An inexplicably long essay

[mayoraasei]

I have finished reading Tigana, and spent much of the day digesting it all.

There is so much to be said, so many things about it.

It makes me think of In the Skin of a Lion, the girl attempting to gather scattered shards of memory and hold them all within her arms.

Tigana is a story about so many things.

First is memory, and it is inseparable from the second of tyranny. The manipulation of memory in oppression, the failings of memory and the dangers of selection of memory. The parallels to existing totalitarian politics are distinctive and probably understated. There is very much more achieved by Communist China, without the help of magic, with greater subtlety, than what the two Tyrants have attempted.

It might have been mere coincidence that I went to a rally today against Communists and their persecution of civilians in Tibet, in Taiwan, in places like Vietnam and in China. It made me think about it so much more. The removal or corruption of knowledge, memory and intellect. There is so much power granted by a simple name, by a civilisation's memories of itself, that they must be feared and erased by authoritarian rulers.

And like names, language. Corruption of the Chinese language into "simplified" form. The word for "party" in traditional Chinese contained the ominous word "black", now mutated into a meaningless word "child".

Erlein reminded me with great sadness what Chinese people have become. The perilous attitude of "as long as they don't come for me, I don't care". Its perils lie in that it encourages forgetfulness of misdeeds, it provides a perfect retreat from the reality of oppression. The blood left behind by the Cultural revolution and the Tiananmen Massacre and the stream of revolution movements in between, so carelessly dismissed.

Less about the political background and more on the book: Tigana's ending is full of deep, bitter ironies. It is on all surface appearances a perfect happy ending, the leaden tone of the book abating in the last chapter to friendly jests and laughter, but ultimately undercut in irony.

Three men see a riselka.

One dies.

And we will never find out whom.

And before that, before the epilogue, the proper ending to the tragedy that was Tigana was laced full of bitterer irony.

Father and son...Prince of Tigana?

But it was both father and son, both princes of Tigana who finally slew Brandin. Neither Alessan nor Valentin alone could have achieved it. Father and son, father and son.

The irony of Valentin being alive all along, when those who remembered Tigana thought he was wheeled. The irony that Brandin kept him alive to make him suffer, and was killed by that decision. The irony of Dianora, embittered by the death of her father and Valentin, pursued her enemy and finally fell in love with him. The irony of Baerd murmuring his wish to search for his sister, confirming that it was Dianora di Certando and not di Tigana, when all along it was his sister.

And probably most tragic, the irony that Alessan never discovers who the Fool is, never discovers the horror and shame Valentin was subject to, even though his instinct suspected the Fool was more than Rhun.



I do like Alessan. At first impression he didn't stand out from all those good-natured lost princelings out there with a hidden desire to revive their homelands (notice these princes all seem to have names starting with A? Aragon, Arithon, Arutha, Athrun...wait...)

Alessan reminded me a lot of Wurts' Arithon. Or maybe it should be the other way around, since I have no idea of the publication dates of the two. Both the lean, dark-haired prince with a talent for music that grants them escape from their duties.

But Alessan...becomes different. He shows very little of his angst, and so the few moments of weakness humanise him more than pages and pages of introspection could ever do. At the age of 33, in his prime, his hair is greying at the temples. His distinguishing gestures are the pushing of his fingers through his hair and the small shrug of his shoulders - both weary, hapless gestures.

He is the prince upon whom hope for Tigana - and Palm - lies, and towards that requirement he pours every strength of his soul into reclaiming Tigana. For that, he schools himself to be strong, to be in command of his emotions, which makes his slips more revealing than Devin's laments. The stony unresponsiveness at his mother's and Catrina's (supposed) death, the confused wildness after discovering the object of his 20-year hatred is a man who would love so strongly, the few rare moments when his nerve snaps and he rails against fate, against the duty fallen onto the youngest child.

Alessan is not a perfect man. He is not even a perfect prince - but he knows what a prince should be like and remains within those constraints, at least when it comes to tactics and strategies. He is not too sentimental to be ruthless, but neither is he so heartless that he does not carefully gather up the grief and store it, amongst his other memories. In defence, he divides the commoner Alessan from Prince Alessan, allowing himself the freedom and laughter and immaturity as a wandering piper, because as prince he can only become the strength and conviction of others.

In many ways, he becomes the perfect king for Palm. Not because of his personality, but because of what he has done. The sheer effort of tireless planning and replanning, of waiting and watching, the lonely years of searching out people with a common cause, of living the lives of the very people he would come to rule, it brings him much closer to Palm than a king who can stand upon a podium and move crowds.

He is an admirable man, though, like Kay says in the end, he is a good man who has done evil deeds. The baiting of Alberico and Brandin into using Erlein's homeland as battleground is a ruthless decision, even if a necessary one.



The women were admirable but...probably not memorable. They feel more like tools of the plot and themes than an actual existence. Alais in particular represented the corruption of innocence by war, even if that war was begun in good faith.

Catrina and Alessan's ending felt a little sudden, but in the scheme of things I could care less.



Tigana is a book I shall have to reread several times to pick up all the nuances I missed the first time. And I believe it is a book that becomes sadder with each reading. But the sadness is not the same as Fionavar...more schooled, quieter, a mellow melancholy note trailing through the extravagant schemes.



Edit (yeah, there's more...haha...): I found Devin's awe when Sandre had his fingers cut a little...uncalled for. Not that I don't think the act in itself is very admirable, but the comparison to Tomasso's case was probably inadequate. Even if Sandre had more power, even if Sandre had the power to bring Tomasso out of the prison, as Sandre, I don't think he would have. Bringing Tomasso out would raise Alberico's suspicion that it was more than just a slip-up made by the guards. The greatest danger is that bringing Tomasso out would mean that he is alive, and if he is alive then Alberico would do everything to hunt him down. This would create an enormous and unnecessary amount of danger for Sandre and his travel companions. It could end up with Sandre being killed or discovered as a wizard, neither of which he wants if he intends to exact his full revenge.

Catrina on the other hand would probably not have revealed Sandre for a wizard (and even if the incident did, they were not on Alberico's soil). All in all, the price at stake was a lot lower. Her being alive wouldn't jeopardise their plans, whilst Tomasso would.

...I hate sounding so detached about it (and it's one of Alessan's and Sandre's traits that pissed a lot of people off...)