n this sequel to The Knight, released earlier this year, we follow the further progress of Arthur Ormsby, a boy who has managed to wander from our mundane world to the magical seven-tiered universe next door. In this cosmos, humans inhabit the middle stratum, called Mythgarthr, while immediately above is Skai, a realm of gods, and immediately below is Aelfrice, the domain of many kinds of spritely, even sexy elves, as well as several types of monsters.
When we re-encounter Art—or Sir Able of the High Heart, as he is known in Mythgarthr—he has just returned from a sojourn in Skai, where he has passed 20 years while only a short interval transpired below. He is now fully wise in the ways of his adopted lands, gifted by the Valfather deity, and a perfect knight. In short, he has become something of a wizard, though his powers are constrained by various oaths. Around Able has spontaneously collected a motley assortment of retainers, friends, allies, wards and servants, including his flying horse, Cloud, and his gargantuan hound, Gylf. But all Able's skills and wisdom and friends will be put the the test soon, in the court of the Frost Giants in Jotunland.
There the human visitors find themselves in the middle of much treachery. King Gilling, a Giant, and his human wife, Queen Idnn, face deadly internecine rivals. After Gilling is stabbed, Able and his party find that their mission to broker a peace treaty with the Giants is unlikely to succeed. They will be lucky to escape with their lives, and in fact must wage a gory battle to do so. (In the midst of this battle comes a side trip to Aelfrice to settle an old score with a dragon.)
Once back in the kingdoms of men, Able finds himself nominated master of a castle named Redhall. Although he feels he could easily spend a happy life there, Able is motivated to quest further. He still seeks to reunite with his one love, the elusive Queen Disiri of the Aelfs. And he feels he must pay a visit to his liege, King Arnthor. But the human court proves as deadly as that of the Giants. Arnthor shows himself a corrupt monarch, and his supernatural sister, Princess Morcaine, lusts after Able and won't tolerate his refusal of her charms.
Add in the threat of barbarian Osterlings on the frontiers of Arnthor's empire and the intervention of the jealous gods, and a veritable Götterdämmerung seems to loom.
Passionate and
spiritual
I found myself not as fully enraptured with this second part of Wolfe's duology as I was with the first, and I think I can point out the reasons why. That said, I still emerged from the reading of this book ready to acknowledge Wolfe's immense skills, passion and ambition. Taken together, these two books are a magnificent achievement in the annals of fantasy literature.
First off comes the change in Able's status. He is now no longer a novice, an apprentice, a stranger in this new world, but a master, a major player—and the charm of his early discoveries and first accomplishments, when all was strange and fresh, has dissipated. With full adulthood come responsibilities and conflicting demands. No longer is Able totally free to follow his bliss. He has obligations, is bound by more and more rules. Life begins to seem a little stale, even. And while this is certainly part of Wolfe's message and lesson, the text that conveys this parable cannot seem as blithe and carefree as that describing the joys of youth.
But there are also some structural choices that weaken the tale. First, we now alternate between passages narrated in the first person by Able and those that he recounts in the third person, telling of events he learned of second-hand. These passages focus on subsidiary characters, mainly on the young knight named Toug, and thus keep Able, the most interesting figure, offstage. True, all the events impact Able's story, but only peripherally. We've lost sight of our hero for long stretches. Second, the bulk of the novel—the first 300 pages—is devoted to the saga of the Frost Giants. Three hundred pages of politesse and Machiavellian machinations in more or less a single setting, during which Able basically learns little new about himself or life, before we shift scenes and topics. One could almost imagine this portion of the novel condensed to a quarter of its length, so that the much more stimulating mysteries and marvels of the last 200 pages could arrive sooner.
What carries the reader thorough any longueurs is Wolfe's supremely well-crafted prose and sense of the dignity and potential of life. His dialogue and characterizations sparkle, his evocations of solemnity impress, and his incidents of comedy delight. During such moments as when Able holds the talking cat Mani in his lap and ponders the sadness of lost loves, you might be reading an undiscovered masterpiece by James Branch Cabell, and that's the mark of a wizardly writer indeed.
