Oberyn Martell profile featured at Tower of the Hand

Oberyn Martell is the heart’s desire of many a lady in the Seven Kingdoms, and the heart’s bane of many a lord. The earliest conquest the reader knows of results in a duel between 16 year old Oberyn and Lord Yronwood over the affections of Lord Yronwood’s lover, and it does not end well for the Yronwoods with their Lord dying of festering wounds. Could these wounds have festered from some additive on Oberyn’s blade? He never claimed that, but earned the name Red Viper for the rumor.  His amorous ways have resulted in fine rewards for him; eight daughters, all in good relations with their father.

Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper (Artist: Natascha Roeoesli).

The oldest four of these sand snakes have different mothers. And why would they not? Oberyn took a partner in each place he took himself, and his daughters reveal the diversity of the man. The eldest was born to a whore of Oldtown. The next to a noblewoman across the ocean in the free cities. Third born was to a septa, who are generally a chaste lot. Fourth was to a Summer Isles trader. Most of the Westerosi abide by class distinctions without remark; Oberyn, instead, moves amongst all these groups with ease, and not just superficially - but with enough engagement to form relationships and keep them even after his affections have moved on. Oberyn’s parental devotion assures that even the lowest-born of these by-blow girls are raised into trades and cared for. Contrast that with another man known for his bastards, Robert Baratheon. Robert’s bastards are fathered and killed off in the very city where he sits the throne, and he is ignorant of their demise. One doubts that Oberyn would have let any of his daughters face such malice unprotected.  Notably, Oberyn’s wandering lusts find harbor in one woman: the mother of his fifth daughter, and all those thereafter: Elia - namesake, one assumes, of his deceased sister.

Oberyn’s protective instincts for his daughters likely arose from Oberyn’s one failure to protect those he loved: his sister Elia, and her children. Was his beloved sister Oberyn’s first lover? We readers are left to wonder. Oberyn convinced his elder sister to reject all the Dornish suitors their ruling mother brought for consideration; so impossible was a Dornish match, the siblings were sent to Casterly Rock to meet the Lannister twins as an alternative. I speculate that Joanna Lannister and the Princess of Dorne in their close friendship had shared concerns about their children’s too-close relations, and it was decided between them to make the best of it by throwing the four of them together into arranged marriages and letting them pair up as they saw fit. These plans, if such they were, were derailed at Joanna’s death and superseded by Tywin’s dynastic ambitions to make Cersei queen. Certainly Oberyn believes that Tywin bore his sister a grudge when she took the place Tywin expected for one of his own.

Tywin’s grudge was a little thing though compared to the tenacious lust for revenge that grew within Oberyn after the sack of King’s landing - but that was years away for the young Oberyn. Oberyn did not take a partner when his sister married Prince Rhaegar; perhaps, like Jaime Lannister, being brother in law to the king was enough for him. Was Oberyn as devoted to Elia as Jaime was to Cersei? Apparently not, as unlike Jaime, Oberyn was off on his adventures (amorous and otherwise). And what friendship did Oberyn have with his brother-in-law, Rhaegar? Did they come to some understanding that allows Oberyn to forgive - or even facilitate - whatever happened between Rhaegar and Lyanna? Note that as much as Oberyn rages against the Lannisters, he has no venom for Rhaegar, who left Elia and her children undefended.

While Oberyn was away - in pursuits unexplained and unaccounted for - his sister is raped and murdered and his niece and nephew are slaughtered by Gregor Clegane, a guy who enjoys this kind of thing. Oberyn, once back on the scene, rallies Dorne to call for revenge; his brother Prince Doran receives a visit from Lord Arryn which halts the effort. Tywin, in response to accusations from Dorne, frustratingly has plausible deniability in that he contends he did not order Elia’s death, he merely neglected to put orders in place to prevent it. And thus Oberyn’s resilient heart grieves.

Being a Martell, his heart is not broken - Oberyn’s family words provide solace - unbowed, unbent, unbroken. He hones his grief into an instrument of vengeance directed at his sister’s killer and bides his time, waiting patiently until the opportunity presents itself. When it does, with an offer to join the Small Council and get justice, he eagerly accepts. Once in King’s Landing, Oberyn will not set aside his need for revenge - and the longer he hears the Lannister’s futile efforts to placate him, the more impatient he becomes. When the chance comes for him to find justice in defending Tyrion Lannister, he takes it.

Oberyn’s patience reasserts itself during the duel. He steadily whittles away Gregor’s strength, seeking a confession - he taunts his adversary repeatedly: "You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children." The incessant patter, a’la Inigo Montoya’s in the Princess Bride, grates on the Mountain and, unbelievably, unsettles him from what would assume is a calloused moral state. The duel between them is epic; the fast-moving, acrobatic and deadly accurate poisoner matched against the brutal strength and defensibility of a heavily armoured knight with no ethics. A reader could be forgiven for getting caught up in the scene, believing vengeance would be served in just fashion, and an unrepentantly evil character would receive an overdue comeuppance.  Alas, this is George Martin and such tidy conclusions are not for his readers. Oberyn manages to pin Gregor like a bug on a collector’s board, yet despite this Gregor rallies and brutally crushes Oberyn’s face with his hand, confessing at the last that Elia had the same treatment from him.

Oberyn is a man whose life was defined by the women he loved; his mother, his daughters, his lovers, his sister.  By all rights he was expected to die happily in bed with a woman. Instead, he has a warrior’s death from a hateful man, unlikely to have heard the confession he died to extract.

This post published at Tower of the Hand as part of the Top 30 Characters profiles.

Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen

Any novelist who can turn the reader's ignorance to advantage has my respect; Sara Gruen does it by using the reader's ignorance to highlight the wet-behind-the-ears naivete of her protagonist, Jacob. She also turns the reader's forgetfulness to advantage, letting the protagonist's uncertain remembrances guide the reader through the story.

I read Gruen's novel Water for Elephants about circus life this past summer, it was a lovely summer read. The story follows Jacob Jankowski's memories of his life as a young man. In his memories, he is transitioning from a young man's college life to a life on the road as a traveling vet for a circus; in the present time of the novel, he is an old man transitioning gradually into extreme old age.

His memories start with his veterinary school; due to a traumatic event, Jacob leaves his final exams unexpectedly. It is the peak of the great depression, and every option he considers stymies him.  He runs away and joins the circus, and encounters a cast of characters that live a double life. On stage, they are marvelous and beautiful, consummate entertainers and work as a well-oiled machine to make sure the show goes on. Off stage, they are just as misfit as is Jacob.

Some warnings for the squeamish: the animal brutality is, well, brutal. Some reviewers have said that these events occurred 50 years ago and don't represent a modern aesthetic; I think that's counter-factual. Consider for example the Humane Society's campaign against bear baiting. PETA has also documented cruel practices that exist today for elephants in circuses. Gruen's descriptions of circus animal treatment are thus relevant today.

Gruen's careful research into circus culture and the history of the depression gives veracity to the tale; the details of jake leg poisoning especially and its impact on the afflicted was well done.  Also relevant is Gruen's sympathetic description of Jacob and his predicament in the nursing home. He wants to have the respect and self-sufficiency that he earned for himself in the circus long ago; instead with his physical infirmities, memory trouble, and depression he recognizes his decline. The parallels between his young self - seeking love, acceptance, and control over his destiny - and his older self, seeking the same, are apparent upon reflection.

The story itself is touching and ends well; Jacob reclaims his autonomy and is on the road again.  Marlena's character is fiery and understandable as a love interest for Jacob; and Rosie herself, as expected, steals the show whenever she is on scene. August works exceedingly well as a sympathetic villain, in a twirly-mustachioed kind of way.

P.S. The author developed this work as part of the NaNoWriMo effort, which I find delightful. The project asks participants to start writing a novel on 11/1 and finish by 11/30 - many have parlayed National Novel Writing Month efforts into a published work. I keep daring myself to try it, and my pitiful excuses for not doing it are shameful. But seeing what Gruen accomplished in her month keeps me wondering if I could do it.

Take a look at the trailer for the upcoming movie also for more circus glamour:

Related articles

• 'Water for Elephants' Trailer (slashfilm.com)
• Book Review: Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen (blogcritics.org)
• "The Sunday Salon... A Look at The National Book Awards" and related posts (chickwithbooks.blogspot.com)

Snark by David Denby

How does one address an audience in a witty and humorous way while avoiding snark? This is an essential writing talent, very useful to those dealing with the loyal opposition or even hecklers. Denby's book seemed positioned to help resolve this - but doesn't. Unfortunately, as much as Denby attests to the ultimate ineffectiveness of snark - the writing feels snarky. The examples provided, ranging from Juvenal  to Pope to a discourse on modern internet discussions, are conveyed in a slightly offhand, smarter-than-thou manner which is off-putting rather than engaging. For example, from David Denby:

"when reading Juvenal - which is quite an experience, rather like getting drunk during an obscene night in a comedy club..."

And here's a quote from Juvenal to ponder:

The blind envy the one-eyed.

And here's an example you might hear getting drunk during an obscene night in a comedy club:



Juvenal = Carlin? Absolutely not. Denby's pushing some snark at us in the guise of explaining how snark is deteriorating civil discourse and reducing our ability to understand and relate to one another's ideas. I think the argument would have been furthered more readily by not using snark to make the case that snark was not as useful. And I'm not trying to be snarky in saying that.

I think the author has a good point to make. In describing the master snark-users and regaling readers with tales of the utility of snark for their situations, Denby provides a service. A thriving counter-culture and critiques of power are essential for the  healthy functioning of democratic societies, so understanding better the ways in which master political critics rise to their talents would be useful.

And, to end on a minor complaint - I would have appreciated a clear definition of what he considers snark. There's no proffered definition, no attempt at such - and thus, one man's snark is another man's measure.

The fate of humanity depends on Shakespeare.

Reading Muse of Fire by Dan Simmons is a glimpse behind the scenes of a horrid future, and backstage of the workings of the universe. Dystopian novels of a world undone compel me to read them; a story of a whole metaverse gone haywire was irresistible.

The story is narrated by young Wilbr, an actor with The Earth's Men, a traveling performance troupe that specializes in Shakespeare. Their travels take them from planet to planet, entertaining the enslaved humans who toil for their alien overlords, the Archon, a race so alien they seem to take no notice of the humans, except for their work output. Suddenly and for no apparent reason, after a performance of Much Ado About Nothing, the alien's interest manifests itself for a performance request. The performers oblige with the Scottish Play. And then, the overlords of the Archons appear with a request for a performance of their own...

By the end of the tale, the performers have given the performances of their lives, and perhaps more than that: they are told that the continued existence of humanity depends upon their skill. Have they passed the test? Or was there any test at all - was the outcome predetermined?

William Shakespeare via last.fm