It wasn't as if Seressa was sunny
and warm in late autumn. Indeed, if he was being honest he'd have to
say his city on its lagoon could be colder than Obravic. Fog and damp
that could find your chest and bones, even in a palace on the Great
Canal. There weren't enough fireplaces in the world, Orso Faleri was
thinking, to entirely ease a wet autumn or winter night back home.
Even so, even so. You felt the cold
more when you were away. Men were like that, the world was. An
unfamiliar house among strangers, darkness having descended to the
sound of rain. Poets wrote about such things.
So does Guy Gavriel Kay, who is also a
poet (he has published a poetry book in addition to several novels).
I was first introduced to Kay's novels
around 2000, when my boyfriend at the time gave me ”The Lions of
Al-Rassan” to read. It was one of the first fantasy novels I ever
read, but he knew what he was doing: I fell in love with the book,
and Kay quickly became one of my favourite authors.
And the boyfriend? Reader, I married
him. 😊
Kay’s books are classified as fantasy mostly because they are set
in fictional worlds inspired by bygone cultures/eras/historical
events. In ”Children”, the setting resembles the Renaissance
Europe. Most of his books have an additional fantasy element, but
that is usually something – a ghost, say, or an ability to
communicate with a dead ancestor – that the mystic in me could
easily believe to be possible (the sceptic in me might disagree
),
for ”We
must not imagine we understand all there is to know about the world”.
Since her baby brother was kidnapped,
her father and older brother
slain by Osmanli troops,
Danica Gradek has
lived for revenge. Although women rarely fight, the skilled
archer joins
a raiding party of
legendary Senjan warriors.
Leonora Valeri, a disgraced daughter of
a wealthy aristocrat, is given
a chance to escape confinement
in a religious house and
take control of her life
– if she agrees to a
pretend marriage with a man she does not know... and becomes a spy.
Pero Villani, a young artist from the
fabled city state Seressa is sent to paint a portrait of the Grand
Khalif of the Osmanli Empire. There is an underlying mission, but
succeeding in it would end not only the Khalif's life.
Marin Djivo, a merchant from Dubrava, is
transporting cargo and passengers when pirates board his ship. Swords
are drawn, arrows fired… and destinies irrevocably entangled.
As in all of Kay's books, empires rise
and fall and armies march to war. Plots are hatched, power games are
played, and few care about the costs.
Yet the outcome of everything could
depend on whether it rains or not. (We are children of earth and sky,
after all.)
I don’t want to say more about the
plot for fear of spoilers, but as is typical of
Kay's novels, events take place against
upheavals that shape the
world, yet the focus is always on
individuals and their
lives – and the changes they undergo. These
passages illustrate the idea perfectly:
The
world is a gameboard, an Esperañan poet had declared, in still
celebrated lines, centuries ago. The pieces are moved, they do not
control themselves. They are placed opposite each other, or beside.
They are allies or enemies, of higher or lower rank. They die or they
survive. One player wins and then there is another game on the board.
Even
so, the rise and fall of fortune for empires, kingdoms, republics,
warring faiths, men and women – their heartaches, losses, loves,
undying rage, delight and wonder, pain and birth and death – all
these are intensely real to them, not simply images in a poem,
however brilliant the poet might have been.
The
dead (with exceptions impossibly rare) are gone from us. They are
buried with honour, burned, thrown into the sea, left on gibbets or
in fields for animals and carrion birds. One needs to stand far away
or look with a very cold eye, to see all this roiling movement, this
suffering, agitation, as pieces only, moved in some game.
We
are tossed around in the often violent current of history, but
sometimes a single individual, and even a seemingly small deed (or a
decision or a dream or a hunch), can change the course of history and
impact the lives of many. I can’t put it into words, but there is
something about this element that makes Kay’s books both larger
than life yet so very human. Perhaps what I like so much is the
comfort in the thought that we are all a part of something... yet
very, very small parts. (And it’s all very random anyway.)
There are other familiar
elements: beautiful friendships, love and loyalty, courage
and honour, kindness and
tenderness that sometimes
emerge even in the most
unexpected places. And, in
the midst of all that
turmoil, when
empires come tumbling down and the world around us changes,
these are what truly
matter. ”Children”
also includes references to Kay's earlier works, particularly ”The
Sarantine Mosaic”. You don't need to read his other books in order
to enjoy this one, but the references will likely delight the fans
(they did me).
Then
there is the language, beautiful as always. I've mentioned before
that I am a fan of Kay's lyrical, dramatic style. I often find myself
rereading a sentence or a paragraph just for the pleasure of it, to
savour it.
While
I would not rate this among Kay's best, it is still an excellent
novel. I had some trouble immersing myself in the book the way I want
to, even though it was the holidays and I had more time to read than
usual. It may be that my concentration lagged a bit, because my
daughter was ill and I had my own health concerns. It also seemed to
me that it took some time for the story to get going – I had a
feeling I had only just started the book when, in fact, I had already
devoured more than half and would have expected there to be more
rising tension by that point. There was action and adventure,
certainly, but the pacing was perhaps somewhat unconventional. Even
when I was half-way through the book, I would not have been able to
describe the plot because I did not know how the story lines
connected. On the other hand, this also meant that I (mostly) could
not predict what would happen, and that I enjoyed very much.
I may have mentioned that I am an
emotional reader – feelings are what I want, perhaps more than
anything else, from a book.
Lately, few books have
managed to evoke strong
feelings. (I have
theories as to why, but I am not fond of them as they
would indicate that I've become older and… I
want to say wiser,
naturally, but the more correct word here is perhaps
more cynical,
but I have sworn never
to become that… so, less
emotional? No, that
isn’t any better!
Let's say more
balanced
and
experienced.
Or maybe wiser is the right one, after all? Oh, words,
those slippery bastards!)
Anyway. ”Children” did bring tears
to my eyes. This happened a
couple of times towards the end, which was expected, but also once
long before that, quite unexpectedly (and therefore even
more wonderfully).
I sat there, all misty-eyed, and had to stop reading for a moment.
And I thought – this is what I want from a book! This is why I love
reading.
