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A review by is_book_loring
The Crippled God by Steven Erikson
4.0
"Who are you? I know who you are. What have you done? You have stayed with me since the very beginning. Soldiers, hear me! This day is already lost to history, and all that happens here shall remain for ever unknown. On this day, you are unwitnessed. You are the Unwitnessed, but I have seen what you see. I have felt what you feel. And I am as much a stranger to history as any of you."
The Crippled God as the final conclusion to this mind-bending, stellar tome of a series wrapped events and characters up satisfyingly enough, pretty neatly too -this probably was the neatest book in entire the series- but still left mysteries and room for wonder by the end of it and I loved that particularly. And the last couple chapters were utterly breathless, to say the least.
I would not presume to be the arbiter of justice as the Forkrul Assail thought they were to this colossal, soul-crushing series or to the genius of a mind that had created such elaborate, staggering, mind-blowing world. Let's throw some more adjectives: brilliant, spectacular, epic, phenomenal, sublime, grand, ambitious, majestic, dazzling, heart-wrenching, dramatic and dozen more if one wanted. And all of it would be everything about this series and nothing that came close to take as the essence of Malazan Book of the Fallen.
Hence, I could only speak of my own experience reading through the thousand of pages during the span of almost two years. This series had opened my mind in a way no fantasy books I read till this day ever did. Yes, it engaged readers in many philosophical topics, heavy ones throughout the books. Erikson went very far, quite mercilessly in fact, into persuading, convincing us of his views, which I am sure no one totally agreed with him in everything, which was not the point. But, what truly punched me in the gut was how Erikson recognized that there were no absolute answers, there was no certainty, or more to the point that certainty itself was dangerous, and no matter how futile though it seemed, that should never stop us from questioning, from seeking and reaching out but also into ourselves. Steven Erikson spun a tale or tales of thousand of years through eyes of varying races and species, poured in a rushing torrent the history of millions lives that drowned, engulfed my real world but breathtakingly also connected and woven reality into that world, because wasn't all tales was different but the same? It beggared me really to ponder about the masterful mind that had created such extensive, complex world and the story lines. The voices, the thoughts, the wants and needs of hundred characters resonated through me, and I had voyaged, dreamed, fought, loved, grieved, died, reborned, hated, forgave with them. I had been repulsed, sicken, repelled by horrifying, horrendous minds and pulled by souls in the journey of redemption and the struggles to save and live lifes beyond just survival, to find themselves and each others. On those paths they took me, my heart had been shattered, bled and burned so many times and it still hurt every freaking time. And it humbled me because as much as I could feel, it was not even one tenth of what they had felt and suffered. The cast of characters were too vast to be felt distinct, but lots of them were, and at times they were utterly real and familiar, more than real people.
So yeah, this series was singular and unforgettable, one that could be, should be, needed to be read again, because one time was simply not enough.
“From the beginning of the ages past
And those now upon us, yield no clue
To the secret equations you seek,
For each was built of bone and blood
And the backs of the slave did bow
To the laboured sentence of a life
In chains of dire need and little worth.
All that we build one day echoes hollow.’
‘Where then, good soldiers, will I
Ever find all that is best in us?
If not in flesh or in temple bound
Or wretched road of cobbled stone?’
‘Could we answer you,’ said the sergeant,
‘This blood would cease its fatal flow,
And my surgeon could seal wounds with a touch,
All labours will ease before temple and road,
Could we answer you,’ said the sergeant,
‘Crows might starve in our company
And our talons we would cast in bogs
For the gods to fight over as they will.
But we have not found in all our years
The best in us, until this very day.’
‘How so?’ asked I, so lost now on the road,
And said he, ‘Upon this bridge we sat
Since the dawn’s bleak arrival,
Our perch of despond so weary and worn,
And you we watched, at first a speck
Upon the strife-painted horizon
So tortured in your tread as to soak our faces
In the wonder of your will, yet on you came
Upon two sticks so bowed in weight
Seeking, say you, the best in us
And now we have seen in your gift
The best in us, and were treasures at hand
We would set them humbly before you,
A man without feet who walked a road.’
Now, soldiers with kind words are rare
Enough, and I welcomed their regard
As I moved among them, ’cross the bridge
And onward to the long road beyond
I travel seeking the best in us
And one day it shall rise before me
To bless this journey of mine, and this road
I began upon long ago shall now end
Where waits for all the best in us."
The Crippled God as the final conclusion to this mind-bending, stellar tome of a series wrapped events and characters up satisfyingly enough, pretty neatly too -this probably was the neatest book in entire the series- but still left mysteries and room for wonder by the end of it and I loved that particularly. And the last couple chapters were utterly breathless, to say the least.
I would not presume to be the arbiter of justice as the Forkrul Assail thought they were to this colossal, soul-crushing series or to the genius of a mind that had created such elaborate, staggering, mind-blowing world. Let's throw some more adjectives: brilliant, spectacular, epic, phenomenal, sublime, grand, ambitious, majestic, dazzling, heart-wrenching, dramatic and dozen more if one wanted. And all of it would be everything about this series and nothing that came close to take as the essence of Malazan Book of the Fallen.
Hence, I could only speak of my own experience reading through the thousand of pages during the span of almost two years. This series had opened my mind in a way no fantasy books I read till this day ever did. Yes, it engaged readers in many philosophical topics, heavy ones throughout the books. Erikson went very far, quite mercilessly in fact, into persuading, convincing us of his views, which I am sure no one totally agreed with him in everything, which was not the point. But, what truly punched me in the gut was how Erikson recognized that there were no absolute answers, there was no certainty, or more to the point that certainty itself was dangerous, and no matter how futile though it seemed, that should never stop us from questioning, from seeking and reaching out but also into ourselves. Steven Erikson spun a tale or tales of thousand of years through eyes of varying races and species, poured in a rushing torrent the history of millions lives that drowned, engulfed my real world but breathtakingly also connected and woven reality into that world, because wasn't all tales was different but the same? It beggared me really to ponder about the masterful mind that had created such extensive, complex world and the story lines. The voices, the thoughts, the wants and needs of hundred characters resonated through me, and I had voyaged, dreamed, fought, loved, grieved, died, reborned, hated, forgave with them. I had been repulsed, sicken, repelled by horrifying, horrendous minds and pulled by souls in the journey of redemption and the struggles to save and live lifes beyond just survival, to find themselves and each others. On those paths they took me, my heart had been shattered, bled and burned so many times and it still hurt every freaking time. And it humbled me because as much as I could feel, it was not even one tenth of what they had felt and suffered. The cast of characters were too vast to be felt distinct, but lots of them were, and at times they were utterly real and familiar, more than real people.
So yeah, this series was singular and unforgettable, one that could be, should be, needed to be read again, because one time was simply not enough.
“From the beginning of the ages past
And those now upon us, yield no clue
To the secret equations you seek,
For each was built of bone and blood
And the backs of the slave did bow
To the laboured sentence of a life
In chains of dire need and little worth.
All that we build one day echoes hollow.’
‘Where then, good soldiers, will I
Ever find all that is best in us?
If not in flesh or in temple bound
Or wretched road of cobbled stone?’
‘Could we answer you,’ said the sergeant,
‘This blood would cease its fatal flow,
And my surgeon could seal wounds with a touch,
All labours will ease before temple and road,
Could we answer you,’ said the sergeant,
‘Crows might starve in our company
And our talons we would cast in bogs
For the gods to fight over as they will.
But we have not found in all our years
The best in us, until this very day.’
‘How so?’ asked I, so lost now on the road,
And said he, ‘Upon this bridge we sat
Since the dawn’s bleak arrival,
Our perch of despond so weary and worn,
And you we watched, at first a speck
Upon the strife-painted horizon
So tortured in your tread as to soak our faces
In the wonder of your will, yet on you came
Upon two sticks so bowed in weight
Seeking, say you, the best in us
And now we have seen in your gift
The best in us, and were treasures at hand
We would set them humbly before you,
A man without feet who walked a road.’
Now, soldiers with kind words are rare
Enough, and I welcomed their regard
As I moved among them, ’cross the bridge
And onward to the long road beyond
I travel seeking the best in us
And one day it shall rise before me
To bless this journey of mine, and this road
I began upon long ago shall now end
Where waits for all the best in us."