When we conjure a certain type of medieval invader, we have a very clear mental image of what they were like. Clad in chain mail (that is, the armour, not the irritating postal circulars), helmed by behorned helmets, they step out of the history books and onto the beaches of Lindisfarne, Whitby and any number of other bits of north-eastern coastline unlucky enough to have both people and more than a packet of Polos going spare before going on the rampage, killing abbotts, maiming monks, robbing anything not nailed down to the bedrock and melting away into the North Sea night, leaving the shell-shocked locals to piece together what remained of their communities and limbs.
Make no mistake: the above is only half of the story (and, in the case of horned helmets, a completely blatant lie told to schoolchildren. I know. I tell them it). They were from an advanced warrior culture, pagan and bloodthirsty though it was, that eventually succeeded in taking over England and, through one particularly powerful ruler - careful how you spell this - Cnut, they were the very people who fully unified England for the first time, despite the best efforts of the contemporaneous and unfortunate Saxons.
I am, of course, talking of the Vikings.
The mention of Vikings makes many people conjure other images: those of Odin, the All-Father, and Thor. People immediately think of Norse mythology and of harsh, bitter nights at sea. Some think of Beowulf. In all cases, people know that the lot of a Viking was a hard, bloody life, often at sea, often invading (and murdering) the people they came across in order to pillage and loot. But it was also a life of song and society. Perhaps we come at this from a British perspective - we're prone to the 'us and them' mentality far too much, perhaps summed up best by events of 1066. 'We' beat the Vikings, and then 'we' got beaten by the Normans - who, curiously enough, were descended from Vikings. The fact that Britain is as Norman and Viking as it is Saxon apparently never occurs to the people who keep regarding Harold II (Harold I was a Viking) as some kind of Saxon demi-god, despite the fact he was a power-grabbing, oath-breaking so and so who had gained his position of power via Viking influence.
Anyway, I was meant to be writing about Joe Abercrombie's Half the World before I got sidetracked by a favourite topic.
Not that Half the World isn't going to be a favourite topic. The sequel to Half a King, it is a Viking-inspired grimdark young adult fantasy that is well worth your time. It's rare, these days, for me to rip through a book, particularly if it's more than a couple of hundred pages. I spend half my life reading, what with marking and subject knowledge enhancement, and by the time comes to relax it feels like these days there are better and easier things to do. So it's a particular mark of enjoyment that I read Half the World in 27 hours from beginning to end.
Thorn wants to be a warrior, but has a problem: she's a girl. A feisty, irritating girl, who appears hell-bent on alienating those around her. She's talented, but proud and haughty, and when she accidentally kills one of her sparring partners in the training square and branded a murderer she finds herself at the mercy of Father Yarvi. Yarvi, the protagonist of the earlier book, is persuaded to take a chance on her by Brand, one of the boys Thorn sparred with, and both soon enough find themselves on a voyage to make allies, for Gettland finds itself in need of them against the High King of the Shattered Sea in a desperate attempt to avert war. What follows is a tale worthy of song.
For Abercrombie can write. Too often tales such as this one have foundered because they have got bogged down by detail and lost all sense of pace and drive. But not here; worldbuilding, intrigue and action combine expertly, with a cast of varied and likeable characters who all contribute something necessary to the plot. But of all the things that are to be admired, what is to be admired most about Half the World are its phenomenal pace and its immersive world. At times, you can almost hear the drumbeat setting the pace of the strokes in the longship. You can smell the salt of the sea, feel spray whipping up, hear the grunt of the man next to you on the oars as you battle the elements.
Half the World is clearly inspired by Vikings. A simple glance at the list of locations should tell you all about the Nordic roots of the tale. But it avoids making the mistake of assuming the Vikings were part of a simple world. The same tale could have been told by a less skilled storyteller without truly fleshing out the wider world, which the men of the Shattered Sea are just a small part of. But Abercrombie is the consummate storyteller. Narrative drive is never lost to the world, but the world itself is not sacrificed. This is a rich world, of more than just violence and raids. It's a world of high politics and diplomacy, where merchants and priests rub shoulders with the warriors. Just because the story focuses on the politics and the wars does not mean that these elements aren't present; they most certainly are, and they make up a significant part of the wider world.
This is a rousing tale of heroes who are human. There's very little magic here, and when it makes its appearance it is something that many people who sneer at fantasy would not recognise. This isn't a world where magic or anything spiritual truly holds sway. Like the characters, there are many elements of the world which are broken, but it all adds to the experience of this fine book.
This is a book that is to be savoured. It surpasses its predecessor in almost every way - and should be mentioned that Half a King was a fantasy novel of the very highest quality. I cannot wait to read the final part of the trilogy, Half a War. And not because I'm addicted to Vikings.
