Memories of Ice & House of Chains, by Steven Erikson
I recently finished up the third of the Malazan Book of the Fallen, Memories of Ice, and then went and read book 4, House of Chains. It's hard to tell much about the plot of these two books, since in many ways, the first 4 books are one, gigamantic book. Memories of Ice takes up the story soon after the events of Gardens of the Moon (book 1), and takes us into more of the background of the world and what in hell's name is going on, with a bittersweet ending. House of Chains, after what was really an extended prologue, goes back to the area known as the Seven Cities and deals with the Empire's response to the rebellion. Saying much more about the books plots would only serve to reveal much about the ending of the first two books.
Personally, I'm loving reading the Malazan soldiers' dialogue. They are an ornery, disrespectful bunch, one and all. In one battle, an enemy is ambushed and falls off his horse but escapes. After the Malazan sergeant chews them out for a moment, one of the soldiers says:
'Hey, Sergeant, maybe that horse killed the cook.'
Borduke spat. 'The gods smiling down on us this night, Hubb?'
'Well...'
'Right. The truth remains, then. We'll have to kill him ourselves. Before he kills us. But never mind that for now. Let's move...'
On the other side, let me quote a passage from Memories of Ice:
Sirs, you speak of compassion. I understand something, now, of compassion. Would you hear?
'Speak on, mortal.'
We humans do not understand compassion. In each moment of our lives, we betray it. Aye, we know of its worth, yet in knowing we then attach to it a value, we guard the giving of it, believing it must be earned. ... Compassion is priceless in the truest sense of the word. It must be given freely. In abundance.
People who can write like that deserve to be read.
Personally, I'm loving reading the Malazan soldiers' dialogue. They are an ornery, disrespectful bunch, one and all. In one battle, an enemy is ambushed and falls off his horse but escapes. After the Malazan sergeant chews them out for a moment, one of the soldiers says:
'Hey, Sergeant, maybe that horse killed the cook.'
Borduke spat. 'The gods smiling down on us this night, Hubb?'
'Well...'
'Right. The truth remains, then. We'll have to kill him ourselves. Before he kills us. But never mind that for now. Let's move...'
On the other side, let me quote a passage from Memories of Ice:
Sirs, you speak of compassion. I understand something, now, of compassion. Would you hear?
'Speak on, mortal.'
We humans do not understand compassion. In each moment of our lives, we betray it. Aye, we know of its worth, yet in knowing we then attach to it a value, we guard the giving of it, believing it must be earned. ... Compassion is priceless in the truest sense of the word. It must be given freely. In abundance.
People who can write like that deserve to be read.