no fantasy at all, still...
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(I am not a native speaker, please overlook my style)
Many reviewers have pointed out this to be rather a Regency novel than a fantasy and they are quite right: there is no magic at all, no quest; nothing endangers the world as it is known to everyone.
I feel like adapting the subtitle chosen by the author herself: "Drama of Manners" (instead of "melodrama": there is nothing extravagantly passionate in her writing).
The world depicted here bears many resemblances to a preindustrial England, not only because of the English sounding names and titles of honour; the city itself, with its murky river and its socially marked districts looks very much like a xvii century London would, not to speak of the characters' continuous talking about weather and wool manufacturing.
Manners are nearly everywhere: it is a constant care of the author to describe each of her characters by the way s/he speaks or acts or feigns, the last being the most usual of the three: psychological insights and flashbacks are quite rare, which is fortunate because she is not always proficient in them, whereas she shows a subtle mastery in dialogues and twists of humour.
Drama is its undercurrent: people die in this world, sudden, cruel, unjustifiable deaths; luckily enough Ms Kushner avoids any direct judgement and the moral flaws seem to gain prominence through this device.
The main flaw of this novel lies in the two main characters: St Vier is a rather pale one, though he gets better defined later on; his lover Alec is a bigger than life neurotic and one never really understands why. Their relationship, once one manages to suspend disbelief, is finely depicted but I always sense a woman's sensitivity in what is supposed to be a gay passion.
The villains are masterly outlined: all of them, with a special mention for the duchess: a splendid, poisonous butterfly with a wit as sharp as her malevolent tongue: I was charmed against my will and I expect only Glenn Close (or an older Kidman) could bring her to the screen.
A shame this novel has not been filmed yet: in the expert hands of the director of "Dangerous Liaisons" it could reap Academy Awards. It is true that unless the director be a real genius all the masterly writing of Ms Kushner would be lost: the plot is convincing, the set is dashing but what really makes this novel worth reading is the writer's skill; she reminds me of Jane Austen (a very crude, cynical Austen, of course) and if she fails to compare, the sheer reminding is boundless praise.
A note on this Bantam Spectra edition:
the novel is rather short, so the three short stories added, though disappointing in themselves, are a most welcome addition.
The quality of the book (paper/ink) is very poor as seems to be the (bad) habit with U.S. paperbacks (OUP's are just as poor but cost half as much); I did not expect to have to complain about an oversized praise placed right on the cover, be it one of george R.R. Martin: call me conservative but I wish front covers to show only author's name, book title, publisher and an illustration.
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A melodrama of manners
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"Let the fairy-tale begin on a winter's morning, then, with one drop of blood new-fallen on the ivory snow: a drop as bright as a clear-cut ruby, red as the single spot of claret on the lace cuff." First published in 1987, Ellen Kushner's _Swordspoint_ is a rich example of what SF/F circles sometimes called 'interstitial fiction', a sort of confluence of fantasy with modernism. While a lot of such books plump for modern or near-modern settings, Kushner's glittering world looks a little farther back for its inspiration, if not so far back as most conventional fantasy - to Regency England (broadly speaking). The society is a highly stratified one, according to birth and economic standing (and to some extent by gender, within the classes). This is mirrored in a division of civic space: the noble families (a council from whose number rule the city) live in the elevated reaches of the Hill; everyone else crowds into the alleys and decaying tenements of Riverside. The scope for moving between the two is limited. Riversiders go up to the Hill as servants, while the nobles sometimes slum it in Riverside for insalubrious entertainment and dodgy dealings. The protagonists, Richard and Alec, are two characters who cross this boundary rather more frequently - if with little greater ease - than most. Richard is a swordsman, in considerable demand among the nobility for duelling 'challenges' (effectively contract killings), and prized for his efficiency and discretion in such matters. Alec, meanwhile, is a (former) student of the University with a noble's demeanour, although he remains cagey about his background. They're also lovers, and live together openly in Riverside, sexuality - at least for men - being one of the few areas in society that is relatively unconstrained. Their relationship is a complex joy of fierce mutual dependence and deep tenderness. Both men by turns stimulate and temper each others' worst traits and excesses. Alec is the perfect object for Richard's damaged sense of honour; someone whom he can both protect and be seen to protect through the very public means of challenging (and frequently killing) anyone who threatens his partner. Alec gives his life purpose and joy, holding him back from being simply an emotionless murderer-for-hire. Protecting him also helps Richard to assuage old guilt; we learn in passing that Richard killed an old lover, Jessamyn, in a violent quarrel. Alec, meanwhile, thrills to Richard's violence on his behalf, often deliberately provoking people into such situations. At the same time, however, his self-destructive tendencies leave him half-hoping that eventually he will find someone from whom Richard cannot protect him. Alec is a witty, urbane physical coward, learning the ways of a world quite alien to him through his life with Richard - and helping his partner to negotiate the more dangerous reaches of the world he knows, that of the politicking on the Hill. Violence is, as may be imagined, a fact of everyday life in this society. It is deeply unwise to walk around alone at night (which is, of course, why Alec does it); bystanders instantly and callously wager upon any conflict that looks set to end in a fight; entertainment is found in cock-fighting and the like. This mindset extends to mortality: personal honour on the Hill is built around the legalised brutality of the challenge system, while tavern disputes in Riverside are settled on a first-body-on-the-floor basis. In both cases, questions are rarely asked, and the immediacy and ever-present nature of the violence naturally strips it of much of the shock for participants and witnesses - but not so for the average reader. In this, the novel achieves that sense of dislocation and otherness that is (or should be, done properly) common to both fantasy and historical fiction - an encounter with a subtly different sensibility and worldview. The book isn't without its bumps and flaws. The dialogue sometimes veers into the melodramatic (although, given the book's subtitle, perhaps I shouldn't be surprised), often shouldering a burden of emotional expression that ought to be shared to a greater degree by body language and viewpoint narrative. (The latter suffers mostly, I think, from Kushner's determination to keep secret impending plot twists). There are times when it feels as if Kushner struggles to make it hold together as a novel; the short-story origins of much of the material are quite plain in places. The pacing can be choppy, with characters and storylines frequently disappearing for long periods. The structure especially falters towards the overly-talky, too-many-revelations climax. On the whole, then, it's a beautiful first novel with all a first novel's shakiness. Swordspoint gives us memorable characters in a rich world - I loved the fireworks displays, the unseasonable outdoor parties, the dicing, the torch-hiring, the relationships - couched in elegant prose and some very witty dialogue exchanges.
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A strange historical alchemy
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We ave here an exquisite blend of modern pre-revolutionary ages motives who were the pivotal issues of novels like Dangerous Liaisons (but Diane Tremontaine is at a time less ruthless and more devious than her model), Scaramouche (well...ok for the ambient and the arrogant amoral nobles, but StVier is really a hired killer, and Scaramouche avenges his friend against an armed adversary), The Bethrothed ( Lord Horn is an exquisite English equivalent of Don Rodrigo: arrogant and unsubtle, he wants who he wants and takes a refusal for a mortal offence...and is even more stupid. Lord Godwin is naive as Lucia Mondella and a good deal less resourceful) and Lynn Flewellyng's Nightrunner Series ( but Seregil and Alec are good guys, when Alec and Richard...)Well, Ellen Kushner had amalgamated elements of those novels,adding some of the political intrigues dear to the Asimov of the Foundation series (The Good Guy and The Bad Guy debate, in the final trial, like , say, Fastolfe and Amadiro or Salvor Hardin and his opponents. And the bad guy accepts defeat in a manner typical of Asimovian charachters). You have a society that has banned duels between the nobility only to allow challenges acted out by professional swordsmen ..like the algid St Vier, who notoriously "doesn't do weddings". And we have a nobility who has overthrown monarchy, and form some sort of oligarchy were political rivalries are resolved whit "challenges" to be enacted by StVier...and some of them it is equally dangerous to accept and to refuse. Well, in the middle of those intrigues, in which Richard is embroiled, here arrives Alec, apparently expelled from the University for undiscipline and forbidden experiments. Alec is the real protagonist of the book. "Nobody knows who I am", he says, and in reality all the charachters, from his lover Richard StVier ( who finds in him an antidote for his own aridity) to his real adversary will marvel at his tenebrous, ironic unfathomableness.
Alec: neurotic, given to bouts of depression and manic hyperactivity, unguessable both for the hoi polloi and the aristocrats..., well he is re-ally original. So vulnerable, so cruel and tender...he is Momo, Loki, Coyote. He is the truly real deity of the society whitout religion represented in Swordspoint.
There are also, in this novel, moments of absolutely bizarre originality ,like the Fluvial Winter Party. It's unforgettable...like the book.
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Intriguing with a very different style
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... it is very easy to step into the swing of things and you soon feel like you know the characters well. The most enigmatic point in the book is the relationship between Alec and St. Vier. The swordsman is both father and lover to the scholar, who seems so fragile, so exquisite... St. Vier is in effect a hired killer, but not without needs, showcased by his vulnerability before Alec and his respect from the citizens. The whole story is beautifully crafted and I would like to see more from this author!
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Wonderful Fantasy
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'Swordspoint' feels like Alexandre Dumas more than Anne McCaffrey. It was loaned to me by a friend who told me this was the best book about fencing ever. And she was right. Several strata of society are well created, the swordsmen, the thieves and vagabonds, the aristocrats and rulers. All have their place. The city isn't named. The time is unknown, possibly 17th or 18th century or maybe our own time on another world. Yet as vague as these things are, her society is wonderfully specific. If you can get your hands on a copy, read it. You won't be disaapointed.
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