2025/094: Return of the Thief — Megan Whalen Turner

Nahuseresh tells me I am not king. We’ll see if he really prefers the Thief. [loc. 3700]

Series finale, and it really delivers. The narrator, for the most part, is Pheris Mostrus Erondites, a vulnerable child who has been taught that his only safety lies in pretending to be a 'drooling idiot'. He's non-verbal, and has other traits indicative of something like cerebral palsy: his cousins have nicknamed him Monster. Eugenides (now annux, high king, of the Peninsula) has 'invited' Pheris to be raised in the palace, away from his family -- his grandfather is Baron Erondites, Gen's greatest opponent in court -- and quickly realises that Pheris' mind is as sharp as his own.

And Pheris observes a great deal. He sees that Gen is often ill; that he keeps returning to the temple of Hephestia, trying to get a straight answer from the gods; that he wants to reject his violent impulses, but also wants to go to war with the Medes. He sees, too, that Gen is willing to laugh at himself: one of the most delightful (and cheerful) scenes is a satirical play about a king named Emipopolitus, who's wasting the country's money on mad ideas. Gen clearly knows the playwright...

This is a novel about war and vengeance, treachery and death. It's presented as Pheris' 'chronicle of the high king' -- his Exordium reminded me of Thucydides* -- and though Pheris literally turns away from the most distressing scenes, there's a lot of violence. But there are also moments of joy, and several instances of divine intervention. And, unexpectedly, a happy ending for most (though not all) of the characters.

Pheris is a fascinating narrator, and a very credible character in his own right: damaged by his family more profoundly than Gen by his frequently-deplored cousins, non-verbal but fascinated by mathematics and keen to become literate under the tuition of Relius, ex-spymaster, possessed of stubborn courage and immense loyalty. I liked him a lot, and I liked the ways in which Turner showed us that his physical problems don't make him in any way lesser. 

Gen fascinated (and occasionally appalled) me all over again. He is, after all, on first-name terms with the gods -- and Pheris, fortunately for the chronicle, can see and hear them too.

And I love that the end of the series is full of hope and new life and possibility: that foreseen disasters are still in the future: that this is not a tragedy.

* Pheris: "I will include in my account what I did not see and hear myself only if I learned of the events as they occurred and from those who were present." [loc. 56]
Thucydides: "Of the events of the war I have not ventured to speak from any chance information, nor according to any notion of my own; I have described nothing but what I either saw myself, or learned from others of whom I made the most careful and particular enquiry." source: 1.22.

2025/093: Thick as Thieves — Megan Whalen Turner

There is freedom in this life and there is power, and I was ambitious for the latter. [p. 15]

Kamet is a slave, albeit an expensive and efficient one: he is secretary to Nahuseresh, the erstwhile Medean ambassador to Attolia. Disgraced by the failure of the mission to Attolia the year before, Nahuseresh has returned to court in Ianna-Ir, hoping for a new post. Unfortunately his latest request has not been granted -- and the court is a dangerous place for a man out of favour. Fearing that he'll be blamed for Nahuseresh's death by poison, Kamet accepts the help of an Attolian soldier who's promised him his freedom. Together, they flee across the desert, the Attolian constantly lauding his king, Kamet feeling effortlessly superior. But the two are becoming friends, despite the secret Kamet can't admit.

This is very much a road-trip story. It's told as Kamet's first-person narrative, and there is a great deal he does not know. (I am unclear, though, why he refers to his companion as 'the Attolian' despite knowing his name from early on.) He's convinced of his own value, and of the barbarity of Attolia. To entertain his presumed-illiterate companion, he recites his own verse translations of the old myths of Immakuk and Ennikar, who are reminiscent of Gilgamesh and Enkidu. And he finds himself thinking differently about loyalty, freedom, power and friendship.

Not my favourite of the series, not least because the protagonists of the main arc don't appear until late in the novel: but Kamet's growth as a person, and the echoes of myth in his friendship with the Attolian, are engaging, and the various secrets -- some hidden in plain sight, others only evident in the final chapters -- are cleverly hidden and revealed. (Kamet's poor eyesight, from years of reading in bad light, is a plot point.) And it's nice to see Medes other than the oily Nahuseresh, who's been portrayed as a dyed-in-the-wool villain (the novel opens with Kamet having suffered a beating for 'overreaching') but had, it seems, some redeeming qualities.

2025/092: A Conspiracy of Kings — Megan Whalen Turner

All my life they had made choices for me, and I had resented it. Now the choice was mine, and once it was made, I would have no right to blame anyone else for the consequences. Loss of that privilege, to blame others, unexpectedly stung. [p. 79]

Sophos, the heir to the kingdom of Sounis, was one of Eugenides' companions in The Thief. He doesn't especially want to be king, though he'd quite like to marry the Queen of Eddis. But suddenly catastrophe strikes, Sophos loses everything, and Sounis is under threat. In order to save his country from civil war, he has first to save himself.

I didn't enjoy this as much as the previous three books in the series: this is partly because Eugenides is a peripheral rather than a central character, and partly because there is much more large-scale conflict. But Eugenides is there (scheming and manipulating, obviously): and Sophos, growing up over the course of the novel -- growing from Sophos to Sounis -- is a fascinating character. His resolution of the impasse between factions was stark and shocking: it would have been unthinkable to the young man at the beginning of the novel, but it is the act of a king.

Another interesting set of narrative choices, too. The first half of the novel is Sophos' first-person narration, but it becomes clear that he's telling his story to somebody. The rest of the novel alternates between third-person and Sophos' continued account.

A Conspiracy of Kings felt like a pivot to the wider world, to the pieces being placed for war. Yet the interpersonal relationships, and the character growth, are just as important as before. I'm glad I didn't read it first: I doubt I'd have appreciated just how intrinsic to the story are Eugenides and Attolia.

2025/091: The King of Attolia — Megan Whalen Turner

... what he had taken for the roughness of sleep was the king’s accent. While half asleep, he had spoken with an Eddisian accent, which was only to be expected, but Costis had never heard it before, nor had anyone he knew. Awake, the king sounded like an Attolian. It made Costis wonder what else the king could hide so well that no one even thought to look for it.[p. 219]

Eugenides has become King of Attolia, but is not well-received by the courtiers and soldiers of the city. They believe he's a barbarian who forced the Queen to marry him, and who has not consummated the marriage. (There is a rude song about this.) They put snakes in his bed and sand in his food: they regard him as helpless and inept.

But this is not his story -- or, rather, not his narrative. It's the story of Costis Ormentiedes, a young soldier in the King's Guard, who we first see trying to compose a letter to his father after having punched the King in the face.

I continue to marvel at Turner's storytelling skill. Though the focus (and, usually, the viewpoint) is firmly with Costis -- Ornon, the Eddisian ambassador, gets some scenes too, as does the Queen -- the core of the novel is Eugenides' reluctance to become King in truth as well as in name, and in the gods' determination that he will fulfil the role they've crafted for him. Keeping Eugenides at one remove from the narrative distances us from his thoughts and feelings, but there are (as ever with Turner) lots of telling details. The click of a latch, the toss of a coin, the roughness of an accent...

Costis is a likeable narrator, and his gradual realisation that Eugenides isn't what he appears feels authentic and natural. Even the minor characters have agency and agendas: even the villains have redeeming features. And there's a strong sense of the presence, the reality, of the gods: numinosity? A splendid and superbly-crafted novel.

2025/090: The Queen of Attolia — Megan Whalen Turner

“You made a mistake,” Attolia agreed. “You trusted your gods. That was your mistake." [p. 267]

Another reread: my review from 2010 is here. I remembered the shockingly violent act at the beginning of the novel, and the state of affairs at the end, but not much in between. And, unable to acquire any of the following novels -- well, back then I thought it was a trilogy! -- the characters faded away.

Eugenides is taken captive by the Queen of Attolia, more beautiful but less kind than his own Queen (Eddis, who's also his cousin). She exacts a brutal penalty for his trespasses, and sends him home. Tensions between the three countries of the peninsula (Sounis, Attolia, and Eddis) are high, and soon there is war. The Queen of Attolia is becoming increasingly vexed by her Medean ambassador, Nahuseresh. When Eugenides, tasked to 'steal peace', encounters her again, she weighs her options and proves amenable to the solution he suggests.

This is a carefully-crafted and emotionally devastating novel. The viewpoint is third person omniscient, with the focus on Gen and Attolia, though other viewpoints occur throughout the book. But the author doesn't tell us everything that's going on, every thought or plan or nightmare. As with The Thief, I found myself rereading to see how the emotional denouement was signalled: the seeds of the revelation that keeps Attolia's glaziers in business. It is beautifully done.

I also very much appreciate the two Queens, who have power and agency, and I note that the pantheon of gods is ruled by the Great Goddess Hephestia. And Eugenides, despite his imposed disability, is still competent and witty, though more vulnerable (and thus seeming younger) than in The Thief.

I must have been so frustrated back in 2010 when I couldn't read more of Eugenides' story. Luckily, that is no longer the case.

2025/089: The Thief — Megan Whalen Turner

It was a relief to explain everything to her... what I’d thought of the magus in the beginning and what I thought of him in the end. What it meant to be the focus of the gods’ attention, to be their instrument, used to change the shape of the world. And it was nice to brag a little, too. [p. 218]

A reread: my previous read (review) was in 2009, back when I was still reading print books, and acquiring them from BookMooch, which was able to provide copies of the first and second book in the series -- but not the third, or the fourth that had only just been published. They weren't available in UK editions until a few years ago. Now there are six books; I have purchased two as Kindle deals over the last few years; and all six are available via Kindle Unlimited. Sparked by a setting similar to Ancient Greece (though with definite Byzantine overtones, and more technology: watches, glass windows, rifles) I immersed myself, and have read all six in the space of a week. It has been blissful, and I'm sure I've noticed aspects and elements which would have eluded me if I'd read each volume as it became available.

At the start of the book, a young thief named Gen is languishing in the King's prison, having boasted that he can steal anything. He's still working on stealing himself out of prison when the king's magus turns up, wanting a 'proficient but anonymous thief' to help him acquire a mysterious treasure. Together with two useless young noblemen and a professional soldier, Gen and the magus set out. By the end of the book, the treasure has been retrieved, the secret agendas of the party have been revealed, the gods have made their existence known, and Gen has turned out to be the epitome of the unreliable narrator.

I didn't recall much of the book from my first reading, so I went back to the start and admired Turner's deftness with subtle clues. Nothing's explained, but everything's laid out for us to see. Gen is an immensely likeable narrator: I enjoyed his competence and self-reliance nearly as much as his deceptions. (I was reminded of Lymond, though apparently Turner didn't read Dorothy Dunnett's novels until well after The Thief was published. Rosemary Sutcliff, on the other hand, was a major influence.)

Originally a standalone novel, and marketed as YA: nevertheless, there is violence and unpleasantness, and a likeable character dies. I'd have enjoyed it tremendously as an adolescent, but I didn't find it simplistic in style or content. And, having finished it, I immediately acquired the rest of the series.

2025/088: The Walled Orchard — Tom Holt

...how Athens came to have the most pure and perfect democracy the world has ever seen, in which every man had a right to be heard, the law was open to all, and nobody need go hungry if he was not too proud to play his part in the oppression of his fellow Greeks and the judicial murder of inconvenient statesmen. [p. 46]

I owned a paperback copy of this novel -- actually two novels in one volume, Goatsong and The Walled Orchard -- for many years but did not read it. Suddenly, recently, the time was right and I was very much in Ancient Greek mode: and I am now much more familiar with the glories of Classical Greece, and the horrors of the Sicilian Expedition, than I was before. (See, for instance, Glorious Exploits.)

The narrator of the duology is Eupolis of Pallene, a gentleman farmer and writer of comedies, from his childhood survival of the plague, which left him scarred and ugly, to his old age. Entwined with the Peloponnesian War and the Sicilian Expedition are the triumphs and disasters of Eupolis' career as a dramatist and his ongoing feud with rival playwright Aristophanes, and his unhappy marriage to Phaedra, a young woman whom he rescues from Aristophanes and his bevy of drunken yobs. 

Eupolis loves and hates Phaedra, who is evil-tempered and keen to make her husband look ridiculous: he loves and hates Athens, her shining ideal of democracy and the idiotic voters who perpetuate it. But Aristophanes is the true villain of the piece, even (especially?) when he and Eupolis are fleeing for their lives through hostile Sicily, forced to compose cod-Euripides on the fly to entertain their hosts. 

Eupolis' fate is tied to Aristophanes', perhaps by the will of Dionysus. His innate cynicism and stubborn determination -- not to mention his true gift for rhetoric and for comedy -- help him endure the horrors of war, the PTSD afterwards, the sabotage of his final play, and the overthrow of democracy.

I found the Sicilian scenes harrowing and brutal, but extraordinarily vivid because of Eupolis' narrative voice. The minutae of everyday life in classical Greece are recounted with dark humour (though there are also moments of deep joy) and never feel laboured or over-explained. And the greater arcs of the story -- of the decline of Athens, of the horrors of war, of the flaws and failures of democracy -- feel as immediate as today's news.

Democracy is a cannibals’ harvest festival, where everyone does their best to feed the hand that bites them. [p. 519]