Robin Hobb

The Soldier Son — (2005-2007) Publisher: Nevare Burvelle is the second son of a second son, destined from birth to carry a sword. The wealthy young noble will follow his father — newly made a lord by the King of Gernia — into the cavalry, training in the military arts at the elite King's Cavella Academy in the capital city of Old Thares. Bright and well-educated, an excellent horseman with an advantageous engagement, Nevare's future appears golden. But as his Academy instruction progresses, Nevare begins to realize that the road before him is far from straight. The old aristocracy looks down on him as the son of a "new noble" and, unprepared for the political and social maneuvering of the deeply competitive school and city, the young man finds himself entangled in a web of injustice, discrimination, and foul play. In addition, he is disquieted by his unconventional girl-cousin Epiny — who challenges his heretofore unwavering world view — and by the bizarre dreams that haunt his nights. For twenty years the King's cavalry has pushed across the grasslands, subduing and settling its nomads and claiming the territory in Gernia's name. Now they have driven as far as the Barrier Mountains, home to the Speck people, a quiet, forest-dwelling folk who retain the last vestiges of magic in a world that is rapidly becoming modernized. From childhood Nevare has been taught that the Specks are a primitive people to be pitied for their backward ways — and feared for their indigenous diseases, including the deadly Speck plague, which has ravaged the frontier towns and military outposts. The Dark Evening brings the carnival to Old Thares, and with it an unknown magic, and the first Specks Nevare has ever seen...

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Shaman's Crossing

The first thing to say is that while I'm giving Shaman's Crossing four stars, I'd actually recommend not reading it until you've got Forest Mage in hand. It isn't because Shaman's Crossing ends on a cliffhanger (it stands fine on its own), but because it's a very slow set-up to what is to come and I think disappointment in the pace will be assuaged if one can move smoothly from the set-up book to the (I assume) more quickly moving sequel.

The other thing to say is move on if you're looking for standard fantasy. There be no dragons here, at least up to now. Nor any dwarves, elves, dark lords, quests, or bands of hopelessly outnumbered bad guys. Instead, we have an early American “Indian Wars” setting meeting a typical feudal fantasy setting. The central country has just won its first war, moving out the Plainspeople (translation — killing them or forcibly resettling them) so as to move farther east, where they run into the second group of indigenous people — The Specks — a forest dwelling race with rumors of magical ability that may or may not be causing a virulent plague spreading on the frontier. The Plainspeople also had their magic and charms, though these were obviated by the use of iron and increased rifle range. As the king pushes the frontier further outward, he entitles his “battle lords” — soldier's who did well, much to the dismay of the old lords. This political triangle forms a constant undercurrent of tension throughout the novel, played out in echoing fashion at the military academy where almost all of the action takes place. Though perhaps “action” is the wrong word. Just as there are none of the traditional fantasy setting trappings, there are also none of the typical action scenes — no massed battles, no storming the dark keep, no sword fights or spell casting. Instead we have a slow coming-of-age story.

The main character, Nevare Burvelle, is the second son as is thus bound since birth for the soldier's life in this highly structured society. First sons are the heirs, second sons the soldiers, and so on (women make nice wives and housekeepers). Nevare's father was also a second son, though he's now one of the new lords. Just about all of the story follows Nevare's first year at the military academy where he struggles with academic and ethical issues, with the growing antagonism between the sons of old and new lords, with forming relationships, with various forms of injustice. A major secondary plot, though it takes up far less space until the final 100 pages, involves Nevare's strange connection to one of the Shamans of the Specks and his fear that he is somehow a tool to be used against his own people.

As mentioned, there is very little “action” in Shaman's Crossing and those who want it will probably admittedly be quite bored. There are other possible obstacles to enjoyment. One is simply that the main character, his father, and many of the representatives of this main society are simply not likeable much of the time, spouting racist lines about the Plainspeople and the Specks or sexist lines about their own women. The utterly inflexible structure, where people's lives are already set for them prior to birth, and the way this structure is blindly followed is also difficult to relate to. And Hobb has done a risky thing here by having her main character not the usual hero in these sort of situations — Nevare does not question his society, his role, his society's racism or destructive policies; he is as stuffy as most of his kind. While this serves to give him a place to move from (thus the coming of age aspect), there are certainly times you just want to shake some sense into him.

The characters who do undermine the status quo are two of his squad mates — both of whom Nevare often becomes infuriated with for their willingness to think outside the strictures of society. In a nice touch, one of them seemed at first to be the cliched “fat guy who can't make it in the military and becomes the butt of all jokes” but instead grows into one of the more insightful characters. The other character who doesn't follow society, in fact fights against it more than any other, is Nevare's female cousin Epiny, who refuses to be choked off like some pretty flower plucked and set under a glass. She adds a nice spark in any scene she's in. Finally, thanks to his mystical connection to the Speck shaman, we sometimes get a nice view of how the other side — the “enemy” thinks.

Most of the side characters beyond those mentioned above and Nevare's uncle are relatively flat, a disappointment in the book and for fans of Hobb's other work. Some fall into cliché (the spoiled unethical rich kid) while others just have no personality, so that one could easily switch their names and not really notice or care. The scenes at the academy probably get stretched out a bit too long and will read overly familiar for anyone whose seen movies set in similar places — there's the hazing, the unfair instructor, the bad food, and so on. And while the last 100 pages of the book pick up the pace, it's almost too quickly, feeling a bit rushed. It's also marred a bit I thought by a deux ex machina effect where some things are righted a bit too neatly.

Despite these problems, Shaman's Crossing is a book that will reward the patient reader and in fact will grow on you as you continue. Come into it without a preset comparison, say to her Farseer books (unfair comparison anyway as those were so good), and you shouldn't be disappointed. —Bill Capossere

Forest Mage

Shaman's Crossing was slow and at times dry, but I thought it rewarded the patient reader and that the pace was mostly appropriate for the content and character. The same complaints about book one could also be leveled at Forest Mage, and here, unfortunately, I can't quite defend the book as strongly.

Like Shaman's Crossing, there isn't a lot of “action” here. One expecting large battles, political upheaval or machinations, encounters with monsters, or showy displays of magic will be best served not bothering, though if anyone is picking up Forest Mage after reading Shaman's Crossing they're already aware of all this. Mage picks up with Nevare returning home after having “recovered” from the Speck plague of book one. Unfortunately, he is still seemingly in thrall to the Speck magic and his recovery takes the form of a gross gaining of weight as the magic “swells” him, forcing his exile from first the military academy, then his own family. The first third or so of the book deals with his worsening relations at home (things with his father turn particularly horrific), which only are resolved by a new wave of plague that frees Nevare to move on toward the frontier where he hopes some desparate unit would take him on. He ends up a cemetary soldier in the last town at the far working end of the King's Road. There, at the boundary area between his own culture and that of the Specks (whose mountain forest the road must carve its path through), he must solve the problem of the Speck magic that grows in him and either choose sides between the two cultures or find some way of bridging the two.

As in Shaman's Crossing, the analogue between our own historic treatment of the Native Americans is strong. As is the way Robin Hobb refuses to let her main character play the “hero” consistently (or even usually). Life on the frontier is painted in sharp detail, as is the allure of the Speck forest. The possible love interest for Nevare is a strong character who slowly grows on the reader — one of the major plusses of the book is how Hobb allows that relationship the time to develop realistically. Finally, the tension between major plot points and themes picks up greatly towards the end and leaves the reader wanting more.

There are several weaknesses to Forest Mage, however. As mentioned, it reads more slowly and more dryly than book one. Nevare's struggle against the magic becomes overly repetitive, as does his struggle between the two sides of himself. The same is true with regard to his battle with his father and the various negative interactions he has due to his great girth. The book easily could have lost 200 or so pages and the reader feels each one of those extra pages at various points. It simply doesn't compel in too many places as Shaman's Crossing did.

In the end, Forest Mage is not quite as rewarding as book one; one is not quite as sure that the slow pace and dry spells were worth the pay off, though by the end I think the reader will tip over into believing so. It's a closer call than I would have liked, however. Those who liked the first book a lot, as I did, will find their way to the end with moderate difficulty. Those who struggled to finish book one, however, may just concede this one halfway through. I'd recommend they continue on, skimming if need be, for it does leave us pointing toward a third book that I at least am very interested to read based on what's gone on so far. Those who barely finished Shaman's Crossing might be best deciding after the first 75 pages or so of this one if they can take the slow pace and if not read a summary somewhere. Recommended, though with fair warning due to its slow, dry pace. —Bill Capossere

Renegade's Magic

Robin Hobb has just concluded her Soldier Son trilogy with the third book — Renegade's Magic. There doesn’t seem to be much point in reviewing solely Renegade's Magic, however, as anyone who has read the first two is likely to pick up the conclusion, so instead I’ll simply review the trilogy as a whole.

Of course, the first question one has to answer as a reviewer is would you recommend the book(s) to a reader. I wish I had an answer. To be honest, I’m just not sure, for several reasons. Let’s start with the positives. I think Hobb was truly ambitious with this series in a lot of ways, including:

• Character — she is willing to have several very unlikeable characters drive much of the plot — including the one/two main character(s).
• Point of view — employing a hybrid first/third person limited in Renegade Magic when the main character is an observer in his own body.
• Themes — the clash of cultures, the clash of religions, free will, prejudice, environmentalism, the individual versus the greater good, progress versus tradition, etc. She wrestles with big questions here and often does so thoughtfully.
• World creation — setting her trilogy in a 17-1800’s American frontier sort of world with no truly strange races (and none of the clichéd ones — elves, dwarves, etc), no bizarre or portentous sounding place names, and very little wielded magic (usually the magic does the wielding).
• “Gray” ethics — presenting us with characters and situations where the choices are not so black and white, where actions aren’t obviously good or evil.
• Plot and pace — carrying us along in a slow, almost real-time/real life pace and pulling tension out of character or economics/politics rather than out of battle and conquest.
  

In short, Hobb breaks away forcefully from many of the conventions of the fantasy epic genre — the medieval, magic-infused, mixed-race world where armies mass for large battles while a small overmatched group representing the obvious good quests for a sneaky way to defeat obvious evil, led of course by the Dread Lord Sauron, I mean, um... The complete originality that permeates the book is a welcome change of pace from the usual big-book fantasy.

Another plus is simply the writing. Whether she is creating an entire continent or the smaller worlds of home and barracks, township or market; or creating major characters that spill across all three novels or minor ones that appear for only a few paragraphs or pages, she does so with a sharp, rich sense of fine detail. Her dialogue is rock solid — sounding like people would actually sound during the situations they find themselves in.

Clearly, then, there is a lot to admire in Soldier Son. But that’s also the sticking point. There is a lot to admire, but if I were completely honest, I’m not sure there is a lot to enjoy. It’s an admirable risk to employ an unlikeable character, let alone several, but it’s a risk that may work better in novella form, or at least in a single novel. It’s asking a lot, perhaps too much, of a reader, to carry that dislike over 2000 pages. I could barely do it, finding the main character Nevarre almost too much to continue with in book two and here again in book three. When he gets twinned with an equally unlikeable other self, and the two of them do little but squabble or sulk, it became almost enough to make me stop even in the concluding book of a series.

Hobb wrestles with big themes here, but I’m not sure I walked away with a crystalline view of how we’re supposed to see them. Looking over the series, it seemed many of the concepts were a bit muddy. If you’re just throwing them out there for us to think about (“talk amongst yourselves”), that’s fine, but somehow I feel a bit more is warranted if I’m going to invest the time to read three large books.

The point of view is interesting stylistically, but I’m not sure it best served the book. The passivity of the narrator was a bit annoying, and his ability/inability to become active seemed a bit too arbitrary, based more on the need of plot than anything else. The pace is sometimes too slow in all three books. Book one rewards the pace more than either of the latter two books, which seem overly slow, overly dry, and at times overly repetitive — both could have lost a few hundred pages and suffered very little in terms of characterization or plot. While the endings of books one and two do much to redeem their earlier flaws, and though some of Renegade's Magic's ending has the same effect, much of it also seems too pat, too forced, or tacked on. And the big solution to the whole clash of cultures, or at least a major one, seems far too simple and anti-climactic, making one wonder if the whole thing couldn’t have been solved in the first thirty pages of book one.

In the end, I’m torn about recommending the series. After all, for most people 2000 pages is a large investment of time. I’m a fast reader and all three books probably took me about 10 days total to read and I’m not sure I feel it was worth it. I’m still trying to decide. But if someone needs to set aside 20 days of reading, or more, than it’s hard to imagine that they’ll feel repaid in the end. And with so much out there that is enjoyable, it’s hard not to send them elsewhere.

Sadly, then, I think I’d lean toward a no. Sad, because as I said, there’s a lot to admire and this sort of ambition should be rewarded, I think. But not if it doesn’t equally reward the reader. So I’ll cheat a little and say read book one. In many ways, and especially many traditional ways — it’s the book most likely to bring enjoyment. If that one doesn’t do it for you, and doesn’t do it by a lot, then don’t feel bad about putting it down and picking up something else. —Bill Capossere

Other books:

The Inheritance — (2011) Publisher: Megan Lindholm (Wizard of the Pigeons) writes tightly constructed SF and fantasy with a distinctly contemporary feel. Robin Hobb (Assassin's Quest) writes sprawling, multi-volume fantasies set in imaginary realms. These two writers, apparently so different, are, of course, the same person, each reflecting an aspect of a single multifaceted imagination. Inheritance gathers the best of Hobb and Lindholm's shorter fiction into one irreplaceable volume containing ten stories and novellas (seven by Lindholm, three by Hobb), together with a revealing introduction and extensive, highly readable story notes. The Lindholm section leads off with the Hugo and Nebula-nominated novella 'A Touch of Lavender,' a powerful account of love, music, poverty, and addiction set against an extended encounter between human and alien societies. Other memorable entries include 'Cut,' a reflection on the complex consequences of freedom, and the newly published 'Drum Machine,' an equally absorbing meditation on the chaotic nature of the creative impulse. Two of Robin Hobb's contributions revisit the world of her popular Live Traders series. 'Homecoming' enlarges the earlier history of those novels through the journal entries of Lady Carillion Carrock, while 'The Inheritance' concerns a disenfranchised young woman who comes to understand the true nature of her grandmother's legacy. And in 'Cat's Meat,' a long and wonderful story written expressly for this collection, an embattled single mother reclaims her life with the help of a gifted — and utterly ruthless — cat. Inheritance offers the best of two separate but related fictional worlds. Whatever their differences, the Hobb and Lindholm stories have certain crucial elements in common: their intelligence, their attention to detail, and their instant, almost effortless accessibility. Together, these beautifully crafted tales constitute a unique and important collection that offers both offers both intellectual pleasure and pure narrative excitement on virtually every page.

The Inheritance and Other Stories

I’ve been a fan of Robin Hobb for many years — her FARSEER, TAWNY MAN, and LIVESHIP TRADERS series are some of my favorite epic fantasies. That’s why I was looking forward to reading The Inheritance and Other Stories, a collection of short stories written by Robin Hobb under that name and her real name, Megan Lindholm.

Why write under two names? She explains this in the introduction to the book: the two authors have completely different styles. As Lindholm, she writes contemporary urban fantasy that’s edgier and more daring than the more traditional fantasy fare she serves up under the pseudonym Robin Hobb. Behind both names, though, her creativity and intelligence shines through.

The Megan Lindholm stories are shorter than the Hobb works. There are seven in this collection and they take up approximately half of the page count:

“A Touch of Lavender”  ̶  This Hugo and Nebula finalist is a depressing yet touching tale of a boy being raised in poverty by his single mother. Their life changes in unexpected ways when they befriend an alien. Though it’s full of poverty, drug addiction, child neglect, and hunger, “A Touch of Lavender” is also full of love, and it’s a beautiful story.

“Silver Lady and the Fortyish Man”  ̶  Nominated for a Nebula and second place winner for the Sturgeon Award, this is a story about a working woman who’s lost faith in herself and needs to learn how to believe again. I liked the voice here: “My Muse was a faithless slut who drank all my wine and gave me half a page a day.” In the introduction, Lindholm explains that this is a personal story written for her husband’s 40th birthday.

“Cut” ̶  This Nebula-nominated story, which is not a fantasy, has a MESSAGE. I agree with the MESSAGE (how far do we take “the right to choose?”), but the story was so transparent that there was no pleasure or suspense in its telling.

“The Fifth Squashed Cat”  ̶  In this bizarre tale, we join a couple of mismatched girls on a road trip. Things get really weird when they pick up a hitchhiker who’s looking for roadkill. It’s kind of gross, but I loved the characters, the magic system, and the moral of this quirky little story.

“Strays”  ̶  Another story about roadkill, poverty, child neglect, and drug addiction. “Strays” has some of the strongest characterization in this collection, but was too depressing for me.

“Finis”  ̶  It was obvious where this little old-fashioned mystery was going, but it was still amusing. 

“Drum Machine”  ̶  This Gattaca-type tale about the “dangers” of unplanned genetic variation also has a message, but I liked it anyway. It’s not a new idea, but I like Lindholm’s comparison of genetic engineering to musical composition. This was one of my favorite Lindholm stories.

While Megan Lindholm captures the lives of the dispossessed and finds magic in the mundane, Robin Hobb explores the beauty and terror of new worlds. Only three Robin Hobb stories make up the second half of The Inheritance and Other Stories. Because they’re longer, they give us a little more time to get to know their characters but, best of all, they give us a little more time in Hobb’s well-loved fantasy worlds:

“Homecoming”  ̶  This exotic story is set in the Rain Wilds, when humans first tried to settle in its harsh environment. Lady Carillion Carrock, who tells the story via her journal entries, is at first unlikable until she (and we) suddenly realize that she’s been exiled from Jamaillia City because of her husband’s subversive activities. We watch her transform into a hero as we explore the treacherous Rain Wilds. This story was the longest in the book but when I finished it in the middle of the night, I still wanted more.

“The Inheritance”  ̶  When her grandmother dies and the inheritance is divided, Cerise seems to get the short stick. But the small bit that she receives turns out to be unexpectedly powerful. This story is set in Bingtown, the politically turbulent place that Hobb fans already know and love.

“Cat’s Meat”  ̶  Rosemary is a single mother who’s been abandoned by her baby’s father. She has managed to scratch out a decent way of life in a tiny cottage on a tiny farm. When the baby’s father arrives and announces that he’s back to stay, Rosemary’s cat decides he doesn’t like that idea. This darkly charming story features three common Hobb elements: a strong female heroine, a cat, and “the Wit.”

Lindholm and Hobb have radically different styles, and overall I liked the stories of both authors and enjoyed becoming acquainted with Robin Hobb’s alter-ego. Still, though, I preferred the Hobb stories, mostly because they are set in fascinating worlds that I have enjoyed exploring in the past and am eager to spend more time in. In contrast to the familiar urban, and often impoverished, settings that Lindholm employs, Hobb’s worlds are lush and exotic, and I simply prefer to fantasize about those types of places.

I recommend The Inheritance and Other Stories to all fans of Robin Hobb and to those of you who are not yet fans of Robin Hobb and should be. The Inheritance and Other Stories gives you a glimpse at the other person living in her brain and allows you to spend more time in her fascinating worlds. The limited edition by Subterranean Press that I read is illustrated by Tom Kidd. —Kat Hooper

The Inheritance and Other Stories

The Inheritance and Other Stories offers up one-stop shopping, collecting into one volume three stories by Robin Hobb and seven by Megan Lindholm. There’s no doubt these are two different authors, despite being the same person, and so there is a good mix of style and genre here. I’m a huge Hobb fan, believing her work to be substantive and subtle with world-class characterization and plotting, so I was pleased to see the Hobb stories set in one my all-time favorite worlds — that of the Liveship Traders / Rain Wilds. I hadn’t ever read her Lindholm works, though I’d always been curious. Unfortunately, I turned out to be much more a Hobb fan than a Lindholm fan, and though one of her Lindholm stories was one of my favorites in the book, I found myself wishing the balance between the authors had been reversed (though in terms of number of pages they are roughly equal as the Hobb stories are much longer). And, as is almost always my experience with anthologies, the overall reaction is muddy, with the stories varying greatly in enjoyment level.

The first story is “A Touch of Lavender,” which was a finalist for both the Hugo and Nebula, and for good reason. It was, I thought, by far the stand-out of the Lindholm stories. It’s told from the POV of a young boy named Billy and is set in a world where aliens have come to Earth (their reasons are somewhat foggy at first) and are given government benefits in hope of learning the secret of interstellar travel. But the preferential treatment, as well as plain old xenophobia, also makes them (and the humans that get too friendly with them) the target of abuse and resentment. The aliens have two especially pertinent qualities: one is they are remarkable musical mimics (using sound sacs on their bodies) and the other is that they secrete a highly addictive drug-like substance. Billy’s mother, unfortunately, is lured to both. Like nearly all the Lindholm stories, “A Touch of Lavender” is grittily realistic and puts us into the world of the lower-classes and the spurned, the ones getting by week to week and eating Mac and Cheese so frequently they have to just swallow it whole because they’re so sick of its taste and consistency. Lindholm presents all this vividly and without an ounce of condescension or any sense of an author going by what she sees on TV or in the occasional drive through the “bad” section of town. “A Touch of Lavender” is sad, complex, and moving and draws you in fully, with all the characters from Billy to his mother to the alien they take in, and even to the short-lived side characters, all etched in wonderfully full form and vision.

Unfortunately, as I said, it was the stand-out of the Lindholm pieces and the rest just didn’t do it for me. “Silver Lady and the Fortyish Man” had that same great sense of time and place, with the main character a middle-aged woman stuck in a Sears mall job — but the story itself just wasn’t particularly compelling or surprising. “The Fifth Squashed Cat” had a nicely unique concept of magic, again in a seemingly trademark gritty kind of Lindholm fashion, and the resolution was effective, but I can’t say it grabbed me. And I found the main character’s interior monologue a bit too on the nose in terms of telling me what I was supposed to think or react to. “Cut,” dealing with female circumcision and a world where “choice” is the law for good and for bad, was too blunt in its exploration of the idea, and the dialogue (usually a Hobb strength) seemed forced and stilted. “Drum Machine,” set in a future where babies are designed and parents get to pick their options, was also a bit too obvious and the scenes and dialogue, as in “Cut,” felt scripted to make a point rather than let the point rise naturally. “Finis” is a story that I think is supposed to have a twist at the end, but it was so easy to spot that I’m not quite sure: it was structured for a reveal, complete with wrap-up final sentence, but it’s hard for me to imagine anyone who didn’t see that coming.

The first Robin Hobb story in the collection is “Homecoming,” and this was my favorite of the book. It is told via journal entries written by Lady Carillion Carrock and it tells the story of the first settling of the Rain Wilds territory, though one needn’t be familiar with that world and those books to enjoy this story. The true pleasure here is in the slow evolution of Carillion from aloof unlikable noblewoman to, well, I don’t want to spoil it — let’s just say character development is what makes this story more than plot. The following story, “The Inheritance,” set in the same world but generations later, focuses on Cerise, a young woman who comes into a very important inheritance from her just-dead grandmother, though perhaps not the inheritance she or the reader thought. The story moved along smoothly, but it was the least successful of the Hobb stories I thought mostly because Cerise is relatively passive (taking instruction from a mentor more than doing on her own) and the end is somewhat predictable. The final story, “Cat’s Meat,” similar to the first two, focuses on a young woman who undergoes a transformative event. For Carillion it was being marooned in an inhospitable land, for Cerise it was her grandmother’s death and what it brought her, and for Rosemary it is the return of the man who abandoned her while she was pregnant three years earlier. It also involves a cat who decides to get a bit more involved in events surrounding him. More compelling than “The Inheritance,” but not as strong as “Homecoming,” it is an enjoyable read, darker than one might expect, and displaying a complexity of character and human interaction.

Each story in The Inheritance and Other Stories is briefly introduced by the author, offering up some interesting tidbits on the story’s genesis or the writing process. Even better is the introduction, where Hobb explains why she chose to use a pseudonym, and then not, and how the two authors are really quite different despite being housed in her single mind.

Inheritance and Other Stories is about 375 pages long, 140 of which are made up of the two longest stories, which perhaps not coincidentally are also the two stand-outs. (Hobb seems to do better when she has time to slowly develop characters). The other two Hobb stories, though not as strong, are still good and deserving of a read, and they total about 110 pages or so. That’s about two-thirds of the collection that is well worth reading, which is actually not at all bad for an anthology in my experience. The other stories aren’t particularly strong or memorable. They aren’t bad; they just left me unaffected. Though I was mostly disappointed in the Lindholm half, I’m going to recommend the book based on the percentages and also because the two best stories are just so good that they alone I think make the read worthwhile. If you don’t think 2/3 is good enough to warrant a purchase, then I certainly recommend a visit to the library. —Bill Capossere