Joe Abercrombie, The Heroes

Corporal Tunny tried to hop from one patch of yellow weed to another, the regimental standard held high above the filth in his left hand, his right already spattered to the shoulder from slips into the scum.  The bog was pretty much what Tunny had been expecting.  And that wasn't a good thing.

The place was a maze of sluggish channels of brown water, streaked on the surface with multi-coloured oil, with rotten leaves, with smelly froth, ill-looking rushes scattered at random.  If you put down your foot and it only squelched in to the ankle, you counted yourself lucky.  Here and there some species of hell-tree had wormed its leathery roots deep enough to stay upright and hang out a few lank leaves, festooned with beards of brown creeper and sprouting with outsize mushrooms.  There was a persistent croaking that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.  Some cursed variety of bird, or frog, or insect, but Tunny couldn't see any of the three.  Maybe it was just the bog itself, laughing at them. (p. 170)

The above quote, taken from Joe Abercrombie's fifth novel, The Heroes, at first glance may not seem to be an important scene or plot event, but it is representative of the style of writing toward which I found myself reacting a few weeks ago when I read this recently-released novel.  Abercrombie's novels, particularly his last two, have always struck me as relying heavily upon visuals in order to carry the weight of his story and sometimes this is unsatisfactory.  Although not nearly as poor as his 2009 novel, Best Served Cold, which I found to be dull, repetitive, and ultimately shallow under its glossy veneer of vividly-described scenes and occasionally amusing character dynamics, The Heroes never rose above its setting. 

Revolving around three days of battle between the Union and the Northmen for control of the northern part of the world established first in The First Law series, the story follows a set of characters, returning and new alike, who are involved in the events leading up to three days of battle and that battle's immediate aftermath.  Doubtless, fans of the so-called "gritty" fantasy would enjoy the grimness of the setting and some of the events that happened to the characters, but I found myself thinking that there was nothing new here, that Abercrombie pretty much was re-exploring the same territory already trod earlier in his first four novels, with nothing really new added to the mix.  The characters did not interest me; there were few complexities and occasionally the dialogue felt stilted and rather trite at times.  It was for me the literary equivalent of seeing Sam Worthington attempt to act in the remake of Clash of the Titans. 

I just was not engaged with this novel.  A contributing factor might have been reading Dostoevsky's The Brothers Karamazov prior to this, but for whatever reason, the prose just felt flat and lifeless beyond the visuals that constitute a large percentage of this novel.  Some readers just are not drawn to having so much described to them and I certainly found myself glazing over large sections, wondering when something inventive or at least well-executed would appear; it rarely did.  Weeks later, I struggle to remember much of anything about the characters, as they are still mostly ciphers to me, yet ones devoid of any real meaning to be unlocked.

Sometimes, a reader/reviewer just is not drawn to a work and while I could see where some readers might be fascinated by Abercrombie's wit (for myself, it failed to amuse after I sensed only a few humorous notes were being played over and over again through his novels) or by what he has to say about older conceptions of heroic/epic fantasy motifs.  For myself, what he has to say in that regard just does not interest me.  Not a book that I would recommend to people who want more than just a grimmer, more sardonic take on a literary subgenre whose main tenants are so often lampooned.

Gotta love feedback

A little over a year ago, I reviewed Joe Abercrombie's The Last Argument of Kings for Strange Horizons. The first of a few reviews I've done for paying venues, I hadn't thought to check and see if there were any new responses to it until just now, when I checked the Referrers section of my Sitemeter stats and saw the link back to SH. So I clicked and saw that there was indeed a new comment, one from three months ago. Interesting little bit:

Posted by Paul Adrianson at February 24, 2009 1:31 AM:

The beautiful thing about fantasy novels of this caliber is that it elicits such in depth scrutiny from the likes of yourself which tells me how well written and refreshing this epic series was. You really had to dig to find some kind of critical dribble on such a well written series with such realitic characters. Glokta was by far the most well developed character. I question the depth of your assessment of this series. What is your benchmark for comparison. I would use a writer like Terry Goodkind or the like.

Umm...how to react to something like this? Thought about not saying anything at all, especially since it's over three months since it was posted, but it is interesting to see what someone who isn't familiar with my reading preferences thinks about them based solely on a single review. While I probably could reply with some snark about how it really wasn't that hard to "find some kind of critical dribble" when I found those asides of the author to be annoying on a regular basis, among other things, I am only left wondering how my mixed reaction to one volume equates to the response generated. I guess fanboys come in all shapes and forms.

Anyways, here's the chance to weigh in on this year-old review. Feel free to dissect it, since it won't hurt me any, being the toughened SOB that I am. Just don't mention that one author that this commentator did, OK?

Strange Horizons review of Joe Abercrombie's Last Argument of Kings

My Strange Horizons review of Abercrombie's third book just now went live.

Joe Abercrombie, Before They Are Hanged

The middle section of a trilogy series generally suffers from the "middle child" syndrome. Such books are expected to maintain the momentum of the opening section, to expand and explore more what was revealed in that volume, to ratchet up the intrigue, conflicts, and character development, while all the time doing this without a defined beginning and end. A great many middle volumes suffer under the weight of such reader expectations, often justified by the author devoting too much time towards one course of action at the expense of another.

In many ways, Joe Abercrombie's Before They Are Hanged is a standard middle volume. The events of The Blade Itself are explored in more depth, while the action expands to an even larger scale from the first volume. But unlike many other writers of multivolume epic fantasies, Abercrombie's focus is more on the characters than on the scenery. As with many other character-driven stories, one's enjoyment of the book (and the series) will ultimately depend upon how much one can empathize with his characters.

Before They Are Hanged begins very soon after the events of The Blade Itself. The Union is further pressed by the Gurkish Empire and the cannibalistic outlaws, the Eaters, led by one of twelve former apprentices to one of the greatest Mages of all time. The crippled, cynical Inquisitor, Superior Glokta, has been charged to solve the disappearance of his predecessor while the capital is threatened by enemy forces both within and outside the city walls. The mysterious and rather self-important mage Bayaz, another of the twelve former apprentices of Euz, has begun a quest to find a mysterious but deadly artifact from the old days before the First Law was declared and all contact with the Other World is forbidden. Bayaz's motley band of companions, from the feared Logen Ninefingers (often better known by his moniker of the Bloody Nine) to the surly and somewhat mysterious Ferro Maljinn to the effete nobleman Jezal dan Luthar, based on their plot situations would seem to be drawn from Epic Fantasy Casting Central. However, Abercrombie is not satisfied with following the tried-and-true formula for writing an epic fantasy quest, instead aiming to turn some of its conventions on its head. Whether or not he succeeds in this is up to the reader; for myself, a re-read this past week left me with mixed feelings regarding the execution.

As in the first book, Glokta is the most nuanced and intriguing character. Here, we learn more about how he went from being an acclaimed war hero to a tortured prisoner to the Inquisitor Superior of the present story. In a key passage early in the book, Glokta is conversing with Kahdia, one of Dagoska's councilors. The talk is of the impending Gurkish invasion, but Glokta's rather cynical appraisal of the similarities between the two groups sparks a heated response:

"To an outsider, the two of you seem to have much in common."

"To an ignorant outsider, we do. We both have dark skin, and we both pray to God, but that is the full extent of the similarity. We Dagoskans have never been a warlike people. We remained here on our peninsula, confident in the strength of our defences, while the Gurkish Empire spread like a cancer across the Kantic continent. We thought their conquests were none of our concern. That was our folly. Emissaries came to our gates, demanding that we kneel before the Gurkish Emperor, and acknowledge that the prophet Khalul speaks with the voice of God. We would do neither, and Khalul swore to destroy us. Now, it seems, he will finally succeed. All of the South will be his dominion." And the Arch Lector will not be in the least amused.

"Who knows? Perhaps God will come to your aid."

"God favors those who solve their own problems."

"Perhaps we can solve some problems between us."

"I have no interest in helping you."

"Even if you help yourself as well? I have it in mind to issue a decree. The gates of the Upper City will be opened, your people will be allowed to come and go in their own city as they please. The Spicers will be turned out of the Great Temple, and it shall once again be your sacred ground. The Dagoskans will be permitted to carry arms; indeed, we will provide you with weapons from our own armories. The natives will be treated like full citizens of the Union. They deserve nothing less."

"So. So." Kahdia clasped his hands together and sat back in his creaking chair. "Now, with the Gurkish knocking at the gates, you come to Dagoska, flaunting your little scroll as though it was the word of God, and you choose to do the right thing. You are not like all the others. You are a good man, a fair man, a just man. You expect me to believe this?"

"Honestly? I don't care a shit what you believe, and I care about doing the right thing even less - that's all a matter of who you ask. As for being a good man," and Glokta curled his lip, "that ship sailed long ago, and I wasn't even there to wave it off. I'm interested in holding Dagoska. That and nothing else." (pp. 89-90 Pyr ARC edition)

Glokta claims here to be anything but interested in doing what is "good," however his actions immediately following this and towards the end of the book belie those disclaimers. His character is done quite well, especially in this scene, however there were times in his chapters that too much emphasis is placed on telling what is transpiring, stating what these characters are, rather than relying upon the inherent tension between a knowledgeable epic fantasy reader's expectations for such a stock character's purpose and actions and what Abercrombie actually has this character and others accomplish. While this is not something that kills any enjoyment that may be derived from the book, I found myself wishing more and more as the story progressed that Abercrombie would have kept the hints of "hey, this stock character is not going to react in stock character type but instead in more cynical and 'real' ways!" to a minimum, as I felt it impeded the flow of the story.

This tendency becomes more pronounced in the Quest segment involving Bayaz and crew. While Abercrombie does not have magically easy lust/love spring up between sparring partners, the situation that does arise depends too much at times upon reader expectations of such events for there to be anything really meaningful occurring between the characters. Ferro and Logan's later interactions appear to be played up more for giggles in places than for any real establishment of a complex and rich character interaction. The same goes for Bayaz and his erstwhile apprentice, Quai; the amount of sniping and snide remarks ends up feeling as though Abercrombie laid it on too thick, making for characters that feel restrained too much by the plot demands from becoming true three-dimensional characters that are "alive" and which "breathe" outside of the plot demands.

As a plotted story, Before They Are Hanged reads well on a first read. The choppiness of the first book has been smoothed out and the action develops nicely. There are scenes full of great dramatic tension, but ultimately the uneven characterization and the over-reliance upon cynical takes on stock characters makes for a story whose promise remains somewhat unfulfilled. Before They Are Hanged is far from a bad story; it really is quite good in places. It just fails in those "little things" from rising to become an excellent middle volume. Recommended, with some reservations regarding re-readability.

Publication Date: March 2007 (UK), hardcover and tradeback; March 2008 (US), tradeback.

Publishers: Gollancz (UK); Pyr (US)

Joe Abercrombie, The Blade Itself

At first glance, there is nothing new, original, or earth-shattering about Joe Abercrombie's debut novel, The Blade Itself. The first of a trilogy (set to conclude next month in the UK and in the fall in the US) called The First Law, the storylines revolve around four main, rather stereotypical character roles: a barbarian, a torturer, a nobleman, and a mysterious wizard. One may be pardoned after reading the above sentence (or the blurb on the back of the American edition) if s/he thought that this tale would be but one more epic fantasy adventure of travel, with "plot coupons," and battles and conquests and feats of magic that defy the odds...and many readers' lowered expectations. However, in this opening book, Abercrombie injects a bit of a cynicism into the mix, sometimes doffing his authorial cap to the epic-wearied reader with tidbits such as the following scene between the noble-born Jezal and the sister of a commander-friend of his, Ardee West:

"How's the book?" asked Jezal.

"The Fall of the Master Maker, in three volumes. They say it's one of the great classics ... Full of wise Magi, stern knights with mighty swords and ladies with mightier bosoms. Magic, violence and romance, in equal measure. Utter shit." She slapped the book off the table and it tumbled onto the carpet, pages flapping. (p. 185)

When I first read this book back in January, I approached it with some skepticism. I had heard many almost rapturous reviews of the work, about how it "subverts" the standard epic fantasy tropes and how the wit and humor are excellent, etc. After a few bad experiences with such heightened expectations, I lowered my hopes. I just could not see how a story could be attention-grabbing and original if, as the few bits and pieces of actual detail I gleaned from the first reviews indicated, the action took place in a standard-issue cod-medieval setting with character types that might have come from Epic Casting Central. But I resolved to give it a chance and to see if Abercrombie's story and characters could make a positive impressive.

For the most part, this opening sequence exceeded my modest expectations and did little to change my beginning impressions. The introductory scene, with the northern barbarian Logen Ninefingers (who happens to be missing his "bird" finger, which I thought was a nice touch) fleeing from the Dogman member of a northern tribe in a land called Angland (itself a possible play off of so many thinly-disguised analogues for England), provided a false start. After this fast-paced action scene, we are introduced to each of the other main characters of this novel in segments that felt a bit too short before the next PoV section would begin. This ultimately led to a disjointed feel to the novel, as though the entire book were comprised of four sets of opening prologues to the action rather than being a work in which there were distinct rises and falls in action.

Normally, these faults alone would be enough to damn the book. However, Abercrombie's saving grace here was how he took these stock characters and instilled some sense of individuality to them. While I felt at times that he used asides too often (particularly in the italicized quips of the torturer, Glokta), for the most part his characters have a fairly realistic attitude of world-weariness leavened with some rather biting humor. Below is from the introductory Glokta segment, in which Glokta's old war injuries are alluded to in a rather interesting way:

If Glokta had been given the opportunity to torture any one man, anyone at all, he would surely have chosen the inventor of steps. When he was young and widely admired, before his misfortunes, he had never really noticed them. He had sprung down them two at a time and gone blithely on his way. No more. They're everywhere. You really can't change floors without them. And down is worse than up, that's the thing that people never realise. Going up, you usually don't fall that far.

He knew this flight well. Sixteen steps, cut from smooth stone, a little worn toward the centre, slightly damp, like everything down here. There was no banister, nothing to cling to. Sixteen enemies. A challenge indeed. It had taken Glokta a long time to develop the least painful method of descending stairs. He went sideways like a crab. Cane first, then left foot, then right, with more than the usual agony as his left leg took his weight, joined by a persistent stabbing in the neck. Why should it hurt in my neck when I go down stairs? Does my neck take my weight? Does it? Yet the pain could not be denied. (pp. 16-17)

Instead of launching into a long infodump regarding Glokta's past that would have been inconsistent with the limited third-person point-of-view perspective that this scene has taken, Abercrombie smartly lets the reader get the idea for her/himself of Glokta's bodily ruin without belaboring the point. Later in the series, these injuries are shown to have some consequence when Glokta deals with another.

In another scene, the barbarian Logen Ninefingers reveals his thoughts on a situation that runs counter to what a stock barbarian might have said in regards to the glories of war:

Logen winced. In his youth, he would have loved to answer that very question. He could have bragged, and boasted, and listed the actions he'd been in, the Named Men he'd killed. He couldn't say now when the pride had dried up. It had happened slowly. As the wars became bloodier, as the causes became excuses, as the friends went back to the mud, one by one. Logen rubbed at his ear, felt the big notch that Tul Duru's sword had made, long ago. He could have stayed silent. But for some reason, he felt the need to be honest.

"I've fought in three campaigns," he began. "In seven pitched battles. In countless raids and skirmishes and desperate defences, and bloody actions of every kind. I've fought in the driving snow, the blasting wind, the middle of the night. I've been fighting all my life, one enemy or another, one friend or another. I've known little else. I've seen men killed for a word, for a look, for nothing at all. A woman tried to stab me once for killing her husband, and I threw her down a well. And that's far from the worst of it. Life used to be cheap as dirt to me. Cheaper."

"I've fought ten single combats and I won them all, but I fought on the wrong side and for all the wrong reasons. I've been ruthless, and brutal, and a coward. I've stabbed men in the back, burned them, drowned them, crushed them with rocks, killed them asleep, unarmed, or running away. I've run away myself more than once. I've pissed myself with fear. I've begged for my life. I've been wounded, often, and badly, and screamed and cried like a baby whose mother took her tit away. I've no doubt the world would be a better place if I'd been killed years ago, but I haven't been, and I don't know why."

He looked down at his hands, pink and clean on the stone. "There are few men with more blood on their hands than me. None, that I know of. The Bloody-Nine they call me, my enemies, and there's a lot of 'em. Always more enemies, and fewer friends. Blood gets you nothing but more blood. It follows me now, always, like my shadow, and like my shadow I can never be free of it. I should never be free of it. I've earned it. I've deserved it. I've sought it out. Such is my punishment." (pp. 146-147)

Yes, these are some wounded, weary characters that populate this tale. While the notion of a barbarian north or of some nefarious evil group arising from the transgression of some law (in this case, there are two Laws, the First dealing with contacts with the other world of demons and the Second concerning with the consumption of human flesh) is a rather worn epic fantasy trope, it is due to the strength of Abercrombie's characterizations and the rather up-close and personal approach to the storytelling that manages to keep the plot just interesting enough for readers to want more. And while I have held off discussing the characters of the nobelman Jezal and the wizard Bayaz for now, due to events transpiring here that will be explored in much greater detail in the next couple of volumes, the scenes I cited above are representative of their general introductions and character developments. The "action," such as it is, is more of a set-up for the following two volumes, but with the promise that what follows after will make these oft-meandering plot threads into portents of something rather moving.

Publication Date: March 8, 2007 (UK); September 6, 2007 (US), Tradeback.

Publishers: Gollancz (UK); Pyr (US).