The Riddle-Master of Hed is a tricky book to review on its own, because I don’t think I know what happened in it. Not really. I could give you a plot summary, but then you would only know as much as I do, and that isn’t much—the book is wonderfully opaque and seems to delight in not letting you know the full context of anything. It’s also hard to review because it’s clearly the first act of a longer story: it would be absurd to review The Lord of the Rings if you’d only read up to the part where Frodo reaches Rivendell, and doubly-absurd if it were written in such a way that you still weren't quite sure what the Ring had to do with that Sauron fellow. So I’m not going to give a proper review, but just a few scattered thoughts and observations I had while reading. I hope to write a proper review of the series once I’ve read all of it, but I’m not sure how long that’ll take me.
The book hails from the period of roughly the mid-1960s to 1977 when fantasy authors could draw inspiration from Tolkien without feeling the need (or being coerced by publishers) to fit themselves into a narrowly-defined “Tolkienesque” mold that mimics certain elements of his work without engaging with his deeper themes and narrative techniques. The world of Hed features no elves, dwarves, or Hobbits, the closest thing to a Gandalf-figure is a harpist—not a wizard—and the narrative is clearly centered around one protagonist who never really accrues a fellowship around him—he outright refuses at least one offer of companionship. (Also, the map has the ocean to the east—a truly revolutionary move on McKillip’s part.) But despite the lack of surface similarities, McKillip showed that she understood the narrative function of The Shire far better than any number of would-be Tolkiens. The island kingdom of Hed is presented as a comfortable rustic quasi-paradise much like the Shire—a paradise Morgon, its humble monarch, is understandably very attached to and feels responsible towards. As a result, when destiny comes calling and he inevitably Refuses the Call, it never feels as if he’s a coward or a slacker, because we understand that he has a strong legitimate attachment that his destiny is getting in the way of. This is, of course, very similar to Frodo’s reluctance to leave the Shire in The Lord of the Rings, and it’s effective for much the same reasons. It also establishes Morgon as a more humble, down-to-earth character than any of the people he meets on his quest. I think it's understandable that few writers use Hobbits--they're one of Tolkien's most distinctive creations, and their particular brand of folksiness can easily become cloying if not written by a master--but I've always found it disappointing that so many fantasy books abandon Tolkien's model of the lowly protagonist altogether. Further, the story is also told from a slightly removed perspective that doesn’t give us as much access to its characters’ inner lives as a typical novel is expected to—another technique of Tolkien’s (and Le Guin’s, and many others) that is sadly under-utilized in the broader fantasy genre. It contributes to the genre's inherent sense of wonder by making me feel as if I’m reading about characters out of a fairy-tale or myth, not a bunch of knuckle-heads who have the same shortcomings I do.
I also appreciate McKillip’s use of Welsh names. I’m not sure if anything in the story was inspired by Welsh mythology (I’ve read the Mabinogion but haven’t noticed any parallels), but Welsh is great for fantasy names, as Lloyd Alexander and Susan Cooper could tell you. And, of course, Tolkien based Sindarin on Welsh.
Hed features a narrative technique that the Malazan series is often praised for: throwing the reader into its world with an absolute minimum of exposition. The book is written almost as if it’s an in-universe chronicle; it doesn’t bother explaining things that everyone in the world of Hed would be expected to know, or things that its characters feel are their own private business. As a result, there are a number of vital pieces of information that we’re left to extrapolate for ourselves from things the characters say. If you’re paying attention, it’s not hard to figure out what you’re meant to, but failing to do so will make the book’s ending incomprehensible (as evidenced by several frustrated Goodreads reviews). The biggest difference between this book’s (series’) technique and Malazan’s is that it stays focused on one character, rather than constantly changing perspectives between a huge cast of briefly-sketched characters. I think structuring the story as McKillip does is a really good way to maintain a sense of mystery and avoid talking down to her readers while still keeping it relatively accessible to an audience that may not want to tear their hair out making spreadsheets to keep track of the massive complexity of it all.
Another “modern” feature of the book is the fact that its protagonist is aware that he has a destiny and actively tries to resist it. Other Chosen Ones may feel they’re unready or the wrong person for the job, but Morgon of Hed tries to reject his destiny specifically because he doesn’t want a destiny. I can’t think of an earlier fantasy work in which the hero takes that attitude towards fate.
Apart from the lack of exposition, McKillip made another change to her usual style to accommodate the three-volume-epic format: her prose is a bit more straightforward than usual. It’s still far from being utilitarian—it has excellent rhythm and use of metaphor—but it isn’t a borderline prose-poem as many of her other books are. This disappointed me slightly at first, but I came to like it. I suspect it was an intentional choice to blend her own prose style with Tolkien’s, and viewed from that angle, I think it works marvelously, especially since the dream-like quality of her stories shines through as clearly as ever. Tolkien could make me believe in talking trees, but only McKillip could make me feel as if I was becoming a tree.
All in all, it was a wonderful read, made all the more so by the fact that I was frequently bewildered. I’m not totally sure how I feel about it yet, because I have little idea where the story is going, but I’m very curious to find out.
