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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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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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Following a brief commentary on instructional practices, “Things to Keep” begins with Fitz musing on his errors with Bee as she fumes at him silently. He takes her to a chamber that has been recently cleaned, marking the changes to it as she arrives therein and is taken aback at them. At her request, he returns to her those of her effects he had preserved, even as the loss of others is marked. Fitz also turns over Molly’s belt-knife to Bee, and she explains why she wants it from him, which explanation takes him aback. Recognizing belatedly the situation in which they both find themselves, Fitz begins teaching her the use of the knife as a weapon, and he is somewhat shocked at how well she takes to the lessons.

Bee and Fitz also confer about his having opened reading lessons to all of the children of Withywoods, with her noting public rumor about his motives and him asserting his actual intentions with it. Bee begrudgingly accepts his explanation and removes her things to her room, leaving Fitz to be harangued by Shun. When she insinuates Molly’s infidelity, Fitz grows coldly angry, and Riddle, who happens by, recognizes the danger in which Shun has placed herself, escorting her off before matters can sour further.

Later, in private, Fitz fumes about the insult offered him, and he recognizes that Bee is in position to observe him. He mulls over her investigations as he assesses whether or not they have continued recently, which musing is interrupted by the arrival of Riddle in his study. Riddle notes increasing entanglements with Shun and well-meaning servants in the household, and he reports receipt of a message from Chade. Part of its contents speak to Lant’s maternity, Fitz puzzling out dates and setting aside theories based upon his calculations. Those theories and calculations become the topic of discussion between the two men, and the death of Laurel, who had aided with the Piebald troubles, is reported; she had departed Buckkeep and vanished, with the next word of her being news of her passing. Riddle presses Fitz to make space for Lant in his home, and Fitz reluctantly agrees.

That afternoon, Fitz makes overtures toward Lant, calling on him in his chambers. Assessing his situation, he asks him to begin joining the family at dinner, and Lant reluctantly agrees.

I cannot help but wonder if Hobb is making some jab in the prefatory material to the present chapter. In it, the in-milieu comment (from Fedwren, no less, after whom my Project is named) remarks with some aspersion on a “Scribe Martin.” I note that Hobb’s Realm of the Elderlings corpus and George RR Martin’s Song of Ice and Fire began at roughly the same time–but that in the time that the latter has extended to five volumes in the time that the former had stretched into its eleventh (with the present volume being the fourteenth), and none of the novels in the Realm of the Elderlings series are short. While it might simply be the case that Hobb favors using bird-names for her Six Duchies scribes (and I’d need to look through the corpus for a few more examples to bear out that idea–another scholarly someday), it does not exceed belief that there might well be some poking at a contemporary working in the same field–and who is, in some senses, competition.

I have to wonder, too, about what seems to me to be gender essentialism at work in the current chapter. Bee makes a comment to the effect of “girls don’t have to hit you to hurt you,” and Fitz reflects upon the comment amid and after his encounter with Shun. While it is certainly the case that Shun is acting the antagonist–evoking Regal in some ways, and not pleasantly–it is also the case that a number of male–and decidedly masculine–characters in the Realm of the Elderlings novels have acted thusly, even among the protagonists. Fitz has done his share of social sniping, for one, and both Chade and Dutiful have shown themselves remarkably adept at such maneuvers more than once in the novels. Too, it is not as if Shun has not shown herself to be competent at assassin’s tasks–and all that leaves aside the Liveship Traders novels, which seem to me to be in large part commentaries on the need for gender equity, as well as the example of Kettricken–and the more complex one of the Fool, already attested to good effect by several scholars. Is the present chapter something of a back-slide for Hobb? Is it a recognition and presentation of the non-uniformity of opinion within a region? Perhaps some comment on the urban / rural divide? As I think on it amid the rereading, I am uncertain–just as I am uncertain how many scholarly somedays I ought to note relating to a single chapter.

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After an excerpt from an instructional text, “Settling In” opens with Bee holding still and attempting, without success, to evade detection by Fitz. He summons her to confer with her about Lant and his situation, and talk turns to Bee’s Farseer status. The two discuss her knowledge of her heritage, and Chade’s motivations for sending Lant to Fitz are noted. Bee intuits similar motivations regarding Shun, and she considers what she has learned and how. Fitz notes his neglect of her, and the two make shift to repair their relationship.

Life at Withywoods slowly begins to adjust to the presence of both Shun and Lant, and Bee continues to call on Per, who notes with some annoyance that he and the other children of the manor will be included in lessons. Per also notes local gossip surrounding Fitz–as Badgerlock–and Shun, much of which takes Bee aback. She is left fuming about her situation and the changes to it, and she moves to address them with Fitz, only to find him in the final stages of enacting changes to her bedroom that had not been discussed with her. She intuits the reasoning for Fitz’s actions and plays along in front of others, realizing unexpectedly the place she has in their lives.

Somewhat overwhelmed, Bee withdraws to her old rooms, assessing them and the loss of things made by her mother’s hands for her. Fitz soon joins her, and she rages at him for not having consulted her in his haste to address the issue of the messenger. He accepts the rebuke, to her chagrin, and he lays out plans for the coming days. Bee’s anger is not assuaged, but she accompanies him as he makes to see about his next tasks.

As I reread the chapter, I was put in mind both of Gilman’s “The Yellow Wallpaper” and Woolf’s A Room of One’s Own. While it has, admittedly, been some time since I read either piece–they’re both both earlier and later than my usual studies–and there is a tension between them, and neither is an exact parallel for Bee’s situation in the present chapter, there are echoes of both in it. Add to the list of scholarly someday projects, or to the list of “I’m not the right kind of scholar for this, but I’d read it” projects that have come up throughout this rereading series (and other parts of this webspace I yet maintain).

I noted, too, that the present chapter is of a more “normal” length than the previous–or than a number of other chapters that focus on Bee. Again, I am not sure what pattern is present or what can emerge from identifying such a pattern, but I cannot shake the feeling that there is some information to be gleaned from investigating it. But that’s already been a scholarly someday for a while, now, and I don’t think I need to belabor that point at this point.

Further, and again again, I found myself reading with no small affect as the narrative followed Bee and her vexation at both the public perception of her father and at being treated as a child. It’s not easy to realize the ways in which beloved family members are seen by those outside the family; while public perception of my parents has been more or less in line with how they are at home, I’ve got any number of cousins and other collateral relatives for whom so much is not true. (I know what my reputation has been among several publics, as well; there’ve been times I’ve been more or less at ease with it and its alignment with how I am when in less public situations. But that’s another matter entirely.) And I learned early on that I do not appreciate being spoken for without being consulted; there were more than a few heated arguments about that point in my youth, and it was an early source of friction in my marriage. (My wife and I have long since addressed the issue, however.) My own daughter is not much more fond of it than I was (or am), and while I try to consult her for things before making decisions, I know I don’t always do well at it–and her vexation with me at such times is not unjustified.

I found myself more touched by Bee’s longing for the things her mother’s hands had made, not all of which were preserved by her father. I’m not as good about being unsentimental in my life as I ought to be, I know; even if I do try not to be so attached to things, I would weep to lose some of the stuff that I have, and for no more reason than that it was given me by my parents. I know the same is true for my daughter–perhaps more so, because she does not have the hang-ups about expressing emotion that I do. (“We live in a society,” after all.) She’s long demonstrated that she keeps a detailed inventory of her stuff in her head, and she’s complained to her parents more than once about the loss of some thing or another that really did need to go to the garbage or really was a better fit for some donation bin than for her then-current needs. And all that’s without the overlay of the loss of a parent–really, the parent, given Fitz’s own issues with parenting–that Bee suffers…I’ve got a frame of reference, but I’m still looking at it from some remove.

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Following a journal entry that references Fitz’s first encounters with Chade, Verity, and Burrich, and his recognition of the Fool as more than he seemed, “The Tutor” begins with Fitz’s recognition of FitzVigilant’s arrival amid the commotion surrounding the renovation of Withywoods. Fitz assesses the new scribe as the latter formally presents himself, and he issues directives concerning Lant’s billeting. He also assigns the new scribe the task of teaching the youth of the estate, which is accepted after a moment’s hesitation.

While Lant is seen to, Fitz rifles through his belongings. While he finds no evidence of assassin’s craft, he is surprised at the effete nature of Lant’s belongings and, pleasantly, at the quality of teaching materials he has brought with him. Fitz reconsiders his expectations of Lant, returns things to their previous arrangement, and makes to confer with Bee about him.

I note in the present chapter something of a reiteration of Hobb’s disdain for men indulging in finery. I’ve noted it here, here, and here, among others, particularly in the context of reinforcing stereotypes about homosexuality; I recall, also, that Regal is repeatedly described as attending closely to sartorial matters, far more than the “good” characters in the texts are apt to do (with the exception of the Fool, but the Fool frustrates a lot of analysis). I’ve seen others comment on it before, and I both acknowledge that the idea is not of my own devising and apologize that I did not take the appropriate notes to be able to reference it later when I encountered it before. But that I am not taking credit for the idea does not mean I am not able to point out when it seems to me to be reinforced once again, and that reinforcement remains a point of vexation for me with regards to Hobb’s writing. There is so much in it that is so very well done, and to see this thing that does seem reductivist and stereotypical being employed yet again…chafes. (Too, while I know that biographical criticism is fraught, and it is inappropriate to ascribe to the author the views or perspectives espoused by any one character, it does become more of a question when such a view is evinced among many characters across a milieu and cultures within it, as is the case with the present subject.)

I find the presentation particularly odd in the present chapter, focused as it is on a scribe. Hobb places substantial importance on writing in her works, for reasons that are entirely understandable (as I’ve suggested before); it’s only sensible that a writer would espouse the value of writing. The juxtaposition of a character in a profession that the milieu typically values and an overriding trope of disdain seems…odd to my reading. I’m not sure what to make of it at this point; I suppose this will be yet another of the many, many things I’ll address in my scholarly someday…

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After the transcript of a somewhat degraded message seemingly from Riddle to Nettle, “Perseverance” opens with Bee musing bitterly on Shun’s influence on Fitz and Riddle, noting the men’s failures of her in favor of the elder. Changes ongoing at Withywoods attract her attention, not entirely favorably, and she puts in at the stables, assessing the mare that she had been told had long since been assigned to her. While there, she encounters a stable boy who introduces himself as Per and the mare as Dapple. Per explains that he is truly named Perseverance and that he will later be called Tallestman after he exceeds the height of his father–Tallerman–who himself exceeds the height of his father, Tallman.

The pair, Per and Bee, confer further, the former noting at the latter’s suggestion that a better name for the horse than Dapple is Priss. Bee agrees, and she accepts Per’s offer of readying the animal for riding, despite her trepidation. With his further assistance, she mounts and begins to ride, albeit with him guiding both girl and beast. The exercise concludes successfully, and Bee determines to attempt it again the next day.

Bee withdraws to her private sanctum in the hidden corridors of Withywoods, considering the cloak she has made her own. Taking it up, she stalks out covertly into the manor, watching. As she does, she sees FitzVigilant arrive at Withywoods, assessing him from his appearance and demeanor as he is greeted by a servant and starts for his accommodations.

Bee is disturbed from her musings by the arrival of the cat in her acquaintance. She reluctantly admits the cat into her warren of corridors, making provision for it and offering a warning. The cat agrees to assist her in exchange for further consideration, and the two seem to begin to form a bond.

The present chapter is another relatively brief one, shy of ten pages in the edition of the text I am reading–and I am reminded once again that I really ought to spend some time with a full set of the Fitz-centric Elderlings novels in a single edition so I can pull out page-lengths. It’s a project for another time, one of the many “somedays” I’ve seen as I’ve worked through the rereading and even before, when the pages of my personal journals boasted ideas for papers to be written and how rather than focusing on the shapes of my days and the experiences of my loved ones in them. (I do think the current use of those pages is a better one; I think that my daughter, and maybe some others to follow her, will get some good from the daily record that they cannot from my scholarly ambitions. But the earlier use remains on the pages I used to write no less than in the pixels I produce.) I still don’t know what, if anything, looking at that kind of data will reveal, but I do think there is something there to look at. There’s meaning to be found in every detail, “intentionally” placed or not.

Aside from that, though, I think the present chapter does well at presenting children’s interactions. I’ll admit to being inexpert in such things. My daughter is an only child, although she has a fair number of friends in the neighborhood and outside it, so I’ve not watched a lot of child-on-child interactions. My own childhood is many years ago, now, and what I remember about my interactions with other children is…not kind. (I was not a good friend, having a massive chip on my shoulder, and my mouth often wrote checks my ass could not cash. I was also not a good brother. I take some satisfaction in having taught my daughter to do better than I did.) But what I have seen and what I do know seems to be in line with the kind of fixation and interaction Hobb depicts. The plain presentation of information moving from topic to topic with little transition and rapt attention seem in accord with what I recall others doing and what I’ve gotten glimpses of my daughter doing. It’s a pleasant enough thing to witness, even through print, however long it might actually get to last.

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