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An Epic of Tang Dynasty China: "Under Heaven" by Guy Gavriel Kay

Review by Ilana Teitelbaum for The Huffington Post. Reproduced with kind permission.

The beginning of "Under Heaven," the latest offering by award-winning Canadian author Guy Gavriel Kay, can be called deceptive: it is quiet, seen through the eyes of a contemplative young poet on the shores of a remote mountain lake. But Shen Tai, the protagonist in this novel inspired by Tang Dynasty China, is much more than first meets the eye, and the lake is full of ghosts.

Site of a horrific battle in which Tai's father served, thousands of fallen dead lie unburied by the lake at Kuala Nor. By spending two years digging graves to honor the memory of his recently deceased father, Tai grants peace to restless spirits. For his sacrifice, a princess sees fit to reward Tai beyond anyone's imagining--and changes his life forever.

Thus begins a magnificent epic, flawlessly crafted, that draws the reader in like a whirlwind and doesn't let go. Like Kay's previous novels, "Under Heaven" works on multiple levels at once: it is, among other things, a meditation on the forces of history, an exploration of the way in which art can influence our perception of the world--and vice versa--and a paean to the intertwined glory and tragedy of the human experience. It is also a suspenseful adventure that includes a dazzling cast of characters and plenty of violence, intrigue, sex and betrayal, compelling the reader to keep turning pages far into the night--and to keep plenty of tissues ready to hand.

With power thrust upon him, Tai is forced away from the quiet lake, towards the teeming grandeur of the capital city, where an emperor has shaped the greatest civilization the country has known in thousands of years, and perhaps in the world. Kitai is a land of unparalleled complexity: of court officials exquisitely trained in the skills of intrigue, poetry and philosophy, of glittering courtesans playing music into the night over spiced wine, of black-clad warriors who practice impregnable martial arts on their mountain. And beyond stretch the plains, peopled by nomadic tribes and permeated with an ancient magic.

As the story proceeds, the innumerable layers of Kitai unfold to the reader; and in parallel, so does the character of Tai, whose past will play as much a role in the future of Kitai as the princess's life-changing gift. In his own life, Tai has grappled with loss and with the historic devastation of warfare; these emotions, experienced on a private scale, both mirror and set the stage for the large-scale catastrophes that are about to overtake an empire.

This contrast of the personal and the universal, as if viewing the same story through both ends of a telescope, is repeated in more overt ways later on: the story shifts from an intensely vivid, on-the-ground depiction of heartbreaking events to recounting how the historians of Kitai will record and debate these events in hundreds of years' time. Juxtaposing an intimately human tragedy with larger questions of history makes the tragedy all the more shattering, because it becomes so clear that these huge events and beloved characters are ultimately so small and transitory "amid the ten thousand noises and the jade-and-gold and the whirling dust" of life as it churns relentlessly on and incorporates everything into (flawed, poorly recorded) memory.

The novels of Guy Gavriel Kay combine history with elements of the fantastic and are difficult to categorize--they are not historical fiction, but can't be easily pigeonholed as genre fantasy. The fantastic elements are rare - at times even nonexistent - and serve to highlight and explore themes. In the case of "Under Heaven," the limited but extremely dangerous appearance of magic is a reminder that the dark mysteries of the world are ever-present, even in a place as perfectly ordered as the Kitan empire; that life is a perpetual mystery even after thousands of years of philosophers and historians analyzing its vagaries. It's true that all the magic occurs at the periphery of Kitan civilization - by the lake and on the wild plains - which indicates that while intellectual sophistication cannot rationalize these mysteries away, it can preserve the illusion of their extinction.

As a longtime reader of Kay's novels, I've gone on to engage in such 21st century fan activities as volunteer for the discussion forums of Kay's official site, Brightweavings. So take that into account when you read this, although I'd describe myself less as biased than as particularly voracious in how I approach Kay's books: They mean a lot to me, and I expect a lot from them. But "Under Heaven" serves as a reminder that even a longtime reader can still be surprised by Kay, who brings new gifts, unlooked for, when the "usual" would have been more than enough to satisfy.

Worlds Apart

Review by Robert J. Wiersema for The Globe and Mail. Reproduced with kind permission.

Shen Tai is the second son of General Shen Gao, one of the most distinguished military leaders of the Kitan Empire. Following his father's death, Tai spends the two years of his official mourning on the isolated shores of Kuala Nor, the site of one of his father's greatest triumphs 20 years before. The ground there is littered with the remains of 40,000 men, equally split between Kitan and their perennial foes to the west, the Taguran Empire. Tai spends his mourning period burying the dead, putting their ghosts to rest, one grave, one body at a time, Kitan indistinguishable in death from Taguran, "tangled together, strewn or piled, skulls and white bones."

As his mourning period comes to a close, Tai is brought back to the world by two visitors in the same day. The first is a Taguran soldier, who brings him tidings from the court of the Kitan's traditional enemies. The White Jade Empress, in "royal recognition ... of courage and piety, and honour done the dead of Kuala Nor," has given him 250 Sardian horses, the most precious steeds known to man. So precious that "you gave a man one ... to reward him greatly. You gave him four or five of those glories to exalt him above his fellows, propel him toward rank - and earn him the jealousy, possibly mortal, of those who rode the smaller horses of the steppes." The gift makes Tai a marked man, and thrusts him into the perilous intricacies of life from his silent observation of death.

The second visitor is an assassin, trained in the ways of the Kanlin warriors, who nearly takes Tai's life hours later. Not only does Tai now face the consequences of the Empress's gift, he must reckon with the fact that someone wanted him dead even before the gift of the horses was known.

With that, the reader is swept, utterly and effortlessly, into Under Heaven, the stunning new novel from Toronto writer Guy Gavriel Kay. Returning to the blend of history and subtle fantasy that characterized previous novels, including Tigana and The Sarantine Mosaic, Kay this time immerses himself and his readers in eighth-century, Tang Dynasty China, shifted a quarter-turn to become Kitai.

The novel, which comes as a result of more than five years of work, is clearly well researched, but it doesn't labour under historical veracity or trivia. Kitai bursts into life fully rendered, with its own clearly delineated systems and traditions, values and beliefs.

It is a broad, vivid canvas, which Kay anchors through careful attention to his characters. Tai, for example, continually develops and surprises. His vigil at Kuala Nor gives the reader an impression of piety and thoughtfulness; the full importance of the swords with which he meditates and practises each morning is only revealed when one learns of the Kanlin warriors, and the time he spent training with them.

His student days, which are highlighted in the novel's opening pages, are contrasted with his short time in the army, which is revealed fully later, and which has repercussions that shape his destiny and the destiny of the empire. It's a beautifully balanced dance of careful revelation: Kay holds nothing back (and in fact, the book's opening pages should be reread after finishing the novel as a whole, to see just how many seeds the author plants there), but Tai's character builds imperceptibly and incrementally, as one might discover facts and quirks about a stranger.

Similarly, other characters reveal depths, from the Taguran soldier whom Tai befriends to the courtesan he loves and loses to the exiled poet who becomes an intimate and adviser to the Kanlin warrior dedicated to his safety. Through these and countless other characters, Kay describes and inhabits an entire world and the culture that shapes them.

Under Heaven is virtually everything a reader could want in a book: a thrilling adventure, a love story, a coming-of-age tale, a military chronicle, a court-intrigue drama, a tragedy and on and on. It is a sumptuous feast of storytelling, a beautifully written tale with a beating, breaking heart at its core that will have readers in tears by its final pages.

It is also a reminder that Guy Gavriel Kay - too often overlooked, if not scorned, by the Canadian literati for his genre leanings - is one of the most gifted storytellers of our age.

Under Heaven by Guy Gavriel Kay

Review by novelist Midori Snyder of http://msnyder.typepad.com/the_labyrinth/. Reproduced with kind permission.

The opening chapter of Guy Gavriel Kay's novel Under Heaven (set in an imagined T'ang China), introduces Shen Tai, a man embarked on an impossible task at Kuala Nor, the abandoned battle site between the Imperial armies of the Kitai and theTagur. Daily,Tai leaves his frugal hut on the edge of the battlefield to gather and bury the co-mingled skeletons of the two armies while at night he endures the ghostly screams of the still unburied dead. It is an act intended to honor his recently deceased father, the General Shen Gao, who once fought on the disputed battlefield.

It is a slow, gorgeous chapter, Kay's lavish descriptions of the remote landscape, the beauty of nature at odds with the mangled bones half hidden in the tall grasses. Here, he meditates on his father's life, and his own, recounting the various paths he has followed in his life -- the soldier, the ascetic kanlin warrior, the drunken student studying for the civil service exam, the poet, the selfish lover and favorite of a beautiful courtesan -- lives all left behind when he came to Kuala Nor and emptied himself in the service of the dead.

But Tai's solitary life abruptly comes to an end when a Tiguran officer informs Tai that in recognition of his service to the dead at Kuala Nor, the Tiguran Princess has given him 250 Sardian Horses. The gift is extravagant beyond imagination, where to receive even one of these magnificent T'ien ma (Heavenly Horses) is regarded as the event of a lifetime. Yet, it is a gift that comes with extraordinary dangers as there are many in the Imperial Courts that covet the Sardian Horses for they are a distinct advantage in battle. Tai must return to the Imperial Courts and present himself to the Emperor for word of such a powerful gift will travel quickly. In order to ensure his safety, a Tiguran general who befriended Tai at Kuala Nor draws up a plan that states that the horses are to be held in safe keeping until such time as Shen Tai, and only Shen Tai will come in person to retrieve them. It is a fragile ruse to protect him from assassination on his long journey to the Emperor.

From the ghost-haunted plains of Kuala Nor, the novel opens up into an increasingly densely packed story of the journey, stopping at outposts, small towns, then cities, and finally to the Imperial city itself. Along the way Tai encounters adversaries who would kill him and unlikely protectors who would see him safely to the end of his journey. The closer to the Imperial Courts he moves, the more complicated the plots and counter plots become for he is only a small part in a much larger power struggle.The novel fills up with memorable characters -- Wei Song, the spirited kanlin warrior who uses her considerable skills defending Tai from assassins; Sima Zian, the famous "Banished Immortal" poet whose knowledge of the courts is exceeded only by his capacity to drink, womanize,and write poetry. Tai will gain the confidences of grizzled outpost commanders, barbarian generals, the Emperor's Consort, stewards, servants, and beggars alike. He will also gain enemies from former rivals in the court and rebellious generals hoping to procure the Sardian Horses. As he returns to the familiar places of his former lives, he will find them and his family and friends much changed -- the fellow students now ranking civil servants trapped in the intrigues of a shifting court, the courtesan he once loved now the prize possession of his enemy, his own brother embroiled in Imperial politics, and his sister forced into a political marriage with a barbarian.

Kay offers a light touch of fantasy in the novel -- one that is very suited to the otherwise historical sensibilities of the story. But that is one of Kay's strengths as a writer -- to effortlessly merge the two distant narratives into one. The ghosts are powerful, dangerous reminders of the violence of war. They alternately threaten those who come near them, but they also serve to protect Tai, for they sense in his selfless act the possibility of genuine peace at last. When Tai's younger sister escapes her arranged marriage, it is to wander through the vast steppes with a shape-shifter, trapped by a curse to live human in form, but more animal in spirit.

Kay is a master at weaving all of these different threads into a sumptuous novel. The historical details give the writing texture without ever weighing it down, and the language -- as though ever mindful of the inspirational influence of the T'ang poets -- is sensual and vivid. And while the novel provides a huge, sweeping history, Shen Tai makes for a satisfying guide and hero -- a man of integrity with a complicated past, the heart of a poet but the ability to think on his feet, and the confidence to command. Yet it should be noted that the women of this novel are equally fascinating -- seemingly powerless under society's constraints whether daughters of generals, prostitutes, or Imperial consorts, they are adept at survival, intelligent, and resilient, capable agents of change themselves.

Under Heaven is a big novel, elegantly written, and utterly satisfying. Go for it.

Guy Gavriel Kay's historical fantasy, "Under Heaven," reviewed by Michael Dirda

Review by Michael Dirda of The Washington Post. Reproduced with kind permission.

Guy Gavriel Kay's "Under Heaven" isn't quite historical fiction, nor is it quite fantasy. It's set in a slightly reimagined Tang dynasty China, sometimes seems reminiscent of films like "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon" and depicts the unimaginable consequences of a single generous gift. Most important of all, it is the novel you'll want for your summer vacation.

The young Shen Tai -- lapsed scholar, discharged army officer, onetime acolyte of the Kanlin warrior priesthood -- has spent two years burying the bones of the soldiers who fell at a great battle between Kitai (China) and the empire of Tagur (apparently Mongolia). His father commanded the Kitai forces at Kuala Nor and died, broken in spirit by the immense loss of life, some 40,000 men. As an act of expiation and mourning, Tai lives among the howling ghosts and properly inters their bleached bones, making no distinction between those of his people and the Tagurans.

As a result, Cheng-wan -- the White Jade Princess and wife of the Tagur ruler -- decides to honor this pious work by bestowing on Tai a gift of 250 Sardian horses, the so-called Heavenly Horses, animals of unparalleled beauty, swiftness and rarity.

As they say, every blessing is also a curse.

Not even the Kitai Emperor -- may he live forever -- possesses such a herd of Sardians. To acquire them, men would kill, prostitute their daughters, betray their masters. Such horses, after all, could determine the fate of battles, or even empires. On the very evening Tai receives notice of the White Jade Princess's unexpected largesse, he is the object of an assassination attempt.

Almost immediately, Tai's world, along with many of its established verities, begins to collapse, as the young man gradually realizes that he is now at the center of subtle political machinations at the Kitai Imperial Court. There his calculating older brother serves the new and insecure prime minister, who is also the man who stole Tai's beloved, the courtesan Spring Rain. There the hugely fat barbarian general, known as Roshan, lays his plans. There Wen Jian -- the greatest beauty of the age -- diverts the aged emperor, while playing dangerous games of her own.

To insure his life, Tai makes it widely known that he has left the horses with a friend in Tagur and they will be released to no one but himself. In the meantime, he slowly makes his way back to Xinan, the silken capital city of Kitai. As in any epic fantasy, Tai makes friends along the way. Spring Rain sends a black-clad Kanlin warrior to protect him. Her name is Wei Song, and at one point she fights six men, whirling silently in a courtyard, a sword in each hand. Tai meets The Banished Immortal, the poet Sima Zian (based on Li Bai, aka Li Po), always drunk, always wise in the ways of the world. These two and Spring Rain he can count on. Nobody else.

The milieu presented in "Under Heaven" is, on the surface, one of the most exquisite beauty and courtesy. Honor, right-thinking, decorum count. "Let fall your weapon. Doing so offers you a small chance of living. Otherwise there is none." But consummate graciousness may cloak the most immense cruelty. After would-be assassins are interrogated by a provincial general, Tai is told that the "two men, when encouraged to discuss their adventurism tonight, suggested only one name of possible significance before they each succumbed, sadly, to the exacting nature of the conversation." We later learn that one of these men "had been castrated, his organ stuffed in his mouth. His eyes had been carved out and they had cut off his hands."

Yet the world of "Under Heaven" is not only polite, Machiavellian and ruthless; it is also spooky. Ghosts can kill, female were-foxes seduce, shamans take control of a man's soul or employ swans to search for enemies. The Kanlin can speak the language of the wolves. Pledged to be married to a barbarian prince, Tai's sister Li-Mei finds herself taken to a cave by a zombie-like creature -- half-man, half-wolf. There she undergoes a mystical experience among what are clearly the ancient bronze statues now commonly known as the "Tang horses." Her destiny will be as strange as that of her two older brothers.

Indeed, Li-Mei and the other women of "Under Heaven" are its most memorable characters. Wei Song obviously feels more for Tai than is proper to a disciplined Kanlin warrior. The resolute Spring Rain risks everything for her former lover: "Why, and how, does one voice, one person, come to conjure vibrations in the soul, like an instrument tuned? Why a given man, and not another, or a third?" Why, indeed? "She hasn't nearly enough wisdom to answer that. She isn't sure if anyone does." And then there's Wen Jian.

She dominates the page as she does any room she enters. Kay makes you feel the power and breathtaking seductiveness of this 21-year-old beauty, who can treat the brutal Roshan like a giant baby, who views the world as her plaything, who is convincingly the kind of woman for whom an ordinary man might sacrifice his life or for whom an emperor might throw away his kingdom. At one point, Wen Jian makes a surprise visit to Tai at an inn. An altercation ensues. Wen Jian is not amused.

" 'It was uncivilized. There was violence in my presence, which is never permitted.' She lifted her hand from his leg. 'I have instructed my under-steward to kill himself when we reach Ma-wai.'

"Tai blinked, wasn't sure he had heard correctly.

" 'You . . . he . . . ?'

" 'This morning,' said the Beloved Companion, 'did not proceed as I wished it to. It made me unhappy.' Her mouth turned downward.

You could drown in this woman, Tai thought, and never be found again. The emperor was pursuing immortality in the palace, men said, using alchemists and the School of Unrestricted Night, where they studied the stars and asterisms in the sky for secrets of the world. Tai suddenly had a better understanding of that desire."

Guy Gavriel Kay is a much honored Canadian writer of historical fantasy, perhaps best known for the three-part "Fionavar Tapestry" and for "Tigana" and "A Song for Arbonne." As a young man, he assisted Christopher Tolkien in editing J.R.R. Tolkien's epic "The Silmarillion." For "Under Heaven" Kay has chosen a spare, slightly courtly style, but nonetheless moves his plot along at a rapid clip. At the same time, he continually thickens his novel with appealing minor characters, thus adding to the story's overall richness as well as suggesting that much else is going on just outside our narrative field of vision. As Kay's historian-like narrator observes:

"Every single tale carries within it many others, noted in passing, hinted at, entirely overlooked. Every life has moments when it branches, importantly (even if only for one person), and every one of those branches will have offered a different story."

"Under Heaven" ends where it began, among ghosts. Everything quietly, ineluctably fades into history, as into those mists one sees on Chinese scroll paintings. Besides, all these myriad wonders and struggles and heartbreaks occurred a long time ago, in a world that never actually existed -- until now.