Re-read – Assassin’s Apprentice, Chapters 1-2

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This post is the first in a series, reading through the Farseer Trilogy and the Tawny Man Trilogy. Expect spoilers, and probably a lot of waffle.

One – The Earliest History

So we start with tradition, on the importance of names and how they are sealed to the child that bears them – and yet the narrator does not name himself. That must’ve been hard work getting that down, considering by the end of the first page he has given up on his history of the Six Duchies and launches into his own instead. We get Fedwren, and Patience, and the Skill, and Chivalry, and Verity, and Burrich, and Jason (feeling a little out of place, not that he would let it show on his face), and Regal, and Vixen, and Nosey…but the narrator remains nameless.

It’s established early doors that the Skill (it might be the Skill, he isn’t sure) has given him perfect recall, which – if true – tees the narrator up as that oddest of things: a reliable one. That said, he is telling a story entirely based on his own point of view and experience and the subjective truth of his account can’t necessarily be held as the objective truth. Certainly, he holds plenty back for chronology’s sake and – as we quickly discover – loves a good mopey wallow.

I like Verity. He says “damn” a lot.

Two – Newboy

We learn a bit about the Skill here – I love the idea that it comes from mixing the bloodlines between the mainland and the Islands – but more to the point we learn a lot more about the Wit. Fitz (still not officially named, but Burrich has dropped it a few times) has power enough at six to knock a grown man off his feet, although he doesn’t know how it works. He shares the memories and senses of his dog, and after a brief period spent running with street urchins down ‘t town (during which we meet Molly, who gets enough pages and backstory to label her “Gun” and stick her up on the mantelpiece for later) we discover that the Wit is an abomination. We learn this from Burrich, master of all things hawk, hound, and horse, who has an uncanny knack with animals and appears to be immune to Fitz’s power to repel. We’ll pop a pin in that one too, shall we?

Aside from his Aladdin montage in the town, Fitz doesn’t really do that much in the opening of the book. He is basically the wide-eyed conduit for all the stuff that’s going on and will presumably be important later. It’s saved from being dull as ditchwater by being really well written – lots of little bits of detail and flavour throughout but none of it really being slammed down on the page. Oh, and obviously Fitz feels horrible about everything. EVERYTHING. Just take it for granted that at every point so far Fitz has been desperately unhappy both at the time and in hindsight. He’s super psyched about running around sharing minds with a dog, but even that ends with his mental link vanishing in a “red flash of pain” and a well of depression so deep that the next two years pass in another montage.

I know, I know. Only two chapters. In my defence, they are very long, and I could easily have used up 600 words talking about just the first one.

Blowing off the dust and cobwebs.

It’s been a while since I posted anything on here. Frankly, it’s been a while since I’ve felt like posting anything. Eastercon was brilliant – I had a really good time – but I was a bit down after it because I know I won’t be attending the big cons over the summer. Eastercon was, basically, it. 

Piling onto that work commitments, hospital appointments, a leaky bathroom, a bedroom plagued by mould (we discovered it was not underlay under the carpet, but *another carpet*, replete with dubious stains and manky damp bits), and just a general feeling of being crushed by everything all at once, I just let the ‘blog go fallow for a bit. You all understand.

In other news, we put Aoife on a swing. She loved it.

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Along with the ‘blog, the writing has taken a bit of a hit over the past week or so. I’ve got a short story to finish, though, so that should be a nice leg up in getting back on it. I’ve been writing/planning a new novel, which – for the first time – has seen me cracking out the index cards to do a bit of planning. Developing some new skills can’t hurt, can it? Also, thinking up names is bullshit. Full-on bullshit. I want a sealed deck of cards covered in interesting, not-weird-sounding names that I can just crack open and start flinging up onto the corkboard. I managed to royally piss off an old WoW friend by admitting that I’d used the name of one of the other Rogues from our raiding days as a character and not him.

I was going to re-start the ‘blog with a book review, but the last book I read was not my cup of tea at all. It made me so angry I was sending all caps DMs to my friends on Twitter just so SOMEONE would know how much rage I felt. While a hatchet job would be cathartic, I’d really prefer to just keep things light on here.

Instead, I thought I’d do a re-read of the Farseer Trilogy and the Tawny Man Trilogy. The Farseer Trilogy was one of the first fantasy series I read, coming on the tail end of a childhood defined by the vistas offered by our local library’s Withdrawn table*: techno-thrillers (Tom Clancy represent!), South Africa (Wilbur Smith), and horror (Stephen King/Brian Lumley). I was not an easy convert. I had avoided my brother’s complete Lord of the Rings (won as a prize for achievement at school, a beautiful edition which we immediately marred with a splodge of raspberry sauce from celebratory ice cream) and tried to read the Belgariad a few years earlier: I can distinctly remember slapping the book shut after it started on about Grolims.

The Farseer Trilogy worked for me. It was slow going, but I loved it. LOVED it.

So, when a new book in the series was announced, I was pretty excited. Excited enough that reading all six books again before release day (question: to do the Liveship Traders as well, or just the six? We’ll see how the time goes) struck me as a great idea. And since I haven’t ‘blogged on here in a while, I might as well write about it. Just don’t expect much structure or sense to it. I’ve never tried a read-through ‘blog before, much less a series of linked posts.

So, onward!

 

*true story. For a really long time, book shopping meant taking my £1 pocket money and filling a 65L purple rucksack with books.