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25 May 2005
The Roses of Roazon by Cherith Baldry
My etymological dictionary defines 'Romance' as "The spirit or atmosphere of imaginary adventure, chivalrous or idealized love". This romance deals with events in the holy city of Roazon and the surrounding lands, and the antithetical dark island of Autrys. Roazon's knights would have felt at home among the companions of Arthur or Roland. Adventure comes both to those who seek it, and those who do not. And most of the main characters end up dealing with Love--a core theme is the conflict between Love and Duty, frequently found in the original 12th through14th century romances. The young Joscelin's induction as Duke of Roazon is the pivot-point around which a series of interlocking stories unfold, involving both knights and commoners, women and men. Their choices and actions unleash demonic forces against Roazon, and also heroically resist those forces. The conflicts they face are not simply political power-struggles or ethical dilemmas, but also religious. A visionary painter, Morwenna, is inspired to create a new image of God, not in His familiar aspects of Warrior or Judge, but as a Healer who bears a remarkable resemblance to Duke Joscelin. Eminent Churchmen wrestle in prayer--is this a new Divine revelation, or the worst kind of heretical blasphemy? Members of the holy Order of Knights Companions, sworn to chastity, must decide whether to keep their vows or follow their hearts. And what of the woman pledged to a dishonourable man? Or the ugly youth of noble birth, raised as a peasant with no courtly manners or polish? Or the young man whose lover's rejection drives him into dissolution and despair? What chance of a good life do these people have? So far, so very good; it's an engaging, well-written, thoughtful and interesting story. But... there is always a but, and I have two. My first problem is with the character of Duke Joscelin, who comes perilously close to being portrayed as a Cardboard Good Guy--neither an engagingly flawed human, nor a numinous archetype, but a white-hat (okay, white-robe) stereotype. My second problem is the not-quite-overt identification of the book's religion with Christianity--it's not Christianity that's the problem, it's the not-quite-overtness. Christianity formed chivalry, the original chivalric romances are overtly Christian, and I suspect that it would be impossible to write a chivalric romance that wasn't at least covertly Christian--there is no getting away from the ethics and devotion that underlie knightly honour. Christianity is a wonderfully fertile seedbed for fantasy (MacDonald, Lewis, Tolkien, etc.), and the Masters deal with faith in a variety of ways. One is to let the religion of the subcreated world be implicit rather than explicit, as in Lord of the Rings. Another is to let Christianity be itself. What doesn't work for me is to present an apparently unique 'subcreated religion', and then whip away the handkerchief on the penultimate page to reveal that really it's been Christianity all along. When authors do this to me, I don't feel enlightened, I feel cheated. Baldry doesn't quite go this far, but she comes close enough to make me grit my teeth and mutter a bit. However a little muttering is a small price to pay for an otherwise very satisfying story. [First published in Vector 238 November/December 2004] |
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