Having written about quasi-China, quasi-Saxon England and about contemporary Provence, Guy Gavriel Kay returned to the Mediterranean part of his Jadiverse. His newest books are: The Children of Earth and Sky and A Brightness Long Ago. They are both loosely connected and set in a quasi-Early Renaissance period. The first one is focused on many threads and events, including politics in Batiara, in the fallen Sarantium and on the Croatia-like coast of the western Sauradia. The second one is the story of two warring mercenaries in the northern and middle Batiara told from the perspective of an observer, a low-born diplomat and soldier from Venice Seressa. The funny thing is that the guys are called Folco AlpaCapuCino and Teobaldo Monticocacola. And only after reading Decameron did I realise that these names aren’t random — they are actually very Decameron-esque and very Italian. Wellp, my fault.

And the sad thing that the very accurate naming is, to my mind, one of the few interesting things in A Brightness Long Ago. On the other hand, The Children of Earth and Sky still possesses some of the epic style of the Sarantine Mosaic duology, performing some worn GGK’s tropes and character types at once. It seems to me that his newest books arent his best books, and let me explain why they dissapointed me a bit.

Revisiting — a Weakness and a Strenght

The both books are actually a festival of revisiting — revisiting beloved author’s archetypes, settings, inspirations, plot twists, references. Some of them make these books only good, but some of them make me think that in the question of literary techniques and characters’ depicting, we’re again on the level of Tigana or A Song for Arbonne. We’re on the level of shallow womanizers whom we are supposed to like, on the level of pointless sex scenes, on the level of yet another one Carnival, we’re on the level of characters who may look different, but who are just another version of the previous ones — of Jehane, of Devin, of Shirvan, and of Diarmuid, of course. Come back of Diarmuid may be the most significant one. Really, in the both of the newest GGK’s books, we have a young blond-haired womanizer from prominent or aristocratic family, a guy commonly liked who is changed by the love towards an unusual, strong-willed woman (Sharra?). Marin Djivo and Danica, Jelena the healer and prince Antenami — it is all the trope Diarmuid and Sharra played over again and again in various combinations. Antenami from A Brightness Long Ago at least isn’t irritating, but Marin in Children of Earth and Sky meets all the exceptations of our Prince-Not-So-Charming. He is a guy fucking random girls not caring how severe consequences they may face, not caring about their unwanted pregnancies or broken reputation. And although we are repeated how clever and charming he is, I can’t feel it somehow, because it sounds too familiar to me. Danica seems too cunning and too devoted to Marin, while Antenami and Jelena are at least a more balanced couple, teasing each other and accepting each other’s limits.

If we have an archetype of a Golden Author’s Womanizer, then we need an Artist and a Healer, of course. And so we get Pero Villani, a Seressini painter a bit less irritating than Devin the Genius Singer and less interesting than human and likeable Crispin, or than bold Lisette. Pero meets Marin on their track to fallen Sarantium, and then meets khalif Gurçu (Mehmed the Conqueror sends his greetings) to paint him. Gurçu is actually an interesting character, and the plot of his sons compelling. He seems as terryfying and ruthless as Shirvan from Lord of Emperors, and yet, more human and more understandable. His conversations with Pero are maybe the most interesting parts of the book. GGK chose a middle path between Distant and Alien Oriental Ruler and a trope more common in the western fiction — a Ruler Like Us. Gurçu isn’t like us, but he isn’t as cruel as Shirvan. Sometimes, he could surprise both a character and a reader with his friendliness, and with his wit, of course. And, if you didn’t guess, the whole Sarantine trope is spoiled with some pointless sex scenes of Pero and Gurçu’s daughters-in-law.

Jelena, an evocation of an Independent Woman in a Patriarchal World, appears in both books and seems more interesting, but she is just too similar to Lisette and Jehane. It isn’t that this type of a character isn’t likeable. It is just too recurrent. Actually, the background of Jelena is more interesting than anything else — she’s the descendant of Shirin the Zoticus’ daughter, born on the farm which many centuries earlier, Crispin had visited. And she seems to possess some of the paranormal powers of Zoticus, but this time, they are used to heal, not to make strange bird-like creatures.

And if you’re curious, there must be of course a Carnival in the GGK’s books. If it isn’t in Children of Earth and Sky, then it must be in A Brightness Long Ago, even if it is a horse-racing based on medieval competitions from Siena. And you have of course random and explicit sex scene between the protagonist, Danio Cerra, and Adria Ripoli, a spunky princess who has won the race. It isn’t the question of conservative laments about supposedly omnipresent sex in the fiction (which isn’t true, but it’s a theme for a different essay altogether). It is the question of some sequences and scenes which are useless. I would exchange eagerly all the explicit intercourses in these last two books for, let’s say, more detailed descriptions of architecture, garments and cuisine.

However, repeating some motifs and making particular allusions is also the strength of the last twoo books, Children of Earth and Sky especially. It’s a book actually full of the references to The Sarantine Mosaic. The characters are wandering through Sauradia as wild as in the times of Crispin. They find the old dilapidated chapel with the last remnants of the crude and impressive Jad’s mosaic. And what is more, in Sauradia the old powers of zubir are still present, this time in mysterious signs in the chapel, and in Jelena’s healing powers. Actually, these parts were maybe the most climatic one in the book, and I aprecciate them even more, having read Sailing to Sarantium.

There are, of course, the references to Varenna mosaic, and to the story of Valerius and Alixana, to Gisel and Leontius. It’s nice to see how the last empress of the fallen Sarantium at first calls these ancient empresses a whore and a barbarian, but then changed her mind about them, thanks to the friendship with one of the main characters, Leonora. It’s especially nice if we know Gisel and Aliana from the previous books. And it’s nice to know that Crispin’s work survived.

But maybe the most poignant and touching description of the book is that of the Sarantine stadium’s ruins. We know the races performed there, we know the stories of Scortius and Crispin, but now we see the place which had been so vivid to them, in ruins. It’s something very sad and reflective in that.

Some New Approaches

However, the two newest books of GGK are marked by some new problems and reflections as well. It’s nice to see that in A Brightness Long Ago we’ve got finally some lesbian and bisexual women, and gays portrayed not as the people seeking only carnal gratification. Why is it nice? Because in the fiction, gays are treated too often as the representation of the all non-heteronormative people. And because portraying non-heterosexual/racially or ethnically mixed/informal relations as based only on sex or ephemeral infatuation is actually a deliberate effect used by ultraconservatives to make us believe that such relations are nasty/invaluable/whatever. And GGK — even if it was only the introducing of two backstage gays dying together for their ideals on the walls of besieged Sarantium— somehow contradicted this agenda. You may find the plot of Monticola’s eldest son and his priestly lover too brief and too pathetic, but, on the other hand, I liked the very trope of Sacred Love introduced into a same-sex couple. I’m only hoping — despite of all the previous examples — that an author writing in such a way couldn’t be homophobic, at least not deliberately.

Adria Ripoli and her bisexual relations are another question. Adria is attracted towards both men and women, and has sex with her court ladies to avoid pregnancy. She also wants Jelena to make love to her, but the healer refuses.

You may think that this time, we’ve just gotten a Heartless Bi/Lesbian instead of a Heartless Gay in the style of Plautus Bonosus. But to my mind, the sexual life of Adria is more a retelling than anything else. It shows us several things. At first, it contradicts the image of the chaste and cold women of the past, portraying the ways in which young girls dealt with their desire in a patriarchal, virginity-enforcing culture. At second, it shows that in the privileged classes, not only men abused their power — or tried to abuse it — when it would come to the intimate life. And to see the women deciding about their sex and relationships independently, like Jelena, with no submission to the well-born ones, is a good thing, anyway.

The women characters of the newest books are another question, a question which reflects some change. This time, GGK not only introduces important women-warriors characters, but names the patriarchy directly. Both Leonora — a Seressini spy and then an influential nun — and Adria admit that they live in a patriarchal society where the women’s possibilities are scarce. And they don’t admit it in the way “Well, let’s make up with this”. The very recognition of an opression is an act of rebel. It is an act very inconvenient for the men, because nobody likes being aware of one’s own privilege.

And the acts of Adria, of Leonora, of Danica, only confirm their need of independence. You may find the reflections of Leonora or Adria too selfish, as they discuse gender inequalities in the categories of power. On the other hand, they might just be reasonable, because it is a question of power. And the interesting thing is that this time, the receipt for gaining influence in a patriarchal world isn’t sex, finally. It is… Entering a convent. And it’s nice to see GGK showing an institution and the source of power which is, I would say, somehow underrepresented in the fantasy genre. And no, his nuns are neither chaste and boring, nor cruel and heartless. They are practical, above all, and this realistic approach is maybe the best one. They perform abortions “on demand”, they receive and hide political figures, some of them have lovers (although I must admit that the relation of SPOILER Leonora and Pero SPOILER didn’t convince me especially). And so, the sober realist portrayal of the past is finally attached to retreats in GGK’s universe.

The patriarchy is openly named not only by the heroines of these two novels; it marks the very events. SPOILERS Leonora had to given up her illegitimate son, having her lover killed and being herself rejected by her father, count Valeri. SPOILERS The story may seem drastic to us, but it soon becomes clear that it might have happened in our world as well, and this is the most terrible thing. Unmarried mother forced to give up their children? Ireland is the first example of the long list. Fathers killing men for having affairs with their daughters? “Honor killings” are not the only example; so-called Europeans were no better, assuming several stories like that described in Decameron.

Leonora, after a fashion, is similar to Kasia — she is a victim of the patriarchal system about whom GGK is open. But this time, we see this system from another perspective — we see its hypocrisy and cruelty, we see the barbarism hidden behind so called “decency” and “moral order”. And we are happy to support Leonora, to see her gaining power, to see her getting rid of her father. Count Valeri may seem an over-drawn character with his classism and local antisemitism, but one thought may be even more terryfying — that he might have been quite a probable character, the product of his times. And, of course, there is one bitter, but deliberate and realistic trope in Leonora’ character — SPOILERS she’ll never find her son. SPOILERS But life is sometimes just like that.

It seems that the latest GGK’s books just reflect some issues according to the newer social trends. The symptom of it is introducing women warriors. And they aren’t some fetishized warriors with iron bra and unpractical armor. They are quite probable as for their times and their milieu, each of them coping with different problems and fightning for something differnt. Adria just wants to be independent and to work for her royal family; Danica fights for her city of Senjan, and then, for Ban Rasca Tripon (Albanian vibes approach), a Sauradian rebel. I am always a bit doubtful about the trope of a woman-warrior — it’s easy to make a nasty fetish of it, or, actually, a praise of violent patriarchal values. But Adria and Danica are fair about themselves and they are treated fairly by the author; they are just human beings with their own goals and desires.

Commonfolk Issue Rethought

Although I liked Children of Earth and Sky more than A Brightness Long Ago, there is one unique thing about the latter book.

It stroke me that this is the first time when in GGK’s books, the unjustice of the feudal system is named so openly and officially. And it is, anyway, one of the few fantasy books to name this unjustice without any fetish of all-good-commonfolk and all-bad-aristocrats, and to name it at all. And if I point out this, then it isn’t because I’m compassionate towards the poor privileged ones like MZB in her Darkover series. I just don’t like depicting characters according to Black-White Morality. And although I was glad reading about feudal unjustice in, let’s say, Traitor’s Blade, I found the descriptions of cruelty and misery just over-drawn in comparison to GGK’s writing in A Brightness Long Ago. There are cruel moments and cruel characters in his latest book (killing some sweet guys like Morani di Rosso), but it’s clear that the cruelty isn’t the question of the creepy individuals — it is the question of the system unjust at its very roots. And this conviction is obvious from the Danio Cerra’s thoughts. There is a bitter truth in them, and may be treated as the message of this book as well: the people tolerate a cruel and ruthless ruler just because he protects them from other feudals, selfish and constantly warring. It applies not only to the Middle Ages or to the Early Modern Period, it applies to the rise of dictatorships, to the nowadays populism. I didn’t except a message so clear and so courageous from GGK, and I’m just grateful he dared to put in into his book.

Children of Earth and Sky Vs A Brightness Long Ago — My Problem

While Children of Earth and Sky weren’t as good as The Sarantine Mosaic, they were no worse than other quasi-historical novels of GGK. The Balcanic-like setting was colourful, original and vivid, especially assuming that the most fantasy books aren’t inspired by Slavic countries. The references to the fallen Sarantium were only an additional value, and it was nice to see GGK inventing Croatian-like names. Altogether, it was a book good for its genre but a mediocre one outside it.

But A Brightness Long Ago was another case. Having read it, I found the book just plain. Of course, they were things I liked. I liked Folco Cino and his love towards his wife, I liked Jelena and Carlo Serrana (I suppose that the author wanted to put some Sicilian/Southern Italy vibes). I liked numerous commonfolk characters on the backstage. I liked the very admission of the commonfolk abused. And I liked George R. R. Martin-like instrument of SPOILER killing one of the main and likeable characters. SPOILER However, there was something unsatysfying and false about the book as a whole. I just didn’t feel I were in Batiara, in the alternative Italy. I didn’t feel it despite of all these references to the Sforzas and the Medicis, to the Renaissance literature, to the Papacy. I didn’t feel it despite Italian-sounding names and customs obviously inspired by this country. And here is the problem. I have no clue what has happened to GGK. Tigana was very vivid, even if the historical references weren’t so accurate. Batiara in the times of Crispin was also a place easy to imagine. But now, instead of colours and fragrances, there is only void. I’m just hoping it won’t go on like that. The vividness of his settings has been always the main advantage of GGK’s writing, and may he not lose it.