Judith Tarr, Kingdom of the Grail (New York: Roc 2000).
Nothing much to say about this fantasy novel; Merlin’s descendant takes on Ultimate Evil and finds True Love in the Medieval Pyranees. I found it readable, but my Best Reader did not.
I was irritated, again, by what seems to me to be a recurring theme in fantasy novels: the importance of blood relation. I have read many many many many many novels in which the kitchen boy (or occasionally girl) turns out to be of Royal Blood, and, after growing into manhood (or occasionally womanhood) during the uprising against the Evil Usurper, takes the throne. Sometimes the discovery of his (or occasionally, fine, you know) illustrious ancestor is revealed only at the end, after we know he has proven leadership in whatever way the particular book wants it, and sometimes we and he know that he is of the True Blood from the beginning, or nearly. Ultimately, it is the hero’s lineage that confirms his right to rule, though.
Now, Tolkien had some excuse for this; he lived in a monarchy, and was born into a monarchy where the monarch had a role in government. Furthermore, he was an old-fashioned pre-war racialist, and believed in blood; disgusting to me, but at the time pretty common. Not that there was all that much malice in it; he seemed to believe that the French were that way because they were French, and so it makes sense that he believed that the men of Gondor were that way because they were men (and occasionally women) of Gondor. Besides, Aragorn is king, by right of descent and by his own right (tho’ the powers by which he becomes kingly are implied to be part of that descent), but Frodo is the main character, and Frodo does what he does only partly because he is a hobbit. The Took blood is more of a joke than an explanation; the Baggins relationship is more one of emulation than blood (on either side).
What excuse does Judith Tarr have? She lives in Arizona, for crying out loud! What about Tad Williams? Or Garth Nix? Or ... well, I can look up half-a-dozen more I’ve read, but I can’t bring them to mind. We live in a society that does not, on the whole, think that a person is qualified to rule by right of descent (note that Your Humble Blogger did use this opportunity to disparage Our Only President)(but feel free to let your own thoughts wander), but who expects and receives major plot points involving that right. Your Humble Blogger is a pathetic anglophile himself, so it can’t just be pathetic anglophilia. Is it Heinlein fantasy eugenics? Is it some Jungian thing? Is it part of the same spooky subdermal racism that insists that if you are not genetically related to your parents, they aren’t your ‘real’ parents? Or is it just an obsession with kingship that starts when we learn that only a Real Princess could feel a pea under seven mattresses?
I don’t know. Perhaps I should give up swords-and-sorcery for a while, and go back to zap guns and neutron flows.
Redintegro Iraq,
-Vardibidian.
Great question!
I think it’s partly Anglophilia, but of course Anglophilia of the sort relating to King Arthur rather than, say, to Dr. Who. It’s the whole fairy-tale thing, the vast weight of the Western European storytelling tradition, in which sense of wonder is often part and parcel with divine right of kingship.
I think it’s also partly the alienation that a lot of misfit kids feel, the belief that one’s parents are too mundane to really be related to one, and thus that one must really have been left there by one’s real parents (probably royalty, or the Fae, or professors at Hogwarts). One must have a Destiny, because otherwise one’s life is going to continue to be gray and miserable and horrible and one might as well kill oneself. This is a lot of why so many people fall so much in love with fandom—at last! My people! A place where I belong!
Interesting about Frodo: not only are his actions only partly because he’s a Hobbit, but he’s definitely not royalty; part of what appeals to me so much about him (and Peter Jackson made this even more one of the central themes of the trilogy) is his willingness to go on despite the impossible odds against him, despite his lack of noble and heroic blood to help him. (But now I recall that I mentioned this in my journal a week or so ago, so I’ll stop; see M. Garcia’s Peter Jackson and the Denial of the Hero for more.) (Requires free registration.)
Anyway, if you want subversion of this sort of idea, you might take a look at China Miéville’s work.
Hey, V., have you read and Lloyd Alexander? The Prydain books play some tug-of-war with the old trope of being born to rule (subtly, in the midst of a very monarchial setting, but most clearly in Taran Wanderer), and I’m pretty sure the Westmark series is intended as a direct criticism of all the pseudo-historical fantasy in which the kitchen girl (in this case) turns out to be queen (in this case). You wouldn’t know it from the first book (Westmark), but The Kestrel and The Beggar Queen did a pretty good job of dismantling my 5th(?)-grade romantic illusions about Royal Blood.
That is, if you don’t mind reading YA as an adult.
I’ve read the Prydain series fairly recently (in addition to having read them several times early in life), and don’t recall the bloodline subversion thing. I’ll have to read them again (grin). And I don’t remember reading the Westmark series at all, and I will need to rectify that as soon as possible.
And I have no objection to reading YA, such as Garth Nix’ stuff, despite being at least legally adult.
R.I.,
-V.
Oh, and Jed, I read Perdido Street Station; are China Miéville’s other works better? ‘cos I didn’t finish that one thinking I would read any more for a while…
I actually haven’t read any of China’s books yet. But everyone raves about Perdido Street Station as much as they do about The Scar, so if you didn’t like the one you probably won’t like the other, I’m guessing.