As much as we are seduced by the relative stability of the world around us into thinking that our culture, our traditions, our history, is eternal, nothing made by man can survive the erosion of the tides of time. Look back even a century and one will find a world dominated by steamships and horses, telegrams and unexplored frontiers. Look back even farther and not even language is comprehensible. No custom, no empire, has yet survived a millennia and it never will. For we are, at root, beings of change, of evolution, a process only accelerated when our change grinds against that of other cultures, producing conflict and chaos which only add fuel to this most mutable fire. Nothing ever lasts. Though Ms. Lynn wraps her tales in Fantasy's familiar trappings, it is this enduring lesson that pervades this contemplative trilogy.
In a land of summer and snow, Tornor, a keep cut out of the northern mountains, is an outpost against raiders and barbarians. Down through the centuries, as its stewardship passes from hand to hand, its power waxes and wanes, its fortunes forever linked to the severity of the threat its occupants must combat. Its inhabitants are hard of body and resilient of character for one must be so in this far-flung land of ice and stone.
In Watchtower, the first and shortest of the trilogy, we find the keep in flames, its master felled by a vicious attack from southerners set on conquest. Ryke, one of the few watchmen to survive the initial assault, is compelled to pledge his service to Tornor's new, rapacious lord in order to ensure the safety of its former heir, prince Errel, a promising youth who will surely be broken by the new lord's laughing cruelties if he is not soon rescued from the keep. Ryke, with the help of two of the Green Clan, southern neutrals possessed of mystery and skill, frees Errel, triggering an adventure through the southern lands, a journey of self-discovery whose path will eventually lead back to Tornor and vengeance for all that was consigned to the flames.
In The Dancers of Arun, centuries have past and there is peace at Tornor. Kerris, a young scribe who lost his arm in a violent assault early in his childhood, is plagued by dreams and visions he cannot understand. Though his job is a relatively straightforward one, transcribing, for posterity, the history of Tornor keep, he cannot concentrate for his Fits, which come upon him randomly, launching him into the minds of others, chiefly, his older brother who was, until recently, well away to the south. But then, to Kerris' surprise, his brother and his band arrive at Tornor, reuniting the separated siblings just in time for Kerris' powers to be recognized and named. He is, like many of the Cheari, a witch, a mentalist who, with training, can augment his powers into a formidable tool. Kerris, who has never loved Tornor more than his brother, agrees to venture south with Kel where their paths will take them into a dangerous rivalry between the Cheari and horse-born nomads of the desert who, in their desperation, turn to violence and extortion to learn the Cheari's secrets. Kerris will have to repair his damaged mind and find himself and his future amidst the tumult of clan conflict.
In Northern Girl, the concluding and best developed work in the trilogy, so much time has past that Ryke and Kerris, so prominent in the prior volumes, are lost to history. However, for as much as their names have vanished, their deeds echo down through time to impact on the present. The clans of Cheari, once so fledgling and small, have blossomed into powerful influences on southland politics, churning the waters of an otherwise peaceful land. Sorren, a servant bonded to the foremost house of one of Arun's most prominent cities, is a young woman who finds herself caught up in mighty events when she inadvertently brings to light a complicated plot to unseat her mistress and shift the city council's power into the hands of selfish interests. These agitators are more than willing to sink to bloodshed and assassination in order to realize their ambitions. While the lover of the city's foremost guardswoman, Sorren tries to find her place and her purpose in the midst of this chaos, a task made all the more complicated by the manifestation of a rare power that allows her mind to see a keep in the north that calls to her in dreams. Will she stay in the south, where life is settled and comfortable, where she can rely upon the loyalty of her prominent friends to keep her safe, or must she answer the call of her heart and explore her northern origins?
Originally published in 1979 and 1980, Ms. Lynn's three-volume epic is both spare and groundbreaking. In one of the stodgiest of fiction's genres, the author liberally populates her tales with gay characters, men and women who do not give a second thought to their lifestyles. They merely follow the wishes of their hearts, hoping this will lead them to happiness. Not only is this refreshingly bold, Ms. Lynn succeeds in this venture without a hint of pretension. She does not seek to overturn the conventions of, or sit in judgement of, the genre. Hers is a completely natural and welcome subversion that, even three decades on from its writing, is potent, a fact which demonstrates, quite clearly, that we have far to go in compelling Fantasy to reflect the broader, cultural trends of our era.
But as much as Ms. Lynn's characters are pleasing, her unusual prose leaves the strongest impression. She has chosen to tell her fascinating tale in what can only be described as Hemingwayan minimalism. The language is exceedingly spare. Characters are only occasionally described and the scenery is only drawn upon in order to provide a backdrop for the intricate dances of plot her puppets execute. There is nothing of the floweriness, or the stuffy innocence that so often characterizes Fantasy. The author, instead, adopts an everyday realism that manages not to be gloomy or grim. Life is what it is. We only fool ourselves if we think otherwise.
The Chronicles of Tornor is an uneven read. Watchtower is little more than a novella. The Dancers of Arun feels, at times, like it occupies a wholly different universe from its fellows. But Northern Girl is first class fantasy fiction. Rife with political machinations and coming-of-age drama, it is a wonderful marriage of character and story that successfully binds the trilogy. Overall, The Chronicles of Tornor may lack the majesty of Martin, the lost innocence of Tolkien, the apocalyptica of Jordan, or the grimness of Abercrombie, but its honesty carves out a niche all its own.
As stilted as it is potent. Memorable, to say the least. (3/5 Stars)
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