Blade of Tyshalle | ||||||||
Matthew Woodring Stover | ||||||||
Del Rey, 736 pages | ||||||||
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A review by William Thompson
For fans of heroic fantasy, until now this sub-genre has been established and its traditions fairly well set by
authors such as Robert E. Howard and Fritz Leiber (ignoring for the moment the more literary-adopted antecedents found
in Homer, the Norse eddas and sagas, Beowulf or chansons de geste such as "The Song of Roland"), those
traditions adhered to and followed most recently by writers including David Gemmell, Glen Cook, Dave Duncan and Robert
Jordan in his contract writing for Tor. These last authors, while playing stylistically perhaps with the conventions
established early on by Howard and Leiber, for the most part have chosen to cleave to characterizations and storylines that offer little departure from the originals, regardless of any rewards their tales and
retellings may offer. Howard's
formula was so successful that it has spawned an intentional serialization of imitation. Robert Jordan's work for Tor prior
to Wheel of Time is just one instance among many, while White Wolf has recently tried to resurrect
Leiber's Lankhmar in the writings of Robin Wayne Bailey. Both publishers and, occasionally readers, recognize a good thing.
At surface, Matthew Stover's two books -- Heroes Die and the subsequent Blade of Tyshalle -- appear
continuations of the above heroic tradition, centred on the adventures of an anti-hero, appropriately enough named
Caine. But only in the most basic outline of his tale does Stover maintain the traditions of heroic fantasy, its conventions
only a guise in which the author enwraps intentions more normally reserved for literature. And I suspect, for the average
reader of heroic fantasy, this literary sleight-of-hand might create some uncertainty in the minds of those seeking purely
action-driven fantasy, contemplation not usually a factor when reading heroic tales of
adventure -- at least not since our high school classes in Homer.
Likely most of us who turn to fantasy, especially heroic, have forgotten how to think while at
the same time reading, our objectives more imaginatively and superficially pleasurable than intellectual.
For this reason, I am not surprised to find that some readers appear rather tentative or baffled in accepting this
novel. As with the previous Heroes Die, the author is once again pushing and blurring the boundaries of
traditional heroic fiction, incorporating elements of fantasy, science fiction and horror into a single as well as
singular reading experience, using the conventions of heroic fantasy to explore existential and contemporary social -- what
some might call more literary -- issues not normally expected within the fantasy genre: works of fantasy incorporating
metaphor and symbolism are a rarity indeed. And, he does so with a gritty style and grim, incisive tone and insight into
the human condition that bares outward appearances to the bone, with a vividness of language that sets him far apart from
the majority of his contemporaries.
Blade of Tyshalle is a leap forward as well as arguably thematically a departure from the earlier
Heroes Die. This is not to say that themes and concerns addressed in the earlier novel are not continued here,
but that the level and scope of the author's interests have achieved a depth and complexity only hinted at by comparison
with the previous novel. Marvellously and subtly interweaving multi-layered motifs and metaphor (for example, follow
the many ways Stover uses sculpture -- in particular David the King -- to reveal not only Caine's crisis of identity and
relationship to his own existence, but the larger issues of deity and humanity's significance in the universe), within the
context of fantasy, Stover examines and explores concepts and issues as diverse and multifaceted as art, religion,
alienation and existentialism, chaos theory and quantum probabilities, moral relativism, justice, pedagogy, sexism,
and the destructive nature of our own held notions of self-importance in relationship to life and the planet. Many of
the scenarios played out in the novel could easily be viewed as possible harbingers of humanity's future, revealed
through an unsparing, if compassionate, relentless and stark examination of human nature, as well as an excoriating
delve into the individual psyche, stripping away the comforting illusions of depravity and nobility, the mythologies
of identity we create not only for ourselves but our species, leaving in its stead the absence of life's meaning as
we prefer to construct it, tailored around ourselves, significance or purpose instead found only in how we tell our own stories:
As can likely be ascertained, this is a novel that will raise questions, provoke thought and undermine belief. Certainly
one can approach it purely for its action-laden story, the strength of its characterizations and the imaginative
creations of its world-building: this is a realm where stonebenders sing solid rock into shape, replete with all the
players of the realm of faerie and the conventions one has come to expect from heroic fantasy. However, I suspect
that should this be your approach, there will be times, as evidenced by previous reviewers' responses, where you
will find yourself mentally scratching your head, uncertain of the relevance of certain passages, the significance
of digressions from the surface storyline into passages of interior monologue and description that appear to
distract from the action of the narrative. This will be unfortunate, for while this novel can be read purely for
its story, vaster realms of richness and imagination lie just beneath.
While this is easily one of the best books in recent years, and should mark Mr. Stover's place among the best
the genre has to offer, I must acknowledge that, in brief episodes, the author appears to let his tale get away from
him, that especially in moments of interior monologue, in his exuberance to create and lovingly fashion an idea
freshly born and still maturing -- a desire to examine it from its varied and multiple vantage points -- that, at
times, he wanders perhaps too far a conceptual distance from the more tangible thread of his storyline, momentarily
allowing the reader to become emotionally and imaginatively detached from the narrative, where the reader is no
longer engaged but instead analytically distant. However, considering all that the author is conceptually
attempting to confront and examine here, it is difficult to conceive of what other way he might have dealt with
certain of his motifs and topics. Finally, there exists, in reading this novel, a sense that the author has yet
to attain his full voice, that like the character of Deliann, "he will [try to] tell the story as best he can,
and let it grow its own meaning." Far from entirely a flaw, this seemingly organic character in the book's
evolving presentation is often one of its strengths, an appearance of the narrative naturally unfolding before
the reader's eye. And this observation can only bode good tidings for the future, for surely there are even
greater stories to come.
William Thompson is a writer of speculative fiction, as yet unpublished, although he remains hopeful. In addition to pursuing his writing, he is in the degree program in information science at Indiana University. |
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