He was a different man walking in different streets in a world that he no longer understood or knew, in a universe that was watching humanity with a baleful smirk.
The Erstwhile, B. Catling
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He was a different man walking in different streets in a world that he no longer understood or knew, in a universe that was watching humanity with a baleful smirk.
The Erstwhile, B. Catling
The Erstwhile by Brian Catling
The Vorrh, the first fantasy book in a trilogy by Brian Catling, is one of my favorite fantasy books of the 21st century. The book was consuming like it’s namesake, and I found myself falling deeper and deeper into the mythology of this historically, geographically, and culturally, alien world.
Set in the 1920’s in a colonized part of Africa on the edge of the legendary forest known as the Vorrh, the book explores what is different about cultures and people, the importance of stories and myths to people, and how all of these things intertwine and are vital to the survival of the others.
It is fantasy with biblical references and a hint of the historical. It made sense and was fun all at the same time, a feat not many books can pull-off, or pull-off well for that matter.
So when I started the Erstwhile, the second book in the trilogy, I was excited. I was looking forward to what would come. Now though, I feel like I was robbed.
The Erstwhile happens about nine months after the events of the Vorrh. We see many of the same characters, the return of a few of those who died in the previous installation, and we meet a few new ones like any good sequel. The style is consistent from the Vorrh to the Erstwhile, and to be honest, that is the best part of the book. The prose.
Everything else about the book is frustrating. It’s like watching Pirates of the Caribbean 2. The first of the series was enjoyable so you are expecting the same from the sequel, but you feel letdown more often than not.
Characters are arguably the most important part of any narrative, and many of the main characters this time around read like assholes. One is a sex-crazed monster, a few abduct a child for some reason, and one is an arrogant fanatic of sorts. The few main characters the reader can really root for include the woman who had her child abducted and a Jewish-German doctor who never sets foot near the Vorrh.
And some of the storylines within the plot feel like they would be much more rewarding if they weren’t cut short. One, in particular, is reminiscent of Prospero and Caliban, and I was genuinely excited to see how this would play out only to have its legs cut out from under as the Prospero in this situation kills the aforementioned Caliban.
In other storylines, I found myself willfully rooting against the main characters and wanted to see them fail. In the plot to locate the Limboia, the brainless slaves used to cut the trees of the Vorrh for production, I wanted the expedition to crumble. Not just because, you know, slavery, but also because the leader of the expedition is a pompous asshat who needs to be cut down. Literally or figuratively. I’m not picky.
The plot of the Jewish-German doctor feels out of place since he never goes to Africa. No, he is hundreds of miles away in Europe. His only connection to the story are his interactions with the Erstwhile, abandoned angels who were supposed to guard the Tree of Knowledge in the Garden of Eden, but they weren’t very good and failed spectacularly. His plot has tension and mystery, and really I would have read the book if it were dedicated to him and his journey. But no. He gets to share the book with all of the ‘meh’ of the book.
What else was disappointing was the lack of the Vorrh. The first book went to great lengths to have this mythic forest not be a set piece but an independent and seemingly sentient character. That feels lost in the sequel as the forest is mentioned mostly in passing. Sure, the expedition for the Limboia takes place in the Vorrh, but the danger of the forest established in the first book isn’t there this time around. At first, it was palpable. There was dread when the forest was mentioned, and the idea of the forest fighting back was all too real. Now the forest is like a grove of Venus flytraps. Unless you are a fly, there is no reason to be afraid.
Beyond that, the book feels incomplete. Where it’s predecessor could stand on its own as a good fantasy book, the Erstwhile is dependent on the first and hopefully the third book of the series. We are left with more questions at the end of the book than at the beginning and close to no resolutions. Almost like this was a marketing ploy to get us to buy the last book in the series so we can have these questions answered.
Will I buy the third book when it comes out? Yeah. And I can only hope it returns to the quality of the Vorrh and not of the Erstwhile.
2.5/5 cups of coffee
Miracles are never comfortable; for the hungover, the debauched, and the anonymous, they are intolerable.
B Catling; The Vorrh
(On loan from @arlingtonvalib)
God's last act of creation was to place the tree of knowledge at the centre of the Garden of Eden. Adam was told not to touch it. The angels were placed there to protect it. Question: So if the tree of knowledge was not meant for men and angels, who was it made for? Answer: The trees.
The Erstwhile, B. Catling
Go with courage, slyness, and passion, and survive to become unique again.
The Erstwhile, B. Catling
You will return whence you came. You have the strength of two now. You should have helped me to go, but you chose to keep me for this. Very well, I shall tell you that what you do next will cast you from your God forever and split you asunder. If you had just left, none of this would have happened. Now it is too late. I have sorrow for you.
The Erstwhile, B. Catling
For a colonial city to exist and thrive thousands of miles from its homeland and on a completely different continent takes two essential things: an unquestionable sense of rightness, being demonstrated through its constant display of blind superiority, and an unlimited supply of a raw material of great value.
The Erstwhile, B. Catling
The figure was there again on the other side of the fountain. It shimmered blue like the core of the transmuting shadows. As if the very essence of their colour had been drained to form this miasma. It sharpened to give the impression of a figure dressed in a long coat or gown of blue, its shape and features fragmented by the brilliant giggling water.
The Erstwhile, B. Catling