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Following a set of instructions from one of the Servants that touches on their designs, “The Taking of Bee” begins with Bee returning to self-awareness and awareness of her situation after her seeming ensorcellment. She assesses herself and her surroundings, and considers the attack on Withywoods and its effects. Watching others under seeming domination, she purposes to remain as secret as she can, considering her captors and the nascent dissension among them. Seeing what appears to be a chance to escape, she sets out again, only to find herself stymied by the powers of her captors–especially Vindeliar, who is the source of the ensorcellment at work.

Bee watches as Shun begins to be assailed, the voice of Wolf-Father sounding in her mind as she does. Preparations for departure are made, and Shun fights against her prospective assailant, and Bee announces herself to interdict retribution against Shun. Her announcement has the desired effect, revealing her to be of particular value to her captors: Kardef, Kindrel, Soula, Reppin, Alaria, the aforementioned Vindeliar, and Lingstra Dwalia. Shun is ordered tended to and protected, and some discussion ensues about her fate that Dwalia quashes. Bee is taken, and she considers both the lack of response from the people of Withywoods and her separation from them and her father. As they leave, however, Bee notes Perseverance, watching clandestinely.

I note with some interest that one of the characters depicted in the present chapter is Ellik, whose depredations are known. As ever, I do appreciate gestures to show that a unified milieu is, in fact, unified. I also appreciate seeing Ellik reduced, although it is not quite as much as would satisfy; although he is not Chancellor of Chalced, and although he seems to have had to hire himself out, he yet remains in command of others. How he managed to escape the wrack of Chalced and the fall of Andronicus is not clear, although it is not implausible that he would do so; I do not recall as I reread the present chapter that his death was depicted, so…

I note, too, that the present chapter does a fair bit of additional exposition, both showing that the Servants have magics other than the prophecies of the White Prophets available to them–something like the Skill, perhaps, if not actually that magic (consider the Pale Woman)–and giving quite a few names to follow. The former reinforces the danger that the Servants present; the latter, while presenting a challenge to some readers in introducing a number of characters in rapid sequence, does offer more possibilities for narration. Each character, after all, allows for another set of interactions, and it is in interactions that stories inhere. Further, since it’s early in the text, there is plenty of time to learn the characters better–or to watch them die; it is, after all, a novel by Hobb, and she’s not exactly averse to introducing characters only to kill them off…

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Following an in-milieu commentary on secrets, “Lord Feldspar” begins with Fitz tidying up from the meal and preparing himself to assume the role of Lord Feldspar that has been laid out for him. After he dresses, Chade enters upon him, and the two talk together of access to the hidden corridors of Buckkeep. Chade rebukes Fitz somewhat for his inattentions at Withywoods, and Chade offers details of the assignment as Feldspar and a briefing in support of the same. After a brief consultation regarding the Fool and Bee, Fitz begins his work for Chade again.

Fitz emerges as Feldspar into the hubbub of Winterfest preparations and celebrations, moving easily through the throng as he observes his surroundings. He does mark the presence of Witmaster Web, working to avoid contact with the man and following his assignment as he can. The procession of Six Duchies royalty–the former queen, Kettricken, as well as King Dutiful and Queen Elliania and their sons–and Fitz notes changes in their appearances and demeanors since he last met with them. He also works to immerse himself more fully in his role, finding persons of interest and relaying information about them through the Skill to Chade. His mind turns to his daughter, and he thinks of her, partly through the Skill, before retiring for the evening.

Something that occurred to me suddenly (and belatedly, I concede) is that the cover illustration on the edition of the text I’m reading presents Fitz as backhandedly angelic. He has a halo provided by the O in Hobb’s name, and shadowy wings spread from his shoulders. Both are darker than is typical of “angels,” but then, I’ve long since noted the ways in which Fitz is atypical (here, among others), and I find myself thinking that, if he is an angel, Fitz is an angel of death–still angelic, sure, but hardly a “light” figure. Not a stunning observation, I admit, and one reliant on paratext rather than text (however, this seems relevant), so hardly authorial or narrative, but still something to attend to.

More germane to the present chapter, however, there is some interest in the choices surrounding Fitz’s current alias as Lord Feldspar. The name itself refers to one of the most common minerals to be found, noted for its use in glassmaking and ceramics, among others. (Sometimes, Wikipedia is useful, and this page seems to cite its sources, which helps.) Hobb’s often-evidenced predilection towards emblematic names shows up in this; it’s…appropriate for an ostensibly nondescript observer to have the name of a common thing used in something designed to let images pass through. Similarly, Feldspar is reportedly at Buckkeep to negotiate regarding a new vein of copper ore, and copper is associated both with metalworking from early through current incarnations of it and with money, being the traditional primary component of the most basic currencies. It’s effectively everywhere and in everything, and if it’s more useful in conjunction with others, it’s far from useless on its own…and that’s hardly an inaccurate description of Fitz. Funny how that works out.

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Following a recollection of Nighteyes’s early experience, “Winterfest Eve at Buckkeep” opens with Fitz starting awake in unfamiliar surroundings, returning to his human experience from the dream of being a wolf. Fitz soon assesses himself and his situation, and he attends to the Fool, noting the changes that had befallen him since they had last seen one another and ruminating on the Fool’s request that he kill the Servants. He ruminates, too, on how he has left Bee and Nettle’s decision about her sister, and he notes the changes that have been enacted on Chade’s old hidden chambers as he works to set things to rights.

As he works, Fitz reaches out to Chade through the Skill, only to find him engaged in diplomatic matters concerning Kelsingra and its potential alliance with Chalced. After brief consideration, Fitz leaves off thoughts about those efforts and resumes his work to attend to the Fool, slipping clandestinely back into the halls of Buckkeep and despondently considering his separation from Bee as he takes in the sights of holiday preparations and changes to Buckkeep Town as he approaches it. Amid his shopping, for the Fool and for Bee, he considers the difficulties involved in resuming his former identity as Badgerlock, and he returns to Chade’s hidden rooms without incident.

Once there, Fitz notes the service provided to the chambers and pens a letter to Bee. He is soon disturbed by the approach of a serving-boy, Ash, whom Fitz soon dismisses. Ash leaves a message from Chade behind, one that offers Fitz an identity as Lord Feldspar and commissions him with information-gathering–something that offers a perverse excitement, along with a reasonably complete kit for the clandestine work in which Fitz was trained long ago.

The Fool wakes, and he and Fitz talk together briefly before the Fool works to navigate himself to the chambers’ table, where food awaits. Progress is slow, but he reaches his goal, and at the table, the two exchange some reports of their doings, the Fool noting that Bee was the “son” he had sought. Fitz notes that Bee is his daughter, and some argument about that point ensues, leaving the Fool confused and either sullen or fatigued. Fitz then begins to do the work Chade has asked of him.

As all sequels seemingly must, the present novel begins with exposition, bringing a reader abreast of in-milieu current events and foregrounding major threads to be pursued in the text. Hobb handles the events-summary well, using Fitz’s confusion at waking in unfamiliar surroundings to smooth over assessment of them and the situation that puts him among them, as well as using the conversation between Fitz and the Fool to establish their current tensions. The message to Chade, something entirely reasonable to include, also permits the swift establishment of current international contexts, and Chade’s machinations give Fitz a reason to go out and get involved in larger events, making more plot possible. It’s something I appreciate as I begin to read the novel again.

As noted, this is not the first time I have read the novel. I discuss my first time doing so here, a little more than nine years ago as I write this, and while much of what is in my initial comments remains true as I write now, I have to wonder how much of it will continue to do so for me. After all, I first discuss the novel after having completed a reading of it, and I am not all the way back through the novel again as I write this. Too, I am a different man now than I was then; I am not a still-aspiring academic, and while I was a father then, nine years in the life of a child is quite a long time, and a parent cannot help but change as the child does. And some of what I discuss has changed; there seems to be much more attention given to world-building and the implications of fantastical elements in texts now than there was then, whether just by me or by creators themselves.

I do look forward to the continued rereading, truly. Looking back to some of the earlier portions of it so as to pull up references made in the present chapter (and I’ve doubtlessly missed some along the way; I’ve read and reread and written about Hobb’s works so many times they form a sort of background noise for me, and I don’t always note everything in them that there is to find) has reminded me of how long I’ve been working on this project, doing so in fits and starts along the way, updating inconsistently as I can steal moments to attend to it among the many other things that clamor for, that demand and deserve, my attention and my efforts. I have changed as I’ve done this work, although not so much because I’ve done it and continue to do it as for other reasons; having some record of the change is…interesting, at least for me.

I hope the rereading continues to be interesting for you.

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An excerpt from a travelogue discussing the White Prophets precedes “The Raid,” which chapter begins with Bee noting her return to Withywoods with Lant and Shun. She reports a gloss of their comments, and she marks their arrival at her home with displeasure. They leave her behind in the stables, from which household servants retrieve her and make over her. She reports events to them, although she meets with some disbelief at her account. But after she is assisted in and into her chambers, Bee tries to puzzle out more of what she has experienced and what her father said to her, repairing to his study to do so. Within, she confers with Wolf-Father, who offers comfort and cryptic wisdom.

Bee wakes in the morning to a busy estate as it makes preparations for the Winterfest holiday. Bee is again tended to, making ready for the day as she puzzles yet further. She manages to slip away to her private sanctum in the walls, spending a little time there before sitting to her lessons. Perseverance joins her there, discussing with her the dogs that Fitz had acquired. Lessons begin at length, going poorly until commotion outside prompts their interruption. Investigation soon reveals the commotion to be an attack on Withywoods, and Bee and Perseverance urge the other children to flee to safety. Bee opens the hidden corridors of Withywoods to them, and she and Perseverance attempt to obscure their passage. Their flight continues, and they see the members of the household and their assailants, the latter interrogating the former.

Perseverance heads off to seek his father, leaving Bee to hide herself. She sneaks back towards the estate, determined suddenly to protect a people she recognizes as her own, but she encounters Perseverance. The two ride in haste for the nearest town, but their passage is marked, and they are pursued. Perseverance is injured, and Bee is taken, seemingly ensorcelled by the delight of her attackers at finding “the unexpected son” at last.

The epilogue that follows turns to Fitz and a rumination on memory–and the descent of his life beginning then.

And here it is, the end of the novel–and what an ending! If it is the case that the previous chapter identifies the principal forces at work in the novel, the final chapter brings them into view more overtly and personalizes the problem they present for Fitz, which problem he realizes in the epilogue. The chapter also points up the instability of gender categories in the Elderlings novels, a topic treated by Katavić, Mohon, Räsänen, Sanderson, and Schouwenaars (find abstracts and citations to the pieces in question here, please), among others; Bee, despite being female and presenting as feminine, is regarded by her captors as being a brother and an unexpected son.

It might be thought that placing such an assertion on the lips of antagonistic characters renders the assertion a faulty one, something to be scorned. As with many things Hobb does, however, the presentation is more nuanced than that. The Fool, after all, believes that the figure sought by the Servants is a son, and, on his word, Fitz looks for a son springing from the Fool. The latter should, from experience, be wary of such claims from the Fool, there having been significant tension about the Fool’s willingness (and ability) to present as a woman. The former, knowing from lived experience that such categories are unstable–certainly as applies to the Fool–have even less excuse. It must be noted, however, that Hobb often presents her protagonists as being wrong; it’s a touch of authenticity I appreciate, overall, although the (large) part of me that reads affectively is annoyed at some of the failings on display.

As if I do any better in my own life. (I likely do not.)

If I return again to Freytag’s pyramid (which may or may not be useful, admittedly) and regard the trilogy as the structure at work (which is more useful, given that even the edition I am reading–a first edition–shows “Book I of the Fitz and the Fool Trilogy” on its jacket), the final chapter and epilogue of the first volume can be read as having presented the inciting incident, ending formal exposition and setting up for rising action to come in the second book of the series. From the chapter and epilogue, and without thinking in terms of a rereading, the rising action could well be expected to be flight of Bee’s kidnappers and pursuit thereof by Fitz–although reading within the context of Hobb’s Elderlings novels and, more broadly, in her body of work would suggest that there will be no shortage of complications for both groups. Indeed, it would hardly be a Fitz novel without him running into problems, no few of his own making. (Another point of affective identification, that.) It’s been some time since I’ve read the text, however, and longer since it was more than a scan for passages to cite in the service of some argument I was trying to make. I don’t remember if I’m right…but I look forward to finding out.

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Following a short excerpt from an instructional manual in one use of the Skill, “A Time of Healing” opens with Fitz, the Fool, and Riddle emerging from the Witness Stones at Buckkeep, the three in poor condition as Nettle and a retrieval party arrive. Nettle rebuke Fitz for his treatment of Riddle, and the group proceeds to Buckkeep and healing. Fitz attends to the Fool himself as keep staff under Nettle’s direction address Riddle’s needs, and he finds marks of long torture upon his old friend. Chade, Kettricken, and Dutiful enter, and some jurisdictional questions arise as Fitz quietly continues to attend to the Fool. Matters soon resolve themselves, however, with Riddle prescribed food and bedrest, and the Fool adjudged a poor candidate for Skill-healing.

Kettricken asks Fitz if the figure he attends is, indeed, the Fool, and she is shocked at the affirmative response. Reports of events begin to be made; Fitz tapped Riddle for Skill-strength, some of which powered the trip through the Skill-pillars, and some of which stabilized the Fool. Arrangements begin to be made for the Fool, and Riddle receives more attention, nodding to Fitz and humbling him with his acceptance. Chade offers some rebuke to Fitz, which he accepts, even as he accepts that Chade’s accommodations of them will have costs to come. The Fool reports a desire for Skill-healing as soon as he can withstand it, and Fitz makes to conduct him to the chambers being prepared. Nettle pulls Fitz aside briefly before letting him and the Fool proceed, and a page guides them to their destination.

There, Fitz keeps an open ear while the Fool bathes and dresses, and as they talk together afterward, the Fool identifies those who have so assailed him–the Servants–and lays out the peril they present. The Fool also lays out his history since his ragged parting from Fitz, turning to the idea of his own child being some pivotal figure in–or powerful force against–the plans of the Servants. And he asks Fitz if he will kill the Servants for him.

The present chapter is a long one–some thirty pages in the edition I am reading–and there is a lot going on in it. (Again, I long to be able to do the counting project of which I have long thought. But, alas, time and resources do not presently permit it!) Among the things happening is the confirmation of what appears to be the central conflict of the present series: between the Fool and the Servants. While there is a bit of retcon going on in the chapter (openly acknowledged as being a refiguring or adjustment to previous understandings, admittedly), and there is some annoyance in seeing it (again, and alongside some character inconsistencies), having clarification about a central focus of the books to come is useful; having a guide to reading often helps the reading that takes place, although it is also the case that such a guide can constrain readership. But then, it should be the case that the text constrains the ways in which it can be read (as opposed to should, which is a whole ‘nother thing).

If I indulge my (ongoing) affective reading, I find myself taken a bit by the exchanges between Fitz and Riddle and between Fitz and Nettle in the infirmary at Buckkeep in the present chapter. Fitz, as often throughout the novels that feature him, doubts the regard in which others hold him, always expecting to be shut out; a psychological reading (always fraught, since characters are not people and the narratives of fiction are necessarily curated) might suggest that the traumas of separation from his maternal family and the strangeness with which his paternal “accepted” him prompt such doubts and expectations, as well as the horrors wrought upon him by Regal. Both Riddle and Nettle reassure him of their inclusion of him, the latter outright rebuking him for his doubts. All ’round, it’s something I found resonant; I don’t think I am the only one, either.

Less affectively, the indications of how court at Buckkeep has changed are telling. It is clear that the court thrives from the number of people in attendance at and in service to it, the specializations on display and the clear training patterns at work within them. The relative privileging of some specializations over others is perhaps less a joy to see; in addition to moving Hobb’s work back towards more “mainstream” Tolkienian-tradition fantasy works (I am, for some reason, put in mind of Feist’s Midkemia), it speaks to hierarchical models that are often, if not always, problematic. But that issue gets toward deeper questions surrounding speculative literature, generally, such as “what is the purpose of it?” My studies suggest that one answer is “to show what can be,” hence the frequency of science-fiction dystopias–but also fantasy utopias. It’s something to consider more thoroughly, yet another scholarly someday for me; I look forward to having the time to address some of them!

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All joking aside, following an excerpt from Fitz’s journals, “Collision” begins with Fitz moving to find Bee, whose absence he had had pointed out to him. Riddle advises Fitz as he accompanies him that his care for Bee had not been successful, that he would have to remove Bee from Fitz’s care for her own safety. Shun and Lant attempt to intervene and are decisively rebuffed as Fitz looks out, sees Bee and the beggar, and reacts violently.

Riddle scoops up Bee and affirms her safety as the victim of Fitz’s violence looks to him, revealing himself as the Fool. Fitz recognizes his error and the depths thereof and begins to attempt to address it, entrusting Bee to Riddle’s care as he plies his Skill on his old friend. Realizing the extent of the Fool’s injuries and illness, not all of which is the result of his own knife, Fitz pleads for assistance and purposes to take the Fool to Buckkeep via the Skill-pillars, sending ahead through the Skill to Nettle that he is coming; she reluctantly agrees to assist.

A frantic rush to the nearest Skill-pillars ensues, Fitz trying to get information from the Fool along the way. At Lant’s query, he offers some indication of his own plans, and final preparations for the magical transit are made. Taking one last look at Bee, and with Riddle’s assistance, Fitz takes himself, Riddle, and the Fool into the pillars.

The excerpt from Fitz’s journal comments on his inability to fully immerse himself in the now as Nighteyes had done. There is some commentary on mindfulness to be taken from the excerpt, I am certain, although I’ll readily note that mindfulness is not something at which I excel. I focus on things that need to be done, sometimes to the neglect of what I am doing, or I lose perspective on larger goals while attempting to take steps that I think conduce to them. It’s one of no few things that call for explication by others than me, others who are better suited to the specific tasks; I acknowledge there is much that lies outside my expertise.

The present chapter pretty clearly is the inflection point towards which the novel had been progressing increasingly quickly in the most recent several chapters–and it is quite an inflection, with Fitz potentially fatally wounding someone whose life he had restored and for whose company he had often longed after ragged parting. The irony, operating at several levels, is not lost on me. The chapter opens with opining on not acting in the moment, only to punish Fitz for acting in the moment without gathering additional information. The chapter brings back to Fitz someone he has wanted to see again, only to have him inflict injuries apt to be fatal. The chapter exposes more of Fitz than he would care to have shown, pushing him into reliance on official power structures he had often sought to escape. It also forces him to leave his daughter despite his ongoing efforts to keep her with him. And, as is easily inferred, it removes from Bee perhaps the best teacher that she could have, just as Fitz had removed her from others’ instruction due to perceived insufficiencies in them. So, yes, a lot going on.

And it’s Hobb, which means there’s more such to come…

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Following an excerpt from Bee’s journals, “Mist and Light” begins with Bee musing on the disruption of her peace with her father and Riddle as Shun and FitzVigilant arrive and join them. She excuses herself from the table, wandering outside and enjoying the festive crowd. While there, she encounters again the particular beggar in whom she had had some interest before, and she helps him away from locals who accost him.

Nursing her annoyance at Shun, Bee works to assist the beggar, and as she does, he exults in what he claims is the return of his sight as she is embraced by prophetic insights. The beggar warns Bee against acting on the insights that break upon her, and she becomes aware of sharing thoughts with him. The beggar voices a prophecy of his own, and Bee is left stricken in a world suddenly dulled and muted around her, aware now of the implications of any and every action she might take.

The present chapter is a scant six pages in the edition of the novel I am reading again, and while I do not (yet) have the set of information I need to do the kind of formal study I would (very much) like to do, I have the sensation that it is among the briefest “regular” chapters in the Elderlings corpus. The effect of acceleration continues; matters in the novel rush towards an ending, now, and, given the vantages of rereading, familiarity with Hobb’s corpus, and narrative structures more generally, that ending does not look to be a happy one. It could hardly be so for the first book in a trilogy, and it could hardly be so and be the work of Robin Hobb. (As to the rereading, well, that is something like cheating; I’ll get where I need to get with it in plenty of time.)

If I indulge myself in reading affectively (as opposed to being compelled into it by my own predilections), I find that I wonder how my own daughter, about whom I have made no few (and overwhelmingly appreciative) comments in this webspace, would react. I would like to think that my child would move to help those who present themselves as being in need; she’s expressed sympathies in that line no few times in the past, even if her cynical father has hurried her along more often than not, but that her heart is good is not a blameworthy thing. And I do note that she does get jealous about the focus of her caregivers on others, which is flattering as her caregiver even if it is sometimes…difficult to address. Of course, any comparison between a fictional character and a real person is fraught, and there is something to be said against spending as much time immured in studying writing as I have.

Less affectively, however, and more towards “looking for a moral” in the work (which is, after all, something that a lot of literary study and “literary study” attends to), the strong implication of Bee’s foresight presents itself to me. At the beggar’s insistence–and who the beggar is will become clear if it is not already so–Bee considers a variety of futures her potential actions would make available and begins to recognize that having her foresight does not guarantee that anything she foresees will necessarily occur, or that things she does not foresee will not. That there are so many possibilities as present themselves to her is not more true for her than for others in the text–or among the readership. Awareness of them imposes more responsibility for them, to be sure, but the lack of awareness of them does not mean they are unavailable to others–and that might be the lesson to take from the present chapter.

Maybe.

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A brief excerpt from a pedagogical treatise by Fedwren prefaces “Things Bought,” which begins with Fitz ruminating on the rarity of knowing he has done well with Bee. He reflects on the incident with the dog-seller just previously and its denouement until the arrival of Shun and Lant interrupts his reverie. They barrage him with details of things they wish to buy, and he considers that he might be unhelpfully rooted in the ways of his youth as they assail him with their demands. That Shun suffers from an entitlement mentality is reinforced, and Fitz sinks into annoyance as he gives more thought to the acts of the day.

Fitz becomes aware that conversation around him has ceased, and the attends carefully as Lant displays the same entitlement mentality Shun evidences. The revelation settles something in Fitz, and he determines “to pry out information” from Chade about the people laid into his charge, as well as to see to broadening Bee’s education himself. Shun interrupts him once again, and he lays out how matters will be with the three of them, moving forward. This upsets Shun and Lant, and argument begins to bubble up until Riddle points out Bee’s absence, which Fitz immediately moves to investigate.

The present chapter is another relatively brief one, only some ten pages in the edition of the text I am reading. Given the placement of the chapter near to the end of the book, it does have the effect of implying acceleration towards some pivotal moment–something that the action depicted in the chapter also suggests, Fitz’s sharp decision and harsh words for Lant and Shun indicating a shift in attitude on his part. And the Fitz-centric novels have shown that Fitz’s…abrupt decisions tend to have…consequences.

A couple of points of commentary come across to me in the present chapter, as well. The prefatory comment seems a bit…pointed, and I have to wonder if there is some experiential thing at work, some use by Hobb of Fedwren as a self-insertion. I know, of course, that biographical criticism is always fraught, but I also know that writers cannot help but write from their knowledge and experience, and I think I am not alone in having seen people resistant to formal learning. I acknowledge that formal education, particularly as it is commonly practiced in the United States, is not to everyone’s taste; I’ve been more heavily involved in it than most, I believe, and there’s a lot about it that is not to my own preference, so it stands to reason that those less devoted to it would have less favorable opinions of it. But I do think there is much to be said for teaching students early on that the subjects being studied are of worth and can well carry joy in themselves, and I do not know that that gets done enough (for reasons that make sense in context; I know where to direct my anger at such things).

The social-class comments that emerge in the present chapter also seem…pointed. Fitz’s annoyance at Shun’s presumptions of him and Lant’s accommodations thereto is, on the surface of it, right; the pair of them are upjumped and unpleasantly so, echoing Regal in uncomfortable ways, even if they do not know it. But Fitz is also somewhat disingenuous about his annoyance; he has made a point of remaining in his guise as non-nobility, avoiding any claim to his royal heritage–and doing so for his daughter/s, as well. And while it is the case that Nettle has a position at court (one earned rather than inherited), Bee does not have that particular social standing to shield her; even if Shun can be faulted for not figuring things out when information has been provided for her, Fitz can be faulted for being annoyed at being treated according to the public position he maintains. Yes, any public claim he might make to his Farseer heritage would be problematic, and for many reasons, but maintaining the pretense of being common-born…it’s as much his own fault as anyone else’s, and he is old enough to know it.

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After an excerpt from Patience’s early writings about Fitz, “Time and Again” opens to Bee waking from a night of uneasy and unrestful sleep to the imprecations of her attendant, Careful. Changes to her appearance and presentation are noted, and the approach of Winterfest is marked. Bee reflects on her parents’ joy in the holiday, and she comes down to breakfast as Fitz and Riddle discuss the latter’s departure and travel plans. Shun and Lant join the trio at meal and insinuate themselves into the trip, which Bee dislikes, and Shun tarries long.

The trip to a nearby market town is described, and Bee enjoys her part of it. In the town, Bee finds herself flattered at Fitz’s attentions to her, and she delights in the holiday atmosphere. At length, however, prophecy begins to overtake her, and Fitz begins to grow wary of those around. Amid his growing concerns, he notices Bee attending to dogs bred for sport, and rage begins to overtake him that Riddle cannot stop. Fitz emphatically rebukes the dog-seller and the crowd that had gathered to watch his gory antics, and the surrounding tension only slowly subsides.

As Fitz, Riddle, and Bee head off, Bee again notices a particular beggar. While they eat, Bee pointedly commends Fitz’s actions with the dog-seller, leaving the men somewhat taken aback.

There is, in the prefatory materials, something that provokes what I have found to be dangerous thoughts in me: the might-have-been. While I readily acknowledge the affect and imprecision inherent in such readings, I find myself verging on such considerations, myself, as I read the reported in-milieu words of Patience (implied to have been found by Bee on one of her excursions through Withywoods); while I do not necessarily look on what might have been had I taken a child into my life that I could have but did not–my daughter is my daughter, and I am fortunate to have had her in my life as long as she has had hers–I do find myself, and entirely too often, considering what might have been had I but done some thing differently, had I applied to one more graduate program, had I written one more paper instead of grading one more class’s worth of them, that kind of thing.

Less often, but not more helpfully, I have thought on what might have been had I been a better man than I am, had I gone with my family to do a given thing rather than staying home, sitting hunched over at my desk and working. There has too rarely been a “later” for me to get to it, but the work has always continued. Even now, there is work I could be doing and perhaps should be doing instead of typing out these words, and if I am alone in my home to type them now, how often have I held myself apart from what my wife and daughter were doing, from what those who might have been my friends were doing, in favor of getting some task or another done that somehow never shortened the litany of things I needed to be doing?

But I digress, again as often.

With the book approaching its end–there are only five chapters and an epilogue left in the present volume–it is clear that some massive action is coming. The return of Fitz’s immense capacity for violence is one sign of it. That the present chapter focuses on preparations for Winterfest, with which the main action of the novel begins, is another such sign; by echoing the beginning of the text, the present chapter suggests the end of it, a close of exposition that invites the onset of action. And the attention paid to the one beggar in town indicates that said beggar is (and I do not apologize for the pun in context) a catalyst for that action.

Even without the benefit of rereading, I think a sense of foreboding could be justified. Hobb is writing Fitz, after all, and while he is no Miles O’Brien, Fitz does seem to come in for a lot of suffering along the way.

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

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Following an excerpt from Bee’s records of her dreams, “Lessons” begins with Bee musing bitterly on her first dinner with Lant in attendance, describing in some detail the many vexations she found at the meal and with its other attendees. She notes her infatuation with Lant and his own preoccupation with Shun. Conversation at the table proceeds around her, and she excuses herself to her own rooms once dinner is done.

Bee rehearses her day as she makes for her former chambers, and after some attempt to commune with what might be the messenger’s ghost, she enters the hidden corridors. Within them, she encounters the cat of her acquaintance, with whom she confers about the messenger and her effects. She also enters into an agreement with the cat, although the shadow of Nighteyes within her bristles at it and rebukes her for it.

The next morning, Bee rises and is attended to by a servant whose actions she dislikes. The servant remarks on the manner in which Bee has been kept previously and blushes at Bee’s compliments before sending her on to her day. Bee reports to breakfast, joining Fitz, and the two talk briefly uneasily, considering their respective statuses in the household. Shun enters, offering her jabs, and receives Bee’s rebuke in time for Lant to see it and grow wary of her.

After breakfast, Bee reports to class, startled to find as many students present as she does. She joins the class, and Lant begins to assess his pupils’ knowledge. Bee considers social situations as the assessment proceeds, and she faces close scrutiny when she is assessed. After some rebuke, instruction begins, and Bee finds herself under some onus as the lessons proceed.

After the lesson, Bee changes clothes and returns to the corridors, conferring with the cat therein once again. She reads some of Fitz’s work, puzzling over his annotations on a copy of an older work, and she is somewhat surprised when Fitz greets her at her work. The two confer, and Bee is momentarily worried about being unloved; Fitz is able to set the worry aside, and she reluctantly joins the household for dinner.

The meal passes uncomfortably for Bee, conversation once again flowing around her until Fitz addresses her directly about her readings. Bee shines in the conversation, forcing others to reassess her. Bee belatedly realizes that Fitz has guided conversation to that end, and she realizes to her surprise that the shadow of Nighteyes is in Fitz, as well. She recognizes more of the underlying social structures at work in the growing household, and she considers it through the rest of the evening.

The next day, after breakfast, Bee reports to the schoolroom, where she notes that Perseverance shows signs of having been in a fight. He asks for her help with letters, and she offers it gladly until interrupted by the arrival of Lant in the classroom. Lessons begin, and the absence of one particularly insouciant student is marked. Perseverance’s condition is explained as the result of a disagreement over words said by that student about his sister, and tension builds between teacher and students.

The present chapter is an unusually long one, over thirty pages in the edition I am reading. I make note of the fact because the idea of there being some information to mine out of the chapters’ lengths remains with me, although I have still not been able to conduct the kind of investigation into it that I would need to to find out what that information is. Someday, of course. Someday…

More usually, the present chapter provokes me to read with affect, if with perhaps more of it than is (unfortunately?) common for my reading. Some oblique reference is made to Fitz’s experience as Galen’s student amid the seeming disdain in which Lant holds Bee, which has the effect, I think, of reducing sympathy for Lant in many readers–and I am not immune to that effect, myself. But I do also have some sympathy for him that results from my own experience at the front of the classroom, having had unfortunate introductions to students because I first saw them acting other than at their best or because they saw no point to formalized learning, generally, or to the subject matter I was set to teach, specifically. And I know that I did not always present myself optimally in the classroom, on each first day or afterward, although I think I was better earlier in my teaching career than later; burnout is a thing, of course, and the situation in which I taught and that in which Lant does are dissimilar in ways other than the fiction of the latter makes manifest.

Too, I do find myself in continuing sympathy with Bee. Part of this is expected narrative effect; presentation from a first-person narrative perspective inclines toward the development of readerly sympathy / empathy as a matter of course, and Bee is also clearly the focal figure of the text. (It’s not uncommon in the novels centering on Fitz that the broader narrative is really about someone else. In the Farseer novels, it’s about Verity. In the Tawny Man, it’s about Dutiful. In both, the Fool is likely the real deuteragonist. That Fitz is the narrator complicates the analysis somewhat, but his actions are driven by his relationships to those figures rather than by himself. But to make that argument will require more time than I can currently afford making it, and I add another item to the ever-growing pile of scholarly somedays I will need to address.) Part, though, is my specific readerly situation. I have been the student on the receiving end of…particular expectations (if not those under which Bee initially labors), and, as I consider my own daughter, I know that she has also been that student. So far, my daughter has risen to them (for the most part, but we all have off days now and again), but I also know that awareness of those expectations creates its own burdens and anxieties. I have seen my daughter struggle with them, sometimes with intense feeling, and so to see that kind of struggle presented in the text…resonates with me. I don’t know that it is teaching me anything new, but it is perhaps reminding me of things I need to do better at keeping in mind.

I am proud of my daughter, of course. She gives me ample reason to be, and in a startling variety of ways; she is far from ungifted, academically, and she displays talents in skills in many other areas in addition to being generally of pleasant and engaging disposition. I do expect much from her, but if I do, it is because I believe she can do most anything she decides to do.

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