Let me be perfectly clear about one thing: I am greatly enjoying Col Buchanan’s Farlander.
Above premise or cover art, the thing that most grabs me about a book is style. Some books have it, some don’t. Farlander does. It’s got a lot of vigor to a prose that just flows with swift and easy procedure through the whole of the book. Add to this the fact that the premise is actually very cool and some really neat characters and societies and it’s pretty easy to see why I regard Farlander as one of the complete packages.
I do have one gripe, though.
It indulges a little in common fantasy tropes: evil empires, . That’s not the issue. I’m guilty of that, myself, as are most of us writers, to some extent. And, as the man Lynch said, cliches are only terrible if they’re used terribly. Still, Farlander brings out some strange questions for me. Specifically, that special relationship between a man and a boy known as “apprenticeship,” as it pertains to fantasy novels.
I’m very much a man of motives. I like to know why people do what they do. To that end, when Ash, skilled aging assassin, finds Nico, starving young man, and recruits him as an apprentice (knowing full well that the job will involve death, both certain and potential, of him and his targets) and Nico just sort of goes “hell yeah,” I find myself a little baffled as to exactly why.
I understand apprenticeship. It’s handy to know a skill. But surely, there have got to be better ways to go about it. I mean, if you’re starving, why wouldn’t you try for a nice, steady job that doesn’t involve the omnipresent threat of contracting sudden knife-in-lung disease.
Understandably, no one really goes that far into questioning exactly why people choose to shack up under strange or ominous apprenticeships. It would be awfully confusing, wouldn’t it?
“Congratulations, boy! I have elected you to become my apprentice!”
“I’ll finally get to be a seamstress? To hell with my father’s wishes! I’m IN!”
“What? Er…no, I’m an elite assassin, come to liberate you from a life of poverty and disease…”
“I’m with you so far.”
“…and train you in the arts of death and vengeance.”
“Oh…”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No, you said ‘oh.'”
“It’s just…I mean, isn’t that a little counterproductive?”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, you’re saving me from certain death and plunging me into 99%-certain death, aren’t you? Those aren’t the best odds.”
“That’s a little arrogant to presume, isn’t it? You might not even survive the apprenticeship!”
“Well, then why on earth would I go?”
“Adventure! Romance!”
“Romance…”
“Yes.”
“With you?”
“No, not with me, you little weirdo! You’ll probably meet a princess or…I don’t know, a particularly spunky milkmaid or something.”
“That doesn’t do a lot for your pitch.”
“Milkmaids are notoriously freaky, boy.”
“Well, yeah, everyone knows that. But it’s a cost benefit analysis, really. If I choose to go on with you, I may get all the freaky milkmaid sex I want, but I’m probably certainly going to die.”
“Nah. You’re the main character. You won’t die until at least the third book.”
“See, that’s not much help. In the interim, all my friends, loved ones and probably my pet hamster will die in an effort to shock the reader.”
“Look, it’s not a shock technique. If the story fits–“
“Not to mention all the weird apprentice stuff I’d have to do.”
“Oh, like what?”
“Well, come on, man. It’s apprenticeship. You’re probably going to put me into a deep hallucination to ‘free my mind’ or something, but it’ll end with me puking my guts out and with no guarantee you didn’t write on my face while I was out.”
“Oh, come on. One time that happened! Just one!”
“And you’re going to make me do some kind of weird training montage that probably ends up with me trying to seduce fish in a river or something and you’ll be watching me, shirtless, from the river bank and telling me to do stuff in vague, cryptic terms like ‘tickle the chi’ or something.”
‘It’s a classic staple of apprenticeships! Look, I don’t ask for much. All I want you to do is come away for a lot of weird, freaky stuff in seedy, prostitute-filled towns and wildernesses filled with flesh-eating beasts.”
“…”
“Also, we might get drunk together.”
“…”
“Also, I want you to call me master.”
“Yeah, move along.”
You may or may not be relieved to know that Col Buchanan does none of these things. It’s quite a good book. You should check it out when it hits your bookshelves.
ha, it’s still better than some of the dialogue i’ve come across in books.
That is actually seriously funny. You ever write a cliched apprenticeship book with dialogue like that and I would buy it in a heartbeat.
Glad you’re enjoying it. Have you finished it yet though? Nico does question what the hell he’s got himself into and, well…I think you’ll be in for a bit of a surprise towards the end! 🙂
Yes, there is quite a surprise at the end – wasn’t sure if I was too happy with it, but the book is amazing! I totally agree with Sam’s description of Col’s prose.
I haven’t yet, Julie! People are telling me that it’s going to blow my mind, really, so I’m intensely looking forward to it.
It’s impossible to avoid when there’s a twist as dramatic as in Farlander, but I feel like the more old hands talk about how unpredictable a thing is – a book, a film, whatever – the more new readers or viewers will begin to question what could possibly happen to warrant such a surprise. The best twists are the ones you don’t see coming, nor have you been told *are* coming.
Still, great twist. 🙂
I did have a fine time with Farlander, and though you’re right to point out the dubious question of motivation on Nico’s part, I had a few other niggles, too. That said, I’ll be reading book two of The Heart of the World along with everyone else, I should think.
The whole master / apprentice thing is very Joseph Campbell.
Given the setting is the want to be an adventurer that unusual? What teenage boy doesn’t want risk, doesn’t think themselves immortal, believes in standing for a cause? OK, I’m over-generalising, and there are exceptions. Comparing the settings, is being an adventurer that dissimilar to taking drugs, or racing your car? When we’re older and wiser, we tend to question the risks, take a more guarded approach, but as a teenager, we tend to think ourselves immortal.
Yep, very good Sam. I’m looking forward to Farlander, and will read with interest the apprentice stuff :-p
Adrian: That’s true, yeah, but it still sort of begs the question of circumstances.
You and I thought ourselves immortal when we were yearning for an opportunity to prove it. We had money, cars, food and other stuff. Nico was starving and near death. It was quite evident that he’d probably figured out that he wasn’t immortal.
Again, I’m not saying that this is detrimental to Farlander in any way, shape or form. It’s just a little curious.