One of my (few) complaints about The Lord of the Rings
involves the economics. The Shire evokes the simplicity of the
pre-industrial English countryside–but even that simple countryside
did not exist in a vacuum, and its inhabitants depended on trade for
much that they could not produce themselves. Tolkien mentions trade
now and then, when it suits his story, but it has always seemed tacked on
to me, not really a part of his world. And though those
simple English countryfolk might not travel more than ten miles
from their homes over the course of their entire lives, there
certainly were those who did. At a minimum, there was always contact
between neighboring countries. Yet in Middle Earth, even long-time
allies and next-door neighbors like Gondor and Rohan are so estranged
that there is little contact between them.
In short, people have a tendency to reproduce, and spread out, and
fill the available space. Realms have a way of butting up against
each other. When you think of it that way, Middle Earth seems
strangely empty, especially in the regions around the Shire.
Gardens of the Moon, by a new author named
Steve Erikson, is squarely at the opposite end of the
spectrum. It’s the first book in a projected ten-book series called the
Malazan Book of the Fallen, and there is little about it that’s
simple, least of all the geopolitical background. Indeed, I’m inclined to
call it the theogeopolitical background, because the Gods are very
definitely involved in human affairs, as if human affairs weren’t
complicated enough already. And I call them human affairs, although
there are at least five different intelligent races involved (none of
them, blessedly, elves, dwarves, or goblins).
To begin with, there’s the ever-expanding Malazan Empire, a
sort of magical police state ruled over by the Empress Laseen. Laseen,
the former head of the Claw (the Malazan secret police), killed
her predecessor and usurped the throne, and immediately purged as many
of the old Emperor’s supporters as she could; at least one reason for
the wars of expansion is to provide plentiful opportunities for the
remainder of the Malazan old guard to die in battle, far from the capital.
But that’s just part of the story.
One remnant of that old guard is the Bridgebreakers, a company of
the 2nd Army, now commanded by Dujek One-Arm. They were the backbone of
the army in the days of the old Emperor; of late they have been given
assignment after assignment designed to get them killed. And they are
tired of it. When they are ordered to infiltrate the city of Darujhistan
to prepare for a later Malazan, they decide to do it their own way.
But that’s just part of the story.
Then there is the city of Darujistan itself. Largest and wealthiest
of the Twelve Cities of Genabackis, it is the place where many and
diverse threads will come together. There’s the young fisher girl, now
posessed by Cotillion the Rope, and turned professional killer. There’s
the young thief, chosen tool of Oponn, the Twin God of Luck. There’s the
seemingly frivolus Kruppe, a man who speaks much nonsense and hears
everything of sense in Darujhistan. There’s the assassin who’s determined
to avenge the wrong done one of his friends, and the fop who aids him.
There are the councilmen who think they rules the city, and the cabal
who actually do. But that’s just part of the story.
Then there are the mages and alchemists, including an insane puppet with
a nasty sense of humor and a penchant for chaos. The magic they practice is
refreshingly novel in its details, which (delightfully) are never fully
explained. And one mustn’t forget the gods and demigods: Cotillion and
Oponn, already mentioned; Shadowthrone, King of the Shadow Warren and
lord of the Hounds of Shadow; Hood, the Lord of Death; Anomander Rake,
the Lord of Moon’s Spawn; any many others.
In passing, I’d like to point out the opportunities for some struggling
grad student to do a thesis on the evolving notions of godhood in fantasy
literature. The divide between the concepts of divinity in your
average modern fantasy novel and any religion practiced by real people has
(with a few exceptions) become a yawning chasm. But that’s a topic for
another time.
All in all, this is an amazingly rich and complicated book, and as it’s the
kind that doesn’t pander to the reader it took me a while to get into it.
Once I did, though, I was hooked. In fact, I ended up staying up late to
finish it (on a weeknight, no less), which doesn’t happen as often as
it once did. The climax was worth it, too.
So I was entertained. Beyond that, I’m not really sure what to say.
At times I was reminded of Fritz Leiber; at other times,
of George R.R. Martin.
The book is certainly better than many I’ve read, and might really be very good,
but it is so different from its nearest neighbors that I think I’ll
have to read it once or twice more (at judicious intervals) before I
know for sure. In any event, I’ll definitely be keeping an eye out
for the next book in the series.
The View from the Foothills 