Despotism is a pernicious force. It institutionalizes corruption, stifles innovation, imposes a strict hierarchy upon society, and hardens the hearts of the powerful to the plights of the powerless. That it does all this, and more, ought to ensure its destruction, for what society could long endure such decrepitude? What people, cognizant of the bleakness of their lives, would not act to bring down the regime and replace it with something better?
Despotism flourishes, not because it's logical, not because it's reasonable. It endures because it pedals fear and terror, emotions that eat away at the courage necessary for unity, for rebellion. But what happens when despotism goes too far? What happens when it leaves the beleaguered with nothing left to lose? Well, then it has a fight on its hands, a fight to the death. Welcome to Mr. Sanderson's apocalyptic Final Empire.
In a world of metal and ash, of smoke and fire, of red skies and fiery pits, the Final Empire churns painfully onward. Founded a thousand years earlier by the Lord Ruler, a shadowy, immortal presence that hangs over the realm like an oppressive cloud, the empire ostensibly exists for the betterment of mankind, bringing order, stability and freedom to a world once threatened by the mysterious Deepness. However, in reality, it is a corrupt aristocracy in which the nobility rule at the expense of the Skaa, a filthy, downtrodden people made obedient and docile by centuries of systematic slavery and abuse.
Transformed through personal tragedy from an arrogant fop into the leader of a Skaa rebellion, Kelsier is Mistborn, a mighty mystic who draws power from burning small amounts of various metals consumed both in powderized and solid forms. Rare among the nobility, Mistborn are second in power only to the Inquisitors, the strange, eyeless enforcers of the Lord Ruler's dictatorship. And so, when Kelsier stumbles across Vin, a beaten and battered girl thief, and discovers that she, like him, is mistborn, he eagerly takes her under his wing and watches as she blossoms from a skittish, suspicious urchin into a powerful force within his insurgent conspiracy. For something must be done to topple the Lord Ruler. Something must be done to bring sunlight and grass, fresh air and green plants, back into this world of mist and fire. A thousand years of servitude is long enough.
Having spent the last ten years establishing himself as one of the most prolific authors in the fantasy genre, Mr. Sanderson is a gifted builder of worlds. The Final Empire is a poignantly brutal place, a world reminiscent of an outer circle of Hell. Not a single page passes without leaving the reader with the impression of it having been smeared by soot. We, like Mr. Sanderson's characters, are given no respite from the ash-filled clouds, no opportunity to draw a breath of clean air from the misty, smoggy atmosphere. It's a credit to the author's skill that this feels far more evocative than oppressive. More over, the author has assembled an exciting, alchemical system of magic which is both pleasingly logical and behaviorally governed by physical laws. Yes, it is overly simplistic, and the heady reader will be able to grasp the implications and applications of the various metals far in advance of the story's characters, but this is a minor quibble in what is otherwise the most rewarding magical system since Weaving.
Though he lacks Martin's poetry of language and Jordan's depth of character, Mr. Sanderson's simplistic prose is only a minor hindrance to an excellent plot which sends the reader hurtling towards the climax of a wonderful yarn. Entertainment is, after all, the object of the whole endeavor. And, with a good sense of comedy and pathos, wistfulness and vengeance, the author has done that in spades. This is a slice of what life would be like in a world where the bad guys won. But though, in this, it is reminiscent of Karen Miller, it nonetheless cherishes its essential goodness.
Quality work. (4/5 Stars)
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