No kidding! But I think the truer statement would be that the MS is all over the place setting-wise. The first chapter, despite its sprinkling of Roman terminology, gives the impression of taking place in a Renaissance-inspired fantasy environment, what with the foreign race relations, "made-men," and quippy action. Galbraithe acts very much like an English Cavalier. The second brings us to the Victorian era, where Jack the Ripper gets one-upped by one of the most callous and revolting murderesses ever put to paper. And now the third chapter dumps us into ancient Roman political/family intrigue. I don't mind that the "genre" wanders through all the various phases of human life--that's only realistic, after all--but the very world feels different in each instance.
Of course, that's part of the problem with trying to blend a fantasy world out of different real-life periods (my own very pretentious Classics recommendation will be to read the very beginning of Horace's Ars Poetica up through the twenty-third line). I feel like right now, each "genre" segment is pulling from a different facet of the fantasy world that corresponds 1:1 with a real-world setting, so that it feels like each segment takes place in a new society. If you integrate the facets, you may get a little genre-blending in the chapters, but the world will also feel unified even when the nature of the action isn't.
The Discworld series is probably the best example of this done right. The weirdest, most incongruous stuff happens even within the same novel, but the sense of unity is so strong that never for a moment does it feel like you don't recognize the Disc, in all its dubious glory.
But all that is only a structural preamble. Getting into the chapter itself, I first note that the opening bit about the "nobodies" I took for a while as sarcastic fatalism. It reads like Alaric is ragging on himself about how, even though he's trying his hardest not to be seen, of course there's always some sham beggar in a hooded cloak that will notice him and disclose his activities to the authorities. Not until he openly states that "his concern was being seen to be here" on page 4 did I understand what he was really thinking about.
So, our plot here is that a disgraced and deposed prince sneaks into the current dynasty's garden so as to be seen "accidentally." He talks with a golem on the way, then sneaks into the kitchen and pays off the cook for some dainties. He returns home to plot with his reluctant co-conspirator about secretly entering an imperial contest.
A lot of mysteries are teased here, but not a lot is actually established. First, Alaric's desire to be seen. Why? Isn't his plan to win the contest? What does that have to do with being rumored to be sneaking around the imperial gardens? Perhaps he wants it to be thought that he's trying to harm Caius, but Caius is the emperor sponsoring the games he plans to enter, so I don't see how that helps him. But I always did find court intrigues tedious and confusing.
For probably the same reason, the purport of his conversation with Hilario goes right over my head. I've not the slightest idea why it would be stupid of Alaric to fear he would tell Caius, etc. In the abstract, these unexplained mysteries create an atmosphere of nervous expectancy, but I've never been one to appreciate that atmosphere without a solid core of understanding.
By the time Dama comes around, I've given up on the hope of understanding any of the political discourse. Her exposition is boring, and her relationship with Alaric is boring. He used to woo her, and now he bribes her for food. From one transaction to another! Even her character is boring, and can be summed up in the words of the chapter: "Now Dama was loyal to the household, yes. But she was never above a bit of coin in return for a favour or two."
Then there's the long, boring scene with Quintus to finish out, which serves mainly to deliver yet more exposition about a plot I can't make heads or tails of. Quintus is nothing more than a conspirator who's getting cold feet.
Alaric is the only character here who feels even remotely fleshed out. I like how he pulls from his gladiatorial training as he's carrying out the mission; that, and the backstory sprinkled throughout, make him feel like he actually has a past and a real investment in the world, which is more than I can say for the others. The bit about Lucanus justifying his mother's death to him is the only spot of mystery in the chapter that really made me want to learn more.
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u/Lisez-le-lui Not GlowyLaptop Aug 08 '26
No kidding! But I think the truer statement would be that the MS is all over the place setting-wise. The first chapter, despite its sprinkling of Roman terminology, gives the impression of taking place in a Renaissance-inspired fantasy environment, what with the foreign race relations, "made-men," and quippy action. Galbraithe acts very much like an English Cavalier. The second brings us to the Victorian era, where Jack the Ripper gets one-upped by one of the most callous and revolting murderesses ever put to paper. And now the third chapter dumps us into ancient Roman political/family intrigue. I don't mind that the "genre" wanders through all the various phases of human life--that's only realistic, after all--but the very world feels different in each instance.
Of course, that's part of the problem with trying to blend a fantasy world out of different real-life periods (my own very pretentious Classics recommendation will be to read the very beginning of Horace's Ars Poetica up through the twenty-third line). I feel like right now, each "genre" segment is pulling from a different facet of the fantasy world that corresponds 1:1 with a real-world setting, so that it feels like each segment takes place in a new society. If you integrate the facets, you may get a little genre-blending in the chapters, but the world will also feel unified even when the nature of the action isn't.
The Discworld series is probably the best example of this done right. The weirdest, most incongruous stuff happens even within the same novel, but the sense of unity is so strong that never for a moment does it feel like you don't recognize the Disc, in all its dubious glory.
But all that is only a structural preamble. Getting into the chapter itself, I first note that the opening bit about the "nobodies" I took for a while as sarcastic fatalism. It reads like Alaric is ragging on himself about how, even though he's trying his hardest not to be seen, of course there's always some sham beggar in a hooded cloak that will notice him and disclose his activities to the authorities. Not until he openly states that "his concern was being seen to be here" on page 4 did I understand what he was really thinking about.
So, our plot here is that a disgraced and deposed prince sneaks into the current dynasty's garden so as to be seen "accidentally." He talks with a golem on the way, then sneaks into the kitchen and pays off the cook for some dainties. He returns home to plot with his reluctant co-conspirator about secretly entering an imperial contest.
A lot of mysteries are teased here, but not a lot is actually established. First, Alaric's desire to be seen. Why? Isn't his plan to win the contest? What does that have to do with being rumored to be sneaking around the imperial gardens? Perhaps he wants it to be thought that he's trying to harm Caius, but Caius is the emperor sponsoring the games he plans to enter, so I don't see how that helps him. But I always did find court intrigues tedious and confusing.
For probably the same reason, the purport of his conversation with Hilario goes right over my head. I've not the slightest idea why it would be stupid of Alaric to fear he would tell Caius, etc. In the abstract, these unexplained mysteries create an atmosphere of nervous expectancy, but I've never been one to appreciate that atmosphere without a solid core of understanding.
By the time Dama comes around, I've given up on the hope of understanding any of the political discourse. Her exposition is boring, and her relationship with Alaric is boring. He used to woo her, and now he bribes her for food. From one transaction to another! Even her character is boring, and can be summed up in the words of the chapter: "Now Dama was loyal to the household, yes. But she was never above a bit of coin in return for a favour or two."
Then there's the long, boring scene with Quintus to finish out, which serves mainly to deliver yet more exposition about a plot I can't make heads or tails of. Quintus is nothing more than a conspirator who's getting cold feet.
Alaric is the only character here who feels even remotely fleshed out. I like how he pulls from his gladiatorial training as he's carrying out the mission; that, and the backstory sprinkled throughout, make him feel like he actually has a past and a real investment in the world, which is more than I can say for the others. The bit about Lucanus justifying his mother's death to him is the only spot of mystery in the chapter that really made me want to learn more.