attackfish (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
attackfish) wrote2009-09-17 12:11 am
attackfish) wrote2009-09-17 12:11 am
Entry tags:
The Smoke of the Muskets: Lloyd Alexander's Westmark Trilogy
So the last book I wrote about hasn't even been released yet, and now I write about books first published in 1981, 1982, and 1984 whose author is already dead? Anyone have whiplash yet?
These three were part of my score at the half off YA fantasy at my local independent bookstore, though strictly speaking, these books aren't fantasy, speculative fiction, yes, but not fantasy. Set in the fictional country of Westmark that resembles a late seventeenth century Western European power, the Westmark trilogy stars Theo and Mickle, a printer's assistant, and a beggar with profound vocal gifts. After Theo and his master print a pamphlet without the Chief Minister's stamp of approval and Theo's master die for it, he flees his small town and meets up with a band of showmen scoundrels and Mickle. But when Mickle makes a name for herself and the band as an oracle who can raise the dead, they must foil the chief minister and save the king, or die for failing.
Lloyd Alexander was in the habit of writing the same story with the same characters over and over again in different locations. His boys were always young, naive, adventurous, foolhardy, brave, and rash, while his girls were always wise, brave, mercurial, just, loving, young, and forceful. They always went head to head with evil, held onto their principles (though often precisely what those principles were had changed by the end), and came away victorious, older, wiser, and ready to change the world. This gave rise to a comforting sort of predictability, and I had a tendency to read his books when I was sick and in need of comfort. Since I was frequently sick, I read most of his books in fairly quick succession.
When I first read the Westmark Trilogy, I found myself deeply disgusted and furious, that I reread other Lloyd Alexander novels quickly to get the taste out of my mouth, yet now, they're my favorite three books he ever wrote and the ones I think influence my own writing the most. The conflict in Westmark, the first novel in the trilogy is not between the heroes and ultimate evil (or even ultimate evil's human avatar) but between the heroes, conmon mostly, and the insidious Chief Minister Cabbarus, who is at that moment at least, a small, weak, moralizing, human evil. When Theo meets him, he "expect[s] a monster. He [sees] only a gaunt, thin-lipped man he could have taken for a town clerk or a notary." From there it only gets murkier.
In the Westmark Trilogy, Alexander deconstructs, at times outright viciously, the rest of his entire body of work. Dr. Torrens, a peasant, voices the common philosophy of governance in the rest of Alexander's books, and indeed much of the high fantasy genre. The journeys the heroes and heroines undergo in other books by Alexander enable them to become good kings and queens. They gain wisdom and empathy and become the most important thing in the happiness of fantasy realms, good monarchs. Florian, a former aristocrat, meanwhile wants to do away with the monarchy entirely. Many critics, especially science fiction authors have asserted that fantasy is an inherently conservative genre, perpetually looking backwards nostalgically at feudalism and monarchy. Alexander, Philadelphia native and staunch American patriot, answers them in the Westmark Trilogy. To make it all even more interesting, Mickle is a very good queen, and its under her reign under which Florian's dreamed of revolution finally takes place.
At the end, Theo is left not only wiser, but also disillusioned. He is left asking "Even if the cause is good, what does it do to the people who stand against it? And the people who follow it?" He doubts his own good nature buy the middle of the first book and flees his best allies and the moral corruption they represent. Instead of fearing personal cowardice as most of Alexander's heroes, Theo feels a certain internal darkness. Like most of Alexander's heroes, his coming of age and personal growth will have a profound effect on the rest of the world, but unlike the rest, the journey leaves him almost destroyed. As he finds himself battling good, indeed battling old friends, he imagines he must be in the wrong. Theo's great journey of learning concludes not with the knowledge that others are as good as he, or that he must show empathy, both of these he already knows, but that he is no worse than anyone else and others can be completely terrible. His journey ends with the realization that any form of government that relies on goodwill and unselfish people is doomed to fail. It's a bitter bitter realization and it tears apart Alexander's normal favorite picture.
It's not just the plots and philosophy that Alexander holds up to the light of self-criticism. I have never been particularly fond of Alexander's Heroines. They bemused me. I never could understand their motivations, or what made them tick, and the explanation for their most inexplicable actions was often simply that they were women, or more rarely despite their age, that they were girls. As a girl myself, this didn't satisfy me, and it showed in Alexander a profound state of mystery in which he held women. Though he gives voice to some of this in the voice of Florian, who refers to his two female followers as goddesses and treats them more as muses for himself and the men rather than people with scholastic aspirations of their own, he at last characterizes his female characters in the Westmark Trilogy as real people whose minds work in real comprehensible ways. Mickle is like no other Lloyd Alexander heroine, instead being prickly, practical, proud, stubborn, haunted, and most of all, logical. In previous books, the boys seek to understand the feminine gender and fail and come to realize it's impossible. With Theo and Mickle however, they understand each other completely and that's why they love each other.
Structurally, Alexander falls prey to an excess of exposition in the early parts of especially the first novel, Westmark, though he makes up for it by making the exposition witty and more than usually enjoyable. Also, as deconstruction, Alexander first has to set up what he wants to deconstruct. If anything, he uses even more fantasy tropes in this trilogy, despite the lack of magic or pseudo-medievalism than his other works. There's the beggar girl who is really a princess, the evil chief minister controlling the good king, the fake psychic, the orphaned hero, the princess love interest, the lovable rogue, the feudal government, the rightful heir... you get the picture. The point is, he lulls us poor readers into a false sense of security.
As a trilogy set in a fantasy world Enlightenment, when politics and political philosophy were spoken in every nook and cranny and revolution was in the air, Westmark, The Kestrel, and The Beggar Queen are all incredibly political. I don't mean to say they advocate any particular political agenda, but that they are my favorite type of novel. They have court intrigue, revolutionaries, infighting, war, betrayel, and realistic well thought out political maneuvering. The world is in absolute flux. You my dear readers, know how much I love that. I just can't help myself. Fantasy is one of the best (though one of the least well used) mediums for this sort of political thought experiment. Likewise, it's morally ambiguous fantasy (or secondary world speculative fiction, but really!) with everyone really trying to do the right thing. Friendship brushes up against opposing ideologies, leading good men and women to fight against each other and die and kill each other, trying to save a little bit of what they see as good in the world.
Oh Mr. Alexander, why are you dead, if you weren't, I'd kiss you, but your family and the law might object now.
These three were part of my score at the half off YA fantasy at my local independent bookstore, though strictly speaking, these books aren't fantasy, speculative fiction, yes, but not fantasy. Set in the fictional country of Westmark that resembles a late seventeenth century Western European power, the Westmark trilogy stars Theo and Mickle, a printer's assistant, and a beggar with profound vocal gifts. After Theo and his master print a pamphlet without the Chief Minister's stamp of approval and Theo's master die for it, he flees his small town and meets up with a band of showmen scoundrels and Mickle. But when Mickle makes a name for herself and the band as an oracle who can raise the dead, they must foil the chief minister and save the king, or die for failing.
Lloyd Alexander was in the habit of writing the same story with the same characters over and over again in different locations. His boys were always young, naive, adventurous, foolhardy, brave, and rash, while his girls were always wise, brave, mercurial, just, loving, young, and forceful. They always went head to head with evil, held onto their principles (though often precisely what those principles were had changed by the end), and came away victorious, older, wiser, and ready to change the world. This gave rise to a comforting sort of predictability, and I had a tendency to read his books when I was sick and in need of comfort. Since I was frequently sick, I read most of his books in fairly quick succession.
When I first read the Westmark Trilogy, I found myself deeply disgusted and furious, that I reread other Lloyd Alexander novels quickly to get the taste out of my mouth, yet now, they're my favorite three books he ever wrote and the ones I think influence my own writing the most. The conflict in Westmark, the first novel in the trilogy is not between the heroes and ultimate evil (or even ultimate evil's human avatar) but between the heroes, conmon mostly, and the insidious Chief Minister Cabbarus, who is at that moment at least, a small, weak, moralizing, human evil. When Theo meets him, he "expect[s] a monster. He [sees] only a gaunt, thin-lipped man he could have taken for a town clerk or a notary." From there it only gets murkier.
In the Westmark Trilogy, Alexander deconstructs, at times outright viciously, the rest of his entire body of work. Dr. Torrens, a peasant, voices the common philosophy of governance in the rest of Alexander's books, and indeed much of the high fantasy genre. The journeys the heroes and heroines undergo in other books by Alexander enable them to become good kings and queens. They gain wisdom and empathy and become the most important thing in the happiness of fantasy realms, good monarchs. Florian, a former aristocrat, meanwhile wants to do away with the monarchy entirely. Many critics, especially science fiction authors have asserted that fantasy is an inherently conservative genre, perpetually looking backwards nostalgically at feudalism and monarchy. Alexander, Philadelphia native and staunch American patriot, answers them in the Westmark Trilogy. To make it all even more interesting, Mickle is a very good queen, and its under her reign under which Florian's dreamed of revolution finally takes place.
At the end, Theo is left not only wiser, but also disillusioned. He is left asking "Even if the cause is good, what does it do to the people who stand against it? And the people who follow it?" He doubts his own good nature buy the middle of the first book and flees his best allies and the moral corruption they represent. Instead of fearing personal cowardice as most of Alexander's heroes, Theo feels a certain internal darkness. Like most of Alexander's heroes, his coming of age and personal growth will have a profound effect on the rest of the world, but unlike the rest, the journey leaves him almost destroyed. As he finds himself battling good, indeed battling old friends, he imagines he must be in the wrong. Theo's great journey of learning concludes not with the knowledge that others are as good as he, or that he must show empathy, both of these he already knows, but that he is no worse than anyone else and others can be completely terrible. His journey ends with the realization that any form of government that relies on goodwill and unselfish people is doomed to fail. It's a bitter bitter realization and it tears apart Alexander's normal favorite picture.
It's not just the plots and philosophy that Alexander holds up to the light of self-criticism. I have never been particularly fond of Alexander's Heroines. They bemused me. I never could understand their motivations, or what made them tick, and the explanation for their most inexplicable actions was often simply that they were women, or more rarely despite their age, that they were girls. As a girl myself, this didn't satisfy me, and it showed in Alexander a profound state of mystery in which he held women. Though he gives voice to some of this in the voice of Florian, who refers to his two female followers as goddesses and treats them more as muses for himself and the men rather than people with scholastic aspirations of their own, he at last characterizes his female characters in the Westmark Trilogy as real people whose minds work in real comprehensible ways. Mickle is like no other Lloyd Alexander heroine, instead being prickly, practical, proud, stubborn, haunted, and most of all, logical. In previous books, the boys seek to understand the feminine gender and fail and come to realize it's impossible. With Theo and Mickle however, they understand each other completely and that's why they love each other.
Structurally, Alexander falls prey to an excess of exposition in the early parts of especially the first novel, Westmark, though he makes up for it by making the exposition witty and more than usually enjoyable. Also, as deconstruction, Alexander first has to set up what he wants to deconstruct. If anything, he uses even more fantasy tropes in this trilogy, despite the lack of magic or pseudo-medievalism than his other works. There's the beggar girl who is really a princess, the evil chief minister controlling the good king, the fake psychic, the orphaned hero, the princess love interest, the lovable rogue, the feudal government, the rightful heir... you get the picture. The point is, he lulls us poor readers into a false sense of security.
As a trilogy set in a fantasy world Enlightenment, when politics and political philosophy were spoken in every nook and cranny and revolution was in the air, Westmark, The Kestrel, and The Beggar Queen are all incredibly political. I don't mean to say they advocate any particular political agenda, but that they are my favorite type of novel. They have court intrigue, revolutionaries, infighting, war, betrayel, and realistic well thought out political maneuvering. The world is in absolute flux. You my dear readers, know how much I love that. I just can't help myself. Fantasy is one of the best (though one of the least well used) mediums for this sort of political thought experiment. Likewise, it's morally ambiguous fantasy (or secondary world speculative fiction, but really!) with everyone really trying to do the right thing. Friendship brushes up against opposing ideologies, leading good men and women to fight against each other and die and kill each other, trying to save a little bit of what they see as good in the world.
Oh Mr. Alexander, why are you dead, if you weren't, I'd kiss you, but your family and the law might object now.
no subject
Also, Alexander was a native Philadelphian? I absolutely would never have guessed--from the name and the Prydain books, I would have thought he was Welsh or some other kind of British.
no subject
He likes to set his novels in fictionalized (and highly romanticized) versions of other countries, (Wales, India, China, France, everywhere) but he was a Phillie boy born and raised. He even set parts of the Vesper Holly novels there.
no subject
I feel Philadelphia is under-appreciated as a setting for books, particularly fantasy novels. Maybe that's why I'm working on a book which is partly set in Philadelphia.
no subject
no subject
Definitely. New York in particular.
no subject