RANGE OF GHOSTS (I): What We Talk About When We Talk About Bear
So, in case my incessant noise hadn't already made it clear, today was release day for Elizabeth Bear's brand-shiny-new epic fantasy, Range of Ghosts.
Honesty compels me to disclaim that this lovely lady is my better half, my girlfriend, my significant other, my partner. So, obviously, I have a vested emotional interest in seeing it do well for her... and you would earn my undying gratitude if you could just buy twenty or thirty copies (you don't need to eat this month, right?) as soon as possible.
Powells | Mysterious Galaxy | Barnes & Noble | Amazon
Now, with that disclaimer out of the way... well, look, you either trust me on this or you don't, and if you don't then no amount of fan-dancing on my behalf can possibly convince you that I genuinely love Bear's work, so you might as well mosey off and screw yourself while the rest of us talk. It's a touchy situation when two professional authors shack up together (even for long-distance relationship values of 'shack up'); there are no guarantees they'll like one another's work, and it takes big hearts to overcome fundamental aesthetic disagreements. So it's been quite a relief, as she's re-read my stuff and I've delved into her mountain of short fiction (having read most of her longer works) that, minor quibbles aside, we both really like what the other one writes.
Virtually everything that I appreciate about Bear's work is crystallized in Range of Ghosts, her first full-on essay into unbridled epic fantasy territory. It's got Big Sweeping Ideas in Big Damn Landscapes for Big Damn Stakes, but it's written with Bear's characteristic efficiency and her utter disdain for faffing about. No gentle sixty or seventy page introduction to idyllic rural life before clouds cover the sun. No chapter after chapter of glacial Bildungsroman with a thick-witted teenager. The plot opens hard and fast and doesn't let up for 330 pages... for all that this is a big book in conception, it's lean and never listless.
This is a fantasy novel with a distinctly non-European flavor, set in a rolling phantasmagorical Asiascape with vibrant analogs of Mongol, Persian, Chinese, Indian, and Arabic cultures (though they are nothing so lame and shallow as mere analogs). Think of the cultures that spanned the eastern portions of what was once called the "Silk Road," separated by vast harsh distances but intimately linked by trade. The world is more than numinous; the sky itself changes to reflect the prevailing paradigms of the people who live in each great region. In some places the sun sets in the west, in others it sets in the east, and the vaults of the heavens will re-order themselves in an instant (from a mortal perspective) as a character crosses a border.
Bear isn't a writer one goes to for pulpy dehumanization; even her antagonists have friends and loved ones supporting them. She isn't a writer who provides easy wish-fulfillment; Range of Ghosts is all about one of her recurring themes, which is the price of everything. The price of power... the price of survival... the price of revenge... the price of living itself. All of the characters in Range of Ghosts are constantly measuring their desires against whatever currency their lives, souls, and lifestyles represent. Nothing is ever free or unexamined. Nothing is ever had without sacrifice or consequences.
Bear isn't a writer one goes to for consolation or condescension. This isn't a treacly fantasy about how everything will come right in the end, how everything will be worthwhile, how the troubles and mysteries of living will sort themselves out just as soon as the right person has a sword shoved into them. Like all of Bear's work, this is a tale of grace notes hidden and concealed along the way, of small victories and moments to savor, even along the path that leads to heartbreak and hell.
To say that Range of Ghosts is worth your time is to do it a major injustice through understatement.
My take on the novel will be spread out in several installments across the rest of the week, so keep it in your thoughts...
Honesty compels me to disclaim that this lovely lady is my better half, my girlfriend, my significant other, my partner. So, obviously, I have a vested emotional interest in seeing it do well for her... and you would earn my undying gratitude if you could just buy twenty or thirty copies (you don't need to eat this month, right?) as soon as possible.
Powells | Mysterious Galaxy | Barnes & Noble | Amazon
Now, with that disclaimer out of the way... well, look, you either trust me on this or you don't, and if you don't then no amount of fan-dancing on my behalf can possibly convince you that I genuinely love Bear's work, so you might as well mosey off and screw yourself while the rest of us talk. It's a touchy situation when two professional authors shack up together (even for long-distance relationship values of 'shack up'); there are no guarantees they'll like one another's work, and it takes big hearts to overcome fundamental aesthetic disagreements. So it's been quite a relief, as she's re-read my stuff and I've delved into her mountain of short fiction (having read most of her longer works) that, minor quibbles aside, we both really like what the other one writes.
Virtually everything that I appreciate about Bear's work is crystallized in Range of Ghosts, her first full-on essay into unbridled epic fantasy territory. It's got Big Sweeping Ideas in Big Damn Landscapes for Big Damn Stakes, but it's written with Bear's characteristic efficiency and her utter disdain for faffing about. No gentle sixty or seventy page introduction to idyllic rural life before clouds cover the sun. No chapter after chapter of glacial Bildungsroman with a thick-witted teenager. The plot opens hard and fast and doesn't let up for 330 pages... for all that this is a big book in conception, it's lean and never listless.
This is a fantasy novel with a distinctly non-European flavor, set in a rolling phantasmagorical Asiascape with vibrant analogs of Mongol, Persian, Chinese, Indian, and Arabic cultures (though they are nothing so lame and shallow as mere analogs). Think of the cultures that spanned the eastern portions of what was once called the "Silk Road," separated by vast harsh distances but intimately linked by trade. The world is more than numinous; the sky itself changes to reflect the prevailing paradigms of the people who live in each great region. In some places the sun sets in the west, in others it sets in the east, and the vaults of the heavens will re-order themselves in an instant (from a mortal perspective) as a character crosses a border.
Bear isn't a writer one goes to for pulpy dehumanization; even her antagonists have friends and loved ones supporting them. She isn't a writer who provides easy wish-fulfillment; Range of Ghosts is all about one of her recurring themes, which is the price of everything. The price of power... the price of survival... the price of revenge... the price of living itself. All of the characters in Range of Ghosts are constantly measuring their desires against whatever currency their lives, souls, and lifestyles represent. Nothing is ever free or unexamined. Nothing is ever had without sacrifice or consequences.
Bear isn't a writer one goes to for consolation or condescension. This isn't a treacly fantasy about how everything will come right in the end, how everything will be worthwhile, how the troubles and mysteries of living will sort themselves out just as soon as the right person has a sword shoved into them. Like all of Bear's work, this is a tale of grace notes hidden and concealed along the way, of small victories and moments to savor, even along the path that leads to heartbreak and hell.
To say that Range of Ghosts is worth your time is to do it a major injustice through understatement.
My take on the novel will be spread out in several installments across the rest of the week, so keep it in your thoughts...
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