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Steven Erikson fantasy book series

House of Chains – Steven Erikson

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House of Chains is the fourth in the 10-books Malazan series. These days, these hours, Erikson is intensely busy writing the last chapters of the last book and bring to a close a journey of staggering ambition. Reading this fourth felt like standing on the shoulder of a very tall (jade-colored) giant. As with similar(?) long series it’s interesting to see the power-game, the ebb and flow of the single book compared to the others. When I was at page 700 or so (on a total of 1000) it dawned on me that this would become, with certainty, my favorite. 100 pages from the end the story proceeded resolute with a sense of finality and inevitability. Like the dramatic ending a movie whose sound is deafened, muted, so that the intensity of what you see comes out unadulterated and with all its power. But it is immediately past this apex, in the very slight and calmer descent that follows, the remaining 30-40 pages, that the more meaningful and stronger revelations are delivered, and the characters reached down for my soul. The book had already gauged his way as my true favorite and was set for a foreshadowed ending. I only expected closure and rest, yet the book still had PLENTY to deliver, and surprise me, and offer emotions to share.

These weeks I spent reading House of Chains were also the weeks of Lost ending season (the TV series), which lead me to draw certain parallels, both thematic and about the plot. Similarities are evident even on the superficial level, and on the forums I was explaining that I was watching Lost for some of the reasons I was reading this series of books. The staggering ambition, the exponential layering, the subversion and reversals in the plot, the continuous challenge to perceptions. The difference, as I already discussed, is that Lost always left me (and many others) unsatisfied. Even the very end left the plot unresolved. With the Malazan series instead it’s a whole different deal. Reading this book, at various points, I thought that if it was to end right there, in the middle of the narrative, it would still feel completely satisfying and accomplished. Erikson as an author is far more generous and I feel that what he does is always honest. I never once felt cheated. Which also leads to the broad theme of “truthfulness”, that Erikson fulfills for me. Reading this series is not an easy task for anyone, but I know that it largely rewarded my effort. It delivers all it promises, then more, far beyond expectations that continue to rise as the story goes and branches out to embrace what you don’t think can be embraced. I am humbled because I know that this is one rare effort that won’t likely be matched anytime soon, if ever. I’m glad that I find it so close to things that matter for me, at the core, and that I seek in a book. It completes what I think and I follow devotedly because it already proved aplenty that this journey is worth all the dedication I can give to it. This to say: Erikson, especially in this book, doesn’t lull and drag you along with vane promises. He delivers, page after page. The physical shape of the book, right there, weighting far more than you think. Worlds that the written word can open, and worlds that, deep down, feed on something true.

This, for me, has nothing to do with the notion of escapism. At least if you don’t consider escapism the illusion of the discovery of something meaningful, that matters. And so the thematic aspects. I guess that this couldn’t be more misleading. “Themes” make me think of very boring books that have nowhere to go and preach on banalities or feast on rhetoric. Or the celebration of some sort of morale. I have a natural tendency to oppose and refuse these things because I always find them trite or partial. Erikson instead makes these aspects very real and makes surface their contradictions. The narrative is driven by purpose, a lucid intent, that doesn’t lead recursively to itself, going nowhere. Turning a wheel that turns and turns but goes nowhere. Those themes, taken as abstraction, are always brought back to the ground. They don’t wander on a detached level, different from the plot. They are intricately woven and matter on a concrete one. The biggest revelations can please a reader just for what they are, the fun of following an engaging story filled with unexpected twists. The last 70 pages of this book are a frenzy of plot threads that get tied and resolved one after the other. And each, if not to be carried away by this surging tide, turning the pages, would make you look back with unprecedented clarity. The thematic aspects here bind the narrative.

‘The stigma of meaning ever comes later, like a brushing away of dust to reveal shapes in stone.’

The structure of this book is slightly different from the preceding ones. It starts with about 250 pages from a single point of view instead of jumping all over the place. I think this choice is perfectly placed. It’s not easy to have the story move again after the ending of ‘Memories of Ice’. Starting from a blank point, apparently unrelated, offers the narrative the possibility to gain momentum. Especially because all we learned through three books here becomes the cipher of what is going on behind the curtain of deception. An higher level of awareness that you have, as a reader, above the level of the narrow point of view. An second-level of observation that reveals a bigger truth, as you are yourself, as reader, deceived in turn, when you thought your position let you see clearly where the deception actually was. A clever trick indeed. But again, done to understand the story on a deeper level, and bring the reader right into it, with an active role. Not so many books do this. You may think this is some ‘mental’ stuff I imagined, but no. This is why I said the book is generous. It has not the esotericism and bloated pretentiousness of Pynchon, this book BEGS you to understand it. It doesn’t hide for the simple pleasure of obfuscation, nor it lulls lathering in redundancy.

‘In any case, to speak plainly is a true talent; to bury beneath obfuscation is a poet’s calling these days.’

Now this review is coming out rather abstract and vague, yet I’ve pages of notes about specific aspects but I don’t think I can go anywhere with them. This book offers a myriad of suggestions that you can taste and elaborate any way you want. Take for example the book of Dryjhna. It’s a story that starts in book 2. This is Erikson doing his typical play on some established fantasy conventions (and in book 2 he resolves it delivering a spectacular surprise). In this case the ‘book of prophecies’. We’ve had these plot devices dealt in every possible way in the fantasy genre. Here the running joke is that prophecies are left vague because through this very quality they can be pragmatically adapted to the changes of time. A way to keep them relevant and useful for those who actually wield that power for their own secular purposes. In the end prophecies are nothing more than excuses to exploit a population. But it’s the real revelation of the truth (or better, the deceit) behind the book that makes it ultimately worth saving. The book is revealed as a fraud, but this revelation makes the book valuable for what it actually is, which consequently infuses it of the power it lost. A full circle, but, as it closes, the power of the book goes from misplaced and false, to something true and valid. It got somewhat cleansed in the process. This I’ve just explained is a very minor plot thread, almost invisible. Maybe two pages in total name it, yet, by ways of Erikson, what this book (of prophecies) represents echoes with everything else that goes on the major level. Everything intricately woven together at different levels.

There are certain plot threads, on a second inspection, after the tide of the last 100 pages passed, that seem somewhat spurious. Though this is typical of Erikson as the plot branches out to previous and following books. They are the most obvious links. But the reason why they are there is because they are part of larger loops. They are meaningful in the single book, have an impact and purpose, but the story arc isn’t brought to conclusion right there. When I finished book 3, I thought that Erikson was at his maximum possible reach. Controlling so many characters and plot threads while delivering a so huge conclusion was absolutely spectacular. House of Chains is on a somewhat smaller scale and more personal. It continues directly from book 2 and draws from the qualities found there. Yet, this smaller scale was only apparent and Erikson shows here a stronger control of plot. He still improves. Book 3 had from my point of view a more uneven quality compared to the 2nd, even if as a whole it came out far above just because of its impact and staggering ambition. House of Chains shows a tight control and a clear intent. It is lucid in a way no previous book was. More effective and straight to the point. Every aspect I can consider is overall improved. The prose itself stays terse as is typical of Erikson, and gains efficacy. No wasted words, no lingering, yet also not as wasteful as it happened in Memories of Ice. On some of my notes I wrote how in books 1-3 we saw an expansion of the plot. An exponential multiplications of different factions and factions within factions. House of Chains instead represents a kind of contraption that doesn’t reduce the reach of ambition of the plot, but that actually leads to an absorption of the various branches into an unitarian mythology. The nature and truth of many things is revealed, and this revelation draws everything together. It all makes sense and even sheds more light on previous books in a way that makes them shine even more. Following books improve the previous in retrospective, add significance. Especially in this case for book 2, that was already excellent. House of Chains is an open celebration of Deadhouse Gates, yet this doesn’t put it in its shadow in any way. They just contribute to each other.

Want one flaw? Named characters lead the story. Yes, there are A LOT of them in that “named” list, but the terse style of Erikson lacks some naturalness if you care for it in a book. I’ve pointed this out in the past. There are no slices of life scenes here. No getting used to the characters or lingering with them for the mundane. This story has momentum and moves on. We don’t get to see what isn’t strictly relevant. Yet, this also means that these plots are sometimes too neatly wrapped up. Too coincidental and convenient. Everything pivots exactly where it should, and no matter how HUGE is the landmass itself, characters that travel seem to ineluctably constantly bump into each other. Sometimes it feels as if the “real world” is missing. As if the plot was eradicated from its natural place and made an example of. I doubt you could tell such story in a different way, though.

I loved this book. Not just because it has an excellent execution, but because I loved it also on a more personal level. The biggest mystery is how Erikson is able to gather the strength and will to start again from a blank page after such a huge showdown. I’m merely a reader, yet this was exhausting in a positive way. So much was brought to a satisfying closure. No idea where this will bring me next, but I have trust in the writer that it will be more than worth it.

The last few lines of the epilogue, in italics, are probably the biggest and more powerful revelation ever. Sustaining the whole series. (hopefully enough to keep Erikson himself afloat)

Again on Ascendancy

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Few more spurious quotes from the very end of House of Chains. Relatively spoiler-free.

The proportions had begun wrong. From the very start. Leading her to suspect that the proclivity for madness had already existed, dark flaws marring the soul that would one day claw its way into ascendancy.

I have walked into the Abyss.
I am as mad as that goddess. And this is why she chose me, for we are kindred souls…

This is another good example that illustrates what Ascendancy truly is and how it is regulated. Even if it’s a theme of the book making the process more blurred and defying categories, since at the core “Ascendancy” is strictly linked to the ambiguous production of meaning. Dancing on a edge to keep a fine balance.

He did the best he could – with such honour as to draw, upon his sad death, the attention of Hood himself. Oh, the Lord of Death will look into a mortal’s soul, given the right circumstances. The, uh, the proper incentive. Thus, that man is now the Knight of Death—’

Even here Ascendancy is the result of both convenience and kinship. A wicked sort of reward. The honor of failure. There’s no salvation in Ascendancy. There’s no glory.

This is why Ascendancy is symbolized by T’lan Imass. Immortality made into failure.

T’lan imass / glory & ghosts

‘The glory of battle, Koryk, dwells only in the bard’s voice, in the teller’s woven words. Glory belongs to ghosts and poets. What you hear and dream isn’t the same as what you live – blur the distinction at your own peril, lad.’

Karsa’s expression soured. ‘When I began this journey, I was young. I believed in one thing. I believed in glory. I know now, Siballe, that glory is nothing. Nothing. This is what I now understand.’
‘What else do you now understand, Karsa Orlong?’
‘Not much. Just one other thing. The same cannot be said for mercy.’

‘The heart is neither given nor stolen. The heart surrenders.’
The bonecaster did not turn round. ‘That is a word without power to the T’lan Imass, Onrack the Broken.’
‘You are wrong, Monok Ochem. We simply changed the word to make it not only more palatable, but also to empower it. With such eminence that it devoured our souls.’

The very last few words that conclude the book, in italics, deliver not only the answer to all this, but also a huge revelation that hit with all its power. Neither of the three preceding books ended on a so high note.

Personal bias ever surfacing (Ascendancy in the Malazan series)

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See my eyes rolling in consternation again.

I enjoy reading Larry’s reviews, no matter what he reviews. Then he links a forum I’ve never seen and I check there from time to time to read other points of view on his reviews of Erikson’s books. Guess who’s posting also in that place? Werthead. There’s no place on the internet even vaguely related to fantasy and SF where you don’t see him strutting about.

Which is actually a good thing. He spends quite a bit of time everywhere evangelizing about the genre, and you can’t have enough of that. We should be grateful. There’s nothing negative about answering questions and making people aware of this or that less known writer or book. Nothing negative at least till what he’s spreading is somewhat accurate and honest, but there are certain instances that are not, and so he goes on spreading some twisted and inaccurate interpretations that can’t be in any way useful.

This is a recurring habit of him with Erikson in particular, it seems he can’t write a comment without putting some venom or spite in it. It just can’t be helped. I point your attention in particular to this reply he writes. Someone asks some specific questions about Malazan and he’s kind enough to answer. The reply he writes is actually good and to the point, helpful. Only he had to let some of that venom of him seep through, and so we get this:

People ‘Ascend’ when they become unstoppably badass. That’s about the only criteria that can be found. When they become powerful enough they will ascend to become Ascendants, who are effectively demigods.

That’s exactly the moment when my eyes went rolling, especially because this is a recurring bad habit of those who try to diminish Erikson as a writer by drawing a parallel between his series and role-playing games. I don’t need to discuss the association because I’ve done it already in the past, the point here is that, no matter how you see it or personal opinion about Erikson as a writer, what he says there is simply inaccurate and WRONG. Yes, there’s always this argument that says I don’t qualify to comment since I haven’t read the whole series yet, but now I’ve read some 3400 pages, I guess I should have an idea about how this thing works.

In those pages I read there are plenty of cases of individuals becoming ascendants. We see the process in various instances. Yet I can’t remember A SINGLE ONE that went in the way Werthead described it. Not only there’s not a pattern like the one he described, but there’s not even a single case that went like that.

If one has to define a pattern (and a pattern is not easy to find here for deliberate reasons), it’s one that is the exact opposite of “becoming badass”. In most cases people in the books “ascend” after they went through some extreme suffering, or suffering that can be interpreted in some symbolic way. Saying this would still be imprecise and limited, but THIS is the only generalized criteria that one could honestly deduct.

When I think about this I remember these words by Erikson that I quoted recently for something entirely different: “the flaw is one of sequence.” Indeed. People become badass AFTER they become ascendants, as a consequence. They do not become ascendants BECAUSE they are badass. This happens because ascendancy is in general the process of creation of myth in the malazan world. This process includes different typologies because it’s here that Erikson deals with the entire spectrum of myth, from pragmatic and concrete gods, to religious beliefs. What in the beginning seems to have the most disparate origin is then shown to have a shared one. And this is a rather broad and deep theme that is already expanded and explored from various perspectives in each book.

This process draws directly not from the fantasy genre and its canon (even if these are used to play some tricks), but from REALITY. The process of creation of myths and gods is, in the Malazan world as in our real one, entirely symbolic. The meaning as a sign. Or a sign that evokes meaning. This is why it’s possible in the Malazan world that gods appear disguised or take the place of other gods to deceive and twist followers. This kind of “game of thrones” is a game of ambivalence of meaning. It’s a disguise of power, through meaning. Take for example this revelatory part with Heboric from House of Chains:

Then another voice spoke, louder, more imperious: ‘What god now owns your
hands, old man? Tell me! Even their ghosts are not here -who is holding on to you? Tell
me!’
‘There are no gods,’ a third voice cut in, this one female.
‘So you say!’ came yet another, filled with spite. ‘In your empty, barren, miserable
world!’
‘Gods are born of belief, and belief is dead. We murdered it, with our vast
intelligence. You were too primitive—’
‘Killing gods is not hard. The easiest murder of all. Nor is it a measure of intelligence.
Not even of civilization. Indeed, the indifference with which such death-blows are
delivered is its own form of ignorance.’
‘More like forgetfulness. After all, it’s not the gods that are important, it is the
stepping outside of oneself that gifts a mortal with virtue—’
‘Kneel before Order? You blind fool—’
‘Order? I was speaking of compassion—’

The only gap between the Malazan world and ours is that Erikson makes the process concrete and tangible. In the same way, for example, in Lost the players make the rules (and make them real) as they go, here the representation of a god makes it real. “Meaning” that dresses itself as tangible power. Meaning that transforms itself into magic. Accepting and embracing meaning makes it real and part of the factual world.

‘It is believed,’ he said slowly, ‘by the bonecasters, that to create an
icon of a spirit or a god is to capture its essence within that icon. Even the laying of
stones prescribes confinement. Just as a hut can measure out the limits of power for a
mortal, so too are spirits and gods sealed into a chosen place of earth or stone or
wood… or an object. In this way power is chained, and so becomes manageable.’

‘Do your bonecasters also believe that power begins as a thing devoid of shape, and thus
beyond control? And that to carve out an icon – or make a circle of stones – actually
forces order upon that power?’

Understanding this leads to understanding how ascendancy works, and define a pattern if we really want one. In most cases, people don’t become ascendants, but they get picked by a god. In most cases (all) without their consent. The relationship is not a simple one, because it’s reciprocate influence, and in order to use powers, the gods are subject to influence from the outside.

How does a god choose an ascendant? Through symbols and convenience. Again I say that “combat proficiency” never came to play in the choice in all the examples I’ve seen. What comes to play and defines the choice is “likeness”, “kinship”. Gods pick their ascendants through symbolic analogies. Through some kind of reflection between themselves and those they choose. Some kind of abstract link. This is why for example the Crippled God (Chained One) picks his followers among those who suffered and were chained in ways similar to his (in the same way in Lost the black smoke tries to find allies by exploiting some affinity with them). Gods make ascendants through affinity of spirit, or in some twisted interpretation of it. And this is why Heboric himself, cripple and blind, also is chosen. A man who only felt miserable and whose only escape from suffering was through drug. Are you telling me that his transition to ascendancy happens through badassness? Come on.

I don’t think Erikson would have any interest in creating a magic system or a pantheon established on arbitrary assumptions. What Erikson puts in his books is definitely “fantasy”, but always grounded on something real and true. The fantastic element is purely of transformation. Metaphoric. But in the end, it needs to connect back to something true and real in order to be relevant and meaningful. Which all makes me think about Brandon Sanderson “bragging” for his The Stormlight Archive series how “there are thirty magic systems in this world, depending on how you count them”. Which is cool, but just “fluff” (as Dan Abnett would define it) if these magic systems are not used as narrative devices with some purpose. Thirty magic systems, or sixty, or one, or zero. Who cares? It’s what you do with them and why, to matter. What they represent, what is the message. It’s a book that you’re writing, not a role-playing gaming system.

Which is the point.

House of Chains + Lost: doing same things

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I keep finding common aspects between Lost and Malazan. These are two examples that surfaced recently.

I was reading an article by Jeff Jensen recapping the last episode of Lost when I came to this part:

Rest In Peace, Charles Widmore. The quick-tempered billionaire enemy of DesPen love — a pharmaceutical magnate with a penchant for prog-rock-inspired construction projects — joins a long list of Lost characters who get offed from the show with pitiless dispatch and leave behind a mess of unresolved questions. This season alone: Dogen, Lennon, Ilana. Before them: Faraday, Charlotte, Patchy. This is too much of a trend to not wonder if there’s a point being made here. Death comes suddenly. We all leave the world unresolved to various degrees. It’s all deep and meaningful… and yet even I felt a touch unsatisfied.

I read that and I was absolutely sure I had read it before somewhere else. I couldn’t remember where but the idea was exactly the same. So I started searching. At the beginning I thought it must have been something I read in House of Chains, so I started looking in the book but the more I searched and turn the pages the more the possibility seemed unlikely. There were similar ideas, but not exposed as clearly as I remembered. So I went looking for another article by Jeff Jensen I had read in February, I reread it again but found no trace of what I was looking for. Then I thought it must have been something in Infinite Jest, or an article about Foster Wallace. Nothing, yet I was absolutely sure I had read something before.

In the end the quest was successful and my first guess was indeed correct. It’s a quote from House of Chains:

The only journey that lay ahead of him was a short one, and he must walk it alone.
He was blind, but in this no more blind than anyone else. Death’s precipice, whether first
glimpsed from afar or discovered with the next step, was ever a surprise. A promise of
the sudden cessation of questions, yet there were no answers waiting beyond. Cessation
would have to be enough. And so it must be for every mortal. Even as we hunger for
resolution. Or, even more delusional: redemption.

Now, after all this time, he was able to realize that every path eventually, inevitably
dwindled into a single line of footsteps. There, leading to the very edge. Then… gone.
And so, he faced only what every mortal faced. The solitude of death, and oblivion’s final
gift that was indifference.

As you can see, these two quotes are mirrors of each other. In Malazan the theme is explored fully and directly, but even Lost can be considered rather deliberate about it. The theme in common does exist.

The second examples comes instead from a recent (and long) interview with Carlton Cuse and Damon Lindelof, but I can’t quote it because it’s a video.

@ 6:20 they show a clip from the second season where Locke tries to convince Jack to “press the button”, the theme is the one of “faith”. In the follow-up video @ 1:50 Lindelof explains how what happened in that scene is then mirrored in this last season of the show, in the scene in which they are on the submarine and it’s this time Jack who tries to convince Sawyer not to pull the wires on the bomb, saying “nothing is going to happen”, taking Locke’s role, while Sawyer is this time the pragmatic one (and ends up not listening Jack and pulling the wires). The line being said is the same and after a silly joke they talk about how they play in the show with this sort of “echo” of scenes, dialogues and themes. That scene in the sub closes an ideal loop, and this kind of mechanic is at the foundation of how the show has been built.

All these ideas have been explained in the exact same way by Erikson. Take for example one of his recent blogs that I have quoted before:

In a general sense, I write elliptically. By that I mean I open sections with some detail I want to resonate throughout the entire section, and through the course of writing that section you can imagine me tapping that bell again and again. Until with the final few lines, I ring it one last time – sometimes hard, sometimes soft, depending on the effect I want, or feel is warranted.

While the narrative infers something linear, as in the advancement of time and a sequence of events, in fact the narrative loops back on itself again and again. And each time it returns, the timbre of that resonance has changed, sometimes subtly, sometimes fundamentally.

We can look further back (2003) and we’ll discover that this has been Erikson’s style from the very beginning. This is one old interview from Larry’s blog, probably one of the best ever:

Across the ten book series, within each novel, within each section, each chapter, each scene. I write in loops, starting with the small ones, which together make up bigger ones, and closing each loop is a matter of echoing whatever opened the scene/chapter/section etc. That’s my actual writing. I plan in the opposite direction. Insane, ain’t it?

House of Chains, Lost (-1), Infinite Jest: mysteries, chains and choice

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Last week I commented the Lost episode mixing it with considerations about the Malazan series. This week the Lost episode was shallow and just moved the pieces to position them for the finale, culling some useless characters, but it didn’t have anything meaningful to say. So I’ll focus on just Malazan.

This is a kind of minor side-story. Happens in just five pages or so, where the focus is actually on something else. It’s a good example of Erikson’s style, filled with hints that it’s up to the reader to put together and find a meaning. But the meaning is absolutely there (just continue read). The story can be understood without previous knowledge, yet is intricately woven with the rest. Karsa and his temporary Jaghut companion are walking up a hill nestled close to a bigger hill that protects the smaller one from harsh winds. On top of this smaller hill there’s a big tree. Moving closer Karsa notices that there’s an ancient Jaghut (female) that is kind of “embedded” into the tree. The wood passes through the clavicle of the Jaghut to then reunite with the main trunk.

What distinguishes Malazan from Lost, is that in Malazan mysteries are continuously unveiled. With generosity. And the strength of the mystery isn’t in it being hidden and unsaid (like Lost’s smoke and mirrors), but in the secret it holds. It isn’t a fraud. The strength is in the revelation, not in the continue pushing back of the mystery itself. Karsa’s Jaghut companion is like a physical manifestation of something that Lost would never tolerate. Remember in Lost how all questions are systematically dodged through typical tropes, such as: “You aren’t ready to know.” “It’s not time yet.” “Every question I answer will lead to another question.” “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” And so on. There are endless variations. Instead in Malazan we have this:

(Jaghut) “Why, you ask?”
(Karsa) “I do not bother, for I know you will tell me in any case.”
(Jaghut) “Of course I shall, for I am of a helpful sort, a natural proclivity.”

And:

“Of course you must. It is your nature to leave no word unsaid.”

Refreshing when compared to the stubborn and pointless opaqueness of Lost, grown to parody levels.

So Karsa’s Jaghut companion narrates the mystery of this other Jaghut imprisoned in the ancient tree. This tree isn’t simply very old, it’s hundreds of thousands years old. It’s the only one left of its species in the whole world. How did the ancient female Jaghut end imprisoned in the tree? The story begins when this Jaghut was just a child with her mother. Jaghut (as a race) were indiscriminately hunted by another race, the Tlan Imass, so this family of Jaghut was found and slain. The child was spitted on a lance and left there, with the lance thrust in the ground. The wood of that lance was the same wood that originated the tree. For some extraordinary reason it sucked the life from the child and grew roots and developed in a tree. At the same time it transferred its life to the child, who was also kept alive. Now it’s not explicitly told in the text, but it is obvious that the Jaghut story is the story of that tree, meaning that the Jaghut’s whole life has been there, imprisoned. For hundreds of thousands years.

“Same for Phyrlis, whom you will meet tomorrow. She can never see beyond the leaves
in front of her face, though she ceaselessly strives to do so, as if the vast panorama
offers something other than time’s insectile crawl. Empires, thrones, tyrants and
liberators, a hundred thousand tomes filled with versions of the same questions, asked
over and over again. Will answers deliver their promised solace?”

The meaning of this story is then left to the reader, because there are here echoes of themes that define Erikson’s work. Elliptical patterns and loops. Refractions of light. In this case the story of the Jaghut echoes with the story of the Tlan Imass. In a way, the spear saved the life of the Jaghut, only to imprison her for eternity. Was that a blessing or a condemnation? The central point is how the Tlan Imass decide to exterminate the Jaghut. There are reasons for this, but here we see the perspective of a child. So the perspective of someone that represents innocence. Tlan Imass exterminate Jaghut indiscriminately. Including killing kids. This Jaghut in this story not only represents innocence, but also the lack of choice. Her imprisonment is obligated. And her fate echoes frighteningly with the fate of the whole Tlann Imass race:

“I am forced into continuation.”

Previously in the book we have witnessed to the destiny of some Tlan Imass, whose head was the only part to survive, condemned to consciousness for eternity and with the only desire of being placed at least on a vast natural panorama that would sweeten this sentence of continuation. So there’s this echo between the single Jaghut child, whose destiny was forced by Tlan Imass, and the destiny of every Tlan Imass, as a race. With the difference that the Tlan Imass have embraced and shaped that destiny for themselves. They’ve chosen it. Something that echoes even with Infinite Jest, the part with Marathe:

“No, but this choice, Katherine: I made it. It chains me, but the chains are of my choice.”

If you have read Infinite Jest you KNOW that line is central to the book. If you’ve read “House of Chains” you know that the theme of the chains is central to the whole Malazan series. If you’ve seen Lost, you know the smoke monster makes chain-like noises. The monster is being chained to the island, can’t leave, is imprisoned. The meaning in these three disparate mediums is essentially the same. Tapping onto something true.

The (one of) theme(s) in the Malazan series is how Tlan Imass, in order to fight against the abominations of Jaghut, become themselves a worse abomination. In “A Game of Thrones” the driving theme of the book and the most shocking one is how “doing the right thing” doesn’t always lead to an happy end. In Malazan we see deep in the corruption of goodwill. In the true twisting of intentions. The twisting of faith and belief. Also the lack of absolute truths, and the delusions that accompany them.

“Misleading” and deception aren’t just plot devices in House of Chains. They are its theme, down to a meaningful level. Mysteries that reveal terrible truths. And the lacerating tragedy embedded in those truths.

As it happens, in Malazan truths are contained within bigger truths. So, just a few pages later, we discover that the story we’re told of the Jaghut imprisoned in the tree is only one part. Because the reason of the extraordinary event is that the lance was being thrust into the ground where existed a dying Azath house. It was the Azath that gave the life to both the wood and the Jaghut child. With another link to Lost. A theme used in Lost is how there must be balance in power, and that balance has to be maintained. Malazan answer to this is a kind of natural event. Whenever on the world there’s a convergence of power that rises to threaten the world itself, an “Azath” forms to imprison that power. Like an antibody of the world. In this particular story the Azath was antecedent to the Jaghut/tree, so why there was an Azath in that place and why was it dying? Who was imprisoned in the Azath? In Malazan answers come by just turning the page: it is revealed that Gothos was in there, another Jaghut. The reason why the Azath was dying was because it was assaulted by Icarium (Ghotos’ son), trying to free his father (who didn’t want to be saved, again the theme of choice and chains/imprisonment).

Icarium’s own fate echoes again with the ones of the Tlan Imass and the Jaghut. Icarium is one of those Jaghut with immense powers and who used those powers to annihilate an inordinate amount of other beings and other disasters. He himself represents the kind of reason why Tlan Imass decided that Jaghut had to be completely exterminated. In order to stop him they made him lose his memories. Like a brain reset. Like forcing him becoming a child again. Becoming innocent. Like the Jaghut imprisoned in the tree.

Icarium’s own condemnation is then linked to the stories already told. It’s again deeply woven with the theme of choice. Icarium also can’t choose, because he can’t remember and without awareness there’s not choice. And without choice there’s no guilt. He doesn’t deserve his fate, because he’s also innocent. And his deepest secret is kept by his friend who never separates from him. The friend who knows the truth but can’t reveal it to him in order to protect him from that dangerous truth. Icarium is condemned to unawareness, against his choice. He’s also chained, arguably for a good reason. It is then consequential that Icarium’s obsession is about “time”. He builds complex machines to measure time and he’s brought again and again to that hill with the tree and the Jaghut imprisoned within, because the wood of that tree is the most durable material that can be used to build his machines. Unaware that he has been there before, unleashing destruction. And this closes an ideal loop.

That’s how the Malazan series works on a general level. It’s a good example of how plots and themes are woven and why secrets and revelations are meaningful when they originate from something true. Mirrors and refractions of ideas, used in meaningful ways. Mysteries that truly hold secrets that is worth to unveil and understand.

This was a side story.

House of Chains and what it takes to make a god

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I think Erikson tapped onto something deep here:

Among a people where solitude was as close to a crime as
possible. Where to separate was to weaken. Where the very
breaking of vision into its components — from seeing to
observing, from resurrecting memory and reshaping it
beyond the eye’s reach, onto walls of stone — demanded a
fine-edged, potentially deadly propensity.

There’s this one book I read long ago and that still today is the framework of all my convictions. In about 160 pages, it explains EVERYTHING. The title is “Theory of Society” but it’s far from a cold academic book. It explains what humanity is, it explains god, it explains existence and its meaning. It gives answer to everything and it does it through the most rigorous theory you can imagine. It admits no flaws and yet it is incredibly powerful.

A lot of what I read from Erikson echoes what’s written in that book, probably because his ideas come from an anthropological background, and so a study of humanity (and when something is true it doesn’t matter anymore who arrives to the conclusion, as everyone else says exactly the same thing). I would gladly share and recommend this book but it seems it only exists in Italian.

The wikipedia entry about Niklas Luhmann says: “Luhmann wrote prolifically, with more than 70 books and nearly 400 scholarly articles published on a variety of subjects, including law, economy, politics, art, religion, ecology, mass media, and love. While his theories have yet to make a major mark in American sociology, his theory is currently dominant in German sociology, and has also been rather intensively received in Japan and Eastern Europe, including Russia. His relatively low profile elsewhere is partly due to the fact that translating his work is a difficult task, since his writing presents a challenge even to readers of German, including many sociologists.”

The book I read, whose initial 160 pages are the door to everything, is listed as:
1992 (with Raffaele De Giorgi): Teoria della società, Milano: Franco Angeli

I don’t know if there’s another book that so succinctly explains the theory at its core and reading Luhmann is, indeed, as complicate as reading complex math problems. But it’s language and I could deal with it.

One important truth, not directly related to Luhmann but true to the spirit, is that we exist INSIDE the language. Language is perceived as something we use but in truth language is what we are made of and it defines the perimeter of what we can experience. Next time you read a book just remember that it can contain all aspects of existence and that language is omnipotent (as long your senses are human).

From the wikipedia:

Furthermore, each system has a distinctive identity that is constantly reproduced in its communication and depends on what is considered meaningful and what is not. If a system fails to maintain that identity, it ceases to exist as a system and dissolves back into the environment it emerged from. Luhmann called this process of reproduction from elements previously filtered from an over-complex environment autopoiesis (pronounced “auto-poy-E-sis”; literally: self-creation), using a term coined in cognitive biology by Chilean thinkers Humberto Maturana and Francisco Varela.

I have an inkling that Erikson’s complex system of belief, where gods are made and destroyed in cycles, is near to the same concepts explained by Luhmann. Like a concrete metaphor of the power of “meaning” and all its subtleties.

I don’t think even for a second that Erikson is aware of Luhmann theories, but I do think that he tapped onto something “true”, deep down, and so a common ground.

(and I actually bask in the delusion of following links between the most disparate stuff, looking for something true)

Lost (-2) Vs Malazan (It’s turtles all the way down)

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Comparing Lost and the Malazan series comes natural. Because I’m watching Lost right now as well reading the fourth book in the Malazan series. But also because they have various points of contacts in the way the narrative is being shaped.

For example the interconnections of the plot. The kind of satisfaction that comes, in this last episode of Lost, when we’re being shown who are the skeletons that Jack found in season 1. Parts that move and lock into position. Then how the mythology is filled with mysteries and yet grows exponentially from the initial premises. This kind of vertical expansion that becomes staggering and awesome when you are on top and look back.

But every time I bring this up as the type of quality I admire in Lost, I can also see that Malazan tries to follow similar patterns, on an even bigger scale, and does it more successfully. Every mystery revealed in Lost is followed by some delusion. And then the examiner in me wants to dissect these structures to understand what works in one and what doesn’t in the other.

The image I got is of a table covered with cards, arranged in rows and face down. Every card is part of the bigger scheme and the more you turn and reveal, the more you get to see the big picture. Or, if you prefer, closed doors that hide answers. But the important point is that answers need to be interconnected to form a bigger picture, so let’s continue with cards (whose position is sometime more important than what they hide). What we have in this season of Lost is that mysteries/cards are turned and revealed, but then they are discarded. One item finally revealed and checked off the TO-DO list. It means that Lost is basically made by smoke and mirrors, curtains that are progressively drawn. The result is that the actual game is “shrunk”, reduced to the essential. The more cards revealed and discarded the more we approach a much simpler “core” of the show. Lost’s path is one of simplification, where every mystery doesn’t add to the big picture, but actually “leads back” closer to another mystery at the core. It’s essentially a backtracking, following a trail and discarding all the illusions that were built along the way.

The dissatisfaction that follows the revelation of a mystery is caused by the fact that the mystery revealed was just a “curtain” for another mystery that is higher up the trail we are following. So we get to know the origin of Jacob and the Man in Black, but that revelation only leads to another mystery: the pool of light. Originally it was: why the plane crashed? This lead to an infinite expansion/development toward science. Mysterious experiments with magnetism made by Dharma, that caused an anomaly, that caused the plane to crash. But that was just a circular pattern because the plane crash wasn’t an “incident”. It was instead orchestrated so that the passengers would arrive on the island and fulfill their destiny. The island (through Jacob) called them and brought them there. They are supposed to be there for a reason. So, as you see, we are still backtracking the same big questions. We know why the plane crashed? Not really, because we know the plane crashed because someone or something decided to make it happen. Why? Because it was required so that people would arrive and then be chosen as guardians to prevent “something” to escape from the island. But what is that they have to guard? Where’s the danger? The smoke monster. Why? What’s its origin? Why this island has all sort of magical powers? The mystery must be behind the guardian (Jacob) and what he guards (smoke monster). But now we get to see Jacob and his brother’s origin. Was the mystery finally revealed? Nope, because everything originated from a pool of light. And so on we continue backtracking answers without being given even a single real one.

Lost has moved, from the beginning of 2nd season onward, through a process of expansion. A mythology that got more and more complex and intricate. Mixing science with supernatural events. A mythology that seemed extremely coherent and solidly built. Driven by purpose. Now with the 6th season it is going through a process of contraption, like an infinite regression. Cards are removed from the play. We backtrack mysteries, lead toward a core. But we’ve been given no actual answers yet. Nothing is revealed because the nature of the mystery is constantly pushed back. Hoping that the final destination doesn’t coincide with the true origin of myth: “we can’t tell you [because there’s no answer]”. (which is also connected with the theodicy)

Or, better summarized than I ever could: “It’s turtles all the way down”. It would be rather sad if Lost really came down just to that.

How Malazan manages to do it more successfully? I’ve only read to 600 pages in the 4th book, on a series of 10, but even if it ended here the series would be already immensely gratifying and successful. Something that I could never say about Lost at any point. Malazan isn’t just one long, reckless chase toward an ultimate mystery that has to sustain and motivate all that came before. This because the cards that are turned up, STAY in the game. They aren’t removed. While the mythology in Lost was mostly misdirection as a whole (leading to a simpler core), in Malazan all elements stay in play and are all connected to a bigger picture. The books are deeply interconnected and layered but none of these are “smoke and mirrors”, if not smoke and mirrors that reveal different paths and motivations.

There was for example a lot of confusion about the “warren of Shadow”. It was at times referenced as “Meanas”, and at times as “Rashan”, or even “Meanas-Rashan”. Now, in the 4th book, it is revealed that the warren of Shadow is a shattered warren. Contested. And that it is being tainted (partially taken over) by the warren of Shadow. The warren of Shadow is called, simplifying, Rashan. While Shadow is supposed to be Meanas. And that explains all the ambiguity in the previous books. Shadow is not whole and tainted with Darkness, hence the confusion and blur between names. But it doesn’t end there, because we also discover that the “Whirlwind Goddess”, previously just the goddess of some tribes in the desert who are fighting against the Malazan colonization, isn’t just a local cult. It has deep roots in the overarching mythology. The Whirlwind Goddess is itself a “redress” of a fragment of the warren of Shadows, and this revelation leads to more things making sense. Everything is linked together, misdirection isn’t just smoke and mirrors because its motives are themselves revealing. The books are generous, offering plenty of answers and surprises and intuitions constantly through the narrative. The story doesn’t run out of steam because it is intricately woven and every part has its meaning and theme.

There’s intent in the narrative of the single book, with stories coming to a resolution and some assertions of themes fully developed and “delivered”, then there’s a contribution to an overarching structure, a vaster movement that links every book together winding intricately story threads back and forth. There’s a definite progression but the motives are never constantly pushed back and unanswered. You are instead brought to cower since what is revealed always opens on a vaster scenario that couldn’t be previously fathomed. It’s like something buried in the ground. The mystery is: what is it? You try to guess. But then when you start digging you discover it’s HUGE, and far, far beyond what you could ever imagine.

Which all leads to a final element that makes Malazan superior to Lost. In the Malazan series the “knowledge” you acquire, can then be used to understand more and more. The stories rely on what you learn. This gives a satisfying idea of progress. You embrace what is going on and slowly understand. With Lost instead, two episodes from the end, our guesses are worth the same as everyone else’s. What we learned? Not much. We now know we didn’t know anything. Distracting details and derails. Clinging on the hope there’s something redeeming in the last episode that finally gives us a proper answer. The more is revealed, the less we know: we are still at the point of a mythical island containing a mythical power.

The rest was just an elaborate castle of cards woven with human drama.

“We must make sure no one ever finds it.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Yes, it is. And that’s why they want it. Because a little bit of this very same light is inside of every men. But they always want more.”

If it’s immortality then the theme was explored much more deeply and meaningfully in Malazan. In Lost we are still wondering, two episodes from the end, why it’s wrong that men want more of that light (whatever it is).

Brought to: we can’t be happy because someone decided so. Good. Let’s go challenging whoever decided it, once for all. Let’s make a revolution. (this is also being handled in Malazan)

The smoke monster has to be freed from the dumbness of this story and its vapid motives and justifications. The world will end, but it will be for a good cause.

The Crippled God – Latest updates

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I wasn’t going to post, but there are various tidbits.

Cover: Soon we should have at least the cover for the book (The Crippled God, the very last book to come out in the 10-book series). A year ago we got the cover for book 9 as soon as someone received an early copy of the paperback edition of the previous book and this year the paperback comes out the 27 of May, meaning that someone should get the book one or two weeks before that date, and so post the new cover.

Manuscript: In February Hetan, one of Erikson’s advance reader, said Erikson planned to be done with the manuscript of the book around the end of May, early June. Pat (of Fantasy Hotlist) mailed Erikson in the last couple of days and got a direct response from Erikson: he says the target for the final manuscript is mid-June, so confirming that there haven’t been substantial delays. In the last blog update he stated he had 10 chapters left to write. The blog appeared the 10 April but evidence reveals that it was actually written almost a month before that date, so Erikson should be closer to the end.

Publication date: Amazon says the book is now planned for January but Erikson states no release has been set by the publisher. If we look at what happened a year ago, the book was done around the beginning of May and the release was even anticipated to mid-August, so this time there are good chances that the book could be ready for November. The quick release a year ago also lead to no maps being added and no appendices, so it’s not unlikely that the final volume in a long series requires extra time with polishing. It would be surely well accepted since we aren’t looking at Martin-like years of delays.

In the meantime you can read the latest blog post he wrote, where he offered us an excerpt (out of context) that was cut from the book. And it’s wonderful.

“It is said the stars are without number, and are in eternal motion,
and that the heavens forbid all comprehension. It is said that
the universe breathes as would a bellows, and that we are now
riding an exhalation of a god immeasurably vast. And when all
these things are said, I am invited to surrender to the immensity
of the unknowable.

“To this I do rail. If I am to be a mote lost in the abyss, then
that mote is my world. My universe. And all the great forces
beyond my reach invite neither despair nor ennui. In what I
am able to measure — this is the realm of my virtues, and here is
where I must find my reward.

But if you would mock my struggle, crowd not close. The
universe is without measure and the stars are without number.
And if I invite you to explore, take no offence. Be sure that I
will spare you a parting wave as you vanish into the distance,
never to be seen again.”

There’s more in there.

House of Chains and Lost (TV)

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Maybe I have hallucinations but I’m seeing recurring themes everywhere. Today I watch “Angel Beats!” (anime, check my twitter) and there was a dialogue about the nature of god that seemed to resonate with some themes in House of Chains.

Then there are some obvious analogies directly between the book and Lost. Especially this last season of Lost. Consider also that the book came out in 2002, so well before the TV series could influence it.

Some strict analogies in House of Chains with Lost:
– there’s a mysterious island (Drift Avalii) said to be inhabited by spirits.
– this island moves. It “drifts”, moving in a kind of elliptical path.
– Not openly stated, but it’s almost sure that time passes differently on the island.
– Some boats end up crashing against it (and disappear).
– The island holds some kind of power, and there are guardians stationed there protecting this power.
– Interesting: contrarily to Lost, the guardians have failed their mission. Only one guardian is left.
– These guardians are very sad and miserable, since they had to sacrifice their whole life to the task.
– The guardians are obviously immortal (if they aren’t directly killed, I guess).

Then there is this other main plot thread:
– A god is trapped unjustly and only wants to be free.
– The god, who originally wouldn’t want to mingle with human affairs, is forced to seek allies.
– He finds his allies through analogies between theirs and his own story. So people who also were trapped or suffered in their lives.
– If the god is freed, the world ends.

Some of these themes have already been dealt more clearly in the 4th book of a 10 book series than Lost four episodes from the game over. And in the books this is just a small part of a much bigger picture, as if you take everything that Lost is and then attached it to a much bigger universe where there are a huge number of gods struggling for power instead of just one.

The majority of themes in Lost, like faith, belief and destiny, are also heavily featured in the Malazan series, with more facets and perspectives added.