The Farseer Trilogy, by Robin Hobb

Robin Hobb is a much admired and respected fantasy author. I actually read the Farseer trilogy (Assassin’s Apprentice, Royal Assassin, and Assassin’s Quest) as a teenager, but recently picked them up again. The trilogy follows many of the tropes of fantasy fiction: a faux-medieval world, royal intrigue, magic. Hobb’s world building is excellent and imaginative, so the books do bring something different to the fantasy market.

Fitzchivalry (Fitz), the illegitimate son of a prince, pledges his life to his grandfather King Shrewd. Aged only eleven, he is then apprenticed to Chade, the King’s mysterious assassin. The Six Duchies are under threat from the Outislanders, who no longer simply plunder, but strip humanity from their captives – leaving them only capable of fulfilling animal desires - then release them to wreak havoc on their neighbours. Prince Verity, Fitz’s uncle, is determined to save his Kingdom. Out of love for Verity as much as anything else, Fitz sacrifices much to help. He faces another more insidious threat in the form of his half-uncle Prince Regal, a jealous, manipulative young man who is determined to inherit the throne himself. Meanwhile the Fool takes an interest in Fitz, riddling about prophecies.

The story is narrated by Fitz as an older man. He is not the most admirable of characters; he is often sullen and selfish, but Hobb always keeps him on the right side of likable. It is only fitting behaviour, perhaps, for the teenage boy he is; the journey from boy to man is portrayed warts and all. This is one of the reasons why I think they make an excellent bridging novel for readers moving from the young adult market to the adult one.

It is the tone of these books that I found interesting; they are dark, with misfortune after misfortune befalling Fitz. They contain a reasonable amount of violence, not sweeping battle scenes or glorious vanquishing of enemies, but always as a dark and ugly truth of the world in the form of vicious beatings and secret assassinations. Fitz is just as often perpetrator as victim, and the grim necessity of it all ages him before his time. It is one of the many interesting notions Hobb explores around the pledge Fitz made as a child; his loyalty to his King and family is never in doubt, but Fitz often questions how far he can go. It may be one thing to die for your King, but to sacrifice every living moment of your life is another.

The trilogy is also a master class in plotting, Hobb has written three complete books, each with a satisfying beginning, middle, and end, which together make up a trilogy with a satisfying beginning, middle, and end. Hobb avoids the bombast of many never-ending series (George RR Martin, I’m looking at you). I did think the third book had a few wobbles; the second quarter has Fitz narrowly escape his enemies perhaps a few times too many, but then it picks up speed to weave together the various threads of the story.

Like so many fantasy series our hero is male, but I really enjoyed the female characters in these books. They span a diverse range of womanhood, from the working class to the highest echelons of society. All are strong while feminine, and face adversity without becoming ‘victims’. The books don’t seem to have a feminist agenda like the books of Ursula Le Guin do, rather Hobb seems to find it as natural to write strong, well-rounded female characters as well as male. It is refreshing as so often, not just in fantasy, this is not the case.

A thoroughly enjoyable fantasy series in my opinion. Fans of the Saga of Ice and Fire may want to check these out while waiting for the next instalment. It is the first of four series set in this fantasy world, and she also writes under another pen name as Megan Lindholm. I’ll probably read some more of her books, so watch this space.

The Song of Achilles, by Madeline Miller

I first heard of The Song of Achilles when Madeline Miller won last year’s Orange Prize, an impressive achievement for a debut novel. Miller teaches Latin and Ancient Greek, so has a strong background to take on Homer. As a long time classics geek myself, I put it on my to-read list. Her take on Achilles is undeniably modern, and manages to strike a difficult balance by giving justice to the complex world of classical myth while being readable to a layperson.

The Song of Achilles takes its title from the opening line of The Iliad

Sing, goddess, the anger of Peleus’ son Achilleus

but is not solely about the events that take place in the epic poem, which rather than telling the story of the fall of Troy as is often assumed, actually only relates the events of a few weeks in the tenth year of the war. Miller takes much of her story from events related in the Epic Cycle, and throws in a fair bit of her own invention. Her version of this ancient myth is narrated by Patroclus, Achilles’s closest friend, and, as Miller interprets, lover. Her story begins with Patroclus’s childhood, when he is exiled by his family and sent to live in the court of Peleus. Here, he and Achilles strike up a boyish friendship that over the years grows into a romantic relationship. These events take up almost the whole first half of the novel. We are introduced to a very different Achilles from the wrathful one I knew from the classics. Here he is a laughing, energetic boy, albeit a rather gifted one (his mother is a goddess after all). Our view of him is through the prism of Patroclus’s feelings, yet we see glimpses at times of insouciance that could so easily be arrogance, determination that could become stubborn pride. The love story is handled with a light touch, and beautifully told, yet I found myself wanting things to move forward a little quicker.

At last our heroes reach the shores of Troy, and the story spins through to its inevitable conclusion - the story of The Iliad: Agamemnon (the most powerful Greek king) and Achilles will fight; whilst Achilles sulks, Patroclus will fight in battle and be killed by Hector; Achilles will then kill Hector in a rage. Spoilers? No, the Iliad is thousands of years old. This of course poses the problem of how to keep it interesting when we already know what will happen. Wisely, I think, Miller doesn’t try to make the ending a surprise. By using the classical beliefs in prophecy and the fates, our heroes themselves are aware that Achilles will kill Hector, and in doing so will cement his reputation as ‘Aristos Achaion’ the best of the Greeks, but this will also lead to his own death.

The second half of the novel is what I had hoped for when I started. At first Patroclus admires Achilles, seeing him in a new light as he triumphs in battle

I could not see the ugliness of the deaths anymore, the brains, the shattered bones that later I would wash from my skin and hair. All I saw was his beauty, his singing limbs, the quick flickering of his feet.

The familiar Achilles eventually begins to appear, and the story we all know is told. Miller’s love story adds pathos to an otherwise straightforward retelling. Disappointingly, I felt some moments lacked emotional punch, especially the scene where Priam visits Achilles to beg for the body of his son, Hector. Thankfully Miller handles the inevitable problem of the death of our narrator with aplomb. How? I won’t tell, but she brings the novel to a satisfying conclusion.

Miller plans to write a novel based on the Odyssey next. I’m looking forward to reading it, especially as Odysseus was one of her most successful characters. The Song of Achilles is an interesting and at times very moving interpretation of one of the world’s oldest myths. I can’t help, however, comparing it to Ursula K. Le Guin’s 2008 novel Lavinia, in which Le Guin tells the story of the second half of The Aeneid through the eyes of Lavinia, the eventual wife of Aeneas. In my opinion this is a superior take on classical myth. But then, I did always prefer the Romans to the Greeks.

The Early Work of Philip K Dick Volume One: The Variable Man and Other Stories

From one sci-fi great to another, this time it’s Philip K Dick. This collection contains short stories from the first two years of his publishing career, 1952-53. They are not the polished science fiction he is known for, but they certainly touch on some of the themes familiar from his later work. It is an intriguing collection of stories; the quality can be, well, variable, but there are a lot of interesting ideas and some of these stories are very successful.

The collection is nicely published. The book has a good introduction (which does give away the first story, but not any others). It also has story notes at the back, with information about when they were published, and how they fit into his body of work. The stories range in length, beginning at only ten pages, while The Variable Man is almost a novella. I would expect they would be new to most people, except for Adjustment Team, which was made into a movie starring Matt Damon last year.

Some of the concerns of Dick’s later works are already cropping up. Robots feature prominently in many of these stories, as do post-nuclear societies. Some though are much more whimsical, such as Beyond The Door, which is about an overprotective cuckoo clock, of all things. One of the unfortunate things about science fiction is it can date rapidly, and Dick’s obsession with a futuristic Soviet threat is an example of this. Mind you, give the world another twenty years and maybe it won’t seem so!

There are some excellent stories in this collection. While sometimes you can see the twist at the ending coming a mile off, Dick knows how to deliver that twist with such panache it doesn’t matter. Even when a story as a whole doesn’t appeal, a scene or image can contain a spark of brilliance that hints at the mature writer he is becoming. Dick’s vision of a man wandering through an office building turning into dust around him in Adjustment Team is a great, creepy, piece of writing

The man slowly collapsed. He settled into a heap, a loose pile of gray ash. Dust. Particles. The two women dissolved when he touched them. Silently. They made no sound as they broke apart.

A favourite of mine is Beyond Lies the Wub, Dick’s first ever published story. It is very short, but a real gem. I don’t want to say too much about it, but it is available to read online and is well worth the time to read it. There were some that I enjoyed less; Of Withered Apples, about a young woman who becomes infatuated with a dangerous apple tree, was particularly weak.

Last year I read Embassytown by China Mieville, and The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula Le Guin one after the other. Both books by great sci-fi authors, one newly published about colonialism and language, the other a classic exploring gender. It wasn’t planned, but they made an intriguing double bill. I feel I may have done Dick a disservice. I read this straight after reading The Dispossessed, also by Le Guin. While it is not about gender, feminism is present in the book. To go from that, to Dick’s (admittedly earlier) works I felt incredibly frustrated at his paper thin female characters. There are very few of them; his futures are all very patriarchal. Without exception, every female in this book is either weak or passive. This is part of what annoyed me so much to start with in Of Withered Apples - the story begins with a young woman requesting permission for a walk from her husband, by promising to be home in time to cook dinner. Urgh. On the other side, it adds to my appreciation of Le Guin’s work. While I think her books are anything but heavy handed, it does bring home the establishment she was reacting against. Dick’s stories are hardly unusual in this matter. It is merely a reflection of the society he was living in, but it still annoys me.

Feminist gripes aside this is a fine collection of stories. I’m no expert on Dick’s writing, but I could see the early traces of ideas explored in his later novels, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep being a particular example. It is also interesting seeing how his career got started. He was able to support himself publishing these stories in sci-fi magazines. While some literary journals still exist (McSweeney’s springs to mind), it is hard to imagine a writer financially supporting themselves from publishing in these. While many lament how the internet and text messaging are reducing our ability to digest longform writing, I wonder, how is our obsession with the novel hindering the careers of the novelists of tomorrow?

The Dispossessed, by Ursula K. Le Guin

Science fiction is often derided, seen as something appropriate to teenage boys. Perhaps the swathes of Star Wars fan-fiction on the sci-fi shelves in bookstores has something to do with that. However good science fiction can explore very complex ideas and themes that literary fiction struggles with. Like any genre it is a matter of knowing which authors to try, and who not to bother with. Ursula K. Le Guin is known to many people as the author of the popular Earthsea series they read as children, but she is also considered to be one of the great science fiction authors. Now that I’ve started reading her other books, I’m inclined to agree. While The Dispossessed is not my favourite amongst her novels, it is a worthwhile and thought provoking read.

The Dispossessed is one of the Hainish cycle: a series of works that take place in the same universe, though not on the same planet. The Left Hand of Darkness, one of her most well known works, is another of this series. The Dispossessed is set on the twin planetary system of Anarres and Urras. It is in many ways a thematic novel, rather than a character study, and explores as major themes anarcho-socialism, authoritarianism, time and metaphysics. The story centres itself around one major character called Shevek, a physicist from Anarres.

Roughly two hundred years before the start of this novel a group of anarchists on Urras, followers of the revolutionary Odo, were offered a permanent settlement on Anarres, which was only used as a mining base, thus removing their influence from Urras, and allowing the Odonians to create their vision of society. Contact between the planets has since been strictly limited. This changes when Shevek, a minor dissident on Anarres, is offered a posting at a university on Urras, where they want him to work on his principle of Simultaneity; a theory other physicists believe will be as important as the theory of relativity. Once on Urras, Shevek discovers he is not as free as he believed he would be. He finds himself a pawn in a political system he does not understand.

The beauty of Le Guin’s set up is she is able to explore two disparate political systems, and critique both. Anarres is run on a Anarcho-socialist basis with no political structures - decisions are made by consensus, by computers, or by temporary administrators; and no possessions - people are provided with what they need, but expected not to be greedy. Work is done for the collective good, and while people specialise, everyone is expected to contribute to jobs such as garbage collection in turn. If society is to function everyone must play their part. Urras has the capitalist society of A-Io, where Shevek lives. A-Io is also a patriarchal society; women do not work and appear to spend all their time looking beautiful for the men. No wonder Odo, a woman, started a revolution! This novel is sometimes subtitled An Ambiguous Utopia, as neither society is the utopia it could be perceived as. As Le Guin shows through the novel the collective society of Anarres exerts its own pressures, controlling the individual just as effectively as a state. Shevek, fleeing the pressures exerted on him as he parts from mainstream thought, believes he will find freedom and self-determination on Urras. However, everything in a capitalist society has a price.

One of the cleverest things about this book is its structure and how this interplays with Shevek’s theory of simultaneity. In explaining his theory Shevek makes the analogy of reading a book

The book is there, all at once, between its covers. But if you want to read the story and understand it, you must begin with the first page, and go forward, always in order.

That is to say, time is all there, at once, but we experience it by moving through it, chronologically. This book, though, is not written chronologically. The first and last chapters are set on Urras and Anarres both, with all other chapters alternating between one and the other, telling us both of Shevek’s present on Urras, and his past on Anarres, simultaneously. It is very clever, and I have to admit I missed it (thanks Wikipedia). Some people believe that it may even be unintentional, but Le Guin is clearly a clever and considered writer, surely she thought this through. The theories of physics in this book are integral to the plot. While Le Guin could have entirely fictionalised these, she instead grounds them in ideas that would be familiar to readers. She uses both the theory of relativity and Zeno’s paradox as starting points from which to explore her fictional ideas. I think this must be hard to write - she is after all a novelist, not a physicist - but she does it well. There is also a balance to be struck between exploring these ideas, and avoiding overwhelming the reader with scientific detail; once again I think Le Guin is successful.

While The Dispossessed is mainly a novel of ideas it does have successful characters. Shevek is engaging, both in exploring his new life, and back at home. He is likable, but, like the political ideals in this novel, flawed. The story of he and his partner Takver on Anarres provides a heart to this novel, preventing it from becoming a cold exploration of ideas. Finally, I hate to admit it, what stopped me truly loving this book was the ending, which felt, if not rushed, then perhaps just a little too tidy, preventing it from having the emotional cachet I expected. This is still, though, an excellent book, one that deserves its reputation as a classic of the genre.