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Following an excerpt from Bee’s dream journals, “Chade’s Secret” opens with Fitz waking suddenly from his earlier exertions. After briefly wrestling with his conscience, he reads Bee’s journal and begins to slide toward despair. Fitz presses along despite its weight, attempting to move toward some sense of normalcy and finding that the ensorcellment hanging over Withywoods remains firmly in place. The wrack occasioned by the raid is described in some detail as Fitz looks at it in the daytime, and he sees to Perseverance and Lant.

As Fitz confers with him, Lant reports having gaps in his memories and unaccountable shame in his heart. Their conversation is interrupted by the arrival of troops from Buckkeep whose livery Fitz recognizes as belonging to a rough unit assigned to accompany Slidwell. After a pointed exchange, they are joined by Chade and Thick, and Chade asks after Shun and Lant. Fitz finds himself upbuoyed by Thick, whose Skill manages to pierce the fog in which Fitz has been wandering and awakens the deep anger in him at the theft of his daughter.

At Thick’s frightened outburst, Fitz remasters himself, and he and Chade give orders to see about billeting and restoration. Chade and Fitz step aside to confer, and Fitz finds himself startled at Chade’s reaction to events. Chade reveals that Shun is his daughter and begins to turn his ire towards her family, railing at them for past wrongs. Fitz manages to redirect Chade’s anger alongside his own, and Lant enters to find himself included as another of Chade’s children. Perseverance, answering a summons, also joins the talk and is questioned by Chade.

Thick then joins the throng, escorted by Lant, making comments about the oddity of his surroundings, and Fitz and Chade reach out with the Skill to verify his words and cement their own understandings. The pair of them determine to use elfbark to confound the ensorcellment under which Withywoods has fallen. Lant volunteers to be a test subject, and preparations for dosing are made under some concern. More of Lant’s parentage is revealed, as is Shun’s. Amid the revelations, the pair of bastard assassins purpose to enact revenge.

The present chapter touches, but not much more, on the kinds of things that move Hobb’s principal protagonist away from the bright image of warrior-hero more common to the Tolkienian tradition of fantasy literature in which she partly, but not wholly, participates. I have, in the past and less than gracefully, discussed such things (witness this), but the present chapter is more open in presenting them than is typical of the earlier components of the Realm of the Elderlings corpus. (I say typical largely because of events near the end of Fool’s Errand, here; I am aware of the exceptions, thank you.) Where they appear before, they are in report of actions ordered and seemingly necessary; here, they are, if not more detailed, presented more coldly and with greater ruthlessness, more personal effect. It is the kind of thing that prompts wonderings about Chade’s earlier exploits and, at least for me, some relief that they are not so fully on display as other authors might make them be.

I will leave aside the specter of elfbark for now; the coming chapter addresses it more fully, so I expect to write more on the subject then. What I will discuss is the way in which the present chapter addresses one of the more prominent themes in the Realm of the Elderlings novels: secrecy. Throughout the corpus, characters fail to confide in one another, fail to disclose to one another information that would be useful, helpful, or even outright necessary. Reasons vary, of course, with some of them being unavoidable (Fitz’s lack of knowledge about his father preventing him from saying much of Chivalry to Dutiful–here and elsewhere) or excusable (how much is not told to children because they are children and not yet equipped to handle the information well?) to the “obligatory” (compartmentalization of information to protect operational security / state interests) and the selfish–such as in the present chapter. Much of what Chade could have said to Fitz about his children when he sent them to him for protection was hidden out of vain concern regarding his image. While Chade does occupy something of a paternal position towards Fitz–the avuncular relationship is clear, certainly, and professional mentorship is its own kind of thing–and it is understandable that elders wish to retain the regard of their juniors, not having the information gave Fitz the cognitive space to do as he did. (Lant’s infatuation with Shun takes on additional meaning in the event, as well.) This does not mean Fitz was not in error in his actions–he clearly was–but perhaps they might have been avoided.

Then again, where would the narrative go without such things?

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Following a passage from the Servants’ histories that articulates a change in terminologies, “The Shaysim” returns to Bee as she recounts the party, led by Dwalia, making off with her and Shun, tracking their progress away from Withywoods to the extent she is able. Bee notes her situation and Shun’s, remarking on the depressed state of the latter, and she notes particular unease with one of the members of the group: Odessa. Regular patterns of her moving captivity are related, as well.

At one point along the journey, Shun breaks her silence to Bee, cautioning her to conceal her physicality from their captors. She relates her suffering and rebukes Bee sharply for her interference, and she notes that they are both being drugged by their captors. Bee accedes to Shun’s directions about deception, and the captivity presses ahead.

Dwalia makes to tend Bee, and Bee reflects on her apprehensions regarding the woman. She also further considers Shun and her situation, finding some sympathy for the woman and attempting to identify avenues through which she can act against her captors. The ensorcellment maintained by those captors continues to work on Bee, however, and something of their rhetoric receives attention, reinforcing to Bee the peril Dwalia represents. When Bee asks about that rhetoric, she is reminded of some of her earlier visions and how she acted upon them, and she considers further her own place in the world. The revelations dizzy her to the point of illness, and Dwalia’s companions find themselves stymied.

As is often the case, I find the chapter-prefatory materials of interest. As I believe I have noted and as I know at least two other scholars have mentioned, the inclusion of such materials works in part to present the narrative as existing within a larger world, something that allows it to deploy a Tolkienian “inner consistency of reality” and facilitate a Coleridgean “willing suspension of disbelief.” That is, having excerpts, often from “outside” sources, at the heads of chapters helps to create the impression that the world in which the Realm of the Elderlings corpus occurs is a “real” one. In the present chapter, the “historian voice” at work comes across, at least to my reading, as a particularly pointed example of doing that; there’s something about it that seems authentically academic as I reread it. The snarky comment in the second paragraph, for example, brings to mind the kind of sniping I have seen–and, if I am honest, participated in–in conference papers and the occasional journal article. The plea to recognize agency also brings to mind a lot of academic discourse with which I am familiar. While Hobb is, avowedly, not an academic, she manages to get right enough of it that the present chapter’s preface “rings true.” It’s not the first time, of course, but it does stand out for me, reading from where I do.

Another note of interest, if a little thing: I’ve commented on several occasions about the use of emblematic names in Hobb’s work, usually but not always among the nobility of the Six Duchies. I find the focus on Odessa in the present chapter to be of interest in that light. The name is one linked to two cities, one in Ukraine and one in Texas. Not being Ukrainian, I am not entirely up on what associates with that city; being Texan, I can note that Odessa, Texas, does loom large in the area’s consciousness. I find, too, that there is an Odessa, Washington, that might well be of interest to the Pacific Northwesterner Hobb. Whether or not there is something being said about any or all of them, I am not sure, but I think it might well be worth looking at. Sometime.

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After a letter to Fitz from Civil Bresinga, “Withywoods” begins with Fitz hastening to his home, using the Witness Stones to do so, despite the peril and cost. Fitz finds himself praying as he proceeds in as much haste as he can reasonably make, and he rehearses nightmarish scenarios as he does so. He also notes feeling more and more reluctant to go forward as he does proceed, and when he arrives at Withywoods and begins Skilling to Chade and others to report, he finds his magics stymied. Encountering other residents, he asks after Bee and those to whom he has entrusted her care, receiving disjointed and confused answers. The lack of clarity frustrates and confuses Fitz, and those he questions begin to suffer under his questioning.

Fitz happens to notice Perseverance, who pleads with him for recognition. Dismissing the others, Fitz confers with the boy, learning what has befallen his family and its estate. Lant brings medicine and, when he challenges Fitz about his regard for Perseverance, Fitz upbraids him, revealing his true identity, at which Perseverance is reverent. Under further questioning, Perseverance unfolds information about the raiders on Withywoods to Fitz, who arrives at ideas for the raiders’ motivations.

Fitz then turns his attention to Lant, puzzling out from what he learns from the man that some kind of ensorcellment is at work. The arrival of a royal messenger known to Fitz, Slidwell, confirms as much, as well as establishing the physical limits of the ensorcellment and its effects. Slidwell notes, too, that Chade and Thick are on their way, but Nettle is not because of potential harm to the child she carries. FItz dismisses Lant, who leaves in anger, as well as Slidwell, who takes brandy with him.

So much done, Fitz walks the halls and searches the rooms for clues. Few present themselves until he encounters the cat with whom Bee had conferred. From the cat, Fitz learns more of the raid, that Bee and Shun had been taken and that some of the raiders had no smell of their own–something that puts Fitz in mind of the Fool. Fitz considers matters in sorrow.

The present chapter is not the first in the Realm of the Elderlings corpus to carry the title “Withywoods.” Indeed, the first chapter of the Fitz and the Fool Trilogy does so, so the present chapter is necessarily calling back to that beginning in some way. As in that chapter, the present chapter happens amid winter with people making their way towards the estate bequeathed upon Molly Chandler, enwrapped in concerns of the Wit and of the maintenance of that household, so there are some textual resonances, although I readily admit they are not exact correspondences or parallels. The present chapter is much heavier and darker in tone than the first one in the present series–although it is to be expected of the second book in a trilogy that it will be in such a place, the typical sequence for such things being introduction, complication, and resolution.

I note that the present chapter touches on Fitz’s religiosity. I’ve written on the matter of religion in the Realm of the Elderlings corpus, although I do not make much in that paper of Fitz’s own practice. Rereading the present chapter, I remember why: “I had never had a deep faith” (199) does not suggest that there is much depth to that well. I do have an opinion about such things, as might be expected; there’s a little about it here, and it may be that I revisit that project as one of my many scholarly somedays. For the moment, the note that there is a note to add is worth making.

Affectively, I found the present chapter somewhat hard to read. I followed the action easily enough, unlike some parts of the Realm of the Elderlings corpus; despite the depiction of being fogged at work in the present chapter, the plot was plain enough. (So much has not been the case for all such parts of the corpus, as a recent comment reminded me.) For me, the difficulty was in the text awakening fears that already slumber uneasily in me. I’ve mentioned–once or twice–that I am a father of a daughter whom I love very much. While I know that much is sensationalized and overblown, I know there are risks to her, even absent bad actors in the world, and I do not think I am wrong to act with some eye toward them. As I write this, my daughter is well cared for and safe, but it does not take much for me to imagine that she might not be so, and the present chapter does some prompting that way. I find no fault with the writing that it does so, but it does so so.

Then again, maybe the fact that the book does command emotional responses from me is part of why I keep reading, that I have done so for some years, now, and that I am like to keep doing so for more years yet.

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Following what appears to be a report from Ash to Rosemary about approaching the Fool, “Tidings” opens with Fitz returning to his rooms to sleep and rising to uncertainty about his new role in the Six Duchies. He and Nettle confer through the Skill, with Nettle discussing a number of things with Fitz that had occurred in a meeting where he had not been present, and some matters between them are eased.

Afterwards, Fitz confers with Chade through the Skill, discussing their respective re-emergences into public life. Chade reminds Fitz that he has a role to play in his public persona and must act to suit it, noting that the same is true for private life. Fitz retreats to Chade’s hidden chamber to confer with the Fool–and with Ash, who is present–about how to put on his role. The pair delight in outfitting Fitz, who finds himself appreciative of their efforts and the results, and Ash asks Fitz about the truth of some of the Fool’s claims to him. Fitz speaks well of the Fool and invites him to dinner, but is refused, the reasons cited. At the urgings of Chade and others, Fitz makes to descend to dinner, and Ash reports to him of the Fool’s status.

Fitz is brought in by Riddle, who now sports the title Kesir in acknowledgement of his receipt of a Chyurda holding from Kettricken. The two talk together as Riddle ensures Fitz’s swift arrival with the royal party, along with whom he enters to dine. The events of the evening are glossed, among which Fitz is crowned again and publicly, and among which he is pressed socially in ways to which he is entirely unaccustomed.

Following the dinner, Fitz is again part of the royal party as it adjourns to Dutiful’s chambers. There, the group confers about next steps to take regarding Fitz and Bee, and Chade finds himself stymied at not being able to reach an agent he had dispatched to Withywoods, Slidwell. Nettle notes some annoyance at Chade’s use of Slidwell, noting “There were a number of reasons I chose to discontinue his Skill-training” (191), but she reaches out to him through the Skill, aided by Dutiful and Fitz. They find something fogging the magic, and Fitz and Chade both purpose to make for Withywoods in haste. Discussion of the fogging and its possible sources follows, and Chade briefs and equips Fitz for his journey, on which he departs in haste.

The discussion in the present chapter about the performativity of public personae–with public including any association with other people–attracts some attention. If memory serves, inhabiting a public role for any length of time, especially one seemingly at odds with his inclinations, is a strain for Fitz; his sojourn as Lord Golden’s servingman stands out as an example of his difficulties. If memory serves, the Fool is perhaps the best person to consult about the overt performativity of dealing with other people; having lived as other people than himself, as several people other than himself, across many years, affords him substantial experience with and a detailed perspective on the matter. (Yes, I know that the Fool’s presentation varies. He does seem to be presenting as masculine in the present text.) There is a temptation to read the exchange between the two–assisted by Ash, who receives some interesting comment from the Fool–as another metaphor for some issue or another, or as some level of gloss on Judith Butler’s rhetoric, but I’ll acknowledge that might just be my graduate schooling talking.

I have my role to play, as well.

Part of that role, at least as has regarded my rereading Hobb, has been that I read affectively more than is perhaps good for me. In keeping with that, I will note that my daughter, Ms. 8, has long been engaged as a performer; she has, in fact, just started rehearsals for her next show as I write this. As part of that performance practice, she has had to inhabit other personae than her “real” one (and she is branching out into costume design as part of that work, as well, which seems relevant to the present chapter); I have had some success in explaining things to her as being parts of a role she has to adopt for specific audiences she encounters. (There’s something to be said about meeting people where they are, even when they are people well known already.) My own role-playing, in an overt sense, has gotten going again, as I’ve noted recently, and I always have some concerns about what I am doing as a husband and a father. As such, playing roles, fulfilling perceivedly expected functions for other people, has been much on my mind recently. It is perhaps coincidental that the present chapter focuses so much on such things; were I more Jungian in my approach, I might be inclined to consider the synchronicity of it. But I never have been as much embedded in psychoanalytic criticism as others have been, even others under whom I did some study in years long gone away now. At this point, I’m not sure what theoretical stance I take, really, if I do take one consistently (which is another question, and an open one).

Perhaps that is also part of my role.

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After a report from Jek about Kelsingra and its reoccupation, “The Crown” begins with Fitz returning belatedly to his quarters, tired from the night’s events. He rests uneasily until awakened by Ash effecting entry into his rooms. Fitz challenges the boy, who delivers breakfast and letters for the renewed FitzChivalry Farseer, and the two talk together briefly before Ash notes small injuries on Fitz’s back. Fitz is surprised by them, himself, but he deflects attention by asking after Ash’s background, learning that the boy was the child of a prostitute and slotting more of Chade’s machinations into place in his mind.

Dismissing Ash, Fitz turns to the correspondences that have begun to come in for him, considering them and the ways in which his new status will affect Bee. He is distracted from his ruminations by the arrival of the crow that has insinuated herself into his life, giving rise to a rumination on the Wit and its limits. The bird harangues him for a bit as he wistfully considers changes in the area surrounding Buckkeep, and Fitz attempts to mask the physical differences that separate the crow from her fellows.

So much done, Fitz ascends to Chade’s hidden chambers to confer with the Fool. The latter notes that he is beginning to recover some semblance of sight, and Fitz guardedly congratulates him. The pair then confer about Fitz’s re-elevation, about which not all are pleased, and the Fool notes to Fitz a package Chade had left for him. Within is a sealed message from Verity, dating to his departure to Kelsingra and naming Fitz to his line of succession; a crown accompanies it. Despite his concerns, the Fool places it on Fitz’s head, and the two confer about injuries and Skill-healing. Fitz investigates the Fool, finding himself in mind of his own mistreatment by Galen, and both end up fatigued by the experience. The crow–deemed Motley by the Fool–returns as they continue to talk and makes herself part of their circle.

The present chapter does make a number of references to in-milieu past events, even more than I link herein, glossing them neatly and generally well. It is a good piece of world-building on display and a useful reminder that the present volume is one in a long series. (And what a relief it is to read an author who actually gets books into print!) I could wish I had taken more detailed notes, or more searchable ones, but that is an issue with me and not with the text.

I find some interest in some of the comments regarding those who are not pleased at the return of FitzChivalry Farseer. One, in particular, stands out, that made by the grandson of a soldier who had helped Regal capture Fitz: “My grandfather died thinking he had sent you to your death. To the end of his days, Blade believed he had betrayed you. He, I think, you might have trusted” (162). Again, I appreciate the work to connect the present text back to the earlier volumes in the series; I know–oh, I know–that there is a lot of material in the Elderlings corpus, and keeping track of all of it is not necessarily an easy thing to do. Again, I could wish I had taken more detailed notes, or more searchable ones, than I have done these past years. (It’s strange to think it’ll be six years this May that I’ll’ve been working through this rereading series–and there’s more to do!) But in any event, while some might be displeased to see FitzChivalry return for superstitious reasons (as noted previously), and others might be displeased because the reappearance of an acknowledged Farseer–with an earned reputation as a more-than-capable killer–and possible heir presents substantial disruption to any number of political intrigues that might be in place, the indication that there are entirely justifiable, personal angers to be directed at Fitz does some good work in continuing to humanize the character. Shades of steel-grey would appear to show, indeed, and I find myself thinking yet again of a scholarly someday that might be worth pursuing. Too, the small-scale slice-of-life things Hobb includes do much to make the milieu more “real” for the reader, with effects I think I’ve noted before.

So, yeah, it’s a good chapter.

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Following an excerpt from lyrics by Starling Birdsong, “Farseers” begins with Fitz returning to his chambers and hurriedly changing in response to the urgent summons he had received. So much done, he rushes to answer the summons, Skilling to Chade to inform him of yet another cover identity, and entering into the midst of celebration. Fitz attends to his surroundings, noting major players (including Dutiful and Elliania) and their conduct as he makes his way through the throng.

Fitz’s progress is halted by the beginnings of an announcement by Elliania which notes first that Nettle is a Farseer and second that she is pregnant. Fitz marks the reactions of those concerned, and he considers likely regard for the news thus delivered. Kettricken then summons a minstrel to recount Fitz’s deeds along the trip to assist Verity, which summons Starling Birdsong answers in full glory. Even Fitz, who is somewhat chagrined at hearing himself lauded in song, is singularly impressed at her work. He is less impressed at being hustled forward by Chade, where Dutiful improvises a likely story to explain his appearance and absence, and Fitz faces the gathered crowd.

The prefatory materials to the present chapter, Starling’s lyrics detailing one of the more prominent early events in Fitz’s public career, are the third such piece in the current volume; one of Hap Gladheart’s songs and the propaganda by Farrow minstrel Celsu Cleverhands both appear earlier in the text. Some explication of Hap’s lyrics has already been given; consideration of Celsu’s might well be undertaken (if perhaps not here), as might some of Starling’s own work. (Yes, I am aware that all three characters and “their work” are the inventions of the author, Hobb, herself an adopted authorial persona of the author, about which construction some comments are here. I know I have a tendency to talk about characters as if they are people; I have noted more than once that I read overly affectively. But, as I think I have also noted before, the fact of my affective reading is part of what motivates my studies to begin with; I’d not’ve spent the time and effort on this hadn’t I emotional investment in the work.) I think it’ll add to my scholarly somedays, honestly, unless I find that someone’s already done the work first to explicate the selections more thoroughly and second to read them against one another.

In any event, however, there is something to be said about the inclusion of another bit of verse at the head of the chapter. It’s not the first time Hobb does so, of course, not even within the present volume. But it does seem marked as a more common occurrence in the present volume than in previous volumes in the Elderlings corpus; three, and within four chapters, is a lot for this kind of thing. I’m sure there is some significance to be found in it; perhaps it speaks to the author’s readings during and soon before composition of the present text (although I am wary of biographical criticism for reasons I believe I’ve articulated), perhaps it serves to highlight differing social constructions across the component fiefs of the Six Duchies, perhaps it does something else, but even if I am uncertain what that else is, I am sure it’s there. So that might be yet another scholarly someday for me; I seem to collect them.

And there’s another, perhaps clearer, such scholarly someday for me in the present chapter. Some years ago, now, I wrote a master’s thesis that examines Hobb’s use of Arthurian tropes in the characters of the Farseer and Tawny Man trilogies. I’ve moved on from some of the ideas I voice in that text, at least partly; for example, I don’t think the Six Duchies are a recapitulation of Britain / England, at least not primarily (although, as I look at the text again, I note that even in it, I point out deviations from the “source” materials, even if I hadn’t yet realized where they came from). But some of the things I have in the thesis still seem true; “Chade is very much like Arthurian Merlin” (29) is one of them, and the idea that Chivalry and Verity Farseer are Arthurian-esque heroes (38) is another. So is young Fitz’s similarity to Gawain (39-51). And the overall concept is reinforced in Fitz’s return to public life in the Six Duchies; the presentation of him Dutiful makes to his assembled court is very much in the model of rex quondam rexque futurus who, per Malory, “shal come ageyn” from having gone “by the wylle of our lord Ihesu in to another place,” the which is often understood to be the enchanted isle of Avalon (note here and here, XI.2). If I might add to my collection, I think another revisit to an older project–along the lines of this piece–might well be in order.

Someday.

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After a piece of propaganda celebrating Fitz’s death and Regal’s accession, “Secrets and a Crow” opens with Fitz, disguised as Feldspar, returning to his chambers and planning the events to follow. Riddle greets him there and receives an unexpected apology before delivering the news that Nettle is pregnant and that they are wedded by custom and against Dutiful’s wishes. Fitz’s mind races over political implications, and Riddle adds to the complexities thereof by reporting that Patience can be regarded as a descendant of the Farseers, not only as a widow of them. Fitz offers his commendations, and then Riddle returns to the matter of Bee, which leaves Fitz uncomfortable. After Riddle takes his leave, Fitz responds to Nettle’s Skill-sending, the two conferring through the magic briefly and sharply. Fitz is left to consider once again the wisdom of his choices, and he arrives at a decision.

Fitz rejoins the Fool and receives a message left for him. They confer about the Fool’s situation, and Fitz reads the message, which is from Chade and bids him attend the final Winterfest feast in his guise as Feldspar. Meanwhile, the Fool waxes despondent about the situation in Clerres and the depredations of the Servants, and he weeps at what he has suffered. Fitz offers what comfort he can, which he knows is not much, and he glosses the message from Chade to the Fool. Fitz also considers what his loved ones have given up for him across the years and his purposes moving ahead.

Leaving the Fool, Fitz goes about his errands as Feldspar. While about them, he notes the cawing of a crow, calling out for Tom. It is, in the event, the crow of which Web had spoken, and, as Fitz goes about his errands, it makes a show of itself and its ability to speak the name “FitzChivalry,” which occasions upset among onlookers. Fitz manages to turn the situation, taking the crow with him as he hurls imprecations and abuses that afford him an escape. The pair return to Buckkeep to find festivities in progress, and he hastens to attend to the bird as he frets about meeting his many other obligations. But, returning to the Fool, Fitz and the crow find aid, and once the bird is freed from its entanglements, Fitz Skills to Chade, only to be summoned with some urgency. Fitz hastens to answer the summons, leaving the bird with the Fool, who approves of her.

The present chapter once again points out the odd gender-blindness at work between Fitz and the Fool regarding the putative unexpected son of the former. Again, the Fool moves fluidly among gender expressions and makes much of the fact that Fitz (and others) make much of the reproductive equipment other people possess; for the Fool to remain so adamant in the idea that the son is a son seems…out of keeping with the usual insightfulness the character displays. Perhaps it is a reinforcement of the idea that everybody has areas in which they falter, a bit of the verisimilitude that Hobb is often at pains to include in her work. Perhaps it is the Fool’s response, or part of it, to the trauma that has clearly been endured. (I am minded that Hobb’s work does go in for torture at more than one point, and not only in the Elderlings novels; another scholarly someday seems to be at work.) But it still seems…odd to me as I read.

The present chapter also does some…interesting things with symbolism as surrounds the crow. One implication, and something that the text supports, is that the crow is an ill omen. By calling out Fitz’s true name, the crow occasions recollections of the kind of propaganda excerpted in the preliminary material of the chapter, something made fairly explicit in popular response to the crow’s call; among the comments are folk-legend-esque remarks about the beast-form that the Witted Bastard had adopted and the evils associated with him. Fitz is not ignorant of the danger such things represent to him–and, by extension, to his avowedly Witted King, Dutiful. But, as I’ve noted more than once, the set of symbols that occasion such functions are not necessarily the best applied to Fitz and to the Realm of the Elderlings, more generally. For one, even within a Northern- and Western-European-medieval background basis for the Six Duchies, Fitz’s symbolism is…complicated; adding the crow to the wolf with which he was already long associated begins to shade him towards Odin, and while that may not be the happiest set of associations for a great many, it is not an ignoble one, as such. More emphatically, given the decidedly non-European-based ways in which much of the Realm of the Elderlings can be read (and no, I am not going to avoid pointing it out when the opportunity presents itself, nor put off looking for such opportunities), I have to think that other resonances are more at work, or are also at work in ways that make the doom-imagery not the only or best way to read the presence of the crow in the text.

But, as with so much else in the Fitz-centric novels, foreshadowing is a thing.

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Following an in-milieu historical work reporting the end of the Red Ships War and the reaffirmation of the Farseer dynasty, “The Witted” begins with Fitz taking stock of his situation and finding himself annoyed that time has passed while he has been otherwise engaged. He hastens to ready himself for an audience with Kettricken, to which he reports and waits for a time before being admitted thereto.

Once she admits Fitz to her presence, Kettricken dismisses her attendants and drops pretense with Fitz, laying out her intentions for Bee and asking after the Fool. She weeps at Fitz’s answers regarding the latter, although he makes a wry comment at her reference to a question Starling had posed years ago.

Further conversation in that line is interrupted by the arrival of Witmaster Web. Talk at that point turns to the magic the three of them share, of Web’s new bond and Kettricken’s purpose to form a Wit-bond of her own. Continued political difficulties associated with the Wit are noted, and Fitz is urges to consider taking on as a companion an oddly colored crow. Web lays out the crow’s situation to Fitz and then returns conversation to Bee. Fitz then turns conversation to the princes, Prosper and Integrity, who evidently have the Skill in some measure. Plans are made for the coming days, and Fitz excuses himself.

A couple of points present themselves for discussion regarding the present chapter. One of them is the subject, again, of gender fluidity. Others, of course, speak to the presentation of gender fluidity in Hobb more eloquently and at greater length than I can afford here; Katavić, Melville, Mohon, Prater, Räsänen, Sanderson, and Schouwenaars, whose works are glossed in the Fedwren Project, all do so, and I’m sure there’re others of which I’m not yet aware. The subject of the Fool’s “son” and the part the Fool played in giving rise thereto receives (more) comment in the present chapter, and I find myself a bit…uncomfortable at the movement toward gender essentialism at work in the commentary. But I am also minded that 1) cultural differences obtain and 2) as part of that, with Kettricken having been intimately involved in issues of dynastic succession, her focus on such matters has some embeddedness to it. (And, yes, I know: “it’s just a book.” But if it’s okay for people to spend thousands of dollars to go to stadia and paint themselves in colors of schools they never attended, it’s okay for me to be nerdy about a book that cost far less than that.)

The other, related, is the resurgence of the notion of the Wit as a metaphor for homosexuality. I’ve commented, referencing others, before (here and here, for examples), and I remain of the opinion that having a metaphor for something that is actually in evidence is…a stretch. But as I reread, I wonder if the issue is less that the Wit is a metaphor for homosexuality (in the United States; primary expected readership remains a factor to consider) than that the regard in which it is held is a metaphor for the regard in which same-sex relationships–and queerness, generally–are held among the anticipated primary readership. I am likely late in arriving at the idea; I acknowledge that my attentions have generally been on other matters, both as regards my reading of Hobb and more generally. Given that I would have an outside perspective on the matter, I do not think adding to work investigating that part of the text will be one of my scholarly somedays, but it is still something worth considering, I think, if for no other reason than that those scholars of whose works I am aware wrote before the Fitz and the Fool trilogy was out. After all, I clearly think works can be revisited and extended when new primary materials become available, and I’m not so arrogant as to think I’m the only one who ought to do so.

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Fitz dreams of Nighteyes as a preface to “An Exchange of Substance,” waking as the chapter begins and assessing himself and his surroundings. He notes that Ash has come and gone again, and he purposes to check on the Fool before sleeping further. He finds the Fool convalescing, and the two confer briefly before Fitz sets out breakfast for his friend. Over the meal, they talk further, the Fool relating more of his journeys; it is an unhappy tale that takes the Fool and Prilkop to Clerres, where they are taken in and taken in, and the Fool weeps over his folly.

One of the Fool’s comments speaks to the Pale Woman, naming her as a thing made by the Servants to enact their goals, and Fitz’s mind races back over what he has known to sort in the new information he has gained. The Fool comments that Fitz’s existence and actions thwarted the long designs of the Servants to some extent, and they discuss that point before Fitz tends to the Fool’s injuries again. The experience is unpleasant but soon concluded, and talk turns more fully to healing and the mixtures of magics that have pervaded their lives.

Fitz makes to prepare for an audience with Kettricken in his role as Feldspar, but the Fool halts him by resuming his narration of his travels. He teases him as he had once done, offering what reassurance he can before lapsing into sleep.

The present chapter, particularly Fitz’s assessment of the Servants’ breeding program, calls to mind other major prognosticatory threads in fantasy and science fiction: Asimov’s psychohistory and Herbert’s spice-fueled insights. Hobb has some connections to both; I have long commented on the ways in which the Fitz-centric novels emulate the Asimovian encyclopedia-entries in their chapter-beginnings, and Hobb has geographical associations with Herbert. The selective breeding programs, the cold calculations, the access to multiple possible futures and the refinement of predictions from years of gathered observations all speak to a similar narrative construction among the three (and, doubtlessly, others, but I am limited in my observations to what I have read often and know well).

In Asimov and Herbert, the protagonists work to gain control of the prognostication; such is not apt to be the case in Hobb, although some of that is because they already have some degree of control over it. The Fool has been, and it seems that Bee is, a White Prophet, whose dreams foretell events to come; they already have learned what awaits, at least to some extent. The rest is foreshadowed in Fitz’s reaction to the Fool’s description; he is horrified at the implications, and Fitz’s horror often results in things dying, not always peacefully or swiftly.

As in the earlier works, Hobb’s corpus invites consideration of the tension between fate and free will. I’m not as up on the philosophical work done in that line as I probably ought to be (although I will plead that there is only so much time, and I do have other things that demand my attention and study), so I don’t know that I am well positioned to explicate the parallels and borrowings in that regard. I’m not sure that there’s been much work done that way, either (although I do have some more items to review for the Fedwren Project that might speak to that end). It seems a project worth undertaking, though, even if it’s not one of my many scholarly somedays…

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After lyrics from Hap Gladheart, “The Fool’s Tale” begins with Fitz returning to Chade’s old hidden rooms, where he inadvertently wakes the Fool into a trauma response. The two confer for a time together, the Fool asking about Bee and relating some of the circumstances of his imprisonment and abuse before resuming his account of his life since his ragged parting from Fitz. Passing through Skill-pillars to Kelsingra and beyond, the Fool and Prilkop made for Clerres, and the Fool interrupts his account to muse on one moment in his torment and the arrival of one of his messengers to Fitz.

Conversation pivots to the Fool’s encounter with Bee, which he had misunderstood, and falters in favor of Fitz’s medical attentions to the Fool. His Skill reaches into the Fool, and the extent of his injuries and underlying illness is made clear to him once again. He bends his magic to the task of healing, only to find himself roused out of a stupor by a frantic Chade and Nettle. Discussion of events ensues, and Fitz is given additional assignments; after Nettle leaves, Chade and Fitz confer more closely, including about Ash. Once Chade leaves, Fitz makes to see to himself, noting strange wounds whose source confuses him. Setting the matter aside, he retires for what sleep he can get.

The lyrics that introduce the chapter draw my attention, as might be expected for an old English major. I reproduce them here to facilitate discussion (they’re on pg. 57 of the edition of the text I’m reading, the first edition hardcover from 2015); the words, of course, are not my own:

When winter’s clutch is cold and dark
And game is scarce and forest stark,
This songster to the hearth retreats
To warm his cheeks and icy feet.

But on the hill and in the glen
Are hunters hardier than men.
With lolling tongues and eyes that gleam
They surge through snow with breath like steam.

For in the hunt there is no morrow,
Time does not wait. There is no sorrow
As blood spills black and snarls are rife.
For life is meat, and death brings life.

The lyrics given are in iambic tetrameter couplets, which would “normally” indicate some light or satiric thrust due to the long-standing association with Hudibras. The subject matter belies the association, however, particularly in the final line presented (which, it must be noted, may not be the final line of the song); it does call to mind–appropriately, given the generic associations–some of the verse penned by JRR Tolkien and included in, say, The Silmarillion. (The Lay of Leithian is an example.) The line-structure suggests, further, that the kind of minstrelsy in which Hap is trained follows a common 4/4 pattern; each line suggests a measure of music, with each stanza being a single verse in a song, such that a brief musical refrain can be imagined easily between the stanzas. In the former case, the association with generic standards reinforces the notion that, despite Hobb’s divergences from it, she remains rooted in the Tolkienian fantasy tradition (which she acknowledges); the reinforcement helps keep her work accessible to readers. Similarly, the implied musical structure at work in Hap’s song is one likely to be familiar to Hobb’s presumed primary readership; its inclusion, then, helps with accessibility. Her readers are presented with something new that is also familiar, allowing them to more easily engage with the text–something about which Hobb has expressed concern. That concern would appear to be addressed in the introductory material to the present chapter, as elsewhere in the Elderlings corpus.

There’s also a lovely bit of additive foreshadowing at work. The messenger that had reached Fitz at Withywoods, whose body he had burned, had reported being infected in such a way as to make contact with her a peril. In the present chapter, Fitz has had prolonged physical contact with a gravely injured and long-ill Fool. He also shows up with strange wounds whose source he cannot recall, and he makes an assumption about them he does not pursue. Hobb being Hobb, and Fitz being Fitz, it is clear that he is in another poor position, and once again through a lack of vigilance that may be understandable in the situation but which still does not argue in his favor.

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