him alive, voicing suicidal ideation that shocks Amber. She asks him what the likely plan to take him would be, and he answers. Both of them pine for friends not present, and the ship seems to prepare for an imminent end.

The Ludluck name is repeated in the chapter–it has occurred before, but it seems to be something of a focus in the present selection. Knowing that Hobb has a penchant for emblematic names in the Liveship Traders novels (as witness here, here, and here, among others that can be found), it seems fit to look for something in a repeated name. The “luck” part of “Ludluck” is clear enough; the “lud” part, however, bears a bit of inquiry. Collins reports it as being either an informal rendering of “lord” in judicial proceedings or, previously, “an exclamation of dismay or surprise.” Taken together, the components render the family name as “bad fortune” or “unexpected fortune.”

The former seems to be the more pertinent in the present chapter. There is much about which to feel dismay for Amber and for the Paragon, knowing that an unpleasant end may well be coming at the hands of those who should protect the ship, and considering whether being hacked apart or burned away is better is hardly the happiest discussion.

That discussion does point towards something worth considering, both in the present work and in the genre more generally: logical conclusions. The differences between the narrative milieu and the readerly have their immediate, observed effects, to be certain–but there would necessarily be other effects that are not necessarily evident. How magic might shape social structures differently than they appear in the “real” world is one example of them. Another, touched on by the discussion between woodcarver and ship, is the different effects of violence on different types of thinking things. The preceding novel makes clear that a liveship absorbs the emotions and thoughts of its surroundings (something treated also in Fitz, here and here), and the present discussion suggests that there are yet darker things involved in the lives of the liveships.

It is something to watch for as the novels continue.

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The prologue of the novel, “A Recollection of Wings,” opens not long after the end of Ship of Magic. Several serpents–Maulkin, Shreever, Sessurea, and others–linger near “the silvery provider.” Shreever considers their situation; Maulkin muses aloud over his uncertainty. A fight over food ensues, and Mauklin realizes that the other serpents have forgotten themselves and their intelligence, despairing that they will succeed in their quest. He, Shreever, and Sessurea share memories of a different life, and they recommit to moving forward as more food presents itself.

Brief as the prologue is–only some six pages in the edition I’m using to do the reread–it serves two useful purposes. For one, it re-grounds readers in the narrative milieu, serving as a powerful reminder that there is a non-human intelligence very much at work in the story. For another, proceeding as swiftly from and in the same kind as the end of Ship of Magic as it does, it reinforces the continuity between the two novels. While marketing alone makes clear that Mad Ship is the direct sequel to Ship of Magic, and while trilogy setups tend to promote the notion that stories continue through them, having so smooth a transition between novels is rare and serves almost to make the two books one in multiple volumes rather than separate works.

As the novel gets more fully underway, moving into chapters from the prefatory material, I expect I will have more to say. For now, though I am once again delighted to be pressing ahead with this project, and I hope you, dear reader, will continue along with me.

I’d love to have your help to help me keep this going!

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The brief final chapter of the novel, “She Who Remembers,” opens with the serpent Maulkin expressing confusion at the seeming-but-not-actual serpent he had scented and followed. Conferring with other serpents, he notes their previous cyclical existence and their slow degradation. They determine to find and follow the titular She Who Remembers before they become nothing more than beasts, themselves.

The chapter functions as something of an epilogue, pointing forward more emphatically than the previous chapter (which makes clear that how Kennit works on Wintrow and the Vivacia will be a focus) by giving an explicit indication of what is to come. Too, it serves as a reminder that the world in which Hobb writes is not only a human one; there are other forces, other thinking creatures at work in it. (Some will contend that the same is true in the world Hobb inhabits, but that discussion is outside the scope of what I can even pretend to be qualified or competent to address.)

Ship of Magic is one of the few Elderlings novels I do not have in hardcover. The next volume in the series, Mad Ship, is not one, although I will be reading from my paperback copy to continue this reread; it travels easier than the hardback I was fortunate to be able to find. And I might discuss the differences, for me, in reading each. Maybe. Another time.

Care to help with celebrating Leifr Eiriksonns Dagr and Indigenous Peoples’ Day?

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The next chapter, Restorations,” begins aboard the liveship Ophelia, with Grag Tenira rousing Althea, still in disguise as Athel, with a summons from the captain, his father. She fears she has been uncovered, but she reports as ordered. The captain confronts her about her true identity, and, after she admits to her ruse, he orders her put ashore–so that he and his crew can take her aboard formally and properly, under her own name. She will also have the opportunity to act as the ship’s mate, as Grag will feign illness to allow it to her.

As the principals involved agree and make arrangements, the senior Tenira notes the increasing political tensions in Bingtown. Grag sees her off, and they make arrangements to meet the next day, both recalling earlier, happy encounters previously.

Elsewhere, aboard the Springeve, Brashen has an encounter with one of the sailors under his command. The sailor, one Tarlock, voices recognizing Brashen from earlier voyages. Brashen reviews his situation and present condition, including some unsavory dealings with pirates in trade, and attempts to steer conversation away from his own past. Succeeding, he leaves the passed-out Tarlock behind and returns to the Springeve with cindin in his lip and a spring in his step, happy to have evaded identification.

I note with some satisfaction another bit of support for my notion that the milieu of the Elderlings novels is more North America than medieval/ist Europe. In the present chapter, Brashen and Tarlock drink together for a time, with Brashen calling for rum in his attempt to get Tarlock drunk enough to pass out. While that liquor has origins in southern Asia–there are early attestations in India and Persia–it is indelibly associated with the Caribbean and with the Americas through the horrors of the slave trade (with which topic the present novel also grapples), as well as with the pirates that continue to feature in the text and which, themselves, are a traditionally New World phenomenon.

I note also the ease with which the Teniras handle the revelation of Althea’s ruse. Perhaps it is because they are Traders with a liveship of their own, to whom (which?) they listen, that they are able to adjust so readily to the deception, annoyed only at being taken in instead of at the presence of a woman working aboard ship. Whatever the reason, in or out of the milieu, they do mark a pointed contrast to how others have viewed things, perhaps indicating that there is something of value in Bingtown society, after all.

Care to help me start this month off right?

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A chapter titled “Day of Reckoning” follows. It opens with Wintrow engaging in more philosophical musing as he and Sa’Adar continue the work of unchaining the slaves aboard the Vivacia and the slaves rise in revolt at their captors. Wintrow struggles to reach out to the ship and only becomes aware of her in her fear at being out of control with nobody at the helm. He takes the wheel and strives to right the ship against the storm, pleading with the warring slaves and crew as he does.

They begin to make progress when Torg arrives, having brokered a deal with the other slaves. He upbraids Wintrow and, when Wintrow says he is not trustworthy, Torg finds himself pitched overboard, to Wintrow’s shock. The captain is brought up next, and Wintrow asks for his aid; there is some argument, but Haven gives in.

In Bingtown, Malta rails against the arrangement that has been made regarding Reyn’s courtship. Ronica pointedly puts down her objections, noting, among others, that she had invited the attentions upon herself.

Aboard the Vivacia, Haven asks if he will be allowed to live. The Marietta begins to close in on the liveship. Kennit has his ship drawn up alongside the Vivacia and makes ready to board her, if with some difficulty; Sorcor and Etta seem to recognize that he is failing, and Sorcor prevails upon Etta to let his captain take the liveship himself.

The implication of the previous chapter is borne out as Kennit’s ship draws up alongside the Vivacia, and, given circumstances, it appears certain that Kennit will take the liveship for himself. Sa’Adar recognized the flag the Marietta flies, after all, and the reputation he must surely have among slaves and slavers speaks for itself. And that is aside from the arrangement Kennit and Sorcor have regarding liveships and slaveships.

Thinking on it now, as I reread the chapter again, I am struck by the recognition of a theme that comes up in the Liveship Traders novels. Full explication of that theme depends on later events in the series, so I will not treat it now; I am not worried about spoilers for novels twenty years old, but I prefer to establish materials before working with them. I will note, though, that the seeming duality of liveships and slaveships–the latter being floating charnel houses or abbatoirs–is not quite as dual as might be thought. But that much is likely obvious even without a rereading…

The end of the month is coming; help me make it into the next one?