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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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After an excerpt from an in-milieu conduct manual, “Search for the Son” begins with Fitz conferring with his steward, Revel, about coming changes and the standing décor of the guest suites in Withywoods. Fitz endues the steward’s gentle rebuke for his negligence and ignorance, and he authorizes repairs. He reaches out then through the Skill to Nettle, seeking approval for the use of funds and finding some exasperation from his elder daughter about it. The pair also confer about FitzVigilant for a bit before Nettle retires.

Fitz muses then on Bee and her reluctance to be with him and on Shun’s many complaints. He contrives an errand to buy himself and Bee some time of peace at the estate, and he recognizes what Bee is learning about him from reading his papers. He further ruminates on the messenger that had reached him and the clear signs that she and her pyre had been observed; more rumination about how to proceed on the Fool’s request and how to secure Bee follows. Fitz confers with Chade through the Skill about the matter, after which he revels in Skilling for a time.

Nettle catches Fitz at his lingering, rebuking him harshly and at some length. Her comments about Bee leave him stunned and considering his mistakes once again.

The prefatory bit for the present chapter offers a singular bit of delight; the excerpt from Lady Celestia’s Guide to Manners comes off as a biting comment on etiquette guides, generally, and I have to wonder if there is something biographical at work in the offering. The title of the excerpted piece–which does carry the function Oliver asserts in his comments about similar bits in Assassin’s Apprentice–suggests that the work will be some genteel, kindly thing, and the suggestion is utterly belied by the text itself, which is…certainly a thing, coming off as underscoring methods of manipulation and control rather than as a guide to getting along well with others. Therein, I think, lies the commentary. To what extent is etiquette merely the means of securing control from and over others? To what extent does it follow Frankfurt’s assertion at the end of On Bullshit? Fredal’s in College English? Or is it simply the juxtaposition of content and expectation–since the author and title follow the scathing passage–that produces effect? Such questions are the kinds of which critical inquiry is made, and they add to the large pile of such things that I have to think upon–later on.

The last part of the chapter, in which Nettle rebukes Fitz for his seeming willingness to die and his neglect of Bee, resonates with me, affective reader that I am. I’ve not made any secret of having a child–a wonderfully precocious daughter for whom I feel great affection. I don’t think I’ve hidden that I am and remain markedly insecure about how I parent her. I worry fairly often that I do not challenge her enough; I worry just as often that I push her too hard. In both cases, I worry about whether or not I am teaching her what she needs to know to be a person in the world and to be able to find happiness for herself, and I am concerned at pretty much all times that I am working against both of those simply by being the person I am. It’s probably overthought, in the event; to all appearances, my daughter thrives, and if she faces some problems, they seem to be the kind endemic to children in the Texas Hill Country. But there is still a voice in my head that nettles me about it, even though I have little enough wit or skill or magic about me, and so I find myself once again feeling right along with Fitz, flawed though I know such reading necessarily is.

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After an excerpt from a translated commentary on killing (one that Dargen seems to have studied), “The Morning After” begins with Bee waking late and ruminating on her displeasure at Fitz’s seeming valuing Shun over her. She also considers how others relate to her, and she fumes as she collects clothing that fits badly and changes in private before seeking Fitz.

Bee finds Fitz at table with Shun and Riddle, and she comments with some aspersion on him having eaten without her. Several barbed exchanges ensue, with Bee aiming at Fitz to some effect–though he does not respond in kind–and Shun to more of it, provoking anger from her. Fitz notes the impending arrival of FitzVigilant, which occasions mild upset from some present and curiosity from others, with Bee remembering his earlier visit to Withywoods. Shun’s continued barbs are shut down, and Bee becomes aware both of Fitz’s approval and the limits of others’ knowledge. More normal conversation follows, with Bee ruminating on preparations and on her status as she excuses herself from the table.

Later, Bee returns to the messenger’s pyre, rekindling the flame and ruminating on the messenger and on bits of prophecy of which she is aware. Returning to her home, she observes a cat at hunt. The successful animal notes the utility of autonomy, and Bee considers the lesson closely.

The present chapter is another brief one, less than ten pages in the edition of the novel I am reading. Again, I am not sure regarding any significance of the chapter lengths or patterns in them, and, again, I am convinced that going through the text and taking page-counts is something that could be done, with some tedium though not with difficulty.

It occurs to me that the idea of some significance associating itself with something like patterns of chapter-lengths runs into the notion of authorial intent. Wimsatt and Beardsley come to mind, of course, as do gallons of ink spilled on reams of paper about curtains being blue. That is, whether Hobb means anything by any patterns of chapter length that exist is immaterial; even if she has attested to it–and I do not know if she has; I’ve admitted that the Fedwren Project is not comprehensive, after all–the attestation would be itself a re/construction of events, a story told about them, subject to the frailties of human memory and perception in the recording and the relation.

What matters is the effect such a pattern has on readers, and whether that effect is in accord with the effects generated by the other features of the text. (Whether chapter length counts as text, proper, or as paratext is something that could be argued meaningfully. It likely has been in other contexts, but , if it has, references thereto do not come to mind.) For me, the shorter chapters stand out no less than the longer ones; the very difference marks them out for some attention. Whether those differences correspond to any particular points of narrative heft, I cannot say at the moment; I’d have to do the data collection and review my notes in a way that composing this entry in the rereading series does not really allow (and, honestly, I should have the notes for the entire body of work ready before I make the attempt). But I can say that anything that sticks out calls for attention, deliberately or not, and even if it is not a deliberate thing on the author’s part, there is some meaning to be gleaned–even if only a little.

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A fragment of recorded prophecy regarding the Unexpected Son prefaces “The Beaten Man,” which begins with Fitz considering that fragment in detail. How the prophecy had been thought to apply to him is noted, and Fitz glosses his long friendship with the Fool. Amid his reverie, Fitz realizes that the Fool had reached out to him before, that he had failed to see it, and he sorrows deeply.

As Fitz considers further and prepares to still his mind for sleep, he is disturbed by a Skill-sending from Chade. FitzViglant, having narrowly escaped being killed, will be sent to Withywoods, and circumstances surrounding both the attempt on his life and his sending out are discussed. Chade also notes something is amiss with Fitz and asks after him, only to be deflected.

Taken wholly out of sleep by Chade’s Skilling, Fitz stalks through Withywoods, assessing its condition and his next steps. He makes some arrangement’s for Bee’s things, then finds himself in the kitchens. There, he eats and manages to fall asleep.

Fitz is woken the next morning by baking in progress. He confers with the baker, then takes himself off to bathe and shave. While bathing, he receives word of some itinerant campers on the land, and he frets about their intentions.

The present chapter is another brief one, some twelve pages in the edition I am reading, and I am reminded that I really need to do the intellectual grunt-work of tracing page-counts across the Realm of the Elderlings novels. It wouldn’t be hard to do, I know, just somewhat tedious–though it would have, for me, the concern of distraction. Often, when doing the kind of work I do, I find myself starting to read again–which seems like no big deal when working with books, but there’s a difference between reading to find something and reading to read, and I slip all too often into the latter while trying to engage in the former. It’s not a problem, as such; reading is good, after all, and even though I am in another line of work, now, it is the kind of thing I trained to do for years. But it is a distraction from work I try to do, sometimes even for money.

In terms of narrative effect, the present chapter seems to me to be doing two things. The first is to set up juxtaposition. Consider one antecedent (among many): Macbeth 2.3, the porter scene (to l. 44). Between intense moments of high drama, the play features a comic, bawdy passage; the function of it, as others have attested, is to highlight the intensity of the drama, the juxtaposition between a whiskey-dick joke and the revelation of a royal murder making the latter hit harder.

The second, more overt, is to bring back into the main narrative a character who had been discussed before. It had been a while, both in chapter-count and in in-milieu time, since Lant had been a factor in the text. That he would be bound to come back seems sensible enough; while there is some utility in introducing a concept or character and not bringing it up again in the same novel–I’m minded of comments about Tolkien’s Legendarium and the “deeper history” mentioned in passing at various points in Lord of the Rings–there is also the issue of Chekhov’s Gun, and FitzVigilant is resonant in a narrative centered on FitzChivalry.

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An incomplete letter from Fitz to the Fool precedes “Invisibility,” which begins with Bee fuming at Fitz’s attention to Shun. She changes into new clothes, noting her late mother’s handiwork upon them, and she stumbles onto a strange cloak left by the now-dead messenger. Taking it up, she finds another entrance to the hidden corridors of Withywoods. There, she attends to a cat that she had bidden hunt for her and secrets it away in her hiding-place. Fitz finds her there, and he takes her to what had been Molly’s sitting room, where they will both spend the night.

The present chapter is startlingly brief, only six pages in the edition I am reading. Following immediately after another brief chapter, it creates the impression of accelerating towards some event of import–sensibly enough, since the book is closer to its end at the end of the present chapter than it is to its beginning. To put it in terms of Freytag’s Pyramid, the falling action is clearly underway–although what the climax of the novel is in that sense is not entirely clear to my reading. Is it the arrival of the messenger? The arrival of Shun? Fitz’s agreement to take her on? The death of Molly, even? And, to expand to the whole of the Fitz-focused portion of the Realm of the Elderlings corpus, where is the overall climax? Is it even appropriate to apply Freytag’s pyramid to such an overarching narrative structure?

Many questions, of course, and it is good to have so many; it means there’s more work to do with the texts. So much is, perhaps, a self-serving assertion; I do, after all, do such work, and it is in my best interest to note there’s more of it to do. But the electrician who sees room for more circuits to be installed is not held to blame for it, nor yet the mason who sees where stonework could be built to benefit. And if it is the case that the work I do does not have the immediate benefit that that done by tradespeople carries, it is also the case that any ill done by my work is less harmful–while the good it does may well endure longer.

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Following an excerpted translation done by Fitz of a damaged original, “Honored Guests” returns to Bee’s narrative perspective and glosses the adjustments to her life occasioned by the arrival of Shun and the arrival and departure of the messenger. She accompanies Fitz as he secures her in the hidden corridors of Withywoods so that he can make a full search of the facility, and Bee ruminates on her recent visions as he departs to carry out the search. She records what she recalls, then leaves a message for Fitz and strikes out through the corridors on her own again.

Bee’s escapades in the corridors are detailed, and Fitz returns to recover her. When he does, Bee asks him after the results of his search, which he reports, and she asks him for a knife, which he agrees will come in time. The pair discuss Shun, as well, and Bee is annoyed at having been left with her while Fitz and Riddle confer together. Shun, for her part, seems no happier with it, and the two trade barbs until Fitz returns. Then Bee asks to be taken to bed, sniping at Fitz as she does, and she considers the status of the household after Fitz withdraws.

Bee is disturbed from her reverie by the return of the messenger, who is in markedly poor condition. She calls out, and Fitz arrives in haste and anger, but relents as he recognizes the messenger. The messenger provides information that confirms the veracity of her mission to Fitz, and she delivers her message: the Fool has an heir he asks Fitz to find and ensure is safe. The message delivered, she warns of the danger in her body and dies; Fitz and Bee prepare to burn the body and all the cloth they know it has touched.

After too long a while, I have been at work updating the Fedwren Project. My lack of institutional affiliation and access does complicate that work a bit, to be sure, but it is good to return to reading and addressing scholarly writing. I have no doubt that it is going to get into the write-ups I do here, and, in truth, it ought to do so. There is a growing body of scholarship on Hobb’s works, to which I flatter myself that I can contribute in the rereading, the Fedwren Project, and such other learned (or “learned”) writing that is yet in me to do. So there’s that.

To return to discussion, though: the present chapter seems to further the foreshadowing and issues of gender fluidity at work in the previous chapter. (Discussion of the latter in earlier series is in the Katavić, Melville, Nordlund, Prater, Räsänen, Sanderson, and Schouwenaars sources in the Fedwren Project, which I recall now that I’ve resumed some work on it.) After Fitz’s experience thinking that the messenger was, in fact, the Fool and being surprised at the revelation that she was not, the idea that the Fool has sent word of a son lost along the way, coupled with the translation-excerpt at the head of the chapter, it seems fairly obvious (even without the benefit of a rereading) that the object of the Fool’s message is not as the characters expect.

Admittedly, I am rereading, and I am outside the narrative itself, so I have access to information the characters within the narrative do not. The oversight and lack of insight may be Hobb deploying irony, deliberately or otherwise; it seems a bit heavy-handed to my reading if it is the case, but I also know that I have had trouble catching onto things at times, and I flatter myself (among others) that I am an insightful reader. It may also be the case that Hobb is continuing to make the kind of commentary about gendering that the scholars noted above–and possibly others; again, I am at work on the Fedwren Project, so I may run into other piece yet that I do not presently recognize–identify. I’d not be surprised, of course, or disappointed; I do enjoy seeing that others also have recourse to Hobb’s works, and I hope to continue to contribute to such discussions.

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