Scan barcode
bergsteiger's review against another edition
2.0
This was a rather disappointing book for me. I don't particularly love fantasy books that try to make every twist and turn a mystery. Especially when there are overlaps between dreaming and reality that serve no purpose other than to obscure the thread of the plot as the hero gropes blindly forward. Throw on top of that, a Tolkeinesque focus on the elite of society working together to battle the great evil of the age, and it becomes a very detached read.
I also loathe heroes that have no skills, read a simple farmer, who can suddenly break blades with the strum of a harp, shape change, and swordfight. Again, there is nothing here that made me invested in the story. There is no effort and growth by the hero, just a sudden, inexplicable access to God like powers, coupled with periodic tantrums where he turns around to head home, before, yet again, being convinced/driven back to his "quest". Ultimately, it read like a long-winded summary with no real depth to the characters or the plot.
The hero's quest ends with a "twist" that was simply the last straw. I think it was meant to be this cliff-hanger that would drive you into reading the rest of the trilogy, but it had the opposite effect on me. It drove home that I didn't want to spend any more time on this series.
Start elsewhere if you are just getting into fantasy. If you are looking to pick up some of the books from this era that you missed then certainly give it a go--the prose is actually quite good. Just understand that this is neither a new, nor particularly well-crafted story. 2 stars.
I also loathe heroes that have no skills, read a simple farmer, who can suddenly break blades with the strum of a harp, shape change, and swordfight. Again, there is nothing here that made me invested in the story. There is no effort and growth by the hero, just a sudden, inexplicable access to God like powers, coupled with periodic tantrums where he turns around to head home, before, yet again, being convinced/driven back to his "quest". Ultimately, it read like a long-winded summary with no real depth to the characters or the plot.
The hero's quest ends with a "twist" that was simply the last straw. I think it was meant to be this cliff-hanger that would drive you into reading the rest of the trilogy, but it had the opposite effect on me. It drove home that I didn't want to spend any more time on this series.
Start elsewhere if you are just getting into fantasy. If you are looking to pick up some of the books from this era that you missed then certainly give it a go--the prose is actually quite good. Just understand that this is neither a new, nor particularly well-crafted story. 2 stars.
wazbar's review against another edition
adventurous
mysterious
reflective
medium-paced
I loved McKillip's Forgotten Beasts of Eld, in no small part because of how clearly it expresses her love of wizards, and this is another entry in that column. It's the start of a trilogy I'm definitely excited about continuing.
This book starts not so much in medias res as with an astonishing deed already having been done. The revelations about the past and the world come fast and hard (though not, to my taste, unnaturally) despite the events of the book moving slowly.
While I love McKillip's vision of wizardry, I do want to point out that the riddles in this book do not seem to be puzzles of understanding as much as they are, "hey did you know this thing that happened and the moral we have attached to it?" It's not bad for that to be a thing but it also just, is not what i would consider a riddle.
This book starts not so much in medias res as with an astonishing deed already having been done. The revelations about the past and the world come fast and hard (though not, to my taste, unnaturally) despite the events of the book moving slowly.
While I love McKillip's vision of wizardry, I do want to point out that the riddles in this book do not seem to be puzzles of understanding as much as they are, "hey did you know this thing that happened and the moral we have attached to it?" It's not bad for that to be a thing but it also just, is not what i would consider a riddle.
lesserjoke's review against another edition
3.0
Like the best of fantasy, The Riddle-Master of Hed reads like a beautiful dream. And the reluctant warrior at its center, fated to be a powerful figure of prophecy despite all his wishes for a quiet life back home, makes for a compelling hero. But the worldbuilding is maddeningly opaque here, such that the reader can feel the subtleties eluding us every time a character speaks. It adds to the hazy dreamlike quality of the text, but it's frustrating for anyone trying to actually follow the plot.
kopaka_nuva's review against another edition
4.0
The Riddle-Master of Hed is a tricky book to review on its own, because I don’t think I know what happened in it. Not really. I could give you a plot summary, but then you would only know as much as I do, and that isn’t much—the book is wonderfully opaque and seems to delight in not letting you know the full context of anything. It’s also hard to review because it’s clearly the first act of a longer story: it would be absurd to review The Lord of the Rings if you’d only read up to the part where Frodo reaches Rivendell, and doubly-absurd if it were written in such a way that you still weren't quite sure what the Ring had to do with that Sauron fellow. So I’m not going to give a proper review, but just a few scattered thoughts and observations I had while reading. I hope to write a proper review of the series once I’ve read all of it, but I’m not sure how long that’ll take me.
The book hails from the period of roughly the mid-1960s to 1977 when fantasy authors could draw inspiration from Tolkien without feeling the need (or being coerced by publishers) to fit themselves into a narrowly-defined “Tolkienesque” mold that mimics certain elements of his work without engaging with his deeper themes and narrative techniques. The world of Hed features no elves, dwarves, or Hobbits, the closest thing to a Gandalf-figure is a harpist—not a wizard—and the narrative is clearly centered around one protagonist who never really accrues a fellowship around him—he outright refuses at least one offer of companionship. (Also, the map has the ocean to the east—a truly revolutionary move on McKillip’s part.) But despite the lack of surface similarities, McKillip showed that she understood the narrative function of The Shire far better than any number of would-be Tolkiens. The island kingdom of Hed is presented as a comfortable rustic quasi-paradise much like the Shire—a paradise Morgon, its humble monarch, is understandably very attached to and feels responsible towards. As a result, when destiny comes calling and he inevitably Refuses the Call, it never feels as if he’s a coward or a slacker, because we understand that he has a strong legitimate attachment that his destiny is getting in the way of. This is, of course, very similar to Frodo’s reluctance to leave the Shire in The Lord of the Rings, and it’s effective for much the same reasons. It also establishes Morgon as a more humble, down-to-earth character than any of the people he meets on his quest. I think it's understandable that few writers use Hobbits--they're one of Tolkien's most distinctive creations, and their particular brand of folksiness can easily become cloying if not written by a master--but I've always found it disappointing that so many fantasy books abandon Tolkien's model of the lowly protagonist altogether. Further, the story is also told from a slightly removed perspective that doesn’t give us as much access to its characters’ inner lives as a typical novel is expected to—another technique of Tolkien’s (and Le Guin’s, and many others) that is sadly under-utilized in the broader fantasy genre. It contributes to the genre's inherent sense of wonder by making me feel as if I’m reading about characters out of a fairy-tale or myth, not a bunch of knuckle-heads who have the same shortcomings I do.
I also appreciate McKillip’s use of Welsh names. I’m not sure if anything in the story was inspired by Welsh mythology (I’ve read the Mabinogion but haven’t noticed any parallels), but Welsh is great for fantasy names, as Lloyd Alexander and Susan Cooper could tell you. And, of course, Tolkien based Sindarin on Welsh.
Hed features a narrative technique that the Malazan series is often praised for: throwing the reader into its world with an absolute minimum of exposition. The book is written almost as if it’s an in-universe chronicle; it doesn’t bother explaining things that everyone in the world of Hed would be expected to know, or things that its characters feel are their own private business. As a result, there are a number of vital pieces of information that we’re left to extrapolate for ourselves from things the characters say. If you’re paying attention, it’s not hard to figure out what you’re meant to, but failing to do so will make the book’s ending incomprehensible (as evidenced by several frustrated Goodreads reviews). The biggest difference between this book’s (series’) technique and Malazan’s is that it stays focused on one character, rather than constantly changing perspectives between a huge cast of briefly-sketched characters. I think structuring the story as McKillip does is a really good way to maintain a sense of mystery and avoid talking down to her readers while still keeping it relatively accessible to an audience that may not want to tear their hair out making spreadsheets to keep track of the massive complexity of it all.
Another “modern” feature of the book is the fact that its protagonist is aware that he has a destiny and actively tries to resist it. Other Chosen Ones may feel they’re unready or the wrong person for the job, but Morgon of Hed tries to reject his destiny specifically because he doesn’t want a destiny. I can’t think of an earlier fantasy work in which the hero takes that attitude towards fate.
Apart from the lack of exposition, McKillip made another change to her usual style to accommodate the three-volume-epic format: her prose is a bit more straightforward than usual. It’s still far from being utilitarian—it has excellent rhythm and use of metaphor—but it isn’t a borderline prose-poem as many of her other books are. This disappointed me slightly at first, but I came to like it. I suspect it was an intentional choice to blend her own prose style with Tolkien’s, and viewed from that angle, I think it works marvelously, especially since the dream-like quality of her stories shines through as clearly as ever. Tolkien could make me believe in talking trees, but only McKillip could make me feel as if I was becoming a tree.
All in all, it was a wonderful read, made all the more so by the fact that I was frequently bewildered. I’m not totally sure how I feel about it yet, because I have little idea where the story is going, but I’m very curious to find out.
The book hails from the period of roughly the mid-1960s to 1977 when fantasy authors could draw inspiration from Tolkien without feeling the need (or being coerced by publishers) to fit themselves into a narrowly-defined “Tolkienesque” mold that mimics certain elements of his work without engaging with his deeper themes and narrative techniques. The world of Hed features no elves, dwarves, or Hobbits, the closest thing to a Gandalf-figure is a harpist—not a wizard—and the narrative is clearly centered around one protagonist who never really accrues a fellowship around him—he outright refuses at least one offer of companionship. (Also, the map has the ocean to the east—a truly revolutionary move on McKillip’s part.) But despite the lack of surface similarities, McKillip showed that she understood the narrative function of The Shire far better than any number of would-be Tolkiens. The island kingdom of Hed is presented as a comfortable rustic quasi-paradise much like the Shire—a paradise Morgon, its humble monarch, is understandably very attached to and feels responsible towards. As a result, when destiny comes calling and he inevitably Refuses the Call, it never feels as if he’s a coward or a slacker, because we understand that he has a strong legitimate attachment that his destiny is getting in the way of. This is, of course, very similar to Frodo’s reluctance to leave the Shire in The Lord of the Rings, and it’s effective for much the same reasons. It also establishes Morgon as a more humble, down-to-earth character than any of the people he meets on his quest. I think it's understandable that few writers use Hobbits--they're one of Tolkien's most distinctive creations, and their particular brand of folksiness can easily become cloying if not written by a master--but I've always found it disappointing that so many fantasy books abandon Tolkien's model of the lowly protagonist altogether. Further, the story is also told from a slightly removed perspective that doesn’t give us as much access to its characters’ inner lives as a typical novel is expected to—another technique of Tolkien’s (and Le Guin’s, and many others) that is sadly under-utilized in the broader fantasy genre. It contributes to the genre's inherent sense of wonder by making me feel as if I’m reading about characters out of a fairy-tale or myth, not a bunch of knuckle-heads who have the same shortcomings I do.
I also appreciate McKillip’s use of Welsh names. I’m not sure if anything in the story was inspired by Welsh mythology (I’ve read the Mabinogion but haven’t noticed any parallels), but Welsh is great for fantasy names, as Lloyd Alexander and Susan Cooper could tell you. And, of course, Tolkien based Sindarin on Welsh.
Hed features a narrative technique that the Malazan series is often praised for: throwing the reader into its world with an absolute minimum of exposition. The book is written almost as if it’s an in-universe chronicle; it doesn’t bother explaining things that everyone in the world of Hed would be expected to know, or things that its characters feel are their own private business. As a result, there are a number of vital pieces of information that we’re left to extrapolate for ourselves from things the characters say. If you’re paying attention, it’s not hard to figure out what you’re meant to, but failing to do so will make the book’s ending incomprehensible (as evidenced by several frustrated Goodreads reviews). The biggest difference between this book’s (series’) technique and Malazan’s is that it stays focused on one character, rather than constantly changing perspectives between a huge cast of briefly-sketched characters. I think structuring the story as McKillip does is a really good way to maintain a sense of mystery and avoid talking down to her readers while still keeping it relatively accessible to an audience that may not want to tear their hair out making spreadsheets to keep track of the massive complexity of it all.
Another “modern” feature of the book is the fact that its protagonist is aware that he has a destiny and actively tries to resist it. Other Chosen Ones may feel they’re unready or the wrong person for the job, but Morgon of Hed tries to reject his destiny specifically because he doesn’t want a destiny. I can’t think of an earlier fantasy work in which the hero takes that attitude towards fate.
Apart from the lack of exposition, McKillip made another change to her usual style to accommodate the three-volume-epic format: her prose is a bit more straightforward than usual. It’s still far from being utilitarian—it has excellent rhythm and use of metaphor—but it isn’t a borderline prose-poem as many of her other books are. This disappointed me slightly at first, but I came to like it. I suspect it was an intentional choice to blend her own prose style with Tolkien’s, and viewed from that angle, I think it works marvelously, especially since the dream-like quality of her stories shines through as clearly as ever. Tolkien could make me believe in talking trees, but only McKillip could make me feel as if I was becoming a tree.
All in all, it was a wonderful read, made all the more so by the fact that I was frequently bewildered. I’m not totally sure how I feel about it yet, because I have little idea where the story is going, but I’m very curious to find out.
angie_ranck's review against another edition
adventurous
dark
funny
mysterious
sad
tense
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
5.0
emless's review against another edition
adventurous
mysterious
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? It's complicated
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
4.0
emmelnie's review against another edition
5.0
Brilliant, unique, seminal fantasy. That's it. That's the review.
jaelsbooks's review against another edition
adventurous
dark
hopeful
mysterious
reflective
sad
tense
fast-paced
5.0
outcolder's review against another edition
3.0
I like fantasy worlds that have the ruins of ancient lost civilizations, I mean, it’s a familiar enough trope, but I dig it. There is an even cornier thing here but I don’t want to spoil it, I’ll just say that the same thing happens sometimes in spy thrillers, and it’s another thing I like. The magic isn’t easy, and as the main character learns it, it feels very meditative and cool, another positive. I was worried the shape-changing stuff would bother me, but it was actually also really cool, especially the turning into trees. Still, the logic of it all seemed fuzzy, the “riddles” are more like pub quiz trivia and the main character is solving mysteries without much detective work... I just felt like it could have been so much better. I guess at the time she wrote it, publishers and readers were different than today, I think if she had written it a decade later it would have been twice as long and with more dead friends. Still, really solid fantasy; I will read the rest of the series... hoping it gets weirder, looking forward to important female characters in the next volume.