Glen Cook’s The White Rose is a dark, gritty and strange novel that brings to a close the first trilogy in The Chronicles of the Black Company. Full of sharp dialogue and absurd worldbuilding, The White Rose is a grimdark novel that verges on the Weird, leaning into the bizarre and hallucinatory aspects of dark fantasy and horror while continuing Croaker’s story of the Company’s fractured relationship with the Lady. 

The White Rose, the third entry in Glen Cook’s Chronicles of the Black Company, helped solidify many of the tropes and expectations of what would later become the grimdark genre. The series itself could be described as a blending of Conan the Barbarian and the Vietnam War, and The White Rose is all that and more. The novel closes the first arc of the series set on the Northern Continent, (dubbed The Books of the North), continuing the military conflicts the Company face as they navigate tense and shaky allegiances. 

Set six years after their desertion of the Lady in Shadows Linger, The White Rose follows the Black Company as they hide out in a desert known as the Plain of Fear. The Company have aligned themselves with the young girl Darling (The White Rose) and are seeking a way to fight back against the Lady, primarily through learning her true name which will nullify her powers and strip her of control. It is from the bizarre landscape of the Plain, with its large, deadly coral and talking menhirs, that the Company collects and interrogates intel regarding the Lady. As with the first two novels of the series, this book is primarily narrated by the Company physician and annalist, Croaker, and much of the novel is concerned with the capture and poring over of information. The intel in question are letters addressed to Croaker regarding a man named Bomanz who released the Lady and The Ten Who Were Taken from their prisons in the Barrowlands. Eventually, the Black Company find themselves caught in the conflict between the Dominator, the Lady and the White Rose.

‘There are strangers on the Plain, Croaker.’

Where The Black Company followed solely Croaker’s narration and Shadows Linger introduced a second third-person perspective, The White Rose expands to three points of view: Croaker, the wizard Bomanz and a stranger known as Corbie. These three plotlines (all taking place at different times) do eventually converge, however for a first time reader thrown into each perspective with little set up, keeping track can be quite disorienting. Luckily though, Cook’s writing had improved on this novel and even chapters littered with confusion are a joy to read. Just roll with the punches and trust it will all make sense. 

This focus on reading documents is an interesting and experimental take for a series known for its action and violence. The White Rose is by far the least action-packed of this first trilogy and, coming off the back of Shadows Linger, it is a deliberate yet odd choice. 

That is not to say The White Rose is without action, there are battles here (featuring tentacled windwhales, flying carpets and aerial bombings!), but the focus has shifted from fighting war directly with weapons to the importance of information in warfare. This exploration, while some may find it tedious, is an insightful approach by Cook; so often we like our fantasy bloody and violent, but here Glen Cook highlights how crucial information is in warfare and how what is known and unknown can drastically alter outcomes.

Cook’s prose, as always, is laconic and raw, giving the reader bare, sparse details but just enough to hint at greater depths and truths left unspoken. Cook paints his scenes and dialogue with simple strokes laid by a professional hand that fester images within the reader’s mind. Less is more when it comes to his description, and Glen Cook does so beautifully. Far from verbose and purple, the prose (and simultaneously Croaker’s narration) is minimalist and straight in its approach; as is to be expected from soldiers on the front lines where death is always at their heels. It is in the spaces between the words, the chasms between what is said and what is left unsaid, that vivid images of this bizarre and bleak world are left to bloom.  

The worldbuilding in this novel is bizarre to say the least—in the best way possible. The majority of the novel is spent hiding out in the Plain of Fear, a desert full of poisonous coral with a sentient alien tree at its heart. Across this landscape sweep change storms, colossal storms that change the shape and appearance of all they touch, twisting regular people into grotesque mockeries. The environment is home to some of the most absurd and wondrous creatures I have yet read in fantasy. From soaring windwhales to strangely described backward camel centaurs (try to visualise it!), walking trees, flying mantas and menhirs that talk (repeating only one sentence), The White Rose is littered with all manner of creatures that would feel at home in the Weird Fiction of the pulp era. 

The White Rose, while not as action-packed or fast-paced as the previous two novels, brings this first trilogy to a very satisfying close. It completes the Black Company’s struggles between the Dominator, the Lady and the White Rose, tying off many loose ends but leaving others open for future exploration. 

So much of grimdark’s DNA was formed in Glen Cook’s The Black Company, and echoes of it linger prominently in more modern grimdark works (Erikson and Esslemont’s Malazan books in particular). There is a soldierly approach to the writing and plotting. These books are not concerned with grand, sweeping epics but rather the everyday soldier up to his knees in battle. The White Rose is perfect for those in search of short, punchy and satisfyingly dark books.

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