The Darkness That Comes Before
Vol. 1 of The Prince of Nothing
R. Scott Bakker
Penguin Canada, 584 pages
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One of the most rewarding aspects of book reviewing is encountering new voices--not
established authors whose books you haven’t read before (though that can
be thrilling too), but brand-new writers whose careers you know you’re going
to want to follow. Reading R. Scott Bakker’s debut novel, The Darkness
That Comes Before, I had that feeling of discovery--tempered, it
has to be said, with a certain amount of frustration, for this fascinating,
occasionally brilliant book is also overwritten and self-indulgent. Nevertheless,
it’s an impressive start to what looks likely to become a noteworthy epic
fantasy trilogy.
In a world two millennia beyond an Apocalypse precipitated by the followers
of the No-God, Mog, the high prelate of the Inrithi church calls a Holy War
against the Fanim--a people who follow a heretical variant of Inrithism,
and whose mages practice a deadly magic the sorcerer Schoolmen of the Inrithi
kingdoms don’t understand. For centuries the Fanim have held Shimeh, the
Holy City of Inri Sejenus, Latter Prophet of Inrithism; it is time now to
take it back.
The forces of the Holy War begin to assemble in the city of Momemn, an army
of the faithful unlike any ever seen, but also the focus of vicious secular
power struggles among the Inrithi elite. At the same time, five very different
individuals are drawn together: sorcerer and spy Drusus Achamian, sent by
his superiors to gather intelligence on the strange alliance between the
Inrithi church and one of the sorcerous Schools; Esmenet, a prostitute in
love with Achamian, who knows Achamian is in danger and wants to warn him;
Cnaiür, a chieftain of the barbarian Scylvendi, a spectacularly brutal
man burdened by the guilt of an old wrong; Serwë, a former concubine
whom Cnaiür has taken as a battle-prize; and Anasûrimbor Kellhus,
Dûnyain monk and descendant of ancient kings, who is in search of his
father. The Dûnyain are bred for intellect, and trained, through an
absolute apprehension of cause, to unerringly predict effect; in the short
term, they’re functionally prescient, capable of totally commanding the unfolding
of circumstance and manipulating the hearts and minds of those around them
in whatever ways they wish. Kellhus, passionless and without prejudice, is
as near to superhuman as any human man can be, and part of his gift is that
no one can perceive this. Only Cnaiür, who in his youth met another
man like Kellhus, understands what Kellhus is, and can resist him.
Meanwhile, a less human force is stirring: the Consult, the mysterious cabal
of generals and sorcerers who woke the No-God Mog and precipitated the Apocalypse.
The Consult has been absent from the world for so long that apart from Mandate
sorcerers like Achamian, almost no one believes it still exists. But Achamian,
to his horror, has found evidence that suggests the Consult is not only abroad
and active, but enmeshed somehow in the Holy War. Could the predicted Second
Apocalypse be at hand?
The Darkness That Comes Before features an extremely complex
cultural background, a multitude of characters, and a plethora of exotic
names, places, terms and concepts. Bakker makes no concessions to his readers,
plunging directly into the story with only the briefest of explanations for
the many unfamiliar details of his setting. Fortunately, there’s a glossary
at the back of the book, with capsule descriptions of all the factions and
religions and nations; still, reading the first few chapters feels a bit
like trying to find your way through a strange city where you don’t quite
know the language. This dense narrative is made denser still by an abundance
of descriptive detail, lengthy interior monologues from the viewpoint characters,
and many intricate conversations, all of which read beautifully but often
take the long way round to whatever point is being made. This ornamentation,
obviously the product of much careful worldbuilding, certainly adds texture
and atmosphere--but there is too much of it, hampering the pace and getting
in the way of story flow. Too, like many trilogy first installments, in some
ways The Darkness That Comes Before is just a prelude--assembling
the main players, laying out the major themes, defining what’s at stake.
These threads braid together slowly; the end of the novel finds the characters
only just set out on the larger portion of their quest. For readers with
short attention spans, or those who aren’t willing to yield to Bakker’s narrative
style, it may simply be too much to cope with.
More determined readers, however, will find it’s well worth coping, for once
you find your feet in the story it’s a really compelling tale. The elements
may seem familiar--the ancient evil, the world-threatening Apocalypse, the
band of mismatched companions--but Bakker realizes them in surprising ways,
with an unusual setting that recalls the cultures of ancient Mesopotamia,
unconventional and richly-developed characters, and a host of intellectually
challenging themes--including the complex religious background against which
the action plays out (I’m sure many readers will be moved to compare Inrithism
to Islam--an impulse encouraged by the vaguely Arabic-looking designs on
the dust jacket--but it’s actually more reminiscent of the sort of faith
that produced the Crusades), and the philosophy of the Dûnyain, whose
Nietzschean precepts provide an unusually convincing basis for a
practice that confers upon its adherents almost superhuman powers.
Bakker also offers an interesting explanation of sorcery as a violence done
upon the world, an interference with the divine order. The Inrithi faithful
regard sorcerers as blasphemers; sorcerers (whose ability is inborn) regard
themselves as criminals, and recognize one another by the stain of their
sin, which they bear upon their hands. Epic fantasists don’t always adequately
explore the sociopolitical implications of their magics, often doing little
more than grafting sorcery onto cultures that would be exactly the same if
magic didn’t exist. But Bakker has clearly given this considerable thought,
and convincingly portrays not just the ways in which magic is an integral
part of his society, but the ways in which that society has, necessarily,
found ways to limit and control it.
As mentioned above, characterization is very rich. Occasionally this gets
out of hand (some characters have an excess of backstory), or doesn’t quite
come off: despite the wealth of detail that’s lavished on the two female
protagonists, they’re both a good deal less interesting than their male counterparts. But the other
principal players are impressively delineated, and even minor characters
are vivid and distinct. Cnaiür is particularly good, a seething, self-loathing
conjunction of opposites--rage and regret, cruelty and perception, ruthless
violence and subtle intelligence--who remains strangely sympathetic despite
the atrocities he commits throughout the book. Kellhus, though, is the novel’s
triumph. He’s really only barely human, devoid of passion, pure of intellect,
absolutely innocent--not in the sense of blamelessness or sinlessness (he’s
neither), but because he exists outside of human custom and convention, beyond
human notions of good and evil. That such a character isn’t completely unconvincing
or totally hateful--that he is, in fact, both believable and understandable--is
a testament to Bakker’s writing skill. And of course, Kellhus does have failings:
for instance, he’s wrong about certain things and doesn’t realize it, the
only circumstance his training can’t control. I suspect this will prove important
to the story as it unfolds.
Flaws and all, The Darkness That Comes Before is a strikingly
original work, the start of a series to watch. For readers who enjoy being
challenged, or those looking for epic fantasy that explores beyond the typical
tropes and themes, it’s very much worth seeking out.
Copyright © 2003 Victoria Strauss
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