Wednesday, 2 October 2019 08:12 pm
Book Review: The Lies of Locke Lamora
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deckardcanineUh-oh: another book with George R.R. Martin's praise on the cover. Could I make it through more than 700 pages of Scott Lynch's novel? Yes, it turns out, and in less than a month.
The city of Camorrh vaguely resembles Renaissance Venice, albeit with little focus on the fine arts. It's about as crime-ridden as Ankh-Morpork, despite a justice system so harsh that orphaned children get hanged for petty theft. Basically everyone who isn't a criminal or a victim indirectly benefits from the crimes of others, whether they know it or not, thanks to the Secret Peace between the duke and a supreme crime lord, Vencarlo Barsavi.
Locke Lamora, whose real name remains a secret from readers, starts the story at age five, already quite a clever thief, but his lack of worldly wisdom makes his cleverness too dangerous. His Fagin-like boss soon sells him to a subtler crook, known as Father Chains, who pretends to be one kind of priest but worships a little-known god of thieves. Chains raises Locke and other kids to have eclectic knowledge and skills in order to be as good at theft as possible. Locke soon gets recognition as the brains of the juvenile outfit.
The book alternates between chapters set in Locke's childhood, sometimes with jumps of several years; and chapters set in his young adulthood, which collectively cover a matter of weeks. (OK, every second section is called an interlude rather than a chapter, and there are numbered subchapters, but the effect is the same.) Locke is usually the focal character, tho less commonly so in the second half.
As adults, Locke and his four partners form a gang called the Gentleman Bastards. They might just be the slickest thieves in Camorrh, pulling the wool even over Barsavi's eyes. Their apparent motive is simple pride; they don't dare spend much of the fortune they've amassed. The first several adulthood chapters detail what promises to be their most profitable con yet.
But before they can bring that job to a close, a nastier crook commands their attention. Going by "the Gray King" among other names, he's been offing gang leaders left and right, seeking revenge on Barsavi and all his enablers. While the Gentleman Bastards might respect the sentiment, the Gray King doesn't know when to leave well enough alone and soon gives them plenty of reason to seek revenge on him, however challenging that may be. (As in The Way of Shadows, when the protagonist is a major antihero, the villain has to be extra bad.)
For the first circa 100 pages, I wasn't entirely sure this was fantasy. Sure, the geography and dominant religion were made up, and fictitious animal species occasionally popped up, but where was the magic? More importantly, when would it make a difference to the plot? At about 200 pages, I understood why magic had been so scarce: A single guild holds a monopoly on magi and charges so exorbitantly for services that they're not likely to get hired for more than a few days by desperate nobles. Doesn't sound like good economics to me, but maybe they want an excuse to work rarely. At any rate, the Gray King has a mage on hand for much longer than usual, which more than doubles the challenge of doing anything about him.
This is one dark book I could actually chuckle at, thanks primarily to the Gentleman Bastards' magnificent trickery and snarky conversations. There's a bit more swearing than I prefer, even in the presence of children, but it's in character for those "gentlemen."
I suppose I should say more about them. Calo and Galdo are twins fit to rival Fred and George Weasley. Jean Tannen is the muscle (in contrast to perennially scrawny Locke), particularly handy with a pair of hatchets, but can hold his own in intelligence. Bug is only 12 when the others are grown up, and they tease him a lot, but he's out to prove his worth. Once in a while, someone mentions the only woman in their gang (a Lady Bitch?), Sabetha, but she's never around even in the childhood chapters; I trust she'll turn up in a sequel, perhaps allowing Locke's crush to come to fruition.
Sadly, the gang doesn't stay together for all of the first volume, nor do they have the luxury of remaining relatively nonviolent. And Lynch, like Abercrombie, doesn't shy away from ugly details. That said, I did feel a little more detached from the scenes than I did while reading The Blade Itself, for some reason. There's also a greater sense of resolution within the volume.
I'm putting the next volume, Red Seas Under Red Skies, on my wish list. I'll trust Lynch to keep things interesting in a new scenario.
Now, in preparation for Halloween, I'm reading Frankenstein -- the 1818 version, not the better-known 1831 redux. I'll see how Shelley launched a genre.
The city of Camorrh vaguely resembles Renaissance Venice, albeit with little focus on the fine arts. It's about as crime-ridden as Ankh-Morpork, despite a justice system so harsh that orphaned children get hanged for petty theft. Basically everyone who isn't a criminal or a victim indirectly benefits from the crimes of others, whether they know it or not, thanks to the Secret Peace between the duke and a supreme crime lord, Vencarlo Barsavi.
Locke Lamora, whose real name remains a secret from readers, starts the story at age five, already quite a clever thief, but his lack of worldly wisdom makes his cleverness too dangerous. His Fagin-like boss soon sells him to a subtler crook, known as Father Chains, who pretends to be one kind of priest but worships a little-known god of thieves. Chains raises Locke and other kids to have eclectic knowledge and skills in order to be as good at theft as possible. Locke soon gets recognition as the brains of the juvenile outfit.
The book alternates between chapters set in Locke's childhood, sometimes with jumps of several years; and chapters set in his young adulthood, which collectively cover a matter of weeks. (OK, every second section is called an interlude rather than a chapter, and there are numbered subchapters, but the effect is the same.) Locke is usually the focal character, tho less commonly so in the second half.
As adults, Locke and his four partners form a gang called the Gentleman Bastards. They might just be the slickest thieves in Camorrh, pulling the wool even over Barsavi's eyes. Their apparent motive is simple pride; they don't dare spend much of the fortune they've amassed. The first several adulthood chapters detail what promises to be their most profitable con yet.
But before they can bring that job to a close, a nastier crook commands their attention. Going by "the Gray King" among other names, he's been offing gang leaders left and right, seeking revenge on Barsavi and all his enablers. While the Gentleman Bastards might respect the sentiment, the Gray King doesn't know when to leave well enough alone and soon gives them plenty of reason to seek revenge on him, however challenging that may be. (As in The Way of Shadows, when the protagonist is a major antihero, the villain has to be extra bad.)
For the first circa 100 pages, I wasn't entirely sure this was fantasy. Sure, the geography and dominant religion were made up, and fictitious animal species occasionally popped up, but where was the magic? More importantly, when would it make a difference to the plot? At about 200 pages, I understood why magic had been so scarce: A single guild holds a monopoly on magi and charges so exorbitantly for services that they're not likely to get hired for more than a few days by desperate nobles. Doesn't sound like good economics to me, but maybe they want an excuse to work rarely. At any rate, the Gray King has a mage on hand for much longer than usual, which more than doubles the challenge of doing anything about him.
This is one dark book I could actually chuckle at, thanks primarily to the Gentleman Bastards' magnificent trickery and snarky conversations. There's a bit more swearing than I prefer, even in the presence of children, but it's in character for those "gentlemen."
I suppose I should say more about them. Calo and Galdo are twins fit to rival Fred and George Weasley. Jean Tannen is the muscle (in contrast to perennially scrawny Locke), particularly handy with a pair of hatchets, but can hold his own in intelligence. Bug is only 12 when the others are grown up, and they tease him a lot, but he's out to prove his worth. Once in a while, someone mentions the only woman in their gang (a Lady Bitch?), Sabetha, but she's never around even in the childhood chapters; I trust she'll turn up in a sequel, perhaps allowing Locke's crush to come to fruition.
Sadly, the gang doesn't stay together for all of the first volume, nor do they have the luxury of remaining relatively nonviolent. And Lynch, like Abercrombie, doesn't shy away from ugly details. That said, I did feel a little more detached from the scenes than I did while reading The Blade Itself, for some reason. There's also a greater sense of resolution within the volume.
I'm putting the next volume, Red Seas Under Red Skies, on my wish list. I'll trust Lynch to keep things interesting in a new scenario.
Now, in preparation for Halloween, I'm reading Frankenstein -- the 1818 version, not the better-known 1831 redux. I'll see how Shelley launched a genre.