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672 pages, Paperback
First published October 25, 1988
“When you stopped to think about it, he reflected, there weren’t many things in life one truly needed. To want too much was worse than greed: it was stupidity—a waste of precious time and effort.”
“He who is certain he knows the ending of things when he is only beginning them is either extremely wise or extremely foolish; no matter which is true, he is certainly an unhappy man, for he has put a knife in the heart of wonder.”
“Books are a form of magic… because they span time and distance more surely than any spell or charm.”
“A piece of writing is a trap… and the best kind. A book, you see, is the only kind of trap that keeps its captive—which is knowledge—alive forever.”
“But remember this lesson, Simon, one fit for kings... or the sons of kings. Nothing is without cost. There is a price to all power, and it is not always obvious.”
“Honor is a wonderful thing, but it is a means, not an end. A man who starves with honor does not help his family, a king who falls on his sword with honor does not save his kingdom.”
“Haggard, sick to madness, yet full of grim resolve, he watched the master smiths of Asu’a flee before him and did not care. By himself he heated the forge fires hotter than they had ever been; alone he chanted the Words of Making, all the while wielding the Hammer That Shapes, which none but the High Smith had ever held before.
“Alone in the red-lit depths of the forge he made a sword, a terrible gray sword whose very substance seemed to breathe dismay. Such hideous, unholy magics did Ineluki call up during its forging that the very air of Asu’a seemed to crackle with heat, and the walls swayed as though struck by giant fists.”
“You see… the land is a book that you should be reading. Every small thing,”—a cocky grin—“is having a story to tell. Trees, leafs, mosses and stones, all have written on them things of wonderful interest.”
“Neither War nor Violent Death… have anything uplifting about them, yet they are the candle to which Humanity flies again and again, as complacently as the lowly moth. He who has been upon a battlefield, and who is not blinded by popular conceptions, will confirm that on this ground Mankind seems to have created a Hell on Earth out of sheer impatience, rather than waiting for that original to which—if the priests are correct—most of us will eventually be ushered.”
“Never make your home in a place… Make a home for yourself inside your own head. You’ll find what you need to furnish it—memory, friends you can trust, love of learning, and other such things.”
Books are a form of magic…because they span time and distance more surely than any spell or charm.
On this day of days there was an unfamiliar stirring deep inside the dozing heart of the Hayholt…We meet the main protagonist Simon Mooncalf. This little boy has my heart. I adore all his dumb glory.
In the midst of such industry, gawky Simon was the fabled grasshopper in the nest of ants. He knew he would never amount to much: many people had told him so, and nearly all of them were older—and presumably wiser—than he. At an age when other boys were clamoring for the responsibilities of manhood, Simon was still a muddler and a meanderer. No matter what task he was given to do, his attention soon wandered, and he would be dreaming of battles, and giants, and sea voyages on tall, shining ships…Buckle up, we have a chosen one folks.
God made young men stupid.Lord knows it’s not just the young ones.
The desire to see more of the world glowed within him like a low-banked fire.But Simon never had the delight of books to give him second hand adventure. A catastrophe had to trigger his excursion. He was delightfully self-aware, just doing what he has to. Simon knew he was more rabbit than rogue. A later companion of his is able to encompass the wistlessness we feel when subjugated to adulting. ...sometimes I wonder if I was born out of my time.
“The Dragonbone Chair stood like a strange alter-untenanted, surrounded by bright, dancing motes of dust, flanked by statues of the Hayholt’s six High Kings..”
Last fall, my good friend and fellow A Song of Ice and Fire enthusiast, Cheryl Hall, invited me to join her in the reading of The Dragonbone Chair. I immediately said yes, for four reasons: Tad Williams was a new author for me, one I’d been curious about every since the 1998 publication of City of Golden Shadow, Book I in his Otherland series; I love the fantasy genre, and; I very much look forward to buddy read’s. But what really piqued my interest was the fact that Williams novel was a significant influence in George R.R. Martin's writing of A Song of Ice and Fire.
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Tad Williams impressed me almost instantaneously. His simplistic style lends the prose an ease of flow rarely seen in epic fantasy, without sacrificing its vivid nature, as well as other important qualities. And while the first half did drag somewhat, I found it quite compelling. The words used weren’t wasted, as Williams took the time and effort to develop Simon’s character, whom I grew to adore, alongside a select few supporting characters. However, I thought the lack of well-roundedness in some of the other characters left much to be desired. Hopefully we’ll get more backstory in the books to come.
But that isn’t all. He also provided some fascinating history of the peaceful land, Osten Ard, and especially that of the elvishlike Sithi. His world-building skills aren’t bad, either, though perhaps my expectations were too high. Unrealistic, even.
As Jarnauga intoned, there are “stories within stories,” here.
Things really began to take shape in Part Two, aptly entitled, Simon Pilgrim, and even more so in the next, Simon Snowlock. Particularly throughout the third section, the writing became more crisp, enriched with deep, meaning friendships between these characters as they journeyed forth. Tensions solidified, alliances were formed, the supernatural beautifully uplifted. Most intriguing of all, excluding the various political scheming and its ramifications (which I enjoyed almost as much,) was Williams incorporation of prophecy:
“And Shadows walk upon the road
When water blackens in the Well
Three Swords must come again..”
From Part Three onward, this California native recognized his strengths and kneaded them meticulously, until his mold became equally incredible and unexpected. And unbelievable, really. All this, and much more, wasn’t merely written for his benefit, but for his reader’s enjoyment, as well. None of it felt contrived, idealistic, or convoluted to me, either. In fact, it could have easily been more complex, and I wouldn’t have minded in the least. In addition, Williams obviously wrote it for the simple fact that there was nothing quite like it, upon publication in 1988. Essentially, he wrote something that he’d like to read.
“When Bukken from the Earth do creep
And Hunen from the heights descend
When Nightmare throttles peaceful Sleep..”
The author’s passion shines most brightly-like a sharp, gleaming sword– in the last three chapters. Nearly every element came into play (and those that didn’t, leave you gasping for more,) and soon escalated with the turn of a page. I couldn’t flip them fast enough, in all earnestness, resulting in an adrenaline-laced, on-the-edge-of-my-seat SHOCKER of an ending.
It’s almost uncanny when you think about just how good and awesome this final section is.
I am still in awe, my mind won’t stop reeling, and I desperately need the next book, Stone of Farewell. Very nicely done, Tad! Highly recommended!
“To turn the stride of treading Fate
To clear the fogging Mists of Time
If Early shall resist Too Late
Three Swords must come again.”
I miss you, Seoman, with all my heart..