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508 pages, Kindle Edition
Published May 15, 2018
I don't read much high fantasy anymore, but I highly enjoyed Todd Fahnestock's Fairmist. The pace was perfect, neither dumping too much information all at once, nor stretching things out too long. The setting was well-crafted, with interesting magical artifacts from a previous age littering the land, like houses built on their sides where the center of gravity rotated when one crossed the threshold. The main characters were all too human and fallible, but driven to do the right thing, even if that meant questioning the very basis of their society. I was hoping for something in a similar vein when I picked up Wildmane, but that was not the case.
Compared to Fairmist, the pacing is rather clunky. The first part of the book, where we are introduced to Mirolah, Medophae/Wildmane, Orem and the land of Amarion, is mainly a lot of slow world building. Kameron Hurley admits in her blog to the same uneven pacing in her first published novel, God's War. There, the colorful writing, the amount of action and the sheer strangeness of the society kept me reading for fifty pages until the story actually started. Just enough was explained to keep me curious until then. In contrast, I feel that the first quarter of Wildmane was mostly explanation, and it didn't spark my curiosity nearly so well. Too much telling, not enough showing. After the point when Orem becomes mentor to Mirolah, the budding threadweaver mage, the pace goes from a leisurely saunter to breaking the speed barrier. Now we're in John Grisham page-burning territory, with practically no pauses or breaks in the relentless action.
Our hero, the title character, is a demigod, kind of like Hercules, except he's possessed by a powerful but mindless god, not the son of one. Basically, he's a superhero in a fantasy setting. The brooding type of superhero, like Batman. Everyone in the story orbits him like planets around a star. Two of the villains plot to destroy him and anyone around him due to unrequited love or friendship. All the powerful fantasy race characters seem to exist to serve him and his quests. Mirolah is pretty much the only character to never have had dealings with Wildmane before the story starts. Wherever he goes, high drama follows, although it's more told to Mirolah by other characters or to the reader through memories than happening in the story. This is typical of superhero stories, and I've been told that Jim Butcher uses it to popular effect in his Dresden Files series. At this point in my life and reading preferences, it's not what I'm looking for. I find it more interesting when every character in the story doesn't exist solely to love, serve or fight the (super)hero. I like the drama to vary throughout the story, not be kept at soap opera levels. That can be fun for a while, but it quickly gets boring to me.
Okay, enough of what didn't work for me. Here's what did. The magic system was pretty clever, and most importantly, consistent. Just about any part of reality can be changed if one can see and learn to manipulate the threads that make up the world. The thread aspect reminded me of string theory. Stavark is an interesting magical being who possesses great celerity for short periods, like a super-sonic cheetah. And Mirolah is a spunky character who works well as the reader's window into this world, much like the all-important companions on Dr. Who. Through her, we learn all about Amarion's history, it's gods, the magic system, what the GodSpill is and why it stopped and why she is the unwitting key to preventing much worse from happening to this decaying land.
There's a letter to the reader at the end of the book, and it pretty much explained to me why the preceding 500-odd pages were not living up to my expectations. The title character dates back to Fahnestock's high school years, and was originally created for the Middle Earth role playing game. The novel I had just finished had been last majorly revised when the author was in college, and just tweaked since. And that sums it up perfectly. This is definitely a first novel, written by someone who hadn't yet had a lot of practice writing, or a lot of life experience. It's got the usual first novel unevenness and rough edges. Much like China Miéville's King Rat , none of these are bad enough to sink the story. It's just that when compared to later, better works, the unevenness and rough edges stand out more than they otherwise would have. It's too bad that this first novel wasn't published first.