Yoda one that I want

Criticising the creators of a story for getting their own characterisation wrong is not a good idea. It makes you look like a complete idiot. All too often on Twitter we see men (for it is always men) explaining a character and their motivation to the creator of said character, seemingly without thinking, 'Maybe this person knows more about their own character than I do'. Normally the end of that exchange comes about when the critic asks the creator just who they think they are, and the creator points out the name on the cover.

With that now in place, I'm going to criticise George Lucas for the characterisation of one of his own characters and possibly look like a complete idiot.

Yoda has been one of the enduring characters of the Star Wars saga, and not just because when 900 years old you reach, look as good you will not. He's small. He's green. He's wise. He has expressive pointy ears that a Vulcan would look at with envious eyes, were it not completely illogical. He's also got a reputation as a benign, benevolent presence within the Jedi order.

I for one am mystified how this came to pass, because Yoda in the original triology was a very different character. He wasn't defined by his weird syntax in Empire; no, he was best summed up as being a Jedi master taking on Luke's training who carried a vaguely threatening aura. There was very little benevolence about him. In fact, I'd argue that the audience was encouraged to reserve judgement on him. Was he actually helping Luke, or was he a potential enemy? Once we see his motivations are pure, he's still not all benevolence and helpfulness.

Consider this: When Luke Skywalker first arrives on Dagobah, Yoda doesn't reveal who he is. Instead, he is this mischievous elf thing. We can work out from the context that Yoda is judging Luke, working out whether the son of Anakin Skywalker is worth training. He sees someone who is impulsive (not helped by having a blaster pulled on him within about half a nanosecond of unveiling his presence), who has too much in common with his father, and who he even says he feels cannot be taught. This is a long way from the Yoda we see in the prequels.

Also consider this: When Yoda agrees to train Luke - after intervention from Force ghost Obi-Wan Kenobi - there's a distinct sense of underlying threat. He asks Obi-Wan whether Luke will finish what he begins, at which point Luke says he won't fail. That he isn't afraid. Yoda's response? 'You will be. You will be.' The camera shifts back to Luke, who's sitting back, uncertain of Yoda. That's not the response of a benevolent teacher; it's the response of someone much darker. It's almost a threat against Luke. That threat is carried out. Luke is sent into the cave where he faces a dark side version of himself in Darth Vader's armour. Yoda gives him no warning what to expect; in fact, he tells Luke that he won't need his weapons when he sets off to the cave, leaving Luke potentially all the more vulnerable. That scene - for me, one of the best in the entire saga - is open to so much interpretation. Did Luke take the darkness with him by taking the weapons? What would have happened if he'd gone without? Was he really at risk? But in not telling Luke what he faced, Yoda was revealing himself as a potentially threatening figure.

Then there's the bit everyone remembers. You know the bit: sinking X-wing, Luke being a bit whiny and negative, failing to lift it out of the water, and then Yoda showing off. 'I don't believe it,' says Luke in an echo of every child I've ever taught. 'That,' says Yoda, 'is why you failed.' It's inspirational. If you believe, you can achieve. It's something I'm more than happy to put on my own classroom wall as an inspirational quote. The problem is that Yoda has once again shown his own power. That power is so much greater than Luke's, and yet he's sending Luke out to face Darth Vader. It should be said that Yoda is absolutely clear that Luke is nowhere near the end of his training at this point, which is why he says Luke shouldn't go to help at Cloud City - his one actually benevolent move - but it's still something that should make us question Yoda.

So in the original trilogy, Yoda sends us mixed messages. He's something of an enigma. Even if his goals match with the rebels, his methods and deeper motivations are open to debate. He's mischievous, slightly threatening and even slightly arrogant. So why does he become something a far cry from this in the prequels?

We never see that version of Yoda in the prequel trilogy. We see someone who is a patient teacher. We see someone who is child-like and yet wise and calm. There's no threat to him. There's little mischief. The character has gone out of him. There was no reason for him to turn into that character either.

It's been said by more commentators than I care to read that the prequel trilogy is a massive disappointment. People have consistently suggested improvements, but one of the obvious ones is staring us in the face. And if George Lucas had beeen sharp enough, I'm sure he'd have seen it: Yoda should have been different. We see Yoda's stubbornness in Episode I when he withholds his blessing from Obi-Wan's decision to train Anakin, but that's about it. We don't see that threatening side. We don't see a side of him where he would withhold training from someone.

That's another problem. The end of Episode III sees Yoda pretty much declaring Luke and Leia the new hope, so why would he refuse to train him? There are many legitimate reasons why he might have taken the action he did in Empire - testing Luke is the obvious one, with the intention always existing to train him when he showed himself worthy of passing on the torch of hope to a new generation of Jedi - and many of those points make some of my arguments moot points, but none addresses why Yoda was characterised as this incredibly patient teacher with time for all. The big problem is that George Lucas failed to realise what he had created in Yoda.

So how could Yoda have been improved? There are a number of suggestions I'd make. One would be to have made him more arrogant so the doom of the Jedi order was in part down to his hubris. That's implied at times in the novelisations and the expanded universe, but not explored at all in the films. Another could have been to make his teaching techniques closer to his methods in Empire, and they could have pushed Anakin closer to the dark. It makes more sense than the sudden shift that Anakin undergoes in Episode III.

One thing does have to be said, however. The Last Jedi gets an awful lot of unfair stick from certain quarters. I confess myself to be a fan, and my favourite part comes with Yoda. That's because the Yoda in The Last Jedi - Force ghost that he is - is the Yoda from Empire. You're left slightly uncertain about his motivations and his methods as he seems to burn down the first Jedi temple. He's got that mischievous threat back. Although you know he's on the light side, his methods are unorthodox. His wisdom doesn't manifest itself in benign little lessons; his guidance is far more about threat. It's a bit of a stretch to say that Yoda is dangerous, but you can't say that he's absolutely benign.

The Walking Dead?

In the years since graphic novels gained recognition as a serious form of storytelling, quite a few noted series have emerged. Some of those have been postapocalyptic thrillers with a range of voices to be heard. Y: The Last Man told the tale of a society bereft of all men except one (and Ampersand, his pet monkey) and was an original take on familiar tropes. But perhaps the best known - in no small part down to the TV series based on it - is The Walking Dead.

It's got a plot familiar to any who know genre fiction. Zombies rise. World ends. Humans in danger. Stuff happens. Like most of those tales, it's gritty and 'realistic'. Or at least as realistic as it's possible for a plot to be when it relies on the dead rising in an unspecified fashion.

For the past year I've been meandering my way through the compendium editions of The Walking Dead. The first compendium begins the tale of small-town cop Rick Grimes and his family as they attempt to piece lives back together and find something new in a world at once familiar as the one they occupied for their entire lives, but also new, bereft of the familiar comforts of electricity and society itself. The subsequent compendiums, you'll be unsurprised to hear, push on through the same story, weaving a world that is at once intensely personal but also massive.

The issue with graphic novels is always with depth. The aforementioned Y: The Last Man was a good story, but at times it felt like it lacked something. Perhaps my first experiences of adult graphic novels - Watchmen, V for Vendetta - set me up for something more, but the series as a whole, whilst being immensely enjoyable, seemed to lack something. It could, of course, be the writer. I've not really got into Brian K. Vaughan's Saga either, and that's extremely highly rated elsewhere. But my experiences with other graphic novels suggests otherwise. There are plenty I've enjoyed. There are few that have left me awed in the same way as phenomenal fantasy novel or the best science fiction short stories.

Thankfully, The Walking Dead is one of the few series to have maintained that awe with its depth. It's deceptively simple at times and you could be forgiven for thinking early on that it's going to be a straightforward - if dark - tale of man versus zombie. In fact, that's perhaps as far from the truth as its possible to be. The Walking Dead is a story about humanity and how humanity faces up to disaster when society collapses. From the prison in compendium one to Alexandria and the Commonwealth in compendium four, there's a constant sense of being on the very edge of violence - not from the unknowable towards the known, but from one human to another as people are pushed right to the edge of their limits. The characters are truly what drives The Walking Dead forward. They're layered, complex. Again, a problem of graphic novels can be that characters can be left two-dimensional. Not so here. Robert Kirkman takes the time to develop them, to test them, to make them seem more real.

But does that depth come in part from the length of the series? Consider for a moment: Y: The Last Man runs to around 1,400 pages over 10 volumes. The Walking Dead runs to near enough 4,500 pages over 32 volumes collected into 4 compendiums. It could be argued - albeit not by myself - that Kirkman had the room to be patient, and to build character rather than advance the action constantly. For me, it's not an argument that holds true, but it's certainly something for a new reader to consider as they embark on the first issue.

Something that certainly isn't in doubt is the constant sense of danger that underpins the narrative. This isn't Gene Roddenberry's vision of Star Trek, that much is for sure; conflict between characters is as much the source of that violence as any. Rick is never comfortable in his position. Threat is ever-present, and not just the threat of external violence. And on the odd occasion that it lulls you into a sense of security, of cosy catastrophe a la Wyndham, there's something just around the corner to shock you back into the reality of this new world.

The Walking Dead is highly recommended. I started the series wondering whether it would be something I spent any real time with. In the end, the answer was long evenings spent in a world without TV and electricity, without structure in society, and where might was, very often, right. It's not a comfortable read, but it is one that will make you think.

Prorogue One

Avoiding parallels to the 1930s is tricky at the moment. On the one hand, referring everything back to Hitler like a badly-behaved Ken Livingstone is a bad idea; it cheapens the lessons we should take from the 1930s and it means when legitimate parallels are drawn they're lost in the wider drone. On the other, it's quite hard not to at times. There's the rise of increasingly extreme politics on both left and right. There's the increased trend towards nationalism. The Overton window has perceptively shifted towards nationalism being more and more acceptable, and with nationalism comes virulent nationalism: the kind of nationalism that legitimises a small minority of voices and silences others based on ethnic or political grounds.

The trends don't end there. Distrust of the 'political elites' was endemic in the 1930s, particularly in Germany. It played a key role in the rise of Hitler and allowing him to subvert the nascent democracy in the Weimar Republic. The idea that politicians then were not to be trusted came from the 'stab in the back myth'; that is to say, politicians in Germany were blamed for Germany's surrender in the First World War. The myth, perpetuated by nationalist politicians like Hitler, was that Germany's soldiers were betrayed by the politicians who signed the armistice and, in time, agreed to the Treaty of Versailles. That this was linked to rabid antisemitism should also not be overlooked in the context of the Third Reich. Racial politics and distrust of democracy helped Hitler to rise when times were hard in the 1930s, following the Wall Street Crash. It enabled his rise in the Reichstag and also played its part in allowing him to become the dictator of Germany, doing away with any semblance of democracy very quickly after he took power.

Whilst links to Nazi Germany may seem a little over the top, in the time I have been writing this Richard J. Evans has tweeted the question of whether current events are Britain's Reichstag fire moment. Professor Evans quite literally wrote the book on Nazi Germany, and I would encourage any and all to read his three-volume history of the Third Reich.

We live in a time of distrust of democratically elected politicians. We also live in a time where there is either increased fear of the 'other' or people who were always in fear have been given more of a voice for their opinions. The cause is simple, and it's the most divisive topic in British politics: Brexit. David Cameron's gamble has not paid off. The country is now more divided than it has been in a significant amount of time. The perception of a group of people is that some MPs are actively working to frustrate the so-called 'will of the people' following 2016's referendum result. The result is that politics is increasingly becoming a game to some people where the ends justify the means - any means.

The Prime Minister's decision to prorogue Parliament is unprecedented in modern history. In effect, Parliament's function has been suspended between early September and mid-October, just a matter of days before Britain defaults out of the European Union. I'm not going to sit on the fence here: this is a constitutional crisis and an outrage to Parliamentary democracy. I keep seeing a range of questions and answers being provided to those questions; often, those answers are completely politically motivated by leave voters or politicians. The justifications for this move just do not stack up. The justifications for actively suspending Parliamentary democracy are little short of a disgrace.

Of course, some ministers - mostly in the Lords, where the government whip has led the departures - either have resigned or will resign over this move in coming days. Some will be Brexiters. This won't matter to some people, who have the attitude that this is a matter of such importance that the most important democratic principles of the United Kingdom, built up over centuries, just don't matter. The irony is that it was just those democratic principles that many people in favour of Brexit were striving to protect.

I'm going to answer a few questions that people may have. These questions and the answers matter. If we are to live in a country recognisable as a Parliamentary democracy we cannot allow events to overcome long-standing principles.

So, without further ado, here are some questions and answers.

So what is proroguing?

In essence, it's the suspension of Parliament's functions. Parliament - which is the House of Commons and the House of Lords - cannot sit, which means it can't debate, it can't pass laws, and it can't fulfill its legislative function whilst asking questions of the government to hold the government to account.

But aren't MPs currently on holiday?

A good point. MPs do get a long summer recess from Parliament, where Parliament doesn't sit. The difference is that Parliament can be recalled at any time and Parliament itself sets the timetable for its holiday. While Parliament itself is on holiday, Members of Parliament spend much of their time in their constituency, working on constituency issues which they wouldn't often get the chance to work on otherwise, as they're expected to be in London.

So how is proroguing different from recess?

In the case of Parliament going into recess, Parliament itself has set the timetable. Rules surrounding Parliamentary sovereignty dictate that Parliament decides its own times, its own business, what issues it debates, and so on. The key principle of Parliamentary sovereignty is that, in theory, nobody can tell Parliament what to do unless Parliament itself agrees to do what it's told - or asked - to do. Proroguing is where the government breaches that principle and Parliament is suspended against its will. It's the difference between deciding your own annual leave and your boss telling you you're taking five weeks at this time, just when really important things are happening at work.

But surely Parliament should do what the people tell it to do, and leave won, so Parliament should be just getting us to leave?

Let's break this down.

First of all, we're not a direct democracy. We're a representative democracy. Each constituency sends a representative to the House of Commons where their vote has equal weight to each one of the other 649 MPs (I've included Sinn Fein because I can't remember just how many seats they have). It's the duty of an MP to act in the best interests of their constituency and the country, and sometimes what is popular isn't necessarily the right option.

On the same principle, we must remember that 48% of people voted to remain in the EU; Parliament must represent people who voted to leave and people who voted to remain. There's no two ways about it. It's not as simple as 'leave won, we're off'. There must be a more nuanced debate, and debate and critique is what Parliament is there for. If the government is making a complete hash of it, or taking the country down a road which MPs feel is against the country's best interests, then MPs must speak out. This isn't a case of people against Parliament as has been represented in certain locations in the popular press; this is literally MPs doing their jobs. If, as is the case, a large number of MPs feel that a no-deal Brexit would be bad for the country, then they must hold the government to account in Parliament, and the government must not stop their voices from being heard and having an impact. The aim isn't for Parliament to placate a vocal group of people who want a particular Brexit at all costs; it's to act in the national interest.

We voted to leave! The national interest is us leaving on 31st October and Parliament is trying to stop it!

Not really. Parliament is trying to get the best deal for the country. We need to remember that specific options weren't on the ballot paper. It was a binary in/out question. If remain had won, you'd get those striving to leave hitting the roof if it was announced that the referendum result meant we were joining the Eurozone because that wasn't specified. In addition to that, the campaigning was clear that there would be deals in place before we left, protecting the national interest. The economic forecast for no-deal Brexit is not good; the north west region is forecast to take a 12% hit in the event of a no-deal Brexit, so it's no wonder that many MPs are trying to mitigate that risk. In what has been put forward by certain - quite frankly idiotic - commentators as a 'people versus establishment' debate, it's worth remembering that MPs are doing their best to protect the people from taking that hit where they feel they must.

But MPs are the establishment! They're frustrating the will of the people! Boris is quite right to stop them doing that!

Stop talking rubbish and read what was written above. Also: how on earth is someone educated at Eton not a member of the 'establishment'? Give your head a shake.

Without Parliament having the chance to debate and scrutinise, the government gets a free pass to do whatever it likes. It's true that it can't pass new primary legislation - an Act of Parliament - but it will rely on existing legislation and be in a position to use delegated legislation to govern. Without the scrutiny and approval of Parliament. Right now, Parliament has sat for five days while Johnson has been in power. By the time it gets to the middle of October, that will still only be five days - in almost three months.

It's also worth pointing out that the Prime Minister is the person who has the most control of the House of Commons. If the Prime Minister can't face the scrutiny of the House, then he's no Prime Minister. It's not a sign of strength. It's a sign of fundamental weakness.

But once Brexit goes through, it'll all go back to normal.

This is where it gets tricky. We have an unwritten constitution based on convention. If it's happened before, the precedent is set and it can happen again. It would fundamentally undermine Parliamentary democracy if, in order to force through changes, the government had the power to suspend Parliament and govern through statutory instrument and orders in council. In fact, I'd go so far as to call it a dictatorship, not a democracy. Scrutiny and debate are two key elements; when meaningful debate is silenced in Parliament, then that's it for Parliamentary democracy.

So imagine the situation: in 10 years time, a Labour government is in power. It wants to do something Parliament is opposed to, or which Parliament wants to give more scrutiny to before it passes into law. An existing law is similar, but not quite the same. Labour prorogue Parliament and use a statutory instrument to alter the existing Act of Parliament without debate and without scrutiny. Is this something that should be allowed to happen? Of course not. But the precedent has now been set, and that's a deeply dangerous and alarming move by any government.


But this is a one-off.

It won't be. If it's allowed to happen once, it WILL happen again. That's the thing about a constitutional convention. Governments shouldn't be allowed to escape Parliamentary scrutinity because it suits the result of a popular vote before the last general election. It might wash with people who support it, but populism is a dangerous force. How long before a government rides completely roughshod over Parliament claiming it has a mandate to do so?

Why should I care?

Democracy is a funny concept. Each country has a different democracy. Some have written constitutions making clear demarcations between the roles of the different branches of government. Some have unwritten constitutions which evolve over time. At the heart of them all is a plurality of opinions, free speech, and scrutiny of those who would wield power. Constitutionally speaking, power in the UK derives from the Crown, but in practice it comes from the people who provide a mandate. If the representatives of the people - that is the House of Commons, not the government - are prevented from holding a government to account then the voice of the people is silenced, Parliamentary sovereignty collapses, and everything the entire vote was about in the first place will be lost.

Governments which cannot be held to account are a step above dictatorships. Although it would be remiss at this point to refer to the move to prorogue Parliament as the act of a dictator, there are certainly authoritarian overtones which should not be ignored. If Parliament is subservient to the executive and has to pander to the whims of the Prime Minister, our representative democracy is compromised. Parliament's independence is sacrosanct precisely because it can hold the government to account. A backbencher can ask questions, there's no absolute obligation to vote with the party whip, and moves that would be against the national interest can be prevented. It's why this step is so dangerous and should be stopped immediately.

In addition to this, Parliament has more business than just Brexit. That's a 'believe it or not' sentence these days, but in an average year around 80 bills pass through Parliament to become Acts of Parliament. Many of them escape notice, but some are significant reforms to the law. If these don't take place in this session of Parliament, then the reform may never take place when the new session of Parliament begins and is bogged down with government business from the forthcoming Queen's speech.

Isn't Boris just setting Parliament up for the Queen's speech?

He is, but the timing couldn't be interpreted as anything other than a deliberate political trick. He could have waited until after 31st October, announced the Queen's speech, suspended business for a day or two (the tradition is around five business days) and then had the same Queen's speech. The fact is that this is an attempt to get the UK to default out of the EU with no deal - securing a political outcome that Parliament would be in no position to stop due to the lack of time to pass legislation to overrule what already exists.

And what about party conferences?

Every year, in September and October, conference season takes place. Parliament traditionally breaks up for conferences. The fundamental difference is in the nature of the breaking up. Usually, business can be suspended until after conferences, and Parliament itself sets the timetable - a key aspect of Parliamentary sovereignty. In this case, the break is forced upon Parliament from without, violating every constitutional convention on Parliamentary sitting. It's political game-playing at its most dangerous.

To conclude, this is a dangerous move that sets an equally dangerous precedent. It is actively anti-democratic and is (woe betide me for saying this, a phrase I hate) fundamentally unBritish. It's a move that, were we living in a sane world, would have ended Boris Johnson's career almost before he'd formulated the thought. Wherever you stand on the Brexit debate, you should be against this.

The Winnowing Flame Trilogy

Summer comes, and with it the chance to spend a little time on those things left to one side during the academic year. This is a holiday of reading and relaxing; playing and practising; training and, perhaps, testifying.

Despite this, there's little to report on a writing front. It's been a while since I put pen to paper. We've been away for a few days - Cornwall is very nice at this time of year - but in that time my pad of paper has remained in my bag, untouched. Instead, time has been spent exploring worlds both real and imaginary. Untouched sands have given way to lost gardens and ancient coastlines in warm days that have drifted together until all track of time and date has been lost. Between excursions, time has been spent with a sequence of excellent books, the pages turning and helping to lose all sense of the outer world.

Jen Williams is still a relative newcomer to the publishing world. Her debut, The Copper Promise, was released in 2014. Her second trilogy, The Winnowing Flame, began in 2017. Bearing in mind how fresh to the field she is, in a publishing sense at least, it's been refreshing to come across a trilogy as accomplished and polished as The Winnowing Flame. More experienced and better-known writers will be reading it and cursing themselves; as for me, it's been a long time since I read a fantasy trilogy of such high quality from someone still so early in their career.

What marks The Winnowing Flame out from other fantasy at present is its creative verve. Yes, it uses some old tropes - ancient bloodsuckers and witches on bats to name two - but it uses them in fresh ways. Yes, it's a ragtag bunch of heroes up against an apparently all-powerful enemy who cannot seemingly be defeated. But that ragtag bunch of heroes exist in a fantasy world that feels genuinely fresh. The last time I read a fantasy novel set in a world this fresh, it will have been one of China Mieville's Bas-Lag novels.

Sarn is an ancient world with an ascendant human race. The Eborans, an ancient rival race, have long been in decline after the guardian tree seemingly died after a race of insectoid alien invaders, the Jure'lia, were defeated after a series of wars in which the tree birthed powerful war beasts for the Eborans to bond with and fight the Jure'lia. Each of these wars was known as a 'rain', and there were eight of these rains before the Jure'lia disappeared, leaving only tainted parts of the world of Sarn, where their remains corrupted other life, and the Corpse Moon, the remains of a raiding Behemoth which once would have rained terror on the people of Sarn. The Eborans have long been reviled by the humans after the Carrion Wars, where the Eborans turned to humans for food after the life-giving sap of Ygseril, the guardian tree, ceased to flow, and Eborans are generally shunned in human society.

Also shunned are fell witches, women who have the power of winnowfire. To produce this, they must sap the life of others and are considered dangerous. When a girl is born with the power of the winnowfire, they are taken away by the Winnowry, which imprisons such women and tries to train some to do its bidding, all in the name of protecting the women - and the citizens of Sarn.

Such is the situation at the beginning of The Ninth Rain, the first volume of the trilogy, when we meet Vintage, a travelling noblewoman obsessed with the history of Sarn; Tormalin the Oathless, an Eboran exile travelling with Vintage as her protector; Hestillion, his sister in Ebora itself, determined to resurrect Ygseril from what she is certain is a slumber and not death; and Noon, a fell witch imprisoned in the Winnowry. Another strength of Williams is her characters. Much like Connie Willis, she has the knack of making you care very quickly about her characters. They're very human from the word go, each with their own distinct personality and flaws which make them all the more compelling. Take Tormalin for instance: he's prone to being incredibly shallow, self-obsessed and to withdrawing when the going gets tough. But that doesn't define his character, it's just an element of it. He, like all the other characters, is well-rounded and multi-faceted. Throughout the trilogy, the characterisation holds up. There's no single one-dimensional character, and even the characters who are briefly introduced always have a well-rounded feel to them. As a result, the relationships between characters have an organic feel to them.

These characters inhabit a world that has been lovingly created. Like the best fantasy, this is an imaginary world that feels real. It's a world of detail and history; this isn't some casual creation. It's fleshed out expertly, with the kind of care and style you'd expect from a seasoned master of fantasy. Like other fantasies, it borrows heavily from western history for its sensibilities - in this case, there's a distinctly Victorian feel to the technology and the geography - but unlike others it doesn't lean on real-world considerations to make it believable. The characters' interactions and the depth of the history make it believable.

There's also a smattering of myth and legend that is used sparingly but well. Ygseril is clearly based on the Norse myth of Ygdrasil. The war beasts of legend are based on a range of legends from around the world. But what makes The Winnowing Flame outstanding is the creativity these myths and legends are used with. This isn't a tired writer re-telling old tales; this is a fresh voice using familiar ideas to help tell a story that is fresh and new, with superb characters. Before long, you'll be sucked into the world of Sarn.

In the best possible way, this is a trilogy that feels completely different. It's identifiably fantasy, but it bucks the modern trends. In some ways, it's closest to sword and sorcery - occasionally feeling like a 2D JRPG like Final Fantasy VI in its storytelling - but there's something more rounded to it than that. It takes the best elements of modern movements like grimdark and uses them to good effect in something that always feels fresh and thoroughly enjoyable. I could not recommend it more.

Half the World

*Skyrim Theme.mp3*

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.

Assassin's Fate

It feels like a long time since I was in Huddersfield bus station, perusing a particular new book. It was my 17th birthday. I was pretty hyped up after picking up the second of Robin Hobb's Farseer Trilogy. My bus companions, no doubt, were far from thrilled at having to listen to me rattle on about this book that would be forgotten about by the time I got back to college on Monday morning. On the other hand, they were probably delighted to not be hearing about Star Wars.

Royal Assassin was the second of the first trilogy in Hobb's Realm of the Elderlings, a series of linked series. I'd enjoyed the first, as much as a 16-year-old could. I'd enjoyed the easy prose, the languid pace and the engaging characters. Looking back, I suspect there were many elements that I'd simply skimmed over. The first one certainly hadn't blown my mind like it has in later years. Despite this, I'd decided to blow my weekly allowance on the second volume. It was, perhaps, the best entertainment purchase I've ever made. The memory of having bought it sticks with me because it's a book that's influenced me and stuck with me through multiple education establishments, jobs, you name it.

Hobb's books are personal, particularly the three trilogies focusing on FitzChivalry Farseer. It feels, after a dozen years and nine books, like I know Fitz. It feels like I've watched him grow from a boy to a man. I've been through each of his experiences with him. I've celebrated every triumph and commiserated with every disaster. There have been times when I've wanted to get hold of him and shake him as he made yet another mistake - all in service to the Farseer throne. As characters go, it's hard to think of any who surpass him for pure humanity. Fitz is an assassin and a father. A loyal servant and an independent thinker. A man of great passions who at times is reduced to little more than a vassal. It's this humanity that makes Fitz so memorable and so relatable. For his sake, I wanted the final book featuring him (I assume, considering the title) to do him justice.

It does.

Assassin's Fate is a colossal book. It might not be the best of the Realm of the Elderlings books (that accolade surely goes to Assassin's Quest), but it does a wonderful job of concluding Fitz's part in the epic saga. Never has Fitz been more human, more flawed and more perfect. He continues to frustrate throughout, but at last there is the sense that this is Fitz the man - not Fitz the assassin. Cut loose to deal death to the Whites of Clerres, who have snatched his daughter, Bee, he assumes the mantle of vengeful father and, as is to be expected by now from Hobb, fills the role brilliantly. He makes bad decisions - some many times over. He fails to realise how much he is loved by those around him. He relies on himself too much and is disdainful of those around him. Traits built over eight previous volumes reach their peak and make him the pinnacle of all fantasy characters.

Around him there is a huge cast of beautifully drawn characters. Like Fitz, they're uniquely human - or wolf, or dragon. With Assassin's Fate quite possibly acting as the final volume in a sixteen-book series, many old faces make appearances. Whether they were wilful, arrogant, compliant, frustrating, haughty, greedy or otherwise before, so they are now. Many have aged - all appropriately. Brashen Trell is just one old face who plays a significant role who has clearly mellowed with the years and responsibility of captaining the liveship Paragon with his wife, Althea, who remains stubborn and single-minded. He is instantly recognisable, not just because of his name, but because of his actions.

Chief amongst the supporting cast is the Fool - who, as ever, is unpredictable. He provides the perfect counterpoint to Fitz, just as he always has. Colourful, flamboyant and chaotic, even while he has his plans, he - or she, as we still don't know for sure - introduces chaos to proceedings as he strives, alongside Fitz, to reach Bee. The relationship between Fitz and the Fool is strained from the off, and there's a lingering sadness to their interactions. Fitz's lack of trust in his long-time companion is almost painful as Hobb brings it to life brilliantly.

In true Hobb style, the final volume of the trilogy starts slowly. There are answers to long-standing questions provided, but the pace is glacial. The sense of finality gradually creeps into the book as the protagonists journey to their destination where the final showdown (if that's quite the word for a Hobb conclusion) takes place. This is Hobb's greatest strength: her ability to sustain interest while building character, providing low-level answers and never resorting to cheap cliffhangers. The humanity of the entire series has been its greatest strength and should be its greatest legacy. Great storytelling doesn't need narrative tricks and helpful deus ex machina that satisfy the rule of cool. What it needs is heart and soul. Hobb's plotting is natural and paced beautifully. A journey that many would skip over in a paragraph can take her 200 pages and more whilst sustaining interest because you're invested.

Assassin's Fate provides a wonderful conclusion to the entire series. It's not to say it has all the answers we've been craving - there are certainly still some questions that need to be resolved - but it brings a natural conclusion to a cycle of fantasy storytelling that will live long into the future.

The Norman Conquest

When I started writing this blog, I had one thing in mind. I finished it quite differently - a stream of consciousness on the Norman Conquest is perhaps not the easiest read, especially as it hardly touches on the events of September and October 1066 themselves, but I feel that there is an important point to be made about those momentous events and the world they took place in. Nationalism, particularly that which promotes a mythic monocultural history, has no place in reality.

We English are a nation based upon plurality. If we follow the strictest possible definition of Englishness, we should all be descended from one Danish tribe from the 5th Century AD - and therefore not be English at all. Instead - and much to the annoyance of the Daily Mail - we're a nation based upon a rich melange of ethnic and cultural origins. A simple look at someone's name should give the game away straight away. I doubt you'll see someone with a truly English name walking down the street. My mate Æthelstan is perhaps the exception. Even 'English' names like Edmund and Edward are tempered by the fact that a Plantagenet king (Henry III) is responsible for their survival.

Take my own name. My forename is Greek. My middle name is French. Yet both names masquerade as culturally English. Only my surname can be regarded as English - from Wakefield, no less - and yet even that is a construction of the post-Norman world. Wilson: a name first recorded in 1324.

English history is one of invasion and settlement. The first modern human settlers in Britain found their feet some 40,000 years ago. After a couple of aborted attempts, the Romans arrived just after the birth of Christ (unlike Julius Caesar's famous words on the conquest of Gaul, the words of the Emperor Claudius are unrecorded. However, it is unlikely that he saw Colchester and declared, 'The only way is Essex'). Almost as soon as they departed Danish and Germanic tribes rushed in to fill the gap, paving the way for the modern English identity. Barely three centuries later, the Vikings arrived, trashed Lindisfarne a few times, decided they liked it then made a serious invasion attempt, resulting in the Danelaw in the north. Thus did a further two centuries pass, with Viking and Anglo-Saxon rulers competing for English hegemony.

In the mean time, Vikings had been having a good time across the continent. Some had gone east - the Rus' - and laid the foundations of one of the great nations. Others had hung around in Scandinavia, continuing to cause problems for coastal dwellers across northern Europe. Still others had chosen to settle in northern France. The Norse men - who would gradually become known as Normans - gave their name to their French lands. Normandy remains one of the most historically significant places in Europe, at least to Englishmen. Battlefields trips almost inevitably wind up either at Dunkirk or the D-Day beaches. Normandy's proximity to Kent meant that a close relationship formed fairly quickly between England and Normandy - particularly as the Normans had a habit of irritating the King of France.

To write this is to simplify hundreds of years of history into a few flippant sentences. Yet a sense of the interconnectedness of the medieval world can still be gleaned from the fact that one people had a hand in creating states in both western and eastern Europe, across thousands of miles. The supposedly indigenous peoples of another nation came from another landmass. The Anglo-Saxons who had ruled England as long ago as the 7th Century AD had connections with a far more advanced society - King Offa of Mercia was known to have trade links to the Silk Roads of the Middle East. English coins were minted with Arabic quotations in praise of a common God.

This all forms the preface to one of my personal favourite pieces of history: the Norman Conquest. It's easy to think that 951 years ago the main players were all provincial individuals, bound by geography to a small world that they personally inhabited, unaware of the wider world beyond their borders. William, Duke of Normandy, may have been the most powerful man in his part of northern Europe, but it's easy to fall into the trap assuming that he was only aware of a tiny percentage of the world. After all, the medieval times were a time of ignorance, weren't they?

In fact, nothing could be further from the truth. Whilst it's true that western and northern Europe were isolated backwaters, they were still acutely aware that they were part of a bigger world, and that they were connected to something larger than themselves. King Offa's involvement with Arabic kings demonstrates how far trade routes had reached and how far awareness of other people stretched. Less than 30 years after William defeated Harold at Hastings, Pope Innocent declared the First Crusade - unleashing a monster with consequences still felt today.

 The Battle of Hastings is the most pivotal event in English history for many people, but it's worth questioning the extent to which this was the case. Events after the initial invasion were certainly dramatic - the economic effects of the Harrying of the North were felt centuries down the line and perhaps even laid the foundations of the modern north/south divide, and the Domesday Book was the cornerstone of government for all medieval kings after William - but perhaps they weren't as far-reaching as suggested. After all, the administrating structure put in place by Alfred the Great wasn't tinkered with that much; England remained divided by wapentakes and hundreds, the county structure untouched until 1973. The introduction of the feudal system certainly helped establish Norman control, but it seems that there was already something similar in place. Castles sprouted across the countryside, and these were the most significant development, but would these have developed anyway?

This blog started in one direction, and ended up going somewhere quite different. There's so much that could be said about 1066, mostly about Tostig Godwinson and his idiocy costing his brother the throne. Much of it has been said before. Marc Morris's magnificent book The Norman Conquest is perhaps the best book for the beginner - not least because of Morris's accessible and often very funny treatment of the primary sources - but even in that the multi-cultural nature of the medieval world is apparent.