The Runes of the Earth by Stephen Donaldson

"Now that she could observe him more precisely, however, she saw that he had not exhausted his life. In fact, he possessed an astonishing resilience, in spite of his inanition. He was sustained by---
New surprise rocked her back onto her heels.
---by Earthpower." (p.94)

"The sight of it seemed to crawl over her skin like a rush of formication. The eerie kinesthesia of her health-sense was so intense that she could hardly restrain her impulse to slap at the squirming sensation." (p.97)

The "Chronicles" are back. After twenty years, Thomas Covenant, though long dead, returns to rescue "The Land" once more. Well, maybe his spirit, anyway. All the dramatic overwriting of the first two series has re-emerged in the return.

Stephen Donaldson brings us 532 more pages of the wild allegorical ride of Thomas Covenant and his battle with 'Despair.' And he promises two more volumes in this extended trilogy, to be completed in due course, perhaps a dozen more years in the future..

The melodramatic style of Stephen Donaldson has survived the intervening years and returns with a vengeance in The Runes of the Earth, the first volume of The Last Chronicles of Thomas Covenant. In simpler prose, the first two observations above might well have been communicated more easily and more directly. And a less convoluted translation of the substance of the third quote, would simply be, "her skin crawled." But this is clearly not Donaldson's style. His search for the convoluted often leads him to rather unusual word choices that do not always add to the precision of his text. "...tangible and lovely and,---mortal...shared her numinous glow" (?). Okay, perhaps this sounded good, but it complicates and adds mild confusion to understanding the intent of the passage more than it adds poetry to the lines. Did I say, "mild" confusion? Wrong word; nothing in the language or worlds of Donaldson is mild. Rather, I should have said: "...spinning a chiaroscuro of multicolored dots like the phosphene aura of a migraine." (p.97) Or something like that.

Although Donaldson's ultra dramatic, overwritten style is easy to mock and criticize, it works for him. He has a devoted following. Moreover, occasional snickering aside, I find that it also grips me, and doesn't release me readily. I do become engrossed in his exciting and dramatic worlds; I willingly bought this book when it appeared. But, as a long time editor and longer time writer, I feel constrained to say that, by normal writing standards, frankly, Donaldson's prose and exposition are often atrocious. But there is something about it that works for him; I rather enjoy the ride. (Okay, to set my biases, I must point out that only a minority of my writing and much less of my editing has been fiction, but some principles of style transcend the genre.) It is probably, in part, actually because of the unrelenting melodrama of his style, that he grabs the reader and doesn't let go. Donaldson wastes no time drawing the reader into his arcane world. Even before we enter, "The Land," we are pulled into the drama and exaggeration that characterize the worlds of Stephen Donaldson. No interactions are trivial; no events unimportant; no thoughts or feelings, however exaggerated or downright paranoid they seem, are without foundation. Every word, breath, or step is fraught with profound meaning and drama. The fate of entire races and worlds can depend on the correct gauging of the meaning of every event. Tiring sometimes.

At this point, I need to explain that this is an unusual review. It was begun before I finished the book because I believe that the reactions the reader has at every stage of the reading experience are as important as the final judgment, which is, after all, formed in retrospect. The lasting impression that is left by a book is important, of course, but so is the experience of reading itself. Most people read books of this sort to 'escape' or, in some way, enjoy the experience. So here are my responses as I read this book. At this point, I am a little over 150 pages into the reading adventure. The action so far.

The opening describes the current position of Linden Avery, companion and lover of Thomas Covenant in the previous "Chronicles." Linden is a physician, apparently trained in emergency medicine or family practice but now occupied in a primarily administrative position, heading a rather independent psychiatric facility that is affiliated with a small town general hospital. The time is ten years after her adventures with Thomas in The Land, and ten years after his death in the 'real' world. Linden is contented with her position in the world; she has friends, co-workers, and a fifteen year old 'son,' whom she had formally adopted eight years ago. This child, at five, had participated in the bizarre ritual that ended Thomas Covenant's life. At that time, he had suffered a self inflicted severe burn to his right hand, leaving it with partial use. He had also suffered a severe psychic wound that left him entirely mute and apparently autistic. Linden had nursed and mothered him to a physically healthy fifteen, but had not affected his mental impairment at all. This boy, Jeremiah, is the emotional center of Linden's life. But she is also dedicated to her wards, the patients in the hospital she runs. Among these patients is Thomas Covenant's former wife, Joan, who became a severe catatonic at around the same time as Jeremiah's trauma, which was the time of the concluding crisis of the second Chronicles.

As the book opens, Roger, Thomas and Joan Covenant's son, now 21, appears at the hospital, requesting of Linden that he be allowed to see his mother and to remove her from the hospital into his care. He announces that at the age of 21, he had received inheritance of the farm at which Thomas and Joan had lived and was now willing and able to care for her at that place. At this apparently reasonable request, Linden becomes intransigently opposed to this event and to Roger himself. Why, is never clear, but it is a "feeling" and it is intense. Linden adamantly refuses Roger's request, even though Joan reacted to him, spoke for the first time in ten years and, obviously was favorably disposed to Roger. Moreover, Linden convinces herself that Roger will kidnap his mother and that his intentions are evil. It is a defining foreshadowing of the rest of the book that her 'percipience' (as it is later called) is entirely correct, as Roger, despite Linden's attempts to stop him, indeed kidnaps Joan and creates mayhem and death en route. In addition to his mother, Roger seeks Covenant's white gold wedding ring, now in Linden's possession. This ring, owing to the magic of its metal, is an instrument of great, but unpredictable power ("wild magic") in the Land. Linden, having obtained it from Thomas upon his death, now wears it on a chain around her neck. The interaction with Roger lead to Linden's return to the "Land" and, hence, to the main part of the story.

"The Land," a place where good and evil are reified, where health and sickness are given form, where despair and self loathing are personified, and where your battles with yourself are externalized in pretentious melodrama is the framework of the series. The action from the beginning of the first book (this is the seventh) is a battle against the destructive power of despair, doubt, and self loathing, personified as the puissant arch-enemy of the Land, Lord Foul (or Lord Despair, or the Despiser, or a host of other names lest we forget the allegory). Subtle, it ain't; absorbing, it is. On return to the Land, Linden briefly regains some of her talents that she used to help Thomas on his quest to save the world, meets a blind, psychotic, feeble, and helpless old man who is, mysteriously, a powerful and central figure in the plot. She and this self contradictory creature encounter eldritch and powerful beings, some familiar, some not, that serve ambiguous and unpredictable roles that help or hinder her in her new sojourn within the Land. The time on Earth passes differently from the time in the Land. For every day on the Earth, a year passes in the Land. Therefore, for the ten years that passed for Linden since her last visit, three and one half millennia have passed in the Land. Some changes have taken place. On to the next hundred or so pages; I am still enjoying the ride.

Continuing report. Still going at around the midpoint of the book. Still enjoying it but not quite riveted to my chair. It's a bit heavy on the Deus ex machina strategy, and the 'deities' so constructed are more than a little tortuous in design and action. The "land" seems filled past the brim with hordes of wondrous creatures. All of them seem to be variations of self concept symbols, varying only in hope, despair, and malignancy. They are popping up with unnerving frequency. I am hopeful (sic) that there is more purpose to this variety than there seems to be. Perhaps it's the many faces of despair and self loathing that is being beaten to death. The pretentious word use continues and is occasionally jarring. For example the word, 'subcutaneous' when 'subliminal' was the intent. Moreover, given the pretension, he really should learn the meaning of the word, 'comprise.' (I know I'm being petty, but the style stimulates that. Hint: It does not mean 'compose.' ) Lest the gentle reader misapprehend the gist of my plaint, allow me hasty dilation. With or without my unseemly mockery, the courtly speech patterns contribute to the virtues of the book; I am not complaining about that aspect of the writing. It's the pretentious style outside the quotes that grates. As I read, though, I find that my criticisms are generated by recurrent disappointment. And the disappointment is comes from the promise of the talent. At times, the language flows in beauty. "The bracken assured her that it had dried and fallen long ago, and would sprout again; and dew wet the hardy grass in profusion, already restoring the soil's life." (p. 235) Marvelous, and a wonderful example of the proper misuse of a semi-colon; it doesn't technically belong there, but it serves a splendid purpose. This wonderful writing follows closely simply poor grammar, ('anyone' is not plural) and a metaphor so forced that it jars, "...scraping her shins and palms over the jagged memories of the rocks..." (P. 231). "Jagged memories"? The writing is forced, overwritten and, hence, uneven. Sometimes, though, it is good enough to savor.

That last entry came while I was still reading the story. It is the last one before I have had an opportunity to contemplate the book as a whole. As I thought, the whole cannot be judged en route. Even judgment of the experience changes some in retrospect. But I am leaving those parts, above, that I wrote as I read, because I believe they serve a purpose in describing the adventure as it was experienced. The feeling that the reader remembers, though, comes from the entire book. And here is that feeling:

As a fantasy, swords 'n sorcery. or whatever this old and often reborn genre is now called, it is a "good read." But that is a pallid and very incomplete description of a book that sometimes soars. Taken as a story, this is a good vs. evil tale in which the main thesis is that power corrupts. Original? No. Originally crafted; yes. The plot involves the manipulation of time, itself, which is an author's power that corrupts the story. It invites a deus ex machina plot resolution, and, indeed, dei and devils spring forth with dizzying regularity, often in the same package. Friend and foe intertwine and the logic of events is corrupted by the limitless powers that the author grants himself to craft the tale. That sounds bad. Strangely, it is not. A lesser writer would be trapped by his own devices; Donaldson surmounts them. As a story, this is a soaring adventure that captures the reader. The writing is, indeed, uneven; nonetheless, it pulls the reader into its events with increasing power. But this book is far from just a story. It is a 532 page metaphor, albeit for an oft treated thesis. But this treatment is unique. The contributions of one's attitudes toward oneself to the development of corruption, destruction, and loathing of surroundings and self are treated within the vehicle of a grandiloquent story. It is pompous, grandiloquent, and pretentious, but sometimes, soaring, captivating, and beautiful. The vehicle in which the metaphor is carried presents a hell of a good ride. I will await the next book in the series, eagerly.

By all means, read it. Forgive its flaws, and they are many; enjoy its strengths and they are immense. It is soaring, captivating, sometimes profound; a very good ride on an old theme Although it is undeniably grandiloquent, overwritten, and pretentious, it wouldn't work in the manner it does if it were not.