A real page turner – Scott Lynch’s “The Lies of Locke Lamora”

I have a test I should be studying for. I also had three other books ahead of this one on the to-read list. Including one (John C. Wright's The Golden Age, which I have since returned to and am enjoying), that was loaned to me by a co-worker. So what made me start Scott Lynch's The Lies of Locke Lamora? I'm unsure. I honestly wasn't all that impressed by the cover or the synopses that I've read, and I have had a hit-or-miss experience picking up books that seem to be generating a buzz around the blogosphere, but for whatever reason I picked up Lies and started it. After that, there was no putting it down. I brought it to work with me. The co-worker who loaned me his book knows that I started reading another fantasy novel instead. However, I didn't really care, because this book is that good. It's been a while since I read a page-turner that I actually had trouble putting down, but The Lies of Locke Lamora fits the bill. I thoroughly enjoyed it, and I hope that anyone who hasn't yet gotten the chance to read it does so soon.

The book is set in the city of Camorr, which bears a striking resemblance to Venice, if perhaps slightly more brutal than that storied city. Locke Lamora is one of any number of unwanted children in Camorr, scooped up early for a life of crime. Our hero, however, is a bit cleverer and certainly more daring than many of his compatriots, so he quickly rises to the rank of garrista, leading his band of criminals, the Gentlemen Bastards, and answerable only to the Capa of Camorr, Vencarlo Barsavi. Of course, not all is as it seems in this twisting tale, and by the end of the novel, questions have been asked, seemingly answered, and then asked again about Locke's role as a thief, his loyalty to the Capa, and to the Capa's daughter Nazca, as well as the identity of the mysterious stranger who is out killing Barsavi's garristas, and the stability of the secret peace between the criminals and nobility which preserves the city of Camorr. Locke Lamora dances through these intricate plots, always just one step ahead of one or another of the revelations that should trip him up and send the whole grand scheme tumbling down.

Lynch's storytelling is masterful, and his writing is good enough to keep the story moving, if rarely extraordinary. The first sections of the book flit back and forth between Locke the six-year-old just learning his trade and Locke the confident garrista planning his next confidence game. Lynch does an excellent job of dropping just enough worldbuilding into Locke's "lessons" to make sure that his readers can keep up, without just throwing out an infodump that would lead someone to put the book down. After you're far enough in to be able to keep up with the crosses and double-crosses, plus have something invested in the characters, Lynch lets the reader have it. Camorr is a brutal town, and the Right People, as the thieves are known, are not very nice either, particularly when someone is sneaking through their territory and killing their leaders. Where Robert Jordan generally backed away from scenes of questioning, letting the reader's (or questioned's) imagination do much of the work for him, Lynch occasionally shows the underside of the glorious city of Camorr. The thieves of Camorr play for keeps, and Locke and his band are some of the best in the business.

The Lies of Locke Lamora may not have been the best book I've read this year (though I'm hard pressed to think of a better), but it is certainly one of the best fantasy novels I have ever encountered. I think the closest comparison to another recent author I've read would be Patrick Rothfuss, whose Name of the Wind I reviewed a while ago. As I mentioned last week, both Rothfuss and Lynch are happy writing fantasy with a more urban bent and an unbelievably intelligent protagonist, but where Rothfuss is clearly a part of the epic fantasy tradition, Lynch writes on a smaller scale but with a faster pace. Do yourself a favor and read The Lies of Locke Lamora. Just make sure you have some time set aside, since your other priorities are likely to shift until you can finish it.

A state of the field

I just started The Lies of Locke Lamora, by Scott Lynch. Those who remember my review of The Blade Itself may recall that my disappointment with Abercrombie made me less interested in reading Lies, which was published by the same house and with similar hype. Fortunately, while perusing the bookshelves I came across Lies in good condition, and no other books I really wanted to read. With that ringing endorsement, I started a day or two ago, and I'm delighted that I did. The Lies of Locke Lamora, thus far, is charming and excellently written, having more in common with Patrick Rothfuss' The Name of the Wind that Abercrombie's novels. With a primarily urban setting (Rothfuss' was set in a university, but given the sweeping panorama of mountains and woods that so many epic fantasies inhabit, we'll call The Name of the Wind more urban), a relatively centralized locale, and a protagonist with limited morals and an overabundance of intelligence, Lynch and Rothfuss managed to tap into a similar unexplored vein within the fantasy genre.

This is probably a good thing, because many of the novels that are coming out today are filling in the framework of what defines the epic tradition, rather than breaking truly new ground. Let's be honest, the single grand narrative has been done in spectacular fashion, warts and all. I'm sure that there will come after Jordan others who write fantasy in that vein, and there are already many who have taken on his project on a less grand scale, but the Wheel of Time series is likely to stand as one of the defining pillars of the fantasy tradition for a long time to come. (If for no other reason that that once an author has the chops to take on such a grand narrative, there is a very real question about whether they will be able to finish it.) Similarly, Steven Erikson's Malazan Book of the Fallen has probably pushed the envelope on worldbuilding with a steep learning curve as far as it can go. Shifting away from magic towards a grittier medieval fantasy setting, A Song of Ice and Fire is doing a pretty good job of setting the standard for the next generation to come. After acknowledging Eddings, Weis & Hickman, and Terry Brooks, it's also pretty clear that the simple adventure story a la Mr. Tolkien himself has been pretty well roughed out, which begs the question of where new material will be coming from.

This is not to say that I think that fantasy has played itself out, or is in any danger of doing so. In fact, the future now looks much brighter than it did a few years ago. Lynch and Rothfuss are doing a good job of showing that a more urban setting, with a character who more closely resembles James Bond than an erstwhile sidekick thrust into the limelight makes for pretty compelling reading. I think it's safe to say that these two may be erecting the foundation for a substantial addition to the structure that we call "fantasy". I'm skeptical about how far an author can go in the direction that Abercrombie is leading, because it seems to me that his novels rely in part on a reaction against the fantasy establishment, but certainly there is room for a more vulgar and pedestrian fantasy genre. R. Scott Bakker's The Prince of Nothing series embraces the medieval setting and outlook in a way that I think few fantasy novels do (despite their frequent use of a medieval backdrop). The relative underappreciation of his novels may not bode well for other authors attempting to truly embody that medieval worldview, but the early modern time period, as Neil Stephenson has shown, also offers a rich mine for novels choosing to make real an historical worldview and outlook.

In addition, while I may have sounded slightly dismissive of novelists "filling in the framework" of the epic tradition, I'm actually quite excited about many other recent series. While Brian Ruckley's Godless World books probably don't win any originality competitions, I'm definitely enjoying the series, and I think that Ruckley's doing an excellent job of putting his own perspective into an area that other have fleshed out. Similarly, I would easily have considered Greg Keyes' Kingdom of Thorn and Bone, which also seems not to be receiving the attention it deserve, the best find of the year only a few years ago.

Some of my excitement about the current state of fantasy probably has something to do with starting this blog, and seeing what other people are reading and recommending, but I also think that the fantasy genre is doing incredibly well right now. Even as authors like Jordan, Martin, and Erikson are defining some of the paths open to fantasists, Lynch and Rothfuss are sending out reminders that there's still a lot we haven't looked at. Many of the authors who are following in the footsteps of the masters are producing truly high-quality stuff. In addition, I think people are starting to notice some of the paths opened in earlier years, which also haven't been fully explored. Glen Cook's Chronicles of the Black Company, originally published in the mid-eighties was republished by Tor last year. While not the only author to celebrate the shades of gray available in fantasy, Cook's mercenaries are certainly unlikely heroes. L.E. Modessit has made a career of worldbuilding spanning entire novels, tracing the history of the world of Recluce through any number of societal upheavals. Each of these series shows another direction to inspire other authors, another room of the ever-growing house of fantasy to be furnished and explored.

There are plenty of authors and genres I haven't even touched upon – I will freely acknowledge that I'm biased in what I read, and there are any number of other great authors and books out there, but these are some of the books in recent years that have given me new hope. What about you, any thoughts? Is there someone else you think is leading the fantasy genre in a new direction, or putting a new slant on an area that some other author outlined?

A journey through The Commonwealth of Letters

John Myers Myers' Silverlock is one of the best fantasy novels I have ever read. It is the story of A. Clarence Shandon, a very ordinary businessman from Chicago, and his adventures as Shandon Silverlock in the commonwealth of letters. Guided by his friend Golias, who, if he did assemble all his names together, would "be O. Widsith Ambergris Demodocus . . . and let's see, there are others of course, but to cut it short I'll wind up with Boyan Taleisin Golias." Hopefully, you'll recognize at least one or two of Golias' names (for myself, both Taleisin and Demodocus are familiar, and I definitely know a Widsith, although not, I suspect, the one that Myers had in mind). If not, you're in the same boat as Shandon, and he certainly came to enjoy his adventures so there is no reason that you couldn't as well. For those who haven't guessed, The Commonwealth of Letters (known to its inhabitants simply as The Commonwealth) is that place where the best stories you've ever known, and plenty that you've never encountered before, come to take on their own lives. Within a few days, Silverlock has guested with Circe (not the pleasantest of experiences), landed ashore amidst a raiding party with Brodir and Skeggi, traveled the greenwood with Robin Hood, and ended up at Heorot shortly after Beowulf's defeat of Grendel and his mother. From there, the adventures continue as Silverlock crosses the breadth of the commonwealth, eventually seeking out the Hippocrene springs on the order of the ruler of The Commonwealth, the Delian oracle.

Certainly one enjoyable aspect of reading Silverlock is recognizing old friends dressed up in a new setting – the contemplative Beowulf at his victory feast, or the Green Knight awaiting Gawain's arrival, but a familiarity with each of the members of The Commonwealth is not required to enjoy Silverlock. For myself, I would venture to guess that I recognized no better than one in three of Shandon's adventures, and some of the major storylines featured characters who were completely unfamiliar to me. For those who do desire to catch every reference, there are various annotations available to help you catch most, if not all, of the sources the Myers used. More important than catching every last reference is reveling in the spirit of Silverlock. As Golias tells Shandon of the Hippocrene: "The first swallow is the drink of recollection, so you won't forget what you've seen, heard, and done in the Commonwealth. The second is the passport drink, giving you the know-how to find your way back. The third is the maker's drink, no bottom limit to quality guaranteed, and no top specified." For those who have visited The Commonwealth, by whichever way was available, the dangers and potential of Shandon's journey should be instantly familiar, and having heard his quest set out for him, it is impossible not to hope that he will find his way.

Silverlock was originally published in 1949. My version (which is actually the second I have owned, putting Silverlock in rather rare company in our house), was published in 1979 and included rave introductions from Larry Niven, Poul Anderson, and Jerry Pournelle. John Myers Myers' classic is full of a host of characters, some of whom will be familiar, many of whom will be less so. The story itself is that of Everyman, either he of Pilgrim's Progress, or merely every person who has been enchanted by an excellent tale, and in A. Clarence Shandon's progression to Shandon Silverlock, our own journey to and through The Commonwealth of Letters is revealed. As with any classic, re-reading Silverlock offers a greater reward and new perspective each time. Go get yourself a copy of Silverlock. You won't regret it.

Spectacular Science Fiction – Peter Hamilton’s The Reality Dysfunction

My wife discovered Peter Hamilton's Pandora's Star not long ago, and we've both been fans ever since. The Reality Dysfunction, Part I: Emergence, does not disappoint. The worldbuilding is superb; Hamilton's book features marvelously imaginative settings including a bitek space station (a living organism bonded to genetically modified, or geneered, humans), a ruined alien civilization and alcohol so rare it is only available from one planet on a handful of days each year. The Reality Dysfunction does not stop at imaginative settings. The book opens with a space battle that contradicts many of the assumptions built into other science fiction novels. Imagine the dire consequences that another author would hint at but then the characters avoid at the last minute. Hamilton follows through with those threats – this is an uglier and more dangerous spaceflight than exists in so many similar novels.

A plot summary of The Reality Dysfunction sounds rather hackneyed: A scavenger searching the remains of a dead alien civilization makes an invaluable discovery which he sells in order to establish himself as an independent trader using his father's refurbished spaceship. Meanwhile, on the planet Lalonde, human settlers are just starting to establish colonies in the harsh jungles of the world. In a distant settlement, a group of recidivists performing a ceremony of demon-worship succeeds beyond their wildest dreams. Soon, the authorities on Lalonde are dealing with a rebellious countryside and an enemy capable of literally taking possession of human colonists. Part of the story follows the people in Lalonde striving to confront this danger. Elsewhere, trading ships including both our favorite scavenger Joshua Calvert as well as a geneered pilot with a bitek starship who was recently pursuing Calvert in her role as a naval officer, are converging on the planet Norfolk, a low-technology planet whose "tears" are the most highly-sought alcohol in the galaxy. Any summary of the story rings a bit hollow because the genius of Hamilton's The Reality Dysfunction is the level of worldbuilding that the author brings as well as the incredibly inventive creations that appear throughout the universe of The Reality Dysfunction.

There is little more to say about The Reality Dysfunction. Hamilton's writing is aggressive and he writes scenes that other authors writing science fiction often shy away from. The worlds in Hamilton's universe are well-imagined, fully fleshed out and each one fascinating in their own right. The characters are equally interesting and well-developed, from the cynical womanizing Joshua Calvert to the naïve and dutiful Syrinx, the independent Ione, ruler of her own space station, and the vile Quinn Dexter – previously a bit player in a street gang, now the prophet of the light brother on faroff Lalonde. Pandora's Star and Judas Unchained are two of the best science fiction novels I've ever read; with The Reality Dysfunction, Peter Hamilton has introduced another first-rate science fiction novel.

I’m Back!

As you may have gathered from my last post, I'm back! After a move, new responsibilities at work, and the recent addition of a cat to our household, I lost track of writing and blogging a bit, but the posts should be returning, including weekly book reviews (Peter F. Hamilton's The Reality Disfunction up next!) and other random musings.

In order to stay on topic, I do have responses to two books which I'm probably not going to be doing full-fledged reviews of – The Cold Equations, by Tom Godwin, edited by Eric Flint, and Lavinia, by Ursula K. Le Guin.

I first encountered Godwin's short story The Cold Equations in a "best of" science-fiction short story anthology and was blown away – it may be one of the best stories I've ever read. Unfortunately, Godwin's other short stories were a disappointment. The compilation, edited by Eric Flint, has stories full of tough, rugged men protecting poor defenseless women and children from the dangers of the hostile universe. A few stories were close to a traditional science fiction short story, with resourceful men (of course) put into difficult situations and solving them through technological ingenuity. Unfortunately, rather than being impressed with Godwin's cleverness I felt that the "solutions" were closer to techno-babble and hand-waving than actual interesting solutions. By the time I got to the title story at the end, I actually couldn't finish The Cold Equations because of the sour taste Godwin's other stories had left in my mouth. I would heartily recommend The Cold Equations the story to anyone who can get their hands on it. Take a pass on the anthology, however.

Le Guin's Lavinia, however was an absolutely delightful success! The only reason I'm not going to be doing a review is that I checked it out from the library, so I no longer have the book. At some point I do intend to go out and buy it, but for now let me just recommend it to all of you. In college, I read The Aeneid and got to read parts of it in Latin – those who have had this experience may well get more out of Lavinia than those who haven't, but as long as you're familiar with the basic story Lavinia will be a pleasure to read. Le Guin's style is beautiful – Lavinia is a first-person narrative from the latin princess promised to Aeneas, the grand hero from across the seas. The world she creates and the characters who populate it are a joy to read. Meanwhile, the interaction of Le Guin the author and Virgil the poet, as well as the Lavinia who appears in each story, and the Virgil who appears in Lavinia is both delightful and respectful. Whether or not you have any exposure to The Aeneid, go out and read Lavinia. (Which, of course, may just lead you back to The Aeneid.)

Finally, since I've been told that pictures help, here's a picture of our new kitty. He's still a bit skittish, but isn't he pretty?

A novelist writing short stories – L.E. Modesitt Jr.’s latest anthology

In the introduction to Viewpoints Critical, L.E. Modesitt Jr. writes that "I am deeply grateful to Ben Bova, who early on convinced me that my writing future lay in novels." Certainly in this anthology many of the differences between the craft of the novelist and that of the short fiction writer are on display, however despite Modesitt's inclination towards longer works, Viewpoints Critical is one of the better short story anthologies I've read. Of the nineteen stories, four are set in the existing universes of Modesitt's novels (Black Ordermage and Sisters of Sarronyn, Sisters of Westwind expand on the Recluce stories, while Second Coming is an additional story of Jimjoy Wright, the main protagonist of The Parafaith War, and Beyond the Obvious Wind is "the original story that inspired the Corean Chronicles.") Two other stories are clearly influenced by Modesitt's experiences in Vietnam. The remaining pieces range from successful self-contained short stories to delicious hints at novels that haven't been written (but maybe will be). Among the collection, there are only a few disappointments, and a number of standout pieces that would be at home in a "best of" anthology.

I remember reading somewhere that those who can't write poetry do short stories, and those who can't write short stories write novels. I don't know how true that assertion is, but it's certainly true that it's a lot easier to write a good novel than it is a short story. A novel has room to grow and patch over little mistakes. In a short story, there is little room for error. The story arc should be pared down to the barest essentials, hinting at a larger world only when necessary. A novel on the other hand takes some of its strength from the broader world that the author creates. As a novelist, Modesitt excels at worldbuilding. The core of the Recluce saga (from The Magic of Recluse to The Death of Chaos) is essentially a 5-volume exercise in worldbuilding, and later novels also served to flesh out the history Modesitt had created. Worldbuilding, occasionally achieved through expository lectures but more often through fragmentary conversations or the protagonist's wanderings, outlines Modesitt's novels, giving them a depth and purpose that might otherwise be lacking. In the stories in Viewpoints Critical, however Modesitt doesn't have the luxury of developing a fully-realized world. At its best, Modesitt's worldbuilding talents take the form of News Clips Recovered from the NYC Ruins, in which news headlines outline a possible story of New York over the next hundred years. More often, however, when Modessit puts these talents to use the result is not a traditional short story, but more of a preview of a novel that could be. In the case of Fallen Angel, I'm curious enough to want Modesitt to give us more from this world; the concluding story Swan Pilot just feels a bit disappointing and unfocused.

Another central element of many of Modesitt's novels is the relationship between men and women. Understanding is perhaps Modesitt's most direct explication of those views, and it's at best disappointing. Similarly both Precision Set and Ghost Mission hint at relationships at their beginning and ending, but each falls a bit flat. In his novels, Modesitt often develops relationships indirectly through scenes or episodes in which the two lovers are present but some other issue is brought to the fore. This technique can work in a novel, but proves more disappointing in the stories that comprise this collection.

The anthology is not presented in strictly chronological order of publication, but the earliest short stories in Modesitt's collection come at the front, and later stories come near the end. Reading the stories, it is clear that Modesitt took Ben Bova's advice to heart: the early stories in the anthology work well as self-contained short stories, with no need for additional hints at the wider world they inhabit. In particular, The Great American Economy and Rule of Law are excellent stories with a spare background just sufficient for the characters who inhabit them only long enough to tell the story. Each is an excellent example of the fantasy/sci-fi short story genre. Later successes in the anthology, including The Dock to Heaven and Spec-Ops work as short stories, but succeed in part because they hint at a novel that could be written using this story as a foundation. I'd be delighted if Modesitt wrote such novels, and I'm delighted to read the stories even if that's as far as they will go, but the story and world contained in The Dock to Heaven is incomplete in a way that the earlier short stories are not. Watching the stories develop, it is easy to see how Modesitt the author became Modesitt the novelist. His novels are excellent, but reading The Great American Economy makes me wish Modesitt had been able to spend a bit more time concentrating on short fiction.

No review of Modesitt would be complete without some discussion of his environmental and military background, particularly given the emphasis on these two topics that appears throughout Viewpoints Critical. Two stories in particular bear mentioning – Iron Men, Plastic Ships and The Pilots. Of the first, Modesitt says that "This story is a direct analogue to my Vietnam-era experiences as a Navy pilot, one of the few, and it's for all those who flew H-2's during that period, many of whom did not come back. In his introduction to The Pilots, Modesitt says that "The basic theme behind this story had haunted me for a long time, and when I finally did visit the Vietnam Wall in Washington, D.S., that visit stirred up the feelings even more." As someone born well after the Vietnam War ended, I'm sure that my experience of these two stories is incomplete, but I think that even without Modesitt's introduction I would have seen the influence of the Vietnam war in these two pieces. Modesitt's novels often rely on one determined character to do what needs to be done, no matter the cost. In these two stories, a negative image of the disconnected and ineffective bureaucracy which forces the protagonist's hand is presented. More clearly than in any of Modesitt's novels, these stories outline the criminal neglect for human life that these faceless bureaucrats represent in stark and immediate terms, making them more compelling than many of Modesitt's novels with similar, but more drawn-out storylines.

Viewpoints Critical is an excellent anthology for many different readers. Fans of Recluce and the world of The Parafaith War may be disappointed, as the three stories with these settings do not significantly contribute to these worlds, however Beyond the Obvious Wind may interest those curious about the origins of the Corean Chronicles. For those who appreciate the worlds that Modesitt's novels have built, hints and glimpses of new settings populate the stories of Viewpoints Critical. Similarly, aspiring writers interested in short stories and novels will find a wealth of examples (positive and negative) for the different writing styles that each genre requires. I would heartily recommend Viewpoints Critical with one caveat – this anthology should not be seen as an introduction to L.E. Modesitt Jr. He has established himself as a fantasy novelist, and it with those novels (The Magic of Recluce and The Parafaith War being the most obvious examples) that a newcomer to Modesitt's writings should begin. Enjoy the journey!

Well of Ascension, part II

Welcome to part II of my post on Mistborn II: Well of Ascension. As mentioned in Sunday's post, this isn't so much a traditional review as a commentary on some of Brandon Sanderson's writing style. The point I'm trying to get across with these posts is that while Sanderson is a very good writer, and I enjoyed Well of Ascension, by making the craft of writing so visible in his works Sanderson reveals some of his secrets, weakening the novels in the same way that a magician's tricks are less effective when they are revealed. Yesterday I discussed the rules-driven magic system Allomancy, and how making the rules more complex than they needed to be for their function in the novel actually made it harder for Sanderson to rely on a clear and well-defined magic system to get his characters out of trouble. Today, I'm going to take on my second point, Well of Ascension's plot-twist driven storyline. For those who care, spoilers definitely lie ahead.

Sanderson is a very plot-driven writer, and I would argue he is a plot-twist driven writer. Based on his own comments in his blog and his podcast, it seems like he usually begins with an ending scene/revelation, and works the story towards that. In Well of Ascension, the big reveal is the (presumably evil) sentient being who inhabits the Well of Ascension, and who Vin frees when she rejects the power as she has been coached to do. A corollary to Sanderson's plot-twist driven technique has come up recently in the Writing Excuses podcast – if a gun is going to kill someone in act III, it had better show up in act I. Note that this is actually paraphrased from Russian playwright Anton Chekhov, who had a slightly different spin: if a gun appears on a wall in act I, it had better have killed someone by act III. Chekhov's gun is as much about avoiding unnecessary detail as it is about foreshadowing, but Sanderson's gun is mostly about foreshadowing. Where Chekhov's gun looks forward, asking the author to make sure they use the details they include (presumably not to be confused with red herring), Sanderson's gun instead pushes the author to move backwards, inserting scenes and details where they might not have originally fit. Two reveals in particular stand out in this respect.

The first is Zane's dying revelation. Zane is the Elend's half-broth, the son of Straff Venture, one of the kings besieging the city, and he is insane. Specifically, he hears a voice telling him to kill people. The voice is particularly emphatic around his father, but Vin is the only person that Zane's voice doesn't tell him to kill. As Zane is dying, he wonders about this, and why it never told him to kill her. "Well of course I didn't want you to kill her", the voice responds in his head. There are a lot of clues that giving up the power of the Well of Ascension is probably a bad idea, but as far as I can tell, this is just about the only hint that the reader is given that there is actually a sentient being within the Well. The two problems with the Zane reveal are first that it's too obvious and second that it's not actually helpful. As soon as Vin realizes what's going on at the Well (and the prisoner starts talking after she's freed it), it is immediately clear that the sentient being in the Well was Zane's voice, but until Vin realizes what's in the Well, Zane's voice is pretty useless. The only way you would get from Zane's voice to evil being in the Well of Ascension is by following this trail of breadcrumbs: there are a lot of clues that maybe giving up the power of the Well isn't actually what Vin should do (multiple clues) . . . something has manipulated the prophecies (one big obvious clue) . . . Zane's voice wasn't just him and must be significant because why else would Sanderson have included it in such a crucial scene? . . . the "sentient being in the Well" theory nicely ties up the loose ends he's laid out. The problem here is that these clues aren't all text-based. Zane's voice relies on the reader knowing that Sanderson is a plot-twist driven author, and looking for the big obvious clues he's laid out that haven't already been explained.

A similar example can be found in the Steel Inquisitor Marsh. Marsh's half-brother was the hero of Mistborn who originally plotted the downfall of the Lord Ruler, and Marsh himself infiltrated the ranks of the dreaded Steel Inquisitors and was instrumental in bringing about the Lord Ruler's downfall. He reappears in Well of Ascension long enough to bring the scholar Sazed to a Steel Inquisitor hideout that contains an ancient chronicle of the Lord Ruler's quest. After that, Marsh mysteriously disappears until about halfway through the book when a skaa sees a Steel Inquisitor lurking around the city of Luthladel. Again, Marsh vanishes into the pages until just before the climax of the novel when he confronts Sazed and prevents him from reaching Vin and Elend at the Well. Unfortunately, as with Zane's voice, Marsh's appearances are a bit too convenient. They're barely related to the rest of the plotline (the first could be justified because Sazed needs to find the record somehow, the second is given the loosest covering by concerns that there may be spies in the city), so they can't be included for any other purpose than to serve as Sanderson's gun. When Elend meets refugees fleeing a massacre committed by other Steel Inquisitors (again, one which contributes very little to the plot and has no real explanation) it's pretty clear that there's something going on with Marsh and he's going to serve as an obstacle near the climax of the novel. Even worse than Zane's voice, Marsh's opposition to Sazed is still left unexplained. The only possible conclusion: Marsh is acting as yet another of Sanderson's guns, the strange behavior of the Steel Inquisitor serving as a bridge between books one and three so that Sanderson can whip out the Steel Inquisitors as either one of the major opponents of book III, or just one of the plot twists.

I'm a big fan of unity in storytelling. In the Poetics, Aristotle wrote that

A beginning is that which does not itself follow anything by causal necessity, but after which something naturally is or comes to be. An end, on the contrary, is that which itself naturally follows some other thing, either by necessity, or as a rule, but has nothing following it. A middle is that which follows something as some other thing follows it. A well constructed plot, therefore, must neither begin nor end at haphazard, but conform to these principles.

In other words, the beginning of the story serves to set every plotline in motion. The middle of the story is the logical unfolding of the conflicts created at the beginning, while the end of the story wraps up the loose ends, so that there is "nothing following it." By putting these big reveals ostentatiously into his story, Sanderson weakens the rest of his plot. After all, if some big revelation can come along at any time in order to set up (or at least justify) a major plot twist which the reader knows is coming, what incentive is there to try to follow the plot twists at all? One of the frustrating things about scenes like that surrounding Zane's death or Marsh's reappearances is that Sanderson has a lot of tight and well-constructed plotlines in the novel. The entire story takes place under the looming threat of two armies appearing to besiege Luthladel. From this beginning, the characters decide to delay hoping for some unforeseen occurrence to tip the balance, fractures within the city hierarchy are revealed, and the hoped-for occurrence does come up, in the form of a third army composed of bloodthirsty Koloss. In the end, the unstable nature of the situation, foreshadowed throughout this plot arc, comes into play as one army withdraws and the army of Koloss invades the city. This plotline works beautifully. The uncertainty is set up within the opening scenes and sustained throughout the entire novel. It is comparisons such as these that make it even more disappointing when Sanderson relies on plot twists that seem to come out of left field to move his story along.

I hope I've showed here why unity of plot is important, and some of the dangers for authors who rely on dramatic revelations to enable their plot twists. The first problem comes when the author hangs out signposts for the reader without leaving any doubts that they may be red herrings. In this case, the reader is placed in the awkward position of needing to note down each of these revelations, just so that they can check off the accompanying plot twists. The second difficulty comes when the plot twists are not adequately foreshadowed, or rely on the expectation that the reader saw an earlier signpost and is expecting it to mean something. In this case, the reader is not encouraged to follow the storyline closely, since the plot twist isn't going to be discovered by spotting lots of little clues and putting them together, but rather one major clue that may or may not be enough. If the reader gets through the plot twist and says "ah yes, I should have seen that coming!" that's a good sign. If they instead reach for their notebook to check off one of the signposts, the effect isn't quite as impressive. In Sanderson's case, the line seems to be the distinction between writing a "plot-driven" story and a "plot-twist driven" story. The story arcs that seem to have evolved as part of the story are tight and well written, moving in a steady and inevitable pace towards their conclusion, while those that are focused more on the distant plot twist instead lurch forward in fits and starts, eventually getting to the conclusion, but leaving the reader feeling jolted and jounced about.

Part III, on the reappearance of the Mad Prince should be up later this week. I've also finished Salman Rushdie's The Enchantress of Florence, which was amazing, so I'm hoping to have that review up next week. We're moving over the July 4^th weekend, so packing may interfere with blogging until then, but hopefully a shorter commute afterwards will leave a bit more time to return to the character of magic in specific fantasy novels.