At the end of my last post in the chapter 2 discussion, I mentioned a “third flaw” in the known story. Though it was conspicuously left out of chapter 2, Donaldson starts with it immediately at the beginning of chapter 3. “Angus surprised his prosecutors further by refusing to defend himself, testify on his own behalf.” (p. 30). So Donaldson is clearly thinking about it, and clearly sees the narrative flow between these “flaws.” And he wants us to think about it, too. So he plants the seeds here at the beginning of chapter three—the first chapter where the story starts to move forward.
We also get the much-repeated detail about Angus howling over his ship being dismantled. These two details are inextricably linked. His silence, and then his howling. They are stated together on the same page here
. . . , and then again on the last page. And then again at the beginning of the next book.
This is vital to understanding Angus, and his alteration throughout the series: he didn’t defend himself, even though it cost him everything. And yet, his lack of defense doesn’t arise through a complete loss of self. He still retains enough of his desire to live to mourn for the loss of his ship. Those two facts don’t add up. If he still cares about the one thing he loves (his ship—which is really his freedom, power, autonomy, etc.—which means he still cares about himself), then why doesn’t he defend himself?
At this point, Donaldson stops talking about how the story ends, and steps back to the beginning. This is THE POINT where he starts to move forward, and stops framing the story with its end. The top of page 31. With no transition whatsoever after dropping the hint of the “third flaw,” the Author begins. And the way he does this is further evidence of the importance of this "third flaw" in the known story; it's the last thing he mentions in the way of foreshadowing, and yet he hides this importance by disguising the transition point. Really, this detail would have worked better at he end of the last chapter. But he tacks it on here, and provides no textual marker whatsoever to indicate that he has shifted directions.
At this narrative transition point, we learn right away a new detail about Angus’s psyche, the second part of his dual motivations. [These motivators will play a very important role throughout the rest of the book.] Not only is he a "creature of hate," he is also a coward. Donaldson introduces the theme of his fear by saying: he has good instincts. His instincts warned him about the Hyland ship. This is his first glimmer that something was wrong, and that his life was about to unalterably change course. It was too good to be true. A prize too tempting, too seductive. Like Morn herself.
One of my favorite lines:
“He had tackled ships like that in the past . . .had tackled them and raged to himself fiercely as he did so, destroying what other men would have captured as riches because his need for money had limits while his desire to see what matter cannon fire could do was immense.”
And this line is more than just good writing; it’s another clue to Angus’s future. That which other men would prize, he destroyed with fierce raging. Okay, we could chock it up to his “universal hate.” But that begs the question: what made him so angry? We get a hint at the end of this paragraph: “Angus Thermopyle was always alone, even when he happened to find some stow- or castaway piece of human garbage to crew for him.” In his solitude, “he relived the ships he had tackled and hated them.” He derives pleasure from marring what other people love, because he is unloved.
And of course, this will come into play when he meets Morn. This is how he will want to treat her, too. A prize to be marred. But Morn is also the catalyst which leads to his change. This is hinted at by the very next sentence: “But not this time.” No, this time his instincts tell him that something is different. This time, he didn’t even repaint the letters of Bright Beauty when he fled for space. His cowardice overrides his hate. [This character trait also comes into play with the “third flaw,” and is contradicted on the last page:
. . . he let Morn and Nick go. He had that much courage, anyway.”
Cowardice and hate become dual forces which determine his actions—a tension which up until now has lead to his survival, but will lead to his imprisonment and Morn’s escape.
“If the Hyland ship could find him there, then he was lost anyway. He had never really had a chance to escape.” Yes. Exactly.
Physically, he pays for his cowardice. His air is bad, his body is stressed by strain and drugs. Here, in this tin can, he’s as frail as a fetus, struggling for air, struggling against the constriction of this metal womb. A new Angus is about to be born from this claustrophobic, self-imposed prison.
His hatred rescues him from the consequences of his fear. “The world had been sneering at him from the first. He took revenge when he got the chance.” He blamed Starmaster for his plight, for scaring him. Plotting his revenge enabled him to remain calm, to retain a “cold rage” while he spent the next two days searching the belt for miners. While his brain is squeezed in a vice of bad air, and his tongue is thick from bad water, and he is urgently hungry, this cold black rage kept him going until he found what he needed: the supplies of others. He begins his birth into a new creature with a final act typical of the old Angus: he kills them all.
An odd detail here: contrary to what Donaldson tells us about The Real Story, Angus, on the other hand, “. . . could tell their whole story with a glance at their ship, their camp, and his field-mining probes.” After spending 2 chapters telling us that everything is more than it appears, Donaldson implies that Angus can know everything important in a glance. Of course Angus doesn’t really glean their own personal Real Stories. He makes assumptions and collapses complexity into a neat narrative just before blasting them into their constituent molecules. These illusory summaries we construct for one another are acts of violence. We condense each other into less than what we really are.
And this is when Starmaster catches him. Following its own summary assumptions about his flight from Com Mine, it had found him here and witnessed enough to justify its assumptions. He was a murderer. And, to all appearances, that’s all he was.
But there is more. “I don’t care if you come from fucking
God. You can’t have my ship.”