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dragonlady7via http://ift.tt/2rgQR91:
Everything I have tried to do today has turned to shit and instead of trying to enumerate it, I will write about something that is good, that was very pleasant, and some of it was technically today, because last night on the plane ride home, I reread, for maybe the millionth time, Martha Wells’s Death of the Necromancer, (1998) and I was so absorbed in it that I stayed up another two hours after getting home at half-past midnight just to finish it again even though I have read it a million times. My only regret is how long I have to go between readings for it to be fresh enough to be suspenseful again; I can’t read it more than once or twice a year, anymore, and even that might wear it out, as it were.
It predates the steampunk fad, and is not… quite steampunk. No, it’s just High Fantasy-type adventure, set instead of in a medievalish setting, instead in an 1880s-Paris-like setting, including a secondary character who is very, very similar to a Sherlock Holmes archetype (with bonus doctor sidekick).
And the hero is sort of a Moriarity-character– a criminal mastermind, a beautifully-drawn and consistent character with deep motivations and phenomenal detailing.
The secondary protagonist– I’m not sure how to rank it, but clearly, Nicholas is the protagonist, it’s his story; Madeleine is the most important supporting character, has an important journey of personal development, and is a crucial component in a lot of the action sequences– is also a marvellously complex character. And the two of them have a fascinatingly understated romance– not a new relationship, but an important underpinning of the plot and their motivations. There’s also a wonderful side storyline of addiction, and an exploration of friendship through and despite the weight of a terrible drug dependency.
I’ve mentioned the book before, and included some of my favorite excerpts, so I’ll try to find a different pull-quote this time.
Oh, here: the friendship. Nicholas and his friend Arisilde are discussing the death of Nicholas’s step-father, and Arisilde’s patron, who was executed for necromancy years before; afterward, Arisilde developed a debilitating opium addiction, and Nicholas turned into a criminal mastermind, and it is the driving force behind much of the novel’s background plot.
“What?” The light from the hearth behind them gleamed off the whites of Arisilde’s eyes but his voice sounded almost normal. “Do you think all this wreck and ruin came from that moment? Oh no, oh no, never think that. Watching a good friend hang is a terrible thing but it didn’t do this. I did this.” Arisilde leaned forward. His voice dropped to a whisper but it was as intense as if he shouted. “I wanted to kill them all. It’s not what they did, you see, it’s what they didn’t do. I wanted to pull Lodun down stone by burning stone. I wanted to destroy every man, woman, and child in it, I wanted to burn them alive and watch them scream in Hell. And I could have done it. They trained me to do it. But…”
Arisilde started to laugh. It was an agonizing sound. “But I never could bear to see anyone hurt. Isn’t that ridiculous?”
“That’s the difference between us, Ari. You wanted to do it; I would have done it.” But the words disturbed [Nicholas]. Arisilde had said some odd things under the influence of opium but hearing him talk this way was almost shocking. […]
Arisilde peered up at him urgently. “You knew I thought Edouard was guilty. You knew because I told you and we talked about it, and then later after the execution I came to you and I said you had been right and I had been wrong, remember? And it was proved later, of course, Ronsarde proved it later, remember?”
“Of course I do. That was when…” I decided not to kill Ronsarde. Nicholas couldn’t finish the thought aloud, not even to Ari who wouldn’t recall this conversation by morning anyway.
“But I didn’t tell you how I knew.” Arisilde let the words trail off. Nicholas thought that was all he meant to say and tried to urge him to stand, but the sorcerer shook his head. His voice perceptibly stronger, he said, “I went to Ilamires Rohan. He was Master of Lodun, then, remember?”
“Of course I remember, Ari, he tried to defend Edouard.”
Arisilde stood up suddenly, dragging Nicholas with him. Ari was so slender, seeming so weak and languid most of the time, Nicholas had forgotten how strong he was. Ari’s hands were buried in the front of his shirt, almost lifting him off his feet, and Nicholas didn’t think he could free himself without hurting him. Arisilde said, softly, terribly, “He didn’t defend him well enough.”
“What?”
“I went to see him in his study at Lodun. Oh, that beautiful room. I was afraid that my judgment was faulty because I had let Edouard fool me, and he said my judgment was not impaired. He said he knew Edouard was innocent. But he had let the trial go on, because a man of Edouard’s knowledge was too dangerous to live.”
“No.” Nicholas felt oddly hollow. One more betrayal after all the others of that terrible time, what did it really matter? But as the words sank in, and Nicholas remembered the old man, Master of Lodun, sitting with them at the trial as if in sympathy and support, he was astonished to discover that it did still matter. It mattered a great deal.
Arisilde was saying, “Yes, the simple truth, after all the lies. I could have killed him.”
“You should have told me,” Nicholas whispered. “I would have.”
“I know. That’s why I didn’t.” Arisilde smiled, and Nicholas saw the other truth. Ari said, “But don’t think he escaped unpunished. He loved me like a son, you know. So I destroyed something he loved.”
Everything I have tried to do today has turned to shit and instead of trying to enumerate it, I will write about something that is good, that was very pleasant, and some of it was technically today, because last night on the plane ride home, I reread, for maybe the millionth time, Martha Wells’s Death of the Necromancer, (1998) and I was so absorbed in it that I stayed up another two hours after getting home at half-past midnight just to finish it again even though I have read it a million times. My only regret is how long I have to go between readings for it to be fresh enough to be suspenseful again; I can’t read it more than once or twice a year, anymore, and even that might wear it out, as it were.
It predates the steampunk fad, and is not… quite steampunk. No, it’s just High Fantasy-type adventure, set instead of in a medievalish setting, instead in an 1880s-Paris-like setting, including a secondary character who is very, very similar to a Sherlock Holmes archetype (with bonus doctor sidekick).
And the hero is sort of a Moriarity-character– a criminal mastermind, a beautifully-drawn and consistent character with deep motivations and phenomenal detailing.
The secondary protagonist– I’m not sure how to rank it, but clearly, Nicholas is the protagonist, it’s his story; Madeleine is the most important supporting character, has an important journey of personal development, and is a crucial component in a lot of the action sequences– is also a marvellously complex character. And the two of them have a fascinatingly understated romance– not a new relationship, but an important underpinning of the plot and their motivations. There’s also a wonderful side storyline of addiction, and an exploration of friendship through and despite the weight of a terrible drug dependency.
I’ve mentioned the book before, and included some of my favorite excerpts, so I’ll try to find a different pull-quote this time.
Oh, here: the friendship. Nicholas and his friend Arisilde are discussing the death of Nicholas’s step-father, and Arisilde’s patron, who was executed for necromancy years before; afterward, Arisilde developed a debilitating opium addiction, and Nicholas turned into a criminal mastermind, and it is the driving force behind much of the novel’s background plot.
“What?” The light from the hearth behind them gleamed off the whites of Arisilde’s eyes but his voice sounded almost normal. “Do you think all this wreck and ruin came from that moment? Oh no, oh no, never think that. Watching a good friend hang is a terrible thing but it didn’t do this. I did this.” Arisilde leaned forward. His voice dropped to a whisper but it was as intense as if he shouted. “I wanted to kill them all. It’s not what they did, you see, it’s what they didn’t do. I wanted to pull Lodun down stone by burning stone. I wanted to destroy every man, woman, and child in it, I wanted to burn them alive and watch them scream in Hell. And I could have done it. They trained me to do it. But…”
Arisilde started to laugh. It was an agonizing sound. “But I never could bear to see anyone hurt. Isn’t that ridiculous?”
“That’s the difference between us, Ari. You wanted to do it; I would have done it.” But the words disturbed [Nicholas]. Arisilde had said some odd things under the influence of opium but hearing him talk this way was almost shocking. […]
Arisilde peered up at him urgently. “You knew I thought Edouard was guilty. You knew because I told you and we talked about it, and then later after the execution I came to you and I said you had been right and I had been wrong, remember? And it was proved later, of course, Ronsarde proved it later, remember?”
“Of course I do. That was when…” I decided not to kill Ronsarde. Nicholas couldn’t finish the thought aloud, not even to Ari who wouldn’t recall this conversation by morning anyway.
“But I didn’t tell you how I knew.” Arisilde let the words trail off. Nicholas thought that was all he meant to say and tried to urge him to stand, but the sorcerer shook his head. His voice perceptibly stronger, he said, “I went to Ilamires Rohan. He was Master of Lodun, then, remember?”
“Of course I remember, Ari, he tried to defend Edouard.”
Arisilde stood up suddenly, dragging Nicholas with him. Ari was so slender, seeming so weak and languid most of the time, Nicholas had forgotten how strong he was. Ari’s hands were buried in the front of his shirt, almost lifting him off his feet, and Nicholas didn’t think he could free himself without hurting him. Arisilde said, softly, terribly, “He didn’t defend him well enough.”
“What?”
“I went to see him in his study at Lodun. Oh, that beautiful room. I was afraid that my judgment was faulty because I had let Edouard fool me, and he said my judgment was not impaired. He said he knew Edouard was innocent. But he had let the trial go on, because a man of Edouard’s knowledge was too dangerous to live.”
“No.” Nicholas felt oddly hollow. One more betrayal after all the others of that terrible time, what did it really matter? But as the words sank in, and Nicholas remembered the old man, Master of Lodun, sitting with them at the trial as if in sympathy and support, he was astonished to discover that it did still matter. It mattered a great deal.
Arisilde was saying, “Yes, the simple truth, after all the lies. I could have killed him.”
“You should have told me,” Nicholas whispered. “I would have.”
“I know. That’s why I didn’t.” Arisilde smiled, and Nicholas saw the other truth. Ari said, “But don’t think he escaped unpunished. He loved me like a son, you know. So I destroyed something he loved.”
