The Blade Itself

“A prison where we have made slaves of the innocent and guilty alike in the name of freedom. A stinking hole where we send those we hate and those we are ashamed of to die of hunger, and disease, and hard labour.”

Commenting on his tenure as administrator of the Angland mines, Glokta does not verbalize his true feelings—that the mines are a convenient dumping ground for the undesirables and politically inconvenient. His comment invokes images of prisons housing individuals that society prefers not to deal with. Glokta’s time in a Gurkish prison has certainly jaded him but perhaps also given him a unique insight into the structural problems of incarceration.

“‘Bloody idiots,’ hissed Jezal under his breath, but he would have loved to be one of them.”

On his training run, Jezal encounters Prince Ladisla and his entourage, a fawning, sycophantic bunch of “dandies.” He sees them for what they are—status-seekers and flatterers who will do anything to be in the Prince’s inner circle—but while inwardly condemning them, he admits he’d love to join that inner circle. Jezal’s inner conflict is suggestive of the classic “the-grass-is-always-greener” conundrum. Because Jezal is born of noble blood, he is graced with good looks and shows great promise as a swordsman, but he can’t help but feel that he deserves more.

“I didn’t have a choice. I’m not a nobleman. Fencing was the only way for me to get noticed.”

When Jezal complains about Varuz’s harsh training regimen, West notes that his own training was far worse. However, as a “commoner,” he had no choice but to endure such treatment if he wanted to rise in the ranks. The quote suggests that Abercrombie’s world is a highly stratified social structure—those born into the right family are accorded privileges that commoners are not. Even so, West’s story is unusual. It’s rare for a commoner to rise to his level no matter how diligent their work ethic might be.

“Sult shook his head sadly. ‘We all feel it keenly, but here is his confession in black and white.’”

In a world in which torture enjoys official sanction, it becomes quite easy to coerce a confession out of a suspect. Guilt or innocence matters far less than the acquisition of a signature on a piece of paper that can be employed to support illusions and deny the truth. A confession can mean imprisonment, the end of a career, or even death, all of which mean little to the Arch Lector so long as his overarching plan proceeds smoothly. Furthermore, the widespread fear of the Inquisitor’s Office prevents any whistleblowers or fair trials. It’s the ideal consolidation of power, one that fits perfectly into Abercrombie’s world of power grabs and backstabbing.

“You can't become attached to things, not out here in the wild.”

Logen, carrying a sick Quai on his shoulder, must lighten his load, and he sheds all non-essential items. Consumerism and ownership are luxuries Logen cannot afford (even his beloved cook pot). It’s a spartan existence but a healthy one, which makes the culture shock of Adua that much more acute when he sees the frivolous and extravagant excess of the lords and ladies of the city. While they may look down on him for his grubby appearance, at least he knows that he can survive on the bare essentials if need be.

“He had to admit to being a little disappointed. He'd been expecting something cleverer looking, and a lot more beards.”

As Logen enters Bayaz’s compound, he does not see what he—and readers familiar with the genre—might expect. He is entering the domain of the First of the Magi, legendary wizard, conqueror of Kanedias, the first of his order, but what he sees resembles a typical small village more than a wizard’s realm. Abercrombie toys with these standard tropes frequently, giving Bayaz the appearance of a stout butcher rather than the lanky, bearded that longtime fantasy readers have come to expect.

“The magic leaks out of the world. That is the set order of things.”

A common theme in fantasy literature is the diminishing power of magic. Relegating magic to a distant (or even recent) past gives the narrative a bittersweet sense of loss. Readers want to see that magic in full force, but as centuries-old magi like Bayaz recount their own histories, it becomes a memoir of a passing age that will likely never come again. That deep and rich history also gives the novel an epic sweep.

“One should attend to the details. It is easy to forget the little things, but without the oar, the boat is useless.”

Glokta’s ruminations often carry a valuable life lesson. For example, as he watches a group of revelers out on the lake, their boat tips, dumping them all into the water. The discarded oar drifts lazily away. By taking care of the oar, the mishap could have been prevented. In a broader sense, Glokta is pondering the Arch Lector’s grand schemes and his small part in them. Missing one small detail—who to trust, for example—can turn the most elaborate plans to dust.

“It must be, then, that most ancient of laws: that the strong take what they wish from the weak?”

Emissaries from Bethod petitioning the Open Council for control of Angland argue that it was once part of the North until the Union stole it and exploited it for its raw materials. The pattern of powerful stealing from the vulnerable has such a long history, they claim, that it should be codified as law. At least this way, the oppressors can lay claim to legal precedent when they commit their acts of aggression.

“Blood gets you nothing but more blood.”

Logen recalls his violent past and all the men he has killed, but rather than feeling a sense of glory and accomplishment, he feels only shame. Death, he realizes, is nothing to revel in. It gains nothing but more death. Logen’s argument is powerful from a rhetorical standpoint as well. The claim is always stronger when it comes from an insider. It would be easy for Quai to make the same argument, but as someone who has never killed a man, it carries little weight. Combined with Logen’s violent history, his profound remorse adds ethos to his words.

“The glow of victory hadn't lasted too long. It never did.”

The adrenaline rush of battle subsides quickly after the Named Men defeat a group of Shanka. While the others celebrate their victory, Threetrees takes the long view: the battle may be over, but the war is far from finished. That fatalism takes whatever joy he might feel from this victory and casts the future in uncertainty and fear. The leader’s job, Threetrees realizes, is a lonely one. He does not dare to join the revelry for fear of dropping his guard: a deadly mistake out in the wild.

“Full of wise Magi, stern knights with mighty swords and ladies with mightier bosoms. Magic, violence and romance, in equal measure.

Utter shit.”

In this passage, Ardee critiques one of the “great classics of history” (178), The Fall of the Master Maker. She finds it boring and derivative. It’s a humorous moment and a self-conscious one as Abercrombie indulges in a moment of meta-reflection on the fantasy genre in general and makes a case for subverting its well-worn tropes. The quote also highlights the author’s tendency to insert such subversion wherever possible, for he makes it a point to poke fun at several tropes during the narrative, including his depictions of Bayaz and of Ardee, the latter of whom is no damsel-in-distress by any means.

“If a man seeks to change the world, he should first understand it.”

While Bayaz quizzes Quai about herblore, Logen grows frustrated, finding the whole exercise pointless. Quai argues that knowing the name of a plant with no use is important because a deep and holistic knowledge of the world is necessary before one can begin to change that world. Without that understanding, grand plans can be overturned by the smallest unknown and unconsidered factors (much like a boat can be overturned by not understanding the importance of the oar).

“Knowledge may be the root of power but each new thing I've learned has left me worse off.”

Knowledge, Logen has come to realize, is a double-edged sword. It certainly can lead to power, but his experience is that knowledge can also result in pain and tragedy. Perhaps the two are not mutually exclusive, and one necessarily accompanies the other. Those who have attained great power have likely suffered some negative consequences along the way, and Logen’s personal experience lends credence to the old adage that ignorance is bliss.

“History is littered with dead good men.”

In the aftermath of Bayaz’s scorching spell, Logen kills Blacktoe out of mercy. Blacktoe’s dying words convince Logen that his victim was a “good man. Better than me” (205). Implicit in Logen’s regret is an acknowledgment of the profound injustice of the world. Why, Logen wonders, has he survived after so much killing when others who are nobler must die? Logen receives no answer, for philosophers and theologians have been asking this existential question for millennia.

“It seems to me, Ferro Maljinn, that you are as much a slave as you ever were. Or ever could be.”

When Yulwei sees how hell-bent on vengeance Ferro is—she thinks of nothing else, not even her own needs—he suggests that she is just as enslaved by her own anger and hatred as she ever was by the Emperor. Ferro, still too traumatized by her experience being enslaved in Gurkhul, is not ready to hear Yulwei’s words. The anger is familiar and comforting, and despite its toxic effect on her, it’s provides her with a sense of empowerment.

“Government by committee! Everyone pulling their own way! You can only react, never prepare!”

Lord Marshall Burr laments the sorry state of the Union’s military preparedness in the North, and he places the blame squarely on the inefficiency of the government—too many diverse interests pursuing their own ends. Burr pines for a singular, strong leader to take charge and relegate “Government by committee” to the margins while the war effort takes precedence. Say what you will about autocrats, he implies, but at least they get things done.

“The great wage secret wars for power and wealth, and they call it government.”

As Logen stares agape at his first view of Adua, he cannot believe that Bethod intends to wage war against so massive and well-fortified a city. Bayaz, however, knows the truth: that Adua looks impressive from the outside, but is rotten from within, for a thousand internecine quarrels threaten to destroy its powerful foundation. Adua’s so-called “government,” Abercrombie implies, consists of little more than high-born bureaucrats scrambling after their own interests, oblivious to their duty to uphold the strength and cohesion of the Union. This is the weakness that Bethod hopes to exploit, despite Ardua’s tall towers and sturdy ramparts.

“On no moor, however foggy, in no forest, however dense, had Logan ever felt so completely lost.”

Logen, a barbarian leader from the North, was once Bethod’s great champion, but now he feels tiny and adrift in the streets of Adua. In this moment, Logen experiences the culture shock that is so common to small-town inhabitants who are visiting large cities for the first time, and in Logen’s loneliness, Abercrombie explores the divide between urban and rural lifestyles. The conflict is deeply cultural, and Logen finds that he misses the open air and wild nature of his old home.

“These pinks, they don't think like us, like real people! We've no business with their kind!”

When Yulwei tells Ferro that their mutual path lies to the North, she is horrified and  claims that she would “rather stay among the Gurkish” (274). Because she has never seen the North, Ferro’s only knowledge of it is based on rumor and hearsay. Thus, she vilifies an unfamiliar culture based on her misplaced beliefs, which are rooted in ignorance and prejudice. Here, Abercrombie comments on the difference between conscious and unconscious bias, for Ferro’s reaction is based upon her irrational fear of the unknown rather than an active hatred based on personal experience.

“You wouldn't have thought to look at them that they'd ever said a stupid word, or done a stupid thing, or had to take a shit in all their lives.”

As Logen strolls through the streets of Adua, he comes upon a collection of statues commemorating past leaders. He finds them homogenous, all stern and serious and a bit too perfect. He notes the human tendency to immortalize their heroes as gods without any acknowledgment of their flaws or their humanity. It becomes easy, therefore, to idealize history and imagine past leaders as being perfect compared to their contemporary counterparts.

“Should we allow this beacon of freedom amidst the darkness of the world to be extinguished? No, I said to them! Our liberty is not for sale at any price!”

Lord Chancellor Hoff, at the opening ceremonies of the Contest, rallies the crowd behind a banner of patriotism. To do so, he must create an enemy—the barbarians of the North—and demonize them. His rhetoric both unites the home front against a common enemy and creates an us-versus-them mindset, a useful tool during wartime.

“She didn’t deserve that, surely. It wasn't good enough to say it was her problem. Not good enough. Just so he could have a little fun? The selfishness of it. He was amazed that it had never occurred to him before.”

Jezal ponders a possible arrangement with Ardee in which he can satisfy his sexual urges while keeping the affair secret (to preserve his reputation). When he suddenly realizes what he’s doing—risking her reputation so he can get only what he wants—he is struck for the first time by his own narcissism and caste-consciousness. For the first time, his love for her enables him to think of another human being, to put their needs before his own.