The book I picked up is called The Rithmatist, by Brandon Sanderson. As you, being a smart, beautiful individual, have probably figured out, the cover is displayed on the right (EDTA: I'm definitely not a smart and beautiful individual since I can't even figure out left from right). As you smart, beautiful individual have probably also figured out, it's a steampunk novel. For those of you out of the loop: if it's got a cover framed by a whole bunch of shiny (and I will publicly vouch for its shininess), golden gears depicting a kid running in a trench coat with what looks like a cathedral in the background, yeah, it's probably steampunk. Another telling sign of steampunk novels is an orange-brown colour scheme -- but really, mostly it's the gears.
I will grant the fact that the book isn't really steampunk in that the technology of the world isn't driven by steam but rather by mechanical energy. However, the world is instantly recognisable for any fan of the blanket steampunk genre.
Apart from being steampunk, the novel is also categorised as young adult literature, as far as I can work out. That's what it says on the author's website, anyway.
The Rithmatist is set in an alternate universe that is somewhat recognisable from a modern point of view in terms of geography, religion and historical figures. Apart from its reliance on mechanical power, a major factor setting the world of The Rithmatist apart from the modern world is the existence of a form of magic called -- you guessed it -- rithmatics. Rithmatics are based on principles of geometry and mathematics, where a rithmatist's ability to draw basic shapes and creatures called "chalklings" on the ground determines their power in this magic -- which is essentially the power to make one's drawings come to life. What I approve of in this magic is that it is clearly constrained with "known rithmatic lines" -- in essence, rithmatic drawings are a little like our good old run-of-the-mill magic spells: you might do them a little differently to the next magician, but they will always produce the same effect. That's a good way of keeping the form magic from getting vague or simply convenient. Of course, the main character will set on a task to bend the magic's rules, as is inevitable, but we will get to that.
I'll note that rithmatics is spelled with a capital R in the novel. I resent that. I don't spell magic with a capital M, physics with a capital P or mathematics with a capital M. I'm not going to spell your fictional discipline with a capital letter, either. I suspect it has something to do with the discipline being tied to the religion of the book somehow -- but since this is never elaborated on, I honestly don't really care.
So sue me
Different to most fantasy novels, the main character, Joel, isn't a progidy in rithmatics. Except that he is. This is to say that he hasn't been chosen by "the Master" (who is clearly a religious figure but whose identity and function never become fully clear, frustratingly enough) to have rithmatic abilities. However, despite this unfortunate fact that he doesn't have the magic, he is an absolute savant in the field. He attends Armedius, which is a school for both rithmatics and for the extremely rich. However, since he is the relatable hero of this story, he is neither of these things and has instead had the opportunity to attend because of a favour the principal owed to his late father. As a short and sweet description, Joel is perfect. The only reason he is not kicking your ass right now is that he is held back by his circumstances -- his passion and aptitude for rithmatic drawings is overridden by the fact that he wasn't chosen by the Master. He is "overlooked" by many because he does not have the wealth to be important or to reach for what he may want in life. I say overlooked in quotation marks because over the course of the book, Joel is in numerous conversations with professors and even the principal of Armedius where he is treated as an equal, or perhaps even more than one. This is despite the fact that he is a teenager, has only studied rithmatics second-hand, and is an unbearable little prick.
Though perhaps he's only an unbearable little prick because he doesn't have any real flaws. He is a hero from day 1 -- it's as if the whole book is just going through the motions of getting him there.
And what a drag getting him there is! The writing style is simplistic, with a matter-of-fact fashion of going through situations. Now, although I have never been a huge fan of this writing style, there are absolute masters of this style, such as Feist, who can use it simply to heighten the tension of their story. In contrast, The Rithmatist is absolutely flat with no atmosphere at all. Granted, the style does begin paying off in a bunch of more high-action scenes toward the end of the book, although I don't think the payoff is equal to the effort of slogging through 200 pages of Joel going "but what if" and "but something seems off and NOBODY WILL LISTEN TO MEEEEE until it's too late and then I'll have to save the day!"
Then, of course, there's Melody. She is the hero's sidekick and the most excruciating female stereotype I have encountered in any book that I have read in a long time. She is described as overly dramatic, prone to moodswings, completely ruled by emotion and devoid of any reason. At first, Joel finds her unspeakably irritating, but warms up to her sooner or later -- the turning point occurs when Joel notes that when Melody isn't being crazy, she can "really look quite pretty." Despite the entire book being centred around a mystery that Melody and Joel are solving together, I think she only has one original thought in the entirety of the novel -- and that is only because she had undergone an experience that Joel had not. Further, Melody is a rithmatist, but don't get excited yet, because she's absolutely terrible at it. Terrible, that is, except for the part where she can draw unicorns and with her woman's intuition, without having to do the careful calculations and geometric drawings that all other rithmatists do (you know, the ones Joel is great at), and literally talks them into doing things for her. As a science major, I find this polarisation of abilities between Joel and Melody into Reason and Emotion extremely belittling and disturbing, and even more so because by the end of the book, Joel is essentially using Melody as a tool to do the rithmatics that he himself does not have the aptitude to perform. Sure, it comes across as cooperation, because "hey Melody is good at one thing stop looking at me like that." She is never the one calling the shots, even though she is the one with the magic power. She exists solely for his benefit.
In summary, I am disappointed. The concept of the novel is fascinating, and some of the world seems to be very interesting -- but even this is poorly developed and shrouded in feeble mystery to keep the reader engaged. The atmosphere of the novel is nonexistent. The characters are flat and offensively polarised into gender stereotypes on subjects that are relevant to the modern world (logic, mathematics) and where women -- young girls -- desperately need positive role models.
In short, the whole book lacked dimension -- which is kind of ironic, if you stop to think about it. Good job at creating a two-dimensional story about people creating two-dimensional beings, Sanderson.
No comments:
Post a Comment