I wish I had been keeping track of all the chapter discussions while rereading. I'm almost done with the first book, and I don't think I could do the individual chapters justice. However, these are my general thoughts at this stage.
The setup is a little ridiculous. A woman who doesn't think she's real? And mirrors actually help? On the surface, it's pathetic as a character trait (rich, privileged girl who has no greater worry than a conceptual problem that wouldn't bother a philosophy 101 student) and unrealistic (does anyone actually worry about being unreal?). However, Donaldson works some magic in the first couples chapters that redeems this implausible setup. He takes it from a conceptual curiosity to a full-fledged existential crisis.
The problem isn't really that she doubts her existence. She isn't dealing with solipsism. Her actual situation is closer to the 2nd Chronicles dilemma facing Covenant and Linden: how to make their lives meaningful, rather than figuring out if the Land exists. Her impression that she doesn't exist comes from her own passivity and her inability to find meaning in her life. The horns she hears in her dream are a symbol of her capacity to discover value in the world . . . if only she would look at the world in the right way. The world doesn't change when she "hears" echoes of these horns, it is only her perception of the world which changes (becoming more real, more valuable). It's like the difference between seeing natural Beauty with Healthsense, and mere "scenery." What changes is the perceiver.
This is a classic existential problem: feeling insignificant, alienated, worthless, and pointless. And the solution is taking responsibility for your life, acting, deciding, valuing.
The twist that makes her personal dilemma dramatic--something that can carry a story--is the fact that her existence and worth is actually debated by the characters she meets. So her internal dilemma is mirrored (heh) in her situation once she is translated to Mordant: Joyse and Geradan think she was real prior to translation, while Eremis (and Gilbur?) think she was not. Thus, how the characters treat her follows directly from the issue of her reality. Suddenly, the question is no longer academic. Donaldson is the master of turning theoretical issues into plot issues--which makes them plausible and worthy of a story. At this point, I'm hooked.
He continues with this dramatic device in a convincing manner. Eremis treats her as a plaything to possess, while Geradan treats her with respect. This tension dominates the plot twists for most of the first book (before it diverges into "political" intrigue and siege).
And the issue of Joyse is fascinating. The conversation he has with Terisa, where she discovers that he knows what he is doing, was amazing. Donaldson convincingly juggles the issue of whether people should trust Joyse, or whether they should betray him. He gives us just enough from either side of that issue to leave us in doubt, to make either side seem plausible. While the evidence that Joyse is destroying his kingdom seems overwhelming, Geradan's support and the the hopboard hints are enough to keep you hopeful that Joyse has a plan. Just like Havelock's brief spells of lucidity, we have enough hints that there is a method to Joyse's madness. I forgot the exact quote, but Joyse says something about "letting your opponent win enough battles so that he doesn't realize he's losing the war."
The characters surrounding Terisa are fascinating--but Terisa herself is maddening. I like that she breaks out of her passivity, but I really dislike her for wanting Eremis and doubting the King. I know those are important plot points, but I still dislike her for doing it. For some reason, it annoys me more than Covenant raping Lena. I know that sounds horrible, but that's my reaction as a reader. Sometimes, like Lebbick, I want to slap her.
And then by the time the story gets to Nyle's plot and the impending siege, it doesn't really feel like a Donaldson story anymore. It's as if the plot becomes too complex to allow for the character-closeness he usually achieves. Too many events and plots are happening to retain that immediacy to Terisa's personal plight. Events no longer seem character driven, but merely plot driven. Things happen merely for dramatic effect, rather than because of Terisa's personal plight.
For instance, when Elga asks Terisa what is Orison's most obvious vulnerability, she has no problem saying, "the water supply." But then when they are racking their brains trying to figure out how the siege won't take long, no one in the entire castle thinks about their water supply? Really? That's siege 101! And Terisa already demonstrated that she can easily pinpoint that vulnerability. Examples like this--which are created for no other reason than implausible tension--are frustrating. It's nice that Terisa *finally* comes around to this conclusion. But Lebbick should have realized it from the beginning.
That's where I'm at now. Almost done with book one. It's been over 20 years since I read this, but I remember enjoying book 2 even more. I'll keep you all posted!
