You can find a significantly less wordy take on The Baker's Boy here

The Reading Canary: a Reminder

As Arthur has noted, series of novels - especially in fantasy and SF fiction, but distressingly frequently on other genres as well - have a nasty tendency to turn sour partway through. The Reading Canary is your guide to precisely how far into a particular sequence you should read, and which side-passages you should explore, before the noxious gases become too much and you should turn back.

So I borrowed the Canary for protection as I embarked upon J.V. Jones' trilogy, The Book of Words, the first volume of which, The Baker's Boy, opens thusly:

"The deed is done master." Lusk barely had a second to notice the glint of th elong-knife and only a fraction of that second to realise what it meant.

Baralis sliced Lusk's body open with one forceful but elegant stroke, cleaving from the throat to the groin."

It was at this point that the reading canary turned green, keeled off its perch and died. However, instead of returning it apologetically to Arthur for burial as any sane person would, I donned a long black cloak, danced around its tiny feathered corpse gibbering arcanely and performed horrific necromantic rituals known only to fantasy fiction masochists like myself. The newly raised, moulting and shambling Zombie Reading Canary and I then continued through all three books of the series. The good news is they don't get any worse. The bad news is they're toxic right the way through. Well, perhaps toxic is a little harsh; they do occasionally reach the dizzying heights of almost cool and, by the end, I had just about surrendered into liking some of the characters. And I have to admit to experiencing throughout the sort of sick and dirty pleasure you only get from reading exactly the right kind of bad fantasy.

What's it all about, then?

So, there's this prophet right? And he's made this, like, prophecy, right? Which goes like this:

When men of honour lose sight of their cause
When three bloods are savoured in one day
Two houses will meet in wedlock and wealth
And what forms at the join is decay
A man will come with neither father nor mother
But sister as lover
And stay the hand of the plague

The stones will be sundered, the temple will fall
The dark empire's expansion will end at his call
And only the fool knows the truth.

And there's this baker's boy of mysterious origins, right (no prizes for guesses which, if any, prophecies might apply to him). And this knight dude who's been sent to find him for no real apparent reason except for it being A Quest. And, oh, you know, the usual fantasy stuff: warring kingdoms, political jiggery pokery, and seemingly sensible rulers standing around wearing "assassinate me here" T-shirts. To be honest, plot isn't really one of the strong points of The Book of Words: it consists of several vaguely connected character threads, about half of which are interesting, revolving around the usual types of people you would expect to find in this sort of fantasy novel: there's Jack, the plucky baker's boy, dealing with his mysterious origins and his powerful, uncontrollable magic; there's Melliandra the hot feisty noble chick trying to escape an arranged marriage and there's Tawl, the angsty knight and his plot relevant sidekick, a wannabe Gavroche called Nabber. And on the blue team (also known as the Eeeeeevil Team) you can find Prince Kylock, Jack's woman-hating, whore-murdering, drug-snorting completely-off-his-tits nemesis; Baralis, poisoner, sorcerer, master manipulatooor; Travalisk, a fat evil priest and Lord Maybor, a power-hungry, avaricious aristocrat.

It's standard fantasy fare: bland, familiar and oddly comforting. There's never any real tension because it's obvious from the get go exactly what's going to happen and how. It does, however, suffer from tremendous fantasy sag. The second book, A Man Betrayed (what man? what betrayal?), which consists mainly of Tawl actively running away from the plot because he believes he's unworthy of it, is especially, teeth-grindingly pointless, even for a fantasy trilogy. It was at about this point that the Zombie Reading Canary started to eat its own brain. And it's a bit of shame - about the sag, not the brain - because the story arc over the three volumes is a reasonably interesting exploration of prophecy, pre-destination and personal choice, or at least it would be if it wasn't getting constantly put on hold while the main characters wander off on pointless sidequests as if they're the player character in a CRPG.

And the prophecy itself, despite hanging importantly over the narrative like a big important thing, is noticeably lacking in what I believe is technically known as oomph. For starters, there isn't a plague, literal or, as far as I could see (and I'm trained in this stuff) metaphorical. And the "sister as lover" business is so utterly irrelevant you could be forgiven for thinking it was only in there to rhyme with "mother." If you ask me, incest (even accidental incest) shouldn't be something a character can just shrug off like a bad choice of tie. As for the "fool knows the truth," well, there is literally a stupid person who works as Baralis' servant but he knows the truth only in the sense of carrying it round in his pocket. I feel this is cheating. If the main plot thrust of your narrative is all "oooh oooh prophecy prophecy ooooh" I think the least you owe your readers is a meaningful prophecy (if that isn't an oxymoron) instead of a piece of spurious doggerel. To be fair, the text has quite an interesting relationship with the undying three-legged donkey that is your standard fantasy fiction prophecy plot (more on this later); however I still can't shake the conviction that the things that fulfil the prophecy happen because the plot demands they happen not because there are convincing personal reasons why someone might behave that way. For example, Jack randomly meets and falls in love with (i.e. bones) a chick who looks a bit like him and she later turns out to probably be his sister. There is no reason for this beyond the line in prophecy and no attempt is made to deal with it on an emotional or textual level.

So why did you read these books then?

Well, they're not all bad. In fact, there's such a degree of rompish OTT exuberance about them it's hard not to get caught up in the silliness. For example, the prologue of the first book kicks off with Baralis murdering his own servant for knowing too much, having a sinister little taste of the dead guy's blood, revealing his network of spy tunnels to the reader, lamenting the stiffness of his poison-scarred hands, contemplating the convenience of his secret grasp of dark magics, remembering how he accidentally murdered his own mother with said dark magics, musing lightly on how hot little girls make him and then, having drugged the Queen into insensibility, giving her a good old raping. As far as introductions to a bad person go, you can't beat it for sheer excess. He ticks every box on the evil questionaire.

Similarly, in all bar two or three scenes (over the entire trilogy!), every time the fat Archbishop appears, he's eating something a bit unpleasant (oysters, snails, lamb's brains, sweetbreads, tripe, you name it) in a sinister fashion. It's absurd and hilarious, and at the same time incredibly irritating because he literally does nothing except eat stuff and watch events from afar; there's no reason for him to actually be in the books at all, except it's not proper fantasy unless it has a fat priest in it. Regardless, enjoy:

Travalisk was enjoying his breakfast. He was eating lamb's kidneys, savouring their delicate flavour of blood and urine... (page 104)

His hands were occupied with cracking open the shell of a huge live lobster. With a dainty silver hammer he pounded viciously on the shell, eager to get at the tender, translucent meat.. (page 230)

Travalisk picked up his little silver hook and set about extracting himself a snail from its shell. He finally hooked the flesh and drew it out. It was a fine specimen, plump and shiny... (page 421)

And then there's Bodger and Grift, the two comedy guards who blunder along cluelessly in the wake of the action like an inept Greek chorus. Annoyingly, they get all but forgotten in the Big Climax but I was very fond of them by the end:

"Of course, Bodger, there's really only one way to tell if a woman's a virgin."
"What's that, Grift?"
"You have to put her in a room with a badger, Bodger."
"A badger?"
"Aye, Bodger, a badger. You take the badger, Bodger, lock it in a room with the girl you're testing. You leave them alone for a couple of hours and then go and see what's happened."
"What's supposed to happen, Grift?"
"Well, Bodger, if the badger falls asleep in the corner, then the girl's been around the haystack, if you know what I mean. But if the badger comes and curls up on her lap, then she's a virgin good and true."
"What if the badger bites the girl, Grift?"
"Then the girl will catch the ground pox, and no one will care either way, Bodger."

Furthermore, The Book of Words has some nice ideas to offer, although they're often lost in all the eating and dithering. The Seers of Larn - a place where the seers are chained to rocks and driven into madness in order to intensify their gifts - are genuinely quite horrific and haunting. Also when Batshit Prince Kylock semi-accidentally murders his new bride on their wedding night, he finds himself obliged to consummate the wedding anyway for political reasons - and I have to admit the idea of it made me shriek with a sickened glee because, well, you can't get cooler than a bit of necrophilia for your thoroughly deserving it villains. The Book of Words comes so very close to working when it's concentrating on its bad guys; they're so blatant about being evil and so utterly over the top that they can't help but be fun to read about.

I also quite like the magic system into which it is clear J.V. Jones has put quite a bit of thought. Magic is rare and exceptionally powerful and seems to be a weird sort of pseudo-surgery that involves fiddling around with the interior of creatures and things. It's also pretty nasty - Baralis swallows the still beating heart of a recently killed dove for example - and exacts a physical toll upon the user, generally incapacitating them for a day or two after. Yes, it's not the most original thing you'll ever encounter but it treads a nice path between magic being powerful enough to be scary and magic being so powerful there's no reason not to use it for everything.

As I've said above, the way The Book of Words handles prophecy is actually relatively interesting, despite the fact the prophecy itself is shit. The prophecy is from The Book of Words, a holy book of which only four accurate versions exist in the world, the rest having been distorted and altered to promulgate the views and prejudices of those doing the copying. It's fascinating to watch the various incorrect prophecies appearing and interacting with the true one - except the author doesn't really do anything with this apart from have it floating around in the background. Similarly, when the truth of Jack's origins finally comes out about three chapters from the end of the third volume (as is traditional), the implication seems to be that his mysterious mother was responding to a line in the prophecy that suggested to her a conclusion for her own personal vengeance crusade.

Essentially, she chooses to bring about the prophecy by creating a child without knowledge of his father or mother and Jack, later, when he realises who and what he is, chooses to fulfil it. This is almost cool and, if a modicum more thought had gone into it, it might have been a nice twist on the destiny trope. I was inclined to interpret Jack mother's choice as the action of woman so mad and desperate she would rather sacrifice watching her own child grow up then give up a sliver of a chance for revenge. Except that, as Dan pointed out, "a man will come with neither father nor mother" is just about the least specific prophecy you can imagine in a pseudo-Medieval world were rape and wild oat sewing are commonplace. And, furthermore, although one can argue that most of Jack's prophecy-filling actions (destroying Larn, for example) are personal choices, they're undermined by the helpless, arbitrary sister bonking that takes place in the second book. It's possible I'm giving J.V. Jones too much credit and reading into the book things that aren't actually there but the fact remains that the whole prophecy/choice theme is frustratingly close to being interesting. Unfortunately, if it is more than it seems, the books are simply too incoherent to support it.

Women

It's also impossible to talk about The Book of Words without touching upon its attitudes to women. I have no idea what's meant to be going on but it's certainly got the casual misogyny dial turned up to 11. Now, I know it's all too easy to complain about the treatment of female characters in fantasy fiction but, in a generally shitty genre, The Book of Words really takes the ejaculate-covered biscuit. And I'm not taking about the casual romping, the buxom barmaids and the bawdy speculations of Bodger and Grift - that's all perfectly entertaining - or even Batshit Prince Kylock murdering his whores, I'm talking about something that feels genuinely distasteful.

First of all, I know we're in a dark, muddy, faux-medieval world in which an "historically authentic" depiction of women as chattel and lesser citizens is pretty much to be expected but I've come to the conclusion (via Dan, who has much to say on this subject) that "oh but it was really like that, man" is an increasingly spurious defence. It's fiction for God's sake, you're allowed to pick and choose and just because you have some elements of a harsh medieval world doesn't mean you automatically have to include others to maintain the veracity. Specifically, in The Book of Words, Jack is a poor nobody, the lowest of the low, with uncertain parentage - yet most of the people he encounters treat him reasonably well. By contrast, Melliandra - a feisty young noblewoman running away from the constrictions of the court and an enforced betrothal to Batshit Prince Kylock - basically reels from attempted rape to attempted rape. And I can't help but feel that it's less a depiction of the plight of woman in a patriarchal society than an opportunity to have her soft pale breasts fondled repeatedly by rough barbarian hands.

Disenchanted as I am with George RR 'Wheel of Thrones' Martin, at least his horrible, historically authentic medieval world is fair: everybody gets treated like shit, women get raped, men get their sword hands cut off, everybody loses. In The Book of Words, Melliandra is living in a somebody's paint-by-numbers concept of a medieval society in which she can't take two steps without getting molested, and Jack is living in some merrie olde idyll where mercs will view him with a grudging respect as they capture him and kindly old druids will feed him stew when he escapes.

In the first book, Melliandra runs away from court, gets robbed, caught by mercenaries sent out to find her, beaten, nearly raped (with obligatory bodice ripping and breast fondling), manages to escape because the gangbang is interrupted by another group of mercenaries, seeks refuge at a nearby village, is mistaken for a prostitute, nearly raped again, convicted of assault and theft, pelted with rotten vegetables in a dark pit, stripped, whipped, saved from the whipping by the same mercenaries who nearly raped her before and, because they're under strict instructions not to nearly rape her this time, leave her to die of her wounds as they drag her back to the castle. And this only the first book: things don't get much better for her. Jack meanwhile romps around happily bonding with other men and being told to have adventures. In book two, some people he trusted betray him a bit which makes him angsty. Big whoop.

Through her terrible terrible treatment at the (rough) hands of just about everybody, by the end of book 3, Master and Fool (what master? what fool?), Melliandra is a very different character from the silly, spunky girl who ran away from her father in book 1. Except what she's developed is the sort of resilience that lets her get through extended torture sessions with whoever has taken a fancy to her today. I'm sure we're meant to perceive this as an indication of her "strength" and admire it but she is too passive to be strong: she merely endures and, personally, this is not a virtue I aspire to possess. She spends three books being alternatively looked after by men and captured by men; even through she believes she chooses her shortlived marriage to the Duke of Bren, he has actually carefully manipulated into it by playing on her longing to be thought of, and wooed, as an equal. Her other oft-cited quality is her sharp tongue (shrewishness?); men always comment on it appreciatively as they start pawing her. But in a world full of cocks and swords, it's no use to her whatsoever. Words, in The Book of Words, have no power at all: she might as well endure in silence, as women have always done

The other major female characters are:

Catherine of Bren - a very beautiful woman whose father forces her to wear a chastity belt to preserve her virtue; thankfully she's able to use magic to remove it, which allows her to whore around to such an extent that Prince Kylock's fragile grasp of sanity finally snaps during their wedding night. Virtues: none that I noticed.

Megan - tart with a heart who picks Tawl out of the gutter, feeds, clothes, and bonks him before watching him with misty eyes as he sets off on his pointless quest; consequently picked up Travalisk and subjected to a bit of dungeoning and torturing before he releases her in time for her to make misty eyes at Tawl when he returns before sending him off in the direction of his One Twue Wuv with her blessing. Virtues: passivity, resilience, self-effacement, boundless love with no expectation of return (presumably good in bed).

Queen Arinalda - opens the books by getting date raped by Baralis, gives birth to Batshit Prince Kylock, attempts to hold the Kingdom together while her husband drools into his pillow and does so semi-successfully except nobody will respect her properly because she's a woman. Eventually banished by Kylock, killed, raped and mutilated by soldiers hired by him for the purpose. Virtues: apparently a strong woman who nevertheless spends her limited lifespan getting raped and manipulated, manipulated and raped.

Mistress Greal - a brothel madam who attempts to trick Melliandra into being a whore. She gets her front teeth punched out in punishment for this and then continues to hound Melliandra mercilessly and treat her badly, eventually redeeming herself, if so it may be called, by taking a liking to Melliandra's kid. Virtues: good with kids? What the fuck.

Tarissa - Jack's half-sister, blackmailed into betraying him by a minor bad guy, she gets spurned for said betrayal. Virtues: she's not ever endowed with personality so I'm coming up a blank here. Again, she's meant to be strong and competent but it's hard to get behind that when she's incapable of making a sensible moral decision.

The point is, I don't expect (or want) fantasy worlds to be gender equal for the sake of political correctness, but I do expect more from them than this. It's not the attitudes that offend me so much as the utter lack of understanding. I suppose I could get behind a bleak tale of female disempowerment in a cruel medieval world - but The Book of Words is basically a romp, which means that the author is essentially using sexual abuse and widespread cruelty towards women in the same way she might include muddy peasants or a journey through a dark forest, i.e. as background scenery. But it offends me that there are two separate stories here: one jolly adventure about a baker's boy and his knightly friend who save the world from evil and live happily ever after and one fantasy fiction homage to de Sade's Justine. What the fuck were you thinking, J.V. Jones? While I'm on this subject I might as well include for illustrative purposes:

Fantasy Rape Watch!

Queens raped: 1
Number of times same Queen raped: at least 2
Female corpses fucked: 1
Women forced to wear a chastity belt: 1
Wenches bedded: Too many to count
Whores fucked then killed: Too many count
Times the heroine has her bodice ripped away: at least 6
Times the heroine has her soft breasts fondled by cruel hands: at least 6
Times the heroine is nearly raped: at least 10
Times the heroine is accused of being a whore: at least 10
Times the heroine is whipped: 1
Amount of time heroine spends in a pit being pelted with rotten vegetables by the peasantry: 1 night
Amount of time heroine spends enduring sadistic semi-sexual abuse from the villain: 6 months
Times the heroine is turned on by Baralis being creepy at her: 3
Times the heroine has actual consensual sex: 1
Times the heroine has an orgasm: 0
Number of men raped: 0

Batshit Prince Kylock

I've got to admit, I really liked Kylock; on the other hand I think he suffered from similar problems to Melliandra in that he's trapped in the wrong book with an author who hates him. Unlike Jack, who was born of a secret loving union and thus turned out all psychological healthy because J.V. Jones clearly ascribes to similar views on heredity as J.K. Rowling, Kylock is the product of a Baralis's prologial queensrape. And the poor bastard just doesn't have a chance. Despised by both parents, constantly manipulated by his real father and addicted to a psychosis-inducing drug that limits his magical power, it's no wonder he's two wenches short of an orgy. But in spite of his extreme handicaps, he is nevertheless one of the few competent characters in the book. He kicks off A Man Betrayed by murdering the imbecilic King and taking control of the realm - which is actually very sensible indeed, considering the King is clearly in no state to be kinging and nobody will respect the queen because she's a woman. He then proceeds to win a war that's been draining the life out of the kingdom for the past ten years. This done, he makes a strategic political alliance that unites two great powers and then starts conquering the rest of the world. Not bad going, if you ask for me. For a king.

Then it's nearly the end of the third book so Jack kills him. Bastard.

It's deeply depressing to me that, again, Jack is living in his wonderful happy world in which he gets to seize his destiny and discover his mother's love whereas Poor Batshit Prince Kylock is utterly and inescapably trapped by his circumstances and, you know, the fact he's clearly a badguy. As I have said before, I don't have any enough faith in the coherence of the book to conclude that J.V. Jones was deliberately setting up tragic parallels between the hero and villain, Jack having the freedom to choose to be the hero and Kylock hopelessly entangled in the villain role by everyone else around him and his own batshittery. But, damn, I do think Kylock was the victim of authorial malice. Damn, I do.

We're not meant to be on his side, I get that. But everyone else is so bland and annoying that it's hard not to be. Beside, most of his sex/rape/murder/sadism related activities take place off-camera so it's hard to really believe in them or blame him for them. I mean, who cares about fictional people you've never met? He's quite nasty to Melliandra too but I'd given up on her by that point and didn't care.

So. Yeah. Prince Kylock for President!

Conclusion

Basically The Book Of Words is a mix of good and bad, mainly bad. But I have to admit that between reading it and ranting about it, I found myself having a lot of fun. It's bad fantasy but, if you're into that, it's good bad fantasy. If you can negotiate its failings and not worry about them too much, I would actually tentatively recommend it. If it had been one taut book instead of three saggy volumes, I might even have been positive.

The Reading Canary says: seeeeeedz, seeeeeeedz....