This post contains book-destroying SPOILERS for Towers of Midnight by Robert Jordan and Brandon Sanderson. The non-spoiler post is here.
Continue reading “Jordan, Robert, and Brandon Sanderson: (13) Towers of Midnight (spoilers)”
Jordan, Robert, and Brandon Sanderson: (13) Towers of Midnight
So I have finally carved out enough time to finish the latest Wheel of Time book by Robert Jordan and Brandon Sanderson, Towers of Midnight. This is the penultimate book in the series and the middle book of the three that Sanderson is completing from the work Jordan left behind, and it really feels it, in ways that makes it hard for me to give a coherent evaluation of it as a single book. In fact, my dominant impression is that this book, far more than the previous one, brings home to me just how difficult it is to conclude this series.
One of the difficulties is pacing. This book starts a little slow in that its early sections are more concerned with personal interactions than major plot events. This is entirely welcome—indeed, my mental designation for this book is “the one where people finally talk to each other, already”—and I didn’t notice it while I was reading, because it mostly flowed smoothly [*] and I was pleased at the substance, but still, from a step back, the book does take a while to get going. Similarly, Perrin’s arc, which is central to this book the way that Egwene’s was to the last, has a wheel-spinning quality early.
[*] There are still some jarring prose bits, though I noticed fewer of them here. In particular, no-one in a quasi-medieval society should ever think, “She’d been played,” when realizing that she’s been manipulated.
Yet, paradoxically, many of the events in this book also felt ever-so-slightly rushed. While it feels entirely ungrateful to complain about this when I actually stopped reading the series earlier because everything was so drawn out, I’m still not quite satisfied with the balance struck here. Which brings me back to the difficulty of concluding the series, especially one where many resolutions have been anticipated for so long. This book also stands alone less well than The Gathering Storm, which is not a surprise given that the next volume is the last and that it is effectively the middle book in the concluding trilogy.
To conclude my list of things that make me feel a little removed from the book as a whole, I think neither Jordan nor Sanderson is the writer to pull off the characterization of Rand in this book. I can see the logic behind it, but I don’t feel it emotionally, because it’s a heck of a difficult thing to convey and that level of delicacy is not something I associate with either of them.
All that said (and note I am very, very busy and sleep-deprived right now): there was a lot of really good stuff in this book. I don’t want to get too specific here, but I was very pleased with various character developments, I sniffled on occasion, I was genuinely surprised at some points [**] and creeped out at others, and I stayed up too late reading it when I really couldn’t afford to. I’m glad I read it and I’m eager for the last book, though I lean toward recommending that someone wait until next year and read the final two books back-to-back, because I suspect this one might work better that way.
[**] And not just the appearance of a very, very minor character named after me, though that was extremely surprising (and pleasing!) when people told me about it. (Early in Chapter 5, page 104 of the U.S. hardcover; Sanderson was picking some names from a list of charity donors.)
A spoiler post follows.
Caudwell, Sarah: (01-03) Thus Was Adonis Murdered; The Shortest Way to Hades; The Sirens Sang of Murder (re-read)
This is as good a time as any to note that I re-read the first three of Sarah Caudwell’s novels semi-recently (Thus Was Adonis Murdered, The Shortest Way to Hades, and The Sirens Sang of Murder); I’ve been telling myself that I’ll also re-read the fourth, but I think it’s time to admit that’s not happening any time soon.
I only have a few notes to add to my initial comments. First, I wasn’t quite right when I said that same-sex relationships were unremarked; they are called “unorthodox,” but there’s no hint of a moral dimension to that characterization. Second (and spoilery; ROT-13, see sidebar), va abar bs gur obbxf qbrf n zheqrere tb gb gevny, which I find interesting considering that they were written by a lawyer (and a tax planner, considering the third). And third: no, seriously, why are they all friends with Hilary?
Anyway, still highly delicious. And next time I will re-read the fourth to see how I think it stands in relation to the rest now.
Hitt, Jack, et al., Perfect Murder, The
So my plan to booklog daily in fifteen-minute increments stopped almost before it began, but I have a book that has to go back to the library tomorrow that I want to quote from, specifically The Perfect Murder, by Jack Hitt with Lawrence Block, Sarah Caudwell, Tony Hillerman, Peter Lovesey, and Donald E. Westlake. I heard about this book when I was enthusing over Sarah Caudwell and a friend said her contributions were terrific.
And so they are. The premise is that a rather insufferable man writes to a bunch of mystery writers asking for advice on how to commit a masterpiece of murder. (I would recommend skimming his initial letter until he starts laying out practicalities, because I nearly sprained my eyes rolling them before then. Yes, I know it’s characterization, that doesn’t mean I enjoy reading it.) Caudwell’s response begins,
My Dear Tim,
Let me say, before we go any further, that I cannot hear of your committing a murder in the United States of America. It is, quite simply, out of the question.
You aspire not merely to murder but to Art, and in any work of art the choice of background is of critical importance. . . .
I should be sorry to offend your patriotic sensibilities—but you do see, don’t you, that the United States simply will not do? In a country where the homicides of a single day are too numerous to be fully reported on the television news—where every schoolchild expects a firearm for the next Christmas or birthday present—where minor disagreements betwen motorists are commonly resolved by an exchange of bullets—in such a country any murder, however interesting or bizarre its incidental features, is doomed to be essentially commonplace.
No, Tim, if you are to achieve distinction you must cross the Atlantic.
I do so adore Sarah Caudwell.
As this might imply, the writers’ responses are, objectively, not to be taken seriously; but within the framework, they manage to convincingly suggest that their emotions and professional pride are involved. Which is a neat trick and which leads to amusements when Tim sends them all each other’s initial responses. I particularly liked Block’s summation of what he expected the other writers to send:
Westlake would enlist the aid of some bumbling criminals, and he’d have all of them try to kill your wife, and they’d all fail, until she died laughing. Lovesey would have her slain in the ring by a bare-knuckled pugilist. Hillerman would dress you up in a feather headdress and have you make a sand painting, calling down the Great Spirit to crush your wife to death in a buffalo stampede. And Caudwell would shuttle you between Lincoln’s Inn and the Isles of Greece, in the company of people named Ragweed and Catnip.
I may never be able to think of Ragwort and Cantrip by their correct names again.
Anyway, I found this entertaining bedtime fluff, and if you like any of the authors in question, it’s worth checking your local library or used bookstore for a copy.