Category Archives: Books


Some updates?

I was just looking around to figure out how things are going with two series I enjoyed and would really like to read their respective endings at some point. In both cases I’m merely past the very first book but it’s quite disappointing knowing that nothing is certain about their future.

The first is the “Instrumentalities of the Night” series by Glen Cook, whose fourth volume has been in limbo for quite a while even if the author confirmed having completed years ago. The problem here is with the publisher, Tor, since it seems this series isn’t exactly selling too well and this fourth book still isn’t listed anywhere. I loved it, but I recognize the first book is dense and hard to get through. It’s brilliant, but also not the stuff you expect to be popular.

I was able to find an interview with Glen Cook that is a year old and he confirms the fourth volume, “Working God’s Mischief” was delivered, but he also mentions a possible FIFTH with an absolutely awesome title: “He Lost His Shadow Somehow”. Along with bad news: “but that is unlikely to happen. Paperback and e-book sales for the series have been disappointing and the fourth book was a hard sell.”

TOR PLEASE. We can never have nice things. This is a superb series, it can’t be left unexpressed. And that book has too an awesome title to not get published.

EDIT: Tor tells me the fourth book should be out this year.

The other series is “The Wars of Light and Shadow” by Janny Wurts. She’s currently working on the 10th and penultimate volume, so a critical time in her series. She posts on her site updates from time to time about how the writing is going, and they are always fun to read. This is the last:

Destiny’s Conflict is moving ahead – the second scene in Chapter 7 was a blasted BEAR to make it tight – finding the angle that worked was an immense frustration (and I will NOT dawdle about – the series is into MAJOR CONVERGENCY and about to bust WIDE OPEN – so each step must be exactly precise to support the ‘before and after’ build. Each day I hammered on the scene in question/hit a wall, then moved to do other productive things so as not to stall the think tank time doing nothing. AT LAST I got the angle – (many convention/publicity interruptions tend to create a wider gap as they take me out of world/and I have to sink back into the ambience – knew that when I signed for the cons, but they are a necessary step/awareness of this series HAS to grow).

I am now working up the second to last scene in Seven – the one that trips the wire, so to speak – the climactic plunge is one wild ride, and it’s looking to be Set 8 that will be the first climax/tipping point – and it’s all Fast Motion reveal from there to the end of Song of the Mysteries – mostly, as the seeds for that volume have to be planted NOW.

It’s all in line with what was planned: the difference now is, I am carrying it ALL/on all the levels – none will be hidden, very shortly, which means I can’t slip into sprawl territory at all – there is no room in the story for sag.

In the earlier days, very sadly, there was NOT THIS NEED FOR AUTHORS TO DO CONSTANT EFFORTS AT PUBLICITY – blogs, websites, social networking/presence out there on the net – now, it is expected – the publisher relies on it….ONE DAY I dream that there will be enough reader response that I don’t have to…that time is not yet. The books aren’t widely known ‘out there’ enough yet to get the enthusiastic mention they deserve. This build takes time/and the period where they were not all in print/or avail in the USA made a lag – there’s still a lot of catching up to do.

Rest assured, I am writing diligently. There are lots of balls in the air/I am NOT WATCHING….drumroll ;) – football. Never have. Never will – in fact, we don’t HAVE any TV service here.

Since she usually does quite extensive editing I’d say the book is still a couple of years away. And then there’s the last volume.

R. Scott Bakker is deep into the third and likely last in this second trilogy, The Unholy Consult (the title of the book, not the trilogy). This is the volume that reveals some big things and opens the way for the final duology. But as far as I know this is the true turning point, so there’s some anticipation around this book.

Despite being an amazing achievement (Bakker is with Erikson the most important and most ambitious writer in the genre by a wide margin), Bakker’s series also isn’t doing spectacularly well with sales, and so the writer can’t write full time as he wishes. This slows things down. It seems the book is almost complete, but it also may require extensive editing/rewriting of earlier chapters. The most recent news was in this forum post (that gives more info than what Bakker offers on his own blog):

Just heard back from Scott this afternoon. He says he’s labouring on the final two chapters of TUC and that the book is getting ridiculously big. And at this point, he has no sense of what the rewrite will entail.

So it probably won’t be out before a year/a year and half. I hope it won’t be split in two. And I hope he goes all out, instead of simply teasing for the final duology. He needs to play things to their full potential.

And finally I also gave a look about what’s up with Malazan stuff. Erikson is rarely (more like never) late, but in the case of the second book in the Kharkanas trilogy, “The Fall of Light”, it seems release has been pushed back to January 2014. Being fair this isn’t really a delay since Erikson’s goal with this new trilogy was a more relaxed pace of 1.5 to 2 years, which is still very fast by the industry standard.

Instead no particular news, as usual, from Esslemont. His “final” book (unless it produces a sequel, since this was mentioned as a possibility, long ago) in the Malazan series, that still hasn’t a definite title, seems still on track for a December release, but it’s all completely unconfirmed and Esslemont simply doesn’t exist on the internet, so we rarely get to know what he’s up to.

About MY OWN reading progress, I’m going incredibly slow, but mostly because I’m splitting attention between too many things. Don’t even look at the progress bar up there since at some point I think I was reading more than 15 books at the same time. But I’m finally doing some decent progress with Glen Cook’s “The White Rose”, so that’s the one I’ll finish next.

In the last week I’ve ordered four books, and you can see how wildly all over the place my interest goes (even if it follows its own consistency). All four being quite interesting:

– The Tunnel, by William H. Glass (his writing is just too good, I’ve read some articles that are deep and written so beautifully)
– Imajica, by Clive Barker (his own most ambitious work, though I’ll probably end up reading Weaveworld first)
– Phi: A Voyage from the Brain to the Soul, by Giulio Tononi (following Bakker’s suggestion, it’s really a lush book, paper gloss, images)
– Where Tigers Are at Home, by Jean-Marie Blas De Robles (French book recently translated in English, I got it in Italian. Quite intriguing.)

Dune – Frank Herbert

She sighed. “Thufir, I want you to examine your own emotional involvement in this. The natural human’s an animal without logic. Your projections of logic onto all affairs is unnatural, but suffered to continue for its usefulness. You’re the embodiment of logic –a Mentat. Yet, your problem solutions are concepts that, in a very real sense, are projected outside yourself, there to be studied and rolled around, examined from all sides.”

“You think now to teach me my trade?” he asked, and he did not try to hide the disdain in his voice.

“Anything outside yourself, this you can see and apply your logic to it,” she said. “But it’s a human trait that when we encounter personal problems, those things most deeply personal are the most difficult to bring out for our logic to scan. We tend to flounder around, blaming everything but the actual, deep-seated thing that’s really chewing on us.”

Reviewing a book that is almost fifty years old is not so easy since it’s even harder to find something interesting or original to say. But again I follow my own patterns and it seems that what interests me isn’t what other people seem to enjoy discussing. It’s curious that I’ve had a copy of “Dune”, in my own language, for more than a decade but decided to start reading it only a couple of months ago, after having re-bought it in English (and a very nice, used since it’s out of print, 1979 Gollancz hardcover omnibus that at 912 pages collects the first trilogy cycle: Dune, Dune Messiah, Children of Dune). After MCN wrote about it on Twitter enough to spark my interest, what pushed me to buy the book and place it on top of my reading queue was all the complaints about the dense philosophy and mythological or religious themes in the books. As with Tomas Covenant, what interests me here isn’t Dune, the popular book, but the cycle, the overall arc. One single line in a review won my enthusiasm:

“Listen carefully, Feyd,” the Baron said. “Observe the plans within plans within plans.”

That line becomes a formula, I found “a feint within a feint within a feint”, “tricks within tricks within tricks”, “treachery within treachery within treachery”, till the much more poetic and meaningful “blue within blue within blue”. Or the most generic “wheels within wheels within wheels”. What’s important for me is recognizing this not as just a trope, but a rather telling hint of the deeper theme that runs through this book and that held my attention all the way through. While reading I kept wondering how much Herbert was conscious about what he was dealing with, or if he was simply tailing after an idea without fully grasping it. Wether he knew with clarity the answers, or if he was also searching for one himself. That pattern is one I recognize in other aspects even if it’s not explicitly quoted as in the formula:

“I was a friend of Jamis,” she said. “When the spirit of spirits within him saw the needs of truth, that spirit withdrew and spared my son.”

“Spirit of spirits within him”. Two aspects give enough power to this repeated pattern. And I’m certain that this represents the core of the book instead being just my own bias reading it (like a skewed interest to minor aspects) because it becomes more and more explicit in the book, becoming absolutely evident and dominant. The first is that the plot itself is built around a (post-modern) play with different frames. Mixing, maybe with too much freedom, between generic dichotomies like system and ambient, or more in general: inside and outside (internal and external, familiar and alien). The second aspect is about the reflexivity. The “spirit of spirits within” refers to a level of “meta-history”. In Jungian terms you can call it “collective unconscious”, or, if you don’t like the metaphysics in it, just the ultimate direction of evolutionary life, experimenting constantly, finding better solutions. The “meta-history” is that part of history that can’t be seen, the overall flow of life that isn’t lead by a consciousness. While the reflexivity of this machine makes me think to consciousness itself, whose most defining property is reflexivity. Reflexivity that is itself a play with system and ambient, observer and observation. The “strange loops” described in “Gödel, Escher, Bach” (the first quote up there in this review refers to this).

THIS is what Dune is about, yet you don’t usually see anything resembling to this mentioned in reviews of the book. It’s the undercurrent that runs through it, gives it its life force. Everything else is a metaphorical surface level, coalescing into “plot”. Interesting characters, politics, villains, battles of wits, wars for power, until the resolution at the end. Even without grasping that undercurrent the book can be enjoyable and read without feeling you’re missing the point. The philosophy dictates the structure while still being “optional”. But nowadays the book probably lost its polish about innovative ideas (or what we horribly call “worldbuilding”) or even about the well paced and surprising plot.

In a recent discussion on the forums I noticed many readers complaining either about the writing style or about the characters. The writing mostly because Herbert goes “against the grain” of what nowadays is the established convention, the third person limited perspective where you see a whole scene through a single PoV. Whereas Herbert smoothly switches PoV, without indentation, many times within the same scene. So one line you can be in the head of some character, with focus on its own peculiar biases, and the line after into another head, with its own bias. So this could be a problem, even if I personally had no problems with this stylistic choice and I think it serves the point since Herbert wants to enhance the contrast of those PoVs, putting emphasis on each respective bias. Then there are the complaints about characterization. My opinion is that the novel is filled with characters whose role in the plot can be stereotypical, but that become quite interesting. It’s no superficial characterization and the psychology is filled with very subtle details that play important roles. They have depth and a type of complexity that is very specific to this book, especially in the way small details influence reactions of other characters, so there’s so much attention describing tones of voice or postures, for example, always in a meaningful way instead of superfluous incidental detail. But the major complaint that many readers have is in general about characters that feel distant and alien, especially about the protagonist and his mother. Again this is more a personal reaction and bias, because I’d say it’s a fault if the writer aimed for the opposite effect, but those characters ARE MEANT to be alien (“the Voice from the Outer World”). Paul Atreides becomes what I consider indistinguishable from god, and his mother has also access to these sort of metaphysical powers that return to the undercurrent I mentioned above.

It’s curious because the book couldn’t be more actual with the stuff that is getting my attention recently, like the Blind Brain Theory that Bakker is developing and writing about on his blog, and broader considerations about mythology, religion and how human consciousness relates to all this. And again, this is a book, and a series, that shares very similar patterns with what I said about Thomas Covenant. Again there are two levels to the story. Again there are Matrix-like constructions of revelations and simulated worlds. Epiphanies that drive the narrative more than straightforward plot. Most of it, in fact, could be considered sloppy since most of the heavy lifting is caused by “magic” powers. If you don’t engage with the philosophical level, the plot may appear as rather artificial and “deus-ex-machina” driven, with frequent external interventions that nudge the plot in strategic and convenient directions. But it’s, ironically, the point. Not an unintended effect, Paul is exactly, literally Deus-ex-machina. Or, if you let me, Deus In Machina, since it’s a god right into the machine. What I mentioned above about the play with different frames, turning around inside and outside, the exquisitely post-modern defiance of boundaries of any kind, fourth wall and everything. All this is Paul. It’s what happens when a god is subject to his own story. A god that is at the same time “inside” his creation, and “outside” it, looking in, continuously manipulating.

On this “violation” of rules is built the whole structure (the ideal of a book, any book, is, like the physical universe, a closed system, without a God who can constantly tamper with it, which is also the canon of a “good” story). It’s brilliant and extremely interesting, but it can also be clunky because then Herbert had to put an artificial limit, maybe not fully understanding or being able to deal with this otherworldly thing. There’s a limit to Paul’s prescient abilities in order to not completely destroy the story. Limits that are clumsy, not so well described and defined. Paul can see all possible futures, but sometimes they aren’t very clear, sometimes they shifts in deceptive ways, and sometimes there are pivotal moments that center on him, that he can’t predict, and so restoring some suspense and uncertain outcomes. It’s a so ambitious goal dealing with these themes, but it also isn’t extremely convincing in the end. As far as I know the pretense of science only stays as a pretense since Paul’s powers become more magical and metaphysical than something plausible. His prescience doesn’t seem limited by what makes sense (aka: the range of information he can plausibly have access to) while at other times he’s able to foresee futures that should be completely out of his reach. It’s prescience (that wants to be) generated by strict calculation. So it shouldn’t be magical, but just access and ability to process an inhuman amount of information. Yet he seems to see stuff that simply he shouldn’t be able to from his perspective, even with his calculation powers. So what he can or cannot do sometimes follows more the necessities of the plot, than something that makes sense.

As I said I was going to write about aspects of the book I don’t see discussed often, and yet they aren’t sidetracks, but represent the real life force that I suspect comes even more to the surface with the rest of the series. But I also wanted to mention another curious aspect I noticed and that is about how much of the core plot in the Wheel of Time is ripped out straight of “Dune”. I already vaguely knew about this but thought it was mostly limited to the analogies between the Aiel population in WoT and the Fremen of Dune, but that’s almost a trivial detail compared to the rest. What WoT copies as its own core and adjusts is the whole deal with the Dragon Reborn, Kwisatz Haderach. Most of the elements running around that idea return, adapted in different ways, in the WoT. The order of the Aes Sedai mimics the Bene Gesserit, including their shadow government and long term manipulations. The breeding program in Dune is adapted in a form of reincarnation in WoT that retains a similar level of meta-story, as well as the powers of the Dragon Reborn / Kwisatz Haderach that can bring salvation or destruction, that become the very nexus (Ta’veren) of the weaving of time. The relationship between Paul and his manipulative (but not uncaring) mother Jessica at least partially inspires the struggles between Rand and Moraine. And then even the split between genders and its relationship with the magic/metaphysical aspect. Aes Sedai, as Bene Gesserit, are only females, and the Bene Gesserit task is to find/produce a “man who can channel”, or, rather, sharing Bene Gesserit predictive and controlling powers. Initial reactions of Rand/Paul to the cage of his destiny are also similar: “I’m a monster! He thought. A freak!”, and share similar risks: the threat of going insane. You can dig as much as you want and find plenty of analogies. The difference is that Jordan pushes things to the surface, makes them more accessible, but also less meaningful and more hollow, so that the strongest themes remain only pale ghosts. Dune is to my eyes a much more complex, adult and mature version of those themes, without getting too enamored of trivialities, but that’s also where WoT gets its more familiar and likeable characters, and more directly engaging plot.

Sadly now this series joins my already unmanageable reading cycle. For me the fun begins now that Dune is over. I know that most readers find all the other books far less interesting, but as you can see my attention seem to go in completely different direction than the norm. But I have a gazillion of series in “medias res” that now have a priority, even if I wanted to start reading Dune Messiah right away (I actually started but I’ll force myself not to read more than 30 pages, also because it’s the book that has only about 150 in total).

P.S.
The third Appendix, “Report on Bene Gesserit Motives and Purposes”, is troubling since it reads like a list of plot holes. As far as I know (and I may be wrong) Herbert wrote Dune as a standalone and only later returned to it. This appendix is still part of the first book. So did I miss something in this book, or is this the hint that Herbert had a much larger plan already in his mind, or is it meant as just a pretense that there are larger, hidden motives but that actually don’t become manifest? Does he have the answers or is merely pretending to have them?

Up next (Wolfhound Century, and a plea)

After finishing Dune, my review will be up on the sites within a few hours (or tomorrow, I didn’t have the time), I can now move on some interesting things.

Queued next are the return to Bakker’s series, The Warrior Prophet, and, for once, a newly released book that at 300 pages is relatively short, and so I can hope to review it within 2-3 months from release: Wolfhound Century by Peter Higgins (the page with the book covers listing the books that have influenced the writing is particularly interesting).

This book got my attention when Gollancz announced it almost a year and half ago. That press-release had an inordinate amount of “hype” (which isn’t always a good thing) but also lots of things that tickled my curiosity:

After a hotly fought auction, Gollancz Deputy Publishing Director Simon Spanton has snapped up a stunning debut spy thriller set in an ‘other’ Russia.

Spanton acquired world rights in 3 novels by Peter Higgins, from Ian Drury at Sheil Land Associates, after a fierce auction between several publishers. The first book in the deal is Wolfhound Century, due for publication in 2013.

The novel is set in a grimly authentic totalitarian state, an alternative Stalinist Russia where timelines and alternate histories intersect.

But beyond the state, is a land of endless forest and antique folk lore.

Forest and folk lore are of no concern to Inspector Vissarion Lom, summoned to the capital in order to catch a terrorist – and ordered to report directly to the head of the secret police. A totalitarian state, worn down by an endless war, must be seen to crush home-grown terrorism with an iron fist. But Lom discovers Mirgorod to be more corrupted than he imagined: a murky world of secret police and revolutionaries, cabaret clubs and doomed artists. Lom has been chosen because he is an outsider, not involved in the struggle for power within the party. And because of the sliver of angel stone implanted in his head at the children’s home.

Secret Police chief Lavrentina Chazia sends Lom in pursuit of notorious revolutionary Joseph Kantor. She conceals a great deal from Lom, but cannot disguise the hard patches on her palms as her hands are turning to stone.

Lom’s investigation reveals a conspiracy that extends to the top echelons of the party. When he exposes who – are rather what – is the controlling intelligence behind this, it is time for the detective to change sides. Pursued by rogue police agents and their man-crushing mudjhik, Lom must protect Kantor’s step-daughter Maroussia, who has discovered what is hidden beneath police headquarters: a secret so ancient that only the forest remembers. As they try to escape the capital and flee down river, elemental forces are gathering. The earth itself is on the move.

For, a thousand miles east of Mirgorod, the great capital city of the Vlast, deep in the ancient forest, lies the most recent fallen angel, its vast stone form half-buried and fused into the rock by the violence of impact. As its dark energy leeches into the crash site, so a circle of death expands around it, slowly – inexorably – killing everything it touches. Alone in the wilderness, it reaches out with its mind.

‘We found ourselves in a fierce auction but as it went on the book kept reminding me why I didn’t want to lose it. We’re delighted to be able to welcome Peter Higgins to Gollancz.’

So now the book is out and I ordered it, thought it will probably take a couple of weeks to get here. There are hints about huge complexity, mythology and lots of imaginative power. I don’t know how the author is able to fit all that into 300 pages but I really hope this will be a great book.

After I read that press-release I decided not to bookmark it since I thought that if it was a big thing I wouldn’t miss it anyway. And so a year later I started to search in frustration about this book that I vaguely remembered and that I couldn’t find anymore. The things is that I also confused it with another novel: Ice by Jacek Dukaj, that is also worth mentioning. From a reader:

Reading Lód (Ice) by Jacek Dukaj.

It’s an epic (1100 pages or so, dense) tale taking place sometime (I think) last century in a world where history was stopped by a mysterious event in Tunguska; among other things, Russia is still an empire that owns a large part of Europe. This event has caused the appearance of Ice, a strange form of matter (aliens? other dimension? not sure) that is slowly spreading outward, altering the shape of the world, from philosophy to industry to physics.

I have no idea where it’s going, but it’s a great read so far. It has Tesla in it, which is always good.

This is a Polish novel untranslated in English. It’s the one book I’d really like to read the MOST. It’s 1000 pages doorstopper that got raving reviews. All the themes in the book are “my stuff”, so it’s really something I WANT. Now. Like a kid who can’t wait. But the problem in this case is that, despite what the wikipedia says, nope, there’s no translation in the works. Read his TVtropes page. I WANT THIS STUFF.

His protagonists often struggle with their identity, typically (but not universally) starting as weak or broken, but slowly gaining strength and rising as powerful leaders, sometimes reaching “A God Am I” status. Many of them are or become Transhuman of technological kind.

The first line of this book is already memorable:

“It was on the eve of my Siberian Odyssey that I first began to believe that I don’t exist.”

Come on, publishers. With all the useless mediocrity published every day, why can’t I have nice things? I want this novel in a language that is readable. Then, after you’ve published this one, go on and publish everything else he wrote too.

Fuck The Witcher, bring me Jacek Dukaj.

The Golden Standard

I noticed this discussion on twitter and decided to join (it also sports Mark Lawrence and Joe Abercrombie defending their work). Not because I needed so bad to put all the blame on Ian Sales, but because it typifies an attitude that I see frequently, and so I decided to do my best to expose it for what it is.

ian_sales: John Crowley, Mary Gentle, Paul Park, David Herter, Cat Valente. No other authors working in fantasy even comes close to them. And certainly not anyone writing epic fantasy – most of them can barely string coherent sentences together.

If you’ve read one grimdark fantasy, you’ve pretty much read them all.

some types of fantasy attract the better writers. Commercial epic/grimdark fantasy isn’t one of those.

it seems a bit daft to start defending writers of commercial epic fantasy given that we all agree that beautiful prose in such books is neither desirable nor expected.

It seems pretty obvious that ian_sales’ thesis on this forum thread is that all Epic Fantasy is crap, because of what it is and not because of who writes it.

His mistake is the common one of those who absolutely need to put labels on everything, or draw lines on the ground: here’s where there’s quality stuff and where I stand with my lofty standards, over there is the popular, commercial stuff for the uneducated masses. So in order to elevate himself and his literary taste, he needs to mark the difference from the Genre.

The mistake is clumping together stuff so that he can put the “sh*t” label on all Epic Fantasy. It’s a prejudice like any other. It’s what enables him to pick up a book and be able to tell whether its good or crap just by looking at the cover. It should be obvious that this is delusional, as are always delusional prejudices in all forms.

The simple fact that he RESISTS the suggestion of making distinctions within Epic Fantasy, and the rationalization that goes in explaining why Epic Fantasy MUST have crap prose as an unavoidable requirement just exposes his “bias”.

—
On the matter of prose quality and elaborate obfuscation, I used in the past to compare Erikson and Wolfe. This simply because they can be seen as two opposites. I sometimes criticized Gene Wolfe because he can write in elegant, elaborate ways a simple concept. I don’t consider this an honorable achievement. What’s more praiseworthy is the opposite: express clearly a complex matter.

Wolfe’s prose usually require lots of work to extricate meaning from his sentences, and he loves obfuscation on all levels. It’s as if reading becomes a puzzle itself. And it’s not simply just prose, since everything from the characters to the plots, to the dense symbolism contributes to this puzzle. So I use here another broad scheme: writers that are “esoteric” and those that are “generous”. No matter how hard you try, some subtle meanings and purposes in Wolfe’s books will stay out of your grasp, simply because you lack the knowledge of some external material that Wolfe is referring to. Either you share the “code” to decipher what he writes, or you’re left out staring through a window and figure out a fragment of what’s there to figure out. I sometimes resent this kind of deliberate obfuscation.

Erikson instead I consider more “generous” because the writing style and purpose don’t hamper comprehension. There’s stuff that is complex, but it just requires patience to figure out. He doesn’t write deliberately to obfuscate or to be understood only by cultists who share an hidden code. Some writers like Pynchon, Joyce or Wolfe sometimes work hard to avoid being understood, to obfuscate and hide. This game is interesting to play, but it’s an elitist purpose. You write for a self-appointed minority. Whereas other writers tackle complex matters and demand work from the reader (the same way I put Wolfe and Erikson as opposites, I can do with Pynchon and David Foster Wallace), but the kind that is accessible and that wants you to be part of it, instead of pushing you away. So this is a broad distinction that I sometime use because it works.

That said, even the quality of prose sometimes is still subject to the purpose of the book itself. I enjoy the broad spectrum. For example Glen Cook has a disjointed, blunt prose. You’d think that the prose being not good pulls away from the book, but instead it’s the kind of prose that perfectly fits the story and adds to it. A prose style also is a tool that can fit a specific purpose.

So the broader error is once again trying to decide the formula that is perfect and ideal for every case. The Golden Standard. Writing being art, instead, draws its qualities from its variety and the impossibility to canonize. Or it goes stale and fades.

If you enjoy just one flavor, whether its Literary, or popular, you’re simply missing out by drawing your walls safe and near.

More publishing fuck-ups – V. by Thomas Pynchon

Once again I’m baffled by how little consideration and attention major publishers give even to major Literature writers.

This time I ordered an used, old copy of “V.” by Thomas Pynchon. Shipped from Amazon US, making the shipment cost me twice the price of the used book itself. This simply because I dislike all the most recent covers of this book, and instead I like much more the mass market Bantam edition:

So it was solely a decision about the cover, and the fact that I like a lot the tiny print that was used in the old editions and the yellowy pages that make one feel as if being pushed back in the past when the book came out. Little vanities.

I received the book today after it took almost a month to get over here, and when I gave a look to the wikipedia page I learned that:

In 2012 it emerged that there were multiple versions of V. in circulation. This was due to the fact that Pynchon’s final modifications were made after the first edition was printed and thus were only implemented in the British, or Jonathan Cape, edition and the Bantam paperback. The fact was forgotten soon after in the U.S., so most US editions, including the newly released eBook, follow the first printing and are therefore unauthorized versions of the text, while the British editions, which follow the first edition printed by Jonathan Cape, contain Pynchon’s final revisions.

This is the article that explains it more in detail. I checked my own copy and was glad to find out it’s the revised, “final” version. Such luck. Then I went checking the most common version sold on Amazon and, yep, it’s the unrevised, “unauthorized” version (also notice the crappy cover). I checked the lines inside. PERENNIAL CLASSICS MY ASS.

On twitter they even told me that the newest US editions added errors ON TOP of those already present. Sure, it is not the end of the world because Pynchon is one of those writers who obsess every single word, and from what I’ve read the total of the differences is likely negligible and unnoticeable for the final reader. But still, it’s responsibility of the publisher to obsess at least as much as the writer about every detail. It’s basically their whole job knowing what they are dealing with, knowing all the different editions and take care so that whatever small error is properly dealt with.

From the wikipedia I also read that:

“In 2012 Pynchon’s books were released in e-book format, ending a long holdout by the author. Publisher Penguin Press reported that the books’ length and complex page layouts made it a challenge to convert them to a digital format.“

What? Pynchon’s books are too long for e-books? Does the digital binding risk to fail? It required so much work and dedication that they based the text of the e-book too on the wrong version with the errors. Once again.

Apparently modern technology isn’t good enough to reproduce this:

The language of roots and branches

That title is once again a reference to the Kabbalah. It seems I bring this up often, but I want to point out that I don’t “believe” in it, nor it even represents my view on things. The value I recognize in it, instead, is that it offers some patterns or schemes that, when generalized, can be extremely useful and revelatory when applied to all sorts of different contexts and themes. It’s like a tool that can offer an interesting angle.

In this case I’m pointing this out because it’s directly connected with what I wrote in my review of “Forge of Darkness” and with something I just read in Dune. So I’ll use it to simplify again what I intend with that “metaphor made real” that Erikson uses, and why it can oppose Fantasy “as escapism”.

This is the quote from “Dune”:

“Words,” Kynes said.

Paul stared at him. Presently, Paul said: “You have a legend of the Lisan al-Gaib here, the Voice from the Outer World, the one who will lead the Fremen to paradise. Your men have –”

“Superstition!” Kynes said.

“Perhaps, “Paul agreed. “Yet perhaps not. Superstitions sometimes have strange roots and stranger branchings.”

I doubt that Herbert here made a deliberate reference to the Kabbalah, but the image made me link that concept to how I perceive value in Fantasy.

In the Kabbalah the image presented is that of an inverted tree. You have the roots on top and the branches down. This threshold between roots and branches represents the separation between the physical, material world, and the spiritual one, the metaphysics. A pattern that you can repeat wherever you want. For example between the determined world of cause and consequence, and consciousness (the basic Cartesian Dualism). Between the shadowy activities of the greater brain and those of consciousness, the space that is “lit”. In this case that Dune reference about “the Voice from the Outer World” can also imply the fact that Paul is described (and really is) an external agent that operates meta-linguistically on the fabric of the story/plot (though I’m pretty sure that Herbert dropped the ball here and didn’t carry it all the way). In any case, back to this essential division between material world and spiritualism (which regardless of religion or belief, is the true foundation of what we perceive as “human being”). What Kaballah says is that these two dimensions, or worlds, are entirely separated in substance. Things you do in the material world actually have no consequence on the spiritual one, or at least the cause/consequence is only a relationships that goes from the above to the below, so the spiritual affecting the material, but not the opposite. You’ll see how this one-way also applies to writing, which reproduces a similar duality.

The strong idea is: since these are two completely different and separated worlds, divided by an impassable barrier (that it is impassable is the basic tenet of reductionism), it is then not possible to “speak” of the spiritual world, since language only deals with this side we’re on. So the whole of Kabbalah is shaped like a “code”. When we say “apple” we usually mean the idea of a real apple, whereas an “apple” in Kabbalistic language would only be a symbol representing a spiritual idea. If you then read a Kabbalistic text literally, then you understand nothing of it, because it actually describes an “elsewhere” you aren’t aware of. The “language of roots and branches” is the idea of this code that describes the spiritual world while using material language. For every word, you then have to learn a new meaning that points over, across that barrier.

The reason why I associated this with the Fantasy genre is because I think it expresses well the most fundamental idea. You can have Fantasy as escapism. My point isn’t about diminishing it, it’s just that it doesn’t satisfy me as much. So I can criticize for example Brandon Sanderson’s famous “magic systems”. For some readers they are clever, fun and cool, inventing them so that they make some sense and are consistent. But for me this idea is somewhat “empty”, because it doesn’t really say anything of value (and doesn’t want to, so it’s not a flaw). Being empty for me means it has no “meaning”. No sense of purpose beside the honorable one of pure entertainment. Once again, I don’t want to be judgmental or glorify a sub-genre while dissing another, as I often can join that group too and I’m not a partisan.

But can Fantasy be more? It can when it is more enlightened. It’s very obvious to readers of Gene Wolfe, where for example every little fragment is a manipulation taken directly from the real world mythology (or religion, as a flavor of mythology). Gene Wolfe reshapes myth, adding his own invention, but tries to grasp the reason and core of myth, not just the outward surface, not just its look and manners (hello, Wheel of Time). So that’s also an attempt to plunge in the depth of the soul (because classic myths also weren’t arbitrary, solipsistic inventions), and the soul of “meaning”. “Metaphor made real” is a similar concept. You write about fantastic worlds but only as the shaping of a truly personal landscape that reflects the material, real world. The world as seen, hence the world rebuilt, human-s(e)ized. In the same way Science Fiction can be a thoughtful reinterpretation of society, so too can Fantasy give shape to ideas that have their “roots” this side of the world. Not just unhinged fantastic worlds.

That’s when Fantasy is at its “maximum meaning”. You are completely aware of writing *this*, while thinking and describing *that* (the error is when you only reproduce exactly something specific, without digging at its universal roots). The material world you shape in fiction is the “stage”, that needs its consistency to give the feel of being whole. But what is performed on that stage is something that connects to the reader because it is relevant. The fantasy world rebuilt becomes the “branches” of the tree. The part that is visible, shaped by every word that is written on the page. But it then evokes those patterns and themes that have their core on the other side, which is the case of a book is the dangerous fourth wall, that delicate link to the reader. So giving shape to myths that hold truths about the real world we live in. That is exactly why Greek myths were so powerful and still frequently used in psychological, modern studies. That’s Fantasy that doesn’t sever the link and simply builds an alternative, independent world, but that grows powerful and meaningful because its roots go deep in the human soul, and because it is aware about where it comes from.

From this interplay of meta-linguistic levels you can squeeze so much creativity that is powerful exactly because it’s not merely arbitrary and not severed from the source. That is rich because as rich as the soul, that can only grow more and more, or even be reduced to sharp clarity. Invention in the right place. Wolfe and Erikson (or Bakker) from my point of view do all this, with the difference that Erikson is more accessible and direct, but both originate from a similar intent.

So you can THINK. Not to try reproducing a fictional and sterile landscape, but because those fundamental questions you come up with share the truth of a personal condition, and so observe, learn or whatever you come to. Every branch is relevant.

Forge of Darkness – Steven Erikson

And now I fear that I am not unusual, not cursed into some special maze of my own making. I fear that we are all the same, eager to make strangers of the worst that is in each of us, and by this stance lift up the banners of good against some foreign evil.

But see how they rest against one another, and by opposition alone are left to stand. This is flimsy construction indeed. And so I make masks of the worst in me and fling them upon the faces of my enemies, and would commit slaughter on all that I despise in myself. Yet, with this blood soaking the ground before me, see my flaws thrive in this fertile soil.

Reading this book was for me a stimulating experiment. “Forge of Darkness” is the first tome in a prequel trilogy, to a series that is ten books wide. Naturally it would be read by fans who went through all the ten, huge books building the Malazan series. I’m one of them, but I read at my own pace and I’m exactly halfway through that series, ready to pick up “The Bonehunters”, the 6th volume. I decided instead to read this one first. It was an occasion to read the book when it came out (or at least within a few months) and to make a contrast between books that shared themes but separated by some meaningful years. So that I could see more clearly how Erikson’s writing changed and if that direction was one I “approved”. About a year ago I read “This River Awakens” that, while not Malazan, I considered his best book, and it was written years before even the first volume in the Malazan series. It was not exactly an encouraging perspective. So I’m glad to say, bluntly, that in my personal Malazan ladder, this book comes first, above the other five in the main series that I’ve read (it goes like this, for those who recognize these codes: FoD > HoC > MoI > DG > MT > GotM).

I read the book holding some kind of three-way perspective, which was not forced. Usually when I try to write down a review my goal is to give a sense of that book, especially about why one should read it, instead of millions of other books out there. Like a sense of urgency. What sets it apart and gives it its uniqueness of flavor. In the case of long series there are three perspectives. First there’s my own, the very personal and emotional response that rises spontaneously and that one has then to struggle to rationalize in clear patterns, then there’s the perspective of readers who know well if not the book, at least the series, author and setting, and finally readers who are completely new. In the case of this book all three are particularly interesting since it’s a prequel, and so, already in the intentions of its writer, a possible starting point for brand new readers (as well veterans who still have not finished the main series).

Is “Forge of Darkness” a good starting point for readers who have yet to pick up the Malazan series? Initially I thought it was. The writing is measured and careful, so easy enough to follow without feeling lost. The problem is that from the middle point onward there are a number of mysterious scenes steeped in myth that were confusing even for me, who ravel in that kind of thing. So I would say that reading this book first is definitely possible, even recommended, but it comes with some conditions. It is not an easy book. It is extremely demanding. From one side it will make understand a reader what’s the (real) deal with the Malazan series, whereas “Gardens of the Moon” is nowhere as clear about what is that sets this series apart from everything else. But from the other it could discourage a reader even more than GotM because it’s a steep climb that demands a lot from the reader, and to engage with it deeply. The story has better hooks and it can be more seducing, it isn’t baffling, impersonal and confusedly crowded as GotM was, but it also lacks the lures one expects in epic fantasy: the journeys, visiting places, meet peoples, big setpieces. All these do exist, but are twisted in the unique Malazan way.

Erikson said that, as the Malazan series was conceived as an homage to Homer, the seed of epic fantasy, these prequels would be another homage, but to Shakespeare, the bard. Pretentious claim, everyone would say. Whether deserved or not, I recognized this particular air (and the setting is also particularly suited). The PoVs and scenes in this book have a perceivable theatrical quality. Sometimes I perceived that “enter” and “exit” lines that built a scene, characters coming on stage, facing each other. Erikson always used this style, this time slightly different because often the next scene follows logically the one before, and so reducing the jumps in context typical of Malazan, but this time it gives a sense of a play and contained space. These scenes remain intimate, usually not more than an handful of characters interacting. Malazan was more sweeping wide, panoramic and movie-like.

This time things are personal and stay lodged tightly with the characters even if events have a big import. “Worldbuilding” is interesting because built in a false way. This is not a typical fantasy backdrop, here less than Malazan proper, that objective world that is stated with certainty. The fantasy, secondary world built as an independent, whole thing. One of the lures of reading fantasy can be this escapism, the seduction of a different, fascinating world finely detailed and precisely described. Instead I call what Erikson does “false worldbuilding” because it stays on the characters. The world shifts and blurs, is shaped and defined by the characters who live within it and that observe it. Things either have subjective value and meaning, or do not appear. And it is only in the opposition of the many PoVs that you can perceive it as something whole.

It is in my nature to wear masks, and to speak in a multitude of voices through lips not my own. Even when I had sight, to see through a single pair of eyes was a kind of torture, for I knew – I could feel in my soul – that we with our single visions miss most of the world.

The value in what Erikson does, compared to other Fantasy writers who don’t always have it in focus, is in the “metaphor made real”. This could become just a tiresome trick on its own when simply repeated, but the strength is about knowing what you write about. The reason why it’s so important is that it builds a true resonance with what’s meaningful. A story grips a reader when it builds a bridge, between what happens on the fictional side and what’s deep in the reader (and that’s also the distinction with escapism, wish fulfillment and all that). You could fashion clever magic systems and cool looking demons, show epic battles, but those demons only have true power if they come deep from one’s true soul. In this book even more effectively than anything else I’ve read, Erikson turns the human being inside out. What is shown is the dark side of the human landscape. Those true demons. Those that truly scare you and won’t go away, ever, when you turn on the light or when you grow up. It is done without rhetoric and embellishment. Without spectacle and complacency. From my point of view, this is Erikson at his apex.

Erikson at his best, excellent prose. Filled to the brim with beautiful and meaningful lines. It is a pleasure to read, but it also rather dense and can discourage readers who do not engage on this level and prefer something that has a brisk, lighter pacing. Or something that doesn’t take itself so seriously. Erikson is known and often criticized for heavy-laden introspection and one either has interest in it, or this book can be incredibly daunting and tiresome (especially with it moves toward the cosmogony of myth, which is a theme of this book I simply love and find, oh, so incredibly interesting). I’d also say that this is the one that the most gets close to the work of Gene Wolfe (without any of that artificial affection that I see in Wolfe), also admired for beautiful, meaningful prose and criticized for lack of ease of access and flow of plot. Lots of interesting, pivotal things happen, but as I said this is colored by what the characters see and their thoughts. The landscape has a dream-like flavor and also gives it an haunted atmosphere.

Many times Rise Herat had seen a face stripped back by the onslaught of loss, and each time he wondered if suffering but waited under the skin, shielded by a mask donned in hope, or with that superstitious desperation that imagined a smile to be a worthy shield against the world’s travails. These things, worn daily in an array of practised expressions insisting on civility, ever proved poor defenders of the soul, and to be witness to their cracking, their pathetic surrender to a barrage of emotion, was both humbling and terrible.

It is not an easy book because it’s often, always, a punch in the gut. It is not simply bleak to the point of being mono-tone. As usual Erikson shows the full range of emotion and there is humor and lighter scenes. But that human warmth and friendship is always a very narrow ledge that opens on a Abyss of miasmatic chaos, always eroded. A frightful thing. Like a candle light in a forest of darkness. There isn’t (anymore) any conceit about what Erikson does with his writing, and no attempt to reassure the reader after an hard experience. Those decorative curtains are torn away. Reading this book is like drinking wine on a empty stomach. There’s is lots of beauty, but it’s also mean and bewildering. This is thick and heady wine, the kind that takes quite a toll.

I’m still answering that question, the answer is: read it if you dare. Expect an exhausting book. The reward is an unique one because I’m simply not aware of another writer who achieves as much. Simply. You think it’s “hype”, for me it’s being honest. What Erikson writes contains the breadth of the world. Any world. And as far as I know no one has ever attempted to do the same. What Tolkien did was incredible, especially in the latter part, post-LotR, and Erikson indeed sits on the shoulder of giants, but he sees further away and describes that he sees better than anyone else. This book is a distillation of all the qualities the Malazan series possesses (and none of the flaws and growing pains I recognize in it), by a writer who’s now probably at the very top of his skills and is no more struggling to find his voice as he was in “Gardens of the Moon”. If you want to know right from the start what Malazan is about, then this book is ideal, but if you want to take it easy without being plunged on the very deep end, then start from the beginning of the series.

P.S.
I also believe, contrary to what everyone would say, that this book is perfectly self-contained and doesn’t necessarily need the two upcoming books that will complete the trilogy. Some (most?) PoVs are left hanging, but but not in a frustrating or dissatisfying way, and the book has its cohesion.

Suggested reading:
– Larry’s review of the book, because he did this time a so much better work than me, whereas I always try to be spoiler free that my own end up being so generic and bland.
– This on Tor site, because it’s a newcomer perspective (even if plagued by way excessive retconning to familiar canons, which doesn’t help at all understanding Malazan) and because I like “The Silmarillion as told in the style of A Song of Ice and Fire”, only that Erikson ends up writing better than both of those writers ;)