In literature, as in life, everything has its moment in the sun—though some moments are of course more equal than others. I dare say some last so long that they’ve been burned to a crisp well before they’re over.
Consider, for instance, the unabashed action hero. I think it’s safe to assert that the sun set on the Arnie archetype some time ago. These days, readers demand certain failings from their favourite fictional figures. Certain shades of grey to ground the good guys and the bad.
Thus, some stories are simply no longer told. Genres come and genres go—from popular consciousness, if not the fringes of the entire picture. I mean, I don’t suppose we’ll be waving goodbye to paranormal romance any time in the foreseeable future, but it doesn’t have quite the hold it once did, does it? Similarly, though it pains me to say, the New Weird has gotten awfully old.
But you must be wondering what all this has to do with the debut of one Luke Scull. Well, consider what his gripping first novel is called; it can come as no surprise that The Grim Company is as grimdark as fantasy gets. And though grimdark fantasy has been all the rage in recent years, the writing is on the wall.
The genre has been brought low, and rightly so, by some of its foremost proponents’ reliance on rape and torture as torpid plot devices; cardinal sins that The Grim Company is not entirely innocent of either, though its author does evince an awareness that such subjects are not substitutes for storytelling.
So the genre’s moment may almost be over. Almost… but not quite, because The Grim Company is a genuinely great debut: fun yet fearsome, gritty and gripping in equal measure. If it marks the last hurrah of grimdark fantasy—though I sincerely hope there’s an alternative solution to the problems posed—at least the genre will go out on fine form.
The Grim Company begins with—wait for it—a magical tsunami:
“The Tyrant of Dorminia had dropped a billion tons of water on a living city and instantly created the biggest mass graveyard since the Godswar five centuries past. Forty thousand men, women and children had died in an instant. One second they were alive; the next they were gone. All those lives, extinguished with the same callous lack of regard a farmer might show for an ants’ nest as he drowned it in boiling water. […] That any man should have the audacity, much less the capacity, to enact such judgement on so many unknowing souls… why, it would be an affront to the gods, if the gods weren’t already dead.”
The gods may be gone, yet there are those in this story—namely Magelords—with godlike powers. One such is the aforementioned tyrant: Salazar rules over Dorminia with an iron fist, and indeed an iron heart—literally—by way of his Supreme Augmentor, Barandas. Though well aware of his master’s monstrous qualities, Barandas owes Salazar a debt, and his loyalty is such that one senses the Supreme Augmentor will serve said till the day he dies.
That day may come sooner than Barandas believes, because Salazar’s ghastly attack on Shadowport has engendered as much anger as it has obedience, or failing that fear. For the Shards, a company of Dorminian idealists, it’s the last sordid straw: his reign of terror must end. The rebellion, they resolve, begins here… here where, one way or the other, it will end as well.
It’s not so straightforward, obviously. Is it ever? To wit, the Shards are shattered early on: Sasha and Vicard join forces with two Highlanders—Brodar Kayne and his right hand man, the mercenary Jerek—to sabotage the source of Salazar’s supremacy. “Magic was fading from the world,” you see, “and as soon as the last divine corpse was sucked dry, there would be nothing left.” But the rebels’ trip to the Rift quickly takes a disastrous turn, and as the body count embiggens, our company can only wonder why doing the right thing feels so wrong.
What they really need is a hero. Alas, after a friendly dressing down results in a temper tantrum, the one and the only Davarus Cole is captured by Salazar’s forces, pressed into service as part of a prison gang, then dispatched into dangerous territory to help replenish the Tyrant’s supplies. In other words, he’ll be aiding and abetting the enemy. Merely an inconvenience to a saviour-in-the-making such as he!
“His abilities and quick wits outstripped those of his peers by no small distance—and besides, hadn’t Garrett always said he would one day be a great hero, like his real father? A man such as he met injustice head on, enchanted blade in hand and epic destiny propelling him forwards with a righteous fury no petty villain could withstand.”
So he likes to think, that is. Later, Sasha suggests an alternative interpretation: “He’s the only person I know who can scrape through the most dangerous situations by the sheer power of his own bullshit.”
Off to the side of all this, there’s Eremul the tragic half-mage, who wants Salazar’s head on a platter, and the sultry sorceress Yllandris, who dreams of being a Queen. These peripheral perspectives give readers insight into the larger landscape of Luke Scull’s series, and though they serve little other purpose in The Grim Company, they’re sure to play a larger part in the tomes to come.
Thankfully, the primary points of view are absorbing from word one. Waiting for Cole to be taken down a peg or ten is terrific fun, and in the interim the author uses his clueless central character to comment on the fantasy heroes of yesteryear. Sharp as Scull’s barbs are, there’s nothing especially subtle about this satire, however it does demonstrate the value of what sets grimdark fantasy apart.
By that measure, Brodar Kayne is a rather more traditional character than poor, dear Davarus: a downtrodden old warrior very much after Joe Abercombie’s heart. “I ain’t what I used to be,” he says at one stage, as he advances on three Highlanders younger and stronger than he. “Can’t piss in a straight line, if at all. I got aches in places I didn’t know could ache. But if there’s one thing I still know how to do […] it’s killing. You never really lose the instinct for it.” Despite his familiarity, Kayne struck me as a marvellous man of action: strong yet uncertain, done in but not defeated, bitter but still this side of miserable, he is a weapon, albeit a blunt one—a maul rather than a delicate dagger—that the author wields well.
In truth, no-one does grimdark fantasy better than Joe Abercrombie, but by the dead, Luke Scull comes incredibly close. The Grim Company can’t quite eclipse the likes of The Heroes, or Red Country; all told, though, this is a more satisfying debut than The Blade Itself.
In large part that’s thanks to an action-packed narrative, paced like a race. There’s never dull moment in The Grim Company—even in the middle, where most stories sag. Here, there and everywhere there are extraordinary set-pieces: battles, by and large, but what battles they are! In the interim, there’s murder, mystery and intrigue; a meaningful, if somewhat simplistic magic system; no shortage of snappy banter; and such smooth worldbuilding that I hardly noticed it happening. There’s precious little time to take stock of all this—instead, depth and texture seems to simply spring from the story—but I didn’t mind the immediacy of the overall experience one whit.
A confident debut, then? Definitely. It mightn’t be particularly original, but it’s bold and brutal too. Shiver me timbers, The Grim Company is pretty brilliant.
But—and you must have known there would be a but coming—Luke Scull inherits a few iffy elements amongst the many he emulates successfully. I don’t believe that these spoil the novel, but cumulatively, they do take the edge off somewhat. Considering grimdark fantasy’s fall from grace of late, that’s a shame, make no mistake. Yet whether or not there’s a place for this sort of fiction in the literary landscape of tomorrow, The Grim Company is a sterling exemplar of what the genre has to offer today.
The Grim Company is published by Head of Zeus. It is available in the UK now.
Niall Alexander is an erstwhile English teacher who reads and writes about all things weird and wonderful for The Speculative Scotsman, Strange Horizons, and Tor.com, where he contributes a weekly column concerned with news and new releases in the UK called the British Genre Fiction Focus, and co-curates the Short Fiction Spotlight. On rare occasion he’s been seen to tweet about books, too.
Any idea when/if The Grim Company will be available in USA?
I for one plan on milking the grimdark genre for as long as I can. :)
The North American release is scheduled for September.
Thanks for the terrific review, Niall.
These days, readers demand certain failings from their favourite fictional figures. Certain shades of grey to ground the good guys and the bad.
Thus, some stories are simply no longer told.
— well, no. Projecting yourself onto the audience, I fear.
It’s the subversion of the heroic that’s become a tired cliche, done to death.
Grimdark fantasy – if we do have to call it that – arguably began in 1977 with THE CHRONICLES OF THOMAS COVENANT and even Tolkien’s THE SILMARILLION (incest, all the heroes die, the book ends with massive subcontinental devastation and millions of deaths; what more do you want?). Hell, if you want to go there grimdark elements can be detected in Poul Anderson’s THE BROKEN SWORD in 1954. Or any number of ancient myths and legends.
Grimdark isn’t going anywhere. It’s time as the dominant force in fantasy – rather than just as one of several tools writers can use – may be hopefully ending, but it is not a recent innovation. It’s as old as the genre itself.
“In truth, no-one does grimdark fantasy better than Joe Abercrombie, but by the dead, Luke Scull comes incredibly close.”
Possibly because the entire thing is shameless Abercrombie fan-fiction.
There’s the self-obsessed noble child who is (incorrectly) convinced the world revolves him, the duty-bound officer fighting for the wrong side, the legion of inhuman wizards that overthrew the powers that be and have since been toying with humanity and… perhaps most ridiculous of all, the aging barbarian who used to be the heartless-and-undefeatable champion of his (evil) chieftan, until he got a conscience and is now wandering around the rest of the world complaining about his age and saying things like – I kid you not – “you’ve got to adapt”.
It isn’t a bad book, but I liked it a lot more the first time.
@Jared_Shurin: Shameless, you say? Fan fiction? I think that’s rather harsh, Jared. The Grim Company is obviously, ah… inspiredby Abercrombie, but there’s room for both authors at the genre fiction inn, surely. Even if there’s an element of the imitative to this—and there is, I admit—Luke is imitating an awfully accomplished author, and I’d argue that he has the chops to pull it off. That’s not nothing.
Abercrombie was definitely an influence, there’s no doubt about that. As I’ve said elsewhere though, you can go back to the early 2000s before Joe was published to find my writing being enjoyed by a great many people while doing very similar things to what I’m doing now (and with characters you might find spookily familiar).
But hey, if I’m going to be writer of fan fiction, I’ll take being a writer of fan fiction whose debut is compared favourably with the work of the man I have so shamelessly ripped off. Though next time I’ll probably turn my virtuoso mimickry skills towards JK Rowling or Dan Brown. Possibly even E L James. I’d rake in billions.
I guess there might not be room enough at the inn for both of us if this grimdark gravy train comes crashing off the rails as you suggest, Niall, presumably in a stinking explosion of vomit, gore, and used-up antiheroes.
Though lots of people complaining about something is often a sign of its great success, don’t you find? I daresay Mr. Martin won’t be turning up at the dole queue any time soon…
Incidentally, when did we start calling even things we like grimdark? I thought that was an insult for things that we considered entirely over the top to no effect. Now we’re using it for … what? And who?
I’ve just no idea how upset to feel about stuff on the internet any more.
This got exciting in a hurry!
Luke, et al: I apologise for using the words “shameless” and “fan fiction”, as they imply intent, and obviously, I’m in no position to know what you meant or mean to do. I don’t think The Grim Company is intentionally mimicking The First Law. Those were the wrong words, and I’m sorry.
Niall: I did, somewhere above, come to the conclusion that The Grim Company ain’t bad. I think comparing it to The Blade Itself is very generous, but I’m not going to get into that right now, because, frankly they’re both standing right here. (gestures)
On more abstract points, that I’m happier to talk about – I don’t see this book as the ultimate conclusion to a trend. For one, the most obvious ‘grimdark’ element – the magical tsunami – felt like a throwback to more traditional epic fantasy, with doomsday prophecies and worlds sliding into the ocean and be devoured by dark forces.
It is awesome (in terms of “creating awe”; also a very impressive scene) but not actually tragic – it is easier to empathise with the suffering of an individual, than with something that occurs on this scale.
It is a huge thing, but if you define “grimdark” as trying to provoke some sort of tragic or visceral response*, I’m not sure it succeeds – and definitely not on some trend-concluding, unbeatable level.
(*Which I just did, as of now. Yes, this is a terrible way to make a point.)
In fact, I’d argue that the setting and the plot twists are more traditional epic fantasy as well. Or, come to think of it, Dying Earth? Anyway, as Wert said – gritty, grimdark, low fantasy has been around for a long time and it’ll keep on going…
Jared – No problem. Personally I’d suggest that comparisons with The Blade Itself et al are better made after the entire trilogy is published (if they must be made at all). I find that first novels in epic series often elicit a lukewarm response (with the notable exception of The Lies of Locke Lamora and Game of Thrones) – it’s often with the sequel that the true worth of the first book can be fully measured. You find evidence of this with people saying they struggled with the first part of TBI only to proclaim TFL as the best thing since sliced bread (I’m one of them!).
I know you’ve already apologised, and I really do appreciate that – but wouldn’t you agree that the classical or traditional fantasy elements you mention do at least offer something a little different from my most obvious influence? That is to say, yes, I am writing in a somewhat similar style to Joe, and a few of the characters do bear superficial similarities (you might raise an eyebrow at the superficial, but wait until the next book!), but that clearly isn’t all that’s there. I’m fairly sure I’ve also ripped off Erikson, Lynch and Sanderson…
(Just kidding. ;))
Re: the grimdark debate, I think the only objective measure we have of the truth of its speculated decline is sales – and unless I’m very much mistaken, Martin, Abercrombie, Brett, Erikson and the rest aren’t struggling to shift books. My own opinion is that the genie is out of the bottle and he ain’t getting back in… though we can perhaps hope that authors who choose to utilise rape and other sensitive themes do so with due care and understanding of the implications (unlike my own no doubt ill-considered efforts).
The Grim Company – a grimdark fantasy novel written by Luke Skull pardon Scull. If I were to invent a title and an author for a satirical take on the grim&gritty “trend” in fantasy these would be perfect. But amazon is selling the book so it seems to be for real… should I laugh or cry?
No offense meant to either Mr. Scull or Mr. Abercrombie, but *this* thread is why it depresses me to see authors get involved in discussion of their books.
What might have become an interesting discussion about the nature, inspirations, influences, and future of the “grimdark” sub-genre (or, to be fair, equally might have degenerated into an insult-flinging snarkfest) may very well peter out, because everyone is hideously aware that THE AUTHORS ARE WATCHING.
I don’t see this as often at this blog as I do at blogs for other genres (it’s depressingly common at romance and YA lit blogs, for example) but it always makes me wonder about the purpose of these discussions? Are they for “readers”? Or for “fans”?
I have finished reading of the second book “The Sword of the North” and I would like to comment bellow, but please be aware that It may INCLUDE some light SPOILERS. Readers Beware.
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Pantheonic Literature is perhaps as old as humanity`s firs epic i.e. The Gilgamesh – If not older, making it one of the oldest tropes in collective imagination.Humans have always included Gods as a pivotal part of the narrative, often being the cause or the effect of mayor events. Heroes may be tested, rewarded or punished according to divine providence.
In the Epic of Gilgamesh the goddess Ishtar turns against the inhabitants of Uruk after the hero, declines her romantic advances. In the Illiad the god Apollo sends a deadly plague against the Agamenon`s army for sullying both his temple and his priestess, Chryses. Finally in Tolkiens Silmarrileon, the free races suffer for ages the wrath of evil deity Melkor while other vala ignore the pleads of help.
But what if humanity said enough of the despotic rule of the Divine? What if humans turned against their creators and forged a new destiny free from any theocratic tyranny ? Luke Scull has asked himself this question and has decided to situate “The Grim Company” and “The Sword Of The North” in the aftermath of the Deicide that wrought forth the death of the gods.
But as it tuns out, killing ones creator might not have been such good idea after all. 500 years after humans stormed the heavens, the world finds itself in a post apocalyptic state, know as “the age of ruin” gods might be dead, but all-powerful Magelords rule with iron fist the the few settlements were human life is possible. The world is dying slowly, nature refuses to renovate itself, abominations roam the countryside, while toxic magic plagues the land.
Luke Scull`s world is a grim one, devoid of hope and certainty. His iconoclastic approach breaks every imaginable archetype in the genera, making his characters as flawed as the world they inhabit to some very humanizing extents:
There is the old barbarian, haunted by the past and limited by his aging body, there is the magic-weapon-wielding-youth, highly narcissistic and too foolish for his own good , there is the well-meaning thief with a drug addiction and perhaps the biggest antihero of all, the unremarkable wheelchair-bound magician whom unconsciously inspires the constant betraya. Seriously, the poor guy don`t seem to catch a break, but if anything can be said about Luke Scull is that he is not willing to do anything to his female characters that he is not willing to do to his male ones. No one is safe here, and every one is destined to suffer in one way or the other.
The author writes beautifully, and these books are filled with dark humor and plenty of eyebrow racing situations, but the more you read the harder it is to ignore the parallelisms with other mayor titles in fantasy fiction. Luke Scull seems to draw heavily upon ” Dark Sun” for his world building, while simultaneously drinking from Joe Abercrombie`s “Fist law” and at times, shamelessly paraphrasing Martin`s “A Game of Thrones”. Bellow are the excerpt for comparison:
“Let them see that their words can cut you and you’ll never be free of the mockery. If they want to give you a name take it make it your own. Then they can’t hurt you with it anymore.” – Tyrion Lanister to Jon Snow
“Seems to me that you can keep your fear closer than anyone. Turn it in to your sword and your shield and your armor. Make it a thing nothing is able to pierce” -Brodar Keyne tells Jana Shah Shan
Nevertheless and spite the parallels, Luke Scull manages to keep his own voice all thru the narration. His setting might be derivatory, but he commands the events with obvious intent and purpose. A writer does not need to be slave to originality as long one remains true to the story. THAT being said, he does seems unable to deter from some of the classic pitfalls in fantasy literature. e.g:
I just wish modern-day writers would be as careful with their treatment of race as they are with the treatment of gender. We can still see that that “dark” and “colored” people retain that alienating otherness to them that separates them from any real protagonism.
Just like with Tolkien and C. S. Lewis, “colored” cultures are often delegated to the periphery of the civilized world i.e Jungles and desserts. The characters are used as literary props to exalt the qualities of the fair-skinned hero while remaining utterly exotic to the reader .
In “Grim Company” Davarus Cole mentor is an mysterious man from a far far away land, with dark skin and strange customs. The White Lady`s mercenary army is also “colored” but not “dark” as if to demonstrate their near-proximity to civilization.
The other narrative pitfall that Luke Scull repeatedly falls on; is his tendency of writing impossible situations, only to have solutions later propelled out of nothingness in the tradition of deus ex machina (An interesting choice, this being a godless world)
Take for example the the mystery objectg found in Magelord Salazar`s obelisk, during the events of GC.
The object is implied to be a important element in later installment of the series, but before that can happen the writer needs to take the egg from point A to point B, thus he creates an inconsequential character to advance the plot.
This character “X” has by chance remained frozen in time for about 500 years but awakes some time during TSOTN, to transport the mysterious object.
Later he is “casually” engaged by the party on the middle of the road as if resulted by a “random encounter” in the purest RPG terminology; The next problem arises when character “X” interacts with the party. Because by being alive before the apocalyptic event that shaped the world, he has potential access to information that could spoil the plot, so the writer arbitrarily makes him mute.
Fear not, however, one of our heroes, happens to randomly understand a 500 year old sing language, or at least enough of it to convey the minimal plot required information, to the reader. Finally when character “X” has reached his purpose of transportation, he is disposed and forgotten within one paragraph…
That casual treatment of causality, made me feel at times that I was witnessing a truly epic D&D camping or a “Let`s play” of a minor RPG, instead of reading a fantasy novel. Luke Scull has no qualms in forcing the the “invisible hand of destiny” in his books, nothing is left to chance, thus hindrancing on the reader`s “willing suspension of disbelief”
By the gods, I liked the setting and I liked the characters, but I found the immersion difficult due to the improbability of events. Just because it is fantasy it does not mean that the writer can play on the readers ignorance to will anything into existence.
Midway during the second book I had the constant impression that Luke Scull was either being intentionally obvious or being clever beyond his keen, but for now I am willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.
All in all I found the books entertaining, his characters interesting and his world fascinating. I would gladly recommend the series, if only to have something to read while one waits for Martin`s next book.