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The Tales of Bauchelain and Korbal Broach #4
Crack'd Pot Trail
It is an undeniable give evil a name and everyone’s happy. Give it two names and…why, they’re even happier. Intrepid necromancers Bauchelain and Korbal Broach, scourges of civilization, raisers of the dead, reapers of the souls of the living, devourers of hope, betrayers of faith, slayers of the innocent, and modest personifications of evil, have a lot to answer for and answer they will. Known as the Nehemoth, they are pursued by countless self-professed defenders of decency, sanity, and civilization. After all, since when does evil thrive unchallenged? Well, often—but not this time. Hot on their heels are the Nehemothanai, avowed hunters of Bauchelain and Korbal Broach. In the company of a gaggle of artists and pilgrims, stalwart Mortal Sword Tulgord Vise, pious Well Knight Arpo Relent, stern Huntsman Steck Marynd, and three of the redoubtable Chanter brothers (and their lone sister) find themselves faced with the cruelest of choices. The legendary Crack’d Pot Trail, a stretch of harsh wasteland between the Gates of Nowhere and the Shrine of the Indifferent God, has become a tortured path of deprivation. Will honor, moral probity, and virtue prove champions in the face of brutal necessity? No, of course not. Don’t be silly.
180 pages, Hardcover
First published January 12, 2009
100 people are currently reading
3456 people want to read
About the author
Steven Erikson
129 books15k followersSteven Erikson is the pseudonym of Steve Rune Lundin, a Canadian novelist, who was educated and trained as both an archaeologist and anthropologist. His best-known work is the series, the Malazan Book of the Fallen.
http://us.macmillan.com/author/steven...
http://us.macmillan.com/author/steven...
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 152 reviews
June 15, 2022
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A disappointingly disjointed story that didn't strike any positive chords for me.
After a disappointing first book in this series, I have found books 2-4 (this is the 5th chronologically) to be absolutely wonderful and some of the funniest, and best short stories I have ever read. The escapades of Bauchelain, Korbal Broach, and their manservant Emancipor Reese are horror comedy books with wonderful Erikson philosophy in heavy doses - and I was hungry for more of that.
Unfortunately, this book had virtually none of the main characters, and instead followed a group of people that the main characters have wronged in the previous books who are hunting them on the "Crack'd Pot Trail". But the hunters run out of food and start to eat the group of travelling poets who are with them, but force them to spin their tales to impress them each night to earn another day of living. The theme of this plot is right in line with the rest of the books, but unfortunately the way it was presented was awful to me.
I've never been a big fan of "stories within stories" - and that's pretty much all this is. It's not funny like the previous books, it's too disjointed, and none of the characters I found to be interesting enough to hold up a story on their own.
If you are reading this series, I suggest you skip this book.
A disappointingly disjointed story that didn't strike any positive chords for me.
After a disappointing first book in this series, I have found books 2-4 (this is the 5th chronologically) to be absolutely wonderful and some of the funniest, and best short stories I have ever read. The escapades of Bauchelain, Korbal Broach, and their manservant Emancipor Reese are horror comedy books with wonderful Erikson philosophy in heavy doses - and I was hungry for more of that.
Unfortunately, this book had virtually none of the main characters, and instead followed a group of people that the main characters have wronged in the previous books who are hunting them on the "Crack'd Pot Trail". But the hunters run out of food and start to eat the group of travelling poets who are with them, but force them to spin their tales to impress them each night to earn another day of living. The theme of this plot is right in line with the rest of the books, but unfortunately the way it was presented was awful to me.
I've never been a big fan of "stories within stories" - and that's pretty much all this is. It's not funny like the previous books, it's too disjointed, and none of the characters I found to be interesting enough to hold up a story on their own.
If you are reading this series, I suggest you skip this book.
July 7, 2017
*** 4 ***
Before you take my rating as just another four stars, let me explain. Some will read this and think it is the biggest bunch of bull ever written. And they will not be wrong. Some will read it and say, yeah, OK, I see the metaphor, I understand the gist, but it has no plot to speak of, it is too verbose, and self-indulgent, nothing to good... And they will be right. Still others will read it and feel their soul finally understood, and will call it not just a book, but a revelation. They will be completely correct as well. This is the reason I wish I could give it 0 stars and 5 stars at the same time, if there was a way to do that without messing with the author's GR rating. But I experienced all of those stages while reading this 200 page novella.
It started with the languid, indulgent manner of a bard's storytelling and I thought, OK, this is just the introduction, it will be interesting. The first 20% persisted in this manner, and even I, who love the cadence of the language as much as anyone, after the 10% mark wanted to dose off, go clean, or even do laundry!!!! The HORROR!!!! The introduction of the group of characters on a pilgrimage to the Indifferent G-d was over-long and over-clever. Being cheeky is fun, when it is in small measures and you can cherish the moments as a jewel, but in an ocean of jewels, you will most likely drown...
We have representatives of most branches of society, among which we have a group of knights, hunters, some thugs, as well as a dancer and several writers, poets, and storytellers. On their pilgrimage they have to cross the Crack'd Pot Trail, which is a desert. The knights and the hunters are after the necromancers and murderers, B&K, who have been leaving a path of carnage behind and a reward awaits those who capture them. Around the 20th day the gang have run out of food and water and decide that they have to start eating members of the party. So, they organize a contest, in which the most worthless (the way the group sees it, they are less useful than the horses) individuals, the writers, poet and storytellers, will have to beguile them with their craft every day, and whoever is the worst as judged by them, gets killed and eaten in the evening. Talk about Hunger Games:):):) This is the premise and this is the book.
Once we got to that premise I started getting hooked. For the purpose of brevity, I will call the artists, the writers. So, all the writers got into telling their stories, and this is where I saw the genius of Steven Erikson come to life. We could put ourselves in the position of the writers, the audience and the critics at the same time. It was so real, so true, so cruelly straight-forward, he beat us over the head with a bludgeon!!! This symbiotic but most cannibalistic relationship between the author, his critics and the public whom he works for, takes on a very macabre shape in the bulk of this book. They do not call it Grim-Dark for nothing!!!
Imagine yourself being thrown in a situation like that! For starters, you and your work have been judged as worthless, thus you can be the first to be used as food for all the "real members" of the group. Those who matter. Second, those are just random people. You have no idea what they might or might not like. Do you try to send fillers as to what could be the most approved of way to tell a story and then tailor your stile and presentation to them, or do you stay true to yourself and hope they like what they see/hear? Are you confident enough in your own ability to put your life on the line for it? Will the audience understand you, where you are coming from, what you are trying to achieve? And what if you are good enough for the audience but the critics, those who at the end decide your fate, hate everything about you? And what are their motives and values? Are they the same as yours, or the audience, or are they completely different from all else? How do you keep everyone happy and satisfied, and at the same time try to keep true to yourself and all you believe you stand for? And is borrowing or "inspiration" from others OK, and how different do you have to be? The questions are so many, and Erikson is able to present them in such an unbelievably entertaining and gritty way, that I am not sure I will ever be able to think about this thematic without thinking of this book! I thought I loved him once I read Deadhouse Gates, then I thought I am in-love with him after I read Midnight Tides, now I am not sure what to think anymore... He has entered that zone in which I put those I would hope I never meet, because he has arisen to a pedestal level, and reality usually brings those folks down... So I just would like to admire him from very, very far away:):):)!!!
This being said, I am not blind to the verbal vomit that was happening at some intervals. A GR friend of mine called it "verbal masturbation" and I think this is much more precise, because SE ravels in his self-indulgence during the whole book. Unapologeticslly so, and I admire him even more for that!!! He does not try to meet his fans's expectations, he is on his soap-box and he is going to make it count! However, since we are all being self-indulgent, I have to admit that on top of the love-hate relationship between the author, critics, and the readers, the warning tales of watching out whom you invite into your own "house", and the hilariously absurd poet who tried to sell the stories in rime, so he can reach and encourage "the children", my most favorite and cringe-worthy parts were the horrifyingly awkward and ridiculously humorous in a very dark and jarring way sex scenes!!!! The first one was tragically inadequate and the second, completely impossible:) And I cringed and laughed with abandon:):):):) Don"t judge me, I am weird:)
So, I am not sure I can recommend this book to people, because I am not sure who might like it, but if you are a writer of any kind, or are interested in sociological experiments, this might be very interesting for you, that is hoping you can get over the first 20% without giving up. I know I will never be able to erase it from my mind:):):)
P.S... I walk up the next morning and thought about how much our current government resembles that judging crowd. The first thing they tried to slash when they took office, was the funding for the arts and education, as well as almost completely defund EPA, science and diplomacy, which heavily relies on the ability to communicate with language... But the money for military and weapons went way up. We, as people are devaluing our hearts, minds and souls... It is just so sad and insidiously damaging! Let's hope by the time another Renaissance emerges, we have not sunk into this millennium's Dark Age!😞😞😞
Now I wish You All Happy Reading and may you Always find what you Need in the pages of a Good Book!
Before you take my rating as just another four stars, let me explain. Some will read this and think it is the biggest bunch of bull ever written. And they will not be wrong. Some will read it and say, yeah, OK, I see the metaphor, I understand the gist, but it has no plot to speak of, it is too verbose, and self-indulgent, nothing to good... And they will be right. Still others will read it and feel their soul finally understood, and will call it not just a book, but a revelation. They will be completely correct as well. This is the reason I wish I could give it 0 stars and 5 stars at the same time, if there was a way to do that without messing with the author's GR rating. But I experienced all of those stages while reading this 200 page novella.
It started with the languid, indulgent manner of a bard's storytelling and I thought, OK, this is just the introduction, it will be interesting. The first 20% persisted in this manner, and even I, who love the cadence of the language as much as anyone, after the 10% mark wanted to dose off, go clean, or even do laundry!!!! The HORROR!!!! The introduction of the group of characters on a pilgrimage to the Indifferent G-d was over-long and over-clever. Being cheeky is fun, when it is in small measures and you can cherish the moments as a jewel, but in an ocean of jewels, you will most likely drown...
We have representatives of most branches of society, among which we have a group of knights, hunters, some thugs, as well as a dancer and several writers, poets, and storytellers. On their pilgrimage they have to cross the Crack'd Pot Trail, which is a desert. The knights and the hunters are after the necromancers and murderers, B&K, who have been leaving a path of carnage behind and a reward awaits those who capture them. Around the 20th day the gang have run out of food and water and decide that they have to start eating members of the party. So, they organize a contest, in which the most worthless (the way the group sees it, they are less useful than the horses) individuals, the writers, poet and storytellers, will have to beguile them with their craft every day, and whoever is the worst as judged by them, gets killed and eaten in the evening. Talk about Hunger Games:):):) This is the premise and this is the book.
Once we got to that premise I started getting hooked. For the purpose of brevity, I will call the artists, the writers. So, all the writers got into telling their stories, and this is where I saw the genius of Steven Erikson come to life. We could put ourselves in the position of the writers, the audience and the critics at the same time. It was so real, so true, so cruelly straight-forward, he beat us over the head with a bludgeon!!! This symbiotic but most cannibalistic relationship between the author, his critics and the public whom he works for, takes on a very macabre shape in the bulk of this book. They do not call it Grim-Dark for nothing!!!
Imagine yourself being thrown in a situation like that! For starters, you and your work have been judged as worthless, thus you can be the first to be used as food for all the "real members" of the group. Those who matter. Second, those are just random people. You have no idea what they might or might not like. Do you try to send fillers as to what could be the most approved of way to tell a story and then tailor your stile and presentation to them, or do you stay true to yourself and hope they like what they see/hear? Are you confident enough in your own ability to put your life on the line for it? Will the audience understand you, where you are coming from, what you are trying to achieve? And what if you are good enough for the audience but the critics, those who at the end decide your fate, hate everything about you? And what are their motives and values? Are they the same as yours, or the audience, or are they completely different from all else? How do you keep everyone happy and satisfied, and at the same time try to keep true to yourself and all you believe you stand for? And is borrowing or "inspiration" from others OK, and how different do you have to be? The questions are so many, and Erikson is able to present them in such an unbelievably entertaining and gritty way, that I am not sure I will ever be able to think about this thematic without thinking of this book! I thought I loved him once I read Deadhouse Gates, then I thought I am in-love with him after I read Midnight Tides, now I am not sure what to think anymore... He has entered that zone in which I put those I would hope I never meet, because he has arisen to a pedestal level, and reality usually brings those folks down... So I just would like to admire him from very, very far away:):):)!!!
This being said, I am not blind to the verbal vomit that was happening at some intervals. A GR friend of mine called it "verbal masturbation" and I think this is much more precise, because SE ravels in his self-indulgence during the whole book. Unapologeticslly so, and I admire him even more for that!!! He does not try to meet his fans's expectations, he is on his soap-box and he is going to make it count! However, since we are all being self-indulgent, I have to admit that on top of the love-hate relationship between the author, critics, and the readers, the warning tales of watching out whom you invite into your own "house", and the hilariously absurd poet who tried to sell the stories in rime, so he can reach and encourage "the children", my most favorite and cringe-worthy parts were the horrifyingly awkward and ridiculously humorous in a very dark and jarring way sex scenes!!!! The first one was tragically inadequate and the second, completely impossible:) And I cringed and laughed with abandon:):):):) Don"t judge me, I am weird:)
So, I am not sure I can recommend this book to people, because I am not sure who might like it, but if you are a writer of any kind, or are interested in sociological experiments, this might be very interesting for you, that is hoping you can get over the first 20% without giving up. I know I will never be able to erase it from my mind:):):)
P.S... I walk up the next morning and thought about how much our current government resembles that judging crowd. The first thing they tried to slash when they took office, was the funding for the arts and education, as well as almost completely defund EPA, science and diplomacy, which heavily relies on the ability to communicate with language... But the money for military and weapons went way up. We, as people are devaluing our hearts, minds and souls... It is just so sad and insidiously damaging! Let's hope by the time another Renaissance emerges, we have not sunk into this millennium's Dark Age!😞😞😞
Now I wish You All Happy Reading and may you Always find what you Need in the pages of a Good Book!
February 18, 2019
What the fuck did I just read?!
November 6, 2016
The best of the 5 (Malazan recommended order so yes 5th) B&KB books. SE referenced the main series a lot more in this one which made it vastly more interesting. He also had a lot of his political overtones for the first time in the series taking on once again modern politics, economics and this time around the perverse world of entertainment, critics and fans.
If you've read the main series you know who Kruppe is. People generally love or hate Kruppe. I love Kruppe. However I think SE went to Scillara's tent and did too much rustleaf and channeled Kruppe with William Burroughs. The verbose onslaught for the first 15% of the book was too much even for somebody who loves Kruppe. A virtual myriad of verbose verbiage to an extreme pinnacle of glib reflections forced upon each other in a conjured plethora of spoken toxicity. Ya it's like that.
There's a poem about Kalam and Laseen that makes the book worth reading on it's own. I was laughing so hard I started sweating. If you've never grown up and favor sophomoric humor you'll love it like I did.
After that however it's very good. 3.5*'s because of said start.
If you've read the main series you know who Kruppe is. People generally love or hate Kruppe. I love Kruppe. However I think SE went to Scillara's tent and did too much rustleaf and channeled Kruppe with William Burroughs. The verbose onslaught for the first 15% of the book was too much even for somebody who loves Kruppe. A virtual myriad of verbose verbiage to an extreme pinnacle of glib reflections forced upon each other in a conjured plethora of spoken toxicity. Ya it's like that.
There's a poem about Kalam and Laseen that makes the book worth reading on it's own. I was laughing so hard I started sweating. If you've never grown up and favor sophomoric humor you'll love it like I did.
After that however it's very good. 3.5*'s because of said start.
February 10, 2019
(If he writes like THAT for sheer pleasure, I'd really like to read his love letters!)
Also, I have a final proof that Erikson lives somewhere in my vicinity and renders me immortal in his books: "linguistically challenged in all languages including her native one"..."she could not find a solid key if it was glued to her tongue".
All true. Ask Mr de Vries.
February 1, 2015
I don't understand this novella. Bauchelain and Korbal Broach (and Reese, their servant) as characters are only McGuffins in the story. If someone could explain the role of series' characters, please do. You could comment, or send private message.
=edited, from 2 star rating into 1 star=
I gave 2 star because although when I was reading the novella, because I got surprised a few times and I could enjoy some dark humor. But there is no satisfying climax.
On my original review, I gave 2 star rating. But this morning I woke from my sleep and remembered this review, and I feel it is "unfair" for my other 2-star-rating-books.
=edited, from 2 star rating into 1 star=
I gave 2 star because although when I was reading the novella, because I got surprised a few times and I could enjoy some dark humor. But there is no satisfying climax.
On my original review, I gave 2 star rating. But this morning I woke from my sleep and remembered this review, and I feel it is "unfair" for my other 2-star-rating-books.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
February 1, 2012
There's just something about Erikson's writing that's cumbersome to me. I've given Gardens of the Moon two earnest tries but have been unable to slog through to the end so far. The thing is, I like the world he's created, and his writing is certainly intelligent and lyrical...hmmm, I suppose it just comes down to a preference of style. I wish I could really put my thumb on it more than that, but I only know I much prefer the Malazan stuff by Esslemont, so I guess I'll restrict my reading from now on to him and find a wiki or something to follow the rest of the canon as penned by Erikson.
It's a bummer when you really *want* to like a writer's work (because the world they've made is pretty cool), but just can't. And, unfortunately, due to that, I can't fervently recommend this novella by Erikson about his excellent necromancers, Bauchelain and Korbal Broach. I rather struggled to finish it. Erikson's work appears to evoke a strong reaction, as those who love his work really love it. But, as much as I wanted to belong to that group, it's just not me. To each their own, eh?
From my perspective I can only give this book two stars, but I suggest you read more reviews, as mine is of little help. Sorry.
It's a bummer when you really *want* to like a writer's work (because the world they've made is pretty cool), but just can't. And, unfortunately, due to that, I can't fervently recommend this novella by Erikson about his excellent necromancers, Bauchelain and Korbal Broach. I rather struggled to finish it. Erikson's work appears to evoke a strong reaction, as those who love his work really love it. But, as much as I wanted to belong to that group, it's just not me. To each their own, eh?
From my perspective I can only give this book two stars, but I suggest you read more reviews, as mine is of little help. Sorry.
January 4, 2018
"It is time for the critical feasting."
Very entertaining and enjoyable, with (not so) subtle jab at author/reader demanding and often ungrateful 'relationship'.
To paraphrase Francis Bacon: If you start something in certainty, you will end up in doubt.
Or in this case: if you start something with expectations, you will end up disappointed.
And you'll probably eat that poor bloke who disappointed you. :D
Very entertaining and enjoyable, with (not so) subtle jab at author/reader demanding and often ungrateful 'relationship'.
To paraphrase Francis Bacon: If you start something in certainty, you will end up in doubt.
Or in this case: if you start something with expectations, you will end up disappointed.
And you'll probably eat that poor bloke who disappointed you. :D
November 5, 2018
There was nothing in this book to recommend it: there is hardly a plot; there are hardly any characters; and nothing is well-developed at all. Besides, the prose and the dialogue are awful. It hurt me to read.
September 23, 2011
Wow. This book is... different. For fans expecting a typical romp in the Malazan Empire's world, you might be disappointed. For those looking to enjoy the offbeat and funny adventures of Bauchelain and Korbal Broach and their manservant Emancipor Reese, I'll just say that the titular characters only appear on the last 2 pages of the book. So I want to warn you now: your expectations about what you're getting are likely to remain unfulfilled.
And yet, it's still become one of my all-time favorite books. It's absolutely, positively, brilliant.
On the one hand, it tells the story of a group of pilgrims and storytellers who are joined by disparate hunters of the necromancers whom these tales are about. It's told from the perspective of one of the artists. The straightforward story is excellent. There is a nice twist towards the end, and its a very funny, bawdy, and at times ridiculous tale. It's fantastic.
On the other hand, behind the main story is a thin veneer - and I mean thin: in some places it seems that the actual story is the veneer over this other element - that seperates a commentary about art, artists, critics, fans, and the world in general. This is the part that many people might dislike. It's what made the book so personally powerful to me. As a writer, I struggle between telling the stories I want to tell and worrying if some of the things I do might upset fans or readers or whoever. Now that I'm done, I've realized that I can only tell the stories I know. If readers dislike what I do, that is their right. I can't handcuff myself. I can only tell the stories I can tell.
Some of the commentary is brutal, on the critics and fans and artists themselves, but it's honest. One scene where an undead fan of a now-dead writer carries around the unfortunate poet's skull and makes the jaw work and clack while saying "I am a poet! I can say poety things!" made me think of fanfic writers, who want to write but can only reanimate the corpse of someone else's imagination and try to make it talk (I don't have anything against fanfic writers - much - since I've done it myself [sort of], but I recommend to fanfic writers to move on to your own worlds and your characters and your own stories, no matter how much you wish Kirk and Spock had done whatever to each other's whatevers).
Erikson was one of my heroes before I read this. His stories didn't always follow the familiar formula of protagonist + antagonist + conflict = plot since the stories were wide and far-reaching and there was very little in the way of black and white. I admire his work. After this story, he's pushed himself to the top of my list of writers I would like to emulate - not in style or story, but in sheer fearlessness. I can only write the stories that I know.
And yet, it's still become one of my all-time favorite books. It's absolutely, positively, brilliant.
On the one hand, it tells the story of a group of pilgrims and storytellers who are joined by disparate hunters of the necromancers whom these tales are about. It's told from the perspective of one of the artists. The straightforward story is excellent. There is a nice twist towards the end, and its a very funny, bawdy, and at times ridiculous tale. It's fantastic.
On the other hand, behind the main story is a thin veneer - and I mean thin: in some places it seems that the actual story is the veneer over this other element - that seperates a commentary about art, artists, critics, fans, and the world in general. This is the part that many people might dislike. It's what made the book so personally powerful to me. As a writer, I struggle between telling the stories I want to tell and worrying if some of the things I do might upset fans or readers or whoever. Now that I'm done, I've realized that I can only tell the stories I know. If readers dislike what I do, that is their right. I can't handcuff myself. I can only tell the stories I can tell.
Some of the commentary is brutal, on the critics and fans and artists themselves, but it's honest. One scene where an undead fan of a now-dead writer carries around the unfortunate poet's skull and makes the jaw work and clack while saying "I am a poet! I can say poety things!" made me think of fanfic writers, who want to write but can only reanimate the corpse of someone else's imagination and try to make it talk (I don't have anything against fanfic writers - much - since I've done it myself [sort of], but I recommend to fanfic writers to move on to your own worlds and your characters and your own stories, no matter how much you wish Kirk and Spock had done whatever to each other's whatevers).
Erikson was one of my heroes before I read this. His stories didn't always follow the familiar formula of protagonist + antagonist + conflict = plot since the stories were wide and far-reaching and there was very little in the way of black and white. I admire his work. After this story, he's pushed himself to the top of my list of writers I would like to emulate - not in style or story, but in sheer fearlessness. I can only write the stories that I know.
January 24, 2012
Strange, strange book.
Erikson's Malazan series is a bleak dark fantasy with mostly likable if flawed characters. There's a hopefulness even among the ugliness. This book is just the ugliness of life. It is also a thinly veiled commentary on contemporary life. In a non funny satirical way.
A company of knights, hunters, pilgrims, and poets are traveling together. And for reasons mostly unexplained begin to practice cannibalism. The others decide that the poets are useless and make it into a competition. Sing so not to become supper so to speak. Each of the remaining poets, we come in near the last days, begin to tell a story each. Stories that are interrupted and told in a back and forth manner. And that's pretty much all there is to the story. It's like American Idol in the worst dystopian society imaginable.
Even though I disagree with his pessimistic views on civilization I still found this intriguing. Not as good as anything in his series. And many readers will not be satisfied. Little plot. Big on philosophical ramblings. And little in the way of resolution.
I recommend this to fans of Malazan. And to fans of (very) dark fantasy.
Erikson's Malazan series is a bleak dark fantasy with mostly likable if flawed characters. There's a hopefulness even among the ugliness. This book is just the ugliness of life. It is also a thinly veiled commentary on contemporary life. In a non funny satirical way.
A company of knights, hunters, pilgrims, and poets are traveling together. And for reasons mostly unexplained begin to practice cannibalism. The others decide that the poets are useless and make it into a competition. Sing so not to become supper so to speak. Each of the remaining poets, we come in near the last days, begin to tell a story each. Stories that are interrupted and told in a back and forth manner. And that's pretty much all there is to the story. It's like American Idol in the worst dystopian society imaginable.
Even though I disagree with his pessimistic views on civilization I still found this intriguing. Not as good as anything in his series. And many readers will not be satisfied. Little plot. Big on philosophical ramblings. And little in the way of resolution.
I recommend this to fans of Malazan. And to fans of (very) dark fantasy.
August 21, 2018
I have loved all the Malazan books that I have read until this one. It being a short book is the only reason I was able to finish it.
December 18, 2023
A masterpiece of literature
November 24, 2023
ok so much happens here and a lot of it is great!
Erikson attempted a hell of a lot as well, how does he manage to juggle so much in such a short page count?.
this may be the best of all the Bauchelain novellas I've read so far, and yet it lacks the titular characters, and it lacks a lot of the humor in the series, but it makes up for it in the musings on the writing process, inspiration, comentary, meta-fiction.
I know I will appreciate this a lot more on a re-read.
Erikson attempted a hell of a lot as well, how does he manage to juggle so much in such a short page count?.
this may be the best of all the Bauchelain novellas I've read so far, and yet it lacks the titular characters, and it lacks a lot of the humor in the series, but it makes up for it in the musings on the writing process, inspiration, comentary, meta-fiction.
I know I will appreciate this a lot more on a re-read.
October 5, 2024
2024 re-read I've decided to upgrade my rating to three stars. It's still a very difficult book to read due to the poetic style of the prose. This time through I really noticed how outright ribald the story is. This book feels like a philosophy tome mashup with Canterbury Tales and some of the less savory parts of the internet.
So three stars, it's not necessary for the understanding of the world of Malaz, but if you are a complete-est like me you won't want to miss it either.
****************Original Review*******************************
This is a novella in the Malazan world. It's part of the tales of Bauchelain and Korbal Broach. Most civilized and polite Necromancers. They have left a trail of destruction behind them and many have vowed to chase and destroy them.
Thus we are introduced to a caravan travelling the Cracked Pot Trail. Some of them hunters of the necromancers, some of them pilgrims to a shrine of a god, and some of them artists on their way to a great judging as part of a fall festival.
The prose is very flowery and requires careful reading. It was difficult to stay with sometimes, and sometimes it was difficult to know if the voice we were hearing was being spoken out loud or as an internal monolog of our POV character.
The necromancers develop a clever plan to delay their hunters that is slowly, ever so slowly, revealed over the course of the story, eventually resulting in the deaths of most of the caravan and the possible redemption of some others.
Bauchelain and Korbal Broach, along with their footman Mancy the Unlucky appear only on the final page, although paying attention you can see that they also played roles in the caravan, probably by way of some devious sorcery. This aspect is never explained.
It's a nice enough diversion from the main series but I would have enjoyed seeing the title characters more. This is very different than the other novellas in the tales series.
So three stars, it's not necessary for the understanding of the world of Malaz, but if you are a complete-est like me you won't want to miss it either.
****************Original Review*******************************
This is a novella in the Malazan world. It's part of the tales of Bauchelain and Korbal Broach. Most civilized and polite Necromancers. They have left a trail of destruction behind them and many have vowed to chase and destroy them.
Thus we are introduced to a caravan travelling the Cracked Pot Trail. Some of them hunters of the necromancers, some of them pilgrims to a shrine of a god, and some of them artists on their way to a great judging as part of a fall festival.
The prose is very flowery and requires careful reading. It was difficult to stay with sometimes, and sometimes it was difficult to know if the voice we were hearing was being spoken out loud or as an internal monolog of our POV character.
The necromancers develop a clever plan to delay their hunters that is slowly, ever so slowly, revealed over the course of the story, eventually resulting in the deaths of most of the caravan and the possible redemption of some others.
Bauchelain and Korbal Broach, along with their footman Mancy the Unlucky appear only on the final page, although paying attention you can see that they also played roles in the caravan, probably by way of some devious sorcery. This aspect is never explained.
It's a nice enough diversion from the main series but I would have enjoyed seeing the title characters more. This is very different than the other novellas in the tales series.
July 21, 2013
Huh, it's been about a year and I still have not reviewed this book. Well, time to take some few moments of my day to do so. In Crack'd Pot Trail, the story follows those who have sworn to hunt Bauchelain and Korbal Broach down for their crimes and they end up in this stretch of desert....
Okay, the plot is not important. Like all Bauchelain and Korbal Broach novellas, this is all about Steven Erikson getting something off his chest. In this case, he is letting off some steam for various reasons related to being an author in the Fantasy Genre. You know the problems:
1)Waaah! The critics won't take my work seriously!
2)Waaah! The fans take my work too seriously!
3)Waaah! Those critics miss the point! Don't you recognize my genius?
4)Waaah! Those who are successful don't actually understand their craft and steal from more talented writers!
5)Waaah! Waaah! WAAAAAAAAH!
You've also heard variants of these from the reader's sides including critiques that include buzzwords as "world building", "character development", and "plot" and so forth.
Erikson, in about 180 pages, essentially tells all those who hold these views to go f*ck themselves. And that is what I have found enjoyable about this novella. It is a fairly accurate, if satirical, view of the culture that has been built around the fantasy genre. A culture that so often is trying to be more then it is that it often becomes its worse critic as it seeks to devour itself.
Oh, did I mention there's cannibalism in this book? Because there totally is.
And thus, in an effort to be this all encompassing critique on the current affair of genre literature, the novella forgets it is a Bauchelain and Korbal Broach tale and they really do not feature much at all.
Oh, Erikson, one day your cleverness will piss your readership off so much that they'll stop buying your books.
Okay, the plot is not important. Like all Bauchelain and Korbal Broach novellas, this is all about Steven Erikson getting something off his chest. In this case, he is letting off some steam for various reasons related to being an author in the Fantasy Genre. You know the problems:
1)Waaah! The critics won't take my work seriously!
2)Waaah! The fans take my work too seriously!
3)Waaah! Those critics miss the point! Don't you recognize my genius?
4)Waaah! Those who are successful don't actually understand their craft and steal from more talented writers!
5)Waaah! Waaah! WAAAAAAAAH!
You've also heard variants of these from the reader's sides including critiques that include buzzwords as "world building", "character development", and "plot" and so forth.
Erikson, in about 180 pages, essentially tells all those who hold these views to go f*ck themselves. And that is what I have found enjoyable about this novella. It is a fairly accurate, if satirical, view of the culture that has been built around the fantasy genre. A culture that so often is trying to be more then it is that it often becomes its worse critic as it seeks to devour itself.
Oh, did I mention there's cannibalism in this book? Because there totally is.
And thus, in an effort to be this all encompassing critique on the current affair of genre literature, the novella forgets it is a Bauchelain and Korbal Broach tale and they really do not feature much at all.
Oh, Erikson, one day your cleverness will piss your readership off so much that they'll stop buying your books.
January 3, 2012
I picked this up at the library after reading a short story of Erikson's called "Goats of Glory". Apparently Erikson's signature world is called Malazan. Goats of Glory and Crack'd Pot Trail are my only exposures to it and it seems to hold promise.
Coming in at 200 pages, the book is an efficient use of narrative length. There are more characters than one would assume belong in a book this short, but I feel the author was very honest about introducing them all at once at the beginning of the book. I did find myself having to flip back to the introductory chapter quite a bit to keep them all straight, but I feel the author did a good job of showing/reminding throughout the book by way of the words, actions and reactions of the characters.
It may seem like a base criticism but the prose in the book was very long-winded at times. I found myself having to go back and reread sentences in order to sift through all the commas and fragments. For me the wordiness came dangerously close to hindering the narrative at times, but then pulled back at the right moments. I believe it was intended to be this way based on who the narrator is in the story, so it was easy to adjust to and overlook when needed.
This is my first significant foray into the Malazan world. I was very skeptical that such a short book that was not meant as an introduction to this world would pull me in, but it did so efficiently and captivatingly. The characters were as well fleshed out as they could be in 200 pages. Most importantly, the author seems to understand the "show don't tell" school of character building. I was amused by and interested in what happened to whom.
Coming in at 200 pages, the book is an efficient use of narrative length. There are more characters than one would assume belong in a book this short, but I feel the author was very honest about introducing them all at once at the beginning of the book. I did find myself having to flip back to the introductory chapter quite a bit to keep them all straight, but I feel the author did a good job of showing/reminding throughout the book by way of the words, actions and reactions of the characters.
It may seem like a base criticism but the prose in the book was very long-winded at times. I found myself having to go back and reread sentences in order to sift through all the commas and fragments. For me the wordiness came dangerously close to hindering the narrative at times, but then pulled back at the right moments. I believe it was intended to be this way based on who the narrator is in the story, so it was easy to adjust to and overlook when needed.
This is my first significant foray into the Malazan world. I was very skeptical that such a short book that was not meant as an introduction to this world would pull me in, but it did so efficiently and captivatingly. The characters were as well fleshed out as they could be in 200 pages. Most importantly, the author seems to understand the "show don't tell" school of character building. I was amused by and interested in what happened to whom.
September 6, 2016
Two truths hold about this book.
1. It is the Malazan book you will complete in the absolute shortest amount of time.
2. It is the absolute worse book of the series.
Considering how much I enjoy the Book of the Fallen, this installment was an utter heinous letdown. Among the books written by Steven Erikson (whom I revere as possibly the greatest author of fantasy epics ever lived) this is a piece that just doesn't fit - the bastard dwarven son of the lot, if you will.
So much of it was pointless torture (and what is torture if not purposeful?) that reading it felt meaningless and unrewarding.
How? How did this happen?
The beloved and hated characters that scar themselves into your flesh? None!
The unimaginably vast convoluted plots that rend you to your knees when unraveled? Absent!
The dance of powers and powerlessness in the forms of ploys, sorcery, armies, martial prowess, shapeshifting, and the binding of worship? Missing!
Epic quotes? Unspoken!
Piercing humour? Scarce!
This book is a travesty. I regret its existence in the Book of the Fallen. Thus far it stands alone in this regard.
Most fellow readers of the Book of the Fallen feel that Esslemont is inferior to Steven Erikson and they often curse his existence (or just his hands, since without his co-imagination the books would not exist at), even so I doubt they can fashion an articulate retort when I name this the worst book of the series by such a vast gap that even the cracks within it house their own webs of warrens, worlds and as a result, mind-sundering fantasy epics.
1. It is the Malazan book you will complete in the absolute shortest amount of time.
2. It is the absolute worse book of the series.
Considering how much I enjoy the Book of the Fallen, this installment was an utter heinous letdown. Among the books written by Steven Erikson (whom I revere as possibly the greatest author of fantasy epics ever lived) this is a piece that just doesn't fit - the bastard dwarven son of the lot, if you will.
So much of it was pointless torture (and what is torture if not purposeful?) that reading it felt meaningless and unrewarding.
How? How did this happen?
The beloved and hated characters that scar themselves into your flesh? None!
The unimaginably vast convoluted plots that rend you to your knees when unraveled? Absent!
The dance of powers and powerlessness in the forms of ploys, sorcery, armies, martial prowess, shapeshifting, and the binding of worship? Missing!
Epic quotes? Unspoken!
Piercing humour? Scarce!
This book is a travesty. I regret its existence in the Book of the Fallen. Thus far it stands alone in this regard.
Most fellow readers of the Book of the Fallen feel that Esslemont is inferior to Steven Erikson and they often curse his existence (or just his hands, since without his co-imagination the books would not exist at), even so I doubt they can fashion an articulate retort when I name this the worst book of the series by such a vast gap that even the cracks within it house their own webs of warrens, worlds and as a result, mind-sundering fantasy epics.
May 5, 2023
For a book in the series about Bauchelain and Korbal Broach, they are in it for approximately a second. And somehow that's ok? Like. This book is a weird one, and that's saying something. A cannibalistic group of poets and soldiers going to kill necromancers as the poets die one by one if they don't tell good stories. And within this, the prose is so thick as to be almost insufferable, but at the same time, I'm fairly certain that's literally the point. That being said, it's genius. However, it was also a WEIRD read. Very dark comedy as well. Overall I'm erring on the side of "it was pretty good", in spite of it all.
On reflection, it’s genius.
On reflection, it’s genius.
January 4, 2016
So, this story is about how some people hunting down Bauchelain and Broach came together, met up with a troupe of poets, and started eating them.
Except not really...it was actually all just a metaphor on how people treat artists.
While this was skilfully done, it also seemed a little self-indulgent.
and there was only a short appearance by our necromantic duo, barely worth mentioning. So in the end, it was almost a trick on readers, daring them to complain.
Except not really...it was actually all just a metaphor on how people treat artists.
While this was skilfully done, it also seemed a little self-indulgent.
and there was only a short appearance by our necromantic duo, barely worth mentioning. So in the end, it was almost a trick on readers, daring them to complain.
December 26, 2022
2,5 - too indulgent, too long, even though it has its moments.
May 13, 2021
reading the recounting of the whole trail night by night was just too fire erikson really the greatest
July 26, 2013
A wide and varied group walks the Cracked Pot trail, an ancient road of pilgrimage through the desert of Seven Cities.
Many among them are artists, aiming to win the (annual) competition to elect the century's best artist held on the other side of the desert, while others are pilgrims, hunters, knights or simply lost souls.
But after a few days of marching their food stores are depleted, and those few mules and horses they possess are far too important to be sacrificed.
How to avoid death by starvation, then, when weeks of travel still loom ahead?
Why, by eating the artists, of course!!
There are too many of the sorry things anyway!
And how can the next victim in line be chosen if not with a storytelling contest?
This is the premise of Crack'd pot trail and as you can see it's...uh...I was about to say insane but, honestly, it doesn't even come close to describing it.
This fourth novella of Bauchelain and Korbal Broach (two characters from the Malazan book of the Fallen series, for those who haven't read it) is only vaguely related to the other Malazan books and is, in fact, just a facade Erikson uses to convey to us readers his ideas on writing and storytelling (and arts in general) by means of satire.
It's a novellized essay, if you want, and I found it extremely interesting.
It becomes more interesting still if seen in the light of the critics most often moved at Steven's writing style: plot complexity, slow buildup, intentional errors, and many others such issues are all "discussed" here.
The narrator , Flicker, is quite obviously Steven himself.
The writing style is beautiful and poetic but often quite complex and as a non-native-speaker I had to reread many passages multiple time to grasp their meaning.
This is NOT really a fantasy book, and especially not a huge epic like the Malazan series, so if that's what you're looking for, steer clear.
But if you are curious to read something told from Erikson's own PoV and to know a bit of how a succesful writer feels, this is the book for you.
Many among them are artists, aiming to win the (annual) competition to elect the century's best artist held on the other side of the desert, while others are pilgrims, hunters, knights or simply lost souls.
But after a few days of marching their food stores are depleted, and those few mules and horses they possess are far too important to be sacrificed.
How to avoid death by starvation, then, when weeks of travel still loom ahead?
Why, by eating the artists, of course!!
There are too many of the sorry things anyway!
And how can the next victim in line be chosen if not with a storytelling contest?
This is the premise of Crack'd pot trail and as you can see it's...uh...I was about to say insane but, honestly, it doesn't even come close to describing it.
This fourth novella of Bauchelain and Korbal Broach (two characters from the Malazan book of the Fallen series, for those who haven't read it) is only vaguely related to the other Malazan books and is, in fact, just a facade Erikson uses to convey to us readers his ideas on writing and storytelling (and arts in general) by means of satire.
It's a novellized essay, if you want, and I found it extremely interesting.
It becomes more interesting still if seen in the light of the critics most often moved at Steven's writing style: plot complexity, slow buildup, intentional errors, and many others such issues are all "discussed" here.
The narrator , Flicker, is quite obviously Steven himself.
The writing style is beautiful and poetic but often quite complex and as a non-native-speaker I had to reread many passages multiple time to grasp their meaning.
This is NOT really a fantasy book, and especially not a huge epic like the Malazan series, so if that's what you're looking for, steer clear.
But if you are curious to read something told from Erikson's own PoV and to know a bit of how a succesful writer feels, this is the book for you.
August 12, 2016
ok, so first off you can see it took me a while to really read this one (the date's a little fuzzy, probably more like 2010...ahem), and I must confess to white lying to Steve that I'd read it when at the time I hadn't gotten past my 2nd attempt to get through the setup. sorry Steve, I could see in your eyes that you knew I hadn't. the guilt (that totally virginal made-up word!) has been gnawing me alive. till now. this, my 4th go at it, succeeded.
the opener is a bit of a rough go, I'm sorry to say, even looking down the back trail. lots of convoluted sentences filled with unique (yet appropriate) names to introduce and re-introduce numerous exotic characters, the first person pov narrator, the scene, and the gaol, er, goal. it was a struggle to embrace even for a diehard Erikson/Malazan/Bauchelain and Korbal Broach fan like I. but then we get into the tale, and it is one of the most clever yet of Erikson's novellas. not as uproariously humorous as the previous three, a bit more crass than before, and famously actually quite lacking the presence of the starring duo in the majority of its telling. ultimately quite clever however, with a triple delivery come story's close. not end, never so simple as that; this is but part of the B&KB tale, and actually quite satisfying.
so kudos to you Steve, for once more delivering a quality climax and denouement that hits on all cylinders after leading the reader in suspense wondering if there even were any cylinders in this ride :-) I hope you can forgive my delayed completion.
caution: no one should choose to begin reading of Bauchelain and Korbal Broach or Malazan or even Erikson's writing with this one.
the opener is a bit of a rough go, I'm sorry to say, even looking down the back trail. lots of convoluted sentences filled with unique (yet appropriate) names to introduce and re-introduce numerous exotic characters, the first person pov narrator, the scene, and the gaol, er, goal. it was a struggle to embrace even for a diehard Erikson/Malazan/Bauchelain and Korbal Broach fan like I. but then we get into the tale, and it is one of the most clever yet of Erikson's novellas. not as uproariously humorous as the previous three, a bit more crass than before, and famously actually quite lacking the presence of the starring duo in the majority of its telling. ultimately quite clever however, with a triple delivery come story's close. not end, never so simple as that; this is but part of the B&KB tale, and actually quite satisfying.
so kudos to you Steve, for once more delivering a quality climax and denouement that hits on all cylinders after leading the reader in suspense wondering if there even were any cylinders in this ride :-) I hope you can forgive my delayed completion.
caution: no one should choose to begin reading of Bauchelain and Korbal Broach or Malazan or even Erikson's writing with this one.
June 24, 2014
Canterbury Tales meets cannibalism meets rampant sexual humor. Yup.
This series of books is interesting, because Bauchelain and Broach never feel like they fit in the Malazan world. However, this book which has really nothing to do with Bauchelain and Broach, feels much more in the style of the Malazan series, mostly because of it's often rather morbid sense of humor. It's probably a poor sign the that book I have enjoyed the most so far is the one that is least involving the main characters, but we'll see how the next books go and whether it can better weave together the two necromancers into the rest of the world.
This series of books is interesting, because Bauchelain and Broach never feel like they fit in the Malazan world. However, this book which has really nothing to do with Bauchelain and Broach, feels much more in the style of the Malazan series, mostly because of it's often rather morbid sense of humor. It's probably a poor sign the that book I have enjoyed the most so far is the one that is least involving the main characters, but we'll see how the next books go and whether it can better weave together the two necromancers into the rest of the world.
August 22, 2012
The Malazan series was entertaining if exhausting, but I'm happy to say that this mis-titled stand alone novel is probably my favorite by this author yet. Think Canterbury Tales gone horribly awry in a darkly humorous fashion.
December 11, 2011
Steven Erikson's Malazan Book of the Fallen series took the fantasy world by storm when Gardens of the Moon was published in 1999, leading to a 10-novel epic fantasy series, several additional novels written by Ian Esslemont, and a number of novellas. Earlier this year, Crack'd Pot Trail, a tale of Bauchelain and Korbal Broach, hit the shelves, offering a strangely compelling narrative concept in an over-embellished, long-winded package.
Using the backdrop of the Bauchelain and Korbal Broach novellas, Crack'd Pot Trail follows the Nehemothanai and their artist/pilgrim companions as they continue their hunt of the infamous Bauchelain and Korbal Broach (a less-than-reputable pair, to say the least). Stuck traversing the wasteland of the Crack'd Pot Trail with dwindling resources, the artists are pitted against themselves in a feat of narrative prowess: whoever tells the worst tale may become the next meal.
The question becomes: Who can play the narrative game with cunning and skill, and who will flounder in a sea of their own artistic deficiencies?
Crack'd Pot Trail does two interesting things:
It draws upon a rich history of larger narratives told through artists weaving miniature tales.
It provides a meant-to-be-humorous, if not disturbing, scenario involving cannibalism and artists.
The first of these will become obvious to anyone familiar with Boccaccio's The Decameron or Chaucer's Canterbury Tales (among other stories, new and old). Erikson plays with the narratives-within-a-narrative to examine the nature of the artist as a complex subject -- that is that rather than showing a series of people telling stories, Erikson challenges the nature of the story by deconstructing their origins and their tellers. What Crack'd Pot Trail does well lies in its ability to expose the boundaries of authorship, which may interest non-traditional fantasy readers more than those who come to fantasy for an adventure (this may also be specific to the Malazan readership, since Erikson's work has often been cited as a participant in the nihilistic overthrow of fantasy -- whatever that means).
Erikson, however, explores these questions in a written style which reads as authentic, but comes off as exceedingly convoluted and linguistically excessive. The result is that much of the book is difficult to read, often at the expense of the narrative (within a narrative). Sentences are bloated to a degree that they often have to be re-read in order to capture details or meanings. Such details could easily have been said with greater strength if Erikson wrote with more concision. For example:
Suffice it to say she was the first to set out from the Gates of Nowhere and her manservant Mister Must Ambertroshin, seated on the high bench of the carriage, his face shielded by a broad woven hat, uttered his welcome to the other travelers with a thick-volumed nod, and in this generous instant the conveyance and the old woman presumed within it became an island on wheels round which the others clustered like shrikes and gulls, for as everyone knows, no island truly stays in one place (16).
Or:
Apto rubbed at his face as if needing to convince himself that this was not a fevered nightmare (as might haunt all professional critics), and I do imagine that, given the option, he would have fled into the wastes at the first opportunity, not that such an opportunity was forthcoming given Steck Marynd and his perpetually cocked crossbow which even now rested lightly on his lap (he'd done with his pacing by this time) (41).
Or this paragraph:
Is there anything more fraught than family? We do not choose our kin, after all, and even by marriage one finds oneself saddled with a whole gaggle of relations, all gathered to witness the fresh mixing of blood and, if of proper spirit, get appalingly drunk, sufficient to ruin the entire proceedings and to be known thereafter in infamy. For myself, I have always considered this gesture, offered to countless relations on their big day, to be nothing more than protracted revenge, and have of course personally partaken of it many times. Closer to home, as it were, why, every new wife simply adds to the wild, unwieldy clan. The excitement never ends! (150)
The problem isn't that these sentences are meaningless, but that they often distract from the narrative, either because they are exceedingly long (to the point where comprehension becomes difficult) or because they digress into complicated musings about things that, oddly, play little significance in the story. Some digressions are amusing, such as when the narrator criticizes critics, but outside of the dialogue (with exception to when stories are being told), Crack'd Pot Trail is a difficult book to read, without offering the kind of payoff you expect from books with complicated styles (such as one would expect with a Pynchon novel). What should effectively be an exploration of the artist and authorship through the guise of a cannibalistic contest is really a narrative of digressions that seems determined to avoid focus in exchange for abstraction and incompleteness.
This is perhaps why I was disappointed with Crack'd Pot Trail. Erikson sets up a story that should be endlessly hilarious and compelling, but the result is a rambling mess which, to me, seemed to go nowhere because so many of the stories told are never completed. Whereas other narratives with similar forms have provided ample room for continued exploration, Erikson's novel ends without much fanfare or purpose. The main points are easy enough to pick out, but I found myself unwilling to traipse through the prose to make the additional connections that would lend strength to Crack'd Pot Trail's narrative (there are interesting connections to make, though). Instead, I got to the end of the book, after two weeks of struggling, without much interest in looking at it again -- a feeling I don't wish to have when reading anything, in part because negative critical reviews are the least entertaining to write (in most cases).
Crack'd Pot Trail leaves a lot to be desired. Fans of the Malazan series may love this particular book, yet I can't help feeling that a lot of people will come out of reading this book with similar opinions as myself. I'd recommend sticking with the regular series, where Erikson weaves a better tale.
Using the backdrop of the Bauchelain and Korbal Broach novellas, Crack'd Pot Trail follows the Nehemothanai and their artist/pilgrim companions as they continue their hunt of the infamous Bauchelain and Korbal Broach (a less-than-reputable pair, to say the least). Stuck traversing the wasteland of the Crack'd Pot Trail with dwindling resources, the artists are pitted against themselves in a feat of narrative prowess: whoever tells the worst tale may become the next meal.
The question becomes: Who can play the narrative game with cunning and skill, and who will flounder in a sea of their own artistic deficiencies?
Crack'd Pot Trail does two interesting things:
It draws upon a rich history of larger narratives told through artists weaving miniature tales.
It provides a meant-to-be-humorous, if not disturbing, scenario involving cannibalism and artists.
The first of these will become obvious to anyone familiar with Boccaccio's The Decameron or Chaucer's Canterbury Tales (among other stories, new and old). Erikson plays with the narratives-within-a-narrative to examine the nature of the artist as a complex subject -- that is that rather than showing a series of people telling stories, Erikson challenges the nature of the story by deconstructing their origins and their tellers. What Crack'd Pot Trail does well lies in its ability to expose the boundaries of authorship, which may interest non-traditional fantasy readers more than those who come to fantasy for an adventure (this may also be specific to the Malazan readership, since Erikson's work has often been cited as a participant in the nihilistic overthrow of fantasy -- whatever that means).
Erikson, however, explores these questions in a written style which reads as authentic, but comes off as exceedingly convoluted and linguistically excessive. The result is that much of the book is difficult to read, often at the expense of the narrative (within a narrative). Sentences are bloated to a degree that they often have to be re-read in order to capture details or meanings. Such details could easily have been said with greater strength if Erikson wrote with more concision. For example:
Suffice it to say she was the first to set out from the Gates of Nowhere and her manservant Mister Must Ambertroshin, seated on the high bench of the carriage, his face shielded by a broad woven hat, uttered his welcome to the other travelers with a thick-volumed nod, and in this generous instant the conveyance and the old woman presumed within it became an island on wheels round which the others clustered like shrikes and gulls, for as everyone knows, no island truly stays in one place (16).
Or:
Apto rubbed at his face as if needing to convince himself that this was not a fevered nightmare (as might haunt all professional critics), and I do imagine that, given the option, he would have fled into the wastes at the first opportunity, not that such an opportunity was forthcoming given Steck Marynd and his perpetually cocked crossbow which even now rested lightly on his lap (he'd done with his pacing by this time) (41).
Or this paragraph:
Is there anything more fraught than family? We do not choose our kin, after all, and even by marriage one finds oneself saddled with a whole gaggle of relations, all gathered to witness the fresh mixing of blood and, if of proper spirit, get appalingly drunk, sufficient to ruin the entire proceedings and to be known thereafter in infamy. For myself, I have always considered this gesture, offered to countless relations on their big day, to be nothing more than protracted revenge, and have of course personally partaken of it many times. Closer to home, as it were, why, every new wife simply adds to the wild, unwieldy clan. The excitement never ends! (150)
The problem isn't that these sentences are meaningless, but that they often distract from the narrative, either because they are exceedingly long (to the point where comprehension becomes difficult) or because they digress into complicated musings about things that, oddly, play little significance in the story. Some digressions are amusing, such as when the narrator criticizes critics, but outside of the dialogue (with exception to when stories are being told), Crack'd Pot Trail is a difficult book to read, without offering the kind of payoff you expect from books with complicated styles (such as one would expect with a Pynchon novel). What should effectively be an exploration of the artist and authorship through the guise of a cannibalistic contest is really a narrative of digressions that seems determined to avoid focus in exchange for abstraction and incompleteness.
This is perhaps why I was disappointed with Crack'd Pot Trail. Erikson sets up a story that should be endlessly hilarious and compelling, but the result is a rambling mess which, to me, seemed to go nowhere because so many of the stories told are never completed. Whereas other narratives with similar forms have provided ample room for continued exploration, Erikson's novel ends without much fanfare or purpose. The main points are easy enough to pick out, but I found myself unwilling to traipse through the prose to make the additional connections that would lend strength to Crack'd Pot Trail's narrative (there are interesting connections to make, though). Instead, I got to the end of the book, after two weeks of struggling, without much interest in looking at it again -- a feeling I don't wish to have when reading anything, in part because negative critical reviews are the least entertaining to write (in most cases).
Crack'd Pot Trail leaves a lot to be desired. Fans of the Malazan series may love this particular book, yet I can't help feeling that a lot of people will come out of reading this book with similar opinions as myself. I'd recommend sticking with the regular series, where Erikson weaves a better tale.
November 10, 2014
Nutshell: The Canterbury Tales meets the Donner Party. A party traveling across a desert has lost their supplies, and in the nights, the poets in their number have to sing not to be supper: the one that tells the worst story is eaten. Viciously funny and unsparingly critical of society.
Crack'd Pot Trail is delightfully straightforward in stating its intent: to conduct a dialogue vis-a-vis the Artist and its relationship to its peers, the Patron, the Critic, and the Audience. It's cheekily on-the-nose most of the time, wearing its colors on its sleeve as it pontificates pretentiously. That's not to say that it lacks depth or intricacy: indeed, many of the florid asides tie into the theme with intricate precision, or are touched upon again at a later point with a self-vindicating example from the actors of the piece that strikes like a dagger to the heart (an easily constructed yet highly effective method, for all that it flirtatiously invites the author to take refuge in strawmen). There are profound and well-crafted arguments here, buried among the cynicism and wit.
It is not flawless, and certainly many of the points that I consider its strengths others would find themselves balking at, but it wears its flaws proudly and excels so wonderfully at all the ambitious goals it sets for itself (splashing over to fulfill a whole other set of secondary goals besides, and all within so slender a 200 pages that I can scarcely believe Erkson managed to ft it all in) that I can forgive them easily and love the book all the same. The fact that the characters the book is nominally about don't show up until the last 2 pages, for instance--that is converted into a boon, as it allows the story to float freely, set within but not reliant upon an understanding of the Malazan world. The massive character-dump that constitutes the prologue is disruptive and contrary to the typical reader's expectations--but that serves to alert the reader to the fact that this will be no ordinary book, that they must be alert, and additionally establishes the Canterbury Tales-homage aspect of the tale all the more firmly.
The book's female characters are strong and well-realized, but despite that, they fit very neatly into the little boxes that are their roles (the Muse, the Entourage, etc)--though the same can be said of the male characters, I suppose, as everybody in this sordid little sketch has to play their part to a tee. That said, certain of the authorial (or at least narratorial; I wouldn't want to confuse the author's beliefs for those of his characters) asides are decidedly sexist. For instance:
"Guilt. Such an unpleasant word, no doubt invented by some pious meddler with snout pricked in the air. Probably a virgin, too, and not by choice. A man (I assert that it must have been a man, since no woman was ever so mad as to invent such a concept, and to this day for most women the whole notion of guilt is as alien to them as flicking droplets after a piss, then shivering), a man, then, likely looking on in outrage and horror (at a woman, I warrant, and given his virginal status she was either his sister or his mother), and bursting into his thoughts like flames from a brimstone, all indignation was transformed into that maelstrom of flagellation, spite, envy, malice and harsh judgement that we have come to call guilt."
Somewhat ironic, that statement, given Erikson's inclusion of the three sisters Spite, Envy and Malice as major players in the early eons of his series' world. Still, this whole "women don't feel the full gamut of emotion because they're so different from men" idea I, at least, find ridiculous. And so on with other blanket assertions about sex and gender as the story goes on, in a story very candid about sexual desire and mores. I suppose they're just other self-contented observations/perceptions to slot into the narrator's summation of the human condition in general, but that doesn't make them accurate, necessarily, so this one aspect sticks in at least my craw.
Erikson has constructed a story that wallows gleefully in its self-aware shamelessness (the scene between the critic and the narrator where they are discussing just how shallow, subtlety-lacking, and self-aware this conversation is springs to mind). It is a criticism of society and human nature bound up in an uproarious post-modern fantasy farce, highlighting extremes of venality in an intentionally ludicrous situation (oh yes, the horses and mules have been granted dispensation from being eaten, as have every character--no matter how useless to the group they are--besides the artists).
One thing that I was gratified to see in evidence was the book's (lack of) ties to Erikson's other work: while thematically strong, such ties are otherwise nearly non-existent. One needs simply to know that the two characters on the front cover are evil men who delight in their remorselessly evil deeds--a fact given ample reference on the back cover and in the opening pages of the book itself, to the careful reader.
Perhaps this story is written specifically for a small audience. It is certainly written for the artist (be she or he poet, author, painter: whatever), or at least any who suffer to create and suffer to see their art savaged in the wild; and for those who can let go of their own preconceptions and biases and simply permit Erikson to run roughshod over their beliefs long enough for him to conclude his own arguments; and for those who appreciate elevated diction and refuse to eschew needless obfuscation; and for those who can appreciate it as an homage to the Canterbury Tales fused with the Donner Party; and for those who simply want to see Erikson cut loose on a wild, chaotic ride. Needless to say, that one necessarily must to fit neatly into most if not all of these categories to derive such pleasure from the book as I do naturally limits the audience. Nonetheless, I am left agape and humbled by its ambition and execution. We all need to sing not to be supper in any case; Erikson simply presents this notion in the most naked and literal terms possible.
Crack'd Pot Trail is delightfully straightforward in stating its intent: to conduct a dialogue vis-a-vis the Artist and its relationship to its peers, the Patron, the Critic, and the Audience. It's cheekily on-the-nose most of the time, wearing its colors on its sleeve as it pontificates pretentiously. That's not to say that it lacks depth or intricacy: indeed, many of the florid asides tie into the theme with intricate precision, or are touched upon again at a later point with a self-vindicating example from the actors of the piece that strikes like a dagger to the heart (an easily constructed yet highly effective method, for all that it flirtatiously invites the author to take refuge in strawmen). There are profound and well-crafted arguments here, buried among the cynicism and wit.
It is not flawless, and certainly many of the points that I consider its strengths others would find themselves balking at, but it wears its flaws proudly and excels so wonderfully at all the ambitious goals it sets for itself (splashing over to fulfill a whole other set of secondary goals besides, and all within so slender a 200 pages that I can scarcely believe Erkson managed to ft it all in) that I can forgive them easily and love the book all the same. The fact that the characters the book is nominally about don't show up until the last 2 pages, for instance--that is converted into a boon, as it allows the story to float freely, set within but not reliant upon an understanding of the Malazan world. The massive character-dump that constitutes the prologue is disruptive and contrary to the typical reader's expectations--but that serves to alert the reader to the fact that this will be no ordinary book, that they must be alert, and additionally establishes the Canterbury Tales-homage aspect of the tale all the more firmly.
The book's female characters are strong and well-realized, but despite that, they fit very neatly into the little boxes that are their roles (the Muse, the Entourage, etc)--though the same can be said of the male characters, I suppose, as everybody in this sordid little sketch has to play their part to a tee. That said, certain of the authorial (or at least narratorial; I wouldn't want to confuse the author's beliefs for those of his characters) asides are decidedly sexist. For instance:
"Guilt. Such an unpleasant word, no doubt invented by some pious meddler with snout pricked in the air. Probably a virgin, too, and not by choice. A man (I assert that it must have been a man, since no woman was ever so mad as to invent such a concept, and to this day for most women the whole notion of guilt is as alien to them as flicking droplets after a piss, then shivering), a man, then, likely looking on in outrage and horror (at a woman, I warrant, and given his virginal status she was either his sister or his mother), and bursting into his thoughts like flames from a brimstone, all indignation was transformed into that maelstrom of flagellation, spite, envy, malice and harsh judgement that we have come to call guilt."
Somewhat ironic, that statement, given Erikson's inclusion of the three sisters Spite, Envy and Malice as major players in the early eons of his series' world. Still, this whole "women don't feel the full gamut of emotion because they're so different from men" idea I, at least, find ridiculous. And so on with other blanket assertions about sex and gender as the story goes on, in a story very candid about sexual desire and mores. I suppose they're just other self-contented observations/perceptions to slot into the narrator's summation of the human condition in general, but that doesn't make them accurate, necessarily, so this one aspect sticks in at least my craw.
Erikson has constructed a story that wallows gleefully in its self-aware shamelessness (the scene between the critic and the narrator where they are discussing just how shallow, subtlety-lacking, and self-aware this conversation is springs to mind). It is a criticism of society and human nature bound up in an uproarious post-modern fantasy farce, highlighting extremes of venality in an intentionally ludicrous situation (oh yes, the horses and mules have been granted dispensation from being eaten, as have every character--no matter how useless to the group they are--besides the artists).
One thing that I was gratified to see in evidence was the book's (lack of) ties to Erikson's other work: while thematically strong, such ties are otherwise nearly non-existent. One needs simply to know that the two characters on the front cover are evil men who delight in their remorselessly evil deeds--a fact given ample reference on the back cover and in the opening pages of the book itself, to the careful reader.
Perhaps this story is written specifically for a small audience. It is certainly written for the artist (be she or he poet, author, painter: whatever), or at least any who suffer to create and suffer to see their art savaged in the wild; and for those who can let go of their own preconceptions and biases and simply permit Erikson to run roughshod over their beliefs long enough for him to conclude his own arguments; and for those who appreciate elevated diction and refuse to eschew needless obfuscation; and for those who can appreciate it as an homage to the Canterbury Tales fused with the Donner Party; and for those who simply want to see Erikson cut loose on a wild, chaotic ride. Needless to say, that one necessarily must to fit neatly into most if not all of these categories to derive such pleasure from the book as I do naturally limits the audience. Nonetheless, I am left agape and humbled by its ambition and execution. We all need to sing not to be supper in any case; Erikson simply presents this notion in the most naked and literal terms possible.
March 29, 2018
This slender volume of the continuation of the tales of Bauchelain and Korbal Broach is quite a tricky one. There's not a lot of pages but the reading is dense and there's a lot of thinking about what is written, so much so that you realize- after a good half of the book - that our characters of Bauchelain and Korbal Broach are missing. They aren't there. Instead we are thrown into the most incredibly miss-matched group of people you can imagine, all on a pilgrimage of sorts. (Heavily accented on the 'GRIM' aspect let me tell you). It's kind of like being on a surreal, murderous Canterbury Tales where those that are selected to tell their story are rewarded with their life if the crowd is pleased and the last one standing at the end wins.
So it's a lovely story about the horridness, the appalling ethics and reasoning, that the 'normal' person seems to be blessed with. Forget about being a necromancer! Just being alive counts for some nasty behavior.
Too funny and wonderfully written with tongue in cheek. There's a lot of cheek in this wee tome, with a very sarcastic look at what goes for civilized.
So it's a lovely story about the horridness, the appalling ethics and reasoning, that the 'normal' person seems to be blessed with. Forget about being a necromancer! Just being alive counts for some nasty behavior.
Too funny and wonderfully written with tongue in cheek. There's a lot of cheek in this wee tome, with a very sarcastic look at what goes for civilized.
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