Lamentation is Ken Scholes’ first novel, and it’s a doozy. The setting is, at first glance somewhat familiar: it’s a post-post-apocalypse novel. Some centuries previous to the action, a technologically and magically advanced civilization collapses in a horrendous war, leading to the time of Laughing Madness. Since then, a new civilization has risen from the ashes of the old, a rise mediated and protected by the brothers of the Androfrancine Order. The new world has not yet risen to the level of the old, and the glories of the past remain refresh in men’s minds.

As such, the backstory is simply a fantasy retelling of the rise of Europe in the wake of the fall of Rome, with the Androfrancine Order playing the part of the Catholic Church: with one significant difference: the Androfrancine Order isn’t a religious order. In Scholes’ own words, the Androfrancines “worship the ‘light’ of human knowledge and accomplishment. Secular humanists and behaviorists start a religion among a small band of survivors to try and protect what’s left of humanity from itself and save what can be saved of its past.” I have doubts about how effective that would be, as I’ve written elsewhere, but it’s a nifty concept for a tale.

In most tales of this post-post-apocalyptic sort, the heroes must fight to prevent civilization from falling again. Ken Scholes has gone one further: the book begins with a fantastic catastrophe in which the entire city of Windwir is destroyed. Windwir is the home of the Order, and of its Great Library, the repository of all of the knowledge the Order has preserved through the centuries—including that which they judged too dangerous to make public. It is the home of most members of the Order, save those who are out on archaeological expeditions, seeking yet more lost knowledge of the ancients. It is the largest city in the land. It is as though, Rome, Athens, Alexandria, and all of the Benedictine monasteries with their libraries were snuffed out in one ghastly moment. Hence the book’s title: Lamentation.

Scholes’ book is not merely post-post-apocalyptic; it’s post-apocalyptic post-post-apocalyptic, which is a move I don’t believe I’ve seen before. It’s like the mystery novel With Malice Aforethought (if I remember the title correctly) that reveals whodunnit in the opening pages. Certainly, I’ve not seen it done with such gusto.

Unlike a typical apocalypse, the lands around Windwir are untouched. The catastrophe is not primarily physical; rather it is political and spiritual. The Order has been the center and organizing principle of the known world for centuries; and now that principle is gone.

On top of this, the civilization that the Order has fostered is fascinating in its own right. There are many different realms in the lands of the Order, each with its own ways, but all tied together by a system of laws and customs and honor called “kin-clave”. The ways of kin-clave are obscure but compelling; I’m curious to know if they are based on any actual culture.

And then there are the characters: Rudolfo the Gypsy-King, bred and shaped to rule, who leads a nomadic life on the Prairie Sea, travelling from one to another of his Nine-fold Houses; Petronus the fisher-man, once Pope of the Order and long thought dead; Jin Li Tam, fair daughter of Vlad Li Tam, steeped in intrigue and her father’s machinations; mad Sethbert, Overseer of of the Entrolusian City States; Neb, Orphan of P’Andro Whym and ward of the devastated Order; the Marsh King; and Vlad Li Tam himself, merchant and puppet-master. Oh, and a talking metal men who might preserve the Order’s most devastating secrets.

From that description, you might expect a novel of ruthless political intrigue, like George R.R. Martin’s The Game of Thrones; but with all due respect to Martin, Scholes’ book is far less tedious. I’m looking forward to the next book in the series.

I’ve written about the Androfrancine Order itself as part of my False Religions series.

I’ve just finished Territory, by Emma Bull, and I am impressed.

Territory takes place in and around Tombstone, Arizona, in the days leading up to the gunfight at the O.K. Corral. Major characters include Doc Holliday, the Earp brothers, the Clantons, a Chinese sorceror, and a number of folks with serious magical chops. It’s like a collaboration between Larry McMurtry and Tim Powers—and entirely unlike anything else of Bull’s that I’ve read, except that it’s very good. And she makes it look so easy! Go buy it.

What, you want more? Go buy it, already!

The Name of the Wind is, so far as I can tell, the first novel by a new author named Patrick Rothfuss; and I enjoyed it considerably.

The novel begins, as fantasy novels so often seem to, in the bar of an small inn in a little village in the back of beyond. The hero, oddly, is not one of the patrons, nor a passing stranger, but the innkeeper himself, a man named Kote. As the action begins, a demon, a spider apparently made of black stone, has attacked one of the locals and fairly sliced his cart horse to ribbons. The local seeks shelter in Kote’s inn, where he breaks in on a drinking party consisting of all of the regulars.

Kote, a quiet man who doesn’t usually intrude himself on his customers, turns out to know something about these demons; and as the action continues and the regulars head off home we discover that Kote is not who he seems. As Kvothe the Bloodless, Kvothe King-Killer, and other lurid names he’s a legend in his own time, and like the famous gunslinger has found that the legend is unpleasant to live with. He’s come to this backwater and changed his name in an attempt to outlive his past. Or not; perhaps he’s just come to die in peace.

So far, so good. Mysterious hero; evil creatures invading sleepy village; clearly Kote is going to have to reveal himself and save the village, and possibly (this being a fantasy novel) the entire world. No sweat. But here the book takes an abrupt left turn.

It seems that an author, a well-known writer of non-fiction books intended to debunk popular misconceptions, has tracked down Kote to his lair, and wants his story. And after a certain amount of discussion, Kote—Kvothe—chooses to tell it. And most of the rest of the book is Kvothe’s first person account of his life.

The Name of the Wind is the first book in a trilogy, unsurprisingly, and so we only hear about Kvothe’s early life, from his earliest days as a member of a family of traveling players through a period as a street urchin (a common trope these days, but well-handled) to his time at the Academy where he studies to be an “arcanist”, i.e., a wizard. And through his story we begin to learn the background of his world, its secret history, and of his enemies the Chandrian, and of his quest to learn the Name of the Wind, the name that will allow him to control the elements of the air.

It’s an odd way to structure a novel, but it works perfectly well; and clearly by the time we reach the end of Kvothe’s story it will be time for him to take action against the demons. I’m rather eager to read the next book.

I’ve discussed the dominant religion in Kvothe’s world, the Church of Tehlu, in the first of my “False Religions” posts.

The Riyria Revelations is a fantasy series by Michael J. Sullivan; four of the projected six novels are now available:

• The Crown Conspiracy
• Avempartha
• Nyphron Rising
• Emerald Storm

I picked up the first book on a recommendation from Amazon.com, based on previous purchases, and have since read the other three, and have been puzzling over what to say about them for some time now. But more of that anon.

The series is set in a fairly convention post-Tolkien world, and concerns the doings of two thieves, Royce Melborn and Hadrian Blackwater. These are the high-class thieves who take on the hard jobs for the nobility, not your mingy backstreet cutpurses. In the first book they get set up to take the fall for a royal murder, escape, and end up saving the kingdom. It’s clear that by the end of the series they are going to end up saving the known world. (Goes with the territory, I suppose.) Along the way they befriend a princess, work with an ancient wizard, are imprisoned and nearly executed any number of times, have a variety of existential crises, fight fabulous monsters, break into ancient elven fortresses, face their past sins, show surprisingly tender hearts, threaten a dwarf, learn to sail, and prove remarkably trustworthy for a pair of thieves.

The author’s stated purpose is as follows:

Eschewing the recent trends in fantasy toward the lengthy, gritty, and dark, the Riyria Revelations brings the genre back to its roots. Avoiding unnecessarily complicated language and world building for its own sake; this series is a distillation of the best elements of traditional fantasy—great characters, a complex plot, humor, and drama all in appropriate measures.

While written for an adult audience the Riyria Revelations lacks sex, graphic violence, and profanity making it appropriate for readers thirteen and older.

Sullivan has achieved at least part of what he set out to do. This is, indeed, a light, entertaining series. He kept me turning pages through four books, and he’s surprised me on a number of occasions. The series is also full of trite, hackneyed situations, settings, and plot elements, and lots and lots of just plain bad writing.

Some of the problems are simply due to poor editing. There are lots of places where commas are missing; and the pseudo-world “alright” shows up occasionally. Sometimes the composition is clumsy; toward the beginning of the first book he spends four or five paragraphs telling us what a particular city and castle look like…and only then lets it drop that our heroes are looking it over. Sometimes he just betrays a tin ear, as when he refers to the inhabitants of the village of Tur as “Turists”. I suppose “Tureens” might be worse, but “Turists”? The word “villagers” would have worked quite as well. Sometimes he telegraphs his moves so strongly that I know just what’s going to happen next; and then, once in a while, he takes me completely by surprise.

The first book was particularly bad, and I nearly stopped reading after thirty or forty pages. But there was a small vein of gold—or, perhaps, silver—running through the mass of broken quartz, and in the event I kept following it through that book and the next three. To be fair, the writing improves somewhat as the first book progresses, and he gets a better handle on his characters.

In short, I’m rather conflicted. The Riyria Revelations is no diamond, and its setting is very, very rough, and yet I’m enjoying them enough to come back for more. It’s an odd feeling. I can think of much better written books that I’ve liked far less; but I can’t think of any books so poorly written that I’ve liked as well.

I guess it’s kind of like breakfast at a greasy spoon. You have to work around the black, crunchy bits, and it’s all rather greasy, but you knew what you were getting when you ordered it, and for what it is, it isn’t half bad.
Clearly, Your Mileage May Vary.