Yelling At The Bookshelf - Tumblr Posts
Yelling at the Bookshelf: The Crowthistle Chronicles
According to something (attributed to Nancy Pearl) that I read somewhere once upon a time, there are four doors a reader can open to immerse themselves in a book. Those are:
the story (the plot)
the characters
the setting (the worldbuilding)
and the language (the characteristics of the writing itself – the grammar, vocabulary, imagery, and so on)
I am now going to yell into the void about The Crowthistle Chronicles by Cecilia Dart-Thornton, and my subjective opinion about the books. If you get tired of it, feel free to clamber elsewhere on the web.
There are four books, and this is how I felt about them:
Books 1 and 2: The Iron Tree and The Well of Tears
★★★✫ Story
★★ Pacing (slow)
★★★ Characters
★★★★✫ Worldbuilding (quite detailed)
★★★★ Language (very descriptive)
Books 3 and 4: Weatherwitch and Fallowblade
★★✫ Story
★ Pacing (so slow, especially book 3)
★★✫ Characters
★★★ Worldbuilding (suspension of disbelief issue in book 4)
★★★ Language (sometimes didactic)
Of the four, I would perhaps recommend The Well of Tears, and skip the others (I did appreciate book 4, but I ranted about it for hours after finishing it). All of the books, with the potential exception of Weatherwitch, focus on the romance of a young couple against a backdrop of political intrigue. So they’re romantasy…but only Fallowblade concludes without tragedy thwarting the couple's final happiness. The sections of political intrigue often read like a history book.
The good:
If you love detailed worldbuilding, you might enjoy The Iron Tree and/or The Well of Tears. The second one most resembled what I’d expect from a fantasy adventure romance: investigate the secret heritage, acquire the important thing before the villains, and so on. Both books have perhaps the most diverse range of faerie-type beings that I have ever encountered (they may hail from serious research into Irish folktales, but that’s just a guess), and their presence is a quintessential part of life for the characters. If you want to envision life with the fair folk as your neighbors, separated by a line of horseshoes, bells, and traditions, then this series certainly delivers.
If you love beautiful prose and eloquent descriptions, you may also enjoy the books. The author’s writing about nature has been described as Tolkien-esque, but I think it goes beyond that. The author paints landscapes with words, relishing each chance to set the scene. If you’re looking for witty dialogue, however, I’d look elsewhere. Also, some of the characters come off as didactic in the last two books, which may annoy some readers. I’d stick with either The Iron Tree or The Well of Tears.
The bad (or the not-so-good, if you want to be charitable):
The characters are generally either average or somewhat flat, moving like pieces on a chessboard as the story dictates. I can believe that they are decent people and recognize their struggles, but I wasn’t especially invested in them. This is a little different for the couple in books 3 and 4—mainly book 4, Fallowblade, as book 3 only lays the foundations for the romantic relationship—because I inferred so much about the characters. In hindsight, these two are what the whole series is about…and the story doesn’t flesh them out. It doesn’t use their conflicts of interest, their stubborn pride, or their misunderstandings of each other to wring out any empathy for them, and it’s a terrible missed opportunity. I can’t help but wonder what the books would look like if Crowthistle, who lends the series his name, was actually the focal character.
The story is okay, excepting book 4 (which included sections that destroyed my suspension of belief). However, the pacing is so slow. If you made an outline it would be interesting enough, but reading it is like watching a train crash in slow motion…through a pair of binoculars, from a nearby mountain. All the books have pacing issues, but I felt like the protagonist did almost nothing significant to the plot in book 3. If you like fast-paced action or whiplash drama, this is not the series for you. If you’re here for the scenery, though—sink in!
Yelling at the Bookshelf: On Slytherin House and Society
Foreword and forewarning - I'm going to ramble about how certain things attributed to Slytherin House are common throughout society and how they annoy me. There's no TL;DR.
Also, I am not complaining about people who see themselves in Slytherin House. The heart of Slytherin is a whole different discussion, and I do recognize the practicality of a lot of Slytherin traits ❤. I mainly want to complain about social trends.
On we go, then.
I’ve heard that J.K. Rowling once expressed dismay at the number of Harry Potter readers who identify as Slytherins. I imagine that’s because of the beliefs held and roles played by many of its graduates over the course of the narrative. Many of the villainous Death Eaters once called Slytherin their Hogwarts House, and their ideologies and ambitions probably grew together over the years they shared there. Yet many readers identify with Slytherin traits, and find it unfair to demonize the House for faults that, in fact, underpin many parts of wizarding society.
Salazar Slytherin’s House is known for prizing pure magic heritage, but its other values are truer hallmarks: ambition, resourcefulness, intelligence—especially social intelligence—to name a few. For those who seek influence or security through fame, wealth, authority, or raw power, as Slytherins usually do, all these traits are useful…but the ability to read people, to perform the right actions and social cues to gain their favor (or at least avoid their enmity) would be essential.
Lucius Malfoy, for example, is able to maintain his position after Voldemort’s disappearance because he can identify and play the social role that best suits his goals. He adroitly pivots from conceited perpetration to contrite reparation for his crimes, tailoring his behavior to suit the biases and expectations of his current associates. When playacting alone won’t achieve his goals, Lucius doesn’t hesitate to leverage other tools. Money is useful, as always; Cornelius Fudge esteems Lucius not only for his heritage and ideologies, but also for his donations to “excellent causes.” Putting his money where his presently-professed beliefs are cements the Minister’s convictions about his character. However, Lucius is also willing to use violence: in The Chamber of Secrets, he threatened to curse the school governors who didn’t agree with him. Furthermore, in pursuit of political and personal revenge against Arthur Weasley, he endangered everyone at Hogwarts by setting up the monster’s release. The lives of the students, and the continued existence of the school itself, mean nothing to him; to achieve his goal, any casualties are acceptable.
Characters like Lucius, with their dissimulation, their schemes, and their willingness to employ underhanded or ruthlessly violent means to achieve their ends, earn Slytherin House a lot of dislike. Many of those same characteristics are often accorded to politicians, and contribute to the general dislike accorded to them and their profession. In The Order of the Phoenix, the reader watches the Ministry of Magic, particularly through the hated Umbridge, utilize the same skill set as it labors to conceal Voldemort’s return. To maintain its authority and strengthen its influence, it spreads misinformation, ignores evidence otherwise, and stoops to persecuting those who fail to fall in line (though Umbridge’s cruelty is just a preview of the depths things will plunge to after Voldemort seizes control). It’s easy to read this and think of corresponding examples in the Muggle world.
Yet the Slytherin skillset applies to far more stages than the political theater’s. Sooner or later, we all learn the practicality of Slytherin-style acting: if you want to get ahead, you have to play the part. Market yourself as exactly what voters, or employers, or romantic partners are looking for. Present yourself as assertive, driven, capable, devoted. Lie if you have to, because people often don’t look beyond the surface, especially when it fits their preconceived ideas.
Everyone does it, they say. Your insistence on your own wishes, or your own ideals, will only hold you back. Success (and in some cases, survival) means adaptation: a thousand masks, painted with just enough truth so that they seem to breathe.
...There is beauty and magic in theater, and in the many kinds of artistry that bring a story and its characters to life. Yet there is also an understanding, a certain trust that allows the suspension of belief: the audience, the actors, and the people who set the stage can infer what is real, and what is fake—but still serves a purpose. Metaphors and illusions are not truly meant to deceive, but to reveal. Yet when the production deceives the audience—for example, by disregarding previous assertions, or otherwise insulting logic and reason—trust is broken, and the audience disenchanted. In the words of another writer, just as “a painting not framed as a painting is graffiti,” “a story not framed as a story is a lie” (The Very Soil by Jed A. Blue, for the curious). Both performer and audience must be willing participants.
I think this is what really vexes me about the Slytherin skillset, and the way it underpins so many parts of society. I'm reluctant to take part in the show. I am not devoted to a corporation, and I resent being asked to do the corporate-praise dance when I apply for a job. I’m not interested in securing political power by identifying the Undesirables and slandering them through the media. I don’t want to be measured first by my ambition, or my ruthlessness, or by the origin and purity of my blood heritage.
These days, it seems almost naïve to say “I don’t care about these things, and I won’t pretend to, neither for someone’s favor nor for convenience.” I would like to be honest, and be judged by my actual character and skills. I would like it if the truth was actually enough.
On the authenticity of movie Faramir
Faramir is one of my favorite characters in the Lord of the Rings. So, when I first saw The Two Towers, I remember being outraged when he appears to claim the Ring. In the books, he stands out for his steadfast determination not to do so, and for helping Frodo and Sam once he learns about the Quest. Jackson's Faramir seemed like a critical misunderstanding of Tolkien's.
More recently, I realized that this isn't the case. We can probably blame the cutting of some of Faramir's scenes for the fact that his character arc isn't as thoroughly sketched, but there are a few key lines that do, in fact, show us the truth. First, in a voice-over, Galadriel tells Elrond/the audience that "the young captain of Gondor has but to extend his hand, take the Ring for his own--and the world will fall."
When we reach the critical scene, and Faramir confronts Frodo about the Ring, he faces the temptation to claim it. And it is here, as in the book, that Faramir passes the test--not later in Osgiliath, where he decides to release Frodo and company (he passes a different test there). Faramir doesn't claim it for himself, as Boromir did ("It could be mine. It should be mine. Give it to me!). Instead, he says, "the Ring will go to Gondor."
...He says he's claiming it for Gondor, which makes sense: both he and his brother are devoted to protecting the kingdom and its people. However, I think Faramir is misleading himself here, because he doesn't truly believe that the Ring will save Gondor*. Boromir did--but both he and Faramir are basing that belief on Denethor's assertions.
This leads into the real struggle for Faramir's character: how his actions right now will affect his relationship with his father. The issue is much clearer in the flashback of Osgiliath. Denethor tasks Boromir with the journey to Rivendell (I will refrain from enumerating book/movie differences here--I'd like to, but I'll restrain myself), and when both his sons protest, he shuts them down. "I trust this mission only to your brother," he says. "The one who will not fail me." He implies that Faramir is worthless to him because he is less capable (he isn't), and less devoted to his father's wishes.
Denethor is partly correct: Faramir will not put his father's orders above his own moral standards, or before the well-being of Gondor. However, he deeply desires his father's regard. He struggles to choose between them until the danger of the Ring is made quite clear. In the movie, Sam angrily reveals that Boromir died because "he tried to take the Ring from Frodo, after swearing an oath to protect him; he tried to kill him! The Ring drove your brother mad!" Almost immediately after this, Frodo starts acting possessed, nearly gets nabbed by the Nazgûl, and almost kills Sam.
Faramir witnesses all of this. He hears how the Ring warped his noble, stalwart brother into a murderous traitor, and gets a bonus demonstration! After that, he (and we) can picture the Ring in the hands of Denethor. Considering Denethor's character, it's terrifying to imagine how his actions in the Return of the King would be compounded by the One Ring.
It's clear now that the Ring absolutely must not go to Gondor. After saving Frodo, Faramir makes what, for him, was the more difficult choice: to countermand his father's will. He lets the Ring go. When the consequences are highlighted--his father may demand his life in forfeit--he accepts them (with a little hesitation...though I think 'my father, who is ill-tempered and likely insane now, may literally kill me for not doing what he wanted' is grounds for queasiness from anyone). Once his goals are set and his mind is made up, he stands steadfast by his decisions.
Considering that, I see now that movie!Faramir is much more true to Tolkien's Faramir than I originally gave him credit for.
As for the fallout in The Return of the King, book!Denethor doesn't actually command a pointless, suicidal charge from Faramir and his soldiers. He does hit him with the customary disdain and comparisons to Boromir, with the latter now colored by bitterness and grief (which appears in another deleted/extended edition scene, I think).
It's tragic how Denethor and his sons struggle to understand and support each other, and to manage their weighty obligations. Denethor's inflexibility and pride (exacerbated by Gondor's dire circumstances) leads one son to his destruction, and alienates the other. Thanks to Faramir, Denethor never obtains the Ring, but Sauron finds another way to undermine him (the palantír). He destroys himself in the end, and nearly takes his remaining son with him.
If you're especially fond of Faramir, Boromir, or Denethor (or if you too want to whack him energetically with a staff), I suggest having a look at the analyses of the characters by Megan N. Fontenot. She talks about how the characters evolved as Tolkien wrote the Lord of the Rings. For example, it seems that at one point, Boromir (and Gandalf) were the only Fellowship members who weren't hobbits (good luck with that)!
*In an extra/extended edition scene, while Faramir regards him uneasily, Frodo assures Faramir that "the Ring will not save Gondor--it has only the power to destroy." At that point, he's still undecided about taking the Ring to Gondor. In the book, however, Faramir asserts that he "would not take [Isildur's Bane], if it lay by the highway. Not were Minas Tirith falling in ruin and I alone could save her, so, using the weapon of the Dark Lord for her good and my glory." When he learns that the weapon Frodo carries is the Ring, he is briefly tempted, but knowing and respecting the inherent peril, he rejects it.
Book!Faramir is more secure in his own identity and values, and less tormented than movie!Faramir by his father's annoyance that he isn't an obedient tool.