If Shaman’s Crossing* (“SC”) was my first Hobb book, I would have been disenchanted. This is fare for fans but even we, should buddy-read for moral support.
Far from being atrocious, SC is a commendable book that is quintessential Hobb, absent feeling. As I was reading SC, I kept thinking how detached the emotions, how exceedingly passive the protagonist, how sedate the exposition… but stopped short when I realized that I have been unconsciously comparing SC to Hobb’s much beloved and most recent Fitz and Fool series. Perhaps I should, in way of rationalizing, consider not how inferior but how much SC might have contributed to Hobb writing, arguably, her greatest trilogy. Gradually, I begin viewing SC (2005) as a bridge between Assassin’s Apprentice (1996) and Fool’s Assassin (2014). If writing SC is part of a journey, then it places closer to Fool’s Assassin in quality of prose, painstaking thoughtfulness and similarity in style.
Those familiar with Hobb’s oeuvre can acknowledge, I think, that Assassin’s Apprentice was a clunky bildungsroman, even if it captured our hearts and imagination, while Fool’s Assassin was superfluously introspective about a middle-aged bastard in depression who spent the entire story in pasture. Yet, I, most of us, loved that book. So, if I put on the same mindset, why cannot I love SC also? SC’s glacier pace and reflective internal monologue are akin to that of Fool’s Assassin, except that Fool’s Assassin has benefit of fans’ investment from its prior two heart-rending trilogies and a protagonist brimming with suppressed passion. SC breaks no heart, at least mine was intact, while its protagonist, Nevare Burvelle, kept his caged in honor and protocol.
Nevare is the heart of SC, but he never breaks free. As sole POV, we are held hostage to his sheltered worldview and his rigid sense of duty, but those of us who long for tension, for exuberance, for liberation, for any feelings to burst of constraints, find it not in Nevare. To call him dull is too harsh a judgement but he skirts close to it with an obsequious temperament that borders on irritation. If he jolts into making any uncharacteristic decisions at all, it is by extreme external motivations, which usually means being shoved so tight into a corner that no decorum is left to conform with. Only then he tentatively pushes back and only after much ponderance, but certainly with more force towards the end. All that characterization matters to the story because Nevare’s placid observations and inaction permeate the book to his own detriment and our resignation to monotony.
In the battle-won kingdom of Gernia, Nevare’s father finds royal favor and is thus elevated to lordship with rewards of rich lands in the wild Plains. The story’s conflicts start there, and simmer with hints of civil unrest and mutiny reaching boiling point in the future. The early one-third of story is reminiscent of a colonial frontier with newly nobled lords settling on ancient soils won with bloodshed, lands long inhabited by the tribal Plainsmen whose population have been brutally dwindled. Driven deeper into isolation and even more decimated are the mysterious Specks, whose natural dwellings are deforested for colonization. Their old magics, a mix of real and superstition, folklore and hallucination, are nullified by the settler’s iron.
With the wars over, other problems arise. Labor shortage results in the formation of penal colonies to build roads out in the wildest edge of conquered lands. Friction is unceasing between decommissioned foot soldiers and their more privileged officers, as well as power struggles between old and new nobles. In both groups, the former regards the latter with condescension and veiled hostility. Enmity is markedly pronounced among the sons enrolled in the cavalla Academy, where told the rest of the story in unnecessary length. Tales of bullying, hazing, discrimination, physical challenges, academic rigors, friendships, social ostracization and everything one might expect in an elite officer cadet and boys boarding school are ours to critique or relish, though the prolonged telling seems such a chore for me.
Nevare, our dear boy, is a central figure in all that conflict.
For a book that most will instantly recall with descriptions like “unengaging” or “slow”, it sure offers a wallop of complex themes. My main issue with a plot that ties Nevare to these oblique socio- and geopolitical conflicts, magic and torn loyalty is that it seems so... incidental. That what happens to Nevare could have happened to any sons - first or last in the family line - designated to be in any roles - lord, soldier, healer, priest, artist - in accordance with their succession.
That it happens to seemingly the most boring kid in the whole wide Plains is just plain bad luck to him and to me.
3.5 stars rounded up to encourage more fans to read the series.
[* Soldier Son series: Shaman’s Crossing #1, Forest Mage #2, Renegade’s Magic #3]