I like this book, and I’m not entirely sure why. I liked it the first
time I read it, and I wasn’t sure why that time either. In fact, I liked
it better this time than that time. It’s a long, slow book, but something
about it grabs me. The longer Anthony Trollope novels grab
some people that way, and I imagine it’s the same kind of effect.

Anyway, this is the story of a farm boy named Alucius. His father went
off to fight a border war when he was a baby and never came back;
consequently, he’s been raised by his grandparents and his mother. I
called him a farm boy; in fact, he’s what’s called a “herder”, and he
helps his grandfather raise and herd nightsheep, large, tolerably fierce
sheep that grow a special kind of wool–properly processed, it becomes a
pressure-sensitive fabric called nightsilk. Nightsilk undergarments, if
properly cut to your body, will stop a bullet.

Of course, tending nightsheep is a lot of work, and it takes a particular
kind of Talent to do it well. The Talent lets you control the nightsheep,
and can also help you detect sandwolves and sanders before they attack.
All herders have a touch of the Talent, some more than others; if they
didn’t, they wouldn’t be herders. Townsfolk with herder forebears
sometimes have it as well.

The early part of Alucius’ life is what you’d expect…working with the
nightsheep, learning how to card the wool and process the nightsilk, a
variety of chores, the occasional trip into town, the occasional daylong
party at someone’s stead. But then he comes of age, and is drafted into
the militia; Alucius’ small country is under attack, and he’s needed to
defend it. Fortunately, thanks to the Talent is that he’s a
first-class shot.

The book follows his career in the militia as a horse-trooper and scout,
his eventual capture, and his subsequent career until his return home.
Along the way he learns a lot more about his Talent and about his
world, as do we, and a variety of interesting things happen.

And when you get to the end of the book, you say, “Well, that was
interesting…I wonder what the point was.”

And yet, for some reason I was happy to read it again. Weird.