There were two main reasons why I chose to read «The Witcher», the praise heard from a friend long ago being one and — unsurprisingly — the games being the other. Like many girls out there, I raved about a certain disfigured character, his features chiselled, his voice (in its Russian voicing) young and ringing like a blade; like many boys, I loved the fighting and the gruesomeness and the complexity of the decisions to be made; and perhaps like fewer — those who have been cursed with an especially vivid imagination made worse by the habit of solitude and social awkwardness, - I took whatever happened to heart: in shock did I enter Flotsam in flames, rushed about frantically saving non-humans; I wept — no kidding — to see Cedric die, spread on blood-stained grass, his voice trailing off.
So it is easy to see why I expected the book to be even better.
Which I should have not.
As a graphomaniac, I have always envied those who manage to write voluminously. And you should give the author that: the two tomes contain stories and spinoffs that must have taken a lot of brainwork and thus deserve praise. However, the style is rather uneven. The first part of the whole cycle reads as if the guy just decided to make fun of some well-known myths and utilize them for his personal gain. “Hey, how about I re-shape the story of the Beauty and the Beast? the Little Mermaid? Scandinavian myths?” (Surpised the three piggies were not there.) The narrative is rather light-hearted, purely entertaining, with little to be read between the lines. Then, it seems, as the books started winning over the masses, it dawned on the guy that he could make this into an epic – and in he threw some politics, lots of it borrowed from actual human history, and some heavyweight pseudo-deep reflections on life and human nature. Toward the end of the series, the effect of mercenaries marching over your prostrate body is dispersed through the shifting of the perspective, including flash backs and forestalling. I don't know if it was meant to create suspense or the feeling of the mayhem dominating the world as war sweeps through – the technique only distracts, misleads, and makes you question its adequacy.
The tone of the writer is such as makes you feel Sapkowski revels in being unnecessarily cruel (not the war and fight scenes, although I really don't see how I benefit from the description of a horse dragging its guts in the mud; but the scene with the flea-ridden cat dying – did I as a reader need that? what was the point of including it in the narrative? Submersion?); that doesn't stop him from being untouchingly sentimental (ah, the poor girl, a fresh scar disfeaturing her face, telling of the atrocities she's encountered to a lonely hermit who took her in, saved her, nourished her back to life and who she still talks to as if he owes her something, all that with poetic repetitions running paragraph to paragraph). A 14-year-old and a – God help me – WHITE UNICORN gallop through parallel universes with environmental disasters, and cannibals, and boobs, and rape, and obscenities, and inflated quotes... - and there we go, Tolstoy weeping pitifully in the corner.
Having borrowed from one type of source, Sapkowski decided not to stop there. There's Latin, and characters will utter quotes in it – but wait, aren't they in an imaginary universe? Most nations are linked to some European analogue, most noticeably the Vikings and the French. Most names are either straightforwardly European (all those mountain passes in Toussaint, say) or Latin. And yes, as a linguist I do appreciate the easy irony of calling the castle of sorcery Montecalvo, which echoes as the Bald Mountain, all those tales of witches' gatherings attached to it – but honestly, should I praise the author for this cartoon strip wordplay? At times, a long phrase in Elven speech is left untranslated for the reader – thanks, next time I talk to Iorveth in my dreams, I'll ask him what that meant. There are also words that are quite simply misspelled, and though it may be the problem of the publisher, not the author, still the German “Zauberey” and the French “chanse” hurt my eyes. There are other anachronistic elements (a cornet? in a Medieval environment?) and things generally out of place. The author may have thought it funny, but it just looks sloppy.
On the other hand, Sapkowski seems to have done his homework on some things. His descriptions of swordfighting somersaults are detailed; he also boasts knowledge on everything, from plants to geological features, to armour, to image-making, sort of children's encyclopedia kind – for doesn't that feel a smidge artificial to read “The walls were adorned with watercolours, pastels, oils, copper plate engravings, lithographies...” (the list goes on to name at least 5 more things that I happen to be familiar with but that, piled up together, look like someone has been trying too hard).
The scope of the book considered, it's forgivable that at times, things were left unexplained and for the reader to figure out, as if the author was going to lift up the veil but, in the course of heavy action that followed, forgot. Most notably, where and when did Triss first hook up with Gerald? The story starts by her heading to the witchers' fort and longing to see him, and a previous history of theirs is alluded to... and left at that. Then, there's the question of Faoiltiarna's survival, the question being simply “HOW ON EARTH?”, and I'd be happy to see it answered because the guy is pretty much the only really likeable character in the character-teeming book: an elf commander, ruthless but noble, he stands above most other elves who, as rendered by Sapkowski, (despite being a supreme race and, you would expect, displaying supreme behaviour) drink, use drugs and talk billingsgate – in Elder Speech, of course, but since that is unbotheringly made of comprehensible European roots, it's easy to understand when someone says “Up your ass”. Ok, I get it, they are like the Native Americans, once superior, but now cornered and corrupted – and there is tragedy in that, but, as Ayn Rand put it, if you want to show someone as outstanding, you should show them acting outstanding. What Sapkowski's elves are is generaly no different from the drunken, barnyard rubbish met elsewhere in the book.
The three main characters are no better. Yennefer, the wonder-woman of the story (brave, resolute, devoted), plows through the book flying into tempers, smashing things, swearing like a trooper and altogether acting vulgar. Why Geralt loves her is a mystery, unless the author believes that the description of the shape of her tits in moonlight is explanation enough. Why she (and a swarm of others) loves Geralt is another mystery: he himself goes about being all gentlemanly, saving the defenceless, protecting women's honour and all that, which in itself is really great; only whenever he does so, he gives a pompous mini-speech on how the world is crap, and most people are crap, and then there's himself – a relic so old-fashioned and knightly. Ziri, who makes her first serious appearance as a child, goes all the way from being an annoying little thing, what with her manner of speaking (intended as cute?), through a teenage cutthroat with dubious morals, to this great tragic figure, a girl that has seen what no girl is meant to see, been through horrors, and intent on setting the world straight. Come on, we've seen her hallooing through villages, slaughtering whoever wasn't pleased to see her and her band of highway kids, abusing drugs and spirits and, to add a minor detail, brandishing a feisty tongue similar to her caregiver Yennefer's (I sort of have one myself, but I don't consider that a virtue). Then, when the others gang members are butchered by a sadistic paid killer, she goes “Ah! You murderer!” Yeah, babes, that's called retribution. I don't know if the reader is supposed to develop some attachment to her (orphan, wartime chaos, no guidance), but somehow, it didn't work.
Other folks that parade through the book are less difficult to come to terms with: Dandelion, a vain but, as it turns out, not shallow playboy; the amiable dwarves, with their bawdy manners, farts and burps; the sorceresses, a different personality each; Dijkstra, scheming and likely knowing it all better than all others; and a horde of minor characters, quite various, but leaving a general impression of a filthy, caddish world where even the better examples sink in the surrounding muck.
To create a larger picture and lend you a hand to help you through the overall bleakness, Sapkowski introduces the comic element, at times successful, at others less so. There were a few quite hilarious episodes (the execution of Dandelion, “Halflings Strike Back”, which was belly-tearing, and the first appearance of the knights of Toussaint, riding about in their polished armour, all “By word of honour!”), but some (the perpetuum mobile in particular, and many of the dialogues) are tedious and often irritatingly irrelevant.
Having read through 2307 pages of repulsive personalities trampling through a universe not entirely authentic, I would call “The Witcher” a book of effort, and effort repaid, but not one I would ever be re-reading.