Reading Runes: There’s No Sex in Your Violence
Posted: Fri Mar 11, 2005 9:16 pm
This is a look at the Demondim as they appear in The Runes of the Earth.
There’s no sex in your violence
- Bush, Everything Zen
One of the things that I love about Donaldson’s Chronicles is that it is, after everything else, an adventure story. You have your protagonist on a quest, traveling through interesting places, sometimes alone, more frequently with a band of interesting and supportive characters. And, of course, the world is filled with perils, some natural, but more usually arranged by a clever evil enemy. The danger, of course, gives the story its high action, it’s suspense, it’s terror, and in the end it’s sense of accomplishment.
It’s not hard to point out some really great scenes of danger in the first and second Chronicles: the Battle of Soaring Woodhelven; the Mission to Seareach; Lord Mhoram’s Victory; the Grim; the attack of the eels; the mendacity of the arghuleh.
What makes these parts of the story so great is simply Donaldson’s skill as a story-teller. He can make a simple conflict engrossing, and he can make a huge battle an epiphany.
Often he will present us with an exciting novel element, such as an ur-vile wedge, or venom, or a Sandgorgon.
He can give us slowly tautening suspense, as when the Mission enters the Sarangrave, or when Drinny arrives at Revelstone, or when the hurricane threatens Starfare’s Gem.
Dangers are rarely merely simple. It’s a Giant AND a Raver AND a fragment of the Illearth Stone. It’s a Grim AND Sunbane-warped Cavewights AND a sea of Graveling.
But, as great as these elements are, they are secondary to Donaldson’s real achievements. For as wonderful as novelty and complexity and suspense are in an adventure story, Donaldson demonstrates his mastery by taking it to the next level.
Donaldson always presents us with stories of individuals, and when the danger is high – when the action kicks in, when the battle is being waged – Donaldson focuses on those individuals. The story doesn’t stand back and watch the action from afar; instead, it dives in and gives us close-up after close-up. We can follow Covenant as he picks up a staff and learns to smash Cavewights, with the Haruchai as they tackle a Sandgorgon, with Pitchwife as he contends with the hustin. We participate in all the blows that are handed out, in all the hurts that are received, one character at a time.
And all of Donaldson’s characters are unique. Each brings into a dilemma their own concerns and fears, each reacts to events according to who they are and what they stand for, and each emerges from the danger with different scars. We can see Foamfollower mastered by rage, and then deal with the aftermath of rage. We can see Sunder overcome his guilt by mastering the Sunbane to save his companions. Mhoram’s internal journey to find his true power is completed on the battlefield at the feet of Satansfist. Memla faces the Grim as a chance at redemption. Mistweave learns self-doubt and then overcomes it. Cail discovers his heart's desire in the snare of the Merewives.
That’s one of the reasons that the Chronicles are so magnificent: the danger means something to the characters it involves. Whether it is Covenant or Linden, High Lord, Giant, Haruchai, or Stonedowner, each moment of peril moves the character along on his or her own personal journey. And it is not always for the better; some are healed, some are harmed, some learn truths, and some are broken irrevocably. In this way, the tale’s dangerous moments are intimate and personal and involving.
How can you not love a story that is told as well as that?
How, then, can you not be disappointed with the Demondim in The Runes of the Earth?
The Demondim represent everything that I’ve come to expect from Donaldson’s Chronicles and find lacking in Runes.
The Demondim represent the greatest element of danger in Runes. They are malevolent, they are powerful, and they are dead set on Linden. They appear in the South Plains, attacking Linden’s company just as they’ve found the Staff of Law. Sight-defying, regenerative, and innately Lore-powerful, they are augmented by nothing less than the Illearth Stone. And they are poised in Time to threaten the Arch and the Earth. Not only must Linden evade the Demondim attack, she must remove them from the Land’s past, while risking the extinction of the ur-viles and the Waynhim, and the destruction of the Staff. Summoning and controlling a ceasure is her only option. Undoubtedly, this is the most dangerous moment in the last Chronicles thus far.
If you compare the attack of the Demondim with any of the dangers faced in the first and second Chronicles, you can see that the Donaldson mastery isn’t present. The Demondim could not be less intimate, less personal, or less involving.
For starters, I cannot help but notice that the Demondim never actually engage Linden or her human companions. Instead, the ur-viles and the Waynhim conveniently march off to confront them; we only see their battle from a distance. In fact, it’s even mentioned that it’s on the other side of a hill. Later, in the Land’s present, it is a regiment of nameless Haruchaiwho confront the Demondim. Then the Demondim mysteriously retreat. They are last seen harassing the strangers approaching Revelstone, which we view from the safety of a balcony in the Revelstone tower.
Unfortunately, this lack of engagement is a common theme in Runes. The dark storm that menaces Mithil Stowndown doesn’t touch Linden. The hoard of kresh doesn’t reach Linden. The Waynhim guarding the Staff of Law don’t defend against Linden. Esmer speaks to Linden, but his fists strike only Stave. After Kevin’s Watch falls, Linden is scarcely threatened with harm worse than catching a cold.
Even the physical construction of the Demondim defies telling a story about them. They are miscellaneous vague shapes, simply marching around. Nothing you can do affects them, as they regenerate. You can’t even see them clearly. This physical ambiguity may be a critical factor in the story Donaldson is telling, but it comes at the cost of having the Demondim remain remote and unengaging in the parts of the story they appear in so far.
There is no emotional significance to the presence of the Demondim to balance the lack of physical significance. The Demondim barely have any relevance to Linden; they have no relevance to any of her companions. The only links connecting Linden to the Demondim are thin and weak. They represent a threat to Time, which she feels responsible to prevent. And they were summoned by Esmer in order to manipulate her in some way. But Linden would have felt equally responsible to any threat to Time; Esmer's threats are incoherent. One would almost wonder if the Demondim were not given the Illearth Stone as compensation for the fact of their near meaninglessness, as one last attempt to make them Linden's personal concern.
There is one rather obvious opportunity where a personal element could have been included. That opportunity lies with the ur-viles and the Waynhim – the Demondim-spawn. Here are the remnants of two waning races, races that have struggled for all their lives to justify their existence, and now after almost eight thousand years they are confronting their makers. One would almost have to expect that this would be a meaningful occasion to everyone involved. However, there seems to be no meaning – The Demondim have no compunction against exterminating their own creations, and the ur-viles and the Waynhim reciprocate. Well, this is not their story anyway, I suppose.
There is no focus on individuals, there is no personal response, there are no character-changing moments when the Demondim are faced. The danger doesn’t mean anything.
It’s almost ludicrous how little the Demondim accomplish with so much power. They outnumber the ur-viles and Waynhim, they are their superiors in lore, they can’t be killed as far as anyone is concerned, and they know how the Demondim-spawn were put together. Then add the Illearth Stone. I cannot imagine how they could not blast Linden and company away in a heartbeat. But all they can manage is to take out a few tired Waynhim and ur-viles (off stage). Their excessive power, mysteriously held in check, may be an important factor in the story Donaldson is telling, however, it comes at the cost of having the Demondim appear as both stupifyingly unconquerable and maddeningly ineffectual. You don’t know whether the situation is hopeless or ludicrous – but either way, they don’t earn your involvement.
This all may not be immediately obvious, but you can sense it when you read it for the first time. There’s a lack of passion in the character’s actions. The danger feels remote and somewhat theorhetical. The Demondim seem to bluster and growl, but don’t do anything which is actually dangerous. You feel a little bit confused, because the undercurrent of meaning isn’t present.
Therefore, the Demondim are, to me, a disappointment. They are not bad, but just less than I have come to expect from Donaldson. They create an element of danger in the Runes adventure, but it completely fails to captivate. There is nothing that involves the reader when experiencing their danger; there is nothing intimate and personal in their peril. In a manner of speaking, there’s no sex in their violence.
There’s no sex in your violence
- Bush, Everything Zen
One of the things that I love about Donaldson’s Chronicles is that it is, after everything else, an adventure story. You have your protagonist on a quest, traveling through interesting places, sometimes alone, more frequently with a band of interesting and supportive characters. And, of course, the world is filled with perils, some natural, but more usually arranged by a clever evil enemy. The danger, of course, gives the story its high action, it’s suspense, it’s terror, and in the end it’s sense of accomplishment.
It’s not hard to point out some really great scenes of danger in the first and second Chronicles: the Battle of Soaring Woodhelven; the Mission to Seareach; Lord Mhoram’s Victory; the Grim; the attack of the eels; the mendacity of the arghuleh.
What makes these parts of the story so great is simply Donaldson’s skill as a story-teller. He can make a simple conflict engrossing, and he can make a huge battle an epiphany.
Often he will present us with an exciting novel element, such as an ur-vile wedge, or venom, or a Sandgorgon.
He can give us slowly tautening suspense, as when the Mission enters the Sarangrave, or when Drinny arrives at Revelstone, or when the hurricane threatens Starfare’s Gem.
Dangers are rarely merely simple. It’s a Giant AND a Raver AND a fragment of the Illearth Stone. It’s a Grim AND Sunbane-warped Cavewights AND a sea of Graveling.
But, as great as these elements are, they are secondary to Donaldson’s real achievements. For as wonderful as novelty and complexity and suspense are in an adventure story, Donaldson demonstrates his mastery by taking it to the next level.
Donaldson always presents us with stories of individuals, and when the danger is high – when the action kicks in, when the battle is being waged – Donaldson focuses on those individuals. The story doesn’t stand back and watch the action from afar; instead, it dives in and gives us close-up after close-up. We can follow Covenant as he picks up a staff and learns to smash Cavewights, with the Haruchai as they tackle a Sandgorgon, with Pitchwife as he contends with the hustin. We participate in all the blows that are handed out, in all the hurts that are received, one character at a time.
And all of Donaldson’s characters are unique. Each brings into a dilemma their own concerns and fears, each reacts to events according to who they are and what they stand for, and each emerges from the danger with different scars. We can see Foamfollower mastered by rage, and then deal with the aftermath of rage. We can see Sunder overcome his guilt by mastering the Sunbane to save his companions. Mhoram’s internal journey to find his true power is completed on the battlefield at the feet of Satansfist. Memla faces the Grim as a chance at redemption. Mistweave learns self-doubt and then overcomes it. Cail discovers his heart's desire in the snare of the Merewives.
That’s one of the reasons that the Chronicles are so magnificent: the danger means something to the characters it involves. Whether it is Covenant or Linden, High Lord, Giant, Haruchai, or Stonedowner, each moment of peril moves the character along on his or her own personal journey. And it is not always for the better; some are healed, some are harmed, some learn truths, and some are broken irrevocably. In this way, the tale’s dangerous moments are intimate and personal and involving.
How can you not love a story that is told as well as that?
How, then, can you not be disappointed with the Demondim in The Runes of the Earth?
The Demondim represent everything that I’ve come to expect from Donaldson’s Chronicles and find lacking in Runes.
The Demondim represent the greatest element of danger in Runes. They are malevolent, they are powerful, and they are dead set on Linden. They appear in the South Plains, attacking Linden’s company just as they’ve found the Staff of Law. Sight-defying, regenerative, and innately Lore-powerful, they are augmented by nothing less than the Illearth Stone. And they are poised in Time to threaten the Arch and the Earth. Not only must Linden evade the Demondim attack, she must remove them from the Land’s past, while risking the extinction of the ur-viles and the Waynhim, and the destruction of the Staff. Summoning and controlling a ceasure is her only option. Undoubtedly, this is the most dangerous moment in the last Chronicles thus far.
If you compare the attack of the Demondim with any of the dangers faced in the first and second Chronicles, you can see that the Donaldson mastery isn’t present. The Demondim could not be less intimate, less personal, or less involving.
For starters, I cannot help but notice that the Demondim never actually engage Linden or her human companions. Instead, the ur-viles and the Waynhim conveniently march off to confront them; we only see their battle from a distance. In fact, it’s even mentioned that it’s on the other side of a hill. Later, in the Land’s present, it is a regiment of nameless Haruchaiwho confront the Demondim. Then the Demondim mysteriously retreat. They are last seen harassing the strangers approaching Revelstone, which we view from the safety of a balcony in the Revelstone tower.
Unfortunately, this lack of engagement is a common theme in Runes. The dark storm that menaces Mithil Stowndown doesn’t touch Linden. The hoard of kresh doesn’t reach Linden. The Waynhim guarding the Staff of Law don’t defend against Linden. Esmer speaks to Linden, but his fists strike only Stave. After Kevin’s Watch falls, Linden is scarcely threatened with harm worse than catching a cold.
Even the physical construction of the Demondim defies telling a story about them. They are miscellaneous vague shapes, simply marching around. Nothing you can do affects them, as they regenerate. You can’t even see them clearly. This physical ambiguity may be a critical factor in the story Donaldson is telling, but it comes at the cost of having the Demondim remain remote and unengaging in the parts of the story they appear in so far.
There is no emotional significance to the presence of the Demondim to balance the lack of physical significance. The Demondim barely have any relevance to Linden; they have no relevance to any of her companions. The only links connecting Linden to the Demondim are thin and weak. They represent a threat to Time, which she feels responsible to prevent. And they were summoned by Esmer in order to manipulate her in some way. But Linden would have felt equally responsible to any threat to Time; Esmer's threats are incoherent. One would almost wonder if the Demondim were not given the Illearth Stone as compensation for the fact of their near meaninglessness, as one last attempt to make them Linden's personal concern.
There is one rather obvious opportunity where a personal element could have been included. That opportunity lies with the ur-viles and the Waynhim – the Demondim-spawn. Here are the remnants of two waning races, races that have struggled for all their lives to justify their existence, and now after almost eight thousand years they are confronting their makers. One would almost have to expect that this would be a meaningful occasion to everyone involved. However, there seems to be no meaning – The Demondim have no compunction against exterminating their own creations, and the ur-viles and the Waynhim reciprocate. Well, this is not their story anyway, I suppose.
There is no focus on individuals, there is no personal response, there are no character-changing moments when the Demondim are faced. The danger doesn’t mean anything.
It’s almost ludicrous how little the Demondim accomplish with so much power. They outnumber the ur-viles and Waynhim, they are their superiors in lore, they can’t be killed as far as anyone is concerned, and they know how the Demondim-spawn were put together. Then add the Illearth Stone. I cannot imagine how they could not blast Linden and company away in a heartbeat. But all they can manage is to take out a few tired Waynhim and ur-viles (off stage). Their excessive power, mysteriously held in check, may be an important factor in the story Donaldson is telling, however, it comes at the cost of having the Demondim appear as both stupifyingly unconquerable and maddeningly ineffectual. You don’t know whether the situation is hopeless or ludicrous – but either way, they don’t earn your involvement.
This all may not be immediately obvious, but you can sense it when you read it for the first time. There’s a lack of passion in the character’s actions. The danger feels remote and somewhat theorhetical. The Demondim seem to bluster and growl, but don’t do anything which is actually dangerous. You feel a little bit confused, because the undercurrent of meaning isn’t present.
Therefore, the Demondim are, to me, a disappointment. They are not bad, but just less than I have come to expect from Donaldson. They create an element of danger in the Runes adventure, but it completely fails to captivate. There is nothing that involves the reader when experiencing their danger; there is nothing intimate and personal in their peril. In a manner of speaking, there’s no sex in their violence.