Purpose and Predisposition

CW: “It’s the storyteller’s job to communicate, not the reader’s job to figure things out.”

As a reader, and an avid one at that, I don’t completely agree with this sentiment. I believe that it is the storyteller’s job to engage the reader’s imagination. To immerse them in the world they have created. If this means that they do this in an unconventional manner, then so be it; but better that reader engages than not. I don’t believe that any reader goes into a book either believing or expecting that they’ll know absolutely everything they need to know about it within the first few pages. I also think that literature would suffer if that was the case.

Having said that, it’s often stated by readers of Erikson that the Malazan series as a whole and particularly the first book, is difficult and complicated. Gardens of the Moon is not a straightforward book in terms of its structure, but the whole series has a “stigma” attached to it that it is one of the most difficult, confusing, complicated series ever written – and this comes from fans. It’s almost a pre-requisite that when you start reading the series you go in expecting to have difficulty, to need a dictionary, to have to look things up on the Malazan wiki to understand what’s happening, as opposed to, in most cases, just being able to breeze through a book without any problems. Phrases like “Erikson doesn’t hold your hand,” and “these books were written with the intention to be re-read” as well as “you need to pay attention to everything or you’ll miss something” are prominent in most discussions of the series, and again, this feels off-putting to many.  This sounds like a criticism, and it is, but not because of the book itself: because of the stigma attached to it. You can read The Malazan Book of the Fallen without all the hassle and enjoy it. More importantly, you can also understand it. Yet this “stigma” has an increasingly problematic and psychological side-effect that comes with it – the idea of a self-fulfilling prophecy. If you believe it will be complicated and difficult, you will more than likely find it to be so.

In literary analysis, this is where objectivity should come into play. That is, there should be no bias for or against the text. Especially where many views are opposites, like with Malazan. It’s the Marmite effect – you love it or hate it. From a reader’s perspective, such analysis should help them to understand any difficulties they may find with the text, style, structure etc. In a teaching context, especially lessons on teaching aspiring writers what to avoid goes hand in hand with this: if a book is difficult or complicated, then analysis of the text will show potential authors what these errors are and how to avoid them.

This is the purpose of the original article.

So, let’s begin.

A Book Should Speak for Itself

CW: “If the elaborate name of the series – The Malazan Book of The Fallen – wasn’t a big enough hint as to how seriously this book takes itself, just look at the opening appendixes.

It starts with three maps, which I certainly won’t complain about, and then includes a section titled ‘Dramatis Personae.’ This is a list of names characters of which there are 92!…If you are a regular reader of Mythcreants I hope you know that this is far more named characters than readers can handle in a novel-length work. Perhaps some of them are only introduced in later books.“

Three maps and a Dramatis Personae does not a novel make. Chris makes a massive point of this. And I agree – 92 characters (her count) is a bit of overkill, but it’s hardly “far more named characters than readers can handle.” This is where I was headed when I was talking about objectivity: the critic must be neutral. There shouldn’t be assumptions about anything unless they are based on fact.

CW: “A number of these entries are also pointless. A simple list of names won’t help anyone; readers need descriptive information that jogs the memory. For instance, a good one is ‘Mammot, a high priest of D’riss and eminent scholar, uncle to Crokus.’ We have some notable traits of Mammot and are also reminded if his most important relationship with another character. But there are also seven entries with ‘The Hound [Name], a Hound of Shadow.’ If they’re called ‘The Hound X’ every time, I can guess they’re a hound of shadow for myself. Then, listed under the regulars of an inn, there’s ‘Irilta, a regular.’ Thanks, good to know?

I’m left wondering if many of these characters are so minor, readers don’t actually need to remember them. But then why list them? I’ll tell you why: with each new addition to the list, The Malazan Book of The Fallen gains +1 Seriousness.”

While I agree to an extent that descriptors are useful, a Dramatis Personae is quite literally, just a list of characters. Having extra information about them that may well appear in the book later seems to defeat the purpose. However, they do have a purpose. If a reader looks at the Dramatis Personae, while later reading the book, names will seem familiar – and that is the point. It’s the readers’ choice. You can skip it, it’s not essential, although it can be helpful. The maps are the same: they’re not necessary, but useful if the reader considers them so. After all, the author decided to include them, which gives them relevance.

CW: “The bottom line is that if readers need a list of characters to reference, you have too many named people in your story. In these cases, the appendix is better than nothing, but the real solution is to simplify.”

Not all books need these additions, and they can be seen as unnecessary complications to the text by readers, so from a writing perspective, the lesson here is that as a writer, these additions are not necessary, but if you think they will aid the reader, then by all means, use them. If they are important enough to include, they are not pointless. Neither of these additions add levels of seriousness to any novel. Simplifying the list, if you have a lot of characters, won’t necessarily help either, especially if all the characters are in some way significant to the book (which they should be.)

CW: “After all that coverage of the Dramatis Personae, you might guess it’s finally time to get to the book’s opening. But no, there are also two poems about how cool this book is…“

My point above as to relevance is the same here with the introductory poems – of which there are two – that serve as an opening to the whole series (poem one) and to the book itself (poem two.) They are not gratuitous. They are not there to make the book look cool, and they are certainly not about “how cool this book is.” They are included to give context, which, as we all know, is very important when reading, or writing any story.

Context is key, and it’s this that is the crux of the argument regarding the poetic introductions. In the article, Chris takes two selected lines from the opening poem of the book, and this is not adequate to gain context. The complete poetic introduction is. When the stanza, or verse, is read it its entirety, the reader is told the purpose of the series. It gives the reader the context that what follows in the series are recollections of history.

Now these ashes have grown cold, we open the old book. These oil-stained pages recount the tales of the Fallen, a frayed empire, words without warmth.

CW: “Naturally, this Very Serious Book must be dark, or it can’t be serious. However, ‘words without warmth’ doesn’t make it sound good. Dark or not, it’ll get monotonous if there’s no warmth anywhere.”

I do not understand how the only take-away from these lines is “Dark or not, it’ll get monotonous if there’s no warmth.” I mean, essentially the comment is true – something without any warmth whatsoever will become monotonous – but it’s simply not applicable here.

Let’s look at an analysis of the first lines that Chris used.

“Now these ashes have grown cold,” – it’s been a long time since these events occurred.
“we open the old book.“- there’s an old book.
‘These oil-stained pages recount the tales of the Fallen,’“- the book has stories in  it about Malazan (the book of the Fallen)
“a frayed empire” – an empire that was not as ‘perfect’ as it once was – it was fragmented
“words without warmth.” – this isn’t about warmth, it’s about honesty – a blunt and harsh reality of the truth of what really happened.

The whole purpose of the books in the series is encapsulated in the remaining lines, which are not referenced in the article. Here is the entire poem in the original format and structure:

Now these ashes have grown cold, we open the old book.        
These oil-stained pages recount the tales of the Fallen,
a frayed empire, words without warmth. The hearth
has ebbed, its gleam and life’s sparks are but memories
against dimming eyes – what cast my mind, what hue my
thoughts as I open the Book of the Fallen
and breathe deep the scent of history?
Listen, then, to these words carried on that breath.
These tales are the tales of us all, again yet again.
We are history relived and that is all, without end that is all.

This clearly shows the reader what the series is about and ensures that readers know that what they are about to read is part of that historical recollection. “Words without warmth” doesn’t make it sound good? No, not out of context it doesn’t. As I’ve said above, context is important, this is the lesson that a writer should take away from this.

CW: “The second poem declares that the emperor is dead. I neither know who this emperor is, nor care that he’s dead, so let’s get to the opening.”

This article is a presentation of what not to do as a writer. One thing that a writer should do is put into the text, people, places, scenarios and things that are important for the reader to know. This is what the second poem does.

Ironically, the opening that Chris is looking for, is in fact, the second of the poems that she has dismissed as unimportant. Although, to be completely honest I can see how placing it as a prelude to the first chapter, rather than the prologue may work better to highlight its relevance. Regardless, it is extremely significant as an introduction to the context of the book. To dismiss this as something uncared for is obtuse as well as unfair to the author. The second poem is something that is significant enough that it is ‘set apart’ from the general text of the following chapter, or prologue in this case. To dismiss it is folly.

For reference, here is the second poem:

The Emperor is dead!
So too his right hand – now cold, now severed!
But mark these dying shadows,
twinned and flowing bloody and beaten,
down and away from mortal sight…
From sceptre’s rule dismissed,
from gild candelabra the light now fled,
from a hearth ringed in hard jewels,
seven years this warmth has bled…

The Emperor is dead.
So too his master’d companion – the rope cut clean.
But mark this burgeoning return –
faltering dark, the tattered shroud –
embracing children in the Empire’s dying light.
Hear now the dirge faint reprised,
before the sun’s fall, this day spills red
on buckled earth, and in obsidian eyes
vengeance chimes seven times…

There may be reasons that Chris doesn’t want to  look at this section, or considers it to un-important, but there is no explanation given other than that she doesn’t care. Which would be fine, if the poem was just something added in that didn’t really tell the reader anything, or that the writer didn’t really consider significant to the plot or story. If the lesson is that the book or story should speak for itself, then why dismiss it as something irrelevant?

Where the first poem gave us context for the series, the second provides context for the book. The emperor is dead, as is his right-hand man, – his protector, or trusted companion. We also know that this happened seven years ago and a promise for vengeance has been made, which will occur on the seventh year after his death. This gives the reader relevant information and leads to the prologue.

CW: “Obviously, there’s a prologue, as befits a Serious ^TM work such as The Malazan Book of the Fallen… How could The Malazan Book of the Fallen be Serious without some fancy dates to mark the momentous occasion?“

This is where the tone of the critique shifts. I talked about objectivity earlier, and about the stigma of the series and how it might affect would be readers. The apparent mockery and sarcasm, both in the above, and the next parts of the analysis are probably part of the reason why this review garnered such a vehement response from fans of the book series. The word serious has been capitalised to evoke contempt for the work and has already been used several times including in the above quote. The trademark sign adds a sense of disdain to this comment. Further mocking of the dates that serve as an introduction to the time frame of the prologue don’t do Chris any favours at being taken seriously here. If the intention is to be tongue-in-cheek and light-hearted, then the article should not have been posted under lessons, as an analysis, but under reviews. I have not quoted Chris’s comments, but they are available in the full article.

The dates are used because they are significant to the setting of the prologue. They are as follows:

1154th Year of Burn’s Sleep.
96th Year of the Malazan Empire.
The Last Year of Emperor Kellanved’s Reign.

CW: “Credit where credit is due: This last date is easy to remember and actually means something.“

On the contrary, all the dates mean something. There are three dates, because they denote different things. They give the reader some knowledge of timeframes and provoke questions as well as providing answers. The second poem, had it been referenced, would have been a perfect opportunity for Chris to link events together, and note this as a positive in the critique. The dates also give the reader a chance to ask some more questions, such as what the significance of Burn’s Sleep is. Readers are given the knowledge that the Malazan Empire has existed for 96 years, that the emperor’s name was Kellanved and that what follows in the prologue happens in the year of his death, so is set before the opening poem. This means the prologue is some sort of flashback, which is important, otherwise the author wouldn’t have written it! Repeating myself but – if it’s significant enough for the author to put in, it’s significant enough for a reader to take away! Anyway, I digress. Chris then continues:

CW: “Gardens of the Moon is not the first book I’ve accused of being pretentious with it’s opening pages. The stuff before the first line, whether that’s maps, lists, poems, epistolary snippets, or quotes, is not the story. It’s more like meta commentary about the story. When it’s overdone, it looks like the storyteller is going on about how very cool and important their work is.

If you let the story speak for itself, you don’t have to worry about saying something that sounds overly pompous.”

Now, I have to say, I’m not surprised that this isn’t Chris’s first rodeo of pretentiousness, and I agree that in some cases, some authors do think that maps/lists/glossaries and dramatis personae style introductions will elevate their work, and that sometimes those extras are not necessary. For the most part, I don’t think that “stuff before the first line” really qualifies as meta-commentary, although I can see how poetry and epistolary snippets can direct the reader’s attention towards purpose in what follows – but in most cases, poems and epistolary snippets are intended as first lines and not reference materials, which is the category that the majority of “stuff before the first line” falls into.

The excerpts and poetry prior to the prologue in GotM (and indeed the rest of the book) are there as part of the story, not in addition to it. For the majority, they add to the reading experience. As an aside, though, I can understand why they could be seen as something that can be skipped over or not given much thought, particularly in later chapters, but not at the very beginning of the novel where they serve as introductions.

It is also true that letting the story speak for itself is a good tactic, but looking at the poetry with an objective viewpoint, readers can see (as demonstrated) that they do actually bring something to the story being told.

Of course, if a reader has a personal preference regarding poetical form, this could skew in one direction or another – negative or positive. Which is why, as a “lesson” that could be learned from this for an aspiring writer, I would have suggested that they ‘balance out’ any introductory/pre-chapter poems/snippets within the story itself where there is relevance, so that readers who choose not to engage with that format, don’t ‘miss out.’

Next up, Chris discusses disorientation.