Redwall readthrough - Redwall

Being super great at finishing what I start, I've started to do another series readthrough. Pay no attention to the half-finished Asterix and Deverry readthroughs. Instead, come enjoy this romp through the Redwall series!

For those who don't know, Redwall is a series of children's fantasy books by Brian Jacques famous for its use of anthropomorphic animals, good vs evil, and regional British dialects. It was hugely popular when I was a young 'un (the first book was published in 1986, the year of my birth); I do not know how popular they are now, nearly ten years after Jacques' death and the posthumous publication of the last book in the series. I probably discovered them when I was around 10; I was still joyfully enjoying being able to take the latest release from my uncles' bookshop for free in my late teens.

Obviously I am no longer in my teens, but now I am going to read them all again and share my thoughts. On board? No? Good. Lets roll those credits!

Mini-Review: In Redwall Abbey, home of things lovely and peaceful, young Matthias the novice in his oversized habit is hurrying through life and dreaming of one less peaceful and lovely. Travelling towards Redwall Abbey is Cluny the Scourge, champion carrier of bags for little old ladies and all round nice guy legendarily evil and brutal warlord. And he likes your abbey. He wants your abbey. And nobody's going to stand in his way, not even his own henchrats. But Redwall's walls are thick, its inhabitants determined, and the spirit of Martin the Warrior, even more legendary warrior of good, still haunts the stones of the abbey he helped found. And in Matthias, his warrior spirit lives on - but where is his sword?

What do I recall thinking at the time: I did not start the series with Redwall, I started it with Mossflower, and that set some expectations that the series' first book didn't really meet. I wanted far ranging quests, a touch of wildness, hares fighting with searats and otters and squirrels battling vermin hordes. Redwall concentrates far more on the abbey, and the clash of peaceful mice vs the enemy, and doesn't really offer the multiple plotlines that later books would that allow the showing of various different parts of the world. I read it, but it was never one of my favourites. I was too bloodthirsty a kid for that.

What do I think now: I think it's not unknown for first books to struggle in such readthroughs because they don't contain all the elements people came to love about the series. Or at least it's not unknown for me, and it's happening here. I miss the otters. I miss the quest. But I do like it better now. The abbey community is more interesting, there's a few elements that did not live on that I enjoy (sparra killee worm!) and there's definitely a good nostalgia feeling to going back to where it all starts.

Best Thing: Matthias and Methusaleh have such a great relationship, with the wise old scholar being a mentor who helps his charge but who doesn't make his decisions. Basil Stag Hare is immense fun with his constant derision of Cluny's horde. But the best, most dramatic moment, is when Matthias is fighting the great adder Asmodeus. It put the wind up as me as a kid and it's still tense and awesome now. 

That said, in general, the best thing is the way the forces of good are so much more competent than the despicable soldiers of Cluny. I've got a real soft spot for stories where the protagonists are simply better than the antagonists, and their victory is no desperate last ditch attempt or million to one shot, but the simple and natural way of things. Redwall falls into this category, with Cluny and his vermin stumbling from disaster to disaster, every time coming back with a cunning plan that the abbey dwellers shut down like it's barely an inconvenience. As a way of having fun, I am very much down with this. Of course, there's still a desperate last ditch victory following the one time Cluny gets lucky but hey, nothing wrong with having it both ways, right?

Worst Thing: I think the second time Matthias just ups and offs without a word in his quest for Martin's sword my eye twitched a little. It's just one sword that does sword things, mate. It really shouldn't be the answer. And even if it is, just tell them! Don't be that hero Matthias.

Other Notes:

These are really notes about the whole series rather than the book itself, but there are some things that jumped out at me as being of some importance that I obviously didn't think of as a kid.

1) Let's start with the big one - the very neat alignment between species and outlook. Mice are good. Rats are evil. Stoats, weasels and ferrets are little better. Foxes are sly and wicked. Hares are the British upper class at war. Moles are homely types from the west country. Shrews are quarreling unionized Merseyside dockers. Now, look, I'm a 90s kid who grew up on a steady diet of good races vs bad races. Just how it was and what I'm used to. And I'm firmly of the opinion most of us are capable of distinguishing between fictional conceits and how the real world works, particularly when it comes to talking mice with swords, so whatevs. For me, this is like putting mushy peas on a plate. I didn't ask for the plate for the mushy peas, and I'm not going to pay attention to the mushy peas, and I'll enjoy the rest of the meal and leave the mushy peas there.

Even so, it's a lot of mushy peas and I know not everyone is wired like me on this one. For some this is a dealbreaker. And I know Jacques takes a bit more (only bit more) nuanced view on this later, and I found myself longing for it because after a bit, the characters feel a bit samey. Also, this is a book aimed at kids. Would I rec this for adults who fancy reading some YA-ish stuff for some fast fun? Sure, if this isn't a big one. For their kids? I guess caveat emptor, but there's some potential lessons here a bunch of people mightn't want near their kids. I'd like to believe a sensible kid will be able to work out the difference between the fictional conceit and how the real world works too, and that if a kid uses this as an excuse to think real life ethnicities are just born different, the book isn't the main problem, but the best laid plans of mice and men alike gang aft agley.

Put it this way. Would I put it in front of my own kid? Probably yeah, but only when I feel happy they can distinguish between reality and fiction, and isn't on the path to being a bit of a dick.

2) I know - I think we all know - that men read for pleasure less than women, and that it starts young. I believe I've read that the gap is increasing. It's not the most pressing issue in literature, particularly not in a genre that generally appeals strongly to men, but it's there. It's a potential avenue to more revenue for the industry, it's a potential avenue to better academic performance and life outcomes for men. Now, I don't know the YA market and how much books like this are part of the offering. I don't know whether, even if a shortage of books like was a problem, whether a book about talking mice from 30+ years ago would be the answer. But I do remember actual books for kids having really limited cut-through when I was younger and this was one of the few exceptions. Are there lessons for the industry in Redwall? I've no clue, but I'd love to hear more from people who know kids' books better.

3) Finally - something I'd have never thought of as a kid, or even until I saw so many people talking about their identities - but this book is as English as possible. And I actually think that's not so common. People complain about there being so much medieval fantasy, or so much stuff riffing off of the British Isles, but really most of that is accent notes in hybrid dreamland worlds, places that owe more to the idea of Fantasy that anywhere in the real world, orphans born of a dozen parents. I love that type of fantasy - frankly I wonder if we're in danger of losing it - but there's a long tether between it and England's green and pleasant land. Redwall and Mossflower, however, are as English as The Shire and Lancre. They are born out of an author's obvious love for what they walked amongst. I'm not sure I appreciate it any more or less for that, but it is a thing worthy of note.

Read As Thou Wilt: Kushiel’s Dart Readalong, Part Two

Wotcha all, and welcome to part two of the readalone, covering chapters 17 to 31. The questions this week come from Nrlymrtl at Dab of Darkness and with that said, time to get on with it.

 Q1) We get a few more hints of magic or the supernatural in this section. Phedre sees Kushiel's visage after Alcuin is injured; Hyacinthe's mom & he himself both have things revealed via the dromonde; that moment of deep peace at Elua's statue. What do you think of magic in this world?

The word supernatural seems more appropriate than magic to me, that's for sure. To riff a little on what Imyril's already said, I have a personal classification on magic being an intentional act using learned skills, where as something like the dromonde is simply an extension of one's personal if unusual abilities (for all we're told that Hyacinthe's mother teaches him the dromonde). It's something like learning to play rugby or tennis vs just being extremely good at jumping, to use an awful analogy. And what's happening to Phèdre certainly feels more like divine visitations than magic - or maybe nothing at all. Indeed, while we're clearly being asked to see the supernatural as readers, everything so far could be explained rationally.

And I love it. I love this sort of could be, maybe isn't, little peek into the supernatural type of fantasy worlds. I enjoy magic to the power of fuck yeah stories, but my heart belongs first and foremost to these subtler displays of fantastic conceits. Carey handles it very well personally; she gives it the right level of skepticism, of fascination, and of awe. This is the sort of worldbuilding and supernatural that makes stories better without bogging them down.

Q2) More politics! For those new to the series, what do you make of Baudoin and his mother, the Lioness of Azzalle? For those rereading, are you noticing details you missed before?

Baudoiiiiing! No, I never actually thought of that before. But the noise seems appropriate for his role in the story. I don't really recall what I thought of him the first time I read this but this time around, his callowness and insensitivity are magnified. He's the stock image of a romantic prince that might be the hero in some Arthurian tale, but here presented from the view of one better positioned to see feet of clay than the head of gold. That Phèdre is so affected by his death is part testament to her empathy, part her weakness for magnificent and ruthless assurance (even if he wasn't so assured in the end).

As for the Lioness - it would have been fun to see more. But maybe the story is better for leaving you wanting more of her rather than showing too much.

Q3) What do you think of Alciun's final assignation? Guy's death? Would Alcuin have been happier, but perhaps less useful, as something other than Naamah's servant?

Mm... I don't think Alcuin would have been happier, because he'd have been less useful.

I think that Alcuin had a powerful need to repay Delaunay's kindnesses. I think he needed to be able to approach him as an equal - someone who had done a great thing for Delaunay rather than someone who had simply always depended on him. Being a servant of Namaah gave him a chance to do so in a way I can't imagine happening any other way - and neither, apparently, could Alcuin. I'm back to my view of love having a transactional element in this story - Alcuin loved Delaunay and needed something of value to bring to the table. This was it. Would he have been happy if he hadn't done so? Probably, because Alcuin has a gift for happiness. But I don't think more happy. And it should be noted that what makes Alcuin truly most unhappy is not what he pays to give Anafiel Delaunay, but what somebody else has to pay as well.

In any case, beyond that, I think Alcuin's final assignation shows the wisdom of Delaunay's decision on how to pursue his goals (how are the first time readers doing with that by the way?), but this is a moment of condemnation as well as vindication. Delaunay has erred a little in terms of the response he's provoked, and people he loves has paid for it. I think that hits him hard.

And from a writerly perspective, I think Carey's handling of Guy's life and death is bloody masterly. His life provided a wealth of detail, his death is the catalyst for several major plot developments, and his memory will linger and colour one of the book's most important relationships...

Q4) Phedre has a new bodyguard - a Casseline Brother, Joscelin Verreuil. What do you think his life was like before this posting? Are you surprised that Anafiel didn't dismiss him after the confrontation with Childric d'Essoms?

A lot duller.

...

What? I'm right, aren't I?

The exact nature of being a Casseline is mostly hinted at here; we know they're monkish bodyguard badasses and that's about it. We know Joscelin was born noble, so maybe being a monkish bodyguard badass was a bit of a culture shock for him, but it seems unlikely given how attached he is to the role. I wish we knew more about Angeline faith too here, as the Casseline disapproval of the Night Court makes me want to know about all sorts of context. 

As for not dismissing him... after all the effort he went to to get a Casseline to guard his precious proteges? Delaunay is far too wise to throw away such an asset over one failing.

Q5) We finally meet Barquiel L'Envers. How dangerous do you think this man is? What do you make of his history with Anafiel?

Put it this way - I'm not volunteering to poison his sister.

And I really enjoyed watching him spar with Anafiel. The international man of mystery gets things his own way far too often at times - watching him on the back foot, unable to guard all his secrets, is fun. 

Q6) How did you feel about Phedre granting Childric another assignation? Was she right that she owed him a debt?

By her own moral and religious standards, yes; she needed to pay for her deceit in her own mind. Since I'm not a prostitute for religious reasons, and the only person I know to have done so probably doesn't have the patience for this book, who am I to argue?

Q7) Alcuin has completed his marque and displays it to Anafiel. How do you feel about the shift in their relationship? Phedre's response to it?

I find it sweet that Alcuin finally gets what he wants. That's my main take. Early indications seem to be I'm in a minority there, and I'm idly wondering whether it's because being a bloke, imbalanced relationships are less of a thing in my head because the risk of me or one of my friends getting caught in a bad one was far far less (not to mention it strips out less rung of inequality) in my head growing up.

And Phèdre's response is very human. Poor Phèdre. It's a good job she doesn't do anything too mad as a result.

And, of course, include anything else that piqued your interest from this section.

I'm looking back at my answers above and trying to work out if it's a function of me writing one part early in the day and the other part late at night and being too lazy to edit, or a function of me finding parts of this section more interesting than the others. It's a very busy section of book; Carey's built the core parts of the conceit carefully at the start, and here bounces all over the place establishing the seeds of the plot and D'Angeline society. A result of this is that while I enjoy a lot of scenes, a lot of it conforms close enough to expectations that I don't have a lot to say - L'Envers and the Lioness for example. You could probably turn the first two segments into their own book if you so wanted.

I guess the most interesting part of this for me that hasn't been covered is the sense of Phèdre's growth. She's no longer a child or yearning teenager; she is a woman (at least in her own estimation), a little drunk on a sense of her own importance and fulfilment of destiny, finally living her best life. It's really fun to see the little flourishes of storytelling voice where we see her looking back, a little rueful at herself but also a little proud.

And other than that... who in the world is Anafiel Delaunay!

Read As Thou Wilt: Kushiel’s Dart Readalong, Part One

 

'Ey up all, it's time for another Wyrd&Wonder read along and this time, it's Kushiel's Dart, a book dear to my heart for it's uniqueness. Great stories - in my opinion at least - are great because they do many different things at once. Kushiel's Dart is an intrigue, a romance, a slice of life as a courtesan in a magical fairyland, openly erotic yet full of mystery. There's almost nothing like it in mainstream fantasy for concept and few like it for quality; to me, I would compare Jacqueline Carey here to Guy Gavriel Kay for the ability to take character-led stories of growth and patiently turn them into emotionally powerful plots (the near-historical, low-magic worldbuilding and slightly old fashioned storytelling aids this comparison too).

Interested? You can join the readalong - details can be found at Imyril's site or the Goodreads page. We're only one week into six, so not that hard to catch up.

With no further ado:

You know it's an epic fantasy when it starts with not only a map but a list of Dramatis Personae. How do you feel about this approach to beginning a new story? Do you read the character list or use it for reference along the way?

Answering this question has made me realise that while I approve of such things as being proper fantasy like, I don't actually use them at all when starting a story and only occasionally look at them after. With apologies for being boastful, I have a gift for remembering characters' names and pertinent details (family birthdays, wife's work schedule, watering the plants - no; characters - yes) and take the view any time I actually need the dramatis personae, the author is taking the piss. I like reading them if entertaining (see Lindsay Davies) but otherwise not. The map might see more use but not here, as I know what Europe looks like and can place the provinces fairly easily (years of sorting French Tourism mentions from the UK press pays off!). Although I did look up the map and was amused at what seems like a grudge against Norfolk (maybe the fens were never reclaimed in her world?).

What are your first impressions of Elua and his Companions, and of D’Angeline culture? Are you comfortable with the way in which Jacqueline Carey has reimagined the world?

The very first time I read it, I was too impressed by the mythology and what not to be particularly critical. This time is a wee bit different for reasons I'll mainly cover in the next question. But in general, I remain interested and impressed. It's Europe as fairytale; if some of the overly romanticised stereotypes pall a little (Pictish Britain! Bloodthirsty Germanics! Mysterious Romany!) it's only a little. 

Phèdre's story begins in the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers. What are your thoughts on the Court, its adepts, the service of Naamah and the earning of marques? What House would you patronise - or belong to?

Let's do the easy part first; I paid special attention when Phèdre was describing the houses so I could answer the last question and now I'm here, I can barely remember a thing. There's too many of them! I'm reminded of the clan proliferation of White Wolf's Old World of Darkness (I'd put money on Carey having played Vampire the Masquerade) and wish the list was more boiled down. Besides, everyone else seems to have ducked the question of which group of courtesans intrigues them most, so I feel no shame about doing so myself! Strange how the attitude to sex is the most fantastical thing here.

Which brings me neatly onto issues of comfort. It's made clear that the people of Terre D'Ange see no shame in watching young courtesans grow to maturity with all the interest a keen sports fan would put in watching a prodigy, or in training someone far below standard ages of consent in the Anglosphere to take such a path. Part of me is happy to accept it as simply a different standard - many places outside the Anglosphere set the standard younger, and this isn't set in the modern world - maybe more honest interpretation of human sexuality. I've seen enough of the British press slavering over Charlotte Church/Kendall Jenner, I remember the countdowns on Emma Watson's birthday - it happens and it probably happens more often in people's heads than most will admit to. Would I be more comfortable with Carey whitewashing this, or less comfortable? I don't know, but it does raise an eyebrow at the very least.

The indentured servitude thing is... under explored? What happens if they reach age and it turns out they're just not as into it as they thought? If freedom comes from tips, is there a considerable sense of opprobrium against those that don't? Certainly, it has a potentially very dark undercurrent. And, on second thoughts and having read the other posts again, maybe we should be careful about believing Phèdre's views are Carey's views. Phèdre is a girl living her dream, in love with the glamour and beauty, wise enough to see the system isn't perfect but fortunate enough to be able to not overdwell on this. I think Carey may well have made this a system of indentured servitude to ensure the fairytale has its thorns, a harsh and discordant note in heaven on earth.

Guy, Alcuin and Phèdre are all devoted to the mysterious Anafiel Delaunay. Do you think he deserves their love? For first time readers, what are your theories about his past - and what do you think he is trying to achieve?

To slightly duck this question too - what's deserve got to do with it? As Miranda noted, love does not discriminate between the sinners and the saints - love is not for the worthy alone! It is certainly very easy to see why they love Delaunay and in their shoes, I would probably feel the same.

However, I would say that in the world view Carey is giving us I think that he does. There is a transactional quality to the nature of love here - shown in the central myth of Namaah and the central conceit of the Night's Court. It is like she is saying "we love when someone, through their being and actions, gives us something we perceive of great worth, and in return we give love" - transactional, but not base or tawdry. Reading a little ahead, I found this line from Delaunay himself:

"It is human nature, to give in hope of getting."

And I think that in this light, Delaunay has given more than enough to all of them to be worthy of their love. Has he got more from them than is fair? We will see.

What do you make of Phèdre's choice of signale?

It makes perfect sense - for all I have said of transactional love, Hyacinthe is the one who asks least of her - but I am amused at the slight attempt to rile Delaunay and his sense of appropriateness with it. And judging from his response she succeeds, if only a little. And the choice of his words leads me to...

...plus of course any other thoughts you'd like to share.

The nature of his response leads me to a little something that Imyril pointed out about illegitimacy and the use of whore as an insult.

"Why not? It's a good enough choice; no one need know you mean a Tsingani soothsayer's by-blow when you speak it."

The word whore is used as an insult four different times in this section; by the dowayne of Cereus House, by Hyacinthe, by society in general, and Childric d'Essoms. The servants of the Night Courts might be held in great respect, but they're also held in a little contempt too, and aren't above spreading it around. I'm reminded of some of the irregular verbs from Yes Minister - "I give confidential press briefs, you leak, he is charged under section 2b of the Official Secrets Act".

Well the Kushiel's Dart version of this Russel's conjugation (as I've just learned it is properly known) probably runs "I am a servant of Namaah, you are a high priced courtesan, he/she/it is a jumped-up whore". I think this is deliberate, another vein of darkness placed to remind everyone this fairytale world isn't as pretty on the inside as it is on the out. Which I think is right; people use the word love a lot when talking about this series, but I think a better word might be passion. This is a world where people don't hold back at all, for better or for worse. 

Last but not least, the big week one check-in: now that you have seen a Showing and witnessed Phèdre's first assignation, are you still in?

Yup, no worries.

Time of War by Katherine Kerr

First Time Reader:

It is possible - conceivable - that someone making their way through the Deverry Cycle through the first time and who'd enjoyed the blood and thunder of some of the early books might be feeling a little itchy after Time of Omens/Time of Exile. It's not that those two books didn't have moments of violence, but they were far more caught up with the mysticism and Slice of Life. That's not surprising given the titles, right?

Well, Time of War is just as ronseal. It's about a war.

Although, as anyone who has studied the beast knows, war is a long way from just blood and thunder. Kerr doesn't cover the entirety of the beast but Time of War covers a lot of it - the politics, the waiting, the worrying about food, the superstition, the frustration over allies or new weapons. There are some dramatic fight scenes too though, and a good dose of the slightly psychotic Deverrian mindset, so there's some of that blood and thunder too. 

The most unusual feature of this book compared to the rest of the series is the absence of reincarnation-based flashbacks. On the one hand, I miss them, as they are part of what makes Deverry Deverry, but on the other hand I can't deny that the narrative feels more satisfying without them. The ending in particular has a certain bittersweet power to it. However, the majority of people picking this book up will have been through a lot of the series and like Deverry for what it is (although for my fellow heathens out there who'll cheerfully read series out of sequence, this is arguably actually one of the more straightforwards introductions to the series).

The strength of this book, beyond its powerful and wide-ranging plot, is the characterisation. Perhaps this is another area that benefits for more time spent in the present. The blessings and curses that Rhodry's long, tumultous life has offered to his personality are particularly clear here in the uneven way he deals with the ability to act - impulsive and short-sighted when he believes he can, yet wise when he believes he can't. He has the strength to change what can be changed and the serenity to bear what can't be (just about), but the wisdom to tell the difference is not a strong point for him. It's an intriguing contrast with the cold practicality shown by Jill, who comes more into her own here. There's many fine turns from the supporting cast too, particularly Carra and Jahdo, the latter being one of the more engaging child heroes in fantasy's canon for his stubborn loyalty and humbleness.

I've talked about the book's positives. I'd talk about the negatives but I don't really have any. There is nothing glaringly bad or that I'd change here. I try to think of something other reads may dislike, and I don't really have anything other than the fact it feels like a departure from the series as a whole, a more conventional epic fantasy when sat next to the rest of its clan. For me, honestly, it was kind of refreshing. But maybe it won't be for everyone.

This is not to say this is a fantastic book. It does many things well but overall, it doesn't reach brilliance. It's just a very competently executed and enjoyable Epic Fantasy with an unusual accent - nothing less, nothing more.

Second Timer:

The theme of the first arc of the Deverry Cycle is about the dangers of seeking control over, and giving into control of, that which is no rightful business to those concerned.

The second arc feels less coherent on that score. 

By book three of a quartet, a thematic progression or overarching idea should be obvious. I don't really see anything here and that might be part of why I don't think this book touches brilliance. This reviewer would humbly submit that what makes for outstanding stories is multiple good things happening at once - popularity often comes from doing one thing incredibly, but longevity comes from having a blend of skills and building a story's narrative momentum from one moment to the next. Time of War has great narrative momentum in and of itself, but as part of a series, less so. There's a lot of reasons writing advice preaches about economy of cast and one of them is it means you keep coming back to the same character dynamics time and time again, which means there's a natural resonance to the interactions and it's very easy to see how change happens.

That doesn't happen here. The cast and scope of the world is increased by Rhodry's journey into the dwarven homelands and encounter with a dragon - it's good fantasy conceit, but I'm not so sold on it making for an especially good story. 

However, there is one interesting thing we do get with Rhodry meeting the dragon - our Arzosah - and that is a reversal of the situation Rhodry spends most of his life in. Namely, instead of being at the behest of powerful women (either thanks to magical or political clout), the boot is now on the other foot, despite Arzosah being the most powerful of all. Right at the beginning of cycle, we saw that Rhodry was prone to pressing his advantages with the lasses (albeit in a fairly kind and non-icky way). We don't get to see much of how it develops in Time of War, with the best to come here. 

I think in many ways, the best thing to say about Time of War to those who know the series, where I am talking about the little details and how the series develops in the book, is that I like Time of War a great deal as a book but as a series entry I find myself finding fault. Does this belong in the above? Maybe. Maybe not. I don't think it's a problem unless you've read the book a lot and start seeing patterns.

Let's talk a little of the character stuff I mentioned above. Rhodry's gordian knot solution to Lord Matyc was very, very Rhodry. I enjoyed the whole piece of theatre immensely. I'm not entirely sure whether Kerr wants us to agree or disagree with his solution; much is made of the problems it will cause, but it doesn't actually cause any that I can see. It does, however, make a fine contrast to how he deals with his journey northwards away from the war and the purpose he thought he had. In particular, Rhodry's grace in dealing with dwarven xenophobia is a direct sign of his character growth from the first section of the quartet, where he had quite the sulk about an almost identical situation. Which just goes to show the power of economy of cast (even if a lot of the dwarven adventures do not have that).

Jill does get to deal with a fixed milieu though and I think it helps bring out the growth in her character. One of the oddities of Deverry is how it's reversed a traditional structure - centre it around a male character to make the sale, then let all the non-male characters steal the stage. This was Jill's story, but the second series sees him in a supporting role - this is Rhodry's story, sometimes Salamander's or Dalla's or Aderyn's or Dar's or Jahdo's or Carra's story, but rarely Jill's. Until here. Even then, she seems more main supporting character in a lot of touching stories than hero of her own, but that is kind of the point. Having the dweomer is about being a servant; about giving, not taking; about the selfless offer of help. Not that any of this means being a doormat - Jill's chilly, logical, Weatherwaxian approach to being a servant makes that clear.

And between the two of them, a worldview becomes clear - that power should have obligations, that power isn't a reason to take choices from people or to bear their non-harmful choices with less than grace, that those who see only their rights and not their obligations are harmful and the more we look at our rights the more likely we are to forget their obligations. It's a worldview that has been built and shown throughout the entire series.

But is that the theme of the second quartet? Or just Deverry as a whole? Is there an advancement from the first to the second?

With Time of War, I know I enjoy the book. And the deeper I think, the more connection I see. But at just standard surface level thought it feels an odd bird, a black sheep of the family. 

And as someone who has read this series front to back twice, operating with the benefit of a lot of hindsight, I think you can see Time of War as the book where the attempt to turn the story of Jill and her three men into something bigger made it's first giant jump and didn't quite stick the landing.

Darian's Tale Trilogy by Mercedes Lackey

Tis the season for warm fuzzy stories it seems. This trilogy - in fact, the last book of it - was my introduction to Mercedes Lackey, thanks to the wonder of second hand book shops. As a kid it enchanted me with its mix of friendship, cool animals, luxury hippie lifestyles, and detailed magical combats. It's received occasional re-reads ever since for exactly those reasons. After enjoying blast through the Mage Storm trilogy, I decided to read some of her stuff and alighted on this.

The fact that Darian's Tale follows Mage Storm in the sprawling Valdemar bibliography isn't why I did so, but it didn't hurt. The location for this trilogy is Valdemar's far northern border in the wake of the carnage caused by the Mage Storms, and the neglect caused by the wars with everyone that occupied earlier trilogies. Our hero is Darian, initially an orphan apprenticed to a failed wizard in a close-minded village that's made its disapproval of Darian's trapper parents and independent mindset clear. However, along comes a war, and Darian proves he's worth more than anyone bargained for, and as a result gets to spend a bunch of time being a super cool dude with the super cool Tayledras.

The Tayledras are most definitely not elves. In fact, they're humans. Tree dwelling, animal loving, innately magical, highly ethical, super beautiful humans who heal the land. So not elves at all, ya get me? Which makes it surprising that me, who loves elves, also likes the Tayledras. Because they're not elves. And their vales, full of tree-houses and beautiful art and magic to keep the weather great, are totally not places I wish to go.

Generally, I don't think of myself as a fan of fantasy for the "gee, wouldn't that be great if it happened to me" escapism. I don't want to go to Middle Earth, I'm not waiting for my Hogwarts letter, and so on. I am a spectator who likes works that wander in and out of reality, sometimes about the story, sometimes about the humanity, maybe sometimes about the myth and magic too. This is one of my exceptions. Yes, I'd have loved to have been adopted by a bunch of not-Elves to go on noble helpful adventures. This is what Lackey is selling. A happy utopian world to escape to for a few wistful hours.

Something that helps that sale - but that might detract from it for others - is the fairly slice of life, personal stakes, nature of the series. The first book, Owlflight, is a fairly conventional coming of age action-adventure, but books 2 and 3 - Owlsight and Owlknight contain large chunks dedicated to everyday life with very few dramatic moments until the big conflict comes up. As I've written about recently, I don't think this always works, but for some it'll definitely increase the escapist, borderline wish fulfilment nature of the books.

If I'm honest, on this latest readthrough, I realised that offering has palled somewhat for me. I'm not really a person who outgrows books but in this case, my idea of good wish fulfilment has changed. And I think that there's not really enough going on here other than that; the Mage Storms has some good things to say about forgiveness, about really trying to be good, tolerance and so on. Darian's Tale has a lot less.

This could still be a good series for a teenager but for most people, I don't think this is a series I'd still recommend unless they really like utopian slice of life fantasy with lots of nature stuff.

What Convenient Character Decisions Look Like - Lackey's Owlsight

A lot of writing advice will tell you about the need to stay true to characters and not have them simply making the decisions the plot needs. But what does it look like? Recently, I thought I saw it in Mercedes Lackey's Owlsight and I wanted to share this with people. I enjoy Lackey's stories, but sometimes they do feel a little tidy which mars enjoyment. This was one of these times.

It started with Darian, the MC, chilling like a villain at a big party at his new adopted home. To give a little background - Darian is a conscientious, polite young man who has shown a willingness to take on a mature adult's role responsibly in the first book of the series (Owlsight is second). His new home is a Tayledras vale, and while he has been an adopted Tayledras for a long time by this point, this is his first time actually visiting his home.

Now, here's the two quotes that set my spidey-senses tingling:

"For the most part, his erstwhile dancing partners were just as winded as he was, and the hertasi circulating among them with more of the refreshing mint-flavored drink soon found themselves emptyhanded. Summerdance was the only one who still had breath to talk; she introduced him to the other dancers, but he promptly forgot most of their names." 

"He paid quite careful attention to their names as Nightbird introduced her friends, and fixed names properly with the faces in his memory."

These two quotes are mere pages apart, perhaps a couple of hours apart in story-time. Either reaction makes sense - being overwhelmed, being conscientious - but they are two different reactions from the same character to the same situation. Nothing is important, but it created an impression in my mind that Lackey wasn't sticking to what made Darian Darian.

"Now hang on," you might say. "You've already said both reactions make sense. Real people have different reactions all the time." True, and this only goes to show how difficult it is for fictional characters to demonstrate all the fickleness of real people while feeling like they have a strong personality. Maybe this isn't fair, but what the reader sees is what they see. There needs to be some sort of explanation.

"Well, he's tired one time, he's not the other". Again, true. But I only realised that when putting this article together after reading and having a slightly lukewarm impression of aspects of the book. If there's one thing I've learned from beta readers, it's that it's really hard to overestimate how explicit you have to be for a reader to notice something. Even realising it, it still feels a bit convenient. The lad paying careful attention wouldn't even try to remember the names when exhausted? To pick another example from the party:

"Darian motioned Summerdance to go in ahead of him, feeling as if he would make a poor showing if he let hunger overcome manners."

And let's pick another from a little after, when news of a barbarian invasion prompts him leaving his new home:

"He paid very close attention to his feelings about her and tried his best to decipher hers for him; he didn’t want to leave without her if what tied them together was closer than mere friendship. Their dalliance on the night of the wedding had been an entirely new set of experiences for him, and like a child with a new tooth, he felt as if he had to probe his feelings constantly to see what they were. He might even have convinced himself that he and Summerdance were meant for each other as permanent partners, if it hadn’t been for the fact that she didn’t act any differently toward him than she did toward any other young man whose company she enjoyed."

Darian doesn't let duress affect him. That's who he is. Emotions, physical discomfort - he stays in control. Until all of a sudden he doesn't. Whenever he doesn't, it looks off. And if it wasn't for that one small slip there, I mightn't have noticed.

This issue only comes back right at the climax (the fact Darian's grace under pressure isn't really tested for most of the book is a big sign as to what sort of book this is, for better or for ill). The barbarian invasion is more complicated than a straight military fight; there is a risk of pandemic, a question of whether to fight at all. It's also the conclusion of the other arc in the book, that of Keisha, village healer and Darian's love interest. We start to see this as Keisha's sister, Shandi, a trainee-Herald, appears out of nowhere on the strength of magical foresight. Despite reasoning Keisha out of her fears over Shandi, Darian is very short with her, telling her she must obey orders and acting like she has no understanding of the situation; he accuses Keisha of acting like Keisha's mother, then dresses down Shandi like he was her father.

There is no reason for him to be so logical with Keisha, then be emotional and confrontational with Shandi. The latter is very unlike him and there doesn't seem to be a reason that makes sense other than the author wanting to inject drama. Reasons are given - Darian is "unimpressed by Shandi's casual attitude" - but they didn't persuade me. Not only did Shandi not come as casual to me (more like the adrenaline of tiredness, which anyone with Darian's experience would recognise), but even if she had, for a polite, conscientious young man (who fancies her sister) go off like that rather than being diplomatic? That wasn't the Darian Lackey had persuaded me existed, and Lackey presenting me with a different Darian to cause drama is a sour note.  

Then, as the temperature rises and they debate options, Darian decides to keep his own idea quiet in order to avoid being ordered not to pursue it; to capture an enemy so they can get their language by them from magic and start talking to them. A clash between responsibility and a sense of respect would be an interesting dilemma for Darian that goes by sadly fast, but it looks far less of a clash for the way Darian has treated Shandi. He believes in orders and being careful, until it's convenient otherwise. What's the excuse here? The traditional disease of the protagonist that the rules only apply to them? It makes Darian less. It makes the story less. When the story tells me Darian is right, I can't agree.

There is one final wrinkle here. Keisha and Darian do indeed get their captive, and he fetches his brother who needs curing from the disease. Once that happens, Darian decides leaving the young unexperienced healer alone to cure a deadly disease she's never encountered before is a-okay, because now he has to report. As responsible judgments go it's a bit of a disaster, but hey, if he helps, where's the big dramatic finish where Darian and Shandi have to give Keisha the strength to make it? Which would be a good finish if I believed in it. But I don't.

What could have been done differently?

1. Emphasise there's two sides to the character early

If you want a character to be able to act against their most dominant personality traits, you need to establish this can happen and how. A good example is how Bernard Cornwell handles Arthur in The Warlord Chronicles - a good and virtuous ruler with sudden fits of ruthlessness and anger that simultaneously enable him to be a good and virtuous ruler yet undermine him. How do we know that's how he is so we aren't alarmed the first time it happens? Because other characters tell the MC so. You can also trace it in the actions - the elimination of rivals, the harshness when heartbroken, the ethically dubious deals - but its show *and* tell here.

Incidentally, the fact that a single character trait has a dark and light side - that Arthur's ambition enables him to be a successful warlord, enabling him to be a good ruler, but also leads to him making fatal mistakes - is also hugely beneficial here. There was so much Lackey could have done with Darian's sense of responsibility, but she didn't. And that's partly because didn't...

2. Make Things Worse

If all of a character's possibly out of character decisions work in their favour, it looks convenient. If it frequently doesn't, then there's still some issues, because then it looks like they conveniently become an idiot when the plot needs it. Bad things are needed though, if only to mix up the pattern. There is more to this though. Bad things give us a prism for revealing who characters really are; it's easy to be good when times are good, less so when they are hard. When we make the events hard, the choices hard, we are allowing the characters to really establish themselves. Who knows? Maybe I read Darian's character all wrong. But if I did, let's ask why. Why? He had no hard times for most of the book. Of course, this is a feature of Lackey's and not a bug, but it is one that makes some writing options hard.

3. Consistency

Of course, there's an easy option of simply being more consistent. Or having other characters call out the hypocrisy. Or having Darian apologise. Or, just, well, back to the consistency.

Owlsight is a good book. But there's a big lesson for authors that prevents it from being more. 

The Mage Storms Trilogy by Mercedes Lackey

Part of being a community of mutual interest is continuous discussion. What's good, what's not, what's acceptable, what's not, and so on. One of the conversations that most interests me is "which authors of the past should be promoted to the next generation?"

There's multiple facets to that. Are we looking for historic value - do we still urge Urban Fantasy fans to check out Emma Bull's War for the Oaks as that's one of the starting places? Are we looking to promote gems underappreciated in their time - I don't think Peter Morwood's The Horse Lord was ever big, but I enjoyed it and don't mind taking the occasional moment to nudge awareness of it. Or is it just about books that age very well or were even ahead of their time?

In any case, Mercedes Lackey is one of those authors who seems to be fading gently from the fantasy mainstream (very gently) and into history. I'm not writing this review specifically to urge for or against that (and even if I was I'd struggle to know which side I'm on) but that thought is on my mind as I write.

One specific instance where this comes up is Lackey's general subject matter and aesthetic. The Mage Storms is centered about Karal, a young priest and secretary who is sent as part of a two man embassy from the historically puritanical and xenophobic nation of Karse to Valdemar, their hereditary enemies but generally objectively good eggs thanks to divine magic. Much of the first book, Storm Warning, is taken up with Karal being forced to confront certain prejudices and fears from his own mind and other people's. A strong subplot throughout is his friendship with An'desha, a mage who survived prolonged possession by an insanely evil mage and is trying to find his own identity and purpose, which doesn't always coincide with his boyfriend Firesong's view of their future. The real meat of the plot though are the eponymous Mage Storms, a natural disaster that threatens to devastate everyone's countries. 

Is that a story I'd promote to the next generation of fantasy readers? Yes. Given the number of fans who want to see stories in which war and death aren't the centre of things, who want to see societies that hold world views closer to their own on issues such as sexual diversity, and a general desire for a bit more optimism, The Mage Storms has an audience and maybe even a bigger one than when it came out in the mid-90s. That audience will not love every detail Lackey has to offer here (and it certainly doesn't replace the desire to see a future for the genre that contains more stories with similar principles), but I think many of them will like enough of it to like the story.

But what of the story itself? If Lackey was possibly ahead of her time in what she wanted to write about, she was firmly of her time in how she did so. The Mage Storms is notable for its long expository inner monologues and just generally 90s-drenched optimism. It actually cleaves quite well to more modern fiction with its love of close third and lack of omniscient and head-hopping, but there's still a dated feel to the prose. I never loved Lackey's prose - found it easy to read, yes, but it's functional at best - but re-reads don't help it. What re-reads really don't help though is the feeling of a slow, meandering story. Those expositions I mentioned feel even less needful on the Xth go around and in terms of the raw events, The Mage Storms is rather sparse. It's like getting a drink with gigantic amounts of froth; I may enjoy what drink is there, but I would ask the bartender to top it off. Would I promote that to the next generation of fantasy readers, having seen the generally high octane drift of the genre? Not if I wanted to make them happy. Hell, I'm not sure I'd promote it to most readers of my own generation and taste.

So what matters more? The vibe or the construction?

That's a person by person, mood by mood thing. For me, there are times when I'm definitely on Team Vibe here and as such, really enjoy this trilogy. I can't imagine these being the books I read every time but they've got their place and are as good as I know at what they do. They're hardly thrilling, but they're enjoyable and full of characters its fun to read about. I've got a particular soft spot for Karal as a bookish, empathic, kind man who neverthless gets exasperated when others can't see past their irrational fears. Several characters have a fine line in peevish snark - Firesong first and foremost - and the foolish and selfish are made to look bad.

That's how I'd recommend the book. Do you want to just enjoy spending some time with some mostly kind people being mostly kind, in the style of The Goblin Emperor or Of Dragons, Feasts and Murders? Not so bothered about thrills and secrets but just want something emotionally satisfying? Then The Mage Storms is worth a shot.

And while I uncertain about whether Lackey should live on from generation, her presence in this relatively unexplored (at least in my circles) part of the genre will give her a chance.