It’s been a year for putting the shutters up…

In this time of Covid, I’ve frequently joked that the writing life is “naturally self-isolating”—and although speaking in humour, it’s also true, by and large, since one of the key ingredients for writing (for most writers, although I’m sure there are exceptions) is uninterrupted writing time.

The corollary of this, of course, is that storytelling and literature spring from observation, interaction, and the hurly-burly of life. So although writing may need blocks of uninterrupted time, it also needs human interaction, from coffee and catch-ups with friends, to spending some time in market-places and crowds. Imho, anyway—all of which I’ve canvassed previously, most specifically in the May 28 post titled “Naturally Self-Isolating.” 😉

Mmmm, delicious…

One of the reasons why I always wanted to live a writing life, is not only because I love storytelling, and books, and the magic of language and words, both written and spoken, but also because I love engaging with others about the wonder and glory of storytelling, books, and the language of both. If I can slip in some home-baked goodies, a cup of coffee, or a glass of wine with that, then all the better. 🙂

Consequently, there are not many things I like better than the opportunity to catch up with friends who love doing the same, many of whom are fellow writers, and all of whom are keen readers and ‘viewers.’ Not infrequently the good talk about books spills over into TV shows and films and games, focusing on what we *heart* and what doesn’t spin our wheels quite so much. And quite often with plenty of laughter to go around.

There is nothing–absolutely nothing–half so much worth doing as putting one’s feet up with a book… 😉

It doesn’t happen nearly as often as I would like, because we all have our own commitments, writing and otherwise—but when it does happen, it’s definitely one of the “ups” of the writing life. Especially when everyone votes to stay “just a little longer”, or as once happened, the first arrival declares that all through a very busy morning at work, she has been looking forward to an afternoon where she can “really be herself.”

So although I love the AS Byatt quote, “that the writer wrote alone, and the reader read alone, and they were alone with each other”; and although the writer may of necessity write alone, getting together and having some fun is also an important part of fueling the life creative.

People, books, fun — it makes the writing world go around 🙂

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Previous Inside The Writing Life Posts:

• A Little About The Writing Itself
• About Those Muses, Then…
• Naturally Self-Isolating
• Writing Novels, Posting Blogs
• Another Milestone Ticked Off
• A Game Of Two Halves
• Further Reflection on Writing Transitions

Han Solo the quintessential “lovable rogue”

Long before fantasy-dom began adopting anti-heroes as main characters (in my mind, Michael Moorcock was an early adaptor, with the Elric novels), the “lovable rogue” was an established, some would say essential part of the canon.

Very often, the lovable rogue overlaps with the sidekick, characters that (as discussed in Post #12) sometimes morph into central, point-of-view (pov) protagonists in their own right. The single best example I can think of when it comes to both archetypal lovable rogues and assuming greater importance within the story, is Han Solo in Star Wars.

In the best lovable rogue tradition, he’s cynical and mercenary and out for himself—until the chips are down, at which point he comes through for his ‘band of brothers.’ He also has considerable charm and a similar “broth of a boy” mojo to Shakespeare’s Mercutio, although not quite so manic. (While duly noting that Mercutio is not in the fantasy genre.) Most importantly, viewers love him — also in keeping with the lovable rogue tradition — an enthusiasm that gave Han Solo a prominent place in the initial film trilogy and the Stars Wars canon.

Loki, from Marvel’s “Thor”

So why do we love the lovable rogue characters, pretty much wherever they appear? I believe it stems from the strong overlap to both the ‘sidekick’ and ‘band of brothers‘ traditions, although the rogue can, of course, also be the main character. (They may also end being heroes, but it’s not the way they primarily present.)

Their appeal is also  strongly grounded in the trickster archetype, which is ancient, and based on a pantheon of gods, heroes, and folklore characters. Loki is one of the most famous, along with the North American Coyote, and Polynesian Maui. Puck features in English folklore (and Shakespeare), while in Greco-Roman myth we have both the god, Hermes/Mercury, and that wily seafarer, Odysseus/Ulysses. Just to name a very few examples!

Maui, in Disney’s “Moana”

The trickster pantheon can be capricious and cruel, and they’re frequently up to no good, from mischief to outright wrongdoing, but when the chips are down they also come up with cunning plans to either aid the hero(es) or outright save the day. In my view, the trickster celebrates the attributes of cleverness, wiliness, and cunning that are a significant part of humanity’s competitive advantage in the universe. Much as we admire strength and courage, sincerity and idealism, we recognize that guile and invention are equally, if not more, significant if a ‘band of brothers’ is to carry the field and the day.

In part because they are so tricksy (which as Loki’s relationship with his Asgard peers illustrates, can be annoying at best) the rogue must also have lovable qualities: like their wiliness and wit, it’s a survival trait. So they are not infrequently charming and quixotic in their loyalties (such as they are), as well as useful in a tight corner. Sufficiently so to ensure their companions put up with their less endearing qualities and keep them around.

Enfants terribles

Another element that I believe makes the ‘lovable rogue’ character both enduring and endearing is that they reflect our humanity, i.e. they’re so clearly not perfect. We see this with Merry, and particularly Pippin in The Lord of the Rings.

They are the closest to lovable rogues among the fellowship, although they’re more in the nature of enfant terribles: more mercurial and irresponsible sidekicks than steadfast Sam, but far more human and relatable than the noble but overburdened Frodo.

Even enfants terribles must grow up

Merry and Pippin also supply another appealing aspect of the lovable rogue — the redemption arc. Both, but particularly Pippin, have to give up their careless ways and come through for the fellowship and their friends, just as Han Solo comes through at the end of the first-made Stars Wars film.

The lovable rogue provides audiences, whether readers, viewers, or listeners, with the reassurance that redemption is possible, while at the same time epitomizing all we may frequently long for in terms of being footloose and without a care (or, not infrequently, terribly many moral scruples) in the world — in itself epitomized by Spike, in Buffy The Vampire Slayer.

Spike arrives in Sunnydale…

But maybe, as audience, we also quite like that feeling of moral superiority the lovable rogue affords, whereas with the heroes we may admire and aspire, but feel that such a high level of courage and integrity is beyond our everyday grasp.

So, having talked Han Solo and Spike, along with Merry and Pippin, some of the lovable rogues that populate the pages of fantasy literature include:

• Anansi: Anansi Boys by Neil Gaiman
• Crowley: Good Omens by Terry Pratchett & Neil Gaiman
• Diarmuid: the Fionavar Tapestry by Guy Gavriel Kay;
• Eugenides: The Queen’s Thief/Attolia series by Megan Whalen Turner
• Fred and George Weasley:  Harry Potter by JK Rowling;
• George Cooper (literally “the Rogue”): in the Alanna series and Tortall world, by Tamora Pierce;
• Ghislain Zarene:  Mortal Fire by Elizabeth Knox
• Jimmy the Hand: in Raymond E Feist’s Midkemia novels (Jimmy is also an example of a sidekick that graduated to POV character in the prequel novel co-authored with SM Stirling);
• Jobber: the Queen’s Quarter/Oran quartet by Midori Snyder
• Lila Bard: A Darker Shade of Magic by VE Schwab
• Livak: Thief’s Gamble by Juliet McKenna
• Locke Lamora: the Gentlemen Bastard series by Scott Lynch’s;
• Luke:  Eight Days of Luke by Diana Wynne Jones (Spoiler: Luke is really Loki, so the lovable rogue part goes without saying);
• Matt: the The Wheel Of Time series by Robert Jordan;
• Master Shoka: The Paladin by  CJ Cherryh
• Nahri: The City Of Brass by SA Chakraborty
• Nicholas Valiarde: Song of the Necromancer by Martha Wells’ (nope, it’s nothing to do with Murderbot, sorry — but if you like Moriarty vs Sherlock Holmes…)
• Shallan: the Stormlight Archive by Brandon Sanderson
• Tyrion Lannister has elements of the lovable rogue in A Game Of Thrones by George RR Martin;
• Vlad Taltos: in the series of the same name by Steven Brust;
• Westley, the Dread Pirate Roberts: The Princess Bride by William Goldman

The Dread Pirate Roberts

That’s just an off-the-top-of-my-head list, although it’s still just a sampling: I’m sure you can think of many more to add. 🙂

Faith, also a vampire slayer — & a rogue

But Where Are The Women?

In doing so, I hope you will have a few more women’s names to add to my list. Currently there are only 5 out of 21 in the running and no pics — although I’m about to remedy that! In case you’re wondering, they’re Shallan, who certainly has a rogue alter ego; Jobber; Lila Bard, Livak, and Nahri.

All of which led me to search a little more widely on the internets, where the cited lovable rogues, like their templates in myth, legend, and folklore, are overwhelming male. Initially, I struggled to think of a TV show or film contender in the Fantasy genre, but then, fortunately, I remembered Faith from Buffy. And although Faith is also a superhero, she also fits the “(mostly) lovable rogue” mould.

It did make me think, though, because the lovable rogue isn’t a prominent female archetype: traditionally (ie in fairytale and myth, folklore and legend) women rogues are either outright villains, or debased by their roguery. And when women feature on the positive side of the storytelling ledger, there doesn’t appear to be a lot of scope for roguery, however lovable. I suspect this may reflect on the extremely narrow place occupied by women in traditional societies — a narrow scope reflected in storytelling and with no “halfway” houses, such as the “lovable rogue”, between “good” and “bad.”

Inara: a  ‘companion’ with a heart of gold…

The female archetype that comes closest to the “lovable rogue” is the “whore with the heart of gold”, with contenders such as Gaie Sebold’s Babylon Steel, along with Elizabeth Bear’s Karen Memory, who is definitely a whore, and something of a rogue, and I think her heart’s in the right place, so I feel *probably* fits the archetype.

Spring Rain, in Guy Gavriel Kay’s Under Heaven, however, is a courtesan and has a good heart, but is not a rogue—which is pretty much true of Inara in Firefly, as well.

So as you can see, there’s plenty of scope to come up with more examples in the comments, both of female “lovable rogues”, and “whores with hearts of gold.” If I’ve considered them but feel they don’t fit, we may even have a conversation. 😉

And As For My Own Books…

In this Having Fun post series, I always end with a quick look at my own books, so I won’t break tradition. 🙂

Although there are no prominent lovable rogues in Thornspell, Sigismund’s acquaintance-cum-friend, Ban, skirts this territory among the secondary characters. So, too, do the horse-copers, Fulk and Rafe.

The minstrel, Haimyr, presents as an archetypal lovable rogue in The Heir of Night, and several sidekick characters in The Gathering of the Lost also overlap the lovable rogue, chiefly Raher and —of course!— the hedge knight, Raven.

I did, briefly, consider Malian herself, because of her Shadow Band training and facility for illusion and disguise, but although she can be both “dark and light”, Malian is far too steadfast in her duty to ever qualify as a rogue, lovable or otherwise.

The guard, Dab, may have some of the lovable, enfant terrible characteristics in Daughter of Blood, but he’s definitely not a rogue. And although he’s a broth-of-a-boy, Mercutio style, neither is Tirael of Stars. The only character I believe really qualifies as “lovable rogue” in Daughter is the Sword warrior, Kelyr. Unless, of course, I count the warhorse, Madder—but “lovable and/or faithful animal companion” is another archetype and therefore another post. 😀

Conclusion:

For today, I’ll leave you with a recap of my thoughts on Master Shoka, from CJ Cherryh’s The Paladin:

“The character of Shoka … is a patchwork  of experience and disillusion, self interest, guile, and reluctant integrity, that is perhaps best ‘caught’ by a companion’s summation toward the end of the book: “It was him, in all that glitter. Same eyes, same mouth. Same conniving scoundrel.” “

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Previous Entries In The ‘Having Fun With Epic Fantasy Tropes” Series:

Introduction: Having Fun With Epic Fantasy—Meet the Tropes

Instalment 1: Having Fun With Epic Fantasy Tropes: A Farm Boy/Gal Goes On A Journey…

Instalment  2: A Prince/Princess Finds A Destiny

Instalment 3: Dreams and Portents, Prophecy and Destiny

Instalment 4: “Apocalypse Now”

Instalment 5: Meet The Big Bad

Instalment 6: The Sweep Of Time & Its Twin, War Without End

Instalment 7: Fortunately There was A Portal

Instalment 8: We’re All Going On A MacGuffin Hunt

Instalment 9: Artefacts of Power—And Doom—And Where To Find Them

Instalment 10: The Alchemy Of Numbers

Instalment 11: The Mentor

Instalment 4: The Sidekick

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On SF Signal: The “Having Fun With Epic Fantasy” Series

1. “Making the Grand Tour” (aka the Road Journey);

2. .”The “Band of Brothers”; and the

3. . “Soul-Sucking Sword.”

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© Helen Lowe

USA

The About The Characters post series focuses on the minor characters in The Wall Of Night series, in large part because:

“I think it’s the presence of the smaller characters that “makes” a story, creating texture around the main points of view.”

~ from my Legend Award Finalist's Interview, 2013

Initially, the series focused exclusively on characters from The Heir of Night, but now I’m continuing on with minor characters from both The Gathering Of The Lost and Daughter of Blood — in alphabetical order, of course!

At present, we’re still very much in Daughter of Blood territory, and the realm of “K.” 😉

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UK/AU/NZ

Kolthis: a guard in the House of Blood’s Red Keep, a follower of Huern of Blood

Myr kept applauding even when the winner raised his visor to salute them and she realized it was Kolthis. Of course, she told herself, her smile grown stiff: he wants the advancement and need only suffer my service again for a short time to achieve it. And because Kolthis served Huern now, that almost certainly made him one of her brother’s candidates, not just for a place in the guard, but for Honor Captain.

~ from © Daughter of Blood, The Wall of Night Book Three: Chapter 21 — The Field of Blood

In commencing this post, it was in my mind that I’d read a couple of other Kate Atkinson novels, Life After Life and Started Early, Took My Dog “really very recently”, only to realise — gulp! — that Life After Life was 2015, while Started Early, Took My Dog was a 2012 read: oh, my!

All of which proves that it was high time I read some more Kate Atkinson, since as will be clear from my earlier posts, she’s a writer I enjoy reading.

The oddity in the reading selection I’m discussing today is that Case Histories and Big Sky comprise the first and fifth (most recently published) novels in the Jackson Brodie series (which are crime/detective tales), i.e. they’re at opposing ends of the series…

That’s because I began reading the Jackson Brodie books in the middle with When Will There Be Good News, before following on with Started Early, Took My Dog (as above.) I enjoyed them, but having now read Case Histories at last, I believe I missed a lot of character context that would have made me appreciate the mid-series’ books even more. At the end of Case Histories, I certainly felt I ‘grokked’ the character of Jackson a lot more, and of course he’s the key to the series, although each book has its own diverse range of fascinating characters.

In fact, I believe “character” is the key to all Kate Atkinson’s writing, both in terms of her keen eye for the light and shadow, rough and smooth of individuals, as well as their interactions with the warp and weft of society. This is just as true of her detective novels as it is of any of her contemporary realism or recent-historical (World War 2) books.

So the ‘story’ is always about Jackson’s inner (and outer) life, the interconnecting lives of all those affected by the central crime (or not infrequently, series of interconnecting crimes), and the society they — and we — live in.

At any rate, I really enjoyed Case Histories and then galloped through Big Sky, as well, which was equally good. For those of you who are Jackson Brodie series’ fans and loved Reggie in When Will There Be Good News, she’s back in Big Sky…In terms of new characters, look out for Harry, Vince and Crystal.

Transcription, the third novel in my mini-binge of Kate Atkinson reading, is from the same recent-historical (World War 2) stable as Life After Life and its companion, A God In Ruins, only without the time-shift/overlapping lives elements. Transcription is straight-out historical fiction, centered on the WW2 counterintelligence operation to effectively “corral” UK fascists, i.e. the traitors and potential quislings thought they were gathering intelligence for the SS but were delivering it to MI5 operatives.

Transcription follows a series of fictional characters involved with the sting operation: during the early stages of the war, in 1950 as the Cold War really starts to bite, and in 1980-1, (very loosely) paralleling the 1979 exposure of Anthony Blunt as the fifth man of the Cambridge Five.

Once again, Kate Atkinson’s novel is a tour de force of characterization, juxtaposed with the historical and political events of the era. I also really liked that although there is a twist, quite a profound one in terms of the story, I really didn’t twig to it until close to the very end. That’s because, in addition to characterization, Ms Atkinson is also a master of misdirection, a mastery I thoroughly heart — particularly in a story of this kind.

So there you are, not one but three Kate Atkinson novels, and all well worth your time (imho.) 🙂

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Disclosure: I read the most recent paperback edition, 414 pp, of Case Histories, borrowed from my sister (who’s also a very keen reader.) Big Sky and Transcription were both hardback editions, 357 pp and 337 pp respectively, both borrowed from Christchurch City Libraries.

The first of the month has rolled round again, and that means not only my Supernatural Underground blogspot, but time for another post on Worldbuilding in Fantasy.

This month, I’m featuring a master worldbuilder, fellow NZ-er, Elizabeth Knox.

Elizabeth has written eleven books, but the world I’m featuring is “Southland”, the setting for all three YA novels: Dreamhunter, Dreamquake, and Mortal Fire.

To find out why I like it, click on:

Year Of Worldbuilding in Fantasy #8: “Southland” in Elizabeth Knox’s Dreamhunter series, and Mortal Fire.

This is the third in my post series to feature a NZ author, so next month I may have to cast my geographic net a little wider. 😉

#YoW YearOfWorldbuilding
#WiF WorldbuildingInFantasy

USA

Last Thursday, I discussed writing the ‘transitions’ between each section of my books (because I’ve just been writing one, hey-hey!)

In replying to Kristen B’s comment, I also noted that even when I think the transition is done, it often pays to reflect a little before diving into the next section. This isn’t just because (as duly noted last week) transitions can be “tricksy”, but because—for me anyway—the entry trajectory for a new section is never about “what” will happen. I always have a pretty clear idea about the “what.” The challenge is “how” to best deliver on it.

And sometimes, having a really clear idea, or ideas, about the start of a section compounds the entry trajectory rather than making it easier. A good example is Part VI No Man’s Land, in Daughter Of Blood, which opens the second half of the book.

I had two really clear visions for the opening: one involving Kalan (one of the series’ two main characters) climbing a hill and seeing a bridal caravan below him. The other was of a stranded wagon and a much smaller party of travelers. It may all seem obvious now when one reads it, but it took me five rewrites to pull those two visions together. O-o…

I also had to modify my original vision of the stranded wagon, which involved a flooded river, because upon reaching that point in the story, I realized that “of course” floods are a very rare occurrence in the semi-arid world of the Wall and the Gray Lands. And although flash floods do sometimes occur during Wall storms, generally the Derai avoid traveling in numbers during the main storm season. Hence, no flood!

UK/AU/NZ

All of which lends credence to my observation that it pays to reflect a little before diving in. This process usually involves “doodling” notes and ideas, as well as running a few “what if” scenarios, all in the hopes of rendering the path ahead more straightforward. A not-unusual outcome of this process is that I sometimes get insights into what I’ve just written, too—and how it needs to change slightly (yep, very grrgh-aargh!) for the next section to happen effectively. Fortunately, they’re usually not big changes in terms of time and effort, although they can be for making the story work.

Sometimes, though, I do get lucky and a section pretty much writes itself. Daughter of Blood Part II: Shadow of the Wall (aka Kalan in Grayharbor), is a good example of a sequence that flowed from beginning to end. As I recall, though, it was the only one—testament to the multiplicity of possible “how’s”, no matter how firmly engraved the “what” of the story.

But as my editor Kate likes to say: “Onward!” 🙂

Sometimes you have to look both ways…. (via Wikipedia: Statue representing Janus Bifrons in the Vatican Museum)

A month ago, I talked about completing a plot milestone in the writing of WALL#4 and a little bit about that process, including moving on to the ‘next’ chapter or section.

Those of you who are The Wall Of Night series’ readers will be aware that I tell the story in sections. When it comes to that process in writing terms, I have to paraphrase a NZ All Black (the national rugby team) captain (Sean Fitzpatrick) who famously referred to “a game of two halves.”

(The quote went something like “it was a game of two halves but rugby was the winner on the night” — and if I were a sports or rugby blogger, the quote and its context would be pretty much a post in itself…)

Coming back to writing, constructing the story in sections is also very much a “game of two halves.” The first and larger half is simply getting the thrust of the story in the section right, usually ticking off one or more significant plot and/or character development points along the way—duly noting that most of the time it’s not really possible to completely separate out the two. AKA: what happens in the plot affects character development, and the way characters develop affects what they do, which in turn shapes the plot…

The second half often appears smaller, but can be deceptive in that respect. Once the main thrust of the section is accomplished, as author I must then begin thinking about the next section — but in between the two is the transition, which usually occurs toward the end of the section-in-progress, although it may sometimes carry over into the opening sequence of the subsequent section.

An example of this would be Part II, The Northern March in The Gathering Of The Lost (WALL #2.) The section comprises seventeen chapters, of which the final two are “transitional”, i.e. they wrap up the action of Part II and set up the action to come in Part IV, Midsummer (and also, to an extent, in WALL #3, Daughter of Blood — just saying.)

By way of clarification, Part III is an “interlude” (albeit an important one for the series) to the main GATHERING arc, which is why the transition is to Part IV. And the first chapter of PART IV completes the transition by having the main character (Malian) reflect again on what has happened in Part II, but only in passing because already the action is moving swiftly on.

When it comes to the “game of two halves”, though, and harking back to last month’s post, sometimes the transitions can be really tricky to write, chiefly because they must achieve two goals: reflecting and making sense (to a degree at least) of the preceding action, which is by its nature a slower-paced exercise, while simultaneously moving the story (along) into its next phase. One of the risks of the reflection phase is avoiding falling into what the great Ursula Le Guin called “expository lumps” — and one of the challenges of the transition is to achieve both its objectives without one overwhelming the other. In short, it *should* be seamless for the reader.

So guess what I’ve been working on in the past month? Yep, you guessed it—the transitional phase at the end of a major section. It has been proverbially “tricksy”, too (to quote Gollum when speaking of hobbits.) I’m quite pleased with the way its worked out, overall—although there’s still a “how to” that I have to resolve in terms of what I now know is coming up. But I already have a couple of “inklings” regarding possible mechanics and am confident, on past experience, that the “how” will fall into place as I write on.

Speaking of “writing on”, I’ll leave you now to go and do just that. 🙂

Subtitle: Great visuals and I really love the idea of the series, but…

…am I allowed to say, “meh”?

I certainly didn’t hate the eight-part first season, but I found it pretty bog-standard viewing fare. The “defend the village” episode (4: [official title] Sanctuary) was pretty much lifted straight from the Seven Samurai playbook, and there’s a nigh-identical episode, storyline fundamentals-wise, in Merlin, as I recall…

I found the characters largely “by the numbers”, too, so it’s probably not surprising my enthusiasm failed to fire. :-/

Slight Spoiler Alert: (So Read No More if you’re concerned.)

My “oh-no-oo” moment, both as a viewer and writer myself, concerns the final episode and the helmet (of secrecy.) The whole point of Mandalorians is that they don’t take their helmets off, so if it’s going to happen at all it should happen early on.

Imho, this is not so much to show that the taboo isn’t absolute (although that does rather immediately undermine the show’s whole premise), but once the ‘intergalactic man of mystery’ mojo has been built, viewers will also build their own (probably strong, if unconscious) picture of what’s behind the mask. So if the mask is removed in the final episode (the ‘slight spoiler’ is that yes, it is/was) the viewer is almost bound to feel let down.

I definitely did, anyway. I also felt that the unmasking wasn’t necessary, despite the plot rationale being OK, because the narrative could still play out but have the helmet removal occur off-camera. (Sort of like an “in-chapter break” in a book.) In that way you maintain your mystery, which is kind of the whole point of the Mandalorian (and Mandalorians generally) yanno…

And by way of resting my case, Judge Dredd never takes off his helmet: in the graphic novels anyway, which are the only true and right Judge Dredd, with none of this Hollywood movie malarkey…

Yep, there is a Season 2 — & again, those visuals are great!

In terms of whether I’d watch more, it is part of the  Stars Wars ‘verse, of which I am a died-in-the-wool fan (from way back.) So I won’t write future seasons off my watchlist altogether, but I won’t be finger-tapping for it to start and it’s unlikely to be top of the viewing list when it does arrive.

UK/AU/NZ

The About The Characters post series focuses on the minor characters in The Wall Of Night series, in large part because:

“I think it’s the presence of the smaller characters that “makes” a story, creating texture around the main points of view.”

~ from my Legend Award Finalist's Interview, 2013

Initially, the series focused exclusively on characters from The Heir of Night, but now I’m continuing on with minor characters from both The Gathering Of The Lost and Daughter of Blood — in alphabetical order, of course!

At present, we’re very much in Daughter of Blood territory, and the realm of “K.” 😉

—

USA

Kion: physician to Lord Nimor, the House of Sea envoy to the warrior Houses of Blood and Night

“Do we take the bodies down?” Murn sounded uncertain.

“And speak Hurulth’s first rite, at least,” Kion, the Sea physician, suggested.

“We leave them.” Kalan heard his own harshness as he surveyed the grisly row again. “They’re beyond caring, and our priority has to be the caravan.”

“I agree,” Nimor said, as grim as Kalan. “Undoubtedly, they’re intended as a warning, so let others who pass by heed it.”

Kalan turned Madder back onto the road, and first Taly and then the rest of the company followed, the wyr hounds flowing around them like a tide. They held the horses to a steady pace, but everyone was tense, intent on the surrounding terrain, and no one spoke.

~ from © Daughter of Blood, The Wall of Night Book Three: Chapter 40 — Shadow Moon

Last week, I discussed Tade Thompson’s Rosewater in the context of a post on Framing The Book. I also mentioned that I had enjoyed reading the book and encourage readers to do likewise, if only to better grok my remarks around “framing.”

Fair’s fair, though, I thought (during the course of the past week), I should really provide a little more context about the book and why I enjoyed it. 🙂

Rosewater, which won the Arthur C Clarke Award in 2019, is a science fiction novel by UK writer, Tade Thompson. Mr Thompson is of Yoruba Nigerian descent and the novel is set in a near-future Nigeria, spanning a period from ca. 2032 – 2066. Rosewater is the name of a township that has grown up around an alien biodome. The main character, Kaaro, is a “sensitive”, or telepath, ostensibly freelancing to provide psychic security for banks and businesses. He is also an operative for the Nigerian security services.

In the best science fiction tradition, Rosewater is not just a story of alien contact and invasion, but also of human relationship and interaction. In this case, those interactions include the dynamics of politics and crime in the Nigerian setting, as well as of family and friendship, framed within a story of alien arrival and colonization. Kaaro is probably best described as a “protagonist” since he’s definitely not a “hero”, although I would stop short of placing him in the “anti-hero” camp either. He’s more just a real human being, with a somewhat flexible moral code particularly in his early life, who gets caught up in events that are bigger than himself.

In terms of storytelling, the book shifts back and forward in time, and I found I had to pay quite close attention to the dates that formed part of chapter headings, since often the characters in past and present are the same. (In addition to Kaaro, that is, since the story is told entirely from his first person point of view.) The book contains considerable violence: someone, or something, is killing off sensitives like Kaaro, a mystery that intersects resistance to the alien presence, as well as more generic political and social conflict. The latter has an international dimension as well, since the Rosewater biodome is not the first alien contact with humanity, just the most sustained.

In this sense, Rosewater has elements of both thriller and detective novel, although it’s still the science fiction elements that bind it all together and “make” the story (imho), through exploration of the alien and other, as well as the hows-and-whys of the intersection of these particular aliens with humanity. The other element that makes the story for me is Kaaro’s personal path through these intersecting events. In terms of character study, I think he grows, but it’s chiefly through a very few close relationships, rather than acquiring philanthropy or a desire to “save the world.” Aka, this is no “hero’s journey”, epic fantasy style.

If you’ve enjoyed novels such as Paolo Bacigalupi’s  The Windup Girl or The Three-Body Problem by Cixin Liu, Nicola Griffiths’ Ammonite, or Ancillary Justice by Ann Leckie, I suspect you may like Rosewater as well.

Getting ready to read — with tea & cake. 🙂

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Disclosure: I read the mass market paperback version of Rosewater, 390 pp, published by Orbit. I purchased my copy from a local independent bookshop.