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Emerald City Hen Wlad Fy NhadauReview by Cheryl Morgan for her online magazine Emerald City. Reproduced with kind permission. The question I was most often asked by people who knew I had a review copy of the new Guy Gavriel Kay novel, The Last Light of the Sun, was how the book related to Kay’s other work. Was it a sequel to any previous book? Was it a standalone or the first part of a new series? I am happy to say that it is a standalone book: there will be no anxious waiting for a resolution. (Which does not, of course, rule out sequels, but you won’t feel an obvious need for them beyond just wanting to meet the characters again.) As to the other matter, it is indeed set in Kay’s usual alternate history world. Early on we meet a character from Al-Rassan, and there is frequent mention of the Sarantine Empire, but all of the action takes place well away from these regions. Said action is set in the far North-West in the lands of the Erlings, the Anglcyn and the Cyngael. What does that translate to in our world? The Erlings are composite Scandinavians. I’ll leave it to my readers from those parts to tell me what they think of the portrayal but, as you might guess, they are a violent lot, prone to drinking, raping and spreading their enemies’ lungs over their backs in ceremonial salute to their dark, one-eyed raven-god. The Anglcyn are related barbarians who are taking a stab at being civilized under the leadership of their brilliant and intellectual king, Aeldred (who can do most things but is hopeless with cakes). And the Cyngael, well, Kay tells me that he was aiming for a pan-Celtic feel. So they have the name "gael", but their names are Cymric and their passion for poetry (unfortunately often at the expense of military training) marks them out. A country with three feuding provinces? The Cyngael are Welsh. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I am too old, Ceinon thought again. He was remembering – so vividly – the father as a young man, equally reckless, even more impulsive. And now that man was an aging prince, and his son was about to find his own end trying to go through the untracked woods carrying a warning all the long way home. A desperate, glorious folly. The way of the Cyngael. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Fortunately rugby has not yet been invented (the national sport is still cattle-rustling, or where cattle can’t be had sheep-rustling) so the bloody Anglcyn can’t beat us at it. But, because they spend way too much time writing poetry, playing word games and strumming their harps, the Cyngael tend to get beaten up on by all of the other barbarians around. Yet, in true Welsh rugby tradition, there was one glorious moment, one great triumph, the day when Brynn ap Hywll killed the great Erling champion, Siggur Volganson, and took his famous sword. That, of course, was many years ago. Brynn is now an old man, and young blades such as Dai and Alun ab Owyn seek to taunt him by stealing his cattle. But Volganson’s descendants have not forgotten. Blood feud is by no means a solely Celtic practice. Only one man from Volganson’s personal war band is still active, but Red Thorkell is missing, exiled from his home for a drunken killing. His son, Bern, is now a pauper and his only chance at a successful life is to sign on with the famous dragon-prowed ships and go a-raiding. For these men, and some of their women too, life is about to get busy. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The doorways of our lives take many shapes, and arrivals that change us are not always announced by thunderous pounding or horns at the gates. We may be walking a known laneway, at prayer in a familiar chapel, entering a new one and simply looking up, or we may be deep in quiet talk late of a summer’s night, and a door will open behind us. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- There are a few strange things about the book. Perhaps the oddest is the newspaper review whose author mis-read "dragon-prowed" as "dragon-powered". Kay noted this in his signing tour journal and is dining out on amusing stories of fire-breathing propulsion methods. I intend to do the same if I can find an audience that Kay hasn’t got to first. More relevantly, the main villain of the book, a descendant of Volganson called Ivarr Ragnarson, is an albino. For most fantasy readers (and writers) the thought of an albino Viking nobleman immediately brings to mind the Prince of Melnibone. Kay was bemused when I asked him about this. He ruefully accepted my suggestion that he might be the only fantasy writer around who hasn’t actually read any Elric stories. Ah well, you can’t read everything. And it doesn’t seem to have done Kay any harm because the rest of what is strange about the book is in the "wonderfully strange" category. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Then, as the music grew louder, approaching, Alun ab Owyn saw what was passing by him, walking and riding on the surface of the water, in bright procession, the light a shimmering, around them and in them. And everything about that night and the world changed then, was silvered, because they were fairies, and he could see them. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Kay doesn’t do a lot of magic in his more recent books, but when he does do it he always does it well. He comes very close to Rob Holdstock in capturing the spirit of Celtic magic. That’s pretty darn special for a Canadian. However, it would be a mistake to think that The Last Light of the Sun is a high fantasy novel. It is certainly a fairy story, in fine Celtic tradition, it even has a magic sword, but it is not mythic fantasy. Like Kay’s other work, it is historical fiction in an alternate world with a little magic in it. The bulk of the book is about people (Kay’s characters are wonderful) and about a developing society. Ostensibly the book’s title refers to the fact that the sun sets upon the lands of the Cyngael, but it also refers to the sun setting on a whole lifestyle. The Anglcyn are already changing under the wise leadership of Aeldred. For Thorkell and Bern, their raiding lifestyle is gradually being replaced by settlement and farming. Dai and Alun might be young and foolish, but Ceinon, the Cyngael chief cleric, knows only too well that a society that remains obsessed with feuding and cattle raiding will soon fall victim to the imperial ambitions of their Anglcyn neighbors. That time, however, is yet to come. The time of the book is sunset. And as the last light of the sun falls upon Cyngael, Anglcyn and Erling alike there is yet magic in the world, and it still has power to affect the affairs of men. That power is strongest in the green hills and vales where the fair folk still make their home. The land of their own chosen people. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- He thought about this, didn’t even want to guess how old she was. She spoke Cyngael the way his grandfather had. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The language of the fairies should, of necessity, be a language of poetry and song. Naturally it lives on in its homeland, but with this book Guy Gavriel Kay has shown that the spirit of that language has permeated even the rough Anglcyn tongue, and geographically as far as Canada. The Last Light of the Sun is a book that any Welsh bard would be proud to have written. Indeed, it is a book that anyone would be proud to have written. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Os treisiodd y gelyn fy ngwlad tan ei droed, Review for Challenging DestinyReview by James Schellenberg for the magazine Challenging Destiny. Reproduced with kind permissionBeautiful, moving, and written with incredible assurance, The Last Light of the Sun demonstrates once again that Kay can describe both the heights and depths of human experience with equal adeptness. The publication of this book in 2004 marks 20 years since Kay's debut, The Summer Tree, the first volume of The Fionavar Tapestry, in 1984. It's been a remarkable career, and his prose only gets better, and his grasp of human nature only more abundant. The Last Light of the Sun differs somewhat from his earlier books, in that the scope seems smaller; this seems appropriate for the historical analog that Kay is using this time around, the world of the Vikings, Anglo-Saxons, and Celts. No glittering cities like Sarantium (Sailing to Sarantium and Lord of Emperors), no warring nations (A Song for Arbonne). This is the world of the Norse sagas, with raids and pillaging and only the beginnings of coherent nations in the area. It's a productive time period to play in. The Erlings are a people dedicated to their warlike god, Ingavin, and also to their long-held tradition of raiding the Angclyn and the Cyngael on the island to the west. The book begins with a young Erling named Bern who has stolen a horse from his local chief on the island of Rabady; since the chief is dead and the horse is required for funeral rites that will make his soul rest easy, the local warriors are keen to find Bern. Bern is trying to escape a life of servitude that has been his lot since his father was exiled for murder. Meanwhile, in the Cyngael lands, a raiding party of young Cyngael princes find out that they have targeted the farm of a famous Cyngael warrior named Brynn; the cleric Ceinion saves them from embarrassment and they becomes guests of Brynn. Later that night, Brynn's farmstead is attacked by Erlings who want revenge for the death of a famous Erling warrior killed by Brynn years ago. In the aftermath of the attack, an Erling named Thorkell switches to the Cyngael side; Thorkell is Bern's father, now adrift in the world and looking for purpose. Part 1 of the book ends with Bern himself. He has escaped from his home island and joins the infamous Jormsvik mercenaries. Part 2 of the book is mainly concerned with events in the Angclyn lands: King Aeldred has been furiously nation-building, trying to knit together enough of a prosperous country and a military response capability to end the Erling attacks once and for all. Bern, as a mercenary, is part of one such attack, and due to bad information (perhaps deliberately so), a large troop of his colleagues is wiped out. He encounters his father twice, and their relationship is complicated by the fact that his father's exile ruined his life and by the fact that they are now on opposing sides. Aeldred and his children figure greatly in this part of the story, as well as the despicable Erling who may have misled the mercenaries to get them to do a certain mission. Part 2 ends with the remaining members of the Erling force, despite everything, on their way to once again attack Brynn. All forces converge, and the story comes to a surprising conclusion. Kay supplies a neat twist on the sagas and historical tales that have influenced the book. The Last Light of the Sun has a large cast of characters, and they are generally identifiable by their origins. The Erlings are fierce and warlike, the Cyngael are artistic and sorrowful, and so forth. Interestingly, most of the characters who matter to the story face dilemmas that put this essentialism to question in one way or another. Bern is a son of a famous Erling raider, and as such he really should be blood-thirsty, unable to settle down, and mainly concerned with dying in battle. He might be good at fighting -- he does get into Jormsvik -- but is that really what suits him? The Thorkell-Bern father-son story is the clearest example of how this plays out in the book, especially in the way that Thorkell, a life-long raider who didn't last long on Rabady when he tried to live a quiet life, is forced to examine his capacity to change even so late in life. King Aeldred's children face the same challenges, albeit in a somewhat different sense; their father is an intimidating man and they are trying to live up his standards, rather than grow out of the limitations of their background. Kay continues his practice, used extensively in the two books of The Sarantine Mosaic, of using peripheral characters to emphasize that life goes on all around the central story. For example, in The Last Light of the Sun we find out about a young milkmaid whose sister is killed by passing raiders, a miller who is asked by the king to burn the bodies of Erling raiders, and Bern's mother Frigga who has survived much tumult at the hands of the men in her life. This certainly fleshes out the world, but it can be distracting to those who fixate on what happens next in the main story. Personally I liked some of Kay's minor characters, such as a young girl named Anrid who helps Bern escape and later uses that to gain political power for herself or the new Rabady chief named Sturla One-Hand who works with Anrid in unexpected ways. The Cyngael are one of the three main groups of people in The Last Light of the Sun, and I should point out that Kay used some of the same Celtic influences in his debut, the Fionavar Tapestry. That trilogy was high fantasy, complete with Dark Lord, extensive magic, quests, and such. Kay has developed his own distinct sensibility in the intervening years, and I find his historically-based approach much more appealing. Kay has always been a strong story-teller, and The Last Light of the Sun is more evidence of that fact. I'm keen to find out where his curiosity and gift for narrative lead him next. Saga of the Half-WorldReviewed by Bill Sheehan for The Washington Post. Reproduced with permission.History and fantasy rarely come together as gracefully or readably as they do in the novels of Guy Gavriel Kay. With the publication of Tigana in 1990, Kay began a series of intricate, elegantly composed narratives featuring magical but clearly recognizable analogues of actual times and places, among them medieval France in the days of the troubadours (A Song for Arbonne) and the Byzantine Empire during the reign of Justinian (The Sarantine Mosaic). Kay's latest, The Last Light of the Sun (Roc, $24.95), is a historical fantasy of the highest order, the work of a man who may well be the reigning master of the form. It takes place in the harsh northern reaches of his re-imagined world and concerns, among other things, the violent collision between the seafaring Vikings and their traditional victims: the Welsh and Anglo-Saxon inhabitants of a divided, vulnerable island. In Kay's version of events, the Vikings have become the Erlings, while the Welsh and Anglo-Saxons are transformed into, respectively, the Cyngael and Anglcyn tribes. Principal characters emerge from all three cultures and include a pair of Erling exiles who happen to be father and son, an embittered Cyngael prince whose brother has died at Erling hands, the sons and daughters of an Anglcyn king clearly patterned after Alfred the Great, a number of well-drawn women chafing at the limitations of their established roles, and assorted denizens of the ancient, largely unseen "half-world," a realm of spirits with needs (and agendas) of their own. The plot of this complex novel is essentially simple, centering on a failed Erling raid against a well-defended Cyngael stronghold. The Erlings' attempts to mount a second, more successful raid and the opposing efforts of an unlikely alliance of Erling, Cyngael and Anglcyn warriors form the dramatic centerpiece of this authoritative, thoroughly convincing book. Complementing the primary narrative is a second, much older story involving the primal pagan forces inhabiting an ancient forest, a haunted region Kay invests with both power and mystery. These two story lines dovetail neatly to create a multilayered portrait of a violent world in which old gods are slowly giving way to new ones. Kay's novel is an ambitious entertainment that transcends the historical record, offering cogent observations on fathers and sons, on the power of grief, on faith, courage, loyalty and the inevitability of change. To the Dark Ages: Guy Gavriel Kay eschews sunny climes to sail north. Twilight fantasy a real depature from recent booksReview by Robert Wiersema for The Toronto Star. Reproduced with permission.In his past few novels, Toronto's Guy Gavriel Kay has largely left the trappings of traditional heroic fantasy behind, focusing instead on historical fantasy. The approach is rooted in history and research, but skewed just enough to allow Kay the type of freedom enjoyed by traditional fantasists. In Kay's hands, for example, Granada, the last moorish kingdom in Spain, becomes the kingdom of Al-Rassan, allowing the writer to explore the historic themes and shifts of the time without being restricted by historical accuracy. Kay's historical fantasies are stunning, rich in detail and character, with a grand sweep and overarching vision. I've missed the magic, though. In Kay's recent novels, virtually the only nod to fantasy was this shifting of the familiar into the fictive. The Last Light Of The Sun, Kay's new novel, is therefore a departure on a number of levels. It marks his return to the fantastic, bringing key high fantasy elements into a historically appropriate context. It is also a significant geographic shift. The Last Light Of The Sun is Kay's northern novel. While it takes place in the same world as The Lions Of Al-Rassan and The Sarantine Mosaic, Kay moves away from the cultured, urbane, southern European settings of those novels to explore northern Europe in the Dark Ages, at approximately the time of Alfred the Great. In The Last Light Of The Sun the scattered tribes of the British Isles and Scandinavia find their counterparts: the Vikings, Celts (largely in what would be modern Wales) and Anglo-Saxons (in modern England) are recreated as Erlings, Cyngaels and Anglcyns, respectively. The narrative is multi-stranded and difficult to summarize (you might want to make a chart). The novel begins with a young Erling, Berrn Thorkellson, escaping his island home with a stolen horse, and joining with the Jormsvik, sea-borne raiders who pillage the Cyngael and Anglcyn coastlines during the summer months. Alun ab Owyn, a prince of the Cyngael, finds himself allied with his traditional Anglcyn enemies following a brutal Jorrmsvik attack that has claimed the life of his brother Dai. Dai, however, has not departed; his soul has been claimed by the faerie queen, and he rides at her side through a sacred wood. Aeldred, king of the Anglcyn, defends his hard-won kingdom against a separate crew of Jomsvik raiders, which includes Bern Thorkellson, led by Ivarr Ragnarson, grandson of the legendary Erling hero Siggur Volganson. In the battle against the Jormsviks, Aeldred's daughter Kendra discovers a psychic bond between herself and the Cyngael prince Alun. That's the basic set-up (fear not, the book provides a helpful listing of characters, although a map would also have been handy). Yet the novel seems strangely unplotted. I mean that as a compliment; rather than obeying the dictates of a larger schema, The Last Light Of The Sun seems to unfold as a result of the decisions (and mistakes) made by its characters. Kay again demonstrates the significance of the individual in the grand vision of history. Individual actions resonate through kingdoms and centuries. Unlike many - okay, most - fantasy writers, Kay has a superb command of characterization. There are no stock characters here, no mere roles filled. Virtually every character possesses a keen (though often conflicted) nobility and a fundamental humanity. When some of those characters are killed (Kay never hesitates to kill his darlings) their loss is felt as keenly by the reader as it is felt within the book. Despite the almost token presence of the twisted and psychotic Ivarr Ragnarson (a peripheral figure, despite his menace and effect), there is no traditional villain in The Last Light Of The Sun, no evil archenemy to be defeated by the powers of good. The characters face the forces of change, the inexorable powers of fate and chance. Why, for example, was Dai outside on the night of the Jormvik attack, and the first to fall in that attack? Why, for that matter, were Dai and Alun in the home of an Arberth foe that night in the first place? Serendipity and destiny compete throughout the novel. As its title suggests, The Last Light Of The Sun is a twilight novel. Ways of life are changing and ending everywhere. The Anglcyns and Cyngaels are followers of the new god Jad, banishing their former belief in faeries and the spirits of the woodland. The Erlings are finding their days of raiding nearing an end; they face a future as settlers. Kay has written a modern saga, a story song of heroes and of the end of days. The language reflects both this approach and the northern millieu. There is none of the florid poetry of the courts of Al-Rassan or Sarantium; The Last Light Of The Sun has harder cadences, shorter sentences, cutting line breaks and incisive descriptions. It is the language of a people accustomed to war and hardship, reminiscent of such epics as Beowulf in both tone and subject matter. This haunting and beautiful work transcends genre and will linger long in the reader's memory. Review by Doug Barbour, for The Edmonton JournalGuy Gavriel Kay's various novels set during different historical periods of a world, with two moons, whose history curiously matches our own, have all dealt with cultures and societies of the south, what we'd call the Mediterranean. As in our history, great civilizations have appeared, and great religions have started, around this sea. In The Sarantium Mosaic, he told the story of an empire trying to retain its power as the new religion of Jad began to overwhelm the older gods and their followers. As the title suggests, the two volumes dealt with a place very like Byzantium in the third and fourth centuries CE. Now, in The Last Light of the Sun, Kay turns his vision northward, to the lands of the 'Anglcyn,' the 'Erlings,' and the 'Cyngael.' Making marvelous use, as usual, of the scholarship concerning the Vikings, the Anglo-Saxons, and the Gaelic-Welsh, he has fashioned a tale as dark, terrifying, powerful, and full of passion as any epic. The people of these different cultures lead lives harsher, more comprehensively violent, and more in touch with the ancient supernatural than those who live in the gentler, more civilized south, and they are, therefore, perhaps more aware of both the dark and the light that sometimes shines through it. Kay has woven a complex and subtle tapestry in The Last Light of the Sun. There are three major narratives, plus a number of minor ones. While the central characters meet, mix, fight and love, in a single year, the elders among them remember events they took part in as much as a third of a century ago, and those memories emerge in scenes as dramatic as any of the present day actions. Of course they also influence those present events, often in completely unexpected ways. In the three interwoven narratives, young men of all three cultures come into their maturity, sometimes through meetings that change their lives. Although, given the time and place, men get to do while women get to wait, Kay presents some very strong women in each society, who chafe at their constraints but also find ways to act within them. Kay begins the novel in the land of the Erlings, but soon focuses on the tribal warfare of the Cyngaels. As various plots move forward, both a Cyngael youth and a young Erling mercenary end up in the lands of the Anglcyn king, Aeldred, who is all too like Alfred the Great in bringing learning and commerce to his growing kingdom. Aeldred has brought his kingdom to the worship of Jad, but faeries and other ancient powers inhabit the old forests still, and these supernatural beings can still make their presence felt in the lives of certain sensitive people. This is high epic fantasy, so there are raids and warfare, there is politics, there is love, there is the possibility that a chance encounter can change the history of a people. Kay is a master at threading his various narratives into a solid and colourful tapestry, one in which every small piece fits. Indeed, there are a number of very small pieces, tales having little to do with the grander narratives in which the central characters participate, but full of the ordinary life epic fantasy often fails to notice. As well, he has constructed a narrator who is very interesting even as he pretends to stay out of the way of the tale. His comments and asides, especially those on fate, the continuing changes that people must confront, and the ways that all doorways are thresholds which can always alter the lives of those who pass through, add philosophical depth to the violent actions which propel these intertwined narratives. The Last Light of the Sun is a grand epic, fully aware of its indebtedness to northern sagas, historical chronicles, and epic songs. Finally, it's how Kay weaves the scattered narratives together that makes The Last Light of the Sun such a complex, satisfying story, just what we'd expect from perhaps the finest contemporary writer of high historical fantasy. Douglas Barbour Review by Antoine Tanguay, for The Quebec SunChroniqueur d'un "autre passé"Après Les Lions d'Al-Rassan et le diptyque de La Mosaïque Sarantine, Guy Gavriel Kay prouve avec Le Dernier Rayon du soleil (Alire) qu'il maîtrise toujours aussi bien l'équilibre fragile entre la saga - avec tout le cortège d'actes héroïques, de vengeances et de hauts faits d'armes - et le fantastique. On ne présente désormais plus Guy Gavriel Kay aux amateurs de fantasy. De l'avis de plusieurs, cet écrivain torontois a, à lui seul, renouvelé un genre qui s'est trop longtemps résumé à la publication de clones du Seigneur des anneaux ou, parfois, à une relecture des grandes sagas européennes, agrémentées d'une bonne dose de magie et de créatures fabuleuses. Celui qui a longtemps travaillé sur le Silmarillion de J.R.R. Tolkien a bien fréquenté ces avenues le temps d'une trilogie intitulée La Tapisserie de Fionavar, mais il a vite pris la tangente, préférant travailler à l'édification d'une " fantasy historique " bien à lui, un miroir à peine déformant des grands événements du passé des hommes. Kay s'est donc forgé une solide réputation dépassant largement le strict lectorat de fantasy pour aller chercher un public grandissant (on ne compte plus les traductions et les millions d'exemplaires de ses œuvres vendues partout sur la planète). Voilà pour le mythe qui auréole Kay. Mais l'écrivain, lui, a constamment besoin de nouveaux défis. Et pour Kay, le défi prenait ses racines dans le formidable creuset de récits héroïques qu'offre la période des grandes invasions vikings ayant secoué l'Empire anglo-saxon vers l'an 900. En situant ainsi son dernier opus, un pavé de près de 600 pages remarquablement traduit par Élisabeth Vonarburg, au nord des contrées évoquées dans La Mosaïque Sarantine et Les Lions d'Al-Rassan, Kay n'a pas voulu ajouter un nouveau volet à un cycle déjà bien entamé, mais bien explorer avec une minutie de plus en plus fine les coulisses du pouvoir au sein d'une fresque résolument indépendante des autres : " Depuis quelques années déjà, je m'efforce d'écrire des livres qui peuvent être lus dans n'importe quel ordre. D'un autre côté, j'espère que les lecteurs qui sont familiers avec mon travail pourront trouver un certain plaisir à dénicher les références à mes autres romans situés dans le même univers et qui présentaient une vision décadente et très sophistiquée du Sud. Avec Le Dernier Rayon du soleil, je me suis lancé le défi d'écrire un livre nordique, avec une atmosphère et un style tout à fait différents, inspirés cette fois des récits des Vikings et les chroniques anglosaxonnes à l'époque d'Alfred le Grand. (…) J'essaie d'aborder les grands thèmes historiques certes, mais à travers le miroir du fantasy avant tout. Cela permet, je l'espère, de bien saisir tous les enjeux de mes romans, sans pour autant connaître les détails historiques des raids vikings en Angleterre, par exemple. C'est selon moi une des forces de la littérature fantastique que d'offrir cette liberté à l'écrivain, comme au lecteur. Trois nationsDans un brillant exercice de libre reconstitution historique, Kay présente les destinées de trois peuples qui, on l'apprendra au fil de la lecture, sont liées par des liens complexes, garants de la survie de chacun. Pour mieux comprendre le rôle de chacun, il peut s'avérer utile de les transposer dans notre réalité historique, quoique la chose, comme l'a affirmé l'auteur, n'est pas nécessaire. Précisons seulement qu'il y a, au cœur du Dernier Rayon du soleil, les Erlings du Vinland (les Vikings), peuples sauvage et fier qui décime deux autres nations, celles des Cyngaëls (les Celtes)et des Anglcyns (les Anglais). Une série de vols, de trahisons et d'attaques surprises aors qu'Aëldred, roi des Anglcyns, s'apprête à accueillir dans son fief une foire commerciale aux enjeux importants, vont projeter les trois contrées dans une série de récits parallèles au centre duquel on retrouve des personnages dont les chemins vont se croiser. En marge, on découvre aussi un peuple de fées qui hantent de sombres forêts, et quelques créatures magiques. Ce ne sont là que les maigres éléments fantastiques du roman et qui servent principalement à disserter sur la croyance ou non en l'existence du surnaturel. D'une grande richesse socio-historique, sans doute l'élément le plus intéressant de l'univers inventé par Guy Gavriel Kay, Le Dernier Rayon du soleil demeure donc presque impossible de résumer tant toutes les intrigues qui le composent se révèlent complexes. Une liste des personnages au début du roman est, à ce propos, très précieux. À défaut de synthèse, on portera plutôt notre attention au fin réseau mis en place par Kay pour démontrer à quel point les plus petites querelles peuvent dégénérer et combien le poids des traditions familiales peut peser lourd sur les épaules de certains descendants. Car si le roman de Kay est réussi, ce n'est pas tant en raison des quêtes individuelles qu'il présente mais plutôt grâce à l'assemblage desdites quêtes. Sur ce point, l'écrivain explique : " Depuis longtemps déjà, je me suis éloigné de l'idée de la quête, une des formes canoniques du fantasy, car je crois qu'un bonne histoire repose d'abord sur des choses intéressantes que vivent des gens intéressants. Il est donc important de soigner les événements et les personnages dans d'égales proportions. La principale difficulté qu'a posé ce livre fut de trouver un équilibre entre les trois culture qui y sont présentées et ainsi éviter que l'attention du lecteur ne soit déportée vers une en particulier. De plus, en tant qu'écrivain, et donc observateur de la nature humaine, je me penche sur les événements dont les répercussions affectent les générations futures. Les pêchés de nos pères, si vous préférez. Enfin, en filigrane, j'ai exploré l'idée que l'on se fait de certains points tournant de l'histoire selon le point de vue d'un groupe de personnes en particulier. Par exemple, la mort d'un roi semble bien peu importante pour une famille de fermiers dont le père vient de se casser la jambe ! " Une œuvre ouverte à de nombreuses interprétationsTout chez Kay, est donc une question d'harmonie, de relations fortes et d'associations de destins. En cela, son œuvre échappe aux étiquettes. La maturité du ton et la solidité de la narration tricotée serrée en font un roman touffu et fignolé avec soin. Les critiques ont longtemps tenté de faire de l'œuvre de l'auteur de La Mosaïque Sarantine un sujet d'étude, se penchant entre autres sur les questions de la religion et de la foi et sur la place des femmes dans ses romans (on lui a reproché de ne pas laisser assez de place à ces dames). Le principal intéressé préfère laisser de tels débats entre les mains des exégètes : " Pour être franc, cela m'amuse un peu. D'autres critiques pensent d'ailleurs le contraire de mes détracteurs et voient dans le livre le combat que les femmes, prisonnières d'un environnement inhospitalier, qui a permis de faire avancer quelques causes et, du même coup, changer le cours de l'Histoire. En tant que lecteur et écrivain, je n'aime pas les romans qui ne tiennent pas compte de la crédibilité nécessaire au sein de toute fiction historique. Je fais bien attention de présenter ce qui, selon moi, était possible de faire pour une femme à cette époque. C'est une constante dans tous mes livres. Ou du moins, un souhait… " Les lectrices, de plus en plus nombreuses au sein d'un lectorat que l'on a longtemps cru exclusivement formé d'hommes, pourront aller voir s'il y a, oui ou non, matière à discussion. Une chose est sûre, chaque roman de Kay emprunte des voies inusitées pour poser quelques questions essentielles sur l'Homme, cette éternelle énigme : " Je défend depuis longtemps le fait que le fantastique, comme tous les autres genres, peut permettre d'explorer certains thèmes, malgré le fait que certaines personnes pensent encore le contraire, ce qui n'a rien de nouveau d'ailleurs. Je suis toujours étonné de lire certaines théories sur mes livres et parfois, il m'arrive de découvrir quelques idées dont je n'étais pas conscient. L'écriture et la création sont, après tout, des éléments qui relèvent de l'intuition. " Review by Michel Bélair, for Le DevoirGGK est de retour!Après avoir exploré les terres brumeuses des légendes anglo-saxonnes (La Tapisserie de Fionavar), la brillance de la Provence courtoise (Une chanson pour Arbonne) et de l'Espagne sarazine (Les Lions d'al-Rassan), tout l'éclat aussi d'une Italie presque intemporelle (Tigane) et même de Byzance (La Mosaïque de Sarance), voilà que Guy Gavriel Kay met le cap sur le nord. Le Dernier Rayon du soleil nous amène à l'époque des Vikings et de la difficile émergence de la culture sur les rives des océans nordiques. Comme toujours chez Kay, nous sommes ici, et nous n'y sommes pas vraiment, quelque part dans un temps et un espace qu'on peut presque reconnaître. En entrevue, il avoue d'ailleurs ne pas tenir à ce que les points de repère de ses livres soient trop précis puisqu'il ne fait pas du roman historique mais bien de la science-fantasy... Ici donc, malgré les deux lunes qui se profilent dans la nuit, nous sommes probablement sur les rives des mers du Nord, où les "raiders", chevauchant les eaux sur leurs tristement célèbres vaisseaux à tête de dragon, avaient coutume d'aborder. La période est dure, cruelle, aveuglément brutale: flèches empoisonnées, haches et marteaux ensanglantés sont au rendez-vous. Même le monde des anciens dieux païens qui se cachent dans les forêts est toujours présent sous le vernis fragile de la religion unificatrice venue de la capitale du monde, Sarance. Mais sous la barbarie à la petite semaine se profile faiblement l'amorce de ce qui risque - encore de nos jours - de sauver le monde: la culture. L'entreprise est tout aussi audacieuse qu'actuelle, mais on sait depuis longtemps que Kay prend plaisir à fixer la barre très haut. Le roman, magnifiquement traduit par Élisabeth Vonarburg il faut le dire tout de suite, nous plonge dès l'abord dans ce que l'époque offre de plus raffiné et de plus barbare. Selon son habitude, Guy Gavriel Kay tisse ici des destins parallèles dont on saisira rapidement qu'ils sont profondément liés. D'un côté, deux jeunes princes, un souverain éclairé, des femmes vives, intelligentes et passionnées, un moine itinérant, quelques chefs de guerre lucides et des alliances qui se nouent. De l'autre, un sens de l'honneur qui remonte à l'âge des cavernes, des hommes frustres, guerriers sanguinaires qui se buteront eux aussi au nouveau paradigme qu'est la culture par rapport à l'instinct et à la force brute. Tout cela raconté, bien sûr, avec force péripéties et exploits héroïques dans une langue exigeante qui en vient à confronter le lecteur à ses propres croyances. Bref, GGK est de retour, et tout le monde se réjouira des presque 600 pages d'intrigues, de bonheur et d'intelligence qu'il nous offre ici. |
            
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