Good Books

I think good books are books that you can read and re-read when the mood strikes you. You just take them off the bookshelves and once again, you are sucked right into the story, even though you have read the book umpteenth times before. It’s particularly hard to find such books nowadays. One such series in my opinion would be the sequel trilogy to The Farseer Trilogy by Robin Hobb. The Tawny Man Trilogy –Fool’s Errand, Golden Fool and Fool’s Fate. This is one of the rare cases where the sequel outshines the original trilogy. Set 15 years after the end of Assassin’s Quest, the Tawny Man Trilogy is a good read because we all want to know what happens to Fitz. The ending of the Assassin’s Quest just doesn’t cut it. There are just too many loose strings left untied, leaving one feeling most unsatisfactory. Even though the ending of Fool’s Fate also doesn’t sit quite well with me, but I guess it’s better than nothing.

Of the 3 books, Fool’s Errand remains my favorite!

An excerpt from FOOL’S ERRAND –pp 87-88.

“Fool?” I called aloud in the darkened room.
“What?” He did not open his eyes but his ready reply showed he had not yet slipped toward sleep.
“You are not the Fool anymore. What do they call you these days?”
A slow smile curved his lips in profile. “What does who call me when?”
He spoke in the baiting tone of the jester he had been. If I tried to sort out that question, he would tumble me in verbal acrobatics until I gave up hoping for an answer. I refused to be drawn into his game. I re-phrased my question. “I should not call you Fool anymore. What do you want me to call you?”
“Ah, what do I want you to call me now? I see. An entirely different question.” Mockery made music in his voice.
I drew a breath and made my question as plain as possible. “What is your name, your real name?”
“Ah.” His manner was suddenly grave. He took a slow breath. “My name. As in what my mother called me at birth?”
“Yes.” And then I held my breath. He spoke seldom of his childhood. I suddenly realized the immensity of what I had asked him. It was the old naming magic: if I know how you are truly named, I have power over you. If I tell you my name, I grant you that power. Like all direct questions I had ever asked the Fool, I both dreaded and longed for the answer.
“And if I tell you, you would call me by that name?” His inflection told me to weigh my answer.
That gave me pause. His name was his, and not for me to bandy about. But, “In private, only. And only if you wished me to,” I offered solemnly. I considered the words as binding as a vow.
“Ah.” He turned to face me. His face lit with delight. “Oh, but I would,” he assured me.
“Then?” I asked again. I was suddenly uneasy, certain that somehow he had bested me yet again.
“The name my mother gave me, I give now to you, to call me by in private.” He took a breath and turned back to the fire. He closed his eyes again and his grin grew even wider. “Beloved. She called me only ‘Beloved.’”
“Fool!” I protested.
He laughed, a deep rich chuckle of pure enjoyment, completely pleased with himself. “She did,” he insisted.
“Fool, I’m serious.” The room had begun to revolve slowly around me. if I did not go to sleep soon, I would be sick.
“And you think I am not?” He gave a theatrical sigh. “Well, if you cannot call me ‘Beloved,’ then I suppose you should continue to call me ‘Fool.’ For I am ever the Fool to your Fitz.”
“Tom Badgerlock.”
“What?”
“I am Tom Badgerlock now. It is how I am known.”
He was silent for a time. Then, “Not by me,” he replied decisively. “If you insist we must both take different names now, then I shall call you ‘Beloved.’ And whenever I call you that, you may call me ‘Fool.’ He opened his eyes and rolled his head to look at me. He simpered a lovesick smile, then heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Good night, Beloved. We have been apart far too long.”
I capitulated. Conversation was hopeless when he got into these moods. “Good night. Fool.” I rolled over in my bed and closed my eyes. If he made any response, I was asleep before he uttered it.