The Eyre Affair by Jasper Fforde

My God, I cannot remember the last book which I read which was as fun as this one. Certain authors write with such infectious energy, their love of language and literature shining through, that it can be difficult to not feel it too.  Jasper Fforde’s debut novel , The Eyre Affair, is just such a work, an energetic and silly postmodern fantasy which I thoroughly enjoyed.

The Eyre Affair takes place in a bizarre parallel 1985, in which the Crimean War has been raging for over a century, Wales has seceded from the UK and the world is curiously obsessed with literature. There are riots over surrealism, terrorist attacks over the Shakespearian authorship questions and massive conventions for John Milton. The protagonist of The Eyre Affair is Thursday Next, a member of LiteraTec, a force tasked with investigating literature related crime. Thursday ‘s uncle, the eccentric genius Mycroft, has invented a device which breaks the boundary of reality and fiction, allowing travel between the written page and the real world by both ‘real’ and ‘fictional’ characters. The delightfully malevolent Acheron Hades has stolen the original manuscript of Dicken’s Martin Chuzzlewit and holds the protagonist hostage, and it is up to Thursday to prevent this potential  crime against literature.

Fforde’s parallel England is a hilarious and intriguing setting, and one which I look forward to continuing to explore in the many sequels that he has written to The Eyre Affair. Fforde loves to drop amusing and fun details scattered throughout the text. When creating a setting as strange as this, it’s key that the characters inside the story act as if everything is normal, and it’s here that Fforde really excels. This is a world which, despite everything, just works. It may be a hodgepodge of different ideas welded together, but for a comic novel that’s sometimes the best thing. Was Douglas Adam’s galaxy in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy and it’s sequels coherent as a setting? No, of course not, but that took nothing away from the novel as a whole. The same is true here.

The actual plot is a lot of fun, if somewhat predictable in its outcome. It’s odd to say that a novel as bizarre as this one can be called ‘predictable’, but the actual plot structure and the arc of its protagonist Thursday Next follows a relatively unsurprising path. Still, it’s great to read a novel as inventive as this one. I’m not sure if I’ll have a particularly strong memory of the actual plot of The Eyre Affair; it’ll be the hilarious little details about the world that’ll stick in my mind.

Fforde writes in a plain style which will be familiar to fans of the detective genre. This is part of what makes this novel so funny however, the somewhat blithe way in which ridiculous things are stated (a trick that Douglas Adams was a master of). This is actually an incredibly clever novel, but it’s not clever in a self conscious ‘look at me’ kind of way, impressing through its sheer inventiveness rather than clapping us around the head with bogus literary innovation.

Thursday is a likeable protagonist, not necessarily overburdened with personality, but she doesn’t really need to be. She reminded me of Arthur Dent; I know that I’ve mentioned Douglas Adams a lot in this review, as I feel that this is the book that he would have written if he wrote fantasy. There’s an amusing supporting cast, with the delightfully ‘evil for evils sake’ villain Hades Acheron coming out as my favourite character, with his amusing entourage of minions entertaining me as well. A lot of characters are archetypes, meant to reflect clichés in the detective genre, and they work well in this regard. The characterisation may not be particularly complex in The Eyre Affair, but at its heart this is a detective story, and since when has that been what detective stories are about?

The Eyre Affair is an interesting novel; on one hand it’s actually a really light read, but there’s complexity and intelligence woven throughout. The best comic writers of genre fiction, such as Douglas Adams and Terry Pratchett, do this really well, and based on The Eyre Affair it looks like Jasper Fforde has earnt a place alongside such distinguished names. I’m certainly sold, and look forward to soon reading some of the further adventures of Thursday Next.

Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell by Susanna Clarke

Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell is a rare case of genre fiction piercing the veil of snobbery surrounding it to become a mainstream critical success. It’s not difficult to see why; the style of this novel is more Austen than Tolkien. Happily though, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell manages to both craft a fascinating and vivid alternate history and provide a highly erudite tale, which acts as an homage to the ‘lady novelists’ of early 19th century England as well as a wonderful gothic fantasy which will please fans of Neil Gaiman or China Miéville.

Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell begins in York in 1807, in an alternate history where a proud tradition of ‘English magic’ has been in a steady decline for two hundred years. A past filled with mythical figures, some familiar to us, such as Merlin, but others completely unknown, is pored over by ‘theoretical magicians’, who study the great magic of the past but seem incapable of replicating it. The events of the novel kick off when two magicians, Mr. Segundus and Mr. Honeyfoot, discover Gilbert Norrell, a practicing magician of an excessively reclusive and conservative character. After much persuasion, Mr. Norrell moves south to London to offer his services in the Napoleonic Wars, as well as to bring about a revival in English magic. Soon another magician emerges, the self taught prodigy Jonathan Strange, a Byronic figure of a temperament anathema to Mr. Norrell, who nonetheless takes him on as an apprentice. It’s not long before cracks in this relationship begin to form, as Strange becomes obsessed with the semi-mythical figure known as ‘The Raven King’, a magician of great renown who had ruled Northern England as a King for three hundred years before vanishing. Meanwhile, an unknown and alien ‘faery’ creature begins to haunt the lives of those caught in Strange and Norrell’s wake.

The alternate history within which Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell is set is fascinating, with the links to our own world only highlighting the sense of strangeness to this, nonetheless, extremely plausible setting. Events such as the Battle of Waterloo take on fascinating new twists, with the introduction of real world figures such as Lord Wellington and Lord Byron heightening the eerie sense of familiarity to Clarke’s setting. Clarke doesn’t concern herself with the ‘butterfly effect’, giving us an 1807 remarkably similar to the real 1807 despite hundreds of years of magic. This may irritate the pedants among us, but I really advise those people to simply relax and enjoy this rich and fertile setting. Clarke manages to create an England filled to the brim with mysterious magic, without resorting to going over the top. Clarke’s England feels only an inch away to from the gothic Englands of Jane Eyre or Wuthering Heights. Clarke manages create a detailed and balanced world whilst retaining and even hand and avoids drowning the reader in exposition. A lot of the detail behind the world is told in Pratchett-esque footnotes, which means that it can be ignored if you are so inclined, but I recommend not doing so, as that would rob this story of much of its richness. Thankfully it sounds like Clarke isn’t done with this setting, with her short story collection The Ladies of Grace Adieu and Other Stories, as well as a planned spin-off novel, telling more stories in this world.

Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell isn’t a novel which could be accused of brevity, but most of what we get is entertaining and relevant. An extended jaunt in Venice during the novel’s final act, within which a whole bunch of rather uninteresting characters are introduced, lets down the pace somewhat. This is a novel which is at its best when concerning itself with England, although some lengthy scenes set in Portugal as Strange tags along with Wellington’s campaign makes for compelling and enjoyable reading. It’s not so much the plot itself which sets this novel apart as the way that it is told however; that’s not to say that the plot isn’t excellent, it really is, but it’s not what I will most remember about this novel. The nature of the plot is heavily informed by the style within which is written, with Clarke sticking fairly strictly to her artistic purpose in creating a tribute to the style of the 19th century ‘lady novelist’, so those expecting a dark, twisted or degraded journey had best look elsewhere. As in the best novels of the 19th century, the sex and depravity are there, but lurking beneath the surface, plausibly deniable to those who seek to deny these impulses. As with Jane Austen, what isn’t said is often as important as what is, and there’s a lot of reward to be found in reading between the lines.

Highly stylised novels such as these can often backfire, and thankfully this isn’t at all the case in Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell. There’s a level of authorial interjection here generally rejected by modern writers, yet extremely common in the 19th century, which nonetheless never reaches irritating levels. The novel is told in an extremely omniscient style, regularly popping in and out of the heads of many characters in a manner similar to George Eliot. At times I felt that a greater focus upon the central pair of Strange and Norrell would have benefited the novel, with not every character being as compelling as those, but it’s actually somewhat refreshing to read a modern novel which doesn’t worry too much about limiting the authorial knowledge. Clarke doesn’t simply imitate the style of the 19th century ‘lady novelist’, but adds enough of a modern twist on it to appeal to modern sensibilities. This is not a particularly difficult or challenging novel to read; a respectful homage to a more archaic style whilst bypassing the elements of that style which can grate.

As in Dickens, the characters tend towards ‘vivid’ rather than ‘complex.’ There are plenty of big, entertaining major and minor characters. Strange and Norrell parallel each other nicely, with Strange exhibiting a Byronic charm which contrasts well with Norrell ‘s conservatism. I loved the character of Stephen Black, manservant to Sir Walter Pole, a member of Parliament, who raises to a relatively high position in society despite the fact that he is black in 19th century England. Almost every character fits into an archetype, but these are often undermined in interesting ways. One of the most interesting characters is John Childermass, the manservant to Mr. Norrell, who despite being able to perform magic himself is denied the title of magician due to his low station. I wasn’t quite as impressed with the sinister faery known as ‘the gentleman with thistle-down hair.’ I can tell that Clarke is going down the route of an unknowable monster whose motivations are too strange and alien for us to understand, a perfectly respectable path, but doesn’t quite revel in the depravity necessary for such a villain to work. Perhaps she is trapped by her own style; the sort of depravity this character needs wouldn’t have fit the tone of the novel, but nonetheless this character never really came alive to me.

Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell is a fantastic read, certainly one of the most original and interesting works which I’ve read; there really is nothing else out there quite like it. Those without much patience may struggle with this one, as it does have quite a slow pace, but little of it feels like padding. I recommend this one wholeheartedly, even to those who aren’t normally fans of books with magic and fairies. 

 

Kraken by China Miéville

Ah, China Miéville, never change. Who’d have thought that things could have gotten weirder from Embassytown and the Bas-Lag trilogy? This time Miéville doesn’t even need to construct a new setting, such as New Crobuzon in Perdido Street Station or the eponymous Embassytown, instead setting this bizarre and fantastic tale inside of London. I first gained an inkling of Miéville’s fascination for his home city in the excellent short story collection Looking for Jake, with most of the stories taking place in London. In fact, the seeds for Kraken can first be seen being planted in that collection. This novel draws immediate comparisons to Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere, but never feels derivative, offering a vision of a fantastical London which feels suitably different from that shown in Neverwhere.

Kraken is, like Neverwhere, set in a London which contains a fully fleshed out, vibrant world alongside the mundane one of our reality, hidden from the general public. Where Neverwhere had a much clearer division between the London of reality and the mystical underground alongside it all, in Kraken this bizarre London bubbles much closer to the surface, to the point that it can rather strain belief that everyday residents haven’t noticed anything. I think this may have been intentional; Miéville is possibly commenting on the way that people will blindly ignore what is right in front of them if it doesn’t conform to their pr-existing beliefs or thought structures. Regardless, this is a London filled with bizarre warring factions, some religious cults and some supernatural criminal gangs. Along the way we encounter the ‘Chaos Nazis’, the ‘Gunfarmers’, the ‘Londonmancers’ and plenty more. I won’t say much about the strange and fantastic things the reader encounters here, as discovering yet another layer to this strange world is probably the chief pleasure of this novel.

Kraken follows a few characters, but at its core is the curator Billy Harrow, a ‘normal’ drawn into the bizarre parallel London, a la Richard Mayhew in Neverwhere. Billy is giving a tour of the Natural History Museum, and he is about to bring his group to the star attraction; a fully intact, preserved giant squid. However, things don’t quite go to plan. Somehow, impossibly, the giant squid has been stolen from under the nose of the museum staff, and has been whisked away. The giant squid, or ‘Kraken’, is the God of a cult, and a being of immense power. This power of the squid is being harnessed by a mysterious figure to bring about a fiery apocalypse. Billy, as the curator who embalmed the squid, is hailed as a prophet by the cult and is drawn into Mieville’s wonderful and strange London to hunt down the squid and attempt to avert the oncoming apocalypse.

Kraken is probably Mieville’s most uneven novel I’ve yet read. The plot of Kraken doesn’t quite hold together throughout the novel, often feeling more like a series of amusing and interesting vignettes rather than a coherent whole. The central mystery of exactly what’s going on with the giant squid never feels quite as prominent as it should, and Mieville is perhaps a little too eager to foist another strange bunch of factions upon us rather than sticking to the central premise. Mieville used this fractured style to great effect in Perdido Street Station and The Scar, but it doesn’t quite work as well here. That said, this is simply one of the most fun novels I’ve ever read. If taken as what it is, rather than what we may want it to be, Kraken is one of the most entertaining novels that you’re likely to read, a great example of the wonderful merging of social-political commentary, edifying intellectualism and glorious silliness which makes up Mieville’s unique style. Mieville’s penchant for Marxist themes in his writing are on clear display here, but never overwhelms the entire novel as it did in the somewhat disappointing Iron Council. To clarify, I’m not opposed to fantasy taking a political stance, but I don’t believe that it should ever get in the way of a good story, and if used subtly can significantly enhance it, as it does in Kraken.

Mieville is a writer not content to stick with the relatively plain style generally favoured by writers in the genre, and his ebullient prose is always a lot of fun to read. Kraken takes a while to find it’s tone, but when it does it settles into it nicely. There’s a lot of authorial interjection in this novel, an almost conversational or chatty tone to the narration which reminded me of Stephen King’s folksy style. This is not a novel written with an impassive aloofness, a method which is generally the safest bet as too much of an authorial presence can be rather wearying. Mieville pulls it off nicely though, with the authorial voice often delivering some of the funniest lines in the novel. Oh, and wow is this a funny novel. Mieville’s other works which I have read weren’t exactly laugh riots, some of the stories from Looking for Jake excepted, but Kraken shows that Mieville has some solid comedy chops as well.

Whilst Billy’s development from mild mannered, geeky museum curator to savvy, supernatural badass isn’t particularly convincing, the supporting cast entirely makes up for it. Particular highlights included Wati, an incorporeal entity who heads a union for familiars, a figure whose back story is one of the most fascinating and moving I’ve ever encountered. A great comic highlight was Collingswood, a foul mouthed young witch who works for a branch of the police specialising in the supernatural. The characterisation here is probably the best I’ve read since The Scar; like with Steven Erikson, in Mieville’s novels, the world itself is often the star, with the actual characters somewhat paling next to the vivid and fascinating settings Mieville has conjured. Happily, in Kraken this isn’t the case.

Things aren’t all rosy however; the awfully sinister and insidious villains Goss and Subby are suitably loathsome and horrible, but are somewhat diminished by their startling similarity to Croup and Vandemar of Gaiman’s Neverwhere. Don’t get me wrong, they’re not simply rip-offs, and are interesting figures in their own right, but anyone who has read Neverwhere will be extremely distracted by the similarity, and they never quite manage to match the wonderful creepiness that Gaiman’s creations exhibited. I suspect that Goss and Subby were intended as an homage to Croup and Vandemar, but it’s an homage which is just too close to what it pays tribute to.

Kraken is, whilst not quite living up to Perdido Street Station and The Scar, a really fun book which never stops revealing hidden depths until it ends. It’s a sprawling, uneven, and oddly undisciplined novel, but it’s strengths comfortably shine through these issues and leaves Kraken a thoroughly enjoyable read. If you’re a fan of Mieville’s other work, or even the works of writers such as Neil Gaiman or Terry Pratchett, you should find a lot to love about Kraken. 

A Memory of Light by Robert Jordan & Brandon Sanderson

It’s kind of hard to believe that ‘The Wheel of Time’ has come to an end. Begun in 1990 with The Eye of the World, the series has spread now to fourteen novels, surviving the death of its author, Robert Jordan to come to a conclusion 23 years later. ‘The Wheel of Time’ is one of the first fantasy series I read when I first came into the genre, but my experience with it has been somewhat uneven. After the excellent first six or so novels, the pace slowed to an unbelievable pace, tortuous even by the standards of a genre unfortunately given over to padding and waffle. This all culminated in the truly dire tenth novel, Crossroads of Twilight in which almost nothing happened. I have never read a book so long containing less content. Despite this, I didn’t give up on the series, as the world of ‘The Wheel of Time’ is one of the most fascinating in the genre with a cast of characters as varied as it is vast. Although things picked up slightly in the less terrible, if not exactly riveting, Knife of Dreams, things weren’t looking good for the series until the unimaginable happened and Robert Jordan tragically died. The choice of Brandon Sanderson to finish the novels was an inspired one; my admiration for Sanderson will be old news to anyone whose read my five or so reviews of his novels, and as harsh as it may be to say, Sanderson rescued ‘The Wheel of Time,’ delivering in The Gathering Storm and Towers of Midnight the best novels in the series since the sixth, Lord of Chaos. Sanderson used those two novels to snip off some of the vast amount of loose ends Jordan had left hanging at the time of his death, so that A Memory of Light, the final novel, can focus upon the one thing which the series has been leading towards since 1990; Tarmon Gai’don, the Last Battle.

A Memory of Light focuses its setting upon a few battlefronts in which most of the novel takes place. Jordan & Sanderson create an appropriate sense of the scale of the conflict, as we see long time locations such as Caemlyn torn to pieces. We also witness significant appearance thus far of Shayol Ghul, the demesne and prison of the Dark One,  with much of the novel taking place in the Blight. Jordan’s lengthy and, at times somewhat tiresome, worldbuilding is justified in this novel as it allows us to truly feel what is at stake. We know the cultures of Andor, of Illian, of Amadacia, of Tear, of the Aiel, and many more, and we don’t want them to end. This novel isn’t given over to worldbuilding, it’s world destroying, which is all the more tragic for the effort made to build up the setting by Jordan in earlier novels.

The novel opens with Caemlyn under Trolloc attack, as Talmanes and the Band of the Red Hand desperately attempt to preserve the city. The novel is fundamentally centred around six different conflicts, all vital to the success of the Light over the Shadow. We have Elayne’s attempt to preserve her nation of Andor, the attempts of the White Tower under Egwene to stem the tide of Trolloc’s out of Kandor and Lan’s desperate attempt  to hold Tarwin’s Gap in Shienar, under the command of the Great Captains Davram Bashere, Gareth Bryne and Lord Agelmar respectively.  We also have the more intimate conflicts playing a key role, such as Perrin’s battle with Slayer in Tel’aran’rhiod, the internal conflict in the Black Tower between those Asha’man loyal to the Mazrim Taim or Logain and, finally, the assault on Shayol Ghul and Rand al’Thor’s final conflict with Shai’tan, the Dark One.

There’s a lot going on in this novel, and I found myself pretty much entirely captivated from beginning to end, something I haven’t felt in a Wheel of Time novel in a long time. Plenty of long term mysteries get solved, and most had satisfying solutions. We finally find out what Demandred, the most mysterious of the Forsaken, is up to, and the answer caught me entirely by surprise, yet in retrospect makes perfect sense. This novel is, in essence, one giant battle scene, and at times it could get somewhat wearying. There are some good quiet moments, a moving scene between Rand and Tam was a favourite of mine, as was the hilarious reunion between Rand and Mat, but this novel is generally fairly relentless from beginning to end. At the core of this novel is a chapter named ‘The Last Battle’, which is around 200 pages long; according to Sanderson, this chapter is made up roughly equally of work from himself and fragments from Jordan, and they weave together into a battle sequence almost unparalleled in its power and excitement. I’ve long felt that the characters of ‘The Wheel of Time’ have irritatingly strong ‘plot armour’; I struggle to think of many heroic characters who have died since the beginning of the series, but wow do the gloves come off in this one. Major characters die in such pointless and tragic ways that I thought I was reading a George R. R. Martin novel. In an odd way, this reminded me of the Battle of Hogwarts at the end of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, a crescendo culminating everything seen in the series so far, a conflict so vast and vital that the deaths of major characters can only be briefly remarked upon before moving on. Alongside all this is Rand’s more personal battle with the Dark One; I was very uncertain as to what form this battle would take, and I’m very pleased with what Sanderson/Jordan came up with. There are many dissenting views on this, but on reflection I think that the approach taken here was absolutely the right one, and one which interestingly threatens to undermine everything we thought we knew about this world so far.

In a series so heavily focused on prophecy, from the Karaethon Cycle prophecies of the Dragon , to Egwene’s dreams and Min’s viewings, there were lots of things that we knew were coming in this novel. Most of these are dealt with in satisfying ways, but with so many plates spinning it’s unsurprising that a few smash on the ground. One of Min’s viewings in particular, which had particularly intrigued me since it was first mentioned years ago, ended up coming to nothing in a spectacular cop out. While most plot lines are resolved in a highly satisfying manner, some plot threads feel cheated and rushed. The most egregious of these is the resolution of the Padan Fain/Mordred story line; Fain had become one of the most interesting wild cards in the series, unbelievably sinister and powerful, yet still unaligned from the Shadow and the Dark One. I had hoped that Fain would play a key role, but he is dealt with as little more than an afterthought next to Rand’s battle with Shai’tan.

One of the many impressive things about A Memory of Light is the way in which Sanderson and Jordan’s prose weave together. It can at times be noticeable, but I never felt drawn out of the narrative by it. Both have a fairly plain, no-nonsense writing style, so they mesh together remarkably well. Sanderson and Jordan are both masters of crafting fantasy warfare; we saw this during Sanderson’s excellent The Way of Kings and in Jordan during the thrilling Battle of Dumai Wells at the conclusion of Lord of Chaos. Although perhaps the scale of the conflict isn’t quite conveyed as much as intended, we instead have a battle which zooms in on individual stories and characters, rather than the broad strokes. This is an army of dozens of individual, distinct units moving in concert, from the Aes Sedai to the Asha’man to the Whitecloaks to the Two Rivers bowmen, with each individual aspect forming into a coherent whole.

It’s the characterisation which always redeemed Jordan at his worst, and with a few exceptions Sanderson has picked up the mantle remarkably well. Many have held issue with Sanderson’s portrayal of the brilliant Mat Cauthon, a wonderful character, but I felt that these problems were fixed here. His excessive flippancy is still in place, but I never felt that this wasn’t true to the character, and the good, heroic man lurking underneath is always visible. Other characters such as Lan and Egwene, characters who have undergone some fascinating progression as the series went on, are on great display here. Sanderson actually improves some of Jordan’s more rote characters, with Talmanes of the Band of the Red Hand really coming into his own as a laconic badass. I actually really enjoyed the story of Androl, an Asha’man attempting to subvert Mazrim Taim and bring the Black Tower under the control of Logain, and his Red Ajah Aes Sedai companion Pevara. The natural distrust between a Red and a channeler of saidin undergoes a gradual and believable journey into trust and even affection. I grew incredibly fond of these two, characters who I hadn’t really paid any attention to in their previous appearances. Sanderson doesn’t fare quite so well with some others however; he’s never seemed to quite get a handle of Aviendha and Min, but considering the challenge he had ahead of him this can be easily forgiven. Some major characters don’t quite receive the screen time we may have hoped, particularly Nynaeve, Moiraine and Thom Merrilin, but considering how much is going on in this novel, it’s impressive that each character receives as much as they do!

A Memory of Light is not a perfect ending, but it is an incredibly accomplished and satisfying one, which stands as one of the best conclusions to an epic I’ve ever read. Endings are difficult, and they’re even harder when you join a series three books before the end, and Sanderson and Jordan have absolutely excelled in this release. I don’t know if it quite redeems those difficult middle books, I’d still hold back from recommending the series in the knowledge that Crossroads of Twilight exists, but I can confidently say that ‘The Wheel of Time’ has a fantastic conclusion which reflects the series at its best, not its worst. 

The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss

Ahhh…is there anything better than embarking upon a new fantasy epic? No, just me? Ah well, screw you guys. After polishing off a huge amount of Brandon Sanderson I decided to follow the enthusiastic recommendation of a friend and give The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss a go. The Name of the Wind is the first in the ‘The Kingkiller Chronicle’ trilogy, of which there are currently two instalments released. The Name of the Wind has a lot of buzz surrounding it, and it’s not difficult to see why; Rothfuss has clearly earnt his place alongside Sanderson as one of the new darlings of fantasy, and The Name of the Wind is an excellent book despite the feeling that it is saving the best stuff for future instalments.

The Name of the Wind takes place in a setting known as ‘The Four Corners of Civilisation’, an initially generic seeming fantasy setting which promises hidden depths in future novels. The locations which we are privy to in this novel aren’t necessarily particularly vivid themselves, a few backwater towns, the brutal and divided city of Tarbean and the University, the centre of all learning in the land. To be honest, the Four Corners doesn’t initially impress as a setting, and Rothfuss doesn’t show the world building talents of some of his contemporaries. The magic system is known as ‘Sympathy’, and is tied into the connections between objects, a combination between quantum physics and voodoo. The manipulation of one object affects the other, with the efficiency of this effect dependent on how similar each object is to each other. I’m a bit fuzzy about the details of this system, it’s certainly not as rigorous or well defined as Sanderson’s Allomancy, but it’s a poorly understood art in the narrative, so that’s entirely forgivable. Despite the somewhat vague world building in this novel, it all serves a genuine narrative purpose which stops this from being a problem. The average member of the population in the ‘Four Corners of Civilisation’ is incredibly ignorant about the world they live in, with no method of fast communication really existing in this world. The average citizens of Westeros look positively enlightened compared to those in The Name of the Wind, so the lack of definition in the setting only serves to heighten narrative immersion.

The Name of the Wind is entirely centred around one man; Kvothe. Kvothe is a nigh legendary figure, with many a great deed assigned to his name. He is now spending his years in anonymity as an inn keeper in a backwater town, hiding from his fame and his past. Kvothe is tracked down by Devan Lochees, a famous historian known throughout the novel as Chronicler, and persuades Kvothe to tell his life story. Kvothe agrees, and the story is told over the course of three days, with The Name of the Wind covering the first day. Kvothe’s narrative makes up most of the novel, although there are occasional interludes into the present day, which reveals its own story involving the recent surge in appearances of nightmarish demons in the countryside. Kvothe’s story covers his youth, taking him from childhood with the Edema Ruh, travelling performers of high repute, through to his time on the streets on Tarbean, with the bulk of the novel taking place at the University where Kvothe learns the secrets of Sympathy.

I do love me a good frame narrative, and The Name of the Wind excels in its use. The juxtaposition of the ferociously intelligent, witty and lively Kvothe seen in the past with the weathered, world weary Kvothe telling the story is incredibly compelling. The ‘interludes’ into the present never feel jarring, and take place at natural breaks in the story, avoiding the breaks in the narrative flow which frame narratives can sometimes bring. Rothfuss shares a clear interest in the art of ‘storytelling’ with Stephen King; this novel somewhat reminded me of Wizard and Glass, the fourth of King’s excellent Dark Tower series, the bulk of which is spent as the protagonist, Roland Deschain, relates his past to his companions. The Name of the Wind could almost be called a yarn, but with a dark undercurrent undermining the sometimes fairy tale nature of the story. There’s something curiously self aware about the whole thing; would it be pretentious to call in postmodern?

Rothfuss excels in both aspects of the narrative; the third person omniscient narrative of the frame as well as Kvothe’s story. There’s the odd weirdly anachronistic mode of speech that crops up, that can somewhat break immersion, but it’s never too bad, and considering that this is a debut novel these flaws can be easily forgiven. This is a much stronger debut than Sanderson’s Elantris for example, and Rothfuss’s writing is utterly competent and assured. Kvothe is known as an eloquent man, but it takes an eloquent writer to convey this, and Rothfuss most certainly succeeds.

I cannot think of another fantasy novel I have read which sticks it’s focus so firmly to one character; this work lacks the sprawling cast of POVs of A Song of Ice and Fire, The Malazan Books of the Fallen or The Wheel of Time, and benefits for its focus. Kvothe is a thoroughly likeable character, and a highly sympathetic protagonist. An interesting twist on the whole story is that we are being told all this by Kvothe himself, so it’s natural to wonder the extent to which this take on events can be trusted, and whether Kvothe is holding much back. When starting this novel, I must confess to somewhat expecting Kvothe to fit into the ‘lone badass’ archetype, but in reality there’s something much more interesting here. The supporting cast is full of interesting and vivid characters, although none feel particularly fleshed out. The professors of the University are the most interesting members of the cast, and I hope to find out more about them in future novels. One character who did not particularly impress me at first was Denna, the object of Kvothe’s love, who nonetheless seems entirely unworthy of it. Behaviours Kvothe seems to find endearing and mysterious seem simply cruel and obnoxious to me, so I was incredibly pleased when another character raises this in the interludes, showing a canniness to Rothfuss. I may have underestimated him; I don’t know if I was meant to like Denna. There’s a whole extra later to this story that makes everything more complex than it first seems. I’m suspect that Rothfuss has pulled off something masterful here.

The Name of the Wind is a fantastic debut, and well worth a read for any fantasy fan. Although it’s not enough to convince me that Rothfuss deserves to stand alongside the greats, if his future works are of this quality he’ll no doubt earn that position. The Name of the Wind is a better novel than it may seem at first glance, which may sound like a backhand compliment but I assure that it’s not meant as such. I thoroughly look forward to reading the follow up, The Wise Man’s Fear.

The Emperor’s Soul by Brandon Sanderson

The Emperor’s Soul is the last work of Brandon Sanderson set in the Cosmere which I had yet to read, and with the finishing of this novella I am now caught up. I’ve been reading Sanderson for a few months now and it’s been an incredibly fun ride; I’m sad to be forced to take a break (I’m not counting the imminent A Memory of Light, because although Sanderson may be writing it I’ll always consider it Robert Jordan’s story). Thankfully, The Emperor’s Soul is an absolutely wonderful way to round off my Sanderson experience, standing as one of the most complete and charming novellas I have ever read.

The Emperor’s Soul is set on Sel, the planet upon which Sanderson’s first published novel, Elantris, was set. The ‘Rose Empire’ within which The Emperor’s Soul is set in incredibly far from Arelon, the setting of Elantris, with the only indications of this shared setting coming from oblique references to lands which played a background role in Elantris, such as Jindo and Svorden. Therefore, this novel is completely readable without having read any other Cosmere novels, even Elantris. We don’t see much of the Rose Empire, mostly just the palace of the titular Emperor, in fact, mostly within one room of that palace. It’s therefore rather impressive how much detail Sanderson manages to cram into this rather short novella, even though world building isn’t really the priority here. I really hope that we see more of Sel, and I hope that Sanderson’s planned sequels to Elantris incorporate the Rose Empire somehow, or even have a role played by some new and interesting lands referred to in The Emperor’s Soul. It wouldn’t be a Brandon Sanderson novel without an interesting new magic system; the magic of The Emperor’s Soul is known as ‘Forgery.’ Similar in some ways to the AonDor symbol based magic of Elantris, Forgery is the act of rewriting an objects past to change its attributes in the present through the crafting of stamps. The magic is based upon plausibility; if too much is changed the Forgery will fail, so an intimate knowledge of an object’s history is needed to rewrite its past. Like all the best magic systems, there are clearly defined limits to what it can and can’t do. Forgery, similarly to the BioChromatic breath of Warbreaker, is considered to be an abomination by the general population. Forgery is an interesting system, one I hope also plays a role in further works set on Sel; I’d love to see conflict or cooperation between an Elantrian user of AonDor magic and a Forger.

The Emperor’s Soul is told over the course of 100 days in the palace of the Emperor of the Rose Empire, Ashravan. The protagonist of the novel is Shai, a Forger who had been captured attempting to steal the most valuable relic in the palace, leaving a Forged fake in its place. In an assassination attempt, Emperor Ashravan had been left permanently brain damaged and mindless, so the main advisors of the Emperor’s political faction, desperate to keep power, recruit Shai to use her Forgery to recreate the Emperor’s soul. To do this Shai must gain an intimate knowledge and understanding of the Emperor, so that she can rebuild his soul in a Forgery stamp to restore his mind. Shai has only 100 days until the Emperor must reappear, and is given the impossible task of rebuilding the mind of a man she has never met, or she shall be executed. Running parallel to this is a lot of scheming among the advisors, a guard with a grudge and Gaotona, an advisor more open minded and sympathetic than the rest, with whom Shai forms an odd bond.

Similarly to The Alloy of Law before it, Sanderson focuses upon a much smaller scale here. This rigid 100 day structure is interesting, and unlike anything that he’s done before. For a novel mostly about a young woman sitting in one room reading about a dead Emperor and plotting her escape, it never feels lacking in action and incident. It is a novella, and very short, so therefore feels almost like a prologue to a longer story. If this story will one day manifest remains to be seen, Sanderson has the rest of the Stormlight Archive, future Mistborn trilogies and other standalone works on his plate at the moment, so perhaps he can be forgiven in not returning us to the Rose Empire, but it would be a shame, as we are introduced to an interesting world which could easily host further adventures. The Emperor’s Soul is Sanderson’s most focused work yet, dealing with a small group of characters in a small space, and is all the better for it. As much as I liked it, I thought that The Alloy of Law felt faintly incomplete due it’s short length, but this isn’t really a problem here; we get just as much character growth and world building as we need to tell a good story, and it’s amazing how much Sanderson manages to cram in.

Sanderson’s unflashy style conceals someone who really understands how to write, with a great understanding of the craft of writing. Sanderson is just so solidly competent, and a tendency to occasionally indulge in clichés in his earlier work is thoroughly stamped out by this point. Although this novel lacks the beautiful vistas of his other novels, particularly The Way of Kings, it makes up for it through the wonderful depiction of a master performing her craft. Sanderson really conveys a sense of wonder in what Shai is doing, reserving his best prose for descriptions of Shai’s meticulous crafting of the stamp to restore the Emperor’s soul.

By the very nature of the novella’s brevity, Sanderson doesn’t get as much time to focus upon characterisation as he might usually. Shai is a great protagonist, but in many ways the real focus8 of the novel is Emperor Ahsravan himself. Through Shai’s research into his past we learn more and more about him, and he emerges as an interesting character, trapped between idealism and moral cowardice. I enjoyed the character of Gaotona, trapped between his instinctive disgust at Forgery, yet overwhelmed by the beauty it can create. I hope we see some of these characters again, but I doubt we will, so I’m glad I got to meet them for the short time the novella lasts.

The Emperor’s Soul is everything that makes Sanderson so special in microcosm. It won’t take you long to read, but the time that it does take is thoroughly enjoyable. Now that I’ve finished with Sanderson for now, it’s time to pick my next big fantasy author. I’m looking at you Patrick Rothfuss!

Blood and Bone by Ian C. Esslemont

Blood and Bone is the third (third!) novel released this year within Steven Erikson and Ian C. Esslemont’s Malazan setting. The rate at which these two men are churning out these books is astounding, particularly considering their generally high quality. With Erikson currently focused upon his ‘Kharkanas Trilogy’, telling us the ancient tale of the Tiste, the Jaghut and the Elder Gods in a dimension separate to that of the main series, it falls to Esslemont to keep us up to date with what’s going on in the main timeline. It’s difficult not to view Esslemont as the ‘B’ author of the Malazan universe; Erikson did start the series, and is probably a better writer. Despite this, Esslemont has some great novels under his belt, particularly Night of Knives and Return of the Crimson Guard. I was far from impressed with the recently released Orb, Sceptre, Throne, which suffered for being set on Genabackis in the aftermath of Erikson’s Toll the Hounds, largely dealing with Erikson’s characters and a world which he built. Esslemont is at his best when showing us new lands only hinted at in Erikson’s novels and dealing with either new characters or characters who played only minor roles in Erikson’s central ‘Malazan Books of the Fallen.’ After having given us a long awaited glimpse of mainland Quon Tali in Return of the Crimson Guard and the much discussed but never seen land of Korel in Stonewielder, in Blood and Bone Esslemont turns his gaze to Jacuruku, a location known to long time readers as the seat of the ancient fallen empire of Kallor, and the location of the original summoning of the Crippled God. It’s wonderful to finally visit a location which is semi-mythical to many of the inhabitants of already established lands, and thankfully this time Esslemont does not disappoint.

Although I thoroughly enjoyed Stonewielder, I was somewhat disappointed that Korel seemed rather similar in culture and geography to other Malazan locations such as Genabackis and Quon Tali. I rather missed exposure to all new cultures and peoples as we were in the desert Seven Cities in and the obsessively capitalist Lether. Thankfully, Jucuruku in Blood and Bone feels unlike any other location which we have previously visited in the Malazan series. Much of the novel is set in Himatan, a vast jungle which covers most of the east of the continent, the demesne of the much hyped Elder Goddess Ardata. Himatan is a wonderful location, and incredibly atmospheric, intentionally kept secluded from the rest of the Malazan world, allowing a bundle of wonderfully weird flora and fauna to have developed. Bordering Himatan is the land of the Thaumaturgs, the descendants of the mages who summoned the Crippled God to destroy Kallor, and Esslemont does a wonderful job of depicting a deeply twisted and cruel society almost as loathsome as the Pannion Domin in Erikson’s Memories of Ice. Jacuruku is probably the smallest continent thus featured in the Malazan series, which leads to a tightness to the world building unlike the other novels in the series (the oddball Night of Knives excepted). Where we readers have got used to seeing maps filled with cities and nations which we’ll never even see, in Jacuruku we gain possibly the most complete portrait of a land seen so far in the series. Part of this is simply because Jacuruku is mostly jungle and wasteland, and there simply isn’t quite as much going on here as there is in Lether or Seven Cities, but I do believe that Esslemont deserves some credit for how complete and immersive his portrayal of Jacuruku is. With only one continent yet to be visited in the Malazan series, the incredibly hyped Assail, it’s nice to see that we can still be surprised.

The Malazan timeline is one of the most convoluted in modern fantasy, but Esslemont does a good job of placing Blood and Bone within a very specific timeframe. Blood and Bone takes place at the same time as Stonewielder and Erikson’s finale The Crippled God. The novel contains many cross references to what’s going on in Kolanse in The Crippled God, and it’s really cool to see this level of coherence in a series which biggest flaw is a lack of coherence.  In classic Malazan fashion, the plot follows many strands which converge towards the end. Pretty much every Malazan novel is structured this way, and it really works for them. New characters introduced to the series include the pilgrimage of siblings Saeng and Hanu to avert a coming catastrophe and the amusing Thaumaturg invasion force of Himatan, with the journey of the arrogant and deluded leader Golan into a somewhat remorseful and rundown figure was a lot of fun to read about. One of my favourite plot strands followed Jatal, a tribal prince who joins an invasion of the Thaumaturg homeland under the command of a mysterious foreign mercenary known as ‘the Warleader’, whose real identity will be painfully obvious to any long term Malazan fans. There are also plenty of strands following established figure in the mythology; we are finally given an insight into Skinner’s Disavowed as they dash around Jacuruku collecting fragments of the Crippled God, and we are also given the opposing Crimson Guard view from Shimmer under the leadership of the enigmatic K’azz D’Avore. An amusing bunch of ex-Malazan mercenaries under the hire of Spite, daughter of Draconus and sister to Lady Envy, are one of the stand out POVs of the novel. There are regular scenes featuring the POV of Osserc, as he has some incredibly intriguing and revelatory conversations with Gothos, which provide some of most juicy tidbits of new info for those of us hungry for every possible detail we can wring out of the Malazan world. Rounding out the main characters is the journey of T’riss, the Queen of Dreams, with her Seguleh bodyguard Ina into Jacuruku, unable to travel magically due to a blockage by Ardata.

Unlike previous Esslemont novels, there were no plot strands that I didn’t enjoy; each character feels entertaining and fun to read about. All of the plot strands feel relevant to the conclusion, compared to the bafflingly unnecessary (if entertaining) Ivanr subplot in Stonewielder. The novel does rather stick too much to the ‘travelogue’ style of fantasy, in that most of the novel is spent travelling, and it can sometimes feel that perhaps this artificially extends the novel as we await the inevitable convergence which defines the Malazan series. The finale is also something of an anti-climax, although not nearly as bad as that of Orb, Sceptre, Throne. Esslemont attempts to emulate Erikson in withholding information and keeping things vague, refusing to spell things out with exposition, yet still isn’t able to do this as well as Erikson can. Erikson usually leaves enough information there to piece together what’s happened, as seen very clearly in his masterful conclusion to the main series, The Crippled God. Esslemont simply isn’t good at this; Stonewielder had an unnecessarily obtuse ending  as well, withholding information about the Stormriders that many readers were hoping for in a novel about Korel. Blood and Bone’s Stormriders is Ardata, a highly mysterious Azathanai Elder God, which this novel barely reveals anything more about. As frustrating as this is, and it is Esslemont’s biggest flaw as a writer, the fact remains that this novel is probably the most coherent and well structured that he has written so far, never boring or containing dips in interest as was the case of many of his other novels.

Esslemont improves as a writer with every novel he publishes, and Blood and Bone is his best written yet.  Esslemont isn’t quite as good at conjuring a compelling atmosphere of tragedy as Erikson is; this was most notable in the embarrassing ‘crying soldiers’ scene in Orb, Sceptre, Throne. Thankfully, Esslemont doesn’t attempt this in Blood and Bone, but where he does succeed is in creating a feeling of visceral horror in the degradations of Thaumaturg culture, where he not only manages to match Erikson in this regard but even surpass him. Himatan is beautifully depicted, as wonderfully vivid a location as Erikson conjured in Raraku in Deadhouse Gates and the Letherii wastes in Dust of Dreams. I suspect that Esslemont has spent some time in Vietnam, and the Asian influenced jungle setting feels refreshingly new and interesting. Esslemont shows his flair for comedy which was first exhibited in the hilarious Ipshank and Manask in Stonewielder through the entertaining bromance between the two ex-Malazan mages Murk and Sour. The highly amusingly passive aggressive relationship between the Thaumaturg general Golan and his po-faced scribe Thorn was a real highlight of the novel, and show that Esslemont has more than one literary asset to his name.

If there’s any clear triumph of this novel, and any clear indication of Esslemont’s growth as a writer, it’s in his characterisation. The ex-Malazan mages Murk and Sour can stand proudly alongside Icarium and Mappo, Trull and Onrack, Tehol and Bugg as another classic bromance, in a series filled with them. I was particularly impressed by Esslemont’s portrayal of the Disavowed, figures who have seemed as archly villainous in other novels here get rather humanised. In particular Skinner, one of the major antagonists of the series, is given his most interesting portrait yet. I was very impressed with what Esslemont did with ancient Elder forces such as Osserc and T’riss, who seem to match their younger forms seen in Forge of Darkness rather than their rather more esoteric appearances earlier in the series. If I have any complaint it would be in the characterisation of Jatal, a new character who goes upon a highly unconvincing Rand al’Thor-esque emo trip. Despite this slight misstep, this is a novel filled with great , interesting characters.

Blood and Bone is Esslemont’s best novel so far, which is all the more impressive considering how unimpressed I was with Orb, Sceptre, Throne, released less than a year ago. Esslemont only has announced plans for one more novel, set in the frustratingly intriguing Assail. Assail as a location has began to be hyped up all the way back in Memories of Ice, so Esslemont has a lot of pressure to deliver with this next novel. I truly hope that this isn’t the last we hear from Esslemont in the Malazan setting. I’d love for him to follow the Erikson route and begin some prequels, perhaps a trilogy detailing the foundation of the Malazan Empire, and the rise of Kellanved and Dancer to power. All future speculation aside, this is an excellent novel and a must read for any Malazan fan; Esslemont really delivered in his depiction of Jacuruku.

The Alloy of Law by Brandon Sanderson

One of the most common drawbacks of fantasy settings is how static they can feel. Surely the presence of great magic and power would lead to a more developed culture and assist in scientific and technological development rather than sticking around in the Medieval cultures which we have come to accept as the norm in the genre. The ultimate example of this is in the Harry Potter novels, in which the magical folk seem to live less convenient and connected lives than us mere Muggles. Brandon Sanderson return to Scadrial, the setting of his phenomenal Mistborn trilogy, 300 years later, with the twin magics of Allomancy and Feruchemy working in harmony with the development of skyscrapers, steam trains and electricity. It’s something that I have never encountered before, and it works so well I’m honestly shocked no one else has ever tried it.

Following the conclusion of The Hero of Ages, a vast metropolis known as Elendel has arisen, and it is here that most of the novel takes place, excluding an extremely fun prologue in the ‘wild west’ esque ‘Roughs’ outside the city. Although we don’t get a real feel for Elendel, this novel being relatively short by Sanderson’s standards, I got an impression of a cross between Luthadel of the earlier Mistborn novels and China Miéville’s New Crobuzon. Sanderson manages to combine the slightly steampunk-y setting of a magical world on the brink of a technological renaissance with the wonderful sense of mystery which made Luthadel such a cool location to read about. The protagonists of the original trilogy have faded into mythology by the time this book is set, and it’s a lot of fun picking over the novel for references to the original trilogy. This novel, having not been initially a part of Sanderson’s master plan, has probably the loosest connection to the wider ‘Cosmere’, which links many of Sanderson’s works, seen so far. Allomancy and Feruchemy remain entertaining magic systems, and made even more interesting with the discovery of new metals which allow certain Allomancers to manipulate the flow of time.

The protagonist of The Alloy of Law is an errant Elendel nobleman known as Waxillium Ladrian, who had left the metropolis for the all together more interesting and violent ‘Roughs’, where he and a few companions gained a fearsome reputation as lawmen, attempting to make the area safe for the innocent residents. Wax is a ‘twinborn’, meaning that he both an Allomantic and Feruchemical power. He is both a ‘coinshot’, able to burn steel and push metal objects, and a ‘skimmer’, able to  use his Feruchemical metalminds to make himself heavier and lighter. Called back to Elendel by family tragedy, Wax struggles to adjust to his life as a violent keeper of the law and his duty as a courtly nobleman. A series of robberies and kidnappings throughout the city from a group known by as ‘The Vanishers’ and the arrival of his former sidekick Wayne (geddit?) prompt Wax to come out of retirement and try to get to the bottom of a mystery underpinning the city.

Probably the biggest difference between The Alloy of Law and Sanderson’s other works of fantasy is that of scale. All of his previous novels have dealt with the massive conflicts between nations, struggles against ancient gods and other similarly lofty themes. The central narrative of The Alloy of Law, whilst hinting at a larger conflict likely to be explored in sequels, is very focused and tight, taking place over a relatively short time and disposing with unnecessary subplots. Sanderson had previously announced plans for another pair of Mistborn trilogies, one taking place in a setting technologically equivalent to the present day (and following an Allomancer SWAT team), and another going full science fiction in which Allomancy has fused with science to allow the people of Scadrial to reach the stars. The Alloy of Law exists outside these plans, with it and any eventual sequels existing as a bridge between the first and second Mistborn trilogies. The novel therefore very much feels like a spin-off rather than a full sequel, but that’s fine, and it’s nice to see that Sanderson can work just as well on a small scale as a large one.

Sanderson’s knack for dialogue is probably displayed at its best so far, and The Alloy of Law is the most overtly comic novel that he has ever written (although it still didn’t make me laugh as much as Warbreaker). There’s a natural crackle to his dialogue which makes it difficult to go back to the solemn pronouncements which accompany much of fantasy literature. One of the most impressive things about the original Mistborn trilogy were the truly exhilarating action scenes. Allomancer battles are relived from feeling too same-y from the original trilogy with the addition of firearms, which only serves to heighten the steampunk-esque vibe which underpins the novel. These action scenes are incredibly cinematic; if any of Sanderson’s novels were to make a great movie it is this one. However, Sanderson does not quite succeed in conjuring a coherent sense of place in Elendel. This has never particularly been his strong point, most notably in Elantris and Warbreaker, with significant improvement in The Way of Kings. It’s rare to criticise a fantasy novel of being too short, but a couple more chapters to help us gain a feel for what Elendel is really like wouldn’t have been amiss.

Sanderson doesn’t really have enough time to develop characters as well as he does in his other novels, but where he excels is in creating incredibly strong characters who stick in the mind. Wax and Wayne have an excellent chemistry, with Wayne acting as genuinely entertaining comic relief throughout the novel. If there is any weakness in the characterisation of this novel it has to be that of the villain, whose motivation is cliché and doesn’t seem to have much of a personality. Compared to such delicious complex villains as the Lord Ruler of the original trilogy, this villain is rather dull. Where the original trilogy were fleshed out with a cadre of interesting side characters away from the central duo of Vin and Elend, The Alloy of Law is very much Wax and Wayne’s book. This isn’t really a problem, considering the novels length, but I certainly hope that future novels bolster the cast or, better yet, develop the characters already introduced such as the demure Marasi and the amusingly socially awkward Steris.

Sanderson has done something rather special with The Alloy of Law in returning to Scadrial. The novel itself is a good read, but I didn’t feel that it necessarily eclipsed the original trilogy or The Way of Kings. I feel that The Alloy of Law is sort of the ‘Batman Begins’ of a new series, independently great, but with a superior sequel on the way. It is a great book though, and I’m glad that Sanderson took a little diversion from his master Cosmere plan to give us the adventures of Wax and Wayne.