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

---

The next chapter, “Homecoming,” opens with Althea making her way back to the Vestrit estate in Bingtown. She considers her surroundings and the changes in herself as she proceeds, noting the evidence of neglect of the grounds and its disjunction from the in-progress celebration denoted by noise and carriages. As she remains in disguise as Athel, she is greeted politely but coolly as she enters at the back of the house, and she observes the preparatory goings-on as she eats under that disguise and pieces together some picture of events.

At length, the celebration having ended, Althea is taken to Ronica. The older woman recognizes her daughter instantly and initially upbraids her for having worried her before embracing her tearfully. She briefs Althea on events that have transpired since her abrupt departure. Althea notes her objections and delivers the message she carries from the Teniras. Ronica notes her own objections, and Althea makes to return with her reply to the Teniras.

As she makes her way back to the docks, noting the changes and increased apprehensiveness in Bingtown, she encounters Amber, who enlists her aid in carrying as a cover for conversation. Each notes to the other the need to confer in greater detail than present haste allows. Amber disguises herself as a diseased slave to accompany Althea down to the docks as she listens to Althea’s tale; Althea hopes the woodcarver can help repair the Ophelia, but she will need to clear the idea with the ship’s captain.

When they arrive at the ship, Amber presents herself with celerity. The Tenira’s leap at the chance to see their ship repaired, and the Ophelia herself delights in the opportunity. There is some exchange between Amber and the Teniras as she begins working on the ship, and Althea is asked for her report; delivering it, she notes her own sadness at how events have progressed, as do her interlocutors.

The present chapter notes and discusses the omnipresence of servants in the households of the wealthy and remarks upon how it might be leveraged. It is a point of correspondence with real life, of course; even for those unable to afford servants, as such, service industry workers are everywhere, and my own experience as such a person reminds me that, yes, they listen to damned near everything. The pizza delivery person notes what’s on the television when you open your door; the package handler sees where the parcel’s from and where it’s going. It is a peculiar source of power, one that can be employed to no small effect, and one that offers the potential for significant upset–another point made in the more politically charged novels of the Liveship Traders series.

More and more, as I reread the series, I am struck by how fertile a field it is for cultivating theory-informed readings. There’s a lot to do–but that is one of the marks of better writing, that it offers and sustains multiple interpretations.

Care to send some support?

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

---

The following chapter, “Bingtown,” opens with the Paragon considering the sleeping form of Amber and the circumstances leading up to her sleeping aboard. The relationship between the two retains some tension, although they do seem to be growing closer together. And the ship wakes her from a dream she reports having repeatedly and explicates to the Paragon. When she notes dragons, and having seen dragons in the Six Duchies, the ship rebukes her, denying that what she saw were dragons. The following conversation grows heated, and Amber uncovers information in the ship’s ranting.

Elsewhere, the Ophelia approaches Bingtown, and Althea finds herself unable to sleep. She confers with the liveship, interrupted by the approach of Grag Tenira and the ship’s captain. The last lays out his suspicions and concerns about affairs in Bingtown; he anticipates trouble from the encounter with Chalcedean mercenaries, and he arranges to have Althea in a position to get away from the ship if Bingtown authorities attempt to seize her.

After, Grag asks Althea about their earlier conversation. Her replies are frank and honest, not unkind but not comfortable. After an interlude, however, she agrees to consider his suit for her hand.

When the Ophelia makes port in Bingtown, Althea has resumed her guise as Athel and muses amid the work about the home port and returning to it. She marks the presence of a Chalcedean galley in the harbor and looks on as the captain badgers the tax officials. Dispute over patrols and surcharges ensues, and Althea, directed, reports as much to Grag. The captain tells her to take the tale to the town and to set aside her personal strife in the interest of Bingtown unity. After a moment, she agrees.

The conversation between Althea and Grag reinforces one of the issues brought up earlier in the Liveship Traders novels: marriage as economic contract. Unlike the earlier example, the principals in the potential union approach the topic with relatively level heads, both understanding the issues involved not only for themselves, but for their families. It is a much more sober thing than what goes on between Malta and Reyn, certainly, and it highlights another point of concern: heteronormative assumptions at play. The topic of who will leave their family’s liveship in favor of the other’s is broached, and though no resolution is expected or offered, it is clear that Tenira had never considered that he would be the one to leave his family’s ship. He assumes Althea will leave hers, joining him, rather than the other way around–and even if such an arrangement did occur, it seems to defy equal partnership that there was an initial assumption at all.

“It’s always been this way” is not, in itself, a reason to keep doing something, after all.

Care to help keep me going?

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

---

The next chapter, “Immersions,” starts with the Vivacia and Wintrow realizing Kennit has died. The pirate’s own self-awareness begins to fade and fray out, but the ship somehow reaches out to him and holds him together, bringing Wintrow to him in a psychic space and guiding the boy to put the pirate’s consciousness back into his body. They share much of their experiences with one another in the efforts, and Kennit returns to his body to find Wintrow slumped over it and Etta weeping in joy at his return. Kennit directs her to be kind to Wintrow, who has passed out on the floor of the cabin.

Wintrow returns to consciousness with some difficulty, finding Kennit asleep and Etta at work on sewing. He is taken somewhat aback by her changed attitude toward him, and he asks her after her past. Her frank answer forces him to reconsider his notions, and her subsequent questions to him silence him for a time. Wintrow attempts to make amends, and their conversation turns strangely philosophical.

Etta rehearses to an increasingly uncomfortable Wintrow the beginnings of her liaison with Kennit. Wintrow’s regard for both Kennit and Etta changes as a result, and he excuses himself to attend to himself and the tasks that face him. One of them is conferring with the ship; there is some bitterness in the discussion, and some communion.

Later, the Marietta makes rendezvous with the Vivacia. Wintrow marks the state of the ship and her crew until he is summoned to tend to an angrily convalescing Kennit. Tensions grow between the two until Etta proposes a solution that pleases Kennit, and matters proceed thence.

It is perhaps a small thing in the chapter, although it seems to be important in the broader discussion of the Liveship novels, that Etta appears to have taken ownership of herself as a prostitute. Wintrow, a child who had spent most of the past few years in a monastery, might well be expected to have an uninformed view of sex and sexuality such as he displays in his thoughts during his conversation with Etta and later. That he is struck by Etta’s reappropriation or reclamation of her sexuality seems in line with that, while the reclamation itself speaks, if quietly and briefly, to the feminist critique that pervades the Liveship Traders works. It is a sometimes fraught discussion, but sex work is work, as others discuss in far greater detail and far more eloquently than is given to me to do; Kate Lister is one such person. Etta’s assertion of power through that avenue would seem to bear more investigation.

Your continued support is still kindly appreciated.

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

---

The chapter that follows, “A Bingtown Trader’s Daughter,” begins with Malta complaining as Keffria and Ronica prepare her for her first formal courting meeting with Reyn. She muses with aspersion on her situation, thinking herself beleaguered and the women of her family unfit for her father. Suddenly inspired, she begins to maneuver for control.

Ronica is suspicious of Malta’s turn. She muses with aspersion on her granddaughter before assessing the situation–until interrupted by a visit from Davad Restart. After an awkward exchange of pleasantries, Restart pleads to be able to sit in on the meeting with the Khuprus visitors, calling on his old friendship with the Vestrits and citing his own poor fortunes. Ronica is about to send him away when Keffria enters and notes that the Khuprus visitors have arrived–in number and splendor.

Resigned to the social awkwardness, Ronica proceeds to greet the Khuprus visitors. Jani is complimentary of the Vestrit women and disdainful of the unaware and inept Restart. At some length, amid the excitement of the young couple, Keffria is able to bundle Restart off, and Jani and Ronica confer closely.

Malta exults in the attention paid her and the splendor of the Khuprus visit. Reyn’s forwardness unsettles her slightly, but not for long. Coquettishly, she turns the conversation to her advantage, working to steer matters to her own liking.

One of the points the chapter makes that seems particularly prominent to me as I reread it inheres in the friendship between Ronica and Davad. She makes clear that she has known the man for years, that her family and he have been friends for that long–and that friendship, to her mind, makes much of his otherwise-objectionable behavior tolerable. And perhaps it should make the repeated faux pas he commits pass without (much) comment; long-standing friendship should pass over foibles of inattention. But Davad’s insistence upon slave labor seems something that should not continue to be tolerated. (Nor should Ronica’s continued employment of Rache, frankly, though there seem to be mitigating factors in it.)

It speaks to an argument that has been more prominent of late, although not nearly so much as it should be. Friendship should not extend to the acceptance of evil. And remaining friends with those who deny the fundamental humanity of others is a tacit endorsement of that denial. As more people should recall.

Your continued support is kindly appreciated.

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

---

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.

Help support me as I press on in NaNoWriMo?

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

---

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…

Help support me as I try NaNoWriMo?

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

---

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?

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

---

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.

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

---

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?

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

There is discussion of suicide in what follows.

---

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.

Your patronage continues to be appreciated!