The Darkness That Comes Before by R. Scott Bakker – review

“To ignorant and to be deceived are two different things. To be ignorant is to be a slave of the world. To be deceived is to be the slave of another man. The question will always be: Why, when all mean are ignorant, and therefore are always slaves, does this latter slavery sting so?” – Ajencis,The Epistemologies

It had been increasingly difficult to remain a fan of epic fantasy with any enthusiasm not motivated chiefly by nostalgia. We are speaking of a sub-genre that has for decades has represented the largest and most financially successful segment of Fantasy publishing, and yet the majority of its fans still point to a work completed some 60 years ago as the pinnacle of the sub-genre. Tolkien’s shadow of course looms, and for years after fans of fantasy had to almost unknowingly suffer, due to simply not knowing our options, the catch phrase of epic fantasy most often heard: “well I know it’s not exactly well written, and it’s predictable, but it’s light reading in between other books I read.” That’s a fair enough reasoning, and certainly I am not passing judgment on what others look for in some of their reading choices. That the comment itself would be an endorsement that has granted numerous titles and authors status as bestsellers, instead of what one would think is implied–a mere deviation from more quality written work–is what I find disturbing. Thus one comes to the conclusion that these reads are simply not “what is read on the side,” but are actually widely read, but for some reason, people don’t want to admit the unspoken stigma that R. Scott Bakker himself recently may have most aptly observed:  “They’re afraid of being laughed at.” In this case the fear is simply unwarranted, as Bakker is not only among a handful of contemporary practitioners of the epic tradition who are surpassing and recasting what had distressingly become the accepted possibilities the epic fantasy sub-genre had to offer, but he also is, in my opinion, quite possibly on the brink of even a greater accomplishment.  Not only should he be considered among the authors writing superior current epic sagas (with Martin and Erikson), he is actually about to complete his trilogy, a rather elusive accomplishment among his current peers, and offers the prospect of eventual finality that allows us to envisage the series’ potential station in the pecking order of epic fantasy. The Darkness That Comes Before is merely the first book in a trilogy that will come to an end in January of 2006 with the release of The Thousandfold Thought, a concluding chapter I have not yet read but hope to in coming weeks; however, having read, and recently in anticipation reread the first two installments of this series dubbed The Prince of Nothing, I am in awe, and as a fan rather excited about some very obtainable possibilities. As it stands now, two-thirds of way through the series, R. Scott Bakker, in his debut effort, not only has a legitimate opportunity but–even further–looks to be primed to accomplish the scribing of the most noteworthy epic fantasy sequence in almost three decades. Truly a reason to take note, and in such a manner not deemed as necessary since I believe, 1979, with the publication of Patricia Mckillip’s Harpist in the Wind, the concluding piece to her Riddlemaster trilogy. A bold statement? Perhaps, but the more I ponder the notion, it’s not exactly an unarguable position. When I consider complete sequences since, the most recent I can think of is Robin Hobb’s Farseer trilogy, which ended in 1997; a series I enjoyed, but through two installments I think Bakker’s work trumps Hobb’s strength (characterization) and offers more in the way of virtually every other element, not the least of which is prose, without burdening me with guilt for not recycling. Stephen Donaldson? It seems to me, Thomas Covenant is not yet done populating pages for us to read. Tad William’s Memory Sorrow and Thorn is definitely a worthy series, perhaps the most direct precursor to the epics we enjoy most today, but where Williams has instances of lag, Bakker fills with keen insight and philosophical ponderings. Guy Gavriel Kay? An exquisite writer; however, a writer whose more recent work I appreciate the most. A poster at Fantasybookspot.com made an interesting comparison between the two Canadian writers, one I had not previously considered. In my opinion, Kay stretches the limits of fantasy with his application of familiar history, while Bakker is showing us a character’s objective manipulation of our own through a looking glass. Both are supremely adept writers, Kay more seasoned, but both exhibit power. It’s hard to decide between someone telling a masterful story, and one who is forcing us to look at our own. This is admittedly a toss, but I just happen to favor Bakker, and as I said Kay’s greater works are in my mind stand-alone or unfinished sequences. We reach a bit of a stumbling block, as we run right into nothing less than a legendary writer of not fantasy, but fiction. Ursula K. Leguin is one of the most important writers in speculative fiction history, whose overall relevance may truly be equaled by only one SF/F writer alive, Michael Moorcock. Fortunately for me, her seminal work is not her popular epic fantasy Earthsea cycle, but are part of her “Hainish” work including landmark Science Fiction works like The Left Hand of Darkness and The Dispossessed. At any rate, I believe here is a severe difference in quality of the early Earthsea work, and the subsequent works released much later (which I prefer, but I do admire the sequence as a whole as well). More recently Gene Wolfe wrote a epic fantasy offering, his duology, The Wizard/Knight, which is of the quality one would expect from Gene Wolfe; however that duology is essentially one book, and suffered a publisher split. Which leads us to my standard, Patricia Mckillip’s Riddlemaster, a bona fide trilogy, that is both simplistic–although deceptively so–in the sense of what we appreciate from epic fantasy of that era, and gifted with beautiful, lyrical prose that would come to be a trademark of Mckillip. This sequence casts an emotionally worthwhile story (imagine an epic fantasy that writes a powerful and effective depiction of a bard character), a classic that contains all the elements of epic fantasy while not losing what would become an element around the same time in other works–a lack of individual thought and more importantly voice to illustrate the thought. The term Epic Fantasy had become oxymoronic to what it was describing, neither very epic in scope (yet still, somehow in physical size), and not fantastic at all, merely retellings of another’s fantasy so many times that somehow the fantastic had became the chief predictable element of the work. A more veracious category title would have been Pablum Fantasy. Potential readers have no reason to worry of being laughed at, as The Darkness That Comes Before not only begins a rare epic fantasy for the more discerning fan base, it’s a reason for those who had given up on the sub-genre altogether–including perhaps those who have nourished their epic appetite only via Westeros–to dive back in with the realization that epic fantasy isn’t and wasn’t literally dead. There are in fact, new and worthwhile voices–amidst the doppelgangers that desire for fans to mistake maladroitness and repetition for homage and nostalgic value.

War breeds necessity; almost as much war itself seems necessary.  A Holy War begins, the new Holy Shriah, Maithanet, summons for a mass convocation of the Great Names of the Seven Seas to assemble for an Inrithi crusade to retake the occupied holy land, and most importantly, Shimeh, holiest of cities. Some come for faith, others for profit–both personal and Imperial in nature–some to extend their age-old rivalries to the bigger stage such a war offers. Like most Holy Wars, unholy unions are made as the Shriah reaches accordance with one of the heretical schools of sorcery, allying the cause of the Tusk to the power of the Scarlet Spires. Others come…

Drusas Achamian, a Mandate schoolmen and spy. He witnesses the Shriah’s call for war, and follows the crusade at the behest of his school, always in search for sittings of the near mythical Consult, a surviving cabal of powerful sorcerers consisting of followers of the No-God, who work to bring forth the Second Apocalypse, and the return of the No-God. Drusas, like all Mandate Schoolmen, is reminded of his charge (or mandate, if you will) in horrific dreams of the first apocalypse every time he sleeps. He will find the harbinger of the Apocalypse, but is the harbinger also the only hope for salvation?

Ikurei Xersius III, the Emperor of the Nansur, with aims to bend the Holy War to extend his own Empire, holding logistically important supplies; and his nephew, possibly the greatest military strategist of the age, the vain, yet not without reason Exalt-General of the Nansur, Ikurei Conphas.

Nersei Proyas, devout and pious Prince of Conriya, a ranking member of the Crusade, and former student of Achamian. He will support the elevation of a Scylvendi Barbarian to lead the crusade in its battles against the heretic Fanim.

Esmenet, a prostitute in search of her Mandate Schoolmen lover, to lessen the burden of his guilty soul and in hopes find her own.

Cnaiur, a Scylvendi Barbarian, a warrior of brutal ferocity, and a strategist of rare quality. Outcast by his people after a definitive defeat at the hands of the brilliant Nansur Exalt-General, he will find himself leading the greatest call to arms since possibly the First Apocalypse; a host that brands him both barbarian and heathen, that includes the Exalt-General himself. He accepts this charge driven solely by his hate and fear of a single man, who haunts his thoughts, his single purpose and motivation is the slim possibility of finding him, and even a slimmer chance of killing him. When he arrives at the marshalling Inrithi army he is not alone…

Anasurimbor Kellhus, a Dunyain…although not a constant presence in the book, this creation of Bakker represents one of the single greatest character creations in current fantasy, in my opinion. He is an enigma, he is Bakker’s amoral Riddlemaster of Hed in search of the ultimate answer; he is the most dangerous of men–who knows and gleans all answers except to the one question he most desires; he is Bakker’s Kwisatz Haderach, which true enough in Hebrew means “jump of the path,” the premise of Kellhus’s and Dunyain methodology, the Logos:

What comes before determines what comes after. Dunyain monks spent their lives immersed in the study of this principle, illuminating the intangible mesh of cause and effect that determines every happenstance, and minimizing all that wild and unpredictable…

And to know what would come after was the beauty that stilled, the hallowed communion of intellect and circumstance–the gift of the Logos.

Cultivated and trained for a task in a manner that will deem him peerless, except to his own blood when his education is over, Kellhus is a master of manipulation, which is not to say a master of deceit as much as he is truth, with the perspective to analyze personal and cultural conditioning for both blind spots and that which is considered straightforward reality, that he uses as levers; he is the embodiment of absolute truth to some, thus the greatest of living lies–he is the Prince of Nothing. A title which, of course, can possess dual meanings; a prince of nothing may indeed command nothing, or perhaps, it means not to be relegated at all; indeed, still in fact a prince not at all–but a King all princes bow to. Kellhus searches for his father, in the company of the one man who possibly wants to find him more, a Scylvendi Barbarian. To do this they will see Empires fall, move worlds, and perhaps trigger the Second Apocalypse.

Bakker gives epic fantasy enthusiasts a prize setting with Earwa. He does what few else do, in that Earwa is not merely a labeled map that we get the walkthrough of. It’s organic; we live in it through the perspectives of each character. He gives it substance, not only a physical fact, but also one that has existed and has historical significance before the time of the characters we follow. It’s a fantasy setting gifted with a seemingly innate historical feel, by the strength of Bakker’s prose–from name choices to seamless philosophical and religious depth. The setting is not the whole made up of parts–-the setting is a part of the whole. Bakker has stated this physical worldbuilding draws inspiration from Tolkien, coupling it with the intrigue of Herbert. The idea is certainly not an original one, as Robert Jordan aspired for the same creation, very conscious–and aptly so–of the possibilities of such a union; however, although Jordan was certainly up to the physical creation of the setting, I have always felt he attempted to work a canvas too large for his ability as a pure writer. A second-rate chef with the best recipe, and the finest of utensils and ingredients in hand; his overwhelming vision failed by lack of skill to apply it. Bakker suffers no such deficiency. This is a sub-genre that rewards mere ideas much too often, and although ideas and creativity are certainly a necessity, they should not be lauded in the absence of competent application.

“There are three, and only three kinds of men in world; cynics, fantics, and Mandate Schoolmen” – Ontillas, On the Folly of Men

In Earwa, Magic is very much a reality but considered heresy among the Inrithi, and the majority of sorcerers are members of various Schools. Collectively they–those who have, or the potential to have magical ability–are called the “few.” As mentioned above, Drusas is a Mandate Schoolmen, a Gnostic school; although it is not as large as others, all schools seek the secrets of the Gnosis. The influential and powerful Scarlet Spires, rulers of High Ainon, join forces with the crusade to eliminate their rivals the Cishaurim, a school whose sorcerers can walk unseen among other schools’ adepts. Others are The Imperial Saik, loyal to the Nansur Empire, and the Mysunai, a school not highly thought of among the few, as they are mercenaries who sell their services. I love the fact that magic simply doesn’t exist without exerting outside influence or opinion. The few are considered abominations of faith by the overwhelming majority of the populace, a belief that cuts through both past camaraderie and friendship. The schools are able to exist–and flourish to some extent–simply because…well they can simply kick enough ass to make any overt attempt (other than another school) at eliminating them a less than worthwhile endeavor, much less a plausible or sane one.

Where does Bakker fail? Depending on one’s view not just on this particular reading, but reading in general–he doesn’t. Bakker is in a strange situation, in that he is an extremely gifted writer in a sub-genre that’s fan base largely doesn’t care about quality writing. To some, he commits the crime of writing a product that isn’t the most accessible of works to fans exclusive to a sub-genre that has grown accustomed to being spoon fed from the same Gerber jar. Bakker not only has a story to tell, he also has the ability to tell it; it’s not overly erudite, but represents a much more dense read than what is typical of the sub-genre. Bakker has the ability to give all the sequences in The Darkness That Comes Before a unifying quality of being a part of a single epic event, without ever forsaking the import and the relevance of any single moment. The chief detraction I see most often, and one that just completely baffles me, involves opinions regarding Bakker’s choice of names for both his cast and locales. Are you kidding me? Do people read out loud? Unusual names bother people? Do people not travel anymore? You are reading a book–you are halfway there–use your brain, you just have to know what or where it is when you see it again–not how to repeat it. I never understood this particular gripe with any book; I have seen dozens of threads on message boards dedicated to nonsense like how to pronounce “Drow” (which oddly enough I learned when I was pretty young watching an episode of Colombo–and in fact still pronounced it the way I wanted to), not even bringing up a dictionary–does it really matter? Even if you don’t know, and it becomes a source of personal disturbance and perhaps remains elusive forever, how does it detract from a book? Finally, to add to the number of people who will insist on missing out on this fantastic series: If you have ever stated, “I couldn’t sympathize with any character,” after reading a book, and thinking that it’s sign of sub-par writing instead of the opposite–don’t bother.

The last two superior completed series I have read are Jeffrey Ford’s Well-Built trilogy, and Neal Stephenson’s Baroque Cycle. I have hopes that upon completion, I will be able to point to the The Darkness That Comes Before as the start of an equally worthy series–a rare epic fantasy sequence that can, with no shame, be measured against the other finest recent efforts of fantasy as a whole, not limited with the perception of merely being one of the few standouts in a otherwise lackluster and mediocre field. Bakker’s debut is intoxicatingly unsentimental, habitually readable, darkly poetic, emotionaly enrapturing, and features a character that has the rare quality of being ominously present even in–and perhaps especially in–scenes he is absent from, and that threatens to join the other iconic figures in fantasy’s pantheon of memorable characters.

I hate seemingly just hyping a work, but The Darkness That Comes Before is not just the beginning of one of most enjoyable series I have read, it makes me wonder what crime Bakker committed, in that if we are nominating and awarding works in the mold of Lois McMaster Bujold’s The Curse of Chalion and Paladin of Souls (both of which I enjoyed, as I do most all of Bujold’s work, whether Science Fiction or Fantasy, but let’s be honest, Paladin of Souls was not the best book in 2003, nor near it) and not his?  How the hell has Bakker been largely under the radar? No one can accuse me of not being aware of and even acknowledging the fact that the overwhelming majority of the superior works and creative talent in Speculative Fiction is definitely not coming from traditional fantasy (i.e., epic fantasy, sword/sorcery fantasy).  The Darkness That Comes Before is essentially–albeit in its most simple form–a quest book with a looming prophesized threat, indeed, in the same manner of numerous other series that many, including myself, have come to despise and at times ridicule (and most of the time I believe rightly so); but what is the purpose of the greater genre community if not to make sure quality works are properly recognized, no matter what sub-genre they are pigeon-holed in? Admittedly, an author writing a series handicaps his or herself from potential recognition from the beginning, so as a fan of quality fiction–damn just epic fantasy–and since this series is nearing closure in January, I thought it worth a Bodhisattva Second Look, as it’s a prime choice for readers who like to wait for an entire series to be released before investing both their time and money into it.

What is refreshing about Bakker is that we don’t have to wait for him to learn how to write; he already can, and we are just waiting with each future project to see what he chooses to write about, which is a welcome deviation from dozens of other efforts every year (especially regarding series), where it seems as fans we seemingly have become accustomed to suffer through a debut (and sometimes more) book as if it were an on-the-job-training. I don’t want to invest for the pleasure of watching “Author X” grow into (or not) a competent writer–my purchase of a published author should entail that he/she is at least competent already. Bakker takes on a huge and most admirable risk with both this book and this series; not so much in regards to innovation or imaginative power, but a gambit directed at the epic fantasy fan base itself. I think it would cast a promising and progressive reflection if it is a wager Bakker ends up winning.

I’m not sure if it’s going to end up being the seminal, completed epic fantasy sequence in almost 30 years–but it will probably be close enough that by this time next year I won’t have to invoke the 70s when citing a model of greatness for comparing future works of epic fantasy.

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originally reviewed at the Bodhisattva in 2005