I sometimes wonder what makes one book successful and makes another book not successful. The Sword of Winter is a terrific book – Marta Randall does a great job world-building. Although it may not have memorable phrases like Thou Shalt Not Pass or imagery that sticks with you, it’s well-written, compelling and page-turning, and far better-written than David Eddings (who was popular at the time it was published). The characters are interesting and distinct, and the main character shows more character growth than Frodo who – while I love LOTR and read it several times a year – has little character to begin with and no discernable character growth beyond realizing, once he gets to Rivendale, that if he takes the ring to Mordor, it’s probably a one-way journey, and going anyway instead of turning home. And that’s in the book, to say nothing of the movie where he’s even more one-dimensional. (In point of fact, almost everyone except Frodo and Sam display character growth: Gandalf casts aside his grey robes for white; Legolas who loves his forest home becomes entranced by the sea; Gimli does a turnabout and falls for Galadriel and becomes best buddies with Legolas; Eowyn who, in the book is described as cold and distant, has perhaps the biggest change of all – aside from Merry and Pippin who change the most, growing up both literally and figuratively, going from gadabout young men to emissaries of the king and play a key role in retaking the Shire from Saruman after they return home and if this reference confuses you, read the book. My point being that Frodo and Sam, the heroes of the story, have little character development and Aragorn has almost none as well, while Marta Randall’s main character displays quite a bit.)

The Sword of Winter takes place in a medievalish fantasy world – but a world that was changing, with telegraph lines running from castle to village, and the start of a railway. Lyeth, the heroine, is a Rider, responsible for riding cross-country, delivering messages from the ruler, telling the news, and filling in empty spots on maps of the backcountry. Unfortunately, in her province, the ruler she works for is a narcistic bully, despised by the people, who abused his position using her as his enforcer, sent forth to seize people that his spies have told him have dared to criticize him. Although he is slowing dying of a particularly painful STD, his potential heirs are not much better: a vain idiot son, another machinating young man with more conscious evil, and a beautiful young woman, the smartest and perhaps the most evil of the three. I will add that the book was written in 1983.

Lyeth, a woman with a chip on her shoulder having watched her father murdered in a raid on the Trapper camp they had joined – she was captured instead of killed only because, as her “rescuer” tells her, she “swears in a civilized language” – and then, when she made the best of a bad situation and found a calling, mapping out distant lands, found herself pledged instead to a ruler she despises and disagrees with; and now, pressured by his potential heirs to transition from his enforcer to theirs. To top it all off, in the first chapter, she becomes saddled by an impudent orphan who wants to use her to find lost relatives.

The world Marta Randall creates is as vivid as Hogworts or Middle Earth, her characters are multi-dimensional; and her plot fast-moving without seeming contrived.

And why is it that it didn’t get recognized for it’s worth when it was released in the early 80s? Because Lyeth, while participating in a relationship, doesn’t fall swooning into her man’s arms at the end of the book? Or because she is a strong character who, when she comes into conflict with others, does so because of a clash of ideas or politics or social strata – not because she is a woman and not a man? Certainly none of those things would have appealed to the (mostly) young men buying fantasy in the early 80s. In this vein, there was LeGuin; there was McKillip and McKinley; there was McCaffery. And they were set off against Tolkien, Eddings, Brooks As much as I love Tolkien, his women live on pedestals unchanging and perfect, the morning and the evening. I don’t even remember Brooks even having women in his books. Eddings… oh I shudder to remember the one Eddings book that I forced myself to read so I would know what all these boys were asking about. In chapter 1, a strong woman appeared and was abused by some of the male characters (oh boy, I thought, are they going to get it!) and is then killed off by those same men. Then, later, a young woman joins the fellowship and climbs up a cliff in a short skirt while the men stand at the bottom of the cliff looking up her skirt and making crass comments.

I like this book so much that I read it at least once a year. It’s not falling apart yet only because I’ve been able to find several copies at used book sales and rotate between them. In fact, although I first read it at the same time as Mirabile (see Jan 1), I bought my first copy used, at a used bookstore in Chicago of all places. In fact, I bought both those books used, probably together.

How did I miss them when they first came out?