No matter how pleasing the narrative we construct in the wake of its triumph, revolution is a bloody business. For its divisive net is cast over every aspect of society, compelling everyone that it touches to choose a side, for or against change. In light of the reality that most souls, regardless of the conditions under which they live, want only to pass their days in peace, this compulsion is as unwanted as it is perilous. However, for much as revolution divides, it makes just as many promises. It can deliver the oppressed from their bondage; it can abolish the casts of society; and it can dispel the corruption that so often plagues an entrenched system. Are these, then, benefits worth warring for? Are they freedoms worth dying for? Ms. McKenna muses in her sprawling trilogy.
In a world of dukes and emperors, magics and mercenaries, the duchies of Lescari have been at war for as long as anyone alive can recall. Devoid of a king to unite them under a common banner and a common cause, ducal armies are deployed to blight the land at the whimsey of their noble masters who look on from afar, safely ensconced in the pleasures of their castles. From such glittering removes, they do not see, or choose not to see, the degree to which this reflexive, seasonal fighting ensnares the lives of the common born in a vortex of violence and misery from which there is seemingly no escape. The dukes do not care what harm their games cause to the small. After all, rule is their birthright and such conflict is simply part of the game.
But now change is afoot in the Lescari lands. Sparked by the agitations of a young and crippled nobleman, exiled for his infirmities, a rebellion has kindled, its flames drawing in every malcontent from the empire in the east to Solura in the west, welcoming them around the fire of revolution that, if properly tended, might well burn away the decadent dukes and their cruel games. But at what cost failure? Having put the fear of god into powerful men and women unaccustomed to its bitter taste, how harsh will the reprisals be? For if the dukes have nothing to lose, will they not be willing to fight until their dying breaths to win back every drams of power the revolution seeks to steal away? Moreover, what will replace the dukes if they are swept from the board of life? Will the coalition of disparate forces fall apart once their reason for being is removed, or will they find a way to forge a lasting good from the sacrifices they have made? Destiny awaits...
In Irons in The Fire, the trilogy's opening act, we are introduced to both the Lescari lands and those chosen by fate to challenge Lescari history. Born in different dukedoms, to exceedingly different lives, Tathrin, a merchanter's son, and Aremil, a deformed exile, come together at the heart of contested lands and share a dream. For the collapse of the old empire has plunged their kingless homeland into centuries of war and depravity. The dukes who have gathered up the reins of rule have cleverly harnessed the dark side of economics to perpetuate not only their lives but the conflict upon which their supremacy rests. For in the name of defending their people against attacks from other duchies, they have raised taxes so high that the only life truly worth living is that of a soldier, a reality which forever ensures that the dukes have an endless supply of desperate men to hurl at the battlements of their rivals.
Aremil, the brains, and Tathrin, his strong right arm, seek to change this unpleasant reality by recruiting key, disaffected members of this society, enrolling them in a conspiracy that seeks to deprive the dukes of this endless warchest. If they can convince the mercenary companies to refuse to sign on with the dukes, they will eliminate, with both a stroke of a pen and a heavy purse of gold, the prime means by which the conflicts are fought. However, in their idealism and naivety, Tathrin and Aremil cannot imagine the depths to which the dukes will sink in order to maintain their ennobled birthrights. This grim reality is left to other members of the conspiracy, the whores and the thieves, the desperate and the angry, to demonstrate to them, educating them in the true realities of life under the dukes.
In Blood In The Water, the trilogy's second instalment, the revolution is preceding apace, but its early victories have given way to a calcified stalemate. The dukes, though yet divided, have been given, by the rebellion, a common cause around which to bind themselves. Distrust and distaste yet remain, undermining their cooperation, but if even or two or three of these powerful forces sign on together, they might well be able to bring more men to the battlefield than the rebellion can claim. This difficult truth obligates the rebellion's inner circle to reach out to rabblerousers and agitators,mercenary armies and mountain men, knowing that to lose now is to lose everything they've fought for. Getting into bed with some of those they set out to reject seems a small price to pay for victory.
In Banners In The Wind, the trilogy's concluding volume, everything Tathrin and Aremil have fought for hangs on a knife's edge. For, in their attempt to overwhelm the dukes with force, those less-than-reputable companies they took into their fold have rebelled from the rebellion, splintering off to take advantage of the chaos by reaping power for themselves. These factions deeply damage the revolution's reputation when they begin to commit atrocities ostensibly in the name of the rebellion. The inner circle of the conspiracy, now so close to their goal, are forced to absorb one of war's most grievous lessons, that it is an uncontrollable beast. Desperation may prompt one to justify compromising their principles, but once that door has been opened, other nightmares are free to walk through it. Now, the rebellion must fight on two fronts, against the dukes and the disloyal factions in hopes of finalizing the dream for which they've sacrificed so much.
Though at times burdened by episodes of lethargy, Chronicles Of The Lescari Revolution is, in most respects, winning work. A talented fantasist, Ms. McKenna draws upon the genre's many tropes without allowing her work to become derivative. Lescari's cast of characters, both heroic and villainous, do, at times, wear their story hats proudly, be they white or black, but it's clear that the author has labored to justify this behavior with reasonable backstories that inform their actions. This effort is as appreciated as the broad and dynamic world in which her chronicle is set, one that is as subject to the vicissitudes of fortune and economics as the frills of magic and epic.
What sets this trilogy apart from the countless others that share its trappings is the extent to which Ms. McKenna has grounded her chronicle in reality without relinquishing the escapism from which it was born. Not only does the author punish her characters, good and bad, for the mistakes they make, she forces them to face up to their decisions. She demonstrates that desperation is as corrupting a force as power. For it compels us to compromise ourselves in ways unimaginable under normal circumstances. Moreover, she captures the reality that, no matter how hard we try, we cannot maintain perspective when ensconced in a great endeavor. We cannot remember where we draw the line we swore to ourselves we would not cross. For if it would but move our cause forward, we'd be willing to move that line at whim, making its distinction meaningless. All this is conveyed by the author without allowing her chronicle to descend into the kind of savagery that would elevate her chronicle from one readable by teens to one only digestible by adults.
For all its virtues, though, this is far from perfect work. Ms. McKenna does a poor job justifying the presence of magic in this story. In fact, magic is invariably used as a cheat, a device through which the author can keep her characters in communication with one another across great distances while shielding them from the certain death that would befall them were they common born. This is a forgivable sin; after all, Ms. McKenna is hardly the first to fall back on such a tactic. However, the degree to which she disguises it is quite feeble. Deus ex machina indeed... Moreover, the author appears to have come from the Robert Jordan school of storytelling in which far too many pages are consumed by unnecessarily internal monologues and overly detailed descriptions. Neither of these sins cripple the work by any means, but they do make their presence felt.
This is entertaining work. It likely won't come under consideration for awards within the fantasy genre, but it ought to. Ms. McKenna has strived to convey meaningful truths about human nature while telling a tall and fantastical tale. That alone is enough to lift it out of the mire of mediocrity so commonplace in this space. (3/5 Stars)
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