Under-rated Characters

A place to discuss the entirety of the Chronicles of Thomas Covenant.

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Lazy Luke
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Post by Lazy Luke »

peter wrote:Well, presumably he knew that it would fall to be his lot to be fused with a smiling black demon that he hated into a stick of wood and then left in a cave for ten thousand years - no wonder he was so unhappy most of the time!

;)
Findail's story made it clear that Thomas Covenant is the Staff of Law, and Linden Avery is the One Tree.
But having not read The Last Dark I've yet to find out what happens with the two white gold rings?

Presumably! How so?
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IrrationalSanity
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Post by IrrationalSanity »

Lazy Luke wrote:Findail, definately an under-rated character. That is, if he were considered to be the only male amongst an all female Elohim race!
It then seems understandable, the desertion of Elemesnedene as an Appointed would cause him unbelievable misery.
Findail wasn't the only Elohim represented as male. Chant was, as well. And another whom was asked about while performing some transformational acrobatics. Though I think that was even addressed in the text that male/female was not exactly applicable, but male was the closest analogue.
- Woody -
Linden Lover and proud of it...
But I love my wife more!

"Desecration requires no knowledge. It comes freely to any willing hand." - Amok
Lazy Luke
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Post by Lazy Luke »

Thanks, I've not read any Chronicles for some years.

Though I will stick with a stubborn viewpoint that Chant and Findail are both Elementally the same person.
I'm old fashioned and still think of the Chronicles as fantastic dreams of Thomas Covenant (and Linden Avery), their gold ring not only as an instrument of power
but an eyelet into another world. In dreams the dreamer usually personifies every other character, regardless of gender.
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hurtloam
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Post by hurtloam »

wayfriend wrote:
Vraith wrote:WF: THAT's his name! That's the Swamp-Lord I meant. [unless memory is faulty again...but that sounds right.]
No, he likes being called Swamp Lord. :)

Hyrim is the Swamp Lord.
Callindrill is the Doom's Retreat Lord.
Memla is the Turncoat Claver.
Din was her Coarser Mount.
I couldn't stand Callindrill. Such a sourpuss. Loved Hyrim like I loved the Ardent -- I guess I'm a sucker for people who don't look like the image of a hero but do heroic things anyway. Loved the heck out of Memla for her ability to see through and turn against what she'd been trained to believe her whole life. I was sad that she had to die so soon, but it fits that she'd sacrifice herself to thwart what she'd previously served.
Joy is in the ears that hear.
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Cord Hurn
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Post by Cord Hurn »

I liked the Giant named Cirrus Kindwind.
Beckoning for Jeremiah to accompany her, Kindwind stepped away. When they had withdrawn a few paces, she said, "We must trust, Chosen-son, that his [Stave's] folk restore themselves in this manner. It appears that his spirit has turned inward. But I believe that a man who has performed his feats must soon heal himself and return to us."

Jeremiah swallowed against the dryness in his throat. "I hope so. He doesn't deserve this."

"Ah, deserve," sighed Kindwind. "The notion of deserved and undeserved is a fancy. Knowing both life and death, we endeavor to impose worth and meaning upon our deeds, and thereby to comfort our fear of impermanence. We choose to imagine that our lives merit continuance. Mayhap all sentience shares a similar fancy. Mayhap the Earth itself, being sentient in its fashion, shares it. Nonetheless it is a fancy. A wider gaze does not regard us in that wise. The stars do not. Perhaps the Creator does not. The larger truth is merely that all things end. By that measure, our fancies cannot be distinguished from dust.
"For this reason, Giants love tales. Our iteration of past deeds and desires and discoveries provides the only form of permanence to which mortal life can aspire. That such permanence is chimera does not lessen its power to console. Joy is in the ears that hear."

Her assertion startled Jeremiah. It seemed to question his foundations. If he closed his eyes, he could still see the extremity of Stave's fall. the hard throb of Cabledarm's bleeding and the excruciation of her shoulder cried out to his senses. Awkwardly he reached for Kindwind's last waterskin. When she released it, he drank as if his thirst--his dismay--had the force of a moral convulsion.
"So you're saying," he protested or pleaded, "what Stave did is worthless? What Cabledarm did is worthless? It's all dust?"

"Aye," Cirrus Kindwind assented, "if that is how you choose to hear the tale." Her tone was mild. "For myself, I will honor the effort and the intent. Doing so, I will be comforted."

Jeremiah wanted to shout. Instead he fumed, "You sound like the croyel." Was joy in the ears that heaar? Then so were agony and horror. So was despair. "It was forever telling me everything Mom did was useless. Nothing matters. It's all dust. That's why Lord Foul laughs--and Roger--and those Ravers. They agree with you. In the end, they're the only ones who get what they want."

Kindwind looked at him sharply. Like the flick of a blade, she retorted, "Then hear me, Chosen-son. Hear me well. There is another truth which you must grasp.
"Mortal lives are not stones. They are not seas. For impermanence to judge itself by the standards of permanence is folly. Or it is arrogance. Life merely is what it is, neither more or less. To deem it less because it is not more is to heed the counsels of the Despiser.
"We do what we must so that we may find worth in ourselves. We do not hope vainly that we will put an end to pain, or to loss, or to death."

Failure isn't something you are. It's something you do.

Without warning, Jeremiah found that he ached to share Kindwind's beliefs, and Linden's. Perhaps the monolith had never contained enough malachite. Perhaps the deposit had shattered. Perhaps Stave and even Cabledarm would die. Perhaps Mom would never come back. Perhaps futility was the only truth. Still Jeremiah would have to find a way to live with it.
To himself, he muttered, "It's not that easy."

Cirrus Kindwind had never been possessed.

Her response was a snort. "We were not promised ease. The purpose of life--if it may be said to have a purpose--is not ease. It is to choose, and to act upon the choice. In that task, we are not measured by outcomes. We are measured only by daring and effort and resolve."
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